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, 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

I just watched the final title from 1968 listed in Peary’s Guide for the Film Fanatic, and am ready to reflect and share my thoughts. Thankfully, it was another good year for movies!

• Out of 89 total titles, I voted 44 (or ~50%) must-see. Of these, 10 are in a language other than English: one is in Japanese, one is in Wolof-and-French, two (both by Ingmar Bergman) are in Swedish, three are in Spanish, and three are in French (one by Demy, one by Truffaut, and one by Chabrol). We definitely see the strong emergence of Third Cinema (i.e., non-Hollywood and European movies) this year — specifically Ousmane Sembane’s relentlessly depressing Senegalese film Mandabi (1968) and all three of the Spanish-language titles: two from Cuba — Memories of Underdevelopment and Lucia — and one, The Hour of the Furnaces, from Argentina.
  
• Sergio Leone’s most epic spaghetti western was Once Upon a Time in the West, which I recently revisited and reviewed. It features a wonderfully villainous turn by Henry Fonda, and a powerful portrayal by Claudia Cardinale as a savvy whore-turned-businesswoman who kicks ass as soon as she shows up on her new home-front. It’s a beautifully shot film with numerous memorable sequences, and another essential score by Ennio Morricone.
  
• I also fairly recently rewatched George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (with my son, to help prepare him for performing in a play adaptation). We both agreed it remains top-notch, and viewers who aren’t too jaded by the many horror films that have come in its wake “will surely find themselves genuinely frightened, at least during the third section of the film, when the situation builds to a feverish pitch, and it becomes increasingly clear that most members of our ensemble cast are not long for this (living) world.”
  
• Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby simply never gets old. As I noted in my review, “Each element of this masterfully constructed psychological horror film ‘works’ — from William Fraker’s cinematography, to Polanski’s unusual camera placements (he often films scenes through doorways), to fine use of sound and music, to judicious set designs and strategic use of outdoor New York locales, to the perfect casting of each character.”
  
• Rosemary’s Baby co-star John Cassavetes was just breaking through with a shift in his own iconic directorial career that year, as seen in Faces — an “utterly bleak yet cinematically groundbreaking look at a bourgeois marriage in decay,” featuring “fine, natural performances by everyone involved, and provid[ing] a daringly unfiltered look at class and gender relations in 1960s America.”
  
• I’m excited to revisit The Yellow Submarine for the first time with my teenage son (I’ll report back on how that goes). As I noted in my review from back in 2006 (four years before he was born): “The Beatles’ only animated film — featuring their music and their cartoon likenesses but not their actual voices — remains as enjoyable and mind-blowing today as it was 30+ years ago… The sheer variety of animation techniques in Yellow Submarine is blissfully overwhelming,” and “it’s enormously satisfying to see the Beatles immortalized as cartoon caricatures” with “just a few strategically drawn lines mak[ing] each of them instantly recognizable.”
  
• Of course, in 1968 one must give a shout-out to Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, which earned Peary’s vote as Best Picture of the Year and remains an enduring cautionary tale now more than ever, in the age of proliferating AI. (“I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”)
  
• A must-see cult favorite from 1968 is Michael Reeves’ The Conqueror’s Worm, a.k.a. The Witchfinder General, featuring Vincent Price as infamous witchfinder Matthew Hopkins in a horrific tale of “relentless violence [which] has a (sadly relevant) purpose, showing how easily mankind can descend into joy of torture — or at least mindless acceptance of it as commonplace and necessary.” Also noteworthy is “the film’s gorgeous cinematography, showcasing real-life horror taking place in an atmospheric landscape of Gothic forests, meadows, village squares, and dank interiors.”
  
• Speaking of satanism, a personal favorite is Hammer Studios’ The Devil’s Bride a.k.a. The Devil Rides Out, in which “the script, musical score, acting, and set designs all contribute towards the creation of a suspenseful, sometimes humorous tale of demonic possession in our midst,” and the special effects “convey a frighteningly believable alternate universe.”
  
