Pro Wrestling is not art. It sure is entertainment though. Chuck is my favorite show on television right now. It’s immensely entertaining, well acted, smart, well scripted, everything you would want in an hour long show. But it’s not art.

Some will contend that reading some of the great works of literature can be a painful experience. My personal nominee for this category would be Jane Eyre. I find nothing entertaining about that novel at all. But I’ve read it. And I know it’s art.

I’m not going to go ahead and claim that this dividing line between art and entertainment is objective. The claim that art is objective is, from my perspective, one of the least tenable philosophical arguments that can be made. Just try it. I’ll wait here.

So, with that little exercise failing spectacularly, we can move on. Art is not objective, this is certainly true, but what it can be is societal. The western world will, without hesitation, understand certain works as art. The aforementioned Jane Eyre is a classic of literature, despite my personal distaste for it. Were it up to me, I would be hard pressed to consider it art. But it’s not up to me. So that’s a non starter. Jane Eyre, Shakespeare, Beethoven, the works of Michelangelo, all of these are art. Society, over years and generations, has deemed it so. Is this objective? No. It remains ever changing. What one generation or society may consider art may not hold true fifty years from now. Art is a microcosm of the eternal philosophical debate between absolutism and relativism, between Plato and Protagoras, between Kant and the Empiricists, between Nietzsche and, well, basically everyone.

If we subscribe to the belief that things are absolute, that The Waste Land is an unparalleled work of poetry, with a depth of meaning, allusion and symbolism that positions it as a quintessential piece of twentieth century fiction (it won’t come as much of a shock that I personally subscribe to this belief, but the key word here is personally), and that this will never change no matter the circumstance, we’re locked in for good. Others are just as hasty to point out that Eliot’s writing, both in The Waste Land and in his other works, is dense for the sake of being dense, and the allusions go nowhere, mean nothing, and amount to a lot of bluster that doesn’t actually give us anything. If art is absolute, and if The Waste Land absolutely, 100% art or not art, then one of us isn’t just a dissenting opinion, but is objectively wrong in the same way that people who still believe the Earth is flat is wrong. And that just doesn’t sit right.

So we have art. And we have entertainment. We have certain works that have reached the art echelon on a societal basis as classics of the form, but on a tangible, personal level, it all comes down to what we put into it. Entertainment is easy. Entertainment is designed in such a way that we can consume it passively. There isn’t a whole lot to really dig in and study about Chuck or How to Train Your Dragon or Rock Band or the vast majority of mainstream comic books. They may make you laugh, make you think, foment various emotions in your brain, but their main function is to take yourself away from the long, drawn out, unending and constantly challenging struggle that is life. You watch an episode of Chuck, and for those forty-three blissful commercialless minutes, you don’t have to worry about your bank account, your bills, whether that woman you really like likes you back, none of it. It just melts away. And, for the most part, when it’s over, it’s out of sight and mind in any significant way.

The dividing line comes into play when a work demands attention from the perceiver in order to be truly enjoyed and understood. Of course, the final product still needs to be good, a positive experience in some way, which can often be lost in the shuffle when discussing the need for active participation. For examples, let’s turn to music. Three challenging pieces of popular music from the sixties and seventies, to be precise. If you listen to The Beatles’ “Revolution 9,” Genesis’ “The Waiting Room,” or (and god help you for doing this to yourself) Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music, you basically have to be attentive if you have any prayer of getting anything out of them. At the very least, “Revolution 9” and Metal Machine Music could be argued to be statements on some level (pretty sure “The Waiting Room” is just six minutes of noise, full stop, a disappointing interlude in the otherwise near flawless The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway), but I would never consider them art because the actual experience of listening to them causes me pain. All I can hear is garbage and nonsense, and I have spent the time and effort to at least try to figure out “Revolution 9” to no avail. It remains distant, impenetrable, cold. Others see the art in these avant garde experimentations, and enjoy them immensely, which is another dagger in the heart of art as an objective and unchanging ideal.

Some quick examples of contemporary pop culture-y things that I would consider art:

• Tom Waits’ 1992 album Bone Machine, the ultimate musical rumination on death, and possibly at the top of a very short list of the greatest pieces of modern contemporary music ever released.
• Neil Gaiman’s American Gods, a book that gives you more and more back the more effort you put into reading it closely.
• David Lynch’s Twin Peaks (the first season only), if only for the pure audacity of this mind fuck sneaking onto network television and then becoming WILDLY SUCCESSFUL. Still, it’s a wonderfully Lynchy hallucinogenic fever dream (Mulholland Drive is another suitable example of art).

Interestingly enough, Tom Waits’ seminal (well, I consider it seminal at least) 2004 release Real Gone offers its own internal dichotomy between art and entertainment. Two of my favorite non-Bone Machine songs Tom ever wrote are “Hoist That Rag” and “Make it Rain” from Real Gone. “Hoist That Rag” is an anti-war song disguised as a raucous sea chantey, while “Make it Rain” is the sort of apocalyptic love song modeled after the chilling “Earth Died Screaming” (it seems like the ‘you’ that Mr. Waits was singing about as the Earth died may have ended things prematurely…). “Hoist That Rag,” to me, is entertainment, despite having one of the single greatest verses ever written (“Well, we stick our fingers in the ground/Heave and turn the world around/Smoke is blacking out the sun/Tonight I pray and clean my gun/The cracked bell rings as the ghost bird sings/The gods go begging here/So just open fire as you hit the shore/All is fair in love and war”), whereas “Make it Rain,” with its biblical and contemporary allusions that just quietly layer themselves under the naked emotion, pushes itself to another level entirely. This is a song that moves mountains.

What I’ve realized looking back at the past months is that a truly enlightened person can’t survive on entertainment alone. When I wrote about growing up back in October and becoming an adult, I talked about the unfulfilling nature of living my life in such a way that I was always looking at what I wanted to come next no matter how likely it was such a thing could actually happen (here’s a hint: it wasn’t likely. At all.). And I’ve changed that, which has allowed for a lot of positive movements in my life toward becoming a functional adult. But here’s the thing. Life is fiendishly difficult to deal with on a regular basis. The pressures are immense. I’ve spent the last six months wallowing in the simple and seductive pleasures of entertainment. I haven’t even tried to seek out art. I got hooked on reading legions of articles on Magic: The Gathering, and while they may have good content from the perspective of learning how to better play a card game, the VAST majority of them are terrible writers mechanically. You can’t hold it against them. They write articles because they’re good Magic players, not because they’re good writers. A blessed few are both, but they’re the exception to the rule. I’ve been watching the same solid but spiritually (like that word even means anything coming from me) unremarkable movies and TV shows. Listening to catchy music that doesn’t move me, despite being some excellent entertainment (I love Queens of the Stone Age more than the average person, and will listen to them incessantly sometimes, but it isn’t art). But there’s something missing, that yawning fissure in the gut that comes from a lack of fulfillment that’s flirting around just beyond the periphery. It may not have arrived yet, but I could feel it coming. Well, it’s here.

Where do you turn when you need an escape from your life and simple entertainment isn’t doing it for you anymore? Why, back to art, of course. I read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock for the first time this morning. It’s the only major Eliot poem I hadn’t read, and like The Hollow Men and The Waste Land, it’s lovingly available entirely free and full text on the internet. I haven’t given it the full and exhaustive read that any Eliot poem requires, but the simple act of reading it, even studying the interactions and word choices on a purely surface level, is pregnant with possibilities out of sight. A wonderful feeling washes over you. It’s a struggle you’re eager to undertake, knowing the result will be more than satisfying on a deeper level. And, as an added bonus, I understand the Crash Test Dummies’ “Afternoons and Coffeespoons” a little better than I did yesterday.

It’s putting away the comics (not that I’ve even been reading them) and picking up As I Lay Dying. It’s putting away the Coheed and Cambria and firing up Abbey Road.

Just now, as the breezy, reverent tones of George Harrison’s ultimate masterpiece “Something” spill forth from the speakers, I feel the undeniable need to smile. It’s all going to work out in the end.

I think it’s because I invested so much in the pictures this year. From October on, when The Social Network and Let Me In opened on October 1, I was a filmic madman, seeing just about every major contender for the Oscars by the first week of January. I only really missed out on Biutiful, Another Year, and most of the documentaries in terms of important films for Oscar night. In many ways, 2010 represented a passing of the torch, where the cutting edge directors that emerged on the scene with edgy independent work about fifteen or so years ago were really starting to break through into the spotlight with major films, major nominations, and major awards. The best example of this was what I like to call ‘the big four,’ four of my favorite directors who all managed to make successful and critically acclaimed films in 2010.

David O. Russell’s been around since Spanking the Monkey in 1994, but first started making major waves in 1999 with Three Kings, both for being a pretty damned excellent film and for the various controversies that occurred over the scripting and working with George Clooney during the shoot. I’m especially fond of his comedies, Flirting with Disaster and I Heart Huckabees. The man has a gift for farce, which worked to his benefit in many of the family scenes in his Oscar film The Fighter. Chris Nolan may have made a billion dollar movie in 2008’s The Dark Knight and had been a hot Hollywood director with Memento from the beginning of the century, but Inception was his chance to get the recognition for all of his hard work and devotion without the Academy having to vote for a superhero movie. Darren Aronofsky impressed the art world with Pi in 1998 and Requiem for a Dream in 2000, and Black Swan not only gave Natalie Portman the perfect opportunity to win a statue, but also represented a surprising crowd pleaser and box office success. David Fincher had basically already begun breaking out of his gritty late 90’s past of Seven and Fight Club with 2008’s The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but The Social Network was poised to be his coronation. It was the perfect Hollywood film for a new generation, full of whip smart dialogue, a fantastic moody score, and wonderful acting performances. The new blood was taking over.

