The golden age of Hollywood — lasting from the mid-1920s until the mid-1960s — was dominated by five studios: RKO, MGM, Fox, Paramount, and Warner Bros. RKO went belly up in 1957; now a faint whimper of its former roaring lion, MGM is part of the Amazon empire; and Fox has been absorbed into the Disney collective (for its Marvel and Star Wars rights, not its history or legacy catalog). Only Paramount and Warners are left standing. But in our era of ceaseless corporate consolidation, the Hollywood studio is a dying breed and these last giants’ fates, increasingly tied up in IP plays, feel, at best, shaky.
So let’s celebrate them while they’re here, starting with Warner Bros., which marks its centennial on April 4. The brothers Warner — Albert, Sam, Harry and Jack — had been in the film business for years before incorporating their studio on April 4, 1923. It didn’t take long for Warner Bros. to put its stamp on Hollywood — and the globe. The studio brought synchronized sound to cinema, established genres (gangster pictures and musicals) and perfected styles (noir and widescreen Technicolor), gave the world legendary stars (Bette Davis, Humphrey Bogart, James Dean), made animation anarchic (Looney Tunes), and invented the comic book movie (oops). The studio released plenty of stinkers, but when it connected — which it did, a lot — the results were some of the best, most enjoyable movies ever made.
Many of them are on the following list of 100 films for Warners’ 100 years. In organizing it, I didn’t include any documentaries, films that WB distributed but didn’t produce, or shorts. I also left off lost films and exercised some critical judgment. There are some years where, frankly, Warners released a lot of garbage. So rather than exclude a good film just to ensure complete coverage, I erred on the side of quality at the expense of representing every moment of the studio’s existence.
With that, enjoy (or not!) this Warner Bros. centenary watchlist.
The Gold Diggers (1923) — A silent film that set the template for Warners’ greatest musical.
The Jazz Singer (1927) — The introduction of synchronized sound into cinema. We ain’t heard nothing yet, indeed.
Lights of New York (1928) — The first (now all but forgotten) all-talking feature film.
Little Caesar (1931) — The birth of the gangster genre; a little creaky but its stark fatalism still packs a wallop.
The Public Enemy (1931) — More modern and cynical than Little Caesar, this dirty rat gave us James Cagney and a murderer’s row of memorable moments.
I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932) — A harrowing, haunting exploitation film starring Paul Muni as a poor sap ground up by the Depression’s worst depravities.
Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933) — Warners’ best musical drips with snappy dialogue, indelible performances, and magnificent pre-Code Busby Berkley numbers (“We’re In the Money,” “Petting in the Park,” and “My Forgotten Man”).
A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1935) — Pre-Code Shakespeare is the best Shakespeare.
The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) — Every cinematic Robin Hood will live in the shadow of Errol Flynn’s Technicolor swashbuckler.
Angels with Dirty Faces (1938) — Cagney and Humphrey Bogart in a gangster picture directed by Michael Curtiz — you can’t miss.
Dark Victory (1939) — Bette Davis is always great, but never more than when she’s in an Oscar-winning drama.
The Letter (1940) — Another great Davis role that marries noir with drama — a signature WB style.
High Sierra (1941) — Bogart and Ida Lupino in a noir written by John Huston and directed by Raoul Walsh — a perfect studio picture.
The Maltese Falcon (1941) — The best noir Warners ever made, period.
Casablanca (1942) — A film somehow more perfect today than when it was released 80 years ago.
Now, Voyager (1942) — Davis as the original spinster-to-sensuous beauty.
To Have and Have Not (1944) — Bogart and Lauren Bacall together for the first time.
Mildred Pierce (1945) — Joan Crawford won an Oscar as a woman on the verge of a breakdown in this classic studio melodrama.
The Big Sleep (1946) — A notoriously nonsensical noir, but who cares when you get Bogart and Bacall burning up the screen?
Dark Passage (1947) — Why not follow up The Big Sleep with Bogart and Ball round three?
The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948) — Maybe director John Huston’s best film, an immensely entertaining take-no-prisoners excavation of man’s greed and hubris.
