Kleber Mendonça Filho and Wagner Moura have known each other for over twenty years. But until now they haven’t made a film together. 

“The Secret Agent,” Mendonça’s fourth narrative feature, stars Moura as Amando, a researcher who’s traveled to Recife, Brazil, in a bid to escape the wrath of the crooked industrialist Ghirotti (Luciano Chirolli). Set in 1977, at the height of the military dictatorship, the film chronicles Amarndo’s desire to obtain fake passports for himself and his son before murderers hired by Ghirotti learn of his location.

Along the way we are immersed in Amando’s network: the refugees living under assumed names who he calls neighbors, the resplendent movie theater his father-in-law Sr. Alexandre (Carlos Francisco) works at the records office where he hopes to find proof of his mother’s existence, and a group of investigators who’d like to take his testimony as evidence of Ghirotti’s crimes. 

With help from cinematographer Evgenia Alexandrova (whose energetic camera creates a kind of espionage-like tension), Mendonça both recreates 1977 Brazil and provides a window into a time when disappearances and kidnappings in broad daylight were either refashioned into myths or flatly ignored. At the center of this harrowing, at times, winking story is Moura, who won Best Actor at Cannes for his performance.

Here, Moura is smart and suave, unassuming and sexy, in a performance that combines the restlessness of Gene Hackman in “Night Moves” with the movie-star wattage of Robert Redford in “Three Days of the Condor,” for a film that says much about our fraught contemporary relationship with truth and fascism. It’s also the kind of performance that feels like a sincere partnership between actor and director. 

During the New York Film Festival, Moura and Mendonça met in person at the Thompson Central Park Hotel with RogerEbert.com to talk about the importance of journalism, censorship, and the long road that led to this collaboration.      

This interview has been edited for clarity.

You two have known each other for quite a while. Why did you decide at this specific moment to collaborate?

Kleber Mendonça Filho: I really think that things happen at the right time. There was a possibility of working with Wagner on “Bacurau,” but he had his mind too much on his own film, “Marighella,” so it wasn’t the right time. Instead, I sat down and actually wrote a script for him. It’s really tailor-made for him, tailor-made in terms of what I knew about him as a person and all the work he’s done in theater, television, and cinema, and weighing it all together. I came up with this role, which I really hoped you’d appreciate, and now here we are talking to you.

But we had met many times before. I was a film critic then, and I’ve interviewed him maybe three times. But then I made my films, and life went on, and by 2013, we developed the desire to work together after he saw my first film, “Neighboring Sounds.” So these things take time. 

In what ways do you think you grew to this moment?

Wagner Moura: There was one thing that strongly contributed to our decision to make this film. From 2018 to 2022, Brazil was in a difficult political period, and Kleber and I were both vocally opposed to what was happening. We both suffered lots of consequences for doing that. I had my film censored, and Kleber had his own issues. If we had wanted to make a film together before, that environment was what brought us together. 

Before then, we were talking informally because Kleber really takes care of his scripts. So he didn’t really show me the script until he felt like it was time to do it. But I knew exactly what the film was about because we were talking about it all the time, because we had conversations about how to survive and how to stick with your values when everything around you is saying the opposite of what you think.

KMF: I kept telling Wagner before he read the script: No good deed will go unpunished. It means that you’re absolutely right in what you do. You’re honest, and you’re a model citizen, and that is precisely why they can get you. I find that really painful, shocking, and terrible, and it keeps happening in so many places and countries. 

The Bolsonaro years brought us together first as citizens outraged by the inequality happening. But then we also had to deal with persecution because, like now, we are in this interview with you, and we often find ourselves with microphones in our hands, and then people ask: So what do you think about denying vaccines? I think it’s terrible. It’s wrong. When that goes on the record, a lot of people who believe that vaccines are ways of installing Chinese drones into your blood veins will go against us for being pro-vaccines. That statement will put us in a position to be attacked. 

WM: It’s extremely polarized everywhere, man. 

Wagner: When a role is written for you, do you find yourself using another process to get into the character? 

WM: I’ve been trying to work with Kleber since I saw “Neighboring Sounds.” I met him when he was a critic at Cannes 20 years ago, became friends with him, and then started seeing his short films. I was like: Holy shit. That critic can direct. And “Neighboring Sounds” is one of the greatest Brazilian films ever made. So, when I saw it, I knew this was what I wanted to do as an artist. I’m also a very political person, and I wanted to be part of that universe. Kleber is a master; he shoots films beautifully. You can see his references, and he manages to turn them all into a very Brazilian thing. 

It’s also very political. But politics doesn’t go in front of everything. You feel them because of the characters and the relationships the characters have. So it was like: This is what I need to do. And then I basically started to stalk him so he’d work with me [Laughs]. But to be honest, it didn’t really change the way I approach the character. I didn’t feel any pressure. I just felt happy and honored. Kleber used to say: I’m only going to give you the script, and if you read the script and you don’t like it, then you’re a fucking asshole. [Laughs]

I read it, and it was great. But even before then, we were already exchanging information, so I knew exactly what the film was. When we started shooting, I felt like I already knew what it was. It wasn’t difficult. It was very fluid. 

How did you imagine Armando as a character?

KMF: I think it’s more challenging as a piece of writing to have a great, classic hero who’s not a wimp or an idiot. He’s actually strong, full of life, and passionate, but he doesn’t have a gun. Other people might have guns, other people might kill people. Not him. That was challenging because how do you make a strong character who doesn’t push people against the wall and say, “I’m gonna kill you”? [Laughs] Which is a kind of tradition, especially in Hollywood cinema.

It feels especially defiant to have a hero without a gun at a moment when political strongmen are carrying metaphorical guns. 

KMF: That defiance comes through in the details. The way Armando talks to Ghirotti during the dinner sequence, Armando never lowers his head. He just looks Ghirotti in the face, and you can see he’s thinking: What a fucking idiot. When Armando tries to handle the situation diplomatically, it only explodes. The explosions were really interesting. There’s the moment where he punches that idiotic guy in the face. There’s another explosion when he wakes up from a nightmare. So, those modulations were necessary for the film. But I really wanted a classic James Stewart-type empathetic hero. 

You were both journalists, and this film is partly about journalism, particularly the exploitation story about the hairy leg. What do you think about the vulnerability journalism is feeling today?

WM: I have so many concerns. The truth as we know it is over. A lot of that has to do with the decline of journalism. They’re being discredited, especially by world leaders in some places. 

Journalism as a business is declining, too. People are now getting information from social media and WhatsApp. With technology, you don’t know what to believe. With deepfake or AI, you have an image of a person and a voice to go with the image, but it’s not the person. What the fuck? How can you deal with that? Where is the truth? There are no facts anymore. That’s what scares me a lot. 

KMF: I worked at a newspaper for a number of years. In the film, the information in the newspapers is always imprecise, wrong, or manipulated. I saw this from inside newspaper newsrooms. I worked in culture, and I watched other sections of the newspaper. I saw mistakes many times—natural, human mistakes, errors—and I saw manipulation openly plotted. I saw simple people being reckless and irresponsible with information. As a filmmaker, I really believe that when I shoot the machines at the newspaper, what I’m shooting is a factory of storytelling. It just depends on what stories are being told. 

One of them is the hairy leg, which is almost like a poetic fairytale, which finds its meaning in politics and censorship. The newspapers couldn’t actually say what had happened. So they made the hairy leg the culprit. Not the police or the military. So, I’m fascinated by the media, but what’s happening now is incredibly dangerous. I agree with Wagner. The truth is over. I have two 11-year-olds, and sometimes they hear or see things that have been manipulated, and I’m the one who has to look them in the face and say: “This is wrong.” And I’ve even started to feel like they’re beginning to doubt what I’m saying. That’s really scary.

Wagner: We all criticize journalism and specific mainstream newspapers, but I think that at this moment we need to support journalists. This is one pillar of democracy. The shit that our kids are reading on social media—I don’t have social media—but I know they read all kinds of crazy shit. They believe all of those things. Remember when Bolsonaro won the first election?

KMF: Of course. 

WM: When he won the first election, one of the reasons he won was because right-wingers spread a rumor that left-wingers were distributing baby bottles with plastic penises pinned to the top. 

KMF: To teach babies how to be homosexuals. 

WM: People bought that shit. That won him an election in the second biggest democracy in the Americas. 

What impact do you think returning to the dictatorship brings to viewers today? 

KMF: I don’t think films change the world, but I think films can open an interesting window to the past and inform people about the nature of their own country. The American cinema has done that multiple times. I remember growing up in the 1980s when Hollywood made the Vietnam War a major narrative in US films. That was an interesting moment for many people in the US, as they realized it was a complete thing. Now with Brazil, I think we are at a really interesting moment when it feels like, over the last month, the far-right project has collapsed and is sinking. And while I wish it would sink without a trace, I’m not sure it will. 

