1999: A Year in Film
The 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s comprised the true golden age of cinema. This amazing period saw the rise of the summer blockbuster, yet the quest for commercial success went hand in hand with innovation, creative freedom, and artistic merit. The era was marked by rapid technological advancement, alongside a kaleidoscopic variety of films; and 1999, the final year of the era, was one of the greatest years in the history of the medium.
The parade of memorable 1999 movies went on and on. At any given moment, it was possible to step into a theater and discover an acclaimed film like The Matrix, Fight Club, Princess Mononoke, American Beauty, Sleepy Hollow, Toy Story 2, The Cider House Rules, or The Green Mile, to name just a few. It was a remarkable year—and worthy of attention.
Back then, films had a lot more latitude to forge their own paths. Instead of riding a wave, The Blair Witch Project opened a floodgate; its makers did not invent the found-footage horror subgenre, but they pulled it off with such style that it turned into a trope. Meanwhile, Being John Malkovich, the first film from director Spike Jonze and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman, was about a portal that opened into the mind of the eponymous actor—who, in a gesture of towering irreverence and self-deprecation, played himself. The movie was meta, in a time before that word was thrown around. It was also deeply sophisticated and dark.
In those days the internet had not yet become a hotbed of cynicism, the word “spoiler” had not yet entered common parlance, and movies still held the power to catch us off guard. The Sixth Sense was a sleeper hit with a twist that fooled the entire world, while the popular and lucrative science fiction epic The Matrix fearlessly sold a hard-to-grasp concept to a mainstream audience. “Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Matrix is,” said Lawrence Fishburne’s authoritative voice in the commercials. “You have to see it for yourself.”
It is hard to overstate how much the cinematic landscape has changed since then. Today, in the thick of the twenty-first century, Hollywood hype machines rely on familiarity and broad appeal, yet The Matrix was sold through a sense of mystery, along with tantalizing glimpses of strange imagery and cutting-edge special effects. The Matrix was a glossy, high-tech spectacle, but also a product of a time when uniqueness was a commodity.
The death of that era was marked by the death of the legendary filmmaker Stanley Kubrick, who left behind his swan song: the psychosexual thriller Eyes Wide Shut. Sordid, yet somehow pro-monogamy, it was quickly relegated to an uncertain place in Kubrick’s oeuvre, yet it’s notable that he was embracing new genres right up until the end. 1999 also saw the release of The Iron Giant, the last great American film to use traditional animation. It prefigured director Brad Bird’s brilliant tenure at Pixar, where he would embrace the growing frontier of computer animation, creating paeans to excellence like The Incredibles and Ratatouille.
In fact, 1999 showcased a lot of great filmmakers at their best. The Straight Story was a deeply Lynchian work that was also David Lynch’s most uncharacteristic film. It wasn’t just a G-rated movie, it was one of the most benign G-rated movies ever made. The protagonist was seventy-three-year-old Alvin Straight, who, in a quest to reconnect with his estranged brother, travelled almost two hundred and fifty miles on a riding lawnmower. From the first unsettling shots to the final eerie moments, the film was a mesmerizing, poetic masterpiece with an important message: when it comes to family, one has to go above and beyond.
Like Lynch, Tim Burton was at the top of his game, and though Sleepy Hollow didn’t reinvent his trademark style, it was his only straightforward attempt at horror. It might have been a slasher movie at heart, but its striking atmosphere (abetted by Emmanuel Lubezki’s beautiful, sinister cinematography) helped attract a mainstream audience. Only Burton could have orchestrated so many distinctive beheadings; only Johnny Depp could have made the cowardly Ichabod Crane a convincing action hero.
In 1999, a lot of great actors were given opportunities to shine. Sweet and Lowdown was the best Woody Allen movie to not feature Woody Allen as the star; a heartfelt tribute to early jazz, it depended on Sean Penn’s funny, tragic performance as a talented musician stymied by self-destructive narcissism. Meanwhile, Denzel Washington delivered a career-best performance in The Hurricane: the true story of boxer Rubin Carter, falsely convicted of murder.
There was also Man on the Moon, starring Jim Carrey, who disappeared into the life of Andy Kaufman, delivering a deeply psychological, yet deeply enigmatic, performance. The writers were Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski—biopic experts who also penned Ed Wood and The People Vs. Larry Flint—and the director was the great Milos Forman.
Excellence was the rule in 1999, not the exception.
Directed by Frank Darabont, The Green Mile instantly joined Darabont’s Shawshank Redemption as one of the all-time great Stephen King adaptations. Through Miramax, Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki received a proper introduction in the States, and even convinced Harvey Weinstein to release Princess Mononoke without any edits. And with Three Kings, George Clooney was becoming a weathervane signaling quality and class.
Sequels were few and far between, and the ones that were made were not cash grabs. Toy Story 2 took a technological leap while deepening its predecessor’s themes of loss and belonging. It was also an order of magnitude better, upping the humor, pathos, and charm.
The most notable franchise film from that year was Star Wars: Episode I — The Phantom Menace. It was hyped so much that disappointment was probably inevitable, yet taken on its own merits it was transporting, and showcased George Lucas’s mastery of brand extension. Instead of moving forward from 1983’s Return of the Jedi, Phantom Menace moved backwards, allowing Lucas to explore his Galaxy Far, Far Away from a different angle. With its political machinations, astounding action sequences, and groundbreaking use of CGI, Phantom Menace was a different animal from its predecessors, and very different from the franchise movies of today, which mostly seek to copy what has come before.
I remember with fondness a bygone era, when it seemed as though there was a thrilling, must-see movie in the theaters every other weekend. I remember a time of invention, when most big movies were original creations instead of spins on preexisting intellectual property.
There is nothing inherently wrong with nostalgia; this year, Michael has raked in over a billion dollars through its look into the past. And there is no inherent problem with franchises; the record-breaking Spider-Man: Brand New Day is a crowd-pleasing lark.
Yet so many contemporary movies are so very similar to each other. Hollywood in 2026 is obsessed with pushing the titles of preexisting properties, while giving little consideration to the once-meaningful stories behind those titles. To promote something original, a movie studio must work to engage the imagination and intellect of the public. It’s easier to try to convince the public to drift away to the past.
And what a past it was: an inexhaustible reservoir of dreams.
