1.  M. Night Shayamalan

The Sixth Sense was freaking awesome, with an eerie atmosphere, and one of the best plot twists up to that point.  Everything M. Night has done since then has sucked balls.  Unbreakable was the worst superhero film ever (“They call me Mr. Glass.” Are you fucking serious?).  Signs was retarded, the Village had a lot of potential, but of course he fucked it up.  Lady in the Water?  Won’t even discuss it.  And now he’s running out of titles.  The Happening.  How vague.  He is actually a great director technically; he’s had amazing scenes in every film he’s done.  His problem is he sucks at writing, and he writes all the films he directs.  No more plot twists, for the love of god!  They are all fucking awful, and he’s taken at least 12 hours from my life that I can’t get back.  And appearing in his own films?  Hitchcock was a genius; you sir, are an ass.

2.  Wes Anderson

Jason Schwartzman may have been a funny, successful actor if Anderson hadn’t thrown him under the Darjeeling Limited.  This is a guy who thinks he’s edgy and indie and inspired.  None of his films are indie; just because Touchstone hasn’t been big since the ‘80’s doesn’t make you a starving artist.  His camera work is rigid, his characters are unbelievable, and he can’t decide if he wants to be funny or dramatic.  The best part about his films is the music, but that doesn’t save him.  You want to be artsy and independent? Grab a Super 8 camera and film something in your basement.  And if I hear one more person say, “it’s just an intelligent kind of humor”, I will punch you in the face.

3.  Oliver Stone

Just because this guy’s father never loved him, and his favorite history professor gave him C’s through college, doesn’t mean I have to suffer for two hours.  What is it about this guy that is redeeming?  Platoon was not as good as everyone thinks it was.  Wall Street was the only good film he ever made.  Natural Born Killers was a Tarantino script, and Stone still fucked it up.  Every single movie he makes, it’s like he’s saying, “Look at me professor, I got facts right, give me a cookie!  Look daddy, I superimposed Joe Namath over Jamie Foxx, do you love me yet?”  I would be more upset about his political adgenda (Nixon, W, JFK, World Trade), but he’s just such a douchebag, I’ve stopped caring.  I can’t wait for Born on the 5^th of July.

4.  David Cronenberg

Am I the only one who remembers that this guy started out making bullshit B movies like The Fly and Videodrome?  In the mid ‘90’s, he tried to be more introspective with social commentaries like Crash and eXistenz, and he failed.  Now, he’s adapting graphic novels into uninspired films, and people are inviting him to the Oscars? Fuck that.  A History of Violence was a dumb movie, and so was Eastern Promises.  His violence and fighting is so scripted it’s ridiculous.  I really think he’s just coming up with different excuses to see Viggo Mortensen naked.  His films are predictable and monotonous; he should see if Viggo’s willing to be in The Fly III.

5.  Joe Wright

This asshole is the most pretentious thing to come out of Hollywood in decades.  He’s like that friend you hate because you know he’s not intelligent or artistic, but he pretends so well because he wants to sleep with your girlfriend.  It’s as if he started with Pride and Prejudice, and now he’s stuck in Jane Austen mode, and we can’t turn him off.  His most recent project (The Soloist) was actually a true story; a heartfelt, inspiring, real story about music, and he turned it into Atonement 2.  I actually feel insulted watching his camera work, and the bullshit artsy scenes he throws in at random.  For the love of God, someone turn him off before he makes Die Hard 5: No More Sensibility.

by The Great White Gypsy

“Hello?  What?  No, I don’t work today.  I’m playing hockey at two.”

Dante could have stayed home and played hockey, but with this first line of 1994’s Clerks, he had no idea what was waiting for him.  I’m sure Kevin Smith felt the same way.

It is likely that there was a small pool of disturbed and possibly high individuals who went to see the black and white indie project that promised raunchy, irreverent humor and witty banter between two of America’s elite; a video store clerk and a convenience store clerk.  Most of the reviews I remember from family friends were extremely negative.  “It’s just two guys talking about sex and drugs for two hours, and it’s in black and white.”  The nay-sayers were totally clueless (as nay-sayers usually are) that their criticisms about Kevin Smith’s films are the exact reasons guys like me think he’s a genius.  It was black and white.  It was just two guys talking about sex and drugs for two hours.  But they were guys like me, and my friends.  Sure, I didn’t grow up in New Jersey, but it was so relatable, so real.

I’ve always felt like Kevin Smith is playing the part of the horse in the Animal Farm that is modern cinema.  Not only is he hard working, he speaks for the working stiffs, the underprivileged.  He speaks for everyone who graduated high school, and didn’t stray far from home, didn’t get a degree, didn’t find the love of their life.  He’s not their political advocate, he gives them a place in entertainment; he makes the lives of everyday people interesting.  Not with drama or CGI, but with realism.  Arthur Miller gave salesmen a seat at the table, and Glengarry Glen Ross gave them seconds on turkey.  Smith is no different.

