Dana Stevens doesn't like lists, except when she does.
The Slate film critic and co-host of the Slate Culture Gabfest tells us that she doesn't like ranking her top ten films of each year. She will reluctantly produce a list of her ten favorites, but she will not order them. She won't fit herself into that mold even when she's a guest on the Filmspotting year-end podcast, in which the ranking of films from ten to one provides a crucial part of the episode's structure. While the other three hosts ranked their 2021 top tens from favorite to least favorite, she boldly stuck with her own convictions and just offered ten titles without further assessment of their respective worth.
But I stand by my argument -- maybe never explicitly stated as such -- that a person doesn't go into film criticism without having some sort of mental framework for expressing their appreciation of film. I suspect there are few critics out there who are in it only for the purity of the written word, without being driven on some level by a tendency to rank, to assign star ratings, to produce letter grades or to make lists.
Well I've just discovered how that manifests itself in Dana, how she demonstrates that little bit of obsessiveness that lets me relate to her just a bit more than I already did.
On their recent year-end "call-in" show of the Gabfest -- which I caught up with only very belatedly, and which features emails and voicemails from their listening audience, not actual live interaction -- Dana and her co-hosts (Stephen Metcalf and Julia Turner) answered the following listener question: "What one song would you want played at your funeral?" Naturally this led to a bit of riffing, with each providing more than one song and Dana even taking the opportunity to talk about movies, though without mentioning specific titles.
It was revealed that Dana has a Spotify playlist of songs to play at her funeral, a comment that took her co-hosts aback. I assume it shocked them because they thought it flew in the face of Dana's free-spirited ways -- both in her stated dislike of lists, and in terms of the optimism she unfailingly projects. Dana clarified that she is not specifically planning out her funeral or anything so morbid as that, but more than anything, these are songs she wants to be forever associated with her, to the extent that they might live on after her on the internet. She also explained that she frequently adds songs to this list, so at this point it obviously far exceeds the number that could be played at a funeral, and complicates the task of anyone trying to interpret the list as practical posthumous funeral-planning advice from the departed.
It was also revealed that Dana has a wild fantasy about an entire weekend devoted to remembering her, though not in a somber way of course -- just a hope that she could live the sort of life that would encourage family and friends to devote extra time to honoring her, in the form of a three-day party that would be a direct benefit to them, not just a tribute to her. Part of that, she revealed, was that it might take place all at one house and there would be a room devoted to showing a funeral film festival.
She has that list of titles as well, but "that's a topic for another podcast."
I see you, Dana. You like lists.
(I know, I know. It was never lists she didn't like, it was ranked lists.)
Funeral film festival. Huh.
It obviously got me thinking: What would I curate for my own funeral film festival?
I was originally going to call this post "Your funeral film festival" rather than "My funeral film festival," because a) I didn't want to give anyone a heart attack who thinks I'm announcing some sort of fatal illness, b) I didn't want to give the impression I am depressed or gloomily contemplating the end of my own life, and c) the idea of planning my own funeral gives me the heebee jeebees. But the reality is, the rest of this post is what I'd consider showing at my own funeral film festival, were such a thing to occur, and were I in a position to help plan it beforehand. (And hey, if you're reading this at some point in the future after I have already died, but before I've already been buried, see if this sort of thing might be practical! I might not be kidding! Or it can be months later as a memorial! I don't care! I'll be dead anyway!)
One thing I should say is that whatever I write about here is bound to change between now and whenever I die. I'd say I hope it changes a lot because I hope that is 40 years from now, but then again, it might not change a lot even if it is 40 years from now. There's a good argument to be made that when you are nearing 50, you have already seen the movies that are going to seem the most important to you on your deathbed.
I figure ten titles is a good number to consider. You show two on Friday night after everyone arrives, five scattered throughout the day on Saturday and another three on Sunday, letting everyone leave to get back to their lives by mid-afternoon.
The key, though, is that this is not just another variation on "What are your ten favorite films of all time?" Pulp Fiction is currently my #3 on Flickchart, but no way is that making an appearance at a film festival in celebration of my life.
