Why Marvel shouldn't replace Boseman as Black Panther

Almost immediately after the shocking news of his death at age 43 (!) fans of Chadwick Boseman and the Black Panther franchise immediately began speculating about the future of the series now that the titular hero was gone.

Besides being too soon and arguably a little trivial given the tragedy, the outpouring did illustrate just how much this character and Boseman's performance meant to so many people. This isn't Batman or Superman, where fans may have a favorite but they're ok with new people inhabiting the role.

For so many of us, Boseman was Black Panther. And it'd be hard to accept or see anyone else playing his character.

Before he died, writer-director Ryan Coogler was working on a sequel that was expected to arrive sometime in I believe 2022, but with covd-19 one can assume it won't happen until long after that. Coogler is such a creative genius I am sure he had much more than your garden variety superhero sequel in mind, especially since the political content of Black Panther was risky and paid off -- he basically had carte blanche to do whatever he wanted with the follow-up.

And now this tragedy has happened. There is an elegant solution though.

My understanding is that in the Black Panther comic books the mantle of the panther is eventually passed on from T'Challa (Boseman) to his sister Shuri (played wonderfully by a scene-stealing Letitia Wright in the original). It would be a fitting and more importantly symbolically significant if the same thing happened in the film universe.

Part of what made Black Panther so special, so much more than just a movie -- was what it did for diversity and representation. Of course, it was not the first time a big screen movie centered around a black superhero, but there had never been one quite like this.

The strong women characters were Black Panther's not-so-secret weapon with Danai Gurira, Lupita N'yongo Angela Bassett and Letitia Wright stealing almost every scene they are in. It would be a poignant and fitting tribute to Boseman to pass the torch to a female co-star.

Clearly some kind of digital representation of Boseman would be in poor taste and impractical. Perhaps another actor could take over the role but they would be unfairly compared to Boseman and the continuity of the incredible cinematic world that Coogler created.

Coogler has years to figure out how to get this right and this one franchise that people will be ready for now matter how long it takes. So here's hoping he gets it right and does Boseman fans proud.

Wakanda 4ver: Chadwick Boseman became and will remain a hero

Like everyone I am still reeling and totally stunned by the news of Chadwick Boseman's passing at the very young age of 43 after an apparently years-long battle with colon cancer. The news would be heartbreaking in any moment, but for it to happen during this dark time of racial unrest is especially bittersweet.

Boseman was one of the most promising and likable young actors of any race -- and he had an incredibly bright future ahead of him. I think like most people I first became aware of Boseman because of his charismatic performance as Jackie Robinson in the hit biopic 42 back in 2013.

He was a breadth of fresh air and a strong leading man -- he took what could have been an impossible role, after all, Robinson is a saint in the sports world, and managed to bring real life to a figure frozen for many people in black and white stock footage.

Then for a while Boseman seemed to be committed to dramatizing the lives of real-life black icons. He was the best thing about the James Brown film Get On Up and although I didn't see it, he apparently acquitted himself well in the film Marshall about the first black Supreme Court justice.

But Boseman will forever be fondly remembered for his titular role in the modern classic Black Panther. Not only is Black Panther one of the most acclaimed and accomplished superhero films -- it's one of the most beloved blockbuster films ever, period.

There can't be enough said about how much Boseman brought to that role -- not just in his standalone film, but in the various Avengers side projects. He was inspirational, he was funny, he was sexy, he was cool and he was ours. Part of the reason Black Panther was such a game-changing event was the fact that Boseman was so unapologetically black and proud in the titular role.

And Boseman lived that persona off-screen too, being a consistent and reliable voice on issues of social justice and a champion of all people of color in the arts.

Most recently, he plays a small but incredibly pivotal role in Spike Lee's latest masterpiece Da 5 Bloods. 

As tragic as Boseman's passing is -- I hope that it will motivate more people to check out that film and his luminous performance in it. He was already a contender for Best Supporting Actor and his passing will surely make him a sentimental favorite.

Lee said he cast Boseman because he of his "superhero" image -- after all the character he plays in that film "Stormin' Norman" is the ideal black male role model ("our Malcolm and our Martin" they call him). And who better that Boseman to inhabit him.

It's a beautiful, moving performance and although it will be his second to last performance (he will star in one posthumous release) it should be one he is always remembered for.

