Welcome to MovieJawn’s first ever Sound & Vision Poll, where our writers share why they love their 10 favorite movies of all time!

by Katharine Mussellam, Contributor

Determining my top ten films was both a simple and challenging task. It was simple because I know which films I like. It was challenging because I had to narrow them down to ten. How could I pick just ten? After some thought, I determined that what differentiates a film I really liked (or even loved) from true favourites is how much I have returned to it. My favorites, I’ve realized, are those that have woven themselves the most into my memory and soul, films that I have gladly returned to more than once and am most interested in watching again. Thus, here are ten films that are essential to me.

The Sound of Music (dir. Robert Wise, 1965)

It may not be very cool for a film buff to say, but I’ve watched The Sound of Music countless times and could do so at any time. My family has developed its own in-jokes based on certain moments, which were only added onto after attending a sing-along screening a few years ago (my second time seeing the film in a theatre). I know so many scenes like the back of my hand, know every lyric, yet it still entertains me and touches me. The film has its detractors, for sure, and I don’t doubt there’s been criticism of the dichotomy between the motherly Maria and the Baroness who is anything but, but this film is such a warm hug and so well-crafted that I find myself not caring about that very much. Also, Christopher Plummer ripping apart a Nazi flag with gusto just never gets old.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch (dir. John Cameron Mitchell, 2001)

If The Sound of Music is one of the defining musicals of my childhood, then Hedwig is the defining musical of my early adulthood. Through its modern fairy tale about a nonbinary punk rocker who performs in drag, it draws attention to the artifice of narratives that people pass down about gender and romantic love. Its lessons about not needing another person to be complete and the messiness of gender that evades society’s attempts to narrowly define it will always stay with me. These lessons have been instrumental in my understanding of myself and the world. That’s not to say it’s a didactic film; it is not simple enough to be. It is in turns both beautiful and ugly, sometimes at the same time, with characters I root for despite their deep flaws. I’ve shared this film with multiple people (some more willing to accept it than others). While I sometimes caught myself mouthing the words along with the dialogue, there is still so much to each aspect of the story that I discover more layers of nuance with each viewing.

Some Like It Hot (dir. Billy Wilder, 1959)

Some Like It Hot draws attention to the limitations of scripts around gender and sexuality in a way that is perhaps very 1950s but still resonates today. It may be played for laughs, and I’m sure some people have seen Jack Lemmon’s Daphne as funny simply because he’s a man wearing “women’s clothing,” but I see more there. His performance is campy and exaggerated in the character’s attempt to be perceived as a woman, but it’s funny because of how it brings attention to the artificiality of stereotypes of how people expect women to move and act. Daphne seems exaggerated even next to Marilyn Monroe, whose image often represents exaggerated 1950s femininity. Marilyn’s character, Sugar, even compliments Daphne’s physique, though different from hers, suggesting that gender norms aren’t always as binary as we imagine them to be. There’s also something compellingly transgressive about Lemmon’s character embodying the character of Daphne as an authentic identity and then needing to tell himself “I’m a boy” in order to believe he is Gerald again. It may not be entirely realistic about how gender identity works, but it draws attention to the performativity of gender and its potential to be fluid within an individual without taking it too seriously or treating it too lightly. And then, of course, there are the goofy gangsters, wild chases, and catchy jazz pieces. Always a good time.

Singin’ in the Rain (dir. Stanley Donen, 1952)

There is little to be said about this film that hasn’t been already. The colours are stunning, the dancing is fantastic, the songs are catchy, Debbie Reynolds worked her ass off and should have been treated better on set. This might be my least interesting choice, but there’s so much to like and so much that has stayed with me. “Make ‘Em Laugh” always makes me think of my mom because it’s her favourite part. My family loves to quote the iconic line, “I cain’t’ stand him,” trying our best Jean Hagen impressions when we talk about something or someone we don’t like. The dream sequence production number is both fun and a touching representation of pursuing dreams of fame. Anyone reading this list will find it clear I like musicals, and this is the MGM musical par excellence.

White Christmas (dir. Michael Curtiz, 1954)

White Christmas is a film I scarcely remember a time before watching it, perhaps even more so than The Sound of Music. I know all my favourite parts nearly by rote, and that only adds to the pleasure of revisiting it. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that several of the film’s songs are about some form of nostalgia. There’s nostalgia for hoofers and tap dancers (“Choreography”), nostalgia for the camaraderie and sense of purpose men had in the armed forces during the Second World War (“Gee, I Wish I Was Back in the Army”), and in the titular song, nostalgia for happier and snowier Christmases gone by. Except for that last one, which I relate to more every year, I don’t share with the characters a nostalgia for those things. Most of them are specific to the place and time that the film was made, and not all have aged well, but the skill of the musical and comedic talent in the film is timeless. Everyone misses things that aren’t quite the same anymore and people who helped them get through life’s challenges but aren’t there anymore. White Christmas is about people who share a history coming together and celebrating the love they feel towards people they have special bonds with. That’s what we all want at Christmas, isn’t it?

