Who Framed Roger Rabbit? - There are some films where it feels like it's a miracle that they exist. In the case of "Roger Rabbit," you not only have a ripping detective yarn told through the most technically astonishing combination of live action and traditional hand-drawn animation ever put on film, but somehow it also gets all the classic cartoon characters from Disney and Warners to appear together on the same screen. Such a feat has never been accomplished since, or even attempted. And it's to the credit of every artist involved in this obvious labor of love that the movie is still a wonder to this day.
Cinema Paradiso - One of my favorite movie moments of all time is the ending of this film, a tribute to the movie magic of the past and the fans whose lives it helped to shape. I am literally unable to hear Ennio Morricone's score for the film or even look at the poster art without welling up. I've only seen the longer version of "Cinema Paradiso," so I can't speak to the controversy about the international or Italian version of the film being superior, but either way I know this is an unassailable achievement in Italian filmmaking. Of all the movies about loving the movies, there's nothing that remotely compares.
Dead Ringers - My very first David Cronenberg film, and one of his most potent and memorable explorations of body horror. Jeremy Irons' double performance does most of the heavy lifting here, bringing the curious Mantle twins and their increasingly disturbing relationship to life. What's really impressive here is that though there are allusions to the supernatural and threats of terrible violence, nearly all the horror in the film stays firmly in the realm of the psychological. And yet it plays out like the most florid and ostentatious Grand Guignol, a macabre tragedy as impenetrable as it is entrancing.
Coming to America - A modern day fairy tale makes a prince of Eddie Murphy and a happy mockery of pampered foreign elites and the American immigrant experience. The older the film gets, the more I appreciate its sense of humor and its commitment to its outlandish premise. The obscenely wealthy Zamundan royals in particular are an endless source of laughs. The opening twenty minutes have some of the most fantastically silly and memorable gag work of the entire decade. This is also easily the best showcase of Eddie Murphy's relentless charm and talent at the height of his career.
Die Hard - For a certain breed of red-blooded American, the original "Die Hard" might as well be a founding document. It may not be the best action film ever made, but I think it's a strong candidate for being the most viscerally enjoyable. The good guy is eminently relatable, spouts cool one-liners, and saves the day. The baddies are all greedy, deceptive nogoodniks, who underestimate our scrappy underdog. The violence is plentiful and beautifully choreographed. It's no wonder that "Die Hard" became the template for so much media that followed, all the way up to the present day.
Grave of the Fireflies and My Neighbor Totoro - 1988 was a fantastic year for animation, particularly Japanese anime. To date, the industry has never made anything better than the unlikely Studio Ghibli double feature of Hayao Miyazaki's lovely childhood fantasy, "My Neighbor Totoro," and Isao Takahata's gutting war memoir, "The Grave of the Fireflies." Both share similar animation styles and character designs, but their sensibilities couldn't be more different. "Totoro" is a lighthearted, pastoral adventure film filled with excitement and incident, but little conflict. The film's iconic fantasy creatures express themselves without words, and are easily understood by the smallest children. The beautifully observed natural details and child's-eye view of the world would characterize much of Miyazaki's work. "Fireflies," by contrast, brings the audience into the intimate tragedy of a pair orphaned siblings trying to survive during WWII. Though often somber and elegiac, there are also moments of wonder here on par with anything I've ever seen in Ghibli's other films. However, it's the emotional weight of the unfolding tragedy that makes it unforgettable. It remains my choice for the best animated film ever made.
Distant Voices, Still Lives - Watching Terence Davies' work feels like looking at snapshots of the past. And so, two different periods in the lives of a British family are presented here like two different photo albums, one covering the 1940s and one covering the 1950s. Both halves of the film are unusually immersive and feel painfully personal, showing the characters in both the good times and the bad. Music plays a central role, helping to establish communal ties, the changing atmosphere of post-war Britain, and the persistence of hope in even the darkest and most trying circumstances.
Rain Man - Dustin Hoffman is one of my favorite actors, and the iconic Raymond Babbitt is one of his career highlights. The film is a smart examination of dysfunctional family dynamics and personal responsibility that provides an alternative to the usual, sentimentalized portrayal of people on the autism spectrum in films of the era. It's immensely watchable too, using the common tropes of road trip and odd couple buddy movies to excellent effect. Tom Cruise also hasn't gotten nearly enough credit over the years for playing the harried straight man here to Hoffman's more colorful performance.
The Thin Blue Line - If the techniques and format of Errol Morris's landmark investigative documentary feel overly familiar, it's only because so many other films and television shows have copied them over the years. It's hard to imagine the true crime genre today without the use of crime scene reenactments and interview subjects talking directly to the camera. Morris's thorough, careful building of his case is still engrossing to see unfold onscreen, and the political implications remain sobering. There are still very few films that have had such a tangible impact in such a specific, visible way.
Honorable Mention
Akira
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