Movie scene

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 The best ever movie scenes i never see like that.The diologue was appreciated and 

Earlier this week, IndieWire unveiled our list of the 100 Best Movies of the Decade.

As you might imagine, selecting those movies from the thousands that have been released over the last 10 years wasn’t an easy process. A multitude of factors went into the team’s individual and collective choices, but when we thought back on the films that defined this decade, we found ourselves returning to individual moments as a pathway into engaging with the movies around them. None of the modern classics that made it onto our list can be distilled into a single scene, but certain passages from them — like vivid flashbulb memories, or a lighthouse guiding us back to the shore — still manage to perfectly capture the essence of their full power.

From the Big Bang to Bryan Adams’ “Heaven,” and from Godard to a gas station striptease, these are the 25 best movie scenes of the last 10 years.

25. “Force Majeure” — The Avalanche

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First, there’s the crack of dynamite kicking it off. Then, the low rumble and flurry of snow moving swiftly from the edge of the frame, clear enough to draw away the attention of a lunchtime crowd, loud enough to inspire at least one concerned parent (Lisa Loven Kongsli as Ebba, the only concerned parent, as we later come to know) to sit straight and pay attention. “But it’s controlled,” her always-unruffled husband (Johannes Kuhnke as Tomas) tosses off, wholly unbothered, his entire approach to life and emotional philosophy bundled up in one slight sentence. Still, it’s out of control, and as the avalanche rushes towards the patio, a real terror grips both the players and the audience, though no one is more terrified than Tomas, who runs — fast, and without looking back. As soon as the going gets rough, he’s out of there, leaving behind his wife and children, booking it as far away as possible, gone. 

It’s this scene, both humorous and genuinely chilling (does the snow really need to take over the frame for so long? You bet it does), that sets into motion the madness that’s to come. Tomas only cares about himself, Ebba is left to pick up the pieces, and when he finally comes ambling back in, casual as anything, Ebba’s fury is impossible to overlook. Tomas, of course, totally misses it. The plot of Ruben Östlund’s black comedy breakout doesn’t sound funny at first blush — a family almost dies in an avalanche, a husband and father reveals himself to be selfish, everything crumbles — but the film is actually a wicked dark comedy. This life-or-death moment is where it starts. —KE

24. “Phoenix” — Speak Low

If you haven’t seen Christian Petzold’s “Phoenix,” we suggest you stop reading now (and rectify that immediately); the ending is just too damn good to be spoiled for you here.

Now, to reiterate what the rest of us already know: “Phoenix” is the kind of movie that feels transparently reverse-engineered from its final scene — it’s also the kind of movie that requires some enormous leaps in logic to get there — but that doesn’t make the denouement of Petzold’s melodramatic postwar noir any less delectable. We have to believe that Nelly (Nina Hoss) looks enough like her former self to fool her devious ex-husband, but also that the plastic surgery she received after surviving the Holocaust wasn’t so good that Johnny (Ronald Zehrfeld) might think he’s manipulating the supposedly dead woman to whom he was once married. Hoss’ steely, wounded performance allows the film to walk thread that needle, but it’s the way she pulls down the façade that makes the film so memorable.

Standing in front of all the people she knew in her former life, Johnny at the piano, Nelly performs a warbling rendition of the standard “Speak Low.” Her voice trembles with the pain of past trauma. And then she stuns the room into silence by exposing a small patch of skin on her arm. The closing shot of her leaving the shellshocked crowd and walking out of focus is one of the most purely satisfying moments in modern cinema, a perfect storm of moral justice, lukewarm revenge, and shattering emotional clarity. —DE

23. “Once Upon a Time in Anatolia” — The Apple

Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s police procedural (which, in a prelude to his Palme d’Or–winning “Winter Sleep,” took home the Granx Prix from Cannes) contains many arresting moments, none so memorable as a tracking shot of an apple rolling down a hill and into a stream. Gökhan Tiryaki’s CinemaScope photography makes this utterly simple act impossible to turn away from, in part because the film’s bleak tone suggests it might precede something awful and in part because it’s simply a beautiful shot. There are a few other apples in the spot where the one we’re watching comes to a stop, only these have already begun to decay in the water. What meaning — if any — you ascribe to that is up to you, but the moment is unforgettable in and of itself. —MN

22. “A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence” — Karl XII

The fact of the matter is that we could have filled this entire list with scenes from Roy Andersson’s self-described “trilogy about being a human being.” All of the scenes in “Songs from the Second Floor,” “You, the Living,” and “A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence” are wonders of morbid comic imagination. Andersson shoots each of the isolated vignettes that comprise these films in one uninterrupted take, his static (or understandably shell-shocked) camera giving its full attention to these droll tableaux of despair.

That being said, the incredible centerpiece from Andersson’s most recent film deserves special recognition, if only because of its mind-boggling scale, and the sheer number of extras (both human and horse) required to pull it off. What starts as a benign moment inside a restaurant slowly gives way to a general disquiet as the massacred army of King Charles XII sloughs into the background, the men stumbling home from their slaughter at the Battle of Poltava. Distant ghosts of the 18th century, their spirit eventually makes their play for the modern world, the young and bloodthirsty sovereign galloping off the pages of history and into the diner itself. Running for the better part of 20 minutes, the shot is a crystalline illustration of how Andersson’s signature approach allows him to flatten time into an endless continuum of defeat — it’s a show-stopping long-take in a film that consists of nothing but show-stopping long-takes. —DE