It’s a tough thing to do, compiling a ‘definitive list’ of your favorite films, because what do you base it on? The films you liked growing up? The classics? The ones you’re supposed to like? The ones you’ve seen the most? Because when I was growing up, watching movies was a completely different experience. You either went to the cinema or you waited for things to arrive at the video shop down the road (in this case, Movies on Walton Street in Oxford), which in the 1980s could literally take years (actual years). And even then, when they did finally arrive you might have to put your name down on a list (probably using a biro), which could easily add another few weeks of anticipation to your wait. So without infinite access to absolutely everything all the time (unlike, you know, nowadays) you’d often return from the video shop not with the ‘must-see’ you were hoping for, but with whatever you could get your hands on, which in my case most likely meant the same concoction of ‘staples’ for the umpteenth time - some variation of Fletch, European Vacation, Highlander, and Mean Machine starring Burt Reynolds (known as The Longest Yard in America). Then at some point we started buying videos from HMV and curating our own little video shops at home. In mine we again had Fletch, European Vacation, Highlander (but no Mean Machine), and now they were joined by Platoon, Weird Science, The Untouchables and for some insane reason, The Deer Hunter.
Yet none of these movies make this list (though Fletch was close). Neither do some of the greatest films I saw at the cinema, like Raiders of the Lost Ark, Ghostbusters, Gremlins... or, um, Rain Man (the very first 15 certificate I blagged my way into). Conan the Barbarian, which I first watched agog as an eight-year-old, doesn’t make it, nor do Body Heat or 9½ Weeks, which were personal favourites during a very specific period of my adolescence. There’s no Taxi Driver, no Goodfellas, no Godfather 1 or 2 (and definitely not 3). I took Die Hard and Predator out at the last minute.
And so we’re left with the ones we’re left with. You might notice that lots of them could probably be filed under ‘arty’ if you were feeling kind, or ‘pretentious’ if you were feeling sneery, but hey, that’s just the world I live in, I’m that guy now. The one thing they have in common, and I promise you this, is that they’re all really really good*.
*Though if you asked me tomorrow, I suspect around 10/15 of them would change.
The Philadelphia Story (1940)
Katherine Hepburn, James Stewart, and Cary Grant form three points on a love rhombus - with the dumbass she’s about to marry being the fourth (the less legendary John Howard). It’s the perfect rom-com, nose-snortingly funny and romantic enough to elicit some waterworks at the end.
The Lady Eve (1941)
Swindlers on a boat exploring the “hypothermical question” as to whether falling in love is nothing more than a long con. It’s also a fine exponent of the classic theatrical trope where a character becomes completely unrecognisable just by changing their voice.
Casablanca (1942)
You’ve heard all the quotes and misquotes (famously no one says “play it again, Sam”). But what’s so startling about the whole thing is that it’s about World War Two, released during World War Two, but with barely a political hair out of place.
Double Indemnity (1944)
Considered one of the classic noirs from a time before the term had even been coined. Barbara Stanwyck proves to be very much the exploding camera-bulb variety of Hollywood star, while Fred MacMurray famously says “baby” many more times than is necessary.
Notorious (1946)
Tension stacked upon tension as Ingrid Bergman is tasked with infiltrating a Nazi organisation and Cary Grant’s government agent is tasked with not falling in love with her. Problem is, she’s smoking hot.
Black Narcissus (1947)
Nuns going mad at altitude. Repressed sexuality, longing, and an ominous bell tower that tolls doom the second you see it.
The Red Shoes (1948)
You can file this one above Billy Elliot and Black Swan as the best ballet movie of all time, particularly for the iconic 17-minute sequence in the middle of a film, not plonked there but deftly inserted, highlighting the plight of our heroine who is ultimately forced to choose between the great loves of her life – dancing, or the composer who’s lit a fire in her knickers. There’s a genuine case for this being the greatest British film ever made.
