Hello, and welcome to the Projectorheads’ top 20 films of the decade!
A quick word about how this was calculated: each Projectorhead came up with their own list of their favourite 20 films of the decade. Each film was then given points relating to their placing on the lists, and then after they were added up, films were multiplied by how many times they appeared on the various lists. For instance, if, say, DOA: Dead or Alive had appeared on 2 lists at no.20, it would’ve received 1 point for each list, and then would’ve been multiplied by 2 for a total of 4 points. Did DOA: Dead or Alive make the list? You will find out!
And another word about ourselves: all of us are about-20 university/TAFE types from either Australia or the UK. This is very likely to reflect heavily on the films we’ve picked. Similarly, all of us are low-income earning lazy bastards, and worse, a lot of us didn’t even really get into cinema until last year. So if you feel that we snubbed a certain film, the likelihood is that we simply haven’t seen it (or that it’s simply not as good as DOA: Dead or Alive). I mention all this not as an excuse for our behaviour, but as a bit of context surrounding our picks.
Yet another word about that: the top 20 of the decade was selected by favouritism alone. I like to think that an element of objectivity and open-minded thinking pervades the Projectorheads’ minds, but let’s be honest, we’re raving fanboys of particular directors and styles. We’re as biased as biased can be. The final list represents a fracas of opinions mashed together, but inevitably there’s going to be a lot of agreement in some areas… or is it just that these films truly are some of the best of the decade, and our mutual respect of them cements that? You decide!
We’ll be counting upwards, from the measly no.20 to the stunning no.1, and along the way providing mini-reviews by various Projectorheads about said films, along with IMDB ratings and some funky pictures that we effortlessly cribbed from Google Images. And now, without further ado that isn’t this paragraph, on with the top 20!

20. The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke)

IMDB: 8.2
RT: 87%

The White Ribbon – a film that rightfully won the Palme d’Or this year – takes place in a pre-WWI German village where a series of crimes have occured. A doctor is injured while riding his horse; several children go missing and then are discovered, tortured and abused; there are acts of unexplained violence towards animals, and a whole other string of strange occurences. The children are brought up under strict discipline and religious dogma, and after one of the children confronts his father – a priest about a sin he has committed, he is forced to wear a white ribbon in public as a reminder to himself and to others of the concept of purity and innocence, and the importance of retaining this innocence for the good of the future. I can say that The White Ribbon has been the most emotionally distressing film I’ve seen since Lars von Trier’s Breaking the Waves, which I saw two years ago, a film that moved me so much I swear I cried out at least a quarter of my bodily fluids. In typical Haneke fashion, the film is a psychological headache. The characters never seem to have clear motives for their actions, the actions (and sometimes crimes) aren’t pre-meditated or even meditated, they just occur as naturally as cleaning your teeth or having a shower, purely run on an instinct twisted and torn from years of destructive, abusive discipline. Some of the characters seem unaware of her actions, as if hypnotised. Although in the past his characters have been highly and disturbingly realistic, especially the more psychologically unsound characters, Haneke achieves something very rare for him in this film: a real human connection with the characters. There’s a touching, heartfelt romance between two of them, the School Teacher and Eva. Now that’s something I never thought I’d see in a Haneke movie, humanity portrayed in a positive, hopeful light. There were fleeting moments of this in Time of the Wolf but nowhere near as prominently. The White Ribbon is by an indescribably long shot my favourite movie of 2009. Go out of your way to see this.

- Liam O’Brien

19. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry)

IMDB: 8.5
RT: 93%

Charlie Kaufman is an anomaly – as a screenwriter, he is perhaps more of a household name than the directors who present his work. Certainly this may be due to Nicolas Cage’s animated (though somewhat unflattering) portrayal of him in “Adaptation”, but more likely it is his knack for grand, imaginative explorations of themes other 21st Century filmmakers might overlook as mundane.
In Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, beneath the façade of a quirky Vonnegut-esque quantum leap dramedy lies a dissection of a relationship that just isn’t working. Can Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet make it work? By the time the credits roll, I’m not entirely sure I’m convinced. And that’s the strange beauty of it, the human element. Nothing is certain but confusion, frustration and unrealised potential. The film sets up an argument it doesn’t necessarily resolve, and that is part of its drawing power. It appeals to our individual experiences to determine how we feel about the characters when we walk away from the film.
Layer on top of this director Michel Gondry’s knack for the irreverent – the film is visually delightful and brimming with quirks. These flourishes are restrained before they breach the divide into annoyances, though. When drama holds prevalence over fantasy, Gondry brings out the best in his actors rather than leaning on the showmanship that carries much of the film.
As with many of the films on the list, it’s a case of every aspect of production being utilised in full. Eternal Sunshine is hugely entertaining, both visually and narratively, and the performances by the leads are among the best in both of their respective careers. Kaufman and Gondry are a perfect team, both adept at balancing the human and the fantastic, the large and the small, the humourous and the maudlin. And doesn’t life outside the cinema offer us all of those things?

- Michael Sykes

18. This Is England (Shane Meadows)

IMDB: 7.9
RT: 93%

Being born in the early 90’s I didn’t get the chance to experience working class 1980s Britain. Quite frankly I’m glad of it too, as it seems like a terrifying place to be. With This Is England, Shane Meadows paints a vivid picture of a community filled with racial hate in a post-Falklands war England.
We are aligned with Shaun, a young boy played by Thomas Turgoose, as he is accidentally introduced to a world of hate and violence by his new friends. Shaun’s young mind is soon influenced by racist skin-head Combo, who is played excellently by Stephen Graham. We travel with Shaun as he sees the racist underbelly of his community, and we watch him transform into Combo’s apprentice, a skin-head in training.
As with most Shane Meadows films, there are tender and humorous moments scattered throughout, but they only mask the true shadows of the film and in many cases just cause more discomfort for the viewer.
This Is England is a strange film, as while it displays all the flaws and the scum of 1980’s England’s racist communities, it also displays a strange kind of patriotism and proudness of the country. Despite the negative, downbeat nature of his films, Shane Meadows is a man who loves his country and it really shows here. The title could not be more fitting, as Meadows is showing us the true nature of England how he sees it. Somehow this film left me with the message “This is England, flawed and all, and I will always love it”.

