Highway to Hell (Ate de Jong, 1991)

Patrick Bergin, Kristy Swanson, and Chad Lowe in Highway to Hell

Cast: Chad Lowe, Patrick Bergin, Kristy Swanson, Adam Storke, Pamela Gidley, Jarrett Lennon, C.J. Graham, Richard Farnsworth, Lita Ford, Gilbert Gottfried, Anne Meara, Amy Stiller, Ben Stiller, Jerry Stiller. Screenplay: Brian Helgeland. Cinematography: Robin Vidgeon. Production design: Philip Dean Foreman. Film editing: Todd C. Ramsay, Randy D. Thornton. Music: Hidden Faces. 

If only the performances and the jokes in Ate de Jong's Highway to Hell were as good as the sets, the costumes, the makeup, and the special effects. It's a riff on the Orpheus and Eurydice myth: A young couple, Rachel (Kristy Swanson) and Charlie (Chad Lowe), are on their way to Vegas to get married when Rachel is abducted by a demon in the guise of a highway patrolman (C.J. Graham). Charlie pursues them into hell, which looks very much like the Arizona desert, and eventually rescues her from the ruler of the underworld (Patrick Bergin). There's a nice turn by Richard Farnsworth as the old codger who warns them of the peril they face taking a back road to Vegas and, after the abduction happens, equips Charlie for his pursuit. Brian Helgeland's screenplay is imaginative, though it crams in a few too many inessential elements, including a cute dog and a cute kid. But Lowe and Swanson don't have the wit and charisma needed to make the audience care about whether the characters they play will survive. Some of the gags feel like they came from story conference ideas that were funny at the time but just prove distracting in execution. For example, the couple are traveling in a Ford Pinto that had been a pizza delivery car, to judge from the sign on top. It's amusing, but pointless, which might be said of the entire film.  

The Story of the Last Chrysanthemum (Kenji Mizoguchi, 1939)

Shotaro Hanayagi and Kakuko Mori in The Story of the Last Chrysanthemum

Cast: Shotaro Hanayagi, Kakuko Mori, Kokichi Takada, Gonjuro Kawarzaki II, Tokusaburo Arashi VI, Hideo Nakagawa, Yoko Umemura, Ryotaro Kawanami, Yoshiaki Hanyagi, Kinnosuke Takamatsu, Nobuko Fushimi, Benkei Shiganoya. Screenplay: Matsutaro Kawaguchi, Yoshikata Yoda, based on a story by Shofu Muramatsu. Cinematography: Yozo Fuji, Minoru Miki. Production design: Hiroshi Mizutani. Film editing: Koshi Kawahigashi. Music: Shiro Fukai. 

Kenji Mizoguchi's The Story of the Last Chrysanthemum provides a glimpse into the world of the kabuki theater through the life of an aspiring actor, Kikusone (Shotaro Hanayagi) and his companion Otoku (Kakuko Mori). When the two fall in love, Otoku, who was nurse to Kiku's much younger brother, is expelled from the household headed by his father, a famous actor. Kiku breaks with the family and sets out to prove himself on his own. The problem is, he's not a very good actor, and only when he's reunited with Otoku, who is the only person who will give him helpful advice at getting better, does he begin to make it in the profession. But not after much suffering, during which Otoku develops consumption. It's a familiar tale, reminiscent of the story of Marguerite Gautier (or Violetta Valéry, if you know Verdi's La Traviata) in adaptations of The Lady of the Camellias by Dumas fils. Mizoguchi tells it well with his characteristic long takes and avoidance of close-ups, and it's distinguished by his usual sympathetic treatment of women. It's generally regarded as an important precursor to the director's postwar triumphs, but it will try the patience of those for whom kabuki remains an inscrutable art form, and I found myself getting restless at the protracted treatment of Otoku's final moments.  

The Gift (Joel Edgerton, 2015)

Joel Edgerton in The Gift

Cast: Jason Bateman, Rebecca Hall, Joel Edgerton, Allison Tolman, Tim Griffin, Katie Aselton, Wendell Pierce, Beau Knapp, Adam Lazarre-White, David Denman, P.J. Byrne, Busy Philipps, Felicity Price. Screenplay: Joel Edgerton. Cinematography: Eduard Grau. Production design: Richard Sherman. Film editing: Ben Baudhuin, Luke Doolan. Music: Danny Bensi, Saunder Jurriaans. 

