Continuing on from yesterday’s post, here are a few more films that didn’t quite make the cut for my Top Ten of the Decade.

“Le Fils” (“The Son”) and “L’Enfant” (“The Child”): As the Dardenne brothers’ bleak, unadorned style spreads around the world — I thought Darren Aronofsky used it rather well in “The Wrestler” — it’s worth going back to the source to see what real emotional understatement looks like.

“George Washington”: David Gordon Green hasn’t really lived up to the promise he showed in his terrific debut; “All the Real Girls” is very good, but then it all goes to hell. That said, “George Washington” still stands as a film of tremendous, understated gravity — a piece of American Gothic that seems to point the way towards the revelations of post-Katrina New Orleans.

“Hellboy”: For all the praise heaped on “Pan’s Labyrinth”, I rather prefer Guillermo del Toro in full-on pulp mode; he brings a bruised charm to Mike Mignola’s comic-book universe that makes it feel fantastic, believable and strangely cozy. And, of course, Ron Perlman gives the performance of his career as Big Red.

“The Host”: More monster action, orchestrated by Bong Joon-ho with a kind of flat realism that makes the violent imposition of the unnatural into the lives of a squabbling family of Seoul underachievers all the more horrific. You can enjoy it for the social satire and the political subtext, or you can just luxuriate in the Godzilla movie you’ve always hoped to see.

“Hunger”: A meditation on martyrdom, righteous anger and institutional memory, Steve McQueen’s stunning, impressionistic look at the Maze Prison hunger strike was the most audacious directorial debut of the decade. I eagerly await the Criterion Blu-ray, even if I have to import the damn thing.

“Infernal Affairs” and “The Departed”: The former is a underworld thriller without an ounce of fat on its bones; the latter expands and personalizes Alan Mak and Felix Chong’s complex screenplay into a thrilling example of Martin Scorsese at his go-for-broke best. And even if you’ve seen one of them, the other still offers pleasures and surprises.

“L’Intrus” (“The Intruder”): The events depicted in Claire Denis’ fascinating, elliptical drama could be interpreted in a dozen different ways — and I have a sense that any of those interpretations would be just as valid as the rest. Whatever’s going on, though, it’s compelling, unsettling and strangely resonant.

“Kill Bill, Vol. 1” and “Kill Bill, Vol. 2”: The first half plays like a (mostly) live-action manga; the second, a dusty Western. Together, they’re Quentin Tarantino at his pop-art finest, a four-and-a-half hour epic in which he re-creates every single thing he loves about 1970s grindhouse movies … and Uma Thurman’s awesome performance makes it all mean something.

“King Kong”: Peter Jackson’s gargantuan remake never really tries to be its own entity; instead, it’s a love song to the stop-motion epic that made Jackson fall in love with cinema. Every scene plays like a rhapsody — yes, even in the first hour — and that central sequence where Kong and Ann get to know one another is as vivid and thrilling as anything Jackson’s ever done.

“Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang”: Robert Downey, Jr. started his return to glory with a plum role in Shane Black’s nimble, only-half-kidding action mystery — though it took a while for people to notice. I’m still not sure how Val Kilmer failed to make his own comeback; he’s at least as good as Downey, in a part that’s even more memorable.

… wow, that’s another thirteen titles. More tomorrow!

When I put together my list of the decade’s best films for NOW a couple of weeks back, I alluded to having culled the top ten from a much larger list. Over the next few days, we’ll be looking at the runners-up, a few at a time. Think of these posts as further suggestions for your home viewing in 2010.

“Almost Famous”: Kate Hudson’s only great performance, the best use to date of Zooey Deschanel, master-class work from Philip Seymour Hoffman … and those are the supporting performances. The star, of course, is writer-director Cameron Crowe — and the adulation he received for this tender cinematic memoir derailed his career by making him think all of his movies should be about his record collection.

