My Movie Poster Collection: E

I gotta give it up for Will Pfiefer and his film column for the Rockford Register Star. Not only is the man supremely knowledgeable, he's been trolling the net deeply enough to stumble upon and later compose kind words about My Movie Poster Collection. Thanks, Will, and all readers! And, as always, click on the image you wanna see larger.

E.T. THE EXTRATERRESTRIAL (Steven Spielberg, 82). Folded, F
The famed image that drove us all crazy when we all didn't know a thing about the movie. Those days are over, that's for sure.

EARTHQUAKE (Mark Robson, 74). Folded, VG
I love this poster, for all the reasons I've already stated that I love all disaster movie posters. This one puts a twist on things, incorporating the fantastic logo into its "Impossible Shot" feel. The film doesn't hold the fascination for me it once did, but the earthquake scenes are definitely moving.

EDDIE AND THE CRUISERS (Martin Davidson, 83). Folded, G
Why do I have this? I hate this movie. But I'm glad you like it.

EDUCATING RITA (Lewis Gilbert, 83). Folded, G
How I adore this movie, but boy, does the poster screw the pooch or what? How hard would it have been to get Julie Walters and Michael Caine in the same room together for this shot?

ED WOOD (Tim Burton, 94). Rolled, NM
A squeaky-clean masterpiece of poster art. The movie, and the image, is the finest of the director's 25 year career.

ELECTRA GLIDE IN BLUE (James William Guercio, 73). Folded, Style A, G
An absolute beauty, and the king poster to own if you're police-obsessed. The layout and design here is superb, with a one of the best movie taglines ever ("Did you know me and Alan Ladd are the same height?"), and printed on shiny silver paper.

EL TOPO (Alejandro Jodorowsky, 70). Folded, review sheet, VG
Never liked the movie, but I know a good thing when I see it. As review posters go, this one is tops.

ENCHANTED APRIL (Mike Newell, 92). Folded, G
And no passion for this one, either, though I DO like the movie.

ESCAPE 2000 (Brian Trenchard-Smith, 82). Folded, G
Hilarious. I bought it 'cause Y2K was coming up. Later on, I found this Australian title (obviously a Mad Max-inspired pic) was released under two better monikers: Turkey Shoot and Blood Camp Thatcher. Still, I haven't seen it.

ESCAPE FROM ALCATRAZ (Don Siegel, 79). Folded, G
Gorgeous, subtle Birney Lettick art for this final collaboration between director Don Siegel and star Clint Eastwood.

EVE (Robert Lynn and Jeremy Summers, 68). Folded, P
This poster is a scream. The fake reviews really make it, as does the big G rating at the bottom! And I love the artwork. But I tore my copy a bit, so I list it as in poor condition.

EVIL UNDER THE SUN (Guy Hamilton, 82). Folded, VG
As a kid, I was a big fan of these 70s/80s Hercule Poirot movies, like Murder On the Orient Express and Death on the Nile. I actually thought this title, perhaps the least known of the three, was actually the most fun.

EVILSPEAK (Eric Weston, 81). Folded, G
I was so glad to land this poster. Evilspeak is one of the funnest bad movies ever made, with Ron Howard's brother, Clint, taking a rare lead as a nerdy kid at a boy's school who contacts Satan through his Radio Shack computer and unleashes hoards of killer red-eyed pigs on his torturers. It's a must-see. I love that the kid on the poster looks NOTHING like Clint Howard (who'd be very hard to miss in a crowd).

EXCALIBUR (John Boorman, 81). Folded, G
Great movie, great poster (by legendary artist Bob Peak). It'd be hard to let this one go, but I almost gave it away, once.

EXCESS BAGGAGE (Marco Brambilla, 97). Rolled, VG
Acquired (from the Plaza Theater) during my Alicia Silverstone crush phase.

EXECUTIVE ACTION (David Miller, 73). Folded, Style B, VG
The movie is a shitty curio, but I love that the poster has the Kennedy image and Dallas travel route on it. It's gotta be worth something, right?

EXODUS (Otto Preminger, 60). Folded, G
Saul Bass did the unforgettable art here in one of his most iconic outings. The movie, however, is a complete bore.

THE EXORCIST (William Friedkin, 73). Folded, F.
Ahh, this. You know this, don't you? Thank you, Patrick.

EXPRESSO BONGO (Val Guest, 59). Folded, P
This must be one of the rarest posters in my collection. It's beat-up, but still looks okay. Expresso Bongo was one of the first British rock movies, and even though there's not much rock in it, it DOES feature Sir Cliff Richard! One of the oldest pieces in my collection.

EYES WIDE SHUT (Stanley Kubrick, 99). Rolled, VG.
This is the purpled American version of the movie poster (different from the UK version), seen through the Hartford's ornate bedroom mirror. Sigh. How I miss Stanley Kubrick.

1999 (The 9 Years, Part 7)

As we are now in 2009, we can expect to see a great many articles trumpeting the 70th anniversary of the fabled "Best Movie Year," 1939. This is tradition, dating back probably to every 9 year of every movie-oriented decade.

But is 1939 really the best year for movies? I don't know about that. It was great, but after the watershed year 1979, I started having my doubts. In 1989, I started noticing a trend. And in 1999, I was sure I was on to something.

I have a theory: that the 9 year in every decade is the best of that period. Why? I can only surmise that filmmakers working during the decade in question want to get out their final word on the era, and thus save their best for last. But, in the end, who really knows why: maybe it's simply just chance working here. Still, it's a very definable trend.

I first started conceiving this article (which you can see in full here) in 1999. Though I began thinking, in that year, that movies were doomed, I was blown away by the number of 1999 titles notable for their innovative quality (mostly due to the new influence of videogames, video cameras, and for the generational shift). Though it's too soon to say, 1999 really may be the greatest movie year ever, and this very well may be because filmmakers consciously or subconsciously felt the need to blow away the 1939 worship.

I should note: here in this 7th part of this ongoing series, I start talking WAY more in depth about why these movies should be noted, because the time that's elapsed since their release has not been great enough to ensure their inclusion into the filmmaking canon.

And so:

10 years ago this year--very possibly cinema's greatest era:

Aimee and Jaguar (Oscar-nominated German drama centering in on lesbian relationship set, with inevitable complications, in Nazi-era Berlin)

All About My Mother (Pedro Almodovar's Oscar-winning masterpiece about a Madrid mother--portrayed by an unsparing Cecelia Roth--traveling to confront her recently-deceased son's long-estranged father, now a Barcelona transvestite; the many turns in this film's serpentine plot are universally, uniquely transfixing. Even now, film is tastiest fruit yet born from Almodovar's bountiful career--from this point on, he's been regarded as Europe's premier autuer, and he thus netted Best Director honors at 1999's Cannes Film Festival)

