#6: Terrence Malick

- “They’re not intellectual so much as they’re visceral. I don’t know how you explain it… they’re like poems, you know. You can analyze it to death, but it still is not going to get to what this poem is doing to you… to your psyche, your body, you know, it’s never going to solve that.”

- Sam Shepard

Trying to find a quote about direction or film in general from the notoriously reclusive Terrence Malick is a nearly impossible task, so rather than scouring the ‘net looking for one, I thought that this statement from Days of Heaven star Sam Shepard would be the perfect opening to this entry. It comes from one of the extras on the recently released Days of Heaven Criterion Collection, as Shepard describes what drew him to working with Malick. Coming into the project as a writer, Shepard talks about how there was something magnetic in the script, something that pulled him to doing the project, and then attempts to describe Malick's films. And in ruminating on what it is about Malick’s work that maintains such a mesmerizing hold on so many people, he offers this fitting thought. It meshes so perfectly with my own feelings toward Malick’s work that I jotted it down the first time I heard it and vowed to somehow work it into this post.

If placing Francis Ford Coppola was the most difficult task of this project, deciding exactly where to place a man with just four total movies to his credit ran a close second. What exactly do you do with someone who has made only four films over the course of a nearly forty year career? On Thursday in the Coppola entry, I even touched on the fact that at this stage in the countdown that consistency and depth of quality films has to play a role. Such diversity is obviously lacking from a man whose workrate equates to roughly averaging one film released per decade. The issue is compounded by the fact that one of his four films is one that I have only recently begun to grow fond of. So while I might not be maintaining consistency when it comes to criteria in evaluating each director, such standards are irrelevant when I assess my passion for the cinema of Terrence Malick. It is a testament to the transcendent experience of his three films that I do love – two in particular retaining the ability to routinely give me chills at times while watching them – when I do not hesitate in giving Malick such a high placement.

Over the short history of this blog, I have written and discussed Malick’s The New World more than any other film. I’ll direct folks here, where The New World was chosen as my top film of 2005, if anyone is interested in seeing my full thoughts on that film. I also produced a similar post for Days of Heaven, which might not be as gushing as the ’05 entry, but also shows the love I have for that film. What draws me to films like this, which the uninitiated or non-Malick fans find so lumbering and inane? To answer this question, I ultimately return to the Sam Shepard quotation above. I’ve thought many times and can never quite put my finger on it. The more I analyze it, the less I feel like I can explain it. All I know is that Malick’s films have the ability to completely, totally transfix me. The incredibly beautiful images virtually hypnotize me. Even that explanation is an evasion, though, as for me it is more than just the gorgeous cinematography. Many people argue that Malick’s narrative technique leaves much to be desired, but the man has created some of the most powerfully moving drama I’ve ever experienced. The plague and wildfire of Days of Heaven; Witt’s death in The Thin Red Line; the reunion between John Smith and Pocahontas in The New World; and, most especially, the closing sequence with Pocahontas’ death – these scenes are so well done they give me chills. And so as Shepard says, no amount of analysis is going to pinpoint what it is.

Regarding the spectacular visuals in his films, I have written elsewhere about Malick concerning the credit he deserves in this area. Not knowing a whole lot about technical production, I’m always a bit hesitant as to who deserves the bulk of the praise for the look of a film – the director or the cinematographer. Malick’s case is unique though, in that he has worked with a different director of photography on all four of his films, yet all four of them look marvelous. This leads me to believe that Malick himself much be a significant factor in achieving these results.

Malick easily could be a Top 5 selection. Trying to separate favorites at this point is excruciatingly hard. Particularly in this instance, where a movie like The New World is continually inching toward being my all-time favorite film. Perhaps one or two more films like his recent releases and Malick will move toward the very top of a list like this. Bring on Tree of Life!

As a postscript, since I haven't talked about Badlands at all in this post, I thought I would pose this question to everyone. I re-watched it specifically for this series, which was probably the fourth time I've seen it. What struck me about it this time around was how dryly funny it can be. Kit's one-liners and retorts, the off the wall things he says out of nowhere, something about the entire storyline makes me view it as some sort of unique dark comedy. I've never viewed it this way before, but that is all I could think about when watching it this time.

1. The New World (2005)
2. Days of Heaven (1978)
3. The Thin Red Line (1998)
4. Badlands (1973)

#7: Howard Hawks

- “I'm a storyteller - that's the chief function of a director.”

