“A shad­ow shaped like a tad­pole sud­den­ly appeared at one cor­ner of the screen,” recalls Vir­ginia Woolf. “It swelled to an immense size, quiv­ered, bulged, and sank back again into nonen­ti­ty. For a moment it seemed to embody some mon­strous dis­eased imag­i­na­tion of the lunatic’s brain. For a moment it seemed as if thought could be con­veyed by shape more effec­tive­ly than by words. The mon­strous quiv­er­ing tad­pole seemed to be fear itself, and not the state­ment ‘I am afraid.’ ” She wit­nessed this at a screen­ing of the silent Ger­man Expres­sion­ist hor­ror film The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari (which you can watch for your­self above), and in it glimpsed the future of cin­e­ma itself.

Woolf elab­o­rates on this glimpse in her essay “The Cin­e­ma,” first pub­lished in a 1926 issue of the jour­nal The Nation and Athenaeum. (The British Library has a scan from the pub­li­ca­tion here.) “Peo­ple say that the sav­age no longer exists in us, that we are at the fag-end of civ­i­liza­tion, that every­thing has been said already, and that it is too late to be ambi­tious,” she begins. “But these philoso­phers have pre­sum­ably for­got­ten the movies.” She goes on, in this short piece, to come to grips with this new artis­tic medi­um, to artic­u­late her expe­ri­ence of it (as “the eye licks it up all instan­ta­neous­ly”) as well as its poten­tial and then-cur­rent lim­i­ta­tions, such as an over-reliance on lit­er­ary mate­r­i­al.

“The alliance is unnat­ur­al,” the author of Mrs. Dal­loway (filmed in 1997, and two years lat­er more imag­i­na­tive­ly used as the basis for Michael Cun­ning­ham’s nov­el The Hours, turned into cin­e­ma itself in 2002) declares about the adap­ta­tion of nov­els into movies. “Eye and brain are torn asun­der ruth­less­ly as they try vain­ly to work in cou­ples. The eye says ‘Here is Anna Karen­i­na.’ A volup­tuous lady in black vel­vet wear­ing pearls comes before us. But the brain says, ‘That is no more Anna Karen­i­na than it is Queen Vic­to­ria.’ ” She com­plains, as New York­er film crit­ic Richard Brody puts it, “that moviemak­ers, instead of rely­ing on the inher­ent prop­er­ties of cin­e­ma, har­ness the mak­ing of images to sto­ry­telling by way of lit­er­a­ture,” pre­sum­ably fail­ing to under­stand that “the cinema’s dis­tinc­tive pow­er involves cre­at­ing a new kind of visu­al expe­ri­ence.”

“It is only when we give up try­ing to con­nect the pic­tures with the book,” writes Woolf, “that we guess from some acci­den­tal scene — like the gar­den­er mow­ing the lawn — what the cin­e­ma might do if left to its own devices.” Nine­ty years lat­er, many cinephiles still dream of that gar­den­er mow­ing the lawn, await­ing the day that cin­e­ma gets left to its own devices to ful­fill the vast cre­ative and artis­tic promise only occa­sion­al­ly explored by the film­mak­ers. Woolf likens them to a “sav­age tribe” who, “instead of find­ing two bars of iron to play with, had found scat­ter­ing the seashore fid­dles, flutes, sax­o­phones, trum­pets, grand pianos by Erard and Bech­stein, and had begun with incred­i­ble ener­gy, but with­out know­ing a note of music, to ham­mer and thump upon them all at the same time.” Cin­e­ma devel­oped rapid­ly in the day of Dr. Cali­gari, and has devel­oped in cer­tain ways since, but its great­est expres­sions lie ahead — an obser­va­tion as true now as when Woolf, with slight dis­ap­point­ment but nev­er­the­less great expec­ta­tion, first made it. You can read here sem­i­nal essay, “The Cin­e­ma,” here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari, the Influ­en­tial Ger­man Expres­sion­ist Film (1920)

