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A Clockwork Orange; Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom; I Spit on Your Grave; Funny Games; Baise-Moi; Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer; Fat Girl; Possession; Martyrs; Enter the Void; A Serbian Film.
Those are a select few films that I have sat and watched all of the way through. Having the audacity to showcase anything is an important part of film itself; some wish to go further, either to explore themes too taboo to stomach/talk about or to invoke pure sadism upon their audiences. Then, there are those who wish to highlight major bloodshed or the vicious destruction of human life usually for cheap popcorn thrills. And of course, sometimes the major endurance challenge for a film is its own failure at conveying its message or overcoming its shoddy construction.
NOTE: You can easily see by clicking on the "Essential Film Hit List" label below or to the side how long it has been since the last update. I admit that I have been lazy when doing this part; movies like The Passion of the Christ, United 93, and Fireproof were supposed to be featured here as well. However, the timing of the summer movie season and the fact that I was to watch a series of movies that were often depressing caused the massive delay. I'm just failing on my "make time" declaration. Anyway...
Death Wish made a mighty stink during the 1970's, as it largely advocates vigilantism and help lead to infamous real-life cases like the story of Bernhard Goetz. Not counting into fact the laughable stretching of the franchise into the 90's, with all succeeding entry having a budget limboing downward, the first film does hold up a bit well, more as a watchable action flick than as a serious drama of city turmoil. Charles Bronson plays Paul Kersey, a NY architect whose life turns upside down when his wife and daughter are raped by invading thugs (including a young Jeff Goldblum!), who then murder the former before fading back into the scummy streets. During a business vacation, he befriends a gun-happy Arizonan resident developer and begins to switch his liberal beliefs to conservative. Receiving a Colt Police Positive as a departing present from his client, he takes to the streets, snuffing out those that have plagued the city. Bronson was always a fine actor and you can see the evolving change of Kersey's demeanor, from a suited weakling to a hard-edge punisher. Not much else to say.
The Hurricane may seem like an odd choice for this selection (Truth be told: it was expiring on Netflix and I wanted to see before it was removed). However, it becomes perfectly clear at its climax: A Polynesian sailor named Terangi is set to marry the loveliest girl on an island in the South Pacific. As was custom at the time, both are being played by white actors (Jon Hall and Dorothy Lamour respectively). At one island stop, Terangi punches the hell out of a drunk racist, nearly killing the guy. He's sentenced to serve a moderate prison stay but because of his cultural lust for the sea, and the love of his life, the strong idiot keeps trying to escape and adding up more years. He finally breaks out after 16 years behind bars and heads back to his native land, all before a horrible storm is about to approach. Once we get to the hurricane sequence, the film turns from a adventurous drama into a horror show. Tons of water are spewed all over the sets, probably causing an untold number of injuries for the actors. A lot of people are viciously killed off, whether the ones roped to the trees or the ones in the crumbling church. And, all of this is shown without any music; just the terrifying noise of screams, wind, water, and a ringing church bell. This was one of the odd efforts by legendary Western director John Ford but he does make spectacle out of the shallow story. It's a laughably entertaining ride at the start before the harrowing finale sucks the air out of the room.
Well, I finally hit my first misfire. Elephant was the toast of the 2003 Cannes Film Festival, winning the Palme d'Or and Best Director for writer/director Gus Van Sant. I have a hard time seeing the so-called amazing praise because the uncomfortable film is so boring and misguided in all of the wrong ways. It shows the multiple viewpoints of several high-school students as they endure and suffer from a planned school shooting. The two gunmen are also focused heavily. Relishing on the disturbing history and visuals of the Columbine shooting, the film tries to make art from the staleness of the classrooms and the mumbled angst of the tortured young spirits. It also thinks it can pull off a Tarantino-esque approach to plot structure, as we get a bigger picture of all of the character intersections. None of these artistic touches matter because the movie falls apart so easily. All of the innocents aren't well developed enough for us to care about their plight or worse, they are unbearably flat and irritating (namely, the mean girls) that you wish for them to die, which is a horrible thought to have with this material. Some of the stories certainly don't matter; for instance, one person is introduced and then is quickly killed off. To fail the film ever more, the ending closes the plot on an ambiguous note, but not before a strange turn of events comes out of nowhere. It does have some good visuals and the third act is a bit terrifying but Van Sant clearly is not trying to make a compatible movie, let alone a coherent one. I gladly would watch Gerry anytime over this again.
