The Channel-Surf Stop Test
What? You don't know about the channel-surf stop test? You might not know the term, but I know you know how it works.It's been a long day—you've worked hard, played hard, fulfilled your obligations, and now you settle in on the couch, remote control in hand, looking to find something on the television to watch as you unwind from a busy day. As you flip idly through the channels, you happen upon one of your favorite movies. You stop to watch. It doesn't matter how many times you've seen this movie. It doesn't matter where in the movie you've landed—you know it by heart, anyway—you stop to watch "this one scene." Or to hear "that line." The next thing you know, you've watched the movie all the way to the end. It's one of your favorites. You will watch it regardless.
That's the channel-surf stop test. Any movie that passes the test is automatically a candidate for any desert island list.
True story: Not too long ago I took a couple of friends to a "Classic Movie Night" at one of our local cinemas; it was showing Goodfellas. By some strange quirk, neither had seen it before. Not two nights later, as I was idly flipping through the channels late one night, I stumbled onto Goodfellas as it was just starting.
Now, I've seen Goodfellas a few times before. I have a DVD copy. I had just seen it two nights previously.
I sat there and watched it again, from end to end. The power of the channel-surf stop test.
Keep in mind, "desert island" selections are not lists of "the best" or "the greatest" films—at least mine isn't. They are a list of favorites, the movies that you can watch again and again, and they don't lose their luster. So, with that in mind . . .
Honorable Mention
. . . I cannot list a list without a preamble. So, this is a list of those that juuuust missed the big list. Of course, my initial list of "juuuust misses" had more than 50 films on it—either I need to get out more, and not just to the cinema, or I need to move onto other movies. Somehow I managed to whittle the list down to a mere 25 honorable mentions, which is still pretty ridiculous but perhaps you won't mind—all of these have passed the channel-surf stop test.25. Eight Men Out (1988). Writer-director John Sayles packs in so much—baseball, hubris, conspiracy, recrimination, regret—that I soak up a new facet every time. Besides, I'll watch David Strathairn act any time.
24. The Andromeda Strain (1971). It can be too methodical, even plodding, at times, and director Robert Wise's style and design shows its age, but I still get spooked by the premise, and Kate Reid is still a feisty hoot.
23. The Sand Pebbles (1966). Another Robert Wise triumph, stretched a bit too thinly perhaps, although this is one of Steve McQueen's best performances; meanwhile, the political impact remains intact—and timeless.
22. Dr. Strangelove (1964). Made back when director Stanley Kubrick still had some humanity and emotional engagement in him—and he managed to blend geopolitical sophistication and locker-room sniggering into the blackest of comedy.
21. Ghostbusters (1984). Sure, the effects and soundtrack are dated. Director Ivan Reitman rose to the occasion here, and this is more than just Bill Murray's show—the ensemble cast always brings this one home. "You're more like a . . . game show host."
20. Ed Wood (1994). Big Fish comes pretty close, but this might be director Tim Burton's most touching film because his affection for the real-life Wood seems genuine. And, yes, Martin Landau is (ahem) spellbinding. He must be Hungarian and double-jointed.
19. Touch of Evil (1958). Just accept that this grimy, atmospheric who-cares-whodunit is gloriously rococo from the sweeping opening shot to Henry Mancini's score to Charlton Heston's risibly Anglo Mexican. It is also Orson Welles's best film since you-know-what.
18. Kelly's Heroes (1970). This Clint Eastwood vehicle never decides whether it's a caper flick, a combat film, or a comedy, so it mixes all three in a bold genre nose-tweak to emerge as the war-movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
17. Manhattan Murder Mystery (1993). When was the last time you saw a delightful—endearing, even—Woody Allen film? Allen and Diane Keaton are a big part of that, as are Alan Alda and a chops-licking Anjelica Huston. "Try giving her the present."
16. Apocalypse Now (1979)/Apocalypse Now Redux (2001). I didn't care for this initially, but the more I studied the Vietnam war the more it made sense. And Redux isn't just bonus footage—it recasts Martin Sheen's odyssey in an eye-opening new context.