Vir­ginia Woolf Writes About Joyce’s Ulysses, “Nev­er Did Any Book So Bore Me,” and Quits at Page 200

Vir­ginia Woolf Offers Gen­tle Advice on “How One Should Read a Book”

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Vir­ginia Woolf

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A cou­ple Christ­mases ago, we fea­tured the sto­ry of how Ayn Rand helped the FBI “iden­ti­fy” It’s a Won­der­ful Life as a piece of com­mu­nist pro­pa­gan­da, which does make one won­der: what kind of movie would she have Amer­i­ca watch instead? We know exact­ly what kind, since, in 1947, the author of The Foun­tain­head and Atlas Shrugged, nev­er one to shrink from the task of explain­ing her ideas, wrote the “Screen Guide for Amer­i­cans,” accord­ing to Pale­o­fu­ture, a pam­phlet meant for dis­tri­b­u­tion to Hol­ly­wood pro­duc­ers in order to make them aware of what she saw as a com­mu­nist push to poi­son the movies with anti-Amer­i­can ide­ol­o­gy.

“The pur­pose of the Com­mu­nists in Hol­ly­wood, Rand writes, “is not the pro­duc­tion of polit­i­cal movies open­ly advo­cat­ing Com­mu­nism. Their pur­pose is to cor­rupt our moral premis­es by cor­rupt­ing non-polit­i­cal movies — by intro­duc­ing small, casu­al bits of pro­pa­gan­da into inno­cent sto­ries — thus mak­ing peo­ple absorb the basic premis­es of Col­lec­tivism by indi­rec­tion and impli­ca­tion.” And so, to coun­ter­act the sub­tly pro­pa­gan­dis­tic pow­er of It’s a Won­der­ful Life and its ilk, she pro­pos­es fight­ing fire with fire, issu­ing these thir­teen cor­rec­tive film­mak­ing com­mand­ments:

1. Don’t take pol­i­tics light­ly. “To hire Com­mu­nists on the the­o­ry that ‘they won’t put over any pol­i­tics on me’ and then remain igno­rant and indif­fer­ent to the sub­ject of pol­i­tics, while the Reds are trained pro­pa­gan­da experts — is an atti­tude for which there can be no excuse.”
2. Don’t smear the free enter­prise sys­tem. “Don’t preach or imply that all pub­licly-owned projects are noble, human­i­tar­i­an under­tak­ings by grace of the mere fact that they are publicly-owned—while preach­ing, at same time, that pri­vate prop­er­ty or the defense of pri­vate prop­er­ty rights is the expres­sion of some sort of vicious greed, of anti-social self­ish­ness or evil.”
3. Don’t smear indus­tri­al­ists. “You, as a motion pic­ture pro­duc­er, are an indus­tri­al­ist. All of us are employ­ees of an indus­try which gives us a good liv­ing. There is an old fable about a pig who filled his bel­ly with acorns, then start­ed dig­ging to under­mine the roots of the oak from which the acorns came. Don’t let’s allow that pig to become our sym­bol.”
4. Don’t smear wealth. “If the vil­lain in your sto­ry hap­pens to be rich—don’t per­mit lines of dia­logue sug­gest­ing that he is the typ­i­cal rep­re­sen­ta­tive of a whole social class, the sym­bol of all the rich. Keep it clear in your mind and in your script that his vil­lainy is due to his own per­son­al character—not to his wealth or class.”
5. Don’t smear the prof­it motive. “Don’t give to your char­ac­ters — as a sign of vil­lainy, as a damn­ing char­ac­ter­is­tic, a desire to make mon­ey. Nobody wants to, or should, work with­out pay­ment, and nobody does — except a slave.”
6. Don’t smear suc­cess. “It is the Com­mu­nists’ inten­tion to make peo­ple think that per­son­al suc­cess is some­how achieved at the expense of oth­ers and that every suc­cess­ful man has hurt some­body by becom­ing suc­cess­ful. It is the Com­mu­nists’ aim to dis­cour­age all per­son­al effort and to dri­ve men into a hope­less, dispir­it­ed, gray herd of robots who have lost all per­son­al ambi­tion, who are easy to rule, will­ing to obey and will­ing to exist in self­less servi­tude to the State.”
7. Don’t glo­ri­fy fail­ure. “While every man meets with fail­ure some­where in his life, the admirable thing is his courage in over­com­ing it — not the fact that he failed.”
8. Don’t glo­ri­fy deprav­i­ty. “Don’t drool over weak­lings as con­di­tioned ‘vic­tims of cir­cum­stances’ (or of ‘back­ground’ or of ‘soci­ety’) who ‘couldn’t help it.’ You are actu­al­ly pro­vid­ing an excuse and an ali­bi for the worst instincts in the weak­est mem­bers of your audi­ences.”
9. Don’t deify “the com­mon man.” “No self-respect­ing man in Amer­i­ca is or thinks of him­self as ‘lit­tle,’ no mat­ter how poor he might be. That, pre­cise­ly, is the dif­fer­ence between an Amer­i­can work­ing man and a Euro­pean serf.”
10. Don’t glo­ri­fy the col­lec­tive. “If you preach that it is evil to be dif­fer­ent — you teach every par­tic­u­lar group of men to hate every oth­er group, every minor­i­ty, every per­son, for being dif­fer­ent from them; thus you lay the foun­da­tion for race hatred.”
11. Don’t smear an inde­pen­dent man. “Remem­ber that Amer­i­ca is the coun­try of the pio­neer, the non-con­formist, the inven­tor, the orig­i­na­tor, the inno­va­tor. Remem­ber that all the great thinkers, artists, sci­en­tists were sin­gle, indi­vid­ual, inde­pen­dent men who stood alone, and dis­cov­ered new direc­tions of achieve­ment — alone.”
12. Don’t use cur­rent events care­less­ly. “It is a sad joke on Hol­ly­wood that while we shy away from all con­tro­ver­sial sub­jects on the screen, in order not to antag­o­nize any­body — we arouse more antag­o­nism through­out the coun­try and more resent­ment against our­selves by one cheap lit­tle smear line in the midst of some musi­cal com­e­dy than we ever would by a whole polit­i­cal trea­tise.”
13. Don’t smear Amer­i­can polit­i­cal insti­tu­tions. “It is true that there have been vicious Con­gress­men and judges, and politi­cians who have stolen elec­tions, just as there are vicious men in any pro­fes­sion. But if you present them in a sto­ry, be sure to make it clear that you are crit­i­ciz­ing par­tic­u­lar men — not the sys­tem. The Amer­i­can sys­tem, as such, is the best ever devised in his­to­ry. If some men do not live up to it — let us damn these men, not the sys­tem which they betray.”

Have any real motion pic­tures passed Rand’s pro-cap­i­tal­ist test? (Read her full pam­phlet here.) The film adap­ta­tion of The Foun­tain­head came out in 1949, and Rand her­self at first praised it as “more faith­ful to the nov­el than any oth­er adap­ta­tion of a nov­el that Hol­ly­wood has ever pro­duced.” But lat­er she turned against it, claim­ing to have “dis­liked the movie from begin­ning to end” and swear­ing nev­er again to sell her nov­els with­out reserv­ing the right to pick the direc­tor and screen­writer as well as to edit the film her­self. She did­n’t live to exer­cise those rights on Atlas Shrugged the movie, which came out as a tril­o­gy between 2011 and 2014, so we’ll nev­er know for sure if the movie met her strin­gent ide­o­log­i­cal stan­dards — but with Meta­crit­ic scores of 28%, 26%, and 9%, we can safe­ly assume they would­n’t meet her cin­e­mat­ic ones.

