"The Southerner" (1945)

It's a tall order: make watchable entertainment out of seemingly impossible subject matter. But legendary French director Jean Renoir ("The Rules of the Game", "Grand Illusion") pulls it off --mostly. This is the story about a year in the life of a poor backwoods family trying, against all odds, to begin a sustainable farm for their livelihood. And when I say poor, I mean dirt poor. No shoes, living in a miserable rundown shack held together with newspaper patched walls, always hungry, always fighting the elements...not the usual escapist Hollywood fare by a long shot. The scene where they finally catch a possum and happily chow down on the greasy meat is equal parts gross and heartwarming. Perjoratively, some would call these folks 'white trash' or 'hillbillies'. Here, Renoir enobles their struggle, imbuing their grit with that American Puritan work ethic so that we root for them no matter what. No doubt this played well to a WWII audience. Zachary Scott is the father, the backbone of the family. He is most famously remembered as the slick and slimy boyfriend of Joan Crawford in "Mildred Pierce". This is a one-eighty from that. He turns up the volume on his real Texas-bred accent and he's a stalwart charmer with an aw-shucks positivity that doesn't feel corny. It doesn't hurt that his matinee idol looks make him easy to watch, he's almost always in well worn chambray shirts and faded dungarees looking like a model in a Ralph Lauren Jeans ad. The wife is a chipper Betty Field, an underrated actress who would go on to a long career in character roles. Again, she's awfully pretty after a scorching day of cotton picking, coiffed hair and dewey makeup, but that's Hollywood for ya. It can't be ignored so let's get the worst part of the film out on the table: the granny role, played here by Beulah Bondi, is so badly written and acted it makes your teeth hurt. Bondi's hammy, crotchety corn pone delivery makes Irene Ryan's Granny Clampett look like Shakespearean acting. It's worth the unintentional chuckles it elicits, so just enjoy the rest of the picture.

"The Heiress" (1949)

Everything is pitch perfect in this costume drama adapted from the Broadway play based on the Henry James novella "Washington Square." Olivia de Havilland is the title character, an unexceptional only child of a very wealthy doctor (Ralph Richardson) in 1840's New York City. She's what polite folks would call 'a plain girl'. And boy, does her domineering dad let her know it every chance he gets. Sometimes the wounds from family are the deepest ones of all. When she gets the romantic attention of an extremely handsome but penniless social climber (Montgomery Clift), her father balks. He's not buying it and flatly says so. The drama builds on two fronts: will she defy her father for this new beau and risk her inheritance? And more importantly will we find out if this suitor is truly sincere in his feelings? How we watch de Havilland's character confront these emotional hurdles is the stuff of stellar movie acting. She won a well-deserved second Oscar for this performance. Richardson is haughty menace personified, a cruel example of the unfair power men can yield over women (as if you need to go back to Old New York to find it). Beautiful Clift, chiseled and cheekboned, in the role that would catapult him into true stardom, dances a fine line. You don't really know his true feelings for this woman until the famous ending. And get ready, because the final scenes are heartbreaking, cathartic, and chilling all at once. And let's not forget a great supporting turn by Miriam Hopkins as the supportive confidante aunt, her comic timing is needed to break up all the heavy phychological mayhem getting thrown about. Expertly directed by William Wyler with a nice score by composer Aaron Copland.

"Children of Paradise" (1945)

Long considered one of the linchpins of 20th Century French cinema, how you feel about this grand, sweeping epic might hinge on your tolerance for doomed love stories told at a fever pitch. If you like swooning then this is your movie. We're in 1840's Paris with of a group of romantically intertwined actors in a pantomime theatre troupe. They meet cute, fall in love, have sex, fight, fall out of love, get jealous, spurn each other...over and over, you get the picture. It's all that very, very French outlook on life of 'better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all'. The dialog tends toward the overwrought purply type and there's a lot of it, the thing clocks in at over three hours. But here's the thing, there's no denying the production is a feast for the eyes. The production design is superb, the recreation of the Paris streets are like nothing you've seen, with reportedly thousands of extras. There are numerous theatre and plays depicted with sumptuous sets, the acting milieu in front and behind the curtain is painstakingly depicted. This was the most expensive film made in that country up til that time,  which is how it got the nickname "France's Gone With the Wind." And then there's the mime. Wait, don't tune out! The mime scenes and playlets are pure joy to watch. Put any thoughts of a Frenchified Shields and Yarnell skit out of your head. The standout performer (and probably the best in the movie) is Jean-Louis Barrault. He's touching, funny, with liquid body movements that make you look at this kind of performing anew, and in the speaking part of the role his take on unrequited love will break your heart.

"The Big Combo" (1955)

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"1984" (1984)

A very faithful adaptation of George Orwell's famous dystopian novel. Director Michael Radford makes the very important decision to set the film in a 'future' from the vantage point of the period the book was written, the late 1940's. Therefore there's no ultra-sophisticated technology, about the only advanced gizmos around are the pervasive screens that encroach on everyone's lives everywhere you look. In hindsight this works to the advantage of the movie as it doesn't date it in the least. Here we are almost 35 years hence and the film still looks fresh. Credit cinematographer Roger Deakins for the moody, washed out look. The story is a cautionary allegory, the struggle of one man versus Power in all it's oppressive forms. John Hurt is perfect as the little man, Winston Smith, who can't stomach the dehumanizing tyranny of The State and who finds a modicum of solace in an furtive love affair with a fellow co-worker (Suzanna Hamilton), and possible lifeline of help from yet another co-worker, a somber Richard Burton in what was to be his last film role. Fair warning, the plot turns truly horrific when we discover just how the government is going to bend Smith to it's will, the word torture doesn't even begin to describe it, so set your expectations accordingly. This is scary stuff. But what's even more frightening is just how prescient this tale is for our current nervous times. Couldn't 'Big Brother' be a stand-in for all the screens, the internet, and closed circuit cameras that fill our lives? Isn't 'Newspeak' just another word for 'Fake News with all it's Anternative Facts'? Even our endless involvement is far off wars is echoed in the relentless agitprop that's constantly fed the  brainwashed masses in Winston's world. Hell, maybe they should just re-release the thing and call it "2019".