White Heat (1949) — Cagney’s last great gangster picture is the top of the world!
Strangers on a Train (1951) — A twisted murder masterpiece that finds Hitchcock at his most perverse. The carousel scene will haunt you forever.
A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) — It made Marlon Brando a star and embedded “Stelllllllaaaaaa!” in our cultural lexicon.
A Star is Born (1954) — Judy Garland’s best film and one of Hollywood’s toughest interrogations of the price of fame.
Rebel Without a Cause (1955) — James Dean smoldering in his red leather jacket, hot-rod chicken races — postwar generational ennui was never so cool, or dangerous.
The Searchers (1956) — Yes, its racism and gender issues are problematic. It’s also director John Ford’s most epic work and one of the most beautifully shot films ever.
Giant (1956) — George Stevens’ 201-minute chronicle of a Texas oil family is epic in every sense, starting with its cast: Elizabeth Taylor, Rock Hudson, and Dean.
A Face in the Crowd (1957) — Hard to imagine Andy Griffith as anything but Mayberry’s most affable lawman, yet here he is as America’s most fascistic celebrity in a film that only grows more relevant.
The Old Man and the Sea (1958) — A solid adaptation of Hemingway’s slim novel; an even better performance from Spencer Tracy.
Rio Bravo (1959) — Howard Hawks’ best Western stars Dean Martin and Ricky Nelson — oh, and John Wayne — and somehow it all works brilliantly.
Ocean’s 11 (1960) — It doesn’t hold up all that well, but who can turn down the chance to hang with the Rat Pack in Vegas?
My Fair Lady (1964) — A musical Pygmalion and the standard by which all makeover movies are judged.
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) — Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were never better than in Mike Nichols’ deeply uncomfortable, eminently watchable adaptation of Edward Albee’s play.
Bonnie and Clyde (1967) — Arthur Penn’s film changed Hollywood with its graphic violence and the lusty energy of its gorgeous stars Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway.
Cool Hand Luke (1967) — No failure to communicate here — this Paul Newman prison flick is a classic.
Bullitt (1968) — Steve McQueen was never cooler, and car chases were never better.
The Wild Bunch (1969) — Sam Peckinpah covered the Western’s frontier towns and myths with buckets of blood and gore. The genre was never the same.
The Learning Tree (1969) — Photographer Gordon Parks’s debut feature proved he was as adept with motion pictures as he was with stills. (Two years later, he made Shaft.)
Trog (1970) — A cheapie B-movie about a modern doctor trying to communicate with a prehistoric man-creature. Also Joan Crawford’s infamous final film.
THX-1138 (1971) — George Lucas’ first feature is a singular achievement, the kind of paranoid sci-fi dystopia he would never approach again.
McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971) — Robert Altman’s anti-Western is unglamorous, muddy, and often hard to hear. But when we can make it out, what we get is spectacular.
A Clockwork Orange (1971) — This too-hot-for-UK-cinemas dystopian nightmare is as important to the sensibilities — and mystique — of director Stanley Kubrick as 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Dirty Harry (1971) — Clint Eastwood got his signature line “Do you feel lucky?” from this late-career potboiler from director Don Siegel, as well as a series of Harry Callahan films.
The Candidate (1972) — A sly political comedy starring Robert Redford as a senate candidate running a hopeless campaign, freeing him to be honest. An energizing watch in any political climate.
Super Fly (1972) — Warners’ blaxploitation cash-in directed by Gordon Parks Jr. boasts a killer Curtis Mayfield soundtrack and is centered on a cocaine dealer trying to reform. What’s not to like?
Enter the Dragon (1973) — Bruce Lee’s American breakthrough was, is, and will always be a cinematic and cultural landmark.
Badlands (1973) — Terence Malick’s beautiful anti-Western, anti-Bonnie and Clyde debut feature is the foundation for every ruminative, challenging film he’d make afterwards.
Mean Streets (1973) — Scorsese’s second feature paired him with Robert De Niro for the first time and cinema was never the same.
