Home Alone has been considered a Christmas tradition since the moment Macaulay Culkin slapped his cheeks and yelled at the top of his lungs all the way back in 1990, but seeing the John Hughes-written and Chris Columbus-directed picture develop into a franchise of straight-to-video/dvd glorified holiday specials has given the franchise the proverbial “mixed bag” of good and bad filmmaking. In this edition of Ranked, we’re looking at all 6 Home Alone movies (yes there have been 6) and judging them in terms of quality, enjoyability, critical reception and public perception to rank each from worst to best.

Have a favourite Home Alone movie? Let us know in the comments, and follow The Film Magazine on Twitter.

6. Home Alone 4: Taking Back the House (2002)

The fourth entry to the franchise is nothing short of a disaster.

A clear cash grab intended to capitalise on the burgeoning DVD market, this Rod Daniel (K-9) straight-to-TV feature recasts the iconic roles of Kevin McCallister (once played by Macaulay Culkin) and Marv (originally Daniel Stern) and, as if that wasn’t sacrilegious enough, takes the concept to an entirely different level of absurd. Seriously, if you thought a child defending his house from fully grown men via a series of booby traps was absurd, wait ’til you get a load of this…

In Home Alone 4: Taking Back the House, Kevin McCallister must ignore the instructions of his parents and rescue a crown prince from his old foe Marv and Marv’s wife Vera.

It truly is as bad as it seems…

5. Home Alone: The Holiday Heist (2012)

Home Alone 5 (The Holiday Heist) thankfully didn’t regurgitate the great characters from the first Home Alone in some lame attempt to gather an audience, but much like our previous entry did seem like a film written before the Home Alone branding was ever slapped on it.

In many ways another sorry attempt to grab cash from willing and hopeful consumers, rather than a fitting tribute or loving extension to the Home Alone franchise, The Holiday Heist did actually offer brief glimmers of being something more than that of the franchise’s previous incarnation, notably upping the casting quality to include the legendary Ed Asner (albeit in a cameo) and A Clockwork Orange actor Malcolm McDowell.

The movie was directed by Peter Hewitt, the man who helmed Bill & Ted’s Bogus Adventure just a year after the original Home Alone was released and later directed the absurd British children’s comedy Thunderpants (2002), his work on The Holiday Heist at least attempting to replicate some of the feeling of the first few movies, albeit quite poorly.

Recommended for you: I’m a 90s Kid and I Watched Home Alone for the First Time This Year

According to Thomas Schatz, the blockbuster is the most important reason for the American commercial film industry’s survival. “[…] Hollywood has been increasingly hit-driven since the early 1950s. This marks a significant departure from the classical era, when the studios turned out a few ‘prestige’ pictures each year […] The exceptional became the rule in postwar Hollywood, as the occasional hit gave way to the calculated blockbuster” (16). Financially successful films from directors like Stanley Kubrick, Sam Peckinpah, and Francis Ford Coppola in the late 1960s and early 1970s paved the way for Steven Spielberg and George Lucas to create the “director-as-superstar ethos” (27). Schatz saw Lucas’ Star Wars as a masterwork in commercial filmmaking that created broad appeal using nostalgia, action-packed plot, and stunning special effects.

Music is one of the most important aspects of Star Wars’ ability to invoke nostalgia. Emilio Audissino notes that the music in Star Wars represented a break from popular science fiction films, following in the footsteps of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. “Traditionally, music for the sci-fi genre would use a language inspired by 20^th century modernism […] Lucas rejected the modernist and electronic options and chose Kubrick’s approach” (71). Lucas specifically mentioned to Spielberg that he wanted to evoke classic film composer Erich Wolfgang Korngold, whose work included action-adventure films like The Adventures of Robin Hood and Captain Blood.

Diegetic and nondiegetic music are used in this scene – music on Jabba’s barge fades into the background when the film cuts outside to contrast with Tatooine’s harsh wind. Williams’ dark score causes a mood change 90 seconds into the scene, marking the beginning of the crescendo to action. Deep brass tones punctuate cuts as Luke ensures his friends are ready and in position. The most important music cue is the Star Wars theme’s entrance as Luke dives off the skiff’s plank – rather than falling into the mouth of the sarlaac, he jumps back onboard to start the fight.

Hollywood nostalgia in this scene is also triggered by the pirate imagery derived from classic films like Treasure Island and Peter Pan – the ships on the Dune Sea filled with violent criminals and the plank walk are motifs taken from those films. Jabba even has a small cackling henchman that sits on him like a parrot. Lucas adapted pirate themes to sci-fi by filling out Jabba’s crew with aliens, ships that float through the air, and the sarlaac that inhabits the Great Pit of Carkoon. The action in the scene is sci-fi swashbuckling action, as Luke clashes swords with Jabba’s enforcers, and jumps from ship to ship to fight the mostly faceless antagonists.

The special effects, like the music and imagery, represent a merging of classic and new Hollywood. Jabba was a puppet that was operated by three people, and the humanoid aliens were created by the make-up and costuming departments. Luke’s green lightsaber, enemy lasers, and Boba Fett’s jet pack exhaust were created through rotoscope animation. Optical printing was used to make the ships appear as if they were floating above the ground. This scene also contains CGI that was added in the 1997 Special Editions; the banthas (seen at the beginning) and the mouth of the sarlaac were not in the original version(s). These elements were added by Lucas to create consistency with the prequel trilogy, placing the six films philosophically in line with Tolkien’s three essential elements of good worldbuilding (depth, detail, and consistency) (Butler 5).

