Counterviews of Movies

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Great Movies

[This is more like a sample than a list.]

[In alphabetical order]

[In some cases, reviews by others are referred: the good ones with positive numbers in square brackets and the bad ones in negative. The magnitude is just serial order, nothing significant. Good and bad don’t mean favorable and unfavorable (to the movie).]

[Sorry, I tried to avoid too many films by the same director, but if someone is just too damn good, I can’t help it.]

[Excuse the capitalization.]

  1. A Clockwork Orange (Stanley Kubrick) (1971)
  2. Ali – Fear Eats the Soul (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1974)
  3. Andrei Rublev (Andrei Tarkovsky) (1966)
  4. Angst vor der Angst (Fear of Fear) (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1975) [1] [2]
  5. Animal Crackers (Marx Brothers) (1930)
  6. Apu Trilogy (Satyajit Ray) (1955-59)
  7. Au hasard Balthazar (Randomly Balthazar) (Robert Bresson) (1966)
  8. Badlands (Terrence Malick) (1973) [1] [2] [3] [4]
    • Their shallowness is in conflict with their deadliness. … He thinks because he’s famous, his words have meaning. — Roger Ebert about the characters in his review of the movie.
    • You should always feel there are large parts of her experience she’s not including because she has a strong, if misplaced, sense of propriety. You might well wonder how anyone going through what she does could be at all concerned with proprieties. But she is. And her kind of cliché didn’t begin with pulp magazines, as some critics have suggested. It exists in Nancy Drew and Tom Sawyer. It’s not the mark of a diminished, pulp-fed mind, I’m trying to say, but of the ‘innocent abroad.’ When people express what is most important to them, it often comes out in cliches. That doesn’t make them laughable; it’s something tender about them. As though in struggling to reach what’s most personal about them they could only come up with what’s most public. — Terrence Malick about Holly.
    • He thinks of himself as a successor to James Dean – a Rebel without a Cause – when in reality he’s more like an Eisenhower conservative. ‘Consider the minority opinion,’ he says into the rich man’s tape recorder, ‘but try to get along with the majority opinion once it’s accepted.’ He doesn’t really believe any of this, but he envies the people who do, who can. He wants to be like them, like the rich man he locks in the closet, the only man he doesn’t kill, the only man he sympathises with, and the one least in need of sympathy. It’s not infrequently the people at the bottom who most vigorously defend the very rules that put and keep them there. — Terrence Malick about Kit.
    • Kit and Holly even think of themselves as living in a fairy tale. Holly says, “Sometimes I wished I could fall asleep and be taken off to some magical land, but this never happened.” But she enough believes there is such a place that she must confess to you she never got there.” — Terrence Malick about Kit and Holly.
  9. Bād mā rā khāhad bord (The Wind Will Carry Us) (Abbas Kiarostami) (1999)
  10. Barry Lyndon (Stanley Kubrick) (1975)
  11. Berlin Alexanderplatz (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1980) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
    • “You have to hear stories. It is pleasant and sometimes even makes one better.” —From Mahabharata, an Indian epic — Quotation in Tom Tykwer’s Essay about Fassbinder’s Berlin Alexanderplatz
  12. Bicycleran (The Cyclist) (Mohsen Makhmalbaf) (1987) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]
    • My name is Anil (Breeze) and I like to drive bicycles.
  13. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (Sam Peckinpah) (1974) [1] [2a] [2b] [3] [4a] [4b] [5] [6] [0]
    • Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974) was made in the gap between the first two parts of The Godfather, so it was noticeable at the time that both it and the first part of Coppola’s trilogy concluded with baptism services. In The Godfather (1972), the liturgy was emphatically neat and pretty; it was the bow tied on to the dark picture, more a gift than a bomb. After all, anyone could get the lip-smacking irony with which Coppola did baptism to the rhythms of execution. It didn’t leave anyone feeling good, exactly. You worried at the time how legitimate it was for that picture to be so tidy. … What’s so appealing in Peckinpah is the way he dumped the class system for actors (the celebration of Cooper, Cagney, Grant, Stewart, Wayne, Peck, Gable) and replaced them with what was truly a wild bunch, unruly, unwashed, uncouth, uningratiating: supporting actors like Borgnine, Oates and Johnson, Strother Martin and L.Q. Jones, Gig Young and Robert Webber, and that Fort Sumner rowdies reunion (Harry Dean Stanton, Elisha Cook Jr, and an always present no-name bum). James Coburn and William Holden – those inescapable, God-granted stars – managed to observe the frolic and the farting of this mob with pious disdain (or was it arthritis?).Review at the British Film Institute
