Movie of the Year is on the hunt to find the best film of each and every year, in the only way that matters: brackets. Join Greg, Mike, and Ryan, as they discuss what makes a film matter now vs when it came out. There will be games. There will be drinks. There will be points. There will only be one Movie of the Year. ", "Movie of the Year is on the hunt to find the best film of each and every year, in the only way that matters: brackets. Join Greg, Mike, and Ryan, as they discuss what makes a film matter now vs when it came out. There will be games. There will be drinks. There will be points. There will only be one Movie of the Year.
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Movie of the Year: 2006Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull StoryThe Tristram Shandy Podcast Opens the 2006 Bracket
The Tristram Shandy podcast episode kicks off our brand new 2006 bracket on Movie of the Year. After crowning our way through 1971, the Taste Buds turn to a fresh film year. Moreover, we start with one of the strangest comedies of the decade. Michael Winterbottom's Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story is a film about making a film of an unfilmable book. Consequently, it makes a perfect launch title for a show that loves movies about movies. In this episode, Ryan, Mike, and Greg dig into metafiction, gender, and the prickly chemistry between Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon. Additionally, two new segments make their debut. Above all, we want to set the tone for a wild 2006 season.
About the Film
Laurence Sterne published The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman in nine volumes between 1759 and 1767. The novel is famous for being playful, digressive, and nearly impossible to adapt. Notably, the narrator barely manages to get himself born across hundreds of pages. Winterbottom and his team turned that problem into the whole joke. As a result, the movie follows a fictional crew trying to film the book. Steve Coogan plays a vain version of himself, plus Tristram and his father, Walter. Meanwhile, Rob Brydon plays a needling version of himself and Uncle Toby. The screenplay carries the pseudonym "Martin Hardy," although Frank Cottrell-Boyce actually wrote it. Furthermore, the cast includes Keeley Hawes, Shirley Henderson, Dylan Moran, Naomie Harris, Kelly Macdonald, and Jeremy Northam. Gillian Anderson and Stephen Fry also appear as heightened versions of themselves. You can read more at Wikipedia or the original Roger Ebert review.
This is the first film episode of our 2006 season. To explore the wider bracket project, visit the Movie of the Year archive. If you enjoy this Tristram Shandy podcast deep dive, our A Clockwork Orange episode from the 1971 run pairs nicely with this conversation about cinematic form.
Metafiction sits at the center of our first discussion. Sterne wrote a novel that constantly reminds you it is a novel. Similarly, Winterbottom built a movie that keeps reminding you it is a movie. The crew breaks the fourth wall, argues about the script, and screens its own dailies. Therefore, the film becomes a hall of mirrors about storytelling itself. The Taste Buds ask a simple question. How do you adapt a book that mocks the idea of adaptation? Furthermore, we trace the lineage from Sterne to modern self-aware comedies. Films like Adaptation and Day for Night come up as obvious cousins. Ultimately, we argue that Winterbottom found the only honest solution. He filmed the failure instead of the book. Consequently, the movie respects Sterne by refusing to tame him.
The Battle of the Sexes on Screen
Next, we turn to gender and how the film portrays men and women. The male characters chase status, sex, and screen time with comic desperation. Coogan, in particular, frets about his shoe lifts and his billing. Meanwhile, the women in the film often hold the real power. Kelly Macdonald plays Jenny, who grounds Coogan with calm clarity. Naomie Harris plays Jennie, a production assistant who runs circles around the panicking men. Gillian Anderson arrives late and instantly reshapes the production. By contrast, the men flail and posture. So the Taste Buds debate a thorny point. Does the movie satirize male ego, or does it quietly indulge it? Additionally, we weigh how the battle of the sexes plays inside an 18th-century story. The novel and the film both poke fun at male pride. As a result, the gender comedy spans two very different centuries.
Coogan and Brydon Anchor the Tristram Shandy Podcast
Above all, the Coogan and Brydon double act drives this Tristram Shandy podcast conversation. The two comedians play exaggerated, petty versions of themselves. Their rivalry over billing, teeth, and impressions fuels the funniest scenes. Notably, this dynamic later powered the beloved series The Trip. The Taste Buds dig into why their friction feels so real. Brydon needles, Coogan bristles, and the comedy snaps into focus. Furthermore, we discuss how improvisation shapes their banter. The closing Al Pacino impression duel becomes a highlight. Meanwhile, we ask whether the pair actually like each other on screen. The answer stays gloriously unclear. Consequently, their chemistry gives a chilly intellectual film a warm, human pulse.
Rushmore: The Mount Rushmore of 2006 Television
Our Rushmore segment asks each host to carve a Mount Rushmore of 2006 television. The year was loaded with future classics. For instance, The Wire aired its acclaimed fourth season. Meanwhile, The Office, 30 Rock, and Friday Night Lights were all finding their feet. Additionally, prestige newcomers like Dexter and Heroes premiered to big buzz. The hosts each pick four shows and defend their choices. Naturally, the debate gets heated fast. Listen to the episode to hear which four faces each Taste Bud sets in stone.
I Never Metacritic I Didn't Like
This episode debuts a brand new game called "I Never Metacritic I Didn't Like." The premise is simple and a little dangerous. We pull up a film's Metacritic profile and put the critical consensus on trial. Specifically, we test whether the aggregate score matches our own gut reactions. Tristram Shandy earned strong reviews from critics on release. However, strong scores do not always survive a Taste Buds cross-examination. Therefore, the game lets us argue with the wider critical record in real time. Expect this segment to return throughout the 2006 season. Above all, it gives us a structured excuse to fight about numbers.
Why Tristram Shandy Still Matters
Tristram Shandy still matters because it cracked a problem that had defeated everyone before it. Winterbottom proved you can film an unfilmable book by filming the attempt. Moreover, the movie launched a now-legendary comic partnership. The Coogan and Brydon collaboration grew into The Trip and its many sequels. Additionally, the film remains a sharp, funny lesson in adaptation. Film students and Sterne scholars both still cite it today. Ultimately, the Tristram Shandy 2006 podcast discussion shows why this small comedy punches far above its weight. Notably, it kicks our 2006 bracket off with brains and mischief.
Related Episodes from Movie of the Year: 2006
The 2006 season is just getting started, so this list will grow each week. For now, revisit the episodes that set up the bracket, plus a favorite from our 1971 run.
What is this Tristram Shandy podcast episode about?
In this episode, Ryan, Mike, and Greg launch the 2006 bracket by breaking down Michael Winterbottom's comedy. They cover metafiction, gender, the Coogan and Brydon dynamic, and two new segments.
What is the movie Tristram Shandy about?
The film follows a crew trying to adapt an unfilmable 18th-century novel. As they struggle, the actors' egos and offscreen lives take over the production.
Who directed Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story?
Michael Winterbottom directed the film. Frank Cottrell-Boyce wrote the screenplay under the pseudonym "Martin Hardy."
Is Tristram Shandy based on a book?
Yes. Laurence Sterne wrote The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman across nine volumes between 1759 and 1767. You can read more on Wikipedia.
Do Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon play themselves?
Yes, mostly. Both actors play exaggerated, fictional versions of themselves, and they also play characters in the film within the film. See the full cast on IMDb.
Is Tristram Shandy connected to The Trip?
Yes, in spirit. This film first paired Coogan and Brydon with Winterbottom, and that chemistry...
2006: The Sweet 16 Revealed
Thursday, May 28, 2026 • Duration 01:08:58
Movie of the Year: 2006The Sweet 16 RevealedThe Best Movies of 2006 Enter the Bracket
This episode puts the movies of 2006 on the clock, as Ryan, Mike, and Greg reveal which 16 titles advance to the bracket season. The Taste Buds have spent weeks wrestling with a starting field of 64 films, and the cuts have been real. The debates ahead will be worth every minute.
Getting from 64 films to 16 requires real conviction. Every cut involves films with legitimate credentials, passionate defenders, and strong arguments in their favor. Consequently, this episode does more than announce a list. It reflects a set of choices the Taste Buds are prepared to defend all season long.
About Movie of the Year
Movie of the Year is a PopFilter podcast built around one question: what was the best film of a given year? Ryan, Mike, and Greg select a year, assemble a 64-film bracket, and argue their way to a champion. The format rewards deep cinematic knowledge, honest disagreement, and a willingness to change your mind when the argument demands it.
The show has built a catalog of bracket seasons that reward both longtime listeners and newcomers. Each season has its own personality, shaped by the films in contention and the friction those films generate in debate. The 2006 season carries that tradition forward with a year that has only gotten more interesting with time.
