2015 is wrapping up and looking back on the year there have been a fair amount of films that have been emotionally provoking, but The Big Short is in many ways at least equal to Mad Max in blood-pressure-raising cogency. The nearness of so recent a catastrophe combined with Adam McKay’s blended fact-driven drama and absurd-because-it’s-true comedy, ensures a righteous resentment. The film moves quickly introducing a lot of people and breaking the fourth wall often to explain terminology and provide a high level of self-awareness as characters explain when the film is being truthful and when it’s taking liberties for the sake of moviemaking. This candid storytelling builds a level of trust that feels akin to watching a documentary. The roller coaster ride of not being sure when to laugh at the preposterousness and scope of the events unfolding, or when to cry whenever the realization of their truthfulness sinks in, by far makes for one of the most peerless filmgoing experiences of the year.

Based on Michael Lewis’s bestselling nonfiction book of the same name, the focus of this expose is on the unlikely people who not only predicted the collapse (or bursting, if you will) of the credit and housing bubble that led to the crisis of 2008 and contributed greatly to the longest recession in U.S. history, but who also profited greatly when it happened. There’s the awkward Asperger’s-savant hedge fund investor, Dr. Michael Burry played by Christian Bale, who crunches the numbers and predicts the future, pretty much to the month the collapse will happen. He starts investing his clients’ money, betting against the banks, who happily take it thinking such a thing could never happen. His clients are understandably unhappy with the risk.

Word spreads of his crazy actions and soon Wall Street banker Jared Vennett (Ryan Gosling doing what he does best, faking a New York accent and being as shmarmy as can be) catches wind and wants in on the potentially huge earnings involved, he manages to enlist outspoken hedge fund manager Mark Baum (Steve Carell) and his team. Baum operates under the umbrella of Morgan Stanley but actively despises the practices of big banks. After doing his research—part of which hilariously involves interviewing strippers on their financial practices in Florida—Baum realizes the truth of the housing bubble and invests. The remaining morally ambiguous underdogs are small timers Jamie Shipley (Finn Wittrock) and Charlie Geller (John Magaro) who started an investment firm out of their garage and are looking to get into the big leagues, without any clout they have to get retired investor Ben Rickert (Brad Pitt) to do the deals for them. He also agrees out of spite for corporate America and the rest of the film is watching the wool unravel as the banking world parties and denies that anything bad—at least, related to mortgages—could ever happen to them.

It would be easy to focus on the moral ambiguity of the individual men who gained from America’s huge downfall, but the spotlight of The Big Short can’t help but fall on the banks and governmental entities who tried (and in almost every way succeeded) to deny their fraud and negligence. McKay highlights the deceptive nature of the industry even as he pokes fun at it. For instance, the complicated lingo of the banking industry, while possibly useful to those on the inside, is beyond confusing to the layperson, especially when reduced to acronyms. McKay brings in celebrities playing themselves to break down these terms and provide visual explanations. Anthony Bourdain, Selena Gomez, and a naked Margot Robbie explaining terms like “CDO” and “subprime mortgage rates” is as entertaining as it is informative. That said, a film like this would require multiple viewings to fully grasp the full extent of the economic and fiscal theory playing out and the sheer mathematics that explain all that happened. But this isn’t a documentary, and it’s not meant to be viewed as such.

McKay seems to respect that viewers know how this story ends and that as wrapped up as we get in the characters’ schemes to make it rich off of the evil banks, rooting for them is, in fact, rooting for the failure, financial ruin and catastrophic misfortune of the American people. Any criticism of the film would have to be that very little time is spent focusing on what that misfortune looked like for people. Only one shot depicts a family, met earlier in the film, now homeless and living out of a van. But this seems a smart move as the point isn’t to focus on the sadness invoked by such imagery, but instead to hang on to the infuriation that bubbles up as the full extent of awareness and collusion of the banks and the government is revealed. It’s an unprecedented circumstance in American history and the film spells out just how few consequences there were for those responsible.

The star power of the film is overwhelming, even with Pitt providing the least amount of screen time. Carell is the most impressive, proving once again he has depths barely yet tapped. He brings to Baum all the social disregard of The Office’s Michael Scott with the intensity of Foxcatcher’s John du Pont and adding a moral anger that ties it all together amazingly. Christian Bale—never one to go halfway on any character—combines aloofness with the burden of genius to make his detached character perhaps the most sympathy-inspiring. But the real star is by far the director, who almost retroactively makes his comedies like Talladega Nights and Step Brothers seem even more astute now that we’ve been given such a clear example of how deftly he can comically reflect on true-life drama.

