BEWITCHED (1945)

Famous for his creepy LIGHTS OUT radio show, Arch Oboler also turned out the occasional film. Specializing in a sort of TWILIGHT ZONE meets ONE STEP BEYOND shtick, over-the-air he could be counted on for a decent jolt or two. A result undelivered on film, a medium he had little aptitude for. Every shot, every edit a dud; pacing, performance, decor, composition, a checklist of poor choices. Especially when he tried something showy. No Edward D. Wood Jr., production standards @ M-G-M provided a certain level of polish. But maybe that just makes it all worse. In this ‘daring’ drama, an over-parted Phyllis Thaxter plays a just-engaged schizophrenic with a split personality disorder. Running away from the evil voice inside her head*, she heads east to NYC where she finds a job, a lawyer boyfriend, and an old flame to murder. But who did the killing? Angel Phyllis or Devil Phyllis? Either way, someone’s going to the electric chair which should take care of the both of them. Even kindly psychiatrist Edmund Gwenn can’t work up a defense after seeing the truth. Maybe at the time, this passed with its bold new topic, but hard to see how. A real stinker; and capped with a cop-out ending that couldn’t have satisfied then or now.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: *According to IMDb, that’s classic film noir bad girl Audrey Totter speaking inside Thaxter’s head as her evil alter ego. Best thing in here.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: What a lot of screwy camera set ups from six-years-and-out lenser Charles Salerno.

LINK: As always when Oboler gets a mention, we’re happy to provide a LINK to his famous LIGHTS OUT 10 minute creep-a-thon masterpiece, THE DARK! It’s the one with a once-heard/ never-forgotten sound effect of a man turned INSIDE OUT!! Nothing touches the original broadcast, but it’s hard to track down on youtube. Here’s a later version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSmEh8TxswQ

UMIMACHI DIARY / OUR LITTLE SISTER (2015)

Hirokazu Kore-eda pays the sort of attention to life’s surface ripples most filmmakers reserve for high drama, getting you to adjust to his wavelength & rhythms. This time in a quiet, but deeply felt story about three sisters who invite their teenage half-sister to move in with them after meeting her at their estranged father’s funereal. The transition is a happy one, but cracks start showing up from various repressed resentments between the older sisters: romantic entanglements, career changes, possible loss of the family home. It’s as if their new half-sister were an inadvertent catalyst/agent of change. But it’s the nature of this film to calm the waters and have things work out; and a pleasant one to join in on, especially with such an attractive cast. (Sachi, the oldest sister played by Haruka Ayase, in particular.) Well-received (deservedly) and compared to the family-oriented dramas of Yasujirô Ozu (mistakenly), any story of four sisters (and cherry blossoms) can’t help but nod toward Kon Ichikawa’s fathoms deep & treasurable THE MAKIOKA SISTERS/’83, but this is very satisfying on its own terms.

DOUBLE-BILL/LINK: As mentioned above, MAKIOKA SISTERS, masterful filmmaking that’s a tough act to follow. So, maybe see SISTER first.  https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2012/07/sasame-yuki-makioka-sisters-11983.html

99 RIVER STREET (1953)

Once a count or two away from being Heavyweight Champion, now a cabby with a damaged eye & a dissatisfied wife. It's John Payne in tough-guy mode, about to fall for a couple of scams that might take him out for good. One’s small & nasty: a sweetheart/actress pal (Evelyn Keyes) using him as a tool to get an acting job; the other’s even worse, with his slutty wife setting herself up for a permanent getaway with a violent jewel thief. But then, both plans blow up in everyone’s face, and Payne goes on the lam to try & untangle the multiple mess before he lands in jail . . . or gets dropped off a pier! Made in the wake of KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL/’52, Payne & director Phil Karlson lay on loads of glistening noir flavor (with what looks like a very tight budget) thanks to a major assist from lenser Franz Planer. (The dockside finale an exceptional display of trick matte effects.) But this second pairing for Karlson & Payne dials up all the acting & plot turns to ‘eleven,’ pushing the envelope past extreme. Just how much of this are we supposed to swallow? Then, about halfway in, the cast & crew seem to notice just how batty it all is and the film makes nodding acquaintance of its own absurdist noir sensibility, turning the corner from ridiculous to ridiculous fun. So, hang in there, and enjoy!

DOUBLE-BILL: Edward Dmytryk & Dick Powell made a similar escalation, upping the ante from the relatively straight MURDER, MY SWEET/’44 to the slightly delirious CORNERED/’45.

THE EAGLE HUNTRESS (2016)

A documentary that plays like a fable, think MULAN/’98, or even NATIONAL VELVET/ ’44, as a young girl triumphs in a role traditionally reserved for men. And this time without gender disguise. Aisholpan Nurgaiv is a 13-yr-old Mongolian schoolgirl determined to continue the family line of hunting for game with trained eagles. With her father’s remarkable support, she already knows the basics, practicing with his hunting eagle before heading out to find a 3-month old eaglet of her own.* Mission accomplished, the next step is months of training and entry in the national eagle competition. The first ever female participant and the youngest. The last section, in the frozen mountains, is the eagle’s first hunt rite-of-passage, Aisholpan’s too. Thrilling stuff, top to bottom, beautifully realized on a wisp of a budget, yet looking like a major production from director Otto Bell largely thanks to Simon Niblett’s staggering cinematography. (Somewhere, David Lean wants to get his hands on a drone camera for a few aerial passes.) The story could use a bit more expansion/ explanation in the middle training/competition section, and it’s hard to think of anything that could top the initial rocky capture in the bird’s craggy lair. But there’s plenty of wonder in the whole fascinating story.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: *This section also covers home & school where we see less tomboy and more gossipy, nail-painting 13-yr-old girlfriend and star student. Just a super kid!

DOUBLE-BILL: Merian C. Cooper & Ernest B. Schoedsack’s GRASS: A Nation’s Battle to Survive/’25 is an early, thrilling documentary about a nomadic tribe in (then) Persia moving with their herds over snow-covered mountain passes on a twice-annual drive for grazing land.

