The 50 most-deserving Oscar winners of all time

Sometimes the bond between performer and designer is so intimate, it becomes a signature in itself. So it went with Audrey Hepburn and Hubert de Givenchy, whose playful outfits became the star's wardrobe onscreen and off for decades. Hollywood's Edith Head collected this Oscar in name only.—Joshua Rothkopf

If you felt exhilarated by those Olympic hopefuls running on the beach, that's because of Vangelis's pulsing electronic music, an audacious choice for a period piece. The Greek composer's stirring main theme still triggers recognition in sports reels and parodies; his synths modernized the field.—Joshua Rothkopf

Clothes make the man (and the monster): The exotic capes and headpieces that Eiko Ishioka designed for Francis Ford Coppola's operatic horror film were a singular achievement, so eye-catching that you couldn't help but be dazzled and seduced.—Keith Uhlich

This Walt Disney short about a magical forest come to life was the first commercially released entertainment produced in three-strip Technicolor (it was also the first Oscar-winning cartoon), and it's an imaginative beauty. Uncle Walt's exclusive contract with the lab meant that other animators were forced to work with inferior processes for years.—Keith Uhlich

Charlie Allnut is one of Bogart's defining roles: an aging, gin-swilling riverboat captain (a precursor to world-weary old men like Unforgiven's William Munny) and a crusty recluse trying to avoid the world. Ultimately, he's forced to deal with it.—Keith Uhlich

And Russell Crowe thought Gladiator was hard. Try performing across genders (and, let's not forget, races). The character of Billy Kwan is Chinese; he's also Australian and a dwarf. Hunt, a New Jersey--born stage actress, did a total transformation and tore eyeballs away from the then-sizzling Mel Gibson.—Joshua Rothkopf

Eminem was so convinced that his best-selling rap anthem wouldn't win, he didn't even show up to the ceremony (a rumor persists that he was sleeping). Still, who could blame him? A hip-hop track had never even been nominated before, much less been victorious. Chalk it up to an increasingly youthful Academy with excellent taste.—Joshua Rothkopf

Oscar has a huge crush on car chases—Bullitt (1968) netted a golden statuette for some scary San Francisco speeding. But Gerald B. Greenberg seriously upped the ante with his cutting of this gritty police drama, one that shapes skittish rhythms and anxieties out of pure craft. A genius achievement.—Joshua Rothkopf

At a certain time of evening, the light turns pink and hazy; it's called the magic hour, but Cuban cinematographer Nestor Almendros knew it lasted for only half that long. Working with director Terrence Malick (and second shooter Haskell Wexler), Almendros's pace was slow, but the results were heartrending.—Joshua Rothkopf

It's the most sickening moment in all of cinema: a Freudian reversal in which a male astronaut (the courageous John Hurt) finds himself splayed across a table giving violent, bloody birth to a different species. Out of his chest burst a franchise, for which we can tip our hats to futuristic Swiss sculptor H.R. Giger.—Joshua Rothkopf

The creativity that went into this picture is scary: First came the vocal talents of sprightly Mercedes McCambridge as the voice of the demon—treated, slowed, reversed. Then came Gonzalo Gavira, the recordist behind the trippy El Topo, who utilized mushy eggs and a plucked comb to create the sounds of head-spinning terror.—Joshua Rothkopf

The collective sigh heard around the globe was deafening: Finally. And while Scorsese's most devoted fans could cite several other instances (Taxi Driver, The Last Temptation of Christ, etc.) when the director's leadership was more revolutionary, this effort was astonishing, a punchy return to form.—Joshua Rothkopf

You can thank Isaac Hayes and his funky, wah-chicka-wah "Theme from Shaft" for breaking the stranglehold that Broadway-style show tunes and Tin Pan Alley standards had on the category. Suddenly, rock and soul had a real shot. And Hayes's sexy basso profundo purr makes this song one bad mutha...(shut your mouth)!—David Fear

Gregg Toland had already been experimenting with deep-focus cinematography prior to this, but his adaptation of Emily Bront's classic novel is where he starts to put some of those theories into practice. It's a trick of the light that he'd soon refine in a modest little movie called Citizen Kane.—David Fear

All the Na'vis of today can be traced back to a manic, bow-tie-wearing bunny trading wisecracks with Bob Hoskins. Cartoon characters and human beings interact so convincingly in Roger Rabbit that the Academy had to take notice, in turn spurring a rekindled interest in old-school animation.—Keith Uhlich

De Niro himself was the prime mover on the project, intrigued by the animalistic nature of boxer Jake LaMotta. Martin Scorsese declined at first, but eventually came around to the idea, reinvigorated. His collaborator was prepared: De Niro gained more than 60 pounds and turned in the Method performance of a lifetime.—Joshua Rothkopf

Let's give a loving, Norma Desmond-worthy close-up to the script of the ultimate Hollywood metamovie. We laugh at the faded starlet's declaration, "I am big. It's the pictures that got small." But her rejection still cuts deep. There'd be no Mulholland Drive without Billy Wilder & Co.'s acid example.—Keith Uhlich

