It seems Joel never had any other plans than film. As a youngster, he saved up for a Super 8 so that he and Ethan could remake the films they enjoyed on the television. Joel went on to study film at university, while Ethan’s path was slightly less direct, choosing a Philosophy degree instead. This combination goes some way to explaining the philosophical ponderings that pepper the brother’s films.

The stories the Coens concoct are convoluted, with a whole host of unusual and memorable characters. Like many famous directors, they have a regular cohort of actors – Frances McDormand, George Clooney, Tim Blake Nelson, and Josh Brolin all have more than one Coen Brothers film under their belt.

The brothers’ body of work is so varied it’s hard to offer suggestions for similar directors. Their comedies could be likened to Wes Anderson or Martin McDonagh, their historical sagas could be by Paul Thomas Anderson, and their deft handling of the crime genre could see them listed among the greats. The fact that they are able to jump so effectively from genre to genre has increased their chances of being both commercially and critically successful. Having broken down the Coen’s vast and varied filmography, here is The Film Magazine’s guide on Where to Start With The Coen Brothers.

1. Fargo (1996)

Fargo Review

Fargo is frequently listed as the best Coen Brothers film, so it is an extremely good place to start.

The film’s focus is on Jerry Lundegaard (William H Macy), a car salesman whose bad decisions drive the plot. It’s easy to think because Jerry is the protagonist, he is the good guy, but Jerry should go down in history as one of cinema’s greatest villains.

Fargo concentrates on greed and want as Jerry’s deep dissatisfaction with his lot is punished. Crime and punishment is a theme that the Coen Brothers will return to in their subsequent films, continuing their years’ long love affair with the crime genre.

Part of the Coen’s strength is their ability to make their characters’ stupidity believable. Gallows humour takes hold as desperation drives Jerry, but there is nothing cartoonish here. While it may be ridiculous, Jerry’s actions are nothing but sinister.

Frances McDormand’s incredible Oscar-winning portrayal of Marge Gunderson, the chipper police chief investigating the kidnap of Jerry’s wife, allows for the themes of power and order to be explored.

2. No Country for Old Men (2007)

No Country for Old Men is an adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s novel of the same name. It is one of those rare films with the accolade of being better than the book it’s based on.

Set in Texas, the Coen brothers – back working with Fargo’s cinematographer Roger Deakins – return to a similarly bleak and expansive landscape. Here, they replace the ice and snow of Fargo with wide open skies, shifting sand and disorientating heat shimmers.

Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) is a working class man who discovers a large amount of money in the desert. Javier Bardem earned an Oscar as the deranged Anton Chigurh, a hitman in pursuit of the money. Tommy Lee Jones is outstanding as Sheriff Bell trying to untangle the webs the other two men are creating.

All those themes commonly associated with a Coen Brothers movie come into play; power, borders, transience, duality, chaos, inevitability and greed. Unlike in Fargo, the protagonist Llewelyn is not a villain, even if some of his decisions are terrible. Llewelyn doesn’t need to be a villain, with Anton doing such a good job.

No Country for Old Men steps away from the Coen Brothers’ darkly humorous style and is a much more serious endeavour. It still blurs genres though. Is it a Western? A Crime-noir? A literary look into the plight of working-class men in landscapes not built for them? Or all of the above?

3. Hail, Caesar! (2016)

Hail, Caesar! was not so critically revered as Fargo and No Country for Old Men, and it did not smash the box office in quite the same way. However, it was far from a flop and arguably underrated. Hail, Caesar! is an accessible, less challengingly funny gateway into what the Coens have to offer. It still utilises their trademark ability to take a million seemingly unrelated tangents and weave them expertly together, but lacks some of the darker themes that may have put some viewers off delving into their more serious work.

Like Fargo, Hail, Caesar! began with a kernel of truth. It is a fictional tale about the real Hollywood fixer, Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin). A fixer was someone hired by movie studios to cover up scandals their actors could not help but embroil themselves in. Like when unmarried actresses get pregnant (this is the 50s remember).

When the studio’s star, Baird Whitlock (George Clooney) is drugged and kidnapped during the filming of the eponymous Roman epic, ‘Hail Caesar’, it is up to Eddie to fix it. While many of the Coen’s films are bleak or bittersweet, there is always a seed of hope planted. Hail, Caesar! is the opposite, a hopeful comedy with a seed of something more ominous lurking just off the screen.

Recommended for you: Where to Start with David Lynch

The interesting thing about the Coen Brothers’ work is that it is not confined by genre. Their projects include book adaptations, historical sagas, crime noirs, romantic comedies, and westerns. From The Big Lebowski (1998) to Intolerable Cruelty (2003), there is something for everyone.

As eclectic as their stories seem to be, there are recurrent themes woven throughout their work. One common theme that spans their films is Americanness, often looked at through a filter of quirk and marginalisation. The portrayal of working-class men also plays a huge role (much more than women), as does power and morality. Their ability to find dark humour in the gloomiest of settings also sets them apart from their peers.

And yet it was not without its burdens. The considerable side-effects of growing up in the spotlight reached a disturbing crescendo by the time Foster started undergrad at Yale in 1980, where she was obsessively stalked by John Hinckley Jr., the Travis Bickle wannabe who would go on to shoot Ronald Reagan. Amazingly, Foster continued to act in films between semesters until she graduated in 1985—although few of them managed to garner critical or commercial success. That trend continued in the years following as Foster struggled to redefine herself as an actress. She had displayed such strength and graceful resilience on-screen and in her life: it was about time her adult roles reflected that. 

That much-needed spark came with 1988’s The Accused, in which Foster plays a rape survivor fighting to bring her assailants to justice, and 1991’s The Silence of the Lambs, which saw her embody the now-iconic FBI trainee Clarice Starling alongside Anthony Hopkins’ legendary Hannibal Lecter. Foster won an Academy Award for each film, and she carried on the momentum through the 90s with celebrated performances in films such as Nell (1994) and Contact (1997), and even made her directorial debut with Little Man Tate (1991). Foster’s pedigree amongst her peers and audiences was undoubtedly cemented by the time she was invited to head the jury at the 2001 Cannes Film Festival, a position from which she ultimately stepped down to star in David Fincher’s suspenseful cat-and-mouse thriller Panic Room (2002). 

Through the 2000s, Foster’s turn as the villainous Madeleine White in Spike Lee’s Inside Man (2006) and her well-documented but ultimately ill-fated effort to direct and star in a biopic about the notorious, if technically brilliant, Nazi propagandist Leni Riefenstahl made convincing counterpoints to dissenting criticisms accusing Foster of “sanctifying herself as an old-fashioned heroine [rather than] taking on dramatically risky roles.” Such criticisms arguably neglected to acknowledge the fact that Foster has been taking risks since she was a child, but they also failed to appreciate the deeply affecting vulnerability Foster brings to even the most competent and resolute of characters. 

And, while Foster has been famously—and understandably—reticent about her personal life aside from her devastating 1982 Esquire essay “Why Me?,” which recounted her experience as a public figure up to the John Hinckley incident, and her 2011 Golden Globes speech which vaguely alluded to speculation surrounding her sexuality, this vulnerability has come to define her career. Jodie Foster is not only simply good at her job, much like many of the women she has played, but she also clearly brings a piece of herself to every role. Now, after a long stint working primarily as a director, she seems to be turning a new chapter—one that sees the celebrated actress return to form with projects such as the upcoming ‘True Detective: Night Country’ (2024), and get personal in films like 2023’s Nyad. 

In 2021, Foster told the New York Times: “I am a solitary, internal person in an extroverted, external job. I don’t think I will ever not feel lonely. It’s a theme in my life. It’s not such a bad thing. I don’t need to be known by everyone.” Perhaps the reluctant movie star would rather her work speak for itself, as it does in these 3 Career-Defining Performances. 

1. Taxi Driver (1976)

Taxi Driver Review

Any evaluation of Jodie Foster’s career would be incomplete without mention of her revelatory turn as Iris Steensma in Martin Scorsese’s early-career masterpiece. Hers is widely considered to be one of the best child performances of all time and earned her the first Oscar nomination of her career at the age of 13. Already an acclaimed child star for her work in films such as Disney’s Napoleon and Samantha (1972) and the 1973 adaptation Tom Sawyer, Foster seemed destined to become a defining performer of her generation. If Taxi Driver taught us anything, it’s that she already was. 

Martin Scorsese must have sensed it, too. Foster had previously appeared in the auteur’s 1974 film Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, so by the time she was cast in Taxi Driver, she and Scorsese had already established a working relationship. Still, then-12-year-old Foster’s casting as a child prostitute opposite Robert De Niro’s antisocial weirdo Travis Bickle raised more than a few eyebrows. Abundant cautionary measures were taken to ensure Foster’s—and her mother’s—comfort while performing, including regular psychiatric check-ups, constant accompaniment by a social worker on set, and the substitution of Foster with her older sister Connie for a few particularly suggestive scenes. 

Foster herself, though, seemed unfazed by her role’s apparent ethical grayness: “To me it was another role, and I understood the difference between making movies and actually being a person. So it wasn’t really impactful for me. I don’t think I was confused by the sexuality in the film,” she recalled. It might be an overstatement to assume that Foster had a complete and clear-eyed understanding of the film’s thematic material at the time, but she embodied this character with such fearlessness and emotional candor that she elucidates it all the same. 

Her character does not get significant screen time until the film’s third act, when the increasingly unstable Bickle takes it upon himself to facilitate her liberation—and yet Iris is not merely the object of Bickle’s crusade but also the film’s beating heart. Upon their first meeting, or in the iconic diner scene, the sociopathic Bickle is baffled by Iris’s naive buoyancy. She’s a victim of a perverse society, undoubtedly more so than Bickle, and yet her sense of indignation seems far less than that which he feels on her—and his—behalf. By the time Bickle goes on his rampage, the textually rich interactions between he and Iris have called into question any notion that his actions are driven by anything other than a need to placate his violent urges in the name of righteous justice. Still, Iris represents the sort of injured humanity that no doubt wrestles for control inside Bickle. The kids aren’t alright, and neither is he. This layered diagnosis of the many diseases plaguing American society after the Vietnam war (and which are just as prescient today) would have been simply incomplete without Foster’s acutely intelligent and affecting performance. 

