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Films of the Decade - Part VIII

2009-10-26T17:37:00.000-07:00

Animation takes center stage in this round of nominees for the best films of the decade.

To get up to speed: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, and Part VII.

As always, comments and suggestions are welcomed as the quest progresses, and will be taken into consideration upon tallying the results.

Spirited Away – Hayao Miyazaki
2001, Japan

I’m not certain Miyazaki meant for his bizarre and often grotesque ‘otherworld’ that his 10 year-old protagonist stumbles into, to be a direct metaphor for suburbia and its uniquely violent impact on the human soul…but, hey, if the shoe fits.

Should Miyazaki choose to make another film (there’s no news of an upcoming release at this time), he will have been making ground-breaking animation for five decades now and counting.

For many, Spirited Away is considered his masterpiece. A standard wrong-turn-down-a-dark-street storyline becomes rife with originality in Miyazaki’s hands.

The Triplets of Belleville – Sylvain Chomet
2003, France, Belgium, Canada, UK

The all too rare animated period piece, The Triplets of Belleville feels as though it was cut from cinema’s early years: say, if Preston Sturges and Sacha Guitry joined forces, sneaking past the guards at Walt Disney Studios, to try their hand at animation.

When a bicyclist who has trained his whole life for the Tour de France, is kidnapped during the race, and transported overseas for nefarious purposes, it is left to his elderly grandmother, her faithful, obese pooch, and a former nightclub act to come to his rescue.

The Incredibles – Brad Bird
2004, USA

A great set-up delivered pitch-perfectly: as superhereos are forced to join the ranks of the average Joe due to constant, mind-numbing litigation, Bob Parr, formerly Mr. Incredible, pines for the action=packed good old days.

When his chance to recapture the past arrives in a cloud of ominous, government dealings, all is not what it seems, and it is only his family who can come to his rescue.

Wall-E – Andrew Stanton
2008, USA

Already considered one of the best animated films of all-time, Wall-E broke with tradition, using limited speaking roles, instead, relying on basic emotions to bring its story to its audience.

With earth long since inhabitable, Wall-E trolls its wastelands, collecting trash, until one day falls for a mysterious, female robot (this is Pixar, boy-on-boy robotic love is still light years away).

What follows is an intergalactic voyage to find love, and reclaim earth while they're at it.

Waltz with Bashir – Ari Folman
2008, Israel, Germany, France, USA, Finland, Switzerland, Belgium, Australia

How does one tell the horrifying truths of the Lebanon War to a movie-going audience so desensitized by violence, shockingly real or ridiculously fake? Answer: animate it.

After being sought out as comfort by a friend with a recurring nightmare, Ari, a film director, is surprised to realize he cannot recall any memories from his time spent in the Army during those fateful days of the early 1980s, save one.

In the hopes of finding out what his vision means, he begins a quest, looking up old friends and comrades to piece together what happened to them all: the survivors, as well as the victims.

Films of the Decade - Part VII

2009-10-17T11:00:00.000-07:00

Another round of nominees for the best films of the first decade of the 21st Century lines up some heavy hitters, including the Coen brothers, Spain’s most successful filmmaker of all-time, Pedro Almodóvar, as well as Taiwanese cinematic luminary Hsiao-hsien Hou.

To get up to speed: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V and Part VI.

As always, comments and suggestions are welcomed as the quest progresses, and will be taken into consideration upon tallying the results.

Ghost World – Terry Zwigoff
2001, USA, UK, Germany

Straight from the no-one-understands-me department, Ghost World is Terry Zwigoff’s follow-up, and first narrative, to his fabulous documentary, Crumb.

Enid and Rebecca are recent high-school grads displeased greatly by everything and everyone around them. Upon meeting a lonely, middle-aged record collector, the girls decide to play a prank that will lead Enid to an unlikely bond.

A true gem in its understanding of our collective psyche, as well as the motivations we all feel, and actions undertaken, at our most awkward moments.

Millennium Mambo – Hsiao-hsien Hou
2001, Taiwan, France

Millennium Mambo strikes that familiar, aimless chord most have felt: that twenty-something existence driven by boredom and cheap thrills, where everything smacks of completely misguided effort.

Collaborators since early in their careers, director Hsiao-hsien Hou, and writer T'ien-wen Chu, have etched out a particular place for themselves in the history of cinema. From biographical content, to the influx of Western ideals, the two have created a unique film canon together, one entirely personal that feels true and familiar regardless of where its being viewed from around the world.

The Man Who Wasn’t There – Joel & Ethan Coen
2001, UK, USA

The first Coen brothers picture to grace the list of nominees (though not the last, I’m sure), The Man Who Wasn’t There was a critical darling when it first appeared in 2001, though it is rarely mentioned by movie fans and Coen-devotees alike in a discussion of the Minnesotans’ better films.

Billy Bob Thornton plays Ed Crane, a barber waiting on the sidelines of life for an opportunity. When that opportunity presents itself in the form of a new invention called “dry cleaning”, Ed blackmails his wife’s boss, of whom he suspects of sleeping with the missus, in hopes of investing and moving from his suburban humdrum, onto easy street.

Lush black-and-white photography by Roger Deakins highlights the film’s bleak, noir quality.

Volver – Pedro Almodóvar
2006, Spain

As with the best of Almodóvar, Volver is darkly comic and beautifully stylized, even when dealing with the rougher elements of society and its inhabitants. Penelope Cruz stars as a mother who finds herself having to dispose of her husband’s dead body, killed by her own daughter, in a neighboring restaurant’s freezer, while opening the restaurant up for service to a film crew shooting in the area (this is one of the more straight forward plot lines in the film).

Pan’s Labyrinth – Guillermo del Toro
2006, Spain, Mexico, USA

A film that has literally everything, Pan’s Labyrinth won three Academy Awards, while racking up legions of fans for its visionary take on a historical, much-covered period.

A true fairy tale, the film follows a young girl forced to live with her mother’s wretched new husband, a captain in the Spanish Army, who escapes into fantasy the first chance she gets.

A parable of Spain during the fascist Franco years, Pan’s Labyrinth deals with the horrific reality the only way we can often understand, through the eyes of a helpless child.

Films of the Decade - Part VI

2009-10-14T22:04:00.000-07:00

Gus van Sant and Charlie Kaufman make second appearances as the quest for the best films of the decade continues.

To get up to speed: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV and Part V.