2006: A Year Worth Arguing About
Few years in recent memory offer the range that 2006 does. Prestige dramas, international films, genre pictures, and independent features all had strong years, and the critical consensus at the time did not always hold up. Some films that dominated awards conversation look different now. Meanwhile, others that were overlooked at release have since built lasting reputations.
Roger Ebert captured the energy of 2006 well. His review of The Departed reflected a year when ambitious filmmaking found real audiences, and when the line between commercial and prestige cinema blurred in productive ways. Additionally, 2006 produced genuine disagreement between critics and general audiences, which is exactly the kind of tension that makes a bracket season compelling.
How the Movies of 2006 Bracket WorksThe Road to the Sweet 16A Starting Field Built for DebateWhy the Movies of 2006 Still MatterRelated Episodes from Movie of the YearFAQ: Movies of 2006 and the Bracket RevealAbout the Episode and the ShowAbout the 2006 Season
2006: A New Season Begins
Thursday, May 21, 2026 • Duration 01:35:09
Movie of the Year: 2006A New Season Begins The Movies of 2006 Podcast Begins: 128 Films Enter the Bracket
The movies of 2006 podcast is officially underway, and the Taste Buds are ready to take on one of the richest film years of the 21st century. Ryan, Mike, and Greg kick off the 2006 season on PopFilter by introducing the year, explaining the bracket structure, and beginning the first round of eliminations. Furthermore, Part 1 of the intro sets the tone for a season packed with genuine heavyweights, unlikely contenders, and some of the most debated films of the decade.
2006 delivered a field that refuses to cooperate with easy rankings. The Departed sits alongside Pan's Labyrinth, Children of Men, and Little Miss Sunshine in the same calendar year. Additionally, Casino Royale, The Prestige, Babel, Borat, and Idiocracy all arrived in 2006, representing wildly different visions of what cinema can accomplish. The Taste Buds have their work cut out for them.
About the 2006 Film Year
2006 stands as one of the most celebrated film years of the decade. Martin Scorsese's The Departed swept the Academy Awards, winning Best Picture and earning Scorsese his first Oscar for Best Director. Meanwhile, Guillermo del Toro delivered Pan's Labyrinth, a Spanish-language dark fantasy that works equally as a fairy tale and a historical horror. Alfonso Cuarón's Children of Men earned near-universal acclaim for its singular, one-take-heavy vision of a dying civilization.
The box office reflected 2006's breadth. Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest topped the global charts. Casino Royale relaunched the Bond franchise with Daniel Craig in his debut as 007. Cars kept Pixar's winning streak intact. Moreover, the comedies were just as crowded: Borat, Talladega Nights, Idiocracy, and Clerks II each built devoted audiences. Consequently, building a bracket from this year means making choices that will draw genuine disagreement from all directions.
International cinema contributed heavily to 2006's depth. Alejandro González Iñárritu's Babel earned seven Academy Award nominations after competing at Cannes. Pedro Almodóvar's Volver brought Penélope Cruz one of her most celebrated screen performances. The year also produced major releases from Darren Aronofsky (The Fountain), Sofia Coppola (Marie Antoinette), Christopher Nolan (The Prestige), and Mel Gibson (Apocalypto). In practice, few years in recent memory offer this density of debate-worthy titles across this many genres. The movies of 2006 represent a year when every corner of the industry produced something worth arguing about.
How the Movie of the Year Bracket WorksThe 2006 First Round: Inside the Movies of 2006 Podcast BracketWhy 2006 Still MattersRelated Episodes from Movie of the YearFAQ: Movies of 2006 Podcast and Film Year
1971 - The Finale, Part III
Thursday, May 14, 2026 • Duration 01:04:23
Movie of the Year: 1971The Finale, Part IIThe 1971 Film Finale Podcast: One Champion Remains
The 1971 film finale podcast brings the Taste Buds' most ambitious bracket season to its definitive conclusion. Ryan, Mike, and Greg have debated, dismissed, and championed their way through a remarkable field — and now eight films remain. In this episode, four Elite Eight matchups collapse into a single champion, and five major awards close out the season before the final verdict arrives.
Additionally, five competitive award categories — Best Sex, Best Violence, Musical Moment, Best Actor, and Best Actress — draw nominees from across the full season. Consequently, this episode stands as the richest and most content-dense installment of the year.
The Elite Eight MatchupsA Clockwork Orange vs. The DevilsHarold and Maude vs. McCabe and Mrs. MillerWanda vs. The ConformistThe French Connection vs. The Last Picture ShowThe 1971 AwardsBest SexBest ViolenceMusical MomentBest Actor
1971 - The Finale, Part II
Thursday, May 7, 2026 • Duration 53:06
Movie of the Year: 1971The Finale, Part IIThe 1971 Film Bracket Podcast Reaches the Elite Eight
This 1971 film bracket podcast returns with its most dramatic episode yet. Ryan, Mike, and Greg — the Taste Buds — work through the bottom half of the Sweet 16, producing four matchups that nobody saw coming. Furthermore, the episode hands out two major awards: Comedic Performance and Biggest Shithead. The results set the stage for Part III, where the Elite Eight will be whittled down to a single 1971 champion.
If you missed Part I of the finale, start there first. The bracket has been full of upsets throughout the season. Consequently, no outcome here should be taken for granted.
The Sweet 16: Bottom Half of the 1971 Film Bracket
The bottom half of the 1971 Sweet 16 is stacked. These four matchups pit some of the most beloved and argued-over films in the entire bracket against one another. Moreover, the range of cinema on display — from Hollywood blockbusters to European art films to New Hollywood grit — illustrates exactly why 1971 is one of the most fertile film years ever put to a bracket.
The Taste Buds debate each matchup using their standard evaluative framework: craft, cultural impact, rewatchability, and gut feeling. Above all, they trust their instincts — and their instincts have produced surprises at every turn this season. Tune in to find out which four films advance to the Elite Eight.
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory vs. Wanda
This matchup pits one of cinema's most beloved fantasies against one of its most criminally underseen gems. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory needs little introduction — Gene Wilder's performance alone has kept it in the cultural conversation for over fifty years. Nevertheless, Wanda is no pushover. Barbara Loden's Wanda (1971) is a raw, naturalistic landmark of American independent cinema, and its inclusion in the bracket has been a point of pride for whoever seeded it.
This is a clash of tone, scale, and intention. One film is a spectacle engineered for maximum delight. The other strips cinema down to its bones. However, the Taste Buds must pick one — and the pick will tell you something about where their tastes landed by the time the 1971 season reached its final stretch.
The French Connection vs. Brian's SongThe Last Picture Show vs. KluteThe Conformist vs. The Panic in Needle ParkAward: Best Comedic Performance — 1971 Film Bracket PodcastAward: Biggest Shithead of 1971Why This 1971 Film Bracket Podcast Still Matters
1971 - The Finale, Part I
Thursday, April 30, 2026 • Duration 01:17:36
Movie of the Year: 1971The Finale, Part IThe Movie of the Year 1971 Podcast Reaches Its Reckoning
The Movie of the Year 1971 podcast has arrived at its moment of reckoning. Ryan, Mike, and Greg — the Taste Buds — open the three-part finale with a full awards ceremony, a frank assessment of what 1971 means to cinema history, and the first wave of bracket eliminations. Sixteen films entered this season. Not all of them survive Part 1.
This is a different kind of episode. There is no single film to defend or dissect. Instead, the Taste Buds are doing something harder: accounting for an entire year, making choices that cannot be unmade, and sending some of the finest films ever made home without a championship. The bracket is merciless. So, it turns out, is 1971.
Part 2 continues the eliminations next week. Part 3 crowns the champion the week after. However, before any of that — the awards begin.
About This Season: Sixteen Films, One Champion
The Movie of the Year podcast runs a bracket-style competition each season, selecting the best film from a given year. This season, the Taste Buds covered sixteen films from across the full spectrum of 1971 cinema — studio blockbusters, guerrilla filmmaking, European art cinema, and Hollywood at its most unguarded. The field represents not just a great year in film, but an ongoing argument about what movies are for.
What Does 1971 Mean to the Movies?Movie of the Year 1971 Podcast Awards: Best Supporting ActressMovie of the Year 1971 Podcast Awards: Best Supporting ActorThe Eliminations: The Bracket Does Not ForgiveWhy the Movie of the Year 1971 Podcast Finale MattersRelated Episodes from Movie of the Year: 1971
1971 - Straw Dogs (feat. Erik from the Cradle to the Grave pod!)
