Films on Friday - Nov 20, 2009

SPIELBERG, the Marx Brothers and a Christmas classic you might not have seen, in the movie guide that got its first real piece of string in the summer of '69.

Hello, and welcome to Films on Friday, which should really have gone to bed earlier on Wednesday night, instead of writing a stupid song about itself.

A good week for movies on TV, this one. There's not a vast amount of stuff on, but I've counted six nailed-on (5/5) films on terrestrial or Freeview, plus a screening of a little-known Christmas classic. As well as the usual tour of the week's films on TV, the ever-swelling guide gives you another 10 films from our all-time Top 100. We reach halfway this week.

***

The new theme tune

INT - A VEGAS NIGHTCLUB

It is the early 1990s. We're in a cool club in Vegas, the home of genteel sophistication. A dapper gent wearing not only a bow-tie, but also some trousers and socks, strolls onto the stage. He has the audience in the palm of his hand, because he is a giant. He is Rick Burin and he astrides the arena like an annoying colossus. Imagine Frank Sinatra, crossed with Bing Crosby, crossed with Sam Cooke. It looks weird, doesn't it? Now forget them and imagine a partially-dressed lounge lizard who keeps gurning. This is your host, and he's about to talk to you. I'm worried he's going to sing as well.

RICK BURIN

(speaking)

Regular readers are trying desperately to forget that we introduced a 'Films on TV' theme song a few months back, sung by a hideous fictional '80s pop combo who combined the humility of Duran Duran with the musical smarts of a failed Minipops contestant. Since the name change - sorry, re-branding exercise - we've struggled manfully to sing it by simply replacing 'Films on TV' with 'Films on Friday', but it's not happening. No-one pronounces Friday like that. So after considerable thought whilst I was brushing my teeth the other night, I've devised a new song for you to croon along to. Hit it, orchestra leader! No, not that underpaid lackey, the beat. Ooh yeah, now we're cooking. Yeah. Yeeaaaaah. Yes.

(singing)

And now the weekend's near,

And so I face a day of working,

My friends don't like my face,

My scrawny build or my net curtains,

I've got a nasal drawl,

And my wife keeps singing My Way,

But now my life is great,

It's Films on Friiiiii-daaaaay.

Beers, I've had a few,

But then again, too few to mention,

I supplement my wage,

With a paper round and a state pension,

My beard is filled with food,

I'm walking naked down a highway,

But now I feel dead cool,

It's Films on Friiiii-daaaaay.

Yes there were times, I'm sure you knew,

When I dressed entirely in light blue,

But through it all, when there was doubt,

I watched Kevin Costner's No Way Out,

Despite being warned most every week,

By Films on Friiiii-daaaay.

I've read the Top 100 list,

I've questioned Rick's review of Shawshank,

And now as Friday's here,

I'm nearing Cardale in a tank,

To think he gave it three,

The same mark he gave Down Argentine Way,

He is a cad and I hate him

And Films on Friiii-daaaay.

For what is a man, what has he got,

If not a hotel nor a yacht,

Nor a bank account,

Or any shoes,

And he resembles Rodney Bewes,

I'm full of life and chips and booze,

What's Films on Friii-daaaay?

What's Films on Friiiiiiiiiiiiidaaaaaaaaaay?

***

Films on TV - your guide to the week ahead

Nov 21 to 27

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 21

The in-no-way-confusingly-or-cumbersomely-titled Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope (1977, ITV1, 4.25pm) kicks us off this week, with ITV1 sure to keep up the usual good work by chopping most of the sides off the image so we can't really see what's going on. Perhaps they'd like to blank out some of the faces and hum over the dialogue too? The film, frequently cited by the terminally annoying as the greatest of all time, is nevertheless tremendously enjoyable, with a heart and a vigour lacking from the subsequent prequels. Mark Hamill is Luke Skywalker, the farm boy who allies with loveable rogue (TM) Harrison Ford and croissant-haired Carrie Fisher in his fight against the empire, epitomised by husky-voiced charmer Darth Vader (Dave Prowse/James Earl Jones). Any film that borrows so liberally, or so smartly, from The Searchers is pretty much OK in my book (witness the burning homestead, a direct steal from Ford's classic). Despite George Lucas' usual clunky dialogue and some unfortunate changes in this 1997 Special Edition, it's fine popcorn fodder for both kids and adults, with decent intergalactic dogfights and a heap of serial-esque thrills – like the trash compactor set-piece, where the walls begin to move in a somewhat ominous way. I think Lucas pinched that from The Raven – did he make any of this up himself? (4/5)

