Regardless, this approach has come to define a distinct directorial brand. Each of his films, from Dawn of the Dead (2004) to Man of Steel (2013), glorifies violence as an art form, with blissful moments of meditation coming to life as living comic book s. Assimilated with montages that add to this animated tone, and Snyder proudly takes up his mantle as the master of style over substance.

14. Michael Bay

Michael Bay’s “Bayhem” is the guiltiest of movie pleasures. That his films continue to make obscene amounts of money angers cinephiles to no end, but in this, they miss the essence of his art. Bay is by no means a gifted storyteller, nor even a cohesive one, yet his ability to instill a sense of fluid excitement is undeniable. Constantly moving cameras often contrast with shifting backgrounds, whether it be something as simple as a dialogue exchange (Bad Boys) or a poorly placed joke (Pain & Gain). Static is never the status quo.

This emphasis on dynamic energy is evident in every flippin’ frame, from the earth-toned intensity of The Rock (1996) to the maximalism of the Transformers saga, where Bay’s robots provide the perfect muse for long lenses and quick edits. Explosions of epic proportions are always present, and often unnecessary — sometimes, more is less. But if Bay simply stuck to the Bay-necessities, he wouldn’t be the stylistic repellant that’s made him such a worldwide phenomenon.

13. Wes Anderson

The Rule of Thirds dictates that an object should never be directly centered in the frame. Wes Anderson clearly missed film school that day. As a result, he’s based an entire career on breaking norms and arranging his array of pastelled goofballs smack dab in the middle. Anderson’s set design, integrating everything from stop-motion (Fantastic Mr. Fox) and model work (The Grand Budapest Hotel) to cursive writing (Moonrise Kingdom) and color coding (The Royal Tenenbaums), is arranged to the nth degree. Often times, a paused frame is required to fully absorb the amount of patterning and palettes involved. The same goes for costuming, as monochromatic clashes cover the deadpan performances he so revels in capturing.

Tracking shots come into play as Anderson’s technical signature, appearing in nearly every film he's done since Rushmore in 1998. Simple, yet incredibly effective, and often placed alongside a running character, it stirs the director’s silly pot and releases a few endorphins before continuing down the rabbit hole. If “idiosyncratic” doesn’t have a picture by it in the dictionary, Merriam-Webster could easily dig up any of Anderson’s stills and call it a day.

12. Michael Mann

Born and raised on the mean streets of Chicago, Michael Mann’s career has been spent in the pursuit of the ultimate cops and robbers experience. From the airy reflection of Thief (1981) to the blue-hued obsession behind Heat (1995), each of his works carry a signature that elevates existentialism to an urban artform. Mann protagonists, often dressed to the 9’s in tailored suits, are composed under the glistening neons of street signs and police sirens — the only illumination available in the big city. Isolation is key, both narratively and visually, serving to canvas a landscape obsessively researched by its writer/director.

Despite this rigid structure, Mann’s style never outweighs it's content, separating him from fratty extremists like Snyder and Bay. Even with the well-oiled precision of many a heist sequence turned shootout, robotic storytelling is a trait that rarely (Blackhat) appears in place of immaculate taste. The use of pop music and fashion trends are also key to this cool minimalism, fleshing out iconic moments in both television (Miami Vice) and film (Collateral) with a loose immediacy. Classy, composed, but never cosmetic, Mann’s chic template has set the standard for modern film noir.

11. Rob Zombie

Phrases like “splatter cinema” and “torture porn” were lovingly invented for guys like Rob Zombie. As a filmmaker and a musician, the man is something else, right down to the blood soaked content that tickles his fancy onscreen. Horror fans inherently root for Zombie as a creative force, backed by the innumerable references to both his stage name and the persona he perpetuates. Thing is, his movies really narrow that focus to the ers with the strongest stomach. Zombie’s debut, House of 1000 Corpses (2003), was received like bleach by the critics, who couldn’t get around the graphic depictions of rape, mutilation, and whatever else a disturbed individual could possibly conjure up.

Nevertheless, the sleaze that trickles off of his films are evocative in the trashiest sense of the word. From Corpses sequel The Devil’s Rejects (2005) to his re-imagining of the Halloween series, Zombie is a fanboy filmmaker who makes the movies he wants to see, which consist of grindhouse violence and thinly sketched characters. Not a lot of substance, but the amber-hued horror of his oeuvre does solidify him as an ultra-violent auteur.

10. Guillermo del Toro

Nimble with knowledge and quick to infuse homage, Guillermo del Toro’s visionary take on the past is his greatest asset. Nourished at an early age by the works of Charles Dickens and H.P. Lovecraft, the Mexican auteur has spent a career delivering one suspended tragedy after another, each more beautifully rendered than the next. Del Toro’s films consistently uphold a tradition of fairy tales and fables, complete with allegory and creepy creatures to match. Luckily, his ability to birth such inspired beings as The Pale Man in Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) or The Angel of Death in Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008) are second to none in scope, and first in line to frighten.

