Birth of the Living Dead (2013)

Brief, breezy documentary about the making of the landmark horror film that started the modern "zombie" subgenre. There are some interesting tidbits here, especially regarding George Romero's early career producing advertising films and how he translated that experience into making his first feature film (among other things, we learn that many of his clients ended up in the cast of the film playing ghouls!)

There's not too much new information here for serious enthusiasts of the film and the genre, but Romero is a delight to listen to, and his stories of getting the project off the ground and his subsequent efforts at finding distribution for it will be appreciated by independent filmmakers. There are the usual discussions of the film's subtexts in relation to the Civil Rights movement and Vietnam, but the makers avoid anything too substantive in this area, which is kept necessarily brief by the doc's short running time.

Most interesting, perhaps, is the discussion of the audience response that greeted the film upon its release in 1968, especially Roger Ebert's contemporary account of seeing it in a theater filled with children, dropped off by their parents for what they thought would be another routine Saturday afternoon monster flick, and who appeared traumatized by the film's shocking content.

Its shocking content was, of course, quickly surpassed by subsequent movies such as THE EXORCIST and THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, but NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD retains its power as a film, and this documentary stands as a testament to the interest it still holds for viewers almost a half-century after it first appeared.

Meshes of the Afternoon (1943)

Made in Hollywood during the height of WWII by Maya Deren and Alexander Hammid, this landmark experimental film breaks free from the influence of previous traditions (especially French formalism and the German and Soviet "city symphony" models) that had held sway in the American avant-garde cinema since the 1920s.

Deren and Hammid evoke a dream state through an uncanny sense of screen time and space. Deren is one of the most consistently interesting experimental filmmakers for her masterful use of form and her total command of the screen both as filmmaker and as performer. Her work predates the explosion of interest in underground filmmaking during the late '50s, and she died tragically young in 1961, but her films were, and remain, a profoundly influential part of the American avant-garde tradition.

Lost in La Mancha (2002)

A revealing and often painful documentary look at the making of Terry Gilliam's ill-fated Don Quixote adaptation. We see a production out of control, beset by compromises and problems at every turn, everything from slashed budgets to bad weather to problems with the production insurance (resulting from the lead actor taking ill, and a flash flood that washes away some of the film gear).

At one point, Gilliam says something to the effect that he's made the film so many times in his head that he wonders if it isn't best that it just stays there. One can feel his pain over the struggle to bring his version of Cervantes' classic story to the screen, constantly beset by the persistent realities of making a movie.

It's a sobering look at just how much can go wrong in the making of a movie, made worse by the often chaotic nature of the production. Gilliam seems to be driven by his vision for the film at the expense of the practical concerns, and it's clear, as things spiral further and further out of control, that the project has lost its sense of fun for him.

Brazil (1985)

I finally saw this one for the first time last night, at Loew's Jersey. It's always a treat when you get to see a movie for the first time on the big screen with an audience, but in this case it was especially true, as Terry Gilliam's simultaneously comical and nightmarish vision of the future - or at least, a future - is one of the most overwhelming visual experiences I've yet encountered in a film.

The story involves a low-level bureaucrat's growing desire to escape the hellishly oppressive routine and stability of his station in life, leading to a conclusion so bleak that Universal, who released the film in the US, prepared an alternate version of the film with a more upbeat ending. Thankfully, Gilliam's version was eventually released to much deserving acclaim.

As a satire, it's exceptionally sharp, offering a biting commentary on conformity, commercialism, bureaucracy, state security, and big government, combined with gross-out humor and sight gags -- a Kafkaesque tale imbued with a Pythonesque comic sensibility. What is most impressive is how well Gilliam -- who co-wrote the film with Charles McKeown and Tom Stoppard -- maintains the tone while deftly veering between the brilliant moments of comedy and truly terrifying images of torture, terrorism and gore.

The production design by Norman Garwood creates a screen city that is at once claustrophobic and seemingly endless in its sprawl, reminiscent of similarly stylized and expressive cities in films like BLADE RUNNER, METROPOLIS and SUNRISE. Gilliam also creates a disorienting time slip in filling this futuristic world with anachronistically quaint technology, costumes, and moving images (The Marx Bros.' creaky first film, THE COCOANUTS, is seen playing on TV toward the beginning). The atmosphere is enhanced by a soundtrack, scored by Michael Kamen, consisting largely of variations of Ary Barroso's evocative and haunting title song.

Jonathan Pryce and Kim Greist give fine performances as the ill-fated protagonists, and are ably supported by such greats as Robert De Niro, Bob Hoskins, Michael Palin, Ian Holm and Jim Broadbent, all of whom create vivid characters that stand out among Gilliam's overwhelming screen world.

The Scarlet Pimpernel (1934)

Exciting period drama -- adapted from the novel by the Baroness Orczy with a smart script by Lajos Biro, S.N. Behrman, Robert E. Sherwood and Arthur Wimperis -- about a mysterious avenger, known only as the Scarlet Pimpernel, who saves French aristocrats from the guillotine during the Reign of Terror. One of the better films produced by Alexander Korda in Britain during the '30s, this story of intrigue and espionage during the French Revolution manages to combine a colorful historical flavor with the same kind of bawdy humor that made Korda's earlier THE PRIVATE LIFE OF HENRY VIII so enjoyable.

Leslie Howard is well-cast in the title role, transitioning effectively between his quite funny portrayal of the effete, foppish idler Sir Percy Blakeney, and his alter ego, the heroic and noble Pimpernel. Merle Oberon delivers a fine and touching performance as Blakeney's wife, who - unaware of her husband's heroic deeds - sees only his increasingly foppish pose and finds herself falling out of love with him as a result.

Raymond Massey is an excellent heavy as the dastardly Chauvelin. His understated performance is filled with enough real menace to make him a formidable opponent for the Pimpernel, while still maintaining a sinister charm when matching wits with the foppish Blakeney. The rest of the supporting cast is uniformly excellent, especially the always-delightful Nigel Bruce, who provides comic relief as the bumbling Prince of Wales.

Harold Young's direction is perfectly effective, but the necessity of covering a lot of plot in the film's 90 minute running time leaves little room for any deviation from the central plot points. Harold Rosson's black and white cinematography is often drab and devoid of any stylistic flourishes, showing no hint of the consummate artistry demonstrated in his prolific work for MGM during this period on some of that studio's top productions. The production values overall feel rather spare, with even Vincent Korda's period settings appearing rather flat and uninspired.

Still, there's much fun to be had here, especially for fans of historical intrigue, and it strongly benefits from its excellent performances and intelligent screenplay.

Don Jon (2013)

Joseph Gordon-Levitt's directorial debut is an offbeat character study of a young, working-class Italian-American whose life is divided between family, church, and hanging out with his friends, and who also happens to be a porn addict struggling to find a meaningful and lasting relationship among the many women in his life.

Gordon-Levitt turns in a surprisingly effective performance with a nuance that elevates it above the caricature into which it could have easily devolved. Scarlet Johansson delivers a tour-de-force as the controlling and manipulative woman who drives him back to porn, and Julianne Moore strikes the right balance of sadness and sympathy in her role as the older woman with whom he finally begins to find a meaningful relationship.

Stylistically uneven, the film is still a solid directorial debut for Gordon-Levitt, who seems to be willing to take chances with the difficult subject matter. The script (which he also wrote) moves at a good pace, even if the characters aren't as fully developed as they could be. It's very much the kind of material one could imagine Martin Scorsese working well with early in his career. Anchored by the strong performances of the three leads, it's a romantic comedy-drama with an unusual and surprising premise that is worth checking out.

House on Haunted Hill (1959)

Good, scary fun from William Castle, with Vincent Price at his best as an eccentric millionaire who invites five guests to spend the night with him in a haunted house -- with the promise of a reward if they make it through the night. With a set-up like that, you know good things are in store.

Price strikes the perfect tone for the film through his impeccable performance: just over-the-top enough that the audience doesn't take the proceedings too seriously, while still containing plenty of genuinely macabre moments that provide genuine chills. Good performances by Carol Ohmart, Carolyn Craig and the always-reliable Elisha Cook Jr., combined with atmospheric lighting and set design, all contribute to the effectiveness of this Gothic horror classic.

The ending famously provided the opportunity for Castle to employ his "Emergo" gimmick on the film's original theatrical run - a skeleton flown above the audience timed with the appearance of the skeleton on screen - which set the standard for similar trademark William Castle gimmicks to follow.

Who's That Knocking at My Door (1967)

Martin Scorsese's debut feature film is slightly disjointed, as a result of having been shot over a period of several years and on a low budget (it began life as his thesis film at NYU), but contains a raw creative energy and flashes of brilliance that transcend the limitations under which it was produced.

The film takes a loose structural approach to its story of a young guy (Harvey Keitel in a breakout role) who carouses with his buddies in New York's Little Italy, and his relationship with a girl (Zina Bethune) which is complicated by his own Catholic guilt.

Scorsese's distinctive visual style is fully evident here, achieving some particularly striking nocturnal B&W imagery around the streets of Little Italy. The film's penultimate scene - a stirring montage of Catholic iconography (filmed inside St. Patrick's Cathedral) cut together to The Genies' "Who's That Knocking" - perfectly conveys the complementary powers of religion and art. The standout scene, however, is the slow-motion sequence of Keitel and his buddies drunkenly playing around with a gun at a party, accompanied by Ray Barretto's "El Watusi" on the soundtrack - a stylized illustration of restless macho energy and still one of the best things Scorsese has ever done.