"Oliver Twist" (1948)

This could very well be the definitive adaption of Charles Dickens' beloved novel about an orphan waif falling into a band of young boy pickpockets in Victorian London. Director David Lean and his production artists create the perfect atmosphere of the dark, dirty, oppressive city during the Industrial Revolution. Given the year it was made, post WWII, and still building it's way out of the bombing devastation, it's no wonder Lean paints the location in inky noir blacks and shadows to parallel the recent history. Cities can be dog-eat-dog urban jungles no matter the period. Now, when discussing this story, the knottiest problem is always going to be the infamous character of Fagin, the stolen goods fence who's the caretaker for the street urchins. In the book there's no getting around the anti-Semitism of the characterization (he's called "the Jew" over 300 times). The film excises this terminology but still portrays him (by an unrecognizable Alec Guinnass), as a filthy and miserly villain with a nose so big he looks like a toucan. The insinuation is still queasily there. But the rest of the cast is perfect, embodying the Dickensian gallery of characters that runs the gamut from comedic to nefarious. As little Oliver, John Howard Davies hits just the right note of innocence and defiance. And look for a teenage Anthony Newley as the rapscallion Artful Dodger!

"Jet Storm" (1959)

Ah, the myriad guilty pleasures to be had from that tried-and-true sub-genre of thrillers, the commercial jetliner disaster movie. Whether it's John Wayne having a nervous breakdown in the cockpit of "The High and the Mighty", or Doris Day as a wide-eyed stewardess having to land the plane herself in "Julie", or those matched set of over-the-top campfests the "Airport" movies of the 1970's, they're all the stuff of giddy unintentional humor. Add to the list this forgotten British number that is, plot line for plot line, an exact duplicate of the first "Airport" and pre-dates it by over 10 years! Richard Attenborough is an unhinged passenger on a transatlantic flight from London to New York carrying a booby-trap bomb device. He's mad at the world and he's gonna take down everyone on the plane with him. Of course, we get to know the variety of passengers and crew members along the way. How they deal with their possible demise and who gets to survive is the stuff of most of the movie. Along the way there's witty banter, flirtations, fisticuffs, and freak-outs. Perfect popcorn fair if you like this sort of thing. Especially noteworthy is Hermione Baddeley as a boorish nouvue riche widow, bulldozing her way over everyone in the plane. She's so deliciously hateful you wish they'd stick the bomb in her mouth just to shut her up.

"Dead of Night" (1945)

This British anthology film now looks like it could have been the inspiration for TV's "Twilight Zone." A collection of five tales of the supernatural ranging in tone from eerie, to comical, to downright terryfying. They're all connected but to say how will only spoil the fun of the eerie denouement. The clear standout story is the justifiably famous one with Michael Redgrave as a ventriloquist with a creepy relationship with his dummy. His wooden friend, Hugo, is the forerunner to all those cinematic devil dolls that have haunted us for years, the "Poltergeist" clown under the bed, Karen Black's native figurine in "Trilogy of Terror", and that evil scamp Chucky. But this dummy is no dummy, and he'll haunt your dreams for quite a while.  You just might believe that a leering piece of wood and cloth could really be responsible for murder. Don't watch this one with the lights out.

"Lucky Me" (1954)

This serviceable musical was Doris Day's followup effort the year following her smash hit "Calamity Jane". It bombed. On paper it should have worked: same studio, same songwriters, great supporting cast, likable leading man. But the shopworn backstage story and ho-hum songs make make it almost forgettable, emphasis on almost. The saving grace, of course, is the indomitable gale force skill of Ms. Day. The woman didn't have a disingenuous acting bone in her body. She believes in the hokey script and bland lyrics, or at least she makes you think she does. She rises so far above the dross material that she single-handedly pulls it across the finish line. And that's called talent, folks.

"Thieves Like Us" (1974)

The marketing wizards of Hollywood chose to sell this Depression era crime story as a another "Bonne & Clyde". Big mistake. Yes, both are about a young, madly in love bank robbing couple making headlines and fleeing the authorities, but that's where the similarities end. The former was a statement about the intersection of violence, sex, and celebrity in American culture, told with glamorous stars, a whipcrack smart script, and groundbreaking editing. This Robert Altman piece is 180 degrees from that, trying for something completely different. The director has chosen instead to create a visual tone poem, a languid depiction of the simpler, less frenzied life in 1930's rural America. The bank robberies are almost an afterthought. They're shot from afar or not at all, we just see the escape. The movie is long and deliberately paced. Small moments stand out: a game of catch, a Sunday dinner, a sensous bath. And it's the two lovers we remember most. Keith Carradine and Shelley Duval are so perfectly matched. Two beanpoles with big teeth and eyes. Sweet and laconic, sipping Cokes and finding a doomed love that will stick with you well after the story's over.

