In many ways, time has not been kind to The Graduate (1967). Upon the first release, it was rapturously embraced by the counterculture generation. They saw Benjamin as an anti-establishment hero who saw through the phoniness of the conservative, middle-class society that surrounded him. Journalists promoted it as a radical rallying cry for a youth generation that wanted to forever alter the status quo. It became a mainstream cultural sensation and, for some, it is still synonymous with radical politics and the sexual revolution.

When I first saw it, I was aware of its towering critical reputation and I was too willing to accept the idea that it was a masterpiece. It had been so thoroughly hyped up that I assumed that it was a genuinely groundbreaking piece of art. All of its advertising suckered me into believing that it was going to blow my mind. I conflated the advertising with the product itself and lost sight of the fact that the film isn’t all that progressive or shocking. 

As most people know, the film is about the struggles of Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman), a young, wealthy Californian who doesn’t know what to do with his life after earning his Bachelor’s degree. He returns home to Pasadena and agrees to stay with his parents for a while. He quickly finds that he is suffocating under the weight of his parents’ expectations. One night, he is sexually harassed by Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft), a married friend of his parents, and ends up having an affair with her. His parents quickly become concerned about the fact that he appears to have no intention of getting a job and push him to date Elaine (Katharine Ross), who happens to be Robinson’s daughter. When he begins to get close to Elaine, he decides to break off his relationship with Robinson and determines that marrying Elaine will satisfy all of his desires. She breaks up with him after Robinson publicly claims that Braddock raped her, but Braddock continues to chase after her until she runs away from her own wedding ceremony to be with him. 

The Graduate’s biggest issue that it seems to represent everything wrong with the sexual revolution. It pretends to be radical and progressive but, at heart, it’s a very conventional radical chic picture. It targeted white, middle class kids who were slightly dissatisfied with the ‘restrictions’ that society had placed upon them. They wanted to be able to have sex without being shamed for it and, like angsty teenagers, didn’t want to be told what to do by their parents. Braddock’s frustrations are fairly generic and rather than fighting back against a corrupt, broken system that ruined the lives of people who were genuinely in need. There is something selfish and entitled about Braddock’s worldview and you question whether the film’s fans were guilty of letting out a Freudian slip when they began fawning all over The Graduate.

The countercultural movement had become hip in the late 1960s and it had already been heavily commodified by Hollywood. This meant that there were plenty of young people who went to anti-war protests in the hopes of seeing Jane Fonda. These radical chic youths wanted all of the benefits of the countercultural revolution, without having to take on any of the disadvantages. They were quite happy to tell their parents to get lost, but they probably didn’t want to deal with a version of socialism that involved bread rationing. I suspect that this is why it took so long for progressive reforms to fully take root in American politics. So many of those radical chic youths became yuppies in the 1980s. When it became ‘cool’ to be a conservative, all of the Fonda wannabes decided to drop their liberal principles and start watching Firing Line. 

The Graduate does feel like a blatant attempt to commercialize a cultural movement that was gaining popularity in 1967 and this might be why it is so vague when it comes to establishing the social and political context that influences Braddock’s decision making. Some have argued that the film is actually a criticism of Braddock’s actions and many see the widely acclaimed final shot as a reflection of the emptiness that many 1960s youths felt when they were faced with adulthood. After getting Elaine to run away from her own wedding to be with him, Braddock gets her to hop on a bus and you witness the two of them staring off into the distance with a confused, slightly anguished expression on their faces. Their elation at freeing themselves from the influence of their parents is quickly tempered by their concern over finding their own way in the world. This shot would be powerful if the film did more to develop the troubled relationship between Braddock and Elaine.

It also suffers from the fact that it isn’t nearly as scabrous or disturbing as the disquieting final shot of The Heartbreak Kid (1972), which could be viewed as Elaine May’s response to The Graduate. That film was more effective in dealing with the gulf that still exists between WASPy high society and middle-class Jewish communities. May aims to make a point about the struggle that ordinary Jews face when trying to gain acceptance in gentile communities and the final shot of the film suggests that the Jewish protagonist has locked himself in a gilded cage that is full of uncaring, unfeeling gentiles who will never fully accept a person like him. On top of all that, May had more to say about gender dynamics and was less afraid of making her audience uncomfortable. 

