As 2024 comes to a close, I’m excited to briefly reflect once again on how this blog is progressing.
While I’ve spent most of the second half of the year working on other writing projects, I did manage to review 102 titles this year, nearly finishing out the 1960s (there are only 8 titles left to review from 1969!), and continuing my new routine of writing recaps of each year as I closed them out.
I just watched the final title from 1968 listed in Peary’s Guide for the Film Fanatic, and am ready to reflect and share my thoughts. Thankfully, it was another good year for movies!
Out of 89 total titles, I voted 44 (or ~50%) must-see. Of these, 10 are in a language other than English: one is in Japanese, one is in Wolof-and-French, two (both byIngmar Bergman) are in Swedish, three are in Spanish, and three are in French (one by Demy, one by Truffaut, and one by Chabrol). We definitely see the strong emergence of Third Cinema (i.e., non-Hollywood and European movies) this year — specifically Ousmane Sembane’s relentlessly depressing Senegalese film Mandabi (1968) and all three of the Spanish-language titles: two from Cuba — Memories of Underdevelopment and Lucia — and one, The Hour of the Furnaces, from Argentina.
Sergio Leone’s most epic spaghetti western was Once Upon a Time in the West, which I recently revisited and reviewed. It features a wonderfully villainous turn by Henry Fonda, and a powerful portrayal by Claudia Cardinale as a savvy whore-turned-businesswoman who kicks ass as soon as she shows up on her new home-front. It’s a beautifully shot film with numerous memorable sequences, and another essential score by Ennio Morricone.
I also fairly recently rewatched George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (with my son, to help prepare him for performing in a play adaptation). We both agreed it remains top-notch, and viewers who aren’t too jaded by the many horror films that have come in its wake “will surely find themselves genuinely frightened, at least during the third section of the film, when the situation builds to a feverish pitch, and it becomes increasingly clear that most members of our ensemble cast are not long for this (living) world.”
Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby simply never gets old. As I noted in my review, “Each element of this masterfully constructed psychological horror film ‘works’ — from William Fraker’s cinematography, to Polanski’s unusual camera placements (he often films scenes through doorways), to fine use of sound and music, to judicious set designs and strategic use of outdoor New York locales, to the perfect casting of each character.”
Rosemary’s Baby co-star John Cassavetes was just breaking through with a shift in his own iconic directorial career that year, as seen in Faces — an “utterly bleak yet cinematically groundbreaking look at a bourgeois marriage in decay,” featuring “fine, natural performances by everyone involved, and provid[ing] a daringly unfiltered look at class and gender relations in 1960s America.”
I’m excited to revisit The Yellow Submarine for the first time with my teenage son (I’ll report back on how that goes). As I noted in my review from back in 2006 (four years before he was born): “The Beatles’ only animated film — featuring their music and their cartoon likenesses but not their actual voices — remains as enjoyable and mind-blowing today as it was 30+ years ago… The sheer variety of animation techniques in Yellow Submarine is blissfully overwhelming,” and “it’s enormously satisfying to see the Beatles immortalized as cartoon caricatures” with “just a few strategically drawn lines mak[ing] each of them instantly recognizable.”
Of course, in 1968 one must give a shout-out to Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, which earned Peary’s vote as Best Picture of the Year and remains an enduring cautionary tale now more than ever, in the age of proliferating AI. (“I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”)
A must-see cult favorite from 1968 is Michael Reeves’ The Conqueror’s Worm, a.k.a. The Witchfinder General, featuring Vincent Price as infamous witchfinder Matthew Hopkins in a horrific tale of “relentless violence [which] has a (sadly relevant) purpose, showing how easily mankind can descend into joy of torture — or at least mindless acceptance of it as commonplace and necessary.” Also noteworthy is “the film’s gorgeous cinematography, showcasing real-life horror taking place in an atmospheric landscape of Gothic forests, meadows, village squares, and dank interiors.”
Speaking of satanism, a personal favorite is Hammer Studios’ The Devil’s Bride a.k.a. The Devil Rides Out, in which “the script, musical score, acting, and set designs all contribute towards the creation of a suspenseful, sometimes humorous tale of demonic possession in our midst,” and the special effects “convey a frighteningly believable alternate universe.”
