The 100 Best Movies You've Never Seen

by Richard Crouse

  There are also some great in-concert moments, although Cocksucker Blues is by no means a concert flick. In one memorable sequence Frank intercuts backstage antics of roadies snorting coke with the Stones on-stage performing “Midnight Rambler.” The images pile up on one another, creating a hypnotic tableau that shows both the public and private faces of the band. In those frames Frank captures the true dichotomy of the group and life on the road. Other standout performances include an “Uptight”/”Satisfaction” medley (with Stevie Wonder), “Happy,” and “Street Fighting Man.”

  The era when it would be possible to make a film like this showing a band at this level is over. Now publicists would run interference at every stop, and every media-savvy groupie would demand a release form and a fee. Cocksucker Blues may represent our last truly unfettered look into the lives of rock gods at the peak of their fame. The practice of celebrity journalism has been dealt a mortal blow by overzealous celebrity minders whose purpose in life is to sanitize their client's images and make sure that compromising situations like the ones in this movie never see the light of day.

  Not everyone agrees with my assessment of Cocksucker Blues as the greatest (and most revealing) rock movie ever, least of all the Rolling Stones. “I thought it was a piece of shit actually,” Bill Wyman, the Stones' original bass player, told Reel to Real in September 2001. “I thought it was so amateur and so poorly done, I just couldn't relate to it. [Robert Frank] was obviously just looking for anything sensational. That's why me and Charlie are hardly in it, because we weren't sensational. All the good bits, I thought, were cut out. It was just like a poor home movie, shot badly. I couldn't relate to it. I had no interest in it really.”

  The film has had very few public screenings. Frank's vision of rock-and-roll superstardom may have been too raw for the Stones, who sued to have the film shelved. Instead of suppressing the film completely, they reached a complicated settlement that allows Frank to show the film once a year, as long as he is in attendance. Bootleg copies — with a picture quality that “sucks as much as the groupies” as one critic has joked — have been widely distributed, and are available for rent in many cities.

  CQ (2002)

  “I just want to capture what's real and honest.”

  — Paul (Jeremy Davis)

  Roman Coppola has worked on his father's films since he was a teenager, doing sound on The Outsiders and directing the second unit and special effects for Bram Stoker's Dracula. CQ is his feature film debut, although he is already well known for directing music videos.

  The action takes place in Paris in 1968 and involves a character named Paul (Jeremy Davies), an idealistic American film student who ends up directing a sci-fi B-movie called Dragonfly. The movie within the movie has notes of Jane Fonda's Barbarella, featuring a sexy, butt-kicking heroine who embodies the late-'60s ideal of female empowerment. Paul is hired by a flamboyant Dino De Laurentiis-esque character (Giancarlo Giannini) to finish directing the movie after the original director (Gérard Depardieu) was fired for not providing a satisfying conclusion to the story. Paul feels pressure to wrap up the film, while fielding advances from his sultry American leading lady (Angela Lindvall), and fighting with his Parisian political activist girlfriend (Elodie Bouchez). CQ is an incredibly layered and stylistic film, maybe too much so. There are two films within the film, and Coppola cuts back and forth randomly, using Paul's black-and-white experimental film to provide the emotional core of the story, while the science-fiction film propels the action.

  “During the writing process, I'd put music on and look through magazines and watch movies and get receptive to things that impressed me one way or the other,” Coppola told Hollywood Bitchslap. “It was fun. You just collect all these ingredients and then start to weave them together and try to make some sense of things.” It's a valiant try, and while it's not completely successful, I really liked CQ. Coppola has nailed the time and place perfectly — Paris in 1968 looks like the hippest spot on earth — and coaxed good performances from his actors. Another bonus is the groovy soundtrack by über-hipsters Mellow that actually adds to the movie, rather than just support it.

  CYBERMAN (2001)

  “The eye cams allows people to be me rather than see me.”

  — Steve Mann, the world's first cyborg

  P.T. Barnum would have loved Steve Mann. The pitch would have gone something like this: “Step right up ladies and gentlemen! Have we got a FREAK for you! Half man and half machine, this unbiological creature is one of the wonders of the world!” Barnum met his reward many years ago, so it has fallen to Canadian documentarian Peter Lynch to introduce us to the weird world of Mr. Mann, the planet's first cyborg.

  Lynch has a knack for finding unusual subjects for his films. His last feature, Project Grizzly, focused on Troy Hurtubise, who built a suit so he could wrestle grizzly bears. Before that was The Herd, featuring Andy Bahr, who wanted to drive reindeer across the top of the world. As eccentric and compelling as those characters might be, the director struck pay dirt with Steve Mann, the subject of Cyberman. Mann, a University of Toronto professor, has spent the last 20 years outfitting his body with a variety of electronic gizmos that are linked to a computer. He is rarely seen without his wearable PC, even in the company of family and friends. Think of Mann as the bastard child of Bill Gates and Inspector Gadget. His electronic get-up gives new meaning to the term “personal computer.”

