Oscars Special- Dunkirk: A Devastating, Desperate Masterpiece

As The Rolling Stones put it nicely, 'War, children, is just a shot away'. 

And while all war films in the past had been about grand schemes, faulty plans, the glory of victory and the gore of the battle, Christopher Nolan's 'Dunkirk' succeeds them all in a different way; instead of being about all those weighty things, it is just a tale of chaos that begins with a shot of artillery ricocheting on our eardrums. 

Unsubtle, you might think. Yet, before the hapless British troops wandering aimlessly in the streets of an occupied France are gunned down one by one by an unnamed enemy (which does not need an introduction anyway), they are dumbstruck to discover leaflets that mock their position as cornered by the enemy from all sides. It is as if, along with Adolf Hitler making a scramble for the Tommies fleeing back home to Britain, Joseph Goebbels also joined in the ride. 

Brilliant. 

But then, brilliance has always been a frequent word in the Nolan vocabulary, popping up to fill up the frames in his absolute masterstrokes (I choose, out of pure impulse, 'The Dark Knight' followed by 'Memento' and 'The Prestige') and showing up distinctly between the lines in even more mainstream yet still intriguing outings. 'Dunkirk' feels like a film that the English writer-director was intending to make for a long time and the effort, dedication and brilliance show up in spades, resulting in an enthralling and exceptional war film that is not really a war film to begin with. 

That is what Nolan believes in, presenting us the senseless chaos of one of history's bleakest chapters as material ripe for a rattling, unsettling existential thriller in which the forces of nature and human evil blend to become a primal threat to the helplessness of the people in the narrative. As it would be, 'Dunkirk' is a devastating film, a genuinely startling, spine-chilling yet ultimately sensational tale of war and despair, of disaster and deliverance. 

The scenario is thus: the Jerries have taken France and Belgium and are heading for Britannia itself now. British troops are stranded on Dunkirk beach by the thousands and back home, Churchill is demanding that he get his infantry back to prepare for the big battle ahead. The problems are many, though; the water near the coast is too shallow for the troops to board immediately, air cover is almost non-existent and the Germans are just rounding them up from all corners. In short, it is a nightmare. 

And nightmare is what Nolan presents to us. Though, I would like to believe that after 'Inception', he has become something of a chronicler of the most meticulously manipulated dreams and nightmares going beautifully berserk. 'Dunkirk' might be a film about an actual historically recorded event rather than about confused amnesiacs and insomniacs, disillusioned yet worthy vigilantes, dream thieves and astronauts and iconic villains. But it is, in typically hypnotic, utterly magnetic non-linear narrative arc, every bit his work only. The plot is divided neatly into three compelling puzzle pieces, one set on the 'Mole' which is a threadbare jetty thronged with desperately fleeing soldiers, the other up above in the skies where a trio of Spitfire pilots soar in the clouds and the last which centres on the sea where a humble little boat sets out from home to heroic rescue. 

All operate in dazzling yet marvellously coherent timelines; the exodus from Dunkirk through the 'Mole' lasts for more than terrifying 24 hours while the terse, tightly thrilling dogfights in the air last for an hour. For all the mastery of all available dimensions at his disposal, though, 'Dunkirk' achieves an indelible greatness when the director surprises and even stirs our emotions with unprecedented storytelling mastery. 

Nolan has been one of our most unabashedly spectacular yet intelligent cinematic stylists but there is something bracingly real and dirty and gritty about the way he embraces the noise, fury and foolhardy nature of the fragile escape being chronicled. Cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema lends jittery, almost vividly bleak poetry to the director's energy, painstaking craft and rational invention, sneaking up and close to a soldier who buries his head in the sand while explosions boom behind him and then sweeping wordlessly, almost elegiacally above the grimy steel helmets of the troops as they turn to gaze up at the terror descending from the skies.

At the same time, he balances the relentless carnage of destruction and despair with a flawless understanding of the turbulent and twisted emotions, fears and hopes getting stirred up in the ensuing mayhem which feels inescapable. There is the precarious sense of failed chances up in those tight, painstakingly shot authentic dogfights (in which the camera gazes through those gunsights) and there is the sprawling, uncomfortable claustrophobia of cramped quarters in big ships, even as hope feels close at hand. Hoytema's compositions are markedly absent of colour, the latter showing up occasionally either as red jam on bread or the yellow nose of a Messerschmitt but it is these splashes into a gritty, glinting palette of sunlight, spray and sinking steel that make them so spectacular and immersive. Such mastery of perspective is truly astounding, even from a director who can make a simple concept as a comic book villain mean a lot more. 

Aiding the director, in no small measure, is his own script, a yarn spun with the tightest thread yet as impressively lean and mean as any of the original thrillers that he had made in his beginnings. Nolan's films, for all their brilliance, tend a bit to explain the whole plot away at times but in 'Dunkirk', there is zero exposition. The words are spare and pointed, almost frugal in their function to propel the plot ahead and while there is a hint of darkly ironic humour in between, Nolan leaves no room for indulgence or wasted gestured. This is a pure thriller of inexorable dread and does not pause for even a second, except for the moments when the film becomes utterly, desolately silent enough to hear your own breathing. 

