Gross Behaviour - by Leonard Klady

Bullitt in the Head

I can't precisely say why in recent weeks I've been thinking about the greatest films of all time. I'm not about to lie on the couch and analyze it nor indulge in an exercise in pop psychology and juxtapose Hellboy against Citizen Kane.

A number of years back the American Film Institute sent me a form in which I was asked to select the 100 greatest American films of all time. My recollection was that it involved a booklet that contained about 500 titles and I was asked to check off or circle my 100 choices and could additionally include one film that wasn't on the list. There were also a number of caveats that, if memory serves, precluded non-fiction or experimental films, short subjects or what might be broadly described as alternative fare. My write-in choice was White Heat and when the final selection was announced to no one's surprise it rounded up the usual suspects from Birth of a Nation to Casablanca and Citizen Kane and on to The Godfather and Fargo.

It wasn't really the AFI's intention to come up with the definitive consensus list. There may have been some attached note asking that one consider the film's lasting contribution to cinema as opposed to simply entertainment value. And, then again, I might be confusing the directive with another survey such as the one done once a decade by Sight & Sound. Regardless, the final result was a credible if predictable selection in the service of a television special and revenue generator for the cash strapped sponsor. I also recall that historian Kevin Brownlow sent Tom Pollock who was on the AFI board a dryly ironic letter asking rhetorically whether the poll's options were so limited, the organization just had to include such "culturally" British films as The Third Man, Lawrence of Arabia and Chariots of Fire.

Choosing the 10 greatest films of all time is, for myself, a bit like talking to G-d. Again, no heavy analysis here. It has elements of presumption, grandeur, potency and in the end one isn't quite certain that it happened at all. It also troubles me to the point of recantation that I would even equate something on an elevated spiritual plain with often trivial or fungible entertainment.

Everyone has favorite movies or movie moments. If The Dirty Dozen is on cable and I'm not occupied, I love to watch the section where Donald Sutherland is press ganged into posing as a general and inspects Robert Ryan's troops on dress parade. He walks up and down the rows and at some point turns to Ryan and says, "mighty pretty, but can they fight?" Aside from the sheer craft of the sequence -the camera placement, editing rhythm, lighting, delivery - it's a wonderful scene about character and a perfectly appointed comic interlude in an otherwise sober action film. It's also funny … but I'll get to that later.

The Dirty Dozen is a favorite movie though I'd probably balk at including it among the 100 greatest films of all time. I'm also fond of The Guns of Navarone and The Great Escape and might even include the latter on that vaunted list. My personal problem in sitting down and compiling such a roster boils down to not wanting to spent the time involved in considering criteria, weighing choices and filing through my memory bank and reference books. I'd just like to do it and accept that those 100 choices were valid at that precise moment and in no way reflected upon past or future selections.

Anyone's list is going to reflect those films that left a profound impression at likely a vulnerable age. Last Year at Marienbad is the film that comes to mind along those lines. I won't belabor the circumstances of my first viewing other than to say that it was a bit like being struck by a lightning bolt, metaphorically speaking. Prior to seeing Marienbad I'm quite certain no other film had challenged me to grasp its meaning so rigorously. Yet, I was thoroughly engaged and what I may have missed as a result of youth, political and literary context or whatever wasn't troubling or alienating.

There is, of course, the false sense of security one has in believing that presented with 100 choices, one will be able to include absolutely everything as opposed to choosing just 10 films and struggling with the dreary criteria of the minion one would want for the duration on a desert island. Nonetheless, options tend to evaporate quickly and one begins to do the equivalent - where I come from - of creating the Canadian cabinet. In other words it is the perfectly politically balanced collection that incorporates geographic, ethnic, gender and social components.

In terms of films there's the scourge of auteurism that demands the great filmmakers be mentioned at least once. Bergman (The Seventh Seal), Renoir (La Grande Illusion), Ford (My Darling Clementine), Hitchcock (North by Northwest), Kubrick (Dr. Strangelove) and Godard (Weekend) are just some names that come to mind. At another moment I might be inclined to single out Persona, Rules of the Game, The Searchers, Vertigo, 2001 and Alphaville from those half dozen filmmakers. There are easily 100 accomplished and/or idiosyncratic movie makers that have emerged in the past century and it would be far to easy to do a sampling of greatest hits from their ranks.

