The tabula rasa quality of nature brings with it numerous interpretive contradictions that are often times difficult to decipher. It’s a plain of undeniable physical beauty, yet horridly cruel in its impending indifference; it can grant some spiritual tranquility, yet also act as an unforgiving tormentor; and for some it’s proof of the divine, yet very few who suffer its elemental extremes are able to find that supposed grace. Through the medium of cinema, the American frontier has been a particular exploration of these battling contrasts, usually acting as a metaphorical backdrop to contemplate philosophical truths. These truths often pertain to an interior conflict between transcendent enlightenment and unchecked individualism: the interior struggle between civilized man and his natural animalistic human nature, a development of varying concepts of justice defined by society or the vengeful individual’s own defiant retribution, and even the concept of survival as attained through communal gathering or through lonesome, determined self-interest. However, for director Alejandro G. Iñárritu and his exploration of the human spirit, the truth is a complex mixture of all these clashing dichotomies. His latest film, The Revenant—which literally means “a person who has returned, supposedly from the dead”—possesses overt spiritual and resurrection connotations juxtaposed with unrelenting punishment and physical brutality, a sort of frontiersman stations of the cross of man, beast, and nature that brings its protagonist closer to divinity through the transcendence of suffering. It’s an endurance test of emotional anguish, physical erosion, and the mental fortitude needed for survival, all of which accumulate to a core message of how a state of grace can be found by letting go of earthly restraints that are anchored by the darkened depths of our instinctual human nature and the ruthless, unforgiving wild that mirrors it. The Revenant might be too harsh, too raw, or too emotionally stagnant in its narrative simplicity for most audiences, but it’s Iñárritu’s seamless blend of vicious corporal realism and ethereal visual poetry that make this harrowing survivalist-vengeance western so immersive and beautifully rewarding for those willing to endure its cold, unyielding journey.

As a cinematic artist, Alejandro G. Iñárritu has found a deep appreciation and muse for the qualities of human suffering as evidenced by a number of his character driven chronicles: the starkly realistic triptych of connected torment in Amorres Perros (2001), the grim reflection on mortality and fatherhood in Biutiful (2010), and even the dizzying meta character study of fleeting prominence and existential meaning in Birdman, or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance (2014). With The Revenant, Iñárritu has found his most literal backdrop for presenting his familiar exploration of personal anguish conquered by a broken, yet willful, spirit in the grisly survivalist account of explorer Hugh Glass (Leonardo DiCaprio). Based on the historical-fiction novel of the same name from Michael Punke, the screenplay is stripped down, streamlined, and dramatized by Iñárritu and co-writer Mark L. Smith (Vacancy, The Holes) to highlight its unconcealed vengeance driven motifs. The screenplay hits all the major dramatic points of the novel: Glass—an outcast guide for a profiting fur-trapping expedition in the 1820s—is left for dead in the wilderness, and must fight the torturous elements, endure his fatal injuries, and survive all encroaching threats so he can take his revenge on those responsible for his misfortune. It’s a brutal testament of punishment, of tenacity, and of acceptance, where the revengeful spirit gives purpose to those in a land where faith and morality have been expunged (as evidence by a decaying wooden church in the middle of its grayly shrouded wilderness). However, the film also ventures how true serenity—the translucent beauty that can be found in the seeming absence of grace—can only be discovered when one is rid of the past, in letting go of personal grievances, accepting the heart-breaking losses, and forgiving the wrongs that have been suffered. It might be straightforward in concept and even simpler in its muddled religiosity, but The Revenant is more experimental in its revisionist ambitions and its template serves as a foundational launching point for its intended lyrical poignancy.

If Glass represents the difficult struggle of preserving humanity amidst a growing faithless and empty landscape of the uncivilized wilderness, then his antagonistic foil John Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy)—the man who leaves him for dead—represents the full embodiment of nature’s unknown morality. This uncivilized, half-scalped villain lives and breathes the Social-Darwinist mantra of “survival of the fittest,” living out the relativist recreation of the moral order by ascribing to the Nietzschean consequences of what happens when “God is dead.” He even recalls a story about how his father saw “God” in the eyes of a squirrel, and didn’t hesitate to eat it (when the film drifts into obtuse dialogue of this kind it begins to show its minor weaknesses). The need to enact vengeance on the duplicitous and corrupt Fitzgerald is what drives Glass, but it’s also what takes him to the point of no return. These two characters represent the two possible outcomes that emerge when exposed to the indifference of nature, and how the uncivilized wilderness with no sense of religious, societal, or structured moral order can make even the best of men untamed, self-interested beasts. It’s a testament to the performances of both these men that make the dichotomies contained in The Revenant resonate with such vibrancy. Hardy utilizes his ability to physically disappear into a role as an intense advantage, and in expressing the character’s villainy and greed with an unrestrained dedication he makes it completely believable why someone would venture the elemental extremes to claim their vengeance on him. Leonardo DiCaprio makes that journey a believable necessity for abandoned explorer Glas with a portrayal of wordless tribulations represented through crawling agony, limping frailty, and a determined physicality, which shows an astonishing range from the already talented Oscar-nominee. Whenever he does speak it’s through a Native American tongue with his mixed race son or through the pained rasp of a man teetering on the edge of death. DiCaprio’s dedication, discovery of catharsis, and journey through a beautiful character arc is what gives The Revenant its rewarding end to its harrowing journey of spirituality found in intense brutality.

Iñárritu’s visual experimentation is clearly channeling the dreamlike attributes of Andrei Tarkovsky and Terrence Malick, both of whom construct projects that linger, flow, and transform utilizing their metaphorical physical surroundings. Though far more ruthless in its delivery, The Revenant does succeed in mimicking the artistic genre’s experimental conventions: prolonged sweeping shots of glacial rivers, haunting forestry, and the shrouded mists of the untampered wilderness; dreamlike escapism to imagined settings; surreal whispers of an alluded spiritual realm; and unspoken flashbacks that intermittently unravel a character’s subjectivity and hidden demons. Collaborating cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki (Gravity, Birdman) has been a leading visual influence behind Malick’s hushed spirituality, having filmed both The New World (2005) and Tree of Life (2011), so it’s no wonder that The Revenant’s otherworldly qualities seem confident in their familiarity. But this borrowed attribute seems intent on twisting Malick’s flattering view of man as part of nature’s immediate tranquility, as The Revenant’s purposeful visual choices obstruct nature’s emergence with the use of snow cover, the sprawling concealment of gray clouds above, and the indistinguishable monotony of the forest. Iñárritu and Lubezki capture their film with unflattering natural light in the unforgiving, frigid, harsh terrain of the untampered outskirts of Calgary, Montana, and Argentina, always invoking palpable realism that interrupts the film’s occasional brushes with the spiritual. Lubezki’s lens flows throughout every thrilling sequence with pitiless verisimilitude, whether it’s the 360-degree surrounded sense of dread amidst an Indian raid, a one shot mano a mano knife fight in the snow, or the astoundingly conjured bear mauling that’s shocking in its violent detailing and relentless in its one take intensity. These immaculately crafted sequences are ided by the eerie score from Bryce Dessner, Carsten Nicolai, and Ryuichi Sakamoto, all of which allow The Revenant to find its immersive power in feeling, or rather its ability to be deeply involving even when it’s at its most harrowing.

There’s no denying that Iñárritu can be bombastic in his filmmaking and even be maddeningly simplistic as a messenger, which are both prominent features in some of his cruder works from Babel (2006) to Biutiful (2010). Subtlety isn’t part of his delicate wheelhouse of talents, which is why Birdman, or the Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance worked so well in its playful self-awareness towards its exaggerated technicality, humoristic performances, and how the hyperbole of its message was ingrained in the material. The Revenant works on this same level, though not as an equal. It’s a series of potently crafted sequences around an emotionally powerful performance, but it’s all guided by a narrative that’s overly simplistic in its existential contemplations and has wide psychological brush strokes. The stripped down story never quite matches the immersive appeal of Iñárritu’s technical virtuosity, an aspect that makes it difficult to love even though it’s easy to admire. Still, there’s something to be said for daring craftsmanship, and Iñárritu makes the case that greatness can be found within each astonishing moment after moment, even if the entire piece lacks in overall effectiveness. There’s inventiveness in its imagery, gripping emotion in its dramatics, and some thought-provoking reflection on the graceful transcendence of suffering. And even though narrative contemplation and technical prowess don’t meet as pristinely as spirituality and the corporeal existence do in The Revenant, there’s still much to admire about its epic scale ambition. Because of that ambition The Revenant makes itself a theatrical event, one that dazzles with visual artistry though just barely misses the opportunity for actual greatness.

Grade: B+

This film will be in limited release Dec. 25th; Wide release January 8th

It’s quite unsurprising that culture satirist, jocular director, and blustery social media persona Adam McKay would force his career towards tackling more discerning political material. This is, after all, the director who thinks his comedies possess some insightfully biting partisan subtext, such as the supposedly astute critique of TV news culture in Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (2004), the insulting simplification of the “bitter guns and religion clingers” of the flyover Midwest in Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (2006), and the absurd ending to his white-collar crime comedy The Other Guys (2010) that dumps graphs, figures, and charts relating to the bank bailouts and CEO salaries. It’s that last film’s sense of irritable civics ranting and populist ire towards “too big to fail” Banks, white-collar crime, and systemic fraud in the financial world that has guided McKay to adapting Michael Lewis’s 2010 best-selling book, The Big Short. The film, just like the book, attempts to make a farce out of a tragedy, and seeks to build a comprehensive portrait of the 2008 financial collapse via insider gamesmanship, fraudulent ratings agencies, and faulty regulation. And just like the book, the film confuses symptoms of the crisis for the actual causes, simply highlighting one major piece of an incredibly complicated puzzle. There’s no mention of the Community Reinvestment Act of 1977, the government’s threats of judicial oversight to promote home ownership at any cost, no analysis of Fannie Mae & Freddie Mac’s fueling of housing prices, and certainly no assessment of the implicit “too big to fail” safety net that misaligned incentives. The Big Short is a classic example of being angry at the players who took advantage of a government-manipulated market that was above the failure of risk and backed by favored subsidies for housing investment. However, those looking for an energized, madcap, and selectively dense introduction to how a market bubble generates and then pops, this might be a solid fictional entertainment account to begin beyond the generally fact-based Charles Ferguson documentary Inside Job (2010).

But getting on board with The Big Short requires an uphill battle in narrative sympathy, mainly to follow the heroic investment practices of hedge-fund outsiders who predicted and sought to profit on the impending implosion of the housing market. This was an equally difficult task sought out in J.C. Chandor’s superior Wall Street drama Margin Call (2011), but Chandor’s reverence for the system and disappointment in its failings came off as fatherly, mournfully respectfully, and completely genuine. With The Big Short, McKay and co-writer Charles Randolph (Love & Other Drugs, The Life of David Gale) clearly have no respectful consideration towards the system as an ideal or its benefits, so their entire premise comes off as sagging indignation. That doesn’t stop them from injecting their prominent sense of self-satisfied smugness into the kinetic proceedings of investment dealings and opaque financial terms. If you don’t understand certain phrases—whether they be “credit-default swaps,” “collateralized debt obligations,” or even “mortgage-backed securities”—don’t worry, the film utilizes breaking-the-fourth-wall gimmickry and celebrity driven PSAs to explain them to those unfamiliar. And though these moments provide some mildly humorous spectacles reminiscent of the director’s more goofball sensibilities, it does showcase a problem with source material adaptation. Lewis’s book had ample time to flesh out characters, weave in narrative vignettes, and explore the financial world in stupefying depth, but a film has one commodity that goes against it: limited time. The result is a film that mildly entertains through sheer force of energetic will, but is weighed down by constant expository clarifications; clarifications that unfortunately show only a limited understanding of the system the writers are criticizing. While the film does a fine job in replicating the book’s ability to demystify the glorified world of finance, it never reaches the level of scathing polemic that it so desperately wants to be. Luckily for the viewer this is a problem with thematic fullness and not in the moment to moment entertainment the film can provide.

Guiding us through McKay’s slightly dramatized adaptation—a mixture of business world thriller, goofball heist movie, and a pretentious invention of financial didacticism—are a group of four antisocial outcasts who eventually come to see the writing on the wall: non-conformist money manager Michael Burry, M.D. (Christian Bale), incensed hedge-fund manager Mark Baum (Steve Carell, based on Steve Eisman), slick Deutsche Bank profiteer and narrator Jared Vennett (Ryan Gosling, originally Greg Lippmann in the book), and a duo of fledgling Colorado investors, Jamie Shipley (Finn Wittrock) and Charlie Geller (John Magaro). Having a generally good eye for character archetypes, McKay fashions these colorful iconoclasts with his developed comedic skill into the sympathetic mavericks we inevitably are charmed into liking (most likely aided by all around good performances). And one of the film’s devious strengths is generating a sympathetic investment towards Burry’s confident projections, Baum’s moral righteousness, Vennett’s smug exploitation, and the duo’s underdog finance strategy, which of course inevitably means we’re cheering on their success along with the ruin of the American economy. Because of its kinetic presentation that inevitable realization creeps slowly on the viewer, mostly when veteran finance mentor Ben Rickert (Brad Pitt) scolds his protégés and the audience that homes will be lost, jobs will vanish, and the loss of life that correlates with those impending disasters will also increase. It’s one of the only instances of human consequence that The Big Short ventures, though not in the devastating way that Ramin Bahrani’s excellent 99 Homes (2015) did with such empathetic appeal. Because there’s no happy ending to this financial and human tragedy of miscalculation and a manipulated system, there’s an odd contrast between the film’s core playful dynamism ingrained in Barry Ackroyd’s camera and Hank Corwin’s editing and the film’s solemn ending heightened by Nicholas Britell’s somber score. This unfortunately results in a film that’s uneven, but also wastes its most glorious opportunity: to serve as a warning for future impending bubbles (a reemerging house bubble, education, etc.), but the film feels distracted in its misaligned rage and vehement disgust pointed only towards the past.

McKay’s politicized wrath often drags The Big Short into jagged pontificating over the lack of legal consequences brought upon the fraudsters at the heart of the financial collapse. Certainly there’s room for some mild righteousness—especially towards the bailout with taxpayer monies—but this overarching moral superiority gets lost in the frantic, almost erratic creative execution. It wouldn’t be such an issue if this fast-paced technicality—ignited by a mixture of what appears to be adrenaline and speed—didn’t also lose track of the human consequence of the system’s failures. Near the end there are some minor manipulative imagery additions of families losing their homes that seeks to give the film its desired heart, but the moments of loss come too late. There’s also a upending irony at play within the film’s assumptions towards the intelligence of its audience being able to understand the complicated system of trading, investing, and buying, yet the kinetic style also assumes modern audiences lack focus (they might, but there’s still a contradiction in the film’s appeal). It’s unfortunate because the characters are so vibrant, so complex in their goals and emerging understanding of what’s really at stake that the film didn’t necessarily need its stylistic distractions. A wonderful Steve Carell finding his best dramatic footing to date as the irascible Mark Baum, and along with his team of financial cohorts (including the great acting talents of Rafe Spall, Jamish Linklater, and Jeremy Strong) they showcase a divided moral compass between fiduciary responsibility to the clientele and a knowing mistrust in the broken system. They’re players in the game that, despite their cynicism, still have what Gosling’s Vennett states—with melancholic derision—as faith in the system. And what’s truly unfortunate about McKay’s analytical conclusion is that faith in financial institutions shouldn’t exist. The Big Short might be the director’s therapeutic release towards “hyper-capitalism” (accurately known as government coerced corporatism), but it’s fueled by a mistrust of the financial markets benefits, a misdiagnosis of its causes, and a complete misunderstanding of how it actually operates.

For those who were erroneously critical of Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) in its supposed glorification of Wall Street’s avarice, McKay’s The Big Short might serve as the cinematic remedy in its indignation towards the operation of financial markets. Because of the prominence of the financial market, the film does make it clear that there’s always a risk in its failing to impact people where it hurts most: their wallets, their homes, and especially their lives. With this in mind it’s exceptionally difficult to make an atmosphere of whimsy when the impending end is one of immense calamity, but somehow the film’s process keeps a recurring sense of levity towards its outrageous outcomes. It’s well cast, and exceptionally acted by an ensemble that understands comedic boisterousness and an equal measure of dramatic impact. Unfortunately, these are merely occasional positive attributes that carry the viewer through its constant frantic exposition and minimal unraveling of the 2008 financial collapse’s causes. Certainly banks acted immorally, but they were making decisions within a playing field that was removed from risk, that had eliminated original aligned incentives with free-market principles, and misused highly complex financial products. Items such as collateralized debt obligations can serve positive purposes of spreading risk and creating investment opportunities. But the filmmakers see an abuse of something as a rebuke of the entire system, and that’s an oversimplification that doesn’t do any progress to mending the institution that was already “too big to fail,” and now teeters on even more expansion due to a lack of change in the regulatory relationship between government and business. The Big Short mildly entertains, and stokes a fire of rage with its Occupy Wall Street platitudes, but ultimately serves as a forgettable diagnosis of a continuing flawed system.

Grade: C+

After years of anticipation and months of slowly revealing trailers, junkets, and theories, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens has finally arrived as the cinematic event of your lifetime, at least according to Disney and their marketeers (yes, that misspelling is intentional). The rabid fans of this beloved franchise—who teeter between the reservedly patriotic to the annoyingly jingoistic—have been desperate for a redemptive continuation of George Lucas’ original space opera mythology ever since their hearts broke in shocked disappointment witnessing the dreaded prequels. Not even the most avid of fans could really defend with earnestness the cartoonish atrocity of The Phantom Menace (1999), the inconsequential bore that was Attack of the Clones (2002), or the tolerable deformity that ended it all in Revenge of the Sith (2005). Any new continuation’s success would have to reconcile that unquenched yearning for more adventures “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away,” and Disney seemed intent on doing what they do best: rigorously pander to the expectations of fans while simultaneously taking advantage of their demoralized standard of quality. And what The Force Awakens indeed does is deliver a well-crafted, mildly entertaining, though suspiciously familiar product that defines safe, aspiring to only indulge the fan’s nostalgia and never once risking to defy the impending uniformity that will leave the franchise creatively inert. For some, that embrace of mythological reiteration—the constant cyclical battle between dark versus light or the Force’s need to be rebalanced generation after generation—might be enough, especially for those still reeling from prequel disappointment. But for others, this is a lethargic retreat into formula that appeases rather than challenges, stilts rather than grows, and is incredibly sad for those willing to give it much of a thought beyond their initial euphoric pleasure. George Lucas’ Star Wars (1977) and its subsequent chapters became mythic through creative reinvention, taking creative influences, borrowed myths, and familiar archetypes into a world that ignited the imagination for something different, something greater. Unfortunately, The Force Awakens is merely a manufactured clone, an occasionally thrilling yet thoroughly empty echo from the past that delivers the basest of pleasures and nothing imaginative or more.

It’s rather no surprise that J.J. Abrams would be the perfect apprentice to rebuild Disney’s new line of Star Wars products, mostly because he’s already made a similar vision through his two space opera auditions: Star Trek (2009) and Star Trek: Into Darkness (2013). Though relatively entertaining, Abrams’ Star Trek franchise simply took the familiar characters, plot conventions, and visual touches to build an endearing tribute to Gene Rodenberry’s cerebral science-fiction adventures without really understanding the ethos that defined the original series. Abrams is a cinematic mimic who doesn’t possess a directorial voice of his own, whether he’s creating synthetic nostalgia driven sentiment for the altar of Spielberg’s Amblin years with the likes of Super 8 (2011) or retooling the familiarity of Mission Impossible III (2006) to satisfy audience’s basic expectations. And so with The Force Awakens, just like with his Star Trek (2009), Abrams has chosen to rewind the franchise and deliver a story that’s an underwhelming imitation, this time of Episode IV: A New Hope (1977) with hasty additions from Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back (1980). The script—written by Abrams and his screenwriting team of Michael Arndt (Little Miss Sunshine, Oblivion) and the legendary Lawrence Kasdan (The Empire Strikes Back, The Big Chill)—has been stripped down to a shallow facsimile: there’s a droid with secret plans abandoned on a desert planet; there’s an orphan with latent and unrealized abilities; there’s an outcast being chased by his past who originally wants to be free of it, but finds acceptance in a new place; there’s a masked villain with a secret familial connection and a spherical space station that can destroy planets (or solar systems in this case); and there’s a Resistance (Rebellion) embattling an encroaching First Order (Empire) in one of the most incoherent Galactic political setups the series has ever had. This all might be difficult to miss on the first couple of viewings because the film’s erratic pace distracts and its humor can be infectious, which makes for an undeniable fun theme park attraction but nothing beyond it. Also, merely having the skeletal structure of a film brings disadvantages in development, and The Force Awakens doesn’t have graceful lulls or revelatory pauses of the original trilogy that inevitably gave its characters their depth and their powerful presence in our hearts. A reprisal of core narrative components, themes, and character archetypes might generate superficial pacification, but unraveling this glossy fan remake will only reveal a hollow center.

Synthetic copies can be discovered as false representations when you begin to unravel their lack of depth, and that’s distinctly what happens when analyzing The Force Awakens. On the surface, J.J. Abrams has created a film that looks, feels, and sounds like Star Wars through a graceful visual palette from Dan Mindel’s textured 35mm camera, physical sets that feel organically muted yet exotically stunning in its low-tech production design, a suitable blend of old-fashioned puppetry, detailed models, and the modern reliance on CGI, and, of course, the always prominent and evocative score from the prestigious John Williams. A return to the unholy showdown of light versus dark through rough and tumble lightsaber dueling is a rather welcomed touch after the overly choreographed fights from the prequels. But simply invoking a similar visual feel with a comforting tone doesn’t necessarily make the film as part of something great, and Abrams’ clumsy direction only befits a technician trying to keep the well-oiled franchise machine in gear. His action sequences are only mildly thrilling—with iconic X-Wings and TIE Fighters swiftly battling without any real sense of human consequence—and his dismal handling of the plot’s Shakespearean twist of a beloved mentor’s end is delivered with graceless execution, diminishing the emotional impact through sheer obviousness. And that’s why The Force Awakens adds up to something far less than the summation of its charming parts and nostalgic recreations, because it only sets out to create an experience we’ve already had before without any consideration to the original’s character depth, mythic inventions, and emotional surprises. The original Star Wars (1977) was a simulacrum of complicated influences: a narrative template from Flash Gordon serials, sweeping epic westerns, and poetic samurai quests, most notably Akira Kurosawa’s The Hidden Fortress (1958); a creation of its own spiritual identity by merging together the Western source of Christian myth with the Eastern identity of Buddhist philosophy; and it was culturally astute, mirroring the political turmoil of the time and place that surrounded its creator and audience. But The Force Awakens is trapped in a self-contained, self-referential bubble that builds without context and without consideration of its story’s greater tradition: to expand on its allegorical importance, venture deeper into its invented mysticism, and provide at least some minor commentary on our political climate.

But even if the action set-pieces seem similar, the narrative dilemmas seem copied, and revealing hidden connections come off rather forced (revealing a Galactic gene pool that is only mildly less inbred than Back to the Future’s Hill Valley), there’s a great amount of charm ingrained in the manufactured product. If nothing else, Abrams—a self-proclaimed fan and pop culture savant of sorts—carries a genuine affection for the Star Wars universe and gives equal consideration to his characters. It doesn’t hurt that the acting prowess of the substituted new blood of heroes and villains ignites the screen with noticeable presence. Relative silver screen newcomer Daisy Ridley as the plucky scavenger Rey has the proper grit and dramatic skill to make the series’ first female-centered protagonist something of an inspiration. Just like most of the other characters she’s rather underdeveloped—a modernized imitation of the original’s Luke Skywalker—but her confident demeanor and believability give the character some fresh emotional resonance. Her Han comes in the form of ex-Stormtrooper Finn played by the great John Boyega (for those who haven’t seen Attack the Block (2011) you should remedy that quickly), and though there are minor complications to humanizing the Empire’s faceless enemy, he makes for an intriguing character of anxious energy and reluctant spirit. Unfortunately, the villains are a tad underwritten, including the overpromised threat of Gwendoline Christie’s thoroughly disappointing Captain Phasma as well as Domhnall Gleeson’s General Hux—a neutered version of Peter Cushing’s iniquitous Grand Moff Tarkin—who doesn’t necessarily match the intimidating symbolism of the red-and-black Nazi iconography that’s behind him. Luckily Adam Driver’s Kylo Ren—a Darth Vader fanboy whose enthusiasm for a masked getup approaches the edge of meta—possesses physical intensity and invokes a threatening impulsiveness in his immature tantrums. And for those who can’t have Star Wars without their familiar faces there are plenty to be seen throughout The Force Awakens (even some odd ones we didn’t know we wanted, like Nien Nunb), and their emergence always feels adoringly friendly and not completely exploitative. But having the older characters amongst the fresh brood of new faces in this mild expansion of the universe definitely makes the new feel less distinct; they’re simply archetypal copies of the olden faces, which becomes more apparent with each passing scene they all possess together (which might explain the actual limited screen time the classic characters do receive).

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens has been created to service the damaged sensibilities of its beloved fans, and in an attempt to earnestly meet those expectations Disney, J.J. Abrams, and the rest of the company have made a serviceable continuing chapter in the franchise. But is serviceable enough for Star Wars? The prequels, flawed as they were and in desperate need of rewrites, attempted something new to deepen the franchise, and Lucas’ ideas at least contained an understanding of the universe’s mystical identity and defined an understandable Galactic political structure (minus that whole midi-chlorian nonsense). In almost the same flawed approach to his ethos stricken Star Trek (2009), Abrams’ Star Wars doesn’t possess the philosophical understanding of its own galaxy, never attempting to expand on the original’s conceptual, spiritual, or political details. And why should they? Fans don’t necessarily relish in questions towards the emergence of evil, or whether it’s an essential element to actually rebalancing the Force (a revelation perhaps Luke might possess in the coming chapters). They want X-Wing and TIE Fighter dogfights, lightsaber duels, colorful characters with an abnormal delivery of comic relief, the occasional new character amongst the familiar who look aesthetically pleasing to cosplay, and perhaps just an overall tone of fun. And most of that is there in The Force Awakens, though it all never approaches the quality that existed in the original trilogy. Perhaps the franchise will eventually take this shaky foundation and actually explore some unmarked corners within this galaxy far, far away. But there’s worrisome hints that they won’t, because to do so would invite the intangible variable of risk. There’s absolutely no risk taken within The Force Awakens, and while the retreat into the comforting arms of familiar tropes and safety might be reassuring, it also begins the slow death of creativity and the inevitable birth of mediocrity. This should be especially sad for those fans who pondered these chapters with years of previously recognized and democratically created Star Wars canon, before Disney’s newly forming Empire declared it null-and-void (almost as if millions of voices cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced). But all of this will inevitably be forgotten, now that we have an artificial creation that will satisfy its fans enough to blindly return and invite more general audiences back into the galaxy. This sleek recreation of Star Wars will fulfill its minimal requirements to entertain through swift pacing, occasionally whimsical dialogue, and theme park ride action, but ultimately it’s a well-crafted Jedi mind trick that declares, “this is the film you’re looking for.”

Grade: C+

Filmmaker and cinephile Quentin Tarantino’s celluloid occupied brain seems to resist being encumbered by meticulously absorbed cinema history, always being able to refocus his influences beyond simplistic homage and into a refreshing expressive purpose. His unique brand of creativity—admired both by actual film lovers and wannabe movie fans who think liking Tarantino equals cinematic sophistication—is a mixture of regurgitated inspirations and is consistently accompanied with his own theatrical penchant for excess: florid dialogue-driven sequences, ponderous interruptions, extreme bouts of shockingly graphic violence, and a flamboyant use of politically-incorrect declarations. For seven films he has mostly succeeded in modernizing his foundational influences, including the 70s Blaxploitation films behind the creation of Jackie Brown (1997), the vengeance samurai thrillers like Lady Snowblood (1973) that defined his erratic and epic Kill Bill series, and especially the use of revisionist westerns that have guided his last two features, Inglourious Basterds (2009) and Django Unchained (2012). Continuing his fetishistic obsession with the western, the renowned cinematic impresario has created The Hateful Eight, which is introduced to us through typical self-indulgent proclamation in the opening credits as “the 8^th film by Quentin Tarantino.” By opening with a silhouetted stagecoach and lengthy musical overture (by the subliminal Ennio Morricone), Tarantino is attempting to recall a time when films were the equivalent of cinematic events, and his complimentary roadshow to exalt his use of 70mm captured with the long-deserted Ultra Panavision 70 lenses gives a large hint to that very intention. But The Hateful Eight might be the first time his intended spectacle has worked against him, mostly because it’s a visual gimmick unsupported by its claustrophobic stagecoach and cabin interiors and it’s all centered around a sparse narrative that doesn’t justify its over three-hour running time. The film certainly spells out Tarantino oeuvre in the details—a self-contained environment of cinematic pastiche, colorfully vibrant characters who confidently chew on the writer’s often sharp and utterly profane dialogue, and a signature use of over-the-top cartoonish violence—but it’s a film that aspires to be more than it actually can be, which suggests that the godly praised film auteur might possess some semblance of creative mortality.

As usual, Tarantino’s western homage digs deep into previous pioneers of the genre in notable cinematic fashion. It all begins with a stagecoach ride reminiscent of John Ford’s seminal work Stagecoach (1939), it’s set in the callous and cold bounty hunter world of Sergio Corbucci’s The Great Silence (1968), it culminates within a claustrophobic cabin of psychological intrigue much like Delmer Daves’ 3:10 to Yuma (1957), and it’s all done with the Spaghetti western visual splendor of Sergio Leone. And yet, even though its influences are mostly cinematic, The Hateful Eight unfolds more like a theatrical stage play than it does a film. Its intimate encounters with secretive gaudy characters seem more fitting to the mystery world of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None (based on the children’s rhyme Ten Little Indians) or even the existentialist unfolding of Jean-Paul Sartre’s No Exit. It’s all uniquely done according to Tarantino’s creative perversity, producing an exceptionally slow-burner mystery western that meanders in its deliberate pacing and eloquent dialogue repartees, but finds energetic vivacity within its distinctly written characters. It’s less of a “whodunit” like his first feature Reservoir Dogs (1992)—though its limited cast and intimate setting recall it in appropriate throwback fashion—and more of a who’s going to do something, building tension that almost sustains an overly expository first-half that exhaustingly parodies the caricature myth-making of the western genre. It’s a lot of suspended exposition in order to create a lingering sense of suspense for that inevitable propulsion into expected Tarantino chaos, which doesn’t even begin to unfold until well after the midway intermission. And unfortunately, The Hateful Eight struggles to entertain in those exhausting lulls, featuring some of Tarantino’s weakest dialogue exchanges in sometime, probably because the film is his most verbose since his Grindhouse half Death Proof (2007) and is dependent on it immensely (though weak for him could be considered brilliantly eloquent to most aspiring screenwriters). The film’s inevitable violent confrontations do provide that deliciously depraved entertainment we adore from Tarantino, but it’s the exceptionally long, self-indulgent journey to get there that makes you question whether it’s worthwhile.

Fortunately, the ensemble of actors that Tarantino has accumulated for his crew of unlikable western scum makes most of the moments delectable to experience. Trapped in the snowed-in intimate confines of Minnie’s Haberdashery, the distinct cast of characters struggle to find a solid sense of decorum as they all represent the fractured animosities that defined post-Civil War America. This is all highlighted through Tarantino’s ability to utilize protracted dialogue to expose unreserved prejudices, personal resentments, and unsavory connections to approach what could be considered minor political commentary. But the film’s focus is on its mystery and its characters—all of whom are named after obscure directors, B-movie starlets, and supporting cast members from John Ford’s westerns—who all are part of the ten unsuspecting victims of this allegorical interpretation of the Ten Little Indians poem. Only eight of them are prominent in the unfolding mystery without giving anything away: the loquacious and imposing Maj. Marquis Warren (Samuel L. Jackson), a bounty hunter who acts as the film’s Miss Marple sleuth to uncover the mystery; the affable and principled John “The Hangman” Ruth (Kurt Russell), another bounty hunter who is transporting a prisoner for execution; Daisy Domergue (Jennifer Jason Leigh), the aforementioned prisoner in transport who mocks her captor through a bloody Cheshire cat grin; ex-Confederate and unreconstructed Johnny Reb Chris Mannix (Walton Goggins), a soon-to-be-sheriff who thinks himself a master manipulator, but really only possesses utter stupidity; Bob “The Mexican” (Demian Bichir), a monosyllabic, piano-playing housekeeper charged with the upkeep of the Haberdashery; Englishman Oswaldo Molbray (Tim Roth), the actual hangman executioner on his way to a job; the menacingly quiet Joe Gage (Michael Madsen), a stranger who stays idle in the corner; and irritable Confederate General Sandy Smithers (Bruce Dern), a lost soul of purpose now that the war has ended. Each of these fine actors—particularly Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, and Jennifer Jason Leigh—luckily ignite the drawn-out epicurean yet minimalist film of dynamite keg coincidence, mystery, and violence with savagery and humor, filling in the flimsy narrative wholes the script tries to slowly percolate over the course of three-hours.

But even if the narrative feels sparse, the point of its spectacle seems mute, or if it might be a stretch to the auteur’s cinematic sensibilities despite his confidence, The Hateful Eight still remains classic Tarantino phantasmagoria, filled with cinematic references, a stylish visual palette, and enough energy to last an exhausting period of time. In creating his hot-house drama juxtaposed with the cold and indifferent environment, Tarantino has collaborated again with cinematographer Robert Richardson to shoot in the advertised glorious 70mm Ultra Panavision, which is the new form of cinematic self-indulgence that Tarantino has adopted for this film. It almost seems unnecessary to utilize this dead format—which was only used in a select amount of films, such as William Wyler’s Ben-Hur (1959), Lewis Milestone’s Mutiny on the Bounty (1962), and Anthony Mann’s Fall of the Roman Empire (1964)—but the selective frigid exteriors of mountainous landscapes and snow-covered forests certainly pop with a visual density. Whenever they’re inside, whether it’s the interior of the stagecoach or the cabin itself for majority of the film, the gimmick loses its grandiose presence, but Richardson’s fluid camera performs some rather unnatural racking of focus, captures unflattering facial close-ups, and maneuvers through every known crevice of the cabin’s limited amount of space. This all certainly helps in the first-half development (which already has a running-time longer than Reservoir Dogs), but as the film settles into its slowly churning stride—always on the verge of exploding, violent confrontation—the camera’s visual focus expands and contracts the interior’s claustrophobic setting based solely on instinctual feeling. It’s an impressive technical feat that appropriately mesmerizes the audience into visual attention, aided by a haunting score of distant chimes and orchestral minimalism from the legendary Ennio Morricone. Despite its narrative simplicity, undercooked throwaways, and purposefully languid running-time that often times weighs the film down from truly soaring into cinematic greatness, The Hateful Eight at least makes for a visually and sonically hypnotic experience that finds humor in brutality and the savagery within us all.

