Best of 2023 Film and Music

2023 held strong for me as a memorable and interesting year for film and music. No doubt it was a historic and turbulent year for Hollywood with the dual strikes of the Writers Guild of America and SAG-AFTRA interrupting and at times shutting down productions throughout much of the year. Yet, a number of great films still found their way to the big screen in the United States – and not just the unexpected phenomenon that was “Barbenheimer.” Meanwhile, while the Rolling Stones and the Beatles somehow made comebacks with their first original material released in decades, I found myself most captivated by albums released by female and nonbinary artists exploring their cultural identities. 

Read on for my top five films and albums released this year that I found to be the most moving, impactful, and well made.

Film

5. Oppenheimer

Only Christopher Nolan could make a biopic about a theoretical physicist into a film worthy of such hype as to be joined with Barbie in a double summer blockbuster sensation. In standard Nolan fashion, its dramatization of J. Robert Oppenheimer's role in leading the development of the first nuclear weapons during World War II is epic in the grandest way possible, psychologically intense, and visually stunning. It's also deeply flawed. Oppenheimer's hyper-focus on its titular character - from his political controversies to his internal apprehensions over the impacts of his work on humanity - prevents it from living up to the larger than life scope it seems to be aiming for. In doing so, it fails to acknowledge the true human cost of the United States' nuclear weapons testing program and dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Yet, Oppenheimer did something that no other major film on its subject has done, which is to shed some doubt on the narrative that has been embedded in the American psyche since the end of World War II that the mass murder of Japanese civilians during that first use of the bomb was somehow justified to provide a short cut for ending the war. In a world where nuclear war continues to linger as a threat to civilization with few satisfying safeguards, this makes Oppenheimer essential viewing.

4. Poor Things

Spinning a tale of a Victorian woman who is brought back from the dead by an eccentric scientist, Yorgos Lanthimos's triumphant latest work was the other film this year about a young woman who goes on a journey of self discovery in which she must reckon with the notion that she's a creation within a patriarchal society that wants to use her for its benefit. But Poor Things (buoyed a commanding lead performance by Emma Stone, who also served as a producer) replaces the materialistic excess and goofy humor of Barbie with a twisted adult sensibility that provides a more searing punch to its feminist motives. Even greater, the film is an delightfully entertaining exploration of human desires and our quest for meaning in a cruel world.

3. Monster

After a young school boy begins exhibiting disturbing behavior in a small Japanese town, answers are demanded for who is responsible. The truth is unraveled over three acts in which the story is told from the perspective of mother, teacher, and then boy. Masterfully woven by director Hirokazu Kore-eda and screenwriter Yuji Sakamoto, Monster is and once ominous and tender, devastating and compassionate. And in playing with the viewer's expectations, it begs us to think deeper than surface-level assumptions about who or what the monsters are that cause suffering in our society.

2. A Thousand and One

At it's core, A.V. Rockwell's debut feature film about a troubled woman who kidnaps a young boy from foster care and tries to raise him in a rapidly changing New York City is a simple story about the bond between a mother and child. But so much happens over the course of the decade-spanning narrative to complicate and destabilize their lives that the film becomes an emotional roller coaster that can only be processed after the credits roll. Seamlessly interweaving the personal and political as mother and son face the numerous challenges of being Black in 90s and 2000s New York City - from gentrification to poverty and police harassment - A Thousand and One is a a towering testament to the enduring power of love in the face of systemic inequalities.

1. How to Blow Up a Pipeline

Everyone who knows me knows I love this film. I first got a chance to see it at the Chicago International Film Festival in 2022, caught an early screening of it when it released in theaters in April of this year, then helped organize a community screening in Chicago to raise money for the legal defense of Stop Cop City activists. Inspired by the nonfiction book of the same name by Andreas Malm, How to Blow Up a Pipeline follows a loose group of young activists who carry out a daring attempt to sabotage an oil pipeline. By faming the plan as an act of self-defense by characters who find themselves facing a bleak future defined by ecological collapse, the film aims to present property destruction as not only a valid form of climate activism, but one that may become a logical necessity as the urgency of addressing the climate crisis becomes more and more dire. Not even many of the most progressive climate organizations would dare take this stance, but this film went there.

