My Favorite Movies of the 90s

"'Garcon' means boy." "Ah man, I shot Marvin in the face." "It's not a motorcycle, baby, it's a chopper." "How would you like that cooked, burnt to a crisp or bloody as hell?" "Nobody's gonna hurt anybody. We're gonna be like three little Fonzies here." "She's getting the shot, I'm gonna get my little black medical book." "Oh, I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?" "Now I wanna dance, I wanna win, I want that trophy--so dance good." "That's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten." "They call it a 'Royale with Cheese.'" "Nobody ever robs restaurants. Why not?" "This was divine intervention." "Dorks. They look like a couple of dorks." "I think we should be leaving now."

The film opens silently with the dictionary definition of "pulp," tipping off the audience from the beginning, without apologies, that what follows will be "lurid." The first shot places us in the middle of a conversation, the very first words being an answer to a question we'll never hear. There is no effort to establish a context; we must simply listen to find out who these people are and what they're doing. They are a man and a woman who refer to each other with the cutest nicknames imaginable, engaged in a colorful discussion on the safest way to continue their larcenous lifestyle. The debate reaches a conclusion agreeable to both parties, and they proceed to rob the very diner in which they sit. The shot freezes, Dick Dale's "Misirlou" suddenly bursts into our ears, and we are treated to the opening credits of Quentin Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction."

The definition, the conversation, and the explosion of music all somehow work together to send the same message: what we are about to watch is a very unusual (feel free to say "strange") movie. Indeed, the plot(s) of the film involve some of the strangest situations ever conceived. Tarantino ventures freely into the bizarre and the disgusting, but for me at least, he does so in a way that is consistently fun and upbeat. This is raucous entertainment, a complex structure of tangentially related stories told with enough skill and daring that we have no choice but to come along for the ride. Here is one movie, among the countless told by Hollywood over the years, where one can only guess what will happen next. It's a movie that, after many viewings, I still feel has secrets for me to discover, besides the secrets that it playfully keeps unexplained.

The first thing to mention, as anyone who's seen this film will know, is the chronology. Tarantino tells his stories out of order, placing each scene where it will best serve his tempo and the mood he creates. All of the major characters are introduced in successive scenes near the beginning, and we assume that these events are happening at roughly the same time, one after the other. By the end of the movie, we know better. Tarantino inserts clues that will be explained much later, two of which I remember off the top of my head. The first is the clothing worn by Jules and Vincent the second time we see them. The second, which no one is likely to notice on the first viewing, or possibly any viewing without the audio commentary, is a shot of Vincent, seen from the back, walking in the diner where Pumpkin and Honey Bunny are talking.

It's little details like this that keep me watching this film. There are a few more during the "OD" scene, for example. Tarantino has Lance, the drug dealer, watching the Three Stooges when Vincent calls him. The reference is funny in itself, but Tarantino times it perfectly, for just a single line, to coincide with the situation in the movie. Later, at a pertinent moment, we see the board games "Life" and "Operation" in the room. And there are so many more of these details throughout the film. Tarantino fills his movie with references to films, television, and other forms of culture. As had become his trademark, the dialogue among his characters covers a range of topics above and beyond what the plot requires. It is all delivered with such perfect rhythm, such speed and energy, that I never once feel the conversations are a waste of time. The fact of the matter is, they are anything but a waste of time. If nothing else, they help us get to know the characters, which is the most rewarding thing this film has to offer. The inhabitants of these stories may be an odd group of miscreants, but they are also people, capable of making stunningly insightful comments now and then.

The method of storytelling is exciting and liberating. We are pretty much forced to be in the moment; piecing together how and when everything happens should be done later. As a result, one can be honestly confused about the overall plot and have no less enjoyment of the movie. Some films require a struggle to keep up with everything that's happening; this one makes it clear very early that it's practically impossible, and really unnecessary, to try that here. A person can adore this movie and keep the assumption that the dialogue and the events have been picked at random. Repeated viewings reveal an immense structure of which every turn of events is a part. Even some of the seemingly throwaway lines of dialogue come back later with new meaning. From the smallest prop or reference to the overall arc, this film shows incredible care and enjoyment in its making.

Beneath the awesome style, one can detect a beating heart to this film, one that's personified by Jules (played by Samuel L. Jackson with one of the greatest performances I've ever seen, the standout performance in the most amazing ensemble cast ever) and Butch (played by Bruce Willis with his signature tough-and-funny-at-the-same-time manner). They express the spiritual and social morals of the story, respectively. But this film doesn't pound any discernible message into our heads. I've thought a lot about the final scene, and I think what happens is, more than anything, a stab at the pretensions of popular entertainment to say something profound in the midst of all the action, jokes, sex, and violence. Jules makes the decision to turn his life around, but his epiphany is merely that being a hired killer is wrong. Whatever "Pulp Fiction" has to say, it says through satire--through humor. It is first and foremost a comedy, and an absolutely hilarious one at that. Tarantino turns tragic, violent, ugly situations into absurdly funny moments. The "OD" scene and the scene in the pawn shop are the most famous examples. Tarantino lifts society's veil every chance he gets, but he keeps us laughing the whole way.

"Pulp Fiction" is a collection of thousands of my all-time favorite film moments and quotes. It's so great, that I love a deleted scene more than most scenes in other movies (I'm referring to the one where Mia asks Vincent about Elvis and "The Partridge Family" before their date. This scene mysteriously ended up in the televised version where I first saw the movie). This is the best example I've seen of how much fun making and experiencing a movie can be. Despite its casual, just-for-fun exterior, it still deserves comparisons to movies like "Intolerance" and "Citizen Kane." It's not the greatest movie ever made, but it's the defining film of my lifetime so far, and at least until I know better, it's my favorite.

