Daddy Issues, Aliens, Sharks, and Nazi Hunters: Ranking Our 15 Favorite Steven Spielberg Films

In a 1978 interview with Mitch Tuchman in “Film Comment,” a young Steven Spielberg first addressed a story that managed to sound like “the great popcorn yarn.” At just 32 years old, the filmmaker already had two genre masterworks in Jaws and Close Encounters of the Third Kind under his belt, and his reputation preceded him. When asked about the “legend of the boy who would sneak onto the studio lot,” Spielberg admitted that this was, in fact, not apocryphal at all, and that in 1967 he found his way past security onto the Universal lot and for three months he got up at dawn, put on a suit, carried a briefcase, and pretended to know where he was going. It sounds utterly romantic. A young man who was barely twenty, who grew up escaping the turmoil of his parents’ marriage by making Super-8 home movies with his friends, sneaking off to the studio lot and not knowing the legendary filmmaker he would become. After watching the work of television directors on the lot, as fate would have it, Spielberg caught the attention of Universal Vice President Sidney Sheinberg with his 35mm short film, Amblin. Sheinberg offered Spielberg a seven-year contract at Universal Television, and after helming several projects, he pivoted to feature filmmaking. What follows is one of the most extraordinary filmographies in cinema history. Throughout his career, his films have grossed over $10 billion and have earned 147 Academy Award nominations. Recently, Spielberg earned a Tony Award, giving him the distinct honor of becoming an EGOT. Still, even with all of this quantifiable success, it’s impossible not to talk about the feeling that a Spielberg movie gives you. 

It’s difficult to describe the magnitude of Spielberg’s contributions to the film industry and the mark that he’s left on so many people who have fallen in love with the movies. You would be hard-pressed to find a cinephile who didn’t have a personal connection to a Spielberg film. For me, it’s my Mom’s own “popcorn yarn” that she and my Dad went to Jurassic Park when she was pregnant with me because she thought it would induce labor. It’s my Dad’s love of Raiders of the Lost Ark that made the VHS part of the checkout rotation at Blockbuster when I was growing up. It’s the way the kids at my neighborhood pool screamed when we thought it was a good idea to show Jaws for a monthly movie night. We all have scenes from E.T. or Schindler’s List that make us cry, sounds and images from Close Encounters or Saving Private Ryan that move us. We have moments in his reimagining of West Side Story and in The Fabelmans that make us marvel at how many new tricks he still seems to have up his sleeve. Simply put, there’s no one quite like him.   

Ahead of Spielberg’s latest summer release, Disclosure Day, the AwardsWatch Team took on the difficult task of trying to rank the films of one of the most iconic directors of all-time. The fifteen films on the list were chosen using a preferential voting system, in which we asked each team member to rank their favorite Spielberg films. Think of it as a blend of art and science, which is somewhat fitting when considering his filmography. The list is an eclectic blend with surprising placements and omissions, no doubt informed by our own personal connections to these cinematic experiences. Honorable mentions that received some votes but not enough to crack the top fifteen include The Color Purple, West Side Story, The Adventures of Tintin, Bridge of Spies, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, The Lost World: Jurassic Park, and (the rather shocking exclusion of) Saving Private Ryan. With such a vast filmography filled with so many classics, I think we’re gonna need a bigger list. – Sophia Ciminello

(The following list features contributions from Erik Anderson, Dan Bayer, Sophia Ciminello, Cody Dericks, Mark Johnson, Jay Ledbetter, Ryan McQuade, Josh Parham, Karen Peterson, Trace Sauveur, and Griffin Schiller).

