Following today’s list of the year’s best, I’ll offer up a personal Oscar ballot on Wednesday and cap it off with a list of kudos specifications on Friday. Before we know it, it’ll be 2008 and the whole damn thing will start up again.

But for now…the best films of 2007:

One of the bearers of the western’s return to the cinema, James Mangold’s re-adaptation of the Elmore Leonard short story hit all the right emotional notes on the way to becoming a modern entry in the genre. Close-ups and dramatic tension rule over sweeping vistas and landscape worship, making the film a shining example of the western’s technical progression. Christian Bale presents another unique performance in a resume that couldn’t be accused of derivation, while Russell Crowe offers one of two portrayals this year that announce that the actor is still capable of nuance.

Ridley Scott’s Frank Lucas biopic is perhaps the most “New York” film the cinema has seen since Martin Scorsese’s “Mean Streets.” Every frame of the effort oozes the grime and grit of 1970s Manhattan, that sort of thorough representation that leaves you almost catching a whiff of sewer exhaust or feeling the bite of a northeasterly rain. And yet, there is an intriguing sense of European observation to it all. It is that curious disconnect which makes “American Gangster” somewhat unique in this generally agreed upon sub-genre of hard-boiled cinema.

A much smaller film than it’s being depicted as, Joe Wright’s “Pride & Prejudice” follow-up is very tight and a huge step up for the director, who already had a legion of fans in the wake of his last effort. Most impressive was the structure and craft of the film, with high marks going to performers James McAvoy and Romola Garai, not to mention textured, beautiful cinematography from Seamus Mcgarvey and a Dario Marianelli score that raises the bar for the trade.

“BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU’RE DEAD”

Sydney Lumet’s latest can indeed be deemed that simplest of dramatic terms: tragedy. But there is something to be said about a work of drama – whatever the medium – that settles so deep inside of you and is so deliberate in its downward spiral of emotional distress that you can’t really feel anything when the credits roll or the curtain drops. The numbing effect has transcended empathy and compassion, personal discomfort and outright sadness. There’s just…nothing. That is what this film does. Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Ethan Hawke give career best performances.

One that slipped through the cracks, Robert Benton’s adaptation of the Charles Baxter novel proved a playing ground for lived-in and penetrating performances from Greg Kinnear and Alexa Davalos, among others. A Portland backdrop settles the viewer into the film’s deliberate and strangely comforting tone on the march toward difficult truths. Always unique in the face of convention, Benton proved to be another veteran still getting it done while everyone was busy praising Sidney Lumet for the same reasons.

A clever take on the country’s lunar travels, David Sington’s documentary took the obvious step of letting those who embarked on the journeys tell the tales. The result was a mish-mash of intrigue, old-coot hilarity and insightful commentary from each of the surviving Apollo astronauts. Unfairly elbowed out of the AMPAS’ documentary line-up (perhaps due to its talking head nature), the documentary world would be serviced by more efforts such as this, which leave technique at the door in favor of good ole’ fashioned campfire storytelling.

“MICHAEL CLAYTON”

Positioned as a thriller, wrapped in the wool of an ethical statement and yet something more personal and residual at its heart, Tony Gilroy’s directorial debut harkened back to Paddy Chayefsky in a year held on high as a throwback to the greatest of 1970s cinema. George Clooney gives a fine, internalized performance, while Tom Wilkinson is magnetic fuel for the embittered soul. Gilroy’s directorial panache is a penetrating breed that will be fun to watch as he tackles more and more material.

The war in Iraq has been the focus of untold numbers of documentary endeavors, themes and angles stretching as far as the eye can see. What has so long been ignored is an intensive study of the United States’ foreign policy there, and that is what long-time public diplomacy official and, now, first-time filmmaker Charles Ferguson has afforded. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a more thorough and balanced assessment of the war as Ferguson lays it out from start to…now? “Finish” is too optimistic a term.

How can you not enjoy a Pixar film in this day and age? The studio seems to crank out acceptability as if it was part of a mission statement, and of course, most often, the quality of work goes leaps and bounds beyond that. Brad Bird’s latest foray into the animated world is a culinary and cultural delight, proving the director capable of conveying the most human of emotional context at the flick of his wrist. Michael Giacchino, as usual, is at the top of his musical game and all in the service of one of the most beautifully animated films of all time.

