Best Movies of 1987
1987 stands as one of cinema's most remarkable years, delivering an extraordinary range of films that would go on to define their respective genres and influence filmmakers for decades to come. From Stanley Kubrick's unflinching war drama to Wim Wenders' poetic meditation on existence, the best movies of 1987 showcase a perfect storm of creative ambition and artistic achievement. This carefully curated selection of 21 films captures the year's diverse cinematic landscape, spanning intimate character studies, fantasy adventures that became instant classics, sharp media satires, and powerful historical dramas that earned international acclaim. Whether you're seeking award-winning performances from Hollywood's finest actors, groundbreaking directorial visions that pushed the boundaries of storytelling, or hidden gems that have gained cult followings over the years, these essential films from 1987 represent the pinnacle of what cinema can achieve. Each entry demonstrates why this particular year remains a touchstone for movie lovers, offering unforgettable moments that continue to resonate with audiences today and proving that great filmmaking transcends time, trends, and borders.
Louis Malle draws from his own childhood to create this achingly personal story of friendship and betrayal at a Catholic boarding school in Nazi-occupied France. The film follows Julien, whose world expands when a new student arrives, their growing bond gradually revealing secrets that place both boys in terrible danger. Malle directs with restraint that makes the eventual tragedy all the more devastating—there's no melodrama, just the careful observation of children navigating a world whose dangers they don't fully comprehend. Gaspard Manesse and Raphael Fejtö deliver remarkably natural performances as the boys, their friendship feeling entirely authentic. The film's power lies in its specificity and honesty; Malle refuses to explain too much or soften the moral complexities of survival under occupation. The final scene remains one of cinema's most gutting moments, earned through everything that preceded it. This is memory transformed into art of the highest order—essential, heartbreaking, and unforgettable.
Transcendent and deeply humane, Wim Wenders' masterpiece follows two angels—Bruno Ganz and Otto Sander—who observe the lives of Berliners from above, listening to their thoughts and offering invisible comfort. Shot in luminous black-and-white that transforms to color when angels experience mortality, the film is a visual poem about existence, longing, and the profound value of human experience with all its pain and joy. When Ganz's Damiel falls in love with a trapeze artist played by Solveig Dommartin, his desire to taste, touch, and feel becomes an aching meditation on what makes life worth living despite its impermanence and suffering.
Stanley Kubrick delivers a devastating two-part examination of the Vietnam War, following young recruits from brutal basic training through combat in Hue City. The film's structure works brilliantly—the first half shows how the military systematically breaks down individuality and builds killers, while the second demonstrates the horrifying consequences when that training meets the chaos of actual warfare. R. Lee Ermey's drill instructor is both darkly funny and terrifying, delivering some of cinema's most quotable dialogue while revealing the dehumanizing machinery of military indoctrination. Matthew Modine anchors the ensemble as Private Joker, whose sardonic wit can't protect him from the moral complexities he faces. Kubrick's precise compositions and unflinching eye create scenes that burn into memory, from the barracks tragedy to the final sniper sequence. This is war cinema that refuses to glorify or simplify, instead presenting combat as absurd, tragic, and soul-crushing.
In this film, director Rob Reiner crafts the ultimate fairy tale romance, framing a swashbuckling adventure as a grandfather's bedside story to his skeptical grandson. Cary Elwes and Robin Wright are perfectly cast as Westley and Buttercup, star-crossed lovers separated by presumed death and an unwanted engagement to the villainous Prince Humperdinck. What makes William Goldman's screenplay endure is how it lovingly embraces every storybook convention while gently mocking them—the result is simultaneously sincere and satirical, adventurous and hilarious. Mandy Patinkin's Inigo Montoya seeking revenge for his father's murder has become iconic, while André the Giant brings surprising tenderness to the gentle giant Fezzik. The supporting cast, including Christopher Guest, Wallace Shawn, and Billy Crystal, each get memorable moments in a brisk narrative that never outstays its welcome. Reiner balances sword fights, poisonings, torture, and true love with such confidence that the film works for children and adults alike, rewarding repeated viewings with quotable dialogue and genuine heart.
