8. On the Waterfront (1954)

They say that the opposite of love is not hate, its indifference. I don’t think I agree with that because I didn’t really hate “On the Waterfront” but damn was I indifferent to it.

Following the incredible pleasant surprise that was “A Streetcar Named Desire” I had high hopes that Elia Kazan and I were going to have one of those we-are-going-to-get-along-fine-in-spire-of-our-ideological-differences relationships, not unlike the one I have with John Ford or Sammy Hagar. However, much for the same reason I don’t buy into mainstream media or organized religion, I don’t appreciate being preached to- I prefer to have my cinematic morals rammed down my throat in the form of subtle allegory and veiled metaphors.

Almost instantly, the poorly conceived symbolism takes shape. Shots of the wide open Atlantic Ocean are interrupted with a very simple “duh-duh-duh” kind of dark music as the scenery transitions to the dark and depressing waterfront and it’s dark and depressing dockworkers. Without any intelligible words it is clear that one of the laborers, Terry (Marlon Brando) and a man who is clearly a mobster due to his suit and goonish entourage, ironically named Johnny Friendly, are making some sort of shady deal. He leads the gangsters back to his apartment building and directly to a fellow dockworker, Joey, who is planning to testify against Friendly and his crooked union.

The bait Terry uses in order to lure Joey out to his doom is one of Joey’s stray pigeons, a bird the two men share an affinity for and perhaps the worst metaphorical device I’ve ever seen employed in a film. The obvious comparison of honest guys to pigeons, as in “stool pigeons” is silly, tries too hard, and is actually pretty out of place. For Terry to just happen to have a hobby of pigeon collecting while inhabiting a tenement building makes this a completely forced plot device that is clearly only employed to foreshadow Terry’s own character.

The mobsters throw Joey from the roof of the building to a grizzly death. At this point it is firmly established that Terry is the protagonist, as he professes ignorance to the severity of the gang’s intentions and seems genuinely shocked by the outcome. Despite the fact that Terry’s character is supposed to be dumb and easily manipulated, later scenes in the film make it evident that Terry has been working with Friendly and his cohorts for some time in one capacity or another. Hence, he either had a pretty good idea he was basically signing Joey’s death warrant or he is literally the dumbest character in the history of cinema. Sadly, his protagonist tag in this film relies entirely on the latter which I just don’t see.

Joey’s death also serves as a means of introducing other main characters into the narrative. Father Barry (Karl Malden) is the street priest who ministers to the laborers. We’ve seen this character numerous times before (Father Connelly in “Angels with Dirty Faces”) and since (Father Carmine in “Rocky”). Joey’s father and sister Edie (Eva Marie Saint) are also among the spectator/mourners, with Edie eventually (predictably) becoming Terry’s love interest.

“Boys, this is my church! And if you don't think Christ is down here on the waterfront you've got another guess coming!” (Father Barry, “On the Waterfront”)

One positive thing I will say about the film is the transformation of Terry’s character. It is hard to feel sorry for him early on when he is more or less an accessory to murder and even spies on his friends who hold secret meetings with Father Barry with the intention of reporting the rumblings back to Friendly. However, he needs these realistic faults in order to be taken even remotely seriously as a sort of anti-hero protagonist. The feelings he wrestles with when he is torn between his loyalty to friendly and his developing feelings for Edie, which is also probably the closest thing to a healthy interpersonal relationship Terry has given his lack of friends and his unhealthy, almost more parent/child rather than brother/brother allegiance to his brother Charley, who is not only Friendly’s right-hand but also the person most responsible for Terry’s mediocrity in life. Prior to working on the docks, Terry had a promising career as a boxer that Charley ultimately squashed by forcing him to take a dive at the request of Friendly, because every corrupt movie mobster has to be involved in fixing sporting events.

Little by little Friendly begins to lose his grip on Terry- not only because of Terry’s feelings for Edie, but also for his increasingly heavy-handed rule over the docks. He has another potential informant killed by smashing him with a pallet of whiskey in a shipping “accident,” then has his goons harass Father Barry who attempts to perform last rites for the murdered laborer. When Terry takes Father Barry’s side over the thugs, Friendly turns up the heat on Charley, going so far as to pressure him into killing his own brother unless he can convince Terry not to testify against Friendly after he is subpoenaed in Joey’s murder. Charley and Terry’s confrontation in the back of a cab is probably the most famous scene in the movie and also represents Terry finally declaring his independence from both the Union and his brother. His emotional breakdown and unleashing years of pent up aggression towards his brother is entirely reminiscent of Brando’s role in “Streetcar:” in fact almost too reminiscent. The big galoot shows emotion and the other person, this time Charley rather than Stella, goes against their better judgment and submits to him. This decision will end up costing Charley his life, which could be just as heroic as Terry’s decision to testify if given the right spin, but it never is.

The film then begins to play out like a really terrible “Death Wish” sequel, complete with Terry having to endure seeing his brother’s corpse and even having his pigeons killed when he eventually testifies. His decision to turn on Friendly culminates with a showdown on the docks where Terry is beaten within inches of his life by several gangsters after Terry gets the upper hand on Friendly in a one-on-one fight. The severity of Terry’s injuries cannot effectively be conveyed through conventional 1950’s third-person shots, so a point-of-view angle is employed, complete with blur. The shot is very minor but is in many ways a precursor to the technique that would eventually become key to much better movies like “Saving Private Ryan.” Out of respect and solidarity (definitely a literal play on the word “union”) the other longshoremen refuse to go to work unless Terry is hired back on despite his condition. For the lack of a type of subject matter that provides for a “happy” ending, Kazan instead goes with a realistic ending.

I have never let political or ideological differences get in the way of enjoying a movie if it is good *cough*BirthofaNation*cough*, however, I just don’t buy Kazan’s use of film to justify his own stool pigeoning during the McCarthy hearings. Also, unless Arthur Miller hung Elia Kazan’s brother from a meat hook and killed his animals then I don’t buy the self-pitiful comparison either. Perhaps I would be less critical of this film were it not for the fact that, between “The Grapes of Wrath,” “Chinatown” and “A Streetcar Named Desire” I’ve already essentially seen this movie earlier in the list.

9. Schindler's List (1993)

One thing I’ve always respected about Don Henley is the fact that he is known to tell the audience at his concerts “I’m not going to play the songs you want to hear, I’m going to play the songs you need to hear.” People tend to lose sight of the fact that art is every bit as much about presenting one’s world view as it is simply a form of entertainment. “Schindler’s List” is a brutal reminder that not all movies are meant to be “enjoyed” in the conventional sense.

There are some movies that are peppered with symbolism; this one is saturated in it. The opening scene depicts a Jewish family celebrating a traditional Shabbat. The lighting of the candles is the primary focus, as is their eventual burning down and extinguishment- similarly the members of the family dissolve on the screen and fade from view. The obvious metaphor being the fading away of a way of life and attempted extinguishing of an entire people. This introduction does everything it can to prepare the viewer for the fact that this is going to be a very somber viewing experience.

The film-proper begins rather abruptly and harshly with a steam whistle being blown on a transport train. The color disappears and the film suddenly jumps to black and white. There are several artistic justifications for this, to give the film a documentary type feeling, to take the edge off some of the gorier scenes, the visual benefits of the stark contrast that only black and white can provide, what have you. I will always believe the biggest function the black and white serves is to create as ominous an ambiance as possible.

The initial scenes depict the German occupation of Poland in the fall of 1939. When the Polish Jews are rounded up and forced into the major cities for consolidation and documentation purposes, there are slight yet clever visual subtleties that illustrate the low regard the conquerors have for the natives. Crude folding tables are used to set up makeshift clerk’s offices, the captured are shuttled in on run-down cattle cars and the cold, impersonal interaction the soldiers exchange with the Jews furthers the dehumanization process as they are treated more like surplus than people. Several quick cuts of Germans logging names and ever-growing lists are used to depict the staggering number of people being inventoried.

Very deliberately, the narrative jumps to a decadent, opulent party for the Nazi glitterati. Among them is the film’s chief character, Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson) whose prominence is never really discussed, but rather implied, as he is shown hobnobbing with well-dressed businessmen, mobbed by attractive women and even being asked to pose for pictures with decorated military officials. This introduction of Schindler is ingenious for two reasons: it demonstrates his charisma in a practical, believable setting rather than an overblown unrealistic dialogue-driven scenario- thus preserving the flow of the movie’s fly-on-the-wall narrative type. Also, it establishes credibility by not leading the viewer to believe that the man who will become the obvious protagonist is by no means a goody-two-shoes or a “man of the people.”

Inevitably, the two worlds collide as Schindler visits one of the occupied cities. Though he is there to recruit the services of a Jewish accountant, Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley) there is still a well-defined line of morality that Schindler is clearly on the wrong side of. He details his plan to use the all-but-incarcerated Jews as cheap labor in a war-profiteering pots and pans company and explains how he needs Stern’s connections in the Jewish community to provide his startup funds, which he is of course reluctant to do but also realizes that his hands are essentially tied. If done the wrong way, the initiation of Schindler and Stern’s relationship could come across as a hokey “even though my people say I’m supposed to hate you, I respect you and think we could be friends” foreshadowing. However, the only thing that is obvious is Schindler’s self-serving personality and his “reaching out” to Stern and the Jews is entirely mercenary.

Once he is in charge of Schindler’s employee recruitment, Stern, unbeknownst to Schindler, methodically begins to hire employees who are deemed to have otherwise “non-essential” skills. Though it is again only implied, the urgency with which Stern does this (going so far as to forge documents for Jews who held prominent positions before the occupation that proclaim them as grunt-workers) makes it more than evident that the concentration camp system is in full effect. At this point in the film, there is also an essential marriage of music and editing that makes for one of the most intense scenes. Jump cuts go from Stern artificially aging a schoolteacher’s paperwork by folding and pouring tea on it, to the teacher himself being shuffled to a train assumed to be headed to a death camp. The two scenes merge when Stern arrives just in time to rescue the man from the train and present his false documents to the German clerk. The string arrangement goes from understated to dark, to a pulsing repeated note that creates an almost “Jaws” effect in its resemblance to a heightened pulse as the papers are inspected, finally ending with a sweet understated flourish as the man’s job at Schindler’s factory is approved. At no point in this scene are we told that the teacher’s life is in jeopardy, but the total presentation of imagery and music make it obvious.

