Roger and Me

This appreciation was written the afternoon after Roger Ebert passed away. To this date, it’s one of the most personal and autobiographical essays I’ve written. I was moved by how widely shared it was, and it remains one of the most viewed posts ever on the Pacific Arts Movement website, where it was first published.

Though it has been mere hours since we learned of the passing of Roger Ebert, there has already been an outpouring of surprise, grief, and appreciation of the great Chicago Sun-Times film critic. Among those going out of their way to blog, tweet, and share their favorite Ebert moments are those who recall how important Ebert has been to the history of Asian American cinema. His impassioned defense of Asian American voices at a screening of Better Luck Tomorrow at Sundance in 2002 is legion – already immortalized in documentaries like BLT: Genesis and Hollywood Chinese, and today passed around on Twitter and Facebook as a document not only of Roger Ebert’s fierce wit, but also as a reminder to ourselves to continue to find the fire in our own voices.

During his career, he was known, and often criticized, for his thumbs and stars. I’m glad to see that today he’s remembered for his true contribution to film culture: his words. In print, on TV, and online, Ebert always knew how to make his words count. When he lost his voice to cancer in 2006, his words became even sharper and more articulate. And more cherished.

The shock of seeing Ebert’s face post-surgery, and the sorrow of finding that one of TV history’s best talking heads could talk no more, turned many of us back to YouTube to listen to Ebert’s most famous barbs with his late co-host Gene Siskel, or to his DVD commentaries, considered among the best in the format. We went online and discovered that Ebert also wrote 140 characters better than anyone else. We dug into the archives and found Ebert’s masterful gonzo interview with Lee Marvin in the back issues of Esquire. The man knew what words could do.

We of course already knew this, and today, many of us went online to tell stories about what Ebert’s words have always meant to us. Many of these stories are intensely personal – a memory of hearing one of his famous “Cinema Interruptus” lectures, of meeting him in person, of the review that helped launch a career. I can’t imagine this sort of gratitude showered upon any other movie critic – or any critic for that matter. It’s because Ebert was the rare populist who never talked down to the elites or to the common moviegoers. He wanted to elevate the reader, not because he was smarter, but because he wanted us all to love movies as much as he did. His opinions certainly were not always popular; he also alienated many with his unabashed liberal views. But he wrote with honesty, conviction, and generosity. Better than just about any critic, he trusted his instincts, never afraid to give a Hollywood franchise film his highest compliments and an Abbas Kiarostami film one star. But that honesty meant so much more when he found the words – before most critics had even spoken – to shed light on his elation over independent films like Prashant Bhargava’s Patang, Patrick Wang’s In the Family, and of course, Justin Lin’s Better Luck Tomorrow. His words mattered not only because Ebert was a wordsmith, but also because they were spoken so closely to his heart.



Siskel and Ebert’s At the Movies debuted the same year I was born, so as long as I remember, he was always around. When I was in junior high, our family bought a new VCR, which was bundled in cellophane with Roger Ebert’s 1996 Video Companion, the latest edition of Ebert’s classic and recent reviews. I casually started reading reviews of films I’d seen, mostly Hollywood titles from the early 90s. Soon though, I was reading the reviews not for the films, but for Ebert’s voice, so the fact that I soon knew about Orson Welles, Sam Peckinpah, and Akira Kurosawa was purely a byproduct of my appreciation of Ebert’s opinionated prose.

Then, a weird thing happened. I had never been a very confident writer, and in those days before WordPress or even GeoCities, I didn’t do it very much outside of school. And yet, I started to write movie reviews. Not to develop an identity as a movie critic, but because, simply, I wanted to be Roger Ebert. In Microsoft Word, I would adjust the font size and column width to match that of the Video Companion exactly, and I would give myself his word counts as I wrote about As Good As it Gets, Armageddon, or whatever else I watched at our local mall as a 15-year-old without a driver’s license.

