Films on Friday - Oct 9, 2009

LILO and Stitch, Owen Wilson and the start of our Favourite 100 Movies countdown, in the film guide that talks like a '30s hoodlum.

"Anyone turns yellow and squeals, my gun's gonna speak its piece."

Hello, and welcome to Films on Friday, the movie guide that takes a week's holiday for every four instalments it can be bothered to write. After an enforced absence (senior reporter exams are on the horizon and seem to be galloping this way) - WE'RE BACK! Excuse me, I'm having trouble oPERatiNg tHe CaPS loCK (like the Sex Pistols).

This week's column offers no small measure of excitement in the shape of our Top 100 Movies countdown, which begins over on page 3 and replaces 'DVD of the Week' for the time being. That "best"/"favourite" dilemma remains somewhat unresolved, but I've leaned heavily towards the latter, which means there's heaps of comedy in there. Whilst compiling the list, I was alarmed to discover that the movies I considered to be shoo-ins for the list now number about 280, which is why such favourites as Return to Oz, Bugsy Malone and Sherlock, Jr. failed to make the cut. That should give some clue as to how awesome/foolish/incomplete the final product is. Hopefully you'll like it - your own Top 10s or Top 20s are welcome at the usual address.

As always, we're also offering a heap of nonsense about this week's movies on the box, taking in such diverse talents as Al Pacino, Rex Harrison and Sam Peckinpah as we frolic merrily amidst the listings.

Thanks for reading - if you didn't, there really wouldn't be much point in me writing all this.

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From the Mailbag - being the collected correspondence from the past 14 days is over on page 4, as it's pretty lengthy this week. Emails, as ever, to rickburin@ypn.co.uk. Cheers.

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Films on TV - your guide to the week ahead

Oct 10 to 16

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10

Scottish. No, Irish. Scandinavian? Dickie Attenborough's accent is one of the incidental joys to be derived from that big dinosaur film, Jurassic Park (1993, ITV1, 3,10pm). Really, though, the movie is either something you'll buy into entirely, or merely a decent suspenser. Certainly its heightened, exciting set-pieces are by far the best thing on show – with everything that bit sharper, slicker and more inventive. (In that way it's reminiscent of a Val Lewton film, though he was a little more reticent about showing the monster.) While there are lapses in logic, cardboard characters and some spectacular vocal aberrations on show, the kid in me still finds the dino sequences bloody terrifying. I'm still not quite sure that's enough. (3/5)

Operation Crossbow (1965, Five, 5.10pm) is an oddly Bond-ish WWII actioner loosely based on real events, as a gaggle of commandos are sent to obliterate a secret Nazi base. There are massively effective moments – most notably Tom Courtenay's final scene – but interest ebbs and flows after a strong beginning and the movie ultimately plays out with a series of tension-free, hackneyed action scenes. There's also the problem of George Peppard, overly modern in the lead, coupled with a leaden script. Still, Peppard is surrounded by fine character actors doing decent work, including Johnny Mills, Anthony Quayle (who's used particularly effectively) and Trevor Howard – admirably infuriating as a blinkered bureaucrat. Sophia Loren was top-billed, perhaps thanks to producer husband Carlo Ponti, but has little more than a showy walk-on. (2/5)

More? MORE? How could you possibly want more? When Oliver Twist (2005, C4, 7.30pm) hit theatres, I wondered aloud what purpose another helping of Dickens' pickpocket yarn could possibly serve (puns all intended, I'm sorry). Incredibly we got another portion on TV in late 2007. Polanski's 2005 effort suffers from the same flaws as the others - Oliver's character is a cipher, the characters are largely one-dimensional... - and adds a couple of its own: Ben Kingsley's silly, offensive performance ("Orrivurrh, Orrivurrh"), and an overbearing feeling of pointlessness. Not bad, just unnecessary, though the period detail is quite impressive. (2/5)

Blade II (2002, C4, 10pm) is a stylish but empty vampire movie from Pan's Labyrinth helmer(Boy) Guillermo del Toro. Wesley Snipes is half-human, half-vampire, teaming with other vamps to wipe out some mutants. For the most part this is ponderous, self-important gothic gore, though a couple of bright action sequences and the director's keen visual sense give it a bit of a lift. It's oddly sentimental about the blood-sucking parasites it enjoys smearing all over the walls. (2/5)

