FAVORITES
3 WOMEN (Robert Altman, 1977)
One of my favorite Altmans, so getting a chance to see this on a theater screen was a real thrill. It's hard for me to recall another movie that's as simultaneously telescope-detail specific and ambiguously dream-floaty. The locations have that crazily visual non-"movie" quality Altman was so good at finding in his '70s and early '80s films, but there's something even more specific yet ungraspable here. Sissy Spacek and Shelley Duvall are two of my favorite actors, and 3 Women lets them do things other movies never quite gave them the freedom or space to do, with Duvall being especially amazing. (The third woman, Janice Rule, also deserves mention.) Duvall's inhabiting of Millie Lammoreaux (one of my all-time favorite movie characters) appears to come as naturally to her as breathing (love those fantastically long trails of ash on her cigarettes). I'm laughing at her while also feeling the sting of those fair and unfair laughs and recognizing the parts of her that exist in my own heart. What a beautifully strange blend of tones Altman achieved here.
AFTER HOURS (Martin Scorsese, 1985)
My introduction to Scorsese, rented on VHS from a convenience store during a fifth- or sixth-grade sleepover because Cheech and Chong were in it. I was a born cinephile, so my mind was BLOWN (my friends were just mildly amused), though we were all disappointed that Cheech and Chong weren't the leads. After years of revisiting After Hours on VHS and DVD, I finally got to see it projected large in '23. This time around, I couldn't stop ooh-ing and aah-ing over the stylistic decisions made by the power team of Scorsese and cinematographer Michael Ballhaus, who also worked extensively with Fassbinder. The dolly zoom in the office, the camera gliding up to Marcy's face as she gives us all a wink, the dissolve as Paul goes up the stairs. This is cinema, baby. I love all the performances, but I wish Rosanna Arquette got to stick around for the whole movie. She's so charming here.
THE DEVIL IS A WOMAN (Josef von Sternberg, 1935)
I love the way von Sternberg photographs rain, doors, windows, crowds, and faces, especially Marlene Dietrich's. Even if that doesn't impress you much, this is worth watching just for the insane hats Dietrich wears.
THE DEVIL QUEEN (Antonio Carlos da Fontoura, 1974)
This gritty, nasty, relentless, and hilarious queer Brazilian crime film has a dazzling color palette (major kudos to the production designer, costume designer, set decorator, and location scout, and to 1970s Brazil in general) and an insane final third. Each actor looks the most 1970s a human could possibly look until the next actor walks into frame. No one has a conscience and everyone is triple-crossing everyone. I love it. The score is so damn great, too. It sounds like a fusion of Italian giallo and crime soundtracks, tropicalia, Krautrock, salsa, hard rock, and psychedelia. Some boutique label needs to release it immediately. I live for movies like this, but are there other movies like this? It's kinda like the tones of Fox and His Friends, Pixote, El Pico, Freaks, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, Truck Turner, and the second half of Female Trouble collided head-on, but not quite.
EVERYONE ELSE (Maren Ade, 2009)
Ade's queasy pre-Toni Erdmann film about a volatile couple on vacation and their painful interactions with a semi-friendly acquaintance/annoyance and his wife coincidentally vacationing in the same place inspired much quiet horror and laughter as I recognized unwanted bits of myself in each partner in each of the two couples (and also a third couple with a boat trip invite who are only in one scene). I'm a masochist, so I mostly enjoyed the feeling.