Somehow, I mustered the courage to go from these suburban illusions of grandeur to writing movie reviews for our high school newspaper. If an earlier generation produced Kaelites, I was an Ebert-ite from lede to kicker. I took a journalism class. Learning about libel, the fourth estate, and citizenship was purely a byproduct of my desire to be Roger Ebert. Another byproduct: I became more confident with my words. I became the entertainment editor of the school paper. I won national awards for high school film criticism. I wrote a college application essay about my love for Pulp Fiction.

I even got into a few colleges with that essay, in many ways inspired by Roger Ebert’s piece “Secrets of Pulp Fiction,” anthologized in that 1996 video companion. On campus, while others were storming rush week, I was knocking at the door of the college newspaper, looking to be the weekly movie reviewer. I got the gig and caught the press screening and junket bug. Every week, I’d churn out reviews of the latest films by everyone from Chris Rock to Claire Denis.

Roger Ebert was still a must-read, but so were J. Hoberman, A.O. Scott, and my favorite of all, Jonathan Rosenbaum. With college came a rejection of everything that came before. Ebert, like a childhood stuffed animal, was just so provincial. He never wrote about Béla Tarr or Tsai Ming-liang. Did he even know who Béla Tarr or Tsai Ming-liang was? The pages of the Village Voice and Film Comment sure did, and there I found erudite (i.e. New York) ways of talking film.

My interest in Asian cinema arose out of Rosenbaum’s glowing reviews of Hou Hsiao-hsien and Jia Zhang-ke, directors who received nary a mention in the pages of theChicago Sun-Times. I also developed my own, admittedly Rosenbaumian, critical perspective, often against Ebert’s megaplex populism.

In August 2002, Roger Ebert wrote a negative review of Zhang Yimou’s Happy Times, a film I adored and also reviewed. He thought the tender comedy about grown men who trick a blind girl into becoming a masseuse was downright creepy. At the end of his review, Ebert wrote:

[If] I found it creepy beyond all reason, that is no doubt because I have been hopelessly corrupted by the decadent society I inhabit. Or … are there moviegoers in China who also find Happy Times odd in the extreme? I searched the Chinese Movie Database and the sites of the People’s Daily, the South China Morning Post and English-language papers from Shanghai and Beijing, without finding any mention of the film at all. The Web is worldwide and perhaps I will hear from a Chinese reader or two.

For the first time, I wrote to Roger Ebert. I don’t have my original email to him, but that’s no problem, because three weeks later I found that Ebert had quoted my email, practically in its entirety.

Brian Hu of Berkeley, CA wrote me: “I watched the film with another Chinese-American and we both found it uproariously funny. In fact, I can’t think of another film this year that has made me laugh as much. At first I thought, finally, a major director has made a universally simple, humorous, and meaningful film that all Americans can easily enjoy and learn from. But reading your review, I’d reconsider it.

“Americans simply are not aware of Chinese comedic traditions. We may know Hong Kong cinema for its wild action movies, but we don’t realize that a good fraction of Cantonese language films are comedies, just as a good part of Hollywood films are comedies. Sadly, the truth is, violence translates well; comedy does not. Chinese comedy is often quite sadistic. Think of those Asian game shows that are parodied on American TV, where contestants do crazy things like endure freezing weather in their underwear while a laugh track of Japanese junior high students giggling plays in the background. Americans may find it cruel, but many Chinese find it hilarious.

“That’s not to say Chinese people are sadistic. They just find some things that we find ‘cruel and depraved’ to be funny. On the other hand, I have not yet met one Taiwanese or mainland Chinese who enjoyed Pulp Fiction or Fargo like we do here in America. Chinese audiences find films like Happy Times charming and affectionate, because although it’s cruel, it’s cruel on a simple, harmless level, something you certainly can’t say about Tarantino’s comedies. It’s like Harpo Marx versus Neil LaBute.”

