The 100 Best Shot Films of All Time
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Movie is a casual term used for what was once commonly called the motion picture; films also works to describe the same storytelling medium. The point is that even before the films we know now came to be, they were once just twenty four still images per second, flipped in succession to create this illusion of movement. At its very core, it still is somewhat a photographical art form, with emphasis on framing, mise-en-scéne (the placement of focal points and other subjects within a shot to be aesthetically and narratively pleasing), and lighting and/or colour coordination. A lot of this is achieved by set design, makeup and hair, digital effects, and other external factors, but cinematography brings everything together in one visual amalgamation.There are many things to love about films, but cinematography goes as far back as the art form itself.
I guess what I am saying is that this list is unquestionably the most difficult of the extra lists I have done on this site. I have quite possibly one hundred additional honourable mentions, and have had to cut so many films I adore because one hundred spots just aren’t enough. Alas, it is the satisfactory sounding number that I stuck with: the official one hundred that always makes lists of this nature sound important. Chances are you’re going to be livid with me, and I am mad at myself as well. These are the caveats of loving an endlessly plentiful medium like cinema, and trying to limit everything to barely a fraction of a percent of its entire history. If your favourite looking film isn't here, there is a high chance it was considered and appreciated, and reluctantly omitted. If anything, this list may have been even more painful to finalize than any of my film lists; yes, even the ‘60s one (which was the original most difficult list to conclude). When I say I was making final changed the night before this list was released, understand that I am writing this on Halloween. I don't need to celebrate this spooky holiday when my actual nightmares are already here.
Anyway, let’s get down to business. What I’m looking for is a variety of qualifications. Firstly, how do these films look either in black-and-white or in colour? I am taking into consideration how much of these results are based on what is in front of the camera (like brightly coloured sets and outfits), which aren’t really a product of the camerawork itself; however, I am rewarding the photography that makes the most of these situations and enhances these setups as much as possible. Secondly, how is the camera movement (zooms, pans, dolly work and more), and does the photography still look good during these techniques? I’m also considering the usage of various shot techniques, angles, shadows, landscapes, profiles, and virtually any other photographical result one can achieve. Something that also makes this list difficult: being in the digital age. I’m trying to stray away from films that are strictly (or mostly) digital masterpieces like Avatar or Sin City: I want this to be as based on the actual capturing of physical subjects as possible. Alright, we may as well get this over with. As difficult as it was to narrow this list down, it makes me only happier with just how tight these following films are within this criteria. Here are the one hundred best shot films of all time.
100. The Crowd
Rows and rows of employees answering to the capitalist machine. A flurry of citizens populating destinations like the city streets or the beach. The Crowd fixates on the story of just one of these people, but its photography does a sensational job turning everyone else into one defined character of its own.
99. Seconds
James Wong Howe may have been known for his uses of deep focus and shadows, but he was going all out on the warped visions of Seconds; he delivered us to a universe of uncertainty and delirium. Before these kinds of effects would be overused (particularly the uses of certain lenses), James Wong Howe learned how to make the most out of them.
98. All About My Mother
Pedro Almodóvar’s films are caked in loud, primary colours (especially a nice Spanish red), so picking even one top film of his for such a list feels next to impossible. All About My Mother narrowly rises to the top, particularly because it also uses so many external shots that feel toned down for an Almodóvar film (and yet they are still majestically shot, bringing a balance to the film). When All About My Mother gets colourful, its stage-based influences take a hold of the wheel, with gel lights drowning occasional shots.
97. The Favourite
To best indulge in the satirical-yet-powerful nature of The Favourite, Robbie Ryan employs both strange techniques (fish eyed lenses well past their prime) and the works of wonders (the dazzling amount of detail that can be focused on at once). This is a period piece full of both the familiar and the strange, bridging the numerous relatable and distant themes in The Favourite.
96. A Matter of Life and Death
The Archers became synonymous with the richest Technicolor works, but the two filmmaking giants dominated greyscale works as well (just take a look at A Canterbury Tale). We get the best of both worlds in A Matter of Life and Death, as the afterlife and reality are both depicted by their own colour palettes, and both outcomes would be wonderlands to live in.
95. Children of Men
Surveilling the landscapes of a post-apocalyptic nightmare sounds like there would be a focus on the ruins of our time, but Emmanuel Lubezki somehow makes the whole ordeal gorgeous. It could be his uses of his signature traits (natural lighting, long shots), but I think Lubezki just has a knack for finding the heart within even the most devastating scenarios (as if this rubble is the new nature of the world).
94. The Great Beauty
In order to inspect the lavish lifestyles of the elite, the spirit within art, and the innocence within misery, The Great Beauty does some soul searching through its well orchestrated sets and set ups with long tracking shots, the right vantage points, and a perfect reliance on natural lighting to cast a golden haze over everything.
93. Psycho
The editing for Psycho is some of the best in film, but I feel like John L. Russell’s cinematography helped set up the perfect shots to be used. These include the eerie images cloaked in shadows, the uncomfortable extreme close ups that make us feel invasive, and the revelatory shots that are meant to reveal information to us (and yet they just plunge us deeper into a mysterious daze).
