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Ten Trilogies Worth Watching
By Joe Boden (with assistance from Rob Stevens)
21st June 2009

The movie trilogy has been pretty much raped as of late. I remember the days when a successful film would have a sequel commissioned and we’d all say “gah, when is this going to stop”. Well, good news everybody, it is – however slowly but surely – grinding to a halt. But, and here’s the bad news, the notion of giving a successful standalone movie its very own sequel hasn’t simply become extinct, it’s evolved. Now, rather than wait to see if this second film has any longevity by gauging the results, both critical and box-office, and then deciding whether to ditch the franchise or move on for more nostalgia, studios are tending to leap the middle segment and commission a whole trilogy. Granted, it doesn’t happen with every successful film, but it’s becoming more and more of a regular occurrence.

So, after the nightmares that have been “Shrek”, “Spider-man”, and the “Star Wars” prequel, the question that begs to be asked is; why? With very few exceptions, a franchise will always begin to dip by the third instalment, if not by the second. “X-Men”, “the Terminator”, and “Alien” (before they made about fifteen other Alien films) have all had their legacies destroyed by piss poor third instalments, and they are often classed as the lucky ones. Obviously, the answer’s money, but I’m going to pretend that I don’t understand why a producer wants to make an easy billion books and act incredulous to the whole situation. It outrages me to see my old favourite characters dragged through the mud in the name of profit, and I think it’s about time for it to come to a stop. See, I’m being all incredulous.

But it doesn’t always have to be like this. There are actually some trilogies out there that are worth taking a look at, for one reason or another. Most of the time, these are the trilogies that were either commissioned as trilogies with the intention of always being a trilogy, or those that are only loosely connected after they’ve been made individually. Agreed, there are some decent trios of films that have been spawned thanks to greedy studio executives, like the original “Star Wars” films or “Indiana Jones” for example, but we all know how those two turned out…

Unfortunately, you won’t find “Back to the Future”, “the Godfather”, or “the Terminator “ here, and there is only one really obvious blockbuster trilogy present. I don’t look down on any of the obvious choices. I mean, “the Godfather: Part II” would be in my top fifty films, and I can re-watch any of the original “Star Wars”, “Back to the Future”, or “Indiana Jones” films just about any time. But this list is dedicated to those trilogies which not everybody will have seen. Sure, I expect the hardened amongst you to have seen most of them, but I’d much rather bring a trilogy by Sokurov or Lang to your attention than tell you that “Back to the Future” is really cool and equally fun, which you already know. And I’ve just given away two of my choices. Brilliant.

So, moving on quickly, here’s the ten. We’ll get the inevitable choice out of the way first. I couldn’t bring myself not to include it (and didn’t want to feel GimliTheDwarf’s wrath!). Then, we’ll go in chronological order of the first film’s release date. I hope you enjoy!

“The Lord of the Rings” trilogy.
2001-2003, dir. Peter Jackson.

“The Lord of the Rings” really is the grand daddy of all blockbuster trilogies, and it was inevitable that it would end up with a place on this list. Filmed in one, long shoot (that shares the record for longest principal photography span with “Apocalypse Now”) and then edited into these three epic fantasy films, Peter Jackson’s magnum opus is a masterpiece in popular filmmaking. Admittedly, it may lack the artistic merit of some of the other series on this list, but it’s certainly one of the most entertaining ways to spend thirteen hours that’s ever been devised.

From humble beginnings, this is the story of Frodo Baggins (Elijah Wood), a young hobbit who lives in the slow, sleepy world of the Shire. But, after big wise Gandalf (Sir Ian McKellan) comes along and tells him that his Uncle Bilbo’s ring actually belongs to an omnipotent dark lord and that this evil-doing hobbit hater wants it back, he’s forced to take to the road with the ring in hopes of destroying it. That’s the story taken down to its mere nuts and blots, without any of the rich characterization, exquisite settings, and many subplots that writer J.R.R Tolkien implemented to bring his fantasy novel to life. Of course, it’s much more complex than this, and Jackson respects that, sculpting this into an epic movie-going experience that amounts to more than half a day in length, including most of what Tolkien wrote and only leaving out what was unneeded. Ooh, controversial!

But anyway, that’s another argument for another column. This one is dedicated to commemorating and celebrating great trilogies, and “the Lord of the Rings” is truly that. So much so that the release of the new Rings film had become an annual event with its own slot in a geek’s calendar. From December 2001, and over the next two subsequent years, Peter Jackson impressed everybody with his delicate treatment of Tolkien’s masterwork, creating three separate standalone films that were just as impressive as one another. Critics and Tolkien purists waited with baited breath for him to mess it all up, particularly with that difficult middle bit “the Two Towers” (my particular favourite), but he didn’t. Jackson is such an avid fan of the book himself, reading it as a teenager and being desperate to make it into a film for all of his adult life, that creating a bad trilogy was pretty much out of the question. If he did fail, he wouldn’t just be breaking the hearts of thousands of Tolkien fan boys, but he would also be soiling his own dreams.

