Hidden Treasures: Spielberg’s Overlooked Films

Here’s a volcanically hot take to start off this blog post: I wholeheartedly believe that Steven Spielberg is the greatest filmmaker in the history of cinema. As obvious and predictable as that opinion might sound initially (especially coming from me, someone who’s been known to enjoy a Spielberg flick or two), you’d be surprised at the scoffs from the film community that such a hyperbolic claim would provoke. That’s because when it comes to the debate of who’s the greatest filmmaker of all time, the names that come up most often are undeniably legendary directors such as Akira Kurosawa, Ingmar Bergman, Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubrick, and Spielberg’s longtime buddy Martin Scorsese (who would be my alternate pick for the greatest filmmaker title if I had to choose someone other than Spielberg). All of these brilliant directors rightfully deserve their reputable status in film history, but it’s quite telling that they’re often considered the greatest because they tend to be seen as lofty visionary artists first and foremost, as opposed to the way in which Spielberg tends to be perceived as a merely populist entertainer, an accessible filmmaker who makes popcorn movies for the masses, not a serious artist who could possibly inspire in-depth analysis or critical appreciation.

If it wasn’t already clear in my tone of literary voice, I really do think that this common perception of Spielberg is severely reductive and dismissive of his many artistic talents. The thing that I find most admirable about Spielberg is that to him, an entertainer and an artist are two sides of the same coin, rather than opposite ends of a spectrum. Sure, some of his films lean more into his former side while others lean into the latter, but he never sacrifices either instinct entirely. He makes the kinds of endlessly rewatchable films that you can purely enjoy on a surface level, but if you choose to dig deeper and think about the themes that he’s constantly exploring (the complicated relationships between parents and their children, the eternal fight for basic human rights, the importance of not losing one’s inner child, the fearless embracement of the unknown, and the unsolvable moral dilemmas that society is consistently confronted with), you’ll often find a treasure trove of complexity, wisdom, boldness, and above all else, empathy.

To commemorate the release of his new film Disclosure Day (which I saw a couple of days ago and need to see again immediately, as I am still very much so processing all of its dense ideas, but needless to say, I loved it and I highly encourage everyone to check it out on the big screen), I wanted to talk about some of Spielberg’s most underseen works, one from each completed decade of his work. These are the hidden gems that perhaps inevitably go unnoticed in a filmography of 35 motion pictures that includes all-time classics like Jaws (1975), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981),  E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982), Jurassic Park (1993), Schindler’s List (1993), and Saving Private Ryan (1998). Some of the films that I’ll discuss here are among my absolute favorite Spielberg films, while others are admittedly not quite on that caliber, but all of them are certainly worth watching, and they all showcase a wide array of cinematic abilities that Spielberg possesses, as well as his continuing maturation as an artist.

The Sugarland Express (1974)

The Sugarland Express represents a lot of firsts in regards to Spielberg’s filmography. It was his first theatrically released film, after he had worked as a television director at the beginning of his career, most notably on the TV film Duel (1971), which is often considered the best made-for-TV film of all time. It was his very first collaboration with his beloved composer and close friend John Williams, which is insane to consider given that now Disclosure Day is their thirtieth collaboration, and at the ripe age of 94, it’s just remarkable that Williams is still able to compose beautiful music like this (and yes, this is the track I’m currently listening to on repeat as I write this). It was the first time that any filmmaker got the chance to use what was at the time the brand-new Panavision Panaflex camera, which provided smooth tracking shots as well as ambitious zooms, and subsequent evolutions of the Panaflex camera would end up becoming Spielberg’s preferred choice. It was the first time that Spielberg told a story based on true events, and he certainly chose a riveting story to begin with, as the film revolves around an unemployed mother (played by Goldie Hawn) who helps her incarcerated husband (played by William Atherton) escape from prison, and soon enough they take a police officer (played by Michael Sacks) hostage in his cruiser, as they drive across Texas to get to their infant child before he is placed in foster care, all while being chased by a growing caravan of police cars, news vans, and ordinary citizens following along who find themselves enraptured with the criminal couple.

Part of my affection for the film stems from the fact that it takes place in the Greater Houston area, as it’s just neat to get a vivid time capsule of my current home, but mostly my admiration goes towards the masterful craft shown in the filmmaking, which is particularly impressive given that Spielberg was merely 26 years old when he directed The Sugarland Express (a timely fun fact for nowadays, when young directors like Curry Baker and Kane Parsons are doubted because of their youthfulness). All of the techniques he acquired while filming cars on the road during Duel are now put into full effect here, as there are some terrific chase sequences and stunts throughout, and it contains probably the largest amount of police cars you’ll see in any film… other than the comedy classic The Blues Brothers (1980), which funny enough happens to feature Spielberg in a brief cameo.

But apart from the film’s notable technical qualities, it also features some great performances (Spielberg has always been an actor’s director just as much as he has been a visual director), and it has this great way of incorporating levity and warmth to a story that gets increasingly tragic as it goes along. That kind of tonal balancing act is tough enough for any filmmaker, and the fact that Spielberg achieved it at such a young age is a testament to how adept he was from the very beginning.

