the once misunderstood The Night of the Hunter. To match his twisted vision, Stanley Cortez went even darker than most films noir, had a field day with double focal points, explored wide angled shots, and more

Ingmar Bergman was known for his black and white photography for a while, but perhaps his most triumphant foray into colour is Cries and Whispers. Exploring the heavy uses of black, white, and red, cinematographer Sven Nykvist had his work cut out for him. He still persevered, rendering this domestic drama into a monochromatic illustration of apparitions, blood, and the overhanging fear of death.

The night, a gentle hush, where worries fade and dreams take flight.

The moonlight sky, a canvas painted with silver, where stars twinkle like diamonds scattered across velvet.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.

Peace is always beautiful.

Sergei Parajanov reinvented cinema in a way that no one else has for decades since. He helped resort the medium back to what it once was: motion pictures (although there is a heavy emphasis on the latter word).

This experiment of yellows, sepias and tans makes every image feel like a photograph from another era, transporting you not just to a different time, but within the literal relics of history.

After the artistic success of The Cranes are Flying, director Mikhail Kalatozov and cinematographer Sergey Urusevsky teamed up again for a film that somehow looked even better. The ever-daring aesthetic genius in I Am Cuba took what already made Cranes outstanding and brought it to another level,

wake up early.

sunset dreams and starlit nights.

Before there was Sir Roger Deakins turning a dismal world into a vribrant wonderland in Blade Runner 2049, Jordan Cronenweth made the original neo noir classic a colour film that was just as dark as the films noir that cam before it. The only life here comes in the form of cold blue lighting, and it shines off of the advertisements, through the broken blinds, and off of the faces of the damaged citizens of a broken dystopia.

In Persona, Ingmar Bergman sought to destroy film as we know it forever. Sven Nykvist played ball, but it’s interesting how by-the-book the cinematographer still performed (in a meta experiment to separate this very medium from its foundations). Still, Nykvist went the extra mile by turning his photography into illusionary masterworks, with silhouettes and shadows colliding,

It is a masterpiece of a film, and Bernardo Bertolucci’s opus. Photographically, Vittorio Storaro has never been better, with jaw dropping shots, movement selection, and the colour palette (my God the palette!).

Stanley Kubrick told an epic of the many centuries of humanity (from our primitive roots to the great technological beyond). With this story comes magical work from Geoffrey Unsworth, who manages to somehow reinvent the cinematic language shot after shot after shot.

The Tree of Life is the same kind of cinematic euphoria but for arthouse enthusiasts. Even if you are not religious, The Tree of Life is a singular spiritual ritual that film lovers must experience once, and a bulk of this transcendence comes from Lubezki's finest art to date.