Battle Royale #14: Battle of the Laconic Leading Men (The Results)

So, we have a battle of two of the greatest leading men in cinematic history, and can only convince 32 people to decide between them?  Crazy, I tell ya, crazy.  Well, anyway, after our second lowest voter turnout in Battle Royale history, we do have a winner to announce between the battle between laconic leading men, Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck.  And that winner is, with a difference of just two votes, 17 to 15, or 53% to 47% for the stats nerds in the crowd, Mr. Frank James Cooper, better known as Gary Cooper.  Yes folks, it looks like Sergeant York is slightly more popular than Atticus Finch. Lou Gehrig over Captain Ahab.  Jimmy Ringo beaten down by Link Jones.  But yeah, it was pretty damn close - just the way we like it here at The Most Beautiful Fraud in the World - and therefore, a true battle.  A true Battle Royale.  Then again, the voter turnout would make this an even better thing.  With each Battle Royale, I wish and hope to get those voting numbers into the triple digits, but it has yet to happen.  With a career best of 66 votes (waaay back in Battle Royale #2) and a career low of 28, it just seems like the idea of such an ongoing contest is something unwanted by most people out there.  You would think there would be enough classic cinema fans out there in cyberland to make this kind of thing a big success, but alas, it does not seem to be.  But enough bellyachin', we have another Battle Royale to prepare for in just a few days, and this one is going to be a tough one...a tough guy one in fact.  See ya in a few days with the battlin' combatants - and maybe this time more people will care about the whole shebang.

Guest Review: Carter Liotta Looks at Val Lewton - Part I

The following is the first in a series of guest reviews by my good friend, Carter Liotta.  Mild mannered eye doctor during the day, and ravenous cinephile at night, Liotta, whose writing, digital videos and pithiness can be found at his delightfully droll Wordpress sight, takes a look at the works of legendary film producer Val Lewton.  We here at The Most Beautiful Fraud in the World (which means, me) are glad to have him aboard.  Enjoy.

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Cat People (1942)

In 1942, the studio heads at RKO gave Val Lewton his first title to turn into a movie,  Cat People.  On a budget of $150,000 and with no-name actors, what could have become a display of sub-par special effects and bad makeup instead was turned into a taut, psychological drama by Lewton and his team.

Written by DeWitt Bodeen, and directed by Jacques Tourneur, Cat People follows the Lewton formula for which his other movies would become known: two scenes of implied, questionable horror, one scene of actual, graphic horror, cut, wrap, print.  Lewton’s sense of terror dealt with the unseen and the unknown – the feeling of being followed, or the sense of being watched, rather than the blood and gore of slasher films, or the terrifying monsters of Universal Studios.  Indeed the first half of Cat People could easily be mistaken for a relationship drama.

We are introduced to Irena (Simone Simon), an immigrant from Serbia, and Oliver (Kent Smith), the architect that meets her at the Central Park Zoo in front of the panther cage and decides to court her.  By the time their first date ends, she has dramatically recounted cultural lore: the village she left behind was filled with Satanists who ran to the hills when King John brought Christianity to Serbia. Allegedly, there are still descendants of these Satanists who, provoked by anger or sex or jealousy, turn into giant panthers.  

Irena believes that she may be one of these “cat people,” but Oliver assures her that the lore is poppycock and marries her.  Fearing demonic transition, Irena refuses to kiss her husband, much less consummate the marriage, and Oliver, thinking that his wife is crazy, seeks advice from a psychiatrist (Tom Conway) as well as his co-worker, Alice (Jane Randolph).  When Irena learns that Oliver is seeking counsel and emotional support from another woman, she begins to spy, and is piqued by jealousy.

It is during the third quarter of the movie that it launches into horror.  Neither Oliver nor Alice believe that Irena can really turn into a cat.  But why does Jane feel she is being stalked?  Did the wind rattle the bushes, or was something there?  Are the shadows in the indoor swimming area a giant cat, or a trick of the eye and reflections of the water?  Moreover, Irena has the keys to the panther cage at the zoo – so if it is a cat, is it the zoo panther, or Irena?

Beyond the obvious plot, are the movie’s subtexts – Irena’s shame of sex and emotion brought on by the religion of her youth, further given life by Simone Simon’s cold, detached performance.

Cat People was lensed by Nicholas Musuranca, who, with Jacques Tourneur went on to make Out of the Past, a noir masterpiece.  Like a great noir, the movie is as much about fog and shadows, sharp angles and high contrast black-and-white, as it is about the actual plot devices.  Cat People is also about sound, be it the clicking of shoes on pavement or the echoing of screams in an indoor pool.  Sound is cheap on a low budget, and John Cass, an A+ Foley artist working for RKO’s B-movie department, provides terrifying ambiance.

Of note: The luxurious apartment in which Irena lives was the mansion set constructed for Orson Welles’ The Magnificent Ambersons. Cat People cost $134,000 to make, and grossed $4 million, while Ambersons cost $850,000 and lost $620,000.

Pennlive Go Watch This: Marcel Camus' Black Orpheus

Well kids, it looks like I have another new gig.  This time it is a monthly-ish (?) piece for the fine folks over at Pennlive, a local news and entertainment website.  These are mainly just little fluff pieces, nothing in depth at all, but as they say, a byline is a byline.  But seriously folks, Go Watch This is a series that is meant to have local film knowledgeable peeps take a look at lesser known films - at least lesser known by mainstream standards - and tell the less film knowledgeable peeps why they need to, um...go watch this.  My first piece for the series is on Marcel Camus' beautiful 1959 film, Black Orpheus.  Coincidentally (not really), Black Orpheus also happens to be playing on May 18th and 19th at Midtown Cinema (the art house cinema my lovely wife and I run, for those not in the know), so it acts as a plug as well.  Anyway, go to the link below and check it out, as thee kids are saying.  My next one will be in June sometime.

Read my article on Marcel Camus' Black Orpheus at Pennlive's Go Watch This.

Guest Review: Carter Liotta Looks at Val Lewton - Introduction

The following is the introduction to a series of guest reviews by my good friend, Carter Liotta.  Mild mannered eye doctor in the daylight, and ravenous cinephile at night, Liotta, whose writing, digital videos and pithiness can be found at his delightfully droll Wordpress sight, takes a look at the works of legendary film producer Val Lewton.  We here at The Most Beautiful Fraud in the World (which means, me) are glad to have him aboard.  Enjoy.