Joel Edgerton's directing debut The Gift starts as a stalker thriller and morphs neatly into a revenge tale, Jason Bateman plays Simon Callem, who has just moved to Los Angeles with his wife, Robyn (Rebecca Hall), when they meet Gordo Moseley (Edgerton), who went to high school with Simon. Robyn, who is new to LA, is happy to meet people, and is surprised at Simon's coldness to Gordo, who shows up again uninvited, bringing gifts, after their first encounter in a shopping mall. It's a neat setup for an exploration of the secrets that even people who are married to each other manage to conceal from each other. Edgerton's screenplay and direction handle the gradual change of perspective in the movie nicely, but it's Bateman's performance that makes the story work. He shades Simon from likable and affable, traits Bateman's previous roles have often emphasized, into something much darker. Although the denouement feels a bit overelaborate, the ending leaves viewers to ponder an ambiguity about the nature of retribution.     

Profound Desires of the Gods (Shohei Imamura, 1968)

Cast: Kazuo Kitamura, Choichiro Kawarasaki, Hudeko Okiyama, Kanjuro Arashi, Rentaro Mikuni, Yukuo Matsui, Yoshi Kato. Screenplay: Kenji Hasebe, Shohei Imamura. Cinematography: Masao Tochizawa. Production design: Takeshi Omura. Film editing: Mutsuo Tanji. Music: Toshiro Mayazumi.

Shohei Imamaura's Profound Desires of the Gods makes many demands on the viewer in addition to its 172-minute length. The chief demand lies in the characters, most of whom are the incestuous members of the Futori family, outcasts on the isolated Kurage Island. Theirs is an insular life indeed, at least until Kanya (Kazuo Kitamura), an engineer, is sent there by his company with a view to developing a sugar cane mill there. The engineer's search for a source of fresh water puts him into intimate contact with the Futoris, particularly the highly sexed and mentally challenged Toriko (HIdeko Okiyama). There's also a cult religion maintained by priestesses that's an obstacle to the developers. The culture clash on which the film centers is familiar enough, and it takes a predictable course. Some critics consider it Imamura's masterpiece, but it's a difficult film to engage with because of the eccentricities of the characters. The images of the island -- it was filmed on Ishigaki, part of the Yaeyama Islands archipelago southwest of Okinawa -- are often spectacular. The remote location led to cost overruns and delays in the filming, which took 18 months, and the film was not a commercial success.    

You're Next (Adam Wingard, 2011)

Sharni Vinson in You're Next

Cast: Sharni Vinson, Nicholas Tucci, Wendy Glenn, A.J. Bowen, Joe Swanberg, Margaret Laney, Amy Seimetz, Ti West, Rob Moran, Barbara Crampton, L.C. Holt, Simon Barrett, Lane Hughes. Screenplay: Simon Barrett. Cinematography: Andrew Droz Palermo. Production design: Tom Hammock. Film editing: Adam Wingard. Music: Mads Heidtberg, Jasper Lee, Kyle McKinnon, Adam Wingard. 

When a horror thriller starts with a couple having sex, you can bet that they're not long for the world. And after these first and apparently unrelated victims, when you see a family gathering in a somewhat isolated house, it's exactly as if you're being introduced to the killer's bill of fare. Adam Winberg's You're Next is predictable like that. It's a reunion of siblings and their plus-ones with Mom (Barbara Crampton) and Dad (Rob Moran), and it doesn't take long before the dinner table, after Dad says grace, is alive with arguments and old animosities. The squabble is cut short, however, when one of the plus-ones,Tariq (a cameo by horror director Ti West), gets shot through the head by an arrow coming from a crossbow outside. There's a lot of panicky scrambling and the body count rises. The assailants appear as a trio in animal masks, a tiger, a lamb, and a fox. Eventually, one of the beleaguered house guests takes charge: Erin (Sharni Vinson), the girlfriend of Crispian (A.J. Bowen). He volunteers to try to slip out of the house and go for help, while she marshals the survivors and arms them with whatever sharp objects and blunt instruments they can find in the house. It turns out that Erin is the daughter of a survivalist who got her training back in her native Australia, and her skills at fighting back are many. There are a few surprises as the who and why of this massacre are revealed, but mostly You're Next is routine bloodshed passably executed.  

Lydia (Julien Duvivier, 1941)

Joseph Cotten and Merle Oberon in Lydia

Cast: Merle Oberon, Joseph Cotten, Alan Marshal, Edna May Oliver, Hans Jaray, George Reeves, John Halliday, Sara Allgood. Screenplay: Julien Duvivier, Leslie Bush-Fekete, Ben Hecht, Samuel Hoffenstein. Cinematography: Lee Garmes. Production design: Vincent Korda. Film editing: William Hornbeck. Music: Miklós Rózsa. 

