48. It Happened One Night

Frank Capra, 1934

“Well, I proved once and for all that the limb is mightier than the sword.”

From the director of It’s a Wonderful Life, one of the most charming films ever made, comes one of the most charming screwball comedies of all time. It Happened One Night is certainly one of the American cinema’s classic comedies. For what it’s worth, it’s one of the few comedies to win the Academy Award for Best Picture. It was also the first film of any sort to win Oscar’s grand slam: Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Director, and Best Screenplay. Watching it, it’s no wonder. This is a pitch perfect film. The story concerns a young heiress, played by the always delightful Claudette Colbert, who runs away from home in order to marry King Westley. A quick note about King Westley: I have no idea if he is supposed to be the king of something or if it’s just a name, like King Vidor. All I know for sure is that he shows up for the climax in an autogyro. An autogyro? Who does this guy think he is? The Shadow? Howard Hughes? Screw him. Anyway, Claudette wants to marry the guy, but her daddy doesn’t want her to. I’m with dad. On her way across the country, a trip which she is entirely unprepared for, spoiled rich girl that she is, she runs into a tabloid journalist, Clark Gable. Gable, smelling one hell of a story, decides to escort Claudette across the country, whether she wants him to or not. She doesn’t. Along the trip, which heavily involves buses and hitch hiking and the wonderful original song, “Young People in Love Are Very Seldom Hungry!” Gable finds out just how unprepared Claudette is. She has, like five bucks for the whole trip, which she is more than happy to squander on chocolates. She expects the bus to wait for her, even when she arrives “only” twenty minutes late. Well, she and Gable start traveling together and, wouldn’t you know it, they fall in love. Of course, what screwball comedy would be complete without a climax where in both lovers, through a stupid misunderstanding, come to believe that the other has rebuked them? Don’t worry, that’s right here.

It’s a damn fun movie, and really funny, too. Gable and Colbert couldn’t be more charming. They work incredibly well and both bring a set of comic timing that is absolutely immaculate, especially for this sort of story. There are a number of great set pieces, including a couple of rode side motels, which involve the “wall of Jericho,” the bus, and hay field where the two spend the night. The film is also occupied by a terrific, and often zany, supporting cast. King Westley is a great screen bastard, complete with more money than God, pencil mustache, and an ego to rival William Shatner. Walter Connolly, who also plays the dad in Libeled Lady, another favorite of mine, is Claudette’s dad. He’s great, the big, old guy sort who just wants to see his daughter happy, money be damned. Then there’s Oscar Shapeley. “You know, there’s nothing I like better than to meet a high-class mama that can snap back at you, ‘cause the colder they are the hotter they get! That’s what I always say, yes sir! When a cold mama gets hot, boy, how she sizzles!” Shapeley isn’t in the movie all that much, but he’s great. To my mind, he’s the stereotypical 30’s ladies man in his own mind type. In fact, I didn’t realize it until the last time I watched the movie, but a good part of my “news reel” voice, aka Charles C. Crackerbarrel, comes from Shapeley. He’s damn memorable is what he is, a great kook who steals every scene he’s in. I’m not the only one to think so either. In fact, Friz Freleng said that Shapeley’s personality was a huge inspiration for Bugs Bunny. Anyway, if you haven’t seen this one, you need to. It’s a classic. Not having seen it is a lot like not having read Huckleberry Finn.


















On a sadder note, we lost a couple of greats this past weekend. Both Don Knotts and Darren McGavin passed on. McGavin was born in 1922, Knotts in 1924. Knotts, of course, was a true comic God, known worldwide as both Barney Fife and Ralph Furley. He was also the star of any number of movies, most important to me being The Incredible Mr. Limpet. McGavin is probably best known as the dad in The Christmas Story, but, to me, he will always be Carl Kolchak, the one and only Night Stalker. Gentlemen, I’ll miss you both.

49. The Muppet Movie

James Frawley, 1979

“Ahh, a bear in his natural habitat - a Studebaker.”

My friends, I’d like to begin today’s column by asking you a question. Why are there so many songs about rainbows? And, while we’re on the subject, what’s on the other side? You know, that opening crane sequence, as the camera descends into the swamp and we find Kermit, amiable green, felt Muppet that he is, sitting on a log, singing this sweet song (which calls the young sailor), well, it’s indelibly etched into my mind. In fact, I so associate this scene with this movie, and with the Muppets in general, that I usually forget that the movie has a whole prelude framing the film as one which the Muppets are themselves watching along with us. It is, as Kermit tells nephew Robin, the story of how the Muppets got together. . . more or less. This movie warms my heart in really absurd ways. I know I went on just yesterday about how heartwarming It’s a Wonderful Life is, and it is, but this one really just does it for me. If you’re watching The Muppet Movie, there’s a smile on your face. End of story. There’s something so perfectly innocent and pure, yet decidedly sophisticated about each and every on of these felt brainchildren of the great Jim Henson, that they immediately speak to you, with both humor and emotion, in a way that most human actors can’t.