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 11

Calamity Jane (1953, Five, 3.10pm) was one of my mum's favourite movies, and very nice it is too. Doris Day, getting to showcase her considerable musical talents in a way that later vehicles simply didn't allow, is the rootin' tootin' trouser-wearin' doggonest dirty-cheekest tomboy in the West, until sometime suitor Wild Bill Hickok (Howard Keel) starts chasing after a woman in a dress, and she has to up her game. Despite the slender plot and nondescript scripting, this one still comes off fine, thanks to Day's energy, eyecatching Technicolor photography and a barnful of fine numbers, including 'The Deadwood Stage (Whip-Crack-Away)' and 'Just Blew in From the Windy City'. It isn't in the same league as Keel's other musical that year – the staggering Kiss Me Kate – but it's very entertaining nonetheless. I watched it on telly instead of the 2003 FA Cup final, which is a terrible thing to have to admit. Sorry Dad. (4/5)

Moon buggies, gay henchmen and a love interest called Plenty O'Toole – yes, it's Schindler's List! Oh no, it's Diamonds Are Forever (1971, ITV1, 3.55pm), my mistake. Well, at least this Bond movie is fully aware of how ridiculous it is. The spoofy tone and Sean Connery's tongue-in-cheek performance (on his return to the series) make it one of the most enjoyable entries, though moustachioed lovers Mr Wint and Mr Kidd may both overstep the line marked "not really an acceptable screen portrait of a homosexual". This has been dismissed by some critics as "forgettable", which it certainly isn't, and "silly", which it unquestionably is. (3/5)

Lilo and Stitch (2002, Five, 5.10pm) is rarely as anarchic as you'd like – and I speak as essentially a six-year-old in a suit – but there are a few big laughs and it's often really rather lovely. The movie is set on a Hawaiian island not unlike the South Seas utopia of the John Ford movie, The Hurricane. There, a little girl is visited by Stitch – or Experiment 626 as he's known by the alien organisation that created him. She takes the bundle of malice and mischief under her wing, attempting to reform him in the image of Elvis. Whether that goes to plan or not will determine whether the film is 35 minutes long or an hour and 25. The heavy sentiment is alternately affecting and overbearing, centred on the Hawaiian concept of 'ohana (an extended sense of communal affection), and is alleviated by a few inspired gags, both visual and verbal. "His destructive programming is taking effect," evil genius Jumba says of Stitch. "He will be irresistibly drawn to large cities, where he will back up sewers, reverse street signs and steal everyone's left shoe." That was the line that made me seek this out on DVD. Kids should like it. I did. (3/5)

"Ray... we'd like to shoot the monster, could you move, please?" Ghostbusters II (1989, Five, 6.50pm) is disjointed, overlong (which is a charge I very rarely level at any movie) and inferior to the first outing in just about every way. But it's still really enjoyable, with tons of excellent one-liners and a sense of fun that so few big-budget sequels possess. This time the broke, discredited Ghostbusters discover a river of ectoplasm flowing freely beneath New York, and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Bill Murray is typically hilarious as the acerbic Peter Venkman and the scene where he looks after Sigourney Weaver's baby son is just great. (3/5)

MONDAY, OCTOBER 12

Blithe Spirit (1945, More4, 11.20am) is the only out-and-out comedy in David Lean's back catalogue (unless I misunderstood Dr. Zhivago), and as such has the appearance of a particularly sore thumb. It's an adaptation of a Noel Coward play, with a married couple (Rex Harrison and Constance Cummings) haunted by the ghost of the husband's first wife (Kay Hammond). The execution is lively, but the film is never quite as funny nor as likeable as you'd hope, and the normally excellent Margaret Rutherford is a bit much as a dotty medium. (3/5)

