In just over twenty-five years and nine feature films, Paul Thomas Anderson has developed a body of work that’s unmatched in contemporary cinema. Where other filmmakers of the video store generation swayed towards genre (Quentin Tarantino), or some towards blockbuster actioners (Christopher Nolan), Anderson stayed true to the emotive impulses of classic cinéma vérité, all whilst dipping his toe in the waters of so-called lesser art. Much like Stanley Kubrick, Anderson immerses us in a different world with every new film, but what’s fascinating is how he manages to stay faithful to his discernible style, still always bringing us something fresh to the table.

Whether it’s Hard Eight or Phantom Thread, if PTA’s films have fundamentally centered on anything, it’s loneliness and alienation. Take Magnolia, an ensemble film in which every character feels the weight of these issues, or Adam Sandler’s Barry in Punch Drunk Love, with his failing business prospects and social ineptitude. Many common themes echo through the eight (soon-to-be-nine) features of the infamous director’s canon, like the parental troubles of Boogie Nights, Magnolia, or There Will Be Blood, but what leaves an everlasting impression of a supposed ‘trademark style’ isn’t just the thematic commonalities, but the technical aspects, too.

This is where film history comes into play, and more specifically, the importance of a great director’s inspiration. Fortunately for us, PTA has been relatively vocal on his influences over the years. He’s never been much for publicity, and for the fanatics of his work, it won’t take long to exhaust the few behind-the-scenes tapes and Q&As floating around on the internet. Nevertheless, through various comments made in written interviews and unashamed references in his work, we can start to determine exactly which pictures define that PTA touch, and precisely which films he recommends to the cinephiles out there.

10. Shoot the Piano Player (1960)

In a 1998 list titled ‘10 Films That Influenced Boogie Nights’, Anderson referenced François Truffaut’s noir classic Shoot the Piano Player for its lasting impact on him, praising Truffaut’s deft ability to play with genre and even calling it the film that taught him how to dress. Upon viewing, much sense can be made of this statement, almost every character clad in either a swanky suit, loosely bound necktie, or flashy blazer, curiously similar to elements of PTA’s attire in his earlier public appearances.

Alas, we’re not here to discuss fashion trends, but the reasons for Anderson’s recommending this film in the first place, of which there are many. A standout aspect the auteur praised was the use of Cinemascope here, which at the time was reserved mostly for big-budget Hollywood movies. This extra space on the screen, although seemingly insignificant, allowed for more focus on character, creating a world in which the backdrop of Paris was simply another landscape alongside the multiple faces that danced across the frame.

Many modern directors found inspiration through French New Wave, Quentin Tarantino even naming his production company A Band Apart after Jean-Luc Godard’s classic of a similar name. What makes PTA’s recommendation interesting, however, is that it isn’t amongst the most renowned entries of the French film movement, Jules and Jim, Breathless or The 400 Blows generally being higher regarded in the broader critical circle. Still, when you take a step back, it’s no wonder this one is an all-timer for the veteran filmmaker. Of all Truffaut pictures, Shoot the Piano Player gets closest to mirroring PTA’s unique approach, resulting in an effortless blend of arthouse and genre.

9. Stray Dog (1949)

Another outlier when compared to the respective filmmaker’s greatest hits, Stray Dog is a hidden gem of master director Akira Kurosawa’s legendary oeuvre, and a general highlight of his police procedural entries. This was yet another film mentioned as a primary influence on Boogie Nights, and when taking the time to set aside the differences, it shows. The film centers on a budding detective who loses his gun, and the ramifications that follow. Anderson complimented the film’s disarming simplicity, saying ‘it has the simplest plot you can say in one sentence: rookie cop loses his gun, he has to get it back. It’s unbelievable.’

Outside of the breakneck pace and sweltering heat of Boogie Nights, Stray Dog has many similarities with PTA’s other work, Inherent Vice being an obvious one. Inherent Vice was Anderson’s first all-out noir film, and so it would make sense that the noirs he adores can be seen in its meandering premise, Joaquin Phoenix’s listless protagonist Doc bearing many of the same traits as Toshirō Mifune’s nerve-wracked Detective Murakami. Mifune’s character is uncharacteristically amateur here, lacking the confidence and sturdiness of his more well-known characters. It’s a role that best displays the versatility of the cherished actor, and his knack for immersing himself in the personalities he assumed.

Like Kurosawa’s more revered High and Low, Stray Dog can be set apart from the rest of the titan director’s work in the sense that it’s not a period piece nor a samurai venture, but a scathing look at the psychological consequences of governmental responsibility, and the social strain of a postwar Tokyo. PTA’s The Master follows similar themes, but instead of looking at Japan, it focuses on those on the other side of the sea. As with most of Anderson’s films, this is a movie that encompasses an entire universe of eclectic topics, all whilst hanging on to its simplistic gravitas as it stumbles drunkenly to the finish line.

