The Full Monty (1997)

A surprise nominee for Best Picture of 1997, The Full Monty relates the story of how six unemployed steel workers in Sheffield turn themselves into a unlikely male strip act. This is one of those films that seemingly comes from nowhere to capture everyone's attention, and the Academy saw fit to reward that success with a nomination for Best Picture. I'm not sure that the film itself deserves such recognition, but it is certainly an entertaining film and it has contributed its title phrase to the general lexicon.

All of the actors are good here, particularly Robert Carlyle as Gaz, the "founder" of the act. Gaz gets inspired by seeing the number of women who show up one night to see a Chippendales-style show at one of the local bars. I guess it's the next logical step to think that you too could be a stripper, especially since you have no other job prospects and your ex-wife is about to take away your custody rights to your only son. Not to mention that you're a bit scrawny and a little haggard-looking. Yet Gaz has some pretty remarkable faith in his abilities, and Carlyle as an actor is light years away here from his role as Begbie in Trainspotting.

He is ably supported by Mark Addy as the member who feels his weight will be a problem (he gets most of the best lines), Tom Wilkinson as the gnome-loving choreographer who has yet to reveal to his wife that he's lost his job, and the rest of the dance-challenged troupe. The scene where they start to dance while listening to Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff" is one almost everyone will remember because it does show just how much they bond as a group, how much they are in sync with each other. I was also intrigued by how readily the rest of the guys accept the romance between Lomper and Guy; it seems that everything is all right with them so long as the project moves forward. (As an aside, the scene where they are "revealed" as a couple to the rest of the guys is the first time I had ever heard the expression "queer as folk.")

The title refers, of course, to full nudity, the promise of which manages to fill the bar on the night of the group's performance. To get to that night, there are some distractions, of course, but none of them too serious to keep this act from happening. Despite the overarching theme of chronic unemployment, the film manages to maintain a light-hearted tone, even when grappling with a subject as serious as suicide. It's just all a bit of fun, isn't it? Again, I'm not certain that this was truly one of the five best movies that year, but you certainly can't quarrel with the feeling you have at the end of this rousing little film from England.

The Pianist (2002)

I can still remember when I first saw The Pianist, a nominee for Best Picture of 2002. It was in the Beverly Center theaters, inside one of those tiny rooms that my ex used to call "grapes." (They have purple upholstery and some are very, very small, so he thought it looked like you were sitting inside a grape while watching a movie.) There were only four other people in the theater for the screening, and I was the only non-Jewish person.

I point this out only because I think a lot of people did not see this film initially because it was about the Holocaust. Despite the quality of films in recent decades that have dealt with this subject, many in the general audience seem to feel that the subject matter has been covered as fully as possible already. Maybe that's why The Pianist seemed to attract (at least at first) very little attention. I went to see it because it was being hailed as one of director Roman Polanski's best films. Polanski has created some remarkable movies over the years, and I do think The Pianist stands among them as one of the his greatest achievements.

The film stars Adrien Brody as Wladyslaw Szpilman, a famous pianist in Poland before the war. In exacting detail, the film reveals the series of events that led to Szpilman being isolated from his family and escaping deportation to the concentration camps. From the forced evacuation of their homes to the liquidation of the Warsaw ghettos to the resistance that those in captivity displayed, this film shows just how desperate survival became for people like Szpilman. It is only through some remarkable luck at times, some quick thinking at others, and the generosity of several people that he manages to live through World War II without being captured or killed--and he manages to stay within the confines of his hometown of Warsaw, a truly astonishing feat.

Brody won the Oscar for Best Actor that year over some pretty tough competition, actors like Daniel Day-Lewis in Gangs of New York and Nicolas Cage in Adaptation and Jack Nicholson in About Schmidt. I correctly predicted his win. After you've seen his transformation from the suave, cultured musician at the beginning of the film to the emaciated creature who tries to eat a can of pickles near the end of the film, you'll understand why he won. It's an overwhelmingly emotional performance.