THE EXILES (Kent Mackenzie, 1961)
Kent Mackenzie, a British ex-pat living in the Bunker Hill neighborhood of Los Angeles and trying to make it as a filmmaker, befriended a group of Native American men living near him who had left the reservation for the big city. Mackenzie collaborated with these men on a semi-improvised, semi-autobiographical movie taking place over the course of twelve hours on a single Friday night in 1958, with a soundtrack of both traditional indigenous music and regional '50s rock and roll and doo wop and an expressive use of voice-over narration. Mackenzie, noticing the movie was missing a woman's perspective, added Yvonne Williams to the cast. Unlike the men, Williams was a stranger to Mackenzie, but he interviewed her about her life and incorporated her story into theirs. Though Williams has mixed feelings about the film and her participation in it (she worries that she was too painfully honest and also that the film's depiction of the men's heavy drinking could be interpreted stereotypically instead of as a representation of the lifestyle of these particular men at this particular time in their lives), she's a soft-spoken but strong presence who gives the movie a depth and balance it needs. Mackenzie never got the filmmaking career he'd hoped for, but The Exiles is one of the great American independents, filmed in '58, finished and released to film festivals in '61, and finally getting proper distribution in 2008. Mackenzie has an incredible eye, and the movie shares the pictorial qualities of some of the great photography of the period without sacrificing the motion part of the motion picture form. He also has a curiosity and nonjudgmental empathy for every person his camera looks at and for the landscapes, streetscapes, and interiors of his adopted city and neighborhood. So many movies are filmed in the industry hub of Los Angeles, and yet so few of them have any kind of visual curiosity for the actual city. This one has it.
FREEDOM DAY PARADE (Wakefield Poole, 1974)
Historically fascinating, hilarious, and life-filled short film documenting a 1974 gay pride parade in San Francisco, and the varied crowds gathered to watch it, shot by multi-hyphenate Wakefield Poole with an eclectic collage-style soundtrack (Beatles, Chi-Lites, opera). Hits a sweet spot between the documentary and the home movie. The squares seemed to be enjoying the parade, too.
I DON'T KNOW (Penelope Spheeris, 1971)
Long before her run of '80s cult classics (The Decline of Western Civilization documentaries, Suburbia, The Boys Next Door, Hollywood Vice Squad, Dudes) and '90s mainstream Hollywood career (Wayne's World, The Beverly Hillbillies, The Little Rascals, Black Sheep), Penelope Spheeris made several excellent but little-seen short films. I Don't Know follows Spheeris's sister and her sister's on-again/off-again partner, Jimmie/Jennifer, a person who considers him/herself in between male and female and able to inhabit each gender. Right-wing pundits like to claim that people like Jimmie/Jennifer didn't exist until recently, but right-wing pundits are bad-faith scam artists who've never been right about anything except how easy it is to make a fortune if you're a shameless grifter. The short is an early '70s hangout film about fluidity of identity, persona, and gender, people who are comfortable with that fluidity, and people who aren't (including Spheeris's homophobic brother). It makes a great companion piece to the Decline of Western Civilization docs in its combination of fly-on-the-wall intimacy and exaggerated more-real-than-real performance for the camera goaded on by Spheeris.
KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (Phil Karlson, 1952)
Phil Karlson is one of the unsung greats, and Kansas City Confidential joins 99 River Street, The Phenix City Story, and The Brothers Rico at the top of my Karlson canon. This is a tough, intense, desperate, darkly funny film noir with a stacked cast of character acting legends (Jack Elam, Lee Van Cleef, Neville Brand, John Payne, Carleton Young) at their sweatiest.
LIONS LOVE (Agnés Varda, 1969)
I love the way Agnés Varda plays with film form, and I love how her movies are all so different from each other but still recognizably hers. This one, made during one of her two stints in Los Angeles, is a semi-improvised immersion in the lives of three actors (played by Factory scenester Viva and Hair co-writers James Rado and Gerome Ragni) renting a house in the Hollywood Hills in the summer of '68, sleeping with each other, and turning every waking moment into a ridiculous performance, late-'60s post-hippie theater-people style. The three leads are hilarious but also very exhausting (I repeat, late-'60s post-hippie theater people), so the addition of New York indie filmmaker Shirley Clarke, playing a version of herself and acting as a kind of Varda surrogate (though Varda also appears), about a third of the way in is a welcome development. Clarke is a perfect foil for the thespian hippie maniacs, their flowing locks, and their frilly outfits with her hippies-never-happened art scene fashion sense, short hair, no-bullshit manner of speaking, and dry sense of humor. Her arrival turns the movie into a sort of art film Odd Couple sitcom. I love the scene of the four of them watching an old sci-fi movie on TV and carrying on what sounds like four simultaneous conversations. Besides these pleasures, I also love the way Varda and her cinematographer Stevan Larner photograph the Southern California sunlight in the hilltop home with its huge windows and in the scenes where we leave the house for the city streets, and I love the movie's summer of '68 time capsule quality. Varda was still filming Lions Love during the particularly tumultuous week of June 2-8 when Valerie Solanas shot and seriously injured Andy Warhol on Monday, Sirhan Sirhan shot Robert Kennedy on Wednesday, and Kennedy died on Thursday, so these events and the cast's/actors' reactions to them become part of the structure and tone of the film's final third. We also get cameos from Eddie Constantine, Peter Bogdanovich, and Rip Torn.
