Chaplin's Limelight, and How I Completed My Quest

December 3rd.  Charlie needed a date, so I gave him one.  December 3, 2012.  This was to be the day we completed our quest.  This was to be the day we could say that we have seen the 1000 Greatest films.  Charlie needed some sort of end date.  A blip somewhere in the future, that he can watch as he checks the films off the list.  A beacon in the fog.  A North Star to guide his way if you will. That is just the way Charlie is built.  I, on the other hand, need just to watch the films and enjoy or not enjoy, whichever may be the case.  But Charlie wanted a date, so a date we set.  December 3rd, 2012.  And a final film we set as well.  Appropriately enough, I chose Chaplin's Limelight to be our final film.  Charlie, being Charlie, pile-drove his way through the list.  When Charlie joined my quest (about two years after I had begun the beast) he started out about two hundred films behind me, so I suppose he had to quicken his pace in order to reach me by that aforementioned date.  This pacing (did he even have time to enjoy the films he watched I wonder), which was at a breakneck speed, got Charlie to #999 about a month before me.  At that point, since I was not about to go at any sort of cheetah-like speed (I wanted to enjoy what I was watching - savour it if you will), all poor Charlie could do was wait for me to reach #999, and mark December 3rd off on his calendar.  Well, December 3rd came and December 3rd went, and after watching Chaplin's Limelight (on the big screen, after hours at the cinema of course), both Charlie and I could now say, in a moment of triumph, that we have seen the 1000 Greatest Films of All-Time.

Now, of course, such a list can only be worth the paper it is written on, or in this case, worth the memory it is pixelated upon - or some sort of more computer savvy kind of saying.  Such a list, this one incidentally found over at They Shoot Pictures, Don't They?, whereupon a master list is compiled using hundreds of critic's, director's, film historian's and organization's individual lists, is subjective at best, and pedantic at worst.  I mean, the list is filled with mediocre fare such as Ordinary People and The Bridges of Madison County, as well as ugly things like Forrest Gump (and do not even get me started on Stan Brakhage!), while it omits films like Rififi and Sirk's Magnificent Obsession, and all but one of the films of Frank Borzage.  Crazy really.  Crazy.  What I am trying to say is that these are not necessarily the 1000 Greatest Films of All-Time (Brakhage!?  Really!??) but I still believe there is more good than bad on the list - even if neither Footlight Parade nor Stella Dallas are included. But then again, the list did include many films that I had not seen until taking on the quest, that have joined my all-time favourite list.  Films like Leave Her to Heaven, Gun Crazy, Gilda, Seventh Heaven, A Canterbury Tale, Smiles of a Summer Night and DeMille's Samson and Delilah, just to name a few off the top of my head.  And then there is Chaplin's Limelight, a film that can perfectly summed up by just one word - sublime.  A perfect ending to an all but perfect quest.  But I digress, for the great moments certainly outweighed the bad (even Brakhage!!?), and I am that much cinematically richer for the experience.  My knowledge of cinema is greater for the experience.  I am a better human being. My life is grea...but my hyperbole is getting a bit off track.  Not that cinema is not art and life and all that jazz - because it most certainly is.  But now is not the time for such poeticism.  There is now life beyond Thunderdome.  Life beyond the list. 

The question now is this - what the hell do I do now!?  I mean, in the way of cinema and movie watching that is, which is everything (isn't it?).  Well, other than not watching anymore Brakhage, I have lots of things to do.  I will of course, still be writing and posting regularly at this same bat channel (as well as periodic stops at other cyber locales), but that is nothing new.  As far as the new goes, there is a plenty to come.  First off, I suppose this is as good a time as any to become an Ingmar Bergman completest.  When I first began getting into cinema as an art form of which to follow, Bergman was one of the first director's (along w/ Fellini and Kurosawa) that I began to watch in earnest.  Eventually the filmmaker kind of fell by the wayside, as I discovered others, so as of today (one week after finally completing said quest), I have seen just nineteen of the Swedish auteur's forty some films.  That needs to be remedied, and remedied dark tootin' quick.  In conjunction with this venture, I will begin a new series here at The Most Beautiful Fraud in the World.  It is called The Bergman Files, and it will consist of me taking a fresh look at every Bergman film ever made.  From his arthouse hits to his more obscure early films to his later television work (including the soap commercials he did back in the fifties), I will take a look at each one of his films.  Writing up one every two to two and a half weeks or so (my projected rate of inclusion) this series will last about two years or so.  This should be quite fun.  Yeah, I said watching Bergman will be fun.  Some would not think so, with his rather austere and often tragic outlook, but it shall be fun indeed.  My kind of fun.  Perhaps those people should question their own ideas of fun.  But again, I digress.

There will also be other cinematic goings-on around these parts.  Catching up on my precode watching, and adding to my woefully lacking knowledge of silent cinema.  Filling in the gaps in my knowledge of directors like Sirk, Renoir and Borzage; Ozu, Mizoguchi and Naruse; John Ford and Howard Hawks.  Completing watching the oeuvres of actors such as Joan Crawford and Barbara Stanwyck; Blondell, Kay Francis and Janet Gaynor; Cagney, Bogart and Edward G. Robinson.  Checking out more South American cinema and the obscurities of African cinema.  I have three piles, each about two feet high, of DVD's just waiting to be watched.  Works by Agnes Varda and Mike Leigh; early Lubitsch and Hollywood Renoir; lots of precode stuff and lots of Japanese cinema; random classic Hollywood; Spanish and Italian films from the sixties; Mario Bava and Jess Franco; and have I mentioned Bergman.  Plus, re-watching many of my favourites, up on the big screen, is a must do item for this new year.  I have already been trying to watch all of Scorsese, De Palma, Sirk, Kubrick and Powell/Pressburger on the big screen, and that will continue.   And then there are those packed bookshelves that line my room.  Star bios and film theory; Hollywood history and director's monographs; critical essays and behind-the-scenes stuff.  There are a hell of a lot of film books on those shelves, whose spines have yet be broken - and a breakin' 'em I am a gonna do.  Oh yeah, and speaking of books, there is the one I am going to write.  A book that will be half memoir of a quest and half film history/criticism.  Whether anyone will publish such a book, only time will tell, but I am still going to write it.  But that is it for now.  My quest complete, the final film a work of art, the doings of a book in the future.  'nuff said...for now.

My Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films: #980 Thru #999

Here is a look at the (almost) last twenty films in my Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films.  These twenty films were seen between Nov 23rd and Dec 3rd.  A complete look at my quest can be viewed HERE.

Well here we are ladies and germs.  The final batch of films in my quest.  Well, almost the final batch.  We go up to #999 here.  A post on the final film and final wrap up of what has occurred, and what will occur, will be coming up in a few days.  But I digress.  We have to get through the last twenty to even go where we want to go, so let us do just that.  First up we have a film from Luis Buñuel.  It is a film from his Spanish/Mexican period - as opposed to his later French work, which, for the most part, I am not a big fan.  El (#980), on the other hand, is a bracing drama that falls right in my favourite era of the auteur's.  Granted, it is probably one of the lesser ones from this period (Viridiana, Los Olvidados, Nazarin being the better), but it is still quite entertaining - in the ever so unique Buñuelian way of course.  Next up is Erich von Stroheim's The Wedding March (#981).  How can you not have a great time watching Erich von Stroheim ply his trade - as both actor and director?  There is a lot of inherent sadness in the oeuvre of Herr Stroheim, not just from his writing, which does have a melancholy flare to it, but because of how most of his films were butchered by the studios.  Nonetheless, what does survive is mad genius kind of stuff.  Next up, we have peripheral Nouvelle vaguer Alain Resnais, and his semi-uncategorial 1980 film, Mon Oncle d'Amerique (#982).  A strange hybrid of reality and fiction, it has moments of the filmmaker's earlier genius, and both the premise and the process are intriguing, but overall, I would have to say it is most certainly no Hiroshima, Mon Amour, no Last Year at Marienbad.  Then we have Marguerite Duras' India Song (#983).  Vincent Canby said of the film, "no content and all style." Who am I to argue?  Which brings us to Edward Yang's A Brighter Summer Day (#984).  Being only moderately thrilled by the director's other "big" film, Yi-Yi, I did not expect to enjoy this thoroughly intriguing film as much as I did.

