#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.

#19. Chinatown (1974)

Leave it to a sex criminal to make film noir even darker than it already was by introducing incest into the picture.

There is a fine line between intentional homage and plagiarism, and at times Roman Polanski’s “Chinatown” has a hard time not crossing it but there is also so much individuality inserted into the film that by the end nobody can accuse it of being unoriginal.

I think to refer to “Chinatown” as “noir-inspired” or “in the noir style” is unfair to the film. Even though it wasn’t made in the time of the “Production Code” that limited what movies could discus and depict it just follows the style too closely to be considered anything less. The opening credits include the classic Paramount logo and old Broadway fonts while being rolled over speakeasy music. After the lengthy credits a black and white photo pops up onscreen of a man and woman having sex in a park, then flipping between several more shots of the same couple. The effect employed is amazing, as a popping sound proceeds each new image- it isn’t until the camera pans away that we realize it is someone looking at the pictures and the sound is them being discarded rather than a flashbulb slideshow montage as is implied.

I could have almost copy and pasted the first section of my “The Maltese Falcon” and applied it to this entry when describing the introductory scenes of “Chinatown” but I just don’t operate that way. It turns out the person who took the photos is a private investigator named Jake Gittes (Jack Nicholson) and the man examining them is a client who has hired him to confirm that his wife is cheating on him. Not only does this establish exactly what kind of detective Jake is but also what kind of clientele he attracts as the man (Burt Young) explains that he won’t be able to pay for the services rendered right away. Jake’s next client is another noir fixture, the veiled smoking woman of significant means. Though he doesn’t seem interested in the case Jake is shocked to learn that the woman is the wife of Los Angeles’ Water and Power Administrator Hollis Mulwray and she suspects he is having an affair.

Jake nonchalantly starts his investigation by attending an L.A. City Council Meeting where a debate is taking place concerning the building of a dam and threats of a drought are tossed around. There are some interesting but kind of too “in your face” tactics used to date the film in this scene, including Jake perusing a horse racing guide featuring Seabiscuit as well as a large photo of FDR hanging in the Council chambers (of course assuming they are following protocol by having a photo of the sitting President in a government building)- in other words, depression-era. What we gather from the scene is that Mulwray opposes the dam project and supports his argument by back-referencing a previous, similar blunder. Though the farmers who have shown up to voice their support for the dam are irate at his presentation, the pained, guilty look on Mulwray’s face implies that there is more than meets the eye.

In addition to Mulwray’s nerdy appearance and constantly working on Water and Power related issues the film does an excellent job of implying that he probably is honest and decent as well as implying that the politicians who are pushing for the dam project might be crooked. The more blatant way this is done is through dialogue; the mayor pushing for $8,000,000 so insistently, Mulwray making references to having been tricked before etc. But more artistically, there always seems to be water present- suggesting without suggesting that the drought concerns may be unfounded. This is illustrated in little ways such as Jake being soaked by a drain pipe that liberally spews water near an already well watered, ocean-adjacent cove, an always-full water cooler in Jake’s office, the audible splashing of water as one of Jake’s assistants develops photos of Mulwray and the eventual discovery that Mulwray DOES have a mistress who he is spotted with in a rowboat in Echo Park. So much of the film points to an abundance of water without saying a word about it.

And of course what is a good noir detective story without an interesting plot twist; particularly a threat of legal action from Mulwray’s wife Evelyn (Faye Dunaway) who is decidedly NOT the woman who hired him to spy on Mr. Mulwray. Essentially, the woman who initially arrived claiming to be Mrs. Mulwray was just trying to dig up dirt on him- none of which seems to matter much after Mulwray turns up dead; ironically, his body is pulled from a reservoir.

“Isn’t this something? Middle of a drought and the Water Commissioner drowns! Only in L.A.” (Morty the Coroner, “Chinatown”)

With the focus of the investigation now being who would want to defame and/or kill Mulwray, Jake continues to poke around the various beaches and reservoirs in L.A. While talking with local policemen we find out that Jake was an LAPD officer before becoming a detective. One former colleague in particular mentions that he has been transferred out of Chinatown. Though the conversation seems like small talk, Jake’s reaction to just a mention of Chinatown implies that it represents a lot of demons.

Eventually Jake is able to piece together that Mulwray was murdered because he knew too much in relation to the hoarding of the water supply as well as his opposition to funding the dam project but there are still several missing pieces in the puzzle. Evelyn hires Jake to fill in the blanks- many of which can seemingly be explained by Evelyn’s father/Mulwray’s former business partner Noah Cross (John Huston). Not only does Cross seem unwilling to cooperate, he also tries to divert Jake’s attention away from him by hiring him to find Mulwray’s mistress.

The various twists and turns the plot undergoes all end up pointing to one consistent theme; corruption. Political corruption from the officials who are behind the water scam, police corruption as it relates to Jake’s former associates and superiors in Chinatown and moral corruption- even Evelyn admits to having cheated on her husband as well and even begins sleeping with Jake while he is still working for her. After their first sexual encounter, Evelyn pushes Jake into confiding about the skeleton in his closet relation to Chinatown, though all he is willing to divulge is that the place is “bad luck” and that he quit the police force after a woman he was trying to protect (and presumably cared for) was killed. Again harkening back to the theme of corruption.

A lot of big twists and turns all lead to the one big twist and turn; Mulwray’s “mistress” is also Evelyn’s sister… and daughter. I understand that there needed to be some unspeakable darkness in Evelyn’s life, as well as an act that could cement Noah Cross as something more horrible than just a cartoonish corrupt man of power role. Yes this revelation achieves its aim of extreme shock value but it also feels like it’s a little much. More to the point, the scene where Jake beats this startling revelation out of Evelyn is so absurd it is comedic. He slaps her repeatedly until she blurts out the truth to a point that is reminiscent of a Three Stooges film.