Produced by Alexander Korda with his usual opulent taste as a showcase for his wife, Merle Oberon, Julien Duvivier's Lydia takes a sentimental romance and subtly undercuts its romanticism. Oberon's Lydia starts out as a giddy girl under the watchful eye of her grandmother (Edna May Oliver), who thrills to her first ball, keeps the sensible man who is infatuated with her at arm's length, falls for a football player and almost elopes with him, turns to charitable work with blind children, meets a blind pianist and composer  who also falls for her, has a passionate affair that ends badly, and decides to stay unmarried and concentrate on charity work. The film is structured as a flashback -- with flashbacks inside flashbacks -- from a reunion with her old flames: the sensible Michael (Joseph Cotten), the quarterback Bob, and the pianist Frank (Hans Jaray). Richard (Alan Marshal), the passionate fling, is invited, but doesn't show until the end, when he makes the film's point: we remember what we want to remember, and not what actually happened. The production values, including Lee Garmes's cinematography, Vincent Korda's sets, and Miklós Rózsa's score, are first-rate, although the old-age makeup in which the principals spend most of the film isn't entirely convincing. Lydia is a little too leisurely in its story-telling, and while its ironic anti-romantic structure and ending give the film some bite, they feel at odds with the romantic fluffiness of its production.   

Pacific Heights (John Schlesinger, 1990)

Matthew Modine, Melanie Griffith, and Michael Keaton in Pacific Heights

Cast: Melanie Griffith, Matthew Modine, Michael Keaton, Mako, Nobu McCarthy, Laurie Metcalf, Carl Lumbly, Dorian Harewood, Luca Bercovici, Tippi Hedren, Jerry Hardin, Dan Hedaya, Beverly D'Angelo. Screenplay: Daniel Pyne. Cinematography: Amir Mokri. Production design: Neil Spisak. Film editing: Steven Ramirez, Mark Warner. Music: Hans Zimmer. 

Drake Goodman and Patty Palmer, a young couple played by Matthew Modine and Melanie Griffith, splurge on fixing up a Victorian house in San Francisco, thinking they'll be able to afford it by renting out two apartments on the first floor. But one of the tenants turns out to be a psychopath. It's a simple horror/thriller premise that depends on the audience's identification with the beleaguered homeowners, And it works as long as the tenant is a plausible nutcase in disguise, a role that Michael Keaton ably pulls off. But John Schlesinger's Pacific Heights goes awry when Drake, the homeowner, turns out to be something of a nutcase himself, unable to control his temper and his urge to get even once the tenant, who calls himself Carter Hayes, is revealed as a conniving and malicious fraud. Modine is normally a rather bland actor, and the part might have made more sense if it had gone to someone used to playing guys with a short fuse, but the script by Daniel Pyne is also at fault for not tipping us off earlier that Drake is thin-skinned and volatile. Once Drake implodes and winds up in jail, it falls to Patty, who has suffered a miscarriage under the stress of trying to evict Hayes from the house, to turn detective and exact revenge. The movie actually begins with a bit of Hayes's backstory, which doesn't become clear to anyone until Patty sleuths it out. The more complicated the film becomes, the more implausible Keaton's character and the machinations of dealing with him also become. There's also a curious side plot about a Black man (Carl Lumbly) who applied for the apartment before Hayes turned up, but lost out when his application was accidentally tossed in the trash. It serves only to make a gratuitous point about perceived racism and not to advance the story. Griffiths's mother, Tippi Hedren, has a cameo as a wealthy woman being courted by Hayes, and an unbilled Beverly D'Angelo does good work as his former girlfriend. Laurie Metcalf is wasted in the small role of Drake and Patty's lawyer. Pacific Heights works only as long as you don't think about it too much or expect more than a few mild shocks.

The Kaiju Kid

Son of Godzilla (Jun Fukuda, 1967)

Cast: Tadeo Takashima, Akira Kubo, Bibari Maeda, Akihiko Hirata, Yoshio Tsuchiya, Kenji Sahara, Ken'ichiro Maruyama, Seishiro Kuno, Yasuhiko Saijo, Haruo Nakajima, "Little Man" Machan. Screenplay: Shin'ichi Sekizawa, Kazue Shiba. Cinematography: Kazuo Yamada. Production design: Takeo Kita, Mutsuma Yoyoshima. Film editing: Ryohei Fujii. Music: Masaru Sato. 