This British cult comedy follows two out-of-work actors—the anxious "I" and his flamboyant, volatile friend Withnail—as they flee London for a disastrous holiday in the Lake District in 1969. Writer-director Bruce Robinson draws from his own experiences to create a hilarious yet melancholy portrait of bohemian failure and fading youth. Richard E. Grant is phenomenally quotable as the perpetually drunk Withnail, while Paul McGann provides the perfect counterbalance as his more grounded companion. The film's dialogue has achieved legendary status for good reason, with nearly every line landing perfectly. Beyond the comedy, though, Robinson captures something poignant about friendship, ambition, and the moment when you realize your dissolute lifestyle must end. The supporting cast, particularly Richard Griffiths as the predatory Uncle Monty, creates memorable comic moments that somehow coexist with genuine pathos.
The romantic and professional lives of three network news journalists become entangled as their workplace faces budget cuts and shifting priorities in television journalism. Director James L. Brooks creates a sharp comedy-drama that examines media ethics while tracking a love triangle between ambitious producer Jane (Holly Hunter), talented but insecure reporter Aaron (Albert Brooks), and charismatic anchor Tom (William Hurt), whose on-camera appeal masks journalistic inexperience. The film intelligently explores how television news balances substance with presentation, raising questions about authenticity that feel even more relevant today. Hunter delivers a fierce, funny performance as a workaholic perfectionist whose personal life suffers from her professional intensity. Albert Brooks brings neurotic charm to the friend-zoned intellectual, while Hurt perfectly embodies the pretty face who may be deeper than he appears. The script crackles with rapid-fire dialogue and genuine insight into workplace dynamics. It's a smart, adult film about people genuinely passionate about their craft.
In 19th-century Denmark, two elderly sisters lead a small Lutheran congregation in a remote Jutland village, their lives defined by piety and self-denial. Gabriel Axel's *Babette's Feast* introduces Babette (Stephane Audran), a French refugee who becomes their housekeeper and, after winning the lottery, requests to prepare an authentic French dinner for the community. What follows is a quietly profound meditation on grace, sacrifice, and the relationship between earthly pleasure and spiritual devotion. The preparation and consumption of the meal becomes transcendent, filmed with reverence for both the culinary artistry and the emotional transformations it sparks. Axel adapts Isak Dinesen's story with patience and wisdom, allowing the simple premise to unfold into something genuinely moving. Audran's restrained performance anchors the film's exploration of how art and generosity can redeem years of austerity.
Chris Cooper delivers a quietly powerful performance as Joe Kenehan, a union organizer who arrives in 1920s West Virginia to help coal miners stand against the brutal tactics of the Stone Mountain Coal Company. Director John Sayles crafts an authentic and deeply humanistic portrait of labor struggle, anchoring the film in the lived experiences of miners, their families, and the company's imported strikebreakers. The ensemble cast, including James Earl Jones, Mary McDonnell, and David Strathairn, brings dignity and complexity to characters caught between survival and solidarity. Sayles resists easy heroics, instead offering a nuanced examination of how economic desperation, racial division, and corporate power collide in a community pushed to its breaking point. The film builds toward its inevitable confrontation with patience and moral clarity, making it essential viewing for anyone interested in American labor history.
Prince himself directed this concert film capturing his extraordinary 1987 performances in Rotterdam, and it stands as one of the finest documents of his artistic peak. Rather than simply recording songs, Prince structures the film with theatrical flair, incorporating narrative elements and striking visual design that complement rather than distract from the music. The Sign o' the Times tour represented Prince at his most musically adventurous, backed by a phenomenal band including Sheila E., and the film captures that energy with multi-camera coverage and editing that enhances rather than overwhelms. Prince's charisma commands every frame, whether delivering funky workouts or tender ballads. Unlike many concert films that feel redundant, this offers an experience distinct from the album while showcasing Prince's vision across multiple artistic disciplines. Essential viewing for understanding Prince's artistry and ambition at their height.
When Al Capone's iron grip on Prohibition-era Chicago seems unbreakable, federal agent Eliot Ness assembles an unlikely team to bring down the crime lord through his financial records. Director Brian De Palma delivers a stylish, operatic crime thriller that transforms historical events into pure cinematic excitement. Kevin Costner plays Ness with earnest determination, while Sean Connery earned an Oscar for his role as the streetwise Irish cop who teaches the by-the-book agent how Chicago really works. Robert De Niro disappears into Capone, creating a menacing presence that looms over every scene. Ennio Morricone's soaring score and De Palma's masterful set pieces—including an unforgettable shootout at Union Station—elevate this into one of the most entertaining gangster films ever made.