- Adam Bibilo

17. City of God (Fernando Meirelles & Katia Lund)

IMDB: 8.8
RT: 92%

Fernando Meirelles, who recently brought John le Carré’s The Constant Gardener and José Saramago’s Blindness to the screen, first adapted Paulo Lins in City of God, an ugly crime saga set in one of Rio de Janeiro’s most corrupt slums (“favelas”, as they are known in Brazil). The film is almost didactic in nature – the existence of the characters, the settings and situations are completely foreign to a Western audience. As the film runs its course we learn not just about a young photographer and a drug dealer, but the aftermath of the Brazilian government’s failed City of God housing project of the 1960s.
The film is not without its charms, though. Despite the unpleasant and sometimes even shocking nature of the on-screen activities, there is a sleek visual style employed a la John Woo or Quentin Tarantino. The similarities don’t end there – the film is segmented in Pulp Fiction style, without so much chronological trickery, and indirectly documents the crime and gangs woven into the history of the favelas. There are distinct questions of morality, necessity and survival raised.
The numerous characters are interesting, well-rounded, and portrayed perfectly by the sizeable cast. This is especially a feat considering they are, for the most part, unknowns – even in their native Brazil. The film’s story is undercut with narration by photographer Rocket (Alexandre Rodrigues), a parallel some may draw to Ray Liotta’s character in Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas. These comparisons across the gangster genre are apt, but Brazil has its own unique story to tell – one rife with chaos and bloodshed, and Meirelles sees to it skilfully. The editing, the pacing, even sound design are all fantastic, aiding a stark depiction of growing up in the slums.
It’s not a pretty story, and it doesn’t reach its destination without leaving a trail of destruction. You may find, though, that the effects of the film stick with you for a while. After all, you need more than guts to be a good filmmaker, you need ideas. City of God is built on a foundation of them.

- Michael Sykes

16. Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)

IMDB: 8.0
RT: 94%

It’s a stock-standard romantic setup: On a train to Vienna, cynical young Jesse strikes up a conversation with the bombastic Celine, and they spend the night discovering the city together. Where Before Sunrise differed, however, was the execution: Richard Linklater’s story is a simple one – relying on dialogue over action, setting over set pieces. The two leads waxed philosophical, debating and discussing both the trivial and the universal, before agreeing to meet a year later on the train platform they parted ways at.
Unless you include their non-canonical cameo in Waking Life it’s been nine years since we heard from Jesse and Celine, the star-crossed young lovers who spent that mild Austrian night together. This time they run into each other in Paris on Jesse’s book tour, and their situations and understandings have changed drastically. Unchanged, however, is their attraction to each other.
The sequel plays out in real time, showing us a smaller but perhaps more important piece of the story. The discourse involves pedestrian philosophy, the prior decade as experienced by each of the leads, and how their lives have been affected by that one night in Vienna. The ending is delightfully ambiguous, making amends for answering the question the first film posed. This time we wonder, even decide, if they get together – or if Jesse returns to his wife and child.
The most appealing aspect of the film, however, is the presentation of the characters. Despite their intellect and admirable curiosity about the universe they share, they are fairly unlikeable. Celine is neurotic, loudly liberal and almost obnoxiously free-spirited. Jesse is transparent, a little creepy, often leading the conversation to sex. Notably, Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy are credited for their dialogue in the film. The conversation is believable and authentic, and the drama, while small in scale, is deftly handled. Most importantly, however, is the level of judgement afforded the viewer.

- Michael Sykes

15. Mulholland Drive (David Lynch)

IMDB: 8.0
RT: 81%

In a list of the most emotional film-makers in the world, David Lynch wouldn’t exactly rank high. To a lot of people, his movies are seen as surreal garbage, kinda scary, kinda violent, and stories of him laughing while filming the rape scene of Blue Velvet don’t do much to dispel the accusations that he’s some sort of, I don’t know, evil monster? Yet the Lynch we see in interviews is actually a friendly, homely guy, and every so often in his work we get the feeling he’s actually pretty sensitive. Mulholland Drive is a prime example of this. Who else but Lynch would take a television pilot, feeling the sting of rejection due to it not being picked up by ABC, and turn it into a tragic look at what Hollywood does to people, picking up awards at Cannes and launching Naomi Watts’ career along the way?
Mulholland Drive, as with many Lynch features, starts off with a mystery. On the road the movie is named after in Hollywood, a beautiful woman’s assassination is prevented by a car crash, and she wakes up with no memory of who she is. She makes her way to an apartment where a plucky young woman called Betty, played by Watts, is moving in, eager to make it in pictures and become a star. The TV show would have centred around the two trying to discover the woman’s identity (she names herself “Rita” after seeing a poster for Gilda in the bathroom) and Betty’s attempts to make it into the business. In fitting with its TV origins, these scenes just seem that little bit corny. However, this actually works in its favour as it contrasts spectacularly with the last 40 or so minutes where, in typical Lynchian style, everything goes topsy-turvy and all your preconceptions are totally messed with.
The film turned out to be Lynch’s most critically acclaimed feature in 15 years, getting him his third Oscar nomination and reminding the movie world that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Naomi Watts’ utterly fantastic performance propelled her to stardom, where she now enjoys the honour of being the actress with the highest budget to revenue ratio, or whatever it’s called. She deserves it – she proved amazing at showing the audience every aspect of her character, from the plucky determination to the heartbreaking failure.
Also, lesbians.