Peter Yates’s action-packed crime drama Bullitt, starring Steve McQueen in the title role, remains well worth a look. Interestingly, as I noted in my review, it’s “so closely associated with McQueen’s [Ford Mustang GT Fastback] (and the justifiably lauded car chase it’s involved in) that it’s easy to overlook how enjoyable the film is as a police procedural and character study.”
A dark comedy classic from that year also worth a revisit is The Odd Couple, based on Neal Simon’s play and starring a perfectly cast Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau “as the title ‘couple’; their comedic timing and rapport is impeccable.”
Finally, there were several highly memorable matriarchal performances that year by aging Hollywood divas. Be sure to check out Bette Davis in Roy Ward Baker’s The Anniversary (though be forewarned that “the words coming out of this anti-mother’s mouth are almost beyond belief”):
… Katharine Hepburn as savvy Elinor of Aquitane in The Lion in Winter, also telling it like it is (“Oh, my piglets, we are the origins of war… We are the killers. We breed wars — we carry it like syphilis inside.”):
… and Shelley Winters as a “hypocritical, brown-nosing mother” in Wild in the Streets, a biting political satire about “Age Police” who’ve “managed to take over the White House and imprison anyone over 35 in LSD ‘concentration camps’.”
Super trippy (literally).
Fifty-six years later, we’re battling different sets of societal and personal demons than in 1968 — yet the films outlined here continue to offer up plenty of compelling and relevant dramas, performances, and insights. The following year (1969) would once again bring cinematic innovations and many noteworthy titles, so — I’ll be back!
It’s already time for another yearly overview! I’m now done watching (almost) all titles from 1967 listed in GFTFF, and am happy to report I voted more than 50% (39 out of 76) as must-see. Many are stand-out movies worthy of recommending, so let’s go!
There are several noteworthy cult favorites from 1967, including Monte Hellmann’s existential western Ride in the Whirlwind:
… Mark Robson’s “infamously trashy adaptation of Jacqueline Susann’s bestselling novel,” Valley of the Dolls:
… and Jack Clayton’s delightfully dark Our Mother’s House, about seven orphans who bury their deeply religious mother in the backyard and are unsure how to respond when “a man named Charlie (Dirk Bogarde) suddenly appears at their doorstep claiming to be their long-lost father;” “the children find themselves torn between delight and apprehension.”
A cult and box office favorite was Mike Nichols’ The Graduate: we not only laugh with discomfort at Dustin Hoffman’s (Ben’s) seduction by Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft), but it’s “easy to relate on a personal level to Ben’s broader existential dilemma, as he contemplates how to craft a life for himself without automatically following in his parents’ footsteps.”
Richard Brooks’ In Cold Blood has held up well as a hyper-realistic adaptation of Truman Capote’s true-crime thriller “about the senseless murder of the Clutter family in Kansas.” It features “natural performances by… two relatively unknown leads (an intentional decision on Brooks’ part); appropriately noir-ish cinematography by Conrad Hall; and an effective soundtrack by Quincy Jones.”
Lee Marvin was a bad-ass in two notable thrillers that year: Robert Aldrich’s The Dirty Dozen — about “a critical suicide mission at a Nazi-filled chateau in France” — and John Boorman’s Point Blank, in which Marvin “stays uncannily calm, cool, and collected as he carries out his deliberate quest to first annihilate [his] seemingly untouchable [nemesis], and then collect the money he is owed, going as high up as he needs to on the organizational food chain.”
Meanwhile, Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke “embodies our deepest wish-fulfillment” of “sticking it to the man” given that “he refuses to give up or give in, and justifiably earns the intense respect and admiration of his fellow inmates.”
Speaking of non-conformists, 1967 gave us Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde, “one of the most highly regarded and influential post-war American films ever made.” It provides an “unapologetic portrayal of young gangsters who rob banks on a lark and become national celebrities,” thus paving “the way for countless other tales of ‘romantic couples on the run’.”
Race-related films from that year included not only Norman Jewison’s Oscar-winning In the Heat of the Night and Stanley Kramer’s Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, but also Shirley Clarke’s Portrait of Jason and Melvin Van Peebles’ The Story of a Three Day Pass — set in Paris and telling a “straightforward yet emotionally complex tale of racism and cross-racial romance at a time when the United States was about to pass Loving v. Virginia, a landmark civil rights decision ruling laws banning inter-racial marriages as unconstitutional.”
