/Film's Top 100 Movies Of All Time

Taking place essentially in real time, almost entirely in one room, and with a cast of characters who are almost all unnamed except for their juror numbers, Sidney Lumet's "12 Angry Men" is a masterclass in the push and pull of dialogue. As the jury gathers to convict an accused teenage murderer in what seems like an open-and-shut case, Henry Fonda's lone holdout — Juror #8 — suggests that they simply take an hour to talk things out. Tensions rise, prejudices are revealed, and human nature itself is put on trial. "12 Angry Men" is as gripping as any action film, set in an arena where words are the weapons that make the difference between life and death.

It's also a film that has only grown more relevant with time — particularly now, when opinion seems so deeply divided and factional that good faith debate seems impossible, and people changing their minds even more so. "12 Angry Men" delves deep into how opinions are formed, whether it's simply by following the crowd, or innermost resentments rising to the surface. And though the crime in question can't be solved in a jury room, there's a tinge of murder mystery to it that draws the viewer in, inviting them to become a thirteenth angry man.

The Alternate Take: In 2022, Sarah Polley delivered an answer to "12 Angry Men" with "Women Talking," the story of a group of Mennonite women who have only a day to resolve through the debate about what they should do in response to their colony's serial sexual assaults: do nothing, stay and fight, or leave. (Hannah Shaw-Williams)

Depending on how you choose to look at it, "Alien" is either a ruthless statement on the gears of corporate capitalism chewing up and spitting out blue collar workers without remorse, an incisive commentary on sexual violence inflicted on a primarily male-dominated crew, or a straightforward sci-fi/horror flick that can be thoroughly enjoyed when taken exactly at face value. The true magic of this unparalleled movie isn't the wealth of fascinating concepts and provocative ideas present in Dan O'Bannon's screenplay, or the immediate influx of world-building provided by H.R. Giger's profoundly disturbing designs, or even how far director Ridley Scott elevated the production despite a minor budget. Instead, it's that all-too-rare feeling of a picture somehow exceeding the already-formidable sum of its parts.

As perhaps the peak example of "Less is more," this classic hails from a long-gone era when we were forced to reckon with the unknown hanging just on the edges of the frame. A derelict ship and a dead pilot carrying a mysterious alien cargo with no other explanation; a refreshingly practical crew of protagonists given no backstory or tragic origins to make them any more relatable than they already are; and a singularly terrifying villain that would provide nightmare fuel for entire generations of moviegoers for decades to come. "Alien" stands the test of time as the kind of horror that redefines a genre — a perfect organism.

The Alternate Take: After the stripped-down, functional brutality of "Alien," yet another Ridley Scott movie inspired a sequel exploring the extreme other end of the sci-fi spectrum. Where "Alien" embraced minimalism, "Blade Runner" and especially its follow-up set decades later, "Blade Runner 2049," leaned into their gaudy, noir, neon-lit trappings for all they were worth to delve into even more heady, existentialist themes — the fact that both franchises may or may not share continuity is only the cherry on top. (Jeremy Mathai)

Mainstream comedy was searching for an identity in the early 2000s in a post-"Scary Movie" world. One could argue that identity was found with 2004's "Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy," which served as the first mighty feature collaboration between "SNL" star Will Ferrell and director Adam McKay. Their first trip up to bat was a home run, even if critics of the day didn't see it that way. The absolute absurdist humor centered on Ferrel's Ron Burgundy as a newsman in the '70s struggling to get with the times, filled with non-sequitur gags and endlessly quotable lines such as "I'm in a glass case of emotion" or "60% of the time, it works every time."

This film would tee up the ball, not only for other Ferrell/McKay hits such as "Step-Brothers," but also comedies such as "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" that would further help give this era of studio comedy an identity it sorely needed. Well beyond its importance though, "Anchorman" plays like gangbusters as a laugh-a-minute, tight, singular motion picture experience. From all-time great names like Wes Mantooth (Vince Vaughn) to an all-timer of a silly performance from Steve Carell as Brick Tamland, this movie has aged like a big, tall glass of scotchy, scotch, scotch, cementing itself as not only one of the best comedies of all time, but one of the most important as well.

The Alternate Take: "Anchorman" owes a lot to "Caddyshack," a 1980 comedy about a different, very specific form of employment (caddying at a golf course) with a diverse cast of wacky characters featuring the who's who of comedy at the time. It's not a stretch to say that the Adam McKays or Judd Apatows of the world wouldn't exist without director Harold Ramis' seminal classic. (Ryan Scott)

"In October of 1994, three student filmmakers disappeared in the woods near Burkittsville, Maryland while shooting a documentary. A year later their footage was found." So begins "The Blair Witch Project," the 1999 found footage horror film that became a cultural phenomenon. Thanks to some clever marketing that sold this tale of terror as 100% real — complete with "MISSING" posters for its three lead actors — "The Blair Witch Project" was a massive box office success, scaring up $248.6 million against a shoestring budget. Filmmakers Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez came up with a simple but effective concept: a faux documentary about three film students — Heather Donahue, Michael C. Williams, and Joshua Leonard, all using their real names — who venture into the Maryland woods to make a doc about the legend of a local witch. Sure enough, these three hapless kids get lost in the woods and quickly learn that the so-called Blair Witch is more than a legend.

There was so much hype surrounding the film that a backlash was inevitable, and sure enough, many viewers took issue with the film's shaky camera work and the fact that you never really see anything in the film, although that's not quite true — you see plenty, it's just done in a subtle way that doesn't quite announce itself, which makes things all the more frightening. But it's a testament to how effective this film is that even after its release, many still thought it was completely real and that the three leads were really missing and presumed dead.

Dread hangs over the film from the start, and the grainy footage only adds to the unsettling vibe. This feels real, and when the supernatural stuff starts happening, that feels real, too. By the time the film reaches its terrifying climax, all hope is lost, and only the legend remains.

The Alternate Take: "The Blair Witch Project" ushered in a new era of found-footage horror films, many of which just don't cut it. But one of the best of the best is Joel Anderson's "Lake Mungo," a faux documentary about a family that swears their dead daughter is haunting their house. Thick with ominous dread, "Lake Mungo" ends up being a treatise on death itself, and how it's coming for all of us sooner or later. (Chris Evangelista)

Director Terry Gilliam's "Brazil," a portrait of a sci-fi dystopia dominated by cruel and casual fascism, infuriating bureaucracy, and a population too comfortable to do a damn thing about it, has aged like a wine you wish didn't taste so familiar. The film's grim comedy is matched only by its sweeping eye for romance and beauty in the face of oppression — what can save us from a nightmare if not a beautiful dream?

With a cast of game actors leading the charge (including Michael Palin playing against type as a disturbing family man with a successful career as a government torturer), Gilliam's film borrows the rib-jabbing satire of his Monty Python days but instills it with an anger that resonates, all brought to life with a camera whose mobility reflects the chaos and confusion of the world it depicts. And that world, cluttered and ugly and gray and utilitarian to the point of suffocation, remains one of the great cinematic landscapes, one that fascinates and sickens in equal measure.

Gilliam famously fought the studio to preserve his vision, pessimistic ending and all. But the real miracle of "Brazil" is that the movie itself is better than the story of its making. And that's one of the most interesting stories in Hollywood history, so that's saying something.

The Alternate Take: For a less intentionally idiotic and more beautiful and haunting vision of a science fiction dystopia that hits far too close to home, you can't go wrong with Ridley Scott's immortal "Blade Runner." (Jacob Hall)

The astonishing thing about Michael Curtiz's "Casablanca" is that, despite being removed from modern sensibilities by 81 years, it still plays like the Devil. Curtiz, a Hungarian-born director who had made hundreds of films all over the world prior to "Casablanca," was known in America for making action pictures like "Captain Blood" and "The Adventures of Robin Hood." His propensity for action and pacing allowed "Casablanca" to emerge as a feisty, energetic romance, full of intrigue and melodrama, without ever feeling artificial or contrived. Humphrey Bogart's embittered WWII bar owner Rick has become something of a Jungian archetype, while Claude Rains' Renault, comfortable with his corruption, remains one of cinema's great scoundrels. 

"Casablanca," despite its status as a classic, was constructed as "just another studio film" by Warner Bros. It had some contract stars, and was tapping into popular trends at the time: romance, exotic locations, spy-type intrigue, and concerns about World War II. It seems that sometimes, through strange ineffable alchemy, the studio system can produce an indelible and timeless classic kind of by accident. Just this once, everything fell into place. The drama is beautiful, the romance is moving, the politics are assertive, the characters sublime. Even "As Time Goes By," written for the movie to sound like an old standard has, in itself, become an old standard.

The Alternate Take: If Curtiz's career as a genre filmmaker interests you, one would do well to check his 1932 horror mystery "Doctor X," a film shot in then-new color techniques and featuring a murder mystery wherein all the suspects are mad scientists. It's dynamic, fast-paced, and exciting. It's like a sci-fi noir version of the play-within-a-play segment of "Hamlet." (Witney Seibold)

The greatness of Orson Welles's directorial debut has been so widely accepted, and for so long, that putting it on a list of the greatest movies ever made might seem like a cliché. But "Citizen Kane" is no stuffy art house venture. Indeed, Welles's youthful enthusiasm, his eagerness to push boundaries, and his desperate desire to entertain keeps this classic timeless. The 25-year-old wunderkind throws everything at his audience to keep our attention rapt, injecting a serious indictment of American capitalism — in which a young impoverished boy gets raised by a corporate tycoon, and tries to fill the void in his soul with a lifetime of empty acquisitions and superficial victories — with humor, music and Shakespearean melodrama.