IT'S LOVE I'M AFTER (1937)

In dueling productions on B’way, Leslie Howard had just gone head-to-head against John Gielgud in HAMLET (and lost), and in Hollywood against Norma Shearer in ROMEO AND JULIET (and lost), when he got a chance to send up Shakespeareans on and off-stage co-starring with Bette Davis as a battling theatrical couple. (Think ‘the Lunts’ whose constant bickering in TAMING OF THE SHREW on and off-stage led to Cole Porter’s KISS ME KATE.*) The gimmick here is super-fan Olivia de Havilland, engaged to Patrick Knowles, but carrying a torch for Howard that’s threatening both couples. Warners wasn’t exactly the studio for sophisticated continental comedy, you’re more likely to find sub-Ferenc Molnár confections @ Paramount. Yet how well this turned out! Funny & relaxed, with deft playing all ‘round, and hardly any pushing. (See next year’s BOY MEETS GIRL for a typical harsh & hasty Warners comedy.) Howard, not only hilarious & charming, but also getting to show some serious Shakespearean chops simply by not taking things too seriously. He & Davis as R&J, fighting sotto voce on-stage as they die; SHREW quotes over kippers at breakfast; tossing off a ‘7 Ages of Man’ as he packs. Just as good is Eric Blore, stealing all his scenes as Howard’s ultra-devoted valet. Disproving the idea that ‘no man’s a hero to his valet,’ Blore’s plainly in love with the guy. You’ll be too. And from ‘utility player’ helmer Archie Mayo who rarely got such congenial assignments over a long career.

DOUBLE-BILL: *While M-G-M’s KISS ME KATE/'53 is (ahem) uneven, most of the original B’way cast was captured to good effect in a reasonably complete 1958 tv abridgement.

NI LE CIEL NI LA TERRE / NEITHER HEAVEN NOR EARTH (2016)

Clément Cogitore’s debut feature is all eerie, suspense-ridden atmosphere, capturing the low-level thrum of war’s constant menace, ‘relieved’ only by outbursts of violence. We’re at some blasted Afghanistan military outpost where a small unit of French soldiers attempt to coordinate with locals (to little effect) and hold back Taliban fighters. An all but pointless exercise in an ill-defined mission. And things only get worse when some men (along with the company dog) go missing, as if vanished. A search leads to a meeting with enemy Taliban (uncannily staged to have them emerge out of rock & land). It’s no ambush, instead, a standoff as both groups blame the other for their own unexplained ‘vanishings.’ No captures, no kidnappings, no fatalities, and no explanation. Agreeing to a temporary truce to search for the missing, all they come up with are more mysteries involving ancient caves; tethered goats in remote locations (what could they signify?); and a local adolescent with the answer of a true-believer. Shot in an effective mix of grainy POV shots, scavenging hand-held work & dramatic lighting that conceals as much as it reveals, Cogitore manages to work all the way thru to an ending both tidy & unresolved.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Extra credit for dialing down the usual actorly intensity often seen in these stories. With no one busy auditioning for their next gig.

THE COBWEB (1955)

A psychiatric clinic where you can’t tell the patients from the doctors? An old gag, but a good one; likely a true one. And certainly the case in Vincente Minnelli’s slightly unhinged ‘50s meller. (It seems even more so with Leonard Rosenman’s largely atonal underscoring making even simple acts (opening the ‘fridge; driving a car; hanging up drapes) come over with near lunatic edge. Speaking of drapes . . . Well, that’s the story engine, a new set of drapes for the sanatorium library. Shall it be cost-conscious burlap to please long time accounts manager Lillian Gish? Something chic from a top Manhattan designer to give Gloria Grahame, wife of clinic head Richard Widmark, a bit of purpose in an empty life? Or something of/by/for the patients as part of the on-going treatment for mixed-up John Kerr (in his film debut) under the guidance of widowed art therapist Lauren Bacall? Add in doctor Charles Boyer as a soused roué who ignores wife Fay Wray; addled Oscar Levant with a hardcore mother-fixation; and scared of the world Susan Strasberg. All of them prowling around a series of chic curated furnished rooms you’d either die to move into or panic to flee from. (Leave it to Minnelli to equate decor not only with character & plot, but to destiny, fate & kismet.*) Undoubtedly a faintly ridiculous dramatic smorgasbörd, yet pretty irresistible; with a swank sense of composition that just won’t quit and keeps this from simply becoming a mere ‘guilty pleasure.’ (Minnelli, scoring with regular lenser George Folsey.) In the theater, these OTT ‘50s melodramas could crash & burn on a single ‘bad laugh’ from some insensitive clod, but hold up (and fascinate) seen at home on the couch in spite of the loss in sheer scale & sensory overload.

DOUBLE-BILL: Minnelli was able to relax Bacall into showing more range (and more technique) than she often mustered on screen. Check out her comic chops in their follow up DESIGNING WOMAN/’57.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: *Speaking of kismet, it’s hard to believe the book leaves Bacall in as abrupt a fashion as the film does. No doubt a Breen Office Production Code imperative.

CONTEST: When Kerr & Strasberg go to the movies, the exit music tells you what they’ve just seen. Tell us the title to win a MAKSQUIBS Write-Up of your choice.

RAMROD (1947)

Dark, brooding, exceptional Western with Joel McCrea & Veronica Lake on the same side of a showdown between violent free-range cattlemen & sheep herders. Sheriff Donald Crisp, playing everything strictly by the book, just manages to keep order, but he’s losing control of Preston Foster & his ranchers. That’s when Lake, behind McCrea’s back, makes a dirty move of her own, ordering up a self-inflicted first strike then laying the blame on Foster & his men. But the dodge blows up in her face starting a new, even deadlier level of tit–for-tat violence with murders and a possible shooting war. Director André De Toth & lenser Russell Harlan get the most out of these conflicted characters, and even manage to make the usually lackluster Don DeFore shine as McCrea’s wrong-side-of-the-law pal. (Or is it just that DeFore looks trimmer & younger than remembered?)

