Was there ever any doubt that Schindler's List would wind up at the top of this list? (Judging from the e-mail "guesses" I have gotten, no.) When I first reviewed this film in 1993, I was using a 0-10 scale, and Schindler's List became the first and only movie I ever honored with a "10." That does not imply that the film is perfect, but, all things considered, it is surely one of the best motion pictures ever committed to film. Director Steven Speilberg can work for another 40 years, and he may never equal what he has accomplished with this movie. Despite the grisly subject matter, this film is essentially about uncovering a kernel of hope and dignity in the midst of a monstrous tragedy. The story of Oskar Schindler's sacrifices for the Jews sets this apart from other Holocaust dramas. The acting is flawless, and the black-and-white cinematography is stunning. Uncompromising in its portrayal of good, evil, and all the shades in between, Schindler's List offers a clear view of human nature laid bare: hatred, greed, lust, envy, anger, and, most important of all, empathy and love. Because this film touches us so deeply, the catharsis has a power that few -- if any -- other moments in film history can match. And that's what establishes this as a transcendent motion picture experience.

It wasn't easy deciding the order of the Top 3 films. Any of them could have been #1, and my final choice was only made after spending a rainy day watching all three back-to-back-to-back. Goodfellas ended up with the Bronze Medal, but that in no way diminishes its status as perhaps the greatest and most viscreal motion picture made by one of the best living American directors: Martin Scorsese. With this movie, Scorsese has scored a trifecta, having one of the Top 10 films of the 1970s (Taxi Driver), the 1980s (Raging Bull), and the 1990s. Goodfellas is as compelling and absorbing as any crime drama I have ever seen. The script shows all the facets of these characters; they are all fully developed individuals capable of great good and great evil. The moral ambiguity of their lifestyle is treated with a shrug. The story, which spans a quarter of a century, has an epic feel despite its intimate perspective. And, as is often true of Scorsese's work, Goodfellas is a masterpiece of visual composition. Employing the services of German-born cinematographer Michael Ballhaus, the director eschews a static camera, always keeping the canvas of his film fluid. There are long pans and innovative flourishes, all designed to enhance the mood and involve the viewer in the action. If there's an area of weakness in this film, I can't find it. Indeed, few (be they critics or average movie-goers) will object to the statement that Goodfellas stands alongside The Godfather as one of the two greatest mob stories ever presented on film.

Kenneth Branagh's full-length, unexpurgated version of Hamlet is not only the grandest and most glorious spectacle of the 1990s, but it is the second-longest film to reach U.S. theaters during the decade (the longest: Gettysburg). As with all great Shakespeare adaptations, this one does not demand familiarity with the Bard to be appreciated, but such knowledge can only add to the richness of the experience. Hamlet is one of the most frequently filmed of Shakespeare's plays, but Branagh's version stands as not only the best filmed adaptation of this title that I have ever seen, but the best cinematic expression I have come across of any of Shakespeare's works. One of the things that Branagh brings to this adaptation is an amazing visual sense. From start to finish, this is a stunningly beautiful film, filled with vibrant colors, startling camera angles, and costumes and production values that are among the best of the decade. Yet, even amidst the spectacle of the visual elements, the narrative is never upstaged. A key to great cinema is to use time and place to augment the story, and that's what Branagh accomplishes here. Branagh was born to make this film. Hisprevious forays into Shakespeare (Henry V, Much Ado About Nothing) have been excellent, but nothing prepared me for the power and impact of this motion picture.Few movies during the '90s have engaged my intellect, senses, and emotions in quite the same way. This is four hours very well spent.

Some might consider it to be cheating to group these three movies together, but this is a case in which the sum truly is greater than the individual parts. If Three Colors was broken apart and the components were presented as three stand-alone entities, only Red would have stood a fighting chance to make the end-of-the-'90s Top 20. On the other hand, viewed as a whole, the trilogy definitely deserves to be here. Even White, the "weak sister" of the three, has greater depth and resonance when seen as the middle chapter rather than as a stand-alone film. Kieslowski constructed these three movies to illustrate the principles of liberty, equality, and brotherhood. While they succeed at that, they also do much more. These are powerful, emotionally rich, and impeccably photographed films with unforgettable characters. One treat that viewers watching the films one-by-one might not notice is the difference in tone. Blue is a deeply-felt drama about grief. White is a dark comedy about reaching equality in a marriage. And Red is a stylistic meditation on fate. Taken apart, they represent three fine motion pictures. Together, they are a masterpiece.

I don't think I've ever seen a movie quite like Raise the Red Lantern -- not a surprising admission, considering how infrequently productions possessing this degree of emotional impact and narrative quality come along. The film is widely recognized as a defining example of modern Chinese cinema. It is also one of the most sublimely beautiful and openly disturbing films of the 1990s. The story, which transpires within the confines of the estate of a rich man in feudal China, tells of the plotting and maneuvering of a group of wives as they seek to curry their husband's favor. The Chinese government didn't approve of Raise the Red Lantern, and it doesn't take much imagination to see this film as a parable for the corruption of modern society in China. Thematically, Raise the Red Lantern is an epic, but, in terms of physical scope, it is an intimate motion picture. Lead actress Gong Li and director Zhang Yimou, who collaborated numerous times on screen while an off-screen relationship simmered, are at the apex of their talents. Neither before nor after have they equalled the spell they have woven here (although To Live comes close). Raise the Red Lantern is one of those all-too-rare motion pictures capable of enthralling an audience while they're watching it, then haunting them for days thereafter.

Pulp Fiction is likely the closest the motion picture industry will ever come to bottled adrenaline. Kinetic, colorful, and exhilerating, this inventive mix of action/adventure, slick dialogue, and black comedy became a lightning rod for both criticism and adulation during its highly successful U.S. theatrical run. The most frequent attack on the film claimed that director Quentin Tarantino had not done anything inventive -- he was merely recycling the best parts of other movies. And, while there's an element of truth to that charge, the fact is that the real brilliance of Pulp Fiction lies in the way that all the disparate elements have been mashed together. The movie is unique -- not because everything it does is new, but because there's a freshness to the way in which each scene is put on screen. Now, four years later, the Pulp Fiction phenomenon has dimmed, leaving in its wake a tremendous source of entertainment whose luster has not been diminished by the early 1995 backlash. Tarantino may never again approach what he achieved with this motion picture, yet he will still be regarded as one of the most important and influential directors of the 1990s. And Pulp Fiction will forever stand as one of the decade's bloodiest crown jewels.