Elf (dir. Jon Favreau, 2003)

Fans of Step Brothers and Anchorman can say what they wish; I firmly believe that Elf is Will Ferrell at his best. Ferrell excels in this film at expressing childlike wonder and enthusiasm in each situation Buddy finds himself in without becoming cloying. In anyone else’s hands the character could have lost his charm quickly, but Ferrell’s performance makes Buddy a character we laugh at but still root for from start to finish. I’ve probably watched this film more times than necessary, but even if the film doesn’t really surprise me anymore, I still look forward to watching it, or at least the ads for it, every year. The fact that the film itself was produced by several individuals who were passionate about the story but didn’t have experience making a film, who faced numerous obstacles but succeeded despite the odds, only makes me love it more.

Monsieur Lazhar (dir. Philippe Falardeau, 2011)

I may have seen others before it, but Monsieur Lazhar is the first film I remember being aware was Canadian and helped me to see that Canadian filmmakers can do great things (this should be obvious, because great artists can come from anywhere, but even in Canada it’s not often said). I still wonder what would have happened if it had won the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar. I know I wish it had. When I first saw it in high school, its moving story about grief and love was different from anything I had seen before. I recently read that it was Sophie Nélisse’s first film, which I find remarkable given her excellent, authentic performance. That’s not to say hers is the only good performance here, all the kids are great, as are the adults. There are some emotional moments, but it always feels real, never overdramatized. The poignant moments ring true as much as the humour, whether it’s the way kids try to curry favor from their teacher to one of my favorite lines where a teacher describes Rice Krispies squares to Bachir as “baclava Quebec-style.”

Maudie (dir. Aisling Walsh, 2016)

Maudie is a quiet film in many ways, but it is nonetheless a striking one. Its portrayal of Maud Lewis is one of a woman who creates the independent life she wants, but in a way that is completely different from many women’s empowerment stories. The classification of “women’s empowerment story” doesn’t do it justice. Maud finds work as a housemaid for Everett Lewis in his small, simple house in the country. He is mean to her at first, rough around the edges and unaccustomed to being with others, but she leverages an assertiveness that surprises given her gentle personality. Theirs is certainly an unusual love story if it can be described that way, but there is a fondness for each other by the end through Maud’s quiet demands for respect. Sally Hawkins was a revelation for me when I first saw this film. I wondered where they found her, not realizing that she was already well-established in the UK. This film stays with me for the way it made Maud Lewis one of my favourite artists, for the strength and nuance of Maud as a character, and for the view of the world that she had. A line representing that view comes near the end of the film, a line that I often think about. Maud says she loves windows and describes them as “the whole of life already framed.” For Maud Lewis, the ordinary world was beautiful, the subject of countless paintings. I also like windows, and in my happiest moments, I can see the beauty she sees.

Moonlight (dir. Barry Jenkins, 2016)

When I first saw this film, I don’t think I expected it to become a favourite. I liked it, understood some of the themes, was touched by various moments. But I have come to appreciate it even more as I have watched it again and again. I think the brutality of some scenes overwhelmed me the first time I watched it, but when I had a chance to take it in again later, I realized just how beautifully and thoughtfully Moonlight tells its story about the way norms of masculinity are enforced by men on each other, the way men can surveille each other’s masculinity to their own detriments. The protagonist, Chiron, navigates these things as he forges his expression of identity that makes room for softness and tenderness while also remaining conscious of the way he is seen and must present himself in order to survive.

Brokeback Mountain (dir. Ang Lee, 2005)

As a child, I was aware of Brokeback Mountain upon its initial release, but did not learn about how it related to that specific moment in history until I was a university student. But the questions surrounding it in 2005 have not completely disappeared. Masculinity and sexuality are still fraught concepts, sometimes subject to intense argumentation. Ennis and Jack, two characters whose attraction and love for each other is tangible and moving, are also characters whose ideas are placed in opposition to each other. They both marry women, but Jack marries into money whereas Ennis remains in poverty, creating different perspectives and priorities. Jack has a greater connection to a wider gay community because of his ability to travel, but also desires a long-term committed relationship with Ennis, resembling a marriage, instead of their fragmented one. Ennis, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind this arrangement quite as much. He seems content with living alone on the fringes of society at the end of the film, even though the tragedy of losing Jack clearly stays with him. There is no single easy answer to what these characters truly want that would solve all their problems. There is also no singular view of what gay liberation should look like. I think this continues to be relevant in discussions of queer activism and representation today, and these different points of view are what makes Brokeback a great film that deserves repeat viewings.