8. The Big Sleep (1946)

If Stray Dog had some similarities with Inherent Vice, The Big Sleep utilizes a near-identical method of storytelling. Like PTA’s 2014 noir, Howard Hawks’ genre milestone is as convoluted as it gets, actively challenging the viewer to get lost in its messy myriad of puzzling mysteries. Adapted from the original novel by Raymond Chandler, who openly admitted to not knowing who the murderer of his own story was, the film tells the tale of Humphrey Bogart’s private dick Philip Marlowe, and the rabbit-hole case he finds himself on.

PTA once said of the movie: ‘The Big Sleep is impossible to follow, but it doesn’t matter. You just want to keep watching it, seeing where it goes.’ This, in many ways, is the formula of Inherent Vice; a chaotic adaptation of a chaotic source material. Beyond that, the ramping tension of The Big Sleep resembles many other PTA pictures, making it a movie that’s affected the director’s entire career. The amount of iconic couples the big screen has seen is ceaseless, and whilst John Cassavetes and Gena Rowlands will never be bested on their level of cool, Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart will never be reckoned with on their level of class.

It would be easy to dismiss The Big Sleep as nothing more than a scrambled collage of ideas, but that would be underestimating its legendary influence on the genre. Hawks proves here that an audience needn’t always comprehend a story. If they’re enjoying the performances or the imagery on screen, the tickets will sell themselves. Film noir is a genre that saw its defining years in the 40s, its signature cynicism birthed by the universally endured trauma of WWII, making it like the western in that real-life issues fed into the principles of its style. For its 1946 release, The Big Sleep came at the very end of this terrible time, making it not just a film for the ages, but a film that acts as a mournful, final call. The noir to end all noirs.

7. Something Wild (1986)

Aside from master of Americana Robert Altman, no director has had as much an effect on PTA as veteran craftsman Jonathan Demme. Anderson has long championed Demme as his ‘favorite, top-of-the-line filmmaker,’ referencing his eclectic filmography and masterful use of subjective camerawork. So much of Anderson’s visual technique can be traced back to this, particularly when studying his closeups. It’s no coincidence that the shots of Joaquin Phoenix’s Freddie Quell or Amy Adams’ Peggy Dodd in The Master recall the POVs on Jodie Foster and Anthony Hopkins in The Silence of the Lambs, but it’s Something Wild that resembles the impulsivity of PTA, specifically the youthful allure of his earlier entries.

Something Wild is, for the most part, exactly what it says on the tin. When successful businessman Charles Driggs is kidnapped by free-spirited young woman Audrey ‘Lulu’ Hankel, the unlikely duo wreak havoc on a road trip across America, meanwhile Lulu’s mobster ex-husband Ray Sinclair is hot on their tail. With breathless performances from Melanie Griffith and Jeff Daniels, and a suitably tough-guy turn from Ray Liotta, Demme’s screwball masterpiece oozes entertainment value, making it one of the most thoroughly engaging road movies of the 80s.

It’s no big mystery why Something Wild is a PTA favorite. It’s a typically refreshing entry from a notoriously intangible filmmaker, complimented by master cinematographer Tak Fujimoto’s exquisite framing. Like PTA, Demme was a filmmaker who took pride in realizing a brave new world every time he stepped behind the camera, producing concert films such as Stop Making Sense, courtroom dramas like Philadelphia, or politically taught documentaries like The Agronomist. Sadly, Demme died in April 2017 after battling multiple illnesses, leaving such an impression on Anderson that he dedicated his 2017 film Phantom Thread to his memory. No end credit moment is as emotionally charged as this; a tip of the hat from one great artist to another, thus concluding a long and mutually invaluable friendship.

6. The Passionate Friends (1949)

David Lean was a director adored by many great filmmakers, from Italian masters like Sergio Leone to American icons like Stanley Kubrick, but PTA has always been one of his very most enthused fans. In The Passionate Friends, a film in which a classic love triangle is dissected into its various pros and cons, we find echoes of Anderson’s work, specifically the baroque aesthetic of Phantom Thread. With its snow-capped mountains, New Year’s Eve sequence, and period-Britain backdrop, there are countless reflections of Anderson’s 2017 film here, but what makes the movie extraordinary is how criminally undervalued it is.

Lean, of course, is known for his more famous works Lawrence of Arabia, Bridge on the River Kwai, or Brief Encounter. Interestingly, Brief Encounter focuses on many of the same issues as The Passionate Friends and was released just a few years before, so it’s easy to see the reasons behind its being overshadowed. Anderson confirmed the film as an influence on his work in multiple Q&As, expressing confusion as to why it isn’t more talked about. Upon seeing the film, one can only agree with these comments. This is classic, achingly romantic Lean, representing a sweeter time before sprawling epics would dominate his back-catalog.