In John Huston’s magnificently hued Reflections in a Golden Eye (based on Carson McCullers’ novel of the same name), Marlon Brando gives “a truly heartbreaking and noteworthy performance” as “a tragically repressed army major who has clearly maintained a facade of ‘normalcy’ and rigor for far too long.” As I note in my review, “Brando’s every expression reveals the depth of his character’s confusion, anger, and desire, and he’s consistently fascinating to watch.”
I’m a huge fan of Frederick Wiseman’s documentaries, including his notorious debut Titicut Follies, about “the lives of criminally insane inmates at the Massachusetts Correctional Institution.” Wiseman “takes a no-holds-barred approach to his sticky subject matter, never flinching from even the most uncomfortable interactions.”
Other noteworthy documentaries from that year include The Lenny Bruce Performance Film and Emile De Antonio’s Rush to Judgment, in which “lawyer-author Mark Lane [speaks] with various individuals regarding the veracity of the Warren Commission‘s inquiry into the murder of JFK.,” revealing “a disturbing insight into how and why conspiracy theories immediately began to circulate.”
Finally, don’t miss Claude Berri’s feature debut The Two of Us,
“a gentle fable about the absurdity of prejudice” based on Berri’s “own experiences as a [Jewish] boy in the French countryside during World War II,” and starring Michel Simon in a late-life performance.
1968 was another good year for movies, so I’m looking forward to covering that. Stay tuned!
Hello, film lovers! I’ve just finished watching all titles from 1966 listed in Guide for the Film Fanatic — culminating with one of the most massive, Tarkovsky’s 3+-hour historical epic Andrei Rublev — and I’m ready to reflect!
A personal favorite from 1966 is John Frankenheimer’s Seconds — often referred to as the third of Frankenheimer’s “paranoia trilogy”, following The Manchurian Candidate (1964) and Seven Days in May (1964). It “remains a fascinating — if undeniably emotionally challenging — viewing experience” about a middle-aged banker who undergoes extreme plastic surgery and emerges as… Rock Hudson. Is it worth it? (As you can probably guess — no, but watch to find out more.)
Strong female characters were featured in numerous titles this year, including Anne Bancroft’s Dr. Cartwright in John Ford’s satisfying swan-song Seven Women:
… Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson in Ingmar Bergman’s Persona:
… Millie Perkins’ nameless “The Woman” in Monte Hellmann’s The Shooting:
… and Florence Marly’s mute but powerful green alien in Planet of Blood / Queen of Blood. While much of this film is slow-going, “Marly’s wordless performance is a marvel to behold, as she hypnotizes the men around her and clearly has malevolence up her sleeve (or perhaps up in her beehive-do).”
Of course, that year’s most infamous “strong female” was Elizabeth Taylor’s Martha in Mike Nichols’ Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, which effectively opens up Edward Albee’s Broadway play by employing “the power of close-ups, angles, editing, and mixed settings to maximize the impact of Albee’s grueling tale about marital discord.”
Speaking of play adaptations, don’t miss Fred Zinnemann’s A Man For All Seasons, featuring Paul Scofield in an Oscar-winning role as Sir Thomas More — a man calmly willing to sacrifice his life on behalf of his beliefs. He kindly reminds us:
“I think that when statesmen forsake their own private conscience for the sake of their public duties, they lead their country by a short route to chaos.”
Meanwhile, in Robert Wise’s The Sand Pebbles, “Steve McQueen gave one of his best, most introspective performances in the central role of Jake Holman — a soldier genuinely ‘in love’ with engines, who situates his integrity as a man within his ability to care for them effectively.”
Film fanatics should definitely seek out John Korty’s fable-like Crazy-Quilt, an “unusual portrait of an unconventional love affair” offering a “delightful taste of mid-century independent American cinema.” (Click here to see an extended trailer, and scroll down for a link to purchase it.)