His follow-up, Mallrats (1995) was pretty much the same stuff, but in a mall.  All these characters, trying to figure out life, deal with relationship and sex problems, and stay off the mall cops’ radar.  Who didn’t do that in high school?  I mean, I’m sure there were people who didn’t, but…no one I knew.

Smith made a pretty bold move two years later, when he directed Chasing Amy.  After the disgusting, whimsical tone of his first projects, he made an emotional film about the confusion and pain of love.  It was the only time I felt really bad for Ben Affleck (most of the time I feel like you do for the retarded kid down the street that uses training wheels well into his teens).  It was still real, still witty, but all stops, blocks, and pretenses were pulled out, and Kevin Smith’s tin man found his heart in the hands of lesbian Joey Lauren Adams and bi-curious Jason Lee.  It seems lame in the midst of all his other masterpieces to say that Chasing Amy is my favorite, but everyone feels that way, they just say Mallrats because “Snoochie Boochies” is funny as hell.

I will now make a bold statement:  Dogma (1999) was the pinnacle of Kevin Smith’s career.  Now, I doubt anyone in a crowded room would’ve thrown popcorn at me for that, but your immediate reaction is to go over Smith’s resume and plead the case for Chasing Amy, or Mallrats, or Clerks II.  But here is what I mean:  Dogma was irreverent not only in everyday life, but it was borderline sacrilegious.  It was more fantastical than any of his other films.  But my point is, not only did he maintain his creative directing style, his compelling character development, and his witty, real dialogue, but his humor as directed towards organized religion (essentially dogma itself) didn’t come across as pretentious or hostile, or even that sacrilegious (for those open-minded Christians such as myself).

Many Kevin Smith fans will say that Jersey Girl (2004) is his worst film.  I would tend to agree, but mainly just because I’m not a big Ben Affleck fan (wait, what’s the opposite of fan?), and I do hold it against Smith for encouraging him.  But even in this film, he was trying to gear it a little more towards family values and the domestic dynamic.  There is nothing wrong with that, and in a genre that most people my age won’t admit to supporting, he actually did pretty well.

Like any good leader, Smith is defined just as easily by the company he keeps.  Jason Mewes, Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Jason Lee, Scott Mosier, and Brian O’Halloran appear repeatedly in his work, as do Claire Forlani and Joey Lauren Adams.

Now, you could also call him narcissistic, trying the Alfred Hitchock bit about being in all your own films.  But Silent Bob, although many people’s favorite character, is not a dynamic stage-hog.  He says one, maybe two lines in every film, and they’re always great. Stan Lee does the same thing in all the Marvel movies, and no one says anything (he was in Mallrats, too; nerdy, but cool.)

As far as the breadth of a career goes, Kevin Smith’s quality and consistency of work almost demands respect from cult aficionados.  Oliver Stone has politics.  David Fincher has psychological nightmares.  M. Night Shayamalan has…garbage.  And Kevin Smith has New Jersey.  True, no one was really using it, but he took it anyway.  Because he can.  And with his most recent film (Zack and Miri make a porno, the only one not set in New Jersey), he still gives Joe-sixpack words to live by:

“Let us Fuck.”

Kevin Smith Filmography

Zack and Miri Make a Porno (2008)

Clerks II (2006)

Jersey Girl (2004)

Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (2001)

Dogma (1999)

Chasing Amy (1997)

Mallrats (1995)

Clerks (1994)

I have been a film buff since I was little. I probably get a lot of it from my father, who had a sizeable VHS collection in the ‘90’s. One of his random acquisitions was Raising Arizona. He told me not to bother with it, that it was weird and ridiculous, some director he’d never heard of. So I took his advice, and didn’t watch it.

A couple years later, around 1995, it was movie night at home. We rented The Hudsucker Proxy, because it looked funny. I thought it was really cool, but everyone else hated it. I didn’t even bother to check who directed it.

Cut to 1998. I had seen The Big Lebowski advertised on TV, but being thirteen, I couldn’t see it by myself. My dad rented it when it finally came out (still on VHS), and we both loved it. I had never seen anything like it, I didn’t know what a White Russian was, but one thing was clear: The Dude definitely abides. I felt that tingly feeling in my gut, and I knew I was in love with the Coen Brothers.