Seven Days to Noon (1950, Film4, 2.45pm) is a sombre, gripping atomic age thriller from the Boulting Brothers, who became better known for a run of superb satirical comedies, including I'm All Right Jack and Heavens Above! Barry Jones plays a Government scientist who steals a nuclear bomb and threatens to detonate it in London, unless the Prime Minister agrees to stop the country's atomic programme. There's little that's glossy or superficial about this state-of-the-nation comment piece, with starkly realistic presentation that's almost documentary-style in places, though it does stutter a little in the final third, when an overabundance of unconvincing Cockneys enter stage left. All-in-all, though, Seven Days to Noon makes the most of a fascinating premise, delivering as both a polemic and a thriller. And Jones is fine as the confused, harried, utterly believable protagonist. Fifteen years later, The War Game dealt with similar themes in a way that was both further reaching and more personal. That's an utterly stunning, chilling piece of work. (4/5)

Let's get straight to the point: Sea of Love (1989, Sky Action/Thriller, 10.35pm) is an erotic thriller. Sure, it's got some fancy trappings: Pacino in fine fettle, a twisty-turny narrative, Tom Waits' fine cover of the '50s theme song… but there's a lot of Ellen Barkin wandering around with nothing on. The plot, which I think was done by this film before the Jasper Carrott/Robert Powell spoof (which I can't find mention off via search engine – I'm 60 per cent sure I didn't dream it), sees Ellen Barkin installed as the chief suspect when a succession of enthusiastic fornicators get shot in the back of the head. Pacino is the cop who starts dating/thumping her whilst investigating the slayings, with John Goodman fine as his colleague. It's fast, entertaining and very well-scripted, but puddle-deep and unrewarding on repeat viewing. The supporting cast includes Michael O'Neill, Samuel L. Jackson and Michael Rooker, star of the magnificent Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer. (3/5)

For TUE to FRI listings, please click on the link below right.TUESDAY, OCTOBER 13

Apologies to those who've already read this next one, but I thought it was worth a cut-and-paste job, since it's on terrestrial this time. Yes, Johnny Mills is downing cinema's most famous pint once more in Ice Cold in Alex (1958, C4, 1958). He plays a soldier with a drink problem, trying to guide an ambulance crew to safety across the North African desert during World War Two. Excellent characterisations, skilful direction by J. Lee Thompson and an intelligent script that tackles some big issues give this terrifically entertaining adventure movie a real power and potency. (5/5)

You, Me and Dupree (2006, ITV2, 10pm) succeeds as far as it does – and that isn't terribly far – on the strength of Owen Wilson's characteristically affable, amusing performance. He's the feckless, likeable best man who moves in with newlyweds Matt Dillon and Kate Hudson and accidentally sets fire to their living room. Pedalling his unique strain of subtle cornball sentimentality and screwball daftness, Wilson compensates for the film's plethora of shortcomings. Like a script that frequently makes no sense. Here's an example: Hudson goes out for the evening, so Dillon and Wilson invite some friends over to eat junk food, drink beer and watch American Football. Hudson returns early and has a tantrum for no reason. Then, as she's cooling off, two prostitutes dressed as policewomen turn up, whom the blokes have supposedly invited. Why? To watch telly with them and eat crisps? Wilson's pay-off line in that scene is a gem, but the sequence typifies the film's cluelessness. The lead characters are confused and unsympathetic and the situations hopelessly contrived. Add to that the absence of any chemistry between Dillon and Hudson (though Wilson and the leading lady play well off each other), the peculiar decision not to show Dupree's girlfriend (I was expecting a funny climactic cameo) and Michael Douglas' creepy, unfunny supporting turn, and it all adds up to not very much. I laughed at almost everything Wilson did though - why not try one of his collaborations with Wes Anderson (Bottle Rocket, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic, The Darjeeling Limited) instead. (2/5)

Junior Bonner (1972, Sky Classics, 10.45pm) is a gentle, wonderful film from that master of carnage, "Bloody" Sam Peckinpah. After The Lusty Men, this is the best rodeo flick ever made, as the veteran rider of the title (Steve McQueen) returns to his hometown for an annual competition and finds his old world is crumbling – and being cemented over. In the ring he battles with a bull named Sunshine, while outside of it he tangles with grasping, ambitious brother Joe Don Baker. This is a movie about dreams, whether that means making a $1m through real estate, winning the rodeo or leaving a humdrum existence to farm sheep and mine gold. It's atmospheric and immersive, with Peckinpah conjuring a mood that fuses pained nostalgia, bracing realism and carnival-esque escapism. A magnificent cast includes former Golden Era players Ida Lupino and Robert Preston, and cult figures Ben Johnson (who won the previous year's Best Supporting Actor Oscar for The Last Picture Show) and Baker. McQueen is as good as I've ever seen him, in this masterful character study that doubles as a portrait of a vanishing way of life. It's just astonishingly good. Only on Sky though, I'm afraid. The Region 2 DVD is in pan and scan, meaning you miss out on the great widescreen photography; the Region 1 DVD is in the original aspect ratio. (5/5)