His is the first name to come to mind when I think of the preeminent American-born directors of the classic Hollywood era. Many of his contemporaries, both in terms of time period and actual talent or stature, immigrated to America and then rose to dominate Hollywood – Billy Wilder, Frank Capra, Fritz Lang, Robert Siodmak were just a few of many who were born in Europe and rose to prominence in Tinseltwon. There were also many other outstanding Americans rising to prominence around the same time – indeed, other great American directors like Anthony Mann and John Huston have already been featured in this series. But in my mind, when I think of the archetypal American director of the period, it is always Howard Hawks.

What makes this such a natural belief is that Hawks not only dabbled in nearly every significant genre of the 30s, 40s and 50s, he produced all-time classics. His comedies of the 1930s are considered to be not only among the best screwball comedies, but some of the funniest movies ever made. Bringing Up Baby and His Girl Friday are routinely listed among the greatest comedies. His original version of Scarface in 1932 is arguably the best of the classic gangster films. The Big Sleep is among a handful of absolutely essential films noir that anyone wishing to familiarize themselves with the genre/style must see early in their quest. Air Force is as good as out-and-out propaganda films get. To Have and Have Not is as close as anyone would ever come to matching Casablanca. The Thing From Another World (which he is commonly assumed to have handled much of the directorial duties on) is a splendid piece of 1950s science-fiction and horror. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is a musical comedy par excellence, which even someone like myself who normally has no interest in such films finds outstanding. And westerns like Rio Bravo and Red River are as incredible a one-two western punch as any director – Ford, Mann, Leone, Eastwood, anyone – ever made.

I could go on listing examples, but I think you get the point. There are other directors that can match his versatility, but I can count on one hand the directors who can match his mastery of such different genres and styles. Why was he so successful while moving in such varying fields? It might play like a broken record in these parts, as regulars here at Goodfella’s have heard me say it again and again, but Howard Hawks is simply one of the finest storytellers in the history of cinema. He might not have been a writer like other greats such as Wilder, Welles, and others. But he worked with a core group of writers that brought staggering talent to the page – Jules Furthmann, Leigh Brackett, Ben Hecth, William Faulkner – and whose screenplays inevitable possessed the characteristics that have now come to be recognized as “Hawksian.” Themes concerning friendship, professionalism, and seeing a job through to very end regardless of the consequences are the foundations of a Hawks drama. I still maintain that no one, not even the great Sam Peckinpah, ever handled ideas of bonding and close, intense friendship among male characters better than Hawks.

So with such versatility and excellence, it is easy to understand why I revere Howard Hawks. This is a placement that I almost regret, as I want to nudge him just a little higher. For now, I can’t as the competition is getting far too tough. Suffice to say that from this point on, the list could be inverted and I wouldn’t really quibble with the rankings.

1. Rio Bravo (1959)
2. Red River (1948)
3. The Big Sleep (1946)
4. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)
5. To Have and Have Not (1944)
6. Scarface (1932)
7. Twentieth Century (1934)
8. His Girl Friday (1940)
9. Only Angels Have Wings (1939)
10. Air Force (1943)
11. Monkey Business (1952)
12. The Thing from Another World (1951)
13. El Dorado (1967)
14. The Criminal Code (1931)
15. Bringing Up Baby (1938)
16. Tiger Shark (1932)
17. Sergeant York (1941)
18. Ball of Fire (1941)
19. Rio Lobo (1970)

#8: Francis Ford Coppola

- “A number of images put together a certain way become something quite above and beyond what any of them are individually.”

Placing Francis Ford Coppola in a countdown of this scope has been, without question, the most difficult task of the entire project. Trying to slot him into a comfortable position made me examine exactly how I was judging and ranking each director, and at the end of it all, I’m still not certain that consistency has been maintained. I say this because, as I have repeated many times in discussions on various blogs throughout the ‘net, I am a person who is much more interested in seeing how high one can reach, rather than dwelling on misfires. I don’t care if a director makes ten duds if he manages to squeeze out one or two masterpieces along the way; I’m much more interested in devoting my time to the great ones than worrying about the stumbles. Considering Coppola’s career in that frame of mind, he could make a strong case for jumping all the way to the top spot. If we’re stacking up irrefutable masterpieces, Coppola in my opinion boasts as many as any other director you will find in this Top 30. In my eyes, Coppola _owned_ the 1970s. I’d be leery of anyone claiming that The Godfather, The Godfather: Part II, or Apocalypse Now are not truly great films. I'd personally make the argument of elevating The Conversation to that level as well. On the basis of those four films alone, Coppola would enter this countdown.

