Under The Radar: The Most Underrated Movies, Performances, And Moments Of 2021

(Welcome to Under the Radar, a new column where we spotlight specific movies, shows, trends, performances, or scenes that caught our eye and deserved more attention ... but otherwise flew under the radar. In this edition: a round-up of 2021 as a whole.)

Can we talk about how we talk about entertainment for a second?

For as long as I'm paid to write about pop culture on the internet, I can promise that you'll never see me describe anything as "overrated." Not only does anyone using it usually come across as smug and dismissive, but there's no getting around how the very word itself (by definition!) only deals with the overall reaction to any given movie or show — not the actual merits of the movie or show itself. "Overrated" implies some hypothetical, universal standard of how we "ought to" feel, all while conveniently ignoring how one could possibly ever quantify such a vague, ill-defined, and incredibly subjective notion in the first place. Worst of all, "overrated" simply doesn't foster discussion; it instantly shuts it down.

Hopefully, this is where "Under the Radar" comes in. If I've done my job right, it'll come as no surprise that I feel strongly about fostering a better kind of conversation. My aim for this series is to search for under-appreciated gems that may or may not receive their just due come awards season; to highlight certain noteworthy elements of movies or television that demand further exploration; to pinpoint those transformative storytelling moments that defy easy labels and don't necessarily lend themselves to viral-ready memes, 280-character tweets, or social media trending topics. Though the premise of this column might imply that the most popular titles need not apply here, we won't discriminate between blockbusters or indies, Oscar darlings or unabashed genre exercises, box office success stories or commercial flops. Ideally, this will be a place for nuance, discovery, and honest analysis of all the most overlooked puzzle pieces that come together to make stories work. It'll also provide a fantastic opportunity to, you know, yell at me on Twitter about anything and everything I unforgivably leave out, too.

So on that note, let's use this inaugural edition to take a trip back to the year that was and single out 10 specific aspects of 2021's movies and television that ultimately, for one reason or another, flew under the radar.

Where do you stand on the Great Movie Star Debate?

Many cultural critics have argued that the concept of genuine movie stars — you know, the kind that instantly puts butts in seats and can singlehandedly carry any production on their backs to box office salvation — have become a dying breed. Sure, Tom Cruise is still doing his thing and Chris Hemsworth and the other Marvel Chrises seem to meet that criteria, but did anyone bother showing up in significant numbers for less recognizable efforts outside the franchise machine, like "Bad Times at the El Royale," "Blackhat," or "American Made"?

However, one old-fashioned 2021 film helped revive some hope that, perhaps, we need not give up on the movie star just yet. Upon release in May of 2021, Tayler Sheridan's "Those Who Wish Me Dead" felt like a small light in the darkness — ironic, given its fire-and-brimstone premise. Not only does the film stay far away from the typical IP-obsessed mindset of studios these days, but the very specific way it uses its star brings to mind any number of no-frills, no-nonsense films of yesteryear.

Angelina Jolie commands the screen as Hannah Faber, a "smokejumper" firefighter who parachutes her way into forest fires from above. Such bold feats come with the abrasive temperament to match, though she's all but grounded by the time the film begins on account of her lingering PTSD from a jump gone terribly wrong. Sheridan takes her on a collision course between a lost child on the run from the hitmen sent to kill his dad, a forest fire raging out of control, and the demons of her past. It's precisely the kind of "Grizzled loner in need of redemption" Dad Movie™ that could've starred Harrison Ford or Robert Redford at comparable points in their careers (or perhaps John Travolta or Nicolas Cage, as /Film's Chris Evangelista notes in his review), adding even more '90s throwback energy to the proceedings.

Unfortunately, "Those Who Wish Me Dead" fizzled out in theaters during limited release (though it's streaming on HBO Max), bringing daydreamers like me crashing back to Earth and reminding us that we live in a very different, pandemic-affected landscape now. Yet its simple goals, old-school feel, and legendary action star make it a rare, underappreciated thriller worthy of a closer look.

