Hello, Sister! (1933)

Erich von Stroheim's first talkie -- and final directorial effort -- was this surprisingly frank and grim pre-Code romantic drama, based on an unproduced play by Dawn Powell, about a young couple struggling to find happiness in Depression-era New York. Originally titled WALKING DOWN BROADWAY, Stroheim had his version of the film taken out of his hands by Fox producers Winfield Sheehan and Sol Wurtzel, who re-worked it with new footage shot by a team of directors reported to include Alfred L. Werker, Raoul Walsh and Alan Crosland (though the final film contains no directorial credit), and released it as HELLO SISTER in 1933, which was a commercial failure. That failure, combined with the wild and untrue rumors surrounding the production regarding Stroheim's supposed excesses (in reality, he brought the film in on-budget and ahead of schedule), spelled the end of his career as a filmmaker. Stroheim's original cut of the film was destroyed, and even the theatrical release version was long thought to be lost until a print was recovered by William K. Everson in the 1970s.

Seen today, it's a fascinating and frustrating work. It is disappointing that Stroheim's original cut has not survived, but what remains -- even after the studio tampering -- is an exceptional film in many ways. It is -- despite the multitude of directors involved in its final incarnation -- an astonishingly personal film, too, filled with Stroheim's stylistic and thematic touches that are startlingly powerful and brilliant in their simplicity. James Wong Howe's cinematography is exquisite as usual; there is one camera move in particular -- a slow tracking shot on a mural of "The Last Supper" -- that is breathtaking for its sheer perfection. The fine cast includes earnest and sympathetic James Dunn, the lovely Boots Mallory, tough, sexy Minna Gombell, and most effectively, ZaSu Pitts in an intriguingly offbeat and quirky performance that one wishes there remained more of in the final film. Overall, a flawed but noble end to Stroheim's remarkable filmmaking career.

Outside the Law (1930)

Edward G. Robinson stars in this tough pre-code crime drama -- directed by Tod Browning -- about a crook and his girlfriend who double-cross a local crime boss when they attempt to pull off a high-stakes bank heist in his territory at Christmas. A remake of Browning's 1921 silent film of the same name, this was his second talkie, and his first in a three-picture deal with Universal (the story -- by Browning and Garrett Fort -- would be filmed for a third time, also at Universal, in 1946 under the title INSIDE JOB).

It's interesting to see Robinson playing a gangster a year before his breakout performance in LITTLE CAESAR, and indeed, his "Cobra" Collins here seems like a prototype of Rico Bandello, especially with his distinctive delivery of gangland slang. Robinson is always a delight to watch, as he struts around like a rooster with his cocksure posturing, looking impeccably stylish and puffing on a cigar. It's easy to see the qualities here that brought him to the attention of Warner Bros. and would make him a star. Robinson is one of those actors for whom the sound film medium seemed to be invented; like Cagney, he's endlessly fascinating in how he uses his voice and body in subtle but highly expressive ways, and that is evident even in this early role, where he commands attention every time he is on screen.

Unfortunately, things get deadly dull when he is off-screen, especially in the second half which spends long stretches of time with bickering crooks Mary Nolan and Owen Moore, neither of whom seem particularly at ease in their roles. The plot drags interminably through their scenes together, taking place in a single, claustrophobic apartment set, only picking up a bit at the end during their final confrontation with Cobra, but by this point any tension in the drama has fizzled, and the ending is dramatically unsatisfying as a result.

Still, it's nicely shot by Roy Overbaugh, with some effective high-contrast lighting in the bank heist scenes, and filled with some of Browning's trademark flourishes, especially his emphasis on certain props to reveal character details, and his affinity with sideshows and dime museums (in the form of a bizarre "living art" exhibit). Browning's talkies are frustrating experiences because they are largely stagy, static affairs, yet often contain tantalizing traces of his distinctive visual style that made his silent films so interesting even when the plots were absurd. This one is no exception, but it makes an interesting counterpart to his earlier filming of the same story.

So This is Love (1928)

An enjoyable if decidedly minor romantic comedy, about a timid dressmaker and a brutish prizefighter battling it out over the affection of a charming delicatessen girl. Pleasantly acted by Shirley Mason, Johnnie Walker and William Collier Jr., and skillfully directed by Capra with characteristic sincerity and verve. His handling of the climactic boxing match -- both well-staged and tightly-edited -- is especially effective.

The Singing Fool (1928)

This wildly popular follow-up to THE JAZZ SINGER is probably the best of the Al Jolson vehicles made at Warners. The story -- about a nightclub singer who rises meteorically to the top, loses his wife to another man and his son to illness, and hits rock bottom before finding redemption through his music -- is pure schmaltz, but it undeniably works thanks to Jolson's charismatic performance and energy. The charming Betty Bronson appears opposite Jolson here, and four-year-old Davey Lee is a standout as the tragic "Sonny Boy".

Despite the heavy-handedness of the material (strains of "Vesti la guibba" play on the soundtrack as the broken-hearted Jolson applies his blackface makeup), the film features some of Jolson's best and bounciest tunes, including "There's a Rainbow 'Round My Shoulder" and "I'm Sittin' on Top of the World", though extant prints of the film are missing the delightfully corny "The Spaniard That Blighted My Life", which was cut shortly after release for copyright reasons. The hit song from the film, "Sonny Boy", is sung no fewer than three times, most dramatically at the film's climax, when the melodrama reaches a fever pitch as Jolson is forced to perform the tune before an audience just moments after his son's death.

With its winning combination of Jolson's dynamic screen presence, first-rate songs and the novelty of sound, the film was a wild hit when released  in 1928, and went on to become the highest-grossing American film until GONE WITH THE WIND eleven years later.

Night and the City (1950)

An exceptionally strong film, certainly one of Jules Dassin's most remarkable achievements, and one of the very best post-war crime dramas. Evocatively photographed on location in London (due to 20th Century-Fox having some finances tied up there after the war), the B&W cinematography and settings create a highly stylized yet seedy, gritty and hellishly sinister atmosphere. Dassin maintains a relentlessly bleak and cynical tone throughout, right up to the fatalistic ending.

Richard Widmark is perfectly cast as the desperate hustler Harry Fabian, a maniacal sociopath driven only by self-interest, who has his eyes set on controlling the entire wrestling industry in London. His grand ambitions cause him to stop at nothing to get what he wants, but when his scheme goes fatally awry, he finds himself betrayed by the people whose lives he has destroyed in pursuit of success. Widmark's characteristically intense performance must rank as one of his finest.

Gene Tierney, Googie Withers, Hugh Marlowe, and Francis L. Sullivan make up the fine supporting cast, but special mention really should be made of Herbert Lom as the ruthless wrestling kingpin and Mike Mazurki as the murderous prizefighter.

The Desert Song (1943)

Lavish Technicolor musical and action-packed adventure story, adapted from the 1926 Romberg operetta -- here updated to take place in the days right before the second World War -- about an American pianist in French Morocco who secretly fights to defend the Arabs against the Nazis.

Dennis Morgan and Irene Manning make for appealing leads, but lack the chemistry to make the most of the film's romantic plot. The good supporting cast includes Bruce Cabot, Gene Lockhart, Faye Emerson, Curt Bois, Marcel Dalio and Nestor Paiva, but none of them are given much to do with their characters. Only Lynne Overman as Morgan's friend, a wise-cracking American journalist eager to get a big scoop, really makes an impression.

Director Robert Florey was always an interesting craftsman, one who was interested in experimentation, but who never seemed to really develop a distinctive visual style of his own. As a result, much of the film is shot flat and conventionally, with occasional visual flourishes and interesting camera angles, especially during the music numbers, that call attention to themselves rather than working as part of the overall style. Still, his skillful handling of the rousing action sequences is admirable.

Long unavailable due to rights issues, it has recently become available again in a restored version that does justice to the gorgeous Technicolor cinematography (by Bert Glennon) which gives the film much of its appeal and heightens its stylized, fantastic qualities.

The Greene Murder Case (1929)

Second film in the "Philo Vance" series, with William Powell returning after THE CANARY MURDER CASE as S.S. Van Dine's debonair amateur sleuth. Also returning from the previous film in able support are E.H. Calvert as District Attorney Markham and Eugene Pallette as Sgt. Heath, as well as Jean Arthur, albeit in a different role this time.

The plot is a standard whodunit: when members of the Greene family -- each of whom stand to inherit part of a fortune -- start turning up dead in their own home, Philo Vance is called in to help the police solve the murders.

