The Lists: Movies

Movies:
Listed in chronological order, as opposed to ranking. I couldn't pick a favorite - might be Old Joy, might be The Haunting, depending on the day.

1. The Wolf Man (1941, d. George Waggner) - The best of the old Universal monster pictures, partly for the performances, partly for the chemistry between Lon Chaney Jr. and Evelyn Ankers, partly for the cinematography, but mostly because of the way Larry's blindsided by chance, and then has to deal with that. And in the end, he's really not able to. He's the most self-aware, the most poignant and the most human of the classic monsters.

2. The Best Years of Our Lives (1946, d. William Wyler) - One of those films that always gets me. A lot of the time, when I'm watching a studio era drama, I feel like there's a veneer between myself and the characters. As good as the films can be, as accomplished their artistry, I rarely feel as directly engaged as I do with post-studio era dramas.

It's not because of any resistance to older films on my part, or because I haven't spent enough time watching them (I have done plenty of that). It's probably partly a result of acting styles, partly a result of the kinds of moments that are shown, and how those moments are conveyed by the cinematography and editing. Somehow, I rarely buy the characters as real people, and can't get past the performances as performances. And outside of certain types of stories and certain genres, I'm usually interested in films about how people deal, internally, with the things life throws their way. Or how the internal interacts with or collides with the external. Or something like that. I'm not saying that the characters of most studio films don't have an internal psychology, or that this isn't conveyed, but it almost always feels a step removed for me, less immediate.

This probably makes me sound like a jerky "old stuff's no good because they didn't know how to do it right" sort of guy, but that's very definitely not where I'm coming from. But you know, it's like the way a well-executed special effect is able to convince you, in the moment, that it's real, even if only for a moment. I get the dramatic equivalent of that more often from contemporary films. And I'm not saying contemporary films are more realistic or any less stylized or anything like that. But something changes during the sixties which opens film drama up to something more effective and more impactful. Potentially, at least. For me, at least.

All of which is a long way of getting to why I find "Best Years" to be so good. That veneer's not there. The drama works in the moment.

3. Ikiru (1952, d. Akira Kurosawa) - Kurosawa was the director that got me interested in studying film. I guess I've seen about two thirds of the movies he made, give or take. This is my favorite. I weep every time I watch this film. And not during the scene on the swing (though that gets me), but during the night-on-the-town sequence. There's two moments: when Watanabe (Takashi Shimura) sings the song in the piano bar and everyone and everything slows down to listen; and when, at the end of the night, Watanabe gives the writer that gentle, hopeless look outside the cab, then raises his head and tries to smile to reassure him, and the girls, oblivious, start singing "Come on-a my house..." If this isn't the best film ever made, it's close.

4. Stalag 17 (1953, d. Billy Wilder) - "At ease!" A comfort film, one I'd often watch at the end of the semester in grad school, as I tried to get my bearings again.

5. Godzilla (1954, d. Ishiro Honda) - There's something about Godzilla's roar that always sends a little chill down my spine. Conjures up a sense of awe. Can't really explain it. It's just the way it is. There's also something about the music for this film that captures the sense of weight, of Godzilla's titanic stomping about. Both are the product of composer Akira Ifukube. And while special effects master Eiji Tsuburaya originally wanted to do this stop-motion, isn't it better that he didn't?

6. Seven Samurai (1954, d. Akira Kurosawa) - Takashi Shimura shooting arrows in the rain.

7. Night of the Hunter (1955, d. Charles Laughton) - Robert Mitchum and Lillian Gish sing a great duet. This was the first film I wrote a close analysis for, analyzing the boat down the river sequence. Wrote that quite a long time ago now, back when I thought I knew where I was going.

8. The Magnificent Seven (1960, d. John Sturges) - Wish I was cool like Steve McQueen.

9. The Haunting (1963, d. Robert Wise) - The best horror film ever made, not only because of the quality of the writing, the cinematography and the sound design, but also because it's so character centered. I probably see too much of myself in the damaged, perpetual wallflower Eleanor, but there you go. Wish I had the poise of Claire Bloom in this film.

10. Ghidora, the Three-Headed Monster (1964, d. Ishiro Honda) - Godzilla, Mothra and Rodan take on Ghidorah, the three-headed monster. It's like the Seven Samurai of kaiju eiga.

11. Cool Hand Luke (1967, d. Stuart Rosenberg) - Wish I was cool like Cool Hand Luke.

12. Quatermass and the Pit (1967, d. Roy Ward Baker) - "Your imagination's running wild." "Isn't yours?"

13. A Boy Named Charlie Brown (1969, d. Bill Melendez) - There are few characters I have identified with so thoroughly as Charlie Brown. Of all the Stew Fyfes in the world, I'm the Charlie Browniest. This is a cool, weird film that's full of elaborate digressions, like when Schroeder's playing his piano. Watching it is kind of like reading a collection of Schulz strips. And it hits some very real emotional notes.

