My Sight & Sound 2022 Top 10 Films
Every 10 years, Sight & Sound Magazine releases their list of the greatest films of all time, as voted in two separate polls by directors and by critics
I made my list and wrote some of this prior to the release of the 2022 poll in November, around fifteen months ago.
When the new poll was released, in short, I was saddened. The Sight & Sound “Greatest Films of All Time” poll has actually meant something for the last 70 years. In the 2002 and 2012 polls, both the Director's and the Critic's Poll reflected on cinema across the world with incredible depth and with great thought given toward how films and directors have shaped art and culture. When I saw the 2022 poll, I was almost in disbelief that the poll had (to some degree) stooped to the position of film festivals, who now favor gender, skin color, ethnicity and sexual orientation over the artistic value of a work. Having applied to festivals over the last decade myself, I am now regularly asked to disclose my gender, race and sexual orientation as a means of selection to festivals.
Paul Schrader has suggested that “by expanding the voting community and the point system, this year’s S&S poll reflects not a historical continuum but a politically correct rejiggering.” We can choose to rewrite and even annul the history of cinema, but doing so will blind us to culture and how it has changed for both the better and for the worse throughout 130 years of films. You have to know the existence of work to value its worth over time.
If I were voting in the 2022 Sight & Sound poll, I would have chosen these ten films:
THE NEW WORLD
(Terrence Malick, 2005)
No film has changed the way I see the world, and changed my life as much as this one. I remember the night I first watched it – staying up until it was closer to dawn than dusk – going outside and sitting with the trees and night sky for a very long time following the conclusion of the film. I sat and listened. All of the things in the world that were just there were suddenly there in a completely different way – in the 23 years of life I had lived, previous to that moment, it felt as though my eyes had not perceived all that was literally in front of me. From that moment forward, creation became deeply alive to me, and I received beauty in a way I hadn't previously.
Terrence Malick has a way of reminding us of God's peace and His divine creation which continually surrounds us, even as we are often moving too fast to perceive, feel and take part in it.
I consider Malick’s first five films to be his canon and the films made after those to be a very meaningful epilogue. Any of his first five – Badlands (1973), Days of Heaven (1978), The Thin Red Line (1998), The New World (2005), and The Tree of Life (2011) – would have been a great selection.
ANDREI RUBLEV
(Andrei Tarkovsky, 1966)
Tarkovsky changed the cinema more than anyone in the post-silent era, and I think, on the whole, Rublev is his best film. Ivan's Childhood is perhaps his most interestingly photographed film. Solaris is the most underrated of his films. Mirror may be the greatest vision of autobiographical memory in cinema, along with The Tree of Life. Stalker introduced the zone – one of the greatest conceptual renderings of the spiritual and miraculous in cinema.
There are only so many words that should be shared in these reflections and perhaps trying to be concise and selective will cause me to speak through too many superlatives: why is Andrei Rublev Tarkovsky's best film? All of Tarkovsky's films mix the human and the divine, because of his orthodox belief in Jesus; the living manifestation of both divine and human. Rublev takes us through the human suffering, grief, failures and artistic creations of its protagonist. It is hard for me to think of a character I like better in almost any film than the earnest young bell maker, named Boriska, who lives by faith and hard work. Is there a better ending to a film in all of cinema. It is a conclusion that mirrors the resurrection life we've been given by Christ.
AMADEUS
(Milos Forman, 1984)
When I think of “acting” in cinema, Amadeus is the first film that comes to mind. It was written for the stage – a very anti-Bressonian concept to meld the theatre and cinema together – but who cares? Cinema comes in many forms and how many films are better acted than Amadeus?
It’s the story of the flesh versus the spirit. Salieri wonders:
“if God didn't want me to praise him with music, why implant the desire? Like a lust in my body! And then deny me the talent?”
Yet the Ten Commandments tell us that covetousness is sin – who are we to question God’s chosen instruments? Even if Mozart was, in Salieri’s words, an “obscene child” chosen to create beautiful music, only our flesh would lead us to destroy something beautiful.
Historical accuracy really is secondary to story in cinema: Amadeus is the story of a creative versus a pharisee – legalistic greed runs contrary to the mysterious hand of God at work as He chooses. And yes, Mozart is my favorite artist; certainly of the post-baroque era. I’ve listened to his music more than any modern musician. Joy and sadness permeate the same notes; I don’t think the Salieri character of Amadeus was wrong to suggest it is God’s music. Having Mozart’s music play throughout an entire film is not a bad counterpoint to a compelling story.
