#dos monjes

Most represented decade: 1950s

Earliest film year represented: 1913

Newest film year represented: 2025

(Note: I was originally going to list 25 films, but life has been INSANE and busy. Just so you know, the five films I had to cut were Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999), The Dead (1987), Victim (1961), The Silence of the Sea (1949), and Punch-Drunk Love (2002). All of these films are excellent and I highly recommend them, but time has been very limited and this was the only way I was going to get this list posted before 2026 begins.)

Time for the list!

The Flowers of St. Francis (dir. Roberto Rossellini, 1950)

A series of comic and dramatic episodes from the life of Catholic saint, Francis of Assisi.

If you told me my favorite film discovery of the year would be a neorealist biopic about a Catholic saint, I would have been skeptical, but The Flowers of St. Francis is a truly beautiful work of art. I have a complicated, painful relationship with organized religion, but this film shows how faith can inspire compassion and profound humility-- not a humility that's just self-loathing, but a humility that inspires Francis and his followers to appreciate nature, animals, and society's marginalized as their fellow creatures beloved of God. In an era where consumerism is rampant and the state of the planet seems to be an afterthought for many in power, Francis' simple lifestyle and care for his fellow beings is profound and touching.

Ikiru (dir. Akira Kurosawa, 1951)

After learning he has terminal cancer, a low-level bureaucrat decides to spend his last months building a safe place for children to play.

I knew Ikiru would wreck me with its story of finding meaning in the shadow of death (just thinking about Takashi Shimura on that swing makes me tear up), but I never expected how unsentimental it would be while doing it. Kurosawa does not go for easy pathos with this subject matter, making the story all the more impactful. The ending also goes to unexpected places, essentially challenging the audience to not let their lives go on autopilot after leaving the theater.

Fantomas (dir. Louis Feuillade, 1913-1914)

Inspector Juve chases criminal mastermind Fantomas through pre-WWI Paris. What results is a series of surrealistic adventures through the criminal underworld.

I've been meaning to watch this serial for years now, but I finally did it! I totally get the hype for Feuillade. Fantomas is a thrilling popcorn adventure, each episode packed with bizarre images and criminal intrigue. What sealed my love most was the ending, which was both shockingly bleak and cyclical, the story ending as it began.

The Taking of Power by Louis XIV (dir. Roberto Rossellini, 1966)

Young Louis XIV takes control of his squabbling court by exploiting the shallowness, vanity, and greed of the nobility.

This film is a striped down, unsentimental period drama that takes a clinical view of its central subject, who is played by a stiff non-professional actor. I expected it would be tough viewing, but I was thoroughly engrossed. This is as much a philosophical film as it is a period piece. King Louis' great realization is that truth is subservient to appearance in the world of politics. He must appear to be all-powerful as he manipulates his nobles through fashion and ritual, and makes them dependent upon him for any scrap of influence or wealth. However, the film's greatest irony is that Louis himself is powerless without the illusion and therefore, authenticity is the rarest commodity of all in his gilded court.

The Best Years of Our Lives (dir. William Wyler, 1946)

Three American servicemen return home after World War II concludes, only to find that their loved ones, hometowns, and American culture at large have changed.

I'm glad I got the chance to strike this one off my watchlist. The Best Years of Our Lives is a touching portrait of soldiers trying to reassimilate to civilian life after WWII ends. The performances are powerful across the board and the film never feels its nearly 3 hour length. But what fascinates me most is how the movie reflects an American culture in shift, moving into the economic prosperity and cultural changes of the postwar period.

Cloud Atlas (dir. Lilly and Lana Wachowski, 2012)

A sprawling epic that cuts between six different characters as they face oppression and tyranny across the ages: a Victorian lawyer awakening to the horrors of slavery on a sea voyage; a bisexual musician in the 1930s attempting to hide his orientation while he works on his masterpiece; a bold reporter uncovering a conspiracy in the 1970s; an elderly publisher targeted by the mob and his unscrupulous family in 2010s Britain; an enslaved clone joining the revolution in a dystopian future Seoul; and a frightened islander who comes into contact with an advanced culture in a post-apocalyptic earth.