• Peter Yates’s action-packed crime drama Bullitt, starring Steve McQueen in the title role, remains well worth a look. Interestingly, as I noted in my review, it’s “so closely associated with McQueen’s [Ford Mustang GT Fastback] (and the justifiably lauded car chase it’s involved in) that it’s easy to overlook how enjoyable the film is as a police procedural and character study.”
  
• A dark comedy classic from that year also worth a revisit is The Odd Couple, based on Neal Simon’s play and starring a perfectly cast Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau “as the title ‘couple’; their comedic timing and rapport is impeccable.”
  
• Finally, there were several highly memorable matriarchal performances that year by aging Hollywood divas. Be sure to check out Bette Davis in Roy Ward Baker’s The Anniversary (though be forewarned that “the words coming out of this anti-mother’s mouth are almost beyond belief”):
  
  … Katharine Hepburn as savvy Elinor of Aquitane in The Lion in Winter, also telling it like it is (“Oh, my piglets, we are the origins of war… We are the killers. We breed wars — we carry it like syphilis inside.”):
  
  … and Shelley Winters as a “hypocritical, brown-nosing mother” in Wild in the Streets, a biting political satire about “Age Police” who’ve “managed to take over the White House and imprison anyone over 35 in LSD ‘concentration camps’.”
  

Super trippy (literally).

Fifty-six years later, we’re battling different sets of societal and personal demons than in 1968 — yet the films outlined here continue to offer up plenty of compelling and relevant dramas, performances, and insights. The following year (1969) would once again bring cinematic innovations and many noteworthy titles, so — I’ll be back!

It’s already time for another yearly overview! I’m now done watching (almost) all titles from 1967 listed in GFTFF, and am happy to report I voted more than 50% (39 out of 76) as must-see. Many are stand-out movies worthy of recommending, so let’s go!

• Of the 39 must-see titles, nine are in languages other than English. Five are in French: Godard’s Weekend and La Chinoise; Chris Marker’s Far From Vietnam; Claude Berri’s The Two of Us (discussed below); and Bunuel’s Belle du Jour. Two are in Swedish/Danish; one is in Italian; and two — The Firemen’s Ball and Closely Watched Trains — are in Czech.
  
  
• There are several noteworthy cult favorites from 1967, including Monte Hellmann’s existential western Ride in the Whirlwind:
  
  … Mark Robson’s “infamously trashy adaptation of Jacqueline Susann’s bestselling novel,” Valley of the Dolls:
  
  … and Jack Clayton’s delightfully dark Our Mother’s House, about seven orphans who bury their deeply religious mother in the backyard and are unsure how to respond when “a man named Charlie (Dirk Bogarde) suddenly appears at their doorstep claiming to be their long-lost father;” “the children find themselves torn between delight and apprehension.”
  
• A cult and box office favorite was Mike Nichols’ The Graduate: we not only laugh with discomfort at Dustin Hoffman’s (Ben’s) seduction by Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft), but it’s “easy to relate on a personal level to Ben’s broader existential dilemma, as he contemplates how to craft a life for himself without automatically following in his parents’ footsteps.”
  
• Richard Brooks’ In Cold Blood has held up well as a hyper-realistic adaptation of Truman Capote’s true-crime thriller “about the senseless murder of the Clutter family in Kansas.” It features “natural performances by… two relatively unknown leads (an intentional decision on Brooks’ part); appropriately noir-ish cinematography by Conrad Hall; and an effective soundtrack by Quincy Jones.”
  
• Lee Marvin was a bad-ass in two notable thrillers that year: Robert Aldrich’s The Dirty Dozen — about “a critical suicide mission at a Nazi-filled chateau in France” — and John Boorman’s Point Blank, in which Marvin “stays uncannily calm, cool, and collected as he carries out his deliberate quest to first annihilate [his] seemingly untouchable [nemesis], and then collect the money he is owed, going as high up as he needs to on the organizational food chain.”
  
