If you, as a film­go­er, have any­thing in com­mon with me — and if you hap­pen to live in Los Ange­les as well — you’ve spent the past few weeks excit­ed about the Andrei Tarkovsky dou­ble-bill com­ing up at the Quentin Taran­ti­no-owned New Bev­er­ly Cin­e­ma. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured the famous­ly (and extreme­ly) cinephilic Taran­ti­no’s lists of favorite films, but what about Tarkovsky? What movies did the man who made The Mir­ror and Nos­tal­ghia — to name only two of his most strik­ing­ly per­son­al films, not to men­tion the same ones com­ing up at the New Bev­er­ly — look to for inspi­ra­tion? Nostalghia.com has one set of answers in the form of a list Tarkovsky once gave film crit­ic Leonid Kozlov. “I remem­ber that wet, grey day in April 1972 very well,” writes Kozlov in a Sight and Sound arti­cle re-post­ed there. “We were sit­ting by an open win­dow and talk­ing about var­i­ous things when the con­ver­sa­tion turned to Otar Ioselian­i’s film Once Upon a Time There Lived a Singing Black­bird.”

Tarkovsky strug­gled toward an assess­ment of that pic­ture, even­tu­al­ly deem­ing it “a very good film.” Kozlov then asked the film­mak­er to draw up a list of his favorites. “He took my propo­si­tion very seri­ous­ly and for a few min­utes sat deep in thought with his head bent over a piece of paper,” the crit­ic recalls. “Then he began to write down a list of direc­tors’ names — Buñuel, Mizoguchi, Bergman, Bres­son, Kuro­sawa, Anto­nioni, Vigo. One more, Drey­er, fol­lowed after a pause. Next he made a list of films and put them care­ful­ly in a num­bered order. The list, it seemed, was ready, but sud­den­ly and unex­pect­ed­ly Tarkovsky added anoth­er title — City Lights.” The fruit of his inter­nal delib­er­a­tions reads as fol­lows:

1. Diary of a Coun­try Priest (Robert Bres­son, 1951)
2. Win­ter Light (Ing­mar Bergman, 1963)
3. Nazarin (Luis Buñuel, 1959)
4. Wild Straw­ber­ries (Ing­mar Bergman, 1957)
5. City Lights (Char­lie Chap­lin, 1931)
6. Uget­su Mono­gatari (Ken­ji Mizoguchi, 1953)
7. Sev­en Samu­rai (Aki­ra Kuro­sawa, 1954)
8. Per­sona (Ing­mar Bergman, 1966)
9. Mouchette (Robert Bres­son, 1967)
10. Woman of the Dunes (Hiroshi Teshi­ga­hara, 1964)

Among respect­ed direc­tors’ great­est-films lists, Tarkovsky’s must rank as, while cer­tain­ly one of the most con­sid­ered, also one of the least diverse. “With the excep­tion of City Lights,” Kozlov notes, “it does not con­tain a sin­gle silent film or any from the 30s or 40s. The rea­son for this is sim­ply that Tarkovsky saw the cin­e­ma’s first 50 years as a pre­lude to what he con­sid­ered to be real film-mak­ing.” And the lack of Sovi­et films “is per­haps indica­tive of the fact that he saw real film-mak­ing as some­thing that went on else­where.” Over­all, we have here “not only a list of Tarkovsky’s favorite films, but equal­ly one of his favorite direc­tors,” espe­cial­ly Ing­mar Bergman, who places no few­er than three times. The esteem went both ways; you may remem­ber how Bergman once described Tarkovsky as “the great­est of them all.” Still, as cin­e­mat­ic mutu­al appre­ci­a­tion soci­eties go, I sup­pose you could­n’t ask for two more qual­i­fied mem­bers.

