This is a great thread and a really interesting question! I find it especially resonant, actually, because as I get older and more familiar with film, I find that I'm less concerned with the whole package of a film, how polished and coherent it is (I find poking at plot holes the most tedious type of conversation you can have about films), and more attracted to films that can offer just one really impressive moment, something that sticks with me for a long time after watching it. Obviously a film that is polished and solidly made and plotted AND has moments of great beauty is the ideal situation, but hopefully you understand what I mean.
As such I'd say there are two types of movie moment that really make a lasting impression: There are the moments that really bring together the narrative and thematic concerns of a film, where everything in the film comes together in such a way that it becomes apparent that the entire film has been revolving around that scene. Then there are moments that I think of as more "aesthetic" moments, where some element of what's on screen is just powerfully arresting or moving. There's more space in this category for very short moments, and I think this is the sort of thing that is more easily comparable to other media - the moment in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner when the sailor grips the wedding guest's arm has always had this sort of effect on me - but at the same time is usually the sort of moment that owes most to the unique language of cinema; it's a moment that feels like it could only exist on film.
Here are some examples that come to mind of the first type, although if I thought more about it there would probably be many more:
- The assassination scene in The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford. I think this is maybe a kind of obvious example of what I was talking about, how sometimes a scene is so pivotal to the plot that it bends the fabric of the film, like the way black holes are described. What's great about this scene is just how dense it is. The time we've spent with Robert Ford before this scene makes his sweaty discomfort just really visceral. Brad Pitt also gives a nice sort of precis of all the possible explanations for his strange actions - is he daring Robert Ford to do it, is he just tired of running? And the violence of the final shot just really caps it off nicel.
- The Funeral Scene in 12 Years a Slave. Again, maybe this is obvious. For starters, it's just a really well directed and acted scene, and the pain and anger on Solomon's face as he begins to sing along with his fellow slaves is powerfully moving. But I also loved this scene for the way the themes of the film seem to be turned spinning by it. A lot of the film, particularly early on, focuses on his attempts to escape, and the way hope appears and is dangled in front of him and snatched away. Early in the film, when Solomon is discovered to be a talented violinist, the fact that he is allowed a violin seems like a token of that hope, a reminder that he is more than just a slave. Then in this scene suddenly music becomes something else, it's not a remnant of his old life, it's his complete submission to his new one; it's the expression of how his entire self is taken over with rage and sadness and hopelessness. It's also interesting because so often the folk traditions of the dispossessed, such as slave songs, are used in cinema as a signifier of human strength and the ability to create beauty in adverse circumstances, and sometimes that feels like a trite consolation for things that are awful, and I like (or, at least, appreciate) how uncompromising this scene is in tracing those traditions back to pain and anger.
- Forget it Jake, It's Chinatown. It's been a while since I saw this so I don't know whether I can really go in to too much detail about the way this scene interacts with the film. But in a really general way, I'd say that a lot of Noir feels very unhinged; The Maltese Falcon and The Big Sleep are both great examples, where things keep happening and the rhyme and reason behind them are just completely obscure until the end of the film - but in these films the main character always seems to be in control to some extent, and they are, and at the end it is all unravelled for the viewer and it is like they spend the film winding up a clockwork toy, and at the climax they let it run uninterrupted. Chinatown follows a really similar tone, with events overtaking us, but Nicholson plays Gettes so cockily that we trust he is doing a Bogarte and has it under control. Except that in the end he doesn't, and instead of setting the toy down to run, the spring breaks and we're just left with a broken mess, and you can see that on Nicholson's face.
I think I'll make a separate post with moments of the second type, because this is long....
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