Though the first 180 seconds of the scene are devoted to establishing each character’s location in the diegetic space, showcasing their personalities, and building tension for the upcoming action, the scene is still relatively fast-paced in its editing. The 56 cuts that compose those 180 seconds average 3.2 seconds per cut, and the 60 cuts in the next 80 seconds average 1.3 seconds per shot. This is well below the average shot length in US feature films in 1983, which Barry Salt has listed at just under 7 seconds (378). To Schatz, this indicates a fundamental change to the nature of film. “From The Godfather to Jaws to Star Wars, we see films that are increasingly plot-driven, increasingly visceral, kinetic, and fast-paced, increasingly reliant on special effects” (29). These cuts aren’t just fast, they switch between a multitude of characters in several distinct locations to hold interest and create tension. The audience sees the danger of Boba Fett in editing before the characters, as Lando dangles from the skiff while Luke fights off guards and Han stumbles blindly… that narrative chaos is created through the editing in a way only film can.

These components and their sheer scale construct a scene that defines blockbuster filmmaking. Despite the generally positive reception, the series was “quickly targeted as an example of the ‘empty,’ ‘juvenile’ entertainment that […] 1970s and 1980s blockbusters came to emblematize” (Turnock 138). Schatz saw Star Wars as a shift even from recent blockbuster film: “In Star Wars […] characters (even “the hero”) are essentially plot functions […] where Star Wars is so obviously and inexorably plot-driven, The Godfather develops its story in terms of character” (29). The attempts to capture an audience through spectacle rather than substance was described as “Bruce aesthetic” by critic James Monaco, after the robotic shark used to film Jaws, meaning that the “cinematic effect is ‘visceral – mechanical rather than human.’” (Schatz 26). This wasn’t helped by Lucas’ Disney-inspired total marketing strategy through action figures, comics, television specials, and more.

Boba Fett is one of the most notorious examples of marketing incepting audience interest in a character who is only fleshed out in transmedia storytelling. Fett was first featured in a cartoon as part of the ‘Star Wars Holiday Special’. His next appearance was The Empire Strikes Back, where he captures Han Solo for Jabba. These brief appearances created an air of mystery around the bounty hunter, and he quickly became a fan favorite.

His appearance in this scene is both brief and humiliating. 216 seconds into the clip, he runs onto the top deck of Jabba’s ship and flies down using his jet pack. Luke destroys his blaster, and Fett retaliates by tangling the Jedi in a cable launched from his wrist. Luke escapes, and Fett fires at him with another wrist blaster. He’s bumped by Han Solo, and his jet pack flies him into the side of Jabba’s barge. His final moment shows him tumbling into the pit, where the sarlaac devours Fett and ends the scene with a belch. Fett is defined by his tools more than his stoic nature – a glaring example of style over substance. His representation as a tough character is at odds with his death, and the gastrointestinal emission from the beast is an absurd comic bit that portrays the juvenile nature of the scene.

Unsatisfied with the Fett’s death, fans used transmedia stories to defy the narrative, and, by extension, the series’ more unsophisticated aspects. One story, called “A Barve Like That: The Tale of Boba Fett” immediately follows these events, and tells about how the bounty hunter actually escaped from the sarlaac while diving into his past and psyche. A sequel to that story, “The Last One Standing: The Tale of Boba Fett”, gives readers greater context to the relationship between Fett and Han Solo, and features a meaningful final conflict to contrast with their interaction in this scene. Boba Fett would go on to feature in other canon novels, comics, films, and television episodes that would give viewers more insight into the shallow character.

Luke igniting his new lightsaber as the film’s theme blasts triumphantly is the characterizing image of this scene, and Star Wars as a whole. Blending classic Hollywood with new ideas and technology is what made the franchise so successful, but the emphasis on action, gadgets, and effects are a deviation from character-driven auteur filmmaking that allowed for the blockbuster era to come about in the first place. One has to respect Star Wars’ inherent demand to be treated as an epic, even if it is ultimately a juvenile commercial vehicle.

Bibliography

Audissino, Emilio. John Williams’s Film Music: Jaws, Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and the Return of the Classical Hollywood Music Style. The University of Wisconsin Press, 2014. Scribd. Accessed 22 July 2020.

Butler, Catherine. “Tolkien and Worldbuilding. ASU, pp. 1-21. Accessed 22 July 2020. J. R. R. Tolkien (New Casebooks), Peter Hunt, Palgrave, 2013,  pp. 106-20.

Salt, Barry. “Comments on Attention and Hollywood Films.” Film Style and Technology, 3^rd ed., Starword, 2009. Cinemetrics, 2010. Accessed 22 July 2020.

Schatz, Thomas. “The New Hollywood.” Movie Blockbusters, by Julian Stringer, Routledge, 2003, pp. 15–44. Accessed 22 July 2020.

Turnock, Julie. “The True Stars of Star Wars? Experimental Filmmakers in the 1970s and 1980s Special Effects Industry.” Film History, vol. 26, No. 4, 2014, pp. 120-145. Accessed 22 July 2020.

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)
Director: J.J. Abrams
Screenwriters: J.J. Abrams, Chris Terrio
Starring: Daisy Ridley, Adam Driver, Oscar Isaac, John Boyega, Kelly Marie Tran, Carrie Fisher, Mark Hamill

In wrestling the two-headed beast that was a divisive audience reaction to The Last Jedi and the ginormous box office flop that was Solo, Lucasfilm boss Kathleen Kennedy wielded her lightsaber to oust her original screenwriter-director choice Colin Trevorrow (Jurassic World) from the increasingly important 9th Episode of the Skywalker saga, instead opting to return the franchise to the relatively safe hands of the universe’s 7th movie director J.J. Abrams. Abrams, the filmmaker behind the cinematic reboots of both Star Wars and Star Trek, was therefore tasked with steering the increasingly fragile Star Wars ship into calmer waters with the central Skywalker saga’s conclusion; a film long considered a must-win for the Disney-Lucasfilm partnership. With repairs needed between the cinematic universe and its audience in order to appease some portions of the fandom, a box office hit needed to appease Disney accountants circling an increasingly fragile franchise, a critical hit needed to appease the Disney executives who are still considering the role of Kennedy with just weeks left on her Lucasfilm deal, and the need for a satisfying conclusion to one of the most beloved and popular franchise narratives of all time, Abrams seemed tasked with achieving the impossible: a film that wins for everyone. With The Rise of Skywalker, the talented director proved that even for a filmmaker as well versed in audience pleasing spectacle as him, the impossible is perhaps a little too much. There were no miraculous force-wielding powers at play here.