Then the Golden Globes happened and everything was seemingly as it should be. The Fighter was honored for its supporting roles, Black Swan for Natalie Portman, and The Social Network for screenplay, directing, and drama. Sure, Colin Firth beat out three actors far more deserving of his prize, but I had already resigned myself to allowing The King’s Speech to snipe one category and ONE CATEGORY ONLY in order to give Firth some love. He’s a good actor, and while I could see this being Jesse Eisenberg’s only shot at one of the most awkward award acceptance speeches in the history of history, sometimes you just let things slide.

Then The King’s Speech swept the BAFTA’s. That’s fine. A bunch of stuffy British folks voted for a stuffy British movie about their king. Seems reasonable. Doesn’t necessarily mean a whole lot in the grand scheme of things. The worry set in when it started winning everywhere else. The three major guilds (Screen Actors, Producers, Directors) all tapped The King’s Speech as their best picture of the year, and suddenly all the momentum from the Globes and the legions of critics awards (and I mean legions. It basically won just about all of them) was gone and The Social Network was fading fast. The Oscar nominees were released and Andrew Garfield wasn’t on the list for Supporting Actor. Sure, there were some slam dunks; there was basically no way Sorkin was going to lose for Adapted Screenplay, and Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ score seemed well positioned to allow for the surreal moment of seeing the man who is Nine Inch Nails accepting an Oscar in a tuxedo. Directing and Picture should have been slam dunks too. But that all changed.

I knew it was all over after the winner for Original Screenplay was announced. Indeed, of all the various injustices (well, four injustices) The King’s Speech levied upon us thanks to the Academy last night, Original Screenplay was arguably the most egregious. Christopher Nolan was already stabbed in the back once for being denied a Best Director nomination (remember when he was a shoe-in for the nomination? That it would be the Academy’s opportunity to get things right after missing on The Dark Knight? Yeah. That worked out grandly), but we at least had the rightful assumption that he would take away the screenplay prize. Inception’s screenplay is a thing of utter beauty. It sets up the dream world, establishes its rules using expository tactics that do not bore the viewer, and constantly keeps you on your toes. It then explodes into a third act that might feature the most complex and intricate heist in the history of cinema, aided of course by taking place on four to five places of existence. With all of the timelines operating at different speeds. I should mention again at this time THAT THIS FILM WAS NOT NOMINATED FOR EDITING. In some ways, it represents one of the great scripts of our time, the way it manages to take a Hollywood blockbuster and make it mean something. It’s how it’s astoundingly clever and rewards those who pay attention without being overly mystifying. And the best thing? It’s one hell of an original screenplay. I mean, honestly, this is one of the more original ideas to come out of Hollywood in a while.

And it lost. To a British king with a stutter whose only focus in a world about to face down the Nazi menace is making a goddamned speech without tripping over his words. A first world problem, indeed. Apparently, if he stuttered during the speech, the Nazis would have won. Food for thought.

I’m just going to repost what I wrote yesterday here and now:

“I think The King’s Speech winning this one would probably be the worst injustice the film would commit against the ceremony this year. The screenplay for Inception is difficult to argue against; it’s a fiendishly complex and legitimately interesting fresh idea that was executed about perfectly on a script level. If it’s beaten by the adaptation of a real life event with little to no innovation, that’s actively upsetting.”

And that’s the real kicker. Original screenplay. It’s basically a biopic based on the real life events of real life people. Original screenplay, my ass. Of course, if the Academy took the ‘based on true events’ angle and used that as a barrier for entry into the Original Screenplay category (and the very well should, considering the stance they take on the Original Score category), they would probably have legitimate difficulty fielding five worthy nominees each year.

The depressing thing about this is the fact that Hollywood is pretty much out of ideas and has been out of ideas for a while. Biopics, war stories, adaptations of books, plays, musicals, various ‘based on a true story’ feel goods, this is what film has become in the 21st century. We finally had the opportunity to get things right and award actual legitimate artistry (and yes, I’m aware that The Social Network is a biopic based on true events. Aaron Sorkin breaks serve and makes it his own. It’s different), and the Academy got scared and opted to go with the one film in the ten nominated that was blatant Oscar bait from the Miramax machine. They could have broken the serve. They could have made a statement about how this has become a young man’s game (Tom Hooper might be in his 30’s, but he was probably the youngest guy on set each day) and the torch needed to be passed to a new generation of ideas. But they steadfastly refused to give in to the reality.

I’m more disenchanted than I’ve ever been about the Oscars. There’s a legitimate chance I won’t watch them next year, especially considering the arid wasteland of film that appears to be 2011. You can only get fooled into thinking it matters for so long. Yes, awards and ceremonies are more pomp than consequence, but there’s something undeniably psychologically satisfying about the right thing winning. In the long run, everyone is going to realize that The Social Network was the better film. Spielberg made the point perfectly talking about the ones that got away, the Citizen Kanes and Raging Bulls and Saving Private Ryans of the world that didn’t win the big one. That doesn’t make this one sting any less, especially with what it represents. It represents laziness and safety in the face of daring. It represents a group out of step and out of time with its culture. It represents the refusal to award innovation and chance. The Academy will never reward films like The Dark Knight regardless of their quality. I thought that The Social Network was safe enough. I thought that David Fincher would be given the respect he deserves for simply filming a perfect script flawlessly. I thought the ten years it took Christopher Nolan to perfect Inception would count for something. And it does count for something to me. That is all that matters in the end, but you want to see these directors, these actors, these screenwriters given the respect they rightly deserve in front of and among their peers. It bothers me that Nolan was snubbed from Director and Lee Smith was snubbed from Editor because these people worked their asses off and deserve praise.

It’s going to take a lot for me to come back next year. My devotion to the medium is everlasting, but my faith in the Academy not wasting my time might have reached its breaking point.

Though, if Steve Martin’s hosting again, I’ll probably just watch it for the hell of it.

The Oscars are tonight. I’m looking forward to them this year much more than previous years, simply because I’ve seen so many of the nominees compared to previous years. Here’s what I’m thinking about the big categories from tonight’s ceremony:

Best Picture

Will Win: The King’s Speech
Should Win: The Social Network
Should Have Been Nominated: Blue Valentine

Black Swan remains my favorite film of 2010, I’m comfortable knowing that The Social Network is without doubt the best film of 2010. It makes me sad that a film like The King’s Speech is probably going to win, especially since in this writer’s opinion it never should have been nominated in the first place, keeping out more deserving films like Blue Valentine and Never Let Me Go. I found nothing remarkable about The King’s Speech at all. The plot isn’t particularly interesting, and while the acting is solid, it doesn’t move me in any way. Compared to The Social Network, which features one of Hollywood’s great scripts of our time, wonderful acting and directing and an awesome score, it’s going to be a shame when the reductive Oscar bait of a movie beats it out for the big prize.

Best Director

Will Win: David Fincher
Should Win: Darren Aronofsky
Should Have Been Nominated: Christopher Nolan and Mark Romanek

Two of the strongest directorial works were not nominated this year. We all know about how egregiously Chris Nolan was robbed, and the choices Romanek made in Never Let Me Go turned what could have been a stilted version of the book into close to a masterpiece. Of the actually nominated, I’d only be upset if David O. Russell (simply because The Fighter just wasn’t good enough) or Tom Hooper (see paragraph above) wins. I’d be fine with the Coens, Fincher, or Aronofsky winning the prize, though I have a feeling Fincher will be given the nod knowing that his film will be denied the big prize. This one will most likely be the consolation alongside screenplay.

Actor in a Leading Role

Will Win: Colin Firth
Should Win: Jesse Eisenberg
Should Have Been Nominated: Ryan Gosling

Gosling was arguably better than everyone in this category, and was not nominated. Of the people we have to work with, Colin Firth is going to win, despite giving the weakest performance of the four I’ve seen. It’s fine, but it’s fine in a way that is uninspiring, whereas Eisenberg created a wonderfully realized character with all of these subtle little twists and turns whenever he interacts with the rest of the human race. Jeff Bridges is also a little out of place actually getting nominated here. He was fine, and fun to watch, but nothing about his performance was particularly astounding.

Actor in a Supporting Role

Will Win: Christian Bale
Should Win: Christian Bale
Should Have Been Nominated: Andrew Garfield

I wasn’t really blown away by The Fighter. It’s good, but the third act devolves into some painful sports clichés that the first two acts deftly avoided by focusing on the family drama aspect more than the actual boxing. Still, I’m going to own this film, and I’ll probably watch it quite a bit almost entirely to watch Christian Bale’s performance. This is a good situation, as Bale deserves a major award in general for his years of excellent work, but he’s not going to get a pity Oscar for a performance that wasn’t his best (Training Day, anyone?). Of the nominees, Mark Ruffalo doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near the list, somehow depriving The Year of Garfield from even reaching the Oscar nominee list. Between The Social Network and Never Let Me Go (which arguably could have been either a leading or supporting role), it’s a crying shame he was shut out.

Actress in a Leading Role

Will Win: Natalie Portman
Should Win: Natalie Portman
Should Have Been Nominated: Carey Mulligan

At least this is one category The King’s Speech can’t win. Portman’s a foregone conclusion, and since this will basically be the only category Black Swan will win, they’ll at least get something. It’s still strange that Michelle Williams is nominated when Gosling isn’t, but in general the nominees for this one are good. I would have loved to see Carey Mulligan’s bravura performance from Never Let Me Go receive a nomination, but it’s very clear that the Academy simply didn’t care for or about the film.

Actress in a Supporting Role

Will Win: Melissa Leo
Should Win: Melissa Leo
Should Have Been Nominated: Olivia Williams

It still bothers me that Hailee Steinfeld was nominated for this category. She won’t win (I don’t think she will, at least), leaving the two ladies from The Fighter with the best opportunity at taking this one down. Leo has more momentum overall, and her performance is flashier, making me think she’ll take it down over Amy Adams. Olivia Williams deserves praise for her work in The Ghost Writer, and easily should have been in the mix over the leading role of Hailee Steinfeld.

