The Killer - One of the Many "Literally Me" Characters

 

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"A hundred and forty million human beings are born every year, give or take. Worldwide population is approximately 7.8 billion. Every second, 1.8 people die. While 4.2 are born into that very, same, second. Nothing I've ever done will make any dent in these metrics."

David Fincher's The Killer is absolutely loaded with gems like this. The unnamed killer (Michael Fassbender) rationalizes the immorality of what he does by explaining to himself that none of what he does matters. Justice isn't real. Morality isn't real. These concepts only exist to comfort those who are unwilling to stare into the abyss like he does. He's content with staring humanity in the eye and seeing nothing worth defending. At least, that's what he tells himself throughout runtime before accepting his philosophical role in the world in the film's final minute. 

Fincher's film feels like an idiosyncratic black comedy that pokes fun not only at this type of character in other films, but his own creative processes as one of the world's most renowned and admired filmmakers (I'm particularly fond of Se7en). As a film, it's exciting to see Fincher dedicate his unique talents to something like this. The fight scene in the middle is particularly nasty and exciting, and Fincher brings a handful of creative decisions that make the scene intense and visceral. I especially loved how the camera lightly shakes on every impact. It really added a layer of impact and weight that many fight scenes these days lack. 

Fincher isn't critiquing these characters or arguing that they shouldn't exist in film, as one can argue that some of the best films ever made are centered around fundamentally lonely men, but his thesis is finally arrived at in the film's closing line where The Killer admits that he is one of the many. Throughout his entire journey, The Killer talks about being one of the few versus one of the many, seemingly believing he is one of the former before accepting he is one of the latter. In a sense, this, and other movies like it, is about understanding your role in a world overrun by late-stage capitalism. In a place where net worth counts for more than virtue, you are your job, and little else. 

It's hard to explain exactly how Fassbender and Fincher manage to make this character strangely charismatic. It goes without saying that our unnamed protagonist is a terrible person. He kills multiple innocent people throughout the movie and doesn't seem to feel any remorse over it whatsoever. He views empathy as a weakness and tries as hard as possible to forbid it whenever he is capable. He is objectively despicable, and yet, for some reason, I found it extremely difficult to not root for him as the movie progressed. The narration takes us so far into his mindset and nihilistic worldview, and presents it so logically that it is difficult to disagree with it. The quote I used to start this off is objectively true, even if he is using it to justify his profession of killing people for money. Whether or not the people "deserve" to die or not is irrelevant both to The Killer and in the grand scheme of the human experience according to his worldview. I think it is this cold, ruthless logic that makes it hard to despise The Killer despite his obvious moral shortcomings. The aesthetic of the film captures the sort of sleek coldness that inherits The Killer's mind. Shots are gorgeously lit, but there is no warmth to any of the images that populate the film. 

Characters like the titular killer have existed for decades now. Characters like Jef Costello of Le Samourai, Travis Bickle of Taxi Driver, Patrick Bateman of American Psycho, the driver of Drive and many others have become synonymous with men who find the inherent loneliness these characters define their lives by relatable or comforting despite the cold aesthetic. The film surrounding Travis Bickle's fatalistic definitions of masculinity is nasty and grimy. There are no heroes in any of their worlds except the one that exists in their own minds. Between these characters, their mentality generally fluctuates between "the world is ruined and only I can save it" or "it doesn't matter". The killer is almost a borderline parody of this sort of character, but with one exception. All of these aforementioned characters feel like they are exceptional but don't realize that they are not. The Killer, in its closing line, finally pokes through at just how flawed his mindset is. 

 

Taxi Driver (Movie Review)

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

To quote Roger Ebert when he discusses Taxi Driver, the scene where Robert De Niro kinda sorta almost breaks the fourth wall by repeatedly asking "you talking to me" might be the most widely quoted line from the film, but it's what he says after that is far more important to understanding Travis Bickle and his seemingly fragmented journey.

"I'm the only one here."

The first viewing of this movie can certainly be challenging. Travis isn't as outwardly unlikable as, say, Rupert Pupkin of The King of Comedy, but he is certainly not someone you would want to find yourself hanging out with under almost any circumstances. He is alone even in a crowd, and the camera often reminds us of this when it shows his coworkers in one frame before cutting to him in isolation, even though he is only sitting a few feet from them at the same table. 

However, this awkwardness is not what makes the movie somewhat inaccessible on a first viewing for a lot of people. Many movies center themselves on awkward people, but it's the plot that Travis more or less wanders through. There isn't a singular thread that runs throughout other than Travis's fantasies of becoming a vigilante. It's a perverted, nihilistic expression of masculinity that culminates in an orgasmic display of violence in the film's closing minutes. It's impossible to predict that that sequence, or the story of rescuing the child prostitute from her nasty pimps in the first place, would be where the film ends up after the first handful of scenes that introduce us to God's lonely man. 

