“Adam’s Rib,” Written by Ruth Gordon and Garson Kanin, Directed by George Cukor.
“Adam’s Rib” effectively kick-started a currently-ongoing love affair with the glamor of old Hollywood, particularly screwball and romantic comedy classics. Ruth Gordon and Garson Kanin’s dialogue is sharp enough to draw a blood, and yet “Adam’s Rib,” as cinema, goes down easier than sweet tea — an alchemy that is not easy to achieve. Frankly, it would be pleasant enough to watch Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn cast sparks off of each other even if the movie surrounding them was dogshit. Thankfully, that is not the case here. No, what we have here is a damn near perfect rom-com, to the degree where one could make the case that countless hack Hollywood screenwriters have gotten rich simply repeating this formula.
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Another Year,” Written and Directed by Mike Leigh.
Over the last year, I’ve made it a point to get familiar with the filmography of Mike Leigh. He’s now one of my favorite filmmakers of all time. “Another Year” isn’t a career-defining triumph like “Naked” or “Life is Sweet,” but it’s another one of this director’s warm, wistful, quietly devastating tragicomedies that dares to find magic in the mundane. Leigh feels as though he has less to prove with this relaxed, winsome family study, where scenes play out like visualized excerpts from a great novel. The film’s languor is intoxicating, and feels appropriate coming from a legendary director who has resisted resting on his laurels for almost as long as he’s been writing and directing.
Streaming: iTunes Rental.
“The Apartment,” Written by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond, Directed by Billy Wilder.
I’ve said it before in different platforms, but I’ll say it again here: I really do think that Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond’s screenplay for “The Apartment” is close to being flawless. I understand that perfection isn’t a real thing, at least in creative terms, and that the constant striving for perfection is often what results in lasting, impactful work. That said, “The Apartment” is such a sublime snapshot of what it means to be lonely — and thereby, what it means to be human — that it ends up existing outside of one genre in particular. Wilder’s film also captures the solitude of the Christmas season, where it can feel like everyone is having a great time with their family, except for you. Shirley MacClaine’s performance is one for the books.
Streaming: Prime.
“The Big Combo,” Written by Philip Yordan, Directed by Joseph H. Lewis.
I used to think that all noirs had to be convoluted. While I guess there’s some truth to that in a literary context, I’ve also found that many film noirs of the 40’s and 50’s are lean, mean, and whittled down to the bone. Generally, they are all the better for it. “The Big Combo” is an excellent example of such a noir: this is a flinty, visually hypnotic, and daringly unsentimental caper a dirty cop, a dame who’s toying with suicidal ideation, and a loathsome gangster on a crash course with unseen, destructive forces. Frankly, the film is worth watching for the officious effrontery of Richard Conte’s performance alone. Oh, and also for the final shot, which belongs in the noir pantheon.
Streaming: The Criterion Channel.
“Bringing Up Baby,” Written by Dudley Nichols, Hagar Wilde, and Robert McGowan, Directed by Howard Hawks.
I went into this one thinking it would be a golden-age rom-com, when it’s actually screwball farce through and through. Those who delight in pratfalls will find much to enjoy here. I think I prefer Cary Grant in a looser, more playfully self-aware register, as he is here. Oh, and I failed to mention that the “baby” of the title is literally a jungle cat that happens to belong to an feckless heiress played by Katherine Hepburn, who I’m becoming more and more happy to see with every new film of hers I watch. Anytime you introduce a man-eating feline into otherwise comic proceedings, you’re cooking with gasoline.
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Charade,” Written by Peter Stone, Directed by Stanley Donen.
“Charade” is a marvelous example of that old maxim that, in movies, it’s not so much about what happens, but how it happens. The plot of “Charade” is truly secondary: it’s a springboard for style, wit, and hyper-imaginative set pieces, as well as an excuse to watch Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn, each at their most charismatic, trade indelible banter and race around between metropolitan Paris and the stark beauty of the French Alps. It’s an effervescent confection of a movie that earns that oft-overused descriptor, “delightful.” Donen was known for directing iconic musicals like “On the Town” and “Funny Face,” and while “Charade” isn’t a musical, it is informed by a musical’s sense of momentum and visual storytelling.
Streaming: Fandor.
“City of Hope,” Written and Directed by John Sayles.
