Evening all! Welcome to the second part of The 100 Greatest Films Ever Made, according to Days Are Numbers (apologies for the delay).

For anyone wanting a quick recap, you can find the first part here. But if not, let’s get cracking as we count down thirty more stone-cold cinematic classics, taking us all the way up to number 21!

Part three will inevitiably follow, featuring the twenty greatest films ever made, but for now let’s venture into the top 50.

So, without further ado…

50. Crumb (Terry Zwigoff, 1994)

Even if you’re far from being the most ardent fan of controversial cartoonist Robert Crumb, even if you’ve never even heard of him, you’ll still find this documentary intensely watchable. Interminably, uncomfortably at odds with the modern world around him, Mr. Crumb is equal parts concerned voice-of-reason and devil-may-care cynic. Zwigoff cleverly and cautiously captures his supremely talented subject, managing to persuade him to keep his guard down at all times, and unflinchingly peaking at his numerous perversities (mainly sexual). And if you think Robert’s weird, just wait until you meet his jaw-droppingly dysfunctional brothers, Max and Charles, who almost manage to steal the show.

49. Dawn of the Dead (George A. Romero, 1978)

Messrs Pegg and Wright may have recast the zombie as the dozy, dawdling dafty of the horror world, but one watch of the gory, glorious highlight of Romero’s legendary trilogy should be enough to have everyone back to quaking in their boots at the mere thought of slowly encroaching hordes of the undead. Phew! As famous for having brains as much as munching on them, even if you don’t read Dawn as a razor-sharp satire on mindless consumerism, it still emerges as a masterfully crafted, gutsy piece of filmmaking. Produced by Dario Argento, it’s nailbiting action and horrifying gore sequences are brilliantly underscored by the mad, memorable music of Goblin.

48. The Third Man (Carol Reed, 1949)

“You know what the fellow said—in Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace—and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.”

If this were a list of The 100 Greatest Film Quotes, the above, legendary humdinger, as uttered by Orson Welles’ mysterious, unscrupulous black market racketeer Harry Lime, would be number one with a bullet. The Third Man is a beautifully shot Film Noir, concerning intrigue in post-war Vienna, that represents Britain’s finest ever foray into the genre.

47. Nights of Cabiria (Federico Fellini, 1957)

From my favourite film quote of all time to my favourite actress. Giulietta Masina may have been Fellini’s missus, but she more than merited every single one of her appearances in his films based on the fact that she possessed the deft comic touch of a Chaplin and the raw emotional punch of Anna Magnani. She absolutely shines here in her finest hour, playing the feisty, put-upon prostitute of the title. Cabiria’s world may be somewhat sordid and certainly rather rough around the edges, but that doesn’t prevent our heroine from putting on a brave face and dancing like there’s no tomorrow (in The Greatest Dance Sequence Ever Filmed). Bob Fosse was so inspired by this that he adapted it for the musical Sweet Charity.

46. This Is Spinal Tap (Rob Reiner, 1984)

While the subject of film quotes is still lingering in the air, I should probably tell you that, some time ago, part of my brain was replaced with a tape loop of quotes from This Is Spinal Tap; “Too much fucking perspective”, “It’s your fucking wife!”, “Let’s do GSM”, “Civilisation!”, those are just a few of my favourites. The original mock/rockumentary, Tap has often been lazily imitated, but not one of it’s copyists has been able to lampoon the fickle fool’s paradise that is the music industry with quite such savage success. Not only that, but beyond the musical in-jokes and pastiche lies a film that is also very funny and true in it’s portrayal of silly menchildren who stubbornly refuse to grow up, and consequently cower together in the face of the real world. But enough of my yakkin’, let’s boogie!

45. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (Sam Peckinpah, 1974)

Always overshadowed by the likes of The Wild Bunch and Straw Dogs in a justifiably revered filmography, it is my opinion that Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia is not only Peckinpah’s best, but also his most definitive film. Cult favourite Warren Oates stars as a lowly bar pianist who is paid an irresistible fortune by a wealthy landowner to secure for him, by any means necessary, the severed head of the bandit lothario who has impregnated his daughter. Many have read this as being the unruly director’s typically wry and bloody allegory for the film industry, but Alfredo Garcia is also a riotous, existential shoot ‘em up that’ll have you hollering at the screen in delight as much as any Peckinpah film ever did.