There is never a missed opportunity to cast a negative reflection of Oskar Schindler in the first half of the film. He is shown to be a womanizer, a slave-wage driver, a borderline alcoholic and completely unrepentant of his corruption. In fact, the introduction of the primary antagonist, Nazi Commandant Amon Goeth (Ralph Fiennes) goes to great lengths to demonstrate the similarities between Schindler and Goeth, a man who would go on to become one of the most heinous war criminals of all time. While a speech given by Goeth ordering the liquidation of the Jewish ghettos and the construction of concentration camps plays in the background, the onscreen focus is on Schindler and Goeth individually performing the same day-to-day tasks and living very similar lifestyles.

The first indication that Schindler is undergoing any kind of character change comes during the actually carrying out of Goeth’s orders. He looks down on the carnage from atop a hill and sees S.S. officers indiscriminately brutalizing everyone from women and children to hospital patients. Amidst a sea of on-the-spot executions the camera pans around in a point-of-view shot from Schindler’s perspective- indicating that the shocking images all sort of blend together for him. The one thing that stands out though is a little girl in a red coat. The artistic importance of only coloring one image in an otherwise entirely black and white scene is to acknowledge recognition. For this one girl to stand out to Schindler, for whatever reason, finally humanizes the people he has been exploiting in his factory. If you need any more evidence that this is clearly the intention, the girl is shown inside a building after she has left Schindler’s field of vision and her coat goes back to black and white- meaning the “color” was only seen by Schindler. There is also some very unsettling foreshadowing as the girl hides under a bed while the sound of approaching Nazi footsteps gets louder.

Though an underlying sense of self-service still exists, Schindler now makes a concerted effort to keep his workforce intact and to be more hands-on in its operations. He bribes Goeth heavily in order to ensure that his workers are kept under his employment and away from Nazi harassment. The bribery becomes elaborate as many of Schindler’s material belongings are shown transferring hands several times eventually leading to workers being released back into Schindler’s custody. The character development taking place during this middle section is among the most compelling and organic you’ll ever see. On one hand, he tells Goeth that the employees are essentially his property- yet he begins learning their names. He unsympathetically tells Stern that he refuses to let his factory be considered a front or a safe-haven, yet he encourages his workers to celebrate the Sabbath. There is much more “grey area” in Schindler as the film progresses- doubtless another justification for the black and white motif.

The figurative noose begins to tighten around Schindler’s enterprise and soon his workers are all on the verge of being transferred to Auschwitz. While meeting with Goeth to discuss the impending end of their arrangement Schindler notices the little girl in the red coat again, this time in a wheelbarrow full of Jewish corpses being incinerated in an effort to conceal the full-blown genocide Goeth has largely initiated. Unable to hide his emotion, he nearly vomits in front of all the Nazi soldiers at the sight of the girl and the realization of what is in store for his own employees.

“Stern, if this factory ever produces a shell that can actually be fired, I will be VERY unhappy.” (Oskar Schindler, “Schindler’s List”)

Finally, nearly 75% of the way through the film, the big character transition in Oskar Schindler occurs. As he says his goodbyes to Stern before running away with his fortune that was made largely on the backs of his Jewish employees, Schindler devises a way he can save a small but significant number of lives. Under the guise of establishing a munitions plant in Czechoslovakia and wanting workers he is familiar with and who have done similar labor for him, Schindler persuades Goeth to sell him back his employees at a rate so inflated it practically costs Schindler his entire fortune.

The climactic scene depicting the compiling of “The List” consists of several time-lapse edits and quick cuts between Schindler and Stern and the paper in Stern’s typewriter. The music swells as the list grows longer and the two men work more frantically. Before long it is very evident that Schindler has extended the list and thus gone deeper into his own pockets than was ever intended.

Schindler is reunited with many of his former male employees but, due to a “clerical error” the Schindler women are all shipped to Auschwitz. Despite the fact that it is nowhere near as gory as some of the earlier scenes where Goeth and his men exterminate people in the streets or in the snow, this particular sequence may be the most disturbing in the film; in part simply because of the stigma attached to the name “Auschwitz” but also because of the sickening dehumanization. A dense, dark rain that can only be the cremated remains of Holocaust victims falls around the women as they are stripped and shaved bald before being marched into a gas chamber. The collective screams from the women as the lights abruptly snap off is absolutely cringe-inducing. In what should be a happy turn of events, the gas chamber turns out to be a community shower and the women are cleansed rather than gassed; however the development only serves as a tame indicator as to the torment that was really suffered.

Once the entire roster is rounded up and sent to Schindler’s “factory,” his self-fulfilling prophecy is realized- his earlier complaints that he does not want his factory to become nothing more than a safe-house come to fruition, as is explained by onscreen text declaring the Schindler munitions factor as “a model of non-production.” Fortuitously, the war ends just as Stern delivers the news that Schindler is completely penniless. At a somber parting ceremony Schindler, for the first time in the movie, breaks from his cool demeanor and hysterically laments at what he perceives to be his failure to save more lives. Stern comforts the sobbing Schindler, reassuring him that he had gone above and beyond. The bittersweet reality of life after the events of the film is shown in epilogue form as text on the screen informs us that Schindler died in poverty and obscurity and that Goeth was tried and hung for his crimes.

More onscreen text informs us that Oskar Schindler was deemed a Righteous Person by the people of Jerusalem and accorded the special honor of burial in the Holy Land. The film jumps both to modern times and full color as the real life Schindler Jews pay tribute to Oskar at his grave. While the 1,100 lives Schindler saved may seem like a drop in the bucket compared to the 6 million who were killed, the final words on the screen remind us that there are now over 6,000 descendants of the Schindler Jews.

Other than the significance of the film itself, there is a lot of artistry in “Schindler’s List” that set it apart from other films that came before. The handheld camera technique that gives certain frames a very dramatic shake effect was used to perfection in this film- Steven Spielberg would revisit this directorial tool again ad-nauseum in “Saving Private Ryan” a few years later. I have also talked about the importance of music to the narrative which is appropriately sad basically throughout the movie. Also, for many of the same reasons I think excessive gore in horror movies actually makes them corny, I have to agree with the decision to keep the body of the film in black and white, given the doubtless accusations of gratuitous violence that would have been leveled against it had many of the more grizzly scenes been filmed in color.

The downsides of this film are few, but they are there. There are several periods of extended dialogue that is done in hushed voices that not only slow the pacing a little bit but also can be hard to understand. Also, the constant need to show Goeth either beating or killing people goes far beyond what is necessary to establish him as a completely abhorrent individual, though from what I understand it is an accurate portrayal of his bloodlust. However, so much evil without any exploration into any other possible facets of his character runs the risk of making him an almost cartoonish villain. Lastly of course it has to be said that, even though they are still VERY disturbing, the scenes depicting the sheer disgustingness of the Holocaust are sanitized and don’t even begin to accurately depict the reality of the situation.

Then again, if you WANT to see any more detail of the Holocaust beyond what is shown, you probably should seek help.

#10. Singin' in the Rain (1952)

“The Jazz Singer” was a pretty good movie. It was kinda racist and it wasn’t very deep in plot. The pacing wasn’t great and the drama is pretty syrupy but it wasn’t bad. Of course the fact that it was the first “talkie” will always define its worth and legacy and that is more than fair. However, I don’t think it is fair that a movie like “Singin’ in the Rain” depends entirely on the existence of “The Jazz Singer” for its plot to work, yet it is ranked 80 spots higher on the AFI 100 List.

Now, to be clear, “Singin’ in the Rain” isn’t a bad movie either. It’s just a musical so I don’t really think of it as a movie. Not because I want to viciously devalue an entire genre, but just because it seems there are certain cinematic elements that are missing in the typical musical, like substantial dialogue, character development and plain believability. Also, it seems the timeline tends to be different, taking place over a short time rather than covering a significant amount of time. Though, to “Singin’ in the Rain”’s credit, it does employ some relatively creative flashback sequences that manage to streamline much of the backstory, particularly during the opening segment.

At an old-time Hollywood premier at Mann’s Chinese Theater, the principal characters are paraded along the red carpet while an emcee tells us everything we need to know about them in their introductions. One of the studio’s contract musicians, Cosmo (Donald O’Connor) gets a very tepid response from the audience which is the first of many indicators that the film will be largely satirical of Hollywood culture. The ones people really want to see are Cosmo’s best friend Don Lockwood (Gene Kelly) and Lina Lamont (Jean Hagen), who he works with so often and so believably that people are sure they are banging in real life (ala Garth & Trisha). There is a cleverly presented “autobiographical” speech Don gives the press about his rise to stardom. As he describes his early life with Cosmo as being that of a child star, the truth of them dancing for nickels in seedy bars is shown in flashback as his narration turns out to be a lie, though the viewer is the only one who sees this. The lies pile up as he exaggerates their saloon musical acts and corny slapstick shows as “fine symphonic halls” and prestigious artistic training: all of this an obvious reference to the façade that the film industry puts on everything.

More significant to the plot (as well as providing an interesting perspective as to exactly how long this type of thing has been happening) is the revelation through further flashbacks that Don and Lina’s relationship has been manufactured by the studio and fed to the media for publicity. Every effort is made to indicate to us exactly why Lina is nothing short of completely unlovable as she throws a backstage diva-esque tantrum, talks herself up to megalomaniacal proportions and has a squeaky, crude voice on top of it all. Also, one of the most telling aspects of her character comes when we see her utter disinterest in Don years earlier until she overhears him being offered a well-paying movie contract.

While on their way to a post-party Don and Cosmo’s car breaks down and Don is mobbed by fans. In his effort to escape a rather absurd scene unfolds which not only serves the purpose of storyline convenience but also rubs our noses in the fact that we are watching Gene Kelly. Much the same way as the dance around his tiny apartment in “An American in Paris” is shown, a totally unrealistic sequence where Don dances atop a cable car and jumps into a convertible occurs seemingly for no other reason than to remind us how great a dancer Gene Kelly was. The car he lands in is driven by a wannabe theater actress named Kathy (Debbie Reynolds) who immediately begins shrieking and accusing him of being a criminal. After the confusion is cleared up the two bicker about the legitimacy of their respective artistic endeavors; which of course in old timey movie clichés means they are already in love with each other.

