Last year, I bemoaned about the futile exercise of watching, reviewing, and ranking the Best Picture movies every year. I have been at it since 2011 and it is only now in 2023, when it dawned on me a simple inescapable truth: Oscar does not mean the best. That takes a while to sink in, because the media and the attention-craving Hollywood buy into the myth. The truth is “Oscar” is elusive in meaning, because it keeps redefining itself every year. We would like to believe the awards are based on merit. Instead of discussion of skill or talent during award season, it is tainted by campaign politics. The Oscars are then fabricated as the award for the popular, the overdue, the comeback, the trending, the history-making, the token-minority, the correction-over-previous-blunders, or the who-would-have-thunk, nothing-is-impossible. There are multitude ways it can go and the unceasing chatter compete for the most compelling narrative it can sell. What is damning sometimes is that the noise is so loud. It feels like sometimes the films themselves don’t even matter or even watched at all. If Oscar was an actual running race, its winner would likely be the unlikely and not the first to cross the finish line.

Before I-throw-my-hands-up surrender, I have to remind myself that whether my favorites win or not, the Oscars standard is a fluctuating mess. One year, they might rightly reward the best. Another year, they show themselves as a joke. I should find peace and contentment in that I actually do the homework with thoughtful consideration as I rank these. I have limited outside influence and so the movies themselves are my focus. As long as I’m honest and consistent with my own standards, I can genuinely proclaim “the best” in my purview without getting it all so twisted.

[10] Everything Everywhere All At Once

When I watched this back in July on a plane, I wrote on my journal feeling conflicted. I wanted to like it so much, wanting to be impressed by its scrappy mostly-Asian cast and its trippy multiverse story. I admired the “dexterous fine acting from Michelle Yeoh,” but I could not get over the bitter aftertaste of “bad acting posturing” (courtesy of Hsu) and, here’s the most-damning one, “very contrived plotting that fall flat on manufactured emotional moments.”

I watched it a second time with an Asian group and the overall reaction is that it’s middling nuts and weird. Months later, I was baffled in its Oscar momentum. Why is Ke Huy Quan suddenly trending? Oh, he’s the Asian boy from Indiana Jones and Goonies. Gotcha. Even Jamie Lee Curtis’ sudden rise in Best Supporting Actress is a head-scratcher. Months ago, it seemed like her casting was positioned as a stunt. Stephanie Hsu, the most unknown of the main cast, obviously had a more challenging role.

Honestly, Michelle Yeoh’s nomination is the only one earned here. And yet, even as she assumes different looks and personas in multiverse, her main role here as Evelyn, the frazzled and weary wife and mother, is not quite the best use of her skill. Her effective roles make use of her bigger-than-life aura, whether it be imposing (Crazy Rich Asians) or quiet dignity (I get teary-eyed thinking about her in “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon). All of that gets lost in an anything-goes, any-idea-is-a-good-idea screenplay. The filmmakers Daniels have a great premise. I was willing to go on a wild adventure with them even if it doesn’t make sense. The peak of their work is the infamous dildo scene, where the action and the humor are magically elevated when mixed with the bizarre. But it’s such an out-there territory that they’re playing fire with and unfortunately, there were more misses than hits. And I’m cringing when their characters start doing drama when the screenplay has not even given them the emotional mileage to deserve it. The strange thing is that only last year I got to experience “Spiderman: Far From Home,” which trumps EEAAO in every way. That is a way better multiverse movie for comparison. It doesn’t get lost in its multiverse and cuts through the clutter to deliver its high emotional stakes with impactful payoff. If only EEOOA had been that insightful and brilliant, then I would be effusive in my review. In some alternate happy universe, maybe that is the case. I’m just stuck here to be frazzled and weary like Evelyn I guess.

[9] Elvis

Baz Luhrmann might be a showman, but I forgot how unappetizing he forces his style into the storytelling. A bit of a turn-off, and furthermore, he chooses the predatory eyes of Colonel Parker (Tom Hanks) as the vantage point to our titular subject. While his full adoration is evident, he also unwittingly butchers the image of the king of rock and roll.

In the movie, Elvis was just an innocuous white boy, who, for some spiritual reason, gets inspired from the down-low music of local black folks. And when the aspiring musician wiggles his legs and gyrates his hips that produces screaming orgasm from a legion of girls, it feels askew to depict him as some naïve performer, playing to an audience like a freak or a monkey. It doesn’t register right for me. And I do admit that Austin Butler’s early grounded act must lean in to balance out Luhrmann’s gaudy and unhinged direction. But at this point, I wanted the performance to exist as a single unimpeachable entity. The way Rami Malek confidently gave life to Freddie Mercury that he remains such a watchable, stalwart force, despite the movie collapsing around him.