"I had worked for this older man, and once he told me that he had spent all of his life thinking about his career and his work, and he was 52, and it suddenly struck him that he had never really given anything of himself. His life was for no one and nothing. He was almost crying, saying that. You know, I believe if there's any kind of God, it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed, but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt."

Richard Linklater is an anomaly in his generation. Movies, generally speaking, have recently been adding more action, always with better special effects and bigger explosions. Even many romantic comedies of the last twenty years or so have placed a lot of dependence on some gimmick of the storyline to hold the audience's interest. The bar for generating excitement has been raised so often that Linklater's special quirk comes as a complete surprise: he makes movies about people who ... just talk. He loves hearing and listening to people talk so much that some of his movies are really about nothing else. With "Before Sunrise," he used all his gifts for dialogue and characterization to create a romance. It's a romance with the intense premise that the camera will not leave sight of these two people for the duration of the movie; it will not slip away to subplots, because there's only one "plot" that matters. We will merely observe the conversations between a young man and a young woman over the course of the day they meet and ... you'll see.

I love words. This should come as no surprise to anyone by now. There are times for action (and that is a very loosely defined term; it can apply to anything a character does that's significant in the movie). Certainly, most movies need action at specific points to keep them from being boring. But sometimes--and maybe Linklater is the only director I like who fits this definition--sometimes a movie comes around with such fresh, intelligent, and powerful words that it needs nothing else. Now, "Before Sunrise" isn't one long scene with two people sitting across from each other for an hour and a half. They walk and ride through Vienna, so there are plenty of interesting things to see in the movie besides the two faces. Still, whatever they actually do is of secondary importance to what they say to each other and the attitudes that those words convey. But they communicate with each other, much more fruitfully than most people in the movies--incredibly so.

Ethan Hawke plays Jesse and Julie Delpy plays Celine. I suppose they're acting. Both of them approach the material with such ease and fervor that there isn't a single unconvincing moment between them. I can barely say how much it helps the whole enterprise to have two people like them in the only two real roles in the film. Seldom have I cared so much about anyone on the screen as I care about, not just one, but both of these people. I don't always agree with them, and there are times I don't even understand everything they're thinking about, but they've got me listening every step of the way.

If you put an attractive guy and an attractive girl in a movie, there is already a sense of necessity that they end up together. Of course, there is even more of that here. But Linklater doesn't waste our time by inserting problems and misunderstandings--reasons to keep the couple apart when there's never any doubt how it will end. From an early moment, Jesse and Celine connect, both mentally and emotionally. It's a great testament to how the barriers of culture can be crossed. These two have plenty in common, regardless of how far apart they've been most of their lives. Barriers still exist, obviously. Their relationship wouldn't be possible if they didn't both speak English (hooray for English!). With that established, though, they can find out how close they truly are at heart--both of them thoughtful, creative, funny and smart.

Because there isn't really much of a plot to the movie, the conversations are free to touch on whatever topics are most important and interesting to the characters, in whatever order they think of them. So the story develops in extraordinarily subtle ways. Each subject is important in itself and in how it contributes to the rapport of Jesse and Celine. They discuss religion, philosophy, music, poetry, marriage, family, the afterlife, rebellion, past relationships--they talk about so much, in fact, that one gets a sense by the time it's over that one understands their respective worldviews almost completely. The movie is the act of two souls pouring themselves out for each other to see.

Many couples have a problem of not communicating enough. This one, you might be tempted to say, looks to have the opposite problem. Maybe so, but circumstances dictate from the beginning that this will be extremely temporary, and both people understand this. Jesse will be leaving the continent tomorrow, in fact, so they share the feeling that whatever they need to say to each other has to be said right now. Mostly, though, they have each found someone they enjoy speaking with, perhaps to a greater extent than in a very long time. The day unfolds as just an unusually long first date. It's simply the best first date ever.

There isn't much more to say about the movie. It would ruin it to describe some of the wonderful discussions instead of just letting you listen to them for yourself. There is one brief wordless scene that should be mentioned. It comes early in the film, and involves Jesse and Celine listening to a record together in a music store booth. Their faces engage in a sort of circular dance, stealing glances at the other person and looking away before the other notices. It's the simplest of ideas, yet it says even more about how they have already come to feel about one another than any words could.

"Before Sunrise" is incredibly beautiful. The beauty of the words, thoughts, and ideas is accompanied and enhanced by the jaw-dropping loveliness of a great European city. This is my favorite movie love story. I always feel, as I watch it, that I'm looking at a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, that these individuals will never meet another person who is more right for them. It is a profound dream. The film expresses the ideal of two human beings fitting together like pieces in a puzzle, but it doesn't idealize them as people. They are all too imperfect, living in an imperfect world, where time always catches up with you eventually.

"I thought you'd like, you know, a bedtime story or something. I've got some really cool ones! MAD Magazine--very funny! "The Spirit"--very cool. "Boys' Life"--eh. Oh, here! This guy is "Superman"! Sure, he's famous now. But he started off just like you. Crash-landed on Earth, didn't know what he was doing. But, he only uses his powers for good, never for evil. Remember that ... Oh, that's "Atomo: The Metal Menace." He's not the hero, he's the villain. He's not like you. You're a good guy, like Superman."

