SceneByGreen

Tokyo Chorus (1931)

Yasujirō Ozu | 1hr 30min

For many great artists, the act of creation comes as second nature, treated like a grand experiment to be dismantled and reconstructed in different forms. For Yasujirō Ozu, it is a practice of intense deliberation and refinement, stoking introspection by mindfully sharpening the tools of one’s craft. This is not to say that he lacks playfulness or humour – one only needs to look at his earliest films to see the influence of Hollywood’s silent comedies after all. Nevertheless, Tokyo Chorus marks a shift in his formal focus. Starting here, he sets off on a journey towards meticulous, cinematic perfection, directing pensive domestic dramas which would define Japanese cinema in decades to come.

Gone are the broad genre strokes which marked Ozu’s prior efforts. In their place, we find the subdued melodrama of a family man whose sudden unemployment tests his personal relationships and wears away at his lively spirit. As it so happens, that streak of wayward defiance has gotten Okajima in trouble ever since he was a student, previously exasperating his schoolteacher Mr. Omura and more recently getting him fired for aggressively defending a laid off colleague. Clearly he never quite learned to demonstrate tact in disagreement, and now as he faces up to the consequences of his insubordination, he must also grapple with the responsibility he holds as a husband and father.

Debuting four years after the advent of synchronised sound in Hollywood, Tokyo Chorus stands as a lingering remnant of the silent era, demonstrating some of Ozu’s finest visual storytelling at this point in his career. His trademark pillow shots aren’t quite fully formed yet, but the cutaway of rustling trees and a torii gate marks a soothing transition away from the prologue, while a montage of typewriters, half-eaten lunches, and empty shoes introduce Okajima’s office momentarily absent of workers.

Ozu’s tracking shots certainly bring a sense of order in their straight, unbending lines, but it is very much his editing which sensitively studies the details of these home and work environments, particularly following the hospitalisation of Okajima’s daughter. After selling his wife’s kimonos to pay the bills, their quarrel takes place almost entirely through silent gazes as they playing a clapping game with their children, underscoring the tension with whimsical levity. Actors Tokihiko Okada and Emiko Yagumo must be credited here too for the emotional journey of their facial expressions, bouncing his shame off her disappointment, before uniting in shared joy over their son and daughter. Having separated them in isolating mid-shots, Ozu finally cuts to a wide shot of the entire family playing together, bringing resolution through a moment of forgiveness and understanding.

On a broader level too, Ozu builds Tokyo Chorus around these small cuts to Okajima’s dignity, particularly demoralising him when he cannot afford a bike for his son. The job he finds carrying banners and handing out flyers for The Calorie Café does little to ease his insecurity as well, seeing him bristle at the pity of others, though there is a sweet poetry to the fact that he gets it from a random encounter with his old schoolteacher. Even after retiring and opening a restaurant in his senior years, Mr. Omura still hasn’t quite let go of his fatherly instincts, taking Okajima under his wing once again and promising to help him find work. Ozu allows room for some light comic touches here as Okajima finds himself reliving the days of his youth, obediently marching to the beat of Mr. Omura’s drum, yet still he can’t entirely stave off the creeping depression.

“I feel like I’m getting old. I’ve lost my spirit.”

There is a moral lesson to take from Tokyo Chorus, though Ozu does not deliver it with the overwrought sentimentality of his Hollywood counterparts. Mr. Omura’s gentle, reassuring presence rather stands as a delicate testament to those teachers who don’t just educate us, but become extensions of our families, guiding us with wisdom and purpose through our lowest moments. This tight bond especially reveals itself in Okajima’s class reunion at The Calorie Café, making for a satisfying bookend to Ozu’s narrative, and the job offer which our protagonist finally receives during this gathering makes the moment all the more rewarding.

Still, even amidst the celebration of Okajima’s new vocation as a teacher, there is a lingering sadness in the air as they realise that he must move away from Tokyo. Such is the nature of a student-mentor relationship after all, seeing both men inevitably part ways once the job is finished. Much like Okajima’s silent reconciliation with his wife from earlier though, Ozu again plays out another beautifully edited conversation through nothing but facial expressions, this time between the two men whose eyes sorrowfully drift to the ground while everyone joyfully sings around them. Noticing Mr. Omura’s doleful expression, Okajima offers him a wide, sympathetic grin, and graciously receives one in return. Families of all sorts heal wounded souls in Tokyo Chorus, and as Ozu sharpens his own cinematic skillset, his tender-hearted tribute to those who bring them together marks a moderate yet gratifying step forward.

Tokyo Chorus is currently streaming on The Criterion Channel.

The 10 Best Film Editors of the Last Decade

Editor	Top 3 Edited Films from the Last Decade
1. Jennifer Lame	1. Oppenheimer (2023) 2. Tenet (2020) 3. Marriage Story (2019)
2. Joe Walker	1. Dune: Part One and Two (2021, 2024) 2. Blade Runner 2049 (2017) 3. Widows (2018)
3. Lee Smith	1. Dunkirk (2017) 2. 1917 (2019) 3. Empire of Light (2022)
4. Tom Cross	1. La La Land (2016) 2. Babylon (2022) 3. No Time to Die (2021)
5. Lucian Johnston	1. Midsommar (2019) 2. Hereditary (2018) 3. Beau is Afraid (2023)
6. Joi McMillon	1. Moonlight (2016) 2. The Underground Railroad (2021) 3. If Beale Street Could Talk (2018)
7. Yorgos Mavropsaridis	1. The Favourite (2018) 2. Poor Things (2023) 3. Kinds of Kindness (2024)
8. Thelma Schoonmaker	1. The Irishman (2019) 2. Killers of the Flower Moon (2023) 3. Silence (2016)
9. Louise Ford	1. The Lighthouse (2019) 2. The Northman (2022) 3. Nosferatu (2024)
10. Kirk Baxter	1. Mank (2020) 2. The Killer (2023)

Destiny (1921)

Fritz Lang | 1hr 39min

When Death hitches a ride into town with a pair of lovers, they do not quite understand the mark that is placed on their heads. They live in a world of joy so sweet, they cannot fathom a force that would tear them apart, yet destiny holds no regard for such romantic affection. What lies behind the walls that Death has erected next to a cemetery is a mystery to the local villagers, so when the young woman’s fiancé mysteriously disappears one evening and is later witnessed walking through the barrier with a procession of ghosts, she is left in devastating grief.