  
• Meanwhile, Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke “embodies our deepest wish-fulfillment” of “sticking it to the man” given that “he refuses to give up or give in, and justifiably earns the intense respect and admiration of his fellow inmates.”
  
• Speaking of non-conformists, 1967 gave us Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde, “one of the most highly regarded and influential post-war American films ever made.” It provides an “unapologetic portrayal of young gangsters who rob banks on a lark and become national celebrities,” thus paving “the way for countless other tales of ‘romantic couples on the run’.”
  
• Race-related films from that year included not only Norman Jewison’s Oscar-winning In the Heat of the Night and Stanley Kramer’s Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, but also Shirley Clarke’s Portrait of Jason and Melvin Van Peebles’ The Story of a Three Day Pass — set in Paris and telling a “straightforward yet emotionally complex tale of racism and cross-racial romance at a time when the United States was about to pass Loving v. Virginia, a landmark civil rights decision ruling laws banning inter-racial marriages as unconstitutional.”
  
• In John Huston’s magnificently hued Reflections in a Golden Eye (based on Carson McCullers’ novel of the same name), Marlon Brando gives “a truly heartbreaking and noteworthy performance” as “a tragically repressed army major who has clearly maintained a facade of ‘normalcy’ and rigor for far too long.” As I note in my review, “Brando’s every expression reveals the depth of his character’s confusion, anger, and desire, and he’s consistently fascinating to watch.”
  
• I’m a huge fan of Frederick Wiseman’s documentaries, including his notorious debut Titicut Follies, about “the lives of criminally insane inmates at the Massachusetts Correctional Institution.” Wiseman “takes a no-holds-barred approach to his sticky subject matter, never flinching from even the most uncomfortable interactions.”
  
• Other noteworthy documentaries from that year include The Lenny Bruce Performance Film and Emile De Antonio’s Rush to Judgment, in which “lawyer-author Mark Lane [speaks] with various individuals regarding the veracity of the Warren Commission‘s inquiry into the murder of JFK.,” revealing “a disturbing insight into how and why conspiracy theories immediately began to circulate.”
  
• Finally, don’t miss Claude Berri’s feature debut The Two of Us,

“a gentle fable about the absurdity of prejudice” based on Berri’s “own experiences as a [Jewish] boy in the French countryside during World War II,” and starring Michel Simon in a late-life performance.

1968 was another good year for movies, so I’m looking forward to covering that. Stay tuned!

Hello, film lovers! I’ve just finished watching all titles from 1966 listed in Guide for the Film Fanatic — culminating with one of the most massive, Tarkovsky’s 3+-hour historical epic Andrei Rublev — and I’m ready to reflect!

• Out of 68 movies from 1966, I’m voting 30 (or 44%) must-see. Of these, 7 are in a language other than English: one German, one Swedish, one Russian, and four French, including a Bresson film, a Rossellini title, Senegalese director Ousmane Sembene’s debut, and Gillo Pontecorvo’s gripping The Battle of Algiers.

  

• A personal favorite from 1966 is John Frankenheimer’s Seconds — often referred to as the third of Frankenheimer’s “paranoia trilogy”, following The Manchurian Candidate (1964) and Seven Days in May (1964). It “remains a fascinating — if undeniably emotionally challenging — viewing experience” about a middle-aged banker who undergoes extreme plastic surgery and emerges as… Rock Hudson. Is it worth it? (As you can probably guess — no, but watch to find out more.)