And that’s precisely what makes placing him so difficult – it is almost solely because of those four masterpieces that he merits such lofty praise from me. The Godfather Part III and Dracula are very good films, but to me they pale in comparison to Coppola’s best. The conundrum is made even more difficult by the fact that at this stage of the countdown – meaning the Top 10 – every single director has multiple masterworks on their resume. So a certain amount of depth and consistency has to come into play. In that area, Coppola doesn’t quite match up to those ahead of him.

I also am not one of those who constantly cry and lament over the “lost genius” of a once transcendent filmmaker. Make no mistake, I don’t think he has done anything post-Apocalypse Now that comes close to his four masterpieces of the 1970s, but I do still like Dracula the final installment of The Godfather trilogy, and even enjoyed his recent Tetro. Even so, it’s hard not to at least give thought to the “what might have been” scenarios in which he continued making truly great films into the next decade as some of his contemporaries did. Rather than dwelling on such hypothetical situations, though, I instead just return again and again (and again and again…) to my favorite Coppola works. I have yet to tire of The Godfather films. Apocalypse Now arguable trumps them all. The Conversation improves upon Antonioni’s intriguing original vision. For all of the mythology and hoopla that has come to surround his biggest productions - not to mention the seriously grating, conceited personality that he regularly displays - it is important to never forget how great a director Coppola can be.

The top three on my list are completely interchangeable, with any ordering being perfectly acceptable. For now, this is what I will stick with (even though during the 70s poll last year at Wonders in the Dark, I had Apocalypse Now as my #1 for the decade...)

1. The Godfather (1972)
2. The Godfather Part II (1974)
3. Apocalypse Now (1979)
4. The Conversation (1974)
5. Dracula (1992)
6. The Godfather Part III (1990)
7. Tetro (2009)
8. The Outsiders (1983)
9. Rumble Fish (1983)
10. Tucker: The Man and His Dream (1988)
11. The Rainmaker (1997)
12. Jack (1996)

#9: Jean-Pierre Melville

- "I believe that you must be madly in love with cinema to create films."

I love the title of the Ginette Vincendeau’s biography of Jean-Pierre Melville – Jean-Pierre Melville: An American in Paris. While such an epithet might be a little too constraining in assessing the work of such a great director, I bring it up here because it is one of the qualities that first attracted me to Melville. When I first started to branch out and familiarize myself with films from around the world, Melville was one of the first directors that I turned to. Everything I read about and from the man fascinated me. His obsession and encyclopedic knowledge of classic Hollywood cinema intrigued me, as he was known to worship so many of the same directors, films, and actors that I had grown to love. It wasn’t just cinema either, but his complete love of American culture fascinated me. And in the first films that I watched, I saw the fingerprints of this love of all things American. I was instantly amazed at how he adapted conventions from classic Hollywood noir, gangster films, and crime drama to the streets of his native France – and almost had to pinch myself when I realized that not only did he adapt them, he improved upon them.

But to look at him solely as an American in Paris overlooks how important his French heritage, and the era in which he came of age, is in much of his best work. Melville may be regarded as the greatest director of “gangster pictures,” but his work centered on the French Resistance is just as impressive. Perhaps the two facets of Melville’s work shouldn’t really be separated, though, as he infused a noirish element into these war films, making Army of Shadows an experience unique from any other similar movies of the era.

I began taking stock of all of the Melville that I had seen shortly before this series began, when Doniphon began his wonderful series on Melville at The Long Voyage Home. I encourage everyone to check out Doniphon’s insights into the cinema of Melville, as he provides far more astute observations than you will find in this piece. What I realized in reading Doniphon’s work, and in gathering my thoughts for my own entry here, is why Melville’s work is so durable for me. By durable, I mean the way that it simply stays with you – his are not movies that are viewed for two hours and then cast aside as you move on to the next film. A Melville stays with you, forcing you to ruminate on it, begging you to return to it. Why do his films have such an effect? I attribute it to the unmatched ability of the director to create enveloping moods. There are certainly technically brilliant elements on display in many of his films – the great cinematography in Le Doulos immediately comes to mind, as does the wonderful use of drab colors in Le Samourai – but none of those individual technical achievements are as memorable as the moods and tones Melville creates. Just thinking about Le Samourai makes me think of steamy Parisian streets and a jazz club. Le Doulos instantly has me picturing fedoras and gangsters. Le Cercle Rouge brings to mind the ultimate game of cat-and-mouse. Bob le Flambeur transports me to a casino of some sort. No one has ever been better at creating moods.