All Monsters Attack (Ishiro Honda, 1969)

Cast: Tomonori Yazaki, Hideyo Yamamoto, Sachio Sakai, Kazuo Suzuki, Kenji Sahara, Machiko Naka, Shigki Ishida, Haruo Nakajima, "Little Man" Machan, Yu Sekita. Screenplay: Shin'ichi Sekizawa. Cinematography: Sokei Tomioka. Production design: Takeo Kita. Film editing: Masahisa Himi. Music: Kunko Miyauchi. 

For all their violent destruction and anti-nuke subtext, it was always evident that the Godzilla films were in large part aimed at kids, as the toy market demonstrated. And as the big guy himself began to morph from a malevolent force that needed to be destroyed into a creature deserving of our understanding, it became inevitable that he should turn out to have a family. Hence Jun Fukuda's Son of Godzilla, in which a group of scientists visit a Pacific island (one of the remnants of Japan's ill-fated empire building) and encounter not only Godzilla and some fearsome giant mantises, but also his hatchling offspring, who would eventually be dubbed Minilla. Son of Godzilla is a pretty good installment in the series, centered on the usual human meddling with nature, in this case an attempt to manipulate the weather on the island. The plot creaks as it introduces the sole female member of the cast, the castaway Saeko (Bibari Maeda), daughter of an earlier researcher on the island, who is useful in warning the crew of its perils, including a giant spider called Kumonga. Eventually, Godzilla and son help fend off Kumonga and the mantises and allow the humans to escape, but not before their weather-control technology freezes the island, along with Godzilla and Minilla, who, we are assured, are merely in hibernation. All Monsters Attack returns us to the island, but only in the imagination of Ichiro (Tomonori Yazaki), a small boy who dreams of traveling there to meet Minilla and his father. Ichiro is a latchkey kid in the slums on the outskirts of an industrial city, who is often bullied by larger kids. Generally regarded as one of the weakest movies in the franchise, All Monsters Attack relies heavily on footage from earlier films, including Son of Godzilla. Director Ishiro Honda liked it, however, as the similarity of the name of the film's protagonist to his own suggests. It's explicitly a movie for kids, in which Minilla's discovery of his own ability to stand up to other monsters inspires Ichiro's triumph over his bullies. 
 

Homebodies (Larry Yust, 1974)

Paula Trueman in Homebodies

Cast: Peter Brocco, Frances Fuller, William Hansen, Ruth McDevitt, Paula Trueman, Ian Wolfe, Linda Marsh, Douglas Fowley. Screenplay: Howard Kaminsky, Bennett Sims, Larry Yust. Cinematography: Isidore Mankofsky. Art direction: John Retsek. Film editing: Peter Parasheles. Music: Bernardo Segall. 

With a better director, Homebodies might have been a black comedy gem. It has an engaging, even meaningful premise, a well-chosen Cincinnati location, and a skillful cast of experienced character actors. But director and co-writer Larry Yust is unable to find a consistent tone for the film, which is sometimes sentimental, sometimes grotesque, sometimes comic, and sometimes painful. A group of elderly people, residents of an apartment house in a block that's been slated for demolition to make way for high-rise buildings, decide that they will not be moved from the place they have spent most of their lives. The most stubborn of them all, Mattie (Paula Trueman), spearheads the resistance, which starts with a series of apparently accidental deaths of workmen in the construction side, and eventually leads to the murder of the woman in charge of relocating the tenants and the particularly gruesome one of the man whose high-rise is the cause of their displacement. The trope of sweet senior citizens turning murderous is an old one, and the writers of Homebodies are to be credited for turning it into a statement about the callousness of urban redevelopment and gentrification. But the plot twist in which the old people begin to turn on one another sends the film off in another direction, one the filmmakers seem unable to resolve satisfactorily.

Disclosure Day (Steven Spielberg, 2026)

Emily Blunt in Disclosure Day

Cast: Emily Blunt, Josh O'Connor, Colin Firth, Eve Hewson, Colman Domingo, Wyatt Russell, Henry Lloyd-Hughes, Elizabeth Marvel, Hettienne Park, Tommy Martinez. Screenplay: David Koepp. Cinematography: Janusz Kaminski. Production design: Adam Stockhausen. Film editing: Sarah Broshar. Music: John Williams. 

