From Dusk till Dawn is an unhinged, tequila-soaked fever dream that spits in the face of predictability. It’s one of the last great practical effects horror films, a masterclass in tonal whiplash, and a love letter to both crime cinema and schlocky creature features.

True Romance matters precisely because it's the antithesis of safe Hollywood romance. It shows love as dangerous, impulsive, fucked-up, and yet oddly sincere. It’s the film that acknowledges love isn’t noble; it’s reckless, stupid, and sometimes fatal. And somehow, you root for it anyway.

Wayne's World captures the last gasp of genuine pop culture irreverence before everything became commodified irony. It skewers selling out while being complicit in the act, a rare moment of genuine self-awareness from Hollywood.

Watch JFK because trust is overrated. Watch it because Stone’s mad, sprawling masterpiece remains urgent, chilling, and all too believable in an era defined by misinformation.

Goodfellas matters because it stares capitalism in the face and tells you exactly what it is: organised crime with better marketing. It strips away the glamour and leaves you watching the ugly truth that money corrupts, loyalty is a joke, and the American Dream is a lie built on blood-soaked cash.

Office Space matters precisely because it refuses to offer false hope or patronising platitudes about finding meaning in meaningless tasks. Judge nails the quiet, simmering despair of anyone trapped behind a desk, waiting for retirement or death - whichever mercifully comes first.

Dogma is a thought-provoking, intelligently crafted film wrapped in the guise of a stoner comedy. It refuses easy categorisation, sidestepping lazy satire for a heartfelt, biting interrogation of faith’s absurdities and beauties alike. It treats religion with genuine curiosity rather than smug dismissal.

Mallrats matters precisely because it doesn't matter. It’s aimless, juvenile, flawed, but so were you, once. It captures the art of wasting time perfectly, and sometimes that’s exactly what cinema should do.

Clerks is the kind of film that says something essential about how ridiculous modern life really is. It's ugly, cheap, and cynically brilliant. Watch Clerks because it fucking matters to understand just how absurdly, hopelessly funny existence can be.

Into this quietly anxious landscape arrives American Beauty. Hollywood is spoon-feeding comforting hits like Notting Hill or stylish escapism like The Matrix, yet American Beauty is the cynical guest at the dinner party who points out everyone's hypocrisy until they're politely asked to leave.

Watch Fight Club. Because sometimes the only way to confront your demons is to slug them in a dank basement, and maybe lose a tooth or two along the way.

Let’s talk about The Usual Suspects.

1995: You were there, or you wish you were. Smack in the middle of an era still buzzing from Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, when crime thrillers felt like dizzying puzzles waiting to be unravelled. All the magazines were asking: “Who is Keyser Söze?” But no one had a clue. You had to find out for yourself.

There is nothing safe about Trainspotting. It doesn’t have the polished gangster charm of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels or the gentle romance of a Notting Hill. Instead, it’s the desperate rush of living day to day. The most pressing part of Mark Renton’s life isn’t paying the bills, it’s choosing whether to shoot up or quit, to pick his friends or pick himself. It’s stolen TVs, half-baked schemes, and a best mate so violent you might not make it out of the pub unscathed.

There is nothing predictable about Being John Malkovich. It doesn’t have The Matrix’s sleek rebellious edge or Fight Club’s gritty anarchy. Instead, it’s the feeling of sliding into someone else’s skin, only to realize maybe you don’t want to come out. The most important part of Craig’s life isn’t the puppets he so carefully controls; it’s the control he steals while living as Malkovich.

A film inspired by cartoons about a mumbly, put-upon office worker named Milton. A director best known for his animated mischief. A cast of brilliant comedic actors who knew exactly how to capture the daily grind. Shot in Texas, set in a faceless office park, Office Space zeroes in on the mind-numbing monotony of "TPS reports" and the soul-crushing existence under fluorescent lights.

There is nothing glamorous about Reservoir Dogs. It doesn’t have the grand, operatic feel of The Godfather or the easy comedic timing of early 90s capers. Instead, it’s the feeling of being trapped in a crumbling warehouse with people who might shoot first and never bother asking questions.

There is nothing glamorous about Clerks. It doesn’t have Pulp Fiction’s coke-fuelled cool or Reality Bites’ polished MTV Generation X angst. Instead, it’s the feeling of being stuck. Not just in a job, but in your own life. The most important part of Dante’s day isn’t the customers, the pay, or the work. It’s finding out his girlfriend has had thirty-seven previous partners.