My Favorite Movies

Salvation, redemption, forgiveness. What do they all mean? Are they given or earned? Is it human reward? These are profound themes for any work of art to even attempt to approach, but Tim Robbins death penalty film 'Dead Man Walking' achieves startling truth with great responsibility, affecting nuance and genuine, wrenching drama. It is a picture that, through the most disturbing actions and morally haunting ideas, leaves you truly thinking, truly feeling.

Sister Helen Prejean lives in a poor community, working with local children and her friends in improving the lives of those she can. She simply wants to do well, spread goodness and listen to the word of God. She's no religious fanatic, full of respect for almost everyone. But the true essence of her soul is tested when she is invited to see convicted murderer Matthew Poncelent, and work to help him repent for his heinous crimes.

This is an intense and provocative screen relationship that avoids clichéd romance or expected repentance by identifying two vastly different people as real human beings, with raw, unwavering emotions. Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn give absolutely superlative performances, of the highest calibre; as Sister Helen Sarandon exudes a quiet vulnerability unprepared for the levels of hate she has never been exposed too, and Penn excels as the sadistic, nasty murderer who hides a loneliness and need for acceptance between layers of macho persona.

Robbins may have his opinion on the use of the death penalty, but while they can be deduced, they are certainly not preachy or excessively ladled on our conscience. The director never manipulates our mindset, exploits political stance or takes sides. The film doesn't resort to sentimental tactics to rouse emotions, but draws us into conversation and debate, dialogue that entrances us, even if only momentarily, to believe in the characters words, and so endearingly want to empathise with almost everyone. It is a challenging, mature screenplay of the highest level.

The direction is also flawless; Robbins uses reflection, flashback and barrier as marvellous technical symbols, and has created a compelling and absorbing film with an unfathomable sense of grief and wretchedness, one that balances both arguments to a point of gratifying frustration. He appreciates the complexities of reality, and his drama is as realistic as one is likely to come across - it contains black humour, awkward pause and a great sadness that we, as the film, are almost unwilling to express for fear of opening our minds, or hearts, to particular individuals.

And despite such sorrow, anguish and desperate need for fulfilment, the film manages to end on a perfectly acceptable, appropriate high note, uplifting as it needs to be; for as Helen says in the final scene "Perhaps, together, we can find a way to overcome our hate". It's the spiritual philosophy of doing what is right that Robbins is at pains to subtly encourage; that he, Penn and Sarandon can convey such mutually harrowing and poignant drama wrapped in the most important of messages is a testament to all their talent and courage. 'Dead Man Walking' throws your mind and soul into impossible debate, with your heart struggling to avoid intervention. Redemption, salvation, forgiveness. Definitions are immaterial; the search for meaning is inevitable.

In the thick forests of a corner of Franco's fascist era Spain, in the gardens of a deserted military outpost where a ruthless General governs his men with the barbaric will to succeed, writer and director Guillermo Del Toro offers his audience a ray of hope and a hint of magic with his ethereal fantasy 'Pan's Labyrinth'. Through the eyes of the young protagonist, Ofelia, he invites us into become absorbed in a traditional tale of a kind heart persevering in a cruel world, and when all seems doomed to fail he lulls us gently to sleep, so we can awake with newfound strength and conviction, determined to find the good in us all.

When I first saw 'Pan's Labyrinth' I was almost certain of its greatness; five viewings later and none of the impact has been diminished. The majesty of the execution is intimidating; the technical mastery astonishing. Few pictures are so alive with passion and dedication; you can see Del Toro has poured his heart and soul into bringing his fairytale to life, repeatedly utilising his imaginative prowess in the most remarkable of ways.

'Pan's Labyrinth' has been advertised as a fantasy, and it certainly has supernatural elements, but to define the film through genre is to discredit the ambiguity of Del Toro's beautifully poetic language. In an opening narration of rhythmic delicacy, we are told the story of the King of the Underworld, "where there are no lies or pain", and how his daughter escaped one day into the world of humanity. It is too late to save her, and the King opens a number of portals across the planet to ensure his daughter's soul, perhaps in another body, may one day return to him.