Not that the human element is anything to scoff at. Certainly, the Muppets wouldn’t be half of what they are without guys like Dave Goelz, Frank Oz, and, most importantly, Jim Henson. Indeed, ever since Jim passed on, the Muppets haven’t been the same. Oh, sure, there have been some bright spots, A Muppet Christmas Carol is really pretty good, but there have been a lot of down spots, too: Muppets from Space. Still, I respect Brian Henson for carrying on the torch and continuing to give Kermit life. Jim may be gone, but there’s something reassuring in Kermit enduring. Let’s not forget the other humans of this picture though. Without contest, The Muppet Movie has the single finest line up of cameo talent to ever grace the silver screen. Let’s run ‘em down. We get Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, the grand daddy of all puppets in their final screen appearance, which couldn’t have been more appropriate, Milton Berle as Madman Mooney (I don’t care what you say, every time that Mad Eye Mooney character showed up in Harry Potter and Who Gives a Shit Anymore, I thought of good ol’ Mad Eye Mooney bossing Sweetums around), Mel Brooks as the German scientist, complete with “Prof” written on the back of his coat in Blazing Saddles fashion (“When a German scientist tells you to hold on to your hat, it’s not casual conversation. HOLD ON TO YOUR HAT! HAT! HOLD! Good.”), James Coburn as the owner of the El Sleezo, Dom DeLuise as Bernie the Agent, Elliot Gould presenting Miss Piggy with a beauty pageant trophy, Bob Hope selling dragonfly ripple ice cream, Madeline Kahn, whose concern about getting warts from Kermit sparks one of the film’s many great recurring gags: “It’s a myth! A myth!” A young girl pops up, “Yes?”, Steve Martin as a waiter (“Would you like to smell the bottle cap?”), Richard Pryor as the balloon vendor (“Gah-gah, gah-gah.”), Telly Savalas as Madeline Kahn’s boyfriend, Orson Welles as the studio executive who draws up the “standard rich and famous contract for Kermit the Frog and company,” and Paul Williams, who not only wrote the great original songs, but who may as well be a Muppet himself, as the El Sleezo piano player. Then there’s the whole who’s who of Muppets, from Lew Zealand and his fantastic boomerang fish to Big Bird in his own cameo.

God in heaven, do I love this movie. I really don’t know what else to say. It’s good for yourself, for your sweetie, for the kids, the old folks, even harden cons. Still, I think I’ll give the last words to Beaker: “Meep meep meep meep meep meeee meep meeep meep meep meepp meep meep.” Well said, Beaker. Well said.

50. It's a Wonderful Life

Frank Capra, 1946

“No man is a failure who has friends.”

Everyone loves this movie. Everyone. And the two of you who don’t? You’re dead to me. Seriously, though, or at least as serious as we get around here, this film is simply unimpeachable. It is, in essence, a stirring testimony to the power of the life of the common man. George Bailey is no superman. He gets angry. He gets depressed. Hell, he even gets suicidal. He is not a rich man. He is not a politician. He is, however, a good man. He is a man who puts the needs of others ever before himself. He is a man who always does what’s right. Oh sure, it would be easy to go to work for Potter, make a little more money, shake the dirt of that crummy old town off his shoes, and see the world, but, then, what would happen to Bedford Falls? He could go off to travel Europe, but then who would run the building and loan? What would happen to the townsfolk whose money is invested there? No, sir, George doesn’t take the easy way out. He takes the right road. That is what makes him a hero.

I’ll tell you what; I’m there for him, too. I sympathize with George Bailey, from beginning to end. He is the average man, but then, so are we all. He’s the kind of guy you want to be and its so heartbreaking when everything crumbles around him, not through any fault of his own, but thanks to the cold, black heart of Potter, played with consummate evil by the great Lionel Barrymore. It’s unbelievably tragic when George realizes that the only way left for him to help people is with his death. Only his insurance money can save the building and loan. Ah, but then, then the big finale. This is probably the most heart warming thing you’ve ever seen in your life. George has been so put down this whole movie, but when he finally really needs help, the whole God damn town turns out. I get choked up every time. I’m getting a little choked up right now. That final scene, when all the townsfolk show up with the money that George needs. . . Holy crap is it touching. That’s right, Clarence. That’s right. No man is a failure who has friends.

The key to this movie, though, has to be two men: Jimmy Stewart, who plays George, and Frank Capra, the director. This movie could so easily have been the cheesiest thing to come down the pipes in years, and, yet, it never even comes close to that. These two guys have crafted a film and a role which are both perfectly sincere. There’s no winking at the camera. There are no painfully saccharine moments. Both men clearly believe in what they’re doing here. Both me clearly believe that every human life is worthy of epic storytelling. It’s a Wonderful Life is a testament to best parts of humanity and I’m proud to have it on my list.

51. Ed Wood

Tim Burton, 1994

It is with no small amount of irony that I place Ed Wood as my 51st favorite film of all time. After all, Ed Wood really and truly is one of the worst directors in cinema history, right down there with Ray “Leg Up” Kellogg, director of The Giant Gila Monster. I’ve long been something of a crappy movie aficionado, spending hours watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 and even checking out cinematic turds like The Killer Shrews and Pumpkinhead II: Blood Wings in their full on, unadulterated glory on shows like Svengoolie. Yet, the one man whose films remain utterly unwatchable is Edward D. Wood, Jr. My God. My good God. I defy you to sit through Plan 9 from Outer Space. I defy you! You can’t do it. At least not without a quart of absence nearby. Well, that’s probably a little harsh. There are some laughs here. The fact of the matter is, though, that Ed Wood is just one crappy director. His films are full of headstones that topple in a strong wind, lousy performances, crappy, crappy sets, instances of actors reading from their scripts on camera, and, of course, Tor Johnson getting stuck while coming out of his grave. Sigh.