Roger Ebert, the critic whose language I had once mimicked, and whose opinions I had now rejected, was writing through my own words. The impact of that, to a college junior still in search of his own voice and critical purpose, is immeasurable. I never wrote to Rosenbaum, Hoberman, or Scott. That is because they never asked me for my opinion. Roger Ebert asked for the thoughts of a Chinese reader or two. His response, in turn, showed me that criticism is above all an act of community.


In college, I discovered that I loved writing about movies and that others might even enjoy reading my reviews. Those years were also the beginning of the death of the alternative weekly, so résumés later, I resigned to the reality that I would never be a paid film critic. I went to graduate school in film studies, where I read Noel Burch and Siegfried Kracauer while churning out seminar papers. My itch to review persisted though, and I found company and kinship with the burgeoning online magazine Asia Pacific Arts, which was published at UCLA where I was enrolled. In many ways, movie reviewing kept me sane during grad school, especially as my critical skills and writing habits were being stretched in wacky new directions.

Many, many years later, with diploma and dissertation finally in hand, I had the good fortune of landing a job as the Artistic Director of the San Diego Asian Film Festival. Having now left the ivory tower, I found myself having to adapt my writing style once again. How do I make my program notes and introductions relevant and meaningful to an everyday, non-academic audience? It was Roger Ebert, now the master of Twitter and the blogosphere, who showed the way. Except this time I didn’t read Ebert to ape his language or form. I turned to Ebert to remind me how to write from the heart and with generosity. A film festival is, after all, part of a community.

As we’re reminded at every “death of criticism” juncture, there is a multitude of critical voices online today. Everyone is just a blog post away from being a critic – and possibly an excellent one at that. But with the critical masses pouring through my Facebook and Twitter feeds, Roger Ebert’s site is one of the few I have bookmarked in my browser, where it’s been since I was on Netscape. I look forward to keeping it there. This fire will never go out.

YOMYOMF Channel: Week 1 recap

This post was written partly to put YOMYOMF on blast. But above all it was a reaction to the sheer lack of media criticism in the Asian American YouTube space. New media, especially with an Asian American face, was riding a wave of momentum when the YOMYOMF channel debuted in 2012, and the idea of democratic access to production and distribution was romanticized by makers like the boys behind YOMYOMF and of course by platforms like YouTube that cashed in on diversity.

I wasn’t as enthusiastic. Justin Lin’s original YOMYOMF trailer, entitled “Bananapocalypse” had high production values but also high tolerance for casual misogyny, and the videos that followed left me wondering what exactly was worth celebrating. But nobody seemed interested in denouncing the serious shortcomings of “underdog” Asian American creatives. And so I decided to do what nobody else wanted to do with Asian American media content: review it as I would a film or TV pilot, complete with the sort of tongue-in-cheek posturing of a weekly film critic, and with some letter grades for good measure. Needless to say, there was not a Week 2 recap.

They called it the Bananapocalypse, which could refer to some kind of yellow-faced take-down of the internet-as-we-know-it, a changing of the (racial) guard, or perhaps the fact that Hollywood is willing to get their hands dirty playing in the same sandpit as the YouTubers. But having now seen every second of new YouTube channel YOMYOMF Week One, I think the Bananapocalypse might actually be the fact that 350,000 subscribers (the “big story” of the week!) clicked “like” on explosions and b-list stars and somehow we’re now writing epitaphs for Long Duk Dong.

Yeah it’s just week one, but this banana-flavored Kool-aid is getting to people’s heads, and in a few months, those subscribers risk looking like the Mayans after week one of 2013.

Here’s all you need to know.

Love the trailers, until…

You know those hilarious fake trailers before Tropic Thunder? Wouldn’t it be awesome if we got some of the brightest young Asian American faces and let them go nuts and pitch the most ridonkulous ideas in trailer form? Sung Kang as a crime-fighting acting teacher! Ryan Higa as a judge on an American Idol-ripoff contest for aspiring YouTube stars! Co-starring Al from Step-By-Step!

