The first three movies I selected have nothing in common other than that they were filmed in black and white, and had visionary directors at their helm. But each is linked in my mind for the above mentioned formative effect they had on me growing up. Within less than a year, when I was 13 going on 14, I saw La Belle et la Bête, Citizen Kane and, Raging Bull. The first is Jean Cocteau's French masterpiece, whose production design was robbed quite openly by Disney almost a half century later when they made the animated Beauty and the Beast. Kane often tops the list of greatest movies of all time, which is obviously subjective. But there is no denying that with his 1941 magnum opus Orson Welles changed how movies were to be made in the future, from their visual style and dialogue, to their story structure and pacing. Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull opened to mixed reviews and a lukewarm box-office when it first came out in late 1980, though Robert De Niro's Oscar winning performance was universally hailed. When I saw it, after having snuck into the "wrong" theater at the multiplex in the spring of '81, I thought it was the best movie I had ever seen. In a delayed reaction similar to what happened to Kane, in 1990 it showed up consistently at or near the top of critics' lists of best movies of the previous decade.
Each of these films deserves it's own post; series of posts even, but a couple of paragraphs will have to due. For me each film impressed into my mind the power of image over dialogue. La Belle et La Bête is a French film, so the visuals had to be powerful to keep my attention at such a young age, and needless to say they did. Both Kane and Raging Bull have strong scripts (the former won the Oscar for best screenplay), but like the Cocteau's film used strong visuals to tell their stories. As I wrote, all three were filmed in glorious black and white, using shadow and light to create an other worldly, atmospheric feel. Even though Welles and Cocteau worked in the 1940's when black and white was still the usual formate, it's hard to imagine any of these movies being shot in color and working as well.
When I was 14, after having seen these three movies, I was convinced that my calling was to be a film director. I'd been a cinephile from practically the time I was in diapers, but the vision of these three artists changed my life. Film from then on wasn't just something that was entertaining or amusing. It could make a statement, dig deep into human emotion and experience, and provoke thought and discussion. Obviously God had other plans for me, but deep down within me there is still an inner child who wishes he could be a part of the magical art of filmmaking. For this I thank Jean Cocteau, Orson Welles and, Martin Scorsese.
Don't let the above paragraph fool you. I appreciate artful films, love them even, but I'm as much a sucker for a swashbuckling adventure or screwball comedy as the next guy. Did I mention buttered popcorn is a weakness as well? The fourth film on my list is sort of a combination of both: 1974's The Three Musketeers. Directed by Richard Lester (who worked with he Beatles on their two live action movies) and boasting an all star cast including Michael York, Oliver Reed and, Raquel Welch, to name only three of the big time stars in this flick, it's a mashup of adventure, romance and absurdist comedy.
The Three Musketeers also represents my first trip to a movie theater, back when I was seven years old. Long story short, for some reason lost to the annals of time, my mother was off at some family event, and neither of my grandmothers was available to babysit me, so I was stuck at the family grocery store on a Saturday afternoon. My father, in no mood to put up with a rambunctious child during business hours, gave me five dollars and told me to go around the corner to the UA Bronxville Theater to catch the next show (yes, five bucks got me a 12 years old and under ticket, popcorn and a Coke back then, with change). I vaguely remember him asking one of the college kids working for him what was playing and if it was ok for a little boy. Once they gave the green light I was off like a shot.
Looking back, even though it was almost forty five years ago, it's amazing they let me in unaccompanied. But they did, and I'm eternally grateful. What at show! Sword fights, explosions, double crossing scoundrels and noble heroes, beautiful maidens (did I mention Faye Dunaway co-stared with Ms. Welch?). I played at being d'Artagnan in the back yard with friends, and daydreamed about what adventures could be had. The impact was that this film showed me the power of imagination and play.
The fifth film on my list is actually the weakest. It's the Jonathan Demme directed, 1984 Talking Heads concert film Stop Making Sense. I say the weakest, not because it's a bad movie, but because it had the least impact on me as a movie among the ten. I chose it more for nostalgia's sake: it was my first midnight film, out with high school friends, mainly from my parish youth group. If memory serves me I owned the album first, which was a mainstay on my turntable, and only saw the film after it had been out a while. It brings be back to a more innocent age, to old friends, most of whom I haven't seen in years, but still pray for.
As for the film itself it offered alternate arraignments for familiar Talking Heads songs. Lead singer David Byrne wore his famous oversized grey suit, that kept on expanding as the movie went on. The band emerged gradually onto the stage, the ensemble growing song by song. He, and the band, came off as very deep but vague as to what the songs or the exaggerated gestures Byrne was pulling off were supposed to mean. For me, it was about the music. The album and the film were the first in either medium to be released with an all digital soundtrack, and sounded almost too perfect. At the same time, there was no denying that Stop Making Sense contained the definitive versions of many if their songs, most notably Burning Down the House, which has a driving, building intensity that the original studio version lacked.
So that's the top five. The list really doesn't go in any particular order, except for the numbers one through four. Even that is more for sentimental reasons than for matters of art, per say. I'll be back soon with the rest of the list, and a few honorable mentions that didn't make the initial cut.
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