It’s easy to dismiss the complicated mess of the housing crises and collapse, shaking our heads at the math and economic intricacy, and McKay seems to know that his film isn’t going to incite retroactive punishment or propel a revolution. The significance of a film like The Big Short isn’t just a much-needed reminder that we the people should always take the time to understand and reflect on how hardships like this occur, but that comedy is a sharp weapon in shaming those who deserve to be called out.

In a drastic, surprisingly smooth departure from his typical work directing major studio comedies, Adam McKay tackles the dense subject matter of The Big Short, a screen adaptation of Michael Lewis‘ best-selling book about the devastating financial collapse of the mid-aughts. A heavy drama boasting an all-star ensemble (including Steve Carell, Ryan Gosling, Christian Bale, Brad Pitt, and more) playing men who watch the world burn to ashes around them from a credit and housing disaster only they saw coming, the film operates in a dark world of complex real estate jargon and impending Wall Street doom. Nevertheless, the film is imbued with a crackling, unpredictable energy a filmmaker with McKay’s comedic and improvisational background naturally brings to the table.

We spoke to McKay in a roundtable interview about the film, which opens this Friday in select cities and expands wide on December 23rd.

As a filmmaker, how hard or easy was it to maintain the balance of making sure your audience understands all of the Wall Street terminology while also being entertaining?
I think what we did with breaking the fourth wall was inspired by Lewis’ book. If you look at his book, he does a lot of footnotes where he says, “You’re still keeping up with what I’m saying. You deserve a gold star.” He kind of talks to the reader a little bit. That inspired us doing that in the movie. I just felt like the movies had to be inclusive. One of the ways the banks get away with ripping us off is by making us feel stupid or bored by financial talk. I wanted to open it up in a fun way because, once you get it, it’s a really energetic, exciting world. I figure if a college dropout who directed Step Brothers can understand it, the rest of the audience can. That was my operating premise. This isn’t that hard—it’s just moving dead money around and giving it weird names.

The balance is a different question. Ultimately I felt like this movie had to be driven by those characters. That’s what drove me through the book—Dr. Michael Burry, Mark Baum, Jared Vennett, the young guys. That’s the meat of this story. They’re us. They’re the people that the rest of the banking world doesn’t respect—they’re obnoxious, they’re weird. There’s also the big question of why they saw [the crisis] when no one else saw it. In the edit room, that was a big thing we looked at, balancing, trying to get the audience to have enough information so that you can go for the ride. But sometimes I’d have to stop the movie and go, “What the fuck is a synthetic CDO?” For the most part, the audiences really love it and feel like it pulls them into the movie more. The only people who have been bitching about it have been super stodgy film formalists.

You come from a theater/improv background where addressing the audience is quite common. Why do you think it’s considered such a radical idea in movies?
There’s definitely a snobbery about it that I’ve noticed. It’s a film school thing. In film school they teach you “show, don’t tell.” They literally do exercises with it. Friends of mine who were in film school talk about how you’d get in trouble if you’d tell and not show. I think it’s become this sort of unspoken rule. But some of my favorite movies of all time involve breaking the fourth wall or using narrators, like 24 Hour Party People. That’s a movie that I love. There’s such an energy to it. American Splendor. Scorsese’s done a bunch—Goodfellas, Casino. You freeze the frame, you talk. That new show, Narcos, does it a lot. I think it’s kind of changing. Early on, there was a power to film in the ’30s, ’40s and ’50s where they’re showing. They’re showing a lot. I think now, because there are so many mediums going on, we can blur it a little more. I’m less precious about it. I find it really exciting to [break the fourth wall].

You worked with four A-list actors on this movie. How much direction does each of them require, and are there different techniques you have to use with each of them?
You kind of dial into each actor and what they need. In the case of Bale, he comes to set and he is the character by the time he arrives. But he’s sort of internalized all of the guy’s physical tics and emotional outlook, but we’re trying to find the right pace for it and how much [he] lets out. Do you want to see a full tour de force of what the guy is in every scene? He and I worked a lot on when to use different aspects of the character. We were constantly having a discussion about that. Occasionally, the real Michael Burry’s voice will just get loud for no reason when he’s talking to you, so we talked about when to use that. It’s a constant checking-in with Christian. He’s completely grounded in the guy, but you try to find the right times and places and make sure it feels real.

