Last night — the night of the first truly warm day of spring — I couldn’t get to sleep. That happens to me a lot on Sunday nights. I settle into bed with a book, but as I read, all the things that I have to get done in the upcoming week creep into my brain and start agitating for me to write them down (or, more often, pestering me for not doing them over the weekend, when I had a bit more free time, instead of sleeping off a hangover or wasting nearly three hours watching Everybody’s All-American, a movie I don’t even like that much), and then I don’t feel sleepy at all, and then I start worrying about not fitting in enough sleep before the alarm goes off, and then my pillows refuse to cooperate and become either too flat or too rigid (last night, one of them coughed up a feather which scratched my earlobe — thanks, guys), and then the covers get all tangled, and then the cats think it’s a perfect time to play since I evince none of the signs of sleeping, and there I lie, wide awake, my pillows in an unruly ball, my covers in a Gordian knot, watching the cats attack a straw wrapper. It’s then that I head to the bookshelf for one of my insomnia books — tomes I’ve read a hundred times that have the power to lull me to sleep. Last night, I selected Roger Ebert’s I Hated, Hated, Hated This Movie and opened it up partway through, to a scathing review of some De Sica film or other which mentioned in passing the American Film Institute’s 100 Greatest Movies list. I read on, and as my eyelids finally began to surrender to the siren song of sleep, I made a mental note to look up the list today and perhaps write a piece on it.

Well, sad to say, I haven’t gotten around to seeing many of the films listed. But not knowing anything about a subject has seldom stopped me from expounding on it, so let’s get started, shall we? (You can find the list here, sans bitchy comments.)

1. Citizen Kane. My brother and I rented Citizen Kane years ago. At the time, we found it sort of boring. Well, not boring, exactly — trite. Flat. Too familiar. Upon watching it again more recently, I realized just how many of film’s visual and storytelling conventions owe themselves to CK. It’s a brilliant film and an excellent way to put everything that came after it in context.

2. Casablanca. I have a list on my computer of films I want to see, or think I “should” see, so that I don’t waste quite so much dazed time in the video store. Casablanca is on the “should see” list, because I’ve never seen it, but quite frankly I don’t really want to see it. Humphrey Bogart acts like a powerful sedative on my central nervous system; even flipping past him on Turner Classic Movies sends me running for the coffee. I don’t know that it should come in at number two, but again, I haven’t seen it.

3. The Godfather. No arguments here.

4. Gone With The Wind. I have never watched GWTW from start to finish. I have tried, but I can’t do it. It…just…goes on…so…long. And it’s…not very good. Okay, okay, but hear me out. Aside from the successful execution of spectacle, what makes the film great, the fourth greatest film of all time? I can’t point to anything. The acting is quite good, and I can forgive the racism and the sexism and whatnot, given the Civil War setting and the 1939 release date. But it’s based on a terrible, terrible book, and the story in and of itself isn’t very compelling. I get the feeling that it’s considered a classic because it made such a big splash when it came out and has so many Hollywood legends in it, but the whole is lesser than the sum of the parts. And it’s not fourth, no way.

5. Lawrence Of Arabia. Great cinematography and even greater Peter O’Toole — in one of the most stupefying movies ever made. I mean, there’s “great” in the context of film history, and then there’s “great” in terms of watching it without face-planting in the salsa. I don’t see either “great” at work here. Park it down in the forties if you must, but…fifth? Please. They grind up bits of stock from this film to make Sominex.

6. The Wizard Of Oz. I guess sheer love can get a movie bumped up on the list. Oz has a magic about it that you can’t explain; it’s the opposite of Gone With The Wind. So, no argument.

7. The Graduate. It’s a great movie. It presages the music video in a lot of ways. Its design — the editing, the sound — is flawlessly married to the content. Anne Bancroft is remarkable in it. It’s not “important,” but it’s perfectly turned. I wouldn’t have thought to put it seventh, but it works for me.

8. On The Waterfront. I will have to take the word of film scholars that it’s a great film, because Marlon Brando — I don’t know. I feel like, whenever I see him acting, that I See Him Acting, and I can’t get past that to see if he’s actually delivering a great performance or if it’s the seeds of self-parody. Long story short, I haven’t seen the film and don’t plan to because I don’t have the patience.

9. Schindler’s List. Spielberg gets a lot of shit from film snobs — this amateur film snob included — but this is a wonderful movie in that it manipulates you, and you can feel it, but you don’t care. It’s also one of the few “important” films that earns the adjective. And I don’t think much of Spielberg’s composition, usually, because he uses too many visual short-cuts, but he has a handful of breathtaking shots in Schindler’s List. Ninth seems a little high, but out of gratitude that they didn’t vote Jaws into the top ten, I’ll take it.