  

• Strong female characters were featured in numerous titles this year, including Anne Bancroft’s Dr. Cartwright in John Ford’s satisfying swan-song Seven Women:

  

  … Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson in Ingmar Bergman’s Persona:

  

  … Claudia Cardinale in The Professionals:

  

  … Millie Perkins’ nameless “The Woman” in Monte Hellmann’s The Shooting:

  

  … and Florence Marly’s mute but powerful green alien in Planet of Blood / Queen of Blood. While much of this film is slow-going, “Marly’s wordless performance is a marvel to behold, as she hypnotizes the men around her and clearly has malevolence up her sleeve (or perhaps up in her beehive-do).”

  

• Of course, that year’s most infamous “strong female” was Elizabeth Taylor’s Martha in Mike Nichols’ Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, which effectively opens up Edward Albee’s Broadway play by employing “the power of close-ups, angles, editing, and mixed settings to maximize the impact of Albee’s grueling tale about marital discord.”

  

• Speaking of play adaptations, don’t miss Fred Zinnemann’s A Man For All Seasons, featuring Paul Scofield in an Oscar-winning role as Sir Thomas More — a man calmly willing to sacrifice his life on behalf of his beliefs. He kindly reminds us:
  

  “I think that when statesmen forsake their own private conscience for the sake of their public duties, they lead their country by a short route to chaos.”

  

• Meanwhile, in Robert Wise’s The Sand Pebbles, “Steve McQueen gave one of his best, most introspective performances in the central role of Jake Holman — a soldier genuinely ‘in love’ with engines, who situates his integrity as a man within his ability to care for them effectively.”

  

• Film fanatics should definitely seek out John Korty’s fable-like Crazy-Quilt, an “unusual portrait of an unconventional love affair” offering a “delightful taste of mid-century independent American cinema.” (Click here to see an extended trailer, and scroll down for a link to purchase it.)

  

• Another interesting cult favorite — and much easier to find — is Richard Fleischer’s The Fantastic Voyage, featuring a wild sci-fi plot you simply won’t believe until you watch it; here is my synopsis:
  

  “During the Cold war, a U.S. secret agent (Stephen Boyd) is recruited by General Carter (Edmond O’Brien) of the CMDF (Combined Miniaturized Deterrence Forces) to join a team — including Dr. Duval (Arthur Kennedy), Dr. Duval’s assistant Cora (Raquel Welch), Dr. Michaels (Donald Pleasence), and a pilot (William Redfield) — travelling on a submarine into the brain of a dying scientist (Jean Del Val) in order to remove a blood clot so he can share a vital secret about miniaturization.”

  Yep; that happens.

  

• Finally, no film fanatic worth their weight in cinematic gold will want to miss seeing a few other iconic titles from that year — including Richard Lester’s A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum:

  

  … Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-Up:

  

  … Robert Aldrich’s gritty survival flickThe Flight of the Phoenix:

  

  … and Sergio Leone’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

  

You dig? Happy viewing!

I’m back for another reflection on a particular year in cinema! As a recap, I’ve already shared my thoughts on must-see titles from 1960, 1961, 1962, 1963, and 1964 — and I’m now ready to discuss my take-down on titles from 1965.

Interestingly, this year holds my lowest percentage of must-see titles so far. Out of 73 movies, I’m only voting 19 (or 26%) must-see. Below are just a few highlights from this year in cinema, which offered up plenty of darkness (literally — most are in b&w) on screen; however, I’ll begin my overview with a notable exception to that tendency.

• I’m a huge fan of Robert Wise’s Oscar-winning musical The Sound of Music, which is not to everyone’s tastes but has delighted me for years. Julie Andrews’ performance remains preternaturally compelling, and as I noted in my review: “The use of authentic Austrian/German locales — including the iconic opening shots on verdant hillsides — helps to open up the [original Broadway] play enormously,” turning “the entire affair into a wonderfully picturesque adventure.”
  
• Of the 19 must-see titles from 1965, seven are in a language other than English, with two (discussed below) in Italian, two in French (see here and here), and three in Czech. From the latter (which also includes Milos Forman’s Loves of a Blonde and Zbynek Brynych’s The Fifth Horseman is Fear), the Oscar-winning flick The Shop on Main Street — a film “about the absurdity of war, politics, and discrimination” in which “we are clearly able to see the insanity of the social upheaval creeping across Europe” — stands out above them all.
  