Late Spring (1949)
From the legendary film maker Yasujiro Ozu, this initially disguises itself as a commentary on clashing generations but at a certain point it hits you right in the solar plexus (SPOILER ALERT), it’s about a father letting go of his daughter. Cue floodgates.
Rashomon (1950)
The telling of the same violent tale from different perspectives, each time somehow aggrandising the new narrator, creating a sense of ambiguity about who did what and where the finger of guilt should point. Now a much-aped classic.
Sunset Boulevard (1950)
A struggling Hollywood screenwriter stumbles across a fallen idol – a bizarre Miss Havisham who used to be a star of silent movies – and she bankrolls him, puts him up in her decadent gaff, and slowly destroys his life.
Strangers on a Train (1951)
The hazards of sparking up a conversation on public transport are fully realised here, rippling outwards to their inevitable conclusion of grisly murder. Robert Walker, playing a charming psychopath, was battling his own demons in real life and died soon after.
Ikiru (1952)
A dying man re-evaluates his life as a corporate slave and decides to take a detour on his way to an early grave by embracing humanity over bureaucracy – essentially by building a playground for local kids. The recent Bill Nighy version, Living, is pretty good too.
Tokyo Story (1953)
Japanese master craftsman Yasujiro Ozu weaves a gentle tale of a family too caught up in their own lives to look after their visiting parents, but the central message – that life, children, and family are all ultimately disappointing – isn’t as pessimistic as it looks on paper. The movie accepts human fallibility as something to be unashamed of, while celebrating unforced acts of kindness as always meaningful and rarely unnoticed. This should be on the curriculum somewhere.
On the Waterfront (1954)
Loyalty, corruption, finding the strength to stand up when it matters. Brando’s Terry Malloy wrestles his conscience in a phenomenal turn amongst a sea of phenomenal turns - notably from Eva Marie Saint, Karl Malden, and Lee J. Cobb as the finest exponent of what you’d now term “toxic masculinity” ever to swing a dick on screen.
Lift to the Scaffold (1958)
A murder plot hits the skids when a lift breaks down with the killer still in it. If you wanted a gripping elevator pitch, they don’t come better.
Vertigo (1958)
Do you need me to tell you that Vertigo is any good? Probably not. But I will because bizarrely enough it was roundly despised when it came out, garnering mostly dreadful reviews which Hitchcock put down to Jimmy Stewart looking too grandfatherly to be romancing a 25-year-old stunner like Kim Novak. But once you get past that (older man, sexy babe, hello Hollywood!) you’ve got a really off-kilter thriller with a twist about two thirds in that makes you feel like you’re in on the con.
Pillow Talk (1959)
Sometimes all you need is an uplifting romantic comedy from a simpler time - a time when all there was to worry about was the impending threat of nuclear war from the Soviet Union – and for some reason, these days, for me, that means Doris Day.
The Apartment (1960)
Jack Lemmon pimps out his Central Park apartment as a place where his bosses can take their mistresses, ultimately selling his soul to climb the corporate ladder in a morality tale that begins disguised as a knockabout comedy.
Peeping Tom (1960)
A slasher flick about a loner making his own snuff movie, directed by one half of Powell and Pressburger. Critics panned it, audiences were bewildered, and Michael Powell was essentially cancelled. Which is mad because it’s brilliant.
La Notte (1961)
All sumptuous views and glistening swimming pools, as married man Marcello Mastroianni (alliteration!) has his head turned by the iconic Italian looker (and Michelangelo Antonioni muse) Monica Vitti. But really, it’s a painful meditation on what happens to true love over the years if you don’t tend to it. Sobering stuff.
Le Mepris (1963)
Essentially long marital argument interspersed with sweeping music and stunning views – one being Brigitte Bardot (playing the role of the hot infuriated spouse), the other being her bottom.
The Servant (1963)
A film centred on cruelty and gaslighting, as a manservant (amazing performance from Dirk Bogarde) slowly consumes his employer’s sanity.
