Bute Street: The Independent Voice of Film in Luton

This isn’t my usual shtick. No, I’m not referring to any film in particular, but the very place I experienced such a film is also getting its spotlight. More recently, I retraced my steps quite contently with a need for academic improvement. Picking up a course in Freelance Journalism, I felt I could combine that with my undying love of all things cinematic. You see, I live in a maligned town by the name of Luton. This rather large town just north of London has had an endless amount of vitriol thrown at it. But what many often overlook is just how passionate its many creatives are. From the theatre-focused Next Generation Youth Theatre, which gives young people the chance to express themselves on stage, to the Step Forward Luton movement that highlights different events around the town, to the subject of today’s article: Bute Street Film Festival.

This company was founded by a group of young and talented creatives some years back, they have brought to light independent film makers from across the globe. And while we have yet to see their next festival, Bute Street has also provided us with widely inclusive film nights. This was something that I saw as an honour to take part in and, quite honestly, I wouldn’t have been alerted to had I not done my course. This isn’t so much a complete overview as it is just a small slice of what I experienced.

The key founder of this group is a man by the name of Benjamin Cyrus-Clark. Cyrus-Clark isn’t Luton-born, but he clearly has a passion for this town that I’ve sparsely seen in my own kin. We all had this dream of escaping what we are told to believe is a cesspool. But there’s always something that draws us back to it. Benjamin was able to find a small group of creative minds around Luton-some of which I was already familiar with-who all aim to spread the word of this gravely misunderstood town. With a host of film premieres and even a recent BIFA status, Bute Street Film Festival is deserved of its attention. But even with these accomplishments, I couldn’t help but feel that the studio was missing the crowd it so rightly deserved.

Part of my coursework involved finding somebody interesting within my preferred field that I could interview. My mind immediately turned to that of the Luton arts scene. Daily, I pass by Luton’s claim to fame: The Hat Factory. Named after the trade that put the town on the map, our milliner heritage slowly drifted away. What was once a bustling town of hat factories has now turned into something far more nuanced. The Hat Factory is now a space for creatives to meet and produce something they could be truly proud of. I reached out to two of the creative minds behind such scenes, pleasantly interviewing both.

For Benjamin Cyrus-Clark, this opportunity came in the form of a film discussion night; being something that I’d been looking for in the brief time I lived in Leighton Buzzard. As my four years of writing about films have no doubt shown, I love to talk about films. So when I discovered that Bute Street was holding a night talking about how important film is in maintaining our heritage, and the prospect of watching a short film by the name of Reflection, I couldn’t wait to get involved. The interview was only a brief, special consultation for me. But what I got out of that night was an introspective and rather informative view of how the minds of creatives, Benjamin and co-founder Megan Hoang, truly worked and how they viewed the creative world.

Entering the Hat Factory one evening, I was immediately greeted by the calm and inviting demeanour of our impassioned host. Benjamin greeted me with a handshake and proceeded to finish setting up. Not long after, Megan walked in with an enthusiastic wave, not even knowing what I was there for other than simply to watch the short film. What proceeded was a rather insightful look into how history and heritage is often immortalised in film. While I will say that the presentation could’ve used a bit of fine tuning and some extra time, it opened up the perfect discussion. There weren’t many attendees, but just about everyone contributed to the topic. I went in with the silent observer mindset, but I would eventually throw in my own straw hat.

Benjamin also showed us a project he had worked on in Mexico. This visual ad provided an insight into a piece of heritage we Brits may not typically think of. Using examples of films that capture points in time and specific cultures from around the world, we were able to discuss the importance of how film can maintain the heritage we so often forget about or wish that we had preserved. It left me thinking of my own experiences and the pieces of work I completed in my college days more than ten years ago. Reminiscing of the times spent finding my passion for films and the friendships I had. Knowing that the building we once studied in had now been torn down in favour of a more lavish structure left me feeling a little melancholic and nostalgic all the same. Benjamin knew exactly how to invoke these discussions all through the power of film.

After this discussion, we all diverted into a short break, where I was able to speak directly to the man who made these events possible. In this conversation, I was able to truly unravel the passionate creator behind the shining logo of a mysterious figure with the words, ‘Bute Street’ making up the follicle details of his face. Benjamin revealed how he has worked closely on creating adverts for different places and in different countries. We spoke of his feature debut, Brick City, a film he rushed into with an ambition far greater than any form education could teach you. We talked about his joy in being BIFA-rewarded and how he views the current state of cinema. Just like myself, there’s this need for more independent voices to be heard. I even had a chance to reminisce on old college-mates that we both knew through different means. But the most admirable thing I learned was how quick to put down the idea that Luton is a ‘bad town’ he was. One member of the audience was quite sure of his negative outlook on the town, but Benjamin very assertively disagreed.