15. (TIE) The Post and War of the Worlds

The Post (2017)

One of the most amazing things about The Post – perhaps Spielberg’s most underrated film – is how swiftly and urgently it was put together, in a way that mirrors how the characters in the film felt powerfully driven to carry out their journalistic mission. The film was announced in March of 2017, at which time Spielberg quickly assembled all of the film’s elements, shot it, saw it through post-production, and released it that December. In fact, almost exactly a year after it was merely announced, The Post was being celebrated at the Academy Awards as the 11th Spielberg film to be nominated for Best Picture. In order to help make this ode to the necessity of a free press (which felt especially timely in early 2017, shortly after the ill-fated inauguration) as speedily as possible without diluting its impact, Spielberg assembled an all-star cast, led by the dream duo of frequent collaborator Tom Hanks and, in her first on-screen Spielberg role, Meryl Streep. Filling out the supporting cast is a who’s-who of screen acting heavyweights, including Bob Odenkirk, Tracy Letts, Matthew Rhys, Bruce Greenwood, Jesse Plemons, Michael Stuhlbarg, Sarah Paulson, Bradley Whitford, Carrie Coon, and many, many others. It’s easy to imagine each of them getting a call from their agents about the film and affirming their participation with a terse “I’m on my way.” And while it may have felt at the time that Streep had nothing new to show us, she managed to turn in her greatest performance of the 21st century, rightfully earning her 21st (and at the time of writing, most recent) Academy Award nomination. Spielberg shoots her climactic decision to publish the infamous Pentagon Papers with a masterfully controlled chaos, leading to an incredible Meryl line delivery with the stuttering-yet-powerful, “Let’s, let’s go. Let’s, let’s do it. Let’s, let’s, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. Let’s, let’s publish.” It’s as indelible and trademarkedly unique a moment in Streep’s esteemed acting career as Sophie’s titular choice or the rainy car scene in The Bridges of Madison County. Like a wise newspaper editor gathering his best reporters to put together a landmark story that must be told as soon (and as well) as possible, Spielberg brilliantly delivered The Post right when we needed it, made so expertly that it stands up as a story of the past that continually resonates in our present. – Cody Dericks

War of the Worlds (2005)

Few things are as traumatizing as the blood-filled red weed and ominous “BWAM” of the alien tripods in Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds. However, for what I consider to be one of the master’s rawest, most uncharacteristically nihilistic and perfectly unrefined works, the thing that lingers to this day isn’t the chilling post 9/11 imagery, but rather the existential terror in the eyes of an ill-equipped parent trying to shield his kids from a world that doesn’t make sense anymore. Tom Cruise’s Ray Ferrier is barely capable of being a father on a good day—a selfish deadbeat living for himself, performing parenthood instead of actually doing it—and now finds himself as the last line of defense between his children and the extermination. The pressure, panic, and fear of watching Ferrier process something so horrific and incomprehensible, unable to communicate with his frightened, angry, and confused children, feeling helpless and recognizing he’s emotionally out of his depth, yet trying to convince himself and those that depend on him that things are fine and he’s in control is what sticks. Not all of us have as incompetent of a father as Rachel and Robbie, but any millennial who lived through 9/11 recognizes the destabilizing feeling of looking to a parent for answers and reassurance only to be met with an unconvincing sense of control barely masking their own fear and uncertainty.

Through War of the Worlds, Spielberg subverts his typical alien narrative, submitting to the futility of making sense of a senseless situation and instead allowing our dread to bring our priorities into view; to relinquish our attempts to control the outside world and instead focus on what’s broken within. 9/11 didn’t break America; 9/11 revealed what was already broken underneath. That something as traumatic as a surprise attack on American soil exposed a deep selfishness and barbarism baked into the DNA of our culture. The Ferriers were already a fractured family driven apart by the selfishness of a negligent, workaholic father who doesn’t know how to connect with his kids before the aliens emerge, they were just pretending not to be. Forever an optimist, Spielberg is confronted with the reality that unlike the disaster/alien invasion movies that preceded his (Independence Day), crisis does not bring about unity but rather exposes a world driven by tribalism and fear conceding that perhaps we should understand ourselves, prioritize listening and learning as friends and neighbors, parents and children, fixing what’s broken within before diverting our attention outward. Perhaps, first contact should be made with each other. – Griffin Schiller

13. Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade (1989)

In making a signature franchise, fanbases will always look for more installments featuring their favorite iconic character. For the Indiana Jones series, the majority of the sequels can come off as hit or miss, with Temple of Doom being a glorified prequel that is too dark and uninteresting, to the noncyclical installments that are Kingdom of the Crystal Skull or Dial of Destiny (a film Spielberg didn’t even direct, with James Mangold taking over). But what every fan can agree with is that the superior sequel of the Indy franchise is his third outing on the big screen in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, as we find Dr. Jones going back to a race against the Nazis to find the Holy Grail. While it might seem like a retread of what worked within Raiders of the Lost Ark from a plot standpoint, Last Crusade is elevated by the addition of Henry Jones, Sr, Indiana’s father, portrayed by the incomparable Sir Sean Connery. Over the course of Indy and his father looking for the Holy Grail, we discover some of the most insightful backstory about our beloved hero (his name Indiana coming from the family dog being a hilarious example), as well as see this mostly combative relationship between a father and son unfold into one of understanding, acceptance, and love.

