A personal movie list is exactly the kind of writing no one asked for that’s been a hallmark of the Obiter Dicta. After a small dip into our archive, I was inspired by a past senior editor’s list featured in a 1999 edition of Issue 71. Considering that I’ve been writing for a captive audience about my favourites of the silver screen since I was in 1L (my compliments to the patient editors of Volumes 94 and 95), I may as well bookend my tenure as Editor-in-Chief with a curation of films I’m sure few will watch, but some of which I might sell. If nothing else, it’s a chance to join a lineage of past editors & contributors who’ve done the same—the beauty of writing for a paper with such pedigree. If someone can help me leverage this into a Criterion Closet video one day, please write to me. And no, I don’t have a Letterboxd.
So without further ceremony, I write—in no particular order—a short blurb on a few movies in my orbit of “best” which deserve your time and interest.
Battle of Algiers (1966)
Like if Fanon was adapted to film. This is the consummate art on revolution and national liberation. In Algiers, both guerilla and counterinsurgent write history with bullets, but make no mistake as to where director Gillo Pontecorvo stands.
For a Few Dollars More (1965)
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966) will always be Leone’s best work and the bench from which all other Westerns are judged, but For a Few Dollars More deserves a distinct spotlight next to its brother movie. Featuring one of the screen’s greatest villains, Gian Maria Volenté’s performance as El Indio captures a sinister and disturbed, yet strangely vulnerable antagonist who stands out amid already captivating and perfectly played characters. Ennio Morricone’s flawless score punctuates the scenes with more weight than any words of dialogue could. Simply a masterclass in every regard.
Barry Lyndon (1975)
Any other cinematography will ache for the astonishing beauty of Barry Lyndon. A sweeping yet pithy period piece, the life of its titular rogue crosses so much of its eighteenth-century culture, class, and society. Redmond Barry is always minute in this rich world, like a faraway subject in a painting (which is exactly what many of the scenes look like), but always gripping in this authentic epic of mobility and tragedy.
Master & Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Also a period piece that’s larger than life and devoted to detail without pedantry. This is as historically authentic as filmmaking comes, and incredibly drawing at every moment. Superb nautical fun without losing the weight of its camaraderie and ship-to-ship action. A must-watch, especially if with friends.
Apocalypse Now (1979)
Probably the best American film ever made. Apocalypse had an infamously troubled production whose story would rival that of the most prestigious screenplays. The movie itself is beyond description in scale and meaning; an odyssey on the borders of barbarism. Philosophically rich, yet unpretentious and awing in spectacle.
Day of the Jackal (1973)
Slow and winding yet never boring, the textbook cat-and-mouse thriller. This is war by deception, a race against an assassin where time is still the greater enemy. The first half lays the anatomy of the plot, which enters motion in the second. The tension never ceases until its very final minute.
Al Baree’ [The Innocent] (1986)
An Egyptian movie made during a seminal period of economic and cultural transformation in the country. Atef al-Tayeb’s works capture a national condition with such fluency. Brought to life by some of the nation’s greatest talents in their standout performances, this is an introspection on the relationship between state and citizen at its most emotional fault lines. English subtitles may be elusive, but more than worth the labour of the search.
Come and See (1985)
A difficult watch, only because its harrowing realism is so poignant. Elem Kilmov’s confrontational anti-war picture achieves what the genre has always struggled to do by stripping away all its excitement while maintaining its fullest truths. It pushes the boundaries of what film can achieve and with few equals in such endeavour.
Being There (1979)
Hilarious yet flush with effortlessly provoking commentary. An apparent fool isolated from the real world all his life—having experienced it only through a television set (think Plato’s Cave)—becomes a public sage seemingly brim with wisdom. Immensely entertaining in its turns and host to perhaps the most sublime ending to any movie. Brought to life by Peter Sellers’ best and last great performance.
The Color of Money (1986)
A somber meditation on age and finding what you love disguised as a sharply edited and directed pool movie. You are obliged to watch its predecessor piece, The Hustler (1961)—sure to be an unforgettable double feature. For a more fulsome ode, see the piece I wrote on both movies in Volume 95, Issue #6.
The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
The finest cut of the political thriller, starring Frank Sinatra in a brilliantly troubled yet resolute role. Legitimates the paranoia of its Red Scare milieu while also backhanding its ludicrous paranoia. Brimming with psychological intrigue, to say nothing of its imaginative visuals.
The Four Feathers (1939)
A sobering tale about cowardice as a veil for courage in other forms. A stunning production, with surprising nuggets of commentary and terrific sense of adventure. It puts its colour cinematography to great use in sculpting stunning desert landscapes.
Z (1969)
Costas-Gavras made a career out of penning political polemics on film. Z was his breakout work, with cutting political realism where ideology and movement are the leading cast, and where the art is never far from real life. Its disclaimer in the title credits says it all—“any resemblance to real events or persons living or dead is intentional.”
Rashomon (1950)
Akira Kurosawa’s filmography is so distinguished that picking one work from it to recommend is nigh impossible. Rashomon, however, put both Kurosawa and Japanese cinema on the international map. A visually ethereal story about doubt and perspective centred around several witnesses retelling their version of a heinous crime. A great first step into a tradition of period pieces that is nothing short of an institution.
Goodfellas (1990)
The definitive word on the gangster genre. A street-level view of organized crime, weaving its unending romance with its dear tolls in perfect paradox. Edited and scored with unique brilliance, this is the essential Scorsese from a filmography already littered with many of cinema’s greatest works.
Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
Though outdated in its insights on imperialism, its beauty and scale are ageless. A triumph of the now long-forgotten film epic, you must see it to believe it. This, The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), and Dr. Zhivago (1965) make up an incomparable run of epics by David Lean, each varied yet distinctly awesome. Lawrence, however, is without doubt the crowning work from that set.
Chinatown (1974)
Made well past the peak of film noir, yet a peak in its own right. The plot zigzags its investigation of a conspiracy where truth is always on the cusp yet never quite within reach. Simply incredible in the layers and suspense it builds, and with intricate production value to boot.
What one’s “great movies” are is a vast and changing constellation. I’ve selected here works which certainly left an abundance of impression on me, but ten years ago, this would likely have been a slightly different selection. In ten years, it’ll no doubt change as a product of new experiences and shifting appreciations. Nor have I picked movies which are conclusively the only ones I deem “great.” There’s a whole world of it out there, and that’s the never-ending excitement of finding your own ever-changing roster of “greats.”