30 Films for 30 Years
I turned 30 this past year, and just like when I turned 20 and 25, attaining the significant-sounding number has put me in a retrospective mood. (Then again, I am an obsessive list-maker, so almost any excuse will do for cataloguing my favorite things.) As the title suggests, what follows are the films, one per year I’ve been alive, that I most value. (Actually, there are 34 films, besides the 5 honorable mentions.)
There were three criteria for selection. One, I consider each of the “30” films to be a masterclass in screenwriting or storytelling, a masterclass in filmmaking, or both. Two, inspired by an essay Timothy Lawrence wrote a few years ago, I count them among my “Film Friends.” Three, I would strongly recommend these films to just about anyone.
* = Included in my 20 Films for 20 Years list (click here)
^ = Included in my 25 Films for 25 Years list (click here)
Amazing Grace*^ (2006) — Directed by Michael Apted
The story of how William Wilberforce led a group of politicians and evangelical activists in lobbying to end the British slave trade, this to me is far and away the best film (until A Hidden Life in 2019) to come out of the boom in quote-unquote “faith-based” films in the past two decades. I don’t think many of the lead collaborators on this project shared or understood Wilberforce’s faith—Steven Knight’s script shies away from theological discussions, and his portrayal of John Newton seems more Catholic than Protestant—yet the film clearly respects and emphasizes how that faith, when it is real and vital, works. In a time when many are questioning, abandoning, or misrepresenting the term, this film reminds me why I’m still an evangelical.
Arsenic and Old Lace*^ (1944) — Directed by Frank Capra
A dark comedy about a playwright, his brother who thinks he’s Teddy Roosevelt, his other brother who looks like Boris Karloff as Frankenstein’s monster and is a serial killer, and their two aunts who think it is a mercy ministry to poison old men and bury them in the basement of their colonial-era Brooklyn home … this is the weirdest, most disturbing film to ever hold the title of “my favorite film.” It doesn’t hold that title now, but the film continues to fascinate me, and a few years ago I concluded this makes for a great conversation partner with C. S. Lewis’s The Abolition of Man. This is an allegory about the disorder of the soul of the American body politic.
[I wrote an essay about Arsenic and Old Lace here.]
Citizen Kane^ (1941) — Directed by Orson Welles
One of the most artistically and narratively innovative films ever made, and the most somber, least enjoyable among my Film Friends. I see so much of myself—or, but for the grace of God, what I could become—in Charles Foster Kane, that this is the bitter, restorative pill I find it best to swallow every few years.
A Civil Action^ (1998) — Directed by Steven Zaillian
Perhaps the most obscure, forgotten film on this list. A legal thriller based on real events, it traces the moral transformation of an injury lawyer who, cynically at first, takes up the cause of a community in which children have died of illnesses linked to the drinking water, water contaminated by local factories owned by major corporations. Its perceptive screenplay and poignant performances move and challenge me every time.
The Dark Knight*^ (2008) — Directed by Christopher Nolan
This feels like such a stereotypical choice for a male film nerd who grew up in the early 2000’s, but so be it. The Dark Knight, more a classical tragedy than a superhero film or even a crime film, still has the freshness and energy it had 15 years ago when I saw it at 15. The film is and does so many things at once, it shouldn’t work—there was nothing of this scale and scope in previous Batman or Nolan films to suggest this could work—and yet, somehow, it does.
[Timothy Lawrence and I wrote a dialogue about The Dark Knight Trilogy here.]
The Emperor’s New Groove^ (2000) — Directed by Mark Dindal
The best thing to come out of Disney’s animation studio in my lifetime. A feature-length Looney Tunes cartoon, but with a big heart.
The Empire Strikes Back*^ (1980) — Directed by Irvin Kershner
There are three Star Wars films on this list, an indication of how foundational the series was for my filmic education and how it continues to be one of my obsessions. Because of my love for the prequels and even the sequels, I am often at odds with the mass of public opinion, but on this much I can agree with the dominant narrative: The Empire Strikes Back is still the best film in the franchise.
Fantastic Mr. Fox*^ (2009) — Directed by Wes Anderson
Wes Anderson’s doll house aesthetic and stop-motion animation were made for each other. I’m still troubled by the moral muddle of the ending, but otherwise the film is gold—“like melted gold.”
