Eighty-seven Movies You DON'T Need to See Before You Die

Not only isn't it the best film of 1994, nor the best Stephen King adaptation, it isn't even a good prison-escape flick, and it doesn't make sense, nevermind the other implausibilites of the plot. First, the protagonist isn't redeemed at all, he is corrupted by his own bitterness. If you didn't get it, he's supposed to be liberated or 'reborn,' the film stupidly features the Jesus Christ pose to drive the point home. The problem is, there is no actual atonement or enlightenment because he's not actually guility, regardless of his neurotic self-persecutions. The film is mostly about getting revenge; he degenerates and becomes ruthless out of necessity. The Morgan Freeman character goes as far as to say 'rehabillitation is bull$%^,' i.e. contrition is a delusion. Outside of sarcasm, 'redemption' seems a carelessly misapplied word. Curiously, the filmmakers squander the amazing oppurtunity to feature a complex portrayal of an empathetic murderer, instead opting for a conventional framed-man plot with baby-proofed edges. Even Freeman's homicidal character's crimes are played down as youthful indiscretion. In comparison to prison films of similar themes like Papillon or Un Prophet, this film has all the authenticity of Stallone's Lock Up. Complete with a 'magic negro,' cliched characters, unbelievable & neat resolutions, and a cringe-worthy ending, the film is probably the most phony prison drama I've ever seen.

There isn't one interesting character in the entire story. The plot is silly, only existing to set up arbitrary CGI and pointless fantasy scenarios that you can tell del Toro was eager to shoehorn in somewhere. It runs two hours, split between two randonly interwined plotlines, but the ending doesn't work regardless of the moronic allegory. (The wife is symbolic of a Spanish nation 'married' to fascism. Clever, huh?). However, the 'bad' guys are essentially indistinguishable from the 'good' rebels in the end, further undermining the film's own logic, and unintentionally becoming something of an exploitation film. What may have proved an ample oppurtunity to say something deeply poignant or insightful about Spanish history, human nature, childhood, or mythology is wasted on a morbid revenge version of a Tim Burton film, only with none of the humanity or black humor. Unlike the primitive fables it aspires to emulate, del Toro's film, despite all its esoteric symbols and grand themes, is astoundingly trivial.

Panned, and rightfully, by critics when it originally debuted, this has remarkably managed to age like a vintage Dom Perignon. While the general premise is actually good, the movie has flaws, most obviously is it is incredibly unbelievable. A film can't depend on impossible coincidences one moment and then ignore gaps in logic the next and be taken seriously. Much of the film doesn't work. The love story aspect is perfunctory. The murder plot, the pillar of the film, is laughable. The climax is contrived. Vertigo is so slickly packaged even it's creators likely never realized how dumb it truly is. Its critical failure and then sudden rise to lofty prominence on so many 'Top Movie Lists' is indicative that many film critics are blatantly conformist. They were right the first time.

Despite its pained artsiness and frustrating disregard for non-David Lynch fans, it's not even original or that profound; Lynch used a similiar dove-tailed narrative in one of his previous film, and later in a follow-up. The surrealism comes off as cheesy and stereotypically 'Lynchian.' The opening 'jitterbug scene' is emblematic of much of what is terrible about Lynch's work. The story is choppy and overwritten as to be so vague many of the subplots are simply frivolous deadends. The film depends on a single gimmick, which many seem to think compensates for a very bad overall production. Lynch fans will be quick to inform you you're 'too dumb' or unimaginative if you fail to see his genius, insisting this convoluted abortion is the best film of the decade. That's loyalty if I've ever seen it.

Chaplin mastered the silent comedy, but had no aptitude for social satire or dramatic acting in general. The climactic speech, the most feeble scene, is especially clumsy. Paradoxically, it was the silent genius's truest gesture and his biggest failure. In what was probably his greatest (and last) oppurtunity to boldy speak his mind to a large audience, we realize that Chaplin didn't really have much to say. To make matters worse, the rest of film wasn't even funny.

I don't care what anyone says, Tommy Lee Jones' character is useless. The Anton Chigurh character isn't good either, he's just that quirky, unfathomable psycho you find in action movies because it's easier to write (in this case a Terminator robot with a Justin Bieber haircut). The two most watchable characters are relegated to minor parts, while the leads are detached, babbling or otherwise uninteresting. The film feels too methodical, too labored and toward the last half it simply appears like tedious and unconnected fragments. The film looses steam as it unravels into meaningless monologues and forced intensity. After seeing countless movies of their's, I've come to the conclusion that the Coens' strength lies not in storytelling; a Coen Brothers's flick ends regardless whether it culminates coherently or satisfactorily, it ends when they are out of cleverish ideas or when they run out of living characters to sustain the story. This is perhaps the first art-house action movie, which basically means all the crucial scenes have been omitted and replaced with talky pseudo-philosophy in diners.

