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When Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) proclaims, “Ladies and gentleman, if I say I’m an oil man you will agree,” you quite simply can’t do anything other than agree. That’s the kind of man Plainview is – the kind you just don’t disagree with, mainly out of fear. Plainview speaks calmly, deliberately, and with an air of confidence that seems almost too rehearsed, yet people still trust him, confide in him and look up to him. After all, Daniel Plainview is a prospector – of gold, silver, oil, or any other precious material – and his only goal in life is to make as much money as possible and hoard it as greedily as he can. This isn’t the type of man that makes a good father (he has a small son named H.W.), a trustworthy associate, or a dependable businessman, and yet, these are the primary concerns of Plainview’s life. It should come as no surprise, then, that P.T. Anderson’s There Will Be Blood is a ticking time bomb of destruction, madness, and the darkest shade of human nature you’re ever likely to see. 

The film opens, rather silently, with Plainview alone, secluded, and in a giant hole searching for gold. Looking back, this moment is eerily
indicative of what the rest of his life will become. In an effort to extract the gold he finds, Plainview breaks his leg and endures a world of pain for the wealth and personal gain he achieves from the ordeal. He later loses a co-worker in a freak accident, and there’s no emotion or sorrow from Daniel, because what truly matters is the payoff, and if that’s intact, dead workers can always be replaced. There's no emotion, no regard for other people, no remorse, no kindness, and no generosity -- there's only money and oil, and to Daniel, they're one and the same.

Once Daniel turns his attention from gold and silver to oil, he’s almost immediately confronted by Paul Sunday (Paul Dano), a young man who’s got some extremely valuable information that, of course, can be had for the right price. Naturally, Daniel swindles Paul and the information turns out to be much more than he could’ve anticipated: a whole ocean of oil that only he can get to. As he methodically takes over the Sunday ranch and sets up his oiling machinery whilst imposing his will on all who cross his path, only one man rises to meet the challenge of Daniel Plainview – Eli Sunday, twin brother of Paul and preacher of the Church of the Third Revelation. What follows is a gigantic clash of two men, both with extremely flawed ideologies but both unwilling, at least until the direst of circumstances, to yield to the other. The film spans a number of decades and as time passes, bitterness only festers and the notions of greed, power, lust and hypocrisy only grow stronger, all the while leading us to an unforgettable conclusion.

There’s no doubt that Daniel Day-Lewis’s performance is the biggest strength of There Will Be Blood, but that’s not a knock on the rest of the film – it’s merely the highest compliment for one of the best performances to ever grace the screen, given by perhaps the greatest actor of all time. You have to see the film to really believe how amazing Day-Lewis really is, but what’s so unbelievable about him, and this is true of all his films, is that despite his greatness and commanding screen presence, he leaves plenty of room for everybody else. Whether it’s how Paul Dano, a relatively unheralded young actor, is able to shine nearly as brightly as the legendary actor, or that Anderson’s brilliance in writing and direction is vividly evident, Day-Lewis’s greatness is as much about how he makes those around him better as it is about his own talents.

There Will Be Blood is certainly not an easy film to watch, nor is it a particularly enjoyable experience. But it’s an immensely powerful movie that’s also darkly humorous, poignant, emotional, violent and ultimately, quite tragic. It’s a perversely compelling story about a man who’s torn to shreds by a world not fit enough for his madness, hatred, and stark self loathing. P.T. Anderson has created the type of epic that dares you to avert your eyes even though it’s completely conscious of the fact that it has you utterly transfixed. Daniel Plainview’s tale is a difficult one to swallow, but if you spend the time and energy to fully digest it, it’s somehow a sadistically satisfying experience and as such, There Will Be Blood is easily one of my favorite films of 2007. 

 

Lars and the Real Girl (Gillespie, 2007)

 

How exactly can we truly define the word “real”? The conventional definition states that it’s simply the being of an actual thing that has an objective existence and is not imaginary. How about feelings then? They’re not actual things, but nor are they imaginary. Emotions are as real as tables and chairs, but yet their causes, effects and tendencies are far more complex than anything else within the objective realm. Lars and the Real Girl is a film that expands on these thoughts and asks the question: what, how, or when does something become real? Is it emotional investment, personal meaning, or an altogether intangible variable that instills realness into the world? While the film doesn’t answer all of these questions, it provides an insightfully humorous look at how one man redefines realism by giving life to an anatomically correct doll, who also happens to be his girlfriend.

