Top 25 Criterion Collection Films

I’m a graphic designer with a life-long passion for cinema. Instead of listing my all-time favorites, I wanted to just focus on titles from the Criterion Collection (both current and out-of-print releases, excluding laserdiscs). Even though I was a movie-mad kid who was continually renting films from the age of 10, it wasn't until college that my journey began taking a more esoteric turn.

There’s almost a checklist I ticked off, like some film initiation rite of passage: some Peter Greenaway films, early David Lynch movies, Terry Gilliam was an early hero, and eventually, you rent your first Eric Rohmer film, your first Sam Peckinpah film, your first Orson Welles or Friz Lang film. Your curiosity eventually leads you to attend more programmed film series, to become a member of a film society, and somewhere along your movie-watching journey, both Janus Films and The Criterion Collection become part of your world. Although not entirely positive, I’ve always assumed Janus to be the theatrical company responsible for bringing films to cinemas and Criterion Collection to be their sister branch, focused on home media releases (beginning with laserdiscs, then DVD, Blu-Ray, and most recently, their own streaming channel). The Criterion Channel has been my favorite streaming service since it rose from the ashes of its previous incarnation on the short-lived Filmstruck, and Hulu before that.

With so many brilliant films in the collection (which currently numbers over 1000 movies) I intentionally avoided the more iconic and celebrated choices to instead focus on titles standing in the shadow of internationally-lauded, pantheon picks (such as 8 1/2 or The Seventh Seal). Ten is too few, 25 seemed just right. Note: I realized after compiling the list how many French films or French productions there were, but it wasn’t my intention. Also, the number on the list doesn’t indicate ranking, or preference (in case you were wondering), it’s merely a system to keep track. I’m still working my way through personal blind spots and as I continue on my film discovery quest, I’m always reminded of why I love this medium so much. Long live film, long live adventurous filmmakers, long live The Criterion Collection.

Criterion Title:
#01

Walkabout
by Nicolas Roeg | 1971:
This was a completely cold viewing for me and I only knew about Roeg from the film Performance (starring Mick Jagger). I’d never seen a film directed by two people (aside from the Coen Brothers) and Roeg was half of the team on that film. Even though Performance left a lukewarm impression, I gave this film a chance based on the cover art and synopsis. It’s a film best enjoyed when viewing with no context or expectations. I don’t wish to ruin the experience for anyone interested, but I will say it stays with you.

The opening montage sequence won me over instantly. I still consider it one of the best editing achievements in modern cinema. Roeg was channeling an editing style that harkened back to early Soviet cinema. What follows is a journey film that devolves into an otherworldly odyssey of isolation, desperation, self-discovery, and survival. It remains one of the best initial reactions I’ve ever had on a first-time viewing. I’d suggest watching it with friends for a heightened effect.

Criterion Title:
#02

The Color of Pomegranates
by Sergei Parajanov | 1969:
The closest comparison I can think of was watching Last Year at Marienbad for the first time on the big screen as part of a summer classic film series and being absolutely captivated by its artfully-stylized cinematography. The story in Pomegranates is presented through a hypnotic series of moving tableaus that could easily be shown as an art museum installation. As a designer, I’m always paying extra attention to lighting, color, framing, composition, set design, interiors, clothing, editing, all of it.

As a budding cinephile, one of my early favorites was director Peter Greenaway (sadly not part of the CC as of yet), especially his films The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, Her Lover, and Prospero's Books. Their dazzling set decorations were pure stylized artifice and visual mana for a young teen, and the beautifully constructed tableaus in Pomegranates — with their rich textures, patterns, depth, perspective, and striking vitality — seem to spring from the same source, albeit, a different angle. The term “visual storytelling” is often over-used but in this case, it’s the perfect and most accurate description for the film.

Criterion Title:
#03

Breaking The Waves
by Lars Von Trier | 1996:
Never has pure love been filmed in such an immediate and subversive way. A spiritual tale about the meaning of devotion: about dedication and faith, but with a taboo and provocative twist. It’s a powerful story about redemption and humanity, an examination of friendships, relationships, and morality. It’s also about true soulmates and how we manifest our love (which in this film is both outrageous and highly controversial).