Nothing will make you cry more than when Connery’s Sr. tells Ford’s Jr. to let go of the Grail, proving to his father that he’s more important to him than his life’s work. Spielberg gives his hero the father he wished he had (this is before his reconciliation with his father in his personal life), as they ride off into the sunset, looking to go on more adventures together, as the mirror of one another in terms of passion for their work and a drive to do what is right to save the world, and what belongs properly in a museum. It would’ve been a brilliant ending to the Indiana Jones saga, but alas, Spielberg just had to let George Lucas make that next one about the aliens (which is a film that’s not as bad as the one Disney just made). – Ryan McQuade

12. Lincoln (2012)

Somewhere along the way, the better biopics understood that a “womb to tomb” examination of a subject was only going to carry so much weight. It’s an expansive scope that too easily falls into familiar tropes and patterns, which can carry a slight intrigue but not much more. Abraham Lincoln has already been subjected to this form of storytelling multiple times, so it’s a breath of fresh air to see Spielberg’s Lincoln tackle this monumental historical figure through a different perspective. We do not see the entire life of this man. We aren’t even privy to his entire presidency. Instead, it is a small glimpse into the process that went into passing the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution and the permanent abolition of slavery. The political maneuverings, backdoor deals, and bloviating speeches are all part of a system inherently designed to keep progress messy and complicated. It can be frustrating to endure, but the narrative makes it so engrossing. Part of that is due to the magnificent crafts on display, which faithfully recreate 1860s American to such detailed perfection. Another aspect is Tony Kushner’s brilliant screenplay, crackling with delicious one-liners but also a sincere reverence for the vital work that is being pursued as delivered through the theatrical dialogue.

Of course, the talents of Daniel Day-Lewis also go a long way, inhabiting the role with such authenticity that everyone can claim it’s an exact reproduction of the sixteenth president without even hearing a note of his voice. He’s the head of a fantastic ensemble, everyone equally stunning in their magnetic screen presence, from the A-listers to the plethora of rugged character actors. The film demonstrates that making history is not a simple course of action, but that facet is what makes it impactful. It’s a work that resonates deeply, not just for its historical depiction but for illuminating the partisan systems that exist today and the optimism that massive change can occur. It may be difficult to hold onto such hope in our current times, but the better angels of our nature are displayed here. – Josh Parham

11. A.I.: Artificial Intelligence (2001)

Much ink has been spilled over who deserves credit for what in Steven Spielberg’s A.I.: Artificial Intelligence. The project was developed by Stanley Kubrick for years — he had acquired the rights to Brian Aldiss’s 1969 short story “Supertoys Last All Summer Long” in the ’70s, and the film entered a development cycle that wouldn’t be completed until after Kubrick’s death in 1999. The plan had always been for Kubrick to produce while his friend Spielberg directed. Contemporary reviews noted the confluence of tones between the two men: Kubrick’s icy, methodical analysis of the human condition meeting the wonderment and blockbuster spectacle that defined a Spielberg-Amblin production. Many critics assumed the final 20 minutes — which launches the film into deeply emotional terrain — were the kind of sentimental idealization only Spielberg could have devised.