    • The parallels with “Treasure of the Sierra Madre” are obvious, starting with broken-down barfly down on his luck, and when Gig Young’s character says his name is ”Fred C. Dobbs,” the name of Bogart’s character in “Treasure”, it’s a wink from Peckinpah. Dobbs is finally defeated, and so is Bennie, but Bennie at least goes out on his own terms, even though his life spirals down into proof that the world is a rotten place and has no joy for Bennie. … Then the two bikers appear, and the one played by Kristofferson intends to rape Elita. She knows Bennie has a concealed gun but the bikers are dangerous and she tells the man who has just proposed to her not to risk his life, because, as a prostitute, ”I been here before and you don’t know the way.” It is the sad poetry of that line that expresses Peckinpah’s vision, in which people find the courage to do what they must do in a world with no choices.Roger Ebert’s review.
    • In less constricting time and space, Huck Finn, quintessential American drifter and misfit, planned to escape the taint and corruption of “civilization” by “lighting out for the territory.” Peckinpah, resembling nothing so much as that boyish quester grown old, embittered, and out of territory, metacinematically anneals the saga of Billy the Kid, a romantic anachronism whom American big business wants to send into Mexican exile, and his own troubled history as Peck’s bad boy of the film industry. Peckinpah would leave the territory (the United States) with a vengeance, fetching up in Mexico, the country in which he had come to seem most at home, to make his next film, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia. Most certainly, he “puts everything,” or at least a good deal of what he can aesthetically call his, into this film about a coffin and its sacred-profane contents. These become the macabre catalysts for Peckinpah’s most personally styled protagonist “finding out what it’s all about,” so that he—and, more ringingly than ever before, his director—might cry NO! in thunder to the system whose terms Pat Garrett had tragically assented to. … If Warren Oates’ Benny is necessarily the point-of-view figure for our (and Peckinpah’s) journey into enlightment, Vega’s Elita is the film’s heart. In his book Crucified Heroes: The Films of Sam Peckinpah, Terence Butler has suggested that Vega gives “a strange non-performance … [but nevertheless] seems to work for the movie.” Certainly the performance (non- or otherwise) that Peckinpah draws from her is utterly singular among the female characterizations in his work. And Vega’s extraordinary malleability—looking one moment bruised and middle-aged, the next radiant and clear-skinned as a child—does seem the sort of phenomenon that hasn’t so much been shaped and refined as it has been caught and accorded an aesthetic context that both illuminates it and is illuminated by it. … All the events of the movie up to this point have been stirred, as it were, by the shockwave emanating from El Jefe’s stronghold somewhere in the South. Henceforward, Benny, who had been content to scramble for whatever share of the game stakes he could get, will be an obsessive seeker after other goals. Revenge, certainly; but also knowledge. “I coulda died in Mexico City or T.J. [Tijuana] and never known what it was all about,” he told Elita. Now he has died in the backcountry, and postponed his rest as part of that unholy trinity in the grave long enough to find out.Richard T. Jameson’s review
    • Bennie is a lowlife lounge singer working in a seedy Mexican dive, experiencing life through the filter of a drunken haze and his enormous sunglasses (which he even wears to sleep). He’s hired by two businessmen (Robert Webber and Gig Young) to find a lothario named Alfredo Garcia in exchange for $10,000—Alfredo is wanted for knocking up the daughter of a wealthy rancher, who wants his head as proof that he’s dead. Peckinpah, using a well-placed Time magazine cover, links these evil corporate wonks with Richard Nixon (one can even spot a caricature of the former commander-in-chief on a faux dollar bill behind Bennie’s piano), but Alfredo Garcia is not a political diatribe. Rather, these presidential allusions merely reinforce the director’s anti-establishment leanings and general distrust of corporate America. Bennie is the common man disenfranchised by a mainstream capitalist society that seeks the eradication of a rural life that Peckinpah holds dear—just another pawn to be used and abused as the powers-that-be see fit.Nick Shager’s review at the Slant Maganize