The unpredictability of Tarantino works often times as a creative benefit, often times alluding our restrained sensibilities and twisting our expectations with each impulsively chaotic moment to moment. Unfortunately, The Hateful Eight lingers in its unpredictable creation with an overly confident sense of overindulgence, never having enough ideas to ponder in its stretched out edifice. There’s always benefits to be found within creative brevity, a tightly formed narrative, and even subtlety, but these are elemental restrictions that Tarantino adamantly rejects and has gotten away with it until now. With growing autonomy over his creative process, Tarantino has become slightly unhinged, steadily transforming his filmmaking prowess into pure cinematic excess that features obtuse twists and uninhibited crudeness. His film about an antiquated time’s race relations and the developing conscious of the Civil War’s Reconstruction era could have had eloquent echoes for our modern contemplation. Instead, the cartoonish and inane bloodbath that unfolds in the finale turns a complex portrait of contrasting ideologies into a simple explosion of blood soaked fury. The Hateful Eight does persist in having some minor intriguing thoughts on how our devolved instinct towards violence and retribution has given birth to what one character refers to as, “dispassion is the essence of justice.” And with its enigmatic, paradoxical end—a blend of horrifying cynicism and the optimism of a potentially uniting future—two men of different race look giddily upon their final act, which just might be the defining future for America itself. This might not be Quentin Tarantino’s self-proclaimed “masterpiece,” as stated at the end of Inglourious Basterds (2009), but it’s a confident addition that entertains even if it doesn’t linger in the mind like his other pieces of dialogue-driven theater.

Grade: B-

25. The End of the Tour– Though it’s incredibly likely that the great, late American novelist David Foster Wallace would have thoroughly objected to the creation of The End of the Tour, it’s actually quite stunning how compassionate and sensitive this unauthorized study is in the hands of director James Ponsoldt. Based on David Lipsky’s memoirs and interviews obtained from his five-day tour with the esteemed writer and adapted by playwright Donald Marguiles, Ponsoldt’s film never sets out to be a traditional biopic of character study. Instead, this philosophical conversation film attempts to tap into a facsimile of spirit that could have been DFW, and becomes an insightful study of creative jealousy, male competitiveness, unorthodox friendship, and, of course, the loneliness that plagues the mind of an artist. Through the two hours of the film we’re graced with only the dramatic drive of pure conversation—about writing, television, technology, relationships, fame, and, most importantly, the quality of being genuine—and it’s all captivating thanks to the thoroughly convincing performances from Jason Segal and Jesse Eisenberg. Though we’ll never really understand the mind, heart, and soul of David Foster Wallace—one that was so unique, advanced, and delicate as to not be of our particular time—Ponsoldt’s film recognizes this reality and creates an experience that touches upon the essence of his being, which is as close as we’ll ever get in the realm of cinema.

24. Bone Tomahawk– As directorial debuts go there might be none as hilariously bizarre or as gruesomely brutal as S. Craig Zahler’s Bone Tomahawk, a film whose grisly, offbeat combination could only be described as John Ford’s The Searchers (1956) meets Italian exploitation horror from Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust (1979). A witty fusion crossbreed of old-fashioned wester veneer, pitch black comedy, and cannibalistic horror, Zahler’s film becomes an appropriately embellished experience filled to the brim with respectfully defined characters. Utilizing these talkative individuals—who almost cross the line into the Tarantino anachronistic void of meaningless discussion—the film drives forward with its devious twisting on all of its chosen genre’s conventions. It’s an elegantly crafted film that shows graceful patience in a director willing to take his time to organically build immense tension, mostly attributed to our growing dedication and admiration for the film’s unique characters and the inevitable sense of dread that accompanies them. It’s so devilishly designed through the director’s unflinching focus on character and violence that once it descends into gruesome brutality in its final act you’re too invested to turn away from its horrors. For those who thought Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight was the pristine film that blended the western with the horror genre’s dread then they should turn to Zahler’s Bone Tomahawk for the genuine article.

23. Goodnight Mommy- There’s something eerily disquieting about the darkly violent, dread-filled thriller Goodnight Mommy. It begins with a lullaby and ends with a twisted gut-punch of terror, mostly to take the idea of juvenile imagination as something to be feared rather than something to be celebrated. Paced with quiet deliberation and possessing a thoroughly sophisticated embrace of terror, this immensely creepy household horror film from directors Severin Fiala and Veronica Franz keeps the tension overflowing in their insidious mother-son familial dynamic. These two filmmakers prove to be masters of diversion and professional conjurors of horror in their creation of a tightly controlled mystery that becomes increasingly more terrifying as more light is shed upon its unfolding revelations. It’s an effectively malevolent film that expertly plays with your nerves and pummels you into submission even if you’ve already guessed its secretive plot reveal. It’s daring storytelling at its finest through the use of harrowing subject matter and tension driven intensity, and those willing to be slightly uncomfortable in their seats will be gripped by the film’s enveloping sense of twisted darkness. Not for the faint of heart, Goodnight Mommy becomes a disorienting nightmare of paranoia and one of the more hauntingly memorable psychological thrillers in some time.

22. Youth– In his latest film Youth—the second of his English speaking films since the bizarre reflection on alienation in This Must Be the Place (2011)—Italian filmmaker Paolo Sorrentino creates a corporeal purgatory represented by an idyllic health spa in the Swiss Alps, where characters reflect and experience life’s ebb and flow of positive and negative gifts: the elusive beauty as well as the haunting devastation of memory, the thriving inspiration and atrophying loss of creativity, and the gainful joys juxtaposed with the harmful fleeting of love. It’s a film that feels intuitively and precisely composed like a symphony, utilizing a circular repetition and inert momentum as a metaphysical state of mind for another of Sorrentino’s stationary protagonists, semi-retired composer Fred Ballinger (Michael Caine). Through Fred’s melancholic disengagement from the world—an understandable avoidance of more pain and disillusionment—the film explores the universal conflict of youth’s lack of wisdom in experiencing its ample opportunities, and aging’s lack of opportunities even when you fully realize what’s been lost. Youth conceives its motifs with harmonious intent, and though minor flaws exist, they seem like welcomed blemishes that humanize the immaculate cinematic experience. Sorrentino has proven again that he’s the pioneering European filmmaker that has resurrected the spirit of Federico Fellini in all of the Italian auteur’s visual and philosophically reflective reverie.

21. It Follows– What makes the subversively intelligent horror film It Follows such a brilliant twist on the classic horror model is its dedication to creating pure clammy-palmed atmosphere. Filled with sexual subtext and inspired by M.R. James’s haunting short story Casting of the Runes—which has been used for numerous hex films from Sam Raimi’s Drag Me to Hell (2009), Hideo Nakata’s RIngu (1998), and Jacques Tourneur’s Night of the Demon (1957)—this unhurried film creeps under your skin with every intentionally slow-moving moment. It might only be his second feature, but David Robert Mitchell doesn’t hesitate to tackle this ambitious John Carpenter homage with great sincerity and a tactful wielding of a deadly external threat. It’s a mixture of horror homage and a self-satirized warning on sexual attitudes from our Americanized and prudish sensibilities, and Mitchell tackles both with a genuine attention. A deeper interpretation could be linked towards what sexuality and intimacy actually mean to us, a sort of self-created malaise from giving oneself fully to another and having to alleviate it through continuous sexual contact. Whether it’s a critique on society’s sexual perceptions or a reflective warning on our developed sexual norms, It Follows still remains at its core a haunting and thrilling horror experience unlike any other this year.

20. What We Do in the Shadows– New Zealand filmmaker Taika Waititi’s mockumentary What We Do in the Shadows proves that a proper satirical insight and burst of energetic spirit can breathe new life into a genre that’s threatened by deadened creative exhaustion, specifically in this case the depleted originality of the vampire genre. Mixing intricate vampire mythology with the mundanity of roommate quibbles, Waititi’s arthouse comedy becomes one of the funniest of the decade through its slyly satirical criticism on millennial slackerdom. It’s an ingeniously intelligent and perceptive analysis of life’s quotidian ups and downs, and it’s all down through the use of deadpan humor, absurdist riffs, and inventive commentary. Though unabashedly silly, even borderline ridiculous, What We do in the Shadows finds its comedic power through an anarchic sitcom setup of vampiric oldsters struggling to with society’s impending modernity, which is all done through a blend of Jim Jarmusch’s loose energy and a revival like quality of Christopher Guest inspired comedic greatness, most notably This is Spinal Tap (1984) and Waiting for Guffman (1996). Waititi has created another homerun that’s an incredible deviation from his previous two features—Eagle vs. Shark (2007) and Boy (2010)—but it nonetheless maintains the filmmaker’s respectful, reflective, and often times silly sensibilities.

19. The Tribe– Societal degradation finds its allegorical quintessence in a Ukrainian boarding school for the deaf in Miroslav Slaboshpitsky’s unconventional silent film The Tribe. It’s a grimly violent and disturbingly brutal study on abandoned self-governance, as the unapologetic pimps, bullies, and robber students of the school take control as the oppressive rulers due to the negligence of their teachers, an aspect that’s clearly influenced from Peter Brook’s Lord of the Flies (1963). Executed through elongated takes, a conversational restriction of pure sign language, and never aided by one moment of orchestral soundtrack, The Tribe is a film that seems as though it’s taking place on entirely different planet. The film’s silence brings about a creeping sense of alienation and anxiety, which suggests that this tribe of deaf youths are left to nurture their own definition of justice through violence—an attribute that defines numerous victim cultures who become reactionary towards their own isolation. Despite its difficult subject matter and incredibly uninviting style, Slaboshpitsky’s delicate and intimate film is actually quite simple in its bleakness, which seeks to give us a warning about the dangerous bond that links humiliation and power. Once you’ve seen The Tribe you’ll be hard-pressed to forget it.

18. Tangerine– Nothing can really prepare you for the madcap chaotic ride that is Sean Baker’s Tangerine, a modern-day screwball farce that follows the misadventures of some transgender prostitutes on the colorfully gritty streets of Los Angeles. Shot entirely on his iPhone5 with an app entitled Filmic Pro, Baker’s film transcends being defined as a novelty by never wasting a single moment in its rough and tumble technical anarchy that entertains in its liveliness and fascinates in its practically French New Wave stylistic embodiment (particularly Godard’s grimy glamour and energetic pith). Astonishingly honest and grittily executed, Tangerine never shies away from portraying its sex worker protagonists as genuine human beings seeking familiar desires despite their avid denunciation of society’s sexual mores. Though a majority of the film focuses on a personal vendetta investigating the discovered infidelity of an alluded Harry Lime-esque pimp, Tangerine’s message is actually about the unbreakable bonds of true friendship, and its final reflective moment proves that momentary lapses of judgment can always be forgiven and understood. Once you’ve fallen to its irresistible and unconventional charm, Tangerine is an unforgettable experience that’s as explosively thrilling as a rollercoaster and as heartfelt as a love poem.

17. The Lobster– Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos might be the current master of high-concept, pitch black, utterly weird comedy, an aspect that he regularly explored in his previous two features Dogtooth (2009) and Alps (2011). His first English speaking outing with The Lobster certainly follows his deadpan sensibilities that’s dripping in blood-soaked absurdism, but underneath the strangeness there lies a glowing human heart. Set in a dystopian society where singletons are forced to choose a partner within 40 days or else be turned into an animal, Lanthimos is reflecting on society’s monogamous attitudes and relationship demands with a biting sense of satire. Though acerbically melancholy, The Lobster nonetheless maintains an inviting and humorous attitude towards its immensely preposterous fictional world that’s pure tongue-in-cheek storytelling that places an unflattering mirror towards how we live and love versus the struggle for individual human identity. It’s an ambitious, thoroughly strange, yet incredibly moving romance that horrifies through sheer suggestion and the creation of a world that, while alien, doesn’t seem all too unfamiliar. It might be one of cinema’s acquired tastes, but for those willing to expand their visual, cinematic, and storytelling palette there’s rewards to be found underneath the layers of weirdness.

16. Creed– the seventh installment of a long-dormant franchise that became the pioneering inventive spiritual reincarnation we’ve been waiting for wasn’t the soulless, derivative remake known as Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, but rather it was Ryan Coogler’s Creed. Working off a promising debut from Fruitvale Station (2013), Coogler doesn’t disappoint with a film that’s teeters between synthetic recreation and glorious tribute, always slanting towards the latter. He breathes new life into this respectable yet battered franchise by having a self-awareness towards the pugilism genre’s sentimentality, maintaining a deep appreciation for the previous chapters of the Rocky series, and simply focusing on the important element of characterization, whether it’s directing his acting muse Michael B. Jordan in the creation of Adonis or deepening the already layered and iconic Rocky Balboa. It’s a brilliant display of cinematic craftsmanship, populist charm, and a repetition of familiar underdog truisms that makes it one of the most memorable and creative franchise extensions in cinematic history. Seeing as how it’s only Coogler’s second feature, Creed serves as a triumphant confirmation of the young filmmaker’s talent and shows that good old-fashioned cinema can be replicated, enhanced, and executed.

15. The Look of Silence– If Joshua Oppenheimer’s haunting documentary The Act of Killing (2012) was an unconventional portrait on the perpetrators of Indonesia’s lawfully enacted genocide, then his companion piece The Look of Silence focuses on the country’s grieving victims. Following a similar unobtrusive direction, Oppenheimer’s latest is a sensitive, devastating study on the families who still live amongst the monsters who enacted acts of cruelty on their community and the corrupt legal system that still allows them to walk free and remain celebrated as war heroes. It’s essential viewing, one that should inspire heartbreak and anger in witnessing a culture’s inexplicable acceptance of crimes without justification. Too often documentaries have become narcissistic exploitations or shallow studies of subjective opinion, but Oppenheimer proves again that the documentary can be a powerful tool in exposing truth by unraveling subject matter that’s morally important, yet sometimes too delicate to touch or too complex to effectively explain. Oppenheimer has established himself as one of the bravest and most creative documentarians to ever tackle the medium, and The Look of Silence expands his Indonesian Atrocity chronicle with delicate grace and the result is an experience that gravely impacts the soul.

14. 99 Homes– Ramin Bahrani’s heart-wrenching drama 99 Homes tackles the home foreclosure crisis in the only way it should be done, which is to put a human face on the consequences that unfold in the aftermath of societal devastation. Utilizing what could only be deemed a stylistic revival of neorealism, Bahrani creates a devastating human drama that provides a sympathetic portrait to both those who suffered evicted loss and those who are forced to evict in order to survive. There’s a natural authenticity to Bahrani’s work—whether it’s his melancholic portrait of a New York City street vendor in Man Push Cart (2007) or his duel character study of loneliness in Goodbye Solo (2009)—and 99 Homes continues that strength with a genuine reflection on self-interested survival. It isn’t an overt pontification—a criticism that definitely can be attributed to its weaker companion piece The Big Short—nor does it provide any simple answers to its complex portrait of debtors, collectors, and in some cases a combination of both. Instead, Bahrani wants us to deeply focus that, after all is analyzed, reanalyzed, and assessed, people are the ones at the heart of the aftermath and those are who end up suffering the consequences of any system’s failings, intentional or not.

13. Sicario– Coming off the success of his gloomy, kidnapping thriller Prisoners (2013) and his experimental doppelganger mind-trip deviation with Enemy (2013), director Denis Villeneuve has delivered his most assured and ferociously visceral work to date with Sicario. A tightly wound thriller about the moral ambiguities and principle compromise that define the endless, violent, and futile War on Drugs, Villeneuve’s film invokes a death stare into the consequences of governmental control and state sponsored violence. It’s aura of constant threat and unnerving menace stays with you in its unrelenting tension driven narrative, always aided by cinematographer Roger Deakins’ merciless camera work that immerses you into its suspenseful and bleak world that reflects this modern human tragedy. It isn’t a political film, nor is it attempting to give plausible answers to this war’s continuous existence, but instead Sicario highlights that sometimes we’re never asking the right questions to our societal ills. Villeneuve creates a palpable reality of raw power, gritty opportunism, and moral relativism that portrays the hard felt realities of the War on Drugs in order to generate whether or not this is a fight worth pursuing. Sicario undoubtedly proves that the Québécois filmmaker’s ability to take on topical subject matter makes him a cinematic voice to keep a devout eye on.

12. The Assassin– After seven long years of creative struggle, intricate planning, and dedicated perseverance, venerated Chinese director Hou Hsiao-Hsien finally brought his immersion into the Wuxia genre to subliminal life. Skillfully elegant, beautifully damaged, and philosophically challenging, The Assassin is both an inward journey of introspection and an outward adventure for its elegiac heroin that artistically blends Tang dynasty history, politics, and class with a narrative wrapped in mystery. What results is an effectively executed film with a meticulous pace that mesmerizes in its tranquil escapism. Set amidst enrapturing bucolic vistas and captured with pristine clarity from cinematographer Ping Bin Lee (In the Mood for Love, Norwegian Wood), Hou delivers a cinematic experience that’s purely reflective in how it transports our souls, both visually and mindfully, into an entirely different fictional dimension of choreographed action, ethereal breaks, and the slow reveal of delicate character layers. To be taken under the film’s deceptively shrouded wings of mystery and character is to allow the incursion of possible transcendence, whether it’s to be amazed in its visual perfection or to allow its gracefulness to grant you the inner peace that exists at its core.

11. White God– The implausibility of Kornél Mundruczó’s White God is what makes the film so arresting in its energetic imagination, an aspect that’s always self-aware in the filmmaker’s particularly conscious storytelling choices. This borderline unclassifiable satire and pseudo-horror thriller about a canine uprising in Budapest makes for one of the strangest yet most captivating cinema experiences this year, mostly because of its thrilling trained animal choreography that was executed without a hint of digital trickery. It’s partly a social metaphor towards class systems, and the general upheaval that always threatens the status quo, but it’s mostly an effective thriller with deadpan sensibilities that captivates you with its slowly building tension and intrigues you with its eerily haunting potential. Though it isn’t easy to embrace all of its bold, brutal, and beautiful ambitions, White God’s ability to generate authentic atmosphere and genuine emotion through pristine technical implementation and heartwarming performances—both human and canine alike—makes it a truly unique thriller. Whether you see it as a parable of familial resentment, an allegory of class uprising, a divine love story between owner and pet, or a unique embodiment on Hitchcockian horror, White God is a film that will stay with you long after the final frames end.

10. Ex Machina– 28 Days Later (2002) and Sunshine (2007) scribe Alex Garland finally graced us with his enchanting directorial debut in Ex Machina, a sleek and unsettling psychological thriller that embraces the writer’s penchant for philosophical preoccupation and genre bending. It’s an intelligent study on artificial intelligence, consciousness, and morality, germinating some ideas that have been contemplated before, though not necessarily through Garland’s inquisitive curiosity. His natural ability behind the camera creates a fertile, polished, and hypnotizing visual experience of enrapturing beauty and absorbing atmosphere that merely compliments his puzzle-box layer writing that has sparse dialogue and selective insights. It features only four actors trapped in the confines of a singular space, but not a moment is wasted and everything methodically builds to its thrillingly romantic and violently action oriented conclusion. It’s a prime example of how the miracle of special effects can be utilized to enhance the service of the narrative, and brings to the forefront the remarkable power of character, whether they’re flesh and blood or metal and wire. Ex Machina maintains a sense of intrigue and mystery to its somewhat familiar proceedings, and makes for a simple pulp sci-fi thriller that is necessary for our tech-savvy age and unforgettable in its ominous tone.

9. Mustang– For those who advocate for equality for women around the world, Deniz Gamze Erguven’s Mustang serves as an indictment as to just how far that reality is from being obtained. Creating a narrative relating to the lack of sexual identity and freedom for young Muslim women inside the repressively traditional society of modern-day Turkey, this important, fearless, and stylish film places us into the perspective of its multiple female protagonists and immerses us into their patriarchal experience. And yet, despite a viewing experience that’s increasingly frustrating as each character is systematically placed into forced engagements, Mustang inspires a prominent ending of hope that perhaps can potentially change for future generations. It’s an important film of valid feminist substance, both on screen and off, and it reminds us that progress is infinitely more difficult when oppression is culturally ingrained. Even though it’s rooted in cultural context, Erguven’s film actually speaks to a universal truth for women everywhere by reflecting on their connecting desires, aspirations, fears, and dreams. A beautiful portrait of sisterhood, a loud celebration of ferocious femininity, and an indictment on patriarchal systems, Mustang might be one of the most bracing and timeless films released this year that’s accentuated in spirit by its formidable ensemble cast of newcomers.

8. Inside Out– Pete Doctor’s Inside Out marked the glorious return of Pixar studios ability to create wholly original and ambitious entertainment, unlike its following film this year The Good Dinosaur. In tackling one of their most daunting subjects—the precariously developing emotions of an adolescent young girl—Inside Out masterfully tackles each of its complex subjects with beautiful attention, which include the elusiveness of memory, the power of the subconscious, the beauty of dreams, and the fleeting permanence of imagination. It’s one of Pixar’s most inventive, gorgeously animated, and emotionally moving masterpieces of dreamy originality, and it becomes a brilliant Jungian psychological lesson for both children and adults alike. Inside Out acts as a bittersweet reflection on life’s moments, creating an intricately complex and matured study on the necessity of sadness to put our more joyous moments into a valid perspective. It’s a riotously beautiful and profound piece of animated entertainment that, while emphasizing an insight on melancholy, is purely dependent on playful pacing, witty insights, and colorful energy. With its unique literal mind-bending concept, Inside Out has established itself as one of the greatest additions in the quality pantheon of Pixar films which argumentatively makes it one of the greatest films of all time.

7. Room– Adapted from Emma Donoghue’s novel of the same name, Room carries with it a beautiful endurance of hope in the darkest confines of human nature. It’s a film about child development, the maternal bond, the difference between noumenal and phenomenal realities, the psychological cost of repression, and the existential joys—and uncontemplated dangers—of freedom. The film’s power in exploring post-traumatic suffering and passionate resilience comes mostly from the dedicated, enthralling, and pitch perfect performances from Brie Larson and remarkable child actor Jacob Tremblay, which also can be attributed to Lenny Abrahamson’s hope-filled direction. What’s fascinating is the film’s ability to make the imprisoned room seem infinitely large and the real world seem claustrophobically limiting, which drives home the psychologically adjustment of its child protagonist’s knowledge gaining. Room might seem like a small film with unrealized ambitions, but its dramatic impact is enormous in how it presents the beautiful dedication of a mother’s love and the unbridled imagination of youth. It’s a profound work of honest and challenging material that will unsettle you to your core, but there’s always hope in its proceedings that reminds us that miracles in even the grimmest of places can still come true.

6. The Revenant– Alejando Gonzalez Iñárritu’s latest film,The Revenant—which literally means “a person who has returned, supposedly from the dead”—possesses overt spiritual and resurrection connotations juxtaposed with unrelenting punishment and physical brutality, a sort of frontiersman stations of the cross of man, beast, and nature that brings its protagonist closer to divinity through the transcendence of suffering. It’s an endurance test of emotional anguish, physical erosion, and the mental fortitude needed for survival, all of which accumulate to a core message of how a state of grace can be found by letting go of earthly restraints that are anchored by the darkened depths of our instinctual human nature and the ruthless, unforgiving wild that mirrors it.The Revenant might be too harsh, too raw, or too emotionally stagnant in its narrative simplicity for most audiences, but it’s Iñárritu’s seamless blend of vicious corporal realism and ethereal visual poetry that make this harrowing survivalist-vengeance western so immersive and beautifully rewarding for those willing to endure its cold, unyielding journey. It’s an endurance test on and off the screen that’s made engrossing through visual excellence thanks to the unflattering natural light photography of cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. It might not be as existentially fascinating as his previous film Birdman, or the Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance (2014), but Iñárritu proves that he’s one of the only hardworking directors these days who still makes projects that are pure cinema.

5. Spotlight– There’s something maturely sobering about Todd McCarthy’s investigative procedural Spotlight, an instant newsroom classic that is meticulously attuned to its process, averse to sensationalism, and thoroughly unwilling to exaggerate heroism or victimhood in order to drive home the film’s incredibly important message. In a world filled with social media immediacy, opinion driven journalism, and sensationalized headlines, Spotlight might be the film we need to remind us that true news takes a dedication of time and spirit to uncover all the important facts. McCarthy’s film might possess one of the finest acting ensembles to grace the screen together, but that shouldn’t distract us from his unadorned expertise as a cinematic storyteller. The film possesses delicate tension, a growing sense of righteousness, and an expertly nuanced step-by-step discovery that is immensely detailed, all of which highlights the uncovering of church hidden abuse, comments on the mass psychological dysfunction that was hiding in plain sight within our communities, and seeks to warn us of continuous damage if these perpetrators and abettors aren’t properly exposed. Comparisons to Alan J. Pakula’s All the President’s Men (1976) and Michael Mann’s The Insider (1999) are loud and continuous, and they are more or less deserved in reference to this praise worthy investigation drama.

4. Carol– Todd Haynes’ Carol might be the most delicately intimate romance picture made in at least several years, if not the past decade. It’s a film about unspoken magnetism, subtle gestures, and furtive glances that defines natural passion, whether it’s between two members of the opposite sex or two members of the same sex. Because of its immaculate craftsmanship and consummate control, Carol never approaches a level of pontification, and instead subverts your preconceptions with a swooning display of romance that’s incredibly familiar in its yearning, but also tragic in its fragility due to society’s expectations and close-minded mores. What’s brilliant about Haynes’ Carol is his ability to make a romance defined as improper to appear infinitely timeless, an ability to invoke a modern evolution of thought into the past’s reservations. Ultimately, Haynes’ pristine period piece recreation in Carol actually feels like an unattainable dream; a masterfully elegant and intimate dance of desire that seems preserved within glass, only to be shattered once its barrier between the past and the present breaks. Carol certainly possesses familiar themes from Haynes’ filmography, and invokes that sensationalized stylish touch from his Douglas Sirk devotee inspiration, but Carol proves it’s a magical and timeless portrayal of finding that dream of love and holding it tight no matter what tries to come between it.

3. Son of Saul– László Nemes’ Son of Saul isn’t just an impressive and unnerving debut feature from an incredibly promising filmmaker, but it’s also the most horrifyingly unique immersion into the cataclysmic horrors that are associated with the living nightmare known as the Holocaust. Exceptionally shot by cinematographer Mátyás Erdély (Miss Bala, James White) in claustrophobic shallow focus—where the hellish vortex of death, piled-up corpses, and gruesome living conditions are on the peripheral view of its protagonist Saul, a Sonderkommando gas-chamber attendant—Nemes’ film has accomplished something truly extraordinary in its ability to honestly depict the atrocities of its controversial subject matter and intimately contemplate the survivalist lengths one will go to in order to stretch out their inevitable mortality. Nemes has created an uncomfortable yet transforming experience that fully realizes the morally repugnant mysteries and realities of this tragic blight on human history that only a handful of documentaries have elucidated, from Alain Resnais’ Night and Fog (1955) to Claude Lanzmann’s essential Shoah (1985). Overwhelming in its earnest conviction, haunting in its breathless execution, and difficult in its presentation of selfish horrors, Son of Saul is powerful, raw, and ruthless cinema at its finest, and will be difficult to surpass in its unabashedly earnest intentions.

2. Mad Max: Fury Road– George Miller’s return to the apocalyptic landscapes of his famed Mad Max series has become the antithesis of cynical franchise extension, mainly because it’s an immaculate mixture of perfected blockbuster entertainment and the thought-provoking grungy overtones of an experimental arthouse picture that defined the versatile director’s early years. Mad Max: Fury Road propels itself forward with untamed momentum and the filmmaker’s penchant for grandiose filmmaking bravado, never stopping to allow its audience to register its ingenious twisting of the genre’s conventions from reengineered gender roles to the desperate acceptance of a deeply flawed hero. It’s not merely an adrenaline infused action extravaganza (though that exists at its entertaining core), but rather it’s an artfully made symphony of intricately designed destruction, gloriously pristine cinematography, and intriguing character foils that all harmoniously blend together to satisfy all of our delicate human senses. Miller has created a work of arguable genius, one that deepens his previous franchise with conceptual fervor, but also stays true to the articulately designed futuristic world he created decades ago. It’s the most thrilling spectacle film in at least a decade, and should become the new template of entertainment with integrity, which means entertainment that is thrilling to experience and equally artistic in its execution.

1. Anomalisa– Charlie Kaufman’s genius lies in his ability to deconstruct the human brain—fragmented piece by fragmented piece, pulpy strain by pulpy strain—and expose its mechanical workings, which speaks to a greater truth towards our damaged, insecure souls. His latest pessimistic study of the human condition is filled with his signature mordantly anarchical humor, yet this time it’s an animated conception co-directed by Kaufman and one off Morel Orel director Duke Johnson. The result couldn’t be more realistic, despite its animated artifice, as the film explores immensely complex themes relating to societal homogeneity, the desperation for connection, the fragility of our individualized conceits, and the fleeting uniqueness one can perceive in a conjoined lonely soul. Anomalisa might be the most stingingly painful anti-romance of the decade, but it’s done so with melancholic honesty and a darkly brilliant psychoanalysis that exposes people for what they truly are: damaged, lonely, and dull individuals who still maintain a sense of hope and inimitable loveliness. Charlie Kaufman has once again created an awkward and strange fictional world that could only be a distorted mirroring of our own depressingly-bland reality, and it’s truly one of the most beautiful, insightful, and essential cinema experiences in a decade.

Honorable Mentions (in alphabetical order): Brooklyn, The Duke of Burgundy, The Gift, James White, Mistress America, Queen of Earth, Slow West, Steve Jobs, Victoria, and Wild Tales

25. War on Everyone

Director: John Michael McDonagh (Calvary, The Guard)

Cast: Alexander Skarsgård, Michael Peña, Tessa Thompson, Theo James, Stephanie Sigman

Synopsis (from IMDB): Two corrupt cops in New Mexico set out to blackmail and frame every criminal unfortunate enough to cross their path. Things take a sinister turn, however, when they try to intimidate someone who is more dangerous than they are. Or is he?

Thoughts: John Michael McDonagh certainly doesn’t live under the shadow of his talented playwright and sometimes filmmaker brother Martin McDonagh, and has created two brilliant films of his own: The Guard (2011) and Calvary (2014). His latest sees him taking a step out of his comfort zone, meaning he’s no longer setting his film in rural Ireland and it’s not headlining the talents of Brendan Gleeson. Instead, McDonagh is tapping into his morbidly dark sense of humor now set in America with a corrupt cop comedy that seems perfectly conjoined to his stylishly violent milieu. There’s no doubt that this perceptive writer and attuned director will be able to deliver darkly comedic observation on American law enforcement that will fit right in with his already established filmmaking pedigree. It also doesn’t hurt that the cast is exceptionally talented, especially the emerging Tessa Thompson who seems to be on a killer hot streak of films from Dear White People (2014) to Selma (2014) to Creed (2015)

24. Certain Women

Director: Kelly Reichardt (Meek’s Cutoff, Wendy & Lucy, Night Moves)

Cast: Laura Dern, Michelle Williams, Kristen Stewart, Lily Gladstone, Jared Harris

Synopsis (from IMDB): The lives of three women intersect in small-town America, where each is imperfectly blazing a trail

 Thoughts: Not many audiences know what to make of a Kelly Reichardt film, mostly because she’s quite capable of creating atmospheric art-house character studies that seem elusive. Whether it’s her activist thriller Night Moves (2013), her contemplative pioneer western Meek’s Cutoff (2011), or her portrait of loneliness in Wendy and Lucy (2008), Reichardt makes truly independent and thought-provoking film. Certain Women brings her back to familiar territory in telling compelling stories about women in America, this time adapted from a series of short stories by author Maile Meloy. She has a powerful cast featuring her regular muse Michelle Williams and the always brilliant Laura Dern, but it’s that Kristen Stewart who brings a questionable variable to the entire affair. Certainly Stewart has been branching off into the indie world with Oliver Assayas’ Clouds of Sils Maria (2014) and Tim Blake Nelson’s Anesthesia (2015), but her talents haven’t yet convinced to sustain over the course of multiple films. But perhaps Reichardt might be the right influence on her potential. It’s quite exciting to see if that’s a possibilities

23. The Circle

Director: James Ponsoldt (The End of the Tour, Smashed, The Spectacular Now)

Cast: Emma Watson, John Boyega, Tom Hanks, Patton Oswalt, Bill Paxton, Karen Gillen

Synopsis (from IMDB): A woman lands a job at a powerful tech company called The Circle, where she becomes involved with a mysterious man

Thoughts: Adaptations have dominated the career of director James Ponsoldt ever since he left behind his original screenplay days of Off the Black (2006) and Smashed (2012) to tackle Tim Tharp’s The Spectacular Now (2013) and then last year’s stellar David Foster Wallace memoir from David Lipsky The End of the Tour (2015). With his next project, Ponsoldt is continuing his adaptation chronicles with Dave Eggers’ The Circle, which seems to be an intriguing blend of dramatic sci-fi and engrossing thriller. Because he’s such a literate and instinctual director there’s no doubt that Ponsoldt can make this film a memorable one, especially with such an incredibly talented cast of newcomers and veterans alike. If there’s anyone who can tackle a complex novel adaptation with the proper attention to detail and the ability to master complex themes, it’s Ponsoldt.