When I watched If... a few weeks back, I quite enjoyed the film.  Now seeing Lindsay Anderson's follow-up, O Lucky Man! (#985), again starring Malcolm McDowell, I had an even better time.  Fun fun fun indeed, but then it is almost always a fun fun fun time when you are watching Malcolm McDowell do his thing.  Next up is Peter Watkins' La Commune (Paris 1871) (#986).  Sure, it was somewhat intriguing, but overall, I do not see why it would be included in any sort of greatest films list - even when you spread that list out to include a thousand films.  But that brings us to a spot where we have three movies right in a row that this critic would call great - and that this critic will most assuredly include on his own top 1000 when he makes that early next year.  First of these three is Jean-Pierre Melville's gangster pic, Le Deuxième Souffle (#987).  If I were to compile a list of the best French gangster flicks (something I am indeed doing for one of my upcoming contributions to Anomalous Material), this would certainly be included - maybe even as high up as third or fourth.  And speaking of lists, this film now goes into the number two spot in my favourite Melville's, behind only Les Enfant Terribles.  Next of these three greats is Jean Cocteau's 1950 film, Orpheus (#988).  The second in his Orphic trilogy, this film is nearly as magical as Cocteau's earlier version of Beauty and the Beast.  I am not much of a fan of Cocteau's more experimental work (the first of said trilogy) but this film is, simply put, beautiful.  The third of this streak is Luchino Visconti's Rocco and His Brothers (#989).  Italian film, especially from the 1950's and 1960's, is what I would call heaven on screen, so it should come as no surprise that I simply adored this film.  Visconti is one of my favourite directors (so why it took me this long to finally watch this film, I do not know) and this is now one of my favourite Visconti's.  Which means, it is time for another list.  Here are my favourite Visconti's from the list, of which nine of the auteur's fourteen films are included.

1) Death in Venice

2) Senso

3) Rocco and His Brothers

4) La Terra Trema

5) Ossessione

6) The Leopard

7) The Damned

8) Bellissima

9) Ludwig

Next up we have a rather lackluster film.  A film that is so mediocre, so middle-of-the-road, so...well I just don't get it.  It is called Marketa Lazarová (#990), and it is a film by Czech filmmaker Frantisek Vlácil.  Sure, it isn't a bad movie by any means, but it is just so bland, I am not sure why it is included on the list.  But enough of that, let us move on to the final ten films on the quest.  John Huston's The Misfits (#991), the final films of both Clark Gable and Marilyn Monroe, is definitely a film that deserves inclusion on the list - and will end up making my own top 1000 next year.  It is my favourite Huston film (not that I have ever been an over abundant fan of the director's) and the performances of everyone - we also get Montgomery Clift during his personal downward spiral (Monroe famously called the actor in even worse shape than she was) and Eli Wallach doing his usual Eli Wallach best - are fantastic, but especially Marilyn.  The tragic actress, who never got the respect she deserved as a great actress, hands in her finest performance of her career.  The mood, the dialogue, the performances, the feel and look of the film are just nothing shy of spectacular.  

Next comes Days and Nights in the Forest (#992), from Indian master Satyajit Ray.  Ray is one of those directors who has always been hit and miss with me. Pather Panchali, the director's first film, and the first of his vaunted Apu Trilogy, is one of my all-time favourites, but others, such as The Music Room and Charulata (both also on the list) leave me rather cold.  This one, made in 1969, would be included on the hit, rather than the miss list.  Quite simple, but subversively intricate, it is Ray near the top of his form.  It will possibly make my top 1000 as well.  Next we have Kenji Mizoguchi's The Crucified Lovers (#993).  Mizoguchi is another one of those hit or missers with me, and this one ends up a bit closer to the miss than the hit column.  Then comes Jia Zhangke's 2000 film Platform (#994).  Gotta admit, I was not that impressed.  I remember when this first came out it was heralded by critics (still not sure why I did not see it then) but I just don't get it.  Not bad, but still.  Anyway, that brings us to a true classic of Hollywood cinema.  Frank "Name Before the Title" Capra's 1939 classic, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (#995).  Considering my love of both old Hollywood and Jimmy Stewart, and not to mention the ooh la la of Miss Jean Arthur, it is quite remarkable that it took this long into my life before finally seeing this one.  Granted, when I began this quest however many years ago (four was it?), this is one of three that I made sure to hold off on until near the end (the other two of which are still to come), but still, all the years before that, and still nothing.  Oh yeah, as for what I thought of the film upon finally seeing it?  Quite a lot actually.  Sure, it has some rather silly old fashioned ideas (part of the charm of old Hollywood if you ask me), but Capra's obvious love of his adopted country, makes for great and honest, and quite sincere cinema.  But moving on, next up is Fellini's Casanova (#996), by, of course, Mr. Federico Fellini.  Some of the maestro's later films tend not to live up to his earlier output.  Amarcord is one that does.  So is Casanova.  Oh yeah, and Donald Sutherland is quite superb.

Another one of those aforementioned three films I held off on until the end was Marcel Carné's Les Enfants du Paradis (#997).  I suppose I could bark out a bunch of synonyms for spectacular - gorgeous, resplendent, stunning, full of great pulchritude even - but let us just say it is one of the finest French films ever made (a top ten of French cinema?  Perhaps.) and leave it at that.  We still have a quest to complete here.  And speaking of that quest, we are getting ever so close to the completion of the damn thing.  Next up is Sergei Eisenstein's Alexander Nevsky (#998).  Say all ya want about Battleship Potemkin - it is a great film - but I seem to be a bigger fan of the Soviet's later works.  His intriguing semi-finished Que viva México, that stayed unreleased until 1979, his latter day Ivan the Terribles, and now, his brilliantly stylized Nevsky.  Which brings us to Bernardo Bertolucci's epic 1976 drama, 1900 (#999).  Appropriately epic-y but also very intimate, very personal.  I am not sure if it will make my own top 1000, but if not, it will be one of the last ones to be cut from contention.  And that brings us to number one thou....wait a minute, no it does not.  Well, at least not right now.  There is one final film to talk about - a film that I have added to not my top 1000, but my top 100 - but that will come in a few days.  In that post, we will look at that final film, as well as what the quest has been like for me, and what the future will bring (can we say book deal?).  All that in just a few short days...or maybe a week.  Whatever the case, I'll be back.

My Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films: #950 Thru #979

Here is a look at the latest thirty films in my Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films.  These thirty films were seen between Oct. 17th and Nov. 23rd.  A complete look at my quest can be viewed HERE.