DOUBLE-BILL: The Western took a turn toward greater complexity in ‘47, or did for famous one-eyed directors like De Toth & Raoul Walsh in the psychologically-minded PURSUED.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: Joel McCrea really towers over petite Veronica Lake who looks frail, almost brittle, like a Dresden Porcelain figurine. That’d be fine is her acting weren’t equally frail.

THE SEA WOLF (1941)

The narrative confidence & sheer technical bravura of this film’s opening (at just over a reel) is so brilliantly handled by all hands (on deck & on set), you’ll want to hit pause for a round of applause. It’s classic Golden Age Hollywood at its most assured, spinning a complicated story into clear, continuously exciting entertainment; with leads, supporting players & crew all at the top of their game. And note the well-deserved solo credit card to composer Erich Wolfgang Korngold, second only to director Michael Curtiz. Robert Rosson did the fine job on Jack London’s tricky tale of sadistic ship captain Edward G. Robinson & a cutthroat crew, as well as John Garfield’s anarchist-on-the-run. Add-in Ida Lupino’s desperate streetwalker & Alexander Knox’s literary intellectual, both plucked out of the sea.* The speed this gets put into place is thrilling, along with Anton Grot’s production design & Sol Polito’s fog-bound atmospherics. Told with a vicious, grown-up tone & nihilistic attitude that can still shock, there’s something to make you jump or gasp every few minutes as the ship reveals what the bloody hell is really going on. WOLF has taken ages to show on DVD, largely because of a re-release that clipped nearly a reel & a half off the original running time, with inestimable damage to Curtiz’s editing rhythms. Part of this was simply a trim for a double-bill with the similarly trimmed SEA HAWK/’40. But in WOLF’s case, there was also a bit of politically tinged ‘lefty’ speech-making to worry about from Rosson (an ‘admitted’ Communist who ‘named names’) and an acting line-up of Blacklisted & Grey-listed actors like Howard Da Silva, John Garfield & even Eddie G.  You really couldn’t trust Eddie.  Not only was he what was known as a ‘Premature-Anti-Fascist’ (meaning he supported various liberal/humanitarian causes before war broke out), but he also had a world-class collection of impressionist & modern art.  Obviously a danger to society.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: The Golden Year of the Golden Age of Hollywood is always awarded to 1939, a year where a single director (undervalued Victor Fleming) could turn out GONE WITH THE WIND and THE WIZARD OF OZ. But ‘41 has it champions, what with CITIZEN KANE; HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY; HOLD BACK THE DAWN; LITTLE FOXES, MALTESE FALCON; SERGEANT YORK; SUSPICION; HERE COMES MR. JORDAN; BALL OF FIRE; TOM, DICK AND HARRY; THE LADY EVE; NIGHT TRAIN TO MUNICH; MEET JOHN DOE; THAT HAMILTON WOMAN; STRAWBERRY BLONDE; SULLIVAN’S TRAVELS; 49TH PARALLEL; DUMBO; HIGH SIERRA; and yet another wolf, THE WOLF MAN; to name but a few. (And that’s only English-language pics.) Take that 1939!

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: *Knox & Lupino’s meeting is a neat gender reversed swipe from Robert Donat & Madeleine Carroll’s in Hitchcock’s THE 39 STEPS/’35.

HER CARDBOARD LOVER (1942)

The trailer crows ‘Grand New, Brand New,’ but it’s M-G-M’s third go at this puerile French Boulevard play, seen on B’way in 1927 with Jeanne Eagles & Leslie Howard in roles now inadequately taken by Norma Shearer (in something of a humiliation) and Robert Taylor (working too hard). The main gag has Shearer, in her screen swansong, stuck on caddish lover-boy George Sanders and hiring Taylor to keep her from acting on her worst instincts. The job fits Taylor fine since he’s already positively, if inexplicably, twitterpixed over M-G-M’s time-tarnished doyenne of original contract players. No surprise to find her coming ‘round to him in a slightly more action-oriented third act added to the sedate play script. It’s meant to be very ‘La-Di-Da’ (a first act all about evening clothes restrictions), and if you watch how Sanders throws his lines away rather than holding forth like the two leads, you can see how this just might have worked in ‘40s New England Summer Stock with Leading Ladies of a certain age and fascination. Kit Cornell? Ina Claire? Gertrude Lawrence? Tallulah? Heck, director George Cukor had over-seen a stage revival with none other than Laurette Taylor. So, he certainly knew the score, but maintained something of a soft spot for Shearer in what was their third film together. Perhaps he admired her sheer persistence & work ethic from time on ROMEO & JULIET/’36. Alas, traits largely unsuited to this gossamer material.

DOUBLE-BILL: Cukor was fresh off similar unhappy career-ending duties with Greta Garbo on the ill-fated TWO-FACED WOMAN/’41. He’d return to form (and then some) with GASLIGHT/’44.

THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE (1964)

More like The Fall of Producer Samuel Bronston who channeled hefty profits, goodwill & much creative talent from EL CID/’61 into this hubristic deadweight; then never recovered. There’s plenty of wrong to go around here, but the main problem is that the writers (even with ‘your free gift’ historian Will Durant as ‘Consultant’*) could neither whip up nor lick the storyline. And the film trailer promises ‘A World . . . An Empire . . . A Motion Picture!’ Not quite. First half of a three-hour slog has Alec Guinness’s Marcus Aurelius crawl his way to chilly death while daughter Sophia Loren (in Balmain on the Tiber fur) longs for preferred successor Stephen Boyd (in unbecoming blond locks) and stares daggers at nutso brother/would-be heir Christopher Plummer’s Commodus. (Plummer gives the fruitiest perf in the pic; atrocious, but lively.) To everyone’s relief, blind philosopher Mel Ferrer pulls the ol’ poisoned apple gag on Aurelius, hastening his demise to keep the line of succession in the family. And with Plummer installed as a new mad emperor, the usual Bread & Circus Sword & Sandal tropes take over as we move from frosty Germanica to a massive Roman Forum reconstruction of truly spectacular scale. You feel bankrupt just looking at it. (Not since Henry King & Lillian Gish rebuilt Renaissance Florence in ROMOLA/’24, without resorting to miniatures, mattes or trompe l’oeil, has anything so gobsmacking been seen on screen.) Plus, grunting stars (Anthony Quayle; John Ireland); speechifying poetic types (James Mason; Omar Sharif; even old Finlay Currie), all to little purpose, while Dmitri Tiomkin’s odd score enters in its own aural acoustic with pastiche Bach (an organ sonata for the opening credits); fake Rimsky-Korsakov (Eastern Empire revolt); and a Rossiniana tarantella for the dancing throngs finale. The film is not without defenders (I’m looking at you, Martin Scorsese), but it's no EL CID.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: *Orson Welles, with a fortieth the budget, was shooting CHIMES OF MIDNIGHT/’65 on the Bronston lot a stage or two away from all this mishegas. There’s the ‘consultant’ Bronston should have gone for.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: In an attempt to liven up the first half, Yakima Canutt’s staged a very BEN-HUR like chariot race between brotherly competitors: Boyd, now as ‘good guy’ & Plummer doing the sub-textual/suppressed gay ‘bad boy’ honors.