If the stellar direction doesn’t do it for you, the performances surely will. With heartbreaking turns from Ann Todd and Trevor Howard, and a standout performance from Claude Rains, this one is a lot more than the Brief Encounter knock-off critics mistook it for. The Passionate Friends is as much a searingly accurate depiction of love, as it is a spot-on portrait of jealousy. Just what is it with love and trains, and why does Lean make them feel so right for each other? Maybe it’s the coming and going, or the skip in the heart when saying goodbye. Lean – forever the master of passion in transit.

What better way to elicit dread than the subversion of the human anatomy? Since Franz Kafka’s acclaimed novella in 1915, The Metamorphosis has always been the grounds for interesting narrative material. As a concept, it works on various levels, from exercises in mind-boggling body horror to allegory for depression and grief. It speaks profoundly to the human condition and the fact that as much as we might not care to admit it, we’re all slowly degrading piece by piece, bound by our unwavering mortal coils. In this list, we’ll take a look at some of the greatest films to feature this process of degradation and the many ways in which they utilize Kafka’s classic story.

1. The Curse of the Werewolf (1961)

Often referenced as one of the weaker Hammer films, The Curse of the Werewolf might just be the most overlooked of the British production house’s canon. Where some are incensed by the lack of Hammer regulars Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, others regard it as an element that only makes the film stand out all the more. Starring Oliver Reed as a mad-eyed Spaniard who exhausts all options in attempting to escape his curse, director Terence Fisher’s undervalued gem harnesses Reed’s performance in a way that is truly spine-tingling, the sprawling set-designs and grizzly practical effects only adding to Reed’s demented characterization.

Some of the criticism rallied against The Curse of the Werewolf is regarding the tones of appropriation, which comes through in the fact that it’s a primarily British cast attempting to recreate 18th century Spain. This does affect believability, and is surely the goofiest component, but if anything, it gives the production design more places to go. In actuality, many of the sets were intended for another film and were at risk of going to waste, and so the producers decided to feature them here. Despite these anachronistic shortcomings, the smoky atmosphere of this one is not to be underestimated.

2. The Nutty Professor (1963)

Whilst Eddie Murphy’s remake lived a larger life in the public consciousness, it’s Jerry Lewis’ original that remains the superior film. Written by, directed by, and starring Lewis himself, The Nutty Professor is one of the great ‘one-man-band’ movies, and an all-around romping exercise in farce. Lewis plays a gawky chemistry teacher who invents a potion that makes him irresistible to his students. As the film makes its way through rambunctious musical numbers and Buster Keaton-esque gags, Lewis’ potion suddenly starts to wear off, and he gradually transforms back into the unsightly man he once was.

The initial transformation scene is typically arresting in its approach, but it’s the moments in which Lewis experiences public humiliation through his regression that bring tones of Kafka’s original story. To top it off, frequent Hitchcock-collaborator Edith Head’s costume designs are to die for, and the Technicolor photography makes the visual style almost uncanny next to Hitch’s 50s entries. Instead of a fiery-eyed James Stewart, however, we get a bucktoothed schmuck playing pranks on the scenery. Yes, it’s a little long and generally too goofy for its own good, but Lewis’ film is guaranteed laughs, and not dated like other slapstick comedies of its era. Pure horror drifting into teenage hysteria.

3. The Skin I Live In (2011)

In this spiritual remake of Eyes Without a Face, Pedro Almodóvar plays with gender norms in a way that’s typical of the envelope-pushing Spanish filmmaker, teetering along the edge between character drama and psychological horror. Featuring Antonio Banderas as a renowned plastic surgeon who invents a synthetic skin that can withstand any form of cosmetic damage, The Skin I Live In is a devastating look at obsession, experimentation, and revenge by any means necessary. It’s the kind of film that ticks along well enough as a by-the-numbers drama, abruptly flipping the cards in the middle to reveal its true colors.

It’s difficult to discuss the metamorphosis aspects of this film without spoiling anything, but it’s fair to say that it’s unlike any approach to the subject the screen has ever seen. For its 2011 release, the influence of its many twists and turns is impressive, to say the least, Alex Garland’s Ex Machina proving to be one of countless obvious byproducts. This is a story in which the character who’s suffering the process of transformation isn’t just changing physically, but they’re changing mentally, too. See it sooner rather than later to avoid the chance of having it spoiled.

4. District 9 (2009)

When South African-Canadian director Neill Blomkamp blasted his way into the industry in 2009, he merged Kafka’s surrealistic novella with the wonderful world of science fiction. District 9 was a new episode in the lifespan of the found footage genre, building on the formula in fresh and inventive ways. For one, it owed more debts to fantasy and action than it did to horror, which was a genuine rarity for the form. It was also rooted deeply in South African culture, its unique premise of an alien spacecraft floating in stasis above Johannesburg serving as one of its most memorable aspects.