Worth noting are some moments of especially fluid camerawork for an early talkie such as this, and a well-staged action climax on the roof of the family mansion, featuring an impressive combination of live-action and matte work to suggest the full scale of the house. Powell and Pallette are a great deal of fun to watch together, and keep the proceedings lively with moments of tongue-in-cheek humor. A solid piece of well-crafted, unpretentious entertainment that works perfectly well for what it is.

The Ghost Train (1941)

A fun, entertaining little British comedy-mystery, based on the oft-filmed play by Arnold Ridley and updated to a contemporary (World War II) time frame, about a group of passengers who get stranded on a dark and stormy night at a remote train station in the middle of the countryside that is reputedly haunted by a phantom train.

There are plenty of chills and suspenseful moments, though there is also a great deal of silly humor in the form of British music hall comedian Arthur Askey. His good-natured silliness is rather endearing, even if his character is called on by the script to annoy the other characters to no end (and perhaps works a little too well in this regard at times). Much of the fun comes simply from watching the interaction of the colorful cast of characters, especially Kathleen Harrison as the spinsterly Miss Bourne and Herbert Lomas as the ominous stationmaster. Walter Forde's direction does a fine job in balancing the mystery and the comedy, while Jack Cox's shadowy cinematography adds considerably to the suspenseful atmosphere. Recommended viewing for fans of the genre.

Miracles for Sale (1939)

Tod Browning's final film is an entertaining if rather tepid supernatural mystery about a magician who becomes involved in helping the police to solve the murder of a phony spiritualist. Running a brisk 68 minutes, it has the feel of a B programmer, though produced with characteristically high production values by MGM and greatly aided by Browning's distinctive style.

The story (based on Clayton Rawson's book, "Death from a Top Hat") seems tailor made for Browning, given its themes of magic, deception, crime, and the supernatural. Robert Young and Florence Rice make for appealing leads, and they are ably supported by a good cast including the likes of Frank Craven, Henry Hull, Lee Bowman, Astrid Allwyn, Cliff Clark, and William Demarest. There are some good atmospheric thrills but also some moments of cornball humor that work against the macabre tone. It's a minor film, to be sure, but a fine and fitting swan song for this most unique director.

Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Excellent piece of action-adventure filmmaking combined with historical fiction. Seeing it again for the first time since its initial theatrical run, I was struck by just how well it works. The nearly 2 1/2 hour running time moves briskly from scene to scene without ever lagging, and maintains its energy from the quiet tension of the first sequence to the explosive catharsis of the final shot.

The opening sequence in particular marks a new stylistic maturity for Tarantino. A superb ensemble cast, excellent editing and photography, and a tight script come together under Tarantino's expert direction to create an entertaining pastiche of war pictures and Spaghetti westerns. I'm partial to JACKIE BROWN, but this may be the best film Tarantino has yet directed. All of the elements come together splendidly here.

Ninotchka (1939)

This is the third of four films that Ernst Lubitsch made for MGM (he'd previously directed THE STUDENT PRINCE IN OLD HEIDELBERG and THE MERRY WIDOW for the studio, and would direct THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER the following year). MGM was not a studio known for being particularly hospitable to highly personal filmmakers like Lubitsch, but it did excel at producing polished, sophisticated romantic comedies, and the result here is one of Lubitsch's finest films. Though perhaps a little softer around the edges than his earlier films for Paramount, with the sexual innuendos toned down due to the production code, there are still some biting satirical jokes -- mainly about Communism and the Soviet Union -- that deliver a punch thanks to the sharp writing of Walter Reisch, Charles Brackett and Billy Wilder. It's stylistically a bit more restrained than Lubitsch's Paramount comedies, but benefits greatly from the sumptuous Cedric Gibbons art direction and sparkling William Daniels cinematography.

Garbo is quite funny in her rare, highly-publicized comic turn, with a dry, understated delivery that is perfectly suited to the character of the icy Soviet envoy, though it is Melvyn Douglas who delivers some of the film's biggest laughs, demonstrating here what a fine light comedian he was, especially in his failed attempts to get Ninotchka to crack a smile with his corny jokes. The supporting cast is superb, especially Ina Claire as the former Russian aristocrat trying to reclaim her confiscated jewels; Sig Rumann, Felix Bressart and Alexander Granach as the trio of Russian agents on official business in Paris who find themselves seduced by capitalism; and Bela Lugosi in a brief but effective turn as the commissar. The final gag is a classic, and one of the funniest moments in Lubitsch's entire filmography.

Napoleon (1909)

Extremely condensed telling of the life of Napoleon Bonaparte, covering everything from his schooldays at Brienne to his death in just 15 minutes! Produced by the Pathe company, it necessarily presents only brief tableaux, all shot in largely static compositions.

Of particular interest is the snowball fight that opens the film. Watching this scene, shot in a single take with the boys chaotically hurling the snowballs at eachother, one can't help but compare it with Abel Gance's handling of the same scene in his later film.

That Uncertain Feeling (1941)

Middling late-career Lubitsch comedy, with Merle Oberon and Melvyn Douglas as a couple whose marriage is tested when Oberon begins to question her happiness. The humor in Donald Ogden Stewart and Walter Reisch's script is pretty mild, and Oberon and Douglas lack the chemistry to really make the material work. Burgess Meredith, however, is quite effective as the neurotic, temperamental concert pianist who comes between the couple. Overall it feels less like a film by Lubitsch, and more like a work by a lesser director attempting to make a comedy in the Lubitsch style.

Nothing But the Truth (1929)

Roaring '20s farce about an affable and ambitious young stockbroker (Richard Dix) with a penchant for stretching the truth who enters into a bet for $10,000 that he can go 24 hours without telling a single lie, which predictably leads to all sorts of complications.

It's a fine premise for a comedy, with the bet providing a fun plot device reminiscent of BREWSTER'S MILLIONS. However, Victor Schertzinger's direction lacks the energy and quick pacing required of a madcap farce like this, not helped by the primitive qualities of the early sound technology, and Dix seems rather awkward in this rare comic turn. The production is enlivened by some nice art deco set design, pre-code dialogue (by William Collier Sr.), and good supporting cast including Berton Churchill, Helen Kane, Wynne Gibson and Ned Sparks. Produced by Paramount at their Long Island Studio in New York.

Inner Sanctum (1948)

I'm a sucker for old time radio dramas, and one of my favorite of these is "Inner Sanctum". This film borrows only the title from the series; the story is an original, and while the premise -- about a man on the run after accidentally killing his girlfriend and hiding out in a boarding house that just happens to belong to the mother of the boy who witnessed the murder -- would have made an effective half hour episode, it loses tension and the suspense lags even with its short 62 minute running time.

The always-reliable Lew Landers brings his usual craftsmanship to the direction, which is unobtrusive but effective. Charles Russell and Mary Beth Hughes make for bland leads, with the best performances coming from the supporting cast which includes Nana Bryant, Lee Patrick, Billy House and Roscoe Ates (here minus his trademark stutter). An average little suspense thriller; fans should stick to the radio program.

The Bohemian Girl (1936)

This comedy version of the Balfe opera starring Laurel and Hardy is not one of the team's best features, but is still quite enjoyable. By this point in their career, they had moved into making features exclusively, and producer Hal Roach was eager to repeat the success of THE DEVIL'S BROTHER from three years earlier by putting them into another lavishly-produced comic operetta.

The result is a funny if uneven film that, despite being based on an established stage property, is ultimately tailored as a vehicle for Laurel and Hardy, and thus is mainly of interest to fans of the team. It follows the general story of the opera with the boys as the gypsies who raise a nobleman's kidnapped daughter as their own, but the comic scenes are for the most part isolated sharply from the main "plot" scenes. It's less a parody and more a straight telling of the story with the comedy sandwiched in.

While it is undoubtedly heavy on plot and music, Laurel and Hardy's scenes contain some excellent comic material. Highlights include the boys' attempt at telling fortunes, Oliver's altercations with shrewish wife Mae Busch, and Stan bottling wine and getting increasingly tipsy in the process (a particularly brilliant scene that ranks as one of Laurel's finest moments in any of their films). The funniest moment is also the simplest: Oliver sees Stan eating a banana and tells him to give him part of it, and Stan casually hands him the peel, which Oliver just tosses away with a resigned shrug. A little gag like that is all they need to reduce me to tears of laughter.

