#20 — William Wyler (1902 - 1981) I had a lot of names penciled into this final spot at various points. Originally it was
Frank Borzage — largely because I watched
The Mortal Storm recently and he made things work in that film that had no right working and I totally respect him for that — but I decided I should really check out
History Is Made at Night before canonizing Borzage like that. And
Henry King was here, on the strength of
Twelve O'Clock High and
The Gunfighter; and
King Vidor, just because I love his overall sensibility, not to mention
The Big Parade,
The Crowd, and the amazing finale of
Our Daily Bread, among others;
George Cukor ("C. K. Dexter Haven!");
Richard Brooks, also for his overall sensibility;
Rouben Mamoulian;
Sidney Lumet;
Robert Siodmak;
Jean-Pierre Melville, whom I might regret not putting here after I finally see
Le Doulos; and, lastly,
Andrzej Wajda. But every time I matched someone up against Wyler, it was Wyler who came out on top. It certainly helps that I just recently got to see
The Best Years of Our Lives in 35mm, and I spent as much time at that screening drooling over Wyler's direction as I did drooling over Gregg Toland's photography. It really is just a masterfully directed film, from the performances he gets out of the cast (I don't think Fredric March was ever better) to the perfect blocking of every action and the precise (but never forced or theatrical) manipulation of composition and spatial relationships within every frame to add so much nuance to the surprisingly understated script. It's one of those films that's ill-suited for a DVD commentary because there are too many subtly brilliant moments to point out without pausing and rewinding. And it's those moments, the same kind evident in films like
Roman Holiday,
Detective Story,
Jezebel, and
Dead End, that earn Wyler a spot on this list. Plus he gets bonus points for having a strong documentary to his credit —
The Memphis Belle.
#19 — Werner Herzog (b. 1942) Herzog was an unexpected last-minute addition to my list.
Fitzcarraldo made my Top 20 Films list, and I like most of his other collaborations with Klaus Kinski (though I have no real use for
Nosferatu), but even with the bonus points he gets for having many good documentaries in his filmography (this will be a theme), I still didn't expect him to make the cut here. Not sure why that is — maybe just a carry-over effect from my being lukewarm on
Rescue Dawn. What changed my mind though was thinking about which directors have multiple films that I'm totally excited to see even though I know nothing about them. So Herzog makes my list as much for the films I haven't seen —
The Mystery of Kasper Hauser (aka
Every Man for Himself and God Against All) and
Where the Green Ants Dream, for starters — as for the ones I have. I guess it pays to title your films well (or to get them titled well in translation).
#18 — Pier Paolo Pasolini (1922 - 1975) Like with Herzog and a few other names on this list, Pasolini's appeal, for me, is as much in what he tries to do, what he's interested in doing, as in what he's actually successful in doing.
The Gospel According to St. Matthew and
Salò are great enough to earn him mention here, but it's more just that I feel, almost instinctively, I guess, that he's interested in the same characters and the same attributes of those characters that interest me. I can't really pinpoint where that comes from, but for whatever reason I trust him and want to go wherever he takes me. Hmm, wait, I wonder if that's the same sort of attitude that got him killed.
#17 — Michael Powell (1905 - 1990) and Emeric Pressburger (1902 - 1988) Um, yeah, these guys are good. Adam and Matty should do a marathon of their films or something. And they should get their own separate Random Screenshot thread because just the look of their films is enough to get them mentioned here. Using color well is important, you know? I also like Powell's Pressburger-less work on
The Thief of Bagdad and
Peeping Tom, but I haven't been able to work up the courage to watch
Age of Consent. I just get the feeling I'm gonna miss Emeric's presence too much on that one.
#16 — Jean Renoir (1894 - 1979) It starts for me with
The Little Match Girl. Renoir just hypnotized me with that film. Then you got your
La Chienne, your
Boudu Saved from Drowning, and your
Crime of Monsieur Lange, and that's probably already enough to get on this list, without even mentioning
Grand Illusion and
The Rules of the Game, the second of which probably should have been on my Top 20 Films list. In fact, Renoir should probably be higher here, only I haven't seen much by him recently and I have a lot of his film left to see. Let's do this again next year and see where we stand, okay?
