FilmFanatic.org

When I was a teenager back in the late 1980s and early 1990s, Danny Peary’s Guide for the Film Fanatic was a goldmine discovery. I’ve followed it faithfully — watching its recommended blockbusters and obscure indies, trashy WTF titles and beautiful foreign films — for decades.

But I wonder: how would my younger self, plopped into this cinematic day and age (with all its riches and overwhelm), respond to my nascent love of film?

David Sims of The Atlantic recently published an article (June 25, 2025) entitled “Your Summer Project: Watching These Movies” — and, I was intrigued. I can imagine young-me stumbling upon this article and using it as a guide, so I thought I would take a closer look and respond, linking to my own reviews whenever possible. (I’ve also added release dates throughout — I’m never sure why these aren’t automatically included with movie titles, harumph.).

In his article, Sims offers up “Twelve franchises, genres, and filmographies to dig into,” explaining:

The question that beguiles almost every film fan, from the obsessive cineast to the casual enthusiast, is the simplest one: What should I watch next? Endless carousels on streaming services that feature very little of note don’t provide much help. As a way to avoid decision paralysis, I always have at least one movie-viewing project going, a way to check boxes and spur myself toward new things to explore—be it running through an influential director’s filmography, checking out the cinema of a particular country or era, or going one by one through a long-running series.

Plenty of obvious candidates exist for these kinds of efforts, such as the diverse works of Stanley Kubrick or the films considered part of the French New Wave. But I’ve identified 12 collections that feel a little [are] more idiosyncratic — more varied, and somewhat harder to find. They’re ordered by how daunting they may seem based on the number of entries involved. The list starts with a simple trilogy of masterpieces and ends with a century-spanning challenge that only the nerdiest viewers are likely to undertake.

I love it! Peary is a self-proclaimed checklist nerd, and I am too.

So, what’s on Sims’ list?

1. The Apu Trilogy. Great starting choice! Sims writes:

The defining work of the director Satyajit Ray’s (1921-1992) long career, The Apu Trilogy, played a significant role in bringing international attention to Indian cinema. But the films, released in the late ’50s, also marked a seminal moment in multipart cinematic storytelling. Ray fashioned a bildungsroman that charts the childhood, adolescence, and adulthood of Apu, a boy who moves from rural Bengal to Calcutta, as his country dramatically changes in the early 20th century. The director’s style is careful, poetic, and light on melodrama, but he involves the viewer so intimately in Apu’s world that every major development hits with devastating force. The Apu Trilogy sits on every canonical-movie syllabus and has had obvious influence on filmmakers around the world, but this is not some homework assignment to get through; each of these films is sweet, relatable, and engrossing. As a bonus, check out The Music Room, which helped further bolster Ray’s reputation around the same time.

Note: Sims ends each of his recommendations with links to go stream each film immediately — what an incredible world we live in! Check out his article for the streaming links, but in the meantime, here are my reviews of films in the Apu Trilogy, with a quote provided from each review:

• Pather Panchali (1955)
  

  “This groundbreaking film — directly inspired by The Bicycle Thief (1948), and featuring a haunting score by Ravi Shankar — is both gorgeous and devastating; viewers should be forewarned that it’s an emotionally wrenching, albeit essential, cinematic experience.”

• Aparajito (1956)
  

  “While I’m not nearly as enamored with this second installation in the Apu trilogy as I am with the first (which remains a truly unique gem), I appreciate Ray allowing us to continue Apu’s journey with him, seeing his passion for learning and clear trajectory towards a life of the mind.”

• The World of Apu (1959)
  

  “Although I find Pather Panchali (Ray’s debut film) to be the most magical of the trilogy, this one is a close second given its mature depiction of love, heartbreak, and compromise.”

2. The Koker trilogy (1987–94). Given that Peary’s GFTFF was published in 1987, he didn’t have a chance to include this trilogy by beloved Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami (1940-2016) in his book. Here is what Sims has to say:

The first, Where Is the Friend’s House? (1987), follows a grade-schooler who tries to find a schoolmate’s home in rural Iran. The second, And Life Goes On (1992), dramatizes the director’s efforts to locate the actors involved with the prior movie after a devastating earthquake, and the third, Through the Olive Trees (1994), revolves around the making of a small scene in the second. Together, they illustrate how Kiarostami blended fact and fiction, cinematic tricks and reality, as he examined the complexity of existence. Afterward, watch the wonderful drama Taste of Cherry (1997), which the filmmaker considered to be an unofficial follow-up to the trilogy.

These films — and others by Kiarostami — will certainly be part of my modern FilmFanatic.org project once I arrive there.