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Val Lewton: Movie Producer

In 1941, RKO Radio Pictures was struggling.  The studio, famous for releases like King Kong,  was being run into the ground by studio president George G. Schaefer.  Schaefer’s goal had become producing “quality movies at a premium prices,” and its relationship with auteur Orson Wells had buried the studio $2 million in the red at a time when a half-million dollar return was considered a good year.  By 1942, a full shakeup was in order.  Schaefer resigned, and many RKO employees who were not fired or did not seek jobs elsewhere were demoted to RKO’s B-movie unit. 

Charles Koerner was hired to replace Schaefer, and made an immediate decision regarding the studio, embodied in his motto: "entertainment, not genius." It was Koerner who, observing the huge profits that Universal Studios was making with monster movies, made the decision to hire a young assistant producer away from David O. Selznick to head up the B-Unit Horror division at RKO.  His name was Val Lewton.

The rules of the game were simple: Lewton world be paid $250 a week to produce movies that cost less than $150,000.  They would each be less than 75 minutes long, to play the bottom half of a double feature.  Finally, Lewton would be given a title that had been market-tested, and would have to conjure a movie based on the title alone.  What he did with the title was up to him.

Lewton brought a number of talented people with him, including screenwriter DeWitt Bodeen, who also worked for David O. Selznick.  The two would often screen dozens of monster movies from other studios, long into the night, with the intention of "eliminating as many cliches of the genre as possible."

In addition to Bodeen, Lewton hired director Jacques Tourneur, with whom he worked on the second unit of Selznick's A Tale of Two Cities.  Lewton also gave RKO soundman, and later West Side Story director, Robert Wise, his first break at the helm.

Shooting schedules were generally under a month - some as few as 18 days.  Lewton, in spite of a limited budget, used the resources at RKO to their fullest extent.  He frequently utilized sets already built for other movies, took advantage of RKO's vast prop department, integrated stock footage from other films, and had the luck of working with talented editors and Foley artists who previously worked with Orson Welles and on expensive productions.

Charles Koerner died in 1946, forcing an upheaval at RKO and the shattering of Lewton's department.  Lewton worked the major studios until his own death in 1951.  Lewton's most famous body of work were his RKO productions between 1942-1946, and in the coming weeks, I will review the films found in The Val Lewton Horror Collection:

• Cat People
• The Curse of the Cat People
• I Walked with a Zombie
• The Body Snatcher
• Isle of the Dead
• Bedlam
• The Leopard Man
• The Ghost Ship
• The Seventh Victim

My hope is to re-introduce the movies of a man who did great things on film with virtually no budget.

Battle Royale #12: Battle of the Foxy Flappers

Welcome to the twelfth Battle Royale here at The Most Beautiful Fraud in the World.   It is an ongoing series that will pit two classic cinematic greats against each other - and you can vote for who is the greater by clicking your choice over in the poll at the top of the sidebar.

For the twelfth installment of Battle Royale, we are heading back to those halcyon pre-code days of the late silent era and the early sound era - back to that Jazz Age where the booze ran freely (though in supposed hush hush, of course) and the women ran even more so - and how (and not so hush hush).  Yessiree, we are heading back to the days of the flapper.  The days of the bootlegger and the Bronx cheer.  The days of the hood and the hooch and the horsefeathers.  Back to the days when sex sold, and we weren't afraid to say so.  And what two better flappers, what two foxier flappers can you think of, than Miss Louise Brooks and Miss Clara Bow.  Yep, that's right kiddies, it's Lulu versus the It Girl.  Time to get your vote on.  But first, in case you are woefully unfamiliar with these two cinematic beauties - and yes, everyone should be acquainted with them, it has been eighty-some years since either one could be considered relevant in the film industry - please allow me to expand your knowledge base just a bit.

Mary Louise Brooks, a Kansas girl from way back, was just on the verge of superstardom when sound came around, but due to not wanting to be controlled by the studios, or more specifically, Adolph Zukor and Paramount Pictures, the actress with the distinctive bob haircut (she started a trend ya know) and the nickname of Lulu, packed her bags and went off to Germany, becoming the muse for German auteur Georg Wilhelm Pabst, probably second only to Fritz Lang in popularity at the time in theses pre-Hitler days.  Brooks would make just two films with Pabst, but both of them, Pandora's Box and Diary of a Lost Girl, both released in 1929, are still considered masterpieces to this day.  After returning to Hollywood, Brooks' career was stunted, as, thanks to Zukor's unofficial blacklisting of the actress, she was only able to get small parts in mediocre movies, or big parts in terrible movies.  She would retire from acting in 1938, and would eventually, after years of alcohol abuse, become a writer, specializing in the cinema of her youth.  

Meanwhile, Clara Bow, easily the bigger star of the two at the time, was known as the It Girl, and would become the epitome of the flapper on film (though don't let that sway your vote here).  Starring in many flapper films of the age, as well as a role in Wings, the very first Best Picture Oscar winner, Bow was a shining star at Paramount, but her private life left more than a bit of uproar.  Much like the aforementioned Miss Brooks, Bow was a rather boisterous person, and indeed, quite the partier.  Of course, many in Hollywood were quite rambunctious in those days, but Bow took such a life to extremes.  After getting married, retiring from acting in 1933, and moving onto ranch life in the wilds of Nevada, Bow said of her career, "My life in Hollywood contained plenty of uproar. I'm sorry for a lot of it but not awfully sorry. I never did anything to hurt anyone else. I made a place for myself on the screen and you can't do that by being Mrs. Alcott's idea of a Little Women."

All you need do is to go on over to the poll, found conveniently near the top of the sidebar of this very same site, and click on who you think is the greater of these two long lost legends of the screen - these two foxy flappers.  And remember, you can comment all you wish (and please do comment - we can never have too many of those) but in order for your vote to be counted, you must vote in the actual poll.  After doing that, then you can come back over here and leave all the comments your heart desires.  Who knows, maybe we will get some sort of lively cinematic discussion going.  And also please remember to tell everyone you know to get out the vote as well.  I would like to see us reach triple digits this time around.  Voting will go until midnight, EST, the night of Friday, April 5th (just over two weeks from the starting gate).  The results will be announced that weekend.  So get out there and vote vote vote.

Astaire/Rogers #2: The Gay Divorcee (1934)

The following is the second in a ten part series on the films of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.  Enjoy.  For the first installment in this series, please go here.  And now, on with the show.

1934's The Gay Divorcee, produced by RKO, the home of the first nine of the eventual ten Astaire/Rogers films, like many comedies of the time, including several other Astaire/Rogers films, plays under the assumption that if only everyone would just be honest with who they are and what their motives are, the ridiculous antics that inevitably ensue from such misunderstandings, could all be nipped in the proverbial bud.  Of course, if everyone did come clean with who and what they are, and what they are after, then we would never get to watch these said ridiculous antics that inevitably ensue - nor would we see the song and dance numbers that go hand-in-hand (or foot-to-foot) with the ridiculous antics - and considering that is pretty much the whole reason we are watching a film like this in the first place, that would be a shame - a shame indeed.