Michael Haneke is a mixed blessing for myself; I've not always walked away pleasant with his wild work (Funny Games, Cache) but they are all so intriguing and artfully constructed. He's one of the few directors to expertly torture the viewer but make you think about the dark corners of humanity. The Seventh Continent was his first film and what a crashing breakthrough. Told in three acts, it follows an Austrian family possibly suffering a shared psychological breakdown. Their normal life of consumerism and modernity has chipped away at their souls: the child temporarily goes blind, a routine car wash causes the wife to spontaneously burst in tears, and they all keep observing a banner to vacation in Australia, even though the image has crashing waves on a beach that's next to a mountain range. The third act is when it all falls apart, as the family willing engages in the complete obliteration of their human lives, starting off with their possessions. This act is virtually wordless, except for a key moment that briefly wakes them up from their depressive stupor. Unnerving and emotionally draining, the movie is an amazing display of misanthropy and self-destruction.
One of the type of films I wanted to add to the Essential Film List was a "video nasty", a group of movies that were persecuted and banned in England during the 1980's VHS boom largely due to their violent content. A major film to be judged for obscenity, The House on the Edge of the Park was one of two listed films directed by Ruggero Deodato (the other being the infamous Cannibal Holocaust). The film certainly lived up to its distasteful nature; the opening scene has the main character stalking, raping, then killing a woman. To make it even more worst, the credits reveal that the two actors are married (!). Anyway, the rapist/murderer (David Hess in a role modeled after his work in The Last House on the Left) later meets up with his best friend. A couple with car trouble invite the two to their house party, where they are then treated as fools to the snooty amusement of the real guests. The two get fed up with it so they take their hosts hostage and begin to celebrate a night full of depravity. The movie is a true-blue exploitation, with horrific acts performed for the camera yet there is no excitement or enjoyment for the viewer, not even in a twisted dark sense. Hess and his buddy are truly disgusting while the rich guests are either too stupid or non-caring for their plight. The real deal-breaker for nearly all who chooses to watch it will be a sequence where a young female guest makes a surprise appearance and is then sexually humiliated and mutilated by Hess. If you make it to the end, you are treated to seeing an unbelievably horrendous twist ending and one of the worst death faces ever recorded by a movie camera.
The Passion of Joan of Arc has always been labeled as one of the greatest films ever made. It certainly is. A spirited adaptation of the actual trial and execution of the French teenager turned army leader, Carl Dreyer keeps his camera close on all of his subjects. From the devious judges to the saint herself, every spit, tear, and eye twitch is displayed. You can practically feel the breathing hit the camera lens. Humorously, Dreyer had extravagant sets built for the feature yet they are often obscured away by all of the close-ups. The film of course excels thanks to the bottomless emotional depth of actress Maria Falconetti. She is able to show both courage and dejection with just one good look. It took many extraordinary circumstances to receive this film in its original cut and due to the mighty efforts by many talented companies and musicians, the power of this film will continue to resonant.
The second block of films to burn through are of one genre: comedy. It is the hardest form of entertainment to pull off well, since it all relies on the reactions of its audience. Thankfully, all of them were above par in laughs and content.
The Great Dictator certainly is one of Charlie Chaplin's many masterpieces, an often hilarious political satire where Chaplin plays both a dumb-founded Jewish WWI vet turned barber and a Hilter caricature dubbed "Adenoid Hynkel". There are many great set-pieces, including the famous dance with the globe, but my highlight was the day in the life trip of Hynkel, as he moves from room to room with jokes ranging from speed action to black humor. Yet, despite some well-made zingers at the travesties of human conflict and discrimination, the film is also a bit too disturbing to say the least. From the casual look of the "concentration camps", to the scene where Chaplin is to be hung, to the image of a Jew being shot and killed on his doorstep, the film gets disquieting quick. Then, there's the issue with the constant soapboxing, where the characters deliver long soliloquies literally to the audience about global brotherhood, particularly the strange ending speech that apparently took forever for Chaplin to write up. A great and historic effort but too creepy and preachy.
I didn't love "Crocodile" Dundee but I don't really have any problems with it. The film is just too clean and warmhearted to be offended at, even when the titled character hands out a unique handshake. A legendary Australian outdoorsman/charming titled hero takes a rich New York reporter around the Outback before heading to the Big City with her. A major showcase for writer and actor Paul Hogan, he certainly steals the show with his politeness, chivalrousness, and for both being a good ole boy and a socially-cultured Aussie. Even when the script resorts to featuring the overstuffed and ignorant boyfriend stereotype, the other characters actually act smart, all the way to the celebratory ending in a NY subway. The film deservedly earned being one of audience favorites of 1986 and a popular standout from the decade. Also, it was nice to see Carl Winslow himself as the personal chauffeur.