Yet Pipeline is no mere propaganda piece. Featuring tight editing and flashbacks employed at key moments of tension, it's one of the most edge-of-your-seat thrillers you're likely to find from this year. But its greatest strength lies in its memorable cast of co-conspirator characters and the film's ability to generate sympathy for them in the extreme collective action they take. Each of the activists have been impacted in some way by the extractive system they are opposing, and these motives are gradually revealed over the course of the film to build investment in the characters and understanding for them in the plight they are facing. 

By packaging its radical ideas in an engaging and emotionally impactful narrative, Pipeline provides an accessible vehicle for shifting the way people think about the climate crisis into a realm of greater urgency and possibilities for resistance. As it becomes increasingly clear that the incremental efforts of those in power are not going to save us, providing avenues for this type of discussion could not be more important at this moment.

Albums

5. Late Developers - Belle and Sebastian

With twelve albums under their belt and as consistent darlings of the indie music scene, Belle and Sebastian are anything but late developers as the title of their latest full-length effort suggests in a hint of self-deprecation. But despite their success and prolific output, the Scottish band prove on Late Developers that they have certainly not grown complacent. The group pushes itself in exciting musical directions throughout the album, moving through sonic landscapes of indie rock, chamber pop, and synth-pop, while maintaining their signature whimsical charm. Lyrically, it is a restless album as well, with songs about longing for true loves and to finding meaning in mundane life. But for Belle and Sebastian, life's ongoing pursuits are meant to be celebrated, as exhibited by the joyous quality of their music.

4. The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We - Mitski

Having developed a career putting out arty indie rock music and releasing a commercially successful synth-pop album in 2022, it would have been easy for Mitski to focus on polishing her sound to continue her upward trajectory as a pop musician. It's a tribute to her integrity as an artist that instead she made a sharp turn and crafted a stripped-down country-tinged album with choir and orchestral flourishes. The result is one of the most quietly beautiful albums of the year with lush songs filled with evocative, naturalistic imagery exploring the eternally impactful nature of love. Perhaps unsurprisingly, The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We resonated unanimously with fans and became one of her most successful records yet, in spite of its unconventional musical style.

3. Bless This Mess - U.S. Girls

Meg Remy's latest album under her U.S. Girls moniker features some of her catchiest music yet, utilizing dancey disco and funk grooves and glossy production. But it's her sharp skills as a lyricist that sets Remy apart from other purveyors of pop music. Leaning into her identities as a woman and a mother, her lyrics on Bless This Mess move through pandemic era social commentary, dating frustrations, and personal existential probings. The centerpiece of all this is the title track, a hushed ballad in which Remy shares a message from God to reassure us all in fraught times: "I bless this mess/Goddamn, you're doing your best." 

2. Black Rainbows - Corinne Bailey Rae

Corinne Bailey Rae was inspired to create the music for her first album in seven years by an exhibition on Black history by artist Theaster Gates at the Stony Island Arts Bank in Chicago. Moving between experimental jazz, futuristic R&B, and garage rock, Black Rainbows is a startling shift for an artist once known for her soothing pop-soul songs like "Put Your Records On." But what's most remarkable is how well the disparate genres and themes on the album work together to create a cohesive and captivating whole. The result is a moving and at times haunting tribute to the diversity of Black culture and experiences. Grounding the record in the suffering and resilience of her ancestors, Bailey Rae touches upon modern experiences of attempted cultural erasure and white-centered beauty standards, and nods towards future possibilities of liberation. Though the album remains short and abstract enough to prevent it from being all-inclusive in its exploration of Black history, it succeeds at being a multifaceted cultural snapshot by an artist tuned keenly into her heritage.

