Murder by Contract (Irving Lerner, 1958)

Herschel Bernardi, Phillip Pine, and Vince Edwards in Murder by Contract

Cast: Vince Edwards, Phillip Pine, Herschel Bernardi, Caprice Toriel, Michael Granger, Kathie Browne, Joseph Mell, Frances Osborne, Steven Rich, Davis Roberts, Don Garrett, Gloria Victor. Screenplay: Ben Simcoe. Cinematography: Lucien Ballard. Art direction: Jack Poplin. Film editing: Carlo Lodati. Music: Perry Botkin Sr.

Irving Lerner's lean, clever Murder by Contract is a favorite of Martin Scorsese's, and you can detect its influence in his work, especially in the character of Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver (1976). Claude, the central character of Lerner's movie, is a loner and an enigma, who like Travis works off some of his sociopathic urges by exercise. Brawny, brooding Vince Edwards, who gained some fame in the 1960s as brawny, brooding Dr. Ben Casey on television, plays the hit man Claude, who is both a sociopath and a misogynist -- he refers to women as "pigs" and freaks out when he discovers that his latest target is a woman: "The human female is descended from the monkey, and monkeys are about the most curious animal in the world. If anything goes on, it just can't stand not to know about it. Same thing with a woman." We first meet Claude in a wonderfully elliptical scene in which he's applying to a Mr. Moon (Michael Granger) for a job. We aren't told what the job is, and we never even meet the man named Brink who is the actual employer, but our suspicions, if we have them, are confirmed when Claude is put to the test in a couple of contract killings. Succeeding in them, he's sent to Los Angeles, where he connects with a pair of Brink's henchmen, George (Herschel Bernardi) and Marc (Phillip Pine), who help him set up for the murder of the key witness in an upcoming trial. But Claude keeps his cool, stalling George and Marc, insisting on touring L.A. before finally setting up for the kill. The result is some entertaining scenes in which Claude frustrates the hot-headed Marc but wins over the more intelligent George. Marc mockingly refers to Claude as "Superman," which is more apt in the Nietzschean sense than in the DC Comics sense -- some have even called Murder by Contract an "existentialist film noir." The movie falls apart a bit at the end, which feels anticlimactic, though it's hard to see how it could have topped the very good beginning and middle. Ben Simcoe is the credited writer, but Ben Maddow, who wrote the screenplay for John Huston's The Asphalt Jungle (1950) and probably the best movie made from a novel by William Faulkner, Intruder in the Dust (Clarence Brown, 1949), is said to have worked on the script.

Anchors Aweigh (George Sidney, 1945)

Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra in Anchors Aweigh

Cast: Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra, Kathryn Grayson, José Iturbi, Dean Stockwell, Pamela Britton, Rags Ragland, Billy Gilbert, Henry O'Neill, Carlos Ramirez, Edgar Kennedy, Grady Sutton, Leon Ames, Sharon McManus. Screenplay: Isobel Lennart, Natalie Marcin. Cinematography: Charles P. Boyle, Robert H. Planck. Art direction: Randall Duell, Cedric Gibbons. Film editing: Adrienne Fazan. Music: George Stoll.

Anchors Aweigh is not in the top tier of MGM musicals. It doesn't have the smooth integration of story with music found in Vincente Minnelli's Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) and An American in Paris (1951) or Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly's Singin' in the Rain (1952). What it does have is Kelly in his breakthrough film, blazing with his uniquely muscular dancing style in some great set pieces, not only the famously beloved sequence in which he dances with Jerry the Mouse, but also in the charming "Mexican Hat Dance" with little Sharon McManus and the spectacular "La Cumparsita" that has him doing stunt leaps and swinging from a curtain to a balcony occupied by Kathryn Grayson. Kelly did the choreography for these numbers, and they depend heavily on long takes that show the dancing to best advantage. But the film also has Frank Sinatra, still in his skinny idol-of-the-bobby-soxers phase, which earned him top billing -- Grayson is billed second and Kelly third. He's in fine voice, and the phrasing that would make him one of the best singers who ever lived is already in evidence; he was also coached by Kelly into being a more-than-passable dancing partner. Unfortunately, the film also has Grayson, the least charming and talented of the run of Hollywood sopranos that began with Jeanette MacDonald and encompassed singers like Grace Moore, Lily Pons, and Deanna Durbin before fizzling out with Jane Powell. Plus there's José Iturbi, the pianist and conductor whose movie stardom remains a mystery (at least to me); he hashes up the Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 in a number shot at the Hollywood Bowl where he's accompanied by a stage full of young pianists. The plot, such as it is, hangs on Kelly and Sinatra getting Grayson, with whom both have fallen in love, an audition with Iturbi at MGM and then figuring out which of them will get Grayson. The whole thing unaccountably earned an Oscar nomination for best picture, but it also landed Kelly his only nomination as best actor. It was also nominated for cinematography and for Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn's song "I Fall in Love Too Easily," which Sinatra introduced, and it won for George Stoll's scoring.