44. A Room for Romeo Brass (Shane Meadows, 1999)

It is a testament to the unique, priceless talent of Shane Meadows that A Room for Romeo Brass can be described simultaneously as both charming and chilling. Romeo and Gavin are a pair of school chums who befriend a weird but comical local loser, the considerably older Morell. Paddy Considine’s debut turn as Morell is quite simply one of the best performance’s of the past twenty years, and he brilliantly sketches a realistic and believable portrait of an isolated eccentric. Furthermore, the moment this seemingly harmless character reveals a hitherto unseen dark and dangerous side by violently threatening Gavin, after the youngster unwittingly crosses him, is one of the greatest ever examples of a single scene having the power to turn an entire film on it’s head. What follows is authentic, gripping British drama at it’s best.

43. Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)

More than just a film, a bona fide planet-straddling, pop culture phenomenon; it is sometimes easy to forget just how great Pulp Fiction is/was/is. Probably the film on this list that I’ve seen the most numerous times (thanks mainly to the school summer break of 1995, when I watched it on video EVERYDAY), Tarantino’s sprawling crime cinema homage has been overseen to the point where many have become blase about it. But come on, has there ever been a more inventive and experimental film to achieve widespread mainstream success? Check out that Godard-esque intro sequence, and the revolutionary non-chronological narrative structure. Neither of these devices are hokey or contrived, but both are highly effective and bear the mark of a true master. Golly, I want to watch it again!

42. The Naked Kiss (Samuel Fuller, 1964)

Samuel Fuller’s strangest film (which is quite an achievement), The Naked Kiss offers up an unsettling splicing of hardboiled Film Noir and intense melodrama. Big city prostitute Kelly quits the game and relocates to a small town where she begins to work incognito as a nurse for disabled children. A local cop who knows her true identity tries to run her out of town, but when a wealthy businessman falls for Kelly she finds she has a new, influential ally. That is, until she discovers her rich paramour has a secret darker than her own. In turns creepy, explosive, raunchy and witty, The Naked Kiss boasts the most captivating intro sequence of Fuller’s career (which is quite an achievement, too).

41. The Battle of Algiers (Gillo Pontecorvo, 1966)

One of the most politically charged films ever made, and a cracking piece of drama, to boot, The Battle of Algiers is still relevant and incendiary today. Concerning a French military crackdown on terrorism in the Algerian capital during the last days of colonialism, Pontecorvo’s powerful film is so insightful that it was given a special screening in the Pentagon following the occupation of Iraq in 2003. The Battle of Algiers was shot a mere four years after the events it depicts took place, and it possesses a stark, dangerous realism that is unforgettable and unequalled in all of cinema.

40. Suspiria (Dario Argento, 1977)

Argento’s most famous film, and the best example of his renowned and highly sophisticated use of colour, sets and lighting. Indeed, Suspiria is so darkly, richly  beautiful, with it’s glacial blues, marble blacks and deep reds, that you can’t quite believe it’s creator is going to pour buckets of blood and guts all over it. Oh, but he does! Despite delivering a full hand of typically gruesome murders, Argento never lets the intoxicating spell of his dark fairytale leave us unraptured for a split second. The bizarre tale of a coven of witches running a ballet school in Germany, Suspiria was co-written with Argento regular, and mother of Asia, Daria Nicolodi.

39. Once Upon a Time in the West (Sergio Leone, 1968)

It has often been said that all a film needs to be any good is a great opening and a dynamite finale. In that case then, Once Upon a Time in the West is “any good” times a billion. Opening with a brooding bunch of killers intently waiting for their victim whilst engaging in a series of meticulously choreographed petty diversions and distractions, and ending with the most mindblowing slice of revenge ever served up on celluloid; what happens in between ain’t half bad, either. And how could it not be, when Leone selected none other than Bernardo Bertolucci and Dario Argento to help him co-write what is surely the last word on the Spaghetti Western.