As always, comments and suggestions are welcomed as the quest progresses, and will be taken into consideration upon tallying the results.

Gerry – Gus van Sant
2002, USA

Two guys named Gerry wander out into the desert in search of “the thing”, only to abandon the trek midway through unaware that they are lost and without food, water, or any sign of civilization.

The second Gus van Sant film nominated in this quest, Gerry speaks to the seismic power of isolation.

Yi yi – Edward Yang
2000, Taiwan, Japan

The opening sequence of this epic, multi-layered, multi-generational Taiwanese fable resurrected a familiar movie-going experience of watching a First Act wedding sequence from decades past: that of The Godfather. The films, naturally, plot much different courses, but that distinct feeling that we are witnessing something special hit a similar note in both opening sequences.

Yi yi was the earliest candidate I can remember for film of the decade when it was released in the first year of the aughts (though Memento had a similar vibe surrounding it).

If ever a film felt like a doctoral thesis in sociological psychology here it is (Can’t wait to see it now I bet!). The film follows the adventures and misadventures of one Taipei family as they struggle to understand their place in a modern world, and to discover some kind of meaning from it.

Adaptation – Spike Jonze
2002, USA

Oh Charlie Kaufman, to be you for a day, and experience the unbelievable chagrin juxtaposed with sublime creative genius that battle tooth and nail for supremacy within the confines of your mighty noggin.

Adaptation, his second collaboration with Spike Jonze, places Charlie Kaufman, the writer, on screen in front of us, as we painstakingly observe the author’s creative process as he attempts to translate a Susan Orlean novel about rare orchids to the screen.

Nicholas Cage plays the dual role of Kaufman, as well as his light-hearted, roll-with-the-punches brother Donald, who seems to be able to slam through screenplays with a veracity equivalent to Charlie’s writer's block.

L’enfant – Jean-Pierre & Luc Dardenne
2005, Belgium, France

Since the mid-90s the Dardenne brothers have been quietly notching up awards and cementing a legacy for themselves as two of Europe’s premiere filmmakers.

L’enfant equals the very best of their output. When Sonia brings home her newborn baby, Bruno, her albatross of a boyfriend, sees an opportunity for quick cash, and a lot of it. He sells the baby on the black market without her consent or knowledge. When Sonia reports the theft, Bruno must recover the baby, and replace the 5000 euros he received for the transaction.

L’enfant matches the time-tested formula of a race against the clock with the best stuff of European cinema: gritty realism and first-rate performances from actors who seem more like real people walking across the screen for the first and only time. Their 15-minutes of fame being the excruciating journey of loss and redemption the majority of us only envision in our worst nightmares.

The Royal Tenenbaums – Wes Anderson
2001, USA

In an all too rare comic turn, Gene Hackman shines as patriarch Royal Tenenbaum, a man who has ostracized anyone who was once even remotely close to him. In an attempt to rekindle the familial love of the past, Royal feigns an illness in the hopes of reuniting his unusual, disenfranchised and fractured clan.

A great example of the magic possessed when a great script is paired perfectly with the absolute ideal cast.

Films of the Decade - Part V

2009-10-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

In Round 5 of our quest to narrow down the best films of the decade, we straddle the generations with offerings from directors who made their mark on the world cinema stage in the 1950s, 60s, 70s, 80s, and aughts respectively.

To get up to speed: Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV.

As always, comments and suggestions are welcomed as the quest progresses, and will be taken into consideration upon tallying the results.

Saraband – Ingmar Bergman
2003, Sweden, Italy, Germany, Denmark, Austria

A last glorious gasp from the man who first made the artistic community sit up and take notice of film as a true and serious art form.

Saraband is not The Seventh Seal, or Wild Strawberries, no. However, it is Bergman working within his familiar psychological terrain, a terrain that he has owned since the 50s. Like him or not, no one can accuse Bergman of not finishing what he started.

Thirty years removed from one another, Marianne and Johan (protagonists of Bergman’s 1973 film Scenes from a Marriage) reunite due to a longing Marianne has to see her former husband once again. However, soon Marianne finds herself entangled in the middle of a family struggle between Johan, his son Henrik, and granddaughter Karin.

What gives the film its power is what has always given Bergman's films power: that being, the truth. The truth behind family dynamics, behind power struggles, the truth behind the façade we often present outward and the emotions we cling to inside. Emotions that paralyze us with fear that they may one day seep out. Bergman’s genius was to understand that they always do, one way or another. And to face them head on, at the very least, provides an opportunity for change.

The Duchess of Langeais– Jacques Rivette
2007, France, Italy

No one quite plays with cinematic form the way the French do, and within that crass generalization, the auteurs of the 1960s took this dictum to new heights.

Rivette’s beautiful film The Duchess of Langeais continues this French cinematic pastime of never resting on one’s laurels. A romantic battle of wits, a chance encounter becomes the jumping off point for a supremely visceral, ultimately doomed courtship.

The Departed – Martin Scorsese
2006, USA, Hong Kong

So it’s a remake. Who cares that one of the crucial plot points is lifted directly from a Edward Dmytryk, hard-boiled noir of the 40s called Crossfire? It’s still Scorsese.

The film that finally landed Scorsese his long overdue Academy Award, pits Matt Damon and Leonardo DiCaprio against one another as undercover moles, one working for the police, the other for the mob, in a cat and mouse crime thriller that marks Scorsese’s most purely entertaining fare since Cape Fear.

Oh, and Jack Nicholson’s the heavy.

Mulholland Drive – David Lynch
2001, France, USA

Much like Lars von Trier from last week’s entry, Lynch has the uncanny ability to polarize audiences when it comes to his work. Wherever you fall on that particular divide, what is undeniable is Lynch's calling behind a film camera.

To further that point, take a look at Lynch's segment for Lumière and Company (his 1-minute contribution should make the other participants ashamed of themselves).

Mulholland Drive is so full of twists and turns it takes repeated viewings to get your bearings.

Attempting a coherent plot breakdown would be futile as most viewers see a different film, accompanied by their own interpretation. A dizzying display blurring the line between the dream state and reality only the way David Lynch can.

4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days – Cristian Mungiu
2007, Romania

The most honored film of 2007 sees a young woman assist her friend carry out an abortion in 1980s Romania.

The film thrives in its performances, all of which feel completely real, and totally on-point. Equally, what makes the film feel special is how firmly it draws the line from becoming a “message” or “political” picture. Like the best of neo-realism, 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days relies on the sincerity of its performances, and the mundane of the everyday, no matter what that everyday may look like, to captivate and carry us along.

