“I cry a lot. My emotions are very close to my surface. I don't want to hold anything in so it festers and turns into pus - a pustule of emotion that explodes into a festering cesspool of depression.”

The man was an auteur unto himself. When I think of acting, I think of Grant.

Ozu and Hara pulled me out of the pitch black hole I've been falling into the last few weeks, and for that I'll be eternally grateful. I'm not sure I've ever had a richer emotional response to a film. Not one adjective, but all. Life. Ozu was the greatest.

The only music artist who evolves artistically while maintaining the spotlight in the 21st century worthy of Bowie, Dylan, and Prince. Yes.

Maybe it's just where my mind is right now, but I cant escape (hehe) the feelings of tragedy and melancholy in this film's bones. Underneath the entertaining genre exercise is a cold world where betrayal, death, and oppression are so ubiquitous that surprise isn't even a viable reaction. The most noble, honorable man is a self-described "asshole" who lets a woman be raped, who coldly observes death, who watches on with sad eyes. Plissken is both a brilliant genre riff and a tragic (anti)hero. Forget fucking Batman, Plissken is the hero the world deserves.

I have let this film fall to the side, forgetting about it. My rewatch reminds me that I should never think of this as anything less than a masterpiece. One of the essential, bitter rejections of Hollywood and the borderline-sadism of its artifice. As a genre fan, it behooves me to remember the lessons of this film. Also, it functions as one of the greatest 2000s tragic romances.

Carpenter's blood western, where the sand itself feels like dried plasma. The absolute cold world of the characters, the vicious, asshole nature of every single being, lends to this one of Carpenter's strongest atmospheres. His powerful Catholic-violence and hypocrisy subtext ultimately allow for a continuation of Prince of Darkness sub-themes, and lend resonance to his vision of an immoral West.

A 90s update of Seven Samurai. Remarkably. Dolph brings morality to the film as a whole. What could have been a pandering, condescending colonialist film a la Avatar becomes a watchable action film almost solely because of Dolph's moral guidance. The utter stupidity of the plot falters when he commands the screen. Again, the Dolph shines through.

Coheed is totally right in pointing out the supermarket seen. I consider it the most intelligent scene in cinema in depicting post-Vietnam veteran malaise/hopelessness. Otherwise, it is a Looney Toons variant on action cinema. Larger than life setpieces, an over-the-top Dolph, this is one of the 90s most entertaining films. Yet, one can already see the groundwork for the existential despair of John Hyams take on the franchise.

I honestly hate to say this, but this is shit (Dolph is director). Terribly paced, abysmal formally, and terribly written. Yet I recommend watching it. Why? Because, the Dolph. He, being one of the cinema's greatest performers, is ALWAYS worth watching. This may be one of his lower moments, but he still brings his "cool" (he is the coolest man since Cary Grant).

So goddamn terrible... and yet. Dolph provides an incredible portrait of a steadfast leader, stoically leading his group from disaster. Dolph as auteur (in that, no matter how bad the film, Dolph carries it into watchability).

Dolph vs. the color white ("it's all colors", whatever). An excuse for Dolph to wear shades is good in my book. Also, this allows for another play on Woo's favorite theme: duality. Here, the formal battle between black and white. Too much tv style, but Woo shines through in key moments. Dolph, meanwhile, proves yet again his singular genius, carrying his material on his back. The man can do anything.

Dolph as art. Whether he is awkwardly flirting or dispensing henchman in a hideous fashion, this is Dolph as Movie Star. I dubbed Dolph the "Classic Hollywood Star" of 80s action heroes, and this film proves it. He may be aging, but he's fully committed to this film both as star and director. Essentially a showcase for Dolph as a performer, and, frankly, there isn't enough of that in cinema.

There a lot of things I like about this film. The cast is exceptional, and deliver the dialogue with verve, and the humor is brisk and enjoyable. Chris Pine, in particular, is an extremely charismatic star, and in my opinion, could be Great. The popping colors on the blinding white Enterprise are also very pleasing. Alas, a great deal of it is committed to almost television-level form. The sterling setpieces scattered throughout remind one that Abrams has potential in the arena of cinema.

One of the most profound contemplations of death in the cinema. It's gradual shift into abstraction as the certainty of death grows in the minds of the characters and audience is unlike anything in Hollywood cinema. The wolve's howls in the night become a funeral dirge, their aural calling card becoming death itself. All that remains of a man's entire history is his wallet. A masterpiece.

