1975 was one of those years where cinema didn’t just show off—it reshaped the landscape. Spielberg invented the modern blockbuster with Jaws. Kubrick made aristocratic dystopia look gorgeous with Barry Lyndon. Altman wrangled chaos into brilliance with Nashville. And if you wanted something stranger, sleazier, or more politically charged, you had Pasolini, Herzog, and a wave of international filmmakers pushing boundaries that still feel shocking today. It was a year where Hollywood muscle met arthouse audacity, where pulp sat comfortably beside prestige, and where nearly every corner of film (from horror to melodrama to political documentary) delivered something unforgettable. So here it is: the best movies of 1975, a lineup that proves one year can hold multitudes, and that cinema in the mid-70s was firing on every cylinder imaginable.
These are the 50 Greatest Movies Turning 50 in 2025.
40. French Connection II
French Connection II is one of those sequels that nobody really asked for but were sort of glad existed once it showed up. William Friedkin’s original was a perfect little time bomb of grit and paranoia, a movie that ended with Gene Hackman charging offscreen like an angry rhinoceros, leaving us in suspense. Frankenheimer, never one to settle for subtlety, decided to answer the dangling question: “What if we took Popeye Doyle out of New York and dropped him in France, where he doesn’t speak the language, doesn’t know the customs, and has the social grace of a sledgehammer?”
If successful sequels are the ones that try and one-up their predecessors, this one deserves massive points for swinging for the bleachers. Hackman, who won his Oscar for playing Doyle, returns with a performance just as intense. In New York, he was abrasive. In Marseilles, he’s practically a walking act of war. Doyle is sent overseas to capture Alain Charnier (Fernando Rey), the drug kingpin who got away in the first film. Naturally, instead of a cat-and-mouse thriller, we get two hours of watching Hackman insult waiters, butcher the French language, and glare at everyone as though they’ve just kicked his dog.
Few actors are as good at playing unrepentant assholes like Hackman, and it’s a delight just watching him do whatever the fuck he wants for most of the movie. But what makes his performance is the divisive heroin withdrawal sequence. Around the halfway point, the main villain captures Doyle, locks him in a room, forcibly gets him addicted to heroin, and then we watch the detox for what feels like an eternity. The film isn’t as thrilling or as memorable as the first one in a lot of ways, but it also doesn’t have a scene that lets Hackman act his ass off to such a degree as this one does. French Connection II is a sequel only the 1970s would have the nerve to make.
39. Lisztomania
Ken Russell wasn’t content making a movie about Franz Liszt. He made a movie where Liszt is a rock god, Wagner is basically Hitler with a synth, and the Catholic Church drafts our hero to fight evil with music. Subtle? No. Entertaining? Constantly. Do you need to know who Franz Liszt or Wagner are in order to enjoy Lisztomania? Absolutely not. The film barely pretends to be about history. Unlike Amadeus (another film about a historical musician), Russell has zero interest in adhering to the truth. Instead, he used rock stars of the past as a commentary on rock stars of the present. Roger Daltrey doesn’t so much play Liszt as he turns him into a strutting, bed-hopping frontman who just happens to also write concertos.
It’s less a performance and more of a gimmick since Daltrey is a real-life rock god playing a fictionalized version of a musician turned into a rock god, but it somehow works. This is the best way to describe the film overall. It’s crazy, but somehow, it works. Lisztomania is a two-hour fever dream of screaming fans, oversized organs, and hallucinatory set pieces that only make sense if you’ve been locked in a Ken Russell movie before. Is it coherent? Absolutely not. Is it dull? Not for a single second. Lisztomania is a mess, but it’s a deliriously watchable mess—like watching classical music have a nervous breakdown on stage and realizing you’re having the time of your life. It’s meta, it’s bombastic, and it captures the feeling of being high on cocaine and the eventual come down that comes with it better than movies actually about cocaine.
38. Farewell, My Lovely
Robert Mitchum was born to play Philip Marlowe. He’s old, tired, and looks like he’s been smoking since the Roosevelt administration—which is perfect, because Marlowe is supposed to be worn down by life. The story’s classic Chandler: missing girl, dead bodies, crooked cops, and enough double-crosses to make your head spin. Director Dick Richards doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but he doesn’t have to. The film leans into shadows, neon, and cigarette smoke until you feel like you need a shower. Mitchum carries the whole thing on his shoulders. Every line he delivers sounds like it’s been aged in whiskey.
