Highly-Opinionated Movie List

"They're worse than real critics...they're Amateur Critics!" -Richard Thompson

In no particular order, here are what I consider to be some of the great films of the late twentieth-century.  I've tried at times to go a little beyond the obvious choices of recent well-known and critically respected films that you probably already know and discuss some older ones, many of them sleepers.  Each is linked to its very own page at the indispensable Internet Movie Database, where, among other things, you can read further critiques by official and amateur contributors.  

 

 The Front (1976; Woody Allen, Zero Mostel) - A great film about the difference between substance and appearance, and perhaps my favorite of all-time. It's hard to believe that Woody could be this memorable in a movie that he didn't have much control over (e.g. the dreadful Casino Royale). But, the seriousness of the situation (the blacklisting of television writers linked to Communism in the fifties) perhaps raised the ante. Written, directed, and performed almost exclusively by formerly blacklisted artists.

 Midnight Cowboy (1969; Dustin Hoffman, Jon Voight) - "I ain't a fer real cowboy..." Arguably the most pathetic buddy movie ever made (see Ed Wood and Zorba the Greek below), and also perhaps my all-time favorite. An amazingly frank film about (among other things) male prostitution, child abuse, naïveté, and the cold realities of the modern world during the otherwise blissful sixties. And yes, it was rated X upon release, although it seems tame next to most stuff these days. Only the Warhol Factory party scene near the end seems dated or slow.

 A Clockwork Orange (1971; Malcom McDowell) - The late Stanley Kubrick's epic treatment of Anthony Burgess' novel was another landmark for graphic sex and violence at the time, and it's still rather hard to handle in places, hence its longtime ban in Kubrick's adopted country, the U.K.  The quasi-futuristic setting and classical music ("a bit of the Ludwig van") somehow make it all both surreal and immediate. I dare you not assimilate the lingo afterwards. Righty righty righty right.

 Fargo (1996; Frances McDormand, William H. Macy, Steve Buscemi) - Marge Gunderson is the most saintly, wifely, motherly and law-defending woman ever put on film. She holds everything together effortlessly as all the men that parade before her/us either impotently whimper or devise ridiculous Paul Bunyonesque plans that slowly devour them. Every move and sound William Macy makes tends to make you squirm with anxiety not normally seen outside Hitchcock. Oh Golly. Ya, Ya betcha.

 Ed Wood (1994; Johnny Depp, Martin Landau) - "Eddy...I need my medicine..."  Tim Burton's loving tribute to the worst filmmaker of all times, complete with deliberate continuity flaws and black-and-white format. The aging Bela Lugosi is a morphine addict who can only land miserable roles in Wood's sublimely disposable monster/UFO flicks in the fifties. The fact that Ed often likes to direct in drag seems quite normal after awhile--you're just as happy as he is that everyone is doing what they love to do.

 Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989; Woody Allen, Martin Landau, Angelica Huston, Alan Alda, Mia Farrow) - An amazing film that should stand as Woody's masterpiece, especially as his tawdry personal life is becoming inseparable from his work these days. Before all that, he made this breathtaking blend of the horrible and the hilarious, with an underlying pessimism that appears only in his best films (Annie Hall, Manhattan), but here with an unprecedented darkness. A must, especially for the the philospher's monologue at the end, played over the scene of the eye doctor dancing with his daughter, which gets me every time.

 Kids (1995) - Larry Clark's shockingly frank film of Harmony Korine's shockingly frank story about what kids of the nineties do when their parents are not around--and their parents are never around, at least in New York City. It's the way that these "actors" play their roles that is perhaps most disturbing. Warning: definitely not for the faint of heart or those who demand at least one upbeat moment in a flick..  

 Before Sunrise (1995; Ethan Hawke, Julie Delpy) - Richard Linklater's film about a breathless, all-night conversation between potential lovers (an American boy and French girl who cross paths in Vienna) is surprisingly uneventful yet becomes more intelligent because of what standard fare he chooses to hold back. He has the pluck to slow things down so much that we are forced to eavesdrop on the young couple and enjoy their suspense vicariously and wish, like them, that we had more time.

  City Lights (1931; Charlie Chaplin, Virginia Cherrill) - OK, it's certainly not a recent film, and it's a ridiculously sappy one at times, but it's still a favorite of mine and an essential example of the legendary Little Tramp as he reveals prejudices about substance and appearance. Chaplin took so long perfecting it that by the time it came out it was a silent dinosaur in the age of wonderful talkies, but he knew that dialogue was overrated, anyway. Useless Factoid: It even inspired the name of Ferlinghetti's famous San Francisco bookstore of Beat legend.