Risky Business wasn't very funny. It was more of a very moody, exotic take of the b-movie teen films that plagued the 1980's. Tom Cruise deservedly makes his star-making turn as a preppy who learns the zen of "What the Fuck?" and embarks on a soul-changing experience involving prostitution, college interviews, and Guido the Killer Pimp, all the while his parents are away. Though fun, I never really laughed at all, especially during the overblown and overwatched "Old Time Rock and Roll" dance scene or the weird mugging when Cruise says "Looks like University of Illnois!". Another factor is the often unfair meanness of the picture, such as the zero tolerance nurse and Cruise's mother at the very end. The film wasn't a total bummer; I was more entranced by Paul Brickman's direction, Bruce Surtees' cinematography, Rebecca De Mornay's innocent yet mischievous character, and the great soundtrack led by the Tangerine Dream score. However, I would probably spin the CD any day than watching this film again.
I spent many a day at the races but still haven't spent a night at the opera. Likewise, I finally got to watch A Night at the Opera after multiple screenings of the other notable films of the Marx Brothers. The movie is both splendid, comedic anarchy and the softening of the trope's image. Though the famous trio (Groucho, Chico, and Harpo) are given the most attention, they constantly plagued by the B-story involving two beautiful white singers willing to achieve opera stardom. I have nothing against Allan Jones and Kitty Carlisle but the script appointed to them. The famous stateroom scene is of course the shining piece, next to the tumultuous and visually well-made finale on opening night. However, the moment that just sucks the energy straight from the film is the lengthly MGM number for "Cosi-Cosa", which just continues to falter despite the musical accomplishments of Harpo towards its end.
The Girl Can't Help It is considered to be the ultimate rock n' roll movie. It has a nice balance of comedic plot and musical fluff, such as the long sequence where star Jayne Mansfield rumps and booms her way through clubs while a collection of singers and bands play their hits. Of course, the film does have the sting of deliberately being way too similar to Billy Wilder's famous The Seven Year Itch (Tom Ewell in the lead male role, Mansfield as the unfairly considered back-up Monroe, coming only one year later), yet I far more enjoy the wonderment and humor by writer-director Frank Tashlin here. The subway grate scene may be iconic but I rather see Mansfield shake away down a city street while Looney Tune antics abound (quickly melting ice, bubbling milk bottles, glasses that crack upon her sight).
Ewell plays a bum talent scout who is getting paid by a former mob big-shot (Edmond O'Brien) to make Mansfield a music star. She's has everything genetically made to be the perfect dream woman yet can't sing beyond a siren that obliterates glass. Risque sex jokes and satiric elements follow. Though Mansfield is a delight, the acting show is really all about O'Brien. He gets the best zingers and moments, particularly his destructive takeover of America's jukeboxes and continuing declaration of "Oh, YEAH?!!" at anyone who says otherwise. The only thing able to top O'Brien is the magnificent soundtrack, led by the unbelievably catchy titled tune and two more ("Ready Teddy", "She's Got It") by Little Richard. Gene Vincent and the Blue Caps' "Be-Bop-A-Lula", Julie London's haunting "Cry Me a River", the jokey "Cinnamon Sinner" by Teddy Randazzo and the Three Chuckles, Eddie Cochran's abrasive "Twenty Flight Rock", Fats Domino's "Blue Monday", The Platters' slow jam "You'll Never, Never Know", and the destructive dance of "Rockin' Is Our Business" by The Treniers back him up.
One of the goals of the Hit List was to finally experience past trends and popular stars, such as the extremely polarizing Jerry Lewis. I wanted to watch a film featuring the Clown Prince and Messiah of France, something that wasn't a picture with Dean Martin, which eliminates the gateway feature Artists and Models, or the acclaimed The Nutty Professor; Instead, I wanted something a bit off the beaten path. Surprisingly, my choice of The Bellboy nailed it, becoming the perfect vehicle to experience the power of Lewis. The short movie, clocking in at 72 minutes, is nothing more than a series of brief gags and scenes set around a popular Florida hotel and its bumbling bellhop. The film even starts with a fake producer informing the audience to just kick back and forgo any continuity. Lewis is practically wordless as the hop, thus removing the voice he is infamously mocked for and allowing him to utilize great body language. There are many great gags such as him dealing with ringing phones, two instances with an elevator, or, in a triumph of anti-humor, filling a large room with chairs. You can see that this was a work of love, as friends of Lewis pop up in cameos from the good (Milton Berle) to the bad (The Novelites). Also, the film is part of film history, as Lewis created the video assist to help him both direct and act.