The Lineup (Don Siegel, 1958)

Eli Wallach and Robert Keith in The Lineupw

Cast: Eli Wallach, Robert Keith, Richard Jaeckel, Warner Anderson, Mary LaRoche, William Leslie, Emile Meyer, Marshall Reed, Raymond Bailey, Vaughn Taylor, Cheryl Callaway, Robert Bailey. Screenplay: Stirling Silliphant. Cinematography: Hal Mohr. Art direction: Ross Bellah. Film editing: Al Clark. Music: Mischa Bakaleinikoff.

The Lineup is a police procedural based on a popular radio and TV series that centers on uncovering a drug-smuggling ring that uses unwitting tourists to bring in heroin concealed in works of art and toys sold to them in Asian countries. The title seems to be a bid to draw in viewers of the TV show: The one lineup in the film is incidental to the procedural part of the story, which is really the less interesting part of the movie. Actors Warner Anderson and Marshall Reed play the detectives in charge of things with the stiff "just the facts, ma'am" manner characteristic of cop shows of the day, but things only begin to get interesting when we meet the villains. Eli Wallach gets top billing as Dancer, a twitchy psychopath under the guidance of the more cerebral Julian (Robert Keith), who doesn't like to get his hands dirty and has never shot a gun, but collects people's last words, reported to him by Dancer. They're joined by Sandy McLain (Richard Jaeckel), the driver supplied to them by the head of the operation, known as The Man (Vaughn Taylor). Sandy is an alcoholic -- Julian refers to him as a "dipsomaniac" -- who keeps a pint handy in his suit pocket, but knows how to drive a car fast through San Francisco streets. And it's those streets that perhaps supply the most interest in the film today, with fascinating location shots including some now-vanished landmarks: the Embarcadero Freeway, which was never finished and was torn down after the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, and the Sutro Baths, a museum and ice-skating rink that was destroyed by an arsonist's fire in 1966. Hal Mohr's camera and Don Siegel's direction make the most of these and other settings. Sometimes the settings seem to drive the plot: There's not much reason to have one of the victimized tourists be an administrator of the San Francisco Opera other than to have a scene shot in the handsome lobby of the Opera House, and Dancer and Julian have a hideout in Daly City that affords a sweeping view of the San Francisco airport and the bay beyond. Still, The Lineup is a swift-moving entertainment with a lot of action and suspense.

Excalibur (John Boorman, 1981)

Helen Mirren and Nigel Williamson in Excalibur

Cast: Nigel Terry, Helen Mirren, Nicholas Clay, Cherie Lunghi, Nicol Williamson, Robert Addie, Gabriel Byrne, Keith Buckley, Katrine Boorman, Liam Neeson, Corin Redgrave, Niall O'Brien, Patrick Stewart, Clive Swift, Ciarán Hinds. Screenplay: Rospo Pallenberg, John Boorman, based on a book by Thomas Malory. Cinematography: Alec Thomson. Production design: Anthony Pratt. Film editing: John Merritt. Music: Trevor Jones.

John Boorman's Excalibur may be the best of the many movie versions of the Arthurian legend, or perhaps just the most faithful to the traditional stories as told from Malory to Tennyson to T.H. White. It doesn't go for spoof like Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court or Monty Python and the Holy Grail (Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones, 1975) or for hipness like the BBC-TV series Merlin. It's content to be straightforward sword-and-sorcery stuff with an underlying motif that traces the decline of magic,  represented by Merlin (Nicol Williamson) and Morgana (Helen Mirren), as Christianity takes hold in mythical Britain. Most of all, the film makes clear how much Arthurian legend -- with its undercurrents of incest and of political treachery -- underlies more recent excursions into the realm of fantasy like The Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones series. That said, Excalibur is beginning to show its age: Trevor Jones's score is pieced out with heavy dollops of Wagner leitmotifs from the Ring and Tristan und Isolde and the now over-familiar borrowing from Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, the special effects are creaky, Alec Thomson's cinematography leans too heavily on fog filters, and the costumes are a little too spangly and cheesy. I wouldn't be surprised to see a remake on the horizon, but it should stick fairly closely -- while eliminating some of the clunkers in the dialogue -- to the screenplay by Boorman and Rospo Pallenberg, which has a solid and consistent take on the characters. Meanwhile, it's fun to spot some up-and-coming actors like Patrick Stewart and Liam Neeson in smallish roles.