Another interesting cult favorite — and much easier to find — is Richard Fleischer’s The Fantastic Voyage, featuring a wild sci-fi plot you simply won’t believe until you watch it; here is my synopsis:
“During the Cold war, a U.S. secret agent (Stephen Boyd) is recruited by General Carter (Edmond O’Brien) of the CMDF (Combined Miniaturized Deterrence Forces) to join a team — including Dr. Duval (Arthur Kennedy), Dr. Duval’s assistant Cora (Raquel Welch), Dr. Michaels (Donald Pleasence), and a pilot (William Redfield) — travelling on a submarine into the brain of a dying scientist (Jean Del Val) in order to remove a blood clot so he can share a vital secret about miniaturization.”
Yep; that happens.
Finally, no film fanatic worth their weight in cinematic gold will want to miss seeing a few other iconic titles from that year — including Richard Lester’s A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum:
I’m back for another reflection on a particular year in cinema! As a recap, I’ve already shared my thoughts on must-see titles from 1960, 1961, 1962, 1963, and 1964 — and I’m now ready to discuss my take-down on titles from 1965.
Interestingly, this year holds my lowest percentage of must-see titles so far. Out of 73 movies, I’m only voting 19 (or 26%) must-see. Below are just a few highlights from this year in cinema, which offered up plenty of darkness (literally — most are in b&w) on screen; however, I’ll begin my overview with a notable exception to that tendency.
I’m a huge fan of Robert Wise’s Oscar-winning musical The Sound of Music, which is not to everyone’s tastes but has delighted me for years. Julie Andrews’ performance remains preternaturally compelling, and as I noted in my review: “The use of authentic Austrian/German locales — including the iconic opening shots on verdant hillsides — helps to open up the [original Broadway] play enormously,” turning “the entire affair into a wonderfully picturesque adventure.”
Of the 19 must-see titles from 1965, seven are in a language other than English, with two (discussed below) in Italian, two in French (see here and here), and three in Czech. From the latter (which also includes Milos Forman’s Loves of a Blonde and Zbynek Brynych’s The Fifth Horseman is Fear), the Oscar-winning flick The Shop on Main Street — a film “about the absurdity of war, politics, and discrimination” in which “we are clearly able to see the insanity of the social upheaval creeping across Europe” — stands out above them all.
Another powerful foreign title is Marco Bellochio’s debut feature Fists in His Pocket, about a young man who “decides to relieve his older brother… of their dysfunctional family by gradually killing everyone — including himself — off.” (!) In my review, I note that watching this movie — which comes across as “part black comedy, part character study, part horror film” — is like viewing “a train wreck in slow motion”: we remain “fascinated yet unable to look away,” particularly given Lou Castel’s “powerhouse performance” as a man suffering from “depression, grandiosity, and mental instability.”
Speaking of memorable performances, it’s impossible to forget Rod Steiger’s leading role in Sidney Lumet’s bleak holocaust-survivor film The Pawnbroker. As I note in my review, “Viewers must prepare themselves for relentless agony as we watch a deeply broken man perpetuate his own horrors onto others through grim apathy and misanthropy.” This film is well worth a one-time watch — but be forewarned.
Equally (though differently) disturbing is Roman Polanski’s Repulsion, starring Catherine Deneuve as a young French woman in London who experiences a frightening mental decline. Her performance — as well as Polanski’s ability to work atmospheric wonders within a tight budget — make this a tense psychological thriller with plenty of unexpected twists and turns.
Peter Watkins’ fictionalized docudrama The War Game — which was “deemed too controversial for airing on BBC television, but was given a theatrical release, and received an Oscar for best ‘documentary’ in 1967” — offers up a “hypothetical vision of a post-apocalyptic nightmare — including lack of sufficient food or medicine, military rule, and hideous physical symptoms.” As I note in my review, it “remains just as powerful today as it must have been [decades] ago, when the threat of nuclear war was even more [?] imminent.”
There are several cult classics from 1965, with perhaps my personal favorite being Elio Petri’s “cleverly conceived, visually stylish” (it’s in color!), “smartly scored,” Italian-language sci-fi flick The 10th Victim — about “a futuristic society which allows individuals to join a human hunting game.” Ursula Andress (the huntress) and Marcello Mastroianni (her prey) are perfectly cast as the cat-and-mouse leads, with Andress a particular revelation as she “delivers a nuanced, smart, humorous, even heartfelt performance, all while looking as incredibly gorgeous as always.”
