The Best 100 Films of the 1980's

WRITTEN BY ANDREAS BABIOLAKIS

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Try to leap back into the 1980’s if you can. There’s wood panelling everywhere. MTV has taken off. Video games can be played at home with gaudy joysticks (which eventually became better suited controllers). Computers with black screens and that deep green text were changing how businesses were run. Synths were played everywhere. Fashion was bright, to combat the greys, beiges and browns of home decor and technology. Then, there was the film scene, commonly skewered because of the allowance of franchises and Oscar bait formulas (which managed to succeed many times this decade). There’s also the nostalgic side of things, considering the brand new PG-13 rating which allowed youths to venture forth and see some edgier material if permitted by their parents (as well as the many films that millennials grew up on that still get cherished to this day).

However, let’s not get too dark with the ‘80s film scenes. I know that the ‘80s gets a bad reputation, and I have decided that is simply not fair. If anything, the cinema of this decade is outstanding. If you have a problem with the ‘80s, you’re not looking in the right spots. I managed to find way more than one hundred candidates for my best-of list (I had to cut over one hundred honourable mentions, to be honest). You will find the ends of many illustrious careers, as well as the origins of budding new filmographies. Old movements will come to die here (like the New Hollywood wave), and new ideas will reign triumphant (the TV movie). Colour will explode off the screen, especially with the heavy focus on vibrant neons and other rich hues (maybe to make up for the end of Technicolor in the ‘70s).

Why is it that film gets a bad reputation when it is attached to the ‘80s? Have we learned to try and ignore a time in film history full of creative exploration that didn’t only result in duds? Do we assume that the end of New Hollywood means the start of safe cinema once more? Did the film franchises leave sour tastes in our mouths? It’s unfortunate, because I was handed the biggest mixed bag I have received so far. If anything, it’s a mixed bag that makes looking back feel worthwhile. What cult films have stuck with us? Which films of our youths did we identify with more as adults? How difficult was it to view these countless films (including the honourable mentions) without nostalgia goggles (or — the opposite — the expectation that cinema’s most unnecessarily ignored era would not deliver once more)? I have come to adore this era, and I hope that I can convince you to do the same. Either way, there is a lot to explore. Here are the best one hundred films of the 1980’s.

Disclaimer: I haven’t included documentaries, or any film that is considerably enough of a documentary (mockumentaries don’t count). I haven’t forgotten about films like Shoah or The Thin Blue Line. I’m keeping them in mind for later (wink wink).

Be sure to check out my other Best 100 lists of every decade here.

100. My Beautiful Laundrette

Replicating the tensions between immigrants and bigots can be difficult when a certain amount of crossover between both parties takes place. My Beautiful Laundrette manages to find two lovers: one from the local punk gang off the streets, and the other the son of a writer of left wing ideals back in Bombay (now Mumbai). Their crossroad intersection is the laundrette that Omar inherits, and boyfriend Johnny is employed at. It takes teamwork to tidy up a workplace, but it takes miracles to cure a toxic culture. My Beautiful Laundrette focuses on one battle at a time, because a small victory can be more pleasing that facing the impossible bigger picture.

99. Heathers

High school films for teens were all the rage in the ‘80s, so Michael Lehmann’s massive middle finger to the trend was as rebellious as the youths that inhabited it. Heathers is lead by group member Veronica (already the sign of outlier perspectives), and her relationship with the psychotic juvenile J.D. (this is the ultimate test for anyone that says they’re into bad boys, I suppose). The darker Heathers gets, the sillier it becomes. It’s as if the worst of humanity is derived out of the stupidity of all. Part satire and part cynical sneer, Heathers is as savage as it is sharp.

98. Babette’s Feast

One of the more wholesome films to appear on this list, Gabriel Axel’s award winning Babette’s Feast circles around the elevation of spirit. We all love a good meal. It’s safe to say that food can nurture bad moods and hurt souls, right? Well, the titular Babette uses her one slice of luck in life to carve a bright present for her and the dinner guests she invites for her once-in-an-eternity dinner. It’s the kind of dining event that unites the separated, tends to the lonely, and erases problems even for just a few hours. Just watching Babette’s Feast is an uplifting experience that we all owe to ourselves to see here and there. Our epitomes depend on this kind of artistic fostering.

97. Pauline at the Beach

Éric Rohmer continued his ‘70s streak with the coming-of-age wakeup call Pauline at the Beach. What’s fascinating about this tale is how at least half of the film is devoted to the intellectual breaking down of an assumed situation, where all debaters have their own perspectives of what happened (and those who don’t are caught in the middle, being swayed to all sides). The title doesn’t help, either, by remaining a nonpartisan
participant; Pauline was away from the debacle at the centre of the film. At the end of the day, Pauline at the Beach resolves ambiguously (but with warmth), and it’s one of the more inviting cases of all interpretations you may find.

96. Near Dark

Before Kathryn Bigelow found her true calling with political and social thrillers, she leapt around genres a little bit. Her greatest 80’s experiment was Near Dark, which romanticized vampires without ever even saying the v word at all. Full of all of the cheese of the token ‘80s action flicks with none of the pretence, Near Dark is a fun tribute to a then-dying genre (the western) and the current flavour of the week (horrors). Despite the many possibilities of schmaltz, the film remains cool (and may be even cooler now than it once was; defying the aging process of fashionable flicks from way back when). I love where Bigelow is creatively now, but Near Dark is proof that she always knew how to make a great film.

95. Heaven’s Gate

There may never be a bigger cinematic paradox than Michael Cimino’s follow up to The Deer Hunter. The major component of the death of the New Hollywood movement (and maybe the suffering western genre), Heaven’s Gate was plagued with terrible production stories (the animal abuse remains unforgivable), a budget that could kill an entire studio, and a safe cut that jeopardized the entire creation. It was deemed one of the worst films ever made. Now, Heaven’s Gate (released in its over three hour form) is a peculiar but gorgeous tale of America in a state of limbo during the Johnson County War; Cimino achieves this, by turning truth into a fantastical dream, completed with an uncharacteristic roller skating rink. It’s bizarre to imagine how a film could represent the darkest point of many professional timelines, yet it still slowly grows into this misunderstood misfit of a film.

94. Taxi Zum Klo

At the start of the ‘80s, LGBTQ+ cinema was still being heavily censored and hidden away. So, director Frank Ripploh created Taxi zum Klo. Part shocking counter culture piece (with non-simulated sexual activities, including a scene of complete devotion) and part autobiography, Taxi zum Klo is a rebellion against censorship and an ungrateful industry, whilst remaining warm to voices that the world was still not listening to. Ripploh places himself in the lead role, by showcasing his love for his identity, and his relationship regrets (and the things he may have wished he could have said). It’s not common that a film this confrontational is as emotional and captivating as it is, but Ripploh pulled it off.

93. The Stunt Man

If Heaven’s Gate killed the New Hollywood movement, The Stunt Man was the one last hurrah that doesn’t get enough love. Featuring a fugitive willing to do anything to escape, and an insane filmmaker that wants to make the perfect film via the least ethical means, The Stunt Man is the butting of heads between a delinquent and an egomaniac. This sometimes results in breathtaking action (the criminal now does death defying stunts for motion pictures), and occasionally in war. The Stunt Man then tries to mess with our heads, by confusing its true natures (are we watching a film, or a film within a film?). By the end, The Stunt Man leaves us with a massive shrug, that is somehow more hilarious than infuriating. Maybe this is a studio’s worst nightmare, and we’re living it: a cast and crew that will never coexist peacefully.

92. The Princess Bride

The Princess Bride is deceptively clever. It’s a fun film for children, a sarcastic treat for teenagers, and so much more for adults. Once you realize this entire fairy tale is the creation of a grandfather who is bored of telling his grandson the same old stories, then it somehow becomes ten times funnier. This explains the descriptions of rats, the peculiar dialogue, and the other exaggerations. Told not out of anger but love, The Princess Bride is secretly a bonding moment between a loved one and a sick child. Now, enough of all of that sentimentality. The film is downright incredible fun, and we all know it. Pick any line, any character, and any scene, and it's a home run by Rob Reiner and crew.

91. Smithereens

With a recent bump in popularity, it’s nice to see Susan Seidelman’s punk rock debacle Smithereens get some love. Her debut is unapologetic, with a lead character (Wren) dealing with all of the nonsense life slings at her. With a killer score (by The Feelies) and a deeply rooted presence in the scene (the film even features punk icon Richard Hell in a supporting role), Smithereens is absolutely authentic. Even if this isn’t your style, the film is incredibly relatable to many, particularly the lack of remorse from a world that already sucked. From fashion to music, one liners and shot selection, Smithereens is all killer. 