We have gone back to a democratic mode. “The Secret Agent” was written about a Brazil that existed 10 years ago. This is the crisis that we went through, which was basically a bunch of older men trying to reedit the best years of their lives in the military dictatorship. That was the most shocking discovery for me. This period piece that I was writing so I could work with Wagner was, in fact, a thinly disguised observation of Brazil over the last 10 years. 

At all of its previous stops—Austin, Toronto, Los Angeles, New York—the Criterion Mobile Closet has attracted throngs of cinephiles hoping to pick their favorite films and shoot their very own closet videos. Its latest appearance at the 61st Chicago International Film Festival drew similar crowds during a short October (11-13) weekend stay that also witnessed the No Kings protests and ICE raids in other parts of the city. 

Those who arrived to take part in the cornucopia of cinema came as early as 7:30 am, traveling from across Chicago and other parts of the Midwest. The faithful were greeted at first by temperate weather before enduring the first chilly hours of Fall on a rainy, frigid final day. Nevertheless, no one’s enthusiasm was dampened.  

“It was downpouring for about an hour and a half or so, but everybody is in really good spirits,” shared Nick Meyers, one of the many people to step into the Mobile Closet. “We’ve all been mingling and meeting each other and talking about what we’re looking forward to picking and what our favorite films are. The vibes have been excellent.”

For cinephiles like Nick, the Criterion Mobile Closet is a chance to have an experience usually reserved for actors, filmmakers, and other celebrities. It all began in 2010 when Guillermo del Toro visited Criterion’s offices to discuss the potential of a three-film box set of his early works. Using an iPhone, Criterion filmed del Toro stepping into their closet to pick out some of his favorite films. That grainy video launched what would eventually become Criterion’s Closet Picks series, which has welcomed talents like Agnès Varda, Barry Jenkins, Michael Shannon, Isabelle Huppert, Tracy Letts, and more into the tight confines of shelved discs to select films with which they have a personal, professional, or creative connection. 

The videos and Polaroids of visitors brandishing their picks have become an internet status symbol that has both furthered Criterion’s brand and made it an increasingly popular stop for many creatives on their award campaigns.     

The introduction of the Mobile Closet last year, which first set up shop at the New York Film Festival, offered a chance for regular people to comb through the over 1700 titles in the Criterion Collection, make their own closet videos, and depart with Polaroid pictures of them holding their discs. 

Despite the far larger confines of the Criterion van, which is capable of fitting five people as opposed to the two-person size of the actual closet, the wait times to get inside are long (full disclaimer: I’ve been in the physical and mobile closet and have written essays for Criterion releases of “Prince of Broadway” and “Beasts of No Nation”). Many of the people I spoke to on the final day of the Mobile Closet in Chicago had already been in line for nearly four hours. You also need to pay for your discs, at a discounted price, before leaving. And while “mobile” is in its name, the vehicle isn’t wheelchair friendly (per Criterion’s website, they do offer wheelchair users a tote bag, a pocket guide, a Mobile Closet shopping discount, and a Polaroid at the Mobile Closet with their selections, and they do encourage those who require special assistance to contact them ahead of time).

In Chicago, some visitors complained online about not being warned about line caps before traveling in and the vehicle’s general inaccessibility. For those who stood in line, there was some initial confusion about the line’s parameters. 

“The system was kind of weird, but then the president of Criterion explained it, and I was like: Okay, that makes a little more sense,” shared Jessie, a senior at DePaul University. “There are three different entrances, and then you have to rush when they say, “Go.” And so it’s been a little hectic.” That rush happened when Criterion officially opened the line at 9:30 am. If you arrived before then, you were kindly asked to return at that appointed time. Once people were let into line, they were put into groups, allowing Criterion to evenly filter the three separate lines set up around the van. 

Because of the mobile aspect, the on-site Closet does have limited stock. “The Battle of Algiers,” for instance, was the first title to sell out. Criterion President Peter Becker believes the film’s recent appearance in Paul Thomas Anderson’s “One Battle After Another” contributed to its popularity among visitors. “I think it just shows you how a little clip in a big movie can put a classic film on people’s radar,” explained Becker. 

Still, the range of people’s picks remained wide: “Lost Highway,” “Vermiglio,” “Night Moves,” “Barry Lyndon,” and “The Cranes Are Flying” were just a few titles those waiting in line shared with me. 

Just as diverse as the titles were the reasons people picked them. “Usually, whenever I do the Criterion sale, I just get my favorites. But this time around, I wanted to get movies that I’d never seen before,” explained David Astudillo, who arrived from North Chicago, Illinois, with Sam Adan. “This time around, I was looking to grab movies that I haven’t seen or have resonated with me, especially Japanese films, because we’ve just been to Japan.” Among the pair’s picks were “Onibaba” and “Good Morning.”

And while many planned their trip to the Mobile Closet in advance, others did so on a whim. Lisa Ryan and Carly Simko were in town from Detroit, Michigan, for a RuPaul DJ set when Lisa, a big Criterion fan, heard about the Mobile Closet. Rather than immediately returning to Detroit, the pair spent an extra night in Chicago, woke up early, and got in line. Once they’re finished here, they plan to do a same-day nighttime drive back home, where Lisa’s nephew is watching their cat.

Away from AMC New City, where the Mobile Closet set up shop, there were far more politically relevant events: The previous day’s nationwide No Kings protests, demonstrations aimed at denouncing President Trump’s despotic policies, took place in the loop and the Chicagoland area. The protests arrived on the heels of President Trump’s order to deploy the National Guard to Chicago—a directive currently blocked in the courts. 

Across Chicago, ICE has also conducted raids that have not only led to the illegal arrests of many but also violence and destruction, including the use of teargas, smoke bombs, and helicopters, causing activists and local communities to monitor their neighborhoods for immigration agents and to post on social media when agents are spotted. They’ve also filmed and directly confronted ICE to stop arrests and raids from continuing. 

Despite AMC New City’s manicured surroundings—a kind of dissonance from the outside world, with big-box stores and a giant roundabout where a stone fountain stands as its centerpiece—the political tenor wasn’t entirely out of mind. 

Instead, some saw the Mobile Closet as a chance to escape from their fraught surroundings. 

“With everything that’s going on right now, I think a lot of people are just trying to continue on with their day as best as possible while taking into account what’s happening with the current administration,” shared Astudillo. 

Others, like Roscoe Village resident Nick Funk, believe the weekend’s events show that Chicagoans can unite, no matter the setting or topic.  

“I think this is a really strong city when it comes to coming together for things,” explained Funk. “I’m originally from California, and while I don’t want to say that Chicago has a stronger sense of community, it definitely feels a lot more like I’m part of a bigger voice here. It’s a city that doesn’t necessarily have an ego, but at the same time it wants to push for change and wants its people to be heard.”

Becker, Criterion’s President, believes that those who are coming to the Mobile Closet or are demonstrating are experiencing similar feelings. That is, the joy found in community. 

“This is an event that brings people together, and I think protests can be that too. We’re surrounded by a massive number of people who share a point of view or a passionate interest or a compelling need to connect with the world,” explained Becker. “But I suspect that for any people that are coming together around things that are deeply meaningful for them, like the No Kings marches, there’s a joyful aspect to that.” 

Anthony Nuccio, who traveled from Joliet, Illinois, echoed Becker’s sentiment, observing that “We live in such a polarized time that it’s really important for people to find things that unite them. The arts have historically been that, and I think as long as an AI takeover doesn’t happen in our lifetimes, it’ll continue to be that.”

And while many in line expressed delight, relief, excitement, and wonder—multiple people told me they welcomed the opportunity to “nerd out” with fellow cinephiles—they knew once this experience was over, they’d have to return to life. 

“I think with everything that’s going on right now, a lot of people are just trying to continue on with their day in the best way possible while taking into account everything that’s happening with the current administration,” shared Astudillo. “So, while this is definitely a time to feel a little bit better, we still have to go home and continue to work through everything that’s going on right now.”

Check out our Social Media Manager’s trip to the Criterion Closet here.

“If the devil’s alive, he lived here.” — Quote in the Chicago Tribune, attributed to a worker who was involved in the demolition of John Wayne Gacy’s house.

While working as a news columnist in the 1990s, I had one of the most macabre experiences of my life when I was granted access to the Cook County records facility that housed the evidence against John Wayne Gacy.

A square-shaped piece of lumber that was the hatchway to the crawlspace in Gacy’s house. Gacy’s hand-drawn diagram of the crawlspace, indicating where some of the bodies were buried. A piece of rope Gacy used to strangle one of his victims. Handcuffs and keys. Gacy’s appointment book for 1978-79. The jacket worn by Gacy’s final victim, Rob Piest, and a receipt from the pharmacy where the 15-year-old Piest worked—the receipt that became a crucial piece of evidence in the case against Gacy.