And speaking of said assumptions and misunderstandings, The Gay Divorcee is about a famous dancer (Astaire, of course) who falls for a pretty lady (Rogers, of course) while traveling in Europe, only to have every advance rebuffed.  Hell, he doesn't even know the girl's name.  But, not to fear, for Fred is an intrepid and determined little bastard, and get the girl he most certainly will.   After several funny, meet cute incidents, Fred and Ginger finally hook up in a London hotel, where her lawyer has hired a professional gigolo to come and act as her lover, so when her husband shows up, he will grant a divorce (marriage law must have been fun back then).  Fred, unbeknownst to any divorce schemes - unaware that she is even married in the first place - follows her to her room, where she promptly mistakes him for the hired gigolo.  The fact that Ginger's lawyer, and Fred's best friend, are the same person - played wonderfully by Fred and Ginger stalwart, Edward Everett Horton - just makes things even more confusing for the wouldbe couple.

But storyline aside - and really, though I mock it in my opening salvo, I do enjoy the screwballesque story here - the real reason we are watching this film is to see Fred and Ginger kick up there proverbial heels - and this one has some good ones.  First and foremost is Cole Porter's famous "Night and Day," sung and danced by Fred and Ginger overlooking a beach at night.  This number is the only holdover from the Broadway Musical.  The musical incidentally, was called the Gay Divorce, but apparently, the Hays Office would not have that, and made them add an extra e at the end.  Presumably, a divorce cannot be lighthearted and funny, but a divorcee can.  But even though the rest of Cole Porter's stage musical songs were left out, they were replaced quite nicely in the film.  One notable song is "Let's K-Knock K-nees," and it is most notable for not only excluding both Fred and Ginger (others should get some spotlight two one supposes) but being headlined by a then-still-unknown seventeen year old Betty Grable.  Sure, seven years later she would be the biggest box office star, and the best-selling pin-up girl of WWII, but here, she is still an unknown teenage girl.

The big number though, is the one that (almost) finishes the film.   "The Continental" is an elaborate seventeen and a half minute long number (the longest in a movie musical until Gene Kelly takes it a minute longer for his big ballet number in An American in Paris seventeen years later) that involves a huge chorus dancing along with Fred and Ginger.  The song would go on to win the very first Best Song Oscar ever awarded.  A great way to close out any show, and a great way to show off the talents of Fred and Ginger.   And, I suppose, we should feel lucky that we had such a number at all.  In fact we should be glad we had this film at all.  After Flying Down to Rio, Astaire was reluctant to partner with Rogers a second time.  After a partnership of nearly twenty-seven years (Fred was just six when they began), Fred had recently stopped performing with his older sister Adele, because of her marrying, and also because of Fred wanting to make a name for himself, instead of being in the shadow of another dancer.  Because of this, Fred was wary about committing to what might become another dancing partnership, but obviously, he was eventually convinced, and the second of ten team-ups did occur.  

And, on top of all this, The Gay Divorcee is the first of two Astaire/Rogers films to be nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards, the second being the following year, and arguably, the duo's most famous film, Top Hat.  But before we get to Top Hat, the duo's fourth film together, we must first talk about Roberta, which was actually headlined by Irene Dunne, with Astaire and Rogers receiving second and third billing respectively.  But not right now.  Howzabout next time around?  Until then, see ya in the funny papers.

My 25 Favourite Classics Seen for the First Time in 2012

Since I had fun doing "It" last year, I thought I would do "It" again this year.  What is "It" you ask?  Well, my funny classic film loving valentines, I will tell you.  "It" is a list of my favourite classic films - but just those classics seen by yours truly, for the first time this past calendar year.  And believe me, even though I celebrated my 45th birthday last year, there were still plenty of classics this old cinephile had yet to see - and some of these were quite good.  Quite good indeed.  So good actually, that the top ten on this list have all been added to my Favourite Films of All-Time list.  Before we get into "It," please allow me to mention one simple ground rule.  In order to make this list, said film must, of course be something I had not seen prior to 2012 (duh!), but said film must also be something I consider a classic.  In other words, it must have been made prior to 1960.  I know, I know, that leaves out some fun, let us call them, semi-classics, that I saw for the first time last year - films such as John Frankenheimer's Seconds or John Ford's 7 Women or Howard Hawks' Hatari! or John Huston's The Misfits or Russ Meyer's Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! - but hey, we must draw the line somewhere, mustn't we?  Anyway, on with the show.

1. Gun Crazy - Joseph H. Lewis' 1950 genre classic's got everything.  John Dall acting the tough guy, Peggy Cummins rockin' both a pre-Bonnie and Clyde beret and the hottest cowgirl outfit in cinema, and the most fun time to be had in the genre.  All this and an adventurous, rum tum tugger of a crime spree story to boot - and no one was complaining about gun violence after the damn movie.  Well, maybe they were, but still - a fun fun movie indeed.

2. Smiles of a Summer Night - Bergman was one of my first loves when I first started getting into art film around seventeen or so, but for one reason or another, it took me another twenty-seven years to finally see this, one of the Swedish auteur's most acclaimed films.  Now that I finally have, it ranks number two, behind just The Seventh Seal, as my favourite Bergman.  Who knew the guy could be so funny?

3. Gilda - When Rita Hayworth, that titular gold-digging hussy of Charlie Vidor's film, first comes on the screen, her auburn locks (even in black and white) flowing through the air in brazen abandonment, poor hapless Glenn Ford is lost forever.  And guess what?  So are we.

4. Seventh Heaven - I first fell in love with Janet Gaynor in Sunrise.  This film sealed the deal.  Tiny and insecure, but plucky and determined, Gaynor's waifish wanton women here - a little girl lost really - is an amazing performance, and it, along with the aforementioned Sunrise, and her performance in Street Angel (a film that almost made this list), garnered her the very first Academy Award for Best Actress.  Oh yeah, Charles Farrell is in here too.

5. Limelight - This was the final film on my quest to see the 1000 greatest films, and what a way to go out.  Chaplin at his most resplendent.  A tragic tale - Chaplinesque tragic one might even say - that will rip out your heart and then make you laugh at the still beating thing in your hand, before finally ruining you.  Who could ask for anything more.

6. Black Orpheus - A French film made in Brazil, at the height of Carnivale, that happens to be a gorgeous - one could even say succulent, if one were so inclined - piece of cinema.  Taking on the Orphic myth, director Marcel Camus, makes a haunting (excuse me for the rather cliché term) film that is equal parts harrowing and beautiful.  I must admit, I do love a tragic love story, and they do not get much more tragic than this one.

