Red Line 7000 (1965)

One of Hawks' final films, Red Line 7000 is an odd and often frustrating film. It never goes quite where you expect it to. Hawks largely dispenses with any concern about story here, instead focusing on the characters -- a group of racecar drivers and the women they love -- and follows them through their triumphs and tragedies on the racing circuit. To watch Red Line 7000 is to see a director totally in command of his style, relaxed, assured and not caring one whit about pleasing anyone other than himself with the results. That alone makes it worth checking out.

Bigger Than Life (1956)

An interesting counterpart to the Douglas Sirk melodramas of the same period, Bigger Than Life is Nicholas Ray's powerful critique of post-war suburbia and the nuclear family. It's a hard-hitting, "ripped from the headlines" story about a mild-mannered suburban schoolteacher who is transformed into an abusive tyrant after becoming addicted to the experimental drug cortisone, which he has been prescribed to treat a potentially life-threatening condition. Well-acted by James Mason (who also produced), bringing a fiery intensity to his role, and ably supported by Barbara Rush as his sympathetic wife and Walter Matthau as his friend and fellow teacher who stand by him through his battle with addiction.

Always (1989)

A remake of Victor Fleming's A Guy Named Joe (1943), Always is one of Spielberg's most interesting films while also being somewhat atypical for the director. The 1943 film starred Spencer Tracy as a WWII pilot who is killed in the line of duty, and after finding himself in heaven, is sent back to earth as a guardian angel to mentor a young pilot (Van Johnson) who just happens to be falling in love Dorrinda (Irene Dunne), the love of Tracy's life who has been left behind. Spielberg updates the story -- the fighter pilot is now an aerial firefighter (beautifully played by Richard Dreyfuss in a sensitive performance) -- but otherwise it remains decidedly and gloriously old-fashioned in every other respect.

Holly Hunter is wonderful as the spirited flight dispatcher in love with Dreyfuss, and John Goodman turns in a fine performance as Dreyfuss' best friend and flight instructor. Brad Johnson, as the young pilot whom Dreyfuss must guide in both work and love, brings the requisite good-natured qualities to the part, but he never establishes the chemistry with Hunter that Dreyfuss does, and as a result, their scenes together feel flat in comparison. Special mention should be made of Audrey Hepburn, in her final screen appearance, as the ethereal angel who sets Dreyfuss on his mission.

Always is unique in Spielberg's filmography. It seems to be an effort at creating a more self-consciously "adult"-oriented film without abandoning the sense of wonder and emotional power that marked his earlier hits such as E.T. and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (and only resorting to tour-de-force special effects when called for in key dramatic scenes). At the same time, it lacks the grand themes of his historical epics (Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, Lincoln, etc.), which allows Spielberg to focus more on the characters than in the larger events surrounding them. As such, it represents a kind of middle ground in Spielberg's work, one not always entirely successful, but one that marks an admirable effort on the part of its director.

The Adventures of Tintin (2011)

I was introduced to the Belgian cartoonist Hergé's "Tintin" through the Canadian animated TV series from Nelvana, which aired on the Nickelodeon channel during the 1990s. With the engaging stories, characters and animation, it remained a favorite of mine, and I was delighted to see how well it held up when I re-visited it a few years ago, right around the time I learned that Steven Spielberg was making a big-screen adaptation of the character.

Happily, Spielberg's film (which I only just caught up with for the first time on streaming video, surely not the best way to experience this large-scale cinematic endeavor) remains true to the spirit of the comics and is a fun, exciting thrill-ride of a film as only he could make it. When you consider how easy it would be for this kind of thing to get out of control, to become drowned under a sea of special effects, it is tribute to Spielberg's incredible gifts as a filmmaker that he never loses sight of the story and characters that make the "Tintin" comics so engaging in the first place.

The Adventures of Tintin is certainly not one of Spielberg's more serious-minded pictures of the kind that win major Oscars, but it is a solid example of why he remains the greatest cinematic entertainer of our time.

Topaz (1969)

A decidedly lesser effort by Hitchcock's usually high standards, Topaz follows in the same Cold War spy vein as the director's previous film, Torn Curtain, but suffers from a dull plot, languid pacing, and unremarkable performances that prevent it from rising to even the level of that earlier film (which itself was far from Hitchcock's best). Based on a novel by Leon Uris, the film tells the story of a French secret agent, working with the Americans, who travels to Cuba at the height of the Missile Crisis to collect information about a spy ring that has been leaking confidential information to the Soviets.

While it's interesting to see Hitchcock working with this topical material, the script (by Samuel Taylor) is a plodding, lumbering affair with too many scenes that go on too long with no payoff. Indeed, the entire film runs nearly 2 1/2 hours (at least in the cut featured on the Blu-ray edition I watched; apparently a shorter, alternate cut also exists). At times, Hitchcock seems to be almost overwhelmed by the scale of the production, with its many characters, locations, and unusually complicated plot. Hitchcock's best films took an economic approach to storytelling, starting with the essential plot and packing it densely with layers of style and suspense. Here, it feels like the director has his hands full just trying to keep things moving from Point A to Point B and to cover all the little plot details, so that there is little room for the signature Hitchcock touches.

SPOILER WARNING: The most striking visual moment occurs just after the Cuban official discovers that the woman he loves has been spying for the Americans, and shoots her, causing her to fall silently to the floor. The shot is photographed from a high angle that reveals her purple dress unfurling from beneath her, stunningly contrasted against the white floor in a flowing spread of color. It's a sublime moment that only Hitchcock could have pulled off. Another good moment occurs when the French agent meets with his contact in his Harlem flower shop, and rather than repeat the details of the plot (which we already know) through redundant dialogue, Hitchcock draws upon his silent film background by having the actors talk inside a walk-in floral display case for privacy, while the camera remains outside, presenting their conversation silently. Unfortunately, there are few opportunities in Topaz for Hitchcock to engage in interesting stylistic moments such as this, and the film ultimately collapses under its own weight.

Thankfully, Hitchcock would get back to his roots with his next film (also one of his best) -- Frenzy, a tightly-paced thriller shot in his native England, which proved that the Master of Suspense had lost none of his touch.