At the post party, another unorthodox but at least unique tactic is used. The antagonist is finally introduced but it is not a character, but a technological advancement. The host of the party shows a demonstration of a “talkie” which everyone immediately dismisses. The attendees discuss the inevitable failure of Al Jolson’s “The Jazz Singer” which of course foreshadows the grim future of their industry. In the very next scene we learn that “The Jazz Singer” is the biggest thing to hit the cinematic world and all of Hollywood is scrambling to make the transition to sound. Despite the fact that the truth was much more complicated and there was much more resistance to the sound transition, I admire the attempt to tell the story using true events.

“Lina. She can’t act, she can’t sing, she can’t dance. A triple-threat!” (Cosmo Brown, “Singin’ in the Rain”)

Since Hollywood is apparently a small town, Don and Kathy wind up working together at Monument Studios, which allows their inevitable relationship to blossom. Though it is contrived and predictable, their courtship yields two of the most memorable scenes in the movie. The famous and oft-referenced scene of Gene Kelly dancing down a rainy street singing the title track while splashing around and swinging on a lamppost is the most obvious but for artistic purposes I actually prefer an earlier number that takes place on a soundstage between them. In another jab at the artificialness of the movies, Don is able to “create” the perfect scenario for them to fall in love- a spotlight moon, a summer breeze courtesy of an industrial fan and a gorgeous view that is just a painted backdrop. This scene’s excessive cheese is outshined by its sheer creativity.

The studio’s first attempt to make a talkie with the pairing of Don and Lina is a joke largely because of her penile-shriveling voice. Test audiences laugh at all the wrong things and it becomes clear that Lina is a liability to the movie. However, they are too close to the end of production to pull the plug. Cosmo, Kathy and Don conspire to try and salvage what they can of the project when they decide to turn the movie into a musical, that way Cosmo’s composing and Don’s singing and dancing can carry it and Kathy’s voice can be dubbed in over Lina’s after filming.

Their deception works all the way up to and after the film’s premier, which is received warmly. Unfortunately for Lina, the crowd is so impressed with “her” singing that they demand she perform an impromptu encore. Kathy is forced to sing for Lina again, this time from backstage. Driven by hatred for Lina and love for Kathy, Don raises the curtain and exposes Lina for the fraud she is and everyone who deserves to lives happily ever after.

This film does still suffer from many of the same setbacks I mentioned earlier that most musicals suffer from- the lack of seriousness and depth, the minimal timeline and the confined sets. However it does still have many things going for it; the unconventional conflict of films vs films, the vastly underrated talents of Donald O’Connor, the clever satire and the well thought out costume designs which reflect the characters they belong to (Lina’s are loud and obnoxious, Don’s are refined and classy, Cosmo’s often have silly patterns etc). However, for me personally, the one thing I appreciate above all is the fact that “Singin’ in the Rain” does not have to be jaded or mean-spirited in its assault on Hollywood. It is good natured and kind of light-punch-on-the-knee in its criticism of L.A.

And nobody fucks with L.A. on my watch…

#11. It's a Wonderful Life (1946)

There may not be more “iconic” Christmas movies than “It’s a Wonderful Life” but there are better ones; “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,” “A Christmas Story,” “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians,” “Gremlins,” there’s a Christmas scene in “Rocky V.” Yes, I am going to facetiously mention every movie that even references Christmas as being a better Christmas movie than “It’s a Wonderful Life” to illustrate the point that I did not enjoy this film very much. Yes, I admit that it is partially because I just don’t go for the overly sappy stuff, but it is much more than that.

In previous Frank Capra films on this list I have complained about a tendency to force morality and idealism down our throats- in this movie he flat-out assaults us with these principles. In order to buy “It’s a Wonderful Life” you have to buy the ideology that is at the heart of the film. Guardian angels, the difference between forgivable and unforgivable sins and the whole “if you kill a butterfly in the past it alters the course of the future” theory are all key elements to the storyline in this farce of a movie that really does nothing more than spend two hours downplaying the seriousness of suicide and the circumstances that drive people to such desperation.

From the very first scene I thought I was playing the world’s worst version of “Asteroids” as some crappily animated stars (meant to represent Holy spirits) discuss the plight of George Bailey (James Stewart) who is about to “throw away God’s greatest gift.” The allegorical religious beings decide to appoint a Guardian Angel to George. It seems Heaven is short-staffed because the only warm body they have available is a blundering, sweet-but-stupid low-ranking angel (because apparently Heaven is also a class-based society) named Clarence (Henry Travers). The deal is that if Clarence can prevent George from committing suicide, he will get his wings and become a full-fledged angel.

In order to explain how George got to this point, and of course to introduce the backstory, the narrative extemporaneously kicks into a flashback mode. Essentially we are given example after example of how life took a shit on George Bailey. He nearly dies as a young boy rescuing his brother Harry from drowning in a frozen pond, loses the hearing in one of his ears as a result, ends up working for a drunken pharmacist who slaps him around (*point of clarification; I can only confirm that the pharmacist actually drinks one time when he finds out his son is dead, but I am assuming that since he had the alcohol right there and hit the bottle as soon as he got the bad news then there is probably some semblance of dependency) and gets repeatedly screwed over by Harry.

In something of an insult to the intelligence of the viewer, when Jimmy Stewart first appears onscreen, we are expected to believe that 40 year old Jimmy Stewart is 21 year old George- crackly old voice and all. George is supposedly getting ready to take a long trip to Europe before coming back to go to college, which he has had to put off for years while he waits for Harry to graduate high school and take over George’s job in the family business, the Bailey Brothers Savings and Loan. This entire segment takes up a huge chunk of the film but still encompasses a very short period of time and in the process introduces far too many characters and plot devices to be believable- as it represents just too many major events all at once. At Harry’s graduation party George reconnects with Mary (Donna Reed) which was very predictably foreshadowed at the beginning of the film when she tells him she will marry him someday when they are very young, There is a great deal of excitement as George prepares for his trip, enters a dance contest with Mary, seemingly begins to fall in love with her as he promises to give her anything she wants- all the while various schoolmates of George and Harry are paraded through the storyline AND George’s father has a fatal stroke… all in the same night.

It is somewhere around this point in the film where you realize that George is just an unrealistically “good” guy. I am not one of those people who believes that everyone is in their present circumstances because of poor decision making or that a certain degree of self-sacrifice is not a good thing, but the position George is guilted into following his father’s death are just too much to take. He gives up his dream of traveling to take over the family business, despite the fact that his uncle, the other Bailey Brother would be the logical successor, but this idea is dismissed as he is just too old and simple. George not only allows Harry to take advantage of him by suddenly deciding to go to college, again with the empty promise of taking over in another four years, but George even gives him the money that was to be used for his trip to Europe. In fact the more I think about it the more I think Harry just plain hustled George from beginning to end.

George’s selflessness again becomes his undoing when he devotes himself to his father’s vision of establishing an affordable housing project- at great personal expense when he finds himself fighting an uphill battle against the bank’s majority shareholder Mr. Potter (Lionel Barrymore) who is the most unconvincing, cartoonish villain I’ve ever seen. As an obvious knock-off of Ebenezer Scrooge, Potter is obsessed with having a monopoly on all the financial institutions in their town, Bedford Falls, so that he can essentially be a high interest loan shark and eventually turn the town into a second Las Vegas. There is no complexity to Potter, nor is any reason given for his evil, thus we are just supposed to assume it is inherent, making him a very one-dimensional and unserviceable antagonist.

As the movie jumps ahead yet again George rolls over once more for Harry by allowing him to welch on his promise yet again to take a job working for his new wife’s father. Mary has just come back from college and we are to assume her and George have not seen each other since the fateful night of the dance contest/graduation party/death of his father/night they fell in love. Partially out of frustration with his circumstances, partially because he hears she has other potential suitors and partially for inexplicable reasons, George is very cold to Mary when he goes to see her, despite the fact that she clearly has been carrying a torch for him (this is depicted very well and is one of the only true ‘highlights’ of the film) as evidenced by Mary’s needlepoint of George lassoing the moon (a reference to the conversation where he promised her anything) and her putting on a record of “Buffalo Gals” which they danced to that same night. In fact it takes a fit of jealousy when another man calls for Mary to make George give into his feelings for her, which sets the stage for a theme that will recur throughout the movie; George being a bipolar dick to Mary.

“You call this a happy family? Why do we have to have all these kids?” (George Bailey “It’s a Wonderful Life”)

George and Mary finally cut through the bullshit and get married and while on their way out of town for their honeymoon they see a potential riot in the making outside Bailey Brothers. In what is implied to be the stock market crash or something similar, there is a run on the banks and all the townspeople want to withdraw their money and essentially clean out the bank. George then does some guilt tripping of his own by reminding them that he and his family got them into their homes and ultimately gives away all of his and Mary’s honeymoon money to the customers in order to cover their bare necessities and prevent the bank from being rupt. In what I’m sure was supposed to be viewed as a real stand up and cheer moment cementing George as a cinematic hero, I am ultimately left shaking my head at this scene and muttering “chump.” Not because he goes above and beyond the call of good heartedness, but because his anger and frustration at the state of his life later in the film, and the way he angrily takes it out on his family make you just want to strangle him and tell him to stop being so damn accommodating and grow a pair of testicles.

The principal conflict of the film arises when George’s uncle Billy loses an $8,000 cash deposit which again threatens to close the bank once and for all. Not only is Billy irresponsible and completely incapable of having any sort of managerial authority anyway, he loses the money in the most despicable of ways; by accidentally giving it to Mr. Potter when he stops to have a conversation with him that he shouldn’t even be having but decides he wants to gloat about Harry Bailey winning the Medal of Honor in World War II; yep, yet another disorganized time jump and yet another endeavor Harry engages in while his poor doormat of a brother slaves away at the bank. This sets the stage for both the final calamity George can take before deciding to kill himself, but also one of the biggest plot holes I’ve ever seen in any movie anywhere; the fact that Potter more or less stole the money is never explored again- not even just that there are no legal repercussions, but that the Baileys never go after him for stealing it.

