Perhaps the most enthralling film experience of the year was my recent viewing of NEW YORK DOLL. The story of Arthur “Killer” Kane, former bassist for the cross-dressing, drug-snorting New York Dolls, is a cliché of the highest order – it has the dizzying highs and squalid lows that most film critics deplore because of the innate push-button sentimentality. But here’s the thing: NEW YORK DOLL is a documentary. The storybook structure is entirely true. Though some (perhaps unnecessary) artifice has been used to tell the story, all of this happened exactly like this. The film may not be remarkable (as the Onion said, it’s the filmic equivalent of the best episode ever of VH1’s BAND REUNITED), but the story is.

The New York Dolls broke on the punk scene in 1971, an uneasy synthesis of misfits, junkies, and social outcasts who decided that to gain a crowd, they’d have to be noticed. While many punk bands were fronting androgynous singers, the Dolls took it a step further – dressing as transvestite whores and dancing seductively around the stage. Their scene was the scene, plain and simple, and the music was at once lurid and exhilarating.

Full disclosure: I have never really cared that much for the Dolls. I find them to something of a Stooges/MC5 knockoff*, and none of their music excites me as those two bands do. A major rock figure (who will be mentioned later) calls them innovative and original, but I just don’t see it. I can’t tell whether David Johansen is channeling Mick Jagger, or outright copying him (they even look alike though Jagger is, amazingly, better looking.) Their music isn’t so much great as it is opportunistic: it’s the kind of sound you’d expect from a group of dudes that look like ladies. And in archival footage released last year as NEW YORK DOLLS: ALL DOLLED UP, they came off as insufferable, immature assholes looking around for “squares” to shock.

But I am fascinated by them.

The story of the Dolls is familiar to anyone who has read PLEASE KILL ME or has spent any time reading about New York scene. When they were about to have a major breakout, drummer Billy Murcia ingested a number of conflicting substances and died after imbecile groupies poured hot coffee down his throat. The band broke up in 1975 with only a cult following and having made no money. Lead Guitarist Johnny Thunders and new Drummer started the Heartbreakers and developed a new cult. They both died of heroin overdoses. Guitarist Sylvain Sylvain faded into obscurity, occasionally working with Johansen. Johansen had an unsuccessful solo career until he dudded himself again, this time as an anachronistic lounge singer named “Buster Poindexter.” Anyone alive in 1988 remembers his only hit, HOT HOT HOT. He then had a semi-successful acting career in films liked SCROOGED and CAR 54, WHERE ARE YOU? Now, he regrets this decision because it damaged his status as a nihilistic icon.

“Killer” Kane, the statue-like bass player, suffered the strangest fate. After years of unsuccessful attempts to recapture the early “success,” he became an abusive, suicidal drunk and lost all of his money. He grew sullen and bitter, particularly at the thought of Johansen’s late-80s resurgence. At some point, he stumbled into a Mormon temple and spent fifteen years poor but clean. The 180 is obvious: from the most extreme libertine to the most rigid conservative. Kane took the bus, wore dorky ties and short-sleeved button down white shirts, and worked at the Family History Library. He pawned his guitars and ignorantly paid every year to keep them in hock, when for about seventy dollars more he could have owned them outright. Occasionally someone would mention that he had once been in a rock band.

But the Dolls had one very influential fan - one of the more enigmatic, respected, and consistent pop stars in recent memory: Morrisey. Before Morrisey became a shoe-gazing megastar, he was obsessed with this transgender rock. That this very private personality participates in the interviews of this documentary is a testament to his admiration. He is the doting impresario behind the comeback. His actions seem completely selfless as he recognizes the debt he owes to them. This is odd because their music is so different.

In 2004, Johansen, Sylvain, and Kane reunite to play “Morrissey’s Meltdown.” By all accounts, it is a success. Johansen and Kane bury the axe. Kane is, for once, happy.

