John Dule's 100 Favorite Films Thread

[John Dule]

I've been going back and forth on whether to do this for a while now, but here it goes. I'll eventually forget about this/get bored, but given what just happened, I feel compelled to talk about my favorite film ever. This gives me a good excuse to start this thread. All posters in here will be from Wikipedia, which should comply with the site's copyright.

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#1: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly



The more I think about this film in the wake of Ennio Morricone's death, the more I realize just how barren it would be without his music. The final scene-- the shootout between Blondie, Tuco, and Angel Eyes-- is almost entirely about the music and how it emphasizes specific moments on the screen. It is the perfect musical score for a movie that defies the cliches of the western genre; it captures the enormity and mystery of the west with an original, haunting sound that is equal parts melancholy and gritty. The overall structure of the main theme is relatively simple, but Morricone uses unique instruments and sounds that capture the listener's imagination-- because it is genuinely like nothing you have ever heard before.

On a recent rewatch, I also realized just how much of this movie is about Tuco. Eli Wallach is just plain hilarious in this movie. His mannerisms, his twitchy paranoid movements, his visible confusion as he tries to read the word "idiots"... it's one of the most underrated performances of all time. The plot is brilliant, and the ways that the characters cross and uncross paths is a masterclass in building expectations (and then meeting them). It plays out like an American take on Homer's Odyssey-- like Odysseus, the characters must wade through a seemingly unrelated tangle of misadventures and double-crosses to achieve their goal. Unlike Odysseus, however, their final goal is money, and the great war is merely a backdrop to their lives. It is a uniquely American take on the concept of heroism (even if it's populated by Italians and Spaniards).

Sometimes when I want to feel depressed, I imagine what this movie would look like if it were made today. It would probably be about an hour and 45 minutes long. The bridge subplot would be cut entirely. Chris Pratt would play Tuco. Ugh.

I won't write this much in other installments. I just wanted to say that ever since I first saw this film (when I was probably about eight years old), Morricone's music has been in my head. The world lost a genius yesterday.

[John Dule]

I've watched both of the other films in the Dollars Trilogy multiple times, but as much as I want to love them, I've never felt the same way about them that I feel about The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Progressive Pessimist is right; the scale and grandeur of TGTBTU is on an entirely different level than its predecessors. With each successive film in the series, it feels like Leone and Morricone are honing their skills until they become capable of telling the story they were always meant to tell together. For me, the music, plotting, cinematography, dialogue, and performances all improve with each film. Don't get me wrong, Fistful and For A Few Dollars More are both great... but they are not masterpieces.

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#2: Lawrence of Arabia



My film professor in high school once told me that you have to see Lawrence of Arabia on the big screen to fully appreciate it. That may be true; I've only ever seen it on my TV. I can imagine that David Lean's haunting desert landscapes are best appreciated in a theater-- the first sunrise in Arabia is a moment I've always wanted to see full-scale-- but even so, something tells me that this film would work even if you watched it on an iPhone.

More than anything else, Lawrence of Arabia is about the power of personality in history, and how one man with a vision can alter the world. This is the sort of character study we need to look to when examining the past. TE Lawrence is the archetype of the great man, and with that word comes some good deeds and some truly terrible ones. What would a Lawrence, an Alexander, a Patton, or a Caesar think of the age we live in today? How would they feel about generations living and dying without experiencing war, in which our only heroes are celebrities and politicians? How would they feel about us judging them for their deeds, which they performed under circumstances that are entirely alien to us? I can't imagine that they would take us very seriously.

When we elevate a person to mythical status, it becomes easy to forget that they were often just as flawed, self-doubting, and confused as the rest of us. This film captures the beautiful range of human complexity in the life of one man. It's an incredible work of art.

[John Dule]

Never seen these movies, my favorite movie is The Departed, there is also The Shawshank Redemption, The Godfather, Goodfellas, and It's a wonderful life. These first two movies have been boomer flicks.

And those aren't Boomer flicks? Three of those will appear on this list, btw.

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#3: Cinema Paradiso



For those of you keeping track at home, this is the second Morricone-scored film in my top three movies. If there is any rival to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly's soundtrack, it is Cinema Paradiso's. These two scores together are a perfect illustration of the range of sound that Morricone worked with, and the variety of emotions he was capable of evoking. This is a deeply sentimental film, and Morricone distills that feeling down to its essence in this score. It is the type of music that will make you feel nostalgia for things you never experienced.

Cinema Paradiso has a curious relationship with nostalgia-- it engages in unapologetic heartstring-tugging, but at the same time it's critical of nostalgic attitudes. It recognizes that in order for us to progress, we must learn to move on from the past; at the same time, it recognizes the value in remembering where we came from. This balanced, honest look at life is what elevates it above other tearjerkers and propels it into the realm of truly great filmmaking. Toto's transformation into a successful adult requires that he puts certain things behind him, but this is never portrayed as a moral compromise (as it so often is in similar films)-- rather, it speaks to the strength of his character. The movie also has an (admittedly minor) undercurrent of anti-censorship, which appeals to my libertarian sensibilities. Oh, and of course, it's about a kid who loves movies... which probably plays a part in my appreciation for it as well.