The short film we watched was named Reflection, which tells the tale of a man who visits the diner of a single mum struggling with her rather troubled son. This man seems to know quite a bit about these troubles, but his relationship to these two is better left unexplained. It’s a great short that manages to make us think about how much we often fixate on our past mistakes. Everyone has made some bad choices in their lives, but we can’t do much else but learn from them. In a way, those mistakes are very important in shaping the better person we become. It resonated with a past version of myself. As the film is titled, it really makes you reflect.

This night proved to be an enlightening experience. Speaking briefly again with both Benjamin and Megan, you could really see the excitement in both of them. Yet, there was also a longing for these nights to be more occupied. I can’t pretend that I wasn’t a little miffed to see a lack of attendees. It could be down to a number of things, whether it be a lack of interest for independent cinema from the general public, Luton’s reputation, or even the struggle to get people off their sofas and make their way to something far more interactive. Whatever the case, my own experience was bountiful. Though this was spurred on by a regimented course, I knew I wanted to come back, if only to keep supporting this medium I adore so much.

Our River…Our Sky

The following week, I decided to take part in one of the occasional film nights that flutter between the weeks. The film pictured and titled above, Our River…Our Sky was an Arabic film released in 2021 and directed by Maysoon Pachachi. Having very little experience with South Asian cinema myself, and with the lack of independent representation in major chains like Cineworld, I was quite excited to see this award-winning film. Completely foreign to me (in more ways than one), there was certainly a draw to it.

Centred on a close-knit community in Baghdad during the 2006 war, we get a glimpse of life amidst the turmoil. Darina Al Joundi plays the doting mother who tries to support her family, but the increasing dangers of the destruction around her leave her in a desperate plea to escape. We see glimpses of others’ lives. A couple who is expecting a baby, a paraplegic looking for romance online, and a boy being manipulated into taking part in these atrocities. Being more of a lens into the life of the innocents caught up in the conflict, the story is very loosely tied together.

That final point is worth highlighting. While the film can be very emotionally gripping, it’s difficult to get past the severe lack of narrative. The film is almost like a series of vignettes, but not told in any sort of collection of short stories format. Had the film perhaps cut the stories into fifteen to twenty minute sections each, I think it would’ve been a lot easier to follow what was going on. The film meanders around far too much that it lead me to forget which characters were which and what relationship they shared with the central character.

Seperate from the narrative is the strong characterisation of specific players. Each character is defined by rather recognisable and organic caricatures of South Asian culture. Many fellow Lutoners will recognise the personalities portrayed through our increased exposure to these communities that make up the bustling and multicultural town. I was especially drawn to husband of the pregnant woman, who panics over the prospects of being a father, even though he already has a child. There’s a great scene where a rebellious young woman proudly walks about the street without a hijab to rebel against the older man who is too set in his own ways. This a humorous spark that electrifies its way through the mist; but that doesn’t go unchecked either.

When the film wants to hit you with that emotional baton, it can really sting. There’s a horrifying reality that washes over the film through the streets of the city. Explosions go off unexpectedly with little reaction. We see a moment where two teens come across a dead body and try to ignore it. There’s this moment where someone is almost recruited to join a cause, but he sways him off because of how scared he feels. To us, it sinks our stomach into a cold abyss. But to those who have lived through this country during this period of time, it’s a reality they were forced to accept. When the film wants you to feel that emotion, it does so in such a churningly sickening way, but with the safety of a ’12A’ rating.

I’m very conflicted with this film. It does a lot in the way of seeping the most damning emotions out of us, but its narrative is distractingly weak. I’m somebody who appreciates a strong, tightly-wound narrative that isn’t afraid to diverge when need be. It’s hard to fully appreciate these characters outside of their little quirks, and while there’s plenty to like about the visual presentation, it ends up feeling like a messy bag of tricks. Not exactly rife with subtlety, it does manage to salvage itself with its important message. Our rivers all run separately, but our sky is very much the same.

With my slightly mixed review of the film shown, you may wonder why I bothered to include it in an article where I want to speak so highly of Bute Street. It’s quite simple: their out there to give people an experience that many would hardly think to have. My aim with my own reviews has always been to get people to look at films through the eye of somebody who treats this medium with the respect it deserves. In both Benjamin and Megan, I can see that same passion. They take it one step further by promoting those very films.

Our social film landscape is falling to the wayside in favour of big budget extravaganzas that have hardly any depth. People might complain that there aren’t any original ideas anymore, but I argue that they’re very much still here, and right on your doorstep as well. While I may not have completely enjoyed the film, just getting the chance to watch something I never would’ve thought of is such a great experience. We need to open ourselves up taking risks once again. The people at the Bute Street Film Festival are trying to do just that.

Take some time to really search for these things. Speak to the people that know more and can give you advice on where to follow them. I know I’ll continue to visit these nights for as long as they continue, and you should certainly do the same. Independent cinema is out there, and Bute Street’s got you covered.

Special thanks to Benjamin and Megan for taking the time to help me in my studies.

Written by Conor Johnson.