American Beauty (1999's Best Picture winner; the film debut from Tony-winning stage vet Sam Mendes, who pounds Alan Ball's much-lauded scripting of poisonous suburban malaise into a visually electrifying work; vividly colorful cinematography and lighting from Oscar-winner Conrad Hall is his secret weapon, as is Thomas Newman's influential, oddly-syncopated score. But, of course, the film's MVPs are its actors, with lead Kevin Spacey winning his second Academy Award (Best Actor this time) as put-upon business writer/domestic drudge Lester Burnham, Annette Bening as his icy wife Carolyn, Thora Burch as their fed-up daughter Jane, Wes Bentley as their weed-dealing weirdo neighbor kid Ricky Fitts, Chris Cooper and Allison Jenney as Ricky's deadly despairing parents, and Mena Suvari as Jane's friend, a faux-worldly sexpot deemed by Lester as his mid-life crisis's creamy, sensual center. Film arguably didn't deserve Best Picture but, given its consitantly loving embrace by the industry, and its massive $130 million box office take, one has to admit its capture of late-1990s zeitgeist. Its cynical survey of American home life has been explored to better effect in a host of other pictures but inventive, fun-to-look-at, ultimately touching film is so detailed in its vision and performance that it stands up to numerous viewings; it still just misses my top ten of the year, mainly because I do have to admit it feels strangely dated now)

American Movie (my favorite documentary from 1999; director Chris Smith follows troubled ultra-indie filmmaker Mark Borchardt around rural Minnesota as he recruits his friends and family in the making of a financially-strapped black-and-white 20-minute horror film called Coven; cult hit is both deceptively depressing and extremely entertaining pop-culture portrait of one rather unprepared man's desperate dreams of fame and fortune; Borchardt, with his elderly, unwitting producer Uncle Bill, and recovering tripoholic collaborator/friend Mike Schenk (who provides the documentary's fantastic acoustic guitar score) each emerged as 1999's most idiosyncratic, and somehow inspiring, film personalities)

American Pie (blockbuster reboot of teen sex comedy genre, delivered with surprising warmth, along with inevitable vulgarities, by debut filmmaking brothers Paul and Chris Weitz; Jason Biggs, Chris Klein, Eddie Kay Thomas, and Thomas Ian Nicholas portray horny friends vowing to lose their virginity before prom night; their female compatriots are assayed by Tara Reid, Natasha Lyonne, Shannon Elizabeth, and cute Buffy The Vampire Slayer vet Alison Hannigan (who, along with manic Eddie Kay Thomas, walks away with the movie); also sports a career-transforming perf from SCTV vet Eugene Levy as Biggs' square father)

American Pimp (along with Pimps Up, Ho's Down, the definitive doc chronicle of pimp life, directed by The Hughes Brothers)

Analyze This (made the same year as The Sopranos, Robert De Niro delivers his one great lead comic performance as mob boss who visits psychiatrist Billy Crystal for therapy; merely diverting movie, but a gigantic hit, directed by Harold Ramis)

Any Given Sunday (Oliver Stone's caffinated football saga, damning but somehow celebratory of the harsher sides of the sport's business; fun cast--Al Pacino, Cameron Diaz, LL Cool J, Ann-Margret, James Woods, Matthew Modine, and Jamie Foxx, who makes a deep impression in pre-Oscar supporting role as sickeningly egotistical quarterback)

Arlington Road (underrated paranoia creep-out with Jeff Bridges as widowed professor who suspects weird neighbors Tim Robbins and Joan Cusack as bomb-planting terrorists; sometimes lame, often exciting movie sticks with you; outstanding credits sequence)

Audition (Hong Kong horrormeister Takeshi Miike's US breakthrough, and one of the genre's recent greats, following widower Ryo Ishibashi as he suffers unforeseen consequences as the lovelorn amateur casting director for his friend's new movie. "Kiri, kiri, kiri, kiri, kiri!" Have fun...)

Being John Malkovich (gloriously befuddling debut film from former video director Spike Jonze casts John Cusack as artist-cum-office-worker who discovers a portal to the mind and spirits of actor John Malkovich; extremely weird and profound; a little disappointing in its final third, but a bold, deservedly much-treasured cult movie, with great work from Cameron Diaz, Catherine Keener, John Malkovich, and Orson Bean; sharply written by Charlie Kaufman, who instantly shot to screenwriting's A-list; earned Oscar nominations for Jonze, Kaufman, and Keener)

Beau Travail (powerful, Oscar-nominated Claire Denis film about the passionate, destructive relationship between a CO and a French Foreign Legion recruit stationed off the cost of Djibouti)

The Blair Witch Project (horror "shockumentary" from Florida filmmakers Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez; three college kids venture into a notoriously haunted New England forest to shoot a non-fiction film about "infamous" title character. After a historic viral on-line ad campaign made it into one of the most profitable movies ever produced, Blair Witch became an singularly divisive love-it-or-hate-it event; I fall on the love-it side, because I find the woods to be frightening (if you aren't shaken even a little by this side of nature, the film won't work for you). Questionable shaky-cam DV work--made way worse by strobe-causing film transfer--resulted in a rash of vomiting incidents in movie theaters)

Boondock Saints (writer/director Troy Duffy's debut is spiritually-tinged action movie, a smash on video, that has Irish brothers Willem Dafoe and Sean Patrick Flanery taking on the Russian mob, ultimately all in the name of God; a very strong cult following is out there for this movie, but I don't get it)

Bowfinger (Steve Martin scripted this lively Hollywood-based comedy with Martin as a penniless movie director trying to trick sweet, goofy regular-guy Eddie Murphy--a dead ringer for big-movie-star Eddie Murphy--into being the lead in his next picture, intending to pass him off as the star; another underrated script from Martin, and equally excellent but ignored performance by Murphy)

Boys Don’t Cry (Kimberly Peirce's harrowing directorial debut detailing real-life teenager Brandon Teena's notoriously violent fate after "friends" discovered she was a woman masquerading as a man; career-defining, Oscar-winning lead performance from Hillary Swank is given equally strong support from Chloe Sevigny, Peter Saarsgard, and Brendon Sexton III)

Bringing Out The Dead (very bleak Martin Scorsese picture reunites him with Taxi Driver screenwriter Paul Schrader, and furthers that movie with a more damning, depressing portrayal of NYC streetlife--a real achievement; it follows sickly-looking EMT worker Nicholas Cage on his nightmarish nightly rounds through the city, with a game supporting cast and queasy-colored cinematography from Robert Richardson)

Buena Vista Social Club (Oscar-nominated, wildly energetic Wim Wenders doc about the kings and queens of the Cuban music scene; lit a big fire of popularity for all artists involved, as it was cleverly designed to do)

The Cider House Rules (Lasse Hallstrom directed this classically-flavored filming of John Irving's abortion-themed saga; Irving won an Academy Award for his screenwriting, as did Michael Caine for his supporting performance--his first with an American accent--as the ether-addicted head of a New England women's hospital; key film for leads Tobey Maguire and for Charlize Theron, who stunningly looks in some shots as if transported from the MGM stable of 1930s beauty queens)

Cookie’s Fortune (likable Robert Altman trifle with Patricia Neal as wealthy small-town success whose death and will causes strife amongst her satellites; with Julianne Moore, Glenn Close, Liv Tyler, Chris O'Donnell, Charles S. Dutton, Ned Beatty, Courtney B. Vance, Donald Moffat, and Lyle Lovett)