"Black Narcissus" (1947)

If you never thought you'd read the words "the sexiest nun movie ever made", then think again. This sui generis work of art has none of the expected nun movie trappings. No noble statements about self-sacrifice to Catholicism or religion. No heartwarming plot involving children, animals, or some wayward soul who needs salvation. No singing. No alps. And NO FLYING. This is a study of human frailty, specifically one's sexual yearnings and desires, despite a vow of fealty to God that can come into question. And it's got more passion than most bodice-ripping romance novels could hope for. Deborah Kerr is a young nun given the task of starting a new missionary high in the remote Himalayas. It's a maharajah's old palace that used to be a love nest for his harem. Along with four other sisters she has to contend with the local native culture but her pesky feelings for a strapping agent (David Farrar), an emissary to the local Indian General, are the real suspense here. Faith or Desire? What wins in the eternal struggle of the heart? Kerr is superb, practically giving a performance with just her eyes alone. Farrar is a walking sex bomb, he exudes testosterone making you wonder why this magnetic performance didn't garner him other notable roles. But the movie is stolen by Kerr's nemesis, Kathleen Byron as Sister Ruth. Her creepy portrayal of a fellow nun vying for the attentions of Farrar is feral, hauntingly intense, and unforgettable. When these two face off in the film's famous showdown it's electric. Cinematographer Jack Cardiff won the Oscar for his efforts here, it was a no-brainer. He studied the Great Masters like Vermeer and Caravaggio to create the painterly scenes and compositions. It's a stunning looking picure, unlike anything ever filmed. And the jaw-dropping trivia is that the production went nowhere near India, the whole thing was created with backdrops, matte paintings and technical wizardry in the studios of England! Credit to the celebrated British filmmaking team of director Michael Powell and screenwriter Emeric Pressburger for one of the undisputed classics of the 2Oth Century film canon. Don't miss this one.

"The Taking of Pelham One Two Three" (1974)

This is one of those great, gritty, police dramas from the 1970's that almost constitute a genre onto themselves.  Hard-bitten actioners like "Dirty Harry", "The French Connection", "Serpico", "Dog Day Afternoon". And while this entry is a grade below those illustrious ground breakers it's definitely worthy of their company. The plot is lean and mean: a group of passionless bad guys attempt to kidnap a New York City subway train in the middle of the afternoon and they'll kill one passenger every minute if they don't get the hostage money (don't laugh at the amount, one million dollars was a lot of money back then). Robert Shaw is the taciturn gang leader. Efficient, cold, and scary, Shaw spits out his dialog like he's being forced to. Things turn into a back-and-forth negotiation with him and the head of the Transit cops, Walter Mathau, giving one of his patented world-weary nonchalant performances that fit him like a glove. The script is filled with some good laughs to ease the high tension, usually delivered by a cross section of cops, transit bureaucrats, and city hall officials all enmeshed in the citywide emergency. Director Joseph Sargent juggles all the action and banter with deft touch, it's probably his best directorial effort. The real unsung heroes here are David Shire turning in a jazzy, jangly score and cinematographer Owen Roizman giving the whole piece the right amount of grimy beauty. The Lindsey era Big Apple looks so menacingly scary no wonder President Ford would famously tell it to drop dead the following year, who wouldn't?

"Sudden Fear" (1952)

After a slump, Joan Crawford's career came roaring back with this big fat hit, and justifiably so. Much like her classic "Mildred Pierce", this is one of those mash-up film noirs, equal parts woman's picture and crime thriller. She's a wealthy San Francisco heiress who's also a successful Broadway playwright (only in the movies, folks). When a May/September romance blooms with a opportunistic younger actor, a vulpine Jack Palance with more cheekbones than an ad for Botox, things turn shady. See, Palance is really in love with his girlfriend on the side, she of the bee-stung lips and kazoo-like voice, Gloria Graham. What if they could bump off the old gal and get all her moolah for themselves? But then, what if La Crawford finds out about the seedy scheme and decides to turn the tables with some nefarious shenanigans of her own? The script is so chock-a-block full of plot it's like a Rube Goldberg machine, there are so many set-ups you see coming but like a row of dominoes, it's so satisfying to see them all pay off. There's one famous and wordless suspense setpiece that Joan does wonders with...it's all in the eyes and tormented facial gestures, and it's agonizing. No wonder she pulled off an Oscar nod for it. Kudos to director David Miller, there's not a bad composition or needless shot in the whole picture. And if you dig really deep you might find a message here about single working women of a certain age and whether they really need the love of man to find true happiness. SPOILER: they don't.

"Alfie" (1966)

The 1960's were the apex of British cool... The Beatles. The Rolling Stones. Twiggy. Carnaby Street. James Bond. 'The Avengers'. And in his career defining role that would catapult him to worldwide fame, there was Michael Caine as Alfie. The personification of the hip, cheeky, devil-may-care attitude every young man of the day aspired to. Alfie is a working class young man with style to spare who's the bad boy ladies man, flitting from one broken heart to the next with nary a regret. Life is too short for him to be weighed down with something so downer as responsibility. And he gets away with it scott free. Why? Because he's so charmingly lovable. A cad, a bounder, but Caine infuses him with so much likability you forgive it. But a good thing doesn't last forever and things take a dramatic turn when Alfie confronts some of the harsh consequences of the life he's been leading. The movie's famous stylistic schtick is Caine breaking the fourth wall to talk the audience, his stream of conscience philosophies sometimes happen in scenes with other characters but they don't notice it. Probably a holdover from the stage play from which it was adapted, in the hands of a lesser actor it might grate, here it sings. There's also a zoftig Shelley Winters in three short scenes, despite her second billing, as a man hungry cougar who teaches Alfie a cold lesson in love. And let's not forget the title song over the end credits, one of the premier masterpieces of the Burt Bacharach/Hal David songbook (it's the composer's personal favorite) sung by that other 60's pop icon Cher!

