If by any chance you, the reader, will think someone is missing, than relax-more is on the way. As always, knowledgeable feedback is welcome.

11. Glauber Rocha

One doesn’t take on capitalism, colonialism, and imperialism with timidity.

Rocha was a shining symbol of Cinema Novo movement, and both in form and content exhibited raw power and tremendous audacity.

Topical cinema can seem dull at times, where the need to deliver a message becomes didactic. That wasn’t the case with Rocha-he was an Eisenstein of Brazil, with his rapid montage, fiery theatrics, intense allegories. Rocha often spoke and wrote of the influence of Afro-Brazilian music and rituals on his work, and it was obvious from his very first feature, “Barravento.”

But it was the follow-up, “Black God, White Devil,” that brought him fame. The delirious, BW parable still holds up to this day, and is often considered the best Brazilian film ever made. The tale of people caught between “god” and “devil” in the arid northeastern Brazil, it’s Leone meets Jodorowsky.

Rocha would never let up. He upped the ante with “Land in Aguish,” and returned to NE Brazil with his famous “Antonio da Mortes,” telling the story of a bandit turned revolutionary. Though stylistically different from “Black God, White Devil,” the leftist themes are even more pronounced here.

And he didn’t limit his fight to Brazil. “The Lion Has Several Heads” was made in Congo-Brazzaville, and is the most damning anti-colonial film ever.

Though Rocha went into exile after the 1971, to protest the Brazilian dictatorship, he never lost his touch. His last feature, “The Age of the Earth,” might as well have been his first-all the memorable elements are there. The regimes didn’t get him-but, sadly, cancer did, at mere age of 42.

“Art is not only talent, but mainly courage,” said Rocha-and he backed the statement with his life.

12. Aleksei German

If you want to make films your way in Soviet Union, be prepared for a fight.

Statistically, German is the most banned of all Soviet directors-every one of his Soviet-made films received a ban of some kind. The system was defending itself-although not overtly anti-Soviet, German’s aesthetics were decidedly un-Soviet. His dedication to telling things like they are, without embellishments or officially-approved lacquer, ensured that his filmography remained slim. The fact that he has just five solo film outings in his 40+ years of work cannot be simply attributed to his meticulous methods.

The first ban also lasted the longest. “Trial on the Road” (1971) is a slice-of-life WWII film set in a guerilla camp. While officials lauded the falsified and glorified film frescoes like “Liberation” or “Soldiers of Freedom,” German presented war as a nuanced and deglorified subject. Goskino officials were blunt with German, telling him-“You’ve gone too deep. Our people have illusions about war, guerrillas, life in the rear during wartime. We can’t allow you to break them.”

But German didn’t heed the warning. His next outing, “Twenty Days Without War,” was a similarly meticulously crafted effort. Being now a person under suspicion, German received numerous orders to reshoot material…and simply ignored them. The censors had a special problem with Yuri Nikulin, a famous comedian and a legendary circus clown, being the protagonist. According to German, they literally told him “we’ll spear you in the back.” But the legendary status of Konstantin Simonov, author of the source material, saved the project. The film was only shelved for about a year (with explanation “for technical reasons”).

German’s status as a son of a famous Soviet author gave him the bargaining chip in his dealings with authorities. His methods of resistance is an art form itself-he always ignored orders, shot the way he wanted, and always had a hidden copy of the shot material. That allowed him to avoid cuts and edits.

His statements, such as “our minister of cinema is not Soviet power itself” didn’t make German’s life any easier. “My Friend Ivan Lapshin,” made in 1982, joined the ranked of banned works. It’s supposedly-squalid portrayal of 1935 provincial Soviet life and themes of control and conscience, horrified the officials. Even more so German became a persona non grata, forced to write scripts under fake names. But perestroika was just around the corner. In 1986, both “Trial” and “Lapshin” were un-shelved and shown to public, and in 1990, the latter was deemed the best Soviet film of all time.

German didn’t change his ways in the post-Soviet Russia, and refused to compromise. His 1998 “Khrustalyov, My Car!” is a challenging film, but is aging really well, and 2013’s “Hard to Be God” is considered one of the most astonishing films ever made.

13. Mohsen Makhmalbaf

Prison is the best school for a fearless radical.

Makhmalbaf was, in a sense, forged, like steel, by the tumultuous history of Iran. A founder of anti-Shah militia at 15, shot at 17, and then imprisoned for over four years-and yet, still, he finds poetry and structure in the chaotic world.

Although the style of his early films is crude and didactic, Makhmalbaf’s hand gained skill with time. His reputation really began with 1987’s “The Cyclist,” and grew on, as he turned attention to cinema itself and the role of the artist in the world. By early 90’s, the crudeness of his political vision was replaced with growing sophistication-“A Time of Love” and “The Nights of Zayandehroud”-both of which also landed him in hot water with the authorities over the depiction of sex and for questioning the Revolution.

With “Gabbeh” and “A Moment of Innocence,” Makhmalbaf achieved global renown. The first is a unique and dazzling portrayal of the Islamic culture, while the second revisits an incident in which director himself was involved in from different perspectives.

Makhmalbaf turned a keen eye on the events in the region, with powerful “Kandahar” exploring post-Taliban Afghanistan. At the same time, with age, his material became more and more poetic-the balletic “Sex and Philosophy” explores questions of love and fidelity, while the banned-in-Iran documentary “The Gardener” is an excursion in search of religion’s impact. Since he went to Israel to film it, it carries an automatic sentence in Iran. But Makhmalbaf left Iran in 2005, soon after the election of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, and currently resides in Paris.

However, his influence remains large in Iran, where he trained a generation of young and active filmmakers, ensuring his legacy there, despite several of his films being banned in his homeland and all removed from national archives.

14. Gaspar Noe

“All history is written in sperm and blood.”

A simple and adolescent statement from Noe, but one that accurately describes his visceral worldview, one that he flings at the audience with gusto and complete lack of remorse. In the well-combed and civilized world, Noe reduces his protagonists to their animal form, and invites you to sit back and enjoy the show.

Perhaps background helped, as Noe arrived to cultured Paris via Buenos Aires and New York. The bloody verve of his work was evident from his 40-minute short “Carne,” which he reworked into a feature “I Stand Alone.” The tale of the butcher’s search for place in the world is not one of toxic masculinity, but of masculinity itself, and how it can mis-manifest itself.

The notorious and bloody “Irreversible” was a follow-up. Presented in reverse, it’s famous for the graphic killing scene and for Monica Belluci’s character being subjected to a brutal rape. The filmed shocked then, and has been revisited with charges of supposed homophobia (the main transgressor is a transsexual pimp).

The hallucinogenic “Enter the Void” was a bit of a change of pace. Mixing influences such as “The Tibetan Book of the Dead,” experimental cinema, and artwork of Ernst Haeckel, Noe’s Tokyo and Montreal-shot film, presented entirely in POV is, in a sense, a homage to his idol Kubrick’s “2001: The Space Odyssey.” The star-gate sequence comes to mind in particular. Before Noe was assaulting the minds of viewers, and now he decided to just blow them.

Noe appears to have mellowed out a bit with a much warmer “Love” (2015), a fragmented tale of a relationship. But he came roaring back with the soon-to-be-released in the US “Climax,” a trippy musical horror outing (and we all know that the world can always use more of those). It’s tremendously refreshing to see an artist sticking to vision despite the whimperings of cuddled audience.

15. Dusan Makavejev

Makavejev saw cinema as a “guerrilla operation. Guerrilla against everything that is fixed, defined, established, dogmatic, eternal.” Though his time is past, in his heyday he brought that indomitable fighting Serb spirit from Balkans onto the silver screen.

After honing his skill with experimental shorts and documentaries, Makavejev came into his own with his very first feature, “Man is Not a Bird,” about an engineer’s sexual odyssey in Yugoslavia. It’s still watchable today, as is the follow-up, “The Switchboard Operator.” A tragicomic love affair story, it takes many digressions into such fascinating subjects as strudel-making and rat catching, as well as lectures from sexologists.

In his next one, the big-screen experimental feature “Innocence Unprotected,” which includes footage from the very first Serbian sound film (a terrible melodrama made by and starring gymnast and strongman Dragoljub Aleksic), Makavejev uses Eisenstein’s “montage of attractions” to explore cinema, history, folklore, and other themes.

Although the free air of the 60’s began to be stifled in the next decade, it didn’t faze Makavejev. “W.R.: Mysteries of the Organism” is his best-known work, where sexual liberation is presented as the basis for the political one. It would have shocked even in the West at the time. For Makavejev, it resulted in a ban at home, his career there effectively over. His next shocker, “Sweet Movie,” was made in Canada. There, Makavejev seemed to have lost all brakes, running wild with depictions of sexuality.

But then, something interesting happened. It’s as if the absence of controlling arm of the State deprived Makavejev of an ultimate adversary. His subsequent films-“Montenegro,” rom-com “Coca-Cola Kid,” Zola adaptation “Manifesto,” post-Soviet “Gorilla Bathes at Noon,” etc.-all are, while technically still efficient and interesting, appear much tamer in comparison to early efforts.

Though the 86-year-old Makavejev is unlikely to shock the film world ever again, what he did in his heyday is inspiring in principle.

Fearlessness is the quality that will serve him/her well. The director is always faced with struggle to create a work of art in the envisioned way. It takes a lot of courage to overcome own limitations and ways. It takes even more to overcome external pressure, be it from the nervous studio execs or an oppressive government.

In this list, I will include film directors who displayed lack of fear in their lives and were willing to fight for their art (and rights of artists everywhere). Since it can be a lengthy one, we will limit it to those who were fearless creators and innovators, and those who defied outside pressure best and most consistently.

As it’s a known fact that some of our readers are also versed in cinema, we would be interested in who you consider to be a fearless director, so feel free to leave constructive comments. If a director you may deem to be fearless is not included here, fear not-more is yet to come.

1. Luis Bunuel

Governments, public opinion, religion, reality-Bunuel took them all on, and came out a winner.

Although surrealism is firmly connected in public’s mind with Salvador Dali, Bunuel’s early friend and collaborator, it was Bunuel who consistently displayed the dedication to its spirit. While Dali went into self-aggrandizing showmanship, Bunuel worked hard to challenge reality and bring the subconscious to light. It all began with their first short, “Une Chien Andalou,” with its legendary shot of the eye being sliced. The effect upon the public was startling and shocking.

It is surrealist’s sacred duty to offend, and the two Spaniards in Paris succeeded with flying colors. “L’age d’or” continued the fine tradition. Bunuel was able to make one last film in Europe, the shocking documentary “Land Without Bread,” before being forced to relocate to America after Franco took over in his native Spain (Bunuel was a cultural attaché of the Republican government). Being hounded out of stuck-up U.S., he wound up in Mexico.

Mexican cinema at the time was one of costumed melodramas. But Bunuel raised it to a new level, starting with “Los Olvidados.” And continued to do so until mid-60’s, churning out deliciously subversive gems. He only took a brief sojourn to Spain, where he got an olive branch from the Francoist government and a chance to make a film. He responded with “Viridiana,” which managed to offend everyone he meant to offend, and then some.

In the last, “French,” period of his career, Bunuel took on reality itself, but in a more subtle way. “Belle de jour,” “The Milky Way,” and, especially, “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie” challenge the established mores and notions. There, the logic is that of a dream, and the seams of reality are loose or vague. Like most of Bunuel’s works, they’re also hilarious and entertaining.

Bunuel is primary example of an artist that stayed true to his vision until the end.

2. Andrei Tarkovsky

As far as artistic courage is concerned, Tarkovsky has few rivals. The reason his body of work is so small is the fact he absolutely refused to compromise, whether with the notoriously oppressive Soviet system, or Western film-for-profit module.

Much has been made of his defiant decision to stay in the West, after he received no guarantees from the Soviet government that he’ll be allowed to return abroad. But that was his only purely political gesture. Before, he simply fought for the right to express self artistically. His struggles began with the now-legendary “Andrei Rublev,” which was shelved for about 5 years by the post-Khrushchev government. From that point on, the System always viewed him with suspicion, even though his films were pure art and never touched upon political themes.

Tarkovsky earned his right to make films the way he wanted, but it came at a price. People who knew him all his life were unanimously stunned to see a jovial and charming young man turn into an ascetic zealot of his vision. Endless fights have that effect.

Sadly, this fearlessness may have contributed to his early demise. “Stalker” is an acknowledged masterpiece and one of the most fantastic films ever made, but to film the incredibly atmospheric Zone, Tarkovsky took his crew to an ecologically dangerous location, resulting in premature deaths of most of the main cast and crew members.

After moving to the West, Tarkovsky stayed true to himself. “Sacrifice,” his last film, is unmistakably his, from first to last frame. In the few short years he had left, Andrei Tarkovsky refused to bow to financial dictum, and remained himself until the very end.

3. Jafar Panahi

Undoubtedly, the Iranian cinema scene is the most accomplished and artistic in the entire Middle East. The Persian cultural tradition is rich and rewarding, and the artists working in the medium of film continue to impress (so far, there has been three distinct “New Waves” since the 60’s, each introducing a unique visual style).

However, this cultural tradition and fascinating location comes at a price. The censorship of the Islamic Republic of Iran rivals that of Shah’s regime, and places numerous restrictions on the artists. Any attempt to present something not in line with official vision, or to express self freely, can usually bring hardships and unwanted attention to the director.

Jafar Panahi continues to need all the hardiness he achieved as a combat cinematographer in his prolonged conflict with the Iranian government. The controversy for him began with his first feature, the Kiarostami-penned “The White Balloon.” The deteriorating relationship between Iran and US caused the Iranian government to attempt to withdraw the film as Iran’s submission for the Academy Award and to ban Panahi from traveling to Sundance Festival.

His troubles grew with his third feature, “The Circle.” The government was fine with Panahi showing the world through the eyes of children, but not with him depicting what happens when they (particularly, the girls) grow up. Panahi illegally submitted it to the Venice festival, where it won the Golden Lion, while being banned at home for being “offensive to Muslim women.”

Once government pegged him as a troublesome element, Panahi was closely observed. That didn’t stop him from sending his next film, “Crimson Gold,” to Cannes Festival without official permission, or from making “Offside,” yet another film critical of treatment of women in Iran. Panahi heeded no reprimands or advices to leave Iran, which finally resulted in him being arrested and, in 2010, sentenced to six years in prison, as well as a 20-year ban on making films, giving interviews, or traveling outside of Iran.