22. The Nice Guys

Director: Shane Black (Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Iron Man 3)

Cast: Russell Crowe, Ryan Gosling, Kim Basinger, Matt Bomer, Margaret Qualley

Synopsis (from IMDB): A private eye investigates the apparent suicide of a fading porn star in 1970s Los Angeles and uncovers a conspiracy

Thoughts: Shane Black’s second directorial project was the divisive Iron Man 3 (2013), a film that was weighed down by formula, questionable creative choices, and typical Disney/Marvel redundancy despite having Black’s wit and breaks into dark humor. Still, the film made well over a billion dollars and the positive outcome from that is more creative freedom for personal projects. So now he’s back with another private investigation black comedy that closely resembles his directorial debut Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005), and if the trailer is anything to go by it should be a raucous and bloody good time. Putting the unlikely duo of Russell Crowe and Ryan Gosling as polar opposite partners in a 1970s mystery thriller might seem counterintuitive, but sometimes the best creative outcomes come from taking casting risks (plus these two can be real pros). Hopefully it isn’t a repetition on his earlier action-comedy works and takes his distinct, witty, and versatile screenwriting to a different level under his now developed direction.

21. Kubo and the Two Strings

Director: Travis Knight (directorial debut)

Cast: Art Parkinson, Matthew McConaughey, Charlize Theron, Ralph Fiennes, Rooney Mara

Synopsis (from IMDB): Kubo lives a quiet, normal life in a small shore side village until a spirit from the past turns his life upside down by re-igniting an age-old vendetta. This causes all sorts of havoc as gods and monsters chase Kubo who, in order to survive, must locate a magical suit of armor once worn by his late father, a legendary Samurai warrior.

Thoughts: Laika—the Portland-based animation company—has had a series of exceptional stop-motion critical hits, including Henry Selick’s adventurously strange adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s Coraline (2009), the pictorially beautiful ParaNorman (2012), and the Monty Python-esque The Boxtrolls (2013). With its next feature, Kubo and the Two Strings, it seems the studio is set to take on even more ambitious material in what seems like fantasy meets an Akira Kurosawa samurai picture, a perfect opportunity for their beautifully designed animation to tackle an epic narrative. Directed for the first time by the studio’s head Travis Knight, this Japanese-influenced fantasy seems like it will push the boundaries of the studio into making a lasting piece of animated artistry. With Pixar resorting to a sequel this year with Finding Dory (a crowd pleaser to be sure) this seems like the animated film that will deserve more critical attention.

20. High-Rise/Free Fire

Director: Ben Wheatley (Kill List, Sightseers, A Field in England)

Cast (for High-Rise): Tom Hiddleston, Jeremy Irons, Sienna Miller, Luke Evans, Elizabeth Moss

Synopsis (for High-Rise): Life for the residents of a tower block begins to run out of control

Cast (for Free Fire): Brie Larson, Cillian Murphy, Jack Reynor, Sharlto Copley, Armie Hammer

Synopsis (for Free Fire): Set in Boston in 1978, a meeting in a deserted warehouse between two gangs turns into a shootout and a game of survival

Thoughts: English director Ben Wheatley filmography is filled with experimental narratives and projects that seem to push the boundaries of cinematic normalcy, especially his last head-trip oddity A Field in England. There’s been a break from his consistent output, but that seems to have culminated to delivering what seems like two incredibly promising films that suit the quirky, strange, and violent filmmaker’s regular attributes. His first is the sci-fi thriller High-Rise, which already has a trailer and looks exceptional in its potential weirdness and phenomenal cast. His other is a Boston gangster film that seems as though it’s a blend of Ben Affleck’s The Town (2010) and Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs (1992). Considering this will be a return to crime drama form from his established beginnings with Down Terrace (2009) and Kill List (2011), Free Fire might be the film that we should ultimately be anticipating from the British auteur.

19. Doctor Strange

Director: Scott Derrickson (Sinister, The Day the Earth Stood Still)

Cast: Benedict Cumberbatch, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Tilda Swinton, Rachel McAdams, Mads Mikkelsen

Synopsis (from IMDB): After his career is destroyed, a brilliant but arrogant surgeon gets a new lease on life when a sorcerer takes him under his wing and trains him to defend the world against evil.

Thoughts: Why did I list Disney/Marvel’s Doctor Strange as one of the most anticipated films over the Russo brothers Captain America: Civil War? To be fair it’s confusing me too, but it might have something to do with the underwhelming trailer for the latter, and the fact that Marvel has been getting better in their introductory films as of late, most notably in the thoroughly entertaining Guardians of the Galaxy (2014) and last year’s surprisingly energetic Ant-Man (2015). Of course the totalitarian Disney hands will attempt to make this as formulaic as possible, but Doctor Strange has the best possible chance of slightly breaking away considering the character’s origins and the focus on mysticism. Plus, it has probably the best cast Disney/Marvel has ever assembled under one superhero roof, most notably the great Tilda Swinton and the phenomenal Mads Mikkelsen. Here’s hoping that Doctor Strange will be the blockbuster surprise of the year.

18. It’s Only the End of the World

Director: Xavier Dolan (Tom at the Farm, Mommy, Laurence Anyways)

Cast: Gaspard Ulliel, Marion Cotillard, Vincent Cassel, Léa Seydoux, Nathalie Baye,

Synopsis (from IMDB): Louis (Gaspard Ulliel), a terminally ill writer, returns home after a long absence to tell his family that he is dying

Thoughts: Québécois wunderkind Xavier Dolan proved he’s one of modern day cinema’s unstoppable forces when he finished his fifth movie in five years with the phenomenal soul-rattling Mommy (2014). With two possible films coming out this year (his first English speaking film The Death and Life of John F. Donovan has been temporarily postponed), the definite release we will see is his second play adaptation after Tom at the Farm (2013): It’s Only the End of the World. Based on the late French playwright Jean-Luc Lagarce’s staging of the same name, Dolan has compiled together an incredibly talented cast to bring this cinematic adaptation to life. Though plays can often present limitations in their staging, Dolan has proven that there aren’t really such things as limitations towards his expressive and open creativity. Considering Dolan has already established himself as one of the top ranking young filmmaking talents in the world this should prove to be a riveting, beautiful, and emotionally devastating experience.

17. The BFG

Director: Steven Spielberg (Jaws, E.T.- The Extra Terrestrial, Schindler’s List)

Cast: Mark Rylance, Ruby Barnhill, Rebecca Hall, Will Forte, Bill Hader, Jemaine Clement

Synopsis (from IMDB): A girl named Sophie encounters the Big Friendly Giant who, despite his intimidating appearance, turns out to be a kindhearted soul who is considered an outcast by the other giants because, unlike his peers, refuses to eat boys and girls

Thoughts: May god or whatever power there is strike down those who mess up Roald Dahl’s The BFG, which is undoubtedly one of the greatest children’s books of all time. But really, what could go wrong? Granted Steven Spielberg hasn’t been on the greatest of filmmaking streaks (with Lincoln (2012) and Bridge of Spies (2015) being mild standouts), but his inherent sentimentality is made for this material, especially when it’s been written by E.T.- The Extra Terrestrial scribe Melissa Mathison (who unfortunately passed away after principal photography had wrapped). It’s problematic to have Disney overseeing this creation, but Spielberg wouldn’t have taken up the opportunity unless he had some sort of creative control, which could definitely work in this projects favor. The early trailer looks promising (despite the initial awkward look of WETA visual effects), and because it’s such a beloved book it just simply has to be good…no exceptions.

16. Salt and Fire

Director: Werner Herzog (Fitzcarraldo, Rescue Dawn, Grizzly Man)

Cast: Gael Garcia Bernal, Michael Shannon, Anita Briem, Werner Herzog, Veronica Ferres

Synopsis (from IMDB): A scientist blames the head of a large company to cause an ecological disaster in South America. But when a volcano begins to present eruption signs, they must unite to avoid disaster, despite their ideological differences.

Thoughts: Early this year you’ll get to experience a Werner Herzog disaster known as Queen of the Desert, and it’s so abysmally bad that it will make you question whether or not you’ll ever want to risk seeing a Werner Herzog film again. But that would be thoroughly unfair to the almost fifty-year career of one of the most idiosyncratic voices in cinema, a filmmaker who has brought us the imperialist Brechtian epic Aguirre, The Wrath of God (1972), the foolish audacity as heroism adventure Fitzcarraldo (1982), and even the documentaries Grizzly Man (2005) and Into the Abyss (2011). The other film out in 2016 is Salt and Fire which seems more in tune to Herzog’s anthropological and contemplative sensibilities; a tale that pits man against the indifferent destruction of nature. Hopefully this becomes another one of Herzog’s perceptive dramas that proves to us again why he’s considered such a cinematic visionary.

15. How to Talk to Girls at Parties

Director: John Cameron Mitchell (Rabbit Hole, Hedwig & the Angry Inch, Shortbus)

Cast: Elle Fanning, Nicole Kidman, Ruth Wilson, Matt Lucas, Alex Sharpe

Synopsis (from IMDB): An alien touring the galaxy breaks away from her group and meets two young inhabitants of the most dangerous place in the Universe: The London suburb of Croydon.

Thoughts: The main reason to be excited for this film is one reason and one reason alone: Neil Gaiman. Based on the author’s Award-winning short story of the same name, How to Talk to Girls at Parties could prove to be a thoroughly whimsical adaptation worthy of the screen placed in the capable directing talents of John Cameron Mitchell. Known for his unyielding and explicit films—such as the genuinely enlivening Shortbus (2006) and the emotionally poignant cult classic Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)—Mitchell has the ability to really tackle anything, especially a sci-fi, punk-modulated, romantic comedy that blends strangeness with accessibility. Of course this could end up being a complete disaster to the possibilities of other Gaiman adaptations, but that seems unlikely considering Mitchell’s cult sensibilities and genuine respect for other’s material.

14. A Monster Calls

Director: J.A. Bayona (The Orphanage, The Impossible)

Cast: Lewis Macdougall, Felicity Jones, Toby Kebbell, Liam Neeson, Sigourney Weaver, Gerladine Chaplin

Synopsis (from IMDB): A boy seeks the help of a tree monster to cope with his single mom’s terminal illness

Thoughts: Director J.A. Bayona’s last two features—the atmospheric haunted house film The Orphanage (2007) and tsunami survival family drama The Impossible (2011)—have both predominately featured children in central dramatic roles. His latest doesn’t seem to be any different, considering it’s an adaptation of Patrick Ness’s low fantastical A Monster Calls. What seems like it could be a blend of Guillermo Del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) and Spike Jonze’s Where the Wild Things Are (2009), Bayona’s latest has a teaser trailer that invokes his definitive tone as a unique cinematic voice. At the center of it all is child actor Lewis Mcdougall who has the opportunity to make up for being involved in the disaster known as Joe Wright’s Pan (2015). Hopefully this darkly toned children’s film involving nightmares, illness, and an unpleasant beast will create the kind of emotional parable we all should expect from enhanced fantasy material.

13. The Bad Batch

Director: Ana Lily Amirpour (A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night)

Cast: Jim Carrey, Keanu Reeves, Jason Momoa, Giovanni Ribisi, Diego Luna

Synopsis (from IMDB): A dystopian love story in a Texas wasteland that’s set in a community of cannibals

Thoughts: Filmmaker Ana Lily Amirpour confidently announced her presence on the filmmaking circuit with a brilliant, assured, and original blend of genres—from horror to film noir to the western—known as A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night. Her refreshing vision on vampire mythology and lore became something much more through Amirpour’s suave cinematic style and effortless existence in the realm of being confidently cool. It’s tough to follow any sort of promising debut, but it seems as though Amirpour seems intent on treading the same unconventional waters of darkly twisting another type of love story. With a larger name ensemble that seems compelling in both their diversity and their potentially out of place casting, The Bad Batch seems like a thoroughly promising continuation for a young female director who has a distinct and passionate cinematic voice.

12. Loving/Midnight Special

Director: Jeff Nichols (Take Shelter, Mud)

Cast (for Loving): Joel Edgerton, Ruth Negga, Michael Shannon, Marton Csokas, Bill Camp

Synopsis (for Loving): Richard and Mildred Loving, an interracial couple, are sentence to prison in Virginia in 1958 for getting married

Cast (for Midnight Special): Michael Shannon, Joel Edgerton, Kirsten Dunst, Adam Driver

Synopsis (for Midnight Special): A father and son go on the run from the government after the dad learns his child possesses special powers

Thoughts: After four years of waiting since the release of Mud (2012) it seems this year we’ll be given the double dose gift of Jeff Nichols with two very different films. Loving—which is the landmark tale of an anti-miscegenation case—seems to be the more topical of his two films, mostly because it has a timely message about societal mores versus individual choice. It seems more fitting to the filmmaker’s uncompromising and quiet style that has defined him as a new voice for Americana cinema. However, Midnight Special—a John Carpenter inspired sci-fi thriller with Spielbergian overtones—seems equally promising, and it would be the filmmaker’s first foray into the realm of the big budget blockbuster. The early trailer makes it seem incredibly intriguing and the cast is sure to make it a must see for numerous types of audiences. With two films from the great Jeff Nichols heading to our cinemas, it’s sure to be a very rich filmmaking year indeed.

11. La La Land

Director: Damien Chazelle (Whiplash, Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench)

Cast: Ryan Gosling, Emma Stone, J.K. Simmons, Finn Wittrock, Rosemarie DeWitt

Synopsis (from IMDB): A jazz pianist falls for an aspiring actress in Los Angeles

Thoughts: The kinetic jazz as boxing film Whiplash (2014) put young filmmaker Damien Chazelle on the map, and he’s not wasting an opportunity to tackle one of the most difficult genres in movie history: The Musical. What seems like a partial remake, at least in spirit, of his own Harvard thesis debut Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench (2009), La La Land seems like a truly ambitious creative endeavor to bring an original musical to the big screen without any established Broadway prominence. Collaborating again with Justin Hurwitz, Chazelle seems to be putting together another inventive jazz piece that may suggest he could be biting off more than he can chew. But if the intensity and immaculate direction of Whiplash (2014) suggests anything it’s that this risk taking filmmaker can pull off incredible dramatic feats.

10. Hail, Caesar!

Director: Joel & Ethan Coen (No Country for Old Men, Inside Llewyn Davis, Fargo)

Cast: Josh Brolin, George Clooney, Scarlett Johansson, Channing Tatum, Ralph Fiennes, Tilda Swinton, Jonah Hill, Frances McDormand

Synopsis (from IMDB): A Hollywood fixer in the 1950s works to keep the studio’s stars in line

Thoughts: The Coen Brothers have established themselves as essential treats to the cinema, and their next film seems like another retreat into their genteel silliness reminiscent of The Big Lebowski (1999) and Burn After Reading (2008). Fictionally based on the real-life Hollywood fixer Eddie Mannix (who was played by Bob Hoskins in Allen Coulter’s Hollywoodland (2006)), Hail, Caesar seems as though it should take Hollywood through the satirical ringer it deserves from the Minnesotan duo. Their usual farcical antics should drive this rambunctious comedy forward, but it also seems there’s a possibility that their dominant signature morbid tone could enter into the equation. Featuring an eclectic cast of familiar Coen collaborators (including George Clooney getting to return in something besides the unfortunate Intolerable Cruelty (2003)) and some desirable new ones, this has everything we could want for from the quirky and perceptive cinematic brothers and could very well become one of their regular classics.

9. The Story of Your Life

Director: Denis Villeneuve (Incendies, Prisoners, Sicario)

Cast: Amy Adams, Jeremy Renner, Forest Whitaker, Michael Stuhlbarg, Tzi Ma

Synopsis (from IMDB): Taking place after alien crafts land around the world, an expert linguist is recruited by the military to determine whether they come in peace or are a threat.

Thoughts: Québécois filmmaker Denis Villeneuve has firmly placed himself firmly on the forefront of first rate modern filmmakers ever since his Oscar-nominated foreign film Incendies (2010). With each emerging film—from his mournful thriller Prisoners (2013) to his mind-bending doppelganger head-trip Enemy (2013) to his morally ambiguous War on Drugs thriller Sicario (2015)—Villeneuve keeps growing as profound cinematic talent. Before he tackles the sequel to Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982)—a project that doesn’t yet feel particularly wise—he was able to make a thoughtful sci-fi adaptation of Ted Chiang’s intriguing novella. The Story of Your Life seems promising as a high-concept science-fiction film about language, perception, and investigation and it has a great cast driving it forward. Though cinematographer Roger Deakins will not be collaborating on this picture, the presence of Bradford Young (A Most Violent Year, Selma) will certainly keep things consistent in visual excellence.

8. Nocturnal Animals

Director: Tom Ford (A Single Man)

Cast: Jake Gyllenhaal, Armie Hammer, Amy Adams, Aaron-Taylor Johnson, Isla Fisher, Michael Shannon

Synopsis (from IMDB): Based on Austin Wright’s Tony and Susan, where a woman finds herself mesmerized by the manuscript for a novel given to her by her ex-husband

Thoughts: The return of fashion designer icon Tom Ford to the realm of filmmaking has been postponed for too long ever since his stunning debut with A Single Man (2009). Just as he explored the deeply interior feelings of his protagonist in his last film, he’s back again to adapt another intriguing self-examination novel from Austin Wright. It all seems appropriately ambitious for the second time filmmaker, and it will no doubt feature his ravishing visual style and exemplary work with fine actors. Though there’s always doubt when Armie Hammer and Aaron-Taylor Johnson enter any acting equation, there’s plenty of talent from Gyllenhaal, Adams, and Shannon to make up for their questionable consistency. If Nocturnal Animals approaches even a partial level of quality of Ford’s first feature, then it will definitely be something to marvel at for years to come.

7. War Machine

Director: David Michôd (Animal Kingdom, The Rover)

Cast: Brad Pitt, Topher Grace, Meg Tilly, Scoot McNairy, Emory Cohen, Will Poulter

Synopsis (from IMDB): A satire of America’s war with Afghanistan with a focus on the people running the campaign

Thoughts: Darkness has defined director David Michôd’s work, whether it’s been his sensational directorial debut in the Australian gangster drama Animal Kingdom (2010) or his drenched in cynicism post-apocalyptic moral study in The Rover (2014). Even his one-off Hollywood script for the unsentimental, black comedy Hesher (2010) was immensely downtrodden, though its potential was butchered in direction by not being in his own hands. Returning to the realm to the darkest side of comedy is an attempt of finding humor in war with War Machine, what could perhaps be described as a modernized version of Robert Altman’s Mash (1970). Getting the Netflix original treatment, it’s safe to say this could make traction with awards contenders and even get more notice than Cary Jo Fukunaga’s Beasts of No Nation (2015) did just last year. An outsider’s perspective might not always be welcome, but Michôd’s writing combined with his directing abilities have proven to be a thrilling combination.

6. American Honey

Director: Andrea Arnold (Fish Tank, Red Road)

Cast: Sasha Lane, Arielle Holmes, Shia LeBeouf, Riley Keough, Will Patton, McCaul Lombardi

Synopsis (from IMDB): A teenage girl with nothing to lose joins a traveling magazine sales crew, and gets caught up in a whirlwind of hard partying, law bending, and young love as she criss-crosses the Midwest with a band of misfits.

Thoughts: Andrea Arnold has established herself as one of the modern day British filmmaking greats with her dedication to gritty realism, whether it’s been her seductive piecemeal thriller Red Road (2007), her skillful naturalistic re-imagining of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights (2011), or her brilliant youth-in-trouble masterpiece Fish Tank (2009). With American Honey she has changed settings from the lower-income urban centers of Britain to the expansive Midwest of America. It’s a road film based around the controversial “Mag crews,” and it’s certainly a film that speaks to her usual talent in showcasing complex female protagonists. Seeing as how she’s considered one of the top tier emerging international auteurs, this American set adventure should see her artistry exposed to more people who need to be more familiar with her work.

5. The Handmaid

Director: Park Chan-Wook (Oldboy, Lady Vengeance, Thirst)

Cast: Ha Jung-Woo, Kim Min-Hee, Jo Jin-Woong

Synopsis (from IMDB): An heiress falls in love with a petty thief. A modernized Korean version of Sarah q Waters’s novel, Fingersmith.

Thoughts: Korean filmmaker Park Chan-Wook is reason enough to get ardently excited for this updated adaptation of Sarah Waters’s novel Fingersmith, a Victorian age tale of lesbianism, servitude, and thievery. His version will be set in Japanese-occupied Korea, and you can be sure it shall tackle some socio-political commentary and his penchant for complicated moral ambiguities, all the while told through his uniquely stylish tone that involves excessive violence and luscious sexuality. Though he deviated into his first English speaking film with Stoker (2013), he’s back in the comfort of his home country and language as he tackles challenging themes ranging from loyalty, betrayal, and desire amidst his chosen esoteric setting. If it’s anything close to approaching the quality of his Vengeance Trilogy—Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (2002), Oldboy (2003), and Lady Vengeance (2005)—or any of his other inventive thrillers than this should be a guaranteed classic.

4. Passengers

Director: Morten Tyldum (Headhunters, The Imitation Game, Fallen Angels)

Cast: Chris Pratt, Jennifer Lawrence, Michael Sheen, Laurence Fishburne

Synopsis (from IMDB): A spacecraft traveling to a distant colony planet and transporting thousands of people has a malfunction in one of its sleep chambers. As a result, a single passenger is awakened 60 years early. Faced with the prospect of growing old and dying alone, he eventually decides to wake up a second passenger.

Thoughts: Up to this point in his career Morten Tyldum has taken a thoroughly conventional cinematic route, which has included his traditional romance dramedy Buddy (2003) and the confident Oscar-bait model for The Imitation Game (2014). However, those who know his twisted and darkly comic thriller Headhunters (2012) know he’s capable of high-concept bending of genre conventions, which is what his next film Passengers looks intent on doing to the science-fiction genre. Tyldum’s confidence behind the camera can’t necessarily fail when aided by a great cast (Pratt and Lawrence for the win), an original script from promising screenwriting talent Jon Spaihts (penned the upcoming Doctor Strange for Marvel), and collaborating with cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto (The Wolf of Wall Street, Brokeback Mountain). Passengers is looking like a unique, high-concept, contemplative sci-fi that could potentially be a leading awards contender.

3. The Salesman

Director: Asghar Farhadi (A Separation, The Past)

Cast: Sahahab Hosseini, Taraneh Alidoosti

Synopsis (from IMDB): Details are vague, but it’s supposedly linked to Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman

Thoughts: It’s tough to anticipate a film that has nothing but scarcity of details about it, but considering this is from Asghar Farhadi—the filmmaker behind the astounding Iranian melodrama A Separation () and his French-speaking follow-up The Past ()—there’s nothing else to feel but anticipatory giddiness. It only helps that it’s linked and most likely inspired by the great playwright Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, which seems like impeccably chosen material for the Iranian dramatist. Whether it’s a direct adaptation, an inspired update, or even an experimental twisting of the material, Farhadi’s morally complex, suspenseful, and continuously involving filmmaking style will be sure to keep us captivated. Apparently it’s already been finished and is seeking out a notable festival circuit, so this might become a prime contender for the foreign language Oscar this upcoming year.

2. The Neon Demon

Director: Nicolas Winding Refn (Drive, Bronson, Only God Forgives)

Cast: Elle Fanning, Jena Malone, Bella Heathcoate, Keanu Reeves, Christina Hendricks

Synopsis (from IMDB): When aspiring model Jesse moves to Los Angeles, her youth and vitality are devoured by a group of beauty-obsessed women who will take any means necessary to get what she has.

Thoughts: Danish filmmaker Nicolas Winding Refn has established himself as one of the most unique new voices in cinema, and his next film might be one of his most ambitious yet. He’s primed here to take the city of Los Angeles and its hyper-superficiality through a stylishly violent and hypnotically surrealist ride that’s inspired by the myths from his home country involving Hungarian serial killer Countess Elizabeth Báthory. Though he’s shaking off the lackluster critical success of his last film Only God Forgives (2013)—a misunderstood homage to the nightmarish filmic poetry of Alejandro Jodorowsky—the filmmaker behind such boundary pushing films such as Drive (2011) and Bronson (2008) demands our undivided cinematic attention. Be sure to keep an eye out for this sure to be hyper-violent and electrically morbid black comedy that will assuredly leave you breathless from his visual experimentation and cringing from its perceptive societal denigration.

1.Silence

Director: Martin Scorsese (Hugo, The Wolf of Wall Street, The Departed)

Cast: Liam Neeson, Andrew Garfield, Adam Driver, Tadanobu Asano

Synopsis (from IMDB): In the seventeenth century, two Jesuit priests face violence and persecution when they travel to Japan to locate their mentor and propagate Christianity.

Thoughts: Martin Scorsese’s years long passion-project to adapt Shusaku Endo’s historical fiction masterpiece will finally make its way into theaters this year, unless it turns out to be a monumental ruse that is meant to induce widespread anticipatory suffering. The Catholic raised, almost-turned-priest filmmaker has tackled religious oriented material before—most notably in his thoroughly underrated adaptation of Nikos Kazantzakis’ novel The Last Temptation of Christ (1988)—and this seems like an opportunity where passion and expertise will make one of his finest additions to his already brilliant filmography. Having been adapted before for the cinema in Masahiro Shinoda’s Chinmoku (1971), it will be incredibly interesting to see how Scorsese invokes his own brilliant interpretation of the powerful material. It’s a riveting book in the hands of an adoring, resourceful, and respectful filmmaker who will undoubtedly do his due diligence in making a grand and emotional cinema experience.

Honorable Mentions:

Free State of Jones (Gary Ross)

Love and Friendship (Whit Stillman)

Keanu (Peter Atencio)

The Light Between the Oceans (Derek Cianfrance)

Wiener-Dog (Todd Solondz)

Gold (Stephen Gaghan)

Triple 9 (John Hillcoat)

Captain America: Civil War (Anthony & Joe Russo)

and X-Men: Apocalypse (Bryan Singer)

This Thursday (January 14th, 2016) the 88th Academy Award nominees will be announced for their inevitable annual presentation February, 28th.  In a year where the awards race has been inconsistent and surprising, there’s no really telling which categories are 100% determined. While there might be one or two definite contenders within each category, the remainder are partially up for grabs. It will be an interesting award year with its fair share of surprises and snubs, but the following is my list of guesses that I’m fairly certain will be between 80 and 90% accurate. But take a look below and see if you agree whether or not this is where the winds are blowing.

Best Picture

The Big Short

Bridge of Spies

Carol

Inside Out

Mad Max: Fury Road

The Martian

The Revenant

Room

Sicario

Spotlight

Other Possibilities: Brooklyn,  Straight Outta Compton, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Trumbo, Steve Jobs, Ex Machina, Beasts of No Nation, The Hateful Eight

Thoughts: There hasn’t really been 10 full nominees ever since the Academy first introduced the categories change back in 2010. However, it’s always best to fill out the list so that if it doesn’t reach 10 you sort of have an extra guess. Above there are some definite contenders (Spotlight, The Revenant, The Big Short, Mad Max: Fury Road), some probable in-between contenders (The Martian, Carol, Bridge of Spies), and then there are some questionable, risky choices (Sicario, Room, Inside Out). The latter three could easily be replaced by other stronger possibilities, such as John Crowley’s wonderful Irish coming-of-age drama Brooklyn,  F. Gary Gray’s serviceable NWA biopic Straight Outta Compton (which I can’t bring myself to add to the list even though its chances are more than likely with its SAG Ensemble, PGA, and WGA nominations), and even J.J. Abrams’ populist nostalgia blockbuster hit Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens. The only reason I’ve omitted PGA nominees Brooklyn and Alex Garland’s sci-fi debut Ex Machina from the possible contenders is because those are the only nominations they’ve received. No cinematographers guild, no editors guild, no SAG ensemble. It’s just likely that they won’t garner the widespread love needed to warrant the Best Picture nomination. There are so many possibilities though, and in a year where there aren’t really any front runners anything could sneak in at the last minute.

Best Director

Tom McCarthy (Spotlight)

George Miller (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu (The Revenant)

Ridley Scott (The Martian)

Todd Haynes (Carol)

Other Possibilities: Adam McKay (The Big Short), Steven Spielberg (Bridge of Spies), László Nemes (Son of Saul), Lenny Abrahamson (Room), F. Gary Gray (Straight Outta Compton), Denis Villeneuve (Sicario)

Thoughts: The Golden Globes gave us a slight indication where some in the film industry are leaning towards with the Best Director Award (though the Hollywood Foreign Press is an unremarkable number and an extremely biased group). Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu’s win for his seamless, beautiful, and ethereal direction for the survivalist western The Revenant has secured him as a possible front runner to win, which would make it two years in a row. However, there’s plenty of competition in the ring, and the above list of contenders could very well become their own front runners depending on other Guild nominations, BAFTA determinations, and perhaps even a slant towards rewarding a director’s entire career (we’re looking at you, Ridley Scott). Adam McKay could sneak into a coveted spot for his kinetic, humorous, yet overdone The Big Short while an Academy favorite Steven Spielberg could also steal a pot. The top five seem to be those listed above though it wouldn’t be much of a surprise this year to see any of them knocked out and replaced by a vast number of other possibilities (though, personally I think Hungarian filmmaker László Nemes should definitely be in there even though it could never happen).

Best Actor

Leonardo DiCaprio (The Revenant)

Michael Fassbender (Steve Jobs)

Eddie Redmayne (The Danish Girl)

Matt Damon (The Martian)

Bryan Cranston (Trumbo)

Other Possibilities: Johnny Depp (Black Mass), Michael Caine (Youth), Will Smith (Concussion), Steve Carell (The Big Short), Tom Hanks (Bridge of Spies), Ian McKellen (Mr. Holmes)

Thoughts: Leonardo DiCaprio might be the only secured winner of any category this year, which is good because if the man loses again who knows what he’ll do to himself (I mean, what does he have to do to earn the respect of the Awards voting body?). Who will fill out the rest of the marginally competitive contenders to keep him company is an entirely different question. Most of the known SAG nominees will most likely make it in there, including Michael Fassbender’s transformative performance as Steve Jobs, Eddie Redmayne’s androgynous embodiment of Lili Elbe in The Danish Girl, and Bryan Cranston’s uneven yet lively performance as screenwriter Dalton Trumbo in Jay Roach’s horrid biopic Trumbo. The fifth and final spot really is between Matt Damon’s superb charismatic performance in The Martian or Johnny Depp’s gangster horror interpretation of Whitey Bulger in Black Mass. It’s unfortunate that these two are fighting for the consideration because they both deserve the nomination more than the usually lovely Bryan Cranston. What’s really unfortunate is that Michael Caine’s exceptional brilliance in Youth and the transcendent Géza Röhrig in Son of Saul won’t get the recognition they deserve.

Best Actress

Brie Larson (Room)

Cate Blanchett (Carol)

Saoirse Ronan (Brooklyn)

Charlotte Rampling (45 Years)

Jennifer Lawrence (Joy)

Other Possibilities: Maggie Smith (The Lady in Van), Charlize Theron (Mad Max: Fury Road), Lily Tomlin (Grandma), Carey Mulligan (Suffragette), Emily Blunt (Sicario), Sarah Silverman (I Smile Back)

Thoughts: A very competitive year for the Best Actress category, so competitive, in fact, that many deserving nominees won’t get the recognition they actually deserve this year. And it’s not even a definite that the above five will be the final contenders because the loyalties for different acting camps seem to be jumping back and forth. After her Golden Globe win it seems the always exquisite Brie Larson will finally be getting a nomination for her delicate and emotional performance in Room, an action that will rectify her non-nomination for her brilliant acting in Short Term 12. Cate Blanchett and Saoirse Ronan will most likely fill out the top three, and it’s anyone’s guess whether or not Jennifer Lawrence will actually claim that final fifth spot (Charlotte Rampling is looking likelier and likelier as the fourth). Lawrence might have won the Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Comedy, but there’s always the possibility she could get pushed out. But I’ve chosen her above because I think that’s a slim possibility.

Best Supporting Actor

Mark Rylance (Bridge of Spies)

Michael Shannon (99 Homes)

Idris Elba (Beasts of No Nation)

Mark Ruffalo (Spotlight)

Sylvester Stallone (Creed)

Other Possibilities: Tom Hardy (The Revenant), Michael Keaton (Spotlight), Christian Bale (The Big Short), Jacob Tremblay (Room), Benicio Del Toro (Sicario)

Thoughts: This category is going to cause immense annoyances within me for a while, mostly because it seems Sylvester Stallone will secure not only a nomination–but also a possible win–for his return to the role of Rocky Balboa for Ryan Coogler’s enjoyable Creed. And even if his performance was rather good (especially for Stallone), and Coogler was able to deepen the character after 40 years of borderline stagnation, it’s just unjustifiable that he should receive a nomination spot over a great deal of better actors and performances of original material this year. His nomination means nothing for Tom Hardy, an actor who has proven himself four times over this year with Mad Max: Fury Road, The Revenant, and a believable duel performance in Legend to warrant some sort of recognition. Stallone’s nomination also means nothing for the best child acting performance in almost ever for Jacob Tremblay in Room, or even the straight and narrow subtle performance of Michael Keaton in Spotlight. This all could very well be a rant for nothing, but the above five seem as though they’re going to be the favorites, minus a possible nomination for Christian Bale in The Big Short over either Michael Shannon or Mark Ruffalo. We’ll see what happens, but be sure that if Stallone carries this nostalgia to a nomination he’ll be an emotional favorite to win.

Best Supporting Actress

Rooney Mara (Carol)

Alicia Vikander (The Danish Girl)

Jennifer Jason Leigh (The Hateful Eight)

Kate Winslet (Steve Jobs)

Rachel McAdams (Spotlight)

Other Possibilities: Jane Fonda (Youth), Helen Mirren (Trumbo), Joan Allen (Room), Kristen Stewart (Clouds of Sils Maria), Helena Bonham Carter (Suffragette), Julie Walters (Brooklyn), Cynthia Nixon (James White)

Thoughts: It’s possible that both Rooney Mara and Alicia Vikander will be considered actually as Best Actress contenders, which would just further complicate the field above and definitely toss out Jennifer Lawrence and maybe even Charlotte Rampling. But it seems as though the campaigns for both films have set their sights on Supporting Actress nominations and they seem like the two definite favorites to act as the top contenders. To fill out the category the likely candidate are Kate Winslet for her fictitious but remarkable performance in Steve Jobs and Jennifer Jason Leigh as the bloody and thrilling criminal mystery in Quentin Tarantino’s western The Hateful Eight. That last spot should be tricky, and if it isn’t Rachel McAdams then it will be a fight between the divas Jane Fonda and Helen Mirren for the spot (though personally neither of them deserve it for two very different reasons). It’s a shame that true independent film gets shadowed by big money campaigns, because if the Academy Awards were about inclusion of genuine talent then Cynthia Nixon would be an easy nomination for her exquisite work in James White.