3. The Adventures of Antoine Doinel (1959–79). This selection makes sense, too; indeed, The 400 Blows (1959) was an essential entry point in my own movie-loving journey, as it has been for many. Here is Sims’ take:

François Truffaut’s (1932-1984) Antoine Doinel films have much in common with The Apu Trilogy: They’re stunning coming-of-age tales about a boy. But unlike Ray’s movies (which were made over the course of four years), Truffaut’s series starred the same actor (Jean-Pierre Léaud) over the course of two decades. The five installments chart a young Parisian’s life as he grows from a rebellious teenager to a lovesick 20-something, married 30-something, and divorced 40-something. The saga is ambitious but lovely, and a great way to experience Truffaut’s own growth as a director. He began as a rebel voice in the French New Wave, and went on to become one of the country’s most revered artists.

Here are my reviews of the other titles in the Doinel enterprise, with a quote from each review:

• Love at Twenty (1962)
  

  “Judging from the stories told in this little-seen international omnibus film, love as experienced by 20-year-olds tends to be obsessive, all-consuming, heartbreaking, and/or dangerous.”

• Stolen Kisses (1968)
  

  “Unlike in the later Antoine Doinel films, Doinel’s youthful flitting from one bizarre job to the next — and one obsessive love to the next — is amusing rather than sad, and seems right-on… The film ends on a surprisingly satisfying note, making one long to know what happens next.”

• Bed and Board (1970)
  

  “Bed and Board is a satisfying, enjoyable film in many ways, but frustrating as well, with the ending too neatly a figment of Truffaut’s wishful thinking about women and their tolerance for immature men.”

• Love on the Run (1979)
  

  “The final installment in Truffaut’s ‘Antoine Doinel’ saga is an unfortunate disappointment. The majority of the movie consists of flashbacks to the previous four films, offering little that’s new or insightful about Doinel, and occasionally misusing footage in a way that’s guaranteed to annoy purists.”

4. Six Moral Tales (1963–72). Ah, so we’re sticking with French films! That’s pretty typical, but/and I am loving the international flavor of this list so far. Sims writes:

Another titan of the French New Wave, the director Éric Rohmer, has an intimidating (but wonderful) filmography dotted with various thematically linked stories. His most famous project is known as Six Moral Tales: a group of works produced over a nine-year period beginning in the early ’60s. The entries each deal with complex, quiet crises of romance and temptation, always told with different characters and with evolving style. While they’re often quite meditative and low on action, the tension of each unresolved choice, the flirtatious energy, and the gorgeous vacation settings make them perfect summer viewing.

I don’t personally find Rohmer’s films intimidating — but, it depends on your tastes. Three of the “Moral Tales” — The Bakery Girl of Monceau (1963), Suzanne’s Career (1963), and La Collectioneuse (1965) — aren’t included in GFTFF, but the others are; here are my reviews of those, once again with a quote provided from each:

• My Night at Maud’s (1969)
  

  This “exemplar of Rohmer’s unique style” tells the tale of “a Catholic (Jean-Louis Trintignant) secretly infatuated with a blonde (Marie-Christine Barrault) he sees at church” who then “bumps into an old schoolmate (Antoine Vitez) and ends up spending the evening with him and a divorced doctor named Maud (Françoise Fabian).” You really need to watch this one to better understand what it’s all about.

• Claire’s Knee (1970)
  

  This “fifth installment in Eric Rohmer’s sextet of ‘Moral Tales’ is, like its companion films, focused on exploring a young male’s dalliance with temptation, and how he eventually resolves this temptation within himself.”

• Chloe in the Afternoon (1972)
  

  This “final entry in the series… serves as an effective, albeit discomfiting, conclusion to the collective narrative,” offering a “scathingly honest depiction of moral uncertainty in the face of temptation.”

5. Dekalog (1988). Of course! This is another a no-brainer choice. Here is what Sims has to say:

It’s clear from watching his work that the Polish filmmaker Krzysztof Kieślowski began his career as a documentarian—many of his dramas starred nonprofessional actors and were typically grounded in social realism. Those aesthetics are all present in his totemic Dekalog, 10 one-hour films that aired on Polish television in 1988. Set in a Warsaw tower block, each installment reckons with one of the Ten Commandments. The series is an austere, challenging, and perhaps overwhelming magnum opus. But while the films are sometimes direct and political, they can also be wryly funny and surreal. Kieślowski went on to create another grand series, the wonderful Three Colors, but there is nothing quite like the experience of taking in every angle of Dekalog.

