The only way to think of John Woo’s seminal 1989 thriller is as an opera. The film is loaded with an operatic feel, a very operatic story. The only thing missing is the songs –instead we have to make do with some of the most beautifully choreographed action sequences of all time.

Appropriately for a film so consciously indebted to western culture (originally, he wanted the singer to be a jazz singer instead of the usual HK singer), the film was Woo’s first big success in the West. Despite a rapturous critical reception in Hong Kong however, it was a flop commercially at home, with Chow Yun-Fat citing the violence.. A pity, as it still stands as Woo’s masterpiece.

The film concerns a hitman, Ah-Jong (played beautifully by Woo’s muse Chow Yun-Fat) who accidentally blinds a girl in a nightclub shootout. Guiltily, he looks after the girl, who has no idea the man who is now helping her is responsible for her condition. He wants to give up his profession after the tragedy, but agrees to take on one more hit to pay for her to have some sort of blindness curing operation (never properly explained, rather like City Lights, it seems cinema just likes the idea that blindness can be cured)

Influenced by Jean Pierre-Melville, The Killer is a seminal, beautiful, thrilling work. It took me two watches to fully appreciate it, it has to be said, but having clicked with it, I can’t get enough. I’m a big fan of Woo’s other work, but for me, this is his best.

- Rhubarb.

The Killer (John Woo, 1989) is John Woo's masterpiece: it's more ambitious and explosive than A Better Tomorrow, has a stronger storyline than Hard-Boiled and is just a very lot better than Face-Off. Borrowing from Le Samourai (#75 in the list) - and with a hint of our #51 film - it stars Chow Yun-Fat as an assassin who blinds a singer during a botched job. So he scraps his plan to retire and carries on taking assignments, trying to scrape together enough money to pay for a sight-restoring operation. On his tail is cop Danny Lee Sau-Yi, who's flummoxed by Chow's unexpected shows of ethics, like risking capture to take a girl caught in the crossfire of a shoot-out to a hospital. A grudging friendship develops, leading to a battle to the death with the Triads: think scattering doves, thousands of candles and statues being shot to smithereens. Impassioned performances, a superb musical score and action sequences that recall The Wild Bunch in their visual glory and emotional impact make this one of the best actioners ever made.

Favourite bit: Woo's take on the "cops and crooks, they're pretty similar" chestnut (no they're not, they're completely different). To the strains of the terrific main theme, the camera pans around the cop, sitting in Chow's chair. Then Woo repeats the shot, with Chow in the chair. It's marvellously effective, and unexpectedly moving.

See also: Woo's 1986 movie, A Better Tomorrow, in which two brothers - one a cop and one a hood - wind up on the same side. Chow is excellent in his breakthrough role, playing the hood's best friend, matched by the late Leslie Cheung as the officer. The storyline might not be new, but the treatment is, and it introduces many of the themes the director nailed in The Killer: friendship, honour and the scope for redemption.

- rick_7

(in reply to rawlinson)

Intelligent, witty, scathing, over-the-top, Verhoeven's dystopian action extravaganza not only boasts fine action setpieces and some clever dialogue ("Attempted murder? It's not like he killed someone!"), but also tears shreads out of big corporations, privatisation of public services, and the consumerism and materialism of today's society. It's a thoughtful actioner, a rare breed these days, and despite moments of cheesiness, Verhoeven nails it.

- Pigeon Army.

(in reply to rawlinson)

Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) is an eccentric scientist who is just putting the finishing touches to his latest project, 2 pods which can transport any matter across space simultaneously. In order to try and impress journalist Quaife (Geena Davis), Brundle tries to rush through his final tests on the machine and decides to go through himself to prove that it works, when disaster strikes as a fly enters the pod.

From looking at the plot synopsis, it can be very easy to see the influence the original had on this film. The basic concept is still there of the fly and the human going into the machine and merging, the strain this has on the life of the human and within his relationship.

It is however within the way the fly and the human merge that the difference in tone of the films become apparent. In the original, there are of course the limitations of the technology of the time, which would have only allowed a couple of creature models to have been created and then used during the film. For the original we follow the like of the human/fly after the experiment where the creature is essentially a human with the head of a fly, and finally a version of a fly with a human head. Cronenberg however has given the remake a much more uncomfortable feel as he is able and willing to show the slow deterioration of the human as the body is gradually taken over by the fly. Cronenberg then couples this deterioration with the relationship Brundle and Quaife builds over the film, to show the heat ache of Quaife losing the man she loves, while Brundle loses mental control of the new being.

As far as body horrors go, this has to be right up there among the best. Apart from Cronenberg's obvious talent in filming the change, there is the incredibly lifelike looking make up of the Brundlefly design along with Goldblum's finest performance to date. Perhaps the greatest achievement is that it will never be able to be looked at as being a product of a certain era as the original does, as not only are its themes still current now, but its look and feel dont seem like a product of their time.

- TRM

(in reply to rawlinson)

This is truly the most underrated of the Scorsese-De Niro partnerships. Third only to the sublime Goodfellas and the perfect Taxi Driver (the number one ranked film of the year so far), "the King of Comedy" rivals Bickle for De Niro's most tragically derranged performance. Tainted somewhat by the comdedic edge (which is very strong, because this is one hell of a funny film), De Niro's Rupert Pupkin is trod on by everyone around him. He's a doormat with nothing to live for but his sad fantasies about fame and fortune. And that drives him to an act every bit as bitter and twisted as the final act of Taxi Driver, if not quite so bloody. In many ways, Pupkin is the perfect De Niro character; dark, tragic, delirious, bitter, and just a little bit funny. "The King of Comedy" deserves to be seen by just as many people as any other Scorsese film.

- Piles.

Bizarrely neglected on its initial release, in recent years the film has finally received the levels of acclaim it deserves. Despite often being labelled a gangster director, Scorsese has always been a storyteller happy to work in different genres and this enthralling black comedy shows one of the great American masters at his best. Longtime Scorsese collaborator Robert De Niro plays Rupert Pupkin, an aspiring celebrity desperate for a break. Rupert thinks he can be a great comedian, but he is in his mid-30s, still living with his mother, and unwilling to do any of the actual work needed to be become a talented comedian. He is the epitome of instant gratification, he wants the fame but he's unable or unwilling to do the work needed. He becomes obsessed with the idea of people on Jerry Langford's (Lewis) late night talk show, even going so far as building a fake set in his basement to rehearse interviews, and he is willing to go to any lengths, including kidnapping, to achieve his goal.

King of Comedy is like a black comedy companion piece to Taxi Driver. It's easy to imagine Rupert Pupkin ending up taking the same path as Bickle, isolated from the world and driven to acts of violence. He channels his rage in a different direction, into this pointless quest for stardom. This was a surprisingly prescient film given that a significant portion of the television of the last decade has been made up of waves of talentless people flocking to reality shows in order to be famous for simply being famous.

De Niro gives a brilliant performance in a demanding role, channelling the psychotic rage that fuelled Travis Bickle and Jake La Motta into a very different kind of maniac, one that can inspire pity and laughter as well as fear. And the film is funny, not in any of Pupkin's attempted jokes, but more in the interaction between Pupkin and Sandra Bernhard's Langford groupie or between Pupkin and his mother. Lewis is also remarkable in a performance that should be enough to silence any of his critics.

Scorsese was the director to first spark my interest in cinema, the first director who inspired me enough to look out more of his films. Everytime I watch one of his greatest films it feels like I'm learning what cinema is supposed to be about all over again. It's become a little fashionable to knock his work these days, usually in some misguided belief that his latest films were bids for an Oscar, but Scorsese at his best is untouchable as far as I'm concerned, and this is one of his greatest films.

- Rawlinson

(in reply to rawlinson)

The titular duo of failing actors, played by Richard E Grant and Paul McGann respectively, are living in squalor in the middle of London. Day has merged with night, and their lives have become an endless stream of drinking, drug-use, and cynicism. And so, they take to the country, thinking that a week away in Withnail’s Uncle Monty’s (Richard Griffiths) country cottage is the remedy they need. On the outset, "Withnail and I" seems like a comedy, and it is indeed a very funny film. Most of the humor comes from Richard E Grant in his greatest role, hamming it up to great effect as the cynical and aggressive (but actually quite cowardly) Withnail, who stalks around the screen with flailing arms and a permanent look of superiority on his face. Some of the things he comes out with are genius, and his devil-may-care attitude is both incredulous and amusing. However, it’s not all laughs, and there is an air of tragedy to Bruce Robinson’s film (and it is his film; as well as directing he takes up writing duties too), most notably in the film’s closing scene. It’s one of film’s great finishing scenes, with a monologue from Hamlet, proving that – not only does he have an ounce of talent that is going unnoticed – he knows the problems with his own character (the monologue finishes with "what a piece of work is a man!"), yet purposefully does nothing to rectify these faults. All humor, at this point, is dried away from the film, leaving the viewer with a sad sense of melancholy and a burning question about their own faults. It’s for these reasons - this depth and purpose - that "Withnail and I" has become a cult classic, and one which I dearly love. In fact, it’s probably the best non-Ealing, non-Python British comedy.

- Piles.

(in reply to rawlinson)

One of the most ambitious films ever made, Fitzcarraldo is based on Werner Herzog's own fascination of how 150 ton boulders could be moved over hills and be made to stand upright with only the initiative of and strength of those who wanted to move them. It also takes in the true story of how a man dismantled a boat in order to get across to the destination - waters, to continue his journey. This film takes these ideas and merges them together, with Herzog creating his own theory on how these boulders were moved, and then attempts to recreate such efforts via dragging a 200 ton steamboatover a mountain. The story follows Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald (Klaus Kinski), also known as Fitzcarraldo, as he tries to make his dream of bringing opera to amazonian tribes come true. After failing to find financial backers for his plan, Fitzcarraldo realises that there is only one way to complete his own personal mission.

"Burden of Dreams", the documentary on the making of the film, is almost as famous as the film itself. It shows the difficulties which the cast and crew had to deal with - death, illnesses of actors (Jason Robards, who was initially set to play Fitzcarraldo), tribes burning the camp and torential rain, amongst other problems. Of course, the main event of the film was always going to be the most troubling to deal with. Many of the Indians who helped with the cause were untrustworthy - the language barrier meant that the cast and crew did not know for sure their reasons for helping. The relationship between Herzog and Kinski further worsened, with Herzog only preventing the Indians from murdering Kinski because of the fact that a couple of scenes were yet to be shot.