Another noteworthy cult flick is Russ Meyers’ inimitable Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! — which is the only Meyers film (out of all twelve listed in GFTFF) I tend to remember with much interest thanks to “its utterly unique stars…, its unforgettable title, and its striking imagery.” My review synopsis gives you a sense of how bizarre this flick is, if you somehow haven’t yet seen it (or would like a refresher):
“When three go-go dancers — Varla (Tura Satana), Rosie (Haji), and Billie (Lori Williams) — go drag racing in the desert, Varla ends up killing the boyfriend (Ray Barlow) of a bikini-clad girl (Susan Bernard) who the group then kidnaps. They end up at the home of a reclusive, secretly wealthy sociopath in a wheelchair (Stuart Lancaster) who is cared for by his two sons: a mentally slow hunk nicknamed ‘The Vegetable’ (Dennis Busch) and his brainier brother (Paul Trinka). Sex-obsessed Billie pursues Busch, while Varla attempts to bed Trinka in order to learn where Lancaster’s money is hidden, and Bernard tries to escape.”
Whew — get ready for some wild, violent, female-fueled escapades!
Speaking of larger-than-life characters, Orson Welles’ self-professed final directorial masterpiece was Chimes at Midnight, in which he plays the recurring Shakespearean role of Falstaff — a portly knight who experiences tremendous heartbreak and betrayal at the hands of his lifelong friend Prince Hal. It’s a beautifully crafted — albeit typically “Shakespeare-ingly” dense — cinematic outing.
Another notable film about betrayal from 1965 was Martin Ritt’s The Spy Who Came In From the Cold, which hews faithfully to John Le Carre’s source novel and offers a powerfully sobering antidote to more escapist spy fare of the Cold War era. As I note in my review: “To its credit, the film retains all the suspense of the book while both simplifying key plot points and visually opening up certain scenes. Oswald Morris’s atmospheric cinematography is top-rate, and the performances are fine across the board.”
Finally, I want to highlight Brian Forbes’ King Rat — a haunting adaptation (of James Clavell’s novel) which is “unrelenting in its graphic depiction of the heat, starvation, despair, craziness, lethargy, boredom, and overall sense of hopelessness pervasive in [POW] camps.”
There are quite a few dark themes emerging across these recommendations from 1965: hopelessness, despair, violence, guilt, discrimination, betrayal, kidnapping, theft, duplicity, mental instability, starvation… These all seems particularly apt for the year in which Malcolm X was assassinated; Bloody Sunday occurred in Selma; American troops first arrived in Vietnam; the Watts Uprising took place in Los Angeles; and Quaker Norman Morrison set himself on fire in protest (to name just a few noteworthy events). There was a lot going on, both in America and abroad.
Thank goodness for movies, and for the opportunity to remember a few of our favorite things…
It’s time for another reflection on a particular year in cinema! So far I’ve shared my thoughts on must-see titles from 1960, 1961, 1962, and 1963 — and now I’m (nearly) done reviewing all titles from 1964. While there were certainly some cheery escapist flicks released that year — Mary Poppins, anyone? — darkness pervaded in powerful cinematic depictions of politics, war, plague, racism, romantic loss, and more.
“If a god of love and life ever did exist… he is long since dead.”
Of the latter, Hiroshi Teshigahara’s Woman in the Dunes — about a man and woman who “form an unexpectedly sweet bond of captivity, supporting one another through work, companionship, and sensual connection” — remains “a one-of-a-kind masterpiece from mid-20th century Japanese cinema,” and is well worth a look if you haven’t yet seen it.
Of the five British titles, two are of special note — starting with Kevin Brownlow and Andrew Mollo’s It Happened Here, a frighteningly realistic “alternative history” of a Nazi-controlled post-WWII England. Made over eight years and with the collaborative support of countless volunteers, the directors show us an every-woman nurse who agrees to be employed by her nation’s quasi-paramilitary organization — “figuring it’s better to work towards social stability of some kind (any kind) than to be part of continued violent resistance” — and whose passive acceptance of an openly Fascist government gives us a “frightening reminder of how easy it is for humans to simply accept the reality around them as normal.”