But such speculation has always ignored the bitter pill A.I. is throughout its runtime, including the quiet despair of its final moments. Spielberg has claimed that the ending of his screenplay came straight from Kubrick’s vision, and the dark irony Kubrick likely always intended is present in the text — his cutting, caustic perspective on human nature propelling an emotionally charged sci-fi fairy tale about a robot boy desperate for his adoptive mother’s love. David (Haley Joel Osment) is born into a world where humans have failed to solve the climate crisis and now build robots to endure the ecological collapse they leave behind. As he enters the home of Monica (Frances O’Connor) and Henry (Sam Roberts) — parents grieving the apparent loss of their son — he poses a philosophical question: as the first robot programmed to love, what does that emotion actually mean? Can it be replicated by men in suits and installed in an android? Does Monica, in the depths of grief, genuinely love the boy, or is she acting out of desperation? And what is the morality of her choosing to abandon David to a world that wants him destroyed — leaving him with only his android bear Teddy (Jack Angel) — rather than face the alternative when her real son returns?

Twenty-six years later, in a world where corporations and the technocrat elite force-feed the public AI language models, generative art, and humanoid robots amid ever-growing public contention, a film asking you to sympathize with an artificial boy can seem uncomfortable. Are our real-life sentiments so different from those of the jeering crowd at the Flesh Fair, where David meets Gigolo Joe (Jude Law) and the two are nearly melted down for human amusement? But the core tension of A.I. isn’t whether we can or should live alongside these enforced technologies — it’s the question of where we draw the line of what counts as human. Just before David and Joe are executed, the crowd revolts at the sound of a little boy pleading for his life. The film extends this further, into what humans take for granted and the way we bend genetics and nature to our will through technology, indifferent to the consequences. David was created to fill the role of a child for parents who wanted one, but that artificial label grants permission for his disregard and abandonment. As you look into Osment’s eyes — as he, at 12 years old, delivers one of the most heartbreaking performances ever put to screen — you recognize a pain that reads as agonizingly, piercingly real; as human. – Trace Sauveur

10. The Fabelmans (2022)

Few directors as totemic and essential to cinema as Steven Spielberg have offered audiences so comprehensive a Rosetta Stone to their career as The Fabelmans. Six decades into his filmmaking output, Spielberg produced an unambiguous skeleton key: an autobiographical feature in which he refracts an adolescence spent learning to love and helm movies — coming to terms with the joyous, unsettling power of truth and manipulation in their images — through the coming-of-age story of Sammy Fabelman (played in childhood by Mateo Zoryan Francis-DeFird and as a teenager by Gabriel LaBelle). In tracing his experiences growing up Jewish, gradually relocating from New Jersey to California, making home movies, and witnessing the dissolution of his parents’ marriage, Spielberg illuminates the preoccupations running through some of his most famous works. From Elliott seeking healing from a broken home in E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, to the young robot David desperately pining for his mother’s love in A.I. Artificial Intelligence, to John Anderson meticulously searching for truth through images in Minority Report — The Fabelmans lays bare Spielberg’s subconscious.

Far from the self-aggrandizing statement one might expect from a director mining his own childhood, The Fabelmans plays instead as a form of intense exposure therapy for a man still working to understand his own compulsions. Just as young Sammy is single-mindedly driven to recreate and film the train wreck he witnessed in Cecil B. DeMille’s The Greatest Show on Earth, Spielberg — at 80 years old — is still recreating the fears and traumas of his youth. The film is equally an interrogation of that infatuation: when Sammy films his parents, the practical Burt (Paul Dano) and the artistic Mitzi (Michelle Williams), announcing their divorce to their children, the sequence carries an alarming perverseness. Spielberg recognizes that his art allows him to retreat from the harsh reality of these moments, even as he consciously reenacts the scene in The Fabelmans.

Though the film was marketed around the wonder of a great director rediscovering the magic of movies, the effect Spielberg actually emphasizes is more complicated — one of both joy and sadness, of emotions that only come into focus through the act of observing the world from behind a camera lens. In the first scene, Mitzi tells Sammy that “movies are dreams that you never forget.” The film itself suggests something more unsettling: that movies are a permanent expression of the psyche, shaped by the tension between what the camera objectively captures and what the director chooses to reveal. Spielberg’s movies are dreams mined from real pain, shot through with the boundless, tangled, messy delights and distress that mold the imagination. – Trace Sauveur