El Dorado (1966, Five, 5.20pm) was Howard Hawks' first semi-remake of his seminal Rio Bravo, which he later turned into Rio Lobo, and which cult action director John Carpenter has since reworked several times, most memorably as Assault on Precinct 13. It's a rambling, shambling take on the familiar story, in which a gaggle of peace-keeping misfits face off against some very bad men. John Wayne effectively reprises his role from Bravo, but this time his drunk deputy is a man very much his physical – and dramatic – equal, Bob Mitchum. Also on the side of all that is decent is knife-throwing young buck James Caan (later of The Godfather), who is given an amusingly stupid gun. The film's tongue-in-cheek feel is characterised by a scene in which Mitchum, his character supposedly maimed by a bad guy's bullet, can't remember which leg is injured – provoking a great ad-lib by Wayne that made the final cut. While Rio Bravo was a great film, this is just great knockabout fun: tough and robustly entertaining, with top action scenes and the strong, macho friendships typical of Hawks' work. (4/5)

We're a little hamstrung here, as the perfect lead-in to this review is the film's potty-mouthed opening line; highly unsuitable for a family newspaper – or even a family newspaper's faintly irreverent website. To paraphrase, then: "Sugar, still in Saigon". Apocalypse Now (1979, Film4, 0.40am SUN) is, unbeknown to many, Francis Ford Coppola's finest film, a mesmerising journey to the heart of darkness, framed against the backdrop of the Vietnam War. Martin Sheen is Benjamin A. Willard, a taciturn soldier sent downriver to assassinate a rogue American colonel (Marlon Brando), who's playing God amongst the transfixed natives. Heavy on brooding voiceover and dreamlike imagery, it has more to say about war, American foreign policy and the blackness within man's soul than any other film of its type; the spellbinding finished product belying an unprecedentedly troubled production. The only sour note comes from Coppola's decision to genuinely slaughter a cow for the final sequences, which is hateful, pointless and really hard to watch. (5/5)

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 22

The Wrong Arm of the Law (1962, Film4, 11am) is a very, very funny British comedy about a group of crooks who team up with the police when some Australian criminals muscle in on their patch – posing as coppers. The homegrown felons are led by Peter Sellers – that hugely gifted character comedian – and Bernard Cribbins, while the head policeman is the formidably bald Lionel Jeffries, in a notable, blustering performance that's just the right side of annoying. The promising premise is developed with numerous excellent twists and while there's a bit of a lull just after the hour mark, it quickly gets back on track, leading to a riotous chase finale. I was expecting a disposable, affable timewaster, but got a minor classic. (5/5)

Revisionism came late to Disney, in the shape of Pocahontas (1995, Five, 4.45pm), the studio's ode to rather indistinct noses. And the Native Americans. The story sees a group of English plunderers travel to the New World in search of vast wealth. That doesn't go down terribly well with the natives, with only Pocahontas, the daughter of an Indian chief, and English soldier John Smith (Mel Gibson) standing in the way of all-out war. There aren't many facts hanging around this colourful historical fantasy, and it has the usual patronising moralising of contemporary Disney product, but the tuneful MOR soundtrack and fast-moving plot make it reasonable entertainment for kids. It had me drawing two little nostrils in place of a nose for years. (2/5) This is quite funny.

The Railway Children (1970, ITV3, 4pm) is as good as it gets (not As Good As It Gets, just to clarify). It's also in our Top 100 countdown this week, so I've put the review in there (#52). (5/5)

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 23

I've plugged the "Ranown cycle" countless times in this column: seven mini-masterpieces from the Randolph Scott-Budd Boetticher team, in which the star's bereaved, greying gunslinger (a different character each time, but with certain recurring traits) tangles with a gallery of fascinating bad guys. The Tall T (1957, C4, 1.50pm) is regarded by some as the best of the lot, though I'd probably have it third, behind Ride Lonesome and Seven Men From Now. Here Scott has to come to the rescue of a newlywed who's heir to a copper mine. His adversary is Richard Boone, the dynamic, grizzled character actor, while the girl is played by '30s ingnue Maureen O'Sullivan – Jane in MGM's classic Tarzan series, and the mother of Mia Farrow. Like all entries in the series, it boasts stunning widescreen cinematography and a fine, small ensemble cast. And like the best of the bunch, it was scripted by the legendary Western screenwriter Burt Kennedy, this time from a short story by Elmore Leonard. The Tall T is simple, restrained and economical and as a result nigh-on unforgettable. (5/5)

Documentary The Yes Men (2003, C4, 1.20am TUE) sounds great, but never really delivers, as its anti-corporate pranksters tour conferences around the world, pretending to be from the World Trade Organisation. There are some funny moments, but the satire is pretty muted and the message largely incoherent. (2/5)

For TUE to FRI listings, please click on the link below right.TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 24