So much was made of the divisive nature of the expectation quelling The Last Jedi upon its release in 2017, Rian Johnson’s universe-rocking screenplay providing what many saw as a shot in the arm for the franchise and others saw as a decimation of all that had made the franchise so beloved in the first place. The resulting ill-natured discourse surrounding Star Wars created one of the most divided audiences in modern franchise history, and any enjoyment found in The Rise of Skywalker seems to be largely determined by which side of the Last Jedi divide you find yourself on.

If you disliked The Last Jedi, The Rise of Skywalker course-corrected successfully enough to ease anxieties, but if you liked The Last Jedi, then a number of creative choices will seem to have completely undermined the character arcs and narratives set forth by Johnson’s 8th instalment, in what must be seen as an angry shove from Abrams to Johnson’s course-changing ideas.

The narrative for The Rise of Skywalker is, then, perhaps more about the creative hands behind the scenes wrestling for their own vision of the saga than the actual story on the screen; the narrative of the multi-billion dollar franchise leading characters (Rey, Finn, Ren, etc.) seemingly pulled in every direction at the whim of the individual filmmakers taken aboard by Lucasfilm to guide the creative side of the reboot project in an ill-judged attempt to recreate the original trilogy’s distinct sense of individuality across franchise entries.

At one stage in The Rise of Skywalker, one of the franchise’s most beloved characters utters the words “I was wrong”, as Abrams and company collectively dismiss many of The Last Jedi’s philosophies and character motivations; the film offering a knowing wink and a nod that explaining away huge creative shifts in momentary dialogue exchanges is by no means good enough, but that if the Star Wars audience wanted what they paid to see – epic action sequences and battles between the light side and the dark – then it will just have to do. The result is an at times disappointing and often disjointed narrative that seems to offer such unstable bedrock to the performers that even some of the most seasoned actors stuggle to find performances becoming of their names and silver screen history.

What’s worse is that the push and pull of creative forces behind the scenes plays out on the screen in the shape of a rushed first act that seems to put a band-aid on what are perceived as the weak points of Johnson’s work, restructuring the universe’s narrative to reconvene with what Abrams had set up in The Force Awakens, and then proceeds to accelerate at an at times impenetrable rate for the remainder of its runtime. The reasons for this are clear, and to many understandable, but it has an undeniably detrimental effect on the film itself, which if not for said pacing issues and The Last Jedi contradictions offers a pulsating, thrilling, emotional rollercoaster of a finale with hugely significant and rewarding moments.

If it was a war amongst the stars you wanted, then The Rise of Skywalker offered it and then some.

Visually, The Rise of Skywalker is unsurprisingly spectacular, the CGI and practical effects combinations creating a tangible quality to the universe that is at times awe-inspiring, while both the sound mixing and score were immaculate, John Williams’ work elevating every last frame of the piece – never before has a score seemed so intrinsic to the philosophical and ideological presentation at the heart of a film.

This 9th instalment also found great success in revisiting much of what made previous Star Wars films so unique and interesting from a universe building perspective, the heroes traversing the stars, meeting unique characters on distinct planets and finding themselves involved in battles alongside characters already embroiled in their own interesting and unique off-screen narratives. Perhaps most pleasing of all, these moments (many of which were dotted through the film’s first act) felt like Star Wars adventures; they contained the same quirks and star-gazing hopefulness of the original trilogy, Abrams successfully recreating the elements of the filmmaking that helped us to explore our collective imaginations all those years ago. Seeing new characters come to life and never before seen visuals burst out of the screen was becoming of a Star Wars film and an undeniable upgrade on The Last Jedi’s comparatively meta and at times drawn out approach to universe building. Perhaps more so than even in The Force Awakens, The Rise of Skywalker felt like a universe that was lived in, occupied by more than just a handful of characters.

For all of the mishaps and detrimental course correction found in the screenplay, The Rise of Skywalker did see Abrams place a lot more emphasis on a number of elements that were vital to the original trilogy, the most notable and impactful of which was a return to the philosophy of choice, and how choice is what ultimately makes a character good or bad. In The Rise of Skywalker characters are often swept away by circumstance just as they are in any reasonably budgeted blockbuster (including other Star Wars movies), but the film never backs away from forcing its central characters to make key decisions that flip or twist the narrative in new directions, the indication being that this is a universe shaped by people choosing to do something good or to do something bad, and the pay offs to this ongoing revisitation is huge for a number of the leading characters. There is agency therefore placed in the hands of Rey, Finn, Poe, Kylo Ren and company, which emphasises the philosophy of the force and its relatability to us in the real world – if we too commit to one small act of kindness, that act can come to have universal significance.

The Rise of Skywalker will be remembered perhaps more fondly than it currently is once behind-the-scenes dramas fade into obscurity and the trilogy can be seen as less than what many hold it to the standard of being: the pinnacle of entertainment. This Abrams offering is fun, it has a number of franchise-leading moments of visual awe and narrative satisfaction, it offers something new while being assured in revisiting the old and it has enough going for it in every aspect to be seen with kinder eyes once the microscope of immediacy is removed. There are issues, many of which were foreseen in the turbulence of the film’s pre-production, and said issues were not handled in a manner befitting of a creative force directed by one singular vision, which is of course of huge detriment to the final product, but so far as space philosophy on steroids goes, there’s more than enough about The Rise of Skywalker to latch onto, even if it comes at a million miles per hour.

