Blog Directory CineVerse

Step outside your comfort Zone into cerebral sci-fi

Tuesday, March 31, 2026

If you like your sci-fi with a bigger focus on IQ than FX, Stalker is the movie for you. Released in 1979 and directed by legendary Soviet filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky, Stalker is named after its titular character, an ex-convict guide-for-hire (Alexander Kaidanovsky) who leads two men – a cynical writer (Anatoly Solonitsyn) seeking inspiration, and a pragmatic professor (Nikolai Grinko) looking for scientific discovery – into "the Zone," a mysterious, post-apocalyptic wasteland where the laws of physics are distorted. Their destination is "the Room," a legendary location deep in the zone that’s rumored to grant the deepest, most subconscious desires of anyone who enters. As the trio navigates a treacherous landscape that seems to possess its own sentience, the journey evolves into a meditative exploration of faith, human nature, and the heavy burden of one's own truth.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Stalker, conducted last week, click here.


This is about as far from Star Wars space opera eye candy as you can possibly get. There are no visual or digital effects: What you see is what you get, which makes Stalker a thinking person’s sci-fi/fantasy film. That’s to the movie’s benefit and detriment, depending on your point of view and expectations. The pacing is also deliberately slow, emphasizing the philosophical and spiritual journey of the characters versus the literal journey. Detractors argue that much of this runtime could have been trimmed down to better keep the audience’s attention, while fans contend that the slow cinema approach and leisurely tempo are what help distinguish this from other big-screen works of fantasy and science fiction, forcing us to think more about what’s going on internally with each character.

If ambiguous symbolism bugs you, Stalker may be problematic. We see a black dog suddenly appearing and following the trio to the birds glittering across the sand dunes to the writer wearing a crown of thorns. Any of these images is open to analysis, with no explanation given by the director.

The film establishes a fairly consistent chromatic palette in which scenes near or inside the zone are shot in vibrant color, while the bookending sequences that occur outside the zone are rendered in a sepia tone. However, Tarkovsky breaks this rule at the conclusion with shots involving Monkey, the Stalker’s mutant daughter (more on why later).

The picture seems eerily prescient of the Chornobyl nuclear accident that occurred seven years later in the Soviet Union, which also resulted in the creation of a dangerous zone the public was warned not to enter. From the toppled telephone poles, abandoned tanks, and overgrown vegetation to the discolored pools of water filled with human detritus, this zone looks like an unsafe place to film. And it was, as the filmmakers suffered for their art – literally. Tarkovsky had to reshoot the entire picture because the original footage was botched in the lab. He and his crew had to switch locations after a significant earthquake occurred in northern Tajikistan; They ended up filming close to a former chemical plant in Estonia, and the exposure to toxic substances may have contributed to Tarkovsky, Solonitsyn, and Grinko dying of cancer years later.

(SPOILERS) The final scenes inside the zone, and just outside the room, are (frustratingly to some) anticlimactic. It begs the question: Why don’t the professor and the writer fulfill their objective and enter the room? Therein lies one of the great thematic takeaways and interpretations of Stalker, which is perhaps the whole point of the movie. (For that matter, it’s curious that the penultimate scene has the stalker’s wife breaking the fourth wall and delivering a soliloquy to us.)

So, what’s it all about? Stalker is an allegorical message about the drawbacks of wish fulfillment. The takeaway is clear: Be careful what you wish for – it might just come true. Each of the trio has their own reason for entering the Zone and wanting to visit the mysterious Room where your deepest desire can be fulfilled. The professor wants to, it first appears, when the Nobel Prize for its discovery; the writer seeks creative inspiration to further his craft; and the stalker, who refuses to ever enter the Room, maintains that his goal is simply to help needy human beings fulfill their desires and live better lives. Ultimately, none of them choose to step into that enigmatic space.

Their refusal to complete the mission can be interpreted as the learning of a cautionary tale. The writer and professor eventually deem this Room as a mirror for the soul, where one’s true subconscious desires are granted versus their stated intentions. They recall the Stalker’s narrative about Porcupine, a previous traveler who wanted to bring his dead brother back to life but was instead given wealth, validating that his true nature was actually driven by greed. By not crossing the threshold, the writer and the professor safeguard themselves from the potential shame of their own hidden motives and preserve their sense of purpose; they realize that having their wishes instantly and recklessly granted would render the scientist’s logic and the artist’s creative struggle meaningless.

Indeed, some mysteries are better left alone. The professor ultimately decides not to bomb the Room because he realizes that humanity's own fear and self-doubt are the ultimate guardrails against its power. After witnessing the writer’s existential breakdown and the Stalker’s desperate spiritual devotion, he understands that the Room is not a simple weapon to be destroyed, but a sacred necessity for those who have nothing else to believe in. By dismantling the device, he trades his cold, scientific desire for control for a sense of humility.

Stalker also explores the death of belief and hope. The film suggests that true belief is a rare, fragile form of spiritual endurance that cannot survive the cynicism of the modern intellectual. In the end, the Stalker is devastated by the failure of his clients to enter the Room. This is evidence to him that humanity has lost its innate curiosity, sense of wonder, and ability to hope and believe in the unknown. He views the other two men as so consumed by their own fear of their inner selves that they would rather live in a diminished, sepia-toned world than risk believing in a miracle made possible by otherworldly forces (perhaps extraterrestrials). Their rejection leaves him in despair, fearing that if the "educated" can no longer hope, the world is truly lost to darkness.

Yet, miracles are still possible, as the dénouement suggests. We see the guide’s daughter, Monkey, secretly using what are apparently latent telekinetic powers. We have to assume she’s never visited the Zone or the Room, but her father has travelled there multiple times; his exposure to this supernatural area means he’s probably passed on mutated genes to his daughter. The ending insinuates that, although the intellectual grown-ups are paralyzed by cynicism, fear, and disillusionment, the miraculous has moved from the physical Zone to the next generation. Monkey seems to possess the very faith and magic her father’s clients couldn't find. The transition to full color (far outside the Zone) – and the swelling of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy, somewhat muted by the roar of a passing train – implies that, despite the downbeat reality of the modern world and all its distracting noise, wonders never cease: magic can be found in the unlikeliest of places and embodied in those you’d least expect.

But there’s an even deeper meta level to penetrate. According to Criterion Collection essayist Mark Le Fanu, “Stalker at some level…is about the wish to leave Russia for good: the first twenty min­utes enact a very recognizable Cold War fantasy of breaking through bar­riers. At the same time, there is the corresponding feeling that it would be impossible, and actually wrong, to do this.”

Similar works

  • Waiting for Godot (1952), the play by Samuel Beckett
  • Ray Bradbury’s short story The Sound of Thunder
  • Dead Man’s Letters (1986, Konstantin Lopushansky) – a post-apocalyptic vision featuring a rain-drenched, sepia-toned aesthetic.
  • Sátántangó (1994, Béla Tarr) – an epic meditation on the weight of time and social decay.
  • The Turin Horse (2011, Béla Tarr) – a bleak, repetitive endurance of existence captured through long takes.
  • Hard to Be a God (2013, Aleksei German) – a visceral, mud-soaked sci-fi obsessed with grime and texture.
  • Annihilation (2018, Alex Garland) – a psychological sci-fi journey into a mutated, inexplicable biological "zone."