John Sayles doesn’t get nearly enough credit for how well he directs ensembles. He clearly loves people, and he has a novelist’s attention to telling throwaway details. He’s also someone who understands that individuals are both of a piece and also constantly at war with larger social movements. “City of Hope” is Sayles’ pulpiest movie: it’s a gritty urban melodrama that evokes “The Wire” far more so than “Passion Fish.” Nearly every character here, from two neighborhood kids who find themselves targeted by the local police, to the resident homeless fixture (played by Sayles regular David Strathairn), to a pair of nattering, racist housewives, is afforded some measure of sympathy. Robbie Richardson’s camera never stops moving, never stops taking in new sights and sounds. Sayles’ rough-hewn authorial aesthetic in this film feels indebted to masters like Altman and Scorsese while, of course, being entirely in line with his own body of work.
Streaming: Prime.
“Crash,” Written and Directed by David Cronenberg.
A soul-dead masterpiece of auto-erotica, all fried nerves and relentless psychosexual thirst, David Cronenberg’s “Crash” dares to find meaning in the unmentionable. In this morbidly funny and, in the end, heartbreaking J.G. Ballard adaptation, Cronenberg paints a world populated by the walking dead, where vehicular carnage offers a titillating, nearly spiritual substitute for carnal fulfillment. Like many works by this director, “Crash” is a queasy, cold, and intentionally alienating movie — in other words, not one I’d recommend watching with your family — but those who are interested in the terrifying outer limits of where 90’s cult cinema can take them may find meaning in Cronenberg’s necropolis.
Streaming: Not available.
“Daughters of the Dust,” Written and Directed by Julie Dash.
“Daughters of the Dust” was a film I knew next to nothing about before watching it. Part of this is due to my own ignorance, and part of it is due to the fact that this transportive jewel of 90’s arthouse cinema was not afforded the release that was granted to similar independent films of that decade. Distribution-related mishegoss aside, “Daughters of the Dust” remains a landmark: for representation, absolutely, but also for personal storytelling manufactured outside the Hollywood system. Dash’s film, which is set at the turn of this last century, is a love letter to the Gullah culture of Saint Helena Island that, most recently, cast a considerable shadow of influence over Beyoncé’s “Lemonade.”
Streaming: The Criterion Collection.
“Dick Tracy,” Written by Jim Cash and Jack Epps, Jr., Directed by Warren Beatty.
“Dick Tracy” is 1940’s Columbia noir flushed with slime and bile and woozily hallucinogenic visuals, pumped up on steroids and utterly bereft of anything resembling realism. It’s a movie where the bad guys have names like Mumbles and Pruneface, and they all look like mind-altering projections from a shitty mushroom trip made manifest. Why did no one tell me that Pacino is essentially giving his “Irishman” performance in this movie? The ethos of “Dick Tracy” is ragged and cartoon-cruel, so I do wish they hadn’t tried to soften Tracy by making him a father figure to a half-written orphan kid, but that’s an extremely minor plot-related gripe in a movie that’s primarily meant to be consumed for its ludicrous visual spectacle.
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Fast Five,” Written by Chris Morgan, Directed by Justin Lin.
You’re goddamn right I have this on my list. The “Fast” movies offer a steady, consistent hit of pure pleasure… yes, even the more bloated or “forgettable” entries. “Fast Five” is the apex, the zenith, the Mount Olympus, the “Sgt. Pepper’s” of this franchise, where our heroes chain enormous vaults to cars and speed like maniacs through the streets of expensive international locales, all in the name of keeping the family together. “Fast Five” is a snapshot of the moment where the brain trust of this franchise found out exactly what these movies were about: loyalty, goin’ fast, subwoofer-thumping radio rap, and Dwayne Johnson telling underlings to put on their Fun-derwear.
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Fat City,” Written by Leonard Gardner, Directed by John Huston.
I had the pleasure of reading Leonard Gardner’s “Fat City” in November of last year during a trip to Big Sur. Instantly, it struck me as a book that was beautiful, but also ugly and unfiltered, and bracingly immediate in its conviction to its milieu. It became one of my favorites. In many ways, the film adaptation is its own thing, posing the question of whether or not a dead-end life can be redeemed. As is the case with its source material, “Fat City” harbors a love for the hard-luck losers of the world that is both touching and unaffected. The final scene with Stacy Keach and Jeff Bridges is God-level shit.
Streaming: Prime.