#15 — Preston Sturges (1898 - 1959) There was a moment when I wasn't positive Sturges would make my list. I was remembering my general disappointment with
Hail the Conquering Hero and
Miracle of Morgan's Creek and the fact that I don't quite love
The Lady Eve as much as I want to. Also working against Sturges was the fact that I value his writing more than his directing, which was really the deciding factor in
Joseph L. Mankiewicz and
John Sayles not making my Top 20. But then I remembered the absolutely sublime filmmaking at the end of
Sullivan's Travels along with how much I love and enjoy
The Great McGinty,
The Palm Beach Story, and
Unfaithfully Yours, and I thought, yeah, I'd be really dumb to leave him off. Really, really dumb.
#14 — Jean-Luc Godard (b. 1930) What I said about respecting Pasolini as much for what he attempts as for what he accomplishes, that applies ten-fold to Godard. He didn't direct
The 400 Blows, nor could he have, but overall he's just such a more interesting filmmaker than Truffaut. I certainly won't be accusing him of complacency any time soon. And, what can I say, I love jump cuts and pinball machines and self-reflexivity and general coolness and pretentiousness made strangely palatable and blue-painted faces and clouds of meaning in a cup of coffee.
#13 — Wim Wenders (b. 1945) Oh my god, back-to-back living directors! There must have been a mistake. I actually really like that Wenders ended up next to Godard because I think their sensibilities complement each other nicely. Godard puts Sam Fuller and Fritz Lang in his movies; Wenders made a film with Nicholas Ray (which I still need to see, dammit). Except whereas Godard is sort of a contemptuous hipster dick about everything (in a fun way!), Wenders is more of an enthusiastic nerd. Instead of scoffing at the Americanization of the world, he's more like, "Wow, that's fascinating. And, you're right, I could totally use a Coke right now. Thanks!" Wenders also gets the customary bonus points for having made some strong documentaries (
Tokyo-Ga,
Notebook on Cities on Clothes) and for having awesomely titled films that I'm super anxious to see (
The Goalie's Anxiety at the Penalty Kick,
Until the End of the World).
#12 — Buster Keaton (1895 - 1966) I really didn't know what to do with
Chaplin and Keaton. They're both very awesome, and I can't easily justify my inclusion of Keaton and exclusion of Chaplin here. Mostly just instinct — plus Keaton gets my self-reflexivity bonus points. And I'll always take a stone-faced guy over a kick to the seat of the pants. But, yeah, even though I've seen plenty of their films, I still don't feel I've given these two all the attention they warrant. I certainly can't speak about them with any great authority. But enough about me. Have you seen
The General and
Sherlock Jr and all those great Keaton shorts? Well, if not, you should. And so should I. Again.
#11 — Howard Hawks (1896 - 1977) There are usually a few moments in a Howard Hawks movie when I get the impression he has no idea what he's doing behind the camera (DeMille is the same way). These moments usually follow and precede long stretches of brilliance (here ends the parallel to DeMille — BURN!). I find this all very confusing. One way or another, though, he's a damn fine storyteller and responsible for more than his fair share of great films, including
Bringing Up Baby,
His Girl Friday,
To Have and Have Not,
The Big Sleep,
Red River, and
I Was a Male War Bride, a film which contains my pick for the funniest moment in film history.
Scarface,
Only Angels Have Wings, and
Sergeant York have their moments, too, but I'm not that big on
Twentieth Century and
Ball of Fire and I can't work up any interest for his work after 1950 (including the much revered
Rio Bravo).
Ceiling Zero and
Air Force are very high on my list of films to see. Can't wait.