Other films by Andrei Tarkovsky

  • Andrei Rublev (1966)
  • Solaris (1972)
  • Mirror (1975)

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Rebel without a pause

Tuesday, March 24, 2026

Bet you didn’t know that Poland had its own James Dean. His name was Zbigniew Cybulski, and he was the embodiment of cool in that country until his untimely death in 1967. Perhaps his most memorable film was Ashes and Diamonds, directed by Andrzej Wajda and released in 1958. It’s a work that serves as a seminal masterpiece of the Polish School of filmmaking, capturing the chaotic transition between the end of World War II and the dawn of a new Communist era. The film occurs over a single day – May 8, 1945, VE Day, the date the Nazis surrendered – and follows Maciek Chełmicki (Cybulski), a young Home Army soldier tasked with assassinating a district Communist leader named Szczuka (Wacław Zastrzeżyński). As Maciek grapples with his disillusionment and a blossoming, fleeting romance with a barmaid named Krystyna (Ewa Krzyżewska), he finds himself torn between his duty to a fading resistance and the desperate desire for a normal life.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Ashes and Diamonds, conducted last week, click here.


Ashes and Diamonds stands as a creative triumph for Wajda, who benefited from a more lenient Polish communist regime that instituted a cultural thaw in 1956. Before that year, he wouldn’t have been able to make a film like this – one that was empathetic to the Home Army nationalist underground resistance, which opposed the Soviet-backed Communist Party that was attempting to establish a new socialist order immediately after the end of World War II. But in making this movie, he had to walk a high tightrope, ensuring that he satisfied the communist censors while also not angering the Polish people with a negative depiction of the Home Army faction.

Arguably, the film is fairly evenhanded in its depiction of the characters representing the communists and the Home Army loyalists. Szczuka is presented relatively sympathetically as a tired but pleasant commander who worries about his teenage son, and Maciek is, at least at first, presented as somewhat of an unfeeling sociopath who shoots up the wrong human targets. Both characters have flaws and positive attributes as well as similarities.

This was one of the most acclaimed and popular pictures in Polish film history, making Wajda a world-renowned director. Today, it’s regarded by many critics and scholars as among the finest Polish films ever made and a masterwork of world cinema.

Cybulski completely steals the show as the physically magnetic reluctant assassin, sporting jet black hair and dark shades while oozing coolness, sex appeal, and existential angst. With his performance, we appreciate how conflicted Maciek feels, being pulled in one direction by loyalty to his political cause and in another by dreams of love, normality, and domesticity. “It can be argued that we are not so much with Maciek as with Cybulski, simply because of the greater power of his performance,” wrote Criterion Collection essayist Paul Coates. Interestingly, the director and his lead shared many similarities: They both were in the Home Army and of the same generation and roughly the same age.

By condensing the narrative to one 24-hour period and limiting the setting to one primary location (the hotel), the filmmakers crystallize the characters’ internal conflicts and the ideological schism present within war-tattered Poland. Doing so creates the suggestion that momentous changes can spring from the simple turn of a calendar page, that destinies can alter in the blink of an eye, and that life is filled with cosmic ironies – such as the irony of one conflict ending (World War II) and another just beginning (a near civil war, known as the Polish anti-communist insurrection, which lasted until 1953).

The black-and-white photography – by Jerzy Wójcik, one of the most influential figures in Polish cinema – is stunning, especially night scenes outdoors and high-contrast interior shots that expressively underscore the emotional tensions within certain characters and scenes. With Wajda, he fashions some incredible images, including the visual of the giant inverted crucifix, the lighting of the drinks in the bar, Maciek’s embrace of Szczuka as fireworks explode overhead, Maciek lurking beneath the staircase, the intimate scenes between Maciek and Krystyna, and our protagonist curling up in a dying fetal position on a garbage dump at the conclusion.

Ashes and Diamonds is thematically concerned with the struggle for the soul of a nation. It reenacts a pivotal moment in Poland’s history and a crucial demarcation line, with the end of one conflict – World War II – and the beginning of another – insurrection and resistance to the encroaching communist government. Power politics ironies abound here, considering that one oppressive regime has fallen, only for the country to be in the grip of another oppressive regime. And we witness how easily the pawns on this chessboard fall, creating unique vulnerabilities for the survivors playing this dangerous game. Criterion Collection essayist Daniel Gerould posited: “The final juxtaposed scenes of Ashes and Diamonds raise troubling questions for the future. The two best men—on either side of the ideological conflict—are dead. But the dance of puppets goes on, more menacing to revolutionary ideals than terrorism.”

Maciek and Krystyna are surrogates for many Poles who fought hard against the Nazis and are weary of continued carnage. They want to live normal lives following the war, but are tragically caught in an apparently endless cycle of frustration and futility. The most resonant quote is uttered by the hotel porter: “If only we could celebrate a Warsaw not in ruins.”

Maciek and Szczuka represent two sides of the same coin. They share a history of resisting Nazi oppression. Although they represent opposing political futures for Poland, both men are haunted by the nostalgia of their wartime struggles and a desperate, failing desire to escape the violence of the past. This connection is mirrored through the hotel encounters where Maciek lights the older man's cigarettes, a proximity made even more poignant by the fact that Szczuka’s own son has been arrested for belonging to a resistance group exactly like Maciek’s. At the conclusion, Maciek finally executes the older man, only for the dying Szczuka to fall into his killer’s arms in a final, grim embrace. This "mirror" dynamic highlights the waste of a generation, ending with Maciek’s own agonizing death on a literal scrapheap of history.

The title of the film, which references a 19th-century Polish poet, is insightful, suggesting a dream of diamonds obscured by the reality of ashes. The poet inquires whether the consequences of chaos will be diamonds or ashes. Yet we are repeatedly shown imagery more associated with the latter, from flaming glasses of alcohol and lit cigarettes to bullet-pierced clothing on fire and fireworks in the sky to garbage strewn about a giant ash heap.

Similar works

  • The Cranes Are Flying (1957, Mikhail Kalatozov), which employs dynamic, handheld camera work and a sensitive, personal lens to depict the emotional toll and shattered dreams caused by WWII.
  • Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1965, Sergei Parajanov), featuring a similarly bold, avant-garde visual style and a doomed protagonist caught between tradition and inescapable fate.
  • Closely Watched Trains (1966, Jiří Menzel), combining dark humor with the grim reality of wartime resistance, focusing on a young man's coming-of-age amid political upheaval.
  • The Red and the White (1967, Miklós Jancsó), utilizing stark, widescreen compositions to portray the cold, cyclical nature of ideological conflict and the anonymity of death in war.
  • Army of Shadows (1969, Jean-Pierre Melville), capturing the same gritty, unromanticized atmosphere of underground resistance and the heavy moral burden of political assassination.
  • The Conformist (1970, Bernardo Bertolucci), exploring the psychological complexities of a man attempting to navigate a repressive regime through striking, stylized visual storytelling.
  • Blow Out (1981, Brian De Palma), which mirrors the shot of the protagonist embracing a dead character as fireworks erupt in the background.

Other films by Andrzej Wajda

  • A Generation (1954), and Kanal (1956) – two films, along with Ashes and Diamonds, that comprise Wajda’s war film trilogy
  • The Wedding (1973)
  • The Promised Land (1975)
  • Man of Marble (1977)
  • The Maids of Wilko (1979)
  • Man of Iron (1981)
  • Danton (1983)
  • Katyń (2007)

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Exceeding our Expectations

Saturday, March 21, 2026

What’s the finest Dickens adaptation for the big screen, and director David Lean’s best work before expanding his canvas to epic size? Many argue it’s Great Expectations (1946), which follows the journey of Pip – an orphaned boy played in his youth by Anthony Wager and as an adult by John Mills, who receives a mysterious fortune from an anonymous benefactor. The plot weaves through Pip's encounter with the terrifying escaped convict Abel Magwitch (Finlay Currie) and his introduction to the eccentric, jilted recluse Miss Havisham (Martita Hunt). Pip becomes infatuated with Havisham's cold but beautiful ward, Estella (played by Jean Simmons as a girl and Valerie Hobson as an adult), leading him to leave his humble life with the kind blacksmith Joe Gargery (Bernard Miles) to become a gentleman in London.