To sum it up, I believe "The Iron Giant" is the closest thing to perfection of all the animated films I've seen. I say that somewhat tentatively; after all, I need to familiarize myself with Miyazaki a little more before that statement approaches decisiveness. In any event, it's my favorite and is likely to remain so. Like "Sunrise" and "The General," made just as the silent era was coming to an end, this film was made as CGI animation was on the verge of becoming dominant, and now the film stands as the last traditionally animated American masterpiece. Technologically speaking, I think it arrived at the perfect moment, fusing the awesome potential of computers for elaborate and realistic effects with the artistry and personality of hand-drawn animation.

I have been disappointed over the last decade to see the gradual extinction of the old style of animation. Computer-animated films look more spectacular by the year, to be sure, but I prefer to think of the two techniques as alternatives, rather than seeing one as intrinsically better than the other. Traditional animation is a link, however wobbly, with the art of the past--a grandchild of painting, and a cousin of the comic strips. These are all things that I hold dear. Computer animation, on the other hand, seems to have sprung up out of nowhere. It points to the future more than the past, and it's a future that sometimes looks disturbingly sterile. I realize there is some hypocrisy in what I say, particularly in the midst of a discussion on "The Iron Giant," a film that would never look as beautiful as it does without computers. As I said, I think the film truly incorporates the best of both worlds. It's especially fitting that the mind-blowing alien technology of the title character should be rendered by the best technology we have available.

In addition to the gorgeous visuals, this film possesses a story that highlights everything that's great about animation. The filmmakers are simply interested in telling a good story, not in easy laughs or merchandising. The greatest of care is evident in every scene, every detail. This film is the best evidence I know for the power of animation to bring kids and adults together. The story and the characters appeal to both without any condescension whatsoever. It is at heart an expression of wonder at the world (and the whole universe, in fact), man's place in it, and what man has made for himself in it. The story further develops into a formative experience of the dangers of the world, including dangers from fellow human beings, some of whom claim to be friends but in fact are not.

In building a complete world, the filmmakers evoke the whole spectrum of emotions. The laughter and tears that the film produces, in particular, are supremely marvelous. This isn't just one of the funniest animated films I've ever seen. The variety and dexterity of the humor, the immaculate skill in timing and buildup, make this one of the funniest pieces of work I've ever seen, period. It has not faded into stale cuteness--something that only the best of the best films aimed at children can achieve. Some of the jokes are deliberately aimed at older age groups, I suppose, but there's something about a perfectly timed sight gag that works just as well for anyone. The humor envelops the viewer in the warmth and security of childhood, but just as that can't last in real life, so it must be interrupted here. The pathos of the film's final scenes is unsurpassed; Disney certainly hasn't done better. Everything suddenly boils down to the simplest and most potent of human emotions--fear (the fear of death), sadness (the sadness of complete impotence in the face of death, but most of all the sadness of realizing that all our technological innovations have just made death on a massive scale quick and easy), and courage (the courage of facing the decision of how one's life will be defined, a decision that in the last analysis must be made right now). This conclusion to the film forces the children in the audience to understand the deepest adult fears of the Cold War, probably the most frightening period of our nation's history. It's relentless, but finally hopeful.

Few animated films have captured the period in which they're set as well as "The Iron Giant." The idyllic veneer of the 50's is slowly blown off by the obsessive suspicion of our rivalry with the Soviet Union. As the film opens, Sputnik orbits the Earth. This was an incredible achievement that America couldn't seem to match. It would take several years before we again caught up with, let alone surpassed, Soviet technology. All told, this was a low point. Understanding this fact adds considerable layers to the villains in the movie. A child has the luxury of happy excitement when he meets a giant robot, but the obvious fact that American weapons have no effect on it would be a real cause for alarm. The movie's message, though, is that such alarm, without any evidence of aggression to back it up, is not only wrong but goes against the best characteristics of the human race. This film has very simple morals to teach, and it teaches them well. In our time, it is especially good to see a movie that shows children how not to romanticize guns and their use.

Talent is everywhere apparent in this movie, from the animation itself, to the writing, to the voice cast. As with the most satisfying films, the elements all play their part in a cohesive whole. What separates an animated film from live action is the fact that nothing can appear on the screen by accident, and if you look closely, you can see that every detail has its purpose. I enjoy the homages to past animated films and to the comic books that clearly influenced the filmmakers. Best of all, the smallest detail in the whole movie is used to create the story's most powerfully sanguine moment. Watch closely.

"Don't talk to me about importance! Because of you, the security of this entire universe is in jeopardy. Right now, poised at the edge of the galaxy, Emperor Zurg has been secretly building a weapon with the destructive capacity to annihilate an entire planet! I alone have information that reveals this weapon's only weakness. And you, my friend, are responsible for delaying my rendezvous with Star Command!" "YOU ... ARE ... A ... TOYYYYYY!!!!"

When I first saw "Toy Story" with my dad in 1995, I enjoyed it a great deal for the story, the characters, and for the overall idea, which complemented my own imagination in many ways. But as I recall, I couldn't have had any more than a perfunctory understanding of what this movie meant in film history. It was the first animated film created entirely by computers--I knew that much. The effect of this technique was marvelous to watch. It rendered the plasticity of the toys in a way that traditional animation couldn't duplicate, and it placed them in a three-dimensional world defined by such glorious realism that everything really looked substantial enough to touch. The amazing depth that computer animation accomplished gave the camera freedom to behave as it would with a live-action film. Again, I only recognized these things subconsciously, if at all. Mostly, I was thrilled to see so many familiar toys leading lives of their own, intuitively freezing in place whenever a human being was around.