The Bohemian Girl (1922)

British silent film adaptation of the Michael W. Balfe opera about the daughter of an Austrian nobleman -- kidnapped in childhood by gypsies -- who, unaware of her royal heritage, falls in love with a young renegade Polish soldier seeking refuge in the gypsies' band from her father's troops. Upon learning her true identity, the girl is torn between her noble background and her love for the young soldier. The film boasts an impressive cast, including Gladys Cooper, Ivor Novello, C. Aubrey Smith, Constance Collier, and celebrated English theater star Ellen Terry in a rare screen appearance.

Harley Knoles' direction is generally unremarkable, favoring wide, static compositions and flat lighting throughout, and relies too heavily on title cards to convey the plot. Still, it's undeniably an elaborately-produced film with its lavish period settings and costumes, and there is one camera move -- a high-angle tracking shot across the length of the ballroom set -- that stands out as a singularly impressive bit of technical flourish. It also reflects the international talent -- both in front of and behind the camera -- that English films of this period frequently employed, and stands as an interesting work in the all-too-often neglected history of British silent cinema. Interestingly, the assistant director was Josef von Sternberg, and it's tempting to consider what he could have done with the material if given the opportunity. Originally released at eight reels, surviving copies are missing the first two reels.

Just Imagine (1930)

Sci-fi musical comedy set in New York City of 1980, where citizens are identified only by their serial number and marriages are arranged by the state. Trying to describe the plot of this zany film is a bit complicated: it involves a young man, J-21 (John Garrick), who volunteers for an experimental mission to Mars after the court rejects his application to marry his true love, LN-18 (Maureen O'Sullivan). But this set-up is just a pretense for a parade of bouncy Brown-DeSylva-Henderson tunes, neat retro special effects, pre-code sex jokes, and a chorus of scantily-clad Martian dancing girls.

There's also a visitor from the past (1930, that is) played by comedian El Brendel, who is brought back to life as part of a scientific experiment and then unceremoniously left to fend for himself as soon as the doctor is through with him, and one's enjoyment of the film may depend on one's tolerance for Brendel's vaudeville shtick delivered in his trademark "Swedish" accent, a little of which can go a long way. David Butler's direction keeps the show moving at a good pace, and the music numbers benefit from clever choreography by Seymour Felix. However, the main attraction here is the set design by Stephen Goosson and Ralph Hammeras, a delirious blend of Art Deco and Futurism that is among the very best of its kind and recalls Fritz Lang's METROPOLIS. Good, pre-code fun.

The Canary Murder Case (1929)

First of the "Philo Vance" screen adaptations, starring William Powell as S.S. Van Dine's suave, urbane sleuth as he uncovers the murderer of a blackmailing showgirl known as "The Canary". Originally made as a silent film and directed by Malcolm St. Clair, it was re-tooled as a talkie by Paramount, with some of the silent footage dubbed, and new scenes shot with synchronized sound by director Frank Tuttle. The result is a sometimes awkward and static hybrid that is nonetheless a solid and entertaining whodunit.

Powell's remarkably assured and comfortable performance in this early talkie demonstrates the qualities that would soon make him a major star, and he would go on to play Vance again in three more films. The supporting cast includes James Hall as a young man blackmailed by the scheming showgirl, Jean Arthur as his girlfriend, Ned Sparks as the showgirl's gangster husband, Eugene Pallette as sputtering Sgt. Heath, and silent screen icon Louise Brooks in a brief but memorable role as "The Canary" of the title.

Though Brooks filmed her scenes for the silent version, disagreements with Paramount caused her to refuse to come back to dub her lines, so her dialogue is instead spoken by Margaret Livingston. This was Brooks' final film before leaving for a brief but celebrated career in Germany, where she famously made two films with director G.W. Pabst. Though she would return shortly afterward, her career in Hollywood never recovered and she retired in 1938.

The Laurel and Hardy Sound Shorts (1934-35)

OLIVER THE EIGHTH
A strange little two-reeler, with Hardy answering an ad in the personals to marry a wealthy widow (Mae Busch). He soon learns that she has married seven other men named Oliver before her, all of whom met with death by having their throats cut, and that he is "Oliver the Eighth". English comedian Jack Barty is quite effective as the loopy butler. He plays cards with an invisible deck, and serves the boys an invisible meal (a surreal and funny sequence that looks forward to their synthetic meal in the later SAPS AT SEA). Hardy, ever the gentleman and not wanting to be rude, goes along with the charade, and of course Laurel actually begins to enjoy the non-existent "food".

Next the boys are off to bed, and rig an elaborate set-up to keep eachother awake in case the widow comes in to cut Ollie's throat during the night. Of course, Ollie is soon distracted from the fear of having his throat cut by Stan's constant interruptions and near-fatal accidents with a shotgun ("Isn't it bad enough that I'm going to have my throat cut without you trying to shoot me first!"). This sequence also contains a great line that sums up Stan's ability to convey an odd logic even through illogical-sounding statements: when Ollie finds Stan sleeping instead of watching the door, Stan tells him, "I was dreaming that I was awake, and then I woke up and found myself asleep".

Released in England as THE PRIVATE LIFE OF OLIVER THE EIGHTH, its title a joke on Alexander Korda's hit film THE PRIVATE LIFE OF HENRY VIII, released the year before.


GOING BYE-BYE
Well-constructed and solid comedy with Laurel and Hardy as chief witnesses in the trial of gangster Butch Long that puts him behind bars for life. Butch warns the boys that he will break out and get even with them if it's the last thing he does. Deciding to flee town, the pair advertise for a companion on their journey to help share expenses, and the person who answers the ad turns out to be Butch's girlfriend, who is helping her fugitive boyfriend get away. The ending contains another one of those grim sight gags Laurel liked to include every so often: Butch lives up to his promise of tearing the boys' legs off and tying them around their necks! Despite the grotesque final gag and some pretty brutal slapstick (Walter Long is poked with a drill and scorched by a blowtorch), this is one of the team's funnier efforts.

There's a little moment I noticed for the first time on this viewing, when Laurel opens a window, and a breeze blows the curtains open slightly. It's the kind of thing I have missed through many viewings over the years, and has absolutely nothing to the story or gags, but it's a good example of the care and attention to detail that went into making these films.


THEM THAR HILLS
A top-notch, leisurely-paced little short, with Stan and Ollie taking a trip into the mountains while Ollie recovers from a case of gout. With this film, they returned to the kind of escalating "tit-for-tat" sequence that had appeared in many of their best silents, but which they'd never quite figured out how to adapt to sound. Here, they solve that problem, by reducing the scale and focusing on a smaller situation and the reactions by each character after each new attack has been delivered, thereby avoiding the problem of staging large-scale battles that relied on frenetic action and quicker editing between the various participants.


THE LIVE GHOST
Another "fright" comedy, a format that Laurel and Hardy had pretty well exhausted by this point and that was never particularly suited to their style of humor in the first place. Here the boys are shanghaied into sailing on a supposedly haunted ship. Fright comedy requires a certain degree of broadness that was not really compatible with Laurel and Hardy's more subtle, character-driven approach. In order to work, the "scares" must be genuine and effective enough to really be frightening, so that the comedian's reaction then diffuses the horror, and allows the audience to enjoy a nervous laugh out of relief. Abbott and Costello took one approach in their horror comedies, with Costello usually scared speechless, and wildly mugging and gesticulating in panic when confronted by a monster which would be relieved when Abbott re-entered the scene and the monster would disappear. Bob Hope, in films like THE GHOST BREAKERS, took another approach, delivering clever one-liners to diffuse the spooky proceedings.

Laurel and Hardy never needed such situations from which to derive laughs, as this film demonstrates. They created their own chaos to react to. THE LIVE GHOST is not one of their weakest efforts, however, and in fact contains some very funny moments, but the broad, almost cartoonish material could have been played as well by other comedians.

TIT FOR TAT
A sequel to THEM THAR HILLS, with the boys running an electronics store next to Charlie Hall and Mae Busch's supermarket. Continuing their feud from the previous film, the premise runs out of steam a bit before the two reels are over, but there are still plenty of good gags here. The best is a running joke with an affable little shoplifter systematically cleaning out the inventory of the boys' shop. Contains the classic "Laurelism": "He who filters your good name steals trash."


