I would love to say that my review of I’m Thinking of Ending Things, Charlie Kaufman’s latest, is so late because I’ve only just now figured the film out. This would be a lie for two reasons- one is that the reason I haven’t had time to write it is due to the return of school and all that brings. The other is that it implies I’ve figured it out at all. The latest directorial effort from the writer of Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind hit Netflix earlier this month, after months of silence from the streaming giant on a movie initially supposed to hit in early 2020, and the announcement of a release date immediately stirred fans of Kaufman’s particular brand of surrealism into a frenzy. Counting myself as one of those fans, I can assure you that the phrase “Charlie Kaufman does a psychological horror movie” is extraordinarily exciting. Kaufman is one of our greatest cinematic weirdos, and his totally singular view of the human psyche seemed like a natural fit for the psychological horror genre.
It was. Of course, it’s not exactly that simple. I’m Thinking of Ending Things is a horror film much in the same way Lynch’s Eraserhead is: it’s not exactly tangibly “scary” per se, but it’s so deeply wrong and upsetting that any other characterization would feel ill-fitting. Based on Iain Reid’s book of the same name, I’m Thinking of Ending Things delves into the mind of a woman (Jessie Buckley) who is dissatisfied in her relationship with Jake (Jesse Plemons) and is, uh, considering ceasing the relationship. The film concerns a road trip the two take to meet Jake’s parents (masterful lunatic actors Toni Collette and David Thewlis, perfectly cast). To describe the plot as it proceeds from here would be both useless and impossible, so let’s just skip that and talk about what the thing feels like to watch. Cinematographer Lukasz Zal (noted for his Oscar nominated collaborations with Pawel Pawlikowski, Ida and Cold War) bathes the film in snow and wintry aesthetics, and the vibe of the film is decidedly a wintry one. It is, no two ways about it, a dark movie- it quickly becomes clear that it possesses a fascination with aging and death, and the coldness throughout it really perpetuates this. Those seeking the humor of something like Being John Malkovich are out of luck with this one. But Kaufman obsessives will absolutely find plenty to love here- the best way I can put it is that if you haven’t already seen it while you’re reading this, it may not be for you. Personally, I marked September 4th on my phone calendar and watched the movie as soon as I woke up. If you felt a similar anticipation, then you’d probably love the film. If not, either stay away or immerse yourself into Kaufman’s films a bit first.
If you are, in fact, in this for the standard Kaufman oddities, Thinking of Ending Things has you covered. The central performance by Buckley is the obvious standout, a titanic feat of repressed melancholia by which the film lives and dies. When she’s not on screen, the film is worse off for it. But in terms of purely entertaining bizarro stuff, I have to direct you in the direction of Thewlis and Collette’s aforementioned gonzo turns. They play Jake’s parents throughout the duration of a mammoth dinner scene in the center of the film. I mentioned Eraserhead earlier as a tonal comparison, and this is where it really conjures up that film, specifically its early dinner sequence. No manmade chickens in this one, but you get that same deranged vibe from the parents. Collette and Thewlis sell it beautifully, alternating between unnerving and deeply sad. In the home stretch, Kaufman goes full-tilt crazy, descending the film into a disorienting array of farm animals and naked old people that can only be described as “day-ruining”. This is stuff that stays with you, and in the kind of way where you know it’s going to as soon as you see it.
So what does it all mean? Like I said earlier, I can’t claim to know. It’s as if it’s designed to be as impenetrable as possible, every potential revealing plot development overshadowed by misdirection and cascading cultural references. Everything is layered on top of everything else, conversations debating the ethics of “Baby it’s cold outside” collide with fake ice cream jingles before you can even recover from bizarre jabs at Robert Zemeckis. It gets to the point where it’s impossible to distinguish what’s important and the answer ends up seeming like “everything and nothing”.
Where I’ve arrived is the idea that trying to figure it out is pointless. With I’m Thinking of Ending Things, the best way to go is to let it wash over you, to commit to the feeling of the film above all else. And that feeling is the film’s best asset. It makes you feel so uneasy yet so satisfied, so shaken yet so mystified and compelled. There’s not much like it. It’s a masterpiece, something so remarkable to watch that I feel bad to encourage people not to watch it. But unfortunately that’s what I have to do- this is decidedly not for everyone, and one of the biggest senses I got while watching it was that people would watch it just because it’s on Netflix and absolutely hate it. But for a certain type of viewer, I’m Thinking of Ending Things will resonate. If you think, based on all this, that you might be that, you probably are, and in that case, go check out one of the most beguiling and indelible films in recent memory. If not, you’re probably making a good call. Either way, one thing is for sure about I’m Thinking of Ending Things: it’s a real movie that actually exists. That’s about it.
You could argue that there’s no more iconic director than Alfred Hitchcock. The films he’s made have endured and stood the test of time, and the presence in cinematic history of the man himself is unparalleled. I mean who else is so instantly recognizable based just on their silhouette? I, personally, have seen 17 Hitchcock movies, which ties Martin Scorsese for the most of any director, 2 ahead of runner-up John Carpenter. However, unlike those other 2, I’ve only scratched the surface of Hitch’s massive catalogue: he completed 55 feature films in his career, spanning across six decades, two countries, and both the silent and sound eras. Keeping in mind the breadth of that resume, ranking a selection of 17 of his films feels somewhat foolish. But I’m doing it anyway. Crucial blindspots remain, such as The Lady Vanishes, Frenzy, and both versions of The Man Who Knew Too Much, but 17 is still a lot of movies, so prepare for a long post.
17- Sabotage (1936)
Not to be confused with 1942’s Saboteur, which, by all accounts, is far better. It’s not that Sabotage is “bad” so much as it is deeply, deeply middling. There’s nothing remotely special about this movie for the majority of its runtime, with one notable exception. The film’s climactic sequence, in which a child unknowingly transports a ticking bomb, is a signature Hitchcock suspense scene. It’s extra remarkable against the background of the exceptionally bland rest of the film, which concerns a woman whose husband is, unbeknownst to her, a member of a terrorist group. It’s only 77 minutes, which makes it a perfectly palatable completionist watch, and that central sequence alone makes it worth your while, but when the greatest legacy of a Hitchcock film is an excerpt from it making an appearance in Inglourious Basterds (the voiceover with Samuel L. Jackson explaining how flammable the film is features a clip of a child being refused entry to a bus because he’s carrying film), it’s not exactly major.
16- To Catch a Thief (1955)
Everything from here on out is at least pretty good, which is really a remarkable track record. To Catch a Thief, Hitchcock’s final collaboration with Grace Kelly, isn’t much of a substantial film, but it’s a light and breezy effort that basically serves as a vehicle for cinematographer Robert Burks and costume designer Edith Head, allowing them both to luxuriate in the film’s European vistas and beaches. It’s a fun if forgettable watch- everyone is clearly having fun making it, and as a result it gains a laid-back vibe that separates it from most Hitchcock work while remaining firmly within his universe. This isn’t a big swing for the fences in the slightest, it feels like it was basically designed to occupy this exact spot on a list like this. A “minor” work that indicates why it is that Hitch is one of the best there ever was.
15- The Lodger (1927)
Technically this is called The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog, but that’s dumb. Nobody calls it that. It’s like calling Evil Dead 2 “Dead by Dawn”: if you encounter anyone who does it, run. Anyway the movie itself is good. He’s still clearly getting some stuff worked out, but there are flashes of brilliance: the shot of Ivor Novello pacing back and forth shot through a glass ceiling jumps to mind, as does the decision not to let the audience know whether or not our main character is a murderer for almost the entire film. Hitchcock considered this his first proper film. He had several other silents under his belt by this point, but this was the first one to actually see release, and the only one of his silents that has really held up as a canonical part of his work. It’s easy to see why- it’s remarkably compelling, and Novello’s central performance as a possible serial killer is excellent. It even features Hitchcock’s first cameo.
14- Spellbound (1945)
Mostly remembered today for its iconic Dali-designed dream sequence (above), Spellbound has a lot more to offer than its reputation suggests. Gregory Peck plays a might-be-murderer in the vein of the central figure of The Lodger, with an added twist: he can’t remember anything. Ingrid Bergman plays a psychoanalyst who falls in love with him and attempts to figure out the truth. You can practically feel Hitchcock’s excitement for the psychoanalysis plotline, it lines up with so many career-long fascinations. He’s visually on point as well- the film’s signature moment occurs in the finale, in which the camera is placed in a POV shot behind a gun panning back and forth. Plus, the aforementioned dream sequence looks great, even if Hitchcock had to deny Dali some of his requests. In Hitchcock/Truffaut, he recollects the inception of the scene, and having to explain to the iconic surrealist that he could not, in fact, pour live ants all over Ingrid Bergman. Ants or no ants, the scene works, and the film is better for it. Added bonus: the mental hospital setting of Mel Brooks’s Hitchcock sendup High Anxiety is a reference to Spellbound.
13- Dial M for Murder (1954)
Dial M has largely avoided reckoning with its status as mid-tier Hitchcock by virtue of possessing the coolest, most iconic title of all his films. It’s definitely a good film, elevated to near-greatness by its attempted murder sequence at around the midpoint. Psycho‘s iconic moment where the viewer finds themselves rooting for the car to sink into the swamp is extended to the point where every hitch in the murder attempt causes the intensity to jump up. Ray Milland’s performance stands out, as does the hallucinatory scene of Grace Kelly’s trial. The big knock on Dial M is its extreme staginess, which is a valid criticism. It was adapted from a play, and the 3D photography doesn’t do nearly enough to cover that up. But the moments when this soars, it really soars. And it all builds to Hitchcock’s greatest final shot (with all due respect to Psycho), of a man elegantly combing his mustache.
12- Notorious (1946)
Everyone seems to like this one more than I do. Maybe I owe it a rewatch, I haven’t seen it in a while, but I was not as impressed as most people seem to be. There’s a large subset of people, notably including Roger Ebert, who consider this one of Hitchcock’s greatest achievements, if not his single best film. Needless to say, I just don’t get it. That’s not to say Notorious is anything to sneeze at. The two central performances, from Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman, are excellent, even if the whole thing gets stolen out from under them by Claude Rains as soon as he shows up. I will give this one extreme points for the fact that the romance angle works better than a lot of his other films- Grant’s jaded character is just incredible to watch, and Bergman’s work is straight-up heartbreaking. I’m actually liking it more as I’m writing it up. I think I’ll move it above Dial M. Congratulations, Notorious. It’s a really good movie, it’s just that everything above it is a great movie.
11- I Confess (1953)
If I had to pick Hitchcock’s most underrated film, I would land on I Confess with little hesitation. It follows an absolutely insane plot: a priest (played by Montgomery Clift) becomes the prime suspect in a murder case, but he was the recipient of the confession of the real murderer. His principles won’t allow him to violate the rules of his position and tell others what he knows, so he gets in deeper and deeper trouble. It’s a brilliant idea, and Clift plays the anguish and tribulations of his character perfectly. The MVPs, however, are Anne Baxter and Karl Malden, both outstanding as, respectively, Clift’s character’s love interest who serves as the primary link between him and the murder, and an inspector who is convinced of Clift’s guilt. There are some undeniable issues, such as the ridiculous developments the plot takes (Maude Lebowski would disapprove) and the fact that the French title, which translates to “The Law of Silence”, is way cooler. But overall this is a fascinating watch. It’s done with a bizarre, operatic flow that makes it feel like you’re not watching a Hitchcock film, and reminded me at times of the regal progression of Scorsese’s The Age of Innocence. Hitch goes nuts with the camerawork here too. He employs a lot of exceptionally creative movement and compositions, and it all comes together to make one of his most visually interesting films. This is a must-watch.
10- Rope (1948)
Hitchcock considered Rope a failed experiment. God knows why. The film is incredible, and its status as a gimmick movie is undeserved. The gimmick, of course, is that it’s all done so as to resemble one continuous shot, 66 years before Birdman, and while that’s undeniably the element that stands out the most, it’s a barnburner below a surface level. The story features two men who strangle a friend and then invite a group of people, including said friend’s fiancee, over for a dinner party with the body stashed in a chest on which they serve dinner. It’s psychotic. And it’s a perfectly Hitchcockian confrontation of the “perfect murder” concept, one of his most explicit takes on it. Jimmy Stewart does some of his best work as the professor who may have inspired the men to their crime, and John Dall is wonderfully menacing as the lead murderer. Farley Granger, who plays his accomplice, is, uh… he’s really good in Nicholas Ray’s They Live By Night from the same year. Overall Rope is basically the sum of its parts, which is a high compliment considering the strength of those parts.
9- The 39 Steps (1935)
Hitchcock at his most spectacularly British. This is the inception of his “wrong man” story, which he would hone to perfection in later films, ultimately culminating in North by Northwest. Phrasing it like that is technically true, but it also feels unfair to The 39 Steps, which is a great movie in its own right. Brilliantly entertaining, with Robert Donat giving one of the most underrated performances in Hitchcock’s oeuvre, and that’s not even touching on the rapid-fire 30’s British dialogue. It’s interesting in its novelty to watch, yes, but also in how much fun it is. It’s rare to see an early work that has its senses of humor, suspense, and purpose this developed. I doubt it yields much if you’re not a Hitchcock fan, but if you are it’s an absolute delight.
8- Strangers on a Train (1951)
Murder! Trains! Tennis! They all collide in Hitchcock’s 1951 classic, that features the single most intense game of tennis there has ever been. Also a murder at an amusement park, a finale aboard a carousel, and a shot of a murder reflected in a pair of glasses on the ground. It feels like Hitchcock was just throwing whatever at the screen and it was all working. Farley Granger steps up his performance from Rope, Robert Walker is simply astounding (see Vincente Minnelli’s excellent film The Clock for an extremely different side of Walker, one of history’s most underrated actors, that’ll make you even more impressed by his psychopathic turn here). There’s not much else to say about this, one of Hitchcock’s most iconic films, besides the obvious fact that it absolutely rules. We’re in the really good stuff now.
7- The Birds (1963)
The mark of a great film is its ability to stay with you. By that metric, The Birds has a claim to the title of Hitch’s finest moment. Not because it’ll keep you up at night, or occupy your every waking thought. No, the way The Birds sinks into your skin is far more sinister. The Birds stays with you because after you see it, it’ll be at the forefront of your mind every damn time you see a bird.
6- North by Northwest
Yeah yeah cropduster scene whatever, for my money the best part of North by Northwest is Thornhill’s “I’ve got a job, a secretary, a mother, two ex-wives, and several bartenders that depend upon me, and I don’t intend to disappoint them all by getting myself slightly killed” speech. The best line in all of non-Psycho Hitch. Anyway, if you’re looking for a straight-up good time, I doubt you can do any better on this list. Sheer adrenaline, punctuated by rapid fire action setpieces and witty dialogue. It’s a classic for a reason, one of Hitchcock’s most sprawling and expansive films. Cary Grant, in the best performance of his career, runs around the country trying not to get killed for 2 hours, and it’s cinema. That’s the whole movie, and Hitchcock makes it work through sheer power of sustained excellence.
5- Shadow of a Doubt
Shadow of a Doubt is often cited as Hitchcock’s favorite of his own films, and it’s easy to see why. His favorite topic, murder, is given perhaps his most comprehensive treatment. He really digs into the psychology behind human perception of murder, simultaneously criticizing and exploiting human fascination with the subject all while probing into why it’s so sensationalized. Theresa Wright is amazing in the lead role, but this is the Joseph Cotten show above all else. He’s menacing to the point of terror, yet also creepily persuasive. This is the best iteration of Hitchcock’s is-he-or-isn’t-he potential killer, in no small part due to Cotten’s career best work. It’s pretty standard Hitchcock murder stuff, but carried out with such confidence and bravado that gives way to absolutely brilliant filmmaking. Endlessly spellbinding in its construction and its themes, this might be the quintessential Hitchcock text if you want to really get at what he was going for his whole career.