After enjoying Cloud Atlas the novel, I tempered my expectations for the film version. I need not have because this film blew me away with its audacious editing and spiritual ambition. This is the modern film that comes closest to being a true successor to DW Griffith's 1916 epic Intolerance, which cut between stories set in four different eras. Cloud Atlas goes even further, cutting between six different stories in different genres with dizzying rapidity. While some elements of the production are a bit cringey (like the yellowface-- oh God, the yellowface), I was bowled over by the earnestness of its themes about class, love, and the cyclical nature of history.

The Substance (dir. Coralie Fargeat, 2024)

When a middle-aged television star finds herself kicked to the curb by ageist executives, she takes a "substance" that temporarily transforms her into a younger version of herself. However, the drug takes its toll on her mentally and physically, leading to a ghastly and tragic conclusion.

This might be the best version of Jekyll and Hyde committed to film, with only the Rouben Mamoulian 1931 Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde film as serious competition. As it is, this is a brilliant retelling of the story, reframing it through the lens of the sexist, ageist entertainment industry. Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley are both brilliant as two sides of the same self-destructive, self-hating individual.

The Man Between (dir. Carol Reed, 1953)

While visiting her brother in postwar West Berlin, an ordinary British woman is drawn into a world of conspiracy and espionage. When captured by a band of Communist agents, her strongest bet is to rely on a handsome smuggler with a rocky past.

Unpopular opinion: I like this film better than the more celebrated The Third Man and Odd Man Out. People tend to view The Man Between as the underwhelming follow up to those movies, but I was moved by the film's bittersweet romanticism. Claire Bloom and James Mason are heartbreaking as the central couple thrust into the treacherous waters of postwar Berlin.

Hester Street (dir. Joan Micklin Silver, 1975)

Gitl is an Eastern European Jewish woman immigrating to the US to join her husband, who has been living there for some time. She is surprised to find he has adopted a new name, dropped many of their old country's customs, and started an affair with another woman. She finds herself wondering how much she should assimilate to please her husband or if she must forge new bonds elsewhere.

As much as I enjoy the anachronistic likes of Bridgerton or Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette, few things please me more than movies which try their best to recreate specific historical times. Hester Street features a detailed recreation of a Jewish community in turn of the century New York City. The film concerns itself with the immigrant experience: how much should one assimilate to their new homeland and how much is too much? Carol Kane portrays Gitl's emotional journey in such an intimate and powerful way. It's definitely the best performance I have ever seen Kane give.

Sinners (dir. Ryan Coogler, 2025)

Twin brothers Smoke and Stack open a speakeasy when they return home to Mississippi. They expect opposition from the local white supremacists. They don't expect to be ambushed by an Irish-American vampire and his motley crew of undead cronies.

I'm still kicking myself over not seeing Sinners in the theater. I was expecting a smarter version of From Dusk Till Dawn in period dress. Instead I got one of the funniest, most beautiful horror films I have ever seen. Sinners is my favorite kind of popular cinema. It's a cracking good genre film that also possesses a soul and a brain. The film concerns itself with the power of art and community, and I am so happy to see it struck a chord with audiences.

Bound (dir. Lilly and Lana Wachowski, 1996)

After a meet cute in an elevator, ex-con Corky and gangster's moll Violet start a passionate affair. In their quest to start a new life together, Violet suggests they rob the mob. Despite the lovers' detailed plans, nothing goes as expected.

Bound has become one of my favorite neo-noirs. Smart, sexy, and funny, the film plays with both noir and gangster movie tropes, particularly the archetype of the femme fatale. Gina Gershon and Meg Tilly steam up every scene with their palpable chemistry, and Joe Pantoliano's turn as the villain is both hilarious and sinister.

Bamboozled (dir. Spike Lee, 2000)

Frustrated Black TV producer Pierre Delacroix creates a modern minstrel show to get out of his contract with a spectacular bomb that will surely inspire nothing but protest. What results is a Mel Brooks Producers' style success, with (mostly white) audiences flocking to watch the new show. However, this success comes with a high price and reveals how much damage media has caused and continues to cause marginalized communities.

This film absolutely stunned me. It is one of the most ruthless social satires I have ever seen, constantly provocative and never willing to make its audience comfortable. It is often easy to look at the way Black Americans have been stereotyped in film and other media, and then argue society "isn't like that anymore." But Lee's film shows how stereotypes don't simply die-- they mutate and find new ways to linger.