Still, she does not give up so easy on her lover. “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death,” she reads from the Bible’s Song of Solomon, and thus newly inspired, she sets out to win him back from the clutches of Death.

*Murnau uses the negative space of this wall to great effect, dominating compositions with its vast height and breadth.*

*Double exposure effects add a touch of the ethereal to this procession of deceased souls.*

For Fritz Lang, this is merely the framework of his Gothic anthology film. Like the three other fables told here, the young woman’s bargaining with Death is grounded in archetypes stretching back centuries, underscoring the universality of her struggles, desires, and fears. It is rather through Lang’s haunting visuals where this film paints out astonishing visions of that eternal, incorporeal spectre which exists at the root of all human behaviours and, here in Destiny, takes eerie form with a black cape and gaunt, pale features.

*A dissolve transfigures a pint glass into an hourglass, hinting at Death’s ominous presence in this town.*

*German expressionism distilled in a single shot – dominant darkness, geometric shapes, and a claustrophobic sense of foreboding.*

*The hall of candles makes for a magnificent set piece, each flame representing a soul that flickers for its lifetime, yet is inevitably snuffed out.*

Illusory special effects suggest Death’s presence to excellent effect here, manifesting translucent ghosts and the supernatural transfiguration of a pint glass into an hourglass, though Lang’s set designs are often even more impressive. Those who approach Death’s vast wall are dwarfed beneath its colossal façade which separates the living from the deceased, and when we finally cross to the other side with the young woman, we are met by a dark hall of long, towering candlesticks. Each one individually represents a life, Death explains, burnt up and eventually extinguished. The woman’s love for her fiancé is pure, yet no more so than all those other grand stories of star-crossed sweethearts which echo throughout history, and certainly not enough to overcome life’s natural limits. Nevertheless, Death strikes a deal.

“Look at these three lights flickering out. I place in your hands the chance to save them! If you succeed, even with only one of them, I will give your loved one’s life to you!”

*Three fables, three candles – a tremendous formal motif giving weight to each individual tragedy.*

From here, Destiny splits into three tales, presenting mirrored narratives of doomed lovers and poetically recasting our two main actors as reincarnated versions of themselves. There is a slight touch of D.W. Griffith’s Intolerance present in this splintered storytelling, distinguishing each thread by their diverse settings, and as such Lang’s accomplishment of mise-en-scène only continues to expand. Where the Islamic city of the first tale is a busy settlement of patterned textiles and sandstone buildings, Venice is defined by its lavish Renaissance architecture, while the Chinese Empire is a paradise of highly stylised gardens and ornate palaces. Even the fonts of his intertitles shift with each fable too, as if translated and handed down by scribes to modern audiences.

*Clashing patterns, sandstone buildings, and busy crowds in the Islamic city.*

*Majestic Renaissance architecture and art decorating the halls of power in Venice.*

*Twisted trees and exotic gardens in the Chinese Empire.*

In the ‘Story of the First Light’, the Caliph’s sister Zobeide conducts a secret affair with a European derogatively branded a giaour – a non-Muslim. After the Caliph almost catches him during the holy month of Ramadan, Zobeide sends her servant to find the European and tell him to meet her in the palace at night. When the servant is followed by the Caliph’s guard though, the European is ultimately sentenced to be buried alive, thus extinguishing the first of Death’s three flames.

*A secret affair conducted in a Middle Eastern palace of lattice windows, fine drapery, and polished floors.*

In the ‘Story of the Second Light’, a Venetian carnival sets the scene for a forbidden romance between noblewoman Monna and her middle-class lover Gianfrancesco. Her politically powerful and jealous fiancé Girolamo has no patience for such disloyalty, and so after hearing of her plans to kill him, he deliberately mixes up her letters and sends Gianfrancesco into her trap. With Monna tricked into accidentally killing the man she loves, the second flame burns out, and Girolamo’s earlier words ring painfully true.

“How near to death men often are without suspecting at all. They believe an eternity remains to them, yet they do not even outlive the rose with which they trifle.”

*A sharp yet minimalist composition, using the architecture to frame a Venetian fountain in an archway.*

In the ‘Story of the Third Light’, Lang’s special effects bend our perceptions of reality further than ever when the magician A Hi is summoned to entertain the cruel Emperor of China. Stop-motion animation unravels an extraordinarily long scroll, miniatures and double exposure effects whisk us away with a flying carpet, and forced perspectives make a horse appear to rapidly grow while an army of pocket-sized soldiers emerge from A Hi’s robes. Still, the Emperor remains unimpressed, demanding the magician hand over his assistant Liang and thus provoking her lover, Tiao Tsien. Still Lang continues to weave movie magic of his own when Liang steals A Hi’s wand to escape, ultimately turning herself into a statue and her lover into a tiger that is slain by their pursuers. As a tear runs down the statue’s cheek, the final flame dissipates, proving once and for all that love cannot conquer mortality.

*The third fable is the most visually impressive of all three, set around the Chinese Emperor’s impressively ornate palace.*

*Murnau’s double exposure blends images to give the impression of a magic carpet soaring over mountaintops.*

*An abundant array of special effects and camera trickery in the third fable, using forced perspective to make these soldiers appear to be miniatures marching out from under A Hi’s robes.*

Still, Death does not claim victory over the young woman with such finality. If she can take the life of another in the hour before midnight, then she can trade it for the life of her beloved, maintaining that balance which governs all creatures. Desperate, she beseeches an old man and a beggar whose lives she believes are inconsequential, though her misfortune soon takes a turn when a fire breaks out in the neighbourhood. Lang’s colour tinting thus far has reflected the warm yellows of interiors and cool blues of the evening, but now as this blaze lights up the town, its startled villagers are consumed in red hues. His editing is similarly effective here as they attempt to douse it, cutting between their noble efforts, a mother’s panicked realisation that her baby is still trapped inside, and the young woman’s anxious journey inside to sacrifice the infant for her lover.

