All language subtitles for 10 Most Emotional Movies of All Time.en

Movies are all about emotions and
not just the one's we see on screen.

This week we wanna focus on
the one's we feel as an audience.

This are the top ten most emotional
moments in movies of all time.

[MUSIC]

Kicking us off at number ten, when we
think about getting emotional in a movie,

the first thing that comes
to mind is the tearjerker.

And we'll admit it, we've been known to
tear up once or maybe twice, definitely no

more than three times, in scenes like
Brooks's departure in Shawshank.

The opening montage in UP, that one
scene from I Am Legend, or Iron Giant or

Pay it forward, or The NeverEnding Story,
you know the ones we're talking about.

The ending of a Dancer in the Dark and
Big Fish and

pretty much the entirety
of Grave of the Fireflies.

However, we're not gonna even try to
deny that we were blubbering in goddamn

hysterics by the end of
Fruitvale Station for our first pick.

>> Hey, man, what the fuck is this?

What the fuck?

I didn't do shit.

Get off me, man.

>> [INAUDIBLE]
>> Roll over.

>> No way, man.

>> [INAUDIBLE]
>> Shit.

>> [INAUDIBLE]
[SOUND]

Of course,

we're not too proud to
admit we cry in movies.

It's actually, an incredibly cathartic
experience and it's pretty to see that

looking at Fruitvale in all of
our honorable mentions together.

That these out pourings of
grief are coupled with loss but

loss over character we've truly
come to love and feel for.

And that's where Fruitvale
uniquely succeeds,

it just has us hang out
with Oscar Grant for a day.

We get to see his victories, his flaws,
his most intimate human moments.

And Michael B Jordan so
brilliantly, unselfconsciously,

humbly portrays him that we just love
him like a family member by the end.

And then it is taken away for
no reason at all.

And of course, it's all the more
heart-breaking because it's true.

It really happened.

And we don't wanna preach, but

we think if everyone in America sat
down and watched Fruitvale Station.

We might all be able to approach the
current political discourse about race and

police with a little more kindness and
empathy.

Of course loss isn't the only
reason we cry in theaters.

Happy tears are a thing too.

They come from moments of loving
kindness between humans and

sometimes that warmth makes us cry.

But why?

Well, we feel so immensely happy
because we have a biological

tendency to mirror the emotions we see.

And the more invested in the person
we're mirroring the more we mirror it.

But the tears?

Well, they're sort of
an emotional overload.

Our body gets so

incredibly overwhelmed by positive emotion
chemicals that it can't function properly.

So, it turns the thermostat hard left and

dumps in some tear chemicals
to balance us out.

For us this happens in scenes like
Ego's childhood in Ratatouille.

The comforting in Cries and Whispers,
the blind man's crossing in Amelie, and

the reunion in A Knight's Tale.

It's like the ending of Fargo and
Million Dollar Baby and Princess Bride, of

Shawshank and Cinema Paradiso and Return
of the King and Pursuit of Happiness.

However, if there's one scene that takes
the cake, it's gotta be the full strength

warmth extract that is the ending
of It's a Wonderful Life.

>> A toast.

>> [LAUGH]
>> To my big brother, George.

The richest man in town.

>> [APPLAUSE]
>> According to file of Alexandria,

the stoic is to practice negative
visualization to premeditate on

evils on the worst possible
things that can happen in life.

And as a result,

they will find that in reality of their
life is cast into wonderful relief.

Filling them with happiness in warmth and

gratitude where previously there was
greed and envy and dissatisfaction.

And it's a wonderful life
is in essence the cinematic

embodiment of this stoic principle.

George Bailey is taken through
a world in which he is a non-being.

And not only does he learn how
important he is to his world but

how important his world is to him.

And he's forced to visualize his own
personal worst-case evils along the way.

So, when we get to this scene here,
bounding through the door,

excitedly surrendering
himself with a zeal for life.

We can't help but to match his excitement.

He is grateful at those
things which irritated him,

he is overflowing with love for
his children and wife.

And then,
as if that weren't nearly enough,

his entire community comes to embrace him.