The likelihood that Episode IX of the Skywalker saga is the last ever Star Wars movie is slim to none, which makes learning lessons from this trilogy a vital part of the process moving forward at Disney and Lucasfilm. There have long been creative visions torn apart by warring factions, and while the effects are not so terminal in the case of The Rise of Skywalker, these issues do shape what has ultimately been put to screen and any such issues may not survive in the realm of non-Skywalker spin-offs, as seen with Solo. Whether this means reinstating the proposed Rian Johnson trilogy and following through on that filmmaker’s vision or simply rearranging high management at Lucasfilm remains to be seen, but there is a rot in the system that almost every Disney Star Wars release has had hints of before Episode IX and has come to the fore now more than ever.

The Rise of Skywalker faced the impossible behind the scenes and, unlike the force-wielding heroes on it, was unable to overcome the odds and make something truly extraordinary. Nevertheless, with all the forces at work and the height of expectation placed upon it, The Rise of Skywalker did enough to be enjoyed on its own; a solid if not groundbreaking Star Wars movie that succeeded in offering exciting moments of fan service that will long be remembered; a movie of significance if not of the highest artistic integrity.

15/24

Director: Gillian Armstrong
Screenplay: Robin Swicord, based on the novel by Louisa May Alcott
Starring: Winona Ryder, Gabriel Byrne, Trini Alvarado, Samantha Mathis, Kirsten Dunst, Claire Danes, Christian Bale, Eric Stoltz, Susan Sarandon

After a decade-long slog through the backwaters of American Independent Cinema (both in front of and behind the camera) Greta Gerwig finally broke her way into the public consciousness with her first solo directing gig – the irreverent Lady Bird. A hit with critics and audiences, the announcement of her next directorial project, Little Women, was received with great enthusiasm all around. “Little Women” is an incredibly precious story to girls and women across the world (evidently so as Gerwig’s adaptation will be the fourth film based on the Louisa May Alcott novel) and for good reason. The story of four sisters seeking their own destiny during the American Civil War is a significant piece of feminist literature prior to the Women’s Suffrage era; up there with the likes of “Pride and Prejudice” and “Jane Eyre”. So, despite the genuine and pleasant anticipation for Gerwig’s version, it has some big shoes to fill. Standards have not only been set by Alcott’s novel but also by previous adaptations, all of which have Academy Award nominations (and a few with wins). The 1933 and ’49 versions are typically popular with our grandmothers’ generation, but the beloved 1994 movie was an experience shared with mothers and daughters of the millennium. This version, a Gillian Armstrong directorial effort, is to many the definitive version.

Watching Little Women in many ways transcends the act of enjoying a movie – you almost feel like a time traveller, witnessing the change and transformation of the principal characters throughout their lives. This is of testament to the fact that Gillian Armstrong’s work is an example of extraordinary filmmaking: individual elements exceeding expectations to then be combined into an outstanding single artwork. Not only is it a viewing experience, but it can act as a tradition. Even though most of the film’s action takes place across all the seasons of the year, Little Women has come to sit amongst the likes of It’s A Wonderful Life and The Snowman as typical Christmas viewing; a true testament to its hearty appeal.

Little Women follows the lives of four young sisters as told by the second oldest – the wild and headstrong Jo March (Ryder). Meg (Alvarado) is the eldest sister, followed by Jo, Beth (Danes) and finally Amy (Dunst/Mathis), the youngest. Their father is away from home serving as a chaplain amongst the Unionist troops, leaving his daughters and their “Marmee” (Sarandon) to fend for themselves in a world dominated by poverty, classism and sexism. In the face of all this adversity, the March girls are still given an outspoken and loving upbringing that makes them unafraid to chase after their dreams. In their world of pomp and circumstance, these sisters remain faithful to their parents’ teachings of the equality of all people and the utmost importance of compassion, and often challenge the expectations of female behaviour at the time. The witnessing of these young girls transforming into little women is overall heart-warming, often bittersweet and finally triumphant as Jo, Beth, Meg and Amy experience all the trials of growing up in a story that still resonates with young, contemporary audiences.

What impresses me the most is how enthusiastic this adaption is, especially in remaining faithful to the tone of the book. For a modern reader, it is very easy to smirk and sneer at the March girls who often get excited at the prospect of an evening in, reading “The Bible”. More often than not, Hollywood can hardly resist putting a modern edge to supposedly out-dated stories in an attempt to make them more palatable, but Anderson’s version boldly showcases the lives of four Christian girls whom wholeheartedly believe in the Tenets they were raised with. Without embarrassment over these sisters’ funny old-fashioned ways, the film is able to fully immerse the audience into a different time and place, creating an unexpected empathy. We can believe these girls would give away their much-anticipated Christmas Breakfast to cold and hungry refugees, and we can believe it is because of their massively compassionate hearts (with only a little bit of a sanctimonious air). This faithfulness allows us to appreciate the struggle women endured at the time – a varnish of fourth-wave feminism would get in the way of not only the story of the March girls but also the origins of Women’s Suffrage as a whole.