90. Mirch Masala

Ketan Mehta’s feminist thriller is an enticing battle between oppressors and the oppressed, and it is all captured with bare bones, fundamental filmmaking brilliance. Centred around an exhilarating performance by Smita Patil (who was taken away from us way too soon), Mirch Masala is the cinematic boiling point created by the refusal to be mistreated for any longer. Patience is held right until the climactic moments, when the film explores as much as its protagonists, veering away from conventionalism and safety. Mirch Masala’s intensity is our intensity, and it resolves with complete frenzy (and a stroke of wits, of course). It’s an absolute rush of a film.

89. Nostalghia

Even Andrei Tarkovsky at his worst results in a work of brilliance. Nostalghia is as invested in the psyche as Mirror, but it tries to be more spiritual in a literal sense. Capturing the human experience in a series of lengthy quests of self fulfilment, this journey into the depths of one’s soul is exquisite in every sense. Reaching the unity created by self destructive death and obtained enlightenment, Nostalghia reminds us that release is subjective, and one’s subconscious freedom may be another’s hell. There is no absolute in the cleansing of one’s being. However, Tarkovsky’s many attempts — including Nostalghia — will forever be some of cinema’s strongest endeavours of this particular quest.

88. A World Apart

If an Oscar bait film could ever be underrated or under-seen, then that film would be cinematographer Chris Menges’ A World Apart. Based on the imprisonment of anti-apartheid activist Ruth First (the screenplay was written by her surviving daughter Shawn Slovo), the film centres around judicial injustice, created by a bigoted society refusing to change. What places A World Apart at a higher place than most similarly conventional films for us is the continual avoidance of the most-expected turns; in fact, the film tricks you a number of times, to evoke frustration found within the fight to make things right. A World Apart was crafted by a loved one who aimed to get a story told, in a way that’s inviting and not insultingly manipulative.

87. Parting Glances

It’s astonishing how strong a statement is when a film is created with pure talent, even when there isn’t much budget to work with. Bill Sherwood’s goal was to humanize the AIDS crises in a time when people with AIDS were being ostracized. A humble look at a love triangle (and this time, it’s actually held together by love, not jealousy), we invest time in Michael’s relationship with his new boyfriend, and his suffering ex-boyfriend that Michael helps back at home. We get a slice of life, a community, and realistic situations, all of which were being avoided or skewed by the mainstream. Parting Glances outlasts all of these hateful takes, and remains an essential breakthrough in LGBTQ+ cinema and the AIDS conversation.

86. Vagabond

Agnès Varda always tried to look at cinema in a new light, and her quest continued for many decades. About halfway through her filmography lands Vagabond: a film that holds on to zero conventions, and creates the illusion of having absolutely no plot (despite encapsulating the entire life of a character). As we witness Mona throw away her life (and, ultimately, live the last days of her life) in a glorious, positive existential fashion, we see the refusal of conformity, both within a society and within cinematic confinements. If anything, we start the film off with the closer: the frozen corpse of an unknown person. Varda herself breaks the mold of a fictional narrative by being the literal voice that asks characters what is going on. Yes, Vagabond is as anti-structure as its lead character, and it’s gorgeously unorthodox.

85. Mystery Train

Considering all of the sublime ‘80s films in Jim Jarmusch’s filmography (which I sadly couldn’t fit onto this list, and it hurts me), Mystery Train is the first flash of pure talent from the then-blossoming auteur. It’s a trilogy of tales of lost souls, centred around a gunshot, the whispers of the night, and Elvis Presley. Even if these Memphis tales have little else to do with one another (it’s like watching three different shorts of Japanese, Italian, and American citizens), Mystery Train bottles up the serendipity found in the wee hours of the night, when secrets are exposed and mistakes are made. It’s Jarmusch operating at his very best.

84. Opera

This marks the end of Dario Argento’s classic run: the final time the giallo mastermind successfully tiptoed between frightening and schlocky without falling completely into the latter. Featuring a psychopath obsessed with a new singing sensation, Opera takes the curse of the “Scottish Play” (okay, Macbeth) and dials up the superstition to a whole new level. With enough silliness to instil a slight sense of the unknown, Opera is parts nightmare and fever dream. The finale feels like a glorious moment from a Steven Spielberg detour, only to be ripped apart by the relentlessness of addiction and perversion. Even if Argento has never quite figured out his recipe for his beautifully disastrous films ever since, we’ll always have Opera and the great horror films he made before it.

83. Hairspray

Finally, John Waters was playing things very safe and cool, and we got Hairspray: the never-ending realization that something this fab came from the same guy who made Pink Flamingos (how?). Even at his most mainstream, Waters is as edgy and exciting as ever, with this high spirited look at a younger generation hoping to abolish racial segregation and people shaming. There’s still enough camp in here to satisfy Waters aficionados, but Hairspray is accessible for all nonetheless. It’s too bad that we lost Divine just as soon as he was about to become the greatest sensation in the world, but at least this was Waters’ way of finally showing the world what many fans knew all along: Divine is beyond special. Hairspray — with all of its players — was a great podium for showcasing the stunning values found within.

82. Alice 

Is it bad that my favourite version of Lewis Carroll’s iconic novel(s) is Jan Švankmajer’s incredibly twisted stop-motion Alice? It might be the endearing living taxidermy. As freaky as it is (even the intended moments with the human Alice don’t help, with the constant close ups of her mouth narrating her own story), Alice is also creatively astounding. The imagination that goes into nearly every single demented creation here is part of the experience (my personal favourite has to be the cut-out card figures, like the Queen of Hearts, that walk through card doorways and become whole playing cards, even just for a split second). Somehow, this seems like the type of adaptation Carroll may have wanted all along: somewhat fantastical, definitely dark, and completely driven by its absurdities.

81. The Little Mermaid

The complete overhaul of the world via Disney’s quest to monopolize started right here. The Little Mermaid saved Disney by sparking the Disney renaissance, and it borderline changed animation for good as a result. It’s gorgeously animated, and the songs included are infectious (it’s been over thirty years, and I can guarantee you know “Under the Sea” by heart still). Most of all is the coming-of-age cautionary tale of a teenaged princess wanting a completely different life, only to discover the devious ways of the world. Many fantastic Disney films have come since — some that are even better — but The Little Mermaid is completely unrivalled with moments like Ariel giving her voice away, or Eric’s dazzling climactic battle with Ursula. The Little Mermaid was the first case of Disney magic for many of us that were too young to have experienced the first bouts of it beforehand. 

80. The Shining

The ‘80s were a strange time, where a cult film like The Shining could be nominated for Razzie Awards (for Stanley Kubrick, who created a game changing horror film, and Shelley Duvall, who barely acted her on-set distress) and revered as a classic years later. Kubrick’s legacies always worked slowly, but The Shining is a strange film indeed. It has its finger on the pulse of horrifying discomfort, to the point that it is either mesmerizing or unloved through irritation. In 2020, The Shining feels more like a major influence, as it swapped jump scares for shocking realizations, and blatant imagery for the unknown. It’s not often that a film thrives off of uncertainty: the same uncertainty that plagued it to begin with.

79. A Question of Silence

Marleen Gorris’ feminist psychological thriller was a difficult pill to swallow back in 1982, as an answer to the wave of feminist films before it. Like a cinematic “if you don’t get it now, you never will”, A Question of Silence is a bold film about a calculated murder by three women, that results in the humiliating suggestion that their internalized anger could have been caused by anybody. Almost like Gorris’ answer to the macho villainy of the New Hollywood movement, A Question of Silence uses a ghastly act to raise a point about systemic injustice and loaded viewpoints: something women have had to deal with for eternities. It resolves with hysteria: the impossibility to believe that prejudice towards many groups doesn’t still exist. 

78. A Fish Called Wanda

John Cleese studied law at Cambridge, and was able to fully exercise his learning with his screenplay for A Fish Called Wanda (perhaps the greatest marriage of his school day functions: classes and comedy); he plays a blithering barrister in the film. Unlike the usual Monty Python calls-to-action of decimating tropes, Wanda bathes in the conventions of romantic comedies and silly heist films; it just decides to do a good job of these conventions, resulting in a laugh fest for the ages. The incompetence of everyone (and I do mean everyone) is what makes this goofy game of cat-and-mouse so lovely; no one is expendable, but everyone’s arguably an idiot. As far as comedies with enough plot to take seriously go, A Fish Called Wanda is a sterling example.