Blow-Up (1966)
A really odd, restrained film from the meticulous Italian Michelangelo Antonioni – featuring, unsurprisingly, echoes of the later homage Blow Out which also features on this list. Both find artists – here a photographer, there a sound man – who think they’ve stumbled across a murder through their work. The difference here being the underlying ambiguity of it, which leaves you wondering whether any of it actually happened or not.
Persona (1966)
An exploration of identity and sexuality in which one of the leads barely utters a word, while the other delivers one of the filthiest monologues ever captured on screen.
Come Drink With Me (1966)
Widely considered one of the greatest martial arts movies ever made, there’s a certain irony that the leading lady (Cheng Pei-pei) was a ballet dancer. Further proof that violence, when administered correctly, can be beautiful.
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)
An argument between two barely functioning booze hounds stretches into the night - or, through another lens, Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor use art to imitate life.
Le Samourai (1967)
A film about a hitman trying to cover his tracks. Looks amazing, sounds amazing (magnifique soundtrack), and Alain Delon (recently RIP) might be the dishiest male babe there’s ever been.
The Graduate (1967)
Once you get used to Dustin Hoffman playing a sprightly 21-year-old with a voice made up entirely of bass notes, and you accept that it’s the late 60s and the sexual politics are all over the place – most notably when a girl is in two minds about a boy because she thinks he might have raped her mum – what you’ve got is a faultless romantic comedy.
The Thomas Crown Affair (1968)
The ingredients alone are spellbinding. McQueen, Dunaway, flash motors, and a jazz score from Michel Legrand (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The Young Girls of Rochefort). With all of that on the menu, who honestly gives a shit about the gigantic hole where a plot should be?
The Swimmer (1968)
Burt Lancaster decides to “swim home” through his neighbours’ backyard pools kickstarting a series of weird vignettes that paint a picture of a man who has lost it all including his marbles. A genuine oddity – even down to the central premise that you can just wander around in your trunks without anyone bothering to be bothered.
Teorema (1968)
The message here, as the patriarch of a bourgeois family strips down to nothing and heads screaming through the wilderness, appears to be that our belongings won’t bring us happiness. That we hide behind totems of status. From the man who later brought you Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom.
On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)
It’s often seen as an act of contrarianism to say it, but this is the best Bond film. It’s the one with the doomed ending that somehow manages to elicit pure masculine emotion, and it also looks incredible - which makes total sense when you discover that the director also worked on The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp.
Claire’s Knee (1970)
An Eric Rohmer stunner. Yes it scans a little creepily with a grown man attempting to seduce teenagers on holiday, but don’t let that put you off.
Le Boucher (1970)
What Le Boucher does so well is that it humanises a serial killer without letting him off the hook, while also drawing on the conflicted feelings of an intended target for a man she’d grown fond of. One of the great thrillers, French or otherwise.
The Last Picture Show (1971)
Another from the pantheon of great ‘coming of age’ films, which in narrative terms tends to mean that teenage minds are about to be exposed to the cruelty and futility of life. That they’ll embark on hormonal journeys where sex will become commodified, or weaponised, or distractingly elusive. And that someone at some point will definitely be punched in the face. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick etc...
Walkabout (1971)
Bookended by two suicides – (SPOILER ALERT) one shocker at the start which finds two children semi-orphaned and stranded in the Australian outback. The second (ANOTHER SPOILER ALERT) also catching you by surprise, possibly the reaction to a mating ritual gone wrong.
A Touch of Zen (1971)
The film that inspired Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Confucian philosophy mixed with balletic forest fights, but perhaps the real feather in its cap is the genius of watching the story play out through the eyes of a secondary character.
The French Connection (1971)
Lauded for its notorious car chase that finds Popeye Doyle pitting motor against locomotion. What’s lesser acknowledged is that director William Friedkin was desperate to make his lead man anyone but Gene Hackman, knocking on the doors of Newman, McQueen, Caan, Mitchum, even pleading with a couple of pug-faced non-actors to take the role.