The Haunted House (1908)

Whimsical little trick film from pioneering Spanish director Segundo de Chomon, filled with his characteristic macabre sense of humor. Three travelers seek refuge from a storm inside a haunted house, in which various spirits and other ghostly occurrences (courtesy of some impressive stop-motion animation and other camera trickery) disturb their rest. De Chomon's use of closeups and advanced stop-motion effects mark his work as more sophisticated than that of Melies in this same period, though he certainly owes much to Melies' earlier films here.

Barton Fink (1991)

The Coen Bros. at their best. It succeeds where I felt that INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS had failed - in presenting an offbeat, quirky protagonist whose efforts and subsequent failures serve some greater purpose than merely setting him up as narrative cannon fodder, and surrounding him with equally distinctive characters that help and hinder his journey.

As the title character, John Turturro creates a truly memorable persona, and he is ably supported by such greats as John Goodman, in full form as a sad-sack insurance salesman who is not at all what he first appears to be, John Mahoney as a washed-up Faulkneresque novelist-turned-screenwriter, Judy Davis as his mysterious love interest, secretary and creative muse, and Michael Lerner as the loud, crass, and mean movie mogul. Steve Buscemi turns up in a supporting role as a bellhop, enlivening the part with his unique delivery in what would have otherwise been a minor role, and even Tony Shalhoub brings the right mix of charm and desperation to his role as a studio producer.

The Coens put us inside Fink's head and never lets us out, even at the end of the film when the entire screen world has been turned topsy-turvy. Their stylized universe is populated by colorful and eccentric characters that follow their own internal logic. They also present us with one of the most nightmarish visions of Tinseltown this side of SUNSET BLVD. and MULHOLLAND DRIVE.

The Virginian (1946)

Fourth version of the oft-filmed Owen Wister tale, this time with Joel McCrea in the title role. Feels claustrophobic and studio-bound, with too many scenes taken in front of process screens or on too-obvious sound stages, thereby lacking the expansiveness found in the best Westerns, where the environment is just as much a character in its own right. The supporting cast is largely forgettable, and even Brian Donlevy's turn as the cattle-rustling heavy feels underplayed. McCrea himself is a bland hero.

The screenplay by Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich is rather stiff and contains so much exposition that it frequently feels rushed and underdeveloped, reducing much of the mythos of the story to ordinary melodrama. Stuart Gilmore's direction is uninspired and the Technicolor photography feels flat and inhibited by the restrictions of the sound stages. An average effort that is neither particularly bad nor particularly distinctive.

Play It Again, Sam (1972)

One of Woody Allen's finest turns as an actor, based on his own Broadway play and directed by Herbert Ross with an assured stylistic evenness missing from many of Allen's own directorial efforts. The premise, about a film-obsessed writer, recently separated from his wife and looking for love in all the wrong places (with a little help from the ghost of Humphrey Bogart), is a lot of fun and provides solid structure for Allen's characteristic one-liners and isolated comic set pieces. He is ably supported by Diane Keaton and Tony Roberts, and Jerry Lacy all but steals his scenes with his spot-on Bogart impersonation.

Under Ross's direction, Allen demonstrates a subtle yet distinct range as an actor not often seen in his self-directed films. Given its theatrical roots, the script - one of the best Allen ever wrote - is much tighter than usual, and the film contains none of the long-drawn, ad-libbed dialogue that Allen never quite seems to know when to cut when he's behind the camera. The result is a sharp, well-paced comedy that holds up quite well after more than forty years.

The Great Films: Fifty Golden Years of Motion Pictures by Bosley Crowther

I was talking with a friend recently about film books that had been instrumental in our early interest in the subject. One that we both brought up was Bosley Crowther's "The Great Films: Fifty Golden Years of Motion Pictures". Especially pre-Internet, but even still today, books like this were a great guide to important films for a budding movie buff to check out, illustrated with a generous selection of tantalizing stills from the films that were being described. I must have borrowed this one from the public library dozens of times.

This particular book is interesting for the 50 films that Crowther singles out as the greatest. My friend and I both agreed that, while there would probably be some changes to the list if it were written today, overall these selections still hold up well. It's also an interesting reflection of some films and filmmakers were highly regarded at the time but have since largely vanished from the critical consciousness (such as Flaherty). With all the debate over a "canon" in film studies, Crowther's book is still a good starting point for novice film buffs to begin exploring further on their own.

Incidentally, I did make it a point to see all 50 films in the book -- some of which I only caught up with in the past few years, such as Clement's FORBIDDEN GAMES.

Ben-Hur (1907)

This first screen version of Lew Wallace's celebrated novel is mainly of historical interest now for an early performance by William S. Hart, reprising his role as Messala from the Broadway production. Made during those wild and woolly early years of cinema, this was an unauthorized adaptation that got its makers sued by the book's publishers. Key scenes from the novel are presented as vignettes, condensing the story considerably to little more than the major highlights. It concludes with the chariot race sequence, a veritable epic of its day, shot on location in New Jersey. Directed by Sidney Olcott for the Kalem company.

The Ten Commandments (1956)

A film I've seen many times that always retains its power to impress me with its unforgettable images and epic story. It's a testament to DeMille's art that he pushed himself to create his largest and most ambitious film so late in life and at the end of his illustrious, decades-long career. It's an uneven film in many ways, particularly in its barnstorming theatrical-style performances (sometimes bordering on camp) and florid dialogue, yet these seemappropriate for DeMille's 19th century, Victorian theater sensibility. This is the church pageant as David Belasco might have produced it if he'd had access to VistaVision and Technicolor.

I grew up with the film in its annual broadcasts on ABC on the night before Easter during Passover, and have viewed it on VHS and then on several DVD editions over the years. Watching the film on Blu-ray for the first time, I was blown away by the amount of background detail I hadn't fully appreciated before. Lines of extras stretch far off into the distance, literally disappearing over the horizon. There is one establishing shot of the Hebrew slaves working on the Pharaoh's treasure city in Goshen that contains so many elements that I had to pause the disc for a moment to observe them all.

There is another moment, too, that always chokes me up for its powerful simplicity: it's the moment when Moses is cast out of Egypt, and begins his trek into the desert toward Sinai. He appears as a mere speck on the horizon of the desert sands, distinguishable only by his red robe, a stranger in a strange land.

Animal Crackers (1930)

Of all the wonderful films the Marx Bros. gave us, this may be the one I enjoy the most on repeated screenings, because each viewing yields new surprises, little jokes or references that I missed before, and of course plenty of old favorites. Bursting with madcap energy and a brilliant script (by Bert Kalmar, Harry Ruby, Morrie Ryskind and George S. Kaufman) that easily overcome any of the limitations of the early sound film medium, it gives the team one of their finest showcases and is also of historical interest as a record of their hit 1928 Broadway show.

The Marx Bros. are turned loose during a soirée at the swanky Long Island home of socialite Mrs. Rittenhouse (Margaret Dumont), skewering high society types and pretentious art snobs amid a plot involving a stolen painting. They bring their own bizarre logic to such delightful bits of nonsense as Harpo and Chico stealing a man's birthmark, Harpo's endless supply of stolen silverware falling from his coat, and of course Groucho's stories about big game hunting in Africa.

In many ways their most genuinely surreal film, and so richly packed with references and jokes that it really deserves to be seen several times in order to catch them all.

The Coronation of Edward VII (1902)

Another historical re-enactment from Georges Méliès. Because cameras were not allowed inside Westminster Abbey, producer Charles Urban commissioned Méliès to stage his own version of the ceremony using actors inside his studio at Montreuil.

The resulting film (which was actually completed before the coronation took place, as the ceremony had been postponed) is a meticulous re-enactment of the actual events. Méliès even traveled to Westminster Abbey to obtain precise dimensions of the space to re-create in his studio. It's a good demonstration of Méliès' eye for detail and design and his talent for staging complex action within the frame.

Speedy (1928)

Saw this at Loew's Jersey tonight in a gorgeous 35mm print with excellent accompaniment on the Wonder Morton Organ by Bernie Anderson. This is the third time I've seen this one theatrically, and it just gets funnier each time. I've never been able to watch it all the way through on DVD, because the audience reaction is so essential to the full experience of Lloyd's comedy, and this one in particular just comes to life on the big screen in a way that I can never match watching it at home.

I did notice a stunning shot that had never caught my eye on previous viewings. It occurs as Lloyd and Ann Christy depart Coney Island in a moving van. As they settle into their make-believe, makeshift home among the furniture, there's a reverse shot looking out the back of the van, with the lights of Coney Island fading into the distance as the van drives along back to the city. It's a small moment, but it's the kind of shot that possesses such a simple, lyrical beauty that it took my breath away.

The French Connection (1971)

William Friedkin's hard-hitting police thriller about a pair of narcotics detectives on the trail of a French drug smuggler set the standard for future cop movies, and is infused with the grim naturalism that came to define much of early 70s cinema, especially with its gritty New York locations. Gene Hackman and Roy Scheider are both excellent in their roles, and Fernando Rey, as the impeccably sophisticated and unflappable drug kingpin, is an inspired casting choice.

The highlight is the car chase filmed under the elevated subway tracks, a marvel of editing, cinematography and stunt work (supposedly filmed without the necessary location permits) that is rightfully one of the most celebrated chase sequences in film history.

The film is also filled with little details (both in the writing and execution) of the kind that today's filmmakers can't be bothered with, but which add up to so, so much in creating a vivid atmosphere. The ambiguous ending, which would never fly today, effectively avoids the trappings of the neat-and-tidy conclusion and is a key part of what makes this film so special.

Seen in a good 35mm print at Loew's Jersey.