George goes home, savagely berates his whole family, gets drunk, decides he is worth more dead than alive and that he will just kill himself and let Mary collect his life insurance (I guess they still paid out for suicide in 1946). With no real warning the movie is apparently not in flashback mode anymore, as Clarence appears on the bridge George wants to jump off to kill himself and saves him. As Clarence explains the whole guardian angel thing to a skeptical George, it becomes clear that Clarence can only convince him by showing him what his life would be like if he had never been born. To ensure that they rip off “A Christmas Carol” sufficiently, there is a whole “ghost of Christmas past/future” motif going on as George is shown how bad off everyone would be without him. Bedford Falls is called Pottersville, everyone is either a drunk or a streetwalker, all the businesses are seedy, people are homeless and Mary is inexplicably homely and unmarried.

George decides he has everything to live for and goes back home just in time to find out the citizens of Bedford Falls have heard about his situation and all pooled their resources together to give Bailey Brothers the first comprehensive bank bailout. Because George realizes his life is so great and he suddenly stops hating his family and his life, Clarence is awarded his wings and everyone lives happily ever after… I have a lot of problems with this.

1) If all these people have known George was in financial peril all this time but didn’t want to kick down any money to help him out until he is about to kill himself then there is no good reason why they couldn’t/shouldn’t have helped him out sooner.

2) Is it even legal to float your bank with money your friends gave you once an auditor has gone through the books, determined there was negligence and is on the verge of shutting you down and arresting you for bank fraud? What is the FDIC’s take on this?

3) Why is this considered such a happy ending? Once George pays back the $8,000 he will still have to constantly be struggling to stay afloat and battling it out with Potter who has seemingly endless resources.

4) I’ve said it before, but how is this ending remotely satisfying if the main antagonist, especially one who has practically single-handedly driven the protagonist to suicide receives no comeuppance whatsoever? I’m not saying they had to kill Potter or have him go to jail for theft and be relentlessly ass-raped by a cellmate who it turns out is someone he has wronged in the past, but he should at least be stonewalled for good by the other shareholders in the bank who all unanimously love George.

5) How is someone who is enfeebled as Uncle Billy still allowed to work in the bank in the capacity he does? He is such a liability that he should just be paid his salary to stay in a retirement home instead of being allowed to run the bank’s day-to-day operations with his sophisticated string-on-a-finger filing system.

6) Does being a charitable person really excuse being an abusive husband and father? I think not. Way to pick and choose your morals Frank Capra.

7) Is Heaven such a fucked up place that angels are playing high-stakes games of roulette with people’s lives and hanging wings over other angel’s heads to get them to do God’s work? Fuck Heaven.

I know this stuff can all be explained away by the simple phrase “it’s just a movie,” but should we really have to settle for that? Especially in what is considered by at least one body of legitimacy to be the 11th greatest movie of all time? And does the fact that the movie oozes sentiment, morality and exploits primal emotional reactions really make up for the fact that it is just a badly made movie? Between the horribly animated beginning, the unsatisfactory ending, the poor character development, inconsistent pacing, hole-laden plot, reliance on one specific religious manifesto as fact for the story to even be serviceable and the fact that it goes from a flashback, past-tense format to a third-person omniscient, present-tense narrative without skipping a beat- I have no doubt that this film would have gotten an F in any filmmaking class.

#12. Sunset Boulevard (1950)

Whenever I tell people how much I love Hollywood and how L.A. is one of my favorite places to visit, they always roll their eyes and assume that I love the façade of L.A. They insist that if I REALLY knew L.A. I would hate the place. The fact of the matter is, I know and love both sides of L.A.; the glamorized, idealistic version you see on “The Hills” and hear about in Beach Boys songs as well as the shady, dark version you see in “L.A. Confidential” and hear about in Eagles songs. I love everything about that place; going to the Hollywood Bowl, eating from taco trucks on Wilshire, enjoying the beaches and marinas and going to every seedy souvenir stand along the Walk of Fame. Likely because of the fact that it depicts both versions of L.A. “Sunset Boulevard” is probably my all time favorite movie. Well that and because it finds a lot of humor in dark places.

In a very wonderful way, “Sunset Boulevard” is also an unorthodox movie. The opening title card is a painted curb of the street the film takes its name from, despite the imagery of opulent houses and sunny L.A. outdoor shots, the musical introduction is ominous and gloomy. After the credits the film then employs a bizarre post-mortem voice-over which sets up a flashback narration (not unlike another Billy Wilder-directed film “Double Indemnity”). From the snide tone of the voiceover as well as the sarcastic comments, it is evident that the narrator referring to the dead man floating in a pool is himself, meaning that they have essentially spoiled the ending for us. It is a risky revelation but it works simply because of the absurd circumstances under which we get from point A to point B.

As the story progresses, the narrator confesses that he is the film’s principal character, Joe Gillis (William Holden) a self-professed B-movie writer. Joe spends the early scenes of the film eluding a pair of repo men who are after his car, a result of his lack of recent work. He eventually winds up at Paramount studios attempting to hock a terrible sounding baseball movie that is so bad it is even criticized by one of the young staff script readers Betty Schaefer (Nancy Olson). After being practically laughed out of the Paramount offices and being turned down for a loan by his agent, Joe resigns himself to the possibility of returning home to Ohio to his newspaper job (the first of many references to the seductive nature of the illusion of Hollywood).

While contemplating his next move Joe sees the repo men at a red light- resulting in a low-speed chase through the residential neighborhoods just outside Hollywood. Joe finds a safe hideout in a seemingly abandoned mansion on 10086 Sunset Blvd. The house is actually a metaphor for old-Hollywood and specifically its owner Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson), a long-forgotten actress from the silent film era. Both are shells of their former selves, both have faded in their outward appearance but continue to keep up a decadent front and both are tragically lonely and isolated- the house geographically, Norma mentally and emotionally. In many ways, the house is a character unto itself, hence the importance of the film’s title.

Norma’s creepy German valet Max (Erich Von Stroheim) mistakes Joe for the animal undertaker they are waiting on. From here on the film gets pretty weird and progressively gets even weirder. I feel like at this point it would be totally cliché to refer to Norma Desmond as “eccentric,” because she is more like batshit crazy and her elaborate funeral for a dead chimpanzee is merely the tip of the iceberg. Once Joe straightens out the case of mistaken identity and Norma discovers he is a screenwriter she reveals she still has use for him even though he isn’t the monkey mortician. In an effort to stage a delusional return to the screen, Norma has been working on a script to be built around her but needs a professional writer to help her finish the job. Her motives are quite transparent given the fact that she refuses to let Joe leave her home and even insists on moving him in with her- all of which he is basically forced into agreeing to given his circumstances.

Before long Norma has paid off Joe’s creditors (with the exception of the people repossessing his car- in fact it is implied that she tipped them off to its location so as to take away any means Joe has of leaving) and essentially becomes his benefactor. His immediate discomfort is evident, especially considering that everyone seems to think he is a male prostitute working for Norma- and she does nothing to dispel this suspicion. Perhaps the most compelling aspect of this movie’s storyline is the complexity of Norma’s character. Though she is a sociopath and a control freak, she is also a very sympathetic character given the obvious abundance of mental illnesses she suffers from. Her desperate fear of loneliness, severe insecurity, numerous suicide attempts, refusal to live in the present and fragile emotional state don’t excuse, but at least explain her insane behavior.

Another interesting element to the plot is that there is no clear-cut protagonist, at least not in the sense of a character who has more positive qualities than negative. Norma is manipulative and narcissistic, Joe uses Norma and continues to accept payment for working on her script despite his knowledge that it will fail and even begins a relationship with his only real friend’s fiancé, who happens to be Betty, the Paramount script reader from the beginning of the film, who would probably qualify as the “good” person in the scenario were it not for the fact that she pursues Joe aggressively while her fiancé is out of state for work. Additionally, she is also using Joe for his writing ability as the two are working on their own script separate from the one he is helping Norma with- meaning he is being exploited by both a poor young girl as well as a rich old woman because he allows himself to be.

“There is nothing tragic about being 50. Unless you’re trying to be 25!” (Joe Gillis, “Sunset Boulevard”)

The most amazing, surreal and artistic segment of the whole film comes when Norma makes her “triumphant” return to the Paramount Studios. Cecil B. DeMille plays himself in a cameo as the movie transitions into a quasi-documentary, showing the behind-the-scenes workings of a film set and art begins to oddly imitate life; DeMille is directing a film, a non-fictional studio is the set, Gloria Swanson, herself a huge actress from the silent era who was unable to transition with the advent of talkies reminiscing about the golden era of Hollywood. The movie-within-a-movie as well as the brilliant effects integrated by the presence of the motion picture equipment push the film’s creativity over the top. The metaphor of fame and the fickle nature of the public is illustrated when Norma sits in a director’s chair and the lighting tech shines a spotlight on her- causing all the actors and stagehands to flock to her, fawning about how it is “the great Norma Desmond.” However, once DeMille orders the crew back to work the spotlight moves off Norma and she is again abandoned by all the hangers-on. To add insult to injury, the reason DeMille’s people invited Norma to the studio was because they wanted to rent her car for a film and not because they are interested in her script like she thinks.

The inevitable crumbling of the primary characters’ lives is a monumental one. Norma discovers that Paramount has no interest in her script, the 17,000 fan letters a day she got are all sent by Max, who is revealed to be not only her manservant but her ex-husband and the director who discovered her, and that Joe is in love with Betty. Betty discovers that Joe has been living with Norma as a gigolo, mainly because Joe tells her in an effort to ensure she breaks up with him as he has decided she is too good for him and all the baggage he comes with. Joe, as we all know from the beginning, gets shot to death by Norma in a jealous rage.