David Koepp's screenplay for Disclosure Day reportedly went through 42 drafts, and it shows. There are scenes that have no important plot function, like the one in which Daniel Kellner (Josh O'Connor) finds himself in the middle of a crop circle just as it's being created. There are characters such as Jackson (Wyatt Russell), the boyfriend of the film's protagonist, Margaret Fairchild (Emily Blunt), who don't have enough to do. There are too many car chases and hair's-breadth escapes. There is the pointlessly meticulous (and improbable) reconstruction of Margaret's childhood home. It's as if there was something in each of those drafts that Steven Spielberg thought was too good not to include in the final product, a rather frantic and fractured attempt to recapture the wonder that his earlier films evoked. The movie's thrills, such as the scene with the car and the freight train, are skillfully executed, but they come across as set pieces that any competent director might have staged, and not as part of a fully envisioned narrative. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982) and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) are classics that felt in touch with the audience, set in the middle-class families that Spielberg knew and embraced as his milieu. Disclosure Day makes a feint at that by re-creating Margaret's childhood, but only in passing. It's a thriller without roots in ordinary experience, out to surprise the audience rather than embrace it. Good work by Blunt, O'Connor, Colin Firth, and Colman Domingo makes the characters come alive, but the film crafted around them is a coldly mechanical collection of half-baked ideas about the possibility of a governmental and corporate cover-up of alien life among us.      

Mothra vs. Godzilla (Ishiro Honda, 1964)

Cast: Akira Takarada, Yuriko Hoshi, Hiroshi Koizumi, Yu Fujiki, Kenji Sahara, Emi Ito, Yumi Ito, Yoshifuma Tajima, Jun Tazaki, Kenzo Tabu, Haruo Nakajima, Katsumi Tezuka. Screenplay: Shin'ichi Sekizawa. Cinematography: Hajime Koizumi. Production design: Takeo Kita. Film editing: Ryohei Fujii. Music: Akira Ifukube.

The contest between the benevolent insect god Mothra and the rampaging Godzilla sounds unequal. What's Mothra going to do, flap Godzilla to death? It turns out in Ishiro Honda's Mothra vs. Godzilla that the giant lepidopteran has a few unexpected tricks in her repertoire, not the least that she has progeny in the form of larvae with teeth. As usual, the humans are clumsy spectators, prone to do as much harm as good, but fortunately they have the help of Mothra's diminutive acolytes, the Shobijin (Emi Ito, Yumi Ito). We begin with a typhoon that washes a giant egg ashore, whereupon greedy promoters set out to make a fortune exploiting it. The egg, of course, is Mothra's, and fortunately we have an intrepid newspaper reporter (Akira Takarad) and a photographer (Yuriko Hoshi) who are more interested in getting the story than in making money. (The demise of newspapers is going to make such plots obsolete: Can we rely on intrepid podcasters to save the world in future encounters with giant monsters?) The movie is bright and busy entertainment with just enough sermonizing about human foibles to make it feel like the time watching it wasn't misspent.  

Two Evil Eyes (George A. Romero, Dario Argento, 1990)

Adrienne Barbeau in Two Evil Eyes ("The Facts in the Case of Mr. Valdemar") 

Harvey Keitel in Two Evil Eyes ("The Black Cat")

Cast of "The Facts in the Case of Mr. Waldemar": Adrienne Barbeau, Ramy Zada, Bingo O'Malley, Jeff Howell, E.G. Marshall, Chuck Aber, Tom Atkins. Cast of "The Black Cat": Harvey Keitel, Madeleine Potter, John Amos, Sally Kirkland, Kim Hunter, Holter Graham, Martin Balsam, Jonathan Adams, Julie Benz. Screenplay: George A. Romero, Peter Kober ("The Facts in the Case of Mr. Waldemar"); Dario Argento, Franco Ferrini ("The Black Cat"), based on stories by Edgar Allan Poe. Cinematography: Peter Reniers ("The Facts in the Case of Mr. Waldemar), Giuseppe Maccari ("The Black Cat"). Production design: Cletus Anderson. Film editing: Pasquale Buba. Music: Pino Donaggio. 

The title Two Evil Eyes seems intended to suggest that its two directors, George A. Romero and Dario Argento, have different visions when trained on the works of Edgar Allan Poe, and they do. Romero takes a straightforward approach to updating one of Poe's less familiar tales as "The Facts in the Case of Mr. Waldemar." Argento's is a stylistic embroidering on "The Black Cat," loaded with allusions to other Poe stories. Neither is a particularly memorable addition to the corpus of either director's work, but devotees of their films will find much to like in both. 

Ghidorah: The Three-Headed Monster (Ishiro Honda, 1964)

Cast: Yosuke Natsuki, Yuriko Hoshi, Hiroshi Koizumi, Akiko Wakabayashi, Emi Ito, Yumi Ito, Takashi Shimura, Akihiko Hirata, Hisaya Ito, Haruo Nakajima, Masanori Shinohara, Shoichi Hirose. Screenplay: Shin'ichi Sekizawa. Cinematography: Hajime Koizuma. Production design: Takeo Kita. Film editing: Ryohei Fujii. Music: Akira Ifekube. 

