Altered States (1980)

Let’s be real, here: Ken Russell isn’t exactly known for being comprehensible. Take a look at Lair of the White Worm or Gothic, and tell me you don’t agree. He works in the bizarre, the fantastic; the outré, if you will. His films deal in symbolism and religious allegory and sexual expression, and often times challenge the notion of good taste. But comprehensible? No.

And why should Altered States be any different? Hovering uncomfortably above the intersection of science fiction, fantasy and horror, States, based on a novel by Paddy Chayefsky, employs the “kitchen sink” theory, which says that every device, image, shot, angle, color, sound or texture must be gathered up, shaken vigorously, and thrown back at the screen with force. Unfortunately, in some cases it doesn’t matter if any of it makes sense. This film is a mess, moving from one concept to the next without care for continuity or context; that it’s mildly redeemed by a trio of good performances–by William Hurt, Bob Balaban and Charles Haid–isn’t saying much.

Shutter Island (2010)

Balanced somewhere between madness and sanity, Shutter Island is a noir masterpiece about secrets, lies and, ultimately, the undeniable power of forgiveness.

Leonardo DiCaprio gives what is perhaps his most electrifying performance as Teddy Daniels, a Boston federal marshal who talks like Sam Spade and smokes unfiltered cigarettes as if each one is his last. In his crisp suit and hat pulled low over his eyes, he’s a man of strict procedure, driven by the need for justice. It’s 1954, and Teddy has been assigned to a peculiar case: A female patient at Ashcliffe Hospital, a sprawling sanitarium set among the rocks of Shutter Island, has escaped. The only evidence she ever existed is a note that reads: “The Law of 4. Who is 67?” How did she escape? No one seems to know. Certainly the hospital’s ominous chief of staff, Dr. Cawley, finds it all mysterious. Played by Ben Kingsley as a man weary of antiquated psychiatric practice, Cawley intimates that Rachel Solando—who was convicted of drowning her three children—all but vanished from a locked cell. Teddy is not so sure; she must have had help from the staff. Teddy’s new partner, Chuck (a very good Mark Ruffalo), of whom he knows very little, agrees.

Walkabout (1971)

The Aborigine boy stands like a slim shadow against the sun-baked Outback. He plants his feet firmly in the dirt, rears back a hand, fingers wrapped around a crudely sharpened spear. The first strike tears a hole in the kangaroo’s shoulder. The wounded beast sprints for cover among a density of brush. On the other side, the Aborigine, smiling, prepares to deliver the death blow.

Although Walkabout is fiction, the scene is real. The kangaroo is really and truly mortally wounded, and about to meet its maker. That was when I hit the stop button on my remote. Of course, this was after being subjected to a barrage of revolting images, such as: a young boy, in glorious close-up, licking salt from his older sister’s palm, his tongue snaking and darting; the same boy, again in close-up, slobbering all over a wild berry; the Aborigine violently slaughtering a lizard, which is then hung with other dead lizards from his make-shift belt like a trio of sausages in a butcher’s window; wonderful snapshots of the Aborigine’s hand clinging to bloody ribbons of kangaroo meat. And all of that came after a seemingly endless and tiresome parade of shots of sweltering outback, rock, silt, and every creepy-crawly creature in the desert.

The Vanishing (1988)

The Vanishing is a suspenseful, engaging thriller that provides us with interesting characters, a halfway plausible setup, and then destroys everything that has come before in the last ten minutes.

The premise: While on vacation in France, Dutch native Saskia goes missing at a rest stop. Three years later, Saskia’s husband, Rex, is still searching for her. He tirelessly puts up posters around Amsterdam, gets interviewed on the local news, and even drives away his new girlfriend, Lieneke, with his obsession.

We meet the kidnapper, Raymond. He’s a family man, clean-cut, well-off, a chemist. This is how he knows the properties of chloroform, which he used on his victim. Played by Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu, in a spookily calm performance, Raymond moves with mercurial ease between having dinner with his wife and kids, and rehearsing his diabolical plan right down to the nth detail, which includes monitoring his heart rate. He tries his scheme on a series of women–and ends in failure each time. And then he meets Saskia, whom he charms, in a terrific scene, over who has enough Francs for a cup of coffee.