If you can’t make it to the New Bev­er­ly Cin­e­ma, you can watch many of Tarkovsky’s major films (and ear­ly stu­dent films) online here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ing­mar Bergman Eval­u­ates His Fel­low Film­mak­ers — The “Affect­ed” Godard, “Infan­tile” Hitch­cock & Sub­lime Tarkovsky

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists the 12 Great­est Films of All Time: From Taxi Dri­ver to The Bad News Bears

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists His Favorite Films Since 1992

Woody Allen Lists the Great­est Films of All Time: Includes Clas­sics by Bergman, Truf­faut & Felli­ni

Mar­tin Scors­ese Reveals His 12 Favorite Movies (and Writes a New Essay on Film Preser­va­tion)

Stan­ley Kubrick’s List of Top 10 Films (The First and Only List He Ever Cre­at­ed)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Image by Erinç Salor

No Eli Roth gorefest or low-bud­get video nasty, no Hubert Sel­by or Thomas Hardy adap­ta­tion, no Michael Hanecke gut­punch nor the bleak­est noir can com­pare with the work of Wern­er Her­zog when it comes to exis­ten­tial dread. His doc­u­men­taries and absur­dist tragi­come­dies reach into the heart of human dark­ness and doomed obses­sive weird­ness. Even his turns as an actor and pro­duc­er take him into shad­owy, amoral places where grim, sure death awaits. Do you, dear read­er, dare fol­low him there?

If so, you must first brave the appli­ca­tion for Herzog’s Rogue Film School. Lessons include “the art of lock-pick­ing, trav­el­ing on foot, the exhil­a­ra­tion of being shot at unsuc­cess­ful­ly, the ath­let­ic side of film­mak­ing, the cre­ation of one’s own shoot­ing per­mits, the neu­tral­iza­tion of bureau­cra­cy, and gueril­la film­mak­ing.” Have tech­ni­cal ques­tions? “For this pur­pose,” Her­zog writes in his 12-point descrip­tion of Rogue, “please enroll at your local film school.” This is no beginner’s work­shop; it is “about a way of life. It is about a cli­mate, the excite­ment that makes film pos­si­ble.” This being Her­zog, “excite­ment” like­ly involves death-defy­ing dan­ger. Pre­pare for the worst.

But you who are apply­ing for the Rogue Film School know this already. You are up for the chal­lenge. You also know that Her­zog doesn’t put him­self bod­i­ly and psy­cho­log­i­cal­ly close to—and over—the edge of civ­i­liza­tion just for the sake of a thrill. This is art—raw, con­fronta­tion­al, and utter­ly uncom­pro­mis­ing. And so, Rogue Film School will also “be about poet­ry, films, music, images, lit­er­a­ture.” There is a required, eclec­tic read­ing list: J.A. Baker’s doc­u­ment of hawk life, The Pere­grine, Hemingway’s The Short Hap­py Life of Fran­cis Macomber & Oth­er Sto­ries, Virgil’s Geor­gics. Sug­gest­ed read­ings include The Poet­ic Edda, The Con­quest of New Spain by Bernal Diaz del Castil­lo, and—somewhat unexpectedly—The War­ren Report.

And of course, there is film, “which could include your sub­mit­ted films,” but will also include a required view­ing list: John Huston’s The Trea­sure of the Sier­ra Madre, Elia Kazan’s Viva Zap­a­ta, Gillo Pontecorvo’s The Bat­tle of Algiers, Satya­jit Ray’s The Apu Tril­o­gy, and Abbas Kiarostami’s Where is the Friend’s Home? (if avail­able, he writes—watch it here)—an Iran­ian com­ing-of-age movie on BFI’s “Top fifty films for chil­dren up the age of 14” list. You will dis­cov­er ways to “cre­ate illu­mi­na­tion and an ecsta­sy of truth.” But do not for a moment think this will involve some mid­dle­brow New Age brand of self-dis­cov­ery. “Cen­sor­ship will be enforced,” Her­zog warns, “There will be no talk of shamans, of yoga class­es, nutri­tion­al val­ues, herbal teas, dis­cov­er­ing your Bound­aries, and Inner Growth.” You will prob­a­bly eat meat raw from a preda­to­ry beast you’ve killed with your bare hands.

Alter­nate­ly, you may have canapés and drinks at a seclud­ed bar in the UK while Her­zog chats you up about your lat­est project and his. So began the ori­en­ta­tion to Rogue Film School for film­mak­er and sound design­er Marce­lo de Oliveira, who chron­i­cled his expe­ri­ence as a Her­zog appren­tice in a two-part write up on the Scot­tish Doc­u­men­tary Institute’s Blog. On day one, Her­zog advised his pupils to “be pre­pared to step across the bor­ders.” De Oliveira quotes the mas­ter say­ing “Film school will not teach you that we have a nat­ur­al right as film­mak­ers to steal a cam­era or steal cer­tain doc­u­ments.” And though Her­zog does not explic­it­ly advo­cate such activ­i­ties, he strong­ly implies they may be jus­ti­fied, refer­ring to his own act of steal­ing a cam­era from the Munich Film School—the same cam­era with which he shot the crazed and vision­ary Fitz­car­ral­do. The theft, Her­zog has said, was no crime, but “a neces­si­ty.”

