Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire: A Franchise Worth Burying

Dany Aykroyd and Harold Ramis once had an outlandish idea for a new ghostly comedy caper. The idea was so outlandish that studios didn’t have much confidence in getting it made. Both comedians had made names for themselves on the comedy circuit, and they promised early stars like John Belushi and Eddie Murphy as headliners. But the film was drastically altered over time. It’s a miracle that the film turned out as well as it did, being strengthened by its cast and their naturalistic improving skills.

What was ultimately a miraculous accomplishment was regurgitated into a franchise of less-than-stellar sequels and spinoffs. But when 2021’s Ghostbusters: Afterlife, which reimagined the dynamic as something of a smaller, family-led affair about the grandchildren of Raimis’s Egon Spengler, was released, many found it to be a nice breath of fresh air. Connecting itself to the original two films, ignoring the 2016 reboot, fans applauded it for being more unique…until the final act, wherein the movie completely replicated the finale the original film. A big part of the success was director Jason Reitman, son of Ivan Reitman, who directed the first two films.

Now we have the follow up; a sequel that brings us back to the roots of the Ghostbusters’ inception. With a new director at the helm, it was difficult to know how well this could turn out. Would Egon’s family from the first film be able to hold this one together? Or would we see the original ‘busters hijack the film for the sake of that oh-so-easy nostalgia-pandering? Whatever the case, this is Gil Kenan’s Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire.

The Ghostbusters are back in New York! Well, not the original team exactly. Following the family of the deceased Egon again, the once rural family have set up base in the original city the team started. Egon’s daughter Callie (Carrie Coon) is now in full gear alongside her kids, Phoebe (Mckenna Grace) and Trevor (Finn Wolfhard), as well as her new partner Gary (Paul Rudd). The family is bursting through New York, catching spirits and taking residence in the old firehouse. But after an incident that endangers the city, the teenage Phoebe is pushed into taking a backseat- appropriate considering she’s underage.

While the gang continues to catch spectres, original Ghostbuster Ray Stantz (Dan Aykroyd) is given a mysterious sphere by a man named Nadeem (Kumail Nanjiani), whom claims to have inherited it from his grandmother. Though Nadeem only wants to pawn it off, Ray realises that there is a ghostly force inside of it that may contain a powerful spirit. That of a frozen force that could freeze over the entire Earth. Ray decides to help out Phoebe and the returning ‘Podcast’ (Logan Kim), in discovering the origins of this ghostly villain.

While all this is going on, Phoebe finds a newfound and strange romance in Melody (Emily Alyn Lind), a ghost girl who is desperate to reunite with her deceased family. Her budding relationship with Phoebe seems to have some sort of sinister intent behind it, but the hormone-driven Phoebe seems too infatuated to notice. Meanwhile, Winston Zeddemore (Ernie Hudson) has created a research lab to further explore malignant spirts, with the help of Lucky (Celeste O’Connor), returning from the previous adventure, and Lars (James Acaster). Researching the spirt, they begin to realise just how powerful it may be.

It would be foolish to pretend that the entire film isn’t riddled with too many subplots and characters. In a bizarre and stark contrast to the previous film, Frozen Empire opts to up the ante by shoving in as much as they can as to capture the ludicrous nature of the original film-I didn’t even mention the little subplot about Gary trying to be a father figure to the kids or Trevor’s little dynamic with the returning Slimer or even Nadeem’s journey of self-discovery. You would think with such a convoluted mess of events that I would simply hate everything about this, but…it’s surprisingly fun.

Afterlife left me feeling this sense of hollowness. While ambitious in its approach, focusing on a smaller-stakes story in the countryside, it just didn’t feel like a Ghostbusters film-until the end, where it felt too much like the original film. This one finds a fairer balance, reminding us of what appealed to us in the first place. Yes, it’s messy and goes in too many directions, but there’s fun to be found within all of those subplots.

It is surprising to see Paul Rudd pushed to the forefront in this one-literally being top-billed. As he usually is, he’s one of the most enjoyable parts of the film. I did enjoy his little arc of trying to connect with the kids, especially Phoebe. It doesn’t go down too many cliché routes of having the kids absolutely despise him, and keeps him relatively jovial. Most of the best content in the film is just Rudd reacting to iconic Ghostbusters items and events. Even Carrie Coon, whose character I disliked in the previous film, is very enjoyable in this one, having the right amount of sass as to not be too unlikeable.

There are other characters that I feel are pushed aside too much, or even to the point where you question why they’re there. Kumail Nanjiani was the most enjoyable part of the film, and he gets this arc about being this ‘chosen one’ of sorts. The biggest laughs often came from him, and you can tell he’s invoking that more naturalistic atmosphere of the original. The problem is that he’s not utilised fully until the final act. He would’ve been a welcome Ghostbuster, bouncing off the likes of Rudd incredibly well. But I suppose they have to keep the family dynamic from the previous film.

Mckenna Grace still brings much of the strength to the film. Her role as Phoebe is still as indicative of that Egon-meets-angsty-teenager approach, and her frustration at being side-lined is perfectly understandable. She feels like a genuine teenager, but never pushed to the point where she’s aggravatingly obnoxious. The romance she shares with the ghostly Melody is genuinely sweet as well, even with how ridiculous the concept can seem. But what is Ghostbusters without pure ridiculousness?

What felt most surprising to me is how little the issues the film certainly has bothered me. There’s this little gag-reliant side plot about how Trevor is trying to trap Slimer, who is taking up residence in the firehouse’s attic, and it serves as just a reason to give Wolfhard something to do. It also suffers with that constant issue of nostalgia-pandering that many modern sequels tend to do. But that said, it was quite a lot of fun and felt like something you’d see in one of the original films.

Aykroyd was given a shocking amount to do. While they hardly have him running around wearing the proton pack, he does have this side plot where he helps out Phoebe and Podcast. There is a level of self-awareness there, with Winston encouraging his friend to give up this lifestyle. I usually groan at the idea of these old actors being dragged into doing the same thing they did forty years ago-it tends to be pathetic and a little hard to watch-but they use Ray, and all the returning actors like Bill Murray and Annie Potts, quite effectively…until the final act.

The film is ripe with obvious dialogue simply explaining everything on screen. Acaster and O’Connor are essentially just there to be massive dialogue boxes with nothing of worth to add. Having a stand-up comedian there and not giving him many jokes seems rather strange and pointless. Once you start picking apart the finer points of the story, many, many cracks begin to show.

Much like the last film, the final act is where the film really falls apart. The villain that they spend time building up is effective, sporting a cool design and worrying power, but it does come with an obnoxious scene of heavy exposition. The film is also rampant in nostalgia-bait moments; again, this is an issue many legacy sequels tend to suffer from. There are lines directly quoting iconic ones from the first, we get William Atherton returning as Walter Peck for no other reason than reminding us of his character, the Stay Puft creatures are back in full swing and we get the original characters having their moment to shine, doing very little.