It is implicitly requested we compare such a world with our own, which adds a reason for the setting in the midst of war and human conflict. World War Two is still raging on, innocent lives lost for the irreparable disputes of men with power. Ofelia is the embodiment of innocence; she and her heavily pregnant mother are due to live with her new 'father', General Vidal, but Ofelia's heart and loyalty belong to the one she lost. "It is just a word" says her mother.

At their new home Vidal runs the camp with precision and brute force. He values timekeeping, organisation, strength; but is obsessed with honour and legacy. Sergi Lopez ensures the character never becomes a one-dimensional villain, the epitome of pure evil, for that would dilute his humanity; and the General is surely human. Cold, mean-spirited, sadistic; but human nonetheless. At a dinner party a guest asks to hear the tale of the General?s father, who smashed his watch in battle so his son knew the exact time of his death. We have seen Vidal with this watch; it is well-polished, ticks perfectly, always safe. "No such watch exists", he replies to the guest.

All this drama serves a great purpose in laying strong foundations of human feeling for the fantasy sequences. Del Toro's subtlety in establishing character invites us to engage in more thought about what they are feeling, and why. The housemaid Mercedes, for example, takes a shine to Ofelia, and is clearly a woman with a good soul. Why then does she work for such an uninhibited monster? The house doctor too seems alienated from society at the camp; his expressions and glances repeatedly give this away, but nobody of importance is paying any attention. Del Toro suggests there is more to these characters, and wants us to believe that kindness will prevail.

The fantasy is the best kind of fantasy; not laughably clunky or ridiculously out of place, but a kind that perfectly blends into the reality already established. The gothic, intoxicating atmosphere flows smoothly between one world and the next; the tone never veers off course. One night a fairy invites Ofelia into the labyrinth, where she meets a faun who informs her of her fate. Three tasks must be completed before the full moon, and she may return to her true home.

Ofelia's undertaking of these tasks is delicately paralleled with her mother's on-going pregnancy and the battle of resisting Guerrilla forces in the neighbouring hillside, yet Del Toro assuredly works 'Pan's Labyrinth' into a cohesive whole. His knack for magnificent storytelling keeps the pace tight and our interest fully maintained. When tragedy strikes there is an overwhelming sense of shock and fear. And as the guerrilla's gain ground, and as the full moon approaches, the sense of urgency spills into euphoria and panic.

Del Toro's employment of metaphor and symbolism never seems to threaten such compelling drama. The narration, which he personally translated, doesn't tell us about the imagery on screen, but adds to it, offers us more to think about. The visual and aesthetic qualities highlight the thematic content rather than divert from it. Such a talent to transition all this material so eloquently gives rise to the most interesting question of 'Pan's Labyrinth'; is what we see through Ofelia's imagination, or is it a fully integrated part of the same world?

All of this, all these components born from a natural master of his art propel us to an enthralling and spellbinding finale, culminating at the heart of the labyrinth, where innocence and darkness are locked in inevitable battle where only one can truly claim victory. What makes 'Pan's Labyrinth' so profound, what lends its genuine impact is, I think, Del Toro's precision with not just what is interesting, but what is necessary. Every element of the film means something; not a shot or moment is wasted. And visually, soulfully, the director strikes a chord of humanity.

'Pan's Labyrinth' has deservedly won widespread critical acclaim and a host of awards, including the Academy Awards for Art Direction and Cinematography. It was robbed of the awards for Original Score and Foreign- Language Film, as well as corresponding Picture and Director nominations. It is the best film of 2006. It is a potent, gothic, awe-inspiring fantasy; a searing, blistering account of war; and a sublime affirmation of the resilience of the human spirit. It is an undeniable masterpiece.

'United 93' is a vivid and desperate realisation of the worst terrorist atrocities in modern history. It's an extremely intense and involving film that keeps you gripped at almost every moment, holding onto our own seats as the sudden oncoming of violence and imminent death feel the most real, genuine and foereboding they have ever felt. The director opts to unfold the events in real time, and combined with the use of a hand-held camera this adds to the authentic style, and the lack of an A-List cast helps maintain the realism and gives us a sense of how normality is interrupted by these disastrous events, and how it evokes the bravery and courage in what appear to be the most normal, regular people you are likley to meet in the street. Still, the film is not soppy or sentimental, as that would only be insulting - instead it is deeply moving, at the same time terrifying, and ultimately shocking - the predicatable quality of the film never deterring us from these emotions. Greengrass deservedly won a Bafta, and an Oscar nomination - he could not have delivered such a story in a more powerful and thoughtful way as this.