- Tom Bown

14. No Country for Old Men (Coen Brothers)

IMDB: 8.3
RT: 94%

I’ve never understood Coen Brothers comedies – ‘funny’ is a most subjective phenomena. Some things, however, are universal, and this is where their more sombre endeavours often prove fruitful: presentation of themes larger than the stories themselves, and how they are expounded upon over the duration. Here the Coen Brothers have deftly translated Cormac McCarthy’s acclaimed novel No Country For Old Men to the screen. Not only an apt dissection of fate, circumstance and the inevitable; the narrative provided heart-palpitating thrills and a charmingly desolate evocation of 1980 West Texas. The dialogue and soundtrack are as sparse as the landscape, with a strong majority of the tension derived from the spaces you expect the script or an orchestral movement to fill. In fact, the entire film employs only a quarter of an hour of music – most of which is naught more than the dissonant moans of singing bowls and standing metal bells. More attention is allocated to the individual senses, and to this effect an early scene in a gas station stands out as one of film’s most nerve-wracking moments.
A strong and vivid cast are the icing on the production’s proverbial cake – before 2007, both Josh Brolin and Javier Bardem, respectively the film’s protagonist and villain, were barely approaching the cusp of fame. Some of film’s greatest casting miracles were notable risks, and here the bravery pays off. Bardem as Anton Chigurh is one of the decade’s most memorable villains, and Brolin’s headstrong man-of-the-land act is played with tonal precision. Placing Tommy Lee Jones in one of the most relevant roles of his career, and the core of the film’s pseudo-frame story, serves to cement a note-perfect envisioning of the novel.
Joel and Ethan Coen have given us a rare delight: A film both thematically meaty and altogether thrilling. I had a dream that all of their films presented such a satisfying dichotomy of deep introspection and superficial excitement – and then I woke up.

- Michael Sykes

13. Dead Man’s Shoes (Shane Meadows)

IMDB: 7.9
RT: 55%

Dead Man’s Shoes is a scary film. At least for me it is anyway. Shane Meadows was raised in Uttoxetter, a town in the Midlands which is just a stone’s throw away from where I live. As such, this is a big influence on his films and therefore gives me more of a connection to Dead Man’s Shoes. For me, its unusual seeing a film set in the British countryside, away from any major cities, and while the events of Dead Man’s Shoes are disturbing to watch anyway, this added connection makes it that little bit weirder for me to watch. But hey, thats just me.
Dead Man’s Shoes is a Get Carter-esque tale of revenge with Richard (Paddy Considine) seeking revenge from the people who abused his mentally disabled and defenseless brother. Richard’s story is not just one of revenge but also of atonement as he looks to clear his conscience for having not been there for his brother when he needed him. Considine plays his part well, displaying a character who swings scarily from being warm and calm to cold and intimidating. There isn’t a great deal of complexity or depth to Richard, but I think anymore underlying issues with Richard would only have over-complicated him and detracted from the film.
The real highlight of the film however has got to be Toby Kebbell, who plays Richard’s brother Anthony. His performance is filled with subtlety and underplayed expressions which makes him an absolute tragic joy to watch.
Dead Man’s Shoes plays out like a more linear Pulp Fiction, with details emerging slowly and the backstory not unfolding completely until the final scenes, where all becomes clear. Its certainly not the smartest or most complex film around, but Dead Man’s Shoes is a near perfect example of simplicity working fantastically. Meadows doesn’t get too experimental or try anything new here, but what results is a relatively straight forward film which just reeks of gritty stylishness, English passion and perfect storytelling. Perhaps I only think this because of the connection I feel with it, but I know I will never tire of it.

- Adam Bibilo

12. Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki)

IMDB: 8.5
RT: 97%

In 1997, veteran Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki announced that after the final screening of Princess Mononoke, he would make an exit and retire from filmmaking. I haven’t seen Princess Mononoke, but I’ve been told that it was an excellent note for him to end on. However, some time later he was relaxing with a friend and saw their ten year old daughter playing in the yard, and he was suddenly hit with inspiration. The result of this inspiration was Spirited Away. The film really does feel like a retrospective upon his youth, even if the lead is female (although I think Miyazaki finds it easier to communicate through female characters). It is a film that leads the hero, Chihiro on a surreal adventure that marks the transition between childhood and adolescence, and it is so, so beautiful. He uses the most painstaking details to form incredibly diverse, immersive worlds. Every little moment of animation and scenery elicits emotion. It’s hard describing the magic of it, but the film is so visually inviting that I suppose we’re not meant to try and sum it up on paper. It’s beyond words. In an age of computerised animation, it’s a stunning achievement that Miyazaki and his team made the entire film by hand. He is a craftsman and an unparalleled visionary in the field of Japanese animation. The soundtrack is probably the most beautiful composition I’ve heard: Joe Hisashi managed to churn out an other-worldly thing of beauty that somehow fits Miyazaki’s images like a glove. It’s a Badalamenti and Lynch, Hermann and Hitchcock level of collaborative perfection. The film is a moving, life-affirming experience for people of all ages, and I think I’ll always regard it as a favourite.

- Liam O’Brien

11. Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright)

IMDB: 8.0
RT: 91%

After cult TV comedy Spaced, and before the entertaining-yet-uneven Hot Fuzz, Director Edgar Wright and Co-writer Simon Pegg did something previously unthinkable on many levels. They made a good British zombie film. Not just that, but a good British zombie film that skilfully balanced several genres (advertised as a romantic zombie comedy, a “romzomcom”) and arguably trumped the genre it existed in homage to.
The film is the first in Wright and Pegg’s “Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy” (which may strike film fans as humourously similar to Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Three Colours Trilogy), comedy/gore hybrids featuring Nick Frost as a Hardy to Pegg’s Laurel. Shaun is inspired in its execution – zombie tropes are unearthed faster than a horror fan can think back to their source, and are more respectfully handled than the gritty, ADD-addled Snyder remake of Dawn of the Dead or the relentlessly despondent 28 Days Later. Trivialities in particular stand out to the discerning zombiephile – Shaun’s workplace Foree and the restaurant Fulci’s will sound familiar to fans of undead flicks of the 1970’s. In these small things, we see something that is rarely communicated in the medium: a genuine love of film.
It could be argued that Shaun was one of the main forces placing zombies squarely in vogue, along with the Dawn remake, and a whole six years later Ruben Fleischer’s zomcom Zombieland has landed the title of highest-grossing zombie film of all time. Trends can become self-destructive, and even visionary Romero shot himself in the foot with the lackadaisical Land of the Dead and the ill-executed Diary of the Dead, but the subgenre is still so rich and promising that it is worth resurrecting a few more times – plus, a horde of drooling critics and viewers have made their desires clear. The masses have spoken. And they want brains.