Evelyn attempts to take her sister/daughter and escape her incestuous father’s grasp at the end of the film, culminating in a confrontation involving almost all the principle characters on the streets of Chinatown. Jake’s tragic history repeats itself when the police, now revealed to be under the thumb of Noah Cross, shoot Evelyn to death and turn over his daughter/granddaughter to him. Jake is reminded that it is Chinatown and there is nothing he can do. Both implying that nothing can or will ever be done about the corruption and also that Chinatown will continue to represent demons for Jake. This ending is even less satisfactory due to the fact that we now know it is very possible that Noah Cross could have been behind the initial dark incident from Jake’s past.

“Chinatown” kinda writes a check its butt can’t cash by requiring far too much emotion from Faye Dunaway than she is capable of providing, and there are just too many people involved in the shady goings on, which makes it hard to care about the abundance of characters that get trotted across the screen. It does however do a good job of trying everything together in the end, and at least nobody can accuse it of having an oversimplified plot. Ultimately though, what makes “Chinatown” work is the marriage of contemporary violence and sex with perfectly executed modern noir.

I’ve always said there is something special about watching an artist get to be a fan. Bruce Springsteen’s “Seeger Sessions” Tour, the look on Brian Wilson’s face when he performs a Phil Spector song and Roman Polanski getting to show off his love for film history are my Exhibit A, B and C for this case. And I would much rather Polanski commit this interest to film than some of the other things he’s into. I don’t need to be watchin’ no kiddie porn…

#20. One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975)

I’ve always joked that if you want to make an Oscar movie, all you have to do is make sure it is about mental illness or some sort of disability. While there is a good chance Milos Forman’s “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” may have been the first major film to test this theory, I don’t believe it deserves the scorn that should come with pioneering this phenomenon. While the film does appear to have an awards-darling agenda (profound personal awakening, tragic deaths abound, humanization of a generally discarded segment of society and a primary antagonist so unspeakably evil that they are literally willing to abuse mentally ill people being the most prominent) I don’t think it necessarily falls into my gross oversimplification the way later movies like “A Beautiful Mind” and “Rain Man” do.

The opening shots that accompany the credits sort of give the feeling of being institutionalized, as they depict vast expanses of Oregonian landscape, but are still peppered with plenty of Oregon’s legendary dreary weather. Also, the resolution of these shots is significantly grainier and blurry than the rest of the film; as if perhaps they are seen from incarcerated eyes. At first, it is unclear as to who the protagonist is going to be, since we first see Randle McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) in a very non-flattering light; an obnoxious, crude statutory rapist. McMurphy is feigning mental illness in an effort to serve a prison sentence in the much more preferable confines of an insane asylum.

My previous experience with the films of Milos Forman is basically limited to “Amadeus” and “Man on the Moon.” Two of my favorite films, but two that center on Mozart and Andy Kaufman respectively- with the main characters’ psychological eccentricities being the main thread that is sewn into the storyline. However, in “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” the perspective is much more complex. In the aforementioned two films, the general premise is that the central character is a misunderstood genius and everyone around him is an asshole; whereas in “Cuckoo’s Nest” the main character is, frankly, an asshole but assumes that everyone around him is the asshole. And at first glance, this isn’t a completely baseless theory.

The menagerie of human dregs surrounding McMurphy are, at first glance, the kind of people who you would assume probably belong in a home. Martini (Danny DeVito), a dwarfish sort of developmentally disabled man, Billy (Brad Doriff) a stuttering young outcast who still deathly fears his mother, Taber (Christopher Lloyd) an overgrown bully, Harding, a pretentious and slightly effeminate intellectual who blames his condition on his wife’s infidelity, Cheswick, a man-child who is very easily manipulated and enthralled by anyone who seems to remotely have their act together and Chief, an enormous mute Native American.

What is brilliant about the development of McMurphy’s character is that we are not unrealistically won over by a suddenly acquired sense of goodness or charm; instead it is McMurphy’s sense of humor that wins us over, particularly when directed at the ward’s manipulative head nurse, Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher). Her passive-aggressiveness and condescending nature are beyond maddening, particularly when it is revealed that most of the functional men in the ward are voluntarily committed. By entrusting their well being to Nurse Ratched, her abuse of power is especially heinous. McMurphy is outraged at her regimenting of the men’s lives, rationing their personal belongings and relentless badgering to express feelings they may not necessarily have.

The conflict between McMurphy and Nurse Ratched is one of the most creative and unique I’ve ever seen. I especially love the complete reversal of convention; the “good guy” is the violent criminal and the “bad guy” is the supposed Angel of Mercy. Louise Fletcher’s stone-faced demeanor through the entire film is so unique and almost frightening as she is not outwardly hostile, which is so frustrating to the viewer as well as the characters.

It is ultimately this heavy reliance on emotion that makes “Cuckoo’s Nest” a great film rather than a good film. The performances aren’t exceptionally great, Doriff is kind of unbelievably exaggerated in his stammering (though he does have one incredibly powerful scene right before his suicide where he stands up to Nurse Ratched and noticeably loses his stutter as if his act of rebellion represents a curing of his condition) most of the patients don’t have a significant amount of screen time to develop their characters and Jack Nicholson and Christopher Lloyd both play characters very similar to the ones we are used to from them.