To support him, to save him, to love him,
in a moment of pure belonging and

togetherness, and God,
does it just feel so good?

Now, somewhere in between the good crying
warmth and sad crying loss sits longing.

There's less of a shock than with grief,
less breath stealing sudden loss.

Instead, there's just a quiet
sense of what can never be,

a gulf between what we wish could
exist and what we know won't.

A film convinces us to root for
an outcome and

then shows us that it will never happen.

Take the moments of lost and
translation and hurt.

Ava with her dress in Ex Machina.

Jole begging with his
memories in Eternal Sunshine.

It is final drive away in Broke Back and
in our number eight pick,

Long Carwise ending of In the Mood for
Love set up here.

>> [FOREIGN]

>> [FOREIGN]

>> [FOREIGN]

>> In The Mood for

Love is an entire meditation on longing.

Chow and Su have realized that their
spouses are cheating with each other.

Having decided quietly
that they love each other.

Having decided loudly that they
would take the moral high ground and

never consummate that
love eventually part.

Their lives go separate ways.

And just like that, their chapter ends.

Never to return again to
that place that almost was.

And in a moment of absolute poetry,
built a top that perfect setup the film

ends on a hauntingly,
lonely moment in anger or what.

Carlisle moves slow revealing
Chow's intention softly,

allowing us to puzzle out
his strange behavior.

Remember what he'd said and then in a
moment of devastating revelation realized.

That he's burying his hope for good.

But enough of tears.

Cinema doesn't just make us cry.

Sometimes it makes us leap for
joy and giggle giddily with Glee.

Gandalf's explosive arrival in
Fellowship is classic Glee,

as is the Willy Wonka role.

As is Brad Pitt's visor flip reveal
at the end of Ocean's Eleven.

Or the brilliant Mobi Q that kicks
in End of The Bourne Ultimatum and

there's Musical Glee.

Think Big's chopsticks,

School of Rock's final concert,
Little Miss Sunshine's dance.

Singing In The Rain's titular song, and

the musical parade's of both 500 days
of summer and Ferris Bueller's day off.

They're not exactly humor in the punch
line sense, but they are humorous.

In fact, the kind of comedy that
best encapsulates this emotion is

slapstick comedy.

And there perhaps no one who's done it
more gleefully than Charlie Chaplin.

His made his clever with glee and
just about every film he has ever made.

But our favorite moment has to be
The Oceana Roll in The Gold Rush.

[MUSIC]

There is perhaps no smile
as infectious as his here.

And sure, there is certainly
a wistfulness to the scene,

in that it takes place in the prospector's
fantasy, and not his reality.

But Chaplin's characters are so
unflappably optimistic and

in love with life that even that can
not spoil the joy of the fantasy.

Because while a slightly later beat
uses the glee of this moment to contrast

the loneliness of reality.

It is not without first
letting us fully inhabit and

feel the happiness to it's fullest extent,
and what an extent it is.

It speaks volumes to the charisma and
lovability of Chaplin that this

moment works so well, but it does,
because it has us smiling every time.

Almost as enlivening as the gold
rush's glee is the victorious

It's a sense of accomplishment, of value,
of being a part of something that is not

only succeeded but proven itself of
righteous worth and you're on board.

Think Casablanca' or Ringing of the Bell,
or Braveheart's freedom.

It's in every Rocky movie ever.

It's a half dozen battle
speeches in Lord of the Rings and

the announcer's title defining
proclamation from Miracle.

It's Rudy and Hoosiers and every other
sports movie with a happy ending.

And for our pick, it's gotta be the
imminently quotable I am Spartacus scene

from Stanley Kubrick's Spartacus.

>> Slaves you were and slaves you remain.

But the terrible penalty of
crucifixion has been set aside

on the single condition that
you identify the body or

the living person of
the slave called Spartacus.

[MUSIC]

>> I'm Spartacus!

>> I'm Spartacus!

>> I'm Spartacus!

>> I'm Spartacus!
>> I'm Spartacus!

>> I'm Spartacus!