- Michael Sykes

10. Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson)

IMDB: 8.1
RT: 97%

Before 2008, when was the last really great vampire movie? Despite a slight resurgence in the early 90s with Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Interview With The Vampire and some of those lesbian vampire films Liam and Dom love so much, the most renowned on-screen vampire was still from the 1920s, in F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu, as well as Werner Herzog’s 1979 remake. Then, in the closing months of 2008, two things happened. The debut movie of the disgusting, deplorable, hey-let’s-teach-kids-that-sparkly-stalkers-who-constantly-want-to-kill-you-are-perfect-boyfriends Twilight franchise opened and immediately became a hit among demented teenage girls with too small brain spans to realise that hey, this is actually sorta creepy and-but this isn’t about that, as much as I’d love to ramble on about that piece of shit series. The second thing that happened is that a little-known Swedish movie, which had received critical acclaim from various festivals, finally went on wide release. This movie was Let The Right One In, and it was… a love story where one of the couple is a vampire.
Yes, I just took time out of this review to complain about Twilight. But let me explain.
Let The Right One In is probably the best vampire movie at least since Nosferatu, if not (and I say this with all sincerity) the best vampire movie ever made. The supernatural elements are not quite at the forefront; instead, we’re given a coming-of-age tale focusing on Oskar, a slightly effeminate 12 year old boy who gets bullied at school. He finds friendship with a girl his age called Eli, who it turns out is a vampire responsible for a string of local murders.
The best thing about this film is that, unlike so many vampire movies, it doesn’t try to make them grandiose. The film is about two lonely children, one of whom happens to have a horrible thirst that’s never quenched. It’s not a big movie: there are no castles and cloaks, but instead small, intimate moments, against the eternal winter of the Scandinavian backdrop.

- Tom Bown

09. Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman)

IMDB: 7.3
RT: 67%

Charlie Kaufman really is the best, isn’t he? The guy is straight-up bursting with creativity. I imagine being him for a day would be something (Yes, I am deliberately ignoring the BE INSIDE HIS HEAD FOR 15 MINUTES joke there). His ideas are crazy and unique. Who else could he hired to adapt a book about flowers and make it into a movie about him trying to write the screenplay, tackling issues of life, love, and creativity while trying to make a movie just about flowers? In a way, Synecdoche, New York is a natural progression from that movie (Adaptation., if anyone didn’t know). It may not be Kaufman’s most critically acclaimed movie, or the one he’s remembered for, but it’s his magnum opus, his most personal movie, his 8 ½. That last comparison is particularly apt, seeing how both are about a director trying to make a production while dealing with the woman in their lives. Kaufman takes it further than “SHIT SUCKS ALSO DREAMS”, though, with his main character, Caden Cotard, creating a replica of New York inside a giant warehouse for a play (as well as casting actors to play himself and people he knows, and then casting actors to play those actors) which seems to eventually envelop the world around it. Philip Seymour Hoffman stars, and proves why he’s the best actor in the business today. Every role he plays is completely believable, and as we follow Caden through decades of his life, trying to figure out what he wants his play to be, Hoffman consistently makes the audience believe the desperation of this man. He is joined by some of the greatest actresses currently working, such as Samantha Morton and Emily Watson, and every one of them contributes in some way to Kaufman’s epic story of life and death.
It’s Kaufman’s most surreal movie, with a lot of metaphors and such, but it’s also his cleverest. Each viewing unearths new rewards – there are as many things hidden in the background and callbacks as in a season of Arrested Development – and it shows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Kaufman deserves to be known as an auteur. I don’t know where he can go from here – there haven’t been any whispers of a new project from him yet – but I eagerly await any news.

- Tom Bown

08. Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)

IMDB: 8.5
RT: 88%

After a fun but shallow and tiresome romp with Kill Bill and the under-cooked dryness of Death Proof, Quentin Tarantino needed something extravagant to come back with a bang. If World War II, multiple scalpings, delicious milk and Hitler’s face being pummeled into watermelon pulp isn’t extravagant, I don’t know what is. Tarantino is back with a vengeance and his masterful skill for crafting tension shines through now more than ever.
Set in Nazi-occupied France, Inglourious Basterds is a series of stories and events that lead up to a fateful film premiere of which all the main figureheads of the Nazi party attend. Before reaching this climactic event though, Tarantino keeps us gripping our seats with several blistering long and painfully tense sequences filled with dread. He once again proves his talent for dialog and his ability to drag out a 30 second conversation into an intense five minute scene while still keeping it fantastically interesting. No-one but Tarantino could have made this film. As always, a lot of love has clearly gone into his camerawork, which results in some stunning sequences (e.g. Shosanna getting ready for the film premiere). This well thought-out usage of framing, composition and movement goes hand in hand with Tarantino’s eclectic, unusual but always fitting choice of music to reflect his big passion for style strengthening substance.
While Brad Pitt is obviously the face of the movie when it comes to marketing and advertising, the star of the show is easily Christoph Waltz who plays “The Jew Hunter” and all-round Nazi, Hans Landa. His performance as Landa is a joy to watch, creating an intimidating slimeball of a man who is also actually quite charming and funny, which is itself a little concerning.
Clearly I enjoyed this film to rank it so high on my decade list and while as a whole it is entertaining, interesting and intense, what I love most is the sense of uplifting empowerment I get from watching it. Leaving the theatre with the image of Hitler’s bullet-smashed face burned into my mind, all I could think was “Yeah, fuck you Hitler. You fucking dick”.