92. Fargo
Sir Roger Deakins turns all of the northern states into a blank canvas, ready for blood spillage and lone symbols in Fargo; the snow everywhere looks so pristine in such a warped fable. Otherwise, Deakins channels his inner Norman Rockwell, turning this Coen Brothers film into a crime that really could have happened in any of our neighbourhoods.
91. Solaris
Whether you’re marvelling at the long shots of highway driving for lengthy amounts of time, placed amidst familiar vegetation shot in a peculiar way, or glued to the inexplicable images of another reality, Solaris blurs science fiction mystery and touching nostalgia together to complete one of cinema’s most poetic space epics.
90. Moonlight
Cinematography has been hinged on practices that enhanced only a select skin colour for, well, at least a century by now. Moonlight is a brilliant example of a film that was graded for the skin of African Americans, and a noticeable difference can be seen. Moonlight also lets vibrant colours soak each and every corner of all shots, particularly cool hues (and the occasional golds).
89. Wings of Desire
The angelic “floating” of the camerawork in Wings of Desire fulfills the illusion that we are amongst guardians of the afterlife, and we get completely immersed in this spiritual epic. Once the major photographic shift happens in the final act, you will feel like you have witnessed your own miracle take form (and Wings of Desire is gorgeous through this lens as well).
88. Fanny and Alexander
Sven Nykvist got Fanny and Alexander so right. Seasonal celebrations are clad in a festive red, whilst a childhood stripped of any heart and joy becomes a lifeless — yet clerical — white. Furthermore, he knows exactly when to zoom in and scrutinize a subject, or to let their world become the emphasis of a fleeting moment.
87. Pierrot Le Fou
Some of the ways that Jean-Luc Godard helped to break the conventions of cinema was through reducing it to a primitive form of itself. Pierrot le Fou is almost only made up of primary colours, and yet Raoul Coutard makes each and every moment pop; if this is a film about escapism, we deserve our own form of it (and Pierrot le Fou succeeds in delivering this promise).
86. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
All of Sir Roger Deakins’ work in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford looks stellar (thanks to the overall use of sepias, browns, and golds), but a special shout out to the two definitive types of shots he uses is in order: the singular silhouettes, and the snapshots that come straight out of a scrapbook of old photographs.
85. 2046
There seems to be a bit of a combined set of mentalities in 2046, perhaps to capture not just the moody future of heartbreak, but also the technology and imaginations of another dimension. Even though the special effects look like the come from another year (as in they are dated), the rest of 2046 is jawdropping, and some of Christopher Doyle’s finest work can be found here — particularly his symbolic uses of double images and reflection.
84. Victoria
There are a few single take (or illusionary “single take”) films like Rope that could have made it here (again, one hundred entries is far too few), but what goes on in Victoria feels impossible to ignore. While kudos has to be given to director Sebastian Schipper for being able to choreograph all of these events in one single take, this is also a win for Sturla Brandth Grøvlen who was able to capture everything with what feels like the utmost ease, rendering Victoria one of the best single-shot examples ever.
83. The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant
Michael Ballhaus makes the most of the colourful sets in The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant, rendering all shots as their own living murals, where characters and backdrops tesselate yet compliment one another. He toys with foregrounds and their surroundings often enough that the film begins to play tricks on your eyes (and I don't mind one bit).
82. Blue Velvet
An American fable that is dressed up in the colours of the flag. There is the titular fabric that makes an appearance (as well as the bluest of skies). Red is the colour of the roses of your neighbour’s garden, and the blood that spills. White is the picket fence that boxes us in, and the pale corpses and television static that haunt us. Blue Velvet is as pretty as it is frightening with its colour palette.
81. Rebecca
Manderlay feels like its own character because of how George Barnes shot it with angles that magnify its height so it looms over the unnamed protagonist. Other characters get a glossy, shadowy finish so they appear like apparitions around us, as if we are frozen in time within a plagued purgatory.
80. The Revenant
The pains and tribulations of this version of Hugh Glass are captured by Emmanuel Lubezki and the cinematographer’s affinity for nature shots. The film was a disaster to shoot, with only a couple of hours a day — when the natural lighting was right — to get the necessary footage. The end result is a dichotomy that fuses frigid anguish with the salvation of rebirth and hope: a beautiful-yet-disturbing trek into the wilderness.
79. Vampyr
While Rudolph Maté would revolutionize the fundamentals of cinematic photography with The Passion of Joan of Arc (via extreme close-ups; more on this later), he was able to really experiment with another Carl Theodor Dreyer film: Vampyr. With double exposures, shadowy plot devices, and the occasional illumination of brilliance, Maté was already sprinting towards the next possible achievement he could pull off.
78. Kwaidan
Each chapter of Kwaidan — one of horror cinema’s finest anthologies — has its own tonal significance, whether it’s the deepest of blues, the palest of whites, or the cream coloured tint of candle light. You will always feel like you are of a different dimension within these ghost stories, and that you have been successfully transported away from your comfort zone.