I saw The Cheaters (1945, Film4, 11am) for the first time the other week and was really taken with it. Playing like a cross between Merrily We Live, Christmas in Connecticut and Remember the Night, it sees a dizzy, well-to-do family take in a penniless, drunken former matinee idol over the Christmas period. But if you're expecting him to teach them a few life lessons, a la Merrily We Live or My Man Godfrey, you're liable to be surprised. Not only is he a complete fraud, but he has a severely dark side and is willing to help them defraud a showgirl out of her rightful inheritance. This intelligent, incisive prestige production from Republic Pictures looks and feels very Christmassy, that festive flavour augmenting a narrative that's loaded with interesting ideas and unexpected diversions, even if they don't always come off. It could have done with a few less jokes about drunkenness, too – Hollywood tended to see alcoholism as amusing until Wilder's The Lost Weekend, released the same year. Joseph Schildkraut, who appeared in perhaps the greatest Christmas film of all – The Shop Around the Corner – is the standout as the John Barrymore-esque actor, with an unusually strong supporting cast, given the studio, headed by Billie Burke and Preston Sturges alumni Eugene Pallette and Raymond Walburn. (4/5)

Big Momma's House (2000, Film4, 7.10pm) is not a good film. (1/5)

And over on satellite...

A Night at the Opera (1935, TCM, 5pm) isn't the Marx Bros' funniest film, that would surely be Monkey Business or Duck Soup, but it's perhaps their most rounded, polished vehicle – if that's what you're looking for. It was their first film after moving to America's biggest studio, MGM, from Paramount, and the step up in production values is obvious. There are gifted comedians in support (including Sig Ruman, the scene-stealing German blowhard), fine musical numbers featuring top singing talent Kitty Carlisle and Allan Jones, and lavish sets. The plot, such as it is, sees the boys putting their trademark anarchy to good use in boosting Carlisle and Jones to opera stardom, whilst relegating talented bully Walter Woolf King to obscurity (and subjecting him to general ridicule). The set-pieces are legendary: the aviation presentation; the "sanity clause" dispute; the hotel room farce, and while some of Groucho's one-liners are as impenetrable to modern audiences as, say, the physical charms of Jean Harlow, the bulk of them are still hilarious. Like this one, as he observes King bullying assistant Harpo: "Hey, you big bully – what's the idea of hitting that little bully?" In fact, it's Harpo, as usual, who steals the film, his commitment to sweet-faced chaos serving up a succession of massive laughs. (5/5)

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 25

Helena Bonham Carter is one of my favourite actresses, that affection based almost entirely on her turns in a string of exceptional period dramas. She's excellent once more in Howards End (1992, Film4, 6.15pm), a tale of love, skulduggery and social manoeuvring that doubles as a portrait of a nation in flux. As with Merchant-Ivory's earlier classic, A Room with a View, it's based on an E.M Forster novel, with a script by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala. The cast includes Anthony Hopkins, Emma Thompson, Vanessa Redgrave and Samuel West, and though Bonham Carter doesn't dominate the screen time, it's she – once more – who leaves an indelible impression. (5/5) Did anyone catch Enid on BBC4 last week? Bonham Carter elevated the one-dimensional script with another fine performance; I hope that one of these days someone will give her something good to do again.

Hitch (2005, Five, 9pm) looked fairly appealing on release, with star Will Smith talking up the film most convincingly during an extensive publicity campaign. He must be an excellent actor. Or perhaps he genuinely believed it was good. Anyway, it's not. Smith plays a lifestyle coach who helps Kevin James snare the woman of his dreams, only for he and his protg to discover that (excuse me while I yawn widely) it's better to just be yourself and yadda yadda yadda. Smith is as appealing as ever in a role that requires an agreeable lack of vanity, but Eva Mendes is thoroughly dislikeable as his leading lady, and the by-the-numbers plotting is pretty wearying. As mindless escapism, it's passable, with a handful of good gags, but there are so many great romantic comedies out there, it seems a shame to choose this one. Why not rent It Happened One Night, Libeled Lady, His Girl Friday or Metropolitan instead? Or perhaps just get an early night. (2/5)

The American President (1995, Sky Drama, 8pm), from writer Aaron Sorkin, plays like an extended pilot for The West Wing. Michael Douglas is the widowed, very human president who falls in love with an environmentalist (Annette Bening) and faces down the barbs and brickbats of the conservative establishment. This is an exceptional piece of present-day Americana that has the temerity to name-check Mr Smith Goes to Washington, and then comes close to matching it. West Wing premier Martin Sheen plays Douglas' chief of staff, while Michael J. Fox is effortlessly likeable as an idealistic advisor, and Richard Dreyfuss peddles an agreeable strain of Republican villainy as the insidious Senator Bob Rumson. Former indie stalwart Taylor Nichols (Metropolitan, Barcelona) has a solitary scene. (5/5)

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 26

The Thomas Crown Affair (1968, C4, 1.25pm) has Steve McQueen as an art thief pursued by pouting insurance agent Faye Dunaway. It's shallow but fun, with good chemistry between the leads, a fine theme song and some notably sexy chess. (3/5)