McCabe & Mrs Miller (1971)
Most iconic Westerns are all vast plains and orchestral scores, but this is a whole different kettle of cowboys. Claustrophobic bars, grey skies, a contemporary soundtrack (for the time), and a simple story about a business negotiation gone wrong.
Cries and Whispers (1972)
A series of unsettling vignettes punctuated by the indecipherable sounds of whispering and ticking clocks as three sisters deal with the end of a harrowing cancer battle, turning to reflections on their own fears, repressed emotions, and mortality. From the legendary Swede, Ingmar Bergman.
Silent Running (1972)
Bruce Dern plays a deranged eco-warrior trying to keep an Eden Project style rainforest alive in space – all alone, just him and his two androids... because, unfortunately, he murdered the rest of the crew (don’t ask!).
Love in the Afternoon (1972)
A ‘happily married’ French businessman skives off work to repeatedly hang out with a temptress, unwittingly (or wittingly) testing his own resolve in a series of escalating date-like situations. The fox in question is played brilliantly by Zouzou, a model/actress who, according to my notes, shagged the entire 1960s in real life.
The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (1972)
Where someone like Eric Rohmer (my favourite Frenchman) taps into the idea of love with (partly) an optimistic purity, Rainer Werner Fassbinder (my favourite German) seems less forgiving. Love and sex are weaknesses or weapons, if you strive for humanity in the wrong place, people will reveal themselves as monsters. His most pertinent point here is how we turn ourselves inside out to be adored by one person while being shitty to everyone else, made all the more astonishing by the fact it all takes place in one room.
The Long Goodbye (1973)
Elliot Gould channels Humphrey Bogart’s old private dick Philip Marlowe (from the Raymond Chandler books), but very much for the counterculture. The first ten minutes are spellbinding. The rest is also pretty tasty.
Day for Night (1973)
My favourite Truffaut - a point I’ll be passionately (and sometimes violently) reasserting at drinks parties for the rest of my life. It’s a movie about making movies which is both French and also better, in my opinion, than any other movie about making moves (yes, including Singin’ in The Rain).
The Friends of Eddie Coyle (1973)
A grimy 1970s crime flick that manages to do the unthinkable of adapting a great book into an even greater film. Robert Mitchum’s finest feat too, though Night of the Hunter and Cape Fear might have something to say about that.
Ganja & Hess (1973)
The story goes that Bill Gunn was approached in the early 1970s to make a black vampire film, but rather than steering the ship into expected waters, he delivered this bizarre and unsettling metaphor for addiction instead, with vampires as tormented by their urges rather than predators. That the two excellent leads (particularly Marlene Clark playing Ganja) and the visionary director were barely able to muster anything else of note in their careers tells you everything you need to know about the wonky landscape at the time. To the point where Gunn ended up a bit part player in The Cosby Show – in hindsight, that’s the real horror story here.
The Last Detail (1973)
Jack Nicholson and Otis Young escort a gangly Randy Quaid to naval prison in a buddy movie/road trip that finds them doing all the usual Friday/Saturday night stuff – drugs, prostitutes, fist fights.
California Split (1974)
One of the lesser-spoken-of Altmans, the story of two gamblers getting a regular fix on cards tables, roulette wheels, horses. What it does really well, among so many things it does well, is to capture what must be the cruel reality of getting the gambling bug. That you’re not actually chasing stability but the opposite, you thrive in chaos, you need to have everything to lose including your dignity just to feel alive.
Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974)
Rainer Werner Fassbinder writes, directs, and plays a minor role in the story of an elderly woman marrying a younger Moroccan guy. Their relationship is either an optimistic triumph of love against the odds or a depressing reflection of racial tension depending on which hat you’re wearing.
A Woman Under the Influence (1974)
A Cassavetes classic featuring incredible performances from Gena Rowlands and Columbo (aka Peter Falk) though truthfully, you’ve got to be in the right mood for it. And I have no idea what that mood is. Ennui? Could be ennui.