Carell is very different. Carell almost hunts down the truthful moment like he’s got a pack of dogs. When he doesn’t have it, he gets very pissed at himself. He’s just chasing it and chasing it. When I do comedies with him, it’s not like that, but with this I realized my job was to be like his hunt-master. The two of us would just chase it down. You’re just nudging it and pushing it. When you get there, it’s very cool because he’ll never say “we got it,” but then suddenly, he’s silent. I’ll say “we got it,” and he won’t say anything and we’ll move on. He’s really, really hard on himself in a great way.

Gosling had an odd role in this movie. He’s both inside the movie and outside the movie. He can talk to the camera. So he was closer to a writer-director. The way we’d talk was closer to the way Will Ferrell and I talk. He’s a super collaborative, funny guy. Brad Pitt just came in with this fully formed character. He had the hair, the beard, the look. He knew exactly who this guy is. I was like, “Hey, I want to do this scene in the kitchen.” He was like, “Yup. I want to talk about saving seeds in Monsanto.” Melissa Leo lands, gets off the plane, smokes the scene in fourteen takes, says goodbye, gets on the plane and leaves. It’s like, “Where did that come from?!”

Coming from the world of making really big studio comedies, how easy or difficult was it to pitch yourself to take on a very different project?
You’re one hundred percent right. I’ve tried to make other movies. I tried to make Garth Ennis’ The Boys at one point, and I couldn’t get anyone to make it. That was a case where I went to all the studios in town and I could feel when I was pitching it [them thinking,] “Oh, he’s a comedy guy.” It was a tricky, ambitious project, but it didn’t help that I was a comedy guy in their eyes. In this case, I got very, very lucky. The company that I went to, Plan B, are the coolest people in the world. Really open-minded. The second I pitched my take they were like, “Why didn’t we think of this? This is perfect.” They were one hundred percent behind me from the beginning. And at that point, you have to put up or shut up about the script. When Paramount got the script, they actually liked it. Then we got this incredible cast, so we were good to go. I give all the credit in the world to Plan B for being open enough to talk to me about this. Not only open, but excited to talk about it.

How deeply involved were you with Michael Lewis in translating his book to screen?
Basically, I had lunch with him before we were going to get going. He said to me, “The book was my baby. You take the baby to college now.” He really loved the script. The greatest moment was when he saw our third-to-last screening and just went on and on about it and effusively loved it. Of course, we all reacted like giant geeks!

As a moviegoer, Steve Carell continues to surprise me as his career goes on. He’s always revealing new layers to his gifts. You’ve known him for years—has he always had these dimensions to him or is he really evolving with every project?
I think he’s definitely evolving. He’s got a little bit of Peter Sellers to him in the sense that he’s very meticulous and mathematical in the way he goes about comedy. It’s all very small, precise choices. I always knew he was a very detailed technician. But I don’t think I started thinking, “Oh, wait a minute—he can play these other ranges!” until Little Miss Sunshine. He was pretty frickin’ good in that, but then I thought, “Alright, he’s a good actor, but I’ve always known he was a good actor.” But then he did The Way Way Back. That was the first time I thought, holy shit—this guy’s really good. There’s this anger there and all these emotions. And then, of course, Foxcatcher blew me away. That’s how I ended up casting him in this role. I thought, son of a bitch, I think he can do this. He’s got the anger, he can transform enough. I was knocked over by what he does in this [movie].

What’s it like not working with Will Ferrell?
I can say this: Life is twenty percent less enjoyable. He came and visited us for, like, three or four days on set just because he wanted to hang. We had the best time with him. I always miss him. He’s the best! But I think it was good that we did something separate, you know? I actually was talking to him about doing a cameo, and he was like, “McKay, go do one without me!”

Talk about the pressure cooker of working with Paul Rudd on Ant-Man to craft what that movie became.
I gotta tell you—it didn’t feel like a pressure cooker. It felt like I was in heaven. I grew up on Marvel comics. I met with Kevin Feige and I could tell, “This guy gets it.” Sometimes you meet with these executives and it’s like, “They kind of get it…” The bummer of that is when you write something really cool and they don’t get it. It was so much fun knowing that, if we wrote something cool, Feige was going to get excited about it. We just had the best time, man. It was Rudd and I holed up in a room for two straight months, writing giant action sequences. Everyone assumed I was just doing the comedy, but we rewrote huge parts of that movie. [We got to write] the whole Falcon fight at the Avengers [base]. It was so much fun. I told Feige afterwards, “Any time you need me, give me a call. That was a blast.”