In an interview, Paul Schrader was quoted as saying it took him just over two weeks to write the finished screenplay, and that the taxi that Travis works in is a "symbol of urban loneliness, a metal coffin". Extenuating this notion further, you are, in fact, your job. We are told that Travis is a discharged marine from the Vietnam war, but we never hear anything about his time there other than being shown what looks like burns on his back. Instead, he is now a taxi driver and nothing else. In the modern world, you are your job, whether you want to be or not. If you were to die right now, the only thing they would describe you as in the media is what you do for a living (which I've always felt is a disgusting expression, but that is a whole other conversation). Your value is your output; such is the way of the modern industrialized world. 

I've been following Schrader's career for years now, and I love how he has carved out this niche for himself. Time and time again we see him revisiting these themes of masculinity and existentialism playing out on different scales. A jaded man's inability to reconcile with his past moral failures such as The Card Counter, or a man who's will to power overtook his physical form such as Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters; these are ideas Schrader has been fascinated with throughout all of his works. This film was the introduction, and I don't know if we'll ever get the conclusion. And to be honest, I don't want one. On a totally biased and self-serving note, these sorts of movies are thoroughly engaging, so I don't want them to ever stop being made. Travis lacks empathy and is most likely a psychopath, but Schrader still provides empathy within his screenplay.

The ending of the film is a tricky one, and I don't mean the shootout, but rather what follows after that. Scorsese and Schrader seem to be on the side of that what we see there is real, and that Travis survived the shootout, but this reading just doesn't make any sense to me. First and foremost, a person would not survive the injuries he sustains throughout the rampage. He is shot in the neck and in the arm and isn't tended to for quite some time and would, therefore, bleed out by the time the police showed up to the scene. Secondly, it's important to not let our disgust for the pimps cloud our judgment and cause us to misunderstand what Travis is doing. No matter what your feelings are towards these people, this is still premeditated first degree murder against three people. I'm not saying I feel any sympathy for them, but it's important for us to recognize that vigilante justice is not real justice. Travis would not just be let free by the police, and I honestly don't believe that he would be celebrated as a hero by the media. He planned out the attack and was not acting in self-defense in the situation at all, so he would unquestionably spend the rest of his life in prison for what he did. Betsy responding to him in the manner that she does is exactly what he wanted. He wanted to be a hero for the girl so she could see that she needed him, but this is little else than a dying man's fantasy.

So what does it mean? My interpretation is that he does, in fact, die while imitating suicide in front of the cop. As the camera cuts to the long panning overhead shot, we see the full carnage of the bad ideas in one narcissistic, deeply lonely man. He didn't have many opinions about anything, but we do know that he harbored a fantasy that involves a rain washing away all the "scum" off the streets, as he puts it. When he meets the man in his taxi ironically played by Scorsese himself, the man starts talking about using a gun to deal with his wife's infidelity with a black man. This only escalates his misogynistic and racist worldview and introduces the idea of using violence himself to resolve what he perceives as his problems. And as such is the case with conspiratorial thinking, because Travis has no friends to bounce his ideas off of, and therefore no one to challenge his worldview, his beliefs only become more and more extreme as his descent in nihilistic vigilantism furthers. He wants to be a hero. He wants to be the one who rescues society, but when he realizes he can't do that, he wants to rescue the girl. This reaches its climax after he executes the remaining pimp, where he immediately attempts to commit suicide in front of Iris (Jodie Foster). He doesn't value his own life or anyone else's, but he does value his own perverted expression of masculinity. Travis Bickle is little more than God's lonely man.

The Zone of Interest (Movie Review)

 

⭐1/2

Everybody understands that World War II is the singular most multi-faceted, deeply complicated and immeasurably costly conflict in all of human history. In fact, one can reasonably divide history into two halves: pre-WWII and post-WWII, as nearly everything we deal with today on a socioeconomic and diplomatic level are connected to that conflict. And as such, it is no surprise that there would be a plethora of films about this, covering a wide range of perspectives.

Countless movies and series have been made about the American perspective of the war, but it should not be overlooked the other extremely well crafted movies about this that don't get talked about enough. For example, Oliver Hirschbiegel's Downfall (2004) provided an unprecedentedly intimate fly-on-the-wall perspective of Hiter's bunker during his final days. Clint Eastwood's Letters From Iwojima (2006) showed the horrors through the eyes of the Japanese, an especially untold story. Elem Klimov made the unrelentingly harrowing Come and See, which told the story of a Russian child. My favorite of them all might just be the criminally underappreciated Land of Mine (2015), which is a side of WWII that very few people are aware of: that being how the Danish government forced German POWs (many of which were children) to excavate and disarm millions of landmines along the western coast of Denmark with their bare hands. 

These movies are traumatizing, but necessary, and they force us to analyze how WWII deeply affected people of all cultures and countries, both tangible and intangible. The danger of this, however is the redundancy of communicating something we all already know. The only thing The Zone of Interest is interested in is the banality of evil. It's a film about the day-to-day life of even the most heinous people in history, as our protagonist is the main commanding officer of Auschwitz. I'm all for exploring World War II from relatively untold sides like this, but what does this bring to the table that hasn't been extensively covered in other World War II movies and even the most watered down history classes in your average public school? Nothing.