So the following ten titles I've chosen are also titles that deal in some way with the bittersweetness of life, that have the heart and earnestness to be about something bigger while also, usually, not taking themselves too seriously. I want my mourners to enjoy these movies, not be hit over the head with how final and irrevocable death is.
For the purposes of maximum possible enjoyment for the widest range of people, I'm also considering only titles that aren't known for being divisive. For example, I think a movie like Vanilla Sky is excellent at contemplating themes of the fragility of what we have, but I know some people loathe that movie (even if they are wrong). I don't need a movie that some people hate -- plus a polarizing figure like Tom Cruise -- ruining the celebration of my life.
Finally I thought it was wise to limit my pool of candidates to my top 500 films on Flickchart, as I want these to be films I really cherish. I want at least the people who know me well to think of me when they think of these films. It turned out I didn't get even that far, as the shortlist of 18 candidates included no movies ranked lower than #394 on my chart.
So without any further preamble, here are the ten films I've chosen in the year 2022 for this festival. In honor of Dana, I'm not ranking them, though that wouldn't make sense anyway. It makes more sense to provide approximate time slots for them, so that is what I have done.
And then I decided to go from ten to 14.
Here's what I figured. No one is going to watch all of the films. It takes someone insane -- like me -- to watch 14 movies over three days, something I've done on several occasions. But I'm already dead in this scenario. I expect an average mourner to watch three, maybe four films in total, either ones they haven't seen before or special favorites. Hopefully there will be enough mourners that each screening will seem suitably well attended.
There will be movies that some people just don't like, despite my trying to avoid that as stated above. Depending on where it's held, maybe they want to go play an hour of tennis as a little change of pace, assuming I don't die in winter. Maybe they've booked themselves into the spa. Maybe they want to join the bongo circle, where my more musically inclined friends are banging out a tribute to me on the drums. Maybe they want to participate in the cooking class and learn to make authentic Mediterranean cuisine in my honor. Hey, I don't know what new interests I'll have by then.
So it seems that I can schedule this thing chockablock, with only short breaks between each movie (though you will see I've allocated meal breaks on Saturday and Sunday). Since it's my special weekend -- even though I won't be there to appreciate it -- might as well pack in the goodness as tightly as I can.
The only time restrictions I insisted on obeying were to start the movies late enough on Friday that people didn't have to leave work too early, depending on how far they had to travel, and to get them out of there by late afternoon/early evening on Sunday, so they have some chill out time when they get home before they have to go to bed. One last chance to reflect on me and my greatness.
Oh, and no movies during the hours when people are typically sleeping. I can see a marathon like that working and I know people will have some long, dark nights of the soul contemplating how empty the world will feel after my death, but I want them to be fresh for the next day's slate of films.
So -- now without any further preamble -- here's the schedule for the weekend. Get there early if you can.
Friday
Arrival/check-in from 3 p.m.
6 p.m. - Defending Your Life
(1991, dir. Albert Brooks) 111 minutes
Flickchart: #25
(Program note: Dinner to be consumed during film, available at buffet in adjoining room)
Why this film? I want to kick off the weekend on a lighter note, and this film's opener lets us know right away what we're in for, as Brooks' Daniel Miller is killed in a head-on car collision listening to Barbra Streisand in his brand new Porsche convertible, distracted from the road while trying to pick up some compact discs that have spilled into the passenger side footwell. He is then immediately pushed in a wheelchair through the hospital-like corridors of the afterlife, freshly deceased and none too pleased about it, though he's very tired so he can only muster a hangdog half-frown. Before long Meryl Streep shows up to add a total splash of delight to Daniel's trip through the afterlife, where he'll defend in a court of law a dozen key life decisions to determine if he gets to move on to the next plane of existence, or is instead forced to return to earth to give it another shot. In among the hilarity there's some real profundity in Brooks' best film, and I think this gets the audience laughing while never losing sight of the core questions of how we try to move past the fears in life that hold us back.