Hans Zimmer's score, while appropriately tense and sweltering (especially with that constant tick-tock sound of menace behind the big swells), deserves an additional mention for being sublime when required. Jonny Greenwood would have been proud of those see-sawing violins in the beginning as our luckless raw recruits try to bustle through lines of men escaping for their lives.  And special mention should go to the fabulous crew behind that mind-numbing brilliant use of sound and for making us wince at every single bullet or piece of shrapnel that shreds the screen. 

Above all that craft though, 'Dunkirk' is an immensely human story. The choice of casting lesser known youngsters to play those desperate Tommies is a masterstroke, as Fionn Whitehead, musical sensation Harry Styles and Aneurin Barnard flesh their characters with almost heart-wrenching predicament. This is also a film of a couple of stellar cameos, from Kenneth Branagh as the defeated yet hopeful Commander Bolton and Cillian Murphy as a shell-shocked soldier who can only care now of getting home. There are also the heroes to cheer for, from Tom Hardy's dashing RAF stud Farrier to Mark Rylance's quietly determined Mr. Dawson, who could teach a thing or two about being an indispensable gentleman even in crisis. 

A tale, then, of men. Of absolutely, yet naturally, rousing heroes and of those who wished to forge their own paths of glory in vain. Nolan has finally done away with merely doffing his hat at the great visionaries. 'Dunkirk' explores the futility of war with the depth of Stanley Kubrick, celebrates the glorious release like any of those classic British war films of yore and, as a thriller, has the tension deserving of Alfred Hitchcock. But it is ultimately a film of its own maker, about the triumph of humanity over a labyrinth of mind-boggling horror. It is a magnificent film that is not wholly about the war or even a victory or defeat but one that will make you reach for those voluminous World War 2 books to know more and believe in such historical heroism. 

My Rating: 5 Stars Out Of 5

Jagga Jasoos: Ridiculous But Delicious, Delirious Fun

For a long time, I believed that Steven Spielberg had made 'Back To The Future'.

On the covers of DVDs on the shelves of any music store in my boyhood, I could see it printed clearly 'Steven Spielberg Presents: Back To The Future'. It was only in my adulthood that I had watched the actual film that the truth, the essential difference between the bearded director who refuses to come of age and Robert Zemeckis, hit me hard between my eyes. Compare the rollicking, freewheeling Boy's Own zing of Spielberg's 'Indiana Jones' series to Zemeckis' infusion of unabashedly adult themes in 'Back To The Future' (for instance, that bit in which Marty McFly is seduced by his own mother) and you will know the difference. 

Zaniness, especially of a cinematic variety, feels both more ridiculous and delicious when the silly charades are splashed suddenly with a dash of realism to ground the proceedings into reality, the Neverland of imagination contrasted suddenly with the harsh world just beyond the woods. It would be difficult to imagine the pure thrill of 'Raiders Of The Lost Ark' without its Nazi villains of the World War 2 backdrop; similarly, time travel would not be as whimsical if it did not involve its own share of side effects. 

Anurag Basu understands that essential truth but while his latest film built around that crux, of mirroring satire with farce, of moments of wit with pure nonsense, 'Jagga Jasoos', starting off with tremendously self-assured confidence, stumbles quite a lot in its desperate yet ambitious bid to maintain that crucial balance. The effort shows and in not quite a good way, for this could have been a lot tighter, spikier and smarter film but then, there is the relentless drive and ambition to admire. 

For, while he often tends to get a bit too lost in the fictional, highly stylised alternate universes that he creates, one has to credit Basu for being something of a solid storyteller. 'Jagga Jasoos' has a hell of a start, with parachutes literally dropping out of an austere sky and marking a sensational scandal that actually did take place in the real world we know. And we are scooted off from the present day, with a young pulp fiction hero's adventures being narrated by a leggy bespectacled dame who seems to know more than that, to the flashbacks when we are introduced to the same titular hero and his brave and boisterous exploits. 

Born as a destitute and growing up as a boy with nurses and doctors, who too seem to be crooning about his effervescent charm, little quiet Jagga encounters a mysterious butter-fingered soul by the name of Bagchi (played marvellously by the talented Saswata Chatterjee), who takes him under his wing and teaches him to open his mouth by the way of song and thus, raises him like his own son. 

However, while the film has its heart in the right place and the charm and whimsy feel both picaresque and sublime by turns, it will take some time for an average viewer to be accustomed to 'Jagga Jasoos', especially in the unabashed, even reckless, way it celebrates its musical and theatrical origins. The device of narrating Jagga's action-packed and appropriately swashbuckling adventures like a series of Tintin comics read orally sounds fine but often interrupts the pace and imagination when they are in full flow. On the other hand, the Basu often makes his lead character, who grows up to a taciturn and fiendishly smart cocky town sleuth, break into song every now and then. It is not a bad thing, per se; Jagga is naturally a charming, a hypnotically plucky hero who can conjure up wonderful limericks to explain the whole mystery but his sing-song ramblings, while penned ingeniously by Amitabh Bhattacharya (especially the one about a particular Miss Mala) and composed with orchestral swells by Pritam, do slow down the plot. 

None of that is a big bother, thanks to Basu's brilliant casting decision. Ranbir Kapoor has played the quirky, bushy-tailed hero before too to splendid results but here, as the endearing Jagga, he is operating at the peak of his almost organic boyish charm and split-second spontaneity. It is a tough role to pull off, being handed a big bulk of words and rhymes to sing out to explain the plot and also made to stutter when at a loss for words but it is always admirable to see the young yet seasoned performer take on it with pure gusto. There is something intriguing about the way he stares back at us through those glasses, something innocent about the way he gazes with admiration at his unlikely sidekick and something adorably naughty about the way he tries to steal a kiss from the same. And to watch him use his stuttering pauses to create those marvellous beatboxing tunes is just too much fun. 

