The IMDB Top 50 Challenge: No 7 Schindler's List

I’ve never been a huge fan of Steven Spielberg. Far too often his filmmaking veers into mawkishness and sentimentality. His best work occurs when that soft-centre is hidden: the cynicism of Indiana Jones, the horror of Jaws, the brutality of Saving Private Ryan’s opening scene. He’s tackled big issues such as slavery, war and even the sacred cow of American presidency. But none of his ‘serious’ pictures can match the emotional weight of the magnificent Schindler’s List.

Based on Thomas Keneally’s account of Oskar Schindler’s philanthropy, the story tells of a selfish German businessman who gradually transforms himself into the hero who saves 1100 Jews from slaughter at the hands of the Nazis through their employment in his factory.

Bravely (and accurately) Spielberg initially portrays Schindler as anything but heroic. Liam Neeson’s angular features are formed into a semi-permanent sneer as her carouses the SS and caresses showgirls and secretaries alike, motivated only by his libido and his desire to make money.

But as the horrors of the Krakow ghetto become increasingly apparent, so Schindler begins to melt. Key to this is his relationship with Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley), the wily Jew he employs to run the business side of his operations. 

Stern is an irreducibly good man. He fills Schindler’s factory with some of the weakest and most vulnerable members of the Krakow ghetto, and this inherent goodness slowly begins to rub off on his patron. Their relationship is beautifully subtle – often they communicate without speech, but gradually come to care and respect one another deeply.

When a one-armed man Stern has taken in is brutally murdered by the SS, Spielberg instantly ramps up the tension. As an audience we are made painfully aware that the occupying forces are cruel and sadistic– and the point is forced home (admittedly rather clumsily) as we see Jews forced to sort through piles of their murdered compatriots’ possessions, spectacles and gold teeth. These kinds of images are perhaps a little clichéd, but they remain powerful thanks to their underlying truth.

Further atrocities are committed in Hitler’s name, with an assault upon the ghetto leading to senseless murder, infanticide and families torn apart. One doctor euthanizes an entire ward of patients rather than leaving them at the mercy of the Germans. It’s horrifically harrowing – and is observed by Schindler from a vantage point high above the city.

It is from here that he sees arguably the film’s most iconic image: a little girl wearing a red coat, wandering alone through the city streets. Later on, that same girl, still clad in her coloured clothing, is seen dead – dumped atop a pile of burning bodies. This, and various other stories, rumours and motivations lead Schindler into his acts of charity, although it is never made entirely clear quite why he risks everything to save ‘his’ Jews. Perhaps the whole point is that even a morally conflicted man like Schindler is impossibly good compared to the evil of Nazi Germany.

Emblematic of that callous cruelty is Ralph Fiennes’ Amon Goeth. His barbarity is a case-study of evil for evil’s sake: standing naked on his veranda using Jews as target practice, indiscriminately firing into crowds of people, hypocritically taking a Jewish mistress and then beating her. He’s an interesting counterpoint to Schindler’s ambiguous morality, and their scenes together are powerfully played by Neeson and Fiennes.

The whole movie is crafted with consummate skill and care. The acting is unfussy and affecting, the cinematography stunning. Shot in crystal clear black and white, this is a sumptuous film to look at, dating not a jot since its release twenty years ago. This timelessness is underlined by an acclaimed orchestral soundtrack which heightens the many moments of emotional intensity quite brilliantly.

Occasional lapses into mawkishness or predictability can be forgiven when a film about such a significant event is so wonderfully made. This is essential viewing for any student of cinema, history or humanity.

THE IMDB TOP 50 CHALLENGE #12 LOTR: The Return Of The King

With the recent release of The Hobbit, Peter Jackson has been accused of diluting his legacy. The prequel to his famed Lord of the Rings trilogy has been accused of dumbing down the source material and, even worse, attempting to cash in on JRR Tolkien’s revered writing. Sadly, those accusations hold some water – so what better time to remind ourselves of the power and majesty of The Return of the King.

While The Fellowship of the Ring set the scene wonderfully, The Two Towers felt like filler before the main event – the climactic conclusion to the epic tale of good versus evil. For the uninitiated, the story sees a group of hobbits, humans, dwarves, elves and wizards set out to destroy the ‘one ring’ – a piece of jewellery cast from pure evil. Should they fail in their mission, Middle Earth will be overcome by the dark lord Sauron’s armies of darkness and the age of man will come to an end. Serious stuff.

And The Return of the King is by far the most serious of the trilogy. Aside from occasional quips from Gimli the dwarf, this is a much darker, scarier film in which Peter Jackson’s history in the horror genre comes to the fore. There are some grotesque creatures on display, blood and slime spilled, wounds inflicted and the deaths of key characters. Mental illness features, as does the attempted burning alive of a wounded man – this is a Lord of the Rings film for adults.