The Dreyfus Affair (L'Affaire Dreyfus, 1899)

One of the most ambitious films made up to its time, this 11-part historical re-creation is a departure for Georges Méliès from the fantasy and special effects films with which he is most often associated.

The film, written and directed by Méliès, depicts the events of Alfred Dreyfus' arrest, court martial and imprisonment, and began production concurrent with the actual proceedings of the Dreyfus trial. As with Méliès' other historical re-creations, such as THE CORONATION OF EDWARD VII (1902), he took advantage of the medium's capability to provide vivid depictions of current events with a documentary-like realism (all filmed on meticulously-designed sets inside Méliès' studio in Montreuil).

The "Fight of the Reporters" sequence, in which a riot erupts among the journalists covering the court martial, is remarkably effective in engulfing the audience in the action, as dozens of reporters scurry toward and around the camera. Méliès' use of screen space here is unusual for its time, and quite a stylistic departure from his usual proscenium staging.

The Dancing Pig (Le Cochon Danseur, 1907)

Utterly bizarre early film, from the Pathe company, of a popular vaudeville turn featuring a Belle Epoque dancer and a giant pig (rather, a man in a giant pig costume).

The pig costume is a sight to behold. With moving eyes, ears, snout, tongue, and mouth (which opens to reveal a row of sharp teeth!), it's an impressive -- and slightly terrifying -- piece of design. The film ends on a closeup of the pig, demonstrating the full range of its facial motions. One of the delightfully bizarre gems of early cinema.

The President's Mystery (1936)

Neat little B movie based on an idea by none other than President Franklin D. Roosevelt, centered around the question of how a man could disappear with his fortune and not be traced. Roosevelt, lacking the time to develop the story himself, mentioned the idea to Liberty Magazine editor Fulton Oursler, who then submitted it to six top writers -- Samuel Hopkins Adams, John Erskine, Rupert Hughes, Anthony Abbot, S.S. Van Dine and Rita Weiman -- each of whom wrote their own piece of the story. The results were serialized in Liberty Magazine in 1935, before being turned into a film by Republic Pictures the following year, from a script by Lester Cole and Nathanael West.

In the film, Henry Wilcoxon plays a Washington lobbyist who helps block passage of a bill that would allow for government relief of depressed industrial towns. Seeing the results of his actions first-hand, he has a crisis of conscience, stages his own suicide, and disappears in order to re-build his life. Less a mystery, and more of a New Deal-era social issue picture, it is very much of its time, hampered by the constraints of its low-budget, notable only for the distinction of being based on a story conceived by FDR.

Zhi Guo Yuan (1922)

Silent slapstick comedy from China, starring Zheng Zhegu as a hapless fruit peddler in love with a doctor's daughter. The doctor (Zheng Zhengqiu) rejects his daughter's suitor -- unless he can drum up some business for his struggling medical practice, so the peddler sets about creating some accidents with his creative carpentry skills and a collapsing staircase.

Considered to be the earliest complete surviving film made in China, the film was written by pioneering Chinese filmmaker Zheng Zhengqiu and directed by Shichuan Zang for their Mingxing Film Company. The plot is reminiscent of some of Harold Lloyd's work, particularly NEVER WEAKEN (1921) in its use of staged accidents to bring in medical patients. There's much fun to be had with the collapsing staircase gag, and the comedy is fast-paced and frenetic, enhanced by moments of furious undercranking that heighten the absurdity of the proceedings.

The Lost World (1925)

Thrilling adventure yarn and the prototypical "monster" movie, from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story about a group of explorers who head into the uncharted wilds to a world inhabited by dinosaurs. The standard cast of characters are all there: Professor Challenger (Wallace Beery), who is driven by obsession to prove the existence of living dinosaurs; gentleman adventurer Sir John Roxton (Lewis Stone); the eager young reporter (Lloyd Hughes); and the plucky daughter (Bessie Love) of the late explorer whose journal holds the key to finding the lost world.

The real stars are Willis O'Brien's stop-motion dinosaurs, which still impress for their meticulous artistry, even if they now appear somewhat quaint and lack the personality found in the characters he would animate just a few years later in KING KONG and MIGHTY JOE YOUNG. Both Harry Hoyt's direction and Arthur Edeson's photography are unremarkable but effective.

Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror (1942)

Loosely adapted from the Doyle story “His Last Bow”, this third entry in the Rathbone-Bruce Holmes series is typical of the direction it would take at Universal. More obviously a "B" picture than the two previous entries made at Fox, it nonetheless captures the spirit and tone of the character even while placing him in a contemporary setting. Holmes is brought in to investigate the source of a series of radio broadcasts purporting to depict various acts of terrorism carried out against England by Nazi Germany.

There is a strong patriotic streak for Mother England running throughout the entire film, and it's easy to see how updating the story to the present (1942) day sat well with wartime sensibilities. With this entry in the series, some of the flaws that the Rathbone-Bruce films have been frequently criticized for become apparent, most notably by reducing Bruce's portrayal of Dr. Watson to a bumbling, slow-witted sidekick rather than a loyal friend and colleague. The update to the modern setting works well enough, as the characters fit more or less seamlessly into the contemporary surroundings as written (Holmes substitutes a fedora for his traditional Deerstalker), but one still finds oneself missing the rich period detail of the first two films (though Elwood Bredell's cinematography is quite good, at times looking forward to his fine work on THE KILLERS). The Universal films reduced the Holmes series from superb, elaborately-produced "A" pictures to well-crafted and entertaining "B" programmers.

Leon Shamroy, cinematographer (1901-1974)

Watching THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES last night, I noticed that it had been photographed by Leon Shamroy. This caught my attention because Shamroy lensed some of the most gorgeous films for 20th Century-Fox during the 1950s and 60s, and his work for the studio during that time has always struck me as a particularly stunning example of cinematography that ranks among the finest ever put on the screen, so I'm always excited when I see a film that has Shamroy's name in the credits.

I first became aware of Shamroy's work as a kid, watching THE KING AND I (1956) on video with my mother, a film that continues to impress me for its unforgettably rich and elaborate imagery (see the still below for an example). Even watching it on a pan-and-scan VHS copy that did not do full justice to the artistry of Shamroy's eye, I was deeply impressed with what I saw, and his work continues to impress me for its masterful arrangement of the CinemaScope frame and its stunning use of the DeLuxe color palette.

Born in New York in 1901, Shamroy studied engineering at Columbia University but became involved in film production through some family connections, landing a low-level position in the labs of Fox studios in 1920. He began to make a name for himself by shooting some experimental films, and by the end of the decade, he was working as a full-fledged cinematographer on projects for various studios. After a stint shooting documentary footage in Asia in the early 1930s, Shamroy worked for Paramount for much of the decade under producer B.P. Schulberg.

When Schulberg left Paramount, Shamroy followed, and with his solid reputation well established, ended up at 20th Century-Fox in 1943, where he would shoot many of the studio's biggest productions over the next two decades, including THE ROBE, THE KING AND I, SOUTH PACIFIC, CLEOPATRA, THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY, and PLANET OF THE APES, working regularly up until just a few years before his death in 1974.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1939)

This immediate follow-up to THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES (released by Fox earlier the same year) is adapted from William Gillette's stage play from 1899 and directed by Alfred Werker, a competent studio craftsman but not a director known for any particularly distinctive visual style. As a result, it feels more theatrical in its staging than the previous film, but compensates by being bathed in atmospheric, high-contrast lighting by Leon Shamroy.

This second film in the Basil Rathbone-Nigel Bruce Holmes series finds the master sleuth being called on to protect a woman in trouble (Ida Lupino) whose father and brother have both met mysterious ends, and fears she might be next. This turns out to be an elaborate diversion from the real crime being plotted by Holmes' arch nemesis, Prof. Moriarty (George Zucco), leading to a face-off between the two in a suspenseful climax at the Tower of London.

The effective art direction (especially the foggy, nocturnal London settings), intelligent script, and top-notch supporting cast make it a first-rate production all around. It also includes the fun bonus of seeing Rathbone in a musical turn, performing the music hall ditty "I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside", a nice reminder of what a versatile talent he was.

The Hound of the Baskervilles (1939)

The first of the Basil Rathbone-Nigel Bruce Sherlock Holmes films is also the best. Exquisitely designed, expertly directed and acted, it is an exercise in atmospheric mystery done in the best old Hollywood style. Made with the full resources of the Fox studio, the miniatures and models of the Moor, Baskerville Manor, and other settings are works of art in themselves that I never tire of looking at, especially after repeat viewings when you know how the mystery ends.

Made in the peak year of Hollywood's golden age, when the studio system was firing on all cylinders, it launched one of the most enduring series of films and gave us what many consider to be the definitive screen portrayal of Doyle's sleuth. Rathbone and Bruce would team up for 13 more Holmes films together (one more at Fox, and then a dozen for Universal, where the series took a slightly different but no less entertaining turn).

Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

Finally caught this one on DVD last weekend, and planned to write it up here but found myself unsure of just how I feel about it. The Coens are the most consistently interesting filmmakers working today, and I always find their films worthwhile even if I care for some more than others.

It's much more understated than their films that I enjoy the most. Still it's evocative and reflective, perfectly capturing that moment in many young artist's development when they realize that life has other plans for them. It's also one of the Coens' most assured works.

Still, I was unsure of how I felt about it all, for reasons I'm unable to put my finger on. I plan to re-visit the film in the near future.