Then, Tim Burton and Johnny Depp conspire to do a biopic on Wood and, God damn it, you just can’t help but fall in love with the goof. The key to this film is that Burton and Depp, who plays Wood, don’t set out to make fun of Wood. Hell, they even handle his notorious cross dressing professionally. Instead, they give us a wood that is an unabashed optimist. Burton pulls no punches in exhibiting Wood’s directorial ineptitude, but the sheer verve with which Wood approaches each project is contagious. The man is imbued with a passion for film and for life that is completely contagious. Depp provides probably the finest performance of his excellent career here. His is a Wood you would certainly be friends with and doubtlessly follow to the ends of the earth. It’s easy to see why those around him would want to help him fulfill his vision. You find yourself cheering for Wood early on. You want nothing more for him to succeed, and, in a weird way, he does. True, his films remain what they are, but gosh darn it, he tries real hard and, in a weird way, never has that meant so much to me about any film character.

Ed Wood is, of course, blessed with the directorial vision of Tim Burton. The film is a bit toned down from the bizarre, expressionist sets which often populate a Burton film, but what we get in each black and white frame is no less striking. I also have to point out a uniformly excellent supporting cast. Sarah Jessica Parker and Patricia Arquette are spot on Ed’s loves. Bill Murray is terrific and subtly, even dryly, wacky as Ed’s friend, Bunny Breckinridge. Best of all though, is Martin Landau as Bela Lugosi. Like Lugosi himself, Landau has not always had the most illustrious career, see Space: 1999, but this is his shining moment. Landau effortlessly brings forth the angst and desperation of a man once famous the world over, now reduced to drug addiction and to the punch lines of jokes on Saturday afternoon movie showcases. His Lugosi is perfectly sympathetic and his every screen moment alternately delights and breaks your heart.

Well, that’s it for Ed Wood, but what discussion of Ed Wood can end without his most immortal line? Pull the string!

52. The Empire Strikes Back

Irvin Kershner, 1980

Who doesn’t like Star Wars? I ask you. Say what you will about the new ones (They suck! They show a complete lack of competence! Natalie Portman’s got it goin’ on, dude!), the original trilogy remains a damn fun set of films. Still, from an artistic stand point and storytelling standpoint, Empire is by far the most satisfying. There are no Ewoks to impede this baby and Lucas’ ham handed directing style is replaced by the capable eye of Irvin Kershner. Lucas, meanwhile, sat himself down in the producer’s chair, where he really belongs. The man is an effects visionary. I won’t deny it. The stuff he got into the Star Wars movies is great looking even today, but the man just doesn’t know how to deal with actors.

Empire has it all though. We get two new characters in this installment. Yoda is, hands down, a pop culture icon and Frank Oz’s backwards talking puppet is great here, convincingly moving from bumbling idiot to sage teacher before our eyes, as he attempts to mislead Luke and us. In his first appearance, Yoda commanded authority and respect in the middle of a swamp and Oz did it all with voice and with his perfect, subtle puppetry. He didn’t need CGI to make Yoda the great Jedi he was, nor did we need to see him flipping around with a comically short lightsaber. You respected that puppet. The other character we get here is not Boba Fett, who’s popularity I’ve never understood (although my friend Sean O’Brien summed it up best by pointing out what a cool, and to some degree, hard to find toy he was). No, I’m talking about, of course, Lando Mother Fucking Calrissian. Can we give it up for Billy Dee? Thank you. The man is, to this day, cool personified. If there was ever a shifty space pirate to rival Han Solo, it was Lando. True, Lando screwed our heroes over, but he proved himself in the end.

Then there’s the story. Star Wars (that’s right: Star Wars, not Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope, Star Wars), set everything up. With intergalactic war in place and a working understanding of the force, the Jedi, and our cast of characters in our heads, we could go forward at light speed. Luke begins his training while Leia, Han, Chewie, and the gayest robot in the galaxy run afoul of Imperial patrols and Vader himself. After a spectacular action set piece on the ice planet of Hoth, things immediately get dark, for both the cinematography and the story. This is a movie bathed in blacks and reds, with a constant threat of menace. Leia, Han, Chewie, and Robo-Liberace are in constant danger and Luke’s training is anything but rosy, particularly that confrontation in the dead tree thing, where he fights a ghostly Vader. When Vader’s mask pops open and we see Luke’s face. . . man, that’s some of the finest cinematic foreshadowing you’ll ever see. Then there’s Cloud City. This is just the shit, isn’t it? I mean things are looking bad for our heroes. Han gets frozen in carbonite and hauled off by Boba Fett. Lando betrays everyone. And Luke. . . poor Luke. Sure, it’s a bad ass lightsabre duel, but the poor guy loses a hand. Plus, he learns Darth Vader is his father. Bummer.

This is the one to see though, kids. This is the one with all the story, with all the angst and emotion. This is the one that looks great. It’s the one that thrills you for three quarters of the movie and then kicks you right in the balls (can I say balls?). It’s amazing. It’s still amazing. It’s the one I love. And it’s great the way it is. Do you hear me, George?! It was fine! We didn’t need the Special Edition! You didn’t need to change it more for DVD!! For God’s sake, you dicked around with the whole color palette!!! It’s supposed to be dark!!!! Leave well enough alone!!!!!! Sorry. Sorry. Temper check. Okay.

53. The Pink Panther

Blake Edwards, 1963

Steve Martin's version of The Pink Panther has been in theaters for nearly two weeks now, shocking everyone with half a brain by opening as the number one film in the country. Indeed, at one point, the studio was so concerned about the film, that they postponed its release for nearly a year. Hell, one look at the advanced critical reaction to this sucker would more than confirm those fears. Yet, the damn thing is proving to be something of a hit. It's a fluke.

Strangely, that's actually pretty appropriate as the original The Pink Panther, and the series of sequels that followed it, was a bit of a fluke itself. Basically, The Pink Panther is the story of Sir Charles Lytton, played by the terrific David Niven, and his attempt to steal the famous Pink Panther diamond while vacationing at a ski lodge. Anyway, that's what the film was supposed to be about. Indeed, there were even early plans to use this film as a spring board for a whole series of films about Niven's character. The script also included a character named Clouseau, a bumbling French detective to be played by Peter Ustinov.