The first screen version of Cheaper by the Dozen (1950, Film4, 5pm) was adapted by Lamar Trotti, one of the best and most underrated screenwriters of the 20th Century and – suitably enough – a Fox executive. It's a minor, alarmingly episodic comedy that skirts by on its sheer affability and the playing of its stars, including the great Myrna Loy – playing the mother of 12 children. Though virtually forgotten today, Loy was an enormous star from the early '30s to the late '40s and was crowned Queen of Hollywood in 1938, having being voted America's favourite actress in the biggest poll of its kind ever commissioned. She was also President Roosevelt's heartthrob of choice, had the most requested plastic surgery profile of the '30s and, when Dillinger was gunned down by the feds outside the Biograph Theatre, it was Loy he'd broken cover to see – in 1934's Manhattan Melodrama. Anyway, back to the film. This gentle, broad family comedy radiates pleasantness, and also offers a good showcase for emerging star Jeanne Crain. (3/5)

Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2008, Sky Drama, 1am FRI) - Johnny Depp is Sweeney Todd, the wronged barber returning to London to wreak revenge on his tormentors with a cut-throat razor, in this invigorating adaptation of the Sondheim musical. Though he's no singer, Depp is one hell of an actor, imbuing his skunk-haired serial killer with a dramatic intensity that's compulsively watchable, while Helena Bonham Carter and Ed Sanders offer sterling support. There are bravura moments aplenty – Alan Rickman's climactic realisation of Todd's true identity is a gem, while an appealingly off-kilter dream sequence recalls director Tim Burton's Edward Scissorhands – compensating for gaps in plot and characterisation, and the film's inescapably feeble second leads. Despite its flaws, Burton's latest venture into gothic gore is delivered with such bloody conviction that one can't help but marvel. It's comfortably the best thing he's done in a decade. (3/5)?

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 27

"Look up "idiot" in the dictionary – you know what you'll find?" "A picture of me?" "No! The definition of the word idiot, which you are." Imagine a good version of The Hard Way, the underwhelming Michael J. Fox vehicle about an actor researching his role alongside a hard-bitten cop. Got it? Excellent, that's Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005, ITV1, 11.05pm), though this time it's Robert Downey, Jr. who is the green ham (urgh) and Val Kilmer the (openly gay) cop he's paired with. Written and directed by Lethal Weapon scribe Shane Black, it's a consistently inventive action-comedy that provides top entertainment whilst effectively deconstructing a genre that had grown stale. The Russian Roulette sequence is great. (5/5)

Duel (1971, ITV1, 1.50am SAT, with sign language) is a decent early thriller from Steven Spielberg that sees moustachioed motorist Dennis Weaver pursued by the driver from hell, who's in a big lorry. It's a fast-paced, well-directed yarn that's exciting and enjoyable without generating the white-knuckle terror you'd hope for. (3/5)

Thanks for reading. For #s 60 to 51 in our all-time Top 100 countdown, please click on the link below right. It's got a Brazilian gangster movie, a silent comedy and even a movie from the last 10 years. Go on. Click it. Please?Top 100 (I've put links to previous entries at the end, for easy access)

60. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson, 2001) - Three former child prodigies destroyed by lost love look to rebuild their lives in the shadow of their feckless father (Gene Hackman), who's pretending he's dying of cancer.That's the left-field set-up for this peerless comedy from writer-director Wes Anderson, the creative force behind most of the best films of the last 15 years – namely Bottle Rocket, Rushmore, The Life Aquatic and The Darjeeling Limited. Luke Wilson plays a former tennis pro whose career capitulated when the love of his life, step-sister and playwright Gwyneth Paltrow married someone else. Their sibling, maths genius Ben Stiller, is mourning the death of his wife, whilst holding absurd, impromptu safety drills with his two identically-dressed offspring. So when father Royal Tenenbaum (Hackman) invites the family to share his final days, there's the chance of a new beginning. Or for old wounds to be opened, new rifts created and everything to end in a heap of steaming rubble. The cast of brilliantly-drawn eccentrics include domineering mother Anjelica Huston, morose psychiatrist Bill Murray and next-door-neighbour Eli Cross, a writer of Western novels who's hooked on prescription drugs. As with all Anderson's films, Tenenbaums strikes a perfect balance between offbeat comedy, rank contrariness and sentimental drama, complete with impeccable production design and superb use of music. This one utilises Simon and Garfunkel's 'Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard' to excellent effect.

Favourite bit: Ben Stiller's exchange with his father, as he looks back on a horrible 12 months. "I've had a rough year, Dad." "I know you have, Chassie". It's a moment of blissful calm amidst much offbeat hilarity, and the most touching scene in any Anderson film.