Flipping melodrama, wish-fulfillment, and even the fairy tale genre on its head the film is a refreshing take that dares to explore some of the boldest risks in cinematic storytelling; and it executes flawlessly. From its intimate, handheld direction and dynamic editing, to the character choices and motivations, the gorgeous interstitial Chapter Screens (created by artist Per Kirkeby), and the grainy, desaturated look of the film, to the outlandish premise and supernatural ending, the whole is a resounding triumph. How Von Trier pulled off such a slippery trick so effortlessly is a testament to his creative instinct and vision. It’s a beautiful tale of love and sacrifice, a spiritual story for salt-of-the-earth heathens and misfits.

Criterion Title:
#04

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp
by Powell and Pressburger | 1943:
Speaking of directing duos, here’s another. I don’t know much about P&P, but I’ve never seen a film of theirs I didn’t like. A Matter of Life and Death is another favorite, but Col. Blimp was my introduction and what made me explore their filmography. Following a fairly simple plot that blends comedy with action, drama, and romance, it’s the superb direction and acting, the vitality, and the beautiful story at the heart of this epic that makes it such an enduring masterpiece. A great example of How > What.

Uplifting without being overly sentimental or melodramatic, there’s an infectious zeal and momentum in the direction that strengthens a story about friendship, loss, war, honor, chaos, and rebuilding. I loved this film so much that I actually bought it twice: once at full retail price on DVD, and again when it was re-released on Blu-Ray. I highly recommend all the P&P films, but I would start with Blimp as an introduction. It’s even been heralded as The Greatest British Film Ever Made, so that might be a compelling reason to watch.

Criterion Title:
#05

Close-up
by Abbas Kiarostami | 1990:
Although the cinematography and direction are straightforward, and the settings aren’t interesting or particularly engaging, this meta-narrative about a man impersonating another more famous man, getting caught, and the repercussions that follow will alter your perception of what is possible when you abandon narrative filmmaking tropes. The characters in the film aren’t portrayed by professional actors but by the actual people who lived through this real-life story. A multi-layered transfiguration of drama and documentary that defies easy classification, it burrows deep with feelings of empathy and exculpation. The best use of non-actors since Varda and Bresson, and a wonderful example of pure humanity on film.

Criterion Title:
#06

Until The End Of The World
by Wim Wenders | 1991:
This was my favorite movie of all time when I was in my teens and 20s. The version I saw was the supposedly botched American edit (which I still love). The director-approved Criterion version is the much longer, nearly 5-hour long opus as was originally intended. I’d read about this version for years and had anxiously anticipated its release. When it was finally released for a limited theatrical engagement, I attended a screening and was blown away by the extra footage (especially how much more story there was once they arrive in Australia).

It painted a more complete picture, but at 287 minutes, it will definitely require some endurance. A vivid and intelligent sci-fi, “continent-hopping, road trip film” that spans Europe, Asia, the USA, and winds up in Australia, it’s a colorful story about fate, passion, adventure, and precarious family dynamics wrapped inside a fugitive tale with a (then) futuristic bent. What’s a bit disconcerting is how accurately it predicted our addiction to small screens. At the time of its release, it felt like such an outlandish, sci-fi concept. And now it has turned into our reality.

Criterion Title:
#07

The Spy Who Came In From The Cold
by Martin Ritt | 1965:
A spy film that plays like a noir, demanding your full attention, and one you will want to rewatch immediately after its conclusion. Richard Burton is superb as an alcoholic ex-military agent who has seemingly been left out to fend for himself after years of service and a botched operation. There are multiple perspectives and motivations to the plot, where multiple characters end up involved in a tense climax with a bleak, dark, and fatalistic outcome.

The interrogation scene is one of the most gripping and gut-wrenching I’ve seen. You feel despair and panic as you watch how it all unravels. Despite its downbeat throughline, it's such a rewarding and sumptuous film with superb screenwriting and even better acting (also starring the incomparable Oskar Werner in a supporting role). Every one of the players is excellent and the bonus was recognizing the names of characters who also appeared in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (I’m not familiar with John le Carré’s novels, even though this is perhaps the 5th adaptation of one of his works I’ve seen). An exceptional Cold War classic that deserves more acclaim.