77. Battleship Potemkin
It’s easy to point out the Odessa Steps scene as enough evidence that Battleship Potemkin deserves to be here. However, I must point out that the entire film is sublimely shot, with some of the most extreme angles and framing of the silent era. Furthermore, the juxtaposition between extreme close-ups and wide-angled shots is so incredibly ahead of the film’s time, and one of the major reasons why Battleship Potemkin is taught in nearly every Film 101 class today.
76. Taxi Driver
I can excuse the orange blood of the finale, especially since Taxi Driver has a stronger execution of colour, lighting, and framing virtually everywhere else (especially since images get washed out in a pulpy, filmic coat that is so New Hollywood). Every shot here is so vibrantly coloured, and yet they are muted as well (with a play on depths of field, or, in a more blatant example, the camera panning away from Travis Bickle while he’s on the phone).
75. Days of Being Wild
Thus began the holy partnership between nostalgist Wong Kar-wai and the colour-driven cinematographer Christopher Doyle. While they would both get more explorative later, their first union with Days of Being Wild is a monochromatically green affair, with the hue of yesteryear (the ‘50s and ‘60s) dictating how ‘90s cinema should look.
74. The Sacrifice
Andrei Tarkovsky and Sven Nykvist sound like a match made in heaven. This was exactly the result with the former’s swan song The Sacrifice, told with either claustrophobic and dark shots or long, wide takes that enhanced the weight of such an existential film.
73. The Lighthouse
Robert Eggers worked with Jarin Blaschke to make The Lighthouse feel like an authentically Golden Age horror film. Shot with a square ration and on 35mm film, The Lighthouse becomes a relic of the past almost immediately. Shticks aside, The Lighthouse still knows exactly how to frame its insane content with complete precision; it’s as meticulous as it is archaic.
72. The White Ribbon
Michael Haneke’s best looking film is the monochromatic visual feast known as The White Ribbon, thanks to Christian Berger’s keen eye and usage of depths of field. Of the many films that attempt black-and-white photography in the twenty first century, Berger’s case here — full of texture and tangibility — is one of the stronger examples as to how greyscale can be used nowadays.
71. An Autumn Afternoon
Yasujirō Ozu’s swan song An Autumn Afternoon held up his signature visual style of featuring so much on-screen detail that your eyes could travel everywhere and see something new. For decades, his black and white pictures were hypnotic (more on that later on in this list). In the case of An Autumn Afternoon, it’s great to know that Ozu could control his usage of colour as well in his macro-minimalist visions.
70. Once Upon a Time in America
Tonino Delli Colli and Sergio Leone collaborated on a number of films (I wish I could have included them all here), but their finest duet was in Once Upon a Time in America, where the former really got to experiment with the different decades of the streets of the United States. Architecture and the walks of life within these city walls became Delli Colli’s palette to conjure up the histories of organized crime.
69. Phantom Thread
When Robert Elswit wasn’t going to work with Paul Thomas Anderson on Phantom Thread, the auteur decided to learn how to make his own photography on his feet (and with the help of other artists; Anderson is sure to insist that he didn’t achieve this alone). The end result is a violet-tinged period piece with other delicate shades bleeding into one another, and the allowance of light to wash out parts of the image; it’s a nice change of pace within this genre, which is built on being prim and proper.
68. Gone With the Wind
For the end of the 1930’s, Gone With the Wind was a technical achievement that felt impossible to topple over. Even in 2021, this Civil War epic looks fantastic, with scope-enhancing shots, and all of the ambers, topazes, oranges and crimsons for days; these images still leap off of the screen.
67. The Third Man
Robert Krasker makes The Third Man as compelling as can be, with angled shots that make every corner a viable hiding spot, all foreground spots drenched in shadows, and any focal points isolated targets. The entire film feels uncertain, and that helps solidify The Third Man as a film noir staple.
66. All That Heaven Allows
While Hollywood was adopting colour cinema once and for all, Russell Metty’s unforgettable photography in All That Heaven Allows came at just the right time. As the seasons change, Metty’s uses of colour dictate the mood of each chapter. Furthermore, his framing makes each shot feel like a snapshot out of a family album, as we are reflecting on the memories of a trickier time in our lives.
65. Russian Ark
One of the finest uses of the one-shot gimmick, Russian Ark is an hour-and-a-half instance of careful movements (as to showcase all of the steady choreography), as well as an unbelievable capturing of everything with such precise framing. Had the camerawork been off, all of the fourth-wall breaks, transitions into different realities, and other magnificent happenings simply wouldn't have worked as nicely.
64. Sweet Smell of Success
Perhaps James Wong Howe's magnum opus is his cinematography in Sweet Smell of Success: a final hurrah within classic films noir that utilized shadows, varying depths of field, and very low angled shots that turned misfits into unholy antiheroes. To stand out this much within a film style -- especially past its prime -- is an insurmountable achievement.
63. Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters
Writer Yukio Mishima's life is painted in such fantastically bright colours, as if John Bailey was acting as a precursor to Christopher Doyle. Mishima:A Life in Four Chapters ends up looking like a living diorama: this fictional version of real events and their very serious outcomes. Was Paul Schrader opting for a picture book or the subconscious of a reader making up their own images? Both missions are achieved.
