129 DVDs You Must Own

[MacGuffin]

129 'best' films: rich, risky and enduring
One critic's must-see titles won't be yours, but let's start talking. Chaplin, Sturges, Brando, and don't forget "The Man With Two Brains." Peter Rainer, Los Angeles Times

There is perhaps no greater folly for a critic than prescribing a list of must-see movies for someone else's library. Your psyche is laid bare to the ridicule of those who don't share your own sweet reason. Worse, you look like an ass. In that dark night of the soul, can you really defend "The Man With Two Brains"?

Well, yes, I think I can. Believe me, you have not lived until you've heard Steve Martin pronounce the name of his character in that film — Dr. Michael Hfuhruhurr. You also have not lived until you've seen Max Ophuls' opulent "Earrings of Madame De…." How can these two films possibly coexist in the same galaxy? Ah, but that's the beauty of it. Because our relationship with movies is so intimate, they can be any and all things to us. The oddest extended film families feel right at home with one another. When I was asked to put together this list I responded with the appropriate gravitas, but the truth is, I've been happily tabulating titles for years. The dirty little secret of movie critics is that they are compulsive list makers. Another secret is that, despite the canard that all critics are like George Sanders' Addison DeWitt in "All About Eve," stropping our syllables and slavering for fresh blood, the tribe does possess a beneficent streak: We love it when we can move people to love the same movies we do.
 
I am not looking for my list to become boringly definitive. Playfulness, principled playfulness, is the order of the day. I don't believe in a canon for literature, and I certainly don't believe in one for film. The medium isn't all that old, and canons are creaky. My roster of 100-plus favorites of all time on DVD, my Harvard Classics, is built upon shifting sands of shifting taste and enough memories to flood a cineplex. And yet in my mind I can instantly summon up any of the films on my wish list; like someone smitten, I knew from the moment I first saw them that they would be with me forever. Still, as a suitor, I like to go slow: Few movies on my list are from the past decade, and that's not just because it's been a weak one. I'm wary of sidestepping the test of time and falling into what I call the "Easy Rider" syndrome. Have you seen that film lately, man? It's aged about as well as a quart of Ripple. I've also soft-pedaled epic-size entries because they look best on the big screen (assuming you can find a revival house that's showing them).

There are good reasons, historical and otherwise, why many so-called classics are indeed classics, but quite a few of the usual suspects won't be touted here: No "Gone With the Wind," no "Potemkin." I compiled my choices by free association. Off the top of my head, before I checked any reference books, I wrote down the films that meant the most to me, the ones that changed my way of seeing and gave me lasting pleasure (or dread). That initial list numbered several hundred, so draconian decisions were made. I can live with that, and hope you can too. If nothing else, my little ramble may move you to summon up your own movie theater of the mind.

IMPRINTED IN CHILDHOOD

For many of us, our memories of childhood and adolescence are inextricably meshed with the movies we watched growing up. If you saw "The Wizard of Oz" or Walt Disney's "Pinocchio" when you were very young, you could not help but be astonished. They became showpieces of your imagination. But not all showpieces are created equal. Can anyone who saw William Cameron Menzies' starkly surreal "Invaders From Mars" as a child think back on it with anything but abject terror at the image of adults — they could have been one's very own parents, even! — being turned into zombies with icky plugs secreted in the nape of their necks? I was freaked out by "Freaks," which I made the mistake of seeing by myself in a cavernous and mostly empty New York revival house.

It was in that same theater, while in high school, that I discovered Bogart. As a performer seemingly without a whit of pretense, he cut through the crud that made mannerists of so many other actors of his era. I imitated Bogart in "The Maltese Falcon" and "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" and thereby set a near-permanent curl in my snarl. "The Big Sleep" made very little sense to me, and I didn't care (especially not when I learned that Raymond Chandler couldn't figure out the plot either). The teaming of Bogart and Bacall was as sexy as a blues glissando. These birds of paradise are joined forever in noir heaven.

