Steven Rubio's Online Life

film fatales #132: elena (petra costa, 2012)

This is the twenty-third film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 23 is called "Essentially Brazilian Week":

Was already thinking of making this list a weekly theme for this Season's Challenge, and this comment from a Brazilian Letterboxd user sealed the deal:

"Here on Brazil, our cinema is underappreciated, people just watch bad comedy movies and have a group who says we have a bad cinema, they don't know the classics and they think we just have five good movies: Dog's Will, Central Station, the two Elite Squad movies and City of God. See lists like this makes me happy,"

-O Legado Cinematográfico

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen Essential Brazilian film from Lost in Film's's list.

Another example of why I like doing this challenge: I knew nothing about Elena, or Petra Costa for that matter. Of the 107 films on the Essential Brazilian list, I'd only seen four. So welcome to a new experience.

Turns out, Elena is a documentary, which I didn't know ... OK, I'll quit, you get the point, I am clueless. The title character, Elena, is the older sister of the director, Petra Costa. Only one other person appears in the cast list, and she is Elena and Petra's mom. Petra Costa uses a combination of sources to construct her movie. There are home movies (Elena got her first movie camera when she was 13), an old diary of Elena's, and interviews Petra conducted with people in Elena's life. Elena, an aspiring actress, had moved to New York when Petra was 7 years old. After a return to Brazil, Elena is accepted into a university in New York, and she returns there, with her mother and Petra moving with her.

During that time, Elena kills herself ... it's not explained why, her family doesn't know, and that compounds their grief with the feeling they might have been part of the cause. The core of the film is Petra working her way through her relationship with Elena. She looked up to her big sister, and later identified with her (people comment on how much Petra looks like Elena). There is a sense that Petra is struggling not to repeat Elena's sad ending.

I was reminded more than once of Sarah Polley's great movie Stories We Tell. Polley deconstructs the rules of documentary and then puts them back together. Costa's film has arty touches, but it is a more straightforward documentary than Polley's film. And perhaps not as involving for the viewer, although I can imagine if you'd been through a similar experience to Costa, you would be very involved. Elena is not off-putting, but it is insular, a bit distancing. It's a strong movie, nonetheless.

phantom thread (paul thomas anderson, 2017)

This is the twenty-second film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 22 is called "'Sensual Healing Week":

There has been a bit of discourse lately on the decline of sexuality in our mainstream films of the past decade or two. Let's take a look at the power that filmmaking has in creating tension and compelling narratives based not just on sex and nudity, but on every part of the build up and come down that sensuality entails.

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen Sensual Cinema film from Isabel Sandoval's list.

Isabel Sandoval writes the following about Sensual Cinema: "Sensuality to me is less about onscreen sex than desire." Part of me thinks I'm relatively clueless about this genre, but then I look at her list and I see a lot of my favorite movies: Y Tu Mamá También, In the Mood for Love, Vertigo, Notorious, Double Indemnity. In the Mood for Love in particular fits her definition.

Meanwhile, I'm excited about Paul Thomas Anderson's new movie, Licorice Pizza, mostly because I want to see Alana Haim. So I looked forward to catching one of his movies I had missed. I'm mostly indifferent to Anderson's work. I have fond memories of Boogie Nights, although I don't know if it would hold up to another viewing. My favorite is probably Magnolia, but those frogs were stupid. (My wife was so upset with my disdain that she cut-and-paste the following and texted it to me: "Frog rain is a rare meteorological phenomenon in which frogs get swept up in a storm, travel miles and then fall from the sky when the clouds release the water. It doesn't happen frequently, but it does happen in parts of the world.")

Well, Phantom Thread was another movie that took an odd turn at the end that didn't connect with me. Mark Bridges certainly deserved his Oscar for Best Costumes. Daniel Day-Lewis got most of the acting acclaim, but I was more impressed with Lesley Manville (both got Oscar nominations, losing to Gary Oldman and Allison Janney respectively). I thought I wouldn't be interested, much as I floundered a bit at House of Gucci ... I don't care about fashion. So I was pleasantly surprised that I got sucked in. But when the young woman in love with the master designer decides to poison him, I admit I hesitated. When it turned out she did it so she could prove her importance to him by nursing him back to health, I rolled my eyes. When he figured out what she had done and asked for more, well, at that point I expected frogs to fall from the sky.

wiener-dog (todd solondz, 2016)

This is the twenty-first film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 21 is called "Annapurna Week":

When discussing smaller production houses, A24 usually get the attention of the millennial/zoomer crowds. However, there are a few others that look to provide similar experiences, most notably NEON and this week's challenge focus, Annapurna Pictures. Should we put blind faith into a film's quality based solely on who's making money off of the release? No. But when these smaller companies are taking the risks that the big guys just don't take anymore, I'm willing to hold out hope.

