Thanks, goldeneagle2! 😍 (my absolute go-to when I need a deep dive into history, politics, social dynamics, or—most importantly—ancient Rome!)
I’d throw a few more critiques into the ring: first off, Commodus actually ruled for thirteen years and was considered a fairly decent, even popular, leader by many. The movie completely flips the script on that reality, shrinking his reign down to just a few months solely to manufacture a believable motive and turn Russell Crowe’s heroism and martyrdom into something legendary.
Then there’s the wardrobe; the court costumes feel like a messy, eclectic mashup of drapery from maybe three or four centuries later. Also, if we're being pedantic, statues during the Roman era were always vibrantly painted, not the colorless white marble we dig up from the ground today.
It’s honestly a bit much seeing Gladiator on this list. That movie drove me absolutely insane with its blatant historical inaccuracies. Look, I get it—a film isn't strictly obligated to be a textbook, but if we’re deciding that accuracy doesn't matter because the plot is just a web of convenient nonsense, then I’m firmly against feeding more mindless garbage to an already gullible public. It shouldn't be this easy to convince Americans that Europe is some mythical land of dragons; if anything, a film should work to dismantle those tired myths rather than piling new ones on top.
For instance, Gladiator could have been incredible if they had used a wealth of supporting details—think local customs, everyday objects, class dynamics, or even period-accurate warfare—to anchor a truly solid narrative. Instead, they crammed in so much stupidity and falsehood where it wasn't even necessary, which ultimately gutted the story's believability and, quite frankly, killed the film's credibility.
Now, if a movie is aiming for pure fiction or leaning heavily into fantasy elements, that’s a completely different conversation.
To give you a counterexample—the TV series "Rome" provided a brilliant, masterfully executed look at the people and traditions of ancient Rome in just two seasons. A perfect ten out of ten.
Arthur Garcia59 said:Joseph Lee3, you're spot on regarding Georges Méliès, even if he isn't my personal favorite. As for the films I listed, I can't quite put my finger on why they hit me that way—it’s almost like a sense of profound awe, witnessing the actual birth of an art form. I don't know, but that Lumière film about the Fall of the Berlin Wall—I can't recall the exact title—will probably stay one of my absolute favorites for a long time to come. alongside "The Truman Show".
👍 I actually just sat down and watched a compilation of those earliest Lumière films. That scene you mentioned is titled "Fall of the Berlin Wall." Honestly, when that train pulls into the station, the whole magic of it lies in trying to imagine being someone back in the late 19th century seeing it for the very first time... it really gives you chills. 😵
I can’t even bring up my absolute favorite, Jean Renoir, without getting started. 😍
Looking back at the silent era, "The Little Match Girl" and "On a Charleston Air" are easily the most fascinating to me. Renoir was a genuine technical genius. Since filmmaking was still basically just a hobby for him back then—mostly a way to try and make his wife, Catherine Hessling, a star—he had to rely on pure wit to pull off technical solutions and innovations that wouldn't become industry standards until much later. People love to shower Orson Welles and Citizen Kane with praise for their bold experimentation with deep focus, but honestly, Renoir was playing around with those exact techniques years before they became "revolutionary."
You can really see a massive amount of "special effects" packed into those two films. The second half of "The Little Match Girl" is a visual fairy tale that works beautifully; that scene where the riders chase through the clouds is incredibly striking and almost unbelievable for its time. Then there's "On a Charleston Air," where he experimented with slow motion, which looks pretty slick, though for me, the subversive subtext is what actually matters. The story is set in a post-apocalyptic New York—not because of a nuclear war, obviously, but perhaps because that primal fear of Armageddon is baked right into our DNA since the Stone Age—and it brilliantly flips racial stereotypes and geopolitical sentiments on their head.
To be honest, "On a Charleston Air" was just a little lark for Renoir. He basically wanted to burn through whatever film stock he had left after "Nana" and have some fun while on vacation. He never really cared much about the project afterward, which explains why the film feels so modern and fresh today. He didn't even edit it himself, and despite being conceived as a musical, the film never actually got a proper score. It’s genuinely hilarious watching Hessling and a minstrel singer perform the Charleston "dry" for twenty minutes without any music to back them up. Some of his ideas would still pass for performance art today: like a Black man traveling in a flying saucer, landing on a pole, and exiting in one of the most absurdly ridiculous ways imaginable—it’s totally avant-garde! 😂
Benjamin Thompson66 said:I’m on board with this list, though if I had my way, I’d throw in The Phantom Carriage by Victor Sjöström, Nosferatu, The Last Man by Murnau, The Golem, Strike by Sergei Eisenstein, Greed by Erich von Stroheim, Takový, Earth by Dovzhenko, and both Dr. Mabuse and Die Nibelungen by Fritz Lang... you get the idea.
