The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: Are You There, God? It's 'Peter Pan & Wendy'

Very much enjoyed discussing the delightful Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret on the podcast. We both lamented the misfire that is Peter Pan & Wendy. And Will has finally had a chance to catch Kelly Reichardt's latest, so we also discussed Showing Up. Hear the whole thing down below.

Best of 2021: The Top 10 Movies of the Year

Back before Louis C.K.'s disturbing history of sexual misconduct came to light, there was a bit he used to do that I really loved. He would talk about the perils of turning 40 and the physical changes he was going through — including dealing with a bum ankle that had been bothering him lately. He went to see a doctor, who informed him he'd need to take Aleve or stretch to mitigate the pain. But there was no "fixing" the ailment: As the doctor explained to him about his suggested workarounds, "That's just a new thing you do until you and your shitty ankle both die." The whole point of the bit was the comedian's realization that he'd reached an age where he'd just have to learn to live with undesirable realities. He was now always going to have a shitty ankle, and there was nothing he could do about it. That's just the way life works.

I'm well into my 40s, and I've experienced a few versions of the "shitty ankle" as I get older — my eyesight isn't as sharp, I don't sleep as well as I used to — and each time one of these developments enters my life, I think of that old bit. There's no cure for these hindrances — I just learn the new thing I have to do to tackle the problem.

We've now endured two years of a pandemic, and so much of life these days seems like that metaphorical shitty ankle, requiring us to make the best of a not-ideal situation. In early 2021, it was tempting to get excited about the news that vaccines were on the way — a miracle, truly — and to hope that, finger snap, life would suddenly get back to normal. But that hasn't proved true: While much of our old lives has returned, Covid and its different variants have been persistent in dictating what reality will look like. Similar to the shitty ankle, it's not going away — at least not for a good long while — and we've all had to cope. 

Not unlike 9/11, your relationship with the pandemic has probably been profoundly informed by your age at this moment. The 2001 terror attacks and their aftermath occurred in my late 20s and, coupled with some personal stuff I was dealing with, helped shape my not-yet-30 view of my emotionally undeveloped self. (My inner turmoil was reflected in the unspeakable tragedy happening outside my little world.) In the same way, Covid has been merely the most overt manifestation of the strange transition into middle age that I've been experiencing lately. Whether it's Trump's rise to power or a general sense that the country is teetering on the edge of catastrophe — Biden's victory last year has mostly seemed like a brief respite, not a cure — everything around me feels less certain than it ever has. (I often think I don't have to worry about having a midlife crisis since there are enough real-world crises to distract me.) And even though I've been fortunate not to have faced much death personally because of Covid, the last two years have only thrown into sharper relief my anxiety about losing those closest to me. Everyone I care about is vaccinated, thank god, but the pandemic has been a reminder of how fragile life can be.

More and more, I have to make peace with having a shitty ankle — all those things I can't control or make better, all the worries that take up permanent residence in my head. (Come to think of it, Louis C.K.'s bit is itself a shitty ankle: Every time his standup segment enters my mind now, I'm reacquainted with my disappointment and anger over what he did in real life.) Best as I can figure, you don't ever conquer these things — you just make room for them, accepting them as part of being alive. 

And then you remember to be grateful. You think about the fact that your parents are still here and in good health. You think about your sister and her husband and their kids. You think about your friends, the people who really know you. You think about your wife's family — they're all good, too. And then you think about your wife a little longer than all the others. You think about being married for 15 years and how it feels like it's flown by and also been so substantial. You remember that you're lucky and that everybody has a shitty ankle. A limp isn't the worst thing in the world. 

* * * * *

Without further ado, let's get to my Top 10 list...

1. Petite Maman
2. Memoria
3. Passing 
4. The Worst Person in the World 
5. Summer of Soul 
6. Red Rocket 
7. Dune 
8. The Green Knight
9. Test Pattern 
10. Days

And because it was such a strong year, here's a salute to the films that just missed the cut: From 11-15, they're C’mon C’mon, Licorice Pizza, The Lost Daughter, About Endlessness and Drive My Car. International cinema dominated 2021, with four of my Top 15 premiering at Cannes, although you may notice those rankings have shifted over the last five months. And it was an exceptional year for Neon, which distributed three of my four favorite films of 2021. (If you're looking for an easy way to see the films on my list, may I suggest JustWatch, a very helpful guide to what's streaming where.)