I don’t have reviews of any of these, given their release after the publication of GFTFF, but they will most certainly play a prominent role when I begin discussing more modern film classics.

6. The films of Claire Denis. Sims is privileging French auteurs, for sure! (though selecting a female this time). Sims writes:

Tackling any director’s body of work is a fun challenge [I agree] – this whole list could have been populated with great artists whose films are a delight to delve through, such as Martin Scorsese, Andrei Tarkovsky, and Wong Kar-wai. Denis is one such great pick: She’s among France’s most exciting contemporary voices, having pushed the boundaries throughout her nearly 40-year career. Her debut feature, Chocolat, is a period piece that ran directly at the history of French colonial life in Cameroon; it startled audiences at the 1988 Cannes Film Festival. Denis has been surprising viewers ever since, making harsh yet involving works of drama, satire, and spiky romance. There’s the thoughtful realism of 35 Shots of Rum and Nénette and Boni, bewildering genre movies such as the space-set High Life and the cannibal horror Trouble Every Day, and her transcendent masterpiece Beau Travail, which transposes the action of Herman Melville’s Billy Budd to the French Foreign Legion in Djibouti. There is no “easy” film in her oeuvre, but there’s nothing boring, either — and Denis, still working in her late 70s, has shown no interest in slowing down.

While I very much remember going to see Chocolat (1988) upon its release, I’ll have to visit the others before saying more (anything, really) about Denis’s oeuvre. It’s one I’m not familiar with.

7. Twin Peaks (1990–2017). Another post-1988 series! We’re now getting into decidedly blurry territory between television and film, especially given director David Lynch’s (1946-2025) iconic status in both spheres. I’ll admit to not having ever seen “Twin Peaks” on TV; I was enough of a film snob at this early stage in my life that I prioritized my viewing efforts differently. Once I finally realized this was a must-see cinematic series in its own right, I felt behind-the-times. Maybe one day I’ll catch up.

8. “No Wave” cinema. An intriguing title for this section! Sims writes:

The best known cinematic “new waves” originate from countries such as France, Romania, and Taiwan — places where artistic explosions happened all at once, in many cases spurred by societal upheaval. But one of the most interesting (and still underexplored) is what’s known as the American “No Wave” movement, which began in the late 1970s. These films are loosely defined by ultra-indie storytelling and inspired by punk rock, glam fashion, and arthouse cinema. Enduring and vital directors such as Jim Jarmusch, Susan Seidelman, and Lizzie Borden came out of this school, along with less heralded figures such as Jamie Nares and the team of Scott B and Beth B.

So, what does Sims include in this loose American category? Here is what he recommends, with links to my own reviews embedded:

Where to start: Begin with Smithereens, a 1982 indie from Seidelman that follows a narcissistic young woman tearing through New York and Los Angeles in search of their disappearing punk scenes… From there, investigate the rest of Seidelman’s filmography, then check out Abel Ferrara’s early, grimy works (such as The Driller Killer) and Jarmusch’s beginnings (starting with Permanent Vacation [1980]).

I’m not a huge fan of any of these directors, but I can understand why new film fanatics would want to explore them. Here are my summative thoughts on Smithereens:

“While I appreciate the effort Seidelman put into her debut indie film — made on a shoestring, with plenty of support from local artists and ample shooting delays and challenges — I’m hard-pressed to see it as anything but an unbearable downer featuring an utterly unlikable protagonist.”

… and Driller Killer:

“… this creatively filmed but self-indulgent flick can easily be skipped.”

9. Shōwa-era Godzilla (1954–75). OK – another solid recommendation! (though you’ll either be into this massive series or NOT, so be forewarned). Sims writes:

Searching for a sprawling genre franchise that doesn’t involve caped American superheroes or a British secret agent? Look no further than Godzilla, starting with the original stretch of 15 films released during the Shōwa era. The experience of plowing through these early films in the character’s history is strange and delightful; it’s also, thanks to the Criterion Collection’s recent efforts, a beautiful one. The Godzilla movies changed over time from raw and frightening reckonings with post-nuclear Japan (in the form of a giant monster) to more fun and cartoonish outings, an evolution this specific period exhibits. Yet even at the franchise’s silliest, it maintains a consistent focus on visual flourish and dizzying new monster designs.

Where to start: Begin with 1954’s Godzilla. The other biggest highlights of the classic period are Mothra vs. Godzilla [not included in GFTFF but 1961’s Mothra is]; Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster (1964); and the final installment, Terror of Mechagodzilla [also not in GFTFF for some reason – there are too dang many of these films!].

10. Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995–2021). I’d never heard of this franchise, so I have some viewing ahead of me. Sims writes:

Digging into the world of anime is just about the most daunting viewing project imaginable: Alongside hundreds of films, there are seemingly countless series. These shows are also usually made up of hundreds or even thousands of episodes, and it can be very difficult to know which ones to check out. Neon Genesis Evangelion is regarded as among the medium’s most defining franchises, but it isn’t exactly breezy viewing: The story is dark, cataclysmic, and intent on deconstructing the clichés of the “mecha” subgenre, in which teenage heroes pilot giant robotic suits to do battle with some epic threat. But there is nothing quite like this surreal, heady piece of science fiction, which is why it’s endured so powerfully since premiering in 1995. Evangelion is also relatively digestible, with just 26 episodes in its original run—though there are also several movies that reimagine the show’s controversial finale.

I’ll probably embark on this project with my kids, who love anime and know much more about it than me.*

* Note: My husband said, “I’ve seen it. It’s got an interesting mythos (there’s only so much ‘soul’ to go around and humanity’s well is dry). I found the protagonist in the first half of season 1 to be REALLY annoying and a bit of a slog. Stories and characters improved from there.”

11. The films of Clint Eastwood. We’re back in GFTFF territory! Or, so I thought, though it looks like Sims is privileging post-1988 titles below. He writes:

Working your way through the 40 films directed by Eastwood is a time-consuming but rewarding enterprise. Not only is he one of America’s most iconic actors; he’s also a two-time Academy Award winner for directing. Nonetheless, he remains somewhat unheralded for his cinematic eye. His movies span genres and tap many of the great performers of their era, while also offering a healthy mix of vehicles for himself — both those in which he’ll often play flawed but charismatic antiheroes, and truly complex departures.

Where to start: Make sure to watch Bird (1988), Unforgiven (1992), The Bridges of Madison County (1995), and Letters From Iwo Jima (2006) if you want to view only a handful… But even his most minor works have something special to offer; progressing through the entire oeuvre from his debut (1971’s Play Misty for Me) onward is a real delight.

12. Every Best Picture winner. This final recommendation gets us quickly into classic films across the ages, which is a bonus given the post-1980s slant of this list overall. Sims writes:

The 98 winners of the Academy Award for Best Picture are not the 98 best films ever made. A few are downright bad; others are watchable, if forgotten, bits of above-average entertainment. The list includes some undersung gems and, of course, some obvious classics. But watching every Best Picture winner is an incredible way to survey Hollywood’s history: its booming golden age, which produced classics such as It Happened One Night (1934) and Casablanca (1942); revolutionary moments in film storytelling ranging from kitchen-sink drama (1955’s Marty) to something far more lurid (1969’s Midnight Cowboy); a run of masterpieces in the ’70s, followed by the gaudy ’80s and the disjointed ’90s [????]. Though the Academy is often late to cinematic trends, the voting body’s choices offer a way to understand how those styles will eventually reverberate through mainstream culture. Plus, you’ll catch a bunch of interesting movies in the process.

I agree. It certainly can’t hurt to approach your nascent film fanaticism from this starting point (many do) — and naturally, Peary’s Alternate Oscars is an indispensable guide for all such films released before 1993 (with the Academy’s original nominations linked from this page as well).

In closing — I’m always glad to see newer iterations of Guide for the Film Fanatic making their way into the public’s consciousness. We need to continue to remind younger viewers about the vast world of exciting cinema out there, to help them find their entry point, and to reassure them that they’re not alone in their fanaticism, which will gift them with years of viewing pleasure.

Thank you, Mr. Sims.

In the spirit of Danny Peary’s recent appearance with Dan Fisher on the podcast “Let’s Talk Ten,” I’ll share my own “top ten” childhood favorite movies, and then a list of runners-up.

First I’ll note — my age will show here! I was born in 1974, and all of the titles I list below were watched before I turned 12. As I was crafting this post, I was reflecting on how much movie watching has changed over the decades since Peary was born in 1949. Differences are evident even in his conversation with Fisher, which led me to think about how tastes will continue to evolve as we head into the future.

The movies I list below as childhood favorites were viewed in a combination of: a) going out to see them in the theater, either in original release or revival (back when this was much more common); or b) watching them on T.V. during special annual airings. Video tapes and cable TV (i.e., TBS, TNT, and the AMC channel) weren’t part of my earliest childhood, though as soon as those became commonplace, my viewing habits changed dramatically. (These changes in the 1980s also directly spurred Peary’s interest in writing GFTFF.)

