As I promised yesterday (actually, I guess it was this morning), a list of the 20 most underrated films of all time (excluding the past 5 years, again).
This is a much harder undertaking than listing overrated films, because ultimately, who doesn’t think that their very favorite films are underrated? Also, there’s a fine line between movies that nobody’s seen, but nobody dislikes, and movies that have an actual bad reputation (both kinds appear on this list).
Once again, in chronological order.
List 2: The 20 Most Underrated Films of All Time
Le Million (René Clair, 1931)
Clair’s reputation has never quite recovered from the drubbing the New Wave filmmakers gave him, but his early sound films are quite perfect. This film in particular combines a fable-like romantic story with some of the most outstanding experimental sound in cinema history. Plus, it’s Zimmerman-Approved!
Trouble in Paradise (Ernst Lubitsch, 1932)
If this were a just world, this film would feature in the same conversations as Duck Soup, His Girl Friday and Some Like It Hot when people argue about the funniest movie ever made. But the sad fact is that Lubitsch has gone largely unappreciated by the current movie-going public, especially his silent & early sound work. A pity, because Trouble in Paradise is one of the most sophisticated, smartest films out there. As well as having almost certainly the most adult view of sexuality I have ever seen in a film.
Love Affair (Leo McCarey, 1939)
Two people meet on a boat, fall in love, agree to meet in New York six months later, and then she gets hit by a car. You’ve seen this one? No, that was An Affair to Remember, McCarey’s 1957 remake. This one stars Irene Dunne and Charles Boyer in the Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant roles, and it is superior in every possible way.
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1947)
A nearly flawless romantic film starring Gene Tierney as a widower, and Rex Harrison as…her ghost lover. And we have just discovered why nobody talks about this film. But if you can get past the fantastic elements, there’s a really wonderful story in there about falling in love with someone because of their mind and personality, not sex. Tierney’s career best performance.
The Trouble with Harry (Alfred Hitchcock, 1955)
I fear we are at the start of a general turning-away from Hitchcock, which means it will take even longer before people start to rediscover this one. One of Hitch’s two pure comedies, and the only one to actually feel like he directed it, this is one of the best films ever made about the reality of other people’s death. Like Weekend at Bernie’s. Edmund Gwenn and a debuting Shirley MacLaine are flawless.
Tirez sur la pianiste [Shoot the Piano Player] (François Truffaut, 1960)
Of all the New Wave films, only Band of Outsiders has a more delirious sense of joy at its own movie-ness. So why doesn’t anyone ever talk about this film? Charles Aznavour, one of the Frenchest of all Frenchmen, gets involved with hoods, but that’s not the point; it’s how giddy Truffaut obviously was to be making a gangster picture. And make no mistake – it’s not a film, or a movie, it’s a picture.
Monterey Pop (D.A. Pennebaker, 1968)
Overshadowed by Woodstock, but this one has better performances, is tighter, and never lapses into the later film’s faux-sociology. It’s all about the music, baby.
A Wedding (Robert Altman, 1978)
An Altman film that even Altman fans never talk about, partially because it’s largely unavailable. But as a study of the rich and the nouveau-riche, and the absurdity of American institutions, this one bears the unmistakable, cranky mark of its maker in every moment. Many films skewer the pretentions of the upper class, but very few are this ballsy about it.
Day of the Dead (George A. Romero, 1985)
Night and Dawn are full-fledged classics now, but even among zombie fans, this one’s always had a rough time making its name. A pity. True, the satire against the military-scientific complex may be a bit harder to take than the social commentary in the first two, but it’s still smart and scary, and makes you think far more than a genre picture is supposed to be able. And the zombie makeup is fucking cool.
Mona Lisa (Neil Jordan, 1986)
One of those films you only watch because it’s in the Criterion Collection, and then it blows you away. Bob Hoskins gives one of the great performances of the decade as a schlubby ex-con who stumbles into a world of crime and intrigue he can barely perceive in the economic wasteland of Britain in the 80’s. Social commentary, gangsters, a mysterious hooker, and a Phil Collins song – what more can you ask for? A good song.
