Written by Andreas Babiolakis

WRITTEN BY ANDREAS BABIOLAKIS

The 1940’s were well into the new age of talking pictures, so cinematic technology was figuring out ways to now advance both camera and audio recording techniques. At the same time, artists were combatting two different opposing forces. Firstly, censorship of all kinds was becoming rampant, stifling the creativity of all producers and directors; at the same time, it was forcing storytellers to come up with new ways to play out the tales they wanted to convey. Then, there was World War II, which affected the entire world during its darkest hours in contemporary history. There was clearly a lot happening in the 1940’s that affected filmmaking greatly, including budgetary cutbacks and loss of jobs, as well as the obvious danger that the war posed on everyone.

Much of what was placed on the big screens back then was likely a call to action or for help, but we can look safely in hindsight at the magnificent statements of many. There are a number of films that discuss the war outright, helping those affected either cope or identify their feelings with someone else. Then, there are the many offshoot waves of war related films that may not directly deal with battle, including Italian neorealism’s focus on post-war life, the brewing Japanese wave of films that would eventually blossom into the nation’s own New Wave (in response to the atomic bombings), and the universal works that discussed — or satirized — the politics that drove the world to such a hateful place (and the joyful features that tried to help pull us out of said place).

The Golden Age of Hollywood was in its latter stages, but the cinema of the world was on an artistic rise. Making up for lost time regarding the daring ‘30s works that were now problematic according to censorship laws (this goes beyond just the Hollywood Code), the ‘40s aimed high with ambition. Crime and horror turned into films noir. Screwball was translating into the next era of romantic comedies. Black and white was gradually becoming Technicolor. If the stories that were meant to be told couldn’t be, then new stories were being told altogether. Some of cinema’s most impactful minds began in the 1940’s, because innovation was required to help filmmakers keep going and viewers get by. We have reached the darkest moment in time for any of my top one hundred lists, and many of these works are going to be candid. However, I feel these following features best represent this time period topically, inventively, and artistically. Here are the best one hundred films of the 1940’s.

Disclaimer: I am including documentaries and shorts — anything shorter than forty minutes — on another list, and they won’t be featured here.

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

100. Shadow of a Doubt

While the credibility of this claim has wavered, Alfred Hitchcock has — at some points — declared Shadow of a Doubt to be his favourite film that he has ever made; that is a bold claim, considering the repertoire of the thriller master (many other films of his are making this very list). Maybe it’s because this mystery flick was able to pull off so many of Hitchcock’s deepest desires using so little: you really get sucked into the plot of someone being suspicious of a loved one’s innocence quickly. Even if your inner thoughts are confirmed early on, Hitchcock still forces you to worry more and more. Shadow of a Doubt is minimally sadistic, and maybe that’s why Hitchcock is so proud of it.

99. The Best Years of Our Lives

When it comes to William Wyler’s epics, I have to say that The Best Years of Our Lives outdoes Ben-Hur, because of its focus on the subjects at hand: war veterans right at the tail end of World War II (right when the wounds of humanity were still fresh). A trilogy of outcomes branch out into their own storylines, so we get the full effect of the aftermath of combat. Wyler clearly aimed to not miss a single detail, stretching out The Best Years of Our Lives to three hours, whilst allowing the film to contain the confessions of soldiers that are physically, mentally, or spiritually damaged beyond repair. While somewhat noticeably sappy today, it’s the kind of warmth that audiences desperately needed at that moment in time.

98. The Uninvited

Films noir were dominating the industry at this point. It was only natural that horror tried to follow suit, past the monster pictures of yesterday. The Uninvited feels somewhat like a noir flick, because of the emphasis on one’s past coming to haunt them for the rest of their lives. Here, however, Lewis Allen’s cult hit is much more literal, involving ghosts (apparently as one of the first features to do so) as painful reminders. Allen goes full throttle with the capabilities of the ghostly Mary that relentlessly plagues the new inhabitants of the Windward House, making The Uninvited a ‘40s horror classic for all of time.

97. Four Steps in the Clouds

Like the Italian answer to America and England’s obsessions with screwball comedies, Alessandro Biasetti’s Four Steps in the Cloud is a dramedy stitched together by consequential calamity. During an era where children out of wedlock were frowned upon, the plan to have a stranger pose as both husband and father only serves as a recipe for disaster. Before Divorce Italian Style, Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow, and other Italian comedy greats, Four Steps in the Clouds veered away from the neorealist blues that the country was more invested in around that time, without forgoing this opportunity to comment on the state of then-current Italian customs at least.

96. Enamorada

Love can dismantle politics, but not always in the ways that these kinds of sayings proclaim. In Emilio Fernández’s revolutionist romantic drama Enamorada, adoration only gets in the way of the overall mission to tax all of Mexico’s elite. The plan to equalize Mexico’s classes during the ten year Revolution serves as a commendable backstory to the many viewers that hurt during these drastic times, but placing a troubled romance at the forefront placed Enamorada amongst its ‘40s peers (the era of the gestation of the romantic epic). Life, love, and society is far from normal, and Enamorada captures all of these uncertainties.

95. How Green Was My Valley

Forever known as the film that beat Citizen Kane, John Ford’s most beautiful film — How Green Was My Valley — has been doomed by the Academy Awards for its entire legacy. It’s a shame, because it actually served as the starting point for many filmmakers that wanted to replicate the poetic exquisiteness of Ford’s generational epic. The domestic and societal complications scream Bergman. The gargantuan cinematography is very Tarkovsky. The heart is completely Eastwood. The wrongful designation that How Green Was My Valley has had to endure has limited the exposure that Ford’s film was also aesthetically daring and full of oomph. It’s no Citizen Kane, but that shouldn’t have to be the case (when, really, no film is Citizen Kane, so why bother comparing?).

94. Spellbound

The ‘40s was when Alfred Hitchcock was really starting to feel comfortable with experimentation; before his explosive run in the ‘50s, the legendary auteur tried to find ways out of his own comfort zone (to render audiences uncomfortable, of course). Spellbound was a full on dip into the subconscious, and Hitchcock veteran Ingrid Bergman paired up nicely with a confused Gregory Peck. Of course, no duo was sweeter than Hitchcock and Salvador Dalí, who worked together to make an inexplicable nightmare come to life; the original sequence was allegedly much longer, and I will never forgive the execs for cutting this already-fascinating moment down by so much. Spellound is a Hitchcockian effort that strays away from lying or deception. It’s steered entirely by the unfaithful mind that’s willing to forget trauma.

93. Yankee Doodle Dandy

James Cagney was a cinematic gangster for life (you’ll be finding his crime opus later on in this list), but he was actually a song-and-dance man at heart. Winning his only Academy Award for Yankee Doodle Dandy was proof of this (even though he had owned musicals beforehand), as his portrayal of George M. Cohan allowed him to go the extra mile with all of his talents (acting, singing, dancing, and dominating the screen). More of a celebration of life than a dramatic retelling, Yankee Doodle Dandy is all about the creation of music and the magic of the stage — down to Cohan himself pretending to be elderly via stage makeup in a remarkable sequence. By the iconic dance down the stairway at the film’s end, you’ll feel full of wonder.

92. Mrs. Miniver

In the early stages of World War II, the fate of the world was up in the air. Digesting just exactly what was going on was no easy task. William Wyler himself didn’t exactly have a straight answer by 1942, but Mrs. Miniver was one hell of an attempt. Split into various war related episodes, Mrs. Miniver deviates from one concern to another, with varying results: from triumph to devastation, and joy to death. Even though Wyler has created more ambitious films, Mrs. Miniver manages to say so much in a smaller timeframe and in tinier capacities (almost like a series of short films with the same characters and settings).

