1970's Top 20

"There was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie, and Dim, and we sat in the Korova Milkbar trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening. The Korova milkbar sold milk-plus, milk plus vellocet or synthemesc or drencrom, which is what we were drinking. This would sharpen you up and make you ready for a bit of the old ultra-violence."



Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange will always go down in history as one of the most polemical, violent, disturbing films ever made. A tale most vile, full of the old in-out and other such nastiness. A tale in which Alex (Malcolm McDowell), our faithful narrator and leader, is imprisoned for the accidental killing of a person and later conditioned by his government to abhor sex and violence, but also the glorious music of Ludwig Van. Sometimes karma can be a cruel, cruel mistress. Sometimes it can be poetic. But, the thing to remember, is that it's always in play.

So learns Alex after his release from prison. Cured of his predilection toward sex and violence, he encounters the victims of his earlier transgressions only to find that people's forgiveness cares little for his cure or the fact that he's paid his debt to society. The wounds Alex has inflicted are deep, so it's little surprise when his victims exact their revenge because, deep down, they are no better than Alex. Freed from restraint by a feeling of righteous indignation, they are able to expose their true selves, as dirty and nasty and vile as Alex in his prime, only now Alex has been so conditioned that he cannot even fight back. He is defenceless, begging for mercy. It's doubtful that this was a desired effect of the conditioning, so you have to wonder: if the government takes away Alex's ability to defend himself and sends him out in a society that hates his very existence and distrusts this so-called cure, does perhaps the punishment exceed the crime? Taking nothing else into consideration, possibly. But when you factor in the conditioning against the perfectly natural sexual appetite and the music of Ludwig Van Beethoven, then it's clear the government has gone too far.

There's little question that's part of the film's message, but to what end? The Prison Chaplain (Godfrey Quigley), as close to a voice of morality as A Clockwork Orange gets, argues before the review board that due to the conditioning "He ceases also to be a creature capable of moral choice." He's right, of course, as the Pavlovian approach to morality takes away the subject's humanity, reducing him to nothing more than a castrated animal. He's pitiful, really, which is a stunning turn of events considering his actions in the first half of the film. A great deal of that change relies on the acting abilities of McDowell, who's amazing in the role. His performance is often noted as one of the best to never be nominated for an Academy Award. He was also snubbed by the British Academy. The film received four Oscar nominations: Best Picture, Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay, and Best Editing. It won zero.

Part of what made A Clockwork Orange so controversial upon its initial release - Kubrick received death threats against both himself and his family and took measures to ensure the film wouldn't be shown in Britain until after his death, which happened in 2000 - is that switch wherein Alex goes from hated to pitied. Kubrick presents us with a protagonist and narrator who is essentially an uber-villain - a gang leader who picks fights with rival gangs, beats up a homeless man, orchestrates a gang rape, and has a three-way with two teenage girls. There is no code of ethics by which he could be considered a good person. But, he is a clever and charming young man who serenades his rape victims with "Singin' in the Rain" and has a strange, unexplained fascination with Beethoven.

It's difficult to reconcile that this likeable young man could be capable of such atrocities, which is partly what Kubrick's going for here. Take Alex out of his odd white outfit and into some normal clothes and he looks no different than anyone else his age. Only at night he lets his inner demons run wild, where the rest of society has decided to suppress them. But the solution of just taking the demons away isn't a solution at all, because the demons are vital to who we are. Think of it as a ying and yang approach to the soul of man. Without that battle between good and evil we have nothing but an empty, boring wasteland. And that's not a life worth living.

A Clockwork Orange, like so many of Stanley Kubrick's films, is an acquired taste. It is a bold, daring piece of cinema that aims to provoke a reaction in the belief that it is better to be found spectacularly bad than dull. Thankfully, it is neither. Kubrick paints in broad, provocative strokes, muting nothing in the frame. He employs a broad range of colours and flourishes that give the film a vibrant and raw feel, as if you're watching the characters and images explode off the screen. Alex mentions during one of his sessions that "the colours of the real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen", so Kubrick does his best to make them seem really real, from Mum's hair to the red outfit of the woman being raped to the flashing lights of the record store. Couple that with the wide-angle lenses Kubrick is fond of, the slang bordering on gibberish, the numerous phallic symbols, and the occasional intention continuity error and the entire film is a bit disorienting and unnerving. It's designed to put you slightly on edge.