I also understand and acknowledge that a movie like this shouldn't necessarily be "entertaining" per se, but did writer-director Jonathan Glazer really have to go out of his way to make this so searingly unexciting? There was never a moment in this that really gripped me in the way that other reviewers seem to be saying it did for them. This never justifies its own existence or explains why it is telling us this story. Why should we even care about the daily life of someone like Rudolf Höss? Glazer never answers this question, and while his talents as a filmmaker are undeniable, as this does have some arresting visuals here and there as well as a score that I could see myself listening to on its own, there's just absolutely NOTHING here, and I didn't learn anything I didn't already know as well.

The only reason I see this movie existing is to be Oscar bait, and unfortunately, it has worked. As of writing this, The Zone of Interest has been nominated for Best Picture. This is some seriously trite stuff, and as I said it is excruciatingly boring. Can we please stop making movies about WWII if you are going to offer nothing beyond the reductive "war is hell" or "the banality of evil"; motifs that are so unoriginal and bland at this point? If you have nothing to say, then shut up.

Poor Things (Movie Review)

 

⭐⭐⭐⭐1/2

Yorgos Lanthimos is certainly no stranger to making his audience feel a strange whirlwind of perplexing and almost unidentifiable emotions throughout the varying lengths of his films. His first film Dogtooth is a deliberately unpleasant experience that acted as an allegory for what it's like to live in a household of overbearing parents and unrealistic expectations that enforce an almost diabolically cold world view. I can't say I enjoyed watching it, but it is certainly a film that has stuck with me since I saw it. This coldness is something that many audiences will struggle to resonate with, and I will admit that I myself, while appreciating and admiring Lanthimos's boldness, wasn't fully on board with. I enjoyed The Killing of a Sacred Deer but I was relatively lukewarm on The Lobster, which also boasted a unique concept that I personally didn't feel like was explored as well as it could've been.

Enter Poor Things, Lanthimos's most ambitious project of his unique career thus far. Funnily enough, this isn't the only movie released in 2023 to feature a doll-like girl to roam around in an unfamiliar world, soaking up the mechanisms of a modern industrialized society and forming her opinions on sex, work, gender roles and more (the other film that fits this description is Greta Gerwig's Barbie, which I and many others enjoyed). However, Lanthimos wants to explore many of the same topics Gerwig did but in a much less accessible manner and I am all the more thankful that he is so unafraid to do his own thing in the face of endless commercialism. 

The alternate steampunk aesthetic that Robbie Ryan created, which was inspired by Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula, was such a joy to look at and it so wonderfully captures all the feelings of being dropped into an unfamiliar world, much like what a child would feel upon entering the world for the first time. Colors burst onto the screen at so many points throughout the movie, especially during the second and third act. Jerskin Fendrix's score, much like the film around it, was surprisingly catchy and simultaneously creepy, comprised mostly of monotonous strings and repetitive melodies that match the off-putting vibe that Lanthimos has captured here.

So yes, while the film boasts an amazing aesthetic and sound, the greatest strengths lie in the film's humor and in Emma Stone's performance. Lanthimos lets the humor bubble to the surface in many scenes, and the humor is boosted significantly by Mark Ruffalo, who's comedic timing and delivery are actually spot on. I especially liked Godwin's (Willem Dafoe) burp bubble, which had the whole audience laughing every time in happened. The humor is what separates this film from Lanthimos's other projects for me, which were far too serious and cold considering how intentionally silly the concepts were, especially in, say, The Lobster. I absolutely loved the bulldog birds and the body-less horse carriages. As for Emma Stone's performance, this is nothing short of career best work from an actor with such a wide range. Throughout the course of the film's ever-so-slightly overlong 141 minute runtime, the progression of her performance from child-like, both in movement and in line delivery, to posh and elegant as the plot progresses alongside her was beyond impressive, and the recognition and praises she is receiving are more than earned. Her performance and the humor keeps the film consistently watchable even when the pacing loses a tiny bit of steam in the second act. 

It's clear to me that Lanthimos feels a lot of compassion towards the central character here, which is what makes it work so much better for me than some of his other projects. Bella's journey to adapt to the modern world, and her observations of how women are treated in a world run by men devoid of compassion, produces poignant, thrillingly original and often quite funny results. Even if these sorts of movies aren't typically your thing, if you were one of the millions who saw and liked Barbie, you owe it to yourself and to women to see what all the fuss is about with Poor Things. 

Mulholland Drive - The Land of Lost Dreams

 

"Hey, pretty girl. Time to wake up." 

But I don't want to. I've seen Mulholland Drive quite a few times over the years, and I never fail to take something new away or to be continuously riveted by it each time. The final fifteen minutes of this film send shivers down my spine and give me goosebumps all over every single time. There are so many moving parts and hidden layers to this film, some only uncovered in a single line of dialogue that may seem trivial and inconsequential. However, as with all great filmmakers, every line, every detail, and every creative decision are crucial to understanding the meaning of this nightmare. 