Jacques Becker's immensely enjoyable Casque d'Or (#950), featuring the always wonderful and always alluring Simone Signoret, is hands down one of the best French films of its day.  Becker was always an auteur with a kind of straight forward artistic sense, and that mood creates here a tense and quite enthralling tragic love story.  Next up on our quest is one of five Anthony Mann/Jimmy Stewart westerns on the list - and the third one for me personally (numbers four and five are coming up a little on further down this very page).  The 1950 classic, Winchester '73 (#951), was the first of this vaunted director/actor collaboration.  My favourite is still The Naked Spur, but all five are quite good, and this one is highlighted not only by yet another great performance from James Stewart (my favourite actor of all-time if you want the truth) but also from Shelly Winters, John McIntire and a rather slimy Dan Duryea - as well as a young Rock Hudson as an Indian.  Which brings us to another 1950 classic.  Jules Dassin's own 1950 classic, Night and the City (#952) - a noirish tale of a good-for-nothing con-man played with rugged chutzpah by one of the legendary tough guys of old Hollywood, Richard Widmark.  We also get to see Gene Tierney in a rather thankless role, but hey, at least we get to see Gene Tierney.  Next up is Federico Fellini's 1965 film, Juliet of the Spirits (#953).  When I first starting broadening my horizons and got into foreign film, Fellini was one of my earliest sojourns.  Over the years, his legend has fallen a bit in my mind.  I am still a fan of his (though my argument that perhaps I, Vitelloni is a better film than 8 1/2 tends to piss off some purists) but just not as strongly as twenty years ago.  As for this particular film, all I can really say is - it is not one of my favourites.

The next two films I know I must have seen as a kid (and many parts were vaguely familiar) but just to make sure, I watched them, or rather maybe rewatched them, for my quest.  They are Top Hat (#954) and Swing Time (#955).  So, in other words, I had myself an Astaire/Rogers double feature.  A Pretty snazzy one at that.  I have always been a sucker for an old fashioned musical, and the fluidity of Fred and Ginger on those collective dance floors makes that suckerdom all the more powerful.  Pure class baby, pure class.  And speaking of double features, I decided to clear the rest of the Mann/Stewart westerns out while I was at it.  1952's Bend of the River (#956) and 1954's The Far Country (#957) complete the set of five on my quest.  All five films are moody and acerbic, with many Freudian drippings.  I would say The Far Country is now my third favourite (after The Naked Spur and The Man from Laramie - the latter I saw in a double feature with Mann's non-Stewartian Man of the West at Film Forum a few years back for my birthday gift to myself) followed by Bend of the River and finally, the aforementioned Winchester '73.  All quite good, all deserving of inclusion here and all would easily make my own Top 50 Westerns list - a list that I will probably compile early next year sometime, right here on this very site.  But I digress.  Next up in the ole quest is Heimat (#958), a sixteenish houred German snoozefest.  Okay, it really wasn't that bad, but it sure ain't no Berlin Alexanderplatz - and that is a film I really am not all that fond of either, so...  But again, I digress.  Kenji Mizoguchi's Princess Yang Kwei Fei (#959) is a visually beautiful film.  Story-wise it somewhat lacks, but damn it looks good.  Then again, it is Mizoguchi (the equal to Ozu any day), so that visual beauty should go without saying.  Again, lesser Mizoguchi is still better than most.

Just two years ago, I could, and somewhat shamefully so I might add, claim that I had never seen a Douglas Sirk film.  Luckily this shameful lack of cinematic knowledge has since been remedied.  Now I consider myself a die hard Sirkophile, and proudly include the German-born, American auteur in my ten favourite directors.  The Tarnished Angels (#960) may not be Magnificent Obsession or All That Heaven Allows or Written on the Wind or my favourite, Imitation of Life (gee, I love a lot of Sirk films, don't I?), but it is a damn fine movie, and very Sirkian indeed.  Based on Faulkner's relatively overlooked novel Pylon, Rock Hudson, Dorothy Malone and Robert Stack (can we say Written on the Wind redux?) are all quite spectacular.  Have I mentioned how much I love Sirk?  I have?  Oh well, there it is again.  Next up is another film that deserves inclusion here, and will be included on my own top 1000 when I compile said list after completion of my quest in December.  That film is Jean-Pierre Melville's Les Enfants Terribles (#961).  Now sitting atop my favourite Melville's (knocking Le Samourai down to number two), this film, based on the writings of Cocteau, is just simply beautiful.  In both its moody visuals and its even moodier performances, the film is just gorgeous.  Enough gushing though, let us move on.  Roman Polanski's 1976 film, The Tenant (#962), seems a bit too much like the director is trying to recreate both Repulsion and Rosemary's Baby in one fell swoop.  I mean, it isn't a bad movie, and Polanski is fun to watch as an actor (especially in drag), but I wouldn't put it on my list.  Meanwhile we have Angel Face (#963), Otto Preminger doing Marlene Dietrich (or is that the other way around).  I tend to, of course, prefer Dietrich's work with von Sternberg, but this one is fun too.

Now up, is the last of the so-called experimental films on the list.  This one, Jean Cocteau's 1930 film, The Blood of the Poet (#964), which is less experimental than say Brakhage or Jacobs, and therefore much more tolerable to this noted experimental cinema hater.  Actually, this first of a trilogy based upon the Orpheus cycle (only two of the tree films are on the list), has more than its share of moments.  Granted, they are mostly surreal moments, and my tolerance for surrealism is not all that much higher than my aforementioned tolerance for experimental cinema, but still, there are some moments.  But that is all.  Which brings us to David Lean's Doctor Zhivago (#965).  Wow, I almost fell asleep just typing the title out.  I don't think I can go on about this one.  Yep, almost fell asleep again just thinking about it.  I mean really, how dreadfully boring do you have to be, to be David Lean's most boring film?  This is the man who made The Bridge on the River Kwai for crying out loud!  But we better move on before we all fall asleep thinking of this film.  Luckily, next up, we have a much much better film to keep us awake.  It is the 1971 action/gangster thriller Get Carter (#966).  It is not so much the film, nor Mike Hodges' direction, as it is the central performance of Michael Caine, that makes Get Carter as enjoyable as it most certainly is.  I dare ya to try and fall asleep during Get Carter, bitches!  Next we have another one of the longer list entries - Dekalog (#967).  Created as a ten part TV series by Polish auteur Krzystof Kieslowski, and meant to show the ten commandments (sort of) in filmic form, Dekalog (or Decalogue if you prefer), is some pretty powerful stuff.  Of course some segments are better than others, and I would say my favourites are parts five and six, both of which were expanded into full length features under the titles of A Short Film About Killing and A Short Film About Love respectively. 

Now we come to one of the most fun films on the list, and a film that upon seeing it, was quickly inserted into my Favourite Films of All-Time list (the first film since seeing Seventh Heaven back in early September, that has been added to said list).   It is that legendary cult classic from Russ Meyer (and one of Quentin Tarantino's all-time faves - and possibly a film he may remake at some point), Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (#968).  Many may blow it off as mere camp and/or schlock - and perhaps it is indeed that - but it is so much more.  Well, at least inside my warped cranium it is so much more.  I mean, c'mon - hot, trampy girls kicking big time ass - what's not to love?  I am sure, QT had this movie in mind while he was filming Death Proof.  Like I said - fun.  ow budget as hell, but quite fun indeed.  Which brings us to another low budget auteur, though not one that goes in for the schlock of Meyer's work.  How's that for a segue?  Anyway, next we have that granddaddy of indie cinema, John Cassavetes and his penultimate film, Love Streams (#969). I like most of Cassavetes' films, including this one, but sometimes these films get on  my nerves, with the constant use of adlibbing and experimental acting techniques.  Sure, this can be fun at times, but after a while it just drags on and becomes annoying.  This style of improvisation works best in a film like Opening Night, but is bit annoying here.  Still though, I wouldn't kick this film out of bed for eating crackers as they say.  At one point (the list is updated every year) John Ford was the king of the list.  The latest update placed Fritz Lang at the top, with sixteen films on the list, one more than Ford (a real battle of the eye-patched auteurs), but that doesn't mean it isn't a daunting task to see all fifteen films by Ford.  But what a fun daunting task it most certainly is.  When I began my quest four years ago, I had already seen 425 films on the list (the annual updates did make my quest countdown fluctuate every now and then) and seven of those were John Ford films.  Well, now here we are eight films later and I have seen the final Ford film on the list - on my quest.  That film is the 1949 western (of course) She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (#970) - and I would call it one of the better Ford's I have seen.  And now, since I have checked the great Ford off the list, and since I do love making lists, this is the perfect time to rank these fifteen films (all of which I like to varying degrees) in order of preference - so here we go.