When Ustinov backed out, something of a movie miracle occurred. The role of Clouseau was offered to Peter Sellers. Sellers is hilarious in just about every film he's ever appeared in, but Clouseau is probably his trademark role, with Dr. Stranglove being the only real competition for the title. Sellers disappears into his characters and here gives us a bumbling Frenchman with an outrageous accent and a penchant for falling down. Clouseau's supreme self confidence in the face of his own ineptitude (qualities shared by the likes of Maxwell Smart and Inspector Gadget) only adds to the hilarity, as does the many improvised bits created by Sellers and Edwards on set. So perfect is Sellers' Clouseau, that he immediately steals the film, and, indeed, the series, from Niven. Originally intended as a background character, Clouseau explodes as the break out character of the piece, immediately demanding much more screen time than any other man's Clouseau could have. Of course audiences loved Clouseau and Sellers ended up returning again and again, while pretenders to the role, like Alan Arkin, Roberto Begnini, and, ultimately, Steve Martin, are largely forgotten. In this first outing, Sellers has some remarkable stuff, most of it physical, like getting his hand stuck in a porcelain jar during the dance sequence at the lodge, constantly having the wool pulled over his eyes by his unfaithful wife, and numerous unforgettable prat falls. While many of the bits that would be come trademarks in the later films are absent here, like Clouseau's run ins with his boss, played by Herbert Lom, or his hilarious battles with Burt Kwok as manservant Kato, this film is the genesis of Clouseau and the performance that really defines him.

That said, Sellers is not the only reason I love this movie. Indeed, it is the setting and the other characters that make this one stand out for me in the face of even the other Pink Panther movies. The feel of this movie, and of many Blake Edwards movies, is one of the utmost class. I really, really love classy movies, particularly classy comedies, and its such a rare thing to see done well, except in many screwball comedies or in the Thin Man series. Admittedly, The Pink Panther indulges more in a sixties idea of classy more germane to the Connery Bond films, but I think the comparison still stands. Regardless, it is certainly an aesthetic one doesn't really see anymore and its one I miss. At any rate, The Pink Panther is very much a class affair, full of sumptuous exteriors and decadent interiors. There is never any doubt that this movie is set in a rich man's hideaway. David Niven, of course, brings his usual high level of class to the entire affair, giving us a true, but still very funny, gentleman thief. The film also co-stars Capucine and Claudia Cardinale, as Simone Clouseau and Princess Dala, respectively. Both women bring a beauty and, yes, class to the piece that one rarely sees then or now. Indeed, Niven, Capucine, and Cardinale are all intrinsic to the feel of this film and are as responsible for my loving it as Sellers is.

54. The Man Who Would Be King

John Huston, 1975

Now this, sir, is an adventure movie. The story, adapted from a story by Rudyard Kipling, is about to British soldiers who head into the far reaches of India in search of gold. They are promptly mistaken for gods, specifically the successors of Alexander the Great. Set in the later half of the nineteenth century, the story really has the makings of a great adventure. There is potential for several exotic locales and snapshots of exotic cultures as our heroes walk the road to riches. I’m thrilled to say that John Huston takes every opportunity. Ranging primarily from Indian deserts to snow covered mountain peaks, the scenery is a joy to watch. It is not as lush as the scenery in, say, Lawrence of Arabia, but, then, it isn’t meant to be. After all, this is not meant to be the sweeping epic David Lean’s classic film is, but good old fashioned ripping yarn, with all the pulp and dirt that implies. And these Indian deserts definitely are dusty and dirty, constantly covering our heroes, Daniel and Peachy, in blankets of sand. Huston also doesn’t shy away from foreign customs, such as native dance (nudge, nudge). He does, however, stay true to the ripping nature of the story here, too, forgoing the more civilized and beautiful customs one might see in films, again, like Lawrence of Arabia, favoring instead more barbaric customs, like the natives’ insistence on playing polo with the heads of defeated war chiefs. Fun stuff.

Best of all, though, the film features the two most perfect leads one could ask for in such a yarn. Sean Connery is Daniel and Micheal Caine is his mate, Peachy. That’s mate in the buddy sense, of course. Get your heads out of the gutter. Connery and Caine are perfect together, playing off each other in a way most buddy movies only dream of. It’s a wonder the two only ever made one other picture together. They’re that good. Connery turns in his usual, “I’m cooler than you’ll ever be and I’m from Scotland,” performance, which works damn well for the ex-soldier. I feel I should point out, though, that, while cool, Daniel is a much more rough around the edges, fisticuffs, hard drinking character than Connery’s usual suave types. Caine’s Peachy is equally rough and comes complete with an effective Cockney accent and sensibility. The two men are bound together throughout the film by honor and friendship in a way that, thanks to their screen chemistry, is wholly believable. I would honestly kill to see these two return in similar roles (they were in A Bridge Too Far Together, but its hardly the same thing, too many other characters for one thing). Anyway, what I’m saying is, they’re that fun to watch.

Over the course of the two hours and change, you really, really bond with these characters. True, when they let their “god hood” go to far, you lose something, but their realization that they’ve gone to far makes it all okay. I wish I could say that there’s a happy ending, but that isn’t the case. I get the feeling that most of the people reading this thing (all six of you) haven’t seen the picture, so I’m not going to give away the ending, except to say that what happens and what it says about the bond between the two men. . . well, it’s a hell of a thing. This is one of those endings that really stays with me.