  14. BRD Trilogy (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1978-1982) [1]
  15. Chinatown (Roman Polanski) (1974)
  16. Chungking Express (Wong Kar Wai) (1994)
  17. Dayereh (The Circle) (Jafar Panahi) (2000) [1] [2] [3]
  18. Despair (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1977) [1] [-1]
  19. Deutschland im Herbst (Germany in Autumn) (Brustellin, Fassbinder, Bächler, Bennent, Biermann, Bissmeier and others) (1978) [1] [2]
  20. Die 3-Groschen-Oper (The Threepenny Opera) (Georg Wilhelm Pabst) (1931)
  21. Duck Soup (Marx Brothers) (1933)
  22. Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper) (1969)
  23. Effi Briest (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1974) [1] [2] [3] [4]
    • The real title goes as follows: Fontane: Effi Briest or Many People Who Are Aware of Their Own Capabilities and Needs, Just Acquiesce to the Prevailing System in Their Thoughts and Deeds, Thereby Confirm and Reinforce It.
  24. El Topo (Alejandro Jodorowsky) (1970) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]
  25. État de Siège (State of Siege) (Costa Gavras) (1972)
  26. F for Fake (Orson Welles) (1973) [1] [2] [3] [0]
  27. Flamingo Road (Michael Curtiz) (1949)
  28. Fox and His Friends (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1974) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
  29. Freaks (Tod Browning) (1932) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
  30. Full Metal Jacket (Stanley Kubrick) (1987)
  31. Fury (Fritz Lang) (1936)
  32. Gaav (The Cow) (Dariush Mehrjui) (1969) [1] [2] [3] [4]
  33. Germany Year Zero (Roberto Rosselini) (1947) [1] [2] [3] [-1]
  34. Gertrud (Carl Dreyer) (1955) [1] [2] [3] [4]
  35. Half Nelson (Ryan Fleck/Anna Boden) (2006)
  36. Hidden Agenda (Ken Loach) (1990) [1] [2] [3] [4]
  37. If… (Lindsay Anderson) (1968) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
  38. In a Year of 13 Moons (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1978) [1]
  39. In the Heat of the Night (Norman Jewison) (1967)
  40. Katzelmacher (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1969) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
  41. Kes (Ken Loach) (1969) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [0]
  42. Ladri di Biciclette (The Bicycle Thieves) (Vittorio De Sica) (1948)
    • But The Bicycle Thieves was the one that did it for me first. The story is just of a man and his son, looking for work on a bicycle and what the consequences are for their family. It only tells the story of this one family and doesn’t go beyond, but in doing that it tells you everything you want to know. I love this idea of telling a story in microcosm; if you get the story right and the characters right, the film will say everything about the wider picture without having to generalise. Of course, that’s how I rationalised it later. At the time, I just thought: wow. — Ken Loach in an interview about The Bicycle Thieves
  43. La Chinoise (The Chinese) (Godard) (1967)
  44. Land and Freedom (Ken Loach) (1995) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [-1]
    • It just grows ever more apparent that there are two classes in society, that their interests are irreconcilable, and that one survives at the expense of the other. In the 60s, we didn’t have the mass unemployment we have now. We didn’t have such alienation. We didn’t insist that the workforce should be ever more flexible, ever more exploited. All that was endorsed by Thatcher. Her politics were inverse Marxism in a way: the working class must pay; the organised working class must be disorganised. And that’s exactly what she did … In Britain, the recurring themes don’t go away. The human cost of the experiment in free market economics that Thatcher inflicted on us is still working itself out because the policy hasn’t changed, and it won’t change drastically under Tony Blair. The human cost is something that never goes away. Its always in front of your eyes and its always something that draws you to deal with it. You walk through the cities, especially the outskirts of cities, and you see people are not having a good time. The underlying observation of what people are experiencing is that things don’t have to be this way. There are better ways to live. — Ken Loach, quoted by John Newsinger in a review of G. Fuller’s book Loacn on Loach.