Her­zog is not a guru, trans­mit­ting instruc­tions for enlight­en­ment to cross-legged dis­ci­ples. He is a cat­a­lyst, encour­ag­ing his stu­dents to “go absolute­ly and com­plete­ly wild” for the sake of their indi­vid­ual vision. His film school sounds like the kind of oppor­tu­ni­ty no dar­ing film­mak­er should pass up, but should you apply and get reject­ed, you can still learn a thing or two from the great Ger­man direc­tor. Just watch the video above, “Wern­er Herzog’s Mas­ter­class.” Her­zog shared his wis­dom and expe­ri­ence with a rapt audi­ence at last year’s Locarno Film Fes­ti­val. Among the many pieces of advice were the fol­low­ing, com­piled by Indiewire. See their post for more essen­tial high­lights from this fas­ci­nat­ing ses­sion.

• It’s a very dan­ger­ous thing to have a video vil­lage, a video out­put. Avoid it. Shut it down. Throw it into the next riv­er. You have an actor, and peo­ple that close all star­ing at the mon­i­tor gives a false feel­ing; that ‘feel good’ feel­ing of secu­ri­ty. It’s always mis­lead­ing. You have to avoid it.
• I always do the slate board; I want to be the last one from the actors on one side and the tech­ni­cal appa­ra­tus on the oth­er side. I’m the last one and then things roll. You don’t have to be a dic­ta­tor.
• Nev­er show any­one in a doc­u­men­tary, rush­es. They’ll become self-con­scious. Nev­er ever do that.
• Some­times it’s good to leave your char­ac­ter alone so no one can pre­dict what is going to hap­pen next. Some­times these moments are very telling and mov­ing.
• Dis­miss the cul­ture of com­plaint you hear every­where.
• You should always try to find a way deep into some­one.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wern­er Her­zog Picks His 5 Favorite Films

Por­trait Wern­er Her­zog: The Director’s Auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal Short Film from 1986

Wern­er Her­zog Gets Shot Dur­ing Inter­view, Doesn’t Miss a Beat

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

What is Film Noir? Ask that ques­tion to the Film Noir Foun­da­tion and this is what they’ll tell you:

Film noir is one of Hollywood’s only organ­ic artis­tic move­ments. Begin­ning in the ear­ly 1940s, numer­ous screen­plays inspired by hard­boiled Amer­i­can crime fic­tion were brought to the screen, pri­mar­i­ly by Euro­pean émi­gré direc­tors who shared a cer­tain sto­ry­telling sen­si­bil­i­ty: high­ly styl­ized, overt­ly the­atri­cal, with imagery often drawn from an ear­li­er era of Ger­man “expres­sion­ist” cin­e­ma. Fritz Lang, Robert Siod­mak, Bil­ly Wilder, and Otto Pre­minger, among oth­ers, were among this Hol­ly­wood van­guard.

Dur­ing and imme­di­ate­ly fol­low­ing World War II, movie audi­ences respond­ed to this fresh, vivid, adult-ori­ent­ed type of film — as did many writ­ers, direc­tors, cam­era­men and actors eager to bring a more mature world-view to Hol­ly­wood prod­uct. Large­ly fueled by the finan­cial and artis­tic suc­cess of Bil­ly Wilder’s adap­ta­tion of James M. Cain’s novel­la Dou­ble Indemnity(1944), the stu­dios began crank­ing out crime thrillers and mur­der dra­mas with a par­tic­u­lar­ly dark and ven­omous view of exis­tence.

In 1946 a Paris ret­ro­spec­tive of Amer­i­can films embar­goed dur­ing the war clear­ly revealed this trend toward vis­i­bly dark­er, more cyn­i­cal crime melo­dra­mas. It was not­ed by sev­er­al Gal­lic crit­ics who chris­tened this new type of Hol­ly­wood prod­uct “film noir,” or black film, in lit­er­al trans­la­tion.