"Citizen Kane" is such a lively and impassioned affair that its many subtleties aren't visible without multiple viewings, they're too buried under exciting camerawork and crackling dialogue. Even the film's famous ending — there's no sense in spoiling it here — takes on new dimensions, when you realize only in retrospect how close "Rosebud" was to Charles Foster Kane all along, what distracted him from his pursuit of it, and what it ultimately meant to him beyond the obvious, yet no less tragic interpretation offered by the film's stunning final moments.

The Alternate Take: Orson Welles rewrote the cinematic language when he was 25, with a film that's been called the best ever made. How fitting, then, that the most recent film to grab that title — Chantal Akerman's "Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles" (1975) — was also the work of a 25-year-old genius, challenging cinematic norms as she took the seemingly mundane life of a stay-at-home mom and sex worker and transformed it into the audience's whole universe, to the extent that even subtlest changes in routine become gigantic and powerful. (William Bibbiani)

Leave it to the twisted mind of Henry Selick to do justice to Neil Gaiman's writing on the big screen. Selick's "Coraline" is the rare movie to fully capture the delicate mixture of terror, whimsy, and poignancy that characterizes Gaiman's literature. It also suggests that animation might be the ideal medium for adapting the multihyphenate's work. Gaiman's stories tend to morph from one genre to another in the blink of an eye and "Coraline" is no exception. But Selick's film never struggles to maintain the pace, its ever-moldable and gorgeous stop-motion animation shifting through a spellbinding array of colors and shapes to match every twist and turn in its narrative.

Speaking of, there are few modern animated movies quite as tightly-structured as "Coraline." Nary a scene nor interaction fails to move the story forward or develop its characters in some meaningful way, even when it's simply Coraline herself (Dakota Fanning channeling her inner moody tween to perfection) moping about her family's new apartment. At its core, though, Selick's film is more than just an extra-scary coming-of-age fantasy in the style of "The Wizard of Oz." It's a movie that teaches kids that adulthood is not actually something to be afraid of, while at the same time reminding grown-ups what the world looks like through the eyes of a child. And what better way to impart those lessons than a movie that will mildly traumatize the kiddos of the world?

The Alternate Take: 30 years (and counting) after its release, Selick's "The Nightmare Before Christmas" remains a fiendish holiday delight. But beneath Danny Elfman's cheerfully macabre tunes and the movie's gorgeously warped stop-motion visuals is a timeless reminder: Even the Pumpkin King struggles with ennui and creative burnout every now and then. (Sandy Schaefer)

If any popular filmmaker of the 2000s has a shot at making their way onto the eventual Mount Rushmore of cinema, it is almost certainly Christopher Nolan. Much of that has to do with his originals such as "The Prestige" and "Inception," yes, but it's the man's work with one of the biggest pop culture icons of all-time that cements his status as a legend behind the camera. "The Dark Knight" picked up where "Batman Begins" left off, but that first film only teed up the ball for something far greater — one of the greatest comic book movies ever made. Period.

With a great deal in common with expert crime dramas such as "Heat," Christian Bale's second solo "Batman" film feels so grounded and real (especially compared to the camp of "Batman & Robin," released just over a decade earlier) that it hardly feels like a superhero movie in the traditional sense at all. From the opening frames of the bank robbery to the film's superheroic closing moments where Batman becomes the hero we all understand him to be, this is what all summer blockbusters wish they could be. The entire thing is elevated by the late Heath Ledger as The Joker, which easily ranks as one of the most memorable performances ever committed to film. If there's ever been a case that comic book movies can and should be taken seriously, this is it.

The Alternate Take: 2008, as it turns out, is the most significant year in the history of making superhero movies an ongoing, cinematic concern. Case in point, "Iron Man" was also released that year, which launched the Marvel Cinematic Universe by turning a B-list hero into an A-class comic book movie. Remarkable that these movies were released within mere weeks of one another. (Ryan Scott)

Watching Sidney Lumet's beautiful and blistering 1975 film about a bank robbery gone wrong feels a bit like stepping on a live wire for 125 minutes straight. This is a film that jolts audiences from our stupor as well now as it did upon release, thanks to a stunning performance by a young Al Pacino, a funny, dark, and melancholy script from "Cool Hand Luke" scribe Frank Pierson, and a ripped-from-the-headlines true story.

"Dog Day Afternoon" pulls from the real life of John Wojtowicz, a man who, according to the Life magazine piece on which the script was based, held up a bank in 1972 in order to help pay for his transgender girlfriend's gender-affirming surgery. The film's subjects would eventually sue the project for its inaccuracies, but there's certainly an emotional truth to "Dog Day Afternoon" that transcends its true story moniker. Pacino's volatile yet charming performance as Sonny Wortzik is countered perfectly by a rare appearance from John Cazale, whose robbery accomplice Salvatore Naturile may be the most tragic character in a film that's full of them. With sympathetic criminals and overtly queer characters at its core, "Dog Day Afternoon" is a transgressive and unforgettable anti-authority shout of a film.

The Alternate Take: 1976's "Network" is the other half of Lumet's mid-'70s cinematic one-two punch, and it's just as classic as "Dog Day Afternoon." "Network" features another American man on the brink, only this time around, it's Peter Finch's fed-up TV news anchor Howard Beale. (Valerie Ettenhofer)

"Star Wars" changed American movies forever, but "The Empire Strikes Back" is the reason the franchise is still thriving today. Lawrence Kasdan's crackerjack screenplay supplies Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) with lively banter that would be right at home in a screwball comedy. It also, miraculously, downshifts to imbue the Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) and Yoda relationship with a Buddhist spirituality. The stakes are gently raised as we invest in Han and Leia's blossoming romance and the deeper meaning of The Force. Who knew that a giggly, green, 2'2" puppet would get a generation of young moviegoers considering their life's purpose?

Of course, when it comes to action, "The Empire Strikes Back" has it where it counts. The Hoth battle, with T-47 airspeeders buzzing AT-AT walkers is thrilling stuff, as is the Millennium Falcon's frantic flight through a dense asteroid belt. It all builds to a masterfully orchestrated feat of parallel action on Cloud City, where Leia and company scramble to escape the clutches of the Empire, while Luke takes his first crack at Darth Vader (and learns something awfully disquieting about his heritage in the process). Audiences freaked out over the cliffhanger finale, but that didn't stop them from lining up time and again to compile intel on where the concluding installment might be headed. This is the apex of the franchise, and it still hasn't been topped (though Rian Johnson got awfully close).

The Alternate take: George Lucas handed Irvin Kershner the reins on "The Empire Strikes Back" based on the director's spooky thriller "Eyes of Laura Mars." Written by John Carpenter, it's a nifty, high-style American giallo wherein fashion photographer Faye Dunaway envisions a killer's acts as they happen. (Jeremy Smith)

Director Michel Gondry brings his makeshift moviemaking mind to this lo-fi sci-fi romance starring Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet as two star-crossed lovers. Well, maybe. It depends on how you look at it this magnificent motion picture. Either the melancholy Joel (Carrey) and the impulsive Clementine (Winslet) are doomed to repeat a failed romance for the rest of their lives, even after they have any memory of each other erased from their minds, or they're destined to be together, no matter how many times they screw it up. That's part of the undeniable beauty of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." Either it's a tragic reminder of the relationships that fall apart or an encouraging reminder that true love will endure. 

What makes "Eternal Sunshine" even more special is the practical camera tricks and visual effects used to bring the story to life. Our story cuts back and forth between present day and memories of the past in reverse chronological order as two technicians erase the memory of Clementine from Joel's memory. As each memory is erased, Joel realizes he doesn't want to forget about Clem, and we watch him desperately try to hold onto as much as he can, even as the memories crumble around him. The way Gondry brings such a grand concept to life in a deceptively simple way is just good old fashioned creative filmmaking, and everything comes together to make this movie a masterpiece. 

The Alternate Take: Much of the same grounded, surreal filmmaking style and quirky storytelling that makes "Eternal Sunshine" so great can also be seen in "Being John Malkovich," which makes sense since both were written by acclaimed writer Charlie Kaufman. It's more of a dark comedy than "Eternal Sunshine," but it's a stellar, original piece of cinema. (Ethan Anderton)

With some movies, it can take years of reevaluation and evolving mindsets to finally recognize what a certain filmmaker — typically considered to be "ahead of their time" — was trying to accomplish. With others, you just know an instant classic the minute you see it. Jordan Peele's feature debut "Get Out" belongs to a highly specific class of movie that stands out because of how precisely and unapologetically it remains of its time. Releasing in theaters barely a month after Donald Trump's inauguration, the circumstances of the movie's timing clearly enhanced the power of its themes — although even that would mean little if it weren't for the technical precision Peele demonstrates behind the camera, too.

Every choice in "Get Out" is made in service of putting audiences in the perspective of a Black man living in America, under systemic racism both insidiously subtle and obviously violent. For much of the story, the film's main antagonist is embodied by Bradley Whitford's Dean Armitage, a well-meaning white liberal father lacking in self-awareness. After the big reveal, Daniel Kaluuya's Chris Washington must reckon with the lingering effects of the oldest and most deep-rooted example of racial bigotry in American history. "Get Out" starts with a Black man lost and kidnapped in a wealthy white neighborhood. It ends by successfully convincing even its white viewers to share the same dread that its Black main character feels when flashing police lights arrive at the most inopportune moment. That's movie magic, baby.