Criterion Title:
#08

La Vie De Boheme
by Aki Kaurismäki | 1992:
This one feels like a Jim Jarmusch film, shot in Paris, by a Finnish director. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it so the details are hazy, but I remember a delightfully strange and deadpan comedy about a trio of downbeat bohemians who spend their days drinking, smoking, and trying to survive while having no luck in their creative pursuits. As with any great film, there’s also a tinge of sadness and humanity involving a doomed romance.

The stark and off-kilter world of LVDB is a wonderful pastiche of 1930s cinema, 1960s French New Wave, and 1980s independent filmmaking. The starving artists live a 19th-century existence but with late 20th-century amenities. In one charming and idiosyncratic scene, we see a band performance that seems both incongruous to the rest of the film, and completely normal. The gloriously nostalgic black and white cinematography alone is enough reason to watch the film, but the cameos by Jean Pierre Léaud and Sam Fuller are a lovely bonus. It’s a criminally overlooked codfish of a movie and if you’re a fan of early Jarmusch films you may also fall under its waggish, idiosyncratic spell.

Criterion Title:
#09

Love Streams
by John Cassavetes | 1984:
My favorite Cassavetes film (even though Shadows will always be a very close second). It’s impossible to describe the film in a way that does justice. A low-budget, enigmatic masterpiece of mid-80s independent cinema that leaves out so much exposition, it sometimes feels like your watching the film half asleep in a dreamlike haze, attempting to parse through the plot (but in a satisfying, un-frustrating way). Subtle surrealistic inflections throughout the film convey a feeling of uncanny that could easily find a home in a David Lynch movie. This is Cassavetes at his strangest, which simmers into your psyche despite its flat and ordinary direction.

Criterion Title:
#10

Á Nos Amours
by Maurice Pialat | 1983:
Pialat is often referred to as “The French Cassavetes”. I initially bought a used copy of this DVD because my money was burning a hole in my pocket and it was cheap enough to take a blind risk. All I knew was that I had loved Sandrine Bonnaire’s performance in Agnes Varda’s Vagabond, so I took a chance, bought the DVD… and didn’t bother to watch it for years. Sometimes you have to be in the right mood and cannot force view a film (I’ve made that mistake before and have always regretted it). When I finally watched it, I was not prepared for the film that played out in front of my eyes. This is a tale about a young, somewhat upper-class, somewhat rebellious, Parisian teen who is starting to venture out into her own. Her family is sometimes overbearing, sometimes loving, and other times, temperamental and violent.

The film skirts the edges of young romance, sexual awakening, family turmoil, and even untoward undertones of desire. Some of the film’s most chaotic and tense eruptions of violence felt sudden, real, and unscripted (as it turns out, they were). What impressed me most is how the film was edited; like you’re watching an unconventional montage of “life snippets” as opposed to a traditional film structure. One of the most intense, realistic, and refreshing films about young adulthood, a unique story that still holds up (even the fashion holds up remarkably well, which is not usually the case with most 80s films). It will exceed any description or review written about it.

Criterion Title:
#11

Vagabond
by Agnes Varda | 1985:
This is THE film that turned my opinion of 80s movies around. I cannot give this film the praise it deserves. It’s a perfect, flawless masterpiece that lingers long after viewing. Ostensibly, the film centers around a young, carefree, and socially defiant drifter who aims to be free from any burden of expectation or responsibility (played magnificently by the always brilliant Sandrine Bonnaire). Told through a series of flashbacks, including talking-head interviews with characters who crossed her path, its documentary-like energy creates a heightened sense of realism/fatalism. It examines the cost of freedom, the tests, the agony, the falling into traps, and most impressively, how auxiliary characters remain connected through the invisible fabric of fate.

One of the film’s many brilliant touches is how unsympathetic the main character, Mona, really is. You cringe as you watch her make bad choice after bad choice and realize you’ve actually met some real-life Monas in your own life. Another brilliant moment is the convergence of characters in a pivotal scene toward the end of the film. Mona’s life affects those she meets in different ways, and we are witness to how this central figure is either celebrated, envied, or reviled. It’s a masterful observation that allows us to reflect on our own attitudes, assumptions, and reactions.