Thursday, April 23, 2026 • Duration 01:51:01
Movie of the Year: 1971Straw Dogs (feat. Erik from the Cradle to the Grave pod!)The Straw Dogs Podcast: Peckinpah's Most Dangerous Film
The Straw Dogs podcast episode of Movie of the Year confronts one of 1971's most debated, disturbing, and relentlessly provocative films — Sam Peckinpah's psychological siege thriller starring Dustin Hoffman and Susan George. Ryan, Mike, and Greg are joined by Erik Hanson of the Cradle to the Grave podcast. Together, they examine the film's violence, its contested rape scene, and the gender dynamics at the heart of Peckinpah's vision. Consequently, no other episode this season demands more from its hosts — or from its audience.
Moreover, the 1971 film Straw Dogs arrived in remarkable company. A Clockwork Orange, Dirty Harry, and The French Connection all hit theaters the same year — forming a cluster of films that fundamentally altered what Hollywood was willing to show. Furthermore, Straw Dogs distinguished itself from all of them. Filmed entirely in a Cornish village, it replaced the city's noise with something quieter and more suffocating. Ultimately, it is a film that has never stopped demanding conversation — and that is exactly what the Taste Buds deliver.
About the Film
Sam Peckinpah directed Straw Dogs (1971), starring Dustin Hoffman as David Sumner, a mild-mannered American mathematician who relocates with his English wife Amy (Susan George) to her rural hometown in Cornwall. David hires local men to repair their farmhouse. Almost immediately, however, the couple faces escalating harassment, intimidation, and violence from the villagers — including Amy's former boyfriend Charlie (Del Henney).
Peckinpah and screenwriter David Zelag Goodman adapted the film from Gordon M. Williams's 1969 novel The Siege of Trencher's Farm. Peckinpah famously dismissed the source material. The film builds to a harrowing siege in which David, pushed past every limit, defends his home with escalating brutality. Additionally, the title derives from the Tao Te Ching, which describes straw dogs as ceremonial objects — used briefly, then discarded without feeling. The Criterion Collection edition includes a discussion of this symbolism in its supplemental materials.
Guest Panelist: Erik HansonPeckinpah and Violence: A Director Pushed to the EdgeThe Rape Scene: Context, Controversy, and CriticismDavid, Amy, and Gender in Straw Dogs 1971Career Retrospective: Dustin HoffmanHoffman's Career After...
1971 - Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song
Thursday, April 16, 2026 • Duration 01:18:18
Movie of the Year: 1971Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss SongThe Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song Podcast
The Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song podcast brings Ryan, Mike, and Greg to one of 1971's most radical and uncompromising films. Melvin Van Peebles wrote, directed, produced, scored, edited, and starred in this landmark independent work — entirely outside the Hollywood system. The result is a film unlike any other in the bracket. Above all, it challenges every assumption about who gets to make movies, and why.
This week, the Taste Buds dig into three major threads: the film as a revolutionary political act, its polarizing form and style, and its complex treatment of sex and gender. Furthermore, they induct a film into the PopFilter Hall of Fame and take on Recast the Podcast. It is a wide-ranging, debate-heavy episode from first minute to last. The Movie of the Year 1971 bracket has produced bold conversations — and this one may be the boldest yet.
About the Film
Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song follows Sweetback (Van Peebles), a Black sex-show performer raised in a brothel. When police use him as a convenient patsy, he fights back — killing two racist cops and becoming a fugitive. He runs south toward the Mexican border. Along the way, the Black community shelters him. Bikers, revolutionaries, and sex workers cross his path. Consequently, the film becomes less a conventional chase narrative and more an odyssey of Black survival and defiance.
Van Peebles privately funded the film after walking away from a studio deal at Columbia Pictures. He served as one-man auteur across every department. The film opened in just two theaters in March 1971 — Detroit and Atlanta. Nevertheless, it broke box office records on opening night and went on to gross over $15 million. The MPAA assigned it an X rating. Van Peebles turned that into the defiant tagline: "Rated X by an all-white jury." The Black Panther Party declared it required viewing for all members.
A Movie Revolution: Van Peebles and the Politics of IndependenceForm, Style, and Watchability: A Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song Podcast Deep DiveSex, Gender, and ControversyPopFilter Hall of FameRecast the PodcastWhy Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song Still Matters
1971 - Harold and Maude (feat. Van from the Gaymer Girls pod!)
Thursday, April 9, 2026 • Duration 01:18:59
Movie of the Year: 1971Harold and Maude (feat. Van from the Gaymer Girls pod!)
The Harold and Maude podcast episode is here — and the Taste Buds are diving deep into one of 1971's most subversive and life-affirming films. Hal Ashby's Harold and Maude (1971) has been a cult touchstone for over fifty years. This episode gives it the full PopFilter treatment. Ryan, Mike, and Greg welcome guest panelist Van Baumann from the Gaymer Girls podcast for a conversation about this singular film. It baffled studios, bombed at the box office, and somehow became a defining work of American cinema. Furthermore, this episode features a Rushmore segment on the most iconic May-December romances in movie history, plus a Shopping Spree. Consequently, this is one of the most spirited episodes of the Movie of the Year: 1971 series.
About the Harold and Maude Film
Directed by Hal Ashby, Harold and Maude arrived in December 1971 as one of the most unusual films Paramount Pictures had ever released. The screenplay, written by Colin Higgins, began as his master's thesis at UCLA film school. It follows Harold Chasen (Bud Cort), a wealthy young man obsessed with death. Harold stages elaborate fake suicides to shock his emotionally absent mother. Moreover, he fills his days with funerals, hearses, and junkyards — searching for something authentic in a world of suffocating privilege. At one such funeral, he meets Maude (Ruth Gordon), a 79-year-old woman. Her boundless appetite for life stands in complete contrast to his morbid worldview. Above all, their unlikely friendship — and eventual romance — challenges every social convention the Hal Ashby 1971 film can find.
The Harold and Maude film bombed on initial release. Critics were baffled, and audiences didn't know what to make of it. Nevertheless, it found its audience through midnight screenings and college campuses, eventually becoming one of cinema's defining 1971 cult classics. The Cat Stevens Harold and Maude soundtrack became inseparable from the film's identity. Notably, the Criterion Collection released a full restoration on Blu-ray in 2012. That cemented its status as a genuine classic. You can explore the full credits at its IMDb page.
Guest Panelist: Van BaumannHarold and Maude as Characters: An Unlikely Mirror in a Harold and Maude Podcast DiscussionLife and Philosophy: What the Harold and Maude 1971 Film Actually TeachesLegacy: How the Harold and Maude 1971 Podcast Goes Deep on a Cult IconRushmore: The Most Iconic May-December Romances in Movie HistoryShopping SpreeWhy Harold and Maude Still MattersRelated Episodes from Movie of the Year: 1971
1971 - Dirty Harry (feat. Conor Kilpatrick from iFanboy!)
Thursday, April 2, 2026 • Duration 01:49:24
Movie of the Year: 1971Dirty Harry (feat. Conor Kilpatrick from iFanboy!)
The Dirty Harry podcast arrives this week on Movie of the Year: 1971, as the Taste Buds take on one of the most influential and contested crime films ever made. Don Siegel's thriller introduced the world to Inspector Harry Callahan — a San Francisco cop who operates on instinct, fury, and a very large handgun. Moreover, the film sparked a debate about justice, civil liberties, and the price of order that has never fully quieted. The Taste Buds are joined by Conor Kilpatrick of iFanboy for this Don Siegel Dirty Harry analysis, and they also cover 1971 ProStars and a special segment on the year in comic books.
Episode Show Notes: What We Cover
This Dirty Harry 1971 film discussion covers a lot of ground. Below is a summary of the key talking points from the episode — a roadmap for listeners and a reference for anyone who wants to dig deeper after the fact.
On Harry Callahan as a character: The panel opens by asking whether Harry is actually a hero or whether the film simply frames him as one. Conor argues that Eastwood's performance is so controlled and interior that the audience does the work of making Harry sympathetic — the film barely has to try. Ryan pushes back: Harry's righteousness is earned on screen because he is always right in his read of a situation, even when he is wrong in his methods. Mike lands somewhere in between, pointing out that Harry's body count by the end of the first film is genuinely troubling if you stop and count.
On politics and the law: The Taste Buds spend significant time on Pauline Kael's famous "fascist" critique and whether it holds up. The consensus is that the film is more ambiguous than Kael allowed — but that the ambiguity is doing real work, and not always in a reassuring direction. The legal system in Dirty Harry is not just flawed; it is portrayed as an active obstacle to justice. That framing has consequences.
