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ethenell · 5 years

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Best Films of 2018: Honorable Mentions

The time, once again, has come. The Oscars nominations are out there, and they’re ... puzzling ... But anyone interested in an alternate take can look no further.

The cinema of 2018 offered too many notable treasures to whittle down to a simple list of ten, so before we get into the meat of my countdown, here is an alphabetical list of ten films that just missed out on making my list, but are essential viewing for anyone looking to take in the best that 2018 had to offer.

Enjoy!

Blindspotting (dir. Carlos López Estrada)

I’m still waiting for the moment when the world collectively discovers the thing at which Daveed Diggs is not amazing. He had already garnered acclaim as a part of the experimental hip-hop group clipping. before reaching a wider audience and netting himself Grammy and Tony Awards for his role in the paradigm-altering musical, Hamilton. To that already distinguished list, we can now add co-writing and co-starring in one of 2018’s most original films. Blindspotting, set in Digg’s hometown of Oakland, CA, is a searing take on gentrification, racism, and police brutality that show off a deep understanding of the myriad political problems in the rapidly-changing Bay Area, while displaying an equally deft touch with the characters who find their lives irreparably damaged as a direct or indirect result. It’s impressive work from Diggs and co-writer/co-star Rafael Casal that first-time director Carlos Lopez Estrada brings to life with singular vision. Something tells me we’ll continue to see more of everyone involved, but Diggs is undoubtedly headed for greatness.

The Death of Stalin (dir. Armando Iannucci)

You’d be forgiven if you thought the creator/director of Veep, The Thick of It, and In The Loop had already mined politics’ deepest, darkest depths for the pitch-blackest comedy that one could possibly generate from the toxic combination of bureaucratic incompetence and egotistical narcissism. However, as The Death of Stalin shows with brutal precision, you would be wrong. The Death of Stalin is at times so bleak its difficult to even describe as a comedy without a bit of a cringe on your face, but it revels brilliantly in the theater of the absurd and probes ruthlessly at the ruling class with chilling contemporary resonance. And that’s all without mentioning that it features one of the best ensemble performances of the year. In a time when its easy to despair how much our everyday political reality has started to resemble a particularly discomfiting episode of Veep, Iannucci makes a triumphant return with an even more discomfiting message - never forget, things can always get much, much worse.

Hereditary (dir. Ari Aster)

Another year, another Sundance horror breakout. Even if it doesn’t quite match up with some of its more distinguished predecessors (I wouldn’t quite put it at the level of It Follows, The Babadook, or The Witch) Hereditary is clearly the year’s best horror film, featuring a handful of sequences sure to push you to the edge of your seat, and then keep you up at night. The perennially under-appreciated Toni Collette delivers a performance of such vast emotional range that it deserves mention among the absolute best performances of the year – which, of course, meant that it was doomed to be ignored by the Oscars. Nevertheless, any fans of the genre should stop what they’re doing (including, presumably, reading this list) and watch this film immediately. You won’t be sorry.

If Beale Street Could Talk (dir. Barry Jenkins)

A pairing like Barry Jenkins and James Baldwin makes so much sense, and has such immense creative potential, that it’s generally something that could exist only in cinephile dreams. It simply makes *too* much sense. Yet, here we are, and Jenkins’ follow-up to the critically-revered Moonlight, an adaptation of one of Baldwin’s lesser-known novels, If Beale Street Could Talk, is very much real. Does it measure up to the immense expectations thrust upon it, due in no small part to Moonlight’s rapturous reception and the much-hyped pairing of Jenkins and Baldwin? In some important ways, no. Is Jenkins’ script at times overly-reverent of its source material? In some important ways, yes. But when Jenkins filters Baldwin’s story of the redeeming power of love in the face of oppression through his own unique cinematic voice, the results are breathtaking. Jenkins remains one of cinema’s greatest emerging artists.