My Name is Julia Ross (dir. Joseph H. Lewis, 1945)

When Julia Ross takes a position as a live-in secretary for a widow, little does she realize the nightmare she's walking into. She is soon spirited away to a remote mansion and told she is actually a married woman named Marion Hughes. She must struggle to stay strong against the rampant gaslighting if she wants to escape her prison.

This domestic noir is absolutely fantastic. Nina Foch and Dame May Whitty make a great pair of antagonists, and the atmosphere is pure gothic. I was particularly fond of the film's little nods to silent films like The Cat and the Canary and Nosferatu. They're not overt references, but they're there and they're fun to spot if you're a nerd like me.

Children of Men (dir. Alfonso Cuaron, 2006)

It's 2027 and amidst a fertility crisis and international strife, a former activist is pressed into escorting the world's only pregnant woman to safe territory.

A movie that's been on my watchlist for a while now. Absolutely worth the hype. Dystopian films are often too stylized for me to take them seriously as potential realities, but this one has an immediacy to it that proves gut-wrenching. I loved the way it was shot. It made you feel as though you were there. Bonus points for featuring Michael Caine as an aging pot smoker and cartoonist living in the woods.

Hallelujah, I'm a Bum! (dir. Lewis Milestone, 1933)

A contented hobo decides to go against his anti work philosophy when he falls in love with an amnesiac young woman.

After suffering through The Jazz Singer and The Singing Fool, I figured I was absolutely allergic to Al Jolson vehicles. I was surprised when I ended up thoroughly enjoying this film. It's hard to imagine a Hollywood film as late as 1940 making a musical with an anarchist hobo and a communist trash collector (played by Harry Langdon in a hilarious grouch performance) as the main characters, but here we are. Playing like a mash-up of a Rene Clair musical and City Lights, this very Depression-era film is charming, thoughtful, and deserves more attention than it seems to get.

Dos Monjes (dir. Juan Bustillo Oro, 1934)

A monastery becomes a scene of violence when Brother Javier strikes Brother Juan in the face with a crucifix. When the prior looks into the matter, he learns the monks' tragic shared history and the origin of the animosity between them. However, the two monks' testimonies prove contradictory.

This gothic Mexican melodrama is the earliest Rashomon style film I can think of. The expressionist set design and deliberate costuming used to differentiate the different perspectives is remarkable. It is a case where the style matters more than the plot, which is little more than a standard love triangle, but still, it is an exciting watch for fans of 1930s horror.

The Pied Piper (dir. Jiri Barta, 1986)

A town plagued by rats is saved by the musical skills of the mysterious pied piper. However, when the corrupt town refuses to pay their savior as promised, he exacts a ghastly revenge.

I had never heard of this stop motion retelling of The Pied Piper until my boyfriend told me about it. It's an eerie adaptation with an aggressive, expressionist style. Though told with puppets, many of the backgrounds recreate the flat, stagey look of films like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. As an adaptation, this is a very dark version of an already dark story. Hammelin is the worst kind of capitalist dystopia, where human life is of little worth. The titular piper now acts as a scourge of God, punishing the greedy, violent townspeople for their cruelty. Definitely not Disney-like and all the better for it!

Annie Laurie (dir. John S. Robertson, 1927)

A young Scottish woman finds herself in the middle of a family feud when she and her best friend fall for members of an enemy clan.

Lillian Gish's tenure at MGM was not a happy one, though it yielded two of her finest films: The Scarlet Letter and The Wind. Annie Laurie is a far lighter confection but I thoroughly enjoyed it. It's a good representation of how stylistically sophisticated late era silent Hollywood could be. The direction is very playful, relying more on montage and performance than expository title cards to convey information. Gish shows off her comic skills, which are often overlooked in most remembrances of her talent. And the biggest surprise of all is how charming the normally bland Norman Kerry manages to be this time around!

Pillow Talk (dir. Michael Gordon, 1959)

A straight-laced interior designer and a skirt-chasing musician share a party line. They find one another absolutely irritating, but when they meet in person, sparks fly and farce ensues.