Over the.years, I’ve been able to get my hands on all of their films, even their little known debut Blood Simple (1984). They range from the comically absurd (Raising Arizona, Intolerable Cruelty) to the dark and violent (Fargo, No Country for Old Men). From the quirky drama (The Man Who Wasn’t There, Barton Fink) to adaptations of Greek literature (O Brother, Where Art Thou?). They’ve been nominated for 8 Oscars (winning 4), 5 Golden Globes (winning 1) and 10 nominations over the years at Cannes (winning 4).

In a nutshell, they are freaking amazing.

Most people will tell you that, No Country for Old Men aside, O Brother, Where Art Thou? Is the best Coen film. This is debatable, but it is very well done. Only Joel and Ethan could adapt Homer’s Odyssey, set it in the 1930’s dust bowl, and turn it into a chain-gang escape film. They even use an old-timey soundtrack while the three heroes are being seduced by sirens, fighting the Cyclops, and running from the lawman.

A lot of directors have a trademark. Music, certain cinematography techniques, casting, dialogue, etc. The Coen’s trademark? Tonality. They generally have every cinematic element in place, everything is cohesive and well crafted. But what makes a great director (or in this case team) is the intangibles. Those things that, be it a comedy, a drama, or a political thriller, maintain that indescribable air that lets you know this is a Coen Brothers’ film.

It also doesn’t hurt to have familiar faces throughout the resume. Steve Buscemi, John Turturro, John Goodman, George Clooney, Frances McDormand, and Bonnie Hunt have all shown up in multiple Coen projects. But it’s also the familiar faces behind the scenes. Carter Burwell has been the composer in almost all of the Coen’s films, and he’s done a great job. Roger Deakins has been on board as cinematographer since Barton Fink (1991). Production Designer Dennis Gassner has also been involved in the bulk of the Coen’s work. And it doesn’t hurt that Joel and Ethan Coen have not only written and directed all of their films, they’ve also edited them (together under the name Roderick Jaynes). The Coen’s haven’t just had an amazing career; they’ve built an empire.

I did finally watch Raising Arizona. When I saw my dad next, I said, “My friends call me Lenny, only I ain’t got no friends.” He didn’t get it. So I said, “Don’t fuck with the Jesus.” He hit me with a Bible. He doesn’t understand.

Coen Brothers Filmography:

Burn After Reading (2008)

No Country for Old Men (2007)

The Ladykillers (2004)

Intolerable Cruelty (2003)

The Man Who Wasn’t There (2001)

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000)

The Big Lebowski (1998)

Fargo (1996)

The Hudsucker Proxy (1994)

Barton Fink (1991)

Miller’s Crossing (1990)

Raising Arizona (1987)

Blood Simple (1984)

I have a theory. I think that many years ago, at the height of both of their careers, Tim Burton and Isabel Allende had a lovechild (if you don’t know who Allende is, maybe you should read more books). They had this child in Mexico, and left him there to be raised by mythical creatures until he found his calling. That is the only explanation I can come up with for why Guillermo del Toro is such an amazing director.

His American films are somewhat restricted so far to the comic book genre. Blade II, Hellboy, and Hellboy II: The Golden Army. If you’ve read my review of Hellboy II, you know that I didn’t care for it, but I don’t blame del Toro; it was out of his hands. Hellboy was a solid adaptation of an obscure character, and del Toro displayed his usual dark flair for fantastic visuals. Blade II is widely held as the best in the trilogy, largely due to the deeply complex characters, consistent story, and amazing action sequences.

As with many foreign directors, del Toro’s US debut was almost self-defeating. Mimic came out in ’97, when weird horror films like The Relic and Phantoms were a dime a dozen. He still had his style, but had to bend to the will of Hollywood (the film spawned two straight-to-DVD sequels; not the best way to cross the border).

Hopefully, though, American audiences have appreciated what he can do in his native environment. Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) was nominated for six Oscars, winning three. It was an amazingly beautiful mix of history, character development, emotional conflict, and fairytale surrealism. The war taking place in the background not only established the tone and environment, but it played an integral part in the plot. The dynamic between the little girl and her mother, her nurse, and her borderline evil new stepfather was well developed, but never cumbersome, which is impressive when you’re throwing fairies and talking faun in the mix. 

That is del Toro’s style in a nutshell. He has the panache for dark fantasy very reminiscent of Tim Burton’s work, but he places it in the real world, and makes it part of the characters and the political and social climate. He shares a passion for sweeping historical pictures and interconnected characters with Isabel Allende, whose well-realized novels like Eva Luna and House of Spirits, are socially broad and personally specific at the same time.

El Laberinto del fauno may be his best, but definitely not his first. Del Toro’s film debut was Cronos in 1993. An old man caring for his granddaughter, worried about his deteriorating health, finds a golden scarab from the early 1500’s. The mechanism cuts into his arm, latching on with its barbs, and grants him increasing youth and eternal life. However, it brings with it a thirst for blood, and a conflict with a dying tycoon looking to cheat death with the help of his son (Ron Perlman speaking Spanish…odd). The characters weren’t boring, and the supernatural wasn’t distracting; even in his first venture, del Toro was juggling knives with ease.