While Foster would go on to bolster her early-career resume with starring roles in tentpole films like Freaky Friday (1976) and Bugsy Malone (1976), it was undoubtedly Taxi Driver that would come to define this stage of her career; not only for its revered status, but also for what was undoubtedly her coronation as a performer well ahead of her time—and meant for much more than Disney originals. Robert De Niro famously took Foster under his wing while filming, which, it could be reasonably assumed, only refined her enormous talent. “He really helped me understand improvisation and building a character in a way that was almost nonverbal,” Foster said of the experience. With one of the most prolific actor-filmmaker tandems of all time attesting to her skills, Jodie Foster was clearly bound to play with the big kids. 

2. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

The Silence of the Lambs Review

Foster won her second Oscar for her role as Clarice Starling, the industrious young FBI investigator opposite Anthony Hopkins’ cerebral and chillingly polite Hannibal Lecter, an incarcerated cannibal Starling is tasked with gleaning psychological insight from to help catch a serial killer. Fresh off her first win for her role in 1998’s The Accused, Foster was in a new prime—and while her performance in that film could just as well represent this stage of her career, it is her turn as Starling that has since been immortalized. 

Despite her newfound acclaim in adult roles, Foster had to wait behind industry fixtures such as Michelle Pfeiffer, Meg Ryan, and Laura Dern for the role—all three declined the part due to film’s disturbing themes and Foster, having expressed enthusiasm for the part since she read the 1988 novel, got her shot. 

The film has since reached classic-status—despite controversy surrounding its polarizing treatment of themes related to transgenderism and sexuality—thanks in no small part to Foster’s performance. Foster’s Starling, small in stature, nonetheless consumes every scene she’s in, transcending even Sir Anthony Hopkins, who is also at the top of his game. Director Jonathan Demme frequently frames Clarice in close-ups, which feels like a deliberate rendering of the inescapable male gaze that follows her everywhere, and Foster, with her aptitude for the subdued and unspoken, shines. She convincingly embodies a woman who is simultaneously unwavering and deeply vulnerable in the face of Lecter’s psychological ambushes. It’s the type of thing that separates run-of-the-mill crime thrillers from timeless innovations of the genre—and Foster’s performance is timeless in its own right. 

Would it be going too far to say her role in Silence was one of Foster’s most personal? Perhaps not, since Foster reportedly tried to option the novel even before Demme was attached, and since the film offers compelling reflections on gender politics and the experience of being watched. Foster was, unfortunately, no stranger to such themes in her real life, so it makes sense that she approached the role with profound honesty and vulnerability. Clarice is tough; she’s “the woman that saves the women.” And yet she exists in a discomfiting reality that most women know all too well. 

The tension between these elements illuminates a theme that would come to define the roles Foster took on. If not lambs, then Foster’s unusual life experiences nonetheless scream through her work. From “Why Me?”: “There were things to be done, secrets to keep. I was supposed to be ‘tough,’ like cowboys, like diplomats, like ‘unaffected actresses’—not because anyone asked me to but because I wanted to show them (God knows who) that I was strong. I wanted to show them all that Jodie was so uniquely ‘normal’ and ‘well-adjusted’ that nothing could make her fall. I think I believed all this, my subconscious propaganda.”

3. Contact (1997)

By 1997, Jodie Foster was a bonafide movie star. Suddenly, she found herself being sought after for bigger and bigger projects—which would result in a string of genre star vehicles around the turn of the millennium. The actress would go on to work with the likes of David Fincher and Spike Lee, but it was perhaps her collaboration with Robert Zemeckis in his sci-fi melodrama Contact (1997) that bore the most memorable performance from this period in her career. 

The film, an adaptation of Carl Sagan’s 1988 novel, was a box office success and has largely held up over time despite mixed reviews upon its release. Foster’s performance is far and away the best part of the film, as her character Dr. Ellie Arroway becomes more than a generic sci-fi protagonist in her quest to establish contact with extraterrestrial beings. Foster, with her trademark rugged sensitivity, largely embodies the tension between faith and science and the messy convergence of the two. Like the film’s screenplay, Foster’s performance is interesting because it cleverly subverts easy clichés in favor of a more grounded, humanistic exploration of its otherwise schmaltzy premise. She’s no Ellen Ripley, but she’s just as heroic. 

A film of cosmic ambition, Contact works precisely because of Foster’s ability to bring depth and sincerity to her character. As Dr. Arroway gets swept up in the frenzied worldwide response to her discovery of an otherworldly radio transmission—a flagrant confirmation of the existence of extraterrestrial life—her character nonetheless feels honest and believable, which makes her ultimate journey into space all the more compelling. Zemeckis understands this and rarely separates the audience from Foster even as the film’s scale expands dramatically. 

In Foster’s own words: “I think, more than any character that I’ve ever played, Ellie Arroway is the most like me or at least the most like how I think I should be seen — how I see myself or something.” The lonely astronomer might not be the first of Foster’s characters to feel like a de facto analogue for Foster herself, but her sci-fi milieu only confirms that Foster has the chops to tackle any kind of material. 

Whether she’s surrounded by blue screens or rubbing elbows with other iconic performers, Jodie Foster consistently delivers performances capable of moving even the most cynical viewer. Her filmography boasts a pantheon of strong-willed heroines, precocious youngsters, and complicated women—and her prolific directorial career is nothing to thumb your nose at. With more to come from the legendary actress as she enters her 60s, now is as good a time as ever to appreciate her storied career. 

Written by Connell Oberman

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Sparking his passion as a filmmaker at a young age, Raimi was making a slew of Super 8 short films with his friends as a teenager, releasing his very first feature film It’s Murder! (1977) at only eighteen years old. By the time 1981 rolled around and Raimi was twenty-two, he cemented himself as an exciting up and coming director with The Evil Dead, establishing his legacy in the annals of horror history. Over twenty years later, the director was a certified A-list filmmaker in Hollywood, directing some of the most influential superhero movies of all time and proving himself as one of the best and most recognisable directors in the industry.

Though Raimi still directs here and there, his work has slowed down considerably, releasing only two features since 2009. Thankfully, Raimi primarily spends his time lending his name to up and coming directors as a producer, playing a major role in the release of new and exciting movies like 30 Days of Night, Don’t Breathe, Crawl and 65. 

Raimi may no longer bless us with his own directed films as often as he once did, but the excitement that presides over a film whenever it has his name attached only goes to show what a true force he is in the world of filmmaking. Regardless of the story, genre or company he is directing for, it is always clear that it is a Sam Raimi picture. Having broken down Raimi’s vast and varied filmography, here is The Film Magazine’s guide on Where to Start With Sam Raimi.

Evil Dead 2: Dead by Dawn (1987)

When it comes to the story of The Evil Dead, there really are three separate places you could start. Firstly, there is the proof-of-concept short film Within the Woods that Raimi directed in order to entice investors into producing a feature film. Then came The Evil Dead, the bloody horror flick that introduced Raimi, Bruce Campbell and company to the world and really kicked off their careers. Lastly, there is Evil Dead II, which is truly the best place to begin with the work of Sam Raimi. Though technically a sequel, it is for all intents and purposes a remake, reintroducing fans of The Evil Dead to its wacky and individualistic world, all the while introducing first-time viewers to the story by rewriting and presenting it all in the first 10 minutes.

For the uninitiated, the Evil Dead 2 follows Ash Williams (Bruce Campbell) as he and some friends go to spend a few nights in a cabin in the woods. After discovering and playing an audio tape of recitations from a book of ancient texts, it unleashes a number of demons which possess and torment both him and his friends. A tale as old as time, really. 

Though it may be the third telling of this same story, it really is the ultimate version of The Evil Dead. Raimi clearly tightens up the screws and masters his passion project, taking the issues of the first movie being laughably camp and silly and using them to its advantage, in the process creating the entire basis of what makes the series and the character of Ash Williams so memorable and iconic. 

Filled to the brim with characteristically witty one liners and memorable moments (such as Ash’s famous catchphrase, “Groovy!”), Evil Dead 2 exhibits Sam Raimi going Full Raimi, allowing his balls to the wall style to take us on a campy horror adventure for the ages.

There may be more accessible watches for first time viewers of the director’s work but if you want a fully fledged introduction to Sam Raimi, Evil Dead 2 is perfect.

A Simple Plan (1998)

A Simple Plan is up there as one of the most underrated films of all time and certainly the most underrated of Raimi’s often praised career. Though he is most notably known for his horror or superhero flicks, Sam Raimi has made a handful of genre films, covering westerns, sports dramas and neo-noirs, as is the case with A Simple Plan.

Set in rural Minnesota, the story follows three hunters – brothers Hank (Bill Paxton) and Jacob Mitchell (Billy Bob Thornton), and Lou (Brent Briscoe) – who discover a crashed plane containing over four million dollars in cash. What follows is a tale reminiscent of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart” as we watch these three men and their bond unfold as they struggle to keep the money a secret from local authorities and as each of their inner demons come to the fore.

It is perhaps Raimi’s most stripped back film as far as his flashy style goes, but this still feels like a Sam Raimi picture as he expertly navigates us through the lives of the three lead characters and the unbearable weight of guilt that they all feel. This is brought to the forefront by three magnificent performances, the best of which is Billy Bob Thornton’s turn as Jacob, a shy, sensitive and innocent character whose devastating backstory not only steals the show in a beautifully written scene between he and Bill Paxton, but works as the backbone of the entire film and allows for many of the events to transpire in the way that they do.