"Catch-22" (1970)

Is it possible to make a great film from Joseph Heller's celebrated novel about the evils and hypocrisies of war? The short answer is probably 'no'. The very form of the novel, an elliptical non-sequential series of episodes barely masquerading as plot would be the first hurdle. Then there's the frustrating, nonsensical bureaucratic-ease that pervades much of the dialog. And don't let's forget that most of the characters are charlatans, blowhards, cowards, criminals, or just plain idiots. It's a wonder then that director Mike Nichols and screenwriter Buck Henry managed to pull together a noble effort, a somewhat more coherent movie out of this knotty source material. The (anti)hero is Yossarian (Alan Arkin), a WWII fighter pilot stationed on an island off the coast of Italy. All he wants is to fly his last bombing mission so he can get the hell out of the war and back home. But like Lucy with the football, his superiors keep snatching away his goal, forcing him to keep flying. The soul sapping futility is the point of the piece, and if it weren't for the all-star fine cast most of the satiric humor wouldn't work, but with pros like Richard Benjamin, Martin Balsam, Jack Gilford, Bob Newhart, Anthony Perkins, Martin Sheen, Jon Voight, Bob Balaban, Paula Prentiss, and Orson Welles, they pull it off. At least most of the time. It also doesn't hurt that Nichols was given a hefty budget to make the wide-screen production truly handsome. There's one flying sequence with a a full squadron of real   B-52's taking off that is draw dropping, something we'll never see the likes of again sans CGI effects.

"Gosford Park" (2001)

Director Robert Altman and screenwriter Julian Fellowes take all the tropes of a classic 1930's whodunit mystery and turn them inside out. A weekend at a huge estate in the British countryside. An assortment of monied guests and house staff. A murder in the library. A trench coated detective. Red herrings. Witty dialog. Tuxedos and evening gowns. It's all here...but it's all beside the point. This is really an exploration of class distinctions and what happens when they mix and inevitably clash. It's all handled with Altman's dextrous ability to juggle an extremely large (and talented) cast. The fluid camera work and overlapping dialog are a wonder to behold. And what an all star cast it is! Maggie Smith, Michael Gambon, Kristin Scott Thomas, Helen Mirren, Charles Dance, Jeremy Northam, Clive Owen, Bob Balaban, Ryan Phillippe, Stephen Fry, Eileen Atkins, Emily Watson, Alan Bates, Derek Jacobi, Richard E. Grant, and James Wilby...it's the telephone book of  Who's Who English actors, and there's not a bum performance in the bunch. Emily Watson and Helen Mirren deserve special shout-outs as world-weary downstairs staffers. Their characters know the lot in life they've been dealt and you can feel the weight of it in their eyes alone. Fellowes has a real ear for the various strata of dialog. This was essentially a dry run for his enormously successful TV series "Downton Abby" ten years later. In fact, the initial plans were for that show to be a spinoff of "Gosford", later scrapped. But it's the same "Upstairs/Downstair" set-up, even using the scene-stealing Maggie Smith in much the same capacity as a wickedly droll dowager casting off tart quips and asides like poison pellets to throw everyone off their game. And just when you think the mystery doesn't really matter, the plot surprises you with an honest-to-God surprising (and poignant) solution to the crime that you won't see coming.

"A Star is Born" (1937)

Before there was Garland, before there was Streisand, and yes, before there was Gaga, there was this first remake of a soapy Hollywood story that, defying all odds, works every time it's told. For the record, the original was titled "What Price Hollywood?". Other than the name change the basic plot in every version is stet: a young performer brimming with untapped talent meets and falls in love with an established star at the peek of his fame but who's on a downward trajectory involving substance abuse. He helps her make her mark and as her career skyrockets while his hits the skids. Tears and histrionics ensue. This version starring Janet Gaynor and Frederic March zips along and the economy of storytelling is refreshing if you're used the subsequent versions that were all musicalized with songs and productions numbers that pad out the action. And it's obvious why actors are drawn to these roles. The female gets to suffer nobly and stand by her man as he self destructs and the male lead has all that internalized self-imolation to pull off. Both stars here shine, March especially so. His tragic ending is particularly poignant without being hammy. This was also the first Technicolor movies to more artfully use the spectrum of shades available, more realistic shadows and tones than the garish look of color films up until that time.

"My Sister Eileen" (1942)

Rosalind Russell was in her wheelhouse with comedic roles. They gave her free reign to display her gifts with the quick comeback, the insulting zinger, or the subtle facial expression that said it all. This screwball comedy was no exception. Adapted from a hugely successful Broadway play, she's a newspaper reporter making a new start for herself in The Big Apple. Her beautiful aspiring actress younger sister, an effervescent Janet Blair, is in tow as well. With no money but high hopes, they find a cramped basement apartment in Greenwich Village complete with an annoying landlord (George "Mr. Kravitz" Tobias from TV's "Bewitched"), and a slew of other neighborhood characters and crazies. Their place becomes a revolving door of madcap confusion. Russell tries for a job at a literary magazine and falls for the handsome editor (Brian Aherne). Snappy and delightful. Oh, and look for a fun cameo in the final scene!

