"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?