Criterion Title:
#12

A Woman Is A Woman
by Jean-Luc Godard | 1961:
I avoided this film for years for one simple reason; I didn’t like musicals and the film was constantly written about as “Godard’s musical”. When I finally watched the movie after years of putting it off, I was perplexed as there are elements and sketches of what could be called “musical” but I don’t think there’s one musical scene that lasts for more than a few seconds.

The film is a playful, wry, and wonderfully postmodern deconstruction of a relationship, using a vague structure of a musical genre as its form. Like most of Godard’s early 60s work, he experiments and finds whimsical ways to film capricious disagreements, stolen shots, “dance numbers”, and meta-narratives. It’s one of his most upbeat, charming, ebullient films that feels like the New Wave pioneer at his least cynical. The film bursts with so much cheerful energy, I’d recommend it over Breathless as an entry-point into his vast (and sometimes challenging) body of work. And if you’re seeking an actual musical, I would highly recommend Jacques Demy’s vivacious The Young Girls of Rochefort.

Criterion Title:
#13

L’argent
by Robert Bresson | 1983:
Robert Bresson’s final film in his storied career is unlike anything I’ve seen. An economically cold, emotionally detached, staged, calculated, unrelenting, uncompromising, and absolutely stunning exploration of fate as it follows a counterfeit bill and the devastating consequences it has on innocent participants. Shot with precise efficiency and devoid of conventional dramatic flourishes, it requires you as a viewer to actively fill in the blanks.

Bresson not only casts non-actors as leads and employs elliptical editing throughout the film but also utilizes a fascinating and powerful sound editing technique of “anticipatory audio”, where the sound from the next scene will precede the accompanying visual edit by a few seconds. The effect gives the film a dynamic rhythm and his attention to where and how sound is used (all diegetic music, for instance) is as impactful as the film’s arresting visual imagery. It’s fascinating how emotionally gripping an “emotionless” film can truly be. Another wonder of 80s cinema, and a masterpiece that deserves to be on everyone’s “must-watch list”.

Criterion Title:
#14

The Phantom of Liberty
by Luis Buñuel | 1974:
Monty Python as if filmed by Buñuel. The movie plays out very similarly to Richard Linklater’s Slacker — where characters from one story transition into the following completely unrelated story. Absurdist, subversive, comedic, and dark, it’s one of his lesser talked about films that I think is just as good as his more famous cinematic works of art. This late-entry, non-sequitur marvel in an already celebrated canon shows how much fun and irreverence a director can have at the dawn of his retirement. It’s more entertaining, clever, and adroit than most films by directors in the prime of their careers.

Criterion Title:
#15

The Double Life of Véronique
by Krzysztof Kieślowski | 1991:
A dreamlike tale about two characters (both played by the wonderful and enigmatic Irene Jacob) — Veronique (the French protagonist) and her spiritual twin, Weronika (the Polish doppelganger) — who are subconsciously but inexplicably “aware” of each other’s existence: as if born at the same time in two different parts of the world and linked by a singular spirit. They never actually meet but their timelines briefly overlap without either realizing. There’s so much to unpack but the main feeling I get from the film is “magical spirituality”.

What we are treated to is a more gleeful and optimistic side of mystery and wonder. A feeling of unexplainable connection, a calling to something that is instinctual and beyond logic. Directed with the kind of color and art direction that imbues the scenery with vibrance, warmth, and mystery. So much of the film was blatantly ripped off by Jean-Pierre Jeunet for Amelie in a much more saccharine and reductive way. I still enjoy Amelie for what it is (and it is great), but if you want to see a more nuanced blueprint, Double Life is a must.

Criterion Title:
#16

Chungking Express
by Won Kar-Wai | 1994:
…and speaking of Amelie, here’s another film it ripped off… kind of. At least the second part. I feel like this film has been written about so much in ways that are superior to anything I have to say, but as much as I liked the first half of the movie (involving a heartbroken character who crosses path with a criminal on the run), the second half made me fall in love with it. Especially Faye Wong’s character as a naive, adorable, playfully awkward food-stand employee who has a secret crush on a police officer. The scene where she breaks into his apartment is the part when you realize Amelie wasn’t as original as you thought. With its energetic use of step-printing, this is easily one of the best films released in the mid-1990s.