  Ideologically Mann is a cybergeek Michael Moore, an anti-establishment figure who is distrustful of big business and almost everyone else. One of the functions of his contraption is to keep an eye on the hidden surveillance cameras in stores. There are several scenes showing Mann accosting retail employees, questioning them about hidden cameras in their shops, while at the same time secretly recording their meetings. Therein lies the contradiction of Mann's work: he rails against hidden surveillance in franchise retail outlets while simultaneously violating the privacy of the store's employees. Mann doesn't acknowledge this conundrum, as if his academic ideas take precedence over the rights of the very people he claims to want to protect.

  That said, Mann doesn't exactly try to blend in. His thick black glasses, equipped with eye cams, give him a mutant fly-like appearance, like a character from a Philip K. Dick novel. We see him wandering the streets of Toronto and New York, shooting a video diary of his life that he uploads to a variety of Web sites. While he attracts attention, he seems awkward and confrontational when dealing with non-techno hipsters. He maintains that his work will actually forge a stronger bond between people, but by its very nature it isolates him from real human contact. By acting as the director of an elaborate cyber-reality show he puts a layer of equipment between him and the rest of the world, preventing any real interaction with others. Not even Mann's wife, who has worn a similar personal technology for 15 years, is immune to his constant electronic observation. Mann claims that by monitoring her at meal times she was able to improve her table manners. It seems a rather elaborate way to teach etiquette.

  There is a creepy element to Mann and his constant detached observation. He doesn't look at things, he inspects them. His mother reveals that Mann and his brother kept the family under secret surveillance for three years. College friends mention a hair fetish. This behavior isn't explored in the film, but doesn't exactly endear Mann to the viewer.

  Mann is not a likeable character, exuding an “I'm-much-smarter-than-you'll-ever-be” vibe that could become obnoxious when presented by a less capable filmmaker, but Lynch handles the material with subtlety. Mann isn't treated like a sideshow attraction, a Lobster Boy or Bearded Lady. Lynch allows Mann to spout his unusual ideas while including several scenes that humanize him, including footage of the adult Mann taking his first swim. True to form, he learns the ins-and-outs of swimming from books and movies, rather than from the more direct experience of simply jumping in the water and moving his body.

  We meet his mother, a woman resigned to the difficulties inherent in raising the world'
s first cyborg. As he sits next to her in full cybernetic regalia, she looks at him, and in a world-weary voice says, “This is Steve.” The implied feeling is one of a long-suffering parent who can't quite get a handle on her own flesh and blood, but also of unconditional love.

  In another sequence Mann recalls a story of a childhood friend who was forbidden to play with him. The boy's mother was concerned about the six-year-old Mann's “influence” on her son. Shot in close-up, it is the first time we see past the darkened glasses and into the soul of the subject. Mann appears vulnerable, his guise of superiority dropped as he momentarily steps out from behind the wall of technology.

  Lynch wisely resists portraying Mann as a one-dimensional techno-nerd. Without these illuminating scenes he would seem to be a damaged person only able to deal with real life by creating his own reality. Lynch's unblinking camera manages to smooth Mann's rough passive-aggressive edges, which may be the film's greatest achievement. Mann is difficult to like, but through Lynch's camera viewers are engaged, even fascinated by a character they only get to meet through the screen. Observing the observer. Engaged but removed. I imagine that is the kind of cool detachment that Mann would admire.

  DARBY O'GILL AND THE LITTLE PEOPLE (1959)

  “Three wishes I'll grant you, big wishes and small, but if you wish a fourth wish, You Lose Them All!”

  — Leprechaun King (Jimmy O'Dea)

  Based on the Darby O'Gill short stories of Herminie Templeton Kavanagh, this movie is arguably Disney's best-ever live-action film. Uncle Walt tried to bring the story of Darby O'Gill and his tall tales to the screen for almost 20 years, but had to wait until 1959 to be able to create the sophisticated special effects necessary for the film's visual success. Technicians needed to create an effect that blended full-sized actors with tiny leprechauns. Using mattes was an option, as was optical patching, although both methods would have left the film with a grainy appearance that would have taken away from the story. The answer to his f/x problem was found in the art of optical illusion — forced perspective. Large-sized actors are placed in the foreground, while smaller ones are moved to the back. When lit properly, one achieves the desired illusion of leprechauns and full-sized people interacting in the same scene. It is this technology that lends Darby O'Gill and the Little People so much of its wonder.

  The story is simple: devious old O'Gill (Albert Sharpe) learns that he is about to be replaced by the younger (and much better looking) Michael McBride (Sean Connery in one of his first film roles) as caretaker of Lord Fitzpatrick's estate. He stumbles down a well, only to discover the kingdom of the leprechauns. Thinking quickly, O'Gill captures Brian Connors (Jimmy O'Dea), the leprechaun king, and holds him captive until he agrees to grant three wishes that will secure a future for himself and his daughter Katie.

  The screenplay, although serviceable, has a loose feel to it, mainly because it had been cobbled together from a number of stories. It isn't the script however, that makes this movie so enjoyable, it's the wonderful special effects and rambunctious performances of Sharpe and O'Dea, who turn in boisterous portrayals of O'Gill and the leprechaun king.