By the end of the film, you will question just how much of it felt comprehensible. While the original film is full of sillier moments, you understand the story and can follow each character, even the side-characters, pretty proficiently. This film doesn’t quite know what to do with everything on its plate and tries to shove in as many characters and side-plots as it can. It takes a Marvel approach, trying to build a team of distinct and recognisable characters, whereas it should’ve just been a further exploration of the family we had in Afterlife.

The hate that this film has received has been quite overblown. Yes, it’s another shameless cash-grab and another cog in the regurgitating machine we call Hollywood. But that’s not to say films like this can’t be fun.

The film does make use of modern advancements. The CGI is impressive to look at and we do get some fun ghosts. I wish there were more dynamic designs, but the demonic looking ghost and the bizarre little light that can possess people and objects were amazing additions. Even the revisited ghosts have nice and appropriate redesigns.

When you place this film up against the other sequels, you end up appreciating it for how closely it captures the spirit of the original. Ghostbusters II, while remembered fondly today, was at once considered a shameless cash-in of the first film’s success. The 2016 reboot was a failed attempt at trying to bring the franchise back to life. And Afterlife, in my personal opinion, suffered with a severe identity crisis where it felt too different and too unconfident in itself to have a proper finale. This one is fun. That’s something that has been lacking from all of these other sequels.

But ultimately, I think this franchise needs to be retired. You can’t replicate the miracle that was the original film. Those who have tried always miss the point, and while this comes close, it still can’t bring to life the magic that consumed the minds of kids around the world. This might make me feel good, but bustin’ has never felt as good as it did in ’84.

Written review by Conor Johnson.

My All-Time (20) Favourite Movies: 200th Special

It’s here! After almost five years (ignoring my failed attempt at starting a film blog in 2015) of writing articles, film reviews and other little ventures that didn’t quite pan out, I’ve reached my two-hundredth written article-just as long as we only include the articles situated on this particular blog.

Typically, whenever I’ve reached a fiftieth article milestone, I like to revisit a Tim Burton film, following in the vein of my first 2019 review, Ed Wood. I had a very different approach to revisiting older films when I started this, trying to find a balance of obscurities and beloved classics. But I’ve evolved quite a bit since then, preferring the hidden gems that lie beneath the crust of the casual moviegoer. But I still wanted to do something special for this landmark article; everybody enjoys a list.

Listed here are the twenty movies I consider to be my favourite films of all time. These are the films that managed to either strike a particular chord with me or are so closely linked to a personal experience or mentality that I can’t compare it to any other. Some of these I simply enjoy for just how thoroughly entertaining and rewatchable they are. My personal picks can change from time to time, but this is about as concrete as I can get. From lowest to highest, this is my top twenty films of all time.

20. Taste of Cherry (1997)

We’re starting off on a very grim tone here with Abbas Kiarostami’s Iranian gem. My experience with South Asian cinema is very minimal, but the allure of Taste of Cherry is something that breaks barriers.

With the film being centred around a man (Homayoun Ershadi) ready to commit suicide, you can expect the film to have a sombre atmosphere all throughout. But what’s most interesting about this is that the tone is mostly very flat. This man meets a revolving door of different people who he asks to help bury him alive, three of them with different outlooks and of different generations. Each conversation, bountiful in length, offers us varying views of mortality and mental health. In a country where suicide is such a reviled thing, condemned through religious belief, it asks the question of how justified one’s emotions can be in the face of everything you’ve been taught.

What appeals to me most about this film is how earnestly it tackles the debate. We’ve all experienced our own bouts of depression, even getting to that point of weighing up your options, ready to bite the bullet. Unless you’ve experienced those feelings, it’s difficult to describe just how empty you feel. It’s usually not a torrent of tears or a deep pleading for someone to help you: you’ve made your mind up. We know very little of why Badiei wants to kill himself; we’re witnessing a man at the end of his rope, trying to place responsibility on others as a subtle cry for help.

The beauty of this film is how it doesn’t necessarily put blame on to one particular figure. Even the first two people Badiei meets-a younger man who wants nothing to do with this and a middle-aged man who couldn’t care less-are not evil for not trying to help him. There is a criticism of religious teachings, acknowledging the problems with certain parts of them, but it’s also offering a helping hand to those in need. So much of that emotion, heavily veiled as it is, is something that permeated onto me. It doesn’t lay the message on thick, treating the viewer as a friend in need more than anything.

I’ve adored this film since the first watch. It’s hard to find films that so perfectly encapsulate many of my own anxieties this way. I haven’t ranked it any higher because I don’t think enough time has passed for me to fully fall in love with it. That said, it’s a film that tackles a regurgitated idea with a nicely sombre and still approach that will have you hooked to every word, encouraging your own feelings on such a sensitive subject. The taste of cherry is a sweet sensation, but there’s always a rock-like core at the bottom.

19. Before Sunrise (1995)

Subtle existentialism may be a running theme, considering the unmatchable exploration of life itself in Richard Linklater’s distinct trilogy starter, Before Sunrise. I spoke of the entire trilogy in a seperate analysis, being, what I consider, to be up there as the near enough the greatest film trilogy of all time. And it’s that first film that I’ve revisited so many times.

This film isn’t adorned in action set-pieces or any particular excitement: it’s an exploration of two ocean-splayed lovers that spend a single day together. Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) meet on a train bound for Vienna. Jesse is doing a European trip and Celine is simply trying to get home. This single meeting on a train leads to an emotional journey that invites us into the confines of an intimate relationship being birthed. From train to tram to simply walking about the streets of Vienna, the little musings on life and our ultimate reasoning for existence leaves you contemplating the same things.

I typically don’t gel with tired romance stories, but Before Sunrise is something else. It sticks quite closely to what you might expect from the genre, but it also allows us to deconstruct the essence of what a relationship is: what significance does it have in the grand scheme of things and why is it so beautiful? Hearing these two enigmatic figures speak about their aspirations, their failed relationships, even the state of the world, political or otherwise, is painstakingly explored. And it’s all done in a very naturalistic way. Boredom never sets in; you feel like a participant in one of the most salient, continuous conversations.

While not immediately accessible to those who look for a bit more action in their films, Before Sunrise and its almost equally superb sequels deserve the fullest of attention. Whether it’s through Hawke and Delpy’s playfulness or the little pitstops they make, you see the relationship grow organically. Walk through the streets of these European cities, experience the day-to-day life of those we rarely see, and simply exist as a spectator in the budding formation of two perfect lovers.

18. Fargo (1996)

Who doesn’t like to dabble in the macabre arts? No more prominent are directors in this style of storytelling than Ethan and Joel Coen. The brothers have given us many thriller-comedies over the years, sometimes leaning more on one side than the other, but one of the most significant for me is their chipper dark comedy, Fargo. The show that spun off from this years later may have overshadowed it, but there is something special about that classic Minnesotan kidnapper story that gets the toes a-burning.