It really only figures this film makes the list, it is easily the most overrated film from the career of the most overrated director in history from one of the most overpraised film movements. But I digress...The ending is god awful, none of the characters really having been fleshed out much for us to really care too much about whatever happens to them. Technically it is a disaster. Only now are critics coming forward to break their silence, that the film has coasted too long on mystique and the influence of an institutional clique that equated making waves with having something to say (it was the sixties, what do you expect). There are really no memorable scenes or lines that I can recall. Breathless' real claim to fame is that it inspired a generation of more talented filmmakers. Skip this flop and watch Truffaut's The 400 Blows if you want the definitive French-New Wave classic.

Less interesting and less coherent than its sequel (itself highly overrated) Kill Bill Vol. 1 is noteworthy for marking the beginning of Tarantino's era of unrepentent indulgence. Cranking the cinematic allusions and violence up, and subtlety and wit down, Kill Bill is so heavily stylized one may miss the fact it is probably one of the most dull, dumb movies he's made. How dumb? The film is nothing but a predictable, over-the-top sword fight with some filler scenes. The plot doesn't even factor in because it is only explained in Vol. 2. The centerpiece sword fight is so drawn out you might actually yawn waiting for the director to run out of flailing stuntmen for Uma Thurman to impale.

At three hours long, with a bloated cast & story, and one too many looming camera shots, this movie is begging for its audience to fall asleep. Unfortunately, this is the alarm bell that Sergio Leone had begun to take himself way too seriously. He simply took what made The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly and For a Few Dollars More work, and cranked it up to eleven.

Since proclaimed one of the ten greatest films of all time in the Fifties by the prestigous Sight and Sound poll, many, many better films have been made. I can't emphasize 'many' enough. You'd have more luck getting Gandhi's widow evicted for not paying her rent than evicting this revered relic from a top-ten list (let alone top-one hundred). It's black and white, it's French, it touches on social politics, and made by a famous director during the supposed 'golden era' of filmmaking before the war. But a modern viewer should be forgiven if he sees only a laborious lovestory with some slapstick posing as satire. To paraphrase A.O. Scott (who lovingly described tRotG as the greatest movie of all time), the moral is: hypocrisy is bad. What an astute, 'devastating critique' indeed. Such is this film's reputation. Such is the nature of film criticism. C'est la vie.

Comparisons to 2001 are inevitable, but while Kubrick's film is memorable for its accessible yet existential themes, Tarkovsky's Solaris is stodgy and circumspect, preoccupied with convoluted questions of consciousness, scientific ethics, and psychological repression. Worst of all, it is painfully dull. The film is epitomized by the car ride scene, which is literally five minutes of silent footage from a camera strapped onto the hood of a car supposedly in Russia but with Japanese road signs (not exactly Douglas Trumbull). Also Tarkovsky unwisely chooses to switch between color and b & w for apparently no reason other than to break the monotony.

The main failing lies in the leaden metaphors and plot, and an academic-like mysticism. 2001 inspires a genuine sense of transcendence and unease amid one's own smallness in the universe. Solaris is, however, essentially interstellar navel-gazing, and has some of the most astoundingly bland dialogue ever recorded in a sci-fi movie to match. The central romance is arduous and uninteresting. The plot is little more than a haunted house story, a glorified Star Trek episode. Like many of Tarkovsky's films, haunting but pointless.

Speaking of bad 'B' gangster flicks... There's not even a clever line or memorable scene to whet our appetite or tide us over in this overvalued dud (John Huston's Key Largo is a superb contrast to this point). Bogart's Philip Marlowe is indistinguishable from his Sam Spade, which is only fitting as this film is indistinguishable from every other mediocre crime picture that inundated the decade. Hawks was never one to care how forced a romance seemed or over-worked a weak plot was or unimpressive the acting, and it never showed more tellingly than here. The plot has something to do with blackmail and a pornographer ring, I know as much only from reading reviews. There is good reason why the genre was never taken seriously at the time. This made all the more surreal and awkward by Hawks' attempt to sell the rather androgynous Bacall as a sex symbol.