PARIS, TEXAS
(Wim Wenders, 1984)
Sometimes things miraculously come together, in a way you couldn’t have anticipated. Not only is this the story of Paris, Texas, but it is the story of its creation. Even while Wenders had a tremendous Sam Shepard screenplay along with a conceptual database to work with, he and his cinematographer, Robby Müller, always had a “let’s see what happens” approach; more akin to being documentary filmmakers, working within the narrative world. This allows for a film of patience and subtlety, that, as is typical of Wenders, feels so effortless.
Wings of Desire and The American Friend are both masterpieces, but Paris, Texas is his greatest storytelling and vision.
BLADE RUNNER
(Ridley Scott, 1982)
It would be impossible to have a top 10 and not include the film that got me interested in cinema, and perhaps in making films too. Upon recent viewings, I've been stunned by the sheer brutality of the film, but the Bible is pretty violent too. In a way, it was the more spiritual follow-up to 2001: A Space Odyssey – another modern tale of man running himself through mazes only to be destroyed by the thing he made. “Memories” can be God's greatest reminder to us of his divinity, and the beauty of life which he gifts – always greater than the schemes of men who falsely live as if they themselves are God.
THREE COLOURS: BLUE
(Krzysztof Kieślowski, 1993)
I could have selected the entire trilogy together, because as one they become an even more complete ode to stories of the post-Soviet Europe of the 90s, and the tales of personal transformation Kieslowski reveals to his audience.
I related to Julie’s character coming out of college, because it felt as though this thing I had given so much to (my running career) had been taken from me. Later, I realized the lies and the idolatry of my pursuits, the selfish nature which I had cultivated, the way I had taken advantage of others and the way others had taken advantage of me.
Resurrection is the way of life, especially when we learn how the identity we had crafted for ourselves was dead in the first place. The truth is freeing, not because it serves you so much as it serves others and serves God in the process of creating life rather than destroying it. Such is the journey of Julie in Blue. Three Colours: Red is perhaps a better film, but Blue is more personal to me.
L’ECLISSE
(Michelangelo Antonioni, 1962)
I made Roses, an entire 30 minute film, without realizing L’Eclisse was maybe lingering somewhere in my subconscious driving certain motifs in how I filmed. Later on, when I expanded the film to 80 minutes, I was more deliberately making odes to it in how Essays of a City was finally edited.
I’ve watched the end sequence more times than any other stanza in film history. As Scorsese once said, “it made us realize basically anything was possible with cinema.” Antonioni showed us in his films that “plot” is not as significant to cinematic storytelling as it is often made out to be. After all, what is the plot of L’Eclisse? The images and interactions tell a horrifyingly effective story of our modern culture of apathy and our unwillingness to stop and perceive the things which surround us.
In 2015, I made an unplanned trip while in Rome to the EUR district to film the images which still exist from the end montage of the film on Super 8 B&W.
GOOD MORNING
(Yasujirō Ozu, 1959)
We can all learn from Ozu. How does a film about farting and a neighborhood hold such weight? Laughter and family are vital to living and Ozu understood this very well. He always managed to insert his cultural critiques; Good Morning is an effective comment on television, and how it can be so mesmerizing and addictive, especially to children. But Ozu isn't heavy-handed in the way he goes about discussing it – he approaches the subject with humor and realizes it is always the choice of parents to determine how much they will control or, conversely, enable children in their pursuits.
Depending on how you perceive it, Good Morning isn’t as sad as most of Ozu’s films. We’re reminded how when we study the things around us, the seemingly absurd is actually the everyday rhythm of life in a community. Imagine if we knew all the stories of our neighbors and all of their business? We’re privy to certain details and can make our own assumptions of the unseen which surrounds us, but Ozu has no problem using his (literally) unmoving camera to show us what we need to know about every character in the film. In doing so, he contrasts rigidity against caving in – perhaps suggesting that neither is the solution to parenting children in an increasingly complex modernized world – one in which the adults seem more afraid than children to actually say what they think or what they are feeling.
