Three real-life buddies (John Cassavetes, Peter Falk, and Ben Gazzara) team up to play three pals whose lives suffer a shock wave when a fourth friend drops dead. After the funeral, the three friends, feeling death's hot breath on their own necks, take off on a weekend-long debauch, with way too much drinking and loose women. But, in the process, they have lengthy heart-to-hearts about the nature of friendship, manhood, and marriage, among other things. As strong an example of Cassavetes's improvisational art as any of his films, this film may test your patience with his indulgent treatment of actors, allowing them to explore their characters on film. Sometimes they come up empty, but more often, they find precious moments and revelations. And these three guys play off each other like long-time partners in a high-wire game of chicken in which they all emerge as winners. -Marshall Fine.

This beloved 1962 film from the golden age of international cinema can't help but look terribly self-conscious now, full of ambivalent nods to the contemporaneous vitality of the French New Wave (an obligatory iris shot of star Hardy Kruger, for instance, as seen through something like a tiny knothole). There is also a fair amount of dragging and wasted motion in the overlong story, but even that is forgivable given this film's extraordinary, soulful portrait of a beautiful if impossible relationship. Kruger plays Pierre, a former military pilot whose plane crashed after a bombing raid in Indochina. Killing a little girl in the process, Pierre suffers a psychological trauma that is lessened by the company of a 12-year-old orphan named Cybele (Patricia Gozzi), herself an abandoned, luckless child in need of companionship. Meeting every Sunday, the two become immersed in a deeply affectionate world of their own, where nothing unsavory actually occurs yet a full range of emotional colors seems possible-much like two innocents reborn in each other's eyes. Cowriter and director Serge Bourguignon adopts a fairy-tale tone for both the central bond between Pierre and Cybele as well as the oddly harsh, uncaring social environment that inevitably condemns their union. Bourguignon is lucky to have a couple of important allies: Maurice Jarre for the musical score and legendary cinematographer Henri Decae behind the lens. While these artists can't save Bourguignon from his own trite excesses as a visualist, they enhance his considerable feeling for the redemptive poetry of an unlikely love. -Tom Keogh.

One of the most ferociously iconoclastic and experimental films of the French New Wave, Alain Resnais's 1961 feature, winner of the grand prize at that year's Venice Film Festival, is based on a script by Alain Robbe-Grillet. At its center is what seems to be a simple but unanswerable puzzle: Did its protagonist (Giorgio Albertazzi) have an affair the year before with a woman (Delphine Seyrig) he just met (or possibly re-met) at his hotel? The inquiry becomes an unsettling experiment in flattening the dimensions of past, present, and future so that any difference between them becomes meaningless, while Resnais's coldly formal but oddly dreamlike geometric compositions make space itself seem a function of subjective memory. Add to that Resnais's trademark tracking shots-long, smooth, a visual correlative of a wordless feeling-and this is a film that truly gets under the skin in almost inexplicable ways. One of the most influential works of its time. -Tom Keogh.

A singular masterpiece that served as a clarion call for the coming French New Wave, this 1955 love letter to the city of Paris and the American urban noir films of the 1930s and 1940s is precisely the sort of cinematic consideration of genre influences that became the soul of early works by Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut, and Claude Chabrol. Directed by Jean-Pierre Melville (a filmmaker so enamored of American culture he adopted the name of Moby Dick's author), Bob le Flambeur (Bob the Gambler) concerns a courtly gangster who plans on robbing a casino. But the film is less about the trappings of a conventional heist tale than about Melville's embrace of the form and his wistful weavings within it. The title character (Roger Duchesne) is almost a knight errant, with a visible gallantry and code of loyalty suggesting Melville's own dreams of film tradition, reinvented into something both faithful and new. A terrific experience and an important sliver of film history. -Tom Keogh The inspirational pre-cursor to New Wave classics such as Godard's BREATHLESS, and Truffaut's SHOOT THE PIANO PLAYER, Jean-Pierre Melville's lighthearted noir, BOB LE FLAMBEUR, was co-written by French pulp author Auguste le Breton (Rififi). Bob Montagné-nicknamed "Le Flambeur" (high roller or compulsive gambler)-maintains his distinguished lifestyle at the roulette table, betting on the horses, and playing cards in the back rooms of Parisian nightclubs. When the losses begin to add up Bob decides to go for one last score: the safe at the Deauville casino. BOB LE FLAMBEUR inventively blends humanistic characterizations with gritty, high contrast cinematography creating a kind of new fifties realism nostalgic for the Hollywood gangster and noir films of the 30s and 40s only to culminate in an ironically twisted finale.

A distraught warrior (the charismatic Jet Li) forces his toddler son to choose between a sword and a wooden horse. If he chooses the sword, together they will fight the corrupt government that killed their family; if he chooses the horse, the warrior will send him to join his mother-in hell. Thus begins The New Legend of Shaolin, a wild Hong Kong fantasy. Though the opening sounds grim, the movie shifts ahead seven years and becomes increasingly comic as its plot unfolds. The story centers around a map tattooed on the backs of five boys; it leads to treasure from the Ming dynasty that a heroic sect hopes to use to reestablish the Shaolin temple, which the government destroyed. Meanwhile, Li is forced by poverty to become the bodyguard of a blowhard merchant, who doesn't realize that his bride-to-be is part of a mother-daughter team of notorious thieves. Meanwhile, a villain deformed by a poison that gives him invincible powers is hunting down the five boys, one of whom is the merchant's son. As is usually the case with Hong Kong cinema, the filmmakers have crammed in enough stuff to fill several ordinary movies. [+]

Marco Ferreri's greatest international success, "La Grande Bouffe" scandalized audiences when it was released in 1973. Audiences were shocked by its tale of four world-weary middle-aged men (superbly portrayed by Marcello Mastroianni, Ugo Tognazzi, Michel Piccoli and Philippe Noiret) who decide to gorge themselves to death in one final orgiastic weekend full of gourmet food, call girls and a hefty, lusty schoolteacher. This blackly humorous parable of modern society's collapse won the Cannes Film Festival's International Critics Award. The New York Times called it "vulgar vaudeville on an epic scale. a mordant, chilling, hilarious dirty movie. " Nearly 30 years later, it continues to challenge audiences' sensibilities and test the limits of shockability.