77. My Brother’s Wedding

The sophomore project by Charles Burnett was destroyed by the ineptitude of the film industry’s business side; My Brother’s Wedding was not allowed to be finely edited, was submitted as a flawed film to festivals, and was hidden away for a quarter of a century as damned art. Burnett’s neorealist vision is now available to be loved with open arms, as it documents the ghettos of Los Angeles with non-actors to play out his words and cues. My Brother’s Wedding uses this setting to tell a humble tale of reparations, and the inability to choose between two families (one of blood, and one of bonding, through life and death respectively). I try to imagine if Burnett and this stunning film were given their fair chance, and I’m sore, knowing that My Brother’s Wedding could have affected cinema more than it was allowed to.

76. Drugstore Cowboy

The first time Gus Van Sant completely dominated the screen was with the edgy look at addiction known as Drugstore Cowboy. We see enough debauchery before a turning point is asked for, only for glimpses of hope to be stolen away from us: a reminder that the disappearance of toxicity in one person doesn’t mean the culling of toxicity from all. During the earlier chapters, Drugstore Cowboy connects dreamlike imagery with barren reality, giving us both the highs and the lows of these characters as they chase the next score. With Matt Dillon operating at the best he’s ever been (there aren’t many loaded performances as convincing as his), Van Sant tapped into an ugly life with complete devotion.

75. Kagemusha

Somehow, it took George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola — disciples of Akira Kurosawa’s filmmaking — pleading with 20th Century Fox to allow one of cinema’s greatest artists to get another film. This irks us to this day (is his filmography not enough??). Well, we at least got Kagemusha: a test of contemporary capabilities before following up with Ran. As for this 1980 take on the Battle of Nagashino, Kagemusha is an extravagantly colourful look at war, and Kurosawa’s flexing of his capabilities. See? Even his experiments are absolutely worthwhile. With an entire lengthy climax void of dialogue, Kagemusha turns war into poetry, and the disrespect of the film industry into art. 

74. The King of Comedy

After Raging Bull didn’t win Best Picture, The King of Comedy was released. It’s hard to say if Martin Scorsese flat out didn’t care to play the awards season game again, or if he even cared greatly at all. Nonetheless, The King of Comedy is a huge middle finger to mainstream cinema at the time, with a deeply disturbed protagonist (Rupert Pupkin has become an adjective to describe obsessive lowlifes now) and a disregard for any likeable characters to follow. Shattering the illusion of celebrity, and using a warped mind to feign popularity, The King of Comedy is actually hilarious if you’re willing to accept laughing at misfortune and evil. If not, it may be a feature of discomfort that will rattle you to your core.

73. The Last Metro

One of François Truffaut’s concluding works was his final gem The Last Metro: a love letter to the stage during Nazi occupied France. Truffaut uses major French faces (Catherine Deneuve and Gérard Depardieu) as puppets to tell the tale of ambition in a time of turmoil, and the sacrifices made to stay alive. Using his token poetic style, Truffaut puts everything out in the open for us. So we think: right at the last second, the rug is pulled from under us, as a trick meant to give us one final hurrah. With that, it was evident that Truffaut could operate in any era, and that he’s always been aware of how to shake up cinema at least one more time.

72. Blood Simple

In the early ‘80s, a major transitional phase was happening. New Hollywood was now dead, but a new wave of American filmmakers was still welcome. Enter the Coen brothers, who were clearly destined for this industry. Their debut Blood Simple (one of their darkest works to date) is a neo noir for the ages, which excels past any budgetary constraints it had. A straight forward adultery mystery turns into a flashy, aesthetic bloodbath that reveals all of the capabilities of these two then-budding filmmakers. It’s the kind of first impression that really makes a statement, to the point of being unforgettable. When your first feature contains one of the greatest shootout sequences of all time, you're going to be making films for a while.

71. Chocolat 

A first film is a great showcasing of what an artist is trying to say, and Claire Denis took the risky route of covering topics that mainstream films just love to shy away from and not confront. These include colonialism, and an authentic approach to native servants of white privileged families in Africa. Chocolat takes this uncomfortable discussion and runs with it, creating a poignant look at how racism is inherited by upbringings and not from birth. Using the perspective of an innocent girl (through the eyes of her adult self) to observe prejudice, Chocolat is a glorious debut that dealt with tricky topics far better than a number of its contemporaries.

70. Grave of the Fireflies

In the internet age, Isao Takahata’s opus has become the go-to film to bring up when others need a good cry. It’s fair to say that Grave of the Fireflies is certainly one of the more emotional films one may ever watch, particularly the devotion a brother has to help his ailing sister, as both are rendered homeless during World War II. From the get go, hope is removed, as the film reveals its darkest hours right away. Every attempt at survival is futile from there on out, and yet we still beg Grave of the Fireflies to give these poor children a chance, despite what we already know. Maybe the film isn’t cynical but instead loving, as it got its most difficult moments out of the way, so we can experience and appreciate a love between siblings during hardship without the deception of hope.

69. Mad Max 2

Mad Max: Fury Road has dominated the modern day observations of action cinema, but it is built heavily on the blueprint of George Miller’s earlier vehicular onslaught Mad Max 2 (or The Road Warrior to American viewers). Disguised as a myth told through a young observer (now the film’s narrator), Mad Max 2 is a western in spirit (lone ranger and all) but a political statement upfront. Unlike Fury Road, this film takes time to get into the car battles, and the payoff is one built on patience and devotion. Mad Max 2 fulfills every desire, and remains one of the crazier conceived action films of all time, rivalled only by its distant 2015 cousin.

68. Santa Sangre

We will see Alejandro Jodorowsky operating at his craziest once we reach the ‘70s, but for now Santa Sangre is his best effort at being endearing, and yet he is still absolutely insane. Like any film by Tim Burton before he really took off (and also way more insane), Santa Sangre is innocent through its protagonist (a circus performer hypnotized by his mother to carry out her desires). As crazy as the film gets, its central tale is always emotional to witness, because of the massive performance by son Axel Jodorowsky. With nightmarish juxtapositions and papa Jodorowsky’s usual shock imagery, Santa Sangre is still of another planet, yet it’s still the auteur’s most grounded work (whatever that may mean).

67. I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing

The more the world accepts Canadian cinema’s strange style, the larger Patricia Rozema’s opus I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing becomes. This daydream pulled from a smitten, ditzy (but charming) secretary is to understand love at first sight. Told with zero pretence and entirely with wonder, I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing is driven entirely by feelings, even when they are misguided. For that reason, this tale of love and heartbreak remains a slice of splendour to enjoy for decades to come. If you want to experience the quirkiness of pure Canadian cinema and also feel invited at the same time, I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing is both accessible and imaginative.

66. Platoon

Maybe Oliver Stone hasn’t quite returned to this high point in his career, but this Vietnam War debacle is one hell of a bar to reach again for anyone. It’s one of the few accessible Best Picture winners of the ‘80s to make sense, given its riveting take on the titular platoon that begins to turn in on itself out of delirium. With everyone operating at their very best, Platoon is a series of success from start to finish, adding to the anxiety created by the developing events that spiral completely out of control. Platoon doesn’t hide any cards, either, by playing some absolute narrative doozies even early on, alerting audiences that anything can happen.

65. Mauvais Sang

It pains me that not many films from the Cinéma du look movement made my ‘80s list (Diva is absolutely an honourable mention, if I’m allowed), but Leos Carax’s riveting Mauvais Sang was a must to include. Pooling together young icons before they became as beloved as they are now (Juliette Binoche, Denis Lavant, Julie Delpy), it’s as if Carax and company were aware of the future of French cinema and what these newcomers could bring to the table. In Mauvais Sang, we get refreshing expressions of love and pain, all told through an alternative reality where sex for pleasure instead of love can kill you. By Lavant’s sprint-dance to “Modern Love”, you’ll know you’re watching the emotional palette reinvented.