8:15 p.m. - Cinema Paradiso
(1988, dir. Giuseppe Tornatore) 155 minutes
Flickchart: #116
Why this film? The main course of night 1, as it were, is also the longest film that will play, and one of the least to do directly with death. As you would know if you've seen it, this is really a love letter to the movies and to people whose childhoods had a love of cinema as wallpaper. As it follows the main character from that young age to adulthood, when he has left his hometown in the distant rearview mirror, it does contemplate life and loss and the things that live on only in our memories. And of course when (spoiler alert!) the loveable old projectionist Alfredo (Philippe Noiret), who is earlier blinded in a fire at the cinema, does die, it's the occasion for our main character, Salvatore (played by different actors at different ages), to reminisce on his formative years, and finally return home. The climactic piece of film he views -- this I won't spoil if you haven't seen it -- creates just the sort of emotional release my mourners may be needing.
11 p.m. - Wild Strawberries
(1957, dir. Ingmar Bergman) 91 minutes
Flickchart: #394
Why this film? As the lowest ranked film on my Flickchart that will play, it might also not surprise you that this is among the least familiar to me of the movies I've chosen. I've seen it twice, but the most recent viewing was more than ten years ago now. I'm choosing it, though, for a couple reasons. One is that the themes of looking back on life near its end stick with me, even if the specifics of the story don't. Another is that it would sort of honor my (still living, but probably not at this point) dad, whose favorite film is Bergman's The Seventh Seal -- and even though the chess with death bit is certainly the kind of thing you might gladly feature in a funeral film festival, that film didn't connect with me to the extent it did my dad. But the biggest reason that I've chosen it for this late-night slot is that it has an ethereal, existential quality that befits late-night contemplation, though I'm sorry I'm making you read subtitles after midnight on what has already been an emotionally draining day.
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Saturday
8 a.m. - Breakfast - Pastries, bagels and some hot foods available
9 a.m. - The Iron Giant
(1999, dir. Brad Bird) 87 minutes
Flickchart: #10
Why this film? So what does my first animated film of the festival, a lovely little story about a boy and his robot, have to do with ... oh wait a minute. Death is all over this thing, as one of the most miraculous feats The Iron Giant pulls off is to make young viewers consider the preciousness of life without it totally bumming them out. The giant's first contemplation of mortality, when he gently nudges the lifeless body of the deer, is a tonal masterstroke, enhanced exponentially by Vin Diesel's childlike line readings of the giant's curiosity about death. Then near the end -- again spoiler if you haven't seen the movie -- everyone must contemplate the near certainty of their own impending death when a nuclear missile is headed directly for their small Maine town, with only a heroic metal martyr standing in its way. (Plus the setting is a nice way to honor my New England upbringing, and my dad actually lives in Maine.) The Iron Giant still makes me cry after like seven viewings, so yeah, this one is making the cut.
11 a.m. - A Matter of Life and Death
(1946, dir. Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger) 104 minutes
Flickchart: #327
Why this film? This is the only film in the festival that I've seen only once -- I saw it only a year ago for the first time -- but hopefully that will change before I shuffle off this mortal coil. It'll keep the mostly light vibe going during the daytime hours (yes, Iron Giant is mostly light despite the threat of nuclear holocaust). The story is about a World War II British fighter pilot (David Niven) who is going down over the English Channel, and in his last moments before certain death, he falls in love with the American radio operator (Kim Hunter) whom he sends a distress signal. Except he doesn't die, rather, awakening on the banks of the water within range of this woman and his fellow British soldiers. This may all be a state of limbo, though, as he can't explain his failure to die, and starts seeing visions of envoys from the afterlife, who will eventually have him in a trial that's sort of similar to what happens in Defending Your Life. This movie's delightful spirit, ahead-of-its-time philosophizing (especially for a mainstream film) and yes, even special effects, simply knocked my socks off. This is joyous in its ruminations on that thin membrane between life and death that we all find ourselves in on a daily basis. And maybe it will convince some of my mourners that I'm not actually dead.