  At the beginning of the film Disney added a title credit sequence thanking “King Brian of Knocknasheega and his leprechauns, whose gracious cooperation made this picture possible.” He wanted kids to believe that this world really existed, and once they'd gotten an eyeful of the sprite kingdom with hundreds of leprechauns cavorting and racing around on horseback in front of a colossal O'Gill, I'm sure they were convinced. Darby O'Gill and the Little People is a solid action-adventure film, topped off with some great fantasy sequences.

  THE DANGEROUS LIVES OF ALTAR BOYS (2002)

  “Forgive me Father, for I am 14.”

  — advertising tagline for The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys

  The title, The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys, sounds ripped from the headlines, but is actually taken from a 1994 novel by the late Chris Fuhrman, who died of cancer before the book was released. The story of four boys in Catholic school was based on his experiences as a child growing up in Savannah, Georgia. The Catholic Church will be relieved to discover that there isn't a single pedophile priest in sight.

  Set in the early 1970s, the film revolves around a group of teenage boys who are obsessed with comic books. Their ringleader Tim (Kieran Culkin) is a prankster who schemes to get revenge on Sister Assumpta (Jody Foster), the joyless, strict nun with a prosthetic leg. Learning most of what they know of the world from the superhero adventures written by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko, they believe there are only two types of people — heroes and villains. Sister Assumpta falls into the latter category, and becomes the subject of a “blasphemous” comic book drawn by the boys featuring the evil motorcycle-driving Nunzilla. The guys imagine themselves as the heroes who do battle with Nunzilla's sisterly minions.

  In their real lives they are careening towards maturity with varying degrees of success. Francis (Emile Hirsch) falls in love for the first time with Margie (Jena Malone), a girl with a sad and surprising secret. As his relationship with Margie intensifies his friendship with Tim becomes strained, and life becomes complicated for the first time.

  Once the comic book is discovered the boys are expelled from school, with the grave assurance from Sister Assumpta that not only are they not welcome at the school anymore, they likely won't be welcome in Heaven either. Tim concocts a plan to kidnap a cougar from the zoo to give her a fright, but like many of his schemes, the plan has unforeseen consequences for everyone involved.

  The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys is a darkly comic, touching coming-of-age story that could easily have turned into by-the-book teenage drivel, but is rescued by the performances of its teenage leads. Kieran Culkin, who made his acting debut at age eight in his brother Macaulay's film Home Alone, shows real range and subtlety here. His line readings are good, no doubt helped along by the strong dialogue of first-time screenwriter Jeff Stockwell, but it is his body language that really impresses. He's reckless, but with a world-weariness the others don't have. In one scene we see Tim watching television, ignoring a knock-down-drag-out scream fest between his parents. His posture says it all. He's been in this situation too many times to show concern, but deep down the fighting and mayhem are slowly crushing him.

  Emile Hirsch makes his big screen debut as the artistic Francis. Years of guest spots on ER and NYPD Blue seems to have taught him a thing or two about acting. His Francis Doyle is a normal kid caught in the throes of self-discovery. His childhood is slipping away, only to be replaced with a reality that he can't quite understand. He's not sure how to make this transition into adulthood, and his reactions to his evolving world keep his performance compelling.

  As Margie, Jena Malone exhibits a torment that lies just beneath the surface, waiting to bubble over at any time. It's the kind of deeply layered performance that she hinted at in 2001's Life As A House.

  The film's biggest stars play small but pivotal roles. As a priest and a nun Vincent D'Onofrio and Jody Foster play the theological good cop/bad cop routine with the boys. D'Onofrio's chain-smoking Father Casey is a firm but benign influence, while Foster's Sister Assumpta spits hellfire in every sentence. Foster plays the sister as a strict disciplinarian who truly believes she is doing the best to save her students from damnation. Her peg leg is just a physical manifestation of her rigid personality. It's new territory for Foster, who pulls it off with aplomb.

  The rich inner lives of the boys are represented by the spectacular animation of Spawn creator Todd McFarlane. McFarlane's animated interstitials are Francis's inner thoughts shown in the form of the Nunzilla comic book come to life. It's a clever and entertaining way to weave extra character information into the story without resorting to needless verbal exposition. The scenes are dazzling and entertaining.

  The movie isn't faultless — the pacing is a little slow in places, the climax is played for shock value — but whatever this film's devils may be, its angels more than compensate.


  DELICATESSEN (1991)

  “You loved the others too. How long did that last?”

  — Clapet the butcher reprimands his daughter

  The French are world renowned for their cuisine, so leave it to iconoclastic directors Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunet to set their first movie in post-apocalyptic France where there is very little food and no meat. Well, almost no meat. Delicatessen is a high voltage variation on Sweeney Todd, set in a time when people will eat just about anything . . . or anyone.

  The time is the near future. Louison (Dominique Pinon), a down-on-his-luck clown, answers an ad in the Hard Times newspaper and earns a janitorial job in a crumbling apartment building. His boss, Clapet (Jean-Claude Dreyfus), also runs a deli. Louison is grateful for the work, and tries to ingratiate himself to the tenants of the building, who for the most part seem to like him. But they'll like him even more in a few days when they are eating him with mint jelly or a béarnaise sauce.