Mission: Impossible – Fallout (dir. Christopher McQuarrie)

At the very least, this latest installment in the M:I franchise was the most balls-to-the-wall fun I had in a theater this entire year, hurtling at a breakneck pace from one jaw-dropping set piece to the next with one of the world’s biggest stars carrying the screen from the first frame to the last. But at most, you could call it one of the decade’s best action films, with some of the most breathtaking stunt work ever put to film with an absolutely singular star who continues to push his penchant for cheating death and tempting fate for our entertainment to daring new heights. The truth probably lies somewhere between the two extremes, but either way, the Cruise’s latest ride as Ethan Hunt is undeniably one of the most thrilling yet.

Private Life (dir. Tamara Jenkins)

With 11 years having passed since her Oscar-nominated feature debut, The Savages, hit the silver screen, news that Netflix was financing and developing a new film from Tamara Jenkins was met with nearly unbridled optimism. More than delivering on that promise, Jenkins once again delivered a film that delves deeply into all-too-common but dramatically under-explored modern adult experiences. While The Savages followed two adult siblings dealing with the mental decline of their elderly parent, Private Life details a couple in their 40s going through fertility treatments. Like her debut, Private Life uses this trying, even destabilizing experience to explore the ways in which our long-established adult lives can be uprooted as much by our own choices as by external, unforeseeable events. With two sterling performances from Kathryn Hahn and Paul Giamatti at its center, Private Life is rife with incisive observations about overlooked truths of aging together. It’s beautiful work, and undoubtedly one of Netflix’s best “original” offerings.

The Rider (dir. Chloe Zhao)

Using a cast of untrained actors to spin a poetic tale lost opportunity by way of the American rodeo, director Chloe Zhao’s sophomore feature has keyed her as a rising master of cinematic realism. The film follows the struggles of a former rising rodeo star dealing with the fallout of a traumatic head injury suffered during a bronc riding competition, and mirrors the real-life experiences of its star, Brady Jandeau. who Zhao befriended while shooting her debut feature, Songs My Brothers Taught Me. Drawing out brilliant performances and setting them against the perma-golden picturesque of the Badlands, The Rider is a testament to what truly independent cinema is capable of and is sure to springboard Zhao to greater heights.

Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (dir. Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman)

The most unexpected triumph of the year, Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse is not just a high watermark in the Spider-Man film series, it is almost certainly the best film to ever come out of Marvel Studios, and possibly the greatest superhero film since The Dark Knight. With an airtight script that spans several universes (literally) with ease, and featuring some of the most glorious and inventive animation ever to grace the big screen, Into the Spiderverse is a rare and perfect marriage between the words on the page and the visual language employed on screen. It a testament to what’s possible when talented artists with an original vision take big risks - it’s a breath of fresh air.

A Star is Born (dir. Bradley Cooper)

Even with an improbably underwhelming Oscar campaign sputtering its way to the finish line, it’s hard not to peg A Star is Born as the year’s most-talked about film. Bradley Cooper brought his gestating passion project to life with scope and vision rarely seen from a first-time director and Lady Gaga turns in an absolutely electric performance that elevates the film whenever she’s on screen. From the spine-tingling live concert scenes to the beautiful on-screen chemistry between Cooper and Gaga, there’s an awful lot to love about this latest iteration of this long-tenured Hollywood classic. Sure, there’s also plenty to nitpick at - obviously more than enough to fuel a backlash against the once-assumed Oscar frontrunner - but when this film is firing on all cylinders, it’s right up there with the greatest cinema of 2018. Cooper is officially a filmmaker to watch, and A Star Is Born looks every bit like a directorial debut that will stand the test of time.

You Were Never Really Here (dir. Lynne Ramsey)

One of the year’s most boldly-directed films, Lynne Ramsey’s latest is a lean thriller that goes for your throat but takes up permanent residence in your gut. Ramsey and star Joaquin Phoenix (delivering yet another show-stopping performance) bury you deep inside the mind of killer for hire, traumatized by his abusive childhood and haunted by his military past, as he embarks on a job to rescue a young girl from sex traffickers. If this premise seems familiar, believe me, the execution is anything but. Ramsey’s direction is unerringly brilliant, elevating You Were Never Really Here well beyond it’s pulpy origins to bracing, almost hallucinogenic heights. Oh, and did I mention it boasts one of Jonny Greenwood’s most adventurous scores to date? If that’s not enough to get it in your Amazon Prime queue (hint hint), then I don’t know what to tell you ...