By the way, if you've read my end-of-the-year list over at Screen International, you'll notice it's slightly different. For Screen, we only count 2021 premieres — so pictures like Test Pattern and Days (which both started screening prior to this year) don't count — and documentaries are separate from features. Even so, some movies have moved up or down on my list since I submitted my Screen ballot. What can I say: There was too much good stuff this year, and it made putting together a Top 10 delightfully torturous.  

* * * * *

It's hard to know what the future holds for either my industry or the film business in general. But it sure was great being back at Cannes, and back in regular movie theaters here in America. I took Susan to see Dune opening night after having seen it once already in advance of its Venice premiere, and I enjoyed the film even more the second time, jazzed by sharing such a big-screen film with a huge crowd. Nothing beats that.

As for my own work, I kept busy, which makes me happy. I remain your loyal Senior U.S. Critic over at Screen, where I felt honored to write the Memoria review out of Cannes. As for MEL, we had a brief (and unexpected) hiatus during the summer, but we're back and better than ever. I got to start moderating Q&As in person again — boy, how I'd missed that — and, unbelievably, I did my fourth interview with Spike Lee, this time while he and I walked around his exhibit at the Academy Museum. That was for Rolling Stone, where I also got to talk to Riz Ahmed about his music career and how it feeds into his film career. For GQ, I wrote about John Lennon and Harrison Ford. Over at InsideHook, I discussed Bob Dylan's singing voice and interviewed Victor Kossakovsky about Gunda. And my seventh book, This Is How You Make a Movie, came out in March. (Thanks to the podcasters who had me on to talk about it.) I was once again part of the Gotham Awards nominating committee, I showed up on KCRW a bunch, and the Grierson & Leitch podcast continues to roll along. Like I said, it was a busy year.

But perhaps my favorite piece of writing in 2021 was never published. My parents celebrated their 50th anniversary this year, and as a joke I thought, "Wouldn't it be funny if I put together an oral history of their wedding?" Soon, the joke became serious as I clandestinely interviewed their friends and relatives to hear their stories, many of which were new to me, and I learned a lot about these two people who raised me. (As a friend of mine put it, "It's like you're writing your own origin story.") I surprised my mom and dad with what turned out to be an 8,300-word piece. I printed only two copies, one for each of them. I think they got a kick out of it. Man, 50 years — that's really something.

Happy 2022. When Petite Maman opens, I hope you check it out. It's a special little movie, and at least one thing to look forward to in the new year.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: 'The Green Knight,' 'Stillwater' and 'Jungle Cruise'

Going into this week's episode, I wondered if we would differ on the new movies from Matt Damon and Dwayne Johnson. Turns out, we are exactly aligned. In fact, we see eye-to-eye on all three films. Enjoy us being right down below.

'The Green Knight' Review

The Green Knight has been a movie I've been curious to see since early 2020, when it was expected to play at SXSW. Well, the wait is over: My review is up at Screen International.

Cannes 2021: 'The Year of the Everlasting Storm' Review

Anthology films are often a mixed bag, but the seven shorts included in The Year of the Everlasting Storm are uniformly strong. It helps when you have directors like Jafar Panahi, Laura Poitras, David Lowery and Apichatpong Weerasethakul involved. Each of them tackles the pandemic in their own inimitable ways. Here's my Screen International review.

Five Replacements for 'The Green Knight'

David Lowery's latest was supposed to come out last Friday. The pandemic changed that. For Vulture, we offer some alternatives worth streaming, including his terrific A Ghost Story. Here's the list.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: 'Night School,' 'Hold the Dark' and 'The Old Man & the Gun'

On this week's episode, we set aside Reboots to review three new movies. It was nice to go this long on Hold the Dark in particular. Check out the whole thing down below.

Toronto 2018: 'The Old Man & the Gun' Review

The Old Man & the Gun might seem like an odd follow-up to David Lowery's terrific A Ghost Story. But to me, they're both about the same thing: the need to find meaning in one's life. Also, Robert Redford is really good in it. My review is up at Screen International.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: Our Top 10 Films of 2017

Right before the New Year, Will and I recorded our 100th episode of the podcast. Over the course of about 150 minutes, we dig into our Top 10 lists for 2017. (Hint: We have four movies in common.) You can hear the whole thing below.

