Fifty-seven Great Obscure Movies

The best adaptation of a Shakespearian play (or at least Macbeth), is suprisingly not even in English. Akira Kurosawa, heralded for his samurai tales, delivers perhaps what is the most atmospheric and compelling of any of his catalogue. Toshiro Mifune, great as usual, portrays pseudo-Macbeth in feudal Japan. Staged, restaged, filmed, refilmed, etc, for centuries, it is filtered through the mind of the outsider Kurosawa that the great play reaches its greatest incarnation. The flurry of arrows scene is one of the great unappreciated highlights from an already impressive career.

Henry Fonda had a penchant for socially responsible pictures. Largely forgotten amid a career of equally intense performances, chances are this one will stick with you. The film hasn't dated at all, the implications of vigilante justice, moral cowardice, and capital punishment as relevant now as much as ever. It's an exquisitely well crafted movie which proves you don't need to beat your audience with grand speeches, sentiment, or metaphors in to order to effectively communicate your opinions on controversial subject matter.

Richard Burton never made a better film. Not only is the supporting cast stellar, the cinematography and script, based on the John Le Carre novel, are also top notch. The general tone of the film captures the world of espionage better than any spy film, Bond or otherwise, ever could. One could make the argument this morally complex look at the realities of cold-war international politics is one of the most immersive and unflinching examinations of a world absurdly split down the middle. A time and place where one was either forced or morally obligated to choose sides, and doomed to live with the consequences the rest of their lives.

I'll admit I first discovered this movie at two in the morning on TBS. However, it is a solid action flick with solid performances from William Petersen and Willem Dafoe, an incredible car chase, and a pretty accurate sequence depicting the process of counterfeiting. This movie is a victim of now standard anti-80s bias. If you can get past the more dated aspects of the film, it is actually a rewarding watch. Much smarter than any shoot-em up action movie has any business being, director Friedkin undoubtedly put in extra effort to accurately depict his off-beat criminal underworld of performance artists, prison subcultures, unscrupuluos lawyers, and overbearing police. Only Michael Mann's Heat is as well-crafted and watchable, and I'll guess everyone has seen that by now.

That title might insinuate something slightly homoerotic, come to think of it the movie is set on a submarine, but I digress. In a great pairing, Clark Gable's gruff captain plays nicely off his ambitious subordinate Burt Lancaster in this mash-up of Moby Dick and The Caine Mutiny. Probably the best submarine movie ever made, with exception to Das Boot, the tension is palpable from beginning to end. The trifling U-571 could only hope for such longevity.

It is likely that this documentary captures life as it no longer exists. The Eskimoes survive in the arctic by literally every cliche associated with them. Even the most mundane minutia is interestingly presented. There is controversy that some of the scenes are faked. That hardly matters, as Nanook crafts an igloo in ten minutes and successfully captures a walrus with primitive yet expertlike mastery.

Keep in mind when I wrote this review, Spies had 984 total ratings (The Dark Knight has half a million). Imagine if Dr. No was made in the 1920's. That pretty much describes the technological finesse and stylistic swagger Fritz Lang shows off in this movie. Lang was so ahead of every other movie maker at this point in his career it's ridiculous. For me, no movie is easy to sit through at three hours long, especially a silent one, but Spies deserves your time. This film is a forgotten masterpiece.

Not strictly a horror movie, I can tell you I was more creeped out by this Ingmar Bergman movie than by almost every contrived splatter fest I've seen. The sparse atmosphere, psychological forebodings, and the occasional surreal setpiece accomplishes more than a masked man with a sharp object ever could. I recommend this movie to people who are irritated and mentally underwhelmed by conventional horror movies.

An anti-war film, this equally functions as a thrilling courtroom drama, psychological piece, and a Western-like adventure movie. It doesn't preach, and it doesn't necessarily conform to typical anti-war movie expectations either. Born on the Fourth of July is good enough, but this is far less sentimental or politically motivated.

No prior knowledge of Soccer or the English/European Champion's Leagues is necessary, and I would actaully venture that not knowing the convoluted history of English 'football' rivalries actually favors the ignorant non-soccer fan. You don't even need to like sports to love this movie. This film works precisely because the characters are center here, not the sport itself. The rather daft Miracle or sappy Rudy look like Nickolodeon Channel movies in comparison.

As bleak and funny as Dr. Strangelove, not even the proverbial videostore nerd has seen this. Somehow this movie has all but vanished from collective memory, while lesser quality, more conventional films from the era get all the recognition. When you hear about the 'English' sense of humor, this is what they are refering to, even if 'they' have never even heard of this movie. Alec Guiness should be remembered for this role rather than that in Star Wars.

