The shotgun would ignite, and Ella Mae would scream, but Robert Ford would only lay on the floor and look at the ceiling, the light going out of his eyes before he could find the right words.

Finding “the right words” is a quest all writers are intimately familiar with. Everyone knows that it’s not what you say, but how you say it. Dialogue, great dialogue, can be like music, expressing the profound in a manner that can be universally understood and, more importantly, felt. Also, “nobody has gotten a hand job in cargo shorts since ‘nam!” is a pretty funny line.

I can recall times when a great line has saved a scene and, in some cases, an entire movie for me. In the best of times it is a cherry on top, as is the case with the quote preceding this piece. It is spoken by the narrator of The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007) in the film’s final moments. It is poetic, to be sure, but it is also the perfect summation of the character of Robert Ford, a man so starved for fame and the attention and validation that comes with it that it drove him to murder his idol.

I have mentioned the line, “Say goodbye to Frankie, Dad”, before, which functions as an exhaling of the long-held breath that is In America (2003). But that film is full of beautiful lines, made all the more beautiful by their context. One such scene involves Johnny, an Irish immigrant grieving the death of his son, playing with his two daughters. He chases them around their sad, dilapidated Hell’s Kitchen apartment blindfolded and crying, “Fee-fi-fo-fum! I smell the blood of an Irish woman!” The girls scream with delight, but soon Johnny slips up: “Fee-fi-fo-fum! I smell the blood of an Irish man!” He removes the blindfold and the game grinds to a halt, the girls peering out from their hiding places. He realizes that he was looking for his son. Johnny’s wife approaches.

Play with the girls, Johnny.

As stand alone lines they are unremarkable. Given their context – the idea that life goes on, that these children are still here and they need their father – they are quite the opposite.

Sometimes dialogue can serve to enhance the overall aesthetic of a film, as is the case with the Coen brother’s brilliant Miller’s Crossing (1990). It isn’t so much a gangster film as a film about gangster films, utilizing a stylized form of slang-laden dialogue (Twists = Women. You know, because they get you all twisted) fondly remembered in older films like Little Caesar (1931) and White Heat (1949). While Miller’s Crossing is full of brilliant dialogue, one exchange in particular stuck with me. Tommy, Irish gangster and mob bosses right hand man, has just punctuated a rousing verbal sparring match with a “twist” (a woman) by smashing her vanity mirror. As she casually strolls away, without even turning back to face him, she delivers this final blow:

I suppose you think you raised hell?

Tommy counters with, “Sister, when I’ve raised hell you’ll know it”, but we all know who won that argument.

There are film makers who have come to be at least partially defined by their dialogue. David Mamet, who doubles as a playwright, has a distinctive voice, his dialogue marching to its own beat. Take this exchange from the brilliant Glenngarry Glen Ross (1992):

You got leads. Mitch & Murray paid good money. Get their names to sell them. You can’t close the leads you’re given, you can’t close shit, *you are* shit, hit the bricks pal, and beat it, ’cause you are going *out*.

The leads are weak.

“The leads are weak?” The fucking leads are weak? You’re weak. I’ve been in this business fifteen years!

What’s your name?

Fuck you. That’s my name. You know why, mister? ‘Cause you drove a Hyundai to get here tonight. I drove an eighty thousand dollar BMW. THAT’S my name.

Paul Thomas Anderson’s characters will often make oddly formal, declarative statements. Like when Barry, from 2002’s Punch Drunk Love tells his brother-in-law that he “cries sometimes, for no reason,” then asks, “Can you help me?” His brother-in-law kindly responds by reminding Barry that he is a Chiropractor. There is also the put upon Donnie Smith from Magnolia (1999), who declares that he “has so much love to give. I just don’t know where to put it.”

I could go on and on, but what I’d really like to know is what some of your favorite lines or exchanges of dialogue are, and why? Seriously, don’t just feed me the dialogue. There has to be a reason it resonates with you.