 

The film opens with Lars (Ryan Gosling) staring intently out his window at his brother’s house from the single roomed garage, which doubles as his own home. When his sister-in-law Karin (Emily Mortimer) suddenly appears and starts in Lars’s direction, he retreats from the doorway, seemingly scared of the impending conversation. Such is life for the mustachioed recluse, who despite his eccentricities and awkwardness, is well liked by a town of people who are genuinely interested in him, and take pity on his lonely, secluded lifestyle. There’s obviously a deeply rooted psychological issue that prevents Lars from having both emotional and physical human contact, because as hard as they try, nobody can get past the protective shield that barricades him in his own world.

 

 One day, when Lars arrives on his brother Gus’s (Paul Schneider) doorstep announcing that he has a new girlfriend named Bianca, everything changes; Bianca is a life-sized blow up doll that Lars treats as a living, breathing person. Though initially unsure of how to handle these strange circumstances, the community submits to Lars and accepts the challenges of love, patience and friendship; all the while teetering on the brink of the bizarre, with a mere foot remaining in reality. Acting as a conduit of communication between Lars and his friends, Bianca becomes more real than anybody could ever imagine, once again casting doubt on the limitations we impose on our own realities.

 

The script is wisely written with a strict and unwavering focus on drama which never forces jokes on us, instead stepping aside to allow the hilarity of the situation to provide a natural comedy that you just can’t help but laugh at. It’s this stroke of genius that carries Craig Gillespie’s film, making it a charmingly heart-felt tale that’s funny in a kind and gentle way, as opposed to the rude and blatant humor that saturates many of today’s comedies. One of the main reasons why the comedy works so well is the supporting cast, who are all absolutely excellent. From Gus’s tired sarcasm to Dagmar’s (Patricia Clarkson) motherly touch with Lars and all they way down to the smallest characters in the film, the entire cast does a great job in creating a totally believable situation and inspiring a truly thought provoking experience.

 

Lars and the Real Girl does just about everything right, but it still couldn’t have succeeded without Ryan Gosling, who goes above and beyond perfection with his portrayal of Lars. Everything about the character is meticulously created by Gosling, who layers Lars with lovable mannerisms and idiosyncrasies that immediately endear him to the audience. Most importantly, however, is his astoundingly genuine interaction with Bianca that renders her as real as any other character in the film. After about an hour, it isn’t even strange to see the unmoving, unspeaking and lifeless Bianca on screen, because despite her inadequacies, she’s a reality for everybody. Gosling looks, speaks, touches and cares for her like she is the only thing that matters, and in creating such a “real” relationship, he essentially has two jobs; one is the persona of Lars and the other is infusing Bianca with her realness. Gosling handles these duties flawlessly and gives a truly special performance in undoubtedly the best role of his career.

 

The conclusion of the film, which could’ve been handled in a variety of ways, provides an emotionally charged ending which surely cements Lars and the Real Girl as one of the best films of 2007. It leaves no doubts or questions about Bianca’s true nature, but it will leave you pondering your own life; albeit with a warm, fuzzy sensation revolving around the goodness of life, love, and the weird moments in time which can redefine the boundaries of both the mind and heart. 

Sunshine (Boyle, 2007)

 

If there’s one thing about Danny Boyle, the director of Trainspotting and Millions, it’s that he’s got a strong flair for originality as well as a willingness to explore and experiment with different genres. Okay that’s two things, but whether he’s tweaking the zombie-slasher genre into the extremely successful horror/social commentary that is 28 Days Later or creating his own semi-plausible, mind-bending sci-fi film, it’s easy to spot Boyle’s uncanny ability to build refreshingly new experiences into his movies. In his latest film, Sunshine, Boyle channels the energy and wonder of classics like Alien and 2001: A Space Odyssey -- all the while keeping his feet firmly planted in his own highly original science fiction creation. It’s a true testament to Boyle as a filmmaker that he’s able to capture the same sheer vastness of space and time as Kubrick and Scott without ripping them off, but he accomplishes it flawlessly, and in so doing launches Sunshine into the elitist of sci-fi company.

