Top 10 Films of 2018

The year 2018 was a terrible one for me professionally, and with more than a few setbacks personally, too.  Politically it was a smoking crater. Cinematically it was somewhat above average.

I found myself often at odds with other critics this year, particularly my friends and comrades in the Indiana Film Journalists Association. Things that blew them away I found mildly amusing ("Paddington 2") or borderline unwatchable ("Roma"). Movies I loved were greeted with ambivalence or outright hostility by other critics.

S'ok.

It's the breaks of the game. Any critic who is afraid to sometimes stand apart from the crowd isn't worth reading, imho. In the same vein, critics who give into the urge to always be outside the mainstream, clinging to their contrarian mantle, are more interested in themselves than the movies they're writing about or the audience they're supposed to be writing for.

Last year's list was notable for its preponderance of tiny indie films. There are plenty represented here too, though not as heavily. My unabashed critical credo is "I likes what I likes." I try to approach every film with an open heart and mind. I don't care the genre, country of origin, budget, studio, stars or filmmakers involved -- if it moves me to adoration, I will shout it from the hilltops.

So here's my top 10 for 2018, along with the collection of also-rans and disappointments.

#1: Green Book

I admit to being baffled by the pushback to this film, which has often crossed over into sneering antagonism. To me it was the most uplifting movie of the year, the true (or at least based on) story of two men who had every reason to hate each other and wound up forging a lifelong friendship. Sentimental? Sure. A carefully bookended view of racial dynamics in the early 1960s? That's true too, but all movies simplify and distill to tell their tale. People also seem angry that the story is told from the perspective of the white character. So what? It was his kid who, for decades, nursed a dream of making a movie about his father's friendship with a celebrated jazz musician. If you've noticed, children of famous people don't make movies about their parent's friendship with nobodies. Is it because Mahershala Ali is being pushed for a supporting role during the awards cycle instead of leading, where he belongs with co-star Viggo Mortensen? Welcome to the rampant world of category-hopping prevalent today. Hating "Green Book" is like despising Mother Theresa. It hasn't a mean bone in its body. Honestly, I think its reception has been greeted in the context of our vicious tribalism, where people can't look past their own groups/bubbles and accept people and things as they are. If this movie hadn't come out in the Trump era, it'd be the horse to beat for the Best Picture Oscar.

#2: Bohemian Rhapsody

Another movie I feel I have to defend rather than extol. "It's just another rock 'n' roll biopic." No. It. Is. Not! I already loved the songs of Queen before the movie came out, but its determination to not just be The Freddie Mercury Story is what put it over the top for me. By including all the inner dynamics of the band and not just being "Freddie and the Other Guys," it was a step above the genre. Plus, all that great music. I get a smile just thinking about this movie.

#3: The Hate U Give

Marvelously acted, and possibly the best drama about race in America since "Do the Right Thing" nearly 30 years ago. The counterpoint to "Green Book," a film that disturbs rather than unites. The IFJA gave this our top award for the year, and I was proud to do so.

#4: A Star Is Born

Why does this work so well? I can't say. Maybe because I haven't seen the 1950s or '70s version of the story, only the 1930s original. Lady Gaga will get most of the buzz and awards, and she's quite good, but it's Bradley Cooper's performance that blew me away. The voice -- brazenly borrowed from co-star Sam Elliott -- the haunted stare, the subtle way he uses his hearing loss to ingratiate himself with strangers -- it's just a masterful piece of character-building.

#5: Avengers: Infinity War

Who knew that a superhero movie could have so much depth, so many surprises, such a looming sense of inevitable tragedy? That sound you heard this summer was millions of people scraping their jaws off the floor of the theater. Yes, it'll all (or mostly) get hocused-pocused back to square in next year's "Avengers: Endgame." But for now, it's amazing that mainstream movies can be this bold.

#6: The Wife

Glenn Close is my pick to win the Academy Award for Best Actress, playing the long-suffering spouse of a famous author with a secret. Even if you guess what it is before the end, or have it spoiled for you, it's still an indelible portrait of a woman who has embraced compromise all her life, and is now chafing under its weight even as she seemingly is reaping all the spoils.

#7: Cold War

The best foreign film of the year, based loosely on director Pawel Pawlikowski's own parents' doomed romance. Aesthetically is it rather similar to "Roma," shot in gorgeously bleak black-and-white... except it actually has a story to tell.

#8: Chappaquiddick

Another movie I think was written off because it doesn't align with Hollywood's present political panic. Jason Clarke is terrific as Teddy Kennedy, in a movie that seeks to explore his character in the face of tragedy, rather than just condemn him as an evil boogeyman like "Vice."

#9: The Favourite

This one could've been much higher on the list if it could have stuck the landing. Or had one. I'm not a big fan of movies that simply stop at an arbitrary, unsatisfying point. Filmmakers like to think of it as embracing ambivalence. (How very European!) But I think they just can't come up with a good way to end the story, so they decide to omit one entirely. Fortunately, before this literal last-minute stumble came perhaps the best costume drama about the miscreant doings of a royal court since "Dangerous Liaisons." And three of the four best performances by an actress this year, all in one movie. Alas, the awards groups can't seem to figure out in which categories the actresses belong. Calling Emma Stone, who plays the main character, a supporting actress is absurd. Ditto for giving top billing and leading status to Olivia Colman, whose wastrel queen is the object upon which the subjects act. Rachel Weisz' character is up for some debate, though I'd come down for her as leading as well.

#10: Leave No Trace

This very quiet, still film has grown on me steadily since I saw it mid-year. Debra Granik is my pick for the best director of the year, though I fear this tiny indie will be overlooked. It's the story of a wounded father raising his preteen daughter in the woods, almost completely cut off from the rest of society. The movie is much less interested in the why of how this situation came to be as the how it plays out in the relationships in this tiny family unit. Ben Foster may just be the best character actor working today.

Best of the Rest

Most years I struggle to finish the top 10, juggling several films around for the last few spots. This year it was fairly easy to make the cuts. I was still amazed by all these movies on some level. Presented alphabetically.

Alpha
At Eternity's Gate  -- Actually makes you feel how Van Gogh's madness and genius where intertwined.
Beast -- Jessie Buckley is mysterious and beguiling. I'd love for Hollywood to figure out something to do with her.
On the Basis of Sex -- Stolid biopic/court drama that offers few surprises but does what it does very well.
Ben Is Back -- Love seeing Julia Roberts in a role with sweetness and snarl.
Capernaum
Disobedience -- Rachel Weisz continues to be on a roll in small movies most people don't see.
First Reformed -- Ditto Ethan Hawke.
Hearts Beat Loud
Juliet, Naked
Love, Simon -- A lot of heavy-handed movies about gay youths this year. This one actually has brains, heart and a sense of humor.
Ready Player One -- Has the ever been a movie to more quietly earn a half a billion dollars?
RGB -- My favorite documentary of the year. The filmmakers are clearly in love with their subject but still offer a balanced portrait.
Shirkers 
Shoplifters -- A surprisingly sentimental choice for the Cannes Palme d'Or prize. Reminds me a lot of Kurosawa's "Dodes'ka-den."
Sorry to Bother You -- Offbeat, silly, vexing, angry, brashly original.
Welcome to Marwen -- I am crushed by this film's poor critical reception and box office death. Maybe just a little too weird to get people off their couch. Hopefully it'll be rediscovered as a gem a few years down the road like "Lars and the Real Girl."

The Disappointments

These aren't necessarily bad movies, but ones that left me underwhelmed. Listed alphabetically.

Ben Is Back  -- This is a Very Important Movie. And it really wants you to know it is a Very Important Movie.
Black Panther -- Funny how people who were swooning last March about this being the end-all, be-all superhero movie are much quieter now. Once it got out to a wider audience people saw it for what it is: a middling Marvel Comics Universe movie.
Eighth Grade -- Good, not great.
Hereditary -- She's a witch!
If Beale Street Could Talk -- Gorgeous looking and my favorite musical score of the year. Regina King is terrific as the mom. Main characters are kinda tuneless. Classic example of a good movie that could've been great.
Minding the Gap -- I admit my patience for feature films about skateboarders is very low. It eventually gets somewhere else... eventually. 
Paddington 2 -- A perfectly serviceable sequel to a wonderful family picture. And nothing more.
A Quiet Place -- A decent thriller/horror. Still can't figure out why they didn't just pitch tents next to the waterfall and live there, since it's the one place the sound-eaters can't find them.
Roma -- What a deeply flawed concept for a movie: Alfonso Cuarón tells the story of his family in 1970s Mexico City from the viewpoint of the family maid, but forgets to give her a character.
Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse -- I can't believe how people are swooning for this pleasing, imaginative but puddle-deep flick. Not even close to the best superhero or animated movie of the year.
Suspiria -- I am so over the "Tilda Swinton is such a chameleon, so let's give her 3+ parts in our movie" thing.
Vice -- Just a nasty, nasty takedown of Dick Cheney. Lies all over the place. Ugly and unnecessary. Actually made me feel more sympathy for the veep than I had going in.
Won't You Be My Neighbor? -- Even as a 4- or 5-year-old, I found Mr. Rogers' show a bit dull. Ditto the documentary about it.