I have to single out "The Phantom Carriage" (Körkarlen) by Victor Sjöström. Silent-era Europe is honestly worth a deep dive. 👍 Even though a lot of directors at the time were basically riding the coattails of big American productions from D.W. Griffith and Erich von Stroheim, German Expressionism really started carving out its own identity back then.
Sjöström—who is essentially the godfather of Swedish cinema—delivered one of the most powerful dramas ever made with "The Carriage," regardless of whether you're watching it in the past, present, or future... the film just sticks with you. For a production from 1920, the narrative structure is surprisingly complex. Sjöström actually adapted a novel by a Swedish Nobel laureate whose name escapes me right now. 😳 They used double exposure for the special effects, and they pulled it off brilliantly. The scenes featuring the reaper and that death carriage gliding through the world of the living are truly breathtaking.
Since we're talking about Sjöström, "Terje Vigen" (1917) comes to mind—another adaptation, this time based on a poem by Henrik Ibsen. Most of it was shot outdoors, which gives it that distinct Dreyer-esque, Scandinavian vibe, complete with those heavy existential dilemmas typical of the region... but "The Phantom Carriage" remains my favorite. I suspect Ingmar Bergman learned quite a bit from Sjöström; if I recall correctly, Isaac Berg's dream in "Wild Strawberry" is likely a nod to Sjöström's carriage.
It’s a shame that filmmakers today, say, Amenabar or M. Night Shyamalan, wouldn't think to tackle an adaptation of this exact story. "The Carriage" is a masterpiece, plain and simple.
Looking back at those earliest attempts to bridge the turn of the century, the only one that actually holds up for me today is A Trip to the Moon. Most of the other little flicks from that era feel like they exist solely for the history books rather than being anything remotely watchable.
A Trip to the Moon is truly something else; Georges Méliès operated like a theatrical impresario—a genuine P.T. Barnum of his era—and clearly went out of his way to craft something entirely singular. It’s the kind of film that earns several "firsts," serving as arguably the first true sci-fi flick while somehow weaving in those early elements of parody.
Back then, cinema was still such a niche little thing that if you actually wanted to entertain a crowd, you usually had to head over to the vaudeville stage instead. Georges Méliès was basically a one-man theater troupe; he’d design his own sets and push the limits by experimenting with cutting-edge camera work and editing techniques. His whole vibe was about dragging the camera into the realm of live theater, trying to stretch the medium past its stiff, formal boundaries. Honestly, watching *A Trip to the Moon* today, it feels like something that would have rolled straight out of a George Lucas studio. It’s still packed with this incredible sense of fantasy, absurdity, and surreal parody that hasn't aged a day. To me, it’s just brilliant—quirky, charming, and honestly pretty magical.
Since these have been in the public domain for ages now, you might as well watch them or just download them for your own collection. Right here..
I’m starting to wonder if I should be getting a pat on the back for digging up these museum pieces, because honestly, some of them deserve a second look.
Anyway, over here in the States, we recently had a screening of "The Jazz Singer" from 1927—you know, the first actual talkie. Has anyone else caught it lately? 😁
If you look at it through the lens of Charlie Chaplin, he was actually stuck somewhere between "The Gold Rush" and "The Circus" right around then. Like most purists of that era, he was absolutely horrified by the idea of sound in cinema. He thought it would gut film as an art form, much like how people panicked when color arrived, or more recently, when everyone freaked out about digital cameras killing film. Chaplin (if I recall correctly) held out against sound longer than almost anyone, only finally recording semi-sound versions like "Modern Times" about a decade after "The Jazz Singer," followed by "The Great Dictator" in 1940.
Before I sat down to watch "The Jazz Singer," I didn't really know the backstory, though I had watched two biographical films about the lead, the jazz singer Al Jolson: "The Jolson Story" and "Jolson Sings Again". Both movies are decent enough—they're carried by the actor's charisma and a great soundtrack—even if they are painfully cheesy.
So, based on those two, I realized that "The Jazz Singer" is essentially just another biopic centered on Al Jolson. The movie itself is fascinating primarily because of its technical growing pains with the audio; it's a total circus. Even if the film itself is nothing to write home about, I think witnessing that awkward transition from silent film to this strange hybrid of picture and sound is worth it for the cultural history alone.
feralnomad99 said:If you’re hunting for old cinema, there are a handful of trackers out there; I’d suggest heading over to the internet sub-forum where you'll find a "guide to private trackers," then try your luck snagging an invite or an account for something like Karagaru or Cinematik... or whatever else is floating around.