64. The Purple Rose of Cairo 

I still believe The Purple Rose of Cairo is Woody Allen’s most underrated film: a depression-era tribute to the cinematic experience. When fictional character Tom Baxter leaps off the screen to be with his most avid admirer (a hurting waitress), Cairo becomes an impossible reality, with the barricade separating art from life being shattered. Baxter is played by Jeff Daniels at his best: as lovingly corny and naive as possible. Once Baxter’s actor Gil Shepherd (also Daniels) becomes aware of the situation, Cairo could have gone the screwball route. Instead, Allen opts for romanticized devastation, as he never forgets that the film is still rooted in a sorrowful America.

63. Sex, Lies, and Videotape

It’s no wonder that Steven Soderbergh’s youthful win of the Palme d’Or would have resulted in a permanent shift in independent cinema forever. Not everyone just makes Sex, Lies, and Videotape, especially given its incredibly cold, alien tone. A film about perversions (some treated with video tapes) being captured with such indifference is almost like the issuance of the next coming of American cinema, especially since the ‘80s became more concerned with sentimentality. Every revelation here sends chills down your spine, even well before the eerie climax. Soderbergh has made many films of varying styles since, but none have felt quite as idiosyncratic as this prophetic piece of American film.

62. Big

It can’t be an ‘80s list without at least one signature romantic comedy on here, and Penny Marshall’s greatest triumph is that film for us. Big gets its fantasy basis out of the way quickly, allowing us to fully digest the possibility that a child can become an adult just over a wish (Tom Hanks’ incredible performance also helps, of course). Never fully indulging in the silliness that can ensue, Big makes time for the wonders of a proper coming-of-age film done incredibly differently. Adults look back on their own youths, and the children in this film understand their years of exploration they still have to enjoy. 

61. Children of a Lesser God

Randa Haines’ awards season juggernaut Children of a Lesser God has enough heart and care to remain a feature that succeeds past its premise. Driven by breathtaking performances by Marlee Matlin and William Hurt, this romantic drama explores the difficulties of partners not being able to fully empathize with one another; particularly a teacher for the deaf not fully understanding his deaf partner’s frustrations with living with her condition. The balance of optimism and severity here is used nicely, as Children of a Lesser God never feels heavy handed or incompetent with its material. This is conventional ‘80s drama done very well.

60. A City of Sadness

One of Hou Hsiao-Hsien’s earliest successes ends with a photograph of mixed emotions: promise and fear. A City of Sadness tells the events that followed the genocide of thousands of Taiwanese citizens at the hand of the Kuomintang government, and the pursuit of freedom and happiness. Pivotal for Taiwanese cinema and the then-muted discussion of the White Terror on Taiwan, A City of Sadness contains the gravity of these attacks within a smaller story (told largely, with two and a half hours and a big enough production). It was a strong introduction to the passive-epic style of Hou Hsiao-Hsien, and a bittersweet narrative that lingers for a while.

59. Dead Ringers

Once David Cronenberg broke out into the Hollywood side of his career, it only felt right that he did at least one more Canadian arthouse work (he would do multiple more). Dead Ringers dialed down the American side of his new identity, and resorted to the type of eeriness that only a twisted Canadian production could emit. Featuring Jeremy Irons in duo roles as twin gynaecologists, Dead Ringers is a play on the double, resulting in psychological deterioration and physical warping. Delusions turn into desires, and expertise becomes danger. The twins feed off one another in body, mind, and spirit, like a conjoined gemini; obsessions of the parasitic brother begin to poison the host brother. Dead Ringers is truly an authentically Canadian staple: it’s deeply disturbing and strange.

58. The Empire Strikes Back

The best Star Wars film to date has been spoiled for the entire world, and yet it is so good that it still doesn’t even matter. Now, The Empire Strikes Back is a space western staple, with a reinvention of the open worlds and smushed saloons of the former genre; it’s also just flat out the one Star Wars film we can all agree on, after A New Hope. Back then, this film was a fantastic sign that this new reality found with the original Star Wars was not a fluke. This beautiful franchise was meant to continue. I honestly believe that Star Wars started something new, but it was The Empire Strikes Back which completely capitalized on what this new idea (film franchises) could actually do. Now that this was released a long time ago (and somewhat in a galaxy far, far away), The Empire Strikes Back is easily the peak of George Lucas’ brainchild (and, weirdly enough, he only wrote the story and helped produce this entry).

57. Akira

Much of the pop culture imagery surrounding Akira is fixated on the earlier scenes, which is great for newcomers, since they will never be prepared for how ambitious this anime classic is willing to get. The longer it goes, the more you can’t believe it will get more intense (and yet it always does). By the end, you feel like you are of a completely different dimension, and that the world you once knew was a memory that has finally subsided. Akira is willing to explore so many areas of discomfort. It’s this type of courage that has propelled it towards being an influence on mature animation from there on out.

56. Crimes and Misdemeanors

Woody Allen professes to love Ingmar Bergman, and hints of the Swedish master’s works can be found in the former’s filmography in bits and pieces. Things get interesting when Allen goes full-on Bergman, and Crimes and Misdemeanors is one of these examples. Two unrelated tales — one of an adultery that transitions into devastation, and the other of a documentarian losing his own grip on reality — converge at the end over a conversation, and we have the glory of hearing two people completely misunderstand one another, as they resolve their own dilemmas. Crimes and Misdemeanors is an uncharacteristically dismal film for Allen, but his dark side being explored this profoundly has resulted in one of his finest hours.

55. Sweet Bunch

A visionary not discussed enough is Nikos Nikolaidis, who had his own versions of synth-heavy psycho dramas throughout the ‘80s (Morning Patrol just missed my list). His peak ‘80s feature is Sweet Bunch: a strange jab at Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch. A gang of four delinquents vow to explore their darkest sides in different ways (through perversion, deception, or full on psychotic natures). They become fodder for the police, who gradually narrow in on them. All of this depravity, and yet Sweet Bunch is still shot so colourfully, and with such emotional music; it's a cocktail of contrasting sensations. Like an epic shrug in the face of fatality if there ever was one, Sweet Bunch is a feature that exists without a care in the world. 

54. Broadcast News

When James L. Brooks transitioned from television to the big screen, he helped figure out the new wave of comedy dramas that only a decade like the ‘80s could conjure up (that certain amount of sentimental sugar was needed). His greatest attempt was the triptych of neuroses known as Broadcast News. As we explore three lives that are caught in a love and career triangle (a dimwitted anchorman, an envious reporter, and a perfectionist producer), we notice that the film is kind to all three players, providing them all with their amount of deserved attention and care. You may not want any particular person to win more than the other, which clashes against the highly competitive career backdrop. 

53. Taipei Story

Before Edward Yang was known for his slow burning lengthy epics, he set a precedent with the reasonably long (two hours) Taipei Story. Always the visionary that he is, watching Taipei Story now is an exercise in wondering how in the hell this film is thirty five years old (it could have been released in the 2010’s). Past, present and future all collide head-on in this crossroad of a narrative, as possible outcomes are built upon by past fortunes and current dilemmas. Yang doesn’t hesitate to fixate on all of the small little details that make us human throughout these times of confusion, so at least we the audience can celebrate life while the characters here feel conflicted about their own.

52. Polyester

Before John Waters became completely mainstream (for a while), he let go of his exclusively counterculture ways (only a little bit, anyway). Polyester is a teensy bit shock, and a small pinch of satire, resulting in one of the most outrageously hilarious films ever created. With a scratch-and-smell feature that is completely sadistic (think you’re going to smell berries in a forest? Guess again! It’s a skunk!) and a storyline that is beyond melodramatic, Polyester is the decapitation of the vapid nuclear family exploited in films and television for decades. This is Waters’ greatest success at capturing the eccentricity of the underground and gimmicky film experiences he adores, and it’s a dark comedy for the ages.

51. Videodrome

This may be David Cronenberg's answer to the glued-to-television generation of the early ‘80s: a testament to the addictions and fetishes emanating out of the curved glassed picture and into the minds of the vulnerable. Of course, Cronenberg goes all the way with his body horror fixations, as Videodrome introduces us all to a new dimension of pain, sex, and sickness. Channelling the manic natures of a cult and the curiosities of conspiracy, Videodrome is completely engaging as a piece of curiosity-turned-obsession. We pay the price, with Videodrome’s world of erotica-torture becoming our latest nightmares. Long live the new flesh, indeed.

50. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial

We know Steven Spielberg as overly sentimental now, but there was a time where we were yet to really see his sentimental side at all. Okay, so Close Encounters of the Third Kind was somewhat of a signal, but E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial was the formal introduction. A family film focused solely on the takeaways that children will have, E.T. is a soaring experience for growing minds (it’s no wonder that it remains a go-to for adults to show children even still). I wish Spielberg hadn’t tried to fix the film in any sort of way, because he really struck gold the first time.