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 14

First up today is Brief Encounter (1945, Film4, 4.35pm) with Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard as adulterers in a now-alien England. Steam trains, pokey cafes and fleeting meetings abound in this classic romance, with its undercurrent of humour, fear and terrible, terrible guilt. (5/5)

East Is East (1999, E4, 9pm) was the first of a heap of comedies documenting the experience of second-generation Asian immigrants in Britain. It's set in '70s Salford, with Om Puri and Linda Bassett as chip-shop owners trying to raise their mixed-race children in the face of social changes, racial strife and belated circumcision. There are some good jokes – including several about the fall-out from Enoch Powell's 'Rivers of Blood' speech – as well as engaging performances from Puri (who is very good), Jimi Mistry and Chris Bisson, but the second half is strained and unconvincing, with one particularly terrible diversion set at a London boutique. The film treads the line between comedy and fraught drama quite deftly, but I'm not as enamoured with it as everybody else seems to be. (3/5)

"Fascist" was how bird-like US film critic Pauline Kael described Dirty Harry (1971, ITV4, 10.10pm), which is essentially one long, wildly-entertaining diatribe against civil liberties. Clint Eastwood is the cop of the title, who's trying to nail psycho Scorpio (Andy Robinson), but keeps being thwarted by red tape. This bruising, fast-moving procedural was helmed by Don Siegel (Charley Varrick, Riot in Cell Block 11) and he does a great job. The oft-misquoted "I know what you're thinking, punk..." sequence is predictably superb, but it's only one of a string of highlights. Only complaint: it could have been wrapped up slightly sooner. (4/5)

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 15

Cattle Empire (1958, C4, 1.50pm) - This B-Western starts off brilliantly – despite unconvincing use of stock stuntwork – with 'murderer' Joel McCrea dragged through the streets by irate townspeople, then finally hauled, half-dead, onto the wagon of a man he once blinded. The script drops a few tantalising clues to the past, as McCrea encounters his old girl, his protg and a mysterious local rancher... Then we're out on the trail and the low budget takes its toll, with a disappointing reliance on old footage. How many cows did the filmmakers actually have at their disposal? One? McCrea excelled in Westerns – I could watch them all day – but the plotting here is slack and the revelations far too contrived, leaving holes one could drive a herd through. Does McCrea intend to lead his old adversaries (and their cattle) to their doom? Will he steal the blind man's gal? And what really happened five years ago? You'll want to know, and then when you find out, you'll think: 'Is that it?' A strong action climax calls to mind Comanche Station, which is a far better film. Still, Cattle Empire – for all its dead-ends and cattle shortages – remains a fascinating watch. (3/5)

FOCUS ON

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Bang. Clang. Clatter. Sorry, a namedrop coming up. When I interviewed Terence Davies a couple of years back he said The House of Mirth (1999, Film4, 11am) was his best film, "because it's my most mature film". I flat out disagree – I think it's the least of his six films to date (including one released last year), with little of the unforgettable imagery and latent emotional wallop of his masterpieces (more of which in weeks to come as well count down our Top 100). It's a meticulous, surprisingly conventional adaptation of Edith Wharton's novel of manners, wealth and revenge. The stately, slow-moving film follows a New York socialite (Gillian Anderson), who tries to tread her own path but risks losing her true love. This is a bit of what the director had to say about it: "I think it's technically probably (my best movie], and though the autobiographical films are awfully close to my heart, it's very difficult to have aesthetic distance when you're writing autobiography, because you're emotionally involved." The themes of The House of Mirth intrigued him, he says. "Though it's set in early 20th century New York, it's not just about that epoch. I didn't grow up in a wealthy family, so to examine from the outside what's really a hermetically sealed world – where there are lots and lots of rules – seemed fascinating. And if you transcend those rules and break them, the retribution is swift and deadly. It's a metaphor for what it seems to be like in Hollywood. I didn't move in that world. I'm both fascinated and appalled by it, because when you see that vengeance, then you see its essential cruelty." That brutality is not adequately evoked in the film, which would have benefited from a lead actress of Helena Bonham Carter's stature – and emotional attractiveness – and tighter scripting. Davies' usual selling point – meticulously constructed symmetrical frames – is also rejected in the name of progress (or "maturity"), with only fleeting moments that suggest his extraordinary talent. Anderson's first appearance, emerging from the steam of a departing train recalls Garbo in Anna Karenina, but was actually a homage to the 1959 comedy Some Like It Hot. Davies singled out the magnificent transition from New York to Monte Carlo (edited to Mozart) as one of his favourite passages in his films. The move does entertain for the bulk of the duration and has an unexpectedly effective performance from Dan Ackroyd as a blackmailing heavy, but it's still disappointing, considering the director. (3/5)