It is a bit unfortunate that the said partner turns out to be Katrina Kaif's Shruti Sengupta, a character who is clearly a journalist but is particularly hard to believe in or root for. Kaif looks fine enough but her absolutely one-dimensional befuddlement at the chaos around her lets down the film's potential for more laughs, though Basu takes care to make her enough of a genuinely bumbling bimbo to make it passable enough. 

Wisely enough, a lot of the narrative thrust is given to Jagga's quest for his foster father Bagchi but while the film does an admirably neat job of keeping the emotions on an even keel, you can feel the pressure on Basu and his crew to keep the whole thing crackling with comic electricity. Film and literary references are aplenty, from Bagchi's grainy video-taped birthday wishes looking like Bob Balaban's weather reports in Wes Anderson's 'Moonrise Kingdom' to a tense moment in a fast and furious Ferris Wheel that mirrors the frenetic carousel climax of 'Strangers On A Train' and then there are the obvious references to wonderfully preposterous entertainers and potboilers of yore: the North African chase set-pieces of Steven Spielberg , the puzzling small-town mysteries from Satyajit Ray's Feluda stories and so on. 

They are all done well; Basu seems to have moved on clearly from just referencing video clips from YouTube to understanding the films that inspired him in the first place; he also names a fictional location in the film after a similarly fictional kingdom in a wildly fantastic yarn made by a true auteur. And as usual, his flair for visual humour is better than ever (a casually indifferent policeman fumbles with too many telephones on his desk and the MacGuffin of a tape touted to contain important information turns out to be only a simple birthday message) and he is fully confident with the cock-eyed quirk that a film this preposterous needs. Cinematographer S. Ravi Varman is having a blast here, shuttling the adventure from misty hill-towns to secret river tunnels to the sun-baked North African ghettoes to even the vivid, jaw-dropping desert vistas where ostriches sprint and giraffes loom like skyscrapers. 

There is nearly no limit to 'Jagga Jasoos' when it comes to imagination and loose creativity. It is just that it could all have been a lot more smart than just being spectacularly silly. The first half, while effortlessly breezy, stumbles on its own episodic nature. The second half ratchets up expertly the action and the wall-to-wall anarchy and invention (at one point, a Russian circus train and even a Blofeld-like kingpin are introduced at the same time) but it all starts feeling a bit too rushed and half-baked, so that we never really get everything explained. And at times, the unashamed silliness just does to live up to the brilliance elsewhere. 

And yet, even with such flaws, I found myself at the end of 'Jagga Jasoos' grinning more widely than ever. There are bits and pieces here that elevate the film to a whole new level, bits and pieces that I wish the film had more of. Smartly tacking on a sub-plot of an international conspiracy that creates terrorism and war, 'Jagga Jasoos' hits closer home at resonance than any other blockbuster can do and even if it is inconsistent, it is admirable to see the story strutting cockily, like its own hero, from being just an old-school detective comedy full of pratfalls to being something wildly unconventional or even uncommercial. This might be Basu's mix-masala version of Indiana Jones and Tintin and those broadly comical Hollywood musicals (think 'Cat Ballou' or even any one of the stuff by Disney and Pixar) but it is also eerily like one of Thomas Pynchon's more baggy yet brilliant post-modern novels, blending political intrigue with sheer, larger-than-life farce. There are also beautiful and hilarious touches here that really got under my skin. The way Bagchi names himself Tutti Futti, not for sweetness, but rather for his bad luck and broken bones. Or in Saurabh Shukla's delightfully slimy officious bloodhound Sinha who chooses to relax in a Turkish bath while discussing shady intelligence, or in the way a bunch of North Africans are flummoxed over quite how the accident-prone Shruti could fall off from a staircase. Or  my favourite scene from the film, in which both Jagga and Sinha face off with their choice of improvised rhymes and lyrics to devastatingly hilarious results. 

'Jagga Jasoos' is, thus, a properly zany film, a cinematic experience so unhinged and even disorderly that it can be called ridiculous. But in between the splendid mess, there is such breathtaking intelligence and such breakneck daredevilry that you can lap it up deliciously. It promises us a sequel in that shockingly, unexpected climax and while it is too long to be an effective origins film, this is still the kind of nutty, madcap mayhem that I would love to sink into again and again. 

My Rating: 3 and a half stars out of 5

Ten Terrific Thrillers Of All Time

10- Cape Fear (1991)

Dir- Martin Scorsese

Never mind what the purists say; Scorsese' shocking remake of J. Lee Thompson's classic is every bit a gorgeously overdone yet compulsively enthralling thriller of fear and psychosis, the fireworks delivered like incendiary explosives by the director's unbeatable visual chutzpah and his signature collaborator Robert De Niro let loose like a caged animal. De Niro plays Max Cady, a sociopathic killer who got locked up some years ago after his attorney Sam Bowden (Nick Nolte) shuffled his feet. Cady is now nursing that grudge and out he sets, a tattooed beast of a man who decides to wreak Bowden's life by digging his bloody teeth into his darkest, grimiest corners. There is plenty of trademark violence here, all of which is just plain unnerving and hellish to watch. But the real, unbearable tension is derived from the way the director and his protagonist end up drilling holes in Bowden's fragile American Dream. From delivering coarse-mouthed monologues that could make you cringe to a slow-burn scene of nymphet seduction that could make you sweat in ways unexpectedly, this is terror of an almost Freudian level. 