Looking back, my first viewing of the movie is a cherished memory. I now recognize more clearly what then was only a side benefit: the filmmakers were doing something completely new, and I was among the first to see it. This was almost certainly the first time in my young life that I had such a privilege. The experience must have been similar to that of the first audiences seeing "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," and perhaps even, in a way, similar to the first audiences of motion pictures themselves. All of us, to some degree or another, were watching our concepts of what was possible being expanded. In an age when every living generation grew up with movies as an easily accessible reality, having that experience with a movie must have been rare indeed. Of course, I myself haven't seen another movie that could do the same thing, to the same extent, since.

Most adults at the time were probably aware that this kind of animation was the future. But for me, it's still an impressive fact that a single movie could change the entire animation industry in such a short time. Pixar Animation Studios can boast not only pioneer status, but now also a string of great films with ever-increasing quality of animation and realism. The most recent films, naturally, surpass this one in beauty, smoothness, and all the things they can do. However, I do not subscribe to any kind of evolutionary theory when it comes to movies. Quite simply, nothing that has been done since can match the simple yet profound pleasures of watching this film.

"Toy Story" is an undying reminder of childhood, a stage in life that dies ever so quickly. It was a time of endless possibilities, glorious freedom. As preparation for adult life, childhood should teach us to find enjoyment in physical activity, in friendships, and in creativity. For me at least, the third has been the most important. And there is no better outlet for creativity, if you're a kid, than your toys. Not everyone is rich enough to have every toy in existence, but having a limited supply only makes you think harder to use what you do have in unexpected ways. The first scene of the film shows this brilliantly and humorously. A child looks at all the toys in his collection and channels them into an integrated conflict. This is the birth of storytelling. I get the feeling the filmmakers wouldn't be in the same line of work if it weren't for their toys.

But "Toy Story" isn't about Andy, of course. It's from his toys' point of view. Some of the best moments in the movie are created from insights into what a toy's life is like. However thrilling it is for a kid when he gets a new toy, the old ones would be reasonably concerned. Woody's alarm is selfish, and the story is all about him losing that selfishness. Even so, the basic idea of a simple toy losing its place to a complex toy is dead-on and more revealing as time goes by. The more complicated the features, lights and sounds become, the less room there is for creativity. Even if the specific conflict between cowboy-toy and space-toy is now lost on us, the general idea remains. There are no video games (outside of Pizza Planet) in "Toy Story."

Watching the DVD with the commentary turned on gives me more appreciation for this movie than I thought was possible. The filmmakers peppered it with movie references, catching the spirit of the time by slyly paying tribute to their influences. In this way as well, the film has clearly exerted influence in the field of animation. It has also done so in its use of irreverent humor. None of the painfully obvious, banal toilet humor that we've been exposed to in recent years, fortunately. The jokes are perfectly designed to go over the kids' heads if necessary, and so they serve as another conduit to let adults in on the fun. Most of this type of humor comes from Mr. Potato Head, one of my favorite characters in the movie. If he's a little too irreverent, to balance things out the film gets incredible mileage out of the fact that Mr. Potato Head's parts fall off very easily.

Individual moments in the film provoke wonder in me to this day, none more so than the spectacular Army Men sequence. But many animated films have moments like that without having an overall story to match. That's not the case here. At the center of everything is the relationship between Woody and Buzz, which develops from a rivalry to a deep friendship. It is the satisfaction I get from this basic story that keeps the movie from being just a collection of jokes and toy "cameos." The care that was put into these two characters (spectacularly given voice by Tom Hanks and Tim Allen) is what makes the finale work. We are taken on a flight of imagination that is totally inspirational. This, the filmmakers are telling us, is what we can do. Their influence reverberates to this day.

This movie is about robbery, betrayal, death, and tipping.

There is a moment in the middle of "Reservoir Dogs" when a character tells a story about a marijuana deal and a group of cops chatting in a men's room. Watching the movie, we already know this story is a complete fabrication. But we're still on the edge of our seats watching the events as they're described. This scene, more than any other in the movies that I know of, exemplifies the ability of films to turn illusions into reality. Everything ever shown on a movie screen is an illusion: the illusion that we're watching actual movement, in addition (most of the time) to the illusion that we're watching real people instead of actors in front of cameras with makeup, artificial lighting, and multiple takes. A person can know all about the artifice involved and still get wrapped up in the storytelling of a good film. "Reservoir Dogs" is as much about a love for the movies and their power as it is about its own story. In every way, it introduced the style and themes of Quentin Tarantino, who wrote and directed this film with remarkable poise and absolute self-confidence.

The movie is completely dominated by its dialogue. Sure, there is some violence, but most of the blood to be seen slowly seeps out of gunshot wounds because the victims, for one reason or another, can't get to the hospital. The most notable acts of violence in the movie are actually all done off-screen. Violent images have an unfair advantage in that they're easier to remember (or, we could say, harder to forget). But those images are comparatively few and far between, and it's the dialogue that carries the film from beginning to end. The strength and unusual nature of the conversations sets the movie, and all Tarantino movies, apart from other crime dramas. His primary innovation was to allow his characters to talk about anything and everything, only offering specifics about the plot every once in awhile. Before this movie, if a line didn't contribute something to the story's development, it would most likely be eliminated to make the movie shorter. If that were done here, the film would probably be over in ten minutes or so, and there would be practically nothing to recommend it besides the visual style.