It’s a real problem that Elaine, who is presumably meant to serve as a stand-in for an entire generation of sexually repressed young women, is such a blank slate. I can accept the idea that she’s meant to lack personality and a strong sense of self because she has always been taught to be deferential to others. I can’t accept the fact that a character who is so bland and vacant takes up so much of the third act. She sucks all of the air out of the room and leaves you yearning for Bancroft to slink back onto the screen. The film’s defenders would argue that Elaine comes across as a blank slate because Braddock has turned her into an idea and chases after her in the hopes of solving all of his problems, without considering the fact that he barely even knows her. I would give this argument more weight if we didn’t have to spend quite so much time with this nothing character. Audience members could be easily forgiven for falling asleep during the scenes in which Braddock chases her down. The whole film loses momentum and it becomes impossible to care about anything or anyone. If Nichols was going to pull a switcheroo at the end and reveal that Braddock’s victory was actually empty, he probably should have gone to the effort of making the audience care about his grand love affair. 

There are plenty of ways in which the film disappoints, but it remains essential viewing for one important reason. It’s impossible to deny the magnetism of Bancroft’s iconic performance. She’s forceful and abrasive in a role that doesn’t actually give her much to work with. Robinson is a character who has to burst onto the screen and horrify the audience with her abusive behavior, but there’s a point where she is promptly shuttled off the screen and never really heard from again. Her character arc feels unfinished and Bancroft has the difficult job of effectively sketching out the character biography of a woman who isn’t exactly fully rounded. Her performance works because Bancroft wholeheartedly embraces the monstrous elements of Robinson’s character.

When she throws herself at Braddock and uses manipulative tactics to coerce him into having sex with her, she doesn’t hold back. Robinson is using her powerful position to intimidate a younger man and Bancroft doesn’t make any easy pleas for sympathy. There’s not a point where she cracks and telegraphs the fact that Robinson is a lonely older woman who is desperate for love and affection. She waits to reveal Robinson’s vulnerability until later on and finds a way to successfully make the point that Robinson’s unhappiness within her marriage does not justify her abusive treatment of her lover. She’s commanding and magnetic whenever she’s on-screen and you never want to take your eyes off of her. Hoffman does his best to keep up with her, but it quickly becomes clear that Bancroft is another level. When she disappears from view, the film loses a lot of its vitality. 

You really can’t miss Bancroft’s iconic performance, but I wouldn’t blame anybody for feeling a bit disappointed by the film itself. The years have not been kind to it and it now seems shallow and overly calculated. There’s also something undeniably funny about the fact that AFI voters thought that this was a romantic film. Perhaps they were all searching for bland, vacant young wives and saw Elaine as the perfect woman? I can’t be sure of what their reasoning was, but this film’s inclusion on the list is truly perplexing. 

Who doesn’t love Pierce Brosnan? Who doesn’t love Pierce Brosnan as Bond? Unfortunately, even the most ardent fan of the fifth 007 has to admit Brosnan peaked in his debut and suffers from an increasingly downhill, ho-hum tenure.

GoldenEye

After a six-year delay, Pierce Brosnan’s 1995 debut as Our Man James results in one of the franchise’s finest. Ten years after 007 (Brosnan) loses fellow MI6 agent 006 Alec Trevelyan (Sean Bean) during a mission, the control keys to a powerful satellite code named GoldenEye have been stolen by the Janus crime syndicate. Bond must stop his former comrade from using GoldenEye’s electromagnetic pulse to steal millions – infiltrating Russian bases and uncovering skeletons in MI-6’s closet during this battle of the 00s. Hammer and sickle symbolism, communist relics, armored trains, and tanks accent the post-Iron Curtain Saint Petersburg twists while director Martin Campbell (Casino Royale) provides the obligatory planes, chases, and one on one fights. The Cold War is over and Dame Judi Dench’s (Notes on A Scandal) skeptical M sizes up 007’s misogynistic out of touch ways, mirroring the nineties audience that’s wondering why we should still care about Bond. Bean’s (Patriot Games) smooth Trevelyan is the slick bane of Bond’s existence with all the charm, gadgets, and babes of his successor in another multi-layered antithesis. The supporting cast – including Famke Janssen (X-Men) as horny henchwoman Xenia Onatopp and Izabella Scorupco’s (Reign of Fire) spunky computer tech Natalya Simonova – each have their moment thanks to the intelligent heist, then high-tech gear, and explosive satellite dishes. Brosnan brings his Remington Steele suave to Bond – the perfect blend between Dalton’s edge, Moore’s humor, and Connery’s strength. His 007 has history and grudges in a world that has no need for old time spies. The cheeky script, British wit, and debonair delivery create room for his swagger, smarts, and style. Viewers believe Brosnan’s Bond can endure the past, present, and future after facing crises both personal and professional. Even if you aren’t a Bond fan, GoldenEye is a complete picture with action, performances, and stature reinvigorating the franchise.