The heart of the movie is Frances McDormand’s ever-optimistic, and heavily pregnant, Marge, sent out to investigate a mysterious murder and uncover an elaborate scheme to kidnap someone. McDormand’s peppy kindness makes even the most grisly of murders feel like a slight inconvenience, and we learn just as much about her as the plot instigator, Jerry (William H. Macy). Rarely ever trying to explore emotional themes or deconstructing specific quirks, the film is a rather straightforward contrast of Minnesota kindness meeting grim reality.

There’s not much weight to this one, especially when you stack it up against my previous two picks. What makes it stick out is just how thoroughly entertaining it manages to remain. The criminals that botch this attempted kidnapping are some of the most incompetent figures, powered by Steve Buscemi in one of his greatest roles. Even in spite of their incompetence, a wild card of uncertainty manages to take over.

Fargo is one of those films I think back to whenever I want something a little lighter. Sure, the whole kidnapping scheme, fully orchestrated by Jerry, certainly ventures down some darker avenues, but the juxtaposition is what you sink your teeth into. A situation of hilarity that builds and builds and builds until you reach a climax you never thought they’d go as far as to portray, it’s one of the most important films the Coen brothers have ever made. It’ll leave you chuckling in your boots, y’betcha.

17. Hot Fuzz (2007)

Believe it or not, there are films outside of the nineties that have managed to tickle the ivories. Case in point: the most quintessential British film out there. I could probably comprise an entire list of films directed by Edgar Wright, but the one that sticks out to me-undoubtedly everyone else as well-is the middle of Wright’s famed Cornetto trilogy. Quoted to nauseum, packed full of clever call-backs and foreshadowing, and presenting an editing style that should be studied in every film class, it’s certainly one my more obvious picks.

The adventures of Nicolas Angel (Simon Pegg) are fondly retold by anybody who has seen this film. His journey to a small village as a police officer sees him butting heads with more simple and passive people. Not the least of which is his police partner Danny (Nick Frost), a buffoon who only got the job because his dad is the sergeant. All of you know where this goes from here: murders start arising in this quaint town. A masterclass in action satire, Wright and Pegg specifically set out to make the most action-cliched film they possibly could. And yet, it still manages to keep its heart close to the screen.

It’s undeniable that Hot Fuzz has had such an impact on British culture, but many look towards the simpler presentation of the film. Deep down, there’s so much ingenuity that Wright has poured into the world and the atmosphere. Characters appear as simple caricatures, but it’s always done with a sly intent that audiences will overlook. There are call-backs to iconic action films, reaffirming that this is more of a tribute than a blatant parody. Each character is as memorable as the last, with Timothy Dalton hamming it up as a wonderfully sketchy character that the film telegraphs us to believe is the true villain behind it all. The twist is so much more shocking.

In the early days of my film-loving experiences, I aspired to be a film maker. This was far too ambitious for my abilities, but I knew that if I ever did become one, Edgar Wright would be the template. Now that my mind is more geared towards writing, I can still see myself utilising his ingenious structure. Hot Fuzz may be one of the most iconic films on this list, but any overbearing praise doesn’t ruin the subjective want of my mind. Anybody who has stepped behind a piece editing software could only strive to emulate the cut-throat pace of Wright’s vision. If you’re looking for any of Wright’s other films on this list, I’m afraid it’s just the one, actually.

16. Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

Can you believe that a film buff, such as myself, would place a Wes Anderson movie on a list like this? While not exactly surprising, many Anderson fans may be shocked to see this take precedence over films like Fantastic Mr. Fox or The Grand Budapest Hotel. Both are undeniable gems, but they, and Wes’ other films, have never reached the same personal allure that Moonrise Kingdom has. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of symmetry to go around.

In the wrong hands, a story of two children falling in love and running away together could fall apart due to the shoddy acting of its leads. Sam (Jared Gilman) and Suzy (Kara Haywood) never feel misrepresented. Anderson has a knack for switching up age dynamics in his characters, and it’s evident here with how Sam and Suzy, behaving like adults that already have their lives figured out, manage to outshine their adult counterparts. A boy-scout falls in love with a dancer; they run into the wilderness and simply enjoy each others’ company. The adults that chase them down simply don’t understand how children can so easily believe in love.

It is shocking how much this film managed to reach me on a personal level. As we grow into adults, we forget how good the feeling of a childhood crush can be. Even if these two characters never end up with each other in the future, it hardly matters. Yes, they behave more maturely than their adult chasers, but they still lack the foresight of what’s to come. It’s quite amazing how Wes has managed to recapture that innocence, giving us a contrasting side story with the adults, like with how Bruce Willis and Frances McDormand try to maintain an affair, or how Edward Norton’s camp leader wants to put a stop to all of this childish romance.

Wes Anderson’s films tend to have this uniformity to them that not everyone is going to vibe with. I have criticised films in the past for being too samey, but Anderson always manages to get around this problem. His style is comfortable and warm. Moonrise Kingdom isn’t all that distinct from his other works, but where it chooses to place the focus is what makes it stand apart. You still have all that wonderful cinematography and quirky dialogue and classic rock-tunes, so Anderson fans will get what they want. But the core of the film will always be the relationship the two leads share and the continuous development of said relationship. Childhood memories have never felt this visceral.

15. Logan (2017)

I’ve never been shy to show my distaste with the overexposure of superhero movies. Despite this, I’ll always have a soft spot for them. But just as anyone might, I tend to judge superhero flicks in a different realm from how I judge other films. The genre is so malnourished; so regurgitative that you have to look at them in the scope of how they compare to others of their kind. Then there’s James Mangold’s Logan. Say what you want about Fox’s superhero affair, they can sometimes dish out some creative and risky outliers in the genre. So much so that this film exceeds past that invisible box I have created.

Hugh Jackman delivers what was supposed to be his final bow as famed X-Men character Wolverine (aka Logan) in this dark, violent ode to what many, including myself, admire about the character. We see Logan on his last legs, in an age where mutants have reached near-extinction, only being accompanied by Patrick Stewart’s Professor Xavier and now a clone daughter in Laura (Dafne Keen). Taking inspiration from similar near-apocalyptic stories like Mad Max, the film is a grittier, more western-geared take on the colourfully vicious mutant hero.

The X-Men characters, comics and movies have always been very close to my heart, so it meant a lot to see the ideal vision of a standalone Wolverine movie come to life. After the first two botched attempts, to see Mangold tap into the core of Logan’s character-the bloodthirsty meeting the emotionally distraught tragedy-was more than pleasing. It’s contained in this beautiful tale of emotional breakage, powered by a brilliant trio of characters. When a superhero movie can do more than provide a thoroughly entertaining experience, you begin to stack it up against those films that have reached your favourites.

Though not incredibly deep and will probably mean more to the long-dedicated fans of the franchise than anyone else, there’s so much love and care put into crafting, at the time, the perfect swansong to a beloved character. But it also manages to be a fascinating character study that doesn’t shy away from the brutality. It’s the perfect example of what superhero films could be if studios were willing to take more risks. Excelling in extremity, excitingly entertaining; it’s an exceptional piece.

