It’s that time of year again, the week before the Academy Awards ceremony, when anyone who pontificates online about movies to any degree is compelled to reflect on Oscar winners of years past and mine their history for writing material in lieu of relevant news updates and Oscar pool handicapping. I suppose I should add my two cents quickly, lest I risk being last in line, though I’m sure all mine are taken by other Oscar fans now, if not necessarily in matching quantity. Years ago I completed a lengthy quest to see every Best Picture winner from Wings to the present, just to see what would happen. Some I’ve long since forgotten, some were travesties I wish I could unsee, but many were worthwhile experiences.

As with all such lists, the following is purely subjective, not constrained by your mortal ideas about standards of fairness or codified film-school guidelines, and rife with random acts of unjustified, whimsical favoritism. This is my Best Best Pictures Ever list. There are many others like it, but this one is mine.

Because ranking them against each other would require extensive arguments against myself that I couldn’t possibly win, these are presented in no intentional order:

* My Fair Lady. The first musical I ever enjoyed in my life that wasn’t a cartoon or a puppet show. The idea of better living through diction and poise lessons was fascinating in my youth. Also, the songs are catchy despite their lack of American Idol vocal sheen, and Eliza’s Cockney scream at the horse race cracks me up every time.

* In the Heat of the Night. The incendiary North-vs.-South crime drama was notable not only for its skillful diatribes, but for its boldness in defying stereotypes on both sides of the fence. In a lesser movie, Rod Steiger’s police chief would be an out-and-out idiot and Virgil Tibbs would be a perfect saint. To my great surprise, neither was the case. Racial tension depicted with shades of grey is a rare thing indeed.

* Amadeus. When God blesses a faithful man with a modicum of talent and an unrepentant sinner with a wealth of talent, can you blame Salieri for his selfish prayers and his refusal to accept his comparative mediocrity without a fight? For anyone who’s ever been furiously jealous of their greatest rivals, it’s tempting to sympathize with F. Murray Abraham’s consternation at God’s plan (or just Satan’s little victories), and unnerving to imagine ourselves going no less overboard when we learn the humbling truth that we’re not the master of our domain.

* The Lost Weekend. Still one of the most disturbing movies about substance abuse I’ve ever seen. I can’t stand alcohol in the first place, but Ray Milland has ensured that whatever form my midlife crisis someday takes (if I’m required by law to have one, anyway), it won’t be booze-based.

* The Silence of the Lambs. If all scary movies were this intellectually crafted and not obsessed with body counts or creative butchery contests, the genre would be dead. Clarice Starling’s dogged race against the clock despite the oppressive male obstacles around her is at times more riveting than the few famous scenes with whatshisname the people eater.

* On the Waterfront. In which a passionate Father Karl Malden delivers one of the precious few evangelistic sermons ever allowed in a movie outside Christian zero-budget direct-to-video. Such scenes in which Jesus’ name is invoked with true reverence (as opposed to using it as a synonym for the F-word) are barred in Hollywood today, so I savor them whenever I run across them, which is almost never. Marlon Brando’s fight for redemption and justice against his overbearing peers is tremendously inspiring, too.

* Saving Private Ryan. STOP TELLING ME IT DIDN’T WIN. YOU’RE A TERRIBLE LIAR AND I’M NOT LISTENING TO YOU LALALALALALALALALALA

* The Lord of the Rings. On the record, the trophy belongs to Return of the King, but I have a hard time believing the award wasn’t shared with its older brothers. My shameful secret: I find King a little bloated and Fellowship of the Ring the best of the series. I’ve formed a support group for myself and a few stuffed animals that I pretend all share this opinion with me. We have the best sessions together.

* Casablanca. It’s my understanding that if this isn’t on your list, they take away your Internet card.

Honorable mention: All About Eve. I’m pretty sure I thought the script was amazing and the satire was scathing during the only time I watched it on grainy VHS, but the highlights have shamefully faded from memory over time. Something is clearly wrong with me. I fully intend to revisit this soon to ensure it ranks highly in next year’s obligatory Oscar retrospect.