Right now people are rushing to social media to speculate about the future of the franchise he launched but I could care less about that. Right now we should be lifting up the name and work of a great, warm-hearted talent that has been taken from us far too soon.

We never got to see the full bloom of his talent -- check out his SNL hosting gig, he clearly had a flair for comedy too. But boy, are we grateful for what we got.

Rest in power Chadwick Boseman.

Why I am cool with Christopher Nolan movies being 'cold'

 I hope to one day get to see Christopher Nolan's new action epic Tenet -- it looks amazing and I am big fan of the director's work. I get that some of his fanboys are a bit toxic and probably misinterpret a lot of his work -- but he is one of the most distinctive and ambitious big Hollywood directors working today and I appreciate his commitment to putting a real personal stamp on his films.

Still, there is a critique of Tenet already out there that while it's very entertaining and well-crafted its lacking an emotional core. Now, I haven't seen the film, so I can't judge whether the reviews are fair, but I have noticed this talking point emerging -- that Nolan's film and his films in general are too "cold."

It's true that his films tend to have a brooding disposition and eschew sentimentality. Two films buck that trend Interstellar, which takes great pains to pull on your heartstrings and Dunkirk, which does it a little more effortlessly. But yes, it's probably a fair assessment, and you know? It doesn't bother me.

We can't all be Steven Spielberg folks. You know who else was dinged constantly for being too clinical -- Stanley Kubrick -- who is widely (and rightly) considered to be one fo the greatest directors of all time. Now, his films are full of emotionally compelling moments, he just didn't tend to center his films on protagonists that you necessarily felt a lot of affection for. But that didn't make them any less compelling.

I don't know who decided that movies had to be relatable or have people you want to root for. They can be and often should be a bit more a cerebral exercise, and that's ok.

In much of his work, Nolan has shown a fascination with the physics of time -- this new film apparently plays with some kind of time travel conceit. It's all over Inception, Interstellar, Dunkirk, even The Prestige. He's clearly interested in the mechanics of it and how fate can be determined by it. It's as worthy a topic as any I can think of and sometimes the ideas in a Nolan film (even if they don't always hold up to scrutiny) are the real stars of the story, not the characters.

That doesn't mean Nolan hasn't been able to get some great, engaged performances out of his actors. Heath Ledger's performance as The Joker in The Dark Knight, for instance, is justifiably legendary -- but it's also clear that he isn't a character-driven director.

I will admit sometimes that has been a detriment to his films. His portrayal of woman especially tends to leave a lot to be desired. They're not misogynist per se, they just tend to be (with a few notable exceptions) unwritten roles compared to their male counterparts.

Still, I admire how he keeps trying to top himself. I admire his fidelity to shooting on real film stock. I admire the fact that he tries to do his incredibly ambitious stunts for real, rather than relying entirely on CGI (the mid air kidnapping in The Dark Knight Rises remains one of the most impressive feats I've ever seen).

I would be curious to see him dip more of a toe outside the crime genre like he did with Dunkirk -- but I also don't expect him to ever make a rom com either. As long as he continues to mess with my brain, I have no problem with him failing to touch my heart.

Batman is coming back, but do we need him so soon?

We are finally starting to get a first look at the latest iteration of Batman -- Robert Pattison in Matt Reeve's The Batman -- and while the first trailer looks good (and appears to be a return to the gritty realism of the Christopher Nolan movies) I couldn't help but shake the feeling of 'been there done that.'

This is essentially the fifth big screen version of this character, more than any other superhero has been interpreted. This perhaps makes sense -- Batman is a uniquely cinematic and dynamic character. 

We've had Tim Burton's gothic flair, Joel Schumacher's unapologetic camp, Christopher Nolan's intense crime thrillers and most recently the murky mess of the Zack Snyder interpretation. The recent news of Michael Keaton reprising the role for the first time in almost thirty years has me and fans excited, not just because his interpretation of the character remains my favorite, but it's also an opportunity to see the character in a way we never have before, albeit in a movie about The Flash, which I'm not particularly jazzed about.

That news was undermined a bit by word that Ben Affleck would also be returning in the same film in a kind of multi-verse narrative. Which sort of cheapens and detracts from Keaton's return.

Meanwhile, the Reeves-Pattison movie does offer something akin to a fresh perspective -- this is the first take on Batman as more of a young man (although Batman Begins covered much of this terrain). I trust Reeves as a visual stylist, his Planet of the Apes movies were especially riveting tour de forces in action and technological marvels -- but I simply can't see what he could add the Batman mythology that we have not already seen.

