Professional Documents
Culture Documents
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XIV • INTRODUCTION
saw Gone with the Wind for the first time, I blurted out, “oh my
god, they stole the theme music from Million Dollar Movie” before
I realized the reverse was true.)
With my sister grown up and out of the house and my par-
ents too exhausted by work to be interested, I curled up by myself
and experienced all manner of movies from King Kong to I Was a
Fugitive from a Chain Gang. I did my watching alone, I formed my
opinions alone, I talked to no one about what I had seen. I was in
effect becoming a critic though I didn’t know it.
Also a likely factor in my critical development, though it took
me years to realize it, was the exposure I had as a child growing
up in the orthodox Jewish world to the tradition of Talmudic
exegesis, the thorough examination of a biblical text. Taking the
next step and analyzing a film, trying to figure out how and why
it was doing what it was doing, was second nature to me, an exer-
cise I engaged in well before I had any kind of official critical job.
Once I abandoned Brooklyn to go to college at Swarthmore,
just down the road in Pennsylvania but a universe away in other
respects, the pace of my movie viewing increased. Screenings of
both Hollywood and foreign classics every Friday and Saturday
night exposed me for the first time to films that could be as pro-
found and moving as any novel. I further educated myself by por-
ing over 16-millimeter rental catalogs and helping to select those
all-college films.
The next step was choosing journalism over the academy as
a graduate school path. At Columbia’s journalism program I took
a seminar in film reviewing offered by Judith Crist, one of New
York’s top critics. She was the first to make me believe I could do
this work professionally, and, as anyone who ever met her knows,
when Judith Crist spoke, you listened. And so the journey began.
When you love something you do it a lot, and over the de-
cades since I started to take film seriously I’ve seen more thou-
sands than I can count. (My friend and colleague David Ansen,
Newsweek critic for more than thirty years and now artistic
XVI•INTRODUCTION
director of the Los Angeles Film Festival, has kept track; he was
at 9,536 and counting the last time I checked.) Sometimes I feel a
kinship with the seventy-something horseplayer quoted in hand-
icapper Andrew Beyer’s classic Picking Winners who told Beyer,
“Son, if I’d spent the time studying law books that I’ve put into
the Racing Form, I’d probably be on the Supreme Court now.”
Compiling a book like this seems to be the logical culmi-
nation of all the watching and reviewing I’ve done since my first
pieces appeared in the Washington Post (where I was a staff writer)
and the Progressive magazine in the mid-1970s. As I look back on
it, writing about film has been a voyage of discovery with two
interlocking purposes: I write to be a guide for the perplexed (to
borrow Maimonides’ wonderful title), to help viewers find films
they will love. But writing reviews soon became more than that.
Through focusing intently on what I liked and disliked, it gradu-
ally became a process of finding out what was important to me on
a broader scale. A way to find out, in short, who I am.
Being useful as a reviewer always came first, however, and
has always been the central element in how I view what I do. This
relates to something I learned as an undergraduate. My ortho-
dox Jewish background had left me with minimal knowledge of
other religions, so I signed up for a course in the New Testament.
There I was told that the word “gospel” meant good news and re-
ferred specifically to the notion of spreading the good news about
Jesus. It struck me that spreading the good news about films that
were worth a viewer’s time was a goal worth having for a critic.
Similarly, it was the drive to write a useful book that con-
vinced me not to go the maximalist “one thousand films to see
before you die” route. Like antitax zealot Grover Nordquist,
eager to make government small enough to be easily drowned
in a bathtub, I wanted to keep my list short enough so that even
a busy person like Mr. Nordquist could reasonably choose to see
them all. Something in the fifties felt right, in addition to alliter-
ating nicely with film.
INTRODUCTION • XVII
Ernst Lubitsch, Leo McCarey, and orson Welles got the double
feature treatment but the two works by Mervyn LeRoy (I Am a
Fugitive from a Chain Gang and Random Harvest) felt so different I
kept them separate.
once the list was complete, it was fascinating to be struck by
unseen parallels—I’d never thought to connect The Dybbuk and
Vertigo in terms of obsessive love lasting beyond the grave—and
to see who besides directors showed up more than once.
Protean costume designer Edith Head surprised me by being
credited in four very different films (The Lady Eve, Sunset Boule-
vard, Vertigo, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence), while Lee Mar-
vin (Seven Men from Now, Liberty Valence, Point Blank) showed
up more than any other actor. I was shocked to see one of my
favorites, James Cagney, in only Strawberry Blonde, while an actor
I rarely think about, Charles Boyer, made it in twice with Love
Affair and The Earrings of Madame De . . .
All that said, I took it as a good sign that my list ended up
striking something of a balance between films like Casablanca and
The Godfather that everyone has seen and those like First Contact
and Leolo that have a more limited following. I rewatched each
one before writing my essay, and made sure each fit a specifica-
tion Roger Ebert once laid down. “Every great film,” he wrote,
“should seem new every time you see it.”
If writing reviews has been a gradual process of finding out
who I am and what is important to me, putting this book together
was akin to undertaking a spiritual autobiography, a way to make
explicit what has been implicit for all these years. As a glance at
the list will attest, I am a romantic (if pressed for my top film, I in-
variably pick Children of Paradise). I believe moral choices can be as
exciting as the ones in thrillers. But more than that I am, for better
or worse, a classicist. I trust in the traditional values of character
development and story and I still have faith in the notion of film as
a popular art, emphasis on both words, a conviction that the great-
est films ever made can be accessible to the widest of audiences.
INTRODUCTION • XIX