On San Francisco: The panel discusses how Don Siegel uses the city as a visual argument — the geography of the chase scenes, the specific choice of Kezar Stadium as a set piece, and what it means to set this particular story in the city that had been the symbolic capital of American idealism just four years earlier.
About the FilmGuest Panelist: Conor Kilpatrick of iFanboyHarry Callahan: The Podcast's Central DebatePolitics, Justice, and the Law: A Don Siegel AnalysisSan Francisco: A City in the West
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The Taste Buds considered films across every genre and profile when building the 64-film field. Notably, some titles with strong critical support did not survive the early cuts, while others with devoted fanbases made a stronger case than expected. That tension runs through every round of the bracket.
The bracket is central to what makes Movie of the Year function as a podcast. The Taste Buds begin with 64 films, then work through rounds of debate until one film stands alone. Each episode focuses on a specific matchup or group of films, with Ryan, Mike, and Greg arguing for and against each contender.
The Sweet 16 revealed in this episode seeds the season ahead. From there, head-to-head matchups determine which films advance through the Elite Eight, the Final Four, and ultimately the championship. However, seeding does not guarantee anything. A well-argued case can always change the outcome, and upsets are part of the format.
For listeners new to the show, this episode therefore serves as an ideal starting point. The Taste Buds make each debate accessible and entertaining, regardless of how familiar you are with any individual film.
Cutting 64 films to 16 means making hard calls. The Taste Buds apply consistent criteria across every cut: rewatchability, cultural staying power, craft, and genuine argument value within the bracket. A film that cannot generate a compelling debate does not serve the season well, regardless of its pedigree.
Above all, the goal is a Sweet 16 that produces great arguments. A bracket full of obvious consensus picks would make for a dull season. Consequently, the Taste Buds deliberately include films that create friction, titles where reasonable and informed people genuinely disagree about their value and legacy.
Some of the 16 films advancing will surprise listeners. Others will feel inevitable. The full reveal happens in this episode, and the reasoning behind each selection is part of what makes debating the movies of 2006 so worthwhile from start to finish.
The 64-film field the Taste Buds assembled for 2006 reflects the full range of what the year produced. Genre range mattered in the curation process. So did the desire to include films that cut against consensus and force the bracket to reckon with less comfortable choices. Specifically, the films that survive into the Sweet 16 represent a cross-section of 2006 that rewards close attention and strong opinions.
The Movie of the Year podcast treats film debate as something worth doing seriously. The 2006 season carries that forward with a year whose critical reputation has shifted meaningfully since its release. Films that seemed certain to endure have faded. Others that barely registered in awards conversation have grown into genuine touchstones.
The bracket format demands accountability that casual film lists do not. When you argue for a film head-to-head against another specific film, you have to articulate why you believe what you believe. Furthermore, you have to hold that position under pressure from two other opinionated co-hosts who may disagree entirely.
Specifically, 2006 sits at a cultural inflection point. Studio filmmaking, independent cinema, and international film all competed for serious critical attention that year, and the market rewarded each in different ways. The season will reflect that range, and the debates will run deep. The movies of 2006 have a lot left to say, and this season is where they say it.
Note: Add 2006 episode URLs to this list as they are published.
What is this movie's 2006 podcast episode about?
Ryan, Mike, and Greg reveal the 16 films advancing to the 2006 bracket season. They narrow a starting field of 64 films down to the Sweet 16, setting up the full season of head-to-head debates ahead.
What is Movie of the Year?
Movie of the Year is a PopFilter podcast where hosts Ryan, Mike, and Greg debate and rank films from a single year using a bracket format. Each season covers one year of cinema and ends with one film crowned champion.
Who hosts Movie of the Year?
The show is hosted by Ryan, Mike, and Greg, collectively known as the Taste Buds, on the PopFilter podcast network. Each host brings a distinct critical perspective to every debate.
How does the Movie of the Year bracket work?
The Taste Buds begin each season with 64 films from the chosen year. Through debate-style episodes, films compete head-to-head until one film is crowned Movie of the Year. The Sweet 16, Elite Eight, Final Four, and championship rounds each produce their own episodes.
Why is 2006 a significant year in film history?
2006 produced a strong and varied field of films across genres and profiles. Prestige dramas, international cinema, genre filmmaking, and independent features all had notable years, making 2006 an ideal year for bracket debate.
How did the Taste Buds select the 64-film starting field?
The Taste Buds curated the field based on critical reception, cultural staying power, rewatchability, and argument value within the bracket format. The goal was a field that represents the full range of 2006, including some selections that will surprise listeners.
Where can I listen to Movie of the Year?
Movie of the Year is available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and wherever you listen to podcasts. Full episodes and archives are also available at popfilter.co.
What films made the 2006 Movie of the Year Sweet 16?
The 16 films advancing to the bracket are revealed in this episode. Listen to find out which films survived and how the Taste Buds justify every selection.
Movie of the Year uses a bracket format borrowed from sports tournaments. The Taste Buds seed 128 films from a given year and match them head-to-head across multiple rounds until one earns the title of best of the year. The movies of 2006 provide an especially deep pool to draw from. Each round cuts the field in half: 128 to 64, 64 to 32, 32 to the Sweet 16, and on through the Elite Eight, Final Four, and championship. Notably, the bracket covers the full range of the year — prestige titles, genre pictures, comedies, blockbusters, and deep cuts all compete on equal footing.
The seeding and matchups drive the conversation. A high-seeded favorite facing a scrappy underdog often produces the most spirited debates, because the Taste Buds evaluate every film on its own terms. No film earns an automatic pass based on reputation alone. A beloved blockbuster can fall in round one. A smaller film can advance much further than anyone expects. Therefore, the bracket functions as a pressure test for every assumption the hosts carry into the season.
The format also distinguishes Movie of the Year from a standard best-of list. The hosts cannot simply rank their favorites and close the debate. Instead, they defend each pick against a direct opponent, round after round. Above all, the bracket produces arguments that a list never could, because every vote carries immediate consequences. To see what this process looks like across a full season, the Movie of the Year archive includes complete coverage of every year the Taste Buds have tackled, including the recently completed 1971 season.
The first round of the 2006 season pits 64 matchups against one another and cuts the field in half. Part 1 of the intro covers the opening set of battles, with Part 2 completing the round. Even the quickest first-round decisions carry weight, because an early upset can remove a major contender long before the serious rounds begin.
2006 gives the hosts no shortage of compelling first-round scenarios. High-profile releases like Superman Returns, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Blood Diamond arrive as recognizable titles but face real scrutiny on merit. Films like Half Nelson, Brick, and Thank You for Smoking represent the indie side of the year with strong critical backing. Moreover, the international titles — Pan's Labyrinth, Volver, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer — introduce a different set of criteria into the matchups entirely.
The documentary field adds another dimension. An Inconvenient Truth became one of 2006's most discussed releases and earned Al Gore an Academy Award. Jesus Camp generated controversy and critical notice in equal measure. Additionally, the horror entries, the prestige dramas like United 93 and The Good Shepherd, and the awards-season crowding all create pressure across the bracket from the opening round. Roger Ebert's four-star review of The Departed captures the critical consensus around 2006's most decorated film. Nevertheless, the first round is only the beginning.
2006 represents a pivotal moment in 21st-century cinema. The year demonstrated that prestige filmmaking and mass entertainment could share a single calendar without one displacing the other. The Departed and Pan's Labyrinth both belong to 2006. Borat and Children of Men arrived the same year. That range matters because the best film years do not produce one kind of great film — they produce many kinds simultaneously.
Moreover, 2006 produced titles that have only grown in cultural stature since their release. Idiocracy arrived with little fanfare and now functions as a widely cited cultural reference point. Children of Men drew modest theatrical audiences and currently ranks among the most admired films of the decade in retrospective criticism. The Prestige built a devoted following that continues to generate debate about its structure and its final image. Additionally, Casino Royale remains the gold standard for modern Bond films nearly two decades later.
The movies of 2006 podcast gives these films a structured arena to compete. That structure reveals something a ranked list cannot: which films hold up under sustained comparison, which reputations survive direct opposition, and which consensus picks turn out to be more fragile than they appear. 2006 deserves this treatment. The Taste Buds are the right crew to find out which film earns the crown.
More 2006 episode pages will be linked here as the season progresses.
What is the movies of 2006 podcast intro episode about?
This episode launches the 2006 season of Movie of the Year on PopFilter. Ryan, Mike, and Greg introduce the 2006 film year, explain the bracket format, and work through Part 1 of the first round, taking the field from 128 films down toward 64.
How does the Movie of the Year bracket format work?