The sentence was changed to house arrest and limited mobility, but the defiant Panahi continued to make films (helped with advance of digital media), helming four since the ban began (including 2018’s “3 Faces”) and proving again and again that courage still exists in our times.

4. Werner Herzog

A man and artist of the Extreme. Herzog famously said “Filmmaking is athletics over aesthetics,” and backed that statement with his life and work. Whether it’s nature, circumstance, or human limitations, he braved it.

Let’s concentrate on his most brazen acts. He started the right way-by forming his production company with no money or formal training. As a documentarian, he traveled far and wide, be it chasing mirages in the desert (Fata Morgana), or trekking to a volcanic island on the brink of eruption (La Soufrere), or else taking an escaped POW back to the jungle whence he fled (Little Dieter Needs to Fly).

His fiction films are also exercises in daring and bravery. In “Heart of Glass” he placed his cast under hypnosis, while in “The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser,” he cast Bruno S. (who spent most of his life in mental institutions) as a man who had to be reintroduced to society after living his life in total isolation. The crowning achievement of his endurance is making “Fitzcarraldo,” a film about a man who dragged a steamboat through the jungle…by Actually dragging a steamboat through the jungle!

But nothing challenged Herzog more than the unpredictable force of nature that is Klaus Kinski. Together, they made 5 films-and, according to Herzog, “Every grey hair on my head I call Kinski.” The most telling event in their tumultuous cooperation happened on the set of “Aguirre,” where Kinski threatened to quit, only for Herzog to threaten to shoot first him and then self.

Roger Ebert said it well-“Herzog has never created a single film that is compromised, shameful, made for pragmatic reasons, or uninteresting.”

5. Sergei Eisenstein

Few filmmakers embodied the spirit of Revolution like Eisenstein did, and fewer still are as influential on the art form of film itself. It was good that he seemed to have been blessed with boundless energy and courage-he needed those.

Breaking out of theatre, where learned so much from the equally legendary Vsevolod Meyerhold, Eisenstein used the still-new form to fully and completely express his ideas, those of “montage of attractions” and “typage” concerning the performers. Although he was given freedom with form experimentation in the giddy 1920’s era, “Strike” and “Battleship Potemkin” were initially misunderstood. But abroad, they shocked and awed audiences, especially “Potemkin,” and overnight made Soviet cinema a force to be reckoned with.

Eisenstein made another silent masterpiece, “October,” which is arguably stronger and more assured than “Battleship Potemkin,” but was already beginning to experience troubles that were to become so prevalent for him in the rest of his life. It was (at first, only from some circles) accused of being formalistic. In the next decade, Soviet government would place a death grip on controlling the form as well as content of films.

Eisenstein briefly got out of Stalin’s control, when he went on his triumphant tour of Europe and America. But in Hollywood, he encountered dictators of a different kind. The studio system wanted him to direct an adaptation of Dreiser’s “An American Tragedy,” but balked at his vision of presenting the roots of tragedy itself, demanding, in Eisenstein’s words, “a cheap story of crime and love between boy and girl.” He set out to Mexico, and was in the process of making a jarring and lush cinematic song that is “Que Viva Mexico!” when Stalin ordered him back to USSR. The iron curtain closed behind him.

The atmosphere to which he returned was much different. Party, ruled by Stalin with an iron fist, asserted control over everything, including the creative forms. Eisenstein learned about it the hard way-his “Bezhin Meadow” was stopped mid-production, and destroyed. Considering that Eisenstein got black pox from it (when going through antique church props), and with wounds of “Mexico” still fresh, one can only imagine his feelings about it. In the horrible atmosphere of 1937, Eisenstein was all but forced to retract and apologize with a gun to his temple.

By party’s demands, he made his most accessible film, “Alexander Nevsky.” There, he kept his restless spirit of experimentation confined to music, inventing “vertical montage,” where he combined imagery with Prokofiev’s rousing score. During the war, he made a two-part biopic on Stalin’s hero, Ivan the Terrible. Part I got official commendation and awards, but Part II was shelved, ordered reshot in places, and Eisenstein was summoned to Kremlin to receive orders from Stalin himself.

And yet, through such micromanagement courtesy of one of the most brutal dictators the world has ever known, Eisenstein continued his work. His articles, both published and unpublished, brim with ideas. He never did resume reshooting Part II of “Ivan the Terrible.” And as war began, Eisenstein committed a feat of true courage. His mentor, Meyerhold, was by then long arrested and executed. As the Germans advanced, there was a risk of his archive being permanently lost. Eisenstein got a truck, loaded the archives, and took half of it to a dry well at his country house, while scattering the other half among his own archive.

All this pressure, naturally, had effects, and the great Eisenstein expired from heart attack at the mere age of 50. But his work and spirit live on.

Since the 70’s, Tom Waits has established himself as a phenomenally unique and gifted performer. Beginning as more of a singer/songwriter, he became a poet of the gutter and seedy bar, as well as a perpetuator of both the classic Americana song tradition and that of the German music hall, in stylings of Kurt Weill and such. His music escapes genre confines, while his raspy, cigar-and-bourbon soaked voice is never forgotten once heard.

Since the late 70’s, he’s also been appearing in movies, both as an actor and composer. With time, Waits has established himself as a king of the cameo and the episode. He rarely lands a leading part (despite his boast in “Goin’ Out West”-“I ain’t no extra, baby/I’m a leading man”), but never fails to make an impression.

Only part of that is the carryover effect from music. To his parts, no matter how small, Tom brings his uniqueness, resulting in a rewarding experience. Though perhaps too odd and singular to be a true movie star, Tom is one of the few rock stars who managed to achieve a steady and successful film career.

This list explores Tom’s contributions to cinema. The entries were included based on how interesting they are, either on their own or with Tom’s help. Some real oddballs, whose claim to relevance is Tom’s presence, are left out, as are Coppola’s Twixt and Jack Nicholson’s Two Jakes (a failed sequel to Chinatown).

Special attention is given to Tom’s musical contributions to cinema, and the times where his songs are used to the best effect on the soundtracks are listed here as Tom’s gems.

1. Paradise Alley (Sylvester Stallone, 1978). Soundtrack, actor.

Tom’s cinematic beginning can be considered modest. Paradise Alley is not a very good film-for the very obvious reasons that Stallone is not a very good director or writer. It has all the potential of a cult classic, and realizes almost none of it. This is Rocky meets Rocco and His Brothers, a wrestling melodrama set in the 1946 Hell’s Kitchen. Three brothers-a hustler, a wounded war veteran, and a slow-witted lug-try to make it out of the hellish neighborhood.

As said earlier, the writing is often incoherent, the story pulverizes itself in the las fifteen minutes, and the dialogues between characters sound like Sly talking to himself, pace-wise. But there are rewards.

Sly was prudent enough to engage the services of a gifted cinematographer Laszlo Kovacs, and the well-presented atmosphere is the best thing about the movie. Some scenes also stand out, particularly the wrestling bout in the rain and hungover Stallone chasing cockroaches with a Louisville Slugger. Several one-liners are memorable.

Armand Assante as the middle brother easily outshines everyone else, Stallone included, while the use of actual veteran wrestlers adds to the authentic feel. And then, of course, there is Tom. By own admission in a famed interview on an Australian talk show, “For me, it was a five-week shoot for three lines of dialogue”. But his character, a lounge pianist named Mumbles, perfectly belongs in the smoky bar.

Also, Waits wrote and performed two songs specifically for this movie-“(Meet Me in) Paradise Alley” and “Annie’s Back in Town”, which he never released on any of his albums, giving Paradise Alley additional worth, and marking the first time his songs were used on a motion picture soundtrack. In all, a small debut, but nothing to be ashamed of.

2. Tom Waits for No One (John Lamb, 1979). Song, performer.

Preceding Ralph Bakshi’s “American Pop” and Richard Linklater’s “Waking Life”, this seldom-seen curio reemerged with the advent of the internet. And thankfully so-it’s 6 minutes of visual and musical joy. A hybrid between an animated short and a music video, it features Tom captured and re-imagined with an aid of exciting new technology.

The director, John Lamb, together with Bruce Lyon, has just invented and patented the Lyon Lamb Video Animation System, a single-frame reel-to-reel video recorder with the unique capability to play back at film speed (24 fps).

Although the rotoscope was invented as far back as 1918 by Max Fleischer, this new device allowed for an immediate viewing of the pencil test, thus saving much time. Lamb filmed Tom and an actress live on a soundstage, and then traced with the new system and animated.

The story is simple-Tom, a care-free knockabout on a smoky night street, conjures up a curvaceous brunette beauty from the smoke of his cigarette, who flirts with him and performs a striptease act set to him reciting a version of his jazzy, bass-drive “The One That Got Away” from the “Small Change” album.

Though he tries to woo her with his jive talk and song, she ends up driving away in a big shiny limousine, leaving Tom to philosophically shrug-“Win some, lose some.” Overall, it’s a feast of forms, shapes, and music.

Its experimental nature drew top talent, in addition to Waits, to work on it (David Silverman, the first animator of “The Simpsons”, was the main animator here). The whole endeavor helped Lamb to receive an Academy Award for Scientific and Technological Achievement, and became an industry calling card for the new system.

Tom gem: “Invitation to the Blues”. Appears in-“Bad Timing”. Nicolas Roeg used this melancholy number in the opening sequence of his controversial film, and it did a fine job of setting the mood for the catatonic ennui that was to unfold on the screen.

3. One From the Heart (Francis Ford Coppola, 1981). Composer, cameo.

A vital production in both Tom’s and Coppola’s lives. By 1980, Waits was in the state of funk, reeling from a bad breakup, lukewarm public reception of his previous album, and the monotony of touring. Francis Ford Coppola has finished the incredible physical and psychological ordeal of making Apocalypse Now. Having gone from the hell of location shooting and delving deep into the chasm of human darkness,

Coppola wanted to sort of go back in time and make a movie in the controlled set environment, with a Hollywood-happy ending. He came up with a spectacular failure. The budget quickly ballooned from 2 to 26 million, not even one of which was recovered by the box office. It spelled an end of Coppola’s creative freedom-for a long time afterwards, he was forced to take on projects just for money. But it’s an amazing-looking failure with many little rewards.

The cinematography of Vittorio Storaro is nothing short of spectacular, as is the fantastic set design by Dean Tavoularis (who managed to create Las Vegas on the soundstage). Though the lead performances of Frederic Forrest and Teri Garr often come across as flat and over the top, the supporting cast includes Raul Julia, Nasstasja Kinski, Lainie Kazan, and Harry Dean Stanton, each of whom made the most of their screen time.

And then there is Waits’s score, for which he received an Oscar nomination. Coppola got Waits on board because of Tom’s loungy 70’s songs, and Tom rose up to the challenge of providing a necessary atmosphere for this shiny, artificial world. He did write the duet numbers with Rickie Lee Jones in mind, but due to their recent breakup, she turned down the offer. Negotiations also failed with Bette Midler, so for female vocals, Coppola and Waits went with Crystal Gayle.

Although she has a very pleasant and silvery soprano, her delivery was more honky-tonk and country rather than jazzy and lounge. The best numbers on the soundtrack are Waits’s solos, especially the haunting Broken Bicycles, as well as the jazzy numbers Little Boy Blue and You Can’t Unring the Bell. Tom also made a blink-and-you-miss-him cameo appearance as a trumpet player in the club band.

And although the project turned out to be disastrous for Coppola, Tom seemed to thrive in the more controlled environment of writing music for a specific purpose (“It was good for me, it disciplined me, it made me-I had to sit in a little room and they’d ring me up on the phone and put memos under my door-it was like working in an office.

Builds character, I think the lock was on the outside of the door, not the inside, they were afraid I was gonna go to Acapulco.”), and also me this current wife Kathleen Brennan on the set of the movie (she was employed by Coppola’s Zoetrope Studios), establishing a relationship that would prove incredibly rewarding for him, both personally and artistically.

4. Outsiders/Rumble Fish (Francis Ford Coppola, 1983). Actor (episode).

Coppola must have liked the experience of working with Tom. In 1983, he directed a sort of dilogy, two adaptations of S.E. Hinton’s novels, with mostly the same cast and crew.

The dramatic Outsiders is better known, as it introduced a whole platoon of young actors (Patrick Swayze, C. Thomas Howell, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, Diane Lane, Rob Lowe, Tom Cruise, Emilio Estevez-take a pick!), while the black-and-white Rumble Fish is much more impressionistic, focusing on the relationship between two brothers (excellent turns by Matt Dillon and Mickey Rourke).

Both are set in Tulsa, and are about the existential struggle of life’s “outsiders”. Waits makes brief appearances in both. Very brief in Outsiders, portraying the red-light dive’s doorman Buck Merrill (“I had one line-‘What is it you boys want?’ I still have it down if they need me to go back and re-create it for any reason.”).

In Rumble Fish, he gets a bit more screen time, playing a well-cast role of Bennie the pool hall owner. Coppola let Tom have considerable input, allowing him to pick his own costume and write his own dialogue, correctly guessing that no one can write a better Waitsian jive than Waits himself. The jazzy delivery of the monologue on passing time, where Bennie is shot from above in a skewed angle, is fun and memorable.

Tom gem: “Ruby’s Arms”. Appears in-“First Name: Carmen”. Jean-Luc Godard was another filmmaking great that instinctively got how atmospheric Tom’s songs are, and how they help in setting the mood. For a Frenchman, Godard does have an excellent ear for English lyrics, as he also used Leonard Cohen’s songs to great effect.

5. Streetwise (Martin Bell, 1984). Soundtrack.

Although many of Waits’s songs are about the gutters of society, it’s not often that he makes a direct social commentary. Usually, his style is lyrical narrative of the downtrodden.

Occasionally, though, he makes a direct appeal, notably in songs like “The Fall of Troy” (dealing with child murders) and “Road to Peace” (Israeli/Arab conflict). He somewhat does it here too. Martin Bell and his wife Mary Ellen Clark made a deeply affecting and harrowing documentary on the homeless children of Seattle, originating from the Life magazine story “Streets of Lost”.

In the middle of Reaganomics and the rise of the yuppies, Bell shows an underbelly of America, focusing on the orphans or runaways who were left to fend for themselves. In the middle of the prosperous Seattle, with its booming industry and beautiful ports, these kids live in abandoned buildings, panhandling and prostituting themselves to earn money for their food and drugs.