This film certainly had the last laugh, as it is one of the screw-ups of my list, being a 1969 film instead of '68. That's the last time I use Netflix as a source of information. Anyway, Disney's The Love Bug was a cute little joy. Dean Jones plays a washed-up racer whose fortunes turn for the better when put behind the wheel of a sentient Volkswagen Bettle dubbed Herbie. The movie moves along at a nice pace and features some impressive car stunts and a hilarious hammy turn by the villain played by David Tomlinson. Surprisingly, the film is pretty adult at times, such as an entire sequence revolving around Irish coffee and two characters getting heavily drunk. Also, the makers clearly inputted sexual themes and messages; Jones would rather drive a long shafted yellow car instead of his chubby one and even tells his love interest, "Without a real car, I'm only half a man." A worthwhile time.
Both seriously and ironically, I actually enjoyed Showgirls. It's a giant misfire with some of the most laughable scenes and acting ever devised and yet is still a strong satiric look at show business and the sin city of America. I believer the latter has to do more with director Paul Verhoeven, one of my favorites, than with the joke of a script from Joe Eszterhas. The film prankster Verhoeven wanted to bring you on a dizzying tour around Las Vegas, where its inhabitants chow through fast food everyday, everything needs to be showy and erotic for the fleeting and wandering eyes, and the backstages of entertainment are a tumultuous cesspool of bitchery and egotism. Sure enough, everything pined to the infamous character of Nomi Malone (get it?) lives up to the hype: Elizabeth Berkeley is stilted and awful, the character is too scatterbrained to figure out if she's supposed to be a woman seeking redemption or a conniving backstabber, and the heavily remembered pool sex scene is amazing to take in. I do feel bad that Berkeley is still remembered just for this, despite doing better with smaller indie films (Roger Dodger) and on Broadway later. Beyond the main character, the script is pitiful: it rips off All About Eve and presents itself way too seriously, the dialogue is far beyond pulpy, the mystery of Nomi's real name is laughable and not as important as it thinks it is, and the film just ends abruptly after one comeuppance and some sequel bait. That's why I think Verhoeven and the other actors (Gina Gershon, Kyle MacLachlan, Alan Rachins) deliberately wanted to amp up the sleaziness, the institutionalized depravity, and the alien world that is Las Vegas. Worst movie ever or of the 1990's? Certainly not in the slightest.
Like many 90's kids, I heard of Rushmore more from the airwaves of MTV, hyping the film and their use of its cast for MTV Movie Awards television spots. Finally seeing it, I can now put it behind The Royal Tenebaums as my second favorite feature from modern auteur Wes Anderson. Jason Schwartzman made his debut as Max Fischer, a scholarship-funded outcast who spends his time at the Rushmore Academy more on extracurricular activities than his failing grades. Judging by the school environment and the intelligence of his fellow classmates, the dilemma lies more with his lack of funds and social upbringing than it does with his drive to make a theatrical adaption of Serpico. However, his emotionally destructive inner being begins to show once he falls for a first-grade teacher (Olivia Williams) and his rich mentor/friend (Bill Murray) schemes to come between them. Once again, I behold an Anderson script that hits the same beats (chaotic main, social annihilation in the middle, redemptive ending arc) and once again, Anderson makes it work with his words and world. Scenes are striking realized through camerawork and the plentiful cuts of its soundtrack, culminating with the big cast finale that nicely ties the story together. Despite a small presence, Murray has the strongest showing in terms of acting, allowing the viewer to understand what is going through his mind and life without saying a word. Also, the word "handjob" has never been more funny and meaningful.
After all of the groundwork, research, and hubbub last month, I have only so far watched five features. A nice start, 1/8th of the way towards my minimum viewing goal, but still a bit low for my standards. I'm a film lover, a man who would sweat out for new releases and trek for a few rare gems, a man who believes in the religion of the Criterion, and yet unable to push my daily schedule of rampant internet videos for a blooming 1978 martial arts flick?
To wet my appetite, I thought of starting off with something light, a delicate feather touch to my senses. It was going to be Death Wish, the rugged 70's vigilante bloodbath, both to get the ball rolling and a tribute to its recently departed director. However, Oscar season was fully in the air and, as usual, Turner Classic Movies was showing the contenders and winners of the majestic Hollywood award. So, instead of greasy genre fare, I started my prolonged dessert course with a rich Princess Cake, with extra marzipan and a side of whipped cream straight from London.