Mimic was only four years later, but del Toro waited eight years for another Spanish language film. In 2001, he released El Espinazo del Diablo (The Devil’s Backbone). It is about a child who arrives at an orphanage at the tail end of another war. A bomb had been dropped in the courtyard, but buried without detonating. This sets a tone of apprehension about the possibility of explosion, and is compounded by visions of another boy’s ghost leading him to a darker buried secret. It is tense and eerie, but again sweeping and historical, patient in its development.

It may be a while before Guillermo del Toro returns to Mexican cinema as a director, but last year he proved that even as a producer, his style and visions can be noticed. In 2007, he produced El Orfanato (The Orphanage). I was skeptical that del Toro’s name was attached to a film directed by Mexico’s newcomer Juan Antonio Bayona, but was pleasantly surprised that I could see del Toro’s hand in the whole thing: the tone, the conflict, and the elements. None were fully realized by the director, but I could feel the man behind the curtain.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he wasn’t the lovechild of Tim Burton and Isabel Allende. Maybe he wasn’t raised by mythical creatures. Maybe he’s just a normal guy; a great director with his own amazing style. But my theory is more interesting, and I guarantee he would agree.

Guillermo del Toro’s next direction is rumored to be a two-part adaptation of The Hobbit sometime in 2011 (someone needed to relieve Peter Jackson, might as well be this guy).

Guillermo del Toro Filmography:

Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008)

Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)

Hellboy (2004)

Blade II (2002)

The Devil’s Backbone (2001)

Mimic (1997)

Cronos (1993)

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p class=”paragraph_style_2”>Danny Boyle is a creative, innovative genre renovator.  It’s easy to pick out Scorcese’s work, or Tarantino’s, or even David Fincher’s dark, mind-altering dramas.  But what sets Danny Boyle apart is that he will not limit himself to one genre.  His portfolio includes  brutally honest drug film in Trainspotting, a surprisingly enjoyable romantic comedy in A Lifeless Ordinary and DiCaprio’s continuing struggle to escape Titanic in The Beach. Two years after DiCaprio’s psychotic romp through the jungle, Boyle infected the zombie genus with  28 Days Later. And most recently, he reignited science fiction with Sunshine.  With films all over the map and off the radar, how can one proclaim his genius?  Well, the kid’s got style.

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p class=”paragraph_style_3”>A Danny Boyle staple is his portrayal of isolation. It’s an interesting concept to be part of a group, and still feel alone. Whether it’s a tight-knit group of young people flirting with heroin, an island community, the last handful of people alive in England, or eight scientists on a spaceship, Boyle gives us an unapologetic look at their internal struggles.  Perhaps more impressive is how close the audience feels to the characters as they develop, making isolation much more personal. He spends a lot of quality time with DiCaprio  on that island as we watch him transform from a happy, laid back tourist into an overprotective Rambo of Thailand.  In 28 Days Later we  stand right beside an innocent Cillian Murphy, watching him shift into an emotionless warrior against the undead.  

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p class=”paragraph_style_3”>Boyle reaches beyond the actors, and utilizes the environment to illustrate his vision: a tropical island, a deserted modern city, and the darkness of space.  All these settings not only play a huge part in character development, but they also have a development all their own.  DiCaprio’s island goes from a mysterious paradise, to an idyllic utopia, then transforms into a bloody war zone before departing as a beautiful memory.  In 28 Days, the thriving metropolis of London undergoes an immediate and unwitnessed deconstruction into a wasteland of terror.  Yet even in this devastation, on the edge of our seats, we feel some shred of peace and humanity in a deserted supermarket or on a back country road. Even in Tainspotting, which takes place mainly in the populated town of Edinburgh, Scotland, Boyle uses the settings to juxtapose the characters.  While sitting in the remote hills north of Glasgow, Ewan McGregor ignores the beautiful landscape, saying only “It’s shite being Scottish.”  However, in decaying apartments, the group is blissful and witty as they shoot up.

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The musical element of Boyle’s work is not just solidly effective, but masterfully woven into the films.  Whether it’s eerie instrumentals to make you fear the infected or euro-house beats and indie rock to make you never ever want to come down from heroin locked in your room with an infant, Boyle knows how to manipulate with a soundtrack, and he does it beautifully.

Danny Boyle Filmography

Sunshine (2007)

Millions (2004)

28 Days Later (2002)

The Beach (2000)

A Life Less Ordinary (1997)

Trainspotting (1996)

Shallow Grave (1994)