VERTIGO
(Alfred Hitchcock, 1958)
I had planned to list Chris Marker’s La Jetée, because I may have referenced it more times than any other film, for lessons on editing rhythm. However, Vertigo was the film that inspired Marker’s reflection on the marriage between photograph and moving image in La Jetée.
If La Jetée was able to document collective memory, Vertigo did so in the form of James Stewart’s mind. Although not as likable as his character in Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life, Stewart’s Scotty may be the most important character in any modern film. As Marker put it in his film Sans Soleil: Vertigo is about “the impossibility of memory" and the need to “falsify memory” in order to move forward in time. And the genius of Hitchcock’s Vertigo is that it traces our human nature to relive memory until it feels more alive, or, in many cases, more dead to us.
BARRY LYNDON
(Stanley Kubrick, 1975)
When picking a Kubrick film, it is somewhat difficult to know which direction to go, but when forced to make a choice, I do believe Lyndon is his best film. 2001 and Dr. Strangelove would be my other near choices.
2001 is as prophetic a film as has ever been made. HAL was a logical end of humans and we’ve seen his manifestation in the way we live today. The technology we make destroys us. Dr. Strangelove took one of the heaviest concepts – an unfortunate actuality of the modern era – and showed it for the absurdity that it was. Humans want to destroy themselves yet again, by running through mazes (a la the literal image of The Shining); this is, of course, the main theme of Kubrick’s films.
And Lyndon is no different. One could make the argument that Barry’s journey is made out of necessity, but it’s not. It is a tale which parallels the biblical book of Ecclesiastes: a guy who is trying to make it in the world, who initially wants to be honest, but when he finds that others live by unjust gain the rules of the game change for him. Perhaps Barry concludes that survival hinges upon some level of greed. His story mirrors a stanza from Ecclesiastes:
“There is an evil that I have seen under the sun, and it lays heavy on mankind: a man to whom God gives wealth, possessions, and honor, so that he lacks nothing at all that he desires, yet God does not give him power to enjoy them, but a stranger enjoys many years, so that the days of his years are many, but his soul is not satisfied with life’s good things, and he also has no burial, I say that a stillborn child is better off than he.”
Barry breaks from the “wisdom” the writers of Ecclesiastes and Proverbs share, and falls into line with a man who “comes to ruin” – one who doesn’t live by wisdom. His behavior suggests, if everyone is dishonest, why can’t I take from them as well?
Barry Lyndon is one of the best photographed films of all time – if the term “every frame a painting” could be applied to a single film, it would be most appropriate for this one. It is notable that Kubrick personally designed lenses with John Alcott, which allowed him to photograph under candlelight; creating scenes that look unlike almost anything else in cinema.
Not that I don’t in some way value the films which followed Lyndon, but Kubrick got a bit too cynical with his last three movies. It is perhaps worth clarifying that The Shining is an effective comment on spiritual warfare, but not something worth watching again and again.
10 Honorable Mentions
DIARY OF A COUNTRY PRIEST
(Robert Bresson, 1951)
Not selecting a Bresson picture in my top 10 feels downright wrong! Between one of his films and one of Kubrick’s, I had to make a choice.
It’s pretty much a toss up for me, among Bresson’s many great films, between Diary of a Country Priest and A Man Escaped. Diary is the somewhat rare screen rendering that arguably surpasses the novel upon which it was based. Bernanos’ book is incredible writing, but the film is perfect.
I feel like we should be grateful that Bresson let Claude Laydu “act” in the movie, even if he later “regretted it.” It is hard for me to think of a better male acting performance in a film. Yet there is nothing about the film which feels devoid of reality. It rings document, perhaps even more so than the films where Bresson would not let the people onscreen “act.” And document is the best word to describe Bresson’s films.
In reflecting on Bresson, I realize his three films of the 50s were probably superior to his later films (yes, even Balthazar). I’ve come to believe that these movies were perhaps “less heady,” “less theoretical” and “more hopeful” than his later ones.
The final words of Diary of a Country Priest forever ring out in my head:
“What does it matter? All is grace.”
THERE WILL BE BLOOD
(Paul Thomas Anderson, 2007)
If I had to pick between There Will Be Blood and Citizen Kane, I would pick the former – even if Kane is the most influential film ever made.