To listen to our CineVerse group discussion of Great Expectations, conducted last week, click here.


Viewers continue to marvel at this film’s gothic aesthetic, which evokes a look of German Expressionism and borrows elements from classic horror films, as evidenced by several key set pieces: the graveyard; the haunted house (Ms. Havisham’s dark, decrepit mansion); the grim barrister’s office, decked out with death masks of clients who have been hanged; the London apartment where the stranger Magwitch visits Pip on a dark, stormy night; and the courtroom sentencing chamber where poor wretched souls are condemned to death.

Great Expectations is a textbook example of efficient literary translation, condensing major portions of the novel down to strong singular shots, sequences, and montages. It’s remarkable how much of the story is told visually, without dialogue or exposition. Consider the montage sequence where Mrs. Joe is being cruel to Pip and shouting at him, only instead of hearing the word “Pip,” we hear a shrill horn; or earlier, when Pip imagines words being spoken by the creaking staircase, the hanging dead rabbit, and the cows. The overall sound design is a masterclass, and the howling wind is virtually a character unto itself.

Consider that it’s nearly impossible to stay completely faithful to the source material of a long, sprawling novel when you only have a couple of hours to tell the story. But Lean proved that he can tell this basic story cinematically with this adaptation and again in 1948 with his version of “Oliver Twist.” He said in an interview: “Choose what you want to do in the novel and do it proud. If necessary, cut characters. Don’t keep every character, just take a sniff of each one.”

Lean has a proclivity for carefully composed shots and dramatic visuals within the frame, with the elements within it carefully sorted to attract the eye to the center. Recall how the first half is shown from the perspective of the young Pip via key tracking shots, POV angles, and forced perspective sets (bringing the ceilings down closer to the actors, and using glass mattes to portray the storm-filled sky) via a wide angle lens, all to put you in the shoes of the young protagonist so you see these visuals from his awed, impressionable young point of view.

Yes, Pip is the central character, but he’s like the straight man in a comedy team—here, a character who is often a surrogate for the audience and not the central originator of the action; his personality is not altogether that riveting, and while Mills looks and personifies the part, he’s the least interesting of all the significant roles. The

Instead, this tale’s strength lies in its colorful ensemble of personalities, who have such a strong influence on Pip’s life, as brought to life by one of the finest supporting casts in any British film. Hunt is unforgettable as the skeletal, vengeful Miss Havisham, while a young Simmons captures Estella’s early cruelty with chilling poise and a preview of the stunning beauty she would exude as an adult actress. Currie brings a powerful, rugged intensity to Magwitch, standing in stark contrast to Miles, who portrays the down-to-earth brother-in-law. The supporting cast is bolstered by Alec Guinness in his witty cinematic debut as Herbert Pocket and Francis L. Sullivan, whose arresting presence as the lawyer Mr. Jaggers is pitch-perfect.

Any iteration of Great Expectations focuses on the story’s key themes – high ambitions, self-advancement, and personal reinvention – and Lean’s take is no exception. Pip and those around him have “great expectations” about his future. Ultimately, class, money, and social promotion prove less important to him than conscience, loyalty, compassion, and love, as evidenced by how disillusioned Pip is by his dreams of becoming a gentleman; he feels unsatisfied by the achievement. He learns, as do we, that a person’s real worth is through his good deeds, faithfulness, warmth, and kindness—as taught to him by Magwitch, who has lasting inner value and worth despite being a wanted criminal.

Great Expectations is also concerned, of course, with social inequalities. This tale depicts a class system where the rich live a life of privilege and entitlement, and the poor and miserable don’t have many opportunities. And it’s a rumination on the repercussions of revenge, too. Ms. Havisham’s plan to groom Estella to be her avenging avatar on men, because she was jilted at the altar, ultimately backfires, and the old woman dies a horrible death in the decrepit cage of her own making.

The next time you have a rewatch, pay attention to the motif of doubles prevalent in the film. (Spoilers) Two women die (Ms. Havisham and Mrs. Joe), two escaped convicts, two benefactor candidates (Magwitch and Jaggers), and two adults who aim to shape Pip according to their wishes (Ms. Havisham and Magwitch).

This film features a more romantic, idealized ending than the original novel. (Spoilers) That denouement has Pip, who, remaining single, briefly sees Estella in London; after becoming Bentley Drummle's widow, she has remarried. That conclusion appealed to Dickens due to its originality: "[the] winding up will be away from all such things as they conventionally go." Yet Dickens revised the ending for publication so that Pip now meets Estella in the ruins of Satis House. Dickens also changed the last sentence from "I saw the shadow of no parting from her" to "I saw no shadow of another parting from her" for the 1868 edition of the novel.

Similar works

  • David Copperfield (1935)
  • A Tale of Two Cities (1935)
  • Wuthering Heights (1939)
  • Rebecca (1940)
  • Jane Eyre (1943)
  • Gaslight (1944)
  • The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945)
  • Oliver Twist (1948)
  • The Heiress (1949)
  • Sunset Boulevard (1950)
  • Scrooge (1951)

Other films by David Lean

  • Blithe Spirit (1945)
  • Brief Encounter (1945)
  • Oliver Twist (1948)
  • The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)
  • Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
  • Doctor Zhivago (1965)
  • Ryan's Daughter (1970)
  • A Passage to India (1984)

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A well-oiled comedic machine

Tuesday, March 17, 2026


Once Warner Brothers’ The Jazz Singer debuted in 1927, the era of talking pictures was born, signaling an end to the dominance of silent movies. But Charlie Chaplin never got the memo. He continued making (mostly) silent films through 1936, as evidenced by Modern Times, released that year, and which celebrated a 90th birthday last month.

The film serves as a poignant critique of the dehumanizing effects of the Great Depression and the industrial age, following a nameless Factory Worker (Chaplin) who suffers a nervous breakdown due to the relentless pace of a high-tech assembly line. After a series of comedic mishaps involving a mechanical feeding machine and a stint in jail, he encounters “The Gamin” (played by Paulette Goddard), a homeless young woman fleeing the police after stealing bread. The two form an endearing partnership, struggling to survive and find employment in a harsh, automated world. Chaplin was partially inspired to muse on this subject matter after talking with Mahatma Gandhi and meeting with Albert Einstein, Winston Churchill, and Bernard Shaw during a 16-month world tour when he traveled the globe following the success of City Lights (1931).

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Modern Times, conducted back in 2023, click here. To hear the latest Cineversary podcast episode, which celebrates the 90th anniversary of Modern Times, click here.


This is surprisingly relevant and evergreen for a 90-year-old movie, as Chaplin biographer Jeffrey Vance wrote: “Modern Times is perhaps more meaningful now than at any time since its first release. The twentieth-century theme of the film, farsighted for its time—the struggle to eschew alienation and preserve humanity in a modern, mechanized world—profoundly reflects issues facing the twenty-first century. The Tramp's travails in Modern Times and the comedic mayhem that ensues should provide strength and comfort to all who feel like helpless cogs in a world beyond control. Through its universal themes and comic inventiveness, Modern Times remains one of Chaplin's greatest and most enduring works. Perhaps more important, it is the Tramp's finale, a tribute to Chaplin's most beloved character and the silent-film era he commanded for a generation.

