CRITIC'S NOTEBOOK; The Good, Bad and In-Between In a Year of Surprises on Film

Flukes set the standard for 1994 on screen. While big films ("Wyatt Earp") and even big seasons (Christmas) fizzled, the triumphs came out of extreme left field. Foreign films were in serious decline, but American independent cinema experienced a burst of creative fervor. And, of course, Gump happened. More about that in a moment.

While 1994 was short on major fireworks, it brought so many solid successes that this year's 10-best list includes a dozen entries. Arithmetic should never matter more than merit.

So here are the 10-best films of 1994, in order:

PULP FICTION. Moral tales for a jaded, topsy-turvy world, told with dark, outrageous humor and absolute command of style. Quentin Tarantino, one natural-born killer of a film maker, has been facetiously labeled the directorial flavor of the decade. But if he sustains the brilliance of this instant classic, he'll earn that title for real.

HOOP DREAMS. The year's most heart-stopping drama came from a work of nonfiction. A documentary masterpiece, endlessly revealing, about two inner-city high school basketball players and the forces that exploit their raw talent. The film makers had everything: time, patience, insight and the cooperation of people who sensed the emblematic importance of their own story. Tough, gripping and profoundly illuminating in ways that make it a landmark.

QUIZ SHOW. Graceful and subtle, Robert Redford's exegesis of the 1950's television scandals had a rare, ruminative intelligence and delivered some of the year's best acting. John Turturro and Paul Scofield expertly defined opposite extremes in a film that took eroding American scruples as the subject of its $64,000 questions.

THIRTY-TWO SHORT FILMS ABOUT GLENN GOULD. Dazzlingly, form followed function in this biographical meditation modeled on Bach's "Goldberg" Variations. With its starkly imaginative approach to character study, it summoned an eerie intensity perfectly suited to the elusive Canadian pianist and his idiosyncratic genius.

TO LIVE. China's most daring film maker, Zhang Yimou, viewed his country's recent history through the eyes of its humble, fearful citizenry and told the tale of one such couple with devastating understatement. Once again, this great storyteller displayed extraordinary gifts for distilling major political and cultural events into intimate human drama.

THE LAST SEDUCTION. John Dahl single-handedly reinvigorated film noir with two made-for-television sleepers. This film, more streamlined and deliciously brazen than his "Red Rock West," showed off a hard-boiled director and a scorchingly effective star. Films were full of street-smart attitude in 1994, but Linda Fiorentino's ice-blooded schemer was tough cookie of the year.

FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL. Sparkling wit made a delightful comeback in this swift, literate English ensemble film propelled by Oxbridge talent on and off the screen. While Mike Newell and Richard Curtis, the director and screenwriter, found an unexpected but wonderfully buoyant structure for their comic confection, previously little-known Hugh Grant emerged as the year's brightest of new stars.

RED. Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Three Colors" trilogy ended on a high note, with a beautifully intuitive film that displays this director's cryptic style at its most penetrating. A grand feat of gamesmanship, linking events, emotions and parallel characters in a web of haunting complicity.

CARO DIARIO. With a fresh, funny approach to social criticism, the Italian film maker Nanni Moretti took stock of his country's health and, ultimately, his own. The diary format made this a winningly nimble and varied film, soothingly contemplative in some spots and cheerfully overbearing in others. A reminder of how radical and satisfying such one-man-army tactics can be.

NOBODY'S FOOL. Robert Benton's pitch-perfect literary adaptation of Richard Russo's wry novel performed a remarkable balancing act, describing everything about the life of a small, upstate New York town without skipping a sardonic beat. Paul Newman, as the wisecracking fulcrum of this unexpectedly stirring story, will be the old pro to beat at Oscar time. A rare big-studio movie with the wisdom to think small.

BULLETS OVER BROADWAY. Beneath the smooth comic professionalism of Woody Allen's best recent film lurked truly audacious thoughts about art, love and genius. This sly, expert period piece combined big laughs with real bite.

LADYBIRD, LADYBIRD. Wrenching social realism from Ken Loach, who told his story with full respect for its staggering ambiguities. As a mother battling social service agencies for custody of her children, Crissy Rock gave a searingly good performance, one that did justice to the complex agonies Mr. Loach addressed.

Runners-Up and Losers

This was an unusually strong year for runners-up, so here are the best: "The Madness of King George," a royally entertaining screen version of Alan Bennett's play, with Nigel Hawthorne holding court. "I Like It Like That," Darnell Martin's jubilant Bronx comedy with a savvy, feminist point of view. "Clerks," Kevin Smith's no-budget miracle from a convenience store in New Jersey. "Spanking the Monkey," a down-to-earth "Graduate" for these dysfunctional times. "Little Women," Gillian Armstrong's smart, unmannered retelling of that heirloom tale. "I'll Do Anything," James Brooks's soulful Hollywood satire, unfairly blasted for a big budget and the last-minute removal of its musical score.

Also: "Ed Wood," Tim Burton's hilarious and touching valentine to Z-movie bravado. "The Boys of St. Vincent," an unflinching Canadian drama about pederast priests, directed with cool, documentarylike intensity. "Savage Nights," the ragged, desperate AIDS-era romance directed by the late Cyril Collard. "Eat Drink Man Woman," Ang Lee's lighthearted culinary and comedic treat. "Vanya on 42d Street," presenting Chekhov with rare intimacy in an unusual film-theatrical hybrid. "Little Buddha," a grand, gorgeous folly of a theology lesson from Bernardo Bertolucci. And "Interview With the Vampire," the best conceivable film version of an Anne Rice story. Rats and all.

Now for the flip side: 10 worst films of 1994, each with the kind of disastrousness that is emblematic in some notable way. "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues": all thumbs, with Gus Van Sant turning a pitifully dated Tom Robbins novel into a full-scale creative calamity. "Exit to Eden": really bad sex, with Garry Marshall taking all the fun out of black leather. "The Flintstones": a cynical marketing ploy masquerading as a movie. "The Specialist": ugly, third-rate film making with only the big names of two bored-looking stars to give it drawing power.

"The Road to Wellville": an extended bathroom joke, but its literary origins (in T. Coraghessan Boyle's novel) meant a big budget and an absurd veneer of respectability. "Milk Money": fulfilling every boy's fantasy of having Dad marry an ex-hooker built like Melanie Griffith. "Love Affair": the year's most shameless vanity production, with its most embarrassing soft-focus cinematography. "Ready-to-Wear": its biggest non-event, a lifeless party filmed by Robert Altman on automatic pilot. "Mary Shelley's Frankenstein": epic overreaching, with Kenneth Branagh straying far afield to make a big, ungainly monster hash.

And "Forrest Gump": because its hollow man was exactly that, self-congratulatory in his blissful ignorance, warmly embraced as the embodiment of absolutely nothing. We shouldn't settle for movie heroes who don't do more than show up. And we all look that much more dumbed-down when, as it did in 1994, Gump happens on a global scale.