“Girl 6,” Written by Suzan-Lori Parks, Directed by Spike Lee
I wasn’t expecting a feminist near-masterpiece from Spike Lee before watching “Girl 6” — particularly not this one, about a phone sex worker desperate to assert her sense of self in a toxic, patriarchal workplace environment that seems obstinately determined to fit her into a pre-assigned box — but I’ll be damned if that’s not exactly what this movie delivers. Granted, people may tend to overlook the tremendous contributions of screenwriter and playwright Suzan Lori-Parks when discussing the movie’s merits (thanks a lot, auteur theory). Without Lori-Parks, it’s up for debate as to whether a gimmick this wild would have actually worked in practice. Raunchy as it often is, I found this to be Spike’s most emotionally accessible movie. Quentin Tarantino’s cameo in this is basically trolling before trolling was cool.
Streaming: Starz.
“The Grand Budapest Hotel,” Written by Wes Anderson and Hugo Guinness, Directed Wes Anderson.
Anyone who knows me knows I’ve been obsessed with Wes Anderson since I started going to the movies. I hate that this gets lumped in with “Moonrise Kingdom” by the Wes day-ones as being too precious and somehow not human enough; the scope of this movie’s humanity is boundless. I think you could actually make the argument that this is Wes at his most empathic: after all, what is “The Grand Budapest Hotel” if not a rollicking period farce that’s also a genuine ode to kindness as an antidote to fascism? Since first seeing this in 2014, this one has slowly but surely crept up by “Best by Wes” list. In some terms of storytelling confidence, it’s at the very least the best film he’s ever directed.
Streaming: iTunes or Prime rental.
“Gremlins 2: The New Batch,” Written by Charles S. Haas, Directed by Joe Dante.
A “Gremlins” sequel that’s also a gonzo critique of capitalism and Reagan-era consumer greed made from within the Hollywood studio monolith? Sure, why not. “Sure, why not” seems to have been the guiding credo behind this deranged maximalist sequel to one of the great coming-of-age creature features of all time. Spotting all the various gremlins throughout — all of whom are incredibly specific in their design — is fun. I don’t think we talk enough about what an outstanding genre director Joe Dante does. Also deserves to be mentioned in that very singular category of sequels to 80’s genre classics that are, against all odds, superior to the original product. Also, can we talk about how the bad guy in this movie is literally just Donald Trump?
Streaming: HBO Max.
“The Haunting,” Written by Nelson Gidding, Directed by Robert Wise.
This movie made me consider doing a deep-dive into retro haunted house horror. The sense of ambiance and atmosphere in “The Haunting” is basically the entire reason to watch it. It’s off the charts. No modern horror movies are this immersive, this confident in their basic table-setting. Then again, a lot of horror movies these days simply forget to be fun. And what fun “The Haunting” is — so much fun that it almost makes me forget that we won’t really get to celebrate Halloween this year. What I would give to see this projected on film, in a theater full of people. A great movie to watch before your nightly Satanic incantations.
Streaming: iTunes or Prime rental.
“House,” Written by Chiho Katsura, Directed by Nobuhiko Obayashi
I can’t really describe this unhinged, majestic experience of watching this movie for the first time, so I’m not even going to try. I’m also not going to resort to played-out comparisons to various psychedelic drugs, although I can certainly see why some Letterboxd users might resort to that. What I will say is that “House” is one of the trippier horror movies I’ve ever seen — so much so that you’ll probably find yourself laughing out of sheer, gobsmacked disbelief every five minutes. Certainly, this movie is more funny than traditionally scary, and I can pretty much guarantee you that you’ve never seen anything quite like it. This movie will also make you despise cats and view them as demonic harbingers of death and chaos, if you don’t already. This ends up being a problem when you live with two cats.
Streaming: HBO Max.
“In A Lonely Place,” Written by Edmund H. North, Directed by Nicholas Ray.
Humphrey Bogart has played no shortage of grizzled, cynical types since the dawn of motion pictures, but he’s arguably never played a character as spiritually broken as Dixon Steele, the hard-edged protagonist of “In A Lonely Place,” one of the eeriest and most tragic noirs of its period. I believe that this is one of the all-time great movies about writing: how we are capable of projecting our own self-made fantasies onto others, and the messy, sometimes violent intersectionality that transpires when work collides with personal affairs. Watching Bogart and Gloria Grahame in this, you want to scream “NO” in half the scenes where they’re seducing each other — their relationship is that unstable and damaging — but at the same time, their chemistry is so scintillating that it can seem physically impossible to look away from them.
Streaming: Prime rental.