“What do you think you are, for Christ's sake, crazy or something? Well, you're not! You're not! You're no crazier than the average asshole out walking around on the streets and that's it!” (R.P. McMurphy “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”)

The first indication that Ratched is losing control of the patients occurs when McMurphy suggests the patients be allowed to watch the World Series, which she viciously opposes as it interferes with the regiment she has set in place. After placing the matter up for a vote and losing Ratched changes the rules of the deal in order to ensure that there will be no baseball watched by the patients. Rather than taking the bait and engaging her further or even more preferrable to Ratched, accepting it, McMurphy begins to simulate the entire game in a booming announcer voice. Though he is sitting in front of a blank screen and the results are completely fictional, the other patients watch and listen as excitedly as if they were in the stands; an effect that is enhanced even further when the reflection of the screen shows the patients sitting bunched together bleacher-style and cheering.

One of the most intentionally symbolic but unintentionally ludicrous scenes in the film comes when McMurphy is able to hijack a school bus used to transport patients and sneak several of the inmates out of the hospital and on an impromptu fishing trip on the Oregon coast. It is one of the only scenes that takes place outside the hospital and is clearly meant to be representative of freedom and liberation. There is nothing less confining than the concept of the open seas, there is wind conspicuously blowing through the men’s hair and the most important part is that they all enjoy themselves and are fully conscious of the fact that they are rebelling against Nurse Ratched. While McMurphy’s defense of the other inmates has previously been paralleled a self-serving agenda, this scene represents the first time he sees them as equals and “normal” people. It is unfortunate that the sheer absurdity of the notion that McMurphy could have orchestrated escape/boat rental slightly tarnishes a very moving and significant scene.

Nurse Ratched tricks the police and the hospital chief into letting McMurphy stay in her care under the guise of concern for his rehabilitation, though she clearly intends to continue controlling him to the point of submission. However, in many ways she has already lost her battle since, from this point, the patients begin to lose respect for her and focus their attention on McMurphy. They disobey her more brazenly, object more to her rules, laugh at McMurphy’s jibes and generally begin to think for themselves. Even Chief finally admits to McMurphy that he has been faking his condition also and is perfectly cognitive. This admission forces McMurphy to the realization that an escape to Canada is immediately necessary.

As a final gesture of friendship to the other inmates, McMurphy arranges a farewell party complete with booze and women. It is the ultimate act of rebellion against Nurse Ratched, but also the ultimate act of self-sacrifice for McMurphy, as it sets into motion events that ultimate doom his character. Rather than take his free chance to escape he uses the time to show the other patients the meaning of freedom, including seeing to it Billy loses his virginity, which McMurphy firmly believes he should be out doing instead of being institutionalized. When everyone drunkenly passes out when the nursing staff arrives in the morning it is obvious that it is too late for McMurphy to escape.

If I had to pick one scene where symbolism is used to the greatest effect, it is Nurse Ratched’s arrival the morning after the party. Her beloved nurse’s cap has been knocked on the floor and dirtied sometime in the evening; she attempts to muster up dignity and put it back on but it is noticeably sullied. Her subsequent shaming of Billy to the point of suicide makes the patients see her in the same tainted, impure way- thus the defiled nurse’s cap comes to be representative of the nurse herself. Driven to inconsolable madness by Billy’s death McMurphy attacks Nurse Ratched so violently that she is almost killed and he is lobotomized.

Not willing to let McMurphy’s fate be in vain, Chief steps up as the unlikely hero, first by mercy-killing McMurphy, knowing he would not have wanted to go on that way and second by lifting a solid marble wash basin (which McMurphy unsuccessfully attempts to do himself early in the film) and throwing it through the window so he can escape. This ending, and honestly the film as a whole, are a real testament to the romanticism of film. Though McMurphy is dead, Chief has escaped into a world that has no prospects for him, Ratched keeps her job, Billy has died and most of the patients remain in the hospital, the ending somehow uplifting and inspiring, at least for a minute…

#21. The Grapes of Wrath (1940)

I’ve never been a firm believer in the adage “the book is always better than the movie.” Maybe I just come from a different generation as the people who say that; after all my generation is that of Spark Notes, the internet and the DVD. Things that basically encourage streamlining work and finding shortcuts any way we can. Or maybe it is because I grew up reading “The Lord of the Rings” and only realized after the movies came out how dreadfully boring those books really are.

No, you won’t catch me lecturing someone to “read the book” when discussing film adaptations, but anyone who sees “The Grapes of Wrath” should indeed read the book too. Not because it is “better” or “worse” per-se, but because they are two wildly different pieces of work. Going into this project I was incredibly nervous about how much I may or may not like a film based on what is essentially my favorite book; thankfully though, John Ford did right by it; probably the only way you can do right by it- by making it different enough from the source material that it is allowed to be a stand-alone piece instead of something that can be compared side-by-side.

Of course the basic premise is still the same; a family of Depression-Era Oklahoman refugees flee the Dust Bowl for California, lured by promises of good paying work for everyone and all the grapes you can eat. The chief protagonist in an extensive crew of protagonists is Tom Joad (Henry Fonda), a recently paroled son of farm people making his way back home. Along the way he encounters Jim Casey (John Carradine), the pastor who once baptized Tom but is now seemingly crazy or overcome by alcoholism, or both.

The dialogue in the scene where they meet is a good indication as to how abbreviated the film will be, as the conversation is hurried, unnatural and way more summational than would typically make sense. Literally within two lines of the apparent strangers seeing each other the preacher blurts out that he recognizes Tom and that he had baptized him. Within four lines he is lamenting that he has lost his desire to minister. The back and forth between the men is awkward largely because they are given lines that are laced with hillbilly inflection but both actors deliver them with far too refined of accents, though I don’t think I should fault people for being classically trained actors. Without so much as an invite, Casey joins Tom in his voyage home.