Cradle Will Rock (Tim Robbins wrote and directed this slightly overstuffed pastiche of Orson Welles' radical 30s-era theater group the NTA, culminating with a reinacting of the company's most famous production; huge cast includes Hank Azaria, Rubén Blades, Joan Cusack, John Cusack, Cary Elwes, Philip Baker Hall, Cherry Jones, Angus Macfadyen, Bill Murray, Vanessa Redgrave, Susan Sarandon, Jamey Sheridan, John Turturro, Emily Watson, and Bob Balaban; this engaging lineup of talent, plus film's brave ambition to tell an largely unknown story makes it quite worth seeing)

Cruel Intentions (modern-day retelling of Dangerous Liasons with Sarah Michelle Gellar, Reese Witherspoon, Selma Blair, Ryan Phillipe, and Joshua Jackson; cult hit is actually much better than one might expect)

Dogma (Kevin Smith's inevitably vulgar screed against organized religion has fine cast--Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, Chris Rock, George Carlin and many others--but remains another of the year's love-it-or-hate-it filmgoing experiences; this time, I fall wholly on the hate side, but plenty of people strongly disagree)

East-West (Oscar-nominated French film follows Catherine Denueve as Russian-born French citizen whose family is lured back to Stalinist USSR, only to be squeezed hard by the dictator's iron-fisted grip)

Election (Alexander Payne's scintillating follow-up to almost-equally brilliant debut film Citizen Ruth is based on Tom Perotta's novel, screen-adapted with Payne's longtime writing partner Jim Taylor. It's a perfect blend of high laughter and pin-point political satire (sexual realms included) that's at once insistent and subtle. Matthew Broderick is Mr. McAllister, a popular creampuff-liberal high school teacher overseeing the school's student presidential election; Reese Witherspoon is extraordinary as Tracy Flick, the embarrassingly but somewhat admiringly gung-ho "presidential" candidate for whom an in-the-know Broderick has a distinct distaste; Chris Klein is the popular former football star Broderick slyly goads into the race; and, in a low-key but triumphant performance, Jessica Campbell excels as the school's heartbroken misfit--Klein's adopted sister--who spitefully submits her name for candidacy and ends up defiantly representing the school's politically indifferent populace. Smart, entertaining, unrelentingly discomforting comedy should have garnered a slew of top Oscar nods, but only managed a screenplay citation (it did however nab Best Picture, Director and Screenplay at 1999's Independent Spirit Awards). Outstandingly well-cast and performed by all. Rolfe Kent's memorably smirky score is accompanied by upbeat source music selections. For me, the third best movie of the year)

The End of the Affair (Julianne Moore and Ralph Fiennes and Stephen Rea are all excellent in Neil Jordan's handsome, tastefully soapy adaptation of Graham Greene's novel recounting, against a WWII London backdrop, brewing adulterous passions between Moore and Finnes, with Rea as Moore's wounded, hang-dog husband)

eXistenZ (outrageous David Cronenberg commentary--what other kind is there?--on video game culture with Jennifer Jason Leigh as designer of new game system that plugs directly into player's spine and results in bizarre alternate reality; obviously, with its graphic mash-ups of flesh and machine, it'd be perfect on a double-bill with Cronenberg classic Videodrome; compact and actually pretty funny movie also stars Jude Law and Ian Holm)

Eyes Wide Shut (Stanley Kubrick's final film was released four months after his March 7th 1999 death at age 70. Kubrick turns his famously exacting eye to Arthur Schnitzler's phantasmic 1926 novel dealing with marital crisis between a successful, self-obsessed doctor and his strong-willed wife who rocks him after confessing a one-time urge to stray sexually. First considered by Kubrick as a possible follow-up to 2001, but idea didn't gel until the mid-90s when the great director landed superstar married couple Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman as his leads; for three years, Kubrick's crew toiled amongst production designers Les Tompkins and Roy Walker and cinematographer Larry Smith's rich, Christmas-lit--but very much intentionally "off"--recreations of New York cityscapes; working on this movie must've demanded more honesty than the Cruise/Kidman marriage could withstand, because it ended not very long after the film's controversial release. Eyes Wide Shut registered as a strong disappointment with many viewers who likely weren't expecting a maze-like, Freudian-gassed experimental-film /murder-mystery (they didn't even get to see Cruise and Kidman get it on, which I think really pissed some ticket buyers off). No matter, because it remains a career highlight for the two leads, who forged a unique bond with the legendary director. Despite being widely misunderstood, Kubrick's swansong landed a surplus of votes as one of the ten best movies of the 1990s by Film Comment's vast critic/filmmaker poll, published in early 2000. This tells me that many film lovers see it as the creepy, cryptic, romantic masterpiece as which it'll eventually be hailed. Film's dramatic and visual riches are too many to enumerate here, so I direct you to my longer review; the best movie of the year, in my opinion, and I recommend that haters give it a more open-minded chance)

Felicia’s Journey (writer/director Atom Egoyan's grim, measured yet suspenseful character study with tremendous lead acting from Bob Hoskins as milquetoast serial sex criminal and Elaine Cassidy as the unsuspecting Irish girl destined to be his next victim)

Fight Club (culture-rocking adaptation of Chuck Pahlaniuk's anarchic novel casts Edward Norton as insomniac lead whose affliction leads him to the mindspace of Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt), a violence- worshiping rebel who propels Norton on to a perhaps-real, perhaps-fantasy fate. Helena Bonham Carter is outstanding as the constantly-smoking woman they share. Film was unjustly ignored by the Academy, earning only a Sound Effects nod, but quickly became an indispensable cult film because of its unique worldview and filmmaking prowess; incredible Jeff Cronenworth cinematography, Alex McDowell art direction, and perhaps the decade's most inventive visual effects; a masterpiece, for many, but not without fascinating problems)

Galaxy Quest (Oscar-winning short film director Dean Parisot made his biggest mark to date in the world of features with this truly hysterical, constantly inventive comedy, written by David Howard and Robert Gordon, about a crew of has-been actors, all now sci-fi convention regulars as the adored cast of a geek-loved Star Trek-ish TV show; Tim Allen gets his juiciest live-action film role here as tube star and "ship captain," cocky drunk Jason Nesmith who, while on a bender, is transported into space by troubled, confused aliens who have received "Galaxy Quest" TV transmissions and are now seeking his "crew's" assistance in a species-threatening battle with the scaly General Sarris; the film's "crew" includes Sigourney Weaver, Alan Rickman, Darryl Mitchell, a delightfully deadpan Tony Shaloub; Enrico Colatoni and Missi Pyle co-star as the starstruck head aliens; that's Robin Sachs underneath all that Sarris makeup; and you can't miss the gut-busting turn from Sam Rockwell as a jittery one-time "Galaxy Quest" extra who stumbles into the action and spends the movie convinced his expendable show status marks him as the mission's first victim--his may be my favorite supporting performance of 1999; easily the year's best all-out comedy)

Girl, Interrupted (Angelina Jolie won the Supporting Actress Oscar for playing the rule-breaking inmate in the psychiatric ward visited by Winona Ryder; not a movie I like, but must be cited)

Girl on the Bridge (Vanessa Paradis and Daniel Auteuil are platonic friends who realize, after much heartache, that they were meant for each other; beautiful visuals in this passionate Patrice Leconte-directed romance)

Go (writer/director Doug Liman's enjoyably hopped-up comedy about the chaos surrounding a drug deal gone wrong, with Sarah Polley, Katie Holmes, Timothy Olyphant, and a particularly memorable William Fichtner)

Grass (breezy but substantial, ultimately infuriating Ron Mann documentary about the history of America's pointless war on marijuana)

The Green Mile (Frank Darabont's popular--if terrible--Stephen King adaptation about magical inmate at small southern prison; Michael Clarke Duncan is vibrant in the key supporting role, but it's a mystery why else anyone would like this film; still, received a Best Picture nomination--and I must reiteraste here how much I HATE HATE HATE this movie. But here it is....)