Tomorrow Never Dies

James Bond investigates the mysterious sinking of the HMS Devonshire – orchestrated by media mogul Elliot Carver (Jonathan Pryce) to secure broadcasting rights in communist China – while rekindling his relationship with Carver’s wife Paris (Teri Hatcher) and teaming with Colonel Wai Lin (Michelle Yeoh). Director Roger Spottiswoode (The Children of Huang Shi) and house writer Bruce Feirstein deal with seafaring suspense and claustrophobic danger in this two hour time frame thanks to British and Chinese relations, realistic naval bombardments, and mass media manipulation. Infrared women covered in circuitry for the opening titles set the cool, technological tone while urban damage and helicopter pursuits up the pace even when the handcuffs on a motorcycle and remote-controlled car chases become silly. This mission is complex, an intricate caper with global implications compared to the franchise’s previously stereotypical Asian portrayals, and prophetic talk of internet technologies and our commonplace reliance on them forgives the 1997 notion that newspaper headlines can control the world. Print media’s power has waned, but tweet misinformation and look what happens! The tainted journalism and deeper social commentary, however, come at the expense of well-developed characters with backstories lacking dimension and a screenplay that feels unfinished. Teri Hatcher (Desperate Housewives) is a misused would be femme, quick and obvious compared to the intelligent Michelle Yeoh (Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon). Yeoh’s martial arts skills aren’t the fulcrum of her wow, but the ladies deserved more than falling back on feminine weakness, and bland villains reveal their power hungry ways too early with no time to enjoy Jonathan Pryce (Carrington). Fortunately, Desmond Llewelyn’s disguised Q makes for a delightful debriefing, and Pierce Brosnan balances the refreshing, modern innuendo with military seriousness. Bond is in uniform for sweet interplay and perfected mannerisms, and Brosnan handles the internal heavy as well as the winking ensemble despite the film’s ultimately rushed, superficial structure. Tomorrow Never Dies is imperfect, thin on characterizations, and lacking personality despite its stars, yet it’s bleak, realistic commentary remains relevant.

The World is Not Enough

007 Bond protects Sophie Marceau (Braveheart) amid oil pipelines, ex-KGB agents turned terrorists, and stolen nuclear bombs in this 1999 entry featuring a lengthy, action packed pre-title sequence with well done assassinations, boat chases, and hot air balloons. Neal Purvis, Robert Wade, and Bruce Feirstein’s plot starts off strong, but unfortunately, the international espionage becomes predictable and redundant fast. Kidnappings, Stockholm Syndrome, nuclear warheads, and pretty scientists meander with double talk drivel – a superficial mishmash of devices with no real analysis of the victims, oil crises, or missile intrigue. However, at the same time, this two hours is crowded thanks to the increased MI-6 at home – including Samantha Bond’s Moneypenny, Colin Salmon as Charles Robinson, Serena Scott Thomas (Inherent Vice) as Doctor Molly Warmflash, and more – yet the recurring players are also underutilized in what was Desmond Llewelyn’s final picture as Q. We’ve had bad girls and henchwomen before, but the beautiful, sexy, and should be Bond’s female match in Marceau’s Elektra King is likewise under cooked, standing out among the jetsam yet lost in the sexual angst and anticlimactic final confrontations upon multiple viewings. One time Bond director Michael Apted (Coal Miner’s Daughter) should have kept the focus on Bond and Elektra’s antagonistic relationship, but time is wasted amid Robert Carlyle’s (The Fully Monty) silly villain Renard who can’t feel pain and the unbelievably ridiculous Denise Richards (Wild Things) as Doctor Christmas Jones. Despite his humor, innuendo, and quips, the bland script relegates Bond to an old, duped bodyguard. This ho-hum bowing to action and cliches misses the boat, leaving Brosnan with an overall disappointing Bond picture.

Die Another Day

Eon’s twentieth, fortieth anniversary 2002 picture and Brosnan’s final outing unfortunately goes from bad to worse as the captured Bond is tortured in North Korea amid NSA agents, revenge, and diamonds. The action within the stylized titles starts off well, but the unique opening gives way to a poor theme song, product placement, and a need to be hip that’s more important than Neal Purvis and Robert Wade’s story. A hat toss or Universal Exports reference would have been enough homage, and the various music cues with interlaced Bond themes are a fine touch. However, the anniversary peppering meanders like a montage borrowing from every other Bond picture. Big explosions drown out the soft voices, and it’s tough to take the provocative Korean intrigue seriously thanks to an invisible Aston Martin, ice castles, Moneypenny’s VR sex romp, and spoiled man child villain Toby Stephens (Black Sails) stomping his foot to get his way. Rick Yune’s (The Fast and Furious) Zao is a far better villain, and Halle Berry’s (Monster’s Ball) show stopper a la Honey Ryder ends up lost in laughable CGI. Rosamund Pike (Pride and Prejudice) is also wasted as Miranda Frost but ironically Madonna (Evita) makes sex jokes, provides villainous information, and serves her purpose in five minutes. The tongue in cheek is corny and forced while hyperbole skews Bond’s revenge, unevenly wavering between the realistic torment and the preposterous even for 007 gadgets. Nonetheless, Brosnan works the shaggy prison look as well as the suave spy charm, keeping his Bondian style on form regardless of the ridiculousness surrounding him, and he deserved better than this hodgepodge finale.