Often seen as the pinnacle of the careers of both actor and director, Fitzcarraldo gave audiences further insight into Herzog's mindset with his onscreen persona, or "alter-ego" as Herzog himself said. Its slow pacing may put off some, but the film certainly inspires awe - the tenacity and courage shown to literally drag a steamboat over a mountain is something we will likely never see again in film.

- Fritzlfan.

Werner Herzog is mad. Klaus Kinski is mad. Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald, the main character of the piece, is mad. This film is madness laid down on celluloid and presented to the world. It is distilled insanity, crazy in a bottle. And it's completely, utterly endearing and excellent. Flawed, yes. The film is drawn out so much that it's almost painfully slow, the supporting actors are prone to overacting in an attempt to make themselves known opposite Kinski, and the film becomes less interesting whenever Kinski is not in frame. However, when Kinski is in frame, the mad genius of this film shines through in his impeccable, virtuoso performance. He's an unstoppable emotive force, bluster with heart and soul. Everything about what he does is batshit insane, and I do remember yelling at him from my couch at least four times, but there's something undeniably human about Kinski's interpretation of the deluded ice salesman that endears him to you, and you can't help but become captivated by and emotionally invested in this madcap guy with delusions of grandeur who just can't catch a break. Not even Kinski's complete lack of an Irish accent when portraying an Irishman detracts. Combined with Herzog's stunning cinematography and the knowledge that everything filmed here, even the boat being pulled up a motherfucking mountain, is god-for-honest real, Fitzcarraldo is an experience. A flawed experience, but an amazing experience nonetheless.

- Pigeon Army.

(in reply to rawlinson)

When mentioning Christmas and stories, people will inevitably think of Dickens' A Christmas Carol. And rightly so. It's a story intertwined with Christmas, one that sums up the great things about that time of year and warns us against everything that is wrong with it. It's a fantastic story that has become, to use a word that has become overused, iconic. So what better way to update A Christmas Carol during the eighties than to set it in a TV studio and combine it with the comedic genius of Bill Murray? With his sour brand of humour Murray was perfect to play the modern day Scrooge, the cold hearted TV executive Frank Cross. Cross is determined to ruin everyone's Christmas, he works one into the ground, he fires one on Christmas Eve and doesn't speak to his brother. He's even prepared to staple antlers onto a mouse. But it's his sneering, rude manner that really embraces the Scrooge spirit. He despises Christmas and everything about it, he cares only for money and ratings.

Murray is a tour de force in Scrooged but he's ably supported by Robert Mitchum, Carol Kane and that eighties wonder, Bobcat Goldthwait. Even the angelic Karen Allen is good playing the light to Murray's dark. And even if at times Scrooged isn't too subtle in its update, it still captures the ethos of the original story and finishes off with an incredibly Christmassy note. Like all the best Christmas films it makes you want it to be Christmas Day, but with this it combines moments of meaness that actually raise a laugh as well as adding Bill Murray. A man who could deliver lines in his sleep that still the show. Even at his most nasty you still like him. And more importantly, laugh at his jokes. Vote this into the Christmas Hall of Fame, it's probably the only eighties adaptation of a Dickens classic featuring Bill Murray and Bobcat Goldthwait.

- Rinc

(in reply to rawlinson)

One of the single funniest films ever made, Airplane! is a non-stop spoof that hits the mark on nearly every single joke (and with a joke rate of more than one a minute, that’s a lot of laugh). There are many, many spoofs in film history – most seem to have been made in the last decade – but there are only a handful of really good ones (only one of which was made in the last decade, Walk Hard). Airplane! is the best of all. As with all great comedies, to attempt to explain the jokes would not only take far too long, but would severely undermine the humour of the jokes in the first place. What I will do is talk about the film that surrounds the humour, and talk about why it has such staying power.

Certainly the films it originally spoofed (Airport ’77 et al) have disappeared into insignificance, while the film that spoofs them gains immortality. A film that opens on an aeroplane (or should I just call them ‘airplanes’?) tail fin cutting through clouds to the strains of John Williams’ theme for Jaws is going to get anyone’s attention. The humour within is a broad variety of styles, from slapstick, deadpan, sarcasm, irony, facetious, gross-out, referential, wordplay – the list goes on. What appeals to one may not appeal to another, but there are enough jokes crammed in there to satisfy even the grouchiest person. What these jokes are draped around however, is a barely-credible but well-plotted story. Incidentally, this is what is often missing from the more modern spate of spoofs that hang a few random film references together and hope it makes a story. Ted Stryker is an ex army pilot with a drinking problem. This has led to his girlfriend Elaine, an air stewardess splitting up with him. In a bid to win her back he boards her plane, despite a fear of flying that stems from a stint in ‘Nam (cue one of many flashbacks). When the pilots are killed ("Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?") Ted has to take over and with the aid of a chain-smoking-drinking-worse captain on the ground, lands the plane. Leslie Neilsen is the deadpan doctor ("I’d just like to say good luck, we’re with you all the way") in his first credited spoof role, and is actually excellent. If only he’d stopped here. (Or maybe after The Naked Gun.)

As is so often the case, the secret to the success isn’t really a secret. Take one interesting story that spoofs many recognisable recent films. Add a non stop stream of superlative jokes. Mix well. What comes out is as random a concoction as you might imagine, but with a sense of insanity that is matched only by the intense humour on display. One of the finest American comedies ever made.

- Homer Simpson_Esq.

(in reply to rawlinson)

A visually gorgeous movie, with a great soundtrack, Amadeus is a great drama about the last years of Mozart, and the jealousy felt by a fellow composer Salieri that the musical gifts he desires have been bestowed on a prankster. Great acting all around, especially from F. Murray Abraham as Salieri, and the exquisite set design, particularly in the operas are the main draw of the film. -- Epiphany Demon.


Despite it’s title (and incredible performance from Tom Hulce), Amadeus – Milos Forman’s 1984 masterpiece – is not a biopic of Mozart. Not only is the story a fictionalized version of events based on a famous conspiracy theory that there is little evidence for, but the story is not even about Mozart. Rather it is about another composer of the time, Salieri, and how he deals with the genius that Mozart exudes.

The film is framed by Salieri, now crazy, old and forgotten, confessing the fact that he killed Mozart. He tells the story, going back to when he was king of the castle, as Court Composer in Vienna, when suddenly this cocky, vile upstart called Mozart steps in and makes music so much more beautiful than his own.

But Salieri does not totally hate Mozart. Their relationship is complicated by the fact that Salieri appreciates Mozart’s gift for music as the incredible thing it actually is – as he sees it, the voice of God himself. Indeed, the people of Vienna don’t completely appreciate Mozart’s gift, but Salieri does. So for all the acclaim that the composer receives for his work, he has the nagging kn owledge that Mozart is so much better. Salieri is played by F Murray Abraham, in one of cinema’s finest ever performances.

The film was an enourmous commercial success (the knock on effect being that Mozart stormed the charts in America, and Falcao had the first German Language Number One single on both sides of the Atlantic with their Rock Me Amadeus), and swept the board at the Oscars (who, were absolutely right on this occasion). But the film does not pander to the genius of Mozart, and presents him as childish, sometimes vile, goofy and above all, someone who does not take his genius in the remotest bit seriously.

There’s also a bit of the Rock and Roll youth about him. He’s a rebel who loves to lecture his elders about the world. He doesn’t take tradions seriously, and breaks the mould (and then can’t understand why he’s so far ahead of the world). Tom Hulce’s Mozart is a joy, a beautifully complex character, and while Abraham fully deserved his Oscar, it’s a pity they could not both have one.

Salieri then, is not entirely just a bad guy. Its easy to sympathise with his madness, we can all understand how infuriating it would be to work at something all your life and have some upstart come along and steal your thunder while barely breaking a sweat.

The films plot, as gloriously entertaining as it is, does not need to be taken seriously, or as historical fact. The rumours persisted at the time that Salieri had indeed killed Mozart and he later had a nervous breakdown partly because of them. But the film is pure entertaining brilliance, and it is rare to see a film so endlessly watchable at its huge running time.

- Rhubarb.

(in reply to rawlinson)

Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin play a happy young couple who die an untimely death and begin to haunt their dream-house, unable to leave the boundaries of the house itself because an otherworldy dimension populated by giant sand worms now exists outside their front door. At least it does for them, the human world goes on as normal and soon a new family has bought the house, consisting of Jeffrey Jones as the dad who just needs to relax, his pretentious wife Catherine O'Hara and goth daughter Winona Ryder. Davis and Baldwin hate the new family (especially O'Hara) and want them gone. Unable to come up with convincing scares on their own, they find the details of bio-exorcist ghost Beetlejuice (Keaton) and hire him to get rid of the humans. Of course, things don't go according to plan. While I confess to not being the biggest Tim Burton fan in the world, Beetlejuice has a lot of charm, mainly thanks to Michael Keaton's inspired performance. There's also nice supporting performances (especially from the always hilarious Jones and O'Hara) and great production design.

- Rawlinson

(in reply to rawlinson)

The Vietnam War proved itself fertile ground for all kinds of films, from epic action films to reflective dramas. While Platoon is not the best Vietnam War film, it does offer the best blend of these two elements. The action scenes are well shot and ably capture the confusion and terror felt by the soldiers-rapidly cutting and yet never losing focus on exactly where everyone is. The drama side is played out as a battle for a soldier’s soul, with Charlie Sheen (back when he was one of the most promising emerging stars, instead of a walking punchline) as the soldier in question. The film does miss a trick in having a clear good Sergeant (Willem Dafoe’s easygoing Elias) and a clear bad Sergeant (Tom Berenger, striking a balance between good acting and slightly OTT), but the film is much more concerned with them at a spiritual level, almost to the extent of them embodying the side of light and the side of evil, and seeing which one Sheen ultimately picks.

Even if you don’t agree with the message of the film, the story is good enough that it doesn’t get in the way, featuring an ensemble of excellent acting talent, including Forest Whitaker, Johnny Depp, John C. McGinley and Keith David (who should be much more famous than he is). The clear care and attention played even to the smaller parts help the rest of the squad have character without diminishing from the central threesome.