MADAM SATAN (Cecil B. DeMille, 1930)
Woman exiting the theater in front of me: "Wow. They really decided to make a movie that was every kind of movie."
Even more impressive than this film beginning as a very funny but hardly groundbreaking screwball comic farce and ending with hundreds of costumed revelers parachuting out of a slowly disintegrating lightning-struck zeppelin onto the heads of stunned New Yorkers is that it was filmed in the early days of sound, an awkward period where the incredible visual advances made in the silent era were abruptly rolled back with the arrival of the clunky new sound equipment. DeMille compensates by filling the static dialogue shots with zippy conversation, witty banter, sound effects, and actors who can really move within the frame even while the camera sits still, and by going absolutely motherfucking berserk in every scene where dialogue can be overdubbed or is not needed. DeMille was a right-wing conservative in his politics (his anti-union crusades are infuriating), a showman who embraced new technology and pushing of visual boundaries in his artistic life, and a kinky sex freak in his private life, and he rolls all three of those disparate selves into one package here. Surprisingly (or maybe not), this was one of his rare flops, bewildering the 1930 movie audience, but it's something to see. From the twisted mind of John Krasinski Cecil B. DeMille.
OUTRAGEOUS! (Richard Benner, 1977)
An underseen independent Canadian gem about two best friends/roommates, a hairdresser and drag queen (Craig Russell) and a schizophrenic woman fresh out of an institution (Hollis McLaren) living in late '70s Toronto. I love movies where the characters drive the narrative instead of the plot, and this movie is full of great characters, particularly the adorable leads, who have excellent chemistry and compellingly real screen presences. The happy ending (I'm not spoiling anything, relax) is deservedly earned, and not just because characters like Russell's and McLaren's are frequently punished as tragic figures. It's not happily-ever-after Hollywood bullshit, either. It's we're okay right now, and we're looking out for each other.
PUMPING IRON II: THE WOMEN (George Butler, 1985)
A classic '80s pop culture time capsule as well as an artificially constructed and partially staged precursor to reality television (though presented with way more style and self-deprecating humor), but also a surprisingly prescient foreshadowing of our current and seemingly endless culture wars, especially the bad-faith "define woman" gasbag argument from right-wing babies scared of a world where people control their own bodies and minds.
ROADIE (Alan Rudolph, 1980)
Speaking of '80s pop culture time capsules, Roadie is a rock'n'roll/outlaw country/new wave live-action cartoon time capsule of the '70s turning into the '80s, filmed and set in the music cities of Austin, Los Angeles, and New York. The broad humor gets a bit exhausting over the course of the runtime, and only about half the jokes land, but I love the nutso Rube Goldberg-meets-Sanford and Son setup of Art Carney's character's house (the same house used in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre!!!) and the all-pop-culture-at-once-where's-the-decade-going 1980ness of throwing Meat Loaf, Alice Cooper, Asleep at the Wheel, Blondie, Hank Williams Jr., Roy Orbison, Ramblin' Jack Elliott, Soul Train's Don Cornelius, and Austin postpunk band Standing Waves in the same movie. Kaki Hunter is also pretty charming and has good chemistry with Meat Loaf, and Alan Rudolph makes the visuals pop like a comic book panel come to life. It's smart and stupid in some of the wrong ways, but also some of the right ones.