Ah, good laughs and high-fives all around, fellas.

Well, you know what’s next. Those ain’t fake trailers. That’s the content. Sorry subscribers, you just slipped on the bananapocalypse: the joke’s on you.

The YOMYOMF channel takes YouTube very seriously…

That shouldn’t be surprising because YouTube is YOMYOMF’s major partner and YouTube has long been something of a utopia for young aspiring Asian American artists. And YOMYOMF is a mutually-beneficial project that allows YouTube to domesticate those vloggers and short filmmakers and “raise” them to the level of mainstream pop, for better or worse.

Check out Internet Icon, Ryan Higa’s talent competition that turned out to be real. One of YouTube’s major impediments to being taken seriously is that there are so few good critics who can raise the bar. (Well, KIDS REACT is pretty great.) So the idea of a competition show that creates some kind of critical self-reflexivity seems like a very good thing.

But Internet Icon is not so interested in criticism. The clips presented to the judges are heavily abridged (into 2- to 10-second snippets) so that we can’t judge them, and the criticisms are so hackneyed (“I love his personality!”) that it makes me wonder if Ryan Higa even knows why he’s so popular. Meanwhile, the judges agree on everything (at least in episode one) and seem to have the exact same taste, so what’s being proposed isn’t criticism so much as doctrine. Because what we want on YouTube is more of the same.

Speaking of which…

I guess it’s funny, but that’s the same joke…

You know the one. Two men walk into a bar and we watch them squirm as they get accidentally homoerotic. There might be a glimmer of this in some of the male-male duos in Internet Icon, but I’m too scared to click refresh to find out. But certainly in episode one of Acting for Action w/ Sung Kang, the joke, which runs for about five minutes (plus outtakes) of the six-minute episode, is that Sung Kang, Ryan Higa, and co-star Antonio Alvarez find ways to groom, fondle, and kiss each other in different positions.

And then there’s Blueberry, the 2008 short film to inaugurate Anderson Le’s The Short List show. It features the ever-out-of-water Randall Park discovering that his $73 hooker looks like Chris Kattan. On their own, Acting for Action and Blueberry are funny in a five-minute viral video sort of way. But as the sole jokes of two of YOMYOMF’s five series premieres, they make that “Asian guys can be funny too!” rhetoric look kind of flaccid.

It should be noted that one of the other five premieres, Mandarin Time, pins its comedic hopes on the assumption that misogyny is funnier when it is in another language and when it’s done by puppets.

You offend us and our family. We get it. It’s just strange to see mild homophobia and misogyny be the jokes of choice from a blog that consistently finds the most clever, informed, and convincing ways to dissect race while being attuned to the interests of artists and industries. The YOMYOMF blog features some of the sharpest and funniest commentary on subjects in and around Asian America. It’s depressing that the site of Philip, Beverly, Elaine, Roger, and mutha-fuckin’ David Henry Hwang has no bite behind the camera.

“Not trying” is bad SAT advice, but…

Leave it to KevJumba to make the best episode of the week, simply by making a KevJumba video. The Bananapocalypse trailer featured special effects, Hollywood celebrities, costumes, and color, and YOMYOMF Week One delivered with CGI (Drone), talking puppets (Mandarin Time), and prime-time lighting and wind machines (Internet Icon).

Kevjumba’s video, “KevJumba Takes the SAT w/Felicia Day” does feature an internet star guest, but its real bursts of joy come from the simple pleasures of documentary realism and celebrities doing mundane things. As the title suggests, the video follows KevJumba and Felicia Day to an SAT prep class where they face off in three rounds of a mock SAT.

It’s got a single hook just like Mandarin Time and Acting for Action, but it’s not built around a single joke. As the situation plays out, with genuinely unpredictable results, we take joy watching them confront anxieties about their own abilities, the standards by which we measure ourselves, and how we’re defined. It’s six minutes of light, spirited fun, and is even anarchic enough to fit the You-Offend-Me brand.