The Alternate Take: From one modern horror movie acting as a feature-length metaphor for complex social realities to another, Leigh Whannell's "The Invisible Man" bears the distinction of somehow managing to remix a familiar property into something shockingly relevant, turning a classic Universal monster story into a parable about abusive relationships and gaslighting. Like "Get Out," its potent themes are matched by the razor-sharp script and filmmaking acumen that combine to make each scare land, squeeze every ounce of tension out of the story, and leave viewers thrilled and horrified by the carnage left in its wake. (Jeremy Mathai)

"That's my family, Kay. It's not me." Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) means this at the outset of Francis Ford Coppola's mafia epic, but their blood is the thickest of thick. Marlon Brando's disappearing act as Don Vito Corleone was the hook that had moviegoers circling blocks on opening weekend, but the central tragedy of "The Godfather" is Michael's transformation from war hero to cold-hearted kingpin. He surrenders his future to avenge an attempt on his father's life, and, after a grave personal tragedy, returns from Sicily a man of unrepentantly corrupt industry. He is the apotheosis of a corporate operator in that the family business condones murder as a means to a perpetuating end. This is how Vito gained a foothold in America, and Michael, having killed for his country, is shockingly comfortable with the bloodletting aspect of his chosen profession.

This was a make-or-break movie for Coppola, and he did himself no favors by hiring Gordon Willis to shoot the film in shadowy earth tones. But this dimly lit gambit, abetted by Nino Rota's mournful main theme, imbued Mario Puzo's pulpy narrative with a dark soul. The casting is top-to-bottom perfection, and Coppola's mise-en-scène is a literal master class (his staging is taught in film schools all over the world). "The Godfather" is every bit as captivating as it was 51 years ago. It is as timeless as "The Wizard of Oz" and "Casablanca." You're throwing it on right now, aren't you?

The Alternate Take: "The Godfather" and "The Godfather Part II" are masterpieces in their own right, but the ideal version of Coppola's first two installments might be found in "The Godfather Saga." The chronological telling of the Corleones' story threads both movies together, and sticks that Lake Tahoe ending like a knife through the heart. (Jeremy Smith)

It's almost funny that Sergio Leone considered "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" a satire of Hollywood westerns because, in hindsight, the film is more of a reconstruction than a deconstruction. Just a year before the similarly transgressive "Bonnie and Clyde" kicked off the New Hollywood era in earnest, the sheer power of Leone's filmmaking reconfigured the cinematic west into a landscape that's, to use Leone's own words, just as "violent and uncomplicated" as the people who live there. When people heard the word "gunslinger," they used to picture John Wayne. Now, they think of Clint Eastwood.

"The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" didn't do this alone, of course. Not by a long shot. Sam Peckinpah had something to do with it, as did a number of other great spaghetti westerns, including many from Leone's filmography. But "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" is the best of the bunch, and its influence transcends genre boundaries. You'll see its imprint in "Star Wars," "Logan," Stephen King's "The Dark Tower," and every film Quentin Tarantino has ever made.

That's the level of craft we're talking about. Eastwood, Wallach, and Van Cleef's trio of treasure-hunting outlaws are the perfect guides to the horrors of the Civil War, and while the film's long and languidly paced, it never drags. And then there's Ennio Morricone's score, which might as well be the film's fourth main character. Close your eyes and listen; even without the visuals, the music tells you everything you need to know.

The Alternate Take: "Unforgiven" is a sequel to "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" in all but name, and while William Munny isn't technically an older version of the Man with No Name, the whole enterprise gives Eastwood an opportunity to dissect the films of his early career in the same way that Leone tackled the westerns of Hollywood's golden age. (Christopher Gates)

Wes Anderson has only further refined and fine-tuned his so-called dollhouse aesthetic with each new movie, yet it's 2014's "The Grand Budapest Hotel" that continues to reign triumphant in his filmography. The storyteller's magnum opus of pleasing colors and symmetrical compositions is, of course, a feast for the eyes full of candy-colored scenery and the type of droll visual comedy that's rarely found in modern cinema.

There's also a whole lot going on below the decadent surface here. Anderson and his co-writer Hugo Guinness are telling a story that's been passed down by a nostalgic old man and then repackaged by an author within the movie, freeing it up to deal with some heavy subject matter (the spread of fascism in early 20th-century Europe) while retaining a touch as delicate and light as one of Herr Mendl's baked treats. In other words, "The Grand Budapest Hotel" is knowingly romanticizing the past by focusing primarily on its fanciful plot and doing its best to keep the sadder moments in the margins — an act that only serves to make them all the more moving and haunting.

As a whole, "The Grand Budapest Hotel" is much like Monsieur Gustave H. (a never-better Ralph Fiennes): enchantingly ridiculous, comically posh, and more than a little bit naughty, but above all else a truly remarkable one-of-a-kind specimen.

The Alternate Take: Anderson's ode to childhood and young love (in all its ungainly glory), "Moonrise Kingdom" is idiosyncratic, pensive, mischievous, and bittersweet, often at the same time. That is to say, it's a Wes Anderson joint through and through, effortlessly marrying classic film homages with Anderson's quirky original ideas to the point where you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. (Sandy Schaefer)

John Carpenter invented the slasher film as we know it with "Halloween," a so-simple-it's-brilliant story of unspeakable, unstoppable evil. It's Halloween and murderer Michael Myers has escaped from an insane asylum to head back home to Haddonfield, Illinois. There, pursued by his psychiatrist, Dr. Samuel Loomis (Donald Pleasence, creating an iconic character by wearing a trench coat and uttering uber-dramatic lines about evil), he begins targeting a group of babysitters who have the misfortune of crossing his path. One of the babysitters, virginal Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis), is soon the last girl standing.

Over the years, "Halloween" sequels would expand on the mythology, adding weird new footnotes and caveats. And while those films are entertaining, none of them can match the raw, primal power of the original. What could've easily been a forgotten B-movie became a phenomenon; a film audiences couldn't get enough of, even as they screamed in terror. As the great Roger Ebert wrote in his four-star review of the film, "We see movies for a lot of reasons. Sometimes we want to be amused. Sometimes we want to escape. Sometimes we want to laugh, or cry, or see sunsets. And sometimes we want to be scared."

The Alternate Take: While "Halloween" is perhaps one of the most famous holiday-themed horror titles, it wasn't the first. A few years before Carpenter took us to Haddonfield, Bob Clark gave folks the chills with his creepy slow-burn "Black Christmas," focusing on a group of sorority sisters targeted by a killer. Stylish and scary, it's actually one of two big Christmas movies Clark made. The other? "A Christmas Story." (Chris Evangelista)

Christopher Nolan built an entire career on stories about men avoiding their emotions, and it's fitting that his greatest work takes that concept and literalizes it within an inch of its life. "Inception" tells the story of Cobb, a thief played by Leonardo DiCaprio, who steals not from your wallet but from your very subconscious, using technology that allows him and his expert associates to venture inside your dreams. Cobb has been tasked with a nearly impossible mission — to give someone an idea instead of taking it — but his personal baggage is so overwhelming that it follows him into other people's heads, and threatens to destroy him, everyone around him, and everything he's built.

"Inception" takes what could have been merely an exciting sci-fi thrill ride and packs it full of overwhelming portent, a tidal wave of uncontrollable psychic damage that threatens to wash away an already exhilarating heist picture. Nolan borrows heavily from Satoshi Kon's anime masterpiece "Paprika," there's no question, but "Inception" feels like a personal expression anyway. It's a disarmingly populist rendition of the filmmaker's own notorious perfectionism, undone or perhaps only made artistically valid by the subconscious chaos he can't prevent from creeping into the periphery. Blockbuster filmmaking rarely gets more inventive, more thrilling, or more personal.

The Alternate Take: Nolan's cold and calculating attempts to control the subconscious make "Inception" a perfect double feature with David Lynch's "Mulholland Dr.," another film about a traumatic relationship and human frailty endangering a perfectly good fantasy. Lynch's film about a naive ingenue who falls in love with a mysterious amnesiac in a phantasmagorical Los Angeles never pretends to be fully logical, and perhaps that's why it feels so perfect; our dreams are a mess, because so are we. (William Bibbiani)

"The Iron Giant" is the best Superman movie ever made, period. A being with unlimited power crash lands on Earth, learns empathy and kindness from its residents, and decides to use his abilities to save humanity, not destroy it? That's the Superman myth in a nutshell. The Iron Giant's choice of Kal-El as his role model shows why Siegel and Shuster's creation has endured for over eight decades, and if that were all "The Iron Giant" had to offer, it would be enough.

But, of course, there's more. So much more. "The Iron Giant" remains one of the best fusions of hand-drawn art and CGI; while the human characters and the backdrops were animated traditionally, the Giant is a digital creation, and his precise, mechanical movements go a long way towards selling his otherness. The story of a living gun who rejects violence felt remarkably potent in summer 1999, when America was still reeling from the Columbine massacre, and hits even harder in today's firearms-plagued world.

And then there's Hogarth Hughes, one of the rare children in an animated feature who acts like a real kid. While the Giant gets all the attention, Hogarth is the one who provides all the heart. He's an over-active, imaginative, and unwaveringly optimistic little guy searching for the Hobbes to his Calvin, and the bond that results once he finds it is unforgettable. "The Iron Giant" is still the only film that makes me cry every single time I watch it.

