Top Six Best Film/Television Moments of 2021

There are not as many “greatest moments” this year (or technically, last year) as I spent most of 2021 catching up on my extensive back catalogue. For whatever reason, I wasn’t watching a lot of brand-new material – more than that, I was trying to cut back on my screen-time anyway. Plus, my attempts to give each month a specific theme certainly limited most of my options.

But a few projects managed to slip through my carefully curated net, and there was some fun stuff to behold. So instead of my usual Top Twelve Best Film/Television Moments of the Year, here’s the Top Six of 2021...

1.       The titular Midnight Mass from Midnight Mass

Midnight Mass seems to have been fairly well received, though oddly enough the most vocal critics are coming from a place of either fundamental atheism or hardcore Christianity. This, to me, suggests that the show is doing something right: crafting a story that two such profoundly different groups of people find offensive means that it’s asking the right questions of its audience.

SPOILERS

But I’m really more interested in how the topic of faith informs the crux of the story: it is Catholicism specifically and what it requires of its adherents that makes the plot itself possible: firstly the logistics of Father Paul’s plan to distribute vampire blood to his congregation via the sacramental wine, and secondly that it is only due to a lifetime of careful grooming – not only by a recently-arrived charismatic priest, but by the religion itself normalizing the concepts of miracles, leaps of faith and obedience – that the true believers get so terrifyingly on-board with drinking rat poison and becoming vampires themselves (presented to them as a form of spiritual ascendance). Finding that contextual link between a vampire drinking blood and a church-goer drinking the blood of Christ every Sunday was an ingenious hook.

It all culminates in the show’s signature scene: the community gathers in the church where Father Paul has a henchmen demonstrate his plan for them all: to drink poison and then be resurrected as a vampire. Those that decide to get the fuck outta there are stopped short by the sight of the Nosferatu-like vampire that slowly advances up the aisle in a borrowed chasuble, unfurling his batlike wings on the altar and presenting itself as an “angel”.

And then – horrifically, inevitably – most of the congregation decide to go for it. Absolute chaos ensues: people are drinking, vomiting, collapsing on the pews. Some try to make a run for it. Some try to hide. Families get separated. Kids are screaming. Shots are fired. Blood starts flowing, which only gets those that have already turned to vampirism more excited...

It’s chilling, not only because the show has been so carefully building towards it across the prior six episodes, but because you can totally believe it could happen. Not the vampire part obviously, but events such as the Jonestown massacre and other mass suicides have set the precedent for this supernaturally-tinged horror. I watched with my hands clutching my chest, it was so heart-stopping.

For a while I was torn between spotlighting the midnight mass or Riley’s self-sacrificial death, in which he willingly gives himself up to the sun in order to warn Erin of the danger on the island (which was all the more rewarding since I was initially under the impression that he had died pointlessly, as is usually the case in these prestige shows that kills off the protagonist just for shock value) but the sheer insanity of the midnight mass meant it had to be featured here. Whatever else you may think of the show, it was one of the most unforgettable set-pieces I’ve seen in years.

 

2.       Amalia versus Odium in The Nevers

The thing that’s continually infuriating about Marvel movies is that despite imbuing their characters with a range of super-abilities, the only thing the climactic fights ever amount to is either a. who can punch the hardest, or b. who has the most powerful beam of light that gets shot at the other person with the most oomph.

To be fair, it’s not just Marvel, but most superhero and fantasy films (were the Harry Potter magical duels any good, really? Compared to this masterpiece from The Sword in the Stone?) The only exceptions I can think of off the top of my head is the use of bending in Avatar: The Last Airbender and of mutant abilities in the short-lived Wolverine and the X-Men.

But that’s neither here nor there: my point is that The Nevers actually does fascinating, creative and visually rewarding things with the superpowers granted to its characters, seen best when our heroine Amalia is abruptly thrown from her carriage and into the river. Odium, who has been little more than a silent henchman up until this point, appears and – horrifyingly – starts walking across the surface of the water.

Amalia is obviously at a terrible disadvantage, leading to a simple but suspenseful sequence in which she’s forced to use her quick-thinking to overpower her opponent. Who doesn’t love a David vs Goliath battle? More importantly, it’s a sequence that thinks about what each individual is capable of, with Amalia figuring out how to turn the tables on Odium by making his ability to walk on water just as much of a liability as it is an asset. Nicely done, show.

