Beatlemania Finds a Perfect Groove in A Hard Day’s Night

 

            Bringing a joyous, free-wheeling spirit to the screen that beautifully encapsulates the worldwide frenzy over the Fab Four circa 1964, director Richard Lester’s upbeat, modish comic take on a day in the life of Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George and Ringo Starr, A Hard Day’s Night features the Beatles in their feature film debut, and at their iconic early peak. Dynamically utilizing directional measures and camerawork, including a wealth of on-location London shots that give a quasi-documentary feel to the proceedings, to showcase the charismatic quartet and their hectic, lively environs, the free-form screenplay by Alun Owen featuring a scant plot concerning the band preparing for a television concert amid a series of misadventures affords Lester and his stars the chance to spontaneously capture the Beatles’ personalities, interactions and performances of the incredible soundtrack by Lennon and McCartney with a joie de vivre rare to find in the cinema. Creatively crafted by Lester with a keen eye towards catching a specific moment in pop history when the Beatles were leading a British Invasion in the Arts, and performed by the group and a solid supporting cast of pros with great gusto and wit, A Hard Day’s Night is accessible to both fans of the surging phenomenon known as the Beatles and any moviegoer looking for a splendid, invigorating night of entertainment.

For Richard Lester, Night represented a huge rise in his stock as a preeminent director, after starting in American and British television in the 1950’s, then moving on to film with a 1959 short, The Running, Jumping & Standing Still Film, then a feature debut with the musically-fused It’s Trad, Dad!, followed a 1963’s comedy The Mouse on the Moon. Lester’s short film was beloved by the superstar group, leading to his involvement with Hard. From the opening shots wherein the four lads are chased thorough the London streets by an onslaught of impassioned teens as the lilting, exuberant strains of title song and fast cut editing by John Jympson sets the appropriate tone, until they finally elude the ecstatic fans and find refuge in a train, it’s clear Lester is up to the challenge of adapting the right visual approach to fully grant viewers a look inside the Beatles’ mammoth success, and how the abrupt fame affected their lifestyles as they became instant icons of the era.

          Lester finds ingenious, surprising ways to showcase the supreme Lennon/McCartney songbook rife with great songs, from using the title number again during an artful, vivid end credit sequence featuring a wealth of pictures of John, Paul, George and Ringo, then going to two different extremes concerning the mood of the piece, from taking a break from the endearingly chaotic proceedings by utilizing the gentle strains of “And I Love Her” as the band rehearses on the television stage in casual fashion, to the exhilarating high of the famous “Can’t Buy Me Love” sequence, wherein the group runs from the studio to cavort in the fields nearby, while Lester dizzyingly films their escapades with overhead shots from a helicopter to bring a literally uplifting, singular elation to the scenario. The director also incorporates methods to add surreal moments, such as when the stars are shown outside of a train waving at a gentleman they have just encountered inside, before the next shot shows them back in the terrain compartment passing by the perturbed fellow’s cabin.

The director aptly wraps up the film with the excitingly staged mini concert, wherein the action is focused as much on the (mostly) young girls in the balcony screaming and crying in ecstasy as the Beatles putting over several hit numbers before finishing things off with the perennially enchanting and buoyant “She Loves You.” If one is looking for one piece of archival footage to illustrate how overwhelming the influence was of the Beatles on the youths of this generation, the forceful shots of these enraptured groupies emotionally overcome and enthralled by their idols’ talent and appeal serves as a blueprint for the Beatlemania of the period. Lester would follow up his major Hard hit with another trendy British hit, The Knack. . .and How it Get it before reuniting with the Beatles for their second movie, 1965’s Help!, before going on to the helm one of the seminal 1960’s movies, Petulia, then maintaining a nice run of titles during the next two decades creating screen entertainments with often a sly comic touch, such as The Three (then Four) Musketeers, The Ritz and his biggest box office result via 1981’s Superman II, followed by the less impactful III, before making his fitting last screen effort in 1991's Get Back, which documented a Paul McCartney world tour, then settling into a lengthy retirement.

With seemingly effortless charm, magnetism and individuality, the Beatles hold the screen throughout the film’s 87 minutes in a spirited, endearing manner. Lester deftly illustrates each distinct persona involved in the group, with John coming across as sophisticated, gib and impish, Paul (or “Paulie”) more earnest and boyishly endearing, George the most mature, thoughtful member, and sad-eyed Ringo as the good-natured, honest and childlike innocent in the quartet. Whether jamming or trading barbs in tandem or featured in singular vignettes, the Fab Four are persistently likable and sincere screen presences, allowing one to wonder how much Lester’s guidance and to what extent their natural thespian aptitude was responsible for their consistently unforced, believable interactions with each other and their fellow castmates.

The Beatles are perhaps at their most compelling while being show in the musical passages, wherein a viewer gains insight into how they worked as a team in creating some of the great popular songs, lending a historical feel to these moments as they practice their numbers with an easy and rare synchronicity, or perform hits with precision and electrifying energy, making it clear why the public was so despondent when this stellar, unusually talented and unified superstar group broke up. Outside of these remarkable scenes, possibly the most memorable subplot concerns Ringo, urged to seek out excitement, leaving the studio environs to quietly roam around with camera in hand, including a stroll near the waterside by Kew Bridge, wherein he strikes up a conversation with a young lad, Charley (nicely played by David Janson), and in the process of the sequence Starr strikes an indelible portrait as a movingly forlorn, graceful and kind figure.

Among the other players, Wilfrid Brambell appears to be having a ball playing the colorful John McCartney, a.k.a. Paul’s (other) grandfather, a mischievous, leering livewire who’s responsible for Ringo venturing away from the studio. In his most humorous sequence, John journeys to a casino and, equipment with his own (soon to be) Bond girl, Margaret Nolan (shortly before her iconic appearance in Goldfinger, particularly as the bikini and aurum-adorned focus of the title sequence), goes on a spree until the boys come to abate his reckless actions. Norman Rossington and John Junkin form a nice comic duo as Norm and Shake, the Beatles’ frequently exasperated and more benign managers, while a be-specked Anna Quayle has a nice bit as Millie, a woman who encounters Lennon and isn’t quite sure about identifying him as Lennon. Victor Spinetti also stands out as the ultra-dramatic director of the televised show, while Marianne Stone, fresh from her definitive work as Peter Sellers’ mysterious dark lady in Lolita, shows up as a reporter. In other brief parts, Pattie Boyd (soon to be Mrs. George Harrison) can be seen as Jean, the attractive blonde who captures the boys’ attention on the train, while Charlotte Rampling and Phil Collins apparently are also on view as a dancer in a nightclub and a teen fan during the finale, but online research may be necessary to find where they actually appear in the film.