Heartbreakingly pure in its simplicity, Abbas Kiarostami's masterpiece follows eight-year-old Ahmad on an urgent quest through Iranian villages to return his classmate's notebook before the boy is expelled for repeated infractions. This premise becomes something profound in Kiarostami's hands—a meditation on childhood determination, moral responsibility, and the casual cruelties of adult rules. The director employs non-professional actors and naturalistic cinematography to capture Ahmad's journey through winding streets and up steep hillsides, the camera following his small figure against vast landscapes that emphasize both his vulnerability and his resolve. There's no manufactured drama, no score manipulating emotions, just a child trying to do the right thing while adults remain oblivious to his mission. Kiarostami finds endless visual poetry in simple moments: Ahmad running through alleyways, knocking on doors, asking directions. It's cinema at its most essential and affecting, proving that stories of basic human decency never lose their power.
John Lone portrays Pu Yi, the last emperor of China, in Bernardo Bertolucci's sweeping historical epic that traces one man's journey from absolute power to ordinary citizen. The film's scope is breathtaking, beginning with Pu Yi's ascension to the throne at age three and following him through decades of tumultuous Chinese history, including Japanese occupation and Communist revolution. Bertolucci secured unprecedented access to film inside Beijing's Forbidden City, and cinematographer Vittorio Storaro captures its grandeur with stunning beauty. The narrative structure moves fluidly between time periods, revealing how personal privilege and national transformation intersect in one extraordinary life. Joan Chen and Peter O'Toole deliver strong supporting performances as the empress and Pu Yi's Scottish tutor. The film examines themes of identity, power, and adaptation with intelligence and emotional depth, creating both an intimate character study and a magnificent historical canvas.
Ash Williams returns to the same cabin where demonic forces destroyed his friends, only to find that the Deadites aren't finished with him yet. Sam Raimi's sequel is really a reimagining—part remake, part continuation—that leans hard into horror-comedy with gleeful abandon. Bruce Campbell delivers a star-making performance, his physical comedy and rubber-faced reactions elevating what could have been mere schlock into something approaching art. The film finds perfect tonal balance between genuine scares and absurdist humor, whether Ash is battling his own possessed hand or facing off against a miniature clone army. Raimi's kinetic camera work, all crash zooms and impossible angles, creates a cartoon logic that makes the increasingly ridiculous events feel internally consistent. The practical effects hold up remarkably well, gross and inventive in equal measure. It's a film that understands the thin line between horror and comedy and dances along it with chainsaw-wielding confidence.
Sebastian Rice-Edwards plays young Bill Rohan in this wonderfully observant coming-of-age story set during the London Blitz. Director John Boorman draws from his own childhood memories to craft a film that sees World War II through a child's eyes—where bombed-out houses become adventure playgrounds and nightly air raids are thrilling spectacles rather than terrors. The film beautifully captures how Bill and his siblings navigate their disrupted world while their father serves overseas and their mother (Sarah Miles) holds the family together. What makes this such a charming watch is its refusal to sentimentalize the past while still honoring the resilience and wonder of childhood. Boorman balances humor and poignancy perfectly, creating a war film that celebrates life rather than dwelling on destruction. It's an affectionate, deeply personal portrait of an extraordinary time seen through ordinary eyes.
A widowed Brooklyn bookkeeper agrees to marry a man she likes but doesn't love, only to fall for his passionate younger brother in this enchanting romantic comedy. Cher delivers an Oscar-winning performance as Loretta Castorini, navigating family expectations and unexpected desire in New York's Italian-American community. Director Norman Jewison crafts a warm, operatic valentine to love in all its messy glory, supported by Nicolas Cage's wonderfully unhinged turn as the one-handed baker who disrupts Loretta's careful plans. Olympia Dukakis adds scene-stealing support as Loretta's wise mother, earning her own Academy Award. The film's magical-realist touches and generous spirit toward its characters create something genuinely special—a grown-up fairy tale about second chances that never condescends to its working-class subjects. It's funny, romantic, and utterly charming from start to finish.
This extraordinary documentary examines one man's decades-long quest for justice and accountability regarding Japanese war crimes, but it's equally a study of obsession, trauma, and the limits of individual action against institutional silence. Director Kazuo Hara follows Kenzo Okuzaki, a World War II veteran who confronts former officers about the execution of Japanese soldiers in New Guinea, demanding answers that authorities refuse to provide. What emerges is far more complex than a simple investigation—Okuzaki's methods become increasingly confrontational and questionable, yet his fury at the lies and cover-ups remains justified. Hara's unflinching camera never looks away from uncomfortable moments, creating a challenging work that asks difficult questions about how societies process wartime atrocities. It's essential documentary filmmaking that respects neither easy answers nor comfortable viewing.