• Another powerful foreign title is Marco Bellochio’s debut feature Fists in His Pocket, about a young man who “decides to relieve his older brother… of their dysfunctional family by gradually killing everyone — including himself — off.” (!) In my review, I note that watching this movie — which comes across as “part black comedy, part character study, part horror film” — is like viewing “a train wreck in slow motion”: we remain “fascinated yet unable to look away,” particularly given Lou Castel’s “powerhouse performance” as a man suffering from “depression, grandiosity, and mental instability.”
  
• Speaking of memorable performances, it’s impossible to forget Rod Steiger’s leading role in Sidney Lumet’s bleak holocaust-survivor film The Pawnbroker. As I note in my review, “Viewers must prepare themselves for relentless agony as we watch a deeply broken man perpetuate his own horrors onto others through grim apathy and misanthropy.” This film is well worth a one-time watch — but be forewarned.
  
• Equally (though differently) disturbing is Roman Polanski’s Repulsion, starring Catherine Deneuve as a young French woman in London who experiences a frightening mental decline. Her performance — as well as Polanski’s ability to work atmospheric wonders within a tight budget — make this a tense psychological thriller with plenty of unexpected twists and turns.
  
• Peter Watkins’ fictionalized docudrama The War Game — which was “deemed too controversial for airing on BBC television, but was given a theatrical release, and received an Oscar for best ‘documentary’ in 1967” — offers up a “hypothetical vision of a post-apocalyptic nightmare — including lack of sufficient food or medicine, military rule, and hideous physical symptoms.” As I note in my review, it “remains just as powerful today as it must have been [decades] ago, when the threat of nuclear war was even more [?] imminent.”
  
• There are several cult classics from 1965, with perhaps my personal favorite being Elio Petri’s “cleverly conceived, visually stylish” (it’s in color!), “smartly scored,” Italian-language sci-fi flick The 10th Victim — about “a futuristic society which allows individuals to join a human hunting game.” Ursula Andress (the huntress) and Marcello Mastroianni (her prey) are perfectly cast as the cat-and-mouse leads, with Andress a particular revelation as she “delivers a nuanced, smart, humorous, even heartfelt performance, all while looking as incredibly gorgeous as always.”
  
• Another noteworthy cult flick is Russ Meyers’ inimitable Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! — which is the only Meyers film (out of all twelve listed in GFTFF) I tend to remember with much interest thanks to “its utterly unique stars…, its unforgettable title, and its striking imagery.” My review synopsis gives you a sense of how bizarre this flick is, if you somehow haven’t yet seen it (or would like a refresher):
  

  “When three go-go dancers — Varla (Tura Satana), Rosie (Haji), and Billie (Lori Williams) — go drag racing in the desert, Varla ends up killing the boyfriend (Ray Barlow) of a bikini-clad girl (Susan Bernard) who the group then kidnaps. They end up at the home of a reclusive, secretly wealthy sociopath in a wheelchair (Stuart Lancaster) who is cared for by his two sons: a mentally slow hunk nicknamed ‘The Vegetable’ (Dennis Busch) and his brainier brother (Paul Trinka). Sex-obsessed Billie pursues Busch, while Varla attempts to bed Trinka in order to learn where Lancaster’s money is hidden, and Bernard tries to escape.”

  Whew — get ready for some wild, violent, female-fueled escapades!
  

• Speaking of larger-than-life characters, Orson Welles’ self-professed final directorial masterpiece was Chimes at Midnight, in which he plays the recurring Shakespearean role of Falstaff — a portly knight who experiences tremendous heartbreak and betrayal at the hands of his lifelong friend Prince Hal. It’s a beautifully crafted — albeit typically “Shakespeare-ingly” dense — cinematic outing.
  