Adolescents in the '60s were often instructed by adults to like movies in the same way that one was supposed to appreciate books — as how-to manuals for civic virtue. One film that actually fit the bill was "To Kill a Mockingbird," with Gregory Peck's Atticus Finch, seen through his daughter's eyes, as a stricken emblem of rectitude — a truly good man. My pronouncedly un-manual-like passion for books back then encouraged the belief that movies could never do justice to great literature. And then I saw David Lean's "Great Expectations," which seemed far more like an emanation than an adaptation of Dickens' work. It had the same visual intensity as his prose. (Think of the desiccated Miss Havisham and her cobwebby precincts.) But for most children of the '60s, loving great movies based on great books was still within the bounds of adult-approved behavior and therefore suspect. "A Hard Day's Night" changed the calculus of moviegoing for us: Here was a film that made it possible to show our parents what all the fuss was about, what we were all about.

The most cherishable figure of my early moviegoing was undoubtedly Chaplin. He remains so today. The Little Tramp is cinema's ultimate archetype, and yet he is intensely singular; he speaks (or rather, doesn't speak) only to you. This is the secret of his magic. The forlorn dance of the rolls in "The Gold Rush," the slip-sliding through the machinery in "Modern Times" — there is no end to the balletic beauties in Chaplin. James Agee felt that the closing shot of "City Lights," when the blind flower girl, her sight restored, sees the Tramp for the first time, was the greatest moment in movies. After all these years, he's still right.

And what, I hear you ask, about Buster Keaton? He's just about neck and neck with Chaplin, an American original if there ever was one, a vaudeville Dadaist with an eye as spacious and as open to grief (in "The General") as Matthew Brady's. If I had to choose the most sheerly enjoyable Keaton, I would go with "Steamboat Bill, Jr.," with its cyclone finale that upends Buster in one great gusty whoosh, as if the gods had just discovered whoopee and could not conceal their glee.

A few of my comic choices are not homegrown: Bertrand Blier's carnal phantasmagoria "Get Out Your Handkerchiefs," Bill Forsyth's moonstruck "Local Hero" and Pedro Almodóvar's sleazy-swanky "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown," with its pop art colorations. But you don't have to cross borders to fill your comedy quotient. You don't even have to go beyond Preston Sturges, whose movies only get better with age. "The Lady Eve" is probably our premier romantic comedy. Remember Henry Fonda intoning "Snakes are my life"? "The Palm Beach Story" bequeathed to the world the Ale and Quail Club, which is legacy enough for any mortal.

The great comedies are pretty much great all the way through, but we often still remember them for a single standout sequence: There's W.C. Fields in "It's a Gift" trying valiantly to snooze on the porch amid the clangor of the milkman and the pest who keeps inquiring about the whereabouts of K-a-r-l L-a-F-o-n-g. Or Stan and Ollie's marvelous soft-shoe dance in "Way Out West." Or Albert Brooks trying to explain to Garry Marshall in "Lost in America" why it would be a smart promotional idea for the casino to return his losses. Or lovelorn Gene Wilder, infatuated by a sheep in "Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex," chugging Woolite. (When it comes to Woody Allen, I'm in the "earlier, funnier movies" camp.) It is deeply unfair to reduce "Some Like It Hot" to its final line, "Nobody's perfect," but it's the fizziest parting shot in the history of movies, so what can you do?

Horror is supposed to be comedy's flip side, but many of our strongest scarefests are a shimmer of both, like "Blue Velvet," that dark-toned cackle. Or Brian DePalma's "Carrie," or "Jaws," or "Night of the Hunter." "Dr. Strangelove" belongs in this crowd, and so does "The Manchurian Candidate." They both mine the Cold War for apocalyptic slapstick. "Psycho" is a species of comedy, although the joke is on the audience. (Norman: "Mother isn't feeling quite herself today.") European horror movies tend to be graver. The schizo ventriloquist sequence with Michael Redgrave, from "Dead of Night," is enough to give anyone a permanent case of the heebie-jeebies. F.W. Murnau's "Nosferatu" is the vampire movie Hieronymus Bosch would have made if he'd had a camera.

The humanist tradition in film — in which people, perish the thought, are placed first — is looking a bit antiquated in these gizmo'd times. But many of the movies and moviemakers I care about the most have operated within that tradition. In this country, there may be no greater modern example than Martin Ritt's "Sounder," a sharecropper drama that is truly a romance of the spirit. The Canadian Claude Jutra's "My Uncle Antoine," set in a mining town, should be better known than it is. It deserves pride of place alongside the best coming-of-age films ever made. Before he turned into an orgiast, Fellini made poetic allegories like "La Strada," which was influenced by D.W. Griffith's "Broken Blossoms," another film of surpassing poignancy. We are brought so close to the feral boy in Truffaut's "The Wild Child" that, in the end, it is profoundly unsettling to realize that he is unknowable — as we all are.