Fortunately, the movie turns it around when Elvis Presley (as character) and its performer (Butler) comes into his own. It takes the movie such a long time to conjure the star quality of its subject, but nevertheless, it’s quite spellbinding to witness. The visuals and the performance so are on point. It’s also quite baffling that the youthful actor disappears better into Elvis at his later years. It’s almost a shock at how he nails it, considering the early parts of the movie feels like passing impersonation. Despite the painful early parts of the movie (where, I felt asleep twice), the movie does gyrate its own power and energy to close the show nicely.

[8] The Fablemans

Spielberg’s semi-autobiographical film starts out earnestly sanitized. Its lead character, a boy named Sam Fabelman, is seen going to a movie theater for the first time. And thus, it starts his love affair with cinema and filmmaking. The Fabelmans look like your typical All-American family in the 1950s. The father (Paul Dano) is a hard-working and smart engineer. The mother (Michelle Williams) is the loving, doting housewife. Everything is boringly benign, except when the family is exoticized for their Jewish heritage. It’s a snooze when Spielberg rounds off the edges to portray a warm, glowing family. I guess he could be forgiven for nostalgia, but it also makes these scenes somehow distant.

There is a family drama that builds in the movie. It relies on Michelle Williams’ estimable performance to somehow pull it off.  But the actress appears so adrift that I don’t feel she completely grounds the role. Gabriel LaBelle proves more adept when he shows up as the grown-up Sam. Spielberg is a master of coming-of-age stuff, and of course, that part of the film delivers through LaBelle. The more bearable parts of the movie show his evolution as a filmmaker. Encouraged by his mother, what a privilege it was for young Sam to have an expensive camera and be afforded time to pursue his hobby. Only his quietly strained father is softly disapproving. The unintentional high point for me was laughing when the family and an audience of boy scouts see Sam’s amateurish film. Their reactions, which must take some caliber acting, show as if they have seen the greatest thing ever.

The most telling thing about “The Fabelmans” is not what Spielberg has to say, but rather how he perceives himself. He is separated by other auteurs, by his open need to be seen and understood. That interactive connection between audience and filmmaker is a real a magical thing. But sometimes, it’s a drawback on the way he leans on it.

[7] Triangle of Sadness

Ruben Östlund’s movie starts out so strong, proudly coming out as a satire. It can be broadly flippant when it pokes fun of the fashion industry and its superficial notions of equality. And yet, it can also be surgically perceptive when it features an extended dialogue between a dating couple (both models), in an escalating bickering about a damn restaurant bill. It’s a movie that is not afraid to challenge our formed notions and does it with a nudge, a wink, or a snooty smirk.

I love the film’s two leads (the aforementioned couple) here. Charlbi Dean, who sadly passed away, gives a haughty yet luminous performance as the girlfriend. And as her lover, Harris Dickinson dampens his good looks to flesh out a more boyish, flustered, and challenged counterpart. Together, they form a crucial anchor for the audience as the movie navigates through a rocky, wild, and ultimately, disastrous journey.

I have mixed reactions on the movie’s last two acts. It has considerable fun and humor. It also keeps tension and suspense to keep the audience on edge. But I don’t know. The major set pieces are so spectacular in theory and the execution is pretty much on point. But Östlund likes to push it beyond and reach some level of absurdity. So I would be thoroughly enjoying a scene, but the scene keeps going and eventually I get sick of it. And then, on its ending, when you want it to be prolonged, it intentionally cuts itself short. I understand the filmmaker’s intentions and sometimes his style does wonder, but I wonder if some judicious editing could have steered this towards greatness.

[6] Avatar: The Way of Water

I’m disappointed in this movie. I guess I should have seen this coming after re-watching the original movie, where years have diminished its spectacle and left me wincing at its storytelling. The sequel is not bad, but it devotes so much to its technical achievement that the story is once again sacrificed.

Pandora’s forests are even sharper and more alive than I remember. And the underwater scenes are stunning to look at. I commend the team for the effort to make them all look realistic. That might the hardest thing it has achieved. But it feels like 85% of it is already designed by God. It’s a Hollywood copycat of the real world. For some reason, seeing the underwater city in “Wakanda Forever” felt grander and more impactful. Because that was a set piece, while Cameron showboats and treats his whole movie like a big set piece. And sorry, despite all the amazing water visuals, I’m afraid the calming scenery of the ocean can be soporific.