Hands on a Hard Body (surprisingly tense and affecting documentary about group of contestants who vie to keep both hands on the body of a car longer than the other, in order to win the car itself; the modern-day They Shoot Horses, Don't They? is more substantial than one might think)

The Hurricane (Norman Jewison-directed biopic with Denzel Washington unwaveringly dynamic as wrongly-imprisoned boxer Ruben "Hurricane" Carter)

An Ideal Husband (genially amusing adaptation of Oscar Wilde's work, with Jeremy Northam as upper-crust denizen of 19th Century England whose placement in society is threatened by wise Julianne Moore as a woman who has some not-so-salient background on the man, and blackmail on her mind; excellent cast rounded out by Cate Blanchett and Minnie Driver)

The Insider (key film from director/producer Michael Mann follows Al Pacino as Lowell Bergman, the real-life 60 Minutes producer who lands whistle-blowing former Big Tobacco scientist Jeffery Wigand for a TV expose of the cigarette industry's crooked dealings, only to incur the suffocating wrath of the tobacco lobby and the ultimate power of truth-telling; Russell Crowe gained thirty pounds to play the frumpy Wigand, and delivers an explosive performance--one of the year's best. Also notable for having a superb supporting cast that includes Michael Gambon, Bruce Magill, Debi Mazar, Gina Gershon, Philip Baker Hall, Lindsey Crouse, Stephen Tobolowsky, real-life anti-tobacco lawyers Mike Moore and Jack Palladino, and Christopher Plummer, who's phenomenal as 60 Minutes anchor Mike Wallace. Superb scripting, cinematography by the amazing Dante Spinnoti, editing, sound, and evocative scoring by Lisa Gerrard (of Dead Can Dance) and Pieter Bourke. This is a smart, suspenseful, abjectly perfect moviegoing experience that's easily enjoyed in repeat viewings; my eighth favorite movie of the year)

The Iron Giant (former Simpsons producer Brad Bird debuted in features with this animated masterpiece, an adaptation of poet Ted Hughes' The Iron Man that follows a young boy's relationship with a gigantic robot from outer space; cautionary tale about 50s-era cold war fears perhaps came too late in the game to be properly noticed, as it is the last great, largely cel-based feature in a now-3D-controlled world of animation; brilliantly designed and animated movie still seems to be searching for its cult, but that doesn't detract from fact that it's among the five best animated films of the last three decades; voices provided by Jennifer Anniston, Harry Connick Jr., John Mahoney, Christopher MacDonald, Eli Marienthal, and Vin Diesel as the Giant; my seventh favorite movie of the year)

Judy Berlin (very sweet little black-and-white indie, written and directed by Eric Mendelsohn, about a meek, unhitched schoolteacher carrying on a dalliance with the school's married principal; Sopranos star Edie Falco is charming in the title role, and film sports a nifty supporting cast, including Bob Dishy, Barbara Barrie, Carlin Glynn, Julie Kavner, Anne Meara, and Madeline Kahn in her final film outing)

Julian Donkey-Boy (somehow much-seen second feature from Harmony Korine is a mess; it's officially a Dogme 95 entry, but is most laudable for exacting supporting performance from director Werner Herzog)

Kikujiro (Hong Kong autuer Takeshi "Beat" Kitano is a long way from his more blood-sodden efforts with this tiny-scaled road movie that has his title character electing to accompany a kid on his cross-country journey to see his estranged mother; lots of laughs here, provided in part by Great Gidayu and Rakkyo Ide as lunkheaded bikers who assist Kikujiro in his attempts to cheer the boy up)

The Limey (Terence Stamp delivered one of 1999's best characterizations as a long-jailed British hit man visiting L.A. to find the man responsible for his daughter's death; he's led into the underbelly of the California music scene, with Peter Fonda also scoring as the record producer who may or may not be Stamp's target; Luis Guzman offers a notable, laugh-inducing supporting performance in this, ostensibly a continuation of Ken Loach's 1967 debut Poor Cow)

Magnolia (Paul Thomas Anderson's impossibly large-scaled, Altmanesque opus surveys intertwined lives amongst the lowly and the successful in L.A.'s San Fernando valley; film willfully examines fate, death, love, sex, family, misery, forgiveness, and greed amongst diverse cast of characters; incredible cast--perhaps the best of the year--includes Tom Cruise (whose sex-addicted superstar stands as his most unlikable film role--a gamble that got Cruise an unusual Supporting Actor Oscar nominiation), Julianne Moore, Jason Robards (in his final film), William H. Macy, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Philip Baker Hall, Jeremy Blackman, Luis Guzman, Ricky Jay, and my two favorite supporting performances of the year: John C. Reilly as a dedicated street cop and Melora Walters as the coke-addicted woman he falls in love with; it's a picture that tends to divide people into the pro or con categories, but I see it as an undeniable masterwork; eerie score by Jon Brion, with essential songs by Aimee Mann acting as the film's "Greek Chorus"; my fourth favorite movie of the year)

Man on the Moon (Milos Forman-directed Andy Kaufman biopic, with Jim Carrey striving mightily in the lead, and with Paul Giamatti and Courtney Love stealing his thunder as support)

Mansfield Park (a comeback for Canada's Patricia Rozema (I've Heard the Mermaids Singing); Jane Austen-adapted romance is fast-paced and very entertaining)

A Map of the World (Sigourney Weaver is intense as suburban mother who struggles with neighbor child's death that occurred while in her care; quietly effective family melodrama co-starring David Strathairn, Julianne Moore, and Chloe Sevigny)

The Matrix (game-changing sci-fi action classic by Andy and Larry Wachowski justifiably blew audiences away with its rare synthesis of excitement and philosophy; Keanu Reeves stars as Neo, a computer geek who's enlisted by a band of freedom fighters out to short-circuit the alien-controlled enslavement of the human race. It's arguable that the film altered movies in a way that hasn't been seen since the days of Star Wars; its Oscar-winning editing, sound, and ultra-outstanding special effects ushered reached a new watershed mark for cinema. Though it cribs a lot from many sources, film remains a true original (though its two lame sequels helped to bring its reputation down a bit). Lawrence Fishburne, Joe Pantoliano, Hugo Weaving (as the daunting villain Agent Smith), Gloria Foster (as The Oracle), and the fetching Carrie-Anne Moss round out the great cast; my ninth favorite film of the year, and the source for my #1 most memorable moviegoing experience)