9. Munich (2005)

In the time since Munich first released twenty years ago, the world it was commenting on has both evolved yet remained constant. The events depicted may be rooted decades in the past, but the conflict it follows lingers with us today. Watching the dramatized events of the killing of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Olympics at the hands of Palestinians, and the Israeli response to eliminate those responsible, has reverberations into our current landscape. The film dives headfirst into the landscape of hot-button topics and it’s because of Spielberg’s efforts that the material ends up excelling. On the surface, you have an entertaining thriller that hones in on the atmosphere of espionage. A mission status that is methodically coordinated, just like fine precision of the cinematography, editing and score coming together to create masterful sequences of tension and awe. It makes sense for a director who was fascinated with James Bond so early in his career to deliver engrossing set pieces of shadowy figures trying to accomplish their goals with wits and violence.

But what Spielberg and writers Tony Kushner and Eric Roth manage to create is a more compelling commentary on the darkness that can consume the soul of a nation. A country may be rocked by tragedy, but the pursuit of justice easily bleeds over into revenge, a cycle that can’t be halted once it has begun. The further these characters pursue what they believe is a noble goal, the more the endless carnage becomes more demoralizing. They may choose to walk away, but strife lingers in the air. The looming towers of the World Trade Center in the final moments may seem too on the nose for some, but it’s an underlining of the quicksand that emerges when war is defined before the terms of peace. What starts out as a captivating journey devolves into an intentionally unsatisfying conclusion. The message becomes a powerful showcase of the rot that lies underneath these missions, and all the rationalization cannot undo the damage that both sides continue to inflict on one another. There are no easy lessons being imposed here. Instead, there is a morally complex world to explore that easily becomes one of Spielberg’s most intriguing masterpieces. – Josh Parham

8. Minority Report (2002)

With each passing year, Minority Report feels more and more prescient – personalized ads following us everywhere, shadowy corporations trying to predict our behavior and preemptively punish us for it – but even without that, it stands as one of Spielberg’s most entertaining and haunting films. The dark, rain-soaked atmosphere fills this Philip K. Dick adaptation with a feeling of foreboding, appropriate for the story of “pre-cogs”, beings with the unique ability to see the future and alert police to crimes that are about to happen. All of science fiction’s favorite tropes are here, but the exploration of fate and free will resonates particularly strongly through Tom Cruise’s performance. Spielberg knew how to bring the best out of Cruise, getting him to give a performance equal parts internal turmoil and external movie star charisma. Pairing him with the ethereal, Oscar-worthy Samantha Morton, as a pre-cog with a dangerous secret, and pitting him against the cocky Colin Farrell and the imperious Max von Sydow in one of his most delicious roles, causes the screen to crackle with electricity. Kaminski’s cinematography never looked sleeker, and Michael Kahn’s editing makes the action sequences sing, but that phenomenal production design and tactile visual effects bring this dystopian world to thrilling life. But even with all those thrills and prescience, it’s the emotional core of the film that gives it the weight to stand the test of time, a more complex rendering of Spielberg’s pet familial themes with a cynical heart. The perfect dark counterpart to the lightness of that same year’s Catch Me If You Can, Minority Report remains one of the most thrilling films of Spielberg’s career, a sci-fi morality tale that makes big ideas accessible and entertaining in a way that only he can. – Dan Bayer

7. Catch Me If You Can (2002)

As covered in his 2022 masterpiece The Fabelmans, one of the defining moments in Steven Spielberg’s life is the fall of his parents’ marriage. Over the course of the crumbling of his mother and father’s relationship, young Spielberg seeks solace in films and filmmaking, using it as a tool to escape the harsh reality that awaited him when he was home. It’s no secret then why after multiple directors passed on making Catch Me If You Can, based on the novel by Frank Abagnale Jr. about his life as one of the youngest, most successful con men in American history who stole millions of dollars in fraudulent checks as a Pan AM pilot, into a film, that Spielberg would be the right choice to bring it to life on the big screen. Within Abagnale Jr.’s (Leonardo DiCaprio) cinematic story lies the heartbreaking connection to Spielberg’s life, with Frank’s life of crime, and constant running from FBI agent Carl Hanratty (Tom Hanks), being an escape from the painful breakup of his parents, the failures of his father’s financial decisions, and his mother’s abandonment of him as a parent for a life beyond the one with Frank and his father. It’s an extravagant life that Frank leads, that we see slowly start to crumble as each of his new checks leaves a trail for Carl to find him. It leads to his arrest and his extradition back to US where Carl tells him of the passing of his father, which leads to one of the most emotional shots in the director’s filmography, as Frank looks into the window of his mother’s house in upstate New York, and sees she has the life she’s always wanted, without him, not a care in the world, and what all is left for Frank but the con he’s become known for, and starts working for the FBI in the end of the film as an expert.