14. Paint Your Wagon (1969, d. Joshua Logan) - Wish I was born under a wandering star. A wandering, wandering star.

15. The Valley of Gwangi (1969, d. Jim O'Connolly) - Growing up, there used to always be a monster or sci fi movie on TV on Saturday afternoons. Usually just one movie, on one channel, since there weren't as many channels back then. If you were lucky, it was a good one like this. Cowboys versus dinosaurs. Dinosaur versus elephant. James Franciscus versus a tyrannosaurus in a giant stone cathedral that's on fire. And a little, tiny horse.

In the years between when I first saw this movie and when I found it again on DVD, there was a scene that always stuck with me. It's the scene where T.J. (Gila Golan, the lady of the picture) shows Tuck Kirby (James Franciscus, the hero of the picture) the eohippus she's going to incorporate into her rodeo show. The looks on their faces, as this little Ray Harryhausen creature capers around before them has always been to me the image of delight.

Three other great things here. First, your classic dinosaur fight with a difference. Second, the incongruity of seeing the cathedral architecture tower over a dinosaur. And third, Gwangi gets his own screen credit
at the end.

16. Two-Lane Blacktop (1971, d. Monte Hellman) - "Those satisfactions are permanent." For once, GTO speaks truth.

17. Snoopy Come Home (1972, d. Bill Melendez) - My favorite animated film. Like the earlier film, there's real emotion here, as Charlie Brown deals with something we all have to deal with - friends having to go their separate ways. One of the many great things about this movie is that there's drama, but there's no villain. Apart from the jerks who keep putting up the signs that say "No Dogs Allowed," that is. One other great thing: the song, "Changes." And still one other great thing: the song, "Me and You."

18. Young Frankenstein (1974, d. Mel Brooks) - "Put. Ze kendle. Beck."

19. The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976, d. Clint Eastwood) - "All I have is a piece of hard rock candy. But it's not for eatin'. It's just for looking through." I'm not generally big on westerns, but this movie has everything I like about westerns. It's also very beautiful at times, between moments of mud and blood and death. Wish I could spit like Josey Wales.

20. Dawn of the Dead (1978, d. George A. Romero) - The best zombie film. Shot in my hometown mall, so watching the film is always a weirdly comforting experience for me. We moved to Pittsburgh in 1979, when the Monroeville Mall was pretty much as it appeared in the film - I remember skating on that ice skating rink - so for me, there's a level of reality to this film that I guess isn't there for most people.

One of the many things that makes this film great, apart from carving out new territory in the subgenre, is that while it does the character-gets-bit thing, establishes the character-gets-bit thing really, the film doesn't use it just to create a bit of cheap suspense. The first time it happens, it's about watching a guy who was full of life ("We got this by the ass!") fade and go, and it's about watching how the other characters react to that loss. And when the other character who gets it gets it, it's part of the everything-going-to-hell movement of the last act, and it's really about the reaction one character has to the zombification.

Another great thing about the film is the degree of sympathy it often has for the zombies. Look at the expression on Fran's face as she sits there watching the softball player zombie, the one in the orange Pitcairn shirt, or the way she sets free the nun zombie when it's caught in the doors at Penney's. And when the main characters get turned, they aren't just something needs to be shot in the head. The problem with the modern running zombie is that it's just a monster with no other meaning or resonance. It might as well be a pack of hungry lions or a big CGI concoction or something. The classic zombie, among other things, is all about the inevitability and concrete reality of death, which eventually takes those we love, and eventually takes us as well.

21. Days of Heaven (1978, d. Terrance Malick) - Well, it's all very sad at times, but it's all so very good.

22. All That Jazz (1979, d. Bob Fosse) - "It's showtime, folks!" The final musical number, a ten-minute version of "Bye Bye Life"is one of the most emotional things I've ever seen on film. It's so crazy and cheesy and goofy as hell, but it's done with such conviction and energy, pulling every element of the film together into one elaborate, stylized over the top performance that you're carried away. And then the last minute kicks in and - wow, just wow.

23. The Empire Strikes Back (1980, d. Irvin Kershner) - I remember sitting in the theater before the movie started, looking at the empty white screen, making jokes with my friends about polar bears in blizzards, since we'd known something of how the film would begin, and since we'd just heard that joke. I also remember, some time later, debating with friends as to whether or not Vader was lying. Because we just didn't know.

24. An American Werewolf in London (1981, d. John Landis) - Everything that's great about The Wolf Man is here, only more so. Great use of "Moondance." And a perfect cut to black at the end.

25. Dragonslayer (1981, d. Matthew Robbins) - Probably the best of the early eighties fantasy films. Maybe because it's so sincere. Maybe because it doesn't overdo things. (Which is the problem with a lot of contemporary sci fi/fantasy/horror - the filmmakers are always trying to make the film into the most whatever of whatever, and wind up making everything feel dull and the same as a result.) Maybe the film's the best because, apart from the dragon, the villains aren't doing bad things just to be villains, they're doing bad things based on what they think needs to be done. And even the dragon's just being a dragon. And what a dragon it is. Favorite scene is at the village dance.