Dawson City: Frozen Time-The Allure of Lost Media

The year is 1896. Canadian residents have travelled to the indigenous area known as Yukon in search for gold. Indeed, that’s very much what they found, beginning a point in history known as the Klondike Gold Rush. It’s most immortalised in the classic Charlie Chaplin film, The Gold Rush, but to the native of Dawson City, it represents a fairy-tale story that met an ending more akin to a Hans Christian Andersen novel. Once the aspiring business owners struck gold, they settled in the city, setting up shops, banks and movie theatres. And while this seems like a perfect scenario, countless financial failures and multiple fires led the city to becoming just an inconsiquential little blip on the Yukon territory.

So, what relevance does this documentary have to the lost media I so enticingly advertised? People see those words and a rush of excitement that could level the Gold Rush that made this city what it was overcomes us. We are drawn to the mysteries of the world. Things that were once there but were lost to time. See, Dawson City was also home to numerous films. Those fires I mentioned were due to these very film reels catching fire. Film maker, Bill Morrison gives us a documentary that revisits the history of this city and the infamous moment once-lost media was unearthed in 1978. Film buffs and historians alike clash in this monumental recap. Take a step back in time to an era when film was as infantile as it was ground-breaking. This is Bill Morrison’s Dawson City: Frozen Time.

Usually, when I write these reviews, this would be the point where I outlie the plot. I’ve rarely ever touched upon documentaries, mainly because I don’t typically watch a lot of them, and my reviews have always been more geared towards story-centric fiction. I also don’t wish to spoil the finer details of the film’s “plot.” My goal here is to give people a little insight into what makes this era of film so fascinating to me. Not the 2016 release of this very documentary, but the 1890s-1920s era of film making, and how enticing much of it is.

For those who aren’t the most adept at film history, the medium was sparse before this time period. People had just barely scratched the surface, not understanding how to properly turn this into an artform comparable to the literature and theatre productions that had so much more life before it. In fact, many ridiculed the eve of cinema as a lesser alternative to theatre, as if it were beneath them. It’s wild to think so these days; film has completely overtaken theatre to the point where most popular musicals today are adaptations of famous films. But rarely has a film from this time captured the very patronising overtones than what’s been displayed here.

Morrison gives us innumerable snippets of footage from archived news to narrative-based films all throughout the film. Each little titbit is given new purpose within the narrative of the film. We see monumental pieces that capture points in history that are considered controversial in the inner circles of particular pastimes and political movements. One such major event was the infamous Black Sox cheating scandal in 1919. For the baseball fans out there, this was considered a turning point in the game’s sanctity. It was found that eight players had accepted a bribe to throw the game, losing 9-1. Among the recovered footage was exactly this game. Included in a news reel, we see a highlight of the game, unknowingly showcasing the corruption of sports of the time. This type of bribery was far more common during this time, but the bad press this particular game got lead to some major changes.

Surrounded within the retroactively humorous news reels, that would play at theatres-this was long before televisions were invented-we also get glimpses into the political landscape of the time. We see Communists being rallied up and sent on their way, financial crisis hitting the world with an unrelenting hammer and even get to see the birth of this bustling city that centres the documentary. One of the most alluring moments comes from the aforementioned moment of Communists being hoarded onto a boat. An activist of the time is one of the many who passes by the camera, looking at it with a perplexed expression. The report never makes mention of him. These little moments would’ve been nothing more than a momentary glance at the time, but are retrospectively made fascinating.

Included in the special features of the film’s physical release are just a small selection of restored (as best as they can) films. While there are a couple of short films from famed directors of the 1910’s like D.W. Griffith (The Birth of a Nation) and Tod Browning (Dracula), it’s the news reels that kept my mind rotating. It’s interesting to look back on these with the perspective of modern media and what these companies prioritise. News today drags our eyes over to the doom and gloom of the world, but these reels prioritise both the sunny stories and humorous gags to keep its audience in high spirits. A time of hopefulness and the with the ability to capture life as it was in a budding medium: it’s all so endearing.

It’s not just the films that Morrison wants to highlight. The history of the city as just as important, intertwining itself with this lost list of observations. Like any Western city or town, Dawson City was founded off the humble backs of indigenous people. Settlers came in and turned it into a literal gold mine. While that side of the story can make one feel irritated and downright furious, it’s important to note that this was a commonality for the time. Seeing the city flourish does almost make you forget this. Almost.

Despite its bustling community of rich, well-off families, there is a sense of unity. New and adventurous avenues are explored and cinema is given a humble home. The film also includes a little footnote of how the Trump family came to be: another example of how this captures points in history we take for granted. Natural disasters like flooding damages the city, and the artificial fires that came from the film stock led to the very reason this documentary exists. It’s honestly quite depressing to watch this city crumble into being nothing more than the average living place that you can get just about anywhere else in Canada. But that’s where we circle back to the lost media angle.

Pictured above is one of the many found films. These films were soiled by the countless layers of earth that was built over them. They were uncovered in a swimming pool that was seeing a removal, and was later screened at the Dawson City theatre in 1978. Being one of the first cases of lost media being found, you can see how this has had an effect on modern culture.