On a much lighter note, Richard Lester’s A Hard Day’s Night remains a cult favorite which hasn’t dated in the slightest. While “the young Beatles’ infectious enthusiasm for life and music… is the biggest draw by far,” “I also love the sly supporting performances…; the ‘mod’ sets; the consistently creative camera moves and angles; and the wonderful subplot provided to ‘poor Ringo’.”
Speaking of cult titles, I revisited and wrote my review of Roger Corman’s The Masque of the Red Death in March of 2020, pointing out at the time that this “film about an evil nobleman and his willing compatriots denying refuge to plaintive villagers provides a potent cautionary tale about the need to continuously support one another through the hardest of times, across all boundaries: social, economic, racial, and religious.”
Political thrillers were dominant in 1964 cinema. John Frankenheimer’s Seven Days in May — with a script by Ray Sterling — remains freakily relevant to current politics, reminding us that “when a group of individuals is convinced they’re right and the well-being of their nation is at risk, we know they will stop at nothing.”
Meanwhile, Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb deserves its continued status as a classic favorite, with tour-de-force performances by Peter Sellers (as Group Captain Lionel Mandrake, President Merkin Muffley, and Dr. Strangelove) and memorable turns by both Sterling Hayden and George C. Scott in key supporting roles.
As a more serious counterpart to Dr. Strangelove, Sidney Lumet’s nuclear thriller Fail Safe — featuring stand-out performances by Henry Fonda and Larry Hagman — creates and maintains “tension across the various inter-connected spheres of the storyline (primarily the president’s office, the War Room, and the pilots’ cockpit),” and “is a literal nailbiter in terms of what will come next, with nothing less than the fate of our planet in the balance.”
Emile De Antonio’s political documentary Point of Order rounds things out politically by “taking more than 180 hours of television footage from the 1954 Army-McCarthy hearings” and providing a “fascinating glimpse at the crash and burn of America’s most infamous ‘Commie witch hunter,'” Senator Joe McCarthy.
In addition to Seven Days in May, John Frankenheimer and Burt Lancaster teamed up that year for The Train. True to its title, it’s “set almost entirely in, on, or around trains” and tells a gripping cat-and-mouse tale involving priceless art being shipped away for safety during World War II. As I note in my review, “With no models used (all action was real), the film possesses a consistently heady air of real-life danger, with one expertly filmed action sequence after the other.”
Nothing But a Man was the best of the race-related films to emerge in 1964. As I note in my review, “By telling the story of ‘everyman’ Duff Anderson (Ivan Dixon), we see what occurs when a person is unable to secure reasonably paid work that allows them to maintain dignity and self-respect.” While it’s “undeniably rough to watch,” this docudrama “remains a powerful neo-realist depiction of Black Southern communities in the 1960s.”
Sergio Leone’s seminal “spaghetti western” A Fistful of Dollars brought us Clint Eastwood with a cheroot and poncho, a “highly distinctive score” by Ennio Morricone, and an odd sense of déjà vu for anyone who’s seen Kurosawa’s Yojimbo (which it copied from heavily while building up a strong mythos of its own).
I have a couple of personal cult favorites from this year. One is George Roy Hill’s The World of Henry Orient, a delightful dark comedy featuring “a marvelously droll turn by Peter Sellers” (it was a good year for him!) and “sparkling performances by its two unknown leads (Merrie Spaeth and Tippy Walker),” who perfectly capture “the hyper compulsion of teenage female friendship.”
The other is Viva Las Vegas (Elvis Presley finally met his on-screen match in Ann-Margret!), which is “directed with flair by George Sidney and featur[es] vivid sets and costumes, rousing song-and-dance numbers, nice use of Vegas locales, and a super-fun romantic rivalry (with plenty of genuine sparks flying).”
Speaking of personal favorites, I was very pleasantly surprised to revisit Cary Grant and Leslie Caron in Father Goose, an enjoyable romantic comedy which “goes in surprisingly delightful and quirky directions.” Watch for “numerous memorable moments, both humorous and frightening,” with interplay between the two providing “much authentic tension.”