Truffaut's spiritual mentor, Jean Renoir, is the most lyrical of humanists, with an almost ecstatic comprehension of frailty; a world without "Grand Illusion" and "Rules of the Game" is as unthinkable as a world without Mozart. De Sica's "Bicycle Thief" and "Umberto D" are tragedies of such frightful clarity that we are made to see sorrow whole. Satyajit Ray's Apu trilogy is, for me, with the possible exception of the first two parts of "The Godfather," the greatest sustained achievement in film. (Both are family epics.) Ray had an abiding passion for the sanctity of human experience, which is what Yasujiro Ozu also had, and never more so than in his masterpiece, "Tokyo Story" — a movie so resonant with death and loss that it seems to hold within its rapt stillnesses an entire universe of feeling.

NATURAL BEAUTIES

A few select film artists have such an intuitive grasp of the poetic nature of the medium that they give us new eyes. I would place in this rarefied company movies as disparate as "Earth," Alexander Dovzhenko's agrarian ode, and Werner Herzog's "Aguirre, The Wrath of God," with Klaus Kinski's gargoyle of a conquistador on his infernal Amazonian quest. Jean Cocteau's "Beauty and the Beast" and "Orpheus" are peerlessly disturbing fantasias that bring us back to our earliest experiences listening to fairy tales. The barge trip along the Seine in Jean Vigo's "L'Atalante" is supremely sensual; no sequence is more erotic than the one in which the young husband and wife, suddenly separated and alone, conjure up each other's caresses. Robert Altman's hushed "McCabe & Mrs. Miller" has the visionary thrill of a western entirely reimagined: Its brutality bleeds through a palette as delicate as the wash of a Japanese screen painting.

It's supposed to be a given that filmed theater is stagy and bad books make better movies than good books. For the most part, this may be true. But just as Dickens would not, I trust, have blanched at Lean's "Great Expectations," I would like to think that Isaac Bashevis Singer, cantankerous as he was, would have appreciated Paul Mazursky's masterful "Enemies, A Love Story." Perhaps Chekhov would have wept at Josef Heifitz's "Lady With a Dog," a perfect transcription of his short story. Sidney Lumet's "Long Day's Journey Into Night" and Louis Malle's "Vanya on 42nd Street" are paragons of filmed theater for the simple reason that the best actors in the best parts have been shot in the best way — without a lot of whirlybird pyrotechnics. The same is true for our best musicals, from "Singin' in the Rain" and "The Band Wagon" to "Cabaret": Above all, these films are celebrations of performance.

Many of the finest film artists have also been men of the theater, and their film work is a tribute to both worlds. Ingmar Bergman's "The Magic Flute," the greatest opera movie ever made, is no less cinematic than his passion plays; Mike Leigh's Gilbert and Sullivan biography "Topsy-Turvy" is as full-bodied an emotional experience as any of his contemporary urban dramas. The Carné-Prévert "Children of Paradise" is about a life in the theater, and no more voluptuous movie experience exists. Olivier's "Henry V," which revels in its theatrical origins (it opens with stage curtains parting), is as rich a Shakespearean celebration as Orson Welles' "Chimes at Midnight/Falstaff," which has a battle sequence so harrowing that it can hold its own with Shakespeare's language.

Of course, Welles, like Hitchcock ("Vertigo," "Strangers on a Train," "North by Northwest"), could fill up a Great Movies list all on his own; for my purposes here, I'd also check off "Touch of Evil," "The Magnificent Ambersons" and — what's the name of that other one, that warhorse about the newspaper guy and his sled?

Brando should get his own list too. Most actors give you one emotional level; a few can give you two simultaneously, a handful of great ones maybe three. Brando could give you five. For all his touted Method training, he had the instincts and the insight of a great novelist: As Stanley Kowalski in "A Streetcar Named Desire," Terry Malloy in "On the Waterfront," Don Vito Corleone in "The Godfather" or Paul in "Last Tango in Paris," his characterizations were so burstingly complex that he made almost every other actor in the business seem like a hologram by comparison.