DOUBLE-BILL: Ridley Scott must have taken notes on this when he was working up GLADIATOR/’00.

LA TORTUE ROUGE / THE RED TURTLE (2016)

Michael Dudok de Wit’s Man vs Nature/Man with Nature survival tale, the first non-Japanese animation from Studio Ghibli, is stunning stuff. Beginning as a Robinson Crusoe shipwreck fable, it neatly switches gears into something of a Creation myth with an Eve who appears . . . let’s just say, not via man’s rib. Told as a near-silent film*, without any dragging or artsy manners, de Wit avoids even a hint of the overly precious or pretentious, finding a rhythm (of life) in his pacing with just a few big action-oriented set pieces. (Yet, there’s a gasp-worthy moment or two of beauty or suspense in every reel.) An opening storm at sea, with waves out of a Japanese period print, sets the tone, but merely hints at the range of superb backgrounds & vistas that envelop these simply drawn characters and the whimsical atoll wildlife who lift the mood as needed. Very special, with unexpectedly broad appeal.

DOUBLE-BILL: *The silent film storytelling technique isn’t too far from the island sequence for Boy and Horse alone in THE BLACK STALLION/’79.

CHINA SKY (1945)

With its all-star cast of ‘YellowFace’ principals, the 1937 adaptation of Pearl Buck’s magnum opus THE GOOD EARTH/’37 makes uncomfortable modern-day viewing. (Same for DRAGON SEED/’44.) But this relatively modest effort is hardly an adequate substitute. Here, China & its people are merely exotic background to a love triangle between a female doctor at a Chinese clinic and the American doctor who got the hospital up and running, now returned from America with a new wife. Even as WWII erupts around them, and ‘Japs’ threaten to overrun the town, these three play out romantic jealousy tropes until Randolph Scott’s handsome doc notices he married the wrong dame! Under journeyman megger Ray Enright, lady doc Ruth Warrick & bitchy bride Ellen Drew telegraph their entire character arcs at first glance, so the film drags even at 80 minutes. Anthony Quinn & Carol Thurston get the only two Yellowface spots (she almost passes; Tony’s cosmetic Asian eye-lid crease defeats his face), but at least the other Asian roles are cast with actual Asians, so that’s something. Just not enough.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Quinn, in real life Mexican/Irish, got away playing almost every ethnic type out there, generally without serious prosthetic help. Not here.

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT: Buck’s THE GOOD EARTH, especially in its first half, still an impressive watch, though anyone under 35 may find the whole YellowFace concept not so much insulting as bizarre. Yet, even in dramatic roles, the custom lasted decades after the far more stylized BlackFace was laid to rest. It still shows up in comic mode, but does seem to have died out for drama back in the ‘80s.

GET OUT (2017)

Often as not, on their Comedy Central sketch show, Jordan Peele & partner Keegan-Michael Key were more wicked sharp than wicked funny taking on edgy race & social issues. But now, working solo in his feature debut as writer/ director, Peele finds a way past hit-and-miss results by pivoting to the dark side, adding a strain of horror folded into awkward social commentary. It’s an effective mix, gleefully setting off discomforting laughs to stick in your throat. Daniel Kaluuya & Alison Williams play a young interracial couple off for a first-time visit with her folks & kid brother. It’s post-Obama GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER/’67, but double-barrel loaded as the normal stress of a family gathering gains added tension from racially biased behavior (either too polite & too rude) to be sweep under the heirloom rug. And here Peele pulls his big switcheroo pivot, bringing in echoes of INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS/’56 as re-imagined by Shirley Jackson.* Yikes! It’s deliciously nasty stuff. Even with an outlier character phoned in (literally) for an audience-pleasing coup de théâtre Peele may regret a few films down the line. Just now, he’s more assured as writer than director with some stiff staging & uneven results in smaller roles. But a big, deserved success, leaving you hungry for his next clever audacity. (Another Not-For-The-Kiddies Family Friendly label. But a stealth bomb of social issues for teens . . . and adults.)

DOUBLE-BILL: *In 1969, Jackson’s classic short story, THE LOTTERY was made as a two-reel short. Then, in ‘96 at five times the length, stretched into a tv-movie. (Neither seen here.)  OR: NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD/’68, the presumed reference right at the end.

KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (1952)

Exemplary noir. A typically taut, modest, effective crime meller from Phil Karlson with John Payne looking for payback after he’s unjustly implicated in Preston Foster’s ‘Perfect Crime’ bank robbery. A trifecta of thugs (Neville Brand, Lee Van Cleef, Jack Elam; fresh, startling faces in ‘52) are the real culprits, hired by Foster and forced to wear masks to hide their identities even from each other before going separate ways after the job and a yet-to-be-announced meet-up in Mexico for the split. Framed by circumstance as an accomplice, Payne is quickly cleared, but not before he’s brutally hammered by confession-hungry cops and fired from his job. With only a clue to go on, Payne tracks down one of the gang and follows up on this lead to a modest Mexican resort. He’s on the verge of a breakthru when a wild card in the form of Foster’s grown daughter (Coleen Gray) makes a surprise visit that threatens the final double-twist payoff. Karlson was doing his best work in the ‘50s, with a gift for clarifying tricky plot turns and envelope-pushing taste in violence. Add on special rapport for the undervalued Payne, a mid-list/mid-weight ex-20th/Fox star who turned tough after his contract days; much like Dick Powell & Robert Montgomery, though less stylized. An Everyman type, sweating his way in and out of jams.