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kateofthecanals · 6 years

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Hi Kate, as someone who seems to be very familiar with the books, I'm wondering if the reader is ever given a legit explanation for why the Starks kids are as sheltered as they are at the start of the story. I've heard that Ned was traumatized by what he experienced in his youth and wanted to keep his kids "safe," but Cat is pragmatic, knows how the game works and received some political training as a very young child, so it didn't really add up to me.

It’s been a while since I’ve read the books front to back so I might be missing/forgetting some key passages but I mean yeah there’s something to be said for Ned’s past experiences with Robert’s Rebellion -- and in particular what happened to his sister -- that perhaps made him a bit more overprotective of his daughters. The following convo occurs between Ned and Arya after the former discovered Needle:

"Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her."

"Lyanna was beautiful," Arya said, startled. Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya.

"She was," Eddard Stark agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time."

- AGoT, Arya II

Ned sees Lyanna in Arya, and he’s clearly concerned that she might meet the same fate if she continues her “willful” ways.

From what we know of Lyanna, she seemed to be a perfect combo of both Arya and Sansa -- strong, intelligent, beautiful, rebellious, tomboyish, kind, romantic, etc. I’m sure Ned sees Lyanna in BOTH his daughters, to some degree, and as haunted as he is by her death, it wouldn’t be surprising in the least to see him want to keep them as close at hand as possible, to overprotect them and even, perhaps, to consider them a “do-over” with regards to his inability to save/protect Lyanna.

He certainly doesn’t seem to have the same concerns for his sons (Jon notwithstanding), as he seems quite eager to expose them to the “cruelties” of life as soon as possible (i.e.: taking Bran with him to witness an execution). This no doubt stems from the patriarchal/chivalric society in which they live, where women must be protected by their men -- even if said women are perfectly capable of making their own decisions.

And yes, while Cat does seem more “pragmatic”, she’s just as complicit in this culture and didn’t really help matters by trying to educate her daughters properly. Yes, Sansa and Arya are being taught all the logistical skills of being a Lady, but none of the practical skills. Perhaps it’s because Cat wasn’t as affected by some of the more horrific aspects of the Rebellion that she just has a blindspot to it, or maybe she is just simply going along with whatever Ned wants. Because Cat IS very shrewd and intelligent when it comes to politics, as we come to see in her POV chapters, but maybe she’s also a bit naive in assuming that, now that the Rebellion is over and all is peaceful, she doesn’t have to worry about her daughters, that as long as the MEN are in control and are taking care of things, all will be well...

Hope that helps... P.S. Read the books! :-)

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trendingnewsb · 7 years

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What Sheryl Sandberg can teach you about loss, grief, and resilience

Image: Ambar del moral / mashable

There’s something comforting about Sheryl Sandberg’s voice on the phone. It’s calm, self-assured, and sweet.

Yet there are also tremors of vulnerability in the Facebook COO’s voice, hints of the grief and longing she has grappled with ever since the sudden death of her husband Dave Goldberg in May 2015.

SEE ALSO: What the words of a dying doctor taught me about life’s meaning

“Living with this is a daily thing,” she says. “There are days I do better and days I do worse. There are days I keep the promises I make to myself to feel grateful, and there are days I don’t. In the better moments, even when I feel grief, I can remember that my kids are still alive. I can remember that Dave would have wanted them to be happy. I can remember how lucky I am to have friends and family. I would never say that those are all the moments, because they’re not.”

Sandberg and I are discussing her new book, part memoir and part operating manual for surviving the hardest moments in our lives. It lays bare some of Sandberg’s most painful experiences, the kind that were no doubt harrowing to relive.

