10 classic movies people only pretend to like (2024)

If you look up any list of classic movies, there will be a handful of films that crop up every single time. There may be disagreement between lists about which cinematic masterpiece deserves the top spot, but chances are, you’ll see Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane, Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather, Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, and Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon, to name a few.

While all of these films deserve to be categorised as peak examples of the art form, many of them are also, to put it kindly, very boring. When a filmmaker goes out on a limb to show new heights of the medium, it isn’t always crowd-pleasing. Think of it like the clothes you might see at a fashion show. No one is going to go out into the world wearing three-metre-wide shoulder pads or a papier-mâché dress turned upside down, but it does give other designers licence to try new things and scale back the original idea to something more palatable.

When Kurosawa told the same story from multiple perspectives in Rashomon, he showed other filmmakers that they could tell nonlinear narratives from subjective points of view without alienating an audience. When Sergei Eisenstein spliced different shots together from various angles and points of view in Battleship Potemkin, he created the modern action sequence. Both of these films can feel pretty esoteric and outdated now that their central artistic conceit has been replicated and boiled down to a set of familiar tropes.

Unfortunately, cinema, like music and literature, is full of gatekeeping know-it-alls who shame anyone who dares to question a classic. It’s time to take the gloves off and be brutally honest because, although you will probably enjoy Persona if you watched it 20 times and had a corresponding textbook on hand, not everyone wants to, and there is absolutely no shame in that.

10 classic movies people pretend to like:

2001: A Space Odyssey (Stanley Kubrick, 1968)

Before anyone gets arrested by the cinema police, let’s get one thing clear: 2001: A Space Odyssey is one of the most influential films ever made. And we thank it for its service. Without it, we probably wouldn’t have Star Wars, Blade Runner, or Barbie. But if you’ve ever sat down to watch it, start to finish, it probably wasn’t a particularly enjoyable experience.

Many people point to the first sequence in the movie, which depicts the evolution of humankind from carnivorous apes to spaceship-flying business commuters. It is quite possible that the primary reason this section of the film is so focused upon is that most people don’t actually make it past the first 10 minutes. To do so, you have to cede any and all expectations that you might, at some interval, understand what is going on in the wide world of space.

There’s a huge black monolith that means something, no doubt. There is a giant baby floating in an orb toward Earth. It’s all connected, probably, but unless you have a film historian or two who happen to be hanging around, you’d be hard-pressed to unpack it all with a single viewing, and life is too short to spend your leisure time watching and rewatching Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece in the hope that something – anything – might click.

8½ (Federico Fellini, 1963)

Filmmakers are allowed to make movies about anything, especially when they’ve earned their reputations as pre-eminent artists of the medium. Federico Fellini had every right to get extremely self-indulgent with 8½, and it is full of artistic flair, existentialism, and tender memories of a childhood harassing a homeless woman on the beach. The director decided to take a surreal approach to the semi-autobiographical film, focusing on a fictional director who is going through an existential and professional crisis, and for that, at least, he can be commended.

However, all those divergences into fantasy, dream, memory, or whatever they are can be confounding on first viewing, and the narcissism of the central character makes it difficult to come back for a second go-round. If you are a person whose life parallels Fellini’s in any way, whether culturally, socially, religiously, or professionally, you may adore this film. For others, however, it is fairly inaccessible on the first watch and not particularly enticing for a second watch.

Forrest Gump (Robert Zemeckis, 1994)

If Tom Hanks hadn’t starred as Forrest Gump, the film would have been panned. Based on a novel that had sold few copies and focused on a character with a low IQ, this film is the definition of Hollywood mawkishness. Hanks does his level best to turn a problematic film into a lovable one, but despite his winning performance, his portrayal of a man with a learning disability is simplistic and uncomfortable to watch.

Robin Wright’s character remains the major blight in the film. Jenny is unnecessarily cruel, self-destructive, and punished for living her life the way she wanted to, making Forrest’s continued love for her feel offensive and far-fetched for both characters. The film may be cinematic comfort food for some viewers, but we need to let go of any illusions that it qualifies as a classic. This is not Schindler’s List or Jaws. This is manipulative sentimentality at its most shameless.

Gone with the Wind (Victor Fleming, George Cukor, Sam Wood, 1939)

Unlike many other classic films, Gone with the Wind doesn’t deserve to be categorised as one anymore. It was groundbreaking when it was released, featuring eye-popping Technicolor cinematography, a complex female protagonist, and a sprawling bestselling novel as source material. With Clark Gable, Vivien Leigh, Leslie Howard, and Olivia de Havilland involved, it was also a major star vehicle that drew audiences to the theatre in droves. But its racism is irredeemable, its heroine insufferable, and its running time punishing (how on earth did anyone think four hours was a good idea?).

One of the main reasons why audiences should not feel bad about disliking Gone with the Wind nowadays is that there were plenty of other movies released after it that had all the grandeur and melodrama and significantly less racism. Watch a Douglas Sirk movie if you need a classic Hollywood tearjerker that doesn’t make you want to take a shower afterwards.