What is interesting is the lack of a real story. This is much more of a character study, and is more told in vignettes and individual scenes that show Sheen’s growth. The beauty of it is that if just one of those scenes went, you’d be missing a vital part of the character development, which is a clear sign of a quietly brilliant script.

Overall, Platoon is a Vietnam war drama that doesn’t skimp on the war or the drama, tied together by outstanding performances from pretty much the entire cast. The biggest complaint I can make is the overuse of Adagio for Strings. First it plays over the credits-this makes sense. Then it plays as they burn a village. This also makes sense. Then it plays over them walking somewhere. And then as they make camp. And as they leave. By the time it gets its big epic use in the famous death scene (spoilt on the poster, DVD case and in every article mentioning the film, naturally), all I could think was “This damn music again?” But that isn’t enough to stop Platoon from being an excellent film.


BEST SCENE: The village. Its refusal to skimp on what tended to happen to villages that were suspected of hiding Vietcong is laudable, and it also has vital character moments for Sheen, Dafoe and Berneger. I’ve heard a comparison somewhere between it and the infamous “red coat” scene in Schindler’s List, and in terms of emotional punch, Platoon surpasses it.

- Rebel Scum

(in reply to rawlinson)

"We enjoy your films," a bunch of aliens tell Woody Allen's moviemaker in 1980's Stardust Memories. "Particularly the early, funny ones." Well I'm sorry to have to argue with our friends from outer space, but I disagree. Not with the first part of course - Allen is arguably the best writer-director of his generation - but with the second. While those knock-about, scattershot gagfests like Love and Death and Take the Money and Run remain good fun, Allen is at his best when he's not just being funny. From the scrappy but important Annie Hall in 1977 to 1992's Husbands and Wives, he created a series of coruscating comedy-dramas (along with three straight dramatic pieces) the like of which we have never seen. Pertinent, intelligent and frequently poignant - whilst possessing a laughs-to-minutes ratio to rival the best of Preston Sturges (or Kevin Smith's Clerks) - these films, among them Manhattan, The Purple Rose of Cairo (our #80) and Crimes and Misdemeanours are unfailingly fantastic. Hannah and Her Sisters is the best of the lot - and I don't hesitate to call it Allen's masterpiece. His '80s muse Mia Farrow is the film's - and her family's - flawless centre. But her life is far from perfect. Her husband (Michael Caine) is cheating with her sister (Barbara Hershey), while her other sibling (Dianne Wiest) is a self-deluding druggie. She's also saddled with a hypochondriac ex-husband (Allen) who finds solace only in the Marx Bros. Allen is aided by a superb ensemble that recruits stars from three different decades for its key supporting roles: Maureen O'Sullivan (the '30s), Lloyd Nolan ('40s) and Max von Sydow ('50s). Wiest, a phenomenally talented, oft-overlooked performer, also deserves a special mention. Hannah and Her Sisters is a heartfelt, wonderfully scripted offering that feels utterly true. I feel a bit queasy about adultery apologias, but this one is as riddled with guilt as anything Allen's put on screen.

Favourite bit: Nolan and O'Sullivan duetting on Rodgers and Hart's 'Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered' – the sort of quietly affecting thing Allen did so effortlessly during his peak years.

See also: Lloyd Nolan in the classic Michael Shayne mystery-comedy series, Maureen O'Sullivan (and none-too-convincing nude double) in Tarzan and His Mate - and the Booker-longlisted Me, Cheeta, and Max von Sydow in The Seventh Seal.

- rick_7

(in reply to rawlinson)

Two American friends David and Jack (Griffin Dunne) are travelling through Europe. In Yorkshire they find themselves forced out of a village pub into the deep dark night. Despite being told to stick to the roads, they find themselves crossing the moors where they meet a very nasty doggie. Jack is killed and David seriously injured. He wakes up several days later in a London hospital. He comes to wish though that he would have died too.

This may not be the first horror film that  I ever saw but it’s the first one I can remember seeing. I would have been about ten and watching on video – probably taped off TV.  It scared the bejeesus out of me and continued to do so for many years to come. Even now the dream sequence in which our cursed hero David (David Naughton) lies in a hospital bed in the woods asleep suddenly waking with a pale, yellow eyed, fanged face puts the wind up me.

There’s so much to love about this film, from the opening in the least welcoming pub in the world, through visits to porno cinemas with the undead to mayhem in Picadilly circus. It’s alive with invention, wit and humour. John Landis insists that American Werewolf isn’t a comedy yet it’s very, very funny and clearly owes a debt to the British TV comedy of which Landis is a self confessed fan. Inspector Villiers and Segeant McManus make for a great comedy double act and there’s a lot of fun to be had in incidental characters such as the young couple killed by David who remain irrepressibly cheerful and polite despite their recent slaughter.

.It is however also really very scary. The scene in which the yuppie is stalked on the underground is a wonderful use of camera and sound, with the beast only very briefly glimpsed. Then there’s the surreal horrors of the dream sequences including the one mentioned above. The naked deer hunting and of course the Zombie/Demon nazi massacre double-shock number

Key to any werewolf movie is the transformation and Rick Baker’s work is second to none and 30 years on - yes it’s really been that long - is yet to be bettered. Rob Bottin’s work on The Howling (itself great) beat it to cinemas and used some of the same techniques but still doesn’t hold a candle to what we see here. Shot in bright light and long takes it looks like a horrific agonising experience. It hurts just to watch it.

The casting is great. Naughton and Dunne have great rapport and you really believe they’re friends. Even dead and decomposing Dunne is funny and charming, Jenny Agutter exudes sex appeal as Nurse Alex Price but also shows humour and warmth in her scenes with David and with the mischievous Benjamin – all together now “NO!” -John Woodvine as the doctor turned detective is solid value. It also has great parts for Brian Glover, David Schofield and Rik Mayall

The soundtrack is also fun – squeezing in just about any song with “moon” in the title Landis can think of, including three different versions of Blue Moon

It all gets a little silly towards the end but the final scenes are still a blast full of short, sharp bursts of nastiness. The final scene is brutal and abrupt and all the more powerful for it.

There was a sequel of sorts in 1997 (…In Paris) which was pretty awful and there will be an inevitable remake soon enough. It may well be good but there’s no way it will ever be as good as this

There are some holes to be picked in the plot though. Would Alex really fall for David so easily? How does the wolfy David get into the Zoo in the first place? Why would he be taken to London when surely there’s plenty of hospitals far more local to the place of his attack?  Well in answer to the last one An American Werewolf in Leeds just doesn’t have the same ring does it?

- ScruffyBobby

(in reply to rawlinson)

Kubrick’s adaptation of King’s overlong, bloated, but popular novel tells the story of Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson), husband to Wendy Torrance (Shelley Duvall), and father to Danny Torrance (Danny Lloyd). When Torrance arrives at the Overlook Hotel to fulfil his duty as the winter caretaker things take a turn for the strange, and he begins to go stark raving mad, threatening the lives of his wife and child. Although Kubrick’s film may be rather shallow, there’s no denying the genuine suspense that he builds up. From our initial arrival at the Overlook, where words are spoken sparsely and the family fails to truly connect, we just know that something is up, and Kubrick relishes in stretching it out. And, when Jack finally does get pushed over the edge, we don’t get fireworks. Instead, we get a slow, deliberated attack on a fearful, defenceless family, which is much scarier than any of the emphatic, gory murders in "Saw" or "Hostel". It also looks the part, creating a visually distinct hotel and some iconic, sharp images. Who can forget the blood pouring down the hallway? Or the twins standing, inanimate, and whispering come-ons to Danny? Kubrick certainly has an eye for the visual, and this is perhaps his most vivid film. The performances are also top notch, with Jack Nicholson putting in the turn of his career. It’s reminiscent of James Cagney at his maddest, and his slow decay into insanity is heartbreaking, terrifying, and – most importantly – realistic. Shelly DuVall is equally good, portraying her decay into madness equally well. It’s well documented how Kubrick tortured her mentally during the filming, which, I think, helps present a better display of anxiety, paranoia, and ultimately insanity. Danny Lloyd, in one of his two screen credits, is unnaturally good for a child actor. It’s a surprise and a shame that he didn’t go on to do more, and it’s quite ridiculous how he just withdrew into obscurity. Kubrick, shooting in a style that really amplifies the terror (low, swift tracking shots are in particularly frightful), and his score makes it just as imposing as it is frightening. Up there with the very best of his work.

- Piles.

(in reply to rawlinson)

In 1979 Ridley Scott created a classic of the horror genre – the claustrophobic Alien. Seven years later James Cameron decided not to give us a generic horror sequel but a lightning-paced action thriller.

Paying respectful homage to Giger's groundbreaking artwork, Stan Winston takes things much further providing us with the entire hive up to, and including, the queen. The Oscar winning team's organic habitat fully camouflages its inhabitants, only seen as they break away from the walls to attack, and the external visuals clearly show the influence of another of Scott's works, Blade Runner.

The fully conceived environment is one of the things that make Aliens different. I love that Cameron remembers the social/working class ideology from the original – in place of Brett and Parker's bitching for their share we have a believable working colonial outpost and Ripley herself spends time on the docks (experience key to her initial integration with the group and to the final maternal showdown).

But technology isn't enough to save them. In the actual fighting the fetishised military hardware lauded by Hudson and fondled by Drake and Vasquez has its butt kicked by the biological weapons Weyland-Yutani drool over. Only the more solid mechanics are of use – the reassuringly solid APC and the loading equipment that adds to the realist feel, coloured a familiar Caterpillar yellow.

Oscar nominated for the role, Weaver's physically imposing Ripley retains the credibility from the original – resourceful, intelligent, a leader – in a nuanced performance that enhances the central mother-daughter relationship. The film also benefits from excellent supporting performances from Lance Henricksen's ambivalent turn as Bishop, as impressed by the Alien as his predecessor Ash, and the marines whose interplay gives us a convincing military unit led believably by Al Matthews (an actual former marine sergeant).