15. Doctor Zhivago (1965). Lawrence of Arabia is grander, better. But Zhivago is more haunting, yearning, as befits a tragic love story writ large across the steppes. Yes, I'm a sucker for one of those—as long as it has villains like Komarovsky and Strelnikov.
14. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969). William Goldman's sainted screenplays are losing their luster for me, but George Roy Hill's direction and the Newman-Redford double-punch make it hard not to stop and watch. Again.
13. The Great Escape (1963). This story never seems to get old, from the meticulous planning to the split-second execution to the pursuits across the Third Reich. The rich cast doesn't hurt, either, although director John Sturges makes it memorable.
12. Shaun of the Dead (2004). There are times throughout when this hilarious zombie spoof seems almost perfect. It never flags, and it never once winks at the camera to let you know how clever it thinks it is. Meet you down at the Winchester, then?
11. The Day of the Jackal (1973). Damn, is Edward Fox mesmerizing here. Director Fred Zinnemann sets it up so well that I always find myself rooting for Fox. And Mich(a)el Lonsdale is also terrific—enough to make me forgive him for Moonraker.
10. This Is Spinal Tap (1984). When spoofers love the subject they're satirizing (see: Shaun of the Dead), the jest goes well past eleven. Sheer headbanging bliss—and it takes the mickey out of Scorsese's portentous The Last Waltz to boot.
9. Bullitt (1968). Umpteen times seeing it and I'm still not sure I understand the story. So I keep watching. Much more than just the car chase, though—although that still blows the doors off today's CGI fantasies. Lalo Schifrin's score still kills, too.
8. State and Main (2000). Not only David Mamet's crackling dialog but the array of talent delivering it make this comic homage to Day for Night compulsively watchable. William H. Macy already has a spot reserved in actors' heaven based just on this.
7. Mister Roberts (1955). No matter how many times I see Jack Lemmon choke up at the end, I choke up too—Henry Fonda's Doug Roberts was just that kind of guy. William Powell is a sly old dog, and James Cagney is secretly brilliant here.
6. Rear Window (1954). The modest, stage-like set conceals the fact that this is one of Hitchcock's greatest efforts—who would have figured James Stewart for a Peeping Tom? Thelma Ritter is in a class by herself—and can you spot Mr. Drucker across the way?
5. Young Frankenstein (1974). Is there a line of dialog here that hasn't been quoted yet? Mel Brooks at the top of his game—but Gene Wilder owns this one. All right—he has to share with Marty Feldman. And Teri Garr. And Madeleine Kahn. And Peter Boyle.
4. The Right Stuff (1983). Having read Tom Wolfe's whooshing book enough times, I still wince at writer-director Philip Kaufman's clunky copy-and-paste job with the script. But the cast goes higher, farther, and faster than any American. Still a thrill.
3. The American President (1995). Yes, too much Aaron Sorkin can give you a case of the glibs. But Michael Douglas and Annette Bening really sell his Howard-Hawks -meets-Frank-Capra-at-the-Watergate-Bar dialog, as does the supporting cast.
2. L.A. Confidential (1997). A masterful crime epic, convincingly old-school yet thoroughly conversant in modern storytelling. The third great "L.A. noir" classic with The Big Sleep and Chinatown. Guy Pearce, James Cromwell, and Kevin Spacey excel.
1. The Maltese Falcon (1941). John Huston's brilliant directorial debut must also sub for a passel of film noirs that didn't make this cut. This riveting tale of the title dingus also taught me about chiaroscuro—the play of light and shadow. Been hooked ever since.
The Desert Island Top Ten
The ship is sinking, there is only so much room in the lifeboat (hope it's not one from Life of Pi), and I have to jettison the 25 honorable mentions and go with the 10 films I would have with me on that infamous desert island. I just hope the Dharma Initiative remembered to leave behind a solar-powered television set and DVD player.10. Men in Black (1997)
Directed by Barry Sonnenfeld. Written by Ed Solomon. Produced by Walter F. Parkes and Laurie MacDonald. Columbia Pictures/Amblin Entertainment. 98 minutes.Starring Will Smith, Tommy Lee Jones, Vincent D'Onofrio, Rip Torn, Linda Fiorentino.