via Pale­o­fu­ture

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ayn Rand Helped the FBI Iden­ti­fy It’s a Won­der­ful Life as Com­mu­nist Pro­pa­gan­da

The Out­spo­ken Ayn Rand Inter­viewed by Mike Wal­lace (1959)

A Free Car­toon Biog­ra­phy of Ayn Rand: Her Life & Thought

Žižek Blames the US Gov­ern­ment Shut­down on Ayn Rand’s Acolytes Who Caused the 2008 Col­lapse

Ayn Rand’s Phi­los­o­phy and Her Resur­gence in 2012: A Quick Primer by Stan­ford His­to­ri­an Jen­nifer Burns

Ayn Rand’s Reviews of Children’s Movies: From Bam­bi to Frozen

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

As a film, The Wiz­ard of Oz of 1939 is so icon­ic, so well known, that any sequel has been treat­ed as an affront to Amer­i­can cul­ture. Just see for exam­ple, the reviled Return to Oz and the mediocre response to Oz the Great and Pow­er­ful. How­ev­er, spin-offs and recon­tex­tu­al­ized works, like The Wiz (the musi­cal) and Wicked (the oth­er musi­cal, based on a nov­el), do real­ly well as long as they remain tied to Vic­tor Fleming’s film.

Even before the days of Judy Gar­land, the Oz sto­ries made for pop­u­lar cin­e­ma. We already told you about the 1910 silent short film ver­sion of The Wiz­ard of Oz, which con­fus­ing­ly packs much of the orig­i­nal children’s book and the stage play adap­ta­tion (from 1902) into 13 crazed min­utes, redo­lent of Georges Méliès’ sci-fi films and filled with beau­ties on parade and a very active mule char­ac­ter called Hank.

Mean­while, the pro­lif­ic author of the Oz series, L. Frank Baum, reel­ing from tak­ing a loss on the stage play ver­sion of his sto­ry, decid­ed to make some mon­ey in cin­e­ma. In 1914, he and some friends from the Los Ange­les Ath­let­ic Club (who called them­selves the Uplifters) start­ed their own pro­duc­tion house, Oz Film Man­u­fac­tur­ing Com­pa­ny, based in Los Ange­les. Baum thought he had plen­ty of mate­r­i­al to work with, mak­ing good-natured chil­dren’s films to com­pete with the more pop­u­lar west­erns.

All three of Baum’s fea­tures are now avail­able on YouTube, with Baum’s first film, The Patch­work Girl of Oz, from 1914, at the top of this page. Adapt­ing his 1913 book, Baum changed plot devices, adding in vaude­ville rou­tines and stop-motion ani­ma­tion. A French acro­bat called Pierre Coud­erc played the Patch­work Girl in the stunt sequences, and the film is also notice­able for an ear­ly appear­ance by Hal Roach and Harold Lloyd, who became such fast friends on the pro­duc­tion that they went on to make their own films.

After that His Majesty, the Scare­crow of Oz, was released in 1914, and retells the Wiz­ard of Oz sto­ry in its own way, but gives the Scare­crow a new ori­gin sto­ry. Hank the Mule returns, as do some more pan­tomime ani­mals. This time, the movie was made as pro­mo­tion for the upcom­ing book of a sim­i­lar name, but did not help sales in the end.

The final film pro­duced was The Mag­ic Cloak of Oz, based on a non-Oz Baum book called Queen Zixi of Ix, but Baum knew that any­thing with Oz in the title could sell. Para­mount didn’t how­ev­er, and delayed release for two years. This sur­viv­ing ver­sion is miss­ing a reel, and British dis­trib­u­tors divid­ed it up into two sep­a­rate films.

Shot all at the same time, Baum was hop­ing to quick­ly make his investors’ mon­ey back, but this didn’t hap­pen and the Oz Film Man­u­fac­tur­ing Com­pa­ny shut­tered soon after, with Baum dying in 1919 at age 62, with no idea how influ­en­tial his one book would become.