There is not a bad movie on my list.

1. Army of Shadows (1969)
2. Le Samourai (1967)
3. Le Cercle Rouge (1970)
4. Le Doulos (1962)
5. Le deuxième souffle (1966)
6. Bob le Flambeur (1955)
7. Le Silence de la Mer (1949)
8. Un Flic (1972)
9. Les enfants terribles (1950)

#10: Sam Peckinpah

- “I loved Westerns as a kid, and I wanted to see if they held up.”

Like #14 in this series, this is another of my more recent interests. If this countdown had been done just a year ago, Sam Peckinpah would not have been included. My initial reaction to the man known as Bloody Sam, which came from watching his most acclaimed film The Wild Bunch a few years ago, was not as positive as I expected it to be. Perhaps I was still too much in a Howard Hawks frame of mind, as the opinionated director was on record as declaring that he didn’t think too much of the violent and frenzied action sequences that Peckinpah sprinkled throughout The Wild Bunch. Something just didn’t completely click – I liked it, but wondered what all the fuss was about. It’s amazing the transformation that one positive experience can bring about. All it took was one viewing of his notorious Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid to make me a believer. Going into it considering myself at best lukewarm toward Peckinpah, I came away from it completely floored. It still holds the power to transfix me ever time I watch it. That film showed me that the main criticism of Peckinpah’s work – that of it being little more than gunfights and bloodbaths – is completely off the mark. His admitted preoccupation with violence serves a purpose. But even more important, Peckinpah rarely gets the credit he deserves for the subtle, intimate touches he so masterfully intersperses with the violence. There are particular scenes in Pat Garrett and Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia that are achingly beautiful in both their visual poetry and content. And these sequences deserve just as much praise as Peckinpah’s chops as a director and editor of action.

This key realization made me not only reassess what little Peckinpah I had seen before PG&BtK, but also to immediately go through the rest of his films. What I discovered was a director that has had me under his spell for months now. Many of his best films are not easy to love, requiring me to watch them multiple times before I felt comfortable with them. Peckinpah has emerged for me as a director with a unique worldview, using almost every filmmaking opportunity to deal with a specific set of ideals. Ideas of fearing death and violence, yet constantly courting it; of the ending of eras; the closing of the Old West; dealing with living past your usefulness. These obsessions constantly return in Peckinpah’s greatest works. Outside of Howard Hawks, no one ever dealt with the strong bonds of friendship between male comrades as did Peckinpah. You will rarely see me use the chic “auteur” label in my writings, but it feels so fitting when discussing Bloody Sam (sorry, I just love that nickname too much not to use it again!).

As you’ll see from the rankings, I’ve come quite a long way from my original assessment of The Wild Bunch. I still don’t rank it at the top of my list as most Peckinpah fans do, but my appreciation of it continues to grow. I wonder how many other people (and would love to hear thoughts on this) change their mind about a film(s) when revisiting it after having delved deeper into a director’s other work? This is precisely what happened with me and Peckinpah’s most famous western. The other thing about Peckinpah’s entire filmography that never ceases to amaze me is that despite how many financial disasters he made, his Top 10 films are consistently outstanding. Ordering may vary, but my guess is that most people will agree with the top ten, and there is not a subpar film in the group. I can’t go so far as to say that he never made a bad film, because later in his career he mailed it on a few duds. But those first ten are all outstanding. A number of them are ridiculously underrated – Major Dundee, even its butchered form, is near great; Cross of Iron is an overlooked war epic; The Ballad of Cable Hogue is irresistible. If I had to the guts to do it, I could easily place Cable Hogue all the way at #3. Before I saw Straw Dogs for the first time, I was led to believe that I might have the same problems I experienced with A Clockwork Orange. I didn’t – in Straw Dogs I actually cared to contemplate why the violence is taking place. The Getaway is sitting at #10, which might come across as a putdown, but it really isn’t. All ten are very good, some flat out great. A few of them I really struggled and went back and forth on while trying to place them. For instance – there were times when I felt both Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia and Cross of Iron should definitely have been Top 5, but I still don’t feel like I have a complete read on either film, Alfredo Garcia in particular. It is such a beguiling movie, one that left me unsure whether I loved or it hated it after watching it.

