One movie or three? For me, The Lord of the Rings represents a single story broken into three parts by necessity. When I watch it at home these days, I use the breaks between the movies as intermission opportunities, not as stops. Peter Jackson conceived this massive undertaking as an epic story in three acts and it was filmed in one mass shooting. That makes it different from every other series. Taken as a whole, The Lord of the Rings is an amazing cinematic journey. Each chapter has a slightly different tone and there are plenty of emotional highs and lows. The films differ enough from their source material to give the movie version a life of its own, but they are sufficiently faithful to be readily identified. In conjunction with the Harry Potter series, The Lord of the Rings elevated fantasy to a level of cinematic legitimacy that had hitherto escaped it. It's not an exaggeration to claim The Lord of the Rings did for fantasy what Star Wars did for space opera. Would that every year could offer an experience akin to what Peter Jackson provided in 2001, 2002, and 2003. No matter what he does throughout the remainder of his career, Jackson will always be revered for the anticipation and joy he brought to fans during the early part of the 21st century. (Ironically, this was also the period when George Lucas was cranking out the much-maligned second and third chapters of his Prequels, and the contrast - at least in the minds of some - could not be greater.)

What a mindfuck! Perhaps the most amazing thing about Memento is not that a coherent thriller could be constructed from a narrative being played in perpetual rewind, but that there could still be an incredible surprise at the end (which is actually the beginning). Memento was astounding and audacious when it was released in 2001 (it actually had its world premiere at the 2000 Toronto Film Festival, but didn't reach U.S. screens until March 2001); it has lost none of its fascination or compulsive quality since then. If you haven't seen Memento, rent it immediately. If you haven't seen it in a while, check it out again. Anyone watching this will be unsurprised at what Christopher Nolan was able to accomplish when presented with the Batman franchise as his new playground.

In my opinion, this deserves its place alongside the other great Scorsese masterpieces: Taxi Driver (one of the best films of the '70s), Raging Bull (one of the best films of the '80s), and Goodfellas (one of the best films of the '90s). Yes, The Departed is a remake of the Asian thriller Infernal Affairs, but that fact does not diminish its status. Despite using the bare-bones plot as a skeleton, The Departed evolves in different ways from its source and is very much its own film, with the Scorsese touches embedded in every fiber. Those who argue the Best Picture Oscar for this movie was payback for the snubbing of Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, and Goodfellas do a disservice to The Departed, the best film of 2006.

Before Sunrise was the best love story of the '90s. Lost in Translation holds that distinction for the '00s. It's a magical, unconventional romance to be sure, but anyone who doubts that this is the story of two unlikely people finding love is misreading the text. The ending is suitably ambiguous - each viewer will have his or her own interpretation of what those final whispered words are - but it's the journey the characters take to get to this point that matters. Romantic comedies work best when the director employs subtlety in allowing the audience to share in the experience undergone by the characters as they grow closer. This is missed in about 90% of the genre entries, where sledgehammer tactics and formulas interfere, but it is brilliantly captured here. Who would have imagined that Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson could provide some of the best on-screen chemistry of the decade?

I find this film equally haunting, compelling, and moving. There's a sense of tragic inevitability surrounding the events that unfold in this movie, since we know how things are going to end, and it creates a powerful sense of dramatic tension. United 93 takes me back to 9/11/01 in a way that even some of the best documentaries about that day cannot. This may not be a welcome thing, but it's a powerful statement about the effectiveness of this motion picture. One certainly doesn't watch United 93 as a means of escapist fun; as a piece of pure entertainment, this has little value. But, as a potent reminder of what things were like on that day eight years ago, it's hard to find a better record than this one.

There's probably not much I can write about Avatar than I have already written, since I have been scribbling about this movie seemingly non-stop for a couple of weeks. Will it stand the test of time? I can't confirm it at the moment but, as things stand, it has earned a place on this list. Repeating what I said in my year-end summary for the film (since it sums up my feelings exactly): "Avatar arrived in theaters with a weight of expectations pressing down upon it, and it did not disappoint. For the first time, a filmmaker has illustrated the true potential of 3D - not as a gimmick to divert children or a means to bilk customers out of $3. From a purely visual perspective, Avatar represents something we have never before seen... Of course, if Avatar was merely a visual feast, it wouldn't come close to the #1 spot on this list. But Cameron has always been a master storyteller (regardless of the subject matter) and, although his screenplay is far from original, this tale is told exceedingly well. I cared about the characters and was drawn into their struggle. The whole Avatar experience is an amazing, exhilarating spectacle." One final point. This needs to be seen in a theater in 3D; the 3D version will not be available on DVD or Blu-Ray any time in the near future. It's not the same movie in 2D and it will lose a share of its impact on a television screen, no matter how large the picture may be.

One of the most stirringly intimate portraits of grief in this or any other decade. In the Bedroom works because of some fine acting and because director Todd Field is able to capture the small emotional details associated with loss without resorting to the degrees of melodrama and manipulation that typically accompany this sort of motion picture. The restraint and honesty of the performances allow the viewer to believe that he/she is spying upon a group of people enduring the grief process. The catharsis - to the extent that there is one - isn't cheapened by being unearned, and there is no Pollyanna resolution. In the Bedroom was talked about quite a bit at the time of its release (2001), but it hasn't been mentioned much in the intervening years.