>> I'm Spartacus!

>> I'm Spartacus!

>> It is gleefully surprising.

It is just.

It is a clever turn and
a moral victory all at once.

Not only is Spartacus attempting
to sacrifice himself for

the benefit of everyone else, but everyone
else then sacrifices themselves for

the benefit of Spartacus.

It is a massive, faith restoring
outpouring of support that instills in us

such a wonderful sense of the power of
community that all you want to do when

watching it is stand up and
declare that you too, are Spartacus.

In the middle of the theater,
or in your living room.

[SOUND] Next up, we've got anger and rage.

Sometimes a scene is so infuriating,
it just has you yelling at the screen.

And we don't mean this
in an Indiana Jones and

the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull kind of
way, where you're mad at the filmmakers.

No, we mean more like you're angry
inside the scope of the narrative.

You're so
invested in what's going to happen

that you're made at the characters for
allowing it to happen.

Think about the final fight in Gladiator
when fairness is snatched away, or

Mufasa's betrayal in The Lion King, or
the harassment of the child from Platoon.

>> There's any scene with Percy from The
Green Mile, the lie from Atonement, and

the bullying from Let The Right One In.

Network and Do The Right Thing
build us up to a sense of

outrage along with their main characters.

Where Funny Games directs our angers
at the rules of the story telling

universe itself.

However for our number five pick, we've
gotta go with Upems failure of courage

from Saving Private Ryan.

>> Uphem!

[SOUND]

Uphem,

Uphem!

Uphem, ammo god dammit!

[SOUND] This scene is particularly
brilliant because it balances

our anger with sympathy,
compassion and hopefulness.

We want so badly for
Uphem to overcome his fear and

give us the victorious cathartic moment
we know that movies so often deliver.

But this very hope is
the thing that betrays us.

The very fact that we believed in
Uphem is what makes us so mad at him.

He could've done it,
he could have saved them but he didn't.

And in a way it's almost like we're
talking to ourselves when we yell

at them on the screen.

Like we're berating the coward inside of
us that wants to hide in the corner when

things get scary.

Shouting him in to compliance
because we all have that part and

we all want to believe that we've
sufficiently conquered our Uphem.

But in an all out urban assault where
we're facing near certain death.

Who knows?

Maybe our hope is for not.

Maybe our belief in courage
will be our downfall.

And the fact that this scene invites such
a turbulent inner conflict is exactly why

it's so brilliant.

[SOUND] In a similar vein to the anger
response where you're just shouting please

do anything else, just not that
at the screen is embarrassment.

Where you more groan it,

peeking out from one closed eye through
your fingers hiding under your seat.

It's the experience of cringe or
second hand embarrassment.

A vicarious experience of shame
at the social miscues performed

by those you care about.

And in real life, this might be you as
teenager cringing at how lame your dad is.

But in movies it's got more to do
with you realizing your hero is

walking himself into a social failure
of epic proportions before they do.

Think moments like Fargo's Mike Yanagita.

It's social train wrecks, like
Bridesmaids' engagement party speeches,

Young Adult's baby shower, and
Taxi Driver's dirty movie.

There's Carrie's period,
Vertigo's forced makeover, and

The Graduate's hotel booking.

However, for our number four pick,
we think it's pretty uncontroversial to

crown Swingers' answering machine
scene the king of cringe.

>> Hi, Nikki.

This is Mike.

I met you at the Dresden tonight.

I just called to say that I had a great
time and you should call me tomorrow

or in a two days, whatever.

Anyway, my number is 213-555-4679.

[SOUND]
>> God, it's a train wreck in slow motion.

He doesn't stop, he keeps digging
the hole deeper and deeper and deeper.

It's a social catastrophe even
though Favreau is so lovably,

vulnerably pathetic while doing it.

And the scene works because it just
doesn't let up, it lingers there,

and it lets us stew in it.

It seems to revel and

even find joy in extending Mike's
humiliation to it's utmost extent.

Every time he goes back
to clarify himself,

he kind of sort of has a good reason or
at least a believable one.