The Alternate Take: "Superman: The Movie" doesn't have the pathos or tragic sacrifice of "The Iron Giant," but, in addition to providing the framework for the past 15 years of Hollywood blockbusters, it shares the perspective that everyone — human or otherwise — has the innate capacity for good. These days, that couldn't be more refreshing. (Christopher Gates)

The movie that gave birth to the summer blockbuster! What, exactly, can one even say about "Jaws" at this point that hasn't been said a thousand times over? It's the tale of a page-turner morphing into a movie shot by a still relatively green filmmaker (you know who he is), running over budget and overschedule, complete with a robot shark that kept malfunctioning. And yet from that mess rose one of the biggest movies of all time — and one of the best.

Steven Spielberg's "Jaws" is a lean-mean machine of a movie; a man-vs-nature tale where nature just happens to have huge f***ing teeth. Roy Scheider is Martin Brody, the police chief of Amity Island, and he's one of the first people to sound the alarm when a great white shark starts munching on swimmers. But capitalism reigns supreme, and the mayor and other greedy townsfolk want to keep the beaches open for the summer. Big mistake, guys.

When things get too deadly, Brody, marine biologist Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss), and local salt Quint (Robert Shaw, who chomps more scenery than the shark) head to sea to stop the beast once and for all. Spielberg stages big, show-stopping set pieces, but he also focuses on little moments — like one of Brody's kids mimicking his father's actions at the dinner table, or the three men bonding over their various scars while they wait to kill the damn shark. It all works, and works perfectly, aided by John Williams' brilliant score full of primal notes that immediately trigger dread every time we start to hear them.

The Alternate Take: If "Jaws" was Spielberg's ascension into blockbuster filmmaker stardom, "Schindler's List" is the film where he finally proved once and for all that he wasn't just a popcorn entertainment guy — he was an artist. Spielberg had been trying his hand at "serious" movies before "Schindler's List," but none of them quite clicked. Then he got his hands on the true story of Oskar Schindler, who used his munitions factory during the war as a cover to save the lives of 1000 Jews. Spielberg uses every populist filmmaker trick he had learned up until that point to tell a harrowing, crushing, ultimately hopeful story that never flinches away from the horrors of the Holocaust. And the end result finally won the filmmaker the Best Director Oscar he so craved. (Chris Evangelista)

For its first half, Hayao Miyazaki's "Kiki's Delivery Service" is exactly what you'd expect from the legendary Japanese animation company Studio Ghibli. Its stunning blend of fantasy and naturalism — brought to life with hand-drawn animation so perfect and composed that you could happily frame every moment — immediately draws you into the world of Kiki, a young witch who sets off on her own and starts a delivery service, racing around her new community on broomstick. It's charming. It's funny. It's a world you want to live in and luxuriate in, populated by a sprawling cast of characters who win your heart within moments.

But it's the back half of the film that takes a sledgehammer to your heart, as Kiki learns that turning what you love into a career can have dire emotional consequences. Her magic falters and her ability to fly vanishes — everything she once loved now feels hopeless, joyless. It's a turn that's brutal but earned, the best-ever depiction of burnout, embedded into a tale of young witches and talking cats. Miyazaki's ultimately a big softie (he gives us the happy ending we want), but this is the greatest example of what the master animator and his team of geniuses at Studio Ghibli could pull off: A brilliantly realized fantasy universe given all the relatable emotional stakes of our own world.

The Alternate Take: You can't go wrong with literally any other Miyazaki movie, but "Spirited Away" is considered by many to be his masterpiece, and for good reason. But really, you can pick any of them. (Jacob Hall)

There are "big" movies, and then there's "Lawrence of Arabia," arguably the very personification of epic filmmaking. This is not only the longest movie to win Best Picture at the Oscars, but it remains one of the purest examples of what you can only do with the format of cinema, of telling a story that only works when using the biggest possible screen.

David Lean takes the legendary tale of T.E. Lawrence and his role in the Arab Revolt and interrogates the myth that had been built around the man and the idea of white saviors and messiahs, of the British Empire and its history of colonialism. Even 60 years later, most of the many, many movies influenced by "Lawrence of Arabia" miss this part. And Peter O'Toole is integral to this. Impossibly handsome and enigmatic, O'Toole gives nuance to the character that grounds the grandiose elements of the story. He does not play to the legend, but keeps enough cards close to the chest that the audience doesn't never fully gets to know him. It's a legendary figure imbued with mystery and humanity. 

Of course, "Lawrence of Arabia" is best remembered for having the absolute greatest portrayal of the desert, which no movie has come close to replicating. Lean manages to present a world that is alien yet familiar, blistering hot, vast, and empty, and somehow, beautiful in its own way. There are no movies quite like this one.

The Alternate Take: What "Lawrence of Arabia" does in the desert, Peter Weir's "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World" does at sea, presenting a thrilling but also intimate historical epic with one of the best opening texts in cinema. (Rafael Motamayor)

The average runtime of movies has increased significantly since the early 1990s, and now it seems that 2.5 hours is the bare minimum for any movie with even a trace of the epic in its DNA. With that in mind (and particularly after the two-hour "live-action" remake released in 2019), it's even more impressive to look back at what Roger Allers and Rob Minkoff's "The Lion King" achieved in the space of 88 minutes.

The film takes the story of "Hamlet" — not one of Shakespeare's lighter works — and retells it in a way that's accessible for young children while also being engaging for their parents. The tone steers deftly from the Busby Berkeley bounciness of "I Just Can't Wait To Be King" to the emotional devastation of Simba witnessing Mustafa's death beneath the hooves of a stampeding herd, and then skips right back across the emotional spectrum to the bug-eating and fart jokes of "Hakuna Matata." That the various ingredients — catchy songs for kids, a comic relief duo, and a grand operatic story about the harmony of life and death in nature — hold together without ever feeling incongruent is something of a cinematic miracle. "The Lion King" is the shining jewel in the crown of the Disney Renaissance.

The Alternate Take: But before the Disney Renaissance, there was the Disney slump of the 1970s and '80s. It was during this time that Don Bluth made his feature directorial debut with the gripping, timeless animated adventure "The Secret of NIMH." In many places it's more like a horror-tinged mystery thriller than a typical animated children's film, but like "The Lion King," its boldness is its greatest strength. (Hannah Shaw-Williams)

In December of 2001, the world was still reeling from the most pivotal historical event of the 21st Century only weeks before. People needed assurances that things could somehow get back to normal. Moviegoers needed a distraction and a slice of escapism to help transport us away to another, more morally simple world. Eerily similar to when author J.R.R. Tolkien first published his novel in the years following World War II, Peter Jackson's "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" came about right when we needed it most. And, to its credit, time has only been kinder and kinder to the adaptation of one of the most "unfilmable" works of fiction ever put to paper.

Between the tricky rights situation, the financing complications, the technical challenges needed to bring the scale of the story to life, and the sheer enormity of committing wholesale to a trilogy of movies that could've easily flopped upon arrival, it's an actual miracle that this trilogy exists at all — let alone at the level of quality that they do. While the sequels and "The Hobbit" prequels all strayed further and further towards indulgence and excess, "The Fellowship of the Ring" stands tall as a lean, mean, and practically perfect adaptation and film in its own right. Tasked with catering to longtime fans while introducing casuals to Middle-earth, Jackson did the impossible. Like a certain 1954 Tolkien novel, "Fellowship" changed everything.

The Alternate Take: For those who like their fantasy a little more impressionistic, cautionary, and full of deliciously ambiguous storytelling, writer/director David Lowery took a downright novel approach to adapting the 14th-century Arthurian poem telling the tale of Sir Gawain (which, for the record, Tolkien himself once famously translated, as well) with "The Green Knight." From the shrewd casting of Dev Patel in the lead role to the haunting use of color to the impeccable photography working in perfect tandem with Lowery's script, the brilliant retelling of Gawain's tests of heroism and chivalry is destined to become a new classic. (Jeremy Mathai)

A game-changer in every sense of the word, Lily and Lana Wachowski's "The Matrix" shines as an eternal example of what happens when studios entrust the most creative of talent with a super-sized budget and allow them to wild out with their most fantastical ideas. Rather than worrying about reshaping a complicated subject into something commercial, this movie simply dared audiences to keep up and go along for the ride. Influenced by a whole range of sources, from manga to Hong Kong cinema to video games, "The Matrix" defied all conventional thought about what kind of action movie was even possible at the time and went on to change the entire genre landscape forever. Wrapped up in a traditional hero's journey embodied by Keanu Reeves' Neo, the script used this familiar framework to sneak in all sorts of nuanced and incredibly timely ideas about technology, mythology, and the human condition.

Although I would argue that the original movie is only further deepened by its sequels (yes, all three of them), "The Matrix" easily stands alone as a self-contained and utterly engrossing chapter by itself. The film singlehandedly ushered in an era of action movie copycats, spoke directly to the tech-minded concerns of the day, and even managed to serve as an incredibly unapologetic metaphor for the trans experience. After this movie, nothing would ever be the same again.

The Alternate Take: Just in case Hollywood assumed that the Wachowskis could only fit in one predetermined box after the breakout success of "The Matrix," the sisters spent much of the rest of their career taking huge swings with equally ambitious (yet wildly different) projects that nobody else would dare try, with "Cloud Atlas" chief among them. The sweeping, timeline-hopping epic balances a wide variety of tones, genres, and characters in order to tell one of the messiest, yet most poignant stories in the Wachowskis' oeuvre. (Jeremy Mathai)

Has any film wedded irreverent anarchy with emotional highs and lows quite like "The Muppet Movie"? Director James Frawley's musical road trip comedy is the embodiment of what people love about Jim Henson's Muppets. It's a flippant sendup of Hollywood and show business that doubles as a wholehearted celebration of those who dream of dedicating their lives to bringing joy to the masses. Only Kermit the Frog and his pals could manage such a precarious balancing act and make it looks easy, delivering heartfelt songs about soaring in the air in the same breath as meta-gags involving characters reading the movie's script.

