Junta Juleil's Top 100: #70-66

70. FAT GIRL (2001, Catherine Breillat)

I'm the first to admit that, like BAD LIEUTENANT, CRASH, and any number of movies on this list, FAT GIRL is not for everyone. But I will also say that it's probably the truest, most important film about adolescence to come out in years, and its final, 400 BLOWS-mirroring freeze frame conveys an intent to shatter the complacency of watered-down "youth in turmoil" movies, just as Truffaut's film did back in '59. Catherine Breillat is a provocateur, to be sure, but she's neither a dime-store shock-peddler nor an obnoxious feminist. Her films attempt to glean meaning from the ever-shifting dynamics of sex and power which govern human interaction, and she doesn't shy away from asking the tough questions or handing out the tough answers. This is her masterpiece.

69. THE DARK CRYSTAL (1982, Jim Henson & Frank Oz)

I've said this before, but here it goes again:
True creativity, for me, is and has always been the ability to build something out of nothing- with your hands. THE DARK CRYSTAL is the apex of Jim Henson and designer Brian Froud's interminable artistry (they also collaborated on LABYRINTH), and here, they've built a timeless universe of breathtaking spectacle, exotic unfamiliarity, fanciful magic, ancient mysticism, exacting detail, and uncompromising depth. They are so confident (and deservedly so!) in their vision, that they've chosen to dispense with humans altogether, relegating them to puppeteering and vocal duties. There's no CGI here, no poorly rendered computer animations fabricated by some lazy skeeze at his PC. Everything's been rigorously fashioned and laboriously crafted from the ground up. While it's been designed for children to grasp, this is by no means merely a children's film. Using the familiar framework of the "quest" mythos, there's still philosophical complexity, palpable trauma, and visceral evil. Certain images possess a real potency, and stand out from the others: the dying Skeksis Emperor literally crumbling away in mid-screech as his vile, potential successors circle like vultures; the charming, faithful, lovable Fizzgig and his impossibly gaping maw; the genius matte paintings and meticulously sculpted forests that spare no detail from the tiniest of insects to the largest of trees to creatures I cannot even begin to describe. There is a certain REALness to the entirety of the proceedings because the screen is full of objects, animals, and characters that ARE real- someone could hold and manipulate them by hand or by string or by lever, and this is what gives them the breath of life. And with that breath, this film exhales upon the viewer the vivacity, exuberance, and sincerity that were poured into it by its creators. So eff you, CGI. You can toss my motherlovin' salad.

68. PULP FICTION (1994, Quentin Tarantino)

It was difficult to pick a favorite Tarantino. In general, he's something of a polarizing figure– in turns he's pompous, restrained, and occasionally misunderstood by slavering fanboys and disapproving critics alike. RESERVOIR DOGS has the tautness and intensity of a capital-G Great stage play, JACKIE BROWN features Tarantino at the height of his powers as an actor's director, KILL BILL is a helluva lot of well-orchestrated kung fu-spaghetti western fun, DEATH PROOF features perhaps the greatest car chase ever filmed and Kurt Russell's sleaziest, most ridiculous performance since BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA, and INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS forces us to question how each of us (consciously or subconsciously) constructs narratives out of history. In fact, I might have even picked BASTERDS for this list, but I think I need to sit on it for about ten years first. Regardless, PULP FICTION is perhaps the most lovingly-constructed paean to American cinema ever to be sung from the rooftops; it's KISS ME DEADLY and PSYCHO and TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE and RIO BRAVO and CHARLEY VARRICK and SHAFT and ZARDOZ and THE PANIC IN NEEDLE PARK rolled into one, razor-sharp, fast-paced indie crime-fest that got Travolta dancing again, Keitel into a tuxedo, Eric Stoltz eating Fruit Brute, Uma looking like Anna Karina, and Amanda Plummer shivering and shuddering with the force of her own insanity! ...I could go on. A damn good movie, and my only complaint is that Dick Miller got left on the cutting room floor!