If you haven't seen this movie, I'd invite you to give this a listen quick and see if it doesn't pique your curiosity. This is a film that I think genuinely has something for everyone. It is one of the great joys of life.

[John Dule]

I will follow this, and I might do it as well (after you've finished although).

Feel free to start anytime; I'd be interested to see your picks. It's going to be a big time investment though. We'll see how long I keep it up.

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#4: Raiders of the Lost Ark



Another sentimental pick. Raiders was my favorite film when I was a kid, and I've probably seen it half a hundred times over my life. I'll admit that recent years have made it hard for me to watch this movie again. The disaster that was Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, the ditch that Spielberg has found his career in with films like Ready Player One, and the general whorishness of Disney's Lucasfilm takeover make it hard for me to view Raiders with the same enthusiasm that I once had for it.

But along with the original Star Wars, this movie was one of the first of its kind. And it's stunning that despite the leaps and bounds that film technology has made since 1981, Raiders still holds up on every conceivable level. The practical effects in this movie are almost without equal in the pantheon of action filmmaking. The score by John Williams-- one of few composers who could ever claim to even compete with Morricone-- is legendary. But the film's main selling point is how skillfully it establishes its characters. In a good action movie, the hero's actions tell you something about who they are. Character development is accomplished not through exposition, but by placing the character in a particular situation and watching how he navigates his way through it. We relate to Indy in this movie because through his actions he demonstrates his cleverness, sense of humor, and passion for his line of work (and, of course, because Harrison Ford is effortlessly charming).

Raiders does not have much in the way of a deeper message. Some critics say that this movie is about Spielberg's cathartic Jewish vengeance against Nazism, etc, etc, etc... but that's hardly the point of the story. This is simply the best blockbuster film ever made, period. You can look down on the genre if you like, but if you lump Raiders in with the decades of pale imitators it spawned, you will be sorely missing out.

Also, OMG PUNCH NAZIS U GUISE!!!

[John Dule]

#5: 12 Angry Men



This is a bit out-of-order from my usual list, but I watched Mister Roberts last night and I've got Henry Fonda on my mind, so what the hell. This movie might have the best script of all time, and it is living proof that "guys talking in a room" can be every bit as thrilling and heart-pounding as any action film. 12 Angry Men is, in many ways, an instructional film for how to engage in reasonable debate. The jury is populated by several unsavory characters-- perhaps the worst of whom is Juror #7, who genuinely doesn't care about the case at all-- but most of these men are honest, decent, intelligent, and concerned with arriving at the truth. It is a very idealized form of the American justice system.

Among the pigheaded tirades and racist remarks of the other jurors, Henry Fonda's character perseveres. This movie is about individualism, about the righteousness of standing against the collective, and about the value of skepticism. Juror #8's best quality is that he is never 100% sure of his convictions; on the other hand, what makes Juror #3 so infuriating is his self-proclaimed certainty that he is right. Thinking critically is never a vice. Being certain is never a virtue. Questioning authority-- whether it is a leader, an idea, or a mob-- is always worth doing.

If I were to choose one film to show to a visiting alien race, it would probably be 12 Angry Men. No other movie showcases humanity's capacity for stupidity, selfishness, stubbornness, callousness, kindness, empathy, compassion, and logic as elegantly as this one does. It really is a remarkable film-- well-written, perfectly acted, and filled with fiery, passionate emotion. As someone who loves to argue, I enjoyed this movie immensely, but I can't imagine anyone it wouldn't appeal to. Its optimism is absolutely infectious.

[John Dule]

#6: Pulp Fiction



To be honest, I was procrastinating on posting this entry in the list because... well, I frankly don't have much to say about Pulp Fiction that hasn't already been said. It's smartly written, smartly directed, and well-acted. While thinking about this film, I'm realizing just how little its story actually matters. By far the most memorable parts are the conversations, which stitch together scenes with smooth transitions and thematic callbacks. Tarantino's dialogue is among the best ever written, and it's a good lesson to filmmakers who indulge themselves too much in clever, cutesy dialogue. Whereas I'm sometimes critical of writers like Aaron Sorkin, whose dialogue is similarly rapid yet also quite stilted, Tarantino makes it look easy.

In many ways, I have to say that BRTD's take on the movie has validity. No, it's not a "Christian propaganda film," but there are spiritual themes here that make Pulp Fiction stand out in the pantheon of Tarantino movies. The film has been called nihilistic, superficial, vapid, and-- that most dreaded of words-- postmodern. But every time I watch it, I'm still torn on whether or not it's making a moral judgement about Vince and Jules' different choices. I think there are lessons to be found there. In any case, the divergence of these two characters at the end of the movie is an interesting commentary on how one event can be interpreted by two people in wildly different ways, and how that can affect the trajectory of their lives.

