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056. Jin líng shí san chai [The Flowers of War] (Zhang Yimou, 2011)

A Chinese war epic depicting the “Rape of Nanjing” by the Japanese Army in 1937 that veers dangerously close to Orientalist (or Edward Zwick-ian, in cinematic terms) territory by focusing on John Miller (played by Christian Bale), an American mortician forced to impersonate a Catholic priest in order to save a convent of young girls. And, make no mistake, this dashing white man does get to save the day in the end. But unlike "The Last Samurai" or even "Dances with Wolves," there are significant plot reasons and historical precedent for this Westerner’s heroic opportunity, even if the character’s overall arc is shortchanged in the process. Aesthetically, Zhang dials back his flamboyant style in order to capture the dirt and grime of war-torn China, but still makes room for some virtuoso tracking shots à la "Saving Private Ryan." Though the film still threatens to become the worst kind of foreign blockbuster -- whitewashed and Hollywoodized -- its devotion to its story and characters -- whether they be priests or prostitutes -- ultimately proves its worth.

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055. Goon (Michael Dowse, 2012)

A good ol' fashioned, blood-soaked, Canadian hockey romp -- think a 21st century "Slap Shot." But for all its nationalist pride and sensationalist violence, the film is deeply problematic on a couple levels. Despite being scripted by Canadians Jay Baruchel and Evan Goldberg, it nonetheless plays into the same kind of overblown stereotypes we're used to from American depictions -- lots of beer-guzzling, funny accents, and sentence-ending 'ehs.' Perhaps intended ironically, but more likely done to appeal to the American market. Further -- and more worrisome -- the film glorifies and glamourizes the role of the enforcer in hockey (as its title makes plain); mindless violence might've been okay in the '70s, but in this age of headshots, concussions and ex-goon suicides, it's more than a little troubling. Still, there's laughs aplenty to be had, so perhaps it's best to ignore the issues and just have a good time.

Plus, Liev Schreiber as a Newfie!

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054. The Rock (Michael Bay, 1996)

"Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen."

"Carla was the prom queen."

Badass.

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053. The Haunting (Robert Wise, 1963)

Creepily effective, with a terrific Gothic atmosphere that is nearly ruined by the horribly grating performance of Julie Harris. Thank god she dies.

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052. La historia oficial [The Official Story] (Luis Puenzo, 1985)

A typical Foreign Language Oscar winner: cloying, melodramatic, unsubtle, and historically important.

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051. Camila (María Luisa Bemberg, 1984)

Suitably heartbreaking and depressing. Argentina seems to have had quite the turbulent history.

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050. Rebecca (Alfred Hitchcock, 1940)

It's like Jane Eyre crossed with Vertigo, and, like the latter, it loses something when the mystery is revealed to be not-so-supernatural. Still, it's terrifically Gothic and spooky.

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049. The Descendants (Alexander Payne, 2011)

Another Oscar picture I'm largely indifferent to. Lazily written (the opening expository monologue is about the worst I've ever heard), boringly directed, and morally simplistic. And Clooney is always just Clooney - he can never really come across as the loser he's supposed to here. At least Shailene Woodley is cute.

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048. Cannibal Tours (Dennis O'Rourke, 1988)

Biting and hilarious. Tourists are a funny brand (I say this having been one myself many a time). Do they really have no concept of their conceit?

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047. Reassemblage (Trinh T. Minh-ha, 1982)

*yawn*

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046. Chronicle (Josh Trank, 2012)

I'm glad it didn't stick too strictly to its found footage conceit and use only a single camera through. Even though the blogger girl was clearly a poorly contrived means of accomplishing this (and, indeed, she should've been done away with altogether), the use of surveillance footage, police cameras, and cell phone video during the final fight works as both a commentary on our technology-obsessed times and an exciting, kinetic way of capturing the action. Gives a real purpose to the flashy editing techniques we're used to. Still, it's rather amateurish at times and could've used some more filling out. It doesn't help that none of the characters are that likeable - save for Steve, of course. Count on a Wire alum to save the day.

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045. The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 (Göran Hugo Olsson, 2011)

I love these kind of assembled/found footage historical/informational documentaries, and this was no different. Maybe a bit long, but perfectly encapsulating both the rage and sadness of the era. Only an outsider could've made it - an American director would have far too much of an opinion on the matter. This needed to be as cool and clinical as it was.

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044. Jaguar (Jean Rouch, 1967)

Not nearly as much fun as Cocorico - it's much more talky and ethnographic. Ah well.

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043. Jurassic Park (Steven Spielberg, 1993)

"What do they got in there, King Kong?"

(my first time seeing it on the big screen)

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042. Design for Living (Ernst Lubitsch, 1933)

Ah, the pre-Code era. When you could still say things like "sex" and "make love" and get away with it. The subject is pretty racy (it's about, essentially, un ménage à trois), and it really couldn't have been made under the Hays Code; luckily, this slipped in just under the wire. Delightful stuff. It's also fun to see Gary Cooper not as an aging gunslinger.

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041. Juan Moreira (Leonardo Favio, 1973)

A bloody, gleeful mess. In every fashion a film of its era: excessive violence, elliptical narrative, and existential drama. I guess even the Argentines had anxieties at this time.

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040. Suspicion (Alfred Hitchcock, 1941)

Definitely one of Hitch's 'lesser' pictures, if only because it's so light and breezy that it hardly feels suspenseful. Also should've made Cary Grant actually, y'know, evil, but I guess we can't have everything. Joan Fontaine is (or was, I suppose) super sexy, too.