SAFE IN HELL (William A. Wellman, 1931)
A gloriously eccentric pre-Code crime film from one of the early masters, William A. Wellman. It's loaded with the good stuff — an atmosphere of seedy, sweaty desperation, a brilliant performance from Dorothy Mackaill, a cast full of character actors with great lived-in faces, and an ending that doesn't cop out even when you want it to.
O SANGUE (BLOOD) (Pedro Costa, 1989)
Pedro Costa's first film takes a surprisingly different approach from the later work I'm more familiar with, especially in the way it uses music, the movement of the camera, and the organization of people and space within the frame to overtly reference its cinematic influences. It's a movie haunted by the ghosts of other movies instead of lived experience, though the ghosts are personal, not performative. Costa's later films bend their influences toward his specific point of view instead of him bending toward them, but the images in this one are so powerful on a big screen.
TYPHOON CLUB (Shinji Somai, 1985)
My wife (end Borat voice now) says this movie perfectly captures how puberty feels, and I'm in agreement. I like Typhoon Club even more than Somai's P.P. Rider (see my honorable mentions). Both films share an eccentrically expressive use of the handheld camera, a disregard for narrative convention, and an uncommon understanding of the emotional landscape of the middle school/early teenage years, but Typhoon Club feels more assured in its rhythms, shifts in tone, and structure, and the characters are deeper, stranger, and more complex.
UNCLE YANCO (Agnés Varda, 1967)
This Varda short packs an incredible amount of detail and a number of memorable images into 18 minutes. I love the vibrant colors and the playful way it's structured and edited together. I don't want to be depressed, so I'm not going to do any research into how gentrified and/or psychotically libertarian this floating DIY houseboat commune in Sausalito has become since the late '60s.
VENGEANCE IS MINE (Michael Roemer, 1984)
A neglected masterpiece (Michael Roemer only made neglected masterpieces, see also The Plot against Harry and Nothing but a Man) that didn't even get a proper theatrical release, Vengeance Is Mine went straight from the film festivals to a few screenings on PBS in the mid-'80s and then mostly disappeared until its recent restoration. I'm not sure why it didn't even warrant a brief arthouse run, but I can understand why it would have been a hard sell to distributors in the all-sizzle, no-steak '80s. Vengeance Is Mine (not to be confused with Shohei Imamura's 1979 Vengeance Is Mine, which is also a great movie, or the 2021 movie Vengeance Is Mine, which I have not seen but I'm guessing is bad since most 21st century movies are bad) has a novelistic complexity of character, a strong and unusual sense of place (how often has Rhode Island been a movie's setting?), a cinematic wealth of visual detail, incredible performances from Brooke Adams and Trish Van Devere, and a staggeringly tricky tone (I agree with the letterboxd reviewer who compared it to a blend of John Cassavetes, Ingmar Bergman, Mike Leigh, and Claude Chabrol). We also get a hilarious insult (true in spirit, not in fact) at the expense of my home state of Nebraska. As an ex-Catholic raised in the church, I really felt the scenes where Brooke Adams' ex-Catholic sits awkwardly in the pew and silently debates whether to kneel.
THE WIND OF AYAHUASCA (Nora de Izcue, 1983)
A film with a narrative rhythm unique to itself and not indebted to the way other films move. Its awkward moments are easily forgiven. I had the feeling The Wind of Ayahuasca could wander off in any direction or follow any bit player or supporting character, and the results would be just as compelling. The Peruvian Amazon is such a stunning filming location, and it's exciting to see it presented by a local filmmaker instead of the usual outsiders.
