Ranking Steven Spielberg, Part 2: The '80s

My look back at the decades of Steven Spielberg - part of a 2022-2024 review of his filmography on Letterboxd - continues with a ranking of his '80s films. Steven is a deliberate filmmaker - after earning the AFI Life Achievement Award in 1995, with 16 features to his credit, he cracked, "I have to get off my ass" - and his body of work defies "hot streak" territory. That said, this is the second straight decade he made two pictures commonly regarded as five-star classics back-to-back, which certainly accounts for how he became regarded by the film press in this decade. (It didn't hurt that he also built a wildly successful film "brand" in Amblin Entertainment, producing classic '80s blockbusters like Gremlins, Back to the Future and The Goonies.) Much hay would be made by the end of the decade of his quest to go "serious," which foolishly ignores the emotional maturity and weighty subtext of situations in JAWS, Close Encounters and E.T. and has smartly since been recontextualized.

8. Twilight Zone The Movie (1983) - ⭐️ 1/2 out of 5

The only way to properly assess this anthology film only partially directed by our guy is each of the segments on their own, which only stretch as far as good to dire:

Prologue (dir. John Landis): One note joke that feels more like an American Werewolf in London outtake than a Twilight Zone segment. Not even Albert Brooks and Dan Aykroyd can sell it! ⭐️

“Time Out” (dir. Landis): Possesses none of John Landis’ typically madcap energy, even considering the fact that it’s a repurposed snuff film. 1/2⭐️

“Kick the Can” (dir. Spielberg): Considering this Spielberg watch is why I bothered with a film that’s only 1/5 Steven’s, “Kick the Can” is perhaps even more disappointing in context. The turgid sentimentality of this segment is exactly what detractors pin on him regarding films that have infinitely more edge and style than this. So bad it’s almost surreal, and wouldn’t have been much better even if he hadn’t made the whole thing fearing his career was gonna tank by being producer of a film where people died very preventable deaths. ⭐️

“It’s a Good Life” (dir. Joe Dante): the back end of this movie boldly tries to remake two very well-regarded TZ episodes and mixes things up just enough to succeed. This one is probably the best because Joe Dante is essentially training for a marathon he’d ace in a year called Gremlins. Watching Kevin McCarthy and Nancy Cartwright mug over the whims of an evil sorcerer kid while Jerry Goldsmith does a cartoon score is a terrific palate cleanser. ⭐️⭐️⭐️

“Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” (dir. George Miller): certainly less memorable than the original, but Lithgow’s spooky affectedness and George Miller’s steady building tension makes for a satisfying closer. ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Total: 1.7 but I’m rounding down because it was really an overall fidgety and unpleasant take on a premise that could have been great, literal acquitted crimes aside.

7. Always (1989) - ⭐️⭐️

One of the most illuminative moments of The Fabelmans, for me, was the seemingly intentional awkwardness of Sammy’s high school romance. It felt like Steven Spielberg was finally acknowledging how awkward he is around romance or even sensuality. He’s no stranger to love, professionally or personally. (The man has been married to his second wife for over 30 years and is a father or stepfather of seven.) But traditional romance? That’s another story, usually enhanced by something in his films and playing second fiddle to that accouterment.

Always, the closest he ever got to a traditional love story, is also playing with the form. The remake of A Guy Named Joe finds a daredevil firefighter pilot helping play matchmaker after he’s killed in a forest fire, aiding another flyboy to romance the girl he left behind. It’s astoundingly not effects heavy the way Ghost was, but no compositing could solve the movie from being one of the dullest and least convincing of Spielberg’s filmography.

The failure of the film almost boils down to one fatal flaw: Richard Dreyfuss is the wrong choice for a leading man. Sporting an almost entirely beige wardrobe and a mustache that makes him look a decade older, the self-assurance that made his performances in JAWS and Close Encounters of the Third Kind so winning are truly obnoxious here, drawing attention away from a supporting cast that is mostly terrific. Holly Hunter and John Goodman as Dreyfuss’ paramour and best friend are stellar; hunky model Brad Johnson as the next man less so. (Audrey Hepburn’s two-scene part is fine but incongruous.) Too little feels natural and too much feels sappy—but not even the kind of emotionally-staggering sort of pablum that Spielberg is often accused of masterminding by boring idiots.