[I wrote an essay about Fantastic Mr. Fox here.]
Good Night, and Good Luck.^ (2005) — Directed by George Clooney
A dramatization of how Edward R. Murrow and his team of TV journalists at CBS News took on McCarthyism, the film is a marvel of screenwriting concision and directorial simplicity. Also, with elegant black-and-white cinematography, an ensemble of accomplished actors, and a jazz score, it is the definition of effortless cool.
TIED: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince*^ (2009) and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I (2010) — Directed by David Yates
My two favorite Harry Potter films are both so good—so emotionally absorbing and thematically interesting, and yet distinct from each other formally and tonally though they came from the same director—that I just couldn’t pick between the two of them.
A Hidden Life (2019) — Directed by Terrence Malick
A dual portrait of an imprisoned Catholic Austrian who became a martyr for refusing to pledge allegiance to Hitler, and of his wife who must endure the reproach of their nationalist neighbors, this is the first Malick film that really, really clicked for me. (Those who are unfamiliar with the director’s work should start here, not with the more widely lauded Tree of Life.) It is a powerful, convicting demonstration of what Jägerstätter’s fellow dissident Bonhoeffer called the cost of discipleship, and of public witness to the supremacy of the kingdom of Christ over the kingdom of Caesar.
High Noon*^ (1952) — Directed by Fred Zinnemann
A civics lesson in the form of a classic Western. One of the greatest films ever made, and maybe—just maybe—the film I would pick if forced to choose only one as my favorite. I’ve spent a good deal of time thinking, and talking, and writing about this film, and I still haven’t gotten to the bottom of it. It’s too complex and nuanced for the simplistic readings commonly applied to it.
[I wrote an essay about High Noon here.]
Inception*^ (2010) — Directed by Christopher Nolan
My favorite of Nolan’s non-Batman films, this left a strong impression on me when it first came out and I continue to have a fond attachment to it, even though I could wish it hadn’t tried so hard to be an action film. It is already successful enough as an allegory about filmmaking dressed up as a science-fiction heist film.
The Incredibles^ (2004) — Directed by Brad Bird
A classic Pixar production, a classic superhero film, and a classic all around. This one is just so much fun.
It’s a Wonderful Life*^ (1946) — Directed by Frank Capra
This is one of the most universally beloved films for good reason. The world needs more George Baileys.
[I wrote two essays on the legacy of It’s a Wonderful Life here and here.]
The Lego Batman Movie (2017) — Directed by Chris McKay
Although none of the subsequent Lego films achieved the level of critical acclaim and cultural relevance that the first Lego Movie did, in my book this is the best thing to come out of that franchise. It is even, I believe, the best film about Batman. But aside from it being a great Lego movie, a great Batman movie, and a great comedy, the reason it resonates with me so much is that it stages a surprisingly affecting argument for why we need each other, even to see and know our own selves clearly.
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy*^ (2001–2003) — Directed by Peter Jackson
“That still only counts as one!”
The Magnificent Seven*^ (1960) — Directed by John Sturges
There are three Westerns on this list, and of the three this one is the most conventional, the one that most captures the romanticized ideal of the genre. And yet, even as it plays up the genre’s one-sided mythologizing of the gunslinger in the first half, it demythologizes the archetype in the second half—and it does this, not to dismiss the idea of heroism but to challenge and redirect our expectations of where true heroism can be found. I rarely so much as choke up while watching a film, but there’s a scene in here that, the older I get, brings me closer and closer to tears.
Ratatouille*^ (2007) — Directed by Brad Bird
A feast for the eyes and ears and heart, this is a delightful celebration of creating and receiving excellent things, whether they’re meals or films or any other cultural good made with skill to bless others.
The Shop Around the Corner*^ (1940) — Directed by Ernst Lubitsch
A workplace dramedy and a rom-com rolled into one, based on a Hungarian play and set in (a Hollywood soundstage version of) Budapest, my favorite city, and featuring Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan exchanging some of the best zingers ever written.
Sleeping Beauty*^ (1959) — Directed by Clyde Geronimi, Wolfgang Reitherman, Les Clark, and Eric Larson
My favorite classic Disney film. This is a work of art.