Mystery Men (extremely lovable, absolutely hilarious, unjustly maligned spoof of superhero genre, based on comic book by Bob Burden, that has amateur "superheroes" angling to assist Champion City's reigning star Captain Amazing after he's kidnapped by supervillain Casanova Frankenstein; Ben Stiller, William H. Macy, Hank Azaria, Kel Mitchell, Paul Reubens, Wes Studi, and especially the way-bitchy Janeane Garafalo are outstanding as the title crew, as are unctuous Greg Kinnear as Amazing and snarling Geoffrey Rush as Frankenstein; mindbending cast is rounded out by Tom Waits, Eddie Izzard, Lena Olin, Ricky Jay, Louise Lasser and Claire Forlani; with its wonderfully stitched-together set and costume design as icing on the cake, director Kinka Usher's comedy classic is my choice as the #1 Most Overlooked Film of 1999; certain to one day be a cult mainstay)The Ninth Gate (another dark-cast "is it a comedy or isn't it?" entry from Roman Polanski; Johnny Depp is a book collector searching for famous tome that will allow him a glimpse into Hell; might seem stupid at times, but shockingly resonate)

Notting Hill (good-hearted Richard Curtis effort with famed movie actress Julia Roberts striking up romance with mere mortal bookseller Hugh Grant)

October Sky (remarkably fast-paced bio-pic about early life of Homer Hickham, who sprung from 50s-era Kentucky coal miner to pioneering rocket scientist; lead debut for Jake Gyllenhall; really terrific family movie, with extremely sharp editing; directed by Joe Johnston and co-starring Chris Cooper and Laura Dern)

Office Space (TV animation king Mike Judge made the leap to live-action features with this, the best-loved comedy of the year. Though it wasn't a box office hit, film about a lowly office worker who's hypnotically transformed into a ruthless power broker became a sensation on home video, where it garnered legions of fans who recognized the untold honesty in its hilarious jabs at bland, corporatized America; excellent performances from Ron Livingston, Jennifer Anniston, Gary Cole, David Herman, Ajay Naidu, Diedrich Bader, and especially from Stephen Root as the office's aging whipping boy; it's a movie that gets better and better each time I see it)

One Day in September (Kevin MacDonald's stunning, Oscar-winning documentary about the Palestinian-led kidnapping of the Israeli athletes at 1972's Olympics at Munich)

Ratcatcher (Scottish director Lynne Ramsay's dreamy filmmaking debut, following a young boy through the horrors of an impoverished life in trash-ridden 1973 Glasgow)

The Red Violin (epic anthology film, of sorts, by Canada's Francois Girard, and written by actor/screenwriter Don McKellar; it follows an immaculately constructed, legendary violin through three centuries, culminating in its modern-day auction; Oscar-winning score by 20th-Century classical composer John Corigliano; involves actors from Italy, Germany, China, Canada, and America)

Romance (Catherine Breillat's controversial exploration of one woman's sexual frustration and release; a breakthrough for the director, who includes both a hardcore sex scene and a birth within the film)

Run Lola Run (Tom Tykwer's German-language debut is a breathless action film/love story with Franke Potente as athletic girl racing against time to deliver sachel of money to boyfriend Moritz Bleibtreu before he launches into robbery of supermarket; time-juggling work leaves one reeling with its visual brilliance--its video-game-flavored playfulness comes complete with time limits and start-overs; along with The Matrix and eXistenZ, made 1999 the year video games truly invaded movieland territory, which instantly makes it one of the most influential movies ever)

The Sixth Sense (writer/director M. Night Shymalyan won critical acclaim and humongous box office receipts with moody horror film starring Bruce Willis as psychiatrist studying young Haley Joel Osment, who maintains an ability to talk to dead people; film plays like an extended Twilight Zone episode, with a twist ending that made it a must-see; though it's not something I like, it is often genuinely creepy, and garnered a slew of Oscar nominations, including Best Picture, Director, Original Screenplay, Supporting Actor (the preternatural Osment), and Supporting Actress (Toni Colette, as Osment's mother); Shymalyan would go on to make much better movies, but this is the one he'll be remembered for)

SLC Punk (Matthew Lillard is superlative in this indie period piece about 80s-era punks living in strait-laced Salt Lake City; unexpectedly exacting direction and writing from James Merendino)

The Sopranos (absolutely spellbinding first season of David Chase's HBO series is so steeped in cinematic quality that it's impossible not to include it on this list; James Gandolfini stars as mob boss Tony Soprano, whose debilitating panic attacks leads him to the office of psychiatrist Jennifer Melfi (Lorraine Bracco); hugely influential series went on for seven more seasons, and transformed the television landscape with its unparaleled writing and production; with Edie Falco, Steven Van Zandt, Michael Imperioli, and an unending cast of ruthless yet still likable liars, cheats, and murderers; all said and done, my favorite film event of 1999, and a continuing influence on film and TV throughout the 21st Century)

South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut (Trey Parker and Matt Stone surprised all with transformation of their cut-out animated TV hit into a mesmerizing big-screen musical (with tunes by Parker and Marc Shaiman); the town of South Park is torn asunder by the arrival of the profane new Terrence and Phillip movie, which inspires the town kids to be as foul-mouthed as their heroes; gotta love a movie that gives such a nifty part to hilarious "Saddam Hussein" (who has the film's best number, "I Can Change"); still, that's only one of many songs that makes an impression in this wickedly well-scripted hit)

Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (very long-awaited prequel to first three Star Wars movies tells of difficult childhood for Annikin Skywalker, later to become villainous Darth Vader; written and directed by George Lucas, in his return to hands-on filmmaking, movie was a tremendous hit, but began downward spiral in series quality; of course, the John Williams score and the ILM special effects are first-rate, but unbearably wooden scripting and acting failed to capture hearts this time around; with Ewan MacGregor, Liam Neeson, Natalie Portman, Anthony Daniels, Kenny Baker, Frank Oz, Samuel L. Jackson, Ian McDiarmid, and Amhed Best as universally-despised Jar Jar Binks)

The Straight Story (bountiful David Lynch movie, released under the unlikely Disney imprimatuer and based on a true story, tracks octogenarian Alvin Straight as he travels slowly through America's heartland on a power mower, sojourning to console his dying, long-estranged brother; former golden-age film stuntman Richard Farnsworth, who was deathly ill during this taxing production, lovingly plays Straight with folksy, unshowy emotion; he was everyone's sentimental favorite that year for the Best Actor Oscar. Supporting cast includes superb Sissy Spacek as Alvin's old-maid daughter, and a key cameo by Harry Dean Stanton; lilting Angelo Badalamenti score acts as background to scrumptious Freddie Francis photography. Though the film--and its lead character--seems to gush sentiment, there's a typically Lynchian edge of darkness to be found here; just missed being in my top ten)

Sugar Town (fluffy examination of L.A. music biz wannabes, directed by Allison Anders and Kurt Voss, with Rosanna Arquette, Ally Sheedy, Jade Gordon, Beverly D'Angelo, Lumi Cavasos, and a few 80s-flavored pop personalities: Duran Duran's John Taylor, Spandau Ballet's Martin Kemp, Power Station's Michael Des Barres, and X's John Doe)

Sweet and Lowdown (realistically sentimental character study from Woody Allen, who also narrates this look at impoverished guitarist Emmet Ray, played with much heart by Sean Penn; movie's inextricably haunted by the spirit of guitarist Django Reinhardt, idolized by Penn's character; incredible supporting performance from Samantha Morton as dedicated deaf girl in love with philandering lead; Allen's finest movie of the 1990s)

