We'll always have Casablanca, thank God. This tale of lost souls waiting out WWII in the doldrums of a Moroccan café may well be the best film ever made—the Epstein brothers' dialogue still crackles, and the central love affair between Bogart and Bergman just keeps on pulling you in. Play it again!
The original Mamet movie, a bravura directorial debut and a punchy manifesto, 1987's...Games pits frigid psychologist Lindsay Crouse against louche confidence trickster Joe Mantegna in the eponymous Chicago poker joint. Crouse is intrigued, Mantegna applies the charm, but soon the cons escalate and, in true Mametian style, the line between 'shark' and 'mark' disintegrates.
Filmed in '76, the conclusion to Roman Polanski's evil-rooms trilogy returns to the urban paranoia and fracturing psyches of Repulsion and Rosemary's Baby. Polanski—who'd just taken up residence in France—himself plays the vulnerable, mouse-like new occupant of a forlorn Paris apartment, whose creeping schizophrenia grows as he feels himself falling under the influence of the previous resident, a female suicide victim. A perverse slow-dazzle.
Five photogenic college chums, one backwoods cabin, a local villager with his flesh peeling off and something nasty in the water. Eli Roth's visceral, wicked and witty bloodbath evokes George Romero panics and Evil Dead riots gone by, yet retains a strong enough sense of itself to remain more than merely the sum of its faultless influences. A (decaying) head and shoulders above other recent attempts at '70s-esque late-night retro-horror.
In Wolfgang Becker's entirely beguiling movie, a young East German goes to extraordinary lengths to convince his mother the world hasn't changed while she's been in a coma—which means somehow covering up the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of Communism. A beautifully realised humanistic comedy.
Worth a look: Paul Schrader directs a Harold Pinter adaptation of an Ian McEwan novel, in Venice, in 1990. Rupert Everett and Natasha Richardson are trying to revive their marriage on holiday, but fall under the sinister influence of sadomasochists Christopher Walken and Helen Mirren. Venice is deeply cinematic, but Schrader opts for much nudity and is clearly in love with Everett. Creepy.
Young Haley Joel Osment is sent off to live with his eccentric but loveable great-uncles (Michael Caine and Robert Duvall) and a moth-eaten circus lion on their Texas ranch. Are the two men retired adventurers, or just bank robbers on the run? Sentimental family-fare yarn with just enough of an edge to keep it from becoming syrup.
Neglected by critics, rejected by director John Huston, The Unforgiven is nonetheless an essential companion to Ford's The Searchers. Sourced from Searchers author Alan Le May, it follows (spot the reversal!) a Kyowa girl (Audrey Hepburn) raised by a white family then hunted down by her 'real' Injun relatives. The genocidal ending, complete with half-brother incest, has to be seen to be believed.
When discussing Kevin Smith's oeuvre, most dismiss this '95 nugget as the dip between Clerks and Dogma. A mistake: as two slackers, Jason Lee and Jeremy London, hang around the mall doing nothing, plenty happens—comic-book iconography, smut, inventive swearing, Shannen Doherty pretty much playing her loveable hell-bitch self, and Ben Affleck marginalised. A buzzy, cynical, romp.