THE FIXER-UPPERS
I've never particularly cared for this one, although I must admit I find it interesting that the premise is so unusual and rather complex, especially considering that it was the second-to-last short that the team made. It's a romantic farce with the boys as greeting card salesmen that come across an unhappily married woman, whose husband - a temperamental artist - has been ignoring her. Ollie agrees to help her out by allowing her husband to think they're having an affair, which will re-ignite the artist's passion for his wife. Instead, it ignites his fierce temper, as he challenges Ollie to a duel to the death. This one feels like a case of compensating for a lack of ideas by creating an unnecessarily complicated plot with an overwritten script, and with its lackluster ending, is one of their most forgettable films.

THICKER THAN WATER
Laurel and Hardy's final starring short is a charming little domestic comedy that contains a rather disjointed and loose plot, but it's funny enough that it hardly matters. There are two sequences in this film that should be mentioned as being among the finest the boys ever did. The first involves Stan, Ollie, Daphne Pollard and James Finlayson trying to track down what happened to the money for a furniture payment. It requires a verbal dexterity and precision of logic that, like the best of the Abbott and Costello routines, is impressive for the comedians' ability to pull it off successfully. The second is the auction sequence that finds Stan and Ollie bidding against each other, which works so well because it's perfectly in character for them.  The final gag, in which the boys swap personalities after a botched blood transfusion, is a cute wrap-up to their last starring short comedy.

The Black Hand (1906)

"Ripped from the headlines" crime drama about a group of extortionists who threaten to harm a local businessman's daughter unless he pays them off; when he refuses, they kidnap her and hold her for ransom until the police rescue her.

Photographed by Billy Bitzer with a documentary-like authenticity, especially in the kidnapping scene, which plays out in an extended long take as pedestrians move about in the background until the girl enters the shot and is whisked away by the gangsters in a waiting carriage. The action unfolds like a procedural, depicting in great detail the methods of the police to track and rescue the girl. The direction and photography maintain a realistic style throughout, though the scenes shot on painted sets lack the immediacy of the street scenes.

This was one of the many narrative films directed by Wallace McCutcheon for the Biograph company before Griffith's arrival, and a good argument could be made that it was he, rather than Porter, who played the more significant role in establishing storytelling approaches in early American cinema.

The Laurel and Hardy Sound Shorts (1933)

TWICE TWO
After the classic TOWED IN A HOLE, it's disappointing that the team's next effort should be this forced, gimmicky domestic comedy centered around the concept of the boys playing both themselves and their own wives. It doesn't help any that the voices of Stan and Ollie's "wives" are annoyingly dubbed for no good reason, which only distracts from both the performances and the pacing. The highlight of this otherwise lackluster short is the scene in which Stan goes out for ice-cream and uses up all his money calling home to ask what flavors to get. Maybe my least favorite of the sound shorts they made for Hal Roach.

ME AND MY PAL
This is another one of their comedies constructed around milking the potential of a single comic situation; in this case, the piecing together of a giant jigsaw puzzle. The set-up involves Ollie preparing for his wedding to his boss's daughter, which will catapult him into the social stratosphere, when Stan surprises him with a jigsaw puzzle as a wedding present. Before long, the boys get distracted trying to put the puzzle together, and eventually everyone from the butler to the local cop join in, and the wedding is delayed as they search for a missing puzzle piece. It sounds funnier than it is, however, for once the writers establish the situation, it never really quite builds enough momentum as it nears its rather weak and anti-climactic conclusion.

THE MIDNIGHT PATROL
Since their characters were frequently if often inadvertently finding themselves on the wrong side of the law, it was an interesting departure to cast Laurel and Hardy as policemen. There are some very clever moments here, such as officer Laurel coming across a safecracker at work, and - not comprehending the situation - offering to help him open the safe. When Hardy finally intervenes and issues a summons for the charges, the safecracker argues with the boys over which day best suits his busy schedule to appear in court! The second half of the film is an extended slapstick sequence with Stan and Ollie attempting to apprehend the Chief of Police, whom they've mistaken for a burglar trying to break into his own home. Not top-tier Laurel and Hardy, but very funny.

BUSY BODIES
Certainly one of the team's finest shorts. The premise of Laurel and Hardy working at a sawmill is all the set-up they need for one brilliant sequence after another. The opening scene, with the boys happily and casually driving to work, exemplifies the kind of joyful simplicity that marked their best work. This one also contains an exceptional number of really funny and inventive sight gags, from Hardy being caught in the debris disposal system, to the boys' car being sawed in half. Like TOWED IN A HOLE, this one demonstrates the kind of material that Laurel and Hardy excelled at more than anything else.

DIRTY WORK
Almost certainly the strangest film the boys ever made, right up there with OLIVER THE EIGHTH. Laurel and Hardy are chimney sweeps called out to the home of a mad scientist (Lucien Littlefield), who is experimenting with an age-reversal formula. The scenes of Stan and Ollie cleaning the chimney with characteristically disastrous results are perfectly funny and enjoyable; why they felt compelled to add the mad scientist subplot is a bit of a mystery, as it's neither particularly interesting nor particularly funny. The whole film is really quite uneven, moving between straight slapstick and cartoonish, slightly surreal fright comedy with mixed results.

The Laurel and Hardy Sound Shorts (1932)

HELPMATES
Ranks alongside BIG BUSINESS and THE MUSIC BOX as one of the truly great Laurel and Hardy films. The boys' inability to clean up the house without reducing it to a shambles in the process sums up the essence of their comedy, and the endless succession of assaults on Hardy's dignity take on epic proportions here. Perhaps the highest compliment one can pay is that they make it look so easy.


ANY OLD PORT
Never cited as one of the team's better efforts, usually due to its grim tone and unpleasant atmosphere. With its story of the boys rescuing a cleaning girl from a forced marriage to brutish Walter Long, the film plays like a send-up of old melodramas. The unpleasantness of the first half is offset a bit by the comic boxing-match that takes up the second half, though this scene too is a bit of a disappointment, and lacks the grace and timing of the prizefight sequence from their earlier THE BATTLE OF THE CENTURY. Overall one of their least inspired efforts, not helped by the uncharacteristically dark tone.

THE MUSIC BOX
1932 was certainly a good year for Laurel and Hardy. The team managed to produce not one but three of the very best works of their entire career. So much has already been written on this film that it is difficult to add anything new. From as simple a situation as trying to move a piano up a staircase, Laurel and Hardy mine the depths of the comic possibilities to be found in the eternal struggle of trying to succeed at a task and failing. Like some of the best W.C. Fields comedies in this respect, the boys' humor remains as fresh and relevant as ever because it speaks to something universal and timeless.


THE CHIMP
One of the team's stranger efforts, though still pretty funny. When James Finlayson's circus closes down, the employees each get to take home a part of the show in lieu of payment. Laurel gets the flea circus, while Hardy is stuck with Ethel the performing chimp. Looking for a place to stay, the boys sneak Ethel into a seedy boarding house while hiding her from the landlord. A slight re-working of their earlier comedies ANGORA LOVE and LAUGHING GRAVY, this one works as well as it does because of the expressive and funny performance of Charles Gemora, Hollywood's number one gorilla impersonator, in the title role. Other highlights include Hardy in a tutu being chased by a lion, Laurel's flea circus getting loose in bed, and Ethel's impromptu ballet number, which borders on the surreal. It also contains some decidedly risque pre-code humor, such as the landlord believing that the boys' are hiding his wife in their room, and the chimp snuggling with Hardy in bed.


COUNTY HOSPITAL
This one gets less funny with each viewing for me. The idea of Stan visiting Ollie in the hospital is loaded with potential, but they just never quite make the most of it. And the finale, with the wild car chase shot entirely in front of a process screen, fails to deliver either the necessary thrills, or the kind of reflexive humor that W.C. Fields got out of similar back projection scenes in THE FATAL GLASS OF BEER or MAN ON THE FLYING TRAPEZE. Still, it's a solid if minor effort, and there's plenty of fun moments to enjoy here -- it just doesn't hold up as well for me over repeated viewings compared to their best work. It does contain one of Laurel's best "food" sequences, where he manages to reduce me to hysterics just by eating a hard-boiled egg on screen.

SCRAM!
Like OUR WIFE, this is another one of the team's situation comedies that tends to get overlooked when mentioning their funniest films. It's an expertly written and performed farce, and is one of their few films that feels almost like an ensemble piece, with the fine supporting performances of Vivian Oakland, Rychard Cramer and Arthur Housman contributing greatly to the fun.