DOUBLE-BILL: Payne & Karlson reteamed for 99 RIVER STREET/’53 and HELL’S ISLAND/’55.

ZERO HOUR! (1957)

Famous (well, infamous) as the principle source for the hit spoof AIRPLANE!/’80, this little Canadian-based indie is, on its own terms, hokey, suspenseful thru the snickers & good fun. Pieces of business & dialogue used almost verbatim in the classic parody ricochet in your brain and can give you a case of the giggles as Dana Andrews’ distressed ex-bomber pilot takes the controls of a passenger plane after both pilots (plus half the cabin) choose tainted halibut over lamb chops as their entrée. (Halibut? Only in Canada.) Andrews replayed these terror tropes to risible effect in THE CROWDED SKY/’60, but here the inadvertent laughs almost feel integral under Hall Bartlett’s hack megging.* Sterling Hayden’s the tough-talking ground liaison guy; Linda Darnell the runaway wife, with halibut eating son, trusting Andrews to bring them in; and Jerry Paris makes like Senor Wences with a sock puppet to distract the sick kid. Some model plane effects are anything but special, while simple suspense elements (a dash panel from hell; knocked-out radio frequency) do most of the work. And it doesn’t hurt to be in-and-out in a speedy 80 minutes.

DOUBLE-BILL: Obviously, AIRPLANE! But which to watch first? Hint: ZERO is much funnier seen second.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: *Novelist Arthur Hailey, of AIRPORT/’70 fame, and not exactly known for his sense of humor, co-scripted. Any laughs are definitely inadvertent.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: Dana Andrews’ speech sounds crisp & clear compared with last year’s BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT where his drinking problems made for difficult afternoon shoots. Was he newly on the wagon?

THE GOOSE AND THE GANDER (1935)

Charles Kenyon’s script (from his ‘original’ story) doesn’t sound too promising: Ex-Wife, overhearing Wife #2 plan an assignation with a new lover, tries to screw up all parties with a secret rendezvous of her own . . . with her Ex . . . at the same location! Oh dear, one of those ‘smart’ drawing room farces that stagger along between arch overacting & dopey misunderstandings. Worse, a comic mix-up brings in a ‘wrong’ couple, a misidentified pair of jewel robbers. Yikes! But wait! With skilled playing (Kay Francis, George Brent & Genevieve Tobin lightly skating on the surface); Kenyon’s cleanly parsed crisscross plotting; and Alfred E. Green’s unfussy megging (it helps that he’s unable to make much of things), the Pre-Code attitudes find their mark in a Post-Code film environment, coming across with spirit, elegance & fun. No undiscovered gem; but quite pleasant work from all hands. Good rainy day stuff.

DOUBLE-BILL: Kay Francis, Hollywood's ‘Queen of Decolletage,’ peaked @ Pre-Code Paramount. And that includes an early loan-out to Warners for William Dieterle’s Lubitsch-esque JEWEL THIEF (if only it had a third-act) made right before her pair of classics ONE WAY PASSAGE and TROUBLE IN PARADISE (all three 1932).

SALUTE TO THE MARINES (1943)

Two acts' worth of blustery pre-war Military Service Comedy, for serviceable long-time M-G-M star Wallace Beery, makes an unlikely turn to the deadly serious in a post-Pearl Harbor third act with unexpectedly impressive action chops. The resulting film is schizophrenic, ridiculous & fascinating. Berry, long relegated to B-pics, gets a lux production here: Techni-Color, a class supporting cast, major battle scenes (tanks, planes, explosions, the works). Even a bridge to blow up. Yet the first two-thirds are all wheezy comic tropes as Sgt. Berry, a 30-yr vet who’s never seen battle, trains his last Marine Newbies & Filipino volunteers before retirement and the tricky adjustment to ‘civie’ life with wife Fay Bainter, daughter & suitor (Marilyn Maxwell; William Lundigan) and his peace-loving neighbors. But when the ‘Japs’ come ashore, and the Fifth Columnists come out of hiding, suddenly Berry’s military know-how & discipline come into play. Battle-tested, at last. The effect is weird, and also a little thrilling under journeyman director S. Sylvan Simon, who shows real aptitude for battle logistics & clarifying shot lists. (Or is it the Second-Unit?) And notice how they find a nice spot for Key Luke as a marine boxer (along with a lot of Filipino kids) to help differentiate between ‘good Asians’ and enemy ‘Japs.’

DOUBLE-BILL: John Ford covers this ground from a serious angle in THEY WERE EXPENDABLE/’45.  (And manages to play the Marine Anthem - ‘From the Halls of Montezuma’ - only occasionally.  Here, it’s the ONLY tune.)

TOWARD THE UNKNOWN (1956)

Unexpectedly muscular direction from Mervyn LeRoy (or someone*), along with a dark, near impasto look in Harold Rosson’s WarnerColor lensing, grab your attention in this SuperSonic Test Pilot story. William Holden’s a Korean war vet, working his way back to Top Flyboy at a jet testing facility after a notorious P.O.W. breakdown. He’s also trying to rekindle an old romance with Virginia Leith, now secretary/Girl Friday/default ‘steady’ to General Lloyd Nolan, the hands-on base commander unwilling to give up the reins. Scripter Bernie Lay Jr., a specialist in airborne military saga (STRATEGIC AIR COMMAND/’55; TWELVE O’CLOCK HIGH/’49) layers this 3-pronged drama to good effect between some excellent experimental flights, smartly letting the danger & heroism speak for itself. But you’ll see why the film is now little-known. Leith, her romantic episodes shoehorned in and coming to the end of a short-lived feature run, seems to have ‘looped’ all her lines. Odd coming from such a sexy, distinctive voice. You'd swear Paula Prentiss dubbed her. In a way, the whole film feels dubbed . . . dramatically dubbed. Not bad though.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: *By this point, LeRoy was largely phoning it in. (Literally so per Alec Guinness on A MAJORITY OF ONE/’61 where LeRoy spent more time on the phone dealing with his stable of horses than with his stable of actors.) Here, with so much flying, there’s a high percentage of second-unit stuff. How much else did those guys shoot?