As a stylist, the writer/director packages Giallo coloring with religious overtones in films like Cronos (1993), The Devil’s Backbone (2001) and Crimson Peak (2015). These baroque horror stories, alongside fantasy fare Hellboy (2004) and Pacific Rim (2013), paint a world of regret bookended by del Toro's signature poetic musings. The lessons may be as old as time, but the director's bold execution continues to reinvent cultural tradition. Someone has to, right?

9. J.J. Abrams

J.J. Abrams will forever be associated with the lens flare. Regardless of what else he brings to the table, this flashy bit of filmmaking has come to define him as a commercial director. By flipping a typical mistake into a stylistic trademark, Abrams embraces the power of the human eye, and the effect a natural phenomenon can induce at the right moment. The New York native is a visual sensationalist, ramping up every tool at his disposal to elicit maximum attention. As a result, his films burst off the screen through a sheen of desaturated family fun.

Abrams is a studio man, through and through, and his taste for all-inclusive content speaks to this better than most. Ranging from reboots (Mission: Impossible III, Star Trek) to throwback adventures (Super 8), an Abrams film is always shiny, loud, and spark-filled forays cut from a cloth of immense quality. His most recent venture, Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015), perfectly embodies this formula with a simple story, enjoyable pace, and of course, a few lens flares. That it cracked $2 billion worldwide is a testament to the sleekness of the Bad Robot brand. Not bad for a man deemed by some to be just another Spielberg hack.

8. Terrence Malick

Terrence Malick takes his art very seriously. As a result, watching any one of his seven films can be an endurance of the mind, with more wistful reflections than there are true plot points. Likened to an improv musician with a camera, his compositions are the kind of soothing nourishment that wouldn’t be out-of-place on an international calendar. Malickian traits, as they’ve come to be known, consist of a few instantly recognizable ingredients: pensive voiceover, astute imagery, and narratives that pit the power of nature against the shortcomings of mankind. It’s not always an easy pill to swallow, but those with patience often find themselves witnessing moments of staggering visual beauty.

The image of a lone figure against nature’s swelling pulse, also known as the “Hands Brushing Against The Wheat” shot, originally appeared in Malick’s Days of Heaven (1978), a divisive film that’s come to define his ethereal style. Swooping landscapes meshed with the oozing glow of magic hour are present in each of his works, from the colonized pain of The New World (2005) to the overarching ambition of The Tree of Life (2011). Critics and fans will continue to debate his storytelling prowess, but the intensely private Malick clearly has no interest in following anyone else’s cinematic path, nor explaining his own.  

7. Edgar Wright

Edgar Wright is the thinking man’s comedy director. Not to say he’s above a good lowbrow jab (he definitely isn’t), but more often than not his strengths lie within the clever use of the medium itself. The way his actors enter and exit the frame, the perfectly implemented audio cues, and the matching scene transitions are all dead giveaways of authorship; as countless video essays have attested to. But even with a rabid following that appreciates his intent, Wright’s films still excel on the basis that they're fun to watch.

The Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy, made up of Shaun of the Dead (2004), Hot Fuzz (2007), and The World’s End (2013), suppress underlying themes of friendship through a wild array of zaniness and immaturity. The same can be said Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (2010), an uber-visual flick that covers its heart of gold with every other color imaginable. As far as cinematically literate creators are concerned, Wright’s comedic clowning is at the head of the class.

6. Tim Burton

Tim Burton’s status as the ultimate “goth” director will never be equalled. His films, persona, and appearance are so ingrained in the culture that his creative trademark can spotted in the span of a few frames. Whether it be a skittish outcast that’s typically (but not always) played by Johnny Depp, or the rebellious young girl that braves her fears, the director’s story similarities often align as closely as his visual ones. Burton’s curtain typically conceals a circus of thin figures and pale complexions, evoking a hybrid of Egon Schiele and Dr. Caligari drizzled in dark humor.

From a production standpoint, Burton’s strengths lie within the contradictions he’s able to suggest onscreen. Exterior homes in Beetlejuice (1988) and Edward Scissorhands (1990) are warm and inviting, only to reveal themselves as dark and reclusive on the inside. Such moods can also be spotted in the director’s gothic vision of Gotham, exemplified in his two Batman films. Strewn about details and swirling spirals are visible on every street corner, contrasting the deranged content with fantastical atmosphere. By the time Sleepy Hollow (1999) and Alice In Wonderland (2010) arrived, Burton’s world of wonky wonderment had welcomed an entire generation of big eyed outsiders.