1) The Searchers (of course)
2) My Darling Clementine
3) The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance
4) Stagecoach
5) Seven Women
6) The Informer
7) The Quiet Man
8) She Wore a Yellow Ribbon
9) The Sun Shines Bright
10) Young Mr. Lincoln
11) The Grapes of Wrath
12) Rio Grande
13) How Green Was My Valley
14) Wagon Master
15) They Were Expendable

As a sidenote, I would include five non list Ford films onto this list.  The Iron Horse, The Lost Patrol, The Hurricane, Tobacco Road (which used to be on the list) and Mister Roberts all deserve inclusion.  The Lost Patrol and The Hurricane would make my top ten Ford films of all-time, knocking out The Sun Shines Bright and Young Mr. Lincoln.  Of course, considering Ford, when including his early silent shorts, has 140 films in his filmography, there are still over a hundred Ford films to be seen by yours truly.  Only time will tell on those.

According to the masters of The List (ie. the fine folks over at They Shoot Pictures, Don't They?), said list includes a total of 493 films from North America and 409 films from Europe, leaving just a puny 98 films to represent the rest of the world.  So, with that being the case, next up are some rarities - a pair of Asian films.  The first, from Taiwan, is Hou Hsiao-hsien's A Time to Live and a Time to Die (#971) and the second, from Japan (which, along with India, I am guessing a good chunk of those aforementioned 98 come from), is Nagisa Oshima's The Ceremony (#972).  The former is what one would call a typical Hou film - dry and seemingly rigid, but with a fluidity that keeps it going - while the latter is a bracing, assertive piece of new wave modernism, that can be called typical Oshima.  The only difference being, that I tend to prefer typical Oshima over typical Hou.  I much prefer Hou's more recent fare (from Flowers of Shanghai on), so this one did not do much for me.  The Oshima though is right up there with the auteur's sixties and seventies fare, which fits right in with me, in opposition to my rather recent statement about Hou, preferring his earlier stuff rather than later.  For our next three films we travel back to that place with 409 films included - Europe.  In fact let us narrow it down even further and travel to France.  First we have Claude Chabrol's Le Boucher (#973), followed by Alain Resnais' Muriel (#974) and then Luis Buñuel's The Phantom of Liberty (#975).  Both Chabrol and Resnais are hit and miss with me, and both of these are a bit more miss than hit, and when it comes to Buñuel, give me his Spanish/Mexican period over his later French stuff any day.  Granted, none of these three films are what I would consider bad filmmaking, but none of them are films I would include in such a list as this either.  I do like the poster for the Buñuel though, as can certainly be ascertained by mere look.  Anyway, we have four more films to include in this penultimate batch of quest films - and, as has not been the case with these last three, they are all films I enjoyed thoroughly.

The great Howard Hawks once mad a film called Rio Bravo.  This 1959 classic western is one of my all-time favourite films.  Apparently the director liked it as well, since he kept going back to that same well.   Then again, maybe he did not like it and that is why he tried to remake it twice in the waning years of his long career.  The first of these remakes is our next film - El Dorado (#976).  The second remake, Rio Lobo, Hawks' final film, is not on the list, and being one of the director's worst films, nor should it be.  El Dorado though, is a film that surely deserves inclusion here.  Granted, it's no Rio Bravo, but then not many things are.  Incidentally, this is my next to last Hawks list film to see.  The last one, along with another list, this time of all eleven Hawks films on the list, will be coming up shortly.  But first we come to the final De Palma on the list.  De Palma is a filmmaker that I only just recently began getting into.  Now, as with seeing or re-seeing the films of Scorsese, Kubrick, Nick Ray and Powell/Pressburger, I have tried to watch as many of De Palma's films up on the big screen of the cinema my lovely wife and I run together.  With films like The Phantom of the Paradise, Dressed to Kill, his Scarface remake and my favourite, Blow Out (all four of which I just saw for the first time in the past year - and all of them on that aforementioned big screen), I could not help but start digging the guy I have always blown off as nothing more than a mere Hitchcock wannabe.  Carrie (#977) only adds to that newly found admiration.  Getting to see it on the big screen just added to that.  Next we have a film simply called If... (#978).  Made by Lindsay Anderson in 1968, and starring Malcolm McDowell as the rabble-rousing boarding school agitator Mick Travis, the film is a satiric look on English public schools and the then modern day society of the UK.  Quite intriguing this film most certainly is.  Strangely enough, it made me wish I had gone to boarding school.  Oh well.

Anyway, that brings us to the final film in this batch.  Hatari! (#979) is the final Howard Hawks film to be seen in my quest.  Of the eleven Hawks films on the list, I had already seen all but three.  This 1962 film, a loose retelling of the director's own 1939 film Only Angels Have Wings, is the story of an international group of wild game hunters, catching African animals for zoos.  It is both action-packed and quite funny - including John Wayne doing screwball comedy.  As far as Hawks goes - and I consider the great man to be one of the five best directors of all-time - this would probably land somewhere in the middle of the guy's oeuvre.  Considering said oeuvre has very few true duds, this assessment is pretty favourable.  Now since this is the last Hawks on the list, and since I already did it with John Ford above, here is a list of the eleven Hawks on the list, in order of preference - and, of course, there's not a bad apple in the bushel.

1) His Girl Friday
2) Rio Bravo
3) The Big Sleep
4) Bringing Up Baby
5) Only Angels Have Wings
6) To Have and Have Not
7) Red River
8) Scarface
9) Hatari!
10) Gentleman Prefer Blondes
11) El Dorado

The first three on this list can be found on my Favourite Films list.  The next two came really close to making that list.  As for the Hawks that are not on this list, I would include such films as The Dawn Patrol, The Criminal Code, Twentieth Century, Air Force, Land of the Pharaohs (yeah, that's right) and one of his mostly forgotten silents, Fig Leaves.  But that is something for another day - which will happen when I release my own Top 1000 early next year.  So that brings us to the end of this batch.  The next batch will include films #980 through #999, which will be followed by one final piece on the last film in My Quest (which will be Chaplin's Limelight, watched on that aforementioned big screen) and a final wrap up, as well as a look into what is next for me and my then completed quest.  Possibly a book.  Well, okay, definitely a book, but we'll talk about that later.  See ya on the flip side.

My Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films: #920 Thru #949

Here is a look at the latest thirty films in my Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films.  These thirty films were seen between Sept. 25th and Oct. 16th.  A complete look at my quest can be viewed HERE.

So I sat down to watch Elem Klimov's 1985 Russian war film Come and See (#920) with not much anticipation in my cinephiliac heart.  I had heard so much about it in my filmic corner of the world, but still had no real desire to see the damn thing.  An overblown foreign prestige piece and nothing more I thought.  I thought wrong.  A brilliantly and subversively harrowing drama (with moments of uncomfortable comedy) that, as they are prone to say (whomever they may be) blew me away.  Something grand scale but done in a very intimate style, a la Tarkovsky at his less grandiose moments.  And speaking of grandiose, Michael Mann's 1995 crime near masterpiece, Heat (#921), the film that finally put Pacino and De Niro face to face for the first, and by far the best time, is another film that blew me away - but this time I was rather expecting such a reaction.  I love nearly everything Mann does (save for the rather overrated Last of the Mohicans - though a second viewing on that one could change one's mind considering one's love for all other things Mannish) so it came as no surprise that when I finally got around to seeing the film (seventeen years after its initial release!!?) that I enjoyed every aspect of it, from Mann's dizzying camera to the bravura performances of Pacino and De Niro, to Mann's bluntly vague morality.  But I digress from all this Mann love, and move on to yet another film that one could easily describe as blown away worthy - Jacques Becker's 1960 prison film Le Trou (#922).   The director's final film (he died never seeing its release), and probably my favourite of the auteur's oeuvre, mixes the strangest concoction of awkward comedy and intense drama, but then again, the film is French.