When the police come to arrest Norma, her final delusion plays out. Given the gossip-value of the story of a B-movie screenwriter being murdered by a former A-lister in a creepy old mansion, the tabloid photographers and news stations all show up for the circus. Her fragile mental state, exacerbated by her nervous breakdown after killing Joe, leads her to believe that the cameras are there to film her big return to cinema. She eerily descends the stairs of her home to the waiting authorities and newsmen and utters the famous “Alright Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my closeup” line as the focus turns blurry, giving us a glimpse into the hazy, dreamlike state her life has descended into. In a very dark and tragic way, Norma has her “happy ending” as she is clearly not cognizant of what is actually happening and likely never will be. Ultimately though, the four most prominent characters all meet grim fates that have since come to be recognized as stereotypical worst-case scenarios of what happens to people who come to Hollywood with idealist dreams; Joe dies, Norma goes insane, Betty has her heart broken and Max has no identity of his own.

However, as cynical and jaded as the story is on the surface, in many ways “Sunset Boulevard” still glamorizes the Hollywood life. Despite their tragic fates, all the main characters touch their dream in some way or another and find varying levels of success. Also, a glimpse into the palatial interior of Norma’s home does nothing but encourage people to repeat the cycle and keep pursuing a career in the motion picture industry. And let’s face it, is a major motion picture released by a major studio REALLY going to bury the motion picture industry THAT severely? Come on now.

#13. The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)

Don’t let the fact that I watch The History Channel a lot fool you into thinking I am some kind of intellectual. I am not really learning much because I’m usually watching “American Pickers” or “Pawn Stars” rather than the month-long specials devoted to World War II. One of the benefits of not being a history buff is the fact that I can watch movies like “The Bridge on the River Kwai” and not have to worry about how much the story has or has not veered off from real events when being set during actual historical events. I know the basics of World War II and not much in depth about the treatment of British POWs in Japanese work camps. Ergo, I can take a piece of maybe/maybe not history like this film and just be able to enjoy it as entertainment.

I have found that a David Lean directed film typically means big production, lots of outdoor filming and elaborate cinematography and this one is no exception. Everything from the wide-screen presentation to the huge wide-Latin font reminiscent of an old-west Wanted poster is indicative of the scope of this film. The opening shot is a point-of-view shot looking upward at a hawk in the sky with a grainy, almost low-quality effect. The more I think about it the more I think the grittiness of the shot is quite intentional given the prison-camp setting that is revealed. Almost as if to imply that the concept of freedom (often represented by flight) is somehow out of focus to the subjects of the film. The most amazing thing about the opening credits is that the scenery is so visually pleasing despite the fact that the actually images are pretty grisly; makeshift cemeteries, slave laborers working at gunpoint etc.

The action jumps back and forth between a company of new prisoners marching to the camp, led by their Commander Col. Nicholson (Alec Guinness) and a cynical American POW named Shears (William Holden) digging graves for fallen allies. At one point Shears delivers a deeply sarcastic eulogy laced with antiwar sentiment. While this may largely be viewed as simply a cinematic device to establish him as a fringe rebel or a jaded antihero, it is actually an incredibly accurate portrayal of the average grunt and the use of gallows humor as a coping mechanism.

“Here lies Corporal Herbert Thompson, serial number 01234567, valiant member of the King's own, and Queen's own, or something, who died of beriberi in the year of our Lord 1943. For the greater glory of… what did he die for? I don't mock the grave or the man. May he rest in peace. He found little enough of it while he was alive.” (Commander Shears, ‘The Bridge on the River Kwai’)

Despite being defeated and disheartened, the British troops led by Nicholson march into the camp in perfect formation while cheerfully whistling the “Colonel Bogey March” in an effort to psyche out their captors. The Japanese Colonel in charge of the camp is unfazed however and informs the company that they will be used as laborers building a rail bridge over the river Kwai, which will serve as a main supply line for the Japanese military, thus in essence meaning they will be contributing to the war effort, but for the wrong side. Nicholson is defiant to the opposing Colonel, even going so far as to remind him of Geneva Convention regulations forbidding officers being used for hard labor.

The clash in leadership between the Japanese Commander Saito and Nicholson illustrates how both men are warriors in their own right despite their stark differences in attitude. Saito speaks of the Bushido way while Nicholson continues to insist that officers do not work side-by-side with enlisted men. At first glance it appears as if his attitude is class-based, however as Nicholson’s character develops both in his confrontations with Saito as well as dialogue he exchanges with Shears, it is evident that Nicholson is from the old school of military leadership. In other words, you got to be an officer because if the things you have endured and lived through, not because of ROTC and social status prior to enlistment.

Perhaps nowhere is this trait more evident than when Nicholson defies Saito’s work orders by standing in formation under the blistering sun for an entire work day while the enlisted men work on the bridge. Despite the fact that the physical toll is more demanding than if they had chosen to work on the bridge, Nicholson’s officers follow his lead completely. This action also serves as a means of conveying how well respected Nicholson is given the fact that Saito has at this point demonstrated a willingness to physically abuse prisoners, having beaten Nicholson bloody with a copy of the Geneva Convention. Doubtless the officers all understand or at least suspect that they will be beaten or tortured in some form or another.

I love the subtle nature in which the various abuses Nicholson suffers are illustrated throughout the picture. At one point he goes into Saito’s quarters and exits being supported by two Japanese soldiers, unable to stand or walk of his own free will. Another horrendous punishment he endures is being locked into what is referred to as “the oven,” essentially a tightly enclosed metal structure left in the direct sunlight. While it is easy to imagine the severity of this torture, this film does not opt for the shock-value factor, instead the viewer’s imagination is the only limit as to what might have happened to him when he was out of sight.

The compelling parallel plot involves Shears managing to escape the prison camp amidst all the excitement of the Nicholson/Saito conflict. His plight is also depicted in through understated means; continually increasing facial hair, impatient stalking by buzzards who seem to sense his death is imminent and so forth. Fortunately for Shears he does manage to collapse right into a friendly village where he is cared for, however his arrival at the village cinematically leaves something to be desired. Images of the shadows of the overhead buzzards begin to intercut with a sort of avian creature-themed kite that is being flown by one of the children in the village. Of course the “surprise” here is that Shears fears he is on death’s door but instead the village represents a sort of salvation, thought the effectiveness of the scene is entirely diminished by the loud and gaudy appearance of the kite. Since it is so obviously either a toy or a result of an LSD like experiment, the suspense is all but diminished for the viewer before it is supposed to be.

After many sessions of tense negotiation, Saito finally gives in to Nicholson’s demands and grants amnesty to the officers, in turn Nicholson inexplicably becomes an advocate of building the bridge; perhaps because he is suffering from some sort of Stockholm Syndrome or because he is sympathetic to Saito’s situation, in which he must kill himself if the bridge is not completed on schedule. For whatever reason though Nicholson presses his men to stop sabotaging the project and build the bridge to specs and beyond.

Conversely, a newly recovered Shears is recruited to join a team tasked with destroying the bridge, to which he reluctantly agrees- setting him and Nicholson up for a fateful reunion that is sure to end badly, which it does. The bridge is blown up, but in the most unsatisfying way; with Shears and Nicholson both dying in the process; in fact it is only in his last moment of life that Nicholson realizes how much he has betrayed his own cause. His final act of redemption is bittersweet and not at all characteristic of the heroism he displays early in the film. In spite of it all though, the much anticipated destruction of the bridge itself does pay off handsomely for the viewer, as the explosion is both climactic and completely convincing.

I wish I could say that there are no wasted shots in this movie and that every single scene is necessary but I simply can’t. The runtime is relatively reasonable given the epic scope, but as with previous David Lean works, there is a significant amount of self indulgence that goes into this picture. Still, it is by no means a waste of time; the cinematography is top-notch, the acting, while a little corny in some of William Holden’s scenes is still quite superior. Alec Guinness does not stray too far from his generally dry and proper delivery, which suits the role of a British military superior perfectly. At one point during a negotiation with Saito his matter-of-fact delivery even provides some comedic results, for instance his simple, almost careless retort of “I haven’t the foggiest” when Saito asks Nicholson if he is aware of the gravity of Saito’s position.

The most unique element of the movie though is the way it is able to walk the line between anti-war and pro-war. In most cases a film discussing war is either too preachy on one side or the other (say “Patton” is in the red corner while “All Quiet on the Western Front” fights out of the blue corner). The same way the depths of opposing characters are explored, this film does not seem to take on the viewpoint of just one character- thus allowing for a more all-encompassing depiction of war. It is no small feat to center a film around war and not alienate anyone, and “The Bridge on the River Kwai” does this excellently.

#14. Some Like it Hot (1959)

The thing about humor is that it is SO subjective.

I will never understand what people see in the character Adam Sandler plays in pretty much every movie, but I’m pretty ok with the incessant typecasting of Steve Carrell. I think the physical humor of “Jackass” is low-brow and brainless, but I think Buster Keaton was a genius. I won’t even acknowledge Monty Python’s existence, but their Canadian contemporary “The Kids in the Hall” can make me laugh til I cry. Understand that when I criticize “Some Like it Hot” it is not that I think it is a poorly made movie, it is simply that it is not my kind of humor in any way, shape or form: which, when you are talking about a comedy, kind of hinders one’s ability to enjoy the film as a whole.

Like all good drag comedies, this film begins with a police shootout. Some are rumrunners posing as undertakers transporting a hearse full of liquor through Prohibition-Era Chicago. In the typical dark Billy Wilder directorial style, the casket inside starts “bleeding” after it is filled with bullets, only to have the lid lifted to reveal bottles of alcohol instead of a corpse- and that’s how we discover the front. In fact the funeral parlor they drive to is a cover- classic 1920’s speakeasy, complete with gambling, drinking and musicians; specifically Joe (Tony Curtis) and Jerry (Jack Lemmon) who just started working there and, when the club is raided, abruptly stop working there.

Attempts to secure other jobs are fruitless so they accept a one-off gig playing a Valentine’s Day dance. Unfortunately they never make it because they end up stumbling into what is heavily implied to be the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, which they barely escape with their lives- first by not being shot in the crossfire, then by not being killed by the mobsters for witnessing the act. In the days before a comprehensive witness protection program, their only option is to accept a job in Florida, where an all-female revue happens to be in need of a bassist and sax player; the instruments the two coincidentally play! The precision with which the Massacre scene is filmed could pass as a legitimate gangster movie, meaning that this is likely one of the earliest forays into spoof comedy. So yeah, thanks a lot for “Spaceballs” Billy Wilder… dick.