I'm certain I will be vindicated, as future IMDb voters will rightfully judge this film honestly in hindsight. Sometimes when you insist upon making a movie that forces viewers to have to watch it several times to fully 'get' it, you aren't being deep or intellectual, you're just making things unnecessarily complicated. That is unfortunately Nolan's niche. His concepts are interesting but his characters and pacing stink, and plots always too over-burdened by minutia and an internal set of rules. Inception relies far too much on dull conversations to advance a story we're not made to care about, with characters we don't know outside of their occupation. And despite his attention, already arbitrary action scenes drag on way too long and to little effect. People have labeled this a 'smart' movie, but I can't help feeling it was a failure because of its ambition.

This is the movie that self-respecting film critics, or movie afficionados who want to call themselves film 'experts' fawn over to validate themselves. It's got a great pedigree; it was directed by John Huston, has a great cast, a script by Dashiell Hammett, and has a few decent lines/scenes. But it is hokey and contrived, and, suprisingly, it is not very suspenseful. And the production value is similar to that of a high school play. Leonard Maltin once said this film holds up despite the fact modern audiences are much more cynical and sophisticated than moviegoers of the '40s. I disagree with his praise for precisely the same reason.

A fun, cheeky, action movie, you bet. Guy Ritchie's best? Sure. One of the best crime movies of the decade. Fair enough. A modern classic. Not quite. One of the top 250 best ever made. Huh?

And definitely not an 8.2 either. Little more than an anglicized Tarantino, for all their many comedic and dramatic talents, the Brits have never been particularly good at the crime genre.

The title, score, and plot are all a pastiche from better films; that should say it all. Among other problems, the two subplots just aren't that immersive, consisting of a lot of prolonged conversations that (inevitably) pale in comparison to those in other Tarantino films. I can't help but be reminded of a much better Jewish victim-exploitation picture, Munich, wherein the revenge fantasy seems to function more than just a stock plot and delivery device for a series of snippets containing snappy lines and cool set pieces. The titular 'Basterds' are generally less likable, and less charismatic, than their Nazi prey. While Brad Pitt attempts a bizarre Matthew McConaughey impersonination (which is odd considering he did a convincing job with the southern shtick in Thelma & Louise), Mike Myers inexplicably appears midway through in heavy make-up to distract us from Eli Roth's mugging. The film starts strong enough but it quickly becomes bogged down in contrived dialogue and a lazy, stupid climax. Really just a massively overrated film on any level. Though there are a few non-North American supporting roles that are superb... which makes one wonder if only Europeans can act.

The Apartheid allegory is twenty years too late and largely a distraction. Also, the story succumbs to the traditional conventions and limitations of the sci-fi genre, i.e. the second half feels forced and reliant on CGI instead of intelligent writing. The fact it was nominated for a Best Picture Oscar is baffling, but then again, so are a lot of the Oscar nominations. As someone who deep down does still believe the Academy Awards is a respectable institution, I have to say widening the Best Picture nominee pool was probably a mistake if this is what they deem noteworthy.

Probably the most uneven movie I've ever seen. The plot is terrible, but the casting is good (despite the fact Cary Grant looks as old as his mother). The acting varies from charming to stilted, and that's just Grant. It is riveting at times, and laughably stupid at other moments. A loose collection of Hitchcock's favorite clichés and plot devices, this movie stands out mostly for some scattered but great cinematography, but with some unfortunately cheap sets thrown in for what I'm guessing are financial reasons. The cropduster scene is emblematic of the movie as a whole, entertaining but idiotic (how a plane with a front mounted gun fires behind itself I don't know, though that seem like nitpicking when you try and figure out why it rams a tanker trailer, or why the bad guys chose an elaborate, impractical object as a murder weapon). And while many point out the comically inept editing in the cafeteria scene, people seem to forget the car bumping the styrofoam prop tree in the very next scene, or the fact a Madison Ave exec can't tell Washington from Roosevelt (perhaps a jab at the intellect of advertising men but more likely the careless addition of stock footage months in post-production). In what many would consider the ultimate Hitchcock film, the director had finally managed to render a protagonist who is a living, breathing 'Macguffin' (i.e. a prop) -- the driving force of the plot that nobody can bother to care about. Though fans would inflate it as a masterpiece it's really a Corman B-movie.

'Dances with Wolves: In Space' 'Pocohantas meets Star Wars' 'FernGully 2: Haliburton is trying to cut down the Magic Forest' 'Aguirre, the Wrath of the Smurfs' 'The Beast 2: New Age Mujahideen'....You've read the reviews, so I won't venture an indepth critique.