62. The Grand Budapest Hotel
Wes Anderson loves his symmetry, and D.O.P. Robert Yeoman helps to make the auteur’s pop-up book visions come true. The Grand Budapest Hotel is the strongest partnership between the two, especially since Yeoman could go hog wild with accenting the cotton candy pinks, sky blues, and ivory whites of Anderson’s fictional, remarkable world.
61. Badlands
Terrence Malick was destined to be one of the great visual auteurs of American cinema right from the get go. Badlands is arguably one of his least artistic films when regarding its premise, but that doesn't matter with the endless landscapes, sun-dominated images, and a photographical vision that could only tease that Days of Heaven was just around the corner.
60. The Passion of Joan of Arc
The talking picture was just arriving, Carl Theodor Dreyer was ready to put a final stamp on the silent era once and for all. When narrative film was first inspired by the wide stages of theatre, Dreyer was working with Rudolph Maté to find the magic within extreme close ups and reaction shots. Not only was The Passion of Joan of Arc revolutionary, it also holds up as a film that just looks fantastic ninety years later.
59. World on a Wire
Some of Michael Ballhaus’ finest work came in the form of a film that barely existed on the radars of those who missed the initial televised releases of World on a Wire. Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s retro-future aesthetic is polished with Ballhaus’ accenting of blues, oranges, and all of the hues of a supposed tomorrow (fictional or “real”).
58. Stalker
The opening act of Stalker is a muted, monochromatic perspective, which gently eases into a much more colourful depiction of a lifeless void (so how much more colourful can it be?). Stalker uses slow zooms and pans to create an unforgettable uneasiness as we drift closer and closer to uncertainty in hopes of a brighter future.
57. The New World
The first (of many) collaborations between Terrence Malick and Emmanuel Lubezki is the retelling of Pocahontas’ story The New World. The insane amounts of natural lighting that Lubezki would be synonymous with is on full display here, with Malick similarly itching for an artistic epiphany after his return (The Thin Red Line). Audiences were blown away by The New World; this was only the beginning.
56. The Trial
Orson Welles believes that The Trial was his magnum opus. That's a hard sell to make when you've made Citizen Kane, but maybe his belief was based in just how incredible this Kafka nightmare looks. Obscure angles, obsidian shadows and other bizarre images plague this entire film in a way that could only have come from the ‘60s; the last era where black and white cinematography was at its peak.
55. Eyes Wide Shut
The final Stanley Kubrick film Eyes Wide Shut at least grants us one sole look at how the auteur would work with ‘90s colour. At times, this swan song is as vibrant as can be, and clearly a film of its time (and not in a bad way). Once secret societies are entered, Eyes Wide Shut gets more familiar within Kubrick’s signature style, with glacial pans and zooms used to maximize the prestigious framing and capturing; Eyes Wide Shut really is a tale of two visions.
54. Rashomon
The works of Akira Kurosawa are always breathtaking to look at. What happens when he tells a story of vantage points? You get Rashomon: a waltz between an onlooker and their subjects. We are placed effortlessly in these shoes, but the audience also gets their own incredible perspectives when we revert back to the “present"; all observations are important here.
53. There Will Be Blood
Robert Elswit helped Paul Thomas Anderson make the great American anti-western with There Will Be Blood. The stature of one Daniel Plainview is magnified by the right angles and distances, and his oil-based empire is garnished by industrial greens, browns, and greys: the colour palette of the ugly rat race.
52. Metropolis
Fritz Lang wanted to go all out with Metropolis: the greatest silent film of all time. He expanded on the creative art of German expressionism by relaying this imagination within a futuristic society built on the backs of the working class. Metropolis thrives both as a series of symbols and as cinematic art because nearly every single shot is brilliant enough to wrap up an entire era of cinema for good.
51. Sátántangó
To have a visually moving film keep its impact for seven and a half titanic hours is a miracle in and of itself. This duration is filled up with glacial, long takes that somehow pick up on the largest amount of isolation, despair, and cynicism a film could ever muster in four corners of an image. I’d call the colour palette black and white, but it’s more like black and grey: the darkest depths of existentialism. Sátántangó feels like you’re stuck in purgatory, and it’s thanks to how the film is shot: majestically, yet punishingly.
50. Paris, Texas
Robby Müller was the exact cinematographer that Wim Wenders needed to bring a domestic/road film like Paris, Texas to life, whether it’s to bring joy within an uneasy household, fortune to the endless path ahead, or even serenity within a peep show. Müller knows the perfect timing to allow nature’s lighting and scenery to work its magic, and when he should enhance images in his own, colourful way.
49. Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb
Even in a comedy film, Stanley Kubrick must have everything looking just so. Dr. Strangelove’s iconic War Room was made to look like a green poker table, but we can’t see that with the greyscale cinematography. We notice everything else, though: low angles to make the titular character’s brief appearances ominous (yet still silly), an affinity for proper focal point placements, and so many other fancy practices that turn the all time greatest satire into a feast for the eyes.