1. I Am the River, the River Is Me - Jen Cloher

I Am the River, the River Is Me is Jen Cloher's first album to incorporate te reo Māori language lyrics into its songs, and fittingly it is an album of deep self-discovery as a queer person of Māori descent on their mother's side of their family. Through 10 tightly-woven tracks of lush, emotive folk rock, Cloher takes the listener on this journey with them, singing of personal, social, and environmental struggles and how the wisdom of their rediscovered heritage provides a path forward. There is an undeniable political aspect to this, such as on "Being Human," a rousing anthem for Land Back for Indigenous Peoples. But Cloher ultimately seeks something deeper than taking a political stance, which anyone can do without understanding the context they exist in and have come from. Instead, Cloher digs deep to reassess themselves as a part of the interconnected natural environment (exemplified on the title track "I Am the River, the River Is Me") on lands that have been stolen from Peoples who have been oppressed but whose rich culture lives on. This journey of reflection builds towards towards the sweeping closer "I Am Coming Home," in which they sit in full recognition and appreciation for their Māori heritage they have reconnected with. This narrative arc is one of the most moving I have heard on any album and a powerful reminder that dealing with any problem, personal or political, must begin with an understanding of one's identity and positionality within the lands and society they exist in.

Holiday

        During the summer of 2022 my family took our first trip to Europe since before the pandemic. Due to the impacts on travel, it had been four years since we had all been over there together. We first visited Norway, traveling between Oslo and Bergen, a country we’ve always wanted to go to because both my parents have Norwegian ancestors. Then we traveled on to Southern England, where my dad’s side of the family resides. On the day we arrived in Norway, my sister tested positive for COVID, which meant we would spend much of the vacation taking extra precautions to not catch it from her. However, the trip went off mostly without a hitch otherwise and was by all accounts a lovely time.
        While we were traveling, I decided to casually conduct observations of events around me for 15 minutes or so at random times of the day. This method of exploring spaces and moments in time is similar to the one I used in my project Succession, in which I documented a year in my hometown of Carbondale, Illinois through short observations in public settings. The results of my observations from our trip to Europe are contained within the following vignettes. Though I have taken some artistic liberties in the details recounted, particularly in regard to dialogue, the vast majority of what is included is based on real occurrences and conversations that I observed.
        What stood out to me most from this vacation was how strangely idyllic it all felt. Coming off two and a half years in America where pandemic, racial justice protests, violent insurrection, and a recently begun war in Ukraine had dominated the headlines, I had forgotten what it was like to escape on a holiday, where your main goal is to enjoy yourself and explore incredible locations. In Norway, which in addition to its beautiful landscape is known for its great quality of life and universal healthcare system, hardly anyone was wearing masks and most people seemed fit and carefree. Even our family’s brush with COVID during the vacation felt like more of an annoying inconvenience than anything life threatening.

        In returning to these observations, I have found myself wrestling with the duality of the need to address the great problems of our time and the daily longing to escape to something (or somewhere) more happy. Just in the past several weeks, I have found myself listening to news reports each evening of the ongoing death and destruction from the recent eruption of war between Israel and Hamas, and then tuning out for the night to relieve my mind from the unfathomable horrors playing out. Yet, as I go to sleep in my comfortable bed, I can't help but wander if I should be doing more to speak out against the unfolding genocide against the Palestinian people in Gaza. At what point does self-care become apathy? And what is the role of escapism and pleasure seeking in a world in crisis? Somewhere there is a balance between the obligation of engagement and the need for healthy disconnection that I am still trying to find.

* * *

I. Chicago and the Atlantic Ocean

        Through the broad windows of an airport terminal, a sunny afternoon can be perceived. Large planes are in the foreground being prepared to take off high into the sky and travel to distant lands. Most near is an Etihad Airways plane that is connected to the terminal and currently being resupplied by several vehicles. Soon, an even bigger American Airlines plane appears behind it slowly rolling towards the terminal to make its exchange of humans and restock on necessary items before embarking on another voyage through the skies.

        Slowly the outside world begins to fade and is replaced by the inside world of the busy terminal. In the window are the silhouette reflections of people walking up and down the long corridor and the rows of seats. In one direction a man walks by with his phone held out in front of his face; in another a man passes by carrying a fountain drink with a long straw poking out. Somewhere else is the sound of a children’s television show being played on a portable device. With their creature comforts in hand, they are ready for the long journey ahead. 