A prevailing theme of pessimism rears its head for the first time when the two men reach the Joad homestead which looks to be abandoned. In a shockingly cavalier way Tom surmises that his family is dead; though given the fact that he was serving jail time for essentially killing a man in self-defense, his jadedness is easily excusable. Fortunately, it turns out the Joads haven’t died, rather been evicted, as they learn from a fellow sharecropper Muley. Muley’s narrative effectively condenses events far better than the aforementioned conversation with Tom and Casey; his tale is told with vivid flashbacks of being removed from their land and tractors razing the land. Though the server who delivers the news appears to be human, albeit sterile as he tries to explain the eviction to Muley, the true antagonists are the merciless tractors and bulldozers indiscriminately looming over his former property; the more disturbing when you take into account the fact that Muley reveals that several of his family members are buried on that same land.

The next scene introduces us to the rest of the Joad clan, and in various ways all are shown to be generally likeable characters. Tom’s grandparents are the typical crazy old couple who has been together too long and good-naturedly give each other shit, Uncle John seems to be the optimistic leader and Tom’s parents are nothing but loving and caring. As Tom is reintroduced to his extended family, a sort of running gag ensues with every family member assuming Tom has escaped from prison. The family is in the process of loading up a truck and heading to California for fruit picking jobs with little more than vague assurances from mass-spread flyers advertising work. It is so pathetic it is actually almost comical to see the size of the truck the Joad family expects to pile nearly a dozen people into.

On the eve of their departure, Tom’s mother sifts through her meager possessions to determine what to keep and what to leave behind. The tragedy of this scene is not just the lack of material possessions but also the lack of anything giving her any real identity. A news clipping about Tom, a postcard from New York, a knickknack from an expo in St. Louis she may or may not have gone to. This scene is one of the saddest in any film I have ever seen and is indicative of the plight of the entire Joad family and everyone like them.

Once the Joads pile into the truck and head for California, the movie begins to play out like a really unfortunate game of “The Oregon Trail;” complete with wheels breaking, rations running low and family members dying. Through it all, the Joad family remains optimistic almost to an annoyance. Though it is implied heavily, it is never really said that the reason for this is because their hope is basically all they have. It is clichéd and contrived, but it works for no other reason than because of the fact that the film was made so soon after the Great Depression.

One of the most unnerving aspects of “The Grapes of Wrath” is the shabby treatment the Joad family is subjected to as their trip progresses. Despite the fact that they are inching closer to their goal, the people they encounter are progressively ruder and harsher than the ones before; an obvious foreshadowing as to the unforgiving and ultimately fruitlessness (no pun intended) of their circumstances. In fact, their arrival at the first of many migrant worker camps sees the Joads having to sacrifice even further to feed several of the child inhabitants, despite not even having enough food for themselves- yet another foreshadowing of what kind of despair lies ahead.

“What is these 'Reds' anyway? Every time ya turn around, somebody callin' somebody else a Red. What is these 'Reds' anyway?” (Tom Joad, “The Grapes of Wrath”)

When the prospect of work finally does surface even more foreshadowing comes into play, though this time it is more rooted in morality than mortality. A disgruntled worker who has been in California for significantly longer than the Joads begins to explain worker’s rights to the other residents and even implies that a strike could lead to better wages and working conditions. He is labeled an “agitator” and I think we all know where this is going from here.

A sort of communistic overtone begins to take shape, culminating in the arrival at a government-run socialized work camp, which they first spot as “a light up ahead.” The differences between this camp and the others they encounter are very pronounced. Their sign is professionally made rather than crudely written, the units are painted white and resemble cottages as opposed to shantytowns and they are provided with clean accommodations and running water. The film’s final and primary conflict becomes a showdown between the camp residents, who have all been labeled as “reds” and police infiltrators looking to quash any organization of the laborers. In a scuffle that results in Casey being murdered, Tom again commits a justified murder which results in him realizing he has to leave his family behind. His iconic speech/declaration to his mother is another very synthetic piece of dialogue but it does serve to unmistakably drive home the socialistic agenda of the film; most notably Tom’s reference to everyone representing pieces of “the one big soul that belongs to everybody.” Tom decides to embark on a vague crusade of social justice, all but ensuring his travels will lead him from one doomed situation to the next.

The film ends very open-endedly with the remaining Joads leaving the idyllic government camp behind chasing another prospect of work; though this time it is suggested they will actually get it- though most significantly, the ending appears to be more optimistic simply because it doesn’t even begin to compare to the dark ending of the book. Also, the implication exists that what we have seen the Joad family go through is so terrible that the only reason they wouldn’t show us that happens is because their fates actually turn around. That or unspeakable atrocities await them…

“The Grapes of Wrath” is not a perfect movie, and I can nitpick it to death as far as the dialect and advancement of storyline, but ultimately the film has a very specific point and agenda it tries to make and it pulls it off remarkably and more to the point it seems to be a very ballsy movie to have made at any point in history, let alone the time it was made.

#22. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

When I was a little kid, we’re talking like 8 or 9 years old, my favorite thing to do was watch Nick at Nite and take in all the classic TV shows. I loved “Mr. Ed” and “The Donna Reed Show” but I always had a special place in my heart for “Car 54 Where Are You?” I don’t know why but I’m sure it must have something to do with my lifelong fascination with New York, but I digress. Jump ahead to about ’94-’95; I got all excited over what I knew was going to be a very poor quality film version starring some of the most annoying people in the world (that’s not me being opinionated, I literally mean some of the most annoying people in the world; Fran Drescher, that Buster Poindexter guy and Rosie O’Donnell to name a few), but I didn’t care, I was going to get to see something that resembled “Car 54” again!! About an hour in, I distinctly remember telling myself “this is the worst movie ever made.” If only I had known back then that someday I would watch “2001: A Space Odyssey” I wouldn’t have been so liberal with my vocabulary.