I remember going into film school with a very limited idea of what a cinematographer does, attributing, like most filmgoers, a film’s look solely to its director. And while it is true that the director dictates a film’s look, the cinematographer is the one responsible for executing it. They are, quite literally, the photographers of the film. For a director, having a brilliant, resourceful and creative cinematographer is integral. I made sure to make friends with the best one in our class.

Realizing that cinematography was quickly becoming a favorite subject (even surpassing directing, my chosen focus), I began scanning my favorite films for the credit I had largely ignored up until this point. Roger Deakins’ name came up often. He had been shooting films since the 1980s, mostly in the UK, but it wasn’t until 1990 when Deakins shot his first U.S. film, Mountains of the Moon (1990)—yeah, I’d never heard of it either—that things began to really take off.

He soon found himself in the company of Chicago playwright-turned-filmmaker David Mamet on 1991’s Homicide. Coming from a theater background, Mamet’s directing style is rather straightforward (The star of his films is the dialogue and storytelling), requiring only the basics in regards to camerawork and lighting. A nice job for cred, but any great artist needs to be challenged to truly grow, and for Deakins that challenge came in the form of the two-headed director; Joel and Ethan Coen.

My love of Deakins’ work grew out of my love for the Coen brothers and it is safe to say that they have influenced each other over the course of the 11 films they’ve worked on together. Up until they teamed up Deakins’ work had been good, but basic and without much flair. The Coens demanded much more from his camera work, having previously used eventual Men in black (1997) director Barry Sonnenfeld as their cinematographer, whose penchant for big, sweeping camera moves complimented their screwball style at the time.  

Deakins’ first film with the Coen brothers was Barton Fink (1991), a surreal symbolist film about a New York playwright who, upon getting a gig writing for “the pictures” immediately develops writer’s block. Since the Coens almost never set a film in the present, Barton required a certain period feel. Deakins stuck with his normal source lighting techniques (using mostly on-camera light sources, sometimes enhanced off camera), but began using some of the trademark steadicam and dolly moves that would become staples for him. The Coens would eventually push him into more screwball territory with The Hudsucker Proxy (1994), The Big Lebowski (1998), O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), Intolerable Cruelty (2003) and The Lady Killers (2004).

In addition to experimenting with more dynamic camera work, Deakins also began to explore technology. And while his opinion of it remains that one must never lean on it (“We’ll fix it in post” is on record as his least favorite saying), it has allowed him to perform certain visual enhancements. The Coen brothers’ The Man Who Wasn’t There (2001) is an elegant black and white period piece that was actually shot on color film and, because it was shot while spring was in full bloom, O Brother‘s greens and yellows were de-saturated in post, giving them a dirtier, fall look.

If I don’t get away from the Coen brothers stuff now I never will (11 films, you remember?), so onward and upward.

Deakins’ classy visual style has made him something of a commodity in the industry. He has worked with the likes of Martin Scorsese (Kundun, 1997), Ron Howard (A Beautiful Mind, 2001), Sam Mendes (Jarhead, 2005), M. Night Shyamalan (The Village, 2004) and, well, the Coen brothers. But some of his best work, in my opinion, was created alongside a few lesser known directors. Vadim Perelman’s The House of Sand and Fog (2003) contains some pretty haunting visuals. In particular I remember a chilling shot containing a few streetlights illuminating an early morning fog. The aforementioned Assassination of Jesse James, directed by Andrew Dominik, is a cinematographer’s dream, filled with stylized lenses, arty lighting and epic scenery.

Roger Deakins has been nominated for a Best Cinematography Oscar 9 times. He has never won. In 2007 he was nominated for both The Assassination of Jesse James and No Country for Old Men, but lost to another favorite cinematographer of mine, Robert Elswitt for There Will be Blood. The win is hard to argue with, but come on! Two noms in one year and the poor guy still can’t get a break! I digress.