When Barry Sonnenfeld gets hold of a crackling-good yarn, he can deliver a riotous joy-ride like this one about extraterrestrial immigration enforcement. With his background in cinematography, Sonnenfeld can certainly frame the visuals, but the storyteller in him won't let the still-impressive special effects overwhelm the taut narrative, smartly written by Ed Solomon from Lowell Cunningham's comic book. Indeed, what makes Men in Black so watchable is the inexorable drive to tell the story.
Portraying the two mysterious agents charged with repelling the next extraterrestrial threat, Will Smith plays straight man J to Tommy Lee Jones's wonderfully deadpan K as Vincent D'Onofrio, his yokel farmer expropriated by a giant cockroach from outer space, decomposes hilariously. Rip Torn, the droll Men in Black boss, and Linda Fiorentino, the smart, sexy coroner, lend distinctive support along with Siobhan Fallon and Tony Shalhoub. Men in Black is now a film franchise, with the corresponding diminishing returns, but the first in the series remains a refreshingly brisk, witty, irreverent sci-fi comedy.
9. Jaws (1975)
Directed by Steven Spielberg. Written by Peter Benchley and Carl Gottlieb. Produced by Richard D. Zanuck and David Brown. Universal Pictures. 124 minutes.Starring Roy Scheider, Richard Dreyfuss, Robert Shaw.
Steven Spielberg demonstrated his mastery of horror with this tale of aquatic terror while avoiding his usual suburban over-sentimentality—although that does raise its dorsal fin at the Brody dinner table. With an opening that pays sly homage to The Creature from the Black Lagoon, Spielberg brilliantly keeps the monster under wraps until he needs it to make its stunning formal introduction. (Hint: "You're gonna need a bigger boat.") Then Jaws just keeps paying out the line until it has you fully hooked.
Robert Shaw, salt crusting over his avast-ye-matey delivery as the fisherman Quint, chews as much scenery as the shark does—although his USS Indianapolis monologue is as frightening as any of the attacks—while versatile Roy Scheider, as police chief Martin Brody, and believable Richard Dreyfuss, as shark expert Matt Hooper, ride with him to the white-knuckle climax as John Williams's instantly recognizable score ripples underneath. Shark-attack movies might have become more graphic—and this franchise quickly joined the chum line—but Jaws remains the one fish in the tank that I don't mind watching go around and around.
8. Rashomon (1950)
Directed by Akira Kurosawa. Written by Akira Kurosawa and Shinobu Hashimoto. Produced by Minoru Jingo. Daiei Film Co., Ltd., and RKO Radio Pictures. 88 minutes.Starring Toshiro Mifune, Takashi Shimura, Machiko Kyo, Masayuki Mori.
Just who is telling the truth here? More to the point, what exactly is "truth," anyway? Director Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon illustrates brilliantly how subjective perceptions color our understanding and interpretation of events. In this case that takes place in feudal Japan, the circumstances involving an assault, rape, and murder are told from different, conflicting points of view. The bandit Tajōmaru (Toshiro Mifune) admits in court to raping a samurai's wife, then killing her husband—but the wife (Machiko Kyō) says that he didn't kill her husband. Meanwhile, the slain husband—through a medium—provides a different account. Then there's the woodcutter (Takashi Shimura), who supplies yet another story, with all of them circling around what actually happened. Or do they?
Just about every subsequent movie that plays with objective reality takes some sort of cue from Rashomon, and it's not just the fascinating narrative that makes it so watchable. Working with cinematographer Kazuo Miyagawa, Kurosawa's painterly eye frames each shot intimately while dappling the black and white photography to enhance the ambiguity inherent in each account as Fumio Hayasaka's evocative score borrows liberally from Western sources, notably Ravel's Bolero, to provide dramatic underlining. Mifune and Kyō provide different kinds of mania while Mori is enigmatic, impassive, painting further layers of doubt onto an already-muddled portrait. I keep watching to observe all the subtly sophisticated ways we can deceive each other—and ourselves.