Still, it’s a damn fun movie, despite the tragic end and I feel weird ending an appreciation of such a ripping adventure on a down note, so I’m going to leave you with a quote from Peachy about Daniel. It’s a fine quote, expressing his admiration for his friend and one I would be proud, proud I say, to have said about me, “Danny’s just a man, not a god. He can break wind at both ends simultaneously - which is more than any god can do.”

55. Rebecca

Alfred Hitchcock, 1940

Rebecca, based on a then popular novel, was one of Alfred Hitchcock’s first big hits. It was the first picture he made in Hollywood and the only one of his films to ever win the best picture Oscar. It was also his first picture with producer David O. Selznick. Selznick was, by all accounts, a very overbearing producer. As such, many, including Hitchcock himself, consider this to be a sort of lesser Hitchcock film, in that it is not as much a Hitchcock film as, say, Vertigo. While that may be true, I really don’t give a crap. This a great movie and every bit as suspenseful as many of Hitchcock’s other films. Indeed, I tend to think of the success of this film as a testament to Hitchcock. No one contends that he made it under ideal circumstances. From an artistic point of view, the film was beset with problems and interference from the beginning. Yet, it remains a powerful, effective, and, yes, suspenseful work. I doubt that most directors could overcome such adversity and still make a picture with the skill that Hitchcock is known for, but, here, he succeeds.

Well, I hoped you enjoyed the history lesson. Now, what the hell is this one about? Joan Fontaine plays a woman who is employed by an equally elderly and uppity rich woman to be her traveling companion. Nothing dirty about, just traveling companion. Anyway, while her employer is sick in bed, our heroine hangs around the resort and falls in love with Sir Laurence Olivier’s Maxim de Winter. Maxim is rich, suave, the whole package. The two fall head over heels in love and Maxim asks her to marry him. After that, it’s off to his big ass mansion, Manderly. While at Manderly, our heroine has a tough time of it. She is expect to be the lady of the house and boss servants around and what not, but she’s never done anything like that before. She isn’t allowed to enter certain rooms. She is regularly terrorized by Mrs. Danvers, Judith Anderson giving it her all as the haughty, arrogant head maid who oozes hatred for our heroine. Worst of all, once returning to Manderly, Maxim turns into a real cold fish, never spending any time with his new wife and snapping at her when he does. It seems that it has only been a few years since Rebecca, the first Mrs. de Winter died. Maxim still seems broken up over it and Mrs. Danvers remains fiercely loyal to her dead mistress. The result is that, while there is no ghost or anything like that, our heroine is haunted by Rebecca as surely as if there was. This is stressed in the filmmaking in a number of ways, like having Mrs. Danvers, Rebecca’s agent of sorts, glide in and out of scenes rather than walk. The best bit, though, is that Rebecca is constantly mentioned throughout the movie. Thanks to the title, hers is the first name we see and, thanks to a monogram on a burning pillow, the last. In contrast, we never learn the name of Joan Fontaine’s character. If she is called anything at all, it is the second Mrs. de Winter. Not knowing her name only adds to Rebecca’s power and to the general sense of foreboding throughout the film.

Most of the suspense in the film comes from that relationship. Our heroine is constantly on edge and shy as a mouse, once even hiding a small trinket she broke rather than throwing it in a trash bin where someone might find it. The best scene of all then, is the major psychological battle waged between the second Mrs. de Winter and Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca’s old bedroom. After Mrs. Danvers shows our heroine the room, she takes her to the balcony where she coaxes our heroine toward killing herself, “Go ahead. Jump. He never loved you, so why go on living? Jump and it will all be over. . .”

56. The Shawshank Redemption

Frank Darabont, 1994

"I must admit I didn't think much of Andy first time I laid eyes on him; looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. That was my first impression of the man."

Well, now, what to say? This really is a damn fine movie, isn't it? It's also one that I think all but three people in this world have seen. Still, as a quick reminder, The Shawshank Redemption focuses on Andy Dufresne, played by Tim Robbins. Andy has been sent to Shawshank Prison, the goofiest named prison in the county, for the murder of his wife, a crime he did not commit. There, he lives his life, generally trying to make things easier for himself and others and working on an elaborate escape plan. Of course, the film is really about so much more than that and that's why I like it so much. As I just illustrated, The Shawshank Redemption does possess a sort of linear narrative, but that really isn't how the story works. It is much more meandering, moving off the beaten path of the prison/escape film again and again to consider Andy, his world, and the characters who surround him. It really is the story of a man's life inside the walls of a prison. We see Andy move from newcomer, a fresh meat victim for the prison's "sisters," to an old, respected inmate, running the prison library and helping fellow inmates obtain their GEDs. We revel in the diversions of the main narrative, which provide some of the film's best scenes, like Andy doing the guards' taxes, locking himself in the warden's office to play records over the prison PA, or the delightfully simple, but no less revealing scene where Andy earns himself and his pals a couple of beers while they tar a prison roof.

The thing I always say about this movie is that it makes prison look fun, except of course for the male rape. And that's one of the best things about this movie: the sense of family and camaraderie that exists between Andy and his fellow inmates, particularly Morgan Freeman's Red. Red is an absolutely delightful character, wise beyond his years and the best friend Andy, and even the audience, could ask for, whether on the inside or not. His narration really pulls the movie together and offers continual compassion, humanity, and insight. Furthermore, I defy you not to get all choked up with the last scene and that particular bit of narration. Morgan Freeman is known for consistently excellent work and a handful of great performances in films like Driving Miss Daisey, Glory, Million Dollar Baby, and, of course, as The Electric Company's Easy Reader, but this may well be his best work. And if the narration alone doesn't convince you, check out his scenes on the outside, where he follows the elderly Brooks into a world with no more place for him, a world which holds the humiliation of still having to ask to take a whiz despite being "free" and where suicide has a power even greater than it does inside.