And it’s all so effortless, like just another day for KevJumba. In other words, it’s what’s made Kevin Wu such an infectious online sensation: intimate, self-deprecating, adorable, and even bold.

Progress Report:

“Acting for Action w/Sung Kang trailer”
Moderately weird, and silly Sung is better than furious Sung.

“Internet Icon Trailer”
A- (when I thought it was fake)
D (when I realized it was real)

“BFFs Trailer”
Smells awfully like a female, more renegade version of Better Luck Tomorrow. I’ll give it a chance when it’s out.

“Internet Icon Ep 1 – The Search” (in two parts)
The whole thing just strikes me as wrong. Mimicking TV (with all of its glittery clichés) to validate YouTube? Internet artists seeking Internet Icon status from anybody other than their users? Doesn’t this kind of celebrity-endowed validation go against the idea of the internet as being democratic? Or maybe this is a tongue-in-cheek critique of the corporatization of YouTube?

“DRONE Teaser Trailer”
I’m not the target demographic, so don’t mind me when I say I wanted to laugh repeatedly.

“Acting for Action w/Sung Kang – Lesson 1”

“KevJumba Takes the SAT w/ Felicia day”

“Mandarin Time”

“Blueberry (YOMYOMF Short List)”
B- (for the film)
A (for the concept of the series)
I love that they’re carving out a space for short films. Programming shorts for the internet isn’t the same as programming for a festival, but there are few people I trust more for the task than Anderson Le.

In Response to the AFI: Top 100 American Films by Women Directors

In Spring 2007, Erin Hill and I, then editors of the UCLA-based online journal Mediascape, conducted a poll to determine the “Top 100 American Films by Women Directors.” It was conducted, published, and promoted to counter the American Film Institute’s “10th anniversary edition” of their famous “greatest 100 American films” list.

Over a decade and a half later, the project seems both redundant in that such lists are commonplace on the internet, and still essential given that the majority of the films on our 100 are not the types that pop up on the more mainstream, post-2010-leaning Indiewire or Rotten Tomatoes lists. It should be underscored how different the view was in 2007, before streaming, social media, the Criterion Channel, Letterboxd, and #MeToo. Despite the absence of social media, our list got some traction online. Henry Jenkins dedicated a post to it. Readers discussed it on the estimable Dave Kehr blog.

When I did a similar alternative-canon poll for the LA Times (the 20 best Asian American films of the past 20 years) in 2019, the motivation and process was very much the same as what Erin and I did over a decade prior. I hope the Mediascape list still serves as a useful resource today.

By Erin Hill and Brian Hu

In 1998, the American Film Institute celebrated the centenary of cinema by announcing its list of the 100 greatest American films of all time. Needless to say, their list, topped by Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane, sparked more than a little controversy. The AFI responded that dissent was exactly their mission: their list was meant to elicit discussion about a century of American cinema.

However, Chicago Reader critic Jonathan Rosenbaum was one of the few commentators bold or astute enough to pinpoint the AFI list’s real mission: to get viewers of the AFI’s CBS TV special to go out and view all of these movies again. Rosenbaum draws attention to the “holy or unholy alliance of the AFI, Blockbuster Video, CBS, TNT, Turner Classic Movies, and the home-video division of 13 film studios,” all of which had financial incentives for revitalizing interest in their classic film libraries. His main point is that the American Film Institute’s list is more a product of “corporate greed” than any cultural reflection, and so he came up with his own alternate list of 100 American films, many of which were not distributed by the major studios, and of those that were, many at that time were not available on home video.i

Nine years later, it looks like Rosenbaum’s list, predictably, had little impact on public demand, and even less on the AFI’s criteria for their “10th anniversary edition” of their original list, to be announced the night of June 20, 2007. Like any DVD anniversary edition, this list promises to sell the same product to the same consumers, with a few updates to re-whet the public’s appetite.