Next up is what I believe to be the one and only Turkish film on the list - Yilmaz Güney's 1982 film Yol (#923).  It had its moments but we should probably move on out of fear of falling asleep at all those non-moment moments.  And speaking of falling asleep, next up is the sixteen plus hour German mini-series turned theatrical golliwog, Berlin Alexanderplatz (#924). Now Fassbinder is definitely a take him or leave him type of filmmaker for me (other than Ali: Fear Eats the Soul, The Bitter Tears of Petra Van Kant and The Marriage of Maria Braun, they all seem to blend together) and there are definite ups and downs to this epic viewing, but overall this critic was not overly impressed.  This critic was impressed by the next film on his quest.  Akira Kurosawa's twenty-third film, Red Beard (#925), starts off quietly and rises crescendo-like into one of the better works in the auteur's oeuvre.  Turning back to the boredom side of things, Jean-Luc Godard's Sauve qui Peut (la vie) (#926) from 1980 is just godawful - and I say that as a lover of Godard's early work.  In the eight year period from Breathless through Week-end, JLG directed no less than fifteen great works, several of which could even be called masterpieces.  Since 1967, the auteur has given us nothing more than a sprinkling of good films (though none of them great) amongst a filmography of pompous, self-righteous claptrap.  This film is definitely part of the latter group.  Which, non-sequitor notwithstanding, brings us back to R.W. Fassbinder and his penultimate film Veronika Voss (#927).  I suppose I would put this unique film, shot in black and white and made to resemble some sort of film noir/melodrama melange, in the aforementioned take him category.

Next up is a sequel that is really a remake.  Yeah, Sam Raimi's Evil Dead II (#928) made the list, even though the original Evil Dead did not, so I finally got around to seeing the damn thing.  Pretty neat actually.  Fun, campy stuff indeed, and even though I probably would not include it in my own top 1000, I can see why, unlike several films mentioned above, it is here.  Then we have The Hart of London (#929), a 1970 experimental film from Jack Chambers.  I think everyone here knows my thoughts on experimental cinema, and if you do not, you will be reminded about it later on down the page.  For now let's just move on to The Devil is a Woman (#930).  Let's see, Josef von Sternberg and Marle Dietrich.  How can you go wrong?  You can't!  Okay, this isn't the pair at their best, but even lesser Dietrich/von Sternberg is better than the best of many others.  So there!  Meanwhile, Antonioni's La Notte (#931) is a fun movie.  Well, as fun as any Antonioni film can be that is.  Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (#932) is an even funner movie - and Sam Peckinpah films are nothing if not fun.  Bloody and oft times demented, but definitely fun.  Fellini's Il Bidone (#933) is kind of fun as well, but on a lesser scale.  Did that sound patronizing?  Oh well, it wasn't meant to sound that way.  As for the film that beat Citizen Kane for the Oscar, John Ford's How Green Was My Valley (#934), it actually ain't half bad.  I am usually averse to Best Picture winners (more oft than not they are mediocre works when compared to the films they beat out for such an award) and I would certainly not call Ford's Welsh drama a worthy alternative to Kane, but I did find myself enjoying it much more than I expected. 

Which brings us to Ken Jacobs' Star Spangled to Death (#935).  As I alluded to above, all my regulars (those faithful readers and true believers out there - and you know of whom I speak) know full well my utter disdain for at least 80% of all so-called experimental cinema.  Most of it is nothing but sound and fury, signifying nothing (yeah, I just used Shakespeare to diss experimental cinema) and I just do not get so many people's love for it.  I will certainly never understand the love for someone like Brakhage.  Really!?  But I digress, for we are here to discuss a film by Ken Jacobs and not to pick apart the folderol that is the cinema of Brakhage.  Well this one is most certainly not what we will come to call "Brakhage Bad."  A look at imagery throughout the twentieth century, Jacobs puts together a halfway intriguing collage of film.  Granted, the only interesting elements are the clips of old film (Dick Powell singing about the National Recovery Administration, old school animation from the likes of genius animator Ub Iwerks) while the rest (fellow avant-garder Jack Smith and his gang, various protest marches) is mere fiddle faddle that could have just as easily been fiddle faddled right onto the cutting room floor.  One of the best films of the year and decade some say.  Balderdash! So there.

I first saw part one of Abbas Kiarostami's Koker Trilogy, Where is the Friend's Home? about eleven years ago.  For some reason or other, it took me until just recently to finish the damn trilogy.  Part two, Life, and Nothing More... (#936), and the finale, Through the Olive Trees (#937) take the idea of the first film and twist them around in the oh so special way that Kiarostami pulls off so often.  What is real and what is not is a question (or two) that the Iranian auteur puts into most of his films, and throughout the second and third parts of this trilogy, he is near top form in such divisive antics.  And speaking of divisive antics, I successfully spent the first forty-five years of my life keeping away from The Sound of Music (#938), but this list, and my quest, has brought that all to a devastating crash ending.  But I figured, since I knew it was inevitable, and at some point I was going to have to cave in and watch the fucking thing, why not do it on the big screen.  So I invited a friend (her all-time favourite movie!?), her eleven year old daughter (according to her mum, her all-time most desired to see film!?), and her special edition bluray to the cinema, and we projected up n the big screen.  Incidentally, the aforementioned eleven year old wasn't all that much a fan afterwards.  Meanwhile, my lovely wife, having seen the film in her childhood, refused to be any part of any of this.  Anyway, for all the gruff I give to the film, I suppose it wasn't really all that bad.  Far from great, but not life-ending like I expected.  I will still have to cleanse my musical palette though - a thing that will happen just a few more entries down.

Werner Herzog's 1982 film Fitzcarraldo (#939) has always been just off my radar, but it took until now to see it.  My thoughts?  It is a movie that has the great Klaus Kinski, more than appropriately batshitcrazy, a few drunken Peruvian sailors, and a slew of wouldbe cannibal tribesmen, dragging a a steamship over a mountain, all in order to harvest rubber so he can get enough money to build an opera house in the South American jungle.  How can that not be something fun to watch!?  And while we are talking about things to watch, John Ford is always a good choice.   His inherently tragic WWII film, They Were Expendable (#940), is one of those films.  Granted, it is probably more lesser Ford than many others, but as they say, even lesser Ford, yada yada yada.  Next up though, is that special film, that special latter day musical that helped a certain someone (me, for those keeping score) cleanse his musical palette of a film such as The Sound of Music a few days earlier.  That film is Bob Fosse's acerbic 1979 musical All That Jazz (#941).  My personal tastes in the musical genre tend to lean toward either the early Busby Berkeley days of the precode era or that so-called genre heyday of the late 1940's and early 1950's (eg. Singin' in the Rain, An American in Paris, The Bandwagon).  I am usually less than enthusiastic toward the overblown musicals of the 1960's and the resurgence of sorts in the 1970's.  All That Jazz, along with Fosse's own Caberet a few years earlier, is definitely an exception to that rule.  Arrogant when in needs to be, tender when it calls for it, toe-tapping throughout, All That Jazz is probably the last great musical America has seen.  Some would claim another resurgence took place about a decade ago with films like Moulin Rouge and the Oscar winning Chicago, but the latter is highly overrated and the former is a whole other creature to contend with.  No, I believe All That Jazz is the last truly great musical - as well as a film that will almost assuredly make my own top 1000 when I compile such a list when my quest is over.