        It’s a quiet moment in the cabin of the plane. The window shades are shut in every row and the lights are dimmed. Passengers sit idly scattered throughout, with not every seat filled. Nearest is a Southeast Asian man sleeping with his chair reclined. Between the two seats in front of him a screen is visible on the back of another chair showing an animated map of the plane’s location. Occasionally a passenger passes down one of the aisles on either side of the plane, making their way to or from the bathroom. But activity within the cabin is beginning to pick up. In unison, flight attendants begin to move up each aisle and stop at the partitions between seating sections where they pull out serving carts. Then they make their way back down handing out trays with light breakfast meals. One flight attendant begins to approach, a young white woman with brown hair in a braided ponytail. She smiles politely and makes brief conversation with the passengers as she gives them their meals with her white-gloved hands. A ray of light suddenly pierces the cabin as a man with blond hair sitting nearby lifts the shade on his window. Seeing the bright early morning sun, he closes the shade and settles back in to try and catch some rest before the plane starts its descent.

II. Oslo and the Scandinavian Mountains

A vibrant, sun-kissed afternoon is underway in the city harbor. Throngs of people move along a walkway lined with restaurants that seem to have more of their patrons sitting outside than in. Opposite the restaurants, dozens of sunbathers in full swimming attire lie out along the side of the harbor like on a wooden beach. Further down the walkway, the city forms a backdrop with its unique modern architecture. One particularly crooked building juts out in front of the rest with a segment towards the top of its gray structure veering suddenly to the left. Next to it is a gleaming white opera house with its roof sloping down to the ground, allowing pedestrians to walk directly to the top of it.

A commotion is growing on the harbor as a group of teenagers gather on a small bridge connecting two parts of the walkway. Two bikini-clad white girls, surrounded by a racially diverse set of young men, climb onto the railing of the bridge then jump into the water below. The guys cheer and laugh as they watch them, then begin to move along off the bridge. A few minutes pass and more people cross over the bridge, including a couple with a young boy who stop and look over the side at the girls in the water. Finally, the young women appear at the end of the bridge and collect with the guys. The girls joke along with the rest of the group teasingly, with one girl playfully hitting one of the guys with a towel. The teens continue down along the busy harbor with more sun and excitement ahead of them.

One look out the train car windows reveals the rich beauty of this land. Views of mountainous hills covered in aspen and evergreen trees surround on every side. A pixilated sign at the head of the car reading “Tog mot Bergen” reminds passengers of their destination, though few are in a rush to get there. One Asian couple with a toddler girl, sitting in two rows facing each other with a small pull-up table in the middle, are taking in the sights. The dad, a plump man wearing a yellow polo, stands up to retrieve a pamphlet from his bag stowed above them. Meanwhile, the mom grabs the girl from the seat next to the man and moves her to her own side, then starts snapping pictures of her daughter. The dad opens up the pamphlet to show a map and begins pointing out some locations to the interested child. The train goes through a tunnel and things briefly go dark. On the other side, the train is suddenly surrounded by an array of houses as it passes through a village. The dad has started using his phone to take pictures of his wife and daughter, who is now sitting on the mom’s lap. The girl begins to squirm around making it difficult to hold her, so the woman passes her back to her father. The mom now takes her turn taking photos of the other two, determined not to miss out on any chance to document the moment.

III. Bergen

It’s mid-afternoon and an American family is in transit on a bus to the next attraction in the city. The dad, white with brown hair and in preppy attire, sits in one row, while the mom and daughter of about 10 years old, both also white with brown hair, sit in the row in front of him. The dad peers out the window through his sunglasses. The bus is running along a beautiful harbor set within a fjord lined with tall green hills on each side. The man indicates towards a section near the water with an assortment of closed carnival attractions. 

“Evelyn,” he says to his wife, “did you see this Ferris wheel, how they’re taking it down?”  

“That probably means they’re taking the rest of the rides away too,” the woman responds, adding wistfully, “Too bad, that woulda been fun to check out.”

“Yeah,” the dad replies plainly. He’s now distracted trying to orient himself on the map on his phone. He pinpoints their location along the bus route as they come to a rest at a bus stop. “Okay we’re at Sandvikstorget,” he announces, doing his best to pronounce the Norwegian name.

“Yeah, so not this one but the next one,” the mom chimes in.