26. Escape from New York (1981, d. John Carpenter) - Growing up, I think my models for ideal masculinity were Kurt Russell in Escape from New York and The Thing, Clint Eastwood in Josey Wales, and Mel Gibson in The Road Warrior. Taciturn and talented. Obviously, things didn't work out that way. Also, I wanted an eyepatch.

27. Knightriders (1981, d. George A. Romero) - This is another film that's goofy as hell - Ed Harris and Tom Savini lead a traveling band of jousting motorcycle knights through rural Pennsylvania, and the Man wants them to sell out - but if you tune in to its frequency, it's quite affecting. And the goofiness and unlikeliness of the premise, and of the group, feeds back into the whole be-yourself, hold-to-your-ideals, got-to-fight-the-dragon vibe. There's also some great stunts, a fine score by Donald Rubinstein, a simple but certain pro-gay stance (which you didn't see in too many films in 1981), and great performances by Harris, Savini (very charismatic) and Christine Forrest. This is the quintessential Romero film.

28. The Road Warrior (1981, d. George Miller) - Wish I could drive like Max Rockatansky. Wish I had a dog like Max Rockatansky's dog.

A few of the great things about this film: the opening montage, which elevates the previous film to mythical status while establishing the new world of the current film; the score; the willingness to forgo dialogue for so much of the film, particularly near the beginning; the relationship between Max and the Gyro Captain; the shot of the Gyro Captain backing away from the can of dog food; the dog; the final shot; and the greatest chase sequence ever put to film.

Something else The Road Warrior does so well is to expand and advance the world and reality we'd seen in Mad Max. Many franchises of the sci-fi/fantasy/horror variety falter after the first film, or at least don't quite retain the magic after the first film, partly because of how the films in these genres are often constructed.

What they often do in the first film (or in a stand-alone film, if there's no initial plan for a franchise or sequel) is to establish bunch of characters in a setting, let you get comfortable with it (in the deserts of a distant land, at Port Royal, on Tatooine, etc.), and then partway through the film, pose to the characters and the audience the possibility of there being a greater reality beyond what the character's normally experience and what the audience has to this point seen (there's an Ark of the Covenant that really does have strange and terrible powers, there's an ancient mummy with strange and terrible powers buried beneath the sands, the Black Pearl is a cursed ghost ship crewed by a bunch of undead skeleton guys, the Force really works, etc.) The film then, either midway through or near the end, ushers the characters and the audience across that threshold, into that wider, more fantastic reality.

Part of what a lot of films in the sci-fi/fantasy/horror genres are engaged in during their running times is a kind of exploration of new territory, a survey of imaginary worlds. Part of what brings us to these films is that movement into a wider world, that moment of wonder. Once you've made this move, however, you can't make it again, or at least can't make the same one again. We watch Temple of Doom, and we know those stones from the village are going to have power; we watch The Mummy Returns, and we already know Imhotep can rise up; we know that magic abounds in the world of Jack Sparrow; we know Obi-Wan wasn't just whistling dixie about the Force. When we watch the second Matrix film, we've already seen Neo wake up, we know he's the One, has superpowers and can fly and stuff. You can only play that card once. Any new revelations in the Matrix sequels are revelations only of degree.

So how do you keep people interested in the sequels? In the films that follow the original, you've either got to really advance the story and develop the characters, as well as truly deepen the mythology, as in Empire and Jedi, or you've got to come up with some new, top-notch adventure that doesn't simply recycle the story beats of the first film, as in Temple of Doom and Last Crusade. (By deepening the mythology in the Star Wars films, I mean things like Luke's training with Yoda, which gives us a deeper understanding of the Force and of the Jedi, and I mean things like the decisions Luke has to make during his final battle with Vader and the Emperor.) If you don't, you can wind up with a film that's maybe okay, but just doesn't have the magic of the first film, as in The Mummy Returns, the second and third Pirates movies, the second and third Matrix movies, where new backstory is shoehorned in to create new obstacles and goals for protagonists who'd already achieved whatever it was they needed to do in the first film, and in so doing, those characters have already overcome whatever character deficits or doubts they might have been initially plagued by. Or something like that.

What makes The Road Warrior relatively rare among sequels is that it does something different. The Star Wars films take us to new planets, but the overall situation and setting are more or less the same from film to film, and while the new environments offer new challenges, opportunities and betrayals, they do not in and of themselves affect Luke and company on a fundamental level. The Lord of the Rings films also offer new environments, ushering us across Middle Earth and expanding the scope of the central conflict from film to film, or expanding the protagonists' and audience's awareness of that scope, but the trilogy is essentially one story split up into three films. But The Road Warrior remakes the world of the story (once a decaying society, now a fully post-apocalyptic society) and then places the lead character from the first film into that new world and watches how he functions. The shift from the world of Mad Max to the world of The Road Warrior is deeper and more fundamental than what we see in most sequels.