49. The Ballad of Narayama

How are we supposed to think of death? Do we welcome it early on? In Shohei Imamura’s moving tale of ritualistic sacrifices, The Ballad of Narayama is the living of one’s final days, and the last hours alive. In order to preserve rations in a small village, anyone who is seventy years old commits suicide alone by letting the elements on top of a mountain take them away. Narayama spends a portion of its duration working up to this reality. It takes its sweet time getting there, allowing us to soak in the severity of this arranged end to a fruitful life. It’s a bittersweet appreciation of existence. 

48. Camp de Thiaroye

Ousmane Sembène joined forces with Thierno Faty Sow on this harrowing depiction of colonial practices in wartime. Seeing Sembène operating largely is also a refreshing change of pace, even considering how he utilizes entire sequences to zoom in on the smaller details of living under bigotry. Camp de Thiaroye is a slow burning fight for justice, only for celebrations to take place far too early. Sembène never loses sight of his message, and allows the remainder of the runtime to bring us back down to Earth. Racism exists, and there is no easy way to rid the world of hateful minds.

47. The Untouchables

Never has Brian De Palma operated so lovingly than the well-assembled, moving depiction of Eliot Ness and company in The Untouchables. Not once does a moment feel exploitation-heavy or of shock value, even when the film gets grittier. It’s like De Palma decided to play ball in the ‘80s and make the kind of film that other awards season chasers made (only his was one of the finer cases). The efforts to bring down Al Capone seem futile, but Ness never gives up, and the entirety of The Untouchables feels like a noble effort (a side of sincerity we almost never see from De Palma). It’s a director stepping outside of their comfort zone with great results.

46. L’Ange

Ambient cinema doesn’t get enough respect. Is there a full on story in Patrick Bokanowski’s experimental feature L’Ange? No. Not really. However, there is an ethereal connection made with the looping, droning, and repetitive cycles of this pattern-heavy picture. Creating your own definitions for each of the images on screen is what will make L’Ange uniquely your own; for us, it’s the recreation of the monotony of the human experience, and the ascension into an afterworld created through the damnation of life on Earth. L’Ange will disperse all of your thoughts as much as it collects them, spinning your mind into a whirlwind of consciousness. Maybe nothing concrete happens in L’Ange, but that allows everything to happen in it.

45. Camille Claudel

What makes Bruno Nuytten’s biopic epic work so well is the dedication to letting moments of a famous life gestate naturally. If you know the story of sculpting legend Camille Claudel, then this film is a great companion piece to a saddening life that dives into the cruxes of a figure that deserved better. If you have no idea who she is, then Camille Claudel works very cleverly, never to reveal too much too early. We get the graceful ascension of an artist, and the tragic fall of a misunderstood soul, banished away by jealousy and the refusal to help someone with a mental illness. Nuytten turns history into a mythological epic of sorts with Camille Claudel: the recognition of her brilliance that she always merited.

44. The Thing

For us, John Carpenter’s reinterpretation of Who Goes There? is his finest hour. The Thing is as cheesy and fun as his other works, but it has an extra je ne sais quoi. Maybe it’s the added emotional connection to these characters, trapped in Antarctica during their research expedition. It could be the focus on dread above spectacle, as the unknown is capable at every turn (especially once you get to truly see what this alien force truly is). The Thing is Carpenter playing conservatively, and it’s a great change of pace compared to his films that usually go head first into their eccentric ways. The Thing is concerned with the space in between the madness, and so the madness thrives.

43. Salaam Bombay!

Mira Nair spent her early years as a filmmaker creating documentaries, to show the world a side of South Asian poverty and struggle. Her first foray into narrative cinema was just as eye opening, yet it showed the world early on just how great of a writer she is. Working together with an eventual frequent partner (Sooni Taraporevala), Nair came up with Salaam Bombay!: a thriller surrounding poor youths hoping for a better life in Bombay. The film is cyclical, carrying us around geographically and emotionally, only for us to be planted right back where we started. It’s a reminder that corruption does not favour bright souls, and lives are continuously being stymied and neglected by faltering systems worldwide.

42. Back to the Future

Most pop culture films are upheld by nostalgia, common ground, trendiness, and other non-factors to the actual film at hand. Then, there’s Back to the Future: one of cinema’s most well rounded efforts for borderline any viewer ever. As fun as it is (and it is fun), Robert Zemeckis struck gold with a reinterpretation of a romantic backstory. Having a child try to save his parent’s teen relationship while being trapped decades before his own time is already a good enough premise (that can easily be wasted). It creates laughs and excitement, sure. What really counts here is the touching minutiae that constructs worlds. You feel like you are a part of something special. Back to the Future is a blockbuster with longevity, because Zemeckis never forgot to prioritize heart over pending success.

41. The Vanishing

One of cinema's greatest mea culpas was when George Sluizer’s 1993 American remake of The Vanishing completely missed the purpose of the initial film. His first go around (a Netherlands release spoken in Dutch and French) is a nauseatingly chilling look at the mind of a psychopath, of whom you are aware of the entire feature. There’s no beating around the bush here. You are left wondering what is happening for two thirds of the film, as a murderer lives, and a widower wonders what really happened. The last third is all about psychological manipulation, and it festers better than most mental games of chess in film. By the time it’s wrapped up, The Vanishing (of 1988, of course) will leave you in a fetal position, sick in disbelief.

40. The Elephant Man

Right after Eraserhead melted minds, David Lynch was the artist to bring forth a biopic of Joseph Merrick (named “John” Merrick in the film). The Elephant Man is the retelling of history in pure Lynchian fashion. Merrick’s nightmares dictate a good portion of the film’s runtime. However, this was the first introduction to the straight forward storytelling of Lynch’s filmography. Lynch clearly could convey a tender, humanistic take on life, which was essential for telling the story of a tortured soul like Joseph Merrick. Without becoming too safe, The Elephant Man is a daring biopic, and a promising feature by one of America’s greatest cinematic minds.

39. Veronika Voss

Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s final film released while he was alive is the black and white homage to film of yesteryear. Veronika Voss is a unique film shot with so much brightness and light sets and costuming, as to wash out the entire film and present the titular actress as an angelic figure or ghost. Voss is stunted by the world around her, including those pretending to care. Fassbinder usually worked savagely, but there’s a bit of an element of remorse in Veronika Voss that shields this character from complete representational annihilation. As the final true hurrah by a still-rising auteur, Veronika Voss is a morbidly ironic final say on the medium, even well before Fassbinder knew this would be his last chance to showcase his love of cinema. 

38. My Neighbor Totoro

Far from his first work, Hayao Miyazaki was still put on the map with My Neighbor Totoro: his avenue for children dealing with hardships. The fact that Totoro and his other mystical friends (who can forget the cat bus?) are barely in this film says something: they are as much a part of us as they are the lead children coping with their mother’s illness. In reality, My Neighbor Totoro is the sweet approach to analyzing siblings subject to changes, including a new house, their father having to take on more responsibilities, and their mother being taken care of away from them. Still, whether it’s the actual crux of the story, or the mere moments where we are whisked away into a new wonderland, Miyazaki proved his full understanding of the cinematic medium with this early breakthrough feature.

37. Kiss of the Spider Woman

Kiss of the Spider Woman is an overwhelming blend of societal commentaries and narrative structures. A prison drama featuring a radical rebel and the stories told by his openly homosexual inmate — who also acts as a sexual discovery for the former — is only a part of the tale. There’s also the retelling of a problematic film (a piece of Nazi propaganda) meant to make time go by, which eventually becomes the crafting of a whole new narrative. The inner prison politics that skew real life also come into play, adding yet another thrilling element that contributes to the messiness of this isolated life. Kiss of the Spider Woman is simple on paper, but it actually performs many narrative balancing acts that will astonish you.

36. Withnail and I

Sometimes, it’s good to put on something brainless. Withnail and I is one of the great mindless films of all time, because there is still so much thought put into it. Almost every line is a nugget of gold (is it so simple to pick just one favourite?). This venture into the countryside following two delinquents is an absolute riot, especially during their more moronic moments (which can mean anything, given their permanently loaded states). All is wrapped up nicely with glimpses of promise, including Withnail’s monologue to himself, proving that there is some talent there buried underneath inebriated permanence. Many stoner and party films have tried to replicate the hilarity and effortlessness of Withnail and I, and none have come even remotely close.