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: Nice debut for James Garner: relaxed, charming, fully-formed.

THE HAPPY THIEVES (1961)

The ‘60s must have been the Golden Age of the Art Caper Pic: GAMBIT/'66; HOW TO STEAL A MILLION/‘66; THOMAS CROWN AFFAIR/’68; plus TOPKAPI/’64; DEADFALL/’68 and PINK PANTHER/’63 with jewels in for artwork. This largely forgotten specimen, from Richard (MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE) Condon’s novel, is a smartly plotted example of the form in three distinct tones. As plotter, courier & forger: Rex Harrison, Rita Hayworth & Joseph Wiseman* are forced to parlay a Velázquez they’ve ‘exchanged’ with a fake for an even more valuable Goya hanging in Madrid’s Prado, as the story moves from sophisticated comedy to Death-in-the-Afternoon grotesquerie, before landing somewhere in the vicinity of Ealing style comedy. But in spite of nice playing from the gentlemen, and John Gay’s witty, well-organized script, there isn’t an ounce of style or zest in the production values or in George Marshall’s tame megging. (Stanley Donen & Vincente Minnelli unavailable?) At least, he might have moderated Hayworth’s over-scaled comic playing. (Maybe not, her husband was the producer.) They surely could have replaced cinematographer Paul Beeson for someone with more sparkle to offer. Fortunately, the film works best in its final section, when it’s most like an Ealing Comedy. Think LAVENDER HILL MOB/’51, right down to its crime does not pay twist ending.

DOUBLE-BILL: More scam than caper, A TOUCH OF LARCENY/'60 (James Mason, Vera Miles, George Sanders; dir. Guy Hamilton) finds exactly the tone that’s missing here.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: *Wiseman, unusually relaxed & winning as the forger, all but steals the pic.

KISS THE BLOOD OFF MY HANDS (1948)

Worth a look for the title alone. Good thing, too, since this handsome criminal-on-the-run meller doesn’t quite add up; close though, and compelling as you watch. Undersung helmer Norman Foster & lenser Russell Metty are on fire in the opening reel as Burt Lancaster's traumatized war vet (looking youthful & luscious at 35) strikes out & accidentally kills a pub-keeper, then chased thru back-alley London. Breaking into a second-floor flat to hide, he violently 'meets-cute' with Joan Fontaine’s lonely nurse and the two soon bond. But Lancaster’s past comes to call in the form of Robert Newton’s scamming low-life crook who was at the pub that night and now blackmails Burt into stealing hospital drugs to sell on the continent. Pacey & atmospheric, even when the storyline gets a little hard to buy, with exceptionally well run action along with an eye-popping 6-month prison term that includes a cat-o’-nine-tails whipping. (Yikes! A real thing in British prisons at the time?) The film also has a secondary use, or does for film mavens, serving nicely as a guide to the subtle differences between Hollywood post-war film noir and ‘30s predecessor French Poetic Realism, those fatalistic underworld crime dramas that more often than not starred Jean Gabin.* This one leans very much in that direction, or does until a truncated ending when the film writes itself into a corner and can’t get out. Instead, they punt, slap THE END on the screen, call it a day.

DOUBLE-BILL: Norman Foster does even better by Poetic Realism, and from a female perspective, in the superb, recently restored WOMAN ON THE RUN/’50 with Ann Sheridan.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: *It's hard to put a finger on the noir/poetic realism divide.  But, to paraphrase Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart on hardcore pornography, you know it when you see it.

BOY (2010)

New Zealand writer/ director Taika Waititi (currently tearing up the Multiplex with THOR: RAGNAROK, his bubble-bursting MARVEL rethink) drew on personal memories to enrich this modest, fictional coming-of-age charmer. Set in the mid-‘80s, it’s Boy’s story (that’s the boy’s name, ‘Boy’), a 12-yr-old cut-up & Michael Jackson enthusiast thrilled to have a long absent father home during school break. (Q: Is ‘summer’ school break a winter event Down Under?) Boy lost his mom a few years back, and now lives with a kid brother & a gaggle of cousins under the care of their Grandmother. But she’s off to an out of town funeral and Boy's in charge of the household. Enter Dad, along with a pair of prison pals, hoping to find a cache of cash buried somewhere in a nearby field. It supplies the main action as the scales begin to fall from Boy’s eyes and fanciful dreams about Dad hit a brick wall of reality & personal shortcomings from a criminal past. That’s Taika Waititi himself as the wayward Dad, a striking screen subject, threatening & funny at one & the same time. (Quite an all-round entertainer, too, as seen in some fantasy elements, including a full-out musical number served up as encore.) Yet so immature, he’s less parent than irresponsible big brother. It makes some of the film’s more serious moments play out like pre-teen variations of Brandon de Wilde crashing up against the moral foibles of Warren Beatty in ALL FALL DOWN/’62 or Paul Newman in HUD/’63. (And give yourself extra points for spotting the Boo Radley reference.) Waititi gets some great work from his cast (the kid brother, Rocky, who believes he’s got suggestive powers, is a real find), though he sometimes overworks scenes with edits and a tendency to be too loosey-goosey for the film’s good. But tone & vision are nicely specific, touching & funny, with a real feel for local color & unforced composition. He’s the real deal.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: Between the accents & some Maori patois, the dialogue can be a challenge. You’ll have to tough it out as the Kino Lorber DVD comes without English subtitles, but you’ll pick up what’s needed.