I've written many times about superhero fatigue -- I'd had it for quite a while. Pretty much everything I've seen since Black Panther feels like a bit of a letdown, even though I quite enjoyed Avengers: Endgame and Spider-Man: Far From Home for what they were. 

Batman has long been, by far, my favorite comic book character -- in part because he can made to feel at least semi-plausible. There is no interplanetary travel in Batman, no superpowers. And usually I can't wait to see the character on the big screen. He's probably second to James Bond for me in terms of anticipation.

But that began to change with Zack Snyder's interpretation, which made the mistake of being dull. Even Schumacher's films, with all their myriad of deficiencies, aren't boring. 

I am completely open to and willing to be surprised by this new movie. I especially like the choice of Paul Dano to do a totally new and different riff on The Riddler (a character due for a reboot) and it looks like there may be some new iteration of Catwoman too, which I am not sure we need.

Of course, if and when we'll actually get to see this new Batman is anyone's guess. And I think by the time we do, not only will it be impervious to reviews, but I will probably have gotten over my hesitation to embrace it.

Pattison is an interesting choice for the lead -- he's become an actor I quite admire despite his beginnings as a hearththrob in that Twilight pablum. But yeah, I am still going to have to wait and see. And of course just wait, since the world is upside down, and will be for the foreseeable future.

'Mulan' moving to streaming is another sign filmgoing is far away

The other day I learned that the big-budget live action version of Mulan has been turned into a streaming release -- at least in part -- this coming month. It makes sense on some level. The film was meant to come out in theaters in March and with no end in sight to theater closings thanks to covd-19, Disney probably figured that couldn't let it get lost in the shuffle.

Still, if there was ever a movie that seemed like it'd be best experienced on a big screen it was this one. I must admit, I never saw the animated original, although I know its widely beloved (except of course, by Mike Pence). 

I was excited for this version -- which at least appeared to be a new take rather than a shot for shot remake. And, it seemed like a unique opportunity to see an Asian cast in a big glamorous epic. Given its pedigree, it was almost sure to have been a hit. And now, as a primarily streaming project, it feels like a downgrade.

Meanwhile, Christopher Nolan's Tenet, which is getting glimpsed for the first time by critics after getting release overseas, seems to be moving full stream ahead.

I've wanted to see that movie on the big screen even more. But I still have no idea how and when going to the movies is going to work again. There doesn't seem to be much guidance, although I know some theaters near me are starting to baby step their way back into functionality.

But -- and it sucks to admit this -- but theaters are just germ central, they are. It's part of why that scene in Outbreak, where a virus is shown spreading from filmgoer to filmgoer is so effective. You're in an enclosed, crowded space, audibly reacting and munching and touching your seat. My skin crawls just thinking about it.

And yet, going to see movies in theaters was a huge part of my pre-covd life, I was going weekly before our whole lives came grinding to a halt.

Not unlike professional sports, it's almost as if the studios are in denial. I'm getting invites about screenings of the new Bill & Ted sequel and I'm mystified as to how that is supposed to work. I am still holding out hope that'll get to see the new Bond film -- No Time to Die -- in theaters. But who knows?

Some very big productions are almost inevitably going to lose a lot of money and without anything resembling  a consistent and safe nationwide plan for movie theaters, I don't understand how the movie industry is ever going to get back on track.

A Quiet Place II is still sitting out there. And Candyman. And Antebellum. And the reboot of Ghostbusters.

I get it, Hollywood is not a top priority right now. I just wish there was something resembling a plan.

How 'Lincoln' can be an omen about Biden

When Steven Spielberg's Lincoln was first released in 2012, I felt like it was romanticized for the wrong reasons. Don't get me wrong, it's an excellent -- if a bit overlong -- movie with a damn near flawless Daniel Day-Lewis performance at its center, but it's not just an homage to old fashioned politicking, it's a little more sophisticated than that.

Although Lincoln comes across very well in the movie -- Tony Kushner's thoughtful screenplay clearly sees the fight for the 13th amendment to be the brightest spot amid many dark ones on the ex-president's legacy.

For instance, while the movie suggests that Lincoln had no personal hatred directed at black people, and passionately spoke out against slavery, he was not fully committed to principles of equality and was in fact the right of many members of his own party when it came to African-Americans.