7. Samson and Delilah - Many would claim that a film such as this, with its almost camp feel, would fall under the umbrella of guilty pleasures - but I feel no guilt from any film that I happen to like, so I suppose guiltless pleasures would be as close as we get.  Granted, the film is quite silly at times - between DeMille, Mature and Lamarr, how could it not be - but the film is also a brazen take on sexuality in a time when the production code would not allow a brazen take on sexuality - and between DeMille, Mature and Lamarr, how could it not be.

8. The White Hell of Pitz Palu - I went through a German mountain film period early last year (yeah, you read that right), and I watched all I could get my grubby little hands on.  This one, directed by G.W. Pabst and Arnold Fanck, and starring future infamous filmmaker, Leni Riefenstahl, is the best of the bunch.  And getting to watch it on the big screen, it felt almost as if I were right up there on that mountain with Leni and the gang.

9. Safe in Hell - As soon as I watched this Wild Bill Wellman-directed film, it automatically became my favourite Pre-Code film.  Sexy Dorothy Mackaill's audacious performance as a fallen woman, hiding from an abusive ex-boyfriend/trick, is one of the best of the day.  In fact, I would say, that a film such as Safe in Hell, is the whole reason the Pre-Code days are so popular with we cinephiles.

10. The Indian Epic - Cheating and including two films in one - The Tiger of Eschnapur and The Indian Tomb, make up this two part epic from Fritz Lang, made upon his return home to Germany - this amazing work - Lang's Best!! - was a huge treat to see up on the big screen.  From the underground chases to Debra Paget's oh so lovely snake dance (good thing Lang had left Hollywood, because he would have never gotten that past the Production code, even in 1959). This is the tenth of ten films that I saw for the first time last year, all of whom made my All-Time Favourite Films list.

11. Sawdust and Tinsel - I guess I just cannot stay away from Ingmar Bergman (he is one of only two directors, with two films on this list) these days. Actually, it is a re-love of Bergman, as I had sort of set the director to the side for many years - but now, thanks to this film in particular (seen on New Year's Day 2012), the love is back.

12. The Jungle Book - No, not the 1967 Disney animated film, though that is one of my favourite Disney's, but the 1942 version, directed by Zoltan Korda and starring the enigmatic Sabu.  Beautiful and colourful - Technicolorful to be exact, and that is always the best kind - it is filled with great make-believe grandeur, and who doesn't like that?

13. Louisiana Story - I first heard of this little known film, when I was looking first looking through the Sight & Sound decennial film polls.   This film, directed by Robert J. Flaherty, the man who gave us Nanook of the North, was ranked number five in their first poll back in 1952.  By 1962, the film had dropped off, never to be heard from again - at least on the S&S lists.  Granted, the film may be somewhat manipulative, as it was commissioned by Standard Oil, but there is no denying its visual and narrative beauty.

14. Les Enfants Terribles - This 1950 Jean-Pierre Mellville film, based on the 1929 Jean Cocteau novel, and probably a strong influence on Bernardo Bertolucci's 2003 film, The Dreamers, was a film I honestly was not expecting much out of, when I first saw it.  I'm not sure why, but for some reason, I just wasn't expecting much at all.   Needless to say, I kinda fell in love with this tragic-laced film, hence its inclusion here.

15. Under Capricorn - When cinephiles and scholars talk about the films of Alfred Hitchcock, this 1949 effort, is rarely even mentioned.  But, this oft-maligned, or even worse, oft-forgotten film, though not your typical Hitchcock fare, is an endlessly intriguing film.  That, and the fact that Ingrid Bergman hands in one of her finest performances here, makes Under Capricorn something that should indeed, be spoken of when discussing the films of Sir Hitchcock.

16. Zazie dans le Metro - This absurdly heeelarious French comedy, at first disguises itself as a possible coming of age tale, but eventually explodes into a screwballesque comedy of insanity - replete with visual gags and the most precocious of all cinematic urchins.  Watching it on the big screen, the small crowd gathered, laughed, as they say, our asses off.

17. Mother India - A succulent, metaphorical account of the historical changes in 20th Century India, all done as a strange Hindi epic melodrama.  Probably now my third or fourth favourite Indian film. Star - and Indian legend - Nargis, plays the role of Indian everywoman, everymother.  Her performance is quite astounding indeed, and the film itself looks like some sort of hybrid of Douglas Sirk and Powell/Pressburger.  Beautiful.

18. I Know Where I'm Going! - Between 1943 and 1948, the filmmaking team of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, made an almost unprecedented six full-blown masterpieces in a row.  This one, the last one I had still to see, is number four in this streak, and is a romantic work of great power - even by Powell/Pressburger standards.

19. Que Viva Mexico! - I know we are all supposed to go all Lady Gaga and Baby Goo Goo over Eisenstein and all his Soviet montage buddies, especially the ever-canonical Battleship Potemkin, but I must admit, I think I may just enjoy this never finished Mexican docu-travelogue creature more than any of those early silent Soviet pieces.  The film's strange feel and odd editing choices (many made by co-director, Grigori Aleksandrov, long after Eisenstein's death) make it the most unique of the director's works - and probably the most interesting.

20. People on Sunday - An intriguing 1930 German silent film, that plays as part doc, part drama.  The film is most notable for its crew.  Directed by Curt and Robert Siodmak, produced by Edgar G. Ulmer, photographed by Fred Zinnemann, and written by Billy Wilder.  How's that for a who's who of future directors? 

21. Woman in the Moon - The second film on this list by Fritz Lang (third if one were to count his two-part Indian Epic as two separate films) and a surprisingly enjoyable work.  I say surprising, not because Lang is usually untalented, but because when talk of the director's oeuvre comes around, this film is more oft than not, sorely left out of the conversation.  I personally, like it more than any of Lang's silents, save for Metropolis.  So there!

22. The Docks of New York - A Pre-Pre-Code film by Josef von Sternberg.  Silent and tragic.  Above, I stated how much I love a good tragic romance story (a love that can be attested to by the fact that at least a dozen of the films on this list, could easily fit into such a category) and this one has romantic tragedy in spades, brother.  And some stellar performances from George Bancroft, Betty Compson and  Baclonova.

23. Triumph of the Will - Many call Leni Riefenstahl, at best, a fascist sympathizer, and at worst, a Nazi.  Whether this is true or not, and the romantic in me likes to think that the filmmaker was just trying to make great art, not sinister politics, this film is a goddamn thing of beauty.  A goddamn thing of beauty.