See also: My second favourite Anderson film is always whichever one I saw last, so at the moment that means The Life Aquatic, which sees a neurotic oceanographer with a "gay little earring" undergo a mid-life crisis, while hunting the shark that killed his best friend. Bill Murray is exceptional in the lead, ably supported by Owen Wilson (in a quiet, simply lovely performance), Anjelica Huston, Jeff Goldblum, Bud Cort, Willem Dafoe and Bud Cort. Cate Blanchett's character is a little under-nourished, but that's the only real shortcoming of this meticulous, funny, ultimately heartwarming comedy-drama. Rushmore, Anderson's second film, is regarded by many as his best, charting the fall and rise of an extra-curriculur over-achiever (Jason Schwartzman) as he falls in love with an English teacher (Olivia Williams), befriends a steel tycoon (Bill Murray) and watches as his obsessively-laid plans go disastrously wrong. It's not until he learns a bit of humility that he's able to patch up his life. Rushmore has the tightest, most intelligent structure of any Anderson film, along with numerous fine touches and one-liners. Schwartzman's celebratory meal after the success of his Serpico stage-play is a screen classic.

59. Pixote (Hector Babenco, 1981) - Or City of God, Mk. 1, being a devastating Brazilian portrait of gangsterism borne of poverty. The 11-year-old Fernando Ramos Da Silva is simply incredible as the titular slum child, who flees a reformatory but finds he can only stay alive by pimping and drug dealing. Brutalised by the world and desperately alone, he ends up a murderer. I've seen few films with such an unremittingly bleak view of life or such an ending: offering no resolution, no chink of light, no hope. The star was gunned down by police just six years later, lending a further haunting power to a film that feels utterly, desperately real.

Favourite bit: There's a scene, near the close, that recalls the last pages of Golding's Lord of the Flies. We've grown desensitised to the cherubic protagonist, as he stumbles through a life of crime. Then we see him as one ageing prostitute does - as just a child.

See also: City of God, which plays like an update of Pixote. It's often dizzyingly brilliant, with labyrinthine plotting, spellbinding gold-tinged photography and a compelling storyline.

58. Young Mr Lincoln (John Ford, 1939) - Five years after Judge Priest (#83 in the list), John Ford and screenwriter Lamar Trotti made a second film about an idiosyncratic lawyer battling a gaggle of lynch-crazy southerners. The attorney this time? A young Abraham Lincoln (Henry Fonda, with a false nose that makes him look like Gary Neville). This fictionalised film covers 10 years in the life of the future president, as he loses his first love and graduates from a cabin in Kentucky to a law office in Springfield, Illinois. There he becomes involved in a murder case, coming to the aid of mother figure Alice Brady when her sons are accused of a stabbing, and triumphing over a lynch mob and the spectre of corruption through a mixture of earnestness and one-liners. Fonda's magnificent, sensitive performance lights this masterpiece, with Brady's unexpectedly touching turn (she was generally cast as a snobby, scatty wife) the pick of the supporting turns. This was her last film. Donald Meek, one of the most recognisable character actors of the period, is heinous as the prosecuting attorney. Keen historian Ford had loved and admired Lincoln for years, including him - somewhat perversely - in The Iron Horse, and detailing his assassination and the aftermath in the great 1936 movie The Prisoner of Shark Island. This portrait is not so much rose-tinted as reverential; Fonda said he felt as if he were portraying Christ. Young Mr Lincoln is Ford at his greatest, a poignant, perfectly-phrased chapter of Americana that forms a part of the director's "creation myth" - the making of a nation through grit and goodness. And perhaps a bit of stand-up comedy.

Favourite bit: The onset of winter, as the frost comes and Fonda's young love, Ann Rutledge, departs this earth. It's a stunning transition.

See also: Both The Iron Horse and The Prisoner of Shark Island, featuring "cameos" by Lincoln, are fine films. The first pretty much invented the modern Western, the latter explains where "his name is Mudd" comes from, as Dr Samuel comes to the aid of the president's fleeing assassin, and finds himself imprisoned at Fort Jefferson, run by a sadistic commandant. It has an odd jumble of progressive and offensive attitudes towards black slaves. An excellent early Fonda film, sadly absent from this list, is William Wellman's The Ox-Bow Incident which - like Young Mr Lincoln - shows the dangers of mob rule. The presentation is stunning and the cast utterly superb. Fritz Lang's greatest film, Fury, deals with similar themes and features one of Spencer Tracy's best two performances. The other is Bad Day at Black Rock, which also missed the cut.

