Angle On: 2023

Ten Memorable Moments From a Year at the Movies

Jan 01, 2024

2023, freshly dead, is ready for an autopsy.

If you’re anything like me, you are likely to think that the very idea of a year ending or a new one beginning is pretty arbitrary…but you also can’t help indulging in a bit of stock-taking as you look back on the chunk of time that is now over. End titles. Color bars. Autoplay 2024 in 3…2…1…

As I sit at my computer with a not entirely unpleasant new year’s hangover, wondering what it is I’ll do with this probably artificial but nonetheless potent feeling of renewal and wondering (with some terror and a dash of hope) what the new year will bring, I thought it would be fun to have a look back over a year at the movies.

The role of movies in 2023 felt, more than most recent years, big. Movies were eventful and relevant in a way they haven’t been in some time. 2023 was a year defined by reappearances from stalwart master filmmakers, emergences of new voices, big studio swings away from overly-familiar tentpole fare, and massive migration back into theaters (even as prestige movies continue to rush headfirst onto our home screens).

It’s not unusual for an entire year to go by without that familiar but elusive feeling of being completely lost in a movie. when you’re confronted with cinematic moments that make you laugh out loud in surprise or pure delight, gasp so loudly that you make those around you chuckle, cry so much the person next to you shoots you a look of judgment, or - every now and then - feel as though you’ve left your body behind as you are simply engulfed by a story on a screen.

So, rather than rattle off a typical top ten - or twenty, or fifty - of the year (which anyway you can see on my letterboxd), I wanted to revisit some particular moments that really stuck with me this year.

These ten moments don’t necessarily reflect my favorite films overall - some of these moments shone despite what surrounded them, while others clinched the overall work as a new favorite - but they are, for one reason or another, the moments I can effortlessly conjure, zipping me right back to the dark and often crowded theaters where I experienced them for the first time.

So here, in no particular order, are my favorite movie moments of 2023:

*Some light spoilers will inevitably follow, but I’ve tried my best to keep things vague wherever possible.

Farewell - Past Lives (Dir. Celine Song)

Past Lives is lousy with quietly astonishing moments. So many it’s hard to pick one out. The characters - richly portrayed by Greta Lee, John Magaro, and Teo Yoo - feel lived-in and entirely distinct, and are shown to us with care by impressive first-time writer/director Celine Song. In a romantic narrative structure where it’s easy to force the audience to take sides and shoehorn characters into roles of hero and villain, each of them feels dynamically true-to-life.

Maybe that’s why the final moments of this film hit as hard as they do. There is no clear answer to the dilemma the story presents, no easy side to take or outcome that seems more righteous than another. There is only that feeling of what might have been and the simultaneous gratitude and pain that comes with it.

Sacre Coeur - John Wick: Chapter 4 (Dir. Chad Stahelski)

In a film franchise known for painstakingly choreographed and fun action sequences, it can be hard to innovate the fourth time around. But this year John Wick hit an all time high with the climactic set piece of Chapter 4. After a slew of amazing feats, a perfectly deployed Keanu Reeves - delightfully brooding and monosyllabic - fights his way to the top of Paris’ famous steps at Sacre Coeur…only to be knocked all the way down and fight his way up all over again. It’s the perfect blend of action choreography and classic slapstick humor, and makes it impossible to do anything but wince and grin through the entire delightful sequence.

The Phone Call - Beau is Afraid (Dir. Ari Aster)

The first act of Ari Aster’s new film is a nightmarish joy to watch (even if what follows strays from what makes this entry point so special). It’s a surreal and rollicking portrait of anxiety that swings between cartoonish antics and unsettling expressionism, but my favorite bit is when it all quiets down and Joaquin Phoenix’s Beau gets a phone call with some very, very bad news. It’s both a deeply sad and shockingly hilarious bit of filmmaking. A breath of air in the midst of chaos and simultaneous deepening of the film's overarching sense of dread.

With this moment, Ari Aster has made the phone call that each and every one of us fears and knows we may one day receive into a bit of comedy gold. A near alchemical feat of contradictory emotions that has stuck with me all year.