1 p.m. - Lunch - Sandwiches
2 p.m. - Four Weddings and a Funeral
(1994, dir. Mike Newell) 117 minutes
Flickchart: #39
Why this film? If A Matter of Life and Death didn't keep the light afternoon vibe going, then this fellow British film definitely will, as only one-fifth of it is dour, if you are going by the math in the title. This is the movie whose inclusion I am most justifying on the basis of "I just love it," with the excuse of the title explicitly referencing a funeral to further strengthen my choice. I do think the portion related to Gareth's death is handled quite well, especially as it does, indeed, change the tone of the film for about 15 minutes. If someone read a poem at my funeral that was as beautiful as W.H. Auden's "Funeral Blues," it'd probably bring a tear to my own eye as I'm lying in the casket listening to it. And then the rest of this film is just such a delight to be in the presence of for two hours. The traveling party of friends, going from one wedding to the next (with a funeral inserted in there for good measure), is the sort of feeling I'd like my mourners to have, dropping absurd witticisms and catty remarks if the mood strikes them. Hey, it's a funeral but it doesn't have to be depressing.
4:15 p.m. - Truly, Madly, Deeply
(1990, dir. Anthony Minghella) 106 minutes
Flickchart: #150
Why this film? British much? I didn't realize until typing this out that this makes my third straight film from Jolly Old. You'd think I were an Anglophile or something. And I realized I lied earlier -- I've only seen this film once as well, probably due more to its scarcity than anything else. (I think I looked for it a while back and determined you basically can't get it, but I'll kick the can down the road on that problem and leave it for whoever's curating this festival.) There's some real lovely melancholy in this film, as a woman (Juliet Stevenson) is visited by her recently deceased boyfriend (Alan Rickman), who basically takes up residence in their house and even brings some of his deceased musician buddies with him on occasion. (This would go well with the aforementioned bongo circle.) This is definitely a comedy of sorts in that Nina ultimately gets a bit irritated by Jamie, a necessary part in the healing process that allows her to move on. And if I remember correctly, we ultimately realize that was all part of Jamie's plan -- to allow her to say goodbye and to appreciate her loved one a last time, but then to pave the path for a happy rest of her life.
6:15 p.m. - Rabbit Hole
(2010, dir. John Cameron Mitchell) 91 minutes
Flickchart: #121
Why this film? I haven't wanted so far to put people in direct touch with their anguish, but if anyone wants to just have it out with their emotions, this is the film for them. I don't suppose a movie about the death of a child is ever going to be light in any respect. But the film that was my #3 for the last decade (meaning its Flickchart ranking should increase once it gets the right duels) is just such a powerhouse emotional experience that I couldn't leave it on the sidelines. It doesn't only deal with the emotions, but rather, how they eat away at your relationships and steadily drive you to disassociate with your own life. If that were where it ended, though, it would be a big downer, and not worthy of inclusion here. Nicole Kidman's and Aaron Eckhart's grieving parents reach a place where they can go forward, with that rock in their pocket -- that's how Dianne Wiest's character describes it -- still there, but maybe a little lighter every day. This is another film that leaves me as an absolute wreck every time, but it's not the child's getting hit by a car -- which occurs before the start of the narrative -- that does it. It's the way family and friends surround them at the end, in a showing of love I'd like this particular weekend gathering to emulate.
8 p.m. - Dinner - Selection of surf and turf
9 p.m. - Harold and Maude
(1971, dir. Hal Ashby) 91 minutes
Flickchart: #203
Why this film? If Wild Strawberries honored my father, who is still living, then Harold and Maude honors my mother, who is no longer with us. This was her favorite film and it quickly became a favorite of mine as well, especially after watching it again the night she died in 2020. I love the mixture of tones in this film, as Harold puts on increasingly elaborate fake suicide attempts, which get a blase reaction from his own mother and are clearly played for comedy, and Ruth Gordon's dialogue is almost exclusively naughty and devil may care, as her paradoxical joie de vivre comes shining through. Of course, this movie ends in a very sad place for Harold, who might actually be suicidal -- though what he chooses to do with those instincts speaks volumes of hope. If everything else the film does right were not enough, I'm loving the idea of hearing some Cat Sevens at my funeral film festival -- even if I won't actually be "hearing" it. (But who knows, don't rule out me manifesting as a ghost and watching from the back row.)