9- Foreign Correspondent (1940)

Dir- Alfred Hitchcock

There are more relentlessly enjoyable and endlessly quotable spy thrillers from Alfred Hitchcock, especially the one with Cary Grant and the crop duster plane. But this rattling yarn, set with astounding prescience against the first explosions of the World War 2, can be easily called as a freewheeling and frivolously tongue-in-cheek template for that film itself. Our do-gooder titular hero is smart-talking reporter Johnny Jones (a tenderly charming Joel McRea) who is assigned to interview a Dutch politician in a simmering Europe when all of a sudden, things start taking drastic twists and turns that not even the most seasoned Hitchcock lovers can fathom. The director hurls us in whip-cracking fashion from one breathless, sneakily hilarious, set-piece to another, from a rain-dazzled assassination in Amsterdam to stealth inside a rusty windmill to a nerve-wracking scene inside the Westminster Cathedral down to the sensational action-packed climax. And that is all I am going to reveal for 'Foreign Correspondent' is a lot more than just a superbly crafted thriller. For some, it was a superb propaganda piece as well. 

8- Chinatown (1974)

Dir- Roman Polanski

Called by many as the most flawless script ever penned, writer Robert Towne's masterful blend of classic noir tropes and California's land politics circa 1930s is more than just a stunning ode to the genre; it also remained as the definite word on the same till an ambitious tale of Hollywood beat it squarely (check number 2). And yet, it would be a bit of a stretch to call 'Chinatown' as a thriller in the pure sense for both Roman Polanski and Towne were more concerned with the cynical subversion of all the genre elements rather than their function itself. The film's private eye J.J Gittes (a smarmy and slinky Jack Nicholson) is no Bogart; he is not only wet behind the ears, he can also be a bit of a nasty brute. And Faye Dunaway's frosty Evelyn Mulwray is actually a tortured soul who cannot even dream of being a femme fatale. Such brilliant irony, however, makes each turn more hard-hitting than ever. Being a film whose villain is both a capitalist and a pervert, 'Chinatown' derives its tension from the heart of darkness itself.

7- Memento (2000)

Dir- Christopher Nolan

No matter how much you enjoyed deconstructing his magic tricks in 'The Prestige' or surviving those inter-woven levels of action movie fantasies in 'Inception', you would love deciphering the more coherent yet more confounding, mystery of Christopher Nolan's finest hour. No, it is not about the twin narrative strands that move backwards and forwards respectively scene by scene, building up to an unforgettable climax when they both unite. Rather, 'Memento' biggest bag of stark, sneaky surprises is its protagonist himself. Leonard Shelby (a never-better Guy Pearce, in terrific form) suffers from anterograde amnesia, a condition that renders him incapable of storing new memories. The one piece of information that drives him is that his wife has been killed by someone called John. G. Shelby is hell-bent on his but things don't quite seem to fit together even as he himself insists on the fool-proof perfection of his methods. And that is all you need to know about this lean, ingenious whodunnit in whch Nolan keeps on hammering devastating reveals with every forward or backward plunge in the plot. Witness it to believe it.

6- Strangers On A Train (1951)

Dir- Alfred Hitchcock

Is Robert Walker's debonair devil Bruno Antony one of the earliest silky psychopaths of the silver screen? It is probable for it is Bruno, a spoilt, slippery brat who ignites the dynamite of one of Hitchcock's most indelible, iconic thrillers. After casually teasing tennis star Guy Haines (Farley Granger) about his affair and impending divorce on a train ride, Bruno pitches a terrifying idea on : he himself kills Haines' licentious, devious wife and the latter will do his part of doing away with Bruno's domineering father. When Haines makes the mistake of laughing it off, Bruno actually goes ahead with his evil plans and then demands them to be completed. Detective writer Raymond Chandler was roped in to pen the script but the director, being every bit the adroit rascal, trashed most of it and for good reason. 'Strangers On A Train' is pure sensationalist pulp served with A-grade finesse, its thrills and chills orchestrated like a dance of death and guilt and balanced by the typically sharp detail(Bruno's preference for manicures, a bantering younger sister) and suspenseful, chiaroscuro craft by cinematographer Robert Burks.

5- All The President's Men (1976)

Dir- Alan J. Pakula

Everyone knows what is going to happen at the end of 'All The President's Men'. This was not fiction but fact: Richard Nixon and his administration were found guilty of political espionage, sabotage and subterfuge in the big fallout resulting from an affair called the 'The Watergate Scandal'. And yet, the film is not about all what happened. It is about two unlikely yet wholly believable crusaders of truth who are not action heroes. Rather, Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) and Bob Woodward (Robert Redford) are egged by the exacting yet encouraging Ben Bradlee (Jason Robards) to dig up clues, call up unreliable witnesses and verify the red-hot material of facts that start emerging as the two investigate a hot-trail of lies, corruption and manipulation in the Washington DC political circuits. Meanwhile, Alan J. Pakula, armed with writer William Goldman, breathes breakneck tension to the seemingly simple task, from Gordon Willis' tense, sombre visuals to art director George Jenkins' painstaking recreation of the bustle and noise of a newspaper office. This is the big and brilliant political barnstormer that Hollywood has forgotten to make. 