“Amelie”: Just sweet enough to go down clean; just melancholy enough to stick with you the next day. Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s delightful romantic fantasy introduced us to the wide-eyed wonder of Audrey Tautou … and to the CG post-production toolbox upon which all 21st century filmmakers would come to rely.

“Belleville Rendez-vous” (“The Triplets of Belleville”): Sylvan Chomet’s wondrous animated geegaw features magificently demented images, the decade’s best cartoon dog — sorry, Dug, but Bruno’s wordlessness is even more of a triumph — and a virtuoso’s comic timing. Plus, it’s got heart by the barrelful: That final dialogue exchange shouldn’t make me cry, but it always does.

“Capturing the Friedmans”: Andrew Jarecki’s incredible documentary was the result of a happy accident; while preparing a film about children’s party clowns, he stumbled upon a subject with a story greater and sadder than anyone should ever carry. And it only gets more complicated from there.

“Chicken Run” and “Wallace & Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit”: No one else can do what Nick Park does. No one should. What would be the point of it? (It’s also worth pointing out that Mel Gibson’s performance in “Chicken Run” is probably the best thing he’s ever done — though I think it’s the Plasticine chassis that sells it.)

“Cloverfield”: If you leave out the story and just look at the technical accomplishments, it’s a stunner. But factor in that story, with its impotent, unprepared young protagonists stumbling half-drunk and terrified through a disaster they can’t comprehend or survive, and you’ve got a genre exercise that attains a savage, horrible grace by the time the credits roll.

“The Constant Gardener”: Fernando Meirelles makes good on the promise of “City of God”, turning a John Le Carre thriller into a searing tale of a sleeping man shocked into consciousness by the destruction of everything he loves. The corporate stuff is just window dressing.

“Un Conte de Noel” (“A Christmas Tale”): What happens when you drop a bauble? It shatters. Arnaud Desplechin’s marvelously complicated family drama treats every one of its many characters as someone deserving of our attention, even when he or she is acting like a complete ass — and sometimes, especially then.

“Dawn of the Dead”: Clearly, Zack Snyder is at his best when he’s working with restrictions — a small story, a modest budget, minimal CGI. Under those conditions, he delivered one of the decade’s defining horror films … a ferocious zombie thriller that will leave you convinced the world is ending right now, just beyond your peripheral vision. And it’s got some damn fine acting, too: Sarah Polley’s slow shift from panic to resilience; Matt Frewer and Lindy Booth’s last goodbye, Jake Weber’s off-handed admission of loss. (And fuck you, “Zombieland”, for turning that wrenching moment into a plot point.)

“The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”: The first 35 minutes of Julian Schnabel’s biopic are excruciating. The next hour is only slightly less so, as we move outside the head of the paralyzed Jean-Dominique Bauby (Mathieu Amalric, in the performance that vaulted him to international stardom) and understand exactly what locked-in syndrome does to its victims — and to the people who love them.

Wow, eleven films and we’re just in the D’s. Let’s pick this up again tomorrow, shall we?

I don’t exactly hate the dead zone between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day. I get to catch up on the sleep I was denied during the first three weeks of December, and be social, and generally take it easy. It’s nice, really.

The rest of the planet uses it as an excuse to go to the movies, which is how “Avatar” could gross an additional $75 million in its second weekend.

In other news, “Sherlock Holmes” made a pretty impressive debut in second place with $65.4 million. I guess Robert Downey, Jr. can open anything nowadays. Maybe Warner should roll “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang” back into theatres so it can finally be the hit it should have been all along …

The Christmas weekend is Hollywood’s busiest frame of the year, as almost everyone goes to the movies. Except me, that is; having already seen everything, I probably won’t be back in the megaplex until the new year.

It’s kind of a mixed blessing, usually … though it’s a little less mixed this year, since all of the 2009 Christmas Day offerings are disappointing in one way or another. Don’t believe me? Read on.

“The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus“: Terry Gilliam doesn’t make movies any more; he makes overstuffed art exhibitions. This one — set partially in a filthy contemporary London and partially in a magical alternate realm where immortal showmen battle the Devil for the souls of their audience — proves so jammed with fancy that it’s ultimately incoherent. Christopher Plummer’s great, though.