    • Loach’s most powerful scenes depict large groups of people exchanging and debating ideas, such as the organisation of the strike in The Big Flame (1969), the extended debate over land reform in Land and Freedom, and the argument about whether to join a janitors’ union in Bread and Roses. Despite the obviousness of Loach’s sympathies in each discussion, he provides equal time to all parties and photographs the conversations from a balanced, democratic perspective. Camera angles don’t create strength for the viewpoints, but rather the ideas presented do. An inverse of Hitchcock’s simplistic notion of pure cinema (these scenes truly are “pictures of people talking”), Loach aims to demonstrate the strength of communal experience. The collision of ideas and viewpoints synthesises into a more powerful force than any individual contribution could. — Mike Robbins in his essay on Ken Loach
  45. La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (The Passion of Joan of Arc) (Carl Dreyer) (1928) [1] [2] [3] [4]
  46. La Règle du jeu (The Rules of the Game) (Jean Renoir) (1939)
  47. L’Argent (Money) (Robert Bresson) (1983) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
  48. La Saliare de la Peur (The Wages of Fear) (Henri-Georges Clouzot) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8][-1]
    • The film can be, and was, read as an attack on imperialism, capitalism and greed, and Clouzot found himself in the unusual position of having been vilified as a fascist and a communist. — Fiona Watson in an essay about Clouzot.
    • You don’t know what fear is. But you’ll see. It’s catching. It’s catching like smallpox. And once you get it, it’s for life. – Dick, Wages of Fear.
    • … but the charge of “anti-everything,” while certainly valid on a surface level, fails to take into account one of the basic tenets of cinematic humanism as employed by Clouzot and John Huston and Stanley Kubrick, among others: that by removing all hint of subjectivity from the point of view, one thus removes any stain of sentimentality. This erasure of sentiment does not cancel out empathy. In fact, in that very void, we, the viewer, are forced to decide what our capacity for empathy is. … A film in which one character dies saying, “There’s nothing!” is bound to be attacked (as this one was and continues to be) for being both misanthropic and atheistic, but I’ve never felt that Clouzot was saying, “This is the world,” but rather, “This is the world we’ve made.” (A vision that condemns what man is, in despair over what man could be, is, perversely, a hopeful one.) — Denise Lehane in his review of Wages of Fear.
  49. La Vérité (The Truth) (Henri-Georges Clouzot) (1960) [1] [-1]
    • The director Costa-Gavras, who worked as production assistant on L’Enfer, said: “He was criticised by the nouvelle vague for planning out everything in the script. The big word of the epoch was ‘improvise’. He had a nice line about that: ‘I improvise on paper.'” — Stuart Jeffries writing about Clouzot’s unfinished film L’Enfer.
  50. La Vie En Rose (La Mome) (Olivier Dahan) (2007)
  51. Leaving Las Vegas (Mike Figgis) (1995)
  52. Le Charme Discret de la Bourgeoisie (The Discreet Charms of the Bourgeoisie) (Luis Buñuel) (1972)
  53. Le Corbeau (The Raven) (Henri-Georges Clouzot) (1943) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [0]
    • While some of Clouzot’s targets are more subtlely attacked, such as the petit-bourgeois values of the townspeople (Denise dismisses Germain as pathetic because he’ll never rise above his narrow bourgeois mentality) much of Le Corbeau is about taking on much larger targets. Clouzot is obviously concerned about the effects on a society of living in a culture of informants and collaborators, and he is not afraid of also incriminating the audience as well as his film’s characters. This is a town full of tiny monsters, each willing to betray his neighbour if it’ll bring him a little peace and quiet, a little refuge from life’s storm. Only in a Clouzot film would the sole figures of empathy and hope be such terribly damaged females; the limping Denise and the distraught but vengeful mother of an apparent suicide. But neither is heroic in any conventional sense, as both suffer from physical and emotional wounds that cause them terrible grief and leave them virtual pariahs in their community. This may be a restorative ending, but it is not without its victims and its open wounds. … Using secret informants to rule by fear was clearly a tactic the Germans found useful in Vichy France, so it isn’t too surprising that once it was released, Clouzot’s film was deemed too dangerous, and soon shelved by the Nazis. Review on Dan Jardine’s blog.
    • It seems doubtful that Clouzot, the French cinema’s great misanthrope, would have consciously held that Suffering Womanhood represented a viable moral or philosophical alternative to the positions of Vorzet and Germain. Probably his covert appeal to women as figures of both knowledge and redemption represented, as it did for so many filmmakers during the occupation, an almost visceral grasping for light in the darkness, and for hope at a time of deepest despair.Allan William’s review at the Criterion Collection