Debatably, this is Chaplin’s funniest feature film, comprised of unforgettable set pieces and scenarios. As with several Chaplin feature-length works, Modern Times is built around a handful of vignettes strung together, in this case four main segments: the factory, which includes famous bits like the Tramp trying to keep pace with an impossibly fast assembly line, passing through the gears and cogs of a giant machine, and being mechanically force-fed food; the jail, in which he enjoys being behind bars more than the chaos of the outside world and thwarts an escape attempt; the department store, where the Trap works as a night watchman and engages in a blindfolded roller-skating stunt; the machine works, where the Tramp gets his supervisor caught in the gears and has to feed him lunch; and the restaurant/nightclub, where he performs as a singing waiter.

The film sends off the Little Tramp character in grand style. “The unique triumph of Modern Times is that it maintains the playful aura of the early Tramp and the comedic sophistication of The Gold Rush and City Lights, all while carefully balancing the humor with sentiment, charm with political awareness,” per Criterion Collection essayist Saul Austerlitz. “It is Chaplin before life, and the world of which he was an ever more careful observer, began to weigh him down. With it, he bid a fond farewell to the silent film, and to the character who had made him the most famous man in the world. For Chaplin, it was the end of an era...It is a recapitulation of his earlier work, the director taking a triumphant final lap around the style he did so much to invent, before reluctantly turning to the new challenges of sound. In it, the Tramp bows one last time to the audience that has loved him so much, before disappearing forever.”

Many regard the music, composed by Chaplin, as the greatest score among all his films. This film introduced Chaplin’s melody for a later pop hit, Smile, to the world, which became one of the most beloved songs of the 20th century.

Fun fact: This is widely considered to be the last silent film produced by Hollywood, not including experimental works or spoofs like Mel Brooks’ Silent Movie. Although Modern Times includes some voices and sound effects, it plays and is intended as a true work of silent cinema. Yes, it serves as the only film in which the Little Tramp utters words, which occurs during the restaurant singing scene. Technically, however, the character is singing gibberish, not any comprehensible language. Interestingly, other than that nonsensical song, the only words spoken are delivered through a machine, such as the inventor speaking via phonograph and the factory owner talking through his screen, which serves as a thematic comment on mechanical soullessness. Per Rob Nixon of TCM, “Modern Times represents more than a refusal to move into talkies, for the film actually comments on sound and plays with the conventions of both silent and talking pictures. In exploring this new technology, the form of the film becomes part of the content and the story itself becomes a reflection of the cinematic ‘modern times,’ an observation on the increasingly mechanized, factory-like production of movies, something far removed from the improvisational and leisurely way Chaplin was accustomed to working.”

To create and distribute such a picture in 1936 – nine years after the introduction of sound in cinema – was gutsy but risky. The film proved to be a commercial success, earning $1.8 million in North American theatrical rentals and becoming one of the highest-grossing movies of 1936. Records indicate the film was the most popular title at the British box office between 1935 and 1936. Yet, although the movie performed well financially, its domestic earnings trended downward relative to the box office highs of Chaplin’s previous silent hits, The Gold Rush (1925) and City Lights (1931). By the mid-1930s, talking pictures had dominated the market for years, causing a shift in American tastes away from the traditional pantomime that had long been Chaplin's signature.

Modern Times shares striking aesthetic parallels with the degrading machinery of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927) and the factory-line satire of René Clair’s Liberty for Us (1931). The film also synthesizes the "man versus object" slapstick Chaplin perfected in his two-reeler The Pawnshop (1916) with the mechanical ingenuity seen in Buster Keaton’s The Scarecrow (1920). King Vidor's The Crowd (1928) also possibly influenced Modern Times through its stark, visual depiction of the individual as a tiny, replaceable unit trapped within a vast, soul-crushing urban and corporate bureaucracy.

The legacy of The Little Tramp’s swan song resonates through the somber, dignified visual framing of displaced laborers in The Grapes of Wrath (1940), the satirical take on poverty and transient life in Sullivan’s Travels (1941), and the repetitive, assembly-line nightmare of the Donald Duck cartoon Der Fuehrer's Face (1943). Its influence on Jacques Tati is evident in the rhythmic mechanical mishaps of Jour de fête (1949), the automated house gadgets in Mon oncle (1958), the dehumanizing glass-and-steel maze of PlayTime (1967), and the highway gridlock of Trafic (1971). Chaplin’s comedic DNA reached television through the frantic assembly line chaos of that beloved I Love Lucy episode and in the legendary opening of The Dick Van Dyke Show, where Rob Petrie’s famous trip over the ottoman serves as a direct homage to the Tramp’s pratfall in Modern Times. Woody Allen further channeled this bumbling subversion in the prison chain-gang slapstick of Take the Money and Run (1969) and the malfunctioning automation of the "Orgasmatron" in Sleeper (1973). Chaplin’s film also likely served as the spiritual blueprint for the surreal, soul-crushing workplaces in Brazil (1985).

With Modern Times, Chaplin made more of an overt sociopolitical statement in his art than ever before, against a backdrop of the Great Depression. Consider how he critiques corporate America, authority figures, the government, and law enforcement, while representing down-and-outers and commenting on the struggles of the working man, the dangers of dehumanization in a world of encroaching technology, and a social system tilted against the underprivileged. This is the film that contributed to the American government’s suspicion that Chaplin was a communist or at least a communist sympathizer. The key moment in Modern Times that his detractors would point to is when, in a classic comedic misunderstanding, the Tramp simply attempts to return a red warning flag that fell off a passing truck, only to inadvertently lead a surging crowd of unemployed protesters and find himself arrested as a communist agitator.

Also unusual for Chaplin, this movie has a strong female lead, the Gamine, who is arguably not a love interest but more a platonic partner who is from the same lower rung of the socioeconomic ladder as the Tramp. In past films, the Tramp often pined for more unattainable females. Additionally, many shorts and films featuring the Little Tramp end with him walking off alone. This movie concludes with him arm in arm with a partner. It’s also rare and gutsy for a 1936 film to include a cocaine comedy sequence. Depicting the use of illegal drugs would have normally been a no-no in the production code era.

The lessons here are obvious but evergreen: The dangers of increased reliance on mechanization, industrialization, and technology over human beings. Modern Times repeatedly demonstrates how technological advancement comes at a high cost to humans, particularly workers dehumanized and exploited by big business, and how we need to prioritize people and human ingenuity over machines or risk obsolescence. Deep Focus Review essayist Brian Eggert believes this theme is easily proven by the waif’s presence: “The Tramp and Gamine are like children, free of responsibility, while adults remain mindless and controlled automatons.”

Modern Times also plays as a classic David versus Goliath tale. “Industry, labor strife, and government are all the enemies of the common man. Chaplin has no suggestions for the masses, and can only offer his lumpen Tramp as an involuntary anarchist, knocked around like a pinball but always ready to bounce back…The theme is really innocent Tramp against the world,” according to DVD Savant Glenn Erickson.

We are reminded how good people pushed to extremes. Most characters in Modern Times, including the Little Tramp, the Gamine, and even the department store intruders, are good at heart but may have to break the law for basic needs like food and shelter during a time of extreme financial duress.

The Tramp and the Gamine are forced to be creative, improvisational, and cleverly spontaneous when put on the spot. They rise above their limitations with the help of pluck, inventiveness, and cunning, which espouses another key theme: grace under pressure.

Modern Times is also strongly concerned with time itself – being on time, punching the clock, watching the clock, and good and bad timing. There’s a strong focus on food, eating, or the lack thereof, with several comedic mishaps involving edibles. There is a distrust of and anger toward authority, especially police officers and bureaucrats. And this is a time of social unrest, as evidenced by depictions of work strikes, public protests, jailbreaks, and revolts.