14. Raising Arizona (1987)

I never made any sort of vow to avoid double-dipping into the same directors’ works, and while I debated that decision for quite some time, to not have the Coen brothers’ Raising Arizona-or the aforementioned Fargo-would be a cardinal sin. One of the most comedy-centric films the brothers ever touched, that macabre sense of humour lends itself to what may be the greatest, or one of the greatest, direct comedies ever made.

Nicolas Cage, an actor I have not stopped defending and was long supportive of his renaissance, plays the lead role opposite Holly Hunter’s Ed as they kidnap a baby from a wealthy couple. Seeing as Ed can’t have children, they believe this is the only way. Cage plays a former criminal, Hunter being a former cop. The hijinks that ensue recapture the Coens’ knack for erratically climbing comedy in the most superb ways. This baby, of the wealthy Arizona family mentioned in the title, becomes this unstoppable force of love and care. Even criminals coo at the child’s existence.

Even less so than Fargo, many would not place this film above other, more iconic Coen films. Objectively, it’s not their best. But with how heartily and gut-crushingly I laughed, it’s difficult not to give this more credit. Cage and Hunter provide powerhouse performances, with Cage being his typical eccentric and Hunter elevating the already great material by playing certain scenes as straight as ever. The brief plot summary is not enough to explain why these characters are still likeable and sympathetic; you do get some genuinely depressing moments that make the characters’ journey feel more warranted. Add a couple of memorable villains-John Goodman being a particular highlight, and an ambiguous bounty hunter-and we get one of the most creatively bizarre films the brothers have made.

Bizarre is certainly the word to describe it. Raising Arizona may appear quite grounded, but the way characters enter and exit the movie is similar to a rotating door of misfits. Characters lose all sense of motivation when they meet the young infant and will try to adopt him into their routines. Much like Fargo, there isn’t any deep of intrinsic reason for why I love this film: it’s simply fun. If nothing else, you have to enjoy Cage’s commitment to being just as much of a lunatic as the characters on screen.

13. Grave of the Fireflies (1988)

I’ve never really resonated with anime the same way some of my friends did. It’s quite enlightening to see the genre become so normalised within the younger generations, considering you were almost bully fodder when I entered high school. That said, I have managed to expose myself to more anime over the last few years, and it all started with Studio Ghibli. The Japanese animation studio has dominated the market since their first true film, Nausicaa. And while Spirited Away sat comfortably on my list for some time, I couldn’t deny the film that impacted me more.

A depressing story set during World War II, Isao Takahata centres the narrative on a teenage boy and his younger sister as they set out into the world after the death of their parents. We are left to watch as these two children try to survive in a village that is consistently carpet bombed and where dead bodies keep turning up. Worst of all, the sister becomes sick. Takahata denied to the day he died that this film was specifically anti-war. While I certainly see what he means, being a story that centres on the loss of innocence, the stark imagery is undeniable, invoking the very real fear that Japanese people had during these times.

This film deals with heavy themes. While the studio’s other outputs haven’t been shy on exploring more adult themes, never has it felt more heart-breaking. The two siblings are such enigmatic figures. Trying to understand their pain and trauma, a concept that even they don’t quite understand, is almost impossible to do. The film can be so wrapped up in beautiful observations of the environment and the older brother teaching his sister about how to deal with such sadness, only to take a sudden shift into horrifying revelations. It doesn’t matter that these characters hide behind the shroud of animation. The horror and emotions are visceral.

I have a deep admiration for animation, even if there aren’t too many on this list, so it’s only natural to praise the visuals. Takahata takes advantage of the medium, using it to illustrate the intensity of the bombings and showing the gradual degradation of the kids as they try to survive. But it’s not the animation that pushes this into being in my personal list. It’s hard-hitting, never holding back and doing all it can within the limits of being family-friendly. The fact that this was released the same day as the studio’s more infamous My Neighbour Totoro is jarring. This isn’t a film you want to put on for your kids as an introduction to the studio, but it is something that needs to be viewed. Culturally important and ceaselessly tear-jerking, it makes you appreciate every bit of light left in the world.

12. The Blues Brothers (1980)

People who know me well won’t even bat an eye at something as ridiculous and, frankly, simplistic as John Landis’s jukebox musical/comedy. For those completely unaware of my usual film tastes, you may question why such a film lives amongst the echelon of movies like Moonrise Kingdom and Before Sunrise. The answer is as simple as the appeal of the film: it’s endlessly entertaining.

We all have that one film we can’t help but run to whenever we’re suffering a bad day or need a lighter film to break up the tension of a string of heavy-hitters. Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi lead a comedy caper that sees the two brothers looking to put their old band together to raise money for the orphanage they grew up in, only to cause havoc, get chased by the cops and suffer the near-death experiences at the hand of a bizarrely bloodthirsty Carrie Fisher. The fact that this was spun off from an SNL sketch explains the surprising sense of surrealism, and with Landis at the helm, the dry wit elevates it.

I’ve found myself loving this film with every watch. The style of comedy is perfectly levelled as to not take away from the central conflict, and the gags build and build to the point that you care little about logistics. Belushi and Aykroyd are consistently funny, making the most out of their straight reactions and delivering one-liners with a perfectly disinterested cadence. Rocket launcher-toting psychos, a vengeful group of country singers and even Nazis chase the brothers down, and it all just makes sense. Mix in some colourful and soul-popping cameos from famous musicians and you get a joyride you never want to leave.

This film is inextricably linked to my identity as a film critic. I first “attempted” to start this blog back in 2015 with a review of this film, but it largely failed and lacked the voice I have today. Even still, I always keep it there to remind me of how far I’ve come. I think about this film regularly; it’s burrowed into my mind. But I wouldn’t feel comfortable placing it any higher. This is one blues ballad that’ll leave you happier than ever.

11. Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

Horror movies are supposed to invoke fear. What a statement, right? I feel this is a necessary point to emphasise as very few horror films today manage to leave me with that same anxiety-ridden state of being that many older films have. The sixties are particularly unique for the genre, as many of them rely more on environmental terror and using the power of implication. Both are so very true of Roman Polanski’s beloved Rosemary’s Baby. It utilises those two key elements while also relying on the old faithful: religious guilt.

Mia Farrow delivers am inspired performance as the titular Rosemary, having moved into a new apartment with her boyfriend, Guy (John Cassavetes). It’s not long before their elderly neighbours start becoming friendly. But then, Rosemary has a devilish dream and soon becomes pregnant. But the pregnancy seems to be moving at a rather inconsistent rate. Rosemary starts to believe that her neighbours, and her boyfriend, may be part of some satanic cult. Why should she jump to that conclusion? They seem to know something of Rosemary’s supposed dream, and her boyfriend is overly keen in their involvement.

Rosemary’s Baby is a film that immediately has you grasping the edges of your sofa. Even just a simple scene of the couple walking around their new apartment carries with it an air of sinister intent. The use of empty space and shadowy corners have subconsciously morphed each scene into something unknowingly dangerous. Once the film kicks in to its main plot, you’re left questioning the reality that Rosemary faces. Nothing is clear; we don’t know how much is truly happening or if it’s simply the hallucinations of a pregnant woman. Themes of motherly anxiety, guilt over having a child out of wedlock and that need to protect yourself are so prevalent.