'Beauty and the Beast' is one of the few pictures in the history of the fairy-tale genre which can truly boast perfection; it is, in every respect, unashamedly enchanting, magical and romantic. No other words suffice to encapsulate the sheer majesty of this film. Disney put together exemplary displays of animation, character, plot, colour and wonderful melody to bring definitive legend to life; 'Beauty and the Beast' is the pinnacle by which so many other animated films and fairytales should be judged.

The tale begins Once upon a time, (as the best ones always do) on the outskirts of a small French village. The animation and iconography are spellbinding; never has there been such detailed forestry and tumbling waterfalls as in the opening scene, or such an imposing, awe-inspiring gothic castle as the Beast's isolated home. The meticulous detail and soft score enhance the traditional prologue with great effect. It's a moving, involving introduction.

The story, well known as it is, includes some modern revisions; Belle is now an only child, and a feminist in the 18/19th century village. The beast's attendants and servants have also been transformed into household objects under the witch's magical spell. And Belle's suitor, the arrogant, masochistic Gaston, will do anything to make the headstrong girl his wife.

Already you have the classic elements of a great story. But it is in the advanced character development and strong emotional thrust that elevate the picture beyond it's counterparts. This isn't a love at first sight, by any means. As one of the character's observes "These things take time". But the Beast has little time before the enchanted rose withers, and earning the love of a beautiful woman is no easy feat here. The mature screenplay by Linda Woolverton centres on this struggling romance without ever reducing the stakes to call it 'a children's picture'. You sense the Beasts love and Belle's sympathy simultaneously, slowly evolving, until you want the pair to fall for each other; that she takes longer than him underpins an urgency in the film, where the audience are desperately seeking final happiness.

The direction too, is crisp and refined around romantic ideals. In embarking on endless creative endeavour directors Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise use a 'camera' that swoops, zooms and swerves around character movement and magnificent settings, wonders of artistry themselves. The film has a great dose of humour too, but by restraining itself to an 'internal reality' where magic exists but, unlike most animated pictures, animals do not speak and physical pain is possible, the film holds a sense of logic. Feeling isn't always articulated. Actions have consequences.

And who doesn't remember 'Beauty and the Beast' if not for its marvellous, striking music. Composer Alan Menken and the late lyricist Howard Ashman crafted some of the finest songs in the Disney canon, each with the benefit of advancing the narrative or adding character insight. And they are marvellous to listen too. The Oscar winning titular ballad, sung in the famous ballroom sequence, is a naunced showstopper.

'Beauty and the Beast' remains to this day the only animated feature film ever nominated for the Best Picture Oscar. In such a weak year it ought to have won, and picked up additional directing and screenplay nominations among the six it already garnered. I cannot heap enough praise upon this picture. You just have to watch and be swept away by its sheer grandeur and feeling. So few animated films now are willing to embrace traditional storytelling. They are overloaded with crude gags and pop music, and suffer for it. 'Beauty and the Beast' remains a masterpiece. A lot could be learned from it.

