Was 2004 truly “the year of the independent?” In the second of a two-part series, journalist and film critic Michael Fox takes a look at Hollywood trends, media hype and “Indiewood” dreams.

Ever since 1992, when The Crying Game swooped in from the U.K. and made off with a bevy of Oscar nominations, the bestowing of hosannas on a select few independent films has become more or less an annual ritual. Recognition by the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences, in turn, triggers a spate of articles each year marveling at the unexpected movies that made the leap from the fringes of Hollywood (or even further afield) to the national radar screen. Everyone loves to pet an underdog, it seems.

Or rather, everyone loves to studiously ignore the new reality. The big secret, which no one is willing to acknowledge, is that the studios have essentially stopped making movies for adults. Independent filmmakers have stepped in to fill the void—thankfully, or we’d have little reason beyond documentaries to venture out to the theater. As the studios have no intention of reversing course, indie filmmakers will continue to be an important cornerstone of American cinema for the foreseeable future.

Although it creates an opening, all moviemakers do not cheer Hollywood’s embrace of comic-book blockbusters and sci-fi epics. As Sideways director and co-writer Alexander Payne noted when he accepted Director of the Year honors at the Palm Springs Film Festival in January, “I think there may be a problem with a world in which making small, human and humorous films is 'an achievement.' It should be the norm.”

Amen. And yet the mass media—hypnotized by movie stars, mammoth publicity campaigns and multimillion-dollar grosses—remains fixated on Hollywood pictures. Blindsided year after year after year by surprise hits, breakout performances and unheralded directors, they collect their oversights (as opposed to insights) under an umbrella emblazoned with “The Year of the Independent.”

Wake up, people. The success of independent films is not a phenomenon. It is not an aberration. It is not a cute little trend. It is the natural result of discerning audiences seeking challenging, substantive fare, and no longer getting it from Tinseltown. Am I suggesting that indie films are creamed spinach compared to Hollywood’s popcorn? No, more like the vegetarian chili to Hollywood’s Twinkies.

Consider last year’s indie whiz kids: Sideways, Finding Neverland, Before Sunset, Hotel Rwanda, Maria Full of Grace and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Admittedly, Neverland and Eternal Sunshine were boosted by the casting of megawatt movie stars and had an easier time navigating the thickets of production and distribution, finding audiences and winning accolades. But Sideways and Before Sunset triumphed on the basis of their naturalistic performances, easygoing charm and stellar word of mouth. The deliberate, galvanizing power of Maria Full of Grace and Hotel Rwanda allowed them to cut through the disposable froth that sugarcoats most screens at the multiplex.

Although Zach Braff (writer, director and star of Garden State) has his admirers, in my view, writer/director Joshua Marston (Maria Full of Grace) made the most impressive indie debut of 2004. The majority of first-time filmmakers these days—young, male and eager to land an agent, distributor or both—make either acutely devious horror films or dramatic urban comedies about relationships. Marston’s understated portrait of a teenage Colombian drug mule served notice that at least one next-generation American filmmaker has a worldview beyond his libido and standard of living.

On the lighter side, Michel Gondry’s aggressively imaginative Eternal Sunshine, along with Braff’s endearing Garden State and David O. Russell’s existential I Heart Huckabees, proved that an enormous number of twentysomethings are hungry for a new breed of date movie that tramples clichés and sneers at predictability. Indeed, all three films won a sizable contingent of repeat viewers, who were knocked out by the artistic risks the filmmakers took and/or fell in love with the characters.

Return customers and word of mouth also fueled the surprise smash of the year, Jared Hess’s Napoleon Dynamite. This warm and quirky comedy about a high school non-conformist had no name actors, not much of a plot and no real hook to speak of. How to explain its appeal? Perhaps its dogged, outcast hero—who doesn’t get ahead but doesn’t get down, either—is the perfect protagonist for the low-expectation ‘00s. Or maybe it’s simply a small, human and humorous film, to borrow Alexander Payne’s phrase.

The ideal hero for a contentious election year in which the culture war at home trumped the shooting war in Iraq was Jesus Christ—at least in Mel Gibson’s divisive and gory adaptation. The Passion of the Christ was far and away the biggest-grossing independent movie of the year—and, remarkably, number three overall on the box office charts—but stretched the concept of “independent.” Yes, the film was bankrolled by its director, who freely executed his vision without compromise. But he’s also a multimillionaire movie star, and his epic was marketed from church pulpits across the country. Those are advantages not available to every moviemaker. Read More