John Huston’s The Night of the Iguana — based on a Tennessee Williams play — features a storyline that “merits nearly endless discussion and debate,” “crisp and gorgeous” cinematography by Gabriel Figueroa, inspired location sets (in Mexico), and “top-notch” performances across the board” — including from Richard Burton, Ava Gardner, Deborah Kerr, Grayson Hall, and Sue Lyons.
Speaking of such luminaries, there were numerous standout female performances in 1964 — including from Ann-Margret as Jodi in a Kitten With a Whip; Joan Crawford in William Castle’s Strait-Jacket; and Tippi Hedren in Hitchcock’s Marnie.
Given that Peary lambastes 1963 in his Alternate Oscars as a cinematic year unworthy of any Best Picture contenders, I was curious to take a look at how many titles from this year struck a chord with me — and was pleasantly surprised to see that quite a few are worth mentioning. Out of 74 total titles, I voted 32 — or ~43% — as must-see; here are just a few. (We’re seeing a lot more color than in 1962, btw.)
“It is mankind… who insists upon making it difficult for life to exist upon this planet.”
Numbers wise, only six of the 32 titles are in a language other than English: one in Japanese (Kurosawa’s High and Low), three in Italian (Fellini’s 8 1/2, Mario Monicelli’s The Organizer, and Vittorio de Sica’s Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow), and two in Spanish — including the powerful Spanish documentary To Die in Madrid.
Several are British — including Peter Brook’s adaptation of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, made with an unusual amount of creative leeway and resulting in “an appropriately terrifying tale about leadership (or lack thereof) run amok.”
I’m also a fan of Joseph Losey’s creepy The Servant — featuring shadowy cinematography by Douglas Slocombe and starring Dirk Bogarde as “a calculating and unflappable servant-for-hire who knows exactly the right moves to make at each moment as he pursues his self-serving, often inscrutable goals” while helping to care for an alcoholic financier (James Fox).
British director Alexander Mackendrick’s little-seen A Boy Ten Feet Tall (a.k.a. Sammy Going South) tells the unusual story of a ten-year-old boy (Fergus McClelland) embarking on a trek across Africa to find his aunt, and encountering Edward G. Robinson’s grizzled jewel miner along the way. McClelland and Robinson are excellent together, and the cinematography by Erwin Hiller is often beautiful.
Murder at the Gallop remains a delightful Agatha Christie adaptation featuring jowly Margaret Rutherford as “prim, spinsterish Miss Marple.” As I note in my review, “With her otherworldly facial grimaces and her indomitable lust for sleuthing (and snooping), Rutherford carries the film with ease.”
From all of 1963’s titles, what stands out most is Hitchcock’s The Birds — one of his most unique and suspenseful thrillers, telling a metaphorically rich tale of a seaside town overtaken by gulls, crows, ravens, sparrows, and finches — for unknown reasons…
“Why are they doing this? Why are they doing this? They said when you got here the whole thing started. Who are you? What are you? Where did you come from? I think you’re the cause of all of this. I think you’re evil. EVIL!”
The second James Bond film — From Russia With Love — is a worthy successor to Dr. No (1962), featuring a couple of memorable villains: blond Robert Shaw as a psychopathic British traitor, and Lotte Lenya as diabolical Rosa Klebb.
Jason and the Argonauts showcases some of Ray Harryhausen’s most memorable stop-motion animation, including (of course) the sword fighting skeletons, but also the giant statue of Talos coming to life and gruesome harpies relentlessly plaguing blind Phineus.
Martin Ritt’s Hud, a “film about alienation in all its forms,” is brutal viewing — worth watching for the powerful performances by co-stars Paul Newman and Patricia Neal, but not likely to engender much desire for a revisit.
Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Cleopatra — notorious for its overblown budget and multi-year filming saga — is actually “a reasonably engaging (if over-long) saga of opulence, narcissism, treachery, and high drama among the elite ruling class,” with literally “no expense [being] spared to (re)create a vision of ancient Egypt and Rome fantastic enough to represent the delusional grandeur of such fabled rulers.” It nearly took down 20th Century Fox.
Finally, Roger Corman’s low-budget sci-fi thriller X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes remains an enjoyable flick about the “inevitable downward spiral of a man [Ray Milland] who has… clearly become a ‘freak’ of nature, demonstrating that one “who can see ‘everything’ may have access to universal secrets best left untapped.” “We are virtually blind — all of us.”