I was just 20 years old when Gacy was arrested in December of 1979. Still, down the road, I wrote a number of columns connected to the case, including an interview with the mother of one of his victims. Over the years, I’ve met a number of real-life investigators and attorneys portrayed in the Peacock series “Devil in Disguise: John Wayne Gacy.” It’s not that I claim some special connection to the case, but it’s very real to me.

To its credit, “Devil in Disguise” is a somber procedural that focuses at least as much on the victims and their families, and the cops and lawyers, as it does on Gacy. Every episode, except the first, ends with archival news photos and film, pictures of real-life figures depicted in the series, courtroom sketches, or snapshots of evidence. (A photo of Gacy’s crudely drawn map—the map I saw in that evidence room some 30 years ago—is shown at the end of Episode 2.) This particular series resonated with me because there was no hint of exploitation, and Gacy was not depicted as some mysterious or powerful entity. Of course, he was a monster—but a monster in the form of a wannabe cop, a low-level political operative, a grotesque clown, a crude and grunting predator. He was the rancid embodiment of what the political theorist Hannah Arendt famously called “the banality of evil.”

Still, while there are standout supporting performances in “Devil in Disguise,” the awards buzz is centered on Michael Chernus and his chillingly effective portrayal of Gacy. When we consider the ever-expanding library of fictional films and streaming series about serial killers, it’s the star turns we remember. Darren Criss won an Emmy for his portrayal of Andrew Cunanan in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story.” Jeremy Renner was the title character in the 2002 film “Dahmer,” and Evan Peters was nominated for an Emmy and won a Golden Globe for Best Actor for “Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story.” Charlize Theron won an Oscar for playing Aileen Wuornos in the feature film “Monster.” John Cusack was menacing and unnerving as Robert Hansen, aka “The Butcher Baker,” in the theatrical release “Frozen Ground.”  Just this month, in addition to the Gacy series, the great Jason Clarke underwent a major physical transformation to play Alex Murdaugh in the solid albeit sordid “Murdaugh: Death in the Family,” and the talented Charlie Hunnam was the title character in the execrable “Monster: The Ed Gein Story.” Our appetite for all things true crime is voracious.

At least 10 actors, including Mark Harmon, Chad Michael Murray, and Zac Efron, have portrayed Ted Bundy. TEN. The most notorious serial killers of the 20th century have been analyzed, fictionalized, and scrutinized in so many true-crime podcasts, so many documentaries, so many dramatic interpretations, that they have essentially been transformed into modern-day boogeymen that fascinate, terrify and repel us on a visceral level that carries far greater impact than the old urban legends about the “Hook Handed Killer” or the intruder who scribbles “Aren’t You Glad You Didn’t Turn on the Light?” in blood on the bathroom mirror.

Even fictional cinematic constructs are overshadowed by the mythology of the real-life monsters. Sure, Ethan Hawke’s “The Grabber” from “The Black Phone” and Amy Madigan’s Aunt Gladys in “Weapons” are memorable modern monsters—but it’s the long-dead Gacys and Dahmers who carry generational impact in our nightmares, who continue to intrigue us decades after their heinous crime sprees. Michael Myers and Jason and Ghostface have become borderline cartoonish caricatures over the decades, but when we see graphic and blood-soaked depictions of the crimes committed by the likes of Ed Gein and Ted Bundy, it affects us—and yes, fascinates us—on a deeper level. The shocking nature of these crimes is almost too horrible to behold; almost. 

Why are we so obsessed with true-crime entertainment, in all its forms? It’s a kind of psychological combo platter. Many of us are wired to seek out the bleak but undeniable thrill of embracing dread and terror. We love to be frightened, whether it’s riding mega-roller coasters with names such as Hades 360, Full Throttle, and Shivering Timbers, or paying to be scared via one of the more than 4,000 haunted house experiences that pop up every fall, or taking the plunge into a binge-worthy limited series about real-life murderers who have become the stuff of legend. We also like to play amateur sleuth when taking a deep dive into unsolved cases such as Zodiac and the Tylenol Killer. And, with the dramatizations of the likes of Manson, Bundy, Dahmer, and Gacy, there’s the satisfaction of seeing them caught, put behind bars—and in some cases, executed.

As one of the millions and millions of fans of the true-crime genre, I don’t usually feel guilty or uncomfortable consuming this material—but when I watched “Monster: The Ed Gein Story,” I did find myself wondering: What are we even doing here? In the final episode, there’s an insanely tasteless musical fantasy number in which Hunnan’s Ed Gein imagines himself taking a victory lap to the sound of “Owner of a Lonely Heart” by Yes, with gyrating nurses and orderlies dancing, and the likes of Richard Speck, Ed Kemper and Charles Manson celebrating him; it plays like a nauseating take on the “Bye Bye Love” climax in “All That Jazz.” By that point, I felt the need to take a deep scrub to wash off the stink of this cynical, exploitative garbage.

Articles such as “What ‘Monster: The Ed Gein Story’ Gets Right and Wrong” (Rolling Stone) and “10 Details ‘Monster: The Ed Gein Story’ Got Wrong” (Entertainment Weekly) seemed to miss the point. The showrunners were never trying to get it right. The fabricated, implausible elements were deliberate—and often offensive. Maybe they thought they were holding up a funhouse mirror to the genre, but it comes across as an insult to the audience, as if we should feel guilty for even watching. Ed Gein aiding investigators in tracking down Ted Bundy, à la Hannibal Lecter helping Clarice Starling, is art imitating art inspired by real life. It’s dizzying—and troubling.

Most of these series do a far better job of empathizing with the victims than “Monster: The Ed Gein Story.” Still, even the best of them, even the ones (like “Devil in Disguise”) that refrain from sensationalizing the story and devote much of the attention to the victims and the investigators, come with an element of exploitation. You can’t tell the story of a monster without giving the devil his due. And we can’t stop watching.

Who hasn’t at least once fantasized about switching lives with someone who, from a distance, seems to have a more comfortable, secure, happier existence? While Shakespeare and others created stories about characters pretending to be someone else, it was Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper that popularized the idea of people in opposite circumstances trying out each other’s lives. “The Parent Trap,” Disney’s 1961 and 1998 films, based on the 1949 German book Lise and Lotte, had identical twins taking each other’s place. 

When Mary Rodgers wrote Freaky Friday in 1972, about a mother and daughter switching not just places but bodies, it inspired dozens of variations. Many, like Rodgers’ book, focus on family; some, like the Hallmark “Princess Switch” trilogy, on romance; some, like “Freaky,” explore thriller or horror genres. Some play with race and/or gender, like “The Hot Chick” and “White Chicks.” And some, like “Trading Places,” with Eddie Murphy and Dan Aykroyd, and this week’s “Good Fortune,” exploring race and class issues and economic disparity in satirical terms.

Here are some of my favorites. For this list, I am not counting “same person in an earlier version of him/herself” like “Big,” “17 Again,” and “13 Going on 30,” all of which I recommend, but only counting life-switch and body-switch stories.

11. “Turnabout” (1940)

The weirdest film on the list features a husband (John Hubbard) and wife (Carole Landis) who mistakenly argue in front of a small Indian idol in their bedroom. He thinks she has nothing to do while he works hard all day, and she believes his job must be more interesting than being a full-time wife. They find themselves in each other’s bodies the next morning. Even with a strong supporting cast that includes Mary Astor, Marjorie Main, Donald Meek, Adolphe Menjou, and Hal Roach behind some of Hollywood’s greatest early comedies, the film is primarily of interest as an artifact of its time. Another film about a couple switching bodies is the 1996 Australian film “Dating the Enemy,” starring Guy Pearce and Claudia Karvan as a bickering couple. 

10. “Vice Versa” (1988)

Two movies about middle school boys switching bodies with their fathers came out around the same time. In “Vice Versa,” Fred Savage is the kid, and his father, played by Judge Reinhold, is a busy retail store executive who does not pay enough attention to his son. Roger Ebert called it “one of this year’s most endearing comedies,” noting the excellent body language both actors used to show how far out of synch their physicality and their maturity levels were.  In the earlier film, “Like Father, Like Son” (1987), Dudley Moore is the reserved, proper father, a doctor, and his son, played by Kirk Cameron, is more casual and laid back. Roger Ebert gave it just one star, writing, “Everyone in the movie looks awkward and silly all of the time. This plays less like a movie than like a penalty for the losers on a game show.”

9. “Every Day” (2018)

An entity known as A wakes up every day in a different body, geographically near the last one, always his/her/their age. Other than that, the bodies A takes over for a day can be any race, any gender, any degree of ability/disability. A tries to live each day for the person whose body he/she/they are inhabiting and is deeply gratified to learn what makes each person different and what makes all people alike. And then A falls in love and, for the first time, has a reason to stay in one body. The excellent cast includes Angourie Rice, Justice Smith, and Maria Bello, and its tender-heartedness and use of the Pink song “What About Us” is captivating.