“Kiss Me Deadly,” Written by A.I. Bezzerides, Directed by Robert Aldrich.
This is the greasiest, sleaziest, least-sentimental noir I’ve ever seen, and I love every goddamn thing about it, from the credits that play backwards over disembodied, orgasmic moans, to the gut-punch of a climax, which invokes the apocalyptic mania of Cold War-era paranoia as filtered through one asshole’s personal unraveling. Certainly Mike Hammer, the Philip Marlowe of Mickey Spillane’s pulp bibliography, has got to be one of the most reprehensible fictional detectives in the history of the medium. The cold, reptilian power of this movie, and the intrinsically corrupt, frighteningly plausible aura of the moral landscape it portrays, is nothing short of hypnotic. If nothing else, you can certainly see why the French directors went so nuts over it. Directed by Robert Aldrich, who would go on to helm “The Dirty Dozen.”
Streaming: YouTube.
“Losing Ground,” Written and Directed by Kathleen Collins.
This one was an unassuming stunner that snuck up on me and floored me. It’s a movie of low-key power: a study of ordinary people that’s simultaneously insightful, critical, revealing, and charmingly loose. At its core, “Losing Ground” is a movie about whether or not some artists are capable of separating their professional accomplishments from whatever corners of their personal life they haven’t yet mined for “inspiration.” Kathleen Collins’ film also remains a funny, sharp satirical look at how pompous and self-involved some male creatives can be (not that I would know anything about that, ha ha), and there’s a film-within-a-film subplot that will speak to any struggling filmmaker who has tried to get a low-budget, self-funded project off the ground. The fact that it’s a work of great cultural and historical significance should seal the deal, no?
Streaming: The Criterion Collection.
“Lost in America,” Written by Albert Brooks and Monica Johnson, Directed by Albert Brooks.
“Lost in America” comes pretty damn close to being the ideal comedy. There is not an ounce of fat on it. The scene in the casino between Brooks and Garry Marshall is one of the most well-written scenes I’ve ever seen. I also don’t know if Brooks ever got this close to satire again: among other things, “Lost in America” is a cautionary tale about the perils of wanting too much, and how all the grade-A real estate and material capital in the world won’t save your life from coming undone at the seams when you impulsively decide to “drop out” of society. A peerless portrait of a marriage on the rocks, a damning critique of the 80’s “more is more” Reagan ethos, and one of my new favorite Julie Hagerty performances.
Streaming: The Criterion Collection.
“Modern Romance,” Written by Albert Brooks and Monica Johnson, Directed by Albert Brooks.
That’s right, folks, I’m including two Albert Brooks movies on this list because I’m only now starting to realize what a filmmaking genius this guy was. “Modern Romance” is the kind of movie I would want to make if I could make movies. It’s an exploration of a certain kind of male Jewish identity that opens with a breakup in a deli and only gets more tangled in its neuroses from there on out. The climax is a spectacular slap to the face, framing what might be presented as a redemptive romantic revelation in any other comedy into a chilling harbinger of the “nice guy” archetype that would go on to plague comedy for decades. Few comedy directors are this precise anymore; in that way, “Modern Romance” is the antithesis to the “let’s-try-everything” bagginess of someone like Judd Apatow.
Streaming: The Criterion Collection.
“My Own Private Idaho,” Written and Directed by Gus Van Sant.
Gus Van Sant’s filmography is a gift that truly keeps on giving. Even his failures are fascinating, and I find his lifelong commitment to experimentation, not to mention his sincere affinity for the outcasts of the world, to be sincerely touching. This is the only major Van Sant I hadn’t seen yet; I also caught up with his inert but conceptually riveting shot-by-shot “Psycho” remake during the pandemic. “My Own Private Idaho” deserves every bit of the larger-than-life reputation it holds. It’s a work that truly gives credence to the power of cinema, because a story as original and wrenching as this one could have only been told in this particular medium. An American milestone about losing love, finding yourself, and the peculiar beauty of the Pacific Northwest.
Streaming: iTunes or Prime rental.
“Nightmare Alley,” Written by Jules Furthman, Directed by Edmund Goulding.