Jules et Jim (François Truffaut, 1962)

The French New Wave electrified the film industry and produced many movies that continue to be shining examples of the medium. But it is also incredibly easy to parody. Characters wander around aimlessly, smoking as if it were some kind of revelatory character trait and philosophising endlessly about nothing in particular. Many people who love the French New Wave discovered it as teenagers when the berets and pretentious monologuing brought out some nascent sense of self-importance. As an adult, however, it can be difficult to watch some of the films without laughing.

Truffaut’s Jules et Jim is one of the easiest to lampoon. “Insufferable” might not be a strong enough word to describe the central characters who galavant through fields in seductive lighting and explore the depths of nihilism and polyamoury. There is no denying that the film looks lovely and is infectiously playful, but if you repeat any of its lines back to yourself, it all starts to feel a little less mind-blowing and a lot more eye-roll-inducing.

Melancholia (Lars von Trier, 2011)

You know what doesn’t sound fun? A movie that mimics the feeling of clinical depression. Lars von Trier’s artistry is stunning in Melancholia. He not only succeeds at instilling a deep sense of dread and existential darkness but also at creating a visual landscape that is overwhelming and operatic. Starring Kirsten Dunst as a new bride who sabotages her fairytale wedding and alienates everyone around her as an earth-destroying comet hurtles ever closer; it is an uncomfortable watch.

The director has stoked more than his fair share of controversy over the years, but there is little to be offended by in this film. It is simply very bleak, occasionally gorgeous, and often opaquely dreamlike. Many critics hailed it as one of von Trier’s best, but if you don’t want to be plunged into a dark headspace of doom, numbness, or panic, it’s not the best viewing option. You probably won’t leave the film feeling better about the world.

Mulholland Drive (David Lynch, 2001)

David Lynch is a master of obfuscation, and for his legions of fans, that’s exactly as it should be. For anyone hoping for a clear narrative or even a clear-ish narrative, however, you will be sorely disappointed. Composed of a series of vignettes, Mulholland Drive centres around Naomi Watts’ character trying to help Laura Harring’s character uncover her identity, only for the audience to discover that both women are a figment of one of their imaginations.

All of that is pretty straightforward, but things get more complicated when you factor in Club Silencio and all the enigmatic, illogical, and surreal trappings that go with it. Then there’s the fact that, although the film isn’t necessarily a horror film, it keeps you on your toes every step of the way. It even contains one of the most notorious jump-scares in recent history. By the time the credits roll, you’ll feel so unsettled and haunted that you might want to erase the film from your memory altogether, let alone watch it again. This is unfortunate, given that you’ll probably need to see it three or four times before the puzzle pieces start clicking into place.

Persona (Ingmar Bergman, 1966)

Ingmar Bergman’s exploration of identity and sexuality is a hypnotic, gorgeous piece of work, but probably not the first time around. If you’ve ever read a James Joyce novel or even a single James Joyce sentence, you might be able to imagine the level of opacity and defiance that this film is going for. Set in a remote cottage by the sea, it stars Bibi Andersson as a famous actor who has stopped speaking and Liv Ullman as a nurse who cares for her. Over time, their identities begin to blur, and the filmmaking becomes increasingly avant-garde.

If you can make it through the opening sequence of the film, which features a series of flickering images – a lamb being slaughtered, a child’s hands, a crucifixion, and an erect penis – you will probably find the whole thing pretty engaging. However, Bergman’s style is so surreal, and he is so disinterested in leading his audience by the hand toward any kind of neat resolution that many viewers will find the whole process disorienting, deflating, and maybe even a little underhanded.

Rashomon (Akira Kurosawa, 1950)

Few filmmakers are as frequently name-checked by eminent directors as Akira Kurosawa. He was, without question, one of the most influential filmmakers of all time. Stanley Kubrick, George Lucas, Christopher Nolan, and Werner Herzog are just a few of his acolytes, and it’s safe to say that his fingerprints are all over the latest box office releases at any given time. One of his most influential works is also one of his most difficult to sit through. Rashomon was a proof of concept, a bold venture into unreliable narration and multiple viewpoints. It’s less than 90 minutes, but it sure does feel like more.

One of the reasons the film can be a difficult watch is because of how influential it became. So many filmmakers have mimicked Kurosawa’s device of telling the same story from various perspectives, and doing so at the length he does in this film can feel like beating a dead horse, even though he was one of the first to do it.

Killers of the Flower Moon (Martin Scorsese, 2023)

Martin Scorsese poured his heart and soul into Killers of the Flower Moon, but it would have been really nice if he hadn’t. While the film does not come even close to the level of indulgence that Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis does, it tells a similar cautionary tale about what happens when seasoned auteurs get an unlimited budget and final cut. When the film came out, many critics were rapturous, calling it a landmark in the director’s storied career and hailing it as an instant classic, but it’s easy to see why it never caught on with audiences the way many of Scorsese’s previous films did.

While the artistry and passion flicker to the surface at frequent intervals, the movie somehow falls flat. The whole thing feels more like a carefully crafted Ph.D. thesis than an epic tale to sweep you off your feet. At nearly three and a half hours, it feels undisciplined and over-egged. When Scorsese himself appears on screen in a strange pantomime of an old-timey radio show, it feels like the director, unlike everyone else, just couldn’t bear for it to end.

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