Nevertheless, this pure heart cannot be so easily corrupted when the innocence of another is on the line. “I was not able to overcome you for that price,” she cries to Death.

“Now take my life as well! For without my beloved it is less than nothing to me!”

*Red tinting sets in with the building fire, heavily contrasting against the town’s yellows and blues.*

*Excellent editing in this sequence as the villagers take water from the fountain to douse the blaze, and the young woman is faced with a moral choice from inside the building.*

*One life may be exchanged for another – Death is fair, abiding by a harsh set of rules existing outside the boundaries of human morality.*

Just as like the candle motif marked the end of a life with a snuffed-out flame, the extinguished house fire signifies the loss of another, sending the young woman to meet her fiancé in the afterlife. Clearly no love, no matter how great, can loosen the grip of death – yet this does not mean that it too must perish, as we witness their ghostly apparitions ascend to the heavens. Within Fritz Lang’s Gothic compendium, love is immortalised across all ages through the very act of storytelling, bound to a destiny as timeless as the tales themselves.

*Death cannot break love, but delicately embraces it as man and woman move into the afterlife together.*

Destiny is currently in the public domain and is available to watch on free video sharing sites such as YouTube.

The 10 Best Screenwriters of the Last Decade

Screenwriter	Screenplays from the Last 10 Years Ranked
1. Paul Schrader	1. First Reformed (2017) 2. The Card Counter (2021) 3. Master Gardener (2022)
2. Wes Anderson	1. Asteroid City (2023) 2. The French Dispatch (2021) 3. The Phoenician Scheme (2025) 4. Isle of Dogs (2018) 5. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More (2023)
3. Ari Aster	1. Midsommar (2019) 2. Hereditary (2018) 3. Beau is Afraid (2023)
4. Christopher Nolan	1. Oppenheimer (2023) 2. Dunkirk (2017) 3. Tenet (2020)
5. Tony McNamara	1. The Favourite (2018) 2. Poor Things (2023) 3. Cruella (2021)
6. Robert Eggers	1. The Lighthouse (2019) 2. Nosferatu (2024) 3. The Northman (2022)
7. Steven Zaillian	1. The Irishman (2019) 2. Ripley (2024)
8. Steve McQueen	1. Small Axe (2020) 2. Widows (2018) 3. Blitz (2024)
9. Noah Baumbach	1. Marriage Story (2019) 2. The Meyerowitz Stories (2017) 3. Barbie (2023) 4. White Noise (2022)
10. Alex Garland	1. Civil War (2024) 2. Annihilation (2018) 3. Devs (2020 4. Men (2022)

Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning (2025)

Christopher McQuarrie | 2hr 50min

The end of a franchise as culturally dominant as Mission: Impossible is bittersweet. Bitter because Tom Cruise’s physics-defying dedication to practical stunts and spectacle has held the series up as a mainstay of action cinema through even its weaker instalments; sweet because, as thrilling as the ride has been, we know that both Tom Cruise and Christopher McQuarrie can thrive outside its familiar formula. Still, what The Final Reckoning lacks in deftness it makes up for in raw impact, unleashing a rousing conclusion to the nuclear threat posed by the rogue AI parasite from Dead Reckoning, and tying off plot threads that stretch all the way back to the very first film.

At its most cumbersome, McQuarrie drags his narrative through throwback montages and exposition, paying homage to everything that has led to Ethan Hunt’s final mission while establishing the extraordinarily high stakes at play. As much as he tries to sustain momentum through dialogue, the dense information dumps are transparent, serving only to link one set piece to the next and exorbitantly blow out the nearly three-hour runtime. It is especially disappointing given the extraordinary peril at hand – plain discussion does not serve to underscore the weight of human extinction fuelled by disinformation, civil unrest, and global paranoia. Instead, it is up to McQuarrie’s ingenious, heart-pounding action sequences to drive home The Final Reckoning’s daunting stakes, often intercutting between characters located nations apart.

This is a film built on deadlines after all, from the U.S. President’s 72-hour timeframe to launch nuclear warheads, to the bomb that gives Luther only minutes to save London. McQuarrie’s parallel editing expertly demonstrates the efficiency his exposition lacks, juxtaposing Hunt’s hand-to-hand struggle in a submarine against the icy tundra where his team fights Russian special forces, and using their hostile environments against them. Even more astounding is the film’s climax which spans Washington DC, a South African bunker of data servers, and an unconventional biplane dogfight, which sees Cruise climb from one aircraft to another mid-flight to hijack the controls. There is clearly a touch of Top Gun in this aerial sequence, but where that franchise would solely focus on its impressive manoeuvres, McQuarrie skilfully raises the urgency by tightly synchronising them with other moving parts of this time-sensitive mission.

When McQuarrie does slow down and stretch out the suspense though, his visual storytelling is no less effective, giving total attention to Hunt’s underwater heist of the Entity’s source code in an extended, dialogue-free sequence. The sunken submarine he must infiltrate to retrieve it is effectively one giant, hazardous set piece, holding weak defence against the immense water pressure outside its walls, as well as the deep crevice it is very gradually rolling towards. Inception’s rotating hallway is the clear inspiration here, constantly evolving the submarine’s interior terrain as gravity tilts and water pours in, while the muffled, groaning sound design intensifies with the gathering speed.

If there is a missed opportunity in The Final Reckoning at all, then it is the Entity’s lack of personal threat to Hunt and his team, especially after its ability to impersonate voices and manipulate radar signals proved to be fatal in Dead Reckoning. Instead, it is primarily occupied by its takeover of nuclear command centres across the world, while power-hungry terrorist Gabriel becomes a more tangible villain directly competing with Hunt for control over the deadly AI. The strength of the cast rather lies in our heroes, giving long-term teammates Luther and Benji fond farewells, while newer allies Paris and Grace carry over from Dead Reckoning and slot smoothly into the existing dynamic.

