Top 1o Films
10. Dawn of the Dead
I ummed and ahhed several pictures for the Ten
spot on this list; Alan Parker’s Midnight
Express, Fred Schepsi’s The Chant of
Jimmie Blacksmith, Terrence Malick’s Days
of Heaven and Robert Altman’s A
Wedding (which Pauline Kael, generally a big advocate of the director,
called “a busted bag of marbles”). In
the end I decided to fill it with a horror movie, that least respected genre,
and it was a toss up between Halloween
and Dawn of the Dead. While Carpenter
is one of my favourite directors (most of his post-’80s output aside), Halloween has never been in my top tier,
despite an marvellously oddball Donald Pleasance, mesmerising camera work and
being his most iconic work. So I opted for George Romero’s equally influential Dawn of the Dead.
I’m decidedly not a gore hound, and not all that big a fan of Romero’s oeuvre (he
doesn’t have the greatest finesse). I don’t even care that much for Night of the Living Dead (sacrilege, I
know), but it’s hard to ignore the blithe apocalyptic dread with which he
infused his first sequel (the follow up Day
of the Dead, whilst lacking the same refraction of the real world, also has
some great moments and ideas). That, along with its mall-set parody of
consumerism, as zombies shuffle about the mall like… well, you get the idea.
It’s an uneven, rickety picture, betraying its budget constraints, but Romero instils
a compelling, potent atmosphere, one that lingers.
The temporary safety of this motley band of
mall-holed-up humans (none of whom are exactly earth-shatteringly great actors)
leads to carelessness and inevitably messy flesh tearing. The breach, when it
comes, is not from the undead but the next worst ‘70s fear, a dread gang of
bikers (they were everywhere in end-of-the-world scenarios at the time, from No Blade of Grass to Mad Max). Perhaps their time will come
again. Perhaps the malls will too.
The 2004 Zack Snyder remake, while
descending into arbitrary gore as it proceeds (see also Watchmen), is notable for one of the very best, most terrifying
openings of any movie (see also 28 Weeks
Later).
CHOICE LINES:
Roger: One-stop shopping.
Everything you need, right at your fingertips.
9. Superman
It would now be unthinkable for a
potentially tidal-wave-of-lucre-spawning genre to go untapped for a decade
after striking gold, but Superman had
the superhero genre to himself, pretty much (Doc Savage: The Man of Bronze aside), until Tim Burton’s Batman eleven years later.
Given the not insignificant obstacles to
its eventual appearance on the big screen, including a Mari Puzo screenplay,
continual problems with the effects, casting concerns (all the big names of the
era were considered, until slender unknown Christopher Reeve was given the plum
role) and producer problems (the sequel was being filmed at the same time, à la the Three and Four Musketeers only not surreptitiously
this time; it was ultimately decided to concentrate on the original, such that
director Richard Donner wasn’t invited back to finish the already 75% filmed Superman II, and Richard Lester came in
and did sufficient reshoots to garner a full director credit), it’s a wonder it
turned out as well as it did.
While Superman
arrived following the new dawn of science fiction and fantasy filmmaking
fostered by Lucas and Spielberg (both of whom were offered the Supes gig) the
picture had been in development since 1974, and began production before the
release of either. But it too surfed a wave of redressed nostalgia tapped into
by cineastes Spielberg (When You Wish
Upon a Star) and Lucas (Flash Gordon
iconography), in this case a lovingly manicured recreation of the ‘50s and a
hero’s mild-mannered alter-ego fashioned from the era of screwball comedy.
Much has been made of Superman’s Christ-like credentials, but more pertinent is the move
towards simpler black and white heroism and villainy in this and Star Wars, following a decade of
disillusionment, wising up and growing discontent. As such, it’s very much
era-defined, which is (partly) why Bryan Singer’s sort-of sequel Superman Returns was so misjudged. While
Superman is better-made than its
sequel (Lester’s approach is cheerfully scrappy), it isn’t perhaps as
satisfying; Hackman’s Lex Luthor is a lot of fun, but he lacks the threat of
Zod et al, and the reversal of time device is rather hackneyed (not to mention
daft). But Reeve’s Superman/Clark Kent himself is a triumph, and his/their
interaction with Margot Kidder’s Lois Lane a culture-clash delight.