The stunning fidelity to Alcott’s semi-autobiographical tale is achieved by the incredible characterisations of the March girls (and the other principal characters) alongside the fantastic performances used to deliver these most beloved personages. It goes without saying that the casting of this movie is phenomenal with many of the actors validating their A-List status through this movie alone. Trini Alvarado perfectly embodies the fine line many eldest siblings tread, playing a character constantly outraged and aggravated by the antics of younger sisters whilst also having the maturity to shoulder responsibility from their parents in times of strife, especially to bring happiness to the younger ones. Kirsten Dunst and Claire Danes wow audiences with incredibly dedicated performances despite their young ages (Danes was 14, Dunst was 11), both perfectly embodying their respective characters to such an extent that its difficult to see where Danes and Dunst end, and where Amy and Beth begin, to the point that you could unfairly label Dunst as precocious/annoying and Danes as too quiet. Those who make that mistake would miss the enjoyably spoilt, materialistic nature of the baby of the family, as Kirsten Dunst’s Amy causes you to flash back to all the times you threatened to murder a troublesome younger sibling. Then of course we have Winona Ryder as Jo, in the role she was seemingly born to play. Ryder proves that she is the unchallenged star of the show, creating a Jo who is fierce, outspoken, headstrong, emotional and compassionate. It’s simply an inspired performance with Ryder’s Jo embodying the woman who girls of the nineties dreamed of becoming. We can credit Ryder with one of the most real characters ever seen on screen as she throws herself entirely into Jo’s tempers and passions; creating a tangible, empathetic protagonist. This movie may possibly be the only time audiences see the true extent of the rage of a teenage girl and it is fantastic. Most importantly, she doesn’t use Jo as a vehicle of contemporary feminism, instead staying true to the aspirations of the characterisation in the novel, leading to a message that is able to speak to women of all ages, including those who are yet to discover the film. And then, of course, there’s Christian Bale who embodies every girl’s adolescent crush in the character of Laurie.

Despite the film being literally stuffed with outstanding performances and hugely emotional scenes, it does suffer with pacing issues. Like Tolkien’s “The Hobbit”, filmmakers have often struggled with adapting the works of Alcott – the actual novel of “Little Women” only provides the plot of the first hour of the film, for example. The rest of the runtime is made up by “Good Wives”, which is often published alongside “Little Women” as a sort of Part Two within one book. However, as the original novel of “Little Women” works as a self-contained story in its own right, the film does seem to climax prematurely, and it could be said that it then has a much slower separate plot tacked on to the end. There are many memorable and wonderful moments after the first hour mark admittedly, but the change in intensity is jarring, itself made prominent with the swapping-in of the more forgettable Samantha Mathis as a grown up Amy. There is enough charm to keep audiences hooked but the tension of the first hour is certainly missed.

Beyond the power of the narrative and the story, Little Women proves to be a truly sumptuous watch. My personal recommendation is to watch the film during the lazy nights of Christmas and New Year’s Day, underneath a throw with a hot chocolate: man or woman, brothers or sisters. This movie deserves to become such an annual tradition as every element is executed to the highest possible standard of the industry.

It is universally acknowledged that Thomas Newton was absolutely robbed at the 1995 Academy Awards with his musical score being as instantly recognisable as the likes of John Williams’ blockbuster compositions. Even his shortest pieces invoke multiple themes and emotions including Christmas, mischief, romance and grief. Listening to the music alone is almost as enjoyable as actually watching the film.

Little Women is equally pleasing from a visual standpoint, with aspects such as hair and wardrobe achieving stunning yet historically accurate period pieces, boasting authenticity as one character’s dress becomes a hand me down, passing to their younger sisters; such attention to detail is a sheer delight to see in any movie. The pièce de résistance is, however, the set design and location shooting – the interior design of the March home was based on the layout of Orchard House, Louisa Alcott’s childhood home, and Craigdarroch Castle in all of its original glorious woodwork provides the setting for Engagement and “Coming Out” Parties. To have watched the film to death on VHS and then to experience it on a 4K television was amazing. After 20 years it was the first time I could appreciate how beautiful this movie actually is and the immense amount of hard work that was poured into it by all departments.

At this point it is blindingly clear that Little Women was filmed with an almost reverent love; anything less and I don’t think the movie would have been able to bestow such an authentic message. Just like a real family, there are countless struggles and trials that are dealt with humility and honesty. The countless families that have dealt with grief and loss are able to see themselves within the March sisters and revel in the reflection of the love they see in their own lives. My favourite aspect is the depiction of friendship between a man and a woman: Winona Ryder and Christian Bale perfectly show the loving and selfless, giving and taking of a relationship without sexual undertones, the likes of which often cheapen such depicted relationships in film. It is true that a romantic element comes in between Laurie and Jo, but it smashes expectations and clichés, and is even quite courageous in its approach.

Little Women is a truly unique movie, arising out of the decade of action blockbusters with a surprisingly huge amount of warmth. A faithful adaption and stunning period piece. The popularity and the importance of Alcott’s novels means continued adaptions are certain, but so long as filmmakers aim to reach the lofty heights achieved by Gillian Armstrong, any future attempt should do this beloved book justice.

20/24

My recent re-watch might have cemented it as my favorite in the series.

It possesses a combination of depth and simplicity that allows for engagement with the material and leads nicely into the Extended Universe, plus there’s no denying it as a technical masterpiece that has inspired filmmakers worldwide. The characters, story, and certain lines of dialogue are landmarks in media. But you already know all of this, and that’s why you’re here; if you’re reading this you probably already know and love Star Wars.

Here are the most profound scenes in perhaps the most profound film in modern cinematic history.

Honorable Mention: The Destruction of Alderaan

Grand Moff Tarkin’s apparent role in the Galactic Empire became warped with time – while he seems to be in charge of Vader in Star Wars, subsequent films portray Vader as the number two guy in the Empire. Nonetheless, Tarkin’s stern manner and penchant for brutality make him a fantastic villain in the original film.

His best scene comes when the Death Star destroys Alderaan.

Vader brings a bound Princess Leia to Tarkin, and after a fun exchange of antagonistic banter Tarkin invites Leia to watch the first test of the Death Star’s full potential. He says they’ll destroy Alderaan, unless there’s another target she’d prefer… perhaps the location of the Rebel base? Despite Leia giving a (false) answer, Tarkin proceeds with the operation. Alderaan is destroyed and now no star system would dare oppose the Empire, lest they meet the same fate.