Steven Spielberg's 'Saving Private Ryan' is a revolutionary war film, pushing the boundaries of what an audience is comfortable witnessing but ultimately becoming an affirmation of human life itself. The direction is relentless; in exposing the grotesque, graphic violence of warfare, in unearthing the trauma and unstable mentality invoked by battle, and in the realisation that war shapes not only a personality, or characteristics, but changes the individual so deeply the process is forever irreversible. In this true life story eight men are sent on a mission to find Private Ryan, so he can return home to his mother, his three elder brothers having already been killed in combat. As Captain John Miller - leader of the task - Tom Hanks excels; he gives a profound performance that emotionally resonates with the viewer continuously, through speech, comfort, humour and actions. Spielberg demonstrates a true passion and dedication to this material, and we are so inexplicably drawn into the realistic world he creates. There is no melodrama, no conventions, no soppy cliché's - he treats war as sensitive subject matter, and not a single scene, line or shot is wasted in delivering an insightful, truly original masterpiece of cinema. It is technically perfect, artistically, sometimes beautifully shot, authentically created and realised and constructed with precision and flair. With 'Schindler's List' Spielberg illustrated how one man helped save hundreds of lives by doing the seemingly impossible; here, he reveals how several men save just one life, but it deserves exactly the same praise and admiration. At times 'Saving Private Ryan' is gut wrenchingly sad, and then later situational humour edges away the tension - it appreciates the complexities of the character's lives and how they must deal with such horror, such anguish and despair of war. From the dramatic opening sequence to the harrowing climax, Spielberg grabs hold of your gut, forcing you to consume this story with fullest impact. He acknowledges the trivial, understands moral dilemma, the hazy fog between the seemingly right and wrong, and urges us to remember; as the closing credits roll the echoes of those lost don't ever seem to fade. That this failed to win Best Picture is a travesty - 'Saving Private Ryan' is a triumph of a film.

I wonder if 'patriotic' is an appropriate word to describe 'Born on the Fourth of July'. Given the title alone it would seem so, and those iconic opening scenes of a fifties post-war street, flags waving vigorously and family units huddled together really encompass the American meaning of the word. They aren't mawkish, and the protagonists justifications in applying for the U.S Marine Corps on the verge of the Vietnam War aren't immature or squeamish; here is a kid who is truly devoted to serving his country, not for personal honour or glory, but because he genuinely believes it is the right thing to do; it is what should be done, and by all lads his age.

'Born on the Fourth of July' is the true-life story of war veteran Ron Kovic, who did once believe in such sentiments. It may seem predictable today, even a cliché, but it would be completely unexpected to him that those war experiences would change him; change what type of person he is, change him physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually. He was unprepared for such changes, and director Oliver Stone brings together a drama that truly embodies this ideal, with the inclusion of how Kovic would eventually adjust to them in the anti-war riots that follow back home.

This is a superb piece of cinema on so many levels; empathetic without indulging into romanticism; realistic and, at times, brutally shocking; and quite literally mentally straining, because you realise how unimaginable and incomprehensible such experiences are to those who haven't felt such terror, hurt or anguish. Pain in the face of apparent victory, or guilt over the accidental, unnecessary loss of another.

Remembering the film is pre-'Saving Private Ryan' I wondered if Spielberg was influenced by the Vietnam section, which is rather grotesquely violent for 1989, and realised how innovative the film truly is. It's impact hasn't been forgotten, and it's influence still stands strong.

John Williams rousing score stands as a masterpiece alone among the great technical achievements of the film, including cinematography laced with an authentic edge and the director seamlessly weaving the film's different eras without making the narrative choppy or inconsistent. Tom Cruise also proves he is more than worth actor status than his 'celebrity' label would offer, delivering a riveting, and emotional performance as Kovic.

'Born on the Fourth of July' is an expertly crafted chronicle of one man's life, and how he strove to do right first in one way, and then by other means. The picture stands the test of time, and that is what makes this a masterpiece in film; stirring, haunting, and emotionally poignant. Stone's best director Oscar was truly deserved. It's all too easy to rally aside Kovic by the film's end, and the picture depicts how so very few will truly understand how he and so many others suffered, for a misled cause.

Some films need nothing other than a well-written, well-acted simple story to propel it to the top section of cinema's greatest achievements. 'Stand By me' is not only such a film, but has a lot of hidden meaning under all that light-hearted fun and mischief; not that this meaning is too deep or disturbing - it simply complements the ideals behind the film, enhancing the joyous atmosphere and making the meaning all that more profound. The four young actors show talent and promise, but most of all genuine enthusiasm for the film. The director takes the best option to not interfere too much, so the gentle pace and uncompromised observation portrays the themes so well: we are not only presented with the naivety and innocence of childhood, but how utterly peaceful and content with life this make us. The film has it's darker moments, but only in the context of the character's ages - it's amazing to remember how we once felt about such trivial things, and how much humour it gives us now. The film is a strong ode to friendship, not only to the strength and courage it creates, and the happiness it brings, but how it is such a rare thing to come across as we grow up. And still, you can't help but walk away from the film brimming with sheer delight, and an extreme desire to watch it all over again.

