Critics Survey: The Best of Spielberg
What’s the American director’s best film? Seven writers weigh in.
If you ran a survey asking any number of subjects from the last four generations what their favorite movies were growing up, you’d probably receive some duplicate answers. Putting aside whichever Disney animated film marked your first trip to the theater or which made-for-TV flicks played whenever you came home from school, some movies stand the test of time, achieving recognition and appeal spanning decades. Between E.T. (1982), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), The Land Before Time (1988), Back to the Future (1985), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), Jurassic Park (1993) and more, there’s a good chance the name “Steven Spielberg” was attached to much of the media you consumed as a kid; as either director or producer.
Now in his sixth decade of filmmaking, Spielberg has directed over 30 theatrical films, starting with 1974’s crime caper, The Sugarland Express, and ending with last year’s award-winning West Side Story remake. Between them are plenty of riveting political thrillers, historical dramas, and action, sci-fi and fantasy blockbusters that revolutionized modern filmmaking. To celebrate West Side Story’s release and its recent Golden Globe wins, I decided to do a survey of my own, asking six friends and fellow critics to help me decide on a favorite Spielberg joint. For a filmography with so many hits, snubs were inevitable, but every one of these is a strong contender for his best.
E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
By Ursula Muñoz-Schaefer
Out of all of Spielberg’s genre films, Hook (1991) and Raiders of the Lost Ark were the two that marked my early childhood. The former I had on tape and rewatched constantly; the latter had a face-melting scene that left quite an impression on me as a kid who didn't watch scary movies. One school night, during a fateful dinner in front of the TV, the titular alien and I finally crossed paths as I flipped through the channels.
It goes without saying that E.T. is better than any of the aforementioned films. Its simple premise—a lonely boy befriends an alien hiding out in his backyard—is a tight one with ample room for creativity. And as I’ve said before, its suburban setting makes for the perfect adventure, allowing the characters autonomy to explore their surroundings and get themselves into trouble, while also being contained enough that they feel suffocated and long for freedom. Cue the angst that often makes coming-of-age stories so compelling.
Even if I was closer in age to the annoying older brother than I was to the protagonist, the story’s emotional resonance wasn’t lost on me at the time. As I’ve gotten older, each subsequent viewing of E.T. has proven it to be a film for people of all ages. What struck me most on a recent viewing is how much depth Melissa Mathinson’s script gives Dee Wallace’s character, as a single mother trying to make ends meet for her three children.
It’s hard to narrow six decades-worth of filmmaking down to one superlative. I don’t know if I’d call E.T. better than the devastating Schindler’s List (1993), which I consider one of the greatest non-fiction narratives… ever. But it’s certainly a perfect movie, a movie I can rewatch endlessly and a timeless favorite.
Ursula Muñoz-Schaefer is a writer and reporter from Puerto Rico, and the creator of Reading From Top To Bottom. You can follow her on Twitter @UrsulaMunozS13.
Munich (2005)
By David Barrios
Oft-noted is Spielberg’s proficiency in turning around great films in record time. The one-two punch of 1993’s Jurassic Park and Schindler’s List proved that despite Spielberg’s natural penchant for showmanship, that same directness that defines his blockbusters also makes him a natural documentarian.
He accomplished a similar feat in 2005 with War of the Worlds and Munich. One film would repurpose H.G. Wells' alien invasion tale as a 9/11 allegory, and the other would continue exploring Spielberg’s relationship to his faith by depicting the State of Israel’s covert responses to the slaughter of 11 Israeli athletes during the 1972 Olympics.
In Munich, an ex-Mousad agent named Avner is tasked with leading bombmakers and assassins through Europe and the Near-East in an attempt to behead the leadership of the Black September terrorist organization. The existence of this group is denied, and financing done behind closed doors.
