The Wizard of Oz (1939, Victor Fleming)

"Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true."

An artist’s personal expression can produce greatness, but sometimes market competition can achieve the same result. After Disney made history with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the first full-length MGM responded by investing heavily into a family film one of its own literary properties. Despite marginal success upon its initial release, The Wizard of Oz might be the most watched movie in history. Two key creative decisions transformed this adaptation of L. Frank Baum’s novel into a classic that would be revisited by each generation. The first idea was an unqualified stroke of genius: to film Dorothy’s Kansas home in sepia-tones before transitioning to Oz with brilliant Technicolor in all the shades of the rainbow. For children today, who have never seen a black-and-white film before Oz, the Gale’s Dust Bowl farm even takes on a dream-like quality of its own, every bit as alien as the fantasy land of Oz. Even seventy years later, there might not be any film that benefits more from the use of color to define locations, characters, and events. Second, converting children’s literature into a musical was quite a gamble. Arlen and Harburg managed to avoid the fatal flaw of the musical genre, tacked-on songs that interrupt and prolong the story rather than enhance it. Judy Garland’s performance of “Over the Rainbow” so accurately conveys the sense of childhood longing, both gloomy and cheerful, that it deserves its reputation as the greatest original song ever on film.

The Kid (1921, Charles Chaplin)

“A picture with a smile – and perhaps, a tear.”

This simple title card description summarizes Chaplin’s modus operandi quite well. The Kid oscillates back and forth between pathos and slapstick comedy. Unlike other Chaplin classics, the tears invoked by the melodrama actually might outnumber the smiles. The plot revolves around a child, abandoned by its desperate mother to give him a more fortunate upbringing, only to end up being raised by a man equally poor man. The touching relationship between son and his accidental father carries the majority of the film. In poverty, both the Tramp and the Kid still lead rich lives due to the presence of the other.

Gone with the Wind (1939, Victor Fleming)

“Take a good look my dear. It's an historic moment you can tell your grandchildren about - how you watched the Old South fall one night.”

On multiple levels, Gone with the Wind represents a triumph of American excess. Begin with the Old South, a culture so decadent that its weekend barbecue rituals required a midday nap. Throw in a crushing defeat in the Civil War that burns the society to the ground. Create protagonist Scarlett O’Hara, a vortex of vanity from which no one can escape. Add romantic hero Rhett Butler, the captain of cool; and the Wilkeses, the pinnacle of gentility. Combine those elements into Margaret Mitchell’s thousand-page, Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel. Hand the story over to producer David O’Selznick, who spared no expense in tracking down the perfect cast, multiple screen-writers and directors, hundreds of crew members, and thousands of extras. Shoot over a half a million feet of film with every Technicolor camera in Hollywood, and then trim it to a four-hour epic. Watch it become the biggest box-office success of all-time, and then set records at the Academy Awards in a legendary field of competitors. Everything about this film is larger than life, especially the melodrama. Although the film’s racial politics are regressive and the sexual politics are progressive, there is no grand message behind it all. The life of the main character is compelling, even though she never becomes sympathetic. To borrow a phrase Sunset Blvd., it is “just a story,” but it would be foolish to dismiss it for that reason. The result still equals the sum of its parts.

The Great Dictator (1940, Charles Chaplin)

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an emperor. That’s not my business. I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible.”

Charles Chaplin and Adolf Hitler were born within a week of each other, had similar height and weight and overall appearance and both struggled in poverty before reaching great success. (In fact, Chaplin even regarded Hitler as one of the greatest actors he had ever seen.) Their ultimate legacies, however, could not be further apart. One man continues to bring joy to millions; the other brought death to an even larger number. The Great Dictator does not aspire to explain that disparity, but his film does succeed in reducing Hitler’s racism and nationalism to their inherent absurdities. Chaplin plays both a Jewish barber and Adenoid Hynkel, the dictator of Tomania. He never won a Best Actor Oscar, but his first all-sound film might contain his greatest performance. The most memorable moment occurs with the barber’s climactic radio address, calling for humanity on the eve of the Second World War. It is jarring to watch the star of so many silent comedies (playing a character of few words) speak with such eloquence, passion, and prolonged seriousness.

Metropolis (1927, Fritz Lang)

"There can be no understanding between the hand and the brain unless the heart acts as mediator."

When people today talk about Fritz Lang’s science fiction masterpiece Metropolis, many will mention that the visual effects are amazing for their time period. The qualifier is unnecessary. The visuals of Metropolis would be an amazing achievement in any time period. The images alone are so inspired and beautiful that they need no additional justification. Its vision of a stratified urban society is rich with religious imagery, as well as an overt political allegory. Nevertheless, the most thought-provoking element of the film is the way in which it blends the distinction between the organic and the artificial. The dehumanized workers have become extensions of their instruments. The inventor Rotwag, himself conceived as half mechanical, creates a robotic woman (with a remarkable performance from Brigitte Helm) who behaves sometimes more human than her living prototype. Lang portrays the metropolis itself both as an intricate piece of machinery and as a massive organism. Today, the film still stands tall as a work of art as staggering as the fictional city it portrays.