A minute passes as the bus lurches forward and continues along its route. The dad, gazing again out the window at the harbor, is drawn back to their previous conversation. “So what if that fair was just here for the weekend?” he asks.

“It’s a real shame,” the mom posits, “they could have it every day and make plenty of business out here.”

        Hearing the discussion, the young girl jumps in: “Mom, I wanna go on a Ferris wheel.”

        The dad, seeing the bus beginning to approach the next stop, motions toward the button for riders to indicate a desired stop. “Already did it,” the mom says, then adds quickly to her daughter, “I know, sweetie. We’ll find another Ferris wheel for you to ride.”

        The bus slows to a rest. “Okay,” the dad says, prompting his family to hastily exit the vehicle. 

        A highway overlooking the city is cast in rich, golden rays of light from the sun nearing the horizon. It’s nearly ten o’clock at night but it seems to never really get dark here. The highway has two lanes going in each direction with a concrete divider in the middle. On the east side are steep green hills, while on the west are residential buildings interspersed with lush green trees leading down to the bay. Cars stream by going in either direction. Now a bus passes heading into the city. There is a broad walkway on the west side of the highway separated from the road by a large concrete barrier. At this time of night it is mostly deserted and quiet except for the sounds of passing cars and birds chirping in the nearby trees. The relative calm is suddenly disrupted by two motorcyclists wearing black helmets and protective outfits zooming along the highway, revving their engines and weaving through traffic as they head out of the city. Then someone finally appears on the walkway, a white woman with blond hair out for a jog. She grows smaller in the distance as she heads north towards a curve in the road where two tall apartment buildings spring up. After a leisurely run to end the day, she’s headed back to her room with a view.

        It’s a cool, overcast day but a park in the center of the city is bustling with activity. A greenspace with a clean-cut lawn and well-manicured shrubs forms a central area where people pass to and fro, go for a stroll, or rest and converse with one another on park benches. A towering bronze statue of the Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg watches regally over the scene. Like notes in one of his great compositions, passersby on the stone-paved walkway surrounding the lawn form a symphony of life: an upper middle-aged couple walking side by side, a man in a bright yellow construction uniform, a tall Black man and a short white woman chatting and walking slowly, a blond woman talking on her phone, a Black woman wearing a romper and a baseball cap pushing a stroller and smiling at her baby, a South Asian man smoking a cigarette and carrying a black bag over his shoulder, a redhead woman with thick thighs, a young man and an old man passing in opposite directions, a middle-aged woman wearing a dress jacket, a man wearing all black with multiple piercings on his face, another sharply dressed middle-aged woman, a group of four teenagers chatting excitedly, two old ladies carrying bags from a day of shopping, the woman with the stroller passing by a second time…

IV. England: Seaford and Lewes

A middle-aged white couple sit out on a stony beach in the sun in perfect relaxation. Further along the shore are tall white chalk cliffs and a concrete pier that extends into the sea with a white lighthouse at the end. The man and woman have two long fishing rods set up in holders next to them with lines cast out into the water, but whether they catch anything is hardly the point. They have finished a light lunch and it is nearing time for them to pack up and head home. At last, the man, a tan fellow with white hair and a pot belly, closes up a small cooler and hands it to his wife, a blond woman. The woman leisurely begins to take the cooler back to their car, parked a few dozen meters away along the road at the edge of the beach. The man, in no rush to leave the idyllic spot, continues to sit and watch the gentle waves upon the sea before him.

        The elderly man’s face lights up as he looks across the table at his old friend, a woman of about the same age. The place they have chosen to reconnect is a new chain coffee shop, but the air of a quaint English village is still palpable from the view out the window they’re sitting next to – across the street is the side entrance of a centuries old church and a shop called The Tea Garden. The setting easily conjures up shared memories the two have from living in the area for many years.

“You know, I do think we were as naive back then as we are now,” the man says. “I remember bombing around the countryside on motorbikes, going down to Brighton on the weekends, you know, we didn’t have a care in the world. None of these thoughts about global warming or pandemics; we all thought we would be living in a colony on the moon by now and all our problems would be solved,” he concludes with a grin.

