1. 2001: A Space Odyssey (Stanley Kubrick, USA / UK, 1968)

2. Andrei Rublev (Andrei Tarkovsky, USSR, 1966)

3. 8 1/2 (Federico Fellini, Italy / France, 1963)

4. Woman in the Dunes (Hiroshi Teshigahara, Japan, 1964)

5. Lawrence of Arabia (David Lean, USA / UK, 1962)

6. Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (Stanley Kubrick, USA / UK, 1964)

7. La Dolce Vita (Federico Fellini, Italy / France, 1960)

8. Closely Watched Trains (Jirí Menzel, Czechoslovakia, 1966)

9. Belle de jour (Luis Buñuel, France / Italy, 1967)

10. In Cold Blood (Richard Brooks, USA, 1967)

• The Apartment (Billy Wilder, USA, 1960) Perhaps only Billy Wilder could wring so many laughs from a film about morally bankrupt businessmen who use a lower-ranking worker's apartment for their philandering trysts. Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine walk an incredible acting tightrope between comedy and tragedy. A cracked gem.
• Bonnie and Clyde (Arthur Penn, USA, 1967) Aside from the gorgeous leads, it’s the ugliness and hardship of Bonnie and Clyde’s Depression-era crime spree that stands out. A film that could easily have glamorized violence instead chooses to reveal the brutality and senselessness of killing for what it is, influenced, no doubt, by the disruptive times in which the film was made. There's certainly nothing glamorous about the way the titular outlaws died, which is one reason the film still holds up today.
• Breathless (Jean-Luc Godard, France, 1960) Self-consciously cool, Breathless stands as one of the hallmarks of the French New Wave. From Jean-Paul Belmondo’s amoral, blithe demeanor to the pop culture images and items liberally scattered throughout, Godard breaks every filmmaking rule imaginable, and gets away with it because beneath the shallow façade is a restlessly manic cry for help from a French nation still coming to terms with the trauma of the Second World War.
• Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (George Roy Hill, USA, 1969) The posse that relentlessly chases Butch and Sundance serves as the perfect metaphor for encroaching progress in the Old West. Simply one of the best written/acted/directed buddy movies of all time.
• Chimes at Midnight (Orson Welles, Spain / Switzerland, 1966) It’s the verve with which Welles tackles Shakespeare’s plays that makes this so wonderful a film. Judiciously fusing the playwright's Falstaff-related material into a raucous (and ultimately tragic) romp through Merry Olde England, Chimes at Midnight is perhaps the greatest adaptation of the Bard’s work ever committed to celluloid. If only Welles had had a sufficient budget to clean up the dodgy soundtrack, it would have been damn near perfect.
• Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper, USA, 1969) The foreshadowed doom is too heavy-handed, but the brutal ending still resonates. A bitterly cynical take on the post-party '60s counterculture dream, when drugs became big business and peace and love had been reduced to cheap taglines by self-absorbed no-accounts in search of a free ride. Despite being badly dated, this beautifully shot and urgently edited film still captures the mood of a turbulent time in American history.
• The Graduate (Mike Nichols, USA, 1967) This hilarious examination of the generation gap works as well as it does due to the fact that Dustin Hoffmann's character, Ben, is clueless as to where his future's headed. The final scene on the bus with Ben and arranged-wedding-liberated lady love Elaine giddily enjoying the moment, but bothered by the uncertainty of what tomorrow holds, perfectly reflects the ambiguity and concerns of '60s youth culture.
• A Hard Day's Night (Richard Lester, UK, 1964) Captures the spirit of Beatlemania, and our ongoing fascination with pop stardom, better than any other work. Lester simply staged the Fab Four being themselves, and the immediacy and zaniness of the group shines through in every scene. A manic, deliriously fun trip through a period in music history when the inmates, more so than the corporations, ran the asylum.
• The Hour Of The Furnaces (Fernando E. Solanas, Octavio Getino, Argentina, 1968) The lingering shot on a dead Che Guevara's face might be what this film is most famous for, but Getino and Solanas had nothing less than a Marxist revolution via cinema on their minds with this intense, chaotic collection of footage detailing the Argentinean government's betrayal of the common people. Third World liberation may not have come as a result of Furnaces, but in its triumph of free expression and direct challenge to neo-colonialist ideals, it remains a powerful work deserving of high praise.
• The Hustler (Robert Rossen, USA, 1961) From Kenyon Hopkins’ hip, spare score to Eugene Schuftan’s masterfully lit photography, The Hustler inhabits its world of all-night pool halls and lonely bus depots with a hard-edged reality that underscores the adrift, broken lives of its characters. The acting, especially by Piper Laurie, is flawless, as are the direction and set design. The pool scenes might be what it's most famous for, but The Hustler endures because of the way it so expertly captures the arrogance and folly of human nature.
• Judgment at Nuremberg (Stanley Kramer, USA, 1961) Though it too obviously adheres to its stage roots, Judgment at Nuremberg is nonetheless a handsomely executed, if statically presented, courtroom drama that can’t help but fall into melodramatics given the intense subject matter regarding Nazi atrocities during the Second World War. In its attempt at reconciling past events with the beginnings of the Cold War, Kramer’s film is an undeniably powerful and important document.