So as you can see, the Peckinpah bug has really bitten me. These are movies that reward multiple viewings and that show him to be a much more complex director than he is often given credit for. And I’d give almost anything to be able to seen Noon Wine! Is it even available anywhere?

1. Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid (1973)
2. The Wild Bunch (1969)
3. Ride the High Country (1962)
4. Straw Dogs (1971)
5. The Ballad of Cable Hogue (1970)
6. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974)
7. Cross of Iron (1977)
8. Major Dundee (1965)
9. Junior Bonner (1972)
10. The Getaway (1972)
11. The Deadly Companions (1961)
12. The Killer Elite (1975)
13. Convoy (1978)

#11: Orson Welles

- “A film is never really good unless the camera is an eye in the head of a poet.”

Here he is… the three thousand pound gorilla in any list of favorite or best directors. A slight backlash against Mr. Welles has developed from some, due to his constant ranking as the greatest director of all time and the assumption that Citizen Kane must sit atop any ranking of the best films ever made. But if the shoe fits… There is no question that the influence that Welles has had on countless generations of filmmakers to come after him and the technical and structural innovations he used in his work make him a towering figure in the history of cinema. And I admit that the task of placing him in a list like this is difficult after becoming accustomed to seeing Welles unanimously placed at the top of similar projects or pieces about the most important directors of all time.

One thing that I have always pondered is what Welles’ reputation would be like if he had been able to at least moderately adjust to the Hollywood studio system. As everyone knows, the story of Welles post-Kane projects is littered with battles against studio heads and grappling for the final say on editing of his films. The result was that for a bulk of his prime years, Welles was a star without a home. He worked as a freelance director taking the best offers he received. After the war, he directed mostly low budget pictures for studios like Republic and International Pictures. For most of the 1950s he went into self-imposed exile in Europe, picking up money from acting jobs that he used to finance his own directorial projects as best he could. In the 1960s, when he was no longer the boywonder of the entertainment world, he arguably soldiered on to make some of his finest work, even though box office success was a thing of the past. So, the question I often ponder is this: had he been able to fit in better in Hollywood, how would his reputation have been affected? Two interesting options always come to mind. It’s possible that he would have been able to stay in the States for his entire career, resulting in greater exposure for more of his work (outside of Citizen Kane, Touch of Evil, the usual suspects) and his status would only increase. On the other hand, I can’t help but thinking that the independent streak that Welles is remembered for can’t hurt in building his legend. There is something admirable about a man who refuses (or at least goes down fighting) to compromise his vision and decides to strike out on his own rather than submit to the whims of executives. I have no answer to this hypothetical, but it’s an interesting “What if?” I’d be interested in hearing the thoughts of others.

Regardless of all of this speculating, the reputation that Welles currently enjoys is justified. He is the greatest actor-director of the sound era, and arguably of all time. I respect his acting ability so much that I’m not sure which of his two talents impresses me more. No actor was better at launching into on-screen monologues like Welles. As a director, I have always admired his choice of material, involving very in-depth character studies. His constant experimenting with abstract visual styles and techniques is probably his greatest contribution. Pulling away all of the acclaim and hyperbole that has accumulated over the years reveals a director who is every bit as good as advertised. There is a reason that the praise has piled up for decades – Welles was simply a great and visionary filmmaker.

1. Citizen Kane (1941)
2. Touch of Evil (1958)
3. Chimes at Midnight (1965)
4. Othello (1952)
5. Mr. Arkadin (1955)
6. The Lady from Shanghai (1947)
7. The Magnificent Ambersons (1942)
8. The Stranger (1946)
9. The Trial (1962)
10. Macbeth (1948)
11. F for Fake (1973)

#12: Joel & Ethan Coen

- “One of the pleasures of movies is creating a world . . . it gives you a license to do certain things.”

They may be among the preeminent visual stylists of this era, but it’s hard to deny that the greatest asset the Coen Brothers possess is their unparalleled writing talent. They are equally adept at writing the crass stoner comedy of The Big Lebowski or the casual philosophical wit of A Serious Man. They can write traditional drama equally as well, creating situations and dialogue in Blood Simple and No Country For Old Men. Then, of course, are their famed hybrids, films like Fargo or Barton Fink that aren’t straight comedy but aren’t straight drama either. All of their films have an undeniable “Coens feel” to them, but each one is varied from any of its predecessors. It’s easy to imagine that their scripts are so well written that directors need simply to follow them to a tee and positive results will ensue. In fact, I’ve heard as much in interviews. I remember seeing John Goodman talking about the making of The Big Lebowski and how the screenplay was so spot-on that no one dared change anything about it… even down to following the stutters and cadences that were written directly into the script.