67. LOST HIGHWAY (1997, David Lynch)

A spider climbs the wall. Gary Busey whimpers. Robert Blake points a camcorder at you. David Bowie croons "Funny how secrets travel..." You careen down a highway into blackness, the only illumination coming from your flickering headlamps... LOST HIGHWAY is truly an experience. And it makes plenty of sense if you think about it long enough, so don't tell me that "it's needlessly confusing"– it just demands a certain, brooding sort of viewer who'll allow themselves to be lured into the veritable labyrinth that Lynch has constructed. Plus, Robert Loggia's livid, red-faced rant about tailgating is surely worth the price of admission alone. And one of my favorite facets of Lynch's oeuvre is the fact that his movies often linger, long after you've finished watching them; hanging dangerously at the periphery as you continue your day. I first saw LOST HIGHWAY on a VHS with my sister during an overcast, Midwestern afternoon in late summer. Afterward, we went out to dinner with the rest of my family, as it was a special occasion. As afternoon turned to evening, the sense of mystery and uncertainty remained. As I walked into the restaurant, I took a fleeting, sidelong glance into a dimly-lit room adjoining the kitchen. I saw an older woman chopping something, quite robotically, and with a hint of menace. She turned toward me, our eyes locked, and in one forceful movement, she shut the door. The entire exchange couldn't have lasted more than four or five seconds, but it carried with it a frighteningly palpable sense of dread. The only reason I repeat this story is to illustrate that Lynch's power is such that his films don't just invade your dreams (as many have already posited), they invade your waking hours! The best ones are potent enough to put you in a genuine state, whereupon you see the hidden menace in everything. Obviously, it's not a state you ought to be in all the time, but it's a darkly magical one that I deeply appreciate. Brace yourselves for more Lynch as this list continues.

66. THE UNKNOWN (1927, Tod Browning)

Almost everything I could say about this film carries with it the potential of sullying your maiden viewing by way of 'knowing too much.' So I'll tell you this: It stars Lon Chaney, whose virtues I have extolled HERE; co-stars Joan Crawford, whose acting talents and frightening eyebrows I have praised HERE; and was directed by Tod Browning, whose penchant for nightmarish silent and early sound cinema has been raved about HERE. All I'll say is that it deals with ill-advised obsessions, the blossoming of twisted love, and the madness that dances around a man's eyes when he discovers the senselessness of it all. Oh yeah, and it takes place at A CIRCUS. It's bold, it's brutal, and Lon Chaney (near the finale) delivers what has to be the finest reaction shot in all of cinema. One of the greatest films from the silent era (or any other, for that matter).

Coming up next... Philip Glass, my second-favorite ghost story, and Ed Harris fights the dragon!

Previously on the countdown:
#75-71
#80-76
#85-81
#90-86
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2

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Junta Juleil's Top 100: #100-#96

Alright, here we go, ladies and gentlemen:

#100. AMERICAN GRAFFITI (1973, George Lucas)

Ah, how I love the late 50's, early 60's nostalgia pic, of which AMERICAN GRAFFITI is the beloved grandaddy. Though I and many of the genre's admirers cannot lay claim to having experienced the era firsthand, so many films which I deeply enjoy (THE WANDERERS, STAND BY ME, CHRISTINE, etc., etc.) use it as an effective template for imparting profound lessons about the nature of adulthood and what it means and feels like to be on the cusp of it, the cusp of that storied abyss. (They also use it as an effective template for cramming in as many great Oldies tunes as is humanly possible!) In retrospect, I can't help but feel that these films go even further, sort of imparting mythical lessons about what life was like Before Things Got Shitty, or the fairy-tale time When People Had Something To Look Forward To. Now perhaps I'm being somewhat facetious, but it certainly feels that way these days. Regardless, this is a humanist masterpiece with a vital young cast (Ron Howard, Richard Dreyfuss, Cindy Williams, Charles Martin Smith, Paul Le Mat, Candy Clark, Mackenzie Phillips, among others) and a bittersweet ending that speaks toward What Came Next. It's George Lucas (or was it really Marcia?) at his best.

#99. SOMEWHERE IN TIME (1980, Jeannot Szwarc)

I'm not exactly a fan of the 'Romance' genre by any means, but the genuine aura of tenderness and melancholy which flows forth from this movie can play my emotions like a piano. As he has proven again and again, Richard Matheson's mastery of time travel as a narrative device is rarely (if ever) matched; he tackles it not as science, but as a reverie, an abstraction, a wandering sense of nostalgia and regret. John Barry's score is a pleasure to the point of pain, and Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour's connectedness easily make us forget about pop culture personas like "Superman" and "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman." A beautiful film, and one which didn't blow 'em away at the box office, but which has inspired a rabid cult following, including an extremely dedicated fan club which predates the Internet.