THEIR FIRST MISTAKE
Another one of those films that seems to be as much about Laurel and Hardy exploring their characters as it is the gags and situations. Ollie adopts a baby thinking it will help save his marriage; however, when he comes home with the baby, he finds his wife has left him, and he talks Stan in to staying to help him raise it. Not one of the team's more inspired or memorable efforts, and the situation never quite builds much comic momentum. Contains the classic pre-code exchange in which Ollie tells Stan that his wife complains that he thinks more of him than he does of her. "You do, don't you?", Stan asks. Ollie replies, "Well, we won't go into that."


TOWED IN A HOLE
The third Laurel and Hardy classic released in 1932. The boys are fish sellers who decide to cut out the middleman by catching their own fish, so they pick out an old boat to restore and go about repairing it with predictably disastrous results. Watching this film, one gets the sense that the team really had reached an artistic peak around this point, at least as far as their sound films are concerned (certainly their work in the late silent period of 1928-29 achieved a remarkable consistency of high quality, and produced at least two classics). Every movement, every gag and every bit of slapstick is so perfectly choreographed, timed and executed that you really do get the sense of watching two great artists at the very top of their game, working with utter confidence and mastery of their craft. Due in no small part to Laurel's creative guidance and expert filmmaking craftsmanship, it's remarkable how seamless the formal aspects of their films had become by this point compared with their earlier talkies of just a couple years prior. Their best directors achieve a real invisibility of style that never calls attention to itself and always works to emphasize the performances and gags.

Jackie Brown (1997)

Probably my favorite Tarantino film. I didn't see this one until after I had seen the rest of his filmography, and had heard mixed reactions toward it even from confirmed Tarantino fans, but I was pleasantly surprised by it. Coming between his earlier works and the KILL BILL films, it forgoes stylistic excess in favor of plot and character. Working from Elmore Leonard's novel "Rum Punch" as his source material, Tarantino creates an interesting cinematic pastiche borrowing from earlier crime dramas and the Blaxploitation genre, and deftly combines the two with his assured direction. Despite its 2 1/2 hour running time, it never lags and the suspenseful climax is particularly well-handled in being presented from the different perspectives of the characters involved.  Great cast including Pam Grier, Samuel L. Jackson, Robert Forster, Robert De Niro and Bridget Fonda, among others. Reportedly Leonard's own favorite among the many film adaptations of his work.

The Laurel and Hardy Sound Shorts (1931)

BE BIG!
One of the team's least inspired efforts. This is another film frequently cited as a contender for their weakest, specifically for its protracted sequence with Stan trying to remove a tight boot from Ollie's foot. Usually they could mine a simple situation like this for all its comic potential, but in this case, the results are only mildly amusing and wear thin quickly. The fact that it's a three-reeler doesn't help the pacing issue. Unlike an early talkie such as BERTH MARKS, say, where they were still adapting to sound film, this one feels like a step backward after they had already made great progress in the new medium.


CHICKENS COME HOME
This is one of Laurel and Hardy's more interesting films, and probably their best film from 1931. It's a remake of their silent LOVE 'EM AND WEEP (1927), with Hardy as a mayoral candidate who finds his campaign threatened by the re-appearance of an old flame. Laurel has to keep her at bay while Hardy entertains important political guests at his home. Mae Busch is especially effective here as the woman from Hardy's past, and James Finlayson has one of his funniest roles as Hardy's suspicious butler. Usually in their comedies, the boys start out with nothing and end up with nothing again at the end of the film, whereas this one begins with them as successful businessmen in positions of power and prestige, providing an added gravity to the pitfalls they encounter.


LAUGHING GRAVY
A re-working of their silent ANGORA LOVE, this is another poignantly funny comedy, like BELOW ZERO before it, that focuses as much on their characters as it does the gags and situations. The premise is simple: the boys try to hide their beloved dog in a seedy boarding house whose landlord has a strict "no dogs allowed" policy. Charlie Hall, playing the landlord, brings the perfect mix of humor and menace to the part. It does contain one of those grim endings - with the landlord blowing his brains out after learning that he and the boys will have to be quarantined inside the house together for two months - that represents the kind of dark comedy the team dabbled in occasionally. An alternate ending was discovered in which Laurel inherits a fortune on condition that he sever all ties with Hardy, which is another indication that they were just as interested in exploring the characters here as they were in creating solid laughs.


OUR WIFE
An oddly overlooked title in the Laurel and Hardy canon. It seems that their farce comedies tend to inspire less passionate reactions from fans and critics, probably because they do not contain the kind of really dexterous slapstick and distilled, almost poetic simplicity of shorts like HELPMATES or THE MUSIC BOX. But this is one of their very best in the farce tradition. Unlike ANOTHER FINE MESS or CHICKENS COME HOME, the situation here is simple: Ollie can't marry his sweetheart because her father (James Finlayson) objects, so they decide to elope (with Stan's help, of course). There's a great sight gag when Laurel hires a tiny car for Hardy and his fiancee to make their escape in, and the three of them are forced to pile inside, with Laurel pressed up against the windshield. But the highlight is the cameo appearance by Ben Turpin as the justice of the peace who performs the marriage ceremony with predictably mixed-up results.

COME CLEAN
Of all the Laurel and Hardy comedies, this was one of the very last ones that I saw. For some reason, I never came across it on TV, nor on any of the video releases, and only saw it for the first time a decade ago, in a 16mm print at a Sons of the Desert tent screening. Perhaps because of this, it doesn't stick in my mind as clearly as their films I've seen many times over the years. The pacing lacks the requisite energy, and the situations feel underdeveloped and even tired. It also features one of those strange, surreal endings the team employed occasionally, with Laurel disappearing down the bathtub drain after Hardy pulls the plug. Contains the classic "ice cream shop" routine, where the boys proceed to ask Charlie Hall for every flavor that he's out of.

ONE GOOD TURN
One of the Laurel and Hardy's more interesting efforts, if not one of their funniest. The exposition required by the plot contrivances slow things down a little, but the comedy is good-natured and gentle, at least until the unexpectedly violent climax! Here the boys are even more down-on-their-luck than usual, victims of the Depression, which gives the comedy an air of pathos.

BEAU HUNKS
In order to forget the lover who has jilted him, Hardy enlists in the Foreign Legion, and insists that Stan join up with him. Much of the humor is pretty standard service comedy stuff, combined with very mild satire of legionnaire pictures such as BEAU GESTE. The best scenes are the boys' interactions with stern commandant Charles Middleton. There doesn't seem to be enough material to really justify the four-reel length, and the ending is disappointingly weak stuff, though the running joke of all the men joining the legion to forget the same woman results in a funny wrap-up gag. Overall, it's one of their weakest efforts. The basic premise was later re-worked as THE FLYING DEUCES (1939).

The Laurel and Hardy Sound Shorts (1930)

NIGHT OWLS
This one has a lot of potential, but never seems quite as funny as it could have been. Officer Edgar Kennedy is warned by the Chief of Police that unless he makes an arrest soon in the string of burglaries that have been occurring in the neighborhood, he's out of a job. So he recruits vagrants Laurel and Hardy to break in to the Chief's home and will save the day by arresting them. The idea of the boys as burglars and their various failed attempts to enter the house without making a sound seems like the kind of thing that could have resulted in a minor classic, but for some reason the gags never quite pay off. This one was also shot simultaneously in a Spanish-language version titled LADRONES, which features an alternate and slightly extended ending.


BLOTTO
This is one of my favorites. The boys sneak off for an evening to a swanky new nightclub that's just opened in town, and bring along a bottle of Mrs. Laurel's best liquor (not realizing that she's swapped its contents with raw tea, as revenge for their little scheme). Watching it this time around, I was struck by the comparatively high production values that Hal Roach put in to these short films. The Rainbow Club set is an elaborate Art Deco affair, filled with extras, and Laurel and Hardy's entrance into the club is shot with a high-angle dolly shot that takes advantage of the full scope of the production design. It also contains one of the boys' most infectious "laughing" routines, as they become intoxicated by the phony liquor. The surviving copies derive from a 1937 reissue print, featuring the musical underscoring that would become standard. A simultaneously-shot Spanish language version, LA VIDA NOCTURNA, features extended nightclub acts among other differences.

BRATS
Despite its gimmicky premise (the boys play both themselves and their infant sons), this one works very well, and is impressive for its forced perspective in shots involving oversized props. Another example of the extreme care and expense that went in to making these films at this time. Contains one of the best "Laurel-isms": "You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be lead." And the build-up to that final gag, with the bathtub overflowing, delivers big on its payoff. One of the Laurel and Hardy comedies that was reissued later in the '30s with a new bed of musical underscoring, featuring the familiar LeRoy Shield tunes that had become a staple of Hal Roach comedies. The difference between the new soundtrack and its 1930 counterpart reveal how much those melodies contributed to the films and worked with the image to create a unique rhythm all their own.