Nashville (1975)
The funniest epic vision of America ever to reach the screen. Not my words, Pauline Kael’s. She’s bang on too.
Dog Day Afternoon (1975)
Peak Pacino before he started shouting relentlessly for his supper, here robbing a bank to finance his boyfriend’s ‘sex change operation’ (or in more up-to-date vernacular, ‘transition’). One of the great movies of the 70s.
Fox and His Friends (1975)
On paper it’s about an innocent lummox getting fleeced for his lottery fortune, but really it’s about social class and how money corrupts from the top down. That the majority of the male characters are gay is almost incidental, which, without wanting to get too academic about it, lends it a certain power.
Annie Hall (1977)
It’s easy to forget after the maelstrom that’s pulverised his reputation that peak Woody Allen is about as good as comedy gets. Though it’s also worth pointing out that the real star of Annie Hall is Annie Hall herself, Diane Keaton. The template for everything that’s wonderful about the world.
3 Women (1977)
Altman doing Bergman with a big nod to Persona, but here the leads – Sissy Spacek and the late great Shelly Duvall – are somehow more unsettling and strange than even the great Swede could conjure. In the best possible way, it’s a really fucking odd movie.
An Unmarried Woman (1978)
She was married, now she’s not and she’s got to figure out the labyrinth of getting back out there. Jill Clayburgh (brilliant) channels the fear and empowerment of excavating this brave new world of footloosedness.
Days of Heaven (1978)
A real looker from Terrence Malick, critics complained (wrongly) at the time about the story being a little hokey, which may have had something to do with the director flouncing off for a 20-year hiatus directly afterwards.
Girlfriends (1978)
Claudia Weill’s cult 1970s New York comedy about how a creative milieu copes when conventional living comes barging in – here in the form of one girl getting married, the other one definitely not. Big echoes can be found in the iconic sitcom Girls a few years down the road.
Stalker (1979)
Three men on a pilgrimage to a hallowed place (‘The Room’) where your deepest desires are said to come true. The broad brushstroke here might be something along the lines of ‘be careful what you wish for’ but it goes a little deeper than that, possibly nearer to the old adage about the journey being more important than the getting there.
Manhattan (1979)
Yes, it comes off a little creepily with Woody Allen dating a schoolgirl – lines like “guess what? I turned 18 the other day – I’m legal but I’m still a kid” probably aren’t advisable with the current winds blustering about – but even so, no one can match Woody Allen for blending great stand-up jokes with French New Wave aesthetics, and many many MANY have tried.
Apocalypse Now (1979)
It always seems to be a work in progress, similarly to something like Blade Runner in that sense, reemerging from time to time sporting a fresh ending or some added scenes. Notoriously fraught with problems, none of them show in the final product which seems to ruminate on both the futility and ubiquity of war, with violence, power and hostility as the only true universal language.
Being There (1979)
Peter Sellers plays a comically misjudged simpleton – a shy gardener who states only the obvious but who becomes hailed as some purveyor of profundity, a modern philosopher whose horticultural speak is surely a metaphor that needs to be dissected. In other hands this could’ve veered wildly into broad comedy (or he might have over-Forrested the Gump), but Sellers plays it just right.
Hopscotch (1980)
I wasn’t going to do a list without a Walter Matthau and it was down to this or The Bad News Bears... or Charley Varrick... or The Taking of Pelham One Two Three... or Charade. Actually it could have been any of those.
The Empire Strikes Back (1980)
My first cinema trip, insanely, was to see a double bill of Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back in Southport in 1982 when I was six-years-old. That’s about four hours to sit through. But sit through it I did and though I wouldn’t have twigged it then, the second half was as good as the franchise would ever get. It’s been diminishing returns ever since, and just by way of reminder, she says “I love you”, he says “I know” (I KNOW!!).