These orig­i­nal Oz films will be added to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Com­plete Wiz­ard of Oz Series, Avail­able as Free eBooks and Free Audio Books

Dark Side of the Rain­bow: Pink Floyd Meets The Wiz­ard of Oz in One of the Ear­li­est Mash-Ups

Heart­less: The Sto­ry of the Tin Man

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

What makes film noir film noir? Like Supreme Court jus­tice Pot­ter Stew­art mak­ing his famous pro­nounce­ment on obscen­i­ty, we can hon­est­ly claim to know it when we see it. But what ele­ments, exact­ly, do we only see con­verge in the high, undis­put­ed lev­els of the film noir canon? Design­er Melanie Patrick and writer Adam Frost have, at the behest of the British Film Insti­tute, come up with a handy info­graph­ic (click here to view it in a larg­er for­mat) that explains and visu­al­izes the par­tic­u­lars of the “shad­owy world of one of clas­sic Hollywood’s most beloved sub­gen­res.”

First, film noir needs the right cast of char­ac­ters, includ­ing an inves­ti­ga­tor with “rel­a­tive integri­ty” like Sam Spade or Philip Mar­lowe, a crim­i­nal (“usu­al­ly a mur­der­er”), one “bad, beau­ti­ful” woman, and anoth­er “good, bland” woman. These char­ac­ters should come from a script based on a piece of Amer­i­can pulp fic­tion such as The Mal­tese Fal­con or Dou­ble Indem­ni­ty, ide­al­ly adapt­ed by a Euro­pean émi­gré direc­tor like Fritz Lang or Bil­ly Wilder and replete with heavy drink­ing and smok­ing, “stolen mon­ey or valu­ables,” and obses­sions with the past, all wrapped up in a bleak, con­vo­lut­ed sto­ry that plays out in an urban set­ting by night.

The hey­day of film noir last­ed from the ear­ly 1940s to the late 1950s, right in the mid­dle of the tyran­ny of the Motion Pic­ture Pro­duc­tion Code, bet­ter known as the Hays Code, which, in lim­it­ing “the amount of sex and vio­lence that could be shown on screen,” forced film­mak­ers to get cre­ative and con­vey dra­mat­ic ten­sion pri­mar­i­ly with light­ing and com­po­si­tion. It also meant that the finest film noir made max­i­mal­ly effec­tive use of its dia­logue, pro­duc­ing such immor­tal­ly snap­py exchanges as the one in Mur­der My Sweet when Philip Mar­lowe shoots back to a woman who announces she finds men very attrac­tive, “I imag­ine they meet you halfway.” The info­graph­ic above also high­lights the impor­tance of a styl­ish poster and a star­tling tagline, ulti­mate­ly arriv­ing at the name of the sole film that pos­sess­es every ele­ment of film noir — and hence “the noiri­est film ever.”

All this comes as the fruit of research into “around 100 of the most high­ly regard­ed film noirs,” and the info­graph­ic’s cre­ators have made some of their data avail­able to view on a Google spread­sheet. Should you now feel like con­duct­ing a film-noir inves­ti­ga­tion of your own, we can offer you a few leads, includ­ing the five essen­tial rules of film noir, Roger Ebert’s ten essen­tial char­ac­ter­is­tics of film noir, “noir­chae­ol­o­gist” Eddie Muller’s list of 25 noir films that will stand the test of time, a col­lec­tion of film noir’s 100 great­est posters, and of course, our col­lec­tion of 60 film noir movies free to watch online. But stay alert; if we’ve learned one thing from watch­ing film noir, it’s that inves­ti­ga­tions, no mat­ter the rel­a­tive integri­ty with which you con­duct them, don’t always go as planned.