This time the monster terrifying Japan comes from outer space, not spawned by atomic testing here on Earth. Ghidorah: The Three-Headed Monster centers on a creature that destroyed civilization on Venus before directing its attention toward this planet. Fortunately, it meets its match in some terrestrial monsters, Godzilla, Rodan, and Mothra, although Mothra has some difficulty persuading the other two lunkheads to join forces against a common enemy. But the parts of the film that deal with humans are even more screwy than usual, involving a princess (Akiko Wakabayashi) from another country, visiting Japan on a good-will trip.  Somehow, the princess gets possessed by the spirit of a Venusian who witnessed Ghidorah's destruction of her planet, and she's able to aid the earthly scientists and good guys once he starts his rampage. But the princess has her own human enemies, assassins from a rival political faction, who only complicate things once the monster action starts. Also there to help are the Shobijin, a pair of fairy acolytes to Mothra who facilitate communication with the larval creature. They're played by the twins Emi Ito and Yumi Ito, who are also a musical duo known as Peanut. Fortunately, you don't need all the backstory of these creatures to watch Ghidorah. It's the usual non-stop mixture of dated but charming special effects, with some sly humor thrown in.  

Will Your Heart Beat Faster? (Mike De Leon, 1980)

Johnny Delgado in Will Your Heart Beat Faster?

Cast: Christopher De Leon, Charo Santos, Jay Ilagan, Sandy Andolong, Boboy Garrovillo, Johnny Delgado, Armida Siguion-Reyna, Leo Martinez, Moody Diaz, Joe Jardi, Danny Javier. Screenplay: Cloduado Del Mundo Jr., Raquel Villavicencio, Mike De Leon. Cinematography: Rody Lacap. Production design: Raquel Villavicencio. Film editing: Ike Jariego Jr. Music: Lorrie Ilustre. 

Comedy often doesn't translate well, and for most of us non-Filipino viewers, a great deal of Mike De Leon's romantic, satiric musical comedy Will Your Heart Beat Faster? gets lost in translation. There's a lot of business involving the attempt of a particularly inept member of the Japanese yakuza to smuggle drugs into the Philippines, involving a quartet of attractive young people who become his unwitting vehicle when he slips a cassette tape into the pocket of the hero, a pop star named Johnny (Christopher De Leon). Lots of mistaken identities and slapstick action ensue, especially when the Chinese decide to muscle in on the territory. But when everything comes together toward the end, the movie blossoms into a goofy, entertaining extravaganza involving nuns, priests, smugglers, cops, mysterious passageways, and who knows what else. It's definitely not politically correct -- I'm assuming that the "Japs" and "Chinks" of the subtitles are translations of equivalent slurs in the original Filipino language. Under the original title, Kakabakaba Ka Ba?, it was a big hit in its homeland, which has been no stranger to exploitation by its more powerful neighbors. 

Godzilla Raids Again (Motoyoshi Oda, 1955)

Cast: Hiroshi Koizumi, Setsuko Wakayama, Minoru Chiaki, Takashi Shimura, Masao Shimizu, Seijiro Onda, Sonosuke Sawamura, Yoshio Tsuchiya, Mayuri Mokusho, Minosuke Yamada, Haruo Nakajima. Katsumi Tezuka. Screenplay: Takeo Murata, Shigeaki Hidaka, based on a novel by Shigeru Kayama. Cinematography: Seiichi Endo. Production design: Teruaki Abe, Takeo Kita. Film editing: Kazuji Taira. Music: Masura Sato. 

The inevitable sequel to Ishiro Honda's 1954 hit, Godzilla Raids Again introduces what would become the mainstay of the franchise: monster vs. monster. Godzilla encounters his first kaiju antagonist, an ankylosaurus called Anguirus, who looks like a cross between a hedgehog and a nubbly scrub brush. Anguirus's inflexible carapace somewhat limits his mobility in his conflict with Godzilla, but the two manage to do quite a bit of damage to Osaka before the latter prevails. Unfortunately, the rest of the film feels anticlimactic after the scenes of destruction, as it deals with the plan to bury Godzilla under a mass of rock and ice on an island near Hokkaido. This results in a rather perfunctory subplot, turning the film into a kind of buddy movie featuring two pilots, Tsukioka (Hiroshi Koizumi) and Kobayashi (Minoru Chiaku), who are the first to encounter the two monsters and are determined to see it through to the end. If you somehow missed the first movie, there are some clips from it, and Takashi Shimura returns in a cameo as the paleontologist Dr. Yamane, who shares his expertise on the creatures. 