Best Adapted Screenplay

Steve Jobs (Aaron Sorkin)

Carol (Phyllis Nagy)

Anomalisa (Charlie Kaufman)

The Big Short (Adam McKay & Charles Randolph)

The Martian (Drew Goddard)

Other Possibilities: Room (Emma Donoghue), Brooklyn (Nick Hornby), Trumbo (John McNamara), Creed (Ryan Coogler & Aaron Covington), 45 Years (Andrew Haigh), Mad Max: Fury Road (George Miller, Branden McCarthy, & Nico Lathouris), The Revenant (Mark L. Smith & Alejandro G. Iñárritu)

Thoughts: Another competitive year for the adaptation and it’s still quite uncertain where the current is flowing. However, the safe bets are Aaron Sorkin’s brilliant, practically self-analyzing therapeutic script for the now officially under-appreciated Steve Jobs and the Wall Street comedic indictment The Big Short from Adam McKay & Charles Randolph. The rest tend to get a little murkier, but there’s plenty of positive response to The Martian to get Drew Goddard to secure a position and as more and more people see Todd Haynes’ current masterpiece Carol they’ll be sure to give it the credit it deserves. However, my fifth choice to fill out the category is probably one of my biggest long shots with Charlie Kaufman’s Anomalisa. It’s a pivotal favorite of mine this year and it would be personally devastating to see it not recognized for its immensely creative script based on a radio play he himself wrote. Still, they might see that as not necessarily an adaptation leaving space for Emma Donoghue’s script for Room (which she adapted from her own book) or the always great Nick Hornby’s perceptive Brooklyn. We’ll have to wait till this Thursday to find out.

Best Original Screenplay

Spotlight (Tom McCarthy & Josh Singer)

Inside Out (Pete Docter, Meg LeFauve, & Josh Cooley)

Bridge of Spies (Joel & Ethan Coen, Matt Charman)

Ex Machina (Alex Garland)

The Hateful Eight (Quentin Tarantino)

Other Possibilities: Trainwreck (Amy Schumer), Sicario (Taylor Sheridan), Straight Outta Compton (Jonathan Herman & Andrea Berloff), Joy (David O. Russell), Son of Saul (László Nemes)

Thoughts: Another difficult to pinpoint category, mostly because the WGA, Golden Globes, and BAFTAs have been all over the place with this. However, I’m thinking that the BAFTAs have a good sense of how things will turn out so the above five are the exact five that they have picked for their own established contenders. The only possible upsets could be an unprecedented love for a comedy with Amy Schumer’s Trainwreck or even a lingering dark horse with Taylor Sheridan’s Sicario, which earned itself a WGA nomination (watch out for Sicario all around). Other than that this should be a good general idea of how this category will be presented this coming Thursday.

Best Foreign Language Film

Son of Saul (Hungary)

Mustang (France)

Embrace of the Serpent (Colombia)

Viva (Ireland)

A War (Denmark)

Other Possibilities: The Brand New Testament (Belgium), The Fencer (Finland), Labyrinth of Lies (Germany), Theeb (Jordan)

Thoughts: I have yet to see every Academy Award nominee for Best Foreign Film, which will change in the next coming weeks. However, the above five seem to be getting great awards traction with many of the branches, with Son of Saul and Mustang being the official favorites. Two possible dark horses cold be the little engine that could Jordanian film Theeb, which received multiple BAFTA nominations, or even Germany’s populist thriller Labyrinth of Lies. It’s always a bit unexpected in this category when access to all the films seems to be in the hands of the few, and even the few don’t take full advantage of their opportunities to actually see every film.

Best Animated Feature

Anamolisa

Inside Out

The Peanuts Movie

Shaun the Sheep

The Prophet

 Other Possibilities: The Good Dinosaur, When Marnie Was There, Boy and the World, Minions

Thoughts: Most of the films for this category have established themselves all as front runners, with Pixar’s Inside Out leading the pack with Charlie Kaufman & Duke Johnson’s Anamolisa close behind. But it seems safe to say that the above list will definitely be the top five, even though Pixar’s other release this year The Good Dinosaur (one of their truly weakest narratives accompanied by some of their most remarkable of animation) could replace The Prophet. Sometimes the Academy goes in some surprising directions with this category so we’ll brace ourselves to see if even our suspected favorites can even nab a nomination (for those who were fans of The Lego Movie last year know that even nominations don’t go in your favor sometimes).

Best Documentary Feature

The Look of Silence (Joshua Oppenheimer)

Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief (Alex Gibney)

Amy (Asif Kapadia)

Cartel Land (Matthew Heineman)

Winter on Fire (Evgeny Afineevsky

Other Possibilities: What Happened Ms. Simone? (Liz Garbus), Best of Enemies (Morgan Neville & Robert Gordon), Listen to Me Marlon (Stevan Riley)

Thoughts: Another category I have yet to see all the possible contenders, but have seen a vast majority of them. It seems the top three are looking like Joshua Oppenheimer’s The Look of Silence, Asif Kapadia’s character study of a musical idol Amy, and Matthew Heineman’s Cartel Land. The other two filling out this category could very well be replaced by either What Happened Ms. Simone? or Listen to Me Marlon. It’s hard to get on the pulse with a category that doesn’t offer all of its potential contenders for most public viewing, but these are generally safe bets judging from their subject matter and watch ability.

Best Cinematography

Mad Max: Fury Road (John Seale)

The Revenant (Emmanuel “El Chivo” Lubezki)

Sicario (Roger Deakins)

Carol (Ed Lachman)

The Hateful Eight (Robert Richardson)

Other Possibilities: Bridge of Spies (Janusz Kaminski), Son of Saul (Mátyás Erdély), The Martian (Dariusz Wolski), Spectre (Hoyte Van Hoytema), The Danish Girl (Danny Cohen)

Thoughts: Could this be another year where Emmanuel Lubezki wins for the third year in a row against thirteen time nominee Roger Deakins who has still never won the coveted prize? That would be truly sad, though not entirely unjustified, but it’s safe to say that both of these majestic, immaculate cinematographers will be competing again for the Best Cinematography Academy Award. Keeping them company in the extremely competitive category will be John Seale for Mad Max: Fury Road and Ed Lachman for Carol. The fifth spot is up for grabs, but it seems multiple nominee Robert Richardson’s inventive use of 70mm Panavision could nab the spot for a voting block that seems impressed by those type of things. However, another Academy favorite Janusz Kaminski could very replace him, as he did in the cinematographers guild nominations.

Best Film Editing

The Revenant (Stephen Mirrione)

Mad Max: Fury Road (Margaret Sixel)

The Martian (Pietro Scalia)

The Big Short (Hank Corwin)

Sicario (Joe Walker)

Other Possibilities: Spotlight (Tom McArdle), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Maryann Brandon & Mary Jo Markey), Creed (Maryse Alberti), Beasts of No Nation (Pete Beaudreau & Mikkel E.G. Nielsen), Carol (Affonso Gonçalves)

Thoughts: One of the leading indicators for a Best Picture win has been said to be the Film Editing category (only a nomination suffices), which has led some people to say that potential front runner winner Spotlight won’t win because of its absence in the film editing guild nominations. It’s an intriguing analysis, though I’m not quite sure how accurate it could be when approaching each year’s potential contenders. I do, however, don’t see Spotlight garnering that coveted nomination, simply because there are other films edited with such high caliber artistry that it’s difficult to see it making it through. The above five seem like the strongest competitors this year with potential upsets lingering on the sidelines, such as Steve Jobs or even Creed.

Best Costume Design

Crimson Peak (Kate Hawley)

Mad Max: Fury Road (Jenny Beavan)

The Danish Girl (Paco Delgado)

Carol (Sandy Powell)

Cinderella (Sandy Powell)

Other Possibilities: Bridge of Spies (Kasia Walicka-Maimone), Brooklyn (Odile Dicks-Mireaux)

Thoughts: If it’s old, elegant, or regal, the Academy Costume Designers love themselves period piece attire. It’s safe to say that if your film deals with a different time or has elements of fantasy than it should be up for this illustrious glamour category. The only questionable choice I’ve put into the top five is Crimson Peak, which honestly should be the front runner for a win based solely on its exquisite designs and exceptional costuming. But, unfortunately, the film didn’t gain as much traction as it should have and is leaving it in a faulty position to receive a nomination. It could very well be replaced by two equally designed period piece dramas Bridge of Spies and Brooklyn.

Best Makeup & Hairstyling

Mad Max: Fury Road

The Revenant

Black Mass

Other Possibilities: The 1,000-Year-Old Man, Mr. Holmes, Legend, Concussion

Thoughts: Makeup & Hairstyling is always a strange category since it only allows for three contenders. The above three seem like the only potential front runners for the extremely thin category, with Mr. Holmes acting as the unsuspecting dark horse to leap in the race at any second.

Best Production Design

Mad Max: Fury Road

Carol

Bridge of Spies

The Danish Girl

The Martian

Other Possibilities: Crimson Peak, Cinderella, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Brooklyn, The Hateful Eight

Thoughts: There have been some remarkable production designs this year, and it’s quite the unassuming category that we tend to overlook. Most of the designs that generate the all encompassing worlds we then visually experience are usually done through the production designers interpretation of the writer and director’s input. Without these artists visions we wouldn’t experience the film we end up having without their remarkable details. The above five seem like perfect fits for the category (period pieces, sci-fi, fantasy films), though mysteriously absent is a front runner contender for Crimson Peak. It could very well slip into the category, though it seems unlikely at this point since it isn’t garnering any other sort of awards consideration.

Best Original Score

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (John Williams)

Carol (Carter Burwell)

Inside Out (Michael Giacchino)

The Hateful Eight (Ennio Morricone)

The Danish Girl (Alexandre Desplat)

Other Possibilities: Mad Max: Fury Road (Junkie XL), Spotlight (Howard Shore), Steve Jobs (Daniel Pemberton)

Thoughts: This has been a year of some truly beautiful scores, and it appears that Alexandre Desplat might receive another win for his beautiful, complimentary score for Tom Hooper’s The Danish Girl. Still, there are equal front runners in near competition, especially Carter Burwell’s magnificent score for Carol and the playful yet emotional score from Michael Giacchino for Inside Out. My only contention is the assumed nomination for John Williams, who did a great job in resurrecting many already established score pieces for Star Wars while blending them with his new additions. However, it’s simply a recreation, a use of similar style to invoke a familiarity in the franchise that doesn’t necessarily warrant the definition of Original. If Birdman‘s phenomenal drum score was eliminated from consideration based on its selective use of prerecorded tracks then I think using some already written material should disqualify you from the category. That won’t stop it, but it’s worth noting the inconsistency.

Best Sound Editing

The Revenant

Mad Max: Fury Road

The Martian

Sicario

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens

Other Possibilities: Jurassic World, Creed, Spectre, Jurassic World, Everest, The Avengers: Age of Ultron

Thoughts: Another difficult category to guess, especially when the Sound Editors haven’t even announced their own nominations. You can’t really guess where it’s heading, though there are always good clues to go on when assessing the category. This category is dominated by action films, or films that have inventive uses of sound for the post-production editing process. It’s safe to say the above five are very strong contenders in their use of sound editing, though they very easily could be upended by Jurassic World and Spectre, two franchises that have dominated in this field many times before. I’ve got a strange feeling, however, that neither of them will sneak through based on the immense presence of the above five over the minds of many voting members.

Best Sound Mixing

Inside Out

Mad Max: Fury Road

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens

The Hateful Eight

The Revenant

Other Possibilities: The Martian,  Jurassic World, Creed, Everest, The Avengers: Age of Ultron

Thoughts: Fortunately the Sound Mixers guild did announce their own nominations earlier today, leaving us with a good indication of where the voters are leaning in this category. Sound mixing is of course the actual live capturing of sounds for the use of post-production and sound editing, and each of the above contenders seemed to do that with phenomenal grace and precise planning.

Best Visual Effects

The Revenant

Mad Max: Fury Road

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens

The Walk

Jurassic World

Other Possibilities: The Avengers: Age of Ultron, Ex Machina, Ant-Man, Tomorrowland

Thoughts: Another category dominated by blockbusters and high-budget films that basically force visual effects houses to underbid for the chance at a project and potentially put them in danger of going out of business. It’s an intriguing category that has had winners obtain the award when they no longer exist, which seems like an odd way of obtaining an award. However, this year boasted some incredible uses of special effects in the service of telling a compelling story, most notably The Revenant, The Walk, and Mad Max: Fury Road. The other two potential nominees will be between blockbusters who were solely dependent on their use of special effects, which I have chosen Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens and Jurassic World to fill out the category. Personally I think Ex Machina deserves equal recognition as a story that used special effects to drive forward its narrative instead of as a use of spectacle. It probably won’t make it, but that would be one I’d love to be wrong on this Thursday.

My previous predictions of 20 of the 24 categories weren’t exactly spot on, though I believe they were almost in the range of being 80% correct (or solid C+/B-  work in terms of my own grading scale on this site). There were some surprising omissions from some prominent categories and some minor to major snubs here and there. Discussing it over with a few people I’ve come to the conclusion that the Academy is generally on the money here, about 75%. However, that glaring 25% difference has some startling revelations that we can begin to unravel as I break down each of the following categories below. So here are the nominees in each category along with some personal thoughts on each.

Best Picture

The Big Short

Bridge of Spies

Brooklyn

Mad Max: Fury Road

The Martian

The Revenant

Room

Spotlight

Surprises: Brooklyn; Snubs: Carol, Sicario, and Inside Out

Thoughts: So again we have a year with eight Best Picture nominations when the total possibility can reach up to ten. Some people have remarked that they were surprised to see John Crowley’s simple yet completely endearing Irish coming-of-age drama Brooklyn make it into the Best Picture nominations (even though it did obtain a coveted PGA nomination). As someone who did fall prey to the charms of Nick Hornby’s delightful script, Saoirse Ronan’s wonderful performance, and a film that’s remarkably positive in deeply cynical times, I’m definitely not surprised that the Academy took this film to heart. This isn’t a resounding agreement as to whether or not it does deserve recognition as one of the best films of the year, but it certainly is way more deserving than some of the other films who were becoming potential contenders (namely Trumbo, Straight Outta Compton, and Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens). However, a major snub in this category is the omission of Todd Haynes’ beautiful poem to authentic human magnetism that was Carol. A filmmaker that has yet to deliver a piece of mediocre cinema and is consistently pristine with his style, it’s a shame that the Academy didn’t think this was his time to come with such a marvelous, beautiful, and world shattering film. Another personal investment snub would probably be Denis Villeneuve’s Sicario, mostly because it garnered PGA, WGA, ASC, ACE nominations at the guild and followed suit on many of its technical laurels at the Academy. Not necessarily a surprise omission, but with 10 spots it’s frustrating that it didn’t swing its way into the big competition. Also it would have been nice to see Pixar’s Inside Out make it to compete against its live-action peers, especially with a Best Original Screenplay nomination, but it’s enough for it to have its own category.

Best Director

Tom McCarthy (Spotlight)

George Miller (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu (The Revenant)

Adam McKay (The Big Short)

Lenny Abrahamson (Room)

Surprises: Lenny Abrahamson (Room); Snubs: Todd Haynes (Carol) and Ridley Scott (The Martian)?

Thoughts: Let’s get this one out of the way. I personally never thought Ridley Scott was a viable contender for the Best Directing award, but momentum seemed to be going in his favor with Golden Globe and DGA recognition. It’s a bit surprising here that the Academy deviated so strongly away from the DGA in this regard, but it’s clear individual voting members took Lenny Abrahamson’s unsettling yet hope-filled captivity piece Room to heart this year. The weakest part of Room was Abrahamson’s direction, which luckily didn’t harm the marvelously adapted script and never hindered the gorgeous performances from Brie Larson and phenomenal child actor Jacob Tremblay (though a director should be credited with the performances he’s able to inspire or generate from his talent). Again it’s Todd Haynes who is clearly missing from his just reward of creating such a sweeping romance masterpiece for Carol and it seems that voting members just didn’t take to its graceful, subtle touches. Sure, Adam McKay created a kinetic and entertaining indictment of the financial services industry, but it’s a rather forgettable and mildly inhuman incarnation of a film that sort of misses the point of its own scathing criticism. It was put together well and its brisk pacing probably swayed a decent amount of voting members. It’s just a shame that neither László Nemes or Denis Villeneuve were considered for McKay’s assumed spot, mostly because their respective films–Son of Saul and Sicario–were better achieved pieces of art.

Best Actor

Leonardo DiCaprio (The Revenant)

Michael Fassbender (Steve Jobs)

Eddie Redmayne (The Danish Girl)

Matt Damon (The Martian)

Bryan Cranston (Trumbo)

Surprises: None; Snubs: Géza Röhrig (Son of Saul) and Michael Caine (Youth)

Thoughts: Considering I guessed this category perfectly I wasn’t surprised by any of the nominations. But that doesn’t mean I agree with them. They’re just the five actors who have the most momentum going for them this awards season. Personally I think Bryan Cranston is getting an undeserved free ride into this nomination based on a caricature performance that was mildly insightful yet thoroughly shallow in unraveling the essence of screenwriting talent Dalton Trumbo. He’s an undeniable talent and capable of magnificent dramatics, but Trumbo‘s script and shoddy direction under the watch of Jay Roach was such a disservice to his talent (and yet, people are still eating it up). It lacked the haunting qualities of Johnny Depp’s Whitey Bulger in Black Mass or the delicate vulnerability of Michael Caine in Youth, both of whom deserve a nomination over Cranston. But a personal overlooked performance for me is Géza Röhrig for his immaculate, soul-searching work in Son of Saul, a performance that is the definition of character embodiment and living.

Best Actress

Brie Larson (Room)

Cate Blanchett (Carol)

Saoirse Ronan (Brooklyn)

Charlotte Rampling (45 Years)

Jennifer Lawrence (Joy)

Surprises: None; Snubs: Lily Tomlin (Grandma) or Charlize Theron (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Thoughts: Another category that was immaculately predicted by me, though again my one disagreement is a loud one. Don’t get me wrong, Jennifer Lawrence is a wonderful actress whom I’ve cheered on ever since her first underdog nomination for the haunting Winter’s Bone. However, David O. Russell’s Joy was an absolute mess that had at the center of it a miscast leading lady who had no business playing that role. She did a capable job of handling what was going to be an arduous task of keeping a disorganized film afloat, but let’s be honest, this particular role for this particular film wouldn’t have been nominated had it been anyone other than Jennifer Lawrence. She’s not getting nominated anymore based on talent (than ended after Silver Linings Playbook), but instead on populist appeal. That’s an unsettling progression for any awards venues, though the Academy voting body has never been, nor ever will be, perfect. Had more people seen Lily Tomlin’s brilliant comedic performance in Grandma she would have made it through over Lawrence’s unremarkable one. Personally I would have liked to see Charlize Theron recognized for turning the gender roles of the action genre on its head with a fully captivating and emotionally resonating performance.

Best Supporting Actor

Mark Rylance (Bridge of Spies)

Tom Hardy (The Revenant)

Mark Ruffalo (Spotlight)

Sylvester Stallone (Creed)

Christian Bale (The Big Short)

Surprises: Tom Hardy (The Revenant), Christian Bale (The Big Short); Snubs: Idris Elba (Beasts of No Nation) or Jacob Tremblay (Room)

Thoughts: Perhaps Christian Bale isn’t too much of a surprise considering how much the Academy has loved him, from The Figher to American Hustle. But it’s the pleasantly surprising and deserving first-time nomination for Tom Hardy who has worked extremely hard this year with captivating performances in not only The Revenant, but also in Mad Max: Fury Road and Legend. It’s a deserving nod and one he could potentially take to a win considering the adoring love for The Revenant with 12 nominations total. The obvious snub is that of Idris Elba’s brilliant embodiment of manipulative evil in Cary Joji Fukunaga’s now thoroughly under-appreciated Beasts of No Nation. It’s funny that the Academy took such a drubbing last year for their white-washed awards season, and now that they’ve left a truly deserving black actors name out of the running again (last year it was David Oyelowo for Selma) they’ve opened themselves up again to scathing criticism. It really should be Idris’ name listed instead of both Christian Bale or even populist favorite Sylvester Stallone, and most people who take the acting craft seriously should know that.

Best Supporting Actress

Rooney Mara (Carol)

Alicia Vikander (The Danish Girl)

Jennifer Jason Leigh (The Hateful Eight)

Kate Winslet (Steve Jobs)

Rachel McAdams (Spotlight)

Surprises: None; Snubs: Cynthia Nixon (James White)

Thoughts: Usually my prediction strengths lie in technical categories, but this year my acting category prediction was practically perfect (minus the Supporting Actor category). This one wasn’t any different and I’m glad to see most of these strong acting talents being recognized for their phenomenal work all around. Rachel McAdams was one that I was worried about, mostly because her performance is basically a study in portraying a character through the most minimalist and assured gestures. She never once showed the technical gears of her performance, making it a fully human one for a fully human film. I really hope Alicia Vikander can take the top honors once the award season is in full swing, not only for her superior performance in The Danish Girl, but also her brilliant life-like transformation into an artificially designed robot with a soul in Ex Machina. A personal grievance is Cynthia Nixon’s great work in James White, but putting her in would mean taking out one of these deserving nominations.

Best Adapted Screenplay

Room (Emma Donoghue)

Carol (Phyllis Nagy)

Brooklyn (Nick Hornby)

The Big Short (Adam McKay & Charles Randolph)

The Martian (Drew Goddard)

Surprises: Brooklyn (Nick Hornby), Room (Emma Donoghue); Snubs: Steve Jobs (Aaron Sorkin)

Thoughts: One of the biggest snubs of this award season is omitting Aaron Sorkin’s inventive, unconventional, and perceptive twist on the traditional biopic for Steve Jobs, which is baffling considering it received a nominations for the BAFTAs, the Golden Globes, and the WGA. Clearly the academy had absolutely no love for this film beyond its expected acting nominations, and that’s rather unfortunate considering it was one of the most inventive adaptations of a notable work in some time. Perhaps Sorkin’s creative liberty with the source material came into the process of considering whether it strictly was an adaptation or not. It’s just unfortunate that the supposed front runner in the competition is not even competing for a spot that’s most deserving of recognition. This leaves the door open for any of these other contenders to slip into the winner’s circle, though my bet now is a conciliation prize for The Big Short.

Best Original Screenplay

Spotlight (Tom McCarthy & Josh Singer)

Inside Out (Pete Docter, Meg LeFauve, & Josh Cooley)

Bridge of Spies (Joel & Ethan Coen, Matt Charman)

Ex Machina (Alex Garland)

Straight Outta Compton (Jonathan Herman & Andrea Berloff)

Surprises: Straight Outta Compton (Jonathan Herman & Andrea Berloff); Snubs: The Hateful Eight (Quentin Tarantino), Sicario (Taylor Sheridan)

Thoughts: Does anyone else find it rather humorous that the Academy has given a conciliation nomination to Straight Outta Compton that comprises four white writers? Talk about rather embarrassing in the scope of including diversity to the Awards proceedings, mainly because it doesn’t add one bit of diversity to its contenders. Diversity shouldn’t be a reason to nominate anything, but it’s clear that the mediocre at best screenplay was merely chosen for an opportunity to give the film some notice. Though Tarantino’s latest is flawed in execution, the script is remarkably written and full of the delicious original dialogue he’s known for. Objectively speaking, The Hateful Eight is superior writing compared to Straight Outta Compton. Another effective screenplay that’s being drastically overlooked is Taylor Sheridan’s screenwriting debut with Sicario. Either of those options would have been better suited than a faux attempt at diversity with Straight Outta Compton.

Best Foreign Language Film

Son of Saul (Hungary)

Mustang (France)

Embrace of the Serpent (Colombia)

Theeb (Jordan)

A War (Denmark)

Surprises: Theeb (Jordan); Snubs: Viva (Ireland)

Thoughts: There are always some surprising reveals when it comes to the Best Foreign Language Film category, and this year didn’t have as many as usual. The supposed front runners remain with Hungary’s devastating Son of Saul and France’s (or technically Turkey’s) anti-patriarchal hope poem Mustang. The remainder of the category was going to fill out rather randomly, but it was Jordan’s film Theeb that ended up pulling out the upset over Ireland’s Viva, a move that doesn’t seem as surprising considering how much love Theeb garnered in nominations at the BAFTAs. It will be an interesting development to see if votes get split again to reveal a surprising winner, but right now this is Son of Saul‘s to lose.

Best Animated Feature

Anamolisa (Charlie Kaufman, Duke Johnson, & Rosa Tran)

Inside Out (Pete Docter & Jonas Rivera)

When Marnie Was There (Hiromasa Yonebayashi & Yoshiaki Nishimura)

Shaun the Sheep (Mark Burton & Richard Starzak)

Boy and the World (Alê Abreu)

Surprises: Boy and the World, When Marnie Was There; Snubs: None

Thoughts: If I were putting my top five definitely should be nominated list it would have been these chosen five here. It’s actually quite surprising that it worked out that way, considering I took a cynical wide release route with my choices of The Peanuts Movie and The Prophet (also a well deserving title). Nothing really to get mad about it, and really just wait for Pixar to pull off the win unless Charlie Kaufman & Duke Johnson’s Anomalisa can surprise (it can’t, but we can contemplate that secondary dimension with fondness).

Best Documentary Feature

The Look of Silence (Joshua Oppenheimer & Signe Byrge Sorensen)

What Happened Ms. Simone? (Liz Garbus, Amy Hobby, & Justin Wilkes)

Amy (Asif Kapadia & James Gay-Rees)

Cartel Land (Matthew Heineman & Tom Yellin)

Winter on Fire: Ukraine’s Fight for Freedom (Evgeny Afineevsky & Den Tolmor)

Surprises: None; Snubs: None

Thoughts: No real surprises or snubs for the documentary feature. It seems Netflix has a way of dominating this category, though a win for either What Happened Ms. Simone? and Winter on Fire might be difficult to manage. This seems like another year where Joshua Oppenheimer will lose again to a music oriented documentary when he’s clearly one of the most engaging, visual, and experimental artists working in the documentary medium. Let’s hope he gets his chance.

Best Cinematography

Mad Max: Fury Road (John Seale)

The Revenant (Emmanuel “El Chivo” Lubezki)

Sicario (Roger Deakins)

Carol (Ed Lachman)

The Hateful Eight (Robert Richardson)

Surprises: None; Snubs: None

Thoughts: There was a very good chance that Robert Richardson wouldn’t make it in for his stunning use of 70mm Panavision for Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight, but he fortunately grabbed that fifth slot nomination. This was a pretty set category so none of these should really be a surprise. It’s true Janusz Kaminski received an ASC nomination from the Cinematographers Guild, but that was a comforting choice for a comforting project. It’s a shame that Mátyás Erdély has not even be mentioned or considered for his phenomenal shallow focus artistry for Son of Saul, but that was always to be expected for a divisive foreign feature. Expect Lubezki to win for this third straight year in a row for his superhuman cinematography work in The Revenant, unless the Academy is feeling generous towards Roget Deakins since it is his 13th nomination without a win.

Best Film Editing

The Revenant (Stephen Mirrione)

Mad Max: Fury Road (Margaret Sixel)

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Maryann Brandon & Mary Jo Markey)

The Big Short (Hank Corwin)

Spotlight (Tom McArdle)

Surprises: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Maryann Brandon & Mary Jo Markey); Snubs: Sicario (Joe Walker)

Thoughts: Another category that seemed set based on the ACE nominations earlier this month, and yet the omitted ACE nominee Spotlight pulls out a surprise nomination replacing the worthy work of Joe Walker for Sicario. I would have liked to see Sicario in the place of Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, mostly because Denis Villeneuve’s drug war thriller was so anxiously dependent on the fine tuned editing. It was all part of its technical mastery and unnerving atmosphere, making you feel something through editing rather than a pieced together thrill ride that was J.J. Abrams overrated spiritual reboot. The favorite might actually be The Big Short.

Best Costume Design

Mad Max: Fury Road (Jenny Beavan)

The Danish Girl (Paco Delgado)

Carol (Sandy Powell)

Cinderella (Sandy Powell)

The Revenant (Jacqueline West)

Surprises: None; Snubs: Crimson Peak (Kate Hawley)

Thoughts: No real surprises here, but I’ll remain vigilant on the costume wonders of Guillermo Del Toro’s Victorian horror film Crimson Peak, which had superb production design and costumes all for the sake of artistic expression. It certainly might not have been as good of a film as, say, The Revenant or The Danish Girl (actually it might very well be better than Tom Hooper’s Oscar bait picture), but it nonetheless had its own purity in aesthetic.

Best Makeup & Hairstyling

Mad Max: Fury Road (Lesley Vanderwalt, Elka Wardega & Damian Martin)

The Revenant (Siân Grigg, Duncan Jarman and Robert Pandini)

The 1,000-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared (Love Larson and Eva von Bahr)

Surprises: The 1,000-Year-Old-Man (Love Larson and Eva von Bahr); Snubs: None

Thoughts: Certainly the omission of Black Mass from this category could be considered a snub, but since the film didn’t even garner a single nomination it’s safe to say that it’s not really all that terrible. Besides, it wouldn’t have won anyway.

Best Production Design

Mad Max: Fury Road (Production Design: Colin Gibson; Set Decoration: Lisa Thompson)

Bridge of Spies (Production Design: Adam Stockhausen; Set Decoration: Rena DeAngelo and Bernhard Henrich)

The Danish Girl (Production Design: Eve Stewart; Set Decoration: Michael Standish)

The Martian (Production Design: Arthur Max; Set Decoration: Celia Bobak)

The Revenant (Production Design: Jack Fisk; Set Decoration: Hamish Purdy)

Surprises: The Revenant; Snubs: Carol

Thoughts: There just doesn’t seem to be the appreciation for Carol that it rightly should have, despite the fact that it does have two acting nominations, cinematography, and adapted screenplay. Still, there could be more praise where it’s due and Production Design was another aspect of the film that seemed far superior than even a couple of the nomination contenders listed here. Not necessarily a travesty of award injustice, but it definitely confirms the Academy’s staunch neglect for this pristine romance.

Best Original Score

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (John Williams)

Carol (Carter Burwell)

The Hateful Eight (Ennio Morricone)

Sicario (Jóhann Jóhannsson)

Bridge of Spies (Thomas Newman)

Surprises: Sicario (Jóhann Jóhannsson); Snubs: The Danish Girl (Alexandre Desplat), Inside Out (Michael Giacchino)

Thoughts: While it’s not all that surprising to see Thomas Newman’s simplistic score for Bridge of Spies nominated here it’s definitely surprising to see Jóhann Jóhannsson’s score for Sicario making the top list of competitors. Perhaps it’s the fact that the Academy is coming off knowing his work from last year’s The Theory of Everything so the name has some familiarity this time around in the voting process. It’s just appalling to see Michael Giacchino omitted from the race, mostly because he’s becoming the modern day John Williams in terms of consistent quality and emotive resonance of score. I would have rather seen his name listed than John Williams who has the single most nominations from the Academy Awards in history. His not as memorable score for Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens seems to have made it based solely on name recognition and not for the artistic enhancement a score is supposed to bring to a film.

Best Original Song

“Earned It” from Fifty Shades of Grey (Music and Lyric by Abel Tesfaye, Ahmad Balshe, Jason Daheala Quenneville and Stephan Moccio)

“Manta Ray” from Racing Extinction (Music by J. Ralph and Lyric by Antony Hegarty) 

“Simple Song #3” from Youth (Music and Lyric by David Lang)

“Til It Happens To You” from The Hunting Ground (Music and Lyric by Diane Warren and Lady Gaga)

“Writing’s On The Wall” from Spectre (Music and Lyric by Jimmy Napes and Sam Smith)

Surprises: None; Snubs: Apparently “See You Again” from Furious 7

Thoughts: Who cares

Best Sound Editing

The Revenant (Martin Hernandez & Lon Bender)

Mad Max: Fury Road (Mark Mangini & David White)

The Martian (Oliver Tarney)

Sicario (Alan Robert Murray)

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Matthew Wood and David Acord)

Surprises: None; Snubs: None

Thoughts: These were my chosen five nominations and I don’t think there were any really left out of contention that were supposedly superior than these initial contenders. Action, fantasy, and technical acrobatics with precision in sound seem to lead this category and each of these possessed that very quality. This is most likely The Revenant‘s in both sound categories.

Best Sound Mixing

Bridge of Spies (Andy Nelson, Gary Rydstrom and Drew Kunin)

Mad Max: Fury Road (Chris Jenkins, Gregg Rudloff and Ben Osmo)

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Andy Nelson, Christopher Scarabosio and Stuart Wilson)

The Martian (Paul Massey, Mark Taylor and Mac Ruth)

The Revenant (Jon Taylor, Frank A. Montaño, Randy Thom and Chris Duesterdiek)

Surprises: Bridge of Spies; Snubs: The Hateful Eight

Thoughts: Another category that could have gone either way, and in this case it seems the Academy has slanted in favor towards Steven Spielberg’s Cold-War thriller Bridge of Spies over Quentin Tarantino’s most divisive project to date, The Hateful Eight.