Apparently it is easy to pass for a woman because with little-to-no time to prepare Joe and Jerry are transformed into Josephine and Daphne; the two ugliest women you ever saw. Despite not even being able to walk right in high heels they fool everyone in their traveling caravan; from the house mother to the ukulele player/singer Sugar (Marilyn Monroe) who Joe winds up falling in love with; at first it appears as though Jerry will be the love interest because he has a little back-and-forth with her in one of the sleeping carts when they first meet, but it doesn’t go much further than this.

“I don't care how rich he is, as long as he has a yacht, his own private railroad car, and his own toothpaste.” (Sugar, “Some Like it Hot”)

Once in Florida things go terribly awry when a millionaire named Osgood (Joe E. Brown) falls in love with Jerry in his Daphne persona. The absurdity reaches a new level when Jerry begins to entertain the notion of marrying Osgood and abruptly divorcing him for a big settlement. To complicate matters even further Joe constantly struggles to find the right time to tell Sugar the truth about him and Jerry so that he can reveal his true feelings for her that he has managed to develop in a remarkably short amount of time. And of course the icing on the cake is that the mobsters from Chicago come to the exact same hotel in Florida where they are staying- so there’s that to deal with too. Despite the fact that Sugar has basically gotten to know Joe under false pretenses, she ignores all of this and professes also being in love with him once he reveals the truth, so they can live happily ever after. Osgood also sticks to his guns in his resolve to be with “Daphne,” so much so that he is hilariously unflinching when he finds out she’s a man at the end of the movie.

In many ways “Some Like it Hot” is essentially the source material for “Tootsie.” Men are forced to disguise themselves as women due to a lack of work in the entertainment field, fall in love with women they work with who see them as confidants and fight off the amorous advances of smitten men, all the while wrestling with their consciences. The female leads are both emotionally vulnerable and insultingly portrayed as women who, while maintaining a profession, are ultimately not that bright; though Jessica Lange acts circles around Marilyn Monroe- which does not appear to be much of a task.

However, there are two fundamental differences between these two films: “Some Like it Hot” takes a much edgier approach with so much sexual innuendo you would think it was made in the era of “Porky’s” or “Stripes.” While I applaud the courage that must have taken in the 1950’s, this approach is used ad nauseum, which makes watching this movie feel more like a 2 hour shift with that boss who sexually harasses all the female employees and less like an enjoyable film watching experience. Meanwhile, “Tootsie” WAS made in the era of “Porky’s” and “Stripes” and handled almost the exact same subject matter much more intelligently (as intelligent as a movie about a man lying to women who trust him can be) and more humanly. Most significantly, there is a transition; an actual development into the female persona.

The second disadvantageous difference in “Some Like it Hot” is the presence of Jack Lemmon. His hammy overacting and overall skeevieness have the same detrimental effect on this film as they did “The Apartment.” I know there are some people who consider Lemmon to be a comedic genius, so I will again refer back to my earlier statement about comedy being subjective, probably more so than any other genre of entertainment.

#15 Star Wars (1977)

People who didn’t know me back in the day have no idea how deep my “Star Wars” obsession ran. Action figures, posters, dioramas that I commissioned from people with better woodworking skills than me, a life-size Princess Leia in the gold bikini… I was a grade-A dork when it came to “Star Wars.” Which of course makes this blog incredibly difficult to write for two reasons:

1) It is hard to analyze it in any way that I see as fresh or unique

2) When you get right down to it, it’s not a very good movie

But, I will do what I can for the sake of art.

First off, we can’t discuss “Star Wars” without acknowledging that there is an incredibly deep and convoluted world that George Lucas created in his quest to be thorough with these films. 99% of that content never makes it into a “Star Wars” film. Because of this I cannot simply excuse or explain away certain shortcomings this movie has by saying “they explain it better in the book.” A good film adaptation should ALWAYS assume you haven’t read the source materials; especially when said source materials aren’t novels or even comic books but rather a bunch of technical manuals and graphic novels that came out years later.

A lavishly arranged orchestral arrangement (which will be crucial to the film’s entire feel) opens the movie, followed by scrolling text explaining the backstory for the audience. It is done in a descending font that looks almost 3D and seems to disappear into space as the words progress. This is a very interesting and apropos effect given the intergalactic setting of this film, however it is evident that this is just the first of many tactics this film employs simply for what the guys on “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” would have referred to as “wow factor.” I’m not saying this to be jaded and critical, I’m saying it because everything that is explained in the 3 paragraphs of introduction are discussed at various points later in the movie. You could literally lift this introduction out altogether and not be any more or less confused than you are watching it in its true form. In fact, the introduction probably confused more people than it ever helped understand it given the fact that it inexplicably introduces the movie as “Episode IV” despite no pre-existing installments.

In many ways, “Star Wars” is simply a relocated spaghetti western. The first scenes featuring main characters like Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) and Darth Vader (David Prowse/James Earl Jones) hearken back to the days of hat color defining a person’s moral standing. Leia is clad in pure white robes, while Vader of course has the menacing black helmet and body armor. Even characters introduced later will adhere to this simplistic yet effective tool. Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) wears white and the other bad guys in the evil Imperial Empire rely on emotional association to establish their position. Stormtroopers wear white uniforms with helmets that have thin eye holes not unlike KKK robes and Governor Tarkin (Peter Cushing) rocks an ensemble that clearly, CLEARLY looks like a Nazi dress uniform. We aren’t supposed to know for sure if Han Solo (Harrison Ford) is a good guy or a bad guy, so he wears black AND white. Clever.

I think that covers most of the major visual allegory, so I can comfortably move onto the plot. The Rebels are a well-funded group of militants who are attempting to overthrow the Empire, who are evil seemingly only for the purpose of being evil. Princess Leia, one of the highest leaders in the rebellion, has managed to get ahold of a full blueprint of the Death Star, a space station the Empire is hoping to use to intimidate any non-conformist planets into submission. Before having her starship boarded and being arrested for treason she is able to hide the blueprints in a robot R2-D2, who boards an escape pod with his mechanical life-partner C-3P0 and winds up on the desert planet Tatooine.

“Governor Tarkin, I should have expected to find you holding Vader’s leash. I recognized your foul stench when I was brought onboard.” (Princess Leia, “Star Wars”)

Thankfully it is apparently a remarkably small world because even though they wind up in the possession of Luke Skywalker, he happens to know Obi-Wan Kenobi (Alec Guinness), the guy Leia sent them to unrealistically hoping they would just find their way to him- so they do! As many flaws as I can find with this picture and particularly these Tatooine scenes, I also think the most artistically brilliant shot in the entire movie occurs here. There is no dialogue but Luke stares at the setting dual suns and encapsulates his whole character with his silent frustration. The symphony again kicks in and plays a short swell of music that compliments the scene perfectly. The two suns remind us that the film is set in outer space but the emptiness and wishing for something more Mark Hamill expresses immediately makes it relatable again.

Obi-Wan plants a seed (not in a creepy Noah Cross/Evelyn Cross in “Chinatown” kind of way) in Luke’s mind that he could help the ancient religion of Jedi make a comeback. There are only a few left after Darth Vader “helped hunt down and destroy the Jedi Knights,” making Luke an obvious choice to revive the cause since his father was one of the most powerful Jedis ever as well as one of the ones Vader murdered ;) Luke knows he can’t go because his uncle not only looked down on Jedi-ism but needs him as slave labor on the family farm… what they are farming on a barren desert planet would have been nice to explain but whatevs. Storyline conveniently however, Luke’s uncle and aunt are killed, freeing him up to take off with this mysterious old hermit to join the rebellion.

The introduction of roguish space smuggler Han Solo is one of the film’s finest moments. Obi-Wan and Luke venture to Mos Eisley Spaceport where they search the bars looking for a pilot to take them to the Rebel base. The menagerie of strange creatures and beings they encounter there are really some of the only indicators of the vastness of the George Lucas universe. In a short musical montage a variety of beings both cute and creepy are flashed across the screen. I am not going to name every Snaggletooth, Mufftak and Ponda Baba introduced in this scene to appease Star Wars geeks, and besides most of those characters weren’t properly named until years down the road anyway, so their backstories are pretty irrelevant as it relates to this film, so please forward any complaints about my failure to properly recognize Garindan’s important contribution to the near apprehension of the good guys directly to the round file cabinet I keep under my desk. The other thing that makes this scene so great is the back-and-forth between Harrison Ford and Alec Guinness. The other young members of the cast are WAY out of their league in a movie with veteran stage actors like Guinness and Cushing, so to see one of the younger actors in the film exchange dialogue with one of the pros is a bright spot.

Luke begins to learn the ways of the Jedi, Obi-Wan is killed by Darth Vader- making Luke the last living hope for the Jedi, Luke and Han both rescue Leia and in the process develop a thing for her and Luke blows up the Death Star. Really it is all very simplistic and borrows heavily from many other previously existing genres; particularly westerns as I mentioned before given the well defined “good/evil” concept, the sheer number of shootouts and the mentality that the loners and anti-heroes are the ones who are going to save us all when the expected heroes fail. You don’t have to look very closely to see to see the rip-offs of previous works in “Star Wars.” The scene where Luke returns home to his slaughtered family is directly lifted from “The Searchers,” C-3PO looks suspiciously like Maria from “Metropolis” and there are even heavy allusions to numerous religions scattered all over the movie.

However, what “Star Wars” lacks in originality, it kind of makes up for in special effects pioneering. Contrary to popular belief this wasn’t the movie where all sci-fi stopped looking like “Plan 9 From Outer Space.” As much as I hate it “2001: A Space Odyssey” featured equally impressive space scenes and in terms of scope of the spacecrafts “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” is equal to or greater than this film. What “Star Wars” did change though was detail. The intricacies of the surface of the Death Star, the underside of the Star Destroyer that chases Princess Leia and even the beams from the weapons are really what separate this movie from similar genre films.