A Simple Plan may not be Sam Raimi’s most accomplished film, but it very well may be his masterpiece. It is certainly one that is must-see for anyone who wishes to get into the director’s work.

Spider-Man (2002)

Though Sam Raimi has proven himself to be a master of the sequel with both Evil Dead 2 and Spider-Man 2 (and Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, if that’s your bag), it is the first Spidey movie that really proved the director could be a major player in Hollywood and one which works as the most accessible entry point to the legend’s career.

Following the origin story of Peter Parker’s transformation into Spider-Man – bit by a radioactive spider, given superhuman powers, and now learning that with great power comes great responsibility – it may be a story that we all know by now, but Raimi’s take on the tale is irresistible. Despite his background in horror, the director’s over the top and campy style lends itself incredibly well to ripping pages out of comic books and putting them on the big screen. Not only does he capture the comic book feel that the movie requires, but he delivers to us the most perfect portrayal of Peter Parker ever put to screen in the form of Tobey Maguire. Raimi and Maguire worked together to capture the right balance of nerdy, sappy and courageous needed for the iconic part.

Though the director may have put together some excellent fight choreography, captured a wonderful lead performance, and crafted some of the most visually pleasing montages known to man (Parker coming up with costume ideas will never disappoint), it is the more sincere moments that bring to light the true filmmaking strengths behind Spider-Man. Moments such as Uncle Ben delivering iconic life lessons to Peter, Aunt May’s grief over the death of her husband, and Peter’s love for MJ. We may go into these flicks for the big action set pieces, but Raimi understands that this is a human story and one that deserves to be told with love and respect. Superhero fatigue may be setting in right now, but Raimi’s Spider-Man will never grow old. It is a perfect starting point for anyone who wishes to watch any of the director’s films.

Recommended for you: 10 Best Sam Raimi Movie Moments

Though Sam Raimi could easily be distinguished as a director of horror or superhero movies, and his contributions to both deserve to be respected, his filmography is just as unique as his style, allowing him to stand out as a true master of the craft in his own right. From campy horror films to blockbuster comic book adaptations, from sports dramas to neo-noir thrillers, Raimi’s direction behind the camera can always be felt.

Becoming known for his portrayal of Count Dracula in the 1927 Broadway adaptation of Bram Stoker’s novel, Lugosi found himself in a slew of Universal’s monster movies (and Hammer’s The Mystery of the Marie Celeste, only their second film, and their oldest surviving), often alongside Boris Karloff, Glenn Strange, and Lon Chaney Jr. By the late 1930s, he had begun to develop health issues as a result of his wounds sustained during the war. Leading roles declined, his efforts to get out of a typecast role never truly happened. He struggled to perform without morphine and, when coupled with his alcoholism, the work began to dry up. His final appearance was in the much-panned Plan 9 From Outer Space, posthumously. He passed on August 16th 1956, having gone upstairs for a nap and never woken up. He’d married five times, had one son, and was buried in Los Angeles at the age of 73.

Lugosi was a giant of the screen, and remains so to this day. Once seen and heard, never forgotten, much like Vincent Price or Christopher Lee would be in later years. His is a presence that transcends the films he starred in, goes beyond his horror staples, and is still adored by millions to this day. If you’re wondering where to start with Bela Lugosi, here are some suggestions for you.

1. Dracula (1931)

The role that brought Bela Lugosi to the United States remains his most iconic, important, and influential.

When Carl Laemmle Jr of Universal took on Dracula to develop their first talking horror picture, it was Lugosi they asked to reprise his role after trying for several other actors. Stepping back into the Count’s shoes wouldn’t be too strange; the film was based on the stage play adaptation he had starred in, and Edward Van Sloan (who had played Van Helsing on stage alongside Lugosi) also returned to face off against his nemesis.

With his thick, stilted English, Lugosi’s Dracula is a vast departure from the novel, where it is stressed that the Count tried as much as possible to speak fluent English (a take that Christopher Lee would adopt when Hammer Films made their version in 1958). Yet despite this, it is Lugosi’s voice we think of when we think of the character, and of vampires in general. When we act out Dracula as kids, or grown-up kids, we all do Lugosi’s accent. His floating mannerisms, almost gliding across the floor with his cloak spread out like bat’s wings, bring the audience into his world. His piercing stare holds you captive. Anyone else pronouncing some of Dracula’s lines would have failed to make quite the impression on the public consciousness. “Listen to them. Children of the Night. What music they make.” Would it sound as menacing, as chilling, in any other voice than Lugosi’s? Others have tried, and they have all failed.

His opening remark in the film – “I am… Dracula” – came to define his entire career. When he passed away, his family decided to bury him in his Dracula cloak. The vampire made him famous, but it shadowed his entire life and legacy. His performance might not have had any blood or fangs, but the vampire fed on him throughout. This character, if nothing else, will ensure he lives forever, but it doomed its hero in other ways, being both a blessing and a curse. If that isn’t a potent-enough metaphor in the film industry, nothing is.

2. White Zombie (1932)

The very next year, Lugosi would unwillingly play his role in cementing another legendary monster on the screen: the zombie. Back in those days, zombies were still very much a tradition of voodooism, an import on the slave ships from African nations, now often depicted in places such as Haiti (see Wes Craven’s The Serpent and The Rainbow from 1988 for a more violent depiction), and it would take films like 1967’s Plague of the Zombies (which itself was inspired by the vampires of Richard Matheson’s novel “I Am Legend”) to give Romero the impetus to really define the modern zombie in 68’s Night of the Living Dead. In 1932, however, zombies were still a fairly new concept to western audiences. They were people brought back to life by magic to do the summoner’s will, and in this case, it’s Lugosi wanting them to turn the mills and work as slave labour.

Often regarded as the first feature-length zombie film, White Zombie plays very simply as an allegory for black slavery. A white aristocrat forces black men to work the land for the profit of the landowner. And the film is, for better or for worse, not remembered for much other than Lugosi’s powerful, mesmerising stare. There hasn’t been a pair of eyes quite like them since, transfixing the viewer without trying very hard. When he puts in the malice, it shows.

Up in his castle, Lugosi’s Murder Legendre (yes, that’s really the character’s name) is a scheming, plotting spider of a man, twisting the love of the central characters for each other into murder. He is the whisperer in the ear, not too far removed from Ann Radcliffe’s evil monk Schedoni in her classic gothic novel “The Italian” (1795). He might not have liked being typecast into sinister, evil characters, but when he really put his heart and soul into it, he outshone everyone and everything around him. Some of the other acting isn’t great in White Zombie, but its air of malice is achieved by some decent directing and Lugosi’s impossible presence.

3. Ninotchka (1939)

Lugosi was cast as so many sinister villains in horror and science fiction (his role in the influential 1939 serial ‘The Phantom Creeps’ is one of his best) that it is unfortunate he didn’t get the chance to spread his wings further. Despite fourth billing in the end credits of Ninotchka, a romantic comedy following Greta Garbo’s Comrade Ninotchka as she falls in love with Melvyn Douglas in Paris against her loyalties to communist Russia, Lugosi only appears in one scene near the end, and only for three minutes or so. There are other characters that appear pretty much throughout the entirety of the film that are underneath Lugosi’s name. In Ninotchka, he was on the very verge of breaking out from his typecast role and into the mainstream.

With only a few moments of screentime, it is clear to see what Lugosi could have been if he had been given the chance to properly go for it. That is not to say that his roles in films such as Son of Frankenstein and The Wolf Man aren’t great, but in three minutes he brings class, presence, and power to a simple scene. His Commissar Razinin is relaxed yet stern, completely in control of the scene. His eyes still hold menace, his stance still holds power. Hollywood star Greta Garbo trembles before him. Even this small glimpse of him as something other than a horror bit-part shows what a talented actor he was.

This was his chance, a break that never came to be. Despite the film receiving four Oscar nominations (Best Picture, Best Actress, Best Original Story, and Best Screenplay), it did nothing for his career. Under a decade later he was reprising his role as Dracula in Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein, a fun spoof by Universal of their own films. One wonders what might have happened to Lugosi’s career if more people had taken notice of this scene-stealer and stretched it out over an entire film, or even a string of them. Horror was grateful to have him, but for the rest of the world it’s a tragedy they never got him.

Born into an Irish-British family, Lansbury grew up around actors: her mother was Moyna McGill (born in Belfast), a regular in West End shows and sometimes film. She later stated that cinema, television and books were her way of ‘self-education’. This ‘education’ led to her becoming besotted with cinema, eventually landing her first stage role in a school production of Maxwell Anderson’s “Mary of Scotland”.

Her film career began three years after she graduated from the Feagin School of Drama and Radio. In Gaslight (George Cukor’s 1944 film based upon the Patrick Hamilton 1938 play), she amassed high praise for her performance, earning an Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actress. Several instances of her early film work gained her accolades such as this, highlighting her flair for dramatic roles as much as comedic ones.

Angela Lansbury kept us glued to the screen and always invested in the trajectory of her character, regardless of whether she took a supporting or leading role in a project. From her highly nuanced performances of individualist upper-class dames such as “Mame” (for which she originated the role on Broadway in 1966) and quick-witted sleuthing detective Jessica Fletcher in Murder, She Wrote, her evident acting flair always led us to become engrossed in her performances on stage and on the screen.

The performances mentioned below only skim the surface of her extensive filmography, which houses multiple gems and intergenerational classics. While there is much of Angela Lansbury’s work to discover and enjoy, these are Angela Lansbury’s 3 Career-Defining Performances.