10. Singin’ In The Rain. I cannot abide musicals. Haven’t seen this, never will, have a hard time believing it deserves tenth.

11. It’s A Wonderful Life. Yet another example of a movie that almost everyone not in diapers has seen making it onto the list by sheer dint of longevity. I watch it every Christmas just like everyone else, but it’s cavity-inducing. Bump it down the list at least fifty slots.

12. Sunset Boulevard. Now, there’s no way that It’s A Wonderful Life or Bore-ence Of Arabia should make it onto the list ahead of SB. If you haven’t seen it, you must. About a dozen pop-cult references will explain themselves to you, and the acting is outstanding.

13. Bridge On The River Kwai. I have not seen it, but it’s on my list.

14. Some Like It Hot. Eh. It’s fine. I didn’t hate it. Fourteenth is too high.

15. Star Wars. I agree with the ranking. The writing is really, really awful, but you tend not to notice, and the film inarguably changed cinema and the way Americans consume it. It’s hard not to think that The Empire Strikes Back deserves the slot, but Star Wars broke the ground, so I’ve got no problem with it.

16. All About Eve. Haven’t seen it; it’s on the list.

17. The African Queen. See my Bogey comments above. I have zero desire to see it. I hear that it’s wonderful, but I heard that about Ocean Colour Scene too, and they suck.

18. Psycho. It’s not Hitchcock’s best work, but it’s the one everyone remembers, so…okay. I’d put Vertigo in its place, and higher up, but that’s me.

19. Chinatown. I didn’t like this movie, because I don’t like Jack Nicholson. I can’t name another actor as overrated as Nicholson, and Chinatown didn’t do anything to change my mind — just the opposite. I mean, he’s not bad or anything. He gets it done. I just don’t see the big deal, about him or about the film.

20. One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. Okay, here’s the exception to the rule. Nicholson kicked ass in Cuckoo’s Nest. The entire movie is put together so well that you feel suffocated yourself by the end; it just presses the breath out of you, and I mean that as a compliment. And I can name perhaps three villains in the history of film that rival Louise Fletcher’s Nurse Ratched. It’s a great film, and I think it’s ranked correctly.

21. The Grapes Of Wrath. I enjoyed the film. Twenty-first seems a bit high, but it’s a very good movie and an acting tour de force.

22. 2001: A Space Odyssey. I’d like to see this ranked higher, actually. I don’t love Kubrick, but 2001 is an amazing film. A lot of people don’t think the pacing leads to a big enough payoff, but I disagree, and it leaves you wondering what the hell just happened — the hallmark of an excellent film.

23. The Maltese Falcon. I have not seen it. I probably will not see it.

24. Raging Bull. I’d prefer a different Scorsese here. It’s definitely a very good movie, but I didn’t find it as affecting as other films of his; it seems more heavy-handed, more laborious. Perhaps that’s the point, but still.

25. E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial. Another audience-love vote. It’s not a great movie, but I still cry at the end, so there you go. Maybe a little high at twenty-five, but it’s not an outrage.

26. Dr. Strangelove. A great movie, and one I’d have expected to come in ahead of 2001. It seems a little dated now, but it’s one of the handful of The Important Ones that’s not an effort to watch. If you have time, watch it one time through on mute just to look at the way Kubrick sets up the shots.

27. Bonnie & Clyde. Wow — that’s way too high a ranking. It’s not a bad movie, but parts of it drag — and I mean to say that they drag. Sure, it’s important in the context of glamorized violence in film, but not at twenty-seventh.

28. Apocalypse Now. I have a rule about reading books, namely that even if I hate the book, I have to finish it; it might get good towards the end, and even if it doesn’t, at least I can hate it with authority if I’ve read the whole thing. Well, Heart Of Darkness is one of the three books I never finished, and I didn’t like Apocalypse Now any more than I liked the book (although I did soldier through to the end), and I’ll tell you why: Dennis Hopper. I can’t stand Dennis Hopper, ever. The sight of him lurching through yet another leering tic-fest has ruined at least half a dozen films for me. I want to slap him, repeatedly, hard. I don’t doubt that AN is a perfectly good movie, but…Hopper. It’s over.

29. Mr. Smith Goes To Washington. I haven’t seen it and I know nothing about it beyond the title, so — no comment.

30. Treasure Of The Sierra Madre. Another one I haven’t seen. It’s on the list, but, like Casablanca, I keep avoiding it because I get a boring vibe from the box in Blockbuster.