1946's Notorious has been one of the most acclaimed works of Alfred Hitchcock, and it greatly shows. The harsh violence comes more from internal attacks of the human body and the only gore is a ruptured wine bottle. Starring the dreamy duo of Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman, this spy thriller was a bonafide masterpiece.
Bergman is recruited by Grant to work for the U.S. government in a Nazi sting operation in Brazil. Due to her father being a convicted American traitor and her infamous party-going behavior, she blends in easy as she swindles a former lover played by Claude Rains. A sordid and tumultuous love triangle of course springs out, all the while investigating what is hidden behind closed doors, including the wine cellar.
The cinematography is just stunning to look at, always inventive and unique, from the backside introduction of Cary Grant's Devlin to the celebrated and astonishing crane shot at the house party, starting from the second floor set to a closeup of Bergman's closed hand. With Hitchcock at the helm, you know that the suspense will be palpable, as keys are flung about behind people's backs, silent observations are noted by Bergman and the audience, and stairways progress to a possible deadly shootout. Then, there's the controversial and steamy kissing scene that had censors fuming that the filmmakers worked around their "laws". A great way to start.
Next up would be one of the most requested films among my family members and friends, not to mention one of the most acclaimed Oscar films in terms of acting. Sophie's Choice ended up simply being good, certainly not grand as it wishes to be. Though Meryl Streep's performance is heartily justified, the film is a slogging chore of nearly three hours.
The opening reeks of book adaptation and asinine wackiness, as a young aspiring white writer, a Southern boy looking to craft the next great American novel, heads to 1947 New York. Horribly named Stingo, he stays at a boarding house covered in pink paint. That's not a conservative color, that's just silly! There, he befriends his upstairs neighbors, a couple whose generosity is matched by their manic dysfunction. Nathan, played by a film debuting Kevin Kline, is the source of all the troubles, a man who adores joie de vivre and Stingo until his drug addiction causes him to provoke and threaten the boy. Sophie, on the other hand, somehow can deal with Nathan's bipolar mood swings, dooming her chances of a better life. Of course, once her past is explored by Stingo, her hope has already died long ago.
Let's get the easy part out first: "the scene" is the absolute best moment. It may have been spoiled and referenced consistently since its release but it still easily stirs an emotional response from the viewer. Also, Streep is non-existent; I only see Sophie on the screen. However, when it wasn't dragging its feet to the obvious finish, the story was often flat, excluding Sophie's monologues and her past life in Poland. The turmoil between Sophie and Nathan is introduced so clumsily, as they fight on the stairway, blocked into stereotypical melodramatic poses, as Nathan yells how Sophie is "suffocating" him. I thought it was all a joke at first until I realized this would be the major moving force of the plot, repeating endlessly with make-up gifts, celebrations, and then more in-fighting. The other glaring error is that there is no romantic vibes between Stingo and Sophie at all, yet the narration says there is. It is not Peter MacNicol's fault, as the preppy Stingo, but the faults of Alan Pakula's writing and directing skills.
After the meh response to Sophie, I then started to embark on another three hour marathon, this time with way better results. Magnolia has always been the weirdest film from auteur Paul Thomas Anderson, a director who I have been having a hard time dealing with. I wanted to check out last year's The Master in theaters but spurned by the confusing critical reception and my own opinion of his last venture, the extremely overrated There Will Be Blood. Of the now six films for him, Magnolia is the one still mocked by the general public, even more so than the Adam Sandler-starring Punch-Drunk Love. For the longest time, beyond Tom Cruise's Oscar nominated performance and presence of raining frogs at some point, I've always linked the film to Kevin Smith's funny at the time Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, where there's a side-plot of the titled duo attacking online fans of the film. While that film has now languished in obscurity, hopefully with the future of Smith's career, Magnolia will continue to stand more out.
Like Sophie, the film is way too long, with a few minutes over three hours. Yet, I never was crushed by the soul-destroying environment of the San Fernando Valley or the slightly interconnected lives of its inhabitants and the film's main cast. Taking place over a long 24 hours, where the major hype of the day is a live broadcast of a long-running quiz show, several men and women from different classes and professionals are all placed in tough circumstances that will bring out the truth of their souls. A cancer-stricken and dying millionaire, his flippant trophy wife, the man's warmhearted male nurse, a decrepit television host, his self-destructive estranged daughter, a ridiculed child prodigy, a former quiz kid turned hapless adult, a goofy but fair beat cop, and a male chauvinist motivational speaker are the ones we see suffer for their past and present problems. Then, the frogs come raining down on them but not before sharing a rendition of an Aimee Mann song. And, the notion set up in the prologue and ending that cruel tricks in the cognitive tissue of life have happened and continue to do so.