1. The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945)

Angela Lansbury’s contribution to Albert Lewin’s adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s classic novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray” marks the first of her turns at the heart of many book-turned-film pieces. She plays tavern singer Sibyl Vane who falls for – and is briefly engaged to – the titular protagonist Dorian Gray (Hurd Hatfield). The movie itself is shot in black-and-white, with an interesting use of Technicolour to indicate the handsome, or degenerate, portrait of Dorian. It gained 6 nominations in total, most notably a Golden Globe win for Angela Lansbury (detailed below), and an Oscars Best Cinematography win for Harry Stradling. Interestingly, both Wilde (who penned the novel) and Lewin (the film’s director) posthumously won the 1996 Hugo Award, a literary award for Best Dramatic Presentation.

Despite being just eighteen years old, Angela Lansbury holds her own amongst her co-stars. In one particular instance, she watches Dorian playing Chopin’s “Prelude No. 24” at his piano. She enters the room wordlessly and has minimal dialogue with Dorian after he has finished playing. Her posture and intense but deeply thoughtful gaze immediately convey the chemistry she has with him, indicating a slew of unspoken thoughts. Another moment of note is when she sings “Goodbye Little Yellow Bird” – Lansbury’s classical vocal training and sweet vocal tone shine through here. This musical moment encapsulates her enigmatic performance.

It is easy to see how Angela Lansbury earned the 1945 Golden Globe Award for Best Supporting Actress for her turn in this film. She also got nominated for the 1945 Oscar for the same category but lost to Anne Revere (National Velvet). Her mature and assured command of the screen in this role led the pathway to her highly acclaimed career.

2. The Reluctant Debutante (1958)

The Reluctant Debutante was directed by Vicente Minnelli and the screenplay was written by William Douglas-Home (who also wrote the 1955 play). It was not nominated for any awards, but it came in at number 12 on the British Box Office’s Most Popular Film for 1959. Angela plays Mabel Claremont, Sheila Broadbent’s (Kay Kendall’s) chatty friend. The cast also includes Rex Harrison as Jimmy Broadbent and Sandra Dee as Jane Broadbent. The film was remade in 2003 under the title What a Girl Wants, with Amanda Bynes as Daphne Reynolds (the updated version of Sandra Dee’s character) and Colin Firth as Henry Dashwood (a modern version of Rex Harrison’s character).

In The Reluctant Debutante, the role of Mabel particularly showcases Lansbury’s impeccable comedic timing. The scenes in which she schemes alongside the Broadbent couple are deliciously funny; her lines are delivered with an utterly charming smoothness that keeps you endlessly curious about how she will end up strong-arming the outcome of her daughter’s fate. A highlight of Lansbury’s performance in this film is one of her earlier scenes when she and her daughter meet Jane Broadbent for the first time. Angela carries an eccentric bravado with this character that leaves you open-mouthed in a state of shocked awe. The way she commands the driver to move her bags so that everyone can ‘squeeze together’ in the same car is so slick that it leaves you out of breath just watching it.

Something significant to note with this entry is that it marks the actor’s move from being typecast as the ingenue to a more motherly and mature figure. Lansbury’s performances within adapted films act as bookmarks to her acting development. Blue Hawaii (1961) serves as another example of this, as it sees her playing mother to the iconic Elvis Presley and donning a southern accent with tremendous comedic beats. Her roles in films of this type showcase her ability for levity alongside her well-shown dramatic acting talents. This goes to show that throughout her life, and subsequently through her performances, Lansbury highlights different nuances within different characters to make them jump off of the page and onto the screen.

3. Beauty and the Beast (1991)

Beauty and the Beast Review

The final film in this Career-Defining Performances list is an all-time animated classic. Directed by Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise, amazingly in their directorial debuts, with songs penned by the legendary Howard Ashman and Alan Menken, Beauty and the Beast won multiple awards, including both the Academy Award and the Golden Globe for Best Score. It also became the first animated film to ever be nominated for the Academy Award for Best Picture. Angela Lansbury plays the iconic wisecracking, heart-on-her-sleeve Mrs Potts. In other words, the perfect maternal character archetype.

Throughout Beauty and the Beast, Lansbury infuses charm and motherly warmth into the character of Mrs Potts through her nuanced vocal delivery. Additionally, her singing elevates this, which in turn has gifted us a beautiful Disney love ballad. To wax lyrical (excuse the pun, à la Lumière!) on the origins of this ballad for a moment, it is widely known that Angela delivered “Tale as Old as Time” in just one take. Unbelievably, she did not think that she was fit to sing a romantic ballad as it was not within her usual vocal repertoire. Thank goodness she was convinced otherwise, as that one-take-wonder is what is seen on screen. Throughout the film, whilst both singing and speaking, with her effortless yet grounded performance, she breathes life into a teapot – a feat that only she could make possible.

The trajectory of Angela Lansbury’s career progressed from ingenue (with Sybil in The Picture of Dorian Gray) to maternal figure (see the description of her work in The Reluctant Debutante) to grandmother-type roles. This final archetype, in many ways, has crystallized the legacy of her standout characters. Lansbury herself remarked that these roles “pulled her out of the abyss” following her husband’s death in 2003. It is easy to see why as, within the context of these films, her characterisations have maintained levity and emotional grounding to audiences in the decades that have followed. Some examples of these are Dowager Empress Marie Feodorovna Romanov (Anastasia’s grandmother) in Anastasia (1997) and the withdrawn-but-ultimately-nurturing Eglantine Price in another classic Disney flick, Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971).

It is arguable that this role in Beauty and the Beast cemented her legacy. With her contribution to this picture, she introduced her acting feats to a new generation of film-watchers who had never before been exposed to her work. Due to the mark that this carved on not only her career, but on Disney’s history and the trajectory of the roles she played, Angela Lansbury is and will be forever synonymous with this part which will eternally gain new legions of fans in all stages of their lives.

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During her 96-year life, Angela Lansbury chalked up 122 acting credits to her name. The discussion of the three above performances, as well as the allusion to several more, evidently serves as a summary of her career: the performances are incredibly varied and efficiently delivered by a master of her craft, wherein that delivery subsequently lives on beyond her life. To quote the master herself, “actors are not made, they are born.”

Written by Alannah Purslow

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Name a more iconic actor-director pairing from the mid-20th century than Akira Kurosawa and Toshiro Mifune. Unless you were going to say John Wayne and John Ford, we’ll wait for you to get back to us.

Over 18 years and 16 films they carefully crafted together, many made back-to-back or in quick succession, both iconic figures in Japanese cinema indisputably produced the most memorable and lasting work of their respective lengthy careers, doing so whilst working in such eclectic genres as crime movies, romantic dramas, adaptations of Shakespeare and East Asian folklore, and of course, as soon as the post-war ban on martial depictions was lifted, jidaigeki samurai films.

Coincidentally, both men were already working in different areas of the Japanese film industry during WWII – Kurosawa made propaganda films while Mifune was deployed in the aerial photography division of the Japanese armed forces. They both eventually found their way to Japanese mega production company Toho Studios. Toho gave both director and star their home throughout their long creative partnership, Mifune being discovered quite by accident in the “New Face” mass casting call after being rejected for his preferred job as a camera operator, while Kurosawa had steadily worked his way up from an assistant director under his mentor – the versatile pre-war filmmaker Kajirō Yamamoto – to write and direct his own projects.

Akira Kurosawa, much like Alfred Hitchcock, valued a polished script above all else and did not believe even a talented director could make up for shortcomings on the page. To mitigate this, he worked closely with a group which functioned almost like a modern American TV writer’s room, in order to exchange and improve upon ideas, ensuring the consistent quality of his screenplays. The final film was usually  made with his trusted creative team, the “Kurosawa-gumi”, including writers such as Ryūzō Kikushima and Shinobu Hashimoto, cinematographer Asakazu Nakai and script supervisor Teruyo Nogami. 

The pair’s memorable first encounter at an audition is recalled by Kurosawa thusly: “a young man reeling around the room in a violent frenzy… it was as frightening as watching a wounded beast trying to break loose. I was transfixed.”

To put it simply: Mifune was a force of nature. His aptitude for fighting both on screen and off, and the manner in which he threw himself into any task without visible fear, his intense stare, booming voice and intimidating presence made him impossible to ignore. He always stood out even in the impressive ensemble casts of such films as Rashomon and Seven Samurai. Kurosawa ended up designing some of the most memorable sequences in his always vivid films around what Mifune was likely to do, even though requiring some flexibility to accommodate his bankable but uncontrollable star could be a real problem for a director who would not budge an inch from his creative vision without good reason.

Their distinct working method involved both men intensively preparing separately from each other, and while their commitment to their beloved art form and often passionate disagreements certainly bore fruit, by the midpoint of both of their careers in film – following the difficult, contentious and much-delayed shoot of Red Beard (1965) – actor and director parted ways for good. Mifune’s career continued steadily on in Japan and abroad, but Kurosawa struggled with his work and mental health for over a decade until his modest late-life creative resurgence (roughly marked by the release of Kagemusha in 1980). Neither man quite hit the same heights they had reached while working together ever again. 

It is profoundly difficult to pick out a truly representative handful of films to stand in for the imposing Kurosawa/Mifune back catalogue, so we’ve gone a seasonal route and picked one of their collaborations from their early “spring” period, another from midway through, their “summer” and “autumn” periods, and finally one towards the end, the “winter” of their creative partnership. Please enjoy the first of The Film Magazine’s new series: Cinema’s Greatest Collaborations.

Spring: Stray Dog (1949)

Toshiro Mifune played tough Yakuza gangsters a lot in his early roles, notably in his film breakthrough with Akira Kurosawa, Drunken Angel in 1948, but was given the chance to be a lot more nuanced here in his third collaboration with his soon-to-be creative partner, playing a hapless and insecure cop. Both this and Drunken Angel also star Kurosawa’s other acting muse Takashi Shimura, but it is Stray Dog that gives Mifune in particular far more room to breathe as the unquestionable lead of the story, and he has far more opportunities to demonstrate multiple facets of his screen persona.