CHOICE LINES:
Superman: Is that how a warped brain
like yours gets kicks? By planning the death of innocent people?
Lex
Luther: No,
by causing the death of innocent people.
8. The Last Waltz
Scorsese’s film of the final concert of The
Band is rightly venerated as one of the best concert films ever made. As
someone who didn’t know The Band, and was only really familiar with Robertson
from Somewhere Down the Crazy River,
I found the documentary no less engrossing and musically invigorating when I
first saw it in the early ‘90s, possibly even more so coming to it unversed.
Having been on the road for 16 years, The
Band wrap it up in style, with guest appearances from the likes of Van
Morrison, Neil Young, Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell, edited together (or out,
being the rotoscoping out of a cocaine booger hanging from Young’s nose) with
subsequent studio and interview footage. The anecdotes are fascinating, the
performances captivating. There’s even controversy; Levon Helm claim Robertson
hogged the limelight and Scorsese indulged him. But there’s always at least one
disgruntled band member sifting through the ashes.
CHOICE LINES:
Robbie
Roberson: When
we were working with Bob Dylan and we moved to Woodstock, everybody referred to
us as the band. He called us the band, or friends called us the band, our
neighbours called us the band.
Richard
Manuel: We
started out with The Crackers. We tried to call ourselves The Honkies.
Everybody kind of backed off from that. It was too straight. So we decided just
to call ourselves The Band.
7. The Silent Partner
Christopher Plummer plans a bank robbery
(dressed as Santa) and mild-mannered teller Miles Cullen (Elliott Gould)
realises, stealing the money instead and letting Plummer take the blame. But
Plummer’s unnerving Harry Reikle isn’t going to let it lie, leading to a
cat-and-mouse pursuit in which Miles proves remarkably level-headed and
resourceful under pressure.
Curtis Hanson adapted Anders Bodelsen’s
novel (previously made as the 1969 Danish film Think of a Number), although Daryl Duke took directing duties
(mainly a TV player he, made Tai-Pan
for Dino De Laurentis). His approach is fairly no-frills so it’s fortunate that
the script and performances are able to take up the slack. This is up there with Hanson’s better work
(including White Dog, and of course, L.A. Confidential). A Canadian
production, The Silent Partner
features an early appearance from John Candy and a particularly unpleasant
decapitation (the two aren’t connected). Susannah York makes a good showing in
this list (see Nine and Three), but hers is a strictly supporting turn here;
it’s Plummer’s and Gould’s show, and they don’t disappoint.
CHOICE LINES:
Miles
Cullen: I
feel as though I know you very well.
Harry Reikle: Then you know I’m ready to kill you.
Harry Reikle: Then you know I’m ready to kill you.
6. Coma
Michael Crichton, as writer-director for
the second time, scored once again with his follow up to Westworld. Such success (on the big screen) would entirely evade him
in the subsequent decade. Coma finds
the author tapping into his medical roots, adapting pal Robin Cook’s 1977 novel
concerning black market organ harvesting by way of some very ‘70s sci-fi design
work (those suspended bodies).
One-time (not even one) starship captain,
here surgical resident at a Boston hospital, Genevieve Bujold is furnished with
a relatively rare for the time female protagonist role in a hi-tec thriller.
Crichton makes the most of the pervading paranoia leaking from every pore of
the decade; Susan Wheeler can’t trust anyone, not even boyfriend Michael
Douglas (but then, when was Douglas ever really trustworthy in a movie?) Being
the tail-end of the ’70s, the last vestiges of its bite embodied by the
determined downbeat Invasion of the Body
Snatchers, order is restored and the villain led off in cuffs at the end,
but Coma remains an effective
picture, throwing a spotlight on the lurking distrust of modern medicine and
its white, gleaming façade.