Freeman isn't alone in providing a great performance here. Robbins is damn good and the supporting cast is uniformly excellent. In fact, I'd like to take this opportunity to give it up for one of the most under rated actors working today, Clancy Brown, who plays Capt. Hadley, the crooked guard. Brown is one of the finest screen villains ever, with a distinct, low voice that can chill you to the bone. He's probably best known as the bad dude from the first Highlander. His work in Shawshank is damn good, but I strongly urge you to check him out in Carnivale, where he gave a regular tour de force performance as Brother Justin. Mostly, Brown lends his distinct voice to voice over work and is exceptional in that world. His portrayal of Lex Luthor on the Superman and Justice League cartoons has become the definitive article for me.

Getting back to the subject at hand, The Shawshank Redemption is a damn good film. It was snubbed by Oscar on its release, but is consistantly embraced by audiences through DVD and VHS and its near constant broadcasts on the Turner networks. I have little doubt that this one is going down as one of the finest films of the nineties if not of all time.

57. Rosemary's Baby

Roman Polanski, 1968

Rosemary’s Baby is the king of psychological horror films. Mia Farrow is Rosemary, a young newlywed who moves into a big gothic apartment building with her young actor husband. One night, not long after they’ve moved in, Rosemary has a startling nightmare. It’s not entirely clear what is going on, but it seems that she is being raped by Satan himself. With the morning, she is able to convince herself that it was all a nightmare. A short time later, Rosemary discovers that she is pregnant. She and her husband, and even their neighbors, couldn’t be happier. Hell, hubby’s acting career is picking up too. Sure he got the job after the original actor went somewhat suspiciously blind, but let’s not pick nits, eh? Then things start to go awry. Rosemary is convinced that there is something wrong with the pregnancy. She is loosing a lot of weight and really just looks like Hell warmed over. Her husband doesn’t think it’s anything unusual and her neighbor’s homemade remedies are only making her feel worse. She tries to confide in her doctor, Charles Grodin, but he’s no help. And, worse, she stumbles upon a book that suggests that her neighbors might be devil worshipers. She even finds a secret door connecting the apartments. When she goes through one night, she could swear they were performing a satanic ritual. Or was that just another nightmare? Is any of this happening or is the stress of her pregnancy just making her hysterical?

You see, that’s the thing about Rosemary’s Baby, you, like Rosemary, can never be sure of anything. Up until the very end, director Roman Polanski keeps you guessing. You want to side with Rosemary, but her suspicions are just so unusual and there is the very real possibility that she’s just sick in the head. This is part of what makes Rosemary’s Baby scarier than all ten Friday the 13th movies (except, of course, part 8; I thought for sure he was really going to take Manhattan). Rosemary lives in a world where she cannot trust anyone. Remember, her neighbors may be devil worshippers and her own husband and her doctor may be in on it as well. Then there’s the question of the thing inside her. Is it a baby? Is there really something wrong with the pregnancy? Why? What about that nightmare? Did that really happen? Rosemary’s Baby is that rare terrific horror film that doesn’t rely on monsters or serial killers or gore to frighten the viewer, but on ideas. The possibilities are what’s frightening here. I’m damned tempted to tell you how it all ends, but I won’t. Suffice to say, that’s the scariest thing of all, both what you see at the end and what you don’t.

I cannot say enough good things about Mia Farrow here. To be honest, I haven’t really seen her in anything else. Well, I did see Supergirl, but the less said about that the better. Here, though, you’re with Mia every step of the way. Her fear, for herself and for her unborn child (and, sometimes, because of it) is absolutely palpable. She is no scream queen, but is an intelligent, modern woman faced with bizarre and frightening possibilities. Throughout the film, she is a gaunt steel trap, so tense with the fear around her that you pray its over soon. Farrow also sang the film’s haunting lullaby, which is one of the most unforgettable and, in light of the conclusion, most unsettling themes in all filmdom. It goes without saying, but Rosemary’s Baby is about Rosemary. It’s a brilliant script and a great film, but, without a woman capable of expressing the abject terror that Rosemary goes through, it would fall apart. Luckily, Mia goes above and beyond the call of duty, creating a character who we can actually care about and whose ultimate fate is one we dread knowing.

58. The Third Man

Carol Reed, 1949

In short, The Third Man is the story of a washed up pulp novelist named Rollo Martins, played by Joseph Cotton, who comes to Vienna shortly after the second World War in search of his friend, Harry Lime, played by Orson Welles. Harry Lime is supposedly dead and, worse, seems to have been the ringleader behind a black market operation that sold highly diluted penicillin, leading to a number of deaths. When the facts don’t add up, Martins goes looking for his friend, who may still be alive.

The Third Man is often considered the finest British film ever made. Who am I to argue? If nothing else, the film certainly features some of, if not the, best black and white cinematography to ever hit the screen. This film looks amazing. It uses shadows brilliantly, indeed that is the only way we see Lime throughout most of the movie, and has numerous perfect compositions. The climactic chase through the sewers of Vienna are particularly beautiful. Now, it’s a popular misconception that Carol Reed didn’t really direct the picture, but relied heavily on Orson Welles to do the real work of setting up shots and lighting the film. The lighting is certainly brilliant and it does have a Welles influence going on, but Welles maintained throughout his life that Reed was an excellent director, that he didn’t need Welles help and that Welles didn’t offer it. As much as I love Welles, we must recognize this as Carol Reed’s film. He and his cinematographer Robert Krasker are them men most responsible for what is a simply unimpeachable film, at least as far as looks are concerned.