And now to somewhat dash through the next eight films so we can sew this baby up and go home til next we meet.  Joseph Mankiewicz's 1949 classic, A Letter to Three Wives (#942), has several wonderful performances, most notably Jeanne Crain and Linda Darnell, but still manages to end up as a rather lackluster film overall.  Truffaut's The Woman Next Door (#943), the auteur's penultimate work, is one of those films whose intensity just keeps building and building until it finally bursts in the final climactic moments.  Probably the Frenchman's most passionate film.  Next up is the Michael Caine/Sean Connery fun fest, The Man Who Would be King (#944).  The storyline is okay, but it is the antics of Caine and Connery that make the film fly.  Next we have yet another John Ford - the penultimate Ford in my quest by the way.   Again, it is what one may call lesser Ford, but again, whatever Wagon Master (#945) may be, lesser Ford is still better than most others better films.   Which brings us to Robert Rossen's iconic Paul Newman film, The Hustler (#946).  I saw the sequel, Martin Scorsese's 1986 film The Color of Money, in theaters upon its initial release, but just saw the original a few weeks ago.  Easily one of the better American films of its day.  Nothing more need be said.  The next film on the list is from the man you love to hate.  Erich von Stroheim's Foolish Wives (#947) may not be Greed, but it sure is fun, and pretty much all of that fun is due to Herr Stroheim as both director and actor.  Next we have the 1968 Latin America doc The Hour of the Furnaces (#948).  It is long and at times it is tedious.  Still some interesting ideas within that long and tedious film.  And that brings us to the last film in this thirty-film batch - and it is from one of the greatest directors of all-time.  Jean Renoir's 1931 La Chienne (#949), the director's second sound film, is one of the earliest examples of the greatness that would be Jean Renoir.  And that brings us to the end of this batch of films.  Just fifty more to go and my quest will have been completed.  Meanwhile, I am getting a little behind in my writing of said films - I just hit #978 tonight - so the next batch of films will probably be posted quite soon after this one.  See you for the next thirty in no time at all.

My Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films: #900 Thru #919

Here is a look at the latest twenty films in my Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films.  These twenty films were seen between Aug. 19th and Sept. 25th.  A complete look at my quest can be viewed HERE.

#900 - The Sorrow and the Pity (1969) - (#651 on TSPDT) No, I did not drag Annie Hall to see this - I watched it all by myself.  I am usually not much of a documentary fan and was kind of bored with Ophüls dragging style of filmmaking, but even so, the subject matter is interesting enough to keep one going even if the director cannot. 

#901 - The Red Circle (1970) - (#845 on TSPDT)  A typical French crime film from the modernist master of such things, Jean-Pierre Melville.  In other words, a cool, suave and quite convoluted film that never ceases to intrigue.  Still though, I do not think I would add said intriguing film to my own top 1000, but I bear no grudge over others having it included.

#902 - The Great Escape (1963) - (#538 on TSPDT) I have been whistling that damn theme music ever since watching this (well over a month ago, since I am quite late in putting this post together) but I suppose there are worse things to whistle.  As for the film itself, it is great fun.  Now granted, these are some of the worse prison escapees I have ever seen - they keep getting caught and sent back - and perhaps the film should be called The Mildly Successful, but Overall Failure of an Escape, and the historical accuracy (who really cares about that anyway) is put to the test since Steve McQueen insisted there be a motorcycle chase included, but still quite fun - especially McQueen and his motorcycle chase.  On a side note, there is a fun story of how McQueen did all his own motorcycle riding (save for one lone jump) and at the same time did the stunt work for the Nazi cyclists chasing him, so with some editing magic, we get to watch McQueen chase himself on several occasions.  As for its inclusion on this list - sure, why the hell not.

#903 - Salo, or 120 Days of Sodom (1975) - (#258 on TSPDT)  I cannot say I actually liked this film.  I can say I respect it.  I can say it deserves better than to be tossed aside as mere filth like many contemporary critics did.  I can also say that it is art.  Granted, a demented, warped version of art, but art nonetheless.  Which I suppose means one need not enjoy a film to think it a great work of art.  Perhaps I just can never get past the fecal dinnertime scenes to actually enjoy this beast of a movie, but still, who am I to say it is not good, or even great.  Its inclusion on this list can be explained in the same manner.

#904 - Wild River (1960) - (#939 on TSPDT)  Kazan called this his personal favourite, and even though I would not go quite that far it is a rather intense work.  Of course it is an Elia Kazan film starring Monty Clift, so how could it not be intense as all fuck.  This film would probably end up just missing out on my own top 1000, but it would be close.

#905 - Funny Face (1957) - (#605 on TSPDT) I am still not sure why Fred Astaire and crew need to pretty someone like the gorgeous Audrey Hepburn up - or why Fred calls her funny face (not funny at all Fred old boy), even though he obviously has the hots for her (dirty old man, but then that particular part of Hollywood moviemaking is another story for another day) - but one can just call this the godfather of all those eighties and nineties films where the so-called funny-looking girl, usually only thought as such because of wearing her hair in a ponytail or having paint-splattered bib overalls instead of a dress or mini-skirt, and leave it at that.  Most of the musical numbers are fine, but none, save for the beat cafe dance number perhaps, is all that memorable when compared to most of the great movie musical numbers.  Still though, it is fun.  Maybe not 1000 greatest films fun, but fun.

#906 - Le Corbeau (1943) - (#961 on TSPDT)  We can certainly always count on Henri-Georges Clouzot to give us some of the best thrillers this side of Hitchcock - sometimes perhaps just as good, if not better.  This film, The Raven in English, is one of the director's more light-hearted fare, but still manages to incite dread and suspense from beginning to end.  As for its inclusion here, I have no problem with such, and suspect it might even sneak onto my own top 1000 when I make it after completion of my quest.

#907 - Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1965) - (#572 on TSPDT)  Directed by Georgian-born, Armenian filmmaker Sergei Parajanov, and filled with both the beautiful and the ugly side of local Ukranian customs, this film may not be everyone's cup of tea as they say - a lot of it is watching lengthy social and religious rituals, which incidentally is something this critic loves - but the sheer beauty of it all, as well as the juxtaposing of such horrible moments, makes for a fascinating watch.  After Paranajov made this poetic, sometimes absurdist, film - a break from his social realist past - the director denounced everything he made prior to it.  Of course then the Soviets came in and denounced everything else as well.  Bastards.  The film will not make my own 1000 list, but that by no means is meant as an insult.  I am closing in on 7000 films seen these days, and not everything I like can make the final cut.

#908 - The Fountainhead (1949) - (#792 on TSPDT)  If one can get past Ayn Rand's ugly politics (and yes, I know that is a hard thing to do) this King Vidor-directed melodrama is pretty good.  Well, okay, the crazy libertarian-cum-fascist storyline is quite offensive, but the acting by Cooper and Neal (who incidentally were running around with each other at the time of filming) and the direction of Vidor (some say heavy-handed, but I like that about the guy) make up for all the bullshit that Rand spewed forth all of her crazy-eyed life.  I could go on and on and on some more about the self-centered fascism of Rand and her writings (the bastard godmother of the tea party crowd) but we are only here to talk about the film and not the politics surrounding its creation.  With that said, I enjoyed the film, but then I always like Vidor and his supposed heavy-handedness - something that comes in handy (ha!) for a story such as this.  It will not make my list, but I did enjoy it for what it's worth.

#909 - Abraham's Valley (1993) - (#854 on TSPDT)  He puts a grand visual beauty in front of us, but I have never been able to get all that into the work of centenarian Portuguese director Manoel de Oliveira.  I have never disliked one of the director's films (granted, I have only seen a handful, or maybe even less than a handful) but I have never truly loved one either.  Still, they do look good, in that Eastern European (I know, Portugal is not in Eastern Europe, but work with me here folks) kinda way, and this one, for better or for worse, is no different.