Of course, A Clockwork Orange isn't for everyone. It's an X-rated film that contains rape scenes and torture and pretty much anything that could make someone uncomfortable, but it's also a brilliant film with grand ambitions. Sure the film's message gets a little muddled near the end, and it isn't always clear what the intention is, and it tends to occasionally lose its way, but that isn't a reason to discount it. Thanks in large part to Kubrick, A Clockwork Orange feels like jazz, and because of that it feels alive, and a flawed film that feels alive is always preferable to a by-the-numbers one that's dull, especially when it's directed by a genius.

Would certainly rank very high (quiçá #1) in a hypothetical "Most Watched Films of All Time" list of mine.

One of the greatest achievements in cinema history. More than just an action or war film. Coppola has created a profound philosophical metaphor for the entire Vietnam experience. Has perhaps the most effective opening in filmmaking history. The perfect closing for one of the most important and exciting decades in American cinema.

An unexpected masterpiece. The film that inspired any other bank-robbing flick made after 1975. One of Lumet's landmarks.

The horror classic of horror classics. I'm one of the few, privileged people who can say they watched it in the theater. It was at a special screening on a horror film festival I went to a couple of years ago and I can honestly say it was one of the film experiences of my life.

The majority of the 'general' western audiences knows Lady Snowblood as one of the most significant inspirations for Quentin Tarantino (and Uma Thurman) in the creation of the Kill Bill films and the character of The Bride itself. In one scene in particular from Vol. 1 - the "Showdown at the House of Blue Leaves" chapter - this is more than obvious. Anyway, I won't mention Kill Bill and Tarantino again, I promess. Lady Snowblood, although made more than 30 years ago, is a masterpiece in its own right.



This incredibly stylish film (check out all the shots that mix blood on white, whether snow or kimono) is a little known entry in the niche of female samurai films. The protagonist is a woman and a deadly one at that. Of course, she is stunningly beautiful, just in case one is not entirely captivated by her sword-wielding skills. With a great story, well-done action sequences, and talented acting, the entertainment value of Lady Snowblood could not be ruined even by the awfully cheesy 1970s Western music.

For those familiarized with Japanese history, the year is Meiji 6, and the country reels after the dissolution of the 300 year old Tokugawa shogunate. The empire is undergoing the first stages of militarization, which involves the first ever compulsory draft. Some unscrupulous shady characters run a "get out of the draft" scam, which involves spreading rumors that people dressed in white are government secret agents. The ruffians brutally murder a teacher on his way to the village where he is to work (he wore white), dispatch his son, and rape his wife. The wife manages to take revenge on one of the attackers but is arrested and thrown in jail before she could finish her task. In jail, she seduces every guard in sight in order to bear a child to complete her vengeance. This "child of the netherworld" is Yuki, Lady Snowblood (Meiko Kaji), and the film is the story of her cold revenge that takes place twenty years later.

The film is suffused with impressive imagery, and the narrative has several unexpected twists and turns. All for the better, as it keeps the story interesting beyond the visual candy, of which there is plenty. The blood and gore are also well-done, even if blood tends to spurt as if from a well-shaken Coke can. Most definitely a tad above the other (more famous) swordplay films, Lady Snowblood is a sight to behold. There's also a sequel, Love Song of Vengeance, which is not as good, but for Toshiya Fujita and Meiko Kaji fans, a must-see nevertheless.

David Lynch in its more raw and natural state. A film that has haunted me profoundly (in the most positive way possible) since the first time I saw it. A work of rare genius and real bravery. A stream of subconsciousness work of art in surrealism and abstractness. Eraserhead, ironically, for being Lynch's first and most honest, even 'naive' film, ends up being the one that can get you the closest you'll ever be to understand his world, to see through his mind. It's a film that seems to require interpretation. Answers, however - and this really is what stops any human being from enjoying Lynch's work - are so distant that you'll wonder if they are even intended. May very well be the greatest debut by an American director after Welles' Citizen Kane.