38. Wild Strawberries (Ingmar Bergman, 1957)

Bergman’s beautiful and incredibly moving journey through the past comes on a bit like a Proustian road movie, if you can imagine such a thing. Swedish film legend Victor Sjostrom stars as a grumpy doctor taking the trip from Stockholm to Lund to receive an honorary degree that as good as signals the end of his professional life, and causes him to take stock of his personal life. With his son’s estranged wife in tow, he visits old childhood haunts and comes face to face with ghosts from the past. A film that continues to haunt you in a most melancholy way, and cinema’s greatest ever depiction of the bittersweet dance of time.

 

37. The Godfather Saga (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972/1974/1977)

Do you see what I’ve done here? I’ve selected the 1977 made-for-TV omnibus version of The Godfather series, thus earning me two incredible films for the price of one. That’s not cheating, is it? Very few films could withstand such a drastic re-cutting operation, but spliced together, with events from both films reshuffled into chronological order, the first two chapters of this saga emerge as even more powerful, and yes, epic. Under this new sequence of events, the film opens with the breathtakingly apt and poignant shot of the young immigrant child, and future Godfather, Vito Corleone, gazing out at the Statue of Liberty from Ellis Island. There are a handful of first-rate new scenes along the way, before that familiar, unforgettably bleak final shot of the new Don, Vito’s son Michael, brooding coldly and pensively over his sins. Incidentally, I DO like The Godfather Part III, but it’s hardly Top 100 material, as unfairly maligned as it is.

36. Fitzcarraldo (Werner Herzog, 1982)

Ship ahoy! And not just any old ship, it’s a ship being hoisted up and over a mountain! But how the devil did it get there? Well, it’s all of part of philanthropic rubber baron Fitzcarraldo’s grand scheme to build an opera house on the banks of the Amazon river, and what it amounts to is one of the most striking images in film history. Herzog described it as a great visual metaphor, but a metaphor for what, he’s not sure. Legendary wild card Klaus Kinski gives his most engrossingly human performance in what is probably his frequent director’s masterpiece, and certainly his most uplifting film by a country (or rainforest) mile.

35. Europa (Lars von Trier, 1991)

It’s quite funny that, stylistically, Lars von Trier is still most closely associated with the Dogme 95 movement (a back-to-basics school of filmmaking, barring even the most basic of technical manipulation i.e. lighting, audio overdubbing etc.). For a start, he only ever made ONE Dogme film (The Idiots), and secondly, when he burst onto the scene in the early 80s, he quickly established himself as Europe’s most technically gifted young director. Europa is the best film of this first phase of his career, an incomparable meshing of Sci-Fi and Film Noir, set in an aesthetically reimagined post-World War II Berlin. This film is such a stylish tour-de-force, it’s little wonder that the Great Dane was once touted to direct Return of the Jedi (imagine!).

34. Gregory’s Girl (Bill Forsyth, 1981)

Nearly every “quirky” American film director of the last 10 years has liberally pilfered from the artfully orchestrated kookiness of Bill Forsyth, yet none have come close to fully matching his oddly dry and endearing sense of fun. His third film, Local Hero, may be his biggest international hit, but this, his second, is a rightfully acknowledged mini-national treasure. Goofy Gregory has lost his place in the school football team to a girl, and if that weren’t bad enough, he develops a huge, unrequited first crush on her. While we are sure to empathise with his growing pains, we are even more certain to laugh at our hero’s hopeless shortcomings, and John Gordon Sinclair’s winning performance as the title character suggests he should have gone on to bigger things than those Tesco ads.