The rest of the cast is solid, but really, you’re here for him. It’s not groundbreaking, but it doesn’t need to be. Farewell, My Lovely is old-school noir, shot in color, carried by one of the last true movie tough guys. Noir is a hard genre to get into. Every character speaks in rapid-fire quips that Shakespeare would be envious of, the plots are oftentimes overly convoluted, and they’re designed to have structures built around interviews, evidence collecting, and characters looking shifty. Not exactly exciting stuff. But Raymond Chandler knew how to turn cliches into gold. He was one, if not the best, writer of the genre, and Farewell, My Lovely is an excellent entry point into his work and the genre as a whole.
37. The Great Waldo Pepper
In The Great Waldo Pepper, Robert Redford plays a stunt pilot chasing fame in the 1920s, but mostly he just crashes into disappointment. George Roy Hill directs it like a tribute to daredevils and silent-era showmanship, with real planes doing real stunts that are still jaw-dropping. The movie wants to be bittersweet, but it mostly works because Redford looks like he was genetically engineered to wear goggles and a leather cap. It’s light, melancholy, and packed with enough mid-air insanity to make modern CGI look embarrassing. Not Redford’s flashiest role, but one of his most charming. And if you’ve ever wanted to see him risk his life on biplanes for two hours, this is the one. The whole thing is a light and breezy affair, but that’s a feature, not a bug. William Goldman wanted the film to lull audiences into a sense of security, like they were taking a warm bath while Redford sat next to them and just talked.
Even with the dangerous aerial stunts, the film is designed to be a cozy adventure, until it’s not. At a certain point, a stunt goes wrong and a character shockingly dies. It’s a sudden shift in tone that’s as memorably haunting as the opening of Cliffhanger. It’s a jaw-dropping moment that sticks with you and highlights just how insanely dangerous this profession was. These were thrill-seeking daredevils who risked their lives every single time they performed, and sometimes, they didn’t come home. That scene, more than Redford’s movie star charisma, justifies this movie’s existence. It turns an enjoyable film into an unforgettable experience that changes the tone for the rest of the film.
36. A Boy and His Dog
I’d never heard of A Boy and His Dog until my dad recommended it to me. He watches everything from the bizarre to the banal. Turns out, A Boy and His Dog is more of the former and less of the latter.
Adapted from Harlan Ellison’s novella of the same name, A Boy and His Dog is a grimy, darkly funny vision of the post-apocalypse. Don Johnson plays Vic, a scavenger roaming the wasteland with his telepathic dog, Blood. Vic isn’t just looking for food—he’s also after sex, and he isn’t too concerned about how he gets it.
The story balances bleak violence with zany humor, and while it’s rough around the edges as a product of its time, its influence can’t be overlooked. Released in 1975, it helped shape the wasteland stories that would dominate a decade later—most notably George Miller’s Mad Max films. Unapologetic, strange, and unsettling, A Boy and His Dog remains a cult classic fifty years later.
–William Dhalgren
35. Dolemite
Rudy Ray Moore didn’t invent blaxploitation, but with Dolemite, he made it his own sweaty, polyester kingdom. This is less a movie than it is a showcase for Moore’s brand of rhyming smack talk, kung fu incompetence, and unfiltered charisma. He struts, he shouts, he raps before rap existed, and the film bends itself around his every move like it’s just happy to be in the same room. The plot, if you can even call it that, is a blur of pimps, crooked cops, rival gangs, and a steady stream of women who are all apparently black belt-level assassins. The action scenes look like they were choreographed in the parking lot five minutes before shooting, and that’s half the fun. Nothing matches, nothing’s clean, but everything is alive.
Moore can’t act in the traditional sense, but he can perform, and that’s what matters. Every line is a punchline, every insult is a gift, and every fight scene is an accident waiting to happen. Dolemite is a movie that thrives on raw energy, trash aesthetics, and the sheer willpower of one man who knew he was destined to be a star. And he was right. The sequel is better, as is Petey Wheatstraw, but neither is as important as this film is. Before directors like Quentin Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez, and Kevin Smith inspired generations to pick up a camera and just shoot something already, Rudy Ray Moore had already paved the way. Not only is this a landmark film of the genre, it’s one of the most important independent films ever made. It’s also one of the most entertaining.