Ghostbusters (1984)

Not sure just why I enjoy this one so much, but I do, and every time I see it I appreciate the subtleties (yes, subtleties) of the performances and writing more and more. One of the very few big-budget comedies that doesn't sink under the weight of its own production values, it works in the same way that earlier "fright" comedies like ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN or THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN worked, by offering up some genuinely spooky stuff which make the comedians' reactions all the more funny.

With strong direction by Ivan Reitman from a script by Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis, combined with an excellent cast, fine special effects, and an effective score by Elmer Bernstein, this one fires on all cylinders. Rick Moranis, in one of his best roles, makes the most of his part as the nerdy neighbor, and William Atherton's uptight EPA official is the perfect foil for Bill Murray's sarcasm.

Besides, you have to love a movie that finds room for a Joe Franklin cameo.

The Witches (1990)

Stylish adaptation of the Roald Dahl children's book, directed with understated flourish by Nicolas Roeg, about a boy - turned into a mouse - and his grandmother (Mai Zetterling) who set out to destroy the witches of England while staying at a seaside resort. Some truly nightmarish imagery and makeup effects (courtesy of Jim Henson's Creature Shop) and the intelligent screenplay raise this above the level of the usual children's fare to become a film that adult viewers can appreciate and enjoy on its own terms.

The highlight is Anjelica Huston as The Grand High Witch, a tour-de-force performance that ranks among the most memorable screen villains. Jasen Fisher, a child actor who only appeared in a few films, is effective in his part, and the cast is ably supported by the likes of Rowan Atkinson as the bewildered hotel manager, Bill Paterson as the wealthy and entitled adult figure (always a target of satire in Dahl's stories), and Jim Carter in a comic turn as the hotel chef.

1776, Or The Hessian Renegades (1910)

One-reel melodrama directed by D.W. Griffith (and featuring an early appearance by Mary Pickford), set during the American Revolutionary War. Not a terribly distinctive effort from this period, nonetheless interesting for its staging of action and Griffith's use of the depth and expansiveness of the frame even in an average work like this. Effective use of locations and creative staging compensate for the limitations of its plot devices.

Amblin' (1968)

The short film that helped bring Steven Spielberg to the attention of Hollywood, AMBLIN' is a solid achievement at one level - well-photographed (Allen Daviau's cinematography of the Southwest locations is stunning at times), technically polished, and a good demonstration of Spielberg's ability to tell a story (about a young man who meets up with a hippie girl while hitch-hiking to the west coast). And yet, it also feels impersonal, lacking the kind of energy and invention that often mark filmmakers' best early works and that is even apparent in the extant clips from Spielberg's previous film, FIRELIGHT. Spielberg seems to lack conviction in the material, and as a result, the film feels empty - a well-made but undistinctive calling-card short.

The African Queen (1951)

This exciting adventure yarn is also a delightful romantic comedy, about a straight-laced missionary and a tough riverboat captain who fall in love while escaping from a war-torn village in East Africa during the early days of WWI.

The stories about the making of this film are almost as legendary as the movie itself. It's a testament to John Huston's direction that he makes the film appear so effortless, indeed so much fun, given the circumstances they were working under much of the time. Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn carry the film with two of the best performances either actor ever gave, and are ably supported by the likes of Robert Morley, Peter Bull and Theodore Bikel, who are all effective as secondary characters.

Splendidly shot in Technicolor by Jack Cardiff, the film is visually stunning, and contains some innovative location photography for a Technicolor production of that time.

Seen at Loew's Jersey in a gorgeously restored 35mm print from Paramount Pictures.

Jack Smith and the Destruction of Atlantis (2006)

Fascinating documentary on one of the most significant figures in underground filmmaking and art. It's a refreshing reminder of a time when truly independent and DIY filmmaking was not the purview of dime-a-dozen film school grads with nothing to say, but instead could be an outlet for real personal expression and outrage. Smith's most famous film FLAMING CREATURES is still shocking today, both for its subject matter (it was banned in 22 states and four countries) as well as presenting a vision as bold and intensely personal as the medium has ever seen. A sobering reminder that there was a time when art could be valued for what made it unique, rather than conforming to mediocrity and sameness, and made by artists who truly did not give a damn about commercial success and mainstream approval.

Jack Smith, we need you now more than ever.

Magical Mystery Tour (1967)

Silly, good-natured fun from The Beatles, but certainly less inspired than their previous two films. Originally made for TV, the film is not helped by its low budget, which really shows. The humor is infectiously silly but too often shapeless and underdeveloped to be really effective (several of the scenes feel like rejects from a Monty Python episode). Directed by The Beatles with Bernard Knowles, what it really needed was the assured timing and visual style of Richard Lester to hold it all together. Of course, it's all really a showcase for such Beatles tunes as "Fool on the Hill", "I Am The Walrus", "Your Mother Should Know", and the title song and for that alone it can be recommended to fans.

Hearts of Age (1934)

Beyond its historical significance as the first film made by Orson Welles, HEARTS OF AGE shows us a young artist having fun while still taking himself seriously, throwing caution to the wind and indulging his artistic impulses with wild abandon, not giving a damn about convention or rules, experimenting, playing, succeeding and failing, and embracing invention and individuality instead of mediocrity and sameness. That's all the reason I need to love this film.

Frankenstein (1910)

The first screen adaption of Mary Shelley's horror classic, produced by the Edison company, this film achieved legendary status due to being virtually impossible to see for many years. The story is told in a series of tableaux depicting key scenes from the book that make far more sense if you're already familiar with the plot. There's some interesting high-contrast lighting and even some good - albeit primitive - special effects, depicting the monster being created by reversing the film. Charles Ogle is effective as the creature, done up in horrific makeup, and in an unusual twist on both the book and subsequent film versions, it is revealed that the monster is in fact Frankenstein's own inner demons. An interesting historical curio.

Directed by J. Searle Dawley. With Charles Ogle, Augustus Phillips, and Mary Fuller.

You Only Live Once (1937)

Fritz Lang's second Hollywood film was this effective psychological crime drama about an ex-con, just released from prison and newly married to his sweetheart who finds his past coming back to haunt him. Lang offers a trenchant social commentary on the justice system, focusing on the societal prejudice against Fonda's criminal past and the corrosive effect it has on him.

Shot with characteristic stylishness by Lang, with atmospheric high-contrast cinematography by Leon Shamroy. Sylvia Sidney is highly effective as the loyal and courageous Joan, and Henry Fonda plays his part with an intensity that brings real humanity to the character which makes all the more tragic his desperation as his life hangs in the balance in the face overwhelming evidence against him. It's also a genuine and sincere love story about real commitment and dedication between two people in the face of trouble, done without the usual cheap and false sentimentality.

The Blair Witch Project (1999)

This landmark low-budget effort holds up 15 years still later as a model of atmospheric horror. Carefully constructed to give the appearance of haphazardly shot found footage, the film purports to show the film and video that was recovered after three filmmakers went missing in the woods of Maryland while making a doc about the Blair Witch legend.

Ed Sanchez and Dan Myrick combine grim naturalism (the shots of the townspeople at the beginning are unsettling in their ordinariness) with highly stylized, hand-held cinematography (shot on 16mm and video degraded to look like a cheap home movie). The dialogue is largely improvised by the three leading actors, a technique which works well enough but also comes across as a little too mannered in some instances now. It's all undeniably effective, however, and even beyond the supernatural stuff, plays off of our greatest fears of getting lost in the woods.

An unprecedented commercial hit, thanks to its groundbreaking Internet marketing campaign, the film inspired a sequel (which I have not seen) and has influenced countless "found footage" horror film rip-offs to this day, and even prefigures the "mumblecore" style in its use of unpolished technique and improvised dialogue, though to its credit BLAIR WITCH uses these elements far more creatively and to greater purpose.

The Apartment (1960)

Billy Wilder's (very) dark comedy about a young shnook working his way up the corporate ladder and the toll it takes on his humanity remains a genuinely fresh and relevant satire half a century later. Wilder and Diamond's script adroitly walks a tightrope between comedy and tragedy, where romance or suicide seem equally likely outcomes at any given moment (and occasionally very nearly intertwine).

Lemmon gives one of his finest performances, quite possibly his best, playing opposite the wonderful Shirley MacLaine, who manages to be funny, touching and tragic all at the same time. Fred MacMurray is especially effective in a dark turn as the manipulative personnel manager, and Edie Adams, Jack Kruschen, and Ray Walston are all fine in supporting roles. Features stunning black and white cinematography by Joseph LaShelle, perfectly capturing Alexander Trauner's sets which effectively convey both the squalor and character of Lemmon's apartment and the suffocating impersonality of his looming, sprawling office.

She Done Him Wrong (1933)

This pre-code period comedy-drama set in the Bowery during the Gay Nineties is an excellent showcase for Mae West, who wrote this story about a saloon singer and her various romantic entanglements and drama with the men in her life. West’s characterization is still startling and undeniably attractive, not afraid to use her power over the men around her to her advantage, while simultaneously satirizing her own image as a sex symbol with a cutting wit.

Cary Grant is effective in an early appearance as the undercover government agent posing as a missionary. Owen Moore, Noah Beery Sr. and Gilbert Roland are all fine as West's various suitors, and are ably supported by a veritable all-star cast of Hollywood character actors all perfectly suited to the various types they're called on to play, especially Dewey Robinson as West's bodyguard and Tammany Young as a Bowery tough. Shot with characteristic high-gloss cinematography by Charles Lang and featuring a nice selection of period songs that add to the atmosphere, which is nicely established in the opening montage and evoked throughout. It was nominated for Best Picture and includes West’s iconic line, “Why don't you come up sometime and see me?"