Notable for the first movie appearances
from Tom Selleck (as a victim, with a moustache) and Ed Harris, also featured
are future Bond girl Lois Chiles and
stalwarts Rip Torn and Richard Widmark.
Jerry Goldsmith provides a sinister electronic score.
CHOICE LINES:
Nurse: Doctors make the worst
patients. They know too much.
5. National Lampoon’s Animal House
John Landis’ raucous college-set comedy was
astonishingly popular, grossing more than half a billion in the US
(inflation-adjusted). It was originally earmarked for Ivan Reitman (who
produced) and let’s just say I think they picked the right guy (Landis was
fresh from the hit Kentucky Fried Movie,
and amended the content as he saw fit).
Written by National Lampoon alumni Douglas
Kenney and Chris Miller, and set-for-stardom, Harold Ramis, its foundation was
Miller’s fraternity experiences in the early ‘60s (which he had written up
regularly for National Lampoon). Something of an unknown property, with
non-stars (Donald Sutherland aside, whose name basically got it made but who
demurred from a percentage of the gross that would have yielded him $14m,
instead taking a flat fee), novices and soon to explodes (John Belushi was on Saturday Night Live but his movie roles
were limited to Jack Nicholson’s coke-frenzy western Goin’ South), it grew into something enormous, only pipped by Grease and Superman at the 1978 box office.
The picture stands, with the same year’s Foul Play, at the inception of SNL stars invading the movies. Before
long Spielberg would want a piece of the pie (1941) and Reitman would have a series of hits with them (Meatballs, Stripes and, of course, Ghostbusters).
Nursing a scattershot taste in humour, Animal House follows the battles of the
anarchic Delta House against the ruthless Dean Vernon Wormer and the lustred
Omega House, taking in gross-out (toned down considerably from the original
draft), sexual mores, drug use and political satire (war mongering receives
particularly short shrift). There are incidents of horse fatality, food fights,
toga parties, rallying the troops (“Was
it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbour?”), a climactic homecoming
parade destruction derby, and a postscript Where
Are They Know? explaining that the loathed Neidermeyer (Mark Metcalf) died
in Vietnam, killed by his own platoon (debauched Bluto, appropriately, becomes
a US senator)
The picture includes big screen debuts from
Karen Allen, Kevin Bacon, Peter Riegert and Tom Hulce, but, as astute as Landis
was to want actual actors for the majority of the cast, it’s Belushi who
undoubtedly steals the show, and was undoubtedly fundamental to its huge
success.
CHOICE LINES:
Bluto: What? Over? Did you say “over”?
Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed
Pearl Harbor? Hell no!
Otter: Germans?
Boon: Forget it, he’s rolling.
Boon: Forget it, he’s rolling.
4. The Deer Hunter
The first wave of ‘Nam movies, ignoring the
likes of The Green Beret, sidestepped
combat itself; The Deer Hunter, Coming Home and Apocalypse Now avoided the essentials of conflict that Platoon and Full Metal Jacket would explore nearly a decade later,
concentrating instead on the effects it had on its protagonists and, when it
came to depicting the war itself, adopting a heightened milieu (The Deer Hunter and Apocalypse Now).
Coppola’s picture painted an absurd,
surrealist nightmare of madness, whereas Michael Cimino, in his short-lived
period as a celebrated filmmaker rather than the bankcrupter of a studio,
showed little interest in presenting the war realistically (see the rightly
famous Russian Roulette sequence); for him the Vietnam War is a means to
explore ideas of masculinity and how violence can erode it, unless one is an
exemplar of the gender (as De Niro’s Michael, regimented hunter attuned with
nature, is).