"All That Jazz" (1979)

This is a veritable salmagundi of all things Bob Fosse. The famed theatre and film director/choreographer was swinging for the bleachers here, pouring all of his signature style and themes into one big explosion of splashy and spiky entertainment. Just like the man himself there's a lot to love/hate. It's like his "81/2" but with musical numbers, a semi-autobiographical look at an artist grappling with his artistic output (or lack thereof) and his complicated relationship with the women in his life. Fosse's stand-in is Roy Schieder as 'Joe Gideon', a director of stage and screen stretching himself too thin between too many projects and using booze, pills, and sex with too many chorus girls to get him through it. It pushes him to a heart attack and the storytelling conceit of the picture is that it takes place entirely in that split second when he's on the operating table, balancing on the brink of death. His life is recounted in flashbacks during a conversation he's having with the beautiful Angel of Death, a sexy Jessica Lange. It sounds more complicated than it is. Joe is not a nice man but Schieder's performance makes you like him anyway and you can see why his ex-wife (Leland Palmer), his current girlfriend (Ann Reinking), and young daughter (Erzebet Foldi) forgive all his sins and shenanigans, they love him and don't want him to die. Death and dying is nice material for a musical, right? Well, it's the dance numbers that make this magnum opus truly great. From the opening showstopper, an open Broadway cattle call  for chorus dancers, essentially "A Chorus Line" done in five minutes, to the way-ahead-of-its-time "Air-rotica" number, a slithering orgiastic hot house of sweaty limbs and torsos, it's vintage Fosse. Isolated body parts, multiple dancers in shaped formations, fingers snaps, splayed hands, bowler hats, you name it, it's here in spades. Nobody used the medium of film better to display an ownable dance vernacular. And while Fosse's work could be cool and distant, there's one small number in the middle of the movie where Rienking and the daughter do a special living room duet just for Gideon, a precious number of love and razzmatazz that's the very essence of joy in dance. You get the feeling that very joy is what Fosse strove for throughout his career.

"Pretty Poison" (1968)

This odd and subversive tale of two attractive young lovers falling into a crime spree seems,  at first blush, clearly aimed at the same success formula "Bonnie & Clyde" famously made the previous year, but while the former film was about the intertwining of violence, celebrity, and entertainment in our culture,  this one is about something else altogether, the prickly truth that our cherished American values come with a dark side, and if we're not careful they'll rot us from within. It starts off as a kooky quasi-rom-com, a picture perfect couple meet cute at a hotdog stand (how Americana can you get?). Tuesday Weld is a sunny sweet high school drum majorette who talks on a pink princess phone in her frilly bedroom, dressed in Ann Roth's flouncy cotton swing dresses. Too cute by a mile. Anthony Perkins is the clean-cut boyish guy in button-down oxford shirts and corduroys. All good...but like so much in this movie, nothing is as it seems and before long the tone changes, things turn sinister, and you're left unmoored by the shocks that follow. This has become a sleeper cult film over the years and deservedly so, definitely one to seek out.

"They Made Me a Fugitive" (1947)

One of those small-ish and British film noir pictures from the 1940's that shows Hollywood didn't have a monopoly on the shadowy dark currents of the genre. This one is conspicuous for its decidedly Hitchcockian feel, using one of The Master of Suspense's great themes, an innocent man wrongly accused of a crime he didn't commit who has to clear his name (see "The 39 Steps", "Saboteur", and "North by Northwest"). Trevor Howard is a former RAF pilot who falls in with a bad lot of black market racketeers in London. After a failed heist where a cop is killed, he gets blamed (wrongly) and is in hot pursuit by the authorities and his former gang members who want him dead. Along the way he gets the help from a sympathetic blonde (Sally Grey), channeling her best Linda Darnell/Lana Turner lusciousness, and romance ensues. There are some nice suspense set-pieces and a thrilling chase finale across the sooty rooftops of Londontown. Worth your time.

"Flower Drum Song" (1961)

Musical theatre aficionados rate this show as second tier Rodgers and Hammerstein, not in the same artistic league as the famed composer/lyricist team's more celebrated Big Five: "Oklahoma!", "Carousel", "The King and I", "South Pacific", and "The Sound of Music". That said, even lesser R&H works are better than most, and this screen adaptation has much to recommend. It's the story of the clashing cultural values of first and second generation Chinese families in San Francisco's Chinatown and the resulting romantic rondelay of two intertwined sets of lovers. There are a couple of nettlesome caveats however. Of the four lead actors (Nancy Kwan, Miyoshi Umeki, James Shigeta, and Jack Soo), three are of Japanese descent, Kwan being Chinese/British.  Makes you think studio executives were using the abhorrent "they all look alike" excuse when casting. Does it affect the viewing of the film? Ish. But this was 60 years ago and we can't forget how groundbreaking it was to see a major Hollywood film showcasing an all Asian cast. Hell, it's still groundbreaking today (see the welcome success of "Crazy Rich Asians"), so it's a lump you have to accept to watch the film. There are also some groaner bits of dialog ("The old man had egg foo young on his face.")...really? But now the good stuff. Nancy Kwan is electric. It's criminal that she didn't go on to other leading roles. She's smart, sexy, and she slays any scene she's in. She had a dancing background so she aces her big musical numbers ("Grant Avenue" and "Fan Tan Fannie") and her leggy prancing and preening in the show's most famous song "I Enjoy Being a Girl" is scrumptious, making this number a drag show warhorse for the next fifty years. The whole production was shot on sets, even big San Francisco street scenes, so there's a stylized theatre-like quality to everything like many comedies and musicals of that era. Reliable director Henry Koster did the direction and Irene Sharaff works wonders doing umpteen variations on the cheongsam dress, but perhaps the best production touch is the snazzy, jazzy choreography by Hermes Pan, it adds a youthful modern touch to the proceedings.