With a tragic yet hysterical performance from Sharlto Copley as Wikus, a bumbling bureaucrat from The Department of Alien Affairs, we see that human nature is far more barbaric than that of any alien. Due to their mothership’s malfunctioned state, the prawn-like aliens find themselves trapped in impoverished refugee camps that stretch across the ghettos of South Africa; a hellish limbo that lingers in the shadow of their craft. As Wikus conducts his investigative detail amid it all, he meets with something of an incident, and from there on out we watch through splayed fingers as he turns slowly from man to monster.

5. Raw (2016)

Unlike the other films on this list, Raw is a little different due to there being no physical transformation that occurs. In that regard, this isn’t a metamorphosis movie in Kafka’s sense, but Garance Marillier’s ability to bring her character’s downfall into full focus is nearly enough to tick that box. Following the life of sixteen-year-old veterinary student Justine and her sudden cravings to eat raw meat (regardless of origin), Raw throws full swing and doesn’t pull any punches, Justine’s perilous descent into a carnivorous lifestyle providing half the bite.

Another thing to note with Raw is the fact it’s a debut, a pill that is seriously hard to swallow when considering its well-versed understanding of cinematic technique. By the end of this fright-fest, Justine is an animal compared to the quiet and timid vegetarian she once was, allowing for the transformation to come full circle. Julia Ducournau’s 2016 horror outlives its contemporaries due to how far it is willing to go, adding yet another avant-garde masterpiece to French cinema’s ever-expanding back-catalog of auteur achievements.

The French have long held their place as the arbiters of many things, from the inimitable architecture of The Eiffel Tower and gothic design of The Notre-Dame, to the precious vineyards of Bordeaux and masterful paintings of The Louvre, but if there’s anything they’ve succeeded in since its inception, it’s the intangible artistry that flickers in the silver screen. The dawn of this beloved medium can be traced back to two French brothers, Auguste and Louis Lumière, both of whom released the world’s first commercially projected images with a rudimentary camera-projector in 1895. Later screenings followed, one of which had Georges Méliès in attendance, inspiring him to eventually go on and direct A Trip to the Moon in 1902. This endeavor would later be recognized as the birth of Science Fiction film, and perhaps the most influential silent short of all time.

The industry has seen a significant evolutionary shift since then, and France has never once wavered on its dedication to the cinematographic field. Several important film movements evolved over the course of the following century, not least the universally influential boom of The Nouvelle Vague. Francophiles and cinephiles alike have undoubtedly seen many of the popularized classics, milestones like Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless and Jean Vigo’s L’Atalante proving to be mandatory viewings. This list aims to sing the praises of overlooked gems that have been pushed to the wayside over time, despite their many fluctuating attributes.

10. A Gorgeous Girl Like Me (1972)

Aside from Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut is quite easily the most renowned name in all of French cinema, many of his films such as Jules et Jim and The 400 Blows changing the art form forever. Often hailed the father of French New Wave, Truffaut was at the forefront of the revolutionary movement, taking the cinematic grammar of Alfred Hitchcock and building on it in a wholly original way. Luckily for us, the French auteur’s filmography stems well beyond his more celebrated works, leaving us with many unappreciated films to delve into, and A Gorgeous Girl Like Me is no exception.

This screwball comedy is a highly underseen entry from Truffaut, comprised of a wide-ranging concoction of genre ingredients. Part prison movie, part musical, part sociological thesis, this ninety-eight-minute foray into absurdism offers so much more than its reputation (or lack thereof) suggests, with a beautifully zany score from famed composer Georges Delerue, and stunning performances from Nouvelle Vague regulars Bernadette Lafont and André Dussollier.

To begin with, the film starts as an unrequited love story between two individuals, gradually sliding into more unpredictable territory. Dussollier’s Stanislas Prévine, a young sociology student preparing his thesis on criminal women, begins an intimate interview process with alleged murderer and prisoner Camille Bliss, whose youthful allure and energizing charisma is too much for him to deny. Slowly but surely, we learn the history of Lafont’s beguiling character, and how she came to be in the unfortunate position she’s in. As Stanislas wrestles with his abilities to keep things professional, Truffaut’s vérité style floods to the fore, making for a film that’s not only brimming with sardonic humor, but true to the staples of French filmmaking.

9. Zazie dans le Métro (1960)

If you thought A Gorgeous Girl Like Me was as impulsive and farcical as it gets, try Louis Malle’s overlooked comedy Zazie dans le Métro. Alongside Truffaut, Malle is regularly considered one of the greatest of French directors, films like My Dinner with Andre and Elevator to the Gallows often standing out as his better-known achievements. These films, however, differ from Zazie dans le Métro in the fact that they follow more cinematic conventions, making them slightly more palatable to mainstream audiences.