“THE SAVAGES”

Tamara Jenkins’ measured look at dealing with an aging parent is a delicate thing, perhaps not as emotionally sweeping as it might have been, but ferociously honest as a result. The effort gave actor Phillip Seymour Hoffman the stage to offer one of his best portrayals to date, while co-star Laura Linney cranked out a typically brilliant turn alongside. It was Philip Bosco, however, who matched Tang Wei (“Lust, Caution”) for one of the bravest performances of 2007.

Before getting into the top ten, I felt compelled to spotlight two films that haven’t quite materialized in my mind and will likely take some years to do so. Every once in a while you come across an effort or two that you appreciate and respect from here to eternity, but struggle to qualify in any acceptable light, both for yourself and for a given readership. I cherish such occasions, but they demand to be singled out rather than grouped with in. So, with that…

“I’M NOT THERE”/“ZODIAC”
Directed by Todd Haynes/David Fincher

Todd Haynes’ “I’m Not There” is a definitive work of art, but it didn’t settle with me in a way that fully allowed me to assess what I’d seen. Instead it splintered inside my mind, becoming something I would ruminate on for weeks upon weeks. Immediately following the first screening I attended, I was not willing to speak with Haynes at the reception because I frankly didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I felt. I knew I’d just seen the work of a committed artist but I needed time to get my head around it. I still haven’t, and to me, the best of filmmaking does that. I just don’t know where I would place such an effort on a list of the year’s ten “best” films.

On the other hand, David Fincher’s “Zodiac” isn’t a film at all. It is “All the President’s Men” on steroids. It’s one thing happening after another. There is no structure to speak of, no dramatic adherence, which is fine. It was nonetheless a complete and total immersion into a world recreated, a living, breathing study in tension and obsession, and I don’t think we’ve seen anything along those lines in quite some time. One of the best ensembles of the year has sadly been ignored this Oscar season, but I was personally quite taken with Jake Gyllenhaal’s portrayal of a man from passivity to obsession to paranoia. Harris Savides’ cinematography is as gripping in its heightened realism as Ed Lachman’s work on “I’m Not There” is in its expressionistic representations.

And now, the top ten films of 2007:

I don’t often respond to films like “Quiet City.” A typical reaction is to recoil or roll my eyes at something that generally rings as pseudo-faux-intelligentsia…so to speak. But director Aaron Katz got me with this, his second feature filmmaking endeavor to date. Producing a work often compared to “Before Sunrise” (I would say “Quiet City” is better), Katz depicts a Brooklyn landscape here that reads like a visual lullaby for anyone respectful of a gorgeous image.

Katz’s little-seen mumblecore installment is a serene effort, one that balances the line between realism and fantasy breathlessly, on the way to becoming a subtextual commentary on connection, comfort and desire. Perhaps leaving itself wide open to criticisms of solipsism, both artistic and philosophical, it nonetheless manages to set an unbroken tone of humanity from start to finish – and all for a budget that never reached $2,000. This is independent cinema at its finest.

The biopic is treacherous territory for any filmmaker to navigate. The potential is all too clear for derivation and absence of depth – especially when the “greatest hits” mentality of the genre makes its way to the creative surface. The caveat is doubly apparent when musicians are the focus, and the Ian Curtis biopic “Control” found itself poised to be run of the mill in this light. But first-time feature filmmaker Anton Corbijn lifted Matt Greenhaugh’s adaptation of Deborah Curtis’ “Touching from a Distance” off the page in such a way as to breathe new, invigorated life into the genre.

Actor Sam Riley tackles the role of Curtis with ease in what he frequently refers to as his “first job,” a revelation that would draw gasps from the most critical of viewers. He wraps himself in the emotional clothing of the singer with unsettling delicacy and plays off of co-star Samantha Morton with unexpected capability. Corbijn’s beautiful visual realization of the film dazzles (thanks especially to lenser Martin Ruhe) and seems to deviate from the artist’s expressionistic sensibilities, providing an intimate and ultimately heart-wrenching portrait of dreams, love, guilt and hopelessness.

Many drew parallels to the work of Wong Kar-Wai when examining Ang Lee’s “Brokeback Mountain” follow-up, “Lust, Caution.” The creative strokes are certainly similar, but I don’t count myself in Wong’s legion of fans, so it was with a bit of a start that I wanted this film to keep going beyond its two and a half hour running time. In fact, the only criticism I had upon screening it earlier in the fall was that it could have used perhaps another half hour to flesh out the searing and emotionally resonant story. But I’m selfish.