 Wings of Desire (1987; Peter Falk) - "In heaven there is no beer...that's why we drink it here." Wim Wenders' hypnotic and melancholy look at how angels are invisibly watching our every move. Well, if you're in West Berlin at least.  But the angels are a pretty dour bunch, especially as they are there just before the Wall came down. And it's Peter Falk (of all people, and playing Peter Falk) who is the critical link--and still it all works if you are patient enough.  The sequel, Faraway, So Close, was a bit more rambling.

 Being There (1979; Peter Sellers) - It's sad to consider how many great roles like this Peter Sellers could have delivered if he hadn't spent so many years tempting his fragile health with those physically demanding and generally vacuous Pink Panther movies. Here, his Chance the Gardener is Forrest Gump (without the gratuitous bumpkin crap) who is quickly and tragically elevated to the status of national guru. This is everything that the genius-janitor snooze Good Will Hunting couldn't manage to be. Stay for the end of the video--the legendary final scene is followed by some hilarious outtakes.

 The Graduate (1967; Dustin Hoffman, Anne Bancroft) - the best film about sixties alienation, and still a powerful film about youth, ennui, and intuition. Even the music has held up well and makes you rue the corporate-packaged fluff that masquerades as soundtrack music most of the time these days (e.g. Titanic). It includes the most memorable of Hoffman's many running scenes, and countless memorable scenes. On video, this is best seen in its original wide screen format and not in the ridiculous cropped and panned version that causes nausea. Also check out the 25^th Anniversary edition with some revealing interviews at the end. "I assure you, it's completely baked."

 Much Ado About Nothing (1993; Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson) - Maybe Shakespeare's witty insults were a cathartic way for Branagh and Thompson to deal with their real-life problems, but one gets the sense that an honestly joyous time was had by all. Anyway, how dull can things be during a summer at Tuscan villa? Beautifully filmed and edited. "Sigh no more Ladies, Sigh no more / Men were deceivers ever..."

Boogie Nights (1997; Mark Wahlberg, Burt Reynolds) -Not the skin flick that its subject matter would suggest. A double-comeback effort in that it resuscitated Burt's DOA career and established Marky Mark as a for real actor. It also has the nerve to be an incredibly long film that never seems to wear out its welcome (for some of us), although it comes close with a few indulgent scenes towards the end. Anyway, if this is a failure, then we need more like them. And then there's the soundtrack, which manages to be a kitsch work of art in itself. Who is this Paul Thomas Anderson? For fun, play the current hip parlor game of determining what your screen name would be, using the name of a beloved childhood pet and the name of the street you grew up on (e.g., Buster Jefferson).

 Deliverance (1972; Burt Reynolds, Jon Voight, Ned Beatty) - Burt's only other great role was in this thrilling flick about four ordinary guys who wander too far into the deep South while on a rafting trip and encounter some beings that remotely resemble human beings. This movie simultaneously made banjo playing hip for a few minutes and undermined decades of progress for Georgia's Office of Tourism. Warning: A guy flick through and through; women tend to pass on this one.

   Wild at Heart (1990; Nick Cage, Laura Dern) - Another stereotypically weird-beyond-belief offering from David Lynch, but--the endless PoMo references to Elvis and The Wizard of Oz aside--this is a simple fairy tale love story at heart. Sailor and Lula are the star-crossed lovers who must run a gauntlet of violence to stay together. Whether you want to root for them is your own decision. The extreme violence seems to be there mostly to test Freud's death-anxiety theories about humor. Keep in mind that few others I know rank this effort very highly, even those who like Lynch.

 La Dolce Vita (1960; Marcello Mastroianni) - Don't let the sardonic title fool you--Fellini's most famous movie offers no sweetness for anyone's life among the glitterati of Rome. The symbolism is dense, but you needn't decode all of it to get the point. It is for me--like so many of his films--a portrait of Rome itself, which offers heights and depths of beauty and emotion like no other, and Marcello's sad eyes convey weariness like no others. But the setting could also be anyplace at 4 a.m. where the gifted and beautiful find that they are jaded and insecure.

 Heathers (1989; Winona Ryder, Christian Slater) - Not necessarily a favorite, but included here in fond memory of my friend Ronnie, who idolized this flick and thought he knew all about Ohio without having ever visited it from having watched this. He wasn't all wrong. perhaps.  Kudos since it's the only movie that I know of to reference Paul Westerberg.

 Toy Story (1995) - Suspense, romance, conflict, car chases, bad guys, good guys--who cares if it's all played by computer-generated toys? If you care too much about such technicalities, then you've got no business watching movies, because this is a great one. It keeps kids out of trouble for 80 minutes, too.  The 1999 sequel was every bit as good, and maybe even a notch better thanks to Sarah McLachlan's fine song (that implausibly got robbed of an Oscar).