The Exorcist (1973) — Physical body horror is scary; psychological spiritual horror is terrifying.
Blazing Saddles (1974) — One of Mel Brooks’ pantheon films is irreverent, vulgar, uproarious, and impossible to imagine it getting made today.
The Yakuza (1975) — An unexpectedly moving Japan-set noir directed by Sydney Pollack (from a Paul Schrader script) starring Robert Mitchum at his most hangdog and introspective.
Dog Day Afternoon (1975) — Attica! Attica! Oh, and Pacino is great. And John Cazale is heartbreaking.
All the President’s Men (1976) — The best journalism movie, period.
Superman (1978) — It made us believe a man could fly — and that Hollywood could make comic book movies.
The Shining (1980) — Kubrick upended horror convention (and expectation) in this Stephen King adaptation. It’s still beguiling and frustrating viewers and readers alike.
Blade Runner (1982) — Ridley Scott’s towering dystopian sci-fi noir, mercilessly rejected upon release, is one of the most influential films ever made.
National Lampoon’s Vacation (1983) — Hard to imagine National Lampoon magazine and Chevy Chase were popular enough to turn a goofy road trip comedy into a massive hit. But here we are!
The Right Stuff (1983) — You’re legally required to scream “Let’s light this candle!” when watching this 193-minute dramatization of the early days of America’s space program.
Gremlins (1984) — Only in the ‘80s could a campy creature feature about fuzzy little pets who turn into mischievous reptilian monsters if they’re fed after midnight not only get made but become a huge hit.
Purple Rain (1984) — Is this Prince vanity project dated? Sure. Is it still the best rock movie ever made? Absolutely. And the music and performances are timeless.
After Hours (1985) — Scorsese’s cult black comedy spins yuppie Griffin Dunne’s Soho sojourn to score with Rosanna Arquette into a Kafkaesque nightmare — and saved his career.
Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure (1985) — Tim Burton’s zany masterpiece turned a transgressive underground character into a mainstream American phenomenon.
True Stories (1986) — Talking Heads frontman David Byrne made a weird art film about smalltown America that no one knew what to do with it. A strange trip worth taking, at least once.
Lethal Weapon (1987) — Screenwriter Shane Black conquered Hollywood — and rewrote the economics of Hollywood screenwriting — with this buddy cop classic.
Beetlejuice (1988) — Another unique Burton classic, this time about a foul-mouthed ghoul-for-hire played by Michael Keaton, firmly established his aesthetic sensibility.
Crossing Delancey (1988) — Joan Micklin Silver’s intimate romantic comedy is a classic New York film and a small miracle of Reagan ‘80s American cinema.
Batman (1989) — Ground zero for our comic book cinema culture, Burton’s take on the Caped Crusader put the “dark” back in Dark Knight.
GoodFellas (1990) — Scorsese’s gangster film to end all gangster films is like nothing that came before it — and totally in line with the genre tradition. It could only have been made at Warners.
Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991) — Every generation gets a Robin Hood. Kevin Costner was mine, and I will forever defend how fun and weird this film is (and the six times I saw it in theaters).
Unforgiven (1992) — Clint Eastwood’s best film — as an actor and director — and the best Western ever made is something rare: a summation, dissection, and end point for a genre.
Malcolm X (1992) — This epic biopic could be Spike Lee’s (and Denzel Washington’s) best film. A powerful, mature, serious, but never pretentious film that only grows more relevant.
The Fugitive (1993) — “Hugely entertaining” perfectly describes this big-screen adaptation of the classic TV series. It’s the kind of mid-budget film Hollywood has all but abandoned.
Heat (1995) — Michael Mann’s nearly-three-hour epic is the apex crime film and pairs Pacino and De Niro for the first time. A towering achievement.
Twister (1996) — Director Jan de Bont followed up Speed with a wild actioner about tornado hunters. A straight-up good time at the movies.
Mars Attacks! (1996) — Burton’s love letter to campy B movies of the ‘50s and those star-studded disaster flicks of the ‘70s is totally strange and a blast to watch.
