It was on July 17th, 1994, when a most foul thing happened. In Lisbon, a baby was born destined to become an insufferable cinephile full of opinions and costume design trivia swilling around in his chronically depressed mind. That unfortunate creature was me, and today I celebrate my 28th birthday. Inspired by Nathaniel and Tim Brayton, I decided to mark the occasion with a special list that fully displays my movie passions. With a film for each year, this collection comprises titles that mean something to me, for one reason or another. Of course, they're not these years' best cinematic achievements, nor are they my outright favorites. However, I have a special place in my heart, in my memories, for them all. So come explore my life through a personal film odyssey and maybe get to know me better…
1994) LA REINE MARGOT, Patrice Chéreau
Maybe because my parents both studied History in college - my mother went on to become a teacher - I've always been interested in the subject. Consequently, Chéreau's magnum opus first caught my eye for depicting the St. Bartholomew Day's Massacre. Still, it was the movie's painterly sensuality that ended up putting a spell on me, its visions of eroticism mixed with bloody violence. Because a lot of the film was shot in Portugal, this was my first beloved picture whose locations I visited, discovering, from an early age, how the camera can capture and transform material reality through its gaze.
1995) THE FLOWER OF MY SECRET, Pedro Almodóvar
Madrid is a city I love, a place where I spent some of my happiest days. Some of my saddest, too. When thinking of the place's representation across cinema history, one film echoes strongly in my memories of Madrid. Of course, it's an Almodóvar film, though not one of his most well-known titles. The Flower of My Secret is an underrated masterpiece, resplendent with images of Spain's capital in all its beauty and the most incredible showcase for Marisa Paredes' star power.
1996) THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME, Gary Trousdale & Kirk Wise
You never forget your firsts, do you? When I was two, my parents took me to the movies for the first time to see the newest Disney animated musical. Apparently, I was very quiet and positively besotted by the screen. Even later, when we got it on videocassette, I would watch it with eyes full of wonder, drawing parts from the movie in obsessive infantile scribblings. All these years later, I still love the Disney Renaissance's most unfairly maligned triumph.
1997) THE WINGS OF THE DOVE, Iain Softley
When my interest in the Oscars blossomed, one film stood tall as a sort of Holy Grail, a title I had to get my hands on no matter the cost. After all, The Wings of the Dove had been responsible for getting Eduardo Serra a Best Cinematography nod, making him the first Portuguese Oscar nominee. Moreover, the picture was fuel for my adolescent Helena Bonham Carter fandom and remains, in my eyes, her best achievement. She should have won the Oscar!
1998) VELVET GOLDMINE, Todd Haynes
Recognizing yourself in media can be precious, especially when you live your days burdened with a sense that you don't belong, that you're essentially different from the people around you. Few films have better captured that particular miracle than Velvet Goldmine, when Christian Bale points at the TV glowing with the movie of a Bowie-esque pop star and proclaims, "That is me!" Because of that and many other reasons, Todd Haynes' glam rock, Citizen Kane-like elegy for a lost era will always hit me hard. Indeed, few films have influenced me more regarding my understanding of art, myself, taste, and design aesthetics.
1999) THE VIRGIN SUICIDES, Sofia Coppola
If you spend two years of your life thinking about a specific text, you'll end up attached to it whether you like it or not. That's my dynamic with The Virgin Suicides, a film I already loved before embarking on a theatrical journey that consumed my days while filling my life with joy and some of the best people I have the privilege to call friends. I was the costume and set designer for Mário Coelho's Lisbon Sisters, a play about those lost months between the girls' fateful prom night and their eventual demise. Not only do I adore the final result, but I am also proud of it, which you don't always get to say as someone working in the arts. Thank you, Coppola and Eugenides, for inspiring us all.