Best of 2017: The Top 10 Movies of the Year

On August 8, I went to a screening of Tulip Fever. This wasn't a particularly momentous occurrence. The movie had been long delayed, and the assumption was that, despite its Oscar-winning cast, the film was a dog. Plus, there was the fact that Tulip Fever's distributor, the Weinstein Company, was beset with financial issues. For months, rumors had circulated that the company was on its last legs. ("They can't even afford to promote their movies," someone told me, which perhaps explained why they'd been dumping their recent films without much publicity.) So when I went to the Weinstein offices, I wasn't expecting much.

When I got there, I decided I should probably use the restroom before the movie started. As I walked to the door of the men's room, though, I realized it had a code-lock on it. And then the second thing I realized was that a burly man had just come out of a side office at that exact same moment and was moving to the bathroom door just as I was.

This was how I met Harvey Weinstein.

Ordinarily, when two people are both reaching for the same bathroom door handle, it can be a little awkward. But when one of them is a major movie mogul and the other is some guy who's just there to review one of his movies, the awkwardness is more pronounced. Before I could do anything, however, he said in a rather friendly manner, "Oh, let me get that for you," punching in the code. I can't remember if I opened the door for him or vice versa. I can't remember if I walked in first. All I recall thinking is, "It's incredibly weird to be going into a small office bathroom with Harvey freaking Weinstein." And then I went into a stall and waited until he left to exit the bathroom.

For a month or so afterward, I would occasionally tell people this deeply benign anecdote. I had heard stories about what a monster Weinstein was — terrible on employees, bullying to his directors, and pretty sketchy when trying to seduce actresses into sleeping with him — but it always felt par-for-the-course for a Hollywood big shot. Basically, they're all awful, and seemingly nothing we could ever learn about their deplorable behavior would be surprising. If anything, running into Weinstein on the way to the bathroom kinda humanized him. Even nightmarish individuals have to use the facilities from time to time.

* * * * *

On October 5, The New York Times dropped its bombshell piece about Weinstein's history of sexual harassment and assault. It cannot be overstated how fundamentally different Hollywood was after that Times piece was published. It was all anyone could talk about at screenings or on Twitter. But the tone of these conversations wasn't euphoric or dishy, which is often the case with big celebrity exposés. There was no giddy schadenfreude. It was like the air had been sucked out of every room around town. The revelations were so horrendous and upsetting that people were shell-shocked. And it had been happening under our noses all along.

Then the wave started of accusations against other powerful men, the articles coming relentlessly one after another, each of them horrifying and depressing in their own way — including about artists I'd admired, like Louis C.K. After that came the personal stories from female friends and colleagues who, for years, had kept quiet about their own experiences of sexual harassment and assault — not at the hands of Harvey Weinstein himself, but of all the Weinsteins out there in the world. I knew Weinstein was a bad guy, but I had no idea just how horrible — or just how many other powerful people had behaved in similar ways. Likewise, I wasn't aware of all the pain that people around me had been silently carrying for so long.

2017 was always going to be a terrible year. Trump's election guaranteed that. But the Weinstein wave was blindsiding, prompting intense, difficult soul-searching. I've tried to live my life as a sensitive, caring, thoughtful person, but the Weinstein revelations fundamentally challenged my perception of myself. If I had been unaware of all this misery — or, in the case of the Louis C.K. allegations, hoped the years of rumors were magically somehow not true — how could I possibly consider myself enlightened or evolved? Every time I'd read a raw, emotional account from someone who had endured toxic masculinity — I highly recommend my MEL colleague Alana Hope Levinson's great recent essay — I would just feel so angry and ashamed all over again, upset that I hadn't been as helpful or compassionate or empathetic as I could have.

I have always believed that part of the job of being a critic is to do a regular inventory with myself, analyzing my reactions to the movies I see and write about. Why do I respond to this kind of film so profoundly? Why does that sort of storyline always leave me a bit cold? Is it morally justifiable to separate the art from the artist — a policy I've never questioned until this year? I think of all this as routine maintenance. I always find it funny when people tell me that they'd like to see me write more personal stuff. I feel like every review I write is something personal — it's my way of communicating with other people about what I feel and how I see the world. And so to understand if a movie is working or not, I need to understand myself and how I work — and be aware of my blind spots. That inventory was harder and more painful this year than any in memory. It's an ongoing process — not just at the movies but in real life.

* * * * *

So, with all that said, let's actually get to the movies. I didn't think 2017 was as strong a film year as the last couple, but these were its highlights...