As I’m reflecting on all these titles, I’m seeing a definite theme of terror and unease mixed with revolution and resilience. Life was getting increasingly challenging, and cinema was showing this in a variety of forms.
1962 was an especially rich year for movies, with powerful films across genres and languages. Out of 75 total titles listed in Peary’s book, I voted “Yes – Must See” on 41 (55%). Many stand out to me as worthy of mentioning, for different reasons – so, here goes!
“I am sane. I am innocent. I have committed no crime!”
Numbers-wise, of the 41 must-see films, 10 are in a non-English language — including 6 French titles, 1 Spanish (The Exterminating Angel by Buñuel), 2 Japanese (one of which — Harakiri — I very recently reviewed), and 1 Polish (Roman Polanski’s debut film Knife in the Water, which remains a “surprisingly potent chamber piece” worth watching specifically for “its camera angles, strategic blocking of characters, and highly effective editing.”)
Of the six French titles, I want to highlight Sundays and Cybele by director Serge Bourguignon — an especially noteworthy (if challenging) film given how it “tackles the challenging topics of PTSD and cross-age friendships with sensitivity and compassion.”
While I’m not a huge fan of politics or political flicks, Otto Preminger’s Advise and Consent is an exception, offering “an unparalleled look at the inner workings of Washington, D.C.” and “a slowly gripping storyline… which takes its time getting to the crux of the drama.” The cast (including Don Murray, Charles Laughton, and Walter Pidgeon) is uniformly excellent.
Another must-see political film is John Frankenheimer’s incomparable The Manchurian Candidate, which I appreciate revisiting every so often. (Yes, I saw Jonathan Demme’s decent remake — but no, I don’t remember too much about it.) The original is worth watching for several reasons, including Angela “Lansbury’s Academy Award-nominated performance as Mrs. Iselin — one of cinema’s most memorable sociopath mothers” and the “lengthy, creatively filmed Manchurian ‘garden party’/brainwashing sequence, which effectively puts the audience on edge from the get-go.” (It gives me the chills every single time I view it.)
Speaking of films that put you on edge, horror and/or horror-adjacent flicks of all types reigned during this year… One delightful sleeper to revisit is the British cult film Burn, Witch, Burn! (a.k.a. Night of the Eagle), with horror evoked “in seemingly mundane interactions and objects” such that “we come to truly believe that dark forces are ruling the unfortunate household” of the protagonists.
Speaking of crazed middle-aged women, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? — about two “broken, tragic women whose jealousy and vanity have forced them both onto an inescapably disastrous trajectory” — is not-to-be missed, and is actually a title I’m due to revisit soon since I reviewed it way back in 2007.
Another cult favorite is Herk Harvey’s Carnival of Souls, an unusual low-budget horror-sleeper possessing “a surprising amount of atmosphere and panache, with striking b&w cinematography, creative direction, and a particularly noteworthy organ score by Gene Moore.”
An oh-so-powerful horror-adjacent title — though not recommended for repeated viewings — is the original iteration of Cape Fear, featuring Robert Mitchum as “a terrifyingly brutal bastard, an intelligent but deluded and narcissistic sociopath who uses humans as fodder for a sick scenario of vengeance he’s playing out in his head.”
I consider nearly all of Orson Welles’s unique directorial outings to be must-see — including his critically contentious adaptation of Franz Kafka’s The Trial, in which “the story plays out exactly like the nightmarish series of random encounters it is” (be forewarned).
Stanley Kubrick’s Lolita is another vibrant adaptation, featuring the inimitable James Mason as a man head-over-heels for his underaged stepdaughter. Sue Lyon’s “performance [in the title role] is at the heart of this film’s success — she’s preternaturally able to embody this challenging role and convince us that events are playing out exactly as seen on screen.”
I was riveted all over again when revisiting Arthur Penn’s The Miracle Worker, featuring a powerhouse performance by Anne Bancroft as Annie Sullivan (Helen Keller’s real-life teacher), a woman who “consistently and relentlessly stand[s] up for what she believes in, even at risk of losing her job.”
A beautifully filmed, crowd-pleasing favorite of 1962 is To Kill a Mockingbird, featuring (as Peary puts it) Gregory Peck