This is one of those horror flicks that many will acknowledge for its ability to stand out from it contemporaries but isn’t quite considered a comparable classic. It came out in the late sixties, when films were evolving into more experimental pieces, and that meant so much for the horror genre. Never has a film consistently left me grasping for shreds of light, always on edge and begging for the safety of the main character. Mia Farrow dominates every second of screen time she has, cementing the classic horror heroine long before the slasher genre became commonplace.

There are very few horror films that would come as close to everything else on my list, but Rosemary’s Baby is too important not to let in. Just how willing are you to possibly harness the Antichrist?

10. Ed Wood (1994)

Taking another trip down memory lane, Tim Burton’s ode to legendary ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ director Ed Wood-director of Plan 9 from Outer Space fame-this fascinating biopic was the first film I reviewed back in 2019, the year I began doing these reviews regularly. I had only just seen the film at the time, instantly falling for it. And time and constant re-watches have solidified it as one of my favourite films ever made. With Tim Burton no longer having the same powerhouse capabilities as a director that he once had, it’s a little bittersweet to speak such high appraisal for a film that defines his unique voice.

For those unaware, Ed Wood had gained a cult status for his terrible films. The reason you see such a niche community of the so-bad-it’s-good genre of film is because of him. He had a cheap and cost-effective approach to film making, lacking the funds and learned storytelling, but filled with ambition. Johnny Depp plays the eponymous director as the film recounts Wood’s journey from B-movie director to…slightly more known B-movie director. Most importantly, it delves into the relationship Wood formed with classic movie actor, Bela Lugosi (Martin Landau). The Dracula star saw a new life in Wood’s foolhardy films, but also struggled with feelings of insecurity and drug addiction. Their friendship is the heart of the film.

This is a film for the aspiring film maker; the outcasts that try all they can to get a foot in the door. Despite Burton’s presence, the film is so unique from anything else he’s done. A large part of this is because it lacks the usual gothic, abstract designs we identify Burton with. You can tell it’s labour of love. It’s a film that Burton sees so much of himself in, turning a social outcast into the perfect analogy for his own insecurities. Film is, above all, a transformative media that speak to the people behind their creation. Anyone who has experience making a film can relate to the struggles Wood goes through.

This film offers so much. The core friendship between Wood and Lugosi is powerful, and you really get the sense that they’re helping each other not because they think it will further their careers, but because they genuinely care about each other. Even Lugosi is given the same admiration; appropriate, considering that he is far more infamous than the obscure director. But there’s also much love in the way Wood makes his films and all the charming little mistakes he makes. We see movies today like The Room and Fateful Findings and you underestimate how much of that came from Wood. Burton doesn’t want us to forget about it.

Ed Wood will always remain a film I so closely attach to myself. The wide-eyed optimism of Wood is something I can’t help but admire. And while I don’t quite have the ambition to direct movies, that drive to keep making something, even if only a few people appreciate it, is continuously inspiring. The Blues Brothers may have been my first attempt, but it’s Ed Wood that got me to the point I’m at today…It just doesn’t quite beat out the films further in the list.

9. Banshees of Inisherin (2022)

It’s a tremendous for a film of the last few years to make it to my personal list. That’s not to say that there hasn’t been more than a heft of phenomenal films in those years, but none have quite scratched that personal itch quite like Martin McDonagh’s exploratory piece on leaving a mark on the world and whether that should be at the expense of alienating those closest to you. As someone who has lost friends, missed friends and wanted the best of both worlds, I’ve hardly found a film that resonates with me this powerfully.

The film centres around two friends living in the rural area of Inisherin, Ireland-a place that doesn’t actually exist-in the early twentieth century. Padraic (Colin Farrell) finds that his closest friend Colm (Brendan Gleeson) has stopped talking to him, seemingly out of nowhere. He soon finds out that Colm has reached a level of existentialism, worrying that he’s never going to make it as successful fiddle player if he keeps hanging around his layabout friend. Padraic doesn’t see it that way, holding on to the pintless conversations and enjoying the simplicity of life. Colm tells Padraic that if he keeps hounding him, he’ll start taking drastic measures.

We’ve all been in that state of questioning; deep questioning of what’s there at the end of our lives. Some find purpose in religion or their family, others look towards their work efforts. Many others, like myself, depend on their creative voice. Colm is very relatable, wanting to leave some sort of impact on the world before he eventually dies, but his method in doing so is destructive. That’s where the relatability of Padraic comes in. Like Padraic, I treasure the needless bits of conversation. Though they may be aimless and lack introspection, small talk and long conversation feels so powerful and enriching. As someone who pertains simple habits, I latch on to those moments of mindless chatter.

Whether you side with Padraic or Colm is unimportant. It’s about seeing both sides of the story and seeing the bad as well as the good. Other characters that come in and out of their lives, whether it’s Padraic’s sister Siobhan (Kerry Condon) or the village idiot Dominic (Barry Keoghan), their outlooks on life add an extra layer of conversation to the debate. Ultimately, your value is just as much as you perceive it. Kindness and good will towards others is something I carry with me as much as I can, but I also aspire to develop my writing into something more impactful. With the film being able to pick out every bit of me, I couldn’t help but fall in love with it (it also helps that the film is set in Ireland).

I think about this film constantly. There’s emotional moments that left me in tears and comical scenes that found me in a darkly jovial mood. You’ll find yourself screaming at both characters to see the other side of things, and what you get out of it and how you interpret it is totally up to you. I hold much of what the film says close to my heart, caring for both characters. Allow yourself to be open with others, don’t let that dream go.

8. Requiem for a Dream (2000)

Let’s get the obvious opinion out of the way: no, I do not believe Darren Aronofsky directly ripped off Perfect Blue. Did he take inspiration, despite pretending he never saw the film? Almost definitely. But I feel this cautionary drug tale has a voice of its own.

I have never experienced any sort of recreational drug, so I cannot speak for how accurately Requiem for a Dream captures the eventual downfall of such hard substances. But even so, there’s little reason not to appreciate Aronofsky’s warped and defamatory view of such a constant problem. Anyone who has seen the director’s other works knows that he brings a brutality to every single film he makes that leaves you reaching for the proverbial trigger. And in this early success, we may have his most sadistic commentary.

Exploring the damaging effects that drugs like heroin can have on a person, it mainly keeps the focus on three central characters, Harry (Jared Leto), his girlfriend Marion (Jennifer Connelly) and their friend, Tyrone (Marlon Wayans). Dealing with the culture, they slowly divulge into individual problems, from the decaying of an arm to being used as a whore to being total failures in the memories of those who raised them. Them there’s Harry’s mum (Ellen Burstyn), who starting taking these weight loss drugs so she can appear on her favourite reality TV show. She too, begins a downward spiral.