Screenwriter Deric Washburn (who collaborated
on Silent Running with Cimino) worked
from a story he devised with Cimino, Louis Garfinkle and Quinn K Redeker. In crude
outline, it follows three blue collar steel workers (De Niro, Christopher
Walken and Jon Savage) from Pennsylvania to Saigon and then back again; home is
where the heart is, and at least part of liberal reaction against the movie
comes from essentially conservative heroes failing to offer persuasive
(acceptable) political views. Amid this, it’s certainly true that the
Vietnamese are presented as sadistic monsters, but The Deer Hunter isn’t specifically a commentary on Nam; that just
happens to be the war of the day. It is, wrongly perhaps, easier to give it
something of a free pass with regards to such factors when it clearly isn’t
even attempting to portray the war itself realistically.
De Niro is the embodiment of the stalwart and
true hero, the American to be proud of while his friends fail to meet the
ideal, finishing up mad or crippled. Pauline Kael was as impressed by the film
as she was conflicted over it, amusingly defining the pure ideal of male
friendship therein as “the American
cousins of hobbits”. Cimino is caught between a critique of the savagery of
warfare and finding it exciting and ennobling (Kael was of the view that it has
“no moral intelligence”); not for
nothing has it been compared to The
Godfather; with sterling performances from a sterling cast (also including
John Cazale in his last role, and Meryl Streep), its scope and pervasive sense
of loss clothe it in a poetic earnestness that actually marries rather well
with the crass manipulation; Stanley Myers’ score is the icing on the cake.
It’s quite understandable that the Academy
garlanded The Deer Hunter with Best
Picture, although with the hindsight of Cimino’s subsequent career nosedive,
and the manner in which Apocalypse Now
has, rightly, become the Vietnam
movie, it has lost a little of its lustre. Mark Kermode notably eviscerated it,
but many of the reasons he cites are the same ones that ensure it packs a
punch. If it carries some rather reactionary sentiments beneath its very ‘70s,
face-of-cinema-changing trappings, that possibly makes it more interesting, and
it remains a powerful, compelling picture.
CHOICE LINES:
Michael: Stanley, see this? This is
this. This ain’t something else. This is this. From now on, you’re on your own.
3. The Shout
It can some times take a non-local eye to
best tell a local tale, and Polish film maker Jerry Skolimowski cast his several
times over Britain, most notably with ‘60s coming-of-age-by-way-of Polanski
‘60s weirdness Deep End. He also made
the brilliant – but disowned, pretty much – Euro pudding The Adventures of Gerard, portraying, via Conan Doyle, the
Napoleonic French in a thoroughly English manner, and very much the funnier for
it. The Shout finds him adapting a
Rupert Graves short story, about a man (Alan Bates) with the power to use a
shout to kill. Bates is the unreliable narrator, telling his yarn at a cricket
match, presenting himself as the interloper in a troubled marriage between
Susannah York (a decade and a half from Tom
Jones but still very lovely) and John Hurt.
Familiar rural England is juxtaposed with untamed,
unfettered primal forces. Bates referred to his character as one of those
people “who are simply dangerous to know”,
with some sort of power or ability to possess one’s soul. It’s a brooding,
disturbed tale, full of portents and symbolism, pregnant with danger, possessed
of a striking soundscape, and as such it very much echoes that other great
chronicler of broken narrative and time, Nicolas Roeg (who was the first choice
to direct). One of the best British films of the ‘70s, and under-appreciated,
such that its cult status is forever assured.
CHOICE LINES:
Crossley: If I shouted for you now,
you’d die. As would your wife, and anyone else around here.
2. Invasion of the Body Snatchers
While John Carpenter’s The Thing is rightly venerated as the way to approach a remake,
taking the original as a starting point (or the short story at any rate) rather
than slavishly imitating it, the true trailblazer of this method is Philip
Kaufman’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers
reboot (or continuance, with a cameo from Kevin McCarthy, still running where
he left of in 1956). Smart adult science fiction would tend to the back foot in
comparison to all things Lucas-verse, but here lies the perfect fusion of a
tailing-off era (an edgy, paranoid, skewed view of the world) and an incoming
one (the event movie, preferably sci-fi based).