Animated Film

Will Win: Toy Story 3
Should Win: How to Train Your Dragon
Should Have Been Nominated: This one’s pretty much fine

I unabashedly love How to Train Your Dragon a lot. I’ve found it has a lot more rewatchability and staying power compared to Toy Story 3. I also know that no one agrees with me on this one, but that’s fine.

Original Screenplay

Will Win: Inception (Gods, I hope so)
Should Win: Inception
Should Have Been Nominated: Don’t Have an Answer for This One

I think The King’s Speech winning this one would probably be the worst injustice the film would commit against the ceremony this year. The screenplay for Inception is difficult to argue against; it’s a fiendishly complex and legitimately interesting fresh idea that was executed about perfectly on a script level. If it’s beaten by the adaptation of a real life event with little to no innovation, that’s actively upsetting.

Adapted Screenplay

Will Win: The Social Network
Should Win: The Social Network
Should Have Been Nominated: Never Let Me Go

Sorkin’s moment. Completely deserved. That is all.

It’s odd that everyone has been talking about how disappointing this movie season has been, despite (in my opinion at least) having one of the strongest award seasons I’ve personally seen, with Black Swan, The King’s Speech, The Fighter, Rabbit Hole, True Grit, and Blue Valentine all being released in December alone. That’s why it’s such a shame that The King’s Speech, an average Oscar bait film with no true aspirations, is going to win so many awards tonight when truly important films with great screenplays and strong ideas like The Social Network and Inception are going to be denied the big prize, among other awards. The King’s Speech is this year’s A Beautiful Mind, Chocloat, Cinderella Man, etc. and doesn’t have the same cinematic importance of the others nominated in its various categories. I can hope the right films win, because it’s a statement that movies like The King’s Speech aren’t just automatically going to take home awards, but that’s probably not going to be the case.

What we need to keep in perspective, of course, is that everything is entirely arbitrary at day’s end. We’re not only dealing with the subjectivity of individual taste, but we’re also dealing with the herd mentality. This is why what I would have wanted to be nominated for the Oscars is completely different from what I would have predicted to be nominated for the Oscars when the nominations were actually released this morning. As a for instance, I have a serious allergy to so-called ‘Oscar bait’ films. Good examples of these films would include A Beautiful Mind or Cinderella Man or Chocolat or The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Often, they’re not particularly terrible films (unless they’re written by Akiva Goldsman and directed by Ron Howard), but there’s an air about them that permeates their every being. They try to hard. They scream award worthy, but they’re doing the screaming instead of the public. The thing is, the process, the things you do to become award worthy is so well established that one or two of these films every year push it a little too far, and feel like they were bred in a lab to be nominated for Oscars. It doesn’t always work out that way; Pay it Forward seemed like a slam dunk post American Beauty, but everyone had the good sense to realize it was manipulative drivel. Yet, it still happens. All the goddamned time.

This year’s piece of blatant Oscar bait is The King’s Speech. It’s a pseudo period piece (I guess the 1940’s is a ‘period,’ just with less bodices) starring Colin Firth as a monarch with a speech impediment and Geoffrey Rush as his crazy and off beat therapist that uses his wild methods and fish out of water unorthodox attitude to offer the foil George VI needs to overcome his stammer. And he does. To the surprise of no one. It doesn’t matter one iota that this is based on a true story. It’s still a heaping helping of treacle masquerading as feeling. It’s relatively entertaining to watch, but doesn’t impress anything on the viewer in any tangible way. It exists to make people go gaga over Colin Firth’s ability to stutter and Helena Bonham Carter’s ability to not look like she’s on drugs.

Inevitably, The King’s Speech has led the way with 12 Oscar nominations, including for such preposterous things as film editing and sound mixing. My hope is that all will be right in the world, and the following results will happen for the major awards:

Picture: The Social Network
Director: David Fincher (or Aronofsky, really)
Original Screenplay: Inception
Adapted Screenplay: The Social Network
Actor: Jesse Eisenberg
Actress: Natalie Portman
Supporting Actor: Christian Bale
Supporting Actress: Melissa Leo

I know Colin Firth is going to win Best Actor. I also know that he doesn’t deserve it. We care about these things because we care about film as a medium. Do the Oscars actually matter at all? No. But also yes. Let’s say The King’s Speech sets up the major sweep, winning for Picture, Director, Actor, and Screenplay. Literally all this does is convince the Akiva Goldsmans of the world to keep churning out garbage that features some high profile actor playing a role that features some kind of physical or mental defect striving to overcome himself. And the cycle will continue. Mr. Show did a fantastic parody of the whole situation all the way back in 1997, lampooning the idea that actors and actresses would make active choices to play mentally retarded characters to win awards (this was the year after Shine, one of the best examples of the trend). Nothing’s changed in 13 years.

Do I think The Social Network is the best film of 2010? Nope. Still siding with Black Swan. Is it more important that Aaron Sorkin, David Fincher, and the producers of The Social Network walk away with their statues? Yes. It’s a positive move for film in general. It shows the studios and the public that the best script is actually what matters the most in the end, especially if you have one of the most talented directors in the business bringing it to life. It’s a move to break the cycle and hopefully discourage films like The King’s Speech from being so entirely lazy. It’s breaking away from the art house lowest common denominator. And it’s actually really damned good. Which helps.

That being said, I can’t help myself from pointing out five specific issues I have with this year’s Academy Award nominations. This is bound to get either a little or a lot ranty, but it’s a necessary bit of catharsis for yours truly.

1. Hailee Steinfeld nominated for Supporting Actress

Okay, I am aware that the studios pushed for this nomination specifically for Supporting Actress because they wanted to give her a chance to actually win instead of just getting streamrolled by Portman or Bening. But here’s the problem: SHE’S IN EVERY SCENE OF THE FUCKING MOVIE. She narrates the goddamned thing. Jeff Bridges, who is nominated for Best Actor, is in True Grit a lot less than Steinfeld is. This is exactly as ludicrous as supporting actors or actresses nominated for 5 minutes or less of screen time. The entire category is far too nebulous, and is fast becoming a joke. Even if the studios pushed Steinfeld for this category, voters should have been able to notice that she’s the lead character of the entire movie and only considered her for Best Actress. It’s more than a little mystifying.

2. Inception not nominated for Best Film Editing

There’s been a lot of uproar about Christopher Nolan being left out of the Best Director race. And the uproar is just. I have said before about how cool it was that four of my favorite directors (Nolan, Fincher, Aronofsky, and David O. Russell) would probably be nominated for Best Director. Didn’t expect O. Russell to make the cut and Nolan not to make the cut. But the actual travesty that has been generally lost in the shuffle is Inception losing out on a Film Editing nomination, which is actively egregious. The third act of Inception is incredibly complex. It features a constantly shifting focus between multiple instances of multiple actors in multiple settings moving at multiple speeds. Almost the entire third act takes place within the course of time it takes for a van to plunge into the water below a bridge. And the editing is completely flawless. Nothing is confusing. The scenes are spliced together and juxtaposed perfectly. It’s probably the most ambitious piece of editing we’ve seen in any major Oscar contender this year, and yet it was denied by a bunch of British people standing around and talking during The King’s Speech. Oh, but there was a montage, so you know. I think this is what actively pisses me off the most about this year’s nominations.

3. Ryan Gosling not nominated for Best Actor

In general, Blue Valentine got shafted in a pretty intense way, garnering a single nomination for Michelle Williams’ performance and nothing else. I expected a nom for Gosling, possibly screenplay, and perhaps even Picture (taking the Winter’s Bone slot). Ryan Gosling’s work in Blue Valentine is one of the best two performances of the year. I talked about it a lot in my review. In fact, I didn’t even consider for a second that he wouldn’t be nominated. It’s especially odd that Michelle Williams was nominated when he wasn’t, considering how playing off his incredibly strong performance is a big part of what made her so good. Both should have been nominated. Jeff Bridges probably shouldn’t have (well, Firth shouldn’t either, but I knew that was a losing battle from go). He’s fine in True Grit, but his work isn’t even close to the level of Gosling, who acted circles around his peers.

4. Toy Story 3 nominated for Adapted Screenplay

This is a case of confusion more than anything, the confusion boiling down to essentially ‘what the fuck was Toy Story 3 adapted from?’ Apparently, there may be some kind of archaic rule that sequels must be considered only for the Adapted category even if the story is entirely original, presumably due to the characters preexisting or something. Which is stupid. It’s cool that Toy Story 3 was nominated, as the screenplay is exceedingly clever, but this is simply the wrong category, much like what’s happening with Ms. Steinfeld.

5. Mark Ruffalo nominated for Best Supporting Actor

Here’s the thing. The Kids Are Alright isn’t very good. In some ways (a lot of ways), it’s actually offensive. It’s being championed as this great depiction of a functional lesbian relationship, which is COMPLETE AND TOTAL GARBAGE. I can continue to rant about how the entire film is actually an insult to its supposed demographic, but I’ll instead focus on Ruffalo. He’s…fine. His character isn’t given a whole lot to do other than try and bond with his new found kids while having sex with Julianne Moore. Nothing he does is particularly noteworthy. He disappears entirely during the final moments of the film. He’s a good actor, and has done good things in the past, but this is not a role that is worthy of kicking Andrew Garfield off the ballot. I don’t care whether it’s for Never Let Me Go or The Social Network, putting Ruffalo on there in lieu of Garfield is infuriating.

And there we have it.

I would say overall and in general, things basically shook out as expected. I can also say that this is by far the most prepared I’ve ever been for an Academy Awards telecast, and as such I am more opinionated than usual with regards to the nominations and eventual results. I know a lot of folks were down on film in general in 2010, but despite the first half of the year being a generally arid wasteland of disappointment, this has been one of the most entertaining Oscar seasons I’ve experienced in a while. Should be good times.