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen film produced by Annapurna Pictures.

I had never seen a Todd Solondz movie, although a couple have intrigued me over the years, so I was glad to choose one of his pictures for this week's challenge. Solondz has said "On one end of the spectrum is Au hasard Balthazar and on the other is Benji. In between the two this movie [Wiener-Dog] lies." That's not encouraging ... I never saw Benji but I have a feeling I wouldn't have liked it, and while Balthazar is a recognized cinema classic, it didn't do much for me. Having said that, I came to Wiener-Dog with a relatively clear eye, new to Solondz and mostly clueless about Annapurna Pictures ... I've some of their movies, liked some of those, but don't identify them as "Annapurna pictures" ... I don't really know what that means.

I was also encouraged by the cast, which included some of my favorites, including Julie Delpy and Greta Gerwig. What little I knew about the movie, that it was episodic and followed a dog's experiences with a series of owners, sounded pretty good.

But as with Au hasard Balthazar, Wiener-Dog didn't do much for me. There are some funny moments, and some good acting ... Gerwig fares better than Delpy, Kieran Culkin and Zosia Mamet are good. The film as a whole is distinctive ... I can't say it was typical Solondz since I have nothing to compare it to, but its blend of comedy, drama, and well-directed anger towards certain segments of society is certainly different. But the connecting tissue (the dog) didn't lead to any particular coherence. It remained episodic, like four short film crammed into 90 minutes. Some segments were better than others, although I confess my favorite wasn't a real segment at all. Between the second and third stories, we got an intermission, complete with attempts to get us to buy popcorn in the lobby:

Even this scene has a problem, which you'll find out if you click the link: it features the song "The Ballad of Wiener-Dog", which is fun the first time but which soon becomes the kind of annoying earworm I wish I could forget.

I can't even say Wiener-Dog is an amiable way to spend 90 minutes. I don't think Solondz intends for the movie to be amiable, and I'm all for that. (Perhaps this is where I mention a scene that has angered many who have seen it, but I'm a spoiler-phobe.)

mother (vsevolod pudovkin, 1926)

This is the twentieth film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 20 is called "Soviet Montage Week":

From Wikipedia:

"Soviet montage theory is an approach to understanding and creating cinema that relies heavily upon editing (montage is French for "assembly" or "editing"). It is the principal contribution of Soviet film theorists to global cinema, and brought formalism to bear on filmmaking.

Although Soviet filmmakers in the 1920s disagreed about how exactly to view montage, Sergei Eisenstein marked a note of accord in "A Dialectic Approach to Film Form" when he noted that montage is "the nerve of cinema", and that "to determine the nature of montage is to solve the specific problem of cinema". Its influence is far reaching commercially, academically, and politically. Alfred Hitchcock cites editing (and montage indirectly) as the lynchpin of worthwhile filmmaking. In fact, montage is demonstrated in the majority of narrative fiction films available today. Post-Soviet film theories relied extensively on montage's redirection of film analysis toward language, a literal grammar of film. A semiotic understanding of film, for example, is indebted to and in contrast with Sergei Eisenstein's wanton transposition of language "in ways that are altogether new."[1] While several Soviet filmmakers, such as Lev Kuleshov, Dziga Vertov, Esfir Shub and Vsevolod Pudovkin put forth explanations of what constitutes the montage effect, Eisenstein's view that "montage is an idea that arises from the collision of independent shots" wherein "each sequential element is perceived not next to the other, but on top of the other" has become most widely accepted.

The production of films—how and under what conditions they are made—was of crucial importance to Soviet leadership and filmmakers. Films that focused on individuals rather than masses were deemed counterrevolutionary, but not exclusively so. The collectivization of filmmaking was central to the programmatic realization of the Communist state. Kino-Eye forged a film and newsreel collective that sought the dismantling of bourgeois notions of artistry above the needs of the people. Labor, movement, the machinery of life, and the everyday of Soviet citizens coalesced in the content, form, and productive character of Kino-eye repertoire.

The bulk of influence, beginning from the October 1917 Revolution until the late 1950s (oftentimes referred to as the Stalin era), brought a cinematic language to the fore and provided the groundwork for contemporary editing and documentary techniques, as well as providing a starting point for more advanced theories."