That The Return of the King is not a flawless film is not really Jackson’s fault. He has remained doggedly faithful to the source, with only the cutting of Saruman’s scenes (restored in the director’s cut) and the scouring of The Shire missing. Sadly, this means that at some points the action plods a little – notably whenever Frodo and Sam are featured on the road to Mordor. Even when reading the books (many years ago) these chapters dragged somewhat in the midst of the action packed battles between men and orcs.

It’s those battles where the film really shines. Huge fights occur regularly, with Sauron’s evil hordes fighting the human race in a series of set-pieces involving some of the greatest choreography, CGI and costumes ever seen. With castle sieges, trolls, undead armies, cavalry charges and an impressively aggressive Gandalf involved, these scenes were always likely to hold the interest, but it’s the human drama neatly interwoven into the action which marks these fights out as something truly special: Aragorn’s rousing speech, Arwen and Theoden’s tender reunion, Merry and Pippin’s beguiling bromance.

Of course, the film goes on far too long and features at least three separate endings where one would suffice, but these are merely an accurate reflection of Tolkien’s sprawling narrative rather than any kind of self indulgence on Jackson’s part. And why would anyone want to hurry away from the magic of Middle Earth anyway?

Despite its over-earnestness and occasional impenetrability, Tolkien’s text is a classic example of traditional storytelling in which he created an entire world of magic, adventure and originality: a world which would have been impossible to recreate outside our imaginations - were it not for Peter Jackson’s vision and genius. And for that, we might even forgive him for The Hobbit.

The IMDB Top 50 #13 One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

While Robert De Niro and Al Pacino have become parodies themselves in recent years, many would argue that Jack Nicholson’s decline set in much earlier. Since his manic turn as Jack Torrance in The Shining, Nicholson has rarely displayed the subtlety and nuance which characterised his performances in movies like Chinatown, instead favouring over-the-top turns as cartoon villains or embittered curmudgeons. Perhaps the closet he ever came to assimilating the two facets of his character was Milos Forman’s Oscar-winning One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.

Adapted from Ken Kesey’s novel, the film documents the tragic demise of Randal P McMurphy (Nicholson), a career criminal who would rather spend his jail-time on a psychiatric ward than behind bars. Faking his way into the asylum is easy. But escaping proves infinitely more difficult.

McMurphy’s determination to improve the lives of the downtrodden inmates sees him gain instant popularity with an ensemble of oddballs – played superbly by the likes of Brad Dourif, Christopher Lloyd and Danny De Vito. He encourages them to stand up for themselves, break the rules and demand to see the World Series on TV – much to the chagrin of vindictive Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher).

It’s a relationship which is central to the film: McMurphy’s rule-breaking rebel versus the stiff and staid Ratched – and there’s only ever going to be one winner.

It’s obvious to all concerned that Ratched’s policies and procedures are prohibitive and prescriptive – and harming everyone associated with the ward. Painful group counselling sessions induce genuine cringes in an audience and her cruel indifference to the group’s needs only accentuates it.

McMurphy’s determination to cause chaos is not merely borne out of a desire to harm. He is a good man, despite his misdemeanours, and achieves some form of redemption through freeing the hearts and minds of his fellow inmates. The warmth and humanity he shows them – not least in a wonderful scene involving a prison bust and a fishing trip – marks him out as the movie’s most rounded and believable character. Sadly, this makes his tragic fate all the more upsetting.

There are so many moral issues tied up in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s nest it’s impossible to know where to start: good vs evil; the value of imprisonment; redemption; the crushing of rebellion. Ultimately, the film can only ever end one way – although its power remains undiminished despite its predictability.

Adapted from a classic novel, this is a classic film of great depth and emotion, featuring two central performances of huge power and wonderfully accomplished direction from Milos Forman. It’s little wonder that Nicholson, Fletcher and Forman all scooped Oscars for their contribution – in an era when an Academy Award actually meant something, too.

The IMDB Top 50 Challenge #14 Seven Samurai

The highest ‘world cinema’ entry in the IMDB Top 50 might also be the most influential on the list. Despite its Japanese origins, Seven Samurai has informed westerns, war movies, heist films and many, many more since its release in 1954. Any picture you’ve ever seen which puts together a team to carry out a mission owes a debt to Akira Kurosowa’s masterpiece...

In ancient Japan, a rural village is under siege from a gang of bandits who repeatedly return to steal their crops and leave the inhabitants teetering on the brink of starvation. Unable to defend themselves, they turn to the samurai. These warriors-for-hire are almost as feared as the bandits themselves, but represent the villagers’ only hope of a better future.

Seven Samurai is a huge, sprawling movie – neatly divided by an intermission. The first act concerns itself with bringing together the warriors themselves. It’s a process beset by difficulties – not least the villagers’ inability to pay anything more than three meals a day in return for the warriors’ services. But, the job of samurai implies a certain level of honour and nobility, and as such, the group are forged. Once assembled, the second act sees the samurai training the townsfolk and fortifying the village before the inevitable attack – and subsequent battle.