It's hard to pin down what makes Pulp Fiction so universally enjoyable, but if I had to try, I would say that a lot of it has to do with juxtaposition-- the banal pawnshop with the BDSM dungeon; the eloquent, well-spoken hitmen; the bathrobe-wearing Tarantino discussing how to dispose of a dead body. Juxtaposition is a hard device to use correctly in writing. If you're going for a Saturday Night Live skit or a Marvel movie, all you really need is a cheap, surface-level juxtaposition to get the audience laughing (e.g. "The God of Thunder is in a coffee shop, haha"). However, when juxtapositions are used as the backdrop for a story, which is then populated with believable characters, dialogue, and action, the end result can be just as riveting, unpredictable, and creative as Pulp Fiction. That's how this movie manages to deconstruct so many narrative tropes, and it's also why it still feels fresh 25 years later.

[John Dule]

Back by popular demand...



#7: A Clockwork Orange



If/when I get deeper into this list, you will probably notice a pattern of sorts emerging. Two directors-- Stanley Kubrick and Akira Kurosawa-- will together make up about 10% of the movies I include. In my personal opinion, these two are essentially the pinnacle of filmmaking achievement. They also approach their art with entirely different strategies-- Kurosawa generally sets his stories in the same era, focusing intently on deep characterization and raw emotion, whereas Kubrick feels comfortable in nearly any genre or setting, and is more concerned with thematic heft and crafting unique visual atmospheres. In many ways, these two directors could not be more different. But they are without question the best of the best.

A Clockwork Orange, like all of Kubrick's films, is perfectly executed from a visual standpoint. It also features his most memorable character-- Alex DeLarge, a bona fide psychopath who engages in brutal violence, rape, and torture for his own amusement. The movie's greatest achievement is its ability to make this reprehensible character sympathetic, simply by contrasting him with the society in which he exists. As with many of the films on my list of favorites, A Clockwork Orange has distinct anti-authoritarian overtones, and functions primarily as a critique of enforced social conditioning. While the first half of the film goes to great lengths to make Alex a villain (and has therefore been criticized for its gratuitous displays of violence), this is merely in service of the movie's overarching goal-- to argue that no man, however vile he may be, should be subjected to the kind of treatment that Alex receives in the movie's second act. Whatever Alex is in his natural state, he is, at the very least, natural.

A quick note: I typically avoid film adaptations of books when the author explicitly says that he dislikes what the filmmaker has done with his work. This is because I respect original creators and I would prefer to see their stories depicted in a way that they would like (Kubrick's Shining, for example, will not appear on this list). However, I must make an exception for this film. It's better than the book and stays truer to the themes that Burgess wanted to convey (especially in its omission of the final chapter).

[John Dule]

I don't disagree with most of your review, but I must disagree with the idea that the film "stays truer to the themes that Burgess wanted to convey". It's clear to me that the importance of self-redemption as opposed to externally imposed redemption is the major theme Burgess wanted to convey. The omission of the numerically significant 21st chapter changes the major theme to one of the importance of remaining unchanged by external factors. One can certainly argue that the book (and thereby the movie) is better without it, but not that it's truer to Burgess' intent.

Hmm, I'll admit it's been a long time since I read the book. How explicit is the conclusion that Alex changed from within? In my memory that final chapter felt very forced and tacked-on; perhaps that's just because there wasn't enough build-up to it though. Nevertheless, I take your point.

[John Dule]

#8: The Big Lebowski



Many of the movies on this list will incorporate themes, morals, or characters who are compatible with my political views, and thus have a soft spot in my heart. And in some ways, The Big Lebowski has a lot of political themes-- it's got fascists, reactionaries, Nazis, pacifists, feminists, and nihilists-- heck, one might even argue that at its core, it's a story about friendship between a left-libertarian and a right-libertarian. Nevertheless, I don't think this is a movie that needs to be analyzed on this level. After all, The Big Lebowski's appeal is primarily in its detachment from the hustle and bustle of politics, business, and the stresses of modern life. Spending time with these characters is a much better relaxant than a hot bath. Hell, you don't even have to follow the plot in order to love this movie.

Why, then, do the Coens bother to emphasize the backdrop of the Gulf War at key points throughout the film? Strangely, I think that by dropping in this bit of context, the movie in fact becomes more timeless. The implication is that the Dude will continue to be the Dude, regardless of whatever the rest of the world is doing. This quality of permanence is an extremely daring artistic choice. You'll find very few stories where the main character is exactly the same at the end as he was at the beginning-- generally, the point of telling a story is to describe a change in a person. The Dude, however, is like a rock in the middle of a river. It is extremely hard to make a character like this work, so it's even more shocking when it works this well.