 

3.       The Black dance party from Dickinson

As of this writing, I have not yet watched the third and final season of Dickinson, though I caught the second at the start of this year. Man, they churned this show out fast.

Cheerfully anachronistic and often delving headfirst into magic realism, Dickinson explored the life of poetess Emily Dickinson through a range of quirky and sometimes downright bizarre vignettes involving ghosts, time travel, absurdist humour and contemporary needle-drops.

It was not until season two that the show started branching out a little and exploring more of Emily’s friends and family, though the most interesting spotlight was the one cast on the family’s Black servants, who – unbeknownst to the obliviously self-absorbed Dickinson family – are in the midst of the abolitionist movement. Secret meetings are held in the barn to distribute pamphlets and hear speeches, though every now and then they cut loose and let themselves have some fun.

There’s an ongoing discussion in fandom circles about people of colour in period dramas, and one point that comes up often is the general exhaustion at the continual focus on racism, slavery and civil rights, with most of the current prestige Black-centric period drama revolving around deeply traumatic events (Lovecraft Country, The Underground Railroad, Them). That’s not to say exploring those subjects isn’t important, but sometimes it comes as a profound relief to be reminded that life is more than suffering, even when one is in the midst of it. Fun was had, even in times of darkness.

Such is the dance party in the barn, which goes all-out on the frenetic energy of its choreography. But the spirit of the scene is to be found in the character of Hattie, a servant in Sue Dickinson’s house, who has spent the last few episodes gushing over Sue’s gold dress – which she secretly wears to this party. And when one of her companions reacts with scepticism, she retorts with exasperation: “just let me look hot!”

 

4.       The gays get their happy ending in the Fear Street trilogy

SPOILERS

If you had told me two years ago that Netflix’s Fear Street would end up being a better trilogy of films than Disney’s Star Wars sequels, I would have laughed in your face. But it’s true: the Fear Street trilogy is a quantifiably better trilogy than Star Wars on every conceivable level: the plot is cleverly interwoven across all three films, the characters have satisfying and complete arcs, the twists are carefully seeded and make narrative sense, there is genuine heart and poignancy, the villain gets his deserved comeuppance, and the gays win.

Heck, in many ways Fear Street is a direct repudiation of all the crap Disney tried to pull. Star Wars introduced a Black protagonist with a promising arc who is eventually shoved onto the margins to make room for yet another story about why it’s very important that we all feel sorry for white dudes who murder people, while two unnamed blink-and-you’ll-miss-em lesbians kiss at the very end.

Fear Street is the exact opposite of that. Its black, gay, female protagonist is a force of nature who solves the three-hundred-year-old mystery that has been plaguing her town with violent deaths for generations, eventually defeating the white male villain who is not without a modicum of humanity – but who crucially is not given a free pass for all the pain and suffering he causes of his own free will.

Even better – none of this is done in an obnoxious “box-ticking, back-patting” way. Deena’s race and sexuality is integral to the story itself. This story simply could not exist if she was white and straight. The same goes for the trilogy’s ingrained commentary on classism, sexism and scapegoating, which is baked into the very backbone of the plot. And truly, who the hell saw that coming?

Source

Perhaps a lot of this had to do with expectations. My hopes for Disney’s multi-million-dollar Star Wars, which had all the time, talent, money and creative potential in the world at its disposal was sky-high, whereas I was expecting absolutely nothing from Fear Street, a relatively low-budget offering from Netflix based on a series of pulp horror books from the nineties. Clearly that’s something to take into consideration.

But nothing really prepared me for how assuredly the twist plays out in the third film, recontextualizing everything we’d been shown and assumed in the previous two movies, flipping everything on its head in such a clever way that I was honestly aghast at how well it turned out. The clues were there, and I had picked up on most of them, but the sheer satisfaction of learning that Sarah Fier – the witch who was blamed for all the misfortunes that befell Shadyside – was actually innocent of any crime save that she was a lesbian living in the mid-17th century and scapegoated by the real culprits that go on to use their Deal with the Devil to enrich their own township by exploiting the pain and suffering of Shadyside... just WHAT a watershed moment.