 Zorba the Greek (Alexis Zorbas) (1964; Anthony Quinn, Alan Bates, Irene Pappas) - Another darkish buddy movie, but one that makes you want to go to Greece, or to at least pretend that you can dance like a Greek. For fun, read the trivia part of the IMDB file, where it turns out that Anthony Quinn's "authentic" Greek Dance was anything but (he was faking it, too). And whatever happened to Alan Bates?? BTW, if you like Bates I also suggest the Thomas Hardy epic Far from the Madding Crowd with the lovely Julie Christie (at least she hasn't disappeared...she's everywhere these days).

 Rosemary's Baby (1968; Mia Farrow, John Cassavetes, Ruth Gordon) - OK, it probably won't stand up against a typical episode of the X-Files these days, but in its day this was a truly freaky movie. The whole thing seems to carry a real-life cloud over it historically, as director Roman Polanski's pregnant wife Sharon Tate was murdered by the Manson gang a year later, and the claustrophobic Dakota Building was later the site of John Lennon's murder.  Even without those real-life diversions, it's scary going, and it makes you wonder about any group that meets in secret or out of earshot.  Spritely and benign Ruth Gordon will keep you off track here for a long time about what's really going on across the hall.

 The Last Waltz (1978; The Band and many friends) - This is a rare thing--a rock concert film that is enjoyable all the way through. Made rather quickly as the veteran group The Band suddenly decided to call it quits in late 1976, it reveals Martin Scorsese's ability to make epic storytelling out of the apparently mundane. Robbie Robertson's face, voice, and stories reveal the many hard years on the road at the same time that he is able to look like a movie star.  Bob Dylan's appearance at the end is appropriate but nonetheless one of the smaller moments here, as the movie is not about superstardom.

 Rebel Without a Cause (1955; James Dean, Natalie Wood, Sal Mineo) - So much for the rosy view of American family life in the fifties. Right in the middle of the Ozzie and Harriet years (but at the end of his own), James Dean uncorked this amazingly naked portrayal of adolescent angst in this look at a dysfunctional family and several teens about to throw everything away. Out of the bunch, ironically only Dennis Hopper has made it safely to middle age. Perhaps this movie and the emergence of Rock and Roll that same year are all you need to declare a paradigm shift. And yes, that's where Jon Lovitz got his Tommy Flanªgan character. Once again, go for the wide-screen / letter-boxed edition to get the real thing.

 Birdy (1984; Nicolas Cage, Matthew Modine) - A little corny in parts, but another excellent pathetic-buddy-movie, this time focusing on Vietnam, alienation, dysfunctional families, and the desire to escape it all. Al (Nick Cage) thinks he's the toughest thing in South Philly, but that's until he gets to know Birdy (Matthew Modine), who blithely ignores most of the real world in favor of birds. Al's slow seduction into Birdy's world is both hilarious and mesmerizing.

 The Gods Must Be Crazy (1980; N!xau) - A pretty silly effort that still has some poignant moments, especially in the ways it paints harsh and ironic contrasts between "civilization" in South Africa and the "uncivilized" bushmen in Botswana. After all that time enjoying life with the people of the Kalahari, you are thrust into smog-filled, busy, uptight Johannesburg, and you can feel your blood pressure rise. It'll make you look differently at a bottle of Coke next time, for sure. Make sure you get the first movie only--the limp sequels are to be avoided.

 Roger and Me (1989, Michael Moore) - Postmodern cynicism par excellence. Pasty "Everyman" Michael Moore's rightfully angry look at what happened to the great promises GM made to the people of Flint, Michigan when he was growing up there, and how everyone is backpedaling from responsibility for the disasters of downsizing and layoffs in the rustbelt 80s. A truly pathetic, haunting, and consistently hilarious pseudo-documentary made with little more than sheer pluck and angst. That such a nasty-edged, low budget little Marxist film made such a splash during the end of the go-go 80s (and that it was actively promoted by a big studio) was quite refreshing and probably helped the support and success of later films like Clerks and Crumb.

 Lost in America (1985; Albert Brooks, Julie Hagerty) - A consistently side-splitting look at a naïve yuppie couple that makes a spontaneous decision to cash in on their success and retire early to travel the country and live the vagabond existence they've idolized in films like Easy Rider. Of course, much like the guys in Easy Rider, they pay for their haste and find out some ugly things about the real world and themselves in no time.  Filled with classic Brooks lines--"The core of the nest egg!!" "I lost a woman...a whole woman."