Thankfully, we’re now in yet another new and exciting era for classic film, with many titles available as beautifully remastered Blu-Rays (often with interesting commentary tracks), and/or streaming through various online sources. I’ve noted numerous times on my blog over the past few years that this is actually a golden age for film fanatics, given that it’s easier than ever to find nearly every title you may want to watch, all from the practical comfort of your home.

But with even more overall viewing content available than ever, will people choose classic movies? If so, why — and what can we (classic movie lovers) do to help encourage this?

All of these thoughts were in my mind as I prepared my notes for the following list. Here, in chronological order, here are my “top ten childhood classic movies” — that is, movies which were formative to me as a kid as I was just beginning to discover my love of film.

[Note: I’m trying to trouble-shoot a bug within WordPress which is turning most images into Large, regardless of whether I’m inserting them as Thumbnails or Medium-sized images. Sorry about this. It will take a while to figure out how to fix this, so I decided just to publish my post anyway. You will be faced with LARGE versions of most of the posters below!]

The Wizard of Oz (1939)
The OG childhood classic! Yes, the flying monkeys were scary — and Margaret Hamilton will never not be evil personified in my eyes. This fantasy epic led to my lifelong love of Judy Garland, who was my “gateway actress” into the classics — I watched any and all of her other movies whenever they would show up on television, with the top two I remember being Easter Parade (1948) (naturally, it would air on or near Easter) and The Harvey Girls (1946). I kept a scrapbook of Judy Garland photos, movie stills, and articles, and had posters up in my bedroom. I played Dorothy in my Girl Scout troop’s staged rendition of the play, and dressed as Hollywood’s version of her for Halloween. Thankfully, this film retains its status as one of the most beloved cinema classics — a rare gem which remains enjoyable for children and adults equally.

Pinocchio (1940)
Pinocchio is the first movie I remember going out to see in the theater (with my Mom), which makes sense since it was theatrically re-released in 1978 when I was four. Everything about the experience felt — appropriately — big! I was terrified seeing Pinocchio so easily led astray, boys being turned into donkeys on Pleasure Island, and Geppetto swallowed up by Monstro the whale. [As a side note, I could easily include many other classic Disney animated features on this list, since I’m pretty sure I went to see each of them as they were re-released in theaters: One Hundred and One Dalmations (1961) and Sleeping Beauty (1959) were both re-screened in 1979, Lady and the Tramp (1955) in 1980, Cinderella (1950) in 1981, Bambi (1942) and Peter Pan (1953) in 1982, and Snow White (1937) in 1983.]

The Parent Trap (1961)
Like so many others my age, I was obsessed with this film (and story) as a child! I’ve shared my thoughts on its charm in my review, where I noted that it portrays “the universally appealing notion that we may have an identical doppelganger out in the world, someone we know nothing about, but who we may run into by chance, and who will quickly become our closest confidante and companion.” As a child, I watched The Parent Trap every time it came on television, and thanks to “fantastic double-exposure special effects,” I distinctly remember not knowing Mills didn’t have an identical twin for quite a while.

The Sound of Music (1965)
Like The Wizard of Oz (1939), this musical classic was a must-see annual favorite in our household on television — though for many years I couldn’t stay up long enough to watch the second lengthy half. The songs, sets, costumes, and storyline all still hold tremendous nostalgia — and I’m not alone in this sentiment; the FB fan group has 2.4 million followers. Julie Andrews herself remains a beloved icon; as with Judy Garland, I tried watching as many of her other films as I could. Recently, I enjoyed listening to her narrating both her memoirs: Home: A Memoir of My Early Years (2008) and Home Work: A Memoir of My Hollywood Years (2019).

Fiddler on the Roof (1971)
This Oscar-winning musical was another annual TV-viewing tradition. The songs were infectious, and the storyline universal: all children can relate to worries associated with launching from their homes, and potentially bucking parental (and societal) traditions. As I wrote in my review, I happen to have a personal history with this musical extending beyond its initial childhood stamp: back in 1999 “I was the pianist for a local community theater kids’ production of [this play]… and thus got to know each and every one of the songs (and most of the dialogue) quite intimately.” I’m not surprised a remake is in the works.

Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971)
Pah to the remake with Johnny Depp! This OG adaptation of Roald Dahl’s children’s classic is the one to watch. The songs, sets, and storyline are all oh-so-memorable — though, as I wrote in my review, “I remember finding the film rather nightmarish as a child, given the frightening fates met by the naughty children.” It took me many years to accept Gene Wilder as anyone other than a creepy, wide-eyed, unpredictable, colorfully-dressed candy-man and miracle-maker ready to dispense hideous punishment to misbehaving children with a sweet tooth (meaning — all of us).