Hilary Swank announced her arrival in the big leagues with a compelling turn in an ambitious, contentious, often gripping drama. But enough about The Next Karate Kid, let's talk Boys Don't Cry (1999, Film4, 11.15pm). Arf. Seeing as you can technically do that "joke" about virtually anything, we'll move on. Swank got a deserved Oscar (one of the few in movie history) for her performance as Teena Brandon, who masquerades as a boy, drinking with the guys and seducing gals until her identity is revealed. It's powerful, provocative and extremely well-acted, though saddled with a non-linear structure that undermines its realism, and a script that's less insightful than you'd hope. Chloe Sevigny is quite effective as Swank's lover. (3/5)

The Strange Affair of Uncle Harry (1945, Film4, 1.45pm) is saddled with an appalling "it was all a dream" ending apparently necessitated by the censorship restrictions of the Hays' Code. Aside from that it's a moderately interesting melodrama, with cinema's finest cad, George Sanders, cast against type as a put-upon designer living with two sisters – the younger of whom (Geraldine Fitzgerald) is dangerously neurotic and possessive. When Sanders falls in love, he fears Fitzgerald will try to stop it, so decides to poison her. Director Robert Siodmak, notable for his noirs (The Killers, Criss-Cross) and noir-tinged melodramas (Christmas Holiday, starring Gene Kelly and Deanna Durbin!) handles this one quite well, but it turns in on itself towards the close, before collapsing entirely in the closing reel. (2/5)

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 16

Hide and Seek (2005, More4, 9pm) is utter dross, with Robert De Niro as a widower who decamps to a remote country mansion with daughter Dakota Fanning and finds that she's plagued by an ominous, possibly murderous imaginary friend. There are many dreadful things about the movie – the rejection of psychological horror for slasher idiocy, Fanning's overacting, De Niro's career – but that "twist" tops it all. Dylan Baker (from the unfathomably brilliant, terrible Happiness) is utterly wasted as a neighbourhood cop. I haven't compiled a list of the worst movies I've ever seen lately, but this would be a shoo-in for a Top 20 finish. (1/5)

I got the deeply unpleasant Oldboy (2003, Film4, 10.35pm) as a blind buy on DVD, following some great reviews.

*SPOILERS*

It's a dizzying thriller that's put together fantastically well, but crippled by a nastiness that's frankly nauseating. I'm not referring to the scene where our hero eats the live octopus, the frequent, bone-crunching violence he employs, or even the bit where the bad guy cuts out his tongue. It's more the climactic revelation, which envelopes and obliterates the film's tenderest moments in one sickening instant. The film is slick, fast-paced and compelling, its clock motifs and pounding score cleverly done and the acting pretty strong, but it's awfully hard to take, and one of the few films I regret watching. I felt like I'd been tricked into seeing something unfathomably awful, rather than the revenge thriller I was expecting. Anyone want to buy a DVD? (3/5)

For our exciting new Top 100 Movies Ever countdown, please click on the link below right.Top 100 Movies

I think that title will do. Over the next dozen or so weeks I'll count down my 100 favourite films, as cut down from a laughably overlong shortlist of 280 (whoops). Tons of favourites fell by the wayside, but that's inevitable. The 100 that remain include wartime documentaries, screwball comedies, Hong Kong action movies, classic Westerns and a handful of choice B movies. Among the stars represented are Judy Garland, Henry Fonda, Matthew Macfadyen, Chester Morris, Klaus Kinski, Greta Garbo, Marlon Brando and Paul Newman. And Ben Stiller. If I list all the people in all 100 movies, that could get a little tiresome, so I suppose we'll begin...