The Road Warrior engages in an exploration of who Max is that proceeds in parallel with the exploration of the new world of the post-apocalyptic Outback. The film is about what both Max and the world have to do to stay alive in the wake of calamity, and about how much longer each can go on like this before the wheels come off, the gas runs out, and everything comes to an end. The sequel becomes a different film, separate from rather than a retread or direct continuation of the original.

I guess another way of looking at it is to think of Mad Max and The Road Warrior in terms of the basic question posed by each narrative. In Mad Max, the question is: Will Max lose his humanity? In The Road Warrior, the question is: Now that Max has lost his humanity, will he be able to regain it? Rather than reiterating the conflict of the first film, the sequel builds off of the the consequences of that conflict, not so much on the level of plot as on the level of character. I don't know, I don't think I'm quite getting down what I mean to say, so I'll stop now.

29. Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981, d. Steven Spielberg) - One of my fondest filmgoing memories is of getting to go see this in the theater with my Dad. Usually, my brother and I saw movies with my Mom, but Pete wanted to go see Arthur, so he and my Mom saw that instead. My Dad's not a movie-watching kind of guy. His attention usually wanders. But it's pretty cool when I get him to sit and watch a movie, and he gets into it. I still remember us laughing together as we walked out of the theater. Two other memorable times watching films with my Dad: watching a VHS of Evil Dead II one summer down in Texas with Dad and my friend Bill, listening to my Dad shout with laughter when the comedy started kicking in; and watching The Life Aquatic on a laptop with him when we were sitting in a hotel in San Antonio, waiting to find out if he'd be admitted into the cancer treatment program at Audie Murphy.

30. Veronika Voss (1982, d. Rainer Werner Fassbinder) - Fassbinder recasts Sunset Boulevard into a critique of post-war German society. Which is great. But the part that always stays with me is the scene of Robert Krohn meeting Veronika Voss in the rain and offering her his umbrella. That and the mix of concern and resignation that Robert's girlfriend Henriette displays as she watches Robert get sucked into Veronika's world. And the musical dream sequence. This was also the first film where I sat down and watched and tried to analyze every single individual shot. (It was for a take-home exam.) It's one of those films that always reminds me of how hopeful and certain and full of potential things seemed when I was at Pitt. Which I guess is ironic, given what the film's about, and how it ends.

31. Cannery Row (1982, d. David S. Ward) - "It never occurred to them that maybe they weren't any good. So they decided to give it one more try." A largely forgotten romantic comedy built out of bits of Steinbeck. Marine biologist and former pitcher Nick Nolte, dressed like Indiana Jones, romances out-of-work waitress and amateur floozy Debra Winger, while Mac (M. Emmet Walsh) and the Boys (including Frank McRae) try to help out around town, flophouse owner Fauna (Audra Lindley) rolls her eyes, and John Huston narrates. Shot by Sven Nykvist. Comes with a beer milkshake.

32. The Last Unicorn (1982, d. Jules Bass, Arthur Rankin Jr.) - Okay, I'm a dork. And I love the opening song, so I'm a total dork.

33. Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982, d. Nicholas Meyer) - It's pretty darn good. But you know that.

34. The Thing (1982, d. John Carpenter) - After The Haunting, the best horror film ever made. Also, along with An American Werewolf in London, the peak of physical monster effects. And a perfect ending. And then there's the blood test scene. And the bit with the head. And the scene at the Norwegian camp. And the Morricone/Carpenter score. And Kurt Russell being all Kurt Russelly. And Keith David being all Keith David. And lots of good stuff.

35. Local Hero (1983, d. Bill Forsyth) - "I'd make a good Gordon, Gordon." Though really, I probably wouldn't.

36. Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983, d. Jack Clayton) - One of those films that's good because it deals with things that are true. I think about the scene in the library a lot.

37. Paris, Texas (1984, d. Wim Wenders) - "I knew these people, these two people..." I feel like Harry Dean Stanton some days - just want to go for a walk.

38. Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985, d. George Miller) - "This ain't one person's tell, it's the tell of us all. And you got to listen it, and 'member..." It doesn't have quite the same spark as The Road Warrior, and the final chase doesn't quite measure up to what came before, but otherwise, Miller makes a worthy film, moving both the character and the world forward as both Max and the world enter a period of reconstruction. Thunderdome hits some strong emotional notes, and like the previous film, brings things to a close with a great ending. This really is quite a film. Always have that defiant "Keep trekking" phrase in my head.

39. Big Trouble in Little China (1986, d. John Carpenter) - "What's that, potion?" "Yeah." "Good. Thought so. What do we do, drink it?" "Yeah." "Good. Thought so."