 

Sunshine is set fifty years into the future and follows a crew of eight astronauts and scientists who, aboard the Icarus II, are on a mission to re-ignite our dying Sun which has earth frozen in a perma-winter. Equipped with a Manhattan sized stellar bomb and ominously named after the Icarus I, a ship that failed while on the very same quest, the Icarus II and its crew are clearly destined for trouble.

 

The success of Sunshine hinges largely on Boyle’s ability to keep us guessing. Will it be the massive metaphysical implications of such a grave responsibility that perturb the psyches of the crew members or will these eight humans living in extremely claustrophobic quarters while flying straight into the largest star in our solar system simply drive each other crazy? Or perhaps, while we’re all on the lookout for such distresses, something totally unexpected will take us by surprise. Boyle touches on many of these aspects briefly, which allows him to both avoid the trap of clichés and also to successfully dangle the biggest question of the film right in front of us without tipping the scales in either direction: will the crew ultimately succeed or fail?

 

Sunshine is a film that asks a lot of questions and induces endless wonderment about what it’d really be like to travel through the vacuum of space. Chief among the mind-probing aspects of the film are the absolutely breathtaking visuals, ranging from shots of deep space to various images of the Sun and even a gorgeous scene involving Mercury. Needless to say, the film leaves you with more than a few images permanently burned into your head, and they’ll undoubtedly come to mind when you glance up at the Sun. Another really intriguing aspect of Sunshine is its grounding in reality. Sure, it’s a science fiction movie that takes some scientific liberties, but our Sun will eventually die and it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that when it starts to happen, we’ll try and remedy it.

 

The sci-fi features aside, Sunshine is still a film about both human interaction and human nature, and it couldn’t succeed without an exceptionally strong cast. Leading the way is Cillian Murphy as the crew’s physicist Robert Capa. Murphy’s familiarity with Boyle (they worked together on 28 Days Later) is quite evident as he gives a grippingly realistic performance that carries the film. Murphy plays Capa with a marvelous mixture of humanity and emotion that’s somehow perfectly fused with the weight of carrying the fate of the world in his hands. He wears his responsibility on his sleeve and as the crew member who has the most intimate relationship with the payload, it’s a great choice to have him guide the story. Surprisingly, not far behind Murphy is Chris Evans (of Fantastic Four infamy) in an excellent performance as the temperamental Mace, who’s in charge of Icarus’s computer systems. The rest of the cast, which includes Cliff Curtis, Michelle Yeoh, Benedict Wong, Rose Byrne, Troy Garity and Hiroyuki Sanada, is similarly solid and as a whole, Sunshine’s actors really do form the perfect ensemble.

 There are a few gripes out there regarding Sunshine, most of them concerning the final third of the film, but there really isn’t any problem with it at all and if anything, it gets stronger as it goes along. There’s no need to spoil it, but I absolutely love the “turning point” of the movie that’s supposedly its downfall and I believe there are many more interpretations to it than most people give it credit for. Either way, Boyle’s vision has something for everybody, regardless of what kind of movies you love: an intense pace, unbearable suspense, philosophical questions regarding God and existence, great acting, risqué directing and even one of the year’s best musical scores. Do yourself a favor and forget everything you’ve heard about Sunshine and watch it with, at the very least, an open mind and readiness to embrace the bewilderment and fascination of space, the Sun, and the awesomeness of the unknown.

Ratatouille (Bird, 2007)

 