100. His Girl Friday (Howard Hawks, 1940) is among the greatest comedies to emerge from classic Hollywood. Cary Grant was the most gifted light comedian on the planet throughout the late '30s and early '40s. Here he resembles a whirlwind, playing Walter Burns, an unscrupulous newspaper editor scheming to keep ex-wife - and star reporter - Hildy Johnson (Rosalind Russell) from walking out on him and the paper. Meanwhile, corrupt local lawmakers plot to put to death an insane convict (John Qualen). This is a smart variation on the classic Hecht-MacArthur play 'The Front Page', with furiously fast banter that's the stuff of legend, and a perfect ensemble. Grant and Russell are superb, Ralph Bellamy simply wonderful reprising his Awful Truth routine (as a hapless hayseed), and the supporting cast is stuffed with great character actors, B-movie regulars and cult favourites. There's the great mouse-like John Ford stock player John Qualen, bug-eyed coward Porter Hall - who lent his villainous presence to films as diverse as The General Died at Dawn and The Miracle of Morgan's Creek, Helen Mack (Lee Tracy's leading lady in You Belong to Me), multi-purpose ethnic hood and future director Abner Biberman, the voice of Jiminy Cricket - Ukulele Ike, and laconic comic Roscoe Karns, as well as Alma Kruger and Gene Lockhart. It's warm and funny, but also devilishly satirical, with plenty to say about the role of press and police and the dehumanisation of adulthood. Moving along at the cracking pace associated with directed Howard Hawks, it's one of the most enjoyable films you'll ever see - and gets better with each viewing.

Favourite bit: Grant hides convict John Qualen in a wooden desk and tells him to keep covered unless he hears three taps. A gaggle of reporters and lawmen burst in and Grant starts grandstanding. In a fit of pique he thumps the desk three times...

See also: For more screwball Grant goodness, try The Awful Truth, My Favourite Wife and Bringing Up Baby - the latter teamed him with Hawks for the first time. Like newsroom movies? Bogart plays a crusading editor in the cynical, marvellous Deadline - U.S.A..

99. I Know Where I'm Going! (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1945) is a Hebridean romance with the greatest stock plot going: a girl seeks security in the form of a wealthy husband, then falls in love with a pauper. Here the girl is Wendy Hiller and the man is Roger Livesey, playing the exquisitely-named Torquil MacNeil. Heading for the Isle of Kiloran - where's she's all set to wed a middle-aged industrialist - the pair are stranded together on Mull, and the heady atmosphere begins to cast its spell. It's wonderfully scripted and directed, with a mesmerising evocation of island life, and delightful chemistry between the leads. It's also somewhat reminiscent of Powell's first great film - The Edge of the World.

Favourite bit: Torquil attempts to shake off a centuries-old curse by entering Moy Castle.

See also: Local Hero, in which a Scottish village works its magic on an American interloper.

98. Pickup on South Street (Samuel Fuller, 1953) is my favourite Sam Fuller film. A former tabloid reporter, he always used grabby intros, and Pickup starts with a classic: a worldless subway sequence that sets up our story. Cocky pickpocket Richard Widmark lifts a purse from commie sympathiser Candy (Jean Peters), unaware he's nabbed a strip of microfiche containing state secrets. The commies want him. The feds want him. And him? Well, he wants 25 grand. Widmark is great, but it's Thelma Ritter who walks off with the film, delivering an unforgettable characterisation as a police informer whose sole ambition is to avoid a pauper's burial. This masterpiece mixes human drama with Cold War thriller and provides a vivid evocation of New York City, depicted here as a festering hellhole. It also teaches you how to read microfilm, which I've found very useful when looking at old newspapers.

Favourite bit: Ritter's heartbreaking monologue, as good a piece of screen acting as you'll ever see. "I have to go on making a living so I can die…"

See also: Forty Guns, a vivid, thematically and stylistically outrageous Western, and Fuller's second greatest work.