Not that we will necessarily see them integrate any further. Although Cruise and McQuarrie have definitively called The Final Reckoning the last in the series, this distinction is somewhat arbitrary, as the narrative itself only lightly commits to the end of Hunt’s journey. The doorway to future instalments is certainly there, but the ceiling for Mission: Impossible is only so high, and there may not be any better place for it to conclude than in this bombastic homage to the franchise’s history. We can only hope their word holds true – in an era increasingly reliant on digital artifice, The Final Reckoning stands as an overstuffed, operatic monument to what practical filmmaking can still achieve when pushed to its edge, and so utterly devoted to the impossible.

Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning is currently playing in theatres.

The 25 Best Female Actors of the Last Decade

Actress	Top 3 Performances of the Last Decade
1. Emma Stone	1. Poor Things (2023) 2. La La Land (2016) 3. The Favourite (2018)
2. Cate Blanchett	1. Tár (2022) 2. Nightmare Alley (2021) 3. Disclaimer (2024)
3. Scarlett Johansson	1. Marriage Story (2019) 2. Asteroid City (2023) 3. Jojo Rabbit (2019)
4. Florence Pugh	1. Midsommar (2019) 2. Little Women (2019) 3. Oppenheimer (2023)
5. Margot Robbie	1. Babylon (2022) 2. I, Tonya (2017) 3. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019)
6. Frances McDormand	1. Nomadland (2020) 2. The Tragedy of Macbeth (2021) 3. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017)
7. Olivia Colman	1. The Favourite (2018) 2. The Lost Daughter (2021) 3. Empire of Light (2022)
8. Saoirse Ronan	1. Little Women (2019) 2. Lady Bird (2017) 3. The Outrun (2024)
9. Anya Taylor-Joy	1. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024) 2. The Queen’s Gambit (2020) 3. The Menu (2022)
10. Tilda Swinton	1. Suspiria (2018) 2. The Souvenir (2019) 3. Hail, Caesar! (2016)
11. Jessie Buckley	1. I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020) 2. Men (2022) 3. The Lost Daughter (2021)
12. Toni Collette	1. Hereditary (2018) 2. I’m Thinking of Endings Things (2020) 3. Nightmare Alley (2021)
13. Natalie Portman	1. Jackie (2016) 2. May December (2023) 3. Annihilation (2018)
14. Carey Mulligan	1. Promising Young Woman (2020) 2. Saltburn (2023) 3. She Said (2022)
15. Margaret Qualley	1. The Substance (2024) 2. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) 3. Poor Things (2023)
16. Kristen Stewart	1. Spencer (2021) 2. Love Lies Bleeding (2024) 3. Personal Shopper (2016)
17. Ana de Armas	1. Blonde (2022) 2. Knives Out (2019) 3. Blade Runner 2049 (2017)
18. Sandra Hüller	1. The Zone of Interest (2023) 2. Anatomy of a Fall (2023) 3. Toni Erdmann (2016)
19. Tessa Thompson	1. Passing (2021) 2. Sorry to Bother You (2018) 3. Annihilation (2018)
20. Rebecca Ferguson	1. Dune: Part I and II (2021, 2024) 2. Doctor Sleep (2019) 3. Mission: Impossible – Fallout (2018)
21. Laura Dern	1. Marriage Story (2019) 2. Little Women (2019) 3. Twin Peaks: The Return (2017)
22. Elle Fanning	1. The Neon Demon (2016) 2. 20th Century Women (2016) 3. A Complete Unknown (2024)
23. Sally Hawkins	1. The Shape of Water (2018) 2. Bring Her Back (2025) 3. Paddington 2 (2017)
24. Viola Davis	1. Widows (2018) 2. The Woman King (2022) 3. The Suicide Squad (2021)
25. Michelle Yeoh	1. Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) 2. A Haunting in Venice (2022) 3. Wicked (2024)

Ossessione (1943)

Luchino Visconti | 2hr 20min

Ossessione’s derelict inns, sweaty singlets, and messy kitchens are far removed from the glamour of Hollywood’s film noirs, yet its forbidding tale of lust, murder, and fatalism nevertheless runs parallel to those expressionistic fables. When Gino’s hitchhiking lands him in a roadside tavern, the contempt that its co-owner Giovanna holds for her husband and business partner Giuseppe is revealed to be as strong as her attraction towards this new visitor. From there, an affair that maliciously seeks to remove Giuseppe from the picture unravels, revealing the dark hearts of those involved. Luchino Visconti’s camerawork is elegant here, navigating this conspiracy with intrigue as it turns towards a mirror during their nefarious plotting, and wanders through lives bars where secrets lurk between lovers.

With that said, Ossessione’s narrative is also impossible to remove from the social context it was made in. With Italy still under Fascist occupation in 1943, the hardships of the working class were at an all-time high, significantly deteriorating the nation’s sense of cultural identity and moral clarity. Neorealism was not yet a full-fledged movement, yet Visconti is thoughtfully sowing its seeds here, offering an unrelenting window into the life of the poor and the extremes to which they go simply for a taste of pleasure. His location shooting along provincial roads and in the seaside city of Ancona serves to underscore that authenticity as well, even as the narrative veers beyond the mundane and into gritty crime drama.

*A crane shot lifting us above the truck, and introducing us to the roadside tavern where love and resentment will equally bloom.*

*A murder conspiracy unfolds in this reflection, catching Gino and Giovanna’s doubles as they sink to new, nefarious depths.*

Still, Visconti’s merging of naturalism and fatalism was not exactly unheard of before his remarkable directorial debut. France’s poetic realism gracefully merged the two in the 1930s, seeing directors like Jean Renoir and Marcel Carné navigate tales of moral corruption with a floating visual style that no doubt influences Visconti here. Meanwhile, the fact that the film is based on the 1934 novel The Postman Always Rings Twice binds its roots close to American noirs, even as it introduces a devious femme fatale whose screen presence is far removed from the allure of Barbara Stanwyck or Mary Astor. Clara Calamai is no doubt a beautiful actress, but Visconti does not shroud her in soft lighting and trendy outfits. Giovanna’s lonely dinners in a grimy kitchen reveal a far sadder existence than her Hollywood counterparts, surrounding her with towers of dirty dishes as she reads from a newspaper and eats a bowl of pasta.

