There are a multitude of reasons why Sight and Sound's The Greatest Films of All Time list sucked harder than the cabin pressure in Auric Goldfinger's plane. Accepting nominations made by a film critic who hadn't even watched Enter the Dragon (1973) until its fiftieth anniversary, and taking them remotely seriously, has got to be a major one.
Your host wouldn't have Enter the Dragon on his list either, but is still a fan regardless; copping an uncut bootleg during the BBFC regime era, and even owning the classic OST by Lalo Schifrin. The question is: how could any professional film critic have a movie blindspot as massive as the one that's associated with turning Bruce Lee into a global superstar and still be respected?
This example really does give validity to Paul Schrader's claims in an IndieWire interview that the poll was rigged by "not actual film critics", regardless of it coming off like unapologetic film snobbery. Additionally, in that very same piece, he loosely blamed the current state of film criticism on Quentin Tarantino's attitude and opinions being constantly regurgitated by the masses. As much as I enjoy QT's thoughts on film rather than his own recent material, he did piss off Shannon Lee, Bruce's daughter, and ended up doubling down on his negative portrayal of the martial arts legend in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019). Might not be on a critic's payroll, but even I know that indulgent, meandering mess was greatly inferior to Enter the Dragon. Shame on any film critic thinking otherwise.
Maybe it's middle age, but tolerance for epic feature films has taken a noticeable plunge since my bladder took over. Alas, intermissions, which a were a common recess in the past, are no longer common in these modern times, which is baffling, since today's films are usually around two hours minimum as standard and a welcome break is probably more necessary now than it ever was.
The real problem is the unnecessary scene filler to pad out a film when it really doesn't need to be. Dune, Terrifier 2, and Top Gun: Maverick were relatively recent films I thoroughly enjoyed, but even they felt too long to me.
Of course, there are exceptions where a film's epic length isn't a soul-crushing experience. Thus, here is a list of films, 150 minutes minimum (not including director/extended cuts or special editions) which miraculously managed to maintain the interest of your host:
Honourable mentions omitted for being a couple of minutes shy:
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (Sergio Leone, 1966); Apocalypse Now (Francis Ford Coppola, 1979); Das Boot (Wolfgang Peterson, 1981); and All Quiet on the Western Front (Edward Berger, 2022).
Dada Debaser Bonus:
Less a film and more of a form of masochism, imagine the poor sap opting to waste over a month of their life watching the art-house film Logistics. Clocking in at a whopping 51,420 minutes (35 days and 17 hours), it chronicles the reverse journey of a pedometer from retail to manufacture. Chances are it would be more stimulating than anything on QVC, though.
Logistics (AKA Logistics Art Project) (72 Minute Edit)
Hanna Bergholm's Hatching (2022) was one of the best films I watched last year, and seeing it getting some shine in a recent episode from the web series, Trailers from Hell, was a pleasant surprise. Even more unexpected, is that it's the legendary Joe Dante giving the film some much deserved love; dispelling the myth that boomers are out of touch with cinema of today.
Considering Hatching was either so under the radar of most film heads that it never got a chance breaking into the mainstream spotlight, or potentially mis-labelled with the wildly pretentious "elevated horror" tag, any kind of positive commentary, especially when it's uttered by an esteemed director such as Joe Dante, is a welcome one.
Can't comment on Hubbs' theory regarding Blue Öyster Cult's Don't Fear the Reaper being a fanbase litmus test, but I do know his mate, Joe, was the ginger, Grunge looking head from The People Under the Stairs (1991); and more importantly, three instances where the song fits perfectly in either a horror film or television series:
Halloween (Pot Smoking scene)
John Carpenter, 1978
According to IMDb, the first time Don't Fear the Reaper made an appearance on film was in John Carpenter's horror classic, Halloween (1978). It might also be the very first time I ever heard the song for that matter.
It's low key inclusion works beautifully in this pot smoking scene. Much like Dr. Loomis, the song serves its purpose like an ominous prophet of doom. The "my dad!" moment where Annie spot her father's car, and who happens to be Sheriff Brackett, conveniently has two purposes: the universal stoned teens getting possibly caught with drugs scenario, and the viewer learning that Haddonfield's finest has stolen some William Shatner masks, is tooled up and ready to party for the night.
Sadly, this wasn't the only time the song made an appearance in the franchise: both Rob Zombie's awful remake and David Gordon Green's travesty of a "requel" trilogy incorporated it for the sake of nostalgia.
The Stand (Opening Credits scene)
Mick Garris, 1994
Props to Mick Garris' opening credits sequence from the 1994 TV mini-series, The Stand appearing early on in what's otherwise six hours of my life I'll never get back. Despite being checked out by the series, the opening credits were, and still are, TV excellence. So good that they play out in my
mind's eye whenever I hear the song.
It's Armageddon time for us all as a deadly virus finds its way into the world. The way the camera hauntingly pans over various areas of the military complex and its dead occupants while the song plays is chillingly effective. The end of days has begun.
I can barely remember anything else from The Stand other than Rob Lowe being in it, the demonic Randall Flagg reminding me of Billy Connolly, and a nuke going off in Las Vegas, which was nowhere near as awesome as I hoped. Probably explains why I haven't really checked for anything else adapted from Stephen King ever since, with the exceptions of The Green Mile (1999) and The Mist (2007).
X (R.J's Death)
Ti West, 2022
Ti West's return to making horror films with not one, but two fine films, was a sterling comeback. X was a wonderful slasher period piece that evoked the early films of Tobe Hopper and general seventies grindhouse. A slow burner for sure, but the journey was just as much fun as its gruesomely final destination. Mia Goth became 2022's face of horror well before that prequel monologue when she grossed me out as the geriatric and horny psychopath, Pearl. The scene where she's turned down from her sexual advances by R.J while Don't Fear the Reaper blares out from his car's stereo, is a sight to behold. The spray of blood over the car's illuminating headlight, basking the gruesomely violent murder scene in a crimson red is Argentoesque to say the least. Absolutely beautiful.
Sadly, the legacy of the song has descended into insufferable brainlets reviving an ancient meme from a primordial era SNL sketch, and YouTubers incorporating it their awful fan videos, which have successfully rick rolled me while searching for actual ripped movies scenes on the net. Might explain why I prefer B.O.C's Godzilla these days.