James Ivory delivers one of his finest films with this adaptation of E.M. Forster's novel about forbidden love in Edwardian England. James Wilby stars as Maurice Hall, a young man coming to terms with his homosexuality at Cambridge and in the repressive upper-class society of the early 20th century. Hugh Grant gives a luminous early performance as Clive Durham, Maurice's first love who ultimately chooses social acceptability over authenticity. The film's emotional core arrives when Maurice finds genuine connection with Clive's gamekeeper, played with quiet intensity by Rupert Graves. Ivory and screenwriter Kit Hesketh-Harvey handle Forster's themes with sensitivity and restraint, never reducing the characters to mere symbols. The period detail is exquisite, but the emotions feel utterly contemporary. It's a moving examination of the courage required to live truthfully in a world determined to deny your existence.
This action-packed dystopian thriller from director Paul Verhoeven transforms ultraviolence into biting social satire with remarkable intelligence and style. Peter Weller stars as Detroit cop Alex Murphy, who is brutally murdered and resurrected as a cyborg law enforcement officer by the mega-corporation OCP. What could have been a straightforward revenge tale becomes something far more interesting—a darkly comic examination of privatization, media manipulation, and corporate greed that feels disturbingly prescient. The practical effects and stop-motion animation hold up remarkably well, giving RoboCop himself a weighty, mechanical presence that CGI rarely achieves. Verhoeven balances genuinely shocking violence with clever satire, including fake commercials and news broadcasts that skewer American culture. The film raises genuine questions about identity and humanity while delivering supremely entertaining action sequences, making it both thoughtful and thrilling in equal measure.
John Hughes crafts what may be his warmest and most mature film, a comedy about opposites forced together that becomes something unexpectedly touching about human connection and the true meaning of home. Steve Martin plays Neal Page, an uptight marketing executive desperate to get from New York to Chicago for Thanksgiving, while John Candy is Del Griffith, the well-meaning but overbearing shower curtain ring salesman who becomes his unwanted travel companion through every conceivable transportation disaster. The premise is simple—everything that can go wrong does—but Hughes and his two leads find genuine emotional truth beneath the slapstick chaos. Martin's slow-burning exasperation is perfectly calibrated, while Candy delivers one of his finest performances, finding the loneliness and dignity beneath Del's annoying exterior. Their chemistry makes the journey, transforming what could have been a one-joke concept into something genuinely moving. The final revelation about Del's circumstances adds unexpected poignancy without feeling manipulative. It's funny, heartfelt, and ultimately about kindness and connection—a perfect film for the holiday it depicts.
Mia Farrow narrates this nostalgic trip through Woody Allen's childhood memories of 1930s and 1940s radio culture, but the ensemble cast truly brings the era to life. Allen's episodic comedy weaves together vignettes of a working-class Jewish family in Rockaway Beach, showing how radio shaped their dreams, arguments, and everyday moments. The film captures the magic of a time when families gathered around their receivers to hear everything from quiz shows to war updates, with each story building a warm portrait of community life. Seth Green makes an early appearance as the young Joe, Allen's stand-in, while the director's affection for the period shines through every carefully crafted detail. It's a gentle, funny reminder of how entertainment once unified rather than isolated us, delivered with Allen's signature wit and surprising emotional depth.
In this film, David Mamet makes his directorial debut with a twisty psychological thriller that plays like a masterclass in manipulation. Lindsay Crouse stars as Margaret Ford, a successful psychiatrist and author who becomes fascinated by the world of confidence games after encountering Mike, a charismatic grifter played by Joe Mantegna with oily charm. When she agrees to help him with "one last con" to pay off a patient's debt, she finds herself drawn deeper into a labyrinth of schemes where nothing is quite as it seems. Mamet's distinctive dialogue—clipped, rhythmic, artificially precise—creates an atmosphere of stylized unreality that perfectly complements the story's themes of performance and deception. The film operates as both an engaging thriller and a commentary on the con artist in all of us, the ways we construct and manipulate our identities. While the plotting occasionally prioritizes cleverness over plausibility, the cat-and-mouse game between Ford and Mike generates real tension, building to a conclusion that recasts everything we've witnessed.