8. “Prelude to a Kiss” (1992)

Craig Lucas wrote the screenplay, based on his play about a bride who switches bodies with an elderly man after he kisses her at the wedding. It is a bittersweet love story, very much inspired by the early days of the AIDS epidemic, when a disfiguring, fatal disease ravaged beloved young, healthy people. Alec Baldwin and Meg Ryan have tons of chemistry as the young couple, and the message of loving the spirit more than the appearance is touching.

7. “Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle” (2017)

Chris Van Allsburg’s wonderful picture book about a magical board game, originally expanded and filmed with Robin Williams, is, in this version, a magical video game. It enables a group of high school kids in detention to become their avatars and risk their real lives. A shy boy becomes man-mountain Dwayne Johnson, a nerdy girl becomes the athletic Karen Gillen, a popular girl becomes a middle-aged scientist (Jack Black), and a football player becomes the short Kevin Hart. The action is exciting and funny, and the resolution, after they find another kid who has been stuck in the game for years (Nick Jonas) and defeat the bad guy (Bobby Cannavale), is satisfying as they bring home the lessons they learned, happy to be themselves again.

6. “The Parent Trap” (1961)

Hayley Mills played identical twins separated at birth when their parents divorced, each never knowing the other existed. They meet at summer camp, start as enemies, discover the truth, and switch identities so each can spend time with the parent they did not know. The 1998 remake starred Lindsay Lohan. Both are classic family favorites.

5. “The Prince and the Pauper” (1937)

Real-life twins Billy and Bobby Mauch give wonderfully natural performances in the title roles. “The Adventures of Robin Hood” stars, co-director, and composer bring a thrilling sense of adventure and heart to the story. Errol Flynn plays the dashing swashbuckler Miles Hendon, Claude Rains portrays the dastardly conspirator against the young prince, and the score is by Erich Wolfgang Korngold, under the direction of William Keighley. There’s a fine 1962 Disney television version with “Zorro’s” Guy Williams and “Parent Trap”-style, Sean Scully as both prince and pauper. And there are variations, including those starring Barbie, Mickey Mouse, Kid ‘N Play, and the Olsen twins. 

4. “Watermelon Man” (1970)

Melvin Van Peebles directed this sharp satire with Black actor Godfrey Cambridge as Jeff, a white bigot who wakes up one morning in his suburban home to discover that he has become Black. As in the classic Eddie Murphy SNL sketch where he sees what life is like for white people, Jeff encounters an eye-opening world of difference when those around him judge him for his skin color.

3. “Freaky Friday” (1976)

The original Disney adaptation of the Mary Rodgers book is still a delight, featuring teenage Jodie Foster and Barbara Harris as the mother and daughter who switch roles. Daughter-as-mother gets to create chaos at home while mother-as-daughter gets to suffer through classes and PE. While the 2003 remake with Lindsey Lohan and Jamie Lee Curtis is the best and most fondly remembered, with a 2025 sequel involving a four-way body switch called “Freakier Friday,” every one of the movies based on the Rodgers book is worth watching, including the 1995 made-for-TV version with Shelley Long and Gaby Hoffman and the 2018 musical starring Cozi Zuehlsdorff and Broadway performer Heidi Blickenstaff.

2. “All of Me” (1984)

Lily Tomlin plays Edwina, a wealthy woman who has been disabled by illness all her life. When she is close to dying, she pays Terry (Victoria Tennant), a young, healthy, but dishonest woman, to allow Edwin’s spirit to take over Terry’s body and have her first chance at a full, healthy life. Edwina’s grumpy attorney is Roger (Steve Martin), who accidentally receives Edwina’s spirit instead. The scene where Roger’s spirit and Edwina fight as he tries to walk is hilarious, and the movie is smart, funny, and very sweet.

1. “Your Name” (2016)

Most body-switching films lean toward humor, but the Japanese animated feature by writer/director Makoto Shinkai, about a boy and girl who switch bodies, has a lyrical, melancholy tone. The characters do not know each other. One lives in Tokyo; one lives in the country. The way they respond by leaving messages to help one another is moving, and the visuals are lovely.

When we look back at John Cusack’s expressive and bruised-heart romantic Rob Gordon in “High Fidelity” a quarter-century after the film’s release, there’s little doubt Rob was often a petulant and immature narcissist who filtered nearly every life experience only through what it meant to him. At times, it seemed like it would shock Rob to learn his actions and words have consequences—that he’s responsible for the state of his own life.

There are moments when we’re stunned, even nauseated, by Rob’s self-absorbed reaction to revelations from former girlfriends, e.g., Joelle Carter’s Penny setting him straight about the trauma she experienced after their breakup—and Rob making her pain all about him. What makes “High Fidelity” an enduring Chicago classic despite—what makes it still poignant, funny, and insightful—is that the Stephen Frears-directed adaptation of Nick Hornby’s 1995 novel frequently acknowledges Rob’s flaws. Cusack imbues him with a raw vulnerability, a spark of humanity, and just enough growth to make him move the needle toward Rob being likable. Somewhere just north of the age of 30, surrounding himself in protective layers of vinyl- and cassette-based hipsterism, he’s at least trying to embark on a journey of self-discovery. By the time Rob bids farewell to us as Stevie Wonder’s “I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever)” swells into the closing credits, we hope for the best for Rob.

Even if we doubt his on-and-off relationship with Iben Hjelje’s Laura will last.

Like Hornby’s memoir Fever Pitch, “High Fidelity” was thoroughly British in its sensibilities, but Frears and the screenwriting team (which included Cusack) did a spectacular job of retaining the spirit of the book while shifting the locale to Chicago. (The 2005 Americanized version of “Fever Pitch,” switching the sport from soccer to baseball and starring current talk show hosts Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore, almost sounds like parody—but it actually kinda works.) Hornby’s novel was adapted into a short-lived Broadway musical in 2006, with not-quite-immortal songs such as “The Last Real Record Store” and “Number Five with a Bullet,” and updated for a Brooklyn-set, gender-switching Hulu series in 2020—but the 2000 feature film remains the definitive adaptation.

Rewatching “High Fidelity,” one is struck by how well it serves as a time capsule of turn-of-the-millennium Chicago, primarily the Wicker Park neighborhood in all its bohemian, alt-rock, thrift-store, shabby-cool glory. Even when the locations expand to Lakeview, Lincoln Park and River North, every frame of “High Fidelity” feels true to the time. We believe these characters live in these spaces. We marvel at Chicago touchstones (some still here, some gone), including the Double Door, the Green Mill Lounge, the Music Box Theatre, Hi Ricky Asia Noodle Shop & Satay Bar, and Lounge Ax. The Irish cinematographer Seamus McGarvey would go on to deliver gorgeous and sometimes breathtaking visuals in the Joe Wright films “Atonement” and “Anna Karenina,” not to mention “The Avengers,” but his work here is equally impressive, in a lower key. The Chicago we see here is gritty, lived-in, real. “High Fidelity” occupies the same universe as the likes of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” but the images are worlds away.

Walking out of the Biograph Theater,  Cusack as Rob tells us, “John Dillinger was shot dead behind that theater in a hail of gunfire. Do you know who tipped them off? His f***** girlfriend.” That’s dark. And funny. Cusack is effortlessly natural in breaking the fourth wall;  he has nearly as many lines with “us” as he does with any in-movie character. Rob wears his psyche on his sleeve, whether he’s musing about why he is the way he is—“Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable, or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?”—or admitting he was in over his head with the beautiful and worldly Charlie (Catherine Zeta-Jones): “I never got comfortable. Why would a woman like Charlie go out with me?” It’s well-calibrated work encased within shambling physicality.

In an underrated performance, Iben Hjelje shines as Laura, a corporate attorney who has outgrown her pink-hair days and has seemingly outgrown Rob, but has her own undercurrent of instability. After Laura leaves Rob, Rob launches into his “desert island, all-time, top five, most memorable breakups, in chronological order,” and sets out to revisit each of those women from his past. Throughout that trip, “High Fidelity” reminds us of the last generation before smartphones and social media, a time of landlines and answering machines, phone books and indoor smoking, mix tapes, and desperate calls from rain-soaked telephone kiosks. (Rob is forever getting caught in deluges. You’d think Chicago was in Colombia or Papua New Guinea.)