When Worlds Collide (Rudolph Maté, 1951)

Richard Derr and Barbara Rush in When Worlds Collide

Cast: Richard Derr, Barbara Rush, Peter Hansen, John Hoyt, Larry Keating, Rachel Ames, Stephen Chase, Frank Cady, Hayden Rorke, Sandro Giglio. Screenplay: Sidney Boehm, based on a novel by Edwin Balmer and Philip Wylie. Cinematography: W. Howard Greene, John F. Seitz. Art direction: Albert Nozaki, Hal Pereira. Film editing: Arthur P. Schmidt. Music: Leith Stevens.

This is the way the world ends: not with a bang but with a bunch of white folks rocketing off to another planet that looks like it was painted by Chesley Bonestell. Well, that's the way it ended in 1951. Today, one hopes that the survivors would be a good deal more diverse and the preparations for their flight a good deal better organized. (Actually, today it looks like it will end with a lot of coughing and political posturing.) When Worlds Collide is very much of its era, sacrificing plausibility for sentiment (small boys and puppies) and romance (tinged with much self-sacrifice). It's a movie that can't be taken seriously for a minute, which is part of its enduring charm for many people. I find that, after many years of serious science fiction, the charm has worn thin. I hunger for some serious treatment of science and for some semblance of actual human behavior. Even though I was 11 years old in 1951, I can't believe that we were dumb enough to swallow what the movie gives us.

The Handmaiden (Park Chang-wook, 2016)

Kim Min-hee and Kim Tae-ri in The Handmaiden

Cast: Kim Min-hee, Kim Tae-ri, Ha Jung-woo, Cho Jin-woong, Kim Hae-sook, Moon So-Ri. Screenplay: Jeong Seo-kyeong, Park Chan-wook, based on a novel by Sarah Waters. Cinematography: Chung Chung-hoon. Production design: Ryu Seong-hie. Film editing: Kim Jae-Bum, Kim Sang-beom. Music: Jo Yeon-wook.

The fine line between explication and exploitation is carefully negotiated by Park Chan-wook in The Handmaiden. To one critic, Laura Miller, comparing Park's film to the Sarah Waters novel, Fingersmith, on which it's based, the film's  scenes of Lady Hideko and Sook-he in sexual congress are "disappointingly boilerplate" and filled with "the tired visual clichés of pornographic lesbianism." But to Jia Tolentino, they're expressive of the liberation of the female characters: "The effect is thrilling -- it's the most satisfying bit of wish-fulfillment and fantasy in a movie that is pornographic in more ways than one." Pornography, as Justice Potter Stewart once ruled, lies in the eye of the beholder; you can't define it but you know it when you see it. I, for one, don't see it in The Handmaiden: The scenes that disappointed Laura Miller and satisfied Jia Tolentino seem to me more athletic than erotic, though I side with Tolentino's conclusion that they're integral to the film's portrayal of a kind of liberation. Lady Hideko and Sook-he have freed themselves from the demands of men, from the creepy audience at Hideko's readings from her uncle's collection of sadistic erotica, and from the faux Count Fujiwara's manipulations of both women. In the end, The Handmaiden seems to me more successful as an ingenious erotic thriller than as a tribute to female liberation, but perhaps the truth is that the film is neither one nor the other, but rather a finely articulated blend of both.

The Burglar (Paul Wendkos, 1957)

Jayne Mansfield and Dan Duryea in The Burglar

Cast: Dan Duryea, Jayne Mansfield, Martha Vickers, Peter Capell, Mickey Shaughnessy, Wendell K. Phillips, Phoebe Mackay, Stewart Bradley, John Facenda, Sam Elber. Screenplay: David Goodis, based on his novel. Cinematography: Dan Malkames. Art direction: Jim Leonard. Film editing: Herta Horn, Paul Wendkos. Music: Sol Kaplan.