I’d wanted to watch this one because a.) film noir is the best and b.) I’ve been tracking progress on Guillermo Del Toro’s upcoming remake. This is purely a noir in sense of its visual style; the subject matter is… well, it’s its own thing, that’s for sure. This is the tale of a heartless con man infiltrating the inner workings of a traveling carnival, exploiting a variety of seedy, morally compromised characters for his own heartless gain. Apparently, Tyrone Power used to be known for mastering a certain kind of swashbuckling leading-man role, so for him to commit to playing such an irredeemable character in this is kind of fascinating. I hope Del Toro doesn’t try to soften this movie’s rough edges: if you’re into movies like Tod Browning’s horror landmark “Freaks” and the slept-on domestic noir “Drive a Crooked Road,” this one’s for you.
Streaming: YouTube.
“Opening Night,” Written and Directed by John Cassavetes.
Cassavetes is a God to me. His body of work is essentially a form of self-contained film school. Watching “Shadows” and “A Woman Under The Influence,” you can learn everything you need to know about capturing truth in cinema. His films are ungainly, some could accurately be described as messy, and all are filled with volatile characters pinballing through a mercurial existence. His entire filmography is full of near-perfect or perfect movies — “Minnie and Moskowitz,” my personal favorite, is a nerve-chafing fairy tale romance, and there’d be no “Boogie Nights” or “Buffalo ‘66” without “The Killing of a Chinese Bookie” — but “Opening Night” was one I wanted to revisit the most. This is Cassavetes at his most lacerating. It’s a startling depiction of a personal bottoming-out, and I wouldn’t blame anyone for not wanting to watch it during such a depressing year. That said, I found the movie’s vision of emotional collapse to be cathartic-verging-on-transcendent.
Streaming: iTunes or Prime rental.
“Picnic at Hanging Rock,” Written by Cliff Green, Directed by Peter Weir.
For the longest time, I heard Peter Weir’s lush historical reverie referred to in purely sensory terms, to the degree that the film has gone on to earn the undesirable mantle of a Tumblr Movie. What I didn’t expect from “Picnic at Hanging Rock” was that the film would burrow into some hitherto-unexplored part of my movie-going mind. Forget getting under your skin, “Picnic at Hanging Rock” digs into your brain like a parasite and leaves you feeling rattled on a primal level, like you’ve been visited by a ghost. The film is superficially about a disappearance: a group of schoolgirls venture into the forbidding, cavernous expanse of Hanging Rock, never to be seen again. That the film refuses tidy mystery plotting at every turn — to be honest, finding out where these girls went sometimes seems like the least of the movie’s concerns — makes it an even more unshakeable experience.
Streaming: The Criterion Collection.
“Porco Rosso,” Written and Directed by Hayao Miyazaki.
A lot of people probably refer to this gem as “minor Miyazaki,” and to be honest, that’s just fine. A film like this should be an outlier in a master filmmaker’s filmography. “Porco Rosso” would have doubtlessly captured my imagination as a kid: it’s simultaneously a hymn to individuality, a critique of militarism, a flyboy adventure in the “Only Angels Have Wings”, and a whirligig adventure about a fun-loving renegade pilot who also happens to be an anthropomorphic pig. Between this and “The Wind Rises,” another recent Miyazaki watch, I feel as though I now understand how the director seems to regard the act of flight as a spiritual undertaking, or something close to transcending the limits of the temporal world.
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Roman Holiday,” Written by Dalton Trumbo, John Dighton, and Ian McLellan Hunter, Directed by William Wyler.
I genuinely believe this is about as good as a romantic comedy can be. In fact, many of your favorite rom-coms have probably cribbed the structure of this movie outright. What I love about this movie is that its characters present us with the best of both worlds: they are both elegant and ridiculously sophisticated, in ways that only movie stars like Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck really knew how to be. And yet, their desires, their shortcomings, their dreams for the future, remain all too recognizably human. We’ve become so cynical as a culture that even today’s more winning rom-coms are tainted by a form of self-reflexive snark — to be pure, to be sincere, would ultimately cost these contemporary movies cool points. By today’s standards, “Roman Holiday” isn’t cool at all. That’s only one of the reasons it belongs in the Rom-Com Hall Of Fame. Here, mercifully, is a love story that’s not afraid to be corny.
Streaming: Prime.
“Running on Empty,” Written by Naomi Foner, Directed by Sidney Lumet.