One scene in particular still stands out for me. Discovered by a Nazi officer in an abandoned house, Szpilman is "forced" to play Chopin. His beautiful rendition brings the officer almost to tears, and in a pretty remarkable act of kindness, the officer helps Szpilman to hide and brings him food and even offers him a coat for warmth. Despite knowing that these events are factual, you can't help but be shocked at moments like this. They reveal the depth of our humanity, our ability at times to see past whatever preconceived ideas we have about other people and see the beauty and talent that each possesses. That is why, perhaps, The Pianist most deserves our attention.

Stagecoach (1939)

Stagecoach is usually credited with making John Wayne a star, and he is certainly very good here as the Ringo Kid. However, this is truly an ensemble film, and every one of the performers is a joy to watch. Wayne doesn’t even appear until almost twenty minutes into the film’s 96-minute running time. In fact, he isn’t even the top-billed star of the movie; that honor went to Claire Trevor instead. What Stagecoach really offers, other than Wayne’s star-making performance, is a Western with lots of adventure and, more interestingly, a lot of character development. Nine people are sharing a small space for much of the film, and they get to know each other rather well… and so do we.

The threat of an attack from Apache chief Geronimo and his warriors hovers over the film from the very beginning, but despite the lack of a promised military escort, a band of travelers boards a stagecoach in a small town in Arizona. They're quite an assortment: Dallas, a woman whose reputation has led the “decent” ladies in town (the Law and Order League, an ominous-sounding group, to say the least) to exile her; a second woman who is later revealed to be pregnant although she demonstrates no obvious signs that she is near delivery; a whiskey manufacturer everyone mistakenly assumes is a preacher; an alcoholic doctor who quickly befriends the whiskey maker; a slick gambler type who seems a bit too sympathetic to the plight of the expectant mother; a banker who is trying to escape with a substantial amount of payroll funds; and the driver. They’re joined by a marshal searching for the Ringo Kid and, later, Ringo himself, who winds up being held captive to prevent him from going after the men who killed his brother.

Have I mentioned that these characters are played by some of the best actors in Hollywood at the time? Thomas Mitchell, who was having a very good year in 1939, won the Oscar for his portrayal of Doc Boone, the drunk who sobers himself up long enough to deliver a child. Trevor plays Dallas, the saloon girl who seems to have accepted that no one will ever look at her as human, only to be surprised by Ringo's tender demeanor toward her. John Carradine plays Hatfield, the gambler with a dubious past; he has just the right amount of oiliness for the part and is certainly appealing with all of his angles and style. Andy Devine plays Buck, the stagecoach driver who can never seem to get a full meal no matter where they stop; Devine was always a delight as the comic relief in a movie. And the list goes on.

Also along for the ride are Donald Meek as Peacock, the whiskey merchant who surprisingly manages to stand up for himself a couple of times; Louise Platt as Lucy Mallory, the wife of a cavalry officer who’s traveled from Virginia to reunite with a husband who seems to get farther and farther away from her the longer the coach travels; George Bancroft as the marshal inexplicably nicknamed Curley; and Berton Churchill as the banker Gatewood, who represents a privileged old white man who annoys almost every person he shares space with because he expects preferential treatment and deference from everyone else. Gatewood and Hatfield have an intriguing exchange about the Civil War and what it’s called that reveals a lot of unresolved tensions in the country at the time that the film takes place.

And then there’s Wayne, here in his 80th movie (already!) and truly at the top of his form. You'll probably be surprised by how youthful he looks; despite his rather lanky frame, he's also one of the prettiest men you'll see on film. Director John Ford certainly takes advantage of his leading actor's good looks from the time the camera zooms in on his face when he first appears on screen. That dolly zoom to a close-up is certainly designed to highlight an actor’s star quality. Wayne’s Ringo Kid has broken out of prison so that he can return to Lordsburg to kill the men who shot and killed his brother. Almost everyone, including the marshal, thinks he’s justified in doing so even if it’s against the law. Ringo is also quite a gentleman in many ways. For example, he treats Dallas like a lady, but she’s unaccustomed to this kind of reaction. He almost demands that the other passengers treat Dallas the same way they treat Mrs. Mallory. It’s a bit surprising that he asks Dallas to marry him and move to an isolated ranch so quickly after they meet, but Wayne and Trevor do have tremendous chemistry on screen.