The Speech - Oppenheimer (Dir. Christopher Nolan)

In a year that feels, as I said up front, particularly massive…nothing is quite as big as Oppenheimer. The scope, pace, subject matter, and literal size of this film is overwhelming…so it’s a little surprising that the moment I found to be one of the most arresting and purely cinematic sequences of the year (and indeed Nolan’s career) is not the test, but the speech that follows news of the bombing of Hiroshima. Cillian Murphy’s Oppenheimer (a stunning and impressionistic rendering of the the man, rather than a prosthetically-aided imitation) gives a speech to a packed room of cheering folks, all ecstasy and patriotism, and things begin to (quietly, internally) unravel.

The complex interiority of the character seeps out and begins to cinematically warp the reality of the film. The pride and shock at having accomplished this goal, and the immediate horror at what that means is rendered through some shocking and expressive images and a distinct lack of sound (only the thundering of feet, like an unstoppable forward march, persists). It’s the moment a man who has decided that something is inevitable fulfills that self-made prophecy, and is shaken to his core. There is no going back. We’ve all had moments like this in our lives, large and small, and as a culture we have them all the time (we’re in a similar forward march toward the avoidable “inevitability” of AI right now). It’s a moment we never want to meet face to face, but we do, over and over, rendered in the unique marriage of sound, vision, performance, and narrative that only film can convey.

“Pure cinema” is a term that gets thrown around a lot these days. This sequence is a reminder of what those words mean.

Whiskey Flight - The Killer (Dir. David Fincher)

I’ve already written at length about how much I enjoyed David Fincher’s new film The Killer, and my affinity for it has only grown with time. There are at least 6 moments that I could easily slot into this list, but the one I want to highlight here is, for my money, the best supporting drop-in performance of the year.

Tilda Swinton - another “killer,” though one who seems to live her life in an almost negative fashion to the narrator - is visited by Fassbender’s revenge-driven assassin while dining at an upscale restaurant in Beacon, NY. He sits, she looks up, and one of the best scenes of the year ensues. It’s funny, tense, has incredible motion considering the stillness of it, and it is a pure joy to watch as Tilda takes down an entire flight of whiskey, cracks jokes, and looks straight into eyes that are both a sign of her doom and an inverted mirror. Wonderful, underplayed, hilarious, piano-wire-tight stuff.

The Roof - May December (Dir. Todd Haynes)

A difficult and divisive film, May December may be one of the more misunderstood screen stories of the year. The extremely self-aware melodrama, big performances from its leads (all playing performers of one kind or another), and its distinctly DePalma-esque bit of wry but surgical satire have hit some better than others. What makes this film so compelling to me, and what makes it one of the best of the year, is that it exists in a constant state of evolution. The story consistently evades our understanding of the movie we thought we were watching in the process of becoming something deeper and richer.

There is one particular shift in this narrative that brings the unsettling dread of the subject matter and the jet black comedy of the presentation together in a quietly devastating collision. This is when Charles Melton’s Joe shares a joint (his first) with his teenage son on their roof and the deep pain, confusion, and bafflement of this character comes spilling out. Our understanding of what this movie is doing, where its true interests lie, and what this actor is capable of also crack wide open. It’s a totally singular and harder-than-it-looks bit of acting and storytelling that is much quieter than a staircase fight or a thunderous statement on mass destruction, but nonetheless captivating.

The Heron Speaks - The Boy and The Heron (Dir. Hayao Miyazaki)

I could go on and on about Miyazaki’s latest masterpiece, The Boy and The Heron - at once his most elusive and impressionistic and yet one of his most delightful and intimate works. The aspect of this movie I loved most was the gradual way the incredibly real drama we are confronted with begins to yield to something far more fantastical and outlandish. The first time the gray heron (voiced astonishingly well by Robert Pattinson in the English dub) speaks to Mahito, telling him of another world and cruelly delivering news of his recently dead mother, I was racked by a full-body shiver of uncanny horror and enticement. It’s a grotesque and whimsical breaking of reality, one that feels both totally baffling and yet perfectly calibrated to the main characters sense of life’s fragility and the strangeness of the reality that surrounds him. An incredible invitation into the surreal fantasy that follows, without being a betrayal of the grounded humanity that precedes. I can’t wait to watch this one again, and again…

The Loophole - Infinity Pool (Dir. Brandon Cronenberg)

This is a film perhaps fewer people have seen, and while I really enjoyed it there are parts of it I’d be hard pressed to defend against criticism. Though I struggled with aspects of this one, there was a moment in here where I laughed out loud with pure delight at a single idea. I won’t reveal what this is, but there is a moment in the film, after Alexander Skarsgard’s James is involved in an accidental crime, when a local official informs him of a very unique loophole in this small invented country’s justice system. In this moment, and with this wonderful idea, the entire movie changes into something new. Mutates from the movie I thought I was watching into a movie that made me want to stand up and whisper softly: “hell yeah.” A totally riveting bit of sci-fi ideation, and one of the year’s most unique storytelling ideas.

