Megan's Top Ten Films of 2020
She Dies Tomorrow opens on a woman wandering her home in the dark, blasting music, drinking heavily, and shopping for urns online. Her friend can sense her despair over the phone.
"Don’t do anything you might regret. Go for a walk, or maybe watch a movie."
"A movie's an hour and a half.”
Needless to say, I wasn’t breaking any Letterboxd records with my new viewing habits this year. There were times when film felt inappropriate to the moment, or stood as a reminder of unbearable reality, or just didn’t play nice with new schedules. I’m glad others found inspiration, solace, and comfort in film, but admittedly it was a challenge for me to sit through a 90 minute experience.
But when the mood struck, it was an interesting exercise to get so exploratory about finding new films. Some options did open up with the advent of the streaming film fest, the return of the drive- in, and the leveling of VOD playing fields for indie titles. Without the emergence of blockbusters or festival hype, each individuals favorites seemed to end up more diverse and personally curated. I look forward to a time where film feels right again, and when we’re able to enjoy it together. Until then, here are the ones that were the most important to me this year.
Honorable Mentions
Boys State (Jesse Moss & Amanda McBaine). Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions (Taylor Swift). Feels Good Man (Arthur Jones).
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American Utopia
David Byrne’s American Utopia is a different kind of concert film from Stop Making Sense, but just as vivacious and joyful. It’s almost exactly like the live concert experience, but maintains some of the cinematic hallmarks of a Spike Lee Joint. Byrne is working through the overwhelming task of surviving the country’s ongoing descent into dystopian late stage capitalism, examining community from a neurodivergent perspective. With his music he unpacks the anxieties of performing humanity, inviting the audience to interpret and reinterpret messaging and ideas within a larger pop culture landscape. The show is a work of humble genius, yet great importance is placed on the uniformly gray-suited musicians he shares the stage with at all times. With the freedom of cordless instruments, they partake in elaborate choreography with such energy and charisma that by the encore, we feel we’ve gotten to know them well. The concert is Byrne’s platform to encourage individuals to be a meaningful part of their community, to take shared responsibility for shaping our futures by explicitly acknowledging the challenges left to face. His utopian ideal is not a static vision of America; instead it is constantly in motion, powered by each person’s actions, and courageously optimistic.
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First Cow
Kelly Reichart leads masterclasses in empathetic filmmaking while deconstructing the myths of the American West. Traveling back to the 1820s Oregon Territory, First Cow will leave you with a gentler view of the world, and the beings who have lived softly and quietly within. For a piece that approaches the enormous problems of filmmaking for that period and genre, it remains well rooted in contemplative specifics. Reichardt and cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt’s ability to establish atmosphere is unmatched, and the 4:3 aspect ratio is an intimate, often layered way of seeing into the antiquated world. Fair few manage to contain the verdant, saturated colors of temperate rainforest undergrowth on screen so effectively. Remaining averse to violence and conflict, they instead prioritize a soft adoration towards animals and details. Like a morsel baked by a loved one, First Cow nourishes the spirit beyond physical satisfaction, and comforts the heart.
You can read Cinema As We Know It’s full review here
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Nomadland
Nomadland is a loosely structured character study of Fern, a widow in her sixties living in a camper van. In a breathtaking and surely award- winning performance by Frances McDormand, Fern forges her own path across the country in a way that feels almost more documented than scripted. Chloé Zhao’s representation of the very real lives of modern itinerant travelers both captures the nuance of their emotional journey while also using American landscapes as the backdrop to paint them into a kind of unsung folk hero. It is the sort of film that will continue to remain relevant through its timeless beauty and elegiac compassion.
You can read Cinema As We Know It’s full review here
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VHYES
As nostalgic subject matter reaches a cultural fever pitch, everything from grainy black and white, to retro ratios, to halation are making an aesthetic comeback. As the Arri Alexa becomes capable of emulating and romanticizing the medium it was made to replace, it also serves as uniting tool to end the contentious discourse of film and digital.
This makes VHS something of an under appreciated middle child, wedged between the gleam of celluloid and the unrivaled potential of DCP. Its era is widely remembered for its garish colors and clunky trappings, but it also birthed the ubiquitous home movie. Enter VHYES, Jack Henry Robbin’s sendup of his childhood in front of the living room screen. Shot on VHS, the film is a blend of 12 year old Ralph (Mason McNulty)’s home video and cable TV sketches, all taped over his parent’s wedding video. As his recordings capture their impending divorce, the sentimental longing for a simpler time feels like a loosely autobiographical experience for Robbins. It brings together bizarre yet spot- on recreations of 80s home shopping, arts segments, jazzercise, true crime reenactments, and some truly hysterical adult film all connected by a surprisingly resonant emotional through line. Throw in a whole Weyes Blood performance and you’ve got yourself quite the little gem.
