Ace in the Hole - MatthewHunt

Diner
(Barry Levinson, 1982)
American Graffiti for grown-ups, or rather for men afraid of growing up. Five Baltimore friends
contemplate impending adulthood - warily, drunkenly, bitterly - in the last week of 1958, as the
least mature of them prepares to wed. Barry Levinson's first, most personal and still his
funniest, wisest, most perfect movie.
Dirty Dancing
(Emile Ardolino, 1987)
Like Top Gun, Dirty Dancing has overcome the 1980s high-concept pigeonhole and become
something greater than itself: a pop-culture fable. Rewind it for transcendental soundtracked
sequences, genuine chemistry between Jennifer Grey's ingénue Baby and Patrick Swayze's
Johnny, and the soft-focus background against which Swayze could usefully reinvent himself
in Donnie Darko as proprietor of a "kiddie porn dungeon".
The Dirty Dozen
(Robert Aldrich, 1967)
This war movie offers a different take on heroism. Here it's not born from patriotism but from
desperation, as a team of nothing-to-lose criminals are sent on a suicide mission behind
enemy lines. They certainly are dirty too, throwing petrol and grenades into a roomful of
Germans has to one of the coldest moments of any world war two flick, and possibly one of
the most honest.
Dirty Harry
(Don Siegel, 1971)
Clint Eastwood gleefully tore out pages and pages of needless dialogue to create the pareddown
anti-hero Harry Callahan. His history and motivation are barely alluded to, but his
distaste for authority and red tape is written on every wrinkle of his craggy face. Faced with a
villain based on the Zodiac killer, Harry refuses to have his hands tied by such petty concerns
as the human rights of his suspect.
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
(Frank Oz, 1988)
Michael Caine and Steve Martin star as rival conmen working a variety of escalating scams
on the French Riviera in a broad comedy that lets them both play to their strengths. Packed
with well-timed physical gags and one-liners, this is a film that is as fun to watch as it must
have been to make.
The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie
(Luis Buñuel, 1972)
Buñuel was never an artist who needed big budgets - asked once what he'd do with $5m, he
said he'd still make a $500,000 movie - but after 1960 he moved back to Europe from his
Mexican exile, and for the first time in his career was able to work unencumbered, and often.
Thus we were afforded one of the great late flowerings of cinema: the mature Don Luis in all
his spiky, mordant glory, and The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie may prove his most
enduring late masterpiece. It's a kind of reversal of the situation of The Exterminating Angel
(1962). There, guests at a dinner party are terrified to leave, for reasons that are never clear;
here, six people keep trying to dine together, but something always prevents them. Like all of
his movies, from Un Chien Andalou onwards, Charm is wide open to the notion of dreamlogic,
and moves smoothly from character to character through successive nightmares, until
it's difficult to tell where reality ends and crazed reverie begins. The key to Buñuel is that he is
as interested in the logic as in the dream, and the movie proceeds in remarkably orderly and
clear-sighted fashion into realms of fantasy that never seem forced or preposterous, no
matter how many torturers, tyrants or terrorists show up. At this stage of his career, Buñuel
commanded immense respect among performers, and he was able here to gather the cream
of 1970s French cinema: Stephane Audran, Delphine Seyrig, Bulle Ogier, and best of all,
Fernando Rey.