Kaufman was coming off a doomed attempt to
bring Star Trek to the big screen,
taking Leonard Nimoy with him, and fashions a metropolis of lost souls already
undergoing identity crises well before the seed pods start taking over. Nimoy
is braincare specialist, Jack Bellicec spouting fashionable crypto-scientific
methodologies for adjusting to the urban soup, an inspired piece of casting
given his Spock history, but it’s the quartet of Donald Sutherland, Brooke
Adams, Jeff Goldlbum and Nancy Cartwright who lend San Francisco turning bad
its resonance.
The latter duo represents the dying hippy
flames, while Sutherland is positioned as part of the establishment, despite
his anarchic image; he’s a health inspector, bringing others to book, so his
gradual conviction that something is terribly wrong carries added weight
(Goldblum’s paranoiac needs no encouragement).
W.D. Richter would later write Big
Trouble in Little China and The
Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimensioni, and Body Snatchers is shot through with a
sly humour. But Kaufman, along with Michael Chapman’s eye for the uncanny and
Denny Zeitlin’s sinister score, ensures this is very much the best kind of
horror, the sort the seeps under your skin, suggestive of a waking nightmare
(as evidenced by that final scene).
CHOICE LINES:
Jack
Bellicec: The
rest of the world is trying to change people to fit the world. I’m trying to change
the world to fit people.
1. Watership Down
Martin Rosen’s adaptation of Richard Adams’
1972 novel is somewhat controversial, as family animations go, a frequent
source of upset parents, upset by their upset children. It’s a violent,
unvarnished vision of the brutality of the natural world, as rabbit Hazel (John
Hurt) leads an expedition to the promised land of the title following a vision
of destruction communicated by his brother Fiver (Richard Briers).
The animation might be considered a little
crude by some, but it strikes a balance between the naturalistic and the
anthropomorphic rarely seen in the predominately Disney-fied cartoon sphere,
and frequently conjures imagery both poetic and affecting. Rosen made the film
after the initial director John Hubley died and, for a first feature, it’s a
remarkably assured, confident affair (ably aided by Terry Rawlings’ editing;
he’d and Hurt would go on to even bigger success the following year with Alien).
Watership
Down is blessed with a dream of a voice cast (besides
Hurt there are Ralph Richardson, Roy Kinnear, Denholm Elliott, Harry Andrews,
Michael Hordern, Joss Ackland and Nigel Hawthorne). Sad, beautiful, with
sometimes disturbing imagery (Holly’s account of the destruction of the fled
warren is a nightmare of struggling, suffocating rabbit forms), it is also at
times very funny, thanks to Zero Mostel’s bunny-friendly seagull Keehar. Few animations
deal with death, let alone in such a mature, sensitive manner. Watership Down is something of a
masterpiece, so savour it, as the BBC’s forthcoming CGI version is sure to be a
relative disappointment.
CHOICE LINES:
Narrator: All the world will be your
enemy, Prince of a Thousand Enemies. And when they catch you, they will kill
you. But first they must catch you: digger, listener, runner, Prince with the
swift warning. Be cunning, and full of tricks, and your people will never be
destroyed.
Best Picture Oscar
The Deer Hunter
The winner, and a controversial one for
reasons outlined above. Out of nine nominations, it also bagged Best Supporting
Actor for Christopher Walken (highly deserved), Best Director for Cimino (that
wasn’t happening again), Best Sound Mixing and Best Film Editing. It missed out
on Best Actor (De Niro to Jon Voight in another Nam flick, see below) and Best
Supporting Actress (Streep, she’d get used to winning pretty soon, though).
Best Original Screenplay went to that other Nam flick (see below), but let’s face
it, Cimino’s picture was much more about images than words or even structure.
Cinematography might have been a cinch in another year, but it was essentially Days of Heaven’s before nominations were
announced.