BELOW ZERO
One of the strangest, and yet also one of the most interesting, comedies the team ever made. It's one of those films that is as much about their characters as anything else, a poignantly funny examination of their friendship. This is also perhaps the first of their films that clearly presents their characters as childlike outsiders alone in a cruel world, a dynamic they would explore more often especially in their features. The setting is a particularly tough and seedy part of town, where Laurel and Hardy attempt to scrape together enough to eat by working as street musicians. Their luck turns when they find a lost wallet, but this quickly attracts the attention of local pickpockets. Saved by a policeman, they offer to take their new friend out for dinner to show their gratitude, but it turns out the wallet they found just happens to belong to the cop. Unlike Chaplin's Tramp, who would have immediately been suspicious of the cop and would never have invited him to dine in the first place, or Keaton, who would have accepted the situation with a bemused shrug, Stan and Ollie are much more trusting, and see the officer as a friend and protector in their rough surroundings, which makes the final outcome all the more poignant. Contains one of those surreal sight gags Laurel was so fond of: dumped in a barrel of water, he proceeds to drink the entire contents, emerging with a giant, swelled belly.


HOG WILD
One of their very best. Taking as simple a premise as trying to install a rooftop antenna, the result is a sublime masterpiece of construction. Not much more to say about this one except that it's one of the few truly perfect comedy films. This is the kind of material Laurel and Hardy could do better than anyone else and that made them so special.

THE LAUREL-HARDY MURDER CASE
This one gets a bad rap in some quarters, and indeed I've frequently seen it cited as the worst film the team ever made. I'm certainly in the minority on this one, but I find it to be a quite funny send-up of the "old dark house" genre that was so popular at the time. I must admit I'm partial to "fright humor", and when it's done right (Abbott and Costello were masters of it, and Bob Hope's THE GHOST BREAKERS and Don Knotts' THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN are classics of this kind), it leaves me in stitches. The boys go to an old mansion to hear the reading of the late Uncle Ebenezer Laurel's will. A detective (Fred Kelsey, of course), suspecting foul play was involved, places the guests under house arrest while he investigates. When Laurel and Hardy retire to their room for the evening, they are so jumpy and on-edge that every little creak sends them into hysterics. Some may find this tiresome, but the atmosphere is genuinely creepy and spooky enough that it works for me. The funereal pacing is eerie and unsettling, taking its cue from the kinds of films it was sending up. The "dream" ending is certainly weak, though. Certainly not a minor classic or anything, just funnier than its reputation might suggest.

ANOTHER FINE MESS
A remake of their earlier silent DUCK SOUP, itself based on a music hall sketch by Laurel's father. The premise is a bit more complicated than usual, and even at three reels, there is still a lot of plot to cram in. Laurel and Hardy are tramps on the run from the cops, who seek refuge in a house belonging to big game hunter Col. Buckshot (James Finlayson). While Buckshot's away on safari, the servants have put the place up for rent, and an interested wealthy couple have come to take a tour of it. To avoid capture, Ollie is forced to pose as Col. Buckshot, and Stan pulls double duty as both his butler and maid. They get a lot of mileage out of the comic role-playing, but it runs out of steam by the end. Laurel's appearance in drag as Agnes the maid is a lot of fun, and his scenes with Thelma Todd are a delight, but all in all, the premise wears thin by the time Finlayson shows up at the end and a chase ensues.

The Laurel and Hardy Sound Shorts (1929)

UNACCUSTOMED AS WE ARE
Laurel and Hardy's first talkie is a domestic farce of the kind they had done a number of times before, but demonstrates how instinctively and naturally suited they were for the sound film medium. Unlike other clowns, such as W.C. Fields or The Marx Bros. who relied primarily on their distinctive delivery for full effect, Laurel and Hardy found creative ways of using sound itself as a source of humor -- probably moreso than any other comedian until Jacques Tati. While still technically primitive in terms of the recording quality, the film contains a number of inventive sound gags, such as Mae Busch haranguing Hardy in rhythm with a blaring phonograph record. They later re-worked the premise of this film into their 1938 feature, BLOCKHEADS.


BERTH MARKS
This is frequently cited by critics and fans alike as one of the team's lesser efforts, particularly for its protracted sequence in which Laurel and Hardy get tangled up in eachothers' clothing while changing in an upper train berth. They were still clearly struggling with adapting their pacing to sound at this early stage. The best part is the opening scene, with the boys continually missing eachother at the train station. This sequence features a great sound gag, with the train conductor rattling off the names of the destinations at an intelligible speed.


MEN O'WAR
I enjoyed this one less this time around. It used to be one of my favorites; now, I find it bogged down by the forced chaos of the boating sequence that ends the picture, though it's an improvement over BERTH MARKS' clothes-ripping finale. The "soda fountain" scene is of course a classic, itself a re-working of a scene in their earlier silent SHOULD MARRIED MEN GO HOME? Abbott and Costello did a similar routine years later, and while their version is certainly funny, it also feels somewhat mechanical, a fine performance by a talented comedy team, whereas Laurel and Hardy's version works so well because it stems naturally from their characters. The second half, consisting one of those tit-for-tat battles that had worked so well in their silent films, suffers from serious pacing issues due to the new challenges presented by sound. Unlike the tightly-edited finales of YOU'RE DARN TOOTIN' or THE BATTLE OF THE CENTURY, this sequence is comparatively clunky and clumsy, a decided disappointment after the relaxed pace of the first half.


THE PERFECT DAY
With this film, Laurel and Hardy prove once again that they needed only the simplest of situations on which to build a sublime comedy. Considered their first really great sound film in some quarters, it's certainly a big improvement on the pacing of their previous talkies, and demonstrates how effectively the team could milk a single situation for maximum comic potential. Edgar Kennedy works especially well with the boys here, as their cantankerous uncle whose gouty foot manages to get stomped on and slammed in the car door at every opportunity. Kennedy was a great foil for the team, and it's a shame he didn't work with them more frequently in the sound shorts. Brilliant use of sound effects in this one, especially when Hardy hits Laurel over the head with the clutch. I can only imagine the uproarious reaction that must have provoked from audiences in 1929. The final sight gag, with the car sinking into a giant puddle, is a perfect topper to this fine little comedy.


THEY GO BOOM!
A minor effort from their first year of making sound films, this one shows how quickly and naturally Laurel and Hardy adapted to talkies. The pacing and technical issues that had marked their early sound shorts are nowhere to be found here. The premise is simple: the boys are tenants in a seedy boarding house. Ollie's sick in bed with a cold, and Stan's attempts at helping him lead to one disaster after another. Contains the great sight gag of the over-inflated air mattress that finally explodes when Hardy sneezes. They had used the boarding house setting before in ANGORA LOVE, and would return to it a couple years later in LAUGHING GRAVY (1931).


THE HOOSE-GOW
This little prison comedy seems to be rarely regarded as one of the team's better efforts, probably because it lacks any really memorable gags or scenes (though I've always been partial to the moment when Hardy accidentally chops down a tree containing a prison guard station). The rice-throwing finale, between the prisoners and the board of governors, fails to build the necessary pace in order to really work effectively. Still, the film is overall leisurely-paced and pleasantly funny enough, especially when Stan and Ollie get to play with axes and picks, which is always good for some laughs.

The Medicine Man (1930)

Jack Benny stars in a rare dramatic turn in this odd and rather unpleasant melodrama. A charming but predatory snake oil salesman, in town with his medicine show to bilk the locals, strikes up a romance with a vulnerable young woman who, along with her younger brother, suffers cruel abuse at the hands of her father.

Benny is surprisingly effective as the medicine show huckster, making the character's sympathetic turn at the end believable through his usual affable personality. But the film's attempt at a happy ending is undercut by the relentless cruelty and meanness of many of the scenes, and the overall effect leaves a bad taste.

The Informer (1929)

British part-talkie version of the Liam O'Flaherty play -- later famously filmed by John Ford in 1935 -- about an IRA member, Gypo Nolan, who has a crisis of conscience when he informs on a fellow party member, Francis McPhillip, wanted for murder, resulting in McPhillip's death at the hands of the police, and an ill-gotten cash reward for Nolan.