11 p.m. - A Ghost Story
(2017, dir. David Lowery) 92 minutes
Flickchart: #157
Why this film? Now that we're closing in on the witching hour, I want to get back into that existential, midnight movie headspace I tried to create on the first night with Wild Strawberries. This one flirts more with the actual horror genre, as there are things in this film that feel very unnerving -- even though we're seeing everything that's happening with a recently deceased man who walks around draped in a bedsheet with two eerily sightless eye holes, so there are no jump scares or the like. (That's Casey Affleck, and let's hope the world has forgiven him a bit more before I die.) (And wait, there is one jump scare, involving a piece of construction equipment of all things.) There are parts of this movie that go purposefully slowly, and there are parts that speed past us before we even notice -- which I think must be sort of how eternity actually feels. This film doesn't only travel forward in time, it travels backward, never ceasing to be completely and utterly profound at any moment. But I mightn't include it if it didn't end up someplace hopeful, or at least someplace immensely emotionally satisfying. I still remember sobbing in the theater after the last shot, though your mileage may vary.
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Sunday
8 a.m. - Breakfast - Eggs benedict, huevos rancheros, raspberry waffles with mascarpone cheese, four-egg omelette with truffle drizzle, Belgian crepes with a glazed apricot reduction, Wheaties
9 a.m. - My Neighbor Totoro
(1988, dir. Hayao Miyazaki) 87 minutes
Flickchart: #70
Why this film? You've had a hard past two days, with ten films that have put you through the ringer, in toto if not individually. Nothing to freshen you on Sunday morning like a little palette cleanser like this. If you think "Hey Vance, what the hell does My Neighbor Totoro have to do with death?" I would respond first and foremost "Shut up, it's my funeral film festival, I do what I want!" in my best Cartman voice. In reality, though, this wondrous little life-affirming miracle with incredibly low stakes does indeed have death lurking in the background. There's something ever so slightly melancholy to the adventures of young Satsuki and Mei, which is that their mother is in the hospital, and because they are children rarely told the unvarnished truth, they have no idea how bad it is. Is their mother possibly on the verge of dying? I mean, they actually moved house to be closer to her, which doesn't sound promising. Because Miyazaki would rather teach children about life while keeping their innocence firmly intact, it all resolves well for Mrs. Kusakabe, you'll be glad to hear -- with no small help from a cat bus, a Totoro, a couple Totoro helpers and a whole attic full of dust bunnies. And maybe, nearing this end of the weekend, you'll be glad to know it will all resolve well for you, even if I'm not still around to help you with that.
11 a.m. - Tanna
(2016, dir. Bentley Dean & Martin Butler) 87 minutes
Flickchart: #98
Why this film? Tanna wasn't actually on my original shortlist, but I kept coming back to it in my head, and when I expanded the field to 14, it was easy to find a spot for it. We go from one lush Pacific Ocean setting to another, as the film is a sort of Romeo & Juliet story among the indigenous people of the title island, located in Vanuatu. Because I'm name-checking Shakespeare's most famous depiction of star-crossed lovers, you know that there's got to be death involved here somewhere -- hate to give that spoiler since I know a lot of you reading this right now won't have seen my #5 of the last decade. But I might be including this as much for the idyllic paradise in which it takes place -- as close to a vision of heaven as a religious skeptic like me can get -- as for what ultimately transpires between the central lovers. The way one child in this film expresses her grief, like no non-professional actor of that age I've ever seen, and the way the film ends with a sort of communal celebration, are both things I want to bring to you as you near the end of this epic journey in my honor.