Attempting to describe this film is no easy task. Released in 1960 during the initial rise of French New Wave, Malle’s anarchic vision makes the most experimental films of the time look tame; an endless supply of editing tricks and visual gags setting it well apart from the rest. The plot remains a relatively simple one: an adventurous ten-year-old takes a trip to Paris for a weekend with her raffish uncle. The result, on the other hand, is as complex as it gets, a carnival of uproarious slapstick and innovative cinematic technique.

This is, of course, a film that isn’t for everyone, but when judging it by its own merits, it’s evidently deserving of a lot more recognition. Other than Richard Ayoade citing it as a major inspiration for his lovingly crafted coming-of-age flick Submarine, Zazie has somewhat slipped under the radar in comparison to Malle’s other work, which is regrettable when considering just how much fun it is. If you’re a filmgoer who’s always on the lookout for something unique, or in search of a gamble as opposed to an overdone story, look no further than Malle’s chaotic masterwork.

8. La Pointe Courte (1955)

Compiling a list on French cinema and not including Agnès Varda virtually classifies as a cardinal sin, so what better than La Pointe Courte as an example of one of her most underpraised achievements. This ravishing black and white marriage story has no shortage of standout qualities, its panoramic photography complimenting the heartrending performances perfectly. Set in an industry-dominated port town called Sète, sat proudly on the coast of Southern France, Varda’s eye wanders between two distinctive styles, one which captures the cultural quirks of life from a documentary perspective, and another that tells a more straightforward narrative.

It’s surprising that La Pointe Courte doesn’t get the credit it’s entitled to, especially when considering Varda’s reputation as one of the few women to help bring French New Wave into action. For its 1955 release date, this came to the screen long before Godard and Truffaut had even made a dent in their careers, further proving that the beginnings of the esteemed film movement are as much feminine as they are masculine, if not more so.

Maybe the most impressive thing about La Pointe Courte though, is the fact it’s a debut. With nothing but photography experience prior to filming, Varda managed to flesh out the beginnings of an entire cinematic revolution, with a cast and crew that barely exceeded a dozen people. In actual fact, this film predates many corners of European cinema, from the Swedish shore-gazing of Ingmar Bergman’s Through a Glass Darkly, to the gloomy, love-doomed atmosphere of Alain Resnais’ Hiroshima Mon Amour. If any debut needs more recognition, it’s this one.

7. The Man Who Sleeps (1974)

Adapted from the deeply existential source material by novelist Georges Perec, little-known director Bernard Queysanne demonstrates a resounding apathy for the world in his unforgivably forgotten 1974 debut, surrealistic thrills and impending doom colliding to create what can only be described as some of the most relentlessly aggressive fatalism any art form has ever seen. Imagine something close to the internal commentary of Travis Bickle’s hateful tirades from Taxi Driver and you’re on the money, but unlike the slow, meditative nature of Scorsese’s masterpiece, Queysanne’s magnum opus runs at an unshakeable speed.

Following the life of a single character, a twenty-five-year-old university student who finds himself steadily giving up on his commitments, Queysanne crafts a world of palpable depression. Few films whittle sadness down so effectively, lead Jacques Spiesser’s facial expressions doing much of the legwork, with not a single word spoken by the actor during the entire runtime. Over the stark black and white imagery, a woman speaks a poetically inclined, Godardian voiceover from his perspective, a sort-of phonetic instrumental to the man’s life, and all its hopeless mundanity.

Of every film on this list, The Man Who Sleeps might be the most unsung of them all. The directorial talent on display here is just godly, with swooping, majestic camera movements and confounding visual trickery, recalling boundary-breaking montage pieces like Dziga Vertov’s Man with a Movie Camera or Chris Marker’s Sans Soleil. Film essays are rarely this bleak, so make sure to prepare yourself going in. This is loneliness at its most unflinchingly portrayed, a masterpiece of penetrating cynicism, and it deserves to be championed as such.

6. Jean de Florette (1986)

Another gut-punching French adaptation, Claude Berri’s Jean de Florette is a film that was highly revered on release, but over the years it’s been strangely amiss from general conversation. The picture takes place in the rolling hills of Provence and tells the stories of Yves Montand’s aging farmer César, and his nephew, Daniel Auteuil’s Ugolin, who together cast their envious eyes on the desirable spring-water of their neighbor’s land.

As you can imagine, a moral tale of scheming and greed unravels, the likes of which has been told many times before, but never in quite this way. The important thing to note is that this particular film bears a deeper meaning when screened consecutively with its sequel Manon des Sources, the two pictures acting as a counterbalanced two-parter the same way Francis Ford Coppola’s first two Godfather films did over a decade earlier. At the end of Manon des Sources comes one of cinema’s all-time greatest twists, a moment of revelation that would take even the thickest-skinned viewer’s breath away in an instant, making the near-four-hour journey beyond worth it.