33. Johnny Suede (Tom DiCillo, 1991)

From a classic British oddball romantic comedy, to something of a similar stripe from our American cousins. Unfairly, primarily remembered as an early Brad Pitt curiousity these days, Johnny Suede should instead be held in Gregory’s Girl-style affection as an essential study on the need to pass maturity on the threshold of that first big relationship. It’s really fucking funny, too. I’ve never particularly liked him, but you’ve got to give Pitt his due here as he’s excellent as the be-quiffed 50s throwback trying hard to be cool in hip early-90s New York. He soon finds his affections torn between an equally pretenious paramour who just might be able to give him a shot at a music career, and a more genuine and reliable would-be girlfriend, who can’t help but prick his over-inflated ego. Which one will he choose? Nick Cave pops up in a hilarious, extended cameo as Johnny’s mentor/tormentor.

32. The 400 Blows (Francois Truffaut, 1959)

Francois Truffaut’s feature-length debut, and the greatest film ever made about that painful, confusing voyage through early adolescence. Revolving around the director’s alter-ego, Antoine Doinel, we see how a chance day’s truanting sets off an unfortunate chain of events for our young hero, as he discovers his aloof, unloving mother is having an affair. An unsuccessful attempt to steal and pawn a typewriter, in order to fund an escape from his troubled homelife, results in Antoine ending up in borstel. Truffaut brings proceedings to a memorable, haunting close with an evocative final shot that was recently referenced in an episode of The Simpsons! Jean-Pierre Leaud, who was 14 at the time, gives the most capable performance ever seen from a child actor as Doinel, and he would go on to star in several more Truffaut films, in addition to further acting for the likes of Godard, Bertolucci and Kaurismaki.

31. The Devils (Ken Russell, 1971)

The jewel in the crown of the Oliver Reed/Ken Russell partnership, and the best film of either man’s entire career, The Devils is so bloody shocking that they won’t even put it out on DVD more than 40 years on! Set in the walled city of Loudun, in plague-ridden 17th Century France, Reed stars as a forthright, but well-meaning, priest, who is determined to save his hometown from destruction at the hands of the mad court of Louis XIII. Before he can manage this, however, his clandestine and highly dangerous marriage to one of his parish is uncovered and he is accused of trickery and witchcraft. What follows is a suitably devilish depiction of debauchery, religious hysteria and excruciating torture, but no matter how visceral Uncle Ken’s masterpiece may be, there’s no ignoring it’s heartfelt longing for spiritual serenity over fundamentalist fervour.

30. Twitch of the Death Nerve (Mario Bava, 1971)

AKA A Bay of Blood AKA Bloodbath Bay of Death AKA Carnage AKA Ecology of a Crime AKA The Antecedent. I’ve always known it as Bloodbath, but whatever you call it, Mario Bava’s maelstrom of murder ‘n’ mayhem is as bloody, not to mention as bloody brilliant, as they come. Not so much gently leading as violently shoving the Italian Giallo on the path to inspiring the American Slasher, Bava eschews the usual whys and wherefores of the murder mystery sub-genre and just lets the bodycount mount. Different factions fight over the deeds to a lucrative property (that old chestnut!) and each interested party resorts to good ol’ fashioned murder when they don’t get their way. Who, if anyone at all, will survive? You may have noticed by now that I like my opening sequences strong, so try this one on for size; a killer commits a murder before, completely unexpectedly, they themselves are despatched by an unseen third party, in a genius, convention-busting move. And Twitch starts as it means to go on, being brutal, sly and not just a little bit cheeky. Classic Bava, then.

29. Martin (George A. Romero, 1977)

Romero drags the vampire myth biting and screaming into the modern era, with a petulant, alienated teenager replacing the usual cackling count as the bloodsucker de jour. But rather than sinking his fangs into his victims’ necks, young Martin instead forcibly injects them with sedatives, before taking a razor to them and sating his diabolical desire. It’s a messy, dangerous habit that our young protagonist is trying his best to kick, but his best might not be good enough for his oldy worldy uncle, who’s got a sharp stake at the ready should Martin continue to give in to this dark temptation. Brilliantly subverting every convention of the traditional vampire film, the low-key, atmospheric Martin is Romero’s most subdued film. It’s also the horror master’s personal favourite of all his own efforts, and who are we to argue?