Bad Timing (1980)
Nicolas Roeg’s controversial non-linear thriller, once described as a “sick film made by sick people for sick people” – and if you wait for the ending you might see why. Harvey Keitel’s Austrian cop can’t figure out why Art Garfunkel took such a curious amount of time to call the ambulance after his on-off lover overdoses on tablets. And if you prod around the murkier areas of your brain, you can probably dot the dots.
Mad Max II (1981)
The plot is essentially the same as the Tom Hardy reboot – drive from point A to point B without crashing/getting killed – but it’s lighter on its feet, and because you know that no one’s raiding the CGI cupboard, you could argue that it’s even more impressive to look at too.
Southern Comfort (1981)
Members of The National Guard get lost and disorientated in the swamps of a Louisiana bayou, morphing abruptly from hunter to hunted as they infuriate the locals. Think Deliverance, but no pigs. It also makes you wonder why Keith Carradine didn’t become a massive star.
Blow Out (1981)
Indebted to Blow-Up from Antonioni, a similar premise/homage of an artsy professional convinced of a murder, but as ever with Brian De Palma, with a much trashier sheen.
E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
Close Encounters was about a father wanting to leave his family to go into space, here, daddy’s gone and there’s an alien who needs to get back to his family. You get the feeling that Spielberg had a lot to get off his chest back in those early forays, because here you can still feel the raw bewilderment of a boy who just wants everything to be okay. And over 40 years later, we’re still crying with him.
Local Hero (1983)
A big corporate monster attempts to buy a remote Scottish town, yet somehow – veering wildly from cliché – everyone involved in the deal is painted with enough humanity to make them not just sympathetic, but likeable. Could be the most uplifting movie of all time.
One Deadly Summer (1983)
Starts in the guise of a quirky rom-com, then it morphs into an erotic thriller, then it becomes more and more unhinged before ending abruptly with one of the best twists I can remember. Isabelle Adjani playing the lead is spectacular.
Breathless (1983)
Not the lauded Jean-Luc Godard one, the other one. The sleazy Richard Gere cover version that everyone hated apart from three harbingers of excellent taste. One is Mark Kermode, the other is Quentin Tarantino, and the other is, erm, me.
Meantime (1983)
Made for telly (Channel 4) in the early 80s and featuring three of the most lauded British actors of their generation in Tim Roth, Alfred Molina, and Gary Oldman. Yet it’s Phil Daniels who completely steals the show. He should’ve been a contender.
L’Argent (1983)
A morality tale tracking forged notes going from one hand to the next before landing an innocent man in jail and turning him into a monster. It’s based on a Tolstoy novella called The Forged Coupon, but where that gets a second chapter based on redemption, this yanks you out abruptly when the going is about as bad as it can get.
This is Spinal Tap (1984)
The amp that goes to 11, the thin line between clever and stupid, the drummer who choked on vomit (but it was someone else’s vomit), cold sores, small bread, shit sandwich - it’s the funniest film ever, isn’t it?
Body Double (1984)
A garish 1980s mashup of Vertigo and Rear Window from Brian De Palma. Pure magnificent sleaze, as always.
Lost in America (1985)
Albert Brooks, originally born Albert Einstein, presents his own theory of relativity in a comedy about a disgruntled New York couple feeling an intense gravitational pull away from the rat race. But as the great man Ovid rightly opined many years earlier, the grass is never greener on the other side. Another win for philosophy over science.
The Breakfast Club (1985)
Complex teenagers channeling complex emotions and struggling to be understood. The only real misstep here might be Ally Sheedy undergoing the most cloyingly awful makeover ever committed to celluloid.
Back to the Future (1985)
No sequels were planned initially and it probably should’ve stayed that way, because as It’s a Wonderful Life for generation X this did everything it needed to do and then some.
Tampopo (1985)
Jûzô Itami’s “noodle western” finds his real-life wife Nobuko Miyamoto striving to make the greatest ramen the world has ever seen. Don’t watch on an empty stomach.
The Green Ray (1986)
My favourite film from my favourite director (Eric Rohmer). Delphine can’t quite go on holiday is essentially the storyline, but it’s really about what it’s like to think you don’t fit in, to be shy, lonely, and desperate to belong.