        The jubilant A Hard Day’s Night found favor with both critics and audiences upon its July 1964 opening in London, with Lester’s inventive helming and the Beatles natural charm and talent onscreen gaining substantial hosannas in mainly positive reviews, while potent box-office rentals of $4,473,000 (according to Variety) ranked the film among the top hits of 1964. During awards season, the film ended up on The New York Times “Ten Best” list, then went on to earn Academy Award nominations for Owen’s playful original story and screenplay and George Martin for Scoring- Adaptation or Treatment although, in a true botch rating as one of Oscar’s biggest faux pas, neither the glorious musical score or any of the timeless songs managed to place among the nominees that year. The hit-ladened soundtrack was another key factor in building the film into a major success, with the album amassing 14 weeks at #1 on the Billboard charts, resulting in it gaining status as the top album of the year. With it’s brisk, docu-style filmmaking and constantly beguiling stars holding the screen with flair during both narrative and incredible musical sequences, A Hard’s Day’s Night retains a freshness and a good-natured vibe that should prove irresistible to viewers as it transports them back to a happier time and place when the world was the vibrant, uniquely gifted Beatles’ oyster.

         And a fond farewell to another British icon, Terence Stamp, who passed on August 17^th at age 87. Gaining an auspicious start in films with his Oscar-nominated, Golden Globe-winning (for Best Newcomer) work as the beatific, observant title character in 1962’s Billy Budd, Stamp would solidify his place among filmdom’s top young thespians with Cannes-winning work in William Wyler’s The Collector and 1967’s Far from the Madding Crowd. Sparser appearances in the 1970s eventually led to his sinister General Zod in 1978’s blockbuster Superman before being featured more prominently as one of the chief villains in Superman II. Stamp figured in some 1980s mainstream offerings such as Wall Street and Young Guns, before witnessing a career-enlivening comeback via his flamboyant-but-grounded and powerful depiction of the indomitable Bernadette in 1994’s The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Following this landmark role, Stamp scored another big critical success with 1999’s The Limey, then worked frequently in films until his final screen role in 2021’s Last Night in Soho. 

 

Billy Wilder Scores a Trenchant Ace in the Hole Blitzing the Media

 

A tough, penetrating view of the power of the press and how it can weave a web of intrigue with a public willing to buy into any exciting story it’s sold regardless of fact, director Billy Wilder’s 1951 Ace in the Hole offers a fascinating, still-relevant look at the ignoble extents some ambitious, immoral media figures go to in the quest to gain prestige, money and fame in their chosen profession. Armed with a caustic, engrossing screenplay (written by Wilder, Walter Newman and Lesser Samuels, from a story by Victor Desny, inspired in part by the 1925 Floyd Collins case, which is mentioned in the film) that pulls no punches while showcasing some of the best, most incisive dialogue ever, Wilder helms an incredible tale of Chuck Tatum, a once elite-reporter who, after burning his bridges into double digits, takes a small town job at the Albuquerque Sun-Bulletin, then finds a chance on assignment to return to the big time after discovering a man, Leo Minosa, has just been trapped in a cave in Escudero, a tiny locale a few hours from Albuquerque. As Tatum ruthlessly takes control of the story, including gaining exclusive access to Leo with the help of a sleezy sheriff, the tension builds, with the fate of Leo, a pawn in Tatum’s scheme, hanging in the balance. Artful on-location cinematography (in New Mexico) by Charles Lang which lends a “you are there” feel to the proceedings, an acute score by Hugo Friedhofer that knows exactly when to up the ante concerning suspenseful moments, and creative playing by a roster of fine actors led by Kirk Douglas and Jan Sterling in peak form make this 111-minute exercise in bleakness roll by in hypnotic fashion.

                Wilder appears fully engaged in bringing his latest bitter-tinged scenario to the public, after scoring in this mode with past hits such as the all-time noir classic Double Indemnity, and two key Wilder films that resulted in Oscars on his mantle, 1945’s The Lost Weekend and the previous year’s tough take on Hollywood and the transitory fame therein, Sunset Boulevard. Also well-known for his lighter fare after starting as a scriptwriter (including work on the peerless 1939 romantic comedy, Midnight) such as his directorial debut, The Major and the Minor and A Foreign Affair, Wilder often was able to deftly blend comedic elements in his more serious work. Ace is largely a harsh, unrelenting drama, one of the most intriguing aspects of the film is how Wilder is able to occasional throw in sardonic comedy lines without alternating the film’s stern tone. The director also handles much bigger set pieces than normally found in his films in adroit fashion, carefully illustrating the different types that form the mammoth crowds, vendors and newspaper men showing up at the cave site to curiously await Leo’s outcome, hawk their wares, and try to one-up Tatum with a scoop of their own, respectfully, while including expansive shots to show how this swarm overtakes the cave area as the story becomes more sensationalized. Ace proves what Wilder could pull off when given the chance to invest all his ample talents into a passion project with subject manner far from the Hollywood norm. After the disappointing initial reaction to Ace, Wilder would go on a largely uninterrupted host of hits and/or critical successes in the 1950s-60s, including Stalag 17, Sabrina, 1959’s smash-hit comedy Some Like it Hot, more Oscars along with big box office for The Apartment and Irma La Douce, before slowing down his film output. Wilder would receive justified major career accolades via the prestigious AFI 1986 Life Achievement Award, the Academy’s Irving G. Thalberg Award in 1988, as a recipient of a Kennedy Center honor in 1990 and the National Medal of Arts in 1993, before his passing in 2002 at age 95.

For star Douglas, Ace offers one of the prime roles of career, which he devours with relish, after breaking through a couple years earlier in electric fashion with Oscar-nominated work as the anti-hero boxer title figure of Champion. As Tatum, Douglas fearlessly illustrates the ambitions and desperate underhanded tactics of this unethical newsman, making no play for audience sympathy as the prime heel uses any method and anyone who can help him as he tries to work his way to the top, while also ably showing the guilt that plays on Tatum’s conscientious as he fully grasps the grim nature of Leo’s predicament. Coming across as a force of nature, Douglas unabashedly savors colorfully showcasing each of the character’s traits, specifically his worst ones, in a manner unfamiliar with the movie-going public of the time, who normal found a host of redeeming qualities in their leading men and the roles they enacted, even in parts conveying some difficult behavioral attributes. Douglas would have a great one-two punch in this intense mode during 1951, with equally imposing work in William Wyler’s Detective Story, which reaped the success with critics and audiences not afforded to Ace, helping to cement Douglas as one of Hollywood’s top male stars. He backed up this notion by making a major impact starring in many quality productions of the 1950s and beyond, including further Oscar nominations for The Bad and the Beautiful and remarkable work as Vincent Van Gogh in Lusts for Life; seeming having a ball in a late-1954 smash, Disney’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea; starting a fruitful partnership with Burt Lancaster with his compelling Doc Holliday in 1957’s Gunfight at the O.K. Corral; up to no good again with flair in another hit, The Vikings; then gaining possible his most famous role as the title figure in 1960’s Spartacus before continuing on as a durable star, regardless of setbacks, until his death at 103 in 2020.