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen Soviet Montage film.

I've told the story many times. My first attempt at college was in 1973-4, when I was a film major at a local junior college. Things were different in California in those day before Prop 13 lowered taxes, which resulted in a loss of revenue. In 1973, there was plenty of money for education, so that my local junior college had a full film program that included a free film showing five nights a week (usually a double-bill) along with all the movies I watched in the day during classes. It was, in fact, the largest free film program in the country at that time. While I became known in my grad school days in the English department as an anti-canon advocate, my film education was a different kind of preparation. It was, in short, canonical. This meant, among other things, that I spent several weeks watching silent Soviet films. So this week's challenge took me back to my younger days.

I barely need to write anything more ... the challenge description above may be the most detailed I've ever seen. One oft-noted difference between Eisenstein and Pudovkin is that Pudovkin would focus on individual characters more than Eisenstein, who relied more on the collective. I'm not sure how different the results were ... Mother has several main characters, but outside of the titular mother, those characters are mostly stereotypical, and Dear Old Mom serves a clear ideological purpose, such that it appears we learn a bit about her character just so we can see her transition to a revolutionary mindset. Mother is the kind of movie that ends with the mother being trampled to death by Tsarist soldiers on horseback. This is presented as a triumph, because the previously apolitical woman has advanced to waving the socialist flag as she dies. (I admit my interpretation may differ from how you see it.)

In 1968, the film was restored and a musical score was added. I found the music distracting, although it worked better in later scenes.

grand piano (eugenio mira, 2013)

This is the nineteenth film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 19 is called "Dee-lightful Week":

One of my favorite running weekly challenges. No real connection between these four artists other than the surface level name they partially share. At least you'll have plenty to choose from!

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen film starring and/or directed by Dee Rees, Dee Wallace. Ruby Dee. or Billy Dee Williams.

A goofy challenge. Last year it was "Ray, Ray, Ray, or Wray Week" (I watched Aparajito), while the year before that it was "Leigh, Leigh, Leigh, or Leigh Week" (I watched Welcome to Me). I had intended to watch the Dee Rees film Bessie, but my recording kept skipping, so I switched to a Dee Wallace movie. Which is a bit of a misnomer. I spent the entire movie looking for the E.T. star and never recognized her. Turns out she had one scene as an interviewer speaking on a phone, so her face never appeared.

Grand Piano is a compact (90 minutes, including 12-minute closing credits) thriller that offers nothing new but is effective nonetheless. Elijah Wood plays a famed concert pianist who comes out of retirement and finds trouble during his concert. It's in the tradition of Phone Booth, another movie with an unseen sniper keeping the hero in place. While he doesn't show his face until the climax, the voice of the sniper is recognizable as John Cusack. (It's an offbeat moment of humor when the two characters finally meet ... Cusack's 6'2" frame towers over Wood's 5'6".) I'm unfamiliar with the Spanish director Eugenio Mira ... he gets the job done here. Screenwriter Damien Chazelle wrote 10 Cloverfield Lane and Whiplash, two good but problematic movies. Everyone is fine here, if you don't kind the lack of ambition to do anything out of the ordinary. As a fan of Halt and Catch Fire, I am always glad to see Kerry Bishé. Grand Piano does its business and goes home, which is sometimes just what is needed.

manos: the hands of fate (harold p. warren, 1966)

This is the eighteenth film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 18 is called "One-and-Done Week":

At least no one can say they didn't try. Though the reason behind some of these single directorial filmographies may be apparent upon viewing, there are certainly a number of filmmakers who left us wanting more after just one outing. A fun, grab-bag experiment.

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen film by a director who has only directed one film. Here is a smaller list with focus on notable names, and here is a larger compendium.

The story goes that Howard Hawks and Ernest Hemingway were fishing together, and Hawks told Hemingway he could make a good movie out of Hemingway's worst book, which Hawks said was To Have and Have Not. The resulting film was a hit. Maybe it came from a bad novel, but it had Howard Hawks as a director. It starred Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, with a supporting cast of everyone from Walter Brennan to Hoagy Carmichael.  At one point, William Faulkner came in to work on the script. Even coming from a poor source, Hawks and Warner Brothers could produce something fun.