If you reduce the admittedly impressive 3-D graphics to 2-D, Avatar would rank a '4' or '5' (out of 10). If you add them back into the equation, it's still only a '6' or '7' at best. And even the best special effects can't save a !@#$%^ idea. James Cameron is basically Michael Bay with an Oscar.

The cinematic equivalent of massed-produced, pseudo-Impressionist art framed in faux-distressed wood, that hang in hotel lobbies and Olive Gardens.

Not very funny. Not really that smart, either. The characters are simply all over-the-top and the story is absurdly idiotic and goes nowhere. Some say 'that's the point!' But why is it worth watching, it's clearly a throwaway movie. What I don't understand is how a film that's been called the definitive 'cult film' can have such a high rating; to be considered a cult film you have to admit a film failed at its primary objective (in this case, making people laugh) or was otherwise cheesy, indulgent, shoddy, or exploitive crap. Cult films are guilty pleasures, which implies you are at least a little bit embarrassed by your being entertained by them. I think people rank this highly because they genuinely like it or are convinced they are supposed to. Compelling evidence that 'cult movies' are indeed better left forgotten in the bargain bin at Wal-Mart.

It doesn't take long to realize Jean-Luc Godard is pulling this out of his ass. The many bad cliches, lousy puns, and allegories are a useful distraction to hide his many deficiencies. On its most basic level, it is boring and badly written, not even entertaining as a thriller or a avant-garde sci-fi. Compared to Metropolis it looks hopelessly trifling. But it is when one looks at the ever-entertaining, philosophical, dystopian-noir romance, Blade Runner, you suddenly realize what desired general effect Godard was hoping for, and how badly he failed. Defenders claim the film is mainly intended as a satire not a traditional narrative. This is a convenient defense for a film that has aged horrendously, and Godard himself, who's career depends on being taken seriously as an intellectual. The film is instead full of re-hashed Orwellian babble, feeble action scenes and effects, and lousy dialogue; the final half hour is especially poorly executed. The whole thing seems like it was conceived and filmed on a week's notice. I honestly can't tell whether Godard was experimenting, joking, or grossly incompetent.

This little 'gem' from Japan somehow merited a 8.3 rating as of my composing this list. I reckon that score is compiled by all twelve people who managed to sit through the entire film without the urge to fast-forward (or walk out, this is standard art-house fare after all). This is one those movies you watch because you want to expand your tastes and expose yourself to new and different types of films. Your admirable open mind is rewarded by a two-hour crawl that feels twice as long. This film has no pulse; it is all nuance and vague forebodings with little pay-off.

Yes, folks, they're still in the sand pit. Check back next week for further developments.

According to IMDb's demographic breakdown, this film is universally beloved, regardless of age or gender. Even IMDb staffers gave it a staggering 8.3, and that's low in comparison to every other demographic. That really is mindblowing when you let it sink in. Why is it so respected? I have not the slightest idea, considering it is a rather silly and unspectacular shoot-em-up, satisfactorily entertaining but forgettable. Gary Oldman chews the scenery, and the story is so dopey it almost elicts laughter. She's neglected and orphaned, and he's a lonely, gruff assassin with repressed paternal instincts... ugh, that is terrible, Disney-worthy writing. And it comes no where close to matching Besson's best work, the far more intelligent and edgy Le Femme Nikita. Further more, one movie critic raised the possibility that the appeal lies in a 'prepubescent' Natalie Portman. God, I hope that isn't it, that would be creepy and sad.

I'll save you two hours, the 'brillant' satire is: all rich people are heartless and lead trivial lives. Luis Bunuel, never one to offer a truly innovative or enlightening opinion on anything other than the broadest cynicism, here provides his most ponderous mash of hateable caricatures, in several forgettable vignettes of supposedly humorous content, intercut with dream-like sequences. Unlike his masterpiece Belle de Jour, this film's presentation is so dry and mentally numbing the dream scenes may very well catch you by surprise while you try and figure out what deeper significant the last banal scene was getting at. Bunuel's style in TDCotB is much like a dream, his navel-gazing, clumsy symbolism, flat jokes, and pointless repetitions are as profound and entertaining as someone else's daydreams. This is the kind of indulgent, second-rate rehash that many famous artists churn out to a swooning public eager to make up for a lifetime of overlooking them out of ignorance or prudishness. Naturally he won the Foreign Best Picture Oscar.

To me it always seems that these kinds of incredible twist endings seem less ingenious in retrospect.