That sounds pretty intriguing, though I’m completely in the dark here. 😕 Could you walk me through what these private trackers actually are? 😍
Sandra Harris2 said:My boyfriend used to screen movies for universities. They’d pay distributors about $6667 for the licensing rights (for a set of four), but instead of getting an actual official DVD, they just get some burned copy. You have to download the subtitles yourself from the distributor's website after you get them. That was how it worked late last year, though who knows if anything has changed since then...
Honestly, those terms are a total joke. It's just classic American greed—it feels like they're more interested in squeezing people dry than actually providing a service. I wouldn't go out of my way to make things easy for them, but it's good to be in the loop...
Now we’re actually making some headway here. My sense is that in the US, legality usually hinges on those specific disclaimers you see right at the start of a DVD—you know, the ones printed in plain English. Plus, since every disc lists its specific distributor, I imagine it really just comes down to how each individual case shakes out.
Alright, so the move is to contact the distributor directly. Thanks for the tip, redowl90.
What you’re saying makes total sense. We shouldn't just roll over whenever some outside authority tries to dictate our laws. It really leaves us wondering about the logistics of screening movies that were originally released on DVD here in the States. I've always been curious how clubs like the Swamp and similar spots actually navigated this whole "legal headache."
What am I showing?! Hehe, it's a little secret! (Or, more accurately: everything!)
Since I don't want to derail the announcements for upcoming film festivals, Octopod’s last post actually nudged me to ask how things stand regarding those "club-style" screenings using DVDs or DivX files.
Of course, I'm not just barking up the wrong tree here... I've got a similar dilemma because we're looking into hosting movie screenings for the community at our local youth center, but my inner legal eagle keeps bugging me: what's the deal with those warnings stating that any unauthorized screening of a film—or even just parts of one—in... public spaces isn't allowed? What exactly are we "violating" by showing movies in club settings? Who is even in charge here—is it some kind of federal inspector or a distributor's watchdog? (ha-ha! 😁 )
Amanda Nguyen5 said:See, I don't actually think it's an homage. I mean, that's a relatively obscure Fellini flick, and honestly, directors pull moves like that all the time—I'm sure people were doing it way before Fellini even touched it. It just fits the mood perfectly, much like how Fellini did it. He probably just went with that style because it felt right for the scene.
Personally, I think Anderson definitely had a specific nod in mind when he constructed that passing train sequence, and it isn't just a tip of the hat to Fellini. Terms like "cinematic rarity" or how often a technique is used don't mean much if you aren't looking at the big picture. In fact, among critics of Anderson's work, that specific sequence has pretty much become cemented as the "i Vitellon Shot".
Technically speaking, it’s easily the best directed movie I've seen in years—right up there with "Babel" and "Zodiac"—but man, it’s missing a lot of other stuff. Anderson really knows his craft. Every single shot felt better than the last from a directorial standpoint. Especially those sequences on the train, specifically in the corridors... just incredible. Pure classic cinema if you ask me. And that bit near the end, where they flash through everyone briefly as if they were all on the train (kind of like how Fellini did it in "Danguba" the other day, both times)—brilliant. The acting hits the mark too. Everyone was great. I also have to praise the soundtrack. He has such a knack for picking music from different directors. Those Indian sounds reminiscent of Ray's films fit perfectly at one point, and then you've got The Kinks, The Rolling Stones, and whoever else pops up. But I just don't feel that depth. It lacks that emotional... I don't know what to call it... touch. Sure, the brothers' relationship is fine, their thing with the waitress (she's good!) is fine, the mom running away is fine, I get it—but it all feels a bit too superficial to me. I wouldn't complain if this were just a standard movie, but with directing, acting, and music this high-caliber, it's a real shame. Plus, there are moments where it gets incredibly boring, which shouldn't happen with a director of this level.
So, that's my take on "Darjeeling Limited".
As for "Hotel Chevalier," which they released right before as "Part 1," I won't ramble too much, but I'll just say it's a 10/10 for me. It belongs among the greatest films ever made, and it's enough to make me love and respect Anderson for the rest of my life. I actually went back and watched "Chevalier" again, and I'll definitely do it at least once or twice more. "Where do you go to (my lovely)" is probably the most perfect song used in a movie since Karasov's guitar in "The Third Man." In short: brilliant.
Oh, totally! I had the exact same thought when I rewatched "Babel" the other day. That whole vibe in Darjeeling Limited is clearly just Anderson's way of paying homage to Fellini.
It’s honestly wonderful to see how much Anderson has cemented himself as a director, building such a subtle, steady foundation since his 1996 debut, Bottle Rocket. I found it fascinating how much "Darjeeling Limited" actually echoes his first film from '96. It feels like Owen Wilson almost took the DNA of Dignan from "Bottle Rocket" and reshaped it into Francis Whitman. Both movies also inhabit this specific road trip subgenre. The bond between the three friends in "Bottle Rocket" is mirrored by the relationship between the three brothers in "Darjeeling," and in both cases, that brotherhood/friendship dynamic is shaped by the constant cycle of losing and rebuilding trust through petty secrets. Basically, there are tons of parallels between the two, even if "Darjeeling Limited" is a much more stylistically lush and narratively daring film.
