Feature - The Best Films of the 90s
A defining decade for art and culture, and for film: a boom for established auteurs and independents.
What an amazing time to be alive. While I was only born in 1998, and cannot technically consider myself a ‘90s’ kid, I still find myself inspired by that decade’s boom of independence, honesty and risk-taking that most of the emerging and established artists promoted. It was truly a great time to be a cinephile, with new waves of the indie and queer movements emerging from the United States, to the rise of first and second wave masters of Taiwan, American and Japanese animation reaching new highs, and leaders of the French New Wave managing to release among their best films more than thirty years later. It’s an embarrassment of riches that was very hard to fully appreciate and pin down.
With that said, I’m ranking 20 films, and there are a ton that didn’t make my personal cut. Nevertheless, I want to briefly mention them so you can add them to your watchlists (if you haven’t already). They include from arthouse classics to sentimental favorites. In chronological order: Paris is Burning (Jennie Livingston), GoodFellas (Martin Scorsese), Days of Being Wild (Wong Kar-wai), A Tale of Winter (Éric Rohmer), Naked (Mike Leigh), Jurassic Park (Steven Spielberg), The Age of Innocence (Martin Scorsese), Schindler’s List (Steven Spielberg), Hoop Dreams (Steve James), The Shawshank Redemption (Frank Darabont), Clueless (Amy Heckerling), Crash (David Cronenberg), Mission: Impossible (Brian De Palma), Taste of Cherry (Abbas Kiarostami), The Truman Show (Peter Weir), Mulan (Bancroft & Cook), After Life (Hirokazu Koreeda), All About My Mother (Pedro Almodóvar), Election (Alexander Payne), Being John Malkovich (Spike Jonze), The Talented Mr. Ripley (Anthony Minghella), and Fantasia 2000 (Disney, multiple directors).
Apart from films, a brief mention to two TV shows that bled into the film community: Twin Peaks and Neon Genesis Evangelion. Both are amazing in their own right, but they also generated sequel(?) films that continue to resonate years after they were released: Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me and The End of Evangelion. Both are deeply unnerving psychological films that play on the verge of horror, and find ways to be deeply satisfying and unsatisfying at the same time. Lots of parallels between the two.
Still got a lot left to watch, and obviously this ranking is my opinion today, I will most likely change my mind as soon as tomorrow.
Now, onto my top 20:
20. Pulp Fiction (dir. Quentin Tarantino)
Production from the United States. Released in 1994.
A film that needs no introduction. One that breaks so many rules but remains as influential as ever. Every person started their cinephile journey with their love for this film, even if they don’t quite understand it. That was certainly my case, as I was young and impressionable. I loved this film so much that it made my want to (try to) write a script for a film. Those waters of course cooled off. But what remains in my mind now, however, is the compendium of small details and influences that make up this Godardian deconstruction of film form, of understanding audience expectation and subverting it in smart ways, of embracing the meaninglessness of structure while keeping a thematic core of redemption. There’s always a lot to discover, and rediscover, when watching this film.
19. The Match Factory Girl (dir. Aki Kaurismäki)
Production from Finland and Sweden. Released in 1990.
The most unlikely of revenge stories, director Kaurismäki trades the uneasy optimism of his most recent film Fallen Leaves for something much darker as he focused on working class dread. Following Iris, she is subject to both classism and sexism of the community at the time. The film follows in Aki’s usual deadpan tone the constant stream of humiliations that she receives, where extreme measures become the only viable solutions to escape. I think it’s up to the viewer to decide if her final actions are triumphant or downright depressing, or both. It is satisfying to see her overcome her situation, but wow is it a hard pill to swallow.
18. Irma Vep (dir. Olivier Assayas)
Production from France. Released in 1996.
Both biting satire and a love letter to auteur-driven cinema and the filmmaking process, this weird blend of form follows a French film production team as they try to remake Les Vampires, a classic French serial, with real-life star Maggie Cheung playing the central role. This meta exploration both pokes fun at cinephiles’ understanding of auteurs and their sometimes distasteful reasons for working, while serving as a chance to watch Cheung in all her glory (she never misses despite the weird role she’s put in). What won me over, though, is the ending which leans to avant-garde filmmaking, not only inviting audiences to appreciate an accident, but more so to look beyond narrative cinema as the only form of storytelling.
17. Perfect Blue (dir. Satoshi Kon)
Production from Japan. Released in 1997.
