Throughout my late night rummaging, I came across a video with a tantalizing title: “What is the best L.A. film of all time?” Over the course of 10 minutes, Los Angeles Times writers Mark Olsen, Amy Nicholson, and Glenn Whipp discussed how they compiled a list of 101 films they felt best represented one of the most storied regions in film history. It was a thorough discussion that encapsulated a collection spanning over a century and covered everything from Tinseltown to the immigrant experience. As difficult as it is not just puff out one’s chest and point out how things should’ve been done, the more I sat with it, the more I determined that it might’ve been the best turnout one could hope for.
Something that could’ve been lost in this conversation was the definition of where Los Angeles is. That may sound ridiculous, but considering how the city is a bastion of industry, it’s easy to mistake all conversation as being about that overcrowded, gridlocked, overpriced parking nightmare central hub where only the wealthy could think to live for more than a week. To think of L.A. the city is to remove so much identity, including the ballyhooed history of Hollywood that has kept cinema in business for eons. If you want to think of Los Angeles as some greater identity, it’s important to consider the county and recognize the magnificence of the larger picture.
As a resident of Long Beach, my relationship to Los Angeles differs slightly from that of writers for one of the remaining titans of newsprint. It’s not a city I visit often, and thus I have never felt tied to the aspirational careers depicted in those Hollywood stories. Even the acknowledgment of crime as an ongoing problem isn’t enough to make me relate to the film noirs that populate their list. I’m both within driving distance of the epicenter but also removed enough to not feel directly impacted by the typical works of fiction. At most, Long Beach is a town known for its coastal beaches and laidback attitudes. We produced Snoop Dogg, Billie Jean King, and Nicolas Cage. We’re the eccentric corner, mixing creativity with raucous impatience. I’m not saying it is totally unique, but it may inform what I look for in a discussion of what makes something “My Los Angeles.”
There’s an ironic paradox to living in Southern California that isn’t often appreciated. On the one hand, it’s a land of dreams, where everybody is believed to have a chance at landing the perfect movie role midway through their waiter shift. It’s about networking and taking risks, dealing with hubristic figures that may be nothing more than lucky nepotism. People make arbitrary holidays while erecting eccentric architecture. There’s no uniformity to the design. Even as newer fashion emerges, institutions stand in defiance, a reminder to the region’s history that has sometimes faded, but carries one or two photogenic ideas that keep them relevant. It’s a land where art and commerce butt heads on every city block, and even then, it can’t help but be reminded of the economic struggles as houseless individuals prop up tents by freeways covered in beautiful art covered in graffiti tags. As LA28 lingers, it’s one of those questions whether any of this can be remedied in time given how many years things haven’t worked out.
At the same time, it’s a place where other disparities seem obvious. Turning on the radio reminds people in traffic of the heavy Latino population. There’s an ever-growing list of food trucks selling Mexican cuisine alongside the more established restaurants that have been handed down several generations. Depending on the neighborhood, it’s easy to be reminded of how immigration impacts the community as Mexican paraphernalia lines local liquor stores and lowriders flood the streets. Meanwhile, subwoofers are quick to remind you of west coast hip-hop and how it mixed social commentary with club bangers while wearing Lakers and Dodgers jerseys that let you know this community has a legacy of winners.
Obviously, this is a generalization. Even then, it’s difficult to encapsulate a region so defined by many pathways that have bettered the entire world. Beyond those landmarks are people trying to get by, who make a difference however they can, whether it be for selfish gains or to help a family pay off rent. There’s a swirling mix of personalities that you’ll run into on any given day, and it’s rarely a dull time.
To be honest, my stereotypical view of Southern California is that it’s a region of artifice, or at least one where everybody is selling something. That isn’t to say people are distrustful, but there’s a clear differentiation between public and personal identity that keeps a person from ever feeling genuine on first blush. Paul Thomas Anderson has made a career out of chronicling these people, who could be seen as salesmen trying to find a comfortable living, no matter how ridiculous their situation is. It’s a place of too many ideas. At least, that’s how it is for somebody like me to envision Los Angeles, which may on any given trip be a mix of careerists and tourists getting stuck at the same stoplight waiting to arrive at their destination.
This may seem like an overlong way of not talking about a film list, but I hope it also explains how much the list is fighting against a colossal prompt. There is no way to satisfy the idea of what Los Angeles is as a cinematic representation, because it means a dozen different things. Even when looking at the list, there’s as much fiction based on history as there is speculation for sci-fi futures that might never come true. And yet, because of the incredible population, setting Blade Runner (1982) in Los Angeles makes sense because it would be the eccentric place to be, where innovation will happen whether needed or not.
Parts of how The L.A. Times organized the list feel inevitable. Most of the selected top ten are titles that have entered a wider vernacular, which makes them, if not the best, then at least the most popular works set here. Given its reputation as one of the best neo-noirs, Chinatown (1974) makes sense as a number one pick for reasons beyond a crisp script, an excellent Jack Nicholson performance, and gorgeous cinematography. As a lifelong resident, the subject of water management matters a lot. During the 2010s, I survived a notorious drought period and was constantly hounded with discussions of water conservation while, ironically, wealthier cities took up too many resources. Los Angeles also feels like a city defined by tragic irony, and it’s what the remaining top three – Mulholland Drive (2001) and Sunset Boulevard (1950) – carry in spades. It’s a struggle to stay relevant, to hold onto identity and find immortality in a city that’s always redesigning itself. If nothing else, it makes perfect sense why one of the rare documentaries, Los Angeles Plays Itself (2003), is on here at number six, even if it’s questionably too low for its larger impact on how it works at studying a city as a larger identity.