I never thought I would watch a movie I disliked so much that it would actually make me hate the art form altogether, but “2001” damn near did just that. Immediately after watching that… thing, I literally had a phobia of watching another movie again. Even ones I already knew I liked. I think that film marked the first time I really took stock of my life and the limited amount of time I and everyone else has on this planet. Not for any existential reasons, but because I honestly felt as though I had been robbed of precious little time. I can’t wait to go through and watch several of these films again for a second time, but I will never watch this movie again under any circumstances. I wish I could joke that some of what I am saying is tongue-in-cheek hyperbole, but alas I mean every word I say.

The opening of the film is probably the most interesting of the 4 “acts,” depicting a prehistoric clan of apes in a desert whose actions are set to dramatic, symphonic classical music. To this movie’s credit, the costumes on the apes are fantastic- looking nothing like ridiculous “Planet of the Apes” creatures you would have typically seen at this time. Actually, the costumes and special effects in the whole movie are far ahead of their time and, while I don’t think those singular aspects alone warrant inclusion on the list of “Greatest Films” (maybe “Most Influential” or “Most Ahead of Its Time”) I sincerely hope that was the justification for this movie’s recognition on this list. Speaking of “ahead of its time” I should also mention that, out of nowhere there is a black door/portal-looking structure looming over the apes, which is the only hint of modernism in this scene. It’s inexplicable presence could imply that it was left by some sort of advanced being or that the potential for scientific advancement has always existed. Either way, it is clearly meant to intentionally stick out like a sore thumb.

The apes, while clearly being in some sort of organized tribe, still appear to be docile. When a more antagonistic gang of apes arrives and takes their precious water-source by force, the first band retreats and almost seems to take the defeat lying down. However, as time passes, they discover the bones of a nondescript creature and find that the blunt pieces can be used for practical purposes- first a crude hammer and eventually a violent weapon. The original group returns to their water hole and in a kind of early assassination, kill the rival leader and take back their turf. There is an underlying theme in this initial scene of technological advancement being a good and an evil, as the discovery of the bone-tools clearly serves as a benefit but at the same time, the brutality of their victory also borders on overkill, implying that the accomplishment has awakened a dark and villainous side in the once peaceful creatures.

The monkey-people act ends when one of the apes throws a bone fragment into the air victoriously and as it spins in slow motion a matching jump cut transitions from the mid-air bone to a similar-shaped space station, depicting an almost seamless transition that with today’s technology probably would have been executed with a morphing effect. I don’t think the visual aspect of this cut is as remarkable as the out-of-nowhere jump between two completely different acts and time periods. The way the theme music reaches a climax and the slow motion close-up lets the viewer know something important is about to happen is a little much though. I’m sure people crapped themselves when they saw it at the time though.

The second sequence takes place mostly aboard the space station. There are discussions among higher-ups about a secret discovery on the surface of the moon that needs to be kept quiet. What we have to assume are trusted officials discuss a cover up involving the discovery and the secrecy surrounding it. While this is a completely different setting than the one that was presented before, it still bears the theme of people having the ability to do good or bad things; be it bludgeoning another being to death or making up a story about an epidemic on a spaceship to divert attention from an important government discovery. As it turns out, the secret discovery is another of those funny black portals from before; more likely it is the same one since the scientists investigating the finding mentions that it was buried millions of years ago (presumably the same time as we saw before with the apes).

“I know that you and Frank were planning to disconnect me, and I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen.” (HAL; “2001: A Space Odyssey”)

The core of the film, and the only major protagonist/antagonist scenario depicted in the film takes place shortly thereafter, during yet another space mission- this time to Jupiter. A small crew of astronauts led by David Bowman is introduced to an onboard supercomputer named HAL. The constant repeated assurances that HAL is completely intelligent and incapable of error make it painfully obvious that technology will eventually fail the crew. As it turns out, it isn’t really a technical glitch or a malfunction that causes HAL to jeopardize the mission, but rather a seemingly inexplicable malevolent emotional capacity. The menacing red lens (representative of an all-watching eye) reads the lips of Dave and fellow crew member Frank as they discuss deactivating HAL.

In retaliation, HAL knowingly kills Frank by cutting his oxygen supply and sending him off into space during an attempt to shut HAL down. After methodically killing the other crew members who are in some sort of suspended animation/cryogenic life support chamber, HAL sets his sights on killing Dave when he attempts to recover Frank’s body from floating off into space. Conveniently, Dave forgets his space helmet and gets locked out of the ship by HAL. In a completely absurd and impossible sequence Dave pries open some sort of emergency door on the ship and manages to reenter from his pod because he moved quickly enough to avoid being destroyed by pressurization while still exposing his non-helmeted body to unprotected space. From here on in, this film can’t be taken seriously- not even as a work of science fiction.

Dave deprograms HAL and safely completes the mission to Jupiter, thus ending any interesting conflict that can possibly develop. This final segment also represents the point where the film loses any and all artistic merit and simply becomes a piece of self-gratification committed to celluloid. An almost neverending landing sequence with impressive but ultimately repetitious and redundant revolving color effects drags on and on as the spacecraft strafes the surface of the planet. Mercifully, the film ends rather abruptly as Dave sees visions of himself in various stages of life, the obligatory shot of the portal once again in front of an old man version of Dave. He goes through it and suddenly becomes an entrapped fetus floating around in a womb rather than a space pod; and the “circle of life” message is complete.