48. Chungking Express
Wong Kar-wai’s breakout film feels like a cinematic daydream, and it’s all thanks to Christopher Doyle’s usage of neon colours, blurry effects, warped lenses and other ‘90s-defined techniques. Chungking Express still feels singular to this day — even for a Wong Kar-wai classic — because of its nostalgia goggles and fleeting images.
47. Ugetsu
A ghost story of any sort demands to be lived within, as if it is its own environment we can get lost in before the supernatural elements take place. Otherwise, how can we believe or feel what we are seeing? Kazuo Miyagawa’s work in Ugetsu is so open and airy (even with the use of foggy imagery) that it feels as poetic as it is effective.
46. The River
Even though Jean Renoir was one of the finest directors of the black and white eras, his best looking film is unquestionably The River: a Technicolor wonderland of vibrant hues to usher in the 1950’s. As more films were starting to utilize colour, The River felt like one of the first standards of how stunning this kind of photography could be (and how to utilize it best).
45. The Last Emperor
Hopping from the numerous eras and civilizations within The Last Emperor is enough of a testament as to how strong the film’s cinematography is; each “chapter” feels unique and as though they have their own aesthetic identity. What also helps is the blending of strong colours, deep depths of focus, and precise framing; now we have a living photo-book to explore for hours.
44. The Seventh Seal
Common Ingmar Bergman cinematographer Sven Nykvist surprisingly did not shoot The Seventh Seal, as one may think. No. That was Gunnar Fischer behind the camera getting those incredible shots of symmetry, high-and-low angled images to dictate the fates of the plagued, and that astonishing final dancing silhouette of death. Fischer deserves his dues for one of cinema’s finest looking hours.
43. Suspiria
The last film to close out the Technicolor era went out in style. The original Suspiria is as vibrant as a film can get, with shades of specific colours you maybe didn’t even know existed until viewing this horror extravaganza. The blood appears orange. Corpses are almost a light blue. Everything else ranges from fuchsia and neon green to navy and hot pink. It doesn’t get more loud than this (especially for typically-somber horror pictures).
42. Dekalog
First things first: this is a film by Krzysztof Kieślowski. You know it’s going to look great no matter what. For ten hours (count them: ten!), you will be blessed with glossy, sleek images that bring humility to his depictions of the Ten Commandments. No matter how difficult Dekalog gets, you will feel compelled to keep looking at this gorgeous cinematic masterpiece.
41. Roma
For once, Alfonso Cuarón was working with himself in the photographical department. As if he was paying close attention to the masters he has collaborated with before, Cuarón effortlessly helped make his own picture Roma the visual opus that it is. In an era when 3-D, IMAX, and other theatrical gimmicks threatened the livelihood of art pictures, Roma made its case for being featured on a screen of the exact same size (and in black and white, no less).
40. Chinatown
It was time to squash films noir for good with the neo game-changer Chinatown. First order of business: use colour (a nice sepia so it wasn’t too rebellious). Second item on the docket: have lots and lots of light. Whether Chinatown is playing ball or not (it also boasts some great shadowy sequences, to be fair), the film clearly had a mind of its own, and was more prepared to set the stage for upcoming noir films than to be a part of cinema’s past.
39. Koyaaniqatsi
One of the most visually arresting films in documentary history, Koyaaniqatsi turns so many corners of the world -- and the technological evolutions from within — into meditative hypnotism. As if we are watching life and civilization speed right past us, Koyaaniqatsi utilizes a number of effects to further enhance the already-astonishing photography, turning interesting images into a full on experience.
38. Claire’s Knee
You can just feel the blistering heat and humidity in a film by Éric Rohmer. Seeing any of his films shot by Néstor Almendros is an absolute treat, and with this partnership I have to pick Claire’s Knee as the winning film. I’ll describe many other films on this list as living paintings, scrapbooks or photo albums. Claire’s Knee feels like a travelogue, in this case: as if you're actually away from your couch or the theatre seat.
37. War and Peace
When Sergei Bondarchuk got the go-ahead and funding from the Soviet military to film whatever it took to make War and Peace a success, you can only imagine how far a daring artist would be willing to go. With three cinematographers and endless major photographical moves (including one of the craziest bird eye shots of all time), War and Peace is endlessly beautiful and powerful on a visual level.
36. Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
Emmanuel Lubezki helps turn Birdman into a cinematic-theatrical play (of sorts) with his one-shot illusion. While the single take is sublime, Lubezki also makes the most of each and every visual beat here, knowing exactly where to place us as we coast around this existential damnation as both an onlooker and an empathetic soul.
35. Tokyo Story
For decades, Yasujirō Ozu’s humble direction of Tokyo Story would be taught in film schools. Part of this appeal comes from Yūharu Atsuta’s cinematography, where the camera “sits” on the floor like the residents within this film, so we can join characters while they eat and discuss the perils of life and death. Even though the objective was to humanize the film and separate it from the ambitious techniques that was dominating film (and was also unaffordable to many artists), Tokyo Story changed what cinematic art could be nonetheless.
