The nominees:

Dances With Wolves: I love it, but then my Indian name is Struggles with White Guilt.

Ghost: I distinctly remember thinking, really? Ghost? Really?! I don’t dislike it, but it wasn’t exactly Oscar bait. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Awakenings: Mmmmmm, L Dopa. Yummy, delicious L Dopa.

Goodfellas: Scorsese’s career seemed to build to this and plateau with this. I love some early Scorsese, and I love some later Scorsese. But this is the centerpiece of his career, in my opinion.

The Godfather Part III: Okay. Really? Really?!!! There were about a hundred gangster movies released in 1990, so it was practically unavoidable that two of them would wind up Best Picture Nominees, but seriously?

WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN NOMINATED

Dances With Wolves: Probably my dad’s favorite movie. He dragged me to it, I didn’t want to see it. And while I don’t think it should have won, it’s not the blow-out that some people make it out to be. It’s a legitimately great movie, as noted by Nolte.

Total Recall: Get. Your ass. To Mars.

Miller’s Crossing: Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.

Goodfellas: From the first line (“The f*%k is that?”), Scorsese’s masterpiece sucks you in and never lets go. Scorsese tells the story of Three Decades of Life in the Mafia through the eyes of Henry Hill (Ray Liotta), an Irish-Sicilian kid who longs to be a part of the Lucchese crime family. His Sicilian blood allows him access to the family and he becomes an earner, but his Irish heritage prevents him from ever advancing to any sort of official leadership in the organization. As such, he provides a perspective on the mafia that we didn’t get in “The Godfather” saga. He’s a blue collar guy, working for the man, whereas Michael Corleone was the man.

Surrounding Henry are thugs and assassins, many of whom we get to know on an intimate basis. You just knew watching this movie that no one involved would probably ever be this good again. Lorraine Bracco. Ray Liotta. Frank Vincent. But Joe Pesci’s performance is an example of the perfect actor finding the perfect role. His Tommy is menacing and hilarious, his dialogue endlessly quotable. Of course there are exchanges and lines that became instantly famous, like, “Whaddaya mean I’m funny?” and “No more shines, Billy,” but the movie is also jam-packed with throwaway, inconsequential lines that add authenticity and never fail to make me laugh.

• “Maybe I should let him drive.”
• “Trying to make me think what the fu*% I did here.”
• “Can you believe that? A Jew broad, prejudiced against Italians.”
• “No, you ain’t alright, Spider, you got a lot of f*%in’ problems.”

As a rule, I try not to get too pretentious, but this is exquisite filmmaking. Scorsese invented neither the freeze frame, nor the extended tracking shot, nor the use of pop songs in place of a score, but he uses all of these tools and techniques to the greatest effect possible.

The violence is always brutal, often horrifying, and more-than-occasionally funny. Most of all, it’s casual. It just happens. Guys are smiling one minute and getting whacked the next. Sometimes without cause. Notice, though, that Henry is rarely in on the violence. He’s often at least mildly horrified by it. He pistol whips a guy for attempting to put the moves on his wife, but this act of violence is portrayed as darkly chivalrous: he was protecting someone. During  a jaunt to Florida, Henry and Jimmy (Robert De Niro) hassle a guy who owes the mob money. Henry definitely participates, but it’s an act of violence that’s on the record — Henry serves time for it. But the rest of the time, he’s an observer. At the end of the movie, we learn that his narration has been courtroom testimony — Henry has wisely painted himself as less involved than those who are on trial. The revelation gives new meaning to earlier narration, for example, his description of Jimmy:

He liked to steal. He actually liked it. He was the kind of guy who rooted for bad guys in the movies.

For all we know, Henry also liked to steal and also rooted for bad guys in the movies, but the circumstances of his narration dictate a need to make everyone else out to be the bad guy.

The key scene in the movie, for me, is the one where Tommy, Jimmy, and Henry go to Tommy’s mom’s house in the middle of the night to borrow a shovel so they can bury a nearly dead gangster wrapped in tablecloths in the trunk of Henry’s car. Over a sumptuous meal, the boys engage in a casual, friendly conversation with Tommy’s mom. They discuss her paintings (noting that one of her subjects looks like the guy in the trunk), Tommy asks to borrow a knife (“Well. Bring it back,” his mom responds), and the mom notices that Henry isn’t very talkative.

“I’m…just listening,” he stammers.

The mom goes on to relate a story about a quiet guy who never talks. When asked why, the guy responds, “What am I going to say? That my wife two-times me?” To which his wife responds, “Shut up, you’re always talking.” Tommy reveals that in Italian, it sounds better, and that the guy’s true nature is lost in the translation, explaining, “He’s content to be a jerk.”

This perfectly describes Henry, as he’s seen on the stand at the end of the movie, casually identifying Jimmy and Paulie (Paul Sorvino) for the prosecution.

It’s my favorite movie. It never fails to entertain or suck me in. Others in my personal top five or ten change places depending on my mood. But “Goodfellas” leapt to the top of the list around 1991, and has stayed there. So it goes without saying that I believe it should have beaten “Dances With Wolves.”

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Part 2:

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Part 3:

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Part 4:

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Part 5:

Swayze arrived on the scene in a big way in 1983, with a starring role in Francis Ford Coppola’s “The Outsiders.” Distinguishing yourself among the likes of Tom Cruise, Ralph Macchio, Rob Lowe, Emilio Estevez and Matt Dillon in that film was no small feat. And while all would go on to enjoy very successful careers, none would star in “Road House” and “Red Dawn.”