- Adam Bibilo

07. Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)

IMDB: 7.3
RT: 55%

Irreversible is a hypnotically nasty movie. As an audience we’re barraged by nausea-inducing frequencies and a camera that fibrillates and reacts to every beating. I watched Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Amelie a day before Irreversible; two contemporary French directors presenting two completely different visions of France. It was fitting that I watched it before: Amelie summed up the France that we all knew based on its cultural stereotypes, Irreversible unveiled an underbelly of France that most of us never expected to exist. I’m also keen on seeing La Haine for this reason (coincidentally, Vincent Cassel is also in La Haine).
Irreversible is impeccably made, and also carries with it a strong moral message. Hard to believe? Think about it: A vengeance film typical of Hollywood would build up the relationship between the two characters, creating a familiarity with them, then brutally do away with one of them, sending the remaining character into an emotionally blind frenzy – thirsty for vengence. The film emotionally manipulates its audience to make us feel satisfied on the character’s behalf when he tracks down the victimiser and the revenge is taken out on them, basically justifying an “an eye for an eye” philosophy. However in Irreversible, the film is told in reverse-chronological order, hitting the audience in the face (literally) with the revenge almost as soon as the film starts. It’s unbelievably horrifying, but by showing you the revenge first it proves, objectively, that there is no moral justification for that level of violence. After an intense crescendo of strobe lighting we’re left with a final message: Le Temps Detruit Tout: Time Destroys All Things. It’s hard to be more pessimistic than that.

- Liam O’Brien

06. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson)

IMDB: 7.6
RT: 79%

Along with Tarantino, Wes Anderson seems to be an easy target for those who consider themselves “proper” film fans. “His films are boring garbage”, they say, or they call him too quirky, critique his use of music, or hint at racism in his films. Whatever. The point is, Wes Anderson rules and those guys all suck.
I have no problem with decrying the kind of thing Anderson has influenced. Movies like Garden State, which treat quirks as more important than actual character development, and the soundtrack as the most essential part of the movie, have been poorly drawn from his template, and it certainly can be argued that the current trend of whimsical indie comedies is kind of an annoying one. But Anderson’s films are different from those he’s inspired; they’re moving and honest, and The Royal Tenenbaums is the best of them all.
The plot; Royal Tenenbaum married a woman and raised a family of child geniuses, but cos he was a dick they’re all dysfunctional. Then his wife left him and he was kinda absent for 20 years. Then he gets kicked out of his hotel room and he comes back saying he’s got cancer which coincides with all the kids and their families moving back in. The movie features a fairly large ensemble cast, all of whom play their parts to perfection and deliver some of the roles of their careers. Seriously, even Ben Stiller is excellent in this movie. As a tragic comedy, Tenenbaums pulls it off. There are many skilled directors who can make both elements work together and be totally in sync, but nobody does it quite like Anderson. Even the funniest lines have a depressing element to them, and the movie almost seems to be cheerful and dry at the same time.
Visually, the movie is stunning, with Anderson being an expert at framing his scenes. The symmetrical, centre-focused look of his films is one I envy; for the most part, he sticks to the rule of thirds, and it looks gorgeous when working with the wonderful vibrant colours.
And then there’s the soundtrack. Using many songs from the 1960s and 70s, it is in equal parts acclaimed and reviled. Detractors say that without the tracks, many parts of the film wouldn’t be as effective, to which my reply is that…that’s why they’re there? Anderson uses music to enhance the mood of the scene, without it being the only reason they’re good. Just like the majority of directors. Yet because it’s pop music it’s somehow bad. It’s a hypocritical, nonsensical argument that seems to suggest a soundtrack should be interchangeable. Different strokes, I guess (by which I mean you’re wrong if you think that).

- Tom Bown

05. Elephant (Gus van Sant)

IMDB: 7.3
RT: 71%

There is no explanation. There is only violence. There is no reason, there is only action.
Like another film in this top 20 – Gaspar Noe’s Irreversible – Elephant is an exercise in delivering a tragedy onto the laps of its viewers, and unlike most films (particularly “revenge films”), makes us consider the tragic events rather than any intent behind them. However, unlike Irreversible, which is determined to push its “time destroys everything” message down your throat and cripple your subconscious with sickening frequencies and camerawork (and I should add that I really like that film, if like is the right word), Elephant has no agenda. Every scene is shot with a dispassionate view that observes rather than comments. Gus van Sant’s camerawork is shamelessly lifted wholesale from the films of Bela Tarr, but any criticism he could receive for this is nullified by his reasons for doing so – i.e., his desire to eliminate reason. The camera follows characters – no, not even characters, people – down the endless, winding hallways at school. It feels as real as it could possibly be. The camerawork gives us this feeling of space, of this truly being a 3D environment, of these people truly being real.
But even more than that, it systematically destroys the viewer’s constant desire to seek answers to what is happening onscreen. Take as an example the scene in Alex’s room, where the camera pans around in a circle, possibly searching for clues that would explain why he does what he’s about to do. It finds nothing. But wait – they’re playing violent games on the computer! Jack Thompson was right! Alas, no, this isn’t an answer at all. They aren’t even playing an actual computer game, simply a simulation that involves gunning down targets. They’re practising with the game, not learning violence from it. Similarly, we see Alex playing Beethoven on his piano. At one stage, his rendition suddenly stops and he slams the piano, destroying the harmony. There’s no anger in this action. He’s just giving up. He’s had enough. It’s not a feeling that can be articulated, it just is.
Earlier in the film we see someone throw a piece of paper at him. Could bullying be the answer? Possibly, but again, there’s no real evidence for it. Throwing a paper at someone doesn’t inarguably lead to horrific violence, nor does bullying for that matter. When Alex and Eric go on their shooting rampage, there’s no fury behind what they do – no emotion whatsoever – and more importantly, they don’t even simply target bullies. They kill everyone they come across, just because. Later Alex kills Eric, just because. It’s not a stab in the back, it’s the simple flick of a trigger.
Everything in this film just is, and that is what’s so essentially terrifying and shocking about it. Claims that Elephant is violence porn or anything similar are so, so wrong that I can’t possibly fathom someone interpreting it that way. Elephant dares to show us an event, as neutrally as it can, and then turns to us and asks… “What now?”