This is not what I was expecting from Sidney Lumet. Not to suggest that Lumet made one kind of movie, but when I think of him, I think of jittery, caffeinated New York crime landmarks like “Serpico,” “Dog Day Afternoon,” and “Prince of the City.” “Running on Empty” offers none of that. This is a simple, sentimental, beautifully acted human drama about a young piano prodigy living on the run with his radical leftist parents, and considering whether to continue living life as a refugee or pursue his creative dreams. From a perspective of traditional emotional engagement, it’s one of Lumet’s most satisfying movies, and definitely a rewarding outlier in his overall filmography. Plus, there’s a use of James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” near the end that fuckin’ gutted me. Judd Hirsch was the man!
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Salesman,” Written by Albert and David Maysles, Directed by Albert Maysles, Charlotte Zwerin, and David Maysles.
If there was ever a definitive nonfictional work about the losing game of capitalism in America, it’s this one. The Maysles brothers bring their trademark cool-headed investigative objectivity to this panoramic, richly textured documentary about a team of traveling bible salesmen going door to door in the late 1960’s when they’re not attending chilling seminars that extol the virtues of worshiping the bottom line, or crashing in barren-looking roadside motel rooms. The best Maysles films erase the boundary that exists between the spectator and the subject, and in “Salesman,” you can practically taste the secondhand smoke that fills the screen in basically every frame. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better movie about the rat race of American greed.
Streaming: The Criterion Collection.
“Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World,” Written by Edgar Wright and Michael Bacall, Directed by Edgar Wright
Ah, this movie has aged like a fine wine. Why this wasn’t the #1 grossing movie of 2010, I literally have no idea. We’re so lucky to be living through a period where Edgar Wright is making movies (side note: I hate that that we won’t get to see “Last Night in Soho” until next year). While I contend that “The World’s End” might just be Wright’s best, “Scott Pilgrim” might just feature his best direction, and it’s probably the movie I would show to any friend who was considering diving into his body of work. There’s so much gold here — Chris Evan’s action-movie douchebag, Jason Schwartzman as the smarmiest Big Bad in movie history, the magnificent original songs — that it’s almost hard to fathom. I always end up with a big, stupid grin on my face whenever I finish this movie, and I’ve seen it many times.
Streaming: Netflix.
“She Dies Tomorrow,” Written and Directed by Amy Seimetz.
Amy Seimetz is a name we’re all going to be familiar with sooner or later. Her films are like gorgeous objects whose respective forms can appear mystifying, at first, only to eventually make a kind of moribund sense when you peer closely at the design and see how much of the raw materials feel comprised of blood and bone marrow. “She Dies Tomorrow” might be the most prescient great movie I’ll see all year: it’s a psycho-contagion chamber piece about a woman irrationally convinced of her own mortal demise. The movie’s true horror comes from how the lead character’s anxiety proliferates and spreads, like a virus, infecting and ultimately destroying everyone she comes into contact with. It’s close to home, sure, but it’s also a satisfying purge. For those of you that are on the Criterion Channel train, Seimetz’s 2013 breakout — “Sun Don’t Shine,” a lo-fi riff on a lovers-on-the-run movie with the flop sweat and burnt-out desperation turned way up — is also worth seeking out.
Streaming: iTunes rental.
“Shutter Island,” Written by Laeta Kalogridis, Directed by Martin Scorsese
Here’s a film that had the misfortune of being released on the heels of another movie, which, in this case, happened to win a certain legendary director his long-overdue Best Picture Oscar. Upon release, “Shutter Island” was derided by some for being schlocky or overcooked, or trafficking in dated, sub-“Shock Corridor” vintage psychodrama. A 2020 rewatch confirmed what I had long suspected: that “Shutter Island” is one of Martin Scorsese’s finest late-career works, and a particularly chilling exploration of the director’s perennial theme, the violently compromised, inherently tribal nature of a certain kind of male perspective. Teddy Daniels is one of Scorsese’s great broken men: damaged like Rupert Pupkin, coiled in his resolve in a way that only Leo Dicaprio could translate, and ultimately, as dangerous as Travis Bickle. “The Departed” and “The Aviator” may be more “respectable” films in the eyes of the public (whatever that means), but “Shutter Island” has them beat when it comes to pure visceral impact.
Streaming: Cinemax
“Sleepless in Seattle,” Written by Nora Ephron, Jeff Arch, and David S. Ward, Directed by Nora Ephron
I’m not sure why I avoided this movie so long. Perhaps it was because I was a self-consciously “edgy” teenager that avoided rom-coms like the plague. Maybe it’s because I was underwhelmed by “You’ve Got Mail” when my parents took me to see it in theaters. Whatever the case may be, I have to say it out loud: I cannot believe it took me this long to get around to “Sleepless in Seattle.” I mean, seriously, how is it that one of the greatest examples of its genre sustains such effortless emotional engagement, while the leads basically share about three to four minutes of collective screen time together? Sorry, I guess that constitutes as a spoiler. In any case, this one is a goddamn magic trick. Bless Nora Ephron.