Quirky, peculiar, pornographic, one might even say politically incorrect, Straw Dogs is an unusual film by any regard. Sam Peckinpah is at his best, Dustin Hoffman delivers, and the creepy rural English townspeople never disappoint to surprise the hell out you. This is the type of movie it takes a few weeks to get out of your subconscious. Eli Roth or Rob Zombie in all their gory efforts have never made a film as genuinely disturbing.

This might be a hard sell. The Sex Pistols are a farcry from The Beatles. They also take the then unprecedented path of voluntarily de-mythologizing themselves in a kind of half confessional, half therapy session. You can despise them (and maybe you should) but still empathize with their plight, as they are basically children subjected to the type of exploitation and exposure that would likely warp any young person. Most band documentaries focus on the music, but wisely the punk beltings of the Sex Pistols are only a minor part here, the director, Julien Temple, wise enough to realize that the backstory is legitimately worth featuring front and center. Hard Day's Night seems trivial after watching The Filth and the Fury.

This is a rare intelligent romantic comedy, granted it is a black comedy. This is the kind of movie that a woman might drag her boyfriend to go see, and in the end he will come out the theater glad having seen it. Apparently, it was made in an era when Hollywood rom-coms were actually worth the admission price.

Despite the fact this is by far the most obscure movie on the list, it might be the most interesting. I saw this on a lark, wholly unaware of its existence or even of its director Louis Malle, but it has left a deep impression on me all the same.

There is nothing that more evokes the glamourous, if soiled, underbelly of the dreams of ambition than the dark streets of Fifties Manhattan. The acting is superb, as is the cinematography and story. The terse, ice-cold dialouge is so sharp only Burt Lancaster could believably deliver them as effectively. More than half a century old, this movie only improves with age.

You will scarcely find a communist, Weimar-era, German-language, musical satire as enjoyable.

John Cassavetes never made a better movie. Many deride American films of the era as shallow, unadventurous, and lacking complexity, these critics probably know little of Cassavetes' work. This film is America's one-man response to the European New Wave movement. I'd even risk saying this film is singlehandedly better than any movie either Fellini or Godard ever made, being more accessible and more mature than either of the admired directors' idiosyncratic bodies of work.

A cast so good, Omar Shariff only merits third-billing. The crux of the movie's genius is the fact that the timeless plot acknowledges but does not necessarily excuse the grudges men keep and scars of war that peace is supposed to heal. There is an anarchistic undertone to the film, never is it content to concede the assumption modern western society has graduated to the next stage of enlightenment just because it has stopped killing itself en masse. Personal battles are no less messy.

This film was critically and financially doomed as much by Francisco Franco as it was by reviewers who nit-picked the film for being too long, too expensive, and too confusing though it is only half as long and a quarter the budget as the grandiose, Orientialist bore, Lawerence of Arabia. Behold a Pale Horse deserves more credit for its realistic depiction of a fractured contemporary Europe/world glued together by cold war alliances and numbed by post-war exhaustion, simmering with unresolved internal conflicts in practically every nation.

This incredible Soviet film fell between the cracks of more acclaimed fare like Solaris and The Cranes are Flying, among others, but it is perhaps the most effective piece of art the (compromised) Soviet film industry ever made. The psychological wear of the characters shows as much in the faces as the words of the foresaken soldiers. That is perhaps its most striking feature.

When Martin Scorsese wasn't making some of his generation's best dramas he was making some of the better documentaries (e.g. The Last Waltz). Here Scorsese documents the incredible life story of a nomadic thrill seeker. Repulsive, and yet strangely charismatic in his autobiographic confessions, Steven Prince's life (or feverish imagination) is so entertaining Quentin Tarantino actually lifted a scene, providing Pulp Fiction one of its signature moments. Enough said.

Few films have accessed this level of truthfulness and profoundunity for the nuances of the true American West as Hud achieves. This Martin Ritt movie proves the 'West' is not merely a time or cliched genre but more of an attitude or mindset. It's films like this that serve the contrast between those who comprehend what the 'Western identity' is, as compared to those who can only crudely surmise it as rampant opportunism or senseless brutality. Along with The Misfits, and Lonely Are the Brave, the greatest modern Western.

Largely inspired by the writings of Christopher Hitchens, this documentary is critical if only for shedding light on the shady history of the innerworkings of the upper echelon of the US diplomatic service. It is equally valid as a character study in calculated ambition, relativist ethics, and eccentricites of power.