Like anyone, seeing a piece of lost media to do with film or television excites me. Whether it’s a banned episode of a children’s show or a rumoured snuff film that is sure to leave its audience feeling disturbed, the very idea that something like this could be out there leaves you in an investigative mood. Then you get the rare instances where that very piece of media finds its way out. Maybe there’s that rumoured episode of Dexter’s Laboratory that had the characters swearing their f***ing mouths off, or the uncovering of the very bizarre crossover Batman Dracula film. Whatever the case, these films have a mysticism behind them that are wrapped in the blanket of history.

Through creative uses of editing by having relevant lost films over the subject of the film, giving us glimpses of what they uncovered, Morrison understands this intrigue perfectly. To combine it with the troubled history of the city gives the whole thing an almost interdimensional feel. You add the water-damaged aesthetic of the damaged film, and it’s like we’re looking into a universe where everything is perpetually moving in this twenty-year period. Like finding the fossils of dinosaurs we never knew about, we have to explore further.

Saying anymore of this film would be to spoil it entirely. There’s still a lot of worthy surprises that many film buffs and historians alike can appreciate, so you’re better off experiencing it for the first time through actual footage and not just some writer explaining the scenes verbatim.

Dawson City: Frozen Time is a beautiful and somewhat abstract view of a time lost so long ago. It’s fantastical and enlightening and keeps you on your toes at every turn. Film and society has long-evolved since this infantile point in time, but in that comes a curiosity of just how different things were. It’s great to look forward, but never forget what came before.

Written review by Conor Johnson.

Conor’s Cinematic Contemplation: 2022 Classic Highlights

2022 has passed, or at least it will have by the time this article goes up, and it had me reflecting on all the great films that had released. While the overall year may not have been the greatest in the grand scheme of political divide and the threat of a third world war, the film landscape was spectacular. That being said, I wanted to hold off on that specific year for a little bit to talk about the older films that managed to enlighten my cinematic experiences and give me lasting memories that will forever carry onto my later years.

I always aim to watch a newly experienced film almost every day, so I have a slew of films that could easily ram this entire article, but I decided to narrow it down to a film for each decade (from the 20’s) leading up to the 2020’s. I will not be covering films in that decade, as my final choice is going to make my 2022 list. I hand-picked the films that had a profound, or ferociously entertaining, impact on me. It’s a list of films I encourage just about everybody to watch. Without further ado, let’s cycle into the roaring 20’s…the old 20’s, not this current hellscape.

1920’s

We’re going far back for this one. Early on in the year, I began pouring into the realm of the Horror genre; one that I had somewhat ignored due to my terrible squeamishness. This year was laden with countless, and iconic, Horror films, but Nosferatu isn’t exactly one that would get the blood pressure boiling. I’ve been curious about this film since that one episode of Spongebob Squarepants (yes, I am a millennial) and I remember the image of the ghoulish count left me mildly traumatised. I learnt more about this film in the many years since, but it was only last year that I finally sat down and watched it.

Nosferatu is a masterclass in Horror, that is to say, it laid the foundation for much of the Horror we consume today. Being an unauthorised adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the film also began the tradition of countless adaptations of the prolific novel. Heading into this film, I was worried that the age of the film, and the tropes that have been more fine-tuned in later years, would bore me, but this couldn’t further from the truth. I absolutely love this film.

Drawing its terrifying atmosphere from the hauntingly dark look of the world around the characters and the outwardly unsettling appearance of Count Orlock, this film uses simple techniques. Just seeing the ghastly count standing far in the background and staring at the audience is enough to send shivers down your spine. The silent nature of the film only lends to the haunting atmosphere, allowing the imagery to work its magic. The characters still remain interesting and are complimented by the sheer physical dedication of the silent era.

For me, this was an ageless experience. I can see people being put off by the one-hundred year difference, but I implore everyone to watch this. The 20’s is such a fascinating era to me, as we see the eve of modern cinema, with film makers experimenting with new ways of story-telling. I watched a few Dracula adaptations this year, with the class Hammer adaptation from the 50’s and Coppola’s phenomenal version from the 90’s, and while Nosferatu may not live up to that later version, it’s still one of my favourites. I loved this film so much it made it into my Classic Cinema article.

1930’s

Another first for me came in the form of Charlie Chaplin. In all my years of cinematic divulgence, I had never looked too far into the comedy legends of the early era. Chaplin is considered, by many, to be one of the great fore-fathers of the Comedy genre, but I was always very cautious. Comedy tends to age the poorest of all genres, with subjective humour evolving year after year. That said, I knew I had to watch one of Chaplin’s eventually, and I started with one of his most infamous films: Modern Times.

