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There were an unprecedented 450 films released in 1997. Finding the "best" in this intimidating glut of celluloid is like trying to locate baby pigeons: logic dictates that they must exist, but the act of actually cornering one is almost Arthurian. The year in movies had the adrenalized desperation of a billion-dollar game of chicken--a lunatic, 12-month declarative statement punctuated with a Titanic-size exclamation mark. But with all its bombast, '97 was a cinematic symphony noticeably lacking in crescendo and diminuendo, a monotonous tune--in retrospect--about as uplifting as "Auld Lang Syne." There were recurring themes--pornography, satire, Parker Posey, big ships, volcanoes, Burt Reynolds, the '70s, monsters, fetishes, high school reunions, dancing and Henry James--but what does it all mean? Not a whole lot, except maybe that the only sure-fire premise would be a dark parody of disaster movies featuring a turn-of-the-century heiress with a kinky passion for waltzing (Parker Posey) falling for a Victorian pornographer (Burt Reynolds) on a cruise that, after an underwater volcanic eruption, is sent through a whirlpool to an alternate dimension where hideous monsters are having a disco-themed high school reunion. One of the few benefits of compiling a year-end list, though, is that by rifling through past clips, one uncovers previous observations suddenly drenched with irony. For example, my unfortunately portentous review of Chris Farley's last film, Beverly Hills Ninja, ended with these prophetic words: "The sight of the seriously rotund Farley running, falling and howling becomes worrisome. As his health regime is obviously less Jenny Craig and more John Candy, Farley's fans might want to check out Beverly Hills Ninja, despite its many flaws, if only to see him while he's still alive and kicking." Obviously endowed with a profound sixth sense, I offer here some of my predictions for 1998: 1. Clinton will strangle a crippled orphan live on national TV and suffer only a 1 percent dip in his approval rating.
2. Leonardo DiCaprio will sprout small, pouty breasts.
3. Barbra Streisand will rule her own country, located in upstate New York, and it still won't be very good.
4. James Cameron will announce his next project--a real-time history of the world--with a projected budget of $72 trillion.
5. People will continue to foolishly heed the manipulative drivel spewed by psychics. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that the past year was a filmic free-for-all, so the following is simply an informal account of what is either floating at the top or sinking to the bottom of my eggnog-bloated, post-holiday consciousness.
Films Worth Seeing 1. In the Company of Men
Writer-director Neil LaBute's debut is either one of the most lacerating examples of cinematic misogyny ever made, or an insidiously clever piece of concealed male-bashing. But whatever its agenda, this corporate Dangerous Liaisons pounds in your head like an Iron John drum circle as conducted by David Mamet, leaving an aftertaste as cruel as it is funny. 2. When We Were Kings
Floating less like a butterfly, now more like a moth
Ali's wings clipped by time and his sting dulled to soft.
For all of his past bluster, he practiced his preaching He was a king with a conscience, crowned our conscience's king. Now that greed has brought sports down and hardly elevates us When We Were Kings shows how Ali made us once feel "the greatest." 3. The Daytrippers
The perfect independent film. No sweeping assumptions, no over-reaching ambitions, no strained allusions to Scorsese or Tarantino, no numbing assaults of profanity and violence to disguise a lack of genuine inspiration: just a small, melancholy world stretched wide through finely nuanced quirks, warmth, intelligence and an inspired ensemble cast including Parker Posey, Liev Schreiber and Hope Davis. Inside claustrophobic spaces, writer-director Greg Mottola finds little spasms of a family's nerve unraveling, all because of an enigmatic love note that Davis finds dropped from her husband's pants. 4. Good Will Hunting
By dipping into the mainstream without losing his vision in its current, Gus Van Sant bags a winner with Good Will Hunting. It's a sappy feel-good collage of Amadeus, Forest Gump, Cinderella, Dead Poets Society and The Graduate, but in Van Sant's hands it's practically avant-garde. 5.The Sweet Hereafter
A inconsolably grievous film about a bunch of children who die in a bus crash and how the tragedy emotionally ravages a small Canadian town: just in time for Christmas! Filmmaker Atom Egoyan has a knack for meting out painful subject matter in a peculiar way (he is, after all, Canadian), using gorgeous camera work and clever juxtaposition to create a devious distance. Pop a Prozac and experience this elegiac drama: It's hard to watch, but also hard to forget. 6.The People vs. Larry Flynt
Strangely, the most patriotic film of the year centered on a sleazy porn baron who helped fortify free-speech rights as a side effect to his own egomania and parsimony. As a biopic, Milos Forman's portrait of Hustler magazine founder Larry Flynt is as shamelessly airbrushed as a Playboy centerfold. But despite the soft-core treatment, this Porn on the Fourth of July is an exuberant First Amendment rallying cry. See it with someone you'd like to have sex with, photograph the act, distribute copies of the pictures and make a fortune on them while enjoying your right to buck the system. 7. Boogie Nights
27-year-old Paul Thomas Anderson's brilliant porn epic raises such prurient and seemingly limited subject matter as the '70s adult-entertainment industry to brave, often astounding heights. You're as ensnared by the synthetic glamour and coked-out carnality of the '70s as are the characters; they've invited you to a meticulously re-created party that was its own excuse for being. And when that party is over, you're left as hung-over as your suffering host and hostess. 8.Citizen Ruth
The target of Alexander Payne's caustically hilarious feature-film debut is the battle over abortion. Really. Besides making us laugh so hard we'd probably miscarry anyway, he proves that satire can reveal delicate shades of gray in issues that drama would slather with simpleminded stereotype. What's next for Payne: a Broadway musical about doctor-assisted suicide? 9. Waiting for Guffman
Blaine, Mo., wants to celebrate its 150th anniversary with a musical history of the town, entitled "Red, White and Blaine." Christopher Guest, Eugene Levy, Fred Willard and the irrepressible Parker Posey flesh out this slight Spinal Tap-esque mockumentary into a riotous romp. Sight gags such as My Dinner with Andre action figures and a Remains of the Day lunch box provide the biggest laughs of the year. 10. Deconstructing Harry
There's so much festering bile gushing out of this surprisingly profane and riotously funny Woody Allen film that it doesn't seem to have been created so much as lanced. It's Allen's funniest movie in years: Who could resist a film whose unofficial tag line is "You meshugana cunt!"? (Unless, of course, you are one).
Films That Are So Bad It's Almost
But Not Quite Funny 1. Kicked in the Head
James Woods, Linda Fiorentino and Lili Taylor must have been. 2. Spawn
A computer-enhanced migraine in which Hell is a screen saver ruled by a computer-generated sock puppet. 3. Batman and Robin
If there ever is another Batman movie--which is doubtful--it should be titled Batman vs. Joel Schumacher, because the director has proven to be the cowled crusader's most formidable foe yet. 4. Eight Heads in a Duffel Bag
Let's hope those eight heads belong to the studio executives responsible for this. 5. Father's Day
This Billy Crystal and Robin Williams "comedy" is an excruciating call for patricide. 6. Vegas Vacation
Up next (we hope): Sarajevo Vacation. 7. The Shadow Conspiracy
Charlie Sheen is the only thing keeping the very foundation of our government from crumbling. Time to update that visa. 8. That Old Feeling
I get that old feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever a new Bette Midler movie comes out: It's called nausea. 9. Larger than Life
Try Laughless as Hell. 10.Brassed Off
Imagine if Mr. Holland had black lung disease and his opus involved the dispirited toots of coal miners faced with impending unemployment.
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