Murder by Death (1976)
One day I’ll have to ask Peary why he didn’t include this cult classic in his book, given how many people (including me) watched it again and again on endless TV re-airings (and it was a big hit upon its theatrical release). Most importantly, it introduced me to cinematic greats like Alec Guinness, Peter Falk, Maggie Smith, David Niven, Elsa Lanchester, and Peter Sellers, and piqued my interest in “old dark house” murder mysteries. Plus, it’s a complete hoot: this paeon to cinematic classics is anything but stodgy and dry!

Annie (1982)
This is one of the first movies I remember being excited to go see in the theater, and can actually remember the full experience of (rather than just the film itself and my impressions). Something about rags-to-riches stories hold eternal appeal, and Annie is no exception. Carol Burnett’s performance as the creepily boozy Ms. Hannigan seared my brain: as the person meant to care for Annie (yet who oh-so-clearly didn’t), she represented a child’s worst nightmares of deceptive maternal abandonment. A bit of trivia: I obsessively learned to play several of the key songs on the piano, and was later hired as the pianist for the (spectacularly unmemorable) sequel “Annie Warbucks” when it was staged by the San Diego Junior Theatre in 2000.

Back to the Future (1985)
I was 11 years old when this sci-fi/fantasy classic was released, and thus was squarely in its target demographic. Michael J. Fox was already a childhood icon from his role as Alex P. Keaton in “Family Ties” (1982-1989), adding to his overall appeal. Peary’s review of this film in GFTFF shows clear generational gaps: he wished the film’s storyline had stayed back in the 1950s to watch the evolution of rock ‘n roll, while I was relieved to see Marty McFly return to my familiar home turf of the 1980s (at least for a while).

The Breakfast Club (1985)
Molly Ringwald was another icon of the 1980s; all her films with director John Hughes likely hold a special spot in the memories of my generation. This particular movie — thanks in part to its unforgettable theme song, Simple Minds’ “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”, and in part to featuring The Brat Pack — has only grown in popularity since its release, and maintains a solid cult fan base. What’s not to love about a ragtag group of misfits coming together and bonding unexpectedly? I’ve seen it countless times.

The Goonies (1985)
This action-adventure film hasn’t held up particularly well, but was indisputably a favorite for many kids my age (again: what’s not to love about a ragtag group of misfits coming together and bonding unexpectedly?). As I wrote in my review, “What kid among us wouldn’t wish to make new friends and go searching for buried treasure behind their house? How could creepy villains, booby-trapped caves, and the possibility of endless gold coins fail to excite?” I distinctly remember going to see this on the weekend with my fifth grade teacher and a few schoolmates as a prize for good behavior, thus adding to its special spot in my memory. I also remember getting meta in my reflection on the original movie poster, which showed a “scene” NOT directly from the movie itself; my 11-year-old self wondered why this choice had been made.

So, those are my top ten choices for childhood classics! But, here are some more runners-up:

• Mary Poppins (1964)

– This enduring Julie Andrews favorite — though not held nearly as high in estimation as The Sound of Music — was magical simply by dint of bringing a classic children’s novel to light, turning its stern and often cross protagonist into a no-nonsense force of light and beauty. I wanted a nanny like Julie Andrews, and I loved the song “Chim Chim Cher-ee.”

• Carrie (1976)

– I debated whether to include this title or not, given that I never actually watched it as a child — but accidentally catching a glimpse of it on television one night (as Carrie’s mother stands in the hallway waiting for her) led to a years-long fear of closets and abhorrence of all things horror-movie-related. I eventually got over this (thanks in large part to GFTFF) and can now see Carrie for the classic it is — but it played an outsized role in my cinematic childhood as a negative case example of what I DIDN’T want to be watching.

• Freaky Friday (1976)

– Like The Parent Trap, this similarly mind-bending scenario — of a mother and teenage daughter swapping bodies for a day — was utterly appealing and intriguing to young me. Jodie Foster and Barbara Harris brought the original novel’s protagonists to vivid and unforgettable life, and I remember being eager to see both these actresses in other films later — hence fueling my film fanaticism through another easy “gateway” movie.

• The Black Stallion (1979)

– As I watched this beautiful boy-and-his-animal film in the theater, everything about it felt larger-than-life — starting with the rollicking storms on the ship, and leading to gorgeous scenes of wild equine beauty on beaches. It, too, was an adaptation of a novel, which was always a hook for me; I read approximately a book a day as a kid, and seeing the film versions was an added bonus.