As for screenplay, Cameron was able to create more nuances but it’s painfully obvious that he’s a bit stupid in finding the drama. The majority of plot twists and revelations are so ungainly produced to service the plot mechanics. For example, Jake Sully and Neyteri lead quite a diverse family where some are adopted children. But the family dynamics aren’t mined to give a sense of identity. Instead, a daughter who’s feeling like a freak, is not given time to explore herself, but rather give her a certain superpower to make her feel good. And there should be drama on a human son, whose own avatar father takes him captive. Cameron also does weird story gymnastics to bring back Sigourney Weaver and Stephen Lang back into the fold. There are complexities abound, but are explained in snippet excuses, rather fostering these relationships to produce something unique.

What mystifies me is that I have been thoroughly entertained by past James Cameron films – True Lies, Terminator 2, Aliens, and Titanic. The Avatar movies, while still action-packed like its Cameron siblings, lack a certain engaging charm and humor. Still, “Avatar: The Way of Water” is undeniably a visual wonder. A lot of hard work and money spent are evident up on the screen.

[5] Women Talking

Despite the movie looking so dull and saturated (almost black and white-ish), “Women Talking” more than makes up for it with its illuminating and colorful screenplay. I’ve always been a big fan of writer-director Sarah Polley and this one did not disappoint indeed. Her film is about female representatives of a Mennonite community.They discuss their options after several women have been repeatedly abused by men. They are traumatized, brain-washed by elders, and not surprisingly, feeling powerless. While a bulk of the movie is staged like a play, the movie does not feel stationary. The conversations are always moving and hit significant breakthroughs. Sometimes so eruditely stated so. While these domesticated and illiterate women seem unlikely to reach such high ideals, I could not care less. Polley have given them the ability to express themselves so acutely true.

Indeed, crucial to the movie’s sway is that it’s scintillating enough to also spark one’s own discussion in your brain. While our modern civilization is well-aware of today’s feminism, the film is also keen on the Bible’s teachings. I haven’t seen the concept of forgiveness so methodically and spiritually applied. It was so movingly debated. And it was heartbreaking to see such caution and measured approach to love, because it seems to be inseparable from violence. What’s beautiful about the screenplay is not just the poetic intimacy, but also its emotionally mature and astute perception. This is not a movie that squarely puts the blame on men. It is so easy to demand justice and crave for retribution like the #MeToo movement. The women on the film have no such luxury and ironically, might be better for it. They were able to focus on moving forward together, not consumed by traumatic suffering.

The movie has a great ensemble as well. Rooney Mara, Jessie Buckley, and Claire Foy are given the meaty lines. But the supporting cast, especially the elders, are no less affecting and sometimes, even more profound. But the surprise here is Ben Wishaw, as the lone male in the proceedings. He may be the one quietly suffering the most and precariously living through these women’s spiritual freedom. He’s an interesting counterpoint that despite his privileges as a man, he feels incomplete due to the suppression of women.

[4] All Quiet in the Western Front

As a war movie, this is quite grounded and structured. It effectively uses silence not only to build apprehension, but also to meditate dread. Quiet is in the title after all. And this film feels refreshing as well. I have never been exposed to the fine young cast (with the exception of Daniel Bruhl) or the talents behind the camera (mainly, its director Edward Berger). Plus, this might be my first time seeing a war movie this epic from the German side. Nazis have been vilified in movies for so long; it’s nice to cleanse my palate and encounter an achingly human perspective on their side.

The filmmaking is also impressively assured. War movies live by their battlefield sequences and “All Quiet on the Western Front” has one long set piece that is horrifying in its surprises. It’s just nuts to witness soldiers haphazardly scramble to safety. The movie reminded me of “Dunkirk” and “1917” – which are more ambitious and cinematic than this German film. “All Quiet in the Western Front” is more subdued sometimes; it takes its time. It’s so slow that one hour in, I still have not nailed down its main cast of soldiers.

But I love how the movie constructs its story, sneakily assembling themes with effective callbacks of objects or recurring images. And by the time it arrives at its conclusion, the movie has erected a towering, artistic awareness, amidst the chaos we have witnessed. It’s a feat few films can perceptively nail down.

[3] The Banshees of Inisherin

This meditative comedy about a friendship fallout is dramatically weird in itself. But what’s extraordinary about it, despite its specific Irish setting and almost-century-ago period, is how relatable its pulsating themes are. When Colm (Brendan Gleason) decides not to be best friends with Pedraic (Collin Farrell), it sets off a simmering, unrelenting plot line that’s impossible to look away. While we never see two fellas on their days of BFFs and can’t comprehend the depth of their friendship, it is up to the two brilliant actors to convey this mysterious gap.