With most of the other movies on this list, I have quibbles with at least one brief scene, a throwaway line of dialogue, a minor casting choice, etc. But thinking about this now, I don't think there's a single moment of The Big Lebowski I would change. The movie is mesmerizing in its originality.


(This is as good a time as any to note that a number of movies that I love will not appear on this list because I have not seen them for a number of years, and therefore don't feel qualified to judge them anymore. Fargo is one of these movies.)

[John Dule]

#9: A Hard Day's Night



I've probably seen this movie more times than any other. I can remember watching it when I was six years old on my parents' old portable TV on Christmas Day, eating M&Ms on their bed. Between the 1960s cultural references and the thick Liverpudlian accents, I doubt I understood more than 50% of the dialogue (this is one English-language movie where I'd actually recommend subtitles). Nevertheless, at the time I found it goofy, funny, clever, and entertaining. Perhaps the manic slapstick ending appealed to me, or maybe it was just the casual, childlike innocence of the Beatles in the face of overwhelming fame. Whatever it was, this movie made me a Beatles fan for life.

A Hard Day's Night is an incredibly unique movie, even within the category of band films. Its half-fictional (but still true to life) narrative sets it apart from the genre's other vanity projects, and the cast of side characters are given just enough screen time to flesh them out and make them feel real. Of course, the movie is really about the Beatles, and it would not have worked nearly as well with a group of musicians who didn't possess their comedic chops. I've long thought that musical timing and comedic timing had elements in common, and this movie is proof positive that the two can go hand-in-hand. The Beatles have their own unique brand of deadpan, flippant youthful irreverence, and their timing and delivery of their lines is on par with that of experienced comedy actors. The music is also great, of course (though I would argue that 1965's Help! has better songs).

This, like my #10 pick, is not at all intended to be an objective nomination for one of the greatest films of all time. I have a lot of fond memories of this movie, and it's my dad's favorite film. But I do think that even non-Beatles fans can get a kick out of this movie's unique style and excellent comedic timing. The only person who I probably wouldn't recommend it to is BRTD.

[John Dule]

#10: Doctor Zhivago



I went back and forth on what to put in this final slot in my top 10 for some time. There are a few films I would almost say I like more than this one, or that have fewer flaws I'd nitpick. But there is something about Doctor Zhivago that has captured my imagination-- and my deepest fears-- ever since I first saw it as a kid. This bittersweet, heartbreaking movie could aptly be classified as a horror film at some points, given the impact it had on my developing psyche.

There is a scene in Doctor Zhivago in which Yuri returns after his forced conscription as an army doctor, only to find that his home has been invaded by a horde of stony-faced Russian peasants. Without a hint of shame, gratitude, or apology, these Bolsheviks occupy Yuri's house under the new order of the Revolution-- their dead-eyed, self-righteous sense of entitlement is one of the most viscerally frightening things ever captured in the history of film. Their jealous indignation, their attempts to publicly shame the house's rightful occupants, the way they dirty and defile our hero's childhood home, all subconsciously make the audience feel as though we are the ones being violated. There is a vileness to it on a fundamental level. It was watching this scene, as a child, that I first learned that the mob is to be resisted. Capturing this level of primal fear, to me, vaults this film past the category of mere artistic achievement and into the realm of psychological study.

Yuri, the indomitable spirit, cuts through the chaos and madness of revolutionary Russia like a knife. Omar Sharif is exceptional, embodying the role of the happy poet/individualist warrior with sublime skill. The film's wholehearted focus on his life, and its treatment of the revolution as a mere backdrop, underscores its message without stating it outright. It is the most political film ever that makes no mention of politics.

I'll hopefully post more of these soon, as I won't have to agonize so much over which to choose. Anyway, I'm glad some of you are enjoying them.

[John Dule]

#11: Before Sunrise



I'll confess that I haven't seen Before Sunrise in many years, but despite that fact, scenes and elements of this movie remain burned into my mind. The seamless editing, the natural and fascinating way in which the dialogue progresses, and of course the heartfelt performances at its center all contribute to what is easily among the best romance films of all time. Ethan Hawke plays a hopeless idealist masquerading as a cynic, Julie Delpy plays a cynic pretending to be a romantic, and the tension-- and chemistry-- between their characters is electrifying.

Many have criticized Linklater's films (especially Boyhood) for their overly experimental techniques, gimmickry, and schmaltz. Those are fine criticisms. I, however, unabashedly love the Before trilogy, and I think this is far and away the best of the three. While Before Midnight does have a fantastic argument scene (that puts the one in Marriage Story to shame), this is the one that started it all, and its hopefulness, optimism, and sense of wonder are far more enjoyable to spend your time with than the cold reality of its sequels.