By adapting this material, Spielberg reached the conclusion that the sins of the parents don’t need to be the lifelong burden of their children, as he made peace in his own life at this time with his parents’ roles in their separation. There’s no need for him to run from his past, or continue to make the mistakes one makes when they are young, but rather cling to the thing that makes you whole in a world of uncertainty within your personal life; this being filmmaking for Spielberg and being a con man for Frank. Catch Me If You Can is a highly entertaining, deeply emotional act of personal forgiveness that is a vital piece of cinema within the director’s filmography, one that is built on his experiences growing up and always in concert with the reconciliations and evolutions within his relationship with his parents, sisters, and himself. – Ryan McQuade

6. (TIE) Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Schindler’s List

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)

In Spielberg’s 1999 interview on Inside the Actors Studio, James Lipton makes an observation about Close Encounters of the Third Kind that is so insightful it catches the filmmaker by surprise. Lipton says, “Your father was a computer scientist. Your mother was a musician. When the spaceship lands, how do they communicate? They make music on their computers, and they’re able to speak to each other.” Spielberg smiles and replies, “I’d love to say that I realized that and I intended that to be my mother and father, but not until this moment.” What’s so touching about this moment is that it’s clear that Lipton’s question and insight genuinely caused him to think about his work in a new way, twenty years after the film’s release. Spielberg has only formally contributed to the writing process on three of his directed projects, yet with Close Encounters of the Third Kind, he found he knew how to tell that story in his own words. He may not have connected the dots back to his own family at the time, but the desire for his parents to be able to speak to each other was there subconsciously, inspiring one of the most complex films in his storied career. The way Spielberg infuses the personal into his storytelling is often discussed, but his early science fiction work of tremendous ambition is a prime example of his singular ability to blend the spectacle of a genre film with the intimacy of the best domestic dramas. Just two years after Jaws and six months after Star Wars throttled the film industry into the future, Close Encounters of the Third Kind feels radical, becoming a defining work of science fiction filmmaking while still emulating the classic works of David Lean and John Ford. That grounded quality amidst the endless possibilities of the future is what makes it quintessential Spielberg.

The film follows Roy Neary (Richard Dreyfuss), a blue-collar electric lineman who experiences a close encounter with a UFO when he’s out on a job looking into a power outage. Roy becomes a man obsessed, and that fixation causes his relationship with his wife (Teri Garr) and kids to fall apart. Much like the asymmetrical proof-of-life sunburn on the side of his face, his encounter leaves a mark so great that he can’t seem to be bothered or care about the life he once had. He continues building his own replicas of the flat-top mountain he keeps envisioning and reconnects with fellow obsessive Jillian (Melinda Dillon), a woman whose son wanders outside and is abducted by alien life. What’s so striking about Close Encounters of the Third Kind, though, lies in its visual language and tone, especially in how it interacts with the other American films of the 1970s. Films like All the President’s Men, The Parallax View, and The Conversation are all steeped in dread and paranoia, with central characters who don’t know who to trust and governments cloaked in shadow. Spielberg’s film has aspects of those films to be sure, but what sets it apart is that it never feels cynical. Instead, when the film crescendos to its final moments and the humans and aliens communicate, it feels just as sad as it does beautiful (thank you, John Williams). For Spielberg, the wish for his parents to be able to speak to each other doesn’t seem to be the only personal aspect of this film. It’s also a truth and a warning for those passionate and persistent enough to create. In the end, when we hear the notes to “Wish Upon a Star,” Spielberg shows that bridge between science and art; between humanity and the unknown. In the film’s final moments, Roy’s dogged pursuit seems worth it. The truth as to whether that feeling of transcendence is enough, though, Spielberg wisely keeps ambiguous. – Sophia Ciminello

