Juggernaut (1974, Richard Lester)

Nearly goddam perfect, but it should be noted that the following are features, not bugs: Lots of characters in a cross-section of society (in this case, on a luxury liner), which usually means less depth, but here everyone is painted with such deft brushstrokes that they come alive regardless; a cold, distant camera that observes rather than tells the action, sometimes turning stars (like Anthony Hopkins) into scenery; yet at the same time, not above some razzmatazz (like introducing our heroes in front of a huge crimson painting). And of course, a mad bomber with fiendishly clever traps. I imagine the stiff-upper-lippedness of the British characters could grate on some, but the tension is handled with such remarkable aplomb that their reserved nature adds to the film. (Compared with the panicky nitwits of the same year’s The Towering Inferno, Juggernaut’s potential victims, from the steward to the bag man, convey plenty of soul through stoicism.) A shame about the kids, then; loud nuisances all, with the implicit notion that they’re better not seen and not heard, and that’s just a missed opportunity, methinks.