7. North by Northwest (1959)
Directed and produced by Alfred Hitchcock. Written by Ernest Lehman. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. 136 minutes.Starring Cary Grant, Eva Marie Saint, James Mason, Leo G. Carroll.
At some point, it is fair to ask: How many innocent-man-wrongly-accused films could Alfred Hitchcock have made? If they are anywhere near as compelling as North by Northwest, the answer is: As many as he wanted to. Hitchcock's approach to filmmaking was so audience-accessible that he often gets overlooked as a master director. North by Northwest doesn't do him any favors because it is so eminently watchable—it is hard not to be pulled in from the very beginning. Moreover, it might be the quintessential Hitchcock tale of the wronged innocent out to clear his name, as charming Roger Thornhill (Cary Grant) is plunged into international intrigue when he is mistakenly abducted from a New York hotel, then is later framed for murder, forcing him to lam it on a path that takes him—you guessed it, north by northwest—ultimately to Mount Rushmore, though not without some memorable stops along the way.
As Bernard Hermann's vertiginous score dogs him at every step, Thornhill tangles with cool blonde beauty Eve (Eva Marie Saint), who might not be who he thinks she is, and suave enemy spy Vandamm (James Mason) with the subtly menacing henchman (Martin Landau)—and with the most sinister crop-dusting biplane in cinema history in a scene that has become an iconic Hitchcock image. Leo G. Carroll, as government operative the Professor, and Jessie Royce Landis as Thornhill's flippant mother supply the levity to contrast with the moments of tension and suspense, not the least the literal cliffhanger that brings North by Northwest to a dizzying climax. Grandeur, romance, suspense—and sly wit—enliven this MacGuffin-driven gem. I laugh every time I see the train going into the tunnel during the final shot. Who said Hitch didn't have a sense of humor?
6. Goodfellas (1990)
Directed by Martin Scorsese. Written by Martin Scorsese and Nicholas Pileggi. Produced by Irwin Winkler. Warner Bros. 146 minutes.Starring Ray Liotta, Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci, Lorraine Bracco, Paul Sorvino.
The Three Sociopathic Stooges join the Mafia in this electrifying tale of the savage underbelly of the American Dream. Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather is mythic tragedy, but Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas is a visceral slice-of-life, fueled by Scorsese's and cinematographer Michael Ballhaus's kinetic camera work and a driving classic-rock soundtrack. Based on the true story of New York mobster Henry Hill, Goodfellas presents the criminal flip-side of post-World War Two American affluence in a series of gripping episodes that always threaten to explode in sudden violence—and often does—producing a corresponding series of knife-edge thrills for the viewer, even for those who have seen the film multiple times.
As Hill, Ray Liotta functions as the fulcrum between Robert De Niro's Bobby Conway, cool and calculating, and Joe Pesci's Tommy DeVito, psychotic and impulsive, as they carry out a string of robberies, hijackings, and murders for unassuming gang boss Paulie Cicero (Paul Sorvino); they become the Mafia's Three Stooges—uncouth, driven by id, they buy whatever they want and simply take what they can't buy. Meanwhile, Henry weathers an often tempestuous marriage to Karen (Lorraine Bracco), an outsider lured by Henry's illicit charisma. Scorsese makes a signature statement with Goodfellas, both on American society and on his own filmmaking prowess, while Pesci is simply terrifying here. Compulsively rewatchable.
5. The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)
Directed by David Lean. Written by Carl Foreman and Michael Wilson. Produced by Sam Spiegel. Columbia Pictures. 161 minutes.Starring Alec Guinness, Sessue Hayakawa, William Holden, Jack Hawkins, James Donald.
Alec Guinness is enthralling as Colonel Nicholson, a captured British army officer locking horns with POW camp commander Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa) while both obsess over building a railroad bridge in the Burmese jungle during World War Two. Director David Lean's lush, sweeping style epitomizes the epic motion picture—capped by the spellbinding climax—without missing the personal conflict at the story's core. Even under Saito's ruthless command, Nicholson is indomitable, displaying the will of a man driven to an undertaking that remains fascinating to behold. Guinness is so compelling that he overshadows the rest of the cast, but Hayakawa manages subtlety and emotional complexity in what could easily have been a stereotypical role.