It’s probably best incapsulated in the use of the strange red moss as a symbol throughout the three films: at first it’s framed as sinister and unnatural, but during the grand reveal it’s given new meaning as an emblem of love and constancy: it grows over the site where one girl had to lay her lover to rest and where, over three hundred years later, two other lovers (played by the same actresses) are reunited. Deena fulfils not only her promise to Sam (“when this is all over, I’m gonna take you on a date, we’re gonna eat cheeseburgers and listen to the Pixies”), but also Sarah’s to Hannah (“we will go far away and we'll dance every night and kiss in the broad daylight”). Reader, I legit cried.

I just... can’t believe how good this was. I think I’m going to have to do a whole post on it.

 

5.       Supergirl is saved with boy band music in DC Superhero Girls

There’s a feminist talking point that’s been going around for a while now, about how teenage girls are consistently mocked for the things they enjoy, whether it be romance novels or boy bands or Pumpkin Spice Latte (I never really never understood that last one).

I’m in a weird place when it comes to this argument, as honestly, I do think that boy bands and sparkly vampires and teen mags are all fairly stupid and/or boring... though it’s blatantly obvious that teenage girls are ridiculed FAR more (and sometimes with a frightening amount of vitriol) than any other demographic is for liking other things I find equally stupid and/or boring: like football, golf or car manuals, for example.

So I found it genuinely charming when a two-part episode of DC Superhero Girls defends the overwhelming love that teen girls have for fresh-faced boy bands by structuring an episode around Supergirl getting brainwashed by the League of Shadows (here a heavy metal band) via a sinister, hypnotic song.

Bumblebee, who is heartily ridiculed by everyone for her taste in music (specifically a boy band called Up Past 8) realizes what’s happening and comes up with countermeasures: to replace the members of Up Past 8 with Hal Jordan, The Flash and Aqualad, and have them sing Supergirl back to her old self: “Supergirl’s got Raz al Ghul’s mind control song stuck in her head. The only way to get it out is to hit her right in the heart. You gotta make her feel something!”

And so it’s the music of boy bands and the power of friendship that saves the day. More than this, the entire episode takes the time to point out the dickishness of gatekeeping other people’s interests, from Hal snidely asking Karen: “What are you, fourteen?” (Karen: “Um... yes?”) to Kara telling her: “They’re way too popular to be cool.” (Karen: “That doesn’t make sense.”)

More than that, Raz al Ghul’s key motivation is to mind-control everyone and destroy everything he deems “unworthy”, declaring: “We shall start with the most obscene example of human atrocities: bad music!” It’s such a hilarious jab at the overblown self-importance that gatekeepers affix to themselves, and a timely reminder that people – especially teenage girls – should be allowed to just like whatever the hell they like. (I mean they’re going to do that anyway, the difference is whether or not they’re made to feel ashamed of it).

 

6.       The Green Knight’s arrival in The Green Knight

This one pretty much speaks for itself. This was the one casualty of Covid-19 playing havoc with distribution dates that really got to me, so it was with relief and anticipation that I finally sat down to watch David Lowery’s The Green Knight.

I’ve always loved that particular Arthurian story, and even though this ended up being more of a deconstruction than a straight retelling of the traditional tale (to the point where some elements are largely inexplicable) I still enjoyed the mood and mystery of the piece.

The one scene that is lifted pretty much from the text is the arrival of the titular Green Knight to King Arthur’s court on Christmas Day, and it alone is worth the price of admission. The self-opening door, the white light, the clopping of the horse’s hooves, the holly branch – and then, the reveal of the Knight himself. I’m not sure if it had ever occurred to me that the “green” of his name could ever mean that he was literally a Plant Person (most illustrations just depict him as having green skin) but the sight of him is awe-inspiring.

The deep dulcet tones of Ralph Ineson, the meticulous work of the prosthetics, the practical effects used to transform him into a towering giant... you can’t take your eyes off this creature, who is both alien and yet deeply of this earth. It’s a remarkable achievement in crafting a character and bringing him to life: something pagan and mythological and unforgettable, lifted straight out of that ancient ballad and onto the screen.