Pillow Talk (1959) can probably hold claim to being one of the most influential films of the 1950s. I know that you’re probably scoffing as you read that last sentence and wondering how I could put a Doris Day romantic comedy in the same category as The Night of the Hunter (1955) and Touch of Evil (1958). I put it in league with those other classics because Pillow Talk did help to define the modern romantic comedy formula. It combines wacky workplace comedy with a battle of the sexes theme and it did reflect the beliefs of a certain segment of society in the 1950s. It wasn’t radical or shocking or transgressive but most of the light woman’s pictures of the 1960s were clearly patterned off of it. That does have to count for something and it is remarkable that this formula is still so irresistible. 

The film’s success is inextricably tied to the resourceful, businesslike star persona of Doris Day. She portrays Jan Morrow, a single, career driven interior decorator who despises playboys that use women for sex. Morrow was just one in a long line of virginal, spunky women that Day played, and she perfectly fits into the niche that she carved out for herself. The plot is built around Morrow’s character development, as she initially loathes her neighbor Brad Allen (Rock Hudson) for his womanizing ways. The two share a party line and she is irritated by the fact that he is constantly sweet talking his many conquests. She has never seen him in person but becomes determined to ward off men like him. Allen coincidentally meets her one night and pretends to be Rex Stetson, an innocent Texan farm boy, in order to get closer to her. They enter into a relationship and he continues to deceive her, all the while tempting her with the prospect of sex. He begins to develop real feelings for her whilst she begins to question her traditional perspective on relationships. When she learns that he has been lying to her, she pushes him away and finds herself wondering whether she will ever find a man who truly loves her for who she is. 

Morrow’s journey is carefully programmed to allow audiences to flirt with the idea of having illicit premarital sex, without having to walk out of the theatre feeling naughty and rebellious. They get a brief walk on the wild side on top of receiving a confirmation of all of the beliefs and values that they already hold. On some level, this is irritating. Day didn’t typically get to play self-possessed, confident women who felt complete without involving a man in their lives. She did get to play a working woman and typically had a strong bond with her closest female friends, but her films certainly don’t feel like feminist texts. 

Even if modern viewers end up feeling uncomfortable with the message that Pillow Talk ultimately sends, it still endeavors to put women front and center. It never feels like Day is being undercut by her male co-star and she and Hudson have a relaxed, easy chemistry. Unlike Bette Davis, she didn’t have to contend with appearing in romantic dramas with male leads that just weren’t on her level. Hudson seems willing to support her and the two never appearing to be competing for attention. This might have been why the two were so popular as a screen pairing. They don’t just act like two A-list stars who have been thrown together. There’s real fondness in their eyes as they bicker away at one another. You just can’t find that in most other on-screen partnerships. 

Beyond the pleasant chemistry shared by Hudson and Day, Pillow Talk is most notable for its extreme devotion to formalism. It is set in a bizarre, far-off land that barely resembles the planet Earth. Every room is filled to the brim with shiny, brightly-colored objects, every woman is dressed in trendy clothing and everything looks so plastic and artificial that it becomes a real aesthetic. Milton Carruth liberally employed split screen technology to slip innuendo into scenes that were wrought with sexual tension and to generally spice up some of the film’s unoriginal content. He doesn’t push it nearly as far as he could have, but it is yet another touch that reminds you of the fact that you’re watching a movie. If the fantastical nature of the world of Pillow Talk wasn’t conveyed by Day’s perfectly primped hair, it is firmly established by all of the nutty Rube Goldberg machines that are on hand to elicit laughter. The image of Day and Hudson in the bath, with soap suds covering up all of their naughty bits and only a dividing wall between them, is something that stays with you. Even when the script suggests that the characters are keeping everything above board, the visuals let you know otherwise. 