Requiem for a Curmudgeon: William Goldman (1931-2018)

William Goldman so mastered Hollywood's byzantine rules that he not only became known as its greatest screenwriter, he also saw through its charades and shenanigans -- and wasn't afraid to write that, too.

When his "Adventures in the Screen Trade" was published in  1983, he was riding as high as anyone could: winner of two Oscars (for "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" and "All the President's Men"), highly-paid and sought after both for his own screenplays and as a script doctor for others', someone whose name alone could help get a project green-lit.

But he wrote honestly and acidly about the business of Hollywood in the book, including his own travails and butting of heads with giants like Robert Redford. Perhaps not coincidentally for a place known for the phrase "you'll never eat lunch in this town again," the next few years were a downtime for him. Even "The Princess Bride," based on his beloved own novel, was a middling hit in 1987. But he hit a second stride that lasted through the 1990s and into the early 2000s.

Bill has died at age 87. I'm proud to say I knew him, if only a little.

He and my father, Jim, were fast friends at Oberlin College and kept in touch over the years. When I was growing up my dad would make occasional references to knowing somebody in showbiz, which I largely ignored until I was a teenager and knew I wanted to write about movies. He would always call him "Bill," as in mentioning to my mother, "Just got off the phone with Bill Goldman." And so I will, too.

I first met Bill in 1990 when I transferred to New York University to join the Cinema Studies department -- not the much larger and more heralded Film department; we watched movies rather than make them for an education. By then he was divorced and his daughters grown, so he was living alone in an expansive apartment in a Manhattan hotel.

I remember it was raining a deluge that day; my parents and I all got soaked to the skin. So we decided to eat lunch in, wearing some of Bill's old sweatshirts. I got to hoist his Oscars, which he kept lackadaisically on an old bookshelf. Many people have commented how they're much heavier than they appear, which I found to be true.

My dad was a little nervous about leaving his only son alone in the big, mean city. He gave me the phone numbers of two friends in New York City I was supposed to call upon if I had any trouble, and one was Bill's. I kept it for many years without ever using it.

That first day we spent some hours talking movies -- I'm afraid to say I probably came across as a little snotty. My tastes still ran to visual spectacles in those days, before I'd learned that I needed to learn more. Bill was polite to his friend's son, declining to tell me what an ass I was. The only hint was the inscription he wrote in my copy of "Adventures," which reads: "To Chris Lloyd, You knew all this anyway, God Bless, Bill."

Luckily, we did not leave it there.

When email dawned, I reached out to Bill and was pleased to get a response. For many years we kept up a correspondence, generally about movies but also sharing personal news and thoughts. He was one of the first people I let know when my dad died six years ago; I still remember his warm remembrance fondly.

Bill was just as direct via email as he was in person or in his writings. If Bill thought the favorite to win the Best Picture Oscar that year was piece of shit, that's exactly what he would write. We occasionally argued, but in a good-natured way.

Interesting aside: in email, Bill mostly eschewed things like capitalization and punctuation. Sentences tended to be very short or run on. Perhaps someone so used to writing in the careful formatting of screenplays craved having a sphere where he could throw out all rules.

But he always signed them the same way: "God bless, Bill."

I knew he was ill in recent years, and the death of his daughter three years ago marked about the last time we spoke. I'm glad to see the various news services giving his passing  glowing coverage. His last produced screenplay was "Dreamcatcher" in 2003, based upon Stephen King's book, and it was a commercial flop. I remember some of the reviews at the time were quite vicious in mentioning Goldman's name.

Bill Goldman was a great writer who was also open about how painful the process of writing was for him. He talked of "going into my pit" upon embarking on a new project. He often felt cut off and alienated from others. The reputation of a curmudgeon eventually formed around his persona, especially as he got older.

But as everyone else spends this time talking about his achievements as a writer, I just wanted to pay my own meager tribute to the man. His most famous saying was "Nobody knows anything," but I'm one of many who can say that this was a man who knew a lot.

Let me tell you about my friend, Matt

If you ever read a column by Matt Tully, you probably already felt like you knew him.

He was one of those few gifted writers who never let words come between him and his readers. Instead, he used his column in The Indianapolis Star to tear down barriers -- between rich and poor, black and white, Republicans and Democrats, people who enjoyed great neighborhoods with excellent schools and those who felt trapped in their community. He was a kind man, but also one with strong opinions who wasn't afraid to express them forcefully... but never hatefully.

But as I said, if you were Matt's reader you already knew all this.

Instead I'd like to tell you about my friend, Matt, the guy I knew. If you're reading this you probably have already heard that he died yesterday at age 49 after a two-year battle with stomach cancer. An entire city mourns.

In the old Star newsroom, Matt was a jovial presence who loved to talk baseball, especially his beloved Cubs. He grew up in The Region, as those of us in Indiana call the northwestern part of our state, which in many ways belongs more to Chicago than Hoosierdom.

Matt was pretty much the first friend I made after moving to Indiana in 2005. I came here not knowing a soul, and he opened up his heart and offered friendship. Whenever he could tell I was feeling overtaxed, toiling away in the features department on the entertainment section, he would grab me by the arm and walk me over to Starbucks or somewhere else to de-stress for a few minutes. He and his wife, Val, went on a few double-dates with my then-girlfriend, Jean, and I, and invited us to their home.

We were both young, ambitious guys in our mid-30s who knew we were going places.

At the end of 2008, our paths diverged. I was let go by the Star, along with dozens of others in a seemingly never-ending stream of cost-cutting. Meanwhile, he had essentially become the face of the Star, its most recognizable talent, especially after sports maestro Bob Kravitz left a few years later. He was on his way up; I was on my way down. I spent two years freelancing and living off unemployment benefits before I found another job.

It's common for coworkers to lose touch, especially after a scenario like this. Survivor's guilt, along with the need to carry on with the important mission of journalism, tends to make it seem to those who stay that a curtain has closed on those who left.

Not Matt. He made it a point to stay in touch, getting together for occasional coffees or lunches. I texted him feedback about his latest column -- nearly always positive -- and we occasionally jawed about politics. Matt was center-left, I am center-right, I'm a Marco Rubio fan and he was dismissive of his abilities. But we never argued, and he always strove to respect a differing opinion.

When I announced to the world that I had been diagnosed with a brain tumor, Matt shared the story wider than I ever could. He asked me often about how I was doing, and offered to help out in any way he could.

We both became parents around the same time. Matt kept me updated during he and Val's struggle to have their own child, and then the arduous process of adopting one. They came close several times, only to have the adoption fall through. I could tell he was depressed and starting to give up hope of ever being a father. Then, in very short order, they found themselves parents to a beautiful baby boy.

Our sons, Joel and Reid, are just a few months apart in age. Some of my most cherished memories are of watching them play together. I still remember Joel chirping away in the back of the car after the first of many play dates together, "I think I just found a new friend!"

I moved from Broad Ripple to Carmel a few years ago, and often joshed with Matt that he would eventually follow. He laughed and demurred; they loved their neighborhood in Meridian-Kessler. Then, a couple years back, Matt and his family went north like so many Indy families do. We exchanged Carmel jokes while not-so-secretly loving life here.

I didn't see much of Matt over the last year of his illness. We kept in touch mainly through text messages. I returned his offers of help, saying we'd be happy to take Reid for a day to give him and Val some rest. But I think in his last months what he really wanted most was to be with his family, and I was happy to give him that space.

In his last column this summer, Matt promised his readers that he'd be back. It turns out he won't be returning to the pages of the Star, other than for his obituary. But in many ways, he kept his word: because he never really left. Matt Tully is the beating heart of the Star, and I think will remain so for many years to come.

But those sorts of words are best left for the official eulogy. Today, I just miss my dear friend.

Frequent Stalling, Excessive Speeding and a Surly Cool: The Legend of The Beast

Not an actual photo of The Beast, who never wore Mags and whose paint was like flat earth.

We called it The Beast.

It seemed as long as a World War II destroyer, and only slightly less menacing. He was the color of a well-used playground baseball diamond, earthen brown with a slightly acrid orange tint. The Beast was perpetually angry, as demonstrated by the deep-throated rumble he spat forth whenever awoken.

