40 Best Underrated Movies of the ’90s

While many homophobic people like to think otherwise, there have been gay people all throughout history, some that have survived war and pandemics and persecution and even became widely renowned. Gods and Monsters is a more speculative than accurate biopic about Hollywood director James Whale, who was actually out during his career. That being said, it’s astounding how writer-director Bill Condon and lead Ian McKellen created such a bittersweet examination of the Lost Generation, not just of the loves that were lost but of the lives that could not be lived, the longing that could not be actualized. And the film takes a risky, but nuanced subversion in the way it examines the Hollywood system, subverting the roles Whale and Boone have placed on others and on themselves. It’s a daring portrayal of both homosexuality and of the film industry, one that’s emotionally poignant and ahead of its time.

At the height of the 1997 Asian financial crisis, a small Singaporean family scrambles to keep their middle-class status afloat. The parents shave their expenses and work extra-long hours, but their busyness causes them to neglect their misbehaved son. When his misdemeanors prove to be too much, the mother is forced to hire a stay-at-home nanny, and her presence (along with other external pressures) brings about a change in the house. Suddenly, everyone becomes a bit more aware of their limitations and potential, and from this, a shared empathy grows. In other hands, this story might come off as bare and forgettable, but under first-time-feature director Anthony Chen’s helm, Ilo Ilo comes to life in rich detail, thoughtful shots, and captivatingly natural performances. Despite its many heartbreaking scenes, the film rarely dwells in sentiment, and it’s this restraint that makes Ilo Ilo all the more gripping to watch. 

Audition is not for the faint of heart. It’s shockingly violent and deeply unsettling, filled with sights and sounds that will haunt you for days on end. But there is grace to its terror; it’s profound and artistic in ways that elevate it from generic horror fare.

On a deeper level, Audition is about the destructive power of abuse, trauma, and loneliness, about how a society that neglects to recognize this eventually suffers from it. The revenge plot isn’t merely individual, as well, but a representation of the female subconscious: tired of objectification, eager for redress. And everything about the way the film is made, from the shaky camera and titled frames to the dramatic shadows and eerie lighting, reflects that imbalance. 

Audition may be chilling and gruesome, but it’s also smart and important, a psychosexual thriller that captures female anger well before it became the rage. 

Before he developed his signature dollhouse visual style, Wes Anderson made his feature debut with this lowkey, heartwarming, and decidedly not-symmetrically-perfect comedy about a bunch of misfits. Bottle Rocket isn’t as much of an outlier in its director’s storied filmography as might initially seem, however. Written in partnership with college buddy Owen Wilson — who, along with brothers Luke and Andrew, made his acting debut here — the film is delightfully offbeat and unexpectedly moving in the way we’ve come to expect from Anderson.

Dignan (Owen Wilson) and Anthony (Luke Wilson) are two drifting, boyish twenty-somethings, although only Anthony seems aware of his directionlessness, as Dignan has graciously developed a 50-year life plan for the two of them (complete with hilariously vague bullet-points such as “Make wise investments” and “Own multiple accommodations”). The means to these ambitious ends is a life of crime — specifically, pulling off grand heists. But Dignan’s meticulousness hasn’t accounted for distractions, and his madcap scheme falls at the first hurdle when Anthony falls in love with a housekeeper at the motel they hide out in (Lumi Cavazos). Their sweet romance is one of the film’s many delights, as is its barrelling deadpan humor, which never betrays the warmth of the Wilson brothers’ heartwarming depiction of ride-or-die friendship.

For a film made in the mid-90s, by a straight white man in his early 20s, Chasing Amy is startingly smart and sensitive, filled with more relatable moments than anyone would care to admit. Sure, by today’s standards, its exploration of sexuality is questionable at best and cringe-worthy at worst, but it’s also an honest depiction of how an era (and some people still) confront this reality. And for all the important issues it tries to address, like homophobia, racism, and toxic masculinity, it’s also at its core a confectionary romcom. If When Harry Met Sally asks, “Can women and men be friends?”, then Chasing Amy complicates it with a question of its own: “Can a lesbian and a guy who falls in love too quickly be friends?” You may or may not arrive at an answer by the film’s end, but you’ll find much to like in its earnestness and thoughtfulness.

Cheerfully outrageous yet heartwarmingly tender, the Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert was ahead of its time, daring to dive into drag and transexuality, when the rest of the world was still coming around to accepting homosexuality. On the bus which the title is named after, two drag queens and a trans woman have a road trip, that does have some difficult moments, when they drive through intolerant towns, but overall, becomes quite lovely, as the three forge a bond through drag, witty, sarcastic quips and sharing vulnerable moments. While all three leads are portrayed by cis men, and the role of Bob’s Filipino wife feels slightly stereotypical, overall, The Adventures of Priscilla is a grand ol’ time, a joyful film about finding family in a world where tolerance wasn’t a guarantee.

When a shy student somehow attracts the attention of the most popular guy at school, it’s pretty much the stuff of plenty of straight teenage romcoms. Get Real is this, but gay, but there’s a tenderness to the way these teenage archetypes are portrayed, and simply placing Steven and John’s closeted relationship side-by-side with the usual straight sexual shenanigans of the classic teen genre immediately challenges the double standard. It’s a simple and straightforward approach (heh), but at the same time, it’s ahead of its time, yet oh-so-very 90s. It’s surprising that Get Real hasn’t garnered the cult status it deserves.

There are strange coincidences, connections, and chains that link two people within a place, whether they’re aware of it or not. Customers in a strip club may be linked just by the desire they share over a dancer, but in writer-director Atom Egoyan’s Exotica, they’re more so linked by trauma and grief, by trying to carve a piece of the world that they once lost. The way Egoyan unpacks these hidden connections is intriguing, taking the club’s seedy atmosphere to fuel the mood and mystery of each transaction, which, with the surprising innocence of the characters, creates a compelling contrast that we can’t help but watch.

When someone does everything they can to stop you, even to the point of irrationality, that’s hater behavior. This is exactly what drives Dutch-Belgian drama Character. The murder mystery, that is, whether or not Katadreuffe actually killed Dreverhaven, is surprisingly not the most interesting part about this movie– it’s actually what the hell Dreverhaven has against Katadreuffe, because, as the film unfolds, the petty, irrational actions the older bailiff done against the newbie lawyer starts to add up, piece by piece, to the point that this actually starts to matter in Katadreuffe’s life, to the point that it wouldn’t be a surprise if Katadreuffe actually killed him. Gloomy, moody zoom-ins into their faces emphasize the leads’ intense performances, which they infuse with an understanding of the stakes that aren’t obvious to even their own characters. Karakter adapts the bestselling Dickens-like novel with style and subtlety.

In most cases (and in so many romance films), the heart clinging to a past love can be silly, at best, and self-sabotaging, at worst. Nostalgia filters the past through rose-tinted lenses, skewing our perspective of what’s true and what’s imagined. In another filmmaker’s hands, A Tale of Winter could very well be this cliché, but writer-director Éric Rohmer gives every reason to believe that Félicie’s love is true. Their separation is caused not by a breakup, but by a simple wrong address. She hasn’t closed herself off to finding someone else, but the feeling, hers and the scenes themselves, don’t quite match to the summer romance montage. When she does talk about The One to her prospective suitors, she’s sane and sober, regardless of whether or not she’s right. And because of excellent writing and Rohmer’s approach, we can’t say her choice is wrong.