Some 20 years later, Sterling Silliphant, who had written mostly for television and who later won an Oscar for Best Screenplay, met a man named Harold P. Warren. Warren, an insurance and fertilizer salesman, bet Silliphant he could make a horror movie all on his own. Silliphant took up the bet. Now, Warren wasn't Howard Hawks. Warner Brothers wasn't bankrolling the affair (Warren got the money together himself, eventually getting $19,000). With such a low budget, he couldn't pay the cast or the crew, so he gave them a cut of the hoped-for profits. Warren also saved money by directing, writing, producing, and starring in the film. With no budget for cast or crew, Warren wasn't going to get Walter Brennan or Hoagy Carmichael, so the rest of the cast was culled from local talent. The result, Manos: The Hands of Fate was no To Have and Have Not ... instead, it regularly makes Worst Movie Ever lists.

It was the only movie Warren ever directed ... I'm pretty sure it was the only movie any of the people associated with it ever made. It is godawful. It's not worth the time to list everything that is wrong with the movie. It's impossible to see any vision that Warren might have had, the way Ed Wood movies, bad as they were, often were recognizably Ed Wood movies. There isn't a single moment worth watching.

The film was mostly forgotten ... heck, it only had a few local screenings in 1966. But then it turned up as an episode on Mystery Science Theater 3000, and it became an "instant" cult classic. Even if you are not a fan of MST3K, you'll probably find their version more watchable than the original, Because the original was just that bad.

the cloud-capped star (ritwik ghatak, 1960)

This is the seventeenth film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 17 is called "Parallel Cinema & New Indian Cinema Week":

Though not exactly the same movements, in the interest of availability, I've combined the two into one week.

From Wikipedia:

"Parallel cinema, or New Indian Cinema, was a film movement in Indian cinema that originated in the state of West Bengal in the 1950s as an alternative to the mainstream commercial Indian cinema.

Inspired by Italian Neorealism, Parallel Cinema began just before the French New Wave and Japanese New Wave, and was a precursor to the Indian New Wave of the 1960s. The movement was initially led by Bengali cinema and produced internationally acclaimed filmmakers such as Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen, Ritwik Ghatak, Tapan Sinha and others. It later gained prominence in other film industries of India.

It is known for its serious content, realism and naturalism, symbolic elements with a keen eye on the sociopolitical climate of the times, and for the rejection of inserted dance-and-song routines that are typical of mainstream Indian films."

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen Parallel or New Indian Cinema film.

This was a good challenge for me, because I am woefully uneducated about Indian cinema. I've seen a handful of Satyajit Ray movies and a Bollywood movie or two, but I had never heard of New Indian Cinema, and didn't know any of the notable directors outside of Ray. I have no idea if The Cloud-Capped Star is indicative of the work of Ritwik Ghatak, or Parallel cinema in general, but it's an impressive movie on its own.

The Cloud-Capped Star reminded me of many other films. The heroine, Neeta, played by Supriya Choudhury, a legend in Bengali cinema who was new to me, suffers so much she could have been the central figure in a Lars von Trier movie. Neeta is too kind, too willing to put others ahead of herself. Ghatak often uses close-ups that seem like they came from silent movies. The faces tell us so much, even when the character is not speaking, but the acting styles are modern, not overdone as can be the case in silents. Only a small portion of the film takes place in the city, but when it does, it is reminiscent of the way real locations were used in the French New Wave:

Also, Ghatak gets eerie passages by his use of sound. If shooting in a natural setting seems "real", his use of sound is often surreal:

All of this may remind us of other movies, but the combination is unique. The Cloud-Capped Star is engrossing on many levels, and an eye-opener into the world of Bengali cinema beyond Satyajit Ray.

kick-ass (matthew vaughn, 2010)

This is the sixteenth film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 16 is called "'No DC, No Marvel Week":

As someone who is admittedly not that interested in comic book film adaptations, it's hard to deny the popularity of them in the past decade and a half. However, the ubiquity with Marvel and DC that these films tend to have seems counter productive. Why don't we take a look at those films based on comics that don't fall under either company's properties.

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen comic book-based film NOT under the Marvel or DC umbrella. Here is a list to guide the way.

What I had written got magically deleted, so I'll get to the point: the #1 reason to watch Kick-Ass is Chloë Grace Moretz. She is amazing as an 11--year-old assassin/superhero called Hit-Girl. People who don't like movie violence should avoid this movie ... the violence is over-the-top. As the IMDB Parent Guide says, in the second of its 11 notes on the film's violence, "There's a scene where a man is in a microwave and he blows up. Blood and guts go all over the screen but it's done in a comedic way." That last part matters. It's an extremely violent film, but it's comic-book violence, and hard to take seriously. Also, some people object to the idea of an 11-year-old committing all these violent acts ... by the time the movie ends, Hit-Girl has killed around 40 people herself, almost 2/3 of the entire film's body count.  (She also occasionally uses rather unexpected profanity ... again, from the IMDB: "1 very brief use of 'c*nt' (said by an 11 year old, so mostly comedic)". I told you it was comedic.