History has been exceedingly kind to Modern Times, which in 1989 was honored as one of the initial 25 motion pictures selected by the Library of Congress for preservation in the United States National Film Registry, recognized for being culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant. Today, the film maintains a 98% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes derived from 108 reviews, carrying a weighted average of 9.4/10. Metacritic identifies the film as having "universal acclaim," reporting an aggregated score of 96/100 based on the evaluations of four critics.

The American Film Institute ranked the production at number 81 in its 1998 list of the 100 Years... 100 Movies. In 2000, the AFI placed the film at number 33 on its 100 Years... 100 Laughs list. The movie moved to the 78th spot in the 2007 10th Anniversary Edition of the AFI list. The Village Voice conducted a critics' poll in 1999 that placed the film at number 62 on its list of the Top 250 "Best Films of the Century." In January 2002, the National Society of Film Critics included the work on its "Top 100 Essential Films of All Time" list. The prestigious French publication Cahiers du cinéma voted the film number 74 on its 2008 list of the "100 Greatest Films." 

Meanwhile, in the 2022 Sight and Sound rankings, Modern Times was voted the 78th greatest film of all time in the critics' poll and ranked 46th in the directors' poll, maintaining its status as one of only nine silent films to remain in the top 100. In the 2012 Sight and Sound polls, the movie was ranked as the 63rd-greatest film ever by critics and the 20th-greatest by directors. In an earlier 2002 version of the Sight and Sound list, the film held the 35th position among film critics. A 2015 BBC poll of global film critics resulted in the film ranking 67th on the "100 Greatest American Films" list. In 2017, the BBC conducted a poll of 253 critics from 52 different countries, which voted the film number 12 on the list of the 100 greatest comedies of all time. And Time Out magazine ranked the film 49th on its 2021 list of the 100 best movies ever made.

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Train kept-a-rollin'

Sunday, March 15, 2026


The General is widely considered Buster Keaton’s masterpiece and his most ambitious project among the 30-plus feature films he starred in, 12 of which he directed or codirected, and among the 70 shorts he appeared in. Sherlock Jr., The Navigator, and Steamboat Bill, Jr. are common contenders for that title, but most regard The General – which celebrates a vaunted Centennial birthday this year – as the standout among Keaton’s filmography.

Released in late 1926, The General is set during the American Civil War and inspired by the true "Great Locomotive Chase" of 1862. The film stars Keaton as Johnnie Gray, a deadpan Southern railroad engineer who loves two things: his fiancée, Annabelle Lee (played by Marion Mack), and his locomotive, The General. After being rejected from the Confederate Army because he is deemed more valuable as an engineer—a reason neither he nor Annabelle understands—Johnnie is branded a coward. However, he finds a chance for redemption when Union spies hijack The General with Annabelle accidentally on board. The plot follows Johnnie’s relentless, single-handed pursuit of the train behind enemy lines, featuring legendary, high-stakes stunts performed by Keaton himself, culminating in a heroic rescue and his ultimate acceptance into the military.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of The General, conducted earlier this month, click here. To hear the latest Cineversary podcast episode, celebrating The General’s 100th anniversary, click here.

This picture boasts perhaps the best combination of stellar production design, daring stunts, sophisticated narrative structure, and characterization/performance by Keaton among all his works. There are also a number of memorable comedic bits and running gags, including a dejected Johnnie sitting on the connecting rod of the locomotive’s drive wheels, his body rhythmically going up and down as the train moves; Johnnie attempting to enlist in the Army but being rejected, resulting in a crestfallen walk where he unknowingly marches in sync with a line of soldiers; Johnnie frantically running atop the moving train cars, oblivious to the fact that the rear half of the train has been uncoupled and is rolling away behind him; our hero hurling heavy fuel logs into the tender car, only for their impact to perfectly catapult other logs out of the pile and back onto the tracks in a frustratingly symmetrical cycle; while trying to load a massive cannon, Johnnie accidentally aiming it at his own locomotive, only for a curve in the track to save him at the last possible second; Johnnie using a long piece of timber as a makeshift lever to derail an enemy supply car, only to have the beam snap back and nearly take him with it; the stoneface tripping over and losing his sword multiple times; and Johnnie attempting to kiss his girlfriend while simultaneously swift-saluting every passing soldier, resulting in a mechanical, repetitive display of affection and duty.

Indeed, this could be the greatest silent comedy of all time. Consider that only around 25% of all films made during the silent era have survived; Thankfully, The General is one of them, and it remains one of the most beloved, accessible, and evergreen titles in the silent canon – a fantastic starting point for introducing new generations to the artistry and entertainment value of silent cinema.

This was an epic production, especially for a comedy, 100 years ago, and one of the most expensive and logistically difficult pictures of its era. With a budget estimated upwards of $750,000, the film reenacted Civil War battle sequences on a massive scale for a motion picture, using up to 1,500 extras and 3,000 people on payroll. The production purchased and refurbished full-size 1860s-era locomotives and filmed for about five months on location near Cottage Grove, Oregon. Its most famous sequence — the deliberate wreck of a burning locomotive into the Row River — cost approximately $42,000, making it the most expensive single shot in silent film history. The high production values, larger budget, grand scale, and attention to detail and period authenticity are evident onscreen a century later, helping The General stand the test of time as an entertaining and historically important movie.

This is also one of the all-time great chase films ever made. Arguably, The General plays better today as a romantic adventure than a comedy. It may not be as funny as some of Keaton’s other works, and it’s not a consistent laugher from beginning to end (the first major laugh, a pratfall off the porch, doesn’t occur until about six minutes in); but the chase sequences and high-risk action make for a compelling watch in 2026, particularly considering the limitations of that silent era and the extent to which Keaton was willing to take chances.

Additionally, the film is fascinating today as a historical artifact unto itself, not just as an adaptation of a historical event. “Like many silent films, The General offers things to a modern viewer that would not have been apparent to anyone seeing it in theaters during its original release,” wrote critic James Berardinelli. “The first is the pleasure of watching how the tale was realized by men and women working nearly a century ago. The second is observing the accuracy of what has become a distant historical event from the perspective of those living only 60-odd years after-the-fact. (At the time when The General was made, there were still people living who had fought in the Civil War.) The General is arguably more valuable as a historical document than a fictional feature.”

The Library of Congress took notice. In 1989, The General was honored as one of the inaugural films selected for preservation in the National Film Registry, alongside first-year inductees like Casablanca, Citizen Kane, Gone with the Wind, Singin' in the Rain, Star Wars, and The Wizard of Oz. Additionally, the film’s critical legacy is cemented by its high placement in the decennial Sight & Sound polls, where international critics ranked it #8 in 1972, #10 in 1982, #32 in 2012, and #95 in 2022. The American Film Institute listed the film as #18 on both its 2000 "100 Laughs" and its 2007 "100 Movies" anniversary lists. The General was featured in Time Magazine’s "All-Time 100 Movies" list and its top 100 actors list (with Keaton ranking #35), and was named as the #1 silent film of all time by the Silent Era database. On Rotten Tomatoes, the film currently holds a near-perfect 93% score.

The story was inspired by and adapted from an 1889 memoir by William Pittenger based on a true train Chase event that happened during the American Civil War. The cinematography and look of the picture drew influence from Matthew Brady’s work as a Civil War photographer.