The great Swedish actor Lars Hanson offers an interesting interpretation of Gypo Nolan, quite different from Victor McLaglen's take on the character in the Ford remake. Hanson brings a real intensity to the role, conveying the character's haunted conscience and sense of guilt from the moment he betrays his comrade, and the knowledge of the inevitable fate that awaits him in return for his actions. This was also the final film of Hungarian actress Lya De Putti, who delivers a strong performance as Nolan's girlfriend, who has her own crisis of conscience when the IRA leaders come looking for him.

Made during the transitional period for sound film technology, it is an odd hybrid of silent footage (with music and effects) during the first half, and mostly synchronized dialogue in the second half (both Hanson and De Putti are somewhat distractingly dubbed). Arthur Robison's direction is most distinctive in the silent sequences, aided greatly by the high-contrast cinematography of Werner Brandes and Theodor Sparkuhl, and marked by a remarkably fluid use of the camera and editing, while the sound sequences are more stagy, too often bringing the action to a halt for the dialogue. The climax in the church is an exceptionally powerful and beautiful scene, with an effective combination of sound and image.

The 39 Steps (1935)

It seems odd to think of this as an "early" Hitchcock film, since the director already had well over a dozen films (including a couple of minor classics) under his belt by the time he made this one, but it is a significant prototype for his later work that looks forward to themes, plot devices and imagery he would return to again throughout his career. Even with its excellent script, and fine performances by Robert Donat and Madeleine Carroll, it's really the little moments, the subtle but effective touches that Hitchcock brings to the material, that make this one hold up so well. It's certainly one of his most formally inventive works, representing perhaps the moment when Hitchcock's use of sound caught up with his mastery of the image to create his first wholly-realized masterpiece in the sound film medium.

Two moments in particular stand out: the moment when the maid discovers the body of a murdered woman, and turns to the camera with her mouth wide open in horror -- but instead of a scream, we hear the piercing whistle of the train in the shot that immediately follows; and the moment when the pious but hypocritical crofter, discovering that his wife has given away his best coat to the fugitive, begins to beat her mercilessly (off-screen) before cutting away to the sounds of hearty laughter from Donat and the local constable as they inspect a conveniently-placed hymn book, left in the front pocket of the crofter's coat, that has stopped a bullet from hitting Donat's heart.

The Face at the Window (1939)

Atmospheric British thriller -- starring magnificent, eccentric screen villain Tod Slaughter in a characteristically fine performance -- about a series of mysterious murders by a killer known only as "The Wolf" that have left 1880 Paris in a grip of fear. The on-screen introductory text lets us know what to expect, describing the story as a "melodrama of the old school - dear to the hearts of all who enjoy either a shudder or a laugh at the heights of villainy".

Slaughter has a fascinating and commanding screen presence, conveying a grand, melodramatic villainy in the finest over-the-top theatrical tradition that he perfected on the Victorian stage. I first encountered his work in the 1936 film of THE DEMON BARBER OF FLEET STREET, and was captivated by his performance as Sweeney Todd. He became a familiar face in low-budget British thrillers of the '30s and '40s, with his macabre sense of humor perfectly suited to the tone of these films. Slaughter clearly had a great deal of fun with these juicy roles, while still managing to be genuinely terrifying when the story called for it. He's even afforded an especially garish death scene here.

The production is enhanced by a strong period atmosphere that belies the film's low budget. Good, exciting fun that never takes itself too seriously and is all the better for it.

Marihuana (1936)

Also known as THE WEED WITH ROOTS IN HELL, this is an above-average exploitation flick by Dwain Esper. The cautionary tale begins when a group of teens, seeking new thrills, succumb to the temptation of the "giggle weed" at a beach party one night. Before they know it, they're incapacitated by maniacal laughter and give themselves over to wild debauchery. It's all fun and games until one of their party drowns while skinny-dipping, and another girl, Burma, finds herself pregnant. After the father is killed while smuggling drugs, Burma gives up her baby on the advice of the dealers, and is roped in to selling drugs herself. She begins to enjoy the high life of a drug dealer with her reputation as "Blondie, Ice Queen of the Snow Peddlers", but her newfound success is threatened when she decides to kidnap her own child back, and must learn that crime does not pay.

Esper takes this sensationalist material and turns it into as stylistic tour-de-force that sometimes borders on the unintentionally surreal. The pacing is at times languid, almost dreamlike, and creates an odd and disorienting effect when intercut with undercranked silent footage, such as in the nocturnal skinny-dipping sequence. There are some good camera moves as well, and at one point Esper finds creative ways of obscuring frontal nudity with clever camera angles. He also employs an effective use of classical music on the soundtrack, particularly in the sequence where Burma is forced to walk home after rejecting her boyfriend's sexual advances, with the tone of the music creating an interesting contrast with the tone of the scene.

But most of all, Esper is clearly having a ball exploiting the subject matter, and makes sure his audiences -- who spent their hard-earned money to see it -- have fun too. With its scenes of wild parties, playful nudity and illicit drug-taking, this one's a hoot.

The Birdcage (1996)

Watched this one tonight in honor of Robin Williams' untimely passing. The film is just as funny as ever, but it was certainly sad to watch it and realize we will never see any more performances by this incredibly gifted actor and funnyman.

A remake of the French farce "La Cage Aux Folles", THE BIRDCAGE holds up well on the strength of its phenomenal cast headed by Williams, Nathan Lane, Gene Hackman and Dianne Weist, ably supported by fine character actors including Christine Baranski, Tom McGowan and especially Hank Azaria. Williams and Lane are a joy to watch, and you can't help but get caught up in the fun they're clearing having with the material. Williams is generally playing straight man to Lane here, but he has a few moments where his brilliant, manic comic energy comes through at full force. He also manages some quietly subdued and genuinely touching moments, too.

Elaine May's screenplay offers many funny if familiar comedy situations, the best of which come directly from its French predecessor, combined with some mild satire of Clinton-era political scandals and the 24 hour news cycle. Mike Nichols' expert direction keeps things moving at a good pace and effectively builds the energy required of a farce comedy. But most of all it is the great performances that sell the premise and make this one a favorite I return to every so often when I need a good laugh.

The Big Boodle (1957)

Tight, tough little thriller about an American croupier in Havana (Errol Flynn, in a fine late-career performance) who finds himself wanted by both the police and a crime syndicate after a mysterious woman passes him 500 counterfeit pesos over the gambling table one night. Flynn brings a subdued energy and quiet dignity to his role of the unlucky casino dealer trying to clear his name. Richard Wilson's skillful but unpretentious direction keeps the suspense strong and the story moving at a good pace through its many twists and turns toward the exciting climax at Morro Castle. Good location photography of pre-Castro era Havana by Lee Garmes adds to the atmosphere.

Haxan (1922)

Silent horror film from Denmark that has established something of a cult following over the years, about the history and practice of witchcraft in the middle ages. Astonishing direction by Benjamin Christensen demonstrates a singular visual style, bringing a painterly quality to the lighting through heavy use of shadows and high-contrast effects to achieve some indelible imagery. In its depiction of witchcraft and Satanic rituals, the film retains its power to unsettle and shock, with a liberal of amount of nudity and disturbing images such as demons draining the blood out of an infant before tossing it into a cauldron, and the witches lining up and kissing the devil's bare ass. Christensen himself plays Satan as a hideous, scaly, horned creature with a perpetually protruding and lascivious tongue. The various demonic creatures, with their grotesque masks and makeup, are especially horrifying in their design. There are some interesting depictions of the witches' rites and rituals, and the medieval witch hunts and instruments of torture used to extract confessions from them. Christensen ends his historical survey with an epilogue that offers hysteria as an explanation of supposed cases of demonic possession in the modern era, drawing a comparison between the persecution of the mentally ill with the persecution of accused witches in medieval times.

However, due to Christensen's approach to the material, the film does suffer from pacing and structural issues. It contains a number of truly memorable images, some of them among the most powerful and evocative from the entire silent era, but too many scenes tend to drag, especially when focusing on the minutiae of certain historical details, and overall the film feels like less than the sum of its parts.

Re-released in 1968 in a special sound version titled WITCHCRAFT THROUGH THE AGES, with an effective modern jazz score and narration by William S. Burroughs.

Seven Footprints to Satan (1929)

Delirious, terrifying late-silent American horror film, directed by Danish filmmaker Benjamin Christensen (HAXAN). A timid, wealthy young idler (Creighton Hale) dreams of going on big adventures to Africa, but on the night of a society ball, he and his financee (Thelma Todd) are kidnapped and taken to the lair of a group of Satanists, who enslave and torture victims through various means. The young couple encounter one gruesome, uncanny character after another in their attempts to escape before they are called for a meeting with Satan himself to determine their fate.