Mediascape took a look at the AFI’s ballot of 400 eligible films, and instead of writing the usual criticism against canonization, bad taste, or corporatization, decided to “review” the AFI’s new list with a top 100 of its own. Of the 400 films on the ballot sent to AFI voters, only 4 were directed by women. (Five if you include Shrek, which was co-directed by a woman.) Does that mean that women are inferior directors? Hardly. Does that mean that women have been kept out of the director’s chair? Yes and no. What our list aims to demonstrate is that, while women have certainly faced sexism in Hollywood, both in and outside of the mainstream American film industry (which the AFI list represents almost exclusively), women directors have made extraordinary achievements in filmmaking. But 100 films? That’s the challenge we put to several dozen film scholars, filmmakers, and movie buffs.

From their responses, we compiled a list of the 100 greatest American films directed or co-directed by women. What we discovered was that there are indeed many great American films by women—in fact, many more—but to come to this realization, one must alter how we define such terms as “great,” “American,” and “films.”

We’ll start with the last term. The AFI list is limited to feature narrative films—a format traditionally monopolized by Hollywood—at the exclusion of documentaries, experimental films, or shorts, formats in which women directors have traditionally excelled. For that reason, we opened our list to non-narrative films and video works. While our intention was never to rank our top 100 list, it’s worth noting that our top vote-getter was Maya Deren’s 1943 experimental short Meshes of the Afternoon (co-directed by Alexander Hammid). Deren’s film may not be very well-known to mainstream audiences, but it’s generally accepted among film buffs and historians as perhaps the most influential work of the American avant-garde. But if we play by the AFI’s rules for how to define “film,” Deren’s landmark work won’t see a spike in Netflix rentals, as Citizen Kane certainly will after June 20th.

Any attempt to define “American” will certainly be problematic, so we at Mediascape had no intention of doing so. Officially, we defined “American film” as the AFI does on their ballot: “Motion picture with significant creative and/or production elements from the United States.” Beyond that, it was up to the voter to define “American.” As with the AFI list, many of our titles were foreign co-productions, and given how complicated the world of co-production is (which includes both culturally-hybrid films, as well as “American” productions that take advantage of foreign financing benefits), we decided to simply accept them all.

However, the AFI ballot of 400 films has a rather whitewashed definition of “America.” Few films by American-born minority directors are represented, even though many European-born directors working in Hollywood (such as Alfred Hitchcock and David Lean) had multiple films on the AFI list. Here at Mediascape, one of the biggest inspirations for our own list was Chon Noriega’s 1998 list of the 100 greatest films by Chicano filmmakers, which was published in the journal Aztlán as a response to the stark absence of minority American films on the AFI list. Noriega prefaced his list with the stirring proclamation: “But why should we care? Because the list is being done in our name: Americans.”ii Mediascape is proud that its voters have a more comprehensive definition of “American” than the AFI list does.

Finally, there is the tricky term “great.” It’s not very important to us that we have criteria for greatness (in fact, we didn’t specify any such criteria in our invitation to voters). It’s not that we’re necessarily against canonization, but simply that our time and resources were limited. A better top 100 list could be possible if we had a larger sample size. (Let’s forgo the old “canon wars” debates for now; refer to Mediascape’s review of Jonathan Rosenbaum’s book Essential Cinema for more of our thoughts on the topic.iii)

A few conclusions can be drawn from our list of 100 films by women directors. First, it’s clear that women directing is not a new phenomena, and that in fact, before Sofia Coppola, Penny Marshall, and Amy Heckerling, there were prolific pioneers like Lois Weber, Dorothy Arzner, Ida Lupino, Stephanie Rothman, and others who worked both outside the industry and within it.