Anderson, as a filmmaker, is concerned with human lust for power and what a person is willing to do to obtain it. Magnolia may actually be my favorite Anderson film, but There Will Be Blood best exemplifies his cinema and what he is interested in exploring. Anderson’s contrast of two evil characters is a biblical tale consistent with Jesus’ teaching on self-interest and “losing one’s soul.”
For an epic American tale, the only other film that could rival for this list is The Godfather.
CHARIOTS OF FIRE
(Hugh Hudson, 1981)
My love for this film has almost nothing to do with running. One of the first movies I ever saw in grade school; even then I could see it was exceptionally crafted. Everyone talks about Vangelis’ score and the photography, but one of the most overlooked elements of the film is Terry Rawlings’ editing – he understood how to edit a commercial film as well as anybody. When I think of Chariots of Fire, the word that comes to mind is the one Eric Liddell uses in his iconic conversation with his sister Jenny: “purpose.”
JFK/JFK REVISITED
(Oliver Stone 1991, 2021)
No event in the 20th century has changed the trajectory of the country I live in as much as the assassination of JFK. The aftermath built up national cynicism and created political division (that perhaps has not been the same since). Oliver Stone, along with many others, helped reveal the truth to people around the world about what likely happened on November 19, 1963, through thoughtful exploration and masterful filmmaking. I’m including the 2021 documentary follow up as well, because I think it clears up some of the loose ends of the original film.
ORDET
(Carl Theodor Dreyer, 1955)
Dreyer’s best film has to be on any list. I find it curious that, outside of a particular circle of film watchers, the majority of Dreyer’s cinema still seems relatively unknown in America.
Gertrud, Day of Wrath and The Passion of Joan of Arc all rank among the greatest films ever made, but Ordet exposes the heretic in all of us who point the finger and say “how dare you.” Belief is always greater than unbelief, even when doubt feels real for those who believe. God uses the seemingly absurd to humble us.
THE GENERAL
(Buster Keaton and Clyde Bruckman, 1926)
A nod to this over Chaplin’s City Lights as my favorite silent film; it has a more documentary feel to it than many Chaplin pictures, and was filmed in my home state of Oregon. A true relic of the cinema from the earlier 20th century – after all, what is more cinematic and more American than the railroad?
HOME ALONE
(Chris Columbus, 1990)
All those childhood and teenage dreams of home invasion had their root somewhere from Home Alone. Though this may seem a strange film to mention for a greatest films of all time list, it has to be here.
Home Alone embodied an entire era of America cinema in the 90s, which was really rooted in the suburbs. John Hughes understood something about the conscious of children living a suburban life which was articulated with peculiar singularity in the imagination and absurdity found in Home Alone.
It’s also worth noting how the gags of silent era films (like those of Chaplin, Keaton and Lloyd) influenced the slapstick of Home Alone 1 & 2.
THE ASCENT
(Larisa Shepitko, 1977)
In terms of the non-Tarkovsky Russian films, almost any Urusevsky/Kalatozov collaboration (Letter Never Sent, I Am Cuba or The Cranes Are Flying) would be a fine film to include, but Shepitko’s film is notable in how it illustrates that we all have the capacity to make decisions which reflect Jesus or Judas in how we live, particularly under extreme wartime distress. I’m not sure I’ve seen the color white used so aptly in any film as it is in The Ascent.
WINTER LIGHT
(Ingmar Bergman, 1962)
Bergman made four of his best films, nearly in succession, in The Virgin Spring, Through A Glass Darkly, Winter Light and The Silence. The latter three films make up Bergman’s “Faith Trilogy.” In Winter Light, it feels as if Bergman said the gist of nearly everything he was trying to say in a single film.
MONSIEUR HULOT’S HOLIDAY
(Jacques Tati, 1953)
Tati and Bresson used sound like others didn’t. They both felt that the sound of a door was among the most important in cinema. Sound is what creates rhythm, and, for Tati, comedy. His Hulot character was physically bumbling like Chaplin’s tramp, yet differentiated by a more palpable sound economy. Perhaps Mon Oncle and Playtime were greater spectacles, but Mr. Hulot’s Holiday was the most charming of Tati’s films.
Great list. I am a big Paris, Texas fan too. And I've always had a soft spot for Chariots of Fire — it always makes me cry. I'm also a Tati fan. For Kubrick, Barry Lyndon over 2001 is surprising but I respect that. Oh, and I love seeing the Three Colours trilogy represented, even if Red is my favorite (Blue is great too).