Written as a student project with future Alien writer Dan O'Bannon, John Carpenter's ingenious no-budget directorial debut, named after a Grateful Dead song was the first stoner sci-fi pic. On a scuzzy spaceship far away, four furry freak surf dude astronauts are bored out of their skulls on a long-haul mission to destroy unstable planets, and plagued by troubles when their talking bomb gets ideas of its own and the alien "pet" O'Bannon has smuggled aboard escapes. Sideswipes at Kubrick's 2001 are entirely intentional; the attack of the munchies the movie brings on pure coincidence.
Forget the awful sequels, spin-off TV show and Tim Burton's disappointing remake. The original 1968 movie, with Charlton Heston's astronaut stranded on a world where mute, dumb humans are enslaved by civilised apes, is a sci-fi classic, thanks to Rod Serling's subversive screenplay and that final, legendary shot.
The full-length 1989 debut from Hal Hartley (his early shorts justly made his name as an indie legend) is a smartly funny, angularly touching example of his pop-Godard technique. Rebellious teen Adrienne Shelly and enigmatic ex-con (and possible murderer) Robert Burke dare to fall in love as rumours abound in the Long Island setting. Edie Falco supports in this literate, limber love story.
The definitive American indie-lite film from '93, made by a pre-schmaltz Lasse Hallström and starring a young Leonardo DiCaprio, this has an affecting warmth and wit. Like an anti-David Lynch movie, it sells smalltown Americana, via Johnny Depp's harried protagonist, as a confused, idiosyncratic but always humane place. John C Reilly and Crispin Glover provide heavyweight back-up.
Dai Sijie's beguiling, semi-autobiographical movie is set during China's Cultural Revolution, when two reactionary city students are sent to the mountains to be re-educated in the ways of Chairman Mao. But their forbidden love for Western art, music and literature is soon infecting the locals, including the tailor's beautiful daughter. Lightweight, but gorgeous to look at.
Jean-Jacques Beineix's 1981 debut is a romantic thriller about a young opera fan who records a bootleg tape of his favourite opera singer. Since she's always refused to be recorded, the tape becomes almost priceless on the black market, with opera fans and gangsters chasing after it. Very French, very stylish, very '80s.
Filmed shortly before her death, this extended reminiscence from Traudl Junge about her time working for Hitler promises more than it delivers. Junge opens with a doubtless sincere condemnation of Hitler for his evil-doings and reproaches herself for failing to recognise the evil in him. You suspect she's still a little starstruck and her recollections of him depict a kind man, albeit with a lot on his mind. Banal, unilluminating.
Nobody wants a painfully slow death: do you want to watch one, even if it's set against the crumbling beauty of Venice? Visconti's '71 adaptation of Thomas Mann's novel is a classic no one dares question, but its study of ageing composer Dirk Bogarde falling in unrequited love with a golden, fey young boy is stately and overwrought, and so enamoured of itself it forgets the audience. Perilously sluggish.
The great French director Jean-Pierre Melville understood American movies better than the majority of Hollywood, and devoted himself to a remarkable series of terse tough-guy thrillers which claimed the term "noir" back for France. Shot on the streets of Paris dressed to look like Manhattan, this spare, razor-sharp 1962 affair has Jean-Paul Belmondo looking great as the doomed stool-pigeon at the centre of a web of deceit.
Like the preppy cousin of City Of God, this handsome crime flick from JoséHenrique Fonseca is set in Rio De Janeiro, but in the suburbs, where good-looking gringos kill out of curiosity rather than necessity. Unfortunately, it's also a world of paper-thin characters prone to morbid musings, and shot through with a non-descript pop-promo aesthetic.