Especially vulnerable are the young dumpster diver Rat and a teenage waif of a prostitute Tiny. Bell and Clark opt to not moralize or punch the sad moments up with mood music-they just let the kids speak for themselves, training the camera on the protagonists and their surroundings. Waits’s contributions are the musical bookends-opening titles roll to the “Rat’s Theme” whistle, while closing credits-to him performing his song “Take Care of All My Children” (available on the “Orphans” album).

Besides that, the only music in the film are the diegetic sounds from the blaring boomboxes and radios, and a couple of street performances by the inimitable busker Baby Gramps of “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic”. Tom’s musical contributions effectively set the mood and provide almost a pleading message that reinforces the humane message of the film.

6. The Cotton Club (Francis Ford Coppola, 1984). Cameo.

The description of the troubles this production faced deserves a book of its own. Robert Evans brought Francis Ford Coppola on at the last moment, and with several dozens (!) versions of the script. It’s a given that when your primary sponsors are Italian mobsters and Arab gun dealers you’ll be wise to watch your back. Coppola was lured by a large salary, still reeling from the losses incurred by One From the Heart.

As a result, this period piece about the eponymous Harlem jazz club is a masterpiece that never happened (and sustained a huge financial loss). Coppola and Puzo failed to create another Godfather, as Evans had hoped. Waits was cast as Irving Starck, a perennially cigar-chewing manager of the club, but for him the experience amounted to more or less standing in costume and chewing on a cigar in a tux. For months. Waits describes the experience as “being Shanghaied”.

In the end, only about a dozen of his lines made the final cut (though he did deliver some of them through the bullhorn, a practice he would often repeat at his concerts). He did make a good friend in the person of his fellow actor Fred Gwynne (famous for playing Herman Munster on TV).

But for him the experience was a dud. He should consider himself lucky, though-Coppola ended up being threatened by the mob, and Roy Radin, a vaudeville promoter and one of the driving forces behind the making of the film-killed outright, while the box-office was incredibly disappointing.

Shame-despite the script mess, Coppola has made a gorgeous-looking film with a killer soundtrack, and, although lagging in story at times, some great acting turns (particularly James Remar as “Dutch” Schultz and Bob Hoskins as Owney Madden). The rest of names in the cast reads as Who’s Who, with many making their debuts-Richard Gere, Diane Lane, Gregory Hines, Nicolas Cage, Julian Beck, Laurence Fishburne, Jennifer Grey, Joe Dallesandro-you name them, it has them.

7. Down by Law (Jim Jarmusch, 1986). Actor, soundtrack.

A superb and one-of-a-kind minimalist journey of a film. “It’s a sad and beautiful world”, exclaims one of the main characters, and Jarmusch unobtrusively shows us why.

For Waits, it presented a new challenge-a leading role. His low-key approach works perfectly here, as he portrays a DJ who is wrongfully imprisoned and thrown into a prison cell with equally sullen and wrongfully jailed John Lurie’s pimp, and Roberto Benigni’s eternally cheerful and positive Italian tourist.

The Americans growl and bicker at each other, but Roberto’s endlessly positive attitude and a seemingly magical ability to procure food serves as an adhesive for the trio as they escape across the Louisiana swamps.

Filmed in luminous and silvery black-and-white by frequent Wenders cinematographer Robby Muller, the film is a visual and aural delight. The presence of two outstanding musicians as main heroes ensures the quality of the soundtrack.

John Lurie’s lounge and jazzy numbers provide the main music for the film, but two of Tom’s songs from his seminal “Rain Dogs” album-“Jockey Full of Bourbon” and “Tango Till They’re Sore”-again serve as effective bookends, played over the opening titles and closing credits. “Jockey” is particularly effective, as it backs the stunning opening sequence of Muller’s camera panning and tracking across the decaying New Orleans landscape, the best opening since Orson Welles’s “Touch of Evil”.

8. Ironweed (Hector Babenco, 1987). Actor.

Tom definitely ended up in a good company here. Both Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep got Oscar nominations for their turns in this adaptation of William Kennedy’s Depression-era novel. Argentine-born Hector Babenco, fresh off his one-two successes of Pixote and The Kiss of the Spider Woman, presents a compelling slice of Americana, aided, doubtless, by his outsider perspective.

Nicholson and Streep elicit both fascination and sympathy as a pair of drunks in upstate N.Y., and both sink their teeth into the roles as Babenco masterfully utilizes poetic realism to present Francis Phelan’s debilitating memories and Helen Archer’s melancholic and disjointed flights of drunken imagination. Unfortunately, the film was a commercial failure, barely returning a quarter of its budget.

It may have had a chance of being a hit in the 70’s, at the height of Easy Riders/Raging Bulls movement, but the Reaganomics and Thatcherism of the late 80’s created an atmosphere where gritty poetics had no place. Tom’s role as a drifter named Rudy was not large, but he more than held his own when paired with Nicholson, who was in his prime (Tom commented that acting opposite of Jack was similar to trying to catch bullets with your teeth).

And the experience proved positive for Tom, as he befriended many of his fellow actors, and made a particularly close connection with William Kennedy, the screenwriter and author of the source novel. They even collaborated on the writing of a song for the film, “Poor Little Lamb”, a full version of which would only appear about 20 years later on the “Orphans” album (it will be mentioned often in this list, and is highly recommended for fans of Waits in particular and great music in general).

Though not a perfect film (two-plus hours of minimalism always seem like about four), it’s a worthy addition to everyone’s filmographies (it also features Carrol Baker, Tom’s Cotton Club co-actor Fred Gwynne, and a very young Nathan Lane making his acting debut).

Cinema is truly a unique medium. In addition to being an art form, it’s also a product that requires money and other resources to be made. Nowhere is it illustrated so well as in the strange phenomenon of “one-picture directors”.

A live-action feature usually costs in seven figures or more, and unless you’re Ed Wood-takes time, effort, and the strain of one’s creative resources to be made well. That may account for the fact that many entries on this list were directed by well-known actors. They have, doubtlessly, tasted complete creative control-and learned that with great power comes great responsibility.

Some of the entries were made by the erstwhile directors of animation and documentaries-who also, probably, came to conclusion that the bright lights of feature fame are not for them. Some directors here were done in by bad reviews or just plain public indifference, while others were suppressed politically or never given another chance due to disappointing box office.

The criteria for this list is strict-a film that is the given director’s solo live-action feature credit. My definition of “feature” is somewhere between those of Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences and SAG.

All films on this list, with one possible exception, run for 60 minutes or over. While one can argue that Tony Kaye (“American History X”) or Tobe Hooper (“The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”) are one-picture directors, they in fact have more than one feature in their filmographies.

The few recent entries here are by directors who have clearly moved on and back to their respective fields and are highly unlikely to grace the director’s chair again. Be prepared to be surprised.

24. Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead (1990). Dir. by Tom Stoppard

Placed at the bottom of this list for a simple reason-it’s not a great film. Surprising, considering how many quality elements it contains. Altogether, however, they haven’t gelled to form a superior whole.

Sir Tom Stoppard has definitely earned his knightly spurs-he is one of all-time great playwrights. His relationship with cinema, too, has been very rewarding-he penned the scripts for quality films like Russia House and Empire of the Sun, co-wrote the cult classic Brazil, salvaged Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and deservingly took home the Oscar for Shakespeare in Love.

When it came to directing his masterpiece play that made him an overnight sensation, he opted to do it himself, with decidedly mixed results.

The play, which premiered in 1966, follows the titular characters, minor ones in Hamlet, as they struggle to place themselves in the world, to the point of being not sure of who they are. It’s frequently interrupted by actual scenes from Hamlet, as well as by shenanigans of the travelling players.

Brimming with humor and thought, it questions the nature of theatre itself, among other things. These qualities are largely missing from the film, making it, while entertaining, rather predictable. Although it did win the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival, at nearly two hours it loses a lot steam several times. That despite the facts that both hapless titular characters are very well played by such quality actors as Gary Oldman and Tim Roth, respectively.

Inspired, too, is the part of the Player King, played with a wink and panache by Richard Dreyfuss. Eagle-eyed viewers will also spot Iain Glen (from Game of Thrones) as Hamlet, in one of his earliest roles. Ultimately, though, it failed to live up to the success of the play. Every humorous, Stoppard claimed that he chose to direct it himself because “It just seemed that I’d be the only person who could treat the play with the necessary disrespect.”

If wondering whether to check this one out-see a theatrical production of a play. If it’s not being produced anywhere near you-read it first. A much more rewarding experience. Spoiler alert: both leads, Oldman and Roth, will be featured in this list.

Side note: Stoppard really proved that playwriting is his main forte, the amount of novels he has written also equals exactly one.

23. A Room and a Half (2009). Dir. by Andrey Khrzhanovsky.

When intentions are noble and talent is pure, a film can be interesting even if it’s not altogether coherent. This 2009 highly subjective, at times opaque, and very poetic film was made by a director who was making fascinating cinema since mid-60’s. Khrzhanovsky is known and revered in the animation world as one of the most original artists.

Here he tackles the eternal Russian themes of history and Motherland, by telling the story of the great poet Joseph Brodsky’s imaginary return to St. Petersburg. By itself, it’s poetic license-since his 1972 banishment from USSR, Brodsky never again saw his homeland.

The basis of the film is Brodsky’s own materials-diary entries, drawings, and, especially, prose (little-known to general reader, as Brodsky’s fame is in poetry). The idea came to Khrzhanovsky in early 2000’s, and first he made an animated short “A Cat-and-a-Half”, bringing Brodsky’s drawings to life and mixing them with his family photographs.

In this film, that “artificial documentary” technique is combined with the flimsy plot-Brodsky journeys back on a Trans-Atlantic liner, reminiscing along the way.

Visually, it’s very interesting-the documentary footage is seamlessly blended with the fiction, and the animated interludes are predictably zany and creative. However, the film never settles on what it wants to be-a biopic, a visual poem, a documentary? Nonetheless, leaves a satisfying aftertaste.

22. Kotch (1971). Dir. by Jack Lemmon.

A quality film, done in, as many on this list are, by low rate of profit. Jack Lemmon is widely known and adored for his impeccable timing as an actor, particularly in comedies. Here, he brings that gift to directing, making a poignant, humane, and competently made drama. In fact, it’s potentially the best family drama West of Yasujiro Ozu.

Lemmon deftly guides his friend and frequent co-star Walter Matthau in a role of Joseph Kotcher, an aging man who is being shipped off to a retirement home by his uncaring family, but finds courage to break the bonds, experience more of life, and find a new quasi-family in the person of a pregnant teenager (Deborah Winters, another solid turn).

Lemmon has shown that working with the likes of Billy Wilder has really rubbed off on him-the timing, particularly in the comic moments, is close to impeccable. He also demonstrated a good control of other elements-in addition to Matthau, the film received Academy Award nominations for Best Editing, Best Song, and Best Sound (it won none).

That’s a clear indication that Lemmon, at the very least, knew how to let his collaborators create unhindered and then how to combine their efforts into a coherent whole. He would go on to further acting acclaims, and more collaborations with Walter Matthau, but “Kotch”, sadly, remains his sole directing credit.

21. Mystery Men (1999). Dir. by Kinka Usher.

The cast least alone should make one at least curious-Tom Waits, Ben Stiller, Hank Azaria, Eddie Izzard, Geoffrey Rush, Janeane Garofalo, William H. Macy, Lena Olin, Paul Reubens. Kinka Usher, a French-born director and cameraman of many award-winning commercials, gets all the necessary laughs out of this quirky cast.

This movie, admittedly, will not open up new intellectual paradigms for you-but it’s mostly hilarious. It’s hard to believe these days, with a comic-based movie coming out at the rate of two per season, but back in the late 90’s the superhero movies were made much less frequently, and were usually a big deal. This one spoofs them all with assured verve.

Featured here are Stiller’s Mr. Furious (power: he gets mad easily), Garofalo’s The Bowler (she bowls well), Macy’s The Shoveler (he can shovel really fast), and other assorted “superheroes”, who have to step up to the plate when the pompous actual superhero Captain Amazing (Greg Kinnear) is captured by the evildoers.

The Mystery Men are aided by Tom Waits’s mad doctor, who is good at making non-lethal weapons and, being a bit of a gerontophile, frequents tea parties at retirement homes. Making fun of such 90’s turkeys as “The Phantom” and Schumacher’s Batmans (particularly the dreary second), Usher used the garish aesthetic of the comic source to mock strained gravitas and dead seriousness of a genre that should also be fun.

Sadly, it got mostly panned by the critic and shunned by the industry. The criticism was along the same lines as it was for Warren Beatty’s “Dick Tracy”, and it was equally annoying-few things are as killjoy as overtly high-brow critics turning up noses and telling audiences what to enjoy. Admittedly, there are flaws-at 2 hours, it’s exactly 30 minutes too long. But for the fun Usher provided, he really deserves better.

20. A Place on Earth (2001). Dir. by Artur Aristakisyan.

Aristakisyan, an Armenian from Moldova, is still alive and well (as well as any dissenter can be in the modern-day Moscow), and, at 55, not that old. But it’s unlikely that he’ll make another feature any time soon.

Born and raised in Chisinau, and a VGIK graduate (where he now heads the “School of Parables” workshop), Aristakisyan is a life-long and committed hippie, and by his own admission he got into filmmaking to share the genuine hippie philosophy and worldview with the world.

So far, his entire oeuvre consists of this feature and a feature-length documentary Palms (which is arguably even better). Both films were made over a span of several years, and outside of the Russian moviemaking system.

Both would make great companion watching pieces with works like Woodstock, Hair, or Zabriskie Point. Being a true hippie in the urban wastelands of Moldova or Russia is a decidedly different experience than sporting beads and other shallow attributes while comfortably living off either slinging hash or parents’ credit cards.

Aristakisyan’s hippies have more in common with hobos and winos. Even though this black and white film is visually stunning, it’s far from being pretty. Aristakisyan is not afraid to show warts (or rotting warts), and his heroes eat stuff that would make a vulture hurl. In this film, he shows how a noble and generous creed becomes moot and dies off due to disciples being unable or unwilling to live it.

The camera is trained on the actual abandoned building where the societal outcasts dwell. An honest artists to the core, Aristakisyan only uses natural lighting, giving the film a strange and beautiful aura. Let’s hope he survives Putin’s Russia to give us some more lyrical honesty.

19. Wristcutters: A Love Story (2007). Dir. by Goran Dukic.

Suicide-based comedies are never an easy sell. Croatian-born and raised Goran Dukic has, so far, gone the way of two other Balkan greats, Dusan Makavejev and Emir Kusturica, at least as making features in the West is concerned.