1 p.m. - Lunch - Taco bar
2 p.m. - Away From Her
(2006, dir. Sarah Polley) 110 minutes
Flickchart: #346
Why this film? Depending on how I die, this could be the most topical film in the festival. It's the only film dealing with the thing that could very well be my own cause of death: dementia, or the complications that arise from it. That's what got my mother and her mother before that, as well as my grandfather on my father's side. (The jury is still out on my own father, who is as mentally sharp as ever at age 82.) I'm not including the film so much for its subject matter, though I can't deny that's a factor. (A film like The Father might actually be more powerful to me, but it's a bit too intense.) No, the film impresses as much as it does because of Sarah Polley's grace in depicting the illness that affects Julie Christie's character, while her long-time husband, Gordon Pinsent, can only look on helplessly. No way at age 27 Polley should have been this astute about the frailty of the mental faculties of the older set, and from having watched her documentary about her own family (Stories We Tell), I don't even think it was from her own personal experience. What I find so lovely about this film is not Christie's performance, which is very good, but she's playing a character who basically no longer has any agency over her choices. Rather, it's the man who can choose, her husband, who grows to implicitly understand all the best things for her, even when she turns her attention to another man in the home where she now lives. That's an act of the purest love on his part, and I only hope my wife could give me the same "gift" under those circumstances. As a little change of pace, the character does not actually die in the end -- fancy that.
4 p.m. - Raising Arizona
(1987, dir. Joel Coen) 94 minutes
Flickchart: #1
Why this film? And we save the best for last. Breathe a sigh of relief, people -- you got there. And your reward is my #1 movie of all time, plus a chance to really relax and have a good time. Aside from it being my #1, and that seeming like a good choice to send me off in its own right, there are indeed other reasons I've chosen to include this in my funeral film festival. (Don't make me pull out my Cartman voice again.) Although it is not always in the text, mortality hangs over this film. It's there in Ed's desire to produce a child and extend herself onward past her own finite lifespan. It's there in HI's dreams of a man in black on a motorcycle coming to kill him. It's there in Gale and Evelle's attempts to liberate themselves from prison, and their panicked screams when they think they might have killed the baby while driving off with his car seat on top of their car. But -- you'll be surprised to learn, or maybe you won't because it's my favorite movie -- this movie makes me emotional too. It's all about HI's new dream that ends the movie, where he imagines himself off into the future, with real kids that really belong to him, and the moment when he's sitting at a large dinner table full of hypothetical future family members, his back to the camera, and a hypothetical grown daughter smiles and touches him on the cheek, and says one word:
"Dad."
(Plus I love the idea of the last thing in the festival, to send people off, being Carter Burwell's incredible score over the closing credits, and all the joyous ululating it entails.)
*************
I think I've got a good representation of tones, genres, time periods and parts of the world. There may be something I haven't covered but hey, even in death, I'm not perfect.
There were a few films I considered that involved suicide, but in a poignant way, like Abbas Kiarostami's Taste of Cherry. And though I'd love to include an Iranian film, I can't have any mixed messaging out there if the cause of my death is the slightest bit ambiguous. (Besides, Harold and Maude covers suicide pretty well without seeming like a cinematic suicide note.)
Other honorable mentions from my top 500:
Ghost (1990, Jerry Zucker)
Flickchart: #31
Obviously I love it, but it's too earnest and cheesy for some people, plus maybe it's more about love than death.
Coco (2017, Lee Unkrich)
Flickchart: #139
Appropriate themes and light tone with a powerhouse ending, but I didn't need a third animated film.
Henry Poole is Here (2009, Mark Pellington)
Flickchart: #168
Thematically it works and I obviously really like it, but I think most people don't like it and it's a bit too religious for what I want to convey in this context.
Dreams (1990, Akira Kurosawa)
Some beautiful themes and possible landscapes of the afterlife, but I decided to let My Neighbor Totoro be my sole representative for the cinema of Japan.
I'm sure there are great choices for the theme beyond my top 500. Maybe I'll save them for if I come back to life and die a second time.
It occurs to me that this might make more sense as a lineup -- or might make more sense as a film festival at all -- if I'm taken before my time. Nobody's going to film festivals honoring 93-year-old senior citizens, because most of the people who would go would also be 93, if they're even still alive. The existence of the festival implies a sort of melancholy and wistfulness over how much the person still had to give. At 93, you ain't giving much if you're giving anything at all.
However, if I have died young and you remember this post, tell my wife, because it might not be too late for her to start planning!
I might be kidding! But I might not be!
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