Best Films of the Decade - Part IV

2009-10-06T14:52:00.000-07:00

A series of heavy favorites this week in our quest for the best films of the decade.

To get up to speed, click here to view the candidates from Part I, here for Part II, and here for Part III.

As always, comments are welcomed as the quest progresses, and will be taken into consideration upon tallying the results.

Irréversible – Gaspar Noé
2002, France

The most walked out of film of the decade is also one of its best. Irréversible is everything it promised to be: shocking, unsettling, brutal, and uncompromising.

Yet, what Noé created was far from pageantry, as is often the case with “shocking” films. As the series of horrific events unfold backwards, and the relationships of the three protagonists are detailed, what we are left with is an understanding of how close we all are, to not only the unchecked savagery inside of us, but also the commitment we all possess to love.

Songs from the Second Floor – Roy Andersson
2000, Sweden, Norway, Denmark

It really is a shame that Andersson has taken a Kubrick-esque approach to filmmaking, gracing us with so few.

Songs from the Second Floor feels very much like an essay about life, albeit told as a Zombie burlesque show. As the city outside is plagued by the worst traffic jam in history, a series of loosely connected stories unfold, revealing a portrait of society as it often is: absurd, cruel, and funny in both the uncomfortable ha-ha-glad-that’s-not-me way, as well as the gut-busting ridiculous variety.

Dogville – Lars von Trier
2003, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Finland, UK, France, Germany, Netherlands

And then there’s Lars…

It says something when SEVEN different nations are involved in the creation, production, and ultimate completion of a film project. It either says: this is a work of the utmost genius that the thought of not being connected to the finished product was unbearable amongst global film boards, associations, and funding agencies. Or…it reeks of the professional athlete, long on talent but difficult beyond comprehension, that no one wants to put up with, shipping them off in the dark of night, left to ponder what could have been, and how you were ever seduced into the deal in the first place.

The fact that the theatrical staging of the film doesn’t deflect from the action and characters onscreen is remarkable in and of itself. Nicole Kidman delivers her best performance as a woman who mysteriously enters the claustrophobic confines of a small town and finds its charms, security, and sense of community come with a hefty price.

In the Mood for Love – Wong Kar Wai
2000, Hong Kong, France

In a canon of great films, In the Mood for Love is largely considered to be Wong Kar Wai’s best.

The story of neighbors who form a bond, leading them to the discovery of their spouses’ infidelities is certainly the most romantic film of the decade.

Not wanting to emulate their spouses, the two nevertheless fall in love but stay true to their pact, choosing life in isolation over union together.

Memento – Christopher Nolan
2000, USA

Much as Pulp Fiction had done for Tarantino the decade before, Memento marked the beginnings of a passionate, sometimes fanatical following for its director, Christopher Nolan.

Like so many classics, upon reflection the plot seems as though some filmmaker should have thought of it and committed it to film decades ago. A man suffering from short-term memory loss scribbles notes, even tattooing himself in the hopes of tracing the murderer of his wife.

Playing with chronology, cross-cutting, and film stocks, Nolan makes the viewer feel much like his lead character, disoriented and confused as the tangled web of truths and lies unravels before us.

Films of the Decade - Part III

2009-09-27T20:08:00.000-07:00

As I began this quest to narrow down the best films of the decade, I proclaimed there would be no rhyme or reason to the films selected each week – only to find distinct themes and parallels surfacing each successive time out between the movies I was selecting as candidates. Rather than hang tight to that sorry proclamation, I have decided to do an about-face this week, facing my hypocrisy head-on by entitling this week’s entries: Battle of the Two-word Titles.

To get up to speed, click here to view the candidates from Part I, and here for Part II.

As always, comments are welcomed as the quest progresses, and will be taken into consideration upon tallying the results.

Paranoid Park – Gus Van Sant
2007, France, USA

Paranoid Park belongs in the long lineage of great, rough independent films, surviving on an interesting story, focused direction and a cast of unknowns to bring it supreme authenticity. Like The Gospel According to St. Matthew, or another of this week’s offerings, George Washington, the strength of these films lies not only in their story, but in the challenge of observing a “real person” struggle scene by scene towards an awkward, sometimes unsettling conclusion.

Gus Van Sant returns to Portland to bring us this tale of skateboarder Alex, who provides the picture perfect visual to the dictionary definition of ‘being at the wrong place at the wrong time’. Caught up in a grizzly murder, the real power of this film for me lies in watching Alex stagger his way through the day-to-day tribulations of being a teenager, despite the circumstances surrounding him.

Silent Light – Carlos Reygadas
2007, Mexico, France, Netherlands, Germany

For better or for worse, and in 99% of cases I imagine it is for the latter, films that hold any semblance of artistic merit are going to be compared to masterworks from previous generations. When Silent Light began making the festival rounds, comparisons to the great Andrei Tarkovsky quickly hounded it.

Finding and holding an audience is usually tough enough for films not cut from the blockbuster cloth, but then comparing Reygadas’s film to those of Tarkovsky provides it even less of a fair shake. Mainstream audiences will steer clear, that’s a given, but now cinema buffs will also go in with an agenda, an even more critical eye.

The story centers around Johan, a family man whose entire value system is tenuously put to the test upon falling in love with another woman. The slow, methodical pacing of the film mirrors the difficult feeling one has when having to make a life-altering and potentially painful decision. It is in these moments that life almost stands still, often long enough for us to avoid making decisions altogether, and be swept along by its tides.

My Winnipeg – Guy Maddin
2007, Canada

Guy Maddin is painfully under appreciated, even here in Canada where he lives and works. Although, thanks to the Criterion Collection, he is experience some long overdue props due to the re-release of a few of his films.

Maddin belongs to that special brand of filmmaker who continually churns out honest, original material each and every time out, albeit with the same distinct look and feel that makes it distinguishably a Guy Maddin picture.

My Winnipeg is genre-proof in the sense that each viewer (and possibly each successive viewing by the same viewer) will see a different film. Maddin traipses through his memories and recollections to recreate not only his own coming of age, but that of his city: Winnipeg.

Death Proof – Quentin Tarantino
2007, USA

Yes, the Tarantino faithful can be overwhelming at times, even fanatical, in their defense of Q and his homage-style filmmaking. To far too many movie buffs, the man can do no wrong. This kind of blind cheerleading is dangerous in any field, artistic or otherwise (read up on last year’s US financial crisis for proof).