Virtually unnoticed on official release, this black comedy enjoyed a successful festival circuit run, tepid DVD sales, and then somewhat of a cult following. It’s definitely not perfect, but there is much to be enjoyed.

Most of it take place in a sort of hell for those who have committed suicide. The protagonist, who kills self over love, soon discovers that this “hell” is really not much different than his Earthly life-just a lot drabber. Mostly, just a maze of run-down buildings and lame “neighborhood” bars with poorly functioning jukeboxes.

When he learns that his girlfriend, over whom he took his life, has also committed suicide, him and his new Russian friend go on a journey to nowhere, trying to find her, picking up a mysterious girl who feels she is wrongly placed here along the way.

The minuses include indie aesthetics, a story that meanders a bit, and a weak central performance from the main protagonist. Dukic appears to have repeated the mistakes Emir Kusturica and Wong Kar-wai made with “Arizona Dream” and “My Blueberry Nights”, respectively-his “American” heroes walk, talk, and act like Yugoslavs. But there are many pluses.

The dingy afterlife is masterfully recreated on a low budget, added by the ingenuity of description. Boardwalk Empire’s Shea Whigham excels as a Eugene Hutz-like Russian, and the beautiful and perennially underused Shannyn Sossamon rises well to the challenge.

In all, the supporting actors carry the film with their quirkiness, the most memorable of them being the inimitable Tom Waits as The Kneller. Soundtrack deserves a particularly high rating, it’s amazingly eclectic and yet perfectly fitting, mixing Gram Parsons country, Artie Shaw’s jazz, quality punk numbers, the swirling accordions of Gogol Bordello, and great incidental music. And, of course, you can’t have a bar full of suicide victims without Joy Division playing.

The imagery and music combine to make this a surprisingly life-affirming experience. Dukic has been rumored for years to be working on his second feature, here’s wishing he gets out of cinema’s development hell soon.

18. Phase IV (1974). Dir. by Saul Bass.

Saul Bass is and Academy Award-winning director (with two more nominations), as well as an influential and internationally known designer. Yet this smart sci-fi thriller remains his sole feature outing (his win is Best Documentary Short, nominations-Best Live Action Short).

For decades, he created some of the most memorable title sequences in cinema, from A Man with the Golden Arm to Casino, and his style is being frequently imitated and paid homage to. However, the ingenuity and creativity present in his shorts and design works ended up being stretched a bit in feature form.

That’s not a panning of the film-Phase IV is definitely one of the most intelligent and intriguing sci-fi films ever made. It just seems too smart many a time for its own good. It particularly applies to the two male leads, whose dialogue is often of the sort that’s normally heard in Planet Earth and other nature documentaries.

Best and most human acting comes from Lynne Frederick as the female lead, and the experimental electronic soundtrack may be a bit too 70’s. Main criticism of the film is that it’s designed rather than directed, which is partially true. And yet Bass created a haunting, visually stunning film that never disappoints.

Some critics have unfairly compared it to monster insect B-movies of the 50’s-nothing is further from truth. The advanced ants, in this case, are normal sized-they just developed superior abilities, potentially succeeding humans as the dominant species on Earth.

Bass’s collaborator, famed nature photographer Ken Middleham, provided some fascinating sequences of ant life, making the insects protagonists in their own right. Perhaps it’s this refusal to chew thigs down for the audiences, this commitment to asking questions rather than providing easy answers, that unnerved the producers, preventing the film from getting proper distribution. Cut, too, was the mesmerizing final montage sequence, where Bass imagines how the world of the future looks.

Despite the obstacles, the film soon achieved cult status, and is one of the more influential sci-fi films, propelled by Bass’s inspired vision (of note-it was the first film to feature crop circles, several years before they became the craze).

17. Espoir: Sierra de Teruel (1939, rel. 1945). Dir. by Andre Malraux (and Boris Peskine).

A Hemingway-like story set during the Spanish Civil War that, arguably, surpasses the actual Hemingway film adaptations. Small wonder-Andre Malraux was a writer on par with Ernest, one of the most influential French novelists of the XXth century.

Aided by the Russian-born documentarian Boris Peskine (for whom this film is also a sole feature directing credit), Malraux has successfully adapted his own novel set in Spain, based on his account and experience fighting for the Republican side.

Though a work of fiction, it has a strong documentary and verite feel to it, only slightly being guilty of romanticizing the Republican cause (the real situation in Spain was much more ambivalent than pro-Republican writers would have you believe). And then the film was almost wiped out from existence. World Wars happen.

It was shown twice in 1939, then pulled at the protest of the Spanish Nationalist ambassador, and most copies were destroyed during the German occupation of France (as was Malraux’s last novel and nearly the man himself). Fortunately, one copy miraculously survived, and the film received its proper premiere in 1945.

Even though Malraux had to finish the shooting in the Paris studio, after the fall of the Spanish Republic, the honest depiction of the war is inspiring and remarkable, with several scenes standing out for their dramatic punch (especially the climax, of the villagers carrying the dead down the side of the mountain).

Malraux would go on to be a hugely influential writer on arts, and the first French Minister of Cultural Affairs, but this film remains as his sole foray into filmmaking.

Poland was one of the first Eastern European countries to enjoy the new invention of cinema-and that happened before it was even officially a country. Though it was at the time divided between Russia, Austria, and Germany, Polish cultural live was thriving on national identity as a form of hidden resistance. Soon after first Polish films were made, Poland reemerged on the map as an independent country. Adaptations of literary classics were very popular, as were cheap melodramas.

An interesting sub-market was the Yiddish cinema, which was based on a rich Polish-Jewish literary tradition and produced some unique works. And then World War II happened, an event that forever altered Polish history and continues to be a part of national psyche. The Jewish population was destroyed in the Holocaust, and many millions of Poles lost their lives, either during a brutal Nazi occupation, equally rough Soviet liberation, or an ensuing civil war.

It must be noted that Polish artistic and literary tradition was conflict-based to begin with, and the horrors of war only served to deepen the examination of human condition and the search for the meaning of existence. Soon after the war, Andrzej Wajda helped establish Polish cinema as artistic force, and throughout 50’s and 60’s, he and other talented writers and directors were able to create cinema that took the best of both worlds, Western and Socialist.

The initial failure of Solidarity movement led to the officials tightening the screws, but once the chains of Communism were lost, Polish cinema was able to emerge reinvigorated, with growth of more recent talents like Kieslowski or the return of the exiled dissidents. To this day, the artistic high mark is maintained in Poland, particulalry when it comes to making works of cinema that are striking in visual form, a specialty of Polish art since the days of Mickiewicz and Matejko.

1. The Dybbuk (1937). Dir. by Michal Waszynski

The opening film of this list was justly celebrated at the time, but, though made in Poland, is not technically Polish. It is a film from a vanquished culture-a Yiddish film. Based on the famous (at the time) play by Ansky, it’s a haunting and very atmospheric “Hasidic Goth” masterpiece of love and betrayal, possession and exorcism. Not since the heyday of German Expressionism was the mystical power of the spirit so imaginatively transferred onto a reel.

The tale of a young man and a young woman, betrothed to each other before birth by their respective fathers and unhappily reunited later in life (the young man, to claim what’s his, dies and becomes Dybbuk of title, the wandering spirit) is set in a rich milieu of a provincial shtetl, full of traditions and beliefs.

The world of the rural Polish Jews is presented in all detail, both the day-to-day life and the all-important religious ceremonies. It is a world that would soon be annihilated by the different horror, that of Holocaust. This film is an invaluable memento and a time capsule of that world.

2. The Ghosts (1938). Dir. by Eugeniusz Cekalski and Karol Szolowski

A film about the stage that at no time looks or feels stagey. Welcome to the shiny and seedy world of cabaret. While the story is fairly conventional and designed to titillate the middle class moviegoers with the “forbidden fruit” (it focuses on the misadventures of two cabaret chorus girls and features backstage bickering, seductions, abortions, and oodles of melodrama), the style is mesmerizing and brims with invention.

All the cinematic tricks of the time are used: striking angles, creative use of sound, atmospheric lighting, vignette structure. Many scenes stay with the viewer: the dancing shadows of the opening reel, tracking shot of the moving railway car (with the thoughts of passengers in a voice-over), lyrical footage of raindrops on water, and the best use of parallel montage East of Griffith.

Cekalski here again shows himself to be an explorer of the film form, continuing the experiments he undertook in the influential 1937 short Three Chopin Etudes (which he remade in the USA in 1944). Rivals the best works of Lubitsch and Max Ophuls in the genre.

3. The Last Stage (1948). Dir. by Wanda Jakubowska

Many haunting films about the concentration camps of World War II have been made. But, perhaps, none are this personal. That’s due to the fact that both the Polish director of this film and her German co-writer were at one point inmates at Auschwitz. The tragic events depicted here were powerfully striking at the time due to the immediacy of the events, and this film has influenced almost every concentration camp film since, including (by Spielberg’s own admission), The Schindler’s list.

Jakubowska employs almost no cinematic tricks, instead letting the truth speak for itself. This isn’t the lacquered Social Realism, neither is it the naturalism or the Italian Neo-Realism. This is ultra-realism, an unflinching presentation of one of the most heinous crimes that humans committed against other humans. A landmark in the cinema of a country that suffered tremendously in the war, and a step towards healing.

4. Wajda’s War Trilogy: A Generation (1954), Kanal (1956), Ashes and Diamonds (1958)

Andrzej Wajda will feature prominently on this list, and deservingly so-for over 60 years he has been the creative soul of Polish cinema, and, perhaps, the filmmaker that best captured his people’s sensibility on film. This informal trilogy established not just him but entire Polish cinema as a force to be reckoned with, while still remaining nothing short of amazing to look at.

A Generation (1954)

Wajda’s live-action feature debut already hints at the immense talent that is emerging, traditional as it is. The story of a group of youths from an impoverished neighborhood who form a sincere but mostly inept resistance unit in 1943 is nothing to write home about in terms of plot, even though it features good acting turns (look for a teenage Roman Polanski in one of his first film roles). But already Wajda excels in technique.

The world is put on notice from the very opening sequence, where for over two minutes the camera pans and tracks along a desolate slum landscape, finally zeroing in on aimless young men playing a knife game. The rest of the sequences similarly brim with life and nerve, particularly where one of the young men is chased by the Gestapo to the top of the flight of stairs. For the first but definitely not the last time Wajda greatly enhances his story with amazing technical elements.

Kanal (1956)

Out of darkness, a masterpiece. Wajda’s progress from A Generation is astounding. This is a war story that goes from bad to worse to hell. During a Warsaw uprising of 1944, a remnant group from the routed Resistance unit attempts to escape capture and death through the sewers. Sherman famously said “War is hell”. Had he seen this film, he would have said war is shit. One by one the fighters succumb to wounds, exhaustion, poisonous gas, and overall weariness.

Seldom has the downward spiral been so mercilessly brought to screen. And yet the visual style is simply exhilirating. The play of shadows is fantastic, and the sound mixing belongs in the all-time top 5, with fragments of image or sound coming at the spectator at jarring and irregular intervals. Easily matches the best Hitchcock thrillers and examples of German Expressionism in style while posessing intense amount of substance.

Ashes and Diamonds (1958)

Arguably, the greatest Polish film ever made. Here style and substance achieve a perfect marriage. The war is officially over, and the Nazi occupation is replaced with Soviet “liberation”. But a civil war rages on. The pro-Western Armia Krajowa (Home Army) battles against the Soviet-backed Armia Ludowa (People’s Army). Who’s right, who’s wrong, and does it really matter?

Besides the phenomenal visual look of the film, it’s elevated to masterpiece status by a dynamite performance of Zbigniew Cybulski as Maciek, an AK fighter on the mission to assasinate a Soviet-backed politician. World-and-war-weary, always wearing black jeans and shades, Maciek is as engaging as any hero or antihero played by Marlon Brando or James Dean at around the same time. He is forced to choose between duty and desire for rest and normal life.

A Generation opens with a stunning sequence, while Ashes and Diamonds ends with one, as a wounded hero collapses at a city dump, his blood on a white blanket forming a replica of the Polish flag. Together with other striking sequences, the film is an unforgettable experience.

5. Eroica (1958). Dir. by Andrzej Munk

Along with Wajda, Munk was a rising talent of the 1950’s Polish cinema, a period after Stalin’s death when artists were finally able to explore their nation’s history. This is his masterwork, a two-part satire on the concept of heroism, long esteemed by the Polish romantic tradition. The first part focuses on the Warsaw resident, a cowardly cheater and drunk, who unwittingly joins the uprising and becomes a reluctant hero.

Shot at times like a slapstick comedy set at the war zone, it has many hilarious scenes (a drunk. vs a tank is the most memorable). The second part takes place in an officers POW camp at the end of the war, and is far grimmer. At that camp, a hero and a legend is an office who, years ago, allegedly made a successful escape. Except, he didn’t, and is hiding nearby, sporadically fed by a few of his friends in on the secret. Her, Munk’s unique style is more present too-particularly, the gradation of shots and the inventive use of close-ups.

A third part was made as well, a retelling of a romantic Polish legend, about the wartime couriers in the mountains, but was released separately in 1972. Munk has succeeded in creating a film that is original in style and unconventional in content.

6. Dom (1958). Dir. by Jan Lenica and Walerian Borowczyk

A highly stylistic and influential animated short, made by two of the premier Polish graphic designers/filmmakers. Live action is combined with various animated techniques (cut-out, photo montage, pixilation, stop-motion) to take us into an apartment and a mind of the female protagonist.

What follows is a loosely associative presentation of her thoughts, including a repeated visit by a mysterious, Magritte-inspired silhouette, an Eadweard Muybridge-like footage of two men boxing and fencing, a mess of blonde hair coming to life and wreaking havoc, and her making out with a living mannequin head, among other things.

A precursor of larger things to come from both Lenica and Borowczyk, and an acknowledged influence on such innovative animators as Jan Svankmajer, George Dunning, Yuri Norshteyn, and the Quay brothers.

7. The Last Day of Summer (1958). Dir. by Tadeusz Konwicki

This film makes Jarmusch’s Stranger Than Paradise and Lynch’s Eraserhead seem like an overblown MGM epics in comparison. One of the most minimalist films ever made, it makes do with a natural setting, an Arriflex camera, six thousand meters of bw film, a crew of 5, and a cast of 2.