If you haven't caught "The Muppet Movie" in a while, you might be surprised by just how many throwaway gags Frawley, Henson, and the many other talented puppeteers that worked on the film actually packed into this thing. (Seriously, at one point there's even a blink-and-you-'ll-miss-it nod to François Truffaut's "Shoot the Piano Player.") Decades later, it's equally incredible to watch scenes of Kermit riding a bicycle or playing his banjo in a swamp and marvel at how such moments were accomplished in the pre-CGI world. Therein lies the film's true wizardry: getting you deeply invested in the fates of a wise-cracking, singing, and dancing pack of googly-eyed glorified sock puppets.

The Alternate Take: Out of all the Muppet films, only Frank Oz's "The Muppets Take Manhattan" truly complements "The Muppet Movie," providing a more seasoned perspective on the entertainment industry and how it treats wide-eyed outsiders. But it's still a Muppet movie, confidently serving plenty of wry humor, tender drama, and toe-tapping musical numbers to accompany its deeper musings. (Sandy Schaefer)

Sticking close to Cormac McCarthy's novel, the Coen Brothers' "No Country for Old Men" is a thriller that's both exciting and contemplative. It is a quiet movie (there's no soundtrack) that just also happens to have sudden instances of brutal violence. There's humor to be found here, but there's also a bleak, existential dread coupled with the statement that in the end, darkness triumphs the bad guys will get away if they're clever enough.

Josh Brolin is a Vietnam vet who stumbles upon a ton of money from a drug deal gone bad. As many of us would probably do, Brolin's character decides to keep the money for himself. This puts him directly in the path of Anton Chigurh (a brilliantly sinister Javier Bardem), an unstoppable killing machine fond of murdering people with bolt guns and flipping coins to decide the fate of others. Meanwhile, Tommy Lee Jones is a local sheriff trying to get to the bottom of everything, but is unable to quite get in on the action in time.

The Coens inject their trademark dark humor into the proceedings, but "No Country for Old Men" also keeps things bleak, ending on a haunting down note that left some viewers cold, while others (like me) see it for the brilliant coda that it ultimately is.

The Alternate Take: The Coen Brothers burst onto the scene with "Blood Simple," a twist, stylish noir that signaled them as filmmakers to pay close attention to. Everyone here is sweaty and horny and violent, and it all culminates in a killer story of murder-for-hire gone very wrong. Before Anton Chigurh there was M. Emmet Walsh's Loren Visser, a sleaze-bag private eye turned hitman who won't quit until he kills who he has to kill. (Chris Evangelista)

Vengeance is brutal and uncompromising in Park Chan-wook's "Oldboy," where Oh Dae-su's (Choi Min-sik) journey into the depths of hell is both repulsive and intoxicating to behold. Park's approach to relentless ultra-violence has always been rooted in examining the intense, ugly emotions that his characters are driven by, and "Oldboy" epitomizes this sentiment with Oh Dae-su, who is ever-willing to push himself to the extremes, hammer at the ready. The very nature of reality and individual perception is questioned in a film that is as emotionally complex as it is adept at weaving fluid, highly stylized fight scenes that still leave audiences stunned and breathless.

The Oedipal leanings in "Oldboy" are often uncomfortable to parse, but the fabric of the story is so rich and well-crafted that it plays out like a Greek tragedy in a fast-paced, postmodern urban setting. It is a cult classic through and through, both ragged-edged and operatic in its tone and narrative scope, where Min-sik belts out the performance of a lifetime as he rips out people's teeth and aggressively chomps on a live octopus just for the heck of it.

As unfettered as the chaos in "Oldboy" seems, there is a method in the madness — Park Chan-wook creates a heartbreaking odyssey of pain and barbarity while also carving out a space for hard-earned catharses, like a modern-day version of "The Oresteia."

The Alternate Take: Featuring two lead performances that are downright unforgettable, Kim Jee-woon's "I Saw The Devil" is definitely not for the squeamish, as its graphic imagery vehemently underlines the crazed, visceral nature of the film's central rivalry. Visually stunning despite its extremities, "I Saw The Devil" is a sick, stellar revenge film that deserves to be recognized for its audacious craftsmanship. (Debopriyaa Dutta)

Bong Joon-Ho's "Parasite" is a masterpiece in every sense of the word, and it made history by being the first non-English language film to win the Academy Award for Best Picture in 2019. The film follows the Kim family, who live in a "banjiha," a cramped basement apartment, as they try to scrape their way out of poverty. They end up creating a scheme to con a wealthy family, the Parks, in which each family member will take the role of a different servant in the Park household after their son gets hired as a tutor for the Park's daughter. The Kims' plan ends up going sideways when they discover that the previous servants were running their own scheme, and everything ends in a moment of violence that will change all three families forever. "Parasite" forces its audience to ask a lot of questions about wealth, survival, and their own humanity, but it doesn't give any easy answers. 

Everything about "Parasite" is excellent, from the performances (a standout is the Kim sister, played by Park So-dam) to the cinematography to the screenplay, co-written by Bong and Han Jin-won. It's biggest impact, however, was in the real world, as Seoul moved to outlaw banjihas after the movie and a flood similar to the one in the film raised awareness of the horrible inequity. The story of "Parasite" might be uniquely South Korean, but its themes are universal.

The Alternate Take: "Snowpiercer," also directed by Bong, is a post-apocalyptic film starring Chris Evans and it takes place in a world where Earth's only survivors are on a train circling the equator, as the planet has gone into an ice age. It is also a brilliant class commentary with some moments of dark humor, a lot of adventure, and a great villain performance from Tilda Swinton. (Danielle Ryan)

When Satoshi Kon made his feature directorial debut with "Perfect Blue," he unleashed the first of his masterpieces and started a (tragically short) career of making some of the most visually stunning, exquisitely written anime movies in history. Even decades later, "Perfect Blue" continues to stand out as an unsettling look at idol culture in Japan, a prescient and also timeless movie about internet culture, and a rare thing in anime — a genuinely terrifying horror movie.

"Perfect Blue" follows a young woman who leaves her life as a J-Pop idol to pursue a career in acting, but the appearance of a stalker disrupts her life. Kon and the team at Studio Madhouse deliver a visually striking movie, an early digitally-made anime that still holds up, with sharp visuals and a distinct color palette. Kon had a fantastic eye for visual storytelling, with a stunning choice of shots and a sense of framing not commonly seen in anime.

Still, it is the film's portrayal of the duality of humans, and the psychological horror of the protagonist's descent into paranoid madness as her sense of self blends with how others perceive her that truly make this a masterpiece. Horror is notoriously hard to pull off in animation, but Kon manages to nail it not by providing gore or jump scares, but by simply exploring human horrors and disorienting visuals that put the audience in the head of its protagonist. 

The Alternate Take: For more existential psychological horror, stunning visuals, and a filmmaker completely unhinged and with zero f**s to give, check out Hideaki Anno's masterpiece "The End of Evangelion." (Rafael Motamayor)

Comedy generally doesn't get the respect it deserves, especially when it comes time for awards season or, frankly, when looking at "best of" lists such as these. But if there is an argument to be made for comedy as outstanding cinema, "Planes, Trains & Automobiles" is perhaps the most compelling argument. A two-handed road trip film featuring Steve Martin and John Candy at their very best, as perfectly cast polar opposites, this is legendary director John Hughes at his finest.

It is wildly underrated just how hard it is to make people laugh — and for those laughs to stand the test of time. Watch any old "SNL" episode and see how many sketches actually work just to see how true that really is. This movie is wildly funny, from the rental agreement scene to "those aren't pillows." It all works. Though funny for the sake of funny only goes so far. The real brilliance of this film (and Hughes in general) is the tangible, human emotion at the center of the whole thing. We feel for Candy's Del Griffith in spite of the fact that anyone could easily understand the frustrations that Martin's Neal has with him. If the scene where we find out Del doesn't actually have a home to go to, coupled with Neal's compassion for him in that moment, doesn't bring a tear to your eye, you may not be human.

The Alternate Take: There have been many riffs on the road trip comedy both before and after "Planes, Trains & Automobiles," but none of them have quite matched up. However, director Ridley Scott delivered the other greatest of all time road trip film of a different kind in the form of "Thelma & Louise," which also centers on a mismatched pair who go on a whirlwind adventure, albeit under radically different circumstances. In both cases, masterpieces were birthed. (Ryan Scott)

William Goldman's screenplay for "The Princess Bride," adapted from his 1973 novel, is a thing of beauty. It's a masterclass in meta storytelling; the framing device of a grandfather (Peter Falk) reading to his sick grandson (Fred Savage) adds a layer of artifice which, in the wrong hands, could be disastrous and zap the story of any immediacy. But the sprawling fairy tale about the star-crossed love between a farm boy and the most beautiful maiden in the land is so dynamic and engaging that it feels as if it's hundreds of years old, like a secret garden just waiting to be discovered. Goldman, director Rob Reiner, and actors like Cary Elwes, Robin Wright, Mandy Patinkin, Chris Sarandon, Wallace Shawn, and André the Giant breathe life into delightful archetypes, imbuing this roster of memorable characters with pathos, greed, tragedy, yearning, ambition, and affability, all deployed at exactly the right moments for maximum effectiveness. This film truly has something for everyone: There are laugh-out-loud moments, extended chase sequences, clever one-liners, political intrigue, pirates with secret identities, swooning acts of love and redemption, a battle of wits, rodents of unusual size, and one of the best sword fights ever committed to celluloid. Anybody got a peanut?