Hugely influential in film and video games (Doom and Halo being obvious examples) the film leaves us wondering who the real threat is. An alien race evolved into efficient killing machines who still try to protect their young – or the corporate ethos so willing to fuck others over "for a goddamn percentage!" And, seriously, never get between a mother and her child.

Aliens is an adrenaline-fuelled Sci-Fi actioner par excellence. It is the best film of its kind; the only sequel made that almost matches a classic original, and features the greatest female action character of all time, Ellen Ripley. 

- Elab49.

(in reply to rawlinson)

I still remember it as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Me and a friend were watching a TV show, only to find it being interrupted by a series of commercials. Among the many ads for shampoo and various cleaning products, there was one commercial that stood out. It was an ad for a CD-collection of Black Sabbath-songs, and I can still hear the announcer's voice as he declared it a "must-have for any self-appointed rock fan". Even more important was the fact that he said that we should "turn it up to 11". Me and my friend were of course very confused by that comment. My friend told me that turning it up to 11 would not work on his system, as he might as well have turned on the mute button, seeing as 11 was not the highest of volumes on that brand of stereo. At that time we had obviously not watched This is Spinal Tap yet. Unless you are having a slow day, you have already figured out that I'm talking about the film's most well-known quote: "this one goes to 11". That is just one of many ways that this film has entered the public consciousness. Another good example comes in the form of the Swedish heavy metal band Opeth, who were playing a concert just recently when the stage curtain suddenly fell down. When the video was put up on their website, it was labeled with the catchy title "two days ago, the band had a Spinal Tap-moment".

Now, let me ask you a question. Do you know any jokes that are funnier the second time you tell them? Of course not. It is interesting to note how hard comedy films are to make, seeing as many of them lose their power after repeated viewings. Spinal Tap is the exception that proves the rule. At first viewing I didn't really get the film, and even at a short 85 minutes I still found it to be too long. Oh, how foolish I was in my younger days. Luckily, I found myself getting an urge to watch it again one day, and as you might understand considering its place on this list, it was love on second sight. The film is a clever and unique mockumentary about the fictional band Spinal Tap, whom we are introduced to as they prepare their tour for their supposed comeback album, "Smell the Glove". Of course, the band has passed their prime a long time ago, and are now trying to claim to whatever glory they once possessed. As we follow them on the tour, they run into many hilarious situations (hilarious for us, not them), such as when they get lost backstage or when none of their fans turn up at a signing. But while the band may be stupid, they are also sympathetic, and as friction increases within their ranks, we start to feel for them. Yeah, they're idiots, but they're lovable idiots.

Another part that is surprisingly not given much mention is the music. While the songs are so cheesy that they basically parody themselves, I don't think I'll be the first to admit that a lot of them are actually quite catchy. I often find myself rocking along to "Big Bottoms", "Stonehenge" and "Sex Farm". I also have the exquisite privilege of being in a band myself, and while we have never had any our songs played on radio, there is still plenty for us to recognize in this film. The quarrels, the fight for leadership, and the joy of everything just working are just some of many things that every musician should feel a sense of familiarity towards in this masterpiece. Another great sign of this film's genius is that none of the people involved in this film have ever been able to let it go. They famously appeared on an episode of The Simpsons and have had several re-unions, including an hilarious one during Live 8 last year, when they played "Big Bottoms". The number of bassists on the stage in that moment has got to be a record.

This is Spinal Tap is the definitive proof that a film can be as funny as it is inventive and original. Every scene here hits the mark, and there is not a single out-of-key note in any of the film's 85 minutes. If you are a fan of laughing, and haven't watched this film yet, I'd suggest you watch it right away. But you have to turn it up to 11.

- Dantes Inferno

(in reply to rawlinson)

I can't believe this film needs much introduction, its a wonderful black comedy that is something of a twisted fairy tale. The adorably cute and clever Mogwai may appear to be the perfect Christmas present, but it comes with a short instruction booklet:
- Don't feed after midnight
- Don't bring into contact with water
- Don't expose to sunlight

Violation of those rules turns a quiet sleepy town Christmas into havoc and chaos. I'm pretty sure you've seen this film before, so I hope you enjoy it again. If you've overdosed in Christmas schmaltz, can't bear to see another cutesy Christmas card with a kitten on it playing with a bauble or secretly wish a snowman would fall on Aled Jones' head this is the perfect antidote.

- Professor Moriarty

(in reply to rawlinson)

There aren't many screen romances that can touch A Room With a View. Tourist Helena Bonham Carter falls for brooding Julian Sands amidst the violets of Florence, but even as she warms up, she struggles to cast aside the constraints of class and propriety, slipping instead into an engagement with priggish Daniel Day-Lewis. Bonham Carter is a fine actress - one of the best Britain has produced in the past 30 years or so. Here that familiar cut-glass accent forms a perfect counterpoint to the passions simmering beneath the surface. This is literate and lushly romantic, with Bonham Carter's glorious performance backed up by turns from Denholm Elliot, Maggie Smith, Day-Lewis and Judi Dench that are both weighty and hilarious. And the Tuscan exteriors seem to glow.

Favourite bit: Bonham Carter's climactic wail of "Well what did you all think?", her voice cracking.

See also: Howards End, another of Bonham Carter's films with Merchant Ivory. It's among her best: a tale of love, skulduggery and social manoeuvring that doubles as a portrait of a nation in flux. As with A Room with a View, it's based on an E.M. Forster novel, with a script by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala. The cast includes Anthony Hopkins, Emma Thompson, Vanessa Redgrave and Samuel West, and though Bonham Carter doesn't dominate the screen time, once more it's she who leaves an indelible impression. The Remains of the Day, also featuring Hopkins and Thompson, is almost as good.

- rick_7

A Room with a View is a film that's very easy to dismiss. The very words Merchant Ivory are enough to send chills down the spines of some viewers and it's a great shame to see the film treated this way, because instead of being the incredibly dull but beautiful and delicate piece of porcelain that some of its admirers and detractors would have you believe, it's a joyous hymn to the human spirit, to romance, to adventure, and to individuality. A film of great visual beauty, it starts with Lucy Honeychurch and her cousin/chaperone, Charlotte on holiday in Italy. Their typical, repressed sensibilities contrasting both with the country and with two Englishmen they meet, a father and son, The Emersons. The Emersons are free-thinkers and their forward ways shock Charlotte and intrigue Lucy. Lucy and the son, George, find themselves attracted and in a moment that's become iconic, George passionately kisses her in a barley-field. Any chance of a romance is thwarted by Charlotte, and on their return to England, Lucy becomes engaged to a respectable but dull man, Cecil. To her shock, George and his father become her neighbours, and she is forced to choose what she really wants in life. The plotline could have come out of any number of dreary romantic comedy-dramas, and with the wrong cast and crew A Room with a View could easily have been destroyed, think of the way the heart was torn out of the recent Brideshead Revisited remake. But the Merchant Ivory team capture the core messages of freedom and overcoming repression, helped in no small part by one of the finest casts ever assembled for a film. Maggie Smith and Denholm Elliott steal the film as Charlotte and Mr. Emerson, with Elliott's performance here challenging The Signalman and A Child's Christmas in Wales for the title of his finest performance, but everyone from Daniel Day-Lewis's uptight prig, to Simon Callow, Helena Bonham Carter and even Julian Sands are playing the height of their powers. A Room with a View is a film that isn't afraid to surprise its viewers (witness the naked bathing) and its inner beauty rivals those magnificent Italian locations. A true masterpiece.

- Rawlinson

(in reply to rawlinson)

Save perhaps from the love interest, Crusade does virtually everything better than its predecessors. It is the funniest film in the series. It is the most thrilling. It is the most emotional. It has the best music. It is simply the greatest adventure-film Steven Spielberg ever created (which leaves it close to the top when considering his mastery of the genre).

In my opinion, the film's ace of spades is the casting of Sean Connery as Henry Jones, sr. It is a well-known fact that Spielberg wanted to do James Bond before getting persuaded by George Lucas when he trumped that idea with Indiana Jones. Of course, Spielberg got the last word when he cast Bond himself as Indy's dad. Sean Connery has never been the greatest of actors, but here he provides some well-needed pathos (and tons of humor) into the series. Save for the excellent umbrella twist, his character may be completely useless in battle, but he provides an insight into his character that previously had seemed redundant. The film's excellence might not lie in its borrowings from drama, but it elevates what is otherwise a very good film.

Still, the film is just as much a feast for the eyes as the heart, and some of the set-pieces here rivals the best in Raiders, with my personal favorite being the long (but never tedious) battle with the tank in the desert. There are also a plethora of great lines here, with Denholm Elliott's proof that the pen is better than the sword being just one of many. "No ticket", "she talked in her sleep", "this is a new experience to me"; I could have easily replaced the review with just the best quotes. The decision to expand the universe of the series by using a prologue with the young Indy was another wise one, even though it may have indirectly created the Young Indiana Jones-series. Foreshadowing many of the characteristics of its protagonist (most prominent being his fear of snakes), the opening scene might not be as iconic as the one found in Raiders, but it is equally entertaining and funny, with the late River Phoenix proving to be a good replacement for Harrison Ford's disability to act younger.

I usually don't sit down just to get a good thrill out of a movie. When watching The Last Crusade, I never remember why that is so. Endlessly entertaining and brainless without ever being insulting to the brain, this is a movie well worth seeing over again and again.... and again... and again.

- Dantes Inferno.

(in reply to rawlinson)

For some reason, I always find Star Wars: A New Hope the weakest in the original trilogy. It was a start, an introduction to the Star Wars universe and characters. It was a very good one and a very original and imaginative one, but it seemed just entertainment, nothing to really sink our teeth into, nothing to become really part of. Then came The Empire Strikes Back. It opened the universe to us even more, it became epic, it became even more iconic, it gave four excellent new characters, and also became threatening.