91. There Was a Father

The ‘40s was the era where Yasujirō Ozu to come into his own signature style. In the ‘30s, his static imagery was the result of unadvanced camera techniques of their time. This decade was different: he was embracing the primitive look, and enhancing the intrinsic details found within the best shots. An early example of his visual poetry is in There Was a Father: a letter to all single parents whom suffer to take care of their children. A family person by heart, Ozu paints a sympathetic portrait of domestic difficulty, akin to the Italian neorealist movement that was on the rise. It was a glimpse of how brilliant Ozu was going to be shortly (even within the confinement of this decade).

90. The Killers

Could there be a better pairing for this noir film than Ava Gardner and Burt Lancaster during their rise? It’s exactly what the finest Ernest Hemingway adaptation could call for, especially right in the middle of the film noir golden age. Rather than being an in-your-face film of danger, The Killers feels more calculated and stealthy: a noir classic that lurks in the shadows comfortably. It feels like Robert Siodmak was less interested in revolutionizing the genre, but completely invested in making Hemingway’s writing leap off the page, letter by letter. Mission accomplished, as The Killers paved the way — regardless of intention — for more literary noir flicks like Sweet Smell of Success (another Lancaster feature).

89. Miserable at Middle Age

Still a considerably obscure film in 2020, Sang Hu’s dramedy opus Miserable at Middle Age holds up rather well as a commentary of the older generations feeling the urgency to nurture the youth of today. This gaze is during the Second Golden Age of Chinese cinema: the turning point of the film industry, and the last years of non-communist China (when films faced censorship or banishment). Either way, Hu remains tasteful with Miserable at Middle Age, as if the words of the old and wise could benefit citizens of all ages that faced anguish or heartache for all reasons. Outside of Chinese film circuits and lists, Miserable at Middle Age is discussed far too little.

88. Henry V

Laurence Olivier was always meant to act, but his directing capabilities feel like they were the result of hard work and determination. One of the finer filmmakers to bring the works of William Shakespeare to the screen (you’ll see another film of his on this list shortly), Olivier was keen on perfecting his adaptations as if they were completely new works. His debut is the Technicolor epic Henry V, which was clearly his way of professing his love for the late playwright; he also stars in the lead role, and knows how to frame himself as much as he can dominate from in front of the camera. Ending on a bit of a prolonged sequence of glee might be the giddiness of Olivier at work, and he would refine his vision eventually, but seeing an Olivier driven by bliss is worthwhile.

87. I Walked with a Zombie

After the success of Cat People, Jacques Tourneur seemed to try his hand at making a horror flick that felt reminiscent of pre-code filmmaking with I Walked with a Zombie (the film tiptoes between its taboo subjects enough to still feel slightly edgy for the early ‘40s). Although the racial discussions can feel misguided and unfounded at times, there is an attempt to make the horror of the film come from social discomfort than just supernatural elements alone. One of the earlier works to try to tie in societal problems with horror conventions, I Walked with a Zombie reeks a bit of the viewpoints of its time, whilst it aimed to be the horror of the future. It’s a unique starting point for this kind of terror for sure.

86. Death is a Caress

Edith Carlmar always vowed to push the buttons of the Norwegian film industry, and it took that kind of initiative to create what is thought to be the first film noir of the entire nation. Within that title, we find Death is a Caress: an interpretation of the American (and possibly French) ways of approaching the genre through a unique lens (particularly the condensing of memories and regrets, rather than dwelling in them). Death is a Caress is strong in execution but even more fascinating in conception, like its existence — as an understanding of the cinema of elsewhere — is fascinating in and of itself. Then, there's Carlmar’s boldness to bring this vision to life, going against the odds as a female director in the ‘40s, with a film style that an entire country had yet to even attempt until then.

85. The Diary of a Chambermaid

After his greatest decade (the 1930’s), Jean Renoir was comfortable with making films of all styles, and within the American system. This includes the series of romantic and class based conquests found in The Diary of a Chambermaid, where Renoir likens the various attempts of the titular character to the eye-opening realizations of societal imbalances. While less biting than some of his best ‘30s works, The Diary of a Chambermaid is still a Renoir film at heart, as it vows to educate audiences on the many elements that divide classes (and it does so in typically cheeky Renoir ways).

84. Pinocchio

An early Disney success, and often thought of as one of animation's greatest miracles (I have a few other Disney picks for that discussion on here), Pinocchio was evidence of the studio’s capabilities after Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Instead of just bringing animation to feature length, the medium could also expand visually. While Disney would best this progression even in this very decade, Pinocchio still opened the door for so many other animated films afterwards, thanks to the countless examples of sterling design, colour, and magnificent artistry. It’s the kind of cinematic fairy tale that you can look past the inexplicable moments of fantasy, because being caught in such a wonderland is enough of a blessing to go by.

83. The Ox-Bow Incident

Part standard western, part courtroom drama (well, without the physical courtroom), The Ox-Bow Incident is the kind of film that thrives on every single word uttered by any character. A gripping series of testimonies surrounding an up-in-the-air series of crimes, William A. Wellman’s super short drama is nothing but exhilaration. While thrilling on the surface, The Ox-Bow Incident quickly becomes a morality tale, where truth and lies clash together, and perspectives can fall in either category. At the forefront is Hollywood golden heart Henry Fonda to save the day, and he allows every declaration that passes by his lips to resonate through the entire set in a way that only he could.

82. Pastoral Symphony

Love is a tricky thing, but great storytelling can make the basic nature of adoration and make it a complicated miasma. Pastoral Symphony is somewhat of a love triangle, but Jean Delannoy ups the stakes by involving a series of metaphors, factors and aesthetic decisions (including some mesmerizing images). Then, a miracle is tossed in to only make matters more interesting: a character’s blindness vanishes, as if the universe was wanting to throw a curveball at an already unusual narrative. All of Pastoral Symphony falls in place, like a fairy tale for adults or a then contemporary fable for lovestruck viewers to ingest for the rest of their lives.

81. A Canterbury Tale

The Archers ruled the ‘40s, especially with their use of Technicolour (which still looks fascinating even today). However, they also snuck in one classic black-and-white feature, but this one case still exemplified the duo’s views on the bridge between American and British cinema. Likening war to the writings of Geoffrey Chaucer, A Canterbury Tale tries to boil down an entire anthology’s overarching transcendence into a two hour trek, with fantastic results. Maybe the literary comparison was therapeutic for viewers back then, when World War II was still going: it allowed for digestion. Plus, the visual flairs and genre bending that both Powell and Pressburger were so efficient in made A Canterbury Tale at least a must-see.

80. Leave Her to Heaven

There is an unhealthy obsession with true crime series of any kind nowadays, but it’s so easy to get wrapped up in the woven complexities of the human mind, particularly when it is deranged enough to kill. While not based on real events of any specific sort, John M. Stahl’s adaptation of Ben Ames Williams’ iconic Leave Her to Heaven contains the same kind of fascination with criminal intellects, and where these dark places may be spawned. Even with gorgeous colour in the middle of the decade, Leave Her to Heaven is quite sinister, with many images you can’t believe are happening (and you have no way of preventing). Maybe it’s our love of evil or the passing of the test of time; either way, Leave Her to Heaven is still riveting.

79. Aniki-Bóbó

I’m not quite sure why Aniki-Bóbó was only acknowledged as an important part of Portuguese cinema later on in film’s history, but I’m going to take a guess. Maybe not every nation was privy to neorealism upon the rise of the style, because it can be a difficult movement to digest (particularly with how hard hitting it can be). Maybe the whole love triangle angle also didn’t help, as it can sway the tone of the film around. Now, however, Aniki-Bóbó is a mixture of feelings and ideas, all trapped in the lives of the streets. It is a bold statement from a filmmaker who predominantly makes documentaries; Manoel de Oliveira was only trying to shed light in a new way.

78. Adam’s Rib

I needed one Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn duet in my decades lists, and no filmmaker brought the best out of the real life couple than George Cukor in the dramedy Adam’s Rib. Pitting two of America’s icons together in a legal flick as married lawyers fighting one another was the ultimate way to go. We can see the dramatic and comedic chops of both, and the chemistry radiate off the screen. Their feuding (all professional, to a point) is genuinely stressful to watch, as it feels like an actual love is dying due to their careers. Titled after the biblical depiction of man needing woman, Adam’s Rib is a tug-of-war between love and job security.

