Not only emblematic of independent American cinema, but, released in 1969, is the definitive statement on the death of the 60s.

True Grit’s brilliantly crafted moments of wild and frenzied action, hilarious dialogue (courtesy of Portis himself) and beautiful cinematography (from cinematographer Lucien Ballard) helped it to compete with the hugely popular film’s of Leone.

Pit Stop certainly couldn’t be accused of being high art, but it’s a helluva lot of fun, offering an entertaining snapshot of that schlocky, drive-in era, complete with an unexpectedly dark ending which flies in the face of the usual heroic cinematic conventions.

The Producers is so effusively inappropriate and so damned funny it is one of the highest examples of low comedy.

Pre-dating the release of Dennis Hopper’s 1969 American counter-culture classic Easy Rider by two years, Boorman’s Point Blank is also a very trippy, psychedelic affair. Marvin fending off two assailants behind the colourful, swirling backdrop of an avant-garde jazz gig is an evocative snapshot of that period, and just one of the many fetchingly abstract moments this strange and beguiling picture has to offer.

The total effect of these sequences is the feeling of hanging out with Dylan and his entourage. This is perhaps Don’t Look Back‘s greatest trick – convincing its audience that the Dylan we see here is anything other than a column of air: elusive, shifting and perpetually enigmatic.

The work bears the burden of Classical Hollywood, making it not only a film about two people decoupling, but a striking example of forms in combat, struggling for a dominant voice.

Just over fifty years after A Man for All Seasons won six Oscars including Best Picture and Best Actor for Paul Scofield, Fred Zinnemann’s adaptation of Robert Bolt’s stage play has found unique points of modern relevance.

A flawed film to be sure, but one with flashes of inspiration, occasionally stunning visuals and a Shakespearean sense of claustrophobia.

Like the best films from its genre, Seconds acts as a potent parable and posits an intriguing idea.

Truly one of the most emotionally devastating films to have ever graced the big screen, Au Hasard Balthazar is an exemplary example of Bresson’s art that transcends its symbolic reverie to Christianity to become an eloquent prayer for the potential power of cinema to truly move us.

It never pierces beneath the frivolous surface of the insular society it creates and it is this peculiar lack of drama, doubt or mystery that marks it out as a curio, certainly in reflection of contemporaneous masterpieces by Godard or Antonioni. Where Darling does feel vital and pertinent is in its treatment of celebrity as a goal unto itself, something to be coveted at all costs.

What stands out most in Siegel’s The Killers is its unfaltering commitment to pulp fiction.

Throughout, Ozu strikes a touchingly profound note whilst imbuing proceedings with his usual playfulness.

Fox and Bogarde bounce sharp dialogue back and forth and are captivating as the psychosexual tension increases between them. Through subtle visual clues Losey artfully blurs sexual boundaries to create one of cinema’s most memorable relationships.

Kubrick’s film is the most accurate and timeless portrayal of a world facing mutually assured nuclear destruction, and paradoxically accomplishes this feat not through a realistic study but through the blackest surrealism.

Ahead of the pack must be the winning duo of Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn, whose performances in director Stanley Donen’s masterpiece Charade is as intoxicating as a dry martini.

Though It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World struggles to justify its ludicrous length, there are just enough laughs, cameos and memorable set pieces to garner a recommendation.

William Golding’s tale of public schoolboys stranded on a desert island is an iconic depiction of fundamental savagery. More than fifty years on, Peter Brook’s 1963 Lord of the Flies remains the definitive film, its hallucinogenic brutality as terrifying as ever.

To Kill a Mockingbird is by no means as irreproachable as our memories would lead us to believe but it’s still a gripping yarn and well worth revisiting.

Once seen, Aldrich’s What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? is hard to forget, as it charts the sad path of many a former child star to the backwaters of the Hollywood hills.

John Frankenheimer’s 1962 film is a stately and moving depiction of the man’s capacity for dignity and improvement.

It remains a marvel of a modern ethos, particularly in the behaviour of its principal characters: whether it’s the total lack of jealousy or its cinematic style that encompasses newsreel footage, photographic stills and freeze frames.

Much like the multitude of heady jazz numbers that flow throughout the film, Paris Blues is a cool, breezy and laid-back character-led romantic drama with strong turns by the four likable leads, not least the late, great Paul Newman, effortlessly exuding that trademark piercing blue-eyed intensity and magnetism.

The Hustler is one of the highlights of Paul Newman‘s career. The film is often ranked as one of the best films of its time, largely thanks to Newman’s excellent portrayal of the down beaten Felson.

At once a searing, affirming and defiant portrayal of race, poverty and frustrated aspiration in America.

What shapes Breathless as such an influential and long lasting ‘classic’ of French cinema is Godard’s ferocious delivery of simplistic subject matter, his direction of iconic actors Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jean Seberg, and his all-out gallantry in creating the first of many films that broke all the rules, both in his homeland and overseas.

It’s a picture so precariously balanced on the edge of poetry and sentiment, of defiance and self-pity.