I've never considered myself a big fan of romance movies, but this is a standout piece from the genre that defies its genre trappings, crafting two realistic characters without resorting to stereotypes or tropes. As a side note, Before Sunrise is perhaps the best of many examples as to why MPAA ratings are an abomination. I think this is a great movie for young people to watch-- the fact that this received an R rating for "adult themes" while The Ring got a PG-13 speaks to the subjectivity and stupidity of the system.

[John Dule]

#12: 2001: A Space Odyssey



The first scene in outer space in 2001-- where the Blue Danube waltz plays over some of the most stunning special effects in cinematic history-- might be the most elegant sequence I've ever seen in a film. While Star Wars certainly took these techniques and ran with them, I have yet to see another film that portrays humanity's future in such an optimistic, emotionally enriching way. This movie is about human evolution through time, the challenges that we face, and how we rise to meet them. It is about man versus nature, man versus machine, and man versus God. It is about man's Nietzschean ascendance into the future that he has earned.

I understand that not all critics interpret 2001 as optimistic. Lord knows there's ample textual evidence to interpret this film as a sardonic comment on mankind's small place in the universe. In the end though, 2001's themes of change and growth, with each stage improving on the previous one, somewhat negate these interpretations. The monolith, in each of its stages, represents some challenge to the evolution of humans. In the prologue, it represents the skill of toolmaking; it later appears on the moon and finally Jupiter, as if setting successive goals for humanity to reach. In my mind, it's hard to see this progress as cynical-- certainly not on the level of Kubrick's other films (which will also appear on this list).

Themes aside, this film's use of music and special effects are virtually unparalleled in science fiction. For those elements alone, it deserves a top-tier slot on this list.

[John Dule]

#13: High and Low



I'm not sure if this is really my favorite Akira Kurosawa film, but it's one of his most politically charged works, which makes it especially interesting to write about on this forum. High and Low is a film that presents its characters with a multitude of philosophical tests and ethical obstacles. The main character, a wealthy shoe company executive, is preparing to seize a controlling share of his company in order to improve its business model. However, his plans are thrown into chaos when criminals kidnap his son, demanding ransom. After a brief period of panic, he realizes that the kidnappers have gotten the wrong child-- his son is safe, but his chauffer's son is in their clutches. He must now decide between his family's future and the life of a child he barely knows.

High and Low is generally considered the first police procedural drama, and it's best-known for that. However, I think its greatest accomplishment is the very realistic moral ambiguity of its characters. Gondo, the shoe exec, is never portrayed as an outright hero. He agonizes over the decision to pay the ransom, and though he ultimately concedes, it's clearly not easy for him. Additionally, the kidnappers are obviously loathsome, but when the mastermind reveals himself at the end, it's hard not to take pity on him. By reversing the archetypal roles of good and bad-- making the wealthy man the protagonist and the poor person the antagonist-- the film manages to explore multiple angles as to how both wealth and poverty can corrupt a person's soul.

(Edit: I also love how the film's title reflects both the high and low statuses of the protagonist and antagonist, as well as the search for the criminals, in which the police look "high and low" for the kidnappers. Clever stuff like that is emblematic of Kurosawa's films.)

[John Dule]

#14: The Grand Budapest Hotel



The first film on this list made in the 21st Century, and the last directed by Wes Anderson. No hate for Wes-- I think he makes exceptional movies-- but this masterpiece is head and shoulders above the rest, an achievement that will be remembered for generations in a way that his other films won't. In many ways, this movie feels like the culmination of his career, the moment all of his practice has been working towards. And it's very nearly perfect.

The Grand Budapest Hotel has everything. Tragedy, comedy, elaborate sets, imaginative visuals, a great cast, and a brilliant script. Obscured by several layers of flashbacks, it tells a melancholy story about an era that has long since passed. Beneath its slapstick veneer lurks a brutally honest, emotionally draining story that has haunted me since the day I first saw it. Anderson creates two impeccably crafted characters in Zero and Gustave, but perhaps the best part of the film is the backdrop to their adventure. The film takes place in a fictional Eastern European country rapidly deteriorating into war, and the jackbooted authoritarian thugs who intermittently insert themselves into the story are a potent reminder of the dangers outside of this fairy tale. It makes the entire effort of our heroes tragically inconsequential-- they can't possibly do anything as their world crumbles around them.

Ralph Feinnes is outstanding in this movie, and his character is concrete proof that protagonists need not be limited to conventional archetypes and tropes. His full embrace of refinement, sophistication, and elegance creates a fully unique individual who stands alone, fighting a pointless battle against time. I would also be remiss if I didn't mention the film's excellent soundtrack, which wholly deserved its win at the Oscars (something I rarely get to say). The way the music interacts with the comedic timing of each scene is wonderful, and it drives home just how much effort went into meticulously crafting every facet of the film. The movie was made in a fussy, tidy, impossibly tightly wound manner, which appropriately reflects the personality of its protagonist.