2000) 102 DALMATIANS, Kevin Lima
When thinking back to the movies that first made me interested in costume design, Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace is always there. I have literal boxes full of my kid drawings of Queen Amidala. However, right next to that space monarch, you can also find mountains of Cruella de Vil sketches. 102 Dalmatians was a childhood favorite, partly because of Anthony Powell's astonishing designs, the cornucopia of colors, fashion parody, and deliberate gaudiness. Yes, I was a kid obsessed with Amidala and Cruella, playacting with a pencil and blankets as if they were a cigarette holder and luscious furs – no wonder my parents knew I was gay before I came out.
2001) MOULIN ROUGE!, Baz Luhrmann
My love for movie musicals can be traced to this spectacular spectacle, this masterpiece of maximalism unbound. Even now, it stands proud among my four Letterboxd favorites, no matter how many unenlightened people might sneer at Luhrmann's mad excess. Romantic to a cosmic level, this is an example of cinematic extravagance, vibrating with earnestness and a naked need to entertain. On another note, it's probably the movie I've most re-watched in my life and the soundtrack I've played the most, too.
2002) RUSSIAN ARK, Aleksandr Sokurov
At least to me, ambition is one of the best qualities any artist can embody. Such beliefs were solidified over my years watching movies, and some films stand tall as paragon proof of this tenet. Sokurov's one-take era-spanning epic is one of those, a dream of vertiginous filmmaking that still takes my breath away, imperfections and all. Honestly, it's one of those films you must watch to understand my predilections as a cinephile.
2003) PETER PAN, P.J. Hogan
I had such a crush on Jeremy Sumpter's Peter Pan when I was younger. As the years went by and I grew up, desirous fascinations were passed on to another cast member. Now it's Jason Isaacs as both a dad and a daddy - a powerful double role. Seriously, this was a favorite of mine in middle school. I still consider it a pretty smashing picture, beautifully sincere, gorgeous to behold and listen to, thanks to a perfect James Newton Howard score. To this day, listening to "Flying" fills my heart with gleeful anticipation.
2004) ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND, Michel Gondry
A movie that becomes more impactful as one gains life experience, its wonders gaining complexity, its tones shapeshifting as the memory play wherein dances along with the audience's own memories. What was once an example of unsurmountable romantic cinema now strikes me as a more melancholic object whose ambivalences hurt as much as they ring truthful. It's incredible how much my perspective on that ending has changed as it becomes shadowed by the ghosts of past relationships, some of which I wish I could erase.
2005) PRIDE & PREJUDICE, Joe Wright
For years, I had a little tradition going on. When the summer months came, I'd always return to Jane Austen's six novels, enjoying them as I lay in the sun, a warm kiss upon the skin and a soft breeze in the air. Perhaps because of such doings, my mind always connects the author's writing with the season, evoking a nostalgic remembrance of warm afternoons spent laughing at the absurdities of Regency society, falling in love with Austen's perfectly imperfect characters. Despite its adaptive detours from the original text and a less than historically accurate milieu, Joe Wright's Pride & Prejudice always struck me as the only Austen-inspired flick to capture the ineffable feelings her books awaken in me, the taste of youth and ephemeral warmth.
2006) CURSE OF THE GOLDEN FLOWER, Zhang Yimou
I've written before about how my close relationship with the Oscars started in full during the 2006 awards season, in part by reading The Film Experience and following Marie Antoinette's journey from Cannes to its Best Costume Design victory. One of its adversaries in that race was Zhang Yimou's gilded soap opera of imperial intrigue and blinding glitz. After watching the Oscar presentation with models in moving tableaux to show off the wardrobe, I couldn’t watch it soon enough. The movie was one of my big entry points into Asian cinema and marked the beginning of my love for Gong Li, a modern movie star like none other.
2007) LA VIE EN ROSE, Olivier Dahan
Say what you will about the Oscars, but they're a good motivator when deconstructing cinema as a spectator, appreciating its separate elements individually and in the context of the total work. Sometimes, outstanding artistic achievements can exist within bad movies, a lesson I learned thanks to works like La Vie en Rose. Cotillard delivers a besotting performance in my least favorite type of flick, the dreaded biopic, transcending the limitations of the movie and making me briefly obsessed with Edith Piaf for a time in my teens. So, no, it's not good cinema, but it was a great lesson on cinema viewership.