She was a simple girl, with "no personality and not being pretty". He combed his hair and looked like James Dean, and she thinks "he is the most handsomest man I've ever seen". They secretly fell in love after meeting on her front lawn. And when her daddy found out he shot him so they could be together.

Terrence Malick's directorial debut 'Badlands' is a haunting love story, a journey about two lost souls who find themselves hunted by the authorities after turning to murder to escape their past. The press claim she has him wrapped around her little finger, but he seems to be leading the way for the most part. Malick's vision is almost classical in it's philosophy, but eccentric and unique in execution.

Inspired by the committed murders of Charles Starkweather and Caril Ann Fugate, Kit and Holly are a pair of loved-up teens who are almost alienated from the rest of the world. Spacek narrates as shy and naive Holly as though writing the memoirs of an Austen love story in her diary, and views the world through her teenage glasses with an intense and unperturbed vulnerability. A young Martin Sheen is Kit, the boy out to do good by her at the expense of quite a few lives.

What sets 'Badlands' apart from many killing-spree thrillers or teenage romances is its soft avoidance of the generic. Malick layers the occurences with rich cinematography and dusty scenery to help align the tone with the poetic and melodious music; the result is one of hypnotic fascination. As Kit and Holly descend into their abyss of crime and punishment, they only ever treat their actions as minor inconveniences to an otherwise idyllic 'marriage'.

Through the potent atmosphere and barren landscape what shines through is the inescapable loneliness of both of the characters. Their relationship and crimes are forced to take a back seat so Malick can effectively advance the equally banal and peculiar isolation of two simple individuals, and it makes for absoloutely compelling viewing. The humour is offbeat and quirky, the acting stellar, and the picture bursting with rich and passionate argument, and a vivid lens.

'Badlands' is pure poetry.

It really does seem that Pixar cannot fail, and no matter how simple their films seem on the surface, they are as intelligent and thought-provoking as mainstream ones, 'The Incredibles' being their best outing yet. The film takes a satirical approach to superhero and crime fighting films, but it embraces their qualities rather than ridiculing them - a simple parody would be more than a disappointment. The result, therefore, is a wonderful tounge-in-cheek rollercoaster ride of cliches and conventions, from secret hideaways and gadgets to the fantastic score. It goes beyond the simple story, however; the wonderful humour, colourful characters and exciting pace are only the surface - the film is so full of heart and soul that it enables us to truly value the points made, connect with the family and have an amazing time watching. It is both bold and bright, maintaining the balance so we feel as though we are in the midst of a James Bond picture. It is flawlessly crafted, perfectly paced and a new step for the animation genre - unmissable.

Forget his gothic trademarks, because Tim Burton's 'Big Fish' is probably the director's best achievement to date. Departing from his customary iconography Burton instead tells the quaint yet extraordinary fable of Edward Bloom, and he succeeds magnificently. The film wins you round on pure charm, but is honest enough so that sentimentality never becomes nauseating; 'Big Fish' is strong and soulful to the very end.

The film's transitions between past and present are smoothly done as the director recounts the life story of Ed, but the film isn't just a pleasant story; Edward's now adult son, played by Billy Crudup, struggles to distinguish truth from fantasy, and him and his father's (Albert Finney) awkward conversations add sensitive drama to an otherwise light-hearted tone.

Burton flits between several eras and stories to unravel Edward's life, adding a sprinkling of humour, a genuine romance and a poetic touch to the darker elements of the tale so while the film's messages ring profound, sitting through the film never becomes an unnerving struggle.

The cast are all fantastic, particularly Albert Finney and Jessica Lange as the older couple, whose love is as enduring as when they first met. Burton leaves it up to the audience to determine what is and isn't reality, but in the end it seems rather insignificant; the adventurous incarnations of Edward Bloom are interesting, uplifting and marvellously individualistic.

From the soft music by Danny Elfman to the unbelievably unique and quirky set designs, 'Big Fish' is a visual marvel, a poignant celebration in the art of storytelling and a moving father-son character study. Tim Burton toys with the border of reality and the metaphysical, but 'Big Fish' remains a magical film in either sense. An unexpected masterpiece.