Empire Magazine's "100 Greatest Movies of All Time" (2017)

Well, if Stanley Kubrick described it as "possibly the greatest movie ever made," who is anyone else to argue? Francis Ford Coppola's gangster-movie-redefining adaptation of Mario Puzo's Mafia novel is the Empire Greatest Movies Poll No. 1 incumbent, and for a very good reason. It sits right at the juncture between 'classic' and 'modern' cinema; it feels respectably venerable, while at the same time vibrant and vital — not a dry, cinematic relic that you feel obliged to bow before, but a hot-blooded, living god that you embrace. The classicism is in no small part down to Coppola and cinematographer Gordon Willis' genius decision to shoot it with a minimum of modern film-making bells and whistles. We see the Corleones' ’40s and ’50s New York at eye level, never via the rooftop-scudding bird's-eye view of the helicopter-camera lens. And, in keeping with its underworld setting, it's moodily, dimly lit throughout, its underexposure lending it an aged, sepia-tinged quality.

The modernism, meanwhile, is felt not only in its squib-heavy bloodletting, but also the way it handles the gangster flick itself. Back in the genre's heyday, Hays Code restrictions ensured it could only dole out rise-and-fall tales which established in no uncertain terms that the Mob was a seething, violent force of corruption that a good society would always quell. Here, though, we had an Italian-American film-maker (the first to make an American gangster film) showing the Mafia as something, if not quite sympathetic, certainly more human; an organisation which is very much the product of society, rather than simply a malevolent, morally alien force.

That theme, of course, being brilliantly embodied by Al Pacino as Michael Corleone: the World War II hero, determined to stay distant from his Dad's dodgy business but who ultimately becomes enwrapped in its soul-tainting shadows. Brando may get the most attention as the wheezing Don, but there's no denying this is really Pacino's show.

The original “this one’s darker” sequel, and by far the strongest of the saga. Not just because the baddies win (temporarily), or because it Force-slammed us with that twist (“No, I am your father”). Empire super-stardestroys thanks to the way it deepens the core relationships — none more effectively than Han and Leia’s. She loves him. He knows. And it still hurts.

The warm, leathery embrace of Morgan Freeman’s narration... The reassuringly Gary Cooper-ish rumple of Tim Robbins’ face... Odd that a movie which features such harshness and tragedy should remain a feel-good perennial — even odder when you consider it was a box-office flop on release. Few directorial debuts are so deftly constructed; no surprise, then, that Frank Darabont’s yet to top it.

If Reservoir Dogs was a blood-spattered calling card, Pulp Fiction saw Quentin Tarantino kick our front door off its hinges — and then get applauded for doing it with such goddamn panache. It wore its numerous influences on its sleeve (from The Great Train Robbery to Psycho via Kiss Me Deadly and Karate Kiba) and yet felt utterly, invigoratingly fresh and new. We happy? Yeah, we happy.

In ’81, it must have sounded like the ultimate pitch: the creator of Star Wars teams up with the director of Jaws to make a rip-roaring, Bond-style adventure starring the guy who played Han Solo, in which the bad guys are the evillest ever (the Nazis) and the MacGuffin is a big, gold box which unleashes the power of God. It still sounds like the ultimate pitch.

Forty-two years young, and Spielberg’s breakthrough remains the touchstone for event-movie cinema. Not that any studio these days would dare put out a summer blockbuster that’s half monster-on-the-rampage disaster, half guys-bonding-on-a-fishing-trip adventure. Maybe that’s why it’s never been rebooted. Or just because it’s genuinely unsurpassable.

It’s nuts: we’re now as far, far away from the release of Star Wars as 1977 audiences were from Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs. And yet George Lucas’ cocktail of fantasy, sci-fi, Western and World War II movie remains as culturally pervasive as ever. It’s so mythically potent, you sense in time it could become a bona-fide religion...

It may feature monsters, wizards and plucky little fellas with furry feet, but The Lord Of The Rings isn’t a fairy tale. Which is why Peter Jackson’s adaptation worked so well; from this note-perfect first instalment, it was treated exactly as Tolkien intended — as a historical epic which just happens to be set in an alternative world.

Part science-fiction caper, part generational culture-clash movie, part weirdo family drama (in which the hero has to rescue his own existence after his mother falls in lust with him, eww), Back To The Future still manages to be timeless despite being so rooted in, well, time. And it might just have the best title of anything on this entire list.