*An early progenitor of Italian neorealism, using stone streets and buildings to imbue this tale with an unrelenting authenticity.*

*Visconti using the littered ground as his mise-en-scène in this high angle, composing a sparse yet messy shot.*

*Poverty encompasses Giovanna on every side with these stacked dishes and bottles – a beautifully crowded shot.*

When two young, attractive people such as Gino and Giovanna fall into each other’s orbit then, it is plain to see just how easily their dreams of escape escalate into destructive delusion. After initial talks of murder lead to their first breakup, destiny seems to draw them back together in a bar, coaxing the lovers to believe in a greater force at play. “Before, the world seemed a big place. Now, there is only your shop,” Gino romantically murmurs as an oblivious Giuseppe performs onstage. Putting off their plans any further seems pointless – the time to strike presents itself when all three drive home together, and the two conspirators ultimately find the perfect opportunity to stage a deadly car accident.

*Visconti’s camera is truly free as it drifts through this lively bar.*

*A secret affair hiding in plain sight, drowned out by drunken crowds and live singing.*

*Darkness wraps around the murderous lovers and their oblivious victim as they approach the point of no return.*

Upon Gino and Giovanna’s return to the tavern, its atmosphere is more unwelcoming than ever, as if recognising the violence that has been inflicted upon its owner. It is dark and quiet inside, resurfacing Gino’s feelings of guilt as he realises what he has done. Giovanna’s desire to reopen shop with him is met with harsh rejection, which is only aggravated further by the discovery that she took out a life insurance policy before the murder. The more distance he places between them though, the greater her jealousy becomes, and Visconti’s camera soaks up the emotional drama as we follow her stalking him through streets. When Gino goes even further and confesses a heavy conscience to his new lover Anita, he is visually trapped behind his bed’s mesh netting in one aptly framed shot, effectively caught in Giovanna’s web while the police close in.

*The tavern is dark and lifeless upon their return, the chairs stacked upon tables and visually imposing upon this shot.*

*The camera attaches to Giovanna as she stalks Gino through the streets, obsessively tracking his movements.*

*Mesh netting suffocating Gino as he begins to feel the consequences of his actions.*

Clearly Gino is not the sort of man to learn from his mistakes though. When Giovanna comes forward with news of her pregnancy, he reconsiders their future together at an empty, overcast beach where they ultimately reconcile. As shallow pools of water catch their upside-down reflections, Visconti composes a scene of meagre romance in this lifeless locale, and even Giuseppe Rosati’s score continues its tense, foreboding melody. Giovanna may finally agree that leaving town is the best course of action, but they are fools to believe that they can simply start a new life together after all they have been through. Besides, that wicked hand of fate isn’t quite done with them yet, drawing Ossessione closer than ever to its film noir contemporaries.

*Bleak, miserable romance on this wet beach, the lovers’ reflections caught in its shallow puddles.*

The moment these lovers hit the road, we see inevitable tragedy take ironic shape and finally solidify when Gino tries to overtake a truck passing by an embankment. Just as Giovanna killed her husband by veering his car off-road, so too does her own story end at the hands of another driver, nudging her vehicle down a steep drop and into the water below. That the police should arrive a few moments later as Gino pulls Giovanna’s limp body from the wreckage only twists the knife deeper, delivering a far more degrading punishment to the man who blatantly ignored his own conscience on multiple occasions. Redemption is a luxury that the poor cannot afford in Ossessione, and through Visconti’s unvarnished, cynical naturalism, he adeptly delivers a solemn condemnation of moral decrepitude that cannot be swayed by fleeting hopes or half-hearted regrets.

*Bitter justice is served twice over, both by the police and the invisible hand of fate.*

Ossessione is currently streaming on Prime Video.

The 25 Best Male Actors of the Last Decade

Actor	Top 3 Performances of the Last Decade
1. Timothee Chalamet	1. Call Me By Your Name (2017) 2. Dune: Part One and Two (2021, 2024) 3. Little Women (2019)
2. Adam Driver	1. Marriage Story (2019) 2. Paterson (2016) 3. Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017)
3. Ryan Gosling	1. La La Land (2016) 2. Blade Runner 2049 (2017) 3. Barbie (2023)
4. Robert Pattinson	1. The Lighthouse (2019) 2. Good Time (2017) 3. The Batman (2022)
5. Joaquin Phoenix	1. Joker (2019) 2. Beau is Afraid (2023) 3. You Were Never Really Here (2017)
6. Cillian Murphy	1. Oppenheimer (2023) 2. Small Things Like These (2024) 3. Dunkirk (2017)
7. Willem Dafoe	1. The Lighthouse (2019) 2. The Florida Project (2017) 3. Poor Things (2023)
8. Brad Pitt	1. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) 2. Ad Astra (2019) 3. Babylon (2022)
9. Jesse Plemmons	1. I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020) 2. Kinds of Kindness (2024) 3. Civil War (2024)
10. Barry Keoghan	1. Saltburn (2023) 2. The Banshees of Inisherin (2022) 3. Bird (2024)
11. Oscar Isaac	1. The Card Counter (2021) 2. Dune (2021) 3. Annihilation (2018)
12. Daniel Kaluuya	1. Get Out (2017) 2. Widows (2018) 3. Judas and the Black Messiah (2021)
13. Bradley Cooper	1. Nightmare Alley (2021) 2. Maestro (2023) 3. A Star is Born (2018)
14. Colin Farrell	1. The Banshees of Inisherin (2022) 2. The Batman (2022) 3. After Yang (2021)
15. Leonardo DiCaprio	1. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) 2. Killers of the Flower Moon (2023) 3. Don’t Look Up (2021)
16. Ralph Fiennes	1. Conclave (2024) 2. The Menu (2022) 3. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More (2023)
17. Michael B. Jordan	1. Sinners (2025) 2. Black Panther (2018) 3. Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (2022)
18. Benedict Cumberbatch	1. The Power of the Dog (2021) 2. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More (2023) 3. The Phoenician Scheme (2025)
19. Adrien Brody	1. The Brutalist (2024) 2. The French Dispatch (2021) 3. Asteroid City (2023)
20. Austin Butler	1. Elvis (2022) 2. Dune: Part Two (2024) 3. The Bikeriders (2023)
21. Gary Oldman	1. Mank (2020) 2. Darkest Hour (2017) 3. Oppenheimer (2023)
22. Steven Yeun	1. Burning (2018) 2. Minari (2020) 3. Nope (2022)
23. Benicio del Toro	1. The Phoenician Scheme (2025) 2. The French Dispatch (2021) 3. Reptile (2023)
24. Andrew Scott	1. Ripley (2024) 2. All of Us Strangers (2023) 3. 1917 (2019)
25. Dev Patel	1. The Green Knight (2021) 2. Monkey Man (2024) 3. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More (2023)