David Lynch's opus opens up with a fever dream dance sequence, which we can later deduce is the jitterbug contest that made Diane Selwyn (Naomi Watts) interested in becoming an actress in Hollywood. Lynch's version of Hollywood retains a dreamy and surrealist atmosphere that we would later see in Inland Empire, which I would consider to be a nice double feature with this. However, the difference is that this is a puzzle where the pieces fit together. Following this, the next notable thing that occurs is a car accident that occurs just before a mysterious woman (Laura Harring) is about to be assassinated by two permanently unnamed men in suits. Alone, she wanders through the hazy night and into the city, but she doesn't remember who she is or why she is in Los Angeles. What follows is nearly two and a half hours of some of the most poignant, devastating and fascinating filmmaking ever captured. I can honestly say it's my favorite film of all time.

Freud's perspective on psychology is arguably misogynistic and inarguably outdated, as hardly any psychologists use the psychoanalytic approach anymore, but one thing that can't be denied is that his ideas on psychology have produced some incredible pieces of art and storytelling. Mulholland Drive stands out as being among the very best. The first section of the film, which takes up the significant majority of the runtime, plays very much like a dream. The overwhelming bright colors, the strange and almost stilted line delivery from Betty (the dream version of Diane) and the doughy eyed examination of Los Angeles all feed into this incredibly nuanced fantasy that Diane has. With that in mind, to understand this film, we need to work backwards. 

The second section of this film, which I would argue begins during Rita and Betty's visit to the Club Silencio theater, where Betty begins to tremble during the performer's explanation that everything the audience is hearing and seeing is an illusion. This is the moment in which the fantasy world begins to implode as it collides with reality. Diane's fantasy has been carefully constructed by her unconscious desires, and they craft a narrative that satisfies all of her insecurities and accomplishes all of the dreams that never worked out. The first and most important part of what the fantasy addresses is her intense desire to have Camilla sexually and also to become her. She is named Rita in the fantasy world. In reality, Camilla was the one who attracted the eye of the famous movie director and not Diane, and she left her to be with him, which causes Diane such immense and overwhelming jealousy that she is unable to cope with it. Not only does Camilla wind up representing her shortcomings from a romantic perspective but also from a career perspective too. I personally find it impossible to not feel very sorry for Diane, as what she is experiencing is a whirlwind of emotions that permeates modern life more than it has in any other point in human history.

To address the romantic aspect of her life in the fantasy, Camilla loses her memory, which gives Diane the opportunity to rescue her and make her fall in love with her again. It doesn't simply stop at making Rita fall in love with her, but she goes out of her way to humiliate the director Adam Kesher (Justin Theroux) in every way imaginable. His creative role as a filmmaker is stolen from him by gangsters, his wife is cheating on him and throws him out of his own house. Oh, and he loses all of his money. On first viewing, it's comical and seems to be totally uncalled for, as you can't help but feel bad for this guy being humiliated and belittled in every aspect of his life for seemingly no reason. On repeat viewings, it becomes more clear why Diane's mind is going so far out of her way to annihilate him. To top it all off, he is starstruck by her when she enters the room during the auditions for the lead role in his next movie, which is being meddled with by mobsters. However, she has to leave because she promised to help Rita investigate the mystery of her own forgotten identity, which serves as Diane's unconscious providing her with a reason for why her dreams of becoming an actress never worked out the way she wanted. At this point in the fantasy, Rita and Betty begin to merge into one. They investigate the apartment of a woman named Diane Selwyn, who died sometime ago. It is later revealed by the end of the movie that this is in fact Betty/Diane, as she is lying in the same bed in the same position. As the two of them escape, the camera blurs the two actresses together, signifying that her unconscious has succeeded in molding Rita into exactly what Betty/Diane wants her to be.

Romance and the agonizing jealousy stemming from it aren't the only things that Diane's fantasy addresses, as there are many layers and nuances to it that carefully fix what she perceives as wrong her life. Circling back to the end of the film, I think a clue that we need to take into account is that the waitress in the cafe, who is played by the same woman, has a name tag of Betty in the real world, and a name tag of Diane in the fantasy world. This can be interpreted in many ways, but the way I have interpreted this over the years is that Diane, in the real world, is in fact working as a waitress while trying to get her big break as an actress in a city filled with an endless supply of people just like her: individuals trying to stand out in a system that forces you to be stagnant. Unfortunately for Diane, the farthest she was able to reach was getting smaller parts in some of Camilla's films, with the most notable seeming to be the one Camilla and Adam made. The scene where Adam instructs the actor on how to kiss Camilla the way he wants by demonstrating it on her himself enrages Diane, as we see by her piercing facial expression. It's a masterful performance by Watts, who transcends any adjective I could use to describe what she accomplishes here. 

With her job as a waitress in mind, Diane's fantasy constructs a narrative that whoever gets these roles only got them because they were rigged; that the only reason an actor got the leading role is because mysterious and inexplicable forces pulled invisible strings to give them that opportunity. An unnamed and unexplained group of men who appear to be mobsters infiltrate the movie that Adam is making, and when it becomes clear that he doesn't want to cast the girl they want (who is named Camilla Rhodes, and looks like the woman who kissed the real Camilla in front of Diane at the engagement party near the end of the film), they sabotage Adam in every way imaginable in the ways touched on earlier. 