Streaming: Netflix.
“Spirited Away,” Written and Directed by Hayao Miyazaki.
The film that I watched in quarantine that went on to prompt a deep, blissful binge-dive into Hayao Miyazaki’s back catalogue (thanks again, HBO Max). I still feel that this is the most complete Miyazaki movie, and if I had to point someone in the direction of one movie that represented a filmmaker’s entire artistic point of view, it would be this one. There is so much to adore and bask in here: the splendor of Yubaba’s bath house, the eerie power of No Face, that horrifying initial moment where Chihiro realizes her parents have literally transformed into swine. This is one of cinema’s great fairy tales, and a movie I will be excited to show my kids some day.
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Streetwise,” Written by Cheryl McCall, Directed by Martin Bell.
This is the kind of stuff you simply can’t dramatize: the scourge, the hustle, the grit and agony of real, lived experience. “Streetwise” is a harrowing look at the homeless youth of Seattle in the early 80’s; it’s a work that would be nearly unwatchable were it not for the deep sense of concern and love that the filmmakers infuse into every frame. Nearly every one of the hard-living characters we encounter in “Streetwise” could hold a movie of their own; sadly, many of them met ignominious or violent ends that were sadly consistent with the turbulent lives they led up until their expiry. This is an unflinching and unforgettable look at a part of our American populace that only exist as villains or over-fetishized poverty-porn archetypes in other films. I can’t recommend it enough.
Streaming: The Criterion Collection.
“Sullivan’s Travels,” Written and Directed by Preston Sturges
A movie that says so much, and with such an enviably light touch. So many of my favorite movies — “O Brother Where Art Thou,” Wes Anderson’s entire filmography, just to give two examples — owe such a massive debt to this masterwork. The tonal tightrope walk that films like this are able to achieve is astonishing to me: here is a film that is funny and fanciful and even satirical in some moments, before going on to sideswipe the viewer with pure heartbreak. We’ve become so conditioned to watching films passively: on our phones, or our laptops while we’re working. Watching “Sullivan’s Travels” while doing anything else is impossible.
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Taste of Cherry,” Written and Directed by Abbas Kiarostami.
This is for my friends who have a taste for slow, obdurate arthouse cinema that pays off gradually and may demand a second or third viewing. It is a film that the viewer either finds tedious or hypnotic, and a lot of that depends on how keyed-in you are to this movie’s wandering, borderline-mythic frequency. I’ve admittedly had a tough time finding my way into some of Kiarostami’s work, particularly “Close-up” (which I’ve since come around to in a big way), so I was surprised that this glacial meditation on death and emotional sacrifice ended up being the film of his that I found to be the most interesting. I do want to emphasize that this is a very… strange movie, albeit a masterpiece, so proceed with caution.
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Thou Wast Mild And Lovely,” Written and Directed by Josephine Decker.
Josephine Decker is someone we should all be keeping an eye on. Upon first being exposed to the joys of “Madeline’s Madeline,” I knew that this was a filmmaker whose work I was going to be enjoying for years, maybe even decades to come. “Thou Wast Mild and Lovely” isn’t as cohesive or compelling as “Madeline’s” or this year’s rhapsodic anti-biopic “Shirley,” but as far as existing as a promising embryonic document that captures all of Decker’s signature fetishes and left-of-center creative obsessions in their evolutionary stage, it’s thrilling: a horny, disorienting, terrifying boy-meets-girl-meets-livestock fever dream that goes to some memorably uncomfortable places.
Streaming: Kanopy.
“Tommaso,” Written and Directed by Abel Ferrara.
As was the case with “Running on Empty,” “Tomasso” was most definitely not what I expected from Abel Ferrara. Ferrara’s “heroes” are typically guys who tussle with mortal and metaphysical addictions, like smoking crack, placing sports bets, and, in many cases, gambling with their own lives. “Tomasso” might just be the “Bad Lieutenant” director’s most upfront movie about addiction, but it’s also without a doubt one of the most sedate films he’s ever made. Anyone looking for the shocking, bordering-on-X-rated energy of Ferrara’s classic 90’s work may be frustrated by “Tomasso,” which is essentially a plot-free tone poem about a tormented filmmaker making peace with his checkered past. If that plot description didn’t tip you off, this is also Ferrara’s most nakedly autobiographical work, although Willem Dafoe’s simmering powerhouse of a performance ultimately makes the movie what it is.