But great acting is a big reason we go to the movies, and Brando has company in the pantheon: Daniel Day-Lewis in "My Left Foot," Maria Falconetti in "The Passion of Joan of Arc," Peter Lorre in "M," Laurence Olivier in "The Entertainer" (his greatest non-Shakespearean appearance), Isabelle Adjani in "The Story of Adele H," Al Pacino in "Dog Day Afternoon," Robert De Niro in "Taxi Driver" (which I prefer even to "Raging Bull." It's a performance without any antecedents — pure, transfixed fury). Big smashing star performances are a major reason we go to the movies too. In "Funny Girl," a star really was born.

During a time of fanatic religiosity, it's tonic to look at a movie like Robert Bresson's "Diary of a Country Priest" or Fred Zinnemann's "The Nun's Story" and recognize that faith on film can be shown in all its transforming mysteriousness; the rivers need not run red as proof of piety.

And in a time of war, it is necessary to look at the great films that have grappled with the shock and obscenity of violence, not just the famous ones like "The Seven Samurai," "The Wild Bunch," "Bonnie and Clyde" and "The Battle of Algiers" but also Krzysztof Kieslowski's "A Short Film About Killing," which has a protracted murder scene in a taxi that drives home like no other movie the sensation of watching a life being taken away. War in all its aspects has never been depicted more voluminously than in Marcel Ophuls' World War II documentary "The Sorrow and the Pity," which ends up being about everything — because war brings out everything.

I wonder if, decades from now, a new crop of masterpieces will be crowding out these titles. Or will the industry become so digitized and commodified that masterpieces will be like rare birds? In fragile times, it's best to stock up on supplies. Here are 100-plus movies to savor in the storm.


The movie lover's must-haves

Not every important film is available on DVD — see the accompanying list for some we're still waiting for — but here's a collection of discs that deserve room in your library. From Almodóvar to Zinnemann, there's something for everyone.

Aguirre, The Wrath of God
(Werner Herzog, 1972)

A Hard Day's Night
(Richard Lester, 1964)

Alexander Nevsky
(Sergei Eisenstein, 1938)

The Apu trilogy
(Satyajit Ray):
Pather Panchali (1955)
Aparajito (1956)
The World of Apu (1959)

A Short Film About Killing
(Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1988)

A Streetcar Named Desire
(Elia Kazan, 1951)

The Band Wagon
(Vincente Minnelli, 1953)

The Battle of Algiers
(Gillo Pontecorvo, 1965)

Beauty and the Beast
(Jean Cocteau, 1946)

The Best Years of Our Lives
(William Wyler, 1946)

The Bicycle Thief
(Vittorio De Sica, 1947)

The Big Sleep
(Howard Hawks, 1946)

The Birth of a Nation
(D.W. Griffith, 1915)

Blue Velvet
(David Lynch, 1986)

Bonnie and Clyde
(Arthur Penn, 1967)

Breathless
(Jean-Luc Godard, 1959)

Bringing Up Baby
(Howard Hawks, 1938)

Broken Blossoms
(D.W. Griffith, 1919)

Cabaret
(Bob Fosse, 1972)

Carrie
(Brian De Palma, 1976)

Children of Paradise
(Marcel Carné, 1945)

Chimes at Midnight/Falstaff
(Orson Welles, 1966)

Chinatown
(Roman Polanski, 1974)

Christ Stopped at Eboli
(Francesco Rosi, 1979)

City Lights
(Charles Chaplin, 1931)

Crumb
(Terry Zwigoff, 1994)

Day of Wrath
(Carl Dreyer, 1943)

Dead of Night
(Alberto Cavalcanti episode, 1945)

Diary of a Country Priest
(Robert Bresson, 1950)

Dog Day Afternoon
(Sidney Lumet, 1975)

Double Indemnity
(Billy Wilder, 1944)

Dr. Strangelove
(Stanley Kubrick, 1964)

Duck Soup
(Leo McCarey, 1933)

The Earrings of Madame De …
(Max Ophuls, 1953)

Earth
(Alexander Dovzhenko, 1930)

8 1/2
(Federico Fellini, 1963)

The Empire Strikes Back (Star Wars — Episode 5)
(Irvin Kerschner, 1980)

Enemies, A Love Story
(Paul Mazursky, 1989)

The Entertainer
(Tony Richardson, 1960)

E.T.
(Steven Spielberg, 1982)

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex
(Woody Allen, 1972)