Best Visual Effects

The Revenant (Rich McBride, Matthew Shumway, Jason Smith and Cameron Waldbauer)

Mad Max: Fury Road (Andrew Jackson, Tom Wood, Dan Oliver and Andy Williams)

The Martian (Richard Stammers, Anders Langlands, Chris Lawrence and Steven Warner)

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Roger Guyett, Patrick Tubach, Neal Scanlan and Chris Corbould)

Ex Machina (Andrew Whitehurst, Paul Norris, Mark Ardington and Sara Bennett)

Surprises: Ex Machina; Snubs: The Walk

Thoughts: I could’ve sworn that Robert Zemeckis’ saccharine biopic The Walk would have at least achieved a nomination for its stunning last half hour of purely visual effects work. It’s an astounding accomplishment with real emotional and physical tension that deserves some recognition for just how believable and thrilling it all can be. Of course the film itself is a mediocre ham sandwich with lackluster performances, god awful narration, and a narrative that is so laborious in execution that it seems to take away from the entirety of the experience. But that’s no reason to discredit its beautiful visual effects work, and unfortunately that’s what has happened. One positive omission is that of Jurassic World, which was by far one of the worst movies this past year despite having achieved such a heavy box office success due to people being absolutely desperate for something. The nice surprise addition here is the artistic use of visual effects in Ex Machina, which was absolutely stunning and one of the most memorable uses of CGI this past year.

The Academy Awards are a week away and the anticipation isn’t necessarily high, mostly due to the #OscarsSoWhite controversy that may or may not be valid (let’s assume it is due to overall lack of diversity throughout Hollywood and move on). But let’s not let that diminish the fun of guessing, prophesizing, or routing for the winners based on cultural attitudes, award momentum, and personal biases. Let’s keep in mind that the Oscars don’t really determine the best quality of films, and realize that they are simply a self-congratulatory ceremony of egos, money campaigns, and populist favorites that vaguely summarize a particular year’s array of quality cinema (more or less).

The following are the 24 categories and my predicted winners for each. There will also be a potential dark horse pick for those who feel as though they’d like to drift away from the conventional wisdom and choose something less predictable. Let me know if you agree with any of them or are skeptical of the choices. As always I allow anyone and everyone to compete against me by posting their own list here (the winner gets a free movie ticket).

Best Picture

The Big Short

Bridge of Spies

Brooklyn

Mad Max: Fury Road

The Martian

The Revenant

Room

Spotlight

Predicted Winner: The Revenant ; Potential Dark Horse: Spotlight or The Big Short

Thoughts: This was a category that was in chaotic upheaval for most of the awards season. First The Revenant won the Golden Globe; then The Big Short won the Producers Guild Award (PGA); then Spotlight won the Screen Actors Guild Ensemble (SAG). But it all came together when Alejandro G. Inarritu won the Directors Guild and The Revenant won the BAFTA Best Picture award. It just seems as though this year Picture and Director will be intimately connected and it’s probably for sure that Inarritu will win Best Director. It could very well go to Spotlight, but I made the mistake last year of splitting up these categories so I won’t fall for it again this year. If for some reason Director goes in a different direction, then perhaps a different film will win. But the odds are forever in The Revenant‘s favor.

Best Director

Tom McCarthy (Spotlight)

George Miller (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (The Revenant)

Adam McKay (The Big Short)

Lenny Abrahamson (Room)

 Predicted Winner: Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (The Revenant); Potential Dark Horse: George Miller (Mad Max: Fury Road)

 Thoughts: Originally my pick was going to be George Miller, but it just doesn’t seem likely anymore. My reasoning was solely based on how difficult it is for the same director to win two years in a row (it’s been over 60 years since it happened last with Joseph Mankiewicz winning for both A Letter from Three Wives (1949) and All About Eve (1950)). But it’s looking like history will be made with Alejandro G. Inarritu set to win his second in a row, mostly because he’s picked up the Golden Globe, the DGA, and the BAFTA. It’s incredibly rare for this award to go to anyone else who hasn’t at least picked up one of the other awards. I’m putting all my eggs into The Revenant basket this year and hopefully I end up being right.

Best Actor

Leonardo DiCaprio (The Revenant)

Michael Fassbender (Steve Jobs)

Eddie Redmayne (The Danish Girl)

Matt Damon (The Martian)

Bryan Cranston (Trumbo)

 Predicted Winner: Leonardo DiCaprio (The Revenant); Potential Dark Horse: None

Thoughts: It’s finally going to happen. Leonardo DiCaprio will finally win the Oscar he has deserved at least two-fold before (most notably The Aviator and the year he did both Blood Diamond and The Departed). Seeing as how he’s won the Golden Globe, the SAG, and the BAFTA, it seems quite unlikely that any of the other actors could sweep it from him (minus Michael Fassbender, though that’s still in the incredibly low threshold of possibility). Mark this one as a certainty.

Best Actress

Brie Larson (Room)

Cate Blanchett (Carol)

Saoirse Ronan (Brooklyn)

Charlotte Rampling (45 Years)

Jennifer Lawrence (Joy)

Predicted Winner: Brie Larson (Room); Potential Dark Horse: None

Thoughts: Another strong certainty in the categories is Best Actress with the talented and wonderful Brie Larson taking home most of the awards leading up to the Oscars. Having been looked over two years ago for the marvelous Short Term 12 it seems the timing is right to give this young talent the recognition she deserves. If there was one potential surprise here it would be Saoirse Ronan for Brooklyn considering how much the Academy fawned over that thoroughly charming immigration tale (attention that it didn’t necessarily deserve).

Best Supporting Actor

Mark Rylance (Bridge of Spies)

Mark Ruffalo (Spotlight)

Sylvester Stallone (Creed)

Tom Hardy (The Revenant)

Christian Bale (The Big Short)

 Predicted Winner: Sylvester Stallone (Creed); Potential Dark Horse: Tom Hardy (The Revenant)

Thoughts: This category has been giving me a headache for the longest time, mostly because the presumed frontrunner and winner Sylvester Stallone (who did give a credible and deepening performance in Creed) just simply shouldn’t be up for the award. Considering Idris Elba, Paul Dano, Michael Shannon, Jacob Tremblay, and numerous others got passed up for this nomination honor I can’t help but believe that Stallone will go down as one of the most undeserving winners of the category. He won the Golden Globe, yet wasn’t even nominated for the SAG or the BAFTA. How is this the frontrunner to win the most coveted film award in the industry? Arguably this should have been Mr. Elba’s towering year, but something got lost in translation with Cary Joji Fukunaga’s Beasts of No Nation and the Oscar voters. If you’re looking for any surprises to counteract the supposed safe choice Tom Hardy could be a good one (wasn’t up for the SAG or others, so wasn’t initially considered), and of course the subtle and terrific Mark Rylance won the BAFTA so he could sneak in the winner’s circle (though still very unlikely).

Best Supporting Actress

Rooney Mara (Carol)

Alicia Vikander (The Danish Girl)

Jennifer Jason Leigh (The Hateful Eight)

Kate Winslet (Steve Jobs)

Rachel McAdams (Spotlight)

Predicted Winner: Alicia Vikander (The Danish Girl); Potential Dark Horse: Kate Winslet (Steve Jobs)

Thoughts: Even though Kate Winslet has won both the Golden Globe AND the BAFTA, she didn’t secure the most important indicator of a Best Supporting Actress win: the SAG. My bet is the acting voting wing of the Academy will stay consistent and stick with Vikander. For those unsure and unwilling to put down the actress who gave solid performances in both The Danish Girl and Ex Machina this year alone then the only other choice would be Kate Winslet for her great performance in Danny Boyle and Aaron Sorkin’s greatly overlooked inventive biopic Steve Jobs.

Best Adapted Screenplay

Carol (Phyllis Nagy)

The Big Short (Adam McKay & Charles Randolph)

The Martian (Drew Goddard)

Room (Emma Donoghue)

Brooklyn (Nick Hornby)

Predicted Winner: The Big Short (Adam McKay & Charles Randolph); Potential Dark Horse: Room (Emma Donoghue)

Thoughts: It’s quite astonishing that Aaron Sorkin’s unconventional and artistically altering adaptation for Steve Jobs was overlooked in this category, considering it was probably one of the finest scripts penned this year in any category consideration. But it seems the populist momentum has fallen behind The Big Short for this category so it almost wouldn’t have mattered if Sorkin’s was even nominated. Adam McKay and Charles Randolph’s wonky, critical, and humorous adaptation has garnered the attention of both the WGA and the BAFTA so it’s looking like a strong certainty to capture the Academy Award. If not, expect Emma Donoghue’s self-adapted screenplay from her own book Room to take the final prize home.

Best Original Screenplay

Spotlight (Tom McCarthy, Josh Singer)

Inside Out (Pete Docter, Meg LeFauve, & Josh Cooley)

Bridge of Spies (Joel & Ethan Coen, Matt Charman)

Ex Machina (Alex Garland)

Straight Outta Compton (Jonathan Herman, Andrea Berloff)

Predicted Winner: Spotlight (Tom McCarthy, Josh Singer); Potential Dark Horse: Inside Out (Pete Docter, Meg LeFauve, & Josh Cooley)

Thoughts: Another strong locked category seems to be the Best Original Screenplay for Thomas McCarthy and Josh Singer’s Spotlight. Personally I wouldn’t have voted for it if I was part of the Academy (with much of my love going towards Ex Machina and Inside Out). But seeing as how there’s much love for the film, awards momentum (WGA, BAFTA), and a potential for it to even take Best Picture, it just seems like the only choice.

Best Foreign Language Film

Son of Saul (Hungary)

Mustang (France)

Embrace of the Serpent (Colombia)

Theeb (Jordan)

A War (Denmark)

Predicted Winner: Son of Saul (Hungary); Potential Dark Horse: Mustang (France)

Thoughts: Probably one of the most overlooked categories every year is the Best Foreign Language Film, and yet it’s usually one of the strongest every year in terms of quality cinema. This year is no different with five very strong films from various places in the world. The favorite to win is Hungary’s Son of Saul, which is an incredibly powerful piece for those willing to venture it. Close behind it in consideration is Mustang, a beautiful film about femininity, culture, and individuality. It’s most likely going to be one of these two films, though in all liklihood they could split the vote and allow a true dark horse to enter.

Best Animated Feature

Anamolisa

Inside Out

Shaun the Sheep

When Marnie Was Here

Boy and the World

Predicted Winner: Inside Out; Potential Dark Horse: Boy and the World

Thoughts: Pixar rules in this category, even when they don’t necessarily deserve it (Brave comes to mind). So with an incredibly strong and inventive contender like Inside Out it just seems incredibly unlikely that this critical/audience favorite won’t walk away with the win. Of course, if enough people saw the equally charming and beautiful Boy and the World it could very likely pull off a surprise win. But surprises are not necessarily part of the Best Animated Feature category.

Best Documentary Feature

The Look of Silence (Joshua Oppenheimer)

Amy (Asif Kapadia)

Cartel Land (Matthew Heineman)

Winter on Fire: Ukraine’s Fight for Freedom (Evgeny Afineevsky)

What Happened Ms. Simone? (Liz Garbus)

Predicted Winner: Amy (Asif Kapadia); Potential Dark Horse: The Look of Silence (Joshua Oppenheimer)

Thoughts: It’s incredibly frustrating that Joshua Oppenheimer, one of the finest, bravest, and most artistic documentarians to ever take up the medium, will lose again to a musical oriented documentary. In fact, Amy might be the least important of the documentaries up for this category and yet is the favorite to take home the prize. It’s the easiest to digest and it pulls on the heart strings at the same time, which makes it an ideal pick for the category filled with depressing (though challenging) material. The safe pick is Amy.

Best Cinematography

Mad Max: Fury Road (John Seale)

The Revenant (Emmanuel “El Chivo” Lubezki)

Sicario (Roger Deakins)

Carol (Ed Lachman)

The Hateful Eight (Robert Richardson)

Predicted Winner: The Revenant (Emmanuel “El Chivo” Lubezki); Potential Dark Horse: Sicario (Roger Deakins)

Thoughts: It’s looking like it will be three years in a row for “El Chivo” due to the stunning, practically immaculate cinematography of The Revenant captured in natural lighting and in frigid, terrible conditions. Sacrificing your body for art is a respectable, and it seems the Academy is tapped into the respectable, cinematic spectacle of The Revenant. Perhaps voters might have some Lubezki fatigue, after having voted for him for both Gravity and Birdman, or the Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance, but it’s undeniable that his talent behind the camera is unique. Perhaps the 13 time nominated Roger Deakins could pull off a surprise win, but it just doesn’t seem likely considering the award momentum going in The Revenant’s favor.

Best Film Editing

The Revenant (Stephen Mirrione)

Mad Max: Fury Road (Margaret Sixel)

The Big Short (Hank Corwin)

Spotlight (Tom McArdle)

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Maryann Brandon & Mary Jo Markey)

Predicted Winner: Mad Max: Fury Road (Margaret Sixel); Potential Dark Horse: The Big Short (Hank Corwin)

Thoughts: It’s either going to be Mad Max or The Big Short, mostly because the former won the BAFTA and the latter won the Editors Guild award. Though Adam McKay’s financial crisis comedy has some minor support even up to the voting for Best Picture, it seems more likely that the technical monstrosity and glorious action spectacle that was George Miller’s post-apocalyptic drama deserves some technical recognition. The film has garnered numerous Top 10 considerations so it’s definitely a film on the voter’s minds, and it’s impeccably edited. I’m going with Mad Max on this one.

Best Costume Design

Mad Max: Fury Road (Jenny Beavan)

The Danish Girl (Paco Delgado)

Carol (Sandy Powell)

Cinderella (Sandy Powell)

The Revenant (Jacqueline West)

Predicted Winner: Mad Max: Fury Road (Jenny Beavan); Potential Dark Horse: Carol (Sandy Powell)

Thoughts: This is usually a category dominated by period pieces with sophisticated, gorgeous gowns and suits, but this seems like the year where a futuristic film with inventive costuming will pull out the win.

Best Makeup & Hairstyling

Mad Max: Fury Road (Lesley Vanderwalt, Elka Wardega and Damian Martin)

The Revenant (Siân Grigg, Duncan Jarman and Robert Pandini)

The 1,000-Year-Old Man (Love Larson and Eva von Bahr)

Predicted Winner: Mad Max: Fury Road; Potential Dark Horse: The Revenant

Thoughts: Another pretty much guaranteed win for Mad Max in this rather light on competition category.

Best Production Design

Mad Max: Fury Road (Colin Gibson (Production Design); Lisa Thompson (Set Decoration))

The Revenant (Jack Fisk (Production Design); Hamish Purdy (Set Decoration))

Bridge of Spies (Adam Stockhausen (Production Design); Rena DeAngelo and Bernhard Henrich (Set Decoration))

The Danish Girl (Eve Stewart (Production Design); Michael Standish (Set Decoration))

The Martian (Arthur Max (Production Design); Celia Bobak (Set Decoration))

Predicted Winner: Mad Max: Fury Road; Potential Dark Horse: The Revenant

Thoughts: If it ends up being The Revenant it would sort of be a ridiculous win, considering it takes place in mostly unaltered nature with minor creative production elements. It seems the deserving contender is Mad Max with its inventive designs of locations, vehicles, and planned out elements. Expect it to be Mad Max unless the love affair for The Revenant leaks into all sorts of different categories.

Best Original Score

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (John Williams)

Carol (Carter Burwell)

Bridge of Spies (Thomas Newman)

The Hateful Eight (Ennio Morricone)

Sicario (Jóhann Jóhannsson)

Predicted Winner: The Hateful Eight (Ennio Morricone); Potential Dark Horse: Carol (Carter Burwell)

Thoughts: Italian maestro Ennio Morricone might pick up another Oscar to add to his collection, which includes an honorary Oscar won in 2007. It’s his first western score in over forty years and his sixth nomination following Days of Heaven, Bugsy, The Mission, The Untouchables, and Malena. His main competition is Carter Burwell’s beautiful score for Todd Haynes’ way underappreciated Carol, which doesn’t look like it will take any award home. If it does end up pulling off a win it would be in this category. But if it’s between two likely contenders, as far as the Academy is concerned, go with the legend.

Best Original Song

“Earned It” from Fifty Shades of Grey

“Manta Ray” from Racing Extinction

“Simple Song #3” from Youth

“Til it Happens to You” from The Hunting Ground

“Writing’s on the Wall” from Spectre

 Predicted Winner: “Til it Happens to You” from The Hunting Ground; Potential Dark Horse: “Writing’s on the Wall” from Spectre

Thoughts: A song by 8-time Academy Award nominated song writer Diane Warren, performed by Lady Gaga during her resurgence, in a film about campus rape equals a definite win in this category. It might have been The Weekend’s Fifty Shades of Grey song if voters were willing to vote for anything for that god awful movie. It just doesn’t seem likely. Expect an upset by Spectre if the obscure The Hunting Ground doesn’t secure a win.

Best Sound Editing

Mad Max: Fury Road (Mark Mangini and David White)

The Martian (Oliver Tarney)

Sicario (Alan Robert Murray)

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Matthew Wood and David Acord)

The Revenant (Martin Hernandez and Lon Bender)

Predicted Winner: Mad Max: Fury Road; Potential Dark Horse: The Revenant

Thoughts: Even though The Revenant is an equally strong contender in both sound categories, it just seems like everything about the visceral experience of Mad Max was solely dependent on sound. Its inventive soundscapes make it such an engrossing experience and defines its spectacle. But whichever film wins Editing will win Mixing, and vice versa. I’m riskily sticking with Mad Max because it has to win something, and the technical categories are its best bet.

Best Sound Mixing

Bridge of Spies (Andy Nelson, Gary Rydstrom and Drew Kunin)

Mad Max: Fury Road (Chris Jenkins, Gregg Rudloff and Ben Osmo)

The Martian (Paul Massey, Mark Taylor and Mac Ruth)

The Revenant (Jon Taylor, Frank A. Montaño, Randy Thom and Chris Duesterdiek)

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Andy Nelson, Christopher Scarabosio and Stuart Wilson)

Predicted Winner: Mad Max: Fury Road; Potential Dark Horse: The Revenant

Thoughts: Same as above. Could be The Revenant or Mad Max depending on how the wind is blowing. Whichever film wins will win both. So whichever film you pick, make sure they match up in these categories (or split them and get one right, one wrong).

Best Visual Effects

The Revenant (Rich McBride, Matthew Shumway, Jason Smith and Cameron Waldbauer)

Mad Max: Fury Road (Andrew Jackson, Tom Wood, Dan Oliver and Andy Williams)

Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (Roger Guyett, Patrick Tubach, Neal Scanlan and Chris Corbould)

Ex Machina (Andrew Whitehurst, Paul Norris, Mark Ardington and Sara Bennett)

The Martian (Richard Stammers, Anders Langlands, Chris Lawrence and Steven Warner)

Predicted Winner: Mad Max: Fury Road; Potential Dark Horse: Ex Machina

Thoughts: Perhaps it’s my bias against Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens that prevents me from putting it down as a for sure winner, but really it’s the intense competition that makes it an up in the air category. I’m hoping the Academy sees the value in physical stunt effects in Mad Max to take it to a definite win. But the artistic use of CGI in Ex Machina might also be a valid choice. Very strong and open category, so good luck.

Best Animated Short

Bear Story (Gabriel Osorio and Pato Escala)

Prologue (Richard Williams and Imogen Sutton)

Sanjay’s Super Team (Sanjay Patel and Nicole Grindle)

We Can’t Live Without Cosmos (Konstantin Bronzit)

World of Tomorrow (Don Hertzfeldt)

 Predicted Winner: World of Tomorrow; Potential Dark Horse: Bear Story

Thoughts: Your gut my say Pixar, but they haven’t won this category in 16 years. Could they pull off a win with Sanjay’s Super Team? I might be inclined to say yes, but World of Tomorrow was too brilliant. If it’s passed up for a colorful, aesthetically stunning, yet mediocre short from Pixar it would be a travesty. The whimsical tale of a girl meeting her future cloned self and getting a lesson in the future seems like the winner, though the allegorical Bear Story could pull off a surprise victory.

 Best Live-Action Short

Ave Maria (Basil Khalil and Eric Dupont)

Day One (Henry Hughes)

Everything Will Be Okay (Alles Wird Gut) (Patrick Vollrath)

Shok (Jamie Donoughue)

Stutterer (Benjamin Cleary and Serena Armitage)

 Predicted Winner: Ave Maria; Potential Dark Horse: Shok

Thoughts: Even after seeing all of these I’m still unsure about which one could possibly win. The stand-alone comedy Ave Maria looks to be the one that separates itself from the dismal crowd. However, the timely Kosovo ethnic drama Shok could capture the sympathetic hearts of most voters. I’m going to go with what the majority of experts say on this subject and pick Ave Maria with Shok in close second, which will most likely end up haunting me in the end on the official ballot.

Best Documentary Short

Body Team 12

Chau, Beyond the Lines

Claude Lanzmann: Spectres of Shoah

A Girl in the River: The Price of Forgiveness

Last Day of Freedom

 Predicted Winner: A Girl in the River: The Price of Forgiveness; Potential Dark Horse: Body Team 12

 Thoughts: Ebola in Body Team 12; the holocaust in Claude Lanzmann: Spectres of Shoah; or a Pakistani woman surviving being shot in the face and finding love in A Girl in the River. It’s most likely going to go to the most emotional piece to choose from and that’s the one.

Italian filmmaker Luca Guadagnino’s English-language debut entitled A Bigger Splash takes place in a specifically chosen setting at a villa hillside getaway on Pantelleria, a volcanic island that’s suspended between Italy and Tunisia on the Strait of Sicily. Conceived as an overt homage if not a complete replication of Jacques Deray’s stylish romantic thriller La Piscine (1969) by screenwriter David Kajganich, the particular setting is one that’s meant to elucidate the central characters’ experiences relating to the island’s blend of social isolation, unapologetic hedonism, and a literal culture clash of language, food, and custom that remains thematically consistent throughout the beautifully indulgent, yet slightly empty, film. However, this subsequent emptiness, combined with the film’s various and vague endings, becomes a deliberate and pained acknowledgement toward the personally unfulfilling life of pure paganism. Self-fulfillment and satisfaction comes from the acceptance of natural limitations, and living the seminal rock n’ roll lifestyle of moving from pleasure to pleasure without any sense of consequence will eventually erode and arrive at its tragic end, whether it’s by your own hand or another.

That’s not exactly how the two leading characters are living their lives in the beginning of Guadagnino’s film. Rock star Marianne Lane (Tilda Swinton)—an androgynous, alien-like superstar reminiscent of the Ziggy Stardust era of David Bowie—has taken to isolation on the island to rest and heal her damaged voice while alongside her documentarian paramour Paul (Matthias Schoenaerts) who has his own healing on the agenda in sobriety after a failed suicide attempt. Their erotic and seemingly idyllic existence of caking mud on each other’s bodies and constant love making is summarily attacked by the arrival of Marianne’s ex-lover and producer Harry Hawkes (Ralph Fiennes), a bullying hurricane of pomposity and extravagance who exhausts everyone into eventually tolerating his unrestrained obnoxiousness veiled in forcible charm. All at once Marianne and Paul’s healing seclusion becomes a frustrated acceptance of Harry’s pleasurable revelry where he overtly flirts and tempts Marianne, engages in childish rivalry with Paul, and persists in unhealthy displays of affection with his towed along and ostensibly bored daughter Penelope (Dakota Johnson).

As unwelcome a guest as Harry might be, for Marianne, Paul, and audience alike, he’s a force that’s undeniable to admire. He overpowers everything, whether he’s gyrating to the Rolling Stones’ “Emotional Rescue,” monopolizing and crooning into a karaoke machine at a local bar, or simply commanding or breaking the basic decorum of conversation in order to manipulate events to his liking, making him the life of the party at every party in existence. And yet, there’s a profound emptiness, or rather insecure unhappiness, at the heart of Harry, who deeply wants nothing more than to have Marianne back in his destructive clutches. It speaks volumes about the talents of Ralph Fiennes, who as of recently has adopted roles that touch upon the comically eccentric, from the likes of Gustav H. in Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) and the stuffy yet eloquent director Laurence Laurentz in the Coen Brothers’ Hail, Caesar! (2016). In A Bigger Splash, he filters this newfound eccentricity through a signature intensity that engulfs the screen with sheer presence. He is, undoubtedly, the spiritual and physical embodiment of the very rock n’ roll hedonism that both Marianne and Paul attempted to seclude themselves from, but can’t seem to escape.

And perhaps Marianne doesn’t want to escape it. She herself is like the island caught between two palpable realities, with Harry representing the unhinged lively sexuality of her recent performance past and the rehabilitated Paul who has become the source of her more controlled sensual present. Now that her voice, her career, and her cherished identity are in question of continuing—a voiceless handicap that was suggested by the phenomenal Tilda Swinton and performed throughout the film immaculately through pained rasps, frustrated utterances, and suggestive glances—it’s no surprise that she’d welcome, humor, or even succumb to the rambunctious temptations and sensual chaos of Harry. Of course it doesn’t help that her voiceless handicap lends herself to being controlled by other people’s desires, whether it’s Paul’s passive aggressive refusal to reiterate accurately her own words or Harry’s commanding personality. In one particular scene Marianne’s debilitating restraint and complexity of desire are shown through dramatic close-ups between her and Harry as they bicker in the street. She, and pretty much every character within the film, is caught between the desires she wants and the desires she needs, which is an entirely human struggle in attempting to distinguish the difference between them.

But unbridled sensuality, forbidden love, and questionable desire consistently runs through the creative veins of Guadagnino as a filmmaker, as evidenced from his previous features Melissa P. (2005) and I Am Love (2009), which the latter of the two also starred Swinton as an aristocrat who had a love affair with a chef. Personal shame, implicit seduction, and sexual tension permeate throughout his films, his characters, and his differing perspectives, always changing through manic non-judgmental camerawork of whip pans and racked focus that shines a light on the distinct subjectivity of human desire. It’s an aspect of his films that’s completely influenced by his homegrown Italian romantic predecessors, most notably the seminal works of Michelangelo Antonioni, a myriad of Roberto Rossellini and Ingrid Bergman collaborations, and the always prescient and haunting ambiguity of Vittorio De Sica. And yet, Guadagnino in only a handful of films has developed his own signature style as a filmmaker of indulgence. All of the distractions from reality the island holds within A Bigger Splash has an erotic allure, whether it’s the delectable foods, the purity of both the female and male body, and the sun-scorched beauty of the island environment that surrounds them. And it’s all captured lusciously through the lens of returning cinematography collaborator Yorick Le Saux (I Am Love, Only Lovers Left Alive), which gives the film its delirious and hypnotizing visual splendor.

But Guadagnino knows that indulgence and pleasure are temporary realities, as evidenced by the impending tragedies that inevitably disrupt the succulent flow of his films. Distractions of pleasure have their own limitations, and even those who are in perpetual motion can’t completely ignore the harshness of reality on their periphery. In A Bigger Splash the privileged characters are caught up in sexual conquests, manipulative encounters, extravagant food, and beautiful scenery, and yet it’s all subtly interrupted by the inconvenient presence of refugees, whether it’s through random radio news reports or seeing them temporarily imprisoned in the background for the crime of seeking a better life. Guadagnino in his own way is attempting to show that the opulent lifestyle of the privileged is both a blessing in experiencing its pleasures, but also a curse in how it’s ultimately impermanent and unfulfilling. There are definitely multiple layers to this superbly strange, deliciously funny, and surprisingly tragic film, and its ability to defy typical resolution will leave most audience members feeling restive and uncomfortable. But that’s what makes this misadventure of four privileged people grasping onto the last vestiges of their indolence so thought-provoking and intriguing, because if our ingrained self-interest is to find pleasure and that pleasure is limited, are we then doomed to a state of emptiness? That’s for you to decide.

Grade: B+

In building the all-encompassing Marvel Cinematic Universe (or the MCU for short), Disney/Marvel, a.k.a. our New Cinematic Entertainment Overlords, have sometimes taken shortcuts in fashioning their individual standalone character films. Though the quality in some of their chapters has improved as of late—most notably with the likes of Peyton Reed’s surprisingly amusing Ant-Man (2015) and James Gunn’s sensationally effective Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)—a majority of their Phase One and Two work has either fell drastically flat (Iron Man 2, Thor 2: The Dark World), became completely unnecessary (The Incredible Hulk), or only remained valuable for their role in securing the foundation of the MCU (every single one of their obligatory introductory chapters). An elaboration on character ethos and pathos has usually fallen to the wayside, mostly because each of these character specific adventures were simply designed as tertiary building blocks for the sole purpose of constructing another grandiose spectacle of combined heroism that has defined each Avengers escapade. And after the disappointment that was Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) the continuation of that pattern seems a depressing prospect indeed.

However, that repeated equation of simplistic adventure combined with snarky humor and enough action to satisfy the basic yearnings of the general populace and the masses of fandom didn’t seem to apply to the storyline of Captain America, at least after Captain America: Winter Soldier (2014) came along. Propelling itself forward from the first installment’s minimal establishment of character (messily directed by the interminable Joe Johnston), the second Captain America actually deepened the political resolve and personal integrity that has famously defined the Captain in his comic book folklore, pitting him in an easily digestible, but still thought-provoking, philosophical fight between freedom and security. Screenwriters Christopher Markus & Stephen McFeely ventured deeper into defining Steve Rogers/Captain America (Chris Evans) as a principled, loyal, and resilient hero guided by a healthy skepticism of power and a sacrificial dedication to loved ones, and with the help of directors Joe & Anthony Russo’s adept focus on tactical stunt oriented action created, arguably, the best Marvel film in the cinematic canon.

The same exact team has returned to create the third chapter in the Captain America trilogy, and for the most part they have effectively continued the Winter Soldier storyline with a confident “don’t fix it if it isn’t broken” resolve. This time they’ve made their narrative target a loose spiritual and philosophical adaptation of Mark Millar’s infamous graphic novel Civil War. Simplifying the novel’s scope of numerous characters, thematic complexities, and twisty dramatic turns and then accurately applying it to the MCU as it has been defined up to now wouldn’t be an easy task, but it seems the digestible narrative here still maintains a relative complexity and some social relevance for our modern political age and discourse. Essentially the political question is one of oversight, and whether the potentially hazardous collateral damage from the Avengers’ heroic exploits warrants checked regulation from an international bureaucracy. With a proposal agreed upon by Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross (William Hurt) and a majority of foreign leaders at the United Nations entitled the Sokovia Accords, the members of the Avengers are given two choices: agree to be delimited in power by the will of international appeasement or retire.

It’s an accustomed idea within comics that’s usually ventured with thoughtful clarity (unless you’re the incoherent narrative ramblings and dearth of character study in Zack Snyder’s joyless Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016)), and it contemplates the very state of heroism and whether exceptional abilities are something to be unregulated or if their potential for dangerous misuse justifies onerous legal barriers. As the title Captain America: Civil War overtly informs, the accords split the loyalties of the Avengers team into two distinct factions: righteous dissent versus pragmatic compliance, with Steve Rogers/Captain America and Tony Stark/Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) representing each camp respectively. Captain America fears that answering to a separate organization—a human institution with ever changing political alliances, incentives, and agendas—that the Avengers will be hindered in doing their job effectively, while Tony’s growing guilt over Ultron and a seed of doubt in his heroic consequences forces him to take the path of least resistance for the indefinite future. Though the main storyline is sympathetic to Captain America’s unwavering veracity, the film presents both opposing views with reasonable and sympathetic justification, which is a delicate quality that enhances Civil War beyond most of the formulaic Avengers stepping stones that comprise a majority of the MCU. Their philosophical differences come to an antagonistic crossroads when it seems Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan), a.k.a. The Winter Soldier, resurfaces as a dire terrorist threat and becomes the center of each faction’s immediate capture objective with a character focus on Rogers’ belief that the brainwashed Barns can be cured and brought to redemption.

There’s mild repetition of themes and situations we’ve seen before throughout Captain America: Civil War, mostly in how the plot mimics Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) in making Captain America an enemy vigilante of the state (this time he’s the target of the international community and his fellow Avengers). But that repetition has always been about reestablishing Captain America’s instinctual stubbornness to his principled beliefs, which is either the most admirable or frustrating quality about the character depending on your own personal convictions. What greatly services the film is that the team behind its creation clearly has a heartfelt appreciation for the character, which has always been consistently amplified by Chris Evans’ consistent and confidently earnest portrayal. Directors Joe & Anthony Russo (The Russo Brothers) in particular consistently showcase their understanding by crafting and maneuvering through dialogue heavy scenes that are confidently written with differing character perspectives in mind. Unlike most of the MCU canon, the Captain America films thrive in the calmer moments because that’s where true ideologies can be ventured.

But that’s not everything in the Russo Brothers’ arsenal of talent. They’re also able to make immensely riveting action sequences that are exceptionally detailed in their mano-a-mano precision, and aren’t dependent on the exhaustive destruction that has come to define the modern blockbuster. One sequence in particular that boasts exciting ingenuity is a chase sequence involving The Winter Soldier, Captain America, and a newly introduced T’Challa/Black Panther (Chadwick Boseman) where each of their individual strengths of speed, agility, and power are all utilized in a stunning display of tension building action. It should be noted that the introduction and addition of Black Panther is done with seamless integration into the MCU, making him an emotional, vindictive force that’s directly involved with the Civil War storyline (the same cannot be said with the arguably fun, yet gimmicky addition of Tom Holland’s Spider-Man). Boseman in particular crafts an exceptionally accurate portrayal of the lesser known Avenger, and his virtuosic action sequences alone should excite many to his own standalone film that promises to be as surprisingly entertaining as Peyton Reed’s Ant-Man (2015), if not more in the confident hands of Ryan Coogler (Fruitvale Station, Creed).

Of course the central antagonistic encounter between the two opposing Avengers forces is the expected fan highlight of the film, and technically it doesn’t disappoint. Even though it lacks the rather important qualities of potential threat and dire consequence—mostly because it’s a rare battle of hero versus hero—it takes full advantage of being an uninhibited display of each of the Avengers’ talents, powers, and potential collaborations so we know what they’re fully capable of in relation to future MCU franchises. A sense of consequence or not, it’s difficult not to admire and give in to pure amusement as you watch Spider-Man web grab Captain America’s shield, Ant-Man (Paul Rudd) inversing his power to become Giant Man for a memorable introduction, or just relish in the continuous changing of advantage within the same battle as the opposing teams of various Avengers work with and against each other for the pure sake of no-holds-barred cinematic fun.