There's probably a hypothetical version of "Pig" where the premise is played for laughs or over-the-top action, as happens in other Nicolas Cage movies like "Prisoners of the Ghostland" or the upcoming "The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent." That's what most of us assumed upon first hearing about the film's initial plot description, involving the theft of his truffle-hunting pig and subsequent vengeance quest to recover it. Instead, writer/director Michael Sarnoski's directorial debut is thoughtful, melancholy, and shockingly restrained, using the field of culinary arts to sneak in larger questions about life, loss, and unrealized potential. Cage's soulful performance as the grungy, beat-up Robin Feld — a famous chef who dropped off the map over a decade prior — has rightfully earned praise in the months since release and the industry has taken notice of Sarnoski's work, snatching him up into franchise land with the next "A Quiet Place" movie.

So with those qualities already spoken for, I'll focus instead on one of two quietly devastating moments in "Pig" set around (fittingly enough) dinner tables, both of which calibrate the depths of Robin's loss of his pig. The show-stopper comes at the climax of the film, which has similarly received due recognition, but the first arrives about an hour into the film. Robin and truffle-buyer Amir's (Alex Wolff) impromptu investigation leads to an unbearably gimmicky, high-end Portland, Oregon restaurant that just so happens to be run by Robin's former employee. The surprisingly tense 10-minute sequence that follows between Cage and David Knell's Chef Derek Finway is breathtaking in its surgical precision. Though he attempts to brush over his complicity in stealing the pig, Robin changes tact and juxtaposes the chef's inauthentic restaurant with Derek's unrealized dream of starting a pub to cut through the artifice of his worldview.

"They're not real. You get that, right? None of it is real. The critics aren't real, the customers aren't real, because this isn't real. You aren't real."

Neon

Of all the movie scenes in 2021, David Knell's face crumbling in front of our eyes in response to Cage's empathetic, yet honest assessment of how he's lost his way is an image I can't forget. So many characters in "Pig," Robin included, put up barriers to shield themselves from truths they'd rather not face. This one conversation captures that theme to powerful effect.

It's thrilling to watch a reliable, hard-working actor in their latest role and suddenly realize that you're witnessing the culmination of a journey into something more than "just" an actor — a performer, an artiste (okay, I'll rein in the pretentiousness a bit), or maybe, just maybe, a star in their own right. A retelling of a timeless and authorless piece of Arthurian legend wouldn't seem to lend itself to such a grand proclamation, but that's precisely what Dev Patel and writer/director David Lowery accomplish.

In many ways, "The Green Knight" boasts all the trappings of traditional arthouse fare that makes average moviegoers flee in the opposite direction: an ambiguous ending; a story predominantly told through color, atmosphere, and symbolism; and almost a built-in requirement that one be familiar with the original text before even attempting to parse the meaning of the film's faithfulness and divergences. All of that combines to explain the glaring discrepancy between the glowing critic rating and the more tepid audience rating on Rotten Tomatoes ... but if that deterred you from checking this film out the first time around, then I'm here to inform you that you made a grave mistake.

My argument begins and ends with only two words: Dev Patel.

Although if you'll allow me to offer the somewhat longer version, I would point to Hoai-Tran Bui's review for /Film and Angeline Rodriguez's Polygon article, both of which get right to the heart of why his casting works so well as the not-yet-knight Gawain. He's hot and talented, he plays Gawain's brashness and eagerness to prove himself (and, inevitably, his unlikability) without a hint of irony or self-consciousness, and his unmistakable South Asian heritage adds several layers of subtext to the epic poem. The push and pull between Patel's rugged exterior and boyish charm immediately grants a lived-in feel to his relationship with Alicia Vikander's prostitute Esel, and he proves equally as adept at handling the much darker and more disturbing paths Gawain takes in the latter half of the film. In short, Patel's casting does everything a storyteller could ever want from a lead, elevating what was already on the page to another level entirely.

"The Green Knight" takes its cues from Dev Patel by alternately beguiling, repelling, and ultimately challenging its intended audience.