Directed by Lowell Sherman. By Mae West, screenplay by Harvey Thew and John Bright. With Mae West, Cary Grant, Owen Moore, Gilbert Roland, Noah Beery Sr., Rafaela Ottiano, Dewey Robinson, Rochelle Hudson, Tammany Young, and many others.

W.C. Fields and Me (1976)

Decided to give this a try tonight on Netflix. It's as bad as its reputation would suggest, an almost totally fictionalized account of Fields' relationship with Carlotta Monti (based on her memoir, which screenwriter Bob Merrill clearly ignored). Leave the re-writing of historical facts aside, this is just a mess, not helped any by the crude attempts at humor throughout, and the grating, unflattering portrayals of Fields and the other characters (many of them fictional, too). Steiger gives an oddly awkward performance, sometimes touching and reaching toward moments of inspiration, but too often devolving into caricature, like a bad impersonation. To be fair, it would be difficult for any actor to pull off, and the script is certainly partly to blame. Its flaws are especially frustrating given the potential of the subject, and the talent involved. Made at a time when Hollywood seemed to be going through a nostalgic phase about its own past (SILENT MOVIE and WON TON TON: THE DOG THAT SAVED HOLLYWOOD were released the same year), this one has all the worst characteristics of this particular subgenre. This is movie-of-the-week material at best. A near-total misfire. Skip it.

The Kennel Murder Case (1933)

Stylish whodunit with the incomparable William Powell as Philo Vance. A perfect example of the highly entertaining and expertly-made programmers that the studio system could produce when it was firing on all cylinders.

Vance is called in to investigate the murder of wealthy Long Island dog breeder Archer Coe, found dead in a locked room with a gunshot in his head and a pistol in his hand. Everyone assumes it was a suicide, but Vance suspects otherwise and sets about investigating the various suspects, all of whom have their own motives for killing Archer Coe.

This standard mystery plot (from a story by S.S. Van Dine) rises well above the average programmer thanks to the expert direction of Michael Curtiz, who keeps things moving at a good pace and tells the story with interesting stylistic flourishes, especially in some of the scene transitions, aided by strong cinematography by William Rees. Powell is so naturally stylish and charming that he commands attention every time he's on-screen, making his performance here (and in other films) seem like an extension of his own personality. Excellent cast all around, including Mary Astor, Robert Barrat, Eugene Pallette, Paul Cavanagh, Etienne Girardot and other reliable character actors who all play their parts to perfection.

There's a great moment when Vance whips together a model of Coe's house to demonstrate how the murder took place, and produces a highly-detailed, intricately-designed scale model that appears to have taken weeks to create. Apparently the detective had the prop department of Warner Bros. at his disposal!

Groundhog Day (1993)

The second film of last night's double-feature at Loew's Jersey was shown in tribute to the late Harold Ramis, who co-wrote and directed this offbeat comedy about an arrogant jerk of a weatherman (Bill Murray) who is doomed to relive the same day over and over again until he finally undergoes a personal transformation. Ramis makes the most of the unusual premise, and Murray delivers a funny and sincere performance that holds it all together. It's surprisingly restrained and generally subdued and even low-key for a '90s comedy. I had never seen this one before, and was surprised to realize it was released 21 years ago already, but it holds up well and is one of the more genuinely funny comedies to come out of Hollywood in recent years.

Little Miss Marker (1934)

Early Shirley Temple vehicle benefits from great cast and script (from a Damon Runyon story), populated with colorful characters played by top character actors (Lynne Overman, Sam Hardy and Tammany Young among them). This time, Shirley is left by her father as collateral for a debt he owes to racetrack bookie Sorrowful Jones (Adolphe Menjou). Her father never comes back to collect her, however, and is eventually found dead, so the reluctant Sorrowful is left to look out for Shirley, warming up to her and eventually changing his ways to become an honest man. Also in the cast is Dorothy Dell as the nightclub singer who comes to consider Shirley as her own daughter, and Charles Bickford as tough gambler Big Steve, who is finally redeemed in the end by an act of selflessness toward Shirley that saves her life.

Produced on loan-out to Paramount, this one is a little darker than her later vehicles for Fox, with its rough Depression-era New York atmosphere. It features only one musical number performed by Temple, "Laugh You Son of a Gun", which was a big hit. The film was also a big hit at the box office, and did much to launch Shirley Temple into the stratosphere of movie stardom.

Growing up, I saw a lot of her films on video (my mom is a big fan who also grew up watching these films on TV) but this is one that I had missed over the years, so when I saw that Loew's Jersey was screening it in 35mm in tribute to its late star, I made a point to go see it. It contains everything I love about 1930s Hollywood movies - the sparkling cinematography, wise-cracking dialogue, great music, fine characters actors who appear to be having so much fun with their roles, and stars who really knew how to transcend the roles they were playing and become real personalities that still pop off the screen 80 years later.

The Private Life of Henry VIII (1933)

Immensely fun historical drama with Charles Laughton giving one of his very finest performances. He really gets into the character, and it's clear how much fun he's having playing the role. The story of the King's ill-fated marriages is told with a boisterous, bawdy humor. I'm a sucker for these Korda historical biopics and this one is the best.

Laughton is supported here by an impressive cast including Robert Donat as Culpeper, and Merle Oberon, Wendy Barrie, Elsa Lanchester, Binnie Barnes, and Everley Gregg as his wives. Lanchester in particular stands out as the clever Anne of Cleves, who bargains with Henry to get out of their marriage during a card game on their wedding night, and it's especially fun watching her and Laughton playing off of each other so well in their scenes together.

This film has been a very favorite of mine since seeing it for the first time when I was 10 or 11, when I came across a video copy in the "foreign" section at Blockbuster Video (back when they still existed, and had a "foreign" section). I had read about the movie in Ann Lloyd and David Robinson's "Movies of the Thirties" and it became one of those classics that I knew I had to see. I was only allowed to rent one movie that night, and it came down to a selection between this one or Fellini's I CLOWNS - not an easy choice for a budding film buff - and chose HENRY VIII, which quickly became a favorite (I wouldn't have a chance to finally see the Fellini film until last year).

It became the first British film nominated for the Best Picture Oscar, and Laughton took home the Best Actor Oscar for his performance -- a well-deserved win.

A Close Call for Boston Blackie (1946)

I have a real affection for the Hollywood studio programmers of the '30s and '40s, especially the mystery series like "The Whistler", "The Saint", "Mr. Moto", etc. My grandfather introduced me to these films as a kid and I've come to enjoy them more and more over the years for the reliable entertainment they provide. One of my favorite series is "Boston Blackie", starring Chester Morris as Jack Boyle's popular character, and made by Columbia between 1941 and 1949. This is an average entry in the series, which is to say it's a fun way to spend an hour with its blend of light mystery and comedy. This time, Blackie has to look after the baby of an ex-girlfriend and protect her from her recently-paroled husband. He finds himself falsely suspected of a murder in the process, but things turn out okay in the end.

One of the joys of watching Hollywood studio programmers is the sheer level of craftsmanship that went in to them. This one was shot by Oscar-winner Burnett Guffey (FROM HERE TO ETERNITY, BONNIE AND CLYDE) and even in this routine entry you can see the level of experience that everyone working on these films brought to them.

Curtain at Eight (1933)

Odd little mystery about a matinee idol, Wylie Thornton, who manages to make a lot of enemies as a result of his numerous romantic entanglements backstage in the theater. One night, during his birthday party, Thornton gets bumped off by an unknown killer, and Detective Jim Hanvey (C. Aubrey Smith) is called in to solve the case. There's a plot device featuring a chimp who's handy with a pistol, so that gives you some idea of about how seriously to take the proceedings. Fun to see Smith playing something other than a British military officer! Sam Hardy, an actor I always enjoy, provides the wise-cracking comic relief as Smith's detective partner. Technically it's a pretty creaky and low-budget early talkie (produced by the Poverty Row studio Majestic Pictures) but there are enough fun moments that make it worth a watch if you like this sort of thing.

The Big Trail (1930)

Landmark early sound Western starring John Wayne nearly a decade before his star-making performance in STAGECOACH. This epic saga of the trek Westward by covered wagon was shot in the pioneering 70mm Grandeur process, which is expertly used to capture the breathtaking landscapes. Director Raoul Walsh uses the widescreen frame to emphasize the story's epic qualities and heightens the sense of authenticity by packing each shot with an incredible amount of visual detail.

It's easy to see the qualities in John Wayne's performance here that would make him a screen icon, even though he spent the next nine years working in low-budget films for Poverty Row studios. When it came to casting THE BIG TRAIL, Walsh supposedly asked his friend John Ford if he could recommend anyone for the lead. Ford immediately suggested Wayne and the rest, as they say, is history.

Incredibly, in addition to the 70mm and standard 35mm versions, the film was simultaneously shot in three different foreign language versions as well.

Faithful (1910)

This one-reel slapstick comedy, directed by D.W. Griffith for the Biograph company, is notable today as one of the very first films to be shot in Hollywood. The premise finds respectable gentleman Adonese (Arthur V. Johnson) attracting the attention of the good but simple-minded Faithful (future comedy producer Mack Sennett) after knocking him down and buying him a new suit. Faithful is so moved by this act of kindness that he follows Adonese everywhere, much to the latter's dismay. The film's plot is standard farce, no doubt inspired by the French comedies of the Pathe company that had already inspired earlier Griffith comedies made back East.