I would never expect anyone to go see a film simply because a certain cinematographer shot it (I’ve done that, for the record. I sat through Gigli in its entirety because Robert Elswitt shot it. I’m not proud), but I’m reasonably certain I’m going to be checking out Roger Deakins’ next project, whatever it is, whomever it’s directed by. The man always manages to teach me something.

Their film, which manages to hew more closely to the Charles Portis novel than the original 1969 version while still pulling dialog directly from said film, is a masterpiece in subtlety. I believe that this is why critics have often referred to it as a “lesser” Coen film, but it actually reminds me of two of their truly great ones: Fargo (1996) and No Country for Old Men (2007). Those films (and True Grit) are as comfortable with their humor as they are with their silences, both occasionally being interrupted by violence. To say that it is brilliantly made is almost redundant at this point.

The story concerns thirteen-year-old Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) seeking revenge for the murder of her father, who was gunned down by Tom Chaney, a hired hand and small time hood. She is smarter than most and certainly more determined, but the real genius of Miss Steinfeld’s performance is in her vulnerability. She speaks with great confidence, but there is always a hint of child-like insecurity in her eyes, even as she runs circles around a sales man in order to get the discounted horses she feels are owed to her.

Mattie needs this determination when dealing with Marshall Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges), a bounty hunter she chooses over others because of his purported grit (it’s pretty true, that grit), which comes in both figurative and literal form. Seriously, I’d imagine this fellow doesn’t exactly smell like a bed of roses. Jeff Bridges’ Cogburn is almost the antithesis of John Wayne’s. This Cogburn is dirty, gruff and clearly an alcoholic. I’m pretty sure Wayne wore a girdle. Bridges completely disappears into the role, while The Duke remains The Duke.

Along the way the two are alternately nagged and aided by LaBoeuf (“LaBeef,” Cogburn calls him), played by Matt Damon. He is a Texas Ranger who happens to be on Chaney’s tail for a few unrelated crimes and has no interest in helping Mattie, who he views as a petulant child (and awkwardly as a potential mate, for a spell).

The film is beautifully shot (cross your fingers for Roger Deakins, please). There are a great number of standout scenes, but one in particular sticks with me. Having been bitten by a rattlesnake, Mattie lays limp on the back of Cogburns horse. After the horse eventually buckles due to the strain of their race to get help, Cogburn scoops Mattie up in his arms and carries her the rest of the way. Upon finding it, he collapses to his knees and drops Mattie to the ground.

“I’m getting’ old.”

Say it brother.

True Grit is nominated for Best Picture, Best Actor (Jeff Bridges), Actress in a Supporting Role (Hailee Steinfeld), Best Art Direction, Best Cinematography, Best Costume Design, Best Directing, Best Sound Editing, Best Sound Mixing & Best Adapted Screenplay

And so, with my “kitten in the tree” argument in place, I submit that the past decade has offered us five truly phenomenal movie villains.  Here they are, in order of haircut originality:

Anton Chigurh

ANTON CHIGURH is no man.  He is a force of nature, a symbol.  Those who complained about a lack of resolution in the Coen brother’s 2007 best picture winner No Country for Old Men were missing something.  For Chigurh to have been killed or end up in prison would have been too pedestrian and, as an indestructible symbol of “all that dark and all that cold,” an impossibility.

Take, for example, this scene in which Anton Chigurh locates Lewellyn Moss via a beacon planted in a bag of stolen money

It’s brilliantly executed. Chigurh is never seen but his presence is always felt (occasionally as a shotgun blast to a window!)  It further reinforces the sense that he is something more than human.

A rival hitman—expertly played by Woody Harrelson—tries to impress upon the film’s protagonist exactly who he’s dealing with:

“You don’t understand. You can’t make a deal with him. Even if you gave him the money he’d still kill you. He’s a peculiar man. You could even say that he has principles. Principles that transcend money or drugs or anything like that.”

These “principles” reflect the sort of existential indifference that permeates the film.  No one is safe.  Anton Chigurh is the embodiment of that theme, and his decision to end your life may come down to a simple toss of the coin.  Call it.

