My Top Ten Films of 1971

This is part of my continuing series looking back on films from the years before I began this blog.

The ten films below are unranked and listed in no particular order. Enjoy.

A Clockwork Orange - I'm less and less thrilled with the content of the film as years go by, but the style continues to impress. The production design, the electronica soundtrack, the iconic performance of Malcolm McDowell, and the fearless use of sex and violence - it's all so bold and disturbing and impossible to look away from. "Clockwork Orange" was one of the films that marked Kubrick as a dangerous filmmaker when I was young, but it was a title that I sought out as soon as I could, because what little I saw of the film from clips and stills was irresistible. There's still nothing else quite like it.

Fiddler on the Roof - A childhood favorite, and one I feel has held up beautifully over the years. Norman Jewison mounts a wonderful adaptation of "Fiddler" for the screen, with Topol reprising his stage success as Tevye. There's so much care and fidelity in the adaptation, from the carefully orchestrated score, to the fully realized little town of Anatevka. The cast was comprised mainly of character actors who would never get roles this good again, and certainly made the most of it. What could have been a caricature of the Orthodox Jewish culture instead feels celebratory and uncommonly affectionate.

The Emigrants - Jan Troell sends 19th century characters played by Sweden's most beloved actors, Liv Ullman and Max von Sydow, on a long and harrowing journey from a poor Swedish village to the unknown American frontier. It's a deeply affecting experience, and the way Troell presents it, an unusually immersive one. The naturalistic acting, the cinematography, and the novel point of view all help to make this a unique American narrative. Even the sequel, "The New Land," never quite manages to capture the same sense of a familiar story told from a surprising, different perspective.

Walkabout - A career defining work from Nicholas Roeg, who managed to capture not only the physical expanse and desolation of the Australian outback, but much of the psychological nature of it as well. I admire the way that it portrays an contrasts the natural and manmade environments, using various visual and aural elements. Especially important is the lack of exposition, allowing the film to simply speak for itself. This invites the viewer to explore the alien landscape along with the young wanderers.

Harold and Maude - A strange, perfect love story between a pair of oddballs who happen to be decades apart in age. It's a rambling Bay Area movie, a minimalist Cat Stevens musical, a very black comedy, and probably the best thing that Hal Ashby ever made. Bud Cort gets plenty of laughs, but it's character actress Ruth Gordon as the greatest manic pixie dream grandma who ever lived, who steals the picture through and through. At the time of release, nobody understood its peculiar charms except for its fellow oddballs, and all these years later, it's still the oddballs that have kept its cult status going.

Carnal Knowledge - This Mike Nichols picture kicked up all kinds of legal and social fuss due to its adult content and frank depiction of it. However, it's that straightforward, cynical attitude toward sex and intimacy that have kept the film remarkably current. It's arguably more relevant now than ever, with its portrayal of toxic masculinity the terrible long term effects. Despite the relative obscurity, this has one of Jack Nicholson's best performances, and probably his darkest. However, my favorite moment is the monologue delivered by Art Garfunkle, a withering takedown of monogamy and married life.

Duel - Technically this is a television movie, though it had a theatrical run overseas. Still, who could deny the power of Steven Spielberg's beloved thriller about a lone motorist versus a relentless trucker? The film is so simple, but generates terrific tension. The menace of the unseen trucker plays on our primal fears, and Spielberg wisely never gives the viewer more information than absolutely necessary. This can be seen as a test run of sorts for "Jaws," but I actually prefer "Duel" for its simplicity and its plausibility. Man-eating sharks were an invention of the filmmakers, but lunatic drivers are all too common.

The French Connection - This was the first film where I found the experience significantly improved with rewatches. Gene Hackman as Popeye Doyle is awful, yet magnetic as the uptight police detective who gets the job done. Fernando Rey, cast by lucky accident, is an excellent mastermind figure. And then there's the sheer gutsiness of those action sequences, especially the chase scene with the elevated train and several near misses with real New York City traffic. The degree of realism is exceptional, achieved by involving many of the real officers involved with the original smuggling case in the making of the film.

The Boy Friend - Ken Russell's satirical pastiche of Golden Age Hollywood musicals and small town vaudeville is too much of everything. However, this is one of those times where too much of everything works, especially when it comes to indulgent fantasy sequences, elaborate production numbers, and plenty of comedic mishaps. Underneath all the glitz and garishness, there's a genuine affection for all the old tricks and bygone showmanship. The winsome debutante, Twiggy, seems like she was born to play this part, and it's a mystery why she hardly ever appeared in any other films.

A New Leaf - I never understood why Walter Matthau was cast in so many romantic comedies in this era until I came across "A New Leaf," where he plays an unscrupulous playboy who gets involved with the wrong woman. He's perfectly suited to playing the jerk, the con-man, the exasperated caretaker, and finally the reluctantly reformed hero. And then there's Elaine May, who not only acted the part of the hapless Henrietta to perfection, but wrote and directed the film as well. The comedy is dark and cynical, but in a funny way it feels like it earned its begrudging moments of sentiment in the end.

Honorable mention

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
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