2011 / Nicolas Winding Refn > The worst thing about Drive is the hideous, misuse of Mistral during the credits. You sit there, as Ryan Gosling drives into the night, wondering if you’ve been transported to a grittier version of Miami Vice. Maybe genre films remain an insular interest because the kitsch factor is too embedded in their culture? After all, this is the font that graced the intro of television’s Night Court.

But then the film unfolds. And sets up. And takes off. And during this ride, which can effectively be described as a classic noir tale with a penchant for real violence, there is nary a hole that can be poked. Every second is necessary, every shot elegant, every piece of music supports the action on the screen. Every question normally asked of a film, this one answers either with some level of extrapolation or faith in its characters. Gosling, credited simply as “Driver,” is reminiscent of Clint Eastwood’s The Man with No Name. We gradually discover over time that he’s exactly the kind of person missing in 99% of Hollywood cinema: One that doesn’t cop out. That, in itself, is a tremendous victory.

As those who’ve watched his Pusher trilogy as well Tom Hardy’s brilliant, psychotic coming-out party in Bronson can testify, Winding Refn is a momentous talent. In fact, the lyrics of Kavinsky and Lovefoxxx’s “Nightcall,” which overtures the opening sequence, speaks of both the director as well as Gosling’s Driver: There’s something about you, it’s hard to explain. They’re talking about you, boy, like you’re still the same. In short: They are not to be underestimated. Drive shows the maturation of Winding Refn as a controlled director, Gosling as an action star and together they’ve come up with a fine piece of entertainment that’s a beauty to look at, satisfying to watch and evocative enough to remember.

Out of the Past by Jacques Tourneur is the yearly favorite from 1947 as listed in Life as Fiction (Through Time): An Exercise in the Clockwork and Constriction of Cinematic History, a project to chronicle my favorite film for each year from 1921 to the present.

1947 / Jacques Tourneur > It’s pretty obvious why David Cronenberg paid homage to Out of the Past in A History of Violence: If you’re going to put a twist on a genre, why not pay respect to its standard-bearers? Tourneur’s take on classic film-noir is thoughtful and riveting. The directing is meticulous, setting up a moody atmosphere, taking time to play out scenes that would otherwise have been rushed and making sure each of our characters are aptly developed. I can also now finally understand why Robert Mitchum was such a big deal. His quiet poise calls upon him an honest appearance while underneath he has the ability to carry deeper, darker secrets. And in a film where Jane Greer counters him as a dame of great beauty and equally great villainy, both work together balancing each others’ brilliant performances.

But fundamentals aside, Out of the Past is more notable for its congruence of issues: Lies, murder, secret pasts, infidelity, love, hope, greed, happiness. Novelist and screenwriter Daniel Mainwaring threw the kitchen sink plus some toiletry in the story’s mix of ingredients. But what amazes is how well it all works out. The final scene with the boy stands the test of time as one of those moments that leave you wondering the improbable quality of the film you’ve just witnessed. These days, the descendants of noir have simply too much cynicism or lack of storytelling skills to be this effective.

Originally posted on February 11, 2009 before inclusion into (Through Time).

#2: Somewhere by Sofia Coppola. In the ten days leading up to the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I listed my ten favorite films of 2010, each accompanied by a custom Criterion Collection cover inspired by Sam Smith’s Top 10 of 2010 Poster Project.

2010 / Sofia Coppola > For the third straight film, Coppola dives into the emotional troubles of the rich and famous. While the general perception may be that money has the ability to buy one happiness, the truth is that wealth is a relative meter of comfort and works only as a superficial divider amongst the populace. One of the great examinations of this came from Nick Smith in Metropolitan: “It’s a tiny bit arrogant of people to go around worrying about those less fortunate.” The theory works completely in reverse as well. Mistakes can be made by anyone, regardless of job, money or location. It’s how we deal with those mistakes and what we learn from them that actually defines us.

