The 100 Best Movies You've Never Seen (25 page)

Edgy, weird, and dangerous are several words commonly used to describe director David Lynch's work.
Eraserhead
,
Blue Velvet
,
Wild At Heart
, and
Mulholland Drive
are noted for their dark view of America's soft underbelly, earning Lynch the nickname “Jimmy Stewart from Mars.” “Disney,” “gentle,” and “heart-warming” are some words I never thought I'd hear connected to a David Lynch movie, but that was before I saw
The Straight Story
.

Written by Lynch's live-in companion and long-time editor Mary Sweeney, this is the most linear, and well, straight-ahead story Lynch has ever committed to film. Alvin Straight (Richard Farnsworth) is a true-to-life character who embarks on a long journey to visit his estranged brother Henry (Harry Dean Stanton) who has recently suffered a stroke. It's a road picture with a twist. You see, Alvin is up there in years, walks with a cane, has a host of medical problems, and doesn't have a driver's license. To make the trip he rides a second-hand John Deere lawn tractor 240 miles from his home in Iowa to Wisconsin. “I call it the four-mile-an-hour road picture,” says Sissy Spacek, who plays Alvin's daughter Rose. Along the journey, which Lynch wisely takes his time with, we learn much about the plainspoken Alvin. He speaks of the relationship with his wife that produced 14 children, his years as an Army sniper, and his predilection for drink. The dialogue is simple and straightforward, but packs an emotional wallop as we get inside Alvin's skin.

For Farnsworth
The Straight Story
was the role of a lifetime. The Los Angeles-born Farnsworth was 79 and in ill health when he began shooting the film. He began his career in motion pictures as a teenaged stuntman, driving a chariot for Cecil B. DeMille. For the next 40 years he worked anonymously, doing stunt riding and tricks in 300 films and television shows, even co-founding the Stuntman's Association in 1961, before director Alan J. Pakula cast him in a meaty supporting role as an aging ranch hand in 1978's
Comes a Horseman
. His work on that film garnered him an Academy Award nomination, and led to many other roles, including his much celebrated portrayal of Bill Miner in the Canadian film
The Grey Fox
.

Alvin Straight was Farnsworth's last role, and a fitting capper to his long and interesting career. His graceful performance is deceptively simple, presented with the kind of ease that can only come with years of experience. It's the kind of dignified, natural performance that runs the risk of seeming too real, like he's not acting at all. That's because he is so deep into the character that he seems to transcend the story, almost as if you're watching a documentary. His eyes have seen it all and betray the wisdom of human experience. He wears the wrinkles on his craggy face like a badge of honor, the result of a life well lived. Much like Farnsworth himself. “He's got a quality that's so strong, and he makes every word and glance seem real,” says Lynch. “He has innocence, and that's a gift.”

The Straight Story
is a beautiful piece of work, a movie that takes its time to unfold, but delivers rewards to those willing to wait for the payoff. It is the first film of Lynch's that he did not write, his first G-rating, and the first made in collaboration with Disney. He cites a good working relationship with the studio, but doesn't concern himself with the business of making movies. “Business is so far down the ladder of importance when it comes to the film that it shouldn't even be discussed,” he told
The Guardian
. “It's sick how much attention it gets, but then, the world is ass backwards. It would be fantastic to be able to make movies and never put them out. I love getting them to where they're really right for me — that part is beautiful. When it's time to release them, the heartache begins.”

Writer /director Allison Anders has specialized in making deeply personal, quirky films about the music business. Her first film, 1987's
Border Radio
, followed three musicians on the lam after stealing money from a club owner. Ten years later she made
Grace of My Heart
, an underrated little jewel about a songwriter who sets aside her dreams of being a star to write hit songs for other artists. Rounding off her music biz trilogy is 1999's
Sugar Town
, a look at the jaded L.A. scene, written with collaborator Kurt Voss in just eight days.

Anders and Voss weave together a gallery of characters, beginning with a “supergroup” of '80s has-beens poised to make a return to the pop charts. In a clever bit of casting they hired three guys who are each worthy of their own episode of
Behind the Music
— Duran Duran's John Taylor, Spandau Ballet's Martin Kemp, and Michael Des Barres, the former husband of super groupie Pamela Des Barres and singer from Detective — to play the comeback kids Clive, Jonesy, and Nick. Clive is married to Eva (Rosanna Arquette), an actress who has never progressed past performing in B-movie fare like
Bury Your Bones in My Garage
. A monkey wrench is thrown into their relationship when it is discovered Clive has an illegitimate son. Meanwhile Carl (former X bass player John Doe), an aging roadie who has grown sick of the road, grudgingly goes on tour to earn money to care for his family. The final plotline involves a manipulative up-and-coming singer named Gwen (Jade Gordon) who tries to seduce Liz's (Ally Sheedy) boyfriend Burt (Larry Klein). Burt is also the producer who is manufacturing the comeback of the band. See how it all ties together? Like the ambitious
Magnolia
or
Short Cuts
,
Sugar Town
's disparate elements all collide as the plot tendrils intertwine toward the movie's climax.

