IsleofCinema and BoxingUweBoll team up to bring you The TOP 20 CLOSING SCENES in film, as selected by our writers:
Openings are easy – anyone can drop a group of strangers on an island and introduce mysteries willy-nilly: It’s wrapping things up that’s hard, especially in a way that’s fresh, unexpected and that provides closure. As the man said, “Always be Closing!” – and filmmakers should follow that advice, ‘cos if the opening sequence of a film is designed to suck you into the narrative, then the closing sequence gets you out into the world, where you can suck in others (you should be ashamed of yourself). Good endings can elevate an okay movie, bad endings can sink a good one, and that rarest of birds – the “TRULY GREAT ENDING” – can send you home with a tingling sensation at the base of your skull, basking in cinematic afterglow, excited about the possibilities of this medium we call Flix. In a world where movies no longer have “legs” and everyone’s all about opening weekend, great endings are a thing of the past, hallmarks of a vanishing craftsmanship no longer seen so readily in Hollywood.
With this in mind, the writers over at Boxing Uwe Boll and we here at Isle of Cinema put our heads together to wax nostalgic about the greatest closing scenes in movie history. But before you rush on in, be sure to first head over to Boxing Uwe Boll to read our choices of THE 20 GREATEST OPENING SCENES, keeping in mind that both lists were created by generating one master list from the dozen or so submitted by the staff writers of both blogs. And after you’ve perused the beginnings, come back for the endings, you’re encouraged to discover the middles for yourselves. Special thanks goes to Boxing Uwe Boll’s David Micevic for organizing the logistics and persuading otherwise employed individuals to submit volumes of unpaid writing on a subject they love.
So full steam ahead, with SPOILER ALERT warnings flying high, as we open our mega-post on the subject of closings:
[by Louis Doerge]
In the scene directly preceding the finale to Sergio Leone’s iconic western, A Fistful Of Dollars, the nameless, and wounded protagonist (Clint Eastwood) acquires handfuls of dynamite, which we assume he’ll use to terminate the gang of villains responsible for his injuries. He is, after all, only one skilled gunfighter taking on several skilled gunfighters. However, instead of bearing witness to Eastwood hurling lit clumps of dynamite at his enemies -which incidentally was James Coburn’s preferred means of combat in Leone’s 1971 Duck, You Sucker! – Leone uses the dynamite for spectacle’s sake and spectacle’s sake alone. As head bad-guy Ramon and his posse publicly torture Eastwood’s elderly friend, their attention is diverted by the massive explosions outside town. Through the smoke, and with enough confidence for ten orphanages, struts the expressionless Eastwood. The Man’s penchant for theatricality is further illustrated as Ramon tries to eliminate Eastwood via shooting him in the heart several times in a row. After each shot Eastwood gets back up, almost as if resurrecting himself, egging Ramon on and criticizing his aim. After a series of stunning close-ups that show the confusion and terror exuding from Ramon and his men, Eastwood reveals the secret to his immortality… the wild wild west’s first bulletproof vest. Watching this scene as a kid, I used to wonder why Eastwood was so sure of himself. How did he know that Ramon wouldn’t put a bullet in his head or kneecap? And come to think of it, why didn’t Ramon put a bullet in his head or kneecap? Thankfully, Leone ignored these pragmatic questions, and instead directed one of the most memorable and influential action climaxes of all time.
[admin. note: we couldn’t find the entire ending. This is the best we could do.]
[by Marco Noyola]
For five long years Ethan Edwards (John Wayne) searches for Scar, the Comanche chief who massacred his brother’s family and kidnapped his young niece, Debbie. With him is Marty, the Edwards’ adopted son – whom Ethan resents for being part-Cherokee. So great is Ethan’s fear of miscegenation that he plans to find Debbie and kill her before she can be married off to a Comanche, which means Marty must not only rescue his adoptive sister from Scar but also defend her from Ethan, whose brutality, racism and hatred are especially shocking coming from Wayne, the paragon of American virtue. Director Ford uses the “quarter-breed” Marty to give the film its moral center- balancing Ethan’s hatred with Marty’s love of family, even if his bonds aren’t blood as Ethan constantly reminds him. And in the end it is this morality that wins out, when Ethan finds that he cannot bring himself to kill Debbie, and instead takes her home where she and Marty are welcomed with love and acceptance. Ethan, on the other hand, stands unacknowledged, alone on the porch, as the reunited settlers walk into the house. The message is that while men such as Ethan may have been necessary to settle the frontier, there is no place for them in a civilized society. As the community regroups, Ethan himself seems to realize that he is too tainted to enter such a loving home, wandering towards the distance as Ford shuts the door on him and his kind forever.