"Tess" (1980)

Thomas Hardy's classic novel of the tragic life and loves of a 19th Century English milkmaid, "Tess of the D'Urbervilles", comes to the screen in this stately adaption by director Roman Polanski. The novel is still a vital part of the Western canon because it grapples with a couple of knotty themes that irk us to this day, namely the hypocrisy of religion and the grossly unfair gender roles society lays down for men and women. You won't find a more stunningly beautiful movie (it won a well-deserved Oscar for cinematography), and the production is uniformly faithful to the source material. In her movie debut, Nastassia Kinski--looking like a young Ingrid Bergman--does an admirable job in the title role. Not to damn with faint praise, but the picture is a nicely measured telling of the story. If you love the book, you'll admire the movie. So what's the catch? Well, it's one of those instances where you can't separate the art from the artist. Not Hardy, but Polanski. See, he made this movie only three years after having been notoriously banished from Hollywood (and America) for allegedly raping a thirteen year old girl. He fled to Europe and hasn't graced our shores since. And since this story directly hinges on the rape of the title heroine, a naive teenager,  by an older man (sorry for the spoiler but it happens early in the story), you have to question the director's motivations here, and it will alter your perception of the film. Is it a sincere apologia for his transgressions? A misguided rationalization? Or maybe just a big F.U. to all those who damned him? You decide. Depending on your viewpoint, it may or may not help that the ad campaign's tagline was "She was born into a world where they called it seduction, not rape." See what I mean?

"The Rains Came" (1939)

20th Century Fox broke the bank on this epic disaster film and it shows. Adapted from a big popular bestseller by Louis Bromfield, it's a soapy melodrama about a bunch of wealthy white British colonials in the province of Ranchipur, India. They have no more pressing concerns than where to have their society teas and which race horse to buy. Lovely Myrna Loy has fun playing the ennui laden countess and wife to a blow-hard imperialist, Nigel "Dr. Watson" Bruce. Her old flame, George Brent, is a louche international playboy trying to parry the advances of a sex-starved debutante, Brenda Joyce. Of course, everyone gets their karmic comeuppance via the hand of God (or is it Brahma?) when the monsoon season hits. And boy, does it hit. You could read into the ensuing catastrophic floods that happen as a spiritual cleansing of all these meaningless lives and how they find personal redemption because of it, but let's face it, in a disaster picture you come to see the death and destruction and this movie delivers in spades. Not only do the rising waters lay waste to everything in sight, there's a big earthquake to boot. And if that's not enough a malaria plague afterwards! This was the first move to win an Oscar for visual effects and they're tremendous and downright scary. Folks, this was how it was done without the crutch of CGI. Dams burst, rivers overflow, thousands of extras meet their doom...harrowing stuff. Loy has a touching romance with the one upstanding Indian character, a noble surgeon, but he's played by...Tyrone Power?? Ugh. Hollywood whitewashing strikes again. The only saving grace was that Power was at the height of male pulchritudinous and he's lit here in his dark pancake makeup and turbans like a Hurell photograph, and he never looked more scrumptious.

"Dark Waters" (1944)

You could think of this psychological suspenser  as "Gaslight" with a Cajun accent. Merle Oberon is the sole survivor of an ocean liner torpedoed by a German U Boat. Her parents were two of the casualties, so naturally she comes through her recovery in a highly fragile state. She decides to connect with her only surviving relatives, a long lost aunt and uncle (Fay Bainter and John Qualen) who live in a moss covered plantation deep in the back bayous of Louisiana. When she arrives there's something...not...quite...right. Her family is oddly detached, plus there's an off-putting boarder (Thomas Mitchell), and an overly forward caretaker (Elisha Cook, Jr.). Before you can say "crawfish etouffée" someone or something tries to drive Oberon crazy. Lights going on and off, spooky voices calling her name from the sinister bayous at night, etc. The only person who she can turn to is the local handsome doctor (Franchot Tone). Despite a few plot holes so big an alligator could crawl through them, the whole piece hangs together with a great sense of atmosphere and the game cast. Mitchell is having a ball playing against his normal jovial type, and Oberon's regal beauty is ravishing in the black and white noir lighting. A tasty cinematic gumbo.

"The Unknown" (1927)

There's no other word to describe this disturbing silent film but 'twisted'. And you should expect nothing less from Tod Browning, the director of the infamous horror chiller "Freaks". This story is another set amongst the bodily deformed performers of a traveling circus. Lon "Man of a Thousand Faces" Chaney is an armless knife thrower and sharp shooter. His beautiful assistant, the girl on the receiving end of all those sharp knives, is a young Joan Crawford. She's the daughter of the circus owner and Chaney is obsessively in love with her. Problem is, so is the troupe's strongman, the musclebound mustachioed Norman Kerry. And this is where things get creepy. Really creepy. To describe any more of the plot would short-change the gobsmacking shocks that occur. Let's just say it's weird, it's gruesome, and there's not a little bit of demented humor sprinkled in to make you feel just a tad queasier about the proceedings. The big finish alone is one of those "Oh no, they're not going there, are they?" You'll watch through your hands, believe me. Chaney's performance here is like a man possessed. This is what lovelorn mania really looks like. And Crawford always credited this film as a big turning point in her career, one where she learned how to act in front of a camera. Call it macabre, call it sick, there's no denying it's unforgettable.

"Three Hours to Kill" (1954)

In his best film noir roles, like"Laura" and "Fallen Angel",  actor Dana Andrews was expert at conveying a world-weary melancholy, a lonely man trying to hold onto his values in a sinister world. He brings that same attitude to this nicely plotted western. He's a gunslinger hired by the railroad to protect it's interests. One fateful night he awakens from a blackout with a pistol in hand standing over a dead body, his fiance's possessive brother. The town is quick to lynch him up right away but he escapes. And the rest of the picture turns into a quasi whodunnit as he sleuths his way to finding the real killer. Is it the town barber? The saloon keeper? The local gambler? Or even his best friend? Donna Reed has little to do as his suffering girl but she brings a nice sincerity to her scenes, and she and Andrews create a nice depth to their tortured romance.