Criterion Title:
#17

The Spirit of the Beehive
by Victor Erice | 1973:
This is my second favorite film of all-time. A visually-poetic tale centering around a little girl named Ana (played with unmatched soulfulness by a mature and graceful 6-year old, Ana Torent) and her family during the beginning of the Francoist dictatorship in Spain. Primarily shown from Ana’s perspective, it perfectly captures how children have an imagination that is at times wonderful and other times haunting. A subtle, uneasy tension underscores a large part of the film as if something ominous could strike at any moment.

That persistent, unsettling feeling — more conventionally used in horror or suspense movies — gives the film a uniquely haunting tone. There’s a scene where the little girls are jumping over the bonfire and it is one of my favorite scenes in all of cinema. Victor Erice constructed a world of fractured innocence where adults say very little. What the children reveal with their pure and guileless facial expressions supersedes any exposition or spoken language. In the film, young Ana wondrously watches the 1931 Universal Studios classic Frankenstein at a small traveling roadshow screening (we in fact are watching the real-life Ana’s genuine reaction as she watches the film for the very first time). She is so consumed with her obsession for the monster that she conflates her wonderment with a very real plot point involving a wounded soldier on the lam. There are many long stretches where characters never utter a word: we simply meditate on their behavior (which heightens anticipation).

The strained relationship between her parents (very rarely is the entire family shown together) and the pining letter meant for an unseen, unnamed lover is the director’s veiled political criticism against the pain and upheaval brought on by the repressive, fascist regime. Slightly fantastical, slightly neo-realistic, 100% visually poetic, the film avoids glibness instead letting us experience the magic of cinematic storytelling by engaging our imagination. It perfectly balances the lack of self-awareness and innocence of a “children’s movie” with the harsher realities of the “real world”, and its elements of magical realism create a uniquely enchanting entry into the arthouse canon. It’s a profoundly soulful story of unpretentious emotion that hints at the otherworldly and sublime, a story that prefers mood and intuition over explicit narrative techniques. The film’s imprint on my spirit is immeasurable, it is a perfect film.

Criterion Title:
#18

Unfaithfully Yours
by Preston Sturgess | 1948:
One of my favorite channels is FXM Retro, which is where I not only discovered this film but plenty of other lesser-known classics. As someone who works a lot from home, I love putting on dialogue-rich films where I don’t have to pay too much attention to what’s actually happening on screen. This is NOT one of those films. From the beginning scene at the airport, to the revelation where the male protagonist (an orchestra conductor played by Rex Harrison) discovers troubling news about his wife, to the outlandish and incredibly dark, comedic scenarios that… well, it’s best not to reveal too much. I want you to feel as I did, watching the movie for the first time. “WTF is going on! How did they get away with THAT during this era of Hollywood?” were some of the thoughts racing through my mind.

Alas, the film is a comedy with a devilish take on imagination, suspicion, and infidelity. Its kinetic and fluid direction keeps the story moving at a glorious pace. One of many favorite scenes is the rehearsal, which is perhaps the last conventional moment of the movie. With several scenarios (each wildly different and set to different musical scores) displaying the film’s inventive and… bold character choices, and the comedic timing of one particular setpiece where nothing goes according to plan, Unfaithfully Yours warrants a much higher status in film history. I want this movie to be as famous as Sullivan’s Travels or there is no justice.

Criterion Title:
#19

Cat People
by Jacques Tourneur | 1942:
Another FXM Retro discovery, and a revelation of 1940s filmmaking (admittedly an era I’m not very keen on). This is a rewarding and satisfying gem about suspense and superstition. I’ve never seen menace, dread, fear, and anxiety captured so perfectly in other films from this same era. There’s nothing cheap about this B-movie. Its innovative use of lighting and sound design burrows into your subconscious and has enshrined the film with a rare timelessness that remains fresh, nearly 80 years after its release.