Starting on Broadway as a teen in 1938, then moving into films in 1947 via Tycoon, Manhattan-born Jan Sterling quickly established herself as a talented newcomer with standout work in one of 1948’s biggest critical and box-office dramas, Johnny Belinda, then moved on to a variety of roles, including providing fine, distinctive comedy relief as one of the inmates in Caged, the classic women’s prison picture. Coming from an elite background, Sterling showed a knack for playing bad girls with and without hearts of gold, making her an ideal choice for Ace’s self-centered, cold-blooded femme fatale Lorraine, who is desperate to escape her dead-end marriage and start anew, but is encouraged by Tatum to deceitfully stay around as the ‘grieving, devoted wife’ to build both of their fortunes. Sterling does a fantastic job of showing both the snide, selfish side of Lorainne, throwing out her acid-laced dialogue with skillful aplomb (the way she sarcastically draws out the word “sheriff” is an especially satisfying moment), and a more erotic side as she warms up to Tatum and seeks to add a little intimacy to their toxically driven relationship. Ace would prove perhaps the highlight of Sterling’s film career, but she maintained a strong presence in films and television, with another peak arising via a Golden Globe award and her sole Oscar nomination for a big one from 1954, The High and the Mighty, then working well with Humphrey Bogart in his final film, 1956’s The Harder They Fall. Slowing down her onscreen output in the 1960’s, Sterling would make her final feature film in 1981’s First Monday in October, then pass in 2004 at age 82.

The rest of the formidable cast also bring skill and intelligence to their acting. Robert Arthur, in films since 1945 as a male ingenue-type, with a nice turn in Twelve O’Clock High a highlight, does good work as Herbie Cook, the young colleague of Tatum at the Sun-Bulletin whose strong moral center serves as a counterpoint to Chuck’s ruthlessness, with Herbie standing in for the audience as one of the conscientious voices in the film. As the unfortunate Leo, Richard Benedict does an admirable job of detailing the spelunker’s innocence nature and simple goodness, as well as the unrest and fear that hound Leo as time passes and he stays encumbered. Ace and Ace character actor Porter Hall adds another expert portrayal to filmography as Jacob Boot, the sage owner and publisher of the Sun-Bulletin, whose ethical stance to “Tell the Truth” in reporting puts him in conflict with Tatum’s more onerous, sly approach. As Leo’s grieving parents who want nothing to do with the chaos surrounding the rescue attempt, John Berkes and Frances Dominguez lend emotional pull and a sense of humanity to the plot’s uneasy ferocity.

The uncompromising, disturbing Ace in the Hole would take time to find widespread acclaim and a solid fan base, opening in 1951 to uneven reviews and barren box office returns, with a retitling via The Big Carnival doing little to change the movie’s fortunes. However, the film did get some positive attention from the outset, including a Venice Film Festival International prize for Wilder and one for Hugo Friedhofer’s score and an Oscar nomination for Best Story and Screenplay. Sterling also received a fair amount of praise for her unusually mordant anti-heroine, with a Newsweek profile proclaiming her an important new star and The National Board of Review bestowing its Best Actress prize to her, quite a feat in the year of Vivien Leigh’s peerless work as Blanche DuBois. Over the years film historians have raised the bar considerably concerning the status of Ace in the Hole as one of the 1950’s most indelible dramas, presaging unscrupulous elements found in today’s media. Recently the movie found its way on the National Film Registry’s 2017 list and placed on the most recent Sight and Sound poll. For a richly involving tale of corruption featuring some of Wilder’s most peerless and cynical scripting and directing, as well as work by Douglas and Sterling that ranks with their best performances, film lovers will want to be in on a classic movie scoop with a screening of the insightful Ace in the Hole.

Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo Movingly Bond in You Can Count on Me

 

An artful blend of comedy and drama, writer/director Kenneth Lonergan’s telling, touching and funny You Can Count on Me from 2000 beautifully depicts the enduring loyalty between a young single mother, Sammy Prescott and her wayward, vulnerable and well-meaning brother Terry, who returns to their hometown of Scottsville in New York’s Catskill Mountains and tries to gain a fresh start in life while staying with his sister and her young son at the family’s homestead. With depth and taste, Lonergan’s insightful screenplay (expanded from his one-act play This is Our Youth) explores Sammy and Terry’s unbreakable connection as, both alone and together, they face a series of conflicts and misadventures during Terry’s momentous visit, with viewers fostering admiration for the imperfect but richly humane and likable pair as the heartwarming tale unfolds. Anchored by Lonergan’s firm hand and two emotionally resonant star performances by the prodigiously talented Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo that linger with a viewer decades after an initial watch, You Can Count on Me grants audiences the opportunity to experience one of the most compelling and honest looks at the nature of family relationships, and relationships in general, found in the movies.

                In his first directional feature, Lonergan displays a mastery of the film medium, managing to keep a cohesive tone wherein the comic and dramatic elements are evenly and believably balanced, while using the lovely on-location cinematography by Stephen Kazmierski to provide the proper serene verisimilitude for the story. From the outset of the film, wherein with scant dialogue Lonergan shows how tragedy strikes the adolescence Sammy and Terry, then illustrates them coping with the loss before Sammy is show as an adult while Lesley Barber’s melodious, violin-infused score offers a melancholic mood to help set the stage for the rural-based storyline. In addition to his expert work behind the camera, Lonergan is in fine form as Ron, the thoughtful, caring pastor Sammy seeks guidance from at critical junctures in the story. Following You Can, at intervals Lonergan has created other character-oriented works with care and intelligence, including 2016’s Manchester by the Sea, which brought Lonergan a Best Director Academy Award nomination, as well as an Oscar win for his sublime Original Screenplay.