57. Broadway Melody of 1940 (Norman Taurog, 1940) - If we ignore the fact that our #56 has a couple of non-diegetic songs (i.e. numbers where the music comes out of thin air, rather than from someone playing it on-screen), then we're crowning this The Greatest MGM Musical of Them All. Bold stuff, hey? Firstly, and crucially, the film boasts the most dynamic dance combo in screen history: Fred Astaire and tap sensation Eleanor Powell. Both confessed that they were terrified of facing off against the only hoofer they thought better than them. But if that apprehension shows, it's in their precision and mastery of the form, rather than any loose steps or one-upmanship. Both Astaire and Powell have an easy rhythm, an eye for eye-popping moves and an understanding that the best acting a great dancer can do is when the music's playing. Cole Porter's score gives them four full numbers together, including two routines to 'Begin the Beguine' that are the most dazzling dance sequences ever put on screen. I haven't qualified that at all: there's just nothing in movies that can touch those dances. Not that Astaire and Powell don't try to top them in this very film, with a 'Jukebox Dance' that was Powell's favourite of her works and a routine to 'I Concentrate on You', crooned by Douglas MacPhail. Other numbers include the verbose, old-fashioned, charming 'Don't Monkey With Broadway', danced by Astaire and second-lead George Murphy with top hats and canes, Powell's nautical 'All Aboard' (a rare chance to hear her singing voice) and Astaire's lovely 'I've Got My Eyes on You'. While few musicals boast complex or original plots, you need something sufficiently developed to hang the songs and gags on. Otherwise you end up with Blue Skies, as Bing Crosby and co sing more than 20 Irving Berlin songs (most of them in their entirety), pretty much in a row. Here the storyline works perfectly. Astaire and Murphy are struggling performers, scouted by impressario Frank Morgan. Believing that Morgan's a process server after Astaire for unpaid debts, the dancers swap identities, meaning that Murphy is erroneously given the main role in a new show that was planned for his buddy. Astaire falls in love with the leading lady, Powell, while Murphy struggles with the steps and starts drinking. In the meantime, Morgan (The Wizard of Oz in the '39 film, and a very gifted supporting actor) tries to recruit novelty acts for the show, whilst chasing showgirls. The catch: he can only afford one mink coat, so he keeps having to pinch it back from his dates when they're not looking. The story is deftly told, with the sort of inspired comic diversions that could only have come from co-scripter Preston Sturges: the bit with the unicyclist is arguably the funniest thing that has ever happened. And yet really it all comes back to the dancing. This was Astaire's triumphant MGM debut - aside from a couple of scenes playing himself in 1933's Dancing Lady - and he pulled out all the stops. The result is an oft-overlooked gem with simply staggering musical numbers.

Favourite bit: Well, I'm torn between Begin the Beguine (Mk. 1), Begins the Beguine (Mk. 2), and the unicycling gag.

See also: The Band Wagon, Astaire's second best MGM film: a wonderful marriage of comedy, romance and Broadway satire. Fred plays an ageing star who embarks on an ambitious Faust musical with pretentious, tyrannical stage director Jack Buchanan, whilst fighting - then falling in love with - leading lady Cyd Charisse. It's smart, sophisticated and tremendously uplifting, with a climactic Mickey Spillane-spoof ballet ('The Girl Hunt') that takes the breath away. It's hard to decide what makes the cut in a list like this, but aside from Up and In Bruges, which I hadn't seen when I compiled this Top 100, it's the film I most regret leaving out. Ah well, it's a shoo-in for a future DVD of the Week.

56. A Star Is Born (Vincente Minnelli, 1954) - This semi-musical remake of the 1937 William Wellman flick casts James Mason as an actor on the slide, giving Judy Garland a foothold in the business as his own life slips into the gutter. It's a gutting, brilliant blend of cynicism and show-must-go-on sentiment that's both appalled and entranced by Hollywood and the starmakers, sycophants and hypocrites populating the film industry. The movie scores big in its performances, with two superb actors giving career-best turns, but its most unexpected pleasure lies in the wonderful interplay between the leads, which seems less like chemistry than alchemy. When they're bantering they're irresistible, and when they're falling apart, it's virtually unwatchable. The film is also lit by a slew of brilliant numbers. Top of the pile are 'Born in a Trunk' – added at the 11th hour – an extended, diverse production number in the 'American in Paris Ballet'/'Broadway Melody' vein, 'Lose That Long Face', a knockabout ode to looking on the bright side, and 'The Man That Got Away', perhaps the best song ever put on screen. In it, the only thing better than what Garland is doing with her body – apparently trying to rid herself of the song via impassioned posturing – is what she's doing with her voice. It had lost the flawlessness of youth, but gained an extraordinary power, as well as a quality and expressiveness akin to Billie Holiday's. Every facet of it is evident in the haunting vocal, which appears when the film is at its most carefree, but foreshadows the movie's central tragedy. The film's invention and heart-stopping evocation of the purest human emotion is perhaps best illustrated by a moment in the 'Born in the Trunk' number. Recounting her singing debut, Garland's vaudevillian (she's playing a character in a number from a film-within-a-film!) goes into corniness overdrive, recalling her dad encouraging her from the wings: "Papa shouted: 'This is it kid, sing…'" A pause, then Garland – dressed in pale blue – starts that old standard with a tranquillity and simplicity that sends a shiver down the spine. "I'll get by," she croons, "As long as I have you..." A Star Is Born is a one-of-a-kind film: love story, fairytale and Hollywood tragedy, with the upsetting subject matter offset by the magnificence of the treatment.