Still, it’s impossible to deny the visual flair that their films boast. And I don’t say this in a Malick-like way, where every film just looks spectacular. Instead, each Coens film is unique, with an appearance that seems to perfectly fit the story being told. Blood Simple captured the gritty, B-noir feel of the murder plot. Fargo lets the snow whites of South Dakota wash over everything. The noirish The Man Who Wasn’t There boasts the best black and white cinematography of recent years. As a modern western of sorts, No Country For Old Men allows the landscape to be shown off through dusk-like lighting and photography. These are just a few examples, but it substantiates what I am saying. They are definitely more than just talented writers who happen to direct/produce.

Even when they are playing it straight though, there is a certain wit or cynicism lying just beneath everything. Like Billy Wilder before them, it’s easy to imagine Joel and Ethan sitting behind the camera with a sly grin on their faces. They are two of the few filmmakers where I have never once thought that they might be taking themselves too seriously. Perhaps they really do, but it never comes across that way to me as a viewer. Their films often seem to aspire toward a deeper meaning – or, perhaps, people are just quickly to look for such interpretations – but they never lose the sense of genuinely enjoying what they are creating.

My top choice is immovable, even if it is far from being their most critically-lauded or brimming with powerful statements. The Big Lebowski is so entertaining, I don’t care, and I still maintain that Walter Sobchak is one of the greatest character creations I’ve ever seen.

1. The Big Lebowski (1998)
2. Miller’s Crossing (1990)
3. Barton Fink (1991)
4. No Country for Old Men (2007)
5. Fargo (1996)
6. The Man Who Wasn’t There (2001)
7. O Brother Where Art Thou? (2000)
8. A Serious Man (2009)
9. Blood Simple (1984)
10. Burn After Reading (2008)
11. The Hudsucker Proxy (1994)
12. Intolerable Cruelty (2003)
13. Raising Arizona (1987)

#13: Jacques Tourneur

- "Everything must come from inside. It mustn’t be superficial.”

Jacques Tourneur unfortunately remains a director that is fully appreciated by only a select few. To those that delve deeply into the world of film noir or classic horror films, Tourneur is rightly recognized as being one of the preeminent stylists of either genre. For the general movie fan, though, his name is likely to elicit little recognition beyond Out of the Past. At the risk of sounding elitist, I know that most of those reading this post are much more familiar with the work of Tourneur beyond just his most famous film (I know my readers!). And so I think that I will get little argument from anyone when I give him such a prominent placement on this list.

When I hear the name “Jacques Tourneur” I instantly make the connection to film noir, which is interesting because in my opinion he only made one truly great noir - Nightfall pushes closes, but not quite. That one great noir, though, is the most quintessential film of the entire genre/style. I may have rated Out of the Past at #2 in my noir countdown, but I did so reluctantly, as I made clear in my entry. It should be the first film that any newbie to film noir watches and I have yet to meet a single person who dislikes it. Even with this fact, ranking his films shows what an accomplished director of horror Tourneur was. The movies he made with producer Val Lewton are among the finest horror movies ever made. I prefer I Walked With a Zombie, but I know knowledgeable critics who argue that Cat People transcends the horror label is actually a Top 10 all-time caliber film. What makes Tourneur’s horror films so great – and this includes Night of the Demon/Curse of the Demon – is how the scares and horror come not from shock tactics, but from psychological intrigues. Tourneur gets into your mind and plays on universal fears and neuroses. There is no need to for gore or blood; he is talented enough to terrify you without them.

And while he rarely receives recognition for his work with westerns, both that I have listed here are of very high quality. Wichita has recently become available via Warner Brother’s Archive series, which is how I was able to finally watch it. It is a fictionalized account of Wyatt Earp’s (played by Joel McCrea) days in the famed cattle town. I recommend it highly both for fans of westerns and of Tourneur. Canyon Passage is even better and fortunately can be obtained on DVD. I have long felt that if Canyon Passage had a name like Ford, Hawks or Mann attached to it, it would have a reputation as one of the most overlooked westerns of its era. Unfortunately, it has no such reputation, but it should.