                Laura Linney, in possibly her most impactful role, does a skillful, colorful job of conveying how Sammy’s polite, pleasant exterior serves as a front for her multi-layer persona. As the movie progresses, Linney convincingly discloses the full range of Sammy’s makeup, including her anger, humor, passion and compassion, as Sammy consistently surprises the audience with her willful, spontaneous actions. With much of the film centered around Sammy’s attempts to build a stable environment for her and her son, Linney shows the earnestness involved in Sammy’s actions to be a responsible, upright citizen, while the “wild” side of Sammy that Terry refers to manages to pop up frequently enough to cause a degree of chaos in her life. Linney’s chemistry and interaction with all her costars also helps the role come alive with flair distinction, most notably in her work with Ruffalo, as together the two actors instill a profound conviction in their scenes that make it clear how strong and meaningful the alliance is between the siblings.

                Firmly establishing himself as a gifted screen actor of the first rank via one of the most persuasive, sensitive breakthrough portrayals in film, Mark Ruffalo brings empathy and clarity to the introverted, complicated Terry, while allowing a degree of mystery to imbue the performance as Terry, similar to but even more so than Sammy, has an unpredictable, fearless streak that often dictates his actions without him thinking things through. Starting his screen career with a 1989 television appearance, Ruffalo would spend ten years making little impact professionally, but make a significant and ultimately fruitful connection with Lonergan while starring Off-Broadway in This is Our Youth in 1996. Clearly gaining the author’s trust and respect for his exceptional acting abilities, Ruffalo was rewarded with his demanding You Can role and creates an indelible, unforgettable anti-hero to rank among filmdom’s most impressive performances. With a thorough investment in the part, Ruffalo renders Terry’s restless nature and sometimes haphazard, immature conduct with focus and purpose, while forming a synchronicity with Linney to make Sammy and Terry one of the most compelling and poignant pair of siblings in cinema, specifically their final scene, wherein the full profundity of their relationship is beautifully stated via Linney and Ruffalo’s heartfelt emoting and Lonergan’s penetrating dialogue. Ruffalo also manages to show Terry’s sometimes impulsive, foolish behavior in a charming, relatable, funny way that the audience can believe, instead of making the character oafish and one-note. Ruffalo has built upon his revelatory work as Terry to gain one of the more substantial and esteemed filmographies, deftly mixing sly work in blockbusters such as his Hulk in The Avengers, with more delicately honed performances in intelligent, smaller-scale offerings, including Academy-Award nominated work in The Kids Are Alright, Foxcatcher and the Best Picture Oscar-winner, Spotlight.

As Brian, Sammy’s uptight, passive-aggressive, frustrated new bank manager boss, Matthew Broderick effectively counters the typical good-guy screen image he set at the outset of his career via fare such as his Tony-winning work in Brighton Beach Memoirs and on film in his Max Dugan Returns debut and the hit War Games, continuing to explore characters with some less admirable traits as he did so skillfully the previous year in Alexander Payne’s terrific dark comedy Election. As Brian develops an unorthodox relationship with Sammy, Broderick subtly details first the inflexible, annoying and controlling facets of the role with great comic gusto, before showing a more understanding side as he and Sammy learn to comingle in a less adversarial manner. Post-You Can, Broderick immediately had his biggest stage success (after winning a second Tony for the revival of How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying) in The Producers, and since has alternated between screen and theater work, including a film reunion with Lonergan for Manchester by the Sea.

In an exceptional performance, young Rory Culkin demonstrates thespian skills to match those of his talented brothers Macaulay and Kieran, bringing intuition and naturalness to his enactment of Rudy, Sammy forlorn, observational eight-year-old son. Culkin displays Rudy’s openness and the innocence that finds the boy yearning to meet the father he has idealized in a touching manner, while showing the child’s more knowing mindset during his sometimes-tense relations with his mother and uncle as Ruby is prematurely forced to face some of life’s harsher realities. Among others, Jon Tenney brings a beguiling sweetness to his work as Bob, Sammy’s gentle, reliable suitor, Josh Lucas is appropriately caustic in a brief role as an unhappy figure from Sammy’s past, Gaby Hoffmann adds a nice wistfulness to her early scene as Terry’s doleful girlfriend, J. Smith-Cameron is memorable as Mabel, Sammy’s quirky coworker and Amy Ryan can be glimpsed in the opening moments of the movie as Sammy and Terry’s mother.

                Debuting at the Sundance Film Festival in January of 2000, You Can Count on Me was immediately praised by critics and audiences as a sublime example of a perceptive character-driven entertainment, going on to win the Sundance Grand Jury Prize (in a tie with Girlfight) while catching on enough with audiences to gain solid box office returns on a small indie budget. Come awards season, You Can Count on Me would score a wealth of accolades, specifically for Lonergan and Linney, with both gaining awards from The New York Film Critics Circle and National Society of Film Critics for Best Screenplay and Best Actress, respectfully, as well as Golden Globe and Oscar nominations for both, a Writer’s Guild of America prize for Lonergan and, among several other Best Actress awards from critics’ groups, Screen Actors Guild and Independent Spirit nominations for Linney, as well as a Young Artist Award for Culkin. The film placed among The National Board of Review and Broadcast Film Critics Association top ten films, as well as finding a spot on many regional critics’ lists. However, in a move as impenetrable as some aspects of Terry’s impulsive persona, Mark Ruffalo’s amazing contribution to the film somehow was largely left out of the awards conversation, in another illustration of how often these prizes need to be taken with a large dose of skepticism, with a Best Actor nomination from the Independent Spirit Awards, a New Generation Award from the Los Angeles Film Critics Association (where Lonergan’s screenplay also won) and an actual Best Actor win from the Montreal World Film Festival (thank you, Montreal) responsible for some attention being given to Ruffalo’s unsurpassable efforts as Terry. Time has only emphasized how strongly the many merits of this rare feature endure, and any film lover wanting to be amply rewarded with a subtle but powerful comedy/drama can rely on You Can Count on Me to satisfy their need for a riveting, resounding viewing experience.

James Stewart and Grace Kelly Find Adventure Awaits Through Hitchcock's Rear Window

 

One of the definitive works in director Alfred Hitchcock’s storied career, 1954’s Rear Window from Paramount Pictures offers an irresistible blend of mystery, amusement and romance. Offering the tantalizing blend of comedic and hair-raising elements Hitchcock had carefully honed during his career, Window gave the aptly-named Master of Suspense a chance to create one of his most dazzling concoctions on the screen. An involving, alternately tense and droll John Michael Hayes screenplay (adapted from a Cornell Woolrich story) help Hitchcock set an uneasy but often jocular tone, as the tale concerning a temporarily invalid photographer who believes he’s overheard a murder unfolds in enthralling fashion. Ace lensing and editing by frequent Hitchcock collaborators Robert Burks and George Tomasini, a lively, inventive Franz Waxman score that deftly sets a playful and tense tone from the film’s outset and a top cast of talented players in fine form provide Hitchcock with other significant assets to weave one of the cinema’s most mesmerizing tales of intrigue.