While Millennium Actress is a delightful affirmation of the profession of acting as a conduit for human determination, its darker older sister Perfect Blue still feels like the better film because of how timely it feels despite being released 27 years ago. Following a pop star who shifts her career path to acting in a crime show, the film is really an exploration of the debilitating power of the online world on the human psyche, alongside an exploration of the pressures of toxic super-fandom. The frenetic editing style follows Mima as the loses her mind, and the animation style’s refusal to differentiate between truth and fiction makes this a great example of telling a story through the most unreliable of narrators. If you like Aronofsky, this film inspired his style and is better in execution.
16. Before Sunrise (dir. Richard Linklater)
Production from the United States and Austria. Released in 1995.
I wrote about this film (and its sequels) earlier this year, but its underlying magic still creeps up to me as I read more. A superb amalgamation of mind and heart, this love story follows the first meeting of Jesse and Céline, and uses philosophy and lighter academic discussion to chart their evolving infatuation and maybe genuine love for one another; first in subtext, then wholly over the surface. As they discover Vienna, Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy slowly change their registers from hope to despair, as their characters understand that they may never see each other again. Linklater fuels this story with earnestness and the right touch of sadness to make this film truly universal, as lonely souls waiting to be discovered, and at the right time, embraced.
15. The Silence of the Lambs (dir. Jonathan Demme)
Production from the United States. Released in 1991.
Among the most conventional films on this list, a classic is still a classic. Demme’s thriller sets itself apart from other serial killer films for many reasons, but mainly Anthony Hopkins and most of all Jodie Foster. Hopkins is of course what people most remember when thinking about this film, and his truly menacing presence, helped by Demme’s love for extreme close-ups, helps in cementing it as a classic performance. However, Foster gets arguably the harder job and makes the most out of it, playing the underdog while never succumbing to victimhood, living in a sexist world while never acknowledging it for the sake of cheap feels, and again through Demme’s lensing, lets the viewer put itself firmly in her eyes, as she puts herself in harm’s way to get just one step ahead from the men doing far less (which is both thanks to the sharper script and her ability to mine for greater nuance elsewhere). Also of note: the final 20 minutes… what a way to go out with a bang.
14. Chungking Express (dir. Wong Kar-wai)
Production from Hong Kong and the Netherlands. Released in 1994.
How does Wong Kar-wai always manage to get away with it? His films are almost always love stories, and his films always simultaneously look at Hong Kong’s complicated handover to China, if you look hard enough between frames. This film, a full-blown love letter to Hong Kong (named after Chungking Mansions and the Midnight Express, the two central locations of the film and quintessential to the city) charts two separate stories, first an unrequited love of a pineapple-loving cop (Takeshi Kaneshiro) who then meets a drug smuggler (Brigitte Lin), and then the romantic comedy of misunderstandings between another cop (Tony Leung) and a snack bar worker (Faye Wong). From the fast-paced editing to Christopher Doyle’s camera innovations, to the truly emotional use of California Dreamin’ as a leitmotif, it is impossible not to love this film.
13. The River (dir. Tsai Ming-liang)
Production from Taiwan. Released in 1997.
One of two films on this list about debilitating health conditions as metaphors for more societal epidemics, The River first starts as a straightforward drama regarding a man’s neck pain caused by contact with a contaminated river. However, when the family desperately tries to ease his pain, it becomes clear that the film is more about a family completely disconnected from one another, and the seemingly deviant ways each of them seek some sort of stimulation. I don’t think a film will ever capture the darkness of a gay sauna as eeriely as this film did. Tsai Ming-liang comes from the second wave of Taiwanese new films; and while his predecessors (Hou Hsiao-hsien and Edward Yang) focused on painting a wider canvas of Taiwan, he wanted to find something more internal yet more universal, of longing, loneliness and the despair that comes with the urban lifestyle.
12. The Last Days of Disco (dir. Whit Stillman)
Production from the United States. Released in 1998.
I don’t know why or how, but filmmakers sure do know how to find the rotten core of the bourgeois lifestyle and mindset. In what seems to still be a quite timely theme, The Last Days of Disco explores the privileged white people who adopted disco culture in the early 80s, at the expense of everyone else. This is the light appropriation of a culture started by African Americans, which sure popularizes it, but also fast-tracks its demise. We still see it today with white people using the vernacular and cultural elements of Latinos, African Americans, and the queer culture, for its perception as cool and new. Is it wrong? That’s not the point. What Stillman explores here is how unlikeable characters who can afford to be incompetent seek to be sole beneficiaries of culture, while failing to understand their role in its downfall. Somewhere I read that they are all smart, but none are wise, and I agree.
11. A Tale of Summer (dir. Éric Rohmer)
Production from France. Released in 1996.