That’s all Konwicki need to present a compelling, Golden Lion (Venice) winning story, which on the surface is simplicity itself-on a last day at a Baltic resort, a woman meets a man among the sand dunes, who professes his love for her. It takes a while for these damaged souls to merge, but the merger creates more questions than answers. Their solitude is only occasionally interrupted by fighter jets flying overhead, the only signs of outside world. Besides them, there is only a desolate beach, little pieces of amber, sand, and the wind.

A renowned writer prior to turning to filmmaking, Konwicki tells his haunting tale without resorting to cinematic tricks-and yet manages to cover multiple layers. The story is at once straightforward (what you see is what you get) and highly symbolic (the echo of the devastating war rings loudly), managing to cover past, present, and future. All in about an hour of running time. The background music played as a whistle deserves special mention-perfectly fits both the realism and otherworldliness of this amazing film.

8. Night Train (1959). Dir. by Jerzy Kawalerowicz

A subtly stunning visual poem on the rails. Here, the train is presented as a mobile microcosm of society-populated by unhappy couples, flirtatious wives, religious old women, concentration camp survivors, runaway murderers, libidinous Lotharios, police, etc. Set against this rich background is a subtle game of emotions played by several characters.

Overall, Kawalerowicz presents a fascinating study of life in transitions. The rapid beginning, when we expect a chaser, gives way to a psychological drama, although the detective part of the story resurfaces with vengeance towards the end (allowing the director to explore the society at large). Aesthetically, it offers ample rewards. Many unforgettable images-the extreme close-ups of wide-open eyes, droplets of water on foreheads.

The lyrical jazzy score (until the “killer scenes”) adds to the atmosphere. Kawalerowicz largely keeps his camera static, achieving the necessary dynamism with virtuoso editing. He would go on to make films much larger in scope, but this one remains his early masterwork.

The cinema of former Czechoslovakia, as well as of current Czech Republic and Slovakia, is, perhaps, the richest and most visually striking of all Eastern Europe. Even though fun-as-bricks Commies have tried the best they could to stifle it, the zany and wonderful artistic visions found a way to reach the audience.

From the very beginning, the traditions of visual audacity reigned supreme, due in a large part to cultural traditions rich in imagery, imagination, symbolism, and surrealism. From medieval castles to Kafka, from puppet theatre to theatre of the absurd-all the filmmakers had to do is mine the fantastic and hilarious cultural gold.

It may be noticed that a large portion of the films in this list are from the 1960’s. It really was the true Golden era of Czechoslovakian cinema. The so-called “Czech New Wave” rivals the French one in freshness of ideas and unique works. Slovakian cinema too came into prominence at that time. Though a Communist country, Czechoslovakia espoused a more humane and breathable variety.

It all changed after 1968, when Soviet tanks rolled in and the so-called “socialism with a human face” was crushed. The best filmmakers either left for the West (Milos Forman, Ivan Passer), were condemned to periods of silence and inactivity (Jan Svankmajer, Jan Nemec), or had to find ways to retain their creativity while not crossing the multiple taboos that the oppressive regime forced upon them.

Of course, the restrictions largely went away with the fall of Communism, but now new realities set in-those of market economy, changing political and societal structure, and competition with the worst of the West. The fact that they continue making worthwhile and creative works is the best testament to their talent and spirit.

A note-in this list, Czech and Slovak filmmakers are presented jointly. In reality, their visions, though equally striking, do differ. Czechs urbanized fairly early, and benefitted from both the dark medieval city streets and the “wonders” of technological revolution. Whereas, even for the large parts of XXth century, Slovakia remained more rural.

While both Czech and Slovak cinemas benefit greatly from surrealism motifs, their respective surrealisms are often as different as the city is from the village, though taking away nothing from the visual feast.

1. Ecstasy (1933). Dir. by Gustav Machaty

The earliest Czech cinematic triumph was also, perhaps, the most scandalous. Both the Pope and Hitler denounced and banned it, as did most countries. Numerous heavily mutilated versions existed, and the star’s munitions tycoon husband have attempted to wipe it from the face of the Earth altogether. Its horrendous crime?

Light and tasteful erotica, and the heinous sin of showing female orgasm on screen. The 19-yeart old Hedy Kiesler used the notoriety of the film to escape her stifling marriage, flee to America, and land an MGM contract (as well as contribute to science by inventions in frequency hopping).

Lost in all the hype and scandals was the fact that Ecstasy is, in fact, a really good film that more than holds up today. It does so primarily on the strength of its visuals, which rival anything Jean Renoir made at the time.

The plot is rather melodramatic (a beautiful girl marries an old man who cannot satisfy her, leaves him, and finds happiness with another man), and dialogue is typical for early sound era. But the deft use of camera angles and lighting make every leaf and blade of grass sing from the screen. Several scenes are breathtaking-the loving shots of Eve bathing and then chasing the horse, the luminous light steaming from Adam’s cabin at night.

Without excessive moralization and relying purely on visuals, Machaty presents the conflict between natural and artificial and the need to live in harmony with one’s world. The shot structure is nearly flawless, with languid tracking shots followed by well-lit close-ups. The viewer looking for scandalous sleaze will be disappointed, but not the one who’s seeking great-looking cinema.

2. The King’s Baker and the Baker’s King (1952). Dir. by Martin Fric

A zany costume comedy that really deserves more of a cult status, denied to it by almost complete lack of international distribution. Welcome to the mysterious castle of Emperor Rudolph II. A devotee of the occult, he is plotting to bring Golem to life-while his conniving courtiers are equally busy plotting to overthrow him.

Help comes from an unlikely source-a royal baker, serving time in the dungeons for being wasteful with the king’s bread, and who happens to be Rudolph’s doppelganger. Switched identity hijinks ensue.

What makes this film such a delight is its magnificent look. XVI-XVII century castle and costumes are impeccably recreated on screen. As most of the film takes place in the castle, the magnificent set is given its due screen time. Lighting rivals the best of German Expressionism, and the color play is almost painterly.

It was partially filmed on captured Agfacolor color stock, and partially-on Eastman Color. The shadows are appropriately dark, and the bright colors shine. Add to it the hilarious plot and the awe-inspiring Golem, to complete the dazzling experience.

3. Old Czech Legends (1953). Dir. by Jiri Trnka

The live-action Czechoslovakian cinema of the early 50’s is largely forgettable. The Soviet “liberation” and the ensuing switch to Communism resulted in a large output of stilted and didactic “Socialist Realism” pictures. Fortunately, the same cannot be said about Czech animation, which successfully resisted both the Party line and Disney influences, and emerged as one of the most original artistic movements in Europe.

Jiri Trnka is a key figure of this movement. A painter and illustrator, he came to animation from theatre, and brought his unique artistic sensibility along. This is fourth stop-motion features (after the notable Czech Year, Princess Bayaya, and especially The Emperor’s Nightingale). Here Trnka considerably broadened the capabilities of puppet cinema.

The connected collection of tales from 1894 “Ancient Bohemian Legends” by Alois Jirasek, it is presented with complexity and virtuosity hitherto unseen in animation. The tales of kings and knights are given a world of their own, with intricately designed “sets” and “locations”. Here, the Heaven is in details-the character walking in snow leaves footprints, and his steps crunch appropriately. Lighting, camerawork, set design-all rival that of a live-action epic.

Camera pans, tilts, tracks, and spins. The crowd scenes are composed of individualized puppets. Trnka’s artistic background is further evidenced in fantastic background matte paintings. As for puppet design, he was able to further advance his technique of making puppets with purposely expressionless faces, so that different expressions can be shown by changes of camera angles and lighting. As a result, he succeeded in creating a paradox-a very real puppet world.

4. The Lion and the Song (1959). Dir. by Bretislav Pojar

Trnka’s best collaborator proves himself an artist in his own right with this beautiful short. When Trnka made his masterpieces, Pojar was the man responsible for being behind the camera and often doing the actual tedious stop-motion part. He would gain more fame later when he moved to the West, in all directing over 50 shorts in his long career.

This is his best early film. A wordless gem, it tells a story of the sombrero-wearing artist wandering the desert with his accordion and performing skillfully in front of the desert inhabitants. When confronted with a violent lion, he chooses to stay true to his art and his peaceful and loving nature. It’s easy to see how crucial Pojar was to Trnka as an animator-here, the stop-motion action is perfect and flawless.

The lighting, camerawork, and design are also on par with best in the medium, and the colors are vibrant and unforgettable. The human character design is very Trnka-influenced, but the animals are wholly original (especially the magnificent lion). In just over 15 minute, this striking and at times dark parable manages to touch several vital themes-being true to self, the immortality of true art. And does so with colors and puppets!

5. The Fabulous Baron Munchausen (1962). Dir. by Karel Zeman

Zeman was a medium all unto himself. His films broke and mixed the traditions of live action, animation, and painting, combining the best of them in zany and imaginative ways. His works influenced artists as diverse as Wes Anderson and Terry Gilliam (the latter openly acknowledging the fact, and paying homage in his own Munchausen film). The subject matter is perfect for Zeman-this is the best film about the creative liar and trickster.

In the film’s story, an astronaut lands on the moon and befriends the Baron. Together, they undertake countless adventures, travel the Seven Seas and then some, and become involved in a love triangle. Seemingly, the consummately romantic Baron has an edge over the too-pragmatic astronaut, but the latter learns and is able to grow as a person.

What makes this film so special is its one-of-a-kind look. Using the XIXth century illustrations by Gustave Dore and the stylistics of cinema pioneer Georges Melies, Zeman creates his own universe, where people and drawings, foregrounds and background, the real and dreamy-all intermix openly, and the distinction lines between them are erased. Many scenes are simply unforgettable-the ship pulled by Pegasuses, the journey in a belly of a fish.

Zeman further enhances the otherworldliness by the use of color-mostly sepia, but with flashes of brilliantly saturated colored stock that leave an indelible impression. The subject matter is perfectly suited for the style, and the viewer is left with newly found abilities to dream. For the moon belongs to lovers and dreamers only!

6. Frantisek Vlacil’s Medieval Trilogy: Devil’s Trap (1962)/Marketa Lazarova (1967)/Valley of the Bees (1967)

Nothing will prepare you for Vlacil’s incredible cinema. Having jump-started the New Wave with his 1960 The White Dove, he proceeded to make a truly epic trilogy of medieval-set films that routinely make the best of all time lists and remain ultra-watchable today. The settings of all three is the medieval Bohemia, but each presents a unique and fascinating experience.

Devil’s Trap (1962)

Here Vlacil more or less stretches his wings. The milieu is a land ruled over by an oppressive regent, who despises the few remaining free folk and sends a newly arrived Jesuit priest to stop the wise miller and his son, under the pretext that they might be cavorting with the devil. The questions of science vs. religion are thoroughly explored in the film’s relatively brief (compared with what’s to follow) time.

Valley of the Bees (1967)

Made before Marketa Lazarova, but released after, this is perhaps the most purely historical of the three films. Anticipating the Night Watch of the Game of Thrones, it tells the story of a young boy who is sent by his father to join the religious knight order, and what ensues when he temporarily breaks his vows.

As in the other two, the style here is beyond reproach, although not nearly as experimental as in Marketa Lazarova. Easily holds up against, for example, The Seventh Seal or The Virgin Spring, as a masterful and artistic exploration of the historical period and its spirit.

Marketa Lazarova (1967)

The most visually stunning film of this list, and one of the best ever made. Everything is impeccable about it. Vlacil came to cinema with an art school education, and brought with him the immense knowledge of what’s divinely beautiful. Here he manages to bring the medieval engravings to life in the most modern and technically accomplished way possible, thanks to his own herculean effort and that of his dedicated cast and crew.

The film’s basis is the eponymous novel by Vladislav Vancura, which takes place in unspecified medieval period and tells the story of two feuding clans. Basically, Iliad meets Romeo and Juliet, on the frozen plains and to the endless howls of the packs of wolves. Nature itself is a major protagonist here.

This film is that rarity of rarities-an avant-garde epic, possible only in Czechoslovakia of the 60’s, where an artist can bring his vision to screen without commercial restraints. The only ample points of comparison are Tarkovsky’s Andrei Rublev and Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai. All three are effervescent examples of a unique and striking artistic vision on a grand scale.

7. Something Different (1963). Dir. by Vera Chytilova

Recently deceased (2014) Vera Chytilova has made a number of films with striking form and content (see #16). This one, her feature debut, has firmly established her as a new artistic force to be reckoned with.

Freely jumping between live-action and documentary, it tells a story of two women. One (documentary) is a famous gymnast at the peak of her career, getting ready for her final competition. The other is a housewife with a toddler, going through the motions of her daily domestic routine.

The gymnast is under pressure from her team, particularly her coach, while the housewife has to deal with an indifferent spouse and the growing sense of ennui. Many of Chytilova’s works has been described as feminist, and this one is no exception. But her feminism is never as basic and ignorant as its modern espousers make it. Instead, she delves deep to present multiple sides of the inherent conflict and to question the sacred cows of the movement itself.

Here it’s illustrated by the fact that both women want something different than the lives they have-and then that “different” is shown, turning out to be nowhere near the expectations.

The style is particularly masterful-the live-action scenes of the housewife are presented in a low-key and documentary manner, while the footage of gymnast is expressive and bravura-with fluid camerawork and unique angles. The ease with which Chytilova shifts between live-action and documentary makes this film a masterpiece-and the best is yet to come.

8. A Jester’s Tale (1964). Dir. by Karel Zeman

Zeman gets another entry with yet another of his whimsical creations. Compared to Invention for Destruction (1958) and Baron Munchausen, this is a more live-action-leaning effort, though animation and puppetry are still sprinkled in. At heart an anti-war story, it chronicles the adventures of a young peasant couple and a musketeer during the Thirty Years War.

When their army is routed, they stumble upon rich clothing that they put on-only to be captured and mistaken for nobles. They are imprisoned at the castle of a local count, whose treatment of them varies as fortune of the war do. So, an escape is a must.

Thirty Years War is firmly rooted in Czech psyche (one-third of Czech population was lost), and the surroundings here are grim. Which just serves to underline the resilience of human spirit that finds ways to maintain itself even in duress. The zany chases and escapades, mistaken identities and Monty Python-like scenes-all combine to foster the spirit of hope. As usual with Zeman, the visual style is good enough to want to capture each frame and hang it on the wall.

Here he is inspired by the engravings of Matthaus Merian, with their clear and striking lines and shadow play. Throughout his long and rewarding career, Zeman served the artistic tradition well, while establishing one of his own that is seen in the works of some of the best filmmakers of today.