[by Nick Burd]
It’s been said that the best endings are those that somehow manage to feel both surprising and inevitable. If this is the case, there may be no better filmic example of this theory than the final moments of Roman Polanski’s 1968 masterpiece Rosemary’s Baby. Up until this point, Polanski gives his audience a beautifully shot story of a young Manhattan couple (played by Mia Farrow and John Cassavetes), their new apartment, and the impending arrival of their first child. But audiences soon sense undercurrents of claustrophobia and paranoia in the tale. What are Rosemary and Guy’s nosy neighbors really up to? What’s the meaning of Rosemary’s vivid nightmares? The viewer remains tied to Farrow’s perspective throughout the picture and eventually feels the ache of her fear and and unease. But we also participate in her self-doubt. Of course Guy, her husband, would never do anything to harm her. And there’s nothing to fear about Mrs. Castevet’s chocolate mousse. But as we all know, Rosemary’s Baby didn’t earn the title of one of the best horror films ever by being afraid to delve into darkness. The end of the movie takes us to the limits of amorality and reveals the culmination of a satanic plot that we have unknowingly witnessed all along. From the casually included swastikas to the fact that we never see exactly what it means that Rosemary’s baby has his father’s eyes, the closing moments of the picture manage to wrap the viewer in a unique and groundbreaking sense of terror.
[by Rockie Juarez]
Ballsy, head strong, and full of cinematic wonder, Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey has an ending so enigmatic, that debate/discussion is just waiting to be sparked once the credits roll. A monolith, the mysterious artifact that haunts us, as well as the main characters through the picture, orbits the planet Jupiter. Following a powerful radio signal emitted from the black tablet of mystery, astronaut Dr. David Bowman has reached the end of his near fatal mission. David decides to give chase. Sometimes when all is lost (in this case his entire crew), all one can do is press forward. With flying colors, Kubrick takes us target=”_blank”>Beyond The Infinite. A kaleidoscope of imagery relentlessly washes over us as David’s journey finally brings him to a random home. But where are we? What is this final place? Is it the end of time? Are we in David’s mind? Within a few cuts David goes from middle aged, to elderly, to (wait for it……) a fetus……floating in space. WHAT!? Sure, Arthur C. Clarke, writer of the novel the film is based on, breaks down the enigma in the book, but on screen it’s a whole other ball game. Kubrick never insults you with exposition, laying it all out for you. In fact during this entire last act, not a single word is uttered. He trusts his audience to be smart enough to take the ride without demanding spoon fed answers. It’s a long star trek, but the payoff is one of pure wonder and nothing less than one of cinemas greatest achievements.
[admin. note: embedding has been disabled, so you will be transported to youtube to see the following clip.]
[by Boaz Dror]
Most horror movies don’t begin with a first act lasting 3 minutes, or feature Ray Harryhausen-inspired stop motion target=”_blank”>Necronomicons, or risk having sight-gag homages to the Three Stooges break the mood. But Sam Raimi’s re-imagining of his low budget Evil Dead (1981) six years on isn’t most horror films – it’s a harbinger of a new era in genre filmmaking, a film which has inspired everyone from Peter Jackson to Takashi Miike to a host of film-school graduates. And if by the middle of the 2nd act you’ve managed to miss the fact you’re watching something out of it’s mind unique, then the ending hammers the point home beautifully. Raimi’s already taken his protag, Ashley J. “Ash” Williams (Bruce Campbell in a career-defining role), from cheesy douchebag to demon survivor – so why not complete the most genre bending, wish-fulfillment character arc in film history by sending him hurtling through a rip in the space-time continuum to medieval times, to become the savior of mankind? It’s not just that Ash’s reluctant elevation to legendary hero status redeems the sadistic suffering we’ve seen him endure for the past hour and a half alone in a cabin in the woods – it’s that it also raises some serious questions about our heroes, indulging geek boy fantasies while subverting them. It’s daring, inspired fun that fuses Monty Python with J.R.R. Tolkein, and it’s an ending that elevates this small, unassuming movie into the most satisfying first (or is it second?) act of a franchise since Star Wars.
[admin. note: embedding has been disabled, so you will be transported to youtube to see the following clip.]
Hope you enjoyed part 1! Be sure to tune in next week when we bring you part 2!