35. The Sacrifice

The final film Andrei Tarkovsky ever created was the visual art piece the world demanded; his pairing with cinematographer legend Sven Nykvist results in two and a half hours of visual perfection. Then, there’s the heartbreaking premise of a family man whose acts of desperation lead to considerable insanity, all in the name of protecting his loved ones from impending doom. The Sacrifice is so invested in the moments of silence in between, you will be brought to a new mindset, and lulled into a state of meditation. When it wants to bring you reality, The Sacrifice doesn’t hold back, as it unleashes the cries and panics of people afraid of death.

34. Love Streams

American director/actor staple John Cassavetes was ill during his second last feature Love Streams, so — to him — it was his last chance to treat the world to his idiosyncratic form of storytelling. What we got is a downward spiral of an alcoholic (played by Cassavetes) and the woes of his sister (played by his real wife Gena Rowlands): loving embraces without the romance (Cassavetes was clearly aware the end was near, and wanted to be with Rowlands in any capacity one last time on screen). All things considered, Love Streams is a saddening look at adults who lost their way, and have collided into one another aimlessly, in search of aspirations within each other. It’s a portrayal of hopelessness only Cassavetes could tell so lovingly.

33. The Green Ray

At first, Éric Rohmer’s The Green Ray is a strolling quest for love that just seems absolutely pointless, considering all of the failed attempts throughout. Then, it happens: the moment of the actual green ray (the split-second phenomenon where the setting sun appears green if you gaze closely enough). Rohmer preserves this and Delphine’s search for a soul mate in the confinement of the perfect cinematic moment, transforming the rest of The Green Ray into the patient waiting for the sun to set at the end of a tumultuous day. This is Rohmer at his finest, as he pulls off the fleeting experience of falling in love and experiencing a natural sensation all at the exact same time.

32. Fitzcarraldo

Not many directors frame settings and productions as exquisitely as Werner Herzog, who turned the mission to pull a steamboat over a mountain and through a landscape into an epic. The opening is built upon the exposing of Carlos Fizcarrald’s egotism, so the lengthy test to drag this boat is not for nothing; we understand why we’re still here. Then, Herzog frames this journey so incredibly well, as if we are actually there, wondering if the boat will collapse or cave in, or if there will be any casualties. Herzog is magnificently efficient at turning a plot point into an unforgettable spectacle (even outside of his documentaries), and Fitzcarraldo is such an example of this ability.

31. The Right Stuff

In order for a year-best epic to continue to matter in the grand scheme of legacy, a film has to have — pun intended — the “right stuff”. This mission to space is already so fascinating, with phenomenal editing and sound crafting here to draw you in the entire time. Then, there’s the extra mile (which I always like) of keeping up with a pilot who wasn’t a part of Project Mercury, forever making us wonder about the “what if?” about the lengthy process to find the team meant to go to space (did they actually get all of the very best pilots for this mission?). The Right Stuff is capability versus fate, talent versus legacy, and truth versus written truth. It’s a different side of the conventional epic that I wish would be explored more often.

30. Paris, Texas

Known for his road films, Wim Wenders took a bit of a different approach (a detour, if you will) with the everlasting classic Paris, Texas: the tale of an individualist ready for reconciliation. Oftentimes we wait for Travis to speak, only for the latter portions of the film to not be able to stop him from spilling his heart out. We go nowhere, but then are destined to make the trip necessary to mend consciences. This all leads up to a surreal confrontation that looks unlike the rest of the film: a monologue disguised as a conversation, that will certainly leave you weeping. Paris, Texas is a tour within one’s self more than it is a literal travel film, and the landscapes better represent the state of a damaged spirit aching for mercy.

29. The Secret of NIMH

The urgency of the Disney renaissance period may have come from the spawning of the great animated feature of the ‘80s. Former Disney animator Don Bluth was never better than his first foray into his own workspace with The Secret of NIMH: a family picture that is delicately textured in its mature themes, creating a real conversation that remains impossible to shake off. With the discovery that tiny Mrs. Brisby is forced to digest, NIMH goes from a curious fable into an impactful statement on the human species in relation to the natural world. Not many animated family films are willing to operate this darkly (or without going off the rails). The Secret of NIMH was such a great opening statement by Bluth: he sadly never came even remotely close to achieving this zenith again.

28. The Horse Thief

The luxury of the digital information age is that we no longer have to wait years for new films to reach other countries, and more and more hidden gems are discovered all of the time. The Horse Thief is the kind of work that we can safely appreciate as an ‘80s film now, despite being inaccessible to North Americans until the ‘90s. Once watched, The Horse Thief has the effect of completely changing you, even if just for the rest of the day. As if one is reaching nirvana, The Horse Thief compartmentalizes different spiritual sensations into a concise runtime, with its aesthetic soul spilling into each and every additional frame from the one before. We’re lucky to watch a misplaced opus like The Horse Thief decades later, and allow it to influence us now.

27. Amadeus 

Okay, so this historical drama about Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is quite fabricated, but no one’s disputing that. No. All that matters is that Amadeus is a sensational film (and it truly is); it’s Miloš Forman’s strongest feature, easily. Turning the rivalry between Mozart and Antonio Salieri into a disturbing overflow of jealousy from the latter is enticing enough; having Salieri play the part of the angel of death for Mozart’s last hours alive is downright incredible. Then, there’s Salieri’s recollection of these demons in the “present”, asking for forgiveness for the death of the greatest composer. Amadeus revolves around the sickness found within competition, but having Mozart himself be such a buffoon with natural talent is the film's way of celebrating artistic minds altogether; darkness can’t be dark without the light to counter it.

26. Who Framed Roger Rabbit

The more time that passes, the more the genius within Who Framed Roger Rabbit rises to the top. Firstly, as a technical achievement, Roger Rabbit is unrivalled with its mixture of animation and live action, either through execution (the phrase “bumping the lamp” exists for a reason) or through creativity. Then, there’s the merging of neo noir and cartoon insanities, so we get an extremely cynical animated film and a goofier mystery. The yin and yang aspects of Roger Rabbit are delightfully complimentary, and it doesn’t hurt that the film is great film to boot. When it goes the extra mile, its evident that it’s Robert Zemeckis’ opus (especially since it represents his knack for story telling and for technical prowess in cinema).

25. Tampopo

Maybe there has never been a film about food as good as Tampopo. Described as a “ramen western” by director Juzo Itami, Tampopo is part spaghetti western satire (in very, very loose ways) and part series of food based vignettes to the point of ridiculousness. Somewhere deep down is an insightful lesson of life, including patience, the injection of soul into one’s craft, and other lovely uplifting messages. On top is a hunger-inducing collage of food, cooking, and the pursuit of the perfect meal. Sure, food has been shot well before. In Tampopo, food is the main star, and all of the fourth wall breaks, cutaways, and weirdness is secondary to the worship of the dining experience. 

24. Possession

Never has hyper-melodrama been this perfect. Andrzej Źuławski wanted to recreate the impact of going through a divorce in his English language debut Possession, and he sure fulfilled his promise. Starting off with a manic family drama, Possession feels a bit off, but it could be because of its over exaggerated ways. Once it dives into being a full on body horror (and it really doesn’t hold back on this [see the subway sequence]), you’ll fully know how Źuławski felt about his own divorce. Possession is disgustingly self-involved, and it’s addicting. Car accidents happen for no reason. Screaming is the local dialect. Blood is far from the worst bodily fluid to spill. Possession is insane and truly sick. Excess has never been this exhilarating. 

23. Blow Out

Usually, Brian De Palma does too much, and suffocates his pictures (even if he means well). With Blow Out, he had three homages in mind: the film making process, a plot point in Michaelangelo Antonioni’s Blowup, and the works of Alfred Hitchcock. The three concepts distilled into one concoction is a damn good end result: a hypnotic detective tale using cinematic equipment to piece together a possible murder. Usually the king of schlock from the New Hollywood movement, not one note in this De Palma opus feels sour. Connecting the construction of art with the dissection of evil, Blow Out is the process of getting fully immersed in an art, and completely addicted to a world of danger.