Adapted from a short story by Ellen Chang, Lee and Jams Schamus’ screenplay has the courage to take it’s time in an industry devoted to the quick sell. The cast Lee assembled for the film produces daring work on the whole, but stunning new ingénue Tang Wei deserves the highest praise for offering one of the bravest, rawest and most convincing portrayals of innocence shattered the screen has ever seen. But just as captivating are the risks Lee was willing to take in this, his greatest film to date.

Marjane Satrapi’s wonderfully creative “Persepolis” was lifted out of its graphic novel beginnings and onto the big screen in a major way this year. The finished product should be required viewing for children (and sadly, many adults) as it is a playful but sober depiction of tolerance and cultural acceptance. In years such as these, fewer films can exhibit a greater importance. Such a designation might be the effort’s greatest claim in yet another socially-conscious film awards season.

It is difficult to come across truly unique animated endeavors in today’s filmmaking environment. The Pixar offerings are always delightful, but never necessarily surprising (the pitfalls of consistent success, I assume). Technological innovations seen in films such as “Beowulf” are exciting, but not exactly encouraging for animators. So it should be seen as a light of inspiration for the industry that such grand and potent thematics can still be pulled out of the two dimensional tradition.

Tony Kaye’s “Lake of Fire” is the result of a 15-year cinematic focus on the most divisive issue in America, perhaps in the world. The director painstakingly pieced together untold amounts of footage that provides one of the most balanced assessments one could hope to find in the world of documentary filmmaking. And no matter what your stance on abortion might be going into the film, you’re sure to have your convictions shaken to the very core as Kaye paints an at times gruesome picture that begs and, more often than not, insists that you take careful consideration of whatever it is that you believe.

The documentary is a troubling form of filmmaking for me. Too often it is used as a talk piece for agenda, but just as often it is overly-criticized for as much. There are far too few artists in the game and not enough patience with laying information and characterizations out in creative but challenging ways. Manipulation is rampant, of course, but I want to allow space to thank filmmakers like Kaye who have the guts to stick with an issue and study it with a form of filmmaking too easily given to propaganda.

Paul Thomas Anderson is the most promising director of his generation. There is no question in my mind. “Hard Eight” was the perfect initiation, but the filmmaker really his stride with the brilliant “Boogie Nights” and “Magnolia,” large ensemble spreads with potent thematic virtue and substance. “Punch-Drunk Love” in 2002 was a blindsiding effort, perhaps his best to date, but altogether surprising in that it was a 90 minute romantic comedy starring Adam Sandler and Emma Watson, of all pairings. And now the filmmaker has surprised us yet again with “There Will Be Blood,” a certifiable menagerie of love and hate and the line that narrowly divides them.

Based upon Upton Sinclair’s novel “Oil!,” “There Will Be Blood” marks a departure for Anderson in that it is not an original work. What the writer/director gleaned from Sinclair’s pages was a portrait of turn-of-the-century capitalistic greed, but more intimately, the fear and hatred of family, love, religion, connectivity – the binding ties of comfort that inevitably leave us stranded along the way. Daniel Day-Lewis’ embodiment of these ideas in the character of Daniel Plainview is nothing short of arresting, a tour de force portrayal that will surely go down as one of the cinema’s greatest.

“Quirky comedies” have become a self-multiplying breed unto themselves. Derivation is a disease that continues to eat away at filmmakers hell-bent on taking lead after lead from the greatest of Hal Ashby cinema, but there are moments of genuine creative harmony to be found. Not to put it in the simplest of terms, but Jason Reitman’s “Juno” is such a film, one completely taken with itself and more than willing to sweep the viewer along for the ride.

Already a proven talent with last year’s “Thank You for Smoking,” Reitman elevates his game by leaps and bounds here. Working from an electric script by newcomer Diablo Cody, the director shows profound ability in depicting honesty between the lines of irony, perhaps more capably than any helmer since…Hal Ashby. Every positive word written about Ellen Page is true as the actress makes good on promises made in last year’s “Hard Candy,” but the ensemble itself moves together with an organic and unexpected specificity. This is the real deal.

There’s a moment in Paul Greengrass’ “The Bourne Ultimatum” that literally lifts me out of my seat every time I see the film. You know it. Jason Bourne sails through the air in a cat-like leap through a window, the camera trailing behind him the whole way. The sound goes down to zero just before the shattering effect of glass is heard and we feel like we’ve just made the leap with him. Greengrass is playing with a lot in this film, having plenty of fun, but that moment especially is indicative of how much fun he wants you, the viewer, to have when you’re watching. It’s the most apparent example of participatory cinema I think I’ve ever seen.