Some will toss their heads back at a film that loudly shouts its message, but sometimes we need something like that. While much of the drug crisis has been exaggerated by politicians and PSAs, you can’t deny the very real life-damaging effects they’ve had. Making the central characters young adults whom will do anything to get their fix makes the story that much more gut-wrenching. Though a lot of the decisions were wholly made by them, Aronofsky understands that the source of their problem comes from how society treats them. Even the elderly Sara-Harry’s mum-is influenced by weight standards.

The film is a continuous nightmare; never ceasing and getting worse and worse as the film goes on. This isn’t the type of story you can so easily sit down and enjoy in a more horror-centric way. Though heavily exaggerated, it works grisly wonders at making you squirm and reaffirms this idea that drugs simply aren’t worth the torture. Never have I felt so desperately pained for a cast of characters than this source of inherent nightmares. I will never forget the story of how a friend of mine watched this with his girlfriend, not knowing what the film entailed, and how utterly traumatised they both were. This is one for those with a strong stomach and can bare to have the words “ass to ass” give you the most uncomfortable feeling you’ll ever endure.

7. Mulholland Drive (2001)

On the subject of unnerving film makers, David Lynch isn’t exactly short of manic displays of his subconscious. That said, Mulholland Drive is one of his most comprehensible pieces. Tackling a subject I hold near and dear to my heart-the disillusionment of Hollywood-This biting commentary can get lost in the typical Lynchian absurdity. And while the director is known for never letting on the true purpose and subtext of his films, one doesn’t have to look to far to understand what’s being said.

While the film does start in a peculiar and surprising way, with what appears to be an actress left on the run with no memory of who she is, the film gives us a pretty solid story of an aspiring actress, named Betty (Naomi Watts), taking up residence in the Hollywood hills. There, she meets the amnesiac Rita (Laura Harring), and tries to uncover the mystery of who she once was. The two form a bond, with the wide-eyed Betty still hopeful towards her future career in the industry. But this industry is always relentless, and she’s pushed into doing uncomfortable things she naively accepts. And despite Betty’s recent arrival, she seems to share a lot more in common with Rita than either would’ve expected.

For fans of mystery novels and amnesia storylines, Mulholland Drive does fit perfectly into that mould. We all enjoy a good head-scratcher, so to have one of the vaguest and most nonsensical directors to hit the industry make such a film feels like a perfect pairing. There’s enough there for you to make your own assessment, putting the pieces together through interactions and small hints of Rita’s past. But then the typical Lynch-wildness comes in, and everything you thought you knew veers off into a bizarre realm that feels dreamlike. So much of it doesn’t make any sense, but you don’t care because you know that there’s a hidden story underneath it all that becomes apparent the more you analyse.

I’m a man of subtext. A great film is often defined by the intent, and while Lynch is purposely vague about this, the film does appear to criticise Hollywood and its damaging effects on actresses. Movies like Sunset Boulevard and All About Eve are paid tribute to, invoking the same sentiment that those two films championed. Women in the industry are quickly thrown to the side once they’ve served their purpose or have aged out of the roles they get. The next young, pretty face takes over. Lynch uses his name recognition to make, what I consider, to be the greatest critique of the system, providing a supporting voice for those who can’t speak up.

While Lynch’s library is full of more joyously ridiculous films than this, Mulholland Drive manages to hit every note I could want from a film of this ilk. The more bizarre stuff is never overindulgent and the characters are easy to like and root for. Part disturbing, part erotic, entirely transformative. It’s a film that’s perfectly Lynch.

6. The Shining (1980)

My journey with horror films has always been an odd one. I’ve already spoken an eternity’s worth of praise for Rosemary’s Baby. But when it comes to this genre that I once had a skittishness towards, only to find myself indulging in as many iconic films as possible, no film has done it better than Stanley Kubrick’s iconic classic. This adaptation of Stephen King’s novel may annoy hardcore fans, and King himself, but it’s undeniably one of Kubrick’s greatest achievements. And in the mind of this writer, it’s his best.

You all know the story; it’s ingrained in the public consciousness, even if you’ve never seen the film. Writer Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) takes his wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall) and son Danny (Danny Lloyd) to a remote hotel known as the Overlook. Taking a job as caretaker, strange things begin to happen in the hotel, and we learn that it has a history of murder and dismay. The groundskeeper (Scatman Crothers) seems to have a strange psychic connection to Danny known as the shining. This hotel has a power, and Jack finds himself becoming victim to it as he grows more and more unhinged.

The Shining has been picked apart and analysed to death in the forty-plus years since its release, so in a lot of ways, it almost feels too cliché to add it to a ‘top’ list of any kind. But its undeniable accomplishments are simply that special that I can’t help but feel entranced by it all. You feel as though you’re there with the family, experiencing and embracing every shocking oddity that comes through those walls or out of that lift. Nicholson and Duvall both deliver memorably tense performances, showing the effect insanity can have on both the recipient and those around them. Everything is unsure, everything tense and tinged with a subtle hint of implication. It’s immaculate.

Kubrick was know for his meticulous eye when it came to crafting his films. This one is the shining example. Not a single second is wasted, bathed in a frequent sense of mastery and intimate care. The hotel comes alive more and more, and as such, Jack becomes a slowly-building threat. We value family as our comfort zone or our safety nets, so to have them lose their sanity and gain a certain manic nature is such a terrifying concept. There are ghostly images and phenomena that make up the film’s grisly atmosphere. But what really solidifies this as a horror classic is just how realistic that human terror feels. Shelley Duvall has received more than her fair share of flack over the years, but I absolutely love this performance, similarly with Danny Lloyd’s overachieving ability to make the ghostly threats that much more malevolent.

It’s been said again and again, and I doubt I could add anything more to the conversation, but The Shining simply is a masterpiece. Everything else I’ve spoken about before this has had its shortcomings-small as they may be-but it’s hard to find fault in this. This is one of the first horror films I truly fell for and I still think about it frequently and have my own interpretations of the deeper meaning behind it all. 2001 and A Clockwork Orange are certainly up there, but nothing shines quite as overwhelmingly as this instant classic.

5. Paris, Texas (1984)

We humans are fallible. Not exactly a controversial statement, but it’s always important to remember that we can make mistakes, some worse than others. Wim Wenders has directed many films that explore the nature of human imperfections, but none quite as succinctly and emotionally as Paris, Texas. The title appears quite odd-there is an actual place in Texas called Paris-and that oddity takes form in a rather slow rise of realism from the brink of abnormality. It’s rare to find a film that taps into such a personal mentality of mine that it leaves me in a state of tearful reflection.

Harry Dean Stanton, a man who crafted his career playing minor to supporting roles, finally finds his footing as a lead man as the rather ambiguous Travis Henderson. Found roaming the desert, dirty and haggard, by his brother Walt (Dean Stockwell), Travis is brought to Walt’s home. We find out that four years prior, Travis and his younger wife, Jane (Natassja Kinski) had suddenly disappeared, leaving their infant son in the care of his brother and his wife. Travis, not knowing where his wife went, and not letting the audience in on why they’re left, tries to reconnect with his son, but he hardly recognises him and doesn’t want that connection. As the film progresses, we slowly learn of Travis’s history, and our perception begins to shift.