The Talented Mr. Ripley (a remake of Rene Clement's 1960s masterpiece Purple Noon, mounted by writer/director Anthony Mingella, who casts Matt Damon as author Patricia Highsmith's morally bankrupt hero who murders his way into high society; extremely beautiful to look at, and wonderfully, radically different than the Clement film, it co-stars Gwyneth Paltrow, Jude Law, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Cate Blanchett; the late Minghella's most notable film)

Three Kings (David O. Russell's complex tale has Iraq-based soldiers George Clooney, Ice Cube, Mark Wahlberg, and Spike Jonze plotting to steal Saddam Hussein's cache of gold bars--however, the team finds itself also committed to going against orders in delivering a crowd of innocent Iraqis to border freedom; Russell's literate, funny, constantly moving screenplay is a marvel, as is Newton Thomas Sigel's skillfully overexposed photography)

Titus (former stage director Julie Taymor submitted her filmmaking debut with this sizzling adaptation of William Shakespeare's gory play chronicling the violent headbutting between a valiant Roman general (Anthony Hopkins) and the one-time enemy who becomes his queen (Jessica Lange); astonishing supporting performances from Alan Cumming and especially from Harry Lennix, whose monologue before his execution is one of the year's greatest scenes; film's wowing Oscar-nominated period sets--by Dante Ferreti--and costumes--by Milena Canonero--are likably augmented by cars, motorcycles, and modern-day ephemera, which add to the story's considerable weirdness; my ninth favorite film of the year)

Topsy-Turvy (Mike Leigh's detailed, riveting look at the gestation of Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado is a celebration of stage collaboration; Allen Corduner and Jim Broadbent play the often-battling team whose redoubled efforts result in one of the most treasured of stageworks; Leigh, no stranger to the theater, wisely elects to film rehearsals and backstage drama, giving full portraiture to the demands and rewards of the theatre; Oscar-nominated script, costumes, and Oscar-winning period stage makeup are all astonishing; my tenth favorite film of the year)

Toy Story 2 (directors John Lasseter and Ash Brannon equal, if not surpass, quality of groundbreaking 1995 computer-animated hit; film continues to examine our relationship with toys, here focusing in on young Andy's inevitable growth away from his playtime friends, voiced again by Tom Hanks, Tim Allen, Annie Potts, Don Rickles, Wallace Shawn, and Jim Varney; movie delves now into adult fascination with toys as a nostalgic commodity, with Wayne Knight perfect as the ruthless toy collector villain; Joan Cusack and Kelsey Grammar play museum-bound toys inextricably linked with Woody, who's now revealed as part of a set; movie boasts of the most moving song of the 1990s, Randy Newman's "When She Loved Me," which, when coupled with its intricately-directed visuals, never fails to make me weep; a true masterpiece, and my sixth favorite film of the year)

Twin Falls Idaho (headache-inducing debut indie from Mark and Michael Polish, who star as siamese twins in love with the same girl; a cult hit on video)

The Virgin Suicides (debut film from writer/ director Sofia Coppola is a poppy, gloomy adaptation of Jeffrey Eugenides' novel about band of beautiful sisters whose stifling home life leads them to terrible fates; Kirsten Dunst, A.J. Cook, Hanna Hall, Leslie Hayman, and Chelse Swain are all outstanding as the doomed girls; supporting cast includes James Woods, an unrecognizable Kathleen Turner, and Josh Hartnett; shimmering Edward Lachmann cinematography and score by Euro-pop giants Air)

A Walk on the Moon (sweet vehicle for Diane Lane--twenty years after her debut at 13 in George Roy Hill's A Little Romance--as a late 60s housewife whose clandestine affair leads her to the Woodstock Music Festival)

The War Zone (devastating directorial debut from Tim Roth about teenage boy dealing with terrifying home life; scary lead performance from Ray Winstone, and a radical, jaw-dropping ending)

The Wind Will Carry Us (typically, beautifully slow-paced Abbas Kierostami character study about Iranian city engineer attempting to fit into rural town's life)

The Winslow Boy (David Mamet's elegant adaptation of Terrence Rattigan play about rich kid accused of stealing valuable stamps while at all-boys-school; with Nigel Hawthorne, Jeremy Northam, and Rebecca Pidgeon; very different ground for Mamet)

I wanted to include Rushmore on this list, to make it an even 80 notable films from 1999, but alas it was released for a week in 1998, so even though it didn't hit wide until February of 1999, it still has to be considered a '98 film. But it doesn't matter because 1999 is such a ridiculously rich year for cinema that, surely, 79 notable titles would do for just about anybody. Though 1979 barely beats '99 with 83 titles, it's quite possible that the combination of The Matrix, Toy Story 2, Eyes Wide Shut, Three Kings, Office Space, Galaxy Quest, American Beauty, Titus, Topsy-Turvy, Run Lola Run, The Straight Story, Magnolia, All About My Mother, Fight Club, Being John Malkovich, American Movie, The Insider, Election, The Sopranos and The Iron Giant--all unqualified masterpieces--is enough to safely conclude that we still, maybe, don't realize how lucky we were in 1999. This dazzling list of movies--all challenging, entertaining, and exceedingly well-crafted--has to give the collected movies of any previous year a run for their money. And so:

The scorecard now stands at:
1939: 41 titles
1949: 56
1959: 66
1969: 73
1979: 85
1989: 67
1999: 79

Now, you tell me: is 1939 the greatest year for movies? Or am I on to something greater?

Film #3: Eyes Wide Shut

Upon its release in 1999, Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut promptly took its place alongside Robert Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Antonioni’s L’Avventura, at least half of David Lynch’s entire oeuvre, and Kurosawa’s Dreams as one of the cinema’s great phantasms. If, upon seeing it, you’ve any sense of it sporting a traditional story--even a derailed or dull one--then, if you will pardon this writer for seeming pedantic or snobby, your eyes are certainly not sharp enough. This is a common reaction among filmgoers first seeing Kubrick’s thought-provoking works; for most viewers, particularly in this age of spoon-fed pabulum disguised as entertainment, the director’s pictures are boldly off-putting, and even infuriating (the teems of analytically-challenged critics and dissatisfied audiences exiting Eyes Wide Shut definitely prove this).

But before or after your first look at this uniquely massive art film, be informed that, as with previous Kubrick movies, Eyes Wide Shut requires repeated once-overs to be mined fully. Like many of his pictures, it leaves us in a state of groggy confusion, as if we’ve just been drugged and kidnapped. Now, I’m sadly aware that’s not what most people go to the movies for these days (it ain’t the ‘60s anymore), so in response to the tired, baffled reactions to Kubrick’s final masterwork, I say this: Eyes Wide Shut is so accomplished, so rich with delightful visual and intellectual detail that, even if you don’t think it’s much when you first see it, you too will be praising it years down the line. History bears this out; Kubrick’s movies have always garnered mixed notices upon release, and have always been regarded as works of genius once they’ve been given a while to breathe.