HONORABLE MENTIONS
BLACK PANTHERS (Agnés Varda, 1968)
I think Varda was one of the only French New Wave directors capable of making a film about the Black Panthers without embarrassing herself. Varda's outsiderdom is both a strength and a weakness here, and her curious and empathetic eye notices details most other filmmakers would miss, though a certain distance remains. Depressingly, everything the Black Panthers are saying about the police in this 1968 film is the same old story in 2023. We need a viable political party willing to take on the power, corruption, bloated budgets, militarization, violence, and racism of U.S. police departments, but both major parties keep throwing money at them. It sucks.
THE GLEANERS AND I (Agnés Varda, 2000)
The first few minutes made me worry this was going to be a little too cutesy and whimsical for my bitter, poisonous soul to handle, but, as a Varda-head, I should have known better. She begins with the search for potatoes in already-harvested fields by people going through hard financial times and ends up touching on almost everything. This would have made my favorites list except for the superficial reason that it was shot on early-2000s digital cameras, which produce images that remind me of the oppressive quality of the light during my least favorite time of day and year: the late afternoon shortly before dusk on cold late autumn and early winter days in the Midwest of my childhood and teenage years, after the leaves have all dropped and before the snow comes. That early digital camera look does something bad to me that I have to work hard to get past (notable exception: David Lynch's Inland Empire).
P.P. RIDER (Shinji Somai, 1983)
Great performances, great individual scenes (the heroin-haze apartment swordfight with hallucinatory fireworks!!), some of the most aesthetically pleasing handheld-camera long takes, and a thrilling disregard for plot conventions, but I felt most of the 118 minutes instead of getting sucked into the film's rhythm.
MIXED BAGS
THE BITCH (Christine Pascal, 1984)
The actors look great onscreen. So do the locations, clothing, and interiors. Legendary cinematographer Raoul Coutard makes it all look fantastic. Isabelle Huppert does so much with subtle facial expressions and movement. Oddly, though, for a movie directed by an actor, the characters aren't given much time, space, depth, or detail and are stuck inside a goofy neo-noir love triangle plot that's hard to care too much about. The somewhat unfortunate French sexual politics on display are not perverse enough to rise above the ick factor, either. A curiously unsatisfying movie in some respects, but Huppert brings the depth otherwise missing, and the surfaces are fabulous.
CARMEN JONES (Otto Preminger, 1954)
James Baldwin delivered one of the all-time great eviscerations of a film in his piece "Carmen Jones: The Dark Is Light Enough," which can be found in his essay collection Notes of a Native Son. I can't argue with much of anything Baldwin writes about his impressions of the movie, its audience, and Americans in general, with the minor exception of his description of the visual style as "appallingly technicolored" (this may have had more zing in the '50s, but after 25 years of Hollywood releasing some of the ugliest movies the planet has ever seen, Carmen Jones' color palette is like cool, fresh water to this dehydrated man) and the major exception of his imperviousness to Dorothy Dandridge's charms (though I agree in spirit with what he says about Pearl Bailey being the only performer to threaten the movie's "lifeless unreality"; Bailey's songs are the only ones I didn't suffer through). Dandridge is exciting, sexy, and charismatic, even when she's lip-syncing the embarrassing aural blackface of white opera singer Marilyn Horne, and my eye was drawn to her whenever she was onscreen, even when the frame was full of people. Dandridge is so good she made me mostly forget Harry Belafonte is in the movie, though his character is the epitome of inertia (they even overdub his singing voice with a white singer's!!! why?????). Baldwin gets in a great line about Belafonte's flat, desexualized character ("... Mr. Belafonte is really not allowed to do anything more than walk around looking like a spaniel"). You only have to watch Odds Against Tomorrow, from a few years later, to see the missed opportunity here with Belafonte. Sounds like I didn't like the movie, huh? That's the weird thing about movies and their power. I agree with almost everything Baldwin wrote, but I enjoyed the experience of sitting in a theater and watching Dorothy Dandridge in Technicolor for a few hours, and that's not nothing. I also really liked Pearl Bailey's and Roy Glenn's performances, the whole stretch of the movie from the jeep drive to the peach being thrown at the wall, and the way Preminger shot the boxing match and crowd in the final scene.