There’s an awful lot going on in the film, which explores the social traditions of ancient Japan, the caste and feudal systems and the historic role of the samurai. There’s even a romantic subplot. But for a more casual viewer, there’s still much to be admired in the masterful way Kurosawa realises his vision.

Despite the appearance of dozens of characters, each is distinct and developed. Wise master Kambei (Takashi Shimura) is a grizzled veteran of enormous calm and gravitas. Early in proceedings he reveals his skill for strategy by disguising himself as a priest (shaving his head in the process) and saving a young hostage from his kidnapper. He spends the rest of the movie contemplatively rubbing his cropped hair whenever his mental faculties are called upon. At the other end of the spectrum, Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune) is a rambunctious character who acts on impulse and plays to the crowd (not least in his dealings with an untameable horse), although he is fiercely brave and, ultimately, a true inspiration. 

The siege on the village is staged brilliantly, with Kambei’s plans explained lucidly as he walks the other samurai around the village, pointing out points of strength and weakness on a map. As the bandits approach, the audience is already aware of how the village will defend itself which, far from spoiling the surprise, lends a real air of ‘us versus them’ to proceedings.

Despite its length, the huge array of characters and the labyrinthine plot, Seven Samurai remains readily accessible and visually stunning, with some beautifully composed shots and superbly constructed set-pieces. The print has not aged well, and some of the conventions of Japanese society are a little mysterious, but allowing that to deter you would be absurd: Seven Samurai is not considered a classic for nothing.

The IMDB Top 50 Challenge #15 Fight Club

If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll be aware that this review can go no further unless I break the first two rules. But to refuse to write about David Fincher’s combustible classic would be utterly absurd... I am going to talk about Fight Club.

Chuck Palahniuk has been writing incendiary, controversially nihilistic novels for quite some time. David Fincher has been directing stylishly violent and nihilistic movies for even longer. And Brad Pitt has been flashing his diamond-cut abdominals on celluloid since his acting debut in Thelma & Louise. But despite their many successes, maybe all three of these cultural behemoths could point to Fight Club as their crowning glory.

Director Fincher was the ideal man to helm the silver-screen version of Palahniuk’s source material – his previous films were pitch-black, paranoid, off-kilter gems like Se7en and the criminally underrated The Game. Bringing in Pitt and Edward Norton (fresh from his portrayal as a muscular Neo-Nazi in American History X) was inspired, and employing The Dust Brothers on soundtrack duties was a masterstroke. Between them, they produced one of the most iconic, oft-quoted, visually arresting films of the nineties – perhaps of all time.

Living in his impersonal Ikea-like apartment, Norton’s nameless Narrator explains how he came to reject consumerism in favour of anarchy. Suffering crippling insomnia, a doctor advises him that real misery can only be witnessed in a support group for sufferers of testicular cancer. Far from curing him of his malady, the experience thrills him, leading to an addiction for similar groups for the terminally ill. Here, he meets fellow ‘tourist’, Marla Singer (Helena Bonham Carter), a woman with whom he forms a wholly unhealthy co-dependency.

Even stranger than Marla is Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt), a charismatic soap salesman whom the Narrator meets on an internal flight. After swapping business cards, the pair are forced under the same roof when the former’s apartment is blown to pieces in a mysterious gas explosion. In Tyler’s squalid home, and under his new friend’s nefarious influence, the Narrator gradually begins to let go of his neuroses and obsession with stuff and things - before finally rediscovering his masculinity in a series of testosterone fuelled brawls in car-parks and basements. These are Fight Clubs, where emancipated men can rediscover their primitive selves through visceral violence – and where the seeds of the anarchic Project Mayhem are planted.

Despite Edward Norton’s excellent performance and superb supporting turns from Bonham Carter and Meat Loaf, the movie belongs to Brad Pitt. His Tyler Durden is a cult classic character - when ASOS initially launched itself in the UK it sold copies of practically every item in Tyler’s wardrobe, and he was voted Empire’s number one film character of all time. Little wonder. Tyler Durden the man other men want to be: he’s absurdly good looking, built like a brick shit-house and cooler than a penguin’s frosty bits. But Tyler is about more than just appearances. he’s a magnetic rebel-with-a-cause, pissing in your soup, fucking your girlfriend and beating the shit out of you – but still able to convince you that his anti-consumerist, violent brand of anti-social behaviour is an attractive and viable proposition.

Admittedly, Fight Club does unravel somewhat as it hurtles towards its inevitable conclusion. This is partly due to Tyler Durden disappearing for a while, but mainly thanks to the escalation of Project Mayhem’s war on society: the Narrator’s early disillusionment is easily understood, and his gripes familiar to many – but as he becomes the unwitting ringleader of his guerrilla army it’s increasingly difficult to empathise with their all-out assault on civilisation. That said, Tyler’s shaven-headed return comes with a magnificent twist which you really ought to have seen coming...

Fight Club is an unlikely mixture of visceral violence, exhilarating action and social comment: a film about masculinity-under-attack which leaves its audience battered, bloodied and utterly exhilarated. A masterpiece.