Always might have been more fascinating if it were a louder, sappier film. Instead, it’s pretty dull as it chugs along (even John Williams can’t be bothered to really push himself), and an unfortunate evidence to the theory—especially prevalent at the time—that he only could state things effectively onscreen by overstating.

6. The Color Purple (1985) - ⭐️⭐️⭐️ 1/2

And so, our heroic director takes halting steps to “mature” movies, as if the blockbuster about the lonely middle child of divorce didn’t count because there was an alien in it. Much hay has and can be made about the Boy King of Hollywood adapting such a deeply Black, queer novel; Spielberg himself atoned at various points in his career for not living up to the material. But it’s a better, more deeply felt try than you’d expect, thanks to tremendous performances by Whoopi Goldberg and Oprah Winfrey, two first-time actors who deservedly scored Oscar nominations for their work in the film and would each go on to become cultural icons.

Where The Color Purple falters most is an imbalance of tone. For much of the film’s first third, extremely ugly things happen—presumed incest, rape and misogynist violence—against beautiful backdrops (E.T. cinematographer Allen Daviau is in rare form), unusual physical comedy (the character Harpo endures no less than three pratfalls) and sugary scoring (done chiefly by producer Quincy Jones, the first time John Williams sat on the bench for a Spielberg picture). The power never fully balances out until a final third of rote empowerment and obvious but effective sentimentality; Spielberg rarely resists leaving an audience bereft of hope, which is his greatest gift, his sharpest curse, or both.

The suit of studied filmic maturity wouldn’t tailor itself to Steven’s body of work until a little later, but The Color Purple is not the mawkish cringefest one could predict on paper.

5. Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade (1989) - ⭐️⭐️⭐️ 1/2

I maintain that tonally chasing Raiders (after the at times literally anything goes tone of Temple of Doom) is the series’ Achilles heel. Marcus Brody and Sallah could have been any character, and the return to sand and Nazis is a bit pat. The chemistry between Harrison Ford and Sean Connery, however—and the shading of Indiana Jones from archetype to character—is worth the price of admission, and the action set pieces are hard to see as a letdown.

4. Empire of the Sun (1987) - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

After the fussy attempted maturity of The Color Purple, Empire of the Sun is a much less strained run at the “serious” films he’d masterfully deliver in the next decade with Schindler’s List and Saving Private Ryan. (It’s probably no coincidence that all three of them are World War II pictures.) Spielberg finds a great balance of humanity and horror through Jim’s harrowing experience in a war torn country he doesn’t have a claim to in the first place, and proves himself another master of directing children with Christian Bale’s performance. (Also: John Malkovich!) Kudos, too, for resisting the happiest, Spielberg-iest of endings, even though it nominally is a positive close. The character nuances in those last scenes are something I won’t soon forget.

3. Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom (1984) - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I feel like it’s insane (or at least uncommon) to suggest the Indy films are best ranked in order, but for me it’s absolutely true. The others should’ve taken the basic beat of putting the man with the hat in a wildly, tonally different situation than before. Kate Capshaw is no Karen Allen, and I’d love for there to be a better trade-off between “ignoble savage” and “parade of goofy gross-outs,” but this is a better executed rollercoaster ride (at one point, literally) than its director will even admit.

2. Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Perfect! Perfect action, perfect performances, perfect details, terrific script, stirring score. I am not breaking any new ground here by telling you this but I’m not lying either.

1. E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial (1982) - ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

What can I say that I haven’t before? Put simply, I’m in love with the contrasts: visual cues of horror and wonder; the intertwining of suburban realism and fairytale settings; a stunning through line of raw intimacy that powered the most successful film of its age. A movie of uncommon beauty and gentility, and my own personal Rosetta Stone that inspired a life pursuing the study, interest, and recording of great cultural artifacts—a path that reflected on itself in ways I could never have predicted.