5. “La Haine”
It’s easy enough to forget, twenty years on, what a goddamn hand grenade that “La Haine” felt like at the time (though Jordan Peele nodding to the movie with his poster for “Get Out” has at least helped us remember, as has the tumultous political situation in France, including riots that kicked off when a man was allegedly raped by policemen). Inspired by Scorsese and Spike Lee, the directorial debut of the then 28-year-old Matthieu Kassovitz sees three friends — the Jewish Vinz (Vincent Cassel), the black Hubert (Hubert Koundé) and the Arabic Said (Said Taghmaoui) in the Paris projects who find a cop’s missing gun, and vow to take revenge if a comatose friend, a victim of police brutality, dies. Made with a visceral, fiery energy and the bravado of youth (though shot with a pleasingly classical black-and-white by Pierre Aim), it’s a film that throbs with violence and the promise of it, but ultimately is driven by a humanism that elevates it above similar copyists of “Boyz N The Hood” et al. In many respects, it could have been made yesterday: the only shame is that Kassovitz’s subsequent directorial efforts (“Gothika,” “Babylon A.D.”) have been so disappointing.
4. “Safe”
It was obvious from day one and his inspired, surprisingly moving Barbie-doll enabled, copyright-violating Karen Carpenter biopic “Superstar” that Todd Haynes was going to be a formidable talent. But his first true masterpiece (and even greater was to come in the 2000s) arrived with “Safe,” an extraordinary film that’s part body horror, part psychological thriller, part satire, part character study, and part… something else. Julianne Moore, in her first collaboration with the director (they team up once again with this year’s “Wonderstruck”) plays Carol, a well-to-do California housewife who appears to develop strange allergies to the world around her, leading her to a New Age-y group. It’s not quite the genre piece that it was sold as, though Haynes does beautifully capture the sense of panic that can kick in when your body starts reacting to things in a way that you don’t understand. It’s something richer, a commentary on a materialistic life, on self-definition and self-belief, on the systems we put our trust in, on the reaction to the AIDS crisis. And at its centre is an almighty, titanic performance from Moore that truly cemented her place as one of the best we have.
3. “Dead Man”
One day, you’ll try to tell a future child of yours about the Johnny Depp of the 1990s, a man who did more than pull funny faces in unwatchable, bloated CGI blockbusters, but a man who was one of the most credible, coolest leading men of the 1990s, a man who made all kinds of interesting choices and worked with all kinds of interesting filmmakers. They won’t believe you, most likely, so you need to sit them down and show them Jim Jarmusch’s “Dead Man,” the only pairing of the director and the star, and one that brought out the best in each other. This was one of only two features Jarmusch released this decade, so it’s a good thing this trippy, post-modern Western about an accountant named William Blake (Depp) who’s forced on the run after killing the son (Gabriel Byrne) of a powerful businessman (Robert Mitchum, in his final role), escorted across the country by a Native American known as Nobody. Gloriously filmed in black and white by Robby Muller, shot through with unexpected humor and delightful performances (Crispin Glover, John Hurt Mili Avital, Iggy Pop, Billy Bob Thornton and Michael Wincott among those backing up the outstanding central turns by Depp and Farmer), it brushes close to parody in places, but is too strange, too unexpectedly profound to be pastiche. It’s simply Jarmusch’s take on the Western, a poetic, wonderful one at that.
2. “Heat”
If anyone, including Michael Mann, tried to pitch “Heat” today, it would almost certainly be gently suggested to them if, rather than a movie, maybe it should be an HBO or Netflix series. Indeed, time being a flat circle and all that, the project actually initially was a TV pilot, 1989’s “L.A. Takedown.” But to us, “Heat” feels about perfect as it is: a near-three-hour crime epic that feels neither overstuffed nor overlong, and became the sort of Platonic ideal of a Michael Mann film, establishing a kind of glittering urban crime aesthetic, part expressionistic, part docudrama, that he’s since returned to several times. It’s the story of kick-ass, super-professional thief Neil McCauley (Robert De Niro) and kick-ass, super-professional cop (Al Pacino), whose mutual respect for each other won’t stop them from ending the other if they have to. It’s at once single-minded and sprawling, capable of losing itself in curious tangents and sub-plots but always building towards the confrontation of the two titans, often through Mann’s thundering action scenes. A commercial hit at the time but ignored by the Oscars, it’s a far more absorbing watch than 99% of what you’d find either on peak TV or at the movies these days.
1. “Seven”
The success of “Silence Of The Lambs” led to a spate of knock offs and competitors for a while — “Copycat,” “Kiss The Girls,” et al. And “Seven” looked to be another one of those — hell, it was even from that music video guy who messed up “Alien 3.” But in Andrew Kevin Walker’s dementedly inventive script, and Fincher’s potential achieving direction, creating a bleak world that was equal parts comic book and grim reality, we found a serial killer tale that didn’t just prove to be as thrilling as Jonathan Demme’s instant classic. It didn’t just find disturbing new depths to which the genre could sink. It didn’t just smash up the expected rules of the thriller — no one will get murdered with a razor dildo, the killer won’t just give himself up two-thirds of the way, the hero’s pretty young wife won’t get decapitated, you won’t get a deeply unhappy ending. It also found a depth and power that even ‘Silence’ couldn’t quite match: an existential howl into the emptiness of a world that sometimes feels overrun with evil and lacking in hope. Miraculously, it was a giant hit, though somehow, twenty-two years on, it feels like its moment has well and truly arrived for real.
Some of the fiercest debates we’ve had came with this feature, with four films in particular having strong advocates for them who were less than happy when they didn’t make the cut — Emir Kusturica’s Palme d’Or winner “Underground,” Kathryn Bigelow’s flawed but thrilling cyberpunk thriller “Strange Days,” Larry Clark’s zeitgeist-grabbing, influential teen pic “Kids,” and Richard Linklater’s trilogy-sparking romance “Before Sunrise” (eventually agreed by us all to be the weakest of the three ‘Before’ films, and the easiest to cut as a result).
Beyond those particular sticking points, there was also Ron Howard’s best movie, the gripping “Apollo 13,” the original, still utterly wonderful “Toy Story,” Amy Heckerling’s stellar teen comedy “Clueless,” unexpected, still delightful Oscar smash “Babe,” Gus Van Sant’s wonderfully acidic “To Die For,” Noah Baumbach’s “Kicking And Screaming,” Alfonso Cuaron’s breakthrough “A Little Princess,” underrated Stephen King adaptation “Dolores Clairborne,” Tony Scott’s breathlessly tense submarine thriller “Crimson Tide,” Jeunet & Caro’s enchanting fantasia “City Of Lost Children,” whip-smart Elmore Leonard adaptation “Get Shorty,” Ang Lee’s perfect Austen adaptation “Sense & Sensibility,” Martin Scorsese’s swollen but often transcendent “Casino,” Wong Kar-Wai’s minor but gorgeous “Fallen Angels,” and shoulda-been-a-franchise-starter “Devil In A Blue Dress.”
There’s plenty more that we could have gone for too: let us know your favorites of ’95 in the comments.