The concept of technology and mankind having the potential of being good or evil, the implications of governmental conspiracies and basically having the concept of evolution being a given for the story advancement to work all speak to my liberal sensibilities so much that you would think I would love this movie. But entertainment is more important than politics and this movie totally failed to entertain me.

“2001” completely insists upon itself with the constant forcing of visual effects on the viewer. The open-endedness of the way the narrative can be interpreted completely robs it of its desire to be lofty by not having any definite message; in other words, you can only “get” a movie if there is something concrete to get. Also, I don’t think its too much to ask for there to be some kind of conflict between two or more complex characters. While I am all for bucking conventions, certain things like personalities in characters and some kind of emotion from characters, or for that matter, characters that are capable of emotion are pretty necessary in my book. Maybe I’m just old-school like that…

I am almost upset that I just spent so much time a few blogs back going on about the genius of Stanley Kubrick- and while I believe that genius is still evident I also believe that “2001” represents a complete artistic miss for him. Sometimes you make a “Saving Private Ryan” or a “Philadelphia” and sometimes you make a “Turner and Hooch.” All that is missing from “2001” is a dog and a badge.

#23. The Maltese Falcon (1941)

I love travel- but I certainly wouldn’t take the Wright Brothers’ plane on a cross-country flight. If for some oddball reason I ever need an amputation, I’m not going to let them use one of those Civil War saws on me, even though it probably does theoretically work.

What I’m saying is that, just because something is the “first” of something doesn’t necessarily make it the best. The same goes for film; I have really enjoyed the noir style films I have seen so far, in fact “The Third Man” has been one of the greatest discoveries of my movie-watching life. However, the earliest example of noir on this list (and the reason I am assuming the film was put on the list in the first place) “The Maltese Falcon” definitely feels like a movie that belongs to a genre that is still trying to find its legs. I know it is an iconic film, but I definitely think “overrated” is a fair term in this case.

The opening credits are superimposed over a statue of a falcon followed by a summary of what exactly The Maltese Falcon is; a bejeweled gold falcon that was created by the Knights Templar as a gift to the King of Spain. The simple paragraph also explains that it was stolen by pirates and never seen again. The significance of this prologue is two-fold; it creates an air of mystery and elusiveness around the falcon by not actually showing its physical history and it also does something very unique in establishing an inanimate object as, essentially, a primary character.

Several cityscape shots of San Francisco are smattered over the preliminary scenes; and they are among the best I have seen done before or since. Back in those days of cinema, city shots always felt primitive; they were either done aerially and the finished product was shaky and unsteady (“A King in New York” is a fantastic example of this) or they were obvious still photos (“Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”) which essentially make the scene look lifeless. With moving cars and ripples in the bay, these opening shots, while pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things, really make the early scenes come to life.

Unfortunately, what the scenery and filming style contribute to the film, the characters take away from it. The primary character is a Private Investigator named Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) and he is essentially the same as every other early 40’s detective and the same character we typically see Bogart play- cynical, wise-cracking and moody. He seems to have a somewhat forced cordial relationship with his partner Miles Archer (Jerome Cowan) who is much less tightly wound and generally seems to like Spade more than is reciprocated.

Almost right out of the gate there are just too many characters introduced to make the film seem organized or comprehensive. Starting with Spade’s secretary Effie (Lee Patrick) then a prospective client, Miss Wonderly (Mary Astor) who it turns out is using an alias and her real name is Brigid O'Shaughnessy- which compounds the frustrating number of characters even more. Brigid/Miss Wonderly wants the agents to locate her sister Corinne who she insists has run off with a bad man named Thursby. Of course the whole thing is a ruse and when Archer attempts to locate Thursby both men end up dead. Enter even more characters: two cops who suspect Spade committed the murders, Archer’s wife Iva who Spade has been having an affair with (which explains not only Spade’s cavalier behavior towards his partner but also establishes a motive for him to kill Archer).

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that all these characters were more pivotal in the original source novel and it would have just been blasphemous to not include them, I don’t know and I am not interested, all I know is that films before and since have learned to integrate bit characters in a far less confusing way without giving them proper introductions that make us feel like we need to be paying attention to who they are. Also, I feel like the Spade/Iva affair never really manifests itself as much as you would think it would since it kind of seems like a big deal. Especially considering Spade will eventually fall in love with Brigid basically overnight. One thing I will commend the film for is the fact that Brigid does not take on the role of the stereotypical blonde Hollywood seductress; instead she is a conservatively dressed prudish woman who wears her hair in a tight bun and looks like the kind of character you think will be the heroine by the end.

As if Spade wasn’t busy enough investigating the deaths of Archer and Thursby, cleaning up his own reputation and simultaneously trying to clear Brigid’s name too, in walks yet another shady character, this time a dandified, effeminate man named Cairo (Peter Lorre) who cuts right to the chase and tells Spade everything about the earlier-referenced Maltese Falcon and asks him to recover it. Though he is very silly on the surface, some of the smartest and most subtle attention is given to his scenes. He suggestively strokes and runs his mouth across a long, phallic looking walking stick and at one point after having been beaten up by Spade his only concern is with the condition of his shirt. Rather than openly mocking him, Spade and Effie exchange bemused glances at his demeanor, so much so that Lee Patrick’s mostly dialogue-less expressive acting in this scene is among the best in the movie.