The Alternate Take: Martin Campbell's rip-roarin', swashbucklin', action-packed 1998 blockbuster "The Mask of Zorro" isn't a straight-up fairy tale like "The Princess Bride," but if you're looking for another movie featuring a drop-dead sexy man wearing a black mask and holding a sword, you could do much worse. (Ben Pearson)

Sometimes, a rare movie comes along that has such a massive cultural impact that it creates a whole subgenre of imitators, some of which are excellent in their own right. Quentin Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction" left its imprint on the films of the 1990s and early 2000s in a major way, inspiring everything from "Amores Perros" to "Go." The movie's unique structure of interconnected stories told out of order, along with its 1970s-influenced brand of cool, blew people's minds back in 1994. "Pulp Fiction" is a violent and gritty crime film with memorable performances and Tarantino's trademark dialogue that evokes classic crime films, just with a whole lot more vulgarity. Most of the movie is quotable, though Samuel L. Jackson as Jules, a professional killer whose partner Vincent Vega (John Travolta) is a bit of a mess, gets the best lines. He even gets to quote a modified version of Ezekiel 25:17 from the bible, taken from a 1973 Japanese martial arts film called "The Bodyguard." How cool is that?

Everything about "Pulp Fiction" is excellent, from the script by Tarantino and Roger Avary to Andrzej Sekula's cinematography to the vast and varied performances from an incredibly talented cast. There's also the soundtrack, full of 1960's and '70s hits and a handful of deep cuts, which helps give the movie its vintage vibe. "Pulp Fiction" is an ultraviolent and vulgar adventure through the criminal underground in Southern California, and after it released, cinema would never be the same. 

The Alternate Take: It didn't have the same cinematic impact, but Robert Rodriguez's 2005 comic book adaptation "Sin City" also features interconnected stories told out of order, some truly brilliant one-liners, a retro style, gorgeous cinematography, and a massive, wildly talented cast. One segment was even directed by Tarantino (who is friends with Rodriguez), so the connection is truly tangible. (Danielle Ryan)

Adventure has a name, and it's Indiana Jones. Inspired by the serials of the 1930s and 1940s, from classics like "Zorro Rides Again" to Alan Ladd's "China," George Lucas brought classic adventure to life in thrilling fashion with Harrison Ford in "Raiders of the Lost Ark." The cracks of a whip and furious fisticuffs between Dr. Henry Jones Jr. and various thugs and Nazis as he tries to preserve history are among the greatest blockbuster moments ever. Whether it's running from a giant boulder through a dark, scary temple or hanging onto a speeding truck for dear life as dozens of men try to kill him, Indiana Jones is the kind of hero we imagine ourselves to be whenever a leather jacket or fedora happens to be in the vicinity. 

It's director Steven Spielberg who brings George Lucas' ideas to life masterfully, making for one of the best filmmaker pairings in cinema history. Spielberg's genius comes in effortlessly staging chases, fights, and danger while never losing sight of the characters driving the story. It also helps that Harrison Ford is one of the best everyman heroes, always bringing a sense of realism to even the silliest of scenes. No matter how unbelievable the more fantastical elements of Indiana Jones' adventures may be, Spielberg keeps our feet firmly planted on the ground. Even when the Ark of the Covenant unleashes supernatural power on our unsuspecting villains, their grotesque deaths keep us tapped into real suspense and danger. Yes, "Raiders of the Lost Ark" is so good that it just might make you believe in the almighty. 

The Alternate Take: "The Maltese Falcon," the classic film noir from 1941 starring Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, and Peter Lorre, is the ultimate MacGuffin movie. Anytime there's a movie where our heroes are chasing after a mysterious object, it was inspired by this cinematic milestone from director John Huston. (Ethan Anderton)

Sylvester Stallone was a struggling actor when he wrote a screenplay, in the hopes of playing the lead. That film would go on to make his career, win the Oscar for Best Picture, and completely redefine the cinematic sports genre along with practically every underdog film that followed. "Rocky" tells the story of a young boxer who never got his big break, whose life seemed destined for mediocrity. But when an opportunity arises to fight the heavyweight champion of the world, Rocky rises to meet it, pushing his body and his mind until maybe, just maybe, he has what it takes to prove he's not a bum.

Structurally, "Rocky" is perfection, tightly weaving a cleverly conceived and emotionally satisfying story around its lovable everyman protagonist. But John G. Avildsen doesn't film "Rocky" like a Hollywood crowd-pleaser, letting the film's remarkable plot appear to spin out organically from a cast of completely human beings, who speak like they're not trying to sound clever and wind up spouting poetry anyway. Let the unforgettable score declare how grand his journey is, but let Stallone's soulful performance — along with career-best turns from Talia Shire, Burt Young, Burgess Meredith and Carl Weathers — give the film its beating, and beaten down heart.

The Alternate Take: Everyone knows you should see "Raging Bull," so go see "Raging Bull," and go see "Creed," and when you're done with those, watch the other greatest fight movie ever made, Gavin O'Connor's "Warrior" (2011). Tom Hardy and Joel Edgerton play estranged brothers, MMA fighters trained by their alcoholic father (Nick Nolte), who grew into entirely different human beings, and who are destined to play out their drama in the Octagon. Damn near perfect sports filmmaking, with emotional conflict excitingly mirrored by impeccable choreography. (William Bibbiani)

Director William Wyler made some terrific films in his 45 year career, including "Ben-Hur" and "The Best Years of Our Lives," but "Roman Holiday" is his best. The great Audrey Hepburn is downright effervescent as Princess Ann, who, during a visit to Rome, escapes palace life and slips into the streets to experience the city as a civilian. There she meets an American newsman named Joe Bradley, played with considerable charm by Gregory Peck, and although Ann tries to keep her identity a secret as to not ruin her experience, Bradley soon realizes who she really is and realizes he's stumbled across the biggest news story of the year. But an easygoing relationship quickly builds between the two of them, and as he takes her on a tour of the gorgeous city, he starts to have second thoughts about whether he wants to turn this once-in-a-lifetime encounter into a news story. The chemistry between the two actors is off the charts, and to watch this movie is to be convinced that there's nothing better than watching bona fide movie stars lazily stroll through one of the world's most fascinating locales and take in the sights. Cap it all off with one of the best final shots in film history, and you've got yourself a genuine classic.

The Alternate Take: If you want to see the other end of Hepburn's range, seek out the wildly different "Wait Until Dark," a thriller in which she plays a blind woman who must face off against three criminals who break into her apartment. (Ben Pearson)

Wes Craven spent his entire career re-defining the horror genre, over and over again, in films like "The Last House on the Left," "The Hills Have Eyes" and "A Nightmare on Elm Street," but none of his films had the impact of the one that tried to end the horror genre forever. "Scream" was a slasher movie that came out many years after the slasher genre had died a very public death, after over a decade of extreme saturation had left the formula stale and moribund. But this film about a killer who learned everything they know from scary movies, and who are determined to make their favorite genre a reality, is about more than just reviving and commenting on R-rated flicks about masked villains with knives.

"Scream" is one of the best and most satisfying slasher movies, just on its surface, but you don't have to scratch too hard to find its complex underbelly. Kevin Williamson's screenplay spoke not just to horror fans but an entire generation whose primary frame of reference, for almost anything, was the media they consumed, and the way that could render them misguided or, with the right perspective, unexpectedly powerful. And the film's ultimate revelations unearth a powerful indictment of the genre we're allegedly enjoying, exhuming the undercurrent of misogyny that permeated throughout the more superficial slashers, and declaring that there's no place for that sexism in the modern cultural and artistic landscape. 

The Alternate Take: "Scream" wasn't the first time Wes Craven pointed the camera back at himself, and the first time he did it, he did it quite literally. "Wes Craven's New Nightmare" (1994), every bit as ingenious as his slasher blockbuster, finds his supernatural boogeyman Freddy Krueger released into the real world after a slew of underwhelming and jokey sequels robbed the original premise of its power. An eye-opening horror film that dares to ask what the point of horror truly is, and then provide a damn good answer... and a damn great film. (William Bibbiani)

Stanley Kubrick's horror masterpiece is proof positive that some things — like great movies, or persistent spirits — linger long after you think you're done with them. "The Shining" was a critical failure upon release, earning Razzie nominations and some negative feedback from source material author Stephen King. Yet today, "The Shining" stands as a towering achievement in its genre, memorable from its mountain-winding, tree-filled opening credits scene to its frosty conclusion. It's a film that makes more sense on a primal level than a logical one; its blood-filled elevators, identical twins, and sinister barmen are all prone to pulling on viewers' psyches in an appropriately maddening way.

The movie is anchored by Kubrick's vivid and ultra-precise visuals, but also by a handful of phenomenal performances. Jack Nicholson is rightly remembered and oft-quoted as the deranged, abusive patriarch of the family who takes up residence at the haunted Overlook Hotel for the winter, but Shelley Duvall's terrified performance (unfortunately a product of mistreatment by Kubrick) is among the best in horror history. In fact, there's not a weak link in the cast, from Scatman Crothers making a meal out of a trope-heavy character, to Philip Stone imbuing the hotel's most insidious spirit with sleek menace, to Danny Lloyd, whose traumatized face unforgettably reflects the audience's terror back at us.