77. The Reckless Moment

Max Ophüls has a knack for extracting so much humanism from screenplays, and injecting them into aesthetic flicks. His films might not feel explicitly literary, but they lose not an ounce of their tangibilities. Enter The Reckless Moment: Ophüls’ noir feature that is as textbook as they come, and yet it still feels like one of the French crime films of the ‘50s, with its splendid cinematography, and preference of art style over content. Don’t be fooled, though; like I said, The Reckless Moment is still narratively rich underneath the style, and it makes the disturbing plot all the more effective, as if you can feel every tangent in your soul.

76. Monsieur Verdoux

The weakest film in Charlie Chaplin’s golden, multi-decade run of feature films (from The Kid in 1921 to Limelight in 1952), Monsieur Verdoux is still perfection from the cinematic genius. The first film to finally bid farewell to the Tramp for good, I honestly believe this was meant to be Chaplin’s foray into hard hitting drama (and even a thriller). However, there is so much miscommunication of this film’s true conception, from Orson Welles’ juicy story, to the lead character’s basis on infamous serial killer Henri Désiré Landru. Either way, Monsieur Verdoux is a darkly hilarious mutt, infusing Welles’ noir, Chaplin’s comedy, and real life horror into one then-polarizing result. If anything, it remains one of Chaplin’s most interesting experiments.

75. El Gran Calavera

The 1940’s were arguably Luis Buñuel’s lowest years (even though he technically only released two features during this time frame). Regardless, the master that he was, Buñuel still shined in his biggest drought with El gran Calavera: a class satire about the illusion of wealth. Always the kind of auteur that had to make commentary on the current state of the world, Buñuel takes an elite family and has them believe that they are now worthless and in need of working (for once) in order to stay afloat. Then, the fireworks fly. Considerably safe by Buñuel's standards (I needn’t remind you of how cynical he could get), El gran Calavera is still razor sharp for its time, and a sign that Buñuel hadn’t gone anywhere; if anything, he was about to make his presence known for a very long time.

74. Laura

Femmes fatale are such a classic archetype of the noir style (and, subsequently, other genres in all of film). Hell, I named my website after them (in case that wasn’t obvious). Otto Preminger’s Laura presents film with the titular character, who is arguably the finest example of this kind of character in the classic noir period, particularly for how much the mold gets bent out of shape. Is Laura actually dead, or is she alive? Does this uncertainty make her deceitful, or is she still trustworthy? Does Laura mean we should do away with the term femme fatale for good? It’s this kind of complexity that films noir thrive on, and Laura is so damn magnificent at it.

73. Miracle on 34th Street

It’s easy to claim that Miracle on 34th Street is a heartwarming crowd pleaser, but I’m stating that the film holds up enough to be featured on a list like this. It’s legitimately a great Christmas film, seeing as Kris Kringle is a slow revelation to the citizens of New York City: a reminder of the holiday spirit that is much needed. I’d argue it’s also a great courtroom drama (maybe without too much tension), where all of the belief and evidence is laid of before the big trial, where Christmas is put on the line. Likening the innocence of believing in magic to legal doubt is a pretty risky move, but Miracle is effortless enough that we don’t often consider how ludicrous it actually could have been.

72. Jour de fête

Jacques Tati is a comedy legend who has made some of the genre’s finest achievements. Even his standard fare is an absolute must to watch. Jour de Fête is much more simplistic than some of his later masterworks, but it isn’t any less brilliant. Anything with Tati’s sensational mime work (even outside of his Monsieur Hulot guise) is essential comedy. Toss in a bicycle, and you’ve got Buster Keaton-esque throwbacks as well. This was Tati’s first feature film as a director, and it was early proof that he was born to make humour into fine art. He was a one-of-a-kind visionary in that way.

71. Gilda

Gilda is seen as a quintessential noir film, thanks to Rita Heyworth being one of the most charming femmes fatale that there ever was (as the titular Gilda, of course). Life is a gamble, but life within a noir film is straight up dangerous; the theme of betting against the odds is heavily prevalent in Gilda, and Charles Vidor’s classic goes as far as to incorporate actual casino related themes to prove this. Gilda is very blatant with its manipulations between characters, not as if these people are being led, but, rather, they are openly trying to take advantage of one another without apology. I wouldn’t say Gilda has warmth as a result, but it does have sympathy, with this amount of “honesty” on its sleeves.

70. All the King’s Men

Adapting one of the finest novels in contemporary literature is a nearly impossible task that too many filmmakers try to pull off, but Robert Rossen knew exactly what to do when it came to making All the King’s Men. A tremendous political noir thriller that is tethered by the uprise of politician (from hopeful to tyrant), King’s Men is compelling right from the start. It rises to an incredibly savage climax that feels well beyond its code-stricken Hollywood years. A great novel’s strong adaptation seems reasonable, but a film that’s mightily close to its Pulitzer Prize source is rare.

69. Red River

Howard Hawks would eventually team up with John Wayne to make an iconic western with Rio Bravo, but the duo had the chance to work together on the brilliant Red River: a blue collared pilgrimage in the form of a cattle drive. This lengthy trip culminates with enough tension to destroy all on-screen relationships, enlarging what could have been a minimalist tale and rendering it as a monumental ordeal. Without even an explicit town that the cowboys (actual cowboys this time) can be bigger than, Red River still feels claustrophobic, no matter how much land is covered. It was an early sign of a cinematic match made in heaven.

68. Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne

Robert Bresson has such a singular style that is unmistakable. However, it’s interesting to see how good he is when he was first starting out, particularly because he was making films that were much more conventional (well, still in his own way). Nonetheless, Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne is still extraordinary in only the kind of way that Bresson could be (even at this accessible of a level). Majestic but not glacial. Enticing but not purely aesthetic. Boulogne refrains from being by-the-numbers, even in a romantic debacle. Bresson was always meant to go against the grain; I wonder if any early viewers of Boulogne knew just how far he’d go.

67. Paisan

Even the weakest film in Roberto Rossellini’s War trilogy is an outstanding Italian neorealist achievement; if anything, Paisan extends itself beyond the confinements of a cinematic fable by including a number of chapters dealing with different characters. These vignettes all deal with uncomfortable conversations, shifting points-of-view, and sudden realizations, all at the hands of the tail end of World War II. Hopping around from language to language, culture to culture, and perspective to perspective, Paisan is an anthology of grief and unity that places warmth right next to agony (as if both sensations were one and the same during a crisis).

66. Detour

There is a whole universe of Poverty Row cult classics (retro B-picture flicks), but there has never been an example as discussed as Edgar G. Ulmer’s Detour. That’s for good reason, considering that the film overcomes all of its shortcomings (minuscule budget, for one, and lack of resources for another) to match the quality of other noir films of its time. Cleverly using small sets for long periods, as well as a very tiny cast (mostly led by the many unfortunate events that follow a man trapped in a downward spiral), Detour is resourcefulness at its finest. Not many films can reach echelons this high from origins so low. Then again, not many films are Detour.

65. Sullivan’s Travels

Evidently, it was never too early to make fun of the Hollywood filmmaking process on a satirical level, if Preston Sturges’ Sullivan’s Travels was any indication. Having a director live the ideas he is trying to get to stick is the ultimate dream (or nightmare, all things considered), like we’re vicariously experiencing their brainstorms out loud. This is a satire after all, so even the more dramatic realizations are somewhat jovial, and that’s the ticket here. Sturges’ visions is that laughter can be a cure, whether it’s for sadness or for writer’s block. The titular Sullivan might have had a much less majestic adventure than Lemuel Gulliver, but it’s a fun exploration nonetheless.