#10 — Fred Zinnemann (1907 - 1997) My god, I had no idea this post would get so long, and I'm only halfway done. I'll be so happy if one person reads this whole thing. Anyway, Fred Zinnemann. I do believe I started
a thread on him at some point, so no surprise that he's here. Plus, you know, he's awesome. His resume is every bit as strong as Hawks', but I never ever doubt whether or not he knows what he's doing behind the camera. He's the ultimate Hollywood craftsman. Right up there with Wyler. What sets him apart for me, though, is realist aesthetic he brought to post-war Hollywood cinema. It's interesting to compare
The Best Years of Our Lives with Zinnemann's
The Search. I love both, but Zinnemann's precisely rugged immersion into the rubble of post-war Europe feels so much more alive to me than Wyler's perfectly composed domestic interiors. (Though the scene in
Best Years with Dana Andrews in the airplane scrap yard shows that Wyler was comfortable with a similar aesthetic, something he utilized more a few years later with
Roman Holiday.) Hmm, what else can I say? I mean, have you seen
High Noon? Pretty awesome. And Marlon Brando's film debut in
The Men? Pretty awesome. And
From Here to Eternity? The rare film that's better than the book. And
The Nun's Story? The last scene of that film is a master class in directing. Just like the scene in
Day of the Jackal when the Jackal tests his gun. So good. So very, very good.
#9 — Frank Capra (1897 - 1991) Frank Capra is one of the two filmmakers I credit with getting me to care about film in the first place (well, four if you count Cary Grant and James Stewart). So he's got that going for him. And though
It's a Wonderful Life made my Top 20 Films list, it was more
Mr. Deeds Goes to Town,
Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and
You Can't Take It With You that first grabbed my interest. He's just such an appealing storyteller. It kills me whenever his films are dismissed with that 'Capracorn' label. I hate to see his skills as a filmmaker diminished or completely obscured by the general sentiment of his films. (I guess the same thing happens with Spielberg.) Anyway,
It's a Wonderful Life is another one of those films that's so wonderfully crafted with such attention to detail that I discover something new and amazing in it every year when I watch it. I should start watching some of Capra's other films on a yearly basis, too. It's been way too long since I've seen some of them.
#8 — Abbas Kiarostami (b. 1940) I'm not sure if, in working through all of 1StrongOpinion's Top Directors Working Today polls, I declared Kiarostami my favorite active director, but I probably should have. Very few working filmmakers even made my shortlist for this new project.
Ken Loach was on there.
Spike Lee.
Michael Apted (just for the
Up series) and
Richard Linklater (just for
Before Sunrise and
Before Sunset) eked on there.
Jacques Rivette,
Francis Ford Coppola, and a few other veterans. And then some younger wildcards like
Lukas Moodysson,
Steve James,
Wes Anderson,
Michael Moore,
Hirokazu Kore-eda, and
Cédric Klapisch. You know, I'm not really sure what sets Kiarostami so far apart from all of them. Well, for one thing, he hits the bonus points jackpot for having made not just a strong documentary but a strongly self-reflexive documentary. I was totally impressed, watching
ABC Africa, at Kiarostami's confidence in playing with the medium and knowing exactly how far he could push things and just how much he could get away with. I love everything about his aestethic, and I can't wait to see whatever film of his I track down next.
#7 — Frederick Wiseman (b. 1930) A ha! I had one more active director up my sleeve. This is kind of a faith pick by me because, unless I'm forgetting something, I've only seen Wiseman's first two films,
Titicut Follies and
High School. But I'm pretty confident, just from those, that I have a very good idea of who Wiseman is as a filmmaker, what he stands for, and what I can expect from the rest of the films — and, despite what I said in my introduction about not making a point of watching every movie in a director's filmography, I'm pretty much determined to see everything Wiseman has ever made. Hopefully sooner than later.
#6 — Alfred Hitchcock (1899 - 1980) Oh, Hitch, you troublesome beast. I had no idea where to rank him on this list. For one thing, he's the other director besides Capra to fuel my interest in cinema. He's made a billion great films (I'm partial to the ones in black-and-white) and there are still plenty of films in his filmography that I can't wait to see (starting with
The Lodger). Okay, that's the good stuff. But Hitchcock is also one of those directors, like the aforementioned and unlisted Ford and Wilder, with undercurrents to many of his films that really bother me — except even moreso. So here I am with no women filmmakers on my list but ranking a guy with a pretty strong misogynistic bent in the sixth spot. Joy. But, yeah,
Shadow of a Doubt and
The 39 Steps and
Foreign Correspondent and
Psycho and most of those other films are really, really good, and as a storyteller and a technician and all that, Hitchcock is often without equal. So that's that.