This wasn’t the most innovative romantic comedy on the list and it definitely feels rooted in the sexual mores of the 1950s, but I can see why it remains a crowdpleaser. It offers up escapism for real working women who don’t get to wear designer clothing all the time or spend their nights hanging out in fancy restaurants. It succeeds in drawing you into the romance between Morrow and Allen, with all of the convoluted plot twists that come along with it. Its placements on the list does make sense and it would seem rather unfair to completely exclude Day from any list of the greatest romantic films of all time. As one of the undisputed icons of the genre, she deserves considerable recognition. 

The African Queen (1951) is one of those peculiar classics that isn’t exactly outstanding in any category. Where most beloved masterpieces are revolutionary or innovative in some regards, The African Queen follows a formula that had been popular since the beginning of time. This makes it difficult to understand why it has remained so firmly entrenched in the public consciousness. Perhaps it is so well-liked because it features the involvement of so many icons. Humphrey Bogart, Katharine Hepburn and John Huston have managed to endure as personalities. Even if people haven’t seen Bringing Up Baby (1938), they could probably still imitate Hepburn’s bizarre idiolect. Everybody who hasn’t seen the film probably still feels like they know what it’s about and, for the most part, their suspicions are probably correct. It is a film that typecasts its stars and its plot will be familiar to anyone who has ever read an adventure-based potboiler about a rough around the edges man who slowly falls in love with a feisty, upper class woman. It doesn’t throw a whole lot of surprises at you and that has probably helped it to remain popular. Audiences can be absolutely sure of the fact that it does what it says on the box. 

The action takes place in German East Africa in 1941 and centers around the actions of Rose Sayer (Katharine Hepburn), a Christian missionary who has never experienced real romance. She is horrified when the Schutztruppe burn down the village that she and her brother Samuel (Robert Morley) were living in. When Samuel dies, she becomes bent on exacting revenge and plans to sink the Königin Luise, a valuable Schutztruppe gunboat. She enlists the help of Charlie Allnut (Humphrey Bogart), a working class mechanic who operates a steamboat, to pull off her audacious plans. They initially struggle to get along, but they begin to fall in love when they realize that they share the same goals. As he begins to fall more and more under her spell, Allnut gets increasingly tangled up in her harebrained scheme. 

Anybody who has seen It Happened One Night (1934) or Romancing the Stone (1984) will be familiar with the plot beats that the screenplay efficiently deploys. An upper class gal and a lower class guy overcome their differences while going on an adventure that allows them to learn about how the other half lives. The woman will inevitably learn how to perform menial tasks that get her hands dirty and the man will become more cultured and refined. There will be a scene in which the woman discovers that she is surprisingly proficient at shooting a gun or hacking an animal to death and her male partner will gaze at her in awe. These are tropes that appear in The African Queen and the screenwriters don’t do much to put their own spin on well worn material. 

Nothing about The African Queen is radical or different but it does find ways to quietly set itself apart from the rest of the pack. I particularly admired the fact that the actors and screenwriters don’t force Sayer and Allnut to despise one another at the beginning of the film. You can sense the fact that they are not entirely comfortable around one another but, like real human beings, they do make an effort to be polite. Most of the tension simmers under the surface and Sayer dutifully bites back snarky comments when Allnut does something that irritates her. When they finally erupt and start going at each other, it actually makes sense. Rather than seeming like two unnecessarily pugnacious individuals who will take any opportunity to browbeat their enemies, they seem like perfectly pleasant adults who have snapped under harsh conditions. Their banter is more entertaining because it seems to come from a place of genuine hurt and frustration. The script sells us on the idea that these two are resourceful enough to work things out, and this means that we root for them to finally get along. 

Having said all that, I must note that the screenplay doesn’t handle the transition from friends to lovers with all that much grace. The scenes of Bogart and Hepburn bonding over their mutual desire to survive and forming a close friendship are incredibly touching. The two actors were good buddies in real life and they regard one another with genuine fondness that allows them to soften their tough screen personas. You do see them let down their guards for a moment and choose to open themselves up to somebody who is their equal. This is why it seems so odd when they start kissing and talking about getting married. They’re so believable as two old pals that they don’t convince as crazy kids who are passionately in love. Bogart and Hepburn have great chemistry but they don’t have that type of chemistry. When their characters fall in love, it just doesn’t make sense. The story would have been more satisfying if they hadn’t been forced to enter into a contrived romance. 

The African Queen serves as a fantastic display of the virtues of old-fashioned craftsmanship. It’s a solid film and it has the sort of broad appeal that great blockbusters need to possess. However, I would be lying if I pretended that I didn’t feel slightly unnerved when Bogart and Hepburn started playing tonsil hockey. They might be legendary movie stars, but that doesn’t mean that they needed to be cast as lovers.