THE SECRET OF DR. KILDARE (1939)

Surely all the DR. KILDARE movies can’t be quite as bad as this. Third in the M-G-M series of programmers with Lew Ayres as the interning doctor and Lionel Barrymore as his boss/mentor Dr. Gillespie, it’s awful in almost every way. The first Kildare, a one-off @ Paramount with Joel McCrea & Barbara Stanwyck (INTERNES CAN’T MAKE MONEY/’37) was a modest affair, but this shabby thing is phoned in from both sides of the camera. Or is except for the appallingly hammy Mr. Barrymore who you wish were phoning it in. (And such a striking performer when reined in.) The story is driven by many a secret: Gillespie’s cancer diagnosis; a heart condition for Lew Ayres’ visiting father; a neurasthenic heiress with hysterical blindness . . . and more! Plus, a middle-aged black orderly so the wheelchair bound Barrymore has someone to shoot craps with. Of course, most of the period elements, even the politically incorrect ones, will work with a bit of style & swing in the moviemaking. No such luck with Harold S. Bucquet’s flatfooted megging.*

DOUBLE-BILL: *Bucquet stuck mostly to programmers, but eventually got to helm two Katherine Hepburn duds: DRAGON SEED/’44, a ‘Yellowface’ embarrassment, and WITHOUT LOVE/’45, even with Spencer Tracy, the least of her Philip Barry vehicles. Yet somehow, over in England during the war, with much help from John Bryan’s art direction, Bucquet made the perfectly marvelous ADVENTURES OF TARTU/’43, with Robert Donat as a sort of proto-James Bond.

TALES OF TALES / IL RACCONTO DEI RACCONTI (2015)

As cruel & grotesque as any Brothers Grimm, Italian writer/director Matteo Garrone (GOMORRAH/’08) took a huge risk adapting three fables of 17th Century fabulist Giambattista Basile along the lines of a 1980s Taviani Bros pic, but technically up-to-date/well-budgeted. Our Tales: Toby Jones, an absent-minded King with an obscenely large pet flea, marries his daughter off to an ogre in a contest gone wrong; her only hope of escape a band of traveling acrobats. Vincent Cassel, a sex-obsessed King who won’t rest till he beds the mysterious lady with the loveliest voice in his land, unaware the singer & her sister are old crones. And when post-coital savagery transforms the old girl into a young beauty, the sister left behind grows unhinged. Enough to ruin the magical deception? Then there’s John C. Reilly & Salma Hayek, childless rulers who slay a sea monster to gain fertility at great personal cost; with an added story element straight out of The Prince & The Pauper. Fascinating, gruesome, gorgeous, it takes Garrone a reel or two to find his form, tone & working rhythm. (Or is it the viewer adjusting to the deep end of the pool?) But the film only grows stronger & more confident, gathering steam as it organizes its many elements. At first, the decision to intercut three stories as narrative fugue, rather than play consecutively, seems a misstep, but quickly starts to pay off, adding refreshing variety between darkness & light/comedy & romance; and lending unexpected emotion to a finale that’s moving, justly earned & satisfyingly inexplicable. Technically the film is a gem, in design & detail as much as effects, deservedly all but sweeping the 2016 David di Donatello Awards. (The great lenser Peter Suschitzky seems to have retired with it.) And might also have picked up Best Pic had it not flopped in such spectacular fashion.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Apparently cast & shot with the English-language market in mind, the film was then barely released Stateside and seems to have even bombed in Italy, immediately positioning it as one of those classic Movie Folly Projects (think METROPOLIS/’27; INTOLERANCE/’16; LOLA MONTÈS/’55) that take decades to be properly acclaimed.

DOUBLE-BILL: TALE is precisely the film Pier Paolo Pasolini didn’t have the filmmaking chops to bring off in his DECAMERON/’71; CANTERBURY TALES/’72; ARABIAN NIGHTS/’74 trilogy.

THE POWER AND THE PRIZE (1956)

It's flatly directed by Henry Koster (there’s exactly one interesting shot, pivoting in a foyer on an exit); with a pair of unengaging romantic leads in worn-looking Robert Taylor & failed star-in-the-making Elizabeth Müeller, but any look, even a superficial one, at fast-changing American business ethics in the post-WWII era of world dominance bumps up interest in the overused Executive Suite milieu. Taylor, a high-level exec under Burl Ives’ steamroller capitalist, is set to wed the boss’s niece & eventually take over. But a business trip to London opens his eyes to niggling personal & professional doubts as he accommodates Ives’ dicey business practices and confronts the headstrong refugee (Müeller) running a charity service for displaced foreign artists. He’s checking up on the place at the request of Ives’ wife Mary Astor, a classic sexually frustrated ‘office widow’ who has ‘good causes’ instead of children. For Taylor & Müeller, their awkward meeting is an instant case of ‘opposite attraction,’ but some nasty rumors back at the office (Commie ties?/Prostitution ring?) may douse the flames. This is all far less interesting than the goings-on back on the business side of things, thanks to some exceptional perfs from vets like Charles Coburn & Sir Cedric Hardwicke. Easy to imagine more bite in the Howard Swiggett novel this is taken from. Check out that paperback cover!

DOUBLE-BILL: M-G-M had a tradition of business dramas going from DINNER AT EIGHT/’33, THE HUCKSTERS and EXECUTIVE SUITE/’54, even NETWORK/’76. But the businessman movie of ‘56 was Nunnally Johnson’s adaptation of Sloan Wilson’s THE MAN IN THE GRAY FLANNEL SUIT with Greg Peck.