This planet destroyer of imperceivable power is now on its way to destroy the Rebel base. While we’ve already seen Vader take Leia, and Stormtroopers kill Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, those pale in comparison to Alderaan’s grim fate. Suddenly the vastness of the Empire’s reach is recognised, the threat to our heroes pressed upon us. This scene’s impact on the story, characters and universe is almost incomparable, and is certainly worthy of a mention among the film’s most profound moments. 

5. Mos Eisley Spaceport

This scene is profound for two reasons: it’s Luke’s first introduction to the power of the Force, and since 1997 has held the extradiegetic signs that even the people that liked Return of the Jedi were going to be disappointed with the prequels.

Luke, Ben and the droids descend into the wretched hive of scum and villainy only to encounter the very Empire they’re trying to avoid. Though Luke capably lies about the droids, he is still nervous as he goes to produce his identification. Old Ben will be having none of that, though. He waves his hand and tells the Stormtrooper they don’t need ID, that these aren’t the droids they’re looking for. Obi-Wan goes on to explain that the Force has a strong influence on the weak-minded.

The Jedi Mind Trick would be featured in later films. Luke uses it in Jedi to make Bib Fortuna bring him before Jabba, Qui-Gon tries it twice in The Phantom Menace (where we learn Toydarians are immune to the power), and Obi-Wan uses it to make a death stick dealer go home and rethink his life in Attack of the Clones.

While our exposure to the Force and its effect on later films is a plus, there’s still the huge downside of the CGI creatures inserted into the scene in the series’ remasterings. When technology caught up to Lucas’ original darkest desires, he added CGI wide shots, comical droids, dewbacks, rontos and scurriers to the scene. It’s all incredibly distracting (a ronto walks right through the frame as Luke’s speeder approaches the Stormtroopers) and looks terrible because the CGI is so dated. It doesn’t make the film more cohesive with the prequels either; TPM Tatooine scenes take place in Mos Espa, not Mos Eisley, so there’s no reason the two can’t look different. Fans who were unfortunate enough to watch the Special Edition in theaters got a chance to peer into the abyss before the dark times, before the prequels.

4. Han Shot First

I was pretty lucky to have the last non-Special Edition VHS release of the Original Trilogy. One day, I ran across the “Han shot first” meme on the internet, and I was confused because I’d only ever seen Han shoot. If you’re unfamiliar, Han is heading to the Falcon when he’s confronted at gunpoint by the bounty hunter, Greedo. It’s clear that these characters have a history from the dialogue, and it gives us a chance to learn more about Han’s background. Han had dropped a load he was smuggling because of the appearance of an Imperial cruiser (it’s unclear if his ship was boarded, or only could have been), and now Han owes Jabba a lot of money for the lost cargo. He says he has the money (he doesn’t), but Greedo doesn’t care – Jabba has put a huge price on Han’s head and Greedo is more than happy to collect the bounty. As they go back and forth, Han reaches for his blaster and shoots Greedo under the table. In the Special Edition, Greedo shoots before Han does, but he misses and Han still kills him. It was later altered further to have them shoot at roughly the same time, though Greedo still fires first.

When I first learned about this I didn’t really care, but upon further reflection I agree with the naysayers that think this is an egregious change. The original scene further establishes Han’s character before his change, and it highlights the lengths to which he practices self-preservation. Han is ruthless when he has to be, doesn’t hesitate, and his cool, collected execution puts him on par with The Man With No Name for the award of best on-screen anti-hero. While Han still shoots and kills in the altered scene, it seems like reflexive retaliation rather than a first resort. Han isn’t just a thief with a heart of gold, he’s a capable, cold-blooded killer, and taking that away from the character fundamentally changes the real impact of his reform. On top of all this, the draft scripts available to us prove that Greedo didn’t shoot at all. Han shot first, and any revision to that fact is apocryphal, Doylism be damned.

This important moment, and one of the most character-driven in the whole movie, wouldn’t be so hotly disputed all these years later were it not for how profound of an impact the scene (and its subsequent changes) have had on people’s assumptions about one of the greatest film characters of all time.

Perhaps more so than any other genre, horror relies on a good musical score in order to fully realise its spine-chilling cinematic vision. What could be just your run of the mill horror film fare of woman getting 86ed in the shower, can instantly turn into an iconic movie moment with the slash of a violin and the saw of a cello.

A good horror soundtrack has the ability to elevate a by-the-numbers slasher flick into a truly memorable horror classic by placing a few select chords in just the right places. With the exception of a noticeable few, every great horror film in history has had a wonderfully sinful symphony heaving it over its undead shoulders and carrying it into petrifying prominence.

Our story begins on a dark and stormy night in the eastern suburbs of Paris (to be fair, it probably wasn’t stormy, but weather records for 1896 are hard to come by, so let’s just say it was), the birthplace of what is widely considered to be the first ever horror film.

Le Manoir du Diable or The Manor of the Devil is a film featuring a sword wielding hero battling the forces of evil in a creepy old manor house and, at a three plus minute runtime, was actually seen as a rather lengthy theatrical release for its time. The film isn’t exactly scary and plays more like a camp stage play then an actual horror film, but upon its completion, Le Manoir du Diable used a live orchestra to heighten the limited visuals of the time and deliver an eerie atmospheric pantomime to a paying audience.

Nosferatu (1922)

But, perhaps the first real horror film to stake its place in cinematic history (Get it? Stake.) is 1922’s Nosferatu: a silent German expressionist film famous for its pointy eared villain, inky shadow work and its shameless ripping off of Bram Stoker’s work. And while none of the original music has survived, composer Hans Erdmann’s live orchestral music has had many recreations over the years to bring a moody and dramatic weight to Count Orlok’s manicure nightmare. Unfortunately, this was the case for nearly all cinema at the time. Music was either played live during a theatrical screening or films would simply reuse already existing musical suites.