And thus lies the occasional weakness within Captain America: Civil War. Certainly the film ends with a substantial alteration for each characters’ potential fate, but the mass assembly of known characters, the middle’s lacking tension, and an ineffectual villain by the name of Zemo (Daniel Brühl)—a rather benign interpretation of infamous Captain America villain Baron Zemo hampered by a dull victimized drive for vengeance—occasionally weighs down the consistency of the Russo Brothers’ continuation of the First Avengers’ storyline. It’s a relatively complicated story of political tenacity, belief in redemption, and the blindness of vengeance and in tackling a narrative of excess the Russo Brothers accidentally divided their attention enough where the film’s full-scale ambitious virtues are clouded by some slightly underwritten attributes. But even though Civil War doesn’t necessarily reach the same level of quality that was established by the same filmmakers with Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), it’s undeniable that the Captain America storyline has proven itself to be the true character focal point of the entire MCU, replacing the assumed Avengers films as the chapters designed for integral anticipation. With two quality films greatly enhancing Captain America’s decent first introduction it’s safe to say that the best and most consistent storyline belongs to the First Avenger.

Grade: B+

Though you might not consciously be aware of it, most modern societies are constructed around the favored legal restriction and enforcement of monogamy through the governmentally approved promotion of its desired outcome: marriage. It’s a now unspoken social contract that has infiltrated the developing human brain over the course of centuries, where the practice, exercise, and ritualistic acceptance of this institution has successfully subverted the natural evolutionary inclination to have multiple partners. Removing the debate over whether this has brought positive or negative consequences from the table, we can then simply recognize that this societal emphasis creates, mostly subconsciously, a desperate pressure to find “the one” in order to not be isolated or even ostracized in loneliness. In chasing the calculated dream of marriage and an avoidance of being alone, we’ve trained ourselves to seek out traits of commonality—even the most insignificant and superficial kinds—as well as seeking out any fortuitous sign that our partner is, indeed, our advertisement defined soulmate. Essentially this is the principle behind the algorithmic pairing programs of our technologically advanced age—including Tinder, eHarmony, and OkCupid—in which speed and precision are the leading considerations in finding a match as high in percentage as they are in signature romantic prospect. Romantic bliss has been eroded from instinctual passionate connection into a more logic oriented domestic synchronization that resembles the antiquated coupling of station enhancement, only now it’s one’s station of personal convenience instead of one’s class consideration.

This societal pressure for union, the marketed illusion of love, and a desperate aversion to loneliness is what resides at the center of Greek filmmaker and satirist Yorgos Lanthimos’ latest disturbing farce entitled The Lobster. Like most visionary auteurs with an acute perspective, Lanthimos has the ability to create artfully defined fictional worlds that place a scornful mirror in front of our beloved institutions and break them down through tongue-in-cheek farcicality and inventive storytelling. He first found prominent international attention for this tactic in the film Dogtooth (2009), a pitch black satire that craftily disassembled the family unit, and later expanded upon it to tackle death and the culture of grief with his last cinematic outing Alps (2011). None of his satirical targets are trivial, and he aims with a biting point of view guided by extremist absurdism blended with a touch of philosophical deconstruction. Following in the same logical footsteps as other famous deconstructionists, including philosophers Friedrich Nietzsche and Jacques Derrida, Lanthimos adopts a method of re-evaluating and critically analyzing our accepted conceptual systems, mainly in the assumed moral constructs of the West. It’s a rare quality in modern cinema (minus the works of Todd Solondz and Lars von Trier), and it’s an effective tactic where unease leads to introspection.

The Lobster possesses this wicked deconstructionist wit as it turns the tenets of love, marriage, and mortality upside down through a defined world of a pitch-black, bone-dry, straight-faced dystopian satire that builds absurdity upon absurdity. Written by director Lanthimos and co-collaborator Efthymis Filippou (Dogtooth, Alps), the palpable reality they’ve concocted feels as if the satire of Johnathan Swift demonically procreated with the ethereal strangeness of Franz Kafka. Its setting is the undefined near future and society is shaped around the canon that people cannot be single, so an autocratic rule forces singles into a hotel prison program where they must find a mate in 45 days or else they’ll be turned into an animal of their choosing. Our protagonist is David (Colin Farrell), a rather pathetic, mild-mannered, shortsighted individual whose wife has left him for another man after twelve years. He enters the hotel with his brother Bob, a recently turned Border collie who failed to find a partner of his own, and awkwardly meanders around the surrealist hotel in order to find his match amongst the identically dressed women (the bisexual option was shut down after operational difficulties). Time is ticking, and if he fails to mate he will be turned into his chosen animal: a lobster

Guests are encouraged to find a companion who imbues the same defining characteristic, because as the hotel manager (Olivia Colman) states, “A wolf and a penguin can never live together, nor could a camel or a hippopotamus. That would be absurd.” And so distinct superficiality traits, insignificant definers, and ownership of one’s distinct flaws guide each singles decision making in fulfilling the notion of the perfect match. Inside the hotel amongst David’s newfound colleagues there is Robert the lisping man (John C. Reilly) and John the limping man (Ben Wishaw), with the latter of the two becoming greatly discouraged to find that a new guest with a limp has simply sprained her ankle. Desperate to remain human and find a matching partner at any cost, John begins to con a woman who gets impulsive nosebleeds by smashing his face repeatedly to entice blood from his nose. It seems to work, at least in regards to the extension of his stay, and so David, with time drastically running out, attempts to adopt a nihilistic cold-heartedness in order to match with the woman whose defining characteristic is heartlessness (Angeliki Papoulia). As you can imagine, that sort of charade is doomed for exhaustion, and David finds himself running from the hotel to join a group of hunted singletons known as the Loners.

This is where Lanthimos’ satire takes a darker, more germane, turn as the initial absurdity twists into sharp cultural commentary that cuts closer to our collective societal bone. The Loners are living in defiant opposition to the forced coupling of society, and so they have swung the pendulum of extremes by enforcing a puritanical authoritarianism on any sexual activity involving another partner. Suggestive flirting, kissing, and, especially, sexual intercourse is forbidden, creating a harsh prohibition environment enforced by cruel punishment (the “red kiss” is the slashing of the lips for a secretive kiss and there’s something called the “red intercourse,” though no one has seen it happen yet). Because this kind of corrupt system exists in our actual world The Lobster’s musings become increasingly disturbing. There’s also a message of cruel irony that Lanthimos is getting at in regards to David’s fate, which is that in escaping one oppressive system to venture freedom he has landed in a place equally, if not more, tyrannical. Humans tend to find oppressive self-corrections in response to previous extremes, and David is caught adrift between these two horrid realities. It also leads to a case of double irony that once he’s there he finally meets a shortsighted woman (Rachel Weisz) who shares his distinctive characteristic, and love begins to enter the equation.

Even the introduction of a seemingly conventional romance or a potential hope for happiness for David and the shortsighted woman can’t seem to avoid the cruel intentions of Lanthimos’ farce, which in itself is a commentary on the Hollywoodized expectation of resolve. Without giving anything away, the ending brings with it a pessimistic question: is it cruel to be unwilling to alter one’s self for another or is it cruel to expect altering in order to show dedication? It’s this kind of integrity to art, especially the art of satirical ridicule, that is required to create a complete meaningful piece. Every chosen detail, visual texture, and awkward performance works in unity to the director’s expressionistic tone and dour vision: the clashing color palettes of Thimios Bakatakis’ cinematography of interior greys and exterior earth tones; the chillingly dry portrayals of character, most notably from Colin Farrell, Ben Wishaw, and Olivia Colman; and the unmentioned subtlety of occasional animals moving into frame, from a beautiful multi-colored blue peacock to the gorgeous blonde mane of a Shetland pony clearly belonging to a recently transformed Irish guest of the compound. It’s all cleverly defined, and ultimately brings to mind some of the later works of Luis Buñuel, including The Exterminating Angel (1962) and The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972). But the renowned Spanish filmmaker possessed a care-free artistry, one that was able to mix critical viciousness with a polished disposition, and that’s a quality Lanthimos still has yet to artfully grasp.

It goes almost without saying that The Lobster is an acquired cinematic dish, a film that lacks any sense of consoling embrace or optimistic break from its practically joyless and constricting atmosphere. Certainly the film’s humor is ferocious, witty, and calculatingly absurd, but the reactionary instinct to laugh brings with it a truly awkward realization that the extremist absurdism within this fictional reality isn’t necessarily a far cry from our own partially oppressive existence. Lanthimos has created a truly grim, but thoroughly artistic, form of satire that demands your discomfort by portraying a potential theoretical outcome of a society that thinks it knows best how to regulate, run, and control the lives of its citizens. Basically there’s an incredibly thin line of principle that separates the suggestive promotion of marital union through tax benefits and the enforcement of singles to find their partner or else face punishment. Encouragement and punishment are two ends of an extreme, and Lanthimos brilliantly shows that running from one oppression most likely will lead to the reactionary opposite form of oppression. It’s grim, overt symbolism at its finest, and Lanthimos has proven yet again that he’s a new voice in cinema that will be heard even with all of its disturbing, thought-provoking conceit.

Grade: A-

Note: The title says 2015, but this film will be released in the U.S. this weekend (May 13th, 2016)

It’s unsurprising that the works of science-fiction novelist and satirist J.G. Ballard would eventually be prone to misinterpretation, mostly because it’s the fate that befalls most socially critical writers (who, after all, knows the proper use of the term Orwellian anymore?). It’s a problem rooted in the absence of context. Ballard—who died in 2009—wrote specifically in regards to his moment in time, which happened to be a reflection on the mod con ‘70s: the garish fashion, the economic disparity, the political upheaval, etc. Most admirers of the lesser known satirists’ deadpan dystopian fantasies have latched onto the socioeconomic conditioning of his novels, an attribute that was more familiar setup than an explicit condemnation, and have turned that feature into an overstatement of prophetic warning. But Ballard wasn’t at all interested in critiquing the period’s political minutiae or economic imbalance, because his investigative interest went well beyond political particulars and into venturing his true concern: technological alienation. That is, in essence, what his brilliantly prosed novels Crash (1973), Concrete Island (1974), and High-Rise (1975) were tapping into, or mainly how the human psyche could be aggressively altered through the alienating conveniences of modern social conveniences and technological enhancements. Ballard wanted to explore the horror of complacent titillation, and—minus the incendiary and sexual adaptation of David Cronenberg’s Crash (1996)—that unique perspective has usually been ignored in his page-to-screen transfers.

And that’s the unfortunate outcome of Ben Wheatley’s latest adaptation of Ballard’s 1975 novel High-Rise, a revision that is reverent in its narrative accuracy yet equally muddled and obtuse in its thematic focus. Instead of exploring the novel’s psychological “inner space,” or in Ballard’s words “the internal landscape of tomorrow that is a transmuted image of the past,” Wheatley has aspired to a more passive agenda, that of anti-Thatcherism and plutocratic demagoguery. As Britain’s newly appointed savage provocateur, Wheatley would seem, on paper at least, like a match made in cinematic heaven to adapt Ballard’s work. His dark edge and unsettling sense of humor should have been ideal in translating the surrealist satire of the novel into the cryptic ramblings of an experimental visual artist. That outcome could have been easily deduced from his entire filmography, a catalogue of thought-provoking, disjointed narratives that evoke deliberate unease for its unsuspecting audiences, all of which include the crime thriller turned horror show in Kill List (2012), the brutally bleak comedies of Down Terrace (2009) and Sightseers (2013), and the psychedelic acid-trip visual kaleidoscope that was A Field in England (2014). But Wheatley, and his self-proclaimed egoistic title of artist, gets caught in the novel’s feature of overt class divisions, which has the unintentional effect of creating an anti-capitalist caricature of unsophisticated social symbolism. Since when is it considered art when your vision has the insightful depth of a lazy trope?

Whether you agree or disagree with the film’s supposedly Randian nightmare of laissez-faire hedonism and plutocratic control (a criticism even the filmmaker can’t levy with confident theory or articulate understanding), the film ultimately feels dead on arrival with its continuous tone of monotony. Repetitive in its chilliness, inert in its delivery of simpleminded themes, and languid in its pace, High-Rise does its message a disservice in making the entire experience unintelligible. Written by frequent collaborator Amy Jump (Kill List, A Field in England), the film follows the eerily composed physiologist Dr. Robert Laing (Tom Hiddleston), a name undoubtedly linked to the controversial Scottish psychiatrist R.D. Laing whose groundbreaking treatise The Divided Self touched upon the relevant theme of madness. Haunted by the memory of his recently dead sister, Laing moves into the titular apartment complex of Brutalist concrete that offers self-contained gratification, where all of life’s conveniences and necessities are provided in this soulless modern metropolis. Within the building, each of the classes are divided up into various floor sections: the blue-collars (flight attendants, film technicians, electricians) make up the lower levels; the professional classes (doctors, lawyers, accountants) make up the middle, where Laing apathetically exists; while the malicious subjugating rich (tycoons, entrepreneurs, TV stars) make up the top floors, where the architect of the building Anthony Royal (Jeremy Irons) lives in his secluded penthouse. As Ballard ominously described the organic class level construct, “it’s a nightmare termitarium.”

Of course, the self-contained system of “pure capitalism,” according to Wheatley, begins to erode; there are frequent power outages, rotting groceries, violent outbursts for materialist ownership, and the occasional dog murder. The symbolism is so on the nose it could be considered pandering: the aristocratic oppressors entertain themselves with lavish costume parties, all while the lower levels fight, beat, and murder each other for simple items of convenience. Laing meanders through the chaos with a sense of indifference, an indifference assuredly aimed at our complacent conscience unwilling to see the impending dilapidation around us or any passion to invoke change in the corrupt system. Though some might find this antiquated revolutionary mindset admirable, one that has found resurrection in the temper tantrum antics of collegiate class warfare 101 recipients, it’s a rather shallow approach. It brings to mind Bong Joon-Ho’s Snowpiercer (2013), a film equally obtuse in analysis though far superior in presenting it with thoroughly entertaining, character-driven set pieces. Nothing is driven by character in High-Rise, but instead has chosen to present its message through a constant montage of visuals that immerse us into the tableaux of chaos that exists within the novel. In doing so, Wheatley makes it a passive experience that never actually brings us into its display of horrors. But the real issue the film has is in focusing on the class divisions as its leading cultural indictment, mostly because this means Wheatley has missed the point of Ballard’s novel in how human nature, no matter the social status, can be eschewed, altered, or morphed by technological influence. It appears for the first time in his career, Wheatley can’t justify visual experimentation and narrative incoherence as an artistic benefit.

Despite this drastic misinterpretation of theme, there’s definitely a desire from Wheatley and his creative team to capture the visual accuracy of Ballard’s novel in all of its intoxicating overindulgence. His film’s colorful visual palette and inventive designs bring to life the Ballardian dystopian fantasy of our nightmares: the retro-futurist interiors from production designer Mark Tildesley (28 Days Later, Sunshine); the luminous and surreal cinematography of Laurie Rose (Kill List, A Field in England); and the organic recreation of decadent orgies, translucent drugs, primitive violence, and caustic banter that Ballard’s novel envisioned as a dualistic environment of maddening chaos and suave bellicosity. Even the actors, from Hiddleston’s complacent indifference to Luke Evans’ wild anarchism, gives personality to an otherwise hollow picture. Unfortunately, this highly detailed reality is contained in a purely schematic narrative of incident, one that’s never triggered by any actual event or consequential decision-making, but instead transitions into relentless havoc and tribalism out of pure happenstance. The impact of the film’s message and the shock of its visual savagery is diluted by the knowledge of how everything will end; even in the film’s opening we see a glimpse of the future as Laing roasts a dog over a fire, a sight of brutality that is only surpassed by the peeling of flesh off a severed human skull. Because its shock wears off and its Hobbesian state is a foreseeable known, High-Rise’s science-fiction beauty is a fleeting feature that’s overcome by the film’s constant monotonous tone and a refusal to venture the more intriguing psychological “inner space” of Ballard’s novel.

But of course this all stems from trying to translate a work of the past into a prophetic warning of current times, which can be a deeply flawed undertaking. Political particulars aren’t necessarily transferable from a cultural moment of the past, but overarching themes can be, which is why ignoring Ballard’s intention would ultimately result in a flawed venture. Wheatley was clearly blinded by a partisan interpretation of capitalism (or should it be accurately noted as corporatism), where its supposed unfair tiered caste system and the control of plutocrats has become an injustice on our modern political age. It’s a vilifying tactic that is rooted in oversimplification (the constant mobility of the classes is an unspoken feature that deserves analysis), and it’s a message that has become an unoriginal repetitive refrain in most cinematic productions. But let’s say Wheatley’s condemnation is assumed correct in its simplistic theoretical application, what’s the alternative? If an unregulated, free market oriented economy translates into tribalism chaos, would a government controlled economy within socialism garner better, fairer results? Considering the real world housing crisis of socialist Venezuela and its own organic creation of a High-Rise self-contained living environment known as the “Tower of David,” it would seem that the shortsighted aim of Wheatley’s artistic perspective can be applied in a myriad of ways.

But while the politics are murky, and the theory is dependent on thoughtless platitudes, what’s truly unmistakable is the horridly inert and mind-numbing two hours that create the incidental events of Wheatley’s adaptation of High-Rise. Even if Wheatley’s condemnation was conceptualized with reason, his film is an incoherent mess that’s presented through wearisome montages of brutal imagery, displaced sequences, and indifferent performances. If the entire point of the film is to point to some sort of economic injustice, then it should be proposed that the interminable experience of High-Rise should be leveled to an equal injustice within some sort of agreed upon cinematic law & order. Narrative anarchy, irrational argumentation, and a lack of character are all minor offenses in their own regard, but combining all three should be tantamount to film homicide.

Grade: C-

Shane Black’s latest film The Nice Guys seems quite out of place with our current trends of cinema, mostly because it’s the product of a bygone era of machismo centric mismatched buddy-cop comedy thrillers that found their peak over twenty years ago. The genre of clashing personas, constant witty jousting, and relentless action were an unstoppable scourge on the multiplexes during the downtrodden ‘80s and developing ‘90s, one that was filled with films that fit the creative definition of contrived: Peter Hyams’ Running Scared (1986), Lewis Teague’s Collision Course (1989), and Andrei Konchalovsky & Albert Magnoli’s Tango & Cash (1989) just to name a few. But it was the likes of Black, and some other notable action-oriented compatriots, who pioneered the buddy-cop method beyond a state of forgettable ridicule, and their films, when separated from their anchored formulaic features, possessed a modicum of artistic merit when compared to their artificial counterparts. Walter Hill’s 48 Hours (1982), Kathryn Bigelow’s Point Break (1991), and Black’s own Lethal Weapon (1987) are the films that have solidified themselves as the genre’s pillars, with Black in particular serving as one of the true original gospel writers of irony driven neo-noirs. What’s undeniably true is that in the world of the actioner there is BLW (Before Lethal Weapon) and ALW (After Lethal Weapon), an influence that is clearly evident in all of the subsequent reincarnations that eventually followed.

But that era of influence from ALW has all but disappeared. Following the demise of most trends, it exhausted its literal avatars into basic extinction, and has found a newly evolved (or devolved?) life in the superhero genre. Think about it: instead of incompatible personalities who exchange witty repartee while ducking from machine-gun fire, we now have incompatible super personalities who exchange witty repartee while combining powers to demolish an enemy, or an entire city. This is perhaps why Shane Black pivoted towards the genre with Iron Man 3, and though his facetious humor complemented Robert Downey Jr. and aspects of the downgraded tech plot, it was still a misguided endeavor that was just a narrative replica of Pixar’s The Incredibles (2004) and ultimately felt imprisoned by Marvel’s dogmatic universe building. It also belittled his expressive individuality, considering how all of Marvels films demand conformity of style, narrative structure, and outcome. And now that superhero films are their own scourge on the multiplexes of today, it in turn makes the familiar territory of a bygone era of cinema seem undeniably fresh. That’s what makes Black’s private-eye crime thriller comedy The Nice Guys—even though it’s practically a replica of his superior directorial debut Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2004)—seem unconventionally original even when it’s deeply dependent on formula.

It’s Los Angeles, 1977, the same year Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights (1997) is set, though a billboard for Jaws 2 (1978) might suggest the film’s chronology isn’t exactly strict. The time period has been chosen as a superficial historical feature, mostly rooted in pop-culture riffing (gas lines, film allusions, running jokes about The Waltons) and period aesthetic; the curvaceous typography of the opening credits, the music’s pedal influenced guitar riffs, and the sumptuous retro production designs all evoke the groovy ‘70s. There’s no evidence that the film’s setting is anything but an artificial design. While it broaches some of the era’s controversial topics— the conservative war over the blight of pornography, pollution protests aimed at industrial smog, the corporatist collusion of corrupt government and greedy business—it never approaches a level of sociopolitical commentary, because they are merely acknowledged features of the past to ground the narrative in a hyper-historical reality. It’s the exact opposite use of the time period’s specificity that was slyly exploited in another PTA film, Inherent Vice (2014). Though both The Nice Guys and Inherent Vice (2014) share a rugged private-eye mystery, it’s the latter that goes beyond aesthetic appeal and taps into the era’s political paranoia and demise of free love by making it into a psychological construct. Black’s screenplay, co-written by newcomer Anthony Bagarozzi, doesn’t have such insights in mind, and instead takes the road of delivering on basic expectations.

Meeting expectations isn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially if you deliver it with unhinged bravura. Black’s knowledge of violent buddy-cop formula, charming ham-fisted archetypes, and an embrace of intricate mystery is what makes the majority of his filmography so entertaining. The Nice Guys, with its clumsily loose rhythms, its wise-cracking wit, and its anarchistic slapstick, adopts this charming strategy, and also calls to mind a profound influence from the late great Elmore Leonard, though overall definitely lacks the novelist’s tight knit plot weavings to warrant a full-fledged parallel. Black, in a move that’s guided by honorary reverence and in equal measure complex desperation, always makes his films overly convoluted, fashioning noirs that can be confusing yet filled to the brim with distracting personality. The personalities at the center of this noir pastiche are Jackson Healy (Russell Crowe)—a Joe Palooka muscle for hire with some sort of conscience—and Holland March (Ryan Gosling)—a lush semi-corrupt private detective with a license. They begin as rivaling dicks (a more appropriate description would be charming lowlifes), with Healy snapping March’s arm with a spiral fracture as a brutish warning, and eventually realize their individual cases have a common variable: Amelia Kuttner (Margaret Qualley), an anti-pollution activist with questionable ties to the hardcore porn industry. In maneuvering all of the complex connections—from porn to the big three motor companies to systemic corruption that, as cliché as it might sound, lead all the way to the top—what gets you through the almost unnecessary ins and outs of the mystery is the quality of the performances at the center of it.

Both Crowe and Gosling are usually more comfortable as the brooding dramatic types, and yet they both seem incredibly comfortable in The Nice Guys, at least with each other. Though each of their characters would utterly deny their clear fondness for the other (mismatched buddy-cops should always seem a bit infatuated), they give them the proper contradictory layers of insecurity and charisma. They do this through a combination of natural relaxed rhythms and surprising chemistry, which in turn gives the film its undeniable personality. As the comedic straight man, Crowe—now thickened with a layer of flab that eerily calls to mind visual comparisons to Jackie Gleeson—seems exceptionally loose, and though he never convinces that only he could have played the role, he’s clearly having a good time knocking out bad guys, exchanging witticisms with Gosling, and finding his inner lighter touch (he actually makes a cliché spit-take funny). But it’s really Gosling who steals the show. His nasally, absent minded delivery combined with his goofball antics of trying to look suave and utterly failing—such as clumsily falling off a balcony or attempting to handle a loaded pistol and a cigarette simultaneously with dropped trou in the restroom—proves he’s a natural for parody in genre’s that take themselves too seriously.

It also helps that Gosling’s March has the added feature of adventuring with a young precocious daughter named Holly (Angourie Rice). Played with a surprisingly honest innocence by Rice, Holly—who shares her father’s sense of professionalism and his sweet incompetence—finds herself constantly in the middle of the action, even after she’s been physically removed from it by either getting locked in the house or in the trunk of a car. She’s the film’s non-judgmental conscience, always looking through a lens of doing right, even answering an emphatic “yes” to her father’s question, “Am I bad person?” It’s a charming add on of a father-daughter buddy concept that would have worked better had the film didn’t decide to balance it alongside its already ingrained buddy-cop plotline. In trying to do both the film tends to exaggerate one or the other depending on its placement within the story. It’s a typical feature of a Shane Black film: lack of cohesion. His narratives tend to get overly convoluted and no matter how dedicated he is to each additional embellishment, whether it’s a dream sequence with a giant bee or throwing a child through a glass window, it’s difficult to justify their necessity.

But even though The Nice Guys tries to appear as though it’s an intelligent detective thriller, it’s nothing more than forgettable dumb fun (not that there’s anything wrong with that). What’s disappointing is that it certainly had the potential of becoming a far more cohesive whole rather than an insufficient sum of all its humorous parts. It could have taken its criticism of avaricious elites and moral busybodies ingrained in the corrupt systems that watch over us all to a level of modern relevance. Certainly there are similarities to some other prominent noir influences, namely Roman Polanski’s Chinatown (1974) and Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye (1973), but it doesn’t appear as if Black wants to aspire to aim for anything more than rambunctious laughter. And that’s perfectly fine for a passive entertainment experience, but it certainly doesn’t mean it has tapped into a justifiable creative soul. As a nostalgic throwback to the buddy-cop formula, The Nice Guys proves to be charming in all of its brimming personality, but it certainly shows the creative limits of Black’s innate cleverness.

Grade: B

Somewhere in the first half of X-Men: Apocalypse a group of scrappy teenage mutants exit a movie theater circa 1983 after witnessing the last of the Star Wars franchise (or what should have been the last): Return of the Jedi (1983). As they debate the merits of the trilogy, mostly going back and forth on whether A New Hope (1977) or The Empire Strikes Back (1980) is best, it culminates in a joke spoken by a young Jean Grey (Sophie Turner) stating, “Well at least we can all agree that the third movie of a trilogy sucks.” It comes at the perfect point of no return in the film’s running time where we’re officially trapped: trapped because our human curiosity yearns for story completion; trapped because fandom creates a delusional optimism that poor starts can finish strong; and trapped because we’re too far into the film to demand our money back. The line is clearly meant to be funny—a self-referential, self-effacing jab that is reminiscent of an unconfident first date’s sorry attempt at awkward banter—but the only laugh that can be summoned is one of faint unease. We sit, stewing in our exponentially growing realization that, indeed, the third movie of a trilogy definitely “sucks.” And even though that’s a thoroughly unsophisticated word, one that has the critical nuance and deft analysis of an uncultured bromeister troglodyte who thinks Furious 7 (2015) is a magnum opus and black & white movies are “boring,” it really seems to work quite well in this particular case.

It’s a word that could easily be replaced by a plethora of other attributable adjectives: derivative, pointless, monotonous, incoherent, Wachowski-esque (that last one is only slightly unfair to the Wachowskis). Perhaps this creative exhaustion was inevitable, considering that only so much can be done in a franchise that spans nine films over sixteen years, all of which includes two full-scale diverging trilogies, multiple spin-offs, and six different directors at the helm. This isn’t to say that X-Men: Apocalypse is the lowest point for the series (that will always be held by Gavin Hood’s disastrous X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) with X-Men: The Last Stand (2006) from Brett Ratner in close second), it’s just disappointing that the trilogy curse remains even with original mutant commandant Bryan Singer in the director’s chair. Singer, after all, started it all with X-Men (2000), and gave the action series some notable depth with its lasting simplistic yet truthful cultural allusions towards modern bigotry, overcoming prejudice, and constantly returning to the stripped down bromide “people fear what they don’t understand.” His contributions to the franchise have always been relatively engaging, and he arguably created one of the superhero genre’s defining apexes with X-2 (2003). But Singer’s Apocalypse seems unrecognizable to his previous additions to the franchise, mostly because it’s unimaginative, devoid of metaphor, unfocused and crowded in both character and narrative, and exceptionally bland in its action set pieces. Or, that is to say, it’s eerily similar to Brett Ratner’s trilogy ending chapter The Last Stand (2006).

Apocalypse continues after the events of X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014), or actually 10 years after the defeat of Erik Lehnsherr a.k.a. Magneto (Michael Fassbender), and the aftermath has created a sort of unspoken détente between mutants and humans. While Lehnsherr lives anonymously and pseudonymously with a wife and child in communist occupied Poland, Professor Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) continues his work in mentoring the children of his specialized institute, igniting a series of unnecessary and repetitive reintroductions to already established characters: Scott Summers a.k.a. Cyclops (Tye Sheridan), Jean Grey (Sophie Turner), and even Kurt Wagner a.k.a. Nightcrawler (Kodi Smit-McPhee). All of this and more unfortunately leads to uncomfortable continuity errors within the franchise: it erases the meeting between Professor X, Magneto, and Jean Grey from X-Men: The Last Stand (2006); it awkwardly moves beyond a seen younger version of Cyclops in X-Men: First Class (2011) making him factually older than he is portrayed in Apocalypse; and subverts the twist ending of X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) when Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence) supposedly pulls Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) out of the water as William Stryker. Not to mention that neither Magneto nor Professor X have aged a single day since the events over twenty years ago in X-Men: First Class (2011), suggesting that the two might have the power of immortality that is unbeknownst to even themselves. Often times fans defend these and other inconsistencies in the series with the fact that the last chapter changed the entire timeline of events from the previous franchise because of, well, time travel. That defense, however, can only carry so much weight, and this series overflows with disjointed illogic.

Speaking of illogic, Apocalypse gives us some of the series’ best, especially in regards to its villain. The artificial peace between mutants and humans becomes disrupted when an ancient mutant named En Sabah Nur a.k.a. Apocalypse (Oscar Isaac)—an all-powerful and invulnerable being that can absorb other mutants’ powers and consciousness—awakens from a multiple millennia depowered slumber induced by a betrayal of his enslaved people back in 3,600 B.C. Egypt. What’s the endgame for the aptly named mutant? Yep, you probably guessed it with your mutant prophetic abilities: the end of the world as we know it. In the early years of the franchise the films used to have competing philosophies that made them thoroughly interesting, with Professor X representing the build trust towards tolerance school of thought and Magneto representing the social Darwinism of superior evolution approach. Now, because of Apocalypse, it has been dumbed down to worldly cleansing, a threat that’s never exciting and practically numbing in its all-encompassing destruction. A powerful once godlike creature now seeks obliteration rather than reverence? Perhaps it would make sense if the film wanted it do so. But the character is not only written with obtuse reasoning, he’s also portrayed—though through no fault of his own—by Oscar Isaac buried in a mountain of blue makeup, which subverts his natural charisma as an actor. As the critical cliché goes, a hero is only as good as its villain, and the same could be said for a film.

And diluting a performance of one of its exceptionally talented cast members isn’t something the X-Men franchise usually does. In fact, despite some questionable creative choices and deviations from comic folklore accuracy, the franchise has continually been enhanced by its consistent cadre of prodigious actors. You don’t get much better than the likes of Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellan gracing their talent and presence within the first established trilogy as Professor X and Magneto, and their younger respective counterparts of James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender have been equally convincing. And yet, Apocalypse is the first of the series to seem wasteful of its talent, except of course the obvious waste that was Rattner’s X-Men: The Last Stand (2006). Even though the film is crafted similarly to Singer’s previous efforts, where the film builds slowly towards a dense plot that possesses a deep focus on character development, nothing within Apocalypse feels organically constructed or performed. Minus an exceptional scene of loss from the tortured perspective of Magneto—a sequence that has the feeling of being a lost short shot by Andrzej Wajda or Jirí Menzel—Apocalypse makes Professor X and Magneto into little more than props for narrative momentum. Once Magneto becomes one of Apocalypse’s “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” his presence within the film shrinks dramatically (apparently a side effect of becoming one of the horsemen is bland personality disorder, at least when looking at the performances of Olivia Munn, newcomer Alexandra Shipp, and Ben Hardy). And an entire focused review could be written about the increasing ambivalence from Jennifer Lawrence who clearly despises being in this series (just look at the differences of makeup detail in each of the films), and how Sophie Turner is officially the January Jones of Game of Thrones.

Just like the titular character of the film who destroys everything in his path, it seems Singer himself has created a creative one of his own with Apocalypse: it has diminished the metaphorical complexities of the original franchise into grossly one-dimensional hero and villain motivations; it has taken its characters for granted and refuses to expand on the existing relationships or adequately tackle newcomers; and it also squanders its history for making inventive action sequences. Singer has been responsible for two of the X-Men franchises greatest action achievements, which means they could possibly be two of the greatest action sequences in history. The first, of course, is the White House infiltration by a mind-controlled Nightcrawler in X-2 (2003), with the second being the slow-motion kitchen pummeling taken from the speedy point of view of Quicksilver (Evan Peters) in X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014). Skeptics of Singer could always depend on him bringing a heightened technicality to the basics (The Usual Suspects (1995) anyone?), so the action would, at the minimum, be of the exciting variety instead of the muddled action we get in typical blockbuster affairs. Unfortunately, that doesn’t even come close to reality in Apocalypse. There’s barely any notable action until the final twenty-minutes, and it’s all a jumbled, boring mess, with even the positive aspects—such as the psychological landscape battle between Xavier and Apocalypse—reek of germane frivolity. Singer avoids the new and sticks with the familiar, even shamelessly mimicking his own Quicksilver slow-motion sequence from before but this time edited to the Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams.” Action was the last vestige of hope that Apocalypse could be enjoyable, and not even Singer can fulfill on that promise.