Anders and Voss manage the sprawling material well, cramming lots of humor and action into a tidy 92 minutes. Weaving the threads of a story through a tapestry this complicated has inherent dangers. The challenge is to find an emotional balance without swerving into melodrama or irony. For the most part they succeed, although the film's final third has some plot resolution problems and a rather unsatisfying
de rigeur
ending. A cast that seems to be having a ball, however, pumps up the movie's energy level. Musicians Taylor, Kemp, Des Barres, and Doe all give very natural performances, breathing life into stereotypes that might have fallen flat if not played with so much élan. Rosanna Arquette also deserves mention for her portrayal of Eva. Having survived the ups and downs of Hollywood stardom herself, Arquette delivers a smart, funny performance informed by insider knowledge of what the downside of fame feels like.
Sugar Town
aims to uncover a little-seen facet of show business — mid-level stars trying to live their lives, while clamoring for another shot at the brass ring. Ultimately, it's a glib story of desperation where the serious and satiric collide.

Based on the Thomas De Quincey essay “Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow” from the book
Confessions of an Opium Eater
,
Suspiria
is veteran Italian horror director Dario Argento's masterpiece. Shot with technologically outdated Kodak Technicolor film stock, the movie is painted in lurid tones of red, blue, and yellow, as Argento unfolds the story of American ballerina Suzy Banion (Jessica Harper) and a coven of witches.

“It was always meant to be an acid trip,” says Argento. “I went to Germany to shoot it, to accent all the expressionistic fairy-tale aspects.” To add to the film's surreal fairy-tale feel, cinematographer Luciano Tovoli studied Walt Disney cartoons to create the vibrant psychedelic quality Argento wanted.

Suspiria
drips with atmosphere from the opening minutes. Before the first drop of blood is spilled Argento earns his nickname “the Italian Hitchcock” as he establishes a feeling of anticipation and uncertainty with a series of fluid camera moves and a nerve-jangling score by Goblin. Like other Argento films the plotting is sloppy, but the lack of a clear narrative lends
Suspiria
much of its nightmarish quality.

In a nutshell, here's what happens: There is a ferocious storm brewing as Banion arrives at her new school, a dance academy located in the Black Forest. She is turned away at the door, and as she is leaving to find a hotel she sees a young woman running from the school. When the woman turns up dead, Banion begins her own investigation into the death. Her search for the culprit leads her into the hands of ancient and unspeakable horror.

Fans of gore will not be disappointed — one of Argento's specialties is coming up with new and creative ways to murder people — but the real terror here comes from his use of prolonged suspense. He's not afraid to draw out a scene until it reaches its breaking point, white-knuckling it until the suspense is almost unbearable.
Suspiria
is a genre classic that may not appeal to all viewers, but will certainly leave an impression on anyone who sees it.

This is a difficult, wordy little picture that asks a single question: “How do we achieve happiness?” Of course there is no answer, but director Jill Sprecher and her sister, co-screenwriter Karen, present four scenarios that offer up interesting variations on the fragile nature of happiness.

“I really love the short story form,” says Jill Sprecher. “
13 Conversations
was envisioned as an anthology of a theme. For me, there's nothing really better than reading a good short story. I love Mark Twain, O. Henry — I fall back on the American classics a great deal.” Matthew McConaughey is Troy, a swaggering lawyer who is slowly torn apart by guilt after committing a hit-and-run. Walker (John Turturro) and Patricia's (Amy Irving) marriage is collapsing under the weight of his infidelity. Beatrice (Clea DuVall), a good-natured young woman who cleans rich people's houses, has her life and outlook altered forever after a near-fatal accident. The final and best storyline involves Gene (Alan Arkin), an insurance claims adjuster who fires Wade, his happiest employee, simply because he can't stand to see him smile day after day. “There is something Chekhovian in the depth and absurdity of Gene's obsession with Wade,” says Arkin, “even after trying to right this incredible wrong, he's still reluctant to let it in, to look at himself too closely.” This is an odd film — one that takes some warming to — but it does get under your skin, particularly Alan Arkin's scenes, which he executes with the skill, insight, and timing of a master.

A quirky little film shot in two weeks on a shoestring budget,
Tadpole
was one of the finds at the 2002 Sundance Festival, where it took home a Best Director award and a five-million-dollar distribution deal from Miramax films. Oscar Grubman (Aaron Stanford) is an intelligent 15-year-old with a problem. He is hopelessly in love with his stepmother Eve (Sigourney Weaver), a scientist who married his father (John Ritter) after his marriage to Oscar's mom dissolved. Things become complicated when Oscar sleeps with Eve's best friend Diane (Bebe Neuwirth), intoxicated by the fragrance of the scarf Diane happened to borrow from Eve. It's a wickedly funny scene, and one that displays how blinded by love he is. It's
The Graduate
by way of
Oedipus Rex
.

Despite its unusual subject,
Tadpole
works on many levels. First-time actor Aaron Stanford is terrific as the lovesick Oscar. “Gary initially was, I think, dead set on a 15-year-old to do it,” Stanford told
Ensiders.com
. “But they ended up not looking at anybody who was under 20, because of who the character is, because he's not a real 15-year-old. One of the lines in the script is, ‘he's a 40-year-old trapped in a 15-year-old's body.' They needed someone who was able to physically pull off 15 while at the same time having a sort of wisdom behind the eyes, an older soul.”

As good as Stanford is, it is Broadway veteran Bebe Neuwirth who steals the show. As the 40-something temptress Diane, she wrings every bit of impish humor from the character. Sigourney Weaver provides the emotional core of the film. As Eve, a woman married to her work as much as to her husband, her reaction to Oscar's advances provides real feeling, a sensitive turn that deepens the story.

Tadpole
is a funny, insightful coming-of-age story with great performances.