The first of two films by Éric Rohmer featured here, A Tale of Summer is probably the most well known of his Tales of the Four Seasons series, and for good reason. It is one of the few Rohmer films where the main character is a man, Gaspard (apparently modeled after the director himself), as he forms bonds with three women during his summer vacation. With Diane Baratier as the cinematographer and Rohmer’s sharp script, the film prevents any idealization of the women but rather use them to define Gaspard as he lacks any kind of affective responsibility to choose between any of them, in multiple acts of sheer selfishness framed as passivity. It seems simple, but the stills captured by Baratier (probably the best looking Rohmer film) along some of the best dialogue Rohmer’s ever written (particularly when delivered by Amanda Langlet’s Margot), its simplicity fades away. I don’t know much of sea-shanties, but Corsair's Daughter was such a joy to discover.
10. Cure (dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa)
Production from Japan. Released in 1997.
If Hitchcock were still alive, he would celebrate Kiyoshi Kurosawa for embodying his concept for pure cinema, one of manipulating movement, light and sound, to create something only manageable through film as an artistic medium. Here, it is the pitch-perfect cuts to generate meaning, the sound of a lighter turning on, of water running, or a cry for help. In one of the best offerings in the serial killer horror/thriller genre, Kurosawa tells the story of a cop who investigates a person who seemingly hypnotizes people into carrying out gruesome murders. However, the film asks even darker questions as it closes into the finish line: did he order them to kill, or did he remove their inhibition? If it is the latter, what is preventing us from becoming killers ourselves?
9. Princess Mononoke (dir. Hayao Miyazaki)
Production from Japan. Released in 1997.
While I hesitate to call Miyazaki’s oeuvre one aimed primarily at children (his two most recent films beg to differ), Princess Mononoke squarely rejects this definition, primarily because of its use of graphic violence and certain horror elements. Combining both his anti-war and pro-environmental stances, while blending in his usual knack for secretly feminist storytelling, Princess Mononoke is a war film that treats all sides with respect and dignity, to emphasize the humanity of every person involved. San has her heart in the right place but is deeply vengeful, Lady Eboshi exploits nature but is a genuinely positive leader to her community. Do some ends justify some means? Is true morality possible in a world where incentives are so deeply twisted? I guess Miyazaki would say yes and no, but because he will always rally against violence, both against humans and against nature.
8. Flowers of Shanghai (dir. Hou Hsiao-hsien)
Production from Taiwan and Japan. Released in 1998.
Director Hou’s style is characterized by long sustained shots of character interactions, and let the actors and the mise-en-scène interact until they find something ‘true’ or meaningful. This film takes this style to its extremes, as this almost two-hour film contains less than forty shots in total, with each containing a whole scene. Each scene tracks one of four stories within the elegant brothels of Shanghai, all exploring the power imbalances of male patrons and flower girls in different ways. The sets are spectacular with ruby and gold tones throughout, and the camera moves like a paintbrush as each scene evolves. More than most, this film would seem fit for a museum exhibition, and one I would greatly appreciate to watch again in a theater.
7. Safe (dir. Todd Haynes)
Production from the United States and the United Kingdom. Released in 1995.
The second film about debilitating illnesses, this one follows Carol White (Julianne Moore), a well-off housewife in LA who develops a sort of environmental illness, as chemicals seem to cause her to lose her breath, or even choke. Todd Haynes is another master of subtextual storytelling, and while this domestic health drama is framed as a psychological horror film, its subtle critiques and comparisons invite more discussion and subsequent viewing. From the ignorance and then exploitation of the AIDS crisis, to the individualistic view of self-improvement and toxic positivity, Haynes sharpened his knife on all ends and never lets anyone off the hook. Like in The River, it is unclear what exactly is happening to Carol, or even if she is cured, but all the better for it. And while The River looks inward to speak on personal estrangement, Safe definitely looks outward, and condemns everyone for acting out of their own self-interest, never for the greater good.
6. A Brighter Summer Day (dir. Edward Yang)
Production from Taiwan. Released in 1991.
Edward Yang remembered the true story of a young boy who stabbed and killed his girlfriend in the 60s and was imprisoned. Instead of making it a straightforward crime melodrama about the central relationship, Yang chose the long and winding road by examining Taiwan in its primitive years, the fear of invasion and the autocratic tendencies that it justified. By building a massive four hour portrait of a society built on these aspects, and the rising delinquency that occurred with the community’s youth, Yang did not justify the little boy in his actions, but did signal that the incident was just a small part of a way bigger problem. It’s no wonder that the very first shot of the film is the little boy needing to be transferred to night school because of his grades (of lesser quality than day school). This institutional division, and the different societal pressures in play are just as important to Yang as the kid’s blossoming relationship and envious detachment. It is nothing short of miraculous.
5. A Tale of Autumn (dir. Éric Rohmer)
Production from France. Released in 1998.