Empire is the bleakest in the original trilogy, and the most mature and flawless of the entire saga of six films. They are no Ewoks here, no Jar Jar Binks, no crap romance, no "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!", no spectacular final shoot-out or battle, it is the least conventional of the six as well. The big, huge battle comes in the middle of the film, the heroes lose at the end, and there is little hope(only done again in Episode 3), at the end all the lead characters can do is escape, failing also to rescue a friend. It also has the most memorable moments; the spectacular Hoth invasion, the Millennium falcon escaping from inside a giant space worm, before that the Falcon escaping the TIE fighters, THAT TWIST, Han Solo's carbon freezing, those two lines between him and Princess Leia, Vader killing Admiral Ozzel while promoting his successor, so much is here. We also have the inclusion of new great characters. The most obvious, Yoda(voiced by Frank Oz), the frog looking master who will train Luke(Mark Hamill) into becoming a Jedi, Lando Carlissian(Billy Dee Williams), an old friend of Han Solo(Harrison Ford), the very cool, but slightly useless Boba Fett(Jeremy Bulloch) and the a villian worthy to stand above Darth Vader, the Emperor himself.

The film opens on Hoth, where the Empire has finally caught up with the Rebels responsible of blowing up the first Death Star. The ground assault occurs on the rebels base, the rebels lose and escape. Luke goes to receive training by Yoda on Dagobah, Han, Liea and the others go to Cloud City to meet Han's old friend Lando. The rest is now cinema history.

The Hoth battle is stunning; the huge AT-ATs stomping their way to the rebel base, killing and destroying anything in their way, the very creative way of the fighter pilots to destroy the AT-ATs(in fact, every time an AT-AT falls, it is joyous), the planes burning down behind the attack, the ground soldiers desperately trying to hold them off while the Rebels escape, it is a great thrilling scene with stays in the mind. It is one of the greatest action sequences ever made. The training scenes between Yoda and Luke are never boring, and the carbon freezing moment is the most touching moment in the entire saga, even if it is done this way through one of the most wonderfully cheesy lines in the entire trilogy. The twist still has some effect, but not as a twist, but as a scene where Luke discovers the truth about his father. The settings are just as good. Cloud City looks beautiful, and Dagobah really lush and Hoth is another desolate and even more threatening desert.

The sound of Star Wars was always fantastic; the John Williams soundtrack, the sound effects and the sound of the technology still are effective, and this is no exception. The script is the best one in any Star Wars. The characters are all great, and, we care about them. This is something missing in the prequels, characters we care about and love. It is well directed by Irvin Kershner, with Lucas leaving the director's chair after all the stress on Episode 4. The dialogue is quite good here, and the possible plot-holes do nothing to ruin the experience. Also The Empire Strikes Back is one of the best sequels ever made, and also THE best middle-film ever made. While the very good The Two Towers and the absolutely dreadful and soul-destroying Dead Man's Chest went nowhere, this made the story the story and had important things actually happening in it.

It works as a stand-alone film as well, This was my first Star Wars experience and I still understood everything, thanks to those openings. Episode V is a great achievement. And it still is amazing how this saga combines both fantasy and science-fiction. -- Deviation.


Being a Norwegian has its advantages (none of of which I would dare mention here) but the truth is: living on the western shores of Scandinavia is mostly equal to being an outsider. With that in mind, it is always amusing when the rest of the world acknowledge our existence (no, Norway is not the capital of Sweden), like that part in Die Hard With A Vengeance where a terrorist phone call is traced back to our capital city, Oslo (just a false lead), or that episode in The Sopranos when Paulie Walnuts can be seen watching a TV special on folk music from our country (bless him). But few acts warm my patriotic heart as much as the fact that George Lucas decided that the snowy hills of Finse should be the most fitting location for the cold planet Hoth in The Empire Strikes Back. This is not the chief reason why this film has snuck on this respective position, but I am positive it doesn't work against it either. I feel it should be wise to admit that this is the only film in the series that will make its appearance on this list, mostly because my opinion of the films has decreased as the number of years in my life-time have increased. The irony is of course that Empire was the film in the series I enjoyed the least as a kid.

Was it a brave move for George Lucas to make this film? Well, the courage laid not in his decision to make it (it would take more courage not to make it), but in his choice to lessen the film's more fantastical elements and provide the audience with a more downbeat tone. It lacks what most kids want to see: action, tons of striking color and a comforting happy ending, a bold choice that made the critics finally give in to the excellence of the trilogy. As in the original film, the rebel alliance are still just hunted prey for the Empire, but this time, Obi-Wan Kenobi won't step up to save the day. Whether this is because of Alec Guinnes' dislike of the series or (more likely) because his character was killed in the first chapter, remains a mystery not even Sherlock Holmes could find in his ability to solve. Mr. Holmes should of course not be confused with the famous detective going by the same name.

One of the things that previously escaped my attention when watching this film was of how well the various locations mirrored the emotional state of the characters. At no time does that theory prove to be as true as when Luke (Mark Hamill) makes his journey to Daggobah (I can't believe I still remember the names), where he meets the mighty Yoda (Frank Oz) for the first time. With Luke torn between his desire to help his friends and his wish to complete his Jedi-training, the Star Wars-series managed with this film to play notes that had previously had seemed so far out reach.

But then again, Taxi Driver this ain't, and one need not be an adult to enjoy it. In fact, I wonder how many adults would like this film if they hadn't first seen it as a youngling (pun very much intended). The action sequences lack the flash and comedy of the other entries, but many of them deserve a mention here. The opening battle on Hoth is an obvious mention (and not just because of its respective shooting location), but for me, the real sell is every moment transpired in Sky City, where our heroes find themselves to be in short supply for help as the bad guys prove to be too mighty. Anyone who watches the light saber-duel and find their face to be one of shock at the end may very well have lived under a stone for the last 30 years, but the lack of surprise does not reduce the power of Vader's reveal one bit. One could actually argue that it's more orgasmic as everyone is anticipating it anyways. Like the binary sunset in the original film, I don't think I will hear many protests as I declare this the "grandest moment in the series". A solid proof that kids are worthy to play with the big boys.

- Dantes Inferno.

(in reply to rawlinson)

85 minutes. That's all it takes to watch one of the most perfect films ever devised. 85 minutes. In a blink of an eye you've witnessed a film that turns the rules of the horror genre on it's head, is way more post-modern than anything Wes Craven's created and, most importantly, has left you enthralled and highly entertained. With Sam Raimi swinging camera's enigmatically into Bruce Campbell's face and spraying shitload's of blood over everyone's favourite idiotic hero, there's much to be admired. Flying eyeballs, headless-chainsaw wielding corpses, blunt shovel decapitation, an unseen force crashing through doors (in a visually awesome chase sequence), three stooges slapstick, hose-pipe bloodbaths, worksheds, boomsticks, a decapitated head with a nasty bite and the greatest scene of self mutilation ever filmed all add up to unbelievable audience satisfaction. Campbell's now iconic tooling up for the final confrontation with a soul-sucking deadite and the fantastic way that he continually has his arse kicked by the evil spirits, is not only "groovy” it has also entered the halls of movie lore, so important they are to Evil Dead 2's success. And it all ends with one final kick in the balls to our hero, much to our delighted pleasure. 85 minutes of your time isn't much to ask for, plus you get two films for the price of one seeing as Evil Dead 2 is one of the few films that has adjudged the balance between horror and comedy so perfectly. And if you didn't hear me before – this film features a flying fucking eyeball! No excuses, go and watch it again, before you finish reading the rest of the poll… the power of the chin compels you!

- Clownfoot.

(in reply to rawlinson)

You can watch Wolfgang Petersen's submarine masterpiece in a variety of different lengths - Director's Cut, TV miniseries version, a shorter still length - but in a way, it doesn't really matter. Any version you watch is a completely immersive (do you see what I did there?) and knuckle-whitening experience as good as any that Hollywood, or any other country, has come up with. A German war correspondent during WW2 is assigned a task of joining a U-Boat crew to capture their experiences at sea, primarily as a propaganda exercise. But what he sees, hears and experiences is far, far different from the glory of war. The crew are split between the new and idealistic and the old and embittered, who have been on one too many missions. It's an incredibly even-handed look at warfare, with the German soldiers not particularly lionised, nor criticise, by Petersen. They are what they are, a mixture of young and older men, all doing the job they're told to do even if they don't particularly believe in the cause they're doing it for anymore. It's also a film as terrifying as it is cynical - the submarine creaks and groans around them, the hull buckling under the immense pressure of the sea as they're forced deeper and deeper to avoid detection. If it doesn't matter *that* much which version you watch, what does matter is how you watch - on the biggest screen you have with the best possible sound system. You will be needing some fresh air and a good walk outside afterwards. Throw in one of the most amazing scenes you'll ever see in any war film - the attack on the British ship - and you have the single greatest submarine film ever, and one well worth a place in the Hall of Fame.

- Matty

(in reply to rawlinson)

The Plot: Private Detective Eddie Valient (Bob Hoskins) is called in to investigate a murder involving the famous cartoon character, Roger Rabbit.

From the funny to the scary scenes (it's the stuff of childhood nightmares), it's a fantastic film.

Best Scene: The final fight

- MovieAddict247

(in reply to TRM)

War. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing! Apart from some incredible anti-war films of which Grave of the Fireflies is no exception and is perhaps one of the strongest out there. Also titled Tombstone for Fireflies, Grave is an incredibly somber film about the hardships faced by two children struggling to survive during World War II. Seita and his younger sister Setsuko are left on their own, having to survive when when their mother dies from burns inflicted by the American fire-bombing of their town, Kobe. Their father is away with the Japanese navy, and Seita and Setsuko haven't heard anything from him for a while. Initially the children are living with a distant aunt which, while practical, isn't the best situation for the children to be in and after finding themselves having to sell items belonging to their mother the children leave and try to make it alone.

Grave of the Fireflies is based on a semi-autobiographical novel which the author wrote as a way of trying to make amends for his own sister dying of malnutrition during wartime Japan and as a way of helping him come to terms with the tragedy. Because of this Grave of the Fireflies is not a film that should be watched expecting a light hearted animation - despite originally being shown as a double bill alongside My Neighbour Tortoro!

Above all else, Grave of the Fireflies is absolutely a film that must be watched with a box of tissues at the ready. It will wring your heart, it will make those tear glands work and it will absolutely leave a mark on your soul.

- Funkyrae.