Betty shows herself to be a fantastic actress in the scene where she auditions for her first film. She makes a comment to Rita that the scene is lame, but she nonetheless pours her heart and soul into the audition. She decides to play the scene in a much more sexual and provocative manner than she rehearsed, ultimately allowing herself to be fondled by the actor (and leaning into it) in order to give herself that much more of an edge to get the role. I think she internalized this detail when she sees Camilla and Adam kiss during the scene discussed earlier, and takes it as if Camilla only got the role she wanted with Adam because she allowed her sexuality to be taken advantage of by powerful men in Hollywood. I'm not accusing Adam of being a sexual predator, as this is all speculation, but this is simply my interpretation of how Diane internalizes what she sees in the real world that shapes her fantasy world.

Unable to cope with her jealousy and longing to not only have Camilla, but also to BE Camilla, she uses what is left of the money that her aunt left her to hire a hitman to kill her. He tells Diane in the same Winkie's restaurant from near the beginning of the film that she will find a blue key in the spot he told her it would be at when the job is finished, which is eerily similar to the blue key found in the fantasy. Diane is racked with what I can only imagine is an overwhelming and tremendous amount of guilt, combined with the stress of being watched by the police. In one of the funniest scenes in the film, Diane's fantasy comforts her by presenting the hitman as a clumsy moron who failed to kill Camilla, which is evidenced in the following scene when he asks a woman if she has seen a brunette who speaks Spanish on the streets. The old people let out of the box by the creature behind the diner (which I believe is meant to be a humanoid manifestation of the lost dreams found throughout the streets of Hollywood; a recurring motif in all of David Lynch's films) are actually the same old people we see dropping Betty off from the airport when she first moves to the big city towards the beginning of the film when we are first introduced to Betty as a character. The old smiling woman is her aunt; the same aunt who left her the money to go to Hollywood to pursue her acting dreams, which adds a cruel and ironic layer to how her guilt manifests itself, and it makes for one of the scariest endings to a movie you'll ever see. Diane commits suicide as she runs from her hallucinations by shooting herself in the head. In the fantasy world, Diane is dead via what looks like pills, which is Diane's way of fantasizing about preserving her beauty in death.

Ultimately, what Diane's unconscious is doing for her is comforting her. If she didn't become a movie star, it was because it was rigged against her from the start. If she can't have Camilla, it's because she was stolen from her by someone else. Mulholland Drive is a film about Hollywood being a land of lost dreams, filled with unfulfilled aspirations and jealousy on every corner of every street. Such can be said about basically any city in the 21st century, though. I live in San Jose, a mere six or seven hours north of Los Angeles, and it's almost identical in that sense. This happens in every city you've ever been in. You pass by people with dreams that will never be fulfilled. It's ironic; in modern urban life you are surrounded by people at all times, and yet, there is no lonelier place.

At some point or another, we are all Diane Selwyn.

Get to Know Me: My Favorites of all Time

Hello everyone! I realize this probably should have been the first blog post, but as movie lovers know, it’s never a bad time to share your favorite movies. The best part of having this as a hobby is being able to recommend great movies to others. Few things in life are as enjoyable to us cinephiles than when someone gets back to us on something we suggested to them telling us how much they enjoyed it. It goes without saying that it also feels amazing to show a friend or family member a movie you love and watch their reactions to all the best scenes and moments. There are literally countless great films from all over the world, in more languages than any one person could ever hope to speak in their lifetime. Of course, this means that there are many more great films than are listed here, so this is in no way an attempt to act like my taste is in any way more refined than anyone else. Without further ado, let’s get into it! To provide some structure, these won’t be ranked except for the final ten entries, and, this is just a matter of personal preference, so I’m also not necessarily saying that any of these movies are “better” than the others as these all represent what is, to me, as good as movies can be. This list will more or less be a surface level introduction on my thoughts for each of the movies, but I would love to write a more in-depth retrospective review on them as I revisit them!

20. Taxi Driver (1976) Dir. Martin Scorsese

Kicking off the list is Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver, starring Robert De Niro in one of his many career defining roles, and this is not the last time he and Scorsese appear on this list. While Scorsese and De Niro initially set out to make a film about the seedier parts of New York City, they realized that the movie they were making was about the man at the center of it all. It’s a difficult movie to watch, not necessarily because of the content or violence, but because there isn’t a singular thread that runs throughout the film’s plot throughout the course of the runtime, which renders the film difficult to decipher on first viewing. On repeat viewings, the film’s descent into nihilism and masculine fantasy become more harrowing and unsympathetic, resulting in one of the most fascinating character studies in cinema. 

19. The Wrestler (2008) Dir. Darren Aronofsky

Darren Aronofsky is a filmmaker where all reactions are reasonable. There are those who love the raw and undeniable emotional power that many of his films have, but there are also those who don’t see his movies as anything other than glorified and pretentious misery porn. While I definitely think the latter group’s criticisms are certainly valid at times, The Wrestler is innocent of all such claims. It’s such a heart-wrenching portrayal of aging and self-destruction, anchored by a career best performance by Mickey Rourke. The story parallels Rourke’s own personal battles, capped off by a staggeringly beautiful finale that is sure to pack an emotional punch. 