Unique and stunning visuals marked Russian cinema since the earliest days. From the phantasmagories of Starevich and Protazanov, to the giddy montage days of Eisentein, Vertov, and Dovzhenko, to visual poetry of Paradjanov and Tarkovsky.

Sadly, visionary visual artists in Soviet days had to deal with being told what and how to do by the ever-reaching Communist Party officials and their blind obedience to “Social Realism” as they understood it.

Truly visual art wasn’t easy to make-imagine going through the tortuous creative process of coming up with a unique and artistic idea and the pains of bringing it to screen-only to have it cut by the censors, or else have the whole film banned.

The end of Soviet Union meant the end of party dictatorship-but now, the artists had to deal with a whole different beast-marketing and consumerism. If before the striking work would be frowned upon, now it may simply not get made due to lack of financial support. Fortunately, the creative spirit lives on.

Some of the films in this list were made by the Soviet-era directors, and, refreshingly, others-by the next generation of artists committed to the art of cinema.

1. Moscow Parade (1992) Dir. by Ivan Dykhovichny

One of the first notable films of the new Russia, this gem managed to get misunderstood by both sides. A searing examination of the nightmarish life under Stalinist terror, it displeased “the patriots” with its portrayal of life in the late 30’s as a Kafkaesque nightmare, while the liberals and Western audiences have accused the director of “lacquering” and “beautifying” the ugly reality. But that was his point-to show how terrible and murderous the life in the totalitarian state can be, notwithstanding all the Imperial glamour.

The film focuses on a group of hedonistic NKVD (KGB) officers, the new elite. The wife of one of them is portrayed by Ute Lemper, a well-known German singer of cabaret tunes. Here she plays a former noblewoman married to one of these new kings of life, partaking in their decadent lifestyle. She tries to find a way out via a romance with a simple mover, but the System has eyes and a long reach.

On the sidelines, we are presented with various inhabitants of that universe-a poet being persecuted, a defense attorney who has a passionate affair with an axe murderer, an absurdly circus-like preparations for a big parade. Nothing is normal in this absurd world. The live-action sequences are frequently intercut with footage of parades and marches, which at first seem staged just for the film-but, it turns out, Dykhovichny has discovered actual color documentary reels from the era, and used them to great effect.

The hard-to-translate title Russian title, “Prorva”, means both “large amount” and “chasm” in Russian, and the director fully succeeded in bringing to screen a searing indictment of the tragic past and the multiple ways a flawed system can make life a bottomless abyss.

Other works: a short but very diverse filmography. Of note are The Black Monk (1988), Kopeck (2002), and Europe-Asia (2009), all very different from one another.

2. Drumroll (1993) Dir. by Sergei Ovcharov

Early 80’s marked the arrival of Sergei Ovcharov’s idiosyncratic talent onto the Soviet film scene. His works deserve to be better known in the West, but seldom are, due mainly to their unique folk aesthetics. Ovcharov’s favorite way of making films is to take a fairy tale or an old folk legend and then to rework it in a colorful and loud way (similar to Emir Kusturica). His first work in the new Russia is also his first and so far only original screenplay. No subtitles are needed, as it is completely dialogue-free!

This is a story of a funeral band drummer who is “gifted” a large and priceless “Stradivarius” drum, which, apparently, has a mind of its own. The drum leads his “master” across the vast and lawless post-Soviet space, causing him to gain and lose fortunes and to meet an assortment of strange individuals. He finally finds the strength to break free from the drum’s domination.

The film ends with a short mockumentary which shows how the cavemen made their first drums (spoiler: from dinosaur skins). Half of the time, you’ll laugh, and the other half-won’t believe what you’re seeing. Silent cinema wasn’t this funny since the Chaplin/Keaton days.

Other works: see all 6 features. Ovcharov’s filmography is short on quantity, but high on quality. And they all brim with humor and carnivalesque energy.

3. Mother and Son (1997) Dir. by Aleksandr Sokurov

Andrey Tarkovsky’s student and heir apparent (by Tarkovsky’s own admission) in the field of achingly artistic cinema, Sokurov entered his stride in the late 90’s with this art-house hit.

One of the most visually striking and meditative films ever made, it follows a few hours in the lives of the dying mother and her grown son at a country house. He takes her out on one last walk. If Claude Monet was a filmmaker, he would have made films like this, where every frame is deeply impressionistic. Images distorted by lenses, mirrors, and painted glass planes. Highlighted yet muted sounds of seagulls, waves, and the wind. Dialogue that is more whispers, almost to the point of being telepathic.

As in Tarkovsky’s works, virtually every frame begs to be paused, cut out, and hung on the wall. And the story is there-a sort of a reverse pieta, with the son holding his dying mother for the last time. Best viewed with lights turned off and sound-up.

Other works: from the period leading up to this film, The Lonely Voice of Man (1978-1987), Mournful Unconcern (1983-1987), Days of Eclipse (1988), The Second Circle (1990), The Stone (1992). Of note also are the documentaries: Maria (1978-1988), Evening Sacrifice (1984-1987), the Tarkovsky tribute Moscow Elegy (1986-1988), Spiritual Voices (1995), and especially the divine and striking Oriental Elegy (1996).

4. Of Freaks and Men (1998) Dir. by Alexei Balabanov

A tastefully kinky art film. It shows the early age of cinema in the 1900’s Russian Empire, focusing on its very first pornographer. Much like Boogie Nights, it examines the “genre” by concentrating on the characters. An inspired pornographer Johann and his evil assistant make their “art” at the expense of ruining two families. The style is striking-it’s filmed in BW and sepia hues of the time. Very morbidly funny too, particularly the title cards that explain what just happened.

Though not silent, the dialogue is crisp and clipped, so it doesn’t at all distracts from the cool and striking imagery. The question it poses is-who are the freaks of the title? Because the “victims” here contribute to their own downfall, either by complacency or moral weakness. But this question is posed without forced moralization and in the droll and artistic way.

Other works: Balabanov is another director with a varied and diverse filmography. Kafka adaptation The Castle (1994), philosophical crime thriller Brother (1997), wacky blackest of comedies Dead Man’s Bluff (2005) – all worth it.

5. Day of the Full Moon (1998) Dir. by Karen Shakhnazarov

What do “new Russians”, old Uzbeks, successful hitmen, popular DJs, beautiful princesses, mysterious monks, foreign diplomats, and legendary poets have in common? Other than the fact that the moon shines for all of them, they are all the parts of the intricate narrative in this kaleidoscopic film.

Well before Amores Perros and Babel, Shakhnazarov came up with this seemingly disjointed parable on life and death, art and people, and the deceptively accidental connections we share in this world. The camera seems to have a mind of its own here, as it fluidly changes directions and follows different characters.

Almost experimental in structure, this film proves that the devil is, indeed, in details. Many scenes almost stand out in their own right, particularly the striking and lyrical one that focuses on a dog (and lets us know what that dog thinks). A beautiful and opaque film that rewards multiple viewings.

Other works: Shakhnazarov is another filmmaker with a greatly diverse filmography. It includes the musical comedy We are From Jazz (1984), an absurdist Stalinist one Winter Evening in Gagry (1985), a coming-of-age satire The Messenger Boy (1987), a Groundhog-day-like Zerograd (1990), a psychological thriller The Assassin of the Tsar (1991), philosophical period thriller The Rider Named Death (2004), and Chekhovian adaptation Ward Number 6 (2009).

6. Luna Papa (1999) Dir. by Bakhtyar Khudojnazarov

An utterly charming and zany tragicomedy. The aftertaste will remind one of Fellini’s Amarcord or one of Kusturica’s works. Taking place in an unidentified Central Asian post-Soviet republic, one of many –“stans”, it focuses on a spunky and wistful young heroine, who lives with her stern yet infinitely kind father and shell-shocked brother. For her, theatre is the escape from the prose of life.

One evening, she meets a stranger when lost in a ravine. Upon learning that he is an actor, her world is transformed into a moonlit paradise. The encounter leaves her a bit pregnant, and, as in those regions a pregnant girl simply MUST have a husband, her father and brother accompany her on the search of the region’s theatres (she only remembers his voice). Their travels take them along the dusty roads and introduce a slew of eccentric characters (a plane-using cattle rustler being the most memorable).

Words really don’t do this gem justice, it must be experienced. Powerful performances by Chulpan Khamatova (best known to Western audiences for her turns in Goodbye Lenin) and veteran actor Ato Mukhamedzhanov as the father, sparkling script from notable Georgina writer/director Irakli Kvirikadze, and pitch-perfect direction make it unforgettable.

Other works: recently deceased (04/21/15), the Tajik-born Khudojnazarov made several worthy films. Of note are Kosh ba Kosh (1993) and Chic (2003), similarly marked by deft lyricism.

7. His Wife’s Diary (2000) Dir. by Alexey Uchitel

What makes this film stunning is the fact that it doesn’t try to stun and impress, but does so nonetheless. It achieves the desired effect by a combination of a strong script, inspired performances, and a measured and controlled visual style.

The story focuses on the life of Ivan Bunin, the great Russian émigré writer residing in France, his professional triumph (a Nobel Prize), and the utter mess of his personal life. He resides with his wife of title who worships and adores him, a young poetess whom he loves, and a strange young man who helps run the household and who is hopelessly in love with his wife.

So, not merely a love triangle, but a love square. The mistress leaves the great writer for her lesbian lover, but when the Nazi occupation happens, they both seek shelter at his place, further complicating matters.

Andrey Smirnov, himself a well-known writer and director, does an outstanding job portraying a man who is enormously talented in his art, but weak and sometimes pathetic in private life. Same can be said of the housekeeper-he is a nobody, a hanger-on in the shadow of greatness, and yet is capable of great feelings. T

he performance of Vera, the suffering wife, is another gem, as is the lesbian lover of the mistress-both are ambiguous and whole characters, whose motivations are well explained. The director cast his film with mostly talented St. Petersburg stage actors, and the claustrophobic setting of a troubled household is perfect for the theatricality of this real-life drama.

Other works: Uchitel first gained fame on the St. Petersburg perestroika scene with his documentaries (1990’s Obvodny Channel is a must). This was his second live-action film, and since then he made several more quality works-The Stroll (2003), Dreaming of Space (2005), The Edge (2010). Deserves to be better known.

8. Moscow (2000) Dir. by Aleksandr Zeldovich

Welcome to the merciless city of high society, easy money, blood debts, night clubs, alcohol, drugs, and kinky sex. A post-modern Moscow at its best (or worst). Really, the plot of this film can seem convoluted at times, its message-unclear, and dialogues-stilted.

Loose allusions to Chekhov’s “Three Sisters”, unconvincing romantic threads, characters suffering from unexplained fatalism and ennui, and blurred messages (“City with no future”, “City that devours its children”). But this tale of a nightclub owner, her two daughters, and their three interchangeable lovers has at least two things going for it.

First is its stunning cinematography. Original and unique compositions, amazingly beautiful series of pictures, kaleidoscope of colors and hues, camera movements that are both natural and otherworldly-the cinematographer, Aleksandr Ilkhovsky, nearly saves the film all by himself. Another powerful element is music. The traditional Russian songs and oldies are rearranged in the spectacularly jazzed-up manner. For these two elements alone, picture and sounds, this film deserves to be watched.

May 9th, 2015 marks the 70-year anniversary of the end of World War II in Europe. This human catastrophe has affected billions of people and its residues remain to this very day. Perhaps no other country was as scarred by it as Soviet Union, where the invasion of deadly Nazi forces coincided with the horrors of Stalinism.

Here is a list of 25 Soviet and Russian films that present the war as what it is-a destructive horror that challenges the very notion of humanity. The attention is drawn to films that focus on the people rather than jingoism and heroics so favored by the officialdom.

As usual, I am presenting these films in chronological order rather than as a rated list. Arts are not sports, and the subjectivity of ratings is not as important as the understanding of cause-and-effect.

Simply by looking at dates of release, it’s easy to see how the war was presented on Soviet and Russian screens-the realism of the war years is followed by many years of Stalinist lacquer, which in turn led to the liberating effect of Khruschev’s Thaw, followed by the stagnation of Brezhnev era. This cycle continues to this day, considering the current situation in Eastern Europe and the post-Soviet geosphere.

1. Mashenka (1942) Dir. by Yuli Raizman

This brief, chamber film stands out among the Soviet productions leading up to war. Here, the focus is trained not on the Great Collective, or the march to the shiny future, but on personal experience. Throughout the film, it stays on the heroine, showing her life, joys, and sorrows. A simple telegraph girl who trains as a nurse, Mashenka finds love and loses it, laughs and cries, hopes and grieves. And then, the war happens.

In the picture, it’s the Finnish war, but because the film wasn’t finished and released until 1942, it came to symbolize the despair of the ongoing war and the hopes that its ending may offer. There are many scenes of note, but the ambiguous ending is the most striking part of the film.

After briefly reuniting with her love on the war-time road, and parting with an understanding that they’ll meet again, Mashenka’s happy and waving figure is framed by silhouettes of cars and the galloping cavalrymen. The viewer is left with a mix of concern and hope.

Much like Waterloo Bridge and Brief Encounters, Mashenka remains watchable by concentrating on the human and the humane. The happiness shown here is private and personal. By continuously lingering on the face of the heroine, catching both the shadows of sorrows and rays of joy that it emanates, this poignant melodrama remains a shining example of lyricism and hope.

2. Two Soldiers (1943) Dir. by Leonid Lukov

The two titular soldiers are simple machine gunners at the Leningrad front. They fight the enemy, they go on rare leaves into city, they sleep, eat, and sing in the trenches. Then, there is a rift between them, but it’s mended on the battlefield. The end.

What, then, makes this simple film so watchable? The excellent characterization and focus on the simpler things in life. Not glory, valor, or life for the party and/or Motherland, but-friendship, camaraderie, songs. One of them is a blacksmith from the Ural mountains, a surly and burly fellow. The other-a shipwright from Odessa, lightning-quick with emotions, jokes, responses, quips, and songs, much in the spirit of his hometown. The highest brass we see is their battalion commander.

The songs deserve a special mention, as they are still performed in Russia. One is heart-wringing “Dark Night”, of a night at war and hope to return home. The other-“Boatfuls of Mullet”, a half-klezmer, half-underworld ditty about a lucky fisherman of Odessa. Nothing about those songs is political, everything-human. As is this film. Special mention must be made of the realistically filmed combat sequences (although they were all done at the studio lot).