 Broadway Danny Rose (1985; Woody Allen, Mia Farrow, Nick Apollo Forte) - Avant le guerre, Woody and Mia teamed up in perhaps their best effort together, he in the title role as his archetypal New York-Jewish-neurotic-loser who this time is a smalltime talent agent (Danny Rose) and she as a tough-as-nails bimbo with Mob links (Tina).   Tina is also involved with Lou, a married singer who is the only saleable artist in Danny's motley stable (which ain't sayin' much). I love the way this is told from the vantage point of a circle of Danny's more successful Broadway agents, who simultaneously mock him and admire him in his absence. After all the slapstick, Woody's pain at the end is terrifically real. He's been pulling this tragic-hero-at-the-end thing since at least Annie Hall and Manhattan, but who cares--Chaplin did the same thing. Come to think of it, Chaplin behaved Woodyesque off-screen, too. Hmmm.

 Playtime (1967; Jacques Tati, Barbara Dennek) - OK, few of us have the fortitude to watch a mime for over two hours, but this is no ordinary mime. The ever-playful French demigod-auteur Jacques Tati takes on the modern world in the lengthy study reminiscent of Chaplin's Modern Times. He even went over budget building the entire set à la Chaplin. His figures (with the exception of Tati himself as his maladroit Monsieur Hulot) neatly adapt themselves to various forms of International Modernist architecture of the day. They know the difference between a window and a glass door--he has his problems. But amidst the all the slapstick, he subtly offers some breathtaking views of pre-1950 Paris, yet only reflected off these inhuman walls and doors of glass (see picture). Like Ghandi said, "There is more to life than increasing its speed." Unfortunately, seeing this on video is a far cry from the expansive 70mm scale for which it was especially designed. A must for any architecture major--it'll make you want to toss Mies and Johnson, et. al. into the nearest dumpster. Special thanks to Al Newbill for turning me on to Tati.

  Crumb (1994) - Or, perhaps, Portrait of the Artist as a Dirty Old Man. This is the result of director Terry Zwigoff having followed his friend the legendary comic book artist Robert Crumb for six years. As with many a good documentary, such patience eventually pays off. We see that Crumb "just doesn't get it," as feminists say, and there's little hope that he ever will. In the end, you almost want to absolve him of his misogyny, since the baring of his instinctive desires seems to have been the only way he has been able to salvage his life, much like with van Gogh (OK, maybe a stretch, but even Robert Hughes gushes that Crumb should be compared to Breughel in one scene). Although it may try your patience, stick around for the look at brother Charles's descent into insanity as witnessed in his own comics from years before--a truly breathtaking moment in its tragedy.

 Apocalypse Now (1979; Martin Sheen, Marlon Brando, Robert Duvall, Dennis Hopper) - "The horror!" Before Titanic, this was the model for how to make an over-budget, colossal, out of control monster that seemed to doom itself and all those involved in it. The comparisons obviously end there, because this film works on so many levels and wasn't made--like so many films today--with an eye toward target audiences and merchandizing tie-ins. Francis Ford Coppola's adaptation of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness was (along with the Michael Cimino's The Deer Hunter at about the same time) able to voice a generation's alienation with the Vietnam War by using stunning cinematography and epic scale. Coppola even goes so far as to include a scene that parallels the horrifying My Lai massacre of 1968.  This is as far from John Wayne's Green Berets as you can get and is therefore closer to the unfortunate truth. If any film benefits from being seen in wide screen and surround-sound format, it's this one; these technical elements transport you directly into Coppola's surreal vision. For an amazing real-life look at the story of the making of the film that is at times just as chilling, see Eleanor Coppola's Hearts of Darkness, where we learn that (1) there was a lot more method acting going on than expected, and (2) employing Marlon Brando may be hazardous to your health.

   Breaking the Waves (1996; Emily Watson, Stellan Stellan Skarsgård) - This makes my list if only because it's one of those films that dares you to forget about it.  It's excruciatingly long for the tale that it has to tell, and the slow pace begins to work on you after a while, making you feel just as trapped in the insulated and judgmental Scottish village as the protagonists are.  The premise is ridiculous (that Bess can cure husband Jan's devastating brain injury via infidelity) and at times the characters seem more from 1875 than 1975, but in the end it's Emily Watson's uncompromisingly real portrayal of Bess that keeps you watching.  

  Les Visiteurs (1993; Jean Reno, Christian Clavier) - Perhaps a little grounding in the complexities French history since the Crusades might be helpful here, but even without it, the Anglo viewer can have much to laugh at in this inventive French farce.  Thanks to a time travel error, Sir Godefroy (Jean Reno) goes not a few minutes back in time as planned, but 800 years forward to1993 France.  Monty Python's Holy Grail only dabbled with the possibilities of such anachronisms--here you get the full effect, and some great comic turns by Reno and his thoroughly fetid vassal Jacquouille (a.k.a. Jacquasse), played by the film's co-writer, Christian Clavier.  Stay for the very, very, very end of the film for a most special message!

And my daughter Ava endorses this Kubrick classic.