Empire of the Sun (1987)

Out of all the films listed on this blog post, this is the one with the initial critical reception that I find most baffling, as it is an excellent example of a masterpiece that was gravely misunderstood upon first release.

Based on the semi-autobiographical novel by the lauded author J. G. Ballard, Empire of the Sun stars a young Christian Bale in his breakout role, playing a British lad who is separated from his wealthy parents amid the Japanese occupation of China during World War II, and we watch as he struggles to survive as a prisoner of war at an internment camp. Most critics at the time of the film’s release were seemingly confused by its heightened tone, as they thought that Spielberg had incorrectly relied on too much childlike whimsy and wonder for a story as grim as this one. 

What I find so puzzling about this critical reception is that the film is quite pointedly told through the eyes of a privileged child who has led a sheltered life up until his forceful separation from his family, and when confronted with the senseless horrors of war, he chooses to rely on the fantasies of his imagination, because that’s the only way he can make sense of his traumatizing surroundings. He’s obsessed with fighter planes, boyishly idealizing them as the most majestic creations, even as he witnesses them being used as weapons of mass destruction. The fact that Spielberg’s father Arnold served as a plane gunner for the US Air Corps during the war adds an extra level of poignancy to the whole proceedings. This is one of the most devastating cinematic depictions of the loss of innocence, and every moment of supposed whimsy has the palpable undercurrent of a child who is deathly afraid to reckon with his harsh reality. Spielberg is often well-known for directing some of the best child performances in cinema and this is no exception, as the 13-year-old Bale showcases a profound level of commitment and a depth of emotion that just breaks your heart.

Along with some great supporting turns from John Malkovich and Miranda Richardson, some of the most painterly compositions in any Spielberg film (courtesy of the terrific cinematographer Allen Daviau), a typically stirring score by Williams, and some truly astonishing production design work by Norman Reynolds and Harry Cordwell (as they accomplish the formidable task of recreating the look of wartorn Shanghai during the 1940s), Empire of the Sun is incredibly underappreciated, both as a grand historical epic and as an intimate coming-of-age story. It is a must-see for anyone interested in World War II stories.

Hook (1991)

Now we get to one of the most maligned films in Spielberg’s career, a movie that has become a childhood favorite for many people but that is still dismissed by most film fans out there. Even Spielberg himself has said that he does not particularly like Hook, and that he felt very insecure about its quality as he was making it. Well, my personal take is that not only is Hook quite a moving film, I think it’s arguably the most crucial turning point in Spielberg’s whole filmography.

I have to give full credit here to the film critic Bilge Ebiri (an incredibly intelligent and perceptive film analyst), as during a guest appearance on the podcast Blank Check (my favorite podcast to listen to) where he was actually discussing his love of Empire of the Sun, he presented his theory that Spielberg’s filmography can basically be bifurcated into two halves: The first half of his career consists of films that are primarily from the point of view of a child, and the second half of his career consists of films that are primarily from the point of view of a parent. With this in mind, the movie in the middle of his filmography that feels like the most thematically identifiable turning point is Hook, in ways that go beyond the story and into Spielberg’s own personal life.

On paper, the plot of the movie certainly sounds very familiar, as it depicts a grown-up version of Peter Pan (played by the one and only Robin Williams) who has largely forgotten his childhood and become a workaholic father, at the expense of spending time with his wife and his two kids. However, when his old archenemy Captain Hook (played with over-the-top glee by Dustin Hoffman) kidnaps his children, Peter must return to Neverland to save them, and in the process, he rediscovers his inner child self.

When the film first came out, there was a pervasive feeling amongst critics that Spielberg had gotten far too sentimental in his work, that his earnest attempts to evoke magical awe had become tiring, and that quite fittingly, he needed to grow up. You can tell these reviewers were smugly patting themselves on the back, reveling in their own cynicism towards Spielberg’s childlike optimism. After all, what could possibly be more eye-rollingly childish about a film that encourages one to find the joy in life and the love of those we cherish? What a silly goal for a film to have…

That’s the thing that has always driven me nuts about the ways people often criticize Spielberg’s work, and the bad rap that sentimentality gets as a whole, even outside of cinema, just in everyday life. There’s this increasingly modern perspective that sentimentality is a sign of immaturity, a naive quality held by those who are blindly holding on to the delusion of hope, and that cynicism is the mark of true maturity, as if you supposedly see the world for what “it really is,” under a veil of constant pessimism and hopeless doomscrolling. I fundamentally disagree with this way of looking at the world. And look, the last thing I want is to sound ignorant about the current state of global affairs. It is abundantly clear that the world is plagued with countless problems, that we are living through tumultuous times, and that it’s very hard to keep one’s spirits high in the midst of all the negativity that surrounds us. I just don’t think that the answer to these situations is to wallow in misery and despair, as I would much rather hold onto whatever semblance of hope is still there, no matter how trivial or insignificant it might appear on a grander scale.

What I always appreciate about Spielberg’s films is that, even when they’re at their most bleak and uncompromisingly brutal (which they often can be, much more than people care to admit or even realize), they never neglect the importance of hope, nor do they ever pretend as if everything is alright in the world. Spielberg simply has a genuine belief in the goodness that people possess beneath their various flaws, and that belief is in its most heartfelt form in Hook.