Schindler’s List (1993)

The Arts Society defines a masterpiece as an exceptional work that represents the pinnacle of an artist’s career, demonstrates absolute technical mastery, and possesses profound cultural or historical significance. By that definition, Schindler’s List is Steven Spielberg’s masterpiece. His only Best Picture winner and one of just two films to earn him the Academy Award for Best Director, it marks the moment when one of cinema’s greatest storytellers reached the height of his powers. The result is a film that is both technically immaculate and ethically urgent. The liquidation of the Kraków ghetto and the horrors of the Kraków-Płaszów camp are depicted with such realism that the film often feels less like a drama than a documentary bearing witness to unimaginable evil. Janusz Kamiński’s stark black-and-white cinematography, John Williams’ haunting score (featuring renowned violinist Itzhak Perlman), and unforgettable performances from Liam Neeson, Ben Kingsley, and, most notably, Ralph Fiennes as Amon Goeth, the monstrous commandant of the concentration camp, combine to create a work of extraordinary authenticity and emotional force. 

What makes Schindler’s List remarkable is that it is not only devastating but deeply humane. It confronts the Holocaust, the ultimate act of horror in modern civilization, with unflinching honesty while simultaneously telling an inspiring story of courage, resilience, and the capacity for good amid overwhelming darkness. Its impact extends far beyond cinema, introducing millions to the realities of the Holocaust and helping preserve survivor testimony for future generations. Yet the moment that stays with me most is its final scene, when the film transitions from black-and-white to color and the real Schindlerjuden, alongside the actors who portrayed them, honor Oskar Schindler at his gravesite. No scene in cinema moves me more. It is a powerful reminder that even amid one of history’s darkest chapters, lives were saved, families endured, and a legacy of remembrance lives on. – Mark Johnson

4. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)

Few directors have been able to bring the wonder and joy of childhood to the screen as masterfully as Steven Spielberg, and his best example of this is 1982’s E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. Alien movies are usually set in space or in some rural, far-removed location. Spielberg, however, brought his squashy little alien to a boy in the suburbs in Southern California. And not just a boy. Elliott is a second son, a middle child to a recently divorced mom. E.T. arrives at a home reeling from recent upheaval. Spielberg, whose own parents divorced when he was young, subtly and distinctly presents a view of an American life that would become increasingly familiar throughout the 1980s. I had seen the movie once or twice before it was released in 1986. I was 9 and my parents had recently split up too. E.T. was the first movie I can remember that reflected both the challenging emotions of grief and the adage that “life goes on.” And it does so in a wonderful, funny, heartfelt and honest way.

Written by Academy Award nominee Melissa Mathison, E.T. manages to bring together youthful mischievousness, scary government agents, family drama, and an alien’s trauma of being left behind and trying to get home. Tying all of this together is the best score John Williams ever wrote. It’s been more than 40 years since the first time I saw it, but when the thrilling, vibrant movement of the third act’s big chase scene gives way to tearful goodbyes, I still can’t help crying. Steven Spielberg has directed some of the best films of the last 50 years, but for me, E.T. is the most heartfelt and the most personal. – Karen Peterson

3. Jurassic Park (1993)

Jurassic Park often gets heralded as the height of action-adventure filmmaking, which is certainly true. But what makes Spielberg’s most blockbuster-y blockbuster this side of Jaws so universally and eternally adored is the way that it folds in elements of so many other genres in a way that assures that nearly anyone will enjoy it, no matter their taste. It’s such a Spielbergian choice to give the film touches of science fiction (emphasis on science, thank you, Mr. DNA), horror (an entire generation was delightfully scarred by the T. Rex attack), and even romance (water droplets have never been so sexy). Just as Hammond wanted his doomed theme park to be a destination for the entire family, Jurassic Park truly has something for everyone. And this decision to make the film as widely appealing as possible has only helped its legacy, making it one of the most easily rewatchable films of the time period of peak blockbuster filmmaking, aka the 80s and 90s. Not to mention the fact that, famously, its visual effects still hold up 30+ years later, thanks to the legendarily brilliant combination of practical effects, animatronics, and limited-but-smart use of what was at the time the cutting edge of CGI. Famously, the two hour film only features about 15 minutes of actual dinosaurs on screen.