As it is, the casual conversations in this movie serve an essential purpose no matter what they're about: they establish the relationships among the characters. Most of these men didn't know each other at all until they were recruited for this particular heist, but for the most part, they become close almost right away--telling jokes, discussing their favorite songs and baseball teams, and debating each other on tipping in restaurants and (encroaching on the plot for just a moment) their respective code names.

Every subject is tackled with perfectly natural rhythms and fine acting. Tarantino gets away with rambling sometimes in his screenplays because he has an amazing gift for dialogue, and knows it. Whatever they're talking about, the characters consistently show that they have a lot in common. They didn't know each other specifically before this moment, but they share a general respect for all the people in their left-handed line of work. Yes, they all steal for a living, but they can trust fellow thieves as long as they don't start stealing from each other. That's why the undercover cop situation is such a problem. From an objective standpoint, the police are just playing by the robbers' rules, but in doing so they've crossed a line which should never be crossed. Even the bad guys follow a code that separates the "professionals" from the "psychopaths" and the traitors.

Tarantino's command of the material is often breathtaking, seamlessly incorporating his now-famous movie and pop culture references. He alternates scenes before and after the central event with perfect pacing and a compounding sense of dread. What explanatory dialogue there is, Tarantino wisely divides into different sections of the film. This aids suspense and keeps the story moving. It all leads up to one of my favorite conclusions in film history, a brutally honest outcome fueled by emotional and psychological torment. At that moment, being on the right side of the law is unimportant; the important thing is that someone switched sides. Since Dante's time and earlier, betrayal has been seen as the worst possible sin. This film remains extraordinary because it takes the time to establish real trust among the characters before that trust is tragically broken.

Truth breaks through the miasma of dreams.

Back in 1999, the Wachowski brothers gave us the millennial movie. Expectation was in the air about transitioning from one period to another, and "The Matrix" is about that very subject. It takes so much of what we had learned over the past century, all the ideas and thoughts specifically about technology, our dependence on it, and the possibility of artificial intelligence. Continuing in the tradition of science fiction masterpieces such as "2001," "Blade Runner," and "The Terminator," this film presents perhaps the bleakest look of all at the road we're taking. At the same time, it leaves room for a dogged hope that we can not only escape from our situation, but use it to explore our own potential more than ever before.

The philosophy of "The Matrix" is a compilation of primarily Gnostic and Christian ideas. In this way it follows in the "Star Wars" tradition, presenting a worldview that is vague enough at times for almost anyone to agree with it. The basic premise is that the world isn't what it should be, and neither are we. The Christian symbolism is fairly obvious, with the Messiah character, the Judas character, and the image of being "born again." Underneath everything is the Gnostic idea that knowledge is salvation. But the fact of the matter is that knowledge isn't enough. Neo has just been told that his senses have deceived him for his entire life, and now he's supposed to start believing them? Along with knowledge, trust is essential.

There's so much going for "The Matrix" that it's hard to know where to begin. Interspersed with all that fascinating philosophical inquiry is one of the best action films ever made. The choreography of the martial arts scenes, the tension surrounding the seemingly invincible opponents, and the use of slow motion make for a completely engrossing experience. You know it's good when it's imitated and parodied as often as this has been. The camera rotates through 360 degrees, emphasizing what are some of the strangest images of combat ever conceived. The action is shot fluidly, without excessive editing, so that the audience can see everything, and hence enjoy it more. It's a shame there are so many action directors who haven't taken the hint.

The cast of the film is mostly there to service the story and the visuals. No character is explored too deeply. Still, they're fun roles to play, and the actors respond very well to the physical demands. Laurence Fishburne has the perfect voice for Morpheus. It is the deep, smooth voice of wisdom and leadership. Hugo Weaving once again shows his magnificent talents as the great villain. Keanu Reeves' acting ability has been ridiculed many times, but there is a reason he is a world-famous actor and the people who make fun of him are not. True, he's not asked to display deep emotion or quick wit, but he does a perfectly fine job at realistically demonstrating shock, disbelief, and resolution. He fits right into this world.

Probably my favorite thing about the movie is the eccentricity of little moments here and there. I love the unusual uses of lighting and rainfall; the squeaking and groaning made by the window-washers outside Mr. Anderson's boss's office. The Wachowskis make the film their own at every opportunity. Too many films lack the signature of their creators. This one, fortunately, has individuality to spare.

The message of "The Matrix" is to break free of the mundane restrictions that have been forced upon us. Those restrictions are extreme in this case, taking the form of an Orwellian control over our minds and bodies. When Morpheus shows Neo the battery, it's so surreal as to be almost funny. But as the meaning slowly sinks in, you realize with horror what an indignity the human race is suffering. The movie's power rests in the fact that, for all we really know, we could be in the Matrix right now. Our response, the movie shows us, should be to reject complacency and conformity. We must unmask all the lies and discover truth. Our lives should be defined by truth; that's what we're here for.