While this may not be the best film made so far this century, it's definitely my favorite. I could watch it virtually every day and I don't think it'd get old.

[John Dule]

^Once again we are in agreement, John. 'The Grand Budapest Hotel' is my absolute favorite Wes Anderson movie (though I like or love all of his films.) and may be in my top five movies ever. I agree that I can watch it anytime. Hell, for awhile I actually did. When it first premiered on HBO, where I first saw it, I literally did watch it every time it was on and I had nothing else to watch after seeing it the first time and being blown away. However, it really dropped off in airing on cable after some time and I actually haven't seen it in years. It's ingrained in my memory though. I really should own it.

It also always makes me really hungry for pastries because of those weird cakes that Saorise Ronan's character makes throughout the movie. I imagine that she added to how much you enjoy the film, I know you have a fondness for her. And I agree, she's great in everything, even when she has an odd birthmark in the shape of Mexico on her face.

And yes, Ralph Fiennes is phenomenal. It's one of my favorite performances ever. He's f***ing hysterical while also being this enigmatic, incredibly charming figure that seems larger-than-life yet also has an air of seriousness to him. And that all comes through with how he and Zero interact throughout the movie. The ensemble cast as a whole is wonderful.

Alexandre Desplat's score is also phenomenal and the cinematography speaks for itself, as with most Wes Anderson movies.

Dammit! You made me want to go watch it right now!

I recall seeing complaints when the film first came out about how Ronan was underused. I sort of agree (though to be honest, I'd be happy if it was an hour longer), but I think by making her a side character, the movie manages to illustrate Zero's long-lasting pain over losing her. Because it's his story, it makes sense that he wouldn't want to discuss her too much. Also, another thing I neglected to mention: I love how Anderson didn't give a crap about having Irish, British, and American actors all working together, and he didn't make the slightest effort to mask their accents. Having Ed Norton pop in with his extremely flat accent every now and then just adds to the hilarity.

The music is absolutely wonderful; I've been learning it on piano recently and it's a ton of fun to play.

[John Dule]

I enjoyed the variety of accents too. Usually I'm a stickler for accents in films but I can get past it in Wes Anderson films since his movies tend to exist in their own universes, especially this one involving a fictional country.

As for Ronan being underutilized, maybe in hindsight that's a valid criticism but at the time she wasn't quite the critical darling leading lady she is now. That probably started with 'Brooklyn' and continued on since then. Prior to that though she was in 'Atonement,' and nominated for an Oscar for it at a very young age, but then in schlock like 'Hanna,' 'The Host,' or 'The Lovely Bones.' Her career taking off and being featured in more consistent quality movies may actually have started with 'The Grand Budapest Hotel.'

Lol, thank you for reminding me that those movies exist. The Host is legitimately funny as an unintentional comedy; the action sequences have no suspense at all, and the rest of the film is just Saoirse Ronan talking to herself. Back in the mid-2010s I binged a ton of Young Adult movies just to laugh at them, and the genre is honestly an untapped goldmine of schlock.

The Lovely Bones is not in that category, though... I honestly felt dirty after watching that film.

[John Dule]

#15: Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan



This is one of the instances on this list where I will not attempt to hide my bias: I love Star Trek. The Original Series is some of the best TV ever made (well, aside from a few episodes that I won't mention), and it expertly blends sci-fi concepts with explorations of philosophical and political issues. This list would not be complete without a nod to this spectacularly original franchise.

The Trek movies, sadly, are mostly not great. The Voyage Home is enjoyable as a kitschy adventure movie, but it ultimately feels like a drawn-out episode of the TV show. The Undiscovered Country is excellent; it doubles down on the political side of the series and mostly succeeds, even if it becomes a little blunt at times. The rest of the movies are in my opinion skippable-- except, of course, for Khan.

The Wrath of Khan is an expertly constructed adaptation of this series to the big screen. It continues a story started in the Original Series, but it is nevertheless easily accessible for those unfamiliar with the rest of the franchise. It balances two airtight plots-- one a straightforward tale of sci-fi revenge, the other a mellow meditation on the limits of human knowledge and ability. In the midst of this, William Shatner delivers a career-best performance as an older, less cocksure version of Captain Kirk. His final scene in this film is more emotionally cathartic than any Star Trek movie has any right to be.

It's possible that my inclusion of this film in my top fifteen is solely due to nostalgia and personal bias. However, I truly believe that this movie has something to offer everyone, even people who have never particularly gotten into this franchise or sci-fi in general. It is a brilliant piece of filmmaking, and should serve as a blueprint for anyone attempting to adapt TV on film in the future.

[John Dule]

#16: Badlands



This weird, wonderful crime drama from Terrence Malick is one of the greatest movies ever made. Despite being his directorial debut, Malick nails a pitch-perfect tone and atmosphere in Badlands that will linger long after the movie has ended. It is absolutely enthralling-- dare I say it, a religious experience.