64. They Live by Night

Selecting just one of Nicolas Ray’s works as his opus is mightily difficult, so that’s a task I’m refusing to partake in. However, I can safely say that he was brilliant from the very start. Who makes They Live by Night as their debut? Stemming from the Depression's impact and creating a necessity to do bad, They Live by Night single handedly helped spark getaway pictures, and have us care for all parties involved at the same time. We can all make poor decisions, but fate is also fate, and I think that is sadly abundantly clear throughout all of Ray’s picture. Perhaps an allusion of the lives affected beyond their control during financial crises, They Live by Night is quite dark but extremely sympathetic. Ray just understands how to convey American hardships in his pictures, and it was obvious from scene one of his first feature.

63. Raduga

Russian is one of the strongest nations in all of cinema, but that only allows for hidden gems to be tucked away amongst the greatest achievements. With that being said, Mark Donskoy’s Raduga is one of those films: an under seen Soviet work that begs to be brought to light. Incredibly aesthetic for its subject matter (the torturing of captives by Nazis), Raduga is meant to shed light whilst being a beacon of light at the exact same time. However, severity was crucial in 1944, and Raduga channels another Russian great (Battleship Potemkin) by pointing out that no one is innocent when monsters are in control of life. It’s a powerful film that too many decades have slept on.

62. Great Expectations

David Lean adapted Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations. Do I need to write any more than this? Heads and shoulders above the rest when it comes to any Dickens films, Lean’s gorgeous rendition of Pip’s upbringing is the kind of picture that wrings all of the emotions out of your heart, as your jaw drops, your eyes tear up, and your soul is cleansed. A classic novel of this stature begged to have the best treatment, and you honestly couldn’t get better than a young Lean, anxious to discover his filmmaking capabilities in the ‘40s. Brief Encounter was Lean testing the waters, but Great Expectations was the auteur discovering his knack for creating epic scopes.

61. The Lady from Shanghai

It didn't take long for Orson Welles to want to become the master of noir films (he would get mightily close, and in the conversation, when Touch of Evil was released a decade later). The Lady from Shanghai was Welles' way of easing into the rising style, and continue with his desire for writing incredibly thickly plotted screenplays (he was a literary auteur, after all). What feels like the cherry on top is his ambition to make his films as visually striking as they are intellectual: a feast for both the mind and the eyes. All of this leads to a climax unlike any other in noir history: a blistering take on the many faces deceit can carry.

60. Kind Hearts and Coronets

Inheritance can drive people crazy, and that’s the foundation of Robert Hamer’s satirical bloodbath — sans actual blood — titled Kind Hearts and Coronets. Even though the lead character Louis is completely in the wrong, you can't help that Hamer was using his film as an outlet to get back at the upper classes for their wealth and privilege. So, we still follow Louis and his quest to murder the entire family D’Ascoyne, all played by Alec Guinness (I wonder if he holds the record for most deaths in a single film by one performer). The film begins with the punishment, so we can utilize the rest of the duration to just have dark, sadistic fun.

59. The Children Are Watching Us

It would take a few films for Vittorio De Sica to make the definitive neorealist masterpiece Bicycle Thieves, but he was in the mindset to relay the grief of struggling working class Italians from day one. One of his earlier successes is The Children Are Watching Us: a commentary not unlike what he would state later, but exclusively through the eyes of a child. De Sica would learn to add the adult perspective to his visions of desperation, but that doesn't make The Children Are Watching Us any sort of a failed experiment. It remains a powerful blueprint, effective in its own way as the failing future of a country represented in its neglected youth.

58. La Terra Trema

Luchino Visconti was paid by the Italian Communist Party to show their fishing industries in a positive light, as cinematic propaganda was effective by this point. He instead wanted to adapt I Malavoglia, but used this financing as his way to go about it. Both ideas clashed, and something else was born. He instead was left with La Terra Trema: a singular experience that encompasses neither documentary or standard feature fare. Without professional actors, and staged situations panning out via real griefs, La Terra Trema was the voice of the voiceless, and one of those films that happened almost serendipitously.

57. Spring in a Small Town

Fei Mu wasn’t granted enough time with us, as he was killed by a heart attack at the young age of forty four. His final film was Spring in a Small Town, which was released three years before his passing (and near the end of the decade). He unfortunately wasn’t around to see where his masterpiece would go, being crowned one of the great works of early Chinese cinema years after its release. Part of this adoration, I think, comes from the heavy symbolism of the film (with characters representing Chinese society itself, particularly Liyan as the remnants of the Sino-Japanese War and the inability to readjust back to normalcy). Either way, he created a fable that clearly was only an ounce of what he had left to show us.

56. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly winds around and around until its titular three outlaws are finally at the same place in the same time. John Huston was nearly twenty years early with The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, but he instead pushed all three characters (of similar traits) into the same vicinities as one another from way earlier in his feature. The good get bad, and the bad get ugly: the ugly only get uglier. Greed is one hell of an addiction, and the chasing of treasure (well, Sierra Madre gold, in this case) is an immediate sign of said addiction. Watching brains ache and hearts sour amongst three people who can't trust one another is the real treasure in Huston's classic.

55. Cat People

Sure, Paul Schrader’s remake of Cat People is interesting in its own idiosyncratic way, but the Jacques Tourneur original is so much more stylish without feeling like it is trying to be. What is particularly interesting about this noir horror flick is the emphasis on the mystery of the plot, which deals less with the unknown and more with the non-concrete outcomes of the other. We're aware of the supposed mythologies within Cat People, but what are we supposed to do when they come true? Much of the film is waiting in anticipation, and it turns the concept of transforming into fatal felines into an actual testing of sanity.

54. Beauty and the Beast

Before Disney graced us with their animated classic, there was Jean Cocteau’s mesmerizing rendition of Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont’s Beauty and the Beast; since it isn't watered down, there is much more severity and less optimism in Cocteau’s film. Nonetheless, he paints a beautiful fantasy world, equipped with sensational sets and the titular beast’s makeup job (which holds up insanely well, all things considered). You truly get transported to a new world here, and are faced with a test of morality: is your life more important than the lives of those you love? Even without the song numbers and images many newer generations are now accustomed to, Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast is a fantasy opus in its own right: a perfect cinematic fairy tale, through and through.

53. The Woman in the Window

Fritz Lang seemed to always be concerned with making obsidian-dark films, and he wasn't slowing down in the ‘40s, if The Woman in the Window was any indication. Toying with the unfairness of coincidence in noir films (albeit whilst being the original “noir” film, as coined by a review attached to it), Lang takes an ideal dream coming true (the lover of one’s desires coming to life, seemingly), and renders it into a sickness. Not only that, but sickness leads to idiocy and entrapment, but it is far too late. So, The Woman in the Window is a never ending series of bad luck, all caused by the failure to discern between love and emotional manipulation.

52. Hamlet

Laurence Olivier already had some of his Shakespearean fun with Henry V, but that clearly wasn't enough. So, he went on to make the best version of Hamlet in contemporary art. Driven more by the titular prince’s collapsing state of mind and less by the actual circumstances at hand, Olivier’s Hamlet is borderline horrifying at times, as it is cloaked in shadows and suffocated by fog. Even though there are some massive liberties taken, Hamlet still contains much of the theatrical poise of the original, likely due to Olivier’s adoration for the late playwright. Still, Olivier kept making Shakespearean films works; his quest was never finished.

51. The Lady Eve

Starting out the final decade of the screwball comedy as they once were is Preston Sturges’ The Lady Eve. A heist plan goes wrong because one of the players falls for their target (Henry Fonda, as was usual in a decade that swooned after him). His match is the always-perfect Barbara Stanwyck, who is still trying her best to stick to the initial plan. Even though there seems to be less focus on shenanigans and more on the loss of control, The Lady Eve is full of uncontainable laughter: the kind only possible with continuous absurdity of any sort. All About Eve marked the transition from screwballs to dramedies, but The Lady Eve was a signature film when the genre was still thriving.