- Dom Kelly

The first time I saw Gus Van Sant’s Elephant was in my film class at College as part of a study of shocking cinema. I struggled to understand the shock factor throughout the first half of the film, as the world of Elephant flowed by with a calm, relaxed pace. The long, drawn-out shot durations did not bore me, but somehow kept me hooked into this slow, lethargic film. Van Sant’s smooth steady-cam usage kept the pace relaxed and only strengthened this effect. This would ultimately lead to a massive feeling of discomfort as the horrifyingly realistic third act of the film unfolded itself. The slick laid-back pace doesn’t let up even as the chaos unfolds all around and I remember how uncomfortable I felt as Gus Van Sant took me by the hand into this horrifying dream-paced reality.
While we only see a small window of time in their lives, the characters feel for the most part, solid and defined that I would be interested to know more about. Despite the limitations of not using exposition to detail the characters, we can easily get the grips with them and understand how they work. This combines nicely with how each story overlaps to create a believable film world. This is then strengthened by Van Sant’s usage of time to create an experience that is slow and uneventful but captivating nonetheless. For example, I could watch Eli develop film all day.
After the stunning final scene and the credits began to roll, I understood why I had been made to watch this film. What Gus Van Sant manages to do in this movie is combine his stellar talent for writing, pacing and camerawork to create a frightening and massively engrossing mirror of reality.

- Adam Bibilo

04. Hidden (Michael Haneke)

IMDB: 7.3
RT: 88%

Mark Lawson of the Guardian proclaimed Michael Haneke’s Hidden as “one of the first great movies of the 21st century” and in recent weeks it has topped their “Top 100 films of the Decade” list. It seems it’s a film that most Haneke haters hate to admire. And after repeated viewings, I can safely say that Hidden has screwed me up to the point where any static shot that lasts for an unusually long time with little focus on the characters feels as if someone is behind the camera, spying. This has applied to virtually every film I’ve seen since that has been filmed in this way, especially his other films like The Seventh Continent and The Piano Teacher.
Hidden forces us to study the images, eventually leading us to discover details we wouldn’t have seen otherwise. A notable example in Hidden is its conclusion, which prompts you to rewatch the film with a newfound perspective. But in some cases, we are forced to study images that hold no secrets or hidden details, creating a feeling of desparation that we share with the characters. Who is sending the tapes? Why are they sending the tapes?
After a few minutes of a single, minimal shot of a Parisian house, the film begins with a distortion as time runs backwards. It is a video tape, sent to the owners of the house: Georges, a popular talk show host and his wife Anne. The tape contains hours of footage – a single shot of the house’s exterior. Despite their attempts they never seem to catch a glimpse of the cameraman; at one stage we see footage of Georges walking straight past the camera, unaware of its presence. As the tapes keep arriving and their paranoia grows, it becomes clear to them that there are secrets between them that haven’t been shared. A later tape shows Georges’ birthplace, and afterwards the door of a small apartment. They study the tapes obsessively and set out on the path laid out by the voyeur. If you are drawn into Hidden, you will become obsessed with it for months on end like I have and will probably have a similar viewing experience. The first time I saw it I was confused, but excited as I knew that I’d seen something great. The second time round I realised the incredible subtlety of Hidden, the sheer depth of it, and the range of universally relevant issues it tackles. There are so many layers to be peeled back.
Like Georges and Anna, we find ourselves combing the footage for clues. The couple unknowingly do exactly what the sender intends them to, and we as the audience do the same. It’s an electrifying, chilling experience, but one you will never forget.

- Liam O’Brien

03. Hunger (Steven McQueen)

IMDB: 7.7
RT: 90%

When I found out Hunger was in fact Steven McQueen’s debut film, I was flabbergasted. I still am, actually. There’s such a confidence to it, a flawlessness, that it’s difficult to process this being his first effort. However, it isn’t his first actual work. Before directing this film, McQueen – whose bizarre name, incidentally, I’ve found no explanation for – was an established visual artist, and this makes perfect sense. Hunger is a film that – like all of the films in this top 5, oddly – doesn’t convey much of its meaning through dialogue. Mostly it’s a barrage of horrifying events, of shit smeared on walls, of riot officers who enjoy their job a bit too much and some that don’t enjoy it enough, of frail bodies gasping in pain.
The year is 1981, and after a continuous protest against Britain’s removal of the Special Category Service for Irish political prisoners, everything comes to a head with spokesman Bobby Sands’ hunger strike directly targeted against Margaret Thatcher. Hunger strikes had been implemented earlier that century in similar circumstances, and their effectiveness is simple; it’s a form of protest that involves the protestors self-harming, which is not something that their captors can combat. If none of that makes sense to you, just know that Thatcher sucks and we’ll move on.
Hunger gives us scant details of this historical background, but McQueen is a lot less concerned with that as he is the event itself. As I said before, his coverage is mostly visual, and the disgustingness is conveyed through simple shots; waves of piss being mopped towards the screen, for example. There is, however, one scene which is nothing but dialogue, and it’s the centrepiece of the film; a twenty minute single take of an argument between Bobby Sands and a priest that’s come to visit him over the strike they’re about to embark on. The scene is gripping and frustrating, because ultimately both sides make excellent points and it’s impossible to decide whether the pain and death the men will put themselves through is worth the political point. We can do nothing, in the end, but watch, as these men wither away into nothingness.