97. Stand by Me (Rob Reiner, 1986) is one hell of a tearjerker, a slice of pure Americana that joins four 12-year-olds on a weekend trip to find a dead body. It's a heightened piece of nostalgia, ruminating on the nature of friendship, that's aided by lovely scoring, superb performances by the kids and a script that manages to be both clichd and utterly profound. Superficially defined by a single characteristic: brainy, eccentric, fat and bad, the youngsters' characters gradually unfold across the 90 minutes, as they contend with leeches, hoodlums and unexpected trains en route to the corpse. The phenomenally gifted River Phoenix is the standout, playing the "bad" kid, who breaks down in tears in the woods as he recalls being accused of stealing. Reiner's movie is endlessly enjoyable, packed with memorable set-pieces and one-liners and possessing a rare and fuzzily pleasurable humanism.

Favourite bit: I'm a sucker for a monologue (see #96) - how about Phoenix's tear-stained tale of woe?

See also: Phoenix followed this with a slew of mesmerising performances, in films as varied and fine as The Mosquito Coast and Running on Empty.

96. Ikiru (Akira Kurosawa, 1952) is one of the director's more modest efforts in terms of its logistics (no 1,000-extra battles here), but astoundingly ambitious in its theme, which roughly translates as: 'What is the purpose of life?' Frequent Kurosawa star Takashi Shimura is a civil servant who finds out he is dying. At first stumbling into debauchery, he then slips into self-pity, before discovering what he really wants to do, devoting his final days to creating a children's playground. Built around Shimura's towering, restrained performance, the film is doggedly unsentimental and straightforward, with a particularly satisfying denouement.

Favourite bit: It is snowing. An old man sits on a swing, gently rocking back and forth.

See also: Kurosawa's epic "Eastern", Seven Samurai, dizzying 'nature of memory' drama Rashomon and the sweltering crime procedural Stray Dog.

95. Letter From an Unknown Woman (Max Ophuls, 1948) – Ophuls made a stack of lush romantic dramas lit by spellbinding camera work and tragic heroines. Letter, his second American film, is the pick of the bunch. Joan Fontaine plays a lovelorn Viennese girl who falls in love with a womanising pianist (Louis Jourdan). Though he's barely aware of her existence, her love endures. This is masterfully directed, wringing every drop of emotion from a literate script. The leads are simply wonderful.

Favourite bit: That climax, though the Fontaine-Jourdan date sequence is also utterly wonderful, particularly the "world tour".

See also: Ophuls' Madame de..., Le plaisir and La ronde, which tread similar ground (but generally with more laughs). Douglas Sirk's melodramas touched on the same themes, with All That Heaven Allows the pick of the bunch.

94. The Red Balloon (Albert Lamorisse, 1956) is a magical short film about a Parisian boy who is befriended by a mischievous balloon. He takes it home, walks it to school and even sees it fall in love, but a gang of jealous bullies are envious of the prize and, armed with slingshots, try to destroy it. The balloon is a thing of wonder - playful, funny, extraordinarily human - with everything else falling perfectly into place, from the boy's unaffected performance to the glorious colour photography.

Favourite bit: That bittersweet final scene.

See also: Lamorisse's White Mane, in which a boy seeks to tame a wild stallion. It's similarly gutting - and uplifting.

93. She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (John Ford, 1949) - being the first of really rather a lot of John Ford films in the list. It's required viewing for those who insist John Wayne "couldn't act". He's simply superb as Capt Nathan Brittles, a cavalry officer facing as uncertain future as he edges towards retirement. Having lost his wife, he is now surrendering his place in a rapidly-changing world. As he strikes off the days, a pair of green recruits squabble over an officer's daughter, and a scout mission finds evidence of an impending Indian attack. Winton C. Hoch's unforgettable cinematography augments the reflective central storyline, while the boozin', brawlin' and bawlin' prevalent in the director's work keeps goings-on elsewhere pretty boisterous.

Favourite bit: Countless Ford films have their heroes talking to departed loved ones (Judge Priest, My Darling Clementine - though apparently someone else shot the scene and Young Mr. Lincoln). Yellow Ribbon features one of the most moving, as Wayne confides his fears at the grave of his wife.