Modern Times may invite the audience to a world so specific to the Great Depression of the pre-war world, but it has stood the test of time for how relevant much of it feels to the increasingly capitalist sentiments of Western culture. Chaplin, a devoted Communist, provides scathing criticisms of America during one of the most enduring times of their history. Not afraid to express his views, he mocks the rich and wealthy with a brilliant, timeless comedy. His slapstick antics lead to some hilarious visuals, complimented greatly by Chaplin’s knack for working around the limitations of the Silent Era. Adding to this is a fun chain of circumstances that will have you laughing just as much as any modern comedy. The message is still strong, with the melancholy feeling persisting. Whatever your political views, it’s hard not to sympathise with the Tramp’s turmoil.

As this is my first Chaplin film, there wasn’t much for me to fall back onto. The most of what I had known about the legendary performer came from the excellent biopic during the nineties. I understand that this film followed an entire legacy of Chaplin expeditions, but in this contained viewing experience, this had been an eye-opening experience. The financial recession that we are currently in matches so closely to the strife of the character, with his hapless attempts at keeping a job feeling too relevant. That said, it never writhes in pain, it has the nerve to speak up against those in power while also finding solace in making jokes about the turmoil. I was charmed and consistently impressed by how smart this film felt, recognising immediately why Chaplin was considered such a genius.

Like Nosferatu, I included this in my Classic Cinema article. It’s one that will stand the test of time for many decades to come. In a way, that’s more depressing than anything, but is tragedy not the perfect companion to comedy? I imagine Chaplin would’ve thought so.

Other Highlights:

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931)

Freaks (1932)

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

1940’s

Here’s something that I feel almost shy about admitting: I don’t care much for 40’s cinema. While looking back on the previous year, I noticed that the few 40’s films I watched were met with middling opinions. There’s something about the era that feels stale to me. Outside of the classic Hitchcock affairs, I’ve always brushed this off as one of the most uninventive decades in cinematic history. That is not, however, to dismiss the masterpiece that is the Italian classic of Bicycle Thieves.

In a similar vain to Modern Times, it presented a world of recession, this time in a setting unfamiliar to American and British audiences of the 40’s. Unlike Modern Times, this film is far more depressing, presenting a working world of hopelessness with very little humour. The main character drags his young son around to see him fail to maintain a job, or to fail spectacularly at getting a job in the first place. These failures are not from that of the main character’s abilities, but from the world be so relentlessly cruel. It draws raw emotion from such a relatable subject matter that it’s hard not to feel a sense of pity and deep sadness.

I’m a bit of a sadist when it comes to depressing cinema. I admire when a film can draw such raw emotion out of me; it stands above the very easy, homeliness of the feel-good affair. I do like when a film can make me feel comfortable, it’s certainly needed in these awful times, but it’s important to address the problems of the world as well and make us feel that little bit of sadness. Bicycle Thieves shows us a man down on his luck, but to add that extra bit of pain, his son has to watch his father be demoralised at every turn. This works so well as an accompaniment to Chaplin’s satire, but both present the same issue a decade apart with different approach. It’s raw and emotional and I found myself deeply sympathetic all the way through.

Bicycle Thieves isn’t as easy to recommend as the other two films I’ve talked about. Even aside from the more depressing subject matter, there is a more aged feel to it. I personally loved it, despite my lack of care for 40’s cinema, but to a modern audience, it’s difficult to watch. Italian films are ones that I’ve learnt to love more in the last two years, with the language of these films being so rich in atmosphere and a romantic heart that is hardly matched by our British sentiment. A beautiful film, it’s not the only Italian movie I fell in love with this year.

Other highlights:

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)

The Third Man (1949)

1950’s

I’ve loved Japanese cinema for quite some time, hell, Japanese culture in general has been curious wonder for me for as long as I can remember, but films the films of this country have been especially fascinating to watch. With the plethora of Japanese films I’ve seen, I felt quite ashamed to say that I had only seen a couple Akira Kurosawa films, neither of which had included his legendary Seven Samurai. I finally watched it this year, amongst a handful of Kurosawa’s other samurai films, but I wasn’t as attached to that as I thought I would be. No, Throne of Blood had me contemplating much of the director’s masterworks instead.

Bringing me back to an old school nemesis of mine in William Shakespeare, this looser adaptation of Macbeth immediately struck me as a phenomenal idea. With countless, straightforward retellings of the same story, to reconceptualise that into the realm of the much beloved samurai genre was such a relief. Kurosawa takes full advantage of this new coat of paint, with intense storytelling and wilder battle scenes. The spiritual side of the story is only strengthened by that folklore-inspired approach, having the witch being more of a soothsayer and the stand-in for Lady Macbeth being much more unhinged through her dependence on spirituality. Adding Kurosawa’s immense eye for the spectacular, the final conflict is nothing short of perfection.

I can see some of the stronger fans of Shakespeare’s works disliking this particular reinvention. It does stray from the source material in favour of slightly more bombastic imagery, but it’s that very bombastic nature that had me gripped. With the same tired stories being recycled time and time again, it’s refreshing to have such a prolific director just have fun. These other films I’ve talked about gave me some sense of profound introspection, but this one is simply entertaining. That is not to say this film is devoid of artistry; it’s how Kurosawa carefully crafts the entertainment that makes this so distinct. He knows how to make thos most out of such simple concepts, something equivalent to Spielberg’s vision of the eighties.