18. Lawrence of Arabia (1964) Dir. David Lean

I’ll admit that I’ve only seen this film in its entirety once, but that one time was fortunate enough to be in a packed theater full of respectful moviegoers. David Lean is no stranger to the historical epic that we just don’t see too often anymore, and Lawrence of Arabia stands out as his opus, though Bridge on the River Kwai is a close second. The ambition in scale and the filmmaking is staggering, most particularly in a sequence in which a legion of horseback riders charge a town in the desert, and the wide angle gives us a complete view of everything that is happening. It’s literally impossible to not be in awe of how many moving pieces are operating at once to create such a sequence. Clocking in at nearly four hours, it is certainly a commitment, but one that Lean and Peter O’Toole make more than worth your while. 

17. Heaven’s Gate (1980) Dir. Michael Cimino

Michael Cimino’s Heaven’s Gate is arguably the single most notorious box office flop of all time. It was such a commercial failure, that the studio that funded it went bankrupt after its release. In addition to being a commercial failure, the film was also relentlessly attacked by critics on release. Pardon me sounding like a conspiracy theorist, but I believe there was a coordinated attack on this film due to how scathing and cynical this film’s portrayal of American history is. This is nothing short of an evisceration of American mythology, one where there is no liberty and justice for anyone unless you are rich. An absolutely monumental cinematic achievement, and it features some of the best looking cinematography you’ll ever see. 

16. Scarface (1983) Dir. Brian De Palma

Remakes are a funny thing, because they can easily be ripoffs that reek of being little more than a lazy way for a studio to make some money, but they can also become cornerstones that redefine a genre and far surpass the original film. Brian De Palma’s modernization of the gangster classic is so much more intelligent than has been given credit over the decades since its release. Pacino’s deliberately two dimensional acting demonstrates such a clear understanding of narcissism, the perception of blue collar crime versus white collar crime and more that I’m amazed this isn’t talked about more in the conversations of greatest movies ever. The final shootout is iconic, but it’s everything else that sets it up that makes it one of the greatest gangster films of all time. 

15. Once Upon a Time in the West (1969) Dir. Sergio Leone

The first of two times you will see Sergio Leone on this list. As far as filmmaking techniques go, I feel that he had more or less perfected what he wanted to accomplish by the time he got to For a Few Dollars More, but while the Dollars trilogy is undeniably fun and exciting, there isn’t much in the way of contextualizing the violence in real American history. Leone casts against type, having Fonda play a merciless hired killer who was hired by a railroad tycoon to force a family off of its land so he could build a railroad through it. A perfect example of when style meets substance, and without a doubt my favorite western of all time. 

14. Pulp Fiction (1994) Dir. Quentin Tarantino

This might be a safe or easy choice to include in a top movies list, but at the end of the day, if you love a movie, then that’s all that really matters. It’s so endlessly quotable, and while it may seem like this is a film about nothing, it is about the importance of learning from the nothingness of our everyday lives. There isn’t an overarching narrative that connects every day of our lives, which reflects the plot of this movie. Every main character in this film, with the exception of one, learns something that helps them grow as a person. This is also one of the funniest movies ever made, but obviously in a very twisted way. 

13. The Shawshank Redemption (1994) Dir. Frank Darabont

This is another entry that may seem like a safe choice, but the emotional impact is rarely equalled, and it has one of the most satisfying endings in cinematic history to boot. The way this has so much empathy for prisoners and humanizes them to such an intense degree requires a level of compassion few filmmakers possess. As an author, Stephen King shows us that he mines so much humanity from situations that seem so hopeless. Combine that with a cast and crew bursting at the seams with empathy, and you’ve got a recipe for a classic. I won’t deny that this is probably an emotionally manipulative movie, but is that not the filmmakers’ jobs to a degree, at the end of the day? 

12. Apocalypse Now (1979) Dir. Francis Ford Coppola

Francis Ford Coppola’s passion project that nearly broke him lands at number 12 on my list, and it’s because of the sheer audacity of this film that lands it so high. I adore movies that follow this sort of structure, where the characters go on a physical journey to a place or person that represents a psychological transformation. This LSD trip of a war film is mesmerizing to behold on every viewing, and I had the pleasure to see the release of the Final Cut in a packed theater back in summer of 2019. Having seen all three versions of the film, my recommendation is to seek out the theatrical cut that was originally released back in 1979. For me, the extra footage doesn’t do too much for the film’s story other than hurting the pacing as it takes multiple detours. I love Martin Sheen’s performance, even though Brando’s Kurtz is what often gets discussed the most despite the limited runtime. 

11. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) Dir. Miloš Forman

Perhaps one of the most important movies on the list, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest opened the eyes of the public to the atrocities that mental hospitals were committing against the people they were supposed to be taking care of. Unbelievably heartbreaking, and I seem to be in the minority of people that think the movie outclasses the book. Mac is a more compelling protagonist for a movie to be centered around and the performances from Jack Nicholson, Louise Fletcher, Will Sampson, Brad Dourif and the rest of the cast complement Miloš Forman’s sympathetic and humanistic direction so wonderfully that it makes it impossible for the film to not linger long after it ends. This is so important because this represents a demographic that was discarded and dehumanized for decades and increased social awareness of the truly sickening and barbaric methods these institutions used to “treat” the mentally ill. 