4- Rebecca (1940)
The first two thirds of Rebecca, Hitchcock’s lone Best Picture winner, reach the levels of complete mastery of Vertigo and Psycho. It’s a uniquely compelling psychodrama, probing deep beneath the surface of its broken characters and coming back up terrified. It features the most stunning cinematography of all Hitchcock’s films, and one of the most instantly unforgettable characters in Mrs Danvers. What’s most impressive is the imposing image of our title figure, kept entirely off screen but constantly imposing upon the story. Laurence Olivier is incredible, doing the character’s extremely specific type of haunted so well that when the twist comes, it’s a shock, but a believable one. Joan Fontaine brings an energy that completes it- she plays her role with such unimpeachable innocence that gradually gives way to being defeated and terrified. It’s absolutely incredible, even though the third act detour into the inquest is nowhere near the rest of it. But that’s all forgotten once this rolls to its finale, which borders on straight-up horror. Part of the reason I don’t get the celebration of Notorious is that Rebecca is, to me, everything people would have you believe the former film is: the masterpiece that usually gets forgotten in favor of Psycho, Vertigo, Rear Window, and North by Northwest. It’s just astonishing. It’s also a level of messed up (at least for its time) that makes me stunned yet extremely grateful that the Academy went for it, alongside the likes of Silence of the Lambs and Parasite. Which, I guess, speaks to just how great it is.
3- Rear Window
Arguably Hitchcock’s greatest trick is keeping the camera localized entirely within the apartment for the duration of Rear Window. Not only does it impose the requisite claustrophobia, it conflates the audience with the film’s voyeuristic protagonist, thereby immediately doing Hitchcock’s work for him. If voyeurism was his foremost obsession (over murder), then this, rather than Shadow of a Doubt, is the Rosetta Stone for his filmography. It’s an ode to the joys and perils of watching people, a gleefully paranoid odyssey that takes place within an area of a few square feet. It’s the ultimate rebuttal to the disappointingly pervasive claim that Stewart was a bad actor, moreso even than Vertigo. Grace Kelly also does her best work with Hitchcock, acting as a perfect foil to Stewart’s character. And while it may not have the action of North by Northwest or the horror of Psycho, it’s among the most entertaining films in his body of work. There’s really been nothing quite like this before or since, it’s a completely singular work of art and a watershed moment for Hitchcock, who promptly embarked on possibly his most fruitful creative era.
2- Psycho (1960)
Eternally my favorite Hitchcock film, far and away the one I’ve watched the most, and still a film I routinely can’t believe really exists. Everything about it is so perfect. The most straight-up impeccable thriller there has ever been, so formally faultless that it’s almost offensive that they kept making movies in the same vein. The conviction with which he pulled it off just amazes me- the skill required to spectacularly dispatch your central character halfway through and maintain the same level of control over the story is beyond me. But what will always stick with me is how effective it remains despite having fully seeped into pop culture: my first viewing of it was a massive moment for me and my affinity for movies. It absolutely blew me away the first time I saw it, and that reverence comes out every single time I rewatch it. It’s one of those that reminds me why I love film, and that’s pretty invaluable.
1- Vertigo (1958)
It was never going to not be Vertigo. It’s a film that’s been called one of cinema’s greatest masterpieces so many times that repeating it gets to be boring, but that doesn’t make it any less true. It has that raw power that only the best films have, like every second of it is a gift to the planet and it knows it. It’s been sitting rightfully atop the Sight and Sound poll for eight years now, which is enough time that it’s really begun to be thought of as the greatest film of all time. While I’m not sure I’d go all the way to number one, I can confidently say that Vertigo sits in my all-time top 10, which makes it hard to discuss without making it out to be a purely religious experience. Honestly? That’s fitting. Hushed awe really is the only tone for Vertigo, which has become impossible to view outside the prism of its greatness yet does not fold under pressure. As much as I love Psycho, as tempting as it is to pull a hyper-contrarian take like Rebecca out, this is Hitchcock’s greatest achievement.
One of the things I love most about movies is that they can do anything for you. For whatever mood you’re in, whether you’re craving light entertainment or deep thought, there’s a movie that can help with that. The beauty of film as a medium is the immense range of experiences it offers that still fall under the umbrella of “worthwhile”.
Palm Springs is a movie that makes me remember this about movies. Is it the year’s best film? Hardly. Is it any sort of masterpiece in its construction or themes or significance? Nope. But it’s a delightful experience nonetheless. It’s just under 90 minutes of pure diverting and breezy charm, and considering that I expected next to nothing from this film, I was taken completely by surprise by how well it works.
Speaking strictly to said expectations, I would have to credit my lack thereof with a portion of my enjoyment. So considering that I’m about to really hype it up, maybe just go watch it before reading further with only the promise that it’s a really good time. Because knowing what exactly to expect from Palm Springs would lessen a lot of the charm. Pressing play, I had no idea if I was getting a Lonely Island type raunchy comedy deal, a run of the mill Sundance romcom, an uninspired Groundhog Day ripoff, or some ungodly combination of all three. To be quite honest, it’s kind of all three, yet I somehow mean this in the best possible way. Palm Springs succeeds so much in that it doesn’t allow itself to get too caught up in being one tangible thing, and therefore it never falls into the negative trappings that being a defined thing entails. Take the opening scene, which gets a bit NSFW to say the very least, and might trick you into thinking that an hour and a half of Andy Samberg masturbation jokes was somehow the highest all-time sale at Sundance. But the film quickly progresses past its initial juvenalia, and ends up actually recognizing it as juvenalia and poking fun at it.
From here we move on to the main event of the film. Samberg’s Nyles is the boyfriend of Misty, whose friend (I’m pretty sure, I don’t think the movie ever actually explains their connection) Tala is getting married. Over the course of the wedding day, Nyles bums around carefree until the reception, in which Sarah (Cristin Milioti), the sister of the bride, forgets that she’s expected to make a speech, and Nyles bursts in with impromptu nonsense that distracts everyone and takes the spotlight off of her. So that’s the setup, and at this point I really do urge you to watch the film first if you’re sensitive to plot points, because from here the plot progresses into twisty ridiculousness that’s really better seen unspoiled. If this doesn’t matter to you, carry on.
So, that’s the meet-cute. Samberg and Milioti’s chemistry is undeniable, and the scenes of them together immediately following this are the first signs that this could be special (Milioti, by the way, is just absolutely exceptional in this. As consistently funny as he is, Samberg is basically just playing the Andy Samberg character, while Milioti gets simultaneously tasked with Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell in Groundhog Day and just absolutely nails it, adding an exceptionally entertaining emotional range into the proceedings while also providing her character with a depth that completely makes the film). So from that setup, things proceed rationally: they begin talking, they both express their dissatisfaction with their lives, Nyles reveals his girlfriend is cheating on him, they go into the desert to keep talking, JK Simmons shows up with a bow and arrow and begins hunting Nyles, the wounded Nyles crawls into a glowing red cave while imploring Sarah not to follow him, she follows him in and proceeds to be sucked in, then wakes up in her bed to find out that it’s the start of the previous day.
So that all happens, and then the movie chills out for a minute to explain some stuff. Yes, it’s a groundhog day situation. Nyles has been living in it for an indiscriminate amount of time, and he bypasses all the figuring-out-what’s-happening by explaining the whole thing to Sarah. It takes a little while for her to believe it, but eventually she recognizes what’s going on and continues looking to Nyles for guidance. From there come some more questions, first and foremost being (and I’m quoting directly here) “what the hell was the deal with JK Simmons and the bow and arrow?” The answer turns out to be that that was Roy, a distant relative and wedding guest Nyles partied with at one point and, under the influence of heavy drugs, dragged into the time loop with him. Naturally, Roy resented this, and has since committed time to torturing Nyles whenever he gets sufficiently mad enough to make the commute. It’s a hilarious plot point, but it’s also one that subtly plants a grim thought in the minds of the audience and characters alike: Nyles and Sarah are getting along great as it is, but infinity looks hard to stomach. Which is why Sarah takes the natural next step of trying to break free. She goes the Groundhog Day route of trying to be selfless and improve herself, to no avail. She tries just leaving palm springs, to no avail. After a short amount of time, she completely gives up and arrives at the conclusion Nyles did long before the events of the film began- that life is now meaningless and they can, nay, should do whatever they feel like.
This is where it starts to get really fun. Sarah embraces her newfound freedom and Nyles embraces his newfound lack of loneliness, and they embark on a range of activities including but certainly not limited to pool hustling, heavy alcohol consumption, and a spectacularly choreographed 80s dance routine. This is all absolutely hilarious, and it represents the key variation this makes on the Groundhog Day formula, which is the introduction of the cathartic element of another person to lessen the growing insanity of repetition. This tells such a fundamentally original story that even mentioning Groundhog Day this much feels reductive.
Samberg and Milioti sell the comedy so well that it’s almost a shame that there’s more to it, but there is. As it charges headfirst into goofiness, it also lays on layers of character guilt and flaws. Sarah wakes up every morning having just slept with Abe, her sister’s fiance/husband. Nyles is forced to reckon with what he’s done to Roy and his own issues with maturity. Things hit a snag between the two when it becomes evident that Sarah needs to get out and Nyles doesn’t want to. The way the film builds the relationship between these characters into a romance is stunningly natural considering how little time it takes, and stunningly effective given how little time there is before they split apart. Sarah disappears. Nyles spins into despair and aimlessness. He drives to confront Roy, preparing to surrender himself to whatever torture is necessary to take his mind off of his life. Roy, in one of the film’s most resonant moments, explains his reckoning with the fact that he’ll never see his life progress past where it is. He wallows and wallows in a way that was foreign to him even at the beginning. All credit possible to Samberg, by the way. For such an established comedic talent- I even referred to him earlier as a kind of one note performer- he sells his misery here.
And then Sarah shows back up. We are informed, via montage, that she has spent this indiscriminate amount of time studying quantum physics to try to find a way out. This is the most brilliant jab the film takes at Groundhog Day– looking at the resolution of that film, spurred by a karmic character realignment, and saying “yeah no the answer is quantum physics”. What follows is the final reckoning of the characters with who they are, what they want, and what they must overcome. With dynamite.
Palm Springs is ultimately as impressive as it is for its deftness in juggling its higher-minded intentions with brilliant comedy. Samberg and Milioti sell the hell out of a brilliantly funny script, and they’re backed up capably by the likes of Simmons and I Think You Should Leavewith Tim Robinson regular Conner O’Malley (I had no idea he was in this. His first appearance may have been my favorite moment of the whole thing). And these are still very real, complex, interesting characters, compulsively watchable ones who make you wish for a longer runtime, despite the brevity likely contributing heavily to the charming feel. Is this a movie that’ll be winning awards come… whenever awards season is happening next year? Nope. Would it have made a ton of money if given a regular release? I doubt it. It’s not the year’s best film or a towering achievement or anything of that ilk. But it’s just an absolutely delightful, fun experience, and a pretty great way to spend an hour and a half.
The most persistent thing I’ve seen said about Spike Lee’s latest film is that it couldn’t have come out at a better time. And sure, with the heightened attention to racial issues currently sweeping the nation and the world, the moment is right to hear from America’s most important filmmaker on the subject. But to say that Da 5 Bloods “lucked” into the perfect time to release is to miss the point of the movie. Sure, the remarkably current setting plays a huge role- Delroy Lindo’s character’s MAGA hat becomes a plot point and major symbol- but the assertion of the film is that nothing differs from one cultural moment to the next when it comes to treatment of Black people in the United States. The civil rights movement was not the final frontier in racial equality, the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. was not a lone atrocity perpetrated against the fight for justice. Some things never change, and Lee’s film laments this in a way that rings true in the aftermath of George Floyd’s death, but unfortunately has seen this before far too many times.
Lee’s opening montage takes the viewer through the turbulent end of the 60s in America, touching on the civil rights movement, Neil Armstrong’s landing on “Da Moon”, and of course, the Vietnam war. It’s not too long into the subsequent present-day scenes until these images are called into doubt through modern perspectives: war vet Paul (Delroy Lindo) has been driven away from his generation’s revolutionary spirit into voting for Trump. People party in front of a neon Apocalypse Now sign. We hear Vietnamese characters refer to the conflict as “The American War”. It’s this last one that hits the hardest, solidifying the aims of the film to present its audience with wider points of view that challenge common opinion. Vietnam in America might be viewed as a cultural moment, but in reality it was a war, a senseless one that had lasting impacts. And although those impacts may be overlooked in America, in Vietnam they haven’t been forgotten. Lee quickly settles down from the initial setting up of thematic concerns to put his story in the spotlight, but this thread never dissipates. There are still Vietnamese people who lost family members. There are still cultural wounds that haven’t healed. There are still active landmines in the jungles.
Four of the titular five (played by Lindo, Clarke Peters, Isiah Whitlock Jr, and Norm Lewis) have returned to Vietnam 50 years later to locate and retrieve the remains of their squad commander (Chadwick Boseman), as well as millions of dollars in gold that they stashed during the war. They set up a deal with a Frenchman (Jean Reno) to launder the gold for them. Paul’s son (Jonathan Majors) arrives with the intention of helping to find the gold and to make sure his troubled father is okay returning to Vietnam for the first time. So with their mission laid out for them, and their personnel finalized, they head into the jungle to confront their past.
Lindo, Peters, Whitlock, and Lewis stand in for the Vietnam generation, a lost group searching for some semblance of peace with their past. Majors, as well as the group of landmine disarmers he meets along the way (played by Melanie Thierry, Paul Walter Hauser, and Jasper Paakkonen) represent the next generation, one forced to clean up the sins of their parents. Thierry’s character comes from a family made wealthy through weapons dealing, and she decides that it’s her responsibility to help prevent further harm coming from her family’s legacy of destruction. Majors knows and resents the fact that his father fought in Vietnam and voted for Trump, and he sees it as his responsibility to put a more palatable face forward. One of the many themes of Da 5 Bloods is people held responsible for the actions of others: generations forced to atone for their parents’ shortcomings, but also those very same people being forced into a war they wanted no part of by a government that paid no individual price. It’s an endless cycle.
It continues. A landmine from the war claims the life of Lewis’s character and almost does the same to Majors. Lindo’s descent into madness endangers the lives of every other character. The soldiers are forced to defend their recently seized gold bounty from an armed Vietnamese group aided by Jean Reno’s character. Every inch in this film has to be fought for. Any time anyone sees anything as rightfully theirs, someone will disagree. The war ended a long, long time ago, but it lives on through an inability to leave it in the past. Vietnamese/American aggression persists, PTSD haunts these men every moment. Take an early scene, when the veterans leaving a club are taunted with firecrackers thrown in their direction by a vietnamese teenager. If Da 5 Bloods wants you to understand one thing, it’s that the legacy of the Vietnam war isn’t a legacy so much as a continuation.
