If Robert Downey Sr. were more famous and his progeny less well-known, the “Junior” in Robert Downey Jr. would take on a much greater significance. It would become less a mark that he comes from an interesting family and become more like the “Junior” in Frank Sinatra Junior: a curse delivered at birth to ensure that the son will neither usurp the father professionally nor challenge his esteemed place in the show-business firmament.

I would consider Robert Downey Sr. a great man and a great artist, but he was blessed and cursed to live his professional life in the margins; first, as one of the great innovators of early independent experimental film, and then as an increasingly irrelevant commercial filmmaker—reduced to churning out garbage like The Gong Show Movie for his buddy Chuck Barris.

Recently, Criterion released a box set of Downey Sr.’s early experimental films, as well as Putney Swope, the outrageous ad-world satire that represented Downey Sr.’s creative and commercial breakthrough and semi-famously inspired Louis C.K. to become a filmmaker. The films included in the set are so personal and intimate that they sometimes feel more like home movies than proper films.

In a sense, they are home movies: lively improvised slices of life prominently featuring the filmmaker’s family, particularly his actress wife Susan. These are fascinating sociological documents of how New York looked in the 1960s and how New Yorkers behaved enlivened by an anarchic comic spark that presages the tiny comic revolutions of National Lampoon and Saturday Night Live (where Robert Sr.’s brother James worked and continues to work for decades) and Woody Allen’s golden age.

This is the upside to the world that Robert Downey Jr. was born into: he was a beautiful, androgynous child whose family name might not have meant anything to outsiders, but marked him as countercultural royalty to the right people. He was a little prince raised by bohemian parents who left him a complicated legacy.

Robert Downey Jr. as Charles Spencer Chaplin in Chaplin

Downey Sr. introduced his little prince to both acting and marijuana at a very early age. While the notion of pot as a gateway drug seems increasingly ridiculous, it does not seem coincidental that a child introduced to drugs by his father would go on to become the world’s most famous junkie.

For years, Downey Jr. had the strange misfortune to be our most famous drug addict; a man riddled by demons so intense and so severe that he was as famous for being a drug addict as he was for being one of the most talented and charismatic actors of his generation. So when Robert Downey Jr. famously and, to be brutally honest, factually, told Entertainment Weekly that he wouldn’t make a 500,000 dollar indie movie after a blockbuster, there was a whole lot more at play than the aging Downey Jr.’s concern for the comforts and ease of studio movies.

I have no doubt that Downey Jr. loves his father. He was one of the guests at a tribute to him in LA not too long ago (along with Downey Sr. super-fan Paul Thomas Anderson), but his father left him a violently contradictory legacy. Downey Jr. grew up on independent film sets, or what would be sets if his father didn’t prefer just shooting on the streets without a permit. So for Downey Jr., independent films are more than just an option post-blockbuster. They’re a massive part of a past that contains incredible triumphs but also incredible pain rooted in the drugs that were a bond between a brilliant, troubled son and his brilliant, troubled father.

Press tours have a way of bringing out the worst in actors by subjecting them to the same asinine questions over and over again and making them feel like mercenaries out shilling their wares to whatever outlet is interested. So when Downey Jr. told Entertainment Weekly Radio that he’s reluctant to plunge into the world of independent film again because, in his estimation,
“they’re exhausting and sometimes they suck and then you just go, ‘What was I thinking?” part of me suspects he was channeling the sneering bluntness of Tony Stark.

Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark in Iron Man

That’s what makes Downey Jr’s casting as Tony Stark/Iron Man so inspired. They’re both paradoxically men of almost superhuman resilience and strength who are paradoxically defined by their intense vulnerability. And, if that fifty million dollar paycheck and robot suit can make a man who has been through many a hell of his own devising, feel stronger and less vulnerable, than it’s understandable why he might prefer playing superheroes to the kinds of misfits bumming around the fringes you tend to find at Sundance.

And, to give Downey Jr. credit, a lot of independent films are terrible. The idea that a film’s budget and tone and production paradigm makes it inherently worthwhile and the product of artists is insulting to the great independent films that do overcome tremendous obstacles to become a lasting piece of art. If we pretend that every independent film is a scruffy triumph like Winter’s Bone then we greatly undervalue that particular film’s enormous value.