Moretz pulls it all off with aplomb. She has since shown her skills in a variety of movies. She was one of the best things about Scorsese's Hugo, and she carries the entertaining action picture Shadow in the Cloud. She had already done a lot of work prior to Kick-Ass, but this is the movie that made her a star.

planes, trains, and automobiles (john hughes, 1987)

This is the fifteenth film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 15 is called "'Holiday Films Week":

Last year, I had placed 'Miniseries Week' in this slot before the break because presumably the extra time should've allowed for the longer viewing times...not sure how accurate that was. This year we're going simple, with this pre-break week focusing on films set around any holiday. Waiting for one of you cheeky bastards to watch Independence Day for this week.

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen film set around a holiday. Any holiday.

This is only the third movie I've seen directed by John Hughes. I have never forgiven him for the scene in The Breakfast Club where Ally Sheedy's character gets a makeover. In general, modern comedies do nothing for me. It's enough of a pattern that I have to accept that maybe I'm the problem. If you can put together three funny scenes that will fit into a trailer, and then make a movie that is at least mediocre, it will please audiences enough that they will tell their friends the movie is good because of those three funny scenes. Planes, Trains, and Automobiles is a bit different, in that Hughes isn't going for big scenes as much as he is trying for an amusing character study, a buddy movie if you will. (People who have seen the movie will tell you there is one "big scene", and they are right ... among other things, it's the reason the film got an R rating.)

There's a touching final scene, if you like that kind of thing. I was just glad the movie was over. Steve Martin and John Candy do what they can, it's always nice to see Edie McClurg, and Dylan Baker makes his movie debut. Back in three weeks with Kick-Ass.

Spoiler alert: here's the R-rated scene:

african-american directors series/film fatales #126: time (garrett bradley, 2020)

This is the fourteenth film I have watched in "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2021-22", "A 33 week long challenge where the goal each week is to watch a previously unseen feature length film from a specified category." This is the 7th annual challenge, and my third time participating (my first year can be found at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2019-20", and last year's at "My Letterboxd Season Challenge 2020-21"). Week 14 is called "'I've Been Meaning to Get to it...' Week":

Listen, we all let some films fall through the cracks; there's just too many movies! Here's your chance to see one that passed you by from 2020.

This week's challenge is to watch a previously unseen film released in 2020.

One of the larger lists of films to choose from: anything from last year that I haven't seen. (From the list they provided, I haven't seen more than 29,000.) It's my first encounter with Garrett Bradley, an interesting director who doesn't limit herself to narrow genre exercises. She won the Best Documentary Director at Sundance for Time (the first black woman to do so). Time was nominated for a Best Feature Documentary Oscar, losing to My Octopus Teacher, not a bad choice but it would have been nice to reward the more adventurous Time.

It's not easy to pin down the central theme of Time. The basic "plot" (if a documentary can be said to have a plot) is about Sibil Fox Richardson (aka Fox Rich), who is trying to get her husband released from prison. The two of them committed an armed bank robbery during a time of financial desperation. She did 3 1/2 years ... he got a 60-year sentence. Bradley intended to make a short about Rich, but was surprised when Rich gave her 100 hours of home videos she had shot over the years. Bradley used that footage to extend her short into a feature.

Rich is a fascinating woman, charismatic and seemingly capable of an endless combination of hope and calmness. Both are tenuous ... at one point, after an extremely polite phone call to someone in the legal system, she explodes after hanging up. But she lives by the concept of never giving up, and the film ends happily with her husband finally coming home to his wife and their six kids.

Bradley's techniques are impressive, and Rich is an ideal central character. But I wanted to know more specifics about the case. We see the family grow over the years, and the kids are turning out great, but based on Time, their successes are rooted in a strong mother and a belief in God and family. I accepted that explanation, because that's what Bradley and Rich give us, but I wasn't convinced, which is why I wanted more. Nonetheless, Rich is easy to root for, and it's hard to deny the pleasure that comes from the happy ending. #362 on the They Shoot Pictures, Don't They list of the top 1000 films of the 21st century.