1. Out of the Past (1947)
2. I Walked With a Zombie (1943)
3. Night of the Demon (1957)
4. Canyon Passage (1946)
5. Cat People (1942)
6. Wichita (1955)
7. The Leopard Man (1943)
8. Nightfall (1957)
9. Berlin Express (1948)
10. The Flame and the Arrow (1950)
11. Stars in My Crown (1950)

#14: The Archers - Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger

For those that have frequented Goodfella’s since the days of the annual countdown, this one will certainly come as a surprise. Not just the high placement will be a surprise, but the fact that Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger made the Top 30 at all. As some will undoubtedly remember from the yearly series, I noted that while I did enjoy the couple of Archers films that I had seen, none had really captured me as they had so many people whose tastes my own normally align with. What I also freely admitted at the time, though, was that the sample size I used to base my opinion on was tragically small – I had seen only The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, Black Narcissus and parts of The Red Shoes. Black Narcissus was the only one of the three that made me think that maybe, just maybe, I needed to delve deeper. Thinking that perhaps I was missing something, I felt that I owed it to myself to experience more of their work and see what all the hype was about. What ultimately won me over were two films from the classic P&P run, which surprisingly enough, neither of which occupy the top two positions in my rankings below.

Watching A Canterbury Tale for the first time was an experience akin to marveling at a more-charming, innocent Mulholland Drive. It’s a weird comparison, I know, but the indefinable allure of the film drew me in immediately. It is funny, beguiling, innocent, menacing, and haunting all at once. All together, it proved irresistible to me. After watching it, I moved on to A Matter of Life and Death, still reluctantly expecting a nice little bit of patriotic propaganda. Then came the opening ten minutes of what I consider to be one of the finest opening sequences ever put on film. That was it – I had to go back to the beginning and plow through as much of their work as possible. What I found was an unbelievably consistent, impressive body of work. Every film I have listed below is worth seeing, regardless of one’s taste. Keeping in mind that I still have not seen everything they made, I still maintain that there is not a bad film in the bunch.

It should be noted that I am in fact cheating a little bit, as I have listed films that are not actually Powell & Pressburger efforts, but are only films that Michael Powell himself directed. I thought that it was worth acknowledging that he made some worthy films on his own, but none of them for me equal anything that the The Archers did together. I include them in my list, but the true reason that either man has made it into this countdown is their unbelievable success as collaborators. The first eight are the real cream of the crop in my opinion.

What I like most about The Archers work is how the strengths of both men are allowed to be fully utilized – Pressburger supplying imaginative story ideas and tightly constructed scripts, Powell utilizing a fantastic visual sense that is both sweeping in outdoor scenic shots and intimate in tension-filled moments like the A Matter of Life and Death opening mentioned earlier. The two come together and create movies that are bubbling over with emotions – sad, jubilant, poignant, passionate, dark, humorous, and many more. One thing that I don’t see mentioned as much as it should be is the sheer playfulness on display. In much of their work, P&P are dealing with deadly serious issues centered primarily on surviving in the face of horrific warfare or obstacles. And yet, much like Hitchcock’s mischievousness while dealing in murder and mayhem, there is an inescapable sense of good humor dancing around everything. Not so much as to invalidate the seriousness, but enough to generate a definite charm that most other directors would be incapable of producing.

And before going straight to the ranking, I’ll put in a word for what I look to as possibly their most underrated film: 49th Parallel. Scouring the web for reviews and opinions on it, it seems to routinely be dismissed as mere propaganda fluff and just a warm-up to what would come from The Archers in the next few years. There’s no denying its propagandist purposes, but I don’t see this as reason to brush it aside. Many of the greatest films ever made have similar origins (Casablanca, anyone?). Not that I’m ready to anoint 49th Parallel an all-time classic – after all, I place it only at #6 below – but the first half of that film in particular is very strong. It might not manage to maintain that same level for the entire length, but I never tire of watching the camera of cinematographer Freddie Young take in the sweeping Canadian landscapes.

Those top two are unlikely to ever be unseated for me, but A Canterbury Tale pushes close… or perhaps once I get the courage to undertake The Tales of Hoffman, which I purposely have been putting off due to my complete antipathy toward the idea of filming an opera, I’ll be pleasantly surprised!