To me, there’s just something inherently powerful about taking the character of Peter Pan, the boy who never wanted to grow up, and telling a story in which he actually ended up becoming an adult, and he has to remember all the innocent joy that used to define his life once upon a time. It’s something that really resonates with me at this transitional point in my life, where the future feels most uncertain, and I find myself struggling to adapt to the realities of an independent adult lifestyle. And you can feel that Spielberg was actively working through his own transitional point as well, not only because he had recently become a father around the time he made the film, but even more so because he finally reconciled with his own father, with whom his relationship had been strained since his parents divorced.

So yes, I will gladly say that this children’s film featuring Lost Boys skateboarding and shooting eggs at bumbling pirates is a beautiful addition to the Peter Pan mythos and a lovely stepping stone in Spielberg’s filmography.

Munich (2005)

Alright everyone, settle in, cause here comes another hyperbolic statement from yours truly: Not only do I think Munich is Spielberg’s single most underrated film, I’ll go as far as to say that it is the most underrated film by any major filmmaker in the 21st Century. I say that because although this film actually garnered some strong reviews and awards consideration at the time of its release, it has since been largely forgotten, and it is scarcely discussed today among film fans.

The story tackles a heavy subject matter, as it starts with a real terrorist attack that occurred during the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich, in which eleven Israeli athletes were murdered by members of the Palestinian militant group Black September. The film then revolves around Avner Kaufman (played by Eric Bana), an Israeli intelligence agent who is tasked with assassinating the eleven Palestinians responsible for this attack. He is assisted by a team consisting of a driver (played by Daniel Craig), an explosives expert (played by Mathieu Kassovitz), a fixer (played by Ciarán Hinds), and a document forger (played by Hanns Zischler).

What is most miraculous about the film is that it manages to operate as a tension-filled espionage thriller while simultaneously presenting ethical debates about the cyclical nature of vengeance, one’s loyalty towards their home country, and the sheer notion of land ownership. This movie features some of the most suspenseful set pieces I’ve ever seen in any film (without spoiling too much, a pivotal scene involving a telephone bomb never fails to get my heart racing), with some of Spielberg’s most inspired usage of reflective surfaces for one stunning shot after another, but it also features some impeccably written discussions that linger in the mind long after the film is finished.

With a topic as divisive and controversial as this, it would be very easy for the film to definitively pick a stance and make a didactic statement about who’s right and who’s wrong. But Spielberg boldly refuses to choose a side, and he resists any temptation to demonize either country. The characters in this film are neither heroes nor villains; they are just complicated human beings who make mistakes and carry regrets. Spielberg applies all the emotional maturity he has acquired to present the situation with unflinching honesty. He asks us some tough questions, and he encourages us to come up with our own conclusions.

Of all the films that Spielberg has made, Munich is the one that looks and feels the most like the kind of film I’d like to make someday, which is why it holds a particularly special place in my heart.

The Adventures of Tintin (2011)

Last but not least, we have the immensely entertaining ride that is The Adventures of Tintin, Spielberg’s first foray into the limitless world of motion capture animation.

Based on the comic book series by the Belgian artist Hergé, the film follows the titular young journalist Tintin (played by Jamie Bell), as he searches for the sunken treasure of a pirate ship called the Unicorn, alongside his adorable pet dog Snowy and the sea captain Archibald Haddock (played by Andy Serkis), whose ancestor is the key to the film’s mystery.

Watching the film, one cannot helpt but be reminded of Spielberg’s earlier work in the Indiana Jones films, and indeed this practically feels like Spielberg’s apology for Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008), probably the most disappointing movie in his filmography (though I must say that I’ve been wanting to rewatch it recently, as it has been a while and I suspect that I might enjoy it more if I gave it a chance now). But what makes it stand out is that Spielberg finds himself in the uncharted territory of an entirely animated realm, and boy does he take creative advantage of the medium.

The Adventures of Tintin is one of the most infectiously enjoyable films in Spielberg’s career primarily because you can sense that he’s having fun with all the elaborate camera movements, the inventive transitions, the complete stylistic freedom that is imbued through every exuberant frame. And although admittedly the storytelling here is not very layered or weighty, it also doesn’t really have to be. It’s a film that simply wants to entertain you as much as humanly possible, with likeable characters, exotic locations, amusing moments of levity, sincere moments of pathos, and most of all, spectacular action sequences. On every single one of those fronts, the film succeeds in spades.

I hope at some point you feel persuaded to check out at least one of these films, as they are all rewarding cinematic experiences in their own ways. I just feel so lucky to be alive at a time when Steven Spielberg is still making movies; that’s a legitimate privilege that I do not take for granted. As far as I’m concerned, there’s not a single director who showcases more tonal versatility, more innate understanding of the cinematic language, or more emotional intelligence than him. That’s why he’s the GOAT.

Now he’s supposedly working on a western that may or may not be a reboot of Westworld, and I’m gonna need to see that banger as soon as humanly possible!