D.O.A. (Rudolph Maté, 1949)
I'm a major film noir fanatic, but this is not one of my favorites, despite its reputation as a classic. The great-on-paper plot is occasionally awkward in practice, and there's a distanced remove between me and the movie I can't quite get past. Also, in the early hotel scenes, some goofball sound FX guy goes apeshit on a slide whistle whenever the protagonist sees an attractive woman. This is hilarious on its own, but such a terrible thing to do to the atmosphere and tone of the movie. Despite my many criticisms, it never stops being a good time, a handful of scenes really catch fire, and it's a blast to see on the big screen.
FEAR AND DESIRE (Stanley Kubrick, 1953)
Kubrick's first feature (disowned by him) is a fascinating bit of juvenilia, though his visual style is mostly already formed. Fortunately, he would have better actors and screenplays later. I misheard the line "I collect reasons" as "I collect raisins" and really thought the movie was going to go someplace weird.
JOINT SECURITY AREA (Park Chan-wook, 2000)
Chan-wook's DMZ political thriller moves back and forth from flashback to present with his usual visual sophistication, but there's a surprising clunkiness to the narrative, particularly in the procedural part of the story focusing on an investigation. However, the flashback scenes, about a secret friendship between two North Korean and two South Korean soldiers, are pretty great.
THE SAVAGE EYE (Ben Maddow, Sidney Meyers, and Joseph Strick, 1959)
I love the images of late-'50s Los Angeles dive bars, roller derbies, pro wrestling matches, burlesque shows, drag balls, diners, apartments, streets, and Pentecostal church services, but I find the voice-over internal dialogue between Barbara Baxley's character and her male conscience pompous, unintentionally funny, soooo pleased with itself, and over-reliant on dated stereotypes about the fragile mental health of newly divorced women, though Baxley is very good at delivering this business naturally. A landmark of early American independent filmmaking. I wish I liked it more, because I mostly love what it's doing visually.
THE SEAFARERS (Stanley Kubrick, 1953)
An early short industrial film about the seafarers' union Kubrick was hired to make between his first and second features, this is more of a historical curiosity than an essential piece of his filmography, but he's able to sneak in plenty of personal touches. Worth watching just for the scene where a union rep delivers cartons of cigars and cigarettes to injured and sick seafarers in the hospital, who are all already puffing on cigs. 1953, baby.
FAVORITE FIRST WATCHES ON STREAMING AND HOME VIDEO
Here are the non-2023 movies I watched on streaming or home video for the first time this year that got four stars or higher from me on letterboxd, presented in the order I saw them. I'll post the full list of everything I watched this year sometime soon.
Kiss of Death (Henry Hathaway, 1947)
Death in the Garden (Luis Bunuel, 1956)
Rafferty and the Gold Dust Twins (Dick Richards, 1975)
Thieves' Highway (Jules Dassin, 1949)
My Dear Killer (Tonino Valerii, 1972)
The Green Fog (Guy Maddin, Evan Johnson, and Galen Johnson, 2017)
Fallen Angel (Otto Preminger, 1945)
Night of the Werewolf (Paul Naschy, 1981)
Navajeros (Eloy de la Iglesia, 1980)
Confidentially Yours (Francois Truffaut, 1983)
Ferryman Maria (Frank Wisbar, 1936)
The Far Country (Anthony Mann, 1954)