22. After Hours

How on earth did this end up being Martin Scorsese’s most underrated film? To me, this is easily one of his greatest experiences; it’s strangely incredibly unique in his filmography, too. All Paul Hackett wants to do after an evening date goes south is head home, and yet he is caught in a whirlwind of stupidity that only worsens as time goes on. The narrative weaving will leave your mouth agape, perhaps not as much as the incredibly bonkers climax. For a film that’s so idiotically simplistic, After Hours is still masterfully crafted, and easily one of the funniest ‘80s films. Please don’t do yourself a disservice. After Hours is a must-see, and its dues will come some day.

21. The Legend of Suram Fortress

Sergei Parajanov was absolutely abused, when he was framed for crimes he didn’t commit and imprisoned for his exploration with homosexuality. With the help of actor Dodo Abashidze, Parajanov completed his first film in fifteen years. The Legend of Suram Fortress continued off where The Colour of Pomegranates dared to venture, with the progression of cinema as a series of living tableaus. Instead of the iconography of Pomegranates, Suram Fortress indulges in natural symmetry, whilst still maintaining the carefully placed foregrounds that still manage to freeze time. Parajanov lost not one ounce of talent in his time away, but his effect on changing cinema forever was unfortunately stifled. 

20. Cinema Paradiso

There are films all can love, and then there are films for cinephiles. While Cinema Paradiso is a crowd pleaser, is it ever a massive tribute to those of us that cannot live without the movies. Taking place in an Italian village containing a cinema house for numerous decades, Cinema Paradiso is the longevity of film as a medium, but the eventual extinction of fond memories. A mischievous child who finds solace in the projector room in censorship-heavy Italy grows up to be a renown director, who has loved and lost. Returning to an abandoned world in need of preservation is part of the heartbreak Cinema Paradiso bestows upon us. Seeing the fragments of history channeling his entire life (as a present from one film lover to another) is one of cinema’s most overwhelming moments ever put to screen.

19. L’Argent

At over eighty years old, Robert Bresson wrapped up his concise filmography with a poetic take on greed and the rippling effects of selfishness. L’Argent feels like the domino effect of corruption that only an art-savvy mind like Bresson could conjure. To see how much destruction can be caused by one money-based decision is almost painstaking. An hour and a half (less, actually) feels like an eternity. The human necessity for money is a crippling reality that sadly may never go away. In as few words as possible, Bresson coasts through the snobbish and fortunate, and the poorer classes in dire need of help. For the privileged, money is the root of all evil, and L’Argent acts like the ten commandments of not falling under its spell.

18. Hannah and Her Sisters

For us, Hannah and Her Sisters is Woody Allen at the top of his game, as he juggles three tales, three Thanksgivings, and three sisters in this dramedy for the ages. Most of the narrative threads are tangled by lust, lies, and loneliness. Then, there’s the existential crisis created by the fear of one’s death by a possible cancer, only to be proven healthy (and await death anyway). Thanksgiving is the time of bonding between family members, and is the one time where loved ones can see each other all year. In Hannah and Her Sisters, it’s the opportune moment for collision. The first Thanksgiving is the realization of calamity. The second is devastation. The final is born from forgiveness, and promise for the future; who knows if the next Thanksgiving will bring joy or sorrow.

17. The Fly

It’s rare for a horror film (and I mean full on horror films; you can’t mistaken this work as anything else) to be so beautiful and moving. David Cronenberg’s opus The Fly is actually cry worthy, as the deterioration of a body is the loss of a loved one (even considering the dangers they pose). Cronenberg channeled George Langelaan’s original story, and transformed this tale into a metaphor of the AIDS crisis that was gaining attention by this point. With this in mind, Cronenberg makes sure to create sympathy in a film that could easily have been pure shock (it’s still frightening, let’s be honest). Either way, this miraculous marriage between scares and empathy remains a horror classic, and an astounding example where the genre is truly humanized. 

16. Das Boot

Wolfgang Petersen’s war epic Das Boot is phenomenal right off the bat, especially since it leaps right into the U-boat narrative rather quickly in its titanic runtime. For so long, you’re trapped on board with all of the crew members, waiting to see what will happen, or wondering how everyone will manage to escape. Das Boot is a test of endurance, and not one moment feels wasted (in any of the varying cuts). Finally, there is a glimmer of hope, which turns into a sign of victory. It’s at this point that Das Boot transforms from a riveting film into an unforgettable one, as Petersen and company use the perfect moment to replicate the true unpredictability of war, and the shock of an unprecedented attack.

15. The Last Emperor

To this day, I am stunned that the Academy dared to award Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Last Emperor Best Picture, especially considering how inspired by arthouse it is (and how incredibly safe the Academy was during the ‘80s). This multi generational biopic of Puyi — the final Emperor of China — leaps from the Forbidden City to the People’s Republic of China, as the different political climates found within China clash against each other. To see how much historical change can happen in such a short amount of time is a breathtaking experience that Bertolucci perfectly captures with this cinematic fusion of cultures (American audiences, Chinese history, and European arthouse). It remains a grossly underrated work of Bertolucci’s, and within the Academy Award canon. 

14. Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters

Paul Schrader’s writing for other filmmakers has usually surpassed his directorial efforts, outside of a few occasions (First Reformed is a strong example). However, never has he been better than the decade definitive biopic Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters (which surpasses the vast majority of biographical films in an era stuffed with them). Blending the writing of Yukio Mishima with his life story, we’re given a post modern approach to the life of a creative icon trying to make political and creative changes in society. Pieced together by the audible brilliance of Philip Glass’s once-in-a-lifetime score, Mishima is a constant series of revelations. This fragmentation of a cohesive life story, churned, and spliced together as a metafictional mosaic is Paul Schrader’s crowning achievement as an artist; with the help of brother Leonard Schrader, both writing forces have conjured up a celebration of legacy for eternity.

13. Come and See

Elem Klimov’s cult classic Come and See has seen a recent burst in popularity, originally because of the elusiveness of the film (it was nowhere to be found in good condition). It is sure to garner an even wider audience with the Criterion Collection’s recent release of the highly-coveted war horror. Never has a young performance matched that of Aleksei Kravchenko, who essentially quit the business (for the most part) after this cinematic nightmare. Most films don't come anywhere close to the desperation that Come and See discharges off of the screen. Come and See is a test of emotional strength within a film, and that’s before the soul shattering finale, where the traumatized lead has to ask himself if the loss of any life — even that of monsters — is morally just. I don’t know if any film can be as emotionally destructive as Come and See even if they tried.

12. Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

The future of cinema could be found in Pedro Almodóvar’s breakthrough dark comedy Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (or, as I like to call it, “How Many Things Can Go Wrong In A Day?”). Almodóvar toys with plot elements that are both relevant and arbitrary, turning each into additional worries to the point of hyperbole (and, for us, hysteria). When Women vows to get clever, we’re granted an exposé of the bizarreness of people being drawn to crisis, and their frantic attempts to get away from it. Never overly pessimistic, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is a light take on drama that only someone like Almodóvar could pull off (and he proved this very early on in his career). 

11. Once Upon a Time in America

If you ever want to know the detriment that film as a business delivers film as an art, look no further than Sergio Leone’s swan song Once Upon a Time in America. A four hour gangster epic that was cut to less than half that length (and presented in chronological order) for American consumption, this film was absolutely disemboweled by the fear of the box office. Leone swore to never make a film again, and he sadly kept that promise. With the access of any version at our disposal, the lightyears-better definitive cut is a collage of memories, current guilts, and prophecies of a murky future induced by opium. This tapestry of crime during various turning points of twentieth century America is one of the genre’s most touching portraits of evil personified, but the greatest sin was the industry that suffocated the art piece that the genre — and the world — deserved to adore.

10. Berlin Alexanderplatz

During the seventies and eighties, a few auteurs were interested in the opportunities that television could serve as a cinematic tool. Ingmar Bergman. Krzysztof Kieślowski. Then, there was Rainer Werner Fassbinder, who tip-toed between the idea of a miniseries and a film the most with Berlin Alexanderplatz. You get sucked into this story of redemption, as it carries on episode by episode. You see failures, and honest attempts that place us right back in an optimistic position. Then, the two hour epilogue begins, and it completely deviates away from everything we have previously known. Twenties Berlin now has The Velvet Underground playing. The locations we once knew are clad with lit candles. This realistic story is now a metaphor for hell, and Fassbinder’s representation of the place of eternal suffering is possibly cinema’s most horrifying we’ve ever seen. Thirteen hours (out of fifteen) lead up to two hours of comeuppance, and it’s as disturbing as it is exquisite art. 