10. Boogie Nights (1997) Dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

The rise and fall narrative is one that appears many, many times throughout cinema, but PTA’s masterpiece Boogie Nights plugs this narrative into a world that the vast majority are unfamiliar with. Roger Ebert called it an “epic of the low road”, and while I won’t get on here to be condescending towards people in the porn industry, it is still undoubtedly a somewhat shady industry to be involved in. It features an incredible cast boasting the likes of Mark Wahlberg, Burt Reynolds, Julianne Moore and more (haha), all giving truly wonderful performances that locate so much humanity in a demographic we might not think about too often in our lives. The filmmaking and storytelling style are both evidently inspired by Goodfellas, which is never a bad thing. 

9. The Shining (1980) Dir. Stanley Kubrick

This isn’t the only time Stanley Kubrick will appear on this list. The Shining is not only arguably his most popular film (despite mixed to negative reactions at release) and iconic movie, but it’s also genuinely terrifying. Nicholson’s performance as a man driven to madness by cabin fever and a scary hotel. I haven’t watched this in a while, so my thoughts aren’t the most cohesive, but the 4K restoration of this is absolutely stunning to look at and listen to. 

8. Goodfellas (1990) Dir. Martin Scorsese

 There isn’t much to say about Goodfellas that hasn’t been said already. It’s one of the most popular movies of all time, moves at a breakneck pace and is wildly entertaining from start to finish. Every rewatch, I’m always blown away by how consistently engaging it is. Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci always get props for how much they add to their characters in the film, but Ray Liotta provides such a great emotional anchor for the audience to latch onto. You’ve probably already seen it, but go watch it again! 

7. Chinatown (1974) Dir. Roman Polanski

Separating the artist from the art is an unavoidable debate when Roman Polanski’s name comes up. What he did is undeniably despicable, but that, at least to me, doesn’t render what he and Robert Towne are communicating about how the elites operate on their own intangible plane of existence by design, which is ironic for that reason in and of itself, but that is beside the point. The main protagonist, Jake Gittes (Jack Nicholson) is so easy to connect with due to how he is cynical and yet still cares about doing what he feels is the right thing for others. The film is overpowering in its pessimism due to how deliberately brutal and cruel the ending is to its audience. The first time I saw it, I had no choice but to sink into my seat and was unable to find the correct words to express my thoughts and feelings as the credits hauntingly began to roll, and honestly, it’s just as difficult on whichever rewatch you’re on, as well. 

6. American Psycho (2000) Dir. Mary Harron

I credit this film as being the film that got me into more abstract and more challenging films. To take it as an analysis of a serial killer is fun, but it misses the point of the utterly brilliant satire. There are so many layers to how cleverly this eviscerates the financial industry and more specifically Wall Street. One of the many possible takeaways is that a serial killer would blend in on Wall Street a little too well, but to me, what this is communicating more than anything is a critique on how toxic masculinity is rewarded in a world that celebrates being selfish and materialistic. Reading the screenplay, it would have been so easy for this movie to be absolutely terrible, but Mary Harron’s confident direction and an incredible, career-best performance by Christian Bale solidify this as one of the greatest pieces of satire ever made. 

5. The Godfather: Part II (1974) Dir. Francis Ford Coppola

Yet another movie on the list where there’s really nothing to say that hasn’t been said already. Everything about it is perfect, and the carefully crafted juxtaposition that damns Michael Corleone and sends him on a path to self-destruction is incredibly haunting. It helps that the flawless screenplay is carried by career best work from Al Pacino. 

4. Full Metal Jacket (1987) Dir. Stanley Kubrick 

One of the most fascinating aspects of the mythical filmmaker Stanley Kubrick is that you can ask five people their favorite film from him and you would get three to five different answers. Some will answer The Shining, 2001: A Space Odyssey, etc. I’ve even encountered some who put Eyes Wide Shut or Barry Lyndon in such regard, but for me, my answer is without a doubt Full Metal Jacket. I’ve watched a lot of war movies at this point, and while there are a lot of truly great films that cover the subject, I haven’t encountered any other film that understands that there are no heroes in war. War instead becomes an expression for warped masculinity, with violence and cynicism being fused together to simply laugh at the horrors and trauma rather than acknowledge how horrific it is. By the end of the film, Joker, played in a criminally underrated performance by Matthew Modine, realizes that the “thousand yard stare” is not something to be proud of, but rather an expression for the shame and guilt that killers with empathy should feel for the rest of their lives. The final shot of the characters walking into the darkness surrounded by fire is a perfect punctuation to this Jungian portrayal of what war does to someone’s psyche. 