This is deftly illustrated in the persona of Thaddeus Stevens, fantastically played by Tommy Lee Jones. He might as well have been the Bernie Sanders of his day. A purist, who became infamous for openly and unapologetically advocating for true equality for people of color, including the vote. He was the dean of the so-called "radical Republicans" who sought to codify emancipation into settled law when Lincoln was at the peak of his powers following re-election and the inevitable conclusion of the Civil War.

Lincoln had plenty of advisors in his ear urging him to avoid a big legislative fight and to table the issue of slavery in order to ensure a smoother transition into his second term, but the president was on the right side of history (on this one) and recognized that if slavery wasn't truly abolished the war would have been fought for nothing.

Stevens and his cohort had every reason to be suspicious of Lincoln and his intentions, after all Lincoln had not been above espousing racist beliefs for political expediency and had freed the slaves less on principle but as a part of military strategy.

And yet, Stevens wouldn't dispel a willingness to be "surprised" by Lincoln. Watching the film today, it got me thinking about Joe Biden.

If we have a fair election this November -- and at this point that is a huge IF -- Joe Biden is the overwhelming favorite to win. Not unlike with Lincoln, people to his left -- given his track record and deeply skeptical that he could or would deliver on much of the issues that they believe in, while acknowledging that he is superior to the alternative.

That however, presumes that Biden is incapable of surprising us with a position or a piece of legislation and I simply refuse to be that pessimistic.

Like Lincoln, Biden has shown some capacity to evolve -- not as rapidly as I'd hope and not on every issue I'd want him to -- but he hasn't voted the exact same way is entire life nor has he proven to be incapable of admitting when he's been wrong.

That doesn't mean he won't be or can't be a colossal disappointment as president, but I do think it means he doesn't have to be.

Stevens was willing to eat a little crow -- he downplayed his belief in the equality of African-Americans at a crucial moment in order to assure the passage of the 13th amendment -- to serve the larger cause of winning freedom for black people. Meanwhile, Lincoln made good on his promise -- shepherding the bill through Congress under much duress.

The movie shows that this duress was not entirely ethical or legal -- Lincoln's minions traded patronage positions in his administration in exchange for votes -- but it proved the president was willing to take considerable risk to achieve a worthy goal.

In totality, the movie makes the case for Lincoln's 'greatness' if not as a human being, than as a political, historical figure. All presidents want to achieve a similar stature in our collective memory. But what Trump has never understood and when I believe Biden does, is that requires defying expectations of both your own voters and the nation writ large.

As maddening and dangerous as Trump's presidency has been, it hasn't necessarily been about taking risks. Everything he has said and done has been designed to appeal to a very vocal minority of this country. He has no big transformative policy proposals and he isn't interested in the arc of history. He simply wants instant gratification, and so in many ways he is the anti-Lincoln.

Joe Biden could enter office as a bit of blank slate. He's viewed appropriately as a moderate, someone looking to not make waves -- even when waves are absolutely necessary. But I still believe he has the capacity to surprise us and can be pushed, as Lincoln was, to make the right decisions. And that does give me something to be hopeful about.

'On the Waterfront' and when a great film has bad politics

 

After reading The Contender, I've been on real Brando kick lately -- and today I revisited one of his best films -- On the Waterfront. Brando's performance in this film is the stuff of legend and rightly so, he's so moving in the role of Terry Malloy a failed boxer turned unwitting enforcer for the mob, that it elevates a film that is to this day problematic.

The movie was the work of two undeniably great artists -- director Elia Kazan and writer Budd Schulberg -- both of whom betrayed friends and colleagues by naming names of suspected or confirmed Communists before blatantly un-democratic House committees.

One could argue they had no choice, but plenty of other courageous people in Hollywood chose not to, with some paying a terrible price from an unofficial blacklist. While Kazan was a liberal (and for that matter so was Brando) he never expressed regret or remorse for what he did (again, while some of his peers -- like the great actor Sterling Hayden, did). Instead, he made this film -- which is very heavy handed in its moralizing of what some consider an unconscionable act.

The film's hero is lionized -- in a Christ-like way -- for having the guts to eventually turn on his corrupt longshoreman benefactors -- and to testify about their criminality. And in the context of the film his actions are unmistakably noble and justified.

Schulberg and Kazan tried for years to suggest that they were in no way drawing a parallel to their own testimony but clearly that's a crock. So what do with this film? 