Take Bela Lugosi’s classic fanged fatale Dracula, which famously used excerpts from “Swan Lake” over the opening title sequence. It wouldn’t be until the late 1920’s that the ability to sync music with celluloid would forever change the way we experience cinema. And, just a few short years later modern film scoring as we know it roared onto screens with 1933’s King Kong (let’s face it, if a twenty-five-foot tall gorilla demands he get his own damn music, you better give it to him). What followed over the next few decades was an eruption in musical composition that encouraged a greater emotional connection to the images on screen. This technical advancement was instrumental in ushering in a new era for the horror genre. Every inch of frame could now be utilised to the fullest in an unholy union of fright and sound.

It was actually Universal’s 1935 horror entry Bride of Frankenstein that was the first mainstream horror film to feature a fully original score (I guess it takes a woman wearing the bolts in the relationship to actually get things done). Not only was Franz Waxman’s seminal score hailed upon the film’s release for injecting the franken-sequel with new life (sorry), but it would forever alter the landscape of motion pictures. Suddenly music was the hot new thing in town and no other genre would benefit more than Hollywood’s angsty teenage brother, the horror film.

So, why do horror films rely so heavily on music?

Well, take Jaws (1975) for instance…

Jaws (1975)

Well, actually, before any of you start taking umbrage with whether or not Jaws is actually a horror or not, remember that this film single dorsal finned an entire generation from wanting to go into the water. And how did it do that? Was it the constantly malfunctioning mechanical shark Bruce? Hardly. Was it the thought of finding a headless fisherman whilst snorkelling around a sunken shipwreck? Doubtful. No, the real answer is John Williams’ Oscar winning score; a score that would permeate pop culture and become synonymous with creeping inescapable doom, without which Jaws would have been a lot less memorable. Director Steven Spielberg himself stated “I think the score was clearly responsible for half the success of that movie.” And he was right. Yes, all it took were two simple notes to terrify the bejesus out of an entire movie-going audience. Well, that and Richard Dreyfus going full on double Demin with matching Denim hat. The horror.

John Williams said of his theme, it was “so simple, insistent and driving, that it seems unstoppable, like the attack of the shark.”

The theme imbues the audience with fear. It conveys a sense of approaching dread without having to show anything at all. The moment we hear those two notes we’re instantly thrown into a state of suspense. We know something bad is lurking nearby, but we can’t see it. We’re just left to let our imaginations create the fear for us. And that fear, that rush of endorphins we get with every jump scare and nail-biting build-up is essentially the drug that gets us to go back for more, again and again. Like an adrenaline addict who books the same surfing holiday every year to Amity Island.

Another horror classic that certainly used a simplified musical score to make even the most hardened of horror fanatics sleep with the lights on was 1978 picture Halloween. Director John Carpenter, who also pulled double duty as composer on the film, gave us the jumpsuit wearing stalker turned unkillable maniac Michael Myers in a rather unconventional fashion. This was a killer who never spoke, didn’t shy away from broad daylight and often went out of his way to be seen. But, by delivering a theme that conveyed the deranged obsessive nature of the antagonist, Carpenter was able to make us feel that nowhere was safe from the masked mute. Even before the first frame of the film we’re hit by the iconic theme, thrown off balance unable to properly settle down with our bag of popcorn and XL cola. It’s a fairly basic motif, but one that is absolutely true to the character of Myers in every way. It’s relentless, it never wavers and it has a deranged monotony to it that keeps you waiting for a big change in style that never comes. It just ploughs on and on in a way that tells you this guy isn’t going to stop, he is is going to get you. In a word, it’s terrifying. No wonder the iconic theme has remained almost unchanged throughout the series’ many sequels and reboots.

In the 1980’s film music was jam-packed with sounds of the synthesiser. The electronic instrument had more dials and switches than a 1940’s switchboard and used every one of them to manipulate different sounds in order to create unique and cutting-edge music. And it was everywhere. Blade Runner, The Terminator, Beverly hills cop, you name it. And horror was no exception. In 1984 a certain razor-gloved burn victim by the name of Freddy Krueger invaded our dreams with a soundtrack akin to that of a demented lullaby in Wes Cravens Nightmare on Elm Street. By using the otherworldly sounds of the synth, composer Charles Bernstein was able to transport us into the twisted mind of the stripy sweater wearing sicko with an unforgettable score. It was atmospheric, sinister and played with your sense of reality. As the theme taunted you from the background, you were never really sure if what you were seeing was real or if you were inside a character’s nightmare, and it helped to cement the film as an instant classic. Not even the “Fresh Prince” himself Will Smith was safe from Freddy’s influence, as the track “Nightmare On My Street” from 1988 payed homage to the scarred scare master, incorporating a remix of the classic main theme. More recently the influence of Bernstein’s score can also be heard in 2007’s Trick ‘R Treat, which incorporates similar musical ques.

As horror films have evolved over the years, so has the music that accompanies them. In 2002’s The Ring, a more traditional orchestral score brought a haunting urgency to the film’s washed out aesthetic, highlighting the characters race against time to solve the mystery of the deadly tape.

The 2004 hit Saw combined classical and modern musical techniques that cleverly mirrored the cultural shift toward a newer kind of horror. Suddenly torture was the name of the game and, a year later, with the release of Hostel, the term “torture porn” would become a brand new sub-genre.

When used properly, the music of horror films has always played an important character in each of the films, staying with the viewer long after the credits have rolled and all the popcorn has been swept out from under the theatre’s seats. It’s an important tool in any horror film repertoire. A shortcut to tension. A way to instil a sense of unease in the audience without showing anything at all. Whether it’s the creepy “Ki-Ki-Ki, Ma-Ma-Ma” of the Friday the 13th theme or the famous Tubular bells from The Exorcist, music is the emotional connection between film and film-goer. If you’ve ever tried to watch a horror film without the sound, you’ll know exactly what I mean.