Yet undeniably, Tarantino lives and breathes commercial entertainment, and more often than not he delivers what he promises: often in droves, and using multiple camera set-ups.

Death Proof should have opened with a banner reading: Cinema Savant At Play. It’s fun, it’s trashy, it’s Kurt Russell getting his comeuppance, it’s like The Dukes of Hazzard meets the Scream franchise – but to be fair, it’s better than both.

George Washington – David Gordon Green
2000, USA

George Washington is a debut feature deserving of the praise heaped upon it when released. It’s beautifully shot, wonderfully performed, and refrains from taking on too much story.

After a group of kids are involved in the accidental death of a friend, George, the quiet, contemplative “leader” of the group risks his own health to save another boy from drowning, and in the process takes the mantle of local hero to new heights in the attempt to hide from his own guilt, and ostracize himself from his surroundings.

Films of the Decade - Part II

2009-09-08T20:20:00.000-07:00

In the first installment in our quest for the best films of the decade (click here for Part I), we spanned the globe from New York City to the Middle East, to pre-World War I English countryside, to present-day Paris, with Clive Owen and Julia Roberts globetrotting to most points between…including Cleveland.

This week, our attentions shift mostly away from the English language to a range of films exploring many of the more common themes found throughout the history of cinema, yet abrasively defying conventional cinematic narrative structure.

As always, comments are encouraged and will be taken into consideration upon tallying the results.

Tropical Malady - Apichatpong Weerasethakul
2004, Thailand, France, Germany, Italy

For those of us who have braved the humbling waters standing behind a movie camera know the feeling all too well when faced with a viewing experience such as that of Tropical Malady. I imagine it must be what countless opponents have felt staring across the net at Roger Federer the last several tennis seasons: Dude’s just got too much game.

Watching Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s soulful fourth feature left me with the feeling of having witnessed something special – in cinematic terms. The film revolves around the attraction and gentle courtship between a soldier and a farm boy as they while away their time together before we are suddenly, and abruptly, transported to the second part of the film where the soldier now stalks an elusive and dangerous tiger through the dense forest.

Like the best cinema, Tropical Malady can be viewed many different ways with many different contexts. I witnessed the same tale retold twice, once in the first part, and again in the second. The best film about desire, human desire, this decade.

An Amazing Couple – Lucas Belvaux
2002, France, Belgium

When trilogies are made, or attempted may be a better word, the middle, funny one is normally seen as filler, by viewers and critics alike (although oddly, it is usually the most enjoyable). Think Three Colors for a fairly recent example. When Lucas Belvaux released his trilogy in the early aughts, something happened…while all three films are exactingly made to suit their respective genre, it was the funny one, An Amazing Couple, that stood out to most upon initial release.

Middle-aged Alain (played to neurotic perfection by François Morel), has to go in for a routine operation. Convinced this will mark the end of his life, he slowly begins to crack, allowing psychosomatic symptoms to overtake his daily life. Confused by his erratic behavior, his wife begins to suspect he is having an affair, and seeks the help of a friend’s cop-hubby to trail him. Simple enough, only Alain, discovering the police officer lurking around, begins to suspect his wife of the same infidelity.

A comedy of errors is a hard trick to pull off, particularly when it is sandwiched between two heavier films that exchange characters and scenes (the supporting players in one of the trilogy become the leads in the next, and vice versa). An Amazing Couple feels like a Germi film from the 60s, and like those films it holds its absurdities to the same high cinematic standard we have come to expect from our dramas. Complete commitment becomes the order of the day.

Gomorrah - Matteo Garrone
2008, Italy

Italy has a long tradition with gritty realism. In that vein comes last year’s 2nd place finisher at Cannes: Gomorrah, an in-depth look at the crime families of Naples and the surrounding region.

Told through interwoven stories, Gomarrah’s appeal is its authenticity (Director Matteo Garrone apparently spent time with real mob families in preparation). Like Rome: Open City, and Umberto D before it, Gomorrah finds its subject matter in the streets rather than the studio back lot; this time, with the horrifying conclusion of how intertwined the mafia is in every aspect of southern Italian life.

Kings & Queen – Arnaud Desplechin
2004, France

Two of France’s best actors, Emmanuelle Devos and Mathieu Amalric, take Arnaud Desplechin’s awkward, and very long, film from the deluge of countless 21st Century cinema psycho-babbles’ to the edges of endearing and hopeful.

The sometimes intertwining, but separate stories of Nora and Ismaël, former lovers who face very different life altering events that lead them back to one another after years apart, do something most avoid: face emotion head-on. I can’t recall a film that used jump cuts despite its actors onscreen suffering (most films use jump cuts due to the under-performance of its talent).

Worth a look for nothing else if only the advise Ismaël imparts to Nora’s young son Elias in the last scene, which contains truths most of us won’t face up to our entire lives.

Synecdoche, New York – Charlie Kaufman
2008, USA

I began this week’s entry by stating that most of films listed would be foreign (i.e. not of the English language), and though Synecdoche, New York is entirely American in production, to many it felt as though subtitles were needed to understand what was going on.

In truth, I would have found them useful as well, however, I am a sucker for the audacious (the reason I like von Trier as well), and they don’t get more audacious than a defeated theatre director using grant money to recreate his entire New York-centric universe in a never-ending cavernous warehouse, involving hundreds of cast and crew, in the selfish and often pretentious attempt to understand life, love and existence.

Kaufman’s debut has all the elements his earlier films had, minus the direction from an outside source to veer, or channel, his philosophy into cinematic vision. Normally a detriment, however in this instance, I feel this film is better off for it. A film with this premise requires Kaufman unedited as we observe Philip Seymour Hoffman’s painstaking evolution from A to Z with stops at all the numbers somehow stuck randomly in between the letters.

Films of the Decade

2009-08-30T21:45:00.000-07:00

As we globally stumble towards fall, for most, 2009 cannot end fast enough. In a year best described as a have-not according to the ledgers of most businesses, the year has had, not completely unsurprisingly, several bright spots for cinema.

Art traditionally shines brighter in tougher economic times, though to be fair, most art forms do not view 30 million upfront as a detriment to the overall projection of success versus failure.

With no shortage of material to work from, the first decade of the Twenty-First Century has turned out more than its share of ‘classics’, and in the next few months I will be posting the candidates for the ten greatest Films of the Decade, from obvious to obscure long-shots, before rendering a more definitive list towards the New Year.