34. Mulholland Drive
The first flex that Mulholland Drive boasts is the typical surreal imagery in any David Lynch film (especially one of the last pictures to make the most of being shot on film before that darn digital era took over). Obviously, this looks incredible (specifically the imaginative framing, usage of colour, and bleeding shadows). The film gets taken to another level when the different “worlds” (of sorts) get their own photographical identity (the second feeling more down-to-earth and neutral), further solidifying the haunting, ever-real experience of Mulholland Drive.
33. The Red Shoes
One of the finest uses of Technicolor before the black and white era of cinema was even over, The Red Shoes by Powell and Pressburger is a radiant picture of greens and, well, reds. This music-based fable becomes a visual feast once you see how much is going on in The Red Shoes, and how much still stands out and can feel tangible. The Archers didn't just use colour: they knew exactly what to do with it.
32. Raging Bull
Michael Chapman was a part of Martin Scorsese’s quest to make the latter’s “final” film (or so it was felt to be) the magnum opus that was meant to be seen. More than most other sports films, Raging Bull is a work of photographical brilliance. Using contra zooms, whirling pans, and so many different types of lighting to tell the story of a superstar’s decline, Raging Bull makes us a part of the ring, as we waltz amidst every battle here.
31. Blade Runner 2049
Finally, Sir Roger Deakins won an Academy Award for his cinematography in Blade Runner 2049: a sequel to another visually magnificent work (you’ll find Blade Runner later on this list, too). Gone are the purely-damp colours and lights of the original. Enter Deakins’ own take on the post-apocalyptic world, where desert hazes fog everything, neon dominates the cityscapes, and absolutely any disastrous reality can become a photographic work of splendour.
30. Andrei Rublev
Andrei Tarkovsky’s breakthrough film — shot by Vadim Yusov — tells the tale of an iconographer and the fables of his life that drove him to his spirituality. The black and white, incredibly detailed photography here sells this angle, but it doesn’t quite expose the art of Andrei Rublev. Well, Tarkovsky and Yusov save this connection for last: a colourful closure of every previous vignette to bring us closer to Rublev’s art (and up to the heavens above).
29. The Master
Picking one Paul Thomas Anderson film to represent the rest on a cinematographic level feels like an impossible challenge, but I’ve settled on The Master once and for all. The way that Mihai Mălaimare Jr. can evoke the hazy look of older cinema yet feel so progressive with his use of blues and highly detailed shots is not only a gorgeous element of The Master: it felt like the number one excuse to bring film back to cinema in the early 2010’s.
28. The Godfather I & II
Whether you see both original Godfather films as sepia (to resemble photographs and cinema of yesteryear) or as gold (to exude the prestige and power of the Corleone family), these two New Hollywood epics helped bring a certain magnitude of art to a new wave of American film. While these works clung onto the shadowy images of films noir (and actually enhanced them for the better), the framing and mise-en-scène felt progressive, rendering both Godfather works timeless pieces of visual art.
27. The Three Colours Trilogy
Many would argue that Krzysztof Kieślowski was one of the best utilizers of colour in his films, and you can’t really argue against that when the Three Colours Trilogy exists. Not only are the three films heavily soaked in the colours of their namesake (and the French flag) with blue, white, and red, but they also allow the hues of the other films to leak in, adding versatility to each palette.
26. Black Narcissus
The most beautiful film by The Archers is Black Narcissus: a picture I still cannot believe is from the 1940’s. This use of Technicolor is so strong, so wise, and so futuristic, it just feels impossible to accept that this psychological drama predates works like An American in Paris or My Fair Lady (and other seemingly colourful works). Black Narcissus goes the extra mile by having mind boggling angles, close ups, and other artistic decisions.
25. Olympia Parts I & II
Leni Riefenstahl was commissioned to bring the Berlin Olympics to life via cinema. While a debatably problematic pair of films today (due to their Nazi propaganda origins), Riefenstahl and cinematographer Paul Holzki revolutionized how films were shot for the history of film (and television, when you consider how many sports programs are tethered to the innovations made here). Even if we ignore the effects (like slow motion), both Olympia works are masterfully shot in ways that changed how we viewed events, including experimental angles, techniques to pan cameras, and other inventions just to get the shot (time and time again).
24. In the Mood for Love
The bulk of praise for In the Mood for Love’s visuals goes towards the brilliant uses of red and yellow, but I think there is an appreciation for all colours here (and they’re all used in the smallest yet most effective ways). In ways, In the Mood for Love feels like the yearning of adoration through rose — or crimson — coloured glasses, as well as the beauties of life when one zones out during a spell of heartbreak; how can everything feel so different to ourselves when we hurt?
23. Vertigo
In recent years, Vertigo has become the de facto answer when one asks what Alfred Hitchcock’s magnum opus is. I feel like a part of this is due to just how phenomenal the film looks, whether it is staging its subjects traditionally, trying to incorporate the uses of spirals effectively, going the artistic route, or even entering surreal territories. Visually, Vertigo is an absolute trip into fear-filled delirium.
22. Playtime
There has not been this many visual gags shoved into a film before or since Playtime. That’s because the cinematography by both Jean Badal and Andréas Winding is able to capture the myriad of jokes into each and every shot. It’s virtually impossible to see every punchline the first time you watch Jacques Tati’s classic, but you can still tell that it looks abnormally brilliant for a comedy. The more your eyes coast around Playtime, the more you realize just how genius its photography actually is.