Freaks
(Tod Browning, 1932)

From Here to Eternity
(Fred Zinnemann, 1953)

Funny Girl
(William Wyler, 1968)

The General
(Buster Keaton, Clyde Bruckman, 1927)

Get Out Your Handkerchiefs
(Bertrand Blier, 1978)

The Godfather
(Francis Ford Coppola, 1972)

The Godfather Part II
(Francis Ford Coppola, 1974)

The Gold Rush
(Charles Chaplin, 1925)

Grand Illusion
(Jean Renoir, 1937)

The Great Escape
(John Sturges, 1963)

Great Expectations
(David Lean, 1946)

Henry V
(Laurence Olivier, 1945)

His Girl Friday
(Howard Hawks, 1940)

Ikiru
(Akira Kurosawa, 1952)

Intolerance
(D.W. Griffith, 1916)

Invaders From Mars
(William Cameron Menzies, 1953)

It's a Gift
(Norman Z. McLeod, 1934)

Jaws
(Steven Spielberg, 1975)

The Lady Eve
(Preston Sturges, 1941)

Lady With a Dog
(Josef Heifitz, 1959)

Last Laugh
(F.W. Murnau, 1924)

La Strada
(Federico Fellini, 1954)

Last Tango in Paris
(Bernardo Bertolucci, 1973)

L'Atalante
(Jean Vigo, 1934)

L'Avventura
(Michelangelo Antonioni, 1960)

The Leopard
(Luchino Visconti, 1963)

Local Hero
(Bill Forsyth, 1983)

Lolita
(Stanley Kubrick, 1962)

Long Day's Journey Into Night
(Sidney Lumet, 1962)

The Long Good Friday
(John Mackenzie, 1980)

Lost in America
(Albert Brooks, 1985)

M
(Fritz Lang, 1931)

The Magic Flute
(Ingmar Bergman, 1974)

The Maltese Falcon
(John Huston, 1941)

The Manchurian Candidate
(John Frankenheimer, 1962)

The Man Who Would Be King
(John Huston, 1975)

The Man With Two Brains
(Carl Reiner, 1983)

MASH
(Robert Altman, 1970)

McCabe & Mrs. Miller
(Robert Altman, 1971)

Mean Streets
(Martin Scorsese, 1973)

Modern Times
(Charles Chaplin, 1936)

Monsieur Verdoux
(Charles Chaplin, 1947)

My Left Foot
(Jim Sheridan, 1989)

My Uncle Antoine
(Claude Jutra, 1971)

Napoleon
(Abel Gance, 1927)

The Night of the Hunter
(Charles Laughton, 1955)

North by Northwest
(Alfred Hitchcock, 1959)

Nosferatu
(F.W. Murnau, 1922)

The Nun's Story
(Fred Zinnemann, 1959)

On the Waterfront
(Elia Kazan, 1954)

Orpheus
(Jean Cocteau, 1949)

The Palm Beach Story
(Preston Sturges, 1942)

The Passion of Joan of Arc
(Carl Dreyer, 1928)

Pennies From Heaven
(Herbert Ross, 1981)

Pinocchio
(Ben Sharpsteen, Hamilton Luske, 1940)

Psycho
(Alfred Hitchcock, 1960)

The Rules of the Game
(Jean Renoir, 1939)

The Seven Samurai
(Akira Kurosawa, 1954)

Singin' in the Rain
(Stanley Donen, Gene Kelly, 1952)

Smiles of a Summer Night
(Ingmar Bergman, 1955)

Some Like It Hot
(Billy Wilder, 1959)

The Sorrow and the Pity
(Marcel Ophuls, 1970)

Sounder
(Martin Ritt, 1972)

Spirited Away
(Hayao Miyazaki, 2001)

Steamboat Bill, Jr.
(Charles Riesner, 1928)

The Story of Adele H
(François Truffaut, 1975)

Strangers on a Train
(Alfred Hitchcock, 1951)

Sweet Smell of Success
(Alexander Mackendrick, 1957)

Taxi Driver
(Martin Scorsese, 1976)

The Third Man
(Carol Reed, 1949)

Time Out
(Laurent Cantet, 2001)

To Kill a Mockingbird
(Robert Mulligan, 1962)

Tokyo Story
(Yasujiro Ozu, 1953)

Topsy-Turvy
(Mike Leigh, 1999)