Moneyball is a film based on the book of the same name that was directed by Bennett Miller about a small market baseball team that found an innovative way of evaluating players. Co-written by the talented Aaron Sorkin (The Social Network), the film is a true story about how Billy Beane used unconventional thinking to focus on buying wins instead players.

Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) was a whole package as a baseball player. He could hit, field, throw and run; a rare package to find. The New York Mets gave him an offer right out of high school. Billy already had a full ride to Stanford but a tough decision that the Beane Family would have to make is go to college or go to the pros.

There are some players that just do not pan out in baseball. They have the ability on paper but for one reason or another just do not perform in the major league. Billy Beane was one of those players. After 6 years he comes to grips that he is not a baseball player but he would like to stay in baseball as a scout. He eventually became the General Manger for the Oakland Athletics.

Set in the 2002, the team with the lowest budget aims to get back to the postseason again but will have to do so without 3 major players. They lost first baseman Jason Giambi, outfielder Johnny Damon and closer Jason Isringhausen to teams that could offer a higher salary. “There are rich teams and there are poor teams. Then there is 50 feet of crap. And then there is us, says Billy.” Their budget limitations make it an unfair game but it is his problem to fix. Billy realizes that they need to think differently with their existing recruitment process.

On a trip to the Cleveland Indians management office, Billy is talking to their GM about possible trade acquisitions. As they throw some possible trade ideas around he notices a man in the corner who whispers advice into the ears of the other guys in the room. The negotiations are going nowhere but the man in the corner intrigues him.

After the failed negotiation meeting is over Billy walks right out of the office to the desk of the man in the corner to find out more about him. His name is Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), a shy young player analyst who has never had a job in baseball before this. Not only that, but this is his first job in any profession. This baffles Billy but he is more concerned on what exactly he told the guy in the meeting.

The two step out of the building to talk more privately about what Peter Brand is all about. Peter explains that baseball teams are misjudging their players and more importantly mismanage their teams. He explains that instead thinking in terms of buying players they should think in terms of buying wins.

Soon after the two first met, Billy hires Peter to his team as the assistant GM. Peter uses Bill James’s formulas to come up with the true values in each player. He believes that there are 25 undervalued players out there that the team can buy on the cheap. Billy refers to their new strategy as counting cards at the blackjack table, trying to beat the odds. He calls this new strategy Moneyball.

The team’s scouts were very skeptical about this new strategy. They believe that there is more to baseball than just numbers and stats, it is about people and chemistry. There are fundamental elements where stats do not apply. Billy knows that the only way he can prove that the system works is by winning games.

The team starts the season off cold (losing 14 of the last 17 games). The seriousness of their poor record is starting to be brought to Billy’s attention. Even by his daughter. She asks him if he will be losing his job. He tells her not to worry about the fact his team is in last place and the things on the internet about him potentially losing his job. He tells her not to worry for her comfort but you can tell he is worried. Still, deep down he believes in his strategy.

The film portrays the hero to be Billy Beane but when you really think about it, it was only his acceptance of Peter Brand’s (in real life his name was Paul DePodesta) strategy and philosophy really changed the game. Every decision that he makes is because Peter said to do it. At least that is what I got out of the film, though props to Billy for looking for progressive ways to win and giving Peter a chance.

It is a movie about sports but it is not a sports movie. In fact, you do not even need to be a baseball fan to enjoy Moneyball, but it does not hurt either. The point of the film is not about an underdog sports team winning games but rather the way they went against the traditional way of evaluating players.

Brad Pitt does a fine job playing Billy Beane but I think the top performance goes to Jonah Hill. He played the number-crunching nerdy Yale graduate wonderfully. Philip Seymour Hoffman comes in with the small role of the team manager named Art Howe but takes a backseat to the main roles of Pitt and Hill.

Moneyball is an entertaining and soulful crowd pleaser with great acting and terrific writing. The only thing preventing this home-run film from being a grand-slam is the lack of risk taking. In the film’s defense, it is hard to take too many risks when it is based on true life events because staying true to the story is best. I do not know much about Billy Beane but perhaps they could have developed more from his ex-wife, the high billed Robin Wright, who only is seen in one scene. Still, you will likely not walk out of this film disappointed.