As fate would have it, both of these films are outrageously forgotten, and a reprisal of love for Berri’s sympathetically told fable is about due. As agricultural epics go, this has all the capitalistic hunger of There Will Be Blood, and all the photographic grandiosity of Days of Heaven, leaving us with an overlooked masterpiece that tugs at the heartstrings in every conceivable way. At its core, it showcases the natural beauty of the world in all its glory, and how that’s always juxtaposed with the inherent cruelty of it. Fate isn’t fair, and sometimes the good and the pitiable fail whilst the evil and greedy prosper. The incongruous facts of life.

Horror has long stood as a genre of many varying facets, mostly for the fact that fear is a primary emotion, and what scares us ranges drastically from person to person. Everyone has experienced fear in some capacity, even if sometimes we don’t care to admit it, and so the empathy we feel with the genre is a core component to its high success rate. Directors often make their debut features in horror, David Lynch’s Eraserhead, Stuart Gordon’s Re-Animator, and Robert Eggers’ The Witch are just a handful of examples. What we don’t always consider is how incomparably colossal the full spectrum of horror ultimately is; a spindly web comprised of a dozen or more spooky subgenres.

From gialli to slashers, to psychological thrillers, horror petrifies avid moviegoers in many forms, but none of these numerous branches rival conspiracy-horror when looking at paranoia-induced scares alone. Conspiracy-horror is best defined by that intangible feeling something is wrong, despite not quite knowing what to put your finger on. Usually, it features a protagonist lost in a labyrinthine mystery, with a band of side characters concealed in an underlying plot against them. These themes are often explored in films that aren’t necessarily down-the-line horrors, like Stanley Kubrick’s psychosexual masterpiece Eyes Wide Shut, or Philip Kaufman’s bone-chilling Sci/Fi reimagining of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Of course, these films are undoubtedly stone-cold classics, but nothing quite compares to a conspiracy film that’s committed to the trappings of a full-tilt chiller.

10. Society (1989)

Unjustly panned on release, Brian Yuzna’s Society is as sticky and schlocky as they come, but it’s a whole lot more than its surface. Besides some gruesome body horror that gives the great David Cronenberg a run for his money, a probing commentary on capitalism and class divide remains, the likes of which the medium had never before seen. For its 1989 release, the practical effects here are an obvious ode to the film’s respective decade, a continuation of more celebrated achievements such as The Thing or An American Werewolf in London.

Aside from the technical sorcery in the gore department, the conspiracy Yuzna methodically builds in Society is its most alluring draw. Following the life of rich kid Bill Whitney, panic slowly descends as he discovers a dark secret in his family, throwing him headfirst into a morbidly curious mission in search of the truth. As LA movies go, this is a uniquely satirical affair, with thick farce and silly dialog consuming the frame before it eventually goes full Rosemary’s Baby. Out of the abundance of cult films, Society is surely one of the most overlooked of the bunch. Hyper-stylized as it may be, there’s truly nothing like it.

9. Get Out (2017)

Arguably the most original take on the subgenre in years, Jordan Peele’s Get Out took a customarily white premise and fused it with an African American focus. Both an indictment of white supremacy and a tragicomic play on America’s odious history, Peele’s film shook the industry as the very first of its kind, tearing down the whitewashed foundations and crafting something entirely new.

In that sense, Get Out works as a brilliant subversion act, taking the picket-fenced orthodoxy of the average conspiracy-horror and flipping it on its head completely. Daniel Kaluuya’s central performance is one for the history books, destined to be remembered as one of the great, iconic turning points in the history of black characters. His turn is all the more impressive when you realize he’s English, his American accent surely one of the best in the business. Peele supplements Kaluuya’s sincerity with a biting social commentary, allowing for an energizing mix of horror and hilarity. The equally wealthy Knives Out family were pieces of work, but they paled in comparison to the unrepentant evil of the Armitages.

8. The House of the Devil (2009)

The 2010s saw a booming revival of retro filmmaking, with modern classics like Drive, The Guest, or even the John Wick franchise, but what seemed like something of an impetus for the craze was the 2009 film The House of the Devil. Ti West’s 80s homage was the closest thing cinema had seen to John Carpenter in a long, long time, with slow-zooms, synth music, and a simple, slow-burn premise carrying it along. West’s film walks us through a creepy nostalgia-trip with admirable dedication, all before plummeting into a no-holds-barred final fifteen minutes. The flash imagery in this movie is horrifying, The Exorcist being one of the few films to compete with its use of the jarring technique.

Tracking the life of Samantha, a college student who takes a mysterious babysitting job that coincides with a lunar eclipse, the paranoia creeps in as she uncovers the heinous truths behind the family who employed her, revealing a world she never deemed possible to exist. With equally engaging performances from lead Jocelin Donahue and the ever-sinister Tom Noonan, and a standout early performance from actor/director Greta Gerwig, The House of the Devil is a 16mm time capsule of heartfelt craft. It’s also one of the greatest modern films to showcase how mobile phones, as painful as it is to acknowledge, somewhat ruined suspense in contemporary horror.