24. Los Olvidados - Luis Buñuel is really a hit or miss kinda guy for me.  I am not a fan of his early surrealist stuff, nor his later return to France works, but I love his Spanish and Mexican periods, which, I suppose, means I love this film.  Well, I do indeed.  It reminds me of the style of art film that I first fell in love with when I was still just a budding young cinephile.  

25. On the Town - I am really surprised I never saw this one before, though parts did seem familiar, so perhaps I did once see it on TV as a kid, but here it is now - and watching this fun musical up on the big screen as I did, was an especially big treat.  Seriously, how can you not just love a film that sings about people riding around in a hole in the ground.

Others that didn't make the final grade, but are still worthy of mention (in no particular order, mind you): The Miracle of Morgan's Creek, Hallelujah, Night and the City, Le Corbeau, Letter from an Unknown Woman, The French Can-Can, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Odd Man Out, Street Angel, Orpheus, The Adventures of Prince Achmed, The Golden Coach, Casque d'Or, Tarnished Angels, The Small Back Room, Le Jour Se Lève, Olympia, Holy Mountain, Elephant Boy, Suspense and Les Enfants du Paradis.

Well, that's about it for now.     See ya on the flip side.

Astaire/Rogers #1: Flying Down to Rio (1933)

The following is the first in a ten part series on the films of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.  Enjoy.

Fred Astaire began dancing on the stage when he was just five years old, partnering with big sister Adele.  Comparatively a late bloomer, Ginger Rogers entered Vaudeville at sixteen, as a spur of the moment addition to Eddie Foy's traveling show.  In 1933, these two hoofing talents came together for the first of what would eventually be ten films as dancing partners - all but the final one, at RKO.  This inaugural film was called Flying Down to Rio, but unlike their successive nine celluloid partnerships, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were not the stars of the film.  The film was actually a starring vehicle for the beautiful Mexican actress, Dolores Del Rio.  Fred and Ginger were merely supporting players for her and male lead, Gene Raymond.  Nothing but a goofy musician and a smart-mouthed singer, respectively, to Raymond's suave, womanizing band leader, and Del Rio's Brazilian debutante.  But that didn't stop director Thornton Freeland from putting them out there on the dance floor together - and, as they, whomever they may be, are prone to say, a legend was born.  Well, that and the fact that they pretty much steal the film out from under Del Rio and Raymond.

Though Astaire was a well known and well renowned star of the stage in 1933, this was only his second film - the first being a small part as himself in the Joan Crawford/Clark Gable vehicle, Dancing Lady, earlier the same year - while Rogers was already an established comedic and musical actress, albeit as a second banana type - such precoders as A Shriek in the Night, Hat Check Girl, and most notably, 42nd Street and Gold Diggers of 1933, were already under her tight belt.  Not so incidentally, this not only marks the first pairing of Astaire and Rogers, but also the first, and only, time where Ginger actually got billing above Fred.  But it is not the billing we are looking for in an Astaire/Rogers musical, it is, of course, the dancing, and even though we have to wait a good third of the way into the film before we finally get that dancing, get it we finally do.  Granted, we have to sit through the silly antics of love child Raymond, trying to put the moves on spitfire Del Rio, before this happens, but happen it finally does.  And please don't get me wrong, for I can watch Dolores Del Rio do just about anything, at anytime, but the film doesn't exactly have a strong script or a very powerful director.  But I digress.  We are here to talk about the dancing of Fred and Ginger.  The many and multifaceted Latin charms of Dolores Del Rio are another story for another day.

For cinematic history's sake, the first time any of us ever get to see Astaire and Rogers dancing together, it is a Brazilian number (we are in Rio after all) called the Carioca.  The number was written, specifically for the film, by Vincent Youmans (music), and Gus Kahn & Edward Eliscu (lyrics), and is choreographed by Dave Gould and Hermes Pan, the latter of whom became Astaire's long time regular choreographer.  The number is a blend of the Samba, Maxixe, Foxtrot and Rumba, and is danced with the dancers foreheads together.  A rather strange dance, and certainly not one of Astaire and Rogers' best moments, but still fun to see these two great hoofers getting to play at meet cute.  The highlight of the film though, is the final, titular number.  Sung by Fred Astaire on the ground and danced by Rogers and a slew of chorus girls, while all tied to planes flying over the Rio de Janeiro nightclub that most of the action takes places.  Why the number is set up like this, is a somewhat convoluted scenario involving a mostly unseen trio of Greek gangsters, who have gotten the club's owner to seemingly lapse on entertainment permits.  How exactly it solves this problem by having the dancers in the air, while the band and singer are still performing outside the club, I have no idea, but it is a fun set-up to see Rogers and all her girls high-kicking it over the streets of Rio.  Of course, all these air acrobatics are done on the ground, using rear projection - and trust me, it shows, quite hilariously at times, most notably when one chorus girls plummets to what at first appears to be her death, only to be caught by an apparently lower flying plane of chorus girls.  Even with the obvious fakery abounding, it is a rather spectacular number - even if Fred and Ginger are several thousand feet apart through the duration.

And in the end, even though it is Del Rio's film, it is a final shot of Astaire and Rogers, who close the film out - a pair of slightly known second bananas, who steal the film out from under its stars, and cause enough of a commotion to warrant them doing another nine films together, this time as the bonafide stars of the screen.  Eventually the pair would split up (rather amicably, as opposed to tabloidish rumours to the contrary), and Rogers would go on to more dramatic fare, winning an Oscar in 1940 for the title role in Kitty Foyle, while Astaire would partner up with many more leading ladies, such as Rita Hayworth, Judy Garland and Cyd Charisse, eventually receiving his one and only Oscar nomination, at the tender age of seventy-five, for The Towering Inferno.  But all of this came well after these two great hoofing legends first made history - or perhaps, prehistory - in Flying Down to Rio.  Next up for the duo would be The Gay Divorcee, the following year.  That film would co-star the great comic character actor, Edward Everett Horton, who would go on to co-star in several more Astaire/Rogers musicals.  But that is a story best left for the second installment of our Fred and Ginger story.

Battle Royale #8: Battle of Comic Mayhem

Welcome to the eighth Battle Royale here at The Most Beautiful Fraud in the World.   It is an ongoing series that will pit two classic cinematic greats against each other - and you can vote for who is the greater by  clicking your choice over in the poll at the top of the sidebar.