• Another notable film about betrayal from 1965 was Martin Ritt’s The Spy Who Came In From the Cold, which hews faithfully to John Le Carre’s source novel and offers a powerfully sobering antidote to more escapist spy fare of the Cold War era. As I note in my review: “To its credit, the film retains all the suspense of the book while both simplifying key plot points and visually opening up certain scenes. Oswald Morris’s atmospheric cinematography is top-rate, and the performances are fine across the board.”
  
• Finally, I want to highlight Brian Forbes’ King Rat — a haunting adaptation (of James Clavell’s novel) which is “unrelenting in its graphic depiction of the heat, starvation, despair, craziness, lethargy, boredom, and overall sense of hopelessness pervasive in [POW] camps.”
  

There are quite a few dark themes emerging across these recommendations from 1965: hopelessness, despair, violence, guilt, discrimination, betrayal, kidnapping, theft, duplicity, mental instability, starvation… These all seems particularly apt for the year in which Malcolm X was assassinated; Bloody Sunday occurred in Selma; American troops first arrived in Vietnam; the Watts Uprising took place in Los Angeles; and Quaker Norman Morrison set himself on fire in protest (to name just a few noteworthy events). There was a lot going on, both in America and abroad.

Thank goodness for movies, and for the opportunity to remember a few of our favorite things…

It’s time for another reflection on a particular year in cinema! So far I’ve shared my thoughts on must-see titles from 1960, 1961, 1962, and 1963 — and now I’m (nearly) done reviewing all titles from 1964. While there were certainly some cheery escapist flicks released that year — Mary Poppins, anyone? — darkness pervaded in powerful cinematic depictions of politics, war, plague, racism, romantic loss, and more.

• Out of 82 total titles from 1964, I voted 36 – or 44% – as must see. Not many are foreign (non-American) titles; I count only ten, with one French (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg), one Armenian (Shadows of Our Forgotten Ancestors), five British, one Italian, and two Japanese.
• Of the latter, Hiroshi Teshigahara’s Woman in the Dunes — about a man and woman who “form an unexpectedly sweet bond of captivity, supporting one another through work, companionship, and sensual connection” — remains “a one-of-a-kind masterpiece from mid-20th century Japanese cinema,” and is well worth a look if you haven’t yet seen it.
  
• Of the five British titles, two are of special note — starting with Kevin Brownlow and Andrew Mollo’s It Happened Here, a frighteningly realistic “alternative history” of a Nazi-controlled post-WWII England. Made over eight years and with the collaborative support of countless volunteers, the directors show us an every-woman nurse who agrees to be employed by her nation’s quasi-paramilitary organization — “figuring it’s better to work towards social stability of some kind (any kind) than to be part of continued violent resistance” — and whose passive acceptance of an openly Fascist government gives us a “frightening reminder of how easy it is for humans to simply accept the reality around them as normal.”
  
• On a much lighter note, Richard Lester’s A Hard Day’s Night remains a cult favorite which hasn’t dated in the slightest. While “the young Beatles’ infectious enthusiasm for life and music… is the biggest draw by far,” “I also love the sly supporting performances…; the ‘mod’ sets; the consistently creative camera moves and angles; and the wonderful subplot provided to ‘poor Ringo’.”
  
• Speaking of cult titles, I revisited and wrote my review of Roger Corman’s The Masque of the Red Death in March of 2020, pointing out at the time that this “film about an evil nobleman and his willing compatriots denying refuge to plaintive villagers provides a potent cautionary tale about the need to continuously support one another through the hardest of times, across all boundaries: social, economic, racial, and religious.”
  
• Political thrillers were dominant in 1964 cinema. John Frankenheimer’s Seven Days in May — with a script by Ray Sterling — remains freakily relevant to current politics, reminding us that “when a group of individuals is convinced they’re right and the well-being of their nation is at risk, we know they will stop at nothing.”
  