Movie of the Year seeds 128 films from a given year into a tournament-style bracket. Films compete head-to-head across multiple rounds — from 128 to 64, then 32, the Sweet 16, Elite Eight, Final Four, and championship — until one film earns the title of best of the year. The format produces arguments that a simple ranked list cannot, because every vote has immediate consequences.
What films are in the 2006 Movie of the Year bracket?
The 2006 bracket includes 128 films from across the year: prestige dramas like The Departed, Babel, and Letters from Iwo Jima; international titles like Pan's Labyrinth and Volver; genre films like Children of Men and The Prestige; comedies like Borat, Idiocracy, and Little Miss Sunshine; and blockbusters like Casino Royale and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest.
What won Best Picture for the 2006 film year?
The Departed, directed by Martin Scorsese, won the Academy Award for Best Picture at the 79th Academy Awards in 2007. The film also earned Scorsese his first Best Director Oscar. However, Oscar history and the Movie of the Year bracket determine their...
Eight films enter. One leaves as the 1971 champion. The Taste Buds structured the Elite Eight around four head-to-head matchups, and each one forces a different kind of critical argument.
Two of the year's most transgressive films meet in the first matchup. A Clockwork Orange arrived as a season-long frontrunner — a Kubrick film operating at the height of his formal powers, one that the Taste Buds covered in depth on their dedicated episode. Ken Russell's The Devils, meanwhile, delivers a fever dream of religious hysteria and state violence that stands as one of the most divisive films the Taste Buds have discussed all season. Moreover, this matchup poses a pointed question: which film earns its provocation more honestly? Both demand something from the viewer. However, only one advances.
Harold and Maude represents the season's most warmly beloved film — a dark comedy about love, death, and radical living that generated some of the most enthusiastic podcast discussion of the year. By contrast, Robert Altman's McCabe and Mrs. Miller offers a revisionist Western suffused with melancholy and moral exhaustion, its beauty inseparable from its grief. Both films carry passionate advocates among the Taste Buds. Consequently, this matchup ranks among the tightest and most personal bracket debates of the entire season. Above all, it asks whether warmth or ache makes the stronger lasting impression.
Barbara Loden's Wanda — a micro-budget American independent masterwork — faces Bernardo Bertolucci's The Conformist, a visually ravishing Italian political drama. Notably, both films center on characters adrift in systems designed to diminish them. Nevertheless, they arrive at very different emotional endpoints: Wanda drifts, the Conformist spirals. The Taste Buds' arguments in this matchup reveal as much about their own critical values as about the films themselves. In practice, this is the bracket's most purely cinephile debate.
The bracket's most commercially dominant film — The French Connection, winner of five Academy Awards including Best Picture — faces Peter Bogdanovich's elegiac The Last Picture Show. In practice, this matchup pits Hollywood's muscular genre filmmaking against its more introspective New Wave ambitions. As a result, the debate cuts to the heart of what 1971 cinema actually achieved. Gene Hackman's Popeye Doyle and the dusty streets of Anarene, Texas, represent two entirely different ideas of what a great film should do — and the Taste Buds have strong opinions on which idea wins.
Before the bracket champion is named, the Taste Buds present five awards covering the full sweep of the season. This Movie of the Year 1971 podcast segment features each host nominating the moments they found most memorable, daring, or essential — and the resulting field spans an extraordinary range of films and tones.
The nominees range from the tender to the violent to the surreal, drawing from three different films and three distinct registers of human sexuality.
Young Sweetback and the Sex Worker — Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song
The nominees span the full tonal range of 1971 action filmmaking — from Dirty Harry's iconic bank robbery standoff to the slow, aching finality of McCabe dying alone in the snow.
The five nominees represent the full range of 1971 male performance — from Hackman's coiled rage to Wilder's heartbreaking wonder. Additionally, this category generated some of the most contested debates in the entire 1971 film podcast season.
Warren Beatty — McCabe and Mrs. Miller
Gene Hackman — The French Connection
Oliver Reed — The Devils
Jean-Louis Trintignant — The Conformist
Gene Wilder —
Two films that defined what mainstream American cinema could do with raw emotional and procedural intensity. The French Connection won the Academy Award for Best Picture in 1971. It features one of the most celebrated car chases in film history and a career-defining performance from Gene Hackman as the relentless, morally compromised Popeye Doyle. Additionally, William Friedkin's direction remains a masterclass in gritty, kinetic storytelling.
Brian's Song, meanwhile, hit American living rooms as a TV movie and destroyed everyone who watched it. The story of Gale Sayers and Brian Piccolo remains one of the most emotionally devastating sports films ever made. Notably, the Taste Buds covered both films earlier this season — so this rematch in the 1971 film bracket carries the weight of all those prior arguments.
Two of New Hollywood's most enduring films square off here, and neither one will go quietly. The Last Picture Show is Peter Bogdanovich's elegiac black-and-white portrait of a dying Texas town — a film the American Film Institute has called one of the greatest ever made. Furthermore, its ensemble cast, including Jeff Bridges, Cybill Shepherd, Cloris Leachman, and Ben Johnson, delivers some of the finest performances in the bracket.
Klute, however, has Jane Fonda. Her performance as Bree Daniels earned her the first of her two Academy Awards, and it remains one of the most psychologically intricate portrayals of a woman in crisis in American cinema. Alan J. Pakula's direction is coiled and paranoid in all the right ways. Consequently, this matchup may be the most difficult call in the entire bracket.
The final Sweet 16 matchup is the most arthouse of the four — and arguably the most fascinating. Bernardo Bertolucci's The Conformist is a landmark of European cinema. Vittorio Storaro's cinematography is among the most studied in film school history, and the film's meditation on fascism, identity, and moral cowardice has only grown richer with time. You can read more about the film at Roger Ebert's review on RogerEbert.com.
The Panic in Needle Park, by contrast, is bracingly American — a gritty, unglamorous portrait of heroin addiction on the streets of New York. It introduced Al Pacino to mainstream audiences. Moreover, Jerry Schatzberg's unflinching direction makes the film feel almost documentary in its honesty. These two films represent opposite ends of world cinema in 1971, and the Taste Buds must choose one.
The Taste Buds hand out individual performance awards throughout the season, and the Comedic Performance category drew a fascinating and eclectic field of nominees. The 1971 bracket is not short on laughs — from the anarchic fantasy of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory to the dark comedy of Harold and Maude. Furthermore, the nominees represent a range of comic registers, from broad physical performance to pitch-black wit.
The nominees are:
David Battley — Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (Mike's pick)
Julie Dawn Cole — Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (Greg's pick)
Bud Cort — Harold and Maude (Mike's pick)
Michael Gothard — The Devils (Ryan's pick)
Gene Wilder — Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (Greg's pick)
David Battley's turn as the hapless Mr. Turkentine in Willy Wonka is a masterwork of bewildered reaction comedy. Julie Dawn Cole's Veruca Salt is a full-throttle comic creation — spoiled, relentless, and somehow sympathetic. Additionally, Bud Cort's Harold is a genuinely difficult comic achievement: deadpan to the point of catatonia, yet somehow enormously warm.
Michael Gothard's Father Barre in The Devils is Ryan's wild-card choice — a performance of manic, committed intensity that functions as dark comedy whether or not Ken Russell intended it. Meanwhile, Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka remains one of cinema's great comic performances — menacing, whimsical, and deeply strange all at once. The winner is waiting for you in the episode.
One of the Taste Buds' most beloved recurring awards, the Biggest Shithead category recognizes the most memorably awful person — or entity — in the bracket. Notably, this award rewards commitment. Nominees do not simply do bad things. They do bad things with style, conviction, and a complete lack of self-awareness.
The nominees are:
Baron de Laubardemont — The Devils (Greg's pick)
The Lady at Snakearama — Duel (Ryan's pick)
The Motorcycle Cop — Harold and Maude (Greg's pick)
Mr. Deltoid — A Clockwork Orange (Mike's pick)
Veruca Salt — Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (Mike's pick)
Baron de Laubardemont, the cold bureaucratic villain of The Devils, brings state-sanctioned cruelty to the category. The Lady at Snakearama from Duel is Ryan's inspired choice — a brief but indelible portrait of someone who simply should not be in this movie. Furthermore, Harold and Maude's Motorcycle Cop is a monument to institutional pettiness.
Mr. Deltoid from A Clockwork Orange is a sweaty, oleaginous masterpiece of ineffectual authority — Mike's nomination is well-argued. Veruca Salt, however, may be the category's most pure entry: a child who has elevated wanting things to an art form. The winner, as always, is in the episode.