BLADE RUNNER (1982)

Much Hollywood head-scratching after BLADE RUNNER 2049 opened earlier in 2017 to relative indifference. Vats of pre-release puffery, social-media buzz, hot young lead/returning star, deep-think rehash essays, yet nothing jumpstarted a sequel 35 years late. And a look at the underperforming original (in any of three iterations: Initial Release; Director’s Cut; Final Cut) shows this was always a film (and concept) to be adored & fetishized, but more ‘acolyted’ than liked. At heart, it’s no more than a futuristic hard-boiled Raymond Chandler pastiche, imagined by a team that’s seen, if not digested, more Stanley Kubrick than is good for them. (Think 2001/’68; CLOCKWORK ORANGE/’71.) Today, you’re apt to notice unconvincing, stiff miniature model work & glossy, but dated ‘80s Tokyo Neon ‘Pop,’ as a prematurely exhausted/grumpy Harrison Ford hunts down rogue ‘Replicants’ (animatronic beings) who’ve gone ‘off the grid.’ A fashionably distressed look in surfaces can still pull you in thru the incessant city rain, at least superficially, but director Ridley Scott (than as now) indulges atmosphere over plot. (Always dicey as storyteller; hence the three re-edits.) Though you probably can’t blame him for the Christ-like trappings of main adversary Rutger Hauer (dove of peace; nail thru hand; Yikes!). As for the new 2049 fable of man, model & mortality (directed by Denis Villeneuve; not seen here), expect growing cult following and three profit-making re-edits.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: As Ford’s replicant consort, Sean Young sports a Joan Crawford look for most of the film before letting her hair down (literally), winding up with no personality at all and killing the big romantic/fatalistic walk-off finish.

DOUBLE-BILL: Instead of moving forward with BLADE RUNNER 2049, why not fall back to the beginning, the Raymond Chandler/Philip Marlowe beginning, with MURDER, MY SWEET/44.

JULIE (1956)

After brilliantly playing the suspense/terror card for Alfred Hitchcock in THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH/’56, Doris Day hit replay for husband Martin Melcher in his producing debut on this OTT thriller.*  ‘Suspense That Never Lets Up,’ per Ad Copy & trailer, from indie writer/director Andrew Stone, creating an instant problem since the film opens at such a fever pitch, he leaves himself no place to go but ludicrous, piling one terror trope after another on tormented Day.   You see, it’s her insanely possessive Husband Number Two, piano-playing psychopath Louis Jourdan, embracing the role. He’s already killed hubby Number One, making it look like suicide; and when Day learns the truth, she’s instantly next up.  Yikes!  And nothing, not even old pal Barry Sullivan, homicide cop Frank Lovejoy or passage as ‘air hostess’ on a pilotless Douglas DC-6 passenger plane, will keep this murdering creep away.  (Guess who winds up piloting that plane.) Stone, along with co-producer/editor wife Virginia, had a talent for big suspense on small budgets, but his blunt approach to characterization & interaction comes off as ridiculously over-scaled, especially with Day’s constant voice-over explanations of plot & motivation. Things improve once he drops the narration in the last act. But by then Doris is about to board her flight-of-doom, and things go a little nuts. Fun, but nuts.

DOUBLE-BILL/ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: There's a similar ending in AIRPORT 1975/’74, the one with Karen Black taking the controls. But note how much better F/X tech work is here. Typical of the shoddy production standards @ ‘70s Universal under ‘Last Hollywood Mogul’ Lew Wasserman, especially with a hack like Jack Smight megging.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: *Day's husband, Martin Melcher, must have been some piece of work. Signing her up for most of her lousy late films without telling her (including her relatively successful, but painful tv series) while losing much of her fortune thru bad investments.

RAGE AT DAWN (1953)

Made between Westerns Randolph Scott was already producing with Harry Joe Brown, and not long before their superior series with director Budd Boetticher, this one-off over @ R.K.O. feels like a big project that got shrunk. Running a mere 83", it’s odd holding back your leading man for 25, but that’s how it plays out in this fact-inspired story of the bank-robbing Reno Brothers, and Scott’s ‘Peterson’ agent (think Pinkerton) who worms his way in with them by posing as a slick train robber. Those Reno boys are a mean lot, but no worse then the town Mayor, Sheriff & D.A. who let it all slide as long as they get their cut. A neat set up, with some real history to it; plus Scott falling for Reno sister Mala Powers and a tasty supporting cast (Forest Tucker, J. Carrol Naish, Edgar Buchanan, Denver Pyle, red-haired Kenneth Tobey) in some pretty beat up TechniColor in the available Public Domain DVDs. Director Tim Whelan does journeyman’s work, at best (some of proscenium-like set ups are from dullsville), but you can still make out a good story behind the indifferent execution.

DOUBLE-BILL: Elvis Presley played a ‘good’ Reno Brother in next year’s LOVE ME TENDER/’56. Not seen here, but one of his better reviewed serious pics.

JOHNNY ANGEL (1945)

It’s like a sub-genre: ‘JOHNNY’ crime pics of the ‘40s: JOHNNY APOLLO; JOHNNY EAGER; JOHNNY O’CLOCK; JOHNNY ALLEGRO.* And here’s another, a sort of maritime noir that sees George Raft declining from A-list to B+. (Even further down on his next ‘JOHNNY,’ JOHNNY ALLEGRO/’49.) This one comes fully-rigged with plot & atmosphere (crawling ships at sea, foggy docks), but promises more than it delivers in a tale nearly as head-scratchingly twisty as next year’s GILDA/’46. Raft’s a second generation sea captain who spots an unmanned ‘ghost ship.’ And not just any ship, his dad’s, who's missing along with the crew. Taking on the investigation himself once he lands in New Orleans, he tracks down the sole living link to the mystery, Signe Hasso. Turns out, she’d been hiding on the ship when he found it at sea. Unmanned, but not ‘unwomanned!’ Claire Trevor is on hand, an old flame from shore, wooing Raft with one lie after another femme fatale style. Less typically noirish is melodic cabby Hoagy Carmichael, offering his service as Raft’s personal chauffeur in a search that reveals smuggled gold and a massacre at sea. Journeyman megger Edwin L. Marin & lenser Harry Wild stylishly pretend this all adds up. And, for about two-thirds of the short running time, you may, too.

DOUBLE-BILL: *First & probably best of the JOHNNYs is JOHNNY APOLLO/’40, with Tyrone Power, Dorothy Lamour & director Henry Hathaway all in top form. (see below)

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Seven decades ahead of the curve, Hoagy Carmichael works a nifty fidget spinner all thru the pic.