So the socio-political aspects of the film are myriad and endlessly thought-provoking, because come on, it’s Spike Lee. So the next question has to be- is it any good? Yes. It really, really is. Come on, it’s Spike Lee. Let’s start with the technical stuff: Terence Blanchard’s score is among his best work, which is saying a lot considering he’s one of the great American film composers of all time. The script, written by Lee and Kevin Willmott, is typically barbed and entertaining. And Newton Thomas Sigel’s cinematography… oh man. I’m going to rant about that for a second. The film looks great during the present day scenes, comprising the majority of the film, but the flashbacks back to Vietnam combat are so brilliantly shot that it almost wills the film to work on its own. Let’s have a look, shall we:
Okay that’s not a great picture of it but you have to trust me on how it looks in the film. In motion. The greens are so green, the shadows are so dark, the grain is trance inducing. I’m reminded of the Clockwork Orange quote about how colors don’t quite seem real until you see them on a screen. It’s almost a flaw of the film. The flashbacks are so important to the plot and characters, yet at times it almost got hard for me to focus because of how cool it looked. Okay so moving past the cinematography to the main event, the piece de resistance, the highlight of the whole thing: the acting. Clarke Peters needs to be in more things and only Spike Lee recognizes this. Jonathan Majors, who delivered one of 2019’s most unsung brilliant turns in The Last Black Man in San Francisco, continues to be just absolutely remarkable. Isiah Whitlock is good throughout, but obviously his moment comes with his eagerly-anticipated “shiiiiiiiieeeeeeet” that occurs deep into the film. Chadwick Boseman finally gets to go nuts in a legit movie, albeit with limited screentime, and nails it. And then, of course, there’s Delroy Lindo, the subject of all the critical adoration directed at the film. He lives up to the hype. If the film is to be taken as a modern update on Apocalypse Now‘s examination of the ravages of war, Lindo’s Paul is clearly positioned as its Kurtz. He’s haunted by demons and ghosts from the onset, and free falls into madness as the jungle begins to take its toll. He’s simply indelible, and his monologue towards the camera near the end is, in my mind, an Oscar clinching moment if there ever was one.
Spike’s style is on full display as well, with all of his traditional hallmarks showing up. Explicit pop culture references (a Treasure of the Sierra Madre shoutout may elicit groans from some), incorporation of real footage to prove his social points (creating a Brechtian effect that reminds the viewer that they’re not in store for idle entertainment), and yes, it’s probably overstuffed and messy. But the film uses this to its advantage in a strange way by containing its chaos: every plot point that initially feels tacked on comes back to play a part, every seemingly unnecessary stretch puts the viewer further into the minds of these characters. It’s not fun, but Da 5 Bloods leaves the audience sunburnt and delirious. I’m not making this sound enjoyable, because it’s not supposed to be, but it’s not exactly torture either. You can’t separate the politics from the film here, but it manages to work as a movie extraordinarily well. Even the scenes where nothing really happens feel gripping, and the two and a half hour runtime doesn’t wear out its welcome. Yes, it’s a social responsibility to watch Da 5 Bloods, but it absolutely isn’t a chore. This is Spike Lee at his most socially relevant and his most artistically brilliant, and it’s quite something to watch. If you haven’t already, I can’t stress this enough: watch this movie.
It’s entirely possible that there’s no better track record in recent cinematic history than Paul Thomas Anderson’s, and just because that’s been said a million times doesn’t mean it isn’t true. 8 films over the last 24 years, and not one of them is less than “very good”. And most of them end up falling in the “masterpiece” range. How has he pulled it off? How is it possible that I went into the last few of his movies saying to myself “maybe this is the one that won’t be great” and it never happened? The answer is simple: talent. From his first feature in 1996, PTA has displayed a level of pure skill behind the camera and with his actors on par with the greatest filmmakers in history. He’s become one of the most exciting working directors- these rankings are subject to change whenever in the (hopefully near) he releases his next film. But for now, here are all 8 of his feature films, ranked.
8- Hard Eight (1996)
Something has to be last. On this list, as on most such lists, it’s PTA’s 1996 debut, one of his shortest and smallest in scope, and certainly his messiest. It’s his only film that never feels like it knows exactly what it’s doing, and there are moments where you can tell he just wanted to show off. But those moments can be as glorious as the rest of the showy moments in his filmography: it’s clear he had his skill in constructing long takes from the very beginning. This is an indispensable film in Anderson’s body of work for three reasons: 1 is that it’s his first, and those are always fun to watch to see where it all started. 2 is that it’s the initial appearance of one of his central themes, which is oddball outcasts finding solace in a morally gray group of other misfits. He would expand on this concept spectacularly the next year in Boogie Nights, before cruelly inverting it a decade and a half later with The Master. The third reason this can’t be ignored is that it’s actually a really good movie. The performances are brilliant: Philip Baker Hall has never been better (save maybe for Seinfeld) as the sorrowful, pensive center of the film, Gwyneth Paltrow and John C Reilly impress in supporting roles, and Samuel L Jackson is outstanding as always. There are barely any moments where this plays like a first film. It carries itself with immense confidence and backs it up with high-quality execution. It’s as sleek and entertaining as the best of his work, only occasionally faltering or losing its footing. However, those occasions sink Hard Eight into the eighth spot on this list, restoring the poetic justice of The Hateful Eight being in last on the Tarantino list before Once Upon a Time in Hollywood blew that whole thing up.
7- Inherent Vice (2014)
Inherent Vice is probably the most “love it or hate it” work of Anderson’s career. Personally, I love it, although (as you can tell by the placement) not as much as some of its most dedicated believers. To attempt to describe the plot would be impossible and useless, as it’s not of much concern to anyone watching the film. This is a movie that you have to get swept up in the mood of or get left behind. Joaquin Phoenix does typically tremendous work as confused and perennially stoned PI Doc Sportello, who’s surrounded by a cast of bizarre and wildly entertaining characters who serve only to further complicate things. Highlights include Josh Brolin’s uptight and angry cop Bigfoot Bjornsen, whose weed-eating meltdown in the final scenes might just be the best moment in the whole thing, as well as Martin Short as a certifiably insane dentist and Katherine Waterson as Sportello’s ex-girlfriend who seems to be at the center of the whole thing. This is dense, impossible to follow, and just absolutely delightful to watch. Cinematographer Robert Elswit does possibly his best ever work, creating an early-70s L.A. that fits the world of the film perfectly. This is a singular experience like nothing else on this list, and it has to get major points for that. I can see it sliding up higher on repeat viewings. If you haven’t seen this one, just don’t go in expecting a standard crime yarn and you’ll be fine.
6- The Master (2012)
It just doesn’t feel right to have something as great as The Master this low on this list. But, like I’ve said, this is an atypical filmography to sort through. The selling point here is that it features the greatest performances in the careers of two of the greatest modern actors: Joaquin Phoenix and Philip Seymour Hoffman have never topped their grandstanding yet deeply emotionally wounded roles in this film. The scene that stands out the most from The Master is the famed “processing”, which is pretty much just those two talking back and forth. It’s among the best things PTA has ever filmed. The rest of it isn’t half bad either, although I’d be hard pressed to explain what exactly that is. It’s a story of power dynamics, of control, of the need for a sense of belonging, all of which have come up at other points in Anderson’s work (Phantom Thread, There Will Be Blood, literally all of it, respectively). But this feels darker and more unsettlingly off than any of those. Anderson loves to train his camera on broken individuals, but rarely does he depict people this messed up. This is an intoxicating attempt to get behind the psychology of cult membership, but it’s also designed to make the viewer confront their own inner workings. The actions depicted within are alien and disturbing, but Anderson’s goal is to make you wonder if you could ever fall for something like this. Lancaster Dodd is a con artist, a fraud, but you end up wondering if he has a point in his musings on our relationship to society. The Master is PTA’s hardest film to watch, both in that it’s not particularly fast paced and it’s darker thematically than almost anything else he’s done. This is a movie that’s designed to stick with you, which it undeniably does.
5- Phantom Thread (2017)
I understand the gravity of this statement, given the two previous entries that I’ve gone over, but I do believe the following to be true: Phantom Thread is Paul Thomas Anderson’s weirdest film. It’s grounded firmly within the real world, yes, but there’s an otherworldly quality to the way the characters behave and the conclusions they end up reaching about their lives. When this wraps up, nothing especially strange has happened, yet you’re left wondering what on earth you just watched. It builds up a world of intricate exactitude and then begins to slowly wither it away, culminating in a film that defies easy categorization in its constant self-upheaval- it’s not a comedy, although it’s quite funny at times and inhabits a reality of decided absurdity. For those reasons, it’s not a drama, despite the dramatic machinations at play. And it’s definitely, in my opinion, not a romance, despite the fact that it charts the rise, fall, and rebuilding of a romantic relationship. The overall statement doesn’t hit until the very end, and it recontextualizes the entire film to reflect a perverse yet oddly endearing view of reality. I guarantee you, it’s more fun than I’m making it sound. No period piece outside of The Favourite has a right to be this entertaining, but how many of them feature Daniel Day-Lewis in the mode he’s in here? There isn’t much else to say about DDL, in this or in general, but he hasn’t been this elegant since The Age of Innocence and he hasn’t snapped this well since There Will Be Blood. A winning combination. Vicky Krieps hangs with him the entire way, and Lesley Manville steals every scene she’s in. It’s also secretly a horror movie- the driving in this is agony-inducing.
4- Punch-Drunk Love (2002)
When Uncut Gems was unleashed upon the world in December of last year, there was a collective wave of thought that “woah, Adam Sandler can act“. While it’s great to see this finally recognized, and it’s great that people liked Gems so much, it’s mildly frustrating, because a lot of us already knew that. 2002, 17 whole years before Howard Ratner, brought the first glimpse of Sandler crossing over from generational comedic talent to generational dramatic talent. Yes, there’s an argument to be made that he’s just playing a Sandler character here, but in this film he’s tasked with embodying an existential melancholy foreign to the likes of The Waterboy. This movie hits on an emotional level that wouldn’t be possible without Sandler’s positively brilliant work, and while he may have surpassed this performance in Uncut Gems, this role shouldn’t be forgotten. Outside of that, the rest of the movie is pretty astonishing too. There’s an ethereal, dreamlike feel to it, to the point where the rage feels adequately subdued due to uselessness and the ecstasy is similarly reined in due to a feeling that it can’t last. Punch-Drunk Love offers up a man devoid of any reason to feel emotion and then gives him one. It watches him work to capitalize on the first shot he’s ever been given to make something out of his life, and it ends up the warmest and most cathartic thing in PTA’s work. OH and remember that thing I said earlier about Philip Seymour Hoffman never being better than in The Master? That’s still true, but shoutout to his profanity-laced revelation of a role in this. He’s only in two or three scenes, but take a look at this:
3- Magnolia (1999)
Magnolia is impossible to describe, but so are Inherent Vice, The Master, and Phantom Thread, and I’ve managed some writing on them, so let’s see. First off, this is a massive film. I’m not even talking about the 189-minute runtime or the gargantuan cast of characters, I’m talking about the broader philosophical aspirations of Magnolia. At times it can feel like it’s lost track of what it’s trying to say and is just vaguely galavanting around shouting “LONELINESS” and “INTERCONNECTEDNESS”, but that’s also really the point. This has points it wants to make, but it never allows them to become the whole movie. The characters and their lives and struggles come first, and through them we see what Anderson’s gesturing at. Three hours is a long time to fill if you’re trying to make a moral lecture about the insanity of human interaction, but it whizzes by when it’s more of an attempt to depict such a concept rather than make a statement on it. That’s really what Magnolia is- it’s a translation of the vast highs and lows of human follies and triumphs to the screen. It’s remarkable that Anderson manages to pull it off: it could’ve been unwatchable nonsense like Crash (the Best Picture winner, not the Cronenberg one) or marred by its pretentiousness like The Tree of Life (I do like this one, but it’s so damn high on itself that I’m not as in love with it as everyone else is). His talent as a filmmaker makes Magnolia not only in defiance of its sky-high aspirations but genuinely affecting. Plaudits for this also go heavily to the ensemble cast. Every actor is outstanding in their own way. It’s hard to pick a best performance, well, actually, it’s Tom Cruise, but maybe my favorite after removing him from the equation is Melora Walters. She sells the overwhelming brokenness better than anyone else, and every time she’s on the screen she’s equally heartbreaking and compelling to watch. Or is John C Reilly the MVP? This is the best of his early-career dramatic outings, all of which are underrated, but none of which are as memorable as this one. Or is it an obvious answer, like eternal acting gods Julianne Moore and Philip Seymour Hoffman? I know I’ve said this about a lot of these movies, but there’s no other cinematic experience that feels like watching Magnolia. It’s a bona fide masterpiece, and it can’t crack the top 2 on this list.
2- Boogie Nights (1997)
Boogie Nights has required a reputation as “the porn movie”. And yes, it is the porn movie, but it’s also about family, and about finding acceptance. The real porn… was the friends we made along the way. It’s also a brilliant stylistic showcase for Anderson, who pulls out all the stops and creates his showiest film. The first of PTA’s “big” movies (pun very much intended), followed immediately by the even more ambitious Magnolia. This, like that film, is broad in scope and in character count, and it leaves none of them behind. Every person here gets their moment, their interior conflict, their depth. Everything here is expanded upon to the point of an abundance of riches. When the bombast cools off and the second half rolls around, it makes sure we watch everyone hit their low point before starting them on the path towards redemption. As always, the performances are terrific, but the standout is Burt Reynolds as porn producer Jack Horner. It’s an unbelievable and unforgettable turn, one that almost overshadows the career work done by familiar names such as Moore, Hoffman, and Reilly, as well as Mark Wahlberg, who would only match this level of performance once again (The Departed). For a movie made so notorious by its subject matter, it’s a shock how human it is. It’s my favorite PTA film, and it contains my favorite PTA scene:
Impossible to hear Sister Christian or Jessie’s Girl the same way after that. Or watch Spider-Man 2.
1- There Will Be Blood (2007)
Recently it occurred to me that I remember very few plot details from There Will Be Blood, despite the fact that I’ve seen it multiple times and consider it maybe the defining masterpiece of 21st century American film. I then realized that this was yet another mark of the genius of this movie: most of the details of the plot are pretty much totally inconsequential and yet you still come away getting exactly the point the movie wants you to get. It’s like The Wolf of Wall Street in that regard: the oversaturation is the point. The sensual assault is the point. This is a movie that wants to hit you over the head with what it’s saying because it’s talking about things that bypass the realm of subtlety. This is as astonishing a portrait of individual greed as has ever graced the screen, and it really needs to rub in the evil of its central figure simply because he’s a figure that so relishes in rubbing it in. Blood drips excess because it needs you to emerge from the viewing experience exhausted, because it wants to drain you as if it’s Daniel Plainview and you’re oil-rich land. Nothing is left in Plainview’s path of destruction, not even his own humanity. You could argue Blood as a horror movie, because the monster at its center is terrifying enough. Sure, it helps that Day-Lewis turns in literally the greatest performance in film history, but the ambition of the story alone creates a larger-than life figure. Daniel Plainview is a seminal character in American fiction: he’s the 21st century Charles Foster Kane or Jay Gatsby, only without any sheen of high society. There Will Be Blood is an unforgettable accomplishment- from Jonny Greenwood’s world-altering score to Robert Elswit’s haunting cinematography. Every so often I find myself thinking about it, about random scenes. Maybe it’s Day-Lewis screaming about abandoning his child or about drainage (DRRRRRAAAAAAIIIIIIIINNNAAAAAAAGGGE), or maybe it’s something quieter, like those wordless opening 15 minutes. Either way, There Will Be Blood is hard to shake, and it’s Paul Thomas Anderson’s greatest masterpiece.
Today is Monday, May 11th, 2020. 40 years ago today was Sunday, May 11th, 1980, also known as Henry Hill’s terrible horrible no-good very bad day in Goodfellas. In reality, Hill was arrested a few weeks before May 11th, and the film just chose to relocate the date. Why? Because it’s Goodfellas, a film that can do whatever it wants simply in the name of being Goodfellas. It’s a movie that can randomly change the date of an event it portrays and have people marking the made-up day instead of the real one three decades after its release. It’s a movie that can create an indelible moment celebrated by fans out of white text on a black background and the first few notes of a Harry Nilsson song. The May 11th sequence in Goodfellas is the stuff of legend because it’s so good and because it’s a microcosm of the entire movie’s bravura filmmaking and magnificently entertaining construction. It’s Martin Scorsese’s finest moment as a director, Thelma Schoonmaker’s finest moment as an editor, and Harry Nilsson’s best moment as a contributor of music to films (sorry, Borat. And I guess Midnight Cowboy). So in honor of Goodfellas day, helicopter day, lucky hat day, or whatever other monikers may be applied to it, here’s a deep dive into one of the most incredible scenes in the last 30 years of film.