The Sweet 16 is where bracket tournaments reveal their true character. By this stage, the obvious candidates are mostly gone. What remains are the films that survived not on reputation alone but on genuine argument. Moreover, the bottom half of the 1971 Sweet 16 contains some of the season's most debated films — which means every matchup result carries real emotional weight.
The year 1971 is one of the most remarkable in cinema history. New Hollywood was hitting its stride. European art cinema was pushing form to its limits. Genre filmmaking was getting stranger, darker, and more personal. Consequently, any bracket drawn from this year produces matchups that feel genuinely impossible to call. The Taste Buds do not pretend otherwise — they argue, they agonize, and they vote.
Part III is coming. The Elite Eight will determine the Movie of the Year: 1971 champion. Above all, this episode is the last chance to see which films survive before the final reckoning. Subscribe to PopFilter and follow along — the 1971 film...
Before any film is eliminated, the Taste Buds take a step back and ask the question the whole season has been building toward: what does 1971 actually mean to the history of cinema?
The short answer is that 1971 is the year movies stopped asking permission. The Production Code was dead, and New Hollywood was at full velocity. The studios were desperate. The filmmakers who had spent the late 1960s learning a new visual language were suddenly free to use it without restraint. Consequently, the films of 1971 are not polished products. They are arguments — about violence, about sexuality, about power, and about who gets to survive.
Moreover, 1971 is uniquely international in its ambitions. Bertolucci's The Conformist brought a European grammar of fascism and desire to mainstream audiences. Meanwhile, Melvin Van Peebles made Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song entirely outside the studio system — financing it with his own money and changing the economics of Black independent filmmaking permanently. These were not films that happened alongside American culture. They actively reshaped it.
Furthermore, the year produced an unusual number of films that resist a single reading. Dirty Harry is simultaneously a fascist power fantasy and a critique of one. Straw Dogs refuses to let its audience off the hook. The French Connection makes a hero out of a man who may not deserve the title. As a result, 1971 is defined not by its answers but by the quality of its questions.
Above all, the Taste Buds argue that 1971 matters because it remains unresolved. These films are still being debated, still being taught, still being felt. That is the mark of a year that did something real — and the reason a bracket this competitive is so hard to close.
The first award of the finale is Best Supporting Actress. The nominees represent five performances that each, in their own way, stole scenes from films that were already remarkable. Notably, two nominees come from the same film — a testament to how fully The Last Picture Show populated its world with fully realized human beings.
Historically, the Academy nominated both Burstyn and Leachman at the 1972 Oscars — and Leachman won. However, the Taste Buds are not the Academy. Their winner reflects their own criteria, their own arguments, and a full season of watching these performances in context. Who walks away with the award? Listen to the episode to find out.
The second award is Best Supporting Actor — a category that reads, in 1971, like a catalog of actors doing the most demanding and least comfortable work of their careers. The nominees include debut-level performances and career-defining turns alike. The competition is, by any measure, extraordinary.
Ben Johnson's Sam the Lion is among the most quietly devastating performances in American film — a man who embodies everything a dying town loved and then lost. Jeff Bridges, in his first major role, announced his entire career in a single film. Gastone Moschin made fascist complicity feel not monstrous but ordinary, which is considerably more frightening. The Devils, meanwhile, sent both its nominees into material that demanded everything an actor has. To find out who wins, listen to the episode.
The awards are only half of Part 1 of the Movie of the Year 1971 podcast finale. The other half is the bracket — and the bracket is not sentimental. In this episode, the Taste Buds make the first wave of cuts. Films that have defined the conversation all season, films that generated genuine argument and genuine love, are sent home.
This is the nature of the format. Nevertheless, that does not make it easy. 1971 is not a year with obvious fodder. Every film in this bracket earned its place. Consequently, every elimination in this finale is a real loss — and a real statement about what the Taste Buds believe cinema can do at its best.
Which films survive? Which ones go home in Part 1? That, you will have to hear for yourself. Parts 2 and 3 continue the process — and by the end of the three-part finale, only one film from 1971 will be left standing.
A season finale is never just a conclusion. It is an act of criticism — a declaration about what mattered, what lasted, and what deserves to be remembered. The Movie of the Year 1971 podcast finale is doing that work for one of the most important years in the history of film.
Furthermore, the bracket format makes that work visible in a way that traditional film criticism rarely does. The Taste Buds cannot hedge. They cannot say everything is great and leave it there. They have to rank, eliminate, and ultimately choose. In doing so, they reveal something true about how they experience cinema — and they invite every listener to push back.
Above all, this three-part finale is a love letter to a year that refused to behave. 1971 did not make comfortable films. It did not offer easy consolations. It asked audiences to look directly at things they would have preferred to avoid. The Taste Buds have been doing the same thing all season. Now, in three parts, they are going to decide which film did it best — and which one deserves to be called the Movie of the Year.
Released theatrically in the UK in November 1971, the film earned a nomination for the Academy Award for Best Original Score. It was later issued as a Criterion Collection release featuring new critical scholarship. The British Film Institute also maintains an entry on the film. The British Board of Film Classification banned it for home video release for years after its UK theatrical run.
Joining the Taste Buds for this Sam Peckinpah film discussion is Erik Hanson, the creator and host of Cradle to the Grave — a horror movie podcast built around a distinctive structural premise. Starting with 1971, his own birth year, Erik ranks and discusses his Top 10 horror films from every year of his life, covering each in depth with rotating guests. The show has developed a devoted following for Erik's knowledgeable, laid-back, and genuinely funny approach to the genre.
In addition to podcasting, Erik is the author of Death Machine, a debut horror novel set in 1987 Northern California that reimagines the Zodiac Killer returning to terrorize a group of kids. Based in Sacramento, California, Erik is also a musician. His work across fiction and podcasting reflects a lifelong relationship with horror that goes well beyond fandom and into genuine craft. Notably, the fact that Cradle to the Grave begins precisely with 1971 makes Erik an especially fitting guest for a deep dive into one of that year's most unsettling films. You can pick up Death Machine on Amazon.
By 1971, Sam Peckinpah had already established himself as Hollywood's most uncompromising chronicler of violence. The Wild Bunch (1969) had rewritten the grammar of the Western, deploying slow-motion carnage in a way that made violence impossible to process cleanly. Straw Dogs, however, moved in a very different direction. Furthermore, Warner Bros. had effectively exiled Peckinpah from Hollywood following a chaotic falling out, which is why he filmed this Straw Dogs 1971 production entirely in England, far from his natural terrain.
The violence in Straw Dogs is not operatic like The Wild Bunch. Instead, it is domestic, intimate, and deeply uncomfortable. Peckinpah builds menace through accumulation — small humiliations, loaded glances, minor intrusions — before releasing it all in the siege. Additionally, the film implicates the audience in David's rampage by making it feel, at least in the moment, cathartic. That troubling catharsis is entirely the point. As a result, the Straw Dogs podcast discussion centers on Peckinpah's central question: whether violence is ever truly civilized, or whether it simply waits beneath the surface of every man who believes he is better than it. Roger Ebert, writing for the Chicago Sun-Times in 1971, gave the film two stars and called it a film committed to the pornography of violence while laying on moral outrage with a shovel — a dissent worth hearing even for those who disagree.
No discussion of Straw Dogs is complete without addressing its most contested sequence. Charlie, her former boyfriend, first assaults Amy — then a second attacker follows. What makes the scene so difficult to analyze is the way Peckinpah films the first assault. Many critics interpreted Amy's shifting emotional response during the rape as suggesting consent or complicity. That reading fueled decades of fierce feminist criticism of the Sam Peckinpah film.
Moreover, the British Board of Film Classification rejected the film for home video release for years, specifically over this content. The studio cut the scene for the US release to secure an R rating. Susan George has spoken in interviews about her complex relationship to the role and the sequence. Notably, film scholar Linda Williams frames the film within the longer history of misogynistic representation in cinema. Her analysis appears in the Criterion Collection release. She argues that Straw Dogs belongs in conversation with works that are technically significant but ethically compromised. Consequently, the scene is not a matter of simple condemnation or simple defense. It is the central wound around which the entire film's meaning turns, and the Taste Buds treat it accordingly.
At its core, Straw Dogs is a film about masculinity in crisis. David Sumner is an intellectual — passive, avoidant, and seemingly incapable of the physical authority the Cornish village treats as natural male behavior. The film, however, refuses to position his bookishness as a virtue. Dustin Hoffman understood his character as a man who unconsciously provokes the violence around him — a pacifist whose repressed aggression the siege finally unlocks.