And of course, the merchandising frenzy it was able to subsequently create. There is nothing wrong with saying that these films qualified for this list for reasons other than quality of content. “The Jazz Singer” was not a bad film, but there is no way it makes this list were it not for being the first talkie. “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” was nowhere near as good as “The Secret of NIMH” but it was the first feature-length animated film, so yeah, it belongs here. “Star Wars” came along at the right time and became a cultural phenomenon that very few books, movies or songs could ever dream of. But you’re dreaming if you think this movie is so highly regarded because it’s good.

#16. All about Eve (1950)

News flash- actors are terrible people!

They are catty, narcissistic and self-serving. Of course, this is not something that would come as a surprise to most people, but “All about Eve” not only builds an entire movie around this concept, but insults our intelligence by relying completely on the assumption that we don’t already know this. With its deliberate “fly on the wall” approach which makes sure much of the interaction takes place in dressing rooms and backstage areas, this film seems to fancy itself as some kind of expose piece of investigative reporting. Now, before we get started there is a real chance I hate this movie so much because I feel like it walked away with a lot of the Oscars that “Sunset Boulevard” deserved, but to be fair I didn’t even know they competed against each other til after I watched “All about Eve.” Just putting all my cards on the table now.

There is a right way and a wrong way to do narration; generally I think it is a cop-out altogether but if it is necessary to keep the movie under 3 hours, it should at least be done creatively. “Double Indemnity” gets this right with the tape-recorded confession; I’m loathe to admit it but even “Dances with Wolves” may do it right with the journal entries. With “All about Eve” however, the film just starts off with plain lecture hall narrative that tells us everything in black and white so that there is no room for misinterpretation, or for that matter, on-screen character progression. The narration is done by the character Addison DeWitt, (George Sanders) who is a theater critic who immediately establishes that he has no endearing qualities by talking down to the viewer, implying that everyone who doesn’t know theater is essentially an uncultured buffoon. Even more frustrating is the fact that now we know the person speaking is a writer and he STILL can’t be bothered to be narrating in an interesting context.

DeWitt goes on to explain that we are watching an awards ceremony honoring Eve Harrington (Anne Baxter), the youngest recipient of the award in question. All the main characters are introduced in this drawn-out but somehow still glossed-over manner; Lloyd and Karen Richards (Hugh Marlowe and Celeste Holm) a playwright and his wife, producer Max Fabian (Gregory Ratoff) and a veteran stage actress Margo Channing (Bette Davis). The first inkling we get that there is some conflict in this film between Eve and the other characters is the fact that none of these characters look particularly enthused, or even interested, in the praise-laden speech the award presenter is heaping on Eve.

Once the dreadfully condescending and monotone narration is over and Eve is presented with the award, it seems like the present-time plot may commence. Unfortunately that’s not how this movie works. Instead, like the world’s most boring relay race, the narration duties are simply handed off to Karen. At least this time it advances the story. Karen flashes back several months to her first meeting with Eve; who is essentially a theater groupie who obsessively attends a play Margo is starring in night in and night out. Out of the goodness of her heart Karen brings Eve into the theater to meet Margo, who is her best friend. The scene that sets up the meeting between Eve and her idol Margo firmly establishes the majority of the characters who are “insiders” by the overwhelming approval they show when Margo launches into a tirade about how creepy and pathetic her fans are.

Margo and Lloyd feign compassion by listening to Eve’s backstory, where she explains that she is the poor only child of a farmer, former secretary and war-widow who has since devoted her time to following Margo across the country. Despite the general hateability of all the main characters, their backstage banter is amusing and probably among the best acted in the film. One of the most richly developed characters is also introduced at this point. Bill Sampson (Gary Merrill), Margo’s boyfriend who is also a director who is working in Hollywood as well as legitimate theater, but appears to be disillusioned by both. He and Eve have an incredible exchange where she very passively charms Bill the same way she does Margo, by pumping his ego.

Eve’s flattery earns her a place in Margo’s inner-circle where the only one who seems to distrust Eve and see past her naivety is Margo’s sarcastic, jaded maidservant Birdie (Thelma Ritter). Almost immediately I noticed the similarity between Birdie and Stella, the wisecracking home-health-care nurse in “Rear Window” who, as it turns out was also played by Ritter several years later. Much like Stella, Birdie provides a great deal of comedic cynicism and helps establish the “wisdom from an unlikely source” cliché that we still see today in characters like Idella in “Driving Miss Daisy” or Oscar in “Baby Mama.”

Somewhere between when Bill is introduced and Margo allows Eve to move in with her, Margo assumes the role of narrator; complicating things even further. I don’t think I would have minded this directorial tool nearly as much if it were done in a manner where everyone’s narratives are slightly different until there is one climactic point in the film where they all converge and fall into sync; but alas I think the only reason for the constantly switching narration is that even the director Joseph Mankiewicz realized there was just too much voice-over in this movie so changing the voice every now and then might help alleviate the boredom; it doesn’t.

Eve’s devotion begins to border on creepy, first when Margo catches her trying on one of her stage costumes and later when she arranges a midnight call to Hollywood so Margo can wish Bill a happy birthday right on time, even though Margo doesn’t even know it IS his birthday. Some insightful foreshadowing comes from Birdie who explains to Margo that Eve is not only strangely devoted to Margo, but almost acts as though she is trying to actually BE Margo. Once Margo makes this realization, she has such a hard time convincing everyone around her that it actually causes tension with them. Eve has essentially duped Margo’s entire inner-circle into trusting her, so much so that they all interpret Margo’s suspicion as envy of Eve’s youth and beauty.

“Bill's thirty-two. He looks thirty-two. He looked it five years ago, he'll look it twenty years from now. I hate men.” (Margo Channing, “All about Eve”)

At this point there is supposed to be a dynamic role-reversal, with Margo and Eve trading off the positions of Pro/Antagonist; as it is now evident that Eve has begun to methodically sabotage Margo’s personal life by turning her friends on her, as well as her professional life when she manages to earn a spot as Margo’s understudy. Even though we see Eve’s conniving side, Margo has simply not done enough to make us like her for this transition to occur. Her shabby treatment of Birdie, her vain obsession with age and looks and her borderline insane distrust of Bill all just make me hate her even more than before and realize that her career deserves to be destroyed.

Of course I don’t need to tell you how it all plays out. Eve gets what she wants, causes Margo to miss a performance, fills in, steals the show and wins the adoration of the theater-going public while alienating herself from Margo and everyone in her entourage. Furthermore, DeWitt manages to deconstruct Eve’s entire backstory- she is not a widow, she made up the story about following Margo across the country and she was sleeping with her boss at her last job until he paid her to leave town. In the pre-google days it would have been interesting to explain how he learned all these things about her, however I have to believe that it was just assumed that by this point everyone watching would just be asleep anyway. The film ends with a young wannabe actress sneaking into Eve’s apartment, claiming to adore her and imposing herself into Eve’s life- implying that everything has and will again come full circle, and that Eve is just the next Margo. So even if somehow that bitch Margo has managed to win you over, you can take comfort in knowing Eve will have a similar comeuppance.

There is some sharp dialogue in this film, as well as a few purposely unexplained plot devices that leave many things open for interpretation (Birdie having once been an actress herself, DeWitt seemingly using his influence to nail cheap bimbo actresses etc). Unfortunately, the quest for realism is hindered by the fact that the conversations are too realistic- that is to say they are written like normal banter… with nothing taken out for flow purposes. And this film is entirely dialogue driven- hardly any of the scenes take place outdoors or places where there would be secondary characters or even extras. Just the same people over and over again; and with the exception of Bill and Karen they are all pretty unlikeable.

Thankfully for this film’s legacy, it was set in the Broadway theater community rather than in Hollywood for two huge reasons: 1) it justifies the dramatic overacting by all the primaries but especially Bette Davis and 2) it didn’t anger the Hollywood community the way the far, FAR superior “Sunset Boulevard” did, as a result, it was a much easier pill to swallow as an Oscar movie in 1950 as being a “behind the scenes, unglamorous underbelly expose” picture. If you want to watch a movie that explores the ‘what goes on behind the façade” motif- practically ANY movie would be more entertaining; “A Star is Born,” “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” shit even the dreadful “Hollywoodland” was better than this injustice.

#17. The African Queen (1951)

I’ve lived an interesting life;

I rode in a helicopter piloted by a serial killer, spent the day with a significant figure in American history and even made national news and became an ACLU poster-child following a manufactured porn scandal. On a significantly less interesting note, a few years ago I rescued an abandoned kitten, spoiled her and raised her as my own and every time she falls asleep in my lap I realize that taking her in is the best thing I have ever done. Not the most exciting or funniest, not the thing people will remember most about me someday, but the best. The movie “The African Queen” has both Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart branching out of their cinematic comfort zones and, while it may not be what people remember them for, it is in my estimation the best thing either one of them has ever done. In other words, “The African Queen” is their homeless cat.

While there are traces of Humphrey Bogart’s rubber-stamp character in the role of Charlie (the gruff loner with somewhat self-destructive tendencies) most traces of nobility and bravery are washed away in a sea of gin. In fact, there is a compelling study within the film on the negative effects of alcoholism, whereas in most previous films, drinking is simply glamorized and expected of men. Rather than an anti-hero, Bogart is more like a loser who happens to be capable of a good deed, which is very compelling. On the other hand, Katharine Hepburn makes a huge leap from the sassy socialite character she plays in movies like “Bringing up Baby” and “The Philadelphia Story” to play Rose, a frigid old maid/missionary.

The simple white-fonted opening credits appear and dissolve against a moving scene of a jungle as if the camera is looking up while moving downstream. Once the narrative begins the camera arrives at a stereotypical Africa village, complete with bamboo huts with straw roofs. However, there is also a similarly built but conspicuously out of place traditional-looking Christian church which is filled from front-to-back with primitive looking tribesfolk. Despite their enthusiastic participation in one of the hymns led by Rose’s pastor brother, the natives seem out of place and as if they are not fully understanding of their surroundings. Conversely, the arrival of Charlie on his dilapidated little supply delivery boat, The African Queen, is crude and obvious- with a loud steam whistle blowing over the hymn.