7. The Possessed (1965)

With Franco Rossellini (nephew of Roberto) in the director’s chair, and Renzo Rossellini (brother of Roberto) scoring the music, The Possessed is a blood-curdling exercise in pre-giallo horror from Italian royalty, and yet, for some unknown reason, it’s been pushed to the wayside. The crisp, black-and-white photography is a feast of visual prowess, and the dynamic camera movements float with all the precision of Federico Fellini’s esteemed back-catalog. Following a depressed man who becomes obsessed with the supposed suicide of a woman he once pursued romantically, the rural neighborhood shifts from a seemingly innocuous lakeside town to a highly suspicious environment, every other character seeming eerily in the know.

In many ways, The Possessed is a pivotal precursor to the giallo genre. There’s a good chance Mario Bava’s Bay of Blood owes it something, with its chilly, autumnal atmosphere and gloomy lakeside aesthetic. Neorealism is a cornerstone of cinema that’s often manipulated into a more genre-centric form, and Rossellini’s work here proves that. With the help of co-director Luigi Bazzoni, The Possessed reigns supreme as the epitome of an underpraised conspiracy-horror. A remarkably compelling, noir-esque excursion into gnawing paranoia.

6. Kill List (2011)

Equal parts The Shining and The Wicker Man, Ben Wheatley’s cult-horror classic is as gnarly as it gets, with on-screen injury detail beyond what many censors would deem to be morally acceptable. S. Craig Zahler’s notoriously gory western Bone Tomahawk is one of the few modern-day genre films to match this kind of unflinching barbarism, but even that lacks the sadistic intent behind the violence. Kill List starts off under the guise of a simple British crime story, abruptly turning the tables when we least expect it.

Wheatley’s affinity for conspiracy shows here, an insidious plot revealing itself as the rabbit hole deepens. What begins as a character drama between two allied hitmen becomes something else altogether, a straightforward romp morphed into an exploitation extravaganza. For its estimated budget of $800,000, Wheatley made magic happen on this one, his wife and co-writer Amy Jump helping see it through to the bitter end. To this day, few British films have competed with this level of graphic content. There’s no forgetting the images on display here, no matter how hard you want to.

Ever since the invention of the movie-camera, danger has always served as a core ingredient of cinema. The very nature of its original form is a recipe for disaster, a highly flammable nitrate film-base, used from the time of its invention in 1888 all the way into the early 50s. For whatever reason, when it comes to art or entertainment, our necessity for danger can sometimes be overwhelming. Humanity’s general desire for barbaric realism goes all the way back to the gladiatorial arenas of Ancient Rome, and yet, even this far into so-called civilization, mistakes can still be made.

There have been countless movie mishaps over the years, from the injured stuntman falsely rumored to have lost his life during the chariot race in Ben-Hur, to the tragic deaths of three actors performing a stunt with a helicopter on Twilight Zone: The Movie, two of whom were children. Of course, health and safety organizations have clamped down considerably since then, but there are some films that still somehow manage to slip through the cracks. This list focuses less on single-case incidents of injury, and more on films that were specifically known to facilitate dangerous production environments, but surfaced as great cinematic works, nonetheless.

10. Roar (1981)

Judging by pure visible danger alone, no film tops Roar in sheer idiotic audacity. This one-of-a-kind glorified home-video isn’t by any means a great narrative feat, but for what it lacks in story it more than makes up for in riveting exhibitionism. Directed, produced, written by and starring Noel Marshall, as well as his two sons, his then wife Tippi Hedren, and her daughter Melanie Griffith, Roar claws its way into the beating heart of morbid intrigue, a film which reportedly featured over one-hundred and fifty animals, most of them being big cats.

Over seventy separate on-set injuries were recorded, many of which can be seen in the finished film. It’s near-impossible to categorize a film this unique, but primarily it falls into the realm of exploitation, as so little of it conforms to orthodox storytelling. Amongst the more severe injuries was that of cinematographer Jan De Bont, who was quite literally scalped by a lion and barely survived the grueling attack. Melanie Griffith was also mauled, receiving serious facial lacerations and even concerns from doctors that she might lose an eye.

These two injuries alone amounted to nearly two-hundred stitches, and that’s not even counting the other attacks. Although Roar seems to suggest a do-good message of conservationism and animal welfare, it stands, over time, as an example of what not to do in the film industry, and to let nature be nature without human intervention. This, in essence, is why it remains so important. Not to mention the music is a treat. If you thought Tiger King was nerve-wracking, try this one out for size.