"The Hitch-Hiker" (1953)

Actress Ida Lupino knew her way around a film noir picture. She was always terrific playing the hard-bitten dame. So it's no surprise when she went behind the camera to direct (a rarity in itself for Old Hollywood), she spun gold out of the genre in this first-rate economical thriller. "Ripped from the headlines", this is based on the real story of a serial killer hitchhiker in Southern California who'd gun down his unsuspecting victims, steal their money and make off with their vehicle. (Did movies make hitching so scary...or was it always such a terrifying thing?) The bad boogeyman in this scenario is a doozy. Played by William Talman this dude is creepy personified, right down to one eye that never closes, even when he's sleeping. He hitches a ride with two friends going on a fishing trip ( Edmund O'Brien and Frank Lovejoy). At gunpoint he forces them  to take him down to Baja California where he can make an escape from the nationwide manhunt on his tail. Afterward he'll presumably kill them both. Lupino juxtaposes the claustrophobic interior of the car with the desolate desert roads, so empty and rocky they look like an alien planet. With no help in sight the victims are doomed. There's a dragnet that ensues with the Mexican police but will they find them in time? Adding to the suspense is an extra layer of storytelling that gives the story even more emotional resonance: there's a decided gay subtext to the relationship between the two gentlemen friends. The 'fishing trip' excuse is thin, a pre-"Brokeback Mountain" cover if there ever was one. And there are too many subtle body language cues--knees touching, arms gently draped over shoulders--for their solicitous gestures to mean anything less. Since Lupino was co-screen writer it's clear what she was aiming for and the hitcher only adds to the sexual tension. Polanski would create the same kind of sexy pressure cooker ten years later with three travelers on a boat in his "Knife in the Water".

"The Pumpkin Eater" (1964)

"Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn't keep her..." This is a disquieting character study of an upper middle class British woman (Anne Bancroft) who realizes her cad of a husband (Peter Finch) is a serial cheater. The sad truth rocks her world and the film is a fluidly episodic reveal of how she slowly comes undone from the pressure of trying to understand what she really wants from life. A happy marriage? Good sex? A bunch of kids? A tasteful home? We may not get the answers but Bancroft gives a heartfelt and fragile performance nonetheless, you feel her pain and it aches. When she finally confronts Finch about his misdeeds her rage is cathartic, it shatters the screen. Harold Pinter did the screenplay from a novel by Penelope Mortimer and yes, you get some of those dreaded Pinteresque pauses and his menacingly banal dialog, but Finch and Bancroft pull it off. It helps that the scenes are short snippets, just fleeting glances at the marriage's disintegration. It's all shot in stunning black and white (Bancroft resembles a Modigliani painting come to life) and the jumpy cutting keeps things moving. Credit goes to Jack Clayton for the cool direction. A fleeting bit of a young Maggie Smith is on hand, she steals her few scenes, and so is an acidic James Mason as the cuckold husband of Finch's mistress. The whole piece is like bracing swig of a strong gin and tonic in a chic London flat. It's not necessarily festive and fun but the icy buzz packs a punch.

"Brighton Rock" (1948)

A tight, intense thriller noir adapted from a novel by Graham Greene. This is a British production, so it's fun to see what they did with the genre's tenets across the pond. A young baby-faced Richard Attenborough is a streetwise gang member who kills a journalist in the seaside resort town of Brighton. The victim has a ladyfriend (Hermione Baddely, Mrs Naugatuck from TV's "Maude") who isn't buying the police's theory of suicide so she takes matters into her own hands. Attenborough gives a lean and menacing performance, this was years before all those angry young men that the British New Wave cinema gave us in the 1960's. He's ruthless in wooing a naive waitress (Carol Marsh) who, unbeknownst to her, can identify him as the killer. Will the amateur lady sleuth finger the hoodlum before he's found out by his girl? Therein lies the suspense. And it's a smartly plotted ride. Amazing and  gritty on-location photography provides loads of atmosphere to backdrop all the action. And a terrifically poignant ending to boot.

"Dodge City" (1939)

You could say this was the last hoorah for the straight-ahead western, where the story was simple and the good guys always vanquished the bad. Made the same year as John Ford's landmark "Stagecoach", a film that would herald a new and more mature direction for the genre, this is a fine piece of studio entertainment, albeit one that's about as deep as a prairie dog mound. Helmed by Warner Brothers' ace director Michael Curtiz, it's at turns epic, rousing, and romantic. And jam packed with so much western stuff that afterward you'll feel like a sated cowpoke at a barbecue feast. The plot is simple, Errol Flynn (in his first western) is a hired gun cattleman enlisted by the town elders of the title burg to be the sheriff who cleans up all the lawlessness. If that sounds familiar it's because Mel Brooks borrowed the plot for his uproarious "Blazing Saddles". There are some spectacular set pieces of the kind Curtiz excelled at: an amazing race between a stagecoach and a locomotive, a no-holds-bared barroom brawl purportedly the longest in cinema history, and a white knuckle escape from yet another train on fire. Olivia de Havilland is on hand looking ravishing in prairie skirts as the love interest and local reporter trying to finger the town's bad man (Bruce Cabot), and things wouldn't be complete without the vampy saloon singer, the 'oomph girl' herself, Ann Sheridan. You can quibble with mid-Atlantic accents of Flynn and de Havilland. No denizens of the Old West talked like that, but who cares when you get their undeniable chemistry, this being the fifth of their eight(!) films together.

"Stella Dallas" (1937)

The first talkie version of Olive Higgins Prouty's popular novel, this is one of the all-time great weepies for movie masochists. Barbara Stanwyck is a blue collar dame from a millworking family in Massachusetts. She's laser focused on landing a man with money to beat her humdrum life and sets her sites on the charming and handsome John Boles. Their eventual marriage fails but they have a daughter who becomes the fulcrum for the rest of the plot. Stanwyck becomes the self-sacrificing mother to beat all comers. She never really shakes her "dem, dese, and dose" accent or her gaudy nouveau riche taste and she's loathe to become a social embarrassment for her teenager (sincere Anne Shirley). To give away more spoils the plot but you soon realize the whole picture is a set-up for one of the most gut-punching, tear-inducing endings in cinema history. And as always, Stanwyck plays it just right, garnering a well-deserved Oscar nod for her performance.