34. Hard Times
Hard Times is basically two hours of Charles Bronson punching people for rent money, and if that doesn’t sound like cinema to you, you’re dead inside. Set in Depression-era New Orleans, the film follows Bronson as a stoic drifter who gets roped into the underground world of bare-knuckle boxing by James Coburn, a fast-talking hustler who couldn’t keep a dollar in his pocket if it were stapled there. This was Hill’s directorial debut, and it already shows his trademarks: stripped-down storytelling, macho posturing, and a complete allergy to wasted time. No frills, no fluff, just men glaring, money exchanging hands, and fists turning faces into hamburger meat.
Bronson barely says ten words the whole movie, but he doesn’t have to—his fists do the monologues. Coburn, on the other hand, talks enough for both of them, oozing charm even when he’s being a selfish prick. What makes Hard Times sing is the simplicity. It’s not trying to reinvent the wheel; it’s just showing you how satisfying the wheel looks when Bronson rolls it over some poor bastard’s jaw. It’s lean, mean, and refreshingly unpretentious. Hill knew that if you’ve got Bronson cracking knuckles and Coburn cracking wise, you don’t need much else. It’s tough, it’s tight, and it proves Walter Hill walked into Hollywood fully formed. No wonder the guy never looked back.
33. Race with the Devil
Two motorcycle dealership owners decide to take their wives on a road trip with their fancy new RV from San Antonio, Texas, to Aspen, Colorado, but end up witnessing a satanic ritual that leads to a fight for their lives against the cult members. The film excels in creating an atmosphere of escalating tension, with Director Jack Starrett masterfully using the vast, desolate landscapes of West Texas to evoke a sense of isolation and dread. The action sequences and high-speed chases are thrilling, blending horror elements with intense moments of survival. Peter Fonda and Warren Oates prove to be resourceful and determined leads, delivering strong performances that bring a sense of urgency and paranoia to their roles.
–Vincent Kane
32. The Travelling Players
Convincing your average moviegoer to press play on a four-hour foreign film is oftentimes as difficult as getting them to do their taxes after getting a root canal. Especially if the film in question isn’t an action movie or comedy. Theo Angelopoulos’ The Travelling Players is the kind of film that tests your bladder, your patience, and your ability to keep track of Greek history without a cheat sheet. The film follows a troupe of actors performing the same melodrama over and over again while Greece is torn apart by war, occupation, and political upheaval. The play never changes, but the world around it keeps shifting, and that contrast is where the film’s brilliance lies.
Angelopoulos doesn’t care about conventional storytelling. Characters break the fourth wall, scenes unfold in long takes that last so long you start bargaining with God, and time itself becomes merely a suggestion. One minute you’re in 1939, the next you’re in 1952, and he isn’t pausing to hold your hand through the jumps. The result is less a straightforward narrative and more a living document of a country that never got a break. It’s political, it’s ambitious, and it’s about as fun as reading a history textbook written by James Joyce. But it’s also hypnotic. Angelopoulos finds a rhythm in the repetition, a strange beauty in watching art persist against chaos. The players keep playing, no matter who’s in charge, no matter what’s burning outside the theater. It’s long, it’s heavy, it’s demanding, but if you surrender to it, The Travelling Players feels like you’ve just lived through decades of history without leaving your seat.
31. Welfare
Frederick Wiseman’s portrait of a New York City welfare office features extensive portraits of claimants and administrators speaking with each other. This is the actual guts of the government, the ins and outs that affect people’s lives. Anyone who’s been to the DMV or the County Clerk’s office will find some familiarity here in the bureaucracy. But these are people whose needs are greater than a driver’s license renewal, so it’s much more infuriating to see them treated as problems rather than as people. Other than some particular instances, you can’t blame the workers too much either. Watching these meetings take place can be exhausting, so you can imagine being the person responsible for resolving the issues, without the real means to do so. Wiseman’s camera lingers on each sequence, and the time we spend with each case is key to understanding the system.
–Bryan Loomis
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What are some of your favorite movies from 1975? Do you think they’ll show up on this list?