The suprise ending is essentially the movie. The rest of could have been writen any number of ways; it doesn't matter. The rest, quite honestly, isn't that good anyway save one scene in the very opening of the movie. The movie is just a gimmick. The fact that stupid people can take pleasure in knowing that smart people could not predict the ending, and in the end those same uncritical people can feel good about that fact, sums up the mass appeal of The Usual Suspects. Not even deserving of 'cult' status.

Red is possibly one of the most over-praised and dull 'masterpieces' in film history. While it takes itself to the utmost level of seriousness, Red is an intricate meditation into pretentious, overwrought nothingness. The symbolism is blunt and amateurish (red representing the French flag, and the film epitomizing a third of the national motto, 'fraternity'), and worse, the affectedly high brow plot is mistaken as 'transcendent' and 'contemplative,' when it is in fact pedestrian and slightly absurd. Even more irritating, the rather lame destiny/'parallel lives'/fate allegory is an elaborate cheat, a method of expressing nothing original or meaningful while still appearing deep and artistic. Some films are made to be watched in a theater and others are made to be laboriously studied in a college classroom. I'll let you figure out which category this movie falls into.

Flat acting, dull ending, monotonous pacing, interchangeable characters, etc., everything you would not suspect from a supposedly 'classic' film. The prison escape genre should be the easiest to film, the expectations are generally pretty low, but A Man Escaped is a significant disappointment, regardless. The film, caught up in its bland minimalism, vague religious overtones, and hands-off direction, never realizes how detached and suspenseless it is. The lead role is played by a non-professional actor and it shows. The direction is terrible, too, but Robert Bresson is not only a real director he is also a celebrated international figure. Further fueling my belief that French cinema is the most overrated in the world.

From a brief look at internet archives, it's apparently impossible to make your bones as a film critic without writing the necessary article '8 1/2 is a masterpiece.' The film drags on for an hour longer than necessary and the protagonist is a mopey, charmless twit throughout. One gets the impression Fellini has already satsfactorily covered this ground before in La Dolce Vita, with even the same actor playing the same detached, bored womanizer. Fellini, in essence, admitted he was out of interesting stories here, reiterating the idea over the next three decades in case we missed it. There's a lot of surreal shots, beautiful women, cool sunglasses, stylish cinematography, etc, but, sadly, it's all as refreshing as bathing in bilgewater. While the dull characters drone on in the forefront, the bombastic score and set pieces linger behind as some kind of ever-mugging consolation.

Fellini had to have known he was making a bloated, boring, frivolous, self-obsessed gimmick of a film. The meta movie-within-a-movie idea usually always fails because the filmmaking process, and celebrities in general, rarely are as intriguiging as show business folk think, nor are their tortured lives, personas, and neuroses. Reality TV has made that painfully clear, but Fellini proved it first.

Katherine Hepburn is obnoxious, Cary Grant is wooden, and the jokes are forced and fall flat. Very rarely has a throwaway comedy made me this angry. Movies like this make me question just how 'great' the Greatest Generation actually were if they laughed at this $?!&.

The cult of Orson Welles is almost as over-populated as that of da Vinci. Much like the Mona Lisa, Mr. Arkadin is a proficient but mostly unremarkable work. This movie has been labeled a masterpiece by the decree of a few influential critics. But look again, in fact free on IMDb if you choose. The editing kills any sense of continuity, and plot is comically tortuous, the climax ridiculous in its sheer, cheap stupidity. The film is botched on many levels. Even the tragic title character is only a Europeanized version of Welles' more iconic Kane, and so too the plot and basic moral. I couldn't have cared less for the characters. And I have my doubts on the originality of the script.

A less convoluted, less idiotic version of Dune, many hail L of A the pinnacle of the artform, yet it is hard to sit through without a cigarette break or two. The abominable spectacle that is Dune will at least keep you awake in befuddled shock. I think the film crew spent more time filming in the desert than the actual T.E. Lawrence did fighting there. Ever wonder why better films like Star Wars, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, or Patton don't dwell on the early desert scenes, and by comparison the rest of those movies seem so damn enthralling? Or a better example, how Pasolini's barren dust-pic, Arabian Nights, manages to induce sleep despite the fact it has sex scenes every six minutes? Sand is just boring.

The cast is stellar, the source story great, the director able, but this is less than the sum of its parts. Lean did not invent the epic, but he did perfect Oscar-bait. You can thank him for the lifeless sagas that are Gandhi, Dances With Wolves, The English Patient, Titanic, and The King's Speech. And, yes, possibly even Dune, too.