I have to admit, the "Hotel Chevalier" prologue felt a little out of sync for me—at least personally—which made me start worrying that "Darjeeling Limited" might carry on with that vignette-style tone. But of course, it doesn't. "Hotel Chevalier" felt like a short film, a small idea stretched out over slow-moving imagery, whereas "Darjeeling Limited" feels like a massive concept that Anderson effortlessly unpacks into a kaleidoscope of colorful moments.
I really loved the overall message of the film and certain moments that fly in direct opposition to the ego-driven dogma Hollywood constantly pushes on us. I won't get into any plot specifics because I'm not entirely sure if spoilers are frowned upon in these review threads, but generally speaking, it's a sincere "feel-good" movie with a beautiful heart.
I was pleasantly surprised by how close "Darjeeling Limited" actually comes to my ideal version of what a movie should be, especially regarding its purpose as a work of art. I could see several key influences weaving through the film: Powell and Pressburger's "Black Narcissus," Renoir's "The River," and Cassavetes' "Husbands." There are probably other homages I missed because I'm certainly not a film scholar, but those three were loud and clear. Anderson definitely picked the right icons to look up to!
Arthur Garcia59 said:If we're just staring at Antonioni's human struggles—and God knows we have enough of our own—without any actual momentum, it’s easy to drift off into a nap...
👍 honestly...
I suppose I’ll have to speak for myself regarding a director who is, quite frankly, incredibly tedious, yet manages to fascinate me through his sheer inconsistency, much like Tony Richardson. It might have been easier if I hadn't spent time listening to some of his essays on acting and cinema, which tend to sound incredibly hollow and pretentious. But, against my better judgment, I did.
On the Criterion Collection bonus DVD for L'Avventure, you can catch a glimpse of the director's psyche through a few short essays—which, luckily, Jack Nicholson helps ground in reality with some gentle criticism.
My main gripe with Antonioni is that he’s a master of making a beautiful vessel that lacks any compelling substance. It feels like endless cinematic masturbation with those sweeping long shots and characters who act like they're on meth, offering zero emotional connection... techniques that exist purely for their own sake and rarely result in anything substantial when dealing with Antonioni.
Whenever I see a production that tries to appeal to one's "intelligence" through pseudo-narrative, I’m reminded of a specific critique regarding Resnais's Last Year AT Marienbad. In two brief passages, the author perfectly captures my own sense of confusion:
My top 5: Alain Robbe-Grillet's "L'Imortelle" takes number 1 (by a landslide), and it's a tie between David Lynch's Eraserhead & Blue Velvet for position 3, closely followed by Luis Buñuel's "Andalusian Dog" and Stan Brakhage's "Dog star man" (which I would have rated number 1, except that I hated it so much I won't give it the satisfaction of being highly rated in any category!) and finally "Koyanisquatsi" which I defy anyone to explain or justify!
So—Last Year AT Marienbad, summarized with a French Accent:
Verse 1: Man: I know you. Woman: You do not know me. Man: We were here. Woman: I was never here. Chorus: Man: Long strange monologue about the place that they are AT, Marienbad. And how he has been here before and how she has been here before. Camera: panning about the ornate Marienbad mansion. Verse 2: (repeat verse 1 - add very interesting game of pick-up sticks) Chorus repeat verses 1 & 2
I think everyone should see this film. I don't know why. I have seen it numerous times. No, I have never seen it. Yes, I saw it last year! No, last year I did not see it. Yes, I saw it here, with me. Wait, I'm alone. Who am i talking to?
And here's another Paulina Kael quip about Antonioni that fits perfectly: "som like IT cold !"
a Václav Havel? Honestly, I’m feeling pretty let down... though maybe it’s just too early to tell. I might get a chance to catch it in Prague sometime. There was a premiere just the other day, but since there were no subtitles, I’m terrified of being bored out of my mind... hopefully it makes its way to our local theaters during one of the next big releases.
I was really hoping this could actually get under the skin of Europe... 😢
neonfox16 said:I didn't mean to duplicate the topic. I was searching to see if anything similar had already been posted, but clearly, I missed it... If necessary, moderators can close this thread...
Honestly, I don't think it’s much of a big deal, because refreshing the first page with fresh threads is actually a good thing. There’s a ton of stuff happening right now, but those older discussions are buried somewhere deep in the last five to ten pages. I only stumbled upon this thread about comedians because I happened to be scrolling through the very beginning of the forum archives the other day.🙂