40. Miller's Crossing (1990, d. Joel and Ethan Coen) - If Kurosawa was the director that made me want to study film, then before that, this was the film that made me start thinking about how films work, and really start appreciate film as an art, back when I first saw it over Christmas break of 1990. I taped the audio off of my VHS onto a couple of cassette tapes, and used to just listen to the dialogue from this film over and over.

41. Ruby in Paradise (1993, d. Victor Nunez) - Again, a film that's good because it deals with things that are true, but in a different arena than Something Wicked, one that's more immediately relevant to my life these days. It's about that kind of time where you have to take a breath, take stock of who you are and where you're at, who you might be and where you're going.

42. Barcelona (1994, d. Whit Stillman) - "What do you call what's above the subtext?" Although it's about a pair of cousins, this film does a good job of giving a sense of what the relationship between brothers is like. And it's funny by way of being smart. There's not enough of that these days.

43. Chungking Express (1994, Wong Kar-wai) - Another film caught up in my thoughts about my time at Pitt, one that somehow always seemed to come up at the end of the semester. Faye Wong's cover in Cantonese of The Cranberries song "Dreams" captures a sense of how I was feeling in those days, on the good days, and how I felt moving from Pittsburgh to Madison. It also makes me want to spin around and maybe ride an escalator.

44. The Blade (1995, d. Tsui Hark) - The most intense action film I've ever seen. A remake of the old "One-Armed Swordsman" films, with a swordsmith who loses an arm, takes up a broken blade, reads a half-burnt martial arts manual, and takes on the bad guys with a crazy spinning technique while dodging lost love and lots of bear traps. Second time I saw this on the big screen, I remember walking home after, the muscles in my chest still tight from the intensity of the final fight scene.

There's a sequence where the protagonist, On, is training using the half-burnt martial arts manual. On has lost his sword arm to the bad guys, and he has to learn from scratch. He's moved into farm in the sticks with a peasant girl, the farm now partly burnt down by a bandit attack. It's a 90s Hong Kong movie sort of night, all backlit and smoky and blue. And he's tied a rope around his waist and hung it from a tree so he can practice his spinning moves with the broken blade. The camera's gliding low to the ground. On is kind of fumbling around, using the blade to pull himself along as he tries to leap forward, and the drums and the chants are going on the soundtrack, and he's swinging from the rope with the manual in his mouth, and he thinks. Cut to a couple shots of On spinning inside the farm with the blade, a quick flashback to earlier in his training. The music pauses, thunder rumbles, and back in the yard, in the present moment, he spins and cuts the top off of a stone water barrel. The camera pushes just over the top of the well, pushes in on On as he stares at it, trembling, potent, smiling, and you get the weird subjective shot of a joyful On, lit from beneath, running toward camera through a spray of water, the chants on the soundtrack continue, "Hou! Hee! Hou! Hee!" Back to the push-in, On trembling with energy. A quick shot of the girl watching, then On leaps up, cuts the rope, and spins and flips through the yard, now in perfect control, cutting things down. He stops, marvels at the broken blade.

You watch movies to see stuff like this. Or at least I do, anyways.

45. The Chinese Feast (1995, d. Tsui Hark) - A fine example of 90s Hong Kong film. Makes you feel good just watching it. Makes you feel hungry just watching it. Also, Leslie Cheung wrestles a giant fish, Anita Yuen sings some bad karaoke, and some elaborate cuisine is prepared.

46. Fallen Angels (1995, d. Wong Kar-wai) - "But for now, I feel such a lovely warmth." This, along with The Haunting, Miller's, Old Joy and The Road Warrior, is one of my absolute favorite films. I guess that's more or less my top five right there. And it has what I think is the best closing shot in all of cinema.

47. Kicking and Screaming (1995, d. Noah Baumbach) - My favorite flashbacks, both in terms of how they function in the film, and in terms of how the film slips into them. And it has my second favorite closing shot in all of cinema.

48. Fast, Cheap and Out of Control (1997, d. Errol Morris) - I don't have words to describe how good this film is, or my feelings about it. It lays out so much of what it is to be human just by moving between interviews of four interesting guys. Best edited documentary. Amazing work by editor Karen Schmeer.

49. Dark City (1998, d. Alex Proyas) - Always looking for the way to Shell Beach. Always feeling like Bumstead at the brick wall.

50. The Mission (1999, d. Johnnie To) - Duhn duh duh Duhn duh duh Duhn Duhn duh Duhn.

51. George Washington (2000, d. David Gordon Green) - Wish I'd seen this a few years earlier than when I finally did. Great use of voiceover, combined with some gorgeous cinematography. There's a scene in here, where one character, Vernon is sitting down in part of an abandoned zoo, looking off to the side, giving a desperate soliloquy in a long, unbroken shot. It's one of those pieces of filmmaking that's so good that it kept me going one night, when I needed something to keep me going. The whole film's like that.

52. Milk Punch (2000, d. Erik Gunneson) - A good film by a good friend. Madison in the summer. Watching this in 4070 with a select few a couple of years ago, then going out for drinks after. I hope more people get a chance to see this some day.

53. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003, d. Peter Jackson) - My second favorite film of the last decade. Getting to see the whole thing in one sitting (with intermissions) on Trilogy Tuesday in December of 2003 is one of my favorite cinematic viewing memories. The huge crowd was respectfully quiet during Fellowship and Two Towers. These were the extended cuts, and we hadn't had a chance to see them on the big screen before. Then Return of the King unspooled, it was the premiere showing, and something took hold of everyone. People were shouting and cheering and clapping the whole way through, all the way to the end.

These aren't perfect films. It still feels like they never quite cracked the script for The Two Towers, that crucial bit of suspense about the black ships sailing into view during the Battle of Pelennor Fields isn't there in Return of the King, and the editing is way too cutty - half as many edits would do for most scenes. But the stuff that worked really worked. There were characters, Sam, Boromir, Eowyn, that I identified with as strongly as I had with any other. There was one of the great modern film scores. There was the charge of the Rohirrim. And there was the experience of seeing the whole thing realized, one of those things where you grow up with this story in your head, and suddenly, there it all is before you, the long expected party, Strider at the inn, the Orcs in Moria, Gandalf facing the Balrog at the Bridge of Khazad-Dum, Boromir's last stand, the Rohirrim thundering across the plains, Nazgul flying over the Dead Marshes, Shelob in her lair, the Battle of Pelennor Fields, Eowyn confronting the Witch-King, the Gates of Mordor, Gollum dancing before the Crack of Doom, Sam and Frodo at the end of all things. Whatever flaws the films may have, there's something truly great and emotionally powerful there.

That December's also when things started to get really bad for my folks, and for my father in particular. And things started to go downhill on my end, in terms of grad school. There were some good things around the corner as well, but the overall trend from that point on was down, down, down. I remember flying down to Houston that Christmas, thinking about how much help my folks needed and how little I was capable of providing, and the whole time, I'm looking out the window at the clouds slipping past the sunset, with the beacon lighting sequence running through my head over and over again.

54. All the Real Girls (2003, d. David Gordon Green) - Like George Washington, this is one of those films that make you glad that someone figured out a way to capture light on celluloid.

55. Bright Future - Japanese Cut (2003, d. Kiyoshi Kurosawa) - A great film about the generation gap, and about growing up. There's a shorter international version that's not really worth watching. Too much is cut out. Unfortunately, it's the one that's more readily available. If I spoke Japanese, I'd probably have written my dissertation on Kiyoshi Kurosawa. Probably would have fumbled on that too.

Like all of Kiyoshi Kurosawa's films, this one's an odd, kind of dramatically sideways experience. And the real emotional heft of the film doesn't kick in until halfway through. But when it does, man. The weight that slams into you across a single cut is something. And you'd never think you could feel uplifted by the sight of hundreds of deadly jellyfish floating down a canal, but there you go.

56. King Kong - theatrical cut (2005, d. Peter Jackson) - This film has a lot of problems, and like The Two Towers, it feels to me like Jackson, Boyens and Walsh never cracked the script. The director's cut adds some scenes that are fine in and of themselves, but apart from the scene of Hayes talking about his World War I experiences, they don't improve the film. And given that it's already too long as it is, with one too many beats during the finale, the shorter theatrical cut is a stronger version of the film.

But it's okay for a film to have flaws. They may stumble in the depths, but they can still scale the heights. This one does - Ann soothing Kong with vaudeville, the big dinosaur fight, the "Bye Bye Blackbird" sequence, Kong tearing through the theater balcony to get at Driscoll, the light fading from Kong's eyes before he slips off the Empire State Building. The sight of Ann and Kong ice skating in Central Park is one of those perfect scenes you've never seen before that you always hope to see when you watch a movie. And while I guess the original is a better film, I never cared about Kong in that one. Or any of the other characters, really. Here, I'm identifying with both Ann and the Ape, and with the ridiculous, impossible tragedy of the whole thing.

57. Old Joy (2006, d. Kelly Reichardt) - My favorite film of the past decade. Watching it just kind of fills you with light the way few films do. One of those films that helps you to breathe.

58. The Prestige (2006, d. Christopher Nolan) - Like that sequence in George Washington mentioned above, there's something about this specific film that's kept me going when I couldn't keep going. It's not the greatest film ever made, or the most well made, or the deepest or the most insightful. But there's something about the sheer filmness of it, the way it does all the things that movies can do - the cinematography, the staging, the writing, the performances, the music - it all adds up to everything about movies and filmmaking that grabs me by the soul and won't let go.

59. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007, d. Andrew Dominik) - I like a good story. I like good storytelling. I like the presence of a good storyteller, the experience of being in his hands as he unwinds his yarn. This film has all these things.