The General (1926, Buster Keaton and Clyde Bruckman)

"There were two loves in his life: his engine and his sweetheart, Annabelle Lee.”

Buster Keaton’s masterpiece The General might be the greatest of all silent comedies, because the film refuses to sacrifice character or story for the sake of laughs. Make no mistake, it still offers some of the most clever visual gags ever recorded. Keaton’s character Johnny Gray, a deadly serious man on a mission, never plays the clown. The audience never laughs at the character, or even with the character, but instead at the elegant chaos of his universe. Perhaps because the story was based on the record of a true incident, The General does not suffer from the disjointed episodic feel of its contemporaries. Each scene plays a part in an organic whole, as the plot expands like a snowball rolling down a hill. At the same time, The General also might be the greatest action movie ever made, with an awe-inspiring collection of stunts and lengthy chase scenes of relentless intensity. It is difficult to remember many individual scenes, but it is impossible to forget the overall experience: as if god had accompanied Johnny Gray on this adventure, and allowed us to smile alongside him.

WALL-E (2008, Andrew Stanton)

WARNING: May contain mild spoilerish details about content, but not necessarily plot.



1. Stunning Visuals

Modern movie audiences are becoming much harder to impress with the use of special-effects. Moviegoers have already seen just about every fantasy world and every creature imaginable. WALL-E does not introduce to us any computer-generated sights that we have not seen before: the characters (humans and robots) are familiar, as are the locations (earth and space). Still, it manages to present itself in such a way that offers many breathtaking visual moments throughout the movie. The animation of the characters and the locations are both equally impressive; just as much detail can be appreciated within the character design as in the intricate landscapes. If I had to select just one image that stands out above the rest, it would probably be the desolate, trash-filled urban ruins of the film’s opening act, an image that will occupy your mind well after you leave the theater. Even though choices in the visual style are meant to highlight the contrast between different elements (WALL-E with EVE, the polluted earth with the spotless space-station, the tiny characters with the vast galaxy), the unique vision somehow manages to remain almost completely consistent from start to finish.


2. Excellent use of sound

Personally, I tend to gravitate more towards movies that depend very heavily on dialogue for their success. I prefer scripts that are packed with memorable and meaningful quotes. WALL-E, by contrast, contains almost no conversations. The main robot characters do not have the ability to communicate verbally beyond making just a few sounds. There are human characters and other robots/computers in the film who do speak, but even still, the dialogue probably only amounts to a few pages. This comment does not reflect a lack of thought-provoking content, but merely reflects the skill with which sight and sound tells the story. In the midst of this world of silence, though, there are still plenty of aural pleasures. Much like the visuals, the movie’s sound effects serve to emphasize the contrast between different parts of its world. The film also does not choose to overpower the ears with a predictable Hollywood instrumental score, but offers more natural, understated music throughout the movie.


3. An extraordinarily thoughtful science-fiction story

The fictional universe of WALL-E exists in a distant future that exaggerates many features that are undeniably present in our lives today. The earth has been exploited and polluted to the degree that life is no longer sustainable. Technology has advanced to the point where physical effort and interpersonal interactions have been minimized. Consumerism and conformity have run rampant and has come to define almost every aspect of daily life. Unlike many other science-fiction stories, there is no greedy, evil corporation that conspired to create these results, but the situation progressed slowly over time from collective actions. The film’s universe is not entirely devoid of optimism, though, as WALL-E himself sheds light onto the darkness. The unique little robot actually offers us a reminder of those traits that define us as human. He is affectionate and sensitive, he enjoys things that are playful and frivolous, and he seeks others as a mirror to understand himself. In many ways, he is the most human character in the story, and so he becomes a fitting catalyst to change the course of mankind. The film achieves the highest aim of all science-fiction: to offer a meaningful portrait of our world, by showing us a world different from ours.


4. A genuinely moving, emotionally-driven story

I have little doubt that WALL-E the (Waste Allocation Load Lifter, Earth-class) and EVE (Extra-terrestrial Vegetation Evaluator) will become two of the most iconic movie characters of this decade. WALL-E is essentially an obsolete robot model, prone to mistakes, but endlessly compassionate. EVE is the sleek, advanced type, ruthlessly efficient in her functions, but with just as much personality. The journey shared by these two stars of the film becomes the main focus as the movie progresses. Their story invokes authentic emotions both of heartwarming joy and intense sadness. They depend upon each other, but they also love each other in an even deeper way. In a sense, the love story simplifies some human emotions, but only in order to explore the core truths inside them. WALL-E also interacts with other minor characters throughout the film which make for a few additional side-plots along the way: a cockroach that befriends him, the men and women on the space station, a band of defective robots, a robot single-handedly obsessed with cleaning WALL-E’s mess, the space captain who struggles against his mutinous autopilot computer. These additions not only advance the main plot, but they also provoke thought and feeling as they add further layers of meaning onto the overall narrative.