With no specific rhyme or reason to how I post the candidates (not by year, or genre, though themes will emerge I'm sure), I welcome all comments and suggestions, which will be taken into account as the quest for cinema superiority reaches its conclusion.

Specific criteria that, for me, make a film critical to the overall, historical film canon will be explored within the postings for the candidates themselves.

Code Unknown – Michael Haneke
2000, France, Germany, Romania

Fresh off the Palme D’Or for his latest, The White Ribbon, Haneke has quickly become a European favorite for his intellectually challenging, confrontational brand of cinema. In Code Unknown, a young disenfranchised teen named Jean runs away from his father’s provincial farm in the hopes of staying with his older brother in Paris. When his brother’s girlfriend (Juliette Binoche) informs him of his brother’s assignment in Kosovo, and attempts to pacify him with a snack, Jean obstinately tosses his garbage in the face of an older woman begging on the street corner. When a young black man comes to the defense of the panhandler, and winds up being hauled off to the station (along with the woman who finds herself deported), the incident sets in motion a course of action for each of the principle characters, starkly illuminating the societal inequalities all around us.

Many films have focused on cultural assimilation, or lack thereof, as its central premise, however Code Unknown succeeds because Haneke treats the subject matter the way most of us do, as an unfortunate reality or inconvenience that we glance here and there on our way to the office or while stopped at a traffic light. Yet Haneke never feels the urge to play judge or jury himself. He bookends the film with a group of deaf children acting out scenarios that the rest of the group must decipher: when they cannot, we, the audience, are left with our most clear understanding of the accompanying two hours.

25th Hour – Spike Lee
2002, USA

Spike Lee’s output has realistically produced a few candidates this decade (Bamboozled, Inside Man, When the Levees Broke), but it’s his 2002 effort, 25th Hour, that struck me as his most polished, tightest film of the past ten years.

What could have been little more than an Edward Norton vehicle in other hands, becomes Lee’s sweet serenade to NYC after the 9/11 attacks. Norton plays Monty Brogan, a low-rung drug dealer headed to jail in 24 hours, and wanting to tie up the various loose ends in his life before he goes, including discovering who set him up. But unlike most films where the protagonist rabidly and robotically searches out his mole, Norton seems halfhearted about his mission, almost reluctant to learn the truth, fearing what it may mean, and what further questions it will force him to face.

Ten – Abbas Kiarostami
2002, France, Iran, USA

Having recently revisited Ten on this very blog (click here), I will be brief. Ten is cinema stripped of all its frills, which generally points us in one of two directions: pretentious sermonizing, or neo-realist classic.

The film follows one Iranian woman as she travels around Tehran conversing with her various passengers, including her less-than-loving son, opinionated sister, and a variety of strangers, who shed light on what it means to be a woman in 21st Century society, regardless of the location, or government thumb they happen to be under.

Gosford Park – Robert Altman
2001, UK, USA, Italy

I have found that Gosford Park has polarized most viewers, the majority of which falling under the ‘It’s good because of who made it’ banner, not necessarily because of the film itself.

Sure, Robert Altman always deserves a look just because…but Gosford Park feels unbelievably authentic, holds up on repeated viewings, and doesn’t contain a frame that doesn’t feel completely necessary, or at the very least, pleasing – always a contentious issue with me when I’m watching movies.

Altman himself described the film as a whodunit in which the whodunit doesn’t matter. And much like Code Unknown and Ten, we find ourselves in an examination of the value and importance placed upon societal rituals and customs, and the meaning they hold. More specifically in this case, the pillars of strength they represent for the upper crust; Columns, literally holding up the castles their inherited money erected. Think Buñuel played straight.

Duplicity – Tony Gilroy
2009, USA, Germany

Remember when movies were fun? (I’m looking at you, Hitchcock!)

Through the reluctant, albeit eventually encouraged, division of studio and independent pictures by Hollywood’s movers-and-shakers, many of us have found ourselves left out in the cold: having to choose between ridiculously exploitative studio fare, or the horribly downtrodden ‘no-one-understands-me’ indie.

Now, a third, heretofore hard to imagine category has emerged: Julia Roberts’ pictures that nobody went to see. How many 100 million + stiffs has she slept walked through over the years that had no end of public support? And now, she brings her A-game to an out-an-out winner and her once adoring fans give it a miss. I’m chalking it up to Clive Owen overload. Think Jude Law, Clive…slow down!

Harking back to classics like Charade, Duplicity is an A-list Hollywood winner, blending charm and suspense around an air-tight screenplay, with Paul Giamatti as an all-time great dupe, rivaling Joey ‘Pants’ in Bound. Seriously, watch Giamatti closely during his speech to the stockholders…mad chops.

Budd Shulberg: Prose and Cons

2009-08-18T20:47:00.000-07:00

Was I the only one surprised by the lack of coverage Budd Shulberg’s death pulled in as news hit that the legendary scribe had past away at the age of 95?

Granted the growing-with-each-decade legend that is John Hughes passed away the same week, however, Shulberg represents something very unique to cinema: he may very well have been the last living human being whose life stretched the vast chasm that is the entire Hollywood movie business.

Shulberg’s father was B.P. Shulberg, who is probably best known as the man who ran Paramount Studios in the 30s, however the year Budd was born (1914), the elder Shulberg began his career in show biz by snagging the job of lead scenario writer for a new, and fledgling, motion picture company called Famous Players.

Little Budd’s first crib was a gift from his father’s boss, Adolph Zukor, and his first baby blanket was a gift from the one and only Mary Pickford.

Through senior and junior, the Shulbergs’ witnessed cinema grow from a wallflower, ridiculed and vilified by the legitimate arts, through the advent of sound, color, Technicolor, visual effects, and CGI.

Best known for his two seminal collaborations with Elia Kazan, On the Waterfront, and A Face in the Crowd, Shulberg also penned novels, screenplays, television programs, and non-fiction. His 1941 novel, What Makes Sammy Run? ostracized him from Hollywood for the better part of the 1940s for its frank insider take on Hollywood and the less than glamorous making of motion pictures.

In 1951, after being called-out by a fellow writer before the House Un-American Activities Committee, Shulberg voluntarily testified before the committee himself, naming names.