If the film just had him dialing time
after time for the sake of humor and

schadenfreude, that
probably wouldn't work.

But his repeated failed attempts to
recover his sinking ship are entirely

embedded in his character in that moment
and for that reason, it is brilliant.

[MUSIC]

A step down from embarrassment
is the more serious discomfort.

It's not just a harmless social mishap.

This is a significant moral
transgression that we, an audience,

are powerless to stop.

This is dinner from 10 Cloverfield Lane,
the dentist's appointment from

hell from Marathon Man, the three minutes
of near-hanging from 12 Years A Slave.

It's sociopathy like almost anything
from We Need to Talk About Kevin,

the about face from Anomalisa,
and Goodfellas funny guy.

It's Nightcrawler's twisted
dinner negotiation to a tee.

But for our discomfort pick,
we don't think there's anything harder to

watch than Happiness's honest
conversation between father and

son about the father's pedophilia.

>> Dad, did you, with Johnny Grasso,
and Ronald Farber?

>> Yes.

>> What did you do?

>> I fucked them.

>> What was it like?

>> It was, It was great.

>> Happiness is a film that pretty much
spends its entire run time belonging in

either this category or the one before.

Either cringe-worth or
incredibly grotesquecally discomforting.

Filled with suicide and pedophilia and
rape and sexual hang up and

pretty much everything but
its titular emotion.

But it's also simultaneously
astonishingly human.

It shocks us with the depravity
of its characters,

particularly Bill, all the while worming
its way deep under our skin by deciding

not to be simplistic in black and white.

We're invited and
positioned to understand and emphatize and

even identify with a pedophile.

Asking us to look deeply at the parts
of ourselves that hopefully

don't abuse children, but
almost kind of relate.

Again, not to the pedophilic impulse but
to the emotion in abstract,

to overwhelming desire.

And in an everyday well adjusted
human is deeply repressed and

probably not directed towards minors.

But there's craving and

urges that threatened to overwhelm us if
not Properly attended to and sublimated.

And that what Happiness does that is
brilliant, and bold, and very challenging.

It doesn't present the sex offender as
an outsider of the human experience, but

simply a boundary specimen,
an extreme case of what exists In us all.

It operates on the premise that we are all
made up of the same psychological stuff,

only in greater or lesser quantities.

So sure, Bill's got a much higher
dose of rapiness than you or I but

the building blocks, they're the same,
and that is deeply disquieting.

[NOISE] Stick with us here,
our number two is one last stop on the bad

feeling portion of our
emotional journey together.

But in a far less icky way,
in fact it's our favorite way to feel bad.

And hard as that is to understand
it's just as hard to describe.

It's a combination of awe and emptiness,

of smallness in the face of
the vastness of the universe.

Call it existential angst or dread, or

the unbearable heaviness
of being in nothingness.

It is the feeling of conviction
that our life is terrifyingly,

isolating meaningless.

And if our clumsy attempts to
describe the emotion aren't helping,

maybe the best thing to do would
be to show you some examples.

It's like the ending of Memento,

recalling happy memories of a dead
wife who he accidentally killed.

Or many of the futile scenes from Du La
Vonde with characters staring directly

into the camera begging to connect,
yet failing to do so.

It's the whispered goodbye
at the end of Room,

the wailing transition that
concludes Waltz with Bashir.

The frustrating lack of closure at
the end of Inside Llewyn Davis, and

A Serious Man, and Blowup.

It's the wind blowing through
the reeds in The Mirror.

It's how we imagine Bill Murray
feels pretty much 95% of the time.

But for our number two pick, it's gotta
go to a wonderful movie we mention

far too little, Synecdoche, New York.

Now much like In the Mood for

Love is longing in a bottle, Synecdoche
is, whatever this is, incarnate.

So there's lots to choose from, and
while the preacher speech is an oft

praised scene, that's almost a little
too feel good for this slot.

The ending is brutally this, holy [BLEEP],
it's utter existential devastation.

However, for our slot we're going to go
out on a limb here and give it to the very

bizarre, very beautiful memory where Caden
and his daughter pretend they're fairies.

