Christopher Gates' Favorite Movies Of All Time

I read a lot of hard-boiled crime fiction, so naturally film noir is a healthy part of my movie-watching diet. To me, Out of the Past epitomizes everything that makes the genre so much fun.

Yeah, it's a movie full of clichés, but when everything is done this well, you can see how they became clichés in the first place. Robert Mitchum's Jeff Bailey, a former private detective who gets pulled back into action when an old gangster comes calling, is the quintessential noir protagonist: easily manipulated, borderline crooked, and constantly out-of-his-depth. No femme has ever fataled harder than Jane Greer does here. Young Kirk Douglas makes a great villain, and the film's twists and turns are particularly nasty.

Modern filmmakers like to deconstruct noir, and interrogate it, and neo-ize it, and so on. For my money, though, it's a genre that still works best when you play it fairly straight. Out of the Past is the proof.

This was the hardest spot on this list to fill: Should this be Miller's Crossing or Goodfellas? I love mob stories. At their best, they combine all the underhanded power plays that make politics so interesting with the melodrama of a Shakespearean tragedy — and make no mistake about it, Goodfellas and Miller's Crossing are two of the best.

Ultimately, Miller's Crossing wins out. In part, I'm a little skeptical of Goodfellas in the same way that I distrust a talented magician. It was the first Scorsese movie I ever saw. Was I just dazzled by the tricks — the long takes, the big performances, the incredible soundtrack?

But while Miller's Crossing is more modest, it's not any less stylish, and I think it tells a more interesting story. My girlfriend and I quote this movie more than any other — "You know me a little" is practically our catchphrase. Still, on any given day, Henry Hill and his crew could occupy this turf.

I'll never be able to judge The Fellowship of the Ring on its own merits. The Lord of the Rings is my favorite book. I've read it at least a dozen times. I have a whole bookshelf dedicated to tie-in stuff like The Silmarillion, The History of Middle-earth series, a collection of Tolkien's letters, and that sort of thing. Yeah, I'm one of those people.

As such, it's impossible for me to watch Peter Jackson's movies without thinking about what they got wrong — and, more importantly, how much they got right. Gandalf, Boromir, Gollum, and Sam Gamgee — my all-time favorite fictional character — are perfectly cast. Everyone else is pretty close. Almost every location feels like it was plucked straight out of Tolkien's imagination, and all of the important plot beats are there.

The Fellowship of the Ring is the best of the series. It takes fewer liberties with the books — I think Jackson is stronger when he's sticking to the source material (see, for example, The Hobbit) — but, more importantly, it was the first one. I've never been so excited and so terrified to see a movie (remember, this was made by the guy who did Meet the Feebles), but Fellowship put all my fears to rest. This was still The Lord of the Rings, even if some of the specifics are different.

Here's the problem with every Star Wars movie after the first one: they all make the universe smaller. The Empire Strikes Back's big reveal is one of the best plot twists in movie history, but it transformed a pulpy adventure series into a saga where everyone is related and all the major characters seem to know each other.

By contrast, Episode IV builds its magic out of empty spaces. It starts in the middle of the story, with only a brief text crawl to get you oriented. It tosses evocative terms like "the Clone Wars" and "the Kessel Run" at the audience, but doesn't take the time to explain what they mean. Who are those weird aliens in the bar? What's really lurking behind Darth Vader's ominous mask?

It's almost like George Lucas is inviting you to be the co-creator of this universe. Your mind can't help but fill in the gaps. The end result is a world that feels both infinite and highly personal. Luke, Han, and Leia's adventure is just the beginning; the best Star Wars adventures are the ones that take place in your own imagination. Still, Lucas' film is a pretty great jumping off point.

There's a scene in Harold and Maude that made me laugh harder than anything else I've ever seen in a movie. It comes about 20 minutes in, when Harold's mother is talking with one of his prospective dates. Harold appears outside, waving through the window behind him. Then, he gets to work, covering himself with a sheet and dousing himself with gasoline. As the young poli-sci major makes it clear that she has nothing interesting to say, Harold sets himself on fire.

I know, hilarious, right? But it really is. Of course, by that point, the audience knows that the whole thing is a trick, so we're not shocked when Harold walks into the room moments later, unscathed despite the blaze in the garden.

That's the kind of movie Harold and Maude is: a trick. It hooks you with dark humor, but ends up having more heart than any other movie I've ever seen. It's all about death, but ends up being about finding joy in life. It's the most unconventional love story you'll ever see, but one that feels oddly universal. Also? The soundtrack rocks.

If you want me to watch your movie, just describe it as a horror-comedy. I love monsters, I love blood and guts, and I love comedy. Put all three of those things together, and I'll come running.

But unlike other favorites — Evil Dead 2, Dead Alive, Cabin in the Woods, Bubba Ho-Tep, Happy Death Day, etc. — Shaun of the Dead is more than the sum of its grisly, dismembered parts. From a writing perspective, it's the most carefully constructed movie I've ever witnessed. Every single thing in the first half of the film pays off in the second, usually for big laughs or legitimate scares. That's another thing: Shaun of the Dead balances its comedy and horror perfectly. It's very fun, but when the action gets going, it plays for keeps.

Most importantly, however, Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg understand that both the best comedy and also the best horror comes from well-developed characters. Shaun of the Dead is the rare horror-comedy that makes you legitimately, honestly care, and that puts it a step above all the rest.

I think everyone who loves movies has a film like this one. I was a freshman in high school, and my sister and my mom were out of town on a school trip. My dad came home and said he was going to show me the scariest movie he'd ever seen. I looked at the box. It was made in 1960. It was black and white. How scary could it be?

I still don't think that Psycho is very scary. I do think that it is thrilling and surprising, and I loved every second of it. The day after I saw it, I went to the video store, looking for any other Hitchcock movies I could get. Before long, I was following actors like Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant, and Ingrid Bergman to other people's films, which opened up the work of even more directors. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

It no longer mattered if something didn't have color, was made before I was born, or was in a genre I didn't think I liked. I wanted to watch it all. This was in late May; over the following summer, I watched two to three movies every day — sometimes more, if I wasn't working. I'd always liked movies (or, rather, certain movies), but by the time I headed back to school I loved them — all of them — because Psycho had opened my eyes.

There's no such thing as a perfect movie — but if there is, it's Fargo. It's the only movie I can think of where I wouldn't change a single thing.

If you've read this list, that shouldn't come as a surprise. A labyrinthian scheme that falls apart as soon as emotions get involved? Check. Ordinary people caught in bizarre and outlandish situations? Check. Pitch black humor? Memorable, deliberate gore? Lots of crime? A hero whose innate goodness shines through, despite all of the darkness around her? Check, check, and ... well, you get the idea.

The Coen brothers' style can often come across cold and cynical, but Marge Gunderson gives Fargo's frigid landscapes a warm, beating heart, and I think that makes all the difference. It's a lean, brutally efficient thriller that feels like it takes place in a universe just to the left of ours, featuring career-best work from both Roger Deakins and Carter Burwell. The Coen brothers' version of Minnesota is not a place I'd like to live, but boy, I'll never get tired of visiting it.