As I have mentioned many, many times on this blog, Goodfellas is my single favorite movie. Any assessment I make of it is rooted first and foremost in the fact that it’s an important film to me personally, so take my opinion here with a proper consideration of that bias. With that said, it’s objectively unquestionable that Goodfellas is the single most important work of American art since the inception of the country. It’s narratively flawless. It’s impeccably acted. It’s put together with the assurance of a master creating his masterpiece and loving every minute of it. This is the pinnacle of what popular art can be. In the ensuing decades it’s become harder to find something this publicly adored that’s made with this level of audacity, a trend that Scorsese himself has lamented to endless controversy. Goodfellas runs for 2 hours and 25 minutes and every single one of them is necessary and entertaining. But about 10 of these stand apart from the rest in terms of quality and continued prevalence. Enough introduction. Let’s talk the major players in this scene:
Ray Liotta
The May 11th sequence stands apart from the rest of Goodfellas in an interesting way: the main character is really at the forefront. For most of the film, Liotta’s Henry Hill is certainly a major presence, but his role is much more subdued than the grandstanding work done by Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro, he exists as an observer, the audience’s gateway into his world. Sure, he’s a pretty active member of the plot and he’s in almost every scene, but he’s rarely at the center of the action. But on the morning of May 11th, Hill steps behind the wheel of his car and Liotta finally gets to show off. His voiceover accompanies the scene as it has for the whole of the film, and here it works perfectly to guide the viewer through what’s going on in a way that fits the scene’s rushed tone. But Liotta’s on-screen acting here is the best it gets. The scene on his part consists of staring into the sky and looking very sweaty, and he absolutely nails it in ways that shouldn’t even be possible. He’s the embodiment of drugged-out paranoia. Every glance up at the possibly nonexistent helicopter is sold brilliantly, and while a lot of credit has to go to the makeup department for delivering on the requisite look for the scene, Liotta delivers the behavior to match it. If Goodfellas is to be taken as the story of the rise and fall of Henry Hill, you need to really make the fall spectacular, and he does.
Thelma Schoonmaker
Thelma Schoonmaker is the greatest editor in film history, a fact sure to displease everyone who complained about the length of The Irishman without having any understanding of what a film editor actually does. She edited Scorsese’s debut feature, Who’s That Knocking at My Door in 1967, and has cut all of his films since Raging Bull in 1980. Raging Bull is often cited as her best work and put up as a candidate for the best–edited film of all time, but (biased as I am) I would argue that it’s Goodfellas that deserves those honors. The May 11th sequence is a perfect demonstration of why: while Raging Bull‘s fight sequences are put together with a brutality and skill that immerses the viewer in the fight, this is a scene that’s cut in a way that puts you in Hill’s coked out shoes. The editing in this scene is visionary, and perhaps the greatest disproof of the rule that the best editing is invisible. This is flashy and out-there work, and it 100% works.
Martin Scorsese
Well, obviously. Scorsese, being the film’s director, clearly had a lot of influence on this scene, and it deserves to be said that it remains the best thing he’s ever done. Sure, the tracking shot through the back of the Copacabana (also in Goodfellas because of course) is a strong contender, and Taxi Driver‘s iconic “You talkin’ to me?” speech is a classic moment, but for my money this takes the cake. You could make a case for Leonardo DiCaprio’s extended crawl to his car in The Wolf of Wall Street or the LaMotta-Robinson fight in Raging Bull, but I believe that this is it. Although you could claim… screw it. Here’s a list of some great moments in Martin Scorsese’s movies that still aren’t as good as this one.
The opening 20 minutes or so of The Departed where like the entire first act happens in one long montage and then after that whole thing the title card finally appears
The final scene of Shutter Island
The pool hall fight in Mean Streets
“I’m not leaving”, Wolf of Wall Street again
Griffin Dunne seeing a murder through a window in After Hours and defeatedly declaring “I’ll probably get blamed for that”
De Niro’s frenzied laughing in Cape Fear
Al Pacino nonchalantly raising the flag back up to full mast after JFK’s death in The Irishman
The rat in The Departed. Fight me.
Sorry about that. Back to the thing I was actually writing.
The soundtrack
The way I see it, there are four things that make this scene work so well. The first three (Liotta’s performance, Schoonmaker’s editing, and Scorsese’s direction) I’ve already mentioned. The fourth is the music. The frantic deployment and constant changing of songs is part of what makes this so iconic, and the songs all fit the tone perfectly. A quick walkthrough:
Jump Into the Fire by Harry Nilsson- Nilsson’s name is the one I’ve mentioned the most times in this post, and he’s also the guy who gets the photo at the head of this section. That’s because this song is the clear MVP of the scene: the opening notes play over the title card, and it comes back in after other songs at two more points in the scene. It has become synonymous with the sequence, it’s impossible not to think of the film every time it’s in a commercial or heard elsewhere. Outside of the “Layla” cue, it’s maybe the most famous use of music in the movie.
Memo from Turner by The Rolling Stones- my tidbit on this one is that Scorsese really likes The Rolling Stones. More on that in a bit.
Magic Bus by The Who- this is a live version of the song, which apparently runs over eight minutes. (Not even trying comedian voice) “wow, that’s so long it might as well be The Irishman!”
Monkey Man by The Rolling Stones- much has been made of Scorsese’s use of “Gimme Shelter” in his gangster films (it appears in Goodfellas, Casino, and The Departed) but “Monkey Man” pulls off what that song could not and shows up twice in the same movie. This is the second occurrence of the song in the film. Other uses of Stones songs in Scorsese’s work include “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” in Mean Streets, “Sweet Virginia”, “Heart of Stone”, and “Can’t you Hear me Knocking” in Casino, and quite a few of their songs in Shine a Light, the 2008 concert movie he directed for them.
What is Life by George Harrison- pretty much the lone basis for my idea that Harrison actually had the best solo career of any ex-Beatle.
Mannish Boy by Muddy Waters- I have nothing to add here beyond saying that the man’s dedication to classic rock is astonishing.
Other random stuff
I’ve hit the major aspects of the scene, and limited myself to only 2 diversions where I just started listing stuff from Scorsese movies. So to close out my look back on the scene, here’s some random stuff about it.
The doctor in the above image, who wants to check out Henry and make sure he isn’t about to drop dead, is played by Isiah Whitlock Jr, who later became famous for his portrayal of corrupt politician and profanity artist Clay Davis on The Wire.
Welker White plays Lois Byrd in this movie, the babysitter who foolishly calls from the house phone and can’t fly without her lucky hat. In The Irishman, she plays Jo Hoffa, who receives a phone call from De Niro’s character in one of that film’s best moments (This is a tremendous reach of a connection but I can’t really just say “she was in both movies” so this is what I settled on).
Apparently Scorsese knew how he wanted to use specific songs from the film years before he made it, which could go a long way towards explaining why there are so many in this sequence: he wanted to fit as many in as possible.
The federal agent at the tail end of the scene explaining witness protection to Henry and Karen was played by the real US attorney who dealt with Hill, who improvised his “Don’t give me the babe in the woods routine, Karen” line
One of Scorsese’s rules about the soundtrack was that the songs had to have at least some connection to the scene they were used in. So “Jump into the fire”? Well, a major aspect of the scene is Henry cooking dinner (and instructing his brother on sauce-stirring), and the title of the song conjures up the idiom “out of the frying pan, into the fire”. So is the whole thing one big fire metaphor for Henry’s life? Another massive stretch, but this is one I kind of find cool.
Alright. This is more writing than makes sense for a single scene already, so this is it. Or, in Goodfellas terms “and that’s that”. Happy Goodfellas day, everyone. (Cue Sid Vicious’ “My Way”)
Social distancing has allowed for quite a bit of down time for movie watching, which I have so far taken ample advantage of. So far I have watched 38 films for the first time, rewatched others, and on occasion rewatched some of my first time watches because they’re just that good. However fleeting it is, movies have been a welcome distraction from the outside world, even if some of them end up being more timely than I anticipated (looking at you, The Host). I have every intention to make this list outdated in short order, as with nowhere to go, my movie watching seems unlikely to stop. But for now, here’s the 20 best things I’ve watched so far, ranked (could they be presented any other way?)
20- A Day in the Country (Jean Renoir, 1936)
French master Jean Renoir’s 40-minute mini-film is one of his most beloved works with good reason. It hits the atmosphere he works best in with an ease that fits its slight structure and allows it to glide along leisurely. It’s peaceful and utterly delightful, until Renoir’s typical emotional melodrama mixed with social commentary comes in and ends the thing on a melancholic note that emphasizes all that came before it. Does it feel somewhat lesser than his towering, feature length masterworks Grand Illusion and The Rules of the Game? Yes. Is it still worthwhile? Yes.
19- Modern Times (Charlie Chaplin, 1936)
The second Chaplin film I’ve seen, after City Lights. While it isn’t quite as great as that film, it has a lot to recommend it: it’s funnier, for one, and it feels genuinely relevant today in its critique of industrialized society. It also has the honor of being used in Joker so that Todd Philips can prove how much he knows about cinema while he cruises along at the helm of one of the greatest affronts to the medium in recent memory. Modern Times is a wonderful film that doesn’t deserve permanent association with Philips’ disasterpiece. If that film causes people to go seek out Modern Times, it will have left at least one good thing in its vile wake, as Modern Times is an essential and deeply enjoyable work of early Hollywood, and one that represents such an important place in cinematic history that it should be mandatory viewing for anyone interested in the history of film.
18- What’s Up, Doc? (Peter Bogdanovich, 1972)
Although it’s wildly enjoyable up until this point, what really sold me on What’s Up, Doc? was the ending. In it, Ryan O’Neal of Love Story fame (although his best work is in Barry Lyndon) is confronted with his iconic “love means never having to say you’re sorry” line from that film, and replies with “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard”. To me, this was one of the great endings in screen history. For, you see, it is a REMARKABLY stupid line, and having the man who became famous off of it disavow it as such only two years later was not only a perfect cap to the movie’s winking sensibilities, but also an affirmation of the fact that it’s one of the worst lines in cinematic history. Even aside from that glorious moment, What’s Up, Doc? is utterly phenomenal. It’s hilarious, it’s entertaining, it’s extremely different. The script, written by the late great Buck Henry, is certainly one of the greatest comedic screenplays there is, and it’s sold every step of the way by stars Barbra Streisand, Madeline Kahn, and O’Neal. This is a weird movie that enjoys its own weirdness to the extent that it doesn’t really care if the viewer does too, and in doing so it reaches a charming and fascinating point where you can’t help but be entranced by it.
17- Hour of the Wolf (Ingmar Bergman, 1968)
Part of a (rather depressing) Bergman streak in my viewing was the master’s only horror film, and oh my god did he make the most of it. Hour of the Wolf is INSANE. It throws whatever gonzo imagery it can think of at a wall in the hope that some of it will stick, and all of it does. It all blends together in a maelstrom of discomfort and mounting dread that both stands out among Bergman’s filmography and encapsulates the dark perversions that run through his work. It’s one of his masterpieces, inhabiting the second tier of his films among stuff like The Seventh Seal and Cries and Whispers. This is the tier of films that are clearly masterpieces, but not at the same level as stuff on tier one: Wild Strawberries and Persona, both of which have cases to be made for the title of greatest film ever made. Ending the random diversion on my Bergman tiering and getting back to the movie at hand- Hour of the Wolf is a unique experience. It feels like a Bergman film refracted through the very essence of nightmares, calling to the forefront the darkest parts of the human being only hinted at in his other work. It’s unhinged, and it serves as more of a manifesto for the man’s work than anything this different from the rest of it should.
16- Zelig (Woody Allen, 1983)
Zelig takes the form of a mockumentary about “human chameleon” Leonard Zelig, a man who becomes internationally famous in the late 1920s for his ability to essentially shapeshift to mimic whoever he’s around. The concept allows Allen to let loose on the jokes (“As a boy, Leonard is frequently bullied by anti-semites. His parents, who never take his part and blame him for everything, side with the anti-semites”) as well as wax philosophical about identity and conformity. But the real star, almost to a fault, is the satire of jazz age American life. A lot of time is spent on depictions of late-20s society: musical breaks set to invented songs, winking references to stars of the time, et cetera. The film fully commits to the bit, never straying an inch from the faux-documentary style, impressively fitting comedy and storytelling in without ever feeling like it’s trying to do too much. It’s upper level Allen, an intriguing concept that delivers on its potential.
15- Videodrome (David Cronenberg, 1983)
Quite possibly the quintessential Cronenberg. Packed to the brim with body horror, supremely nasty visuals, and, of course, liberal use of the word “flesh”, Videodrome feels like Cronenberg’s mission statement, a perfect encapsulation of the fascinations that define his work. Is it as good as The Fly or Eastern Promises? No it is not, but it cuts to the heart of his recurring themes and ideas in a way that would likely be off-putting to uninitiated viewers but is utterly joyous for fans. It’s all here, from the association of humanity and live flesh to a dark commentary on how the screen eliminates these things. On the surface Videodrome is a gross-out b-movie, but lurking under the seedy surface is an unbelievable bounty of thematic riches. One of my all-time favorite films to analyze, to the point where I might end up doing a whole post on it.
14- Faces (John Cassavetes, 1968)
John Cassavetes’ legendary film Faces is… not exactly a fun watch. Paced with extreme deliberation and shot through with a rejection of cinematic aspects in favor of a more vérité approach, Faces parks you in front of deteriorating people and makes you watch them crumble for over two hours. In total, across the 130 minute runtime, there are like 10 scenes (this is probably not a fully accurate figure but it is not a high number). The focus is entirely on the actors, all of whom turn in brilliant performances: Lynn Carlin (who earned an Oscar nomination for the film), John Marley (of Jack Woltz from The Godfather fame), and Cassavetes regulars Gena Rowlands and Seymour Cassel. This is a raw film, a grueling experience, a difficult sit, and that’s the whole point. Cassavetes wants this to hurt, because he wants the viewer to fully empathize with the ailing characters. He wants this to feel hard to get through, because in doing so he avoids the aspect of escapism inherent to film. This is designed specifically to stay with and continually needle the viewer, and it works. It’s an astonishing achievement (although The Killing of a Chinese Bookie remains my Cassavetes of choice.)
13- The Fugitive (Andrew Davis, 1993)
Faces may not be the most fun thing to watch, but do you know what is? The Fugitive. This movie is, in the truest, most primordial sense of the word, awesome. Proof that a movie can be ridiculously entertaining as well as a truly great film, this boasts: career performances from Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones, brilliant action set pieces, weirdly high billing for a one-scene Julianne Moore performance, and an all-time delivery of the line “I don’t care”. What more could you possibly ask for, besides one of the best John Mulaney bits and an appearance from Joe Pantoliano, aka Ralphie from the Sopranos, both of which this movie also has. You know what, I’m out of interesting ways to integrate it into paragraph format, so here’s a bulleted list of stuff that owns about The Fugitive.
The fact that it’s so good that it earned a best picture nomination alongside Schindler’s List despite its status as a lowly action thriller
Jeroen Krabbe’s accent
The brilliantly constructed opening sequence
James Newton Howard’s score
Director Andrew Davis, who went on to make the film adaptation of Louis Sachar’s Holes that’s burned into my memory for some reason. The cast for that movie is insane. Beyond the likes of Shia LaBeouf, Sigourney Weaver, Jon Voight, Patricia Arquette, Henry Winkler, and Tim Blake Nelson, there’s some cool names in here. Basketball player Rick Fox. Ken Davitian, aka Azamat Bagatov in Borat. Wild.