Thanks to Melanie for let­ting us fea­ture her work!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

60 Free Film Noir Movies

Watch Scar­let Street, Fritz Lang’s Cen­sored Noir Film, Star­ring the Great Edward G. Robin­son (1945)

25 Noir Films That Will Stand the Test of Time: A List by “Noir­chael­o­gist” Eddie Muller

The 5 Essen­tial Rules of Film Noir

Roger Ebert Lists the 10 Essen­tial Char­ac­ter­is­tics of Noir Films

100 Great­est Posters of Film Noir

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Sad­ly, despite great strides since the 1970s, Hol­ly­wood (and film­mak­ing in gen­er­al) is still a boys’ club, espe­cial­ly when it comes to those behind the cam­era. Until Kathryn Bigelow won her 2010 Oscar for The Hurt Lock­er, no female direc­tor had claimed the prize. And not a sin­gle woman has even been nom­i­nat­ed for Best Cin­e­matog­ra­phy.

Direc­tor Sal­ly Pot­ter calls it the cast-iron ceil­ing, and says it’s still very dif­fi­cult to get a film made, even for a direc­tor with her pedi­gree.

But as some­body on this Metafil­ter thread sug­gests, if we want to sup­port female direc­tors, we need to watch more films by female direc­tors. This Google Doc lists 245 films direct­ed by women that are cur­rent­ly avail­able on Net­flix. It’s a mix of art house and pop­corn fare, and all worth check­ing out…and no doubt many Open Cul­ture read­ers have seen quite a few already. Here’s our Top Ten sug­ges­tions from that list, with four more thrown in for good mea­sure. And yes, we know that Net­flix is a paid ser­vice, but, not to wor­ry, you can sign up for a month-long free tri­al.

• The Punk Singer direct­ed by Sini Ander­son
• A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night direct­ed by Ana Lily Amir­pour
• Bride and Prej­u­dice direct­ed by Gurinder Chad­ha
• Fish Tank direct­ed by Andrea Arnold
• Har­ry Dean Stan­ton: Part­ly Fic­tion direct­ed by Sophie Huber
• Holy Smoke direct­ed by Jane Cam­pi­on
• Me and You and Every­one We Know direct­ed by Miran­da July
• Rav­en­ous direct­ed by Anto­nia Bird
• The Babadook direct­ed by Jen­nifer Kent
• The Incred­i­bly True Adven­ture of 2 Girls in Love direct­ed by Maria Maggen­ti
• The Pervert’s Guide to Ide­ol­o­gy direct­ed by Sophie Fiennes
• The Queen of Ver­sailles direct­ed by Lau­ren Green­field
• The Wolf­pack direct­ed by Crys­tal Moselle
• 30 for 30: The Price of Gold direct­ed by Nanette Burstein

There’s so many more choic­es at the link, from doc­u­men­tary to dra­ma and hor­ror to romance.

And while we’re at it, that oth­er stream­ing ser­vice, Hulu, has the full Cri­te­ri­on col­lec­tion, where many more female direc­tors can be found: Agnes Var­da, Cather­ine Breil­lat, Chan­tal Ack­er­man, Bar­bara Kop­pel, and more. Hulu offers a one-week free tri­al when you sign up.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed con­tent:

85 Com­pelling Films Star­ring and/or Direct­ed By Women of Col­or: A List Cre­at­ed by Direc­tor Ava DuVer­nay & Friends on Twit­ter

100 Over­looked Films Direct­ed by Women: See Selec­tions from Sight & Sound Magazine’s New List

An Ambi­tious List of 1400 Films Made by Female Film­mak­ers

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

“What do you do when you change how the world thinks of cin­e­ma? What’s next? Do you keep mak­ing the same kind of film? If you’re a per­son like Rosselli­ni, you try some­thing exper­i­men­tal. You push fur­ther. Not exper­i­men­tal for exper­i­men­t’s sake, but you push the bound­aries fur­ther.” With these words, Mar­tin Scors­ese describes the sit­u­a­tion of Rober­to Rosselli­ni, one of his pre­de­ces­sors in film­mak­ing he most admires, after com­plet­ing Paisan in 1946. Where to take the move­ment “Ital­ian neo­re­al­ism” from there?