50. Odd Man Out

The Third Man is undeniably the strongest achievement of Carol Reed’s career, but it isn’t his only success. Before he made the iconic noir film that he would be attached to for life, he created one hell of a previous attempt in the form of Odd Man Out. This feature takes the moments of dread in other noir thrillers and extends them for most of the duration, casting much doubt over the whole narrative and all of its players. It’s a mystery surrounding aftermath, not information, so it’s a visceral obstacle course. A harbinger of cynical crime films to come, Odd Man Out leaves nothing out, and has all of its angst festering for us to see.

49. Shoeshine

Vittorio De Sica was well on his way towards creating the perfect Italian neorealist masterwork when he released Shoeshine: an understanding of corruption in all systems through the eyes of impoverished children. A quest that shifts from massive ambitions to simply trying to make ends meet, Shoeshine puts an entire nation’s debts and traumas on the shoulders of children of the street (as if they have to solve the problems of the adult generation). Not a filmmaker to shy away from severity, De Sica lets depression drive all of Shoeshine right to the very end, as an indication that fairness isn’t granted as a human right, and society is built so some lives are taken full advantage of.

48. Bambi

When it comes to the narrative driven animations that Disney has churned out over the years, the most exquisite film in their entire history has to be Bambi. An entire lifetime is condensed in the four seasons (and a brief duration), allowing the Disney animators to breath life into all forms of nature and walks of life. When “man” gets involved and destroys the foundation of life, Bambi becomes a gut punch. Still, the titular forest prince and the rest of the film persevere. Made during a time where Disney was dabbling with the idea of making animated works of art (one notable example to be discussed shortly), Bambi is a sublime result of these efforts, and one of the studio’s finest achievements to date.

47. Suspicion

Rebecca felt like a test run — in ways — for Suspicion, which allowed Alfred Hitchcock to try and experiment with the titular sensation surrounding a loved one. Rebecca is much more frigid, as if it is exhibiting a lethargic limbo from another dimension. Suspicion is meant to feel like our own world, so we’re placed in Joan Fontaine’s shoes this time around (she was, of course, in Rebecca as well). This pseudo followup film is much more mysterious, and in lieu with the kinds of films Hitchcock would be completely invested in during the ‘40s and beyond. Some Hitchcock fanatics even prefer Suspicion, including number one aficionado Guillermo del Toro.

46. Le Corbeau

There’s no direct correlation between Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Le corbeau and Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven, but the former film bears a strong sense of homage to the writings of the latter. Like the titular bird that refuses to leave, the turmoil found in Le corbeau is just as persistent and predatory, as a smear campaign completely destroys the life of the local doctor. A signifier of the power of accusations in a sensitive political climate, Le corbeau is as much of a cautionary tale as it is a straight up psychological mystery. No matter how this crisis is resolved, the small town at the core of Le corbeau will never be the same again.

45. The Lost Weekend

Somehow (despite being his first Best Picture winner), The Lost Weekend almost feels like a hidden gem amidst the works of Billy Wilder. A noir tragedy made after the end of Prohibition (and clearly as a response to it), the alcohol addiction that drives the entire picture is devastating to witness. You try to encourage writer Don to pull through, even without you being able to help in any way. Then, rock bottom happens, and it remains one of Wilder’s most unique moments in an already untouchable career. It’s the kind of nightmare that will forever stay with you, and it turns The Lost Weekend into a full on psychological downward spiral.

44. Meet Me in St. Louis

Out of all of the Judy Garland musicals that aren’t The Wizard of Oz or A Star is Born, Meet Me in St. Louis feels like her finest hour that matched her real life charm and talent extremely well. It’s also arguably Vincente Minnelli’s finest hour, as each song feels like the building anticipation that leads up to the World’s Fair that is so often tossed around here. We experience entire lifetimes in the form of four different daughters going through the motions in their own ways; you can slap all of these stages together to experience much more than a year in the life of this family. With memorable, gorgeous music and the lively Technicolour to match, Meet Me in St. Louis is just a dream to watch.

43. To Be or Not to Be

Not many films — now or then — start off with a narration that leads up to “Adolf Hitler” randomly showing up (we quickly find out it’s just an in-film actor trying to convince citizens that his acting is hyperrealistic). Either way, To Be or Not to Be could not have cared less about sensitivity when it came to ripping into the Nazi regime, even in 1942. You know right away that Ernst Lubitsch had some things to say and he was going to get right to it. The entire film continues to tiptoe between savage satire and full on viewpoints, all through its zany plot. It’s an absolute riot.

42. The Last Stage

Many brilliant cinematic depictions of the Holocaust have helped us heal and understand one of history’s worst moments. Wanda Jakubowska’s The Last Stage was a very early depiction of life in Auschwitz that she herself experienced, and she refused to hold back in any way. For a ‘40s film, The Last Stage is still a difficult watch that feels unlike most of the softer “challenging" films of the decade, as it vowed to hide nothing about the horrors that Jakubowska faced. Considering how closely after World War II that the film was released, it’s remarkable that it discusses so much of what had just happened to millions of innocent people. Over seventy years later, it’s still difficult to digest The Last Stage. Can you imagine watching it upon release, and knowing this was just the current state of the world?

41. The Big Sleep

Howard Hawks was an early auteur who could make a film of any sort, and somehow The Big Sleep kind of felt like many of them all in one. Despite being a definitive noir classic, The Big Sleep is such an amalgamation of feelings, plot ideas and more, all surrounding the never ending case of detective Marlowe. Nonetheless, there is still an identifiable tone that ties the love, fear, and even slight bits of comedy together, and it's all in sarcastic banter and dark shadows; the world depicted here is a fairly pessimistic one, but at least it’s self aware in that way. It’s unusually a noir that has some fresh air and hope, despite being just as cynical as the best of the style.

40. Stray Dog

Catching his stride, Akira Kurosawa had a late ‘40s gem in the form of the police drama Stray Dog, which worked as a foreshadowing of the amazing connections he would have with actors Takashi Shimura and Toshiro Mifune from the ‘50s onwards (especially with both icons together here). Contemporary Kurosawa films are so interesting, because he really goes for the jugular with what he wants to say about society; in Stray Dog, he chases after authoritative command and destitution in Japan after World War II. We genuinely care for both detectives — the amateur and the veteran — that headline a new kind of world in Stray Dog, almost as if we seek hope for what is to come next.

39. The Maltese Falcon

The illustrious directorial career of John Huston began with one of the token noir films in all of cinema. It wasn’t the Holy Grail, but The Maltese Falcon. Kind of like a one-by-one mystery (but with revelations, and not necessarily deaths), Huston’s adaptation of the Dashiell Hammett novel is an ivestigation that we can be a part of as viewers as well. The curiosity surrounding the titular artifact is the kind of magnetism that noir filmmakers pined for for decades (neo-noir is included here), but Huston was able to create it effortlessly. Clearly a legend from the start, Huston proved he knows how to make compelling cinema with The Maltese Falcon.

38. The Shop Around the Corner

Falling in love can be interesting, because a lot of that sensation has to do with perspectives. Ernst Lubitsch’s The Shop Around the Corner toys with this idea, placing two letter bound love birds in the same vicinity, and seeing them as strangers getting on each other’s nerves. A game changing romantic comedy that was decades ahead of its time when it comes to replicating the serendipity of adoration on screen (let’s not forget that You’ve Got Mail is a remake of this film), The Shop Around the Corner strayed away from the screwball antics and focused on the multiple layers of love (including love in the form of realization).

37. Panique

In a decade full of mystery, noir, and psychological horrors, Panique stands out as a particular kind of mental tribulation. Powered entirely by manipulation and skewed mentalities, Julien Duvivier’s meandering thriller exists only with the worst intentions of humanity. Incorporating the aftermaths of witch hunting sensibilities, Panique becomes a warning, especially after World War II: not everything you are told is true, and recipients of damning information must analyze information themselves. When it comes to identity and legacy, Panique is quick to highlight the curse of wrongful convictions (specifically being framed, in the film’s case), as it knows that impact outlasts the lives of the damned.