Harrison Ford’s beard
12- Deep Red (Dario Argento, 1975)
GAHH LOOK AT THAT THING. Deep Red (also known by its cool-ass Italian title Profondo Rosso) was my introduction to the, uh… let’s say flamboyant stylings of giallo god Dario Argento (although it is not his highest film on this list). It’s a shock to the system, a totally original work that manages to toe the line between ridiculous and serious by not caring about “rules” and rushing headlong into both sides simultaneously. It’s fully aware of its comical absurdity, and instead of making a point of pointing it out or trying to minimize it, the film simply lets it happen while also going off in another direction. It’s not really all that scary (although the scene with the above horrifying baby thing did make me jump), but it’s fun, and it’s hard not to get caught up in the wild tone.
11- Black Narcissus (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1947)
Black Narcissus takes you up into the mountains with its characters and invites you to spiral out of control with them in real time. The progression from run of the mill drama to psychological horror is pulled off with astounding control by one of the greatest filmmaking duos to ever do it. The sense of atmosphere in the film really kicks in during the darker (and better) second half, which reaches points where it feels like you’re watching something almost as good as The Red Shoes (it isn’t, nor is it all that close, but there are moments of the same level of unbelievable mastery). Jack Cardiff’s cinematography is at its best, elevating the locale of the mountains to the mythic context it requires. It leaves you wondering how they pulled off something this audacious in 1947. The answer is simple: Powell and Pressburger didn’t care about what was possible in their time, they simply did what they wanted.
10- Phantom Thread (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2017)
Is Paul Thomas Anderson just incapable of making movies that aren’t masterpieces? Sure, having maybe the most talented actor of all time in Daniel Day-Lewis helps, but the pieces all come together around him immaculately. Vicky Krieps holds her own against DDL the entire way, and Lesley Manville’s chilly presence is so damn fun to watch. Yeah, this could’ve very easily been your average stuffy period drama, but in the hands of one of the all-time great talents it’s livelier and more contemporary than it has any right to be. Best of all, it’s weird. It’s weird as hell, weirder than any other period piece would dare to be. One of the most daring and original films of the last couple of years, hiding under the facade of something that’s been done a thousand times before. There’s a lot that’s fitting about that. At its core, Phantom Thread is about the disparity between inner and outer beauty, so it’s fitting that it’s so much more than meets the eye. Plus it’s funny as hell. Day-Lewis looking at the dress he’s designed and remarking “It’s just not very good, is it?” before doubling over is the absolute height of comedy.
9- Dawn of the Dead (George Romero, 1978)
Hot take: this is miles better than the classic original Night of the Living Dead. That film isn’t without the aspects that make it deserving of its legendary status, but it never really comes together like this does. Dawn is more polished, more thought-out, and much wider in scale, a transition that’s handled wonderfully. Dawn addresses the wider societal consequences of a zombie apocalypse in fascinating ways, and also goes further into the individual toll it takes. The mall as a setting is utilized brilliantly, contributing to the world-building that makes this movie special while also providing an excellent theater for the suspense needed to propel the story. This is fleshed out in ways never hinted at by the original, and it makes the most of all of its ideas. Absolutely brilliant.
8- The Evil Dead Trilogy (Sam Raimi, 1981, 1987, 1992)
This isn’t cheating, because the title of the post says things I’ve watched during quarantine as opposed to movies. So it’s allowed. Anyway, the Evil Dead trilogy is one of the defining events of the lockdown for me, to the point where I subscribed to a free trial to my sworn nemesis quibi because I found out that they’re doing a show by Sam Raimi (it’s pretty good). The films follow the oddest trajectory of any franchise: the first film, 1981’s The Evil Dead is a straight horror movie and the third, Army of Darkness from 1992, is a straight comedy. Bridging this seemingly impossible gap and making this seem like a natural transition is the 1987 masterpiece Evil Dead II (or Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn if you’re a sociopath). II makes the insane hypothesis that horror-comedy equilibrium can only be achieved by smashing horror and comedy together violently until you’ve killed them both and created something horrible. This is objectively false, and yet by the end of 84 swaggering, bravura minutes the film has proven it true. It’s one of the most ridiculously well-made movies there is, fully selling you on its own insanity by amplifying that insanity to the point where it’s so ridiculous that it exists in its own plane of logic, one in which it somehow becomes rational. The remarkably assured confidence of Raimi and star Bruce Campbell persist throughout the whole trilogy, but here they invent an entire new cinematic language that sustains their escapades. The other two films are incredible as well, but not to the same extent. The trilogy is one of the greatest out there, and if it isn’t the best, it’s certainly the grooviest. Hail to the king, baby.
7- All that Heaven Allows (Douglas Sirk, 1955)
On paper, All That Heaven Allows doesn’t work. It’s an overly moralistic parable about high society life in which Rock Hudson talks about trees a lot and most of the emotional turns are telegraphed. But it’s elevated to masterpiece status by Sirk and lead actress Jane Wyman, who provides the perfect subtle contrast to the obviousness of the cast of characters around her. The technicolor cinematography is terrific, and it really does manage to earn an emotional investment. Hudson’s performance turned me off a bit at first but I eventually came around to the character’s idiosyncrasies and he wound up oakay with me (when I say he talks about trees a lot I mean a lot). I watched this on a whim and was shocked by how much I loved it, and am now more so by how much it clearly stands as one of the best things I’ve seen during this whole thing.
6- Cries and Whispers (Ingmar Bergman, 1972)
Quite possibly the most oppressively depressing movie ever made, Cries and Whispers would give ample ammunition to anyone looking to prove stereotypes of Bergman’s self-seriousness. But it’s also commonly held up as one of his best films, which is because it is one of his best films. It’s not exactly a lot of fun, but it’s haunting and devastating in the way that his very best stuff is. Sven Nykvist makes brilliant use of color cinematography, using the red color motif in ways that don’t fully pay off until the unforgettable final scene, when the absence of the color in favor of white serves to jar the viewer. Cries and Whispers is full of jarring moments, some in subtle ways like that in some in more aggressive ways. This is Bergman working through some stuff, and it shows not only in the content but in the quality of the finished product. This and The Exorcist were in the same Oscars best picture lineup. The fact that they were both nominated is one of the Oscars’ great triumphs, the fact that neither won is one of their great failures.
5- The Host (Bong Joon-Ho, 2006)
Who else but Bong Joon-Ho could take this ridiculous monster movie concept and make it so devastating, so angry, so funny, and still so totally in tune with its underlying ridiculousness? The Host is fun, it’s frightening, it’s intense, it’s a marvel of construction and a miracle of confident filmmaking. It’s everything Bong’s best work is, which makes it something special. Watching Bong at his best, like this, makes me wonder why I ever watch anything else. The scene of the first monster attack is one of the greatest things ever filmed: the initial approach of the beast has the kind of surreal levity that makes it seem like a genuine scene from a nightmare. Fans of Parasite should definitely check this one out.
4- Suspiria (Dario Argento, 1977)
This movie is unfair. Argento blatantly violates every common sense rule of filmmaking and produces one of the greatest films, not only in the horror genre, but in history. Who says you have to actually have a story? Why on earth do you actually have to have things happen to progress your plot? Suspiria is basically just bright red lighting and cinema’s greatest score (which barely qualifies as music, I think) combining to create a mood piece that aggressively resists any attempts to conform to something other than its overarching vibe. Calling it an experience rather than a film feels pretentious and cliched, but it’s true. This is something that happens to you rather than something that you watch. Who cares if any of it makes any sense? Just go with it and you’ll be rewarded.
3- Phantom of the Paradise (Brian de Palma, 1974)
How does one describe Phantom of the Paradise? Wikipedia calls it a “musical rock opera horror comedy film”, which is actually pretty good, but doesn’t really go all the way in explaining the full extent of the insanity at play here. Phantom takes elements of Faust, Phantom of the Opera, and The Picture of Dorian Gray, blends them all up into the already existing genre smoothie listed above, drinks it, and then does like a half a pound of cocaine. The result is glorious, an instant personal favorite from the minute the credits rolled. I watched it again the next day, something I never do, simply out of a desire to make sure I didn’t dream any of it. The songs were written and composed by Paul Williams, who plays the villain and would later serve in a similar musical capacity for The Muppet Movie. So Swan is played by the guy who wrote “Rainbow Connection”. The fact that this movie exists is unbelievable. I’m obsessed with it. Easily my favorite film of this whole thing.
2- Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Celine Sciamma, 2019)
I remain at a loss for the words with which to describe this movie. I genuinely can’t do it. Its greatness is so obvious yet so intangible. It feels like a magic trick, like hypnosis. You’re lured in by the astonishing visuals and brilliant acting and you just watch, not even fully comprehending any of it until the ending. Then you walk away in a daze, unable to shake it. It’s the feeling of seeing one of the greatest films you’ll ever see.
1- High and Low (Akira Kurosawa)
High and Low isn’t one of Kurosawa’s most well known films outside of dedicated cinephile circles. It isn’t mentioned with the same frequency as the likes of Seven Samurai and Rashomon. It isn’t as influential as The Hidden Fortress or Yojimbo. But ask any of its devotees, and they’ll tell you that it’s among his very best. Everything here works towards the film’s purpose, every narrative beat has weight. Every single shot is a work of art, with Kurosawa positioning his characters in innovative ways to maximize the single setting location of the first half. It implements a revolutionary structure: there are two distinct halves with three acts each. Toshiro Mifune does what very well may be his career best work, which is saying a lot. It all clicks together perfectly, the commentary, the entertainment, the cinematic value. Clearly one of the greatest films ever made, and its meticulous brilliance appears to have been pulled off with ease. High and Low is something truly special, and pound for pound it’s the best thing I’ve watched all quarantine.
That thing I did the other day (day? week? month? what is time anymore) going through my favorite films of all time was a lot of fun for me to do, so I’m just going to keep going in that vein and rank my personal favorite directors. Will it be 52 directors, like it was for films? No. It shall be 24. Why 24? Look man I don’t know that’s just how many I wanted to write about. So here. Here are some directors I really like, plus their best film, my favorite of their films, the best moment in one of their films, and why they rule. Enjoy.
24- Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger
Best film: The Red Shoes
Favorite film: The Red Shoes. That’s just why they’re here.
Best moment: The titular ballet sequence in, you guessed it, Black Narcissus. No, wait. That was in Red Shoes too.
Why they rule: I deliberated for a while (like 45 seconds) on whether or not the archers deserved a spot on this list. This is due to the somewhat inconvenient fact that I have only seen two of their films, Black Narcissus and, uh, what was the name of the other one? Anyway, the reason they are here is that both of those films just happen to be complete masterpieces (although one is more so than the other), and I’m in love with their style. Jack Cardiff’s glorious technicolor cinematography combined with absolutely brilliant writing, ingenious characters, and gut wrenching emotionality makes them an easy sell to me. I’m constantly wanting to watch more of their stuff. And seriously, look at this. From 1947. This is a Jack Cardiff appreciation post now.
Unfair. And those are all from the one that ISN’T an earth-shattering super-masterpiece. Just a regular masterpiece.
23- Brian De Palma
Best film: Blow Out
Favorite film: Blow Out
Best moment: “Now that’s a scream”. From Blow Out.
Why he rules: Blow Out. I’m not even kidding. De Palma is not on this list if it isn’t for the absolute legendary film that is Blow Out. Now, if I had just seen Blow Out, he also wouldn’t be here. It helps that his greatest achievement and one of the greatest achievements is buttressed in his filmography by the likes of Scarface, The Untouchables, and Carrie. The style and sheer cool that exudes from these films is ridiculous. Robert De Niro’s indelible Al Capone. Carrie’s prom meltdown. Just everything about Pacino in Scarface. The amount of iconic stuff in De Palma’s films is unparalleled, even from movies that are not Blow Out.
22- Jean Renoir
Best film: You know what? With all due respect to his consensus masterpiece The Rules of the Game, Grand Illusion is better.
Favorite film: Grand Illusion.
Best moment: Either the prison break in Grand Illusion or the very final scene in A Day in the Country.
Why he rules: Renoir’s films are both deeply affecting and continually relevant in terms of social commentary. His recurring themes are some of my favorite to talk about- the irrational division that runs through his work is his reaction to what he viewed as a society that bred it. Each of his films can be read as a rallying cry against conformity. They’re beautifully shot, immaculately performed, and decidedly austere punk rock. His masterpieces leave you absolutely reeling, struggling to fully comprehend the greatness of what you’ve seen. Absolutely singular.
21- Bong Joon-Ho
Best film: Parasite
Favorite film: So, so, sorry Okja, but it’s Parasite. Gee, the fact that this is the fourth straight one in which they were both the same is really undermining the point I wanted to make about how indisputably great The Red Shoes is.
Best moment: Parasite’s peach sequence. Although I have to give a shoutout to the scene Snowpiercer in which Chris Evans, through sobs, talks about how great babies taste. Cinema.
Why he rules: Oh I’m sorry, did I write Bong Joon-Ho? I meant to write FOUR TIME ACADEMY AWARD WINNER BONG JOON-HO. If you want proof of Bong’s greatness, go watch his Oscar speeches. See what a great and likable person he is. Then go watch one of his angry, dark, oppressively sad masterpieces. Impressive duality. Anyway, Bong’s four (FOUR!) Oscar wins couldn’t have happened to a more interesting or deserving director. His tone hopping and genre defying films are unlike anything. They’ll make you laugh, they’ll make you cry, they’ll instill you with both raw societal dread and the sensation of watching a truly flawless work of art. And come on. How can you not love someone who says things like “Perhaps this is something the western audience could also take part in” when talking about subtitles. Plus, his preferred movie seat choice is back middle, which is objectively correct. What a god.
20- Francis Ford Coppola
Best film: uuuuuuggggghhhhhh. Apocalypse Now.
Favorite film: The Godfather
Best moment: Ooh. Going against the balcony scene in The Conversation feels wrong, but there’s absolutely no other answer besides the climax of The Godfather, in which Michael’s murders of his opponents are intercut with a scene of him baptizing Connie’s child.
Why he rules: The greatest run in cinematic history? Churning out The Godfather, The Conversation, The Godfather 2, and Apocalypse Now back-to-back-to-back-to-back is the kind of unfathomable and unmatched achievement that earns FFC a place among the all time greats, even if he’s done little to nothing since to back up that placement. That 70s streak produced four of the greatest films in American history, and ones that I adore. Special shoutout to The Conversation, easily the weakest of the four masterworks, for containing my single favorite theme in cinematic history.
19- Hayao Miyazaki
Best film: Spirited Away
Favorite film: Spirited Away
Best moment: Princess Mononoke’s climactic battle is stunning.
Why he rules: The very best at what he does (yeah present tense, don’t try to tell me he’s retired). Miyazaki is anime’s most well-known director for good reason. His films can be uplifting, like the sublime Kiki’s Delivery Service, or devastating, like the brilliant Princess Mononoke. Or they can be remarkable, unbelievable combinations of the two, like in his masterpiece Spirited Away. Angry and wonderful simultaneously, Miyazaki’s work is is incredible, that of a truly complete artist. One of the true visionaries, and the rare one who, you get the sense, executes his vision to its full extent.
18- Steven Spielberg
Best film: Schindler’s List
Favorite film: Jurassic Park, or maybe Catch Me If You Can. Or, you know, Jaws.
Best moment: Saving Private Ryan’s opening D-Day sequence is rightfully legendary. The rest of the movie is also great, even if the ending is dumb.
Why he rules: I feel like Spielberg is one of the biggest reasons for my love of film. Loving Jurassic Park when I was younger was one of the first times I truly loved a movie. Seeing things like Schindler’s List and Saving Private Ryan when I had started to realize my movie obsession further cemented it. Stuff like Minority Report and Catch Me If You Can makes for great recent first watches I can never believe I hadn’t seen sooner. Spielberg’s work is immortal, it’s universal, and the thing that gets lost in his celebrity is that he’s brilliant.