Day of Wrath (1943)

Carl Theodor Dreyer | 1hr 37min

For the residents of this 17th century Danish village, the end times are near. Suspicions of witchcraft have escalated into full-blown trials and executions, sentencing women like the elderly Herlof’s Marte to burn at the stake, while more fortunate suspects are spared only through deals made with local authorities. Meanwhile, the ominous ‘Dies Irae’ motif reverberates through choirs of young boys, echoing the sinister poem which opens this tale.

“Day of Wrath, dreadful night,

Heaven and earth in ashes burning,

And the sun beset by dead of night.

That Day of Wrath, that sulfurous day

When flaming heavens together roll,

And earth’s beautiful castle shall pass away.”

These portentous warnings bear strong resemblance to those in The Seventh Seal, and the gale which at one point fills the soundscape with howling chaos may very well be the same which haunts The Turin Horse, yet Day of Wrath precedes both films. This apocalypse is one of forsaken marriages, religious paranoia, and helpless scapegoats, crushing whatever glimmer of passion might emerge between forbidden lovers. Still, this portentous drama never truly rules out the question of whether some unknown, transcendent power holds sway over the fragile lives of humans, sending the damned to early graves while the living remain in its grip of mortal terror.

*Hymnal lyrics of doom and despair lay out the apocalypse at hand, damning the people of Earth to perish in their own cruelty.*

*Choirs of young boys sing of the condemnation which awaits humanity on the Day of Judgement, chilling echoing the iconic ‘Dies Irae’ motif.*

Young housewife Anne knows this feeling of dread too well. Her marriage to the local pastor Absalon was part of a bargain to save her late mother from accusations of witchcraft, and has since placed her under the thumb of Meret, her domineering, antagonistic mother-in-law. With Anne’s elderly neighbour Herlof’s Marte now knocking on her door, hoping to find refuge from similar charges, she can’t quite seem to remove herself entirely from the shadow of suspicion falling upon her either. Her eyes burn the same way as her mother’s did, Meret sombrely remarks, forewarning Absalon that one day he will find himself confronted with a choice between God and his wife.

Trapped within the confines of her husband’s home and subjected to her mother-in-law’s cruelty, Anne is set up as a victim of society – yet there resides an ambiguous power in her which underlies the spiritual mystery of Dreyer’s film.

Though it is apparent that the pastor has somewhat of a conscience, we can see in his rejection of Marte’s pleas for mercy that it is his passivity rather than any innate malice which lands him on the wrong side of these witch trials. Still, the same cannot be said of others in this town, who are spurred on by their need for a scapegoat to blame for their misfortune. The camera passes by spectators at Marte’s public torture as they lean forward in their seats, eager to see a confession drawn from her lips, and drawing strong parallels to another totalitarian regime occupying Dreyer’s homeland at the time of production. Just as he once aimed a critical lens at Joan of Arc’s political persecutors, here he angles his allegory towards the spread of Nazism, bitterly lamenting the grip of paranoid terror it held over Europe at large.

*A slow, panning camera drifts past the faces of Marte’s interrogators, eager for her to break under physical and psychological pressure.*

*Scenes of brutal torture underscore the sadistic malevolence of man, stripping it of spectacle.*

As such, Dreyer’s slow, severe storytelling is an impeccable formal match for his chilling indictment of authoritarianism. Set and costumes designs are as starkly minimalist as ever, using bare stone walls as backdrops and imposing geometric arches and columns upon interior spaces. His roving camerawork is equally rigorous, often combining panning and tracking shots to explore thoroughly blocked tableaux, and particularly inviting our curiosity as we follow Anne through a hall of pillars where she eavesdrops on Marte’s futile plea for mercy. It is no wonder then that Anne wishes to escape these oppressive, greyscale chambers, making the arrival of Absalon’s son Martin all the sweeter for his romantic companionship.

*Among Dreyer’s strongest shots, tracking through the columns of this hall before framing Anne within the funnelled archways.*

*Stark, Gothic minimalism in Dreyer’s architecture, baring a stern facade.*

Dreyer’s shift away from the harsh, Gothic architecture of the village and towards the natural scenery of Anne and Martin’s passionate affair is sharp, and further underscored by his deliberate intercutting between both locations. While Absalon visits the darkened home of a sick parishioner to deliver his last rites, we simultaneously join the lovers drifting down rivers and laying together in long grass, free from the rigid lines of their oppressive, austere home. Dreyer’s editing is not defined by quick rhythms here, but rather a slow, deliberate alternation between scenes, breaking through the dour monotony of emotionally restrained performances with warm smiles and tender affection. Still, even as Anne romantically poeticises about a tree on the riverbank, Martin’s guilt quietly impedes on their happiness.