Meanwhile, American prisoner Shears (William Holden) escapes, but only to find himself coerced into accompanying British commando Major Warden (Jack Hawkins) on a mission back into Burma to destroy the bridge, leading to the thrilling climax that remains unforgettable. True, if you think about Nicholson's motivations long enough, you'll realize how improbable they are. But Guinness's riveting performance—he is completely invested in the role of Nicholson, imbuing it with such an overriding sense of purpose that he nearly obscures the logical inconsistencies—combines with Lean's utterly compelling filmcraft to make The Bridge on the River Kwai truly larger than life, an epic film that rewards viewing time and again.
4. Chinatown (1973)
Directed by Roman Polanski. Written by Robert Towne. Produced by Robert Evans. Paramount Pictures. 131 minutes.Starring Jack Nicholson, Faye Dunaway, John Huston.
So many elements blend to make Chinatown one of the greatest crime dramas ever, not the least being screenwriter Robert Towne's famously Byzantine tale of lust, murder, incest, and water rights in Depression-era Los Angeles. Then there is Jack Nicholson's tremendous performance as Jake Gittes, the savvy, sophisticated private eye who finds himself plunged into bizarre events beyond his ken, initiated by powerful patriarch Noah Cross (an effectively crafty, creepy John Huston) and featuring alluring, mysterious beauty Evelyn Mulwray, portrayed by Faye Dunaway, who matches Nicholson point for point in scenes of raw passion and sordid fascination. There is even Gittes's bandaged nose, sliced open by a low-level thug, a bold departure from the seemingly flawless hero.
That thug is played by director Roman Polanski, who is the real mastermind behind Chinatown, his sense of timing, pacing, and shot framing combining to keep the story sufficiently veiled yet still comprehensible while coaxing performances from his cast that make the story vibrate with vivid, often contradictory complexities of human emotion. Polanski is certainly conversant in the subtle intricacies of film noir—Chinatown is redolent with homage, not the least being its time period—but informed by the schools of subsequent filmmaking, he writes a whole new chapter on it, one that has been equally influential. I watch Chinatown again and again not to figure out the story but to marvel at how cleverly and seamlessly it is brought into brilliant focus by Polanski and his actors.
3. Citizen Kane (1942)
Directed and produced by Orson Welles. Written by Herman Mankeiwicz and Orson Welles. RKO Radio Pictures. 119 minutes.Starring Orson Welles, Joseph Cotten, Everett Sloane, Dorothy Comingore.
So much has been made about how influential Citizen Kane has been—and it certainly is a textbook, maybe the textbook, on how to make an enduring film—that it's easy to miss what a great story it is: an epic tale of American hubris wrought large and of yearning for lost innocence ("Rosebud"). Infamously modeled on real-life media magnate William Randolph Hearst, Charles Foster Kane (Orson Welles) arose from Western obscurity to Eastern respectability as a crusading newspaper publisher who ultimately courts notoriety as his personal and professional ambitions threaten to engulf him in controversy and scandal. Welles's celebrated portrayal rockets from brash, youthful exuberance to arrogance and regret and finally to poignant, almost pathetic tragedy.
Told in episodic flashbacks, Citizen Kane features outstanding performances by Joseph Cotten as Kane's best friend Jed Leland, Everett Sloane as loyal Kane functionary Mr. Bernstein, and Dorothy Comingore as Kane's second wife Susan Alexander, who began first as his mistress and thus helps to propel the conceit that is Kane's downfall. Poor William Alland, whose face is never shown, portrays the reporter whose trek to discover the real Kane is the involving narrative device Welles and co-writer Herman Mankeiwicz use to convey the scope and grandeur of this sweeping story, with Gregg Toland's innovative photography earning him a spot on director Welles's title card—an auspicious honor for any crew member. In the end, though, Welles commands the center of Citizen Kane, which made him the patron saint of indie filmmakers, while his masterwork not only taught filmmakers how to make a film, it taught audiences how to watch one. Which is why I continue to watch it.
