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Why a best of the decade now? Well, waiting a full year after most everyone else has compiled their list allowed me to take extra time to select films that I can categorically confirm mean something to me. (There’s also the fact that technically the decade runs from 2001 to 2010 and waiting until the end of this year was the only honest thing to do. But I don’t want to stir up that hornets’ nest). The title of this piece is a play on and homage to author John Irving’s slender memoir My Movie Year about his involvement with the making of The Cider House Rules.

I am a fan of best of lists that don’t feel the need to conform to countdown formats or a number divisible by five. I thought about striving to make sure that every year was represented but, as I found at the end, my picks already encompassed all the years. Those who peruse my column Chapter Two on a regular basis know I can often err on the side of extreme verbosity. In this case - with the exception of my co-picks for Best Film of the decade - I have opted to stay (relatively) brief. I also have chosen to present my other picks in random order.

I imagine you have heard of most of these, but if you haven’t seen them, give them a chance, especially if you have been holding out. I know how scary it can be to finally watch “that film” you have been hearing about for years. What if you hate it? It’s a risk. Thankfully, none of these films has a “view-by” date. And they will be here today, tomorrow, next week, and beyond.

The Best: A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) and 25th Hour (2002)

A sci-fi take on Pinocchio about a robot who only wants to be real (and wants Mommy all to himself) & a gritty and hallucinatory portrait of a small-time drug dealer’s final day of freedom before a seven-year prison sentence. What do these two have in common? Aside from being masterful expressions of their creator’s talent, with something to tell us about the world(s) we live in (and may yet live in?), to quote Jonathan Rosenbaum in his capsule review of 25th Hour, "[they] risk absurdity to achieve the sublime." I cannot think of anything more worthy for art to do or a more eloquent way of saying it.

Steven Spielberg channels Stanley Kubrick (or is it the other way around?) and creates a scary, sad, fucked-up fairy tale with the bleakest happy ending ever. This film confused some, disappointed many and pissed off a lot more. It is the only film from my adult lifetime thus far that I am eager to follow over the decades to come and chart the ebb and flow of its reception. I remember the devastating silence in the theater at a point when it seemed like the film might simply end on a note of wistfully heartbreaking irony. Then the movie proceeds for another 30 minutes and a wrap-up so bathetic and twisted, describing it only makes one sound insane. It has to be experienced. Masterpieces aren’t always about “perfection.” They can also be about messiness and chaos and disparate parts that don’t necessarily come together. A.I. is all of that. Consider also that Spielberg directed this, Minority Report, Catch Me if You Can, War of the Worlds, and Munich in near succession (sorry, The Terminal). That's a helluva streak for bravura filmmaking.

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