Hey faithful readers and true believers, Battle Royale has returned with an all new no holds barred fantasy fisticuffs showdown.  This time around, instead of pitting just one against one, as we have in the first seven Battle Royale's, we are going three (or four) on three (or four, five or even six).  This time around, you are asked to choose between the two preeminent comedy teams of classic Hollywood.  Will your love for The Three Stooges win out or will your love for The Marx Brothers claim victory.  It is all up to you.  These are the two most famous (three or more member) comedy teams in classic movie history (sorry Monty Python gang, but we are going classic here and you are a bit too on the new side for such an honour) but these are also two comedy teams that, I believe, have very different fan bases.  While the Marx Brothers were usually more cerebral, the Stooges tended to go more for the gut - though the brothers' Marx had no problem going low either.  I myself have always been more of a Marx guy than a Stooge guy but don't let that influence your decision.  As if.  But I digress.

The Stooges began their career in 1925 as part of a vaudeville act known as Ted Healy and His Stooges.  This original act consisted of brothers Moe and Shemp Howard and fellow comic Larry Fine.  After Shemp's departure in 1932, younger brother Curly joined the group, and in 1934, the three comics broke free of Healy (apparently the relationship had always been rather tempestuous), renamed themselves The Three Stooges, and began a career all of their own.  In 1946, Curly suffered a stroke and Shemp was brought back in to replace him.  This was meant as just a temporary situation but after Curly died in 1950, big brother Shemp stayed on until his own death in 1955.  This brought aboard comic Joe Besser as Shemp's replacement, but this would only last four years before Besser was in turn replaced by Curly-Joe DeRita who stayed with the group until the end in 1971.  That was the year that Larry suffered a stroke.  Fellow comic Emil Sitka was asked to come aboard as a replacement, but these plans never came to fruition.  In 1975 Larry Fine passed away, followed by best friend Moe Howard a few months later.  But the Three Stooges will live in film history forever.

The Marx Brothers meanwhile began their stage career as teenagers way back in 1905.  Eventually all five brothers would be in the act - older brothers Leonard (Chico) and Arthur (Harpo), middle brother Julius (Groucho), and little brothers Milton (Gummo) and, once Gummo left for World War I, Herbert (Zeppo).  Gummo would never rejoin the act (he hated performing) and the other four brothers would move from stage to screen with the film The Cocoanuts in 1929.  Zeppo would only last for five films before he too quit (it's never any fun as the straight man in an act of insanity) and joined his brother Gummo in one of the most successful talent agencies in Hollywood history.  The apocryphal tale of Lana Turner being discovered at the counter of a drug store was hyped to the high hills by her agent Zeppo Marx.  Meanwhile, the remaining three brothers, Groucho, Harpo and Chico, would go on to add to their legendary status until they called it quits as an act after the dismal 1949 film Love Happy.  Groucho always considered their penultimate film, A Night in Casablanca, to be their final film, conveniently erasing the other one from his memory.  Groucho of course, went on to great success on that burgeoning medium known as television.  Chico would pass away in 1961, followed by Harpo in 1964.  Groucho would pass in 1977, with Gummo following a few months later.  Zeppo, the baby, would pass away in 1979.  But, like the Stooges above, The Marx Brothers will live forever in cinematic history.

So the decision is yours oh faithful readers and true believers.  The Three Stooges or The Marx Brothers.  All you need do is go on over to the poll (found conveniently near the top of the sidebar) and vote your collective little hearts out.  And please remember that one must go over to the poll to have one's vote counted.  You can babble away in the comments section all you want (and that is certainly something I encourage, as we never get enough feedback around these parts) but to have your vote count, you must click on your choice in the poll.  And also, please go and tell all your friends to vote as well.  Our biggest voter turnout since starting the Battle Royale series has been just 66 votes.  I know we can get that number to a cool one hundred before it is all said and done and the proverbial smoke does its proverbial clearing.  The voting period will last only until December 1st, so get out there and vote people.

Battle Royale #6: Battle of the Bitter Sisters (The Results)

Another Battle Royale and another tight race from beginning to end.  This time we pitted a pair of long-estranged Hollywood sisters against each other in an all-out death cage match.  Okay, at 96 and 94 respectively, Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine may be a bit past the cage match age (because, as I am sure you are well aware of, these two were once very adroit cage match fighters), but here they are anyway.  In fact this is the first of our Battle Royales where we have living opponents.  But I digress.  The question here is not who is battling, but who came out the victor once all the proverbial smoke did all its equally proverbial clearing.  Was it Olivia, the woman who shared the screen multiple times with Errol Flynn and who put Clark Gable in his place, or was it Joan, the woman who would woo Charles Boyer and Orson Welles with her feminine wiles, and who gave Hitchcock his first great leading lady?  Well, oh curious readers, with 28 votes cast, our winner, by a score of 15 to 13, or 51% to 49% for the statistical-minded among you, is baby sis Joan Fontaine.  Even though she won my vote as well (but only by a narrow margin), it did kind of surprise me to see Fontaine take down her sister.  De Havilland may have won two Oscars to Fontaine's one, but here, in what is obviously the ultimate battle, the poor little girl who was forced to change her last name (by their mother's request/demand), brings it all home.  There it is folks.  So be it.

And speaking of voting, I would like to thank everyone who came out to vote in our latest Battle Royale (voting is good, you should try it in other walks of life too - like maybe this November my American friends) but the numbers could definitely be better kids.   Lets look at the numbers.   Our first five Battle Royale's had voter turnouts of 50, 66, 40, 41 & 38 respectively, most of them tight races throughout (four won by just two votes, one a tie, and one with a final spread of five votes), so it does not take a genius to figure out that this most recent battle was the low turnout on the ole totem pole - though still a tight race (again by just two).  I guess what I am trying to say here is that we need to get the word out and up these numbers.  Let's not even bother with the baby steps here, let's make a goal of 100+ votes cast with the next Battle Royale.  And speaking of that next Battle Royale, the combatants will be announced sometime this week-end - and this one is going to be slightly updated from the classic era where the past battles came from.  A newer wave of opponents if you will.  Congrats again to the lovely Miss Fontaine, and see ya in a few.  I have included a couple of my fave pics of our Battle Royale champ.  They are not the typical Hollywoody glamour shots, but I just love her look in these.  I know, I am weird - get over it. See you in a few days with Battle Royale #7.