He was strong, but old, and like all graying warriors rose from his sleep only reluctantly, memories of past battles scattering. Through his four large eyes he glared at a world that looked upon him as a relic, a dinosaur of a bygone era.

The Beast was a 1971 Mercury Cougar, which Dylan bought for $500 (from an uncle, I believe) during the summer between our junior and senior years at high school. Next to the sleek new Beamers and Volvos the richer students at Winter Park High drove to school, the Beast resembled a rotary phone beside a new iPhone. Parked next to my sky-blue 1972 Plymouth Duster, though, the Beast emanated a surly cool.

For a young man, the first car he owns himself without dependency on any parent is like a four-wheeled ticket to freedom. Yes, you say to yourself, my car may be old and ugly to look upon, but it's mine, bought with my own money, and by turning a key I can go anywhere I want.

He was so large and heavy, the Beast literally intimidated other drivers. One look at this expansive slab of rolling Detroit steel, and they knew their modern machines of plastic and fiberglass would end up in a pile of dust in any collision. So they steered clear, and it is a satisfying thing to watch other drivers get out of your way.

This burly heft tended to be a drawback, however, when you drive a car like that to the beach and it sinks into the sand up to the quarter panels. It took a handful of guys to push it out.

It would be fair to say that Dylan was an inexperienced car owner, and did not do everything a conscientious owner should -- things like pulling the oil dipstick, checking the tires or reading the instruments with more than a passing interest.

One time he brought the Beast to my house so my father could change the oil for him. The oil was so low it wouldn't even read on the dipstick. Dylan tried to maneuver the Beast up the portable tire ramps my Dad used, but he wasn't quick enough on the brakes and zoomed clear over the edge. The Beast came down on the ramps like a ferrous mastodon, crunching them. We disentangled them and tried again. Whomp! The ramps were starting to look rather gnarly.

At this point my father took me aside and asked me if my friend might, despite being a stellar student, have some kind of mental deficiency. I assured him that Dylan was merely spastic. On the third try we got the Beast to stay suspended, the oil was changed, and to my knowledge it was never done so again. The ramps, now twisted to a hunchback reflection of their former selves, were outlasted by the Beast.

Those who are passengers in a car driven by Dylan today might wonder who this timid and meek pilot is. As a teen, Dylan drove the Beast with a unchecked fury. He was like one fire-belched demon riding on the shoulders of another, screaming around the streets near his father's home with such reckless disregard that neighbors took to shaking their fists whenever the Beast drew near.

A late sleeper, Dylan always managed to make it from Maitland to the high school in an impossibly short span of time, never once getting a speeding ticket. On one occasion, which must represent some sort of unofficial land speed record, he drove from Orlando to Atlanta in 5½ hours, which averages out to about 85 m.p.h. Again, he never got a ticket -- even though at one point he saw a state trooper pointing a radar gun directly at him while he was doing north of 90.

This episode lends credence to the theory promulgated in some circles that the Beast's arsenal including a cloaking device.

Alas, although the Beast's speedometer and cloaking device worked perfectly, the fuel gauge stubbornly refused his duty. Dylan knew it was time to refuel after going 200 miles, which was a pretty simple calculation: 20-gallon gas tank times 10 mpg. If someone were to operate the Beast with today's gas prices, they would have to forego groceries just to keep his rapacious thirst slaked.

 One time Dylan and I were on a long trip with Mary Oglo and Moesha Claussen. We had decided it was time to let the girls drive, so they were up front while we lounged over a game of chess on one of those little magnetic sets in the back. We lost track of our time and distance, though, and soon the Beast was sputtering and coming to a rest on the side of I-75.

After a few fruitless minutes trying to flag down some help, Dylan finally convinced some folks in a run-down old RV to give him to a lift to the next gas station. The rest of us were quite convinced this was the last we would ever see of him, and that he would meet his fate is some sort of hillbilly torture orgy, a la "Deliverance."

The Beast being old, he had the usual list of infirmities. There were times when he would not start, or when he did made strange disturbing sounds that vaguely resembled groaning.

Perhaps his most public breakdown was at our high school graduation. Near the end of the ceremony, a tremendous Florida June downpour ensued. I searched in vain for Dylan, as he was my ride. There was a huge crush of graduates, parents and friends milling at the front door to the civic center where the event took place -- no one had brought an umbrella. And even if they did, they didn't want to brave a weather event that was fast approaching typhoon level.

Impetuous, I took off running toward the Beast, the inches-deep water sloshing up over my graduation gown. As I ran, I noticed another figure running parallel to me in the next row. It was Dylan, also splashing through the deluge at top speed, his black robes flowing. We made it to the Beast together, got inside and looked at each other. We could not have been more wet if we'd jumped fully clothed into a swimming pool.

We roared with laughter at our state, and at our fate at being the first ones to escape the mob. The rest would spend the next hour or more slogging through stalled traffic.

We were off, our fortunes before us, our past receding behind, and the Beast our noble chariot.

 Until the Beast hit a big puddle halfway through the parking lot, sprayed some water up his exhaust manifold, and promptly conked out. We tried to restart him, but the Beast was obstinate. Helpless in the continuing downpour, we watched as a stream of cars inched their way out of the lot, a mechanical caterpillar filled with people who gazed out their windows at the two bozos in the (literally) flooded brown junker.

Finally, one of the cars in this sad review contained Dylan's father, who somehow got the Beast started, and we were off again -- delayed, humbled and mortified.

The Beast continued to carry Dylan all through college at Rollins, although his mechanical problems mounted as Dylan's ability to fix them waned. There were times it seemed entire semesters passed without the Beast moving from his grim perch in the student parking lot, like an ancient drake dozing the eons away.

Finally, as college was ending, Dylan knew it was time to put the Beast out to pasture. As luck would have it, he got the Beast running again just in time to fetch a price of $750. For in the years Dylan owned him, the Beast had hit the magic age of 20, and was now considered a classic.

It is most likely that the Beast was soon sold for parts, or at most spent a few more years tooling around before heading to the junkyard. But I still like to think that somewhere the Beast and another curly-headed young man have formed a new partnership, an understanding between machine and man like the one Dylan had.

Somewhere, I secretly hope, the Beast still growls.

Review: "Boundaries"

Just a short review today; the studio wasn't able to get me a screener until late Thursday afternoon.

I was a bit bored and bewildered by "Boundaries." It features two world-class thespians in Vera Farmiga and Christopher Plummer, playing a daughter and father at cross ends while trying to reconnect during a road trip. It features lots of talking but not much substantive sharing. Characters do things because that's where writer/director Shana Feste wanted a scene to go, not because that's how it would have organically led there.

Farmiga plays Laura, a harried and hectored mother to troublesome teen son Henry (Lewis MacDougall), an ostracized boy who has a penchant for drawing adults in the nude in sexual and unflattering ways. Laura's jerk boyfriend, like most male authority figures, has his male parts, uh, deemphasized.

Her dad is Jack (Plummer), a rapscallion who, at 85, is being kicked out of his retirement community for repeatedly breaking the rules. He was absent during most of Laura's childhood, and they only seem to hook up when someone needs something. Circumstances align that they each have a desperate need: Laura needs money to pay for private school to help Henry with his emotional problems, and Jack needs a ride to Los Angeles.

Jack says he can't fly because of a blood clot in his leg, but Jack says lots of things. Laura has learned not to invest a lot of hope for the truth.

So off they go, driving from Seattle to Los Angeles in Jack's vintage Rolls Royce, the trio of humans along with a few of Laura's collection of castoff dogs. We're not surprised when they pick up more along the way. That's who Laura is: she protects the weak because that's how she's felt herself much of her life.

Things go from there. It turns out Jack got his money from dealing pot, and the trip is largely an excuse to drop off product along the way. Most of customers are old friends, like Stanley, a hippie who never really left the commune. He's played by Christopher Lloyd -- the other one; or rather, I'm the other one -- who gets a hot tub nude scene a la Kathy Bates in "About Schmidt."

(Unlike Farmiga in "Up in the Air," I'm confident my namesake did not use stuntbutt.)

One inevitable stop is to see Laura's ex (Bobby Cavanale), who's sort of a junior version of Jack; he's just a little more honest with himself about his failings.

I should point out that this is one of those movies that stretches out a road trip that should take one long drive into about a week. By my guess, they actually only get about four good hours on the road per day.

"Boundaries" is one of those movies where if people ask you, "What was it about?", you really have no good answer. I was willing to cut this film a lot of slack just because I like the cast so much. But it fumbles at trying to manipulate our emotions, leaving us with a road trip picture that doesn't really go anywhere.

Fearless Oscar predictions 2018

2017 was a big year for small movies.

Most of my favorite pictures were independent films, several of them so tiny -- "Brigsby Bear," "Patti Cake$" -- they barely made a ripple in box office or cultural terms. And it's not just me: Only two of the nine movies nominated by the Academy Award for Best Picture were huge box office hits, "Dunkirk" and "Get Out," and neither seem to be in the running to win.

Personally, I'm not a big fan of Oscar years with one runaway favorite gobbling up most of the awards. The best overall film may not necessarily have the best performances, costumes or sound design. Give the statue to the people who actually deserve it most, I say.

Without further ado, here are my fearless Oscar predictions in all 24 categories. As in previous years, I provide my prediction of who will win, and my pick of who I think should win. And I will also cross out the names of some of the nominees who I think are undeserving, and replace them with better candidates -- the much-feared "Chris Cross."

Best Picture

The Nominees: 
“Call Me by Your Name”
“Darkest Hour”
“Dunkirk”
“Get Out”
“Lady Bird”
“Phantom Thread”
“The Post”
“The Shape of Water”
“Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri” 

The Chatter: This awards cycle has been all over the map, with "Three Billboards" an early favorite to win, "Lady Bird" faltering after a strong start and "The Shape of Water" making a late surge. "Dunkirk" and "The Post" have the classic Oscar pedigree -- splashy historical pieces -- but seem destined to be overlooked. "Get Out" has a populist puncher's chance.

The fact that "Three Billboards" didn't get a directing nomination likely dooms its chances, as only a handful of films have won Best Picture without their director also getting a nod. Also, there's been an odd backlash against the film because it allows the racist cop played by Sam Rockwell to find a measure of redemption.

My favorite film of the year, "Blade Runner 2049," didn't make the list, so I'll take my #2, "Lady Bird," with the pick. I think there's a slight chance it could slip in for a win, with the #MeToo movement lending credence to a film that's very much a women's story. But "Water" has made a strong showing in the preliminary awards, including the predictive Producers Guild Awards, and seems poised for a win.

For the Chris Cross, I liked "Get Out" and "Darkest Hour," but I can easily find strong nominees. The tiresome "Phantom Thread" will be forgotten within five years, when Daniel Day-Lewis unretires because he doesn't want to go out on such a sour note. 

Prediction: "The Shape of Water"

Pick: "Lady Bird"

Chris Cross: I'll replace "Darkest Hour," "Get Out," and "Phantom Thread" with "Blade Runner 2049," "The Florida Project" and "Maudie."

Best Actress

The Nominees: 
Sally Hawkins, “The Shape of Water”
Frances McDormand, “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri”
Margot Robbie, “I, Tonya”
Saoirse Ronan, “Lady Bird”
Meryl Streep, “The Post”

The Chatter: Frances McDormand seems destined for a win -- indeed, this is the weird year where all four acting categories appear to be locked up tight. So that would point toward chances of at least one Mark Rylance-style upset.

I'm fine with with a win for McDormand, who is so strong and true, in a role that never softens her character's edges in a play for sympathy. If Sally Hawkins was nominated for "Maudie" instead of "The Shape of Water," she'd be my pick. She's still the stalking horse, with Saoirse Ronan having a puncher's chance.

Prediction: Frances McDormand

Pick: Frances McDormand

Chris Cross: I'll replace Margot Robbie with Danielle Mcdonald from the little-scene "Patti Cake$."

Best Actor

The Nominees: 
Timothée Chalamet, “Call Me by Your Name”
Daniel Day-Lewis, “Phantom Thread”
Daniel Kaluuya, “Get Out”
Gary Oldman, “Darkest Hour”
Denzel Washington, “Roman J. Israel, Esq.”

The Chatter: I'm not a fan of this roster of nominees, with only seemingly certain winner Gary Oldman truly belonging here. There were so many stronger nominees out there. I liked Timothée Chalamet, but the movie takes almost 80 minutes to really get rolling and give him something to do. "Get Out" was buoyed more by the storytelling than Daniel Kaluuya's acting, which was fine but nothing extraordinary.

The nominations for Washington and Day-Lewis are classic Oscar favoritism for past winners, in films that audiences completely ignored. I'm pretty astonished that Sam Elliott got shut out for his career-capper in "The Hero."

Prediction: Gary Oldman

Pick: Gary Oldman

Chris Cross: I'll replace Chalamet, Day-Lewis, Kaluuya and Washington with Jake Gyllenhaal from "Stronger," Lakeith Stanfield from "Crown Heights," James Franco from "The Disaster Artist" and Elliott.

Best Supporting Actress

The Nominees: 
Mary J. Blige, “Mudbound”
Allison Janney, “I, Tonya”
Lesley Manville, “Phantom Thread”
Laurie Metcalf, “Lady Bird”
Octavia Spencer, “The Shape of Water”

The Chatter: Again, this award seems wrapped up with Allison Janney sweeping the preliminaries. That's a pity, because while she's certainly fine, it's pretty much a one-note comic relief role. Her hateful mother shows up occasionally, spouts insults and snappy one-liners, and exits stage right.

Laurie Metcalf is the obvious pick, also playing a seemingly troublesome mother to an uppity teen daughter in "Lady Bird." But she gets to show so many other notes and depths. A truly astonishing performance.

A bit of a weak category this year, so Mary J. Blige is the only one I'd knock out. She was fine, but none of the characters made a real impact on me from the overrated "Mudbound."

Prediction: Allison Janney

Pick: Laurie Metcalf

Chris Cross: I'll replace Blige with Holly Hunter from "The Big Sick."

Best Supporting Actor

The Nominees: 
Willem Dafoe, “The Florida Project”
Woody Harrelson, “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri”
Richard Jenkins, “The Shape of Water”
Christopher Plummer, “All the Money in the World”
Sam Rockwell, “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri”

The Chatter: I was surprised and thrilled when Woody Harrelson got nominated along with is "Three Billboards" co-star Sam Rockwell, the likely winner. He hadn't appeared anywhere in the preliminary awards and hype, so I thought voters were sure to overlook his magnificent performance as the flawed, doomed police chief. If McDormand is the heart of that movie, Woody is the soul.

I liked Rockwell fine, but as written his part is 90% caricature, with a little bit of movement at the very end. His journey seems abrupt rather than experiential. 

You could easily have nominated most of the male cast from "The Shape of Water" here. I loved how that film explored the journeys of its supporting characters. People complained about Michael Stuhlbarg being left off this list for his performance as the dad in "Call Me By Your Name," but it was a pretty pedestrian role as scripted, with one lovely speech tacked on. His character is much richer in "Water."

If Rockwell doesn't win, Willem Dafoe could sneak in for his part as the motel manager in "The Florida Project." He's the cantankerous hero of the piece.

Prediction: Sam Rockwell

Pick: Tie between Willem Dafoe and Woody Harrelson

Chris Cross: Tough call in an always-busy category. I wish there were space for 15 nominees. I can't in good conscious knock out any of these fine actors, but I would've loved to have seen nods for:

• Michael Stuhlbarg, "The Shape of Water"
• Michael Shannon, "The Shape of Water"
• Doug Jones, "The Shape of Water"
• Peter Dinklage, "Three Billboards"
• Nnamdi Asomugha, "Crown Heights" 
• Mamoudou Athie, "Patti Cake$"
• Ethan Hawke, “Maudie”
• Tracy Letts, “Lady Bird”
• Peter Mullan, “Tommy’s Honour”
• Ray Romano, "The Big Sick"
• Sebastian Stan, “I, Tonya”

Best Original Screenplay

The Nominees: 
“The Big Sick,” Emily V. Gordon & Kumail Nanjiani
“Get Out,” Jordan Peele
“Lady Bird,” Greta Gerwig
“The Shape of Water,” Guillermo del Toro, Vanessa Taylor
“Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri,” Martin McDonagh

The Chatter: This one seems to be a battle between young newcomers: Greta Gerwig of "Lady Bird" and Jordan Peele of "Get Out." The Academy loves to use the screenplay categories to award fresh faces -- Ben Affleck and Matt Damon for "Good Will Hunting" being the classic example -- and here they're faced with not too but three choices to fit the bill, the third being "The Big Sick" written by a real-life married couple.

Plus, if we want to bring in political considerations, it's a contest between #MeToo and #OscarsSoWhite. Which sympathy chord will sound the loudest?

I think "Get Out" will win, largely due its huge box office and assertions that it touched the cultural zeitgeist like no other movie last year. I admired the movie but never really connected with its themes, which still remain jumbled to my mind's eye. (Rich, white liberals hate black people so much they secretly want to be them?)

Prediction: "Get Out"

Pick: "Lady Bird"

Chris Cross: I'll knock out "The Big Sick" and "Get Out" in favor of "Patti Cake$" and "Baby Driver."

Best Adapted Screenplay

The Nominees: 
“Call Me by Your Name,” James Ivory
“The Disaster Artist,” Scott Neustadter & Michael H. Weber
“Logan,” Scott Frank & James Mangold and Michael Green
“Molly’s Game,” Aaron Sorkin
“Mudbound,” Virgil Williams and Dee Rees

The Chatter: An extraordinarily weak roster of nominees. "Mudbound" and "Call Me By Your Name" ramble on and on, "The Disaster Artist" never really gets past the joke of its lead performance, and "Molly's Game" feels like TV to me. I liked "Logan" well enough, but if you want to nominate a superhero script, how about "Wonder Woman?"

James Ivory seems the favorite, and at age 89 would become the Academy's oldest winner. For me, he seemed to be writing for quantity rather than quality. Too. Damn. Long.

Prediction: "Call Me By Your Name"

Pick: "Logan"

Chris Cross: My instinct is to replace the entire lineup, but I can only identify three worthy replacements: "Wonder Woman," "Blade Runner 2049" and "Stronger" for "Call Me," "Mudbound" and "Molly's Game."

Best Director

The Nominees: 
“Dunkirk,” Christopher Nolan
“Get Out,” Jordan Peele
“Lady Bird,” Greta Gerwig
“Phantom Thread,” Paul Thomas Anderson
“The Shape of Water,” Guillermo del Toro

The Chatter: Say what you will about the diversity of the Academy Awards. But if Guillermo del Toro wins Best Director as expected, that will mark five out of the last six years the statue has gone to a POC/minority.

For the kids, Jordan Peele and Greta Gerwig, the nomination is the award. Lots of big OWM (old white male) names were excluded to get them their spots: Steven Spielberg, Martin McDonagh, Denis Villeneuve, Darren Aronofsky, Joe Wright; as well as some older female directors: Patty Jenkins, Kathryn Bigelow.

Gerwig is my pick. She spent a decade acting in indies, moving up to more mainstream films, apprenticing as a co-screenwriter, and steps into the director's chair with one of the most assured debuts I've ever seen. It's amazing how mature a work "Lady Bird" is, the sort of picture most directors spend a couple or three decades making movies to have a shot at.

I run hot and cold on del Toro, but "The Shape of Water" is probably my second favorite film of his after "Pan's Labyrinth." So I have no quarrel with him taking home of the statue as expected. He won the Director's Guild award, which has only failed to pick the winner on a handful of occasions.

Shockingly, this is the first time Christopher Nolan has been nominated as a director. He's widely regarded as one of the most important filmmakers of the last 20 years. So he has a shot to play the spoiler.

Prediction: Guillermo del Toro

Pick: Greta Gerwig

Chris Cross: Goodbye to Peele and Anderson; hello to Jenkins and Villeneuve.

Best Documentary Feature

The Nominees: 
“Abacus: Small Enough to Jail,” Steve James, Mark Mitten, Julie Goldman
“Faces Places,” JR, Agnès Varda, Rosalie Varda
“Icarus,” Bryan Fogel, Dan Cogan
“Last Men in Aleppo,” Feras Fayyad, Kareem Abeed, Soren Steen Jepersen
“Strong Island,” Yance Ford, Joslyn Barnes

The Chatter: A strong roster of nominees, with only the disjointed "Icarus" about Russian doping at the Olympics failing to make a strong impression on me. "Strong Island" made a very large impact, as a woman stares balefully into the camera and demands to know why her brother's killer has not been brought to justice after two decades.

The Academy has some pretty kooky procedures on what gets nominated in this category, so there's always a lot of outcry over snubs. Most people thought "Jane" was the front-runner. My favorite doc of the year was "Let It Fall: Los Angeles 1982-1992," which explores racial unrest in LA in the decade leading up to Rodney King. Both were overlooked.

"Faces Places," about two French artists touring the country, is the extremely rare documentary that's actually an upbeat people-pleaser, and many are predicting it to win.

Prediction: "Faces Places"

Pick: "Strong Island"

Chris Cross: Trade "Icarus" for "Let It Fall: Los Angeles 1982-1992."

Best Documentary Short

The Nominees: 
“Edith+Eddie,” Laura Checkoway, Thomas Lee Wright
“Heaven is a Traffic Jam on the 405,” Frank Stiefel
“Heroin(e),” Elaine McMillion Sheldon, Kerrin Sheldon“Knife Skills,” Thomas Lennon“Traffic Stop,” Kate Davis, David Heilbroner

The Chatter: Tough category to predict. My favorite was "Heroin(e)," which lionizes a trio of women fighting the epidemic of opiod deaths in their small town: the fire chief, the drug court judge and a faith-based shelter worker. My second pick is "Traffic Stop," about how a black woman's life was changed by a simple traffic violation that turned into a violent example of police brutality.

Prediction: "Heroin(e)"

Pick: "Traffic Stop"

Best Animated Feature

The Nominees: 
“The Boss Baby,” Tom McGrath, Ramsey Ann Naito
“The Breadwinner,” Nora Twomey, Anthony Leo
“Coco,” Lee Unkrich, Darla K. Anderson
“Ferdinand,” Carlos Saldanha
“Loving Vincent,” Dorota Kobiela, Hugh Welchman, Sean Bobbitt, Ivan Mactaggart, Hugh Welchman

The Chatter: A weak year for animation, with the Pixar/Disney production destined, and deserving, to win. "Ferdinand" was a close second, and it's a pity more people didn't go see it. There's a chance "The Breadwinner," about a girl posing as a boy to support her family during the reign of the Taliban, could sneak in.

Prediction: "Coco"

Pick: "Coco"

Chris Cross: I don't have anything to replace it with, but "The Boss Baby" doesn't deserve to be here.

Best Animated Short

The Nominees: 
“Dear Basketball,” Glen Keane, Kobe Bryant
“Garden Party,” Victor Caire, Gabriel Grapperon
“Lou,” Dave Mullins, Dana Murray
“Negative Space,” Max Porter, Ru Kuwahata
“Revolting Rhymes,” Jakob Schuh, Jan Lachauer

The Chatter: The Disney/Pixar short pretty much always wins. "Dear Basketball" is a surprisingly emotive soliloquy by Kobe Bryant about his basketball career. 

Prediction: "Lou"

Pick: “Dear Basketball”

Best Live Action Short

The Nominees: 
“DeKalb Elementary,” Reed Van Dyk
“The Eleven O’Clock,” Derin Seale, Josh Lawson
“My Nephew Emmett,” Kevin Wilson, Jr.
“The Silent Child,” Chris Overton, Rachel Shenton
“Watu Wote/All of Us,” Katja Benrath, Tobias Rosen

The Chatter: A very good pick of five. If the Academy leans toward comedy, it'll go with "The Eleven O'Clock." But the Academy rarely leans toward comedy.

Prediction: "Watu Wote"

Pick:"My Nephew Emmett"

Best Foreign Language Film

The Nominees: 
“A Fantastic Woman” (Chile)
“The Insult” (Lebanon)
“Loveless” (Russia)
“On Body and Soul" (Hungary)
“The Square” (Sweden)

The Chatter: I'm not sure how Angelina Jolie's "First They Killed My Father" got left off this list. Ditto for the German "In the Fade," which many had considered the front-runner to win. Personally, I'm glad for the exclusion of "Thelma" and "BPM (Beats Per Minute)," both of which I thought egregiously overrated.

I think the transgender story of "A Fantastic Woman" will resonate with Academy voters. I liked it but wasn't blown away by it. I'll take the excellent "The Insult," the first nominee from Lebanon.

Prediction: "A Fantastic Woman"

Pick: "The Insult"

Chris Cross: Let's translate "Loveless" and "A Fantastic Woman" into "In the Fade" and "First They Killed My Father."

Best Cinematography

The Nominees: 
“Blade Runner 2049,” Roger Deakins
“Darkest Hour,” Bruno Delbonnel
“Dunkirk,” Hoyte van Hoytema
“Mudbound,” Rachel Morrison
“The Shape of Water,” Dan Laustsen

The Chatter: The most important of the "technical" awards, as the cinematographer often holds the most sway over the success of a film apart from the director, writer and (sometimes) lead performers.

This is the 14th Oscar nomination for Roger Deakins, and if there's any justice in the world he will finally take home the statue. "Blade Runner 2049" was easily the most visually arresting film of the year. You could snip out almost any single frame of it, blow it up and put it on the wall of a major museum, and it would not look out of place.

But justice rarely holds sway in this category, which tends to follow on the heels of the Best Picture winner. So expect Dan Laustsen of "The Shape of Water" to win. That's also a darkly gorgeous film, so its triumph wouldn't be a travesty on the order of, say, "Glory" winning over "The Abyss."

It's depressing and shocking that it took 90 years for the Academy to bestow its first cinematography nomination to a woman. It's even more troubling that it's the single most undeserving nominee here, "Mudbound," an ugly-looking picture that seemed like it was shot with the titular substance spread across the lens.

Prediction: Dan Laustsen

Pick: Roger Deakins

Chris Cross: Swap "Mudbound" for "Three Billboards," and hope for more female DPs to get the chance to do better work.

Best Film Editing

The Nominees: 
“Baby Driver,” Jonathan Amos, Paul Machliss
“Dunkirk,” Lee Smith
“I, Tonya,” Tatiana S. Riegel
“The Shape of Water,” Sidney Wolinsky
“Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri,” Jon Gregory

The Chatter: I think "Dunkirk" will do very well in the technical categories, as it's a genuine spectacle largely shot with practical effects rather than CGI. Fast-paced action films tend to do better here than dramas, so it's curious that "Shape" and "Three Billboards" got nods over, say, "Wonder Woman" and "Logan." 

Prediction: "Dunkirk"

Pick: "Dunkirk"

Best Sound Editing

The Nominees: 
“Baby Driver,” Julian Slater
“Blade Runner 2049,” Mark Mangini, Theo Green
“Dunkirk,” Alex Gibson, Richard King
“The Shape of Water,” Nathan Robitaille, Nelson Ferreira
“Star Wars: The Last Jedi,” Ren Klyce, Matthew Wood

The Chatter: Time for my annual primer on sound editing vs. sound mixing: sound editors are responsible for selecting or creating all the sounds you hear in a production, while a sound mixer assembles it all together. Editors do most of their work during production, while mixing is a post-production role. Don't feel bad if you don't understand the difference; most Academy voters don't, either.

Prediction: "Dunkirk"

Pick: "Dunkirk"

Best Sound Mixing

The Nominees: 
“Baby Driver,” Mary H. Ellis, Julian Slater, Tim Cavagin
“Blade Runner 2049,” Mac Ruth, Ron Bartlett, Doug Hephill
“Dunkirk,” Mark Weingarten, Gregg Landaker, Gary A. Rizzo
“The Shape of Water,” Glen Gauthier, Christian Cooke, Brad Zoern
“Star Wars: The Last Jedi,” Stuart Wilson, Ren Klyce, David Parker, Michael Semanick

The Chatter: Same list of nominated films results in the same pick/prediction. 

Prediction: "Dunkirk"

Pick: "Dunkirk"

Best Production Design

The Nominees: 
“Beauty and the Beast,” Sarah Greenwood; Katie Spencer
“Blade Runner 2049,” Dennis Gassner, Alessandra Querzola
“Darkest Hour,” Sarah Greenwood, Katie Spencer
“Dunkirk,” Nathan Crowley, Gary Fettis
“The Shape of Water,” Paul D. Austerberry, Jeffrey A. Melvin, Shane Vieau

The Chatter: Another egregiously undervalued role is the production designer. Basically, anything you see onscreen that isn't an actor and their clothing, the production designer is responsible for creating. I'd call it a race between "Blade Runner 2049" and "Beauty and the Beast." Sequel trumps the remake.

Prediction: “Blade Runner 2049”

Pick: “Blade Runner 2049”

Best Original Score

The Nominees: 
“Dunkirk,” Hans Zimmer
“Phantom Thread,” Jonny Greenwood
“The Shape of Water,” Alexandre Desplat
“Star Wars: The Last Jedi,” John Williams
“Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri,” Carter Burwell 

The Chatter: This award often follows the Best Picture winner, and in this case I think it's actually the most deserving. This is the gobsmacking 51st nomination for John Williams, who only needs eight more to tie the all-time leader, Walt Disney. 

Prediction: Alexandre Desplat

Pick: Alexandre Desplat

Chris Cross: Let's play over "Phantom Thread" to the sound of "A Ghost Story."

Best Song

The Nominees: 
“Mighty River” from “Mudbound,” Mary J. Blige
“Mystery of Love” from “Call Me by Your Name,” Sufjan Stevens
“Remember Me” from “Coco,” Kristen Anderson-Lopez, Robert Lopez
“Stand Up for Something” from “Marshall,” Diane Warren, Common
“This Is Me” from “The Greatest Showman,” Benj Pasek, Justin Paul

The Chatter: Blige is the only person to ever be nominated for both Best Song and an acting category, and I think the allure will be too much for Academy voters to resist. And it's actually a good song. I slightly prefer the Broadway-esque "This Is Me." 

Prediction: "Mighty River"

Pick: "This Is Me"

Chris Cross: X

Best Makeup and Hair

The Nominees: 
“Darkest Hour,” Kazuhiro Tsuji, David Malinowski, Lucy Sibbick
“Victoria and Abdul,” Daniel Phillips and Lou Sheppard
“Wonder,” Arjen Tuiten

The Chatter: How in the hell did "The Shape of Water" not get nominated here? A large part of that film's success was due to the humanity behind the outward appearance of Doug Jones as the aquatic man. I admired the facial transformation of Jacob Tremblay in "Wonder," but "Darkest Hour" reworked Gary Oldman from head to toe, and convincingly.

Prediction: "The Darkest Hour"

Pick: "The Darkest Hour"

Chris Cross: Aging Judi Dench is not much of a challenge; adieu to "Victoria and Abdul" and say hello to "The Shape of Water."

Best Costume Design

The Nominees: 
“Beauty and the Beast,” Jacqueline Durran
“Darkest Hour,” Jacqueline Durran
“Phantom Thread,” Mark Bridges
“The Shape of Water,” Luis Sequeira
“Victoria and Abdul,” Consolata Boyle

The Chatter: This is a category I always seem to get wrong. Clothes were very much at the center of the story for "Phantom Thread," so it might pull off a win. Judi Dench's magisterial outfits were stunning and complex. The bright colors of "Beauty and the Beast" have a real chance. Roll the dice.

Prediction: "Beauty and the Beast"

Pick: "Victoria and Abdul"

Best Visual Effects

The Nominees: 
“Blade Runner 2049,” John Nelson, Paul Lambert, Richard R. Hoover, Gerd Nefzer
“Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2,” Christopher Townsend, Guy Williams, Jonathan Fawkner, Dan Sudick
“Kong: Skull Island,” Stephen Rosenbaum, Jeff White, Scott Benza, Mike Meinardus
“Star Wars: The Last Jedi,”  Ben Morris, Mike Mulholland, Chris Corbould, Neal Scanlan
“War for the Planet of the Apes,” Joe Letteri, Dan Lemmon, Daniel Barrett, Joel Whist

The Chatter: My first instinct was to ask, "Where's 'Dunkirk?'" But then I remembered Nolan & Co. mostly used practical effects, which is an achievement unto itself. The simian flicks, "Kong" and "Apes," both underperformed at the box office, so they're probably out. Call it a coin toss between "Star Wars" and "Guardians." As I said I adore the look of "Blade Runner 2049," but it has a more painterly feel in a category dominated by action movies. 

Prediction: “Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2”

Pick: "Blade Runner 2049,"

Eight for '18: Year in film preview

I'm changing things up this year by presenting a truncated year in film preview, rather than the comprehensive one I usually do. I'm doing this for a couple of reasons:

• I'm busy as sh*t.
• There are literally six million 2018 movie previews out there, and I'd rather do my own thing than join the content farm lemmings.

So I present "Eight for '18" -- the eight films I'm most anticipating this year. Please note, these are the flicks I am looking forward to, not necessarily what would come up under a "most anticipated" poll. So don't be shocked because you don't see "Avengers: Infinity War" or some of the other big titles out there.

(Also, please note I left "Black Panther" off because it's coming out in just a couple of weeks, and I wanted to give readers more of a look further down the road. Suffice it to say I'm also stoked about that one. The early word on it has been nigh-orgiastic fervor, which is exciting but also... disturbing.)

In chronological order:

Isle of Dogs

March 23

I've been very up and down on the films of Wes Anderson -- you would literally have to threaten me with the removal of a key body part to get me to watch "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" again -- but I absolutely adored his foray into stop-motion animation, "Fantastic Mr. Fox." He's back with this Japanese-inspired tale of a boy searching for his dog in the secret land of exiled canines that includes voices by W.A. regular Bill Murray, Tilda Swinton, Edward Norton as well as Scarlett Johansson and Bryan Cranston.

Pacific Rim Uprising

March 23

What?? Two of my favorite picks debuting on the same day?!? Hopefully they won't cancel each other out at the box office. Guillermo del Toro isn't at the helm, which is concerning. But John Boyega -- using his actual British accent! -- stars as the son of Stacker Pentecost, who teams up with Mako Mori to lead a new generation of pilots of skyscraper-sized robots to take on a new threat of Kaiju monsters.

Ready Player One

March 30

Steven Spielberg tackles the dense, page-turning sci-fi novel about a dystopian future in which everyone is connected (and imprisoned) by technology, existing mostly in a Matrix-like video game universe called the Oasis. It's like World of Warcraft, but, f'reals. It's sure to be visually stunning, as well as an amusement ride of '80s pop culture references for tickle Gen X erogenous zones. I'll just be curious to see how they locked down the intellectual property rights to all the stuff in the book. If I don't get to see Ultraman blasting spaceships out of the sky...

Solo: A Star Wars Story

May 25

The production on this Star Wars prequel looking at the pre-Rebellion life of Han Solo got off to a famously rough start, with the original directors departing the project in favor of Ron Howard. Can Alden Ehrenreich pull off a Harrison Ford impression? He was the best thing about the underwhelming "Hail, Caesar!" as a dimwitted cowboy star, so fingers crossed. Also excited about Donald Glover a s a young Lando Calrissian. I personally am holding out for the big-screen adaptation of "Lando Calrissian and the StarCave of ThonBoka."

The Incredibles 

June 15

It's interesting that for yours Pixar Animation held off on making any sequels outside the "Toy Story" universe, even though one -- the story of an entire family of super-heroes -- seemed most primed for sequelization. Writer/director Brad Bird is back in the hot seat, and the story is very hush-hush, other than Elastigirl (Holly Hunter) is off saving the world while Mr. Incredible (Craig T. Nelson) is left to babysit pint-sized firecracker Jack-Jack. No word on who the new villain(s) is/are, but I'd guess either Bob Odenkirk or Jonathan Banks will provide the cackle.

Venom

Oct. 5

Isn't about time we got an entire film devoted to a super-villain instead of just another do-gooder? Venom made an appearance in the (awful) "Spider-Man 3," a strange alien symbiote that bonded with the web-slinger before turning evil. Again, the plot is very secret, but reportedly new Spidey Tom Holland turns up. Most exciting: Tom Hardy hisself plays Eddie Brock, the scummy dude who gets turned into Venom.

First Man

Oct. 12

One of America's quietest heroes, astronaut pioneer Neil Armstrong, gets his own biopic starring Ryan Gosling. Not much information available beyond that -- or even a production still -- but here's all I need to know: it's directed by Damien Chazelle ("Whiplash," "La La Land.")

X-Men: Dark Phoenix

Nov. 2

Years ago I interviewed original Jean Grey actress Famke Janssen, and she expressed her regret that they were pulling the plug on the first generation of X-Men movies before they got to explore what many consider one of the greatest story arcs in comics history, the Dark Phoenix saga. Now the franchise is finally going in that direction with Sophie Turner in the lead role, as the psychic/telepath is transformed into the most malevolent force in the universe. Jennifer Lawrence, Michael Fassbender, Nicholas Hoult and James McAvoy reprise their roles, with Jessica Chastain taking on a mystery part known only as "Smith."

Big Fin Therapy: How Buying a 1959 Cadillac Changed My Life

Have you ever tried pushing an ancient behemoth of a car uphill on an interstate off-ramp? By yourself? At the peak of summer? In a three-piece suit?

If so, the thought that urgently ricochets around inside your head is, “This is not the sort of thing smart people do.”

But that was me not so long ago, struggling against -- and losing to -- inertia on Indianapolis’ south side, puffing red-faced as my car inexorably began to roll back down the hill toward 70 m.p.h. traffic. What I lacked in strength I compensated for in coward’s wisdom, jumping back into the driver’s seat to mash the brakes before I’d gone more than a few feet.

Before you’re tempted to declare me a weakling, I should mention the car in question is a 1959 Cadillac sedan -- almost 20 feet and 5,000 pounds of heyday Detroit manufacturing, back when steel was steel and bumpers were the sole safety feature.

I wish I could say this was the first time the Caddy broke down on me, but in truth it was the sixth or seventh. I purchased the car in late 2015 from a local dealer who specializes in antique autos, and he’d bought it from an old drunk who warned the dealer to show up early to finalize the transaction. “I start drinking at 10 o’clock,” the owner growled.

Old cars are much like old men: slow to wake from slumber, and stubborn to stop once they’re going.

The previous owner had been taking care of the car about as well as he took care of himself. It had mostly sat unrunning the past few years, a patina of rust starting to peek out here and there -- and in a few places, straight through -- the vast expanse of black metal, the chrome growing pitted and dull.

Mechanically, it ran under its own power but, in the immortal words of shadetree mechanics everywhere, the Caddy “needed a little love.”

Stuck transmission governor. The first, but hardly last, tow.

More than two years and thousands of dollars later, I still haven’t found the delta of the river of affection the car requires.

And that’s before taking it to the body shop for patching and paint… a process that can empty bank accounts faster than a meth addiction. Since I bought it, I’ve actually had the car in my possession maybe 10 or 11 weeks total.

So why me? Why this troublesome jalopy from a bygone age? Why all this frustration and unrewarded devotion? And why I wouldn’t trade it all for a line of Lamborghinis?

To answer that, you need to learn a little more about the car, and the guy (occasionally) driving it.

Instant icon

You may think you haven’t a clue about classic cars, but actually, everybody knows the 1959 Cadillac. It’s quite possibly the most iconic vehicle design ever, instantly recognizable by its low, sleek body, mountain’s worth of chromite ore on the front and a rear end with the multitudinous points of a dragon’s nape.

1959 Cadillac advertisement.

The single most famous feature, of course, is the towering fins, which rise up over the back of the car like the bony protrusions of a prehistoric predator. It was, quite literally, the apex of a decade of accumulating excess in car design, with American factories cranking out increasingly ostentatious metal beasts.

The fins got so big that, accordingly to lore, clumsy people were actually impaled upon them. The provenance of those tales is suspect, but nonetheless by the close of the 1950s the government stepped in, and for 1960 the otherwise largely unchanged Cadillacs featured much more circumspect fins -- sad little bips, like a toddler mimicking his dad flexing his biceps.

I’ve adored the ’59 Caddies since I was a kid. It’s hard to describe exactly why. Certainly, they are beautiful cars, but there are prettier. It has a massive 390 cubic inch engine; but these are land yachts, not racers, and no hot-rodder ever feared lining up next to one at the stoplight.

And there’s the off-putting martial aspect to its detailing, from the bullet taillights to the fender “gunsight” chrome edging to the front and rear grille pattern that look like rows of polished slugs. It’s practically a rolling NRA poster.

For me, there’s just something indescribably delicious about the yin-yang contrasts of the 1959 Cadillac. It has this odd, intriguing mix of modernity and antiquity, subtlety and braggadocio, gaudiness and grace.

Let me put it this way: the ’59 Caddy may not be the biggest, fastest or loveliest thing ever to roll off an assembly line. But it is the most American car ever made.

Man and machines

It goes without saying, the man is less interesting than the ride. But our stories roll together.

Middle-aged, middle-class dad who grew up in the suburbs and ended up back there, by choice. Loves movies, meat and NBA basketball. Started out in newspapers, rode that till the ride ended for many of us, wandered into marketing a few years ago, still pursues his passions on the side.

A lady, better than I deserve; two towheads little boys who make my heart throb a little every time I look at them. A dog, a decent house in a good neighborhood. Nobody’s idea of rich, but stable.

I’ve always been an old car nut. Before 1974, when the oil crunch and safety mavens ushered in the new era of fuel efficiency and crash ratings, American cars were distinctive, original, unabashedly stylish. It was easy to distinguish the 1966 model from the ’68. Folks traded in every three years, excited about the newest designs. Even low-end stuff looked good.

Today’s vehicles are much more functional, and utterly forgettable. Good luck telling a Camry from a Sonata from an Altima. Many otherwise sane people consciously choose gray as their car’s color. Heaven help us.

My first love was the 1969 Mustang fastback. By the time I became old enough to appreciate cars, they were already pretty old. I boasted to my dad I would buy one when I grew up. He laughed, dismissed it as a waste of money.

Dad's dream car remained a dream.

Later, he confessed his eternal regret at not getting a white Ford Thunderbird in 1956, the year they hung the spare tire on the back of the car. He thought that was cool, and was about to muster out of the Air Force with money to spend.

Learning my father’s lesson, in my 20s I bought a Mustang, dirt cheap and well-rotted. Had most of the exterior sheet metal replaced, did much of the interior myself. Paid for all of it with a cash advance, moving the balance from credit card to credit card until it was finally flush. Crazy.

