My top ten movies after 77 years in the fleapits

From The Times
August 9, 2007
My top ten movies after 77 years in the fleapits
From Citizen Kane to Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion. Ken Russell's controversial top 10 movies of all time
Ken Russell

Please, Professor Ken, I’m just starting a serious collection of DVD movie masterpieces. What are your Top Ten recommendations? And please don’t mention any of your own films, as we’ve already got them all, thanks to your generous discounted prices (laughter).”

“And please don’t mention horror films because we’ve got all those, too,” pipes up another voice in the film studies class I teach at Southampton University.

“That’s a tough one,” I reply. “I could give you a hundred titles off the top of my head, but ten — that’s something else. Ask me again, same time, next week.”

Seven days later, after sleepless nights and much inner conflict, I clear my throat and the oracle (with 77 years of movie-going stored in the fleapits of his mind) speaks: “ Metropolis, Citizen Kane, La Belle et la Bête, Gone with the Wind, La Strada, Fantasia, The Red Shoes, A Night at the Opera, The 39 Steps and a surprise last choice.”

Mutterings of dissent as they all wait for me to explain myself.

“ Metropolis, from 1927, was the first feature I showed in my Dad’s garage in aid of the Spitfire fund at the height of the Southampton Blitz,” I start cautiously. “It was the only feature available from the local film library with the same gauge as my old hand-cranked 9.5mm Pathescope projector. Despite the fact that it was shot in Germany by Fritz Lang, its friendly reception by the neighbourhood, while Nazi bombs rained down on our heads, proved that art has no frontiers. For a scary, breathtaking view of the future it has never been surpassed.”

“What about Blade Runner ?” someone asks. “Good,” I concede, “but it doesn’t have a robot as mind-blowing as the sex doll in Metropolis .” At this stage a few previous sceptics start scribbling feverishly.

“Without a doubt,” I say, “ The Red Shoes , by the unique duo Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, is the one and only film that has taken the secret world of professional ballet seriously. Based loosely on the impresario Diaghilev and the Russian Ballet, it got to the very heart and soul of the mysterious world of the dance, more than any film before or since. I skipped ballet class myself to see the premiere at the Odeon Haymarket in September 1948 and have watched it regularly, enthralled, ever since. And the music by Brian Easdale is magnificent, as is the stunning photography of Jack Cardiff.”

Mumblings and grumblings accompany this choice, together with a few shouts of “What about Singin’ in the Rain, Guys and Dolls, 42nd Street, Funny Face?” — from which I gather that classical ballet is not everyone’s cup of tea. Someone shouts “ Grease!” but I rise above it.

Citizen Kane, my next choice, is greeted with semi-reluctant grunts of approval. “This exuberantly innovative masterpiece by Orson Welles, premiered in 1941, is pretty high on everyone’s Top Ten list. Photography, art direction, editing, script, music, acting and direction are all inspired and near perfection. What more do you want?”

Gone with the Wind, from 1939, my next selection, is greeted with remarks such as “boring”, “sentimental”, “schmaltzy”, “Hollywood!” “What’s wrong with Hollywood?” I say. “Where else but Hollywood could such an epic even be attempted? The spectacle, the sets, the scale — what an achievement. Victor Fleming, George Cukor and Sam Wood directing. And the superb acting, particularly that of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh. And those one-liners: Rhett Butler’s ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn’; Scarlett’s vow to ‘never go hungry again’ — her message to the modern world, now choc-a-bloc with millions of thankful obese, celebrating her every word.

“And if you find that epic somewhat overblown,” I continue, “what about Fellini’s La Strada as an antidote? Filmed in black and white and released in 1956, this story of a couple of strolling players, down on their luck but up in their spirits, is truly captivating. The sad moonface of Giulietta Masina (Fellini’s wife) haunts the memory, as does the soulful musical score by Nino Rota with that haunting melody, once heard, never forgotten.

“Now to Fantasia, Walt Disney’s 1940 cartoon masterpiece. Who else could get spellbound ticket-paying audiences to sit through the music that caused sophisticated Parisian first-nighters to riot, upon hearing the most barbaric pieces of music ever written? I’m referring to Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. And who else could delight cinema audiences with hippos dancing with bubbles and sexy lady minotaurs pirouetting to Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony? Pity it was just a one-off.” (Jeers of “Mickey Mouse !” I ignore.)

“And my next choice is a director we all know and love,” I say, whereupon everyone shouts out, “William Wyler, Scorsese, Chabrol, Michael Winner, George Romero, you, sir! [a crawler], Kazan, Hitchcock . . .” “Right! Hitchcock,” I echo. Cheers all around; cries of “Psycho, North by Northwest, The Lodger, Vertigo . . .”

“Personally, I’ll go for The 39 Steps, released in 1935. For wit and suspense it’s hard to beat. Don’t you love the tagline: ‘Handcuffed to the girl who double-crossed him’?” “Kinky,” comes a rascal voice, chorused by muffled laughter. I use the big voice this time: “And weren’t Robert Donat and Madeleine Carroll superb as reluctant bedmates?

“And for all of you who hate opera,” I continue, “how about A Night at the Opera , made in 1936 and featuring the Marx brothers? It’s guaranteed to convert you. OK, so some lines are corny, but I love ’em. For instance, when they are arguing over a singer’s contract: ‘That’s in every contract,’ says Groucho; ‘that’s what they call a Sanity Claus.’ ‘Aw, you can’t fool me,’ quips Chico, ‘there ain’t no Sanity Claus.’

“We’re getting near the end,” I mutter, “but we must have an example of French cinema.” A shower of hands shoots up. “L’Atalante , Jules et Jim , Les Enfants du Paradis , Les 400 coups ,” they beg.

“All very commendable,” I say, “but I’d choose La Belle et la Bête by Jean Cocteau, featuring Jean Marais and Josette Day — a fairytale for all ages, released in 1947. I saw it last with my five-year-old daughter and as it came to its magical finale, we were both crying our eyes out.” Smirks all round.

“And now I come to my tenth and final choice,” I announce. All is still as they hope for their personal favourites. “And the tagline for this one,” I say, “is ‘The blonde leading the blonde’. Yes, it’s Lisa Kudrow and Mira Sorvino in the surprise hit of 1997, Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion . And my reasons are . . .” Alas, my reasons are drowned in hoots and howls of ribald laughter.

On my way home I dropped in at the local library for a quick pick-me-up, but all the fun titles were out. Then a bright orange DVD package caught my eye, entitled Bamako , only just released and directed by a name to conjure with — Abderrahmane Sissako. The cover showed an attractive African girl crying into a microphone. Oh well, you never know.

That evening I had a revolutionary lesson in contemporary film-making. I realised that one of my Top Ten would have to go.