3 Hidden Movie Masterpieces on Max Right Now

While it isn’t a nightly ritual, several times a month I find myself in a specific headspace. Once the household has gone quiet and I’ve reclaimed a sliver of evening energy, I feel an undeniable pull toward the classics. There is a restorative quality to black-and-white cinema; perhaps it’s the deliberate pacing or the monochrome aesthetic that serves as a visual palate cleanser after a day spent staring at the oversaturated glow of modern screens. When that craving for classic atmosphere hits, HBO Max remains my indispensable resource for high-quality vintage film.

Leveraging the expansive Turner Classic Movies (TCM) vault, HBO Max curates a diverse array of monochrome gems. The selection spans from the sharp-witted screwball comedies of the 1930s to the shadowy, atmospheric noir thrillers that continue to inspire visionaries like Guillermo del Toro. It also boasts a sophisticated—if selectively curated—collection of international masterpieces that prove there is far more to early Japanese cinema than just giant monsters.

To showcase the versatility of the medium, I’ve highlighted three distinct black-and-white films. One is a foundational pillar of world cinema, one is a daring wartime satire, and the third is a contemporary fever dream produced within the last decade, proving that the beauty of grayscale photography is far from a relic of the past.

Rashomon

Rashomon occupies a rarified space in the cinematic pantheon. Alongside masterpieces like Ikiru and Seven Samurai, it is often cited as the crowning achievement of Akira Kurosawa. The director’s uncanny ability to fuse grand, sweeping narratives with intimate human frailty established him as a titan of global film. While Rashomon consistently tops “greatest of all time” lists, its most pervasive legacy is the popularization of a storytelling device now ubiquitous in everything from courtroom dramas to sitcoms.

You’ve likely seen a “Rashomon episode“—a narrative structure where various characters recount the same event, each filtered through their own self-serving or skewed perspective. Kurosawa’s 1950 film revolutionized this concept. The plot concerns a brutal encounter between a samurai, his wife, and a notorious bandit in a sun-dappled forest. As the participants (including the deceased samurai via a haunting spirit medium) testify before an unseen tribunal, the “truth” becomes increasingly elusive.

Despite its academic prestige, Rashomon is far from a dry history lesson; it is a gripping, visceral experience. While the performances lean into a theatrical intensity typical of the era, the mystery remains profoundly engaging. Toshiro Mifune is magnetic as the arrogant bandit, while Machiko Kyō and Masayuki Mori deliver nuanced performances rooted in shame and pride. Ultimately, the film refuses to provide a definitive resolution, leaving the audience to navigate the murky waters of human subjectivity—a choice that has kept viewers debating for over seventy years.

To Be or Not To Be

Modern audiences might recognize Jack Benny as the legendary comedian who perfected the persona of the stingy, self-deprecating wit on The Jack Benny Program. His influence stretched across radio and television, leaving a mark on icons like Jerry Seinfeld. While Benny’s cinematic career was often the subject of his own self-effacing jokes, he starred in at least one undisputed masterpiece: 1942’s To Be or Not to Be.

Directed by the legendary Ernst Lubitsch—famed for The Shop Around the Corner—this film is an audacious satirical farce. Set in Warsaw during the 1939 Nazi occupation, it follows a theatrical troupe led by the vainglorious Joseph Tura (Benny) and his charismatic wife Maria (Carole Lombard). The actors find themselves forced to use their professional skills of disguise and deception to outmaneuver the Gestapo and protect the Polish resistance.

At the time of its release, critics were polarized by Lubitsch’s decision to find humor in a living nightmare. However, history has vindicated the film. Both the American Film Institute and the BFI now celebrate it as a brilliant subversion of tyranny. Benny’s impeccable comedic timing shines as he navigates a plot that reduces the Third Reich to the butt of an elaborate joke. Even eighty years later, the film’s wit remains razor-sharp, successfully balancing high-stakes suspense with a profound sense of irony.

The Lighthouse

Robert Eggers’ 2019 film The Lighthouse serves as a stunning testament to the creative power of unfettered artistic vision. Shot in a claustrophobic aspect ratio with striking, high-contrast cinematography, the film features powerhouse performances from Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson.

Set in the 1890s, the story follows a novice “wickie” (Pattinson) arriving for a grueling four-week stint on a desolate New England rock under the supervision of a grizzled, domineering veteran (Dafoe). While Eggers is largely categorized as a horror auteur—furthered by his work on The Witch and Nosferatu—The Lighthouse is as much a pitch-black comedy as it is a psychological thriller. As critic Tim Grierson aptly noted, the film functions as a surreal exploration of the world’s worst roommate dynamic.

The interplay between the two leads is electric. Dafoe embodies a flatulent, myth-spouting sea dog, while Pattinson captures the slow-motion collapse of a man pushed to his breaking point by isolation and manual labor. What follows is an escalating cycle of intoxication, madness, and maritime mythology. It is a singular, hallucinatory journey that proves black-and-white film is still the perfect medium for capturing the descent into the uncanny.

Source: Polygon