Amy occupies an equally impossible position. The film's gaze codes her as provocative — bare feet, no bra, conspicuous in the village — while simultaneously punishing her for that very visibility. Nevertheless, Susan George's performance introduces ambiguity and depth that the script does not always earn on its own. The dynamic between David and Amy is as much a source of tension as the men gathering outside. They seem genuinely ill-suited and miscommunicate constantly. Above all, Straw Dogs asks what gender roles cost everyone involved. Specifically, the film suggests that masculinity, however dormant, will ultimately assert itself through violence. That is Peckinpah's most unsettling argument — and one that the A Clockwork Orange episode of Movie of the Year covers from a very different angle.
By the time the Straw Dogs podcast era film was released in 1971, Dustin Hoffman had already fundamentally changed what a movie star could look like. His breakthrough in The Graduate (1967) — neurotic, unhandsome, deeply searching — made him a voice for a generation that distrusted certainty. Midnight Cowboy (1969) proved he could disappear entirely into character, earning his first Academy Award nomination. Little Big Man (1970) demonstrated his ability to age through an entire life on screen. Straw Dogs, therefore, marks something different in his catalog: not charm or pathos, but something colder and harder to forgive.
Van Peebles did not simply make a film — he staged a full act of defiance. Studio backing, the ratings system, and traditional distribution were all refused outright. Moreover, he financed part of the production by borrowing $50,000 from Bill Cosby, keeping total creative control throughout. The result was a film the industry could not co-opt, contain, or dismiss. For listeners of any Melvin Van Peebles podcast or documentary, the story of how this film got made is as remarkable as the film itself.
The release strategy was equally radical. Van Peebles released the soundtrack before the film — an unusual move at the time — to build word-of-mouth in Black communities without spending money on traditional advertising. The score featured a very young Earth, Wind & Fire. By contrast, Hollywood in 1971 was still releasing social-problem films that sought respectability over truth. Sweetback rejected that approach entirely. Notably, its commercial success proved that Black-led, Black-financed films could find a massive audience without white institutional gatekeepers.
Ryan, Mike, and Greg debate what Van Peebles' revolution actually accomplished. Was it the birth of a genuinely new Black cinema? Or did it also open the door for the blaxploitation genre — a category Hollywood quickly co-opted and stripped of its radical politics? Additionally, the Taste Buds ask whether the DIY model Van Peebles pioneered holds lessons for independent filmmakers working today. As a blaxploitation film podcast discussion, this episode goes deeper than genre classification — it asks what political filmmaking actually costs.
The film's style is not subtle. Van Peebles employs jagged jump cuts, kaleidoscopic superimpositions, and psychedelic sound design throughout. These choices feel closer to Jean-Luc Godard than to anything playing at an American theater in 1971. However, they also produce a film that polarizes audiences to this day. The Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song podcast tackles this polarization head-on.
Some viewers find the style exhilarating — a sustained howl of rage rendered in pure cinematic form. Others find the loose structure and repetitive sequences frustrating. The Taste Buds confront this tension directly. Furthermore, they ask whether "watchability" is even the right standard for a film that never set out to be comfortable or conventional.
The soundtrack adds another dimension entirely. Van Peebles composed and performed the score himself, with Earth, Wind & Fire providing the instrumental backing. The music pulses through the film like a second heartbeat. Consequently, sound and image work together to create a sensory experience unlike any other 1971 film in the bracket. Ryan, Mike, and Greg weigh in on whether Van Peebles' formal choices ultimately serve the film's political goals — or occasionally work against them.
Sweetback's sexuality is central to the film's identity. His sexual power is his primary weapon and his means of survival. Van Peebles frames this as a form of liberation — a radical Black body asserting itself against a system designed to destroy it. However, the film's treatment of women and of queer characters draws sharp criticism from contemporary audiences.
Women in the film exist largely in relation to Sweetback's desires. The film includes graphic sexual content, some of it deeply uncomfortable by any modern standard. Moreover, the film's portrayal of lesbian characters is explicitly homophobic. The Taste Buds wrestle with how to hold these contradictions honestly. A film can be genuinely revolutionary and genuinely problematic at the same time. In fact, Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song may be the most complex example of that tension in the entire 1971 bracket.
Additionally, the film's opening sequence — depicting a child's sexual initiation — has unsettled audiences for over fifty years. Van Peebles cast his own son Mario in the role. That decision raises serious ethical questions that Ryan, Mike, and Greg do not avoid. Ultimately, the conversation around sex and gender in this film is not a comfortable one — and that discomfort is precisely what makes it essential. This is one of the most challenging discussions in the 1971 film podcast series to date.
Each season of Movie of the Year, the Taste Buds set aside the bracket to recognize films that define an era. The PopFilter Hall of Fame is not about winning a head-to-head matchup. It honors the films that changed cinema itself — the ones that opened doors, broke rules, and made everything that came after possible.
The Hall of Fame carries special weight in this episode. Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song raises the question of what "greatness" means for films that operate outside mainstream critical frameworks. A film does not need to be comfortable, polished, or widely loved to be important. The Hall of Fame exists precisely to honor that distinction. This week, the hosts make their cases for a 1971 inductee. Tune in to hear which film earns the honor — and whether all three Taste Buds can agree on the pick.
In Recast the Podcast, Ryan, Mike, and Greg take on one of cinema's great thought experiments. They choose a film and rebuild the cast from scratch — drawing on actors from any era, any genre, any corner of film history. Each host makes their picks. Then the debate begins.
Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song presents a unique challenge for Recast the Podcast. The film was defined by Van Peebles' decision to cast himself. Sweetback's blank-faced, nearly wordless presence was a deliberate choice — not a performance in the conventional sense, but a statement. Who could step into that role today? Who has the gravity, the physicality, and the political weight to carry the film's central conceit? The Taste Buds bring their full range of cinematic knowledge to the question. Listen in to hear their picks, the reasoning behind each choice, and where the three hosts inevitably disagree.
Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song was never meant to be easy. Van Peebles built it as a provocation — a film that demanded a response. More than fifty years later, it still gets one. The film's influence runs through Spike Lee, John Singleton, Ava DuVernay, and virtually every Black filmmaker who followed. However, its importance is not only historical. The questions it raises about representation, power, and who controls the means of production are still urgent today.
Furthermore, the film's DIY model anticipated the independent film movement by decades. Van Peebles proved that a filmmaker could retain complete creative control, bypass the studio system entirely, and still reach an enormous audience. That lesson has...
Van Baumann joins the Taste Buds for this Harold and Maude podcast episode. She co-hosts Gaymer Girls — a weekly podcast covering gaming, queer culture, and pop culture. Van and co-host Sana cover topics ranging from Baldur's Gate 3 to LGBTQ+ representation in gaming. Their wit and expertise extend to the cultural politics of the industry as well. Moreover, the show specializes in IP deep-dives for newcomers. Long-running franchises get broken down in ways that are accessible, funny, and genuinely informative.
Van's perspective on the Harold and Maude film is a particularly fitting one. The 1971 cult classic resonates strongly with queer audiences for its anti-establishment energy and rejection of conventional romance. Additionally, her background in gaming culture and media criticism brings a fresh lens to Ashby's film. It is a perspective the Taste Buds couldn't provide on their own.
At the heart of the Harold and Maude film are two characters who could not appear more different on paper. Harold is young, wealthy, and surrounded by privilege — yet profoundly miserable. Maude is elderly and owns almost nothing. She has lived through extraordinary hardship. The film subtly implies she is a Holocaust survivor. However, both characters share a fundamental rejection of the life society has scripted for them. Harold's fake suicides are acts of rebellion against his mother's indifference. Meanwhile, Maude steals cars and uproots city trees without malice. She acts from a deep belief that the world belongs to everyone equally.
Ruth Gordon's performance is magnetic. Gordon plays Maude not as a quirky old woman. Rather, she portrays someone who earned every ounce of joy through survival and deliberate choice. Bud Cort embodies Harold's blankness with quiet precision. His deadpan delivery makes every small shift in the character feel earned. Consequently, the chemistry between them feels less like a conventional romance and more like a transmission. Maude passes something essential to Harold before her time runs out. The Taste Buds and Van explore what makes these characters so enduring. Both discuss why the film still resonates more than fifty years later.
Harold and Maude is, at its core, a film about choosing to live. Specifically, it argues that joy is not something handed to you — it is something you practice, steal, nurture, and defend. Maude embodies this philosophy in every scene. She makes art and plays music with equal passion. Furthermore, she transplants a struggling tree from a concrete sidewalk to the open forest. She believes living things deserve better conditions than city concrete. Above all, she treats every encounter as an opportunity rather than an obligation.