28. Play It Again, Sam (Herbert Ross, 1972)

My favourite Woodsy Allen film, and he didn’t even direct it! I’ll give it to you straight, I have very mixed feelings about the “little nervous guy”, and find his early, slapstick outings pretty hard to sit through. Furthermore, I find Manhattan grossly overrated, and think that every single film he’s made over the past twenty years (and there’s at least twenty of them!) has been a complete waste of celluloid. On the plus side, I absolutely adore Annie Hall, and of course, Play It Again, Sam. Maybe it’s because he’s not behind the camera for this one, but Allen’s shtick is at it’s most focused and user friendly here. Every character he’s ever played has been but a minor tweak on his own public persona, but for what it’s worth, Play It Again, Sam’s Allan Felix is his best ever onscreen alter-ego.  A perennial wimp and loser in love, Felix hero worships legendary tough guy Humphrey Bogart, an apparition of whom occassionally appears to give him advice and counsel in his daydreams. However, this puny pretender soon gets a chance to embark on a risky, real-life romance when he begins an affair with his best friend’s wife, in a scenario that bears a weird, passing resembelance to events depicted in a certain Humphrey Bogart film. The perfect mix between zany and heartfelt, with nary a Bergman pretension in sight, it’s a real shame Woodsy didn’t make (or get someone else to make) more fine, funny and true films like this.

27. Breathless (Jean-Luc Godard, 1960)

I was having a chat with a lovely, old university tutor of mine once, when the subject turned to the films of Jean-Luc Godard. My teacher told me that when he saw Breathless for the first time on it’s 1960 release, he had never seen anything like it. He told me it was tantamount to a punch in the face; an unexpected, unprecedented clarion call and a first glimpse at the true, invigorating potential of cinema. I told him that when I first saw Breathless, nearly forty years later, I felt exactly the same way. In the years between, as well as those since, nothing has matched Breathless, and it’s main iconic/iconoclastic protagonist Michel, in terms of swagger, malice, raw energy and plain cool. Co-written by Godard with Francois Truffaut, this is chain-smoking, car-stealing, gun-touting crime cinema at it’s nihilistic best.

26. Apocalypse Now Redux (Francis Ford Coppola, 1979/2001)

We’ve already established that he’s a dab-hand at giving his old films a makeover, so that’s why I’ve gone for the extended version of Coppola’s harrowing, psychedelic voyage to the dark heart of modern warfare. Not so much specifically about the Vietnam war as it is about “Man’s Favourite Sport” generally, no other film quite captures the madness, the mayhem, the devastation and, yes indeed, the horror of war. A true, nightmarish epic, this journey to destroy a rogue, megalomaniacal US Army Colonel, who is savagely presiding over an insane mini-empire in a South-East Asian jungle, is all the better for having almost a full hour added to it’s already substansial 153 minute running time. Believe it or not, there are even longer bootleg versions doing the rounds, but rest assured, every single minute of Apocalypse Now, whether commercially available or not, is pure, spellbinding, mind-shattering magic.

25. Le Boucher (Claude Chabrol, 1970)

While never considered the leading light of the French New Wave, Chabrol certainly beats his contemporaries in terms of longevity. Truffaut pretty much peaked in 1962, and Godard lost his marbles roughly six years later, but Chabrol continues to churn out intriguing and inventive films to this day. After making his name with downbeat, provincial dramas that were rather close in spirit to the films of the British New Wave (kitchen sink and all), Chabrol changed tact in the late 60s and started making odd, emotionally cool, intellectual murder mysteries. Le Boucher represents a successful mating of these two styles, as the French master quietly weaves a simple, but utterly shocking, tale of a spate of murders in a small, provincial French town. Local school teacher Helene (played by the brilliant Stephanie Audran, Chabrol’s then-wife) finds herself at the heart of the mystery when she begins to suspect that her new boyfriend, the butcher of the title, could be the killer. Chabrol spools out his mystery gently and hypnotically, slipping us some prize moments of suspense along the way. Imagine Alfred Hitchcock crossed with Ken Loach. It’s THAT good!