Impressively, despite the special-effects limitations of its day, The General prefigures later chase pictures like North by Northwest (1959), Bullitt (1968), The French Connection (1971), Duel (1971), The Blues Brothers (1980), The Road Warrior (1981), and Mad Max: Fury Road (2015). One could further connect the dots between Keaton’s locomotive actioner and the opening chase sequence in Sullivan’s Travels (1941), the high-stakes railway tension of The Train (1964), the thrills and massive crash showcased in Silver Streak (1976), the mechanical chaos and high-speed suspense of Runaway Train (1985), the elaborate comedic choreography of The Wrong Trousers (1993), the intense train stunts featured in The Fugitive (1993), the track-switching gags of The Legend of Zorro (2005), the visceral desert convoy battles of Mad Max: Fury Road (2015), and the harrowing practical train-top set pieces of Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One (2023).

Perhaps it’s a stretch, but this film may have even inspired The Dukes of Hazzard TV show that ran in the early 1980s. Both feature an iconic Southern vehicle named "General" as a central character, and both rely on vehicular slapstick and relentless chase sequences, where resourceful underdogs use their machines to outmaneuver authority figures were made to look like bumbling amateurs in a series of perfectly timed physical gags.

Although it’s not a remake, and it tells the tale from the Union’s perspective, the story was retold as a straight historical drama by Walt Disney Pictures in The Great Locomotive Chase (1956).

Jackie Chan has often cited Buster Keaton as his primary influence, adopting the silent star’s talents for performing his own death-defying, practical stunts while using the surrounding environment and everyday props to create meticulously choreographed action-comedy sequences.

Keaton was dubbed “the great stoneface” because he maintained a blank countenance, allowing his body and kinetic movement to elicit emotion and audience response instead of his facial expressions. Trained as a vaudeville acrobat and gifted with natural athletic talents, he wasn’t afraid to perform death-defying stunts and acts of derring-do as a performer and character.

“Watching Keaton today, we realize that he's the most modern of all silent screen masters,” wrote DVD Journal reviewer Mark Bourne. “His ongoing travails at the whims of The Machine — meaning his beloved mechanical contrivances as well as Nature or "the Establishment" — make him our contemporary…there's something about Keaton's restrained, underplayed determination as he faces each new obstacle that feels refreshingly timely. The Little Tramp was Chaplin's ‘Everyman,’ self-consciously created to embody all people from all times…But it's Keaton's innocent yet unflappable achiever we more identify with. As Keaton himself put it, ‘Charlie's tramp was a bum with a bum's philosophy. Lovable as he was, he would steal if he got the chance. My little fellow was a workingman, and honest.’ We feel for the Tramp, but we want to be like Keaton.”

Keaton fans can tell that this was a real passion project for the filmmaker, one that he relished and was ultimately most proud of. That’s because the filmmaker adored trains and was a student of history. Rejecting the artificiality of studio backlots, Keaton invested a staggering $42,000 to acquire three authentic 1860s locomotives and relocated his entire production to Oregon to capture a landscape that mirrored a pristine, 19th-century Georgia. This commitment to realism led him to shun miniatures for the film's climax, famously opting to incinerate a full-sized train and collapse a wooden bridge into the Culp Creek riverbed to achieve genuine mechanical destruction. He treated the locomotives as essential costars, ensuring that every track switch, uniform, and coupling rod met a standard of period accuracy virtually unmatched in the silent era.

Interestingly, Keaton and his collaborators changed the story to make it more of an underdog narrative. The real-life event that inspired the movie was the Great Locomotive Chase of 1862, a daring Union military raid in which a group of men hijacked a locomotive called The General in Georgia with the intent of destroying the Western & Atlantic Railroad, only to be pursued over 87 miles by Confederate conductor William Fuller in a relentless chase involving multiple stolen trains. In the film, however, Keaton plays a Confederate hero opposed by Union antagonists, and we root for him and his mission against the Northerners.

Production of The General proved much more challenging than his previous pictures. There were a number of accidents during filming that ballooned the budget. A train wheel crushed a brakeman’s foot, resulting in a costly lawsuit; an assistant director was shot in the face with a blank cartridge; several fires were caused by the wood-burning engine of the primary train used, blazes that spread to the surrounding countryside and cost thousands to extinguish; additionally, Keaton was knocked unconscious during one scene.

Keaton risked his life several times during the shooting. He sprinted across railcar roofs and sat on a side-coupling rod – a stunt filmed in a single take where one mechanical slip or wheelspin could have proved fatal. He even perched on the engine's cow-catcher to hurl one railroad tie at another to clear the tracks, a precisely timed feat where any error in strength or coordination would have resulted in a deadly derailment. As was true of his earlier films, he performed all of his own stunts without a double.

Keaton certainly suffered for his art. Because the film was not a box office success, was costly to make, and didn’t garner widespread praise from critics, Keaton was stripped of his creative freedom after producer Joseph Schenck sold the star’s contract to MGM, which effectively ended Keaton’s era of independence and control over many of his earlier pictures.

The narrative structure of The General is crafty. Consider how action and events in the first half of the film are echoed in the second half, with clever reboots of the humorous bits you saw earlier on display, only with the protagonist more firmly in control. “There's an impressively classical symmetry to The General's construction,” per BBC reviewer Tom Dawson. “In the first half, Keaton's hero Johnnie Gray heads northwards in pursuit of the enemy soldiers, amusingly encountering various obstacles en route, such as slashed telegraph wires, switched points, uncoupled carriages and logs thrown onto the track. And in the second half, the roles are reversed and Johnnie is now fleeing southwards from the Yankees, deploying the very props that had previously hindered his progress to great comic effect.”

By using the railroad tracks as a literal and stylistic guide, Keaton adroitly used extended tracking shots to immerse the audience in a visceral sense of speed and momentum that defined the movie's comedic rhythm. To maximize the visual scale of his battles, Keaton ingeniously recycled a limited number of extras by filming them marching in one direction as Union troops, then swapping their costumes for Confederate gray to have them retreat across the frame from the opposite side. And ponder how sparingly the filmmakers use intertitles, allowing us to focus firmly on the visuals and appreciate this as a work of pure cinema where images, not words, tell the story.

At its heart, The General espouses the value of resourcefulness and ingenuity under pressure and the importance of adapting to your environment. According to Keaton scholar Noël Carroll, “The most recurrent themes in Keaton’s narratives and gags: the question of mastering and understanding causal relations in a world of things, on the one hand, and the question of correctly locating and precisely orienting oneself within one’s environment on the other hand.”

The General’s most generous endowment to us that it serves as a timeless testament to the spirit of the everyman underdog. Time and again, Johnnie – and, by extension, Buster Keaton – demonstrates resourcefulness, inventiveness, and improvisational genius in solving one challenge after another. Yes, these feats of daring and industrious virtuosity are in service to the comedy, as laughs are the prime fuel that propels this locomotive of levity. But, despite being vastly outnumbered by his adversaries, it’s Johnnie’s clever spontaneity and heroic resolve that capture our imaginations – as well as Keaton’s gift for adroitly manipulating his physical environment and different objects within to create unforgettable kinetic visual sequences and high-speed tension. A flesh-and-blood little engine that could, he acrobatically outwits his pursuers and reminds us of the inestimable value of ad-libbed action. When the chase begins, he does what he must to keep pace, from vigorously pumping away at a handcar to pedaling furiously on a penny-farthing bicycle. Johnnie sneaks his girl away in a sack, litters the tracks with obstacles to thwart his enemies, in the nick of time removes their obstacles (while sitting on the cowcatcher of the moving engine) to prevent a deadly derailment, and sets the Rock River Bridge afire – the visual coup de grace and his shrewdest sabotage. The descendants of Johnnie’s legacy of pluck and verve are evident in more modern screen characters, from Indiana Jones to Die Hard’s John McLean to Mad Max to Jackie Chan in Police Story to little Kevin McAllister in Home Alone. We salute you, Buster, and all the wonderful cinematic iterations that walked in your shoes.