Christensen pulls out all the stops, employing the kind of highly-stylized lighting effects and grotesque imagery that he used so effectively in HAXAN, and putting it to the service of an "old dark house" thriller. He finds a magnificent use for some of Hollywood's most unusual character actors, with the likes of Sheldon Lewis, William V. Mong, Sojin, Nora Cecil, and Angelo Rossitto among the bizarre residents in the Satanists' den. Christensen's penchant for perverse imagery includes such moments as a young girl (Loretta Young, in one of her earliest roles) being stripped, bound and lashed as her feet are pawed by a gorilla (played by, who else, Charles Gemora).

The basic set-up is the stuff of countless "old dark house" movies, so popular around this time with films like THE CAT AND THE CANARY (1927), THE CAT CREEPS and THE BAT WHISPERS (both 1930), and it's even possible to imagine it being played for "fright" comedy by someone like Bob Hope or Lou Costello. But in Christensen's hands, this familiar premise turns dark, taking a genuinely sinister turn, and becomes the stuff of nightmares. Indeed, the film has the emotionally-draining effect of a bad dream. It's exhausting, frustrating, terrifying, and even the light tone of its last-minute, twist ending does not alleviate the horror that has been built up over the previous hour, instead ringing as ironically false as Murnau's happy ending to THE LAST LAUGH. By that point, Christensen has already done his work in scaring us.

High School Hellcats (1958)

Routine bit of '50s juvenile delinquency exploitation from AIP, about a good girl who arrives at a new school and tries to win the approval of the school's all-girl gang, but soon finds herself in over her head when things get out of control. The story has echoes of REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE in its premise of an alienated teen rebelling against her distant parents who just don't understand her. Nowhere near as lurid as its title suggests, it's never quite as much fun as it seems like it should have been. Only the finale -- a visually striking sequence taking place in an abandoned, dark movie theater -- achieves the really melodramatic, hysterical tone that could have enlivened the rest of the film.

Africa Screams (1949)

Average Abbott & Costello vehicle, with Bud and Lou as a couple of New York department store salesmen who join a safari to Africa after convincing a scheming fortune hunter (Hillary Brooke) that Lou possesses knowledge of a rare map that will lead them to diamonds. What the film lacks in top-notch comedy material, it makes up for in a top-notch cast, especially Shemp Howard as a far-sighted crack shot and Joe Besser as the fussy butler. There are also fun appearances by Clyde Beatty and Frank Buck, playing themselves, and Max and Buddy Baer as a suitably tough pair of henchmen.

As one of the team's independently-produced pictures, it shows its low budget, with the safari clearly taking place entirely on sound stages and studio tanks, but in some ways the artifice just adds to the charm of the film. It certainly benefits from the skillful direction of the always-reliable Charles Barton. Though it's below the level of their best work, it still provides some solid comedy, especially in Costello's interactions with Howard and Besser. Costello also gets some good "fright" gags involving various wild animals, which are always good for a laugh. Other highlights include Costello trapped in a lion's cage, and a subsequent scene in which Abbott -- believing the lion has devoured Costello -- laments inconsolably about the way he treated his old pal, until he realizes Costello is still alive, and immediately loses his temper and smacks him across the face.

The best gag occurs as a throwaway. While Bud and Lou are having a heated argument in their tent, Joe Besser keeps popping in and out, filling up a glass of water. When they finally ask him what he's doing, Besser replies, with his inimitable delivery,  "Oh, my tent is on fire!"

Bad Day at Black Rock (1955)

Violent, suspenseful modern-day Western, about a one-armed stranger, John J. McCreedy (Spencer Tracy), who shows up unexpectedly in a small, desolate town to investigate the mysterious disappearance of a Japanese farmer. The town has been all-but-abandoned except for a group of vicious, racist thugs who hold the locals in a grip of terror, even rendering the sheriff powerless. Tracy, finding himself up against a formidable cast of menacing tough guys, including Robert Ryan, Lee Marvin, and Ernest Borgnine, quickly figures out that the men don't want him poking around for fear of what he might find, and realizes he has to get out of town before he ends up their next victim.

John Sturges' masterful use of the Scope frame showcases the vast, bleak expanse of the Western landscapes, utilizing the large, sprawling spaces in unique ways to create a disorienting sense of claustrophobia. Sturges also handles the action sequences with characteristic skill, particularly the violent match in which Tracy brutalizes Borgnine with Judo moves, and the suspenseful show-down between Tracy and Ryan. Tracy is particularly effective in his role, bringing a world-weariness to the character that suggests he has seen a lot and is prepared to seek justice at any cost, and Borgnine stands out among the supporting cast, expertly demonstrating his range in playing a maniacal thug. The film benefits immensely from William C. Mellor's cinematography, Newell P. Kimlin's tight editing, and Andre Previn's rousing score.

Underworld (1927)

Josef von Sternberg's prototypical gangster film prefigures the "classic" Warner Bros. gangster films of the early '30s, both in terms of plot and characterizations, to an astonishing degree, although it was one of several such films that appeared around the time (Lewis Milestone's THE RACKET being another example).

The plot centers around a romantic triangle between gangster Bull Weed (George Bancroft), his girlfriend Feathers (Evelyn Brent), and reformed alcoholic lawyer "Rolls Royce" (Clive Brook), whom Bull had rescued from the gutter. Bull is so busy defending his Chicago gangland territory that he hardly realizes what is transpiring between his girlfriend and the lawyer until it's too late. The resulting tensions culminate in an exciting finale in which Bull, holed up in his apartment, shoots it out with the cops before having a change of heart after learning of Feathers' true affection for him.

Despite its rather soft ending, the film boasts an excellent script by Chicago newspaperman Ben Hecht, who won an Academy Award for his work. Featuring stunning cinematography by Bert Glennon, shot with characteristic Paramount high-gloss, UNDERWORLD is a key work in the formation of the gangster film, and a triumph of style under Sternberg's direction.

To Catch a Thief (1955)

Made during the height of Hitchcock’s creative powers, this film is easy to dismiss as a relative trifle compared to his better-remembered films from that period, but its paper-thin plot doesn't matter much when you have the gorgeous location photography, French Riviera setting, and of course Cary Grant and Grace Kelly. One criticism I have of Hitchcock’s work from this period (especially his remake of THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH) is that it occasionally feels over-produced where the simpler, lighter touch of his British work might have worked even better, and there are moments in THIEF that feel unnecessarily drawn out in this regard (particularly the costume ball toward the end). All in all, however, it’s the kind of cinematic confection that Hitchcock had pretty much perfected by this point in his career.

I sometimes wonder if this one gets overlooked because it was not included among Hitchcock’s Paramount titles that were sold to Universal, and is therefore excluded from that studio’s home video box sets and is perhaps not as easily accessible (plus the current Paramount DVD leaves something to be desired in comparison to the restorations that Universal did on his other films). [Seen at Loew's Jersey, 35mm print, January 26, 2013.]

Barefoot in the Park (1967)

I am not normally a big fan of Neil Simon's plays, and those works of his that I enjoy most have usually taken me a couple viewings to really get in to. My response to them probably has something to do with the shrill tone of much of his humor, with characters and situations that can border on the unpleasant. I had a similarly lukewarm reaction to this romantic farce, centering around a mismatched newly-wed couple -- she a free-spirit, he a conservative lawyer -- adjusting to the bohemian lifestyle in a run-down little Greenwich Village flat populated by oddball characters. Adapted by Simon from his 1963 play, much of the humor is strikingly dated now, and probably seemed a little dated already by 1967.

Jane Fonda and Robert Redford are effective enough in the leads, but lack the chemistry to make the most of their comic sparring. Fonda brings the requisite energy to her role, but Redford seems ill-at-ease with playing comedy. The real stand-outs in the cast are the delightful Mildred Natwick as Fonda's mother, and Charles Boyer as the eccentric neighbor who lives upstairs. The film is not helped by the slack pacing and unimaginative direction by Gene Saks, which fails to really capture the energy that the material probably had on the stage. There are too many situations that feel underdeveloped, especially the climax on the roof of the apartment building, which has the opportunity for some good "thrill" comedy but goes nowhere. Overall, it's a charming-enough film, but one that suffers from missed potential.