I watched a number of Kurosawa films last year, but it was Throne of Blood that stuck in my mind. It’s not difficult to see why this director cross borders and became cemented in Western cinema. While I am disappointed that Seven Samurai didn’t quite live up to my expectations, I still left that year with a great admiration for the director. This is one that’s so easy to recommend to anyone now, just as much as every other film he’s directed.

Other highlights:

I Confess (1953)

Seven Samurai (1954)

The Hidden Fortress (1958)

The Defiant Ones (1958)

1960’s

As mentioned way back up there when I talked about Nosferatu, I got into the habit of cruising through many of the most iconic Horror films of all time. I’ve found, over the years, that my preference with horror tends to gear towards the psychological side of things. Shoving away the excessive use of gore and lazy jump-scares, my tastes have refined to an almost pompous extent. What glanced over my horror-filled vision was Roman Polanski’s iconic Horror classic, Rosemary’s Baby. Regardless of what I think of Polanski as a person, it’s been hard to deny his talented body of work. That alone was enough reason to prioritise this particular film.

Watching Horror films from the 60’s is always a treat because you can see the transition between old, safer horror and more daring, timelessly terrifying horror. Rosemary’s Baby creates an unsettling atmosphere from the very beginning and it never dissipates. Even just a simple scene of a couple walking through a flat feels uncanny. You always feel that something is wrong, questioning reality and the sanity of our main character. Something that later Horror films can fail to do is make us sympathise with the victim, but Rosemary is somebody you feel an immense need to care for. Adding to this a possible satanic cult and the possibility that Rosemary is housing the little Antichrist and you get a film that balances unsettle and disturbance in a winding ball of horrifying proportion.

I feel this film has been overshadowed by the more visual slashers that started just ten years later. This film is everything I want from a Horror. I was terrified, confused and always felt this desperation to protect Rosemary. Her progressive insanity is such an easy thing to feel as it works perfectly at trapping us in the confines of Rosemary’s world. Like any great Horror, it had me questioning reality, wondering just how much of this lives within the head of the protagonist, but it doesn’t really matter because it’s the reality that Rosemary sees.

This film was so viscerally important to me. I’ve found that by exposing myself to more Horror films, that squeamishness has long since gone, with most films doing nothing more than making me feel a little frightened, but Rosemary’s Baby made me feels tortured and disturbed. It’s crazy to me that such a great Horror film could come out of an era still unsure if they were able to take many risks. I almost considered putting The Haunting here, but it’s hard to deny the near-perfection that has become one of my favourite Horror movies of all time.

Other highlights:

Ivan’s Childhood (1962)

Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962)

Masculin Feminin (1966)

PlayTime (1967)

Belle de Jour (1967)

1970’s

We venture into my favourite era of cinema. As I have a particular devotion to this very experimental time in cinematic history, I had more than a handful of films that I took into consideration. I sat upon the idea of writing about one Luis Bunuel’s films; an Italian director I was entirely exposed to in 2022, with The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoise almost making it, but then my eyes glanced past a distinct film, one that I refused to rate based purely on how complex it is. I’m not sure that Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker was the best film I watched last year, but it was one of the most inspiring experiences I’ve ever had.

The Russian director has tackled many complicated subject, even back to his first movie in Ivan’s Childhood (narrowly missed the 60’s spot), but I’ve never seen one so vague and interpretable than this masterful work. Presenting a dismal world where only the select few may walk into another realm full of unseen promise, these three characters tread carefully with the promise of something better. You learn so much about them through rich dialogue, learning about them as they learn about each other. It presents many possible ideas and messages that one person’s experience will always be drastically different from others’.

Putting into words what this film did to me is near-impossible. Knowing that the film would be much more artistic and never giving us a straightforward answer for its dilemma, I spent so much time gluing myself to the dialogue. It’s a film that requires that you never miss a beat and soak up every little word and facial expression. It’s slow and strenuous, but you still feel this desire to reach the end. My own interpretation of the film’s subtext was that it presented that same idea of the rich and wealthy standing above the poor. The idea that only a select percentage of people will be able to achieve what they desire felt so specific to that timeless sentiment. On the other hand, I also got the sense that Tarkovsky was dismissing the prospect that you need to put yourself through hell just to gain a bit of happiness, that all that hard work will mean nothing if you’re not happy with yourself.

This is the beauty of Stalker. There is no clear answer, nor does it ever guide you down a specific path, ironic, considering the plot. I wanted to go back to this at a later date to give it a proper ranking, but I simply couldn’t. It is an amazing experience for those who are looking for some more daring movie experiences, but it isn’t something I could recommend to everybody. Even now, I’m still thinking about the film, being too afraid to give it a definitive rating. There are very few films like this. Simply brilliant.