One of the more daring Hollywood films of the 2000s. It has a fitful and energetic sense of cinematic invention that can, in spirit, be compared to Hong Kong. Verbinski has a definitive surrealistic sense of humor and sequence construction that lends to the overall sense of relentless movement and shifting surfaces that make the film exceptional. one of the most wildly textured films of the aughts.

A singular genius that pop hasn't seen before or since. A jawdroppingly incredible musician (greatest guitarist of the 80s), who blends a vast amount of influences like no one else ever has. I'm tempted to call him the greatest pop artist after The Beatles. He sent a lightening bolt through music.

This is becoming Van Damme's missing Ambersons footage fast...

Quite simply, there is no better film about rock, about its original, defining principles. Anarchy, jovial sin, and laid-back hedonism, as well as a healthy contempt for the bourgeoisie. Lester's form provides the perfect outlet for the most powerful cultural force of the 60s. Matched with the obvious intelligence and hilarious wit of The Beatles, this film is one of the key 60s films, one of the most enjoyable ever.

Both War Horse and Tintin are disappointing following the most experimental, poetic, and resonant decade in Spielberg's filmmography. Both ultimately fail at their separate attempts at drama and adventure respectively. War Horse falls short of the pure emotional expressions of A.I. or Close Encounters, while Tintin does not have the intelligence and soulfulness that drove the Indiana Jones films. Regardless, both possess signature moments of virtuoso visual genius that none of 'Berg's contemporaries can match. I myself am not particularly discourage; there have always been short off periods between Spielberg peaks. On to Lincoln!

This film is so thoroughly thematically consistent with the other entries in the series that, in its progression from the earlier films, it becomes the skeleton key for the entire franchise. Not on the subject of Jones and family (though that is of course present), but of the division of the old and new world, of the spiritual and the secular, religion and rationality. Here, the figure of Western rationalism himself is dwarfed by modern man's own Ark of the Covenant. The rhyme of the nuke and the spaceship is one of the most profound codas in Spielberg's cinema.

At this point, this is the greatest and most mature Stone film I've seen.

Quite underrated. Some of Carpenter's finest widescreen compositions are on display here. Gradually, the invasion of space transforms from the suggested (masterfully illustrated by the first act), to the physical, gray shapes of the demonic children. Essentially, this is a fusion of The Thing and The Fog, both an abstract outside force and a destruction from within.

My Favorite Director. More than a poet, a philosopher, a chronicler, he is a mentor. Yet all I can keep thinking of is the character for "Nothingness" left on his grave. Only this artist of sake, tea kettles, tables, Hara's smile and Ryu's sigh could be so enigmatic. Every time I watch one of his films, I have to relearn every other one from scratch.

Really, really loved this. My favorite documentary about a filmmaker I've yet seen. I guess the truest measurement of its success is that I feel it actually gave me insight into Ozu and his craft.

The camera breaks free from man, floats through the bars, into eternity. There are few other shots in cinema as justifiably celebrated.

"How do you like your ribs?"

One of the most ambitious of American directors, with a truly tragic career. Cimino's epic and melancholic laments for a dying America, a compromised America, make him a key filmmaker in cinema's history. He was probably too honest to ever be popular in the States. No one since has had a better sense of the wounded soul of the nation. Indeed, he stands beside Ford in that regard. The Deer Hunter and Year of the Dragon are the finest, most complex, and most melancholy reflections on Vietnam and its legacy, while Heaven's Gate almost makes the search for the Great American Novel irrelevant.

Fincher's finally become as great as his reputation. His earlier work, in my opinion, is largely vacuous and often immoral (though I do like The Game). With Zodiac, he matured, and his filmmaking itself moved past his earlier atmospherics. Now a brisk, rat-tat-tat montage dominates his visions, a montage of evidence, occurrences, snippets of time, as he pursues something rather elusive. As pointed out in several wonderful essays, he is fascinated by process, and, strangely, finds humanity in his cataloging. His next work, about the construction of Captain Nemo's Nautilus, seems ideal for his new direction. With three incredible films under his belt (Zodiac, Social Network, Dragon Tattoo), I am finally comfortable in calling him a Great Filmmaker.

The Greatest Bassist of All Time. Absolutely, 100% no contest. Not even close.