• Meanwhile, Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb deserves its continued status as a classic favorite, with tour-de-force performances by Peter Sellers (as Group Captain Lionel Mandrake, President Merkin Muffley, and Dr. Strangelove) and memorable turns by both Sterling Hayden and George C. Scott in key supporting roles.
  
• As a more serious counterpart to Dr. Strangelove, Sidney Lumet’s nuclear thriller Fail Safe — featuring stand-out performances by Henry Fonda and Larry Hagman — creates and maintains “tension across the various inter-connected spheres of the storyline (primarily the president’s office, the War Room, and the pilots’ cockpit),” and “is a literal nailbiter in terms of what will come next, with nothing less than the fate of our planet in the balance.”
  
• Emile De Antonio’s political documentary Point of Order rounds things out politically by “taking more than 180 hours of television footage from the 1954 Army-McCarthy hearings” and providing a “fascinating glimpse at the crash and burn of America’s most infamous ‘Commie witch hunter,'” Senator Joe McCarthy.
  
• In addition to Seven Days in May, John Frankenheimer and Burt Lancaster teamed up that year for The Train. True to its title, it’s “set almost entirely in, on, or around trains” and tells a gripping cat-and-mouse tale involving priceless art being shipped away for safety during World War II. As I note in my review, “With no models used (all action was real), the film possesses a consistently heady air of real-life danger, with one expertly filmed action sequence after the other.”
  
• Nothing But a Man was the best of the race-related films to emerge in 1964. As I note in my review, “By telling the story of ‘everyman’ Duff Anderson (Ivan Dixon), we see what occurs when a person is unable to secure reasonably paid work that allows them to maintain dignity and self-respect.” While it’s “undeniably rough to watch,” this docudrama “remains a powerful neo-realist depiction of Black Southern communities in the 1960s.”
  
• Sergio Leone’s seminal “spaghetti western” A Fistful of Dollars brought us Clint Eastwood with a cheroot and poncho, a “highly distinctive score” by Ennio Morricone, and an odd sense of déjà vu for anyone who’s seen Kurosawa’s Yojimbo (which it copied from heavily while building up a strong mythos of its own).
  
• I have a couple of personal cult favorites from this year. One is George Roy Hill’s The World of Henry Orient, a delightful dark comedy featuring “a marvelously droll turn by Peter Sellers” (it was a good year for him!) and “sparkling performances by its two unknown leads (Merrie Spaeth and Tippy Walker),” who perfectly capture “the hyper compulsion of teenage female friendship.”
  
  The other is Viva Las Vegas (Elvis Presley finally met his on-screen match in Ann-Margret!), which is “directed with flair by George Sidney and featur[es] vivid sets and costumes, rousing song-and-dance numbers, nice use of Vegas locales, and a super-fun romantic rivalry (with plenty of genuine sparks flying).”
  
• Speaking of personal favorites, I was very pleasantly surprised to revisit Cary Grant and Leslie Caron in Father Goose, an enjoyable romantic comedy which “goes in surprisingly delightful and quirky directions.” Watch for “numerous memorable moments, both humorous and frightening,” with interplay between the two providing “much authentic tension.”
  
• John Huston’s The Night of the Iguana — based on a Tennessee Williams play — features a storyline that “merits nearly endless discussion and debate,” “crisp and gorgeous” cinematography by Gabriel Figueroa, inspired location sets (in Mexico), and “top-notch” performances across the board” — including from Richard Burton, Ava Gardner, Deborah Kerr, Grayson Hall, and Sue Lyons.
  
• Speaking of such luminaries, there were numerous standout female performances in 1964 — including from Ann-Margret as Jodi in a Kitten With a Whip; Joan Crawford in William Castle’s Strait-Jacket; and Tippi Hedren in Hitchcock’s Marnie.
  
  
  

As always, happy viewing!