While I feel it is important to give credit where it is due directorially, it is also important to point out Welles’ own contribution to the film: namely, his performance. Welles is always good. He appeared in any number of films he didn’t direct and there isn’t a single performance that is anything less than the best. Hell, he even managed some damn nice work in Transformers: The Movie, upstaging Judd Nelson, which is no easy job. Welles really liked this role, in that his was the character that the entire plot revolved around. He doesn’t show up until well in the movie, but everything leading up to it involves characters talking about him. Welles likened Harry Lime to a play he once saw, saying, “Mister Wu is a classic example -- I’ve played it once myself. All the other actors boil around the stage for about an hour shrieking, ‘What will happen when Mister Wu arrives?,’ ‘What is he like, this Mister Wu?’ and so on. Finally a great gong is beaten, and slowly over a Chinese bridge comes Mister Wu himself in full mandarin robes. Peach Blossom (or whatever her name is) falls on her face and a lot of coolies yell, ‘Mister W!!!’ The curtain comes down, the audience goes wild and everybody says, ‘Isn’t that guy playing Mr. Wu a great actor!’ That’s a star part for you!” And that’s exactly who Harry Lime is. He is a compelling character for nearly an hour before we ever meet him. Of course, Welles doesn’t disappoint and he is likely the only actor who couldn’t. His Lime is so full of self confidence, charm, and moral corruption that there is simply no imagining his being anything else. He lives up to his every description in the film and then some. Welles then imbues him with a series of fantastic monologues (Welles did write his character’s dialog) that remain some of my very favorite in the history of film, particularly the cuckoo clock speech.

Finally, I would just like to point out that the film’s score is every bit as impressive as the rest of it. Reed forgoes the standard sort of orchestral scoring one might expect for this sort of film in favor of a score comprised entirely of musician Anton Karas playing the zither. The result is sometimes unsettling and sometimes whimsical. It is also a score which fits perfectly on the streets of Vienna. It is so unusual and so perfect that it has become a truly iconic score, fitting for such an iconic film.

59. Escape from New York

John Carpenter, 1981

“Call me Snake.”

1997. New York City is now a maximum security prison. Breaking out is impossible. Breaking in insane. Thus reads the tag line for one of the most kick ass movies of all time. For those of you who haven’t seen it, first off, shame on you. Secondly, this sucker rates a 9.5 on the Big Bad Leroy Brown kick-ass-o-meter. The plot? Well, you already know the basics. It’s the future, far off 1997. New York is a hell hole in which the worst of humanity has been condemned to life, although they are free to roam the streets as they please. It’s a dark and dangerous world and the president’s Air Force One escape pod has just crashed into the middle of it. Enter Snake Plissken, played to bad ass perfection by Kurt Russell, forever proving that he isn’t only the computer who wore tennis shoes. Anyway, and I can’t stress this enough, Snake is one bad mother SHUT YOUR MOUTH! Hey, I’m just talkin’ about Snake. OH. I CAN DIG IT. He’s on his way in, but New York’s warden, Hauk, played by Lee Van Cleef, Angel Eyes himself here to also kick some ass, knows that Snake is the only guy who stands a chance at getting the president out. So, they strike a deal. If Snake rescues the president, Hauk won’t kill him.

Once Snake makes his way into New York it’s all money. He fights cannibals, roving street gangs, and teams up with Ernie Borgnine, Harry Dean Stanton, and Adrienne “I’m Up Here” Barbeau to take on The Duke of New York (A #1), played by Isaac Hayes his own bad self. Do you see how bad ass this movie is? Must I continue to belabor the point? It’s bad ass, brother! When you get right down to it, Escape from New York really is a terrific action movie, but it’s also one that knows better than to take itself too seriously. It’s hardly the big deal weight of the world sort of action movie you might have seen too often. Indeed, Escape has a healthy sense of humor. Ernie Borgnine is really pretty funny as Cabbie. There’s a whole running joke about everyone thinking Snake is already dead, and the scene where the Duke makes Donald Pleasance scream out over and over, “You are the Duke of New York, A number one!” over and over brings a smile to my face each time. By the way, Pleasance plays the president, which is weird since he’s British.

The film also has some terrific visuals. This is a world without electricity in any real sense, so seeing Issac Hayes tool around in a Cadillac Fleetwood sedan with chandeliers for headlights makes perfect sense somehow and is also just a great idea. At any rate, I love John Carpenter from the eighties. He made a handful of movies there that are just a hell of a lot of fun. Escape may be a pretty straight forward action flick, but, as I’ve tried to point out, it’s just fun as hell, from the weird ass concept, to the strange characters, to the climactic chase across a mined bridge. Great, great stuff. On a final note, I love how Carpenter mixes a bit of the Spaghetti Western style into most of his films. Having only recently discovered Leone myself, it’s terrific to rewatch these and see the influence those films had on Carpenter himself, whether its just the look and feel of the film, the clear influence of the Man with no Name on characters like Snake, or the use of Van Cleef here or an Ennio Moriconne score in The Thing. Oh, and did I mention that this movie kicks an ungodly amount of ass? I thought so.

60. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou

Wes Anderson, 2004

“Son of a bitch, I’m sick of these dolphins.”

