When the world was brought to its knees in March 2020 and we all went back inside to wait out the end of days, a very close couple—a husband-and-wife team who can, among other talents, mix a mean gimlet—suggested something to me, my wife, and another couple we’re tight with:
“You know what we should do? Watch every Best Picture ever made.”
I said, “Sure. Sounds like a nice distraction,” as I pondered the future of the advertising agency I had just bought—only weeks before.
They called it a movie club. I called it a lifeline. My wife and I looked forward to it the way kids look forward to recess. Every two weeks: two films and a drink inspired by one of them. Casablanca came with a French 75. The Godfather came with something called a Sicilian Blood Orange Old Fashioned. Didn’t taste Sicilian. Didn’t matter. Delicious.
We started way back—1927—with Wings and Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans. Back before the Academy even started calling it "Best Picture."
Watching the films in order, you notice things. The haircuts change. The acting gets better. The pacing sharpens. Music starts doing more of the heavy lifting. And slowly, the faces on screen begin to reflect a wider world. But the core truth stays the same: the better the story, the better the movie.
A lot of these films were pulled straight from popular books and plays. You could feel the words humming behind the camera. Some were original screenplays. And every now and then, someone in our group would say, “I couldn’t stop thinking about that movie all week.” That’s how you know it worked. Not just in your head, but somewhere deeper.
Turns out, a lot of the time, I just knew the famous scenes. I’d seen “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille,” but never sat through Sunset Boulevard. Never watched On the Waterfront all the way through and let Brando break your heart with “I coulda been a contender.” I’d heard “Rosebud” my whole life, but I’d never earned it. Citizen Kane is much more than a sled.
And the laughs? Dr. Strangelove. “Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here! This is the War Room!” The feeding machine scene in Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times—so laugh-out-loud great. Network, too. “I’m as mad as hell…” They don’t write satire like that anymore.
The films that had something to say, even when it was hard to hear.
A Streetcar Named Desire — a nervous breakdown in slow motion. Vivien Leigh unraveling right in front of you.
Gentleman’s Agreement — Gregory Peck pretending to be Jewish just to see how quickly the world turns cold.
Do the Right Thing — a Brooklyn summer that boils over.
Midnight Cowboy — hustlers so broken you want to reach through the screen and save them.
The Deer Hunter — a steel-town gut punch.
In the Heat of the Night — racism, justice, and dignity colliding in the deep South.
The Lost Weekend — the stranglehold of alcoholism.
The Graduate — a middle finger to living by someone else’s rules.
All Quiet on the Western Front — the sober reality of war.
And because I’ve always been a sucker for shadows and cigarettes, I couldn’t resist the noir:
Double Indemnity — if Barbara Stanwyck in that anklet doesn’t get you...
All the King’s Men — populism and ego, and what happens when a guy starts believing his own legend.
Chinatown — California sunshine noir. Everything’s bright—until it isn’t.
The Last Picture Show — a toxic mix of adult regret and teenage lust in a dying town.
All told, somewhere between The Best Years of Our Lives and Schindler’s List, this project—part film school, part therapy—reminded me of something simple: the best stories don’t just tell you something. They make you feel something. And once they do, they stick with you.
That’s what great movies do.
Not shout from the bottom of the programmatic purchase funnel, but whisper something unforgettable right at the top of your heart. Make you like the brand. Make you root for it. Make you remember it. So when the time comes, you go with the one that moved you—even if you’re not sure why.
That’s real advertising.
Always was.
Always will be.
Scott leads Copacino Fujikado Advertising with a focus on growth, creativity, and a people-first culture. With 30+ years of experience, including as CEO of Publicis Seattle, he has helped shape iconic campaigns like T-Mobile’s “Un-carrier” and driven Copacino Fujikado’s evolution as a national player. He champions breakthrough work for brands in every category by building trust and empowering teams.