 A few years ago, there was a stigma that Pixar films repelled criticism, and rightfully so, because who’s got anything negative to say about Toy Story, Monster’s Inc. or The Incredibles? Sure, there are probably cynics out there somewhere, but there’s a reason you haven’t heard from them. However, after the misstep of last year’s Cars, it’s apparent that the animation giant is no longer bulletproof. It seems strange that Cars took so much flack, especially considering the animation is near flawless, but it’s only fair that stratospheric success breeds extreme expectations, which ultimately leadsto disappointment. Heading into 2007, all eyes were on Pixar, and more specifically, Brad Bird, Remy the rodent, and the film entrusted with getting the studio back on track --Ratatouille. Ratatouille follows Remy the rat (Patton Oswalt), who introduces himself to us whilst crashing through a window by saying, “This is me. I think it's apparent that I need to rethink my life a little bit.” As you can probably guess, Remy is no ordinary rat. Blessed with extremely sensitive senses of taste and smell, Remy falls completely in love with food – both eating it and cooking it. Odd, you might think, especially for a rat, but the rest of his family and friends are quite normal, as evidenced by his father who’s constantly telling him, “Shut up and eat your garbage!” If you combine these facts along with Remy’s obsession with French Chef Auguste Gusteau’s (Brad Garrett) book Anyone Can Cook, you can easily see where the story is going. But you shouldn’t let the simplicity fool you because Ratatouille has something to say to everyone, no matter what their age. Pretty soon, and no thanks to Remy’s nosing around the kitchen (quite a memorable scene), the rat pack (minus the singing) is on the move from their rural home to the vastness, glamour, and most importantly, the cuisine of Paris. It’s here that Remy finds himself in the deceased Gusteau’s restaurant (food critic Anton Ego, voiced forcefully by Peter O’Toole, gives him a heart attack when he writes a scathing review), where his strong senses and love of food are assaulted by a variety of new ideas and experiences. It isn’t long before Remy’s “getting fancy with the spices” and concocting an extremely flavourful batch of soup that unintentionally lands the garbage boy Linguini (Lou Romano) in a bowl of hot water (not soup) with the new Chef, Skinner (Ian Holm). What follows is a whirlwind of Boy Meets Rat, and an undeniably ridiculous but at the same time cute and touching relationship that cultivates it’s fair share of humour, friendship, love, and of course, great food. Ratatouille has many exceptional qualities, not in the least of which is its amazing cast or thought provoking characters. But perhaps its most significant strength is its beauty. Pixar’s films are extremely easy on the eyes, and the faults of the animation are usually minor. But with Ratatouille, they’ve taken it to a new level. The visuals are quite literally breathtaking and in some cases, hunger inducing. From the geography (cottage in the country, city of Paris) to the cuisine (the dishes look real enough to eat and left me salivating on more than one occasion) and all the way to the physical details of the characters, Brad Bird has set the bar for animation so high that it’s almost hard to discern whether or not his film is actually animated. There are very few films that have strong enough visuals to garner as much attention and interest as the actual story, so it’s a compliment of the highest regard that Ratatouille is one of those few. Since the inception of Pixar, the mark of a successful animated film is that it has some appeal all age groups – from the youngest of children to the eldest of Grandpas. Judging by the fact that droves of people went to see Ratatouille in theatres, and that it’s been praised by both the elderly Roger Ebert and other youthful critics alike, I think it’s safe to say adults can find as much meaning and entertainment in Bird’s film as children can. For example, a child aged 8-16 wouldn’t understand Ego’s monologue on criticism in which he says, “But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so.” Perhaps this insight into the nature of criticism might allow some people to take critics less seriously -- or perhaps not. But regardless, there’s clearly some discussion of criticism and art that’s above and beyond a child’s comprehension. Furthermore, there are all kinds of stories about people taking huge risks and switching careers well into their thirties and forties because they’re simply unhappy with the direction of their lives. It’s very evident that Remy not only struggles with the direction of his life, but also with the nature of his very existence, and it’s in this way that he has more in common with the average person (not just the average child) than they might realize. 

From the very beginning, the decision to hand the reigns to Bird, the architect of animated greats The Iron Giant and The Incredibles, seemed like the perfect solution to Pixar’s problem. And boy, what an exceptional elixir it’s turned out to be. Not only is Ratatouille good enough to prove to audiences that Cars is an anomaly and Pixar is still the forerunner of animation, but it’s also the studio’s best film since Toy Story. Not a bad rebound performance, and if there was an award for Comeback Film of the Year, Ratatouille would definitely win it. Somehow though, I don’t think Bird’ll be very concerned about the non-award, because he should be too busy adding another Best Animated Film Oscar to his mantle. As Ego says, “We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read.” But in Ratatouille’s case, I think a rave offers much more enjoyment -- for both reader and critic.