60. Shotgun Stories (2007, d. Jeff Nichols) - Like Barcelona, this film captures what being brothers is all about, but it moves through darker territory. And it deals with forgiveness, redemption, the ties of family, the way we're shaped by those who came before, and the way we shape those who come after us, all things that I think about a lot. The film also does everything I think a modern indie drama can and should do, in terms of following characters through the straits of circumstance in a carefully observed and specifically real place. On all levels, this is American independent filmmaking at its finest.

61. Wendy and Lucy (2008, d. Kelly Reichardt) - This too is American independent filmmaking at its finest. If Old Joy was my favorite film of the decade, Wendy and Lucy was the best. Wish I could make, or be involved in making, a film as good as this someday.

Okay, with that all done, I was curious as to how this list would work out in terms of decades. This is what I got:

1890s - 1930s: 0 - I've actually watched a lot of films from these decades. And a lot are very good, and in a few cases, better than the films I've listed above. It's just that none are my favorites, you know, the kinds of films you want to come back to again and again. There's some from the thirties in the list below, though, that are just off the end of the list above. If I'd made this list, say, five years ago, there'd probably be some films from these decades.
1940s: 2
1950s: 5
1960s: 8
1970s: 7
1980s: 17 - It's pretty clear what my formative decade was. All but one from 1983 or earlier.
1990s: 11
2000s: 11

And for good measure, here's what comes next, enough to take it to 125:

1. Laura Comstock's Bag-Punching Dog (1901, d. Edwin S. Porter) (Seriously.)

2. Island of Lost Souls (1932, d. Erle C. Kenton)

3. The Invisible Man (1933, d. James Whale)
4. King Kong (1933, d. Merian C. Cooper, Ernest B. Schoedsack)

5. The Thin Man (1934, d. W.S. Van Dyke)
6. The Bride of Frankenstein (1935, d. James Whale)
7. East of Eden (1955, d. Elia Kazan)

8. Yojimbo (1961, d. Akira Kurosawa)
9. Sanjuro (1962, d. Akira Kurosawa)
10. Godzilla vs. Mothra (1964, d. Ishiro Honda)
11. Robin Crusoe on Mars (1964, d. Byron Haskin)
12. Night of the Living Dead (1968, d. George A. Romero)
13. Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970, d. Joseph Sargent)
14. McCabe and Mrs. Miller (1971, d. Robert Altman)
15. Martin (1977, d. George A. Romero)
16. Star Wars (1977, d. George Lucas)
17. 1941 (1979, d. Steven Spielberg)
18. Alien (1979, d. Ridley Scott)
19. Superman (1979, d. Richard Donner)
20. Flash Gordon (1980, d. Mike Hodges)
21. Popeye (1980, d. Robert Altman)
22. Used Cars (1980, d. Robert Zemeckis)
23. Excalibur (1981, d. John Boorman)
24. Pennies from Heaven (1981, d. Herbert Ross)
25. Blade Runner (1982, d. Ridley Scott)
26. Conan the Barbarian (1982, d. John Milius)

27. The Dark Crystal (1982, d. Jim Henson, Frank Oz)

28. Poltergeist (1982, d. Tobe Hooper)
29. Stalker (1982, d. Andrei Tarkovsky)
30. The Man with Two Brains (1983, d. Carl Reiner)
31. The Pirates of Penzance (1983, d. Wilford Leach)
32. Return of the Jedi (1983, d. Richard Marquand)
33. Strange Brew (1983, d. Rick Moranis, Dave Thomas)
34. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984, d. Steven Spielberg)
35. Shanghai Blues (1984, d. Tsui Hark)
36. Day of the Dead (1985, d. George A. Romero)
37. Ran (1985, d. Akira Kurosawa)
38. Highlander (1986, d. Russell Mulcahey)
39. Ironweed (1987, d. Hector Babenco)
40. They Live (1988, d. John Carpenter)
41. Henry V (1989, d. Kenneth Branagh)
42. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989, d. Steven Spielberg)
43. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (1990, d. Tom Stoppard)
44. Slacker (1991, d. Richard Linklater)
45. Once Upon a Time in China II (1992, d. Tsu iHark)
46. Fong Sai Yuk (1993, d. Corey Yuen)
47. Babe (1995, d. Chris Noonan)
48. Shall We Dance? (1996, d. Masayuki Suo)
49. Hana-Bi (1997, d. Takeshi Kitano)
50. Babe: Pig in the City (1998, d. George Miller)
51. Last Night (1998, d. Don McKellar)
52. Ringu (1998, d. Hideo Nakata)
53. Velvet Goldmine (1998, d. Todd Haynes)
54. Fight Club (1999, d. David Fincher)
55. The Mummy (1999, d. Stephen Sommers)
56. The Endurance (2000, d. George Butler)
57. In the Mood for Love (2000, d. Wong Kar-wai)
58. Kairo (2001, d. Kiyoshi Kurosawa)
59. Shaolin Soccer (2001, d. Stephen Chow)
60. Avalon (2001, d. Mamoru Oshii)