2008) WALL-E, Andrew Stanton
Probably the movie that first awoke me to the possibilities of silent cinema, that sparked my nascent curiosity. What can I say? The wordless passages left a strong impression. So many moments exude imagination and boundless creativity, and the joy of falling in love translated through the formal precision of animation. Looking back, my feelings are more complicated, its fatphobia marring a near-perfect memory that still shines bright. It hurts sometimes, but it still fills me with elation whenever my mind wanders back to that lonely little robot cradling a boot made flower pot on a desolate Earth.
2009) BRIGHT STAR, Jane Campion
As you might know from some articles over the past awards season, Jane Campion is my favorite living filmmaker. Strangely enough, the film that started that passion wasn't one of her most celebrated pictures. Instead, it was the often-underrated Bright Star, a triumph of cinematic poetry with a romantic streak and visuals of unspeakable beauty. Also, on a costume-related nerdy note, this film proves that the Regency period can be approached accurately while still exciting. It doesn't all have to be white cotton dresses and nondescript men in tight trousers.
2010) LES AMOURS IMAGINAIRES, Xavier Dolan
A piece of advice – sometimes taking your mom to the movies can be an awkward experience. I still vividly remember squirming on my seat as Xavier Dolan masturbated on screen while sniffing Niels Schneider's dirty clothes. But visceral discomfort aside, it's a visually delicious film whose illustrations of queer longing felt very close to my heart back then, as a gay teen still coming to grips with his desires. Indeed, that's part of why I still feel so attached to Dolan's early works, even as I recognize their evident faults.
Another memorable moviegoing experience from that year involved me taking my dad to watch Another Year on his 50th birthday. Not a good choice, let me tell you, unless your plan is to depress your old man.
2011) HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS: PART 2, David Yates
Considering what a raging transphobe J.K. Rowling has revealed herself to be, it's pretty cringey to admit how much her fantasy series meant to me growing up. So this movie, in particular, felt like a momentous occasion, premiering on the week of my 17th birthday. As I faced my last year of high school, the young wizard's last cinematic adventure reverberated with a sense of finality, both for the saga and my life before adulthood. Sure, these attachments can be infantile. But, that doesn't make them any less sincere or genuine.
2011 was also the year when I started attending annual film festivals. My first experience in such spaces was marked by screenings of A Dangerous Method, The Ides of March, and Drive. The latter is my favorite of the three, by the way. Maybe I'll write more about it if I repeat this exercise next year.
2012) FRANCES HA, Noah Baumbach
I watched Frances Ha on a free afternoon when I was in college. It was in a near-empty theater with an old man who was asleep before the film started, briefly jolted awake during "Modern Love," and promptly fell unconscious again. As I exited the screening room, he was still slumbering. I didn't let his gentle snores spoil the experience, though, finding myself enchanted by the monochrome comedy, seeing so many of my schoolmates reflected in Frances' behavior and her dilemmas. I'll never forget that sense of identification, and to this day, I still think back to Gerwig's monologue when thinking about what I want in a relationship.
2013) BLUE IS THE WARMEST COLOR, Abdellatif Kechiche
Another memorable theater-going experience! A friend and I spent the day trying to shoot footage for a short we had to present for a school project, clashing through the process to the point we ended up watching the sunset while ruefully discussing our incompatibility as coworkers. And yet, all quarrel was forgotten as night fell and we hurried to the festival screening of Blue is the Warmest Color. Our shared excitement made us forget whatever had made us argue hours before. Because of that, I'll always associate this movie with friendship, reconciliation – the power of art to bring people together. It's also hard to forget the homophobe sitting by my side who kept fake gagging at the sex scenes. Why would he spend money to watch that particular film?