On the merits of the performances alone  -- besides Brando doing phenomenal work, the stacked cast features unforgettable performances from Eva Marie Saint, Rod Steiger, Lee J. Cobb and Karl Malden, all of whom I believe were Oscar nominated.

Knowing the context of how this film was made and by whom is vital -- but this is a case where a film's politics don't necessarily jibe with my own and yet I can still appreciate and even love the movie.

That's not always possible, for me at least. For instance, Michael Bay's Benghazi film -- 13 Hours -- could be the most kinetic action film in the world, I'd never get over how historically irresponsible it is. Zero Dark Thirty on the other hand, which is somewhat ambiguous about the efficacy of torture, is still a phenomenal film in my estimation.

Another movie like this that comes to mind is 1978's The Deer Hunter. It's one of my favorite films of its era -- but it bears almost no relationship to the reality of the Vietnam War. The Vietnamese have no humanity in the film and the central conceit of underground Russian roulette games has been roundly debunked. But as a purely emotional experience and great storytelling -- the movie is a masterpiece -- if albeit, a problematic one.

Then there are the mainstream exploitation movies Dirty Harry and Death Wish. These films really wear their fascistic tendencies on their sleeve, although I'd argue that both films are somewhat more sophisticated about it's antiheroes than meets the eye. They work to this day because they are in part of a reflection of the times in which they were made -- where paranoia about crime in the cities was reaching a fever pitch.

I don't condone their message -- or the conspicuous presence of almost exclusively black men in the roles of antagonist criminals, with next to no nuance. These movies entertain me in spite of themselves and in part because they could only justifiably exist in 1971 and 1974 respectively.

One of my all-time favorite films -- Taxi Driver -- is also the most complex on this question. Scorsese is clearly a humanist, if you look at the essence of most of his films but Taxi Driver is probably his most nihilistic vision. We clearly are not meant to agree with De Niro's Travis Bickle but we are expected to emphasize for him and we do thanks to De Niro's performance and Scorsese's direction -- but the film does present some starkly troubling content without necessarily passing judgement on it.

It leaves it to its audience to process a scene like the one where Bickle murders a black thief in a convenience store. The crime the youth is committing is far from ideal, but also totally unworthy of death and of course everyone in the scene -- including the owner of the store who savagely beats that already dead corpse of the thief -- are broken, unstable people. All of this fascinates me.

Even though i identify as a liberal progressive -- I feel like films -- good films -- can traverse politics that are appalling to me and still engage me because of their nuances. Unfortunately, in real life, the other side lacks this kind of complexity.

There's nothing to unpack with Ted Cruz. Except maybe a little subconscious self hatred. He'd make for a terrible subject for a film.

Don't avoid watching 'Contagion' -- we need more thrillers like it

 I must admit I'd avoided revisiting Steven Soderbergh's fantastic 2011 pandemic thriller Contagion once the pandemic broke out. In part because it felt like a trendy thing to do -- and I usually avoid stuff like that -- but I also feared that it would be torturous to sit through, since the fiction it created in some ways was playing out in real time.

This weekend, I finally got over myself and gave it another look and I must say it should go down as one of the great films of the previous decade. It was a well-regarded, solid hit when it came out -- but I don't think it was appreciated enough for its scope and wit -- like so many Soderbergh movies, it was almost a victim of its own sleekness and sophistication.

While the disease portrayed in the movie is far more deadly than the coronavirus -- the movie still does strike a chord on several fronts: especially the bureaucratic resistance to sounding the alarm early and the willingness of people to capitalize on the paranoia these kinds of disasters can inspire.

The latter thread -- which we are very much living with today thanks to the president's narcissistic and profit-driven motivations -- is particularly prescient. It comes in the form of a story line featuring Jude Law, as an obnoxious online blogger whose pushes a miracle cure with little evidence.

He proves to be wildly successful in his efforts -- and I couldn't help but think how wild it is that we have a president doing that instead of a conniving huckster. The film also elegantly shows how easily we can transmit an airborne virus -- the presence of masks early and often in the film is yet another indictment of the timeline we're currently living in.

The various plot threads feel utterly realistic -- and although there are pangs of pathos, particularly in a storyline involving Matt Damon as a suddenly widowed man fending for his kids -- it's never histrionic or overly sentimental. Soderbergh wisely cast stars which immediately gets an audience invested, but there are no big star turns here, every character serves a function to keep the propulsive narrative moving.