“I couldn't be fonder of you if you were my own son. But, well, if you lose a son, it's possible to get another. There's only one Maltese Falcon.” (Gutman, “The Maltese Falcon”)

So, now that Sam sufficiently has his hands full with the mysterious murders as well as the search for the Maltese Falcon, we find out all the shady characters are connected- Brigid and Cairo are implied to be associates all working under the puppet-master, a ridiculously comic book-esque, overweight villain named Gutman (I’m seriously not making this up). Though this turns out to not be the case, they are all searching for the Falcon with their own selfish agendas and have encountered each other at one time or another in their hunt.

A package that makes its way to Spade supposedly contains the Maltese Falcon and, in as close as this slow-paced movie can come to a climax, a several-way standoff ensues resulting in Gutman getting his hands on the Falcon only to discover it is a fake. Spade rats everyone out, including Brigid who it turns out killed Archer in a setup gone wrong where only Thursby was supposed to be killed in their confrontation so that she wouldn’t have to split the Falcon Heist money.

The scene where Spade wrestles with his emotions before doing the right thing is pretty lame; especially when he cites a “Code Among Detectives” that obligates him to overlook his feelings for Brigid and punish her for killing his partner. I would like to know what kind of code dictates your loyalty to a fellow investigator but does not discourage banging his wife. Additionally, how strongly are we supposed to believe Spade feels for her? They’ve known each other like 2 days!

All that aside, I will say there is some brilliance in the closing scenes of the film; particularly where Brigid is being hauled off by the police. She is taken into an old-timey passenger elevator with the gated-doors, since the shot we see of her is a close-up all that is visible are the gate-bars symbolically closing in front of her like a prison door. Then of course there is the implied iconography of a small, inanimate object having so much control over the fate of so many people; to the point that people are willing to kill and be killed for it. It doesn’t get preachy with the message of consequences of overt greed; in fact it almost strangely justifies the worshipping of idols by referring to the fake Falcon as “the stuff that dreams are made of” though this line can also reflect Spade’s jaded world view- suggesting that dreams tend to end in disappointment.

Just like the title object itself, there is definitely a gem buried inside “The Maltese Falcon” but there is also an AWFUL lot of filler. While the noir STYLE is a new concept in this film that would later be perfected just a few years later, there are plenty of preexisting cinematic clichés that make this film less of a thrilling detective story and more like the “Family Guy” parody movie “Fast Talking High Trousers” where the characters say things like “Well isn’t this a fine song and dance?” and “Aren’t you a pocketful of firecrackers?”

#24. Raging Bull (1980)

My favorite genre of film is the biopic. My favorite sport is baseball. In combining these passions I have seen some really great films (“Cobb” and “Eight Men Out”) as well as some really terrible ones (“The Babe Ruth Story” and “A League of Their Own”).A long time ago I came to the conclusion that biopics, particularly about athletes, used to be really awful and just had to evolve into greatness. Even as young as 11 or 12, I can remember thinking that the biggest element missing from those older films were honesty and objectivity.

After all, why is it that, growing up in the late 80’s/early 90’s most people knew Babe Ruth as much for being a self-destructive boozer as much as they did for him being a baseball player? And why was this not mentioned in “The Babe Ruth Story?” Instead, they chose to focus on bedside visits to sick kids making promises of homeruns in their honor and one particularly corny scene where he hits a dog named Pee Wee with a line drive then leaves the game to take him to a human hospital and demand treatment. So negative was my reaction to this film when I saw it as a nine-year-old boy that my ass still hurts to this day. My point is, I always wondered when biopics, especially sports ones, stopped lying and started being honest, gritty and credible, but I have a feeling it may have started with “Raging Bull.” As if I didn’t have enough to thank Martin Scorsese for I can now add the fact that he seems to have perfected my favorite film genre to the list.

Even though the main character, Jake LaMotta (Robert De Niro) was a boxer, the film is mainly dialogue-driven and depicts very little (in ring) pugilism, though it does appropriately open with Jake in a boxing ring, presumably at his height. There is a strange mist surrounding him, sort of implying a possible dream-sequence, flashback or even an afterlife scenario; any of which are possibilities when you consider the shambles his life seems to be in when the actual narrative begins. LaMotta is a has-been doing a cheap vaudeville show, seems a little punchy and out of shape, and is reliving his glory days through monologue.

Flashback some 20 years earlier, Jake is shown in his prime, fighting a boxer named Jimmy Reeves in Cleveland. The announcers are very quick to point out that the fight is nearly over and that LaMotta is undefeated up to that point. Despite the fact that Jake is dominating the final round, the fight ends with Reeves being saved by the bell and winning by decision. Though we only have a passing comment from a commentator to indicate that Jake is behind on points to go off, the audience reaction to Reeves being announced the winner and LaMotta receiving his first career loss indicates a grave injustice.

The presentation of the fight scenes is incredibly unique in some aspects and downright silly in others. The amplification of the sound of the punches gives you a very “feeling every shot” sort of connection to the scenes, as well as the rhythmic pulsing sounds. However, there are some seemingly unnecessary approaches that are taken, such as a bizarre zoom shot of Jake in his corner as well as a lot of overly dramatic and clichéd flashbulb pops. The most redeeming characteristic of the in-match scenes though lies in the sort of over-the-shoulder camera angles that are used. Older films used a horrible point-of-view, 1st person perspective, while more recent movies have opted for a documentary style wide-shot approach. “Raging Bull” is completely unique in its depiction of boxing matches, largely because of the “both sides” approach of showing close-ups of the action on alternating characters.