The Burglar is a low-budget crime movie that doesn't always get its rhythms right, but nevertheless holds one's attention better than lots of slicker and more sophisticated movies. It was the first feature for director Paul Wendkos, who went on to a long career mostly in television, and though he doesn't show a lot of skill in directing actors, he knows where to put the camera, using close-ups effectively, and making the most of the Philadelphia and Atlantic City locations where The Burglar was shot. The story centers on Nat Harbin, the titular burglar, and the aftermath of the heist he and his cronies pull off, drilling into the safe where a wealthy "spiritualist" has stashed a priceless emerald necklace. The burglary is interrupted when a police car, which has spotted Harbin's car parked outside the mansion, pulls up, but Harbin persuades the cops that he had engine trouble and plans to spend the night in the car until he can find a mechanic in the morning. Harbin's fellow thieves include a pair of jittery low-lifes, Baylock (Peter Capell) and Dohmer (Mickey Shaughnessy), as well as a young woman, Gladden (Jayne Mansfield), who cases the mansion before the burglars break into it. Gladden, whose peculiar name is questioned but never explained in the film, grew up with Harbin after he ran away from home as a boy and was picked up while hitchhiking by a kind of Fagin figure named Gerald (Sam Elber), who taught him the tricks of the burgling trade. When Gerald dies, Harbin honors his request to look after Gladden. The two of them have maintained a kind of brother-sister relationship. After completing the burglary, Harbin insists on a cooling-off period before they make an attempt to fence the stolen necklace, but Baylock and Dohmer impatiently resist him. Dealing with his loose-cannon colleagues is only one of Harbin's problems after the police use a sketch artist to develop an image of him, based on the descriptions by the cops who had spotted him with his car. Moreover, one of the cops turns out to be a bad guy, working in cahoots with a young woman named Della (Martha Vickers), who picks Harbin up in a bar to try to get a fix on where he has stashed the loot. And so it goes, getting bloodier by the minute, until the climax in a house of horrors attraction at the Atlantic City Steel Pier. Duryea gives a solid performance, and it's good to see Vickers, best known as the thumb-sucking Carmen Sternwood in Howard Hawks's The Big Sleep (1946). Capell and Shaughnessy are a bit too hyper as Harbin's cronies, and Mansfield, never valued for her acting skill, was probably chosen for the scene in which she lies on the beach in a two-piece bathing suit.

George Washington Slept Here (William Keighley, 1942)

Jack Benny, Ann Sheridan, and Hattie McDaniel in George Washington Slept Here

Cast: Jack Benny, Ann Sheridan, Charles Coburn, Percy Kilbride, Hattie McDaniel, William Tracy, Joyce Reynolds, Lee Patrick, Charles Dingle, John Emery, Douglas Croft, Harvey Stephens, Franklin Pangborn. Screenplay: Everett Freeman, based on a play by Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman. Cinematography: Ernest Haller. Art direction: Max Parker. Film editing: Ralph Dawson. Music: Adolph Deutsch.

One of the running gags on Jack Benny's radio and TV shows was about how terrible his movie The Horn Blows at Midnight (Raoul Walsh, 1945) was. But that film, more a box office failure than a bad movie, has more to be said for it than George Washington Slept Here, a retread of one of Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman's lesser comedies, a play so forgotten -- except by amateur theatrical groups -- that it has never received a Broadway revival. When it came to performing in movies, Benny was always handicapped by his familiar radio personality, the skinflint who, when challenged by a stickup man, "Your money or your life," could be counted on to pause for a well-timed moment and say, "I'm thinking it over!" In adapting Kaufman and Hart's play for the screen, Everett Freeman actually switched the lead characters' roles to accommodate the Benny persona: In the play, the husband was the one eager to renovate a rundown 18th-century farmhouse, and the wife was the one who came up with wisecracking comments whenever the project teetered on disaster. But in the film, Benny is the long-suffering, wisecracking (and a little too frequently pratfalling) victim of his wife's passion for the antique. There's even an interpolated allusion to Benny's radio show when his character comments that something sounds worse than Phil Harris's orchestra -- a reference to the ongoing feud between Benny and his show's bandleader. Unfortunately, the whole film is a rather frantic spin on the familiar "money pit" comedy about building a dream house -- subsequent films like Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (H.C. Potter, 1948) and The Money Pit (Richard Benjamin, 1986) borrowed heavily from it. This is one of those films in which ordinarily sensible performers are forced to play characters who verge on idiocy -- poor Ann Sheridan, an underrated actress, has to behave like a nitwit in her efforts to keep the renovation happening, and Benny has to pretend to be jealous of her involvement with the antique dealer helping her with the project. Several characters have been lifted from the play -- the bratty Raymond, the preening summer stock actors -- without much justification for their presence in the plot. In short, it's a mess.