36. Letter from an Unknown Woman

One of Max Ophüls’ strongest triumphs is the romantic tragedy Letter from an Unknown Woman. It feels like a constant battle, not knowing what the right action to take is. These decisions can be out of love or desperation, and every single one will drive right into the depths of your heart. Strewn together by Daniele Amfitheatrof’s unforgettable score, Ophüls’ exquisite series of dilemmas becomes a moving depiction of the blind following of one’s emotions in hopes of the choosing of the right path. All carried in hindsight by the titular letter, the film feels like too little too late in terms of rectification, but a tear worthy confessional that must be seen.

35. Ossessione

Luchino Visconti wanted to exercise his right to state what he and many other Italians were experiencing during and after the second World War: pain within the reconstruction of society. His debut film is often attributed as being the starting point of Italian neorealism. If that’s the case, then Ossessione really was the film to spark a movement. Two and a half hours of turmoil and financial aggravation, Ossessione feels like the catharsis of a filmmaker that wanted to speak on behalf of millions of voices (the war was over, but nothing was the same as it once was). His grief turns into cinematic agony, as he resolves Ossessione with complete devastation.

34. Dance, Girl, Dance

The biggest film of Dorothy Arzner’s legacy, Dance, Girl, Dance has become a pop culture discussion for many reasons, as it acted as the starting point for legends like Lucille Ball and Robert Wise (let’s not forget Maureen O’Hara’s starring charm, too). As time has told us, Arzner’s triumph is much more than these trivia anecdotes. A tale of dealing with sexism and misogynist-stemming competition in the entertainment industry (and life), Dance, Girl, Dance is a mightily progressive discussion being had in 1940. However, Arzner remained optimistic, with a bright take on hardships that lingers on screen well after the crises are over.

33. Day of Wrath

Even early on in his career, Carl Theodor Dreyer was dead set on going against the grain. In the midst of a world catering to cinematic censorship of many sorts, he made his lone ‘40s masterwork Day of Wrath, which explores Stockholm syndrome and mob mentalities. Artistically rich, Dreyer’s depiction of fragility is soaked in shadows, completely committing his vision to the depths of hell. What can be considered his first authentic talkie film (Vampyr had many silent elements with sound enhancement), Day of Wrath was an opportunity for Dreyer to have an audible voice. I feel like that actually seized opportunity was Ordet, because Day of Wrath is a continuation of Dreyer’s visual and symbolic brilliance.

32. The Grapes of Wrath

Bringing John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath to the big screen demanded all of the right players. John Ford brought his American everyman storytelling expertise. Then, there was Henry Fonda as literary legend Tom Joad, at his most approachable. Just like that, the fears that surround such a daunting adaptation evaporate in thin air (as well as the other perfect casting and work from all departments). The Grapes of Wrath depicts the Great Depression with so much sympathy, understanding that there were still Americans that were feeling the repercussions of the financial crisis. We await on Joad as a source of hope, amidst the starvation and death throughout the film. Even then, hope can go a long way, and can heal even a little bit.

31. Fantasia

Picking the greatest film in all of Disney is kind of a ridiculous challenge, but I may have my selection with Fantasia. After the success of Pinocchio, Walt Disney felt untouchable and wanted to make animated art (since live action features were no where near the capabilities animation could fulfil at this time). So, he went fully aesthetic, with a series of animated vignettes set to different works of classical music, with a different filmmaker for each one. Outside of the handful of images that haven’t aged well, Fantasia is a permanent fixture at the upper echelons of animation. Its combination of majestic illustrations and iconic melodies is a spectacle that not even Disney has matched since (including the also good Fantasia 2000).

30. The Philadelphia Story

Perhaps the love triangles of all love triangles (technically a love square, if you will), George Cukor’s The Philadelphia Story is a tale of classes, circumstances (specifically a wedding), and fawning. The two suitors that are too late — Cary Grant and an Academy Award winning Jimmy Stewart — pine after the bride-to-be (Katharine Hepburn), representing her past (in the form of an ex-husband), and the future (a journalist that falls for her), all colliding on the most important day of her life. Let the screwball antics begin! The Philadelphia Story set a precedent for rom coms, thanks to its bursting passions and many jokes; it’s the candid revelations underneath it all that really cement this picture as a classic of the genre.

29. Drunken Angel

There are many points that one can consider to be the starting point of the golden years of Akira Kurosawa. For us, it’s the yakuza classic Drunken Angel, which featured the first collaboration between the legendary auteur and his greatest actor Takashi Shimura. Even symbolically, this makes sense as the start of Kurosawa’s hot streak. It would hold up better if the film was actually good. Luckily, Drunken Angel is great. A crime film with unusual heart, it was evident that Kurosawa was going to be able to tap into new territory from here on out. Labels and genres no longer applied to him.

28. Brief Encounter

David Lean has made many ambitious features. Lawrence of Arabia. The Bridge on the River Kwai. Doctor Zhivago. Great Expectations. Of his earliest works, Brief Encounter is much smaller in scope, but it feels just as gargantuan as all of the films I just listed. This depiction of once-in-a-lifetime love occurring at the wrong place and wrong time is one of the all time cinematic heartbreakers. No one is framed as a villain, here: not the lovers of other couples, or their spouses. It’s just one of those terrible fates that life tosses towards us. Lean lets Brief Encounter just exist as an idea, and it's all the narrative needs to flourish as romantic damnation.

27. The Heiress

William Wyler knows how to play within the conventions of an era, but he occasionally leaps ahead with an idea or twist that pushes him ahead of the pack. The Heiress is a great example of this, and Olivia de Havilland was the only actress to be able to help pull this off. A standard period drama of sorts, The Heiress is a romantic story plagued by greed and suspicion. That’s fairly normal, especially when a huge fortune is involved. What turns The Heiress from a great feature into a perfect one is the ending, which somehow blindsides everyone. It’s the sensation of feeling your heart drop from a great height. It’s an unforgettable tragedy. Pride can ruin people, even those that don’t carry it.

26. Rebecca

Alfred Hitchcock has made many films of varying natures, but none feel like they come from another universe like Rebecca. This gothic thriller features some of the all time greatest performers — Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine — as living mannequins within a doll house known simply as Manderley. Life seems to sift through the sets and players of Rebecca like a breeze that doesn’t breathe any sort of a soul, here; it’s as if Rebecca herself was staring at the world she departed as a bystander. No matter how twisted, fatal, or complex Hitchcock got before or after, he never made a film as void of warmth as Rebecca, and it’s a singular frigidness that ironically resonates still.

25. Germany, Year Zero

Roberto Rossellini’s end-of-decade war trilogy wrapped up the ‘40s with one of its finest neorealist gems Germany, Year Zero. This time, we follow young Edmund through the destroyed streets of Berlin post Stunde Null. War has ravaged the world, and Edmund sees this all around him, including the state of his family, riddled with illness and poverty. Germany, Year Zero gets straight to the point and stays there for all of its duration, as even flashes of a better future don't last very long. We’re never promised anything hopeful, but rather Rossellini lets us examine the lives of many in the aftermath of the biggest war in history.

24. His Girl Friday

When you think of screwball comedies and their dialogue, chances are His Girl Friday comes to mind first. That’s because Howard Hawks’ motormouth classic is unparalleled when it comes to how effortlessly its confusion is created by the transatlantic drawl of Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell, as they bicker back and forth (and with others) about a scoop gone wrong. Hijinks turn into unfavourable situations, but that only makes the bullet-speed speech patterns even funnier, as if we’re listening to runaway cars trying not to hit each other at intersections. No matter how crazy His Girl Friday gets, it’s always understandable (to varying degrees) enough to adore and want to revisit again and again.