1. Dunkirk

2. Call Me by Your Name

3. Personal Shopper

4. A Ghost Story

5. Loveless

6. Phantom Thread

7. Good Time

8. mother!

9. The Lost City of Z

10. Graduation

Will Leitch and I discussed our picks at length on this week's podcast. No documentaries made my Top 10, but that does nothing to diminish my affection for The Work (No. 12), Rat Film (No. 14) and In Transit (No. 18), all of which were little-seen and deserving of bigger audiences. And I ultimately decided not to include World of Tomorrow Episode Two, although it's absolutely astounding and a worthy sequel to what was an incredible first installment.

* * * * *

Professionally, 2017 had many bright spots. As usual, I had a blast writing for Rolling Stone, where my editors kept me busy with some fantastic assignments. I'm eternally grateful to Christopher R. Weingarten, who suggested I profile Adam Grandmaison, better known as Adam22, who has become a tastemaker in the world of underground hip-hop. Adam and I spent two days together, and out of it came this really fun piece. But my main man remains David Fear, who's a terrific writer and supportive soul who hooked me up with some of my most enjoyable interview subjects of 2017. I chatted with Spike Lee about his Netflix series She's Gotta Have It, spent some time with the team behind Call Me by Your Name, sat down with the Safdie brothers and Robert Pattinson for Good Time, chatted with Errol Morris (who also had questions for me) about Wormwood, talked to director Julia Ducournau about Raw, and interviewed Raoul Peck about his exceptional documentary I Am Not Your Negro. I write so many pieces for Rolling Stone that I'm proud of, so it's hard to narrow down my favorites. But I have to mention my appreciation of Jerry Lewis in The King of Comedy, which was written the day of his passing. I also liked my essay on Wonder Woman and its heroine's battle against sexism. And Jonathan Demme's death in April gave me an excuse to herald him as the greatest concert filmmaker ever.

I've been reviewing for Screen International for 12 years now. I can't believe it, either. I'm so grateful to my editor Finn Halligan, who is a delightful presence in my life and a pleasure to hang out with at festivals. For Screen, I attend Sundance, Cannes and Toronto every year, becoming part of a community of writers and critics that feel a bit like a family of fellow travelers. And, of course, True/False is also such fun. In terms of pieces I most enjoy writing, my extensive rundown of True/False, which I always do for Paste, is a labor of love that means a lot to me. That was especially true in 2017 because I used the festival and its films as a way of grappling with what I was feeling in the wake of Trump's victory. It was no accident that my Paste missive was titled "Take Care of Each Other": With that cretin in power, it's a reminder we all need.

Speaking of Paste, Michael Burgin continues to be the film section's steady hand, and I so appreciate his careful eye. Will came aboard this year, so now we're both reviewing films for the site. And our weekly podcast recently reached its 100th episode. It is a wonderful excuse to talk to my dear old friend all the time. (And we have such fun writing for Vulture and SyFy together.)

In a couple months, my regular contribution to Popular Mechanics, steering their annual Incredibly Special Effects Awards issue, will be out on newsstands. This year, I have interviews with the creative teams behind Blade Runner 2049 (No. 16), A Ghost Story and Wonder Woman, among others. As always, the issue looks great, and my editor Peter Martin does a fabulous job putting it all together. 

And truly, I cannot say enough about the team at MEL and my editor Josh Schollmeyer. He and I have worked together since he was over at Playboy, brainstorming how to reinvent the idea of a men's magazine for the 21st century. MEL is the product of a lot of great writers and editors, but the vision is Josh's, and I'm incredibly proud to have been on that journey from the beginning. And I love all the strange avenues I travel down for stories that he or I think up. I got to interview brilliant baseball mind (and pop-culture maven) Keith Law, explore the history of Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS, put together an oral history of Wedding Crashers, and dig into how wonderful Chris Pine is in Wonder Woman. But among the things I'm proudest about with MEL is how we've really explored all corners of the cinematic map, especially focusing on documentaries and indies. Interviewing the directors of The Work, Casting JonBenet (No. 22) and The Force was a welcome opportunity to give smart filmmakers a chance to expound on their movies' themes in ways you don't often seen in entertainment journalism. I can't wait to see what MEL does in 2018.

In March, I was inducted into the National Society of Film Critics, an organization that I've long admired. Months later, I remain floored, honored and humbled to join its membership. My first vote takes place January 6. I couldn't be more excited.