The exact points that entail the story of the film is not what I relate to, but there is an idea of facing your past mistakes and vowing to improve that I find myself projecting onto very instinctively. Without telling you of what exactly happens through the course of the film, that altered perception I alluded to is what really solidified my love for the film. Stanton already plays the role in a very innocently naïve way, and his efforts to reconnect with his son is never short of charm and sentiment. We know so little of Travis’s history, but what we do know is that he’s deserved of some sort of resolution. There’s an endearing quality to Travis that makes the coldness his son has so heart-breaking, but you never question why or despise the kid for doing so.

Without going into too much detail of my own life, there was a lot I could connect to in regards to Travis’s son. Having my own personal history of not knowing my own father, suddenly having him become part of my life, that sense of unsure feeling is so powerful. Even though my story didn’t find its conclusion till I was an adult, there’s a universal, ageless trepidation that never washes away. Getting to how that affects the father helps to contextualise it from a different perspective.

While there is much to admire about the film throughout its entire course, the final act is what confirmed to me just how much I admire it. The where and why of Jane’s disappearance is delivered to us in one of the most insanely human ways possible. In one of the longest and most intimate monologues put to film, we aren’t left with much else to do but sit down and come to terms with everything we’ve known about Travis being thrown in the opposite direction. A man pouring his soul out and admitting he’s made awful, terrible mistakes; it has you reflecting on your own humanity and maturity. I always strive to improve on my inadequacies, so it’s hard not to tear up. The ending only brought the tears back.

Paris, Texas isn’t going to be for everyone, but it sure as hell managed to tap into my subconscious. With the themes of self-improvement and feelings of abandonment, there were two major nerves within me that were pricked. With a brutal honesty that never wavers, there’s so much to adore about this film. If you aren’t a blubbering mess by the end, you probably need a lesson in self-awareness.

4. Anomalisa (2015)

If we’re going to sit on the subject of existentialism and questioning our own states of existence, then no creative has done that better than Charlie Kaufman. The writer/director had already flexed his writing hand with films like Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. His work has been something of an inspiration for me when writing about films. That openness that I displayed in those last couple of paragraphs is something I carry with me in my day-to-day life. Kaufman’s sentiments reached quite the apex in this co-directing gig with Duke Johnson in a stop-motion film like no other.

Anomalisa is as much of an anomaly as the title implies. We so often strive to stand out in society, looking for inklings of individuality. So much so that it can lead to a destructive path. Here, we meet Michael Stone (David Thewlis), an executive in the world of retail who’s attending a conference to talk about his blasé job and his book on how to succeed. Problem is, Michael seems to hate his existence, seeing the people around him as identically-faced figures with the same monotonous voice. Then Lisa (Jennifer Jason Leigh) appears, sporting a birth mark on her face and with a frumpy body. Michael falls in love with her because of how she stands out from the rest. The two begin an intimate relationship, but even Lisa begins to take on the same form he so despises.

Like any other film Kaufman has written, what you interpret from the film can be unique to you. That said, I think there is a specific vision that Kaufman had in mind. As I said, we often strive for individuality. Monotonous work can often lead to a decayed view of the world, and we begin to hate our own existences for making those choices. Michael is relatable to a point, bathed in his own frustration. But his actions and history of using people for his own benefit is where that connection severs. The exploration of Michael and Lisa’s relationship is where you really feel like you’re living in the world Kaufman and Johnson have-quite literally-created.

The stop-motion animation touts a realistic look to it which feels foreign to the medium. Characters are given detailed designs, but are also prominent with imperfections. The seams you see in the faces of the characters are more than simple mistakes: they serve a noticeable purpose during a later scene. That realism only strengthens the two leads, making them feel so organic. For a moment in time, we become part of this world, intoxicated in the fantasy Michael has finally realised. Then, when the film takes a sudden heel turn, you begin questioning everything.

I so admire the film’s entire point. The reason for why it climbed so high in my list comes down to my own feelings of inadequacy. As I write this, I am making a concerned effort in improving my aspirations, questioning how much time I’ll have to really get my foot off the ground. When a film like this explores that extreme anxiety so closely, the mind will latch onto it without letting go. There’s much to appreciate about the technical aspects, especially with how mesmerising the animation and muted art-style is. But above all, it’s the organic nature of the characters that allures me. Before you fall to pieces, glue your mind to a bit of introspection.

3. American Psycho (2000)

Don’t worry, I’m not the type to take Patrick Bateman and make it my entire personality. But I do feel as if the film has received quite the tarnished legacy. Before the incels began using this film as a basis for their entire lifestyle choices, Mary Harron’s adaptation of American Psycho was viewed as an instant classic and a clever deconstruction of everything wrong with upper-class America. The ingenuity of such a film is laden within a cookpot of various different ingredients, made up with the vaguest of hints towards what is real and what is the delusion of a psychologically damaged man.

This is another one of those films where you probably understand the basic plot through frequent talk. Christian Bale gives us a psychotic turn as wealthy businessman Patrick Bateman. He lives a luxurious life: nice apartment, expensive clothes and a slew of women at his beckon call. But deep within the recesses of his mind lies that of a killer; a man that will happily murder somebody he deems unworthy, killing hoboes and hookers. Life for Patrick takes a turn when he kills fellow businessman Paul Allen (Jared Leto), and he starts using his apartment for all his future killings.

On the surface, this appears to be nothing more than a sadistic fantasy for some repressed writer, but as I mentioned before, it’s a clever criticism of everything wrong with capitalist America. Bateman is the shining example of the one-percent. Always living life without care and knowing he can get away with even the most heinous crimes. His divulgence into the darkest depths of this life takes such sudden and horrifying turns. Bale’s performance is memorably sadistic, and it’s hard not to be entranced by his continuous glee over what he does-not to say what he does is at all understandable.

There’s a satirical and surreal edge to this film that has always stuck with me. Even minor things like characters never noticing Patrick’s sudden outrageous comments or how no-one can seem to realise that Paul Allen is dead give this film a humorous direction. The film brilliantly blends together horror with comedy and thriller, every element working seamlessly. You’re horrified and mesmerised all the same, and then you find yourself laughing at even the grislier moments. There really isn’t anything that feels comparable.

I really enjoy a good deconstruction of upper-class society. Though I rarely spread my political reviews, I have shown dismay for those of whom stand above us, while we working-class struggle so much. Like the best of films that wear this message proudly on their sleeve, American Psycho is able to pick apart this problem in intricate and entertaining ways. But other films don’t attach scenes of someone getting bludgeoned by an axe while Huey Lewis and the News plays or Christian Bale running through an apartment complex naked holding a chainsaw. And yet, we still don’t understand how much of this is true.

A tribute to the slashers that came before it, but making an identity for itself, this film will leave you scratching your head and afraid to use a cash machine. Don’t pick that cat up.