Early on, Avner and another member of the team shadow Adel Wael Zwatter in Rome, before confronting him in the lobby of his apartment. Zwatter's arms are bound with groceries, embodying a man unarmed. They hesitate, but do the job. The violence is sudden. You see the blood mingle with the fresh milk; the agonized looks from the assassins. This is not merely an exercise in style. Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner bring humanity to people who would typically be depicted as monsters, while our protagonists slowly have their souls chipped away.
Munich posses fundamental questions not only about Israel’s relations with Palestine, but America’s perpetual war on terror. The film ends on a searing, yet muted note, asking: where does it all end? How do you pursue your country’s interests without compromising them? Instead of presenting answers, we are presented with a plea for peace.
David Barrios is a writer who divides his time between Miami, FL and NYC. You can follow him on Twitter and Instagram @thatssobarrios.
The Post (2017)
By James Maloney
Filmmaking is a process, and no-one in the modern age is a master of the process as much as Steven Spielberg. Every delightfully complicated camera flourish feels effortless, blocking shifting from frame to frame with total ease. Yet not only is he a master; Spielberg loves the process. All processes. Many of his later films fixate on process, from the bureaucratic cogs of The Terminal to the good-at-what-they-do characters of Catch Me If You Can. It’s no surprise then that Spielberg brings back Tom Hanks for a film that is very much about the process of democracy itself, and the role of the free press in it.
The making of any art is a process in and of itself, and here I feel Spielberg interrogating the value of the outcomes of that process. The Post moves its camera effortlessly through the newsroom and the rhythmic chug of the printing press in the heart of the building, emphasising and celebrating every step in the process of news getting into print. Up to a point. When it becomes clear that the process is limited, if it's not in service of something greater. Leave it to chug away, and the status quo is maintained. Without purpose, without intent, the process limits itself to what we know. Like the process of filmmaking, without perspective all we create is not entirely worth creating.
A press that deigns to hold power to account; a filmmaker that strives to use their skill and technique to communicate with their art. Those are beautiful, and worth protecting.
James Maloney is a writer and filmmaker from Perth, Australia. You can watch his films on YouTube and follow him on Twitter @JamesScrambles.
Jaws (1975)
By Ben Elzey
Somehow, Jaws—Spielberg’s breakthrough and the film that created the blockbuster—almost feels underrated in the modern landscape. This is a recurring theme with Spielberg I’ve found. He’s considered one of the all-time greatest directors and is probably the most well-known to the general public, but I feel that very few folks seem to have a real understanding of what makes him so great. To me, Jaws is indicative of everything that makes him a genius.
Formalism is a term oft-misunderstood as well, but it’s the driving force behind Jaws. Jaws is thematically simplistic but intricately constructed so as to create a perfectly paced and tense adventure movie that also sneaks up on you and emotionally grabs you when it most needs to. Its ability to do so is in large part enabled by how simplistic it is. Simplicity and technical mastery are things that have both somewhat fallen out of vogue in recent years, but it is nice to always be able to go back to this era of storytelling, and even nicer for Spielberg to still be pushing this with things like West Side Story.
But, even as masterful as I found that film, I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to suggest it absolutely pales in comparison to Jaws. Jaws is simply a film like no other.
Ben Elzey is a writer from Maryland whose work can be found on Medium. You can follow him on Twitter @filmsonthebayou.
Catch Me If You Can (2002)
By Zachary Morgason
Underneath the layers of procedure and deception, Catch Me If You Can is about two men — someone's father and someone else's son — bound by their acumen and their loneliness on Christmas. On one end of the line is Leonardo DiCaprio, perfectly cast in one of his finest early performances. On the other is Tom Hanks, whose tetchy personality somehow only makes him more charming. Between them are thousands of miles of cat-and-mouse plot, strung together with Spielberg's usually tight direction and possibly John Williams' greatest earworm (go ahead, hum the theme; I promise you won't be able to stop for a week!).