21. The Woman in the Dunes
Whether you’re looking at extreme closeups, high and low angled shots (to highlight how inescapable our situation is), or some mind boggling uses of greyscale photography, you have to tip your hat to Hiroshi Segawa when it comes to how successful Woman in the Dunes is as a cinematic experience. Spotting granules of sand or remarking on the desert landscapes will achieve different results, but Segawa is aware of when to use each subject (and how to make them look as great as possible). Apply this to every focal point, and you have a game of dichotomies.
20. Apocalypse Now
The best looking film Francis Ford Coppola ever made is the same one whose visual flair and on-set practices were impossible to come back from financially. Apocalypse Now is a harrowing film, and yet it looks gorgeous. You are granted numerous vantage points (from birds-eye views, to over-the-shoulder shots), as well as a whole spectrum of colours (yes, even within all of that orange and red palette).
19. Raise the Red Lantern
Of all of the visually stunning films by Zhang Yimou, the crown for his best shot project is Raise the Red Lantern. The titular colour appears everywhere (even in the tiniest of instances), but the film goes beyond just this palette. There is such a fixation on symmetry — if not some harmony within subject placement. Even during its most anxious moments, Raise the Red Lantern is inspirational to watch.
18. Mirror
When Andrei Tarkovsky channeled the ghostly visions of a poet’s mind on their deathbed in Mirror, the images had to be of the utmost quality in order to bring this abstract narrative to life. With the help of cinematographer Georgy Rerberg, Mirror becomes a parade of stunning metaphors, indescribable visual events, and a peaceful death that awaits us.
17. Baraka
Ron Fricke previously shot Koyaanisqatsi — released in the early ‘80s. His passion project followup (his directorial debut, of which he also photographed) took an extra ten years, but Baraka was worth the wait. The film turns all walks of life, all civilizations, and all progressions into one harmonious spiritual journey through time and space, and remains one of cinema’s must-see visual events. Even just by capturing these images, Baraka says millions of statements at once as a documentary.
16. Citizen Kane
Considered a bastardization of cinema upon release, Citizen Kane was polarizing in the ways that Gregg Toland shot the classic film. It’s funny how the tables turn, considering that nearly every single film released afterwards has been heavily inspired by Toland’s high and low angles (representing the statures and downfalls of characters). The manipulation of shadows here is a film noir staple that remained one of the style’s finest cases. Additionally, the unusual lenses for the occasional punctuation point shot have been mostly misused ever since; leave it to Toland, folks.
15. Ran
Although Akira Kurosawa is known for his black and white films, his best shot picture has to be Ran: a colourful epic full of primary hues (especially blood red) splattered all over this war canvas. As if this was the auteur’s largest effort during his renaissance, he went all out on the calamity on screen (and yet you can see every single arrow, death, or blade of grass). Ran stands for chaos, and this film beautifully captures all of it.
14. The Double Life of Veronique
When looking at some of Krzysztof Kieślowski’s other notable works, there are very specific colours used (particularly in the aptly named Three Colours Trilogy). Then, there’s The Double Life of Veronique: an amalgamation of gold and amber, green, and orange. It goes without saying that the film already stands out as one of the best looking of all time, but its colour palette is most certainly an original one that no one else would dare attempt. Then again, not every cinematographer is as daring as Sławomir Idziak.
13. The Cranes are Flying
It’s more common to be dumbfounded at a Technicolor film when you find out something that looks fantastic was made so long ago. Then, there’s The Cranes are Flying, and even though it is shot in black and white, Sergey Urusevsky’s cinematography feels like it is of the ‘90s (and not 1957). His swooping movements, long distance and warped close ups, and other advanced techniques feel so much more alive than some of the more static filmmaking of the ‘50s, but it even feels nearly untouchable now.
12. The Night of the Hunter
Charles Laughton went all out with what was sadly his only film: the once misunderstood The Night of the Hunter. To match his twisted vision, Stanley Cortez went even darker than most films noir, had a field day with double focal points, explored wide angled shots, and more. As if Cortez and Laughton wanted to evoke the German Expressionist era for the new American age, The Night of the Hunter feels like it comes from the most terrifying corners of our mind.
11. Cries and Whispers
Ingmar Bergman was known for his black and white photography for a while, but perhaps his most triumphant foray into colour is Cries and Whispers. Exploring the heavy uses of black, white, and red, cinematographer Sven Nykvist had his work cut out for him. He still persevered, rendering this domestic drama into a monochromatic illustration of apparitions, blood, and the overhanging fear of death.
10. The Color of Pomegranates
Sergei Parajanov reinvented cinema in a way that no one else has for decades since. He helped resort the medium back to what it once was: motion pictures (although there is a heavy emphasis on the latter word). The Color of Pomegranates is made up almost entirely of moving tableaux, as if we are flipping through a collection of iconography. You will redefine what cinema means to you by watching this experimental opus at least once; even if it isn’t your cup of tea, you may never see anything like it ever again.