Yesterday, Amanda Palmer released her newest album, the full length Amanda Palmer Goes Down Under (with all requisite references and entendres entirely intended) as a digital download on her site. The standard variable price structure applies, but anyone can have it for the low low price of 69 cents (a number that is likely just as deliberate as the title and cover of the album). As such, considering the price, I encourage everyone to buy it. Pretty good deal, all things considered, getting an entire album of twelve songs for less than the price of one song on iTunes. Obviously, those with a particular affinity for Miss Palmer probably already have the thing, as there’s no real reason not to. The question, of course, for the critic in the room (or so I consider myself, lack of credentials and all), is whether it’s any good.

Well, it’s strange, that’s for sure. Those who follow Amanda’s social media networking blitzkrieg on a regular basis should know by now that the genesis for the album itself came from a tour of Australia and New Zealand she departed on in 2009, and the majority of the album consists of down under themed songs, running the gamut from extraordinarily silly to undeniably serious, and everything in between. Add a smattering of covers and collaborations, and you’ve got yourself a new Amanda Palmer record. The content of the original tracks are all over the spectrum, from a wistful desire for escapism (“Australia”) to the weight of expectations (“In My Mind”) to vendettas against breakfast spreads (“Vegemite (The Black Death)”) and personal grooming preferences (“Map of Tasmania”). The Australian songs are nearly all live recordings taken from the original tour; many of the songs were recorded mere hours or days before the performances we hear on the disc.

The one departure from this approach is the lead single “Map of Tasmania,” it of the infamous music video that can only be understood when seen with one’s own eyes. Originally a short, jaunty ukulele tune about that certain part of the female anatomy, it has since been torn apart and reengineered into a dance song from hell, all big beats and distorted refrains. It’s a cute idea, and absolutely as far away from the established Amanda Palmer song stylings as possible, and it’s catchy. It does, however, get a little tedious on repeat listens, and seems to be one of the weaker tracks on the album. What was essentially originally conceived in ukulele form as a stunt was eventually remixed into a dance song as a stunt, and as such doesn’t seem to have the same resonance one is used to from Miss Palmer. It’s a fun little novelty that soon becomes eminently skippable.

The other joke of the album (I’m discounting “We’re Happy Little Vegemites,” which is essentially an extended improvisational comedy bit) is “Vegemite (The Black Death),” a decidedly more successful song than Tasmania, and probably the single funniest thing Palmer has ever released, better even than putting the Double Rainbow to music. It tells the tale of a frustrated lover with a vendetta against the titular substance, which she describes as “that foul death paste.” It’s a classic switcheroo comedy song, beginning as a sweet, tender expression of love and turning on a dime after the opening verse, ripping into Vegemite with such fervor and vitriol that it’s basically the breakfast food incarnation of Hitler. It’s cleverly written, and makes very good use of strategic breaking of the meter in order to go off on some small little rant or something similar. It’s sublime, uproarious, and one of the true highlights of the proceedings.

“In My Mind,” which does not appear to have been recorded with an audience (makes sense, considering it features Dresden Dolls compatriot and greatest living drummer Brian Viglione, who wasn’t exactly in Australia on that tour), and also isn’t at all about Australia, is this incredibly fragile, tender little song about letting life slip away when you’re not paying attention, and ruminating on all the things that could have or should have been done (sample lyric: “And when they put me in the ground/I’ll start pounding the lid/Saying ‘I haven’t finished yet/I still have a tattoo to get/it says ‘I’m living in the moment’”). I think it’s probably the single most impressive vocal performance of Palmer’s career (this or “The Bed Song,” at least); she nails the feel and emotion of the song absolutely perfectly. It’s the best song on the album, and far outweighs the baseline 69 cent price tag by itself.

We’ve also got two major covers, Peter Jeffries’ “On an Unknown Beach” and Nick Cave’s seminal “The Ship Song.” I had never heard the original of “On an Unknown Beach,” but Amanda covered the song at the Tristan Allen record release party in December, so I had heard it before. It’s a gorgeous song with a luscious piano line and this great haunting refrain at the end. Pound for pound, it’s probably the best piano part of the record. As far as “The Ship Song” is concerned, it’s, well, “The Ship Song.” She doesn’t change the piano part or make any daring vocal choices. It’s basically just Amanda Palmer singing “The Ship Song.” Which is fine. When Amanda mentioned on her twitter or blog or what have you that there would be a Nick Cave cover on the record (he’s the Australian cover; Peter Jeffries hails from New Zealand to cover the bases), I assumed it would be “The Ship Song.” It just fits. Isn’t really anything revelatory, and it’s not necessarily better or worse than Cave’s “Ship Song,” except there’s a female singer. It’s a perfectly acceptable way to close the record.

Overall, what we have here is a record with a general identity (songs about or inspired by Australia and New Zealand) but not too much of a song identity. The majority of the songs themselves are strong in a vacuum, well written, well designed, well performed, but the overall experience of Amanda Palmer Goes Down Under as a cohesive album is a little lacking. This is not to say it isn’t a worthy purchase; it definitely is, either for the standard full price a CD goes for these days or for the ultra cheap 69 cents. There’s something different at play here. It feels more like a collection of B-sides than, say, her debut solo record Who Killed Amanda Palmer. It’s fine, and it’s a good listen, but I can’t help but be convinced that Amanda is capable of something more. This seems like a pleasant distraction more than anything.

“She sends me blue valentines all the way from Philadelphia to mark the anniversary of someone that I used to be.”

I noted on my Top Ten Films of 2010 article that the only film I didn’t see that possibly could have mucked up the works was Blue Valentine. Well, it mucked up the works. The new and improved top ten list is as follows:

10. The Fighter

9. Rabbit Hole

8. Exit Through the Gift Shop

7. True Grit

6. Inception

5. Blue Valentine

4. Never Let Me Go

3. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World

2. The Social Network

1. Black Swan

One could argue that romance is one of those silly little things that higher self aware species aspire to despite having little to no evolutionary advantage. Mating for life, monogamy, romance, these are traits that usually, though not always, are less evolutionarily advantageous due to a pure numbers game. However, the human race has obviously evolved beyond classical evolution in our own way, and I’ve written before about how the evolution of the mind replaces the evolution of the body now that we can sculpt the world to fit our will and comfort level. Because of this, because life is not a constant struggle for survival at all times, we can relax and do silly things like fall in love. And, as Joy Division had said so famously, love will tear us apart. And it does. All the goddamned time. Our free time as a species is a blessing and a curse, because the ability to relax combined with higher brain functions turns into a delirious mix of sweating the small stuff, staying up late at night waiting for her to call, wondering why it took so long for him to come home from work, furtive glances, accusations of infidelity, all of these things that can cause acute emotional pain entirely because we do these things simply because we can.

Oddly enough, we also tend to find a level of enjoyment in watching the emotional pain of others via entertainment outlets such as film and theater or the written word; tragic love stories are certainly a well trodden trope stemming from the Greek plays through Shakespeare to the modern day. Many of them, of course, end with the mythical happy ending where everything is peachy and love is eternal and everlasting despite all those nasty speed bumps from the second act. Many of them, however, also have the potential to end with everyone dead. We can thank both the Greeks and old Billy Shakes for the proliferation of the tragic end to the love story, where love does not spring eternal, and people probably get stabbed for some reason. Or, consequently, love does spring eternal, but people get stabbed before it has a chance to be everlasting. Either way, people probably get stabbed.

Blue Valentine, the new ‘romance’ film from writer/director Derek Cianfrance, does not feature any stabbings. Not physical ones, at least. But it squarely falls into the second more grisly camp of love stories. Love does indeed tear these characters apart, and it is all laid bare in front of the camera, without fear of or revulsion from taboo. And when you read all of the various and sundry critical reviews of Blue Valentine, the critics will indeed talk about how it’s a tragic tale of two people who fall into and then out of love. And how Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling really make you believe they were meant to be together, which is why it’s so saddening and tragic that they grow apart to such a degree as they do. But here’s the thing. Blue Valentine is not a love story. Blue Valentine is a lust story.

No, that does not mean it is porn, though there is a decent amount of sex (some of which lead to the short lived and infamous NC-17 rating from the MPAA that was eventually overturned due to, you know, logic and common sense). What it means is while the press copy may say it, and the critics may say it, that does not make it true. From what is presented on screen for the near two hours of run time, we never actually see these characters fall in love. To whit, there is some bias due to the innate structure of the narrative, and its begin with the ending mentality of showing us how they’re failing before we find out how they meet, creating a clear bias with the audience that THIS WILL NOT WORK OUT IN THE END, but this is intentional. Blue Valentine is a story of two people forced to love each other due to being forced into an extremely difficult situation. But since they were never actually in love, rather in lust, in the first place, it’s destined to fail.

I should mention, before I get into the real meat of things, that the movie itself is fantastic. I’m picking up The Social Network on Blu-Ray today (with multiple commentaries that could deem important considering New England’s pending Snowpocalypse II: This Time It’s January), which will give me the opportunity to really compare Eisenberg and Gosling’s performances within a short window, because Gosling’s work in Blue Valentine is astounding, and possibly good enough to leap frog Eisenberg as the best of 2010. Dean of the present and Dean of the past are organically different, and you can feel six years worth of new experiences and challenges informing his outlook on life as his relationship with his wife strains. You can see what Cindy sees in him, his dogged determination to be a good father to his daughter (who isn’t actually his daughter, which calls for even more subtext), his charm and good looks, but you can also see the flaws, how he drinks too much and has no ambition to do anything with his life. But it’s not painted in two dimensions or blatantly played as a dichotomy. Dean as a character simply exists, living within the film in an uncannily naturalistic and relaxed manner. Everything he does is motivated from true experience. He’s in way over his head, and has been in over his head pretty much from the beginning, and he’s doing all he can to hold on, but the cracks keep forming and getting larger. The doom is inescapable, and when it comes, he eventually takes it like a man. Eisenberg’s Mark Zuckerberg is a winning portrayal of a man who attacks the world with his intelligence, his words, and his wit, and he has both the blessing and the curse of having a mouth chock full of Aaron Sorkin dialogue, which is no easy feat to make sound natural. Gosling’s Dean is a different beast entirely, in that he seems like your good friend who’s content to work his shitty job and drink, but isn’t actually a bad guy. That’s just as tough an act to pull off as making Sorkin’s dialogue sound right (which is not to say it’s bad, because it’s genius, but it’s also cadenced in a way that isn’t completely normal), and Gosling is more than game to the challenge.