This sweaty, intense urban drama asks, what’s the most humiliating thing that could happen to a cop? Being promoted to Detective then immediately having your gun stolen on public transport by a common pickpocket has to be up there with the worst possible scenarios. Detective Murakami’s inadequacies both as a law enforcer and as a man are explored time and time again as he inadvertently digs himself into an even deeper hole in trying to put things right, eventually seeking help from the more level-headed and canny Detective Sato (Shimura) out of sheer desperation.

Because of the way he looked and sounded, Mifune specialised in, and was typically typecast as, scary brutes and slovenly slobs, but his versatility is tested here as he gets to be vulnerable and haphazard in how his character tries to correct his mistake. He ineffectually tries to chase down, and is often outsmarted by, prostitutes, dealers and smugglers, and so has no choice but to latch on to a senior colleague who actually seems to know what he is doing. 

Perhaps the best scene in the entire film is one of the more low-key sequences, where after an entire day of chasing a key witness without a result, the sex worker in question buys him a beer and some food and listens to his woes before providing some key information seemingly not out of honesty or duty but out of pity for this pathetic excuse for a police officer. Kate Blowers highlights in her essay “A Japanese Bull in a China Shop” that “When things go wrong for Mifune—as they often do, particularly in his earlier films—they go tremendously wrong”. Perhaps no other film in the entire Kurosawa/Mifune filmography shows this as explicitly as Stray Dog.

Mifune’s eldest son Shirō described his father’s unmistakable presence and unique working method, which can be seen plainly in most of his screen appearances: “He’s not an actor who blends into the background. You feel him energising everything around him. [Even though] he studied his part thoroughly, in front of the camera when they yelled “Action!” he forgot everything and just went for it”. Mifune’s performance often had a feeling of improvisation around it despite his meticulous preparation, which helped all of his characters feel immediate and raw. 

Mifune could be scary, attention-grabbing and forceful, but in few of his films, especially those with Kurosawa, did he get to be this withdrawn, pitiable and fundamentally sad.

Summer: Throne of Blood (1957)

Throne of Blood is one of three Akira Kurosawa films heavily inspired by William Shakespeare plays (the others being the “Hamlet”-riffing The Bad Sleep Well and “King Lear” reimagined as Ran). In this case, the acclaimed director closely adapted “Macbeth”, transposing events to a particularly moody and atmospheric vision of Medieval Japan.

What better persona to embody barely-in-check madness than Mifune? As the increasingly unhinged Lord Washizu, he plays the part of a strong and charismatic leader, but with an ever-present element of instability, of unpredictability, perfect for any portrayal of Shakespeare’s severely troubled and timeless protagonist. Mifune’s exaggerated striding gait, mad stare and tendency to laugh inappropriately in deathly serious situations helped to punctuate many a serious Kurosawa scene with welcome levity, but here it’s all in aid of the high melodrama. 

The film is one of the few genuinely disturbing film adaptations of “Macbeth”, the more explicitly supernatural elements delving deeply into Japanese folklore and the striking visuals borrowing from Noh theatre traditions, from the makeup applied to the actors to the highly theatrical staging of the most powerful scenes. Gone are the three witches, in their place an evil forest spirit appearing as a decrepit woman spinning a loom, foretelling triumph and turmoil, the haunting spectres who appear unbidden to our Macbeth stand-in looking just like something from Japanese folkloric art. 

Either as a commitment to realism or out of sheer recklessness, Throne of Blood‘s unforgettable finale sees the (uninsured and potentially expensive star) Mifune being shot at with real arrows by a college archery team playing his lord’s treacherous army. Kurosawa at times seems to care so little for his star that you wonder how such high budget projects ever managed to get off the ground. Tom Cruise’s insurance coverage might be a nightmare to navigate for modern blockbuster filmmakers, but the same risks were in evidence decades earlier in Japan with Mifune. 

An observation made in feature documentary Mifune: The Last Samurai is that: “Kurosawa demanded everything from his cast and crew and was exacting in every detail, but he left it to Mifune to develop his own character, telling him “Do what you want with it”.” The Kurosawa-gumi had Shakespeare’s words, their own Japanese cultural perspective, and a whirling dervish of an acting force that simply needed to be pointed in the right direction and unleashed, so no extra embellishment was required to make the final product as dramatic as it could be. 

Haruo Nakajima (actor in Godzilla and Seven Samurai) remembers that “Mr. Kurosawa would spend an entire day filming one shot… Working with Mr. Kurosawa was like working on a play instead of a movie. We would spend a great deal of time rehearsing. It was torturous.” While this rule of intensive rehearsal  and control over his cast went for most of Kurosawa’s cast members, particularly on such high-profile and expensive features as Seven Samurai, it didn’t seem to apply to Mifune because giving him such instruction simply couldn’t be done. Luckily for Kurosawa, he saw what Mifune brought to the table and worked around him rather well.

Autumn: The Bad Sleep Well (1960)

Two characters who are shown talking about Mifune’s character in The Bad Sleep Well are neatly analogous for how this particular performance took many viewers by surprise: “What’s his efficiency rating? / Almost perfect, but he is very reserved.”

Extremely dialled-back by his usual standards this particular performance may be, this demonstrates Mifune at his coolest and most suave. Rather than unleashing a hurricane, Kurosawa tapped into his star’s captivating camera presence and inherent charisma to keep the focus always on him when he’s on screen and the audience’s thinking on him whenever he isn’t. 

Mifune plays Kōichi Nishi, seemingly an ambitious corporate type who marries into the family who run the corrupt Dairyu Construction Company, engineering an elaborate scheme to bring the company down from the inside as revenge for a family loss as a result of their dirty dealings. Though we only see him briefly in the opening sequence before the film’s first half focuses on the other key players, the denouement is all about Nishi and his plans coming to fruition, doing very bad things to bad people; Mifune being calm, collected and crafty all the way through.

Chuck Stephens commented on Mifune’s anti-hero in his essay for Criterion: “though he is mute for the first thirty minutes of the movie, it is Mifune’s stoic Nishi who will soon be shown as the poker-faced pivot around which the film’s every action and reaction will revolve.”

The Bad Sleep Well launched Kurosawa’s self-titled production company independent of Toho and marked a move from outright commercial filmmaking, the release making a slight loss at the Japanese box office but still earning plaudits from critics at home, particularly for its intricately plotted, noirish first half.

Kurosawa going independent of Japan’s biggest studio allowed him to get extremely political and discuss the dire state of post-war Japanese business practices, particularly in the film’s repeated insult: “He’s not a man, he’s an official”. Kurosawa uses the “Hamlet” story template and makes it as modern and relevant as it could be to a country re-establishing itself, and with his newfound freedom from interfering studio higher-ups and with the end of post-war restrictions on explicit political commentary in Japanese cinema, he could really get stuck in. Chuck Stephens again described Kurosawa’s aims for the film succinctly: “a film whose bitter intent—to throw open the windows of Japanese corporate corruption and air out the stench—is staged as a series of haltingly revealed motivations, haggard resurrections, and harrowing defeats“.

Despite the fascination of seeing Mifune breaking his usual mould, this most definitely wasn’t a crowd-pleaser – the film is hard-going and demands your constant attention – but Kurosawa’s main goal was to ask his audience to consider Japan’s place in the world and what, if anything, could be justifiably sacrificed on a moral level for the sake of economic stability. 

Winter: Yojimbo (1961)

From the extremes of a dark and cerebral social issues film, Akira Kurosawa and Toshiro Mifune’s next collaboration spawned a character so successful it resulted in the pair’s only direct sequel. Sanjuro came just a year after Yojimbo, which in turn spawned the completely unauthorised remake (as in “we’ll see you in court” unauthorised) from Sergio Leone, A Fistful of Dollars, which kick-started the iconic Dollars Trilogy starring Clint Eastwood.

Mifune plays a nameless rōnin (wandering, masterless samurai) wearing a shabby kimono, unabashedly scratching and yawning away, seemingly uninterested in the affairs of the world except for where his next meal is coming from. He is reluctantly pressed into service to defend a town from some cruel local gangsters, but does not feel obligated to go above and beyond what he is being paid to do.

Forming his own production company, Kurosawa Productions, to house his more ambitious projects and lessen Toho’s understandable fears of heavy financial losses following the uninspiring reception of the challenging corporate thriller The Bad Sleep Well, Kurosawa returned to the Samurai films he was still best-known for and helped establish many a convention of lone warrior action movies in the following decades with Yojimbo.

Hisao Kurosawa (the director’s eldest son) points out that “Yojimbo was Kurosawa’s attempt at doing something fun. He wanted to do something everyone would enjoy”. This is Kurosawa doing popcorn entertainment, and it and its sequel Sanjuro influenced multiple genres and wider cinematic iconography for the following decades, including the way fight scenes (both sword duels and quick-draw gunfights) were staged and edited in addition to establishing how you use stylised violence to punctuate a genre film in everything from Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch to Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill. 

If there’s one indelible image associated with this film, it’s the iconic finale with Sanjuro/the Ronan with No Name (much like Clint Eastwood’s Western icon he never receives a definitive moniker) facing off against the criminal gang in a deserted, windswept street. Previously an insouciant, unflappable presence as prone to standing by and laughing at threats as fighting them, in this moment and despite the seemingly overwhelming odds he becomes the hero the town deserves and dispatches the foes outnumbering him impressively easily and in record time. This was another of Mifune’s skills, he could switch modes in the blink of an eye from sleepy house cat to ferocious tiger (the latter of which was famously an inspiration for the restless way some of his characters moved).

Steven Spielberg theorises that “We don’t make the heroes, it’s up to the audience to turn a character into a hero. And the power of that is in the performance of the actor, it’s up to the actor even more than the director, because a director can only pull so many strings, but if a director pulls too many strings it’s a puppet not an artist”.