I have no doubt that in 1973, “Killer Kane” was an obnoxious, unbearable persona who bought into the glam and decadence of the scene that embraced him. But in 2004, Arthur Kaneis a sad, sweet, soft-spoken figure – an ascetic who sincerely believes that his unique misery can be successfully channeled into service for the Mormon church. Also, he is not the brightest bulb - whether robbed by his early indulgences or just born this way. To paraphrase Chuck Klosterman in his article on Metallica, rockers like Kane have all their success and are adulated at an early age, and thus never have to grow up or learn to handle conflict in a mature, reasonable way. Kane was probably never good at much other than playing Bass - his popularity in the band was a result of his lack of personality. He lacks the necessary introspection or intelligence to do something about his lot, to put everything in perspective. so he puts his complete trust in the Mormons to point him in the right direction. Judging by this movie, they've done an amazing job at giving him some kind of purpose.

There is a tendency among my fellow Evangelicals to ridicule Mormons and point out their theological inconsistencies, to effectively shun them from any meaningful conversation about God. I realize this film was made by a Mormon, and therefore may have a slanted perspective, but these people love Kane unreservedly, even though he was once the antithesis of their moral teachings. He was a broken, violent, bitter man and they gave him something to keep him alive. As Morrisey notes, he is mostly "miserable," but the community gives his sustenance - they keep him from being more miserable.

It is amazing to think that for fifteen years, you could walk into this library, and meet the bass player for the New York Dolls. When he arrives in London to play Morrisey’s gig, he marvels at a hotel room that most of us would find completely average. Before the big show, he explains to a baffled Johansen about the “Word of Wisdom.”

NEW YORK DOLL is being marketed as a movie about redemption, which it certainly is, but I find it more fascinating as a movie about bass players. In Tom Hanks’ underrated teenage girl fave THAT THING YOU DO!, the bass player is named, simply, “T.B. Player,” a mark of the easiest member of the band to forget. They carry large instruments and usually stand stock still. In Metallica, Jason Newsted was the ostracized and ridiculed member, and he eventually quit. Bass players are often left out of the core of the group. I found a list of the greatest bass players ever, and, other than Flea, the average rock fan probably couldn’t even name them.

Even if you loathe punk, or are ignorant about it, you should enjoy this documentary. After reading a vitriolic biography of Iggy Pop, I was refreshed by this film that describes the weird energy of the period, and the at-times awful fallout. And no matter what creed or faith you belong to, it shows the resuscitating power of spirituality when fused with an absolute faith in its ability to save you.

It made me like the Dolls.

* Other bands/people that ripped off the Stooges/MC5 (for better or wose): Dead Boys, WASP, David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust act, Def Leppard, KISS, Slayer, Joy Division, The Clash, The Beastie Boys, Metallica, Jet, Aerosmith, Blondie, The Hives, The Strokes, Mid-70s Lou Reed, and (most famously and atrociously) The Sex Pistols.

BEST OF 2006

I always begin by noting the movies I've missed. The (somewhat unfortunately) trend continues as the number of movies on the list escalates. There are a lot of movies I really wanted to see, but couldn't, and they don't come out on DVD for a while. 2006 was a good year for films, not a great year. But any year that features my top two can't be dismissed. Also, it cannot be considered a bad year when Michael Mann, Robert Altman, and Martin Scorsese make movies.

So a redux is to come. But it's the season to be making self-important lists.

I wanted to see and missed or haven't yet seen: FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS, LETTERS TO IWO JIMA, THE GOOD GERMAN, FAST FOOD NATION, BABEL, PANS LABYRINTH, BORAT, TIDELAND, IDIOCRACY, THE PRESTIGE, THE QUEEN, INLAND EMPIRE, THE ILLUSIONIST, THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND, DREAMGIRLS, APOCALYPTO, ARMY OF SHADOWS

So that said, here's the big top 10, with little fanfare or explanation

Normally I reserve a spot for a documentary, but this year I did not see (a 2006 release) worth considering.

10. LITTLE CHILDREN

Todd Field's film of Tom Perotta's book is flawed, but he makes the kind of bold decisions that I like to see filmmakers make. After leaving the film somewhat annoyed with those choices, I realized that I had unfairly taken ownership of the book and refused to see his vision. After much thought, I realized that he almost perfectly cinematized the book and gave us a version faithful in tone if not to the letter. Great performances throughout.