#98. RUNAWAY TRAIN (1985, Andrei Konchalovsky)

A prison escape film, of sorts, which passed through the hands of Akira Kurosawa, Paul Zindel, Eddie Bunker, and Golan & Globus before it became white-knuckle reality. RUNAWAY TRAIN is scraping steel, snowy vistas, blood and oil and grease and steam. The sheer, absolutely brutish intensity of Jon Voight and John P. Ryan is mind-blowing- we see men become animals, we see animals become men. Eric Roberts gets in on the action, too– this thing is a goddamn master's course in acting. One of the most potent, well-constructed thrillers in recent memory.

#97. THE PENALTY (1920, Wallace Worsley)

Some of you know that I'm quite the Lon Chaney devotee; I've said in the past "from his achievements in self-mutilation to his mind-blowing makeup effects to his mastery of the crazy-eye to his portrayals of mad jealousy, mangling frustration, and unfettered pathos; he assembled a vast body of work that really can't be matched for variety, commitment, or poignancy- and half of his films are lost!" The man's masochistic streak and tortured countenance are well-demonstrated here in THE PENALTY as he plays a frightening gangster named "Blizzard" whose legs were mistakenly amputated as a boy. The apparatus he uses to sell the effect is astounding, as are the nuances in his facial expressions, particularly given the fact that he was in enormous pain and hence prone to losing consciousness for the duration of the shoot. This is silent melodrama at its finest: whether it's slugging you in the gut or tugging at your heart-strings, you feel as if you've utterly surrendered yourself to the experience– it grabs you by the lapels and takes you for a ride, and isn't that what cinema's all about?

#96. ACE IN THE HOLE (1951, Billy Wilder)

Ah, the "newspaper flick." They're full of gritty, fast-talking men who're part-time wordsmiths and full-time swindlers, the sort of men who'd rather die than see some rival publication get the scoop. Enter Kirk Douglas, a gal-slappin' sonofabitch named Chuck Tatum who turns manipulatin' the masses into a spectator sport. I applaud this film and its ridiculous cynicism; it knew that that the days of aw, shucks truth-bending ("when the legend becomes fact, print the legend," anyone?) would one day give way to poisonous, THEY LIVE-grade distortions on a global scale. The alternate title was THE BIG CARNIVAL, and how goddamned right they were, what a big fucken carnival, indeed. As this list progresses, I'll likely say that a number of films seem prophetic in today's world (including this one!), but then again I suppose the repressers of the truth have always been sonsabitches; just who knew to what scale they'd end up takin' it? ACE IN THE HOLE is a movie that takes you by the throat, leads you toward the glory of "The Information Age," and shows you a few of the uglier pit-stops along the way. I also highly recommend: SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS and NETWORK.

Coming up next...some Carpy, some Polanski, and possibly the biggest, baddest tear-jerker of all time!

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Film Review: THE UNHOLY THREE (1925, Tod Browning)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 86 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Lon Chaney (THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, THE PENALTY, THE UNKNOWN), Mae Busch (FOOLISH WIVES, ALIBI), Matt Moore (COQUETTE, SEVEN BRIDES FOR SEVEN BROTHERS), Victor McLaglen (THE INFORMER, GUNGA DIN), Harry Earles (THE WIZARD OF OZ, FREAKS), Edward Connelly (THE SAPHEAD, THE MYSTERIOUS LADY). Directed by Tod Browning (FREAKS, DRACULA, THE UNKNOWN).
Tag-line: "A Metro Goldwyn Picture."
Best one-liner: "If you tip that boob off to who we are, I'll lay some lilies under your chin!"

Though I don't believe he's ever been discussed on this site until today, I'm of the opinion that Lon Chaney might be the greatest actor who ever lived. From his achievements in self-mutilation to his mind-blowing makeup effects to his mastery of the crazy-eye to his portrayals of mad jealousy, mangling frustration, and unfettered pathos; he assembled a vast body of work that really can't be matched for variety, commitment, or poignancy- and half of his films are lost! Most are familiar with his turns in THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA and THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME, but others, such as THE PENALTY, THE UNKNOWN, and HE WHO GETS SLAPPED reveal layers of brilliance that his most iconic films can only hint at. Some of my favorite Chaney anecdotes include:
•his performance in 1927's TELL IT TO THE MARINES was so convincing that the powers that be made him an honorary marine.
•a 1928 murderer claimed that Chaney's performance in LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT was so disturbing that it drove him insane.
•the apparatus worn by Chaney in THE PENALTY to make him appear legless caused permanent muscle damage and was so painful he could only wear it and film for a few minutes at a time before there was the chance he would lose consciousness. Take that, actors' unions!