Science fiction, CGI, and comedy have rarely been brought together in a film to such great effect. The premise, taking a conspiracy theory about aliens and playing it for laughs, was ingenious. It's a wry metaphor for illegal immigration, but the filmmakers don't make any overt political statements. They do nothing more than offer us a chance to look at the issue in a different, and very amusing, way. Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones are a great comedic team. Their chemistry makes the whole film work, as their very different personalities set each other off perfectly. Also great in a bizarre role is Vincent D'Onofrio. He's so convincing as an alien inhabiting his own skin that you forget it's the same actor. Playing the heavy in a comedy is always a sacrifice, and he does excellent work, even getting a few funny moments of his own. That's the way the whole movie works. It takes concepts fit for the science fiction and even horror genres, and makes them funny. Not since Kubrick has anyone winked at global destruction with such a cavalier attitude. In a sense the filmmakers are making fun of other "alien invasion" movies, and that ridicule is probably deserved. Such movies tend to assume the worst about extra-terrestrial intelligence. According to this movie they're not all bent on our destruction for no reason; most would rather coexist, sharing technological advancements. The movie is filled to the brim with memorable alien characters, most of them taking idiosyncratic disguises. Just about all of the special effects are done with CGI, which has admittedly dated somewhat since 1997. We have to live with the fact that special effects will always suffer that fate. Happily, it takes nothing away from the humor of, for example, watching two men standing completely still as a flying saucer crashes directly in front of them. This was a great, refreshing concept for a movie--another case of Hollywood poking fun at its own conventions. The whole thing is brought to life by good acting and a palpable sense of enjoyment in both the material and the chance to shoot aliens with huge guns.

This is the perfect kind of movie to serve as a reminder of my early childhood. Things were much simpler then. I was unfettered when it came to knowledge of the outside world, and I was surrounded by warmth and joy. Or at least that's how I choose to remember it. That's exactly the kind of nostalgia this film evokes. It does not allow too much complexity to cloud its battle of good and evil. It is all about the simple joy of flight, literally and figuratively. This would have been my first exposure to the concept of flight without aid of an airplane or of being an alien (or otherwise super-powered). It's a powerful dream, and to the film's credit, its protagonist indulges that dream for a time but ultimately chooses to relinquish it in the face of greater responsibilities. That is the simplest possible message, and the movie doesn't try to say anything more than that. I'm glad it doesn't make any pretense of being a masterpiece. Sometimes I'd rather just enjoy a film for what it is. In this case, it's just an entertaining and sometimes thrilling adventure story, told in an unapologetically old-fashioned way. The cast certainly embraced the nature of the film, turning in performances suiting an old adventure story: simple, but true. Sorvino and Dalton are very fun to watch, but best of all is Alan Arkin, who gives extra life to the whole movie whenever his character appears. Another life-giving attribute is the music, undoubtedly my favorite aspect of the film. In fact, James Horner's score is one of my five or six favorites ever composed. As with any great piece of music, it flows over me, flooding me with warm memories of the film before the opening credits are finished. It's stirring stuff. "The Rocketeer" is a movie I've always loved and haven't grown out of yet, despite my increasing understanding that it's far from the greatest movie ever. Too many moments have become essential film memories for me; too much of the spirit of the film has informed my sense of what the adventure genre is. The nostalgia, and the lack of cynicism and anxiety are always refreshing.

I love most of the Batman movies that have been made so far, each for different reasons. I don't think any individual film represents the definitive look at Batman or the world he inhabits, but Burton, Nolan, and even Schumacher present a particular point of view that contributes something important. Of the three, it's Burton who maintains the most perfect balance between dark, serious realism and the look and feel of a comic book. His characters have real psychological problems to explain their vigilantism, but they are also creatures of fantasy, breaking the bounds of the real world by the way they look and act. If Batman himself takes a back seat to the villains in Burton's second film, that is just another way of shrouding the character in mystery. We know enough of the basics to understand his increasing withdrawal and brusqueness. Burton does a much better job than the other two filmmakers of presenting Gotham City. It is a stark, disgusting place, simultaneously the only environment that could create/tolerate Batman, and the only one that could turn its back on him precisely when he's trying to help. Christmas in Gotham is actually the worst time of the year in this movie. The whole thing is beautifully shot. It was a good decision, given the size of Batman's rogues' gallery, to bring two more of his classic villains to the screen in this film. Michelle Pfeiffer gives the best performance in the movie, and the best performance as a villain in any Batman movie until Heath Ledger. As the film progresses, she transforms from the victim of her sexist boss to, well, Catwoman. Danny Elfman provides the terrific score again, this time adding some genuinely creepy choral segments to his theme. The film makes great use of the characters' respective animals as well, lending the story a kind of mythological quality. Here we have Batman descending deeper into darkness, only to be rescued by a spark of love from an unexpected source.

Yes, the plot is so convoluted and inscrutable that it almost spirals completely out of control, but the same thing could be said for Hawks' "The Big Sleep," and that's a classic. It's exceptionally rare for a "summer" film released in my lifetime to have a plot this complex. Unlike most action movies, it is satisfying in more than just the typical, superficial way. This film is an entertaining puzzle as well as a great excuse for explosions. De Palma directs the film well enough that it's hard to get frustrated even if you've lost your place with the story. He evidently has fun inserting quirky camera angles and mildly disturbing dream images. The action scenes themselves are spectacular, with masterful special effects that haven't dated much at all. The image of Cruise dangling in midair has become iconic. Best of all is the finale, involving a helicopter, train, and chewing gum. It is brilliantly staged and utterly thrilling, a climactic struggle that could only happen in the movies. Cruise is fine as the lead. I think his particular talents are well-suited to a movie like this. Although the movie doesn't ask him to do very much emotionally--he's too busy running around to stop and think too much--his charisma makes him an ideal lead, someone to root for and to focus on among the vicissitudes of the story. Jon Voight is also very good. This is a great spy movie through and through. The genre is all about deception, and every trick in the book is used here to disorient and point in a new direction, masking and unmasking characters until the real villain is finally revealed. It's a lot of fun.