In Somewhere, we follow Johnny Marco (played without pretension by Stephen Dorff), a Hollywood star lacking energy for life. We take in his aimless minutiae until his daughter Cleo pays him a visit. In Cleo, Elle Fanning is able to bring forth the grace of life that wakes up sleeping giants. In what may be my favorite supporting female performance of the year, her simple smiles keep our attention, and we understand, almost instantly, the value of truly loving someone away from all the glitz and glamour the world so continuously taunts us with. Sure, she’s still able to order expensive room service in an Italian hotel because of her father’s fame, but it’s more important to think of the loving kinship here than let our mechanical jealousies take precedence.

Of all films from 2010, Somewhere might be the one that I find with the most rewatchable. Every scene mesmerizes in its naturalness—including a wondrous episode of Guitar Hero that many of us can identify with. In contrast to Nicole Holofcener’s Please Give, Coppola doesn’t really force any resolutions. Johnny’s emotional curve remains relatively flat throughout because, let’s face it, some of us never learn our lessons. And while that’s a tragic truth to admit, it’s a link that sticks.

2008 / Charlie Kaufman > Here’s a thought: Twenty years from now when we look at 2008’s global filmography, Synecdoche, New York will be the year’s towering achievement. Kaufman’s directorial debut is an injection of a life into the bloodstream, and the way it shakes down our internal struggles and chaotic delusions is truly magnificent. It’s imperfect in ways it should be, in that pseudo-bullshit philosophical manner that nobody can really explain. And because it tries to explain things so minimally, it becomes the viewer’s movie. Everyone can live this, everyone is this, and as crazy as it sounds, sometimes I find myself thinking that it’s about me. The aging of man is a topic that has been touched upon with much success in the past (Ikiru, Wild Strawberries) but never like this. It’s something only Kaufman can do, and it will undoubtedly polarize, fascinate and confuse for years to come.

1946 / Frank Capra > The television stations loved playing this every Christmas when I was growing up, but I never actually saw the whole thing. The moments I caught here and there over the years, I somewhat fused together, but until now, I never really understood the mythology of George Bailey. Consider this a spiritual companion piece to Memories of Matsuko: Sometimes the things that we want to do weren’t meant for us to begin with. Luck and circumstance are part of the game, and It’s a Wonderful Life shows us the grass doesn’t always have to be greener in order for a happier day. It’s highly manipulative, but ironically not nearly as sentimental as one would expect. By the end, we don’t really care because the manipulation was for a positive cause, because without it the modern moviegoer may be too cynical to enjoy a scene of sincere, unexpected happiness and joy. Could they make this now? I doubt it, but I’m happy that its spirit has barely aged in over half a century.

1968 / Sergio Leone > Most of us who grew up in the 80s only knew Charles Bronson as the man who answered your Death Wish, but before that came the man who stood tall against screen-legend Henry Fonda in Once Upon a Time in the West. Now, I’m not generally a big fan of Westerns—I have a hard time identifying with them, especially the setting and rural lifestyle. But that definitely didn’t keep me from respecting what may be the finest film I’ve ever seen in the genre. Unlike The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, everything here just fits. The long shots linger, making sure we notice Fonda’s gray hair and blue eyes, the glean in Bronson’s squint as he plays the harmonica, the hidden softness beneath Jason Robards’ beard and the mystique of Italian beauty Claudia Cardinale. The story develops in a calculated manner, and then deconstructs itself in a near mirror image. Ennio Morricone’s score is subtler, but still comforts every scene with its soothing touch. But most importantly, there’s a sense of moral ambiguity. Nobody’s outright good or bad, and everybody’s got a bit of the ugly in them.

2007 / Andrew Dominik > I’ve never seen Chopper, but if this is what Dominik is capable of, then Cormac McCarthy’s Cities of the Plain is in great hands. The term “lush” isn’t one you would usually use to describe a Western, but somehow Dominik and cinematographer-extraordinaire Roger Deakins brings that sort of vibrancy to the era heretofore unseen. For its 160 minute running time, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford is an immensely watchable picture that rarely tires, and in fact accelerates into the final 20 minute homestretch. Much of this is driven by the awkward and solemn performance by Casey Affleck in his Oscar-nominated role for Ford. He outshines Brad Pitt at every step, though one could argue this was not an acting film. It was about the mood, the feeling, the drama and the mythology.