As he had shown in past work such as the use of a single set for Lifeboat and via long takes in Rope, Hitchcock appeared to enjoy challenging himself creatively by placing limitations on his filmmaking process, and this experimental aspect of his style, which sometimes brought uneven results, reached its artistic zenith with his incredible Window achievement. Utilizing one of the most impressive studio sets ever built, Hitchcock appears to have a ball illustrating the various inhabitants of the apartment complex, an area constructed to allow filming from virtually any angle possible. Although the narrative never strays from the complex, with Hitchcock at his most inventive a viewer is immediately caught up in the action and never views the limited physical scope as a plot hinderance. With sublime craftsmanship the director draws the audience into the scenario, making one care about each of the members of the compound, while becoming more nervous as the tension surrounding the main storyline mounts. Although Hitchcock would go on to make several more classics, including Vertigo, North by Northwest and Psycho, his unique achievement of creating in Window a delightful, fully immersive and satisfying viewing experience within a one-set dynamic stands tall among his list of major cinematic works.

As L.B. Jeffries (aka “Jeff”) the photojournalist laid up with a broken leg in his sweltering Manhattan apartment after encountering an accident while on assignment, James Stewart brings his everyman persona to the role, thereby serving as useful identification point for audiences as Jeff who, biding his time by spying on neighbors across his courtyard, becomes embroiled in and stimulated by the mystery at the plot’s center after hearing a suspicious cry in the dark one night. As one of Hollywood’s most beloved and trusted figures on screen by the time of Window, Stewart is able to allow Jeff to sidestep criticism regarding how acceptable his behavior is, as viewers avidly go along with him using any means necessary to uncover clues and facts to resolve the case. Although perhaps not among some of his more complex, earnest work in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Shop Around the Corner, It’s a Wonderful Life and Harvey, Stewart’s work as Jeffries ranks among his best-known roles, with the big box-office for Window helping Stewart to move to #1 among the top box-office draws in 1955 (according to the Quigley poll). Stewart would continue as a major player in films for the rest of the decade and beyond, including ending the 1950s on a high note with one of his best performances and biggest hits via Otto Preminger’s engrossing courtroom drama Anatomy of a Murder.

1954 represented Grace Kelly’s banner year in films during her brief reign as a top Hollywood star, and she possibly gained her career role in Window as Lisa Freemont, Jeff’s ultra-glamorous, cosmopolitan career girlfriend yearning for a deeper relationship with the skittish, non-committal Jeff. Kelly comes on like gangbusters from her first entrance, laying one of the more memorable kisses on Stewart, then maintaining a chic yet warm, funny and relatable presence throughout the rest of the movie. Kelly is endearing and compelling as she illustrates Lisa’s change of heart once she becomes increasingly involved in Jeff’s theory concerning a possible murder, coming across as the least-aloof screen goddess imaginable as she takes action to gain crucial evidence in the movie’s most riveting sequence. With her beauty, charm and seemingly effortless depiction of Lisa’s every mood, Kelly perfectly embodies a screen heroine for the ages, providing Hitchcock’s faith in her as his ideal leading lady was well-placed after her strong impact earlier in the year in her initial film under his tutelage, Dial “M” for Murder.

After her great success in Window, Kelly would finish the year with starker dramatic work as the unhappy, put-upon housewife in The Country Girl, and forever deal with a substantial amount of criticism after winning the Oscar over Judy Garland in A Star is Born for her Country emoting. However, some of this demeriting seems unfair when considering Kelly’s work as a whole during 1954, with both the National Board of Review and the New York Film Critics aptly mentioning all three of Kelly’s films in granting her the Best Actress prize, before she went on to match Garland at the Golden Globes with a Best Actress win for both. In retrospect, on the basis of her signature Window role alone, one could argue Kelly warranted placement among the year’s best performances, but back in the day (and still today in many cases) drab-but-serious portrayals won out over what’s deemed lighter fare, no matter how beautifully and skillfully the star inhabited the more colorful role. Kelly was happily re-teamed with Hitchcock the following year for possibly her most alluring and daring work, generating a maximum wattage of star chemistry opposite Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief. Kelly would exit her tenure as one of Tinseltown’s most bankable stars only one year later, via her celebrated 1956 marriage to the Prince of Monaco.

Offering prime support, as she did in virtually every film she made, starting with her scene-stealing cameo in her debut, Miracle on 34^th Street, Thelma Ritter accounts for many of Window’s choicest comic moments. As Stella, the nurse hired to assist with Jeff’s recuperation, Ritter utilizes her earthy, sage and witty persona to add abundant humor and heart to her scenes, with Stella going on to serve as an important ally to Jeff and Lisa as they work to solve the film’s central mystery, while also commenting on and questioning Jeff concerning his lack of interest in Lisa, serving as a voice of reason for the audience who may want to pose similar questions on the same topic. Somewhat puzzlingly, Ritter, who had gained four Oscar nominations in a row for 1950-53 work, would somehow have this streak broken the year of Window, even if now it’s possibly the first Ritter film that comes to mind for film buffs. Post- Window, Ritter who continue a very fruitful career as perhaps the biggest character actress of her generation, including two more Oscar nominations (but alas, no wins), while also winning a Tony award in 1958 for New Girl in Town.

Wendell Corey, with an established reputation as a sage, introspective leading man built after his debut in 1947’sclassic color noir Desert Fury and via quality work in such films as The Search, Holiday Affair and The Furies, does a fine job as Tom Doyle, Jeff’s friend and former war buddy, who as a Lt. Detective with the NYPD who somewhat reluctantly aids Jeff in his quest to gain information concerning the possible crime. Tom also demonstrates a chauvinistic side and comes into conflict with the liberated Lisa, and Corey does a fine job of allowing this unattractive aspect of Tom’s nature to be fully delineated, without trying to make Tom more likable to viewers. As the main figure Jeff focuses his sights on, Raymond Burr, continuing his run of heavies in movies a few years before Perry Mason would stamp him as one of the most recognizable and adored figures on television, manages to come across as both menacing and sympathetic as Lars Thorwald. Thorwald is seen throughout most of the film as a somewhat distance figure across the way from Jeff, and in his signature film role Burr does an impressive job making his strong presence felt nonetheless, making later moments wherein Thorwald suddenly becomes more front-and-center impactful, as Burr has established how imposing and dangerous an adversary Thorwald might be.