9. Blade Runner

After Alien, it seemed like Ridley Scott was on top of the science fiction world. This naturally resulted in the game changing neo-noir Blade Runner: the archetypical film for anyone that wants to refer to the style. As a piece of philosophical cinema, Blade Runner examines the concept of freedom, and the torture of being able to feel. As entertainment, it is as much of a technical achievement as it is an exciting rush. Toss in an ambiguous twist about existence, and you’ve got a thought provoking thriller that will stick with you forever. We’ve now passed the time that Blade Runner tried to predict (2019); we might not have the replicants and same architecture, but we’re just as corporately controlled and intellectually imprisoned as this classic foretold.

8. Fanny and Alexander

By now, Ingmar Bergman was quite comfortable working through television (Scenes From a Marriage was a huge success). Forty-something years into his career, he couldn’t shake off his personal demons that he almost always tried to channel through his films. He had to face them as upfront as possible. His final masterpiece is Fanny and Alexander: an over five hour exploration of his own dilemmas between his childhood, his relationship with religion and/or atheism, and his Swedish heritage (that only television could allow). An hour is devoted to festivities. The rest is pure depression. Seen through the eyes of a hurting child (the titular Alexander), this domestic epic eventually gets into imaginative territory, with the creativity of a child used as an escape. Featuring perhaps the most harrowing twist in all of cinema, Fanny and Alexander is the ambition to overcome the damage of one’s soul without forgetting that memories may haunt forever.

7. Do the Right Thing

Over twenty years later, Spike Lee’s greatest film is still being debated; as art, and as a social commentary. Do the Right Thing is purposefully open to interpretation (to some degrees, let’s be honest), as it is aware that no thing is the right thing when corruption has gotten this out of hand (the “right” thing is subjective at these points of desperation). Taking place in a city block during the hottest days of the year, Do the Right Thing is the boiling pot of tempers, insensitivities, and personal vendettas, only encourage by the same issues of one’s neighbours. Lee offers us a portrait of civilization driven to the brink of bursting, and allows us to figure out our own responses. Nothing can fix systemic corrosion of this extent. A new path must be paved, either with love or hate.

6. Brazil

I acknowledge that Terry Gilliam is a bright cinematic mind with great ideas, but he has never come even remotely close to replicating the satirical genius of Brazil. My favourite take on George Orwell’s 1984 of any capacity, Brazil is pure thought crime insanity. A cluttered future which doesn’t seem too far off, this corporate diorama fuelled by taxes and personal credit is a sad state of affairs (how far off from our world is it, though?). When Sam Lowry’s dreams begin to intertwine with his daily routine, you know that he is expressing his thoughts a little too openly. We withstand his entire psychological breakdown, and we are gifted a breaking point of delirium. By the kick-to-the-gut resolution, we wonder how much of Brazil was actually real, and the line is blurred to the point of indeterminable confusion. As a joke and a warning sign, Brazil is Gilliam’s indisputable masterpiece.

5. Blue Velvet

During the rise of John Hughes high school pictures, David Lynch had been sucked into the industry machine. He created Dune, his one only regret. It was time for him to dial things back, and discover why he wanted to make film art in the first place. He followed up his gaffe with Blue Velvet: his tribute (and dismantlement) of the ‘80s high school experience (like what Hughes was making). Churning a coming-of-age drama into an erotic neo-noir psychological horror, Lynch crafts the teenage experience into the revelation of the darkest qualities of life. As cheesy as it is upsetting, Blue Velvet commits to exposing all of the oddities of life (between teenage goofiness and off-putting fetishes). When Blue Velvet is elevated to euphoric levels of beauty, that’s when you know Lynch has done it. He’s captured every emotion under the sun in one transcendent piece about the identities we choose to claim (and those taken way from us by the sick).

4. Dekalog

To bring the ten commandments to a new age, Krzysztof Kieślowski created Dekalog: a ten hour commitment to reimagining these Christian values. Each hour is devoted to a different commandment, yet they are reworked to either match current topics or to be challenged by philosophical inquiries. Instead of a false god, a personal computer is used. A murder is responded to with a possible agreement on conducting the death penalty. In each of the ten segments, Kieślowski provokes a response from this biblical legislature that many know by heart. There aren’t many resolutions, either. Just observations. An overseer — presumably God, an angel, or us within this setting — can be spotted in most of the separate parts of Dekalog, proving our bystander stance of these ten dilemmas. Regardless of our lack of involvement, Dekalog will astound you every single hour, proving Kieślowski's expertise of the human soul.

3. Ran

Akira Kurosawa has had one hell of a life, even excluding his definitive filmography. After years of career struggling and his own personal challenges, he returned in the ‘80s with a pair of epics. The latter of these two films, Ran, was a culmination of everything Kurosawa has experienced in life until that point: filmmaking expertise, hardships, and passionate artistry. Ran isn’t just good. It’s one of Kurosawa’s greatest triumphs (have a look at his work, and you’ll see exactly what that means). Arguably one of cinema’s finest directed efforts and the greatest adaptation of the works of William Shakespeare, Ran is pure resplendence. The devastation of a backstabbed king growing weary, the turmoil caused by corrupted sons wanting complete domination, and the sacrifice of a child that actually loves their parent for the right reasons. Ran is complete destruction in every sense, and a final masterpiece by a legend who has arguably never been better.

2. Wings of Desire

Wim Wenders seemed to be tired of the road film he kept resorting to (or at least he wanted to explore this style in a whole knew way). He still wanted to feature multiple locations, but there had to be less meandering or personal purpose to be served. So, his answer was Wings of Desire: the greatest film about angels ever created. Guardian angels watch over troubled mortals (and this is captured with some fluid, soaring camera pans and zooms). We visit the homes, workplaces, and commutes of many souls, including the fictitious and the real (Peter Falk and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds). One guardian angel falls in love with a circus performer, and wishes to lose his eternal life to become a mortal and experience life with her. It’s at this point that Wenders spins Wings of Desire from a multi faceted exploration into a blissful cinematic experience, and the film completely changes tone. It’s a turning point that you’ll never forget, and it renders all of Wings of Desire as the revitalization of one’s spirit.

1. Raging Bull

Martin Scorsese was knocking on death’s door, dealing with addiction and the uphill battle of the film industry (despite some of his ‘70s triumphs). Robert DeNiro begged Scorsese to adapt Raging Bull: a memoir by boxer Jake LaMotta. Scorsese scoffed, because he didn’t do sports films. Nonetheless, he was hospital bound after surviving a near-fatal overdose, and he needed a career comeback after New York, New York bombed at the box office (it wasn’t that bad, right?). So, Raging Bull was two missions for Scorsese. Firstly, it was his mean of deviating away from the conventionality and predictability of the sports genre. Secondly, he made this film as if it was going to be his very last; he wasn’t sure how much longer he would keep going as a mortal being. 

Raging Bull was released in 1980, at the turn of the decade. It was shot in black and white to look time appropriate (a balance between the ‘40s, ‘50s and ‘60s), and not like a product of its time. Despite all of this, it was immediately the greatest work of the ‘80s, and has remained as such to this day (even though it bears nearly zero characteristics of the era). LaMotta is posed neither as a hero, a villain, or an antihero. He’s just a flawed, problematic human being, who destroyed everything he owned and pushed away everyone he loved because of his own demons. Scorsese likely found this a cathartic experience, as he tried to ensure that the same fates did not happen to himself. The highest point of the film is cinema’s greatest montage sequence: an amalgamation of colour home footage, and images of LaMotta reigning victorious. After this, LaMotta’s entire life is killed by himself, turning this montage into a dream we long for again.

Turning the boxing ring into a haven of cinematic metaphors separates Raging Bull from other sports films (there’s less than ten minutes of screen time in said ring). Instead, it’s an exposé for Scorsese to analyze the fragility of the human body and mind, particularly with LaMotta as the pugnacious subject. With every loved one of Scorsese’s working overtime to ensure that his potential final film is his best (DeNiro, editor Thelma Schoonmaker, Paul Schrader, and more), the end result is a parting vision of an unreachable magnitude. Luckily Scorsese defeated his demons, and has kept releasing quality works as one of America’s greatest auteurs to this day. Raging Bull will remain his greatest achievement: a brush with death turned into the ultimate appreciation of the cinematic art form. This metaphysical experience was made out of fear of tomorrow never happening at any second. Now, it is the greatest film of the 1980’s. Time is a saviour or a curse. Scorsese knew that as much as LaMotta did.

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Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.