Streaming: iTunes.
“Unforgiven,” Written by David Webb Peoples, Directed by Clint Eastwood
Yes, Clint Eastwood is problematic. Yes, he directed “The 15:17 to Paris.” Yes, he once spoke to a chair like it was a human being. But he’s also directed “Unforgiven,” one of the great tortured Westerns of all time, so by my estimation, he should get a pass for some of the other not-great shit he’s done. I hadn’t seen this movie since I was a kid, and frankly, I don’t think I was ready to make sense of it at such a young age. It plays completely differently today, certainly after age has numbed you to life’s senseless indignities, but also in a way that emphasizes that Eastwood’s authorial pessimism makes a twisted sort of sense in our current, warped reality. One of the great Gene Hackman performances too!
Streaming: HBO Max.
“Walkabout,” Written by Edward Bond, Directed by Nicolas Roeg.
Like many films directed by Nicolas Roeg, I’m not sure I would even know where to begin in terms of describing “Walkabout” in terms of its “plot,” inasmuch as it has one. Suffice to say, this is an uncompromising, visually immersive art movie that will remind you just how little the natural world cares about or for human interference. Roeg, acting as his own cinematographer, captures the washed-out, blistering beauty of the Australian outback without ever betraying its danger, in effect utilizing this otherworldly backdrop to tell a story about an aboriginal youth and two helpless white children whose father commits a brutal and senseless act early in the film. At the very least, I can safely say you’ve probably never seen anything like it.
Streaming: The Criterion Channel.
“Witness,” Written by Earl W. Wallace and William Kelley, Directed by Peter Weir.
There’s something so satisfying about the cinema of Peter Weir. Like some of the great, classic Hollywood directors, he was someone who could seemingly work in any genre, be it dystopian satire (“The Truman Show”), junky Australian exploitation (“The Cars That Ate Paris”), or handsome period epics (“Gallipoli,” “Master and Commander: Far Side of the World”). “Witness” is my favorite Weir because it’s a tremendous entry in one of my favorite subgenres: hardboiled action movies that offset the macho bullshit with an abundance of heart. As a tough-ass detective who takes refuge in an Amish community after one of their young members witnesses a murder, Harrison Ford offers us no shortage of proof as to why he’s one of our great living movie stars. The ending, well, it may just bring a tear to your eye.
Streaming: Showtime Anytime.
“The Yards,” Written by James Gray and Matt Reeves, Directed by James Gray.
I have no idea why James Gray is not mentioned in the same breath as contemporaries like Paul Thomas Anderson and David Fincher. For two decades-plus, Gray has made invigorating, atmospheric adult dramas while working from within the Hollywood studio system. He’s since honed a refined classicist’s style that hearkens back to the cinema of Francis Ford Coppola and Elia Kazan. “The Yards” is the kind of story you’d ordinarily find in a great crime paperback by Richard Price or George Pelecanos: a slow-building tale of corruption, crime, familial backstabbing, and operatic, outsized betrayal. It shows Gray’s fine command (and penchant for) the big, melodramatic gesture, and it’s also his first collaboration with Joaquin Phoenix, who has gone on to star in four of Gray’s seven films to date. For those of you looking for a smart, engrossing, character-driven thriller, look no further.
Streaming: iTunes or Prime rental.
“You Are Not I,” Written by Sara Driver and Jim Jarmusch, Directed by Sara Driver.
I was compelled to watch this one because I, unfortunately, had no idea that Sara Driver, the longtime romantic partner of Jim Jarmusch, was a filmmaker in her own right. And boy, is she ever. “You Are Not I” is like “Eraserhead” by way of Chantal Akerman: a funereal symphony of chilling black and white cinematography, skin-crawling sound design, and a vision of mental unrest that may only make complete sense to Driver. The other film I’ve seen of Driver’s, “When Pigs Fly,” is the complete opposite of this in terms of its tone: it’s a scrappy, meandering, very 90’s indie comedy about ghosts and a jazz musician in a dead-end American town. The stylistic differences between that film and this one only serves to underline what a versatile and intuitive artist Driver is.
Streaming: The Criterion Channel.