Michelle Williams, too, is wonderful in her role, though she’ll be playing second fiddle during awards season thanks to Natalie Portman. Cindy is complex in a different way, a character that should be destined for greatness but seems prone to constantly shooting herself in the foot. She comes from a broken but intact home dominated by a screaming father, and overcompensates by bedding quite a few men, one of which gets her pregnant and completely derails her life. She can’t bring herself to abort, and instead falls on Dean for support and marriage. Present Cindy is clawing desperately at having a career while supporting her child and trying to motivate Dean; she feels both crushed by and responsible for Dean’s lack of ambition; the way that choosing not to abort has changed both of their lives so immensely weighs on her. The abortion scene itself is one of the year’s best, with Williams sheepishly admitting her promiscuous past and losing her nerve right before the procedure. It’s incredibly well done.

Dean’s devotion is his undoing in Blue Valentine; the entire relationship is redefined before it barely gets off the ground due to Cindy’s pregnancy. They decide to commit and get married during the early stages of the relationship and we are in essence immediately jumped six years into the future when things begin to fall apart. As such, we don’t actually see them in love at any time through the two hours of the film. Yes, it is obviously true that they are attracted to each other in a very real way. Yes, the ukulele dancing scene from the trailer is just as adorable when it plays out in the film itself. Dean is obviously infatuated with Cindy, but we never see anything akin to love. He makes a snap decision in a pressured environment to commit to Cindy and her unborn daughter that isn’t his outside an abortion clinic, and their life moves on from there together. They essentially skip the majority of the courtship phase and jump headfirst into marriage. Then, we’re jumped headfirst into their destruction. It is entirely possible that during the six years that we don’t see, the six years spent raising their child and living their lives, that they did fall in love. But we aren’t shown that, and any assumptions to that effect could be considered potentially short sighted or foolhardy. It is also entirely possible that, given more time in the courtship phase, they could have realized they were not intended to be together, or figured out how to live with one another without going batty. Perhaps Dean would have had more time to find some ambition and avoid the bottle to at least some extent, though it is entirely possible that these are simple character flaws that would have been present regardless of the situation. A multitude of possibilities exist in alternate universes, but we work with what we are given.

To say that Blue Valentine tells the entire story of this relationship would be a lie. As far as I know, no one is actually claiming that, so that’s good in itself. What makes it such a fascinating study beyond the visceral emotional experience of simply watching it (the viewing experience is brutal and uncomfortable, an agonizing mental journey into the abyss) is the way that it seems to present a love story on the surface, but doesn’t actually follow through. It’s not like (500) Days of Summer, which strictly tells you from the beginning that the film is not a love story, which you go on to not believe until you realize that the narrator was actually telling the truth all along. This is different. Almost insidious, but in a positive way. This idea gets under your skin that everything was so perfect at the beginning, and how could things possibly have gone wrong, and what does this say about love and so on and so forth and other pessimistic/nihilistic/solipsistic things. The emotions of the situation get in the way of the logic of the story. Blue Valentine is not a love story (despite what the poster says), nor is it a story of love lost. It is a story of two people forced into a situation they didn’t want, and collapsing under the pressure, failing to follow through. The acute tragedy of the situation comes from the daughter, Frankie, and how attached she became to Dean, a father she probably never should have had. The final scene of the film is its most poignant; Cindy and Dean have had their final falling out, and while Dean walks away, Frankie follows, holding onto his pant leg, completely unaware of what’s going on, just wanting to be close to her daddy and wondering why he’s walking away. Dean tries to send her back to her mother but she won’t listen, and he has to trick her to get her to disengage from him. The hope throughout all of this is that Frankie will turn out okay, and she probably will, but it’s a difficult situation to say the least

Blue Valentine (and I’m really burying the lead here) is one of the best pure relationship dramas I’ve seen in a while. It manages to follow the same pattern as Rabbit Hole, focusing entirely on the two principal characters and their decaying relationship, and also manages to beat the holy hell out of it, completely washing you up into its wake, knowing the characters are barreling headlong into oblivion but being unable to stop them or even slightly deter their course. Where Rabbit Hole and other similar dramas tend to end on a positive note, a glimmer of hope for the future, that it’s going to suck ass but everything might be okay one day, Blue Valentine ends with despair. This is two hours of pure misery, but it’s brilliantly acted and impeccably written to be a layered and complicated mess of emotions. For those that can take a debilitating and sad story, this is a true gem of the genre.

As someone who tends to be a fan of mythology based continuous universes in my choices of entertainment (i.e. the Marvel comics ‘616’ universe, the so-called Joss Whedon Buffyverse, Battlestar Galactica, other various and sundry geeky things), the subject of continuity, and by degrees the breaching of said continuity, comes up quite a bit. A perfect example of this would be the last two issues of Brian Michael Bendis’ Avengers run (issues seven and eight), which have begun a storyline about the infinity gems that hearkens back to one of the issues of his New Avengers: Illuminati miniseries wherein the members of the Illuminati were each given an infinity gem (uber powerful artifacts of the Marvel universe that combine to create the infamous Infinity Gauntlet) for safekeeping. Iron Man received the Reality Gem, Mr. Fantastic the Power Gem, Namor the Time Gem, Dr. Strange the Soul Gem, Professor X the Mind Gem, and Black Bolt the Space Gem. With the Infinity Gems being what they are and the characters being as well established as they are, it seemed like a pretty big moment that would pay off some time down the line. I remember the rampant speculation (and I was definitely a part of this rampant speculation in my own way) that once Black Bolt was revealed to be a Skrull in the final issue of New Avengers: Illuminati, he had been a Skrull when the gems were distributed, and the way the Skrulls were able to sneak past Earth’s defenses and invade was due to Skrull Black Bolt’s specific use of the Space Gem to teleport his fellow aliens onto the Earth for infiltration, as well as helping out their ability to presumably move star fleets at the blink of an eye. It made sense. It was a logical continuation of the storyline. It didn’t end up being the case, which felt like a missed opportunity, but I can understand Bendis wanting to wait considering the Dark Reign and Siege events that were already planned out at that point to take place in the wake of Secret Invasion.

The issue arises when The Hood, a personal favorite villain of Bendis, begins his own Thanos Quest to collect the gems in Avengers #7, and manages to take Black Bolt’s gem (the easiest to take, considering his current status being dead, and no one else having the knowledge that he has the gem). But the Black Bolt’s gem he takes is the Reality Gem, which based on simple color analysis of New Avengers: Illuminati #2, was given to Iron Man. All the gems have an established color, and the yellow of the Reality Gem was featured in Iron Man’s panel, while the purple Space Gem was obviously given to Black Bolt. We have further, if somewhat spurious, proof that this was indeed the original intent from the Marvel Universe expansion of the dearly departed VS. System trading card game, which featured a cycle of the six Illuminati members as cards with their versions including the gem they were given. Iron Man is listed as “Protector of the Reality Gem” and Black Bolt is “Protector of the Space Gem.” One would assume (hope?) that someone from Marvel would have proofed that expansion as a licensed Marvel property, and I also know that the folks working for VS at the time (such as my former writer in arms Billy Zonos over at read/RANT) weren’t about to make a mistake like that.

The other funny thing about the situation is the fact that The Hood immediately makes use of his fancy new Reality Gem to effortlessly break into the Baxter Building to steal the Power Gem from Reed Richards, a feat that would not have been possible had Black Bolt possessed the Space Gem like he was ‘supposed to.’ He then immediately used the combination of the Power Gem and Reality Gem to put a whooping on the Red Hulk, something that again would have been basically impossible. Hell, I never really understood why the other gems even mattered beyond the Reality Gem, which can in theory do basically anything. Of course, this is comics, disbelief is suspended, and so on and so forth. That’s fine. The question now that faces us is how important we consider continuity within the framework of a consistent media-based universe and how we try to reconcile mistakes that may show up on a personal level.

The first response, of course, especially in the age of the internet, is to react negatively in a public manner. This public manner has the added bonus of being almost entirely anonymous thanks to message boards and user ID’s that allow (to make up a name) BendisSucksLOL to let us know exactly what he’s thinking at all times, whether we care or not. These responses tend to be mean spirited, not particularly well thought out, and don’t actually accomplish anything of note. Most of what I’ve found on the ‘net as far as discussions of this generally seemed to be more questioning in tone (the “wait, didn’t Black Bolt get the Space Gem, or am I remembering incorrectly?”), which is a nice change from the sort of Comic Book Guy type of damning response we’re used to seeing these days from everyone with a keyboard and some spare time that gives all of us a bad name. Yes, Marvel hires editors that are technically supposed to catch things like this. Yes, Bendis wrote both issues, which looks pretty bad on the surface, though they were published nearly four years apart from each other. We all can dream that a guy like Bendis keeps meticulous notes about everything he’s ever written in every little corner of the comics industry, but such things simply aren’t feasible for your average working writer with the kind of writing load that Bendis has (dude writes a lot of books), and the sanity of your writer combined with the ability to actually release things even somewhat on time is usually a simple enough payoff for a continuity gaffe here or there. These books aren’t written by a robot. Accidents happen.