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre
(John Huston, 1948)

The Triplets of Belleville
(Sylvain Chomet, 2003)

Triumph of the Will
(Leni Riefenstahl, 1935)

Umberto D
(Vittorio De Sica, 1952)

Vanya on 42nd Street
(Louis Malle, 1994)

Vertigo
(Alfred Hitchcock, 1958)

Waiting for Guffman
(Christopher Guest, 1997)

Way Out West
(James W. Horne, 1937)

The Wild Bunch
(Sam Peckinpah, 1969)

The Wild Child
(François Truffaut, 1970)

The Wizard of Oz
(Victor Fleming, 1939)

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
(Pedro Almodóvar, 1988)

Some missing classics

Some of the most ravishing masterpieces in movie history, for myriad reasons, are not available on DVD. Did you know that every single Astaire-Rogers movie is MIA? So too are the greatest silents of King Vidor and the best work of comedians Harry Langdon and Harold Lloyd. Louis Malle has been particularly ill-served, and the same is true of Satyajit Ray (the first episode of "Two Daughters" being the finest short film I've ever seen). There is a major gap in Vittorio De Sica's masterpiece-ography ("Miracle in Milan"), and even Preston Sturges does not emerge unscathed. You also won't find Laurence Olivier's performance in the 1965 "Othello," which I am not alone in regarding as the finest ever recorded. Missing as well are the films of documentarian Frederick Wiseman, whose body of work is as rich as any living American moviemaker's and whose films even on VHS are available only through his company Zipporah.com

Maybe this wish list will set off a few flares under the right people.

A Day in the Country
(Jean Renoir, 1936)

Au Revoir les Enfants
(Louis Malle, 1987)

Charulata
(Satyajit Ray, 1964)

The Conformist
(Bernardo Bertolucci, 1971)

The Crowd
(King Vidor, 1928)

Devi
(Satyajit Ray, 1960)

Fires on the Plain
(Kon Ichikawa, 1959)

Hail the Conquering Hero
(Preston Sturges, 1944)

Hospital
(Frederick Wiseman, 1970)

Lacombe Lucien
(Louis Malle, 1974)

La Jetée
(Chris Marker, 1962; released 1964)

Los Olvidados
(Luis Bunuel, 1950)

The Makioka Sisters
(Kon Ichikawa, 1983)

Miracle in Milan
(Vittorio De Sica, 1951)

The Music Room
(Satyajit Ray, 1958)

Olympia
(Leni Riefenstahl, 1938)

Othello
(Stuart Burge, 1965)

Pretty Poison
(Noel Black, 1968)

Safety Last
(Fred Newmeyer, Sam Taylor, 1923)

The Scarlet Letter
(Victor Sjöström, 1926)

The Strong Man
(Frank Capra, 1926)

Swing Time
(George Stevens, 1936)

Top Hat
(Mark Sandrich, 1935)

Ugetsu
(Kenji Mizoguchi, 1953)

Unfaithfully Yours
(Preston Sturges, 1948)

Young Mr. Lincoln
(John Ford, 1939)

Weekend
(Jean-Luc Godard, 1967)

Zero for Conduct
(Jean Vigo, 1933)

[pete]

whoa, those critics sure enjoy racial diversity.  and rushmore.

[SHAFTR]

I own: 14
I have seen: 51

and I disagree with much of that list.

[Ravi]

I've seen many of those and own one.

[modage]

seen: 73.  
own: 33.  with a large handful more on my wishlist to buy.

[Two Lane Blacktop]

The fact that this list includes a Star Wars movie and excludes Brazil tells me all I need to know.  

Also, La Jetee is in fact available on DVD...  it's included on one of those "Short" DVDs (are those still being made?).  It's on Volume 2, "Dreams."

2LB

[modage]

The fact that this list includes a Star Wars movie and excludes Brazil tells me all I need to know.

that its a good list?

[Stefen]

in other words,  support criterion. I agree, and you should too. Chiggity check yo selves twerps.  

[MacGuffin]

I wanna know what he's talking about My Left Foot being on DVD (R1). If it was, that'd make 45 owned by me.

[Stefen]

mac, i've been wanting to ask you this for awhile. can i have some of your dvds?

[Gold Trumpet]

Some of those films aren't even on DVD. To briefly brag, I own 45 of the ones listed. Don't care to count all the ones I've seen.