Despite its oddities, the film was a visual blast, always moving with its striking cinematography and careful edits to make the internal clock of the human mind to be suspended. It's hard to rate the performances considering the multitude of heavyweights in the cast and the fact that each main and side character have an arc and a signature moment. If I had to, Cruise is certainly the most delightful and quotable, though he faces stiff competition with Julianne Moore with the latter. His character experiences the widest range, going from deliberately flamboyant to absolute mute. However, the best will have to go to John C. Reilly, in what has to be my favorite of his performances. Pretty much the sole morally good character, his cop is always on the straight and narrow and willing to forgive and forget the transgressions of others, unless there is a body in the closet.
As for All the King's Men, there sadly isn't much to say about it. It's good, well done at times to justify its Best Picture win, but it feels too straightforward. Broderick Crawford is stunning as Willie Stark, a hick whose outspoken attitude against the political machine and rampant corruption leads him to be the governor of Louisiana, only to then revel in his own egotism and dictatorship rule over the peons under his office. The rest of the cast is fine, though Joanne Dru's only acting tip is to quickly shake her head side to side. Mercedes McCambridge is entertaining in her award-winning supporting role but she quickly disappears to the sidelines once Willie is governor. The baffling final betrayal is a bit confusing to understand rationally: why does a certain character leak blackmail material to Stark to spite another character, despite having nothing really to gain for it and has no ill will towards someone who is family? Entertaining and certainly far, far better than the 2006 remake.
1945's Best Picture winner The Lost Weekend was noted as the first big win for writer/director Billy Wilder, one of my favorites, and for its then groundbreaking look at alcoholism. It certainly has all of the same great traits of Wilder, especially with running personal gags like Ray Milland's inability to put a cigarette in his mouth the right way. At first, I thought Milland would be too campy, as his eyes come beaming out during his monologues about the joys of liquor, but he eventually settles into a dark and hurtful performance as a struggling writer whose is driven to the bottle by his lack of success and public humiliation. The film buckles on to all of the chaos, scored to a comical theremin, leading to some devastating moments, such as a stint in a alcoholic's ward, complete with a hard-boiled, slang-happy male nurse played by Ernie, the taxi driver in It's a Wonderful Life. The major problem is the ending, where the melodrama grows stale and everything comes off like a fake PSA. All of the suspense, all of the horrors and all of the despair, only to end with an incredibly flat suicide attempt. Apparently, after looking up information, this was tacked on because of the still prevailing Hays Code. Damn you, Hays.
Very late last year, December 21st to be exact, I finally accomplish something that has been haunting myself during my entire lifetime: I finally got around to watching It's a Wonderful Life. In an old movie theater (complete with a mezzanine), a packed crowd, and even on actual film no less. Of course, this seems really stupid and scandalous for someone like myself, an avid cinephile who praises and berates so many films yet has never seen one of the greatest and most popular films of all time. Hell, I was even in film school and we didn't touched the film hardly at all; one of my classes had it on the schedule towards the end of the semester only to instead just watch a bit of the "Pottersville" sequence and call it a day. I guess we needed more time watching boring and terrible Argentinean films, such as The Hour of the Furnaces and The Holy Girl respectively, than to watch Capra work his magic.
So, instead of finally nixing something off my bucket list and ending it there, I had the bright idea to continue moving forward and make a new year's resolution of 2013: For the rest of the year, I will finally make time and watch many of the highly anticipated works of cinema I have constantly skipped over. These are the types of film that are in many serious film discussions, classes, books, and lists as well as the movies that flood airwaves, DVD racks, casual conversations and recommendations. To make it more interesting, this hit list will feature only one film from each year; it can be of any genre, any language, and any quality. The last one is important to making this project fun for myself, since I could just have a list consisting of nothing but Buñuels, Bergmans, Antonionis and Godards and lose my mind with all of the art. Sometimes a person just wants to watch things blow up real good or examine the best worst film of the year. Also, some of these films are in my video collection and I just want to finally break the seals.
Another rule/goal is the final count at the end of the year: I want to watch a minimum of 40 of the following films, including one entire decade. At different times of the year, I will write up a post of my thoughts after watching a group of them.