5. Brilliant thematic depth that links together its thought and emotion beautifully

It might seem to be a contradiction to include an intimate love story alongside a sweeping epic about the fate of mankind. Essentially, though, if I were to summarize the story’s subject matter as one thing, I would say that it’s a film about relationships: between one being and another, between the individual and the collective, between past and future generations, and the massive triangle between nature and mankind and technology. These different symbiotic relationships all interrelate to each other beautifully. The interactions between WALL-E and EVE also serve to comment upon these other, much larger forces around them. For instance, the loneliness that WALL-E experiences at the beginning of the film and the happiness that WALL-E shares with EVE parallel those same emotional opposites in the broader relationships. A recurring image of two hands joining together is not merely a device, but an expression of the themes common in all of the strands of the story. Just as the different parties achieve much more together than they ever could separately, WALL-E offers a classic example of a whole work that links itself together to become even greater than the sum of its parts.

See it, enjoy it, and share it with others. There are not many films like it, but there should be.

The Wrestler (2008, Darren Aronofsky)

Major spoilers. This is not a review but an analysis of the film. Do not read unless you have seen the film.

It would be inaccurate to say that Darren Aronofsky’s film, The Wrestler, tells the story of one man. Instead, the film tells the story of two men living in the same body. Just as the listing of his complete name in the credits suggests, Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson (played by Mickey Rourke) has another person within him, ripping him apart from within. The Wrestler is my favorite movie released in 2008, and one of my top ten favorite movies of this decade.



Personally, I never expected that a film about professional wrestling could become one of my favorites. The Wrestler might be remembered as one of the greatest sports movies, except for the glaring issue that professional wrestling is not a real sport. The film itself does not make any claims to the contrary, and it embraces the premise that professional wrestlers are performers. From the beginning, the film seeks to explore exactly how real a fake performance can be. During an early fight scene, Randy removes a hidden razor blade from his wrist and slices his forehead while on the mat, to make himself bleed. Legend has it that actor Mickey Rourke actually cut himself to make the scene work. Although the competition is staged, the bodies in the ring are certainly real. The strain of the activity takes a toll on the human body as heavy as any sport, through the physical wounds and also the training and drug regimen that support the performance. Mortality rates for professional wrestlers are through the roof, a harsh truth that confirms the real damage from this phony sport. The Wrestler succeeds as a film, not only because it highlights the physical reality of the performance, but because it emphasizes the consequences below the surface as well.

Lost Episode 5.15 History Repeated by Luhks

In a few short months, the network television show Lost will complete its initial run. As time passes, people will begin to look back on the series from its proper historical context. Lost might be regarded as the biggest cult television phenomenon of its era. However, even the show’s biggest fans must admit that ABC’s Lost most likely will not be remembered as the best dramatic series of its decade. (The cable-television triumvirate of The Sopranos, The Wire, and Mad Men, will take the gold, silver, and bronze medals, in some order.) Within its own genre, though, J.J. Abrams’ Lost probably has ensured its spot on Mount Rushmore alongside Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone, Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek, and Chris Carter’s The X-Files. Tracing the history of those four shows reveals a great deal about the evolution of the medium. When The X-Files was peaking in the 1990s, writers were beginning to shift away from the same creative mindset that had prevailed since the 1960s, that each episode operates as a self-contained, one-time broadcast. The ambitious X-Files team struggled mightily in their early attempts to convert their Monster-of-the-Week drama into a Grand-Mythological-Saga. Over time, technological shifts have changed fundamentally the way in which the artists are approaching the medium. After syndication, DVR playback, streaming media, and most importantly the DVD market, television programming carries a more permanent life than ever before. Today’s Lost writers operate with the understanding that their episodes will continue to exist long after their transitory time slots. Any fan would be naïve to believe that everything was planned from the beginning, but Abrams and Lindelof certainly understood that their Pilot was a Beginning that would lead to a Middle and an End. Each episode no longer needs to operate as an individual short story within a compilation, but as interconnected chapters in one great novel.

Lost Episode 5.16 The Dark and The Light by Luhks

There are only two types of Lost fans: those who watch the show for the Characters, and those who watch the show for the Mythology. The statement I just made is, of course, a false one. It reflects a gross generalization, which oversimplifies the complex motivations of a wide spectrum of individuals into two categories. Look no further than the Season Five finale, The Incident, for evidence that the definitions of ‘character’ and ‘mythology’ overlap each other as to make the classification nearly meaningless. Jacob, the central force lurking behind all Lost mythology, is in fact a character. Nevertheless, that exact thought has probably crossed the mind of every person reading this article, in one form or another, at some point in time. Our world is so complex and chaotic, that if we never made such generalizations, if we never drew such dividing lines, then we could never understand anything. All science, art, and even language depends upon a binary choice between ‘X’ and ‘not-X’. Even when we stare into a random and meaningless abyss, a Rorschach inkblot, we instinctively need to find some greater meaning within it, to find some pattern in the black ink on white background.