“As you say that, I just have a picture in my mind now of Liz, my sister, dressed up as a little girl in a spacesuit costume,” the woman adds. “She wanted to be the first woman on the moon, bless her heart.”

“I’ll keep on believing she would have been if she hadn’t run away with that priest from London and started popping out kids,” the man says, chuckling.

“Oh, heavens,” the woman responds, shaking her head. Then she adds, “Do you know what? When I go up there to visit them, I sometimes join them for a service—”

“At the church in Wendell Park?” the man interjects.

“Yes,” the woman continues. “They used to require masks, which I thought was quite good. But when I went to the Thanksgiving service nobody was wearing them. You know, I’m getting more relaxed about it myself. If I’m riding the train and someone sits next to me I’ll put one on, but otherwise I don’t bother. They say it’s more to protect others than yourself anyway…”

        “Well, old people are the most vulnerable, aren’t they? There’s the risk. Most everyone else will be okay, as long as they got the shot.”

        “You’ve survived thus far, haven’t you?” the woman responds shrewdly. 

        “I have. I think my back might not have, though. Too much time sitting hunched over the computer on those, what do you call them…Zoom video calls,” the man says, leaning back in his chair in an exaggerated stretch.

        The woman sits for a moment, staring thoughtfully into her teacup, then adds, “Well, you’ll be alright. We’ll just do as we’ve always done: keep moving about our lives with our heads in the clouds, pretending the world isn’t falling to pieces around us.”

        “It’s better than thinking about doom and gloom all the time, I always say,” the man retorts. 

        “Indeed…,” the woman responds.

        There’s a pause as the man takes a long sip, slurping down the rest of the coffee in his cup. He sets the cup back down on the plate in front of him and declares, “It was great to see you.”

        “Right,” the woman says, standing up from the table, “will I see you at the party at Arthur’s house next month? Or you said you’re going away in July?”

        “Yes,” the man confirms, now standing up from the table to leave as well, “I’ll be on holiday. July three through…well, I don’t remember the return date, but I’ll be away. Have fun. Say hello to the old chap for me…”

        The voices of the two old friends trail off as they exit the coffee shop and walk together down the narrow road, the warm midday sun shining high overhead.

V. The Atlantic Ocean (Up in the Clouds)

All is calm and steady aboard the British Airways flight, as passengers bide their time during the long daytime trip across the ocean. The cabin is brightly lit from the sunlight flooding through the windows and reflecting off the large wings of the plane. Nearby, a couple passengers are reading and a woman is engrossed in something playing through big Sony headphones on her ears. Meanwhile, there is an ongoing slow parade of people making their way to and from the bathroom at the front of the section of the plane. Presently, a South Asian man who has been waiting outside the bathroom door for several minutes gives up and heads back to his seat, looking slightly annoyed.

        Shortly after, one of the flight attendants, a middle-aged blond woman, pulls out a cart and begins moving down the aisle. She stops at each row and politely asks, “Rubbish?”, then says, “Thank you,” as passengers offer her their trash. Another flight attendant, a heavier brunette woman, appears making her way down the aisle. She is stopped by a middle-aged white American man sitting in a window seat who asks, “Excuse me, would it be possible for me to get another pillow?” The flight attendant responds, “Yes, just a minute.” She continues down the aisle and approaches the blond flight attendant from behind.

        “Will it be okay if I take my break now?” she asks.

        “Of course,” the blond one responds. “I’m almost finished here. Then it’ll be about two hours until the second meal.”

        “Right, thank you,” the brunette flight attendant says. She leans a little closer, placing her hand on the other one’s shoulder, and adds, “Good luck with this crowd,” before turning around and heading off. The blond flight attendant gives a wry smile then continues with her requests for passengers’ rubbish.

        The brunette flight attendant fetches a small pillow wrapped in plastic from a compartment near the bathroom then takes it back to the man who requested it, who thanks her. The man breaks off the wrap and shoves it into the pocket on the back of the chair in front of him. He then places the pillow against the wall of the cabin and settles the side of his head against it. Comfortable again, he gazes at the gleaming, white clouds out his window and allows his mind to wander. Like a child, he imagines himself leaping from one puffy structure to the next, never falling through to the ocean below, and slowly drifts off into a blissful sleep.