The sequel has to be bigger and better, and in this case it's at least one, and almost both. Some of the jokes and themes from the original are recycled, but for the most part it's done in an original way. For example, Woody's fellow castmembers reveal that their show suffered the same problem as Woody himself did with "space toys." Buzz meets a copy of himself in a toy store that has the same delusions he once had, so we get to see a "before and after." Most of the new jokes are brilliant, as well, with all the original toys getting moments to shine. As with any good sequel, we are also introduced to a set of new characters, each of whom deserves their place in the roster. The genius of this film and its predecessor is that it treats toys as toys (none of this "Transformers" nonsense we've had to sit through the last couple years). Simply using a computer to make toys move is rather simple, but these movies truly bring them to life by giving them the kind of thoughts and feelings that any real toy would have. In this case, the theme is growing older. The film does not shy away from the consequences of humans growing up, or the fact of toys becoming old, broken, and no longer useful. It's effective as a metaphor for anything in life that doesn't last forever. As young children, our toys become almost like friends, something to play with and cherish. The thing to do, if you're a toy, is just what Woody says at the end: to enjoy it while it lasts. That's the only way to live: to fulfill and enjoy your purpose for as long as it lasts.

It begins with one of my favorite credit sequences, the burning playground serving as a perfect and unique symbol for the man-made apocalypse. Like any good sequel, this film is a rhapsody on the themes and story of the original, not a mere copy of the formula. Our side in the battle of man vs. machine is given a chance to go on the offensive in this film, even while facing a much more dangerous assassin. This is supremely exciting science fiction, blessed this time around with the best special effects of the day. Its emotional center is powerful, and it's amazingly poignant how the film strikes at the heart of what people are like: "It's your nature to destroy yourselves." That has never been more apparent than now, looking back at the 20th century. The point of the film is that technology has gone far enough that we are actually capable of wiping ourselves off the map. Can the path we're on be altered? The actors clearly understand the material, and they all give good performances. Schwarzenegger's accent is still a hindrance, but he gives us a great character anyway. His presence in the first film was one of sheer terror, but this time he adds, quite unexpectedly, a sense of humor (it helps that he's the good guy now). Linda Hamilton's performance is fearless, fearsome, even feral. Always on the edge mentally, Sarah Connor has rigorously trained herself for survival physically. Happily, her effort to become a stone-faced killer is a failure. It's better to be human.

It was a ridiculously simple joke, really. Something to be treated by an SNL skit (albeit a super-innovative one). Using a truly impressive amount of creativity, however, Murray, Rubin, and Ramis made a full-length film out of the unusual premise, and they did it with style. As a matter of fact, viewing the finished product, it might be safe to say that they've exhausted the comedic possibilities of their subject. Trapped in the same day for what must be years, Murray uses his free time to indulge every conceivable fantasy, and finally to become a better person. His performance is really something else. It's one of the funniest ever filmed (not surprisingly--Murray is a master), but that's not even all. His character goes through a legitimate arc, and every emotional change is registered in his face. This is another one of my favorite films to mix together different genres. The comedy-fantasy-romance is satisfying in all three respects, but it keeps its focus on the characters, even while gleefully exploring, with Murray, all that he can make out of his gift/curse. The way he discovers love along the way is simply expressed (he just chooses to think of others before himself for the first time), but it's a fundamental and huge step for any human being to take. I will close by resisting the urge to make any sort of time-loop joke. Fill in the blank.

One of the great movie-watching experiences from my childhood, and a film that I still appreciate at least as much, if not more, today. It's one of the few "family movies" that really deserves that title, because it's not just for kids at all. It's astonishing how much it has to say about its characters, who, despite being talking animals, are not silly, comedic caricatures of people, but real people in a metaphorical sense. At the same time, they are real animals--perfect anthropomorphic ideas for each respective species. The variety of special effects employed is never distracting, but makes the world completely believable. Cromwell's subtle, laconic performance as the farmer somehow makes it easy to accept how such a person could serve as a link between humans and animals. It's all part of the thoroughly unusual spell this film casts. And while the final scene is possibly the most bizarre thing in the known universe, it also happens to be so jaw-droppingly good and joyful and life-affirming that I will never forget it. This movie blows all other stories about pigs out of the water, which is really saying something (what a crazy world we live in). I don't anticipate growing out of it--so there.

As it turned out, this was the only great "Next Generation" movie, but they made it count. Using one of the best two-part episodes from the series as a basis for the plot was a good start. The Borg have always been my favorite Star Trek villains, and this movie gives them their due. Picard's handicaps and advantages due to his past experience with them are explored marvelously. Probably the best thing about the movie is that, although watching the episodes I referred to would be helpful, the film takes the right amount of time to explain things so that it can stand alone. This is done quickly, in bits and pieces, mostly with an opening nightmare scene, so the story doesn't slow down too much. The story itself is an ambitious one, employing everything Star Trek is known for. To top it all off, there's plenty of action, with special effects that still look good. By turns exciting, terrifying, moving, and funny, this is another great entry into the good vs. evil battle. In addition to the understandably comfortable original cast, we are treated to the great James Cromwell, as well as Alice Krige, playing arguably the creepiest, yet most compelling antagonist in the film series.