Among the other inhabitants unknowingly spied on by Jeff, Ross Bagdasarian (several years before his greater fame as the creator of The Chipmunks) can be seen as the frustrated composer whom Hitchcock fixes a clock for early in the movie in one of the director's famous cameo appearances, while Judith Evelyn makes an impression as “Miss Lonely-Hearts,” several years before facing off with The Tingler in a very different suspense classic. Georgine Darcy helps enliven scenes as “Miss Torso,” the undulating dancer “juggling wolves,” as Lisa puts it, while Kathryn Grant, a few years before finding greater fame on screen with The 7th Voyage of Sinbad and Anatomy of a Murder and as the wife of Bing Crosby, and the ubiquitous Bess Flowers, who can be spotted in a plethora of classic films, turn up as party guests at the songwriter’s apartment.

Released in August of 1954, Rear Window would resonate strongly with both critics and audiences, being hailed as one of Hitchcock’s finest films while gaining initial first run U.S./Canadian rentals of $5,300,000 (according to Variety) to place among the top five box-office hits of the decade. Along with the Best Actress citations for Kelly, the movie would grant Hitchcock a Quarterly award from the Director’s Guild of America and a fourth Best Director Academy Award nomination. Hayes would also score a richly deserved Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, with Burks also in the running for Best Color Cinematography and Loren L. Ryder mentioned for his vivid sound recording. A 1983 re-release of the film, after years of being virtually unseen by audiences (along with several other Hitchcock classics) allowed a new generation to discover one of Hitchcock’s most entertaining and ingenious comedy-thrillers. Later plaudits included mention among the films included on the 1997 National Film Registry list, ranking among the top 50 on both the AFI’s 1998 (#42) and 2007 (#48) list of the greatest films, and placing at #38 on the latest Sight and Sound poll from 2022, tying with Breathless and Some Like it Hot. These continual honors point to the timeless entertainment value of a peerless masterpiece and, with its superior cast, crew and direction by a true cinematic genius in peak form, movie fans old and new are sure to be rewarded by opting to look back through a thrilling Rear Window.

Michelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura Proves a Game Changer for Monica Vitti and Cinema

 

                Signaling a stylistic shift in cinematic storytelling from the straightforward narrative accustomed to filmgoers, 1960’s L’Avventura boldly unfolds an unconventional, challenging tale in an often-impenetrable manner, with director Michelangelo Antonioni putting his highly original mark on the production, offering audiences a viewing experience unlike any seen before onscreen. Depicting the mystery surrounding the disappearance of a wealthy young woman, Anna, after she, her boyfriend Sandro and other cosmopolitan friends take a jet-set type yachting excursion to the Mediterranean island of Lisca Bianca, and how this impacts the relationships of those near her left literally asea concerning her fate, the film and its crafty screenplay by Antonioni, Elio Bartolino and Tonino Guerra provides audiences no easy answers in unveiling the circumstances surrounding Anna’s vanishing, and why subsequent events play out the way they do. Beautiful black and white cinematography by Aldo Scavarda that weaves on-location Italian environs such as Rome and Sicily into the plot, an evocative score by Giovanni Fusco and nicely modulated performances, specifically by the elegant Monica Vitti in her breakthrough role as Anna’s best friend Claudia, aid in keeping the movie’s mesmerizingly enigmatic tone at the forefront of each artful sequence.

                With ingenuity and skill Antonioni shows great talent in creating a new method to illustrate plot situations and the interactions between characters via his revolutionary visual style and break from traditional storytelling norms. Using interesting camera angles, which includes bringing cast members into view in surprising fashion, startling close-ups that sometimes cut off facial features, and incorporating often sparse dialogue in scenes wherein the focus is on the players’ simply looking at each other or at figures in an ambiguous manner as they ponder the state of their affairs, Antonioni allows one to gain an individual interpretation as to the feelings and motivations of each character, possibly based on the viewer’s own personal experiences. He also explores the transitory nature of relationships in a modern, mature way, without clearly spelling out why a person dealing with tragedy might quickly move on and fall in love with someone else, as in the case of Claudia and Sandro, or how early on Anna might suddenly feel disassociated from Sandro for no articulable reason, while still feeling passion and love for him.

Antonioni also frames scenes and dialogue to increase the intrigue of the piece, such the moment when a character states a boat was heard in the vicinity of the island around the time of Anna’s disappearance, then later showing four young men interrogated who were found on a boat in the area, without it being clear if the first boat might be the same one mentioned earlier, or another that could have taken Anna away. Following his major critical success with L’Avventura, Antonioni would solidify his place as a leading voice in international film during the next two years with La Notte and L’Eclisse, his follow-up films that also feature Vitti and serve as a trilogy of sorts with L’Avventura, then after 1964’s Red Desert with Vitti, go team with renown producer Carlo Ponti for his biggest worldwide success with the modish, London-based and Swingin’ Sixties’ flavored Blow-Up, which also featured inscrutable plot elements that captured audiences imaginations, helping the film and Antonioni to b box office and critical rewards, with Blow Up awarded the top prize at Cannes and the newly-established National Society of Film Critics, with Antonioni winning Best Director from the later organization, and Oscar nominations for his direction and screenplay. Following this peak, Antonioni and Ponti reaped lesser returns with their next two English-language undertakings, Zabriskie Point and The Passenger, before the director completed three more films, including his final work, the 1995 all-star anthology Beyond the Clouds, the same year he was bestowed a richly deserved honorary Academy Award, before his passing in 2007 at 94.

As Claudia, the cool, statuesque Monica Vitti, Antonioni’s partner and onscreen muse, comes through as the perfect heroine and camera subject to convey a variety of moods, effectively combining a distinct, ethereal presence with one of a more direct and playful nature, depending on the requirements of a given moment. Vitti portrays Claudia‘s bond to Anna and her despondent nature over the loss of Anna with a resourceful, fluid acting approach. Later, as Claudia becomes the object of Sandro’s affection, Vitti shows the clear conflict between the young woman’s attraction to and need for Sandro’s love, and her guilt and feelings of unfaithfulness towards Anna if she chooses to willingly succumb to his embrace immediately after her friend’s disappearance. In one particularly expressive moment detailing her dramatic skill, Vitti finely demonstrates Claudia’s shift change from giddy excitement as she fully surrenders to a love affair with Sandro, to abrupt sullen detachment as she realizes he doesn’t share the same passion for her. After L’Avventura, Vitti would continue as a leading light in world cinema, gaining a host of awards for her gallery of strong, complex women, including five David di Donatello (aka as Italian Oscar) Best Actress prizes, while trying her hand at more assessable entertainment of the spy genre with 1966’s English-language Modesty Blaise, making her final film in 1989 as star and (for the only time) director of Secret Scandal before a lengthy retirement, then passing in 2022 at age 90.