This crime caper is one of at least a dozen Spielberg efforts that run well past two hours and feels closer to 90 minutes, moving along in a breeze that parallels that jaunty Williams score as well as its lead character's defining unflappable confidence, which helps him to spin a thrilling yarn out of nearly any scenario. Altogether the elements stack up to a gripping and touching experience, a story which would be strong in nearly anyone's hands, but elevated into a technical and sentimental stratosphere as only this director could have.
Zachary Morgason is a writer from Dallas, TX whose work can be found on Medium. You can follow him on Twitter @zmorgasboard.
The Terminal (2004)
By Maddie Purdon
When you think of multi-Academy Award winning director Steven Spielberg, the first works that come to mind are typically his action-packed blockbusters. But despite being one of the most influential creators in the history of film, there are still a few unsung gems hidden in his filmography; perhaps none more so than 2004’s The Terminal.
In The Terminal, Tom Hanks plays Viktor Navroski, an international traveller who is forced to remain within the confines of JFK Airport when his passport is rendered “invalid” after a military coup in his home country. How you can craft a charming and heartfelt comedy out of one of the most terrifying circumstances imaginable, I do not know—but somehow Spielberg manages, aided by Hanks’ memorable leading performance. In a role that could have easily felt like a caricature, Hanks exudes such earnestness that the Krakozhian handyman feels genuine.
That is not to say the movie is without its faults, though. First-time viewers may have thoughts regarding some of the character choices—notably Gupta, played by Kumar Pallana. Much to my delight, however, in preparing for this piece I discovered that, not only did Pallana have a wonderful experience working with Spielberg; he also brought his real world experience as a juggler and plate-spinner to the set—information that certainly clarified a specific scene that had previously given me pause.
On paper, The Terminal should not be a movie I love. We’ve got a citizen from a war-torn country imprisoned, presented not as a political drama but as a light-hearted romantic comedy. I’m not so blinded by nostalgia as to miss the bootstraps mentality either, but it’s just so damn wholesome, I can’t help it. Between its eclectic cast of characters and infinitely quotable dialogue, it remains firmly planted amongst my favourite Spielberg flicks.
Maddie Purdon is a writer from Australia. You can follow them on Twitter @madfrieza.
Jurassic Park (1993)
By Jerry Chen
To say Jurassic Park changed movie history would be an understatement. Today, the topic of practical versus digital effects is still hotly debated. The unique thing about Jurassic Park is how it broke new ground, using the best of both worlds under the meticulous care of Stan Winston and Phil Tippett.
I remember watching the behind-the-scenes as a kid and learning how all the wonderful practical effects were achieved. What struck me then (and still now), was how they nailed the dinosaurs’ eyes. Looking at monster features from the past, the inanimate eyes of these creatures often broke my immersion into their films. The dinosaurs of Spielberg’s classic felt real because the windows to their souls looked freakishly alive.
However, all those technical innovations would’ve been a waste without Spielberg’s confident direction, Michael Crichton and David Koepp’s script, a pitch-perfect cast of actors and—most importantly—John Williams’ score, which struck awe into the hearts of everyone watching. The night-time T-rex attack’s eerie build-up is representative of how masterful Spielberg treated the mystique and dread of encountering these ancient beasts.
The other thing that separates Jurassic Park from other blockbusters of its era, is how grounded the colorful characters are. They’re not action heroes like in the franchise’s sequels, but instead simple archeologists struggling financially. Between Ellie, an outspoken feminist who is unafriad to call out misogyny and sexism; Ian Malcom, a sexy but cynical scentist that sees right through the park’s capitalist endeavor; the young twins yearning for parental love due to thier parents’ divorce and more, Koepp and Crichton’s script gave them humanity and nuance.
Ultimately, the reason why Jurassic Park remains my favorite Spielberg is because it still evokes endless imagination almost three decades after its release, reminding me of the importance of heart even within high-concept stories.
Jerry Chen is a writer from Taipei, Taiwan whose work can be found here. You can follow him on Twitter @jerryasleep.