But thanks to Spielberg’s genius ability to conjure up both wonder and terror, not necessarily from the object inspiring those reactions, but instead thanks to the incredible framing of those observing it, this minor amount of quantifiable screentime feels factually incorrect. In our current era of films overly relying on computer effects and poorly realized fantastical creatures, it’s so refreshing to go back in time and see how Spielberg understands that nothing is more effective at making the audience believe in the impossible than a uniquely human reaction – like Sam Neill fumbling with his sunglasses at the sight of a Brachiosaurus or Laura Dern screaming in fear at a Velociraptor. The master director knows that the greatest way of linking the audience to the experience of the characters is to focus on the actual people on screen, and there’s no better example of that ethos than his stellar work putting together Jurassic Park. – Cody Dericks

2. Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

Thank God the Broccoli Family turned down Steven Spielberg and George Lucas’ pitch to make a James Bond film. If they hadn’t, we wouldn’t have been blessed with Raiders of the Lost Ark, a film that easily surpasses any 007 film ever made. With Raiders, what was old was new again, as Spielberg brought the old adventure serials of the 1930’s and 1940’s back to the center of pop culture. While the archetypes and hallmarks may have felt familiar, though, Harrison Ford’s portrayal of Indiana Jones is like a lightning bolt of movie star surprise. Indy is dashing, funny, charming (but maybe not as charming as he thinks…), and clever. In many ways Indy is the inflection point of the everyman heroes of 70’s New Hollywood and the action figure meatheads that dominated Reagan Era actioners. 

Raiders is, quite simply, one of the most entertaining and propulsive films ever made. Its understanding of visual storytelling and navigation of subtle emotion is exemplary. There is not an ounce of fat on this cinematic bone. It is a film of masterful artistic craft in service of broad and often simple pleasures. Choosing a favorite set piece in Raiders of the Lost Ark is simply impossible. If someone tells you the best one is the temple escape, they’re right. If they prefer the desert truck chase, that’s valid. The bar fight? Yeah, that tracks. When the film isn’t redefining the language of action filmmaking, it populates the characters with memorable supporting characters and images at every turn. It is a film that has reorganized the DNA of film, moving forward, and programmed the minds of many, many viewers for the rest of their lives. It is, quite simply, a perfect adventure film. – Jay Ledbetter

1. Jaws (1975)

When I was four years old my parents took me the movies for the first time. It was a swelteringly hot summer in Northern California and the movies were often not just entertainment but a reprieve from the burning heat if you didn’t have air conditioning at home. That movie was Jaws and, for at least one whole summer, it scarred me beyond belief.

We were Jehovah’s Witnesses at the time and the church was pretty strict about the kinds of movies we were allowed to watch. Nothing R-rated, not even for the adults, so G and PG were the only options. Sex, profanity and nudity were forbidden, of course, but violence seemed to get a pass. In 1975, what could qualify as a PG film would never today and I’m pretty thankful for that because as terrifying as it was (I was an avid swimmer at the time but I didn’t set foot in a pool or river until the next year), it opened my eyes to film for all it could be: rip-roaring entertainment, emotional family drama, gory revelry, cautionary tales, or, in the case of Jaws, all of them.

It’s hard to write about a film like Jaws, with so many elements ingrained and imprinted on us in a way that few films do: John Williams’ score, the terror of the opening kill, the far away shot of little Alex getting chomped, the dolly zoom shot of Brody (Roy Scheider). They’re not just a part of cinematic culture, they’re a part of our collective consciousness. “You’re gonna need a bigger boat,” the iconic phrase ad-libbed by Scheider, is in everyday lexicon. Spielberg invented the summer blockbuster with Jaws and gave sharks the worst reputation for generations (and Shark Week, really). In a canon that includes Nazis and monsters, it gave us one of his most insidious villains in Mayor Vaughn, an ego maniac hell bent on avoiding the horrifying drama unfolding in front of him in order to have a self-serving 4th of July celebration. Like, who would even do that these days?

This is all to say that after 50 years, Jaws still has bite. – Erik Anderson