“Escape From Alcatraz” (1979)
Famously no one ever officially escaped Alcatraz, but the three who got the furthest, and might even have made it, were Frank Morris, Clarence Anglin and John Anglin, who built a home-made raft, busted out of their cells, and were never found (though they were declared dead by drowning). Don Siegel’s lean, tough “Escape From Alcatraz” dramatizes their attempt, and the result is one of the best films the Western master ever made. Clint Eastwood, in his final collaboration with the director, plays Morris, with Jack Thibeau and a young-but-still-craggy Fred Ward as the Anglins, with Patrick McGoohan as one of the most evil wardens in the history of evil wardens. The film sometimes brushes against genre convention, but there’s a real authenticity at play (in part thanks to shooting in the real life, now-defunct institution). It’s also a surprisingly austere and European picture for coming from two Hollywood legends, almost Bressonian in its quietness and soulfulness, complete with a perfect ending that neatly tackles the ambiguity of the real-life story. Eastwood and Siegel fell out over the picture, and never worked together again, but it’s a fine final statement for the duo.
“Escape From New York” (1981)
This one already made our essential John Carpenter films list back in 2013, as it came right in the director’s prime when it seemed he could no wrong. And it’s a total blast, featuring the first of many team-ups with star Kurt Russell (here doing his best John Wayne impression) and taking the prison movie to new, occasionally silly (but always fun), sci-fi heights. The concept of a future dystopian New York City that’s now a full-on maximum security prison for the country’s nastiest goons is brilliant, and ripe for social commentary. But even more impressive is Carpenter’s resourcefulness: like all his films from this era it feels significantly bigger in scope than the limited budget and production scale might suggest. Oh, and Snake Plisskin is just so goddamn cool, with that roguish bad-boy swagger mixed with proud anti-heroism and some wonderfully cheesy one-liners. Now that there’s a Carpenter renaissance happening—his trademark synthy scores and widescreen genre-filmmaking-on-a-dime approach have been all the rage of late in many US indie films (“The Guest,” “Cold in July” to name a couple)—there’s no better time than to catch up on your Carpenter and see what this new generation are ripping off, and this a great place to start.
“The Experiment” (2001)
“The Stanford Prison Experiment” is only the latest in a line of films and TV shows inspired, directly or indirectly, by the infamous project, making this 2001 German film from “Downfall” director Oliver Hirschbiegel, a forebear. Adapted from Mario Giordano‘s novel “Black Box,” it tells the story of 20 men lured by cash to participate in a prisoner/warder situation that, in case you hadn’t guessed, gets way out of hand. Prior to this year it was perhaps the best telling of this story, committed to its grim fatalism, punctuated with graphic violence and building to a chaotic last third in which the lunatics are literally running the asylum — though it makes a strong case for the lunacy of the doctors and scientists too. Hirschbiegel’s style can be distracting, though — it often veers into lurid splashiness, the plot doesn’t always hold water and Moritz Bleibtrau‘s lead is lumbered with an unconvincing love subplot. A little more restraint could have made it a more (thematically appropriate) ascetic experience. Still, if you’re new to this story it’s a solid telling, and it’s oceans better than the inevitable 2010 Hollywood remake which stars, also inevitably, Adrien Brody.
“The Grand Illusion” (1937)
One of Jean Renoir’s most recognized and celebrated films, a masterpiece that brought him his first taste of international fame, adored by Orson Welles, who picked it as his desert-island movie, and the first foreign film to be nominated for a Best Picture Oscar, “The Grand Illusion” has a formidable reputation. And it is totally earned: it’s one of the greatest POW films ever and probably the greatest film about international and interclass brotherhood. French Aviators Marechal (Renoir favorite Jean Gabin) and Boeldieu (a fabulously posh Pierre Fresnay) go from one prison camp to another, mixing with fellow inmates, plotting escapes and running into aristocratic German Captain von Rauffenstein (a fantastically rigid Erich Von Stroheim). But the way Renoir films these interactions — be it a discussion about restaurants between prison inmates, or about honor vs duty between aristocratic generals — is where the tripartate film’s overarching theme of compassion amid the senselessness of war is best felt. And if you think a film that deal so much in the masculine code might strong-arm any female performance, “L’Atalante“‘s Dita Parlo makes a late appearance, and in a few short scenes wrings out whatever is left of your heart. An incredible film.
“The Great Escape” (1963)
An un-ignorable entry in the canon (indeed the early suggestion we might leave it off this list as it’s more representative of an escape movie — rendered almost as a heist — than an incarceration movie per se, was met with a gasp of disbelief) John Sturges‘ “The Great Escape” is proof that there’s no accounting for what’s going to become a “Christmas classic.” It’s a stirring boys-own adventure tale, certainly, but it’s also long, involved and does not end happily for most of the participants we care about. Still, it boasts one of the defining Steve McQueen performances and some of the best-paced and edited action/suspense sequences of the era — damned if every single time we see it it doesn’t seem like this time McQueen’s going to make it over that last fence… And even with all that and an ensemble including Richard Attenborough, Charles Bronson, Donald Pleasance, James Garner and James Coburn perhaps “The Great Escape”‘s greatest moment is does not involve motorbikes or tunnels or even the lived-in detail of life in the POW camp, but the brilliant irony of Gordon Jackson‘s Macdonald being caught out by what he himself had coached the men is “the easiest trick in the world.”