23. A Letter to Three Wives

An anonymous revelation can ruin the life of one, let alone the lives of three. Joseph L. Mankiewicz was able to reinvent flashback-driven dramas with A Letter to Three Wives, as we try to pinpoint who exactly wrote the titular note that could destroy multiple families. In the end, it doesn't matter too much, because all parties involved learn their lesson: don’t take life and loved ones for granted. Oddly enough, the biggest mystery is not who the letter is pertaining to, but who actually wrote it, and we never get an actual answer. It’s Mankiewicz’s clever way of winking at us, letting us know that, firstly, this can happen to anyone if they are deceitful, and, secondly, this was about rectification and not slander.

22. Record of a Tenement Gentleman

It takes a lot to become one of Yasujirō Ozu’s greatest heartbreaks, but Record of a Tenement Gentleman makes its presence known as a strong candidate. Usually in Ozu films, a familial connection is well established from early on. In Tenement Gentleman, we see a young orphan get taken in, much to the dismay of his new guardian. Seeing Ozu craft a shifting dynamic between parent and child in the wake of the bombing of Tokyo is something truly special; it’s Ozu’s way of finding aspiration amidst ruin. In Ozu’s works, love always triumphs over anything else, and Record of a Tenement Gentleman is some of the auteur’s greatest depictions of developing love amongst family.

21. The Great Dictator

There have been many similarly edgy satires since about the same subject matter, but Charlie Chaplin still used comedy in the best way to comment on the horrors of Nazism and Adolf Hitler. The sheer coincidence of Chaplin’s moustached resemblance granted the auteur perfectionist to play both the part of the revolting leader (in a fictitious guise) and an innocent Jew that looks identical to him. Without ever once humanizing the darkest hour in history (quite the opposite, as “Hitler” becomes somewhat of a Looney Tunes character), The Great Dictator places the voiceless at the podium with a possibility to create change. In 2020, the ending speech is still championed, as it sadly still needs to be heard today. Nonetheless, the biggest star of the silent era created the greatest cinematic speech of all time.

20. White Heat

“I made it, ma! Top of the world!” James Cagney was an unstoppable actor of both crime and showmanship since the early ‘30s, but no performance of his was better than the mama’s boy tough guy Cody Jarrett in Raoul Walsh’s White Heat. Walsh knew how to frame Cagney with empathy and fear at the same time, making him one of cinema’s true antiheroes. With the downward spiral of Jarrett’s operation present throughout, it’s clear that White Heat is due to explode at any second. It has emotional outbursts before anything else, adding to the severity of the climax. Cagney owns all of it, with a gangster portrayal that has transcended its genre and all of film history.

19. The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp

I can only imagine that The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp would have been a standard war epic by any other filmmaker. However, The Archers aren’t ordinary, and neither is the end result of their Technicolor project (their first of many, as it became a signature trait of theirs). Different thresholds of the war are embodied by Deborah Kerr, who pops in as three different characters, as if she were a guardian angel checking in on Lieutenant Candy. Everything is told via flashback by Candy himself, so we’re obviously following the words of an unreliable narrator. Nonetheless, the adventure is still riveting, and The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp is convention turned on its side for something refreshing (even nearly eighty years later).

18. Notorious

Alfred Hitchcock has had a career made up of countless turning points. One such point was Notorious, which seemed like a statement to the world of how nuanced his films could be contextually. Notorious is unusually dense, even for him. It’s a clever World War II espionage noir, but really it’s Hitchcock’s attempt at making a romance (it just couldn’t be straight forward, after all). Hitchcock was the master at twists and turns, but this was an opportunity for him to showcase these complexities within the human heart, particularly underneath deception and uncertainty. Out of Hitchcock’s noir era, Notorious is undeniably his greatest triumph (and it was a strong era for him as well, so that says a lot).

17. Rome, Open City

Italian neorealist pictures depicted the lower classes and their recovery during financial crises or wartime. Roberto Rossellini’s Rome, Open City is a little bit different in this categorization, considering how it encompasses the Resistance of the working class against the Nazis. It’s a broader picture that still fights for the impoverished, even with such a massive scope. Rossellini never loses sight of his subjects, and doesn’t try to capture an entire class in a few faces; he just aims for the entire class itself. A tragic film to behold especially due to its magnitude, Rome, Open City was Rossellini operating at his very best.

16. Out of the Past

Jacques Tourneur was accustomed to making horror films and thrillers, but none of his works that fall under these umbrella terms were quite as nerve-wracking as his iconic noir Out of the Past. Heavily based on the tainted memories of one’s yesterday, Tourneur’s classic is strangled by torment and regret, rendering it a pinnacle moment of the noir style. The token noir detective here isn’t held to only his memories; he literally has to return to the world he vowed to escape, traumatizing him sight by sight, and sound by sound. Living simultaneously through hindsight and the present renders Out of the Past a unique experience in noir, and one that feels untouchable in that attempt.

15. Le Silence de la mer

Jean-Pierre Melville used his first chance as a filmmaker to tell his experiences during World War II in his own way that would define his aesthetic, poetic, hard hitting style. Le Silence de la mer pits a Nazi officer in search of hospitality with a household that vows to remain silent in protest; their inner thoughts are narrated, so we aren’t kept entirely out of the loop. Melville uses this theme to create a nearly abstract portrayal of conversation, opening up what we see and interpret, and how multiple perspectives combine into the bigger picture that is Le Silence de la mer. It was a creative debut that proved Melville’s genius right away.

14. It’s a Wonderful Life

The holiday film of all holiday films, it’s hard to imagine how Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life wasn’t as beloved upon release (then again, look at all of the Capra films it was being held to). With the invention of television came the showing of classic films, and It’s a Wonderful Life eventually became a Christmas staple. As nice as that is, it’s simply just a fantastic film to begin with. We face George Bailey on what may be his death bed, and wait long enough before divine intervention takes place. By that point, we’re caught up on everything plaguing him, and we hope that things turn around. Such a celebration of life needs its dark moments, and this film provides us with some of Capra’s more dismal sequences. I’m sure you already know how this one ends, but It’s a Wonderful Life is a crowd pleaser that reigns as one of Capra’s finest features.

13. A Matter of Life and Death

By 1947, The Archers were well known for their inventive films, particularly ones being drenched in Technicolor splendour. So, one of their strongest experiments was A Matter of Life and Death: a fantasy war film that dips between gorgeous colour (when alive) and black and white (when dead). The catch is that colour details the normal, but the black and white world is that of the other side, full of breathtaking sets and ideas. So, we witness a trial of a man who should be dead but is busy running around alive; do we root for the pilot to go where he should, or hope that he remains alive? Clearly, we all entice the latter, but A Matter of Life and Death never vilifies those that have come to take him away, as the film is tongue and cheek enough to be a celebration of being alive throughout its duration.

12. Gaslight

In 2020, gaslighting has become a frequently used term to describe domestic partners that manipulate their spouses to convince them that they are misunderstanding things. This comes from Patrick Hamilton’s play Gas Light, which was turned into a film by Thorold Dickinson. However, it’s George Cukor’s 1944 adaptation that has become the definable classic that we all know, thanks to the director’s use of style to match the delirium. Then, there’s Ingrid Bergman’s performance as Paula, which will go down as one of cinema’s finest; we feel each and every ounce of her panic and desperation. It takes a lot for entertainment to influence society, and Cukor’s Gaslight was the spotlighting of a major form of abuse and mistreatment that the world deserved to be educated on.

11. The Magnificent Ambersons

Orson Welles was not done telling the stories of the falling elite after Citizen Kane, so he sought out to follow up his masterful debut with a nearly equal follow up. The Magnificent Ambersons might not be discussed nearly as much as his previous film, but it’s just as deserving. Full of exquisite camera techniques, depths of field, uses of shadow, and powerful performances, The Magnificent Ambersons continues Welles’ translation of the stage into what cinema can be. Following the entire lives of the titular Amberson family, we experience both privilege and destitution in a mere hour and a half (I can only hope to finally see the extended versions Welles had intended one day). The Magnificent Ambersons was all the proof we needed that Welles was far from a one trick pony: he was destined to be an auteur.