The Hal Ashby 1971 film engages with existentialism in a remarkably accessible way. It never lectures. Instead, it dramatizes the tension between Harold's death drive and Maude's life force. The audience feels the shift as the film progresses. In addition, Harold and Maude is bracingly anti-authoritarian — Harold's priest, his psychiatrist, and his militaristic uncle are all buffoons. Authority, Ashby and Higgins suggest, is part of what kills the spirit. Therefore, the film's philosophy is ultimately about sovereignty: the right to live, love, and die on your own terms. The Taste Buds unpack all of it across this Harold and Maude podcast episode.
Few films have had a stranger journey from flop to icon. The Harold and Maude film opened to near-universal bewilderment in 1971. Paramount barely knew how to market it. Nevertheless, word of mouth — particularly among countercultural and college audiences — kept it alive. By the late 1970s, it was a staple of midnight movie circuits. By the 1980s, it had influenced a generation of filmmakers. Notably, Wes Anderson has cited it as a key influence on his film Rushmore. Both films center on unlikely intergenerational bonds.
Moreover, the 1971 cult classic has always commanded a substantial queer following. Its rejection of normative romance, its celebration of chosen family, and Maude's radical individuality have made it a touchstone for LGBTQ+ audiences for decades. Additionally, the Cat Stevens Harold and Maude soundtrack is among cinema's most celebrated. Stevens later converted to Islam and stepped back from this earlier work. Above all, Harold and Maude endures because it offers something rare: a film that insists life is worth living, and actually means it. For a bracket-style podcast covering the greatest films of 1971, this Hal Ashby film demands serious consideration.
In this week's Rushmore segment, each panelist makes their case for the most iconic May-December romance in movie history. The prompt is inspired by the film itself — cinema's most famous age-gap romance. However, the Taste Buds range far beyond 1971 for their nominations. Furthermore, the debate gets heated fast as the panel navigates decades of Hollywood romance to crown their personal MVPs. Tune in to find out who made the cut — and whose picks got laughed out of the room.
The Taste Buds and Van also sit down for a Shopping Spree segment, one of PopFilter's beloved recurring features. Each participant brings a recommendation that pairs well with the episode's themes. Films, media, and cultural artifacts are all fair game. In addition, the segment is a chance for the panel to let their enthusiasms run free outside the main discussion. Notably, the Harold and Maude Shopping Spree delivers some particularly inspired picks. Listen in to find out what made the list.
More than fifty years after its release, the Harold and Maude film remains one of the most emotionally honest ever made. It refuses to sentimentalize death or romanticize youth. Instead, it argues that wisdom, joy, and love have no age limit. Choosing to be fully alive, it suggests, is the most radical act of all. Moreover, in an era of increasing conformity and algorithmic culture, Maude's anarchic embrace of experience feels more urgent than ever.
The 1971 cult classic also matters as a document of its moment. 1971 was a year of profound cultural friction. The counterculture was fading, the Vietnam War continued, and a deep national anxiety had taken hold. Harold and Maude absorbed all of that tension and responded with something unexpected: grace. Consequently, it stands as one of 1971's most essential films and a worthy contender in PopFilter's Movie of the Year bracket. Additionally, Van Baumann's perspective adds a dimension the Taste Buds alone couldn't provide. This Harold and Maude podcast episode is a must-listen for fans of film and philosophy.
On 1971 in comics: Conor breaks down the Marvel vs. DC landscape of the year, the significance of the Spider-Man drug arc, and why Jack Kirby's Fourth World still does not get the mainstream recognition it deserves. Additionally, he and the Taste Buds find real thematic overlap between the comics and the film: both are grappling with institutions that have failed and individuals who step into the void.
Dirty Harry (1971) was directed by Don Siegel and stars Clint Eastwood as Inspector Harry Callahan of the San Francisco Police Department. The film follows Callahan as he hunts the Scorpio Killer — a sadistic serial murderer loosely inspired by the real-life Zodiac Killer — while clashing repeatedly with a city bureaucracy unwilling to bend the rules. Harry has no such hesitation. Andrew Robinson plays Scorpio with chilling, unhinged intensity. The film's cat-and-mouse structure keeps the tension taut from its rooftop opening shot through its iconic waterfront finale.
Furthermore, Dirty Harry arrived at a fraught cultural moment. Crime rates in major American cities were rising sharply. Public trust in government and police was eroding. Consequently, the film's portrait of a cop who gets results by any means necessary struck a powerful nerve. For more context alongside this Dirty Harry podcast, explore the full production history on the film's IMDb page.
Produced by Warner Bros. and Malpaso Productions, the film features a propulsive score by Lalo Schifrin. Dirty Harry launched a five-film franchise and cemented Clint Eastwood as one of cinema's defining icons of controlled menace. It remains among the most debated American films of its era — a movie that means different things depending entirely on who is watching it. Listeners who enjoy this Dirty Harry podcast episode might also want to revisit our discussion of The French Connection, another 1971 film that wrestles with law enforcement, moral ambiguity, and the limits of the justice system.
Joining the Taste Buds this week is Conor Kilpatrick, co-founder and longtime host at iFanboy — one of the most enduring comics media platforms on the internet. Conor co-founded iFanboy around 2000 alongside Josh Flanagan and Ron Richards, originally as a college email chain where friends traded weekly comic reviews. That chain became a website, then a podcast, then a 25-year institution in the comics world. Known as the "DC Guy" of iFanboy, Conor has spent decades explaining infinite Earths, multiple reboots, and the craft of visual storytelling with genuine enthusiasm and expertise. He brings that same depth of knowledge to the Dirty Harry podcast discussion this week.
He is also the co-host of the Goodfellas Minute podcast and a co-founder of Great Northern Media. Moreover, his deep knowledge of 1971 comics makes him the ideal guest for this episode's special segment. His perspective on the cultural landscape of 1971 — what was happening in comics while Dirty Harry was in theaters — adds a dimension to this Dirty Harry 1971 film discussion that no other guest could bring. Welcome to Movie of the Year, Conor.
Dirty Harry
Harry Callahan is one of American cinema's most complicated figures. On the surface, he is a blunt instrument — a man who solves problems with a .44 Magnum and withering silence. However, Siegel and Eastwood invest him with something far more ambiguous. Harry is genuinely competent, even brilliant, at what he does. The tragedy is that the system he serves refuses to reward competence over politics.
Eastwood's performance is famously economical. He does not grandstand or seek sympathy. Notably, that restraint is precisely what makes Harry magnetic — audiences fill in the emotional gaps themselves, projecting onto a man who reveals almost nothing voluntarily. The Taste Buds discuss whether Harry reads as a hero, an antihero, or something the film itself cannot quite name. For contrast, consider how Gene Hackman's Popeye Doyle in The French Connection presents a similarly brutal cop — but one the film regards with considerably more irony.
The "Do you feel lucky, punk?" monologue is among the most quoted speeches in 1970s cinema. Nevertheless, it is more than a catchphrase. It is a masterclass in character — Harry performing certainty he may not entirely feel, using psychology as a weapon when firepower is temporarily unavailable. Above all, it reveals a man who understands power in all its forms and deploys it with surgical precision.
Dirty Harry
Few films from 1971 generated more critical controversy than Dirty Harry. Pauline Kael famously called it a fascist work of art in her widely-discussed review. Others defended it as a frank reckoning with a legal system too broken to protect its own citizens. Consequently, the film sits at the center of a political argument that has never fully resolved itself.
The film's central tension is not, ultimately, between Harry and Scorpio. It is between Harry and the law itself. Time and again the legal system fails — releasing Scorpio on procedural grounds, blocking the investigation, prioritizing process over lives. Harry's response is to act outside those constraints entirely. Moreover, the film frames him as righteous for doing so, and that is precisely what troubled critics at the time.
However, the Taste Buds push on this carefully. Does Dirty Harry endorse vigilantism, or does it simply portray it with unflinching honesty? The ending — Harry throwing his badge into the water — complicates any easy reading. Therefore, rather than celebrating his methods without reservation, the film may ultimately acknowledge that Harry's approach destroys him even as it saves others. This Don Siegel Dirty Harry analysis explores that tension without settling for easy answers. Listeners interested in how 1971 cinema handled political disillusionment should also visit our episode on A Clockwork Orange, which confronts similar questions from a radically different angle.
San Francisco is not merely a backdrop in Dirty Harry. It is a character. Don Siegel shoots the city with documentary precision — rooftops, construction sites, Kezar Stadium, winding streets, and the cold grey of the bay. As a result, San Francisco's geography becomes an extension of the film's moral landscape: beautiful, treacherous, and full of places the law cannot easily reach.
The city of 1971 was in deep transition. The Summer of...