Where do the problems of Apocalypse ultimately stem from? It could be exhaustion on everyone’s part, including Singer, who has given this franchise a lot of himself with personal struggles and allusions to his own experience of bigotry and intolerance. But looking deeper there’s drastic issues with narrative, a problem that can be directly attributed to one sole person: screenwriter Simon Kinberg (Fantastic Four, Jumper). After the first two X-Men films, both of which were written with a convincing semblance of metaphorical depth and inventive action by David Hayter, Kinberg was brought in to pen the horrendous X-Men: The Last Stand (2006). And though he also penned the laudable Days of Future Past (2014), it was based on a story template that was conceived by the writing team of Jane Goldman and Matthew Vaughn who constructed the intriguing resurrection of the series with X-Men: First Class (2011). Kinberg, this time, was left to his own devices again, and he has constructed an equally wasteful final chapter that is directly comparable to his last trilogy ender. It’s unfortunate that history keeps repeating itself within studio produced tentpoles, where an ambivalence for quality and a focus on speediness to market keeps quality products from getting constructed. The mythos of En Sabah Nur had the potential of being the ultimate X-Men film that satisfied devout fans and general audiences alike. Instead, we’ve been given the generic treatment, and it’s as disappointing as it is unenjoyable.

Grade: C-

If these last couple of weeks has taught us anything it’s that our culture has been possessed by black & white absolutism. Differing opinions on the political climate, the significance of modern tragedies, or even the unimportant passions behind pop-culture trends and movies are seen as positions in some sort of moral war; an engagement of vitriolic accusations in an increasingly toxic atmosphere that sees insecure moralists dehumanizing their intellectual opposition because they don’t necessarily conform to their delicately homogenized groupthink. For example, pro-gun control advocates can’t understand any reasonable disagreement towards their “common sense laws,” which inevitably degrades into some allusion towards their opponents as apologists for child murder and homosexual slaughter. #BlackLivesMatter protesters paint any detraction with a broad brush of privileged societal racism, while #AllLivesMatter takes any chance they get to interpret the previous hashtag supporters as whiney anarchists who support cop-killings. This isn’t just counterproductive; it’s purposefully divisive, and forces people to choose a side where understanding of the other position can’t be done with honesty or earnestness. And when people take sides, usually to defend themselves from blanketed accusations of whatever social sin or cultural faux pas has been launched in their direction, they can get increasingly, almost disturbingly, defensive, with attacks of their own.

There’s no better example of this than with the eighteen-month-long conversation (if you can call the lack of civility that defines online interaction as a conversation) surrounding the inevitable reboot of the beloved paranormal comedy Ghostbusters (1984). Let’s take a look at the history shall we? The initial hesitation surrounding the potential franchise extender emerged like any other remake skepticism; a devout fandom that idolized the original franchise (if the childish awfulness that was Ghostbusters II (1989) deserves franchise status) demanded that certain criteria be met in tackling this already established universe. Their disappointment can be understood through a series of letdowns: first, the promised third installment of the franchise didn’t come to fruition, partly because of Bill Murray’s stubbornness and then because of the unfortunate passing of Harold Ramis; then, a passing-of-the-torch film that bridged the original franchise to the new one also failed to gain traction at Sony; and finally, the decision for a frivolous reboot that reeked of opportunism turned off the supposed base that the whole thing was meant to appease in the first place (and this all happened before the gimmick casting had even been announced). But it was this understandable aura of disappointment that was turned into some political crusade, where you were forced to choose a side: you were either on the side of cinematic progress supporting a female-centric action comedy no matter the quality, or you were part of the anachronistic misogynist patriarchy that wants women busting kitchens, not ghosts.

Of course what followed is widely recognized as a famous mudslinging match between basement internet trolls who feed off antagonism and the clearly humorless feminism branch of the social justice warriors whose only goal seems to be taking the fun out of everything. Any criticism of an all-female reboot as an uninventive ploy was seen as an attack on women everywhere, even though some of us feel that women deserve better than simply transforming established male characters into female inversions. Originality, after all, isn’t just skin deep. But the enemy lines were drawn as soon as the petrol of accusations were thrown onto the proverbial online fire, even when the only expressed hesitations had everything to do with franchise accuracy, story originality, and a consistency of tone, and nothing to do with casting. So let’s get it out of the way: the women aren’t the problem at all with Paul Feig’s dispirited, juvenile, misbegotten, and overly-dependent-on-nostalgia reboot of Ghostbusters. In fact, the comedic versatility and charming personas of Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon, and Leslie Jones prevent this so-called comedy from turning into utter insipidness, at least for a little while. But long before the third act rolls around to devolve into an artless barrage of action special effects driven nonsense—a spectacle that would make even the Autobots of Michael Bay’s Transformers blush—the film has already lost its creative center, and even the most iron clad of uteruses couldn’t save it from its pointless fate.

Ghostbusters, like most reboots and remakes of a similar variety (equal opportunity reboot/remake hater here), suffers from a lack of ingenuity that finds itself following a formulaic blueprint narrative that dutifully hits its expected marks while also being filled with lazily developed characters and an overabundance of desperate nostalgia. Co-written by Paul Feig and Katie Dippold—the writer behind their far superior female-action collaboration The Heat (2013)—the film attempts to recreate a foundation that is comfortably parallel to Ivan Reitman’s witty, though often overpraised original. After an insanely overdone cold opening, with ooze bubbling floors and dramatic invisible chair throwing, the film quickly, and often times messily, brings together its mad-scientist outcasts together (or should it be stated three scientists and one other, since the film awkwardly goes out of its way to make that point itself). There’s wet-blanket Erin Gilbert (Kristin Wiig), a Columbia professor whose comfortable tenure track gets disrupted when her paranormal investigatory past unexpectedly reemerges in a book she wrote with an old colleague entitled Ghosts from Our Pasts: Figuratively and Literally. That ex-colleague is fringe scientist Abby Yates (Melissa McCarthy), an arrogant know-it-all believer (think a combination of Bill Murray’s Peter Venkman and Dan Akroyd’s Ray Stantz) who clearly holds a grudge towards Erin for leaving their collaborative work. Though they supposedly have a past, both figuratively within the film and literally in Feig’s Bridesmaids (2011), the chemistry is awkwardly off between these two actors and their extended characters, a fact that can be attributed the script’s inability to give them some defining idiosyncratic qualities to embrace (they’re basic character templates and nothing more).

Rounding out the crew is butch Brainiac Jillian Holtzmann (Kate McKinnon), the steampunk dressed Spengler-inspired inventor of the group, and the world’s friendliest MTA employee Patty Tolan (Leslie Jones), the streetwise black sidekick that reeks of obsolete tokenism. For all of this focus on achieving a progressive tone for the cinematic future, Ghostbusters has a pretty scathing blight on their mission with the written character of Patty: she’s not educated in the realm of paranormal science (even explicitly noted at one moment by Wiig’s character); she’s a public-sector employee that paints her demographic quite generically; and essentially her reasoning for joining the group harks back to the fealty of black domestics in old Hollywood films. If progress were put into an equation, Ghostbusters would be noted to have taken one step forward and two steps back. However, it’s interesting to note that the two current SNL performers, part of the variety show’s modern trend of producing more misses than hits, are the new Ghostbusters standout features. McKinnon, a talented and whimsical chameleon of sorts, embraces her character’s anarchist madness with a dedicated energy and delivers her lines through some practiced intonations, which makes her a vibrant addition to the crew, even though we laugh more at the anticipation of her actions rather than anything she actually does. And despite the characters’ unintended racism (and consistent ability to yell with grating irritability), Jones brings an authenticity to Patty that’s not evident in the rest of the cast.

But the limited chemistry shared within the group and the occasional standout comedic delivery can only take a film so far, and the unfortunate reality about Ghostbusters is that a majority of it simply isn’t funny. Certainly there’s a respectful syncopation of joke setups, some less than successful attempts at improvisation (which, unlike most improvised dialogue films, make their presence overt), and an occasional sense of wit, but it’s not a consistent attribute. This is even more unfortunate when considering Paul Feig’s rather consistent ability to create comic showcases for his selected female driven talent, whether it’s successfully inverting the espionage thriller with last year’s Spy (2015) or the groundbreaking erasure of separating comedy from tragedy in Bridesmaids (2011). But Ghostbusters seems anxious to subvert its predecessor, while also slavishly being weighted to it, making the unforgivable error of not being able to make its old ideas feel new again. It can’t seem to escape the original and that, ironically, is to the film’s detriment, especially when the obligatory cameos begin to make themselves present. Minus the lovely Annie Potts (who hasn’t lost an ounce of her dry comic zest), the rest of the cameos seem uninspired, especially Bill Murray who delivers his lines as though there’s a gun to his head. Despite what might be marketed to you, there’s absolutely nothing in this film that you haven’t seen before.

And that’s the real problem. Clearly Feig, his co-writer, and the cast wanted to aspire to something beyond the rigidity of appeasing loyal fandom, which becomes evident when you ponder their deconstructionist qualities: a horridly cartoonish villain (Neil Casey) obsessed with ghosts resembles the nerd fanboy weirdos the creative team came to despise; the apparition hunting team literally battles the old Ghostbusters symbol at the end of the film, giving it a proton pack crossing of the streams charge to the nether region for good female-dominated measure; and there’s even a dumb blonde male secretary in known action-star Chris Hemsworth in order to emphasize that the women are the main attraction (which is mildly humorous, but sort of does a disservice to the original wit of Annie Potts’ Janine). They got caught in the middle of paying homage to do their obligated fan service and getting the opportunity to trail blaze their own path. The outcome is a half-assed version of both, a remake that’s more Pixels (2015) than Ghostbusters, where the jokes are inconsistent and the story is woefully unoriginal. It isn’t a dismal experience—the cast as a whole brings a warmth that’s rather unexpected and the evolution of the tech gear has some quality pseudo-science inspiration—but ultimately Ghostbusters proves that even female-driven action blockbusters suffer under the weight of studio system overreach. These women have proven themselves worthy of better, and hopefully we don’t focus too long on the fact they were cast and begin to focus on giving them the quality scripts they deserve. It’s just sad that passions on both sides were invoked so harshly for a film that ultimately delivers an uninspired, blasé experience, unworthy of even a fraction of that praise or ire.

Grade: C-

If the regulative powers within the state of Michigan or the EPA ever decide to find a streamlined, efficient solution to the poisoning of residents in Flint, they should immediately then turn their attention towards the obviously corrupted water supply running through Warner Brothers’ DC offices. One last bit of hope wants to believe that it isn’t merely extreme incompetence that explains their continuous trend of cinematic disasters that are directly under their umbrella of oversight. Besides Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy—which had immense problems of its own, especially within The Dark Knight Rises (2012) finale—Warner Brothers and DC has laid waste to their potential DCEU (DC Extended Universe) and a plethora of quality creative content. And it goes well beyond the mind-numbingly bad non-starter The Green Lantern (2011): Man of Steel (2013) subverted the iconic hero into a charmless outsider who possessed the moral code of a sociopath (thanks to his own parents), and this year’s Batman v. Superman (2016)—in all of its admirable, though muddled, aspirations—exhausted the audience in underdeveloped exposition, rampant illogic, and a dispiriting atmosphere of bleakness. It’s all part of a flawed perception that franchise building is a zero-sum game, or that there’s a lost opportunity for every formulaic superhero release that Disney/Marvel pump out into the market. As ludicrous as that sounds it has resulted in a rushed timeframe, which is causing severe damage; a self-inflicting war of attrition on creativity that used to have immense potential had it been allowed to marinate properly. But with the slate proposal of Wonder Woman (2017), Justice League (2017), The Flash (2018), Aquaman (2018), and more building off an increasingly faulty foundation, Warner Brothers and DC have tied their weighted foot onto the accelerator, with very little hope that they’ll be able to turn this uncreative monstrosity away from careening into the void of mediocrity.

Which brings us to the newest addition to the DCEU, David Ayer’s Suicide Squad. It’s a concept with promise that ends up having zero follow through; a forcibly edgy yet overly cautious film that neuters its inventive qualities with formulaic plot designs, emotional crutches, and a typical devolution into anarchic mayhem (both of the action and narrative variety). Inverting the script to focus on the perspective of sociopaths, amoral hitmen, and popular villains could have served as an insightful relativist study and criticism in an era with increasing moral subjectivity. Especially so with Mr. Ayer, a screenwriter and filmmaker who has made a career at manipulating our familiar perspectives, from highlighting police corruption in Training Day (2001), showing us the pitfalls of honor in the war-as-hell drama Fury (2014), and showcasing the sensitivity of law enforcement brotherhood in End of Watch (2012). But that sensibility or experimental mindset isn’t evident throughout Suicide Squad. Instead, this potentially risky concept gets the frustratingly safe treatment as a desperate, studio-infected riff on the nihilistic brashness of Deadpool (2016) and the anti-hero whimsy of Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), while never even coming close to approaching the charm and inventiveness of either. What’s upsetting about the film isn’t necessarily that it avoids potential controversy in its concept, because that’s sort of expected in our entertainment age of delivering boilerplate genre templates. No, the real disappointment is that Ayer’s villain oriented superhero film stays rigidly inside the lines and adopts a formulaic route that doesn’t even deliver on basic expectations. Essentially it’s a failure on two levels: it’s a failure in delivering on its promised potential, but also in turning what could have been a familiar, though rambunctiously charming, experience into a listless, inept, and joyless ride of perpetual nonsense.

Even though an ideal interpretation of Suicide Squad would be more in line with Sam Peckninpah’s The Wild Bunch (1969) or Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds (2009), the plot here is a formulaic variation on Robert Aldrich’s The Dirty Dozen (1967)—assemble a team of arch-villains, amoral sociopaths, and gifted “meta-humans” (the politically correct term concocted by DC) and force them to use their abilities against their own self-interest. The team in question is a DC rogue’s gallery of who really cares, and the film certainly doesn’t go out of its way to convince you that you should. Through a cycle of introduction, re-introduction, and constant exposition—all put under a relentless on-the-nose soundtrack and jarring music video editing—we’re treated to a series of garish and smeary colored case files of supposedly evil characters (except they’re not). There’s Deadshot (Will Smith with a bit of that old-school menace and charm), the world’s deadliest sniper, who isn’t so bad because he loves and wants to take care of his daughter. There’s Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie starring as the personification of a booty shorts ad), an ex-psychiatrist turned sociopath due to her tortured love for clown pimp gangster The Joker (an over-caffeinated Jared Leto), who really isn’t that bad because she’s trapped in a cycle of mental and physical abuse (an inconvenient reality that’s not really explored through the film). And then there’s Diablo (a believably remorseful Jay Hernandez), an LA gangster human torch rental, who really isn’t all that bad due to his pacifist evolution after he caused the tragic death of his family. It’s really no wonder that the film incessantly reminds you through dialogue that these are actually the bad guys, and what’s really sad is that the reminder seems necessary.

The rest of the assembled villains are a bunch of inconsequential nobodies: Captain Boomerang (a lively Jai Courtney) serves as the comic relief; Killer Croc (a grunting Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje) looks menacing and does nothing; and Slipknot (Adam Beach) gets explosively decapitated as soon as he arrives. Overseeing them all is the rigid Rick Flag (a hopelessly lost Joel Kinnaman), a humorless soldier who has unprofessionally fallen in love (at least that’s what we’re told) with the squad’s first member, possessed archaeologist June Moon a.k.a. Enchantress (an abysmally awful, out-of-her-element Cara Delevingne). If anything resembling a definite plot has yet to really make itself clear here, it’s because in all actuality the film never leaves its introductory concept. The entire first hour is spent on repetitive expository setup—explaining and re-explaining who these characters are and why they’re bad people—and the second half is a mindless repetition of action skirmishes with faceless, zombified minions who are easily disposed of (even the simple swing of a baseball bat takes these useless, anti-tension enemies out). This isn’t necessarily an issue in most films—the action and superhero genres are the most unimaginative incarnations of formula today, with the same style of cataclysmic endings that have zero shades of nuance—but it’s just that Suicide Squad in particular goes out of its way to stick dogmatically to this tiresome format. Despite the asserting tone of the marketing campaign that this isn’t your typical kind of superhero film, it’s probably the most “basic-bitch” version we’ve ever encountered. The only truth spoken in the film’s marketing is that these really are the “Worst.Heroes.Ever,” though it’s probably a good bet that they weren’t referring to the quality.

Nothing really makes a whole lot of sense throughout Suicide Squad. With the death of Superman and the fallout from Doomsday in Batman v. Superman, U.S. Intelligence Officer Amanda Waller (a delectably Machiavellian Viola Davis) convinces the government to adopt the aforementioned program as a safety net towards future attacks. And yet, this clearly cunning woman—who is shown in a moronic post-credits scene to have files and knowledge of proven heroic “meta-humans,” such as Arthur Curry (Aquaman) and Barry Allen (The Flash)—chooses anarchic, sociopathic criminals as her controlled subjects. So instead of utilizing her resources to bring together her own sort of Justice League, she instead brings together a team of mostly useless villains (and if you think Harley Quinn isn’t useless beyond being a fetishized sexpot then you’ve bought into fandom delusions). This sort of undermines Waller’s foresight, ruthlessness, and manipulative power, especially since her first recruit—Enchantress—ends up being the very source of destruction that justifies the assembly of the squad in the first place. It just gives the entire film an exhausting what-was-the-point-of-it-all feeling. That sort of consequential irony—the idea of creating the very source of villainy that you had wished to protect the world from—would have been a rather ingenious theme for Suicide Squad, and yet, Waller doesn’t come to any sort of caustic end. Ayer has dealt with moral ambiguities and tragic ironies in his past work, so it’s exceptionally disappointing that this obvious one didn’t make it into the incoherent mess that defines Suicide Squad.

Perhaps this disarrayed pro forma is a direct consequence of the film not necessarily knowing what it wants to be, considering it’s a schizophrenic clutter of competing ideas, from blending a common superhero template with subversive anti-heroes and an undeserved aura of edginess. That very well could be a result of studio demands versus director’s vision, though that can only explain so much. A film like Suicide Squad, or rather a film that dabbles in the controversial, is all about follow through, and unfortunately this film can’t even make contact with the ball. What’s clear is that the studio didn’t trust the idea beyond its initial concept; they didn’t trust a director to truly venture the moral shades of what it means to be a villain. They also didn’t trust their collection of characters—a collection of obscure villains who probably couldn’t justify being the main antagonist in a focused individual film—and so they treated them as half-baked archetypes to fill out the necessary personalities befitting a formulaic team. Minus Harley Quinn, of course. Her presence in the film—accompanied by the unnecessary addition of her practically edited out lover and abuser The Joker—reminds us of the pitfalls of fan service. Her addition to the team isn’t based on ability or skill, but only because she’s unnecessarily popular amongst obsessive DC fandom (she’s held up in the film and elsewhere as a feminist heroine, yet she’s an anti-feminist conception from Batman: The Animated Series, whose tragic cycle of abuse and unrequited love keeps her enslaved to the sporadic approval of the Joker). She and the limited use of The Joker—a legitimate complaint that could be issued under false marketing tactics—are obvious creative crutches; additions to the storyline when trust in their plethora of comic-book content falls prey to shameless pandering for widening audience attendance.

What’s exceptionally annoying about the defenders of the DC Extended Universe—and you can be sure there’s a lot of them—is that they’re insistent that we must slog through more and more of the incoherent, underdeveloped drivel in order to get to the quality yet to come. Even though there are some occasional admirable qualities being experimented with in each of these films, none of them are fully developed and they all lack confident follow through. In other words, the defenses for these dour and practically joyless adventures are becoming tiresome. Suicide Squad could only be satisfying to those who are into the novelty of today’s entertainment status quo: obnoxious violence, neon color schemes to distract the orientation of the viewer, and simplistic character creations with enough forced quirkiness to make it seem as though people are having fun. What’s assured is that those with a genuine love for the DC Universe—not an unquestioning love that is merely happy that these characters are actually on the screen—and a genuine love for storytelling, character complexity, and intriguing thematic resonance are not having fun. If there’s one triumph to be lauded in the incoherent nonsense that persists in Suicide Squad, it’s that it makes Zack Snyder’s bloated and humorless Batman v. Superman (2016) look competently made. A cynic prone to conspiracy theories might begin to wonder if this was its entire purpose in the first place.

Grade: D+

The audacity of Disney’s shrewd reboot business model eventually invokes a feeling of admiration, that is, after the seizure inducing eye-rolling and involuntary dry-heaving stops. Through the modern developments of CGI, Disney has realized—with a stunning and perfected practice of creative cynicism—that they can reimagine their known brands from the past into newer, glossier products for the now. It’s cheating in a way, though an argument can be made that fantasy tales can, and even should, have continuous renditions to renew a sense of wonder in our generation and the next with these familiar adventures. That prospect, however, is only valid if remakes do, in fact, bring back a childlike enchantment, which is a theory that is found wanting for evidence. Instead of remakes of magic, Disney’s track record has been turning their classic animations into relatively tiresome regurgitations, with varying degrees of success: Alice in Wonderland (2010), though profitable, was a disaster of adaptation, which never even came close to the cartoon’s even timid interpretation of Lewis Carroll’s surrealist novel; Maleficent (2014), the revisionist twist on the classic Sleeping Beauty (1959), became a muddled, one-dimensional character study that lacked any sort of intriguing enchantment; Cinderella (2015), the best of the remakes so far, was an elegant, though thoroughly familiar, execution that dutifully embraced the flair of old-fashioned magical storytelling; and The Jungle Book (2016), though remarkably crafted visually, was still a neutered version of Rudyard Kipling’s novel that inevitably felt hollow from the lack of natural settings. Despite the millions of dollars of budgetary funding and a shameless parade of films defined by brand recognition, it seems clear that conjuring magic twice for the same story isn’t as easy as it might seem.

But what about resurrecting a relatively forgotten product in an attempt to ignite magic for the first time? This, theoretically, should be the ideal equation when considering a remake: find films that either failed to generate a memorable quality or that need some routine quality enhancement, while also being unburdened by a cumbersome sentimental fandom that backlashes against retooling in any way, shape, or form. Disney has plenty of this kind of middling content, especially from their wandering years of live-action oriented entertainment between the death of Walt Disney (1966) to their purported renaissance that began with The Little Mermaid (1989). Some films within the long list of practically unrecognizable titles in that period might generate a nostalgic memory or two. But one thing is certain: no matter how fun any of them might have been through the lens of a child, not a single one of them are as impactful or as awe-inspiring as the studios’ productions in their formative years, whether it’s Bambi (1942), Pinocchio (1940), or even 101 Dalmatians (1961). One of these fateless films was Pete’s Dragon (1977), a decent, clumsy, and outdated live-action-animated hybrid done in horridly off-putting technicolor that might have some looking back on it with fondness, even though it lacked that true sense of wonderment that we should expect to define our timeless children’s fables. That lack of enchantment is actually a distinct advantage in remaking less popular material, mostly because expectations aren’t universally held by the public, but also because it creates a unique opportunity for creative authorship that isn’t anchored down by an expected devotion to narrative accuracy. You can fix what is already considered outdated or broken.

That’s the mentality that drives indie filmmaker David Lowery’s first big studio budget adaptation for Pete’s Dragon, which borrows the original’s initial concept of a boy and his dragon friendship and not much else. Everything from Malcolm Marmorstein’s screenplay for the 1977 film has been changed: the charming sea-swept Northeastern milieu has been transformed into a Pacific Northwest logging community; the orphanage of the title character isn’t one of self-defiance, but instead one of sorrowful tragedy; and the cute, gangly hand-drawn dragon has been turned into a soulful mythic entity through the well-executed movie magic of computer-generated imagery (CGI). Lowery, and screenwriting partner Toby Halbrooks, seem to have set out with the intention to create something quite unrecognizable to most modern audiences, which is the timeless folksy children’s fable; a faint whisper of imagination that resonates loudly with those still possessing a bit of their childhood innocence. It’s a beautiful homage to the unapologetic family films that made Disney such a powerful influence on the fantasies of the young, and it’s a style that, in these overloaded cinematic times, is as mythic and rare as the very creature that rests at the heart of its story. What could have become a desperate turn at brand revival has been kept tamed in ambition and delicate in execution, turning an outdated and indistinctive film into a sincere and understated testament about the bonds of friendship and the longing for family. Had Lowery’s adaptation been released in the heyday of conventional family cinema it would have been indistinguishable from the majority of its ilk. But, because it has been released in our action fetishized culture, it becomes something rather unique and distinct in comparison to its modern competition, because it chooses intimacy over self-indulgence, gracefulness over soaring action, and a careful mix of reality and imagination over wish-fulfillment fantasy.

Before Pete’s Dragon takes its stride in conventional fantasy, it opens on a bold tragic note with the sudden death of Pete’s parents in a tasteful and slow-motion car accident. The idea or theme of loss, consequence, or even tragedy seem to be becoming an extinct component in children’s entertainment, where studios are placing their predictable wagers on a baseline audience of indiscriminate, ADD addled children and their reluctant chaperons. Experiencing this loss through the point of view of Pete easily ignites our sympathy, which is ever more accentuated when he almost immediately befriends another lost orphan in the form of Elliot: an exceptionally large green-furred dragon, whose leonine features and expressive sounds make him the adorable equivalent of an overgrown puppy.  Despite the overabundance of CGI to the point of almost numbed appreciation, where the special in “special effects” doesn’t necessarily mean what we think it means anymore, hope can still be generated when an occasional film reignites a beautiful sense of wonderment in their artificial creations. And thanks to Weta Digital and supervisor Eric Saindon, Elliot is one of those creations. In comparison to his original 1977 conception—a misshapen and clumsy green gentle giant with streaks of pink in his hair and wings—this Elliot is a fully-green soulful and goofy plush toy who, even towering at twenty-four feet tall and having the ability to breathe fire, seems like the biggest cuddle buddy a boy could ask for. Though he’s a fully digital creation, Elliot matches, on equal measure, the expressiveness of his counterpart Pete (Oakes Fegley), which in turn creates a genuine friendship and connection that becomes the poetic and tender heart of the film.

This is all rather fitting for a film that wants to carefully blur the lines between what is imaginary and what is reality with a folktale sincerity. Lowery—who came to cinematic prominence with his poetically visual Americana allegory Ain’t Them Bodies Saints (2013)—relishes in the idea of mythmaking, and how our stories, no matter how fantastical, can be real depending on how much we believe in them. Before we hear the sagacious fable musings of Meacham (Robert Redford), the local woodcarver who tells the children of Millhaven about a mythical dragon that lives deep in their adjacent woods, we’ve already seen this elegant beast in the actual fur. No one really believes the old man, maybe not even the amused children, but especially not his rationalist daughter Grace (Bryce Dallas Howard) who, as a park ranger, ventures those very woods on the daily and has never witnessed such a creature. Grace—whose character was intentionally given a religiously themed name—will be the one who sees her rationality put into question after coming across Pete in the woods and hearing of his imaginary friend Elliot. Belief and faith, the ability to accept something despite the availability of evidence, is a powerful tool, but doubt can be even more powerful; a barrier or blindness to enlightenment that perhaps comes when adulthood relinquishes our connection to youthful innocence. Grace comes to believe in Pete, and therefore begins to believe in Elliot, seeing an erosion of doubt that inevitably connects the faith of her father’s legends to the magical reality that defines Pete’s existence. It’s a warming sentiment—one that could arguably be considered overly saccharine—but it’s reminiscent of a Spielbergian quality that hasn’t been regularly evident in modern cinema.

But unfortunately, not everything ends up working in Pete’s Dragon, at least not everything integral to the momentum of the plot. Certainly the themes of belief, the emerging familial dynamic of Grace as a surrogate mother to Pete, and the central bond of friendship have significant weight, but the film as a whole doesn’t seem to propel itself forward in a fully engaging manner. Though it’s labeled as an adventure—a point that’s even specifically mentioned in dialogue early on in the film—it’s a rather mundane one, or perhaps a more modest one. There’s a focus on the intimacy between the characters and the connections they forge through their shared belief in the dragon, and in doing so a credible antagonism fails to make its way into the dramatic fold. The walking cliché of a villain, if you can call it that, is represented by Gavin (Karl Urban), the brother of Grace’s fiancé Jack (Wes Bentley), who simply wants to hunt down Elliot in order to get a name for himself beyond the routine of his wood logging life. Laudably he doesn’t become some tiresome symbolic representative of environmental greed or callous self-interest (he actually does care more about his brother than his ambitions in the end), but still, there’s not much there to give it a proper dramatic push. But perhaps the film’s full embrace of folksy humility is the point: a confident refusal to conform to the modern expectations of adventure cinema. Too much conflict might have ended up betraying the film’s tender spirit. There’s a warmth that the film generates that seems all too rare to completely invalidate it with plot minutiae, even though a fully rounded script could have turned it into an immediate classic.

The true triumph of Pete’s Dragon, however, is the fact that a studio, especially an overbearing one such as Disney, allowed such an understated and unassuming fantasy tale to be told. In an era of bloated big budget monstrosities that never have breathing room for character, development, or thematic resonance, Lowery’s adaptation of the 1977 original is quite the rarity, despite having some defects that keep it from being truly great. But what’s inspiring here is that Lowery avoided the fate of many indie filmmakers who have turned to big-budget studio projects: he preserved his unique creative voice (just look at the recent unfortunate transitional outcomes for Colin Trevorrow, Gareth Edwards, and Johnathan Liebesman). It’s Lowery’s authorship that keeps the film contained in its humble storytelling, and even though there’s a template to follow, the indie filmmaker keeps his personal visual touches to keep the contained myth intimate (whether it’s the perspective shots of Pete on top of the bus, viewing the world anew for the first time, or a beautifully framed shot of Elliot breathing fire on top of a suspension bridge). Studios tend to subvert and conform their directorial staff in the name of brand recognition and familiarity (think Disney with Marvel), but Pete’s Dragon, though traditionally formulaic, defies this expectation by embracing an old-fashioned methodology to telling a warm, folksy fable with plenty of morals to consider. It isn’t necessarily heart-pounding in excitement, but that’s because the film has no interest in pandering. Instead, it seeks to deliver a sincere reflection on the magic of faith, family, and friendship that’s about as comforting as hearing old tales being told around a summer night campfire surrounded by those close to you. Now that’s true nostalgia.

Grade: B

25. Embrace the Serpent– Though it was nominated in last year’s Best Foreign Language category for the Academy Awards, I wasn’t able to experience the engrossing and unsettling artistry of Ciro Guerra’s Embrace the Serpent until early this year. And what’s so surprising about Guerra’s study on the brutish nature of man, and whether the bridge between the primitive world and the modern world is a doomed endeavor, is that a film like this actually exists. It’s a high-concept art film with the gripping tension of a modern thriller, one that tackles numerous subjects relating to the invasion of culture, technology vs. spiritualism, and whether so-called “civilization” means an absence of human natures corruptibility. Presented in seamless parallel storylines and shot beautifully in black-and-white cinematography, Embrace the Serpent has the ethereal tones of Werner Herzog’s earlier work combined with a clever inversion of Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now! (or more specifically Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness). It speaks as a sort of spiritual elegy to lost identity, and this rarity of cinema seeks to challenge the audience’s preconceptions on the supposed enlightenment of modernity and our increasing distance from genuine spiritual connection. Embrace the Serpent is a beautiful, challenging, and engrossing experience through and through, and it leaves an indelible mark once you’ve seen it.

24. Nocturnal Animals– Tom Ford’s second feature film, Nocturnal Animals, could easily be considered a dazzling mess—a film with so many moving parts and tone variations that it’s difficult to pinpoint what exactly is being said by the emerging auteur. But that’s partly what makes it such an enthralling and absorbing experience. Based on the 1993 novel Tony and Susan by Austin Wright, and split into three separate narratives that reflect and obfuscate each other in equal measure, this meta-thriller explores the indulgence of imagination and what we bring along subjectively as readers, viewers, or voyeurs to works of art. Ford has found a distinctive style, one that oscillates between Lynchian surrealism and Kubrickian exploitation, one that never feels borrowed but rather reinterpreted for a particular artist’s vision that borders on malevolence. What’s admirable here is that Ford is dissecting his own hollow privileged world, effortlessly satirizing and tearing down the top echelons of the lonely rich and the pseudo-cultured hacks who determine what’s worthy of societal attention. Their perceptions of the mid-west, their cultural self-importance, and their ultimate emptiness of original opinion and emotional clarity are all on the chopping block, with Ford hacking away at their faulty pillars one exaggerated plot point after another. It’s a devilishly superb and subtle vengeance thriller, one that has deeper significance and power the more you reflect on its intentional vagueness.

23. A Monster Calls– Bordering on overly sentimental melodrama, J.A. Bayona’s A Monster Calls finds the emerging Spanish filmmaker delving deeper into the divergent styles that have defined his work so far, and attempting to find an articulate balance between them. Combining the gothic fairy tale hauntings of The Orphanage (2007) with the mawkish survivalist realism of The Impossible (2012), the result here is a far more satisfying cohesion of the two that makes for an incredibly touching, and often cathartic, look at grief. Impressively adapted from Patrick Ness’ novel of the same name, the film finds Conor O’Malley—a bullied and artistically-inclined boy “too old to be a boy and too young to be a man”—coping with his mother’s imminent death by envisioning a fantastical creature that guides him through his inner and outer torment. The film cleverly adopts convention, only to twist and defy it with superb parable lessons about inward contractions, the power and limitations of belief, and the difficulty of being honest to yourself and others in the face of the unimaginable. Its artistry is subtler than most, and perhaps lurks in the darkness of its themes and poignant revelations, but A Monster Calls might be the best children’s fable released this year (next to David Lowry’s Pete’s Dragon) showing that potentially maudlin material can hit all the right rhythms and avoid overstatement.

22. Cameraperson– In a year of some beyond interesting documentaries—from the portrait of political collapse in Elyse Steinberg and Josh Kriegman’s Weiner to Ava DuVernay’s incendiary 13^th—the undeniable best has been Kirsten Johnson’s memoir Cameraperson. But it’s more than an autobiographical testament; it’s also a rumination, a treatise, and a presented theory on the art of documentary filmmaking—a manifesto that asserts the importance that behind the lens of the camera is the eye of a breathing, empathetic, and knowing person. Filmed over a period of 25 years and presented through a series of episodic juxtapositions—including many of Johnson’s on-set excursions, from a boxing match in Brooklyn to a centerpiece chapter in postwar Bosnia and Herzegovina—Cameraperson explores the relationship between image makers and their subjects. In exploring this relationship the film makes an ethical inquiry into whether the presence of the camera hinders actual objectivity, and contemplates the complex interaction between unfiltered reality and narrative crafting. It’s quite the stunning achievement of the documentary form, where humanity is always present in each of the disparate, almost non-verbal, compilations, no matter how experimental the films direction veers. There are merits to be found in the observational life, and Johnson’s personal reflection touches on a depth of knowledge and an artistic morality that defines that life.