So where are we left here when something like this comes up? Are we right in complaining about the failure of editorial or the writer? Should we rail at the supposed redundancies of an editorial staff that can’t completely and totally do their job? Should we even care in the first place? Why does it matter? It’s simple enough to say that Bendis wrote Black Bolt having the Reality Gem in Avengers 7 and 8 because that’s what had to happen for the story to actually work, so that’s what happened and damn the critics. And you know what? He might be right. Obviously, I haven’t personally found any response specifically from Bendis to the community on the subject, and while it would be potentially interesting to hear what he has to say, I’m not dying to find out, nor am I condemning him for the error. It’s not unreasonable to look at things from the perspective of what needs to work right now opposed to what was written back then, and writers have to work in the framework of the story that is in front of them. The comics industry is a specifically thorny situation, as (1) these are generally monthly periodicals, so it’s like editing a book in sections, over months or potentially years at a time, which can lead to confusion and oversights, and (2) someone has to draw the damned things (not to mention inking, coloring, and lettering them), which takes time and adds more cooks to the equation. Indeed, the comics industry is set up in such a way that it seems very likely that it’s easier to have continuity errors in the comics industry more so than television or film or novels or other mediums where continuity is important. We learn to live with these things. The world doesn’t stop rotating because a cut on Peter Parker’s hand changes from the left to the right in different panels.

What’s more interesting is what this says about us as humans who enjoy these sorts of mediums and can’t stand the continuity errors when they show up. The brain runs on a sense of constantly establishing continuity. What is consciousness, really, than a consistent understanding of the world around the subject from that person or thing’s specific point of view? Consciousness is, for all intents, internal continuity with the physical world. We’re trained from the earliest of ages to understand that a world exists beyond our simple immediate perceptions. This is called Object Permanence. Things do not cease to exist when we can’t perceive them. The reason why Peek-A-Boo works as a game for incredibly young infants and not later in infancy, as when the person or object disappears behind something, the infant without a developed understanding of object permanence really thinks the person or object no longer exists, and might become scared or upset, only to be delighted when the person reappears, knowing all is safe and sound. Once the infant reaches the “well, you’re just hiding behind a chair; how stupid do you think I am?” stage, the game loses some of its appeal. At its basest understanding, object permanence really comes down to an evolved understanding of spatial relations, but one can easily extrapolate object permanence beyond the simplicity of the spatial to an overall continuity of our world view that applies to things beyond spatial relations. This is an easy way to understand why we as humans can get so upset when things don’t go right. It’s a primal call back to when our mothers disappeared behind a chair and we thought we were alone in this world for a short, cruel moment before our caregiver was returned to us (indeed, from the child’s perspective, peek-a-boo is a somewhat evil and tortuous game of yo-yo with its emotions).

I’m probably out on an undeniably flimsy limb right now, but I’m going to run with it as a thought experiment. It might not even be prudent to extend the idea behind object permanence to such a degree, and there might be some other technical term beyond my purview that explains this phenomenon to a T. I think this is why psychological horror can be so effective for some people when slasher or torture porn films don’t scare or affect them at all. Those films attack the viewer via a shared kinship concerning bodily harm; the reason Friday the 13th scares us is because we’d rather not be chopped to bits with a machete ourselves, and the thought of that actually happening understandably results in fear. The same could be said to be true with the Saw or Hostel films, just to a more calculated extreme. Of course, all of these films also often subscribe to the “Gotcha!” method of startle scares as well, which is more a case of being caught off guard and unawares, opposed to actually tapping into a more primal sense of fear. It’s the more subtle things that I think have true potential to tap into that primal fear. Something as simple as the reflection of a mirror not acting the way it should is enough to set off something; the human race has known how reflections should act for centuries, and the idea of a reflection ‘misbehaving’ (looking like something else, moving out of concert with the person, twisting the image, etc.) can be a thoroughly disturbing experience. It’s played for laughs in Evil Dead II, but hell, everything’s played for laughs in Evil Dead II. Still, it’s a trope that shows up often enough in psychological horror films that there has to be some reason for its popularity. There are more examples, but I think I’ll leave them for another time.

Continuity and object permanence give us mental security. It’s a calming effect that lets us know what to expect from the physical world on a day to day basis. Einstein’s famous quote elucidates this: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” That’s what object permanence saves us from. That’s what the overactive mirror represents: insanity. Insanity is the ultimate fear for the rational mind; the idea of being able to cogently understand the world around us while still being alive and conscious is a deeply disturbing thought. It’s like death without being dead, but instead you are constantly assailed by the world not acting in the way you expect it to. The entire physical world becomes a series of disobedient mirrors, and there’s no longer anything to trust. When you can’t trust your mind, where does that leave you?

I think the desire to make everything we read within a universe contiguous with itself is an extrapolation of this inherent need for the world to act like we expect it to. In the grand scheme of things, Black Bolt having the wrong infinity gem is small potatoes in the grand scheme of things; the only time in all of published Marvel comics history that it’s mentioned that Black Bolt has the Space Gem is that one issue of New Avengers: Illuminati. Had it been the case that Skrull Black Bolt did use the Space Gem as part of the invasion plan during Secret Invasion, it would probably be a bit more damning of an oversight. But that’s not the case, and The Hood really had to take the Reality Gem first in order for the rest of his plan to work and the storyline to be plausible. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made in the name of expedience.

Those of us who dedicate large amounts of thought, time, and money to such a universe (and given the overall geeky nature of most of these enterprises, it’s not a surprise that people become hooked on a universe. We’re personalities easily prone to addiction), tend to reach such a point that we strive for the fictional universe to be just as ‘real’ as our physical world, lumping the same expectations for continuous logic onto that universe as we do our own. Perhaps it’s escapism. Perhaps it’s some desire to justify the time and money expenditure. Either way, we look at something like Black Bolt having the Space Gem in one issue and the Reality Gem in another as something akin to a mischievous mirror. The universe we call our own by extension is not acting the way it should. Things feel wrong. The difference, of course, is the fact that this is a work of fiction written by human being, an inherently imperfect construct, and things like this will happen from time to time. Editors are put in place to try and keep such mistakes to a minimum, but all editors, with comic book editors in particular, have other duties, such as making sure the project is on time and within budget constraints, and making sure the writer, penciler, inker, letterer, and colorist are all working in harmony with each other. This is specifically tied to the book coming out on time, and (rightfully) is of greater import than vetting the individual details. Sure, Bendis wrote both books, and Tom Brevoort was lead editor on both books, but these guys have bigger fish to fry.

Continuity errors happen. They are not the end of the world. This does not mean that they are beyond criticism and shouldn’t be brought up at all, but when they are made into the emphasis (there’s something that feels good about italicizing the word ‘emphasis’) of the book or a review of the book or comments about the book, I think people are going about it the wrong way. There are extenuating circumstances, of course, as well as errors that are so egregious that they cannot be ignored and are rightly criticized. But if the story is good and the art is good and the overall package is good, that should be the focus, not one tiny aspect of it that might be slightly off of what it should be. Part of the reason why geeks tend to get such a bad rap in society, even in today’s day and age where geeks have essentially taken over the world (just look at the highest grossing films, as well as the voracious response to the Harry Potter and Twilight franchises, the proliferation of World of Warcraft, or even the manic number crunching involved in fantasy football for just a few examples), is because of this ridiculous and overly dramatic response from the culture when things like this happen. It’s part of the reason I do my best to divest myself from such ideals. The world isn’t going to stop because Black Bolt has the wrong gem or Hour Man is referred to by a previous Hour Man’s identity or any number of other things that will show up from time to time. The huge amount of time, effort, and artistic merit that goes into these productions is often cruelly lost. It’s that one or two extra minutes that it takes to pull back and think about things before going off the handle that would make the world, and the internet, a better place. Will it happen? I doubt it. A man can dream, though.

“Keeping yourselves well, keeping yourselves healthy inside, is of paramount importance”

A Proviso: The last thing I would want to do is give away the meat of this film, as it’s a wonderfully off center world that is quite satisfying to discover as it develops. It is, however, basically impossible to keep the crux of the book and film secret when talking about its artistic merit with any depth, and as such it will be discussed in detail in the below article. I would recommend that anyone who has not read the book or seen the film and wants to keep things fresh should probably skip reading this for now and either run to a book store RIGHT NOW and read it, or pick up the DVD/Blu-Ray/Format of your choice on its (US) release date February 1. We’ll be waiting here for you. The internet is funny that way. Now, let’s get to business.

Imagine knowing without doubt that you were not going to live long enough to see age thirty-five, and that you’ve known this for most of your life. Imagine further that the last few years of your exceedingly short life would be spent infirm in hospital beds in constant pain and general misery, knowing at all times that death is just around the corner. It’s for a worthy cause; your preordained sacrifice will save and elongate the life of another. Imagine, however, knowing all of this, and being in love. This is the central conceit of Never Let Me Go, the devastatingly poignant and almost unconscionably sad film adaptation of the book of same name.

Mark Romanek has directed quite a few famous (and infamous) music videos in his life. His first major job at long form film was 2002’s creepy genre picture One Hour Photo, wherein he squeeze one of the best performances out of Robin Williams’ long and illustrious career. He basically disappeared after that, trying to develop a few projects and failing, and doing some more short form music video and television commercial work. In 2010 he returned with a vengeance, bringing along favored Danny Boyle scribe Alex Garland (he of 28 Days Later, Sunshine, and the original source material for The Beach) in order to adapt Kazuo Ishiguro’s dystopian tale. What results is one of the best films of 2010, a singularly romanticized and beautiful viewing experience that wrenches at the heart every step of the way.

The film centers around a trio of characters who attend the same boarding school as children. Kathy (played in her adult incarnation by Carey Mulligan) is shy, and clings to her more outgoing friend Ruth (Keira Knightly) while admiring emotional loner Tommy (Andre Garfield, 2010’s rising comet) from a distance. We watch these three as they go through a most bizarre school indeed, where nothing matters except creating art and poetry, and little regard is given to the idea of preparing these children adequately for the future. It becomes clear in short order that there is a reason for this (which isn’t fully revealed until the finale), as one of the guardians (née teacher) lets slip in a moment of frustration that they are destined to die young. These children are clones, you see, genetically engineered to act as walking, breathing organ farms to help their original selves prolong their life spans. Polite society doesn’t view them as people, only tools for perseverance, a spare liver, a backup heart.