9. Cannibal Holocaust (1980)

Another controversial exploitation classic, Cannibal Holocaust has grown in cult status over the years, never ceasing to haunt every new generation of cinephiles. In many ways, this is the definitive bad stain of stigma on the industry, largely due to the inhumane treatment of animals, most of which can be seen in the movie. To make matters worse, director Ruggero Deodato’s shooting methods were supposedly verging on sadistic, asking the cast to mutilate and kill the animals themselves, as well as screaming at one actress when she felt uncomfortable performing a nude scene.

This evokes an age-old debate: can we judge the film in an artistic capacity despite the immorality of its origin? Shot almost entirely on-location in the Amazon, Deodato essentially had free-reign here, a situation which perpetuated a work environment that was subject to all manners of abuse. Perhaps the most concerning scene of the film sees the lead actors burning down wooden huts with South American locals standing inside them. These native tribes received minimal pay, and some reports state that Deodato asked them to stand amidst the raging flames for an inordinate amount of time. In the face of all this, the film still manages to hang on to its artistic merit.

Sergio Leone once quoted Cannibal Holocaust as a ‘masterpiece of photographic realism’, and as conflicting as it may be to admit, he was right. This film so convincingly emulates violence that Deodato was actually arrested on its release, and the years have taken nothing away from it. Both the figurehead for the term ‘video-nasty’ and the first ever foray into found-footage filmmaking, Deodato’s sadistic work prevails, made all the better by Riz Ortolani’s giallo-inflected music.

8. Candyman (1992)

On the subject of giallo, many new-wave filmmakers rehashed the blood-and-guts mayhem first coined by Mario Bava, most notably Brian De Palma, but it was English director Bernard Rose who created perhaps the most unique meditation on the genre. Candyman is just brimming with ideas, from the opening steady-cam helicopter shot, to the complex political commentary on subjugation and racial divide in America.

This film depends so much on the universally understood fear of bees, featuring one scene in which Tony Todd had an entire swarm placed inside his mouth. This, understandably, made everyone nervous, but it was Todd who ultimately benefitted. A compensational sum of a thousand dollars was written into his contract for each sting, a clause that’s long been recognized as one of the strangest contractual obligations ever penned. By the end of filming, Todd had been stung a total of twenty-three times, bagging a hefty paycheck for his minor injuries.

Unfortunately for the cast and crew, that’s not even the half of it. A large portion of this cult-horror was shot on Chicago’s now demolished Cabrini-Green Housing Projects, an address that was notoriously publicized for violent crime. The producers even secured a deal with the leading gang-members of the area, signing a contract that stipulated if the productions team’s safety could be ensured, the local gangs would appear in the film as extras. Even after this agreement was made, a sniper fired a bullet into the back of a production van on the final day of filming. Miraculously, nobody was injured.

7. Medium Cool (1969)

Master cinematographer Haskell Wexler, well known for his work on The Conversation, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Faces, turned his attention towards directing in this overlooked quasi-documentary, marching his cast and crew into what was essentially an all-out, rampaging Civil War.

Incorporating the Chicago civil rights riots of 68’ into the narrative, Wexler had the actors wade through crowds of armed police and violent protesters, weaving his story through the chaos. These riots, sparked in part by the assassination of Martin Luther King, were among some of the most devastating in American history. For a sense of scale, more than two days of protests left eleven Chicago citizens dead, forty-eight wounded by police gunfire, ninety policemen injured, and an estimated 2,150 people arrested.

With this historical event contained within Wexler’s fictitious story, Medium Cool stands out as an unconventional examination of political uproar, a young Robert Forster giving a mesmerizing performance at the center of it. It’s an accomplishment of unbridled dedication from both cast and crew alike. Many instances of police brutality are caught on film during the riot sequence, and at one point the camera-crew are even teargassed. All in all, this is an unmissable, albeit high-risk, paradigm of late-60s cinema.

6. Easy Rider (1969)

Maybe the ultimate celluloid example of late-60s counterculture, Easy Rider has long been applauded for its revolutionary dive into independent filmmaking, but the worryingly lawless nature of the shoot can sometimes be underestimated. Under Dennis Hopper’s intoxicated direction, the film maps the journey of three lovable hippies smuggling cocaine from Mexico to Los Angeles, played by Hopper himself, Peter Fonda, and Jack Nicholson.

Considering the political turmoil in America at the time, making this rebellious film was no safe task to be burdened with. Many inhabitants of the states the cast and crew travelled through were relentlessly hostile, not taking kindly to laidback hippies tearing through their terrain on loud Harley-Davidsons. To make matters worse, the three leads consumed a considerable amount of drink and drugs on the road, and on one occasion Hopper was even jumped when entering a bar.

This hostility is best exemplified during the scene in which the three actors enter a café in an attempt to pick up some women, all to be met by a slew of homophobic vitriol from the men sitting inside, one of which was a local police officer. Apparently, these men were non-actors, and when the crew heard them badmouthing the production, or more specifically, the trio’s long, shaggy haircuts, they were asked if they wouldn’t mind keeping up with the remarks on film.