1. Black Narcissus (1947)
2. The Red Shoes (1948)
3. A Canterbury Tale (1944)
4. A Matter of Life and Death (1946)
5. The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943)
6. 49th Parallel (1941)
7. The Small Back Room (1949)
8. I Know Where I’m Going! (1945)
9. The Thief of Bagdad (1940)
10. Peeping Tom (1960)
11. The Edge of the World (1937)
12. The Spy in Black (1939)
13. One of Our Aircraft is Missing (1942)
14. Contraband (1940)
15. The Battle of the River Plate (1956)

#15: Buster Keaton

- “When we made a picture we ate, slept and dreamed them.”

Although we have had our spats in the blogosphere, this entry in my favorite directors series owes a nod to Wonders in the Dark’s Allan Fish. Before Allan began his epic countdown of his Top 100 films of the silent era, I wasn’t completely in the dark concerning the cinema of Buster Keaton. I was familiar with some of his more well-known features – The General, Sherlock, Jr., Steamboat Bill, Jr. – but as with most of silent cinema, I hadn’t really taken the time to fully delve into the work. The outstanding series at WitD, and the fantastic reviews posted daily by Allan, were the impetus needed. And while still far from being a Keaton expert, I have at least now made my way through his features and a number of shorts, and come to understand what I had been missing by putting off Buster’s work. I was already a fan of Keaton, and even before diving head-first into the rest of his career, felt certain that Sherlock, Jr. was the best silent film I had ever seen. I still stand by that bold declaration, but realize that he has a handful of features that are nearly just as good, along with an array of shorts that are equally as impressive.

Where does one even begin to praise such a titan of cinema? Keaton’s genius for comedy needs no explanation or analysis and I don’t know if I have enough knowledge to do so anyway. But it is still astounding to watch the physical gags and well-choreographed chases that he performed in his greatest films. Keaton has to be considered the first great stuntman of the screen. Even if his routines are not as harrowing or spectacular as they appear – and I don’t know enough about his production methods to say so – the fact that they come across as magnificently as they do speaks to the unmatched physical gifts he displayed in front of the camera. In an era when technology lacked far behind the creativity of many talented directors, Keaton was able to translate his wildly inventive scenarios into believable adventure-comedies. Watching him do things like clinging to the pistons of a charging train, dodging avalanching boulders barreling down on him, or fighting off deep sea creatures truly separates him from any of his contemporaries. Perhaps other comedians of the era were funnier, perhaps there were adventure stories that provided greater thrills (both debatable points), but I have personally never come across someone who combined the attributes as seamlessly as did Buster. In addition to being one of the greatest comedians of cinema, I think a case could be made for him being one of the earliest action stars.

What ultimately made the greatest impression on me is something that longtime fans of Keaton have probably known all along: for all the praise of his comedy and physical skills, his talent as a director is just as impressive. His films are not just plopping a camera down and taking in whatever the star does in front of it. Although Keaton is quoted as saying that he made his films without any scripts or written direction, I find it impossible to believe that there was not considerable planning and forethought given to how something would play out. If everything was purely off the cuff, then it’s even more impressive. Even so, Keaton clearly understood the possibilities that film provides and made great use of them. The celebrated dream sequence in Sherlock, Jr. feels just as fresh in today’s CGI-dominated movie world as it must have in 1924.

Below, I rate the Keaton that I have enjoyed so far. It clearly is not everything that needs to be seen in Buster’s career – I have seen all of the features where Keaton is generally accepted to have been the director and 14 of his shorts. There are plenty of other shorts that I still need to get to and I look forward to them. It should also be noted, that in some of these films (such as Steamboat Bill, Jr., The Cameraman and Spite Marriage) Buster is not credited as director, but it has been generally accepted that he remained the controlling hand. So perhaps it is cheating a little, but most critical analysis and histories accept Buster as being, at the very least, a co-director in these projects.

Features
1. Sherlock Jr. (1924)
2. The Navigator (1924)
3. The General (1927)
4. The Cameraman (1928)
5. Our Hospitality (1923)
6. Seven Chances (1925)
7. Steamboat Bill Jr. (1928)
8. Battling Butler (1926)
9. Go West (1925)
10. College (1927)
11. Three Ages (1923)
12. Spite Marriage (1929)

Shorts
1. The Scarecrow (1920)
2. Neighbors (1920)
3. Cops (1922)
4. The Goat (1921)
5. One Week (1920)
6. Daydreams (1922)
7. The Blacksmith (1922)
8. The Playhouse (1921)
9. The Paleface (1922)
10. The Electric House (1922)
11. The Boat (1921)
12. Hard Luck (1921)
13. The High Sign (1921)
14. Convict 13 (1920)