As Anna, with brief screentime Lea Massari presents a colorful, complex character that lingers throughout the film. Massari believably shows Anna’s impulsive nature, such as a key scene wherein she causes havoc among the boating party’s swimmers with claims of a shark nearby, and her restlessness concerning her bond with fiancé Sandro, and how sturdy their relationship is, as Anna ponders a growing distance between them, even after they become intimate again as soon as Sandro returns from a business endeavor. Massari would build an interesting list of credits after possibly her most famous work as Anna, including Serigo Leone’s first directional assignment, 1961’s The Colossus of Rhodes and winning praise for her work in Louis Malle’s Murmur of the Heart, with her final film role coming in 1990 and her death at 91 occurring in June of 2025. Opposite Massari, then Vitti as Sandro, the Romeo of the piece, the calm, ultra-masculine Gabriele Ferzetti reaches one of his career peaks in a prolific film resume running from his debut as a teen in 1942’s street of the Five Moons to his final role in 2010, that includes Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service and 1974’s The Night Porter. Ferzetti lends Sandro a tellingly detached air but adds shadings to the role that make it hard to pinpoint exactly who Sandro is, as he comes across as overly confident at times, but also sensitive and hurt in other key moments, with Ferzetti believably balancing the various aspects of Sandro’s comportment with precision.

As Giulia, the pert, seemingly uninspired young wife of an older, more intellectual husband, the doll-like Dominique Blanchar is memorable in adding an eerie dimension to her role, first playing up Giulia’s insipidness and sensitivity during the trip at sea then, in stunning fashion, revealing a more carnal and harsher demeanor later in the film, to the dismay of Claudia who witnesses Giulia’s capricious behavior. Others blending into Antonioni’s dreamy-yet-bleak vision include James Addams as Corrado, Giulia’s condescending husband, Esmeralda Ruspoli as Patrizia, a sophisticated, bemused member of the voyage, Lelio Luttazzi as Raimondo, a would-be paramour who only has amorous eyes for Patrizia during the expedition and Jack O’Connell as the surprising and surprised inhabitant of Lisca Bianca the party discover during their search for Anna.

The unorthodox L’Avventura created controversy at the 1960 Canne Film Festival, but due to Antonioni profound, innovative arrangement of the film’s mise en scène and its undeniable quality, which the jurors must have sensed merited recognition of some kind, the landmark film went on to gain a Jury Prize, then gained the British Film Institute’s Sutherland Trophy for its originality and imagination, Nominations for Best Film from Any Source and Best Foreign Actress for Vitti from the British Academy Awards, and landed on Time magazine’s 1961 year-end list of the top ten foreign films. After the initial release, in short order critics heralded the trendsetting masterpiece as among the most accomplished works of the cinema, with L’Avventura placing at #2, just behind Citizen Kane, on the esteemed 1962 Sight and Sound poll, then staying high on the list in subsequent decades, at #5 in 1972, #7 in 1982 and still solidly ranked inside the top 100 at #72 on the most recent 2022 survey. With the film’s uniquely framed visuals, intelligent, multi-layered performances and opaque, thought-provoking storyline and themes by Antonioni in perhaps his most consummate achievement, the influential, transcendent L’Avventura will assuredly continue to fascinate and stimulate audiences wanting a singular, unforgettable viewing excursion.

Jennifer Jones and Gregory Peck Passionately Pair in Selznick's Blazing Sun

 

           One of the most intriguing large-scale productions to come out of Hollywood’s Golden Era, 1946’s Duel in the Sun offered producer David O. Selznick an opportunity to bring an exciting, provocative tale to the screen after the more polite and homespun Since You Went Away fared very well with 1944 audiences and well enough with critics, resulting in nine Oscar nominations, including a win for Max Steiner’s evocative score. Helmed by the great King Vidor, starting a period wherein he showed flair bringing juicy material to the screen with vivid color (literally in the case of Sun, then to follow in monochrome via The Fountainhead, Beyond the Forest and Ruby Gentry), the ace director adeptly keeps the lengthy screenplay by Selznick (based on Niven Busch’s 1944 novel) moving at a florid pace, allowing the 145-minute run time to breeze by for audiences held rapt by the wealth of rousing proceedings unfolding, leading to one of filmdom’s  most astonishing finales.

Selznick also clearly aids in adding scope and vividness to the tale, with elaborate scenes such as a calvary riding in to stop a mob and an expertly staged party sequence, combining a tantalizing mixture of the lurid and dramatic to ensure viewers gain a rousing entertainment experience in the epic scale associated with Selznick’s major productions, specifically Gone with the Wind, at the time the most finically successful film ever made, a status it stills holds today when inflation is factored in. Selznick may not equal Wind’s achievements with Sun, but the elements tied to a first-class, absorbing narrative that made Wind such a durable success also help propel Sun forward, allowing for a distinct film with a flavor all its own. Besides the aforementioned Vidor and Selznick contributions, Dimitri Tiomkin’s pulsating score, a top-tier cast fully vested in their meaty assignments, and some of the most arresting cinematography of the era (lensed by Lee Garmes, Ray Rennahan and Harold Rosson) are some of the factors which place Sun and its story surrounding the beautiful, wanton Pearl Chavez and her interactions with the McCanles, distant relatives the orphaned Pearl goes to live with on their cattle ranch during a period wherein oncoming railroad production loomed large, into the can’t miss category for cinephiles.  

                As the torrid Pearl, Jennifer Jones showcases a neurotic, sensual, highly-charged acting style and a low, earthy vocal delivery previously largely kept in check in good girl roles such as the saintly title figure in Jones’ Oscar-winning, career establishing turn in 1943’s The Song of Bernadette, followed by two more nominations for largely gentil playing, abet with restless overtones, in Since You Went Away and Love Letters. Before Sun in 1946, Jones’ expert playing opposite Charles Boyer in Ernst Lubitsch’s Cluny Brown revealed an offbeat, saucy comedic touch, then Jones threw herself into Sun with abandon and a knack for the overwrought, making her high-strung, emotional work as Pearl hard to forget, especially in her sadomasochistic-inclined scenes with Gregory Peck as the oily-but-magnetic Lewt McCanles, which caused plenty of buzz for the film and sleepless nights for the Hays Production Code. After Sun, Jones (often working with Selznick, whom she married in 1949) would build an interesting career alternating between genteel leading ladies, such as in Portrait of Jennie and possibly her biggest 1950’s success in Love is a Many Splendored Thing, with edgier, more complex and original work in her Gentry re-teaming with Vidor, stealing the show among an imposing cast as a creative liar in 1954’s Beat the Devil and fascinating as possibly the most unhinged suburban housewife of the era in 1956’s The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit, a performance which the author covered here. After Selznick’s death, Jones largely retired from the screen, before having one final, very endearing bow working opposite Fred Astaire and Paul Newman in a true 1970’s blockbuster, The Towering Inferno.