Coming Home
Whereas The
Deer Hunter went for stylised conflict, Coming
Home eschewed it entirely and dealt with the repercussions. This one was
all about the actors, with Hal Ashby drawing dedicated performances from Jon
Voight, Hanoi Jane, Bruce Dern and Penelope Milford (all nominated in Best Actor,
Actress, Supporting Actor and Supporting Actress respectively). Voight and
Fonda took home their second Oscars, and Best Original Screenplay was also given.
Ashby missed out on Best Director (he had an Oscar already for editing In the Heat of the Night), and Don
Zimmerman on Film Editing. It’s a picture that hasn’t aged well, yet is nevertheless
a trailblazer of its genre.
Heaven Can Wait
The bit of fluff nominee of the year,
Warren Beatty sporting upbeat angelic romance by way of baseball glory. Shamelessly
commercial, but Beatty had earned his stripes socio-politically by this point,
and the Academy loved him. He was nominated as Best Director with Buck Henry,
and as Best Actor, and with Elaine May for Best Adapted Screenplay, while Jack
Warden and Dyan Cannon got noms in the supporting categories. Also Best
Original Score, Best Art Direction and Cinematography. Nine nominations (like Deer Hunter), one win (Art Direction).
Midnight Express
Alan Parker’s attention-grabbing prison
drama, with an Oscar winning Giorgio Moroder score and suggested anti-Turkish
sentiment. Parker was nominated for Best Director, John Hurt for Supporting
Actor, a nobody called Oliver Stone won its second Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay
and there was also a nod for Best Film Editing (two wins, six nominations).
An Unmarried Woman
The least remembered Best Picture
nomination, from writer-director Paul Mazursky. He was noted for Best Original
Screenplay (but not Director), Jill Clayburgh for Actress. It went home empty-handed.
Also of note: Woody Allen, in full serious
mode with Interiors, still garnered
Director, Actress (Geraldine Page), Supporting Actress (Maureen Stapleton),
Original Screenplay and Art Direction nominations. Mad Gary Busey was nominated
as Best Actor for playing Buddy Holly. Luvvie fever got Sir Larry a nom for Boys from Brazil (!). The Swarm (WTF?!) was beaten to Best
Costume Design by Death on the Nile
and Moroder beat Williams’ Superman
score. The Magic of Lassie had a
nomination for Best Original Song. Days
of Heaven’s nominations were limited to technical categories (Costume
Design, Ennio Morricone’s score, Sound Mixing, and the aforementioned
Cinematography).
Top 10 at the US Box Office
1. Grease $159.98m ($581.56m adjusted for inflation) WW: $366.2m ($1,331.22m adjusted)
2. Superman $134.22 ($487.91m adjusted) WW: $300.2m ($1,091,296.06m adjusted)
3. National Lampoon’s Animal House $120.09m ($440.19m adjusted)
4. Every Which Way but Loose $85.2m ($309.71m adjusted)
5. Heaven Can Wait $81.64m ($296.78m adjusted)
6. Hooper $78m ($283.55m adjusted)
7. Jaws 2 $77.74m ($282.59m adjusted)
8. Revenge of the Pink Panther $49.58m ($180.23m adjusted)
9. The Deer Hunter $48.98m ($178.05m adjusted)
10. Halloween $47m ($170.86m adjusted)
Also:
Foul Play $44.99m ($163.58m adjusted)
Up in Smoke $44.36m ($161.27m adjusted)
Coming Home $32.65m ($118.7m adjusted)
The Lord of the Rings $30.47m ($110.77m adjusted)
Damien: Omen II $26.52m ($96.4m adjusted)
Invasion of the Body Snatchers $24.95m ($90.69m adjusted)
Convoy $22.77m ($82.76m adjusted)
Return from Witch Mountain $16.39m ($59.92m adjusted)
The Wiki page erroneously has the 2004 Dawn of the Dead slotted in here;
interesting to see a Superman film
has already made the equivalent of a billion dollars worldwide. And that
Clint’s chimp film was as big in its day as American
Sniper. More politically insightful too. Not a surprise that Halloween made so much, but did anyone
realise how successful the original Lord
of the Rings was?
See also: