The Wrestler

Everything you’ve heard about The Wrestler is true. It’s physically and emotionally uninhibited, it’s an authentic portrait of the sport, and in the words of the Washington Post, “Imagining someone other than the beatifically battered Mickey Rourke in the title role would be like picturing someone other than John Malkovich in Being John Malkovich.” What gives the film universal appeal, however, is its brazen subtext: that everyone fears their best days are behind them, and no one will admit it.

Doubt

The casting is flawless and the plot is compelling, but something doesn’t click. I love that the allegations against Father Flynn are never really confirmed or denied, that we are thrust into the same shadow of unsubstantiated doubt that Sister Aloysius is struggling with. But I didn’t expect to walk away feeling doubtful about the film as a whole: I mean, is this the kind of story that can afford to lack a real lump-in-throat moment? I just don’t think so.

Snow Patrol A Hundred Million Suns (Geffen)

They were probably the closest thing to “the next Coldplay” that we had in 2004, and lucky for them, that didn’t totally work out. (It would have hurt if the epitaph for one of my favorite bands in 2003 read: “Here lies Snow Patrol. I think I heard them on Grey’s Anatomy or something.”) A Hundred Million Suns is, by and large, a reminder of why we once lumped them in with Belle & Sebastian, while “The Lightning Strike” — its sixteen-minute epic standout — actually borrows lightly from Steve Reich’s “Music For 18 Musicians.” Which, in case you’re keeping score, is totally awesome.

Slumdog Millionaire

There has been a recent backlash towards Slumdog Millionaire — that it’s “underwhelming,” “sappy,” or “unrealistic” — but, ultimately, I still found two compelling reasons to give it the first five-star rating in the short history of the Catalog: Because Indian actors are bred on Indian filmmaking, which is — as a matter of fact — supposed to induce a suspense of belief without abandoning the romantic narrative. And because this was the first two-hour-plus movie I saw in 2008 that didn’t inspire me to say, “They could have probably edited twenty minutes.”

Clipse Road to Till The Casket Drops (Mixtape)

Their 2008 work with the Re-Up Gang was largely disappointing, but Clipse’s return to the mixtape circuit maintains the polish of their official albums — while still determined to coin more cocaine metaphors than you ever thought possible. Unlike most modern mixtapes, there’s only one guest spot — from Re-Up member Ab-liva — giving Malice and Pusha T plenty of room to stretch their lyrical acumen. My current favorite: “We ain’t in the same boat / Throw on a life jacket / Voted for Barack / McCain was my tax bracket, though.”