Since this is a Ford Western, there is a shootout between the men on the stagecoach and the Apache, of course. The cavalry always seems to leave the passengers just before they need protection, but they show up at the last minute to rescue the coach. That’s what happens in the most spectacular sequence in the film. Honestly, the stunt people certainly earned their salaries on Stagecoach, particularly in this part of the film. It’s fantastic work. The film is mostly shot in Monument Valley, which would become one of the director’s favorite places to make movies. He takes good advantage of the openness of the valley in the long shots that follow the stagecoach.

A lot does happen to these nine passengers during the course of the 96 minutes. The first cavalry troop leaves them alone in what’s termed Indian Territory. A group of vaqueros take the horses from the coach while everyone is waiting for Mrs. Mallory to recover from giving birth. The ferry that they were hoping to take has been burned to the ground. And all of this occurs before the shootout between the coach passengers and the Native Americans. We get to see just how rough the ride was from Tonto at the film’s start to Dry Fork to Apache Wells to, finally, Lordsburg. It makes you wonder how anyone managed to make such journeys.

While the shoot-outs are certainly interesting and the scenery is breathtaking, it's the interaction between these characters stuck in that tiny coach that make the film entertaining. It’s also a testament to the script that every character gets a resolution by the end of the movie. Trevor is my particular favorite in this film; she has a way of looking at the other passengers in such a way that you know exactly how she feels about them – it's  usually revulsion, by the way. Trevor gets one of the best lines in the film when she looks at the judgmental Law and Order League and comments, “There are worse things than Apaches.” Trevor would win an Oscar a few years later for Key Largo, but she livened up dozens of films in her career, including this one. Mitchell is a close second, and he's even better here than he is in that other movie for which he took a supporting role in 1939. Perhaps you have heard of it? He plays Scarlett's father in Gone with the Wind.

Stagecoach is one of the best movies from the Golden Age of Hollywood and one of the greatest years for film. It richly deserved its place on the list of films up for the Best Picture Oscar that year. Even if almost every character and plot line has since become something of a cliche (an Apache attack! a last-minute cavalry rescue!), you can still enjoy seeing this film. It certainly is a product of its time with its use of derogatory terms for Native Americans, but it also manages to seem fresh and entertaining many years after its initial release, and much of that is a testament to the great cast and to the people like Ford who brought them together for this ride.

Oscar Wins: Best Actor in a Supporting Role (Thomas Mitchell) and Best Scoring

Other Nominations: Outstanding Production, Best Director (John Ford), Best Black-and-White Cinematography, Best Art Direction, and Best Film Editing

Chocolat (2000)

Chocolat was nominated for Best Picture of 2000, and its inclusion as one of the five best films of that year is as much a fairy tale as the film itself. The story concerns a mother and daughter who move to a quaint French village (aren't they all quaint in the movies?) and set up a chocolate shop. What could seem more harmless? However, even fairy tales must have complications. Vianne opens her shop across from a church, and she stays open on Sundays (even during Lent). Naturally, she slowly begins to win over a few of the villagers through her patience and understanding and the seemingly magical nature of her chocolate recipes.

Still, there must be resistance to Vianne and her non-conformist ways (for example, she does not attend church--oh, the horror!). Chief among those who oppose her is Comte Paul de Reynaud, the mayor, who seems to have made a life out of denying himself pleasure. As played by Alfred Molina, Reynaud seems almost like a cartoon villain than a real person, a trait he shares with many other characters in this movie. I kept expecting him to twirl his mustache the way that the villains in old silent films used to do.

Everything comes to a head when a group of "river rats" arrive on the banks of the river outside town. Vianne is, of course, very welcoming, and who can blame her when the head of the these outcasts is played by Johnny Depp in full rogue mode. They soon start up a romance, further inflaming the anger of the townspeople who have been opposed to her from the beginning. I mean, really, this woman has done some outrageous things, like trying to reconcile a grandmother and her grandson over the objections of a very uptight daughter/mother. But when she starts cavorting with such undesirable people as "river people," well...

I don't know that I really have to tell you how all of this ends. It's a fairy tale, after all, and you should be able to figure things out on your own by now.

I know there's a message in here about acceptance and allowing people to be different. I understand that it's important to make movies about tolerance and understanding. I just wish that they weren't always as predictable as this one, and I could wish that just once we didn't have to learn about how we should all be loving toward each other by watching beautiful people like Juliette Binoche's Vianne "suffer" as outcasts. Put an unattractive person in the lead and then we'll talk.