- Dom Kelly

02. Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)

IMDB: 8.1
RT: 96%

Early in the year, when the Projectorheads first began brainstorming what films they should watch for this decade list, I suspected very quickly that Werckmeister Harmonies would top my list. As soon as I got my hands on it, it did just that, and has consistently remained my favourite film of this decade, by a long shot.
It’s the only film from this decade I’ve seen that profoundly depressed me. Many others have saddened me, possibly brought tears to my eyes or made me, question-my-manhood-now, cry – but Bela Tarr has a special knack, one which wormed its way into me through his earlier film Satantango as well as this; he knows how to create existential angst. The only comparable experience I’ve had from any narrative medium is the books of Dostoevsky (chiefly The Brothers Karamazov), and that’s incredibly high praise. Bela Tarr has said that he doesn’t like thinking of his films as allegories, and nor does he think about “art or God” when he makes them, but the existence of God is a theme that nonetheless permeates Werckmeister. Fairly-early in the film, the main character, Valuska, enters a newly-arrived circus’ truck and circles around the massive corpse of a dead whale. As well as being a quietly arresting image, beautiful in its simplistic destructiveness, we’re also being shown God as he is in the world of Werckmeister (and perhaps the real world); deceased, rotting, paraded around by a circus.
Later in the film, we’re shown the metaphorical opposite; the Devil. Whilst I take probing questions about God seriously, I rarely find that thinking about the Devil has any point, since he is a laughably stupid character that is a lame excuse for the beast within man. As it happens, though, that’s what he incites in Werckmeister. Shown off-screen, he tempts and teases his cohorts, which eventually leads to mass rioting and random, senseless violence and carnage.
Standing alongside that, we have the story of Valuska’s uncle, a musician devoted to tearing apart the musical rules as dictated by the Western/European maestros of old. He wishes to find the natural sound, unhindered by man’s involvement, driven by pure mathematics. But it’s a dream that is not only futile and impossible, but one that rejects the order mankind has had to place on him/herself just so that society can function. In the end, his embracing of chaos mimics the villagers’.
Perhaps Tarr is telling the truth when he says he isn’t interested in these allegories per se. After all, Werckmeister is not his story – it is an adaptation of The Melancholy of Resistance by Laszlo Krasznahorkai, just as Satantango is of, erm, Satantango. Perhaps Tarr is merely concerned with capturing the feel of the book, of conveying the angst and soul-searching nature of the story through camerawork alone. He goddamn succeeds. Werckmeister is 145mins long, but only has 39 shots in it, because it is constructed almost entirely out of very, very long takes. Apart from being astounding on a technical level, it also gives the film an ethereal, incredibly hypnotic quality that is unparalleled. Certainly as a style it has its roots in Tarkovsky (and possibly Jancso), but, dare I say it, Tarr perfects it to an inexplicable degree. He shows us, purely and simply, time.

- Dom Kelly

01. Inland Empire (David Lynch)

IMDB: 7.1
RT: 71%

David Lynch elusively promoted Inland Empire with the tagline, “A Woman in Trouble”; typically vague for a Lynch film, but appropriate – it is one of the few things in the film we can be certain of. Nikki Grace wishes to resurrect her career by auditioning for the Hollywood production On High in Blue Tomorrows. A disheveled, eccentric European lady who claims to be her neighbour seems to know more about this role than Nikki does, informing her that the role is guaranteed for her, that the film concerns holy matrimony and a murder, and that her husband is somehow involved in its production. The former proves to be correct; she does indeed score the main role. During a rehearsal they are interrupted by an uninvited guest, assumed to be paparazzi who manages to escape “where it’s real hard to escape”. Unnerved by this, the director decides to come clean and reveal some details about the history of the production that he preferred to keep secret. Over a period of time Nikki loses herself in the character, resulting in many splintered personalities and delusions. The film then takes place in the main character’s subconscious. Or at least we think that’s what happens.
Inland Empire was a real progressive step for Lynch, being shot entirely on a digital, consumer brand Sony PD150, when in the past digital video was only used as a plot device in his films (Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, Lost Highway), never the actual shooting format. This wasn’t his first experiment with digital video; for davidlynch.com he shot Rabbits, Darkened Room and Absurda, all of which tie into the film’s plot. The grainy, low-res digital format works in Inland Empire’s favour, the images are gritty and malleable and in the darker scenes the textures naturally melt into each other. He then blew up the digital images to 35mm film, and the result is unusually beautiful.
Inland Empire is more than an audio/visual head-trip, it elicits emotion. I was actually curled up with fear in the scene where Nikki stumbles – screwdriver in stomach – along the brightly-lit streets of Los Angeles. She collapses on the side of the road among a group of homeless people and lies there, dying. The scene hits you unexpectedly, but within five minutes it manages to establish a whole new world unexplored by his previous work. You feel for these characters based on their actions, gestures and emotions, even if you ignore what they’re saying. Like being sympathetic towards someone crying on your shoulder, upset over something unfathomable. And to top it off it is revealed that this warm, humanistic moment is a scene from Nikki’s film, as we see cameras pan eerily around the set. My gut was ripped from my body.
It’s a summary of Lynch’s career; self-referential while also being an extension of previous ideas (the parallels between Inland Empire and Mulholland Drive are obvious). And it was one of the best film-viewing experiences I’ve had.