3. Rainbow (1943) Dir. by Mark Donskoy

This film was influential on both sides of the Atlantic. It’s remarkable in its emotional and powerful depiction of life under the Nazi occupation. Harrowing scenes follow each other-a woman walks barefoot in the snow. A newborn’s life is brutally ended hours after birth. A 10-year old is shot for trying to sneak bread to the prisoners (with his family watching from the window, and his death being marked by his little sister’s emotionless “Mama, Misha fell.”).

Later, his family buries him beneath the dirt floor in their hut, and they all walk back and forth to level out the hill. A bored and cold German soldier plays a game of “eenie-meenie-miny-moe”, aiming at a group of children, most too young to even comprehend the danger.

The titular rainbow appears only in the end as the glimmer of hope, after the grieving mother’s ordeal is over at the gallows. The writer, Wanda Wasilewska, also wrote the screenplay, and the decision to focus the attention on the plight of women and children amid the violence pays off. It was shown to acclaim in America, garnering an honorary Oscar.

And, even though it was largely filmed on the studio set, its style was an acknowledged influence on Italian neo-realists. 70 years later, it lost none of capacity to move to tears, and none of its power.

4. Soldiers (1956) Dir. by Aleksandr Ivanov

After a prolonged period of officialdom, where comrade Stalin and The Party were hailed as primary heroes, a new way of looking at the not-distant war emerged. Viktor Nekrasov’s novella “In the trenches of Stalingrad” came out to acclaim in 1946, and 10 years later he was able to make a humanistic, de-heroizing screenplay out of it.

As the title suggests, it’s a story about soldiers, about their lives in combat and in rare moments between fighting. The main characters, a lieutenant and a couple of privates, retreat from Kharkiv to Stalingrad, are reassigned, go from defense to offense and back again, eat, drink, sleep, smoke, are wounded and hospitalized-all the day-to-day details are here, presented matter-of-factly and without pathos.

More than that, the cost of the war and the attitudes and costly ignorance of higher command are questioned. Additionally, this film gave the great Russian actor Innokenty Smoktunovsky his first notable role (he would go on to play Hamlet, Tchaikovsky, and Uncle Vanya to great acclaim), and it’s symptomatic-the new aesthetic called for actors who live the part rather than act it, which Smoktunovsky was more than able to do due to his own wartime experience.

5. The Cranes are Flying (1957) Dir. by Mikhail Kalatozov

This extraordinary film singlehandedly gave Soviet cinema a new creative jolt. Elements here a perfectly combined-humanistic screenplay by Mikhail Rozov, contemporary and real acting by the leads, Kalatozov’s sure-handed direction, and, of course, the dazzling bw cinematography by Sergei Urusevsky.

The story of a love ruined by the war, of a family shattered, and of Veronika’s ultimate redemption draws in, keeps on the emotional edge, and provides a whole range of sensations. After about two decades of suspicion towards “formalism”, the form here strikes back with a vengeance, recalling the giddy days of Eisenstein, Vertov, Kuleshov, Dovzhenko, and other early masters of montage shaping the language of cinema.

Urusevsky, a cinematographer with a painter’s education (and a talented painter in his own right), here brings back the powerful mobility of the camera and the striking imagery.

Deserves to be seen as a whole, but several scenes particularly stand out-the lovers greeting the morning together, the scene of Veronika rushing past the mobilized crowds to say goodbye, the moment where she is confronted with her bombed-out flat and loss of family, and, of course, the legendary death scene for Boris, where by the miracle of swirling shots and multiple expositions the experience of life cut short untimely is brilliantly conveyed to the audience. The Palme d’Or is not its true reward-but its continuing relevance and artistry is.

6. Ballad of a Soldier (1959) Dir. by Grigori Chukhrai

Continuing the good tradition that The Cranes are Flying began, this humane and well-made film stirred emotions well beyond the Iron Curtain. While not as technically stunning as Kalatozov’s masterpiece, its structure and cohesion make it a very worthy equal. Further continuing the youthful spirit of Khruschev’s Thaw, it features two very young actors in leading roles.

The soldier of the title is Alyosha. More out of fear and self-preservation than courage, he commits a heroic act and is rewarded with a week’s leave. He travels on the rails back to his native village. But the journey and the encounters he makes take up most of his leave time.

On the way, he encounters Shura, a young girl travelling alone. Together, they meet different kinds of people-some good, some unhappy, some downright ugly. Alyosha is able to help those in need due to his openness and positivity. Especially memorable is the scene where they encounter a recent amputee who feels worthless and suicidal.

The talented actor Yevgeny Urbansky virtually steals the scene with his intense performance. Alyosha and Shura part with hope and understanding of their feeling toward each other. He is only able to see his mother briefly before having to return. Spoiler alert-there is a spoiler in the beginning, where the voiceover mentions that Alyosha will perish at war.

But at the end, the viewer is still left with the good feeling of hope. The film’s success at the San Francisco Film Festival and the Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay are well-earned.

7. Destiny of a Man (1959) Dir. by Sergei Bondarchuk

Together with The Cranes are Flying and Ballad of a Soldier, forms an informal and influential trilogy of the Thaw period. It slightly leans towards monumentalism (plenty of low-angled shots of the lead character), mostly due to the fact that the debuting director was one of USSR’s lead actors who cast himself in the lead role. But it more than makes up for it with its important and novel message of compassion towards the POWs, who under Stalin were vilified and persecuted.

Mikhail Sholokhov’s story is faithfully adapted to the screen. A Russian man creates a family, overcoming his alcoholism in process, but loses everyone he loves during the war, and goes through the POW concentration hell. He becomes a lonely and empty-souled trucker, until he adopts an orphaned boy, thus gaining a new reason for living and reshaping his destiny.

For a debut, Bondarchuk’s direction is solid, and his acting is powerful as usual. The concentration camp scenes are staged liked an expressionistic horror movie, with the strength of human spirit persevering and overcoming the hardships.

The scene where the hero wins his life in the drinking game the Nazis force him to partake in is central in the film (we can’t help but applaud him when he says “I never chase the first shot”). Overall, a moving film that continues the humanistic spirit of the Thaw and de-Stalinization.

8. Peace to Him Who Enters (1961) Dir. by Aleksandr Alov and Vladimir Naumov

In Japanese theatre, there is a concept of “michiyuki”, literally translated as “to go on the road”. Michiyuki scenes are performed by travelers going from one place to another. Nowhere is the road more important than at war, where each step can be challenging and treacherous. It’s well presented in this pacifist road film.

A young lieutenant fresh out of officer’s school arrives in Germany days before peace is signed. He is eager to go to the frontlines. Instead, he gets a very unheroic task of supervising a transportation to the hospital of two patients-a shell-shocked soldier and a German woman due to give birth.

The miscommunications here are astounding-the lieutenant knows little of life and warfare, the German woman only speaks German, the happy-go-lucky driver is a chatterbox who just gabs away about everything under the sun. The most silent character is a wounded deaf-mute soldier (who also just learned he has no family to come home to), a war-scarred zombie (a powerful silent portrayal by the actor).

And the miscommunications continue along the way as they travel through war-torn Germany. They get lost, they encounter concentration camp survivors (only one of whom speaks very broken Russian), as well as a lively American GI (played by a frequent Tarkovsky actor Nikolai Grinko), who, naturally, only speaks English (but loves life, beer, and to dance Charleston).

On their way, the young lieutenant comes to understand life, war, and peace a little better, while the German woman and the wounded soldier exorcise some of their demons. The final shot, of a newborn relieving himself on a pile of decommissioned weapons, is a powerful symbol of life’s triumph over death and destruction.

Today, animation is a profitable and influential industry. Due to the rise of CGI, it could be argued that most of today’s cinema is really animation. When the word “animation” is mentioned, most think either Disney or Japanese anime. But the rest of the world has a long and proud animated history as well.

It’s particularly true for the continent of Europe, where a diversity of cultures means that artistic visions can radically vary from country to country. Many factors contribute to this diversity, from the cultural traditions to political climate in a given country (state-sponsored artists of former Communist countries may enjoy more financial backing, but also have to deal with more government control, for example).

This is a list of animated features made in Europe from early 1920’s until now. The majority of entries here are non-CGI, as the personal techniques of drawing or stop-motion makes for more unique and rewarding works. Many of them will shock and disturb, but all are rewarding in their own way.

1. The Adventures of Prince Achmed (1926, Germany) Dir. by Lotte Reiniger

Heads the list as the oldest surviving animated feature in the world, and one of the first ever made. The double-tale of Prince Achmed and Aladdin battling mythical demons and finding love is presented in the silhouette, Chinese shadow play tradition.

Unlike the live shadow show, here the characters are animated frame-by-frame. Thankfully, the film was restored in the late 90’s with the original color tints-the changes from deep blue to menacing red to mysterious yellow further enhance the story.

It took the creative team three years to painstakingly make it, and it shows on screen. A 65 min. journey into a magical world. One of its makers, legendary German filmmaker Walter Ruttman, have often complained about the film’s lack of modern relevance. Seeing it now proves he was wrong.

Other works: Reiniger’s long career is marked by many shorts in similar style. Doctor Doolittle (1923), Papageno (1935), The Grashopper and the Ant (1954), Aucassin and Nicolette (1975)-all worth seeing.

Her team of collaborators on Prince Achmed included Walter Ruttman (famous for his abstract shorts and 1927’s Berlin: Symphony of a Great City) and Berthold Bartosch, a pioneer of serious and artistic animation who was way ahead of his time.

2. The Tale of the Fox (1937, France/Germany) Dir. by Ladislas Starevich

A French writer once said “No, I’m not going over to visit Starevich. I don’t want him to turn me to stone, or sic his gnomes, spirits, horrible flies and dragons with diamond eyes on me.” To contemporaries, Starevich’s stop-motion works were nothing short of magic.

For this adaptation of the medieval legend of sly foxes, regal lions, predatory wolves, and other anthropomorphic animals, he created intricate puppets, ranging from a few inches to human-size, as well as up to 500 masks for each of them, thus being able to make them come to live. Production and distribution problems delayed its release for 7 years, but once out it continues to amaze.

Other works: Starevich is stop-motion. In addition to this feature, the following shorts are not to be missed: Cameramen’s Revenge (1911), The Insects Christmas (1912), The Frogs Who Wanted a King (1922), Fetiche (1933). In addition, he made stunning live-action and science films.

3. The Humpbacked Horse (1947/1976, USSR) Dir. by Ivan Ivanov-Vano

Late 40’s to 50’s were, in Soviet animation, the era of rotoscope fairy tales. This was done to compete with Disney productions. While using many of the same aesthetics as Disney, the use of rotoscope enabled to overcome technical deficiencies. At their best, talented animators were able to create enchanted and magical worlds. Of them, Ivanov-Vano was arguably the best.

This 19th century poem-tale of a simple lad who undergoes trials and adventures, with the aid of his flying, magical, ingenious titular horse with a humpback and long ears, became a calling card of Soviet animation. By the 70’s, the original negatives were badly damaged, and as restoration technologies at the time were limited, the director simply remade it. Both the restored original and the remake remain engrossing and magical.

4. The Snow Maiden (1952, USSR) Dir. by Ivan Ivanov-Vano and Aleksandra Snezhno-Blotskaya

Ivanov-Vano gets the back-to-back listing because this tale is one of the most beautiful animated films ever made. Featuring some of the most stunning backgrounds ever animated, this rotoscope film is a loose adaptation of Rimsky-Korsakov’s opera bout the daughter of Frost and Spring who yearns for human warmth, with tragic results.

The use of luminescent paints make the whole endeavor literally sparkle and glow before the spectator’s eyes. At this late Stalinist time, Soviet animators were ordered to make tales such as these to compete with Disney influence. If only all of Cold War was spent in such competitions. Rotoscope method was called éclair in Soviet Union, and this films shows why-it’s sweet and delicious to look at.

Other works: Ivanov-Vano had a lasting influence on the world of animation. His works transcended ideology and influenced both Eastern European and Japanese animators.

From his groundbreaking early shorts China in Flames (1925), Ice Rink (1927), Black and White (1932), to the above-mentioned features and other like The Twelve Months (1956) and Lefty (1964), to his inventive late works Seasons (1969), The Battle of Kerzhenets (1970, with Yuri Norshteyn), and anti-war Ave Maria (1972)-the world of animation owes him a debt of gratitude.

5. The Animal Farm (1954, UK) Dir. by George Halas and Joy Batchelor

Britain broke into animation features with flair. This adaptation of George Orwell’s legendary dystopian parable was the first British animated feature ever made. In addition to being the start of the good tradition, it benefits from quality artwork while managing to stay mostly true to the original tale of the revolution on the farm.

It probably would be even more striking it was aimed at adults (the duckling interludes and the more hopeful ending do take away some visceral power), but it remains a successful adaptation and a good film in its own right.

6. The Snow Queen (1957, USSR) Dir. by Lev Atamanov

This holiday classic transcended ideology, language barriers, and two oceans. It won top prizes at Venice and Cannes. And, no less an animator than Hayao Miyazaki has admitted that it was a decisive influence on his choice of profession (he also recently released it in Japan). It is The Snow Queen, Lev Atamanov’s adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale.

Andersen has been supplying animators of all countries with plentiful material. This may be one of his best-adapted tales. Made towards the end of the rotoscope era of Soviet Animation, its appeal is easy to see-it’s gorgeous to look at and heartwarming.

The story of the little boy Kay who is gets enchanted and taken by the ice-cold Snow Queen, and his friend Gerda who never stops searching for him, finds him, and thaws out his hoar frosted soul-with the help of several kind and magical creatures-it’s guaranteed emotional gold. The rotoscope technique in this case does not appear clunky or lifeless, thanks to the talented artistic team.

What must have impressed someone like Miyazaki the most is the perfect blend of form and content. The exquisite backgrounds, the non-intrusive and timely music (by Atamanov’s fellow Armenian and legendary classical/jazz composer Artemi Ayvazyan), colorful and perfectly-voiced characters-the list can go on. Of these characters, the titular one is the most memorable, with her icy beauty.

In general, Kay and Gerda get upstaged by a wonderful host of supporting characters, whether it’s the raven couple, Angel the tomboyish robber girl, or Ole Lukoye, a gnome of dreams from another Andersen tale that bookends this film. But the heart of Andersen’s story remains, and it’s at the right place.

Other works: Atamanov’s career spans almost 40 years. The 50’s were his golden period, with rotoscoped classics Yellow Stork (1950), The Scarlett Flower (1952), The Golden Antelope (1954). Of later works, Ballerina on the Boat (1969) is a beautiful and lyrical short.