9. A PRAIRE HOME COMPANION

The second most fun movie of ot-6, and a good note for Altman to end on. It fits perfectly in his meandering, endless watchable canon. The dryness is hilarious and the world well-conceived. It also has this weird amped-up ticking clock of a narrative that Altman (and Keiler) refuse to take seriously. And that's all part of the fun.

8. A SCANNER DARKLY

I am torn on Richard Linklater. He is the most hit or miss director working. For every movie he makes that bores me (SCHOOL OF ROCK), he returns with this fascinatingly odd science fiction question. It's in the best spirit of the 70s paranoia film, fused with the innovative technique of rotoscoping. And (this may not be saying much) it's the best performance of Keanu Reeves' career.

7. TALLADEGA NIGHTS: THE LEGEND OF RICKY BOBBY

The most fun movie of the year. I have not been more pleasantly surprised by a comedy since OFFICE SPACE. Unlike the overrated ANCHORMAN, this is a comedy that actualyl tries to tell jokes, instead of rolling out strange setpieces. Like the underrated HAPPY GILMORE, it has some interesting things to say about sports culture and celebrity, but it never blatantly says these, because it wants to be really, really funny. The scenes with Reilly and Ferrell are among the comic highlights of the century.

6. MIAMI VICE

Michael Mann made another movie. And I loved it. And I am immune to your criticisms, those of you who wanted this to be STARSKY AND HUTCH.

5. THE FOUNTAIN

I shrugged at PI and was horrified (in a good way, I guess) by REQUEIM FOR A DREAM. But THE FOUNTAIN gives me an Aranofsky I can go along, wide-eyed, with as he introduces me to magical trees and ambiguously interlinear magic. A meditation on love, justice, faith, hope, and reincarnation that will either haunt you or piss you off. You will not leave this movie unchallenged.

4. THE DEPARTED

All the stupid criticims of this movie are from the anti-traditionalists interested in boosting their own heroes as the "greatest living director." GANGS OF NEW YORK was an inglorious ambitious mess, and THE AVIATOR could have probably been directed by someone else (though not as well), but THE DEPARTED is Marty at his best. As with the best Scorsese, even the most base acts of violence are at once disgusting, exciting, and saddening. I am curious about how much of this (at any production level) was inspired by the superlative THE WIRE.

3. UNITED 93

I did not want to see this movie. I probably will not see it again. My biggest questions remains: would this still be a great movie if nothing depicted had happened? Does it matter? A perfect match of style and substance, it avoids memorialism and shameless sentimentality. And yet, it is kind of a memorial because of the respect with which Greengrass gives his subject.

2. CHILDREN OF MEN

Read my review in the next post.

1. BRICK

I have rarely felt more invigorated after leaving a movie. BRICK is creatively conceived, brilliant acted, and a thematic puzzle that doesn't beg to be put together, but can be (or maybe it's a mystery, I'll ask Malcolm Gladwell.) Joseph Gordon-Levitt gives the years best performance as the smart kid who never goes to class because he's too busy kicking around open lockers and falling in love with doomed girls. If I were to vote now, I would give the BRICK the "gashie" for BEST DIALOGUE OF THE DECADE. And it's not even showy about its conceit. This is why I have a hard time explaining its charms to so many people who expect it to be BUGSY MALONE or A SHARK'S TALE. High School is kind of a film noir, and Rian Johnson's first movie dances with that.

HONORABLE MENTION: INSIDE MAN

BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENTS: SUPERMAN RETURNS, LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE, MARIE ANTOINETTE, FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION

I WAS NOT AS BLOWN AWAY BY AS I THOUGHT I'D BE BY: HALF NELSON, TRISTAM SHANDY, THE PROPOSITION

WORST MOVIE OF THE YEAR: AMERICAN DREAMZ

Anything I left off? Anything I MUST see? Write below.

CHILDREN OF MEN REVIEW (redux)

Much hoohaa has been made about the "Three Amigos:" the three ridiculously talented and prolific Latino directors who have broken out even further this year: Alfonso Cuaron with CHILDREN OF MEN; Alejandro Innaritu with BABEL; and Guillermo Del Toro with PAN'S LABYRINTH (the last two are unseen by me, though I certainly will see both).