“It is bowed in sorrow.”

“No, in longing.”

“In sorrow for us.”

“In longing for its reflection in the water. We can no more be parted than the tree and its reflection.”

*Soft scenes of romance set among trees and rivers, contrasted against the harsh stone interiors of the village.*

These lovers may be bound together emotionally, yet as Day of Wrath’s parallel editing so suggestively illustrates, they are also subject to a far more powerful bond metaphysically linking them back to Absalon. “Whosoever believeth shall live, though he die,” Absalon prays over his parishioner’s body, right before Dreyer cuts to Martin’s own pensive meditation on death.

“If we could die… together, here.”

“Why?”

“To atone for our sin.”

*Absalon tends to a dying parishioner in this bleak frame, his meditations on death fatefully intercut with Anne and Martin’s.*

It is not the disloyal son nor the unfaithful wife whom death shall ultimately visit though. Back at home Anne ponders aloud what their lives may look like if her husband were dead, and at that moment, we visit Absalon making his way through a vicious gale. He falters, proclaiming to have felt Death brush by him, before anxiously continuing his journey home. Dreyer is certainly no believer in witchcraft, and yet just as the climax of his later film Ordet is marked by the unexplained miracle of resurrection, there is a frightening ambiguity surrounding Anne’s apparently supernatural power. After derisively unleashing years of repressed anger over her stolen youth, she need only speak her desire aloud to strike him down.

“Therefore, I now wish you dead.”

*A gale whips up on Absalon’s journey home, and death brushes by him.*

*A vicious turn in Anne’s character unleashes a bitter wish for death, revealing what may or may not be a hidden power as her wish immediately manifests in reality.*

Frightened by her words made real, Anne escapes the thick shadows of Absalon’s office and runs outside, hoping to find Martin in those gorgeous landscapes which once hosted their passionate affairs. Now shrouded in mist though, both are rendered as silhouettes, drained of light and warmth. There is no more room for love in this relationship, and therefore no hope for Anne’s salvation. She is not some defiant individualist, seeing through the narrow beliefs of an unjust society, but simply a woman who has internalised its prejudice so deeply that she confoundedly professes to aiding the “Evil One.” After all, how else could such a terrible catastrophe be arbitrarily visited upon one of God’s holy servants?

*Dark silhouettes in misty landscapes as Anne seeks salvation with Martin, only to find their romance dissipated.*

Above all else, it is the haunting ambiguity of Dreyer’s Gothic fable which lingers long after he has faded from Anne’s teary, smiling face. Very gradually, our doubt in the existence of witchcraft is twisted into vague hesitancy, even as we remain sympathetic to her tribulations. Perhaps it was a supernatural manifestation of an emotional outburst, or maybe it truly was incredibly unfortunate timing. Regardless, Day of Wrath reserves its ire not for the women of this village, but those who shape reality around their own fear and cruelty. Where Anne is a sinner, a victim, or both, Dreyer’s greatest anxiety lies in a prejudiced culture beyond moral redemption, masquerading its darkest impulses as divine, heavenly will.

*Dreyer holds on Anne’s teary, smiling face as she confesses her sin, submitting to the persecution and accusations levelled at her.*

Day of Wrath is currently streaming on The Criterion Channel.

Stray Dog (1949)

Akira Kurosawa | 2hr 2min

The covert, labyrinthine path through Tokyo’s seedy underbelly that police officer Murakami follows in Stray Dog is a strenuous enough journey on its own, even without considering the sweltering heatwave bearing down on the city. That this quest to recover his stolen pistol lands right in the middle of summer only makes it that much more exacting, dialling up the pressure to find the man who has bought it off the black market, and is now using it to commit a string of crimes. While the rest of the city is watching baseball games and relaxing, both sides of the law remain restless in their isolated pursuits, drawing ever closer under Akira Kurosawa’s sharp, observant gaze.

Handheld and electric fans are constant motifs here, cooling down those desperately trying to escape the heat, though the crowded blocking doesn’t help to ease the discomfort. When Murakami descends into the decadent nightclubs of Tokyo, Josef von Sternberg’s influence emerges in Kurosawa’s cluttering of the frame, filled with lights, smoke, décor, and bodies dripping with sweat. This is a world inhabited by illicit arms dealers and violent gangsters, and if Murakami is to find this disturbed gunman, he must fully immerse himself in its sleazy, lawless decadence.

*Electric fans obstructing frames, becoming a visual motif in the sweltering summer heat.*

*Hand fans too are used by the characters, but do little to ease the pressure off of the smothering mise-en-scène.*

*Josef von Sternberg style designs in the cluttered clubs of Tokyo – a world of lawless excess.*

Kurosawa’s methodical approach to unravelling this investigation is a stepping stone towards the sprawling procedural he would later conduct in High and Low, yet Stray Dog nevertheless remains an immense accomplishment in his early career. Tokyo takes on vibrant textures as Murakami navigates its streets and buildings, giving way to marvellously edited montages of a city scrutinised beneath his watchful eyes in a double exposure effect, and traversed in patient tracking shots. The visual storytelling is tremendous as he tails the pickpocket for several days, wearing her down until she points him towards Honda, the notorious gunrunner she sold his weapon to.

*There is real texture to Kurosawa’s world, exploring every hidden corner of Tokyo in preparation for High and Low.*

*Crowded blocking and silent visual storytelling as Murakami pursues a suspect through trams and streets.*

*An intense double exposure effect imposing Murakami’s eyes over montages of the city – little escapes his piercing gaze.*

When Honda’s girlfriend is taken in for questioning, she proves much tougher to break, and so the arrival of veteran detective Satō is timely indeed. In his playbook, charm is a far greater tool than intimidation, casually winning her over with ice blocks and cigarettes. In one superbly blocked composition, Kurosawa mirrors this new hierarchy too by pushing Murakami behind his older colleague, and foregrounding the girlfriend’s guilty profile as Satō interrogates her.