Every time I see this film, I think it's about something different. The last time I saw it was no exception. I've come to believe that this film is about a darkness that resides in all of us; the temptation to commit violence, the fetishization of charisma, and the willingness to follow along when being led by the wrong person. It is about a girl who-- despite being ostensibly "normal"-- finds herself crisscrossing the Great Plains with her boyfriend while he butchers his way through one obstacle after another. The passiveness of Sissy Spacek's character (which annoyed me during my first viewing) represents, I believe, the larger human tendency to stand idly by while injustice is being carried out. This film works both as a magnified character study and as a broader commentary on social and political relationships. That, to me, is perfection-- the ability to do two things at once, and to do them effortlessly.

I heartily recommend Badlands for anyone who wants to feel uncomfortable being a human.

[John Dule]

not in my top 250 anymore, but since I replaced it today, technically my 251th favorite movie

How freaking far down have you calculated your favorite films...

Also, Eyes Wide Shut will indeed make an appearance on this list.

[John Dule]

#17: Stray Dog



I'm probably in the minority here, but I think Kurosawa's modern films are even better than his samurai ones. Sure, Seven Samurai and Yojimbo are more entertaining from an action perspective, but the modern setting of Stray Dog gives its moral dilemmas a more immediate, visceral feeling. Almost all of Kurosawa's movies deal with interesting themes, but there is something about the context of this story that makes it perhaps his most personal and emotionally involving film ever.

Stray Dog is the story of a Japanese detective named Murakami (Toshiro Mifune) who, on a hot summer day in Tokyo, has his pistol stolen by someone in a crowd. This simple act creates a butterfly effect, and as Murakami tries to uncover his lost pistol, he must deal with the knowledge that his failure has indirectly caused the deaths of innocent people. This deterministic chain of events should fascinate philosophy nerds-- how removed does someone have to be from an event before they can no longer be considered "responsible" for it? Mifune delivers another great performance here (of course), taking on uncharacteristic fragility when compared to his other roles in Kurosawa's films. The character becomes likable not through his abilities, but through his choices-- a nuance seldom grasped by Stray Dog's future buddy-cop imitators.

The backdrop of postwar Japan creates an atmosphere of nihilism and despair in the film, and the heat wave that grips the city is palpable. This movie illustrates heat in a myriad of subtle and clever ways, an element that adds to the unending parade of obstacles that confront our hero. You can feel the sweatiness of the crowds and the heat radiating off the screen, and you imagine Murakami's frustration and desperation becoming even more amplified. The attention to detail in the film's noirish visuals is virtually unmatched.

I could go on about this movie for some time. But in any case, I think that if you want an introduction to Kurosawa's filmography, you would have trouble finding a better first step than Stray Dog.

[John Dule]

I was trying to rank these movies by how much I like them, but it was excruciating to try placing them all in the proper order. Because of this, I'm going to stop trying to rank them. The rest of this list will still be numbered, but I don't consider these rankings of quality. I'll just post about whichever movie on my list I want to talk about at any particular time.

#18: Ben-Hur (1959)



While old Biblical movies are not necessarily my cup of tea (for obvious reasons!), Ben-Hur has been one of my favorite films ever since I first saw it as a kid. While it's weighed down by a few anachronisms (for instance, the heavy purple eye makeup that women apparently wore in Roman times), the sheer power of the mythology and the scope of the storytelling is enough to pull anyone in. This is more than an adventure film-- it is a love letter to the resilience of the human spirit.

While most people remember Ben-Hur for its chariot race (which is indeed the highlight of the film), my personal favorite aspect of the movie is actually the way it chooses to portray Jesus. Jesus is filmed solely in over-the-shoulder shots, which allows the movie to sidestep the issue of using an actor's face. This leaves Jesus' appearance up to the viewer's imagination, which is far more effective. By focusing instead on the reactions of the Romans and Judeans to the messiah's presence, the viewer experiences the feeling that he, too, is in the audience of this scene, and that he is sharing in the shock and awe of the masses. It's an ingenious visual tool that enhances the storytelling.

I cannot talk about Ben-Hur without mentioning the 2016 remake, which is memorable in its own right for taking everything clever in the original and then doing it in the dumbest way possible. Whereas the 1959 film maintained this fascinating air of mystery around its Jesus, the 2016 version features a scene where two people are talking and then Jesus randomly injects himself into the conversation. It shows his face straight-on and the tone of the scene barely changes, as though he was just some regular side character. One of many reasons why that movie sucks.

[John Dule]

Have you ever watched the 1925 version of Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ? Of the three full-length film adaptations of Wallace's novel, it certainly follows the text the closest, including subplots and parts of the text that the others chose to omit.

Like Andrei Rublev, I've wanted to see the 1925 Ben-Hur for years, but I haven't been able to find a decent copy of it anywhere. Would you say it's better than the '59 version?