21. Midnight Special– No one captures contemporary Americana like Jeff Nichols, and this year saw the prolific filmmaker bring us two exemplary works of varying consequence: the quiet, reserved civil rights portrait contained in Loving and the masterfully enigmatic parable of parental responsibility in the science-fiction genre piece Midnight Special. Both have their admirable merits, but it’s the latter that captures a cinematic wonderment with its steady momentum, perpetual sense of mystery, and a surprising minimalism in every sense of the word. Its plot reads like a typical blockbuster—a child with special abilities and his protective father are on the run from both the government and an apocalyptic cult who want the boy for their own various reasons—and even though it has car crashes, shoot outs, and bursts of dazzling effects, it never feels grandiose. It’s Spielbergian—with its references to both E.T.- The Extra Terrestrial (1982) and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)—and yet defies the sentimentality that defines Spielberg’s works, being plainspoken with the fantastic and intimately knowing its metaphors. What’s always distinctive about Nichols’ works is that characters are front and center, and his characters in Midnight Special are defined by what they can’t understand—a fear and/or faith in the supernatural or the unknown. But ultimately, it’s about the fear and faith contained in the love of a father, turning this science-fiction genre film into a story of parental perseverance, sacrifice, and reluctant abdication.

20. Hunt for the Wilderpeople– Gently absurdist, simultaneously sweet and subversive, and idiosyncratically charming, Taika Waititi’s adventure comedy romp Hunt for the Wilderpeople was the most fun you would have had at the theater this year, had you been fortunate enough to see it. Returning to his sensible, small-scale productions of the awkwardly charming Eagle vs. Shark (2007) and the coming-of-age reflection Boy (2010), Hunt for the Wilderpeople has Waititi at his very best, merging warmth, hilarity, and introspection in equal measure. Though most of the film’s façade strikes a familiar note—the cantankerous adult that reluctantly bonds with adorable kid subgenre—Waititi strips his familiar tropes from cliché, finding originality in its personable characters and delectable wit. While the characters seemingly have no real use for each other, the film finds a humorous balance of mild hostility and equally mild affection between them, a quality that heightens the film beyond superficial sentimentality and familiar formula. But what’s truly perceptive about the film is its ability to tap into the logic, fragile thought process, and delicate emotions of a child, and its that honest blend of cockiness and fear that makes protagonist Ricky Baker such an infectious delight. It’s a last hometown hurrah for Waititi before he enters the blockbuster Marvel machine behind the helm of Thor: Ragnarok, and it feels loving in its portrayal and hopeful that he will return to it.

19. The Witch– With each frame of writer-director Robert Eggers’ The Witch there’s an evocation of oppression, both of the human variety and the demonic. Starting off as a production designer, and fashioning a debut script from court records and historical documents, authenticity seems vital to every inch of his work. His debut feature film is an elegant period-piece, about the dissolution of a puritanical Christian family and the horror of possession at the center of it, and the detailing of the stark chiaroscuro interiors, the old-fashioned puritan clothes, and stiffened antiquated dialect make the historical feel otherworldly. That’s the secret to the film’s creeping under the skin power—the realism that can be felt in its surroundings makes the surrealism of its horrors palpably known. It’s a sophisticated, minimalist execution, one that invokes a mixture of Stanley Kubrick and Ingmar Bergman if they both collaborated on a remake of the medieval and delirious silent feature Häxan: Witchcraft Through the Ages (1922). But The Witch is a personal auteur statement of arrival, one that is meticulously crafted and purposefully set to fully realize a particular time and place, free of postmodern political and cultural accretions. It’s a work of horror in its most artistic form, a vivid portrait of theological paranoia, irrational suspicions, and the self-fulfilling horrors in believing in them.

18. Sing Street– Perhaps, some would argue, this spot should have been reserved for Damien Chazelle’s ode to musicals of the past in La La Land—a charming, highly technical edifice of homage and replicated themes from the musicals of Jacques Demy, Vincente Minnelli, and Stanley Donen. But the superficiality inherent in La La Land lacked the immersive soul that defined an overlooked musical this year, one that deserves more recognition than it’s receiving: John Carney’s testament to creative individuality, familial influence, and young love, Sing Street. Like all of Carney’s films—from the low-budget Irish musical Once (2007) to the mostly charming tale of creative rejuvenation in Begin Again (2013)—Sing Street is about troubled outsiders finding transcendence in the world of music, this time following the boisterous pop-stylings of a 1980s Catholic-school garage band’s road of trial-and-error in discovering their musical identity. With each song there’s witty references to the synth-pop heroes of the time, coupled with outfit regalia changes to match, emphasizing that our influences mold, evolve, and adapt us to the world around. It’s homage where homage is used as a tool to propel the characters in a forward direction, and it’s all done with a beguiling modesty that also possesses strong characterization and playfully infectious songs. Sing Street plays like a sweet radio anthem in your desperate times, an ode to “finding happiness in the sadness,” and demonstrates that music, art, and creativity allows us to dream bigger than where our current place might exist.

17. Silence– Martin Scorsese’s passion project adaptation of Shūsaku Endō’s novel Silence is an impressive saga of martyrdom, Judas-like betrayal, and faith, all powerful concepts that are rarely, if ever, handled with grace or honest admiration in the world of cinema. It’s a difficult film to swallow—an endurance test of cruelty, suffering, and ambivalence, all captured with the disconnected God-view cinematography of Rodrigo Prieto to accentuate the powerlessness of its protagonists. At the center of it all is the emaciated Father Rodrigues, a Portuguese Jesuit from the colony of Macau looking to find the truth on whether his mentor Father Ferreira denounced his faith in public amongst the persecuted Catholics of Japan. To be fully human or to be fully saint-like are themes that mimic Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ, and Rodrigues encapsulates that perfectly in his yearning to be like Christ and his reactionary judgmental subjectivity that voices disgust for situations and characters, especially the embodiment of all sinners Kichijiro (“not worthy of being called evil”). But while Rodrigues sees his calling as redemption, he’s put through a mock passion to become a parody savior where others are forced to bear his cross, pushing him to doubt his faith in the midst of God’s silence to suffering and forcing to ask the question if faith lies in your words, your actions, or inside your heart. Silence may not uncover the ultimate truth, but it proves that venturing the possibility of its answers is always worth seeking out.

16. Krisha– Trey Edward Shults’s Krisha might be one of the most uncompromising and gut-wrenching debuts to ever grace the silver screen. It’s a familiar tale—a home-for-the holidays psychodrama involving a black sheep’s return to the family fold during a contentious Thanksgiving dinner—and yet the entire film defies convention. It’s a raw, intimate, and disturbing portrait of self-destruction, or rather the cycle of self-destruction wrought on generation after generation, with all its emotional turbulence being captured through probing and observational camerawork that darts, plunges, retreats to paint its portrait. Though easily comparable to the realism of John Cassavetes, Shults’s film also has a nightmarish dreamlike quality that would be on par with the surrealism of Terrence Malick (whom Shults has worked with before), that is, if Malick decided to make a family horror drama. At first, the chaos of Krisha seems practically uncontrollable—a psychotic symphony of subjective opinions, damaged emotions, and personal grudges that becomes more unhinged as it goes along—and yet, Shults maintains a delicate precision throughout. It’s an oddly funny yet perpetually distressing expressionistic tour de force that signifies a bold artistic statement from a filmmaker willing to take on the risk of exploring deep psychological torment and layers of character. Here’s hoping the studios don’t grab him before he gets to make his next auteur statement.

15. Everybody Wants Some!!– Underneath the superficial, borderline homoerotic, and jovial broletariat antics of Richard Linklater’s time warp hangout film Everybody Wants Some!!, there’s transcendence to be found—a light on its feet metaphysical contemplation that provides unforeseen depth in the balance between commonplace earthly desires with profound retrospective meaning, always finding the humanity that drifts between them. That might seem a bit much to grant a film that follows skirt chasing, freshmen hazing, and machismo Olympiad competing baseball players in their week before school starts, but once personalities start to form and the insightful banter starts to land, we begin to realize there’s much more to it. It’s mostly a film about transition—how the big ego stars of the small pond begin to become less important once they integrate into a larger world, and in doing so must inevitably find themselves beyond their interests and talents. It’s an incredibly human, almost autobiographical, portrait of young adulthood, one that doesn’t ignore the primal, basic pursuits of young men, but also shows how hollow and limiting those can be. Ultimately, Everybody Wants Some!! feels like a celebration of memory, a nostalgic romp that’s funky, a tad aimless, and appropriately juvenile, where a nascent sensitivity and self-discovery eventually emerges in its depiction of insouciant college age exuberance.

14. The Handmaiden– Minimalism has never been associated with the works of Korean provocateur Park Chan-wook, a filmmaker who has always pushed the boundaries with an abundance of outré gore and gaudy style that’s meant to highlight the world’s cruel nihilism (or his own). And while there’s still cinematic indulgence to be had with his latest The Handmaiden, it’s an indulgence of a different variety—the sumptuous, classical aesthetic of a Victorian romance. Park’s perversity remains, but it’s hiding underneath a lush romance adapted from Welsh author Sarah Waters’s ambitious 2002 novel Fingersmith. Moved from its original setting of England to the 1930s Japanese occupation of Korea, The Handmaiden is a teasing, erotic fantasy about an heiress, her sadistic uncle, her devoted maid, and the rake at the center of it trying to pull off an elaborate con. Park has turned his latest work into an emporium of visual delights, so ravishing to the senses that you might lose yourself in it and forget to notice its clever twists and subtle revelations. And even though The Handmaiden, in all of its opulence, feels extreme, it’s meant to act as a sleight of hand toward its underlying commentary on cultural assimilation and psychological torment. It’s surprising that the master of art-world gore created the year’s most irresistible romance, but whatever the reason it has come to us it’s assuredly a restrained, exquisitely sensitive, and liberating piece of cinema.

13. 20^th Century Women– With 20^th Century Women, writer/director Mike Mills has immensely polished his adopted filmmaking style that defined his second feature Beginners—a sort of diaristic collage of messy memory and the significance that particular events have on shaping our lives and perspectives. Mills has removed the cutesier elements that weighed down his last feature, and has embraced the purity of an autobiographical recollection that seeks to explain the extraordinariness of the mother who put an imprint on him. It’s a touching, expansive, and fictionalized coming-of-age story of a modern man, influenced here by the diverse and eclectic personalities of women that surrounded him: Abbie, the punkish photographer recovering from treatments from cervical cancer; Julie, a love interest that feels too close to engage in the act of sexual intimacy; and, of course, Dorothea, the larger-than-life mother who desperately wants happiness for her son. Mills’s approach to memory has a conversational feel to it, an almost loose and casual depiction that resonates with authenticity. Reflecting on the impact of his mother, Mills has crafted a loving tribute that is utterly infectious, and pays homage to the bygone era that his mother enshrined. It’s messy, nostalgically bittersweet, and utterly charming, which is precisely what occurs when we look back on our own moments of influence.

12. Moonlight– It’s been seven plus years since director Barry Jenkins gave us his exquisite debut in Medicine for Melancholy (2008)—a heartwarming and visually gorgeous portrait of class and race—and his follow up, Moonlight, was well worth the wait. Three actors, three ages, three moments of time, one soul: Barry Jenkins’ sensitive coming-of-age drama follows the life of Chiron and how momentous events, people, and circumstances create a whole person in spectrum. Even though it’s based on Tarell Alvin McCraney’s play “In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue,” the film itself is like a visual poem—a lyrical dream written in light, music, and vivid human faces. A chief concern here throughout the episodic chronicles of Chiron is the concept of manhood, or perhaps the limitations and expectations society, family, and outside influences have on our preconceptions of manhood and the damage it can wreak on self-discovery. And though there’s tragedy in witnessing a bullied boy eventually come to deny his identity and become a quiet man hiding in the darkness, there’s beauty in its open-ended hopefulness that even in the darkest of nights there’s light to be found under that shining moon. Moonlight opens a window into another person’s intimate consciousness, an agonizing process of doubt, love, and ultimately hope, which is a cinematic gift and privilege to be experienced.

11. American Honey– Andrea Arnold’s American Honey, her first feature set in the United States, is a relentless free spirit of cinema—a nomadic and rambling epic of a road film that probes the state of contemporary youth and illuminates the vital role their ignorance, foolishness, and idealism play in shaping our national American character. It’s also, sad to say, one of the few raw, naturalistic, and genuine coming-of-age tales about teen-age girls on the verge of womanhood, making it something purely distinctive thanks to Arnold’s unconventional and honest lens. The film follows Star, a neglected and abused youth travailing the Midwest with a ragtag group of teenage magazine subscription conmen (and women), catching her at her shining brightest moment of troubled purity and blind recklessness before she bursts and falls into the rigid responsibility and monotony of adulthood. American Honey is a film that could have verged into exploitation, or even lecturing moralism, but maintains a fearless sense of nonjudgmental admiration for its protagonist and her traveling cohorts. Our youth are the “invincibles,” too busy feeling, singing, and dreaming to really consider anything beyond the moment, and Arnold’s film is an ode to their idealistic fervor. To really appreciate American Honey you must surrender to the film’s anarchic vision and boisterous spirit, which is the only way to discover its full of life consciousness.

10. The Red Turtle– The story of how Oscar-winning Dutch filmmaker Michaël Dudok de Wit’s The Red Turtle came to fruition is about as fascinating as the one told on the screen. It took 9 years of preparation, collaborative writing (with top French screenwriter Pascale Farran), and detailed animation from the Japanese artists and team at Studio Ghibli (under the supervision of legendary Isao Takahata), making it the first Ghibli created animated feature directed by a European outsider. And the results are a beautiful balance of allegorical fantasy and the vividly real hardships of reality. Presented mostly without any dialogue, The Red Turtle is part Robinson Crusoe, J.C. Chandor’s All is Lost (2013), and a dash of imaginary parable, one that speaks towards the very nature of existence as it pushes deeper and deeper into an ethereal realm. It maintains Studio Ghibli’s ability to be simplistically elegant, a style that has always been able to speak toward profounder truths, which is a visual grace that pulls us in with each image being more lusciously beautiful than the next. Ultimately, Dudok de Wit’s The Red Turtle is a presentation of the cycle of life, and just like life’s ebb-and-flow it’s an experience to submit yourself to and be pulled by its narrative tide. In doing so you will have embraced a new fable that seems as though it has existed for eons, and made pure through generations of retelling.

9. Love & Friendship– Chronicler of privilege and social hierarchy eulogizer Whit Stillman was destined to tackle the formal theatrical bravura of 18^th-Century Jane Austen. His signature erudite whimsy and comedy-of-errors delight has always been suited for a bygone era (alongside the likes of Noel Coward or Oscar Wilde), and his take on Austen’s little-known epistolary novel “Little Susan” is perhaps the best Austen adaptation ever conceived. By draining out the romance, Stillman is able to focus on the devilish pragmatism and economic classism that pervaded the social norms at the time, with a contemptuous protagonist who embodies the worst of it. Kate Beckinsale gives an astonishingly underrated performance as Lady Susan Vernon, an attractive, clever, acid-tongued troublemaker who is admirably indefatigable, who becomes the main attraction as she charmingly bulldozes through 18^th-century propriety. There’s a lack of deft plotting and emotional complexity that defined Austen’s canonical masterpieces, but what remains is a sumptuous feast of character, snappy dialogue, and a layer of bemused, acidic humor that could be the equivalent of a seven-course meal of desserts. While there’s a bit of Stillman’s recurring themes—that of disconnection in his naïve, hyperarticulate character’s philosophies and their intractable emotions—Love & Friendship is more a world where ideas matter less than manners, with the vanquisher being the one with the least permeable of masks. To be summarized in one phrase: Love & Friendship is an utter delight.

8. Hell or High Water– Following up on his sensationally jittery and unflinchingly brutal Belfast prison family drama Starred Up (2013), Scottish director David Mackenzie has turned his outsider sensibilities toward a decaying corner of American society: the open ranges, empty streets, and deserted diners of the midland West. Filmed with a perceptively patient touch and a skillful, offbeat execution, Hell or High Water is a heist movie disguised as a western; a contemporary western, where the expansive, deserted settings feel frozen in time, but the economic stagnation feels hauntingly relevant. The script, written by Taylor Sheridan (Sicario), is filled with humor as dry as the dusty plains in its setting and morals that are unfalteringly grey, revealing character and exposition through dialogue that has a verve and shrewd texture. On the surface, there’s nothing necessarily new—scheming bank robbers with relative morals and personal justifications are being chased down by committed uniformed men in a high-stakes cat and mouse game—but it’s the details and the layers underneath that give the film its engrossing attributes. It’s in the moments between the heists and the investigations that are central to Mackenzie and Sheridan’s interest, where both pairs of men and each of their plights are studied with a sort of faded melancholy. It’s a crime thriller that is at once relaxed and urgent, making it an unforgettable fatalistic western for the modern age.

7. Elle– To describe Elle as an excruciatingly brutal and elegant black comedy would be the definition of understatement, mostly because it begins with the antithesis of humor: the violent rape of wealthy, middle-aged Parisian Michèle, as her black cat watches ambivalently as the horror unfolds. Most films would venture the traumatic aftermath of such an event with reflections on alienation, which is far too simplistic for Danish provocateur and gonzo craftsman Paul Verhoeven, a filmmaker who has consistently merged dark satirical wit with a taste of exploitation in sex and violence. Instead, the multiple sexual assaults in Michèle’s life become minor inconveniences in her busy schedule, leading us into a meticulously constructed maze of ambiguity that twists our assumptions and expectations at every possible turn, with results that are riveting, lurid, and black as pitch. It’s a character study in the unconventional, and it all comes together in the indelible self-assurance of Issabelle Huppert’s performance. It’s a marvelous and intuitive display of contradictions without the explicit acknowledgment of them, forcing us to invoke sympathy and equal disgust for a protagonist that is just as sociopathic as her assaulters. For Verhoeven, nothing is more subversive than pleasure, and the film gracefully ponders the contradictions of being empowered by violence while also being traumatized by it, something that makes Elle one of the most corrosive and challenging pieces of art in a long while.

6. Arrival– Quebecois filmmaker Denis Villeneuve’s Arrival is an enigma, mostly because it’s hard to conceptualize how he was able to jumpstart, pioneer, and create such a heady, high-concept, old-fashioned science-fiction adaptation in the modern state of Hollywood. But here it exists—a profound puzzle of concept, relating to intricacies of language and the need to understand via communication, delivered with the filmmaker’s notorious symphonic pacing that carefully integrates heart-wrenching poignancy into its cerebral design. Villeneuve is a brooding tease of a filmmaker; anyone who has experienced Prisoners (2013), Enemy (2014), or Sicario (2015) knows how seductive his invitations to unfamiliar worlds can be and how he divulges sparing details slowly in order to ultimately discomfort his audience. The twisted plot machinations and the astute attention to detail of Arrival mimics his previous work, but the revelation at its heart is far more soulful than his typical dour filmography. Underneath the ominous tones of Jóhann Jóhannsson’s unsettling score (that modulates from atonal unease to swelling awe), the foggy grey color-palette of Bradford Young’s glowing cinematography, and a moody conceptual atmosphere, there lies a human heart and a story of strength in embracing the sadness to come. Arrival is more than a high-concept science-fiction reflection, it’s a science-fiction parable, one that embraces the idealistic hopefulness of diplomacy and understanding.

5. Jackie– No other filmmaker’s year has been as extraordinary or impactful as Chilean director Pablo Larraín, who has released not one, but three films in one year: his expose on guilt and denial in The Club; the biopic thriller Neruda, about Chilean poet and politician Pablo Neruda; and, arguably his best this year, the intimate portrait of grief in Jackie. As unsettling as it is unconventional, Jackie seems like an intrusive visitation on a woman during the most private of tragedies: the death of a husband. Larraín masterfully probes that thin line between the public and private and how it impacted the psyche of the very woman at the center of it all, as she became for the public in her private tragedy an embodiment of grief, a symbol of strength, a tower of dignity, and, most of all, an architect of political theater. In the center of Jackie is a refined, pitch-perfect performance from Natalie Portman, whom Larraín insisted play the role if he were to take on Noah Oppenheim’s brilliantly structured script, and the result is anything but mimicry or shallow impersonation. Jackie is an intruding masterful work that reflects on the population’s desire for legacy, and how Jackie Kennedy, in her most painful of moments, became the mythmaker that created a shining legacy that otherwise wasn’t there. What is reflected on and becomes undeniably true is that the stories we tell ourselves are more real than the disappointing realities that exist.

4. The Salesman– Human nature has been an integral part of the artistry of Iranian filmmaker Asghar Farhadi, or rather how character changes through rippling effect of uncontrolled incidents rather than through revelation or influence. All of his morality plays, from the disappearance tragedy About Elly (2009) to this Oscar-winning submission A Separation (2011), deal with reactions to events and how those events shape the characters’ choices. Much is the same with his masterful drama The Salesman, where a violent incident occurs off-camera and proceeds to haunt its characters throughout the film’s running time and quite beyond. All of the film’s circumstances seem quite mundane on the surface: two married actors, currently in a production of Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman,” move into a new home recently vacated by its previous tenant who has also left quite a few of her belongings locked in a private closet. But underneath it comes a drama that parallels Miller’s own work, where defined masculinity, rigid family roles, and a placement of blame slowly begins to erode the couple’s relationship. With The Salesman, Farhadi is proving to be on the same dramatist level as Elia Kazan, a filmmaker who brings to life topical subject matter through sharp, intimate acting and a mildly sensationalist presentation.

3. Manchester By the Sea– Kenneth Lonergan’s Manchester By the Sea is, undeniably, one of the most devastating character studies to ever be accomplished in film, and it’s a miracle it exists after the drastic setbacks his last messily ambitious project Margaret (2011) suffered to get released. Lonergan is a master of anomalous subtlety, where small inconveniences seem to have profound consequence and meaning to his characters, but still finds room to contemplate the larger tragedies of life. Manchester By the Sea is almost operatic in its delicate chronicle of grief, which follows isolated handyman Lee Chandler (played with astounding internalized emotion by Casey Affleck) and his inability to take on the responsibility of taking care of his nephew because he can’t forgive himself. Utilizing a sophisticated flashback structure, one that seems as fluid and sporadic as memory can be, Lonergan delivers one devastating revelation after the other with harrowing results. Manchester By the Sea is a remarkable film about the practicalities of disaster and the weight of guilt, and asks if anyone could truly live with themselves if they felt responsible for a tragedy. For all its sadness, Lonergan makes his film a beautiful and revealing portrait of individual desolation that is observed through a place of care and affection, which makes its vague and practically unresolved ending so powerful.

2. The Lobster– Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos might be the current master of high-concept, pitch black, utterly weird comedy, an attribute that he has regularly explored in his previous two features Dogtooth (2009) and Alps (2011). For some reason placing society’s mannerisms, prejudices, and tokenism instincts under a blackened lens seems to make everything a lot clearer. That’s what Lanthimos achieves in his first English speaking outing with The Lobster, which certainly follows his deadpan sensibilities that drips with blood-soaked absurdism. But underneath the strangeness there lies a glowing human heart. Set in a dystopian society where singletons are forced to choose a partner within 40 days or else be turned into an animal, Lanthimos is reflecting on society’s monogamous attitudes and relationship demands with a biting sense of satire. Though acerbically melancholy, The Lobster nonetheless maintains an inviting and humorous attitude towards its immensely preposterous fictional world that’s pure tongue-in-cheek storytelling that places an unflattering mirror towards how we live and love versus the struggle for individual human identity. It’s an ambitious, thoroughly strange, yet incredibly moving romance that horrifies through sheer suggestion and the creation of a world that, while alien, doesn’t seem all too unfamiliar. It might be one of cinema’s acquired tastes, but for those willing to expand their visual, cinematic, and storytelling palette there are rewards to be found underneath the layers of weirdness.

1. Toni Erdmann– There’s no other film in existence that is like Maren Ade’s Toni Erdmann—a devilishly silly and thoroughly poignant three-hour father-daughter farce that swings wildly between lowbrow idiocy and incisive social commentary. It’s a defiant rebellious statement against the standardization of life, for both the characters (against the conformity of corporate monotony) and for Ade as a stylized filmmaker as well (against expectations and typical conventions placed on the medium of cinema). It absurdly follows the misadventures of Winfried, a clumsy and unshaven music teacher who tries to reconnect with his estranged daughter Ines by invading her life through pranks and improvised identity. While that might seem relatively straightforward on the surface, Toni Erdmann cleverly integrates complex character interactions with existential ponderings on the meaning of modern life. Ade packs into each frame illuminating philosophical ideas, a multitude of three-dimensional characters, and snippets of piercing societal observation that it’s impossible to place the film in some definite genre category. It’s part psychological character study, part strained intergenerational drama, and part absurdist slapstick satire. While within the film Winfried seeks to break Ines out of her habits of complacency, Ade is doing the same for us—challenging us to alter our rigid perceptions and renew our faith in what might be possible in the world of film. That in itself is a creative miracle, and should be embraced without reservation.

Honorable Mentions: A Bigger Splash, Dheepan, Green Room, The Love Witch, Swiss Army Man, Things to Come, La La Land, Tickled, Weiner-Dog, and Julieta.

Below are my predictions for the 2017 Academy Award nominations before they’re officially announced on Tuesday, January 24th a week from now. I’ll admit there’s a bit of bias in some of the prognostications…especially in my denial of Meryl Streep in my Best Actress pick, Hidden Figures as a Best Picture pick, as well as a love for Martin Scorsese’s Silence in other categories (Edit: went with the safe picks in Sound Editing/Mixing and removed Silence). There will probably be egg on my face with Hidden Figures, mostly because it’s a crowd-pleasing hug around the heart that many, including supposedly artistic minded Academy members, can’t ignore. But I’ll be fine to get an occasional placement wrong when I’m fairly confident I’m about 85% on the nose here. But feel free to look it over, and be sure to comment whether you’re in agreement with my on the pulse guesses or if I’m just downright incorrect. My official choices for who will win each category will come very soon after the official announcement.

Best Picture

Definite Eight:

Moonlight

La La Land

Manchester By the Sea

Hell or High Water

Arrival

Lion

Fences

Hacksaw Ridge

 Back Two:

Nocturnal Animals

Deadpool

 Potential Upsets: Hidden Figures, Silence, or Loving

 Best Director

Damien Chazelle (La La Land)

Barry Jenkins (Moonlight)

Kenneth Lonergan (Manchester By the Sea)

Denis Villeneuve (Arrival)

Garth Davis (Lion)

Potential Upsets: Martin Scorsese (Silence), Denzel Washington (Fences), or Pablo Larrain (Jackie)

Best Actor

Casey Affleck (Manchester By the Sea)

Ryan Gosling (La La Land)

Denzel Washington (Fences)

Andrew Garfield (Hacksaw Ridge)

Viggo Mortenson (Captain Fantastic)

Potential Upsets: Joel Edgerton (Loving), Jake Gyllenhaal (Nocturnal Animals), Tom Hanks (Sully)

Best Actress

Emma Stone (La La Land)

Isabelle Huppert (Elle)

Amy Adams (Arrival)

Natalie Portman (Jackie)

Annette Bening (20^th Century Women)

Potential Upsets: Meryl Streep (Florence Foster Jenkins), Ruth Negga (Loving), Taraji P. Henson (Hidden Figures)

Best Supporting Actor

Mahershala Ali (Moonlight)

Jeff Bridges (Hell or High Water)

Lucas Hedges (Manchester By the Sea)

Aaron-Taylor Johnson (Nocturnal Animals)

Dev Patel (Lion)

Potential Upsets: Hugh Grant (Florence Foster Jenkins), Issei Ogata (Silence), Michael Shannon (Nocturnal Animals)

Best Supporting Actress

Viola Davis (Fences)

Naomie Harris (Moonlight)

Michelle Williams (Manchester By the Sea)

Nicole Kidman (Lion)

Octavia Spencer (Hidden Figures)

Potential Upsets: Greta Gerwig (20^th Century Women), Felicity Jones (A Monster Calls), Janelle Monae (Hidden Figures)

Best Adapted Screenplay

Moonlight (Barry Jenkins)

Arrival (Eric Heisserer)

Nocturnal Animals (Tom Ford)

Lion (Luke Davies)

Fences (August Wilson)

Potential Upsets: Hidden Figures (Allison Schroeder & Theodore Melfi), Deadpool (Rhett Reese & Paul Wernick), Silence (Martin Scorsese & Jay Cocks)

Best Original Screenplay

Hell or High Water (Taylor Sheridan)

La La Land (Damien Chazelle)

Manchester By the Sea (Kenneth Lonergan)

The Lobster (Yorgos Lanthimos & Efthymis Filippou)

Jackie (Noah Oppenheim)

Potential Upsets: 20^th Century Women (Mike Mills), Zootopia (Jared Bush, Byron Howard, Phil Johnson, Jennifer Lee, Rich Moore, Jim Reardon, & Josie Trinidad), Toni Erdmann (Maren Ade)

Best Animated Feature

Moana

Kubo and the Two Strings

The Red Turtle

My Life as a Zucchini

Zootopia

Potential Upsets: Finding Dory, Sing, Miss Hokusai

Best Foreign Language Film

Toni Erdmann (Germany)

The Salesman (Iran)

Land of Mine (Denmark)

My Life as a Zucchini (Switzerland)

A Man Called Ove (Sweden)

Potential Upsets: Paradise (Russia), Tanna (Australia), It’s Only the End of the World (Canada)

Best Documentary Feature

13th (Ava DuVernay)

O.J.: Made in America (Ezra Edelman)

Cameraperson (Kristen Johnson)

Life, Animated (Roger Ross Williams)

The Eagle Huntress (Otto Bell)

Potential Upsets: Weiner (Josh Kriegman & Elyse Sternberg), I Am Not Your Negro (Raoul Peck), Zero Days (Alex Gibney)

Best Cinematography

Greig Fraser (Lion)

Rodrigo Prieto (Silence)

Bradford Young (Arrival)

Linus Sandgren (La La Land)

James Laxton (Moonlight)

Potential Upsets: Stephane Fontaine (Jackie), Seamus McGarvey (Nocturnal Animals), Giles Nuttgens (Hell or High Water)

Best Film Editing

Tom Cross (La La Land)

Joe Walker (Arrival)

Jennifer Lame (Manchester By the Sea)

Joi McMillon, Nat Sanders (Moonlight)

John Gilbert (Hacksaw Ridge)

Potential Upsets: Julian Clarke (Deadpool), Jake Roberts (Hell or High Water), Joan Sobel (Nocturnal Animals)

Best Original Score

Nicholas Britell (Moonlight)

Justin Hurwitz (La La Land)

Dustin O’Halloran and Hauschka (Lion)

Mica Levi (Jackie)

Nick Cave and Warren Ellis (Hell or High Water)

Potential Upsets: John Williams (The BFG), Michael Giacchino (Rogue One: A Star Wars Story), John Debney (The Jungle Book), Alexandre Desplat (Florence Foster Jenkins)

Best Original Song

“Audition” (Emma Stone: written by Hurwitz, Pasek and Paul, La La Land)

“How Far I’ll Go (Auli’i Cravalho: written by Opetaia Foa’I, Mark Mancina, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Moana)

“City of Stars” (Ryan Gosling: written by Hurwitz, Pasek and Paul, La La Land)

“Can’t Stop the Feeling” (Justin Timberlake: written by Max Martin, Shellback, and Timberlake, Trolls)

“Drive It Like You Stole It” (Sing Street: written by John Carney, Gary Clark Jr., & Relish, Sing Street)

Potential Upsets: “Flicker” (Tori Amos, Audre & Daisy), “Try Everything” (Zootopia), “Faith” (Stevie Wonder, Sing), Runnin’ (Pharrell Williams, Hidden Figures)

Best Production Design

Sandy Reynolds-Wasco, David Wasco (La La Land)

Patrice Vermette; Paul Hotte (Arrival)

Jean Rabasse; Veronique Melery (Jackie)

Dante Ferretti; Francesca Lo Schiavo (Silence)

Stuart Craig, Anna Pinock (Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them)

Potential Upsets: Jess Gonchor, Nancy Haigh (Hail, Caesar!), Christopher Glass, Amanda Moss Serino (The Jungle Book), Doug Chiang, Neil Lamont (Rogue One: A Star Wars Story)

Best Costume Design

Madeline Fontaine (Jackie)

Mary Zophres (La La Land)

Dante Ferretti (Silence)

Eimer Ní Mhaoldomhnaigh (Love & Friendship)

Colleen Atwood (Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them)

Potential Upsets: Consolata Boyle (Florence Foster Jenkins), Joanna Johnston (Allied), Sharen Davis (Fences)

Best Makeup & Hairstyling

Deadpool

A Man Called Ove

Florence Foster Jenkins

Potential Upsets: Hail, Caesar!, Star Trek Beyond

Best Sound Editing

La La Land

Arrival

Hacksaw Ridge

The Jungle Book

Rogue One: A Star War Story

Potential Upsets: Silence, Doctor Strange, Deepwater Horizon

Best Sound Mixing

La La Land

Arrival

Hacksaw Ridge

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

The Jungle Book

Potential Upsets: Silence, Doctor Strange, Deepwater Horizon

Best Visual Effects

The Jungle Book

Arrival

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

Doctor Strange

Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them

Potential Upsets: Captain America: Civil War, Deepwater Horizon, Kubo and the Two Strings

Best Animated Short

Piper

Sous Tes Doigts

Pearl

Inner Workings

The Head Vanishes

Potential Upsets: Borrowed Time, Blind Vaysha, Pear Cider and Cigarettes

Best Live-Action Short

Nocturne in Black

Timecode

The Way of Tea

The Rifle, the Jackal, the Wolf and the Boy

Sing (Mindenki)

Potential Upsets: Bon Voyage, Graffiti, Ennemis Interieurs

Best Documentary Short

Joe’s Violin

The White Helmets

The Mute’s House

Extremis

Watani: My Homeland

Potential Upsets: The Other Side of Home, 4.1 Miles, Brillo Box