Writer Mcdonagh is smart to start slow, as he volleys the audience between the couple. This is one of the few pictures here to actually invite engagement, instead of let-me-show-you-what-I-can-do showmanship. Because for much of the movie, I was hopping between characters, pondering what I would do in their shoes. Yes, it’s an easy plot to follow, but it’s the propulsion of hurt feelings, stubbornness, and drunken stupidity that makes the screenplay so adventurous and unpredictable. I think that’s the brilliance of the screenplay, it had concocted a premise so solid that it practically takes care of the later acts. I would’ve liked a punchier, bruising ending to take it to the next level, but nevertheless it is skillfully concluded.

The ensemble is a trooper on this one. With a lot of dialogue and characterization, the actors have nowhere to hide. Collin Farell is so damn adaptable and comfortable in this role. He shows the character’s nice, bleeding heart, but also wonderfully nails the hilarious confusion and fear of Padraic. Even a syllable of “huh” or a quick change of facial expression speaks volume as to how truly funny he is. And Barry Keoghan, in a supporting role, is even funnier role than Farell is. His character can be so daft and unaware, that it echoes back to Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance in “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?” and Tom Hanks’ Forrest Gump. It’s an acting that looks unaffected and true. It takes such a precise modulation on Keoghan’s part to produce that character. I loved it. I would have hung out with him and Padraic. I don’t know what that Colm was thinking. Hehe.

[2] Tar

I mean, the movie is embarrassingly glorious. It’s essentially a vehicle to the talents of Cate Blanchett, who is so commanding and inexplicably gifted on screen. “Tar” is quite a lengthy movie, but it never feels it because it’s hard to look away from Blanchett’s titular role. Her portrayal of Lydia Tar, a world-renown conductor, requires so much form her. She is weaponized by vocabulary and musical jargon. Her constant name-dropping references demonstrate her gargantuan knowledge and echelon. This is a larger than life person – and Blanchett brings her to life with such precision and ferocity.

And when we first see her conduct, she does so in German, because she conducts the Berlin orchestra. Even if Tar has questionable motives and flexes her power to her temperamental desires, Blanchett never fails to keep her compelling. I was thoroughly impressed on one long, uncut scene in the movie. Tar is lecturing students about conducting. She tries to engage in a friendly discussion, but once she senses students are advancing “woke” stance over music itself, she builds on a savage, bullying takedown. It is my favorite scene, not only because Blanchett had the stamina to stay in the character’s fiery, pulsating mindset, but it also zeroes in on the character’s strength and eventual downfall. It is a beauty to behold.

I was riveted by Blanchett’s performance that the direction and screenplay has been merely invisible. But you begin to sense Todd Fields’ maestro work in guiding the movie, right to its rightly absurd ending, which sort-of keeps its story moving in unexpected way. While the movie does not have its own planting-earworm score, the movie wormed itself into my brain because it makes me think and feel. As I’m sure Lydia Tar can attest, cinema too, like music, can express something so deep and special that no other medium can’t.

[1] Top Gun: Maverick

I love how confident this Top Gun sequel is. It doesn’t shy away from its 80s roots. In fact, it is still proudly blaring its “Danger Zone” song. It mimics its predecessor’s rhythms and echoes its spirit, but it is not even close to feeling outdated. It’s not weighted by its glorious past, it somehow soars magnificently because of it.

Tom Cruise has built a career out of Hollywood action movies. But he’s unique in a sense that he’s such a nerd in action stunts. The Mission Impossible franchise has honed his skills with such precise and daring athleticism. And the Top Gun sequel reap its rewards, in all-glorious Tom Cruise peak. It’s one thing to be a Hollywood superstar, but no one can touch him in his action prowess.  Actor tend to get rewarded with awards, demonstrating skills, whether singing and dancing, etc. Here’s a skill hardly anyone else can do and dare I say, it’s a homemade-Hollywood skill. And he’s mature acting is improving as well. It is feeling more grounded and felt.

But the laser focus on Maverick means supporting actors had to shine in limited time. I wish Jennifer Connelly had more weight or consequential to the plot as she was afforded a considerable screen time. As for the other pilots, we’re led to believe they have a strong bond and trust in a matter of days. Only Miles Teller is properly fleshed out and the actor delivers. So that was my only complaint.

This was the second movie I watched of the Oscar bunch. I didn’t expect it to stay on top for so long. As I keep checking off movies on the list, I realized none can quite match the exuberance I’ve felt for the movie. Yes,“Top Gun: Maverick” is expectedly a top-notched action film. But I think about its finale sequence and I feel breathless and thrilled at the thought of it. It had the balls to ramp it up to rousing heights, even when you thought the movie was already concluding. I was also blindsided by the movie’s awareness to its emotional beats. A genuine masculine drama is so hard to pull off, without appearing corny. And “Top Gun: Maverick” has done it and I’m a high-as-a-jet mess for watching.