Rob’s record store employees and friends, the manic Barry (an electric Jack Black) and the painfully shy Dick (Todd Louiso, expertly playing kindest soul in Rob’s world) provide a kind of Geek Greek chorus to Rob’s emotional rollercoaster ride; Championship Vinyl is one of the few places in the world where these two misfits can be pop culture bullies, or at least feel like they belong. Meanwhile, Cusack creates one of his most memorable romantic and intense and often obsessive characters, alongside the boombox-toting Lloyd Dobler in 1989’s “Say Anything.” (Martin in “Grosse Point Blank,” Jonathan in “Serendipity” and Jake in “Must Love Dogs” could round out a “Top Five List of John Cusack Borderline Stalker Roles.”) It’s no small feat for Cusack to draw us into so many characters that might be more abrasive than endearing were it not for his inherent, regular-guy likability.

Of course, the songs are a huge component of the story; this is about as close as a movie can get to being a musical without actually being one, with needle drops ranging from “You’re Gonna Miss Me” by 13th Floor Elevators to “Robbin’s Nest” by Illinois Jacquet to Barry White’s “I’m Gonna Love You Just a Little More, Babe,” plus Bruce Springsteen’s cameo and Jack Black’s star-making rendition of “Let’s Get It On.”

On my recent revisit, I also got a kick out of the familial bonds prevalent in the casting—including one that wouldn’t manifest until two decades later. John’s sister, Joan Cusack, is a burst of comedic energy as Rob’s (rightfully) judgmental sister, Liz. Their father, Dick Cusack, is the minister at Laura’s father’s funeral. John and Joan’s sister Susie Cusack appears as a guest at Charlie’s dinner party. (Ugh, that whole bunch is INSUFFERABLE.) Margaret Travolta, sister of John, plays Rob’s mother. Natasha Gregson Wagner (daughter of producer Richard Gregson and Natalie Wood and stepdaughter of Robert Wagner) plays the beguiling music columnist Caroline Forts, who briefly captures Rob’s interests. Lisa Bonet is a casual scene-stealer as the sultry singer Marie De Salle, who has a brief tryst with Rob but sees right through him. (Twenty years later, Bonet’s daughter Zoë Kravitz would play Crown Heights record store owner Robyn “Rob” Brooks in the Hulu series.)

A 2010 article in Chicago magazine placed “High Fidelity” atop its list of the best Chicago movies of all time. I’m not quite there. With contenders such as “Mickey One,” “Cooley High,” “Thief,” “Risky Business,” “The Untouchables,” “The Blues Brothers,” “The Fugitive,” “Barbershop,” and “The Dark Knight.” I wouldn’t put it in my personal Top 5—but if we expand that list to 10 or 12, “High Fidelity” definitely charts.

Last week, ABC suspended Jimmy Kimmel’s nighttime show indefinitely, just weeks after CBS announced the cancellation of Stephen Colbert’s show. Both were tied to complaints from President Donald Trump and his appointee, Chairman of the Federal Communications Commission Brendan Carr. 

These talk show hosts did not reveal national security secrets or advocate violence, two very limited exceptions to the broad protections of the First Amendment’s guarantee that the government cannot interfere with freedom of speech. Colbert, in the tradition of nighttime hosts for more than 50 years, made jokes about the President. Kimmel, responding to the murder of Trump supporter Charlie Kirk, said the following:

We hit some new lows over the weekend with the MAGA gang desperately trying to characterize this kid who murdered Charlie Kirk as anything other than one of them and doing everything they can to score political points from it.

In between the finger-pointing, there was grieving. On Friday, the White House flew the flags at half-staff, which got some criticism, but on a human level, you can see how hard the president is taking this.

There is nothing inflammatory or misleading about Kimmel’s statement, which is sympathetic to the President’s feelings and critical of those who made unsupported accusations before any information about the suspect was made public. 

Chairman Carr appeared on a podcast hosted by Benny Johnson and said the following: 

We can do this the easy way or the hard way. These companies can find ways to change conduct and take action, frankly, on Kimmel or there’s going to be additional work for the FCC ahead.

He has now said he intends to look into other programs, including “The View,” a show that has, since its first episode, been careful to include a balance of political perspectives. He may back down now that ABC has announced that Kimmel’s show will be returning to the air. We may learn more about any concessions or limits Kimmel had to accept. But we have already seen the difference freedom of speech makes as the overwhelming pushback on ABC and Disney delivered powerful messages from media, Hollywood stars, the ACLU, and, most importantly, their customers. 

Charlie Kirk often spoke about the importance of an expansive embrace of free speech: “You should be allowed to say outrageous things.” He would have joined Trump enthusiasts Tucker Carlson and Ben Shapiro in objecting to Carr’s threats and ABC’s capitulation. Journalists and comedians are very good at revealing that the emperor has no clothes. This assault on information, comedy, journalism, and tough questions is reckless, undemocratic, and terrifying.

In the Taylor Sheridan Paramount+ universe of cozy genre shows aimed at the AARP set, “Tulsa King” has always been a bit of a breezy, accessible alternative to the dour militarism of shows like “Lioness” or the queasy pro-oil histrionics of “Landman.” (And, of course, “Yellowstone” is no longer on the air to prop up the whole empire.) Like a mafia family without its patriarch, the Sheridan shows have been vying for succession in this new post-Costner landscape, and it seems as if Sylvester Stallone‘s effervescent series (about a New York mafioso setting up his own criminal enterprise in Oklahoma) has become the heir apparent. Season 3 feels like an attempt to set up that position, with greater expansion of the cast and more than a little franchise-building in the shuffle. And it’s still fun, even if it can get easy to get lost, so to speak, in the weeds.

When last we left Dwight “The General” Manfredi (Stallone), he’d seemingly found his happy ending. He shook off the triple threats of rival businessman Thresher (Neal McDonough), the Chinese triad, and the encroachment of New York on his business in the form of antagonistic capo Bevilaqua (Frank Grillo), and had finally taken his illicit weed business legit. What’s more, he’d even found love in strong-willed businesswoman Margaret (Dana Delany). But in the closing moments of Season 2, his door gets beaten down by a tactical team and he’s blackbagged. “You work for us now,” an unseen voice bellowed.

As Season 3 opens, we find out exactly to whom that voice belongs: FBI Special Agent Russo (Kevin Pollak), who’s picked up on Dwight’s activity in the area and has decided to recruit him to be his eyes and ears in the region in exchange for protection. (Sidenote: Russo has a chip on his shoulder about Dwight killing an informant of his decades ago, so expect that to come up later.)

But that’s the least of Dwight and company’s problems, as the gang move from the weed business to the booze business: They get wrapped up in a bid to help Mitch’s (Garrett Hedlund) ex Cleo Montague (Bella Heathcote) rescue her dad’s bourbon distillery from unscrupulous magnate Jeremiah Dunmire (Robert Patrick, all gravel and scowl amid that withered face), who wants to buy it out from under her poor pop. Dwight tries to step in to outbid him; Dunmire responds by burning down the Montague estate, with pops inside.

This turf war, and the chaos that ensues, eats up most of the first half of “Tulsa King”‘s third season, with a few detours along the way to check in on Dwight’s guys, from Martin Starr‘s stoner slacker Bodhi to Jay Will’s Tyson Mitchell, who continue down their path to styling themselves as New York-style mafioso under Dwight’s command. These moments, alongside Sly’s typical wise-guy bristling at newfangled gadgets (there are darkly funny gags about Sly not knowing how to work a Tesla, or not liking the youthful hippity-hop music of *checks notes* fifty-two-year-old rap legend Nas), sometimes bounce the show on an unsteady tone between gritty mob drama and cartoonish “Get Shorty”-esque comedy. The latter works better than the former, I’ll admit; even when the gags are weaker, Sly can still deliver a joke, and Starr feels ever more like his “Party Down” character got plopped into a season of “The Sopranos.”

But even amid its shaky narrative, the nervous footing of its jokes, and the devil’s row of characters and dynamics we’re expected to keep track of, there’s something light and infectious about “Tulsa King”‘s particular way of being. Sure, you feel the absence of Season 1 showrunner Terrence Winter (“Boardwalk Empire”) and the fact that the first season actually shot in Tulsa; Seasons 2 and 3 have swapped that out for the more tax-friendly environs of Atlanta. Even in this watered-down version, though, the central juice of the show’s pinballing tone and appealing characters remains.

Part of it involves one of the Sheridan-verse’s cheaper delights: Getting older A-list movie stars the chance to strut their stuff in a nice, easy, watchable drama. While we’ve always had Stallone, it’s a delight to see people like Grillo, McDonough, Delany, Patrick, Pollak, and Hedlund saunter their way through scenes with a veteran’s ease. They’re clearly too classy for a thing like this, which paradoxically makes the whole thing more effective.

The addition of Patrick is particularly fun, as between this and “Peacemaker” he’s really cornered the market on acerbic patriarchs in tonally-flexible genre shows. (Scenes with him and Stallone feel like the ’90s kid version of the diner scene from “Heat.” Look, it’s Rambo versus the T-1000!) The Dunmire clan even feel like a dark mirror for Dwight’s gang, right down to Hedlund’s Mitch having an evil twin of sorts in Beau Knapp’s brutish Dunmire son Cole.