[03]

my list (R1):
alice (jan svankmajer)
alucarda
amphibian man
animal love
arsenal
au hasard balthazar
battle royale
beat girl
begotten
blueberry (renegade)
bone
branded to kill
brothers quay collection
bullet ballet
by brakhage: an anthology
chac the rain god
charisma
chungking express
city of lost children
cockfighter
color of pomegranates
coming apart
company of wolves
criminal lovers
daisies
dark habits
dark side of the heart
decasia
dr akagi
ecstasy of the angels
element of crime
epidemic
experiments in terror
even dwarfs started small
fallen angels
fando and lis
fantastic planet
female convict scorpion jailhouse 41
film fest dvd issue 2: cannes (only for 'MORE')
ganja and hess
gregory horror show vol 1
gummo
guy maddin collection
happy together
hole, the (ming liang tsai)
hour of the wolf
icicle thief
i'm not scared
incubus
institute benjamenta
it happened here
i will walk like a crazy horse
jubilee
julien donkey boy
kanal
the knack...and how to get it
l'age d'or
l'amants du pont neuf
lancelot of the lake
last life in the universe
legend of suram fortress/ashik kerib
le dernier combat
le nain rouge
little otik
long night
maborosi
maelstrom
medea
muertos de risa
my life to live
mystery of rampo
mysterious object at noon
of freaks and men
order - from cremaster 3
nameless
99.9
9 souls
perfect blue
pierrot le fou
pig
pinocchio 964
possession (andrzej zulawski)
que viva mexico
repentance
rhinoceros
roald dahl's tales of the unexpected
ruslan and ludmila
salo
see the sea
sitcom
songs from the second floor
space is the place
spiritism
stray dog
strike
sunrise: a song of two humans
tales from the gimli hospital
thesis
three caballeros
tin drum (not cc)
tokyo fist
tuvalu
2LDK
un chien andalou
underground
uzumaki
valerie and her week of wonders
visitor q
viva la muerte
yi-yi: a one and a two
woman in the dunes
X2000: shorts of francois ozon
zero

[Stefen]

So, you're rich, but depressed at the same time? God, I hate people like you.

[SHAFTR]

my list (R1):
alice (jan svankmajer)
alucarda
amphibian man
animal love
arsenal
au hasard balthazar
battle royale
beat girl
begotten
blueberry (renegade)
bone
branded to kill
brothers quay collection
bullet ballet
by brakhage: an anthology
chac the rain god
charisma
chungking express
city of lost children
cockfighter
color of pomegranates
coming apart
company of wolves
criminal lovers
daisies
dark habits
dark side of the heart
decasia
dr akagi
ecstasy of the angels
element of crime
epidemic
experiments in terror
even dwarfs started small
fallen angels
fando and lis
fantastic planet
female convict scorpion jailhouse 41
film fest dvd issue 2: cannes (only for 'MORE')
ganja and hess
gregory horror show vol 1
gummo
guy maddin collection
happy together
hole, the (ming liang tsai)
hour of the wolf
icicle thief
i'm not scared
incubus
institute benjamenta
it happened here
i will walk like a crazy horse
jubilee
julien donkey boy
kanal
the knack...and how to get it
l'age d'or
l'amants du pont neuf
lancelot of the lake
last life in the universe
legend of suram fortress/ashik kerib
le dernier combat
le nain rouge
little otik
long night
maborosi
maelstrom
medea
muertos de risa
my life to live
mystery of rampo
mysterious object at noon
of freaks and men
order - from cremaster 3
nameless
99.9
9 souls
perfect blue
pierrot le fou
pig
pinocchio 964
possession (andrzej zulawski)
que viva mexico
repentance
rhinoceros
roald dahl's tales of the unexpected
ruslan and ludmila
salo
see the sea
sitcom
songs from the second floor
space is the place
spiritism
stray dog
strike
sunrise: a song of two humans
tales from the gimli hospital
thesis
three caballeros
tin drum (not cc)
tokyo fist
tuvalu
2LDK
un chien andalou
underground
uzumaki
valerie and her week of wonders
visitor q
viva la muerte
yi-yi: a one and a two
woman in the dunes
X2000: shorts of francois ozon
zero

"ooo, Look how different I am"

[classical gas]

man, you guys are hostile.  what's the deal