Favourite bit: 'The Man That Got Away' - effectively filmed and extravagantly performed.

See also: Garland's other career highlights: like the charming comedy Listen, Darling (featuring 'Zing! When the Strings of My Heart' and the great 'Ten Pins in the Sky'), the excellent Mickey-Judy vehicle Girl Crazy, neglected classic The Pirate, and Meet Me in St Louis, also directed by first husband Minnelli. Mason's famous role in Anglo-Irish noir Odd Man Out, his grandstanding villain in Lord Jim, his tremendous turn in the disappointing The Shooting Party and his act as a strolling narrator in The London Nobody Knows are a few of the highlights from an idiosyncratic career.

For #s 55 to 51, and links to the earlier parts of the list, please click on the link below right.55. Distant Voices, Still Lives (Terence Davies, 1988) was the British arthouse director's first real feature - and quite unlike anything cinema had seen before. Set in the '30s and '40s, the film is like a family photo-album brought to life, with all the misery slung back in. It shows Davies' eldest siblings united by group sing-alongs but terrorised by their abusive father (Pete Postlethwaite). A savage memoir of domestic violence, it evokes an uneasy nostalgia, reinforced by snippets of archive song. A spellbinding opening sequence sets the tone. "All the music, every track(ing shot] and every dissolve – everything – goes into the script," Davies said, when I interviewed him in 2007. "I wrote the opening of Distant Voices, Still Lives and I knew there was something wrong. The shipping forecast was in there, and my mother's song, 'I Get the Blues', because she always sang that song. But there was something missing. I was listening to the radio and on Radio 3 one lunchtime the concert finished early and they played Jessye Norman singing 'There's a Man Goin' Round Takin' Names' and I knew that was the missing element. That part of filmmaking has got to be instinctive. Sometimes you hear something and think: 'Yes, that's what it needs.'" Based on family stories told by Davies' elder siblings, the movie has the structure of memory, its vivid vignettes linked not by time but by theme. That meandering narrative gives the film a slow-burning power that's bolstered by the cruel jolts and moments of transcendent joy so typical of the director's work. It's harsher than Davies' follow-up, The Long Day Closes (which is coming up later), but similarly poetic, with only a slight over-reliance on pub-based sing-alongs in the second half tempering its spell.

Favourite bit: The 'Love Is a Many Splendoured Thing' sequence: from a sea of umbrellas during a rainstorm, the camera travels into the theatre, where two of the family are blubbing at the film. Then, with the music still running, we cut to a new scene: two figures moving away from the camera. For a second you're not sure what you're seeing, then the men crash through a plate-glass roof. Davies, notoriously critical of his own work, picked it out as being among his favourite scenes from his films in the 2007 interview.

See also: The Neon Bible, Davies' first venture away from autobiography, a stunning take on John Kennedy Toole's book, set in 1940s Louisiana. It's fanciful, dreamlike and virtuosic, with an intensely moving death scene that ranks among cinema's greatest. Davies describes it as "a transitional work". His Trilogy, comprising the short films Children (1976), Madonna and Child (1980) and Death and Transfiguration (1983), follows a Liverpool man from cradle to grave. It's an hour-and-a-half in the company of a depressive, self-loathing homosexual. The bleakest film in Davies' canon, it's gruelling and confrontational, with a surprisingly graphic treatment of sexual degradation. It culminates in Davies' alter-ego coughing himself to death, alone.

54. The Killer (John Woo, 1989) is John Woo's masterpiece: it's more ambitious and explosive than A Better Tomorrow, has a stronger storyline than Hard-Boiled and is just a very lot better than Face-Off. Borrowing from Le Samourai (#75 in the list) - and with a hint of our #51 film - it stars Chow Yun-Fat as an assassin who blinds a singer during a botched job. So he scraps his plan to retire and carries on taking assignments, trying to scrape together enough money to pay for a sight-restoring operation. On his tail is cop Danny Lee Sau-Yi, who's flummoxed by Chow's unexpected shows of ethics, like risking capture to take a girl caught in the crossfire of a shoot-out to a hospital. A grudging friendship develops, leading to a battle to the death with the Triads: think scattering doves, thousands of candles and statues being shot to smithereens. Impassioned performances, a superb musical score and action sequences that recall The Wild Bunch in their visual glory and emotional impact make this one of the best actioners ever made.

Favourite bit: Woo's take on the "cops and crooks, they're pretty similar" chestnut (no they're not, they're completely different). To the strains of the terrific main theme, the camera pans around the cop, sitting in Chow's chair. Then Woo repeats the shot, with Chow in the chair. It's marvellously effective, and unexpectedly moving.