With only six episodes available for critics at time of review, there’s no telling how “Tulsa King” will shake out its varying plot threads. (We haven’t even seen Samuel L. Jackson‘s character yet, whom the latter half of the season will undoubtedly focus on so he can swan off to get that Paramount paycheck on his own spinoff, “NOLA King.”) But part of me says that the story’s never really been the show’s true appeal. It’s a vibes thing; it’s less about caring for the fate of, as Sly himself puts it, an “over the hill goomba” and his group of misfits. You’re there to watch Stallone put on a double-breasted suit, smoke a cigar, and complain about millennials and their namby-pamby electric cars and their yacht rock alongside other old fogeys enjoying their Sheridan-funded televisual pension. As long as the show nails that core appeal, “Tulsa King” remains watchable.

First six episodes screened for review. The new season of “Tulsa King” premieres on Paramount+ September 21st.

In 1975, Indian cinema released one of its greatest films, Ramesh Sippy’s “Sholay.” For this young grade-schooler, watching it with my parents in Chicago’s Arie Crown theater, it was among the most captivating movie experiences of my life. Fifty years later, I’m sure every South Asian man of my generation still remembers “Sholay” with the most fondness.

A local officer, Inspector Thakur Baldev Singh (Sanjeev Kumar), hires two small-time convicts, Jai (Amitabh Bachchan) and Veeru (Dharmendra), to capture the renegade scoundrel Gabbar Singh (Amjad Khan). Thakur saw them not only as punks with a moral compass, but crafty enough to outwit Gabbar. In the process, both men fall in love with local women: Jai admires the quiet widow Radha (Jaya Bhaduri, later Bachchan) at first sight, and Veeru consumes himself with the vocal Basanti (Hima Malini)—the two fall into a series of smaller adventures until crossing paths with the final boss. Gabbar Singh may have been among the sadistic villains (pontificating in gruff Hindi, amputating his victims, cackling while killing his own henchmen) that Bollywood audiences had yet seen. The film ends with a twist and a tragedy that would teach young boys to cry. 

Overtly, the film is a Western, written and produced not long after the rise of the Italian Spaghetti Westerns, taking inspiration from “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.” While it did inspire a trend of loading big movies with multiple major stars, it did not inspire copycat Westerns. It is, at times, a screwball comedy, paying silly homage to Charlie Chaplin. Its songs are among the most memorable of their era, performed off-camera by the great Kishore Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar, among others. 

Not that I would know then, Bollywood itself was evolving. The previous decades featured the proliferation of art films by such greats as Satyajit Ray. Now, in the 1970s, Indian cinema produced numerous formulaic popcorn pictures, featuring melodramatic plotlines of forbidden love, formulaic fights between heroes and villains, lip-synched songs, and semi-random dance performances. 

Among the central figures of this era were Rekha, Zeenat Aman, Dharmendra, generations of Kapoors (Raj, Shammi, Shashi, Rishi), Rajesh Khanna, Vinod Khanna, Hima Malini, and others. New star Amitabh Bachchan, however, eclipsed all of them, becoming the hero for every young South Asian boy across the world. By today’s standards of sculpted hair, manicured faces, and chiseled bodies, these stars may not be as memorable—I’m South Asian, we’re all gorgeous, sort of—yet they radiated such charisma that even the painted marquee posters were exciting to look at. 

I wish I could, however, tap you into the way that film captured all of us. So many young men of my generation learned to love movies from their first experiences watching Luke Skywalker in “Star Wars.” For every moment my cousins, friends, and I swung wiffle bats in lightsaber duels, I am sure we quoted lines from “Sholay,” singing “Mehbooba Mehbooba” and “Yeh Dosti.” Yes, these two boys were punks, yes, they were incorrigible rogues, but they were also innocent, playful 13-year-olds trapped in the bodies of 20-somethings, forced to grow up in a harsh world. Every step of Jai’s swooning over Radha—straightening his posture, playing the harmonica in the distance, and speaking with manners—is a shy, pimply teenager’s hope to win his beloved’s approval, over her disapproval for everything he otherwise enjoyed fiddling with. In contrast, for Veeru, Basanti was the colorful, spunky force to be reckoned with whose shrugs would push him to swim in bottles of booze. 

The friendship between the two young men, Jai and Veeru, carries the film to the end. These two lads enjoyed their pranks more for their partnership than the stunts. Today, we’d call each other our “ride or die.” Each time they have to decide on something, Jai flips a coin, and they race according to where the coin falls. In the movie’s climax, perhaps the only time they have to separate, Jai flips to decide who will risk his life crossing a bridge toward sticks of dynamite. 

For so many of us young South Asian boys in the Subcontinent and (like myself) in the diaspora, Amitabh became our model of young manhood. Every few months, a local Chicago theater would pack the house with Amitabh’s latest. Soon, the arrival of VCRs allowed us to consume everything, and of course, we consumed “Sholay” more than all the rest. When an Indian kid enrolled in my Junior High, we became fast friends, spending much time talking about Amitabh. 

On first glance, long before today’s toxic masculinity, he was in this film, and for most of his movies for the next two decades, the model “angry young man.” His manhood, however, was not a product of disobedience, domination, or insecurities hidden behind lavish lifestyles. Rather, his was a model of being unable to be anything but himself, the result of which was a long process of butting heads with everyone, while still trying to remain upright. And, yes, to my parents’ and siblings’ chagrin, I butt many, many heads.  

This film was from an era in which it was still common to find sympathetic Muslims and Hindus in the stories, acting on camera, and writing and producing behind the scenes. In today’s India, it is still present, but it seems urgent against the nationalisms in India and beyond. I wonder if Amitabh is one of the few who can call on India and the world to come together in reconciliation. I would listen.

The newly-restored “Sholay” is currently screening at this year’s TIFF for its 50th anniversary.

Ask 100 fans to name their favorite football movie, and you’ll probably get at least 30 different responses, from comedy-dramas such as “The Longest Yard” (both Burt Reynolds and Adam Sandler versions), “Semi-Tough” (1977), “Varsity Blues” (1999), and “The Waterboy” (1998) to earnest dramas including “Knute Rockne, All American” (1940), as well as “We Are Marshall” (2006), “The Express: The Ernie Davis Story” (2008), “The Blind Side” (2009), and “Concussion” (2015).

Worthy contenders, but not quite strong enough to make my starting lineup of the 11 Best Football Movies of All Time.

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11. “Any Given Sunday” (1999)

Oliver Stone indulges in a running time (2 hours and 42 minutes) that nearly matches the length of an NFL game, filming “Any Given Sunday” like a war movie—peppering us with whip pans and hyperreal action sequences, handheld camerawork, and slo-mo. The screenplay is filled with football clichés, e.g., the traditional coach (Al Pacino) who has given his life to the game vs. the coldly calculating new owner/general manager (Cameron Diaz), and the aging star quarterback (Dennis Quaid) giving way to the talented but narcissistic younger showboat (Jamie Foxx)—but the star-studded cast sells the material. This is one of those “alternate universe” football films, set in the fictional AFFA (Affiliated Football Franchises of America) and featuring teams with entertainingly goofy names such as the Chicago Rhinos, the Washington Lumbermen, the Kansas Twisters, and the Wisconsin Icemen. Still, storylines such as the thread about an unscrupulous team physician (James Woods) carry real-world impact, and the football scenes deliver a visceral wallop.

Available on VOD.

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10. “Remember the Titans” (2000)

As is the case with “The Blind Side,” the legacy of “Remember the Titans” is complicated, as many of the key sequences in the film bear little or no resemblance to the true story upon which it is based, and the late coach Herman Boone was eventually fired. Still, as a fictional dramatic film loosely based on a real-life story, “Remember the Titans” contains essential truths about high school football against the backdrop of the South in the early 1970s. Denzel Washington infuses an electric authority to his portrayal of the coach, with the invaluable character actor Will Patton bringing humanity to the role of Coach Bill Yoast, who initially undermines Boone but eventually teams up with him.

On Disney+.

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9. “Draft Day” (2014)

Ivan Reitman’s front office sports drama is often overlooked in the pantheon of Kevin Costner sports movies—but it’s one of those comfort-viewing, actor-friendly movies that plays well on a lazy Saturday afternoon or a late-night click around the channels. (People still click around the channels, right?) It’s a kind of “Jerry Maguire” meets “Moneyball” storyline, with Costner easing comfortably into the role of Cleveland Browns GM Sonny Weaver Jr., who on the morning of the 2014 draft has to figure out how to best use the 7th overall pick, all the while dealing with soap-opera complications in his personal life, most prominently the fact his girlfriend Ali (Jennifer Garner), the team’s financial analyst, is pregnant. The supporting cast is fantastic, with everyone from Denis Leary to Frank Langella to Sam Elliott to Ellen Burstyn to Rosanna Arquette popping in—as well as the late Chadwick Boseman as top Ohio State prospect Vontae Mack. Given the ways in which the NFL has turned the draft into a multi-day extravaganza with high-end production values, “Draft Day” is already starting to feel like a quaint period piece.