Without going film by film, it’s an endearing list that never strays too far away from its own self-mythology. Fictionalized reimagining of history – like Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood (2019) – fit in with the idea that everyone here gets a happy ending. Truth almost doesn’t matter so long as it makes for a good story. Films like Bowfinger (1999) at number 90 play into the comedic manipulation of filmmaking, while Ed Wood (1994) at number 49 reflects the harsh realities of people with dreams but no wherewithal to make it. Everyone imagines themselves on a marquee, even if it’s in one of Penelope Spheeris music documentaries in The Decline of Western Civilization series at number 42. Everyone has a dream, and the willingness to poke fun at it in L.A. Story at number 53, or Barton Fink (1991) at number 62, recognizes how success is almost accidental.
What makes me give this more lenience than a typical retrospective countdown is how considerate it is of every decade of filmmaking and almost every genre and subject. There’s room for immigration narratives with El Norte (1983) at number 74, or everyday life in a Black neighborhood with Friday (1995) at number 41. If there’s any conflict I have with the list, it’s possibly the tell that the voters were clearly Gen-X based on the first dubious selection being Clueless (1995) at number four. While by no means a bad movie and maybe a good sign that this was going to be a list full of more than tragic irony, the question as to whether it best represents Los Angeles is confounding. It’s nitpicking for sure, but do jokes about driving on the freeway and going to parties with ska bands feel more indicative of a geographical export than Singin’ in the Rain (1952) at number eight?
Despite this “tell,” I do feel like The L.A. Times does a great job of giving respect to every decade. It’s refreshing to see filmmakers like Charles Burnett make the Top 10 over more recognizable names, if just to suggest this was at least an effort to consider everything honestly. For all of the work based on hypotheticals over reality, it’s still exploring the concept of Los Angeles to a wider discussion that goes beyond residents. As the video also suggests, they’re not afraid to consider, like with Chinatown, that these films may at times be dated or problematic, but are in themselves reflective of industries that aren’t entirely seen as honest. There’s subtext within the framework that grows, alluding to the overwhelming number of crime films on here that are stylish and in themselves performative in ways not dissimilar from my earlier Paul Thomas Anderson point.
This could also apply to films that feel more tailored to this Millennial’s view of Los Angeles. Ever since its release, I’ve considered Under the Silver Lake (2018) at number 84 to capture how it feels to live around here on the fringes of Los Angeles and Hollywood. There are the eccentrics trying to make a name for themselves alongside hidden symbolism that may feel borderline hallucinatory. It’s running into forgotten history and cults that are too bizarre to believe in. I’d even argue that the way it encounters the economic strata says a lot for how people seem to exist within one city without liking each other. I’d also argue that The Bling Ring (2013) at number 88 is the closest I’ve come to recognizing a fringe group who replace personal accomplishment with clout chasing. They’re the types who don’t really have a vision for the future beyond fame, and the tragic irony is, of course, that this was made really before phone cameras were capable of cinema-quality filming.
Overall, this list is a fantastic primer for anyone wanting to get a sense of both the pop art and the deeper studies. Given how diverse the population is, I think this does an excellent job of capturing the different voices that have emerged from these cities and created something that mattered to them. Whereas it could be set in any city, they chose Los Angeles, and it feels like it was done with good intentions. There’s a rich history that works as shorthand, where the average mile of town has hundreds of stories to tell. I’m unsure that this captures all of them, but there’s enough present that can serve as jumping-off points.
If I have any complaints, it’s that maybe the Gen-X influence might’ve been a bit too strong here. Whereas I can respect something like La La Land (2016) at number 35, serving as one of the more contemporary feel-good romances, I’m a bit dismayed at the absence of (500) Days of Summer (2009), which I feel is the rare celebration of Los Angeles that feels ingrained in its realm of fantasy. There’s a creative narrative structure, a complicated protagonist, a dance number, a discussion of some gorgeous architecture, and many stops along the way (including IKEA). I understand it has retroactively been devalued, but to me, it’s the ideal Millennial vision of the city that never gets too wrapped up in La La Land levels of worship. It’s about having a job and sharing your interests with others. I understand that’s true for a lot of these, but there’s something organic and real about (500) Days of Summer that feels like a discussion of this town’s cinematic legacy in the background. And yes, I even have one I’d swap it out with because Against All Odds (1984) at number 89 is just not a good movie, and besides, don’t you have enough alternatives to that type of erotic thriller already on the list? At least that terrible Pool Man (2023) is not here.
I’m not sure if this essay really has a greater function other than to encourage you to go look at the list for yourself in whatever way you can. In my opinion, it’s interesting how one county basically can have so much of a cinematic identity when most other places don’t come close. Outside of New York, I’m unsure that anywhere has produced works this elaborate and popular with outside markets. For as much as this is a place defined by cinema, it should be appreciated for so much more. Given that it even has a very contemporary film here with One Of Them Days (2025) at number 86, I’m hopeful that things will continue to look more eccentric in a decade. For now, I appreciate the work that The L.A. Times did and that they were considerate of the whole picture. I understand this debate is largely subjective, but this is close enough to a desired consensus.
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