Nightfall (Jacques Tourneur, 1956)

Anne Bancroft and Aldo Ray in Nightfall

Cast: Aldo Ray, Anne Bancroft, Brian Keith, James Gregory, Rudy Bond, Frank Albertson, Jocelyn Brando. Screenplay: Stirling Silliphant, based on a novel by David Goodis. Cinematography: Burnett Guffey. Art direction: Ross Bellah. Film editing: William A. Lyon. Music: George Duning.

Nightfall is a well-made thriller strengthened by ingenious plotting: It never lets the viewer know too much too soon, keeping the motives and even the identities of its characters hidden until the right time to reveal them. Beefy Aldo Ray plays the protagonist, whom we know as Jim Vanning until his past is disclosed. Vanning, it turns out, is on the run, accused of murder but also trying to dodge the real killers, a pair of bank robbers played by Brian Keith and Rudy Bond, who think that Vanning has absconded with the loot from their heist. But Vanning doesn't know that he's also being tailed by an insurance investigator, played by James Gregory. In a bar, Vanning meets Marie Gardner, played by Anne Bancroft a few years before The Miracle Worker (Arthur Penn, 1962) won her an Oscar and made her a star. She's a model and he's a freelance magazine illustrator, so they hit it off, not so fortunately for her because at that point the robbers show up, ready to beat the location of the money out of Vanning. Marie gets caught up in the plot as Vanning eludes the thugs and hides out with her. Eventually, they go on the run, joined by the insurance investigator, who is perfectly happy to help Vanning recover the money and prove his innocence. It all moves along swiftly, thanks to Jacques Tourneur's direction, and handsomely, thanks to the  cinematography of Burnett Guffey, who is equally adept at filming the noir shadows of the city and the bright snowy landscape of Wyoming where the chase winds up.

Kings Row (Sam Wood, 1942)

Ann Sheridan and Ronald Reagan in Kings Row

Cast: Ann Sheridan, Robert Cummings, Ronald Reagan, Betty Field, Charles Coburn, Claude Rains, Judith Anderson, Nancy Coleman, Kaaren Verne, Maria Ouspenskaya, Harry Davenport, Ernest Cossart, Ilka Grüning. Screenplay: Casey Robinson, based on a novel by Henry Bellamann. Cinematography: James Wong Howe. Production design: William Cameron Menzies. Film editing: Ralph Dawson. Music: Erich Wolfgang Korngold.

Fifteen years before the producers of Mark Robson's version of Peyton Place tangled with the enforcers of the Production Code, the producers of Kings Row went through a similar ordeal. Like the Grace Metalious novel on which the later film was based, Henry Bellamann's Kings Row was a sensational picture of small town sordidness and hypocrisy that had to be sanitized against the pecksniffery of the censors. Screenwriter Casey Robinson had to eliminate incest, a gay character, and any hint that the young residents of Kings Row were actually having sex and enjoying it. Robinson's evasions were artful, though sometimes at the expense of the characters: Dr. Tower's murdering his daughter, Cassandra, and then committing suicide seems a little less credible when the incestuous relationship of father and daughter is excised. Still, Kings Row holds up well enough, thanks in large part to solid production values, especially James Wong Howe's cinematography and one of Erich Wolfgang Korngold's best scores. Today, the movie is probably most remembered for giving Ronald Reagan one of his best roles, one that he was so proud of that he borrowed his most famous line from the film, "Where's the rest of me?", as the title of his autobiography. He's well supported by Ann Sheridan, and the cast also includes such always watchable character actors as Claude Rains, Charles Coburn, Judith Anderson, and the hammy but lovable Maria Ouspenskaya. Unfortunately the film's leading role went to Robert Cummings, never the most skillful or charismatic of actors. He's not terrible, but he brings no credibility to the role of Parris Mitchell, supposedly a gifted medical student and amateur pianist. It's this void at the center of the movie that perhaps makes people remember it as a Ronald Reagan film.