Dark Water: I lent this to a friend who loved it. When he returned it I put it on as a kind of background music and left the subtitles off so we wouldn't be distracted by it as we talked. We just watched it again.
Eraserhead: Well, if you've read the others you know it's going to be here.
The Woman in Black: No, not the one with Harry Potter. I mean the one made for television in the 80s adapted from the novel by the late great Nigel Kneale. All the CGI in Hollywood was not enough to obscure this earlier, superior version.
Twelve O'Clock High: Loved it when I was a kid because it was a war movie with B-17s but was also because of the psychological squeeze involved in the story as the minimum number missions before leave just rises and rises. One of Gregory Peck's best turns.
The Quiet Earth: Like an extended Twilight Zone Episode. Some annoying plotting bandaids and gaffer taping but has the courage to freak right out for the ending suggesting a potentionally infinite chain of mysteries. Get you're audience thinking. The way I like it. I saw this at the old Valhalla in Richmond. People who didn't know each other were arguing about the ending on the tram afterwards.
The Evil Dead: It's funny. It's scary. It flaunts its low budget without embarrassment.
Irreversible: From inferno to paradise just not in a comforting order.
Audition: Saw it in one of the shoebox sized cinemas at the Lumiere. As the lights came back up people looked around them as though to make sure they'd all witnessed the same thing.
Prince of Darkness: Great mix of ideas and grue with a strong early use of video to alienating effect. God vs Anti-God and, guess what, they don't give a toss about us. Also, one of Carpenter's best scores.
Myra Breckinridge: Usually on people's worst of all time lists and with good reason but I like its self awareness and proto-mashup abandon. A sadness at the core is often missed because of the camp and flair but it is there and holds up what might otherwise be a series of failed jokes. Also missed is quite a lot of the genuine satire buried underneath the sledgehammer variety. This is lack of discipline rather than lack of quality. No worse, in fact, than anything Ken Russell was celebrated for.