9. Days of Heaven
Before Terrence Malick disappeared off of the face of planet Earth for a couple of decades, he left us with the golden bliss of Days of Heaven. Still unparalleled to this day, this experiment of yellows, sepias and tans makes every image feel like a photograph from another era, transporting you not just to a different time, but within the literal relics of history. A number of films have gone gold before and after, but Days of Heaven is the best to do it.
8. Lawrence of Arabia
The perfect visual juxtaposition exists in Lawrence of Arabia, and both elements evoke the feeling of endlessness. They include the bluest of skies and the white-hot sands that carve into the spacial canvas. To watch Lawrence of Arabia is to see the ushering-in of colour in a whole new way for a Hollywood epic from the ‘60s. Let’s not forget those unbelievable shots of the sun’s rise and set that will feel like cinematic events in and of themselves.
7. I Am Cuba
After the artistic success of The Cranes are Flying, director Mikhail Kalatozov and cinematographer Sergey Urusevsky teamed up again for a film that somehow looked even better. The ever-daring aesthetic genius in I Am Cuba took what already made Cranes outstanding and brought it to another level, with crazier crane shots, more obscure angles, and even more detailed imagery (not to mention the fluid mise-en-scéne that somehow always manages to look just right, even in complete chaotic motion).
6. Blade Runner
Before there was Sir Roger Deakins turning a dismal world into a vribrant wonderland in Blade Runner 2049, Jordan Cronenweth made the original neo noir classic a colour film that was just as dark as the films noir that cam before it. The only life here comes in the form of cold blue lighting, and it shines off of the advertisements, through the broken blinds, and off of the faces of the damaged citizens of a broken dystopia.
5. Persona
In Persona, Ingmar Bergman sought to destroy film as we know it forever. Sven Nykvist played ball, but it’s interesting how by-the-book the cinematographer still performed (in a meta experiment to separate this very medium from its foundations). Still, Nykvist went the extra mile by turning his photography into illusionary masterworks, with silhouettes and shadows colliding, subjects blurring together, and all of the unorthodox images that Bergman needed for his opening sequence from hell.
4. The Conformist
Thank God that The Conformist is being recognized nowadays. Overall, it is a masterpiece of a film, and Bernardo Bertolucci’s opus. Photographically, Vittorio Storaro has never been better, with jaw dropping shots, movement selection, and the colour palette (my God the palette!). There may never be a film that looks as sleek, as fashionable, and as suave as The Conformist: as much a feast for the eyes as for the mind.
3. 2001: A Space Odyssey
Stanley Kubrick told an epic of the many centuries of humanity (from our primitive roots to the great technological beyond). With this story comes magical work from Geoffrey Unsworth, who manages to somehow reinvent the cinematic language shot after shot after shot. If it’s not the illusionary work that mimics how living in space would be, it’s the supernova climactic sequence that will place you yourself in another dimension. Even fifty years later, 2001: A Space Odyssey is one of the most mind boggling visual experiences in all of film.
2. The Tree of Life
It feels a little cheap to have such a recent film so high up, but Emmanuel Lubezki’s work in Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life truly is some of the finest cinematography of all time. This is the peak of using natural lighting in the modern age: the holiest imagery captured by the most graceful photography ever to be put on the big screen. In the same kinds of ways that Avatar and Gone With the Wind were seen as must-see events of their kind, The Tree of Life is the same kind of cinematic euphoria but for arthouse enthusiasts. Even if you are not religious, The Tree of Life is a singular spiritual ritual that film lovers must experience once, and a bulk of this transcendence comes from Lubezki's finest art to date.
1. Barry Lyndon
It’s ironic that Barry Lyndon is the number one best shot film of all time, especially when it has been so heavily commended for how it looks like a painting in every shot. So the finest example of cinematography actually strived to not look filmic at all. There's something poetic here, perhaps in this endless quest to try and escape outside of our confinements (even artistically). Well, whatever Stanley Kubrick anticipated for Barry Lyndon, the last piece of irony is that his masterpiece ended up setting the bar for future films, period piece or not. Special cameras were used for the now-iconic candle lit sequences, so you know Kubrick and John Alcott were trying to go somewhere new on a technical level. The rest is a pastel-coloured bliss, with such precise mise-en-scéne (shaped by the works of mathematics, the great art masters, or the cinematic geniuses that came before).
You can pause Barry Lyndon at virtually any point, and you will wind up with a possible image to be hanged in your living room. It’s actually mind boggling how perfectly shot the film is, to the point that there isn’t a single misstep; not when there are close ups that zoom out, or pans that cover large battlefields, or even basic back-and-forth shots that are meant to just show a conversation. Each shot lasts exactly as long as they need to, and it almost feels like every subsequent image is even more stunning than the last. It is a film of yesterday that was shot in a way to capture what the future could hold. The technology of tomorrow was used to mimic the art of our past. These dichotomies have resulted in the timelessness of Barry Lyndon. For me, it has been an incredibly hard task to limit this list to only one hundred entries, but I also cannot find a better looking film, no matter how much I try. Even with this insanely difficult competition, Barry Lyndon is the best shot film of all time.
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.