    • The director’s vision is not simply mean for the sake of being mean, however. Instead, Clouzot’s gaze is its usual penetrating self as this provincial place is exposed for the den of lies and hypocrisy that it really is. It’s in this picture of society that the filmmaker seems to really have most stirred the emotions of those that lived in Vichy France and its aftermath; the vehemence of the postwar reaction to Le Corbeau (as well as its concurrent striking popularity) demonstrates just how close to the bone this artistic view actually cut. Clouzot’s harsh depiction of how a group can react to outside pressures could have been expected to strike a chord amongst those whose country had suffered from the brutalization of an dominating power; and that the anti-heroic nature of the events as they unfold onscreen would be a hard truth for such people to swallow should come as no great surprise.Chris Hyde’s review
    • Williams describes conflicting visual styles in Le Corbeau involving camera movement and the depiction of the look between characters almost “as if there is a constant war going on to control the visual field, between the film’s unseen narrator and its characters” (8). This is an appropriate definition for a film involving surveillance, suspicion, and paranoia within occupied territory. No need exists to depict either Germans or Vichy authorities. They exist outside a text containing its own version of surveillance, one involving tensions that destabilise those who think they are in control. … As Judith Mayne observes, appearances in this film are deceptive and “the woman who looks like a Vichy poster for womanhood” acts like a lunatic while her supposedly guilty and sexually repressed sister-in-law becomes the victim of mob rule. By contrast, in one of the most revealing close-ups in the film, Denise asks Germain to look into her eyes so that he can directly perceive that she is not a guilty woman. As opposed to scenes in the film showing people looking at each other and the point-of-view image showing Rolande spying on Germain through the key-hole of his door, this shot argues for the importance of direct perception rather than indirect, prejudicial, misperception. Tony Williams’ review at the Senses of Cinema
  54. Le Diable Probablement (The Devil, Probably) (Robert Bresson) (1977)
  55. L’Enfant sauvage (The Wild Child) (François Truffaut) (1969) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
  56. Le Notti di Cabiria (The Nights of Cabiria) (Federico Fellini) (1957)
  57. Life of Brian (Monty Python) (1979)
  58. Lola Montès (Max Ophüls) (1955) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
  59. Martha (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1974) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
  60. Mamma Roma (Pier Paolo Pasolini) (1962) [1]
  61. Meghe Dhaka Tara (The Cloud Capped Star) (Ritwik Ghatak) (1960)
  62. Memorias del Subdesarrollo (Memories of Underdevelopment) (Tomás Gutiérrez Alea) (1968) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [0]
  63. Missing (Costa Gavras) (1982)
  64. Modern Times (Charles Chaplin) (1936)
  65. Monster (Patty Jenkins) (2003)
  66. Mouchette (Robert Bresson) (1967) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [-1]
  67. Naked (Mike Leigh) (1993) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [0]
    • Johnny’s an idealist, certainly not a cynic, which is how he’s often portrayed. … I’m often asked, ‘What does Johnny do?’ He’s a reader. He’s one of those kids teachers have turned away from because their intelligence is too unruly.Mike Leigh about Johnny.
    • In so far as Naked is about England, the fabric of society is collapsing. People are insecure, there is a sense of disintegration which is, as much as anything else, a legacy of the Tories. … I couldn’t have made the film with anything other than highly intelligent feminist actresses. The notion it could possibly be a [misogynist] film is ridiculous.Mike Leigh about Naked.
  68. Nema-ye Nazdik (Close-Up) (Abbas Kiarostami) (1990) [1] [2] [-1]
  69. Nun va Goldoon (The Bread and The Vase) (Mohsen Makhmalbaf) (1996) [1]
  70. O Lucky Man! (Lindsay Anderson) (1973) [1] [0]
    • But a cynicism that accepts self-criticism and incorporates it into the attack is the only one that isn’t sterilized by holier-than-thou hypocrisy. To ask for much more is usually pseudo-idealist mystification—like telling an anti-pollutionist, “Who are you to talk? You exhale, don’t you?” If Lindsay Anderson now accepts the pessimism for which he once flagellated Elia Kazan (re On the Waterfront) before he recognized it himself, the result is artistic growth, into a black tragicomedy like Swift’s—a venerable, versatile, and formidable position. Reinhold Niebuhr compared the innocently reverential “children of tight” with the twice-bitten “children of darkness,” whose implacable cynicism is simply hope keeping a low profile. The courage of cynicism is affirmation, whether unknowingly or despite itself. … Must revolutionary songs, like LPs, go round and round in ever-diminishing circles until the singer exits through the hole in the middle of a top-ten record? — Raymond Durgnat in his review of O Lucky Man