Horror has always received short shrift from the Academy, and the last person anyone might have pegged to finally elevate its standing is one half of Comedy Central’s Dave Chappelle stand-ins. But Get Out was too big a leftfield phenomenon for even out-of-touch Oscar voters to ignore, and Peele’s truly original script – equal parts hilarious and horrifying – felt particularly resonant in the direct aftermath of the 2016 election. ‘I would’ve voted for Obama a third time if I could’ became a meme jabbing at insincere liberals, while the entire concept of the Sunken Place seemed to describe America in the early days of the Trump era.—Matthew Singer 

From the helicopter chop of a ceiling fan to the enveloping mayhem of an attack on a Vietnamese village, Walter Murch's revolutionary use of layered, ambient noise changed the way movies could speak. Because of Murch and his crew, what you heard suddenly became as important as what you saw.—David Fear

The Academy inaugurated its official (as opposed to merely honorary) foreign-film award with one of vintage Italian cinema's best. Federico Fellini's circus-performer tragedy helped turn on countless Americans to the joys of reading subtitles, and significantly broadened the domestic audience for non-English-language movies. Molto grazie, Oscars.—David Fear

The image of Academy voters getting down to Prince's "Darling Nikki" is a strange one indeed. But it only demonstrates the influence of the High Priest of Pop, whose inimitable music and mesmerizing performance style made us feel like we were glimpsing the future.—Keith Uhlich

If we wanted to pinpoint the apex of Hollywood's 1970s ambition, it would be Robert Towne's dazzling script for this neonoir, still a model for aspiring writers. Diving deep into the actual history of Los Angeles's land grabs, Towne also supplied romance, nostalgia and Jack Nicholson's finest hour.—Joshua Rothkopf

If the 2009 restoration of this ballet classic proves nothing else, it's that the movie's dynamic art-direction duo—Hein Heckroth and Arthur Lawson—knew how to use vivid color and creative sets for maximum impact. Look at that cobbler's shop! The velvet green interior of that coach! Those titular pieces of footwear!—David Fear

Already a box-office draw for a decade, Crawford lunged into a screen test for director Michael Curtiz, who initially wanted nothing to do with her. Out of that audition, Crawford seized melodrama's finest role, one that greatly expanded the psychological range expected of actors.—Joshua Rothkopf

How do you convince audiences that a mechanical shark is the real, man-eating deal? Get John Williams to compose an iconic theme that makes the omnipresent threat more frightening than the attack itself. Betcha can't step into the ocean without looking for a fin on the horizon.—Keith Uhlich

Talk about a great Father's Day present: John Huston, wunderkind director of The Maltese Falcon, decided to cast his legendary dad as a grubby prospector in this 1948 thriller. Out of their collaboration came Oscar gold for Pops (as well as Best Director and Best Screenplay wins for Sonny).—Joshua Rothkopf

She sings wistfully, staring off toward an unseen horizon. Her dog looks too. And in less than three minutes of screen time, the whole of adolescent dreaminess is delivered to your wet eyes. Judy Garland never eclipsed this song performance, nor would she have to—it's the definition of a magic spell.—Joshua Rothkopf

A cynic – or rather, a huge asshole – might argue that dying is the best thing Ledger could have done for his Oscar prospects. In truth, it’s hard to think of a performance from the last decade that looms larger in the public imagination. Subsequent takes on the Joker made the character into, well, a joke, but Ledger’s turn ranks with the best villains in cinema history: a lip-smacking menace without a cause who, for all his cartoonish malevolence, still feels frighteningly real.—Matthew Singer

This ode to resistance and romance is a great example of what the studio system could accomplish at full mast: peerless dialogue ('Round up the usual suspects'), perfectly cast character actors and a movie-star pairing that made you believe the problems of two people did amount to a hill of beans.—David Fear

No computer effects here, geeklings: Rick Baker's wizardly application of sprouting hair, lengthening paws and chomping jaws on actor David Naughton is the key accomplishment of the latex-happy field of monster making (a sadly shrinking one). The entire Best Makeup Oscar category was created to honor this film.—Joshua Rothkopf

Think back to the first time you watched Robert Patrick's sleek killer robot slowly regenerate its metallic surfaces like molten steel. Did I actually see what I think I just saw? Groundbreaking doesn't begin to cover what T2's four-man visual-effects team—Gene Warren Jr., Robert Skotak, Stan Winston and Dennis Muren—managed to do in this sci-fi action behemoth; game-changing would be more accurate, as every blockbuster from Jurassic Park to the Lord of the Rings trilogy would adopt the film's CGI ber alles mentality. The Academy didn't just salute a crack team of FX experts, it also nodded to the future of digital filmmaking: a series of ones and zeroes bringing flights of fancy to life.—David Fear