The last of Rohmer’s tetralogy of the four seasons, this one follows a very simple comedy of misunderstandings of love, but is far and away the most complete of Rohmer’s offerings, as well as the best constructed and performed characters. We all know and love someone like Magali (played by Béatrice Romand): driven, independent, rough around the edges, looking for love but refusing to settle for less, complicated to initially like but so easy to love. Her friends Isabelle (Rohmer-regular Marie Rivière) and Rosine (Alexia Portal) want to set her up with potential suitors but use very different ways of going about it. As Magali works at her own vineyard, the film uses wine as its central metaphor, with age providing the greatest tool to let the best flavors develop, and little intervention providing the most suitable crops for winemaking. It is a celebration of aging and of finding love later in life, while affirming for a younger generation, through subtleties of performance, that they still have a lot left to figure out.
4. Close-Up (dir. Abbas Kiarostami)
Production from Iran. Released in 1990.
I wrote about this film a short while ago, but in case you didn’t read, this rejection of objectivity and principles of documentary to create a true human story of art, ownership and meaning in modern Iran. He does not embody the pure cinema doctrine of Hitchcock, yet he created something that can only be achieved through film, a combination of fiction and non-fiction, recreation, interview, and complete manipulation of events. A sociological issue when researching is that surveillance or interview causes the subject to change their behavior, thus removing value from the investigation. Knowing this, director Kiarostami peels his subject’s layers in multiple ways until the viewer finds the truth. Hossein Sabzian cries in the film’s final minutes, and the viewer knows that Kiarostami did not capture that moment, he engineered it.
3. The Long Day Closes (dir. Terence Davies)
Production from the United Kingdom. Released in 1992.
We all know about the recent fad of established directors making autobiographical films. Many directors tried it, with Fellini and Fosse being the more famous and celebrated examples, but none come close to the level of emotionality that the late Terence Davies achieved in The Long Day Closes. Following up on his other masterpiece Distant Voices, Still Lives, which tracks a more communal view of his family history, this film is squarely about him, where he gets at the center of all of his anxieties around working class family, religion, sexuality, friendships and more through a kaleidoscopic look into his childhood. Davies saw music as a powerful tool to convey emotion, and while the previous film used the ensemble’s beautiful singing voices, this film is completely non-diegetic, and finds inspiration from multiple sources, from the 20th Century theme to music by Debbie Reynolds and Nat King Cole. The most powerful moment is also its final one, in a movie theater where Arthur Sullivan’s ‘The Long Day Closes’ plays… it is a moment a regularly come back to.
2. La Belle Noiseuse (dir. Jacques Rivette)
Production from France and Switzerland. Released in 1991.
La Belle Noiseuse is just about the artist Frenhofer and each brushstroke and discovery, as much as it is about his muse Marianne who poses for the painting. This four hour feature is a push and pull that eventually reveals a lot about both of them and their loved ones. Frenhofer strives to paint because of the elusive concept his is trying to grasp, Marianne feels ownership over the work yet fails to understand the personal implications it may generate, and Frenhofer’s wife Liz is focused on leading the artist into finding virtue over artistic triumph. The film ultimately is an exploration of the artistic process that spends just as much time tracking the poses, sketches, brushstrokes and finishing touches, as it is about art as ownership, opportunity for connection, liberation and redemption. Full nudity aside, this is art as pure as it gets.
1. Eyes Wide Shut (dir. Stanley Kubrick)
Production from the United States and the United Kingdom. Released in 1999.
Possibly Kubrick’s best film, Eyes Wide Shut is a Shakespearean drama of relationships and their fragility, sexual desire, elites, and 21st century paranoia, all wrapped around Tom Cruise’s affable but impenetrable persona, and his marriage to Nicole Kidman. All of Kubrick’s trademarks are there: his tracking shots, lighting using set elements like Christmas lights, dreamlike set design, very dark humor and above all, the ambiguity. What I think sets this apart from the rest of his films is that it most successfully uses every single element of his arsenal to convey his central idea on human sexuality. It’s Christmas with no Christian symbols anywhere, people are ‘happily married’ but constantly invited to break their vows, the city is filled with prostitutes and deviants, and the masked party is an ultimate elitist exploration of unchecked sexual impulse. The casting, too, is masterful, as Cruise and Kidman are at the highs of their careers, yet one step away from separating, and acclaimed director Sydney Pollack’s presence as one such member of the elite is also masterful. Do humans need rules to contain their desires, or to live them out fully? How and when does morality play into it? Kubrick was critiqued in the past for being extremely mechanical, so his exploration of humanity through the id seems unlikely, but fitting. The result is his greatest film and one of the best ever made.