During the recent media barrage following the annual 9/11 anniversary, I was reminded of the Matt Reeves and J.J. Abrams’ giant monster movie Cloverfield (2008). I’ve seen Cloverfield twice since my first viewing and it remains one of my favorite horror films of the last decade.
When the movie was originally released it created a mild media controversy after many critics berated the film for being insensitive to 9/11 victims and the events that scarred a nation. People also seemed to enjoy spending a ridiculous amount of time pointing out the improbabilities of this giant monster movie as if they were critiquing a documentary. I think those kinds of criticisms of a fantasy thriller are fascinating and pointless, but they’re also a credit to the director who managed to give the film an incredibly authentic look and feel.
At the time I was bothered by a lot of the negative criticism the film was receiving and I wrote a lengthy defensive of it that you can still read here. Since the film’s initial release it has gotten more critical respect and I suspect that will only continue over time.

David Lynch’s Mulholland Dr. has been over analyzed and written about ad nauseam since it’s 2001 debut that I’m hesitant to add to the cacophony of noise surrounding the film. But I will mention that it is one of my favorite films of the last 10 years and it’s also the movie that brought me back to Lynch since I had lost interest in his work after Wild at Heart (1990) and Twin Peaks (1990-91). For one reason or another I didn’t get around to seeing The Straight Story (1999) and Lost Highway (1997) until long after their release, but Mulholland Dr. remains one of my favorite David Lynch films along with The Elephant Man (1980) and Blue Velvet (1986).








Part horror film, part fairytale and pure allegory. Nothing in Lucile Hadzihalilovic’s 2004 film is as it seems. Much like her artistic partner, filmmaker Gaspar Noé, Hadzihalilovic is obviously interested in making films that push past expectations and delve into the unconscious mind. Innocence isn’t simply a film about what’s on the screen. It is a film that reflects what the audience chooses to see when they watch it. The movie takes place in the dream-like surroundings of a gated school for young women where imagery is much more important than story. Characters speak very little and what they do say is often less important than what they don’t say.
Throughout Innocence Lucile Hadzihalilovic’s direction is flawless and once you’ve entered the world she’s created it’s impossible to forget it. Much like Peter Weir’s excellent 1975 film Picnic at Hanging Rock, Innocence uses the sterile and beautiful world of a girl’s boarding school as a backdrop for exploring ideas about society, power, control and gender. How we respond to these films often illustrates the way in which we see the world. But there’s no denying that Innocence is a film intended to shake up its audience and make them think. At times watching Innocence is an uncomfortable experience and it should make viewers squirm. It’s a horror film without shocks. It’s a fairytale for adults. Innocence is anything but forgettable entertainment. It will crawl under your skin and stick there.

Hilarious, smart and extremely relevant. Shaun of the Dead (2004) is one of my favorite comedies of the last decade. Before I saw the film I thought zombie comedy had been played out, but Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg proved me wrong. The film has been written about a lot and I don’t think I have much to add to what’s already been said, but I will say that if you haven’t had the opportunity to see Shaun of the Dead yet do yourself a favor and give it a look. It should be available from most DVD sellers and renters.

Modern Mondays is an ongoing project here at Cinebeats where I share a few thoughts or lengthy rants and raves about my favorite films produced during the last decade. Films previously mentioned on Modern Mondays include:
- The Left Bank (2008)
- Love Songs (2007)
- Bright Future (2003)
- Control (2007)
- The Quiet American (2001)
- A History of Violence (2005)
- This Is England (2007)