"Hang 'em High" (1968)

This is a more straightforward oater in the Clint Eastwood oeuvre. Sandwiched in between the groundbreaking 'spaghetti westerns' he did with director Sergio Leone and the more experimental genre-bending ones he made in the 1970's like "The Beguiled" and "High Plains Drifter", it feels more like an amped up TV show, "Rawhide" with more sex and violence. Maybe that's because it's directed by a television veteran, Ted Post. That's okay; you can get past the conventional look and feel of it because the story is a grabber. Eastwood is an Oklahoma territory cattleman who survives a trumped up lynching by a gang of nine disreputable ranchers led by nasty Ed Begley. They think he's a rustler.  Big mistake. He becomes a marshal and proceeds to track them down one by one and bring them to justice before trial judge Pat Hingle (who's terrific here). Lovely Inger Stevens is on hand to add some love interest and so is Arlene "Mayberry RFD" Golanka as a cheap harlot with a bad red wig.

"Too Late for Tears" (1949)

There's an old axiom in storytelling: the better the villain, the better the tale. This fascinating little noir has a doozy of a femme fatale at it's core. Played by the raspy voiced Lizabeth Scott, it involves a restless woman stuck in a lackluster marriage to husband Arthur Kennedy. Quite by happenstance they find a satchel of money, so much money that they figure it can only be ill gotten gains. Sure enough the lowlife who's missing his cash, Dan Duryea, shows up and he's not happy. The plot only gets more twisted and tangled (and deadly) from there. Scott and Duryea were mainstays of the genre and they make the backstabbing and double-dealing look easy. Add to the intrigue an old friend of Kennedy's (Don Defore) who may or may not be what he seems and you've got a nifty grab bag of murder and mayhem.

"Bus Stop" (1956)

This amiable film adaptation of William Inge's successful play was turned into a star vehicle for Marilyn Monroe at the height of her popularity. It proved that under all that cleavage and peroxide there really was an actress of some talent. Nevermind that her insecurities and demons made her a difficult handful while filming and that the performance was created in the editing room. The proof is on the screen. Her undeniable star presence is in full throttle. She's a self described 'chanteuse' playing in rowdy Southwest saloons working her way cross country to that big break in Hollywood. She collides with a  bumpkin bronco rider from Montana in town for the big rodeo (Don Murray, who manages not to make a fool of himself given he does a lot of whooping and hollering). For this cowboy it's love at first sight; for her, not so much. The second half of the film is set in the stagebound title location where they (of course) resolve their differences and ride off into the sunset, albeit on a bus. The notable thing about Monroe's performance here is that she's working a convincing accent vastly different from her usual breathy, ditzy delivery. It's clearly patterned on the great Kim Stanley who created the role on Broadway. You can hear Stanley's slurry, drawling cadences in Monroe's mimicking. Grand larceny that works. Rounding out the cast are two dependable character actors as the sparring couple's best friends, Arthur O'Connell as Murray's ranchhand cohort and Eileen Heckart as Monroe's waitress pal. The widescreen direction is by Josh Logan.

"Harriet Craig" (1950)

If you're one to believe the scandalous tell-all book "Mommie Dearest", the one where daughter Christina Crawford completely trashes the life, career, and memory of her beloved screen icon mother Joan Crawford, then this is the movie for you. Joan's character here comes closest to the frightening gorgon depicted in that hatchet job and the subsequent camp-fest film adaptation starring the go-for-broke performance by Faye Dunaway. She's an overbearing domestic control freak living in the suburbs. Her only motivation is to have a spotless house and perfect marriage, no matter the cost. If she has to double-cross her devoted cousin (a sincere K.T.Stevens), terrorize her housekeepers (Viola Roache, Ellen "Grandma Walton" Corby), or deviously manipulate her unsuspecting husband (Wendall Corey), so be it. It's the appearance of the ideal upper middle class life she craves and, goddamit, she'll stop at nothing to get it. Crawford is fascinating to watch, never shying away from being totally unsympathetic. You hate this harridan but you can't stop watching, wondering what jaw-dropping shenanigan she'll pull next. This is melodrama served up piping hot with a healthy side of kitsch to boot. Like Crawford's wardrobe, so gawdawful they look like rejects from a  Charles Busch show. Crawford's roles in the 1950's would get increasingly campier as her looks hardened, the eyebrows and cheekbones getting sharper and more brittle. Was it the best Hollywood could offer an aging star at that time? Who knows. But Crawford sunk her teeth into whatever she was given and she owned the screen whatever the vehicle.

"Woman on the Run" (1950)

A great example of the best kind of film noir: simple tight plot, quick smart dialog, edgy suspense and a twisty plot all set amid a gritty urban setting. Ann Sheridan, looking like the love child of Lucille Ball and Talullah Bankhead, is the title dame. Her estranged husband  (Ross Elliot) witnesses a mob killing and goes on the lam for fear he'll be the next mark for what he saw. She tries to find him while the cops tail her, they need his testimony. There's also a handsome reporter in tow (Dennis O'Keefe) trying to bag the big story, plus the real killer. No wonder she's on the run! But the best reason to see the picture, hands down, is the fantastic use of real locations. The film has Sheridan traipsing all around San Francisco, up and down the hills, around famous landmarks, and thru the crowded streets and throngs. It's a perfect visualization of that city at mid-century. If you love The City by the Bay, take a stroll thru a bygone tour of the way it looked back then in superb black and white, a snapshot that surely no longer exists.