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Cineversary podcast honors 100th and 90th birthdays of The General and Modern Times

Thursday, March 12, 2026

In Cineversary podcast episode #92, host ⁠Erik J. Martin⁠ puts candles on two cakes: one for Buster Keaton’s The General, celebrating a 100th birthday, for which he is joined by Thomas Doherty, a professor of American Studies at Brandeis University; and Charles Chaplin’s Modern Times, marking a 90th birthday, for which Erik is accompanied by film historian Jeffrey Vance, author of the book Chaplin: Genius Of The Cinema. Erik and his guests explore how these masterworks by the two greatest silent film comedians have aged so gracefully, their impact on cinema, key thematic takeaways, and much more.

To listen to this episode, click here or click the "play" button on the embedded streaming player below. Or, you can stream, download, or subscribe to Cineversary wherever you get your podcasts, including Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

Learn more about the Cineversary podcast at www.cineversary.com and email show comments or suggestions to cineversarypodcast@gmail.com
Thomas Doherty
and Jeffrey Vance
.

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Elections have consequences – and Payne points

Tuesday, March 3, 2026

The midterm elections are still several months away, but it’s never an inopportune time to revisit Election (1999), helmed by Alexander Payne. The plot revolves around Jim McAllister (Matthew Broderick), a respected but increasingly frustrated social studies teacher who develops a deep-seated vendetta against Tracy Flick (Reese Witherspoon), an intensely ambitious overachiever running for class president. To thwart Tracy's unopposed victory, Jim manipulates Paul Metzler (Chris Klein), a popular but dim-witted football player, into joining the race, which eventually spirals further when Paul’s cynical younger sister, Tammy (Jessica Campbell), enters the fray on a platform of total apathy. As the election approaches, Jim's professional ethics and personal life begin to unravel, culminating in a desperate act of sabotage that explores the messy intersection of ambition, ethics, and human frailty.

To listen to a CineVerse group recording of Election, conducted last week, click here.


Compared to other movies set in and about high school, Election is a cut above. It emphasizes strong character development, depicting multidimensional personalities. It doesn’t rely on clichés, formulaic plots, predictable teen sex, and overworn adolescent conflicts. Controversial and overlooked subjects are tackled, including lust and sex between students and teachers, the futility of student government, teenage sexual experimentation, and corrupt faculty. In this way, the comedy isn’t always safe and comfortable. (Pay attention to the clever way apples are motifs used in this movie, which signify not only “teacher’s pet” but sexual temptation.)

Refreshingly, the adolescent perspective isn’t the only one given a lens. There are actually four different narrators at different points. This highlights the complexity of the narrative's perspective, reflecting the evolving impressions formed about each major character by the end of the film. Rather than relying on simple archetypes, the story examines whether individuals appear sympathetic or despicable, ultimately ensuring that no character is unfairly targeted. By presenting every figure with a balanced mix of flaws and strengths, the film avoids a cynical or malicious tone and refrains from gross exaggeration.

This is actually less a movie about high school than personality types. Yet it’s all the more admirable because it casts the actor who portrayed Ferris Bueller – the ultimate 1980s high school rebel – in an opposite role.

Every teen comedy touches on sex at some point: Payne’s film is honest in its approach to sexuality, while other high school films resort to cuteness, crudeness, female objectification, and male gaze conventions. Indeed, Election is progressive for a 1999 picture in its nonjudgmental depiction of a closeted lesbian teenager. Additionally, in the years since its release, Flick can be viewed more sympathetically, especially in a post-Me Too world where audiences are more critical of older men trying to sexually exploit younger women. (Consider that, in 1999, the age of consent in Nebraska, where the story is set, was merely 16.)

Election is practically dripping with irony and satire, and the targets skewered are plentiful. Firmly in the crosshairs are elections and politics in general, and the pointless popularity contest nature of many of these races, on both small and national levels. “Election is on one level a merciless Alaska of the impossibility for America to move beyond two-party partisanship,” per Slant Magazine reviewer Eric Henderson. Consider that this story was influenced partially by the 1992 presidential race, especially the emergence of Ross Perot. In the years since, the film has been dubbed prescient in how Tracy Flick and her ambition loosely resemble Hillary Clinton.

Other satirized subjects include self-serving individuals always looking out for no. 1; cheaters who violate McAllister’s “morals and ethics” to get what they want; life in bland, monotonous suburbia; the ruthless cruelty of teenagers; and pathetic men in midlife crisis mode trying to maintain a locus of power and machismo.

Similar works

  • Heathers (1988)
  • Fargo (1996)
  • Rushmore (1998)
  • Ghost World (2001)
  • Mean Girls (2004)
  • Thank You for Smoking (2005)
  • The Edge of Seventeen (2016)

Other films directed by Alexander Payne

  • Citizen Ruth (1996)
  • About Schmidt (2002)
  • Sideways (2004)
  • The Descendants (2011)
  • Nebraska (2013)
  • Downsizing (2017)
  • The Holdovers (2023)

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Colonialism's comeuppance

Tuesday, February 24, 2026

Directed by the legendary John Huston, the 1975 adventure epic The Man Who Would Be King brings Rudyard Kipling’s classic novella to life, exploring the intoxicating and destructive nature of colonial ambition. The narrative tracks the exploits of two rogue former British soldiers – the charismatic Daniel Dravot (Sean Connery) and the pragmatic Peachy Carnehan (Michael Caine) – as they journey beyond the borders of British India to the remote, primitive wilderness of Kafiristan. Their goal is to exploit local tribal warfare to establish themselves as god-like rulers and plunder the region's legendary riches; however, their grand scheme begins to unravel when Dravot starts to believe his own myth of divine kingship. This shift leads to a tragic collision between their misplaced hubris and the cultural realities of the land they sought to conquer.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of The Man Who Would Be King, conducted last week, click here.


This is a great buddy picture, in the tradition of masterful movie pairings like Kirk Douglas and Burt Lancaster, and Paul Newman and Robert Redford – all of whom were originally considered for these roles. Some believe that the casting should have been reversed: that Caine should have played Daniel and Connery would have been a better Peachy. Others suggest that the casting was appropriate because it enabled these actors to slightly play against type.

Thematically, this film fits neatly into Huston’s filmography – another example where he explores the different sides of morally shadowy characters, as evidenced in earlier pictures like The Maltese Falcon, Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The Asphalt Jungle, and Prizzi's Honor. Huston – and source author Kipling – present Peachy and Daniel as likable underdogs and clever entrepreneurs of adventure, personalities we are supposed to identify with and root for. But their avaricious objectives, devious maneuvers, and manipulative ulterior motives can turn modern audiences off and put us firmly on the side of the natives.

Due to the numerous unbelievable close calls and strokes of good fortune that the duo experience – from sneaking past the Khyber Pass, avoiding a snow avalanche, and surviving a deadly arrow, to the opportune presence of English interpreter Billy Fish and the coincidence of Daniel wearing a pendant with the same Freemasonry symbol that matches the stone carving the high priest reveals – it can be difficult to take this narrative seriously. In some ways, it feels more like a karmic farce or a comedic cautionary tale.

Interestingly, Kipling himself serves as a framing device. Films like The Grand Budapest Hotel, The Words, Adaptation, The Princess Bride, and Finding Neverland also utilize the original author as a framing character who directly narrates or participates in the unfolding of their own creative work.