Our first glimpse of the film immediately yields a Kubrick trademark: the use of classical music as score, in this case the mellifluous clarinet spelling out the Second Waltz from Dmitri Shastakovich’s “Jazz Suite.” Just as Strauss’ “Blue Danube Waltz” did for the space travel sequences in 2001: A Space Odyssey, the music bathes us with a savvy intermingling of the New World (jazz that perfectly recalls modern-day New York, where the film is set) and the Old World (the Viennese waltz--the screenplay’s source material, Arthur Schnitzler’s novella Traumnovelle, is set in 19th Century Vienna, a world also evoked in the film’s ornate set designs). Bold block letters announce the participation of Kubrick, Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, interrupted only by an alluring angle on Kidman disrobing, revealing her sculpted naked figure to the camera (mirroring the ardent soul-baring to come). And so, over the next 2 hours and 39 minutes, the viewer is put into an intense trance cooked up by Kubrick with a knowing eye cocked toward the prurient expectations audiences held for this tale of sexual jealousy and marital strength.


Bill and Alice Harford (Cruise and Kidman) are an attractive, seemingly happy couple leading a too-charmed upper-crust lifestyle in Manhattan. He’s a vain, spoiled yet still basically honorable doctor who adores his wife and their seven year-old daughter, Helena, while Alice is an observant, outspoken, but somewhat bored art dealer pleasantly going about her wifely duties. As the film begins, they’re venturing out to a fancy-pants Christmas party at the home of one of Bill’s patients, Victor Ziegler (nicely underplayed by actor-turned-director-turned-actor-again Sydney Pollack, in a role originally intended for Harvey Keitel, who had to exit the project early on). After dancing dispassionately together, the Harfords mingle solo and savor flirting with various bluebloods (including a vampiric Sky Dumont as Kidman's horny, well-spoken dance partner). Bill does some flirting of his own with two vapid models who promise to take him "where the rainbow ends." And then he's called up to help Victor out of a particularly sticky jam that leaves all concerned shaken. Yet, fearing the consequences of extramarital couplings, Bill and Alice remain loyal to one another, even making love at home later in front of a crazed mirror (the film's most famous image, used as its marketing anchor).

The next evening, after dipping into their pot stash, husband and wife have an intense bedside argument about jealousy and the differences between male and female sexuality. Offended by Bill’s vapid, uninformed opinions on feminine desires, Alice harshly endeavors to set him straight by confessing, with a wistful smile, a brief but powerful flirtation she enjoyed with an alluring naval officer while they were once on vacation. “At that moment,” she says, “even just for one night, I was willing to give up everything--you, Helena, my whole fucking future--for him. And yet, it was weird because you were dearer to me than ever.” And with this, a seething Bill, displaying the famed Kubrickian downward stare of a man in distress, has his idealistic view of their marriage forever shattered.

Jarringly, Bill gets a call and prophetically says he has to “show his face” at the home of a newly dead patient. Fervently wrestling with the thought of Alice desiring another man, Bill traverses the New York streets, tortured by smutty black-and-white visions of the naval officer ravishing his passionate wife. He arrives at the deceased patient’s home and comforts the dead man’s daughter (an excellent Marie Richardson, in another role intended for a departed cast member, Jennifer Jason Leigh), who has a surprising confession for her father’s doctor, one that throws open the floodgates of Bill's sexual desire.

Thus begins his vengeful, maze-like journey through the winding streets of Greenwich Village, with Bill chasing whiffs of pulchritude that lead him to a myriad of locales: the apartment of a charming prostitute (Vinessa Shaw, who asks Bill “Would you like to come inside with me?” which he seems to misunderstand as being "of me”); a piano bar where Bill’s sleazoid medical school buddy Nick Nightingale (Todd Field) works as a pianist--a clever Kubrick pun--while dabbling in NYC’s sexual underground; a costume shop where a creepy Eastern European (Rade Sherbadgia) has an even creepier rapport with his Lolita-esque daughter (Leelee Sobieski); and a great mansion where a ripe, even slightly comical, masked ball (another pun) takes place. Learning something essential about himself and his relationship with Alice at each of these stops, Bill opens up during the film’s climactic hour to eventual self-discovery, resulting not in the joy of sex, but in the fear of death, which are certainly linked in Arthur Schnitzler’s Freud-steeped world.

Eyes Wide Shut is debatably Kubrick’s most significant work since 2001, a film with which it shares some deeply embedded similarities. It tells of mankind’s journey, but via a genre galaxies away from science fiction: the love story. Like 2001, it focuses on human failings, but remains optimistic that we’ll graduate to higher beings if we put forth an effort. It uses not a journey to Jupiter as its backdrop, but a journey within, through the soul’s deepest fears and desires, to explore our primeval lusts. Eyes Wide Shut, like 2001, is a lyrically hallucinatory morality tale told in a dense, puzzling, non-condescending style that’ll leave many frustrated but surreptitiously intrigued.

In my reading of this mesmerizing film--and I believe each viewer will extract something unique--it seems the lucid “real world” segments consist only of the opening half-hour (up to where Bill gets the phone call after his wife’s confession) and the final ten minutes. These "woke" portions are quickly edited and have an effusive life force that the rest of film doesn’t display. The middle two hours of Eyes Wide Shut--where Bill wanders around New York, through slowly-paced scenes packed into a strangely condensed time period, with long takes and lapses in logic galore--are a literal retelling of a fever dream suffered by a once-arrogant man whose world is, for a time, poisoned with jealously and longing, and by his own silly notions of what sexual freedom really is. Yes, almost the entire movie (in my mind) is a dream. Not having read Schnitzler’s novel, I can’t point to it for support, except to say that its English title is Dream Story. But I can note the movie’s poetic title, an accurate description of the REM state. Even so, Leon Vitali, Kubrick's longtime assistant and the actor who  portrayed both the scheming Lord Bullingdon in Barry Lyndon and the demanding Red Cloak in Eyes Wide Shut's orgy sequence, has brushed off the notion that Eyes Wide Shut is a dream film; it's not something to which his one-time boss wanted to own up. Yeah, okay...but this doesn't convince me. I'm speaking to what Kubrick REALLY meant to say, not to what he SAID he meant to say. Committed artists often do not know what exactly they are getting at in their works; it seems to me that Kubrick perhaps lost conscious sight of his subject matter, after living with it for three decades.


Other clues supporting my just opinion? The painterly use of dabs of hazy colored light--a Kubrick mainstay bespeaking the spectral nature of all his films, but used to particularly beautiful effect here by cameraman Larry Smith. Also, the odd quality of his New York street sets, constructed on the backlots of London’s Pinewood Studios and accurate to every detail--even down to the imported trash filling the waste baskets--yet dotted with surreal touches: neon signs illustrating the link between food and sex (“DINER” and “EROS” face off as Bill bargains with the Russian costumer); a surplus of shops with suggestive monikers (a lingerie emporium called “A Hint of Lace,” a flower store called “Nipped in the Bud”--maybe a reference to female genitalia); the “Verona Restaurant,” referencing the hometown of Romeo and Juliet) and a plethora of interiors swathed in passionate shades of red, purple, and pink (praise, too, to production designers Les Tompkins and Roy Walker).

As always, Kubrick’s famous tracking shots lend their own fantasy elements to the movie as they follow Bill down city corridors to a dollop of self-discovery that is at once destructive and regenerative (think of the end of 2001: Dave Bowman sees his body spiral into old age while trapped in that proto-Victorian holding cell, and then, by virtue of his accumulated self-knowledge, witnesses  himself and mankind reborn into the Nietzschen Superman; the scene is mirrored in the sequence with the Marie Richardson's dead father--a doctor in life, and in death perhaps throws shades of the corpse Bill Harford might soon become). And the biggest clue toward the notion that most of Eyes Wide Shut is a dream sequence? It's simply the rambling, surreal quality of its subtle trajectory.