- Liam O’Brien

Inland Empire is, despite being at the top of this list, a difficult movie to recommend. It’s not a movie that’s easy to get into. I feel kind of rude saying it, but you really do have to get David Lynch beforehand; to see many of his films and to understand exactly what it is he tries to get across to his audience. And then you throw most of that out of the window anyway.
Critics and audiences alike have often accused Lynch’s work of being incomprehensible. They feel cheated by his films, feeling they were just a collection of odd scenes with no meaning behind it. This is, for the most part, completely untrue. Whether it’s his fear of becoming a new parent shown in Eraserhead, the guilt-induced hallucination of Lost Highway, or the desperate attempt to cling onto a dream world in Mulholland Drive, Lynch’s films have always had a point hidden behind the madness. Inland Empire may be the same – the Lynch biography Beautiful Dark has a neat interpretation – but it seems much more so than with anything else Lynch has made that it’s just entirely surrealism, and nothing more. But you know what? That’s why I love it.
No doubt there are people who have poured over every scene of the movie, trying to figure out the plot. No doubt that at least for some of them it’s been incredibly frustrating. Inland Empire stands atop this list not because of any narrative structure, it’s because it is a rollercoaster ride. Reuniting Lynch with actress Laura Dern (whose performance is one of the best I’ve seen from a movie this decade, and should have earned her an Oscar), we are taken on a journey lasting almost three hours, which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lynch can convey mood more effectively than almost anyone in motion picture history. Detractors complained about the use of digital video to shoot the movie, but I feel it adds a lot to its gritty nature.
So yeah! Inland Empire is Projectorheads’ favourite movie of the past ten years. Possibly a controversial choice, but it’s more than deserving of the place. Almost 30 years after he first realised success with Eraserhead, David Lynch goes all-out, makes one of the most wonderful pieces of chaos since Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, and invites everyone to go exploring down the same rabbit holes she did.

- Tom Bown

The Projectorheads’ individual lists:

Liam O’Brien

01. Hidden (Michael Haneke)
02. Yi Yi (Edward Yang)
03. Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki)
04. 4 Months, 3 Weeks & 2 Days (Cristian Mungiu)
05. Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)
06. Inland Empire (David Lynch)
07. The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke)
08. Together (Lukas Moodysson)
09. Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)
10. Hunger (Steven McQueen)
11. In the Mood for Love (Wong Kar Wai)
12. Elephant (Gus van Sant)
13. Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson)
14. Amelie (Jean-Pierre Jeunet)
15. Samson and Delilah (Warwick Thornton)
16. The Class (Laurent Cantet)
17. Persepolis (Vincent Paronnaud & Marjane Satrapi)
18. The Lives of Others (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck)
19. Storytelling (Todd Solondz)
20. You, the Living (Roy Andersson)

Dom Kelly

01. Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)
02. Dancer in the Dark (Lars von Trier)
03. Amelie (Jean-Pierre Jeunet)
04. Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)
05. Hunger (Steven McQueen)
06. Bubble (Steven Soderbergh)
07. You, the Living (Roy Andersson)
08. Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson)
09. Inland Empire (David Lynch)
10. In the Mood for Love (Wong Kar Wai)
11. Elephant (Gus van Sant)
12. The Lives of Others (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck)
13. Samson and Delilah (Warwick Thornton)
14. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Julian Schnabel)
15. The New World (Terrence Malick)
16. Persepolis (Vincent Paronnaud & Marjane Satrapi)
17. Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki)
18. Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright)
19. Casino Royale (Martin Campbell)
20. A Very Long Engagement (Jean-Pierre Jeunet)

Tom Bown

01. Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman)
02. Mulholland Drive (David Lynch)
03. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson)
04. Storytelling (Todd Solondz)
05. Kill Bill (Quentin Tarantino)
06. Hidden (Michael Haneke)
07. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry)
08. The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke)
09. (500) Days of Summer (Marc Webb)
10. An Education (Lone Scherfig)
11. Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson)
12. Irreversible (Gaspar Noe)
13. Italian for Beginners (Lone Scherfig)
14. Inland Empire (David Lynch)
15. Dancer in the Dark (Lars von Trier)
16. Palindromes (Todd Solondz)
17. The Piano Teacher (Michael Haneke)
18. Hunger (Steve McQueen)
19. Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)
20. Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)

Adam Bibilo

01. Dead Man’s Shoes (Shane Meadows)
02. The Wrestler (Darren Aronofsky)
03. Mulholland Drive (David Lynch)
04. Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)
05. The Darjeeling Limited (Wes Anderson)
06. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson)
07. American Psycho (Mary Harron)
08. Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman)
09. Waking Life (Richard Linklater)
10. Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)
11. Little Miss Sunshine (Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris)
12. Elephant (Gus van Sant)
13. This Is England (Shane Meadows)
14. The Machinist (Brad Anderson)
15. The Dark Knight (Christopher Nolan)
16. Wall-E (Andrew Stanton)
17. Slumdog Millionaire (Danny Boyle)
18. Paris, je t’aime (Various)
19. Battle Royale (Kinji Fukasaku)
20. City of God (Fernando Meirelles & Katia Lund)

Michael Sykes

01. Memento (Christopher Nolan)
02. Adaptation (Spike Jonze)
03. No Country For Old Men (Coen Brothers)
04. Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)
05. Zodiac (David Fincher)
06. Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright)
07. Pan’s Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro)
08. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry)
09. Hidden (Michael Haneke)
10. Before Sunset (Richard Linklater)
11. The Departed (Martin Scorsese)
12. City of God (Fernando Meirelles & Katia Lund)
13. Return of the King (Peter Jackson)
14. Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki)
15. Unbreakable (M. Night Shyamalan)
16. Inland Empire (David Lynch)
17. The American Astronaut (Cory McAbee)
18. My Winnipeg (Guy Maddin)
19. Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman)
20. There Will Be Blood (Paul Thomas Anderson)

James Humphreys

01. Watchmen (Zack Snyder)
02. Dead Man’s Shoes (Shane Meadows)
03. No Country For Old Men (Coen brothers)
04. There Will Be Blood (Paul Thomas Anderson)
05. Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)
06. This Is England (Shane Meadows)
07. The Dark Knight (Christopher Nolan)
08. The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Anderson)
09. Shaun Of The Dead (Edgar Wright)
10. City Of God (Fernando Meirelles & Katia Lund)
11. Chopper (Andrew Dominik)
12. Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance (Park Chan-wook)
13. Hunger (Steven McQueen)
14. The Departed (Martin Scorsese)
15. Oldboy (Park Chan-wook)
16. Elephant (Gus van Sant)
17. Out Of The Blue (Robert Sarkies)
18. Zodiac (David Fincher)
19. A Scanner Darkly (Richard Linklater)
20. Funny Games U.S. (Michael Haneke)