2. Birdman: or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (2014)

Thinking about my favourite film, I realise how little it changes. Coming up with the nineteen others has always proven more difficult. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could think of ten. But since 2019, Birdman had sat in the number one spot…until around three years ago. And while it may no longer claim my top spot, Alejandro G. Inarritu’s ode to the career of Michael Keaton has always stuck very closely to me. Providing a double dose of specific niches that weigh on my mind, Birdman deserves to be at the top of everyone’s list.

Michael Keaton is more than the star of the film: it’s almost entirely about him. Not exactly true, Keaton plays Riggan Thomas, a once successful actor famed for his role as a superhero Birdman-the parallels are already blatant. Now much older, he wants to be taken seriously as an artist, and puts on a play. Problem is that many theatre critics see him as an imposter of sorts, not fit to enter the world of theatre. We also see Riggan’s life working with his co-stars. He finds a relationship with the younger Laura (Andrea Riseborough), despite the waning of his ex-wife. Lesley (Naomi Watts) is cautious of Riggan’s behaviour, but grows furious with him after the hiring of a former lover and method actor, Mike (Edward Norton, also playing an allegorical version of himself). Then there’s Riggan’s daughter Sam (Emma Stone), who works on the play but can’t stand her father’s negligence. Riggan is now left to balance his aspirations with his personal life.

Birdman is more than a simple allegory for Keaton’s career. The whole film is indicative of what many actors suffer from: typecasting. Keaton, at this point in his career, had gone through quite the quiet period. In so many ways, Keaton was the perfect surrogate for this type of story. Having Riggan known for playing a superhero-the obvious connection of Keaton’s stint as Batman-really excels that point. There are a fair few jabs at the state of superhero movies and how they overshadow smaller works like this. Even in 2014, the market had become saturated, but very few were confident enough to call studios out on it. Keaton’s animosity and desire to be taken seriously as an actor is so poignant. Riggan also has these powers that may or may not be real. We see a progressive insanity as Riggan tries to impress those who have already dismissed him.

The exploration of the character is also just as fascinating. Riggan isn’t lauded as this perfect being that has been shot down by the industry. He has let the fame he once had dictate his entire life, with the people around him only working with him because of their admiration. Even this new girlfriend of his is more in love with the mythology of the man than his actual kindness. It’s also seen in Stone’s character, showing a deep disappointment in her father. It would’ve been so easy for the film to play victim, but it makes sure that the blame isn’t always on the industry. Even actors like Norton, being the overly involved method actor, are slammed in a bizarrely respectable way.

The film is also rich in technical quirks. Another film that tries the whole ‘made to look like one shot’ approach, this may be one of the greatest examples of it. Even if there are clever little editing tricks, the fact that so much of it was meticulously choreographed and planned out to a pinpoint perfection is still admirable. The soundtrack being all drums is something you may not immediately notice, but the drummer is literally there, reminding you of how minimalist the soundtrack is.

With every aspect in mind, blended together in a whirlwind of distinctions, you find yourself latching on from start to finish. It remains a powerful commentary on the state of film making as well as how uncaring a cruel the world can be to veteran actors, while also a deep exploration of turning yourself around and making the right choices. How far must one go to impress the crowd?

1. Adaptation (2003)

There are certain forms of media that you look at, read or play and you feel this immediate click. You don’t initially know why, but you enjoy that click, hold onto it. And as that thing you’re engaging in progresses, suddenly everything makes sense, and your life changes. You realise that what you have may be the closest a form of media has gotten to recapturing aspects of your life. I’ve spoken about how certain films in this list have managed to convey specific emotions or thoughts that are close to me, but none have done it exactly.

The mind of Charlie Kaufman rears its head, here being partnered with Spike Jonze, the two having worked on Being John Malkovich prior. Though Kaufman is only writing this one, the film is entirely him-quite literally. To those who have no idea of this film but know me well, my further explanation should tell you everything as to why I consider this to be my all-time favourite.

What started out as a literal adaptation of non-fiction book written by Susan Orlean called The Orchid Thie,. Kaufman suffered with severe writer’s block when adapting it. But from that came a new idea: to make the film about Kaufman adapting the book. Nicolas Cage plays Charlie Kaufman in this film, but also a completely original twin brother by the name of Donald. With Charlie not knowing how to adapt the book, he becomes frustrated and begins continuously putting it off. Meanwhile, Donald is finding success making mindless Hollywood drivel. Charlie continues to beat himself up, complaining about the lack of imagination the studios have, and wanting to make artful explorations. Charlie’s love-life isn’t going so great either, and he begins to worry about his future, worried that he’ll die alone.

On the side of this, we get a look into the backstory of Susan Orlean (played here by Merly Streep). Living a cushy lifestyle, she finds interest in writing about a bizarre man who finds plants from other countries and keeps them in his swamp. John Laroche (Chris Cooper) is our orchid thief, and despite his drastically different lifestyle, Susan begins falling in love with him-an aspect that is totally fictitious.

It’s rare that writers will be as blunt about their own perception within the films they write. Kaufman has a habit of putting himself in the films he writes, but simply in fragments. With him literally inserting himself into the story, we see everything thrown on the table. Kaufman comes across as slightly neurotic, highlighting his inadequacies and using the fictional Donald as a way to represent everything he hates about the system. The years have affected me in a way that has seen me stepping further and further from those big-budget fests in such a similar manner. Though I’m no professional writer, my choice to focus on smaller films within my film lookback section comes from my frustration with the current landscape. But it’s not just the writer aspects that appeal to me most.

Kaufman’s constant sense of self-criticism and worry for the future is something I wholeheartedly understand. It’s hard not to judge every step you make in life, analysing the worst-case scenarios. Though obviously very damaging, we all fall victim to that hard-to-escape trap. Allowing the writing aspect to interject, there’ve been so many instances where I find myself losing confidence in a review I wanted to write, or how I let go of ideas for books. Writer’s block can hit you so hard you feel depressed and start questioning your abilities. Then there’s Kaufman’s love-life. The fact that he is so open about his loneliness is such an admirable thing. So many struggle to make those moves and overthink the eventuality. Without going too much into that side of me, it is something that weighs on my own mind, even when I explore previous relationships, with that questioning always being a factor.

Even the side story surrounding the book’s author and her subject provides a fitting allegory for Kaufman’s need to make something more personal; more artistic. In a quite a bold move, Kaufman crafts his own narrative as to why Susan Orlean may have written her book. This sordid love affair, with its contrasting walks of life, is just as intoxicating for us as it is for Streep’s Susan. We prefer the obscene and unusual. And how that story connects with Kaufman’s own journey is powerfully satisfying.

I could speak of the mastery that is Adaptation for hours and hours, but I have spoken in depth of it in the past. Rarely do I come across a film that speaks so accurately to my own character, and even rarer does it manage to provide me with the most unique experience any film has. The more I revisit it, lament on it and pick apart each second, the more it reaffirms to me that no other film will come close to being my favourite film of all time. The gap between Birdman and Adaptation is a wide one. I implore anyone whom has never heard of this film to explore it, love it, adapt to it.

Written by Conor Johnson.