[NOISE]
>> Dear diary, I'm afraid I'm gravely ill.

It is perhaps times like these
that one reflects on things past.

An article of clothing
from when I was young.

A green jacket, a walk with my father,
a game we once played.

Pretend we're fairies, I'm a girl
fairy and my name is Lauralee, and

you're a boy fairy and
your name is Teeteree.

Pretend when we're fairies
we fight each other, and

I say stop hitting me or I'll die.

And you hit me again, and
I say now I have to die.

And you say but I'll miss you.

And I say I have to.

And you'll have to wait a million years to
see me again, and I'll be put in a box.

And all I'll need is a tiny glass of
water, and lots of tiny pieces of pizza.

And the box will have
wings like an airplane.

And you ask where will it take you?

Home, I say.

[MUSIC]

>> I'm going to be honest.

This scene is so bizarre and inscrutably
beautiful and strangely specific in a sad

childlike sort of way that somehow renders
it all the more believable and affecting.

That it's really hard
to unpack how it works.

Charlie Kaufman, the writer behind
such complicated emotional pieces as

Being John Malkovich, and Adaptation, and
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,

made this his directorial debut.

And the man is just,
he's an absolute genius.

And this scene works in so
many different ways, on so

many different levels that speak
almost to a purely emotional logic.

And this film has been argued over,
and praised, and decried to no end.

And we won't pretend we understand it or
its genius, because we don't.

All I'll say is this, to us it started
making a lot more sense, if perhaps at

the expense of some of the magic, when
we learn what drove Kaufman to write it.

He sent out to write
an existential horror,

a film that preys on all of our fears
not viscerally but philosophically.

And so perhaps it is just Charlie Kaufman
pushing our most primaly emotional

buttons.

But we choose to keep believing
what we did when we first saw it.

That it's him whispering the sad
secrets of the universe from

just far enough away that we'll hear.

[SOUND] And finally, because we wouldn't
want to leave you feeling too emotionally

broken, we wanna to look at another
feeling that's difficult to describe.

We think the best world here is frisson,

a feeling of chills at
the overwhelmingness of beauty.

The oceanic feeling of being
a part of something whole.

Catharsis where our number
two pick was emptiness.

It is our welcome to Jurassic Park.

It is Jim singing with
the pilots in Empire of the Sun.

It is the endings of Gattaca,
The Fountain, and Stalker.

It is Adonis getting up for
his final round in Creed.

It is the overwhelming feeling we get from
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring.

And for our number one pick, it's gotta
be the ceasefire from Children of Men.

>> [SOUND] [NOISE]
>> [FOREIGN]

>> Stop, cease fire!

Cease firing!

>> Cease firing!

>> Cease firing!

>> Cease firing!

[SOUND]
[SOUND]

[MUSIC]

>> Coming through.

>> [SOUND]
[MUSIC]

There is something intrinsic and

primal to all humans,

about the uniting,

reconciliatory power of childbirth.

Along with survival,

successful reproduction is the strongest
of all evolutionary motivators.

Above all else,
we are programmed to respond to babies.

And there is nothing greater than
the biological imperative of the child.

And Children of Men basically
dials this concept up to 11.

Suddenly this very singular,
uniting purpose and

necessity of humankind is stripped away.

And we are left with the bleak nihilistic
reality of extinction in its place.

And then, in the middle of it,
a ray of hope.

An infant that is, in essence,
the child of all men and women.

The only one there is, it is a moment
of meaning amidst other desolation.

It is the power of hope incarnate.

An impeachable,
universally lovable thing, a baby.

And to see a host of grown man floored and
humbled and

silenced by the healthy cries of
the newborn is moving like nothing else.

We are left with our spine tingling,
our eyes glistening, and

the hairs on the back of our neck on end.

Which is why we think it just might be the
most emotional movie moment of all time.

So what do you think?

There's so many we left out and
room for so many more categories.

What are your picks?

Do you want a part two?

Let us know in the comments below and

be sure to subscribe for
more Cineflex movie lists.

[MUSIC]