Kisapmata (Mike De Leon, 1981)

Vic Silayan in Kisapmata

Cast: Vic Silayan, Charito Solis, Charo Santos, Jay Ilagan, Ruben Rustia, Aida Carmona. Screenplay: Clodualdo Del Mundo Jr., Raquel Villavicencio, Mike De Leon, based on an article by Nick Joaquin. Cinematography: Rody Lacap. Production design: Cesar Hernando. Film editing: Jess Navarro. Music: Lorrie Ilustre. 

Kisapmata begins as a straightforward domestic drama about an overbearing father, played with sinister roughness by Vic Silayan. Dadong, a retired police sergeant, is upset when his daughter, Mila (Charo Santos) announces that she's pregnant and wants to marry her co-worker, Noel (Jay Ilagan), but he seems to swallow his objections after Noel's widowed father, Peping (Ruben Rustia, agrees to a generous dowry and an elaborate wedding. But the nervousness of the bride and her mother, Dely (Charito Solis), signal to the audience that all is not well. Then, during the reception, after everyone dances together in a show of unity, Dely is suddenly taken ill. The honeymoon is off when Dely is rushed home and Dadong says that Mila must come help her mother recover. Mike De Leon deftly handles the transition from the original sense that Dadong has accepted and adjusted to the marriage to a growing awareness that dark secrets threaten his accommodation, not to mention the lives of the people under his control. Kisapmata means "in the wink of an eye," and the film's denouement, after Mila and Noel struggle to escape from Dadong's control, comes in exactly that manner. Based on a reporter's account of an actual incident, De Leon's movie gives us the experience of a conventional thriller, but leaves us pondering the deeper forces that drive the desire to exert control over other people. It has sometimes been interpreted as a veiled portrait of the authoritarian state represented by the Marcos regime in the Philippines. 

An Actor's Revenge (Kon Ichikawa, 1963)

Kazuo Hasegawa in An Actor's Revenge

Cast: Kazuo Hasegawa, Fujiko Yanamoto, Ayako Wakao, Raizo Ichikawa, Shintaro Katsu, Eiji Funakoshi, Chusha Ichikawa, Narutoshi Hayashi, Nakamura Ganjior II, Saburo Date, Eijiro Yanaki, Jun Hamamura. Screenplay: Notto Wada, Daisuke Ito, Teinosuke Kinugasa, based on a novel by Otokichi Mikami. Cinematography: Setsuo Kobayashi. Production design: Yoshinobu Nishioka. Film editing: Shigeo Nishida. Music: Yasushi Akutagawa, Masao Yagi. 

Kon Ichikawa's An Actor's Revenge was made in part to celebrate a milestone in the career of actor Kazuo Hasegawa: his 300th film performance. It does so by providing him two roles: the actor Yukinojo Nakamura and the thief Yamitaro. The actor is an onnagata, a male who plays female roles and retains the dress and manner of a woman offstage. The thief provides a running commentary, as he observes the action, which centers on Yukinojo's manipulation of the lovely Namiji (Ayako Wakao), the daughter of one of the men who caused the death of his parents 20 years earlier. He uses his acting skills to lure the men into a trap, trusting that their perception of his effeminate manner will make them unaware of his cunning and his prowess with a sword. Hasegawa's remarkable double performance gives the film its great distinction, but it's also beautifully filmed and staged, with a score that uses a variety of modes, including a surprising switch to jazz in one scene.  

Batch '81 (Mike De Leon, 1982)

Ricky Sandico in Batch '81

Cast: Mark Gil, Sandy Andolong, Ward Luarca, Noel Trinidad, Ricky Sandico, Jimmy Javier, Rod Leido, Bing Pimentel, Dang Cecilio, Mike Arvisu, Vic Lima, Dodo Cabasal, Edwin Reyes. Screenplay: Clodualdo Del Mundo Jr., Raquel Villavicencio, Mike De Leon. Cinematography: Rody Lacap. Production design: Cesar Hernando. Film editing: Jess Navarro. Music: Lorrie Ilustre. 