In a Kubrick movie, everything, even the smallest details, means something--that’s why he spent so much time on his films (this one took a record-shattering 54 weeks to shoot, not to mention two decades of script development with his co-writer, the great but ultimately baffled Frederic Rafael). In selecting his writing collaborator, Kubrick surely tapped into his admiration for two of Rafael's '60s-era scripts dissecting married life, Darling and Two for the Road. Rafael did not return the admiration fully, going on to write a damning portrayal of his relationship with Kubrick in a memoir called Eyes Wide Open--the polar opposite of Full Metal Jacket co-scripter Michael Herr's stressed but adoring book Kubrick).

Kubrick doesn’t make the majority of Eyes Wide Shut languorous and lolling just because he sadistically wants to bore the audience; he wants viewers to feel as if they are in a waking REM stage, and he aptly succeeds. If viewers are perplexed by this film, it’s because dreams themselves are perplexing--that is, until one dissects them in order to learn something about the dreamer (note that Arthur Schnitzler was a close personal friend of dream doctor Sigmund Freud). Eyes Wide Shut acts as a waking night-sweat for the audiences, and thus makes it aware of the similar nature of movies themselves; it’s a film about watching films. Kubrick’s final work also forces us to do what he always wanted viewers to do with his films: interpret for ourselves and stop coming to him for the answers. He makes watching movies into a participatory, rather than passive, activity. It's 3D in extrema.

Ultimately, by the time Bill breaks down to his wife, offering to tell her of his own sordid--and, I think, imagined--foray into infidelity, and then with the absolutely heartrending final exchange between the couple (in a toy store, of all places, with the product of their most impassioned sex--their daughter--in tow, and being largely ignored). By this scene, we realize the film is also about total trust in and honesty with the person one chooses to be one’s spouse, and how those qualities can so improve a relationship that doors are opened to new planes of reality. Kubrick’s final work is his most optimistic. Unusually for this director whose favorite theme was often man’s inhumanity to man, Eyes Wide Shut professes a deep reverence for unfailingly truthful relationships between people who love each other, flaws, dreams, and all.


This is supported by the fact that the director spent the final years of his life in intimate quarters with Cruise and Kidman, a famous wedded couple who, up until that time, had withstood storms that routinely destroyed similar celebrity marriages. Having had a stimulating 41-year marriage with his own wife, the fine artist Christiane Kubrick, the filmmaker must’ve desired exploring the dynamics of a actual marriage on-screen, but was held back because of his perfectionist belief that such a relationship couldn’t be plumbed with actors merely portraying spouses. He needed a real-life acting couple, and one willing to take a long look at the most unsettling aspects of their own union.

That Cruise and Kidman were that couple will speak eternally to their worth as actors; if they hadn’t won our full admiration with fine showings in Born on the Fourth of July and To Die For, respectively, then they certainly had it now. Kidman, in particular, is forceful as Alice. Though her character disappears for a good portion of the movie, her performance is so strong, her manner so sure and honesty so piercing, it’s easy to see how Bill has become obsessed with his wife. Hers is the ultimate act of love--the revelation of her inner-self, which triggers that of her spouse’s, leading to their true ultimate success as a couple. Kidman makes us root for Alice, the most complete female character in Kubrick’s repertoire. Cruise, meanwhile, is also bravely revelatory in the way he lets Kubrick toy with the actor's famed, ultra-cocky screen persona (even allowing jokes about often litigated claims that he is homosexual ("Exit only, baby" yell the bro-thugs hectoring Bill in passing). Kubrick even references Cruise's off-screen heroics (the actor has saved a few lives here and there) via Bill's embarrassed displays of modesty with the flirty models at Ziegler's party.

In many of his blockbusters, Cruise’s characters appear unshakable. But his Bill Harford is a walking corpse, a man who’s never known who he truly is. As his self-discoveries pile atop one another, whether in dreams or in reality, he grimaces and tenses as if his guts are being skewered with hot needles (Cruise's scene in the morgue, with woman on the slab who may have sacrificed herself for him, is particularly overwhelming). His is a remarkable performance in a movie brimming with valuable assets (just a few more: Jocelyn Pook’s eerie original score and the carefully selected source music commenting on each scene; Alan Cumming’s crackling turn as a bubbly gay hotel clerk; Christiane Kubrick’s and Katherina Kubrick Hobbs’ pastoral paintings; the strangely timeless fashions by Marit Allen). And, here, I must mention how I enjoy such small, sly touches as seeing Bill meet the prostitute in front of a key and lock shop; or reading the headlines “Lucky to Be Alive” and “Cool as Ice” on opposite sides of the New York Post Bill, in a tense moment, purchases iat a newstand; or the pinned-up ad for a Keith Haring painting outside the apartment of a woman who's contracted AIDS (the same disease that killed Haring--by the way, this is the kind of detail you won't be able to see on the small screen); or Harford's dead elderly patient lying in a bed that looks just like the one in which Dave Bowman died in 2001. This litany, when it comes to Eyes Wide Shut, could go on and on.

In the end, the three-year wait for Eyes Wide Shut--from its announcement to its release--was worth it, because it became an inextricable part of this moviegoing experience--in fact, our wait for Cruise and Kidman to get it on for our masturbatory pleasure is the focus of the movie’s very final cosmic joke--one that’s played on the audience and no doubt leaves them angry (it’s the biggest movie ever about blue balls, because Cruise and Kidman never really get to have real-world sex with ANYONE but each other on screen). For that reason, the secrecy that, even decades after its release, still surrounds it becomes indispensable for the viewer’s enjoyment. You wait through the entire movie for all the one-time wild internet rumors to come true--Cruise in drag, vomiting dope fiends, hardcore porn, and the like--and then they don’t. Even in this Age of Information, in this entertainment environment cluttered by the beating drum of pre-release buzz, Kubrick has the last gigantic laugh by successfully skirting any notions that people may have thought they had about his film. He escaped the buzz, like the magician he most certainly was. Eyes Wide Shut will always remain controversial with most moviegoers--many of them used to knowing exactly what’s going to happen in a picture perhaps even weeks before it’s released--because, as with 2001, they will exit seeing the picture, at home or in the theater, probably saying “Huh? I don't get it.” And then they will wonder...

And that is delectable, because people won’t forget about Eyes Wide Shut immediately like so many disposable movies. They will be trying to suss it out for weeks, months, years. Eyes Wide Shut, as do most Kubrick films, will haunt those who long to ruminate, and those who find thinking discomforting will still always recall the piece as a completely singular filmgoing experience on which they ponder occasionally, either angrily, curiously or, frankly, amorously. Either way, all will return to it, again and again in a nagging attempt to mine its deep worth. This is what the best movies are all about, and no one knew this more assuredly than Stanley Kubrick. Finally, recall: it was that treasured, womanizing American patriot Benjamin Franklin who once said: "Keep your eyes wide open before marriage, and half shut afterwards."

(Originally published in shorter form in Sideshow Magazine, Atlanta GA, July 1999)