Just one warning: Don't watch this film on an empty stomach. There is such a love of food and the making of meals and treats that you will quickly become hungry. Try to avoid devouring everything in the refrigerator while watching. You will be tempted.

Twelve O'Clock High (1949)

Nominated for Best Picture of 1949, Twelve O'Clock High is the story of some of the earliest Americans involved in fighting the Germans during World War II. Gregory Peck takes over as commander of a group of bomber pilots who have suffered a series of losses and are now suffering from low morale. At first, his stern manner and strict adherence to military codes of behavior are greeted with dissatisfaction from the pilots and others, but he begins slowly to increase their morale and their success rates.

Ostensibly a war movie, Twelve O'Clock High is actually a dissection of the psychological impact that war has on men. Peck's ironically-named Brigadier General Frank Savage (he is frank but hardly savage in his demeanor) seems to understand why the men in this unit are feeling demoralized, and he also seems to know just how hard he can push them without breaking their spirit completely. Peck gives a stellar performance here, almost as good as his Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird, but then again, Peck was always a reliable actor. He manages to take a character who could come off as incredibly unsympathetic and make him into someone you admire and support.

There are other standouts, including Oscar winner Dean Jagger as the ground officer, Major Stovall, a lawyer in civilian life who only occasionally needs a drink when things get too rough. The film is framed by Stovall's return to the site of his group's headquarters, so I assume that most of the events that we see are his memories. I also admired Gary Merrill as Colonel Keith Davenport, who is removed from command because he cannot help but befriend the men in his company. Merrill was always underrated as an actor, I think, and he shows here why he was such a mainstay in films during the 1940s and 1950s.

My favorite performance, though, is by Hugh Marlowe. He plays Lt. Col. Ben Gately, a pilot who has managed to screw up so many times that he's been put behind a desk. However, Savage takes him and turns him back into a top pilot. Marlowe takes Savage's "abuse" with stoic grace; he is forced to call his squadron the "leper colony" and take all of the other screw-ups as his crew. The scene where Gately and Savage have a conversation after Gately has been injured is particularly touching for what it reveals about how both men have so much they would like to say to each other, but neither is able to break from the kind of behavior expected of military men.

The air battles are actual footage of bomber pilots in World War II. The sequences in the air are pretty thrilling to watch, particularly knowing that you are not watching special effects but actual fighting. These scenes come near the end of the film, and they add a nice sense of closure to the ways that Col. Savage has rebuilt the company after taking over its command. Of course, he has his own issues while these battles are going on, but that just makes them all the more significant in their outcome.

Fiddler on the Roof (1971)

I cannot vouch for the authenticity of Fiddler on the Roof, a nominee in 1971 for Best Picture, but its depiction of Jewish life in pre-revolutionary Russia is pretty spectacular. You get a sense, if the depictions are accurate (or even if they are just close), of what life must have been like for the peasants at that time. And, to go with it, you get some glorious songs, great singing and dancing, and a moral or two about the universal need to fall in love and be with the person you truly love.

The focus of the story is Tevye (played by Topol), a milkman with five daughters and a frustrated but sharp-tongued wife, Golde (played by Norma Crane). Much of the film deals with attempts to find suitable husbands for the couple's daughters; this is sort of a different take on the events of Pride and Prejudice, really. However, the daughters have other plans. When, for example, the matchmaker Yente shows up to say that she has found the perfect match for the oldest daughter (Tzeitel), Tevye and Golde have to contend with Tzeitel's earlier but secret pledge to marry the poor tailor, Motel. Motel is played by Leonard Frey, who is light years away from the character he played in The Boys in the Band.

Similar situations occur with two other daughters, much to the initial dismay of their parents. However, the film (and the musical upon which it was based) is so life-affirming and love-affirming. Tevye has several scenes where he is forced to rethink his way of understanding situations. This is all the more ironic given the opening number of "Tradition," in which he espouses a need to hold fast to the way things have always been done. Of course, hardly anything gets done in the traditional way during the course of the film, but that is perhaps the point. We have to grow and adapt and adjust.