The Man Who Would Be King is a classic cautionary tale about the repercussions of exploitation, arrogance, and hubris. While Daniel and Peachy are ultimately punished for their actions, this is, however, a story that was written during a time when the British Empire was still a powerful force driven by colonialist and imperialist aims – a mindset that motivates the two main characters. Their greedy and opportunistic ambitions, which might have been more embraced by the mainstream in the 20th century, play as corrosively dated today. The duo’s attempts to kill, conquer, subjugate, and plunder from the indigenous peoples of a third-world country make them far less sympathetic characters nowadays.

The narrative also explores the risks and rewards of casting your fate to the wind. Peachy and Daniel completely abandon their previous lives in Britain and agree to embark on a perilous adventure filled with dangerous obstacles and a low chance of success. Their role of the dice eventually pays off, but their fate turns sour; Daniel is killed, and Peachy barely survives. If we are reminded that there’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world. Daniel and Peachy learn the hard way that some things are too good to be true, and you can’t get something for nothing.

It’s a fine line between civilized and savage, this picture would have us believe. Daniel and Peachy are educated, sophisticated, articulate, and well-mannered Brits, a contrast to the often shocking barbarism exhibited by the natives. Daniel exercises what many would believe to be a fair form of social justice as king. But their condescending attitudes and self-superiority toward the people of Kafiristan demonstrate that they possess an intellectual savagery that can be just as harmful.

Similar works

  • The Lives of a Bengal Lancer (1935)
  • Lost Horizon (1937)
  • Gunga Din (1939)
  • The Four Feathers (1939)
  • Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948)
  • The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)
  • Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
  • Zulu (1964)
  • Lord Jim (1965)
  • The Wind and the Lion (1975)
  • Fitzcarraldo (1982)
  • Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)
  • Mountains of the Moon (1990)
  • Three Kings (2000)
  • The Lost City of Z (2016)

Other films by John Huston

  • The Maltese Falcon (1941)
  • The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948)
  • Key Largo (1948)
  • The Asphalt Jungle (1950)
  • The African Queen (1951)
  • The Misfits (1961)
  • Prizzi's Honor (1985)
  • The Dead (1987)

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Araby proves that titles can be deceiving

Thursday, February 19, 2026

With a title like “Araby” (original title Arábia), you might expect a film hailing from the Middle East. Yet this is actually a Brazilian drama co-directed by João Dumans and Affonso Uchoa, which premiered at the International Film Festival Rotterdam in February 2017 (before receiving wider release in 2018). Set in an industrial town in Brazil, the picture begins with a teenager named Andre, played by Murilo Caliari, who is asked to collect the belongings of an injured factory worker, Cristiano, portrayed by Aristides de Sousa. After discovering Cristiano’s handwritten notebook, the narrative shifts into a reflective, memory-driven account of Cristiano’s life over the previous decade, tracing his travels across Brazil, his struggle with poverty and unstable work, fleeting relationships, and his search for dignity and purpose. Along the way, the film introduces characters such as Ana (Renata Cabral) and Renan (Renan Rovida), creating a layered, humanist portrait of working-class life that unfolds as a story within a story.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Araby, conducted last week, click here.


Interestingly, the proper story doesn’t even begin until 22 minutes into the film, which is when the title credits appear and the point when the narrative shifts from the adolescent Andre to Cristiano, whose diary Andre discovers and reads. It’s a curious way to open the movie, leading to expectations that Andre is the main character, which he is not. Consider, as well, that the picture starts with an American song, “I’ll Be Here In The Morning,” by Townes Van Zandt, a puzzling choice for a film set in Brazil. The title of the film is also peculiar, as this film and story have nothing to do with Arabia, but instead is based on the same title by James Joyce in Dubliners, his collection of short stories (Araby as a title also reminds us of the joke shared by one of Cristiano’s friends).

This is a work of slow cinema coupled with social realism and political humanism. Long takes, minimal editing, and a lack of plot make for a slow burn. The consistently somber tone and downbeat ending add to the authenticity. Like real life, not much happens while at the same time plenty happens, depending on the value you place on even the most mundane encounters and conversations Cristiano partakes in.

“Araby is at once a highly concrete piece of realism…and deeply poetic,” wrote Film Comment essayist Jonathan Romney. “The realism comes from the docudrama attention to all the working-class nonprofessional players encountered along the way, and from the unobtrusively compelling central presence of Aristides de Sousa. He’s usually undemonstrative to the point of seeming an absence—just the observing consciousness in front of which all these events roll by—but once in a while he gets to emote more effusively…The poetry partly comes from the style, and from certain heightened images—notably an intermittent series of chiaroscuro still-life shots, like a crumpled plastic water bottle against the hanging sleeve of a blue work jacket. It also comes from the tender, wistful music.”

Look closely enough and you’ll see that this is an autobiography, a dystopian adventure story, a romance, a thriller, a musical, a character study, and a comedy (one of the highlights of the film, and arguably its funniest moment, is when Cristiano and an unnamed worker exchange opinions about the worst ways to sleep and the worst things they’ve carried).

Araby also undercuts our expectation for a thrilling twist or moral crisis. There’s an unforgettable moment in the middle of the story when Cristiano presumably hits someone while driving on a dark, desolate road. He drags the obscure body into a lake or river, never to speak of it to anyone. The insinuation is clear: Even if Cristiano isn’t committing a crime, his prospects are grim were he to alert the authorities, which highlights the precarious lives transient workers live and how the deck is consistently stacked against them.

“We sow so much, but reap so little,” the film’s most memorable line, also underscores its most prominent theme. Araby traces the challenges of a hard-luck laborer as he travels episodically across Brazil seeking work. We observe how hard Cristiano toils, often for little to no wages, and cannot establish roots or nurture long-term relationships. This film documents the struggles of the working poor and the economic disparity they encounter as they eke out hardscrabble lives in which the balance of power is tilted strongly against them.

We are continually reminded that the underprivileged face greater obstacles. Araby shows how, lacking economic and employment stability, the underclass are at a disadvantage, vulnerable to homelessness and sickness. Ultimately, Cristiano dies of an ambiguous cause, although it was likely something related to the hazards of working at the aluminum factory or accumulated damage to his body over the years toiling for similar employers. Recall, also, how Andre and his younger brother live near the aluminum factory, which emits toxic airborne particles – possibly the cause of his younger sibling’s illness.

Additionally, Araby emphasizes that every life has a unique story worth documenting and appreciating. Andre discovers Cristiano’s journal and reads about the man’s travels, encounters, and relationships as he works in various hard labor capacities across the country. Every stop on his journey is a memorable vignette filled with fine details and distinctive faces, underscoring that no life or experience is insignificant, even if you are one of society’s overlooked or forgotten members. We are reminded that we are the authors of our own stories, and every person has a tale to convey.

Similar works

  • The Grapes of Wrath (1940)
  • Works of Italian Neorealism, like Shoeshine (1946), Bicycle Thieves (1948), and Umberto D. (1952)
  • Barren Lives (1963)
  • Five Easy Pieces (1970)
  • Iracema: Uma Transa Amazônica (1975)
  • El Norte (1983)
  • La Ciénaga (2001)
  • Train Dreams (2002)
  • Cinema, Aspirins and Vultures (2005)
  • The Kid with a Bike (2011)
  • Neighboring Sounds (2012)
  • Neon Bull (2015)
  • Zama (2017)
  • Nomadland (2020)
  • Written works by Jack Kerouac, Joseph Conrad, Roberto Bolano, and John Dos Passos

Other films by João Dumans and Affonso Uchoa

  • Aquele que Viu o Abismo (2024)
  • As Linhas da Minha Mão (2023)
  • Seven Years in May (short, 2019)
  • The Hidden Tiger (2014)

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