Set during the tail end of World War 2, a Japanese brother and sister try to survive the air raids and life on the streets after their mother dies during a bomb attack. The two children, 14 year Seita and 4 year old Setsuko, first go to live with a spiteful aunt, but they find themselves unable to live with her resentful nature and move themselves into a cave near a lake, but slowly starvation begins to set in. There are times when a plot description can't begin to do justice to the power, beauty and tragedy of a film. Grave of the Fireflies is deceptively simple on the surface. What makes the film so powerful are the little scenes and moments, such as capturing fireflies that die all too soon, and the container of sweets that will come to contain ashes. Seita and Setsuko are outsiders, the villagers reject them out of self-preservation and they reject the villagers as they retreat into their make-believe world.

There's no false hope in this film, we're shown from the opening scene how things are going to turn out and we know it's going to be a hellish experience at times. As Seita dies in the opening, we see that he's not alone. The train station where he passes away is filled with others just like him, and the train passengers treat them all with the same mixture of ignorance and revulsion, determined to not acknowledge them and their own responsibility. The fact that the film is based on the novel by Akiyuki Nosaka, who lost his own sister in similar circumstances, just adds to the oppressive weight that hangs over this film.

Grave of the Fireflies is one of the saddest films ever made, a profoundly devastating account of the toll war takes on the innocents, and a slap in the face to any idiot who claims these kinds of casualties are acceptable. It's often been questioned why this was an animation rather than live-action, I don't even see why that's an issue except for people who think animation can't hold any power. I think this is one of those films that everyone needs to see at least once, just to experience its heartbreaking power and its condemnation of human selfishness and stupidity.

- Rawlinson

September 21st 1945... that was the day I died.

So opens Grave of the Fireflies, Isao Takahata's searing war film that succeeds in simultaneously being one of the greatest war films ever, and one of the greatest animations ever. It's not difficult to deduce from this opening that this will not be a happy film, or even particularly for children. Don't let the medium, or the fact that this was released in a double bill with My Neighbour Totoro, fool you. This film is emotionally intense and occasionally rather graphic. Upsetting yet profoundly moving, watch this with someone you are comfortable crying with.

It may seem odd, releasing the saddest film you'll ever see in a double bill with the happiest. It was done so that Fireflies was ensured an audience, but this worked against them – families had to leave because it was too intense for the children. Yet whilst there are glaring differences in plot and tone, there are thematic similarities that link the two. They are stories about family, and how sibling relationships are there to last through anything, be it illness in the family or the horrors of war. It's the convincing way that the bond between Seita and Setsuko is portrayed that gives Fireflies its undeniable power, in that it is impossible not to care for these two children, forced to rely on one another in the most horrible of situations.

This is one of the most realist of all of Ghibli's films. Whilst Takahata's Only Yesterday is similarly real-world, the flashback scenes are drawn with a beautiful nostalgic feel, and the blurring of history and present has a fantastical edge to it. Here, bloodied corpses are thrown onto piles of bodies, rashes spread and cities burn. This is uncompromising realism, and the tone of the film is quite unflinching. Yet this allows the characters room to grow, and whilst the adorable Setsuko's fear and pain is enough to break anyone's heart, the standout is Seita. Prepared to go to any lengths to protect his little sister, his story is one coursing with grief and guilt. The novel on which this is based is semi-autobiographical, written as a way of coming to terms with the death of the writer's sister during the war. The intimate, personal nature of the story is reflected in the raw power of the film's final act.

Yet the whole film is narrated after the death of Seita, as he looks back on his mistakes and his triumphs, and the moments of beauty in the face of horror. The whole film beats, therefore, with Seita's heart, and the tragedy is stronger because of it. The scene from which the title comes is a tender, heartfelt moment as the brother and sister collect fireflies to keep in their mosquito net, and it lights up their makeshift home with an ethereal glow. Like the whole film, it is haunting in its melancholic beauty, yet also heartbreaking in an utterly unforgettable way.

Best: War film; tear-jerker ending

- Swordsandsandals

(in reply to TRM)

Arguably David Lynch’s best film, "Blue Velvet" revolves around Jeffrey Beaumont (Kyle McLachlin), a boy living in 80s American suburbia. One day, on his way home from visiting his father at the hospital, he finds a severed ear, which he instantly takes to the police. From there on in, it’s a film riddled with sinister undertones, deviant underworld characters, and dry humping. Easily one of the best American movies of the 1980s, "Blue Velvet" survives because of its unwillingness to conform to regular thriller mentality. Instead, it’s a strange, slowly paced, and contemplative drama that just so happens to involve a few gangsters. Lynch is renowned for his ability to melt your brain with his complex and sinister world, often in ways that make you feel like you’re on the outside of an inside joke (i.e. "INLAND EMPIRE"), but here he grounds the strangeness in reality. By contrasting Frank Booth (played brilliantly by Dennis Hopper), the head honcho of this minor criminal organization, dry humping club singer Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini) with Jeffrey courting a high school student (Laura Dern), Lynch manages to achieve a far more tangible sense of paranoia and uneasiness. "INLAND EMPIRE" or "Mulholland Drive", let’s face it, could never happen. And if it did, it wouldn’t happen to use mere members of the public, far removed from the important goings on of Hollywood. Here, our protagonist is a very real, very normal teenager, and that makes the sometimes surreal, always sinister goings on even more frightening and unsettling. Capped off with some brilliant set-pieces (the ‘In Dreams’ rendition, the finale, and – of course – the dry humping scene) and a fantastic Dennis Hopper performance (best of his patchy career), "Blue Velvet" is a film that anybody with a stern stomach and a basic grasp of Lynchian madness should see.

- Piles.

After the failure of Dune, David Lynch returned to more personal work with Blue Velvet. A darkness in suburbia offering that takes the film noir into the surreal suburbs. McLachlan plays Jeffrey Beaumont, a college student returning to his hometown of Lumberton to visit his ill father. He discovers a human ear in a field and finds himself investigating the ear, drawing in Sandy (Laura Dern) the daughter of a local cop to get clues. He finds the hometown to be a seedier place than he ever imagined. He also finds himself in a sadomasochistic sexual relationship with Dorothy (Rossellini), a nightclub singer with a connection to the ear. Through Dorothy he also encounters Frank (Hopper), a terrifying sociopath who inflects his odd sexuality on Dorothy. Frank has kidnapped Dorothy's husband and child and is forcing her into sex. Or is he ? Dorothy certainly has an interest in s & m and sexual humiliation, even demanding Jeffrey beat her during sex. When Frank catches Dorothy and Jeffrey together, he forces them to go with him to visit Ben (Dean Stockwell) the man holding Dorothy's son. The most disturbing moment in the film happens during this sequence and Ben becomes as much of a nightmare figure as Frank, following this sequence Frank delivers a savage beating to Jeffrey, and there have long been rumours that the original intention was also rape. The film builds to an eventual showdown between Jeffrey and Frank, as Jeffrey uncovers just how deep the corruption is in Lumberton.

In many ways it's a coming-of-age film, Jeffrey is on the verge of manhood and the film is very much exploring the world between a boy and being a man, complete with sexual discovery. Lynch himself described the film as The Hardy Boys go to Hell, and I can understand what he means (for once) as the film as that adolescent spirit of adventure, it just perverts it. Lynch has admitted to a strong autobiographical element in this film and that McLachlan is his stand-in figure, so it's easy to read it as Lynch's own realisation about the darkness in man. Blue Velvet is also about the dark desires that lurk beneath the surface of an idealised America. Dennis Hopper's Frank represents everything that comes to subvert normality, but some 'normal' things are all too ready to be subverted and corrupted, making Blue Velvet a forerunner for the ideas he'd explore in more depth in the television series, Twin Peaks. Further evidence that Lynch is exploring his own childhood is that the American fantasy here is the kind of picket-fence suburbia so often associated with 50s America. And if Blue Velvet was to be remembered for nothing else, it should be as an example of how to drench your film in cultural iconography while making sure the pop culture compliments rather than dominates the film.

In a spectacular misreading, some critics have accused the film of misogyny, including Roger Ebert, who once again displayed that when he gets it wrong he really gets it wrong. The idea of Rossellini's character having a submissive sexual taste, being someone who thrives on humiliation, is taken as evidence of Lynch's misogyny, or that he thinks that all women like or deserve rape. Which is an incredibly blinkered vision both of the film and of human sexuality. Dorothy is someone who gets a thrill out of sexual power games, as displayed by her own treatment of Jeffrey. There's nothing to say that she likes all of the treatment from Frank or that she likes the idea of rape, or that we should like at Dorothy as a metaphor for all women. Dorothy is Dorothy and she can only be seen as a representative of that character, not of women as a whole, and if Lynch really did feel that way then similar characteristics would be seen in Dern's Sandy. You can only begin to approach making a judgement call on something like misogyny if all or most of the female characters are depicted in the same way rather than just one.

It's true that Dorothy is a real subversion of the femme fatale stereotype usually associated with noir, even twisted horror-noir like this, but despite the vampishness of her nightclub singer persona, Rossellini plays Dorothy as being so fragile she could break at any moment. This femme fatale won't shoot you in the back, but she might just shatter as you touch her and leave you to bleed to death. The pop culture acceptance of Blue Velvet has often revolved around Hopper's Frank, but Rossellini's performance may just be the finest in the film, it's certainly one of the bravest and most daring female leads of the 80s. All of the cast are outstanding though and how Blue Velvet didn't sweep the 86 Oscars is a mystery. Lynch's masterpiece is in no way an easy film, but the world of cinema is a better for its creation.

- Rawlinson

(in reply to TRM)

Forget the overly smooth and stylish sequel, with its overly complicated back-story (especially in the Director’s Cut), the gritty, dirty, and so-much-cooler tech noir of this first one makes it so much more of a masterpiece. (I’m not even going to mention the third, or mooted fourth films.) The Terminator is a film with such a simple story that, as majestic as the sequel is (I do actually like T2 quite a lot), it stands alone perfectly well. An android sent back to kill Sarah Connor does so with relentless force. It will not stop, and so forth. The terror Sarah experiences is real and we share in it. The fact that Kyle Reese is specifically a man does not just have added conceptual necessity during the course of the film but makes him very much the lesser of the two protagonists, physically. Schwarzenegger (who interestingly originally auditioned for the part Lance Henriksen who in turn was meant to play the part of the Terminator) has never been more perfectly cast as this. He quite simply is the embodiment of the physically superior T800, and the rigidity of his acting through his accent works in favour of the character so that even once the exterior has been literally removed, you still feel that it is Schwarzenegger playing the role.