17- David Cronenberg
Best film: The Fly, right? Objectively, I think yes, but Videodrome feels so much like the quintessential Cronenberg to the point where it deserves a mention here.
Favorite film: Eastern Promises
Best moment: That bath house fight in Eastern Promises. That’s a type of filmmaking I had never seen before and haven’t since.
Why he rules: Yeah, he looks like the type of weirdo who makes this type of movie. Cronenberg’s films are aggressively visceral, marked by an obsession with flesh, bloodshed, humanity, and how these all connect. These are tough films to watch and tough films to analyze, but they are so rich and so entertaining. The Fly is an absolute masterpiece of horror that also happens to be an operatic melodrama (which he did turn into an opera). Videodrome is gross as hell, but the whole point is that it’s gross as hell, it’s a commentary on being gross as hell. A Cronenberg film is levels of meta upon meta, it’s deeply layered and imbued with meaning. These are not films for everyone, but they are beautiful in a perverse, broken way.
16- Yorgos Lanthimos
Best film: The Lobster
Favorite film: The Lobster
Best moment: I can’t pick one single moment from The Lobster, although the ending is pretty ridiculously great, or from The Favourite, so my pick is from The Killing of a Sacred Deer. It’s the scene where Colin Farrell blindfolds himself and lets fate decide the solution to his problem.
Why he rules: Lanthimos is an unclassifiable weirdo who makes unclassifiable weirdo movies. They’re so shot through with uncomfortable and dark humor, pervasive melancholy, and such a singular oddity that they’re easy to love if you like weird movies, which I do. A Yorgos film is a strange occurrence. They’re brilliant mood pieces that relate to no mood known to man. They’re just remarkable. In certain instances, nothing hits the spot quite like Lanthimos’ work. Plus, the man made The Lobster, one of my absolute favorite films.
15- Claire Denis
Best film: Beau Travail
Favorite film: U.S. Go Home
Best moment: THIS IS THE RHYTHM OF THE NIGHT.
For real let’s talk about this freaking scene. This has no business being as masterful as it is. It’s just Denis Lavant dancing ridiculously, to a bad song, in a way that goes completely contrary to the slow and serious tone of the film. And yet it works. It’s absolutely unforgettable. It’s a perfect ending to a perfect film.
Why she rules: Denis is a definite artiste, a filmmaker whose work is so difficult and inaccessible that it really does make sense that she isn’t widely popular. But oh my god is she great. Her films are ones that refuse to leave your mind. Their deliberate pacing and decidedly bleak ideology makes them hard to watch, but at the close of one it feels as if you’ve gone through a legitimately religious experience. Her films are so well made, so well acted, and so utterly brilliant. She’s one of the absolute greatest working directors, and her newfound collaboration with Robert Pattinson is a dream pairing. I can’t wait for that next one.
14- Wes Anderson
Best film: The Grand Budapest Hotel
Favorite film: Ooh. Grand Budapest, I think.
Best moment: “Nobody move. Everybody’s under arrest”.
Why he rules: Oh man the style. Nobody ever has been more committed to his or her idiom than Wes Anderson, and it is wonderful. Wes’s films are so highly stylized that even the ones that aren’t very good (hello, Darjeeling Limited) are still watchable and even enjoyable. His cabal of actors are always perfectly suited for the material, the visual perfection is always spot on, and the films are always funny. These are just pure cinematic sugar. They’re fun and wonderful and just great. I don’t get people who don’t like them. Who cares if it’s the same movie over and over again? It’s a fantastic one. I cannot wait for The French Dispatch.
13- Ingmar Bergman
Best film: Persona, but oh man is Wild Strawberries close.
Favorite film: Wild Strawberries, but oh man is Persona close.
Best moment: The opening of The Seventh Seal. Few things are more iconic or just cooler than Max Von Sydow playing chess with death.
Why he rules: Maybe history’s most prodigiously talented filmmaker, Bergman has not one but two films (the ones listed above in best and favorite films) that have legitimate claims to the title of greatest of all time. They’re always fascinating, always flawlessly made, and always unforgettable. A Bergman film is searing and indelible like nothing else. They earn their reputation for heaviness, sure, but that absolutely isn’t a bad thing. Also, the thing nobody ever talks about with Bergman? The humor. The Seventh Seal, the very image of impenetrable foreign film, is actually pretty funny. Bleak and philosophically dense, yes, but fart jokes!
12- Jean-Luc Godard
Best film: Breathless. Duh.
Favorite film: Pierrot le Fou
Best moment: It has to be a dance sequence. Vivre Sa Vie’s pool hall scene is a contender, but although it’s a weaker film, Bande a Part gets the win for the Madison scene.
Why he rules: Pretentious? The most. Obnoxious? Oh totally. Genius? One hundred percent. If Bergman’s films are the stereotype of boring foreign films, Godard represents the stereotype of weird arty nonsense, of French films just being people smoking cigarettes, of whatever. It’s hard to talk about why I love Godard without sounding like I’m just buying into the image, but the films really are the image. They’re entertaining, they’re breezy, they’re as fun to watch as they are brilliant in their casualness. The lightness with which Godard characters throw around philosophy is the same attitude with which Godard himself does. It’s rare to see a filmmaker who so philosophizes through his characters. Godard’s worldview is so omnipresent in his work that it’s impossible not to fall for the blend of style and substance, even if the style really is the substance.
11- The Coen Brothers
Best film: Fargo
Favorite film: The Big Lebowksi
Best moment: “What’s the most you’ve ever lost on a coin toss?”
Why they rule: I have seen 14 films by Joel and Ethan Coen and there isn’t one that I would describe as anything less than great. Yes, I haven’t hit the bad stuff, still no Intolerable Cruelty or Ladykillers, but I genuinely love the ones I’ve seen. This includes, by the way, Hail, Caesar!, which is a genuinely fantastic film that people hate because they hate fun. And the highs are so incredibly high: Big Lebowski, No Country, and Fargo are stone cold classics. A Serious Man is almost among that group. Raising Arizona, Miller’s Crossing, and Barton Fink are incredible. Add in the fact that the lower level stuff is tremendous and you have one of the most balanced and consistently great filmographies ever.
10- Stanley Kubrick
Best film: 2001: A Space Odyssey
Favorite film: The Shining
Best moment: It doesn’t get much better than the opening of A Clockwork Orange. The slow pull back, the eerie voiceover narration, the industrially hellish score. It’s the most flawless moment from a career full of them.
Why he rules: There’s not much to say about Kubrick that hasn’t already been said. He’s the greatest visual stylist ever. He was a purveyor of epic narratives that fall into a genre entirely of his own making. His films are experiences, every one of them. They’re also entertaining, impeccably made, and obviously remarkably influential, in addition to possessing a totally marvelous atmosphere that is paralleled by nothing else in existence. It’s Kubrick. What more can I possibly say?
9- Akira Kurosawa
Best film: High and Low (caveat: I have yet to carve out three and a half hours for Seven Samurai. Soon.)
Favorite film: Ikiru
Best moment: Ikiru. In the snow.
Why he rules: A master entertainer, flawless craftsman, and general eternal legend, Kurosawa’s influence can be found in a few things. Like, for instance, every western and also Star Wars. The samurai stuff is all ridiculously fun, and yet it’s beaten by the remarkable contemporarily-set work he turned out on occasion. Ikiru and High and Low are the two best of the films I’ve seen by a lot (and this is no small statement considering how incredible Rashomon is). These are stunning achievements, ones with brilliant social commentary, gripping emotional stakes, and perfect craft. Every single frame of High and Low is an impeccable composition. There’s no point in Ikiru where it’s anything less than fully heartbreaking or wonderfully triumphant, often at the same time. Kurosawa’s work can range from testaments to the human spirit to super entertaining samurai thrillers, and it’s all wonderful.
8- David Lynch
Best film: Mulholland Dr.
Favorite film: Muholland Dr.
Best moment: Mulholland Dr.’s dumpster hobo! No but for real it’s Dennis Hopper’s first appearance in Blue Velvet.
Why he rules: The weirdest of the weirdos on this list by far. Not just in terms of the films, although Eraserhead alone would take that title. Lynch is a bona fide strange man, this is clear if you’ve ever seen him talk. Or if you’ve seen the delightful short recently dropped on Netflix, What Did Jack Do?. Lynch’s absurdity is half of why he’s so brilliant, the other is simply how good he is. He’s formally brilliant, and a perfectly tailored writer for furthering the purpose of his oddness. All of his craft is geared towards this end, towards making sure that this weirdness is supported by good enough quality to stand on. He has endless imitators, but he’s the only person who can fully nail his style.
7- Paul Thomas Anderson
Best film: There Will Be Blood
Favorite film: Boogie Nights
Best moment: I. DRINK. YOUR. MILKSHAKE.
Why he rules: A perfect hybrid of technical brilliance and skill with his actors, PTA is one of our great modern talents, and this is evident in every one of his films. They’re all bold works of art, totally unique and trailblazing originals that feature totally different reasons for their greatness. He’s versatile, with work ranging from sprawling epics to tiny character studies. He’s consistent, turning out masterpiece after masterpiece. He’s important, having made some of the most notable films of his age. And the movies themselves are compulsively watchable as much as they’re able to be studied and analyzed. He’s just relentlessly brilliant. Seriously, who else could’ve made Phantom Thread work as well as it does? Maybe just Scorsese? Maybe not even him?
6- Wong Kar-Wai
Best film: In the Mood for Love
Favorite film: Chungking Express
Best moment: I have no idea how many times on this blog I’ve talked about my love of the ending of Fallen Angels, so this may sounds repetitive, but it’s that.
Why he rules: A totally singular stylist whose films also contain more substance than most other filmmakers could ever dream of. If this list has made nothing else clear, it should’ve indicated that I love directors with unique styles, and Wong is among the very best of the bunch. Bold colors, liberal use of slo mo, Christopher Doyle’s all-time-greatest cinematography, totally unique use of music. It all combines in Wong’s films to create works of melancholy and daring hope, stories that still pop into my mind at random moments. Wong’s work lingers like nobody else’s, and to call that his defining characteristic does a disservice to how wonderful the films are to actually watch.
5- Pedro Almodovar
Best film: Talk to Her
Favorite film: All About my Mother or Pain and Glory
Best moment: The bookending opera scenes in Talk to Her. Technically two moments, but who cares.
Why he rules: Style! Almodovar’s bold and bombastic nature is a breath of fresh air in every one of his films. They’re amazing to watch: they can range in scope from tragic to life affirming, usually spanning the entire spectrum in one film. Talk to Her is one of the greatest films of the 21st century, and Pain and Glory is one of the most religious experiences I’ve ever had in a movie theater. He also displays a remarkable skill with his actors, although it helps that he works with talents as brilliant as the likes of Penelope Cruz and Antonio Banderas (ROBBED of that Oscar for Pain and Glory). At the end of the day, a film by Almodovar instills a feeling in me like no other, and that’s invaluable.
4- Alfred Hitchcock
Best film: Vertigo
Favorite film: Psycho
Best moment: Come on. Shower scene.
Why he rules: The master of suspense. The first horror director. Hitchcock is incredible because he made films that remain more entertaining and well done than everything that followed. His work is so well known that he’s become the largest household name of any filmmaker from his era. He’s an icon. A legend. An image of the straw man of Old Movies. And deservingly so. The films are remarkable. When he was at the top of his game he was untouchable. Vertigo, Psycho, Rear Window These are strokes of absolute genius. Enduring classics that set the tone for everyone who decided to follow in Hitch’s footsteps. And they are just so fun to watch.
3- Quentin Tarantino
Best film: Pulp Fiction
Favorite film: Pulp Fiction
Best moment: Speaking of scenes I’ve no doubt run into the ground on this blog:
Why he rules: For someone who so shamelessly and openly steals from what has come before him, Tarantino has a way of making his work feel fresh. This is also the case considering he keeps recycling the same basic ideas and styles. This is not a complaint- the man has his niche, he knows he’s great when he’s in it, and he just churns out remarkable entertainment that conveniently doubles as high art under the surface of pulp. He has made films that have been absolutely formative experiences for my love of movies, and ones that I continue to love and watch obsessively. I can’t wait for whatever the hell film number 10 ends up being, as long as it isn’t Star Trek.
2- John Carpenter
Best film: Halloween
Favorite film: CUE THE GODAWFULL MUSIC.
That is the song that plays over the closing credits of Big Trouble in Little China, sung by the Coup De Villes, horror cinema’s greatest rock band (nope. Sorry. Goblin. Can’t believe there was an actual answer). The Coup de Villes were made up of Carpenter himself, Nick Castle (who played Michael Myers in the original Halloween, and Tommy Lee Wallace (who directed, among other things, the legendarily insane Halloween III: Season of the Witch and the possibly nonexistent sequel to Carpenter’s Vampires). All very talented people. Who suck as a band.
Best moment: Oh man. Is it the blood test in The Thing? Is it the ending of The Thing? Is it the ending of In the Mouth of Madness? Is it the dream/vision in Prince of Darkness? It’s actually Roddy Piper’s iconic They Live declaration:
Why he rules: The films of John Carpenter may not exactly be Bergman. There are more sophisticated directors to love. But there are exactly zero who are more entertaining. Every Carpenter film is a relentless good time, whether it’s a horror movie, an action film, or whatever on earth Big Trouble in Little China is. They’re also uniformly well made, well acted, yada yada he’s incredible. I could regurgitate the stuff I’ve said about the formal excellence of every other filmmaker on this list, and it’d all be true, but there’s something about that that’s just unfitting of the master of horror. Carpenter is a king among men, a consistently awesome filmmaker who also happens to compose the (fantastic) scores to his films. Seriously, the only thing as impressive as making Halloween is making Halloween and creating the iconic theme.
1- Martin Scorsese
Best film: Goodfellas
Favorite film (of all time): Goodfellas
Best moment: It really bothers me that there’s no way to type the opening to Harry Nilsson’s “Jump into the fire”.
Why he rules: So we come to the end of the list. A foregone conclusion. The king of cinema. The greatest living filmmaker. The greatest American director of all time. A man who, in addition to creating countless classics, has worked tirelessly to preserve and restore obscure films from around the world. But none of that even matters for the purpose of this exercise. Martin Scorsese made Goodfellas, which is why he’s at the top of this list. The other stuff just solidifies something that I’m not trying to measure here: the combination of endless range, masterpiece after masterpiece, and devotion to the art form makes Martin Scorsese, simply put, the King of Movies. And not one that has to choose between being king for a day or schmuck for a lifetime. An icon deserving of his stature. A living legend who’s still putting out some of the best work we’ve seen from him. The greatest ever.
One of the things I think about a lot, when it comes to my personal love of movies, is whether or not it’s too easy for a film to win me over. Whether I like too many movies, have too low a bar for what constitutes a great film. My letterboxd graph is extremely stacked on the right. I rarely find myself disagreeing with public perception of a universally beloved film. Does any of this really matter to me? Do I really want to fault myself for simply finding too many movies good? No, of course not, movies rule and there’s nothing to be proved by hating them to seem like you have taste. Now, this isn’t to say that there aren’t movies I hate (here’s looking at you, Joker). But with these movies, I typically don’t stand alone in my revulsion. I don’t really have too many unpopular film opinions (actually I really like American Hustle and yes I know it’s kind of a piece of junk but still fight me). But for a long time, there was one example I could point to, one thing I could use to prove that I don’t just go with public opinion or just like everything. And that was my undying, virulent hatred of legendary 1974 horror film The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.
I believe I have written about this on here before. I think, in the intro to my horror movie ranking post, I trashed Chain Saw and called it overrated. For well over a year after I first saw it, I was firm in this conviction. I fully believed that The Texas Chain Saw Massacre was pure garbage, among the very worst films I had ever seen. It made no sense to me. I love horror movies, it should’ve been exactly up my alley. It’s universally praised as a classic, a masterpiece even. I wondered why. Why did everyone love it? Why was it so considered a masterpiece? One of the greatest horror movies ever made?