#910 - The Traveling Players (1975) - (#181 on TSPDT)  He puts a grand visual beauty in front of us, but I have never been able to get all that into the work of Greek filmmaker Theo Angelopoulos.  I have never disliked one of the director's films (granted, I have only seen a handful, or maybe even less than a handful) but I have never truly loved one either.  Still, they do look good, in that Eastern European (I know, Greece is not technically in Eastern Europe, but work with me here folks) kinda way, and this one, for better or for worse, is no different. 

#911 - Ben-Hur (1959) - (#369 on TSPDT)  As is the case with many, or should we say most, Best Picture Oscar winners, this film is mediocre at best.  In fact, other than the famous chariot race, and the scenes involving the leper colony, this epic classic is certainly nothing to write home about - and even those things are pretty unspectacular.  Pure spectacle over substance, and even the spectacle is lackluster.

#912 - Carnival in Flanders (1945) - (#673 on TSPDT)  When giving the reasons behind his and his Nouvelle Vague compatriots' disdain for the so-called classics of his nation's cinematic history, François Truffaut spotlighted this film as the prime example of this troubling mediocrity in filmmaking.  Now granted, I did not think that lowly of the film - it had what one would call moments and is certainly better than a lot of films of such mediocre bent - but I can see where Truffaut was coming from.  We should give this film the proper credit it deserves though, for helping to create the radical revolution in cinema that came about thanks to Truffaut, Godard and ses ami's.

#913 - Seventh Heaven (1927) - (#970 on TSPDT)  The moment I finished watching this film, I went to my laptop and added this film to my 100 Favourite Films list.  Gorgeous and tragic.  Beautiful and haunting.  Tender and cruel.  Mesmerizing and stunning indeed.  Easily one of the finest examples of silent cinema to ever exist.  I was already a fan of the adorably urchin-esque Janet Gaynor, and her contemporary classic Sunrise (Miss Gaynor was awarded the very first Best Actress prize at the Academy Awards for a combination of this film, Street Angel, also a Frank Borzage film, and the aforementioned Murnau film, Sunrise), so this just adds to my adoration.  Some would say this is an even better film than Sunrise (I would not, but it is not too far behind) and this film really began getting followers when it was released on the Murnau, Borzage & Fox boxset.  My next step is to watch more Borzage films.  He is a director that I have not explored very much of, and judging from this film (and 1948's Moonrise, as well as the 1929 unfinished film The River, the only other ones of the director's oeuvre that I have seen) he is definitely one I should begin exploring - immediately. 

#914 - War and Peace (1965-67) - (#568 on TSPDT)  Ugh.  I have never been much of a fan of Tolstoy's novel to begin with.  Give me Anna Karenina or anything by Dostoyevsky instead.  But alas, this nearly seven hour Soviet produced version (originally released in four parts between 1965 and 67) is on the list, so watch it I must.  Actually the film isn't all that bad (certainly better than the book) and has a unique feel to it.  It is rather difficult to lay out in writing, but the film had a very, for lack of a better term (I'm tired dammit), magical feel to its cinematography.  Something akin to a Lynchian feel if you will.   It is not going on my list, but hey, why not here?

#915 - I Know Where I'm Going (1945) - (#413 on TSPDT)  Anyone who knows me, surely knows my great love for anything Powell/Pressburger, and this film makes no change whatsoever to that great love.  Lovely and mysterious, this is one of the last P&P films I had yet to see (and the final one from the list) as well as the third in a series of six masterpieces in six years from the men known as The Archers.  If one were so inclined, one could read about such a streak of masterpieces (a term I do not use willy-nilly) at my piece entitled The Archers and Their Masterpiece Theat...er, I Mean Cinema.  And of course, this film will surely make my own top 1000 when the time for such things finally comes.

#916 - Il Posto (1961) - (#952 on TSPDT)  Take Italian Neorealism and toss in a bit of Kafkaesque storytelling (just a bit) and you have this quietly enthralling work from Ermanno Olmi, the man who would later give us The Tree of Wooden Clogs - a film that is higher on the list than this one, but I still enjoy this one better.  Then again, I have always been a sucker for neorealism.  Will it make my list though?  Perhaps it will, perhaps it will not.  It is going to be a close call on this one.

#917 - The Manchurian Candidate (1962) - (#370 on TSPDT)  I once attempted to watch this film - probably about ten years ago - but ended up falling asleep about forty-five minutes in.  This is not meant as a criticism of the film, because I think I was probably just tired at the time and it was on TCM late night or something like that.  I only got back to the film a few weeks back and, staying awake from beginning to end, my new verdict of the film makes me wonder just how tired I was lo those ten years ago.  Intriguing and quite intense throughout.  Well deserving of inclusion on the list, and it just may make my list as well.

#918 - The Tin Drum (1979) - (#551 on TSPDT)  If I were honest (and why the hell wouldn't I be) I would start out by saying I was not expecting much out of this film.  Mainly this was due to the rather poor record of Oscar winning Foreign Language Films being something better than mediocre.  C'mon, ya know I'm right.  Take a look at the track record.  Anyway, as I said, I was not expecting much here.  Surprisingly I was thrown for quite a loop when I realized how much I enjoyed the damn thing.  It may not make my eventual list (though it might sneak on) but it certainly is a fun, if not a bit on the demented "why are you laughing at this" side, motion picture experience.

#919 - Hotel Terminus (1988) - (#701 on TSPDT) Gotta admit, this film kinda bored me.  Kinda bored me to tears.  I am not really sure why, because the subject matter, Nazi war criminal Klaus Barbie, should be an interesting story, but alas, Marcel Ophüls' long, drawn-out doc was just not all that spectacular.  I am sure it is on the list more because it is something so-called important than for any other reasons.  Needless to say, I am not going to be including this one on my list.

My Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films: #880 Thru #899

Here is a look at the latest ten films in my Quest to See the 1000 Greatest Films.  These twenty films were seen between July 30 and August 18.  A complete look at my quest can be viewed HERE.

#880 - Being There (1979) - (#504 on TSPDT)  A subtle, seemingly slight (but deceptively so) film that, even with its quiet old world charm, was way ahead of its time in its politically-charged subject matter - and on top of all this, we get to watch Peter Sellers do that thing he do so well.  I would not put this film on my own top 1000, but I bear it no grudge being here - or being there as it were.  See what I did there?

#881 - Henry V (1944) - (#422 on TSPDT)  I tend to be more of a fan of Shakespeare's tragedies and comedies than his histories, and Henry V is no exception, and even though I would not include it on my own top 1000, there is no denying the succulent beauty of Olivier's brightly coloured, intensely performed adaptation.

#882 - Passion (1982) - (#587 on TSPDT)  There was a time in the career of Jean-Luc Godard that one could call him the future of cinema.  The world of film would look a lot different if not for the actions of Godard (and for that matter Truffaut, Rivette and the ilk) and back in the day, films such as Breathless, Band of Outsiders, Contempt, Week-end, Vivre Sa Vie, Pierrot le fou, Alphaville, and a slew of others, were rightly hailed as great works.  Somewhere along the way though, JLG lost that thing he had, and began making repetitive, contrived and pedantic essay-like films that have bored the hell out of this critic.  Passion, though heralded by many (it is on this list after all), is a total mess of a movie, and like most of the ostentatious pieces of pretentious bile the filmmaker has spewed forth since In Praise of Love, JLG/JLG, the ridiculous obnoxiousness of his latest, Film Socialisme), has been shaming the old output of such a grand master auteur for years now.  And this from a guy who considers Godard to be the most influential director of the last fifty years.  Imagine if I wasn't a fan.