Written by Craig Sheldon

Number 10: Saving Private Ryan (1998)

John Williams is known for his big, memorable scores, therefore Saving Private Ryan proved quite a challenge as most of the major scenes were absent of music to give a very realistic depiction of war. Williams was given the task of creating music that would transition the scenes and be very much the bottom layer of this film, and unlike many of his other scores this one does not really function outside the realms of the movie itself. The score is respectful of its subject matter and does not overpower what is happening on the screen; it is the restraint that Williams puts into this music that makes it worth noting. It may not be the most memorable and there is nothing in the score that is a theme you can whistle along to, but it has a subtle beauty that compliments the film incredibly.

Number 9: Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)

When you think of the music from Close Encounters of the Third Kind the first thing that comes to mind is the famous 5 note motif that is used as communication device between the humans and the aliens, something that Williams worked tirelessly to get right. The rest of the score is divided into three parts or three acts if you will. The first is slow to create a mysterious atmosphere and hints at an alien presence, the second alternates between quiet and explosive action to mimic thought and discovery and the third and final starts with the famous communication sequence that then leads into long harmonic melodies that offer calm and resolution. Williams tells a story with his music and although most focus is put on the seemingly simple motif the entire score is incredibly well thought out and complex and therefore makes number 9 on this list.

Number 8: E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)

The score for E.T is magical and sentimental. Williams manages to mirror the emotional atmosphere or every situation in his own genius way. Williams’ score not only accompanies the story but in many ways creates it, so much so that Spielberg changed the final edit of the final chase sequence to match Williams’ musical cues. What is even more outstanding is that Williams wrote most of this emotional and powerful score without seeing the final finished special effects, including the iconic bicycle over the moon scene. The score has eight major themes running throughout the film reflecting different emotional points in the plot; again a complex entanglement of music to provide more passion to Spielberg’s heartwarming story.

Number 7: Schindler’s List (1993)

The score to Schindler’s List is one of Williams’ greatest pieces of work to date. The success of this score comes with the understanding John Williams has for Spielberg’s film making. Williams understood that simple beauty would be the key and that is exactly what he delivered. Much like Saving Private Ryan, it is an example of being respectful of the subject matter and demonstrating that respect through restrained orchestral sounds. Williams approached the horrors being depicted on screen with beauty, a combination that blended magnificently and helped make Schindler’s List a true masterpiece.

Number 6: Superman (1978)

With the Superman score John Williams designed something that was such a natural fit for the film and the character; music that was worthy of the legend. It also proved that Williams was no fluke as this would be his third hugely successful film score in two years. The score bestows nobility and importance onto the character and adds another dimension to the film, however it is the main title that is most noteworthy. What makes this particular part of the score so successful is that it is instantly recognisable and timeless, a quality that almost all of his work possesses. It is a theme that has survived over 30 years and was even used in the 2006 movie Superman Returns, therefore claiming its place at number six on this list.

Number 5: Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (2001)

John Williams was involved in the first three films in the Harry Potter series. However, it is the first one that make this list as it is the first time we see him help shape this magical world. The score is what we expect from Williams – magical, emotional and thrilling – and therefore all the ingredients of a John Williams classic. Although the entire score is incredible, it is Hedwig’s Theme that truly stands out and has become synonymous with the Harry Potter series. It instantly injects magic into the film and evokes excitement. When you hear it you know something wonderful is about to happen. It is the tune that continues into every film in the series and has become iconic.

Number 4: Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

This task came at the pinnacle of Williams’ career and, again, he does a fantastic job, proving just how good he is at what he does. The score matches the adventure of the film, it is big, bold and he gets the rhythm of the film completely right. There is a fluidity in his work that transitions the story and highlights the big action with an incredible sound. But, yet again, it is the title theme that attracts the most attention. It is a theme for a likable and believable hero. It is instantly recognisable and memorable, a tune that will be stuck in your head for days, everything that makes a great score.

Number 3: Jurassic Park (1993)

Jurassic Park is one of John Williams’ most impressive masterpieces; the score is filled with epic wonder and truly embodies the scale of the film. As the main theme surges it presents the park in all its glory, it is meant to be awe inspiring and the music adds to this emotion. John Williams is a genius when it comes to telling a story with his music and Jurassic Park is no exception to this. The score can range from severely intense in anticipation of something bad happening to outstandingly beautiful when the characters are struck with amazement and wonder. Just listening to the grand compositions from Williams, you can tell that this is a film of epic proportions.

Number 2: Jaws (1975)

The music for Jaws may possibly be one of the most iconic pieces of music in film history. The two note phrase used throughout the film can be instantly recognized and is now widely known as the sound of danger. The score is incredible but it is this beat that completely sums up the film, it is a monstrous creation. With Jaws, tempo is everything. The two note beat matches the progression of the shark, it quickens when the shark gets excited and is completely absent when the shark is no where around. It is an incredibly clever way to utilize the use of music in a film and it is without doubt some of Williams’ finest work.

Number 1: Star Wars: A New Hope (1977)

Although the work of John Williams is just as incredible throughout all of the Star Wars films, it is A New Hope that makes number one on this list as it is the first glimpse we have of his masterpiece. The score for Star Wars is now embedded in popular culture and has become iconic in the film and in the music world. Unlike any other of the films Williams has worked on Star Wars has two main themes that are noteworthy, the main title theme and the theme for Darth Vader, both equally fantastic in their own way. The grandeur of this score mirrors the epic saga that unfolds under them and it is a score unlike any other in film history and is completely deserving of the number one spot.