4- Jaws (1975)

Dir- Steven Spielberg

A little before he made us scared about going to the sea for a swim again, Steven Spielberg had already made TV audiences cringe with terror in 'Duel', a terrifying little tale in which an ordinary motorist is harassed on a lonely, hostile highway by a psychopathic trucker (or should I say the truck itself?). If that film was all about the fear of death coming in its purest, ominous form, 'Jaws', adapted masterfully from Peter Benchley's book, does the opposite with jaw-dropping artistry and astonishing economy, with the director choosing to keep his fearsome leviathan well out of sight even as we can see its victims struggle and gasp for release as John Williams' legendary score throbs with menace. That is however before it actually rears its ravenous face out of the waters and we actually see the eponymous bloody teeth in front of us all. 'Jaws' might have kickstarted a whole genre of me-too monster thrillers of variable quality but it is a flawlessly functioning and seamlessly intelligent thriller; its' monster is one of our oldest predators and it deserves some respect, after all. 

3- The Third Man (1949)

Dir- Sir Carol Reed

It sounds perfectly simple to begin with. Down-on-his-luck and broke pulp fiction writer Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) is invited by his friend Harry Lime to post-war Vienna which promises to be a land of opportunity. A land of opportunity it is indeed, except Martins would discover all this opportunity to be heartless and illegitimate, a city crowded with racketeers, swindlers and smugglers and ruled by four armies at the same time. Moreover, he has also found out that mere hours before he landed, Lime was killed in an accident. Or was it only an accident? Martins finds that the answers are rather baffling to say the least. 

There were many films after 'The Third Man' that would explore the moral and psychological fallout after the end of World War 2 but let's not forget that Sir Carol Reed's masterful film, scripted flawlessly by Graham Greene, has to be the best of them all. For all its dependence on classic whodunnit tropes (the film has us guessing relentlessly at the central puzzle of Lime's sudden death till the unforgettable reveal towards the frenetic, breathless climax), this might also be one of the earliest portraits of darkness which comes as a cold breath of cynicism as compared to the sultry American noir potboilers of the same time. 

Staging the simmering backdrop of false identities, disguised motives and hidden plots that can take lives and play nasty games, Reed and Greene churn out a truly rattling roller coaster ride of guilt, horrifying truth and morality across a city where everything, even innocence and freedom, is for sale. Robert Krasker's tilted, timelessly brilliant cinematography captures the breakneck, unrelenting pace of those proceedings fraught with danger and darkness, from the cobblestones that glitter in the night-lights to the gushing, gritty sewers where there are the resounding echoes of death knocking on the doors. Poetic, poignant yet filled with unsettling pessimism, 'The Third Man' might be the darkest yet most astute portrait of every conceivable failing of mankind. 

2- Mulholland Dr. (2001)

Dir- David Lynch

And you thought that 'Inception' was about our dreams and fantasies spinning out of control. Compare the action-packed yet sometimes emotionally restrained dream levels of Christopher Nolan's undeniably impressive brainteaser with David Lynch's eye-widening, jaw-dropping act of illusions and delusions, of both beauty and disgust, and you will know the difference. 'Mulholland Dr' begins like a mesmeric, sensual dance of throbbing, fiercely passionate love and lust, as starry-eyed Betty (a spectacular Naomi Watts) offers to help the befuddled Rita (a gorgeous Laura Harring) in finding out quite why some people wish to get her kill. Sure, they never quite find out why but they do fall in love, the kind of richly erotic love that no other storyteller can quite tell these days. 

Meanwhile, in the backdrop that turns out to be a scorching, sun-baked Los Angeles, strange but seductively mysterious things are happening. There is a hideous monster behind a diner, a hitman tries to steal a book and ends up wrecking things, grim and sinister mobsters are demanding to cast an actress in an upcoming film and its director, a young idealist, finds his own world collapsing when he refuses to compromise. Oh and there is also a kingpin called Mr. Roque and someone called the Cowboy but I leave that to you. 

Like the often confounding yet ingenious sub-plots and digressions of Thomas Pynchon's brilliant novels, Lynch's film is replete with these seemingly odd yet beautifully etched and acted characters filling up the space of enigma behind the love-lorn couple. They all serve a purpose in this drama, as does the hard-hitting subtext that the film presents: about Hollywood, its sinful allure and its sleazy underbelly, its star-studded dreams and its seedy realities. 

When mid-way Lynch, like a devilish conjurer, pulls apart the grand curtains and lets loose the hideous, shattering truth of it all, 'Mulholland Dr' becomes something more than just a brilliant slow-burn thriller. It becomes a stunning, heart-rending and exquisitely sad reflection of all our shattered dreams, all our failed idealism and all the chaos and devastation that is left after it. And in the end, Lynch delivers a climax of such terrifying agony that echoes with the howling wail of loneliness and doom. Whoa!

1- Psycho (1960)

Dir- Alfred Hitchcock

And so, after a ride full of thrills and spills leaping from psychological batshit to sensationalist mysteries, from conspiracy theories to fugitive thrillers, I finally round off the list with the simplest, subtlest and greatest thriller of them all. By the time 'Psycho' was released, Alfred Hitchcock had proven his mettle as the pioneer of the thriller genre and every single new cinematic potboiler was taking all its cues from any of the films that he had already made. To be honest, the bare bones of 'Psycho', at a first glance, felt quite tame stuff for a director who was already churning out spy capers, stylish whodunnits, psychological dramas and romantic thrillers with expert skill. Is it not a bit surprising that the greatest thriller of all time was only about a murder in a motel?