It's also tempting to board a jet in one's mind and go around the world in 100 films with stops in Japan (Woman of the Dunes), India (Pather Panchali), Finland (Earth is Our Sinful Song), Belgium (Jeanne Dielman), Spain (Spirit of the Beehive), Canada (Les Ordres) and Chile (The Jackel of Nahueltoro). The route will certainly generate an eclectic and often arcane group of movies as will setting about to rifle through movies decade by decade. I have a true fondness for the silent era that embraces The Passion of Joan of Arc, The Crowd and Hands Up! (a great, largely forgotten silent comedy).

The other great conceit of the exercise is the sort of personal stamp one is prone to inject that underlines one's extensive and obscure cineliteracy. Before there was Paths of Glory, Renoir or All Quiet on the Western Front, there was the great French anti-war picture Les Coix du bois (Wooden Crosses) by Raymond Bernard. It really is the template for a particular stripe of movie and Bernard was a terrific filmmaker as evidenced by his version of Les Miserables in 1934 and the silent classic (restored by Brownlow) The Chess Player. I might also be inclined to mention Edgar Reitz's The Tailor from Ulm circa 1981 (made prior to his hallmark Heimat) for a bit of grandstanding. Perhaps my biggest guilty pleasure is Expresso Bongo, a passion that used to include an annual screening with a growing list of aficionados that included Bob Downey Sr.

I also should confess that over the years I've been personally guilty of promulgating this sort of exercise. When I remember to ask, I pose this question: What's your favorite movie - not in terms of its importance or contribution to cinema but in terms of pure enjoyment. A film you've seen several times and which bears up under the scrutiny of repeated viewings. It's the litmus test question (or Lipton test question) and, if one were so inclined, might be helpful in profiling the character of a particular individual. I still can't think of a film for myself that's more resilient than Casablanca. I'm also embarrassed to admit I've seen it in its entirety more than 40 times and still break out into a sweat when Paul Henreid tells the band to play La Marseilles. It still gets me.

Over the years the response to this question has included such war horses as Citizen Kane, King Kong, Shane and Singin' in the Rain. Francis Coppola cited the 1940 version of The Thief of Bagdad while Sidney Lumet struggled mightily before narrowing his list to three: Dodsworth, Dumbo and The Godfather. A couple of years later, I ran into Lumet and he begged to add another picture. When I asked Fellini, I wasn't sure he fully understood the question when he answered: The Marx Brothers. Is there a particular movie, I wondered and he just shook his head and said, I love them all. Personally, Duck Soup stands out and I can't imagine any list that doesn't have a sense of humor.

The actor Lionel Stander once related a story about working with Akim Tamiroff on the production of Hotel Imperial. This was a film that was never completed and not the version made in 1939 with Ray Milland and Isa Miranda. Stander said that during rehearsal one of his lines was so funny it got a laugh from the crew. Just before it was shot, Tamiroff came up to him and said: "Lionel, I give you $50 for funny line." Stander was surprised by the offer and asked Tamiroff why he wanted to do it? The Russian said he would only tell after the scene was filmed and did they have a deal. The ready money was too good to pass up and Stander recalled that Tamiroff also made the crew laugh with the dialogue. Later, he told him: "In movies, people always remember funny lines and how many are there. They are gold and $50 is cheap."

The story does have a postscript. More than 20 years later Stander was in the Via Veneto in Rome (he moved to Italy by way of London during the Blacklist era) and across the plaza saw Tamiroff who waved and ran toward him. Tamiroff embraced him and said how happy he was to see him after so many years. Then he paused and added: "You owe me $50, picture was never completed."

Which brings me to Bullitt, the 1968 Steve McQueen movie with that classic car chase through the streets of San Francisco (inspired no doubt by the chase in The Line-Up). I rarely look at old movies unless prompted by professional intent. However, there are a handful of films that if I start watching them on television I will be unable to turn away or turn off. Arthur makes me laugh despite its non-P.C. content and Chinatown's labyrinthian construction is a challenge to navigate every time I see it. But Bullitt is the one that threatens Casablanca's place in my pantheon. I just watch it in amazement, dumbstruck by its visual audacity (I doubt it has a single conventional camera setup) and the way in which this conventional tale of cops and robbers is told in images with the vaguest nod to dialogue.

Whether Bullitt deserves inclusion among the great films is not the question, I just wish there were more films like it. What's missing especially from contemporary American movies is the quality to entertain in novel ways that can't be defined. The only American movie last year that overwhelmed me with its nerve and energy was School of Rock and only time will tell whether that initial delight will endure comparably to the Marx Brothers, Dr. Strangelove, Bullitt, Casablanca and 95 others struggling to be named.