Mike De Leon's Batch '81 is a scathing account of what some people will do to gain acceptance that goes well beyond the particular setting, a university in the Philippines during the Marcos era. Sid (Mark Gil), a pre-med student, decides to join the fraternity Alpha Kappa Omega, along with 14 other applicants who are put through a series of uncomfortable, embarrassing, and increasingly hazardous tests of their loyalty to the group. As the unpleasantness of the hazing increases, more and more of the young men drop out until half a dozen are left. Sid is the toughest and most determined of the lot, and even the deaths that occur along the way -- ignored by the authorities -- only strengthen his resolve and resistance. De Leon tells the story ironically, with music cues like a triumphant chorus set to the turn of Gaudeamus Igitur helping to turn it into a tale of heroic persistence. At one point, the fraternity brothers perform in a scene from the musical Cabaret against a backdrop of swastikas. At the end, a closeup of Sid's face, drained of humanity, suggests the toll that the experience of being forced into this sinister brotherhood has taken on him. That Batch '81 is designed as a satire on the authoritarian Marcos regime is evident, especially in the torture scene in which one of the candidates is strapped to a chair attached to electrodes and asked whether martial law was good for the Philippines -- a question cut from the film in its original release. With college fraternity misbehavior lately in the headlines, and an administration in this country that often behaves like a collection of fratboys, the movie feels more relevant than ever. 

Hustler White (Bruce LaBruce, Rick Castro, 1996)

Tony Ward in Hustler White

Cast: Tony Ward, Bruce LaBruce, Kevin P. Scott, Ivar Johnson, Kevin Kramer, Alex Austin, Ron Athey, Glen Meadmore, Graham David Smith, Miles H. Wildecock II, Bud Cockerham, Michael Glass, Vaginal Davis. Screenplay: Bruce LaBruce, Rick Castro. Cinematography: James Carman. Production design: Rick Castro, Bruce LaBruce. Film editing: Rider Siphron.

Like Dante descending into the Inferno, writer Jürgen Anger (Bruce LaBruce) arrives in LA to gather material for a book on street hustlers. He finds his Virgil in a hunky hustler named Montgomery Ward (hunky model Tony Ward), who helps him tour the circles of fetish and kink along Santa Monica Boulevard. Hustler White is a not-so-divine comedy cooked up by LaBruce and photographer Rick Castro, but never quite assembled into a coherent movie. Anger (no relation to Kenneth) and Ward provide as much of a focus as the film ever achieves, but mostly it's a collection of jumbled-together incidents, some grotesque, some gross, some satiric, some even actually funny, and none of them very erotic unless you're particularly into some of the practices depicted. It's a movie full of allusions to other movies, the chief of which is Sunset Blvd. (Billy Wilder, 1950): As Hustler White begins, Montgomery Ward is lying face-down, apparently dead, in a Jacuzzi, introducing his story in voiceover the way William Holden's Joe Gillis does in Wilder's film. Jürgen is as queeny as Gloria Swanson's Norma Desmond, but there the parallels between the two films mostly peters away. Tony Ward performs well in the role, but LaBruce is no actor, and if we didn't have better controlled and more imaginatively conceived films like Otto; or, Up With Dead People (2008) and Gerontophilia (2013) from him, we might suspect that he's not much of a writer-director. 

La Tête d'un Homme (Julien Duvivier, 1933)

Harry Baur and Valéry Inkijinoff in La Tête d'un Homme

Cast: Harry Baur, Valéry Inkijinoff, Gina Manès, Alexandre Rignault, Gaston Jacquet, Henri Échourin, Louis Gauthier, Marcel Bourdel. Screenplay: Louis Delaprée, Pierre Calman, Julien Duvivier, based on a novel by Georges Simenon. Cinematography: Armand Thirard. Art direction: Georges Wakhévitch. Film editing: Marthe Poncin. Music: Jacques Belasco. 

The seamy side of Paris gets a thorough exploration in Julien Duvivier's La Tête d'un Homme, an adaptation of one of Georges Simenon's gritty and intricately plotted Maigret novels. The film begins in a seedy, crowded bar, where a man down to his last sou voices the wish that someone would murder his aunt, whose fortune he will inherit. And he gets his wish, thanks to a man who overhears him. That's the setup for a story that spins out into frameups and blackmail and double crossings that take Inspector Maigret (Harry Baur) a good deal of effort and a few slyly unorthodox tricks of his own to sort out. The main pleasure of the film lies not in the detective work, but in its creation of atmosphere through moody, expressionist camerawork and skilled performances. Baur is superb as Maigret, but he meets his match in Valéry Inkijinoff as Radek, a man who has nothing to lose because he's dying, and spends his last days manipulating others to take the fall for the murder he has committed. La Tête d'un Homme is sometimes a little too slowly paced for a mystery thriller, but its slowness allows for character development not typical of the genre.