There is an interesting and subtle contrast going on here between Charlie and Rose; she is dressed formally and is generally performing a respectable action whereas Charlie is drunk and carelessly litters in the pristine, untouched jungle. This early comparison is crucial to the development of the dynamic between Charlie and Rose, which will become the focal point of the film. In spite of their obvious differences there are some incredibly understated similarities between the two. For instance, in their own ways they are both encroaching on the native African’s way of life- Charlie by treating them like slaves and Rose by essentially changing their way of life from making them sing hymns and even leave their spears outside the chapel like some kind of coat-check.

The invasion of German soldiers near the outset of World War 1 all but destroys the village and all the natives, as well as Rose’s brother, whose health deteriorates rapidly after the invasion, ultimately killing him. Without her brother and completely dependent on Charlie to get her out of Africa, Rose joins him on the boat and almost immediately voices a plan to essentially suicide bomb a German warship by using The African Queen as a torpedo. Though Charlie is skeptical and not at all enthused about being a hero, he does entertain the idea by acknowledging that the explosives on board the ship would be capable of executing the job.

“I ain't worried, Miss. Gave myself up for dead back where we started” (Charlie Allnut, “The African Queen”)

A nasty cliché in cinema has since been born of the middle part of the movie, the whole “opposites attract” premise. Arguments about bathing situations and sleeping arrangements are reminiscent of the far inferior “It Happened One Night” but innovative in how the characters are forced together by circumstance and far more realistic in the progression of feelings. Also, “Pirates of the Caribbean” could learn a thing or two about the proper way to illustrate a true alcoholic’s reaction to having a woman dispose of his booze. The detoxification and character transition Charlie experiences after Rose forces him to stop drinking does not come quickly or too sharply to make it absurd.

These extended scenes of just Rose and Charlie benefit from the on-location filming far more than you would think. With so much natural background scrolling by as the dialogue unfolds, a green-screen or “Mighty Joe Young” like scenery would have made it laughable and probably unwatchable. Instead, the lively and fresh jungle scenery and occasional shot of real wildlife not only break up the potential monotony of a film with such few characters, but they also make every little obstacle (equipment failure, impassable conditions etc) seem like a far more realistic threat and enhance the intensity of the movie.

At one point the boat is stuck in a densely overgrown patch of vegetation and leech-infested water. Charlie establishes his heroism inadvertently when he tows the broken down ship with his own body through the weeds. As the camera pulls away and upward we see that the obstruction only goes for a short distance, with the river that is their goal being just within reach. The fact that Charlie does not know this implies that he would have towed the ship on his own strength for miles if necessary.

While prepping the conversion of the boat into a torpedo a massive storm erupts, turning the ship over and throwing Rose and Charlie overboard. Charlie is captured and sentenced to death for his attempted attack on the Germans, all the while not knowing if Rose died in the wreck. When she is brought aboard the warship after having also been found by German troops her and Charlie are sentenced to hang together. As a last request they ask to be married- which ends up accidentally buying them time for The African Queen to resurface and drift towards the ship- blowing it up in accordance with the original plan. The most endearing part of this ending is actually the fact that Charlie and Rose DON’T blow up the ship the way they planned. Not everyone has to be a hero, people who are generally losers don’t suddenly pull off major heroics no matter how good their intentions are and the true happy ending is not the destruction of the ship but the fact that these two people have found each other.

It is not easy to pull off a movie that is mostly dialogue driven between two people. It is even less attractive when the two characters are played by actors who are really stretching beyond their comfort zones. Not only do Hepburn and Bogart pull it off, but they completely reinvent themselves in the process. John Huston also deserves a great deal of credit for having the foresight to move this movie off Hollywood backlots and into the African jungle. The authenticity and the scenery could NOT have been pulled off any other way.

#18. Psycho (1960)

Previous to this endeavor I had seen exactly zero films directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Now, after having seen several I have come to the realization that he is one of my favorite filmmakers. However, I also have to say that part of the thrill is lost on me because of how unrealistic the circumstances in his AFI films tend to be. I just don’t see a lot of likelihood in being drugged, kidnapped and framed for murder like in “North by Northwest,” being duped into unwittingly participating in a wife killing like in “Vertigo” and in no universe that I am aware of does elderly Jimmy Stewart get to bang young Grace Kelly ala “Rear Window.” What sets “Psycho” apart from the rest of these films is that, with the exception of the whole amateur familial corpse-preservation storyline, “Psycho” is totally conceivable. I’m not afraid of being attacked by a crop-duster, but I have met a lot of people who remind me of Norman Bates and staying in a shady, off-the-beaten-path motel is a universally recognized creepiness.

The credits are presented with several horizontal lines wiping the names across the screen and wiping them off, which will eventually cleverly transition into a set of venetian blinds (much the same way the graph-effect morphs itself into skyscrapers in “North by Northwest”). Inside the window is a seedy motel room where the lead character Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) has just finished having sex with her boyfriend Sam. Though there is nothing morally objectionable about their relationship, Sam still prefers to keep it discreet because he is divorced. Whether this is an excuse to keep Marion a certain length away or because the motivation he offers (being ashamed that he is too poor to be a husband or even serious boyfriend) is indeed noble is not quite clear, though it seems he is a little more sleazy since every turn in their conversation goes back to sex. What is clear is that Marion desperately wants them to have a future together sooner rather than later.

Needless to say, when the opportunity for her to embezzle $40,000 from her job presents itself, Marion seizes it. Despite the fact that she has just committed grand larceny, Janet Leigh does a remarkable job of illustrating that she is by no means a career criminal or even a bad person, but rather just someone driven to extreme measures by desperation. She stumbles through her escape, is constantly paranoid and generally seems very awkward and confused. Trying to get to Sam in California, Marion is forced to stop for the night at the remote, desolate Bates Motel. Though it is extremely early in the film, the entire segment at the Bates Motel is both incredibly important as well as technically flawless.

From the moment she checks in, there seems to be something creepy about the propreitor Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins). Perhaps it is his awkwardness with women, his love for taxidermy or his unusual doting over his mother- either way it doesn’t feel natural or normal when Norman asks Marion to join him for dinner. In just this short segment, so much foreshadowing and stage-setting occurs; Norman compares Marion to a bird (with several dead birds staring her in the face from the walls) Norman has a conversation with his mother where she chastises him for lusting after Marion and a very ominous yet relatable line where Norman tells her “we all go a little mad sometimes.” While this would normally creep someone out to hear, Marion can’t deny this as, the whole time she has been fleeing Phoenix for California, she has been hearing various voices in her head.

After the unsettling dinner, Marion goes to her room where she seems to have a moment of clarity and appears ready to turn back, face the music and give back the money she stole. In another brilliant use of foreshadowing, Marion starts to undress for her now legendary shower and struts around the room in a black bra and black panties; if there is anything silent films have taught me its that black clothes only ever indicate death. And besides, she was wearing white underwear in the hotel room with Sam so we know she owns other colors.

The brilliance of the shower scene isn’t just the way it is directed; the multiple jumping camera angles, the best use of music in a film probably ever, the strategic way every part of Marion’s body besides her naughty bits are shown, the unsettlingly gruesome stabbing sounds etc- but the sheer irony. The shower is supposed to represent a fresh start or Marion washing away her wrongdoings, instead it proves to be her undoing- it also effectively bookends Marion’s onscreen time by accentuating the point that her worst moments tend to occur in motels.

“A boy’s best friend is his mother…” (Norman Bates, “Psycho”)

Norman destroys the evidence of Marion’s visit and blames the murder on his overbearing mother and the object of the film soon becomes Sam and Marion’s sister Lila’s search for Marion. This is not only interesting because it is a unique take on the murder mystery theme, but also because the primary character winds up having such little screen time in the grand scheme of things. Also, this concept had the potential of being disastrous as it was in “2001: A Space Odyssey” by not having a well-defined protagonist/antagonist struggle, but somehow it still pulls it off.

As the mystery unravels “Psycho” begins to break all sorts of new ground in terms of addressing things in film. Norman suffers from multiple personality disorder and in fact “becomes” his mother, as his real mother has been dead for years- so all the arguing they do, yeah, that’s him fighting with himself essentially. Also, when he takes on the personality of his mother, he dresses accordingly, which isn’t innovative in-and-of-itself for films of that time, I can recall seeing Buster Keaton and Curly Howard doing it prior to 1960, as well as the entire movie “Glen or Glenda?” being focused on it. However in Norman Bates’ case it isn’t for comedic or demeaning purposes, instead it is a sincere exploration of a mental disorder; thus it is handled sensitively all things considered. Also, despite the fact that he has murdered Marion, in the end Norman Bates winds up being a fairly empathetic villain given the fact that he truly has no control over his state; which coincidentally is what makes him such a frightening villain at the same time. I think my favorite aspect of Anthony Perkins’ performance is something that may not even be noticeable, but really helps develop his character is his stammering and mumbling. It is refreshing to hear a character on screen talk like a real person rather than in an unbelievably crisp theatrical dialect.

The title “Psycho” in itself is also a fascinating element of this movie. While it is easy to assume it is a cut and dry reference to Norman and his mental state, its more complicated than that. Marion clearly at least has a mental breakdown of some kind where she abandons logic and accountability by stealing a huge sum of money and planning to take it to her literally and figuratively distant boyfriend. Even Norman’s mother probably had some issues of her own to have such an eerie and gripping post-mortem control over her son. The “Psycho” tag can be appropriately applied to almost anyone in the picture.

“Psycho” may not be my favorite of the Hitchcock films but it is hard to deny it is the most technically sound and most terrifying. The investigation scenes are actually kind of boring and slow the pace of the movie down, and the dynamic between Sam and Lila implies a level of attraction but is never quite explored fully, but if those are the worst things I can name about this movie then I don’t really have much to complain about. If nothing else, I should sing the praises of “Psycho” simply because of how unconventional it is and because of how many (calculated) risks it takes. Even though the “excessive” sex and violence are tame by today’s standards, I would hold this movie side-by-side against any modern slasher flick and it would blow them out of the water.