My Favorite Movies

Ranks with Kane in my opinion as the greatest film of all time. Hypnotic, sensual, thrilling, infuriating, miraculous.

Is it the best comedy of the 1990's? I believe so.

Look, there's no reason to see any other martial arts film if you're a dabbler. If you're a fan, well then you've already seen the Dragon's greatest, most fully realized film.

Not as great as their brilliant earlier efforts, the Brothers' greatest at MGM has Thalberg written all over it. Lavish production values and Big Musical Numbers abound. The movie's also terrifically funny, with Margaret Dumont in fine form. And Maureen O'Sullivan ain't hard to look at. Esther Muir makes a great peroxide vamp. "Change your partners!"

Fields plays the henpecked everyman to perfection, and Kathleen Howard is an imperious battleaxe writ large in this superbly funny film. Highlights include Mr. Muckle's visit to the store, an irritating customer who demands kumquats NOW, and a gentleman looking for Mr. LaFong, Carl LaFong.

Passion and plot and humanity take backseats to pageantry in this samurai spectacular based on the two most legandary warriors of the Sengoku-Jidai. Takeda and Kagetora can't be anything less than mythic, and the film doesn't give them a chance to be, lingering on them only long enough for them to marvel in silence at the beauty of a cherry blossom or issue curt orders sending thousands of men to their deaths. But the spectacle is all in this, a film or vast spaces and great beauty.

The movie's sentimentality might seem horrifically saccharine to contemporary audiences, but remember it was made in the very middle of the war. Cornball humor was the rule, and so were Dirty Japs. The effects sequences are well executed and John Garfield and John Forsythe are both fun to watch. Grant is a BIT fey for a U.S. sub skipper, but hey, even Cary Grant wants to be Cary Grant. A strong dose of propaganda in the form of a movie.

The best-written dialogue ever filmed, performed by the ablest thespians of their time. Not merely O'Toole and Hepburn, who bestride the film like twin colossi, but also Nigel Terry, Timothy Dalton, and Anthony Hopkins. All extraordinary actors given extraordinary lines to read. A stellar John Barry score (he's never written otherwise) provides a superb aural background, but you'll likely ignore it, given what's being said. In every sense, one of the greats.

A fair dystopian vision based on inferior Harry Harrison source material. The film suffers from a fairly uninvolving mystery at its center and the fact that the great revelation at the end is not only a huge surprise, but also seems like a sort-of-okay idea, given the situation in the world as depicted by the movie. Heston nearly blows out a blood vessel in half of his scenes. Highlights include the final performance of Edward G. Robinson, a superior effort from the great Whit Bissell . . . and DICK VAN PATTEN as a suicide technician?!?!

One of Chuck's most insane efforts, in this terrific trash from Joseph "Digital Pictures" Zito, Chuck plays a former CIA operative named "Matt Hunter". He's recruited to stop Richard Lynch, playing a Soviet terrorist mastermind named Rostov. Rostov's plan? Bring hundreds of overweight foreign mercenaries into the United States and blow up malls, Christmas trees, split-level homes, and state fairs until America is brought reeling to its knees. Matt Hunter's plan? Drive around in his Chevy pickup and shoot the shit out of anything foreign with his twin Micro-Uzis (they're not Ingrams, people) until he gets to Rostov. Then shoot Rostov with a rocket launcher. Oops. Did I give that away?

Another strong jab at the far right end of the political spectrum from Carpenter, the movie's interesting enough. Keith David always makes a convincing badass, and Roddy Piper proves to be a fairly amiable slice of beef. The alien makeup ain't so sharp, but the plot certainly is clever in its ideas. Not so much in its execution. The film is probably most famous for the backalley brawl, a nonpareil fight scene without peer.

The very best of Carpenter's recent efforts (which isn't saying much, given his plummet in quality), this owes a strong and unacknowledged debt to Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos. Julie Carmen manages to be dull even when possessed by evil, and Jurgen Prochnow proves he's great with curly hair. The ending is an apocalyptic doozy, though.

As beautiful and as fragile as crystal, Jarmusch's trust in Robby Muller to capture the romance and danger and fetid languor of New Orleans at night is well-placed. Waits and Lurie are terrific non-actors who acquit themselves beautifully, and Benigni is at his least annoying ever in this, his first U.S. film.

This movie nearly turned me gay because I was so desperate to draw even more camp value from it. Steve Forrest, you bohunk slice of manbeef.