* * * * *

On a personal level, 2017 was the year I underwent vocal-cord surgery. I can never remember if, technically, it was a polyp or a nodule that was removed. But the voice problems I'd been suffering since August 2016 were finally taken care of in March this year, requiring me to be on vocal rest for a few weeks. It is frightening to be unable to talk. My wife was even more loving than usual during the ordeal, but I never felt lonelier. However, it was also an opportunity to reconsider my "voice": how it interacts with the world, and how one's essence is not necessarily tied to the things we say. Maybe one's voice is something more than that. Regardless, I am forever indebted to Dr. Mani Zadeh, who took such good care of me. (Plus, he's a film buff, always eager to chat about what he or I had seen recently. Running into him at the Rogue One premiere is probably the most L.A. moment of my life.) And I'm grateful to my speech therapists, who coached me on how to use my voice better and, perhaps even more meaningfully, how to think about the act of communicating in ways I never had before.

This past year, I also did something I never have before: I participated in organized protests. I missed the Women's March because of Sundance, but after seeing the pictures from around the country of the event — and seeing how much it affected my wife, who was at the L.A. march — I decided I was going to push out of my comfort zone and start attending rallies. I wasn't sure what these marches would do for me, but I was amazed how much they lifted my spirits. Part of it was the physical exercise. Simply moving and chanting gets the blood pumping; it makes you feel like you're doing something productive. But it also made me feel less alone in my Trump misery. That might seem odd since I live in the liberal hotbed of Los Angeles, but being around a bunch of strangers who felt the same way about this president gave me hope.

I know some people scoff at rallies or find the whole thing too performative. All I can say is that it helped me enormously. It's OK to be fooled into the belief that a bunch of people joined in a demonstration of resistance can make a difference. Before actual change happens, you have to believe it's possible. As I look back on 2017 — the Weinstein revelations, movies, Trump, my own experiences — I'd like to think that I was engaged in life and trying my best to make sense of it all. I grew, and I know I have more growing to do. Actually, I can't imagine a more hopeful notion going into 2018: the belief that personal growth is important because there's still a better world out there worth fighting for.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: Spider-Man, 'A Ghost Story' and 'Magnolia'

We had three big movies to discuss on this week's podcast. First, we dive into Spider-Man: Homecoming. (One of us likes it far more than the other.) Then, we both go gaga for A Ghost Story. Finally, it's time for our Reboot segment: Has Mangolia held up? That turned into a conversation about Paul Thomas Anderson in general -- someone I always enjoy discussing. You can hear the whole thing here.

In Praise of 'A Ghost Story'

I flipped for A Ghost Story earlier this year. Now that it opens Friday, I sing its praises again over at MEL, where I talk about how the movie makes the afterlife seem like the most horrifying thing imaginable. You can read my piece here.

Sundance 2017: 'A Ghost Story' Review

A haunted-house love story told with stripped-down realism, A Ghost Story is really something. The new film from writer-director David Lowery is his strongest work yet, chronicling what happens when a husband (Case Affleck) dies but can't let go of his wife (Rooney Mara). I'm still thinking about the pie scene. You can read my review over at Screen International.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: The Movie Review Lightning Round

In this week's episode of the Grierson & Leitch podcast, Will and I go through a ton of movies in a short time. So, if you'd like reviews of Pete's Dragon, Sausage Party, Florence Foster Jenkins, Hell or High Water, Blood Father and Spaceman, you've come to the right place. And in our Reboot section, we go back to 1954 and Rear Window. Check it all out here.

'Press Play With Madeleine Brand': Meryl, Dragons, Animated Food and 'Hell or High Water'

The lovely Barbara Bogaev filled in for Madeleine yesterday on Press Play, and Grae Drake and I had a fine time discussing Sausage Party, Florence Foster Jenkins, Pete's Dragon and Hell or High Water. You can hear our segment here.

'Pete's Dragon' Review

For Screen International, I reviewed Pete's Dragon, a remake of the 1977 Disney movie that isn't exactly a beloved classic. This one is gentle, modest and very touching. You can check out my thoughts here.

Sundance 2013 Review: 'Ain't Them Bodies Saints'

Ain't Them Bodies Saints is part of Sundance's U.S. Dramatic Competition, and if the jury decides to give out a prize for Best Terrence Malick Impression, this movie will win hands down. At first, writer-director David Lowery's appropriation of Malick's poetic style feels derivative, but as the film went along, well, I succumbed to Ain't Them's genuine beauty. I reviewed the film for Screen International.