1946 also represented a banner year for Gregory Peck, after breaking through with an Oscar nomination for Keys of the Kingdom following his debut in 1944’s Days of Glory. 1945’s Spellbound and Valley of Decision, opposite Ingrid Bergman and Greer Garson, solidified Peck’s status as the hottest new leading man in town, and with both Sun and The Yearling in 1946, he justified the faith both viewers and Hollywood executives were placing in him, showing a heretofore undetected range and skill as an actor. After offering one of his most engaging and effective performances in what would become his typically noble, All-American persona via Yearling, Peck does a surprising about-face in Sun, tackling his shady character with great zeal. Based on his accomplished work as the diabolical Lewt, it’s a shame Peck didn’t go on to show his flair as a villain elsewhere until 1978’s The Boys from Brazil, as Sun indicates how well he could thrive in this mode, while also using his angular good looks to very sexy advantage as the lustful Lewt, leading a viewer to ponder just how bad being led astray by this alluring varmint could be. In demand for the rest of his career as a stoic, earnest figurehead via classics such as The Gunfighter, Roman Holiday (in a welcomed lighter fashion), The Guns of Navarone and Oscar nominated work in work in Yearling, Gentlemen’s Agreement, Twelve O’Clock High and possibly his peak in To Kill a Mockingbird (which finally won him an Academy Award), Peck’s deft work in Sun remains a reminder of how stimulating and nefarious a screen presence he could be when given a chance to step out of his decorum.

Along with his costars, Joseph Cotton was reaping the rewards of being a top 1940’s Selznick contract player, after auspiciously starting out his screen career via collaborations with Orson Welles (who provides Sun’s opening narration with a controlled grandiosity fitting to the subject matter) in Citizen Kane and The Magnificent Ambersons. Costarring with Jones in Since and Love Letters, Ginger Rodgers in I’ll be Seeing You and on loan out for Alfred Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt (perhaps Cotton’s most mesmerizing performance) and opposite Ingrid Bergman in Gaslight in the three years prior to Sun found Cotton near the lofty status of Peck as one of Hollywood’s most in-demand leading men circa 1946. As Jesse, Lewt’s much more decent and caring brother, who also has feelings for Pearl, Cotton offers a nice counter to the heated interactions of Jones and Peck, bringing a calm dignity and genial nature to his scenes, which helps balance out some of the high theatrics on display around him. Cotton would continue to thrive throughout the rest of the decade, cumulating in a key classic of the period, director Carol Reed’s The Third Man, wherein Cotton paired with Welles onscreen again in memorable fashion.

Among the incredible cast, Lionel Barrymore shows his knack for playing an irascible heel as the headstrong Senator Jackson, who seems intent on causing Pearl specifically and others in general plenty of hardship, around the same time he was giving James Stewart similar treatment in It’s a Wonderful Life, easily winning Barrymore the award for “Prime Cinematic Bastard of 1946.” Lillian Gish makes perhaps the biggest impression among the supporting players as Laura Belle, Pearl’s kind mother figure, illustrating her undiminished ability to hold the screen with grace and authority after proving herself to be one of the most gifted screen performers during her heyday in the Silent era of film. In Sun, Gish has a moment wherein Laura Belle sits in a chair as the Senator chastises his wife for taking in Pearl, and without a word powerfully conveys the put-upon woman’s feelings with a single, jaded stare in response to the verbal attack, indicating the character’s inner strength more powerfully than any dialogue could, before Laura Belle puts her husband in his place with a quiet but unquestionably steely resolve. Other key players in the stacked cast include Walter Huston, clearly having a ball as the “Minister” who casts a lecherous eye on Pearl as he implores her to follow a virtuous path, Herbert Marshall as Pearl’s weary, dignified father, Charles Bickford as an older suitor for Pearl’s affections, Butterfly McQueen bringing her unique comic flavor to the proceedings as Vashti, and Tilly Losch, who as Pearl’s mother helps get the film off to a rousing start with a provocative dance sure to cause temperatures to rise among the men onscreen, for better or worse.

With Selznick’s keen gifts of promotion, which naturally played up the sexier aspects of the storyline, leading to the movie inheriting the famous “Lust in the Dust” moniker, Sun had no issues living up to the hype, as patrons lined up in droves to catch his latest overblown but irresistible undertaking, resulting in (according to Variety) first-run box-office rentals of $8,700,000, allowing the film to cover its high production cost and place just behind The Best Years of Our Lives as the top hit of 1947 (both films were released in late 1946). Critics were less enthused, though Jones and Gish did gain Oscar nominations for their vivid work, while gaining faithful fans who could never forget viewing one of the screen’s most perverse Westerns. One young fan, Martin Scorsese, who lists Sun as his first film viewing experience, grew up to champion the film’s vivid use of color and compulsively watchable theatrics, helping to raise the film’s reputation over the years as a prime example of a grand scale melodramatic Western from Hollywood’s Golden Age. A prime potboiler that has lost none of its power to compel, viewers looking for a diverting night at the movies won’t be burn by this majestic and moving Sun.

And a fond farewell to Connie Francis, the preeminent female pop star of the late 1950s-mid-1960s. Born Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero on December 12, 1937 in Newark, New Jersey, Francis would witness an unsuccessful start as a teen recording artist, then breakthrough in 1958 with an update of “Who’s Sorry Now,” which illustrated Francis’ knack of conveying young heartbreak via her powerful vocal prowess. Providing herself equally adept with upbeat numbers, Francis would gain a string of huge hits during the next five years, including three #1s, “My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own, “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool” and “Don’t Break the Heart that Loves You So.” As an MGM singing star, Francis successfully ventured into the studio’s films with 1960’s Fort Lauderdale-based teen-centered comedy/drama Where the Boys Are, wherein Francis’ pleasant personality formed a natural affinity with the camera, leading to several lighter screen musicals and one of her most iconic hits via the Neil Sedaka-Howard Greenfield-penned title song (Sedaka and Greenfield had first collaborated with Francis on 1958’s up-tempo “Stupid Cupid,” their first big hit). After her heyday, Francis would suffer many personal setbacks, while remaining a beloved figure to her loyal fanbase, demonstrating her vocal talent to a mass audience once again with the recent online popularity of “Pretty Little Baby.” Rest in Peace to an endearing, uniquely gifted vocalist, Connie Francis.