2. Casablanca (1942)
Directed by Michael Curtiz. Written by Julius Epstein, Philip Epstein, and Howard Koch. Produced by Hal B. Wallis. Warner Bros. 102 minutes.Starring Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Claude Rains, Paul Henried, Conrad Veidt.
The most remarkable aspect of this timeless classic is how essentially ordinary it is. Casablanca was just another Warner Bros. production-line melodrama—"a good hack job," to quote critic Pauline Kael—but all the elements of the Warners' approach somehow fused into cinematic immortality: Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and Paul Henried form a love triangle that reaches its apex against the backdrop of the Second World War while an array of colorful supporting players swirl around them in that Mecca for refugees fleeing the Nazis, Casablanca. Much of that comes courtesy of the celebrated script by Julius Epstein, Philip Epstein, and Howard Koch, which has yielded countless memorable quotes over the decades, and the swelling score by Max Steiner, which incorporates Herman Hupfeld's signature "As Time Goes By." And if director Michael Curtiz is relegated to the background, at least he had the good sense to get out of the way and let the narrative gather its momentum.
The centerpiece to Casablanca is of course the romantic relationship between Rick Blaine (Bogart) and Ilsa Lund (Bergman) during their affair in Paris just before its fall to Germany, even as Ilsa is secretly married to Victor Laszlo (Henreid), captured by the Nazis and presumed dead. Considering that Bergman and Bogart had a cool on-set relationship, it is a tribute to their acting abilities that they remain so convincing. And Casablanca swells with memorable performances by Dooley Wilson, Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre, S.K. Sakall, Leonid Kinskey, Madeleine LeBeau, and Joy Page. Did I forget someone? Sacre bleu! How about Claude Rains as wily Captain Renault? After all, Rains merely winds up stealing every scene he's in. As time goes by, Casablanca becomes a beautiful friendship.
1. M*A*S*H (1970)
Directed by Robert Altman. Written by Ring Lardner, Jr. Produced by Ingo Preminger. 20th Century Fox. 116 minutes.Starring Donald Sutherland, Elliot Gould, Sally Kellerman, Tom Skerritt, Robert Duvall.
M*A*S*H the television series compares to M*A*S*H the movie as cooking sherry compares to Jack Daniels. Oh, sure, the first couple of seasons tried to mimic the movie's anarchic spirit, and it almost worked at times before Wayne Rogers left and the series under Alan Alda eventually drowned in a syrupy sea of liberal sanctimony. (And I'm a fairly sanctimonious liberal myself.)
Even though both movie and television series, based on the novel by Richard Hooker, are set during the Korean conflict, director Robert Altman, ostensibly with screenwriter Ring Lardner, Jr., clearly makes the subtext for the film version the Vietnam conflict. Released at the height of the conflict, M*A*S*H features a colorful clan of countercultural rebels—all respected members of the medical profession, mind you—trying to subvert a rigid establishment, the American military, simply to keep from losing their sanity amidst the finely orchestrated madness known as war. And by staging the film in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (MASH), with numerous scenes of vivid, graphic surgical operations, Altman and company make a tremendous antiwar statement without showing one scene of combat—and without a single antiwar speech.
Elliot Gould and Donald Sutherland are unforgettable as Trapper John and Hawkeye, respectively, the brilliant surgeons who with fellow traveler Duke Forrest (Tom Skerritt) nevertheless lead the parade of hijinks, often against self-righteous Major Burns (an underrated Robert Duvall) and officious Major "Hot Lips" Houlihan (a smoldering Sally Kellerman), in a series of hilarious yet pointed episodes: How Hot Lips got her nickname; how the camp determined that Hot Lips was—or was not—a natural blonde; and how the camp dentist the Painless Pole (John Schuck) came to commit a fake suicide to prove his manhood. Altman defined his trademarks with M*A*S*H including the ensemble cast, overlapping dialog, and episodic structure while delivering an outrageously irreverent satire that remains a landmark American film. It's such a hokey cliché to say that a movie changed my life, but that is exactly what M*A*S*H did. "That is all."
Comments powered by CComment