Sheryl Sandberg and her late husband Dave Goldberg.

Image: Sheryl sandberg

I cried a lot reading Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy. So much that I began marking the margins in ink with small tear drops so I could go back to the most moving passages. There were too many to track.

So perhaps I was inclined to hear humanity in Sandberg’s voice; others say they sense calculation and distance. Here’s my advice: Suspend your skepticism of Sandberg, if only to read Option B. It has essential wisdom on how to treat people who are grieving, on how to find resilience in your darkest moments.

Sandberg likes to talk about kicking “elephants” the things we all know but are too embarrassed to say out of the room. So let’s address the biggest one every review of Option B has to face: Why should you take advice on life’s worst experiences from a billionaire tech executive?

Sandberg has created the Option B community to help people find connections amidst loss and trauma.

Image: optionb.org

Sandberg doesn’t have the soulfulness of Oprah Winfrey, who uses her brand to nudge followers along the path of spiritual enlightenment. Nor is she from Momastery founder Glennon Doyle Melton’s school of being disarmingly honest.

Rightly or wrongly, people have come to expect that level of intimacy when a public figure brands their personal experiences, which is what may have lead to suspicion about Sandberg’s motives.

That wariness isn’t helped by the glaring blindspots on display in her first book, Lean In, a tome on workplace equality that didn’t truly grasp the nature of women’s challenges outside of corporate boardrooms.

Sandberg also happens to help lead the tech company responsible for transforming the way we communicate and get information. When Facebook is hit with complaints about viral fake news influencing elections, or live video gone horribly wrong, the Facebook groups founded by Sandberg, Lean In and now Option B, subtly defend the company. They’re offering a powerful counter-narrative about how the platform helps people make life-changing connections.

In short, Sandberg is a complicated public figure. You’d be right to have reservations about her writing and its ultimate purpose. But none of that skepticism changes what Sandberg and her co-author Adam Grant, the University of Pennsylvania psychologist, have done with Option B. They’ve taken her deeply personal story and pressed it into service. Her account is the book’s workhorse.

It’s the terrible fate that makes you curious enough to read thousands of words about the social science research that just might help you cope with tragedy.

This impulse of hers to share what she’s learned with the hope that it helps others seems to be innate, even irrepressible. It’s earnest and eager, qualities that aren’t cool these days, but ones that are necessary if alleviating suffering becomes part of your life’s mission.

Sandberg and Goldberg at their wedding.

Image: sheryl sandberg

As someone who studies trauma and resilience research closely, I know that people who experience tragedy often yearn to find greater purpose and meaning in what they’ve endured. Still, I was stunned by Sandberg’s willingness to dive headlong into sharing tender emotions and memories so soon after Goldberg’s death.

When I asked her why she took this on in the midst of learning the contours of her own anguish, parenting two young bereaved children, and helping to run Facebook, Sandberg recalled the terrifying confinement of grief.

“[I]t wasnt just this really overwhelming grief, but it was, you know, a real feeling of isolation,” she says. “The easy conversations I used to have with parents when I dropped off my kids at school … felt gone. And people kind of looked at me like I was a deer in headlights. So as much as I was trying to overcome grief, I was also feeling more and more and more alone.”

Thirty days after Goldberg’s death, she turned (of course) to Facebook with the equivalent of a primal scream. “You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe,” she wrote. “Or you can try to find meaning.”

Once she saw friends and strangers connecting in the comments and in real life to comfort her and each other, Sandberg realized she could be a conduit. Her suffering could amount to more than private moments of hell. The legacy of Goldberg’s life and death could become invaluable to people struggling with their own pain.

“Really I would give anything to go back and live one day with Dave Goldberg knowing what I know now,” she says. “But I cannot do that, I dont have that choice. If I can just give a little bit of that working with Adam [on the book], that has meaning for me, and I think when you face the abyss of grief, the void, the boot on your chest, you want something positive to come out of it.”

Really I would give anything to go back and live one day with Dave Goldberg knowing what I know now. But I dont have that choice.