• Jules and Jim (François Truffaut, France, 1962) Truffaut puts relationships under a tight microscope in this poetically executed look at two friends and the woman they both love. Despite following a predictably tragic course, Jules and Jim feels fresh and vital throughout.
• La jetée (Chris Marker, France, 1962) Known more today for inspiring the writers of Terry Gilliam’s 12 Monkeys, Marker’s short film -- primarily comprised of carefully chosen and exquisitely composed still images -- remains a haunting, penetrating look into the way we perceive time, childhood and memory. All this, and a foreboding post-apocalyptic theme to boot, validate La jetée’s richly deserved classic status.
• L'avventura (The Adventure) (Michelangelo Antonioni, Italy / France, 1960) A young woman’s inexplicable disappearance while visiting a volcanic island during a Mediterranean yachting cruise is the jumping-off point for this deliberately paced examination of empty lives and its cynical observation about one’s ultimate purpose in life. Antonioni’s brightly lit and beautifully photographed scenes serve to further expose the underlying shallowness of his bored, self-absorbed characters.
• A Man for All Seasons (Fred Zinnemann, UK, 1966) Paul Scofield brings a quiet, intense dignity to the role of Sir Thomas More that elevates this film (based on Robert Bolt's play) beyond mere costume drama fare. Historical quibbles on the factual basis of More's impeccably noble bearing aside, A Man for All Seasons takes the matter of honor, oath and duty to one's God and country very seriously at a time when such hot button issues were confronting contemporary audiences.
• The Manchurian Candidate (John Frankenheimer, USA, 1962) Frankenheimer’s inventively paranoid take on Cold War espionage might be a little too obvious in the way it plays its narrative cards, but the performance by Angela Lansbury, as a scheming mother intent on nothing less than global domination, is truly outstanding. Think of it as a more serious-minded complement to Kubrick’s apocalyptically farcical Dr. Strangelove.
• Marat / Sade (Peter Brook, UK, 1966) Sade versus Marat. Individualism versus collectivism. Personal identity versus mass consciousness. It's a war of wills in this Royal Shakespeare Company production based on the plays the infamous Marquis staged while in Charenton asylum. From the bars separating patrons from inmates, to the raging performances of Sade's mad troupe, Peter Brook ably manages to touch on issues about revolution, madness and freedom that proved just as relevant to mid-'60s audiences as they did during Napoleon's reign.
• Midnight Cowboy (John Schlesinger, USA, 1969) The desperate need to belong stands out in this brutally frank examination of a male hustler fresh off the bus from Texas and his lone ally in the rotten-to-the-core Big Apple. Dustin Hoffman's turn as pathetic consumptive Rico "Ratso" Rizzo stands as one of the actor's finest performances.
• Playtime (Jacques Tati, France / Italy, 1967) It’s the incredible rhythms of Playtime that truly stand out (opening and closing doors; honking horns; noisy shoes). And that’s saying quite a lot considering the intricately staged, yet minimally executed sight gags Tati instigates in this hilarious send-up of modern life and conveniences. From the beauty of silences to the chaotic exuberance of human interaction, Playtime is a marvel of understated observation.
• Point Blank (John Boorman, USA, 1967) Lee Marvin plays a restless ghost -- an implacable revenant who can't rest until he gets the money that was stolen from him during a robbery betrayal that went down within the shadowy, abandoned pens of Alcatraz. Incredibly evocative camerawork and an almost surreal examination of the dark heart of the criminal element power this fascinating examination of revenge, loss, and hollow redemption.
• Psycho (Alfred Hitchcock, USA, 1960) Sure, like Norman Bates says, we all do go a little mad sometimes. But Norman's is a psychosis unlike any other in screen history. Hitchcock brilliantly subverts conventional narrative (taking a potboiler noir plot and dramatically shifting gears in midstream by killing off the lead character), serving up some of the most arresting images ever seen, perfectly complemented by Bernard Herrmann's unforgettably chilling score.
• To Kill a Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan, USA, 1962) Wonderfully told from the eye level of children forced to confront the evil that all-too often emanates from our own backyard. A film about bigotry that reveals its truths with a staggering, emboldened and unwavering confidence.
• A Touch of Zen (King Hu, Taiwan / Hong Kong, 1969) This gorgeous epic set during the Ming Dynasty is truly a visual feast. The fight choreography is superb, the attention to period detail exquisite. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon would not exist without this film -- a fact Ang Lee has rightfully acknowledged.
• The Wild Bunch (Sam Peckinpah, USA, 1969) It's the climactic "death walk" of the four remaining Bunch members that embodies this unflinchingly nihilistic take on the final days of the Old West. Cinematographer Lucien Ballard zeroes in on the reality of violence, and its immediate and larger social fallout, while Peckinpah concentrates on the faces of the innocent bystanders as much as the men with guns. An astonishing mediation on honor, dishonor and the final weeks of outsiders who had no place left in modern society.