July 18, 2011 1 Comment
Paul Schrader, the writer of Taxi Driver, Raging Bull and countless other classics directs this biographical film about Japanese author and mega-personality Yukio Mishima. The Philip Glass score is hypnotic and ethereal, as is his score for Errol Morris’ The Thin Blue Line, which might have gotten the nod were it not packed with dialogue. Also recommended by Glass is Music from Candyman, as well as the Koyaanisqatsi-Powaqqatsi-Naqoyqatsi scores. Check out track 12, “The Last Day”:
and track 14, “Mishima: Closing”:
Joe Dante directs this underrated black comedy starring Tom Hanks, which takes place in a prototypical American suburb, where strange new neighbors, the Klopeks, stir up suspicion among the residents. Jerry Goldsmith is one of the most pedigreed of composers, responsible for the score of Papillon, Planet of the Apes, Chinatown, Gremlins, Rambo and Poltergeist. His score for The ‘Burbs is inventive, dark, and full of bells, violins, gunfire and quacking ducks- and seems to have been a profound influence on Danny Elfman. Here’s the main title, “Night Work”:
and track 6, the gunfire-filled “Let’s Go”:
and track 15, “The Note”:
James Hill directs this film about a 5 year old elephant called Poly-Poly (or Slowly-Slowly) who lives out in the African wilderness, and the foreign couple he adopts – in this sequel to Born Free. Howard Blake, who also composed the orchestral score for Flash Gordon, supplies the funky music filled with bass clarinets. Here’s track 1, “An Elephant Called Slowly”:
and track 3, “Mr. Mopoji – Wild Dogs”:
This Vittorio De Sica directed film scripted by Neil Simon stars the amazing Peter Sellers as The Fox, top criminal mind and master of disguise, who escapes from prison and immediately plans his next job, pretending to be a famous director on the set of his new movie in order to smuggle gold into the country. This score comes courtesy of the great Burt Bacharach, composer of the songs “ target=”_blank”>Close to You” and “ target=”_blank”>What the World Needs Now,” who also composed the scores of What’s New Pussycat?, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and the original Casino Royale. Check out the always entertaining Peter Sellers collaborating with The Hollies on the title song, “After the Fox”:
and track 6, the swanky “Italian Fuzz”:
and track 15, “The Via Veneto”:
Akira Kurosawa borrowed the themes and plots of Dashiell Hammet’s Red Harvest and created the masterpiece that is Yojimbo, the tale of a wandering samurai who arrives in a town ravaged by two competing gangsters and plays one side against the other, a narrative later re-recycled to become Sergio Leone’s A Fistful of Dollars. And where Leone had Morricone, Kurosawa had Satô, who also scored The Hidden Fortress, Throne of Blood, as well as Hideo Gosha‘s The Wolves, Kihachi Okamoto‘s Sword of Doom, and several Godzilla films. His work on Yojimbo‘s score features rhythmically intriguing melodies like the following main title:
and track 3, “White Horse Lodge”:
as well as track 23. “Women”:
and track 45, “Strange Basket Dealer”:
Larry Cohen is king of the B’s, the man responsible for The Stuff, God Told Me To, and Hell Up in Harlem. In this well crafted low budget monster movie, a giant flying lizard – the mythical Quetzalcoatl - terrorizes New York, and only an out-of-work, ex-con piano player (played by Michael Moriarty) knows the location of the monster’s nest- and he ain’t telling. Ragland’s score is full of target=”_blank”>theremins, bass clarinets, and all the other goodies you’d expect from a good ol’ fashioned monster movie. Check out the main title:
and track 16, “Ritual In The Warehouse”:
Jaromil Jires directs this surreal Czech coming of age film which feels like an elaborate dream filled with vampires, priests, underage girls in silk pajamas, magic earrings and burnings at the stake and has something to do with menstruation. Whatever it’s about, it’s highly recommended, in large part because of the music, which is enchanting, ethereal, and full of angelic voices and eerie melodies. Here’s track 5, “Losing the Way”:
and track 9, “Dense Smoke”:
and track 12, “Disquiet”:
Michael Radford‘s commercial and critical hit tells the tale of an uneducated postman hired to hand-deliver the mail of exiled poet Pablo Neruda, the famous Chilean poet, who learns something about love and the power of poetry along the way. The soundtrack by Luis Bacalov will teach you something about love and poetry as well, filled with warm strings, a forlorn accordion, and a chorus of clarinets. Here’s track 2, “In Bicicletta”:
and track 11, “Milogna Del Poeta”:
The movie that launched Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell’s careers tells the tale of 5 friends, a cabin in the woods, a book of the dead known as the Necronomicon, and an unspeakable evil determined to claim the souls of all. It also features a memorable score by LoDuca, who would go on to score Raimi’s proto-remake/quasi-sequel, Evil Dead 2, as well as TV syndicated powerhouses Xena and Hercules. In Evil Dead he employs staccato plucking of strings, electronic swells, and weeping violins to create a palpable sense of dread. Here’s track 1, “Introduction”:
and track 4, the pluck-heavy “Rape of the Vines”:
and track 6, “Automatic Writing”:
Writer Neil Gaiman and Graphic Artist-turned-Director Dave McKean – frequent collaborators on the Sandman comic book series – collaborate on this fantasy about a girl named Helena with a bed-ridden mother who falls through the looking glass into a strange world filled with bizarre creatures and masked inhabitants, where the white queen has fallen ill and can only be saved by the MirrorMask. The music is fractured, haunting, and yet beautiful, mirroring (sorry) the imagery. Here’s track 3, “Spanish Web”:
and track 24, an eerie rendition of Burt Bacharach’s “Close to You”:
and track 25, “A New Life”:
and track 27, “Butterfingers”:
Click to see part 1 (OST’s #141-150) , part 2 (131-140), part 3 (121-130), part 4 (111-120), part 5 (101-110), part 6 (91-100), part 7 (81-90), part 8 (71-80), part 9 (61-70), part 10 (51-60), part 11 (41-50), part 12 (31-40), part 13 (21-30), part 14 (11-20) and part 15 (1-10).
October 25, 2010 No Comments