So writing Option B became an urgent next step.

Sandberg borrowed the name from a good friend who, in the weeks after Goldberg’s death, lovingly told her: “Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out Option B.”

By marrying anecdote and scientific research, the book provides a pathway for doing just that. Sandberg and Grant explain that resilience isn’t something we come by automatically when we face tragedy. It’s more like a muscle that needs strengthening and conditioning, and they point to practical and proven tools like journaling, gratitude lists, and cognitive behavioral therapy that help reframe how we respond to adversity.

Some may balk at the book’s invocation of positive psychology founder Martin Seligman, whose research on pessimism and optimism is sometimes criticized for focusing on your attitude toward hardship. After all, a positive mindset only goes so far when you’re subjected to chronic societal, institutional, or family trauma, such as police violence, incarceration, and emotional or physical abuse.

Sandberg seems to get that. She peppers the chapters with policy prescriptions that reflect how suffering can take a disproportionate toll because of gender, race, ethnicity, and income, among other factors.

The book is also filled with anecdotes and insights from people of diverse backgrounds who demonstrate the many ways we can respond to heartbreak with resilience.

It’s clear Sandberg has learned from criticism of Lean In, and understood the value of looking far and wide for relatable, realistic perspectives.

SEE ALSO: You use this word to help you through hard times without even knowing it

Option B covers a lot of ground. It moves from advice on how to talk to a grieving person to research on gratitude, self-compassion, and post-traumatic growth to insights about reclaiming joy in the shadow of loss, how to raise resilient children, what resilient communities look like, and why we need more emotionally honest workplaces.

That ambitious scope, however, may be the book’s greatest weakness. It can occasionally feel like a grab bag of observations, scientific findings, and heartfelt stories.

There is relatively little discussion of mental health conditions that you might experience after loss or trauma, like anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress. You won’t find much on talk therapy or courses of medication, strategies that are just as valid in helping to create resilience as writing a gratitude list or allowing yourself to feel small doses of joy, both coping skills that Sandberg recommends.

Sandberg and Goldberg in 2004.

Image: sheryl sandberg

The book closes with an invitation for readers to join the Option B community in order to “connect with others who are coping with challenges like yours.” It should also include that website’s link to its roundup of organizations that support trauma survivors, in addition to the numbers for the National Suicide Prevention Hotline and Crisis Text Line.

This book has the power to help heal, but in doing so, can bring you to the edge of your own fears. Sometimes, no matter how meaningfully meant, words on a page aren’t enough to help us take a step back from that terror.

Still, there is much to praise about Option B‘s emphasis on translating scientific research into advice people can explore and adopt. What’s doubly impressive about Sandberg’s decision to write it: she must have known it required opening herself up to feedback that far exceeds the usual literary criticism.

One writer, for example, lauded the book but argued that Sandberg tackled the problem of grief “almost as if it were a failing business to be turned around.” Expect to hear a lot more of that kind of commentary. It’s an easy criticism to make, and it devalues what Sandberg has accomplished.

We love when Silicon Valley and its ambassadors make our lives more convenient; we’d rather not see the seams of their handiwork. What we want instead, especially from women of Sandberg’s stature, is a never-ending well of authenticity.

When women become technical, wonky or dispassionate, (ahem, Hillary Clinton), we seem to have less use for them. Suddenly they are suspect. But consider how we were willing to forgive Steve Jobs, who was so famously unfeeling that he invariably parked his car in Apple’s disabled spots, and then elevate him as a cultural icon and genius.

When I ask Sandberg about skepticism of her efforts, she deflects for a bit. She talks about the success of the Lean In movement and the tough lessons she learned from that book, then lands on the anecdote she wants to share.

A friend’s child who is quite sick has recently spent a lot of time on Option B reading people’s stories and realizing he doesn’t have to feel isolated.

If that child,” she says, “… if he felt less alone because weve helped build something that helped connect him to people not everyone has to love it, but I would make that decision every day.

That’s good enough for me. I hope it’s good enough for you too.

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