• The Muppet Movie (1979)

– What’s not to love about the Muppets? I remember it being authentically exciting to see these TV-sized characters on the big screen: I feared for Kermit’s life as his legs were being contemplated for dinner (beloved Kermie!), and adored seeing him bicycling around, unconstrained by the strictures of a television set.

• E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial (1982)

– While I’m no longer a fan of this Spielberg classic, it sure was impactful as a kid; I was clearly a target demographic. I remember heading to Universal Studios later that year and being incredibly excited to purchase Reese’s Pieces.

• A Christmas Story (1983)

– I went with my friend and her family to see this now-cult-favorite when it was first released, and I was instantly enamored; I related to the flashback nature of the tale given that I was nostalgic about holidays even as a kid (which perhaps plays a part in my love for classic movies, come to think of it — I’m an old soul and always have been).

• Testament (1983)

– This apocalyptic movie was originally produced for the PBS series American Playhouse before securing a theatrical release, but did later air on television, which is how I saw it — and boy, did it have an impact. It was deadly serious, and all of us were (appropriately) freaked out.

• Zelig (1983)

– This Woody Allen film was one of the first movies we rented once we had a VCR (we watched it several times – what a novelty!), and it holds special memory as my gateway into Allen’s oeuvre. It’s particularly relevant as a meta-film-fanatic movie given its seamless weaving of cinematic “reality” throughout Zelig’s travails.

• Amadeus (1984)

– I loved classical music as a child (I was a pianist), and remember being super excited that a film was coming out about Mozart. While I was annoyed by his childishness as portrayed by Tom Hulce (stupid boys with their poop and fart jokes!), I got caught up in the tense drama of his rivalry with Salieri, and his premature death.

• The Karate Kid (1984)

– This cult classic has endured for many more viewers than just me — as evidenced by recent iterations and spin-offs continuing to crop up. “Wax on, wax off” seemed like such simple advice. We all wanted sweet, handsome young Maccio to succeed against his bully, and we wondered how Mr. Miyagi could work his magic capturing a fly with chopsticks.

• Superman (1984)

– I was literally swept away by this superhero flick, which prompted a lifelong crush on Christopher Reeve (and devastation when his accident and subsequent death occurred). I didn’t think of myself at the time as someone who liked action-adventure flicks, so I was pleasantly surprised to get so caught up in it. The sequel — opening with the return of three baddies — had me seriously spooked.

• Desperately Seeking Susan (1985)

– Madonna was all the craze when I was a child, so seeing her in a movie was formative – plus, Rosanna Arquette grew up in the same spiritual group as me, so she felt like extended family. Everything about this film made 11-year-old-me reflect on the “coolness” (yeah, right) to come in adolescence.

• Pee Wee’s Big Adventure (1985)

– Ah, Pee Wee. We watched this in my 6th grade classroom and I remember being blown away by his larger than life adventures being allowed in our stuffy class. A rewatch years later showed me the enduring brilliance of Paul Reubens’ vision.

So… Those are just a few additional childhood-era movies which stand out as formative and/or especially memorable.

I actually had a mixed relationship with movies as a child, given that I was taken by a neighbor to an extreme Baptist church each Sunday which forbade movie-going (in theaters) as sinful — this would represent giving money to Satan himself; however, my mom didn’t care, so I was continously negotiating with myself about what was appropriate (or not) to engage with. Once I let go of this particular facet of my religious upbringing, I was finally liberated to indulge in the art form I’d been enjoying more hesitantly until then. Pretty quickly, I became a full-blown film fanatic.

To that end, another entire list could be made of formative films during my earliest years as a teenage film fanatic — some of which I still appreciate, and others of which no longer resonate; however, I’ll save that for another post. I’ll also share in a different post about the variety of classic television shows I watched regularly as a child, which I’m sure had a deep impact on my love for classic films.

Until then — happy nostalgic vibes as you reflect on your own personal childhood movie favorites! How did they impact you? Do you still enjoy them now?

I wanted to mix things up a bit by letting you know that Danny Peary has been interviewed on a couple of podcasts recently — check them out if you’re interested in hearing him discuss films live!

In Part 1 of his talk with Dan Fisher from “Let’s Talk Ten,” Peary and Fisher discuss the first half of each of their top ten childhood favorites, listed here in chronological order; sound bites from the films themselves are liberally smattered throughout, which is fun.