In other words, the movie is never boring -- despite what could be a dry subject matter -- and no precious time is wasting on manufacturing emotional moments that don't need to be there. It makes moments -- like when chaos and looting breaks out when there starts to be food and medicine shortages (perhaps the most frightening aspects of the film) it almost feels documentarian in its style and substance.

I remember hearing recently that writer-director Adam McKay has been looking to find ways to dramatize the urgency of climate change with products that will get a wide commercial audience -- to me, Contagion seems like the blueprint.

It doesn't dumb itself down and like I said it doesn't invent some hokey subplot to tug at our heartstrings. 

The potential effects of climate change -- if portrayed realistically -- are scary and dramatic enough to be both riveting and revolting, and we've seen how much movies can be an influential game-changer.

Sadly, we didn't heed the warnings of Contagion -- perhaps a global crisis like the coronavirus seemed just too unthinkable at the time. It's true that in the past responsible leadership (think Ebola) prevented super-spreading in this country in the past and who could ever have predicted a president as wantonly irresponsible as Donald Trump.

I guess The Dead Zone sort of did, huh?

The point is I'd like to see more timely, topical thrillers like Contagion, if they're half as sensational they'd still be worthy of seeing.

The most surprising 'blockbusters' of the decade (in my opinion)

 If you scroll through the top 10 box office hits, even the top 20 of the past ten years you're mostly going to be looking at sequels, superhero films and other ginormous franchises that are basically critic proof, and in the case of Star Wars -- fan proof -- when it comes to profits.

Of course, there are exceptions -- films that make blockbuster dollars that are not necessarily hits on paper. Films that may both big stars but are still riskier than conventional popcorn fare. 

The success of films like these, more often that not are a huge surprise for me. Even if I am not one hundred percent on board with a movie like say -- Clint Eastwood's American Sniper -- I am still impressed that it managed to be the highest grossing movie of its year, if for no other reason than it is a brooding character study of man battling PTSD, albeit a deeply problematic one.

This week I revisited the Oscar winning revenge film The Revenant in all its gruesome glory and I couldn't get over the fact that this largely dreary affair was an enormous, colossal commercial hit. To be sure it's packed with some riveting action scenes -- most infamously one involving a CGI bear that holds up remarkably well. 

But it is also a movie where its leading man spends much of its running time unable to talk and in some cases walk and when he does it's usually in a Native American tongue (this does not detract from the power of DiCaprio's work, he won his first Oscar for this film over an admittedly weak field). It's a relentlessly bleak movie, that's gory and sad. But people flocked to see it.

I suppose its a testament to DiCaprio's enduring star power and director Alejandro Inarritu's innovative use of natural light cinematography throughout (the movie looks great) -- but maybe audiences back in 2015 were willing to try something different.

Here are a few others movies from the decade whose success stunned me.

The Social Network (2010) - I remember when this movie was announced, a lot of folks scoffed and derisively called it 'The Facebook Movie.' Few understood what it would even be, and the casting of a pop star without a ton of acting experience in one of the leads (Justin Timberlake) didn't inspire much confidence. And it turned out to possibly be the best film of the decade with Timberlake delivering surely what will go down as the performance of his career. Insanely robbed on Oscar night.

True Grit (2010) - Although the Coen Brothers film was a remake of a beloved John Wayne western, its star -- Jeff Bridges -- didn't have a consistent history as a box office draw and the film actually hewed much closer to the quirky novel by making the female hero the lead (a wonderful Hailee Steinfeld). At the end of the day it's a lovely, old fashioned western, the kind I didn't expect could make money anymore, but boy was I wrong.

Black Swan (2010) - Certainly one of the strangest hit films in recent memory -- a fever dream of sorts about a mentally unstable ballerina who either has split personalities or may be physically transforming into something ... not human. I honestly don't know that I can fully explain what Black Swan is about, but it's great to look at, Natalie Portman gives an emotionally charged, physically demanding performance and it's certainly a memorable affair, but I must say I am surprised it was so much more than arthouse fare.

Shutter Island (2010) - Another DiCaprio flick, this one another collaboration with director Martin Scorsese (they've made five total, and another is on the way). This one was arguably the toughest sell, even if it was based on a best seller. Something akin to a psychological horror film with a twist ending that you either buy or you don't (I do). It was seen as a potentially doomed production when it was pushed to a February release but it ended up being auspicious.

Lincoln (2012) - Sure, Abraham Lincoln is one of the most revered figures in U.S. history -- but that doesn't mean people are going to come out in droves to watch a film about his fight to get the 13th amendment to the Constitution passed. It had an ace up its sleeve in Daniel Day-Lewis' damn near perfect performance in the lead, but it's hard to imagine a historic epic doing the kind of business this movie die eight years ago.

Flight (2012) - Denzel Washington is as close to a sure thing as there is at the box office, but a drama about an alcoholic pilot is not the kind of material that you'd think would lead to a hit. It does feature a bravura plane crash sequence that is fantastically scary, but it's largely an incisive character study -- and one of Washington's all-time best performances.

Gravity (2013) - As popular as Sandra Bullock and George Clooney are -- it would seem counter-intuitive to put them in giant spacesuits, that partially obscure their faces, kill off one of them about halfway through and setting the entirely thing in the blackness of space. But the movie is so emotionally sincere and viscerally sensational that none of what I said previously matters. An elegantly simple movie that is nevertheless pulse-pounding from start to finish.

Dunkirk (2017) - It seems silly now, but I really thought Dunkirk might be director Christopher Nolan's first major flop as director -- after all, it was a WWII film about a relatively obscure (to Americans) battle with its only big name star (Tom Hardy) hidden under a mask for much of its duration. But audiences locked into Nolan's sophisticated meditation on time and it led to his first, long overdue Oscar nomination.

Knives Out (2019) - This one was the most pleasant surprise of them all for me. I loved the cast but Daniel Craig had struggled to connect with many of his non-Bond films and I didn't know if audiences would appreciate an old-fashioned, star-studded mystery. But Ryan Johnson got the last laugh with a cleverly constructed and witty screenplay that almost requires repeat viewings.

Marlon Brando was eccentric, egocentric and excellent

To be a Marlon Brando fan means to a certain extent being an apologist. For every remarkable star turn he delivered as an actor, there are embarrassing failures. For all his sincere activism, there is a fair amount of problematic paternalism too (all of which can be arguably found in his decision to dispatch Sacheen Littlefeather to refuse his Oscar in 1973). Ultimately, he antagonized many people because of what was perceived as a contempt for his own talent and his own profession but after reading the excellent biography The Contender, I have reached the conclusion that he simply had a profound discomfort with it.

Of course, there were many ways in which Brando enjoyed the spoils of his fame -- his womanizing for example -- but he also felt deeply uncomfortable and later troubled by it. I'm convinced that his protestations against the sycophancy towards celebrity came from a very real place.

He felt guilty about the amount of attention and adulation he was getting -- especially because acting came naturally to him. He was proclaimed brilliant so early and so often (and he was) that he found it hard to really gain perspective on his own work (hence his tendency to dismiss it). 

Brando became preoccupied with wanting to do something more substantive with his life -- and while he was routinely vilified for this -- today his anti-fame crusade seems both admirable and revolutionary. He simply utterly refused to be phony, in an industry that rewarded a lack of authenticity.

And, even if he was ambiguous about acting and the movie business in particular -- he almost never gave a totally phoned-in performance and never less than an interesting once.  

He has a great observation about screen performance in the excellent documentary Listen to Me Marlon, about how the 30-foot frame captures every flicker of expression and it's better to be real and honest on-screen because the audience can see when you're faking it.

In his best performances -- from A Streetcar Named Desire to On the Waterfront to The Godfather, and especially the controversial Last Tango In Paris -- my favorite Brando performance -- he is electric in every scene but also gloriously naturalistic in a way that few other actors ever have been.

I came of age in Brando's wake -- I probably saw him for the first time in The Freshman -- and so it should have been easy to take his work for granted, especially since I had the benefit of growing up with De Niro, Pacino, Hackman, Hoffman and Nicholson. But I always 'got' Brando, even as a kid.

I'll always remember how much he excited my high schoolmates when we watched Streetcar for English class. The boys wanted to be him (which is problematic considering how monstrous his character was) and the girls wanted him. Now all these years later -- I miss him. 

He lived a very long life (he died at 80 in 2004), and post-Apocalypse Now his work is mostly forgettable -- but I wish there were still actors doing the kind of virtuoso work he did. You see flashes of it Gosling or Joaquin Phoenix and especially Michael B. Jordan.

But there will never be another like Brando, and maybe there can't be.