Few, if any of the artists in Hol­ly­wood who made these films called them “noir” at the time. But the vivid co-min­gling of lost inno­cence, doomed roman­ti­cism, hard-edged cyn­i­cism, des­per­ate desire, and shad­owy sex­u­al­i­ty that was unleashed in those imme­di­ate post-war years proved huge­ly influ­en­tial, both among indus­try peers in the orig­i­nal era, and to future gen­er­a­tion of sto­ry­tellers, both lit­er­ary and cin­e­mat­ic.

If you want to get anoth­er angle on the ques­tion, you can always take into con­sid­er­a­tion Roger Ebert’s 10 Essen­tial Char­ac­ter­is­tics of Noir Films. But our sug­ges­tion, espe­cial­ly on a long Sun­day after­noon, is to spend some time watch­ing the clas­sic movies gath­ered in our col­lec­tion of 50 Free Noir Films. The col­lec­tion fea­tures pub­lic domain films by John Hus­ton, Fritz Lang, Orson Welles and oth­er cel­e­brat­ed direc­tors. Here’s a quick sam­ple of what’s in the archive:

• Beat the Dev­il – Free – Direct­ed by John Hus­ton and star­ring Humphrey Bog­a­rt, the film is some­thing of a com­ic and dra­mat­ic spoof of the film noir tra­di­tion. (1953)
• D.O.A. — Free — Rudolph Maté’s clas­sic noir film. Called “one of the most accom­plished, inno­v­a­tive, and down­right twist­ed entrants to the film noir genre.” (1950)
  Five Min­utes to Live — Free — Mem­o­rable bank heist movie stars John­ny Cash, Vic Tay­back, Ron Howard, and coun­try music great, Mer­le Travis. (1961)
• Quick­sand - Free — Peter Lorre and Mick­ey Rooney star in a sto­ry about a garage mechanic’s descent into crime. (1950)
• Scar­let Street — Free — Direct­ed by Fritz Lang with Edward G. Robin­son. A film noir great. (1945)
• The Hitch-Hik­er - Free  — The first noir film made by a woman noir direc­tor, Ida Lupino. (1953)
• The Stranger - Free — Direct­ed by Orson Welles with Edward G. Robin­son. One of Welles’s major com­mer­cial suc­cess­es. (1946)

We recent­ly added anoth­er 15 films to the col­lec­tion of free noir films. So even if you’ve perused the list in the past, there’s now some­thing new to enjoy.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

25 Noir Films That Will Stand the Test of Time: A List by “Noir­chael­o­gist” Eddie Muller

100 Great­est Posters of Film Noir

4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

Is it pos­si­ble for a short film made dur­ing the Nixon admin­is­tra­tion to per­fect­ly describe America’s cur­rent, com­plete­ly screwed up polit­i­cal sit­u­a­tion? Sure, Lee Mishkin’s Oscar-win­ning ani­mat­ed short Is It Always Right to Be Right? (1970) might date itself through oblique ref­er­ences to hip­pies, the Viet­nam war and the Civ­il Rights move­ment, not to men­tion the movie’s groovy ani­ma­tion style, but the mes­sage of the movie feels sur­pris­ing­ly rel­e­vant today. You can watch the movie above.

The short, which is nar­rat­ed by none oth­er than Orson Welles, describes a land where every­one believed them­selves to be right, and where inde­ci­sive­ness and com­plex­i­ty were con­sid­ered utter­ly weak. “When dif­fer­ences arose between the peo­ple of this land,” intones Welles at one point, “they looked not for truth but for con­fir­ma­tion for what they already believed.”

Wow, that sounds just like cable news. As the divi­sions grew and deep­ened, the land even­tu­al­ly ground to a halt. “Every­one was right, of course. And they knew it. And were proud of it. And the gap grew wider until the day came when all activ­i­ty stopped. Each group stood in its soli­tary right­ness, glar­ing with proud eyes at those too blind to see their truth, deter­mined to main­tain their posi­tion at all costs. This is the respon­si­bil­i­ty of being right.” Wow, that sounds like Con­gress.