The Alternate Take: For another classic involving ghosts, a psychic kid, and an unhappy couple, you can't go wrong with Nicholas Roeg's "Don't Look Now." Like "The Shining," the Donald Sutherland-led 1973 horror film's reputation has also improved with time, but the harrowing, artistic look at grief has always been top-notch. (Valerie Ettenhofer)

Forget expensive set pieces or buckets of digital effects — all you need to take an audience's breath away is Gene Kelly, Donald O'Connor, and Debbie Reynolds singing and dancing like there's no tomorrow. Kelly and Stanley Donen's "Singin' in the Rain" is a stunning display of athleticism, vocal range, and unadulterated screen presence, with rhythmic choreography so astonishing it has yet to be topped by any other Hollywood musical. Donen and his crew (including director of photography Harold Rosson) capture these musical numbers in long, graceful takes that properly showcase all the effort that went into making them, to the degree that it makes the film's real-world feel as dreamy as its legendary 13-minute imaginary ballet, "Broadway Melody."

That's not to disparage or diminish the movie's plot, itself a cheerful ribbing of the chaos that ensued behind closed doors when Tinseltown scrambled to transition from silent films to talkies in the 1920s. The truth about this period in history is undoubtedly thornier than "Singin' in the Rain" suggests, though also not quite as virulent as Damien Chazelle's "Babylon" argues. But if anything, that makes it all the more impressive just how nimbly Donen, Kelly, and company were able to skewer the film industry without getting entangled in its dirty laundry (and with gleaming smiles on their faces as they did).

The Alternate Take: Baz Luhrmann's "Moulin Rouge!" not only birthed the modern musical renaissance but understood that in order to make the genre relevant again, you would have to reinvent its cinematic vocabulary. In doing this, it accomplishes the same thing as "Singin' in the Rain" — creating a heightened version of reality where characters dancing and singing about their internal feelings is not only believable, but downright entrancing. (Sandy Schaefer)

When you think of David Fincher's "The Social Network," what comes to mind first? Is it that unforgettable opening conversation between Jesse Eisenberg's Mark Zuckerberg and his jilted (soon-to-be) ex Erica Albright (Rooney Mara), which has become fodder for hundreds of insightful YouTube essays? Is it Trent Reznor's brilliant score, providing a propulsive backdrop to one of Aaron Sorkin's tightest scripts? Or is it Eisenberg's dead-eyed and rapid-paced performance as the tech mogul himself, which has since fallen under the irony of perhaps giving a little too much humanity to the real-life figure? The correct answer is "all of the above."

Spanning years of Zuckerberg's precipitous rise to fame and fortune and elegantly weaving together multiple timelines concerning his origins, his falling-out with former friends and partners, and the subsequent lawsuits, "The Social Network" quickly became a go-to example of how to pull off all facets of filmmaking — and will likely remain so for decades to come. As much as social media and the internet have gone on to dominate our way of life, and no matter how many outsized personalities make a spectacle of themselves for the world to see, it's hard to imagine that we'll ever get another biopic that captures the lighting-in-a-bottle magic of this Fincher/Sorkin collaboration.

The Alternate Take: If ever there was a director to deserve multiple spots on a list of the best movies of all time, it's David Fincher; and if ever a film earned its place among the absolute greatest of the medium, it's "Zodiac." Between the exhaustive amount of research poured into the actual serial killer case, the haunting depictions of various murders and one particularly horrific close call in a creepy basement, and possibly career-best turns from Jake Gyllenhaal, Mark Ruffalo, and Robert Downey, Jr., this may be the definition of a thriller firing on all cylinders. (Jeremy Mathai)

"Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse" has proven to be the most influential American animated movie of the century so far. This is a movie that revitalized the superhero genre and democratized it, showing how anyone can wear the mask, while delivering a poignant, heartfelt origin story — that also serves as the best multiverse story to date.

More than anything, it is the film's visuals that have kept it in the cultural zeitgeist and conversation, driving comparisons to every new movie that tries an illustrative visual style. "Into the Spider-Verse" shows the endless possibilities of animation, giving us a groundbreaking film that mixes 3D and 2D hand-drawn animation, while also including Ben-Day dot textures to make it look like a moving comic book page. This stylistic approach to 3D, making the tools of animation work for the story rather than the other way around, broke the mold in American animation and has influenced the industry. You can see its fingerprints on everything from "Arcane" to "Puss in Boots: The Last Wish."

Likewise, the animators play around with the frame rate not just so the action stands out, but to integrate it into the story and the character of Miles Morales — the number of frames and the fluidity of movement align with his growing confidence. Years after its release, the Leap of Faith sequence remains one of the greatest in the history of not just animation, but cinema.

The Alternate Take: "Akira" also revolutionized its industry, and continues to inspire countless titles to this day with its groundbreaking visuals and strong nightmarish sci-fi imagery. (Rafael Motamayor)

Making a movie has always been a difficult process, but as technology evolved, accessibility barriers came crumbling down. No longer was it a requirement to rent out an ungodly expensive camera setup or spend hours cutting and editing strips of film by hand, as cellphone cameras were able to capture footage of a high enough quality to play theatrically. Without question, the greatest example of this new wave of filmmaking comes from Sean Baker's "Tangerine." Shot in and around Los Angeles, "Tangerine" was filmed on three iPhone 5s with anamorphic adaptors under almost exclusively natural light, effectively capturing the well-worn look of L.A. neighborhoods often ignored by film and television crews. Scored with music largely found on SoundCloud, there's a DIY-or-die aesthetic to this scrappy feature that captures the independent spirit of cinema often forgotten about in the sea of critical acclaim

Not only a technical feat of brilliance, "Tangerine" is also an unflinchingly authentic portrayals of Black transgender sex workers, with stars Kitana Kiki Rodriguez and Mya Taylor helping Baker and screenwriter Chris Bergoch ensure the characters and storyline were as realistic as possible. Also serving as an unconventional Christmas film, Baker's tour-de-force is a beautiful, painful, and often gut-bustingly funny adventure comedy about two friends doing what they have to just to make it through the day. 

The Alternate Take: Sean Baker's biggest crossover hit was the 2017 drama, "The Florida Project," arguably one of the best films to ever explore the coming-of-age experience of a child living in abject poverty, without ever treating the subject like a cautionary tale. Brooklynn Prince delivers an all-time fantastic child acting performance as Moonee, holding her own against seasoned veteran, Willem Dafoe, who nabbed a Best Supporting Actor Oscar nomination for his role as motel owner, Bobby. (BJ Colangelo)

In 1984, James Cameron made "The Terminator," a moderately low-budget sci-fi action film that turned into a surprise hit. The film solidified Cameron as one of the filmmaking masters and Arnold Schwarzenegger as action's hottest new star. Seven years later and armed with roughly 10x the budget as the film prior, Cameron unleashed the sequel "Terminator 2: Judgment Day" on the world, changing the landscape of visual effects forever and delivering quite possibly the greatest science-fiction action film in American cinematic history. Cameron successfully subverted all expectations with a first-act twist that turned his original baddie into an android hero audiences immediately wanted to root for, allowing Robert Patrick's T-1000 to step in as an all-time villain and turning Sarah Conner from a damsel in distress into a bona fide badass.

At the time of its release, "T2" was the most expensive film ever made, and it's clear that Cameron used every cent of his budget to make the film as impressive as humanly possible. Cinema's greatest creative minds, from the folks at Industrial Light and Magic to Stan Winston's Studio and Pacific Data Images, all collaborated to bring Cameron's vision to life, and countless projects in its wake have been trying to meet the impossible standard this film set. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves, and Cameron made himself one of history's most important filmmakers.

The Alternate Take: As far as action films are concerned, the one-two punch of "T2: Judgment Day" in 1991 and John Woo's "Hard Boiled" in 1992 mark the pinnacle of action cinema. Boasting four of the greatest practical action set pieces ever, Woo's unbelievable mastery of Gun Fu and stunt choreography set a gold standard that action films have been trying (and failing) to reach ever since. (BJ Colangelo)

Paul Thomas Anderson's "There Will Be Blood" feels like it has, somehow, always existed. Modern in its approach but timeless in its ideas, it's the perfect amalgamation of old and new Hollywood: a character-driven epic that's rich and beautiful and horrifying and bleakly funny in equal measure. It feels truly timeless, the kind of art that cannot be pinned to a specific time period or even filmmaking style. It floats between eras like an oft-whispered idea given true form.

Daniel Day-Lewis gives possibly the greatest performance in the history of cinema as Daniel Plainview, an intense oilman whose cards are played so close to the chest that they might as well be embedded in his flesh. Displaying flashes of humanity in private and powered by the need for more (more money, more power, more control), his unstoppable drive meets the immovable object that is religion in the form of Paul Dano's charismatic young preacher. But capitalism and religion make for wary bedfellows, and the ensuing showdown is a devastating story of regret, greed, and, ultimately, violence.

As much as the film is an actor's showcase, every scene is a stunner in terms of technical craft. Anderson's precise framing and unhurried, lengthy shots give every sequence a patient menace. The title promises blood, and every scene suggests a wave of violence lurking right beneath the surface.