Second, this list asks that we divorce the idea of “classic” from “greatness.” If CBS’s presentation of the AFI’s top 100 is like a nostalgic stroll down memory lane, our list is a contestation of expectations and conventions. “That was directed by a woman?” “I forgot about that film.” “Why is it that I tend to forget the titles of great documentaries I’d seen in the past?” “Why is it that I can’t find any of these films on video?” Our list forces readers to ask questions rather than simply throw around the old titles in a new order.

Third, the list asks that we give more attention to non-mainstream formats and distribution channels. As our list demonstrates, many of the great works by women are documentaries, experimental films, exotica—not formats one typically thinks of when thinking about the “greatest American films of all time.” They are also aligned with social movements off the mainstream radar: African American cinema, Asian American cinema, queer cinema. And while they may not be available at Blockbuster, they can be found at public libraries, specialty rental stores, or educational outlets. In fact, one of the most important American distribution companies of all time, Women Make Movies, specializes in films directed by women.

Lastly, we hope that our list shows that it’s not hard to come up with a list of 100 American films directed by women. You just have to know where to look, and to realize that some of your favorite films, unbeknownst to most, may actually have been made by a woman.

Here is our list, in chronological order:
MABEL’S BUSY DAY (Mabel Normand, 1914)
SOMETHING NEW (Nell Shipman & Bert Van-Tuyle, 1920)
THE LOVE LIGHT (Frances Marion, 1921)
THE BLOT (Lois Weber, 1921)
TWO WISE WIVES (Lois Weber, 1921)
THE WILD PARTY (Dorothy Arzner, 1929)
LINDA (Dorothy Davenport aka Mrs. Wallace Reid, 1929)
CHRISTOPHER STRONG (Dorothy Arzner, 1933)
DANCE, GIRL, DANCE (Dorothy Arzner, 1940)
FIRST COMES COURAGE (Dorothy Arzner, 1943)
MESHES OF THE AFTERNOON (Maya Deren & Alexander Hammid, 1943)
NOT WANTED (Ida Lupino & Elmer Clifton, 1949)
OUTRAGE (Ida Lupino, 1950)
THE BIGAMIST (Ida Lupino, 1953)
THE COOL WORLD (Shirley Clarke, 1964)
BAD GIRLS GO TO HELL (Doris Wishman, 1965)
PORTRAIT OF JASON (Shirley Clarke, 1967)
FUSES (Carolee Schneemann, 1967)
RAPE (Yoko Ono & John Lennon, 1969)
WANDA (Barbara Loden, 1971)
A NEW LEAF (Elaine May, 1971)
THE VELVET VAMPIRE (Stephanie Rothman, 1971)
TERMINAL ISLAND (Stephanie Rothman, 1973)
DYKETACTICS (Barbara Hammer, 1974)
THE WORKING GIRLS (Stephanie Rothman, 1974)
HARLAN COUNTY U.S.A. (Barbara Kopple, 1976)
NEWS FROM HOME (Chantal Ackerman, 1977)
GIRLFRIENDS (Claudia Weill, 1978)
CHILLY SCENES OF WINTER (Joan Micklin Silver, 1979)
OLD BOYFRIENDS (Joan Tewkesbury, 1979)
TELL ME A RIDDLE (Lee Grant, 1980)
LOSING GROUND (Kathleen Collins, 1982)
SMITHEREENS (Susan Seidelman, 1982)
VALLEY GIRL (Martha Coolidge, 1983)
YENTL (Barbra Streisand, 1983)
DESERT HEARTS (Donna Deitch, 1985)