A classic comedy about the rebirth of a soul. It seems to me Cruise was born to play this role. Every single moment is just so comfortable and authentic, there's nothing he can do in his personal life that can take away from the joy of watching him here. This movie is famous for blending a sports movie with a romantic comedy, and I happen to love that mix of genres. Time for a confession: I am a man, but movies that are just about sports tend to bore me (admit it, they're almost all the same). This one takes a different look at sports than most, though, examining how the focus on money at the professional level has nearly destroyed love for the game itself. The two genres fit together in that both storylines are attempts to rekindle the romantic, joyful aspect of life. Both of Maguire's relationships in the film develop and flow from his initial crisis and "mission statement." And the film is very funny as well. Crowe's personal stamp is clearly visible on it, with the way he films scenes. Cuba Gooding Jr. has never been better in a movie, either.

Ashman and Menken once again wrote the songs to take this film to the next level. They are brilliant, advancing the plot and developing the characters. The opening song, after the beautiful stained-glass prologue, is especially effective at character development, setting up Belle and Gaston. Gaston, an ironic twist on the classic Disney premise that the two most attractive people in the film will naturally end up together (and one of the best Disney villains, period), is determined to marry Belle. She is not only uninterested in him, but she has other things on her mind altogether. With Belle, Disney had created their strongest and most intelligent female lead yet. This reflects a 90's worldview, to be sure, but then as a nod to their roots, and to the fairy tale itself, the filmmakers bring Belle, quite unexpectedly, into a relationship with a Beast. The story captures the nature of falling in love in a fresh and rewarding way. As such, it is perhaps Disney's most mature film. The creativity at work in bringing household items to life is just icing on the cake.

One of those "ALittleSomethingForEveryone" movies, sure, but all of the pieces come together well. Love stories don't usually delve into what happens when one of the partners inevitably dies, or if they do, it's usually the end of the movie. Here we have the wonderfully romantic idea of a man who dies before truly showing his lover how much he cares for her (symbolized rather prosaically in his refusal to utter those three words), but who gets a second chance after his death. While the love story is pretty good overall, it's the other elements of the story that interest me most. I especially love the sound effects when he tries to move through solid objects. The film does a great job showing what an adjustment it might be to "become" a ghost. It's a ghost story that's not horror and not comedy, although there are certainly funny moments. Whoopi Goldberg is actually quite good in this movie; the character suits her perfectly. Overall, I appreciate the work put into a movie to make it fit into more than one genre. This film is quite unique.

Straight parody can be distasteful, because it tends to seem more destructive than anything else. The great thing about "Scream" is that, while it's filled with self-aware jabs at the slasher genre, it clearly loves that genre nonetheless. It explores how movies affect us and how they've changed our behavior and expectations. But, of course, it's not a philosophical movie. It's much more fun. Williamson wrote a terrific screenplay; the use of "Halloween" during the climactic sequence is especially effective.

A compelling story. Cruise gets less annoying as the film moves along, and he puts together a very good performance in the courtroom scenes. But, of course, Nicholson dominates the film. The supporting cast is excellent as well. The film tackles a difficult subject and comes out with what is probably the best moral solution. I find the mixed-emotions ending strangely satisfying. Reiner directs the film well, with good pacing and tension.

Yet again, Disney adapts a classic story and makes a classic of its own. It would have been hard to believe at the time, but this is arguably the last time they managed to do that. One of my favorites since early childhood, I still love it, although I now see the story isn't its strong point. Robin Williams is. It's been said before, but he makes an incredible cartoon character, maybe one of the best ever. Genie singlehandedly keeps the movie interesting, even after all the many times I've seen it.

Burton meeting Depp was the best thing to happen to either one of them. Depp's jaw-dropping performance perfectly matches Burton's unique vision. They quietly create an unforgettable character in an equally unforgettable world. The story is touching and funny (the movie is quite willing to laugh at itself and the bizarre premise for its main character). Everything is resolved properly, albeit harshly, at the end, including the romance, which is probably the weakest part of the movie.

The humor is ridiculously broad--they tried everything they could think of. Naturally, not everything works, but for a movie about two idiots, what else would you expect? And the best moments are such unbelievable genius they totally make up for any unevenness. "Genius" is hyperbole, of course, but it really is deliriously funny. Jeff Daniels does a great job of matching Carrey's superhuman energy, and the final scene is perfectly timed.

The third great even-numbered Star Trek movie did a great job of saying goodbye to the original cast. I love the music and the mystery elements of the story. Nicholas Meyer does a great job directing again. The Shakespeare and Cold War references, while not always especially profound, are creative. It's a huge improvement over #5, because the crew is permitted to make a team effort rather than relying on Kirk alone.

A very good "inspirational teacher" movie. Dreyfuss is very good, and it's interesting to see the many different ways he interacts with the people at the school and in his own family. It has something of an "It's a Wonderful Life" theme, which is great, and the whole thing is a celebration of music, which I love. Good selection of music over the long time period.

Some of the best special effects in any film, ever. CGI hadn't yet gotten to the point where you knew it was fake, and that the actors weren't looking at anything. A good blend of CGI and animatronics, as well. This film is a childhood favorite, and although I can see more problems with it now (this is the first time I've been willing to admit that the kids are annoying and worthless), it's still a good story with a great pace. Jeff Goldblum is actually very good in this.

The blending of humor and suspense is so unique, and the portrait of this particular American region is so accurate, even while the Coen brothers have so much fun with it. In my opinion, nothing else they've done is as funny or exciting as this movie. McDormand, Macy, and Buscemi are all marvelous.