That's pretty much how I feel about 1997's crop of films: Could they really have been as mediocre as I remember? Or was I just in an ornery mood? It's hard to say. But one of us is in bad shape.
In either case, seeing 200-plus films this year was a dispiriting experience. There were some pretty good films, nothing great. Most of the interesting work came from independents; on the fringes, there were a number of intriguing ultra-low-budget productions and foreign films, some two and three years old, that found their way to domestic screens for the first time in 1997.
L.A. Confidential Curtis Hanson's breakthrough film has its flaws, but it's a solid police thriller, elevated by uniformly terrific performances. Hanson and co-screenwriter Brian Helgeland may have trimmed down and simplified the plot of James Ellroy's novel, but it's hard to imagine a more complicated story remaining coherent on the screen. Guy Pearce, Kevin Spacey, Russell Crowe, Kim Basinger, and James Cromwell are all unforgettable. There's one slightly cheap device near the conclusion that is unworthy of the rest of the picture, but it's not enough to sour the impact of the whole.
Lost Highway OK, so most of the world hated this one. Sure, it made no rational sense: This is a David Lynch film, after all. But for the first time since Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks America's premier surrealist was doing material that seemed to have sprung from his soul. Lost Highway is nowhere as perfect as Blue Velvet, but it does take us to a frightening, skewed world that only Lynch could have imagined. It's a fascinating trip, one I took gleefully three or four times. Lynch continues to be the only film artist currently working who seems to understand the full power of the medium: His use of sound, music, narrative disruptions, and special effects is far more interesting than the work of almost anyone else out there.
Schizopolis Steven Soderbergh's low-budget personal project is the director's best work since sex, lies, & videotape, perhaps the best thing he's done, period. Schizopolis is essentially the comedy equivalent of Lost Highway -- a portrait of complete psychological disintegration, seen from the inside. (Given that neither Soderbergh nor Lynch could have seen each other's film in time, it's amazing how many plot elements the two works share.) It's also one of the few recent films to embrace and celebrate the liberating influence of Richard Lester's '60s and '70s work.
Face/Off After the relative disappointments of Hard Target and Broken Arrow, John Woo finally gets to strut his stuff in a Hollywood film. All his trademark elements are present in Face/Off -- not just the jazzy pyrotechnics, but heightened melodrama, great performances, and genuine emotional content. John Travolta and Nicolas Cage are having the times of their lives in their Jekyll-and-Hyde roles.
Men in Black Even by the standards of the director of the Addams Family films, Men in Black is shallow -- but it's gloriously shallow. Barry Sonnenfeld's special-effects extravaganza is a nearly perfect commercial entertainment -- with a witty script from Ed Solomon, winning performances from Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith, and an exhausting pace.
Happy Together I've had my ups and downs with the work of Wong Kar-Wai, the least typical of Hong Kong directors. He's arty, pretentious, slow as molasses, and utterly unconcerned with his audience. But when his stuff works it achieves a degree of mood and feeling that few directors can rival. Happy Together lacks the pleasures of Chungking Express, still his best film, but the new work remains a one-of-a-kind portrait of a disintegrating relationship, aching with a sense of loss, regret, and missed opportunities.
Amistad Steven Spielberg's latest plea to be taken seriously isn't as satisfying or subtle a work as Schindler's List, but it's still a creditable examination of a historical event that touches on the central hypocritical issue of American democracy. Despite a few excessive Spielbergian moments -- after all these years and all his success, Spielberg seems to feel that we won't get his point unless John Williams' music underlines it in triplicate -- Amistad would be worth seeing merely for the opening 20-minute sequence and the slave-ship flashback ... two brilliantly realized scenes with almost no dialogue.
Deconstructing Harry Woody Allen still writes the funniest scripts in the business, but, ever since his public troubles five years ago, they are undermined by the inevitable comparisons to his private life. Deconstructing Harry is even more disturbingly self-referential than his last few films, since it centers around a self-referential writer. Allen may play the character as a schmuck -- he even considered calling the movie The Worst Man in the World -- but the film still comes off as an exculpatory plea.
Chasing Amy After the debacle of his first studio film, Mallrats, Kevin Smith returned to his low-budget roots with the most believable Gen-X romantic comedy yet made. The cast and the dialogue are hilarious: Jason Lee's neurotic sidekick steals the show from stars Ben Affleck and Joey Lauren Adams. Except for a wretched plot development near the end, this is the best romantic comedy of the year.
Hercules It's a discouraging sign that the best Disney animated feature since Aladdin somehow made less money than its three immediate predecessors. Disney's always been great at art and schmaltz and a good deal less adept at humor, but Hercules is truly funny. James Woods' villain is a voice-over performance that rivals Robin Williams' work in Aladdin; and the leading lady is the best Disney heroine since Belle in Beauty and the Beast.