Confession time. You might think this column is written from the perspective of some insufferably holier-than-thou snob, but may this entry rid you of that notion entirely. After putting it on the record (not once, but multiple times) that I simply couldn't wait to watch "Star Wars: Visions" for its bold, inventive, and refreshingly new approach to telling stories in this sprawling universe, I ... promptly did just the opposite and forgot all about the anime series until a few short weeks ago. Mea culpa, folks. I'm just as guilty of passing up on quality entertainment as anyone else.

But all that said, boy am I glad that I finally caught up on what I'd missed the first time around. I can confidently say that "Star Wars: Visions" more than lives up to its potential as the injection of fresh creative energy that the franchise (and its fans) needed after "The Rise of Skywalker" brought the main saga to a profoundly disappointing close. Where the overwhelming majority of the post-Disney "Star Wars" era has struggled to balance the crushing weight of nostalgia with crafting new characters with new stories worth telling in the first place, "Visions" nimbly avoids these pitfalls by simply ... crafting new characters with new stories worth telling in the first place. It seems laughably simple when I put it that way — and, in many ways, it really, really is — but the episodic animated series deserves even more respect and applause for forging its own path in such style, all while remaining faithful to the spirit of George Lucas' original story.

None of the nine episodes run for longer than 24 minutes (credits included), but the sheer amount of imagination, story, and action packed into each installment is nothing less than, well, visionary. Impressive efforts like "The Duel," "The Twins," "The Village Bride," "The Ninth Jedi," and "The Elder" show off a darker side to bringing "Star Wars" back in line with the samurai movies that originally inspired Lucas, but "Tatooine Rhapsody" and "T0-B1" go a long way towards reminding us that this universe is meant to be optimistic and fun, too. "Lop and Ochō" and "Akakiri," meanwhile, are bold enough to end in outright heartbreak. In refusing to allow established canon to suffocate itself, "Visions" genuinely makes "Star Wars" feel new again.

It's one thing to exude a cool and collected aura in big-budget genre pics, as Jeffrey Wright pulls off with ease in "No Time To Die" and likely will in "The Batman." But how many actors can also reach within themselves and bring out hidden depths as supporting players in more complex roles, like Wright has accomplished in projects like "Lady in the Water" (yeah, I said it!), "Only Lovers Left Alive," "Hold the Dark," "Westworld," and more? "The French Dispatch" benefits from both of these skills — Wright as a showman and Wright as a sensitive soul — to elevate itself into one of the biggest surprises in all 2021.

Of the many stand-out performances in "The French Dispatch," Wright's journalist Roebuck Wright (partly based on the great American writer James Baldwin) rises above the packed ensemble, a keystone holding up the architecture of the entire anthology film. Though each standalone vignette is about more than it lets on (i.e. the tension between art and commerce in "The Concrete Masterpiece," or the coming-of-age love story amid student riots in "Revisions to a Manifesto"), the penultimate chapter, "The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner," provides the film's most stirring portrait of life in the fictional French town of Ennui.

Even with so much narration and voiceover work (the framing device puts Roebuck on a talk show, flawlessly recollecting every word of his article), Wright's performance subtly brings decades-worth of weight to the idea of outsiders finding a sense of belonging. Roebuck is written as an energetic and tireless reporter, but Wright and Anderson further infuse the character with a sort of bemused vulnerability that hints at hidden depths. Intending to write a profile on the famous chef Nescaffier (Steve Park), Roebuck naturally gets caught up in a kidnapping plot concerning the police commissioner's son, a frantic shootout, a daring rescue implemented by the chef, and a thrilling (and endearingly animated) chase sequence through the streets of Ennui. His long-delayed meeting with Nescaffier results in one of Anderson's most poignant interactions yet.

Bonding over their outsider status as foreigners (with Roebuck previously incarcerated for loving "the wrong way"), Wright's earnest delivery of one last line of dialogue hits like a ton of bricks: "Maybe with good luck, we'll find what eluded us in the places we once called home."