***

Honorary Mentions:

Last year I had over twenty paragraphs of honorary mentions, an effort that makes this look paltry in comparison. The fact is, of all the 2021 films I ended up seeing this year (Raya and the Last Dragon, Zach Snyder’s Justice League, In the Heights, The Suicide Squad, Luca, Encanto, James Bond: No Time to Die, Dune) none of them had any scenes or images or ideas that really seared themselves into my mind. Nothing was bad, it was all just rather underwhelming.

That goes ditto on the television front. I liked that Vikings gave Lagertha a strong send-off, and though I didn’t particularly enjoy Crisis on Infinite Earth, I was surprisingly touched by how many recurring characters turned up for Oliver’s post-Heroic Sacrifice funeral.

I enjoyed Shadow and Bone, though no particular scene really stood out for me (this score on the soundtrack though – wow! It’s Nina and Matthias’s theme, and it really captures their love story far better than the episodes actually did). I liked the surprising Genre Shift in The Nevers, the fact that Doctor Who made the Weeping Angels scary again, and He-Man himself making the pointed comment to Skeletor mid-battle: “it’s not about us!” (It makes sense in context, and is a clear nod to the fact that the female characters step up into the roles of protagonists this time around).

The third and final season of Lost in Space had a scene I really appreciated, in which Judy has just woken up her biological father from a cryogenic pod so that he can help her and the other children escape the planet they’ve been stranded on. The two are piloting the ship through a dangerous meteorite field, with Grant Kelly advocating for human instinct and his own navigating skills to get them through safely, insisting that the ship readings are wrong.

Judy, on the other hand, wants to rely on the autopilot: not just because she trusts technology, but because she trusts her mother, who designed the programme. The culmination of the argument seems inevitable: Grant’s maverick attitude will win out against Judy’s stick-in-the-mud sensibilities (especially since Judy’s entire arc has largely been about taking her down a peg).

But then, with quiet certainty Judy takes command of the vessel and plugs in the autopilot. She’s told: “you don’t know what you’re doing”, to which she replies: “maybe not, but my mum does.” And she’s right. SHE’S RIGHT. The faith she has in her mother’s capabilities pays off. That I was genuinely shocked the show gives her this win speaks volumes about how characters like Judy are usually portrayed, and that is hinges entirely on the trust she has in her mother left me a little teary.

On the book front, I really enjoyed unexpected continuations (or definitive endings) from young detectives such as Hazel Wong and Daisy Wells (Robin Stevenson), Enola Holmes (Nancy Springer) and Sophie and Lil (Katherine Woodfine). Cannot get enough of young girls fighting crime and solving mysteries. Another unexpected treat was Suki Alone by Faith Erin Hicks, a graphic novel that explores Suki’s background and time in Boiling Rock prison during the events of Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Finally, I have neither seen Spiderman: No Way Home or any of Andrew Garfield’s Spiderman films, but I do know what happens in all of them and I have to say that the idea of completing a character’s arc seven years after the fact in a totally separate film continuity completely fascinates me.

I am of course talking about the fact that in 2014, Garfield’s Peter Parker failed to save the life of Gwen Stacey. The premature ending of that franchise put a stop to any long-term emotional fallout... only for the MCU to pick up that dangling thread and provide closure when Garfield steps into the universe of Tom Holland’s Spiderman and saves Zendaya’s MJ from falling to her death.

I mean, everyone called it from the moment they saw the first trailer, and it doesn’t make it any less impactful. Heck, a badly rendered GIF-set of the moment got me a little choked up.

Just the very fact that they managed to bring back so many past actors connected to past iterations of the character (Tobey Maguire, Alfred Molina, Willem Dafoe, Jamie Foxx) to reprise their roles in a brand-new story feels monumental somehow, like a great sea-change in the way films are made. Even if the concept was done first (and better) by Into the Spiderverse, and even after several years of long-dormant shows/films being brought back for continuations or reboots (Samurai Jack, Picard, Young Justice, The X-Files, The Matrix Resurrections) this felt like it was on another level.

I’m not even sure if it bodes well or not! But it happened, and it’s already having a ripple-effect on other projects (Michael Keaten is apparently reprising his role as Batman for The Flash movie). So I have to hand it to the MCU: to pull this off is both impressive... and a little unsettling.