I did not expect to like this at all. I can only take Doris Day in chunks and while Rock Hudson has gone up in my estimation over time, I did not enjoy Send Me No Flowers, which is a later collaboration between him and Day. However, Pillow Talk won me over! Admittedly, some of the gender dynamics have aged like milk in a heat wave, but I was won over by the chemistry between Day and Hudson, the playful directing, and the surprisingly progressive (for 1959) sexual politics.

Neighbours (dir. Norman McLaren, 1952)

Two neighbors fight to the death for possession of a flower growing between their houses.

Two Monks (Juan Bustillo Oro, 1934)

Director Juan Bustillo Oro’s surrealist drama DOS MONJES (’34) was an outlier of early Mexican cinema just as it had entered its golden age. Mexico was in a state of transition in the years after the Mexican Revolution and the Cristero War, which suppressed religion, most notably the Catholic church. According to film historian Elisa Lozano, “the national cinema was in search of its identity, wrenched in opposite directions by the popular and the modern.” Bustillo Oro’s early work, especially DOS MONJES, is indicative of this sort of transitional space as he combines traditional elements of theater with an experimental filmmaking style.

DOS MONJES stars Carlos Villatoro as Javier, a sickly and disturbed monk who attacks the newest member of the monastery, Juan (Victor Urruchua), with a crucifix. We learn that the two men have transitioned to monastery life as a way of coping with their shared tragedy. Two flashbacks, one from the perspective of Javier and the other from Juan, tell the story of friends who are torn apart by their love for the same woman Ana (Magda Haller).

The film is a psychological study in subjective memory. It’s clear that Javier and Juan have two different stories to tell, each favoring themselves and painting the other as a villain. In Javier’s story, he’s a sympathetic, if not pathetic, figure: a devoted son, adoring suitor and faithful friend whose chronic health condition threatens to shorten his life. He dresses in grey and Juan appears as a dark figure emerging from the shadows wearing all black. In Juan’s vision, he is the one wearing grey and Javier wears black. 

In contrast to Javier’s portrayal of Ana as a childlike figure, Juan tells the story of a deeply passionate love affair with a woman whose sexuality has been repressed by Javier’s overbearing nature. Ana is visualized with subtle differences in appearance; most notably a white dress with black lace in Javier’s vision and a black dress with white lace in Juan’s. The differences between the two men’s stories clearly demonstrate that the human mind remembers the past through an emotional filter and that their truths are relative.

Bustillo Oro, who not only co-wrote the story but also directed and edited the film, took a leap of faith in trying something so drastically different from the norm. The flashback technique was still a relative novelty in film, and a story told through different points of view was refreshingly different. This technique would later be explored in the classic Akira Kurosawa film Rashomon (’50). DOS MONJES features incredible cinematography by Agustin Jimenez, and this was the first feature film in a long career for the talented visionary. Jimenez employed both unexpected angles and extreme shots from above or below which heightened dramatic elements and skewed points of view. 

DOS MONJES was heavily inspired by German Expressionism, most notably THE CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI (’20). This is most evident in the film’s use of black-and-white imagery and its distortion of reality. While this isn’t a horror film it does have some horror elements including the backdrop of a gothic monastery, the use of light and shadow, the violent attack at the beginning of the film and its ghoulish ending.

In some ways, DOS MONJES is Bustillo Oro’s exploration of post-Mexican Revolution identity. There is a nostalgia for the past, in this case the late 19th century, that’s told through the avant-garde lens of a modern filmmaker. One could see Javier and Juan as two sides of one personality, which echoes the split in Mexican national identity. Oro went on to make numerous films that dealt with the Mexican Revolution more directly, in both dramatic and comedic ways, including LOS QUE VUELVEN (‘32), EL COMPADRE MENDOZA (‘34), EN TIEMPOS DE DON PORFIRIO (‘40) and MEXICO DE MIS RECUERDOS (‘44).

DOS MONJES was filmed at Estudios Mexico Films in June 1934 and released in November of that same year. It got a US release in January 1935 under the name Two Monks, a literal translation of the Spanish title. While DOS MONJES was well-received by critics, audiences were not as receptive to the film’s unconventional approach. It was a box-office failure and languished in obscurity until it was rediscovered in the 1970s. Decades after its initial release, DOS MONJES is now recognized as not only an underrated classic but also a singular example of experimental Mexican filmmaking.