My definition of a great actor is one who convinces in the role; one who doesn’t take you out of the story with all the tics and technique. By that standard Swayze never disappointed. A trained dancer, his physical abilities sold the action, his sincerity brought heart to the romance and a complete lack of pretension made him accessible — made him something that is all but extinct today: a real-live movie star.

Time is what creates the classic film, not critics or box office, and time has made clear that Swayze made a mark on cinema few might have expected twenty years ago. “Road House,” “Point Break,” “Dirty Dancing” and “Ghost” live endlessly on cable television and DVD players everywhere.  They are a immortal part of our culture and … they are Patrick Swayze movies. 

We don’t know a whole lot about Swayze’s personal life, which was another big reason to like him, but he was married to the same woman, Lisa Niemi, for 34 years. In the real world what that says about the character of a man is impressive. In Hollywood, it says everything.

A few lesser known but still terrific Swayze films you might check out are “Grandview U.S.A.,” ”Next of Kin,” “To Wong Foo Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar,” and “Black Dog.”

In 1989 I was 23 years old and saw “Road House” as the second feature at a drive-in theatre.

“Road House” + Drive-In = The Perfect Movie Experience.

Thanks for that, Patrick. Thanks for everything. Rest in peace.

Gently walking through the hallway, the angular man traded his curiosity about his peculiar situation, (that of being back in his old home), for purpose. The purpose was containment of a problem. The problem was that of a young president gone astray.

The charge of his visit was given to him by Washington, who was not feeling very confident about a recent visit of his own. (See: “The Ghost of George Washington.”)

Mr. Lincoln was never one to forgo the instruction of the Founding Father, as Washington had visited him in spirit, and was always close to his heart in troubled times. So, like a soldier – on he walked. 

He saw the rooms that are now filled with new-fangled boxes and cords, and wondered what purpose those glowing boxes could possibly serve. He stopped to view a room where once long ago, his dear sweet son played. His mouth opened slightly with emotion as he viewed the now silent room – and he had to fight back tears.

He thought to himself; why dear George did you send me here?   I have found real peace, please let me go back.

However, being no stranger to persevering through adversity – Lincoln knew he could not linger; he needed to complete his job and get back to the angels. This ghost business, although not for him, had been put to him twice before; once during the Cuban missile crisis, and once right after September 11th, 2001.

On he walked until he reached the new young President’s bedroom. He hoped he would not scare the man or his wife, but knew that since Mr. Kennedy all presidents since have been made aware of the possibility of “the visits.” Explanation of “the visits” is part of their final security briefing, and certainly the part that brings the most surprise.

He tried the President’s bedroom door but it was locked. Locks are nothing to ghosts he thought, but still he could not penetrate the door or even simply open it. He tried and tried but the doorknob would not turn. Strange, he thought – and he let out a little chuckle.

With that, a more sinister laugh leaked out from a dark mouth behind him in the hallway. Then words followed.

“Going somewhere Abraham?  - He’s not there.”

The man with the wild hair and beard chuckled again, as he stepped out of a shadow.

“He’s in Europe, meeting with the rest of my new prospects.”

“What the devil are you doing here?” Lincoln calmly declared, righting himself from jiggling the door.

“What the devil, or whom the devil indeed, comrade Lincoln. As I recall, the devil himself almost had you at one point. Then, you cowardly caved-in to that whole freedom nonsense. And for whom … slaves? You fool.”

Lincoln stood tall and said; “You enslaved millions with your ruse of the poor workers. You really cared for your people eh?” Lincoln smiled and added; “And it worked out so very well, didn’t it?”

Karl Marx seethed, though he quickly squashed it and went back to his all too familiar verbal shell game.

“Washington is so stupid, he didn’t even realize that Obama was in Europe, sending a poor old wretch like you on a fools run.”

“Mr. Marx, his eminence President George Washington, never did or does anything he doesn’t mean to, and now I know, that he knew, that you’d be here.”

Lincoln bellied a rare laugh.

Marx moved quickly almost treating Lincoln as a friend; ”AMERICA CAN BE SAVED UNDER THIS LATEST CRISIS, ABRAHAM! She will surely see that the big corporations are stealing from the poor workers, and that the United States government must centralize its power and shut down evil free enterprise before it is too late! They must seize the gold barons; they must take from the wealthy and spread it on the fields of the dear workers. Lincoln, even China is instructing your precious Democracy to toughen up. And wait ’till my European friends work him over.  I will teach him to do two things: kill the big companies, then overtax and kill the little companies until the only place you be able to get a job is with the state. Yes, and what a glorious state it will be. I’ve always said the biggest prize will be America but I did expect it to happen sooner. Well, good things come to those who wait,… isn’t that what you say?” he chuckled.  

Marx then stopped realizing that Lincoln’s long sleep had not dulled his sense of purpose, and that he should save his pitch for his third and final visit to Pelosi.

He then tried to get under Lincoln’s skin;

“I am winning him over, Lincoln… I am gaining his confidence… he sees the way to Socialism, and is so very clever as to disguise it in this moment of financial crisis.”

“I know not what is in his heart, Mr. Marx, but I do know that if he truly prays to the God that I do,… that if he truly loves his children as I love mine, that somewhere along the way, he will see your game and right the ship. I’ve plowed a bit too in my day, Mr. Marx… and your plowshares… well, here they just won’t scour.”

Marx eyes glowed almost red with anger. This one he could never ever hope to reach. Marx turned quickly, stepped to his left, and then slowly faded away. 

With Marx gone, Lincoln smiled slyly – adjusted his hat, and then of course – easily turned the doorknob and walked into the bedroom to wait.