See also: The other two instalments of the director's Cavalry Trilogy, which sandwich this one: Fort Apache and Rio Grande. The first is a bit cumbersome and messy, the latter is short on story, but they're both fantastic.

92. Dead Man (Jim Jarmusch, 1995) - Johnny Depp has given many great performances, particularly as Edward Scissorhands and Ed Wood. This is my favourite, though, where he plays the reincarnated spirit of poet William Blake (possibly), who goes from meek bank clerk to steady-handed outlaw after a simple misunderstanding. It's a hysterical, marvellously-scripted post-modern Western from indie legend Jim Jarmusch, mixing absurdist comedy and existential fable. Dead Man makes me laugh a lot, think a little, and has what must be one of the greatest casts ever assembled: Robert Mitchum, John Hurt, Crispin Glover, Gabriel Byrne, Iggy Pop, Lance Henriksen and Billy Bob Thornton. The cinematography and music (by Neil Young) are absolutely one-of-a-kind, while the script is littered with wonderful ideas and memorable dialogue.

Favourite bit: How the Nobody Got His Name. Depp's Indian sidekick (Gary Farmer) recounts his story.

See also: Jarmusch's 1986 movie Down by Law about three prison escapees, starring Tom Waits, John Lurie and Roberto Benigni.

91. Went the Day Well? (Alberto Cavalcanti, 1942) - If this is not how rural England was, then it's how it should have been. Went the Day Well? is a thriller that doubles as the most heightened portrait of national identity on film. The story sees a small English village overrun with Nazis, posing as English soldiers. It's a prelude to an invasion, which can only be thwarted by a ramshackle collection of housewives, children and Home Guard members. This WWII propaganda film delivers tension, stoicism and some of the most moving sequences in British cinema.

Favourite bit: The short-sighted snob whose actions have almost derailed the resistance sees a bomb heading for a roomful of children and does the only thing she can thing of. I'm welling up just thinking about it.

See also: Millions Like Us, the other great Home Front drama, which features those enduring national treasures, cricket enthusiasts Charters and Caldicott.

Next week: #s 90 to 81, featuring an unheralded '40s series movie, cult comedy from 2001 and cinema's most almighty smartarse.

For this week's letters, please click on the link below right.From the mailbag

He might be inherently evil, but regular correspondent Professor Moriarty has a way with a Rocky anecdote, Take it away, Prof:

"**Cue Hovis theme and Ridley Scott shot soliloquy**

When I were a lad, I used to wonder which one of the Rockys was the good one: 1 or 2. Rocky 3 for some reason was never shown on TV and the USSR was still in its infancy and pushing chess and ballet more than pugilism. Rocky 1 and Rocky 2 were always shown 6 months separated, rather like an Equinox of Rockys. So for several years a great dichotomy lived in my head: which was the good one? Firstly Rocky 1 would be shown. So, I'd gear myself up for it, knowing "this is the good Rocky". After it had finished or even much, much before that I'd realise my mistake was made and I'd mixed them up, Rocky 2 was the good one. So several months later Rocky 2 would come around to my own hyperbole. Here we go, the good one. Unfortunately, not long after the bell had dinged I realised my fatal flaw, this wasn't the good one I must have misremembered and it was Rocky I, or to give it its full title Rocky, that was the good one. And my goldfish type memory could buy into this. This cycle repeated itself for 2 years, until that fateful day when two world's collided and I realised they are both tat. Of course we all know now that Paradise Alley is the good one. But I've not seen that for a couple of years."

Then there's elab49 slagging Woody Allen: "Surely by this point even fans must be coming to accept that his 'lesser works' greatly outnumber any with a claim to be better than that?" I'd disagree. I haven't seen Cassandra's Dream, but looking at his other films as director, here's an informal breakdown of their quality: masterpieces (7); great (11); fair to good (16); less than that (4). Small Town Crooks is probably in the bottom six or seven, which says a lot about the general quality of his movies. And when he's on form, of course, he's magnificent. I'll acknowledge that Allen's done little of note since Anything Else, though.

And confirmation from dh_19 that we were spot on about that Mandy Moore vehicle. "A Walk to Remember is probably the worst film I've seen too," he says, encouragingly.

Thanks for reading. More next week.

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