61. Serenity (2002, d. Joss Whedon)
62. Solaris (2002, d. Steven Soderbergh)

63. Godzilla: Final Wars (2004, d. Ryuhei Kitamura)

64. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005, d. Andrew Adamson)
65. Exiled (2006, d. Johnnie To)


So, the second list:
1890s:0
1900s: 1
1910s-1920s: 0
1930s: 5
1940s: 0
1950s: 1
1960s: 5
1970s: 7
1980s: 23 - again, no surprise
1990s: 13
2000s: 10

Adding them up for 126 total films:
1890s: 0
1900s: 1
1910s-1920s: 0
1930s: 5
1940s: 2
1950s: 6
1960s: 13
1970s: 14
1980s: 40
1990s: 24
2000s: 21

Okay, 1/3 from the 80s is weird. and 2/3 from the last three decades. Huh.

Okay, enough of that.

Edit 10/6/10:

A few more to add to the list, in chronological order:

1. The Old Dark House (1932, d. James Whale) - Finally got around to seeing this recently, and it is absolutely fantastic. Everything you could want in the old "people have to spend the night in a scary house" scenario, from back when it wasn't an old scenario. Very amusing throughout, with fine performances from all involved - not just Karloff's insane butler. Ernest Thesiger as Horace Femm (yes, Thesiger plays a Femm), Charles Laughton as Sir William Porterhouse, and Eva Moore is the bitter old Rebecca Femm in particular. And you can't help but fall for Lilian Bond as Gladys Perkins. Also occasionally scary, in the old Universal fashion. This isn't as iconic as Whale's other horror films, but it's as good, if not better. Okay, maybe not better than Bride of Frankenstein, but it's close.

2. Ironweed (1987, d. Hector Babenco) - Do not watch this if you're having a bad day or in the midst of a deep depression. A very, very dark, very sad film. Really drags you down to where the characters live - Francis and Helen, homeless in Albany, NY in October 1938. Played by Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep, each in one of their best performances. (There's also Tom Waits. And Fred Gwynne. And a bunch of other folk.) Watching this film is like having load after load of bricks set on top of you while you're facedown in dirt. At midnight. But that makes those brief moments of hope, or moments of the hope of hope, or the memory of hope (like the opening music, and Helen's rendition of "He's Me Pal,") burn all the brighter. To quote Townes Van Zandt, "There ain't no dark til something shines. I'm bound to leave this dark behind."

3. Bodies, Rest & Motion (1993, d. Michael Steinberg) - I guess this may not be a great film. I went back and read some of the reviews from when it came out, and it seemed to catch a lot of flack. As did its four lead characters (and nearly only characters), played by Bridget Fonda, Eric Stoltz, Phoebe Cates, and Tim Roth. But this film, I think, captures something about being in your twenties and realizing a) you don't know where you're going in life, and b) life's pulling you along nevertheless. There's that Springsteen line, "You can get used to anything. Pretty soon it just becomes your life." Some of the characters in the film are waking up to that. Others have made their peace with it. Over the course of a weekend, they kind of bounce off each other. And yeah, maybe this stuff is kind of obvious, and there's a bit of that, oh you can tell it was originally a play kind of feel to it, and many of the lines practically shout their subtext at you, but the subtext rings true, and the things these characters go through are something people go through, and something I went through (not successfully) back in the 90s, and this film gets those moments and those feelings and those conversations down.

Back in the day, I think I liked this film, but I wasn't crazy about it. It was part of that whole, let's go watch Miramax and other indies thing back in the early to mid-90s. When I watched this recently, on videotape, all pan and scan, I hadn't seen it in a long time, not since '95 or '96, probably. I was surprised by how much it connected with me, and I felt like I was catching up with an old friend, or looking back at a past part of my life. But enough about me. (Because who cares?)

The other thing of note about this movie is that it represents a kind of indie film that I don't think gets made very often any more. Can't quite say what that is. It feels less forced, even though in some ways it's more forced. It's very plotted, but feels less plot-driven. Back then, indie film, or the idea of indie film, still felt like a new thing. (Even if it wasn't.) I don't know, I'm not getting down what I want to here, so I'll probably have to return to this entry later. Anyways, Bodies, Rest & Motion. It's like a 90 minute trip back to 1993. Which is a good thing.


Okay, that's it. Scott Pilgrim might show up here at some point, but I've got to let it settle in for a while first.

And at some point, I should add something about Blade Runner, for which I have a new appreciation these days. Not sure what to say, something about being moved by all of these characters becoming aware of or responding to their constructed identities, clinging to them, breaking from them, or both. I don't know, the film sometimes gets knocked for not having interesting characters or an interesting story, but those are precisely why the film has the impact on me that it does. I'll write something later, I guess.

For now, that's it.

Edit 10/20/11:
Okay, Scott Pilgrim doesn't make it on the list, enjoyable as it is. But Black Death (2010) and Another Year (2010) very definitely do. If I ever start writing on this blog again, I might write something about those.