Other highlights:

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoise (1972)

Pink Flamingos (1972)

F for Fake (1973)

The Phantom of Liberty (1974)

1980’s

When writing this list, I thought that the seventies would be the most difficult decade for me to nail down; I was not prepared for the following decade. I sat and wrestled with my thoughts for a good twenty minutes, arguing with myself over which film I thought was most deserving of the spot. Classic Horror movies like Evil Dead II and The Thing were so close, both being phenomenal Horror films for completely different reasons. I was almost entirely confident in The Thing being my choice. I also considered Predator for its insanely fun presentation, being one of the greatest Action films I’ve ever seen. I even had some oddball choice like When the Wind Blows and Fitzcarraldo, but I finally landed on the Japanese food-Western, Tampopo. There’s a good chance that others would be positively offended over the fact I prioritised this over The Thing, but I did it for just how uniuqe this entire experience was.

I’m not very attached to Westerns, often looking for more unique takes on this long-exhausted genre. Tampopo doesn’t seem like a Western, certainly not at first, but carefully watching the film shows just how closely it follows the genre’s traditions. It takes what we know and switches out a dusty old town, harassed by outlaws into a ramen restaurant that must overcome the owner’s inability to cook. A lone cowboy enters this store, showing her the craft of cooking ramen, intercut with segues of others experiencing food-related joy. This entire film is glistened in the visual salvation of all things food, while also boasting an ensemble of distinct renegades that help the titular Tampopo find her passion.

I’ve never felt a film like this. I’m not exactly the most diverse when it comes to food, being quite a picky eater, but even I can’t deny just how delicious everything looks. We often take food for granted, so Juzo Itami reminds us of just how special such a thing can be. Mixing delicacy with intimacy, this takes a luxury and sexualises it. These small cutaways play around with the food in a shockingly erotic way, contradicting much of the joyously fun tone that makes up the main plot. This is done to make sure you never lose sight of what’s so important to the film: food. Even aside from the theme, the movie uses the backdrop of the Western genre to make us feel more at home in this strangely hypnotic world. The characters are all very likable and memorable, with the lead chef being so indisputably lovable.

I’ve thought about this film a lot. There’s a lot of imagery that will stick in your mind because of how little you would’ve seen it elsewhere. I do think it’s better to go into this blind, but without me talking about it, there aren’t many people I know personally that would’ve even heard of it. That being said, there is a lot in the film I’m keeping at bay. This is one that anyone can jump into, and if you have a food-addicted personality, there’s no better film.

Other highlights:

The Thing (1982)

Fitzcarraldo (1982)

When the Wind Blows (1986)

Predator (1987)

Evil Dead II (1987)

Bird (1988)

1990’s

While my taste in food hasn’t exactly been the most diverse, my taste in film has expanded to all kinds of countries, as is rather evident by the list so far. My biggest regret, however, has been my lack of exposure to films closer to India. Even aside from the more widely known Bollywood industry, I hadn’t dabbled in the more comparable films. This would be my first jump into anything from this area of the world, let alone its home country of Iran, and what an experience. I sat in deep contemplation over which of the two films from the 90’s I wanted to put here, with the other being the breath-taking Before Sunrise, but Taste of Cherry presents something that many films of the era were afraid to touch: depression.

While there have many films that can draw that deep emotion out of you, very few have tackled the complexities of our mental health the same way this film has. Watching a man on his final legs, finding potential players in his attempted suicide is unknowingly looking for someone to stop him. The emotionless acceptance and complicated plan that he wishes to enact contrasts greatly to the severity of the situation. Adding to this complicated ordeal is the religious belief that suicide is a terrible sin. This, and the state of the world around him, has left him in a state of stubbornness that sees no other option. A bold point made in a country that frowns upon such a delicate subject, this is something you have to sit back and take in.

I could compare this to Stalker. This isn’t to compare it thematically, but more from how every little bit of dialogue needs your full attention. It slowly burns into the subject, leaving you unsure what’s going through the protagonist’s head. Once he begins his journey to find somebody who would be willing to help him with his suicide, I began to feel this innate sense of sadness. It isn’t so much for the character as it is that feeling. Many can relate to that state of feeling desperate and done with life. Having been through my own experiences of suicidal thoughts at a darker time in life, I couldn’t take my attention away. The lifeless way he communicates and how he pressures others to enact his request is so poignant. You get these three supporting characters who represent different points in life, all reacting to his request in different ways. By the time we get around to the old man, I desperately wanted a more positive resolution.

Taste of Cherry is a deep, cerebral experience. There’s such a deep understanding of the pain many experience that it makes you feel a sense of relief that we live in a country where we aren’t typically lambasted for the way we feel. It’s a powerful film that left me in slight state of emptiness for a good while, not because I suddenly felt the same depression, but because of how honestly and heavily it made its point. To be open with your own problems and have the slightest bit of comfort from others is so important, and I’ve never quite seen a film that tackles this issue so perfectly.