Then some­one tried to tem­per this stark black-and-white world by say­ing things like “I might be wrong,” which starts a cas­cade of intro­spec­tion and tol­er­ance. Ah, the 70s – that inno­cent time before the 24-hour news cycle. A time before net­work execs real­ized that blovi­at­ing morons preach­ing the right­ness of their own posi­tion just plain makes good TV.

A year lat­er, you might be inter­est­ed to know, Orson Welles nar­rat­ed anoth­er ani­mat­ed para­ble. Watch Free­dom Riv­er here.

Is It Always Right to Be Right? will be added to the Ani­ma­tion sec­tion of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More as well as our col­lec­tion of Free Oscar-Win­ning Films.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Lis­ten to Eight Inter­views of Orson Welles by Film­mak­er Peter Bog­danovich (1969–1972)

Watch Orson Welles’ The Stranger Free Online, Where 1940s Film Noir Meets Real Hor­rors of WWII

The Hearts of Age: Orson Welles’ Sur­re­al­ist First Film (1934)

Orson Welles Explains Why Igno­rance Was His Major “Gift” to Cit­i­zen Kane

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing one new draw­ing of a vice pres­i­dent with an octo­pus on his head dai­ly. 

Ear­li­er this year we fea­tured the aes­thet­i­cal­ly rad­i­cal 1929 doc­u­men­tary A Man with a Movie Cam­era. In it, direc­tor Dzi­ga Ver­tov and his edi­tor-wife Eliza­ve­ta Svilo­va, as Jonathan Crow put it, glee­ful­ly use “jump cuts, super­im­po­si­tions, split screens and every oth­er trick in a filmmaker’s arse­nal” to craft a “dizzy­ing, impres­sion­is­tic, propul­sive por­trait of the new­ly indus­tri­al­iz­ing Sovi­et Union.”

He men­tioned then that no less author­i­ta­tive a cinephilic insti­tu­tion than Sight and Sound named A Man with a Movie Cam­era, in their 2012 poll, “the 8th best movie ever made,” But now, in their new poll in search of the great­est doc­u­men­tary of all time, they gave Ver­tov’s film an even high­er hon­or, nam­ing it, well, the great­est doc­u­men­tary of all time. A Man with a Movie Cam­era, writes Bri­an Win­ston, “sign­posts noth­ing less than how doc­u­men­tary can sur­vive the dig­i­tal destruc­tion of pho­to­graph­ic image integri­ty and yet still, as Ver­tov want­ed, ‘show us life.’ Ver­tov is, in fact, the key to documentary’s future.”

High praise indeed, though Sight and Sound’s crit­ics make strong claims (with sup­port­ing clips) for the oth­er 55 doc­u­men­taries on the list as well. In the top ten alone, we have the fol­low­ing:

1. A Man with a Movie Cam­era (Dzi­ga Ver­tov, 1929)
2. Shoah (Claude Lanz­mann, France 1985). Lanz­man­n’s “550-minute exam­i­na­tion of the Jew­ish Holo­caust falls with­in the doc­u­men­tary tra­di­tion of inves­tiga­tive jour­nal­ism, but what he does with that form is so con­fronta­tion­al and relent­less that it demands to be described in philosophical/spiritual terms rather than sim­ply cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly.”
3. Sans soleil (Chris Mark­er, 1982). “It’s a cliché to say about a movie [ … ] that its true shape or tex­ture is in the eye of the behold­er – but it’s true of Sans soleil, which not only with­stands mul­ti­ple view­ings, but nev­er seems to be the same film twice. It address­es mem­o­ry even as its dif­fer­ent threads seem to for­get them­selves; it pars­es geopol­i­tics with­out betray­ing any affil­i­a­tion; it might be Marker’s most elab­o­rate­ly self-effac­ing film, or his most plan­gent­ly per­son­al.”
4. Night and Fog (Alain Resnais, 1955). “In 1945 movie­go­ers world­wide became famil­iar through week­ly news­reels in their local cin­e­mas with the unspeak­able con­di­tions in the recent­ly lib­er­at­ed Nazi exter­mi­na­tion camps. [ … ] Not, how­ev­er, until Night and Fog (Nuit et brouil­lard), com­mis­sioned to mark the tenth anniver­sary of the Allied lib­er­a­tion of the most noto­ri­ous camp, at Auschwitz, did film pro­duc­ers tru­ly con­front and define the moral and aes­thet­ic para­me­ters involved in treat­ing such an intractable sub­ject.”
5. The Thin Blue Line (Errol Mor­ris, 1989). “A good pros­e­cu­tor can put a guilty sus­pect behind bars, we hear in The Thin Blue Line, but it takes a great one to con­vict an inno­cent man. Some­thing sim­i­lar might be said of Errol Morris’s bril­liant­ly unsta­ble, high­ly influ­en­tial inves­ti­ga­tion into the 1976 road­side shoot­ing of a Texas cop and the wrong­ful con­vic­tion of one Ran­dall Adams.” Demon­strat­ing a mis­car­riage of jus­tice is impres­sive, but it’s quite anoth­er thing to under­mine the very notion of a sta­ble truth.”
6. Chron­i­cle of a Sum­mer (Jean Rouch & Edgar Morin, 1961). Rouch and Morin “are the archi­tects of a social col­lab­o­ra­tion and are rig­or­ous­ly open-hand­ed with the mate­ri­als they’re using. Their loose vox-pop style, begin­ning each encounter by ask­ing whether the inter­vie­wee is hap­py, dis­arm­ing­ly mix­es with scenes that show how cin­e­ma, in any regard, must be arti­fi­cial – employ­ing clas­sic shot-reverse-shot tech­niques in oth­er­wise unevent­ful con­ver­sa­tion­al moments.”
7. Nanook of the North (Robert Fla­her­ty, 1922). “Nanook of the North is noto­ri­ous for its fak­ery, its open-faced igloo and cutesy depic­tion of the Inu­it as untouched by West­ern cul­ture. [But] Flaherty’s pho­tog­ra­phy is beau­ti­ful, and his make-believe meth­ods cap­tured the tra­di­tion­al skills of Allakariallak’s ances­tors on film before they died out alto­geth­er; to the cin­e­ma audi­ences of the time, Nanook was a jour­ney to a for­eign and fas­ci­nat­ing place.”
8. The Glean­ers and I (Agnès Var­da, 2000). Var­da’s “hand­held DV auto­por­trait of the artist as an old­er woman,” though it “seems small and sim­ple, albeit rig­or­ous in its inti­ma­cy, bril­liant­ly encom­pass­es agri­cul­ture, art his­to­ry, class pol­i­tics, ecol­o­gy, eco­nom­ics, recy­cling raps and (via an inter­view with a descen­dant of Louis Daguerre) the ori­gins of cin­e­ma.”
9. Dont Look Back (D.A. Pen­nebak­er, 1967). “The man born Robert Zim­mer­man knows well the val­ue of obscur­ing myths and shift­ing per­sonas, and part of the fas­ci­na­tion of Pennebaker’s pio­neer­ing Direct Cin­e­ma account of Dylan’s 1965 tour of Britain is the way it cap­tures the singer trans­form­ing on cam­era into ‘Dylan’, the unreach­ably cool, detached yet wired, light­ning-in-a-bot­tle young genius who, as Greil Mar­cus mem­o­rably wrote, ‘seemed less to occu­py a turn­ing point in cul­tur­al space and time than to be that turn­ing point.’ ”
10. Grey Gar­dens, (Albert and David Maysles, Ellen Hov­de, Muffie Mey­er, 1975). “Imag­ine if John Waters shot a script by Ten­nessee Williams and it was broad­cast in a TV slot usu­al­ly reserved for The Hoard­er Next Door or How Clean Is Your House? [ … ] a fly-in-a-Har­vey-Wall­banger look at the world of Jack­ie O.’s eccen­tric cousins, Big Edie and Lit­tle Edie (and their inter­lop­er, ‘the Mar­ble Faun’). It’s fin­ger­nails-down-black­board won­der­ful, as the Edies rem­i­nisce, sing, dance, yell at each oth­er and watch approv­ing­ly as cats and rac­coons befoul their rot­ting Long Island retreat.”

You can read up on the rest of the 50 great­est doc­u­men­taries of all time, which range across the world, across his­to­ry, and across the spec­trum of truth and fic­tion, at Sight and Sound.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

200 Free Doc­u­men­taries Online

Free: Dzi­ga Vertov’s A Man with a Movie Cam­era, the 8th Best Film Ever Made

The 10 Great­est Films of All Time Accord­ing to 846 Film Crit­ics

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.