There's a certain kind of filmmaker who walks into a video store like a priest returning to the altar. James Gunn is one of them.
In a recent visit to JM Video Club (via Konbini), Gunn did more than browse a few dusty spines and smile for the camera. He took the assignment personally. Thirty minutes of full-throttle cinephile confession. No studio polish, no PR handlers whispering behind the scenes. Just a man, his movies, and a deep-seated need to explain why Kung Fu Hustle might actually be more perfect than anything in the Criterion Collection.
And then, without blinking: Paddington 2. “One of the greatest movies ever made,” he says. And for once, I believe him.
Let's get something straight—Gunn isn't throwing darts at the wall for effect. He's not riding the “so-bad-it's-good” wave or making ironic YouTube content for the 18-to-24 demo. The man has taste. Chaotic taste, yes. But real, earned, lived-in taste. The kind that comes from watching 500+ Hong Kong action films on bootleg VHS in the ‘90s, which, according to him, is precisely what he did.
He opens with a nod to John Woo. Not Face/Off or Mission: Impossible 2, but the real stuff. The Killer. Hard Boiled. “I had this bootleg collection of over 500 films,” Gunn laughs, sounding like a guy who once missed a prom to stay home and watch Chow Yun-Fat reload in slow motion. Respect.
Then Kung Fu Hustle—a film that, for my money, is still the best argument Stephen Chow ever made for digital cartoon anarchy. Gunn calls it “a masterpiece,” “the most perfect film ever made.” And in that store, holding that DVD, he means it with his whole chest.
But then—Audition. Takashi Miike's infamous slow-burn into sadistic delirium. Gunn calls it “one of my favorite films of all time.” Of course he does. The man who made Slither and The Suicide Squad would admire the kind of film that tricks you into thinking it's a love story until a wire saw shows up.
Here's the kicker: right after Audition, he grabs Paddington 2.
No irony. No punchline. Just pure reverence.
Now, you might raise an eyebrow. Paddington? The CGI bear with the marmalade addiction? Yes. That one. Gunn doesn't flinch. “People think I'm being ironic,” he says. “But I'm telling the truth.”
And the maddening part is—he's not wrong.
Paul King's sequel is one of those rare things: a film so lovingly assembled, so visually precise and emotionally generous, it defies the era it was born into. It shouldn't exist, frankly. Not in the age of Netflix churn and IP bloat. But it does. And it's magnificent.
From there, the selections get even more personal.
He names Robert Altman's The Long Goodbye as his favorite film of all time. A bold pick—and a good one. Altman's shaggy noir reimagines Chandler's Marlowe as a mumbling, passive ghost drifting through 1970s L.A. Elliot Gould plays it like he's solving a mystery in a fog, and somehow, it works. Gunn's love for it feels genuine. “My favorite movie of all time,” he says, as casually as someone ordering a sandwich.
He's got taste, but he's not trendy. He skips Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs and goes straight to Jackie Brown—Tarantino's most adult, most lived-in film. Gunn watches it “at least once a year.” Good. So do I.
On the superhero front—yes, he still goes there—he calls Into the Spider-Verse the best superhero film ever made. Not a controversial take these days, but still a bold one from a guy who built half his career inside the Marvel machine. For live-action, though? He names Iron Man. Not Endgame, not The Dark Knight, not even his own Guardians trilogy. Iron Man. The original. The one that actually felt like a film, not an amusement park blueprint.
Then, maybe the most revealing moment: he talks about casting David Corenswet as Superman. He saw him in Ti West's Pearl, playing a character listed only as “The Projectionist.” One look, and Gunn knew. “That guy looks like he could possibly be Superman.” A moment of instinct. No spreadsheets. No data. Just gut. That's the old-school way.
Here's the thing about Gunn's JM Video Club visit—it wasn't just a nostalgia trip. It was a map of his creative wiring. Equal parts Taxi Driver and Toxic Avenger, his film brain is built from contradictions. Highbrow, lowbrow, no-brow. He can go from gore to joy in five seconds flat, and it all makes sense when you watch him hold up Paddington 2 and Audition like they belong on the same shelf.
Because maybe they do.
We live in an era where taste is algorithmic and passion is performative. Gunn doesn't play that game. He likes what he likes. You don't have to agree. But you should pay attention.
After all, anyone who holds up Kung Fu Hustle with one hand and Jackie Brown with the other deserves a moment of your time.
Even if he thinks a small Peruvian bear in a duffel coat is one of cinema's greatest achievements.
He might just be right.
