In May, I wrote what I thought was my last "Top Billing" column for the Daily Nebraskan. It was an impassioned plea for film fans to branch out of the air-conditioned comfort of Hollywood and watch more foreign or independent fare, an attitude I still would impart on my readers.
I thought it would be my swan song, something I could tell the grandkiddies about, and I signed off appropriately with inspirational words more akin to Facebook "favorite quotes" entries.
Well, it turns out graduating seniors can write for the DN the summer after they toss the cap, thus voiding my goodbye wave from the sailing ship. Wah wahhh.
But I'm thankful. This time, the real final word, I'd like to depart from the contemptuous castigations that too often constituted my film reviews. Let's face it, there's a lot of crap out there, and it gets old kneading your hands through it every week.
So, what follows is unequivocal praise for several great films. Giving in to my odd little fetish for lists, I've made up my personal current list of the Top 10 Films of All-Time.
Lists are morphing things, and these ten are just the ones that fell into place at the moment I wrote this. Ask me again in a month and things might be different.
These aren't necessarily the films I would pop in every day, but they are those that give me the most emotionally and cinematically rewarding experiences. It goes without saying that I recommend you check them out.
Honorable Mentions
"The Seventh Continent" (Michael Haneke, 1989, Austria)
"Days of Heaven" (Terrence Malick, 1978, U.S.)
"Glengarry Glen Ross" (James Foley, 1992, U.S.)
"4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days" (Cristian Mungiu, 2007, Romania)
"Elephant" (Gus Van Sant, 2003, U.S.)
Top Ten
10. "Ikiru" (Akira Kurosawa,
1952, Japan)
The title means "to live," and though Kurosawa made a name in the West for his samurai action-adventures, this quiet ode to a Tokyo cancer victim searching for meaning in his last days is the director's most accomplished film I've seen. Drifting through the bustling city - isn't it funny how we feel most alone when surrounded by people? - Kanji, the protagonist, can't help but feel like he's wasted his life and squandered what few relationships he had. If you don't tear up at the famous "Swing in the Snow" scene, check your pulse.
9. "Paths of Glory" (Stanley Kubrick, 1957, U.S.)
Too many casual fans of Kubrick's colorful and diverse oeuvre forget his early anti-war war film, which takes place during the brutal trench stalemate of World War I. Showing few scenes of combat, the real battle takes place when Kirk Douglas' French colonel confronts the corrupt brass ordering men to their deaths. The long tracking shots Kubrick uses in the narrow trenches would go on to become one of his signature techniques.
8. "Umberto D." (Vittorio De Sica, 1952, Italy)
An aging pensioner in Italy contracts a painful sore throat, gets kicked out of his dilapidated room and can't find his best friend, a dog named Flike. Hey, I'm just telling it like it is, and so does director De Sica, who strove to tell stories of common people in great distress because of a broken social system. Another wallop of an ending, but one with a whiff of hope.
7. "Contempt" (Jean-Luc Godard, 1963, France/Italy)
Normally, I find Godard about as accessible as using a cactus for a pillow. But his "Contempt," which shows the mutual disintegrations of an arty film at the hands of a bullish American producer and the relationship of its ambitious writer and his fiery wife, makes for contemplative and poignant filmmaking. By turns a great "Screw you American commercialism!" statement and shattering husband-wife drama.
6. "High Noon" (Fred Zinnemann, 1952, U.S.)
"High Noon" is frequently called one of the best westerns of all time, despite being decidedly "anti-Western" in execution. Shot in black and white and set in one dusty town, it foregoes the colorful, sweeping prairies of others of the genre. A bullet isn't fired until the final 10 minutes. The hero is a scared man who needs help. Zinnemann's analogy to the Communist scare of the 1950s contains great editing, music, and symbolism that resonate even today.
5. "The Bicycle Thief" (Vittorio De Sica, 1948, Italy)
Another of De Sica's somber tributes to the everyman struggling in post-war circumstances, this staple of Italian Neo-realism sees a desperate father secure a job in Rome that requires a bicycle. When someone steals it, he and his son set off to find it. A tiny premise, but massive in emotion. I bawl at the end.
4. "The Third Man" (Carol Reed, 1949, United Kingdom)
Set and shot amidst the oddly photogenic rubble of post-war Vienna, this has often been called a European film noir. Joseph Cotton is great as an American writer looking for a friend but finds trouble and mystery at every turn. This really is the perfect synthesis of so many great talents: Graham Greene's writing, Reed's wise direction, Orson Welles' legendary "cuckoo clock" speech, and one of the bravest and best endings in film history.
3. "Mulholland Dr." (David Lynch, 2001, U.S.)
Ask 10 people if they like David Lynch's surrealist mind-tease and I bet at least half will say they hate it. But the rest will say they love it. I fall in the latter category, because contrary to popular belief, the point is not that you "get" this film, but rather that it gets you. Naomi Watts expertly navigates the tightrope between her character's Hollywood fantasy and her equally-strange reality. Remember: there is no band. Silencio.
2. "City Lights" (Charlie Chaplin, 1931, U.S.)
From my list so far, you might think I have no place in my heart for comedy. Enter the Little Tramp in all his cane-twirling glory. Nearly penniless, the Tramp is mistaken for a millionaire by a lovely blind flower girl. After much riotous shenanigans, including the hilariously choreographed boxing bout bit, our hapless hero finds himself finally seen for what he really is. The most touching ending I've ever seen.
1. "The Thin Red Line" (Terrence Malick, 1998, U.S.)
To me, "The Thin Red Line" is cinema at its purest. Known for granting his complex characters meditative inner monologues, writer/director Malick wastes nothing in this extremely philosophical examination of the root of humanity's inhumanity. It is set against the backdrop of the battle for Guadalcanal in World War II and features an ensemble cast of recognizable faces, though everyone disappears into their roles. Startling visuals and breathtaking music weave into Malick's intricate tapestry, which improves with every viewing.
Bill Fech is a May 2008 Film studies and english graduate of the university of nebraska-lincoln.
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