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City Hall
City Hall is a gripping, educational, and monumental look at the governance of the City of Boston. Over four and a half hours without narration or interviews, what it seemingly lacks in penetrability it more than makes up for in pure humanity. Frederick Wiseman’s documentary style allows real life to play out uninfluenced by the camera, championing the often thankless effort of individuals working to enact public policy. The documentary fully outlines the complexity of legislation, and the massive undertaking of serving a community of 700,000. There is no neat linear story, but rather a gallery of diverse scenes that urges us to draw connective lines and find our own significance. City Hall reminds us that change doesn’t happen over night, but rather that each act of strengthening communities is a hard fought step toward a more perfect union.
You can read Cinema As We Know It’s full review here
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Dick Johnson is Dead
Kirsten Johnson trains her remarkably human lens on her own father Dick for a celebration of his life as it draws to an end. His life has, in a sense, already ended as his memory and mental function are deteriorating more each day, claimed by the same illness that took his wife and her mother. They choose to embrace the inevitable reality and fantasize about the circumstances of his death, from outlandish to frighteningly real. It is equally macabre and playful as they familiarize about the idea that we all eventually leave this world and our loved ones behind. The Johnsons confront the helplessness of memory loss, building to a funerary finale to decide for themselves how they want to say goodbye. This collaboration between father and daughter commemorates a loving relationship, to teach it to others, so his memory may live forever.
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The Wolf of Snow Hollow
Starting with a fairly basic and familiar structure, Jim Cummings’ latest film uses metaphor to tell a story about anger and loss. As the women of the small, frozen town of Snow Hollow are being hunted and torn to pieces by a suspected werewolf, the centerpiece monster of the film is the man with a badge and a gun, hell bent of unraveling the mystery. Pushed over the edge by grief and addiction, he can no longer draw lines between his personal life and the stresses of his profession. The film finds equilibrium between the tones of bumbling comedy and suspense akin to Jonathan Demme’s Silence of the Lambs, bending genres effortlessly.
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She Dies Tomorrow
When she originated the project, Amy Seimetz had no way of knowing how deeply that this alien species of fear would resonate with a 2020 audience. From the beginning of the film, we know virtually nothing about Amy (Kate Lyn Sheil) except the singular, intrusive thought in her head that she will die the following day. It is a fatal anxiety beyond simple paranoia, an absolute certainty that she has under 24 hours to do what she can before her body is cold and inanimate. As Amy spirals, the idea travels like a contagion through contact with her best friend (Jane Adams), who then spreads it at a party, shattering all that it contacts. It manifests differently in each infected psyche, sometimes as despair and hysteria, in others a strange serenity and illumination of purpose. The camera is trained without hesitation, drinking in splashes of color and indecipherable faces head-on. For subject matter so uncontrollable and traumatic, Seimetz feels surgical and confident in her choices, with an innate ability to tap into such unnerving primeval sensations.
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Wolfwalkers
Rounding out its trilogy of folklore adaptations, Cartoon Saloon has offered yet another gorgeous story of naturalism and magic. When a young colonial girl befriends the mystical creatures that she and her father came to Ireland to slay, she must choose whether to embrace the wild world or allow to be tamed. The film takes great pride in its Celtic influences, honoring the resiliency of its ancestry in the face of violent and systematic destruction of culture. Wolfwalkers also demonstrates how hand drawn animation can convey much of the narrative visually, prioritizing stylization to evoke larger concepts. It imagines an artistically rich world that while addressing serious themes, remains accessible and attractive to viewers of any maturity.
You can read Cinema As We Know It’s full review here
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One Night in Miami
Regina King makes her directorial debut with her historical fiction One Night in Miami, painting not only one detailed portrait, but four. The evening of February 25, 1964 marks Cassius Clay (Eli Goree)’s heavyweight world champion win, coinciding with his decision to join the nation of Islam under the guidance of Malcom X (Kingsley Ben-Adir). Also joined by friends Sam Cooke (Leslie Odom Jr.) and Jim Brown (Aldis Hodge), the film buzzes with charisma as their celebration turns to spirited debate. Terrifically well matched in talent and helmed by King’s elegantly simple direction, these characters feel acutely lived. They shoulder the burden of fame and greatness, disagreeing on how and where they fit into the fight for civil rights. Constructing how these larger than life men would find the words to express their brotherhood is thoroughly fascinating to watch, and a delight as well.
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Cinema As We Know It’s Best of 2020 Lists
All our favorites from the worst livable year on record