Teruyo Nogami (regular Kurosawa script supervisor and one of the director’s inner circle of creatives) said that “People have no idea how hard [Mifune] worked. He was always thinking about his character and how to add humour to it”. No matter how intense Mifune’s screen presence was and how thematically layered Kurosawa’s greatest films are, both men saw the value of diffusing tension, of giving a scene a more varied rhythm and a character more humanity with the addition of a funny grace-note, background buffoonery to repeated physical tics. 

Akira Kurosawa and Toshiro Mifune were a creative partnership for the ages, one that left an indelible mark on film in Japan and around the world, and as artists they were never stronger than when they were working side-by-side. Despite not speaking to arguably his most significant creative collaborator for three decades, when he outlived his muse by just a few months Kurosawa sent a letter to be read at Mifune’s funeral, movingly capturing what their love-hate relationship and their long and often tumultuous collaboration really meant, and perhaps in his way apologising for the way things ultimately turned out:

“When I look back on each and every film, I couldn’t have made them without you. You gave so much of yourself. Thank you, my friend.”

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Walken has showcased his dramatic power in Oscar-winning performances in dramas such as Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter (1978) and brought his dead-eyed intensity to blockbuster villain work in the likes of A View to a Kill (1985) and Batman Returns (1992). The often-impersonated quirks in his style, alongside his enigmatic charisma, have allowed him to make scene-stealing cameos á la Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction (1994) and Steven Spielberg’s Catch Me If You Can (2002). His musical performances in the iconic Fatboy Slim video for “Weapon of Choice” or even in the 2007 remake of Hairspray speak for themselves. At eighty years old he has never been a more loved or sought after figure, maintaining longevity through his individuality, humour and underrated sensitivity that he brings to each project.

These three performances are him at his best. When he is able to freely express all of his talents in a lead role. His mouth twitches and his focus flickers, he moves in strange patterns across the screen as a lost young soldier, a cursed man, and a criminal monster. All three of them are doomed and despite the fact that we all know how their stories will end, Walken’s presence makes it impossible to tear your eyes away from their tragedies. These are Christopher Walken’s 3 Career-Defining Performances.

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1. The Deer Hunter (1978)

Michael Cimino’s 1978 Vietnam epic tells the story of three steelworkers, from a Slavic-American immigrant community in Pennsylvania, who are plunged into the depths of the Vietnam War. The film deals with how the men’s wartime trauma severs them from their community, even as it attempts to reintegrate them.

Walken plays Nikanor Chevotarevich (or ‘Nick’), one of the boys who goes to fight for his country and descends into heroin addiction and gambling on his life in Russian Roulette. In this character, he portrays the most tragic outcome of Cimino’s premise.

The first hour of the film focuses on the hard-drinking camaraderie of the group of male friends, Walken excelling at portraying Nick’s boisterous energy (offering an extended example of his dancing abilities during the Russian wedding). He gives Nick a magnetic charm that people rarely associate with Walken, which extends to his relationships with the other men in the group. Nick is equally at ease quietly hunting with Robert De Niro’s Mike, swiping at John Cazale, and sharing tender, joyous moments with Meryl Streep. Walken gives us an intoxicatingly credible depiction of a man enthralled by the possibility of his youth.

The palpable freedom of spirit makes Nick’s unravelling more brutal, as Walken captures both the emotional extremes of his torture by the Viet-Cong and the collapse of Nick’s sense of self as a result of the ensuing trauma. The first Russian roulette scene feels as if De Niro and Walken are pushing themselves to the edge of a mental abyss. You can practically smell the sweat through the screen as Nick is just about held in the present by the slap of Mike’s voice. Walken shows that salvation from that situation comes at a high price. The memory of the bright young man from Pennsylvania has been shattered. His eyes become dark, expressionless caverns and his face begins to take on a studied blankness that becomes more sinister as his character recedes into the underbelly of Hanoi.

In Mike’s final, doomed attempt to retrieve him, we see Walken complete Nick’s metamorphosis. He has become a heroin-addled shell, barely emoting except a brief malevolent smile as he once again puts a pistol to his familiar temple. His eyes are now glassy and spectral and, in watching this scene, we become aware that Nick is trapped between the hollow clicks that issue from the empty chamber. Unable to move back from the trauma of his experiences, irrevocably aware of what awaits on the next pull of the trigger.

The devastating honesty of Walken’s performance makes the human drama intensely compelling in its exploration of the effects of combat. Walken showed himself to be a truly heartbreaking actor, recognised with an Academy Award for Supporting Actor and announcing himself as a legitimate star more than capable of sharing the screen with any of the greats of his generation.

2. The Dead Zone (1983)

Following his breakout in The Deer Hunter, it would take a couple of films for Walken to be given the space to test his talents for a strange kind of humanity (diverting as he is in the vaguely schlocky John Irvin film The Dogs of War). He found the perfect space to experiment more with his eccentricities alongside master horror and thriller director David Cronenberg, with a story from the mind of Stephen King. The Dead Zone is a thriller about schoolteacher Johnny Smith who suffers a horrific car crash and spends five years in a coma. When he wakes up he is able to see people’s horrific pasts and futures by touch.

In this role, Walken once again plays a man who is separated from society and forced to come to terms with his transformative circumstances. Unlike Nick, who is mentally fragmented by the effects of war, Johnny must deal with his broken body and the loss of his marriage as a result of his coma and the alienation he suffers from announcing his psychic abilities. He plays Johnny with an overwhelming sense of decency, despite his justifiable frustration with his circumstances. He reacts to the traumatic visions that he witnesses in an intensely believable way, showing lasting pain and disorientation from these experiences. He commendably avoids any macho-posturing that lesser actors might have given the character.

There is a sense of powerlessness even in the scenes where he does lose control of his anger, such as smashing a vase when trying to convince Anthony Zerbe’s businessman to believe his premonitions of his son’s impending death. The sadness on Walken’s washed-out face tells you that this is nothing more than the legitimate outburst of a man imprisoned by his knowledge of a world no one else can see.

He makes even more great choices in the scenes with Brooke Adams (as Sarah), the woman he was supposed to marry before the accident. Walken keeps himself as self-contained as possible, mouth twitching into quickly smothered half-smiles, sneaking glances at her as he unsuccessfully tries to spare her from his anguish. Johnny Smith is as unsteady on his feet as he is at interacting with Sarah. This broken, powerful connection between the two actors clues us in to the heavy realisation that Johnny Smith would rather he never woke up.

Walken’s performance in this film is perhaps one of his most understated and disciplined. For an actor that exists in the public imagination by the way he is caricatured by others, his work as Johnny Smith is a powerful reminder of his supreme understanding of his craft. You feel nothing but sympathy for this blandly named man. The humanity in Walken’s work makes it required viewing for Cronenberg fans and cements its place as one of the best Stephen King adaptations ever put to screen.

3. King of New York (1990)

In the new decade, alongside the Bronx-born king of sleaze, Abel Ferrara, Christopher Walken cemented his status as a cinematic icon. In his role as the titular King of New York, mobster Frank White, he wraps the Shakespearean gangster classic round his Machiavellian fingers like garotte wire.

White demanded Walken at his most reptilian, a human embodiment of the amoral excesses that surround the Arctic, cocaine-pounding heart of the city. It is a distillation of the small techniques that make his acting style so fundamentally watchable and unique. The playful shifts in facial expression, the unnerving hesitations, the clear dead eyes that snap focus like a neck. Frank White lurches between lust, violence, anger and joy sometimes in a single scene. All with a bleakly self-aware sense of irony about himself, as if his existence is some kind of Satanic joke. In his first meeting with his old gang following his release from prison, White tries on the glove of an old enemy they have gunned down on his release. “King Tito’s glove,” he gleefully mumbles to a confused looking Theresa Randle, grinning in childlike awe that his power remains untouched.

Walken plays White as a man who has made up his mind to take as much from life as possible before it takes everything from him. This awareness is what makes scenes such as his reckless killing of Frank Caruso’s violent cop Dennis at a police funeral all the more chilling. White does not waste any time verbalising his revenge, he simply rolls down the window of his limo, with a stare harder than the lead in his shotgun, and says “hey you.”

These chilling scenes are interspersed with Walken exercising his snakelike charm as he hobnobs with the various New York power players. He shows himself to be equally adept flirting with lawyers and flattering newspaper editors as he is making drug deals at a hospital. Walken lends White a seductive, vampiric quality to contrast the emotionless way in which he delivers violence. He is an Americanised update on the Dracula of Christopher Lee, trading his fangs for a gun, feasting on money and despair. Supported by the continued hypocrisy of the municipal institutions that publicly disavow him.

Walken and Ferrara are too honest to engage in the slow unmasking that takes place in traditional vampire stories. There are no illusions around Frank White. He is at once completely connected to the city, safe to haunt the subways alone, as he is to swim with the sharks in the Plaza hotel. A man just as capable of exploding into dance as he is into violence. It is an exceptionally complex performance that Walken makes look effortless, providing a level of intense detachment that makes Frank White simultaneously the sanest and most deranged character in the film.

It is the greatest performance Christopher Walken has ever given and, although the film was not particularly successful or recognised upon its release, King of New York is now rightly understood to be one of the classics of the genre; the dirty cousin to Goodfellas and The Godfather.

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Christopher Walken has managed an exceptional, independent career over the past five decades. He remains an inevitably memorable presence regardless of the quality of the film around him. These three films are some of the best examples of him exploring his full range of talents and are some of his most complex performances, but he is equally compelling even if he appears in a single scene. When asked about his choice to hire Walken for his science-fiction drama ‘Severance’, Ben Stiller simply replied “because I’m not crazy.”

Written by Joshua Imas

You can find Joshua Imas online via Medium at medium.com/@s.imas.

His performance as Morpheus is what Laurence Fishburne will be eternally remembered for but, in all his other years as an actor, Fishburne has tended to play interesting and thought-provoking characters. Fans of the Francis Ford Coppola war film Apocalypse Now (1979) will surely remember a fresh-faced Fishburne appearing as the cocky but charming Tyrone Miller aka Mr. Clean. Determined at a young age to break into the film industry, a then 14-year-old Fishburne lied about his age to get the part in the legendary project – how different his life could have been if this mischievous decision blew up in the young man’s face.