You’ve got really good taste in movies (especially liked your reviews of Pulp Fiction, 2001, and A Clockwork Orange)

Thanks bubby

[John Dule]

Have you ever watched the 1925 version of Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ? Of the three full-length film adaptations of Wallace's novel, it certainly follows the text the closest, including subplots and parts of the text that the others chose to omit.

Like Andrei Rublev, I've wanted to see the 1925 Ben-Hur for years, but I haven't been able to find a decent copy of it anywhere. Would you say it's better than the '59 version?

The Internet Archive has a fairly good copy.

https://archive.org/details/BenHur_20161225

It's definitely different. Both have their points. The 1959 has the advantage of a full soundtrack instead of just music; the 1925 has the advantage of being able to alternate between various tints for some scenes and the use of two-color Technicolor for others. (The Wizard of Oz wasn't the first film to alternate between using monochrome and Technicolor for stylistic effect.) Sadly, by 1959, using different film stocks for different scenes just wasn't something audiences would've accepted, even if the director would've even considered it.

I like the vicious inventiveness of the pirates in the sea battle. Catapulting glass jars full of poisonous snakes and "returning" a Roman captive to the Romans by lashing him to the prow of a pirate galley before ramming a Roman galley were definitely ruthless.

The 1925 chariot race is superior as far as the actual race, but the preliminaries are done better in the 1959 version.

The 1959 version makes more use of Messala than the 1925 version, tho whether that's primarily because in the 1959 version some other characters were cut/reduced from the 1925 version, or a deliberate attempt to increase the spitefulness of Messala, I can't say. For example, in the 1959 version, after the chariot race, Messala tells Ben-Hur he can find his family in the Valley of the Lepers. In the 1925 version, he doesn't even know what's happened to Ben-Hur's family, and they are still in prison. (In the 1925 version, Pontius Pilate orders a general release of prisoners of unproven guilt when he arrives in Jerusalem, and this happens after the chariot race, which takes place in Antioch, not in Jerusalem. Incidentally, since there was a Roman Circus in Antioch, but not in Jerusalem, this makes the 1925 version more historically accurate.)

The 1925 Judah Ben-Hur was more actively involved in trying to gain his revenge, and in saving Quintus Arrius during the sea battle.

The one thing I would definitely drop that was in the 1925 version if I were to try to combine the two and keep only the best is a sideplot of Ben-Hur raising for the use of the Messiah a pair of legion-sized units, one amongst the Jews of Galilee and one amongst the Arabs of the desert. They don't play any part in the plot except to accentuate that Jesus didn't come (the first time) to fight with armies but to conquer by love and that Judah Ben-Hur was extremely wealthy.

I'm now morbidly curious to know if you've seen the 2016 version...

From just watching bits of the online version now, I have to say that the music kind of takes me out of it. Not having a full score is really a detriment (especially in the chariot scenes I imagine). However, I'm very curious to see how they went about telling this story in the 20s-- the technological limitations of that time always forced filmmakers to pursue unusual and clever visual strategies.

[John Dule]

Continuing to go out-of-order:

#19: Searching for Bobby Fischer (1993)



Searching for Bobby Fischer could have been a fairly standard feel-good drama, but in the capable hands of Steven Zaillian (who wrote the scripts for Schindler's List and Moneyball, among others), this material is elevated to a much higher artistic level. Sure, there's plenty of schmaltz and heart-tugging, but when you look past the veneer of early 90s sentimentality, you'll find a film that examines some of the darker aspects of human nature-- talent, power, greatness, fame, and hierarchy. Because its main character is a prodigy, the film must confront several controversial and deeply unsettling questions about how we organize ourselves. Is it right that those with natural gifts should dominate the weaker among us? How should those at the top of the hierarchy conduct themselves? Should someone with natural talent be compelled to use that talent, even if they would prefer not to?

Like many of my favorite films, Searching for Bobby Fischer asks questions that have left me thinking ever since. One's responses to these questions can reveal-- and even inform-- one's core values. A prodigy is a raw, unique example of the natural inequalities that are essential to the human experience. What is your reflexive reaction when confronted with such a person? In this film, the prodigy's father tearfully states that his son "Is better at [chess] than I've ever been at anything in my life." This cathartic statement encompasses a range of emotions-- pride in his son, jealousy at his talent, guilt that he is feeling jealous of his own child, shock at the amount of talent he displays, and anger with himself for not having the same gift. It is a whirlwind of emotional baggage rolled into a single line of dialogue, and it remains one of my favorite scenes in movie history.

While Searching for Bobby Fischer isn't the all-encompassing cinematic tour de force that some of these other films are, its quiet genius is endlessly fascinating. I would recommend it to anyone who wants to take some time thinking about the questions posed by natural inequality. The movie might be about chess, but it speaks to far more universal themes-- the mark of a truly great film.