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"Three tomatoes are walking down the street: Papa Tomato, Mama Tomato and Baby Tomato. Baby Tomato starts lagging behind and Papa Tomato gets really angry. Goes back and squishes him and says, "Ketchup."
Nobody squish me, please:
For a Few Dollars More was my #7. It seems to get overlooked sometimes for being the middle child, but I think it's the best of the trilogy. The Good, The Bad and the Ugly is a staggering achievement that also made my list, but I think it suffers from major pacing issues. Lee Van Cleef might be "The Bad," but the true villain in The Good, The Bad and the Ugly is greed, which is interesting and all, but it lacks the emotional gravitas of familial vengeance that makes For a Few Dollars More and Once Upon a Time in the West so much more engaging. Plus I just think it's more fun seeing Van Cleef and Eastwood on the same team. I'd watch an entire series devoted to their unlikely alliance. The scene where they first test each others' mettle -- the spaghetti western version of a dick-measuring contest, basically -- which sees Eastwood repeatedly shoot Van Cleef's hat before Van Cleef returns the favor, making Eastwood's hat dance in the air with bullets, is one of my all-time favorite moments in cinema. The climactic duel involving the pocket watch is another all-time favorite. A special mention should also be given to the showdown between Van Cleef and a humpbacked Klaus Kinski. I'm trying to keep these write-ups short since I'm so far behind, so I'll just say that For a Few Dollars More is, in my opinion, one of the coolest, most entertaining movies ever made. One of my top five favorite westerns.
Night of the Living Dead was my #17. It is one of the finest examples of low-budget horror and one of the most influential movies ever made. Zombies are en vogue nowadays with countless films and TV shows and books and video games, but none of them would exist without Night of the Living Dead. I've soured a bit on flesh-eaters due to their over saturation, but despite the countless imitators and Romero's own sequels, Night of the Living Dead remains the pinnacle of the subgenre. I enjoy gore, but I think modern takes on zombies put too much focus on decomposition and disembowelment, whereas Night of the Living Dead relies solely on tension and claustrophobia. A good zombie story is primarily about survival and how complete strangers either work together or against each other in the (rotting) face of chaos. No film does it better than Night of the Living Dead. The farmhouse setting is perfect since zombie stories work best when kept to a small scale. The ending is unforgettable. The fact that it was revolutionary to see a black man in the lead role is a sad indictment of the times, but kudos to Romero for being bold enough to cast the best man for the job instead of the best white man. I also think the social subtext in the film is more effective than Dawn of the Dead or any of Romero's other sequels due to its subtlety.
The Hustler was my #20. I once tried shooting pool while at a strip club, but I was terrible at it. The game is so much harder than it looks. Yet every time I watch The Hustler I find myself wanting to find a pool hall so I can sit and gamble and smoke cigars and drink bourbon. I'm always fascinated by films that follow characters entrapped by their own ambition, whether it's Fitzcarraldo's dogged determination to drag a steamship over a mountain or Nina's obsession with delivering a perfect performance as the White Swan/Black Swan. We're told to strive for greatness, but what happens when we destroy ourselves in the process? That's a theme that pops up in a lot of my favorite films, including The Hustler. As much as I love the scenes between Fast Eddie and Minnesota Fats (the moment when Minnesota Fats says, "I hear you've been looking for me," makes me tingle with excitement), but the doomed romance between Fast Eddie and Piper Laurie's character is equally compelling. I seem to have a bit of a self-destructive streak, and I've always been drawn to others who are damaged in some way. F*ck-ups are just more interesting people, in my opinion. Watching Fast Eddie and Piper Laurie's character is like watching two people who can't swim try to survive against a raging tide: you might make it out alive, but only if you cling to the other person and accidentally drown them in the process. Very powerful film.
High and Low was my #23. I've only seen nine of Kurosawa's films so far, but I have no qualms already declaring him the greatest director of all-time. His films are incredibly intelligent and full of enough meaning and subtext to invite tons of in-depth analysis and thoughtful discussion. The same can be said for Ozu, but what separates Kurosawa from his contemporaries is that his films also work on a pure entertainment level. I think he's influenced Hollywood more than any other foreign director -- except Kurosawa is Chuck Berry and modern Hollywood is Nickelback. Why can't all action-adventures by as thematically rich and rewarding as Seven Samurai? Why can't all procedures be as perfectly constructed and thought-provoking as High and Low? Kurosawa proved repeatedly that you don't have to sacrifice intellectual stimulation and deep themes for the sake of thrills and entertainment. In High and Low, you feel the weight of the characters' decisions. It becomes our quandary too. What would you do in their situation? You're on the edge of your seat even when the action just consists of dudes in suits conversing in a room. I've only seen the movie once and it's been a few years, otherwise it probably would've been a little bit higher on my list. Admittedly, the first half of the film has remained much fresher in my mind than everything after the train sequence. So far this is my third favorite Kurosawa after Seven Samurai and Ran. Like every Kurosawa film I've seen, you know that your in the hands of a master with every scene.
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was my #24. Like the previous entry, this is another film that I haven't seen in a few years, yet it left a very strong impression on me. As I've stated numerous times, I grew up on action films, especially those starring Van Damme. I used to get so pumped up as a kid when the hero and villain would finally duke it out at the end. I loved fight scenes and physical confrontations. Then in the wake of my Tarantino fandom I started paying a lot more attention to dialogue. I'd get just as excited about a well-written monologue as I would a roundhouse kick to the face. This is probably why I'm a big fan of a lot films that originated as plays, especially old Tennessee Williams' adaptations like Baby Doll, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and A Streetcar Named Desire. With Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, I feel like I'm getting the perfect symbiosis of both worlds. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? is a grueling, 2+ hour fight scene, except no punches are thrown. Characters hit each other with words instead of fists. This is one of the greatest scripts ever written. The dialogue is nasty and acerbic and incredibly well-written. The performances are fearless. The characters may not be likable, yet you can't take your eyes off of them. By the end, I was as exhausted and emotionally spent as the characters. From time to time it's good to watch a film that so successfully puts you through the wringer.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was my #25. It's a movie that seems to defy easy classification. Is it a revisionist western? A comedy? A romance? Is it a prototype for buddy cop films with cowboys instead of cops? Regardless, it's one of the most playful, idiosyncratic, unique westerns I've seen. You'll never find Eastwood doing tricks on a bicycle to the tune of "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head." The primary theme is all about consequences and running out of time. I can relate pretty strongly to that. I mean, I'm not robbing trains or anything, but I worry sometimes that I'm digging myself into a hole by living too much in the moment instead of properly planning for the future. I watch people my age get married and have kids and settle into long-lasting careers while I'm still under the delusion that I'm a teenager with few responsibilities. I care more about what movie I'm going to rent next than where I'm going to be in five years. My lackadaisical attitude toward life will probably bite me in the ass one day, but whatever, it's who I am. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid are the same way. They rob trains and banks, but they never shoot anybody. They're good guys, despite their outlaw status. Yet their inability to exchange their fun yet dangerous lifestyle for something on the straight and narrow (and boring) ultimately leads to their demise. You can only outrun responsibilities for so long before it all catches up to you, even in Bolivia.
More write-ups to come until I catch up with everything from my list.