I have never really understood Del Toro's "genius," though many have tried to explain it to me. Many gush about HELLBOY or MIMIC, but I found them derivative and uninvolving, and even lacking in the type of directorial flourish usually gushed about in Del Toro reviews. Still, I'm looking forward to PAN'S LABYRINTH, which is supposedly a big step for him, without ever really moving away from his passions. Innaritu has been accused of making panoramics that lack any kind of guiding reason, and are dominated by a bombastic chaos thats too cinematic for his verite approach to the film, but I loved AMORES PERROS and 21 GRAMS. The Academy had no problem with the glossy CRASH, perhaps because it was just that, glossy. It never made you forget it was a movie. Innaritu has real balls for trying to merge these narratives with a gritty realism that suggests that the world is disordered and somewhat beyond repair, but replete with humanity.

Then there's Cuaron. Breaking on to the scene with much ballast but little success in 1998's big budget, high-expectation GREAT EXPECTATIONS, he returned South of the Border with the raw, energetic, and alarmingly sexual Y TU MAMA TAMBIEN. His next return to the Gringo studios was much stronger, as many feel his Harry Potter flick is the best of the bunch. (And, no, I haven't forgotten 1995's A LITTLE PRINCESS; I just haven't seen it and don't know anything about it).

But CHILDREN OF MEN is a masterpiece. Based on a novel by mass-marketeer PD James, Cuaron's film is at home equally in the sci-fi dystopia genre and as a modern thriller with a lot of heart. The plot is revealed (a little too much) in the trailer: It's 2029 and the youngest living human is eighteen - in other words, eighteen years have passed since the last birth. Britain is the only country that hasn't succumbed to internal combustion, but it's a dreary place. Illegal Immigrants are being carted off left and right, and diverse terrorists groups are blowing up civilian haunches. The plot is vaguely similar to V FOR VENDETTA, but the commitment of Cuaron proves once and for all how stupid the comic book artifice of that message-film dystopia really was.

Of course, the not-so-subtle undertone, as with any similar work since Orwell defined the genre with 1984, is that the future is much like the present. There are references to Abu-Ghraib, Iraq, September 11th, and the ridiculous celebrity sub-culture. But Cuaron keeps those as backdrop (literally), and refuses to let any of his well-conceived characters act as a voicebox. Mostly, because they are trying to survive - and that's what makes it such an exhausting experience.

Clive Owen is neither particularly smart nor particular heroic as the hero. He sleepwalks through the first half of the movie and then becomes its emotional center almost by accident. He never lets his innate cool overwhelm a character who is, basically, a burnout and a failure. Though he will not (and should not) earn any award nominations for the performance, it moves him up in the ranks of my favorite actors. And Michael Caine plays Michael Caine, and I was thankful for it. It reminded me of Winston Smith's love for chocolate, and how that kept me going through pages and page of Big Brother's faceless atrocities.

The most brilliant conceit is the opening image: cable news coverage of the ridiculous celebrity death of the aforementioned youngest human, "Baby Diego." In this moment, Cuaron and co. show us the extremes of media, the utterly counterfeit nature of celebrity, and the human need that is associated with it. And then he gives us our cynic, and guide through this film in Owen. It's a great narrative pathway to the world we're about to discover.

At one point, a fictional futuristic disc jockey exhorts his listeners to feel nostalgic for 2003. It is odd that the directors voice becomes the generic voice of a superhits station mike-banger, but it works - because I did feel nostalgia for 2003, when we seemed to be more optimistically recovering from the 9/11 and most of sincerely believed we were involved in some world liberation project. It might be a stretch for Cuaron to decide that this barren chaos is the future we have created. But there is hope in a familiar sound, and when we hear it, we recognize that even in the most broken of places lies hope.

That Cuaron made this film from a pulp novel adapted by six different screenwriters is the equivalent of blowing up a printing press and producing MOBY-DICK. It's flawless (and thankfully wasn't hit by the pandemic of 2006 films of being too long.) You must see this movie.

(Bonus points if you find the Pink Floyd allusion in the movie)