Griffith began taking his company West in the winter of 1910, and this film reveals the variety of locations that he found available to him upon his arrival. There are shots looking toward the Hollywood Hills and, later, a shot taken from the top of the hills looking down at the area that is now Hollywood Blvd. The film was shot by Griffith's long-time cinematographer Billy Bitzer. Griffith was working in many different genres at this point in his career, cranking films out to keep up with the demand. Just a couple of years after making this film, Mack Sennett would turn from acting to heading up America's first great comedy factory.

Kiss Me Deadly (1955)

Stylish, atomic age, hard-boiled detective thriller featuring Mickey Spillane's private eye "Mike Hammer" (played here by Ralph Meeker) as he tries to solve the murder of the mysterious Christina Bailey (Cloris Leachman). Meeker's cold, violent portrayal of Mike Hammer seems worlds apart from screen detectives of just a decade prior, acting by any means necessary to get the information he's looking for, without any particular sense of honor or ethics. Director Robert Aldrich establishes a mood of heightened paranoia, aided by Ernest Laszlo's stark, high-contrast B&W cinematography. Gaby Rodgers is especially effective as the duplicitous Lily Carver, aka Gabrielle, who leads Hammer in pursuit of the plot's MacGuffin - a radioactive device referred to only as "the great whatsit" - whose diabolical contents are finally revealed in the film's nearly apocalyptic finale.

Spirited Away (2002)

I'm not normally a fan of Japanese anime - or animated films in general for that matter - so I had not yet seen any of the Hayao Miyazaki films, despite hearing great things about them. I finally saw SPIRITED AWAY and have rarely been so taken with a film after a first viewing. The powerful sincerity of its pathos never relies on cheap or manipulative sentimentality like so many "family" films. The beautiful animation from the team at Studio Ghibli is a splendid thing to behold, creating its own universe populated with unique and distinctive characters in the service of telling a powerful and moving story. This was the first Miyazaki film I have seen but I plan to see more of his work now.

A Night in Casablanca (1946)

Late Marx Bros. comedy is also probably their best film since A DAY AT THE RACES. A mild parody of the Humphrey Bogart classic, the film really has more to do with the Brothers on the trail of a Nazi war criminal (played by expert comedic foil Sig Ruman) trying to smuggle stolen art out of Casablanca.

The film features some of Groucho's best lines (his scene at the hotel desk with a Mr. and Mrs. Smyth is a highlight), Harpo has some great sight gags (contributed by an uncredited Frank Tashlin), and Chico has a fun piano solo performing "Beer Barrel Polka". Also features the Bert Kalmar-Harry Ruby tune "Who's Sorry Now?"

Directed by Archie Mayo, written by Joseph Fields and and Roland Kibbee. Also starring Charles Drake, Lois Collier, Lisette Verea, Dan Seymour, and others.

Gangster Story (1959)

When Woody Allen made TAKE THE MONEY AND RUN, he must have had this film in mind, which features a plot device of a bank robber staging a heist by pretending to be filming a movie about a bank robbery. Except this premise is rendered entirely ludicrous here by the fact that there is no crew or equipment present, and indeed no indication whatsoever that a filming is actually in progress, even as the robber walks out carrying a sack of money, waving to the policemen, and driving off.

That gives some idea of the rest of the film, about a gangster (played by Walter Matthau in a performance that resembles a cross between Humphrey Bogart and Ned Sparks) whose brilliant heist plan attracts the attention of some mobsters (who are about as menacing as the Bowery Boys) that want to recruit him for their scheme to rob a country club. The film is filled with such ridiculous scenes as Matthau knocking a man out and stealing his car in the middle of a crowded parking lot, killing a man on a golf course with a club, and wheeling the safe out of the country club office in broad daylight.

This was the first - and only - film directed by Walter Matthau. Unfortunately the direction is highly inept, including mismatched day-for-night shots, violating the 180 degree rule, and an entirely post-dubbed soundtrack that has the result of giving all of the dialogue an oddly-paced, clipped style that is unnatural and distracting. The acting is amateurish and even Matthau comes off quite poorly here. The most interesting part of the film is its extensive location footage of late '50s LA, but even the photography is so mediocre that there isn't anything particularly effective done with any of it.

Directed by Walter Matthau. Written by Paul Purcell from a story by Richard Grey and V.J. Rhems. Edited by Radley Metzger. Starring Matthau, Carol Grace, Bruce MacFarlane, Gerrett Wallberg, Raiken BenAri, David Leonard and others.

The Cocoanuts (1929)

The Marx Brothers made their screen debut in this filming of their 1925 Broadway hit. A satire on the Florida land boom of the '20s, this early talkie appears rather quaint now. Due to the constraints of shooting for sound film, the pacing often seems slightly off, and the overall energy lacking. The comedy holds up well enough, though, and the film features one of the Marxes' most frequently quoted bits, the "Why a duck?" routine.

Margaret Dumont reprises her stage role as the wealthy Mrs. Potter, and Kay Francis makes an early appearance as a villainous but seductive thief. The romantic leads are bland but inoffensive. The music numbers (with songs by Irving Berlin) are generally creaky and unmemorable, with the exception of the bizarre "Monkey Doodle Doo".

Directed by Joseph Santley and Robert Florey. Adapted by Morrie Ryskind from the stage play by George S. Kaufman. Also featuring Oscar Shaw, Mary Eaton, Cyril Ring, and Basil Ruysdael.

A Day at the Races (1937)

The general consensus among comedy fans seems to be that when the Marx Bros. signed with MGM in 1935, their films were robbed of the pure anarchic spirit that marked their earlier films for Paramount. While it's true that producer Irving Thalberg softened their characters (and added an emphasis on the supporting romantic couple and lavish musical numbers) in order to broaden their audience appeal, the first two films the team made for MGM under Thalberg's supervision remain two of the finest films that they appeared in.

A DAY AT THE RACES does contain excessive padding, especially in the "Water Carnival" sequence, but there are also several excellent comedy sequences that rank among the Marxes' finest: the "Tootsie Fruitsie" ice cream routine, the examination scene, and especially Groucho's tour-de-force phone call bit where he poses as the blustering and befuddled Col. Hawkins. The brothers are supported by expert foils including the incomparable Margaret Dumont and Sig Rumann. It's a handsomely-produced and highly entertaining combination of comedy and music, even if it does go on a little too long.

Directed by Sam Wood; written by Robert Pirosh, George Seaton and George Oppenheimer from a story by Pirosh and Seaton, with uncredited material by Al Boasberg, Leon Gordon and George S. Kaufman. Also featuring Maureen O'Sullivan, Allan Jones, Douglas Dumbrille, Leonard Ceeley, Esther Muir, and others.

Burstup Holmes' Murder Case (1913)

The proliferation of screen adaptations of Sherlock Holmes stories in the early years of the 20th century soon lent themselves to parody, such as this two-reel farce comedy directed by Alice Guy at her Solax studio in Fort Lee, NJ. A fun send-up of the Holmes mysteries with some broad physical humor.

Starring Fraunie Fraunholz, Darwin Karr, and Blanche Cornwall.

Silent Sherlock

THE COPPER BEECHES (1912)
Early Sherlock Holmes screen adaptation notable for being made under the personal supervision of Arthur Conan Doyle (as well as the first to be authorized by Doyle). It is the only remaining entry in a series of eight episodic Holmes films produced by the Eclair company. This one is short on action and long on exposition, with some scenes playing out more like a series of tableaux representing key moments in the story. Despite the static camerawork and staging, there is a great deal of attention paid to the set design of Holmes' flat at 221B Baker Street, and some nice location photography as well.

Holmes is played here by Georges Tréville, and his performance is interesting to watch considering that it predates not only the iconic performances of Basil Rathbone or Jeremy Brett, but even those of actors like Ellie Norwood or Arthur Wontner who helped to shape the character. Still, Tréville does a good job, especially given the limitations of the production, and embodies many of the traits as described by Doyle.

Directed by Adrien Caillard from the story by Arthur Conan Doyle. Starring Georges Tréville.


THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP (1921)
"The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes", a series of films produced in the early 1920s by Stoll Picture Productions, is regarded as one of the first adaptations to really do justice to Doyle's stories. Eille Norwood starred as Holmes in all 47 films (and holds the record for having played the character on screen the most number of times). Three of the films in the series are available on the Internet Archive.

The first of them, "The Man with the Twisted Lip", dates from 1921 and, if it is any indication, demonstrates that the producers got a lot of things right in adapting the stories to the screen. Running just 26 minutes, it is also indicative of the serialized format in which these films were released. Eille Norwood makes a fine Holmes and his performance stands up well against later interpretations. The film is a stylish one, featuring strong high-contrast, shadowy cinematography, and also makes good use of authentic London locations, which provide a fascinating glimpse into the period. There are some startlingly inventive shots, such as an apparent murder played out in silhouette against a lighted window. All in all, a solid mystery film and a must for Holmes fans.

Directed by Maurice Elvey; written by William J. Elliott from the story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; photographed by Germain Burger. Starring Eille Norwood, Hubert Willis, Robert Vallis, and Paulette del Baze.


THE DEVIL'S FOOT (1921)
The second of the three Stoll Productions' "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" series available at the Internet Archive, THE DEVIL'S FOOT is another stylish adaptation with Eille Norwood returning with a thoughtful, effective performance as Holmes.

The remarkable thing about these adaptations is how well-paced they are despite the need for heavy exposition, finding creative solutions to the problem of conveying information that would normally be handled through dialogue. Once again, director Maurice Elvey keeps things visually interesting with stylish lighting and camerawork that at times seems to recall DeMille's experiments with chiaroscuro lighting several years earlier.