Other highlights:

Dreams (1990)

Dracula (1992)

Three Colours: Blue (1993)

Three Colours: Red (1994)

The Postman (1994)

Natural Born Killers (1994)

Before Sunrise (1995)

The Blair Witch Project (1999)

Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade (1999)

Magnolia (1999)

And far more…

2000’s

You could almost make this a follow-up to my first Cinematic Contemplation: Foreign Cinema, given how this has been a very diverse list of films. Of course, this is for good reason, seeing as so many of the best films I watched last came from other countries. My choice for the 2000’s wasn’t very difficult, with Thai film, Yi Yi being too obvious. I remember buying this film purely based on the fact that I had never heard of it. I often find that these are the best experiences.

This long look at life and mortality isn’t the most comfortable watch. We get looks at the different lives of a single family and their respective troubles. Many of them down on their luck and left with the constant reminder that death is following them with the elderly grandmother lying in sickness. What follows is a fly-on-the-wall look at the family members spanning different ages, with a very young boy at the centre of all the conflict, unaware of just how bad life has gotten for everyone. In a film full of people breaking down in tears as they have no idea what to do, near-affairs and the threat of suicide, it’s surprisingly complimented with a warm sense of humour.

I was surprised by how much I ended up loving this one. From the opening alone, I could tell this was going to be an emotional clencher. Seeing a woman break down in tears would only be the start of characters feeling so desperate that this all they can do. We all contemplate our lives and, from time to time, we think about the day we eventually die. Yi Yi addresses this with such brutal honesty and a guiding hand that swerves them back to the present. As somebody who used to struggle (and still somewhat struggles) with worries about the future, there was so much weight to this combined sadness. This universal worry breaks the language barrier and reminds us that we’re all connected through our humanity.

It is weird to say this film left me feeling happy and content. So much of this movie is constant gut-punch after gut-punch, but it ends with such a sweet and sombre message. It may not compare to something like Taste of Cherry, but it still feels very unique, with an understanding that will continue for years and years to come. Films like this are the reason I love this artform so much; expressionism in its finest form.

Other highlights:

Millennium Actress (2001)

City of God (2002)

Morvern Callar (2002)

Before Sunset (2004)

Dogtooth (2009)

2010’s

Looking back on the previous decade, I had forgotten how much beauty I had managed to glance over when these films had come out. There were stories I could relate to and ones I was shocked to find myself enticed by. There were even a couple documentaries in Nostalgia for the Light and 13th, another genre I rarely dabble in. And while I sat there and considered these films, I couldn’t escape the fascinating beauty of At Eternity’s Gate. Of the two films based on Vincent van Gough that were released that decade, I think many preferred Loving Vincent, and I certainly understand that; it’s brilliant, but for my money, there better of the two goes to this introspective fascination of the man’s being.

This film doesn’t explore the exact details of Vincent’s life, but rather, captures the essence of his creative spirit. A film that speaks to the artist inside of us all, it shows us the sequential symmetry of sadness and art. It places a lens on the oddballs of the world, the ones that speak their minds, regardless of public opinion. The film cleverly shows us the struggle that comes from vocal indifference to the lines of life and the slow journey towards accepting those for who they are. As an impassioned fanatic myself, I was practically intoxicated with this film.

Some of what this film presents may feel redundant. We know much of the legacy behind van Gough, but rarely have I seen a retelling so obsessed with just a part of the man, rather than trying to paint the entire picture. Dafoe, in all his brilliance, brings to life a man internally tormented by his own demons and the sneers of the villagers around him. Much of this film is frantic conversations, moments of spontaneity and violent brush strokes. It’s one thing to appreciate van Gough’s art and to tread over his mental struggles, but it’s another to capture his spirit. I felt this deep connection to everything. I’ve never been any sort of art connoisseur, but the broader world of art is something I am naturally attached to, as are we all.

This is so easy to recommend to people. Besides it being focused on a person everyone is familiar with, it captures a distinct state of being and makes it easy for anyone to understand. There are, perhaps, better movies from this decade, even ones that I have watched, but I can’t help but feel this pull whenever I even considered talking about something else; it’s alluring.

Other highlights:

Four Lions (2010)

Nostalgia for the Light (2010)

Before Midnight (2013)

Philomena (2013)

Ida (2013)

Gone Girl (2014)

The Witch (2015)

A Silent Voice (2016)

Train to Busan (2016)

13th (2016)

Burning (2018)

Happy Watching

There were a lot of films I had to leave behind that pained me to do so. I didn’t have a concrete map of which films I wanted to put on the list, more to just pick the ones I felt the strongest feelings for. Each year, my library films expands more and more, and it’s not something I think I’ll ever stop doing. These films remind me that there are still uncharted waters for me to travel, through all decades and genres. There’ve been a great number of films released in this previous year alone, and I’m already writing through the list as we speak. If you want to see a ranked list of all the new films I watched in 2022, including my favourite film of this decade so far, stay tuned for next week.

Written by Conor Johnson.