Francis Ford Coppola’s film should have been the catalyst for a rapid rise to stardom, and yet Fishburne’s career trajectory wasn’t as comfortable as one might think. The early part of the 1980s led the actor down a path of minor television and stage appearances, while working as a bouncer in the New York club scene. Such a resolute figure wasn’t deterred though, and it was Coppola once again that gave the actor another break with a supporting role in The Cotton Club (1984), before he popped up in Steven Spielberg’s critically acclaimed film The Color Purple (1985). The 80s were an important part of Fishburne’s apprenticeship, opening the door to the most successful and important decade of his career: the 1990s.

The 90s is the decade that will forever define Laurence Fishburne as a screen presence, and it is in these 10 years that his three career-defining performances are found. What began with King of New York in 1990, ended with his role as Morpheus in The Matrix in 1999. The decade turned him into a bona fide star, one with incredible talent and diversity, and led to formidable success in the new millennium in franchises such as John Wick and ‘Hannibal’. We at The Film Magazine are here for something in particular though, so let’s delve into the three performances that have cultivated an impressive and often underappreciated career.

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1. Boyz n the Hood (1991)

1991 was the year that Larry Fishburne (the name he went by up until 1993) got his first major iconic role in the late John Singleton’s legendary Boyz n the Hood. The film’s undeniable legacy was cemented from the beginning, and it hasn’t waned since.

The film depicts life on the mean streets of South Central Los Angeles through the eyes of the young Jason “Tre” Styles 111 (Cuba Gooding Jr.), and his friends Ricky Baker (Morris Chestnut) and Darrin “Doughboy” Baker (Ice Cube), the latter now being a fully-fledged member of the Crips gang after his release from prison. The film’s grittiness and authentic representation of such violent streets is what propelled it into the public eye, but it was the teachings and the wisdom of Fishburne’s character, Jason “Furious” Styles Jr., that made the biggest impact.

Fishburne is tremendous in this authoritative role as the former soldier and current community activist fighting for what he believes and guiding his impressionable son into the light. His various speeches throughout the film – whether a discreet talk with his son or his preaching on the side of the road – are some of Boyz n the Hood’s most intelligent and powerful moments. Boyz n the Hood is etched into black history; furious is the man who knows all too well about the racism and discrimination that his people have faced and continue to experience. And yet, instead of violence, this monk-like figure relies on education, inspiration, and enlightenment to help his brothers and sisters in the fight against the system and the people that enforce it.

The South Central streets are ruthless. They will chew you up and spit you out. Fishburne’s Furious knows this, and his parental instincts go into overdrive when Trey moves in with him. The connection that the two characters develop is meaningful; Trey not only has a caring father figure in his life to keep him on the straight and narrow, but he has an actual father, something that the other boys in the area do not. Fishburne’s interpretation of the character is majestic; his mannerisms, his use of intelligent thought and reasoning, is what separates the character from the rest, and it is this that makes him truly memorable.

A lack of award nominations can’t even derail the impact that Furious Styles had on the future of black cinema, and we’ve seen multiple amalgamations of this character in cinema ever since – you could say that Morpheus is just another design of the same character, teaching the same ideologies for a better and more fruitful future. Fishburne really knocked it out of the park in Boyz n the Hood, and his success in the role is what allowed him to step it up a notch for his next gigantic performance in 1993.

2. What’s Love Got to Do with It (1993)

Brian Gibson’s What’s Love Got to Do with It is a film that needs little introduction. This interpretation of the life and career of the legendary Tina Tuner and her abusive relationship with Ike Tuner is one of the greatest biopics of all time – it never shies away from the violence of their relationship and is as brutal as it is magnificent. Ike and Turner: the band, the relationship, the… romance? Their venomous relationship shrouded an incredibly successful musical partnership that had the pair headlining arenas with the likes of The Rolling Stones and Otis Redding before it all fell apart because of Ike’s self-destructive ego and his cowardly violent streak.

The film’s success couldn’t have been what it was without two monumental performances leading the way, and that’s exactly what it had. Reunited so soon after both appeared in Boyz n the Hood (Bassett portrayed the ex-wife of Fishburne’s character in the 1991 film), Angela Bassett portrays Tina and Laurence Fishburne plays Ike; an incredibly formidable on-screen partnership that led to the pair receiving nominations at that year’s Oscars. What’s Love Got to Do with It begins very softly by exploring the origins of Tina Turner, real name Anna Mae Bullock. The future star’s love of music, her incredible singing voice, and how she fell in love with her soon-to-be husband and eventual nemesis. Even though it’s Tina’s singing voice you hear in the film, Bassett’s perfect lip syncing and expertly performed mannerisms through months of endless mimicking make you think that it truly is her, but it is Fishburne’s performance that ends up being the most iconic.

Laurence Fishburne’s iteration of Ike is the devil incarnate. It is the complete opposite representation of a man than his performance as Furious Styles – to swing so far right with this character is a testament to Fishburne’s diverse acting palette. The film was known as not being absolute gospel, but the material given by Tina herself (from her autobiography “I Tina”), which was then merged with Kate Lanier’s exquisite screenplay, allowed Fishburne to create his version of the man that very much existed in one form or another. The manipulation that began with niceties but was really a form of grooming is truly shocking and vicious, and Fishburne nails this.

It says a lot about Laurence Fishburne’s performance that the man himself, the real-life Ike Turner, praised Fishburne for the role in his own autobiography “Takin’ Back My Name”, even if he did claim the film ruined his reputation – it seems as if you did an awful lot of that yourself, Mr. Turner. Some of the scenes were said to be so tough to film, mentally and physically, that it becomes slightly poignant when you understand that Fishburne was incredibly attentive towards Bassett during these scenes, always wanting her to feel comfortable and at ease. Not only is the man a terrific actor but he’s a genuinely nice guy it seems as well, which only adds to the magnitude of this performance.

Two iconic roles in two years though, it doesn’t get much better than that, does it? If only he knew where these two performances would eventually lead him – to a dystopian future with monstrous acclaim.

3. The Matrix (1999)

For an actor to end the most critically acclaimed decade of their career, as well as wrap up the millennium, with a film like The Matrix is almost unheard of. It could have been very different though, if Will Smith accepted the role of Neo and Sean Connery (yes, you read that right) didn’t choose Entrapment instead – although, let your mind wander for a bit and just imagine that possibility. It was everyone else’s gain though because, looking back, Laurence Fishburne and Keanu Reeves were perfectly cast in The Wachowski’s science fiction epic. With a script and premise that hardly any of the cast and crew understood (apart from Fishburne of course… or at least so he claims), and with the schedule packed with fighting choreography, wire-training, special effects, and managing injuries, it was doomed to fail. Thankfully, it did not.

After Thomas Anderson, “Neo”, begins to accept that things aren’t all as they seem to be in his world of computer hacking, a mysterious woman called Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss) explains that a man named Morpheus (Fishburne) has all the answers Neo needs. The wheels of thought in Neo’s brain begin to move, and it’s not long before he meets the mysterious Morpheus who preaches his now infamous red pill, blue pill speech to him, thus beginning a journey of awakening. Morpheus is captain of a ship in the real world, but also acts as the preacher and mentor to the others in his search for “The One”, something he thinks he has found in Neo.

Morpheus is like an amalgamation of several of Laurence Fishburne’s previous characters; the deep-thinking attitude of Furious, the often over confidence of Ike Turner, and the caring nature of Fishburne himself. His portrayal of Morpheus is one of the most recognizable performances in modern cinema; whether it’s the tiny black sunglasses or the long leather coat, Morpheus is as big and important to the franchise as Neo is.

His character has the best dialogue in the series too. Quotes such as “Have you ever had a dream, Neo, that you were so sure was real?”, and “Don’t think you are. Know you are,” as he proceeds to beat Neo black and blue in the now famous dojo scene, are particular standouts. Morpheus is Yoda, he is Gandalf; an all-powerful figure that always has the good of the world in his mind.

Fishburne couldn’t have played the role any better than he did. Without him, The Matrix was a guaranteed bust – that might be brutally honest, but everyone knows it to be true. Say what you like about the sequels – they do run hot and cold – but Morpheus is one of the shining lights in both. The dynamic that Reeves and Fishburne have is undeniable; they are magnetic and propel each other to new heights in each scene they share – an even greater chemistry than the one Fishburne had with Bassett.

It feels almost poetic that Laurence Fishburne would end the decade with a character of such note. After struggling for years for a role of any significance, for him to then enter the 2000s as this iconic figure is a dream so real it becomes truth. Where do you go from success like this though? It’s a task of immense pressure to keep up with appearances, for most people that is, but one that Laurence Fishburne grabbed with both hands and drove forward.

Recommended for you: Where to Start with Keanu Reeves

In the years since The Matrix, Fishburne has found considerable success. Along with his role as Jack Crawford opposite Mads Mikkelsen and his reunion with Reeves in John Wick, Fishburne has also appeared in both the Marvel Cinematic Universe and DC Universe. Whatever future success Fishburne achieves, it will be because of that special decade of the 90s that changed his life forever, and as fans of cinema and the man himself, we wouldn’t want it any other way.

Written by John McDonald

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In addition to his live-action roles, Reeves has lent his voice to numerous animated works, including Toy Story 4, and even appeared as himself in The Spongebob Movie: Sponge on the Run. In the 1990s, Reeves also played bass guitar in the alternative rock band Dogstar.

Despite his impressive body of work, a common refrain from critics and audiences repeated throughout the years is that Reeves is actually a bad actor, who can’t play anybody but himself. That he’s stiff and awkward and even dumb. Though Reeves has certainly missed the mark a few times in his career, most notably with his role as Jonathan Harker in Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula, to dismiss his entire filmography would be a waste of an incredibly talented and versatile actor who has proven himself time and time again.