Available on VOD.

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8. “Rudy” (1993)

With “Breaking Away,” “Hoosiers,” and “Rudy,” three of the most inspirational sports-related movies of all time were set in Indiana—with the latter two directed by David Anspaugh, a native of Decatur, Ind., and an Indiana University alum. The likable Sean Astin captures the real-life Rudy Ruettiger’s indefatigable (and yes, sometimes exhausting) determination to join the University of Notre Dame football team, despite being comically undersized and without any skill set beyond persistence and guts. Ned Beatty as Rudy’s father, Charles S. Dutton as the groundskeeper who becomes Rudy’s mentor (you’ve probably seen the famous “clapping” GIF), and Robert Prosky as a Catholic priest are all playing movie tropes, but they’re such fine actors that they elevate the material. Just as “Moneyball” unfairly maligned former Oakland A’s manager Art Howe, “Rudy” does former Notre Dame coach Dan Devine wrong, and that’s a shame—but again, these are fictionalized versions based on true events. We need conflict and resistance to create an underdog story. “Rudy” is an unabashedly sentimental tale, and even if you’re a USC fan and you hate Notre Dame, I defy you to watch it without cheering for that little dude.

On Netflix.

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7. “The Program” (1993)

You can’t get much further from the hip-hip-hooray tone of “Rudy” than “The Program,” which arrived in theaters just three weeks prior to “Rudy” in the fall of 1993. Director and co-writer David S. Ward embraces some upbeat college football-movie clichés—but also explores the dark side of the sport, with plotlines about wealthy alumni, athletes receiving special treatment in the classroom, alcoholism, and the use of anabolic steroids. (When two assistant coaches witness a roided-up lineman smashing in car windows with his head, they opt not to tell the head coach, but to warn the player about upcoming testing, so he can figure out a way around it.) Like his “Godfather” brother Al Pacino in “Any Given Sunday,” the great James Caan brings a growling, paternal authenticity to the role of the head coach, and the supporting cast features a number of bright young talents, including Halle Berry, Craig Sheffer, Kristy Swanson, and Omar Epps.

On VOD.

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6. “Jerry Maguire” (1996)

Nothing against sports agents—I know a couple of sports agents, and they’re fine people—but there’s still something miraculous about Cameron Crowe putting an agent at the center of the most quoted sports movie of all time. By this point, “Show me the money!”, “You complete me,” and “You had me at hello” are years past their saturation dates, but when you rewatch “Jerry Maguire” and revisit the lines in context, they really click. Tom Cruise is in prime movie star form as the titular character, who by the end of the story has come to genuinely believe in his mission statement. Renée Zellweger brings depth and substance to a role that admittedly has a bit of a stuck-in-the-1950s mentality. And yes, Cuba Gooding Jr. plays to the rafters in a part tailor-made for a Best Supporting Actor award—but he’s a hilarious force as an undersized receiver with a big heart whose mantra is show me the money – but only because that money is for him to take care of his family.

On VOD.

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5. “Friday Night Lights” (2004)

One of the things I love about Peter Berg’s high school football classic is how it emphasizes that only one or two Permian Panthers truly possess the size and talent to play at the next level. Unlike the powerhouse Dallas Carter team, with a roster that included more than 20 players who were offered college scholarships, for the vast majority of the Permian squad, Friday night was the end of the road—which only increases the pressure on these 17-year-olds to come through for an entire town that lives vicariously through them. “FNL” is filled with adults behaving badly and making terrible decisions, e.g., Tim McGraw’s alcoholic father abusing his son (Garrett Hedlund) because the boy doesn’t have his talents, and L.V. Miles (Grover Coulson) encouraging his nephew and ward Boobie (Derek Luke) to play against medical advice. We reel from their actions, but we understand why these men are so desperate. Their time has come and gone. The high school football careers of their loved ones are all they’ve got, and they act accordingly. That’s wrong, and terribly, terribly sad—but it makes for compelling drama.

On Netflix and Starz.

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4. “Brian’s Song” (1971)

An all-time “guy cry” classic. This 1971 ABC Movie of the Week about the special friendship between Chicago Bears star running back Gale Sayers (Billy Dee Williams) and the brash free agent turned fullback Brian Piccolo (James Caan, making his second appearance on this list), who died of cancer at 26, was such a spectacular success that it was subsequently shown in theaters, with a major premiere at the Michael Todd Theatre in Chicago. Sayers and Piccolo were the first interracial roommates in the NFL, and the film handles the issue directly and with grace and warm humor, with Williams and Caan exuding tremendous buddy-film chemistry. Especially in the 1970s, television directors and writers were considered second-tier talents to filmmakers—but in adapting an excerpt from Sayers’ book “I Am Third,” director Buzz Kulik (whose résumé includes the legendary anthology series “Playhouse 90” and multiple episodes of “The Twilight Zone”) and writer William Blinn (whose credits extend from episodes of “Rawhide” and “Gunsmoke” to co-writing “Purple Rain,” how about that) created a beautiful piece of work.

On VOD.

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3. “All the Right Moves” (1983)

More than any other film on this list, Michael Chapman’s Pennsylvania steel town football drama resonates with me, because it struck so many parallels to my own experiences under the Friday Night Lights as a thoroughly ordinary backup tight end and special teams player for the Thornridge Falcons in Dolton, Ill. (Hometown of the Pope!) Two months after Tom Cruise’s star-making turn as a rich-kid high school schemer in “Risky Business,” Cruise gives a much more grounded and even more impressive performance as defensive back “Stef” Djordjevic, whose clashes with his hard-nosed coach (a forceful Craig T. Nelson, years before he played a sitcom coach) could kill Stef’s dream of earning a college ride so he can study engineering and break the generational cycle of a back-breaking life toiling in the steel mills. (If the mills even stay open.) Twenty years before the film version of “Friday Night Lights,” here was a movie that perfectly captured the intensity, the glory, and the pressures of small-town high school football.

On VOD.

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2. “Heaven Can Wait” (1978)

Oh, how I love this film. Warren Beatty, who co-directed with Buck Henry and co-wrote the screenplay with Elaine May, gives one of the most endearing performances of his career as Joe Pendleton, a backup quarterback for the Los Angeles Rams who is plucked from the Earth before his time, returns in the body of millionaire industrialist Leo Farnsworth, buys the team, and installs himself as the starting QB. The soprano saxophone moment (when Jack Warden’s Max Corkle realizes this Farnsworth guy really is his old friend Joe) is hilarious but sweet, and the love story between Joe and Julie Christie’s Betty is beautiful and touching, transcending life and death, leading us to believe in romantic destiny.

On VOD.

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1. “North Dallas Forty”

In the late 1970s, just as pro football was reaching unprecedented levels of popularity and solidifying its standing as the dominant TV sport in America, along came the subversive, cynical, biting, and hilariously on-point “North Dallas Forty” to slice and dice the sanitized mythology of the game. Based on the terrific satirical novel by former Dallas Cowboys wide receiver Peter Gent, “North Dallas Forty” is both a love letter to football—and a scathing indictment of ownership that treats players like expendable commodities, with little regard for their health or their futures. Nick Nolte delivered empathetic anti-hero work as the aging and ever-rebellious wide receiver Phil Elliott, who is becoming increasingly dependent on painkillers. Meanwhile, the amiable country singer Mac Davis was a revelation as the star quarterback, Seth Maxwell, a pragmatic company man. The invaluable G.D. Spradlin mirrors the all-business persona of the Tom Landry-esque head coach. At the same time, the late great John Matuszak, essentially playing himself, delivers a Hall of Fame-level locker room tirade at Charles Durning’s unctuous assistant coach: “Job, Job, I don’t want no fucking job, I want to play football, you asshole…I want some fucking team spirit…Every time I call it a game, you call it a business, and every time I call it a business, you call it a game!”

On VOD and free on Hoopla.

The day is May 24, 2011, a grey, drizzly, and mostly unremarkable Tuesday. I am sitting in a room with a number of other people, all of whom would no doubt prefer to be somewhere else at that particular moment. Finally, a man steps up into the front of the room, briefly introduces himself to us and then begins earnestly discussing the career of William Wyler with a focus on the latter portion—the success of “Ben-Hur” (1959) and how he turned down the chance to make “The Sound of Music” (1965), though not a mention, as I recall, of “The Children’s Hour” (1962). Under normal circumstances—say a college class or an introduction to a screening—this talk might make some sort of sense, but these are not normal circumstances, and I am convinced for a moment that I am finally cracking up. Not only that, I can feel the stares of some of the others in the room who are a.) equally confused by all the movie talk and b.) presumably convinced that I am somehow responsible for it.

