Secret Honor (1984) (Robert Altman)
One of Robert Altman’s best and least-seen films is this memorable one-man show, starring Philip Baker Hall as Richard Nixon in his last days in the White House. The film plays like a secret confessional, as we see a worn and defeated Nixon in his private study speaking all his rambling thoughts into his beloved tape recorder. Nixon babbles on semi-coherently about the presidency, Kissinger, his mother, the Kennedy family (not too many kind words about them), and, of course, himself.
As a character study, and a legitimate attempt by a left-wing filmmaker to understand Nixon’s psyche, this film is a triumph, and it’s especially a triumph for the great character actor Hall, who is even better than Anthony Hopkins in Oliver Stone’s higher-profile Nixon film. You may not like the Nixon presented in this film, but you’ll understand him. And it’s a testament to Altman that there is not a dull minute in a film that is basically a long, stream-of-consciousness rant.

Godzilla 2000 (1999) (Takao Okawara)
Obviously this one isn’t going to appeal to everyone, but if you like giant rubber monsters as much as I do, it’s a great time. It’s not the best Godzilla movie (that would be the original 1954 Gojira, still one of the greatest monster films of all time), nor is it the cheesiest (take your pick: Godzilla vs. Megalon or Godzilla 1985), but it’s definitely one of the most purely entertaining. The plot: an alien spaceship that looks a little like silver bicycle seat wants to take over the world. Godzilla don’t like no aliens on his turf, so it’s time for some big green whup-ass. “Why does Godzilla keep protecting us?” asks an awestruck woman. “Maybe it is because Godzilla is inside each one of us,” replies her companion.
There’s obviously a lot of cheese here, but I think this is, objectively speaking, a pretty good movie. The special effects are among the best in the Godzilla series, the script is fast-paced, and the monster action scenes are abundant and nicely done. It’s a good monster rally that doesn’t take itself too seriously.

Lost in La Mancha (2003) (Keith Fulton, Louis Pepe)
Terry Gilliam, the Monty Python animator whose films include Twelve Monkeys, Brazil, and The Fisher King, set out in 2000 to make a film version of Don Quixote, starring Johnny Depp and Jean Rochefort. Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe, who previously documented Gilliam’s creative process with the compelling The Hamster Factor and Other Tales of Twelve Monkeys, agreed to film a making-of documentary to be used on the eventual DVD release of the Quixote film.
Seven days after the start of filming, it became clear that the making-of documentary would be the only film that would survive. Gilliam’s Quixote collapsed after only a week. Storms ruined landscapes and damaged equipment; jet planes constantly disrupted shots; the horses wouldn’t cooperate; rehearsal time was minimal; the $32 million budget was, as Gilliam put it, “half the money we need”; and Jean Rochefort, Gilliam’s Quixote, discovered a prostate problem, forcing him to bow out of the film.
Lost in La Mancha is the best film I have ever seen about film, capturing both the ecstasy and (especially) the agony of the filmmaking process. It is immensely sad, but often uproariously funny, and as candid and revealing a look into filmmaking as has ever been made. And at the centre is Gilliam himself, a fascinating (and, of course, Quixotic) character whose ambitions and disappointments form the film’s emotional core.

COMING SOON: A review of Wes Anderson’s “The Darjeeling Limited”