It’s all coming back to her

In the end, the films that made my list of favorites are the ones that stayed in my head the longest. The truth is that yesterday my top 10 list looked completely different; tomorrow it might be somewhat, even radically changed since my favorites are continually shifting place, jostling one another out of the way. My favorites are the films that I carried around with me and continually replayed, revisiting favorite scenes and talking them over obsessively with friends.

The other truth is that some of my favorite performances of the year were in films that would never have made my final cut. There’s Viola Davis’ shocking, nearly wordless brief turn in “Antwone Fisher” and Raymond J. Barry as the lunatic who claims to have killed John F. Kennedy in “Interview With the Assassin.” There’s Maggie Gyllenhaal’s beautiful loser finding herself in “Secretary,” and Catherine Keener taking possession of “Full Frontal” and the aptly titled “Lovely & Amazing.” (You have to wonder why studios haven’t rewarded this terrific actress with big commercial parts. Does she scare them?) Finally, and most powerfully, there is Daniel Day-Lewis’ bloody butcher redeeming Martin Scorsese from the folly and waste of “Gangs of New York.”

These performances linger, as do these fragments: Matt Damon’s amnesiac spy in “The Bourne Identity” realizing that, like Keanu Reeves in “The Matrix,” he knows kung fu. The camera- man who loses his nerve, and the shot, when the then-imprisoned Suge Knight comes strolling toward him and director Nick Broomfield in “Biggie & Tupac.” Ryan Gosling, nostrils flaring and biceps curled, making like the young Robert De Niro in “The Believer.” De Niro making like one of the Three Stooges in “Analyze That.” Warhorse Clint Eastwood loping through the frame in “Blood Work.” The boys and girls of Los Angeles’ endless summer swooping across the city’s empty swimming pools in “Dogtown and Z-Boys.” The opening car chase in “The Transporter” that, somehow, leads directly to the squirrel that’s off his nut in “Ice Age.”

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Manohla Dargis’ top films of 2002

“About Schmidt.” Alexander Payne’s generous-hearted, soulfully funny journey in and out of the American heart of darkness finds Jack Nicholson, as a recently retired insurance man, giving his greatest performance of the past two decades, proof that it wasn’t the star who got small -- it was his movies.

“Blissfully Yours.” Written and directed by a young Thai filmmaker named Apichatpong Weerasethakul, this languidly paced idyll follows two Thai women and an illegal Burmese worker out of the bustle of the modern city and into a mysterious, lushly primeval landscape. The movie screened at the AFI film festival.

“Far From Heaven.” Todd Haynes’ magnificent obsessive elegy for classic Hollywood melodrama elevates the writer-director to the upper reaches of the country’s filmmaking fraternity. Look for the DVD version in which Julianne Moore’s recently liberated housewife and Dennis Haysbert’s seductively earthy gardener find biracial beatnik happiness in Greenwich Village.

“Femme Fatale.” This is the film in which Brian De Palma finally stopped being so freaked out by women and decided to succumb to them. Wildly entertaining (and wildly sexy), this mash note to the pleasures of cinema and the beauty of the female beast not only marks the director’s best work in 10 years; it also stands among his greatest accomplishments.

“In Praise of Love.” This sublime film from Jean-Luc Godard, one of the art’s true visionaries, opened in this country to some critical hand-wringing about its anti-Americanism that has seemed all the sillier (and shriller) in the months since. It’s too early to call it a masterpiece, but check in again in 10 years.

“Japon.”Shot in breathtaking B&W; Super CinemaScope, this feature debut from Carlos Reygadas traces a journey of a middle-aged Christ figure whose voyage into the Mexican countryside becomes a meditation on the ecstasies and terrors of the natural world. The film screened at the American Cinematheque.

“The Pianist.” Roman Polanski’s film lays bare the destruction of European Jewry with devastating power and intelligence.

“The Piano Teacher.” This film about a repressed piano teacher who falls for one of her students isn’t easy to like, but likability has never been a requisite for art. German director Michael Haneke has a needlessly cold, even clinical heart but all is forgiven whenever his camera turns to Isabelle Huppert, whose gnashing fury turns the teacher into a creature of both terror and pity.

“Time Out.” Beautifully played and woefully under-seen, this taut emotional thriller about a middle-class Frenchman who pretends to have a job long after he’s been fired was inspired by a tragic true story. Director Laurent Cantet has a sense of suspense that’s worthy of Hitchcock, and he brings to the film a deep, anguished morality that’s otherwise lacking in his protagonist’s consciousness.

“Y Tu Mama Tambien.” Director Alfonso Cuaron’s exuberant, sensual road movie is about the pleasures of turning on your mind as well as your body, and is a perfect fusion of style and substance. The director has been tapped for the next “Harry Potter” feature, which, in light of the scorching hot menage a trois at the center of “Y Tu Mama,” should raise some fascinating possibilities for Harry, Ron and Hermione.

And, finally, my cheat of an entry: “Minority Report” -- but only until the scene in which Tom Cruise shoots the guy in the hotel room. Darkly foreboding, the film opens exciting new territory for Spielberg that it promptly slams shut once Cruise leaves the hotel room, trading Samantha Morton’s moist pre-cog for a dubious domestic Arcadia.

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Why wasn’t I “Swept Away”? The “Signs” were murky. “Storytelling” too. “No Such Thing” was exactly that. “24 Hour Party People” was 24 too many. There’s something programmatic about “Human Nature.” I saw the “Hollywood Ending” in the first act. “High Crimes” were clearly committed. “Spider-Man” didn’t swing. “Punch-Drunk Love” didn’t swoon. “Tadpole” flopped. “The Time Machine” broke. “The Cat’s Meow” wasn’t. “Morvern Caller” made me holler. “We Were Soldiers” but rarely men. “The Road to Perdition” went on and on. “The Sweetest Thing” left a bitter taste. “One Hour Photo” never developed. “The Rules of Attraction” only repulsed. “Frida” was paint by numbers. “The 25th Hour” was long overdue. We never did get out of that “Panic Room.” “All or Nothing” but mostly nothing. None of those creeps really “Talk to Her.” “Adaptation” is the sincerest form of self-flattery. The “Gangs of New York” just broke my heart.