3. Raging Bull (1980) Dir. Martin Scorsese

To me, the most searing and intense examination of masculinity, jealousy and the true toll these constructs take on one man when he is unable to overcome them. Robert De Niro’s performance is not only a career best, but he captures something within Schrader’s screenplay that functions as a more brutal, less sympathetic version of “God’s Lonely Man” that was pioneered in Taxi Driver, one of Scorsese and De Niro’s previous collaborations. Although I view this as Scorsese’s finest work, it is most definitely not one of his more accessible films. It’s not funny or fun in any way, really, and it’s extremely unsympathetic in its portrayal of its lead character. LaMotta is immensely unlikable, and it makes no qualms about showing him as a remarkably unpleasant person to be around for everyone in his life. There is so much anger oozing out of basically every moment of this experience, and the brutality of what goes on in the ring serves as atonement and catharsis for both LaMotta and the viewer. It’s a swarm of negative emotions that has never been replicated since, but it’s an incredibly profound experience and an exercise in empathy and compassion.

2. Once Upon a Time in America (1984) Dir. Sergio Leone

I won’t pretend that this is a film for everyone. It’s four hours long. It’s about a murderer and a rapist. It’s incredibly violent, especially towards women. A lot of people who watch this film won’t be able to look beyond some or all of these, and that is totally okay. But, for those who have the patience to truly listen to what Leone is communicating about the American Dream, the deconstruction of the gangster myth, as well as acting as a coda for Leone’s career of embracing cynicism by finding beauty in a world where death is treated so nonchalantly. The warm, golden cinematography as well as Morricone’s most beautiful score, capture grandiose melancholy, nostalgia and fantasy in a way I’ve never seen done before. De Niro’s beautifully understated performance often doesn’t get recognized as being among his best work, but it’s so nuanced and subtle that it demonstrates an understanding of the craft rarely seen. 

1. Mulholland Drive (2001) Dir. David Lynch 

I’ve gone back and forth on if this or Once Upon a Time in America is my favorite movie of all time, and while I believe that is the greatest movie ever made due to all the reasons I explained, there’s something about Mulholland Drive that has me wanting to come back to it so often. It’s a nightmare I never want to wake up from. It is without hyperbole that I say that David Lynch is my favorite artist of all time, and I absolutely love how his mind operates in storytelling. His surrealist, horror-esque approach to exploring unconscious fears is so unique, so chilling and so fascinating. It’s a difficult movie to fully understand on the first viewing, and, to think about it, it’s probably impossible to understand how all of this film’s puzzle pieces fit together on the initial viewing, but I was personally totally glued to the screen for every second the first time. I’ve never seen another film that explores jealousy in this type of way, but to say that’s all it does would be very reductive, as this also very much about the unconscious reasons we make for ourselves to explain why our dreams didn’t work out the way we wanted them too. A staggering and absolutely monumental cinematic achievement.

Rebel Moon - Part One: A Child of Fire (Movie Review)

⭐⭐1/2 

Science fiction has been in a bit of a pickle for a few years now, as it is extremely hard for filmmakers to create something that truly feels original without borrowing heavily from other franchises or standalone films. However, there is a difference between borrowing and being inspired and essentially blatantly ripping off. Zack Snyder, a filmmaker who I’ve defended for years now, and while he is clearly a competent filmmaker, it’s very hard to defend this. Right off the bat, there is no reason for this to be a part one, as Snyder has had no hesitations in the past of extending his films’ runtimes. There is nothing about this universe that can’t be told entirely in one lengthy movie. The long awaited Snyder Cut of Justice League clocked in at approximately four hours and was more than a complete movie, which could have benefited this as well. I’m probably just rambling now, but it really is somewhat baffling that Snyder was allowed to cut his movie in half with no discernible purpose. 

Calling this a ripoff doesn’t quite capture just how unoriginal this is. Nearly every facet of this is copied basically verbatim from Star Wars, right down to the costumes reminiscent of Nazi attire. Charlie Hunnam’s character is obviously a copy of Han Solo; the villain is obviously a copy of the Empire; the robot voiced by Anthony Hopkins is obviously a copy of C3PO and so on. There’s even a point where the characters draw a sword that is obviously a copy of a lightsaber. These similarities were so striking that I had to double check if this was a Star Wars movie at some point, and to my surprise, it was. Funnily enough, Snyder originally described this as “Seven Samurai in space” which was also what Lucas intended those original films to be. Originally pitched as a darker take on the mythical franchise in 1997 that was rejected, Netflix decided to give Snyder a shot to make what he pitched all those years before. 

Despite the elephant in the room of this being a ripoff, none of this is outwardly terrible. It looks nice and the production value is great, and the performances are serviceable even Charlie Hunnam’s accent is… interesting to say the least (I will clarify that I think Hunnam is a talented actor and that I have been a big fan of him since his Sons of Anarchy days). It has some nice emotional beats and the exposition dumps are put on hold for some well choreographed action. Unfortunately, this action is rendered somewhat toothless by the PG-13 rating. Many of Netflix’s movies are butchered by said rating, but there is still a palpable excitement in the action sequences that make the movie decent enough, even if there is an almost comical reliance on slow motion that has become a signature in Snyder’s filmmaking at this point, and while that may be a point of criticism for other moviegoers, it’s not something that bothers me in his films. 

It’s perfectly watchable, and that’s about it.