One of the rare movies to openly criticize the Vietnam War while it was still going on, Peter Davis's look at the U.S.'s imperialist jaunt in Southeast Asia portrayed the military as morally unsound goons; its win signaled an acknowledgment that the antiwar movement had reached critical mass. A damning, defining vrit landmark, Hearts and Minds also underlined the era's generation gap at the Oscar ceremony itself: After Davis read a statement from the Viet Cong during his acceptance speech, presenter Frank Sinatra publicly distanced himself from the remarks. Privately, he allegedly offered to smash the director's face in.—David Fear

Everyone still talks about Anthony Hopkins's fava-beans-and-nice-chianti-loving serial killer, but the movie's influence went beyond its memorable bad guy. For once, a horror film was granted industry prestige (Silence swept the top five Oscar categories, the first film of any kind to do so since 1975's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest), and its disturbing flourishes were relentlessly copied by imitators both good (Seven) and bad (8MM). Yet none of them—not even the sorry sequel, Hannibal—had the benefit of Jodie Foster, whose feminist-conscious performance as novice FBI agent Clarice Starling turned the damsel-in-distress role on its head.—Keith Uhlich

All night Bong Joon-ho looked like he knew that he’d gotten away with something. The South Korean director had already managed to Trojan-horse a searing anti-capitalist critique to a worldwide audience inside a genuinely thrilling, genre-blurred piece of entertainment. Now here he was, collecting statuettes and standing ovations from a room full of rich, oblivious Hollywood elites. Parasite’s Best Picture win was historic – the first non-English film to earn the award – and it deserves inclusion on this list for that reason alone. But it’s that sly act of subterfuge that gave the moment an extra layer of sublimity.—Matthew Singer   

Even if Oscar voters weren't ready to dub the ne plus ultra of '90s hip-nihilist cinema the best picture of the year, they couldn't deny that Quentin Tarantino and Roger Avary's formally daring script deserved a statuette. But while the duo's writing achievement was clearly revolutionary in every respect, their victory was also highly symbolic: By honoring this rhapsody to cheeseburgers and chatty killers, the Academy officially opened its arms to the maverick Sundance generation. Suddenly, an upstart Indiewood industry that had been operating on the fringes was deemed legit in the eyes of Hollywood.—David Fear

McDaniel famously said that she'd rather play a maid than be one. To look at her performance as Scarlett O'Hara's servant and confidante (the first Oscar to go to a person of color) is a discomfiting reminder that minority actors, in order to work consistently, often have to play stereotypes. Yet McDaniel supplied the role of Mammy with an innate dignity that helped her rise above the script's small-minded conventions. Indeed, in some scenes it's as if she were the true master of Tara, dominating it even in her lowly position through sheer will power and personality.—Keith Uhlich

Everyone has their favorite moments: "I believe in America." The horse's head, spilling gore all over a studio executive's silk sheets. Sonny's tollbooth bloodbath. Connie's wedding and the carnage-montage baptism. Francis Ford Coppola's towering statement on murderous family ties continues to have a hold on our pop-cultural consciousness. An old-school epic blockbuster made with New Hollywood chutzpah, this mob drama di tutti mob dramas passed the torch to a younger generation of film brats, birthing a second golden age in the process. It was an offer the Academy couldn't—and thankfully didn't—refuse.—David Fear

"I coulda been a contender!" cries Terry Malloy. Yet for the already-thrice-nominated actor who played him, the role finally turned Marlon Brando into a winner. The brooding star had revolutionized acting with A Streetcar Named Desire (1952), but his tough, tender take on Waterfront's working-class hero was something else entirely. Once the Bowery brute delicately handled Eva Marie Saint's glove, you could divide screen performances into two categories: before and after Brando. This Oscar win solidified his standing as the greatest actor of his generation—a reputation he'd try to live down for the rest of his career.—David Fear

Arguably the crowning achievement of the silent era, F.W. Murnau's poetic 1927 melodrama (subtitled A Song of Two Humans) pushed visual storytelling—surreal superimpositions, camera movements, expressionistic sets—to the next level. Though it technically shared Best Picture status with William Wellman's WWI drama Wings at the very first Oscar ceremony, Sunrise's singular recognition announced from the get-go that artistic merit, rather than box-office receipts (the film was a flop upon release), would be the benchmark for Best Picture winners. Whether the Academy has upheld that standard is questionable, but this early example of good taste proves that voters knew a groundbreaking masterpiece when they saw one.—David Fear

Our consensus choice by a galaxy-wide margin, Stanley Kubrick's seismically influential special effects—landmark accomplishments in their field—were steered by an intelligence that spent years pursuing a vision of total realism. Kubrick sought out revered author Arthur C. Clarke for the ideas; he then helped pioneer (or indulge) processes like front projection and slit-scan animation, to painstakingly create sequences of eerie unearthliness. Miniature models took on epic gravity. A giant 30-ton human guinea-pig wheel, constructed to create the illusion of zero-G weightlessness, was built at a cost of a $750,000 (staggering in 1960s dollars). All of it was meant to stun audiences and expand minds. Mission accomplished, Stanley.—Joshua Rothkopf