To call these students second class citizens would be a crass understatement, as it’s pretty clear that they cannot even be considered citizens in the first place. They have to go through role playing and training exercises to prepare them for interacting with an outside world they’ve never seen. Rumors of grisly repercussions heavily incentivize them to stay put on school grounds. Once they graduate, they move on to drab barracks-like subsistence housing to live out five to ten years of controlled ‘freedom’ until the donations begin. It’s basically the equivalent of being put in a retirement home directly after graduating from high school, and transitioning to hospice care by your early to mid twenties. Not exactly a fantasy life, to be sure.

What makes Never Let Me Go so heartbreaking is the cavalier nature our intrepid clones approach their fate. This isn’t a situation where the students are brainwashed from birth to fulfill a role. Their lives at boarding school are insulated, certainly, but not to the point that it is beaten into their heads from an early age that they’re doomed. Indeed, the guardian who lets slip their lot in life is chastised (deleted, even, as she just disappears) for even bringing it up to the fourth years. Of course, rumors travel swiftly at this school like any other, so even the young ones are at least generally aware of their fate. But this isn’t Logan’s Run or 1984. There aren’t any grand conspiracies, governmental censorships, or planned revolts. As children, we don’t really get a sense of their reactions on the matter positively or negatively, but this changes as they get older. For now, and for the course of the first act of the film that takes place at the school, they’re just normal kids.

This film would not have worked at all without strong performances from the main cast, particularly the three principals. We see them at two different periods of their lives ten years apart, and it’s necessary for them to be in completely different emotional and physical states. Keira Knightly’s character has the easiest road, as she is physically destroyed by her first two donations and confined to a walker in order to move around at age twenty-nine. Carey Mulligan and Andrew Garfield are in much different positions, as she has taken on the role of carer, and he is still in good shape after his second donation. The necessary sort of detached compassion of a caregiver permeates the whole of Kathy’s personality; she knows she is in a privileged position having not even had her first donation, but can’t flaunt her good fortune. Tommy is in relatively good spirits, but knows (especially after seeing Ruth’s deteriorated state) that the end can’t be too far off. It’s clear when you see him fully throw himself into the possibility of deferral (the rumor that two donors can delay their fate by proving that they are truly in love) that while his love for Kathy is true, absolute, and total, his concern just might lie more with survival than anything else, while Kathy remains quietly dubious of the whole process. When the rug is pulled away and Tommy, knowing that there’s officially no way out now, loses it, screaming into the night sky of an indifferent world, we feel his pain instinctively. It’s the pain of loss and frustration. The pain of the ignored.

Indeed, that’s what makes the film work so devastatingly well. Most of this review is centered on the final act of the film, as the charming naïveté undercut with vague dread of the first two acts is stripped away leaving simple, naked dread by itself, permeating, suffocating the landscape to frame the race against time that is already predestined to fail. The donors are people, act as such and think and feel as such, but are treated by the rest of society as livestock. And for the most part, they go along with it willingly, knowing that while their sacrifice might seem to be in vain, their lives unimportant, they’re doing something that matters, goddamnit, and will not shirk their duties one iota. It’s the few outbursts of emotion that give you a deeper look into the true tragedy of their plight. Tommy’s two bookended primal screams, one as child, one as dead man walking, that frame the film. Ruth’s response to finding her ‘possible,’ the person she might have been cloned from to keep alive. Kathy’s own attempts to find her original self, if only to give some reference to her sacrifice. Romanek’s work is masterful, abjectly refusing to simplify matters or give into the easy and obvious maudlin possibilities of the subject matter and keeping the cinematography choices lush and beautiful, but remaining distant and unfeeling. The film is, for all intents, an extended funeral procession. The cast shuffles through life toward ‘completion,’ the sterilized term for dying on the operating table when too many organs have been harvested to continue life. It’s considered both a desire and a fear.

It’s the way that Romanek manages to make the donors’ plight both not the focus of the individual proceedings yet always there that is the perfect choice for such subject matter. It’s the way the shots are framed, the way a shot of Andrew Garfield feverishly painting to demonstrate his love for Kathy is lost in and dominated by the giant surgical scar arcing across his back. It’s the blocking of Ruth’s death scene, the way the doctors don’t even react when she flatlines, the way they callously unplug the devices and pull the tube from her mouth, the way they take the time to carefully cover their surgical tools with a white sheet, and yet neglect to even bother covering Ruth’s head or closing her eyes the way they would for any human being. The scene lingers on her blank death stare, stillness in response to the hustle and bustle of the operating room. These are the moments that elevate the film to something special.

The film is measured and deliberate in its structure and pacing; no shot is wasted, and nearly every moment has subtext of some subversive variety, designed to constantly reinforce the ‘nothing is as it seems’ aesthetic without overpowering the viewer. The work of Mulligan, Garfield, and Knightly is top notch, and they achieve the yeoman’s effort of selling this dystopia chiefly on the strength of their portrayals more than anything else. The razor sadness cuts through every moment without the need to spend each scene crying into someone’s shoulder. Never Let Me Go is beyond such pithy attitudes and expressions. Love does not conquer all, no matter how hard we try to make it true. Romanek plays for keeps, refusing to pull punches in his own way. It’s a titanic achievement, and an indelible cinematic experience to be cherished.

I’m still trying to figure out how to implement TV shows into the screening log, but it’s a work in progress. You can find the log here, or via the link at the top of the page.

10. 127 Hours (W: Simon Beaufoy and Danny Boyle; D: Danny Boyle)

Review is here. 127 Hours is probably Danny Boyle’s most consistently good film. James Franco’s performance is obviously central to the success of the film, and he more than capably carriers the entire movie on his shoulders. It’s one of those funny things a little like when Coraline was released in the same year as Up, wherein Franco’s performance is more than worthy of a few gold statues, and he could easily find himself losing out to the Colin Firths and Jesse Eisenbergs of the world this upcoming awards season. He doubtlessly deserves any wins he gets for quite the impassioned performance in an incredibly well conceived film.

9. The Fighter (W: Scott Silver, Paul Tamasy, and Eric Johnson; D: David O. Russell)

The Fighter is a formula film. Every beat of the plot wouldn’t surprise anyone watching. True story or no, The Fighter plays out like every single inspirational sports movie in the history of the (boxing heavy) genre. What sets this apart is the choice of David O. Russell as director, and the decision to focus the meat of the film on the characters and familial relationships, turning the actual boxing into an afterthought until the (admittedly a little disappointing) third act. Mark Wahlberg is blessed with a killer supporting cast that makes up for him basically using the same acting shtick he always does. He’s fine, but he’s fine in the way he always is, which can get a little samey. There are quite a few flaws in this film, which is a testament to the absurd acting quality of the support.

Christian Bale should win every supporting actor award on Earth this year. This is probably one of the top two or three overall performances of the year, right alongside Natalie Portman and Jesse Eisenberg. He outshines everyone else in the movie, completely dominates all attention when he’s anywhere close to the screen, rubber faced and lanky, full of crack and energy. This is a titanic achievement for the man who’s basically made his career on titanic achievements. And with Melissa Leo’s infuriatingly perfect mother hen performance and Amy Adams actively playing trashy against her innocent Disney Princess in the Flesh persona (something Anne Hathaway seems to enjoy doing as well), and you’ve got one of the best ensemble casts of the year. The acting is so good and the cast is so good that it overshadows the predictability and banal plot of the third act.

8. Rabbit Hole (W: David Lindsay-Abaire; D: John Cameron Mitchell)

The fact that this simple, straightforward domestic drama was directed by the same man who gave us psychosexual colorful freakouts Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Short Bus is something I still can’t really fathom. To be honest, the directing isn’t even all that important or visible. It’s a domestic dialogue driven drama based on a play; Mitchell makes the correct choice of being the invisible director, simply pointing the camera where it needs to be and letting the actors present the material as it should be. The center of the film lies in Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart’s performances, which are masterful examples of quiet despair tempered by at least a little bit of hope for the future. Rabbit Hole isn’t about being flashy; there’s no violence or physical domestic abuse, though there are a few moments where Eckhart gets to let loose with his signature yell. Angry Eckhart is a force of nature, all veins and barking, sounding practically inhuman like a wild dog about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting victim.

It’s amazing considering how goddamned depressing the events of this film are that there can actually be an overall uplifting sense that things will get better. Whether that actually happens is a question, as their brothers in arms at a therapy group seem to potentially foreshadow, but for now they’re committed to making things better. This movie is about the silence of sitting on a park bench too afraid to speak but knowing that life has to go on despite our fears, emotions, and insecurities. These are some of the most naturalistic performances in a long time, and while there are some other roles this year that are a little more impressive, Kidman and Eckhart are absolutely more real. It’s a very good story done about as well as can be done, and you can’t really ask for more than that.

7. Exit Through the Gift Shop (D: Bansky)

This is the sleeper of the year, a wonderfully witty and incisive documentary about street art that constantly turns corners on you throughout its running length. Indeed, in some ways this is the Adaptation of documentaries, with a constantly twisting and self-referential focus (you’re really watching the making of the documentary you’re watching for much of the first half of the film) that doesn’t fail to surprise as the entire subject of the proceedings naturally shifts as characters are introduced and you realize that what you are watching is not actually what you are watching. What begins as essentially a documentary about Banksy turns into a documentary directed by Banksy that is about the original documentarian that started the project in the first place, Thierry Guetta. And among all of this is the very real possibility that nearly all of it is made up, and that this is Banksy’s greatest piece of pop performance art. The actual movements that put things in this direction are maddening and bizarre and practically unbelievable (hence all the speculation that it’s bunk), but it’s a joy to watch. Even if it is all fake, the question of whether is what adds to the art of the piece in the first place, as what this film really is at its core is a meditation on the state of art in relation to pop culture and consumerism as a whole.