Regardless, the film at hand is 1925 version of THE UNHOLY THREE. Directed by Tod Browning, who collaborated with Chaney on ten films from 1919-1929, it was later remade (as a sound film) with most of the same principals (including Chaney). While I haven't yet had the chance to see that version, most scholars tend to prefer the original.

The plot is truly whacked-out: a ventriloquist (Chaney), a midget (Harry Earles), and a strongman (Victor McLaglen) escape their day jobs at the carnival in order to perpetuate a long con at a pet shop where they pose as a sweet old lady (Chaney), a baby (Earles), and a regular dude (McLaglen), respectively. I don't wish to reveal too much beyond that, so here are- delightfully out of context- my eight favorite things about THE UNHOLY THREE.

#1. When we first meet Chaney's 'Professor Echo,' he's delighting the crowd with his well-cultured comedic stylings, featuring such rib-ticklers as the following:





It's almost an anti-joke, with a sort of amazing anti-climactic punchline. I love it. Afterward, he tries to sell his illustrious joke-book to the crowd- no wonder he got into a life of crime!

#2. When we first meet Tweedledee the Midget, he's raging on a stage across from Chaney's ventriloquism act. Actor Harry Earles may have the facial resemblance and stature of a baby, but his gnarled, take-no-shit-from-anyone, Edward G. Robinson-style countenance must be seen to be believed.

Then this guy down here, with a smirking little tot upon his shoulder, begins to heckle our dear Tweedledee...

...who commences to–

KICK THE SHIT OUTTA THE KID TILL HE'S BLOODY IN THE FACE AND BEGINS AN ALL-OUT BRAWL!

Now that is a character introduction, ladies and gentlemen. As an asskicker, I suppose that Harry Earles was the Weng Weng of his day.

#3. The leering grin and psychotic gaze of Lon Chaney, whenever he lays out an evil master plan. 'Unholy,' indeed! I believe that the same expression rests upon his face in THE PENALTY when he explains his insanely complex scheme in that film (which involves a sweatshop of women making hats!).

Also: Tod Browning's use of shadow whenever Chaney lays out an evil master plan.


#4. The disguises. While Victor McLaglen just has to take off his Tarzan/Hercules costume and put on some regular clothes, Chaney and Earles undergo complete physical transformations.

Earles sells us on the baby 100%, and as soon as the victims leave the room, he whips out the cigars that he keeps hidden in his diaper and lights one up. Overall, his movements and facial contortions are so uncannily accurate that you'll probably be taking a closer, warier look into the strollers you pass on the street each day. One of them might conceal a murderous jewel thief.

As Granny O'Grady, Chaney combines wig, posture, gesture, and costume (check out those lacy half-gloves!) into a flawless impersonation.

The lengths to which he perfected his gestures become especially evident when, for example, in a scene where a mark looks away and Chaney must accomplish something rapidly, out of character, but still in costume. You- like his unwitting victims- are lulled and have become unaware of the extent of the deception! Also, it's terrific to see him quickly pull off the wig and start yelling at his fellow crooks:


#5. Oh, and did I mention this is a Christmas movie, too?


#6. One of Chaney's cons involves tricking prospective pet shop customers into believing that his deadbeat parrots are of the learned, talkative variety. Of course, being a ventriloquist, he can fool the patrons quite easily. But how to visualize the act of birds 'speaking' in a silent film?...


It's pretty damned great.

#7. The courtroom scene. I won't give away any of the actual proceedings, but suffice to say, it allows for some fine character-acting. The judge, played by Edward Connelly, has that elitist gaunt-faced malice later realized in our era by the likes of Peter Cushing and Angus Scrimm. He's superb.

Chaney, on the other hand, embodies absolute anxiety to perfection.

In silent cinema, so many emotions run purer and freer: here, we can look past the traditional 'will-he-get-caught' pretense and look at Chaney embodying the entire concept of human frustration, the idea of an unscratchable itch. Bravo.
(And as a side note, in THE UNKNOWN, he takes this to a whole new level when he...shall we say... has a rather... disarming epiphany.)

#8.

GIANT

APE

ATTACK!!!

In the end, while THE UNHOLY THREE is by no means my favorite of Chaney's films, or even my most loved of the off-the-deep-end collaborations of Chaney and Browning, it's another fundamental example of the man's genius and a 'gift from the past' of true imagination and unhinged virtuousity. Four and a half stars.

-Sean Gill

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