Directed by Maurice Elvey; written by William J. Elliott from the story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; photographed by Germain Burger. Starring Eille Norwood, Hubert Willis, Harvey Braban, and Hugh Buckler.


THE DYING DETECTIVE (1922)
Third and final of the Stoll Productions' "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" films available at the Internet Archive. Exceptionally well-paced mystery, expertly shot and directed. The story features an interesting twist, with Holmes apparently contracting an Asiatic disease under mysterious circumstances, which proves to be a quite clever method of solving the mystery. With Holmes incapacitated for much of the film, it adds an interesting variation on his usual sleuthing techniques.

I continue to be impressed by Eille Norwood's performance of the title character, and even after seeing him in just three films, I've come to think of his interpretation of the role as the equal of other fine actors to play the part in multiple films.

Directed by Maurice Elvey; written by William J. Elliot, from the story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Also featuring Hubert Willis, Cecil Humphreys, Joseph R. Tozer, and Mme. d'Esterre.

Silent Heroes (1913)

Two-reel Civil War melodrama (produced by Thomas Ince) about a young man who is branded a coward for staying home to take care of his dying mother instead of enlisting to fight. When his mother dies, he proves himself a hero by mobilizing the Home Guard to defend the town against Northern raiders.

Fairly typical melodrama enhanced by some well-staged battle sequences and good use of locations, along with an interesting high-angle shot - taken from a balcony looking down on the street below - that is unique for this time. Also includes an early screen appearance by future director Frank Borzage.

Directed by Walter Edwards and Jay Hunt. Also featuring Estelle Allen and Tom Chatteron.

Who's Minding the Store? (1963)

Delightfully zany, madcap fun from Frank Tashlin and Jerry Lewis. An honest, hard-working (but accident-prone) young man is engaged to a department store heiress and must make good by working in her mother's store, where he is given a series of impossible tasks designed to trip him up.

One of the very best Tashlin-Lewis collaborations, filled with dozens of clever cartoon-like sight gags, expertly-timed slapstick, and sharp satire of the retail business. The kitschy atomic age set design is enhanced by the splendid Technicolor photography. The laughs come fast and furious as Lewis gives one of his finest performances, supported by a wonderful cast of character actors. The highlight: Lewis' "typewriter" routine set to the Leroy Anderson tune.

Directed by Frank Tashlin; produced by Paul Jones; written by Tashlin and Harry Tugend, from a story by Tugend; photographed by W. Wallace Kelley; music by Joseph J. Lilley. Starring Jerry Lewis, Jill St. John, Ray Walston, John McGiver, Agnes Moorehead, Kathleen Freeman, Fritz Feld, and Richard Deacon, among many others.

Strange Behavior (1981)

Effective low-budget thriller about a small-town sheriff investigating a trail of killings of local kids. He suspects that the local school's psychology department, which has been conducting bizarre mind-control experiments on students - including the sheriff's own son - is behind the gruesome slayings.

Stylish slasher flick with sleek early '80s aesthetic complemented by throwback '50s feel, featuring a score by Tangerine Dream. Although the film is set in Illinois, it was shot entirely in New Zealand.


Directed by Michael Laughlin; produced by Anthony I. Ginnane and John Barnett; written by Laughlin and Bill Condon; music by Tangerine Dream. Starring Michael Murphy, Louise Fletcher, Dan Shor, Scott Brady, Charles Lane, and others.

The Wolf of Wall St. (2013)

Martin Scorsese's talent for presenting unbalanced, larger-than-life characters comes out in full force with this epic story of real-life Wall Street fraudster Jordan Belfort (played by Leonardo DiCaprio in a tour-de-force performance), who works his way up from selling fraudulent stocks to making a fortune with higher-stakes investment fraud, is indicted by the FBI and, after serving a short sentence in prison, returns as a motivational speaker, giving talks to audiences who see no contradiction in learning the secrets to success from a convicted charlatan.

It is this contradiction that is at the heart of the film. Scorsese wisely does not shy away from portraying the high-power world of the stock brokers - a world of extreme excess, of sex, drugs, booze and lots of cash - as sleek and seductive, creating a strong attraction-repulsion reaction that makes the film's conclusion all the more damning.

The film's structure is similar to GOODFELLAS in depicting its protagonist's rise from humble origins to his precipitous fall, although the Belfort character perhaps has more in common with Travis Bickle or Rupert Pupkin.

Sasquatch: The Legend of Bigfoot (1977)

Another entry in the "Bigfoot" subgenre prevalent during the 1970s, this film takes an intriguing docudrama approach to the subject, following a team of wildlife researchers on an expedition to northern British Columbia in search of the elusive Sasquatch.

The film benefits from good nature photography, and adds an air of authenticity by utilizing clips of the 1967 Patterson-Gimlin film and alleged recordings of Sasquatch calls and howls on its soundtrack, but will probably only be of interest to Bigfoot enthusiasts and fans of this subgenre.

Machine Gun Mama (1944)

Zany and chaotic B-movie comedy with Wallace Ford and El Brendel as a couple of guys from Brooklyn who come to a carnival in Mexico to sell their elephant, Bunny. Ford and Brendel stay on with the carnival and before long, a romance blooms between Ford and the owner's daughter (Armida). There's comedy, romance and even music. Of course, there's also intrigue and suspense, as the villainous Jose (Jack La Rue) plots to sabotage the carnival, but everything turns out fine in the end.

The direction and writing are uninspired, but Wallace Ford puts in a good performance, and El Brendel does his usual shtick, while the comic potential of the elephant gimmick is underdeveloped. Still, it's charming and fun, and the byplay between Ford and Armida is enjoyable enough; a light diversion that works for what it is.

Directed by Harold M. Young; produced by Jack Schwarz; original screenplay by Sam Neuman; songs by Neuman and Michael Breen. Starring Wallace Ford, El Brendel, Armida, Jack La Rue and Luis Alberni.

The Legend of Boggy Creek (1972)

The "Citizen Kane" of Bigfoot movies, this 1970s drive-in favorite is a great example of regional and low-budget, atmospheric filmmaking done right. Filmed in parts of Arkansas, Louisiana and Texas (according to the IMDb), the film has an authentic flavor to it that is a key component of why it is so effective.

Director Charles B. Pierce wisely goes the route of emphasizing atmosphere, creating a sense of real dread through what is implied off-screen, which is far more effective than showing too much of the monster. The use of local, non-professional actors (some playing themselves) adds to the documentary-like approach taken by Pierce.

The film ultimately succeeds because it takes the local Bigfoot legend seriously, and does not treat the subject with derision or unnecessary sensationalism. It also treats the characters with respect, focusing on the power that the legend holds for them.

Directed by Charles B. Pierce; screenplay by Earl E. Smith; photographed by Pierce; music by Jaime Mendoza-Nava. Starring Chuck Pierce Jr., William Stumpp, Willie E. Smith, and narrated by Vern Stierman.

The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (1936)

This 1936 filming of the "Sweeney Todd" story is a generally slow and visually dull adaptation that makes far too little of its intriguing central premise, focusing too much instead on bland and uninteresting secondary characters and subplots. The film is played as a straightforward melodrama when it could have been played more effectively as a dark comedy.

The latter approach comes through in the brilliant performance of Tod Slaughter in the title role, definitely the highlight of the film. He plays the part with a wickedly dark sense of humor and energy, and is clearly having a lot of fun with it, but without losing the sinister and menacing edge that the story calls for. It's one of those parts that seems tailor-made for its actor. It was a role he'd played on stage with his own theatrical company, and thankfully was preserved for posterity on film here. I haven't seen any of Slaughter's other films, but I plan to seek them out on the basis of his performance here alone.

The Pay Off (1942)

This Poverty Row quickie from PRC stars Lee Tracy as Brad McKay, a wisecracking reporter involved in some serious investigative journalism after the city’s prosecutor is found murdered. The plot takes the usual twists and turns, as he teams up with his editor’s son (Tom Brown) and Phyllis Walker (Tina Thayer) to crack the case. There’s a twist at the end, but by that point it’s clear the most interesting thing about the film is watching Lee Tracy’s performance.

This is an otherwise-routine newspaper film with the real highlight being Lee Tracy in the kind of role that had made him famous (on Broadway in “The Front Page” and in early talkies such as “Blessed Event”). He’s a bit older here, with a sense of world weariness to his character, but plays the part with the wisecracking gift of gab that he brought to all his best work.

The direction is unobtrusive and the cinematography generally unremarkable except for the occasional camera moves that help keep things interesting during the scenes of expository dialogue.

Cavalcade (1933)

Based on the elaborate stage production by Noel Coward, Cavalcade follows the lives of an upper-class British family, the Marryots (Clive Brook and Diana Wynyard) and their servants, the Bridges (Una O'Connor and Herbert Mundin) during the early decades of the 20th century. When the film is written about today, it is all too often held up as an example of the one of the least worthy films to receive the Best Picture Academy Award.

Unfortunately, to think of it only in terms of its place in the history of the Academy Awards is to overlook the power of Coward's approach to the story, interweaving his characters against the backdrop of key events in early 20th century British history, which gives the film a truly epic scope. Diana Wynyard turns in a fine performance as Jane Marryot, who serves as the emotional center of the film. Only 27 when the film was made, she does a remarkable job at portraying Jane at various ages over time ranging from 1899 to 1933.

The film is a clear model for such latter programs as Upstairs, Downstairs and Downton Abbey in its focus on contrasting upper-class and servant-class families against an historical backdrop. This narrative tapestry works best in the format of long-form programs like "Masterpiece Theatre", which can devote more time to individual characters and events, whereas Cavalcade frequently feels episodic and rushed. There are also a few moments, including the sinking of the Titanic, which feel almost unintentionally comical in their brief and ironic treatment.