Happy Birthday Janet Gaynor, It Was Nice To Know Ya

Born Laura Augusta Gainor on this day, in the year that saw the city by the bay destroyed by madness, across the land in the city of brotherly love (before moving, oddly enough, to San Fran just a few years later), our intrepid little firecracker, after rising never any further than to the pixie-ish height of five foot nothing (same height as my lovely wife), and slapdashing her way through bit parts and uncredited doo-dads of several silent features and shorts, and reaching pre-stardom in The Johnstown Flood, not to mention being called out as one of the WAMPAS (Western Association of Motion Picture Advertisers for those who need to go past the acronym) baby Stars of that same year - an honour that also went to Mary Astor, Joan Crawford, Fay Wray and the two Dolores's, Costello and Del Rio that very same year - became the darlin' of the first Academy Awards, as she took home the first ever award for being the best darn actress in a motion picture, winning thricely, as she was credited for Sunrise, Seventh Heaven and Street Angel all in the same breath (pretty good breakthrough year the tiny starlet of just twenty-one did have), and shot to the top of the pops in the US, working with everyone from Borzage to Murnau to Borzage again and again and then some more (and let us not forget screen lover Charles Farrell, who she made a dozen films with, and were the cutest couple this side of the Pecos), before becoming a star once again in the first of three (soon to be four - yikes) versions of A Star is Born (directed by Wild Bill Wellman to make it official), a film that incidentally would garner her a second of those Oscar nomination thingees, and eventually leaving show biz for the love of a man - even if that man was famed designer Adrian, and was most likely a quite lavender marriage, at least on his part, though one hears rather substantiated rumours of the lovely little Miss Gaynor's sexual preferences as well (and one may even dream of them at night), but I must digress, in order to get on with the sad ending of our beautiful kewpie doll leading lady, from complications from a car wreck (a drunk driver nonetheless) that she was involved in two years prior to her 77th birthday (with "long time friend" Mary Martin), and finally say that this fan of the sexy, charming and cute as goddamn hell Miss Gaynor (drop dead gorgeous is another term one could just as easily use), had wished she had done more movies to be watched by me, but at least we have what we have - an angel (street or otherwise) with the eyes to conquer worlds and the alabaster cheeks to launch a thousand, no a million, no a billion ships a day.

Battle Royale #6: Battle of the Bitter Sisters

Olivia de Havilland was the first of the sisters to take up acting and make it in show biz, but younger sister Joan Fontaine (legend has it that the mother favoured Olivia and made Joan take a different name) soon would follow.  Apparently, from the very start, these two siblings were rivals.  Stories about Olivia ripping her hand-me-downs so little sis could not wear them are part of this legendary rivalry.  The two sisters were both nominated for an Oscar in 1941, and Joan ended up winning (the only actor in any Hitchcock film to ever take home the award) and legend (again) has it that de Havilland's congratulatory gesture was brushed off by Fontaine as she made her way to the stage.  This action would be repeated in the opposite direction when de Havilland won the first of her two Academy Awards.   Now as far as I know, this rivalry never stooped to any sort of Baby Jane-esque level, but it has lasted until this very day, as Olivia in Paris and Joan in Carmel-by-the-Sea California, 96 and 94 respectively, have reportedly not spoken with each other since 1975 - apparently due to a final riff over their mother's death.  Supposedly Fontaine has an estranged relationship with her children as well, apparently over them keeping in contact with their aunt.  Of course this could all be just tall tales - both ladies have alluded to it originally being a publicity stunt that just went awry - but I believe it to be true - at least at this point.  What may have started as a funny romp, has certainly become a living breathing feud lo these many decades.

But none of this is neither here nor there, because we are not here to debate the facts and figures of such a near-century long rivalry.  No ladies and gentlemen, we are here to vote for which of these battling bitter sisters was the greater actor and/or person. Which one curdled our loins more than the other.  Both are legends of the silver screen with some of the finest performances of the Golden Age of Hollywood under their respective belts.  Both are remarkable actors with accolades out the proverbial wazoos.  Both hold an ideal for physical beauty and both could have easily launched a thousand plus ships in their day.  But which one is the greater, the more talented, the most beautiful?  Which one do you choose oh faithful readers and true believers?  Do you favour the charming de Havilland in all her smouldering swashbuckling goodness, or perhaps it is the brilliant Fontaine and her stunning melodramatic bent that gets your suds all in an uproar.  Whichever the case may be, here is your chance to let everyone know just where you stand on the issue.  Here and now it is your turn to make the decision.  So all you Olivia fans and Fontaine fans get out the vote.  I think this one is bound to be another tight race.  Just go on over to the sidebar poll and choose the classic Hollywood sister that you like the best.  The poll will go on for two weeks before we announce a victor.  And please remember that you can make as many comments here as you wish (and please do - we loooove comments around these parts) but in order for your vote to count, you must vote in the actual poll in the sidebar.  So get over there and vote people.  This may very well be the most important vote you cast this year.  There isn't some other important vote coming around later this year, is there?  Of course not!  Vote vote vote!

Una, Oh Una, Where Have Una Gone? A Quick Look at the Once Remarkable, Now Sadly Forgotten Wonder That Was Una Merkel

The following, rather Proustian-esque paragraph-cum-prose poem and adjoining classic Hollywood photographs, is my humble contribution to the What a Character Blogathon being co-hosted by the lovely folks over at Once Upon a Screen, Outspoken & Freckled, and Paula's Cinema Club. 

Once upon a time lived a girl named Una.  Born at the beginning of a new century, in the wilds of Kentucky, under the free spirited sign of Sagittarius, and in the year of the rambunctious rabbit, young Una (and yes, that is her god-given name), after a time as star Lillian Gish's look-a-like (that's our intrepid little Una blowing around in Sjöström's Wind), would grow into the prattling, sassy, kewpie-dolled second banana of the pre-code age of motion pictures - a girl who took no gruff and gave nothing but - and after turns as Honest Abe's high school sweetheart, Sam Spade's cheeky secretary (no, not that Sam Spade, the first one, the one played by one Mr. Cortez), a spook-scared victim of a whispering bat in a movie that would go on to inspire Bob Kane in his creation of a certain caped crusader, and the smart-mouthed BFF of Jean Harlow in about three dozen films (slight exaggeration), our lovely little Una would costar in the musical 42nd Street, in a role that epitomized what it meant to be Una, in an Una world - the fast-talking dame that hung out with Ginger, before Ginger became Fred and Ginger - before moving onto another two and a half dozen films as Harlow's bewildered bestie (again, a slight exaggeration), as well as doin' some singin' and doin' some dancin', acting the eldest daughter to bank dick W.C. Fields, and getting into a wild west saloon cat fight with Marlene over a pair of her hubby's pants, and surviving a mother's suicide (our Una was in the house but survived when the gas was turned on - her mother did not), before eventually, like bud Blondell, taking on the roles of wild and crazy elder citizens, big-mouthed maids, and even mother to both Debbie Reynolds and Geraldine Page - the latter of which would even get her nominated for one of those oh so coveted golden statuettes - before ending her screen career alongside the King of Rock & Roll (racecar comedy-musical Spinout to be Elvis-specific), and even more eventually falling between those wicked multitudes of cracks in forgotten film history, and becoming what is known today as, well...as nothing, because no one except a faithful few even know who little Una is today, let alone how wonderful she was in so many thankless roles.  Once upon a time lived a girl named Una.