24. True Stories (David Byrne, 1986)

Surely the only film on this list to be directed by a “pop” star (unless Fritz Lang once cut a rockabilly album that nobody knows about), True Stories is a weird, wonderful, one-of-a-kind road movie from the mind of Talking Heads frontman David Byrne. The brainy punk pioneer is onscreen practically the whole way through this bizarre insight into a contradictorily homely, futuristic, everyday and oddball Texan town, as he acts as a guide to the strange goings-on around us. Partially inspired by tall-tales from the American tabloids, the whole thing culminates in a brilliantly staged concert, giving familiar faces like John Goodman the chance to belt out some Talking Heads compositions. The greatest compliment you can afford this film is that Byrne is as witty and original when it comes to making motion pictures as he is at making music.

23. Melvin and Howard (Jonathan Demme, 1980)

Despite the brilliance of his own directorial effort, David Byrne’s most famous dalliance with film will always be Talking Heads’ innovative 1984 concert film, Stop Making Sense, directed by one Jonathan Demme. Similarly, Jonathan Demme himself will always be best known for Oscar-winning successes like The Silence of the Lambs and Philadelphia. The talented Corman-school graduate’s career goes back a good seventeen years before Hannibal Lector, however, and Melvin and Howard is the best thing he’s ever done. Luckless slacker Melvin picks up a hitch-hiker one night who claims to be reclusive American billionaire Howard Hughes. He doesn’t believe him, of course, but Melvin cheerfully indulges the old drifter, who is grateful for the lift. Things take an unexpected turn a few years later and our hospitable hero has his whole world turned upside down when he is named the sole benefactor in Howard Hughes’ will, with half of the United States now out for a piece of him. If there’s ever been a better film made about the bittersweet reality of that most loosely defined of concepts and ideologies, the American Dream, then I ain’t seen it. And if you ain’t seen Melvin and Howard, you really ought to sort that out.

22. A Clockwork Orange (Stanley Kubrick, 1971)

You couldn’t see A Clockwork Orange for more than twenty years in Britain, but my Gosh, it was worth the wait. A heady, futuristic morality tale, Stanley Kubrick’s most controversial film, and one of the most controversial films ever made, is based on an Anthony Burgess novel that poses a heavy existentsial question; can an evil man forced to be good really, for all intents and purposes, become a truly good man? Perfect material for a Kubrick film, no doubt, and the director leaves his mark on it indelibly by lobbing off the book’s last chapter to suit his own vision, and cast further doubts over the true nature of malevolent, ultra-violent anti-hero Alex. But A Clockwork Orange has style as well as brains, and while many movies can lay claim to having influenced a particular trend, Kubrick’s film informed not just one, but two. Glam-rock and punk probably wouldn’t have turned up looking quite so sharp and other-worldly without A Clockwork Orange, but even outside of it’s historical context, this film, simply put, towers. The finest hour of one of cinema’s bona fide geniuses.

21. Gremlins (Joe Dante, 1984)

My absolute, number one favourite film when I was a snotty-nosed youngster, and so good I still watch it at least once a year (usually at Christmas, natch). Tellingly directed by another Corman protege, Joe Dante, Gremlins is the monster movie to end them all, and a sometimes shockingly iconoclastic up-yours to the white picket fence America of the movies. Everyone knows what this is about (and everyone knows what the three rules are!), so let’s instead concentrate on how unbelievably wild and witty, not to mention nasty, this is for a film essentially aimed at children. Dante apparently knew he was going to land himself in trouble when he was making this, as the adorable mogwai metamorphisise into the murderous Gremlins, but producer Steven Spielberg (of all people!) gave him carte blanche to continue making this horror/comedy satire. And it’s a good job he did, because otherwise we would have been denied that rare thing; an 80s mainstream film with brains, imagination and cruel, madcap humour. No other film could satisfy me quite as much when I was growing up, and to be honest, very few films do even today. Just don’t feed them after midnight!

Yes, Gremlins! What on earth do you mean “Critters was better”? It most certainly was not! Anyway, if you don’t like Gremlins, then fuck you, but please, please, please come back next week to find out what my 20 favouritest films are in part three of The 100 Greatest Films Ever Made.

Thanks for reading!

Oi! Here’s part three.

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