What we don't see is often most terrifying and the filmmakers put this principle to perfect use. Cat People is a film I’d recommend to people who may not usually be drawn to 40s films, or anyone not particularly a fan of “monster movies” (it’s not really one, and it shows how brilliant a “monster movie” can actually be). A nuanced story with smart casting choices and subtle direction, the film is a winning combination of story and imagination.

Criterion Title:
#20

F For Fake
by Orson Welles | 1975:
A film about trickery, this frenetically-paced “video essay” was well ahead of its time and virtually singular in its technique. Welles employed a hyperactive style of multi-media editing (a visual pastiche that jumps from 16mm to 35mm to print media, book covers, and magazine stills). We are occasionally treated to a behind-the-scenes, “making of” peek behind the curtain as the film cuts to shots of Welles speaking directly into the camera from his editing bay as he narrates this multi-layered true story about an art forger and his biographer… who happened to be the chief actor in a headline-grabbing hoax himself. The film offers no shortage of deceit throughout its running time. With its masterful juxtaposition of documentary footage, subjective commentary, lively settings, interesting real-life characters (and an adorable spider monkey), off-the-cuff mistakes intentionally left in the film, and its poetic and magical digressions, the movie teems with the energy of a ticker-tape parade and the casual confidence of a master storyteller (contrasted by surprising moments of introspection).

Its charm and free spirit belie the impressive technical wizardry with which it deftly weaves a tightly-packed story involving Welles’s own infamous War of the Worlds radio broadcast (at the start of his career as a radio actor), reclusive tycoon Howard Hughes, the island of Ibiza, Chartres Cathedral, Rudyard Kipling, 19th-century magic, Pablo Picasso, and even something as mundane as girl-watching. This kind of whirlwind joie de vivre is virtually absent from most non-fiction films. The true star of the movie isn’t even an actor but the dazzling editing, especially the cross-cutting between its many characters, its freeze frames, the clever stringing together of unrelated footage to create a coherent narrative, and its decisions of when to slow down and let the film breathe. Welles’s larger-than-life personality is all over the movie, from his colorful and mellifluous narration to his scene-stealing vérité footage, and his articulate ruminations — whether in a city park, train station, Ibiza road, or in front of bushes and shrubbery. F For Fake is a fun, mischievous, fast-paced examination about creativity, mythology, the art of storytelling, mistrust, calculation, misdirection, but ultimately, lies.

I initially discovered the film on a poor-quality bootleg VHS copy a few years before it was restored and released on DVD by Criterion. It was one of my favorite films and the fact that Criterion took so much care and consideration in its restoration with excellent supplements made me respect the brand at a time when I didn’t know much about them. Any company willing to do this was worthy of my attention and curiosity. That portal of curiosity remains open to this day.

Criterion Title:
#21

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders
by Jaromil Jireš| 1970:
Some films grip you despite their incoherent narrative. Valerie is a hypnagogic sun-bleached and sensual hybrid existing in the liminal spaces between gothic horror and surrealist fairytale. It's a disjointed story about a virginal maiden on the verge of womanhood, growing up in a tiny, religious, and supernatural pastoral landscape. The film may leave viewers seeking definitive meaning and clarity utterly frustrated with its blatant disregard for logic. With its fractured plot involving vampires, magical earrings, and witchcraft, this is a hazy, confounding, oneiric wonder that favors mystique and abandons the rules of plot continuity.

I was reminded at times of Ken Russell’s The Devils (although much lighter in tone) but it may actually be closer to a classic Hammer Films Production with the outlandish bravura of Jodorowsky or Parajanov at the helm. It’s a spellbinding experience that will surely have as many detractors as admirers (there are disturbing scenes of animal cruelty and overly suggestive sexualization of a minor character), but it’s a bold, expressive statement released shortly before communism would take complete control of the country and prohibit such a non-conformist vision from being realized again.

Criterion Title:
#22

Branded To Kill
by Seijun Suzuki | 1967:
An absurdist fever dream of a film that is subversively comedic and action-packed. It’s one of the best WTF?! experiences without crossing over into full-on camp. A satire about the hitman genre where the assassin has now become the target, what ensues is a delirious and surrealist cat and mouse game. By the film’s end, you may wonder if somebody spiked your drink. You might be a little dazed and confused but this ride is so worth it.