This strange fable of a movie, like other movies by Japanese director Shohei Imamura (The Eel, Dr. Akagi), is both enchanting and perplexing. After being laid off, a salesman (Koji Yakusho) travels to a small town to seek out a treasure hidden by an elderly friend of his. Instead, he finds a young woman who has a peculiar condition: she releases gushes of water when she has orgasms. Meanwhile, her grandmother waits for the man who left her years ago to return; an African marathon runner passes their house every day; and three fishermen cast their lines into the nearby river, for the water the young woman vents attracts an abundance of fish. The baffling significance of the movie's more fantastic elements doesn't keep Warm Water Under a Red Bridge from also being charming, strangely sincere, and surreally comic. -Bret Fetzer From legendary filmmaker Shohei Imamura comes this comic fable for adults. A frustrated unemployed architect learns of a treasure hidden inside an old house near a red bridge in a remote fishing village. Upon arriving he encounters a beautiful young woman with an unusual condition who lives with her grandmother in the old house. The relationship that builds between them becomes both vital and volatile. [+]

Not for the faint-hearted. Baise-Moi defies categories-it features pornographic sex scenes and violent shootings, but it won't fit anyone's definition of an erotic thriller. After separately committing murders, two French women join together in a spree of crime and sex. Because both have endured abuse at the hands of men, the movie seems to start as a self-righteous parable-but the women's actions quickly degenerate into amoral, near random killings, with women shot as casually as men. One reviewer described Baise-Moi as "Thelma & Louise with actual penetration," but it's actually Thelma & Louise without Hollywood sentiment. By refusing to condemn or justify the protagonists' actions, and by depicting both sex and violence with unglamorous realism, Baise-Moi forces the viewer to respond in the most contradictory and basic ways. You may find the lead characters surprisingly sympathetic. Jarring, unsettling, and well worth watching. -Bret Fetzer.

One of the most ferociously iconoclastic and experimental films of the French New Wave, Alain Resnais's 1961 feature, winner of the grand prize at that year's Venice Film Festival, is based on a script by Alain Robbe-Grillet. At its center is what seems to be a simple but unanswerable puzzle: Did its protagonist (Giorgio Albertazzi) have an affair the year before with a woman (Delphine Seyrig) he just met (or possibly re-met) at his hotel? The inquiry becomes an unsettling experiment in flattening the dimensions of past, present, and future so that any difference between them becomes meaningless, while Resnais's coldly formal but oddly dreamlike geometric compositions make space itself seem a function of subjective memory. Add to that Resnais's trademark tracking shots-long, smooth, a visual correlative of a wordless feeling-and this is a film that truly gets under the skin in almost inexplicable ways. One of the most influential works of its time. -Tom Keogh.

Few directors polarize audiences like Peter Greenaway, a filmmaker as influenced by Jacobean revenge tragedy and 17th century painting as by the French New Wave. The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover is both adored and detested for its combination of sumptuous beauty and revolting decadence. A vile, gluttonous thief (Michael Gambon, The Singing Detective) spews hate and abuse at a restaurant run by a stoic French cook (Richard Bohringer, Diva), but under the thief's nose his wife (the ever-sensuous Helen Mirren, Prime Suspect) conducts an affair with a bookish lover (Alan Howard, Strapless). Clothing (by avant-garde designer Jean-Paul Gaultier) changes color as the characters move from room to room. Nudity, torture, rotting meat, and Tim Roth (Reservoir Dogs) at his sleaziest all contribute the atmosphere of decay and excess. Not for everyone, but for some, essential. -Bret Fetzer.

Georges Franju brings a haunting poetry to this lyrical and horrifying 1959 French classic. Dr. Genessier (Pierre Brasseur), a famed plastic surgeon, lures a young woman to his secluded mansion with the help of his mistress Louise (Alida Valli), where he proceeds to remove their faces in an attempt to restore his daughter's scarred visage. Christiane (Edith Scob), disfigured in car accident caused by her guilt-ridden father, hides behind a spooky blank mask that exposes only her sad, lonely eyes, which seem to lose a little more life after each failed graft. Franju's cool presentation gives an unsettling edge to the picture, from the uncomfortably quiet family dinners to Christiane's hesitant explorations of her father's laboratory to the unflinching views of Genessier's bloody operations. Reminiscent of Cocteau's fantasy imagery in Beauty and the Beast, Franju creates an eerie poetry of the doctor's sadistic experiments, culminating in an astonishingly brutal and beautiful finale. The screenplay was cowritten by Pierre Boileau and Thomas Narcejac, authors of the novels which became Les Diaboliques and Vertigo. Originally titled Les Yeux Sans Visage upon its original French release, the film was cut, dubbed, and renamed The Horror Chamber of Doctor Faustus for American distribution in 1962, but was restored years later for American re-release. -Sean Axmaker.