Director Frank Lloyd (who won a Best Director Academy Award for his work on this film) does a fine job helming this massive and handsomely-mounted production. Its sets, which won their designer William Darling an Oscar for Art Direction, suggest a scale surpassing that which we see in the frame. The war sequences were directed by William Cameron Menzies, who creates a dizzying montage of shots depicting the Great War, accompanied by an equally rich soundtrack, intricately mixed to combine the sounds of battle with the voices of the soldiers singing "It's a Long Way to Tipperary", creating a powerful contrast. The film was shot by Ernest Palmer, Murnau's cameraman on 4 Devils and City Girl, and Frank Borzage's cinematographer on 7th Heaven.

It's too easy to dismiss the film on the grounds of its somewhat staid cinematic style and obvious theatrical origins. Instead, when viewed as an innovative approach to weaving personal stories against the tapestry of history, told with taste and restraint, Cavalcade represents a noble effort to tell an epic story through the eyes of characters swept up in the events.

The Next Step for Digital Filmmaking

Independent filmmaking has gone through more radical changes in the past decade than it has in nearly the last century. The introduction of consumer digital video tools in the late 1990s, and the availability of non-linear editing systems like Final Cut Express made it possible for amateur, DIY, and independent filmmakers of all stripes to have access to the same tools, and to the same level of quality and technical expectations that were previously the purview of the professional.

In 1999, the New York Times published an article by Rick Layman titled "New Digital Cameras Poised to Jolt World of Filmmaking" (Rick Layman, The New York Times, 11/19/99). In the piece, Layman describes the technology being used by filmmaker Mike Figgis during the filming of his landmark film TIME CODE, which combined four separate, 90-minute takes into a single film. In addition to discussing how the coming changes in technology would affect established filmmakers, the article also discusses how - more importantly - the new digital tools could revolutionize the world of independent filmmaking, not just in the production stage, but also in terms of direct digital distribution to theaters. Where the article makes it most pressing point, however, is that the attraction of these tools for independent filmmakers is not just technological, but also artistic.

This article conveys the excitement over the sense of newness resulting from emerging digital technologies that, for a brief moment, looked as though they would usher in a wave of new opportunities for independent filmmakers to produce and distribute their work.

The excitement over the possibilities of digital filmmaking loomed large over the independent filmmaking world during much of the first half of the 2000s. Nearly 15 years later, however, the excitement has dissipated. Digital cinema has seemed to fail to live up to its potential. Discussions about its possibilities abounded but now seem rather quaint. The New York Times article refers to a hypothetical scenario proposed by Mike Figgis, in which he speculates that if he were a "young filmmaker in Ohio or someplace", he could make a film like TIME CODE with on location with his friends as crew, and that the whole thing could be shot for around $100,000.

Figgis' comments are intriguingly prescient in terms of one of the misinterpretations about the possibilities presented by digital filmmaking that were at least partly responsible for its current transformation into a more expensive and unwieldy proposition that has once again become the purview of professionals.

A real turning point in understanding this transformation occurred in 2005-2006, with the emergence of YouTube, which ushered in its own era of user-generated streaming video content. Because YouTube allowed registered users to upload video content to its servers free of charge, the site quickly became overrun with an overwhelming amount of media, with over 100 hours of video being uploaded per minute according to their website. YouTube initially seemed like the final step in democratizing film. If MiniDV and affordable cameras, NLE systems and DVD authoring software had made production more feasible, then YouTube made it possible for the filmmaker to upload his or her work to distribute to a potentially worldwide audience.

Instead, YouTube proved to be the wedge that split and divided digital filmmaking permanently. Because distribution of digital films had still been previously limited to festivals or other curated viewing experiences, that became the mark of seriousness. In other words, even though the digital filmmaker might be using equipment that could be purchased at the local Best Buy or Office Max, he or she still enjoyed a certain level of professional affirmation through the film festivals or other exhibition channels that vindicated these films by mimicking the traditional modes of commercial film distribution.

YouTube instantly blew away the traditional models and instead made it possible for quite literally anyone with a camera, a computer, and an Internet connection to get their work shown to a potentially larger audience than had ever been previously possible. Thus the split between the "professional" amateur and the "amateur" amateur. It was only in hindsight, particularly as YouTube moved toward increasingly commercial and sponsored content and away from being primarily a home for user-generated content, that the possibilities promised by the emergence of digital tools a decade earlier began to resemble a lost opportunity.

To return to an earlier point regarding Mike Figgis' comments about the hypothetical "young filmmaker in Ohio", it is useful to look at the exact wording of his quote in order to understand how one of the biggest misconceptions and, eventually, disappointments surrounding the potential of digital cinema came to be. At first, his statement appears to be suggesting that any kid in the Rust Belt could make a film like TIME CODE if only he had access to the tools. In the article, he says "If I were some young filmmaker in Ohio..." This is not splitting hairs. The difference being that Figgis, whether he was working in Hollywood or Ohio, has the ideas and vision in the services of which to employ digital tools. The big lie of digital filmmaking was that "anyone could be a filmmaker".

The absurdity of the statement is no different than suggesting that by giving someone a brush and a canvas, that they could paint the Mona Lisa, or that someone could write "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" just for being given a pen and paper. Both ideas are ludicrous. Why should it be that filmmaking, unlike other arts, is assumed to be not just attainable, but able to bemastered, even by those with no skill, training or - most importantly - ideas?

When filmmaking as an art form is impoverished and ghettoized by such attitudes, it is not surprising that eventually technology itself - and the vast amounts of money necessary to pay for it - became seen as the very mark of professionalism and seriousness. The tremendous upswing in the number of film schools and self-professed filmmakers demonstrates the degree to which people bought into this mindset. One result of that mindset has manifested itself in the slapped-together dreck passing as "camp" or "parody", or the inward-gazing "slice of life" pieces that demonstrate nothing so much as the filmmaker's lack of imagination in dealing with a world beyond their own limited experiences.

For a brief but glorious period there was an acceptance of the kind of expressive and personal work that could be produced using the tools available to the artist. Films shot on MiniDV, edited on home computers and burned onto DVD-R for viewing, could be taken seriously precisely because audiences and other filmmakers were interested in the possibilities of what could be produced when you removed the technological barriers that had long been the roadblock to filmmakers working outside large-scale commercial systems. The emphasis became focused on expression. Because of the low production costs, it also created a situation in which "making your money back" did not need to be the constant, overriding concern at the expense of everything else.

Fargo (1996)

FARGO, by Joel and Ethan Coen, is probably a "love it or hate it" kind of film, depending on your tolerance for dark comedy, but I definitely fall into the former camp.

It plays well as a straightforward thriller but also contains a strong undercurrent of jet-black humor that's never quite outright mean-spirited or completely unpleasant (even though it involves kidnapping, gruesome murders, and dismemberment in a wood chipper). Shot largely on location in North Dakota and Minnesota, Roger Deakins' cinematography captures the bleakness of the weather and the long flat expanses, which atmospherically reflects the state of the characters in the story.

The real standout performance is Frances McDormand as practical and tough policewoman Marge Gunderson, but William H. Macy (as the meek everyman in way over his head with kidnapping and loan fraud schemes), Harve Presnell (as his no-nonsense Midwestern business tycoon father-in-law) and especially Steve Buscemi (as a perpetually nervous and volatile hitman) all contribute fine turns in playing well-defined characters that they can really sink their teeth into.

Dark comedy is one of the most frequently mis-used labels when it comes to describing movies, and one of the toughest forms to pull off. FARGO pulls it off, and does so admirably well. It's certainly one of my favorite films of the past 20 years, and my favorite work by the Coens.

The Mikado (1939)

While the 1939 film of Gilbert & Sullivan's THE MIKADO is far from a faithful adaptation in terms of containing every song and scene from the show, it is certainly faithful to the spirit of the great 1885 operetta by one of the great teams in theater history.

THE MIKADO was my introduction to the work of Gilbert & Sullivan. I had first learned about this film years ago from my grandfather, who had seen it at the Little Theater in Baltimore when he was about the same age that I was at the time. He had never forgotten the stunning Technicolor photography and mentioned wanting to see the film again. I managed to find a copy on VHS at the time, and it has since become a favorite of mine as well.

Victor Schertzinger, a songwriter and filmmaker whose other directing credits include the first two Bob Hope-Bing Crosby "Road" pictures, does an admirable job in bringing the operetta to the screen. The film is photographed in Technicolor, imbuing the film with a gorgeous, pastel look. The casting of Kenny Baker, as Nanki-Poo, is a rather obvious concession to popular taste, but he acquits himself well in the role. The real stand-outs in the cast are the members of the D'Oyly Carte Opera Company, especially Martyn Green as Ko-Ko and Sydney Granville as Pooh-Bah.

Most of the classic Gilbert & Sullivan songs are present, although the film does omit a good deal of the score in order to maintain a manageable running time. Perhaps the most regrettable excision is Ko-Ko's comic song "As Someday It May Happen", which was shot but deleted from the film prior to its release (thankfully it is included as a supplemental feature on the recent Blu-ray release from the Criterion Collection).

Schertzinger's film of THE MIKADO may not be great cinema, functioning instead as a kind of filmed theater.  But it is a valuable and vivid record of the incredible talent involved in the D'Oyly Carte company, capturing the performances of Martyn Green, Sydney Granville and others for posterity, and for that fact alone is a treasure. It also remains a fine and effective introduction to the work of Gilbert & Sullivan.