Empire of the Sun (Steven Spielberg, 1987)
One of the few Spielberg films that nobody has seen. And while it’s not flawless, it’s his first really adult film, with none of the sentimentality that hamstrings even his most clear-eyed dramas. Christian Bale debuts in one of the best child performances ever, with John Malkovich as his father figure; but unlike most of the director’s work, this is not a dewy-eyed relationship, but a moral conflicted and confusing one, closer to Jim and John Silver from Treasure Island than Grant and those fucking kids from Jurassic Park.
Full Metal Jacket (Stanley Kubrick, 1987)
We’re clearly on the road to de-emphasise Stanley Kubrick’s work. But this was always the red-headed stepchild in his filmography, with most Kubrick fans praising the basic training sequence, but disdaining the Vietnam scenes. I cannot understand why. The second hour is the payoff – if the first half shows how the military kills a soldier’s humanity, the second half shows the consequences. I might even go so far as to say I like the second half better, but then I’d have to give up my film watcher’s license.
Raising Arizona (Joel and Ethan Coen, 1987)
The Coen film that Coen fans tend not to like, at least until their recent one-two punch of crap. And it’s not an earth-shattering film. But it’s one of the best of the latter-day screwballs, the opening ten minutes are the best comic sequence of the 80’s, Holly Hunter is fantastic, and it’s more quotable than any of their films outside The Big Lebowski.
The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (Terry Gilliam, 1988)
Gilliam is always polarizing, but this film, along with Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, seems to come the closest to inspiring actual hate. Which seems a bit extreme for a fantasy, especially one as well-made as this. I really don’t understand why this isn’t a classic.
Who Framed Roger Rabbit (Robert Zemeckis, 1988)
Cribbed from Will; and why not? It’s technically dazzling. It’s one of the smartest comedies of that decade. It’s one of the best post-noir noir films ever (really, it’s a rather faithfull riff on Chinatown). But because it’s a cartoonish “kid’s movie,” none of that matters. As if the meeting of Mickey and Bugs was insignificant. Anti-animation bastards.
Devil in a Blue Dress (Carl Franklin, 1995)
One of the very best neo-noirs, and absolutely nobody has ever seen it. It adds a race element almost never seen in the genre (Denzel Washington plays the lead), which alone would seem to recommend it; add a pretty damn good sense of time and space, and it just seems perverse that it’s so universally ignored.
Mars Attacks! (Tim Burton, 1996)
If you don’t get it, you don’t get it. Happily, I get it. But honestly, how can you not love something this gleefully destructive?
Schizopolis (Stephen Soderbergh, 1996)
It is weird, no doubt. But that’s the point: it is the king of weird. I can understand why people wouldn’t enjoy it, although I think they’d be very stupid, but I cannot see why nobody ever even talks about this film. It’s so fucking out there…this should be a huge cult it, but it’s not.
A Bug’s Life (John Lasseter, 1998)
When people talk about Pixar being genius, this isn’t the film they mean. Yet it’s clearly from the same people who made Monsters, Inc. and Finding Nemo. It’s a simple film, but deeply humane, and almost too charming to be allowed. Plus, Kevin Spacey is a grasshopper. I don’t know, maybe it’s too achingly sincere for Toy Story 2 fans.
Topsy-Turvy (Mike Leigh, 1999)
One of the best films of a very great year. Jim Broadbent and Allan Corduner are fantastic as Gilbert and Sullivan, but it’s redundant to praise the acting in a Leigh film. So I’ll focus instead on the story, which does a better job than any other film I can name at connecting the artistic process with the reality of being alive in society (I defy you: name another film about the creative process that isn’t about the alienation of the artist). Only about ten people saw it, and we’re having a hard time spreading the word.