The final Bourne installment is by no means a study in measured storytelling. It certainly doesn’t follow the screenwriter’s workbook and at times it feels like Greengrass is using the franchise as practice for bigger and better things. But what he achieved here was summer popcorn entertainment concentrated to an almost illegal essence. There are still nuggets of expertise to be found on the page, I feel, as the entire trilogy has been crafted by screenwriter Tony Gilroy (and, no doubt, untold numbers of uncredited writers – Greengrass among them) into a well-oiled machine of purpose. It is a franchise that bettered itself with each new installment, showcasing a staggering leading portrayal from Matt Damon at every turn. I said it five months ago and I’ll say it again: this is why I go to the movies.

True works of art are difficult to come by in the filmmaking form. The pressure of economical performance can all too easily blend with the caveat of a collaborative medium to make efficiency the general goal above all else. When the elements congeal in a manner that gives way to serviceability and genuine artistry, lightning is captured in a bottle. But in a year as stellar as 2007 was, such perfect storms were a surprisingly rare commodity, which made experiences like “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” a treat indeed.

All three of artist Julian Schnabel’s endeavors behind the camera have been interesting and unique if nothing else. But where “Diving Bell” leaves “Basquiat” and “Before Night Falls” is in its unabashed embracing of the filmmaking form. Taking leave from a Ronald Harwood adaptation that had already done a lot of the thematic hard work, Schnabel applied his singular vision with both clarity and emotional cogency. Max von Sydow is the cast’s tear-jerking standout, while Janusz Kaminski proves a level of versatility unheard of, jumping from intimacy such as this to the spectacle of Indiana Jones in one fell swope.

I’ve waited a very long time for a film like “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.” Leaving aside my outright adoration of the western genre, I long for works of cinema supposedly inspired by the artistry of Terrence Malick that actually live up to the standard while steering clear of pretension. And yet, as the nature of opinion necessitates, Andrew Domink’s adaptation of Ron Hansen’s take on the outlaw Jesse James isn’t without its fair share of detractors who feel the film actually wallows in pretension. I couldn’t disagree with them more.

What Hansen created in 1983, when he penned the original novel, was a unique perspective within a genre too easily given to derivation. A focused examination of celebrity and idolatry, wrapped in the spirit of Shakespearean tragedy, the author’s efforts clearly inspired Dominik, who has pieced together the finest cinematic achievement in nearly a decade. Filmed with staggering splendor as only lenser Roger Deakins can manage, “Jesse James” is part-elegy in its visual representation of a wild west on the march toward domestication. Hugh Ross’ initially off-putting narration settles the viewer into a surreal lullaby as more-than-agreeable musical accompaniment allows the tale to wash over (courtesy of Nick Cave and Warren Ellis).

A pitch-perfect ensemble includes marinated work from Sam Shepard, Paul Schneider, Garret Dillahunt, Jeremy Renner and Sam Rockwell. But at the film’s core is a set of powerful, painfully subdued performances by Casey Affleck and Brad Pitt, each of them giving career-best portrayals.

Pitt seems tailor made for the role of a celebrity culprit, yet his tabloid cover-boy looks never impede on a determined representation of a man sensing the end of his days. Affleck, meanwhile, offers a raspy and clumsy syntax from the mouth of a pasty, nubile face, steering the ship for the most part. His Robert Ford is despicable to a point, but genuine viewer sympathy takes hold here and there as the actor gifts the character with a magnetic quality that can’t be ignored. It is a definitive portrayal of youth misunderstood and, ultimately, regretfully reckless.

“The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford” split the critical community in half, which it seems only the best, most thought-provoking films tend to do. For many it was one of the year’s worst, but for me, it is not only the best film of 2007 but a primal scream to the heavens of what can be accomplished in a genre that seems to be on its way back to a certain level of prominence. Not sense Terrence Malick’s “The Thin Red Line” have I been so thoroughly entranced by a visual narrative’s perspective on human condition and interaction. It seems no words can capably say it, so I’ll abandon the search for those that might.

And there we are, another year in the books. Here’s hoping your year was as enjoyable as mine.

INCONTENTION.com’s TOP TEN FILMS OF 2007

01. “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford”
02. “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”
03. “The Bourne Ultimatum”
04. “Juno”
05. “There Will Be Blood”
06. “Lake of Fire”
07. “Persepolis”
08. “Lust, Caution”
09. “Control”
10. “Quiet City”