While I enjoy films with vast complexities that on multiple viewings reveal more and more about the characters/themes/concepts within said films, one can’t deny the pleasure experienced in a simple good vs. evil story with an excellent script, a superb concept and a dodgy sex scene. Well, maybe that last one is expendable. As our esteemed fellow forumite has realised by choosing it as his user name, the film coined the phrase tech noir, not least by having it as the name of the nightclub. It is, in a sense, a very real precursor to the world found in Blade Runner, that film already showing its influence just two years after it was released. One could analyse many aspects of The Terminator and how they relate to the world then, and how people saw the world of the future. But, I feel that to do so overly would detract from the fact that it’s a bloody fun film, albeit one with a cold, metallic heart.

- Homersimpson_esq

(in reply to TRM)

Seven Samurai, Kagemusha, Throne of Blood, Yojimbo and now Ran. With each film I wonder where Kurosawa's weaknesses as a director lay. As it is, his exquisite sensibilities are present and correct here in this adaptation of Shakespeare's finest play, King Lear. The tale of greed and obsession fits 16th century Japan as perfectly as it did the timeless age in which King Lear was set (it was not a contemporaneously set play). Transposing the three daughters for the more appropriate three sons not only gives a very different dynamic, but also sets up in Lady Kaede the finest female role since Throne of Blood's Lady Asaji Washizu. The tale is familiar: an elderly ruler divides his land between his three sons with the intention of travelling between them and living out his days in this way. Greed, megalomania, and self-centred ambition prevent this ideal from coming to pass, and events quickly descend into a world in which Lord Hidetora visibly turns to madness for consolation.

The music, like many aspects of this film, is for the large part pointedly subtle. It gently stresses a point, rather than cueing one's emotions clumsily. It is haunting and affecting, and becomes part of the film itself with the introduction of Tsurumaru, the blind, flute-playing brother of Sué. The mellifluous flute seems to drive right into Hidetora's skull, further sending him into the inevitable madness that will overcome him. Where the music's subtlety works wonders is where its sparseness allows the viewer (or rather, the listener) to hear every other sound more clearly. The sound of galloping hooves is a comforting sound for me for some reason - here it is used to great effect as dozens of horses tear past the camera between castles, or to join battle. Where neither music nor sound effect is utilised, we can more readily attend the dialogue itself. Which is a strange thing to say, considering we are reading the dialogue. Nevertheless, I need to hear it being said so as to ascertain inflection and emotion - frequently with foreign language pictures I recall hearing the words spoken in English, despite reading subtitles! The wonderful character of Kyoami - Shakespeare's ever-sharp fool, the one character allowed to speak the truth to the king - has some of the finest lines in the film (as his counterpart does in the play). "Man is born crying. When he has cried enough, he dies." Or, when Hidetora says, "I am lost." Kyoami replies, "Such is the human condition". Music, effect, and the spoken (and thus written) word mix to wonderful effect.

There doesn't necessarily need to be any overall beauty behind an image, but there needs to be something that is intentional about an image; a director must have specifically chosen that particular shot for a reason for it to make that added impact. Kurosawa's phenomenal sets are shown to admirable effect here, as the three Castles are filmed in great detail. The Japanese countryside is breathtaking too, truly showing how Hidetora could survey all he rules from the hill on which they are camped at the start of the film. With Japanese cinema I suspect there is much rooted in tradition that I do not fully understand. When I saw King Lear on stage it was in London with Sir Nigel Hawthorne in the titular role (a weak performance if I'm honest). What is interesting is that the production was a Japanese one, with a Japanese director. While there was much of significance in the performance, my notes that I made for my A level Theatre Studies have been lost. What I do recall is the importance stressed in the placing of the actors on stage (or, in this case, on screen). For instance, a character that walks down the centre of the stage is ascribed a greater importance than one to either side. While this may seem obvious, it is not always the case in Western productions, where important characters may linger in the wings. This importance may transfer to the screen as well, with every nuance or character placing within the mise en scene highly specific and symbolic. (I think that's the first time I've used the term 'mise en scene' in context since I dropped off my Film Studies course 8 years ago!)


This is the pleasure of Kurosawa. However much you take away from his films, I am discovering, the more it appears you have merely scratched the tip of the iceberg, to mix metaphors. That is the enjoyment of repeat viewings, of reading around the film. One can fully enjoy the film with no prior knowledge of the story or the film-maker's style. But one can enjoy it on multiple levels with that added knowledge. That, I think, is the mark of one of the finest film-makers.

- Homersimpson_esq

Ran depicts the fall from power of Hidetora Ichimonji (Nakadai), an aging warlord who decides to abdicate his throne and give the power to his three sons, Taro, Jiro and Saburo. Taro is given leadership of the clan while Jiro and Saburo are given other castles and told to support their brother, while Hidetora remains leader in name only. Saburo disagrees with his logic, thinking it is too easy for his sons to betray him, an act Hidetora mistakes for a threat, something that leads to Saburo's banishment. Once Hidetora abdicates, Taro's wife starts pushing for him to take complete control of the clan. When Hidetora kills one of Taro's guards after he threatens his fool, Taro demands that Hidetora renounce his title. He seeks refuge with Jiro, only to find he is only interested in using him as a pawn against Taro. Hidetora tries to travel to the Third Castle, vacant after Saburo's banishment, only to be attacked by his sons. Hidetora's bodyguards are massacred and Hidetora left to commit seppuku. He descends into insanity, left to wander in the wilderness. Hidetora discovers the few that remain loyal to him and they hide out in the ruins of a castle but he begins to hallucinate visions of the people he destroyed to gain power. When Saburo learns of his father's plight, he returns to aid him and go to war with his brothers.

Kurosawa's final epic was the most expensive film produced in Japan up until that point and it's one of the most astonishing visual spectacles in cinema. The magnificent battle sequences are quite possible the finest ever filmed. But unlike so much bad cinema where spectacle is mistaken for great film-making, Ran also tells a great and tragic story, filled with intelligent writing and sublime acting. The story takes its inspiration from legends of the warlord Mori Motonari. Monotari was famous for having three loyal sons, but Kurosawa tried to picture the results if the sons were disloyal. Kurosawa merged the story of Motonari with Shakespeare's King Lear in order to create one of cinema's great tragedies. Kurosawa had already proved himself capable of directing great Shakespearean adaptations and Ran is the pinnacle of not just his Shakespearean films, but also of his epic, period cinema.

Tatsuya Nakadai gives a remarkable, vanity-free performance as Hidetora. He is vain, arrogant and a ruthless warmonger who acquired his power through slaughter and treachery. We should despise him, and Nakadai refuses to play for audience sympathy. When Hidetora slips into insanity we begin to feel pity for him through the power of Nakadai's performance, a lesser actor may just have left the viewer with the feeling that Hidetora is getting exactly what he deserves. Nakadai shows us the warlord's regret and his sadness and creates a great sense of empathy with the character. He's ably supported by a strong cast, but the only performance that comes near to his level is Mieko Harada's astounding turn as the power-hungry and murderous Lady Kaede. This tale of ambition, pride, loyalty, betrayal and regret is one of cinema's true, undisputed classics, and while it's not quite the pinnacle of Kurosawa's career, it's a film that deserves a place in anyone's top 100.

- Rawlinson.

I don't know about others but I tend to find it harder to review films I've known and watched for years, particularly trying to explain why I agree the great ones are great.

Kurosawa initially took this idea from Japanese history. A lord with 3 good sons. But what, he wondered, if they hadn't been so dutiful? From there it was a fairly short step to Lear, and it is to Shakespeare that the greater debt is clearly owed (and not just to Lear – elements of Prospero and certainly Macbeth are clearly also at work. Here Kurosawa presents us with a play – not playing with theatrical conventions like Ichikawa's An Actor Revenge does, it is straighter than that, but still much more than simply putting stage settings before a camera in a powerful take of hubris, superbly told with some astonishing setpieces, particularly the initial silence through the battle at the 3rd castle as lives are lost and soldiers hurry hither and thither mixing and matching the red and yellow flags and then the burst of noise and brother turns on brother. Landscape is also a key part of the film, beginning on the lush hills on a hunt and ending up in a wasteland as Hidetora wanders to his death, but when Saburo returns it becomes verdant again and the greenery is used by his man to defeat Jiro.

On screen we see very contrasting acting styles – the 2 greatest performances are from Nakadai as the self-deposed great lord and Mieko Harada as  the disturbed and vengeful Lady Kaede, both of whom have similar more formal acting styles (I'm told from Noh theatre), that makes them stand out in each scene and pointedly links the 2 characters (one wonders why he feels such remorse for killing Sue's family but not Kaede's e.g.). Most of the other performances are more naturalistic, but the 3rd great performance – from Peter – can be a halfway house, and he certainly has most of the best lines, making the most of them. This was really interesting for me as it was the first time I'd rewatched Ran since seeing Peter's debut for the first time (in Funeral Parade of Roses). As well as his frustration in trying to deal with a lord, whom he genuinely loves, gone mad, Peter is responsible for much of the humour in the film but I still think the funniest scene is as Kaede and Taro finally sit in silence in the main castle and she looks to her left and comments her mother killed herself there, looking at the spot as if the body still lies there – Taro's reaction is priceless.

I'd say there is a difference watching it on the big screen. According to the festival director and Optimum this is the current best available print, and it isn't perfect, but no matter. The big difference, I think, is the impact of Kurosawa's use of cloud's to separate and foreshadow events – the calm and stormy skies and, in one case as watch the transition to Hidetora's starving camp in the sun, the screen suddenly brightens and blinds you, shrinking your pupils as you look into the sun, and you just don't get that on the small screen.

- Elab49

It is fitting to have one loose Shakespeare adaptation followed by another, although it is safe to say that Ran pays a lot more attention to source material than The Lion King ever did. Lifting the plot of King Lear and placing it in feudal Japan, replacing conniving daughters with power-hungry sons, Akira Kurosawa takes one of Shakespeare's gloomiest works and injects it with all the spectacle, grandeur and emotion that the Bard could ask for. It's a mad, violent and glorious piece of cinema, chock full of iconic images and brilliantly drawn characters. Sure it's over the top, but then again it is Shakespeare.