Spider-Man 2^ (2004) — Directed by Sam Raimi
In a 2023 article for Comment, Elizabeth Stice raises a question I have often pondered: Is the ubiquity and profitability of superheroes at the multiplex a reflection of a collective passivity and sense of helplessness? Are these stories ennobling use to do hard, risky things for the common good, or numbing us into thinking we ordinary citizens can’t accomplish anything and should just wait for a real hero to swoop in and save the day? Spider-Man 2, at least, is ennobling. It is the best film in the genre, not only on the level of writing, acting, and craft, but in that it makes the best case for what these stories, when they’re at their best, can do. (I could almost make the same claims about Unbreakable—see below—but Unbreakable does not resemble the typical superhero film.)
Star Wars*^ (1977) — Directed by George Lucas
The original Star Wars is still the purest and most essential distillation of what this epic saga means and why it matters. A New Hope, like all of the subsequent chapters in the Skywalker story, is ultimately about the contrast between those who live by sight, fear, and control, and those who live by faith.
Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones (2002) — Directed by George Lucas
The release of the three prequel films were major events in my childhood but, starting in high school, I distanced myself from them when I learned that the prequels were silly and uncool. It wasn’t until the end of college and the beginning of grad school that, thanks to the release of The Force Awakens and the insightful reappraisals written by Mike Klimo and Tim Lawrence, I began to re-reconsider them and see them in an entirely new light. Now I love all three of them unabashedly and unironically, but especially this one. Of all the films, this one may be the most fun to watch, and it has the best assortment of action sequences.
The Terminal*^ (2004) — Directed by Steven Spielberg
Spielberg has made much greater works artistically, but none of them have resonated with me as lastingly and profoundly as this one. This is a film about waiting well in whatever places we find ourselves.
[I wrote an essay about The Terminal here.]
TIED: Toy Story* (1995) and Toy Story 2 (1999) — Directed by John Lasseter
When Toy Story 4 was released in 2019, it prompted me to revisit the Toy Story Trilogy, and what I found in them floored me: a compelling, comprehensive moral vision, part-Aristotelian and part-Augustinian, for the good life as a toy, from which we can infer something of a moral vision for the good life as a human. The first Toy Story is the more perfect, well-rounded film, but the second is more entertaining as well as more emotionally complex as it thinks through the implications and challenges of the first film’s thesis.
[I wrote two essays about the Toy Story films here and here.]
True Grit (2010) — Directed by Joel and Ethan Coen
My favorite Coen Brothers film and the best contemporary Western that I’ve seen. The dialogue is some of the best (and best-sounding) I’ve ever heard, the casting is perfect all around (not just the leading triumvirate of Steinfeld, Bridges, and Damon, but the whole ensemble of colorful, unforgettable characters), and the muted, regretful ending seems to me about the only good way to end a story about revenge overtaking justice.
Unbreakable (2000) — Directed by M. Night Shyamalan
After George Lucas, M. Night Shyamalan may be the most unfairly maligned filmmaker of the early 21st century. Sure, he has made a few duds, but when he has the right material—and sometimes, even when he has the wrong or deficient material—his sense for how to tell a story using all the tools of the cinematic trade is impeccable. Shyamalan is known for his plot twists. He should be known for his genius for staging and cinematography. Nominally a superhero film, Unbreakable is his masterpiece.
Where the Wild Things Are (2009) — Directed by Spike Jonze
I did not grow up with the children’s book and only glanced over it once, so I cannot speak to this as an adaptation except to note that it is not one meant for the book’s target audience but for those who used to be. It is a grown-up meditation on childhood. Not that kids couldn’t watch this, but that it has depths only someone who was once a child but now an adult could fathom. Each time I watch this, I am captivated by James Gandolfini’s performance as the wild thing Carol, the blend of practical and digital effects to bring the wild things to life, and Carter Burwell and Karen O’s collaboration on the music.
The Wind Rises (2013) — Directed by Hayao Miyazaki
One of my favorite discoveries in my twenties was the filmography of Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki. For me, out of all his achievements, this one stands head and shoulders above the rest. This is a beautiful film about the fragility of beautiful things. If Citizen Kane is the bitter take on Ecclesiastes, this is the bittersweet, melancholy one.
Honorable Mentions:
Cast Away^ (2000)
Hail, Caesar! (2016)
Treasure Planet^ (2002)
The Tree of Life (2011)
Up (2009)