With its small cast, psychological premise, predominately centralized setting, and succinct plot, this film is almost claustrophobic. Don't be fooled by Fellini, you don't need lavish sets, a cavalcade of actors, and three plodding hours to dwell the depths of dissipation among the leisure class. Dirk Bogarde is one of the great underrated villains in all film, playing svengali-butler to Edward Fox's co-dependent aristocrat.

Otherwise known as 'Jew Suss,' not to be confused with the Nazi adaptation of the same novel made during WWII, Power is a little too prescient for comfort. The line 'they burned Jews in the 1730s, the 1830s, and they'll burn them in the 1930's,' in refernce to anti-semitic persecution in Germany, is especially unsettling. (This film was of course filmed seven or so years before the 'Final Solution' was set in ink.) Veidt gives a nuanced performance as a court Jew, as bitter and scheming as Shylock, yet his tragic persona is more than just a stereotype, and far less pathetic. The last fifteen minutes are especially gripping, and the screenplay itself probably worthy of an Oscar it has so many quotable lines. Though it has some plot holes, and the sound has been poorly preserved, Power is a lost classic in the truest sense.

I admit I am not a huge fan of Hitchcock and I Confess is probably one of his less remembered films, that being said, in my experience of his lengthy body of work, this might just be among his best. Although it suffers from similar flaws that mar many of Hitch's films (the tidy ending and cookie-cutter 'framed man' plot in particular), I Confess still holds up better than many of his unbelievable if more popular movies.

Buster Keaton had more physical grace and all the innovative skill and wit of Charlie Chaplin, without the sentimentality or political baggage. Despite the fact his silent films are easily the equal of Chaplin's silent works, Keaton is unknown nowadays to all but a handful of movie fans. Sherlock Jr is perhaps one of his greatest achievements, regardless if it is not even his most iconic film. Each Keaton film had a signature scene or gag, and Sherlock Jr has more than its fair share. The meta-dream sequence alone is noteworthy for predating the similiar, but more acclaimed, narrative structure found in The Wizard of Oz by fifteen years.

The film's first half-hour, in its technicolor brillance and cheery opening theme, belies the true depth of depravity the film actually contains. The fact it is simultaneously capable of sweetness, calm whimsicality, increasing creepiness and terror, and profound earnestness about drug addiction/psychosis is the reason it deserves wider acclaim. The film doesn't explore any radically new territory, and it does not have any moral slant nor any dire political/social message relating to mental health or religion or medical science, rather it is purely an exhibition of filmmaking.

One particularly memorable scene, although subtle and imperceptible to many viewers, typifies the film. The protagonist, absurdly taking on the grandiose delusions of Rabbinical expertise among other psychotic affectations, menacingly points to scriptures from the Old Testament using a pair of scissors like a ceremonial pointer. The same scissors he wields while preaching toward his wayward and mortified kin like a biblical patriarch.

There is no way of avoiding the fact this pick will irk some, but relax it's not a political statement. I cannot think of many other recent movies, save Saving Private Ryan, which have managed to succeed at portraying combat on screen so adroitly and strikingly. The film is far from propagandistic, merely depicting the Yom Kippur war in a documentary style, that eschews linear storyline, heroic charges, or platitudes about war. I usually hate stories without a plot, but here it seems to capture the chaotic, faceless nature of mechanized, conscript warfare. The scene in which the soldiers vainly attempt to carry the body of their comrade through knee-high mud conveys more about war and sacrifice (and human will) than some movies do in their entirety.

Though technically a Tod Browning film (director and screenplay), every film with Lon Chaney was in fact a 'Chaney film.' Emlematic of Lon Chaney Sr's career as a whole, The Unknown is an oddly compelling silent movie about a murderous circus performer. Of course that is merely the 'plot,' the 'story' concerns the armless knife thrower tangled in his own web of lust, deceit, and guilt. Needless to say, nobody played likeable, intriguiging 'freaks' better than Chaney. Being silent, the film depends largely on Chaney's facial dexterity to sell the film. Not an easy task.

Arguably better than Sidney Lumet's earlier classic, Serpico, it is grossly underrated all the same.

For you philistines out there, this was based on a famous story by Oscar Wilde, detailing the Faustian downfall of a wannabe Caligula, and exploring deeper themes of aestheticism, Victorian morality, and veiled homosexuality... Yeah, I never read it either.

George Sanders is acidic as the hedonistic, cynical mentor; though he comes dangerously close, he never overplays it. The supporting cast is magnificient, and though it's a nearly 70-year-old movie based on a 120-year-old story, it still holds up pretty well to this day. While on the subject of anti-social debaucheries, the titular 'picture' is particularly interesting, seeming to portend countless bad LSD trips a generation later.