It’s because it is. Sorry, past me. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is a masterpiece. Typing such a sentence would’ve seemed insane to me as recently as a few weeks ago. But I finally gave into the temptation to watch it again. It had called me for a long time. I had to know if I was really that bad. It is not. It remained in my memory as something far less offensively poorly made and aggressively uninteresting as I had believed it to be after finishing it, which was part of why I chose to go back. I kept going “it can’t be that bad”. Because when I saw it the first time, I really hated it. Couldn’t wait for it to be over. So now, in the wake of my look back at it, I have to wonder why I felt this way.
What I’ve come up with is a multifaceted explanation: the first part is the atmosphere I watched it in, which I will explain in a minute. The second part is how inherently un-cinematic it is, which… I still find to be the case. Only now, I find that it works to the film’s advantage. Again, I will explain why. So the atmosphere. I saw this film as part of a marathon among my friends aimed at helping us filling in our gaps in horror movie knowledge. Texas Chain Saw was one we were especially looking forward to- we had heard, in no uncertain terms, that it was the scariest film ever made. So much so that we gave it prime positioning- the midnight time slot. Among such films as Psycho, Halloween, Rosemary’s Baby, and The Thing, Chain Saw was the most highly anticipated. And we all ended up hating it, after we had loved everything we had seen before it. What I’ve come up with is this: By midnight, we had settled into our groove and gotten more comfortable, bored even. So when Texas Chain Saw rolls around, boasting a budget of about six dollars, poorly conceived characters, and bad acting to boot, we didn’t much care for it. We talked throughout the buildup, and then when the horror started abruptly, we just didn’t stop because we weren’t engaged. It never quite pulled us in, and so we never gave it a chance. This is a lot of what I found odd- for such a universally acknowledged seminal work of film, how did literally all of us hate it? A lot of it has to do with how different it is from what we surrounded it with. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre doesn’t feel like a movie. It doesn’t follow the typical horror beats, of buildup, followed by a burst of horror, then a comedown, then buildup/burst/comedown repeat on and on before reaching the climax, a pure horror. None of that here. Chain Saw simply builds, then it launches headfirst into sheer horror and never comes down. Add that to the ridiculously grainy footage and you’ve got something that doesn’t feel like a film so much as an experience. And if you refuse to experience it properly, of course you’re going to hate it. So when I finally gave it another shot, what I found was new to me, but it didn’t surprise me. I was kind of like “yeah, that makes more sense”.
So what did I find that was different? For one, the buildup works much better than I gave it credit for. Texas Chain Saw hits its atmosphere better than pretty much anything else in existence. You are so immediately immersed into this uneasy world, so that when the killing starts, you’re horrified, but it feels sickeningly in place. The second, and maybe biggest, thing is the first appearance of Leatherface. That’s the moment where it becomes clear what you’re watching, that you’re seeing something you shouldn’t be. The first time I saw it, I felt it was too low key, not flashy or scary enough. It’s all part of the film’s rejection of the fantastical in favor of gritty realism. It’s so simple- Leatherface pops out, smashes his prey with a hammer, grabs his body, and leaves, ducking back into his cattle-skull-adorned little room. It’s pure hell, and a fitting glimpse of what’s about to happen. From then on it’s ruthless. The dread and intensity never let up, you never get a break from the atrocities unfolding before your eyes. It’s the essence of horror distilled down to a pure form that’s present in nothing else. It’s one of the great achievements in horror because it’s so uncompromising. There’s no escape or even a brief respite from any of this. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre tells you that you are going to stare into the darkest depths of hell and you are going to suffer and you are going to like it. It’s incredible, and it’s something I regret spending so much time not loving.
So goodbye, hatred of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. You were one of the most interesting cinematic opinions I had, even if you were tremendously misguided and ignorant. I will miss you. And hello, love of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. You truly further my love of horror movies and film itself. You’re objectively the correct opinion, and very much the more fun one. I look forward to a lifetime of feeling about this movie the way everyone else does- with the reverence and awe that it commands.
So, since it’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and it’s good to have something of a distraction at this point, so I was trying to think of something expansive and original and whatnot to write. Considered doing a March Madness style directors tournament, but got snagged on the fact that I would have no idea how to do that. So I’m just going to rank, extremely unscientifically, what I think at this point are my 52 favorite movies. Or, really, just 52 movies I really really really like. It’s 52 because… uh… because that’s the number… of weeks in a year… or something. Yeah it’s that. Not that it was originally 50 and I got a while in and then I remembered 2 absolutely critical exclusions. That didn’t happen.
52- They Live (John Carpenter, 1988)
The MVP: The line “I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass. And I’m all out of bubblegum/
Why I love it: Because it’s completely insane. It stars a professional wrestler, it features some of the cheesiest, greatest one-liners in history, and it spends most of its runtime in giddy high gear, disobeying rational laws of storytelling and charging forward at an absolute breakneck pace of total lunacy, pausing for the occasional six minute fistfight scene. Watching people react to the ending is maybe the second funniest experience of my life, behind watching the ending for the first time.
51- Fallen Angels (Wong Kar-Wai, 1995)
The MVP: The song “Only You” by the Flying Pickets, which plays over the final scene.
Why I love it: Look, I love the whole thing, that’s why it’s on this list, but I’m just going to use this time to talk about the ending, which is maybe my single favorite ending ever. The above song, Christopher Doyle’s cinematography, the heartbreaking rational endpoint of the story, inasmuch as there even is a story. It all washes together to create one of the most bittersweet moments in cinematic history. It’s a moment that reminds me why I love movies. And to think that the crux holding it all together is a song that, on its own, is actually quite bad.
50- Uncut Gems (Josh and Benny Safdie, 2019)
The MVP: Sandler.
Why I love it: Beginning with a note that there are like 4 films from 2019 on this list, which may be recency bias but I don’t care. It’s my list and I happen to think that last year was an all-time year for movies. Anyway, Uncut Gems. This is a hard watch, one so brutally anxiety-inducing and abrasive that it shouldn’t find its way onto a list like this. But oh my god is it so fun. It’s a nonstop thrill ride, with original concepts and brilliant performances that create a film so unlike anything else that it’s intoxicating. It also gave us “This is how I win”, among several other infinitely usable lines. Plus, it’s a rare Sandler dramatic performance, maybe even better than the one in Punch Drunk Love (also appearing on this list).
49- Kiki’s Delivery Service (Hayao Miyazaki, 1989)
The MVP: Jiji, the greatest cat in cinematic history. LOOK AT THIS GOOD BOY.
Why I love it: Well besides the cat, it’s just an absolute joy to watch. An almost oppressively optimistic and life-affirming film. Anyone with any preconceived notions about anime who skips this one is missing out (and I say this as someone who just watches the movies and avoids the shows. Just open your minds, people).
48- Moonlight (Barry Jenkins, 2016)
The MVP: uhhh… hard to pick one for this one. Such a multi-faceted film. Mahershala Ali? Naomie Harris? I’m saying Barry Jenkins, but there’s so many things working to make this one work.
Why I love it: In my opinion, the greatest American film of the 21st century. All apologies to There Will Be Blood and any 21st century American films I actually ranked ahead of this one, but this is one of the top 10 films ever made. It’s beautiful, haunting, well shot and performed, with an unforgettably effecting story. A totally unique and singular experience.
47- Eyes Wide Shut (Stanley Kubrick, 1999)
The MVP: It is Tom Cruise.
Why I love it: Kubrick’s final film is one of his most absolutely bonkers and one of his best, and he handles the many eccentricities with brilliance. It’s distinctly his film, but it also feels more ethereal and otherworldly than his other work. It’s almost tempting to compare it to Lynch or Cronenberg, but that’s not really fair. Eyes Wide Shut is its own thing, something bizarre and miraculous and incomparable. It’s also the greatest Christmas movie of all time.
46- In the Mood for Love (Wong Kar-Wai, 2000)
The MVP: Both leads, Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung. Also cinematographer Christopher Doyle. This is where I shout out all those people on this list, and I can list more than 1 MVP because I made the rules.
Why I love it: It’s objectively Wong’s best film, and a strong contender for the greatest of all time. It’s flawless, one of the most formally perfect films in existence. It’s never anything less than the quintessential display of Wong’s style, and one of the prime examples of the idea that style over substance doesn’t necessarily mean no substance. It’s maybe cinema’s greatest love story, in that it isn’t really a love story at all. Unforgettable.
45- Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (Quentin Tarantino, 2019)
The MVP: Brad Pitt.
Why I love it: I think I’ve talked about my love for the Out of Time scene on here enough, right? No? One more time.
Besides that, it’s one of Tarantino’s oddest films, in that it just kind of meanders around. Nothing happens, and that’s okay. It’s enough to just exist and watch these characters exist in this time and this place. And when it gets full, typical Tarantino-y, it does it all the way, and it’s amazing.
44- Punch Drunk Love (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2002)
The MVP: Adam Sandler, who I believe will somehow end up with the most appearances in this section.
Why I love it: Punch Drunk Love is not a typical Adam Sandler film. This is a Paul Thomas Anderson film first and foremost, but it definitely recognizes that it stars Adam Sandler. This is different from PTA’s other features: grand sweeping epics, intense character studies, two and a half hour plus runtimes, none of that is here. Instead we’re given this small, odd duck of a film, one that’s so personal and so human in the most aching and yet satisfying way possible.
43- Parasite (Bong Joon-Ho, 2019)
The MVP: God of cinema himself, Bong Joon-Ho.
Why I love it: A pure masterpiece of astounding vision and perfect execution, and one that manages to hold up on second viewing after you know all the twists and have built it up in your head as the pinnacle of all movies. This winning best picture was one of the most absolutely ecstatic moments I can remember. I will maintain my blog policy of not saying too much about this movie, ostensibly to avoid spoiling it but really because there’s nothing to say. It speaks for itself.
42- The Exorcist (William Friedkin, 1973)
The MVP: Mercedes McCambridge, whose unforgettable demon voice makes the movie. But shout out and RIP to Max Von Sydow.
Why I love it: A formative horror experience for me, which is not a unique experience. There’s a universality to the brilliance of The Exorcist. Any fan of the genre views it as gospel. Also contains the defining set of cinematic stairs. Screw you, Joker, you worthless piece of trash pretender to the throne. Bow down to the master. The power of Christ compels you. Anyway I feel bad I spent most of this blurb talking about freaking Joker, so I’ll just close by saying that The Exorcist is maybe the greatest horror movie in history.
(Joker will not be appearing on this list, in case you had any doubt).
41- Casablanca (Michael Curtiz, 1942)
The MVP: I didn’t count Bogart’s performances among the very best ever until my most recent watch of the film. I do now. It’s him.
Why I love it: Because it’s Casablanca. The platonic ideal of a perfect film is just that. Just one of the absolute best.
40- The Favourite (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2018)
The MVP: Olivia Colman. Or Horatio the duck.
Why I love it: I saw this in theaters when it first came out in my efforts to watch all the best picture nominees of that year. Nothing could have possibly prepared me for how much I loved it. It’s hilarious, tragic, enthralling, fascinating, all at once. A cocktail of madcap ridiculousness and flawless craft. It also holds up on repeat viewings shockingly well for something that gets so much power from the shock of how ridiculous it is. I’ve seen it 3 times now. Side note- the song that plays over the end credits is the harpsichord version of Elton John’s “Skyline Pigeon”. I didn’t realize that until my third viewing.
39- The Babadook (Jennifer Kent, 2014)
The MVP: Essie Davis, who gives one of the all time horror performances which is rarely lauded as such.
Why I love it: I’ve expressed my view that this is the defining horror masterpiece of our time. A generational terror, and one that conjures up such in inventive ways. The horror in The Babadook doesn’t come from jump scares, it comes from dread soaked in the overwhelming sorrow and angst that runs through the film. Original and far more terrifying than its title would have you believe.
38- The Social Network (David Fincher, 2010)
The MVP: Aaron Sorkin.
Why I love it: It’s hard to make a movie that defines its cultural moment as much as The Social Network does. It’s also hard to make a movie this entertaining and infinitely rewatchable. Combine them both into one movie, and you have something that grows more horrifyingly prescient by the day and remains exactly as fun to watch. A masterpiece.
37- Pain and Glory (Pedro Almodovar, 2019)
The MVP: Antonio Banderas.
Why I love it: I want to live in the feeling I had when I left the theater after Pain and Glory. Being a cinephile means, to me, chasing feelings. There’s the stunned awe of witnessing an all-time masterpiece like Apocalypse Now or Persona. There’s the fear of the best horror movies. There’s the pins-and-needles sensation I got in the final act of Uncut Gems. But there’s no other movie that has made me feel this content, this purely happy. I don’t know why exactly it did- maybe it’s my love of Almodovar, maybe it’s Banderas’s all-time performance, maybe it was just a product of the right thing hitting at the right time. I don’t question it. All I know is that this is what a movie should be.
36- Kill Bill (Quentin Tarantino, 2003/2004)
The MVP: Could there be any answer other than Uma Thurman?
Why I love it: First of all, it’s one movie. It doesn’t work unless you watch it all at once. Second, the experience of watching it all at once is the answer. It’s four hours of every genre and style crammed into one tremendous sensory overload, made by the most talented movie geek there is. It’s wall-to-wall awesome, full of twists and turns and raw entertainment and brilliant performances. My go to choice for midnight viewing. Sorry, Eraserhead.
35- The Fog (John Carpenter, 1980)
The MVP: Cinematographer Dean Cundey, whose shots of the ocean in this film are like crack cocaine to me.
Why I love it: Pure B-movie fun from one of my absolute favorite directors, complete with ghost pirates, the previously mentioned ocean shots, and so many moments you can lean over to whoever you’re watching with and go “That’s the fog”. A perfect movie.
34- Mulholland Drive (David Lynch, 2001)
The MVP: The hobo, right?
Why I love it: It’s Lynch’s great masterpiece, a work of such staggering complexity and layer upon layer of Lynchian weirdness, under a sleek exterior and massive scope. It’s impossible not to spend hours mulling over Mulholland Drive after you finish it: I saw it over a year ago and it still takes up a lot of my thoughts. This is unbelievable to watch, it’s almost easy to get turned off by the sheer amount that’s happening just under the surface. It’s elusive, and hard to fully convey through writing. Watch it and it’ll be clear what I’m talking about.
33- The Departed (Martin Scorsese, 2006)
The MVP: Nicholson.
Why I love it: Yeah, it’s not anything particularly groundbreaking or special by Scorsese’s standards, but oh my god it is so fun. Pure entertainment, propped up at every turn by strong work from its director, the script, and the actors. This got Mark Wahlberg nominated for an Oscar and he deserved it. Also, I’ve seen people take aim and Nicholson’s performance in this film, which I can only respond to with an awed head shake and angry inquiry of “what the hell?”.
32- Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki, 2001)
The MVP: This section is the most fun for the Ghibli stuff because I can use it to shout out whatever supporting animal/creature in the movie I like the most. Here I’m going with the small rodents, which can be seen in the above image just above her shoulder.
Why I love it: Another Miyazaki film, another instance of emotional mastery. In Spirited Away, there’s the pure joy I mentioned earlier, but there’s a melancholy washing over it. There’s fear. There’s uncertainty. This is a film that is comforting similar to Kiki’s Delivery Service, but in a different way. This puts the pain at the forefront as opposed to the exuberance. This is a joyous film, but it’s also one that hurts. Something special and unique, a world so inventive and lived in it’s hard not to get lost in it. One of the great wonders in the history of film.
31- Vertigo (Alfred Hitchcock, 1958)
The MVP: Let’s go with a bit of a more abstract one and call it the sensation of watching something so plausibly the greatest film ever made.