For more info on a girl named Una: Wikipedia and IMDb.

Battle Royale #5: Battle of the Silent Clowns (The Results)

Always a rather hot button topic amongst those who call themselves cinephiles.  There are rabid Keatonites and veracious Chaplin disciples both.  In Bertolucci's 2003 film The Dreamers (one of the ten best films of the last decade incidentally) American Matthew, played by Michael Pitt, and Frenchman Théo, played by Louis Garrel, come to near blows over who was funnier, Chaplin or Keaton.  I tend to take Matthew's side in the argument and favour Chaplin over his so-called arch-rival.  True, Keaton was straight-out funnier - his gags were the best of the silent age - but Chaplin was the better overall filmmaker - able to make you laugh and cry simultaneously.  But then this is just my (not-so-humble) opinion on the subject.  What we are here to do is to announce who you, the adoring public, think the best, the greatest, the funniest, the koo-koo-kookiest of them all.  We are here to announce the winner of Battle Royale #5: Battle of then Silent Clowns - and with very little surprise it was the tightest of races from beginning to end.  But, as in all things competitive, there must be a victor, and that victor is Sir Charles Spencer Chaplin.  With a final tally of 20 to 18 (or 52% to 48% for the statistically-minded amongst us) The Little Tramp did sneak past The Great Stone Face.  There were, incidentally, a few side votes for Harold Lloyd and even good ole Fatty Arbuckle as well.  Anyway, that is it for this, the fifth round of our Battle Royale here at The Most Beautiful Fraud in the World.  Please be sure to check back in a few days for the announcement of our competitors in round six.  It is sure to be a sisterly, albeit the lifelong sibling rivalry version of said sisterdom, kind of event.  See ya soon.

The Archers and Their Masterpiece Theat...er, I mean Cinema

The good folks over at The Movie Waffler have posed a question to those of us who care enough to listen.  Which director (or directors in my case) has had the best/most productive run/streak of great films.  Now one could easily make an argument that certain directors have never made a bad film and therefore their entire careers would constitute this run.  But even those directors of whom such a claim could be reasonably made, those with a small enough oeuvre, but a powerful enough one as well, to make such a thing possible, if not probable (Kubrick, Welles, Visconti), have a lesser film or two snuggled away in there to stop any ideas of a perfect game.

Sure, Welles' The Stranger is a very good film, but it is certainly no masterpiece, and therefore would break up any streak that would lead Citizen Kane and The Magnificent Ambersons to The Lady From Shanghai and Macbeth.  Now Kubrick, with Lolita, Strangelove, 2001, Clockwork and Barry Lyndon would make a strong case for this theory, but Spartacus at one end and The Shining at the other may say otherwise.  Though, I might be tempted to keep it going through The Shining (unlike many, I quite enjoy that film) as well, but I am here to talk about a different streak, from a different time.  It was the 1940's and the directors were Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, known collectively as The Archers.

English born Michael Powell and Hungarian born Emeric Pressburger first came together during the war.  Already semi-established as a director and writer respectively, these two were brought together to work on propaganda films for the British war effort.  Some of these earlier films (Contraband, The 49th Parallel) were Hitchcockian thrillers, and quite good, but still nothing compared to what was about to come.  In my not-so-humble opinion, The Archers have created seven - and I do not throw such a term around willy-nilly - bonafide masterpieces.  Six of which were made successively between 1943 and 1948, and it is these six films, in these six years that we are here to talk about - so please allow me to praise great movies.

Starring Roger Livesey, Anton Walbrook and, in three roles, the lovely Deborah Kerr (at the time, Michael Powell's lover), and based, at least in name, on a newspaper comic strip, Colonel Blimp, the first of our run, takes place over a fifty year period in the life of a cocksure British officer and the woman/women (all Kerr) who he can never get out of his mind.  Splendid picture indeed.

A Canterbury Tale is probably the least seen and least known of our six film run.  This haunting, otherworldly film tells the story of a group of wayward pilgrims, played by Sheila Sim, Dennis Price and Sgt. John Sweet, an actual U.S. Army soldier in his one and only screen appearance, in the Kent countryside, which incidentally is beautifully filmed by the great cinematographer Erwin Hillier.

Another otherwordly-style film from The Archers, I Know Where I'm Going stars Wendy Hiller and Roger Livesey (and a twelve year old Petula Clark long before she went "Downtown") as a pair of wouldbe lovers trapped by a storm in the highlands of Scotland.  The film's penultimate raging sea scenes and the inevitable finale, make an already great picture into a true blue masterpiece.

Renamed Stairway to Heaven for US release (something that goes against the whole idea of the film never mentioning Heaven or any specific afterlife) A Matter of Life and Death is the magical tale of an RAF pilot and the American woman he falls in love with - after he has supposedly died - is a beautiful film to watch (Earth-bound scenes in Technicolor, After-Life realm in crisp monochrome B&W).   

Black Narcissus, my second favourite Powell/Pressburger, is the haunting story of a group of nuns - headed by the always great Deborah Kerr - temporarily inhabiting a mountaintop nunnery (previously a princely whorehouse) and deals with the ideas of spirituality and the loss of faith.  Archer regular Kathleen Byron, as the bewildered Sister Ruth, is the sexy/creepy highlight of a film already filled to the brim with highlights.

The Red Shoes is not only my favourite Archer's film, but my favourite film of all-time - period.  Starring the beautiful flame-haired ballet star turned actress Moira Shearer as Victoria Page, who lives to dance, and Anton Walbrook and Marius Goring as the men who are splitting her emotions tragically in half.  Shot by Jack Cardiff, one of the finest cinematographers in film history, Martin Scorsese has called this the most beautiful colour film ever made - and who am I to disagree with that.

*************

There you go.  Six films, six years, six masterpieces.  Now one could make an argument that I could go on and add the duo's next film, 1949's The Small Back Room, to this list, but I am going to back off from such a thing since I do not think it quite reaches the heights of these aforementioned six works of art.  As for their next film, The Elusive Pimpernel, I cannot say, as it is a film that, having been in itself rather elusive, I have never seen (believe it or not, there is a Powell/Pressburger that has not been seen by yours truly).  After this, we could add another film to the list (if we were not going for that unbroken thing) in the form of 1950's Gone to Earth, with Jennifer Jones and David Farrar.  This film is that seventh bonafide masterpiece I spoke of in my opening salvo.  But alas, we are going for a streak here, so it will have to just sit and watch its six brethren take their day in the spotlight.  Well, that is it for now folks.  Have a good day.