#883 - Cool Hand Luke (1967) - (#481 on TSPDT)  How many eggs can you eat?  A classic of what has come to be known as "cool cinema," this film is one of the more fun films of the time period.  Hip and cool (and I mean that in the good way, not the hipster way that such descriptives have been reduced to in this day and age) and with a slew of great performances, this film, one of my favourites of my birth year, is a rip-roarin' good time, punctuated with an inevitable exclamation point of an ending. 

#884/885 - Late Autumn/The End of Summer (1960/61) - (#973/657 on TSPDT)  Back-to-back films by Japanese master Yasujiro Ozu.  Granted, many of Ozu's works, with their similar storylines and equally similar seasonally-titled names, blend in together.  I have never seen one that is poorly done or one that is not beautiful in one way or another (either physically or thematically, ofttimes both) but on the other hand, very few (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, An Autumn Afternoon, Dragnet Girl, I was Born, But...) seem to stick out and have notice taken of them over the others.  I am not saying this as a dis of any kind, and even though I do prefer Kurosawa, and Mizoguchi over Ozu (and consider Naruse a veritable even-steven kind of thing with Ozu), I do tend to get lost in the images that Ozu puts forth in his work - and these two films (his two penultimate films), for better or for worse, are no different.

#886 - Lacombe, Lucian (1974) - (#863 on TSPDT)  With a kind of take him or leave him attitude toward Louis Malle, I went into this film with rather reserved anticipation.  I came out of it with a new respect for a director I once nudged aside as a mere afterthought.  Perhaps this doesn't sway me on others of his oeuvre that I have been rather indifferent toward, but this is a solid work of art indeed - and as far as semi-faint praise goes, my favourite Louis Malle film as well.

#887 - The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) - (#709 on TSPDT)  I am not sure why it has taken me this long to finally see this film - especially considering that Scorsese is one of my all-time favourites - but that is over now.  My eventual reaction?  Less than what I had hoped actually.  Sure, I enjoyed the film - Harvey Keitel as Iscariot is a giddy hoot and a half - and I can see the touches put in with regards to the films of the director's youth (King of Kings, Silver Chalice, Gospel According to St. Matthew, The Robe) but it is certainly not one of Scorsese's best.  Then again, even lesser Scorsese is better than most films out there.  Off the top of my head, my own top 1000 would include at least eight Scorsese works (Taxi Driver, Goodfellas, Raging Bull, Mean Streets, New York New York, King of Comedy, Casino, Cape Fear, maybe Shutter Island, Hugo and Alice Doesn't Live Here) but alas, this one will not make it.

#888 - Bellissima (1951) - (#902 on TSPDT)  Luchino Visconti's third film, and the first that began his exit from typical Italian Neorealism (the splendiferously coloured Senso would come next).  With a comic timing equal to any of the Italian comedies that would burst through over the next few decades, but with a snese of tragedy born of neorealism - not to mention a stellar performance from Anna Magnani (of course) - this is a terrific film and one worth inclusion on the list.

#889 - Le Jour Se Lève (1939) - (#531 on TSPDT)  I preface this by saying I have yet to see Children of Paradise - held off as one of my final five in the quest.  Le Jour Se Lève, along with Port of Shadows, is the best of Marcel Carné.  This film is dark and strangely comic at times, and definitely one that belongs on this list.  I know I am going to include it on my own top 1000 when I make it post-quest.

#890 - Gilda (1946) - (#690 on TSPDT)  It has happened during my quest just five times this year.  First in March with Gun Crazy, then later that same month with Fritz Lang's Indian Epic, then in May with Black Orpheus, July with The Docks of New York, and now a fifth time with Gilda.  What exactly has happened you ask?  A quest film has been added to my all-time 100 Favourite Films list.  Gun Crazy, at #35, is the highest ranked of these five additions, but Gilda is second, coming in at #68.  Sixty-eighth out of the 6000+ films I have seen in my forty-five years is pretty damn good.  Oh yeah, and we get to watch Rita Hayworth and her Hayworthiest.  For more on this wonderful film, check this out: "On Gilda, and How Rita Hayworth Could Redeem my Shawshank Any Time She Wanted (Yeah I Said It, What's It To Ya?)."

#891 - A Place in the Sun (1951) - (#541 on TSPDT)  Oh those eyes.  Those rapturous, breathtaking, sexy eyes that seem to bore a hole right through to your soul - devouring your very essence with their sheer beauty.  Oh yeah, and Elizabeth Taylor's eyes are nice too.  Seriously though, Monty Clift gives one of his best performances here - and that is saying a hell of a lot.  Brooding and romantic and quite tragic - and poor Shelley Winters, the girl should never go near water.

#892 - Spring in a Small Town (1948) - (#445 on TSPDT)  A fascinating classic from the great country of China.  Usually considered the nation's greatest work, this film, which incidentally was blandly remade a few years back, is a powerful and emotional film that surely belongs in the upper realms of melodrama lore.  I would have loved to have seen what someone like Sirk would have done with this - or even Nick Ray - but it does stand on its own, so let us just enjoy the original and leave it at that.

#893 - The Criminal Life of Archibaldo de la Cruz (1955) - (#790 on TSPDT)  There are some really fun moments in this film - the kind of strange, unspoken fun that Buñuel slips into a lot of his work - and though it does not sit as one of my favourite Buñuel's (Viridiana, Los Olvidados, Exterminating Angel, Nazarin, Diary of a Chambermaid, Discreet Charm, Belle de Jour) it is indeed good old fashioned Buñuelian fun.

#894 - Die Nibelungen (1924) - (#900 on TSPDT)  I am not the biggest fan of Lang's silent epics (Metropolis, and to a lesser degree, Destiny aside) instead preferring his days at noir filmmaking (which incidentally should begin with his masterpiece M), but still, there is no denying the man's power at visual storyteling - and this visual bravura is in high gear in this double feature epic.

#895 - Ride the High Country (1962) - (#548 on TSPDT)  Peckinpah's second film, and the one that gave a breakthrough to the director.  I believe it was Bosley Crowther who called the film "a perfectly dandy little western."  Need I say more?  Okay, just one more thing - it is always fun to watch Randolph Scott.  He was the epitome of the struggling gunslinger with an outside steeliness and a heart of gold hidden beneath.

#896 - La Collectionneuse (1967) - (#933 on TSPDT)  One of Eric Rohmer's Six Moral Tales, and probably my least favourite of the bunch (I have only seen four of them though).  Typical Rohmerian stuff here, and if you are not into said typical Rohmerian stuff (the auteur being my least favourite New Waver, I can take it or leave it myself) then this probably is not the film for you.

#897 - The Saragossa Manuscript (1965) - (#881 on TSPDT)  A bizarre film that plays at the ideas of reality, sometimes resembling the batshitcrazy cinematic artistry of contemporaries like Jodorowsky or Rocha, this war/horror/fantasy/comedy creature is a fun fun film.  One should not be surprised at it being the favourite film of the hallucinatory guitar man Jerry Garcia.

#898 - From Here To Eternity (1953) - (#754 on TSPDT)  Though there are a handful of exceptions (Casablanca, The Godfather, On the Waterfront) the vast majority of Best Picture Oscar winners tend to be of the mediocre variety, and even though this film is filled to the brim with great performances (Montgomery Clift, Deborah Kerr, Burt Lancaster, Oscar winner Frank Sinatra, Ernest Borgnine in a tiny but pivitol role) it never falls any higher than the aforementioned mediocrity.

#899 - Splendor in the Grass (1961) - (#666 on TSPDT)  Moving into the number two spot, behind On the Waterfront, of my favourite Elia Kazan's, this film, in all its overly-melodramatic flair (oh I do love me some overly melodramatic flair!) is a revelation of story, acting and the visual coming into perfect sync with each other.  It is also a film that proves (once again) that Natalie Wood is indeed a great actress, and not the hack moniker that so many critics have thrusted upon her.