The Joker

THE JOKER made his first appearance in 1940 and has arguably become the most recognizable villain in the Batman’s sizeable pantheon.  But it wasn’t until Alan Moore put his spin on the character in DC Comic’s Batman: The Killing Joke in 1988 that the Joker finally reached his true potential.  Moore was the first writer to delve into the very nature of Batman and the Joker’s epic rivalry and its almost inevitable outcome.  It was also listed among the chief sources of inspiration for Christopher Nolan and Heath Ledger’s portrayal of the character in 2008’s The Dark Knight.

Batman, at his best, is a character that exists on the fringe of insanity.  He is, after all, a man dressed as a bat.  The idea that Batman’s latent madness only attracts more of the same has never been more fully realized than in the Joker, who seeks only to strip the Bat of all he knows and loves and reveal that we are all just a step away from madness.

So the Joker reminds Batman exactly how close he is to madness, but he also reminds him why he does what he does.  The two need each other.  They are what happens when “an unstoppable force meets an immovable object”, and they are “destined to do this forever,” if we’re lucky.

Daniel Plainview

DANIEL PLAINVIEW of director Paul Thomas Anderson’s 2007 oil epic There Will Be Blood may not be a villain in the conventional sense, but that’s exactly what makes him so extraordinary.  True villainy is often committed with great certitude, and Daniel’s last name says it all.  There are no pretenses with Daniel.  His only desire is to get enough money so that he can “get away.”  Here is a man so filled with contempt for humanity that nearly every word that passes his lips oozes with venom.

The center of the film is the rivalry between Daniel and a young preacher named Eli (seen in the above clip), whom Daniel views as the only real opposition in his attempt to control the town.  Theirs is a game of constant one-upmanship, culminating in the the pure madness of their final confrontation.

Daniel Day Lewis has created a genuine monster in Daniel Plainview, but there is an element of tragedy in his brief moments of humanity.  Take Daniel’s son, who eventually enters the family oil business.  Daniel cannot stand the thought that his son is going to move away and make something of himself on his own.  His reaction to the news is vile to be sure, but the reason behind it is heartbreaking.  Even great villains can be human.

Alonzo Harris

DETECTIVE ALONZO HARRIS of 2001’s Training Day is charismatic, funny and intelligent.  You get the feeling that there was a time when he was considered the baddest (Michael Jackson Bad) detective in the city.  Now he’s most certainly the baddest (like, actual bad) detective in the city, shirking his real duties for some gambling action, struttin’ and straight up thuggery.  Alonzo has become nothing more than a bully and it is Jake Hoyt’s (Ethan Hawke) bad luck that he happens to be assigned to ride along with him for his first day of training.

Alonzo grins, jokes and intimidates his way through Hoyt’s first day, all the while executing a plan that doesn’t come into full view for us (and Hoyt) until nearly halfway through the movie.

There is also the scene where Alonzo meets with several other detectives.  They share some stories and some laughs, indicating that they were probably friends at one time.  But as the conversation moves along we realize that Alonzo has forsaken all friendships by now.  He is truly alone in the mess he’s created, and we all know how animals react when backed into a corner.

Training Day relies almost completely on Denzel Washington’s larger-than-life performance, and it pays off.  If you don’t believe me, check out Washington in the scene below.  Alonzo’s transition from cocky thug to frightened street punk is about as perfect as you could ask for.

Don Logan

The 2001 british gangster film Sexy Beast is certainly well-written and well directed, but its real claim to fame is Ben Kingsley’s performance as DON LOGAN.  His introduction is pitch-perfect.  He marches through an airport like a scud missile aimed squarely at former ganster Gary “Gal” Dove’s new found happiness.

“Gal” has retired to Spain from a less-than-savory career in England’s seedy underworld.  He has been accompanied by a couple of friends and his wife, with whom he is still madly in love.  Things couldn’t be better until they receive news that Don Logan is coming for a visit.  Don has a job offer for “Gal” and he simply will not take no for an answer.