“It’s Complicated”: Nancy Meyers’ latest exercise in middle-aged wish fulfillment and home-furnishing porn is a step up from the utterly insipid construction of “Something’s Gotta Give” and “The Holiday”, but only because Alec Baldwin is so good at not giving a shit as Meryl Streep’s still-randy ex. So it’s got that going for it.

“Nine”: In which Rob “Chicago” Marshall once again demonstrates his utter lack of big-screen vision, turning a hokey stage adaptation of Fellini’s “8 1/2” into another frantic, obnoxious Fosse pastiche, spinning an all-star cast through empty paces while missing the point of every scene.

“Sherlock Holmes“: In which Guy Ritchie turns Conan Doyle’s master deducer into a brawling, badass man of action, played by an ill-cast Robert Downey, Jr. (Hey, I love the guy, but he’s just a bad fit.) Jude Law makes a surprisingly sturdy Watson, however; maybe he can take center stage in the next one.

And that’s all of it — the last movies opening this calendar year. I do believe I’ll have a nap now.

NOW’s latest issue is all about the year that was, including my picks for the top ten movies of 2009.

Providing contrast to the celebration of quality cinema is my latest MSN Movies gallery, which looks at the year’s least successful films.

Feast! And then purge, I guess. Some of those flops won’t sit right.

I was able to wriggle out of reviewing “Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakuel” earlier this week, so I don’t know whether it really is as bad as its 2007 predecessor. Which was really, really terrible.

But Neil Genzlinger’s New York Times review makes me think I missed a golden opportunity to see a movie so wretched that you can have a great deal of fun writing about it.

Ah, well. There’s always DVD …

I met Brittany Murphy for about twenty minutes, fourteen years ago.

It was the “Clueless” junket in Los Angeles, and everyone was pretty jazzed about the movie; Amy Heckerling could feel she had a hit, Alicia Silverstone was mildly amused by the whole starlet experience and the rest of the cast — including Paul Rudd, Donald Faison and Breckin Meyer — was rambunctious to the point of giddiness.

What I remember most vividly about Murphy was that she was clearly sick of having rooms  of junketeers asking her what it was like to play “the ugly girl”, but she was doing her best to make it into a joke. She had a big, galumphing laugh and really sharp timing, and she felt like even more of a movie star than Silverstone. She was eighteen years old.

Who would have thought Paul Rudd would be the biggest thing to come out of that movie? And who would have thought Brittany Murphy would be dead at 32?

Can’t this decade end, already?

The news broke on Friday that Dan O’Bannon, screenwriter of “Dark Star”, “Alien” and “Total Recall” and director of “The Return of the Living Dead”, had died at the age of 63.

Almost immediately afterward came word that Robin Wood, the writer and critic, was gone as well. He was 78.

I don’t really have anything to say about either of them that others haven’t said already. O’Bannon was an MVP of sci-fi and horror filmmaking — hell, even “Lifeforce” is worth watching once — and Wood was a seminal critic and vivid writer whom I was honoured to meet when the TFCA gave him the Clyde Gilmour Award in 2006.

And even though he kinda told us we could all go fuck ourselves during his acceptance speech, he said it with such panache that half the room didn’t even realize it until later in the evening.

That, my friends, is style.

… you’re up early. Oh, wait, that’s me, dragging my semi-conscious ass out to Agincourt for a 9:15 am appearance on CTV News Channel, the better to get the drop on the “Avatar” phenomenon.

No need to rush to your TV sets, folks. Just pull up yesterday’s NOW Daily post on the very same subject — I guarantee I’ll be hitting the same points, mainly because I won’t be awake enough to think of new ones — and when they add the hit to the CTV online archive, I’ll post a link.

Oh, and here’s my latest MSN Movies gallery, examining how a few other directors followed their world-shaking smash hits. You know, because of “Titanic”.

… yeah, I’m still not awake.