Wings of Desire (1987)
Existential silences, inner monologues revealed, and an angel desperate to connect with the unhappy people he’s watching over – particularly, it must be noted, the hotter ones with the sexier bods. Even the divine get the horn.
Do the Right Thing (1989)
A sweltering day in a New York pressure cooker as clashing cultures attempt to live side-by-side, mostly unsuccessfully. Spike Lee’s finest.
Crimes and Misdemeanours (1989)
The last great Woody Allen film (unless he pulls something hugely unexpected out of the bag), ruminating on whether it’s possible to live with the weight of murder hanging over your conscience. Turns out, yes it is.
Point Break (1991)
Robbing banks, surfing, jumping out of planes... Gary Busey ordering two meatball sandwiches at 10.30 in the morning. This is the stuff.
Boyz n The Hood (1991)
Coming-of-age through a hip hop lens. Dope soundtrack, dope performances, Ice Cube channeling his inner Daniel Day Lewis.
True Romance (1993)
This was supposed to be Tarantino’s first movie, his first foray into directing, but would his version honestly have been better? There’s surely only one way to find out... I mean, everyone’s remaking everything else.
Dazed and Confused (1993)
Still, after thirty years, the ultimate hangout movie with barely a plot in sight.
Pulp Fiction (1994)
Non-linear and endlessly quotable, this became the new template and the must-have student poster of the mid-1990s - so intoxicating, in fact, that when it came out I went to watch it at the cinema no less than three times in one week.
Chungking Express (1994)
Like Wong Kar-wai’s other masterpiece, In the Mood for Love, the main theme here is romance in different guises, suggesting that real love exists not in grand declarations but in the smaller gestures that are really meaningful. Like secretly tidying someone’s flat when they’re not home. That kind of thing.
Secrets & Lies (1996)
Families reuniting but with a sharpened focus on skewed expectations and the scars we try to hide. As with so many Mike Leigh films it’s essentially a funny-mirror fable, though with the Holy Grail of never feeling preachy.
Beau Travail (1999)
Simmering intensity as the Foreign Legion is put through its various paces against a backdrop of beautiful African landscapes. You could probably watch it with the sound off but then you’d miss the magic of the surprising dance solo at the end.
Eyes Wide Shut (1999)
Essentially one joke, one gag (no pun), with everything coming together (no pun) in the payoff. Much was made of the strange chemistry between Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman (married at the time), but this might be the best thing either of them have done.
Before Sunset (2004)
The middle (and best) installment of Richard Linklater’s romantic Before... trilogy, which finds Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy mooching around Paris excavating and intellectualising their innermost thoughts, feelings, and insecurities. Hey shut up man – if anyone sounds pretentious around here, it’s vous!
Somewhere (2010)
Sofia Coppola in Lost in Translation territory but even bleaker/better, as a Hollywood actor with a minor injury combats his own vacant existence while also having to bond with his daughter. You feel like art and life might be colliding here somewhere.
Dunkirk (2017)
Three stories in three timelines - the troops are etched in trauma and can barely speak, there’s no pluck, no Dunkirk spirit, just a numb reality of being tasked with killing or being killed. It might be my favourite war film.
Uncut Gems (2019)
The movie that provides the biggest punchline of Adam Sandler’s career – that he could do it excellently all along.
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019)
A reimagining of the Manson murders with a twisted fairy tale ending. There’s no great mystery to what Tarantino does - he makes great fast food - and with Pitt, DiCaprio, and LA never looking sexier, what you’ve got is a really fucking tasty Royale with Cheese.
Past Lives (2023)
Lots of other movies have toyed with parallel universes and sliding doors moments, but often in a way that’s convoluted, over-complicated, top heavy with mysticism, or lunging too heavily at profundity. But here, as with something like Casablanca, it’s more about accepting life for what it is and recognising that being in love can even mean not being together.
Now what did I miss?