The introductions to Jake’s family and home life indicate that, though he is a successful boxer, it was not in the same economic echelon as other professional middleweights of the time, or just not as good with his money. Rather than a legitimate manager, he is represented by his brother Joey (Joe Pesci) who does genuinely love his brother (despite Jake’s borderline abusive taunting) but may not necessarily be the most qualified person to guide his career. In case you are wondering, yes, Joe Pesci does play Joe Pesci; though there is a little more humanity in this role than we are used to seeing from him.

Jake’s relationship with his wife Irma is also a telling allegory for his life. They live in a cramped New York City apartment (the kind where you neighbors yell at you through the window because they are close enough to do that). Jake is the stereotypical epitome of a male brute; he wears the wife-beater, complains about how his steak isn’t bloody enough and smashes furniture to the point that we are to understand he is probably physically abusive. As if we need any more evidence that this marriage is a failure, we see Jake pursue (successfully) a trampy fifteen year old named Vickie (Cathy Moriarty) who ends up being his second wife. There is very little background given as to the fading out of Erma and the integration of Vickie, but I think the abrupt end to the apartment fight scene is meant to symbolically imply the demise of their marriage.

One of the most innovative sequences in the film we see a series of fights against the legendary Sugar Ray Robinson. In the first match Jake pounds Robinson unmercifully (including a really great tracking shot of Jake circling around Robinson like a predatory animal) and ends his undefeated streak. The very brief fight scene then cuts to a scene of Jake and Vickie almost having sex but stopping short because of the long-held belief that fighters in training need to conserve their strength, then cuts back to a rematch with Robinson which Jake loses under seemingly suspect circumstances (Joey blames it on a bias because Robinson is joining the Army amidst World War II, which would typically seem like an excuse but judging from the post fight discussions it seems Jake knocked Robinson down more often which would almost invariably make him the winner on points).

“I've done a lot of bad things, Joey. Maybe it's comin' back to me. Who knows? I'm a jinx maybe.” (Jake LaMotta, “Raging Bull”)

During this back-and-forth segment there is a very interesting artistic tool employed involving ice. Be it Jake pouring ice on his junk to make him unable to have sex with Vickie or using it to soak his swollen hand after his 2nd fight with Sugar Ray- the presence of ice is important because it is symbolically used strictly when Jake is outside the ring; which is seemingly representative of his personality when he is not boxing, as we see him as cold, abusive, jealous and harsh in most of his “real-world” interactions. Also, this transition between boxing and normal life is a clever way to avoid showing too much boxing all at once for people who may be watching for the biographical narrative and may not necessarily be interested in boxing as a sport.

The next few years are told through 8mm home movie footage (the only color in the film) documenting Jake and Vickie’s courtship interspersed with still black and white photos of Jake’s fights, all of which appear to be victories. This not only advances the narrative without showing us mundane details but also indicates that Jake’s clearer focus is his private life while his career is less important. However, as the film progresses his feelings for Vickie end up creating disturbing demons for Jake, as he becomes more and more obsessed with the notion that she is cheating on him, so much so that it ends up destroying his relationship with Joey, who he accuses of sleeping with Vickie; unwilling to believe either one of them he ends up savagely beating them both- Vickie takes him back, Joey does not.

It is no coincidence that Jake’s life spirals out of control without his obscenely devoted brother at his side. He wins his next fight (barely), eventually loses his Middleweight Title to his arch-rival Sugar Ray Robinson after being so physically dissected that his blood splatters the ringside reporters and flows down his legs like a waterfall. The next time we see Jake he is fat, miserable and doing a crass nightclub show where he embarrasses himself on a regular basis, Vickie leaves him and takes their children with her and in an ironic twist of fate, ends up in legal trouble involving underage girls (mirroring his initial pursuit of Vickie). Jake’s total downfall culminates in a complete breakdown in a jail cell that I can only describe as uncomfortable to watch.

In the final moments of the film, Jake has a half-assed reconciliation with Joey, lands what seems like a regular job on the vaudeville circuit and enjoys something short of redemption but slightly better than rock bottom-which again serves as a metaphor for his entire life with Joey. In the end it is clear that Jake’s level of happiness and success is completely paralleled by his relationship with his brother. The last shot is of Jake pep-talking himself in a dressing room mirror; which was used to great effect and to represent the same point in Dirk Diggler’s life in the final scene of “Boogie Nights,” though thankfully I didn’t have to see a prosthetic schlong in this movie.

The complaints I have about this film are minor; I don’t like the way Jake’s decline is abbreviated so harshly, there are certain plot elements that could have been explored to greater detail (particularly an incident where Jake is suspended from competing for throwing a fight) and I don’t necessarily get why some of the fights are filmed in slow motion, some in a double-time “Rambo IV” sort of style and some still not even shown at all, but I assume it has something to do with Jake’s mental state in each respective fight. Also, while I take no issue with it, I don’t understand the necessity for the film to be in black and white unless it is just to give it more of a documentary feel, but I think the film would have been equally powerful either way.

Do I really even need to talk about the pairing of Scorsese and De Niro? I think in many ways this is Scorsese’s most experimental film though it does still contain all the things I love about his movies; shady characters, heavy symbolism and New York. De Niro is clearly not wearing a fat suit as he is only half dressed in most of the latter-day scenes and was clearly in shape for the fight scenes- which shows a real commitment to immersing himself in the part. By the end of the movie he is literally unrecognizable. Though by far the element that sticks out with me the most is the not sad, not happy but just “as good as it is going to get” ending. I don’t like to be bullshitted or have my intelligence insulted with contrived or forced endings and this film does neither. I almost feel as if an underlying premise of the movie not pulling any punches is an intentionally silly pun. At least I hope that has crossed someone else's mind...