In the weeks ahead I will be preparing an in-depth piece on Shulberg’s writing, specific to cinema. For now, if I’m able to introduce even a handful of people to Shulberg’s prose then I’m glad, for the farther away the cinema grows from its roots, the more important its builders, and their relatives, become.

Food in the Movies

2009-08-12T10:02:00.000-07:00

Food has had a long, often romantic, other times disturbing relationship with the cinema. And while not a full-fledged genre of its own, the culinary arts has had no real visionary force, or even middling lobbying group, to create a lasting, iconic imprint on the historical film landscape: the way the West had John Ford say, or questionable taste has John Waters, or Kurt Russell-against the Universe vehicles have had John Carpenter. Johns are good for cinema. They’re passionate to their cause – whatever that may be.

With Julie & Julia, Nora Ephron has taken the challenge head-on, and good for her. To the majority of the planet, Julia Child was American cuisine for a great many decades, and if quasi-famous gangsters can snag a biopic, then Child is ridiculously overdue.

Rather than throw out another needless, albeit brilliant and insightful, review into the two-cents department, extolling the enthusiasm behind the film and its performances and admonishing for cutting the film into a lack of flow preventing the viewer from truly sympathizing with either Julie or Julia (there are plenty of salient reviews online), I present a list of other films, where food always does its best work within a cinematic landscape: as a supporting actor, rather that a star-turn. Food in film flourishes when its Ralph Bellamy rather than Cary Grant, far better suited to the role of best friend, or cuckolded husband. When asked to hold an audience for ninety minutes on its own, cuisine has proven no match for crime, deceit, and the deviant arts in general.

The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover – 1989
A film with everything, literally – the good, the bad, the grotesque, Helen Mirren, Michael Gambon, and an entourage that should make HBO embarrassed of themselves.

Mildred Pierce – 1945
It’s funny to think that Mildred Pierce passed as feminist film making, but to be fair, it was the 1940s and a woman purchasing and running her own restaurant must have seemed as far-fetched as inter-galactic space travel. Worried about your own harried family dynamics? Take a peek at this debacle and feel far, far superior.

Tin Men – 1987
The restaurant scenes in which the aluminum siding salesmen debate everything from the existence of God to the legitimacy of Bonanza, are the best part of this underrated Barry Levinson comedy. The film also provides an interesting sociological snapshot of a style of living, interacting, and selling that has thankfully fallen by the wayside.

The Inheritance – 2003
Being perfectly honest, I’ve been looking for a reason to recommend this Danish film since I first saw it in the mid-nineties. A young restaurateur is pulled out of his dream occupation when a death in the family “forces” him back into the business of being the proper son.

My Dinner With Andre – 1981
For an evening when feeling intellectual but lazy, or looking over the rolodex of friends and not seeing anyone up to the challenge, or worth the effort.

Ali: Fear Eats The Soul – 1974
Nothing says fun at the movies like an examination of ageism and race relations! Granted this Fassbinder classic is light in the cuisine department, but a side-order of couscous never held such emotional ramifications.

Ten, by Abbas Kiarostami

2009-07-26T21:28:00.000-07:00

Why is the simple so effective? The long answer may have something to do with the clinging hopefulness that any one of us could have created the fascination we are watching. Short answer: it just is, and Ten, Abbas Kiarostami’s 2002 film is a superior example of the cinema of simple.

Ten is a model off the simplistic in all its forms, yet it is in that rare breed of cinema that already feels timeless. You know this film will be viewed and appreciated no matter the time or location in the future: a document of how life remains eerily similar from generation to generation.

Two cameras mounted onto a car, one pointed at the driver – the other at the passenger seat - total nearly the entire composition of the film, as we watch a young mother travel around what we assume to be Tehran: chatting, consoling, arguing, debating, and connecting with (or sometimes alienating) the various people in her life, and a few strangers to boot.

The driver becomes the de facto protagonist as we watch her struggle to connect with her young son, who blames her for the divorce of his parents, and insists upon arriving in her car to be taken to his grandmother’s. In and of itself a volatile relationship that crosses cultures and generations, but Kiarostami takes us a step deeper than most filmmakers, not simply languishing in the familiar territory of the misunderstood child and the apparent negligent mother. In the first scene we witness between the two, the mother continually puts words into the boy’s mouth; and not just any words, words to the effect that the boy is smothering her because he wants her all for himself.

Undoubtedly, these are real feelings felt by many, particularly women, and particularly women in countries with similar laws and politics to Iran, but the expression of these feelings paints the mother, the protagonist, in an equally dim light as her “selfish” son if viewed from a different lens.

As the camera, sound, lighting, and editing remain simple, the characters start out-of-the-gate at a level of complexity, rarely found at the denouement of most films.

It is significant that the film opens with this introduction to the mother and the son, as the rest of the film focuses most of its attention on the relationship the driver and her female passengers have with the men in their lives. Including a prostitute we never see (simply hear from the seat beside the driver), as she stands by her chosen profession, as well as her position within that hierarchy, as only the truly judged can. The impression left is that the prostitute is leaps and bounds ahead of her sisterly counterparts in not only her basic self-esteem, but her importance in traditional society. A statement, if interpreted this way, of massive significance.

Kiarostami himself states that his cinema often consists of landscapes; deep, rolling backdrops for minimalist action to play itself out in front of the grandeur that nature provides. It is special then, that he has given us Ten, where the foreground and background are spoken within the words, and we can witness real peoples' struggles no matter where they live. Ultimately, we find the same resolution; and that being, none to speak of.

Shohei Imamura: Through the Peephole

2009-07-16T20:50:00.000-07:00

In the summer of 2005, while strolling through the gift shop at MOMA in NYC, I received perhaps the greatest gift a cinema buff can lay their hands on, other than millions of dollars and final cut on the Magnus opus that would launch their budding directing career. In lieu, the gift was a copy of Mark Cousins’ The Story of Film, the single greatest document I have encountered on the history of cinema.

As any great read will, I found myself ferreting out as much information about the author as I could, which ultimately led me to Cousins’ contribution to the British Film Institute’s compilation of the greatest films of all-time: a comprehensive poll taken each decade by leading filmmakers and film directors from around the world.

While I found myself in congruence on many of Cousins’ choices, Touch of Evil to be certain, and slightly baffled by others (Gold Diggers of 1933?), the list included a distinctly Japanese name that had yet to cross my cinematic frame of reference.