  71. Ordet (The Word) (Carl Dreyer) (1964) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
  72. Pandora’s Box (Die Büchse der Pandora) (Georg Wilhem Pabst) (1929) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
  73. Sahib, Bibi Aur Ghulam (The Lord, the Lady and the Slave) (Abrar Alvi/Guru Dutt) (1962)
  74. Saikaku Ichidai Onna (The Life of Oharu / Life of a Woman by Saikaku) (Kenji Mizoguchi) (1952) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
  75. Salvatore Giuliano (Francesco Rosi) (1962)
  76. Sans Soleil (Sunless) (Chris Marker) (1982) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
    • Contrary to what people say, using the first person in films tends to be a sign of humility: ‘All I have to offer is myself.’ — Chris Marker (Quoted by Jonathan Rosenbaum in his review on the Criterion Collection)
    • Marker fuses the urbane wit of his earliest travel films to the persona of the political militant, now somewhat disabused … who, “like Che Guevara, tremble with indignation every time an injustice is committed.” — (Catherine Lupton in her review on the Criterion Collection)
  77. Schindler’s List (Steven Spielberg) (1993)
  78. Serpico (Sidney Lumet) (1973)
  79. Straw Dogs (Sam Peckinpah) (1971)
  80. Subarnarekha (Ritwik Ghatak) (1962)
  81. Ta’m-e gīlās (Taste of Cherry) (Abbas Kiarostami) (1997)
  82. Taxi Driver (Martin Scorsese) (1976)
  83. Teesri Kasam (The Third Vow) (Basu Bhattacharya) (1966)
  84. Tengoku to Jigoku (High and Low) (Akira Kurosawa) (1963)
  85. The Big Heat (Fritz Lang) (1953) [1] [2][-1][-2]
  86. The Conversation (Francis Ford Coppola) (1974)
  87. The Crescent Moon (Jang Kil-soo) (2002)
  88. The Damned (Luchino Visconti) (1969)
  89. The Lusty Men (Nicholas Ray) (1952) [1] [2] [3]
  90. The Merchant of Four Seasons (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1971) [1] [2] [3] [4]
  91. The Night of The Hunter (Charles Laughton) (1955)
  92. The Night of The Iguana (John Huston) (1964)
  93. The Player (Robert Altman) (1992)
  94. The Third Generation (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) (1979) [1]
  95. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (John Huston) (1948)
  96. The Trial (Orson Welles) (1962)
  97. The Young One (Luis Buñuel) (1960) [1] [2] [3]
    • In its stress on the material, the productive, on subsistence and trade, and in its study of the contradictions within people, in the intricate dialectic of its dramatic development, The Young One is Marxism in dramatic action as few left-wing works of art have ever been. — Raymond Durgnat as quoted in No Blacks or Whites:
      The Making of Luis Bunuel’s ‘The Young One.’
    • Reviewers at the time somehow decided the filmmaker was not up to Stanley Kramer standards, for racism here isn’t a matter of ebony saints redeeming pasty demons but an elemental human darkness, linking the white supremacist (Crahan Denton) who tells Hamilton how sorry he is about God “leaving something out of you… your soul” to the padre (Claudio Brook) who flips over his mattress after learning that the black man has slept on it. — Fernando F. Croce about The Young One
  98. Titash Ekti Nadir Nam (A River Named Titash) (Ritwik Ghatak) (1973)
  99. Vivre sa Vie (My Life to Live) (Godard) (1962) [1]
  100. Vredens Dag (Day of Wrath) (Carl Dreyer) (1943) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
  101. Why Does Herr R. Run Amok? (Fassbinder and Fengler) (1970) [1] [2]
  102. Wings of Desire (Wim Wenders) (1987)
  103. Winter Light (Bergman) (1962)
  104. Yi Yi (One One / A One and a Two) (Edward Yang) (2000) [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]
  105. Z (Costa Gavras) (1969)
  106. Zelig (Woody Allen) (1983) [1])

Written by anileklavya

November 18, 2008 at 1:47 pm

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  1. […] will also make public my list of Great, Very Good, Good, Average and Bad movies. The last category should not have many […]

  2. […] people will find my list of Great Movies (when compared to my list of Very Good Movies) unconventional, if not strange. And this movie is […]

  3. […] from the last kind is also someone with whom I have happened to be concerned recently. That one was Fassbinder, a prolific filmmaker from the same part of the world as Brecht. Another filmmaker (from India) of […]


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