The thing is that 'Psycho', made with Hitchcock's customary visual and narrative sass operating at peak levels, was, in fact, a lot more than just a murder in a motel. Instead of the beautiful layers of stealthy detailing and unexpected nuance (which I would leave virgins to experience on their own), let's not forget also the big, brainy subtext that the film's shocking proceedings unloaded with perverse glee. It was the first time that we saw a frosty ice-blonde, itself the quintessential Hitchcock damsel in distress, capable of taking a risky, suicidal step; it was also the first time when suddenly, her despicably petty crime of stealing some money looked wholly forgivable in front of the greater, inexplicable evil that claims her own life. 

It is also an amazingly, flawlessly well-crafted thriller that has never been rivalled in its perfection. Let me explain. A lot of people complain that once they got the twist of 'Psycho', they could predict it easily early on in the film. That might be true if you are being too alert but then, that is the magic of Hitchcock's film. It does not want you to be alert, it does not want you to pay attention to the pitch-perfect, slyly disguised hints or even the occasionally obvious bits. It wants you to be deceived, to be misled as Hitchcock clearly knew that we want to be deceived and we want to be shocked. 

And shock it does. Every time you watch 'Psycho', you have something thrillingly new to take away from the experience. At one time, it will be Bernard Hermann's unforgivingly haunting, hollering score. At another, you will be marvelling at the stuffed birds in the office of Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) or Martin Balsam's less-than-efficient private detective Arbogast. But the film also never stops shocking and scaring you. Can anything be greater than that?

Cream Of Crime: The Greatest, Grittiest Gangster And Crime Films

10- Scarface (1983)

Dir- Brian De Palma

That blood-and-powder-splattered climax, in which Cuban immigrant-turned-kingpin Tony Montana introduces his 'little friend' to the thugs hell-bent for his head, has become a touchstone for so many other inspired works (Anurag Kashyap modelled the final Tommy Gun shootout from 'Bombay Velvet' on the same scene). But even beyond the recklessly exciting upsurge of violence (there is also one scene with a chainsaw that will make you cringe), De Palma's coke-trip of a gangster yarn does land unsubtly powerful punches on your imagination. Montana himself, played by a fiery, though sometimes overcooked, Al Pacino, comes off as a discomfortingly alienating protagonist; the brutish script by Oliver Stone makes no concession for sympathy or even a shred of humanity. Rather, his utterly amoral rise and subsequent fall are given by De Palma the treatment of a sleazy exploitation yarn: lurid, gaudy and ultimately gorgeous. Forget subtext. 'Scarface' is all style and sensation and it still plunges you into the sickening yet compulsive thrill of bloodbath and crime like no other film yet. 

9- Road To Perdition (2002)

Dir- Sam Mendes

Is this most visually stunning gangster film yet? Before he would go on to expose the damaged, emotionally bruised side to our favourite secret agent, British director Sam Mendes lent one of his most dazzling directorial touches to an otherwise ordinary graphic novel about a no-nonsense henchman who is compelled by dangerous circumstances to discover his fatherly side. Tom Hanks, in one of those probable miscasts that end up working so well, plays Michael Sullivan, a diligent and trusted enforcer for Chicago boss John Rooney (a wonderfully crusty Paul Newman). Things take a nasty turn when Sullivan's son witnesses a routine meeting gone awry and the father and son are forced to flee with the mob and Jude Law's slimy shutterbug-wielding hitman. Sure, for all of Mendes' mastery of both emotional depth and nail-biting tension, the plot does turn a bit predictable. But oh, how beautiful, atmospheric and magnificently chilling does it look! The late legend Conrad L. Hall shoots this tale with eye-popping, jaw-dropping grandeur; Chicago's badlands have never looked this epic in cinema. 

8- Reservoir Dogs (1992)

Dir- Quentin Tarantino

Two years after his breakout film, Quentin Tarantino would bust the idea of the typical movie gangsters forever, by making them argue about foot massages and pork chops, complain about pricy milkshakes and even quote the Bible and talk of leaving the game. While all that is now iconic, 'Reservoir Dogs' deserves mention here for being so darned faithful to the twisted dynamic between outlaws that legends like Peckinpah and Scorsese had portrayed so brilliantly. Even the plot is pure, mathematical ingenuity; a bunch of crooks fumble a robbery with bloody results and then scratch their heads over what went wrong. And Tarantino pads these bare bones with a buzzing, maddeningly verbose script of banter, anger and distrust that just reeks of the insidious evil and treachery that these men hide beneath their black suits. That cast too is just awesome: Harvey Keitel, Michael Madsen, Tim Roth and Steve Buscemi all get meaty, bloody portions worth killing for. For all the verbal sass and chutzpah (including a severed ear), 'Reservoir Dogs' is most memorable for honouring the basics of the template.