You've undoubtedly heard many of the songs already, and there are some great ones here: "Matchmaker," "If I Were a Rich Man," "To Life," "Sunrise Sunset" (still such a moving song), and one of my favorites, "Do You Love Me?" That last song is sung between Tevye and Golde, who are only now realizing after 25 years of marriage and five children that they do, indeed, love each other. I was also moved by "Far from the Home I Love," sung by Hodel (Michele Marsh) to her father before she boards a train that will take her to her husband in Siberia. You'd have to be a very hard-hearted person not to feel some strong emotions in that moment.

The dancing is first-rate, particularly in the extended wedding sequence. The bottle dancers are just astounding. If you have seen the film, you know what I mean. If not, you should rent it just to see them. Don't worry; you'll certainly figure out who they are. There's also a pretty amazing sequence earlier in the film involving male Jewish and Russian dancers having a sort of "dance-off."

As a backdrop to all of the scenes of day-to-day peasant life and romance and such are the rumors of pogroms being carried out against various other Jewish villages in tsarist Russia. A "demonstration" at Tzeitel and Motel's wedding is the first direct sign of what is in store for the village. It is only at the end of the film that the Russians' plans for the Jews are made clear, yet the villagers pack up and plan for their futures in new places, including America. Even in the midst of tremendous degradation, they still are able to find a sense of hope. While it may sound like a happy ending, it's truly more of a melancholy one. You may have a sense that all will turn out okay, but you are still saddened by the depths to which people have sunk over the years to belittle their fellow human beings.

The Cider House Rules (1999)

The Cider House Rules, a 1999 nominee for Best Picture, is yet another example of just how wrong Hollywood gets it sometimes. How can you take a story about abortion, incest, drug abuse, medical malpractice, racism, class struggle, and orphanages (just to name a few of the controversial topics it covers) and turn it into this bland of a film? Put it through the Hollywood grinder, obviously. Then you need to get it undeservedly nominated for a number of awards so that it looks like a prestigious film.

Tobey Maguire plays Homer Wells, an orphan who grows up to be the protégé of the doctor who delivered him, Dr. Wilbur Larch (played with his usual gusto by Michael Caine). Homer quickly learns that the good doctor is not only helping young women who wish to give their children up for adoption at the orphanage; he's also performing abortions, which were illegal at the time in the state of Maine. After having a crisis of conscience, Homer leaves the orphanage and finds work as an apple picker. In fact, he begins working for the fiancé of the girl he eventually falls in love with. The fiancé is played by Paul Rudd, who conveniently disappears for most of the movie while his character is serving in the military (so nice to have those pesky distractions out of the way). The girl is played by Charlize Theron. Of course, Homer is going to fall in love with her. Who wouldn’t fall in love with such a beautiful woman who’s left all alone after having an abortion?

While working on the apple farm and living in the "cider house" with several African Americans who are also hired to do the seasonal work of picking apples, Homer learns about more of life's dark secrets. For example, Mr. Rose, played by Delroy Lindo with enormous gravity, is sexually assaulting his daughter, the imaginatively named Rose Rose, played by Erykah Badu (who is quite a find as an actress). Homer volunteers to use the skills he has learned while "interning" with Dr. Larch to solve Rose's problem. In fact, he merely creates more problems. This pattern keeps getting repeated throughout the film.

I thought the John Irving novel upon which the movie is based was daring and enlightening. It took chances and made you, at times, not like some of the main characters or their actions. The movie seems to take too few of those chances. There are far too many scenes about the complexity of the decisions that characters must make so that we will feel sympathetic toward them. There’s always a “reason” for why someone behaves the way that she/he does. It's just a bit too pat, frankly, to match the depth of this subject matter.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the look of the film. It's beautifully shot, gorgeous cinematography, just the way you want a film about incest and abortion to look. I was reminded of the criticisms leveled at The Color Purple all those years ago, about how a tale of spousal abuse was somewhat "glorified" by the golden light in which it was shot. Well, Spielberg's film has nothing on The Cider House Rules in that department.

I'm sure that I (and the members of the Academy) must have seen plenty of films during 1999 that would be more worthy nominees for Best Picture than this film. I suppose the Miramax publicity machine was at its greatest strength in those days. Otherwise, I can't really explain how this film is included as one of the five best for that year.