I’d like to imagine that if another script like A Scanner Darkly were to come to Downey Jr. he would not toss it in the circular file because the set lacked an impressive craft services budget. I do not blame Downey Jr. for not wanting to be James Toback’s alter-ego in a series of self-indulgent indies that seem to exist solely to satisfy Toback’s massive ego.

Robert Downey Jr. as James Barris in A Scanner Darkly

As to Birdman director Alejandro González Iñárritu’s argument that superhero films represent “cultural genocide,” well, I would argue that Iron Man 3 as an achievement towers over Birdman, Academy Award or not. Pop culture isn’t innately trash any more than independent films are innately high art.

It’s safe to say that Downey Jr. has spent more time on independent movie sets than almost any writer who has interviewed him, and knows of their joys and agonies better than just about anyone. These films are not just a world he knows well, they were the spaces that created and distorted him, and where he has honed his idiosyncratic gifts. And, if this man who has survived so much, wants to leave these worlds, at least temporarily, in his past, I, for one, cannot blame him.

In the spirit of the San Francisco Silent Film Festival taking place this weekend, I thought I’d compile a list of titles that I believe are great gateways for those unacquainted with the wonderful world of silent film. The silent era is a glaring blind spot for many a cinephile (me included, up until just a few years ago), which is truly a shame. A lot of the greatest films of all time were created before sound was introduced (some of which are listed here), and approaching contemporary movies with a measure of knowledge about where their ideas and techniques came from enhances the experience tenfold.

These films aren’t necessarily the greatest of the silent era and perhaps not even the most influential. There are TONS of great silents to fall in love with. These selections are simply good spots in the giant pool of silent films for newcomers to dip their toes in. For those that think silent films are boring or dated, you’ll quickly see just how fun and entertaining these films are, even by today’s standards. If you or a friend or a group of friends have been reluctant to give silent films a try or never had the desire to, I encourage you to give one or more of these films a try. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.

The absolute best way to see a silent film is to see it at a theater with live music accompaniment, but that unfortunately isn’t an opportunity available to most of us. That’s what makes festivals like SFSFF so special. If you’re in the Bay Area, don’t miss the show! Check out our interview with Anita Monga, the festival’s artistic director.

City Lights (1931)—Charlie Chaplin

Of all the great characters in silent cinema, none are more iconic, touching, likable, or inviting to newcomers than Chaplin’s Tramp. City Lights is arguably the best representation of Chaplin’s style, a masterpiece of slapstick, immaculate staging, “Aw shucks” giddy romance, and graceful physical expression. It’s one of the most enchanting romances of the silent era, with the Tramp’s amorous gaze set on someone who can’t return it—a spunky blind girl played by the wonderful Virginia Cherrill. The Tramp also makes friends with an alcoholic millionaire (Harry Myers), with their unlikely bromance providing some of the funniest scenes in any Chaplin film. Interestingly enough, City Lights was made three years in to the talkie era. The decision to keep the dialogue muted was a masterstroke. Chaplin knew the Tramp didn’t need sound to express himself. Once you bear witness to Chaplin’s grace, physical prowess, and effortless storytelling, it’s hard not to give in to the film, turn off your iPhone, get cozy, and do exactly what Chaplin wanted us all to do—smile a big smile.

For Fans of: Johnny Depp, Disneyland, pratfalls, cartoons, having a wholesome good time

Watch City Lights clip:

City Lights is available on Hulu Plus

Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1927)—F.W. Murnau

If you see only one film on this list, make it this one. F.W. Murnau’s salty/sweet romance masterpiece stirs every bit of me each time I watch it. It’s about a man and woman whose marriage has hit rock bottom (that’s a huge understatement) and how they climb their way out of the depths of resentment to rediscover the love they’d lost. Sunrise can be buoyant, terrifying, spiritual, tragic, haunting, and joyous, often all at once. There’s so much emotion wrapped up in every gorgeous frame that it can be overwhelming, but in the best way possible. Murnau, the greatest German expressionist of the era, seemingly defies the laws of space and gravity with his camera, which glides impossibly over seemingly obstructed terrain. The film runs on the power of the dreamlike imagery, and though the plot may seem basic, its simplicity is necessary to convey the story’s enormous emotion. Sunrise changed the way I watch movies, and I hope it will for you as well.