You see, when I said, “these are not normal circumstances,” what I meant to say was “this is my father’s funeral,” and when I said, “a man,” what I meant to say was “the pastor conducting the service.”

Dad, Raymond W. Sobczynski, had passed away a few days earlier the age of 76—he had been in poor health for the previous few years and had spent about three weeks in the hospital before finally passing on. As such things go, I suppose that he went as well as one could under the circumstances—my mother, my brother, his wife, and I were all there at his bedside. While it hurt, it was perhaps not a shock, and it at least brought an end to his suffering. As anyone who goes through the death of a loved one can attest, the next couple of days can be an oftentimes surreal whirlwind that finds them caught between trying to emotionally process the loss while at the same time trying to take care of all of the various details that suddenly crop up, especially regarding the funeral and all that.

Since dealing with people is not exactly my forte, one of my key jobs was to jot out a brief obituary that the pastor at the funeral home could use to glean details for the service he was going to deliver for someone I don’t think he had ever actually met. Therefore, this extremely bizarre opening is probably the result of something I wrote but I do not have the faintest idea of what it could have been—I can assure that even under the best of circumstances, I would rather eat glass than contemplate the existence of “The Sound of Music,” let alone make reference to it regarding my dead dad. Finally, at just about the moment when I am about to stand up and ask some variation of “WTF?” (and while the talk thus far may not have gone on for too long in real time, it feels to be as if it has gone on forever), he shifts the talk from the nun musical to the film that he made instead of that one, “The Collector.“

Finally, it all makes sense, sort of. I may have temporarily forgotten that Wyler directed “The Collector,” but there is no way that I can ever forget the film itself. To these eyes, it is probably the most significant movie ever made, because if it didn’t exist, there is a good chance that I wouldn’t exist either. (Granted, after a few more paragraphs of this, some of you may be thinking that might be a bad idea, but let us play nice for the time being.)

In 1965, Raymond met Patricia Kribble while riding the train into Chicago for work. From what I have been led to understand, she did not seem especially interested at first—I gather she was under the mistaken impression that he was already married—but she eventually agreed to go out on a first date with him. The evening planned was typical enough for the time—a movie at one of the city’s big theaters, dinner afterward at the Playboy Club, and perhaps coffee if all went well. Now, around this time, there were any number of films that one could have chosen from—“What’s New, Pussycat?,” “Cat Ballou,” “The Great Race,” “Von Ryan’s Express,” “The Family Jewels”—but Dad, in his wisdom, picked “The Collector.” Now this may not seem like a big deal to those of you who are unfamiliar with the film but let me hasten to assure you that if you were to compile a list of the absolute worst movies to choose to see on a first date—ones that would almost certainly guarantee that there would not be a second—“The Collector” would have to reside pretty near the top.

Based on the 1963 debut novel by John Fowles, the film introduces us to Freddie (Terence Stamp), a socially maladjusted young man with a fascination for capturing and collecting butterflies. After winning a sizable chunk of money in a football pool, he uses it to purchase a remote 17th-century farmhouse in the countryside. He then begins following—we would call it “stalking” today—pretty art student Miranda (Samantha Eggar) around London, and one night, he quietly pursues her outside a pub, chloroforms her in the street, and takes her back to the farmhouse, where she wakes up in the cellar. Miranda at first assumes that she has been kidnapped for ransom and insists that her family is not wealthy, but the truth turns out to be much ickier. It seems that Freddie has been following her for years, ever since they used to ride on the same bus line. He now proclaims his love for her and states that he will keep her for four weeks, which he feels will be enough time for her to really get to know him and reciprocate his feelings. If she doesn’t, he assures her that he will let her go with no problem.

As you can probably surmise, this plan does not go especially well. Freddie offers her certain concessions—things like access to sunlight and supervised baths—in the hopes that they will prove the sincerity of his intentions towards her. Instead, she begins to undermine him psychologically—at one point, she informs him that while she will not offer resistance if he attempts to rape her, such an act would be greatly disappointing to her. She still makes attempts to escape or get word out that she is being held captive, but is stymied at every turn. The end of the four weeks finally arrives, and with it, Freddie’s proposal of marriage—Miranda accepts, but he does not quite buy it, and she then tries yet another escape attempt. This kicks off a chain of events that leads to Miranda’s dying and Freddie, after burying her body out back, deciding that the failure of his plan was all her fault and commencing the stalking of a new and different woman with whom he might have more success.

Now make no mistake about it—“The Collector” is an undeniably creepy and compelling psychological thriller featuring excellent performances from the two leads (who both won awards at Cannes a couple of months earlier for their work), a real sense of mounting tension through Wyler’s direction and a finale that stayed true to the bleak nature of the novel instead of gutting it by slapping on a wholly inappropriate happy ending. (Supposedly, an alternate ending, one written by Terry Southern in which Miranda did manage to escape, was prepared but quickly rejected by Wyler.) That said, it is definitely the kind of film that you do not want to spring on someone completely unawares, especially in a first date situation. Somewhere in the archives, I have a scan of the newspaper ad that ran during its run at the Esquire, the gorgeous Art Deco theater where it was playing. It is not exactly restrained—the visual is of Freddie dragging Miranda on the ground, the tag line is “…almost a love story!” and it goes on to read “…from the bold best-seller about an innocent young girl who is abducted by a young man who is not so innocent.” Hell, even the legendary “Keep Telling Yourself—It’s Only A Movie!” ad from “Last House on the Left” (1972) showed more subtlety and nuance by comparison.

What could have possibly led him to believe that this was the right call to make? If he had read the book or if he had seen that ad, I have to believe that he might have rethought the decision. I cannot imagine that the Cannes victories would have made any difference to him. Did a friend recommend it to him, perhaps not entirely explaining what transpired in it? I have to assume that he simply had no idea what the film entailed and just figured it would be one of those straightforward British dramas that were making headway in the U.S. around that time. The only other explanation that makes sense—the one that actually makes the most sense, now that I think of it—is that he was thinking more about the dinner and picked the film simply because the Esquire was just about the closest theater to the Playboy Club.

What made “The Collector” such an insane choice is that if you were to try to pick a film that was guaranteed to alienate and upset my mother, you could hardly do better or worse than that one. Never exactly a big cinema buff under the best of circumstances, she hates most things that smack of the horror and thriller genres and especially dislikes movies that have the temerity to end on a down note. (She was so consistent on this point that she even used it to explain why she didn’t like “Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood,” stating that she knew what had really happened in the end.) If she had even an inkling of what the film consisted of, not only would she have said “not a chance,” but there is an excellent chance that the entire date would have been scuttled. Think I am kidding about this? She once regaled me with the story of how the guy she was seeing a few years earlier had invited her to see “Psycho” (1960), and she absolutely refused based on the title alone. (Insert facepalm emoji here.)

Needless to say, the movie did not go over very well with her and as someone who has seen her react to movies that she doesn’t like with a form of low-key hostility that could freeze the blood (after sitting through the film of the same name, simply invoking any derivation of the phrase “Comin’ at Ya” would invoke a response roughly akin to the typical response to asking the location of the Susquehanna Hat Company on Bagel Street), I can practically see the look of disapproval on her face she must have sported throughout. However, she must have been in a forgiving mood—that or the food at the Playboy Club and the coffee at Cafe Bellini must have been spectacular—because she did agree to see him again after all. Two years later, on the same date that this piece is being published, they got married—an occasion that featured something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue and a bomb threat at the reception (a tale that to be told another time)—eventually got around to having me and, a few years later, my brother and stayed together until the day he passed.

Sadly, not much tangible remains from that fateful date. Venerable Mom passed away a decade after my father, and the Playboy Club and Cafe Bellini are long gone. The Esquire, which inexplicably was denied landmark status, underwent a conversion that reduced its grand 1,400-seat auditorium to a bland six-plex before being closed in 2006. As for “The Collector” itself, its premise would get a comedic spin from Pedro Almodovar a couple of decades later with his controversial hit “Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down,” and I suspect that nearly every one of the violent police procedural shows of the last decade, things like “CSI” and the various permutations of “Law & Order,” has probably lifted chunks of its plotting for an episode or two. While the film may not have a profile as high as something like “Psycho” or other suspense thrillers of its type, it still packs a considerable punch even today. And yet, when the occasion comes when I do happen to watch it, I cannot see the brutality, the bleakness, or the psychological torment at all. All I can see is the romance. Thank God William Wyler picked this instead of The Sound of Music. Same goes for my dad.