So where are you supposed to start with an actor like Keanu Reeves? We at The Film Magazine have put together a shortlist of three particularly special films that best showcase Reeves’ strengths and his range as an actor, as well as his creative evolution over the years. This is Where to Start with Keanu Reeves.

1. My Own Private Idaho (1991)

Released the same year as Point Break, which laid the groundwork for Reeves’ eventual ascent to action stardom, Gus Van Sant’s My Own Private Idaho introduced Keanu Reeves to adult audiences. The film, partly based upon Shakespeare’s plays about Henry IV and Henry V, stars the late River Phoenix as Mike Waters, a street hustler who suffers from narcolepsy, searching for love and purpose in Portland, Oregon. Reeves plays his best friend Scott Favor, a fellow street hustler and prodigal son of Portland’s mayor, who accompanies Waters on a cross-country road trip in search of his mother.

In My Own Private Idaho, Reeves is cocky, arrogant, elusive, and endlessly charming. He rides a motorcycle, wears a leather jacket. He doesn’t have to try to be cool – he just is. He’s the kind of guy who will never love you as much as you love him, the kind of guy you’d follow around forever if you could. While Phoenix gives an incredibly vulnerable and heartbreaking performance, it’s worth noting that Reeves is the one who has the burden of spouting Shakespeare, something he does really well. It’s over the top and theatrical, and it’s in those moments that you can really see Reeves’ versatility.

His onscreen partnership with Phoenix, someone he was close friends with in real life, adds to the authenticity of both their performances. Acting is, fundamentally, about reacting, and that’s something Reeves does particularly well. This is perhaps best showcased in the campfire scene in which Mike confesses his love for Scott. It’s a really vulnerable scene and relies almost entirely on Reeves’ ability to listen to his scene partner. You can see the wheels in his mind turning, the way his eyes, alight with fire, watch Mike intently. Reeves doesn’t have to say anything. You know how he feels just by looking at him.

My Own Private Idaho is a really wonderful entry in Reeves’s early career and it’s a great choice if you’re looking for something quiet, poignant, and haunting.

2. Speed (1994)

Keanu Reeves was not the first choice to play bomb disposal specialist Jack Tavern in Jan de Bont’s Speed (1994). According to Esquire, the studio first asked Stephen Baldwin of all people. Fox even went through several other actors before finally settling on Reeves, who hadn’t yet become a household name. It would be six years before he’d star in the groundbreaking dystopian sci-fi The Matrix, and his then-recent performances in the costume dramas Dracula and Much Ado About Nothing weren’t well received by critics. But Speed was a turning point for Reeves. Aside from becoming a huge summer blockbuster, the film made him into an action superstar and a bona fide leading man.

With Speed, Keanu Reeves changed what it meant to be a Hollywood action star. “Unlike the impossibly ripped celluloid supermen of the ‘80s like Schwarzenegger and Stallone, Reeves looked human, vulnerable, and life-size,” wrote Chris Nashawaty.

Jack Tavern is badass and heroic and it’s really easy to see why Sandra Bullock’s Annie falls in love with him by the end. His presence is comforting and steady, and he’s never patronizing even when Annie struggles to maintain control of a bus that will blow up if it goes below 50 miles per hour. Speed is as slick and action-packed as it is romantic, and Reeves sells every moment of it.

3. John Wick (2014)

If Speed was a turning point for the career of Keanu Reeves, 2014’s John Wick was his unofficial comeback.

More than a decade after Matrix: Revolutions was released, and following a string of critical and commercial disappointments, Reeves reclaimed his rightful place in Hollywood, reminding us all of what a true movie star looks like.

In the first instalment of this sleek action series, Reeves stars as the titular assassin, who, after a peaceful retirement, is dragged back into the underworld of crime after a group of Russian gangsters, led by Losef Tarasov (Alfie Allen), kill his dog and steal his car. Motivated by revenge and still grieving the death of his wife, Wick embarks on a pulse-pounding, action-packed quest for retribution. The film is often credited with revitalizing the genre and has since grown into an immensely successful franchise.

John Wick is a man of few words. He speaks with his body. The action in the film feels grounded and weighty. When John is wounded, when his gun jams, when he takes a life, we feel it. And it’s all because of how much control Reeves has over his physicality, how in tune he is with his body. Even as the series goes on and action sequences become more elaborate with each new chapter, Reeves makes it all feel real.

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As an actor, Keanu Reeves can transform seamlessly into everything from lovable idiot to cocky playboy, action hero to romantic leading man with a simple raise of an eyebrow or the turn of a phrase. He is vulnerable and human. He’s a generous scene partner, always listening and always watching. More than anything, Keanu Reeves represents the best of what cinema can be, and even though his skills are often overlooked he nevertheless continues to captivate. Critic Angelica Bastien said it best, “… Keanu is more powerful than actors who rely on physical transformation as shorthand for depth, because he taps into something much more primal and elusive: the truth.”

Van Sant worked his way up the ranks of filmmaking by acting as a production assistant to producer Ken Shapiro before creating his first film Alice in Hollywood, a feature that was never released. In these early days, he began to observe the cultures around him, with one of his favourite people-watching posts being downtown Hollywood where the surroundings differed far from the neighbouring Beverly Hills. Inspired by the marginalised communities that populated the area, Van Sant once again returned to the director’s chair, making Mala Noche (1986), a love story entwined with themes of immigration and urban poverty. While the film remains primarily unrecognised against Van Sant’s mighty filmography, Mala Noche is where Van Sant’s distinct style began.

Following Van Sant’s introduction to film festivals and premieres, big-name studios such as Universal Pictures began to take note of the upcoming creator. The kinship eventually sizzled out after Van Sant pitched a handful of unsuccessful ideas, yet ironically the rejected pitches would become cinematic staples, including Drugstore Cowboy (1989) and My Own Private Idaho (1991). Fast forward to the immensely successful release of both of these films, Van Sant began to rub shoulders with the mainstream market, making beloved films such as Good Will Hunting (1997), Elephant (2003), Milk (2008), and Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot (2018). 

Despite his career flourishing and his work expanding to the masses, not once has his quintessential methodology changed; every single one of his films is confrontational, exploring drug use, mental illness, gun violence, hate crime and suicide with a relentlessly heavy hand. To help navigate his dense filmography is The Film Magazine’s official guide on Where to Start with Gus Van Sant. 

1. My Own Private Idaho (1991)

The early days of Gus Van Sant’s career saw him create a film steeped in allegories concerning the everlasting polarisation of society. It is about the outsider looking in, the inherent conflicts that consistently arise concerning class and queer love. 

My Own Private Idaho follows best friends Mike (River Phoenix) and Scott (Keanu Reeves) as they venture to find Mike’s distant mother. Van Sant ingrains the aesthetics with a level of intimacy that contrasts and compliments the vast landscapes that the film traverses, with the centrality always adhering to the bond between Mike and Scott no matter the boundless road movie scenery. They never become swallowed by the detailed landscapes they travel across; instead, Van Sant locates focus on the incredibly emotional voyage that the two young men go on. 

Van Sant consistently infuses elements of individuality into his work, with My Own Private Idaho being no exception. The film is loosely based on the Shakespearean tales “Henry IV, Part I” and “Henry IV, Part II”, whose origins circulated in the late 1500s. These tragedies explored familial expectations and battles between freedom and self-expression, as seen in My Own Private Idaho; however, Van Sant’s gust of modernity coupled with the film’s dream-like quality amplifies the harsh truths that come with brooding introspection unlike ever before.

2. Good Will Hunting (1997)

5 Moments in Good Will Hunting That Will Give You Chills

Good Will Hunting has a place on nearly every list defining cinematic classics, and rightfully so.

Gus Van Sant takes us on a journey of self-discovery, as we see Will Hunting (Matt Damon), a janitor at MIT, form an unlikely but life-affirming friendship with psychology professor Sean Maguire (Robin Williams). 

The film is brimming with some of the most moving scenes in film history, whether that be lectures from Maguire or moments of heartfelt anger outbursts from Will as he struggles with his own fears of progression. Whilst Van Sant’s fantastic directing beautifully captures the sincerity of the narrative, the most impressive factor is how the director allows the film to speak for itself.

There is a purposeful lack of whimsy within the camera work, forgoing eccentricity in favour of letting the earnest dialogue take over, encouraging us to sit and become utterly engrossed in the profound venture that the characters go on. 

3. Elephant (2003)

Gus Van Sant has never one to shy away from the brutal truths of reality, Elephant being the filmmaker’s telling of a topic that has never seemed more relevant: a mass shooting.

Elephant follows a group of students, unaware that a mass shooting will soon occur. The film is partially based on the Columbine High School Massacre of 1999, taking heed of the tragedy and forming a film that does not sensationalise or create a spectacle but instead uses bleak monotony to root the narrative as a realist piece. The film acts as a challenge, not one that dares us to carry on watching as a play of twisted entertainment, but in the way that Van Sant portrays the acts of violence as authentic.

Rather than conjure a script with adolescent dialogue written by middle-aged writers, Van Sant created an ongoing script that formed concurrently to the filmmaking, where improvisation was encouraged. The result is a film that plays out with an uncomfortable level of validity.

Elephant’s execution was warmly received by critics and moviegoers alike, with much of the critical reception favouring the unforgiving way the narrative unfolded. Van Sant’s cold take on a matter so close to the hearts of many eventually won him the Palme d’Or at the 2003 Cannes Film Festival, outperforming the likes of Dogville, Swimming Pool and Mystic River.

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Gus Van Sant yields a specific power with the camera, with every one of his films encroaching upon the real and infecting the screen with a potent ferocity that fails to quit. From sweeping melodramas to gut-wrenchingly confrontational slices of life, Gus Van Sant’s filmography is both rare and more than worthwhile to explore.