Criterion Title:
#23

Zazie Dans Le Metro
by Louis Malle | 1960:
A madcap and subversive film about a little girl who wants to ride the metro and ends up on a cartoonish adventure. The first time I watched this film was at a rep cinema and by the end of it, I had so many questions. It’s zany, it’s colorful, it’s silly and captivating, but it’s also a bit of a sensory overload, outlandish, chaotic, bizarre, and even provocative. A dizzying film that captures the frenzied energy of Paris as if Looney Tunes and silent film mania were filtered through a Nouvelle Vague lens. Also, William Klein’s artwork can be seen in the film (especially outside of the bar near the beginning of the movie) as he was credited as the film’s “Artistic Consultant”.

Criterion Title:
#24

Andrei Rublev
by Andrei Tarkovsky | 1966:
My favorite epic by my favorite director. Tarkovsky’s The Mirror is my favorite film of all-time, but since it’s not part of the collection (at the time of writing this piece), I’ll recommend this well-respected masterpiece instead. Even though I owned the first edition DVD of the film, I was often too exhausted to watch Andrei Rublev in its entirety. It’s not until the film was restored and showing at the Lincoln Center Walter Reade Theater that I saw the whole film — it was the best way to do so.

I saw the film in mid-afternoon, fully alert and awake to soak in the fresh images from a newly restored, hi-def print. Watching the film on a scale of that magnitude, in the dark cinema, intensified this engrossing epic about a 15th-century iconographer. Tarkovsky was THE master of mood and poetic cinema, capturing faith, spirituality, perseverance, fortitude, heart-wrenching devastation, and art itself in his inimitable style. With so many stunning and unforgettable images, the film’s coda (which shifts from black and white to color) seemed like the perfect finishing touch to end this undeniable crown jewel of cinema.

Criterion Title:
#25

Le Doulos
by Jean-Pierre Melville | 1962:
In my mind, this film exists in the same universe as Jules Dassin’s classic heist film, Rififi … even though it was filmed 7 years later. Of all the great Melville crime films, this is perhaps my favorite (although they’re all great). As the film plays out, you’re constantly perplexed as to what is going on, and that’s an essential part of its intrigue. You’re constantly trying to figure out who you can trust, who is telling the truth, who is playing whom, and what the subtext and motivations behind the plot are.

It’s not until the very end that the convoluted plot is explained and your brain is finally untangled. I usually dislike films that make you feel like you’re doing homework, but the way the plot remains 5 steps ahead of whatever you think is happening is exactly what makes the journey so rewarding. It moves at such a fast pace with so many characters involved in this tale of betrayal, you are forced to remain sharply engaged (even if you feel confused). The conclusion is a straight-up, hard-boiled gangster trope, but with a screenplay so audacious and so clever in keeping us in the dark, it’s perhaps the greatest Gangster Movie ever made. Plus it features Belmondo during his peak cool.

other recommendations: Le Cercle Rouge, Pygmallion, The Young Girls of Rochefort, L’Avventura, Persona, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Man Bites Dog, Mildred Pierce, Something Wild (1986), Sisters, Brazil, 8 1/2, La Dolce Vita, Picnic at Hanging Rock, The Innocents, Jules and Jim, Safety Last, Badlands, Stalker, Black Moon, My Dinner With Andre, The Element of Crime, Alphaville, Day For Night, Tree of Life, La Collectionneuse, Topsy Turvy, Do The Right Thing, One Sings The Other Doesn’t, Sans Soleil, Putney Swope, Don’t Look Now, Wages of Fear, Me and You and Everyone We Know, Pickpocket, The Exterminating Angel, Spinal Tap, Tie Me Up Tie Me Down, The Man Who Fell To Earth, Blow Out, Paths of Glory, Five Easy Pieces, Last Year At Marienbad, The Vanishing, IF…, It Happened One Night, Woman Of The Year, Playtime, One-Eyed Jacks, The Bank Dick, Rosemary’s Baby, Hiroshima Mon Amour, all of Agnes Varda’s films