7- The Godfather (1972)

Dir- Francis Ford Coppola

There are some reasons why this much-hailed cornerstone of the gangster film genre ranks a bit low on my list here. One of them is that in a bid to be as faithful as possible to the supremely schlocky template created by Mario Puzo's novel, Coppola's lavish cinematic fiesta ends up being just that, a template for almost every single soap operatic storytelling method in the world. And unlike its richer and more layered sequel, it is also oddly cold in its emotions, a bit too preoccupied with its craft than other concerns. But what craft is this! From the much-rehashed plot with its still legendary twists and turns to the impressive cast of towering performances (Marlon Brando's hoarse voiced titular patriarch supported amply by star-making turns by Al Pacino, James Caan, Diane Keaton and Robert Duvall) to those indelibly thrilling scenes (Bonasera, the horse head, the gun in the toilet, the bomb in the car and the unforgettable closing of a door) to that mesmerising score, everything in 'The Godfather' is legendary even as it is pure pulp. 

6- Casino (1995)

Dir- Martin Scorsese

'Casino' was not meant to be this freaking incredible. After having done an indisputable classic of the gangster genre (but we will come to that later), few expected Martin Scorsese to repeat the same template, albeit in a different milieu and setting, and still deliver the same virtuoso level of filmmaking, histrionics and trademark style. But the fact that 'Casino' delivers so much of all and more is evidence to his unbeatable mastery of this particular genre. The story begins in 1973 with a grand scheme by the big wiseguys to run a sensational casino in Vegas  to skim off the top of the cash flowing into its vaults. Narrating, lamenting and propelling forward the story are three vital, flawed characters: Robert De Niro's smooth yet simmering Ace Rothstein, Joe Pesci's loose-trigger criminal Nicky Santoro and Sharon Stone (in a brilliant turn) as the devilish Ginger McKenna. With a dazzling, delirious blend of stunning visuals (by Robert Richardson), whiplash editing and extraordinary musical selections, Scorsese ratchets up the gore and profane gab to the scale of a real, raw epic. 

5- The Killing (1956)

Dir- Stanley Kubrick

It was perhaps right that Stanley Kubrick should make a film about criminals. The clinically incisive and coolly cynical storyteller would have loved the script for one of his most everlasting cinematic gems: a lean and mean heist thriller in which all the best laid plans of a bunch of disgruntled, disillusioned goons are ruined by either betrayal or bewildering error. And yet, the surprise is that for all its mechanical efficiency and cold-blooded irony, 'The Killing' is actually moving in the most unexpected places. It is indeed a cold-blooded tale of brutality but it also makes you cringe in shock. 

For this is that one rare heist film that does not show its plotting criminal protagonists as super-smart geniuses or brilliant safecrackers. Rather, Kubrick shows them as they are, ill-fated outlaws trying to find a way out of the tangle of lies that their lives demand. Sterling Hayden's slick yet increasingly hapless Johnny Clay leads a gang of grizzled, even weary thieves on a daring racetrack robbery that demonstrates the director's mastery with precise, economical, effortlessly exciting filmmaking. However, as human failings and flaws spoil the plan, 'The Killing' gains twisted beauty of a hilarious yet tragic urban ballad of how all of us are doomed to life's little brutalities. 

4- Mean Streets (1973)

Dir- Martin Scorsese

It is easy to forget that so much of Martin Scorsese' trademark style of fast editing, furious violence and funky soundtrack choices owes its origins to one modest yet extraordinary little film in 1973 that is up there as one of the most real, raw and roaringly breakneck portraits of criminals facing the realities of their reckless lives. If 'The Godfather' showed crime and evil with a rich, luxurious scale, 'Mean Streets' takes us to the eponymous ghettoes literally, by telling the tale of a ragtag gang of third-generation mobsters who spend entire days and nights doing odd-jobs and partying as if there was no tomorrow.

Scorsese makes us stick up and close with the terrifying dilemma of the anti-hero Charlie (a superb Harvey Keitel), an ambitious yet guilt-ridden smart-talking goon who debates a well-connected future and his own personal chaos, including his epileptic lover Teresa (Amy Robinson) and her crazy, debt-ridden cousin Johnny Boy (Robert De Niro in a sizzling, star-making turn). But more than the director's fiercely poignant charting of the dire destinies of these three helpless souls, it is his bristling, brutal and breathlessly scorching portrait of the grubby streets, seedy clubs and grimy staircases of New York's underbelly of crime that lends it this deservingly high rank among all the mobster classics. 

3- Performance (1970)

Dir- Donald Cammell and Nicolas Roeg

Long before Guy Ritchie rolled out his stylish and snappy London gangster yarns of the 90s, there was already a subversive, seminal shocker of a film that had established the pure, ripplingly cool vibe of gritty crime, rough sex and typically delicious English banter that was to be imitated in all those films. And yet, 'Performance' is a lot more than just an extraordinary portrait of the era of the Kray Twins; it is also a weirdly beautiful and incredibly detailed vignette into the London at the wee end of the 1960s. Gone are the Beatles and their Abbey Road-trotting musical marvels; in its place are sexual subversion and crazy counter-culture, both knocking on the doors of propriety. London is no longer just swinging. It is also seedy and sleazy.

Chas (a brilliantly hypnotic James Fox) is every bit the typical cool-headed, Cockney-speaking English hitman, balancing his dirty deeds with impeccable style (as co-director and cinematographer Nicolas Roeg cuts between a svelte Rolls Royce and the skin of a cavorting couple on bed in the film's irresistibly sexy opening). But when a job goes awry and makes his own pudgy, thick-necked bosses demand for his head, he is forced to fly the coop and land up in the basement of reclusive rock legend Turner (played by none other than rock-and-roll bad boy Mick Jagger with lurid relish). 