#5 — Krzysztof Kieslowski (1941 - 1996) Not only are there two many men on my list, but too many asshole men. A bunch of egotistical, self-aggrandizing tyrants. So, in a way, this entry is the perfect followup to Hitchcock because, more than anyone else on this list, Kieslowski is the director whose films make me want to hang out with him, to sit on the swings in an empty playground, drinking hot apple cider at a winter sunset, reminiscing about what we as children expected from life as adults and how we were more right than we knew except in the ways we were oh so wrong. As a bonus, he seems to have made only great films or films that were very close to greatness.
Camera Buff,
Blind Chance,
Dekalog,
Double Life of Veronique, the
Three Colors trilogy — I have no complaints there. He probably shouldn't have died, though. He lost some points there.
#4 — Robert Bresson (1907 - 1999) If you take what I love about Fred Zinnemann, combine it with what I love about Frederick Wiseman, and then make it a little French, I think you sort of get Robert Bresson. As kind of an extension of my taste for documentary impulses, I'm a total sucker for the details of process in storytelling, and Bresson is pretty much the king of this, both in his filmmaking method and in the details of the stories he tells. I love his commitment to what he does and how he does it, and the results are wonderful and compelling and wonderfully compelling. I should stop writing now and go rent
Mouchette.
#3 — Chuck Jones (1912 - 2002) I feel bad about this one because I'm pretty sure it's going to lead to a flood of private messages to frozenhamster with people asking to edit their lists because they didn't think to include Chuck Jones. But, with preemptive apologies to my BFF, I couldn't submit a list without Jones on it (unless I was in more of a
Friz Freleng or
Tex Avery mood, I guess). I mean, talk about bonus points for self-reflexivity. You've seen
Duck Amuck, right? It's kind of perfect. And there are many more like it. I mean, I saw
His Girl Friday on 35mm a couple years ago, and they screened
No Barking beforehand, and it by itself was one of the best films I saw in the theater that year. Just so amazing and so seemingly effortless. And now I can't wait until Christmas to watch
How the Grinch Stole Christmas and admire again just how perfect and awesome Jones' work can be.
#2 — F. W. Murnau (1888 - 1931) I had no idea Murnau was my second favorite director of all time. He might actually be my number one; I haven't really sorted that all out yet. This is all based on just three films, too:
Nosferatu,
The Last Laugh, and
Sunrise. None of those made my Top 20 Films list, which seems pretty dumb since all three are probably worthy. I think, going by memory, I'd rank
The Last Laugh as my favorite right now. Few films have blown me away like that one did on first viewing. It's pretty astonishing. And those other two are just as good, which is why Murnau finds himself so high on this list. Three masterpieces. That's a very rare thing.
#1 — Robert Flaherty (1884 - 1951) Not to be outdone by Murnau, Flaherty has three masterpieces of his own:
Nanook of the North,
Man of Aran, and
Louisiana Story. And that's all I've seen from him so far. What's weird is that my top two directors were supposed to collaborate on
Tabu; and even though Flaherty left the project, it's even weirder that I still haven't seen
Tabu. I should probably make that a priority, huh? Maybe it'll be enough to bump Murnau up to the top spot here. Really, though, even though I think Flaherty totally deserves to be here on the basis of those three films and his great influence on both fiction and nonfiction cinema, I put him at the top of my list partly for symbolic purposes, too. Documentary filmmakers seem to have a much harder time putting together the string of films necessary to earn consideration for lists like these. The same kind of support network isn't there on either the production or distribution side of things (Thor's Best Documentary Oscar polls underscored that distribution issue pretty effectively). Flaherty was a total pioneer here, but even he struggled to get projects off the ground and find the means to complete them. So even though it's just his name on the top of my list, I mean for him also to represent some of those that came after him, like John Grierson and Humphrey Jennings, Robert Drew and Richard Leacock, D.A. Pennebaker and the Maysles brothers, Michael Roemer and Shirley Clarke, Martin Bell and Rob Epstein, Errol Morris and Michael Moore, and a bunch of others I'm too tired to think of right now.
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