Attack on Ginza - Godzilla Minus One (Dir. Takeshi Yamazaki)

The last movie I saw in theaters this year, on a whim and at the recommendation of a close friend, was Godzilla Minus One. And man am I glad I did. This is not only the most pure and effective monster movie in ages, but also an incredibly thoughtful and well-crafted piece of storytelling. In addition to some great building kicking on the part of the big boy himself you will find in this movie some of the best feelings you get from movies like Jaws, Armageddon, and Independence Day and an incredibly tender story of a found family, of guilt and regret, and redemption both on a personal and national scale. I like this whole film, every minute of the run time, and I hope more people see it…but maybe the best moment to sell you on it is the movies big centerpiece when Godzilla makes landfall and tears through the city of Ginza. What ensues is true human drama and unfiltered monster mayhem for about ten minutes straight. If either one of those is your thing, you’ll enjoy it thoroughly…but if you like both, you’ll have found one of your favorite movies of this year.

The Radio Play - Killers of the Flower Moon (Dir. Martin Scorsese)

The single moment that, for me, stands above all others this past year is the final moment of Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon.

Hopefully you’ve taken the time (and it is, admittedly, a sizable chunk of time) to see this film, which chronicles a series of murders of Osage peoples in Oklahoma in the 1920s. If not, I’m here to tell you that this film is well worth your time; not only for its important and under-discussed subject matter, but because it is a consistently enthralling movie-watching experience, with wonderful performances, and some truly daring filmmaking from Scorsese. At 81, and with over 25 movies behind him (a generous handful of them among the best ever made) Scorsese didn’t really need to prove anything with this one. Didn’t need to take big risks and push the medium in new directions. But he did it anyway. Nowhere is this more evident than in the film’s closing segment - a simultaneous epilogue and epitaph - that takes the form of an old-fashioned radio play.

There’s a version of this film that is much safer. Much more familiar and comfortable. A straight adaptation of David Grann’s book of the same name (though including the subtitle: “The Osage Murders and The Birth of the FBI”) that would have followed a stoic and tight lipped detective as he went about solving a grim whodunnit. In other words, something we’ve seen over and over. Instead, Scorsese and co. threw out that familiar structure in favor of something far more difficult and complex by revealing the identity of the killers straight away, and in that way changing a whodunnit into a whydunnit.

The film is not so much concerned with the not-at-all-surprising mystery, or with positioning a white, ten gallon hat wearing bringer of justice at the center of the narrative, but instead gets to work plumbing the depths of how exactly something like this might occur. Exploring the messy and often contradictory psyches of those involved. At the risk of going on too long here, the result is itself a risky and often self-contradicting work that seems to be both an attack upon and a grieved lament of a fundamental cruelty that has defined this nations history and persists today.

And what do we do with this messy truth? We make movies of it. We tell stories. When the narrative breaks apart at the end of this film and we see the story of this story being told (poorly, in the most reductive way, and with corporate sponsorship) Scorsese shows us what a sad and futile thing it is to make entertainment out of something so awful and so real. Then he steps out himself, and speaks into the microphone. In this moment he’s telling us directly that despite the fundamental failings of this (and indeed any) artistic medium to convey a whole truth, he still gave it a shot. Believing that historical fiction and storytelling and movies can be sources of entertainment, but also position critical questions inside the minds of viewers. They can call attention to things that ought to be called attention to. They can do so imperfectly, embrace and admit and even incorporate that imperfection. The film becomes more than a story. It becomes an apology, an elegy, and announces itself not as an excuse or an answer but instead an exploration. A close, careful look at what we’d rather not see.

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Angle On: 2023

Ten Memorable Moments From a Year at the Movies

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