When I first watched The Seven Samurai, I was impressed by the visuals and found myself dreaming of what Kurosawa could do with colour. This is still his only film of his I've seen not in black and white, but it is quite possibly the most perfect use of colours I have ever seen in a film. Because the three sons each have individual banners for their armies, the battle scenes are a blur of blues, yellows and reds, set off by the flickering light from flames, or surrounded by a panoply of green. Then other scenes are more sparse: Lady Kaede's beheading is shown only as a splatter of red against a white wall. This technique of off-screen violence is, I believe, popular in Japanese theatre and film, and here it has a violent impact that gorno films can only dream of. Somehow it just would not have worked as well in black and white.

In all of this colour, clothed in flowing white robes and sporting a haircut that would make Klaus Kinski jealous is the Lord Hidetora, spurned by two of his sons and having lost his third. He is the epitome of madness, driven there by grief and accompanied by a Fool. The fool acts as a Greek chorus, passing comment on the events of the film and sometimes pushing his luck with the honesty of his delivery. The two of them are surrounded by a huge cast of supporting players and extras, and whilst Tatsuya Nakadai is excellent in the lead role (and made my performances list) there is one performance which is a league above the rest.

Mieko Harada, as the villainous and scheming Lady Kaede, absolutely dominates the screen whenever she is on it. As the architect behind the downfall of Hidetora, she is a ball of fury both terrifying and compelling. She is one of the greatest cinematic villains, a terror beautiful to behold. Everything about her performance is worthy of note, even down to the way her lips curl with disdain whenever she smiles. That the rest of the cast do not fade into insignificance in the face of this stunning actress is an achievement in itself. That they all have a chance to excel shows how good a director Kurosawa is with actors, and how astounding Ran is.

And of course, because this is a film with battles in, I have to comment on them. I've been told by others that the battles in this are hugely influential on films that followed. I can see why. The breathtaking scope of the fighting, and the aforementioned use of colour make for melees which set the screen on fire with their violence and exhilaration. Yet at 2 ½ hours, Ran leaves time in between the fighting to mature its themes. As with all of Kurosawa's films, such is the way that he creates and explores his characters, and such is his way with a plot, that you rarely feel the length of this epic. Beautiful to look at, damned entertaining to watch and film making of the highest quality, were I to make a “best” films list as opposed to “favourites” it would also feature highly. It's a masterpiece.

Best: Kurosawa film; colour in film; beheading; Shakespeare adaptation; film that has a scene used as the opening to a computer game (10 points if you can name it).

- Swords

(in reply to TRM)

I was first awoken to the excellence of The Princess Bride when watching Australian talk show Rove Live. The host, the excitable Rove McManus, had Dead Like Me star Mandy Patinkin on the show, and being a fan of that excellent television series, I tuned in. Near the end of the interview, McManus asked Patinkin about his sword duel in a film I hadn’t heard of, The Princess Bride, and asked him to recite the immortal line, “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” At that point, I resolved to find the film at any cost. And earlier this year, I found it, gathering dust in the comedy section of my local video store.

William Goldman’s script is the main strength of this film. Not a single scene feels like padding or dead weight – unlike Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Goldman’s slightly less fantastic stab at the Western, the pace never lags and the fun keeps coming. Goldman knows exactly where he’s going, what he’s doing, and how he’s doing it, and what fantasy clichés and conventions are going to be affectionately mocked along the way. The way he gleefully pokes fun at such fantasy mainstays as the forest nobody’s ever come out of alive and the timeless scourge of pirates (the fabled omnipresence of the Dread Pirate Roberts is deconstructed in a speech hilarious in its meticulous absurdity) is nothing short of genius, and his script is probably the most eminently quotable one created since Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

The lush visuals, playing to the clichés of fantasy by the letter, also create a vibrant setting for such a subversive story, and the acting is fantastic. By using actors who could not possibly be considered names – Cary Elwes, Robin Wright, the aforementioned Mr. Patinkin, Chris Sarandon (who is fantastically evil), Christopher Guest (near-unrecognisable as the man with six fingers, Count Rugen), Wallace Shawn – director Reiner has allowed us to become more immersed in the fairytale world, where everything ends happily and everything up until that happy ending is exactly what we expect, yet not what we expect at the same time. The Princess Bride is a timeless subversive fairytale, and the defining film of the 1980s fantasy golden age.

- Pigeon Army

(in reply to TRM)

"Raging Bull" is the true story of Jake La Motta, the former middle weight champion of the world. Portrayed by Robert de Niro in a less than positive light, Scorsese chronicles La Motta’s boxing career, his luck (or lack of it) with the ladies (particularly his second wife, Vicki, played by Catherine Moriarty), the tumultuous relationship with his brother (Joey – an algamation of several people in La Motta’s life – played by Joe Pesci), and the constant battles with himself. Like the majority of Scorsese’s best films – I’m thinking of "the King of Comedy" (1982) and "Taxi Driver" (1976), both also starring De Niro – this is, in essence, a character study. It chronicles La Motta’s life, and the demons that tormented him. He is consumed by jealousy, and often attacks (verbally and physically) his wife simply because she calls someone else pretty. He is sadomasochistic, fighting just for the sake of it, asking people to hit him because he enjoys it. You can see why he went into boxing, as a way to channel his rage and let it all out, but as things begin to spiral out of control in his private life, things hit rock bottom. It’s a tragic story, and it’s not really about boxing at all. It’s about the character, and the things that drive him, and the things that he does seemingly for no reason. The performances are fantastic, and Robert de Niro deserved every bit of that Oscar in 1980, even if he was up against John Hurt for "the Elephant Man". Joe Pesci, as his younger brother and manager Joey, is perfect, displaying a man who wants to help his brother but is afraid to act on his thoughts for fear of evoking another fit of rage. Catherine Moriarty struggles more than the two men, but still delivers an assured performance as a wife oppressed by a violent husband. I said at the beginning that this was a character study, and it is, but there is a lot more to it than that. It’s a meditation of competition and of the darker side of boxing, of domestic violence, of sibling rivalry, of rules and boundaries and, really, of life. There’s so much going on that it takes a few viewings to really take it all in. Aesthetically, Scorsese’s direction and his cinematography are beautiful, and the writing (done by Paul Schrader with uncredited contributions from Scorsese and De Niro) is spot on, making this one of the worthy American classics.

- Piles.

The greatest sporting film of all time focuses on the troubled life of the Raging Bull, Jake La Motta (De Niro), a former middleweight champion of the world. We get little of Jake's early years, instead the film shows us two decades of his life and follows his rise to prominence and the self-destructive tendencies that ruined his career. The film begins with La Motta as an overweight wannabe nightclub comic. A flashback takes us to his days as a younger, healthier man in Little Italy, taking part in a fixed fight with another boxer. Jake's brother Joey (Pesci) is also his manager. Joey has Mafia ties and he uses them to get Jake a title shot, although he's told he has to take a dive first. The film follows Jake's relationship with his child bride Vicky (Moriarty) and how his relationship with both Vicky and Joey crumbles because of his paranoia and jealousy. We also see how his boxing career rises to the glory of a title win, and his decline, weight gain and arrest.

Raging Bull is Scorsese's most brutal and violent film, yet it's also one of his most soulful. Scorsese and his collaborators take a sport I always thought of as fairly idiotic and make it into an art. Scorsese resists the temptation to paint La Motta as some kind of hero, or to just make him into an animal. He's terrible to everyone in his life, including himself, and we're confronted with all of the character's flaws. He's one of the most self-absorbed characters in cinema. He refuses to accept responsibility for his actions and his rage destroys the people around him. Both his brother and his wife show him a great deal more love and patience than he deserves. But at the same time he's still a human and Scorsese is not afraid to show him as weak, vulnerable, self-pitying even.

Raging Bull is, by any standard, a masterpiece. It's an incredible technical achievement, from the artful cinematography to the boxing matches themselves (without a doubt the greatest ever filmed). The screenplay is masterful, giving La Motta's life the weight of a great tragedy. Although we're not witnessing a fall from greatness as much as we're seeing a man who was always destined to self-destruct getting brief moments of glory among the violence. The actors were at the top of their game. Joe Pesci gives an amazing performance, the kind he'd give all too rarely away from Scorsese, as Jake's brother Joey. Cathy Moriarty makes a startling debut as Jake's young wife, Vickie. While De Niro himself, in a role that saw him push his body to its limits, taps into something primal in his portrayal of this brutal man. Raging Bull is a perfect example of why De Niro was the greatest actor in the world at one point. This is so much more than a sporting movie or a simple biopic, this is a fearless look into the darkness that can exist within us all, and it's one of the greatest films ever made.

- Rawlinson

(in reply to TRM)

Ridley Scott’s best film is undoubtedly his 1982 science fiction classic, "Blade Runner". It tells the story of Deckard (Harrison Ford), a ‘blade runner’ who is charged to kill four ‘replicant’ robots who have revolted against humanity in the most violent of ways. It’s a common misconception that "2001: A Space Odyssey" is easily the most philosophic science fiction of all-time, and one of the major examples of why the genre should be taken seriously, but Ridley Scott’s 1982 film is certainly tough competition as the intellectual height of the genre (before you jump down my throat, I haven’t seen Tarkovsky’s "Solaris"). Scott’s film is a meditation on everything from man’s mortality to accepting what you are, and is certainly an entertaining thrill ride along the way. Perhaps the most interesting element of the film is the discussion as to whether Deckard is himself a replicant, and although this particular reviewer believes that he is, Scott manages to (brilliantly) sculpt a film where either answer is as acceptable as the other. It struggles with certain moments of cheese (I don’t like the way Zhora is killed in a fit of cliché, for instance), and doesn’t have the dark, atmospheric grittiness of Scott’s other sci-fi classic, "Alien" (1977), but there’s a whole host of other aesthetic virtues to excuse this one flaw. The set design and special effects are sublime, and Scott is able to contrast the tragic (yet somehow beautiful) grand shots of the city’s night skyline with the claustrophobic, dystopian shots of it from street level. Scott has made one floundering, average film after another since 2000’s "Gladiator", but there’s no denying that he’s produced one classic for the previous four decades. And "Blade Runner" may just top that list.

- Piles.

(in reply to TRM)