Though his most famous films date back to past decades, with “Eraserhead” in 1977 and “Blue Velvet” in 1986, David Lynch has continued to produce art so starkly strange it cannot be ignored, right on into the new millennium.

Lynch has tried his hand at many things–adaptation, television, stage musical. To all of them, he brings a combination of childlike wonder and an almost crushingly cynical sense of the evil that lurks inside every one of us. This decade, he’s only released two films, essentially companion pieces. He’s otherwise occupied his time with performing music, taking photographs, animating, promoting transcendental meditation and reporting the weather. (Click here to read more…)

Considering his penchant for scathing portraits of women, I’m really surprised Lars von Trier didn’t lunge at the opportunity to direct “Precious.” All of his heroines tend to have the standard heart-of-gold complex but tend to remain passive as people begin to take advantage. Rape, hanging, sliced genitals—von Trier’s done it all, continuing to push the envelope—yet every one of his films is nothing short of riveting and artistically brilliant. (Click here to read more…)

Joel and Ethan Coen are two of the most talented and prolific filmmakers working today. In this decade alone, they have made seven feature-length films. The quality of their work varies in large part because they are willing to approach a wide range of challenging genres. They try their hand at film noir in “The Man Who Wasn’t There,” at romance in “Intolerable Cruelty” and the thriller in “No Country for Old Men.”

A new Coen brothers film is always worth seeing, if only because their films are always extremely well made on a technical level. The Coens oversee all aspects of their productions, but they seem cordial enough to allow each of their collaborators to achieve his or her full potential. Their collaboration with cinematographer Roger Deakins has been particularly fruitful, yielding beautiful landmarks in “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” and “The Man Who Wasn’t There.”

There is so much to talk about that instead of discussing general aspects of the Coen brothers’ work, I will focus on three of their films that I particularly enjoy and use those as jumping points for discussion.

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) (Click here to read more…)

“I – drink – your – milkshake!”

To merely call Daniel Plainview a caricature of the dark side of American capitalism would not do Daniel Day-Lewis’ achievement in Paul Thomas Anderson’s “There Will Be Blood” enough justice. Metaphoric purposes aside, Plainview is a man capable of both ends of the human spectrum: quiet introspection and hyperbolic intensity, paternal responsibility and sadistic inhumanity. He adopts and rears a son, H.W., sends him away to a school for the deaf after a terrible accident, and later dismisses him as a “bastard in a basket.” He clashes with a fanatical evangelist, Eli Sunday, and proceeds to humiliate him every which way with verbal invective, physical abuse and, ultimately, a bowling pin. (Click here to read more…)

Peter Jackson made four epic fantasy films that defined the cinematic spectacle for the new decade. His films made the act of viewing a physical activity: His shortest film, “The Fellowship of the Ring” (2001), is three hours long; the extended cut of “The Return of the King” (2004) is over four hours long. Avant-garde films have long used duration to push the boundaries of film, but duration hadn’t really been a part of mainstream films up until this point.

Many viewers—especially those afflicted with smaller bladders—probably viewed the hefty running times as a narcissistic and excessive exercise in filmmaking. But I believe that the running times reflect Jackson’s respect for his audience: He felt that viewers had the patience and intelligence to follow a fantasy series with a large ensemble cast over a three-year period.

Legacy (Click here to read more…)

I had a memorable encounter with the brilliant screenwriter Charlie Kaufman last fall, at an early screening of his directorial debut, “Synecdoche, New York.” A Kaufman film is guaranteed to provide an exhausting amount of intellectual fodder, and as the film ended, I scribbled furiously in my notebook. Then I took a glance to my right. Across the aisle was the man himself, a hand placed pensively under his chin, as he stared directly into my eyes.

It was without a doubt the most incredible and terrifying moment of my life. In those few seconds, I could see the way Kaufman’s mind worked—he was trying to figure me out (why was I writing?) and piecing together what I thought of his film (what was I writing about?). It is this intensely analytic quality that also characterizes a Kaufman film, and defines it as something formidable, otherworldly and always fascinating. (Click here to read more…)

The films of Alfonso Cuaron are distinguished by their extraordinary cinematic ambience. Their narratives effortlessly transcend generations and cultures, intimate portraits of characters whose trials and tribulations mirror the spectrum of the human experience. From rural Mexico to Hogwarts to dystopic Britain, Cuaron’s works alternate between original screenplays and literary adaptations, creating an array of contrasts that work wonders in cinematic form: real and imaginary, somber and uplifting, nostalgic and adventurous.

Along with fellow compadres Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (”Amores Perros”) and Guillermo del Toro (”Pan’s Labyrinth”), Cuaron played a central part in shaping the direction of the new Mexican cinema. After experiencing early success in his native country with 1991’s “Solo Con Tu Pareja,” Cuaron went abroad to adapt Frances Hodgson Burnett’s “A Little Princess” and Charles Dickens’ “Great Expectations” to the screen, the latter relocated to contemporary New York City. With intricate characterizations and rich visual flair, Cuaron’s 1990s films saw him put his unique directorial signature on a variety of different works. (Click here to read more…)

NSFW (language/cartoon gore)

When the Kanye West/Spike Jonze collaboration, “We Were Once a Fairytale,” first cropped up on blogs a few weeks back, I was curious but always too busy to watch the ten-minute clip. Then a friend insisted I check it out, proclaiming it proof that Kanye “really is the voice of this generation.”

So I checked it out. And . . . wow. Just wow. Stop what you’re doing and watch it. Unless you’re at work/in class, because it’s a little bit grody. (Click here to read more…)

November 6th presents a dilemma for Bay Area cinephiles, who—due to the annoying fact that people can only be in one place at one time—must choose among three excellent programs at three different theaters. At the Paramount Theatre, a gorgeous Art Deco movie palace near the 19th Street BART station in Oakland, there is a screening of Alfred Hitchcock’s “Dial M for Murder” (1954). I recommend getting to the theater early so you can explore the huge, luxurious lobby.

In Berkeley, PFA is screening Alain Resnais’ “Last Year at Marienbad” (1961), one of the most beautiful, confounding movies I have ever seen. The film’s camerawork is stunning: Imagine a precursor to “The Shining,” with the camera slowly wandering through a mostly vacant château’s hallways. What is the purpose of the film? Is it a visual depiction of someone reckoning with her memories? Or is it a truly post-modern work that’s only concerned with surfaces—that is, is it a film without meaning? “Last Year at Marienbad” is rarely screened in 35mm projection, so be sure to check it out. (Click here to read more…)

Any film whose premise centers on the cultish appeal of kitschy mediums faces an enormous challenge: How can a film be good when it is quite literally about crap? This is the question that went through my head while watching Jared Hess’ new film “Gentlemen Broncos” at the Landmark Embarcadero Center Cinema last Monday, with Hess and his wife and screenwriter, Jerusha, in the audience.

Once again, Hess has an awkward, “Napoleon Dynamite”-style protagonist—a young, pulp science fiction writer named Benjamin (Michael Angarano). The film suffers from a lackluster screenplay, but Hess exacerbates its weaknesses by bringing to the foreground the sci-fi genre’s crudest elements. There is no cussing in the film (the Hesses are Mormons), but there are an awful lot of breast, penis and fart jokes, and gags involving shit and vomiting. This is the kind of film that would appeal to viewers who find a snake ejecting a stream of shit all over its nonchalant owner funny. (Click here to read more…)