Lost in the furor surrounding Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (and actually released a few months before), Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom can’t outdo Hitchcock’s masterpiece; but, as many have discovered, it holds up quite well on its own. Critically savaged on its initial release, the film made a 180º turn, thirty years later. Now part of the Criterion Collection, it's considered one of the most psychologically complex horror films ever made. Martin Scorsese even refers to both Tom and 8^1/2 as the two films which contain all that can be said about film directing.

Tom is precisely the type of film that fits my earlier definition of cult: on the surface is someone who kills people with a camera and films it. He’s mentally disturbed, has a history of abuse, and lacks a firm grasp on reality. 'Doesn’t sound that original or complex, right? Well, watching the film, its layers immediately begin to unfold.

The main character, Mark Lewis (Carl Boehm), works on a film crew, aspiring to make films, himself. He always carries his camera with him, claiming to be filming a documentary. But his sinister purpose becomes all too clear when he finds himself alone with a girl. The psychological implications extend beyond Freudian conjectures about Mark’s obsession to commentary on the language of filmmaking and the audience’s indulgence in terror. When we watch Mark killing, we watch it through the veil of imagination, a buffer for the act. But we still enjoy it, pay for it, cheer for it. Where's the disconnect? At what point does murder become more than a fantasy played out on screen?

And there’s more—the work of a director, the man behind the camera, the man orchestrating the very scene we’re watching. When Mark kills, he sets things up very carefully—his movements, his set, his ‘actress’. It’s an acutely methodical (almost rehearsed) murder, and each detail must be in place for ‘the scene’ to play out correctly. And, perhaps, the most important psychological point of Powell’s cult masterpiece is something I can't mention here, since it’s a secret the film doesn't divulge until its latter acts. Suffice it to say that when you see the reason behind the look of terror on the faces of Mark’s victims, a statement is being made about the very nature of enjoying onscreen murder.

A final note: The opening sequence is stupendous, utterly terrifying, and real, and pre-dates a famous slasher film’s usage by almost twenty years.

If we want to talk ‘cult’, we must mention the name David Cronenberg. Almost everything the Canadian filmmaker creates seems to come stamped with that label from its inception. But whether it’s Scanners, Dead Ringers, or A History of Violence, none of his oeuvre comes close to matching the cult brilliance of his adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ Naked Lunch.

To start, the film isn’t even a straight adaptation of what many consider to be Burroughs’ seminal work. It’s more…’inspired by’ or, to use TV terminology, a ‘spin-off’. What Cronenberg does with the ‘unfilmable’ novel is take its skeleton and repurpose it to tell the story of William Lee (a pen name of Burroughs, played by Peter Weller), an exterminator-slash-writer who discovers that his wife is using his bug powder to get high. He then learns he’s a ‘secret agent’; is ordered, by a giant bug, to kill his wife; and must travel to a place called ‘InterZone’ to hide from the authorities and complete his mission.

It sounds like the drug-induced ravings of a madman, but while recreational substances certainly play a part in Burroughs’ writing, Cronenberg delves deeper, tapping into both the political and personal underpinnings that pervades all of Burroughs’ writings. The character of Lee is a representation of Burroughs, but more as a writer than as the protagonist. The obsession of creation takes on literally monstrous proportions, as the typewriters that Lee and others use are alive—large, disgusting insects that have control over the writers, telling them how and what to write. More disturbing is the psycho-sexual connection ascribed to the bug-writer relationship, and how it plays out through the rest of the film.

Ultimately, what makes Lunch so outstanding (and surprisingly coherent) is the personal relationship between Lee and the two Joans (both played wonderfully by Judy Davis), and the central examination of the muse and creation. Creation (in all forms) is a bestial, somewhat violent, and raw experience, and what Cronenberg does is tie it strongly to the machinations of a modern world (although it’s painted with an exceedingly green and brown, neo-noir palette), and how the interference of outside forces can tarnish, and even dictate, both personal and professional pleasures.

Cronenberg’s adaptation-biography hybrid combines the excesses of Burroughs and the compulsions of its writer-director, and emerges with a superb work which redefines 'cult'.

You can’t get much more 'cult' than the likes of Zoo. Choosing subject matter that will have most people cringing at the mere hint of it, director Robinson Devor is a brave soul. Ditto for ThinkFilm, picking up a project with less commercial viability than a Carrot Top/Pauly Shore comedy vehicle. But for those viewers with an equal amount of bravery, the festival murmurs suggest that, without ever condoning, judging, or showing what many consider unthinkable, Devor is able to construct a portrait of colossal understanding. Instead of distancing ourselves from the outskirts of human behavior—ignoring them, reviling them—perhaps they’re worth a closer look, not necessarily for the purpose of agreemeent, but of comprehension. And, after all, what (supposedly) sets us apart from the rest of the natural world is our capacity for thought, for reasoning; if we can’t exercise that, then maybe the group Devor is exploring isn’t so far off.

If you haven’t seen Shaun of the Dead, you’ve probably heard of it. And if you haven’t heard of it, you'll be hearing about its filmmakers’ newest endeavor, Hot Fuzz. Straight from the poster (a deliberate ‘homage’…or is it ‘mockery’?...of Michael Bay’s Bad Boys II), anyone can tell that the creators have tongues firmly planted in cheeks. The unique detail about Shaun is this: It was no simple spoof film, nor a Johnny-come-lately Scream-type referendum on the classic zombie film. And Hot Fuzz won’t be one for the action buddy flick, either. In an odd mix of deconstruction, self-aware commentary, and genre-shattering send-up, Pegg and Wright will make you laugh without every pushing you out of their wholly believable storyline. Only come the end (during the inevitable group discussion over what films it referenced) does the reflexive nature of the story become important. Where Scream and its hybrids waded knee-deep in their forefathers, showcasing a knowledge of them at every turn, Pegg and Wright are a fun-house mirror—a silly device so amusing, the image is distorted enough to create something new, never allowing us to see the same old boring reflections.

The cult NPR radio show hosted by Ira Glass finally (after years of nudging and...well...begging) makes its way to the small screen. Glass held out for a long while, despite pleas from producers to bring his quirky tales of mundane American realism to visual life. But Glass’ response was always the same: “It’s a radio show.” Well, whether it was persistence, a change of heart, or just dumb luck, someone finally managed to convince him to give it a try. And the result is just as rich and eccentric as its counterpart. Glass and his team bring their singular sense of Americana to the documentary, and still pick all of their subjects with aplomb. The cinematography is exceedingly simple yet richly evocative; beautifully framed shots are mini-paintings that effectively capture feelings and moods. And the characters and their stories...whenever I watch (or listen) to this show, I know I’m hearing about the real America. There's something so authentic about not only the approach, but the feel of these stories, and there’s something truly original about them, too. After twelve years on the radio, TAL's still coming up with quality material. If there’s one choice on this list that I hope can evolve past ‘cult’ status, it’s this one; no matter where you live or what your background, Glass knows how to strike the perfect emotional chord, mining a North American cultural consciousness that honestly explores this American life.