Why I love it: the above sensation. I talked in the Pain and Glory write up about movies and the feelings they provide, and this one hits one of the most defining cinematic emotions hard. It’s so obviously something so great that it makes you want to pause it to take a breath, to survey what you’re experiencing. Vertigo is rightly one of the most daunting presences in cinematic history, and you get the sense of that while watching it. It’s a religious experience.
30- Stop Making Sense (Jonathan Demme, 1984)
The MVP: To even jokingly say the big suit would be offensive to David Byrne, the most convincing MVP of any film on this list.
Why I love it: Look, obviously this is a masterpiece in construction that redefined the concert film and still stands as the bar for that genre, but I love it for the music. It’s the perfect shrine to the music of the Talking Heads, a total encapsulation of their energy and weirdness. The big suit, the lamp, the words projected on the screens, it all comes together to make the most thorough document of what makes them such a great band.
29- Rosemary’s Baby (Roman Polanski, 1968)
The MVP: Mia Farrow.
Why I love it: The great slow burn, morphing from domestic drama to full blown horror so gradually that the line between the two often gets blurred, and it exists as both genres at once. Farrow’s performance is one of the best ever exercises in paranoia, and the film mounts with tension as she falls more and more into her convictions. A film so enveloping that you don’t fully realize how incredible what you’re watching is until it’s finished. Unshakable.
28- U.S. Go Home (Claire Denis, 1994)
The MVP: The great Gregoire Colin, who is maybe even better here than in Beau Travail.
Why I love it: This is my favorite of Denis’ films for a reason I’ve never really been able to put my finger on. Yes, it’s 100% perfect, but so is Beau Travail, and that one goes above and beyond, soaring into disorienting levels of greatness. This one is lighter, it’s less bold, less aggressively masterful. It’s only 66 minutes long, it’s a freaking TV movie. So why am I so drawn to it? Because the ratty, dejected nature of the film seeps through to its characters, creating one of the most unforgettable portraits of searching for your place in the world. Maybe the greatest coming of age film. It’s also the only one here that you can just find in full on youtube, in case anyone is interested. This is a film of isolation and confusion, one that has serious concerns about what it means to be isolated and confused. This wouldn’t exactly be my pick for the greatest film of all time, but like, if I got to the afterlife, and was asked what the greatest film ever is and it was this? I wouldn’t be mad I got it wrong and was damned for all of eternity. I could see that. Man, I went really long on this one, huh? This is an odd film, and one that I feel very strongly about, in a confused way.
27- All About My Mother (Pedro Almodovar, 1999)
The MVP: Cecilia Roth.
Why I love it: A lot of what I said about Kiki’s Delivery Service, but imbued with the brilliant and offbeat style of Pedro Almodovar, who I’ve already stated is one of my favorite filmmakers. This is a movie about triumph, about pulling out of mutual adversity, that also serves as a continually devastating character study. It’s Almodovar’s greatest love letter to women, which he certainly has plenty of. It’s maybe his most wholly enjoyable film to watch, yet not without its share of emotional ups and downs.
26- Being John Malkovich (Spike Jonze, 1999)
The MVP: Malkovich.
Why I love it: Gleefully and gloriously weird from beginning to end. A jumble of identity crises, self-loathing, high-concept sci-fi, the New Jersey Turnpike, and superfluous chimpanzees (seriously, what significance did that thing have on the plot?). Plus, the best performance from the great John Malkovich, which may sound weird considering he plays himself. It’s not, he’s brilliant. Malkovich malkovich malkovich malkovich.
25- It Follows (David Robert Mitchell, 2014)
The MVP: that tall dude iteration of the demon that shows up in the hallway in that scene. You know the one.
Why I love it: It’s a perfect horror concept executed perfectly. Every idea baked into the central premise is fully explored, and the ambiguity of the central threat means that there is no safe place. The variety of horror coming at you is infinite, because there’s never a single moment of possible safety. It’s suffocating. Paced perfectly and held up by the strong work from its cast, the most intriguing invention is in the visual style achieved by Mitchell and cinematographer Mike Gioulakis, one of the most underrated currently working cinematographers.
24- Alien (Ridley Scott, 1979)
The MVP: The xenomorph itself.
Why I love it: I’ve been over this a lot on this blog. Alien is the perfect fusion of sci-fi and horror, created with matchless discipline. It builds and builds over the first half and then drops you into hell along with its characters. This uses the inherent spookiness of space to its advantage, it’s both infinite and inescapable. They’re trapped in there with it, and so are you. Perfect movie.
23- The Before Trilogy (Richard Linklater, 1995-2013)
The MVP: It has to be both Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke. You can’t have one performance without the other.
Why I love it: I’m not going to argue that this is one film, like I did with Kill Bill. This only works because it’s three different films. Three separate snapshots of three moments in time, in the relationship between two people. It’s maybe the greatest feat of long form storytelling accomplished in cinematic history, with the real time differences between shoots providing each film with a unique worldview. They’re brilliant in their simplicity, it’s just two people walking around and talking. And yet it’s a flawless (the group dinner/whatever scene in Midnight didn’t happen) series of movies. Plus, Sunset boasts maybe the best ending ever.
22- Pierrot Le Fou (Jean-Luc Godard, 1965)
The MVP: Anna Karina, although Belmondo more than holds his own.
Why I love it: Godard unleashed, allowed to practice his rejection of narrative structure and disregard for convention in striking primary colors. This is the epitome of his breezy philosophical waxings mixed with unconventional style. He has, like the title suggests, gone crazy, throwing off whatever was still holding him to convention and creating this gloriously fun monstrosity that never loses its frantic cool even when staring down its own chilling narcissism.
21- Carnival of Souls (Herk Harvey, 1962)
The MVP: the titular carnival, which somehow manages to be exactly as creepy as the plot requires from a distance. Absolutely makes the atmosphere, which makes the movie.
Why I love it: An atmosphere unlike any other horror movie runs through Carnival of Souls. It’s genuinely creepy, and it’s ridiculously fun to partake in the creepiness. There’s no sense of the film being made on a shoestring budget, and it’s not even that it’s unsettling for its time. It’s genuinely eerie to watch, and astonishingly entertaining.
20- Ikiru (Akira Kurosawa, 1952)
The MVP: Takashi Shimura.
Why I love it: My favorite of Kurosawa’s films because of how heartbreaking it is. The central character is one of film’s great tragic heroes, and to watch him realize what a tragedy he is is something matched in few other films. The scene pictured above, in which he fully comes to terms with his life, is one of the very best scenes ever shot.
19- Nights of Cabiria (Federico Fellini, 1957)
The MVP: Giulietta Masina.
Why I love it: My go-to pick for the greatest film of all time. Nights of Cabiria is more tightly narratively wound than some of Fellini’s more famous films, but it’s a great example of why he’s such a canonically acknowledged director. Masina pulls off one of the greatest ever performances, fully nailing one of the most tragic yet triumphant characters ever put to screen. It left me wondering, as it immediately finished, if it was the best film ever. It hasn’t left me since. I think now I can definitively say yes.
18- Psycho (Alfred Hitchcock, 1960)
The MVP: Anthony Perkins. That grin at the end is all the explanation you need.
Why I love it: Remember for the Casablanca blurb how I just said “Because it’s Casablanca”? This is here because it’s Psycho. It’s ingrained into every horror or thriller film that followed it, and yet it still remains fresh and rewatchable. A classic is a classic for a reason.
17- Zodiac (David Fincher, 2007)
The MVP: oooh. Gyllenhaal. But all three leads give incredible performances.
Why I love it: It begins as a standard serial killer thriller and morphs into something more sinister. It’s the descent into madness of three men, a portrait of people who let obsession consume them. The film’s tagline, “There’s more than one way to lose your life to a killer”, is one of the best ever because it sums up its central conceit so well. What happens when things just don’t go like they’re supposed to in the movies? Probably Fincher’s best work.
16- The Meaning of Life (Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones, 1983)
The MVP: The long-armed “Find the Fish” guy.
Why I love it: My personal favorite of the Python movies because of its continually relevant exasperation. This film presents itself with the great questions of philosophy and human existence, and shrugs it off, defaulting to the simplest possible answer. And it’s hilarious. Just start to finish, not one misplaced joke or bit that doesn’t land (with the possible exception of the crimson permanent assurance, which goes on for too long). Plus, some of the best musical numbers of all time. Here’s looking at you, “Every Sperm is Sacred”.
15- The Red Shoes (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1948)
The MVP: Jack Cardiff. To think that people even tried doing cinematography after he mastered it in 1948 is baffling.
Why I love it: Because it’s flawless. Two hours and fourteen minutes and not a single wasted second or off line of dialogue. A clinic in advanced storytelling, both through its exceptionally strong script and brilliant visual choices. This is a startlingly perfect achievement, one of the great accomplishments if only in that it leaves me without words to describe its excellence.
Why I love it: I’d wager that this is the film on this list I’ve seen the most times. And with good cause- it manages to get even better on every viewing. Tarantino’s most perfectly tense film- the 30-minute basement scene is one of the best in his oeuvre, a perfect balance of the film’s brilliant dark humor and sobering brilliance. They also kill Hitler, in satisfactorily gory and overdone fashion. It just might be his masterpiece.
13- Annie Hall (Woody Allen, 1977)
The MVP: It is, unfortunately, Woody Allen.
Why I love it: Despite the fact that its creator, star, and subject is, uh, problematic to say the very least, it’s impossible to resist the quirky charms of this movie. It’s pretentious and violently strange, but that’s what makes it work. Its defiance of easy categorization is its defining characteristic. It’s a film as uncomfortable as its central figure, an awkward and small film that makes itself so endearing through its abundance of humor and charisma. This one calls me to revisit it every so often, and I always find myself amazed at just how plain good it is.
12- Blow Out (Brian De Palma, 1981)
The MVP: Travolta, although a shoutout to sound mixer James Tanenbaum is in order. A film about sound design needs good sound design, and he nailed it.
Why I love it: A perfectly made thriller with an absolutely devastating emotional impact. I was not prepared for Blow Out when I first watched it, and maybe that’s why it has stuck with me so much. It’s haunting and unshakable, with brilliant work from Travolta (Quentin Tarantino liked this movie so much that he made the call to cast him in Pulp Fiction) as well as John Lithgow as the sinister, psychotic villain. By turns entertaining and brutal, Blow Out is a brilliant beast.
11- The Big Lebowski (Joel and Ethan Coen, 1998)
The MVP: John Goodman. Bridges is phenomenal, but Goodman’s over the top intensity is an absolute sight to behold.
Why I love it: The funniest film ever made, in my opinion. Another one that seemingly gets better on every watch, the Coens’ comedy classic is nonstop hilarity. Until it isn’t. It can handle the tonal shifts because the people who made it are such geniuses, and it all wraps itself up in a brilliant bittersweet finale. It’s perplexing, it’s offbeat as hell, and it’s way weirder than anything this mainstream has a right to be. And it’s wonderful because of it. Quick shoutout to the Ben Gazzara scene, too. I always forget that Ben Gazzara is in this movie and then that scene happens and it’s BEN GAZZARA and it rules. I love this movie.
10- L.A. Confidential (Curtis Hanson, 1997)
The MVP: Russell Crowe.
Why I love it: Every time I go back to L.A. Confidential, I’m surprised at how well-made and endlessly entertaining it is. One of the very best scripts there is, combined with talented actors and assured direction. One of my favorite ever stories, and it’s an absolute joy to watch it be retold. Feels fresh and new every single time.
9- Boogie Nights (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1997)
The MVP: Burt Reynolds
Why I love it: Anderson is one of the greatest working talents, and this is him at his rawest and most wide open. This is the work of a young genius, an emotionally and structurally rich tapestry that’s so much more than just “the porn movie”. Don’t get me wrong, it’s totally the porn movie, but to refer to it as that is to diminish the work done here. Every performance is great- Wahlberg, Reynolds, Julianne Moore, William H Macy, Philip Seymour Hoffman, John C Reilly, Don Cheadle. This is a much darker and vaster film than you would think based on its reputation.
8- Network (Sidney Lumet, 1976)
The MVP: Faye Dunaway.
Why I love it: Distressingly prescient. Becoming more and more of a chilling reality each day. What was once an outlandish parody is now disturbingly commonplace. Plus, it’s hilarious. One of the best screenplays ever, plus every actor is giving their all. Including the ones who are only in it for one scene and managed Oscar wins and nominations from it. Scary and funny like nothing else.
7- Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
The MVP: Quentin Tarantino.
Why I love it: It’s an audacious experiment in structure and writing, in subject matter and in what you can get the moviegoing public to consume and like. Despite all the wannabes and pretenders in the 25+ years since it came out, nothing has paralleled it. Remarkably entertaining and rewatchable.
6- The Shining (Stanley Kubrick, 1980)
The MVP: Jack Nicholson
Why I love it: Horrifying and impossible to grasp, The Shining is my favorite horror movie of all time. Attractive derangement from Nicholson combines with pure terror from Shelley Duvall, all within the confines of Kubrick’s perfectly constructed claustrophobic hell. The ultimate horror film in every possible way, right down to the guy in the bear suit at the end doing… well you know what he’s doing.
5- The Apartment (Billy Wilder, 1960)
The MVP: Shirley MacLaine
Why I love it: “Shut up and deal”. The platonic ideal of the romantic comedy, as well as one of the most thoroughly likable classic hollywood films. This is a film that walks the line between pure joy and unfiltered sadness so precariously that it could be called the most bittersweet movie of all time. Overall it stands as one of the most delightful movies ever made, and one that I feel should be common knowledge at the same level as the likes of Citizen Kane and Casablanca.
4- Chungking Express (Wong Kar-Wai, 1994)
The MVP: That shot that happens every so often where the main characters move in slo-mo while everyone else is sped up. The best.
Why I love it: In the Mood for Love may be Wong Kar-Wai’s best film, but this is my personal favorite. It’s odd and fun and just generally an ebullient joy to watch. An deceptive exercise in almost pure style, this one ends up packing a gigantic emotional punch. Chungking is wonderful from start to finish, an invitation to enter the world of these characters, to feel their sadnesses and joys and anxieties. Singular and indescribable, this is a film that’s meant a lot to me since the first time I saw it.
3- The Lobster (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2015)
The MVP: Colin Farrell
Why I love it: Lanthimos’ deeply off style lends itself perfectly to this deeply off story, set in a deeply off world with deeply off characters. This is as hilarious as it is heartbreaking, a gut punch with killer comedic bits. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s unforgettable, haunting, a uniquely searing madness that makes you just sit and contemplate your whole existence. On the surface it may resist any attempts at easy understanding, but it burrows into your skull until you acknowledge it. Something I’ll never quite let go.
2- Big Trouble in Little China (John Carpenter, 1986)
The MVP: Kurt Russell
Why I love it: Big Trouble is wildly entertaining, surprisingly emotional, and completely bonkers at a rare level. This spans every genre under the sun, inverting tropes and defying expectations as it goes along. I can never get tired of this film, never regret choosing to watch it over any of the hundreds of movies on my watchlist. Pure fun in the most surprising ways possible.
1- Goodfellas (Martin Scorsese, 1990)
The MVP: Ray Liotta, specifically the laugh. And the delivery of the line “Now take me to jail”.
Why I love it: Why does anyone love their favorite movie? Goodfellas was a cinematic awakening for me, a critical moment in my love of film unlike any other. In the intervening dozens of times I’ve watched it, it loses none of the shine, the technical excellence, the endless entertainment. This is a film where everything clicks. Everything works to create a truly perfect work of art, that just happens to have a massive popular appeal simply because it’s so good. Goodfellas is the movie I’ve cited as my favorite for so long it’s almost lost meaning. But every single time I watch it, I’m reminded of just how fantastic it is, why I love it as much as I do. Goodfellas is a film that’s a part of me, that I can always take refuge in and enjoy. That’s the power of a favorite movie.
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The Movie Files 