Until that time, I had managed to water-down Japanese cinema to a Godard-Truffaut like debate between Akira Kurosawa and Yasujiro Ozu. I was certainly aware of other Japanese filmmakers, well…I was aware of Mizoguchi, however, as Japanese film went, one either liked the heart-on-your-sleeve forwardness of Kurosawa’s epic grandeur, or Ozu’s minimalist dissection of family borders and boundaries.

But Cousins had listed 1963’s Insect Woman by Shohei Imamura as one of his selections for the prize of films’ greatest artistic achievement. And with that, an exploration began.

It seems as though the news of Imamura’s death were still in the forefront of my mind (it has been three years this summer), the way one feels when someone whose work feels so timeless, passes on.

Upon viewing Insect Woman again recently, I was struck by just how modern his cinema remains. It becomes interesting to think that Ozu’s and Imamura’s careers overlapped, as there could be no more dramatic departure from Ozu’s classicism than Imamura’s bravura.

Insect Woman is easily one of the greatest stories about women, and the choices they make in the face of and in reaction to family, to society and to their country. Where Ozu only intimated (genius in and of itself), Imamura used his camera like a butcher, slicing his characters to their emotional core.

Many filmmakers like to shock. In fact, on some level I think it may be fair to say that all do or would like to, but few understand that what remains the most shocking is not overt onscreen sex or violence, but us: humans who can no longer hide behind pretense, tradition, or status. Those of us who have been stripped bare, with nothing but the truth left. Enter Imamura, and cinema so relieved of falsehoods, we find ourselves tucked up against the door, watching through the peephole.

Reality TV-Reality film-Reality life

2009-07-10T10:05:00.000-07:00

How did we get here? Honestly, when did every channel on television somehow revolve around the daily exploits of every single faction of our lives? Day or night, we sit ringside, happily engaged, secure in the luxury that we’re not like those poor saps on TV. Heaven forbid; we have far more dignity.

And while I have no interest in documenting how this trend began, it does segue lovely into the topic of reality in film, with the possible threat of this television trend extending into a cinema near you. Sure, it seems far-fetched now to have big screen versions of reality programming, however, if box office numbers dive far enough, it certainly isn’t out of the realm of possibility. Let’s face it, films are given only their opening weekend for survival as it is; a feature length TV program would fit that bill rather nicely (and studios wouldn’t have to shell out 20 million to secure Bill from Tennessee).

More likely, the trend will be less cinema altogether, with more and more productions geared towards smaller screens, whether mobile, online, or television.

Nevertheless, reality is coming, in droves. Pandora’s Box has been dissected into shards with all the precision of a ninth grade biology lab, and the results are in: we love it. Heads of film studios knew this all along, of course. Many of the earliest films took on historical events, which would constitute reality through a long lens (or short lens in the case of cinema). The Birth Of A Nation springs to mind. Even today, in any given week, you can find at least two movies based on a true story playing at your local cineplex. In the mid-nineties, the Coen brothers went so far as to claim factual legitimacy for their completely fictitious masterpiece, Fargo.

It now seems a prerequisite in being considered “important cinema” that your story be based on fact: two of last year’s contenders for Best Picture were of such variety (Frost/Nixon, Milk), a third sure felt as if it were (The Reader), and a fourth could be classified as modern-day neo-realism (Slumdog Millionaire).

But exactly how far are we willing to go, and still be willing or able to call what we are seeing art?

The Italian neo-realists of the late forties, early fifties produced portraits of average people (often portrayed by non-actors), in everyday, somewhat mundane circumstances, and seen retrospectively, crafted meticulous works of cinematic art. Rossellini, De Sica, et al, were able to accomplish this because the themes were universal, and their treatment of them was handled with a delicacy that had no place for exploitation. Emotional resonance through image, sound, performance and editing created a lasting impression, which is why The Bicycle Thief can still move us today.

Around the same period in the US, the film noir movement took hold, and two films in particular stand out as taking the Bogart driven detective story to all new heights in terms of realism.

The Naked City was shot entirely on location in New York City, something that had never been done before, and focused completely on the procedure and methods used by police detectives in solving a murder case. Its director, Jules Dassin, made several noirs throughout his career, and while some were superior to The Naked City (Night and the City, Rififi are personal favorites of mine), none felt as real as the 1948 cult classic. It moves slower than most films of the genre, the payoff takes longer: in essence, we feel what it’s like to be a police detective of the day, the disappointments, the misleads, the drawing board being returned to time and again, before the break in case finally shows itself.

Another director of many great noir pictures, though today mainly remembered for his work in the Western motif, was Anthony Mann. A year before The Naked City was released, Mann directed a picture called T-Men, which took the audience deep inside the United States Treasury department as two undercover agents try to crack a counterfeiting operation in Los Angeles. The film opens with a preamble from the actual United States Treasury Department providing the film, not only a sense of realism, but giving the experience an almost propaganda-like quality.

This is heightened mid-way through the film, as an unknown secret service agent, following one of his counterparts and a known counterfeiter, takes the time to chastise a local merchant when the pair leave her stall, in the following, less that discreet manner:

Agent: You just took a counterfeit.

Merchant: I did not.

Agent: I’m with the Secret Service. The top ten in the till.

Merchant checks till, takes out bill.

Agent: I’ll have to take that out.

Merchant: Oh, but I’ll be out ten dollars.

Agent: You’re already out ten dollars. If you people who handle money would only look at it, there wouldn’t be any counterfeiting.

Agent tips the hat smugly, dragging his condescension along behind him as he continues his pursuit.

The film is considered second tier in the noir genre, however, the performances and action feel intimately real. Agents are beat up by thugs; they don’t narrowly escape the way modern day heroes wrangle their way out of danger after collecting the necessary information. The fat is completely trimmed, weeding out any unnecessary scenes (a valued asset of most genre pictures), and the atmosphere is set perfectly by lighting and shot composition that stands out even by today’s filmmaking standards.

These films were the precursor to later fare such as All the President’s Men, pictures that were based on actual events, where names were no longer even changed to protect the parties involved. People no longer desired this kind of anonymity for their past actions, it was slowly becoming all about the fifteen minutes.

More recent examples are Robert Altman’s The Player or the Charlie Kaufman-penned Being John Malkovich, fictitious fables incorporating real celebrities in their daily lives into the plot in ingenious ways.

As reality has crossed back and forth through cinema for the most part it has been handled in a manner befitting a cinematic experience. Yet, the Altmans’ and Kaufmans’ of the world are few and far between, and 21st Century reality seems to require less artistry than pure voyeurism, pornography without its many exuberant gratifications.