Scors­ese dis­cuss­es Rossellini’s next three major films, Strom­boli, Europe ’51, and Jour­ney to Italy in this Con­ver­sa­tions Inside the Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion inter­view clip from Vice. Giv­en his pos­ses­sion of an enthu­si­asm for cin­e­ma as strong as his mas­tery of the craft of cin­e­ma (mak­ing him a pre­de­ces­sor of such younger Amer­i­can indie-root­ed cinephile-auteurs as Quentin Taran­ti­no and Wes Ander­son), it makes sense that Scors­ese would want to engage with the Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion, whose painstak­ing­ly-pro­duced video releas­es of respect­ed films have for decades con­sti­tut­ed a kind of film school, infor­mal yet rich and rig­or­ous.

When Cri­te­ri­on, whose cat­a­log includes Scors­ese’s own The Last Temp­ta­tion of Christ, asked the direc­tor to name his ten favorite films in the Col­lec­tion, he began with a paean to Paisan. (Note: You can watch Paisan for free if you start a free tri­al with Hulu. Also watch Fellini’s 8 1/2–list­ed below–free on Hulu here.) “I saw it for the first time on tele­vi­sion with my grand­par­ents, and their over­whelm­ing reac­tion to what had hap­pened to their home­land since they left at the turn of the cen­tu­ry was just as present and vivid for me as the images and the char­ac­ters,” he said. “I was expe­ri­enc­ing the pow­er of cin­e­ma itself, in this case made far beyond Hol­ly­wood, under extreme­ly tough con­di­tions and with infe­ri­or equip­ment. And I was also see­ing that cin­e­ma wasn’t just about the movie itself but the rela­tion­ship between the movie and its audi­ence.”

Here are Scors­ese’s nine oth­er Cri­te­ri­on selec­tions:

• The Red Shoes (Michael Pow­ell and Emer­ic Press­burg­er) “There’s no oth­er pic­ture that dra­ma­tizes and visu­al­izes the over­whelm­ing obses­sion of art, the way it can take over your life. But on a deep­er lev­el, in the move­ment and ener­gy of the film­mak­ing itself, is a deep and abid­ing love of art, a belief in art as a gen­uine­ly tran­scen­dent state.”
• The Riv­er (Jean Renoir) “This was Jean Renoir’s first pic­ture after his Amer­i­can peri­od, his first in col­or, and he used Rumer Godden’s auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal nov­el to cre­ate a film that is, real­ly, about life, a film with­out a real sto­ry that is all about the rhythm of exis­tence, the cycles of birth and death and regen­er­a­tion, and the tran­si­to­ry beau­ty of the world.”
• Uget­su (Ken­ji Mizoguchi) “The boat slow­ly mate­ri­al­iz­ing from out of the mist and com­ing toward us… Gen­juro col­laps­ing on the grass in ecsta­sy and being smoth­ered by Lady Wakasa… the final crane up from the son mak­ing an offer­ing at his mother’s grave to the fields beyond. Just to think of these moments now fills me with awe and won­der.”
• Ash­es and Dia­monds (Andrzej Wada) “I saw Ash­es and Dia­monds for the first time in 1961. And even back then, dur­ing that peri­od when we expect­ed to be aston­ished at the movies, when things were hap­pen­ing all over the world, it shocked me. It had to do with the look, both imme­di­ate and haunt­ed, like a night­mare that won’t stop unfold­ing.”
• L’avven­tu­ra (Michelan­ge­lo Anto­nioni) “It’s dif­fi­cult to think of a film that has a more pow­er­ful under­stand­ing of the way that peo­ple are bound to the world around them, by what they see and touch and taste and hear. I real­ize that L’avventura is sup­posed to be about char­ac­ters who are ‘alien­at­ed’ from their sur­round­ings, but that word has been used so often to describe this film and Antonioni’s films in gen­er­al that it more or less shuts down thought.”
• Sal­va­tore Giu­liano (Francesco Rosi) “On one lev­el, it’s an extreme­ly com­plex film: there’s no cen­tral pro­tag­o­nist (Giu­liano him­self is not a char­ac­ter but a fig­ure around which the action piv­ots), and it shifts between time frames and points of view. But it’s also a pic­ture made from the inside, from a pro­found and last­ing love and under­stand­ing of Sici­ly and its peo­ple and the treach­ery and cor­rup­tion they’ve had to endure.”
• 8 1/2 (Fed­eri­co Felli­ni) “8½ has always been a touch­stone for me, in so many ways—the free­dom, the sense of inven­tion, the under­ly­ing rig­or and the deep core of long­ing, the bewitch­ing, phys­i­cal pull of the cam­era move­ments and the com­po­si­tions (anoth­er great black-and-white film: every image gleams like a pearl — again, shot by Gian­ni Di Venan­zo). But it also offers an uncan­ny por­trait of being the artist of the moment, try­ing to tune out all the pres­sure and the crit­i­cism and the adu­la­tion and the requests and the advice, and find the space and the calm to sim­ply lis­ten to one­self.”
• Con­tempt (Jean-Luc Godard) “It’s a shat­ter­ing por­trait of a mar­riage going wrong, and it cuts very deep, espe­cial­ly dur­ing the lengthy and jus­ti­fi­ably famous scene between Pic­coli and Bar­dot in their apart­ment: even if you don’t know that Godard’s own mar­riage to Anna Kari­na was com­ing apart at the time, you can feel it in the action, the move­ment of the scenes, the inter­ac­tions that stretch out so painful­ly but majes­ti­cal­ly, like a piece of trag­ic music.”
• The Leop­ard (Luchi­no Vis­con­ti) “Time itself is the pro­tag­o­nist of The Leop­ard: the cos­mic scale of time, of cen­turies and epochs, on which the prince mus­es; Sicil­ian time, in which days and nights stretch to infin­i­ty; and aris­to­crat­ic time, in which noth­ing is ever rushed and every­thing hap­pens just as it should hap­pen, as it has always hap­pened.”

For Scors­ese’s full com­men­tary on all ten of these pic­tures, see the arti­cle on Cri­te­ri­on’s site. The direc­tors of his favorite Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion films all changed how the world thinks of cin­e­ma in one way or anoth­er, at dif­fer­ent times, in dif­fer­ent places, and in dif­fer­ent ways. Scors­ese, too, has changed how the world thinks of cin­e­ma, arguably more than once in his career — and giv­en his pen­chant for try­ing new things, avoid­ing that tread­mill where you “keep mak­ing the same film,” he may well make anoth­er movie that changes it again. And if he does, here’s anoth­er impor­tant ques­tion: what spe­cial fea­tures will Cri­te­ri­on include when they put out their deluxe edi­tion?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free on Hulu: Stream Fellini’s 8 1/2, La Stra­da & Oth­er Clas­sic & Con­tem­po­rary Films

Mar­tin Scors­ese Reveals His 12 Favorite Movies (and Writes a New Essay on Film Preser­va­tion)

Mar­tin Scors­ese Makes a List of 85 Films Every Aspir­ing Film­mak­er Needs to See

Mar­tin Scors­ese Intro­duces Film­mak­er Hong Sang­soo, “The Woody Allen of Korea”

Mar­tin Scors­ese Cre­ates a List of 39 Essen­tial For­eign Films for a Young Film­mak­er

Mar­tin Scors­ese Names the 11 Scari­est Hor­ror Films: Kubrick, Hitch­cock, Tourneur & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.