I loved that car, and drove it all around. Still do.

Now comes the sad and weepy part of this tale. Like a lot of people since the Great Recession, I lost a lot of things. My career. A big chunk of my savings. People I loved. My youthful illusion of invincibility.

Life begins, life ends.

Five years ago, my dad passed after a long battle with cancer. Wasn’t much more than a bag of sticks at the end. But he was 82, and he was ready. Said so himself. Maybe they have white Thunderbirds in the beyond, with tires on the back.

Two years later, my oldest sister had her own bout with cancer, was undergoing chemotherapy and seemed to be doing well. One day she went into torpor, didn’t want to get off the couch. Took her to the hospital and the doctors thought she was depressed. Turned out the tumors had metastasized into her brain. Caused an ischemic stroke -- she was gone within hours, aged 47.

Six months after that, I sat in a very cold room as a doctor explained the type of brain tumor I had -- prognosis, treatment options and associated risks, long-term effects and outcomes.

Loss, then gain

OK, I’m guessing that right about now you’re thinking, “I started reading a story about cool cars and somehow wandered into Dostoevsky.” So I’ll pull this tragedy out of its tailspin now and assure you that I am not dying. At least, not any faster than you.

I don’t hear so well anymore, and I get dizzy and tired sometimes. But that’s about as far as it goes. They say that for brain tumors, I have the “good” kind. (Which is a ludicrous thing to say.)

What I did unexpectedly wind up with after this long march of despair was: dough.

Rachel passed at age 47.

My sister never married and made decent money, and had life insurance. It took a while to sort out because she left no will, but after probate my mother inherited a not inconsiderable amount of money, some of which she shared with me and my other sister.

My wife and I used a large chunk of the inheritance to shore up the boys’ college funds and take care of some household fixes. We also agreed to let me separate a portion of it for myself, in keeping with family tradition.

I considered opening an IRA, but I already have a couple of retirement accounts and they’re doing OK, plus I didn’t want the hassle of managing another. And it wasn’t the kind of money you hand to an investment broker; any returns would be so small they’d be eaten up by fees.

So, I sat on it. A year passed.

It’s not exactly clear when the notion of buying another classic car transmogrified from daytime fantasy into an actionable plan. Certainly, I was noodling around with looking up current prices of classic cars. I have a handful of favorites I’ve dreamed of owning: a 1963 Corvette split-window hardtop, maybe a ’65 GTO. Or the real prize, a ’59 Caddy. It’s standard daydreaming M.O. -- you see what stuff is going for and muse about winning the Powerball.

Because they’re iconic, 1959 Cadillacs are highly collectible and thus more valuable than a ’60 or a ’58. A nicely preserved or restored one was out of my reach. But maybe I could do like I did with my Mustang, buy cheap and fix it up over time.

Things quickly crystallized when I stumbled across the dealer, who specializes in old Cadillacs and Mercedes. I swung by his shop, a nondescript place near Downtown Indy, and found a treasure trove. Funny thing: despite always loving the ’59 Cadillacs, I think I’d only ever seen one in person before. The guy had seven of them on hand.

Pretty much on the spot, I resolved to buy the car. To paraphrase author John Green, I tend to make big decisions the way people fall asleep: slowly, then all at once. I’ll think about something for six months or a year, then a switch gets flipped. Only two logistical concerns had to be addressed before signing on the dotted line: my wife and my garage.

The latter was simpler; I needed to measure if my standard garage would house such a monster. The answer came quickly: juuuuuuuust barely. The whole thing came as a surprise to my spouse, whom I’d spoken to briefly about the idea not long before in purely hypothetical terms. She took it pretty well, letting me know it would be wise if I could take steps in the next few months to reassure her I was sane.

That is why

The first few weeks after the purchase were pure heaven. The reasons I first had for buying the Caddy were pretty obvious to any casual observer: I’d suffered a lot of loss, and needed something to fill that hole. Some people take up a new hobby, or pick up and move somewhere new. Others acquire strays: dogs, cats, spouses. I got a big-ass old car.

Also, since losing my journalism gig I’ve been playing things pretty safe. No big purchases other than replacing stuff that breaks. Very modest vacations. No life-altering risks.

Call it mid-life crisis if you want, but I needed to do the not-smart thing for once. The illogic of the move was its very appeal.

I actually stated writing this article right after the purchase, when the temporary high still had me buoyed on a cloud of optimism. Like all things it faded with time, as the timeline for the car’s refurbishment stretched from weeks to months to years.

It’s pretty much a routine at this point: the Caddy has moved from shop to shop, coming home for a week or two at time in between the next round of repairs. Then it’ll go to the next shop, usually for two, three, four months at a time.

So... many... electrical issues.

It largely spent the winter of 2015-16 under a blanket of snow in the Indianapolis neighborhood of SoBro. Last spring, I ached to drive it during the crisp, beautiful days -- but we were parted the whole season.

Fixing an almost-60-year-old car is not like taking your Honda to the corner shop for a brake job. Lots of parts you just can’t find, or they’re prohibitively expensive. Finding mechanics with the expertise to work on vintage vehicles gets a bit harder every year.

At first, I was frustrated as hell at the delays. Two months to have the instrument cluster rebuilt??? What do you mean that wasn’t the right part?!?

The worst thing is to have your vehicle labeled a “project car,” because that becomes code for “the last thing that gets worked on.” The boys at the electrical shop called me up after four months to say, as nicely as possible, that they were tired of looking at the thing and would I please come get it.

But as time has gone on, I’ve gradually learned to accrue more patience for the process. Oddly, the emotional bond I have with the Caddy has grown the longer we’re apart. Because we’re a pair: aging, a bit battered, often not given the respect we’re due… but still running.

Owning the Cadillac has been a wagon train of frustrations, yet somehow, I’ve learned to not only embrace but on some level relish those hindrances. Because unlike people, cars can always be fixed. No mechanical problem is unsurmountable if you’re willing to invest the time and resources to address it.

Each setback is a learning experience. Every time the Caddy has broken down on me, I’ve acquired a new story. Somebody always stops to lend a hand. Or to tell how their dad owned one just like it back in the day. Or just to gawk at the intrinsic spectacle the car creates, even unmoving.

My favorite anecdote about the Cadillac actually occurred when I wasn’t even around. An elderly woman happening by the shop insisted that she be allowed to sit in the back seat, because it’s the same type of car she went courting in as a young lady. I can just picture the mechanic, tatted up with arms like a linebacker, tenderly opening the door for her like a tuxedoed chauffer.

So the deeper gift the Cadillac has given me is perspective. Things make take longer than you like, you’ll probably experience obstacles, there may be times your goals remain stuck on the horizon.

But even when you’re trying and failing, that means you haven’t given up.

Having sworn off easy fixes, I’ve managed to take that longer view and apply it to other areas of life. I think I’m a more attentive husband and father. I made changes in my lifestyle and diet, and lost 30 pounds. I even upgraded my business attire, eschewing the polo-and-khakis of the marketing culture for suits, ties and vests. (Thus, my get-up at the beginning of this tale.)

In the end, I don’t know how much wisdom there is really to be found in purchasing dilapidated old cars. You could just as easily invest your time and emotions in coaching youth baseball, collecting Hummel figurines or crocheting horrendous sweaters. Our own version of truth is not something we find, but something we make.

But here is what I do know: When you’re feeling broken, find something you can fix.

Lightning fast Oscar reaction

• #MeToo gets James Franco. After winning the Golden Globe, he's now persona non grata.
•  Martin McDonagh of "Three Billboards" shunted aside for cool kids, aka first-time directors Jordan Peele and Greta Gerwig. 
• Strong showing in general for "Get Out," the most overrated film of the year. 
• It's rare for youngsters to get a Best Actor nomination in their first big role, so Daniel Kaluuya and Timothee Chalamat are surprises. Stronger contenders were out there.
• Very surprised and happy to see Woody Harrelson to get a supporting actor nod for "Three Billboards." I much preferred him to Sam Rockwell (he was good, doing a caricature for most of the movie). The two will now compete for the prize.
• Jessica Chastain gets no love, and "Molly's Game" in general fared poorly with just a script nomination.
• The Indiana Film Journalists Association's screenplay award for "Logan" proves prescient. I'm tellin' ya, the IFJA should be a bigger part of the awards build-up fanfare!
• Disappointed by lack of Best Pic nomination for "The Florida Project." Small film, but it got plenty of attention.
• I think Denzel and Octavia could blow their noses and get nominations. They're like when aging NBA stars get voted into the All-Star game no matter how they played. Did anyone even see "Roman J. Israel, Esquire?"
• A plum for Plummer. What a career-capper, to be a last-minute add to a big movie and steal the whole show.