Often cited as the greatest-ever sequel (though you've voted The Empire Strikes Back into that position here), TGPII, as no-one's ever called it, is more accurately described as a seprequel. In a narrative masterstroke, it parallels Michael's (Al Pacino) consolidation of power with the ascendance of his Dad, Vito (Robert De Niro); the triumph of one paving the way to the utter corruption of the other.

Rain-lashed, noodle-bar-packed streets shrouded in perpetual night, with giant adverts and neon signs doing the job you'd usually expect of the sun itself... The not-too-distant future had never looked cooler than in Ridley Scott's sci-fi gumshoe noir, and we're not sure it ever will. At least until Blade Runner 2049, perhaps...

On the one hand, re-watching Ridley Scott's deep-space monster-slasher (and it's a movie which can handle as many re-watches as you can throw at it) makes you appreciate why he keeps coming back to that universe: it's so intoxicatingly atmospheric and deeply compelling, it sticks to you like a parasite. On the other hand, it really does make you wonder why he feels the need to keep tinkering. After all, he got it perfectly right the first time around.

The genius of James Cameron's self-penned Alien follow-up was to not try to top the original as one of the greatest ever horror movies. Instead, he transplanted the Alien (and, significantly, Ripley) to a different genre, and created one of the greatest ever action movies. That's also a Vietnam metaphor. And also one of the most enduringly quotable films.

Anyone who bangs on about all those endings is missing the many joys of Peter Jackson's Academy Award-laden trilogy-closer. It has some of the most colossal and entertaining battle scenes ever mounted; it has an awesome giant spider; it has that fantastic dramatic-ironic twist when Gollum saves the day through his own treachery; and it has that bit where Eowyn says, "I am no man". Deserves. Every. Oscar.

Is Christopher Nolan going to make a Bond movie? Well, with Inception he kind of already has. Except, instead of a British secret agent, we get a freelance corporate dream-thief. And the big climactic action sequence is so huge it takes up almost half the movie, and is actually three big action sequences temporally nested inside each other around a surreal, metaphysical-conflict core.

When dinosaurs first ruled the movie-Earth, they did so in a herky-jerky stop-motion manner that while charmingly effective, required a fair dose of disbelief-suspension. When Steven Spielberg brought them back on Isla Nubla, we felt for the first time they could be real, breathing animals (as opposed to monsters). And that's as much thanks to Stan Winston's astonishing animatronics work as to ILM's groundbreaking CGI.

One man using only his wits and whatever he can extract from his environment. A gang of bad guys terrorising the locals. If Die Hard wasn't set in a skyscraper during the 1980s, it could easily be a Western. A Western which, in the form of Bruce Willis, not only convinced the world a TV-comedy star could be an action-hero, but also gave us one of our most seethingly charismatic big-screen villain-players: Alan Rickman.

You've voted it your favourite Kubrick movie, which makes sense to us. It is arguably his greatest gift to cinema, an infinitely ambitious vision of a space-faring future whose narrative centres on the most pivotal moment in human evolution since some ape-man first twatted another ape-man with an old bone. Graceful, gorgeous, unwearied by time's passing. Rather like that monolith.

The film-maker go-to movie du jour. Gareth Edwards cited Coppola's vivid and visceral jungle trek as a major influence on Rogue One; Jordan Vogt-Roberts drew from it extensively for Kong: Skull Island, and Matt Reeves sees War For The Planet Of The Apes as his own simian-related tribute. Hardly surprising; it's both a visually rich war movie and also a powerfully resonant journey into the darkest recesses of the human soul.

Aside from Boromir, Aragorn and the small-town denizens of Bree, there's not a huge amount of human representation in Fellowship Of The Ring. So one of the pleasures of The Two Towers is seeing Middle-earth truly open out after the arrival at Rohan, where the series takes on more of a sweeping, Nordic feel... Building up, of course, to Helm's Deep, a ferocious action crescendo which features gratuitous scenes of dwarf-tossing.

How two sibling indie film-makers with only a slick, sexy little crime film to their name (Bound) created their own blockbuster sci-fi franchise. And opened up Western audiences to the truth that kung-fu acrobatics are so much more fun than watching American or European muscle-men waving guns around. While also making everyone examine some fundamental philosophical questions about reality. Thanks to the Wachowskis, we all took the red pill, and we've never regretted it since.

Making Arnie's T-800 a protector rather than killer for part two could have been a shark-jump moment for the Terminator series, but we're talking about James Cameron here. So it paid off — especially as this Terminator was just as much a student in human behaviour (with John Connor his teacher) as guardian, with some darkly comical results ("he'll live"). Is it really better than the original? In terms of scale and sheer, balls-out action spectacle, yes.