The Alternate Take: Paul Thomas Anderson cited John Huston's "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" as a point of inspiration when he made "There Will Be Blood" and you can see why: Three quarters of century later, it remains one of the all-time-great portraits of greed dissolving the human soul. (Jacob Hall)

American author Holly Martins (Joseph Cotton) travels to Vienna to take a job with his childhood pal, Harry Lime. But when he arrives in Austria, he discovers Lime has been killed — or so it seems. So begins Carol Reed's unconventional detective potboiler, with Martins uncovering every possible stone to try to learn the truth about Lime's death. All the while, the audience is waiting for Orson Welles to show up to see what kind of impact he's going to have on this story. The answer? A monumental one. Welles is barely in the film, but has any other actor made more out of a supporting performance with less screen time? As Lime, he walks a razor-thin line between charismatic and contemptible as he tries to lure his former pal to the dark side, but he ultimately teeters off toward the wrong side of that line when his heinous deeds and rotten worldview are revealed. If the film was only a showcase for Cotton and Welles, it would still be dynamite. But what takes it to the next level is the aesthetic: Robert Krasker's legendary cinematography views the action from skewed angles, bathes the film in darkness, and frequently frames Martins in empty, bombed-out streets or running through shadowy old sewer tunnels beneath the city. Meanwhile, that unforgettable zither score juxtaposes wonderfully with the moral depravity at the core of the story. What a movie.

The Alternate Take: Acclaimed actor Charles Laughton only directed one feature film: 1955's "The Night of the Hunter," which similarly features jaw-dropping cinematography and is totally drenched in shadows. The twisted, Gothic fairytale has influenced a host of filmmakers, including Guillermo del Toro, Emerald Fennell, and the Coen Brothers. (Ben Pearson)

For my money, "Tombstone" is the most purely entertaining western ever made. The movie openly acknowledges its (many) cinematic precursors, but is so confident in its storytelling that it never feels like an endless series of nods and winks. Director George P. Cosmatos and star Kurt Russell, who actually ended up directing a majority of the film, forged a timeless gem by working with one of the best casts of the past 50 years and delivering a guns-blazing, myth-making take on the Wyatt Earp saga. While folks like Sam Elliott, Bill Paxton, Powers Boothe, and Michael Beihn do killer work, Val Kilmer steals the film by turning in a career-best performance as Doc Holliday, sweating and coughing his way through the action while also turning the charm up so high he damn near breaks the dial. Bruce Broughton's classical, sweeping score lends the film an epic quality, and while on the surface this appears to be a clear-cut white hat vs. black hat tale, Russell makes Wyatt Earp into just a bit of a scoundrel, complicating the audience's sympathies just enough to add an edge to the film that makes it all the more fascinating. This is an operatic, larger-than-life revenge adventure, and while you shouldn't look to it for historical accuracy, if you're looking for a thrilling dive into the American West, "Tombstone" is irresistible.

The Alternate Take: Sergio Leone's "Once Upon a Time in the West" is a towering achievement in the western genre, featuring a terrific against-type performance by Henry Fonda as one of the meanest sons of a gun this side of the Mississippi. But it's the way this movie uses sound that really draws the viewer in: That opening scene, with the squeaking windmill and a fly buzzing around as several characters wait for a man to arrive at a train station, is an absolute all-timer. (Ben Pearson)

Two years before the reality TV boom would kick off with "Survivor" on CBS, director Peter Weir depicted a world where billions were obsessively watching the manufactured reality of a real person in "The Truman Show." 

While the faux environment of Truman Burbank (Jim Carrey, in one of his best dramatic turns) doesn't capture the depraved lows that reality TV would bring, it certainly predicted a future where humans became more obsessed with watching other people live their lives instead of investing in their own. Even beyond reality TV, this depiction extends to our obsession with watching the lives of those seemingly better off on the likes of Instagram or TikTok. "The Truman Show" is both ahead of its time and timeless, and not just because Truman's stylish yet sterile world of Sea Haven seemed to exist both in the present day and the 1950s. 

Featuring a beautiful soundtrack composed by both Burkhard Dallwitz and Phillip Glass, "The Truman Show" swells with emotion even in its most quiet, contemplative moments, allowing Carrey to showcase a new side of his acting potential while still utilizing his trademark comedic timing when appropriate. Funny, poignant, insightful, and beautiful, "The Truman Show" enchants audiences while also shining a critical light on them, and that's an incredibly delicate high-wire act to pull off at any level. But the movie pulls it off exquisitely. 

The Alternate Take: Another movie that focuses on our inherent obsession with lives that aren't really our own, "Pleasantville" is packed with stunning visuals and a powerful message wrapped in a seemingly more broadly entertaining movie about two teens who become stuck in a classic 1950s sitcom. Though certainly not subtle, it has a lot to say about what we choose to do with our time and whether we're truly living if we're only doing what makes us comfortable. (Ethan Anderton)

Cheryl Dunye's "The Watermelon Woman" is arguably the bedrock of the New Queer Cinema movement in the early 1990s, and inarguably one of the greatest showcases of how movies can be the ultimate love language. In addition to writing and directing (the first feature by a Black lesbian), Dunye stars a video store clerk with dreams of becoming a filmmaker, obsessively researching an obscure Black actress from the 1930s known for playing offensively stereotypical "mammy" roles, attempting to discover the truth of her past. It's smart, sexy, funny, poignant, and a life-changing work of cinema.

"The Watermelon Woman" is also a meet-cute, with Cheryl starting a relationship with a white woman named Diana (Guinevere Turner), meaning she has to navigate the complexities of what it means to be in an interracial, lesbian relationship. A majority of the film's budget was funded by the National Endowment for the Arts, and the unflinching exploration of sex and sexuality was met with praise and scrutiny. ​​Representative Peter Hoekstra complained that taxpayer money was being used to "fund pornography" (loser, behavior) and the controversy completely changed the NEA's approach to award grants to specific projects rather than individuals or arts groups. It's clear that "The Watermelon Woman" wouldn't exist in its authentic glory had the change been made prior to release.

The Alternate Take: Jamie Babbit completely changed the scope of what was possible for queer cinema with 1999's "But I'm a Cheerleader." Colored with eye-catching cotton-candy vibrancy but armed with a script sharp enough to slit a throat, this satire on gay conversion therapy camps and the ridiculousness of heteronormativity is still prescient (and just as funny) almost 25 years later. (BJ Colangelo)

Screenwriter Nora Ephron's magnum opus might be the best American romantic comedy of all time. It's certainly the most rewatchable, as the zig-zagging love story between college acquaintances turned long-time friends Harry (Billy Crystal) and Sally (Meg Ryan) is as winning the 10th time you've seen it as it is the first. The movie crackles with energy, but it's not combustible chemistry so much as the warm glow of a love tended to regularly over days, months, and years.

Over the years, future rom-com characters have pointed to "When Harry Met Sally" as proof that women and men can't just be friends, but the genre should've taken away a different lesson; that few love stories are more rewarding than those built on a solid foundation. Ephron's script provides that foundation, and Crystal (at his most charming) and Ryan (at her most luminous) bring it to life. The movie is much more than its meet cute and big finale; it's structurally creative throughout, interspersing the couple's story with interviews from other enduring couples and taking a realistically non-linear route to its indelible conclusion. "When Harry Met Sally" is the movie equivalent of a warm blanket on a chilly autumn day — it's comfortable, satisfying, and always easy to get wrapped up in.

The Alternate Take: Gina Prince-Bythewood's new classic "Love & Basketball" takes a "When Harry Met Sally"-style formula and applies it to the story of two neighbors (Omar Epps and Sanaa Lathan) whose relationship evolves — along with their sports-related ambitions — over the years. "Love & Basketball" is both an engaging sports drama and a simmering romance in a genre that too often leaves Black women's dreams and desires on the sideline. (Valerie Ettenhofer)

Akira Kurosawa's "Yojimbo" seems deceptively simple on the surface: the wandering rōnin Sanjuro (the inimitable Toshiro Mifune) deliberately inserts himself in a bandit conflict while exploiting the bushido code for personal gain. However, the film's instant classic status is owed to Kurosawa's ability to expertly meld tones and genres — the film is both darkly comedic and seriously dramatic in parts, and the violent bleakness is often excessive but never weighs down the narrative at any point. Even the comic elements are not a mere garnish, as Sanjuro's detachment from expected morality leads to humorous situations where self-interest and deliberate sabotage emerge as key foundations for his chameleonic personality. 

The most complex aspect of "Yojimbo" is Sanjuro himself. Intensely opportunistic at every turn, Sanjuro is not above covert manipulation and double-crossing but still exhibits remnants of the Samurai code of honor when it is most necessary. Moreover, Kurosawa has no pretensions about the kind of film "Yojimbo" is supposed to be — it is no "Seven Samurai" or "Rashomon" in terms of emotional depth and scale, but a thoroughly entertaining Samurai flick that remains easily accessible to audiences with varied tastes and interests.

Also, the film's soundtrack definitely elevates the dramatic nature of certain scenes, and given how devoted Kurosawa was to creating soundscapes to accompany his creations, a re-evaluation grants added layers to the atmospheric shots of the Japanese countryside.

The Alternate Take: Adaptations of Shakespeare's "Macbeth" are a-plenty, but Kurosawa's brilliant, brutal re-interpretation in his "Throne of Blood" melds Western influences with that of traditional Noh Theatre, creating a formidable hybrid tale of violence in the process. A bold, inventive vision that uses fog-laden landscapes to convey the desolation of human existence, "Throne of Blood" takes a cold, emotionally-distant approach to its characters, who are victims of their own whims and self-fulfilling prophecies. (Debopriyaa Dutta)