Viva (Anna Biller, 2007)
Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy (Ryusuke Hamaguchi, 2021)
No One Heard the Scream (Eloy de la Iglesia, 1973)
Bad Girls Go to Hell (Doris Wishman, 1965)
Anvil! The Story of Anvil (Sacha Gervasi, 2008)
The Drowning Pool (Stuart Rosenberg, 1975)
Careful (Guy Maddin, 1992)
Deadly Weapons (Doris Wishman, 1974)
Double Agent 73 (Doris Wishman, 1974)
Edward and Caroline (Jacques Becker, 1951)
Man on the Roof (Bo Widerberg, 1976)
Poem of the Sea (Yuliya Solntseva, 1958)
The Tarnished Angels (Douglas Sirk, 1957)
The Devil's Rain (Robert Fuest, 1975)
Yes, Madam! (Corey Yuen, 1985)
The Muthers (Cirio H. Santiago, 1976)
The Mutilator (Buddy Cooper, 1984)
The Green Knight (David Lowery, 2021)
The Bedroom Window (Curtis Hanson, 1987)
Black Widow (Bob Rafelson, 1987)
Don't Let It Kill You (Jean-Pierre Lefebvre, 1967)
The Italian Connection (Fernando Di Leo, 1972)
Deep End (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1970)
Crimes of Passion (Ken Russell, 1984)
The Boss (Fernando Di Leo, 1973)
Mad Dog Morgan (Philippe Mora, 1976)
A Perfect Couple (Robert Altman, 1979)
Mad God (Phil Tippett, 2021)
Perfect Blue (Satoshi Kon, 1997)
The Day of the Locust (John Schlesinger, 1975)
Class Relations (Jean-Marie Straub and Daniele Huillet, 1984)
Mother (Vsevolod Pudovkin, 1926)
Miami Blues (George Armitage, 1990)
The Outlaw Josey Wales (Clint Eastwood, 1976)
October (Ten Days that Shook the World) (Sergei Eisenstein and Grigori Aleksandrov, 1927)
Modern Romance (Albert Brooks, 1981)
Orgasmo aka Paranoia (Umberto Lenzi, 1969)
The Intruder (Claire Denis, 2004)
Passing Fancy (Yasujiro Ozu, 1933)
Poison for the Fairies (Carlos Enrique Taboada, 1986)
Monkey Business (Howard Hawks, 1952)
Love Affair (Leo McCarey, 1939)
Loves of a Blonde (Milos Forman, 1965)
Primal Rage (Vittorio Rambaldi, 1988)
The 39 Steps (Alfred Hitchcock, 1935)
The Dark (John "Bud" Cardos, 1979)
Splendor in the Grass (Elia Kazan, 1961)
Nobody's Daughter Haewon (Hong Sang-soo, 2013)
Coogan's Bluff (Don Siegel, 1968)
Dim Sum: A Little Bit of Heart (Wayne Wang, 1985)
Nobody's Hero (Alain Guiraudie, 2022)
Night and the City (Jules Dassin, 1950)
All that Money Can Buy aka The Devil and Daniel Webster (William Dieterle, 1941)
Lost, Lost, Lost (Jonas Mekas, 1976)
Obsession (Brian De Palma, 1976)
Anatahan (Josef von Sternberg, 1953)
Slightly Scarlet (Allan Dwan, 1956)
Les Cousins (Claude Chabrol, 1959)
The Missouri Breaks (Arthur Penn, 1976)
Moi, un Noir (Jean Rouch, 1959)
They All Laughed (Peter Bogdanovich, 1981)
Massacre at Central High (Rene Daalder, 1976)
The Chase (Arthur Penn, 1966)
Siege (Paul Donovan and Maura O'Connell, 1983)
Hangover Square (John Brahm, 1945)
That Cold Day in the Park (Robert Altman, 1969)
The Tenant (Roman Polanski, 1976)
Two Men in Manhattan (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1959)
Dirty Mary Crazy Larry (John Hough, 1974)
Give a Girl a Break (Stanley Donen, 1953)
...All the Marbles (Robert Aldrich, 1981)
Yoyo (Pierre Etaix, 1965)
Sabotage (Alfred Hitchcock, 1936)
The Gun Hawk (Edward Ludwig, 1963)
Thirteen Women (George Archainbaud, 1932)
The Face at the Window (George King, 1939)
The Enchanted Desna (Yuliya Solntseva, 1964)
Dead End Drive-In (Brian Trenchard-Smith, 1986)
1 comment:
I feel like I'm at AFS all the time, and yet I didn't catch ANY of these! HA! No wonder I didn't run into you.
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