Film Forecast

HALFWAY THROUGH 2010, we’re at a point in which movie culture has very clearly split between art and commerce. There used to be excitement about the blur between high and low art; critics could argue for the intellectual virtues of B-movies and genre filmmakers like Quentin Tarantino could slyly employ avant-garde tropes just to enjoy the audacious reference—the high/low joke.

Now the joke’s on us. Hollywood typically adapts changes in cultural expectations to its benefit (though usually without understanding or translating what it means), and this year Hollywood has finally perfected practices that dissolve the high/low blur: The commercial takeover of comic book, video game and television brands as the primary source for new films ([Iron Man 2], [Sex and the City 2](http://www.nypress.com/article-21280-sex-and-the-city-2.html), [The A-Team](http://www.nypress.com/article-21334-the-a-team.html), The Last Airbender, etc.) blots out any possibility for art. This should be making headlines more than the pure hype reviews that regularly appear on the cover of tabloids in order to validate our culture’s submission to thoughtless consumerism.

New Hollywood movies don’t provide cultural continuity through stories and characters; these (potential or failed) blockbusters simply help to sell F/X and 3-D technology. There hasn’t been a hit movie this year that expresses the longings or confusions in our culture, just mainstream fodder ([Toy Story 3] and its infantile ilk) to facilitate the supply-and-demand habit that has taken over and been taken for granted.

When a magazine devoted to weekly entertainment hype recently complained about the financially successful yet uninspiring movie season—citing Sex and the City 2, Iron Man 2 and [Shrek Forever After] as “not as good as” the originals (but how could sequels to garbage be disappointing?)—it was a maddening example of how film journalists narrowcast film discussion, limiting readers’ attention only to Hollywood product. It was a blatant demonstration of the media’s consumer trickery; functioning merely to keep film culture focused on weekend scores and new merchandise.

Instead of heralding the good news that 2010 movie culture actually has provided an inspiring range of experiences and spectacles to delight moviegoers who think outside the Hollywood box, that entertainment weekly’s editorial squeezed the public’s viewpoint. The real news is that today’s split between Art and Junk can be beneficial—exposing the mainstream’s tawdriness for what it is while offering a good number of films that guarantee emotional, intellectual and aesthetic satisfaction.

While some in the mainstream media seek to obscure the enlightening clarity of this split—simply in the interest of maintaining the status quo—I choose to see it as a spark encouraging more adventurous and independent-minded film-watching. Despite the grousing of shills who only measure things by box office grosses or trivial Oscar hype, 2010 has so far produced some of the best movies of the last 10 years.

For the first time, New York Press’ Annual Mid-Year review of movies cites only a little high/low or art/pop integration. Yet it’s a teachable moment: These films point past the inanity of gimmicks and market-tested titles to the real reason people have steadily gone to the movies for more than a century.

These films point past the inanity of gimmicks and market-tested titles to the real reason people have steadily gone to the movies for more than a century.

Alain Resnais’ [Wild Grass] doesn’t require that you have actual stock in the film’s financial fortunes; its profound caprice about two Parisians who discover common ground yet can’t find rapport refines our spiritual capital and may eventually be the best film of the year.

Marco Bellocchio’s [Vincere] should be the year’s most talked-about film, since its examination of Mussolini’s political charisma reflects contemporary political adoration. It could be the most brilliantly relevant film of the year.

Rodrigo García’s [Mother and Child] confounds the trendy acclaim for gender-based indies. García observes the deepest connections of blood, family, community, fate.

Andre Téchiné’s [The Girl on the Train] transfers New York’s Tawana Brawley controversy to contemporary multi-culti France, but replaces blame with absolute compassion.

Pierre Morel’s [From Paris With Love] allows John Travolta to finally answer back to Pulp Fiction, bringing global consciousness to action-flick excitement.

Udayan Prasad’s [The Yellow Handkerchief] took two years to play New York, yet its post-Hurricane Katrina lost souls could not be more movingly timely.

Kyle Patrick Alvarez’s [Easier With Practice] breaks through clichés of sexual identity with its story of human rapport existing without common ground. The directorial debut of the mid-year.

Haile Gerima’s [Teza] is an epic of African political consciousness over the past 30 years, powerful enough to take political discussion beyond media routine.

Jimmy Hayward’s [Jonah Hex] features Neveldine-Taylor’s wild satire in the first comic-book movie worthy of adult speculation.

Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s [Micmacs] mixes eccentric characters with narrative whimsy, plus endless kinesis and wit.

Dennis Dugan’s [Grown Ups] confounds the douche-bag comedy by reminding men (and their women) to mature. Adam Sandler’s funniest movie in a couple of years.

And then there’s the less-bold but worthy amusements: The lifesavvy documentary [The Lottery] and four film-savvy documentaries: [Two in the Wave](http://www.nypress.com/article-21246-a-holy-seduction.html), [Picasso and Braque Go To The Movies](http://www.nypress.com/article-21281-picasso-and-braque-go-to-the-movies.html), Inferno, even the misconceived Great Directors. Visionary breakthroughs like Neil Jordan’s translucent [Ondine](http://www.nypress.com/article-21294-grimy-glamour.html) and the animated film [The Secret of Kells](http://www.nypress.com/article-20975-grim-illumination.html). Human comedies in the richest sense, like Please Give, [Handsome Harry](http://www.nypress.com/article-21114-be-a-man.html), [Looking for Eric](http://www.nypress.com/article-21229-looking-for-eric.html) and [La Mission](http://www.nypress.com/article-21114-be-a-man.html).

All these good pictures had little popularity, while junk has ruled the box office. Bizarrely, it’s the junk that received mainstream media validation. Note the recent campaign several critics have mounted on behalf of Winter’s Bone, a grim, depressive look at backwoods life in the Ozarks. Its feminist message is more artful than the sensationalism of [Precious] but the level of condescension in the film and the reviews is similar. This perverse item of rural-realism is relentlessly gruesome, with a climax more macabre than any of the apocalyptic deaths in Jonah Hex, and yet no scene matches the heart of Jonah resurrecting a dead friend-turned-rival. Even some serious critics are looking in the wrong place for art: Winter’s Bone doesn’t rescue a culture engorged on 3-D and sequels; instead, its self-righteous ugliness falsifies the depth that a rich, diverse movie spectrum can provide. It may be the ultimate proof that film culture’s high/low split has opened a schism between what used to be popular and now is obscure, between civilization and the abyss—or the backwoods of Hollywood.