2014) SILVERED WATER: SYRIA SELF-PORTRAIT, Ossama Mohammed & Wiam Bedirxan
I watched this Syrian documentary at a festival, knowing next to nothing about the project. Indeed, I only purchased a ticket because Nick Davis had given it a sterling review in a Twitter capsule. It turns out that was a great choice as the film is a masterful mosaic of footage, lyrical reflection, and epistolary dialogues. A radical document cataloging three years of national suffering, some of its images still haunt me, giving shape to night terrors. Adding to the experience were the screening's scant spectators, all of whom stayed to talk to the directors who spoke eloquently of their efforts, the film's purpose, and experimental construction. The discussion felt intimate, enlightening, and by far the best festival Q&A I have ever attended.
2015) ARABIAN NIGHTS, Miguel Gomes
Though this isn't a list of favorite films, I couldn't avoid including what's probably my choice for the best cinematic achievement of the 21st century. What a masterpiece of multifaceted Portuguese cinema this is, shapeshifting across three parts and various chapters, genres, references, all while transfiguring years' worth of national news. My family even participated in one of the real-life political protests whose images appear throughout the picture. So though it's near impossible to find us in the crowd, we're there somewhere.
2016) VIEJO CALAVERA, Kiro Russo
Apologies for my self-centered selfishness, but I had to mention the first (and only) film to ever quote me in its promotional material. This Bolivian project feels like a contemporary update of Neorealist precepts, a formalistically assured debut that won the IndieLisboa film festival and represented its country at the Oscars.
2017) PHANTOM THREAD, Paul Thomas Anderson
Some films find you at the exact right time. PTA's couture drama found me in the aftermath of a breakup and the dawn of a new class of Oscar nominees. That's no exaggeration. I saw it at a press screening nomination morning 2018 and watched as it won a slew of unexpected nods while waiting for my train. That was one amazing day where cinema presented me with welcome catharsis. It reminded me that to love someone is to open yourself up to utter destruction, willingly giving another person the key to your emotional demise. Can it hurt? For sure – I was very hurt at the time. But is it still something beautiful that's worth living through even when it ends badly? Yes. Think of this gem as the hopeful side of the same romantic coin as Gondry's 2004 film.
2018) DIAMANTINO, Gabriel Abrantes & Daniel Schmidt
Writing critically about art made by people you love can be one hell of a challenge. Diamantino, whose principal cast includes a dear friend, presented me with that perilous task. While I think I did a good job balancing being a good friend and a good critic, it's a good exercise that tests one's aesthetic principles as a writer. Of course, it helps that Diamantino is a wonderful, wonderfully weird film whose subversions of Portuguese culture are awfully fun.
2019) PARASITE, Bong Joon-Ho
The start of summer 2019 found me at my lowest, and then, a family emergency finally prompted me to ask for help with my mental health issues. By September, I was adapting to my first try with antidepressants. While I felt stable compared to before, specific side effects alarmed me. One of them was a newfound inability to cry, something I did pretty often before, regularly overwhelmed by films and the like. So, it was with great relief that I felt tears rolling down my face as I watched Parasite for the first time. It's a cinematic experience I'll never forget.
2020) LOVERS ROCK, Steve McQueen
My grandfather died on the last day of 2020. That night was supposed to be a celebration to mark the end of an incomparable annus horribilis. And yet, it was an evening marked by mourning, tears, and feeble attempts at finding a way to tolerate the grief. To help my mum think of something else for an hour, I put on the film we had both fallen in love with earlier in the year, a jewel of joy crystalized whose sensual spell was balm to a broken heart. Steve McQueen will never know it, but his Lovers Rock will forever occupy a special place in my family's collective memory, a beacon of relief when the world is too tenebrous to bare.
2021) INSIDE, Bo Burnham
This list wouldn't be complete without a hint of pandemic cinema. And what better title to highlight than Bo Burnham's confinement special, shot entirely inside his house during months of self-isolation. Twisting divisions between fact and fiction, the barrier that separates treacherous lies from just artifice, this comedy hour is a reflection on spectatorship whose personal impact cannot be overstated. I still recall the difficulties in writing about it, trying to temper naked honesty while negotiating critical observations within an act of confessional sharing.
That's it, 28 films for 28 years on this earth. So, here's to another trip around the sun and many more memorable film experiences. Thank you, as always, for reading. That's the best present you could ever give me.