31. Annie Hall. Okay, first of all, it’s weird that Woody Allen doesn’t show up on the list until thirty-one. He’s made so many movies, and so many good, dangerous ones, that it doesn’t seem right, but I know that he’s not everyone’s taste, and he does seem to make a lot of variations on the same movie. So, I can accept the ranking. But I don’t understand — never have — why Annie Hall always trumps Manhattan as the best Woody Allen. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Annie Hall. It’s a lovely, lyrical film. But so is Manhattan, and for my money Manhattan is better. Not much, but it’s better. The more I think about it, though, the more I think that it’s a matter of personal taste, so ignore everything I just said. I’d rather see Manhattan in this slot, but I can live with it.

32. The Godfather, Part II. Thirty-second seems low. I prefer it to the first installment, actually, but I can see why it’s ranked lower than the original — it’s not as smoothly told, and Pacino doesn’t do as much as he could with the material, I don’t think. Still, I’d put it in at fifteen or twenty rather than thirty-two.

33. High Noon. I haven’t seen it, and it’s not on my list, but I think I’ll add it. My dad had a High Noon t-shirt that he wore until it fell apart. That has nothing to do with anything, but I thought I’d share.

34. To Kill A Mockingbird. I’d expected a higher ranking for this, but I think it got the one it deserved. I like the movie a lot, but the acting isn’t as good as I’d assumed. Gregory Peck turned the Glowermatic up to ten, basically, and the little kid has got to go.

35. It Happened One Night. I haven’t seen it and know nothing about it.

36. Midnight Cowboy. One of about a dozen sixties films that people must not remember clearly enough to rank with any sort of perspective. I like it, and several elements of the film have entered the cultural lexicon, but — thirty-six? No. Dustin Hoffman is on autopilot, and while the dialogue is good, the plotting is flimsy — it’s one of those movies where you realize about forty-five minutes into it that they should have done it as a short. Overrated.

37. The Best Years Of Our Lives. I have never even heard of it before, so — no comment.

38. Double Indemnity. A great movie, ranked surprisingly low. If you’d like to know what it means for a film to reek of atmosphere, rent DI and turn the lights down low.

39. Doctor Zhivago. This too is ranked surprisingly low, but that’s fine by me; I hated the movie. I really don’t know why. I just couldn’t get into it, couldn’t understand why the audience should care, couldn’t deal with Julie Christie (whom I ordinarily love).

40. North By Northwest. I have no arguments with the ranking here. It’s an excellent film, but it’s also number forty.

41. West Side Story. I haven’t seen it, but I hear from several of my fellow movie-musical haters that it’s not that bad. I don’t anticipate renting it any time soon, though.

42. Rear Window. Again, the ranking fits. I will say this, too — as a kid, I never understood the fuss over Grace Kelly. Yeah, she’s a princess, big whoop. When I saw Rear Window, I got it. You can’t not get it.

43. King Kong. Well, okay. I haven’t seen it, and I suppose I should, but it seems like a waste of time. Still, it can’t hurt to look at the original and see why we still refer to it so often almost seventy years later, so I guess I’ll add it to the list.

44. The Birth Of A Nation. I have not seen it, but it’s on the list. I thought they’d put this in the twenties somewhere, though, given the number of film students who have thrown around the word “seminal” in connection with it during the last hundred years.

45. A Streetcar Named Desire. Eh. Okay. It’s a good movie which I happened not to like, if that makes any sense. Brando is good, but a little overwrought, and the camerawork is pedestrian.

46. A Clockwork Orange. It’s fine that it’s on the list, but I’d rank it lower — way lower. I liked it fine, but I don’t think it’s that serious a film in the end. It’s interesting, and it’s experimental, but it’s not so weighty as most people seem to believe. And it’s not long, but it’s still too long, if you know what I mean. Plus, you know, we get it.

47. Taxi Driver. Hmm. Yes, that’s about right. I could deliver lengthy arguments in favor both of moving it up the list and of moving it down, but I think it’s fine at forty-seven. It’s an excellent movie, very courageous and stark (up), but it’s also sort of affected (down). Forty-seventh works.

48. Jaws. I haven’t seen the movie in twenty years; it scared the shit out of me back then. But at the end of the day, it’s a dumb movie; I can see where they wanted to go here since it defined the popcorn-suspense-summer-movie-whatever genre, but forty-eight is still too high. Seventy, tops.

49. Snow White & The Seven Dwarfs. Meh. I’d rather see Fantasia here; forty-nine is too high anyway. I can live with it, though; it’s good animation.

50. Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid. I like the movie a lot, but I’d have put it down around eighty, and I can’t believe it made the list at all. It’s a little too out-takey for “greatness,” methinks, but then, that’s what I liked about it. Regardless, fifty is too high. I would switch it with Unforgiven at ninety-eight.

Stay tuned next week for more movie-know-it-all fun…

The IMDb’s Top 250 list.
A whole slew of top-movie lists and compendia.

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