L.A. Confidential (1997) — A classic noir so violent and perverse it could never have been made in classic Hollywood. Like GoodFellas and Unforgiven, a deconstruction and denouement of a genre.
The Devil’s Advocate (1997) — Pacino (as the Devil!) spitting out some of film’s most absurd dialogue. Keanu Reeves (as the Devil’s son!) just trying to keep up. Absurd fun in every way.
You’ve Got Mail (1998) — Nora Ephron’s remake of The Shop Around the Corner is an early Internet movie, a proto-Amazon-is-evil narrative, and the final on screen pairing of Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.
Analyze This (1999) — A mob boss who needs a psychiatrist is a goofy, hugely funny riff on De Niro’s onscreen persona that works thanks to his incredible chemistry with co-star Billy Crystal.
The Matrix (1999) — If you haven’t seen the Wachowski’s masterpiece in a while, watch it immediately. Everything holds up and, in fact, feels more urgent than 25 years ago. Whoa.
Eyes Wide Shut (1999) — Ignore Kubrick’s final film’s reputation as the masked-sex-party movie and watch it for a bracing examination of adult relationships and the assumptions we have about our partners.
Three Kings (1999) — The rare Gulf War film is also one of the great modern war pictures, an irreverent and confident heist flick that proved George Clooney (and Mark Wahlberg!) could act.
Romeo Must Die (2000) — A visceral, fun martial arts flick flecked with hip-hop and style starring Jet Li and Aaliyah that kicks way above its weight.
A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) — Steven Spielberg directs a unique sci-fi take on the Pinocchio story, conceived by Kubrick. What else do you need?
Ocean’s Eleven (2001) — Soderbergh’s remake is an effervescent caper with one of the great casts of all time (including the man, the myth, the legend Elliott Gould).
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005) — Shane Black’s buddy neo-noir, starring Robert Downey Jr. and Val Kilmer, is a good hang and stuffed full of acidly hilarious dialogue.
Letters from Iwo Jima (2006) — Clint Eastwood’s companion to his WW2 melodrama Flags of Our Fathers, focused on the Japanese experience and done in Japanese. An audacious achievement.
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007) — The best of a crop of early 21st century neo-Westerns — a gorgeous, 160-minute slow-burn cinematic novel.
Michael Clayton (2007) — Clooney as a degenerate fixer setting fire to his corner of corporate America to earn back a bit of his soul. One of the best films of the ‘00s and a stone-cold classic.
The Dark Knight (2008) — Possibly the greatest Batman ever made; definitely the greatest Hollywood crime film of the 21st century.
The Hangover (2009) — This clever film revived the raunchy mainstream comedy (before squandering audiences’ love with two lousy sequels).
Magic Mike (2012) — I was surprised as anyone that this Soderbergh-directed, Channing Tatum-starring male stripper film was not only fun but smart and emotionally intelligent.
42 (2013) — A biopic that soars as a great baseball film, Chadwick Boseman as Jackie Robinson and Harrison Ford as Branch Rickey are an unbeatable battery.
The Lego Movie (2014) — Yes, it’s a 101-minute toy ad. But c’mon, it’s so fun! And it has some heart in an ‘80s family film way.
Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) — There’s no reason for a decades-in-the-making Mad Max sequel to have worked. And yet it did and is one of the best films of the 2010s.
The Nice Guys (2016) — Shane Black’s ‘70s buddy noir, starring Ryan Gosling and Russell Crowe, is irreverent fun that could easily exist in the same universe as Altman’s The Long Goodbye.
Dunkirk (2017) — Christopher Nolan upends the war film by depicting the Dunkirk evacuation through three timeframes: one week, one day, and one hour. There’s no other war film like it.
Blade Runner 2049 (2017) — A Blade Runner sequel didn’t need to happen, yet Denis Villeneuve’s film is way better than it has any right to be. An honest reckoning with and expansion of the original.
The Matrix Resurrections (2021) — What could’ve been a crass cash-in is a subversive undermining of our IP-dominated remake culture and a fun action movie.ake culture and a fun action movie.