My “from humble beginnings” comment could be taken as both a comment on the plot and on Jackson as a filmmaker. Building up a reputation for himself as a schlock horror maestro, with such gruesome credits as “Braindead” (1992) and “Bad Taste” (1987) in his respectable résumé, Jackson really hit major critical acclaim with his story of two young girls who decide to do in one of their mothers, “Heavenly Creatures” (1994). Without the success of this humble art film, it may not have been possible for Jackson to make these three bravura epics. It’s funny, really, that the very existence of a three hundred million dollar franchise hinged on a little, five million dollar art house picture, but I guess that’s the way it crumbles. Cookie-wise.

Funnily enough, though, although this works brilliantly as a trilogy, it is better viewed as one, individual film. I’ve been lucky enough, bored enough, and sad enough to sit down with a bunch of friends and watch all three films over the course of one night. Moments that you initially thought were weak points of the individual films (the start of Fellowship is too long! There are too many endings!) actually strengthen the trilogy as a whole, and you begin to realize that Jackson was creating one twelve-hour film with points for pause and reflection. I’d definitely recommend a single-sitting viewing the next time you have thirteen hours spare, but until that day when you have nothing else in your life arrives, three separate sittings will do. In fact, the films are so good, once you’ve been inducted with your first viewing, you can sit down and watch any of the three films out of order and still go way with a sense of satisfaction and believe that the film has been adequately resolved.

Individual Films:

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001, Jackson)
The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002, Jackson)
The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003, Jackson)

Fritz Lang’s “Dr Mabuse” trilogy.
1922-1960, dir. Fritz Lang.

Here’s one of those very rare trilogies that were, initially, only meant to be one film and is, eventually, actually quite good. With the release of 1922’s “Dr Mabuse, the Gambler”, Lang created one of the greatest silent films of them all. A four and a half hour epic, the 1922 film was a blow by blow account of the battle between Bernhard Goetzke’s Chief Inspector Norbert von Wenck and the titular arch criminal, Dr Mabuse. Played superbly by Rudolf Klien-Rogge, Mabuse cheats at cards using his hypnotism, and when this is investigated a whole trail of crime is unravelled. At nearly three hundred minutes long, the immense runtime allows Lang to invest time in a plethora of supporting characters, whilst still giving adequate screen time to both Wenck (particularly in the first half) and Mabuse (in the second). Featuring a whole host of sequences that have become either iconic, influential, or both, Lang’s silent classic is infinitely re-watchable and one of the best lengthy films of all-time.

He followed it up with 1933’s “the Testament of Dr Mabuse”, which in itself is a very good film. It’s not quite as poetic, lyrical, or epic as the silent original, but with the advent of sound he was able to make this a much more dialogue-driven film. Thanks to the great work of his first film, there was no need to characterize his villain any further, or – incidentally – his hero. Otto Wernicke reprised his role of Commisioner Lohman from “M” – the Peter Lorre serial child killer film, also by Lang – and the new match-up, although not quite as good as Wenck vrs Mabuse from the original, is satisfying enough. The only problem with this film is that Mabuse isn’t really involved enough. Klein-Rogge, so brilliant in “the Gambler”, is relegated to a supporting player in his own film, and although everything that he does drives the plot forward, it would have been nice to have seen the Mabuse from 1922’s film back here. Which he’s not.

But Mabuse makes a triumphant return in the 1960 film, “the 1000 Eyes of Dr Mabuse”. Again, this doesn’t quite match the quality of the 1922 silent classic (and probably is the worst of the series), but it’s still a very good film with a lot to like. I think the fact that the twist is so obvious spoils the film thematically, but it also lets you in on a great in-joke. Although the rest of the characters, including Gert Frobe’s investigator, are unaware who Mabuse is, the fact that we know – and know all of his old tricks and get to see him utilize them – gives the film a whole new dimension. Again, Mabuse doesn’t really get enough screen time, and the fact that we don’t really know (or at least aren’t supposed to know) who he is means that, when he is on screen, he doesn’t get chance to get into his stride. A few more Mabuse films were made after this, none of which are directed by Lang or as good, but this is a fitting swansong to both the Mabuse trilogy and to Lang’s directing career.

So, why does this deserve to be in the list? Although I hate to admit it, it is a series that declined in both credibility and quality as the trilogy went on, but it’s still strangely rewarding to value them as a series. Why? Because they help show the evolution of the crime film. The 1922 picture is my favourite silent of them all, and certainly the best crime themed silent. It features all of the traits that we’d expect to find in a crime actioner nowadays, including a car-chase and a shoot out, and although most modern day crime epics have lost the supernatural subplots of “the Gambler” (it’s their loss), you can still see that the effects of Lang’s film are being referenced and implemented into films today. The 1933 picture, along with the director’s similar (in tone) 1931 film “M”, really uses sound to its fullest power. It uses dialogue sparingly (although the 1933 film does use it more than “M”), and instead uses sound’s ability to create atmosphere with sound effects and music to draw the viewer in. And then there is the 1960 film, which – although being the weakest of the three – is certainly a continuation of both the Mabuse legend and of cinema history. Moving on from the bleak, intimate setting of 1933, Lang here creates a lavish world which is both inviting and utterly repulsive.