These street artists do incredibly cunning and insightful work, and much of the greatness of watching the film is the process they use to create these wild and stunning works of art, and all of the holes they are required to jump through in order to actually implement them without running afoul of the law. This is the type of film that makes you fall in love with art all over again, and is one of the most exciting documentaries to watch in years. Everyone should watch this.

6. True Grit (W/D: Joel and Ethan Coen)

This is a Western with a capital W. Something about this film is just so incredibly charming. It’s got the same kind of otherworldly energy that Scott Pilgrim has; all the characters operate in this little reality just a few degrees off from our own, leading to a world populated with all sorts of indelible characters and moments. The marquee performances come from Hailee Steinfeld’s lead Mattie and the downtrodden old coot Rooster Cogburn as played in full Jeff Bridges mode by, well, Jeff Bridges. I actually want to spend a little time on the other two supporting actors, Josh Brolin and Matt Damon. Brolin’s villainous Tom Cheney only has a few scenes of screen time, but he uses them to the fullest potential, crafting a character that comes off as monumentally stupid but tempered by an undercurrent of craft and malice that immediately marks him as a dangerous man. He’s built up as kind of a boogeyman, is initially pigeonholed as a simpleton, but comes around and earns his original reputation, all in a little less than twenty minutes. Damon’s LeBeouf (hilariously pronounced La Beef by everyone in the movie, including him) also comes off as dim-witted and over his head, but sincere and dogged in his goals. These are Coen Brothers characters through and through, breathing life out of every orifice.

It’s interesting that the only characters in this little universe that have even an ounce of a clue are Mattie, Cogburn, and Ned Pepper (played by Barry Pepper, not that you can even recognize him). Everyone else, from lawyers to judges to salesmen to other criminals, comes off as ineffectual morons, completely unable to deal with the intelligence, witticisms, or cunning of a fourteen year old girl, a whiskey soaked US Marshal, or a hardened career criminal. They just talk circles around everyone. Bridges is especially difficult to follow, diving deep into a pronounced southern drawl that is completely off the deep end and constantly flirts with unintelligibility. It’s a wonderful contrast to Mattie’s efficient and carefully enunciated speech; she is clearly using her literacy as a weapon to put herself in a position of power.

True Grit isn’t going to change lives; it’s simply a fantastically written, shot, and acted western of the highest degree. The performances are super solid and undeniably entertaining. The story is light and fun. This isn’t No Country for Old Men. It’s actually a lot closer to something like The Big Lebowski or The Hudsucker Proxy or Burn After Reading on the Coen scale. It’s the perfect film to just sit back and enjoy, and one of the better opportunities to do so in the cinemas this year.

5. Inception (W/D: Christopher Nolan)

Christopher Nolan’s nine year project finally came to fruition this summer, and it has the added benefit of being one of the most original and fully realized scripts and ideas in years. Inception is complex and deep, a nearly perfectly executed heist film that has one of the all time great actual heists I’ve personally seen. Perspectives change, complications and intricacies abound, and everything feels like it’s going to fall apart at nearly every second as the van makes its slow descent. It’s such a fantastic framing device, not immediately making complete sense before you realize exactly what’s going on and why it’s happening. Nolan thought of everything, creating a perfectly realized and logical world with well established rules and gadgets that are followed through at all times through the dream world. We are given the pieces, and are never betrayed. Plus, as a nice bonus, we get to see some wonderful performances from Tom Hardy, Cillian Murphy, and Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

The only flaw of Inception lies in its lack of emotional depth. Which is not to say that it doesn’t attempt emotional depth, but that it fails to actually deliver it. The Cobb/Mal relationship falls flat, mostly because of DiCaprio’s acting. I’ve been public about my general dislike for DiCaprio; I think he’s a serviceable actor but is usually lacking something in his starring roles, which is all he gets these days, and he has a nasty habit of being outacted by his supporting cast. That’s the case again here, and Cobb’s character isn’t fully realized because of it. The rest of the film is such a dazzling breath of fresh air that it can remain great despite this, but it’s a shame that it has to fall a little short.

4. Never Let Me Go (W: Alex Garland; D: Mark Romanek)

I’m going to write a full review of the one in the new year, because it deserves it. Mark Romanek’s first film since 2002’s One Hour Photo is a remarkably beautiful and sad, somber rumination on what it means to be alive and in love when dread is lurking just beyond the horizon. It’s a dystopia without throwing it in your face, but it’s easy to be keenly aware that all is not what it seems under the surface. Carey Mulligan, Keira Knightly, and Andrew Garfield are incredible as the lead cast. The third act is devastating in its frankness and uncompromisingly depressing. It’s not an easy film to swallow, but it’s rewarding as all get out. More on this later. It comes out on DVD on February 1. BUY IT. I will.

3. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World (W: Michael Bacall and Edgar Wright; D: Edgar Wright)

Review is here. I’ve talked at length to everyone I know in person and on the internet about my love for Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, and spent most of November watching the Blu-Ray too many times to be considered healthy, reading all of the graphic novels, and playing the Playstation Network video game adaptation. I might have a problem. I see this as Edgar Wright’s coming out party, a wild and overstuffed piece of pure passion and whiz-bang ingenuity.

2. The Social Network (W: Aaron Sorkin; D: David Fincher)

Review is here. David Fincher. Aaron Sorkin. Trent Reznor. Jesse Eisenberg. Andrew Garfield. Everyone involved in this damned thing is absolutely at the top of his or her game; this is essentially the all-star team of modern film for this year. All it takes to have a classic, apparently, is to take the best screenwriter on Earth, a man ludicrously gifted with the word processor, and pair him with a visionary director who is smart enough to drop the pretense and focus entirely on squeezing the best possible performances out of the more than willing cast, while a somber techno soundtrack frames the action. Simple, no? From an overall quality perspective, this is peerless, and will be eminently rewatchable for what I assume to be a very long time. But it’s not quite the absolute best.

1. Black Swan (W: Mark Heyman, Andrew Heinz, and John McLaughlin; D: Darren Aronofsky)

Review is here. It says more than enough. I’m convinced now that Aronofsky is the best director working in the business today. His films are giant events, wringing every possible bit of emotion out of everything, presenting tragedy after tragedy that somehow never gets old. Natalie Portman is warring with Bale for the performance of the year. Clint Mansell’s score is as good as always, this time deftly incorporating Swan Lake into his own work. Aronofsky’s films are a cut about the rest, and Black Swan is no different.

And now, before I go, some quick honorable mentions:

The Best Films Not on This List: Toy Story 3 and How to Train Your Dragon

Scary good year for film in general, considering these didn’t make the top ten cut, but it was also a scary good year for animation as a whole (I haven’t seen Despicable Me, but Tangled was also excellent). Toy Story 3 is your standard issue unfairly perfect Pixar storytelling, while How to Train Your Dragon proves that the folks over at Dreamworks can put something out that isn’t an embarrassment or doesn’t star a giant green ogre (or, more often, both). Having seen both of these films in the last week, I am fully aware that Toy Story 3 is the better film, but I actually find myself enjoying How to Train Your Dragon more as a I watch it; Pixar’s film is more cerebral in its approach while Dragon decides instead to push things into the stratosphere with big, bombastic action scenes that are flawlessly animated to take your breath away. This was a good year to be a fan of the computer generated family film genre.

Performer of the Year: Andrew Garfield

In the year 2010, Andrew Garfield has been involved in the wide release of The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus (he was awesome), the US release of Red Riding 1974 (he was awesome), and the overall releases of The Social Network (he was awesome enough to receive a Golden Globe nomination for Supporting Actor), and Never Let Me Go (he was LUDICROUSLY awesome in this one, one of the top five single performances of the year). And as a nice little bonus, he got the role of Peter Parker/Spider-Man in Sony’s upcoming reboot from Marc Webb. That’s probably good enough for three years, and it happened in one (well, sorta two, considering Red Riding). In January, I doubt many people knew who Andrew Garfield was at all. Now, in December, he might not be a household name, but he’s a star on the rise and fully deserving of his nearly guaranteed future success.

Score of the Year: Hans Zimmer’s Inception

It might be some level of blasphemy for me to put this ahead of a Mansell score, but the chilling and bombastic work Zimmer put into Inception is responsible for a lot more of its success than most would probably realize. He’s expanded on the dread of his work with James Newton Howard on Nolan’s Batman films, pushing forward with low, earth-shattering bassy brasses that make your seat shake in the theater and resonate to the core. It’s the perfect mix of pushing the otherworldly nature of dreams without pushing too far to compromise the fact that the dreams in Inception aren’t exactly supremely otherworldly. It fits the film like no other, narrowly beating out more than impressive fare from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (The Social Network) and Clint Mansell (Black Swan).

Worst Film of the Year (of the ones I’ve seen): Shutter Island

I really am not a fan of Leonardo DiCaprio as a leading man, as I have already mentioned. I’m also not a fan of hackneyed genre pictures far too obsessed with the ‘Gotcha!’ aspect of twist endings. Shutter Island, to me, is the worst kind of offender from this perspective, clearly telegraphic the resolution to its twist very early in the film, and not offering enough compelling reasons to stick around for the ride. Had the film simply pushed to its conclusion without note, it would have been simply forgettable. Instead the reveal of the twist we all already knew takes approximately four and a half hours to play out (this is obviously hyperbole, it’s more like twenty minutes or so, which is still WAY TOO LONG), with a lot of long winded exposition and an infuriatingly slow-paced flashback scene that just destroys the senses and obliterates any attempts at patience. This is an unimpressive film that was completely ruined by a badly botched ending, and the first film I nearly walked out on since Cinderella Man.