THE SNOWMAN (1982) dir. D. JOHNSON

This obsoletes hundreds of shoddy holiday cash-ins made since. Howard Blake’s orchestrations are melodious and heartbreaking, as is the uncompromising confrontation with mortality (good luck passing that in the States). Makes Zemeckis' über-glitzy motion capture adaptation of Polar Express, by Briggs’ contemporary color penciller Chris van Allsburg, unforgivable.

IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS (1994) dir. J. CARPENTER

Carpenter’s love letter to Lovecraft—even slurpy Cthulhu cameos. Sam Neill has your worst Groundhog Day in a town where Happy Gilmore’s nana keeps gramps anklecuffed. Predictably, the meta-efforts here mostly come off as camp. And a headscratch: how’d they get Charlton Heston to co-star in such sacrilege?

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND (1977) dir. S. SPIELBERG

Perfect vinegar to the acid of terrifying invasion movies, trading allegorical communists for hippies: these aliens communicate through crafts (and solfege with François Truffaut), love kids and laser light shows, and practice curiosity instead of landmark detonation, holding an extraterrestrial Woodstock at Devil’s Peak in Wyoming. Way far out, man.

(500) DAYS OF SUMMER (2009) dir. M. WEBB

Like Moon, this movie bathed in blog hype, but, for all its dance number/split screen/yo-yo narrative “originality,” was completely typical (but sure to be fawned over by lovelorn, headstrong undergrads). Not sure that empathy ensures likeability. Also, a realization: Deschanel has the figure of an eight-year old in a swimsuit.

G.I. JOE: THE RISE OF THE COBRA (2009) dir. S. SOMMERS

What we have here is a successful adaptation: the source material, in this case, is a video game based on a comic book based on a cartoon based on an action figure line. Cinematic precursors be damned—the five-second, dime-turning flashbacks are insane. And the Paris chase scene ain’t Ronin.

JULIE & JULIA (2009) dir. N. EPHRON

Much like The Devil Wears Prada, here’s a movie less about relationships and romance than its central fetish—food. Luckily, Dan Akroyd’s classic exsanguinating Child bit isn’t the funniest moment of the film. Streep is a confection, and Jane Lynch a sweet surprise. (Plus, was anyone expecting so much lustiness?)

JOHNNY MNEMONIC (1995) dir. R. LONGO

Though 320 gigabytes might struggle to overheat some Macbooks, Johnny’s head might explode from it. (Is a nosebleed information leakage? Ew.) The neurophysical manipulation of the Internet—yes, capitalized—is fun, but the film’s alt-everything works like a duct-taped first-gen iPod. Only regret: a Henry Rollins/Ice-T buddy pic didn’t result.