*Satō’s gentler interrogation tactics become the focus of the scene through Kurosawa’s staggered blocking, pushing Murakami to the background as an observer.*

The buddy cop dynamic which emerges here would later set the stage for David Fincher’s Se7en, similarly playing on the contrast between a fresh-faced detective and his older, wiser companion. Kurosawa’s casting of the highly-strung Toshiro Mifune and unflappable Takashi Shimura is incredibly inspired here, drawing an ideological divide which separates those younger generations directly affected by the traumas of World War II from those whose views are rooted in Japan’s traditional, stoic values. The more that both learn about their target Yusa, the more the cops’ differences come to light as well, making for a compelling discussion one night when Satō invites Murakami over for drinks.

*Two men of different generations mirrored, their worldviews colliding.*

“They say there’s no such thing as a bad man. Only bad situations,” Murakami deliberates, reflecting on the disturbed diary entries they found in Yusa’s shabby, filthy home earlier that day. Men become monsters in war, he believes, warped by inhuman orders from a government that neglects them as soon as they return home. He is not surprised that such a man has now fallen in with the yakuza, though seeing how this sort of nuance wracks Murakami with self-doubt, Satō is not so forgiving. “You can’t be this tense all the time if you want to be a cop,” he responds. War may have turned Yusa into a wild, untamed beast, but now that this monster is loose in society with a gun, it is up to them to capture him. “A mad dog sees only straight paths. Yusa sees only straight paths now,” Satō expounds, clinically reasoning that the only way to get to him is through his girlfriend.

“He’s in love with Harumi Namiki. She’s the only thing he sees.”

*The titular stray dog is an apt metaphor for both Murakami and the man he is pursuing, set up in the film’s very first shot.*

*Kurosawa’s compositions are outstanding, using his depth of field to draw our eye to characters further back in the frame.*

When applied to Murakami as well, this metaphor continues to ring true. He is blinded by his focus on Yusa, which itself is fed by his guilt over losing that gun in the first place. This rookie cop acts on impulse, often heading straight into danger without backup and hoping that he might stop Yusa from wreaking further devastation across Tokyo.

It is only inevitable that the heatwave that has accompanied this investigation should eventually break, and being a master of using weather as symbolism, Kurosawa carries it out with incredible formal purpose and style. While Satō is following a lead to Yusa’s hotel, Murakami is pressing Harumi to give up her boyfriend, wearing away at the worldly bitterness which he has imparted on her. It’s the world’s fault he has resorted to theft, she asserts, while slipping into a dress he has stolen for her – yet the guilt she suppresses is too strong. As she begins to cry, the skies finally open up, and Kurosawa traps her and Murakami within a confining, melancholy frame behind the falling rain.

*Melancholy hangs in the air of this shot, isolating Murakami from those around him.*

*A master of using weather patterns for cinematic power, Kurosawa breaks the heatwave with a violent downpour at a key narrative turning point, and weaves its texture into this poignant frame.*

Meanwhile, as the distance Satō and Yusa narrows, so too does the furious deluge mark their meeting with dramatic tension. While trying to call Murakami from the hotel phone booth, Satō remains unaware of an armed Yusa standing just outside, who fearfully realises that he is a police officer. The outlaw’s attempt on his life is fortunately non-lethal, though his shoulder wound is enough to tip an inconsolable Murakami over the edge, and ultimately convince Harumi that her boyfriend must be stopped.

*Satō and Murakami pushed to their lowest points yet, their faces shielded from the camera as they slump on the floor and stairs.*

As our bold, young protagonist sets out on his own one last time to confront the dangerous gunman, Kurosawa displays supreme confidence in his visual storytelling. The weather has stabilised – no longer is Murakami caught in the stifling grip of a heatwave, and neither does rain douse his spirits. “Don’t panic. Calm down,” his inner voice instructs him, taking on Satō’s cool composure as he searches the train station for a 28-year-old man in a white linen suit and muddy pants. Kurosawa’s camera possesses the patience of Hitchcock as it slowly passes across a line of legs, before eventually settling on a pair of filthy shoes and tilting up to the rest of the body. His taut editing soon comes into play as well, cutting between both their faces until Yusa confirms Murakami’s suspicions by using his left hand to strike a match – and from there, the final stand begins.

*A suspenseful, continuous tracking shot along a row of feet, searching for muddy white trousers – and eventually landing on them.*

*Cop and criminal in a frame – the stalker and his subject locked in his sights.*

Through the train yard and into a forest, Murakami daringly chases his target, though for now he holds off from shooting. He remembers exactly how many bullets were in his gun when it was stolen, and by deducing clues from each crime scene, he knows how many have been used. It is immensely satisfying seeing his sharp wits play into this set piece, and even more so knowing that it is Satō’s influence that has taught him self-control, further demonstrated in a close-up of his unshaken, bloody hand after his arm is shot. Two more wasted bullets from Yusa’s pistol, and Murakami is ready to bet his life that the barrel is now empty, rushing forward to apprehend the panicked, defenceless outlaw.

*The forest makes for a superb set piece, standing both sides of the law off against each other.*

*Leone-style editing long before Leone even made his first film, seeing Murakami patiently wait for the right moment to shoot.*

It isn’t that Murakami no longer understands Yusa’s trauma, nor that Satō completely disregards empathy, but he is right that these feelings must be put aside in their line of work. “The more you arrest them, the less sentimental you’ll feel,” he remarks – not that this pragmatism necessarily fixes the problem at the heart of a troubled society. Even with Yusa and the illicit arms dealer Honda brought to justice, Kurosawa’s cynicism lingers in his ending, acknowledging the countless disturbing cases that Murakami will continue to face throughout his career. For better or worse, this line of work allows little room for moral ambiguity, yet Murakami remains fully conscious of the bitter, underlying irony – the stray dog that finds purpose in saving lives is not so dissimilar from the one which takes them away.

*Two men reduced to exhausted heaps on the ground – mirrors of each other, alike yet morally opposed.*

Stray Dog is currently streaming on The Criterion Channel.