See also: Woo's 1986 movie, A Better Tomorrow, in which two brothers - one a cop and one a hood - wind up on the same side. Chow is excellent in his breakthrough role, playing the hood's best friend, matched by the late Leslie Cheung as the officer. The storyline might not be new, but the treatment is, and it introduces many of the themes the director nailed in The Killer: friendship, honour and the scope for redemption.

53. The Lives of a Bengal Lancer (Henry Hathaway, 1935) - We've been covering some pretty well-known movies in the last couple of weeks, but here's one you might not be familiar with. It's the lighthearted imperial yarn par excellence, and a key influence on the genre's other highspots: Gunga Din, Soldiers Three and The Man Who Would Be King. It was also Hitler's favourite film, but we'll play that down, shall we? Gary Cooper and Franchot Tone are officers who appoint themselves the guardians of their superior's cowardly son (Richard Cromwell), whilst trying to quell rebellion on the northwest frontier of India. The interplay between Cooper and Tone is delightful, the plotting intelligent and the climax wrenchingly powerful, though I won't say anymore than that.

Favourite bit: The snake-charming sequence, in which Tone goads Cooper by endlessly playing a pipe, only to summon a most unwelcome visitor.

See also: Gary Cooper was a great star and an underrated actor. Catch the marvellously funny screwball comedy Bluebeard's Eighth Wife, or the other-worldly romantic fantasy, Peter Ibbetson. Franchot Tone rarely got the chance to show off his tremendous talent, having moved to Hollywood following great stage success, but gave a tremendous performance as the dying President in Advise & Consent. The film is overshadowed, however, by the remarkably similar (though more cynical) film The Best Man, released the following year, with Lee Tracy (my favourite actor) even better than Tone as the ailing main guy.

52. The Railway Children (Lionel Jeffries, 1970) is a modern British classic, capable of reducing 25-year-old journalists with curly hair to tears. And real men too. Jenny Agutter is Bobbie, the oldest of three siblings who move to the country after their dad is accused of espionage and become "the railway children" – solving problems big and small with the aid of the station master and the passing passengers. It's colourful, dreadfully moving and very British, with appealing performances across the board and fine location shooting.

Favourite bit: "Daddy! My daddy!"

See also: Agutter's next film: Walkabout. No discussion of visually sumptuous movies is complete without a nod to Nicolas Roeg's spellbinding ramble through the Australian outback. Agutter and Luke Roeg (the director's son) are siblings forced to fend for themselves after their father's suicide. They meet David Gulpilil, an Aborigine midway through a ritual estrangement from his tribe, who they hope will guide them to safety. There's little plot, but striking cinematography and a subtext of burgeoning sexuality make it like nothing else in cinema.

51. City Lights (Charles Chaplin, 1931) - There are few moments in cinema more moving than the climax of City Lights, in which a flower girl realises that the benefactor who saved her sight is not the millionaire she believed, but Chaplin's penniless tramp. The film was made four years into the sound era, but the director had steadfastly stuck to silence, aside from his superb, maiden self-penned score and some sound effects. In an enjoyable spin on the "you're my besht mate, you are" gag, the plot finds The Little Tramp making friends with a millionaire who only recognises him when he's hammered. Our hero tries to use his influence to get together enough money for a blind flower girl's eye operation, while telling her he's a wealthy man. When the millionaire disappears, Chaplin turns to street-sweeping and then boxing (recalling his classic short, The Champion) in his efforts to raise the funds. It's not as laugh-out-loud funny as The Kid or Modern Times, but it's unquestionably the apex of Chaplin's career, with an emotional clout that's unmatched in silent comedy.

Favourite bit: That ending.

See also: Chaplin's Modern Times, which takes dead-aim at the ills of '30s society, doubling as a touching romance. Everyone else had converted to sound in the late '20s, but Chaplin wouldn't speak on screen until The Great Dictator in 1940, which is frankly a bit rubbish. Buster Keaton was every bit Chaplin's equal (and not such a tremendous bighead) - I've recommended Sherlock, Jr. already, but Our Hospitality, The General, The Cameraman and Seven Chances are almost as good. The third great clown, Harold Lloyd, is seen to best effect in the enchanting 1927 comedy The Kid Brother.

Top 100 Movies

The list so far:

#s 100 to 91: featuring His Girl Friday, Stand by Me and The Red Balloon

#s 90 to 86, including Five Easy Pieces, Ghost World and Confessions of Boston Blackie

#s 85 to 81, where you'll find The Edge of the World, Judge Priest and A Thousand Clowns

#s 80 to 76: including The Purple Rose of Cairo, Singin' in the Rain and Lawrence of Arabia

#s 75 to 71: boasting Le Samourai, Kiss Me Kate and Swing Time

#s 70 to 66: in which you can read about Naked, Casablanca and Chinatown

#s 65 to 61: including The Night of the Hunter, Hail the Conquering Hero and Peeping Tom

Thanks for reading, more next week. Don't forget to sing the theme song.

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