7. A Deadly Invention (1957, Czechoslovakia) Dir. by Karel Zeman

Arguably the very first steampunk film, this is a one-of-a-kind work that influenced the likes of Terry Gilliam, Tim Burton, Jan Svankmajer, and Wes Anderson. Zeman came up with a wholly original stylistic idea of bringing the old illustrations to life via animation and combination with live actors, as any cinematic tricks available at the time-double exposure, miniatures, stop-motion.

The line engravings by Gustave Dore, Leon Bennet, and Edouard Riou are here toned, nuanced, and alive. Aided by an intricate musical score, this adaptation of Jule Verne’s Facing the Flag began its triumphant sailing around the world with a top prize at the 1958 World Expo, and continues to amaze and inspire.

Other works: the features not to be missed are Baron Munchausen (1961), a Jester’s Tale (1964) and Krabat-The Sorcerer’s Apprentice (1977). Zeman made a few unique shorts as well: Inspirace (1949), and the Pan Proukock (1947-1959) and Sinbad (1971-1974) series.

8. A Midsummer’s Night Dream (1959, Czechoslovakia) Dir. by Jiri Trnka

A monumental illustrator and puppeteer, Trnka was well-prepared to make this magical film, having created amazing illustrations for it earlier. Everything in the frame is hand-made by the artists, down to every painstaking detail.

The puppets have anime characteristics decades before anime-particularly, the eyes, which Trnka always made large and expressionless (that allowed him to change the mood of the character simply by adjusting the lighting or moving the camera). Oberon and Titania are magical, donkey-headed Bottom is touching and sympathetic, and Snug and Puck are appropriately entertaining. Trnka demonstrated to all that animation can be a unique art form.

Other works: take a pick, you will not be disappointed. Best features are Emperor’s Nightingale (1948), Prince Bayaya (1950), Old Czech Legends (1953), The Good Soldier Svejk (1955). Shorts not to be missed are Story of a Bass (1949), Western parody A Song of The Prairie (1949), the cut-out A Merry Circus (1951), and, especially, the darker political allegory The Hand (1965).

9. Wild Swans (1962, USSR) Dir. by Mikhail Tsekhanovsky

Hans Christian Andersen meets William Shakespeare. Considering the country of make, this Andersen adaptation is surprisingly gothic in look and feel. Made after the rotoscope method stopped being the dominant technique in Soviet animation, it features strikingly drawn medieval surroundings.

The story of a girl who must fight a curse both to win love and save her brothers (who were transformed into swans) perfectly captures Andersen’s bittersweet melancholy. The only deviation here is that in the atheistic USSR no mention could be made of Eliza’s piety (her saving grace in the story), but in this case it only adds to her character by making her naturally strong-spirited and resilient.

Other works: Tsekhanovsky was one of the first Soviet animators. His early works are striking in graphic detail-Post (1929, remade in 1965), Pacific 231 (1931). Later he had to switch to making films for children, but they too bear his talent for drawing an effective detail and creating the mood-Kashtanka (1952), the Spanish-inquisition tale The Legend of the Moor’s Testament (1959).

10. Adventures of Mowgli (1967-1971, USSR) Dir. by Roman Davydov

This “Jungle Book” adaptation couldn’t be more different from Disney’s. Made as five shorts over a four-year period, together they form a feature. It’s not a musical, and though it has plenty of comic relief moments, it’s not a comedy. The story of a human child lost in the jungle and raised by the wolves is presented here as a drama, or rather several dramas-coming of age, finding friends, fighting for life and freedom.

This affects the esthetics-Mowgli and most of the main characters are very realistic in look. They are finely drawn, and the backgrounds are stunning-the world of India wilderness is colorful and vibrant. The voicing is top-notch, so the main characters are memorable-gruff Balu, noble Akeela, wise and menacing python Caa (you really want him more as a friend than enemy), cruel and inhumane Sher Khan, cowardly jackal Tabaki.

One major deviation from the source novel and the film’s look is Bagheera. Here she is a female, and is drawn like a liquid mass of black ink. The panther’s feline qualities are intensified with this sex change-this Bagheera goes from languid and purring to fearless fighter in a split second.

The decision pays off-the character is given a new dimension, simultaneously creating a strong and positive female in the male-dominated world of the jungle. Special mention must be given to music. Sofia Gubaidullina is possibly the greatest living composer of today, and her challenging works continue to inspire memorable performances and recordings.

At the time, her mix of spiritual and avant-garde composition was out of favor in Soviet Union, so she had to make a living scoring films and cartoons. In this case, it’s animation’s gain-she gives each main character own musical themes (Bagheera’s mix of cello, violin, and keyboard is particularly effective) and creates an atmospheric and hypnotic overall musical tone. On all levels, this is a masterpiece.

This technique has been used since the dawn of cinema to bring objects to life and manufacture magical worlds. Before the days of CGI, it was a primary way to produce special effects, in classics from King Kong, to Jason and the Argonauts, to Star Wars. It’s called stop-motion.

It’s rumored that the legendary cinema pioneer Georges Melies accidentally discovered it when his camera jammed once, and upon restarting it he noticed how everything slightly changed. Soon after, stop-motion films began appearing in Europe. What started as a novelty turned into an art form when artists with unique skill and vision began making their films utilizing it.

Most commonly, it’s associated with puppet, but over the course of cinema development other mediums were used as well-figures made of clay (claymation), puppetoons (ready-made figurines), silhouettes. The final results are often fascinating, but the process is traditionally painstaking.

To make the character move, the filmmaker has to take a picture, adjust the figure, take another, and so on. As there are 24 frames in a second of film, it can take hours to shoot each second. That’s especially true for more advanced works, with multiple characters.

With the advent of CGI, stop-motion is considered passé. But it’s still alive and well, with new interesting works coming out almost every year. Much like each painter has a unique brush stroke, each animator creates a uniquely looking work, as the creation of characters and scenes is literally a hands-on experience here.

This list consists of a variety of films made using stop-motion, and was compiled in order to best illustrate this unique art form.

1. The Adventures of Prince Achmed (1926). Dir. by Lotte Reiniger. Germany.

Recognized as the first animated feature ever made, this silhouette marvel has retained its capacity to enchant and mesmerize. The cutout puppets resemble those of Chinese shadow theatre, but the technique used to bring them to life is stop-motion.

With the help of the legendary avant-garde filmmaker Walter Ruttman and another original and highly creative animator, Bertold Bartosch, Reiniger created a fantastic tale that combined the stories of Prince Achmed and Aladdin from “1,001 Nights” into a kaleidoscopic adventure with flying horses, raging elements, grotesque demons, and magical backgrounds. The changing color tints and depth of background still looks impressive today.

Other works: Lotte Reiniger only made shorts for the duration of her long career, most in the same silhouette style. Of those, the most impressive are Papageno (1935), The Frog Prince (1961), Aucassin and Nicolette (1975).

2. New Gulliver (1935). Dir. by Alexander Ptushko. USSR.

This film is ripe for rediscovery as a cult classic. A mid-30’s Soviet reimagining of the Gulliver stories, it has a typical Communist kid dream of himself as a Gulliver in the land of the reactionary Lilliputian monarchy. The hero is played by the real child actor, but is surrounded with a cast of thousands of puppet Lilliputians.

The Lilliputian land is filled with dozens of hilarious anachronisms-the nobility is dressed in wigs and XVIIIth century clothes but rides in limousines, the soldiers wear medieval armor but also have tanks and gas masks. Of hilarious note is the song “My Little Lilliput Girl”, performed as a parody of bourgeoisie culture. The film is a dazzling mix of advanced (for its time) stop-motion, political propaganda, fantasy, and sci-fi.

Other works: Ptushko is legendary in Russia as the director of fairy-tale films, most of the live-action. Of a special note is he production design and creation of fantastic creatures for a cult horror Viy (1967).

3. The Tale of the Fox (1937). Dir. by Ladislas Starevich. France.

The original fantastic fox. The first puppet feature ever made, by the artist who virtually created and enormously popularized the technique. Though completed in 1930, its release was delayed due to technic problems associated with transition to sound and funding.

Taking Goethe’s adaptation of the medieval legend as the source, Starevich created a world of talking human-like animals that still amazes. For facial expressions, for instance, he used sometimes hundreds of tiny masks. It works-the puppets come to life.

Other works: Starevich was one of the inventors of puppet animation, and has many original works that are still rewarding. To mention a few : Cameramen’s Revenge (1911), The Insects Christmas (1912), The Frogs Who Wanted a King (1922), Fetiche (1933).

4. Alice in Wonderland (1949). Dir. by Dallas Bower. Puppets by Lou Bunin. UK.

This adaptation of Carroll’s legendary work is an artistic curio that suffered from shaky distribution. Made in Britain, its release was sabotaged by a lawsuit from Disney Studios, which were releasing their own animated version at the time. That contributed to this interesting film sinking into obscurity. Undeservedly-it has much to offer.

Combining live actors with the Wonderland populated by puppets, it has a unique visual style. Puppets were created by a well-known artist and puppeteer Lou Bunin (whose prior experiences include marionettes and painting murals with Diego Rivera). The film was well-shot by Claude Renoir, the nephew of the legendary director.

5. The Emperor’s Nightingale (1948). Dir. by Jiri Trnka. Czechoslovakia.

First of several Czechs on this list. For a reason-surrealism in general, and puppetry in particular were and still are integral parts of Czech culture. Of the famous Czech puppeteers, Jiri Trnka is the first to achieve international recognition. He began as an illustrator and theatre set designer, though he’s been making puppets since childhood.

This adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale is his first feature, and it won him international acclaim. Giving his Chinese puppets a porcelain-like look, and making all the sets himself as well, he created a unique and surreal world.

Other works: many worthy ones. Best features are Prince Bayaya (1950), Old Czech Legends (1953), The Good Soldier Svejk (1955), and A Midsummer’s Night Dream (1959). Shorts not to be missed are Story of a Bass (1949), Western parody A Song of The Prairie (1949), the cut-out A Merry Circus (1951), and, especially, the darker political allegory The Hand (1965).

6. Inspirace (1948). Dir. by Karel Zeman. Czechoslovakia.

Another Czech master. This 10 min. short is a feel-good one, as Zeman uses glass figurines skating and allegorizing on shimmering ice surfaces. Glass, water, and ice tend to shine and shimmer when lit, and this one shines brightly.
Other works: many shorts, and a few very influential features (on Terry Gilliam and Wes Andersen, among others).

In features such as The Fabulous World of Jules Verne (1958), The Fabulous Baron Munchausen (1961), and Krabat (1977), Zeman uses cutouts and Victorian-era illustrations together with drawn animation and puppets to create unique worlds.

7. Neighbours (1952). Dir. by Norman McLaren. Canada.

This 1952 Oscar-winner (for documentary!) uses stop-motion in an entirely different way-to animate human actors. This process is called pixilation, and it’s exactly as quirky as it sounds. Here, McLaren tells a cautionary anti-war story of two neighbors destroying each other over a flower that grows between their properties. Funny, poignant, strange.

Other works: Norman McLaren IS experimental animation. Over the course of his long career, in addition to establishing the animation program at the National Film Board of Canada, he made dozens of innovative and artistic shorts, with methods ranging from scratch on film, to pixilation, to optical printers, to stop-motion. A few musts: Begone Dull Care (1949), A Phantasy (1953), Blinkity Blank (1955), Pas de Deux (1968).

8. The Nose (1963). Dir. by Alexandre Alexeieff. France.

A different kind of stop-motion altogether, in fact almost a different art form. Alexeieff, a Russian-born French artist and illustrator par excellence, have created a device to make his haunting illustrations come to life. It’s called a pinscreen, and consists of a screen with hundreds of thousands of pins in it.

By pushing certain sections out and lighting them, Alexeieff was able to create animated films of incredible texture. The process is tedious, but the results are amazing to look at. This film is a 10 minute adaptation of Nikolai Gogol’s phantasmagoric story of a nose running away from its owner, and it looks like amazing series of illustrations that suddenly begin to move. A unique experience.

Other works: see all of them. Because of the painstaking work involved and the need to make income by doing graphic design, illustrations, and advertisement films, Alexeieff only made 5 shorts in his long career: Night on the Bald Mountain (1933), En passant (1943), Pictures at an Exhibition (1972), and Three Themes (1980), in addition to The Nose.

He also made pinscreen title sequences to Orson Welles’s The Trial, as well as several of the most achingly artistic advertisement films ever. See also Mindscape (1976) by the Canadian artist Jacques Drouin, which was made using the pinscreen.

9. Mad Monster Party? (1967). Dir. by Jules Bass, written and produced by Arthur Rankin. USA.

The Rankin/Bass used stop-motion to firmly occupy the holidays. Rudolf, Frosty, The Year Without Santa Clause-those need no introduction. With this feature, they take on Halloween. This being 1967, there is no short supply of psychedelia.

A true monster’s ball-retiring count Von Frankenstein throws a bash and invites who’s who of pop culture monsters-Frankenstein’s monster and his bride, Werewolf, Dracula, The Mummy, Quasimodo, The Invisible Man, Creature from the Black Lagoon-they’re all there, with an awesomely skeletal band providing the entertainment.

This film is considerably more sophisticated in design and execution than the Rankin/Bass TV specials (characters are a particular riot, thanks to the creative artistry of Mad Magazine cartoonist Jack Davis). Add to that the voice work of Phylis Diller and Boris Karloff. A lesser know production of the studio, but very influential and a true cult classic.

Other works: you won’t miss the specials even if you try. For features, see Willie McBean and his Magic Machine (1965), Hans Christian Andersen stories adaptation The Daydreamer (1966), as well as some of their drawn films-especially, The Last Unicorn.

10. Cheburashka (1972). Dir. by Roman Kachanov. USSR.

The popularity of the title character endures well beyond Russia (he’s huge in Japan), helped recently by it being the unofficial mascot of 2014 Winter Olympics.

This merchandise dynamo is a little creature resembling a walking koala bear with huge round ears. He is friends with Gena the crocodile (who works in a zoo… as a crocodile, and plays one mean accordion), and is usually opposed by the wonderfully antisocial and cantankerous old lady/hooligan Shapoklyak (though they usually make peace and even team up).

Together, they appear in 4 films made in Russia, as well as the Swedish TV series and recent Japanese and South Korean productions.

Other works: in addition to the four Cheburashka films, Kachanov made many more Russian animated classics. Of note are Mitten (1967), an inventive and heartwarming short, and an hour-long drawn animated film The Mystery of the Third Planet (1981), which dazzles to this day with psychedelic universes and fantastic creatures.