• The Cocoanuts (1929)
• Shane (1953)
• Mr. Hulot’s Holiday (1953)
• Them! (1954)
• Rebel Without a Cause (1955)
• Pardners (1956)
• The Little Shop of Horrors (1960)
• The Incredible Mr. Limpet (1964) (not listed in GFTFF)
• Fool’s Parade (1971) (not listed in GFTFF)
• Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977/1980)

And here are their selections from Part 2, once again in chronological order:

• Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948)
• The Searchers (1956)
• Old Yeller (1957)
• The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958)
• Tiger Bay (1959)
• Psycho (1960)
• Night of the Living Dead (1968)
• The Poseidon Adventure (1972)
• That’s Entertainment! (1974) (not listed in GFTFF)
• One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975)

Finally, here is Danny being interviewed on the TV Guidance Counselor podcast very recently, in March 2025. A random cult film he recommends near the end is Deep End (1970). Enjoy!

It’s been a rough half a year in my country – Peary’s country. I didn’t intend to drop off the face of the classic film blogging universe for so many months, but other issues and considerations have risen to the forefront.

With that said, I’ll never quit classic movies — and I remain grateful for the many ways in which cinema illuminates and explains our world. So many of the films Peary recommends and discusses in Guide for the Film Fanatic — from the origins of cinema through 1987 — have helped me, as a viewer, to experience multiple eras of history through full immersion. Specifically, I’ve been reflecting on the many classic movies I’ve watched over the decades showing political movements, corruption, cynicism, group-think, and outright evil, alongside resistance, criticality, and joy. This current moment, too, will continue to be explored through film — and as dreadful as it is to live through, I know that cinema will help us capture some of the trends and insights we’re just starting to grasp.

I love the steady trend towards democraticization of movies; I always have. Throughout my lengthy exploration of Peary’s book (back when I was 16 and found a copy in the library I worked at), it’s been fascinating learning how more and more directors over the years (no longer all or mostly White men anymore!) were able to get a camera in hand and tell interesting stories. I anticipate that will continue.

Back to this site, I had to rev myself up to post again today — to get back on the horse with my reviews. Really, there are only 563 titles left to review (out of a grand total of 4300) — so, why stop now? I can do it! While it’s not a personal favorite, I’ll imagine Chariots of Fire (1981) as I’m working my way there.

As I’ve said many times before, once this particular project is done I’ll finally be moving on to writing about more recent films, which I anticipate will be its own unique joy. Among the many changes in recent years has been the shift towards long-form series debuting on streaming platforms, which has opened up renewed discussions around the “television or film?” binary (which is nowhere close to simple). Off the top of my head, I can imagine reviewing Adolescence (2025) as a must-see series (film?) from this past year, alongside Mike White’s deliciously perverse The White Lotus Seasons 1, 2, and 3, and plenty of intriguing documentaries (many with multiple episodes).

In terms of more traditional films, from last year in particular I can share that Emilia Perez (2024) was a debacle (wtf?); Anora (2024) caught me up in waves of sadness comparable to the heyday of indie films; September 5 (2024) nicely supplemented Munich (2005); Conclave (2024) was a good old-fashioned drama with a kick of a surprise ending; and A Real Pain (2024) did a better job displaying vulnerable narcissism than any other recent title (thanks to Dr. Ramani for her take on this). I still need to catch up on a bunch of others.

But first — 563 titles from the 1970s and 1980s await me! I’m grateful I’ve taken the time over these past 19 years to make note of my impressions of all the other titles in Peary’s GFTFF, since I’m pretty sure I would otherwise have forgotten much of what I’ve written about. Thankfully, despite a literal onslaught of shows and movies and series available to watch these days, classic movies aren’t going anywhere; check out the many awesome blog sites which are part of the CMBA (Classic Movie Blog Association) for even more takes and approaches other than mine.

I’ll see you online soon.

Hello, GFTFF readers!

As 2024 comes to a close, I’m excited to briefly reflect once again on how this blog is progressing.

While I’ve spent most of the second half of the year working on other writing projects, I did manage to review 102 titles this year, nearly finishing out the 1960s (there are only 8 titles left to review from 1969!), and continuing my new routine of writing recaps of each year as I closed them out.

Reflection on Must-See Films From 1960
Reflection on Must-See Films From 1961
Reflection on Must-See Films From 1962
Reflection on Must-See Films From 1963
Reflection on Must-See Films From 1964
Reflection on Must-See Films From 1965
Reflection on Must-See Films From 1966
Reflection on Must-See Films From 1967
Reflection on Must-See Films From 1968

(I’ll eventually go back in time to provide similar overviews from earlier years in cinema history.)

There are just 564 titles left to review from the 1970s and 1980s (out of a grand total of 4300 in GFTFF). So close!

Wishing you all happy classic movie watching!
— FilmFanatic