For Fans of: Terrence Malick, Blue Valentine, fancy camerawork, Martin Scorsese, fucked up romance

Watch Sunrise clip:

A Trip to the Moon (1902)—Georges Melies

Made virtually the minute cinema exited the womb, Georges Melies’ A Trip to the Moon captured the minds and imaginations of everyone who saw it at the time. Some will say it’s a special effects movie that looks like a 1^st grader’s slapped together diorama compared to today’s computer vomited visual wonders. To them I’d contest that A Trip to the Moon is a supremely impressive work of art considering it’s OVER 110 FREAKING YEARS OLD! What makes it required viewing for every film buff is that it acts as a beacon for us to assess just how far we’ve come in terms of technology. It’s a lot of fun to imagine how awestruck audiences must have been in 1902 to see the group of astronauts visit that distant light in the night sky, but what resonates most about the film today is the spirit of Melies’ boundless imagination. The band Air provides the (fantastic) soundtrack for the restored hand-colored version of the film above.

For Fans of: Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, mushrooms, astronomy, video games

Watch A Trip to the Moon clip:

The General (1926)—Buster Keaton

Though I personally slightly prefer the zanily whimsical Sherlock Jr., The General is inarguably the paramount accomplishment of Buster Keaton’s career. A speedy adventure brimming with spectacle, it follows “The Great Stone Face” (a name given to Keaton referring to his perpetually deadpan countenance) as he single-handedly takes on an army while aboard the titular train, all for the sake of love. The stunts concocted here are breathtaking enough to captivate any moviegoer, with Keaton tumbling and daredevil-ing all over the locomotive like an acrobatic madman. The  creativity and inventiveness of the film is only rivaled by Chaplin, but Keaton’s work is less saccharine and jibes better with today’s dry, unsentimental brand of humor. My wife usually resigns to the bedroom when I start watching my “classic movies”, but she always seems to linger when I throw old Buster on.

For Fans of: Mel Brooks, Jackie Chan, Rube Goldberg machines, dry humor

Watch The General:

The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)—Carl Dreyer

Carl Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc is said to contain the single greatest performance by an actor ever captured on camera, by an enigmatic woman known simply as “Falconetti” (in her only acting role.) Sound like hyperbole? Watch the film. Even if you don’t agree, you’ll have at least seen a wonderful film by one of the most visually powerful directors to ever live (if you’ve never heard of him, do yourself a huge favor and study up.) There’s something unsettling and a bit otherworldly about Joan of Arc, as if it exists outside time and space. It’s like an out of body experience, transporting you somewhere cold, dark, and unfamiliar. Falconetti’s full-screen face is so riveting and tangible it’ll make you shudder, perhaps even weep. Even the greatest actors of today can’t hold a candle.

For Fans of: Amazing freaking acting

Watch The Passion of Joan of Arc clip:

The Passion of Joan of Arc is available on Hulu Plus

The Cabinet of Dr. Calgari (1920)—Robert Wiene

German expressionist Robert Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr. Calgari may be the first horror film ever made, and if so, it sure set the bar high. Visually, the film’s angular, twisted black and white style can be felt in countless modern films, in the works of Tim Burton and Guillermo del Toro, the animated films of Henry Selick, and countless horror flicks. The film’s visual style even helped birth film noir. What’s remarkable is that despite its age, Dr. Calgari stands head and shoulders above most of its descendants. The plot—a macabre murder mystery set in a small German town—isn’t particularly innovative, but it’s the film’s striking, dreamlike imagery that makes it so enduring. Several remakes, books, and even an opera have stemmed from the original film, and with good reason–Wiene was a trailblazer who created a timeless classic.

For Fans of: Tim Burton, set design, Darren Aronofsky, horror movies, punk rock, twist endings

Watch The Cabinet of Dr. Calgari:

Honorable Mentions

Metropolis (1927)—Fritz Lang

The Birth of a Nation (1915)—D.W. Griffith

Sherlock Jr. (1924)—Buster Keaton

Battleship Potemkin (1925)—Sergei M. Eisenstein

Nosferatu (1922)—F.W. Murnau

What was the first silent film that you fell in love with? Let us know in the comments!