I know that this is a strange way to start an appreciation of a film, but let me begin by saying that The Life Aquatic is by no means as good a film as The Royal Tenenbaums. It is, however, the movie I prefer. It’s a lot weirder than Tenenbaums in a lot of ways. It is also much more divisive. Pretty much everyone likes Tenenbaums; it’s certainly hard not to. As far as Life Aquatic is concerned, though, it seems about half and half, but the half that hates the film really, really hates it. To be completely honest, I don’t know what to say about that. The Life Aquatic is certainly a flawed film. It has the same wonderful look and feel of Tenenbaums, but it never quite comes together as well. Steve Zissou, the film’s main character, played by Bill Murray, is not as immediately likable as Royal Tenenbaum. He is more self obsessed and has a longer way to go toward finding his personal redemption. He is also much more aware of how far he has fallen in life. Once essentially the American Jacques Cousteau, Zissou has fallen on hard times. He sees himself as an adventurer, but has to contend with a substandard ship, substandard equipment, and a largely useless crew, populated heavily by unpaid interns. Steve’s decline in recent years is only felt more keenly thanks to the constant run ins with Alistair Hennessey, a man who now has all the equipment and fame Zissou once had, played spectacularly by Jeff Goldblum, the death of his mentor at the jaws of a Jaguar Shark, and the sudden appearance of a son, Owen Wilson as Ned Plimpton.

Despite its flaws, which I think mostly stem from a less sympathetic lead and a deeper move into Anderson’s stylistic ideals, The Life Aquatic is a lot of fun. For one thing, it is filled with just as many great characters as Tenenbaums. Steve himself is great once you get to know him and I think the interns are absolutely hilarious. Goldblum is perfect, creating in his character a cruel, yet oddly detached villain. Michael Gambon plays Steve’s off kilter manager, who makes Steve swear not to kill the shark that ate his friend, but still gives him dynamite. There is also a character named, Pele dos Santos, one of Zissou’s crew. Pele appears to be from Portugal and provides most of the music for the film. In a bizarre choice, which I think fits in very well with Anderson’s style and themes, Anderson primarily scores the film with the diagetic sound of Pele playing acoustic guitar and singing a series of David Bowie songs in Portuguese. Best of all the characters, though, is Steve’s right hand, Willem Dafoe’s Klaus. Klaus is pretty much a crazy German guy who clearly sees Steve as a father figure. He is immediately and hysterically jealous of Steve’s newfound real son. One of the film’s best moments comes when Steve splits his crew into two halves to search an island. Klaus is not on Steve’s team. Dafoe’s face instantly falls as he throws a fit. Hilarious. I’m also a big fan of the moment when Steve discovers Jeff Goldblum on the island, playing cards with his captors inside a disused resort hotel. Goldblum looks at Steve and asks, “Are you here to rescue me?” Steven nods. Goldblum gives it a moments thought, lays down his cards, and says, “Fold.” He is then shot by his captors. Trust me. It’s damn funny.

Ultimately, Life Aquatic is a much more action oriented film than any of Anderson’s other works, but it is just as fun and wonderfully strange. In the end, our characters grow in the Anderson way and we get to leave the film with a group of characters whose inner turmoil has become something else. I suppose that is a bit predictable, but, with Anderson’s films, it’s the character’s journey that matters more than the outcome and that journey is always a hell of a ride through one hell of a world.

61. M

1931, Fritz Lang

As M opens, we learn that a killer stalks the streets of an unnamed German city. He is a child murderer. The film moves to a shot of a young girl, playing with her ball. She bounces the ball against a column. On the column is a poster describing the few known details of the murderer and the reward for his capture. Suddenly, a shadow falls over the poster, the silhouette of a man. He whistles “In the Hall of the Mountain King” as he takes the girl away. He buys her a balloon. At home, her mother worries. Where is her daughter? Why is she late coming home from school? Before long, we cut to a shot the balloon floating against telephone wires, her ball rolls alone on the ground. Elsie Beckmann is dead.

The rest of the film is unlike anything else. There are characters, like Inspector Karl Lohmann and a criminal mastermind named Safecracker, who appear throughout the film, but the narrative follows no real lead characters. Instead, it skips around, showing us not only the police investigation, but the growing paranoia in the city, as any man who talks to a girl, be he her father or an elderly gentleman telling her the time, is expected. The police crack down hard, making it impossible for the city’s incredibly organized underground to operate. Because of this, and because they despise the murderer’s crimes, singling him out as unlike them, not a crook, but something else, the criminals begin an investigation of their own. The Beggars Organization blankets the city, watching for the murderer. When one of them, the balloon, vender, recognizes him from his ominous whistle, the beggars mark him with a chalk letter M, for murderer.

Before long, the criminals have him. They take him to the basement of an abandoned factory and they put him on trial, filled with disgust for what he did. The film does an excellent job of making you hate this man. He is a vile monster that not even criminals will embrace. The murderer is played by Peter Lorre and I don’t have enough good to say about him here. Peter Lorre is best known these days for playing the wormy guy in films like The Maltese Falcon, Casablanca, and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. He is, essentially, Hollywood’s number one sniveling coward. Here, he is different. He is scary as hell, the ultimate, detached monster. When he comes on screen, you believe he is capable of what the plot demands of him. You hate him. Yet, in the trial, something strange happens. He breaks down. He begs the criminals for his life. This is where things change. Suddenly, Lorre is no longer frightening. He is a small and pitiable man. Lang, the film’s director, only complicates matters by indicating that Lorre’s character is a sick man, that he kills because of a mental imbalance. Lorre’s perfect performance sells every bit of it.

M begins as a frightening thriller and ends as a bizarre moral quandary. Is Lorre guilty or not and if so, to what degree and how should he be punished. Is street justice more effective than the police? Lang doesn’t answer these or his many other questions himself. Instead, he leaves it all to the audience, creating a film which lives on indelibly in the mind for years after the first viewing.