10. Ivan the Terrible

So the damndest thing happened in the early ‘40s. Joseph Stalin requested Sergei Eisenstein to create a film about Ivan Vasilyevich as a means of propaganda. Yeah. He asked the Battleship Potemkin guy (I know he’s done propaganda works like Alexander Nevsky, but still) . Stalin got what he asked for. Part I is a gorgeously shot rise of power. Stalin only got as far as Part II, which reveals the corruption in the titular Grand Prince’s heart (and a climactic Technicolor fever dream to boot). So, Part II was banned for over a decade, and Part III was destroyed. Considering the fragmented state we have, Ivan the Terrible is still one of the finest films of the era, with photographical techniques from the future, and complete devotion from Eisenstein and company. We will never know what the full production would have been like, sadly; it had to have been one of the greatest films of all time if its unfinished form cracks a top ten.

9. Late Spring

Yasujirō Ozu spent his entire career detailing the complexities of family life better than any other filmmaker could. Utilizing the season of rebirth as the basis of a narrative driven by misguided best intentions, Late Spring was a sign that Ozu could keep making his signature style of films and get even better at them. An emotional take on the need to please every family member’s requests, Late Spring could have been melodramatic, but that was never in Ozu’s style. Instead, it’s bittersweet: a union between forming one’s own identity, and refusing to let go of heritage and name. Late Spring ended the decade off with promise of Ozu’s finest era around the corner.

8. Double Indemnity

Here it is: the classic noir of classic noirs. Billy Wilder’s twisted Double Indemnity is so by-the-numbers noir because it made those numbers as essential as they are. We have the regretful protagonist remembering everything in hindsight, as well as every other trope that we still won’t spoil, lest you haven't seen this opus. What I can state is how wonderfully nuanced Double Indemnity is with its scheming, which contrasts the openness of its emotional push back; the brain pretends to know what it wants, but the heart will always reign supreme. The perfect film containing double crossing and loaded intentions, Double Indemnity is one of cinema’s strongest archetypes.

7. Black Narcissus

As usual, The Archers marched to the beat of their own drums, and Black Narcissus was a film of the future in every single way. It wasn’t just in Technicolor: the grade was as visually explosive as possible. Toss in the tormented tale of deprived nuns in the hypnotic Himalayas, and you have one of cinema’s most mesmerizing psychological nightmares. The build up of possession is so gradual that it might not even be noticeable the first time through (until you reach the demonic climax, that is). Being a part of the hysteria is why Black Narcissus works so well; it casts the same spell on you as the players within it.

6. The Third Man

The ‘40s birthed many depictions of the war (and the end results), as well as noir classics. Carol Reed aimed to do both with the singular The Third Man, creating a political mystery that turns into a mental battle of wits. The amounts of twists in The Third Man are impossible to predict, and they each come with such a wallop that matches the panicked mood of the narrative. You are left feeling uncertain, because you’re questioning everything in a world that feels very vulnerable as it is. It’s the perfect merging of topics and styles, particularly for its time. Decades later, The Third Man holds up as perfect suspense.

5. Children of Paradise

In the wake of Gone With the Wind, films were being compared to it as a means of promotion. Such was the case of Marcel Carné’s Children of Paradise, which is frankly a much better film, and I think it should stand on its own. Children of Paradise pits a concubine with various suitors in a nineteenth century theatrical environment, and has each player profess their adoration in their own unique ways. The entire plot is told poetically, with emotions being shown on the sleeves of all. Spectacle is part of the appeal, but the main attraction is the oozing emotions that drip off the screen. Sure, Gone With the Wind might also showcase love on an epic scale, but Children of Paradise knows what real love feels like through and through.

4. Casablanca

The romantic epic to end all romantic epics. There truly is no besting Casablanca, because it allows the narrative to decide how to gestate. There’s no forcing of love, as we’re seeing the aftermath of a romance being destroyed. There’s no big time backdrop, as we’re in hiding in the titular Moroccan city away from the second World War. All we have are memories and guilt, colliding in Rick’s nightclub. Pieced together by some of the greatest dialogue in film, Casablanca is a constant influx of feelings, most of them gelling with one another to create uncertainty. It’s one of those cases where the extremely high bar set by pop culture doesn’t diminish the first time you watch the film, even if you know every line going in. Casablanca is so perfect, that I’d argue it still isn’t overrated by any means.

3. Bicycle Thieves

The all time example used for Italian neorealism is Vittorio De Sica’s magnum opus Bicycle Thieves. This is for good reason, because it is unquestionably the finest film of the movement. Placing a struggling father and his suffering child at the forefront of a war-torn Italy pulls all of the commentary that De Sica intended out and places it on our laps, impossible to ignore. In many neorealist works, either the present or the future are represented symbolically. Here, it’s both, as the present nods tearfully to the future and acknowledges that life won’t be getting any easier. The suffering of a father hurt by robbery and his family affected furthermore rings throughout all time, as Bicycle Thieves is relatable, empathetic, and as raw as cinema can get.

2. Citizen Kane

To think that Orson Welles’ debut film Citizen Kane was polarizing upon release. A man in his mid twenties orchestrated borderline everything that you see in this masterpiece, and he excelled at all of it (including his sublime leading performance). With the daring shots — particularly Gregg Toland’s insane depth of field — bolstered by bold editing and even bolder ideas (the cut from the opening newsreel to the actual film itself still hits hard), Citizen Kane is a cinematic miracle. It surpasses its aesthetic values by being a timeless tale of the corruption of innocence, driven by power, loneliness, and society’s ways. It’s cliché to call Citizen Kane one of the greatest films of all time, but it’s also the absolute truth. It’s impossible to ignore, and trying to go against the grain is just a disservice to yourself.

1. The Red Shoes

The greatest filmmaking partnership of yesteryear — and arguably ever — is that of the visionary Michael Powell and the intelligent Emeric Pressburger, known universally as The Archers. The Archers worked predominantly with Technicolor in a time where that was mightily unusual, and most of their features were determined to push the boundaries of their respective genres. This only meant good things for their loose adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Red Shoes”: a fairy tale of perfectionism being the downfall of a budding artist. Once again, The Archers had to go beyond their guidelines, and made a modern day rendition of the story, involving the understanding of the fairy tale’s existence and its relation to similar circumstances. A ballet dancer is in the middle of a creative tug-of-war with one desire: to dance, no matter what. Powell and Pressburger wanted to see how far this dream could go.

Marking the absolute end of the showstopper eras of the Golden Age of Hollywood, The Red Shoes features spectacle numbers that compete with the very best, only they have the advantages of the greatest uses of Technicolor, and advanced editing techniques. Unlike most other pictures, the imaginative sequences in The Red Shoes take you to a completely different dimension, and it’s a trip you never want to end. Then the film blurs the lines between these fantasy sequences and real life: are the red shoes actually possessive? It’s this uncertainty that makes The Red Shoes a different experience for every person that watches it. All I know is that we’re seeing the technical side of art and how it can drive an aspiring creator into the ground; this process is likened to love, as the core love triangle only tangles things up even more.

The Red Shoes is a jaw dropping achievement of filmmaking that competes with the best films in an era where innovation was imperative. Visually, the film is extraordinary, and its aesthetics are unparalleled. Narratively, The Red Shoes is a mature fairy tale for a new generation, inviting audiences of all ambitions to find themselves placed in poor Victoria Page’s shoes (red or not). It’s unusual to find a film as majestic, compelling, graceful and haunting as The Red Shoes, as it truly transcends most labels you try to attribute to it. It’s a film that tends to your mind, heart and soul all equally, leaving you feeling as fulfilled as can be. It’s imperative viewing for any cinephile, and it is debatably the best film of the 1940’s.

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.

The Best 100 Films of the 1940's