So that is why I’m including it. Although it’s probably not as strong throughout as other trilogies on the list (though I’d argue that “Dr Mabuse, the Gambler” is the best film of any present here), it is still certainly a riveting watch. And that’s both for thematic reasons, because it’s a tense and thrilling rollercoaster ride through a criminal word riddled with car chases and shoot outs, and for historic ones. Anybody interested in the history of cinema, and particularly that of the crime film, should check all three instalments out. Even the four and a half hour silent film. It’s well worth it.

Individual Films;

Dr Mabuse, the Gambler (1922, Lang)
The Testament of Dr Mabuse (1933, Lang)
The 1000 Eyes of Dr Mabuse (1960, Lang)

The “Orphic” Trilogy
1930-1960, dir. Jean Cocteau

“The Orphic Trilogy” is made up of three loosely connected films, all dealing with ideas and themes brought up in the Greek Myth of Orpheus (including mortality), and – more notably – the role of artists within society and what drives them to create. The first, “the Blood of a Poet” (1930) is a surreal, highly experimental film which is told through four sequences, each of which even more surreal than the last. The second, “Orphee” (1950, is the most conventional of the three in that it actually has a narrative, and tells a modernized version of the actual Greek myth with a few minor tweaks here and their. The third and final part, “The Testament of Orpheus” (1960), is an exploration of Cocteau himself, and investigates his inspirations and his obsessions, exploring what drove him to make the art that he did.

“The Blood of a Poet” is perhaps the most profound and experimental of the three, discussing the hardships that many artists have to go through to create their work. I think if it were any longer than the fifty minutes that it currently stands at, it would soon become tedious and tiresome. That’s because some scenes, despite always being visually arresting, are so impenetrable that you wonder if you’re being left out of an in-joke. That’s not always the case, though, because for at least two thirds of the film Cocteau others some interesting allegory and symbolism, particularly in the scene where the little girl gets repeatedly whipped, but learns to fly in the process. Nothing beautiful comes without hardships and pain.

“Orphee”, as I said, is the most conventional film in the trilogy. It has a standard narrative, and tells the story of the titular Orphee (or Orpheus in English, played by Jean Marais) as he goes about his business as a poet. The film begins with the Princess (Maria Casares) spawning a fight in which a rival of Orphee’s gets killed. From there, the titular poet finds himself drawn into the Underworld, where he must bargain for both his life and that of his wife. Again, the themes of art riddle Cocteau’s film, but this time he talks more about his inspiration than about the plight of artists in general, and it leads to a much more personal film. Cocteau has his hero find inspiration in the face of death and in love, which says a lot about the extreme, fantastical nature of Cocteau’s art. It struggles with an ending that is too upbeat, but hey, Cocteau’s films are just as enjoyable as they are artistically satisfying, so a happy ending can’t really be treated as too bad of a thing.

If the second film was more personal and biographical than the first, then the third of the series – “the Testament of Orpheus” (1960) – takes it another step still. Starring Cocteau as “the Poet”, the director takes us on a whirlwind tour of his inspirations and his obsessions, talking about his life and work. Even if it is a little self-indulgent and pompous at times, Cocteau’s final film (he proudly proclaims it as so at its climax) is a hypnotic, enchanting film that tells you a lot about both Cocteau and art in general. It’s a love letter written from the great director to his audience, but at the same time it’s a dark, deep, and meaningful look into what drove the man to create the work that he did. This could be better than “Orphee” (I’m not quite sure), which just shows the power of cinema as an art form rather than an entertainment one; narrative is not needed to create a meaning, visually arresting experience.

The common theme here is obvious; art. This is not just limited to cinema, but does include it alongside poetry, literature, and painting, which says a lot about Cocteau’s high esteem for film as an art form. Here, he is allowed to express him something in both a visual and verbal fashion, and he challenges convention not just for the sake of challenging it, but instead so that he can put across his points in an interesting and suitable manner. Cocteau, despite popular belief, is not one for pretensions, and instead crafts a film that remains both poignant and entertaining. Unlike in some films, Cocteau strikes a balance that allows these two things to co-exist peacefully, with one never edging out the other. Individually, these three films constitute a trio of very good pieces about the medium and art in general. Together, they create an opus about artistic endeavour.

Individual Films;

The Blood of a Poet (1930, Cocteau)
Orphee (1950, Cocteau)
The Testament of Orpheus (1960, Cocteau)