WORKING GIRLS (Lizzie Borden, 1986)
CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD (Randa Haines, 1986)
BORDER RADIO (Allison Anders, Dean Lent, & Kurt Ross, 1987)
NEAR DARK (Kathryn Bigelow, 1987)
WHO KILLED VINCENT CHIN? (Christine Choy & Renee Tajima-Pena, 1987)
DAMNED IF YOU DON’T (Su Friedrich, 1987)
ISHTAR (Elaine May, 1987)
BIG (Penny Marshall, 1988)
SURNAME VIET GIVEN NAME NAM (Trinh T. Minh-ha, 1989)
BLUE STEEL (Katherine Bigelow, 1990)
SINK OR SWIM (Su Friedrich, 1990)
PARIS IS BURNING (Jennie Livingston, 1990)
RAMBLING ROSE (Martha Coolidge, 1991)
A PLACE CALLED LOVELY (Sadie Benning, 1991)
DAUGHTERS OF THE DUST (Julie Dash, 1991)
LITTLE MAN TATE (Jodie Foster, 1991)
DOGFIGHT (Nancy Savoca, 1991)
GAS FOOD LODGING (Allison Anders, 1992)
A LEAGUE OF THEIR OWN (Penny Marshall, 1992)
WAYNE’S WORLD (Penelope Spheeris, 1992)
HISTORY AND MEMORY (Rea Tajiri, 1992)
MI VIDA LOCA (Allison Anders, 1993)
GO FISH (Rose Troche, 1994)
THE ELEGANT SPANKING (Maria Beatty & Rosemary Delain, 1995
STRANGE DAYS (Katherine Bigelow, 1995)
CLUELESS (Amy Heckerling, 1995)
THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY (Jane Campion, 1996)
WATERMELON WOMAN (Cheryl Dunye, 1996)
FOXFIRE (Annette Haywood-Carter, 1996)
WALKING AND TALKING (Nicole Holofcener, 1996)
MANNY & LO (Lisa Krueger, 1996)
ALL OVER ME (Alex Sichel, 1997)
PRIVATE PARTS (Betty Thomas, 1997)
COMING SOON (Collette Burson, 1999)
HOLY SMOKE (Jane Campion, 1999)
BOYS DON’T CRY (Kimberly Peirce, 1999)
AMERICAN PSYCHO (Mary Harron, 2000)
GIRLFIGHT (Karyn Kusama, 2000)
LOVE AND BASKETBALL (Gina Prince-Bythewood, 2000)
THINGS BEHIND THE SUN (Allison Anders, 2001)
SOUTHERN COMFORT (Kate Davis, 2001)
STRANGER INSIDE (Cheryle Dunye, 2001)
LOVELY & AMAZING (Nicole Holofcener, 2001)
THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY (Jennifer Jason Leigh & Alan Cumming, 2001)
THE KID STAYS IN THE PICTURE (Nanette Burstein & Brett Morgen, 2002)
PERSONAL VELOCITY (Rebecca Miller, 2002)
FRIDA (Julie Taymor, 2002)
AMERICAN SPLENDOR (Shari Springer Berman & Robert Pulcini, 2003)
LOST IN TRANSLATION (Sofia Coppola, 2003)
MONSTER (Patty Jenkins, 2003)
SOMETHING’S GOTTA GIVE (Nancy Meyers, 2003)
YES (Sally Potter, 2004)
THE TIME WE KILLED (Jennifer Todd Reeves, 2004)
SHERRYBABY (Laurie Collyer, 2006)
MARIE ANTOINETTE (Sofia Coppola, 2006)
LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE (Valerie Faris & Jonathan Dayton, 2006)
OLD JOY (Kelly Reichardt, 2006)

i Jonathan Rosenbaum, “List-o-Mania: Or, How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love American Movies” (26 June 1998)
<;. Another version of this article appears in Rosenbaum’s Movie Wars: How Hollywood and the Media Conspire to Limit What Films We Can See. Chicago: A Capella Books, 2000.
ii Chon Noriega, “The Aztlán Film Institute’s Top 100 List.” Jump Cut 42 (1998) 65-67. Republished online at:
iii Brian Hu, “Taking Film Studies to the Streets (and Back Again): On the Necessity of Criticism,” Mediascape 1.1 (2005)