Should the entertainment field continue down this path, and there appears to be no sign that any other path is being considered, we should first reflect as audiences on where we are headed, and what section we are seated in along the way. Mob mentality becomes far easier to justify when we're smack in the middle, jaws gnashing, fists waving in the air. And perhaps that is the goal, to create a world where we are all reality-television stars in some way: our participation overruling our better judgment. However one fears upon arrival at this Truman-show like reality that we shall inadvertently glance down at our ticket and painfully notice it is of the one way variety. And then, the only alternative would be tuning out, of our own lives.

Art Films for Summer

2009-07-03T18:21:00.000-07:00

I can vividly recall my first “art film” experience. It was the early summer of my 22^nd year, and the film was Andrei Tarkovsky’s The Mirror, sometimes known as The Looking Glass.

As the images projected out at me, I rustled uncomfortably in my seat, eyes darting between subtitles and images, in a desperate attempt to keep up. When it was over I didn’t care if I ever saw another movie again. Not just another film of art-house-goon variety, but another film period! I was done: Tarkovsky, checkmate.

It wasn’t until a couple years later that I returned to the collection of films labeled “important” by critics and third year Communications students alike, that I fell hard, no longer despite their complexity, but because of their complexity. I of course have my own theories on why this is, and why the general movie going public tends to disdain this brand of cinema (emotionless society lines up around the block for Transformers 2– another blog for another day), however for now let us stick to the inspirational.

While many of us leave our annual Bergman marathon for the dark days of winter, where our mood can adequately coalesce with the content on screen, summer is always the season I like to pull out some of my favorites. There’s something about the long evening light that draws me completely into a film that challenges on all levels.

Though not all personal favorites, a list of artistic films, perfect for a warm, contemplative summer evening.

Naked Lunch – Subconsciously perhaps I include this title more due to its location in an African port town, yet I’ve always felt this film from David Cronenberg deserved more credit than it received. Peter Weller plays Bill Lee, a bug exterminator that develops an addiction to his product, kills his wife, and becomes the mole in an elaborate underground government plot coordinated by giant bugs. Or does he?

La dolce vita – When it comes to Fellini, summer seems to belong to him. One could swap any of his films and they would seem to fit the bill perfectly: Nights of Cabiria, Amarcord, Juliet of the Spirits, the list goes on. I chose La dolce vita because you can almost feel the heat pulsating off of the screen, as Marcello Mastroianni, in fine form as journalist Marcello Rubini, greases his way from one scene to the next, until he arrives at a place he can no longer run from.

Summer – Eric Rohmer at his socially awkward best. A great story of a perpetual outsider, trying to connect and make her way in, but unable to reciprocate the necessary emotive innards required to create a true, lasting bond between people; a fabulous ending as well.

Throne of Blood – Macbeth on a summer evening? Absolutely, this Kurosawa classic, full of epic battles and ghostly visions, remains one of the best retellings of Shakespeare through cinema (certainly my favorite), including a positively evil performance from Isuzu Yamada.

Strangers on a Train – Nobody, other than perhaps Charlie Chaplin, set up their plot so effectively, and in such short order, as Alfred Hitchcock. From the opening sequence of Strangers on a Train we know precisely what is going to transpire: two men’s lives are going to intersect for all the wrong reasons. As the camera tracks back and we see close-ups on both men’s shoes as they stride towards the locomotive, we realize this particular tennis match is already well into the first set, while we’ve been dillydallying over at the concession stand.

The Exterminating Angel – On a hot summer evening a group of stuffy upper class types find themselves unable to leave the drawing room of their hosts’ elaborate mansion. As the hours progress into days, the guests find themselves abandoning the societal rules they so strictly adhere to and admire, as they lash out like the animals they are. Surreal, hilarious, Bunuel.

Orpheus – Visual poetry = Jean Cocteau. There is so much eye candy in this film that any basic plot description seems fruitless, as well as inevitably disappointing for the reader. The old college try: a young poet falls in love with The Princess (death), who murders his wife, and the two commence an elaborate cat and mouse game of revenge and seduction between this world and the great beyond.

Days of Heaven – Famous for being shot entirely during magic hour (the hour when the sun is setting, providing a beautifully majestic haze to the film), Days of Heaven is one of the best in quite a few arenas: cinematography, voice-over narration (the best ever in my humble opinion), Richard Gere performances, to name but a few. While many of Terrence Malick’s film use narration to brilliant effect, this particular narration by the young girl Linda, bridges that elusive gap of authenticity and art that most fail to even consider. Linda watches as a young farm hand (Richard Gere) schemes with the women he loves (Brooke Adams) to marry the rich, sickly landowner they work for (Sam Shepard) in hopes of claiming his fortune upon his death.

Les Bonnes Femmes – Most consider Chabrol’s heyday 1967-1973, the years that included The Champagne Murders, La Boucher, and The Unfaithful Wife, however, I have always loved this early Chabrol film, not only for its lightness, but for its terrible, terrible darkness. No other film from the period makes you feel what Paris was really like at the time. Four young women search for love, and it is in their relationship to one another, and their conversations therein that create the energy we so often clamor after in life, but let walk away for the more familiar.

Tabu – Perhaps the most perfectly paced film of all-time, an absolute master class in film editing. Not in the way we think of cutting today, i.e. fast and furious, but using the cuts to progress the film at the desired pace. Once that pace has been established, it is always adhered to, something much more difficult than it seems.

Y Tu Mama Tambien – As Michael Scott from The Office so eloquently put it, the title translates as Throw Momma from the Tambien. Well, not really, however title aside (actual translation, And Your Mother too) this film captures the wonderfully belligerent phase between adolescence and real life.

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown – The latest classic to be butchered by instantaneous bursts into song on the Broadway stage, Almodóvar’s 1988 film perfectly mixes the best of the director’s style, with mucho substance.

Do the Right Thing – Spike Lee’s classic turns 20 this summer, and the film maintains its intensity, the tension between neighbors, races, and classes, along with the restrained anger of the characters simmering just far enough under the surface of each scene for the actors to play with, but not overwhelm. Do the Right Thing is a perfect blend of realism and artistic vision.

Other suggestions: Mulholland Drive, The Wages of Fear, Pickup on South Street, The Last Picture Show, Seduced and Abandoned, The Sweet Smell of Success, Summer with Monika.