What follows is an unhinged, genre-busting and psychedelic experience to be seen to be witnessed, as Roeg and Cammell draw up both Chas' fugitive helplessness with Turner's creative disillusionment together in one frame in a mind-numbing wrangling of the forces of identity and sexuality. But the film also captures the lean and mean side of the city's streets with vivid, almost ethereal realism, from the frigidly aristocratic gangsters in their lush lairs to the Asian and African migrants in their ghettoes on Notting Hill and how these separate worlds collide and chaos ensues. 

2- The Godfather Part 2 (1974)

Director- Francis Ford Coppola

Everyone will agree with me: there is no reason why 'The Godfather Part 2' should not be greater than the undeniably popular yet often pulpy original film. And this is certainly a bit of an understatement because you cannot just love it enough. Not only did Coppola, his cast and crew broaden the limits of the turbulent tale of the Corleones to unexpected depths; they also reached unprecedented levels of storytelling mastery which few filmmakers can boast of. I mean, just consider the twin narrative threads at its crux. On one hand is Michael Corleone (a flawlessly seething Al Pacino), the new titular patriarch who is compelled to take decisions that will demand a lot of sacrifices. On the other is the narrative flashback of a young Vito Corleone (a mesmeric and sublime Robert De Niro), who chose a life of crime only for the sake of his family. 

Has there been any other film that has explored the consequences of a path of crime and amorality as this fabulously crafted and superbly acted film? Coppola's majestic direction flits from timeline to timeline, drawing up superbly hard-hitting parallels of difference between a soft-spoken father and his devious, ruthlessly ambitious son. On one hand, there is Michael's hell-bent determination to stay alive and strong in a world where nobody, not even family, can be trusted. On the other, there is Vito's young yearning for revenge at the unfair world around him which turns into a strange form of justice in a lawless land. 

Gordon Willis' stunning cinematography (from the hamlets of Sicily to the ghettoes of early 20th century New York and from sun-kissed Nevada to chaotic Cuba) and the painstakingly crafted and textured sets lend tremendous visual grace and power  to Coppola's brilliant wrangling of the priorities of family and kinship and how both are corrupted with the passage of time. But 'The Godfather Part 2' deserves this high place simply for equating a life of crime with the inevitable loss of innocence and humanity. There is no thrill in those blood-splattered moments, in which either Michael consolidates his throne or Vito rises to power (in an unforgettable scene with a gun wrapped in cloth). Rather, there is only the disquieting and emotionally devastating aftermath of guilt, loneliness and the inevitable feeling of death knocking solemnly on the doors. 

1- Goodfellas (1990)

Dir- Martin Scorsese

Forget 'The Godfather'. Forget its sequel. Forget 'Once Upon A Time In America'. Forget, for that matter, any gangster film that you might have watched in your lifetime. Because even as there will be many films after and before it to describe crime, the lives of criminals and the working of an organisation of crime, there will be nothing, I repeat nothing as big, bawdy, brilliant and bloody spectacular as 'Goodfellas'. It is, for me (and for countless other lovers of the film), both the finest hour of its director and perhaps the greatest, grittiest gangster film ever made. 

So, what is it all about? Virgins would be delighted to know that the film, brilliantly but recklessly adapted from Nicholas Pileggi's non-fiction book 'Wiseguys', starts with a note of wide-eyed and sinful admiration. Henry Hill (a fiery, ribald yet believably befuddled Ray Liotta) announces his intentions early on: 'As far as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster'. 

And while the first few reels of the mesmerising, almost magically orchestrated long-take beauty of 'Goodfellas' are gushing with an enthralling time-capsule portrait of the golden years of the titular mobster fellas (Liotta, along with Robert De Niro's coolly malicious Jimmy Conway and Joe Pesci's unforgettably combustible Tommy De Vito), things soon take a drastic, darkly comic turn with the stylish camerawork, split-second editing and superbly crafted and layered plot turn their gaze of bemused wonder to sickeningly hilarious disgust. 

It is a gangster film that fires fiercely on every single front. The fast, frenetic and furious bursts of batshit crazy violence and that scathing, profanely brilliant dialogue can send a surge of adrenaline, if you are not too busy laughing to begin with. At the same time, 'Goodfellas' is never, for once, afraid to show us the seamier, uglier truths beneath the sheen and sleaze of a life of crime. This is a world in which you can either survive or die, depending on whether you are Irish or Sicilian. This is a world in which Saturday nights are for wives and Friday evenings are for girlfriends. This is also the strange, hostile world where even your best friends can get you killed without explaining why. 

'Goodfellas' has been called by its makers as a film that showed the Mob as 'a war zone'. And it is undoubtedly a lot more than that. There are splendid, indelible touches here that elevate it to the level of a genuine masterpiece; for instance, the odd but distinct female perspective to the anarchy of men, provided by Lorraine Bracco's terrific Karen Hill or those countless moments when the film strikes you hard at the guts and makes you wince at just how emotional it is. Everyone is in terrific form here but all the credit goes to its arguably legendary maker: the one and only Martin Scorsese. It is heartening and unforgettably spectacular to see a director already so dynamic and tireless on this full-throttle form, armed with the eye of a poet and the voice of an angry, impassioned chronicler of the evil that lays concealed beneath those shiny shoes and suits.