As someone who came of age during the ’80s, I’ve become increasingly disturbed by the critical response to director John Hughes’ recent death. Over and over again I’ve been told that he was “the voice” of my generation and that he “defined the ’80s.” And instead of pointing out the crass commercialism that made up the man’s entire film career, The New York Times has let A.O. Scott proclaim that John Hughes was “our Godard.”
John Hughes may have been many things to many people, but there’s just no denying that as a director his career had a hell of a lot more in common with Michael Bay than Jean-Luc Godard. How any film critic who writes for the New York Times could call Hughes our generation’s Godard and get paid for it is beyond my comprehension. And as someone who was a teenager in the ’80s, I also find it deeply sad and frustrating.
I’m unabashedly naive and extremely sentimental when it comes to my childhood in the 1970s, but the 1980s ignites a different kind of nostalgia in me. It’s an unpleasant nostalgia that took shape while my innocence was melting away and my teenage hormones were raging. That teenage rage has carried into adulthood and occasionally manifests into fits of anger like the one you’re about to read.
It’s important to note that I’m not angry at John Hughes the man or the people who enjoy his films. I’m angry at the absurd critical response to the director’s death and I blame a culture that conveniently forgets facts in order to build critical arguments. If the cultural pundits and film critics are to be believed, an entire generation bought what John Hughes was selling them. But the truth is much more complex than that.
Hughes made films for mainstream America that resembled the Gidget movies of the late 1950s and early ‘60s. As a rebellious teenager I absolutely hated Hughes’ films. Hughes’ simplistic, Reagan-fueled, whitewashed, upper middle-class view of the world reflected everything that was loathsome about the ’80s in my mind. Hughes was a conservative baby boomer and a yuppie that spoon-feed my generation - so-called Generation X - the worst kind of ’50s nostalgia imaginable in order to make a buck. His films didn’t speak to me at all since I had much more in common with James Dean than Gidget. And John Hughes was no Nicholas Ray.
I’m told in countless obits written about John Hughes that some segment of ’80s youth culture found comfort in the way that his movies portrayed teenagers as well as outsiders and malcontents. But if you were actually questioning authority during the ’80s it was impossible to identify with any of the faux rebellion found in Hughes’ movies. The man preached conformity over and over again. The so-called “outsiders” in Hughes’ films rejected other teens like themselves so they could date popular jocks or beauty queens. In other words, if you followed the social rules laid out by John Hughes you’d get a “hot date” for the school prom and be “accepted” into Reagan’s America. Reality check; the real teenage rebels and outsiders didn’t go to school proms in the ’80s. They also skipped detention.


It seems like everywhere I turn someone is talking or writing about the recent Comic Book Convention that is held in San Diego every year. It used to be an event only attended by comic book fans and various industry insiders, but it has exploded into some kind of massive media event attended by anyone and everyone. When did comic books become so acceptable? I suppose it was the onslaught of popular comic book films in recent years that has made the general public and every working film critic take notice. As someone who worked in a comic book shop throughout most of the 1990s for minimum wage, I find this sudden interest in the events at Comic-Con extremely amusing. It’s also great for the business, which has struggled to gain legitimacy for years. Comic books are now making a lot of people a lot of money. And money makes critics and cultural pundits take notice.
One of my favorite comic-to-film adaptations in the last 10 years is David Cronenberg’s 2005 film A History of Violence, which was based on a little known comic collection or “graphic novel” published by DC Comics under their Paradox Press banner. The comic book was written by John Wagner and illustrated by one of my favorite working comic book artists, Vince Locke (Deadworld, American Freak: A Tale of the Un-Men, etc). Although Cronenberg’s film received an Academy Award nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, few people seem aware of the fact that this critically acclaimed film was based on a comic book.
Since I’m still running on limited free time I decided to share a few choice quotes from one of my favorite reviews of A History of Violence that was written by one of my favorite authors, the late great J. G. Ballard. Ballard is a brilliant writer and he worked with David Cronenberg on the film adaptation of his own novel Crash (1996). In Ballard’s excellent review of the film he sums up exactly why A History of Violence is such a great film and one of my favorite movies of the last decade. What follows are a few choice excerpts from Ballard’s review.


A day late, a bit slime on content, but not forgotten…
Since the death of Robert McNamara last week I’ve been thinking a lot about the man who was often called the “Architect of the Vietnam War.” And I was reminded of one of my favorite films of the last decade that explored the American involvement that led to the war in Vietnam, Phillip Noyce’s excellent 2001 adaptation of Graham Greene classic novel The Quiet American.
Phillip Noyce isn’t a director who I’m particularly fond of. I’ve sat though five or six of his films, but the only two that left any kind of impression on me were his terrific thriller Dead Calm (1989) and The Quiet American. Joseph L. Mankiewicz was the first director to turn Graham Greene’s novel into a film, but Phillip Noyce’s 2001 remake of The Quiet American is not only a better movie than the original, but I also think it’s one of the best adaptations of Graham Greene’s work that I’ve seen.
The film stars Michael Caine in what is arguably one of his finest roles. In the film Caine plays a married British journalist named Thomas Fowler who is living in Vietnam and having an affair with a young Vietnamese woman called Phuong (Do Thi Hai Yen). After Thomas meets an idealistic American by the name of Alden Pyle (Brendan Fraser) and introduces him to Phoung, the stage is set for a complicated love triangle that plays out against the backdrop of the escalating political situation in Vietnam. The plot may sound a bit dry, but The Quiet American is actually a very suspenseful film that is filled with political intrigue and beautifully shot by the incredibly talented cinematographer Christopher Doyle.
Miramax shelved the film for more than a year because producers were concerned that it would be seen as anti-American after the terrorist attacks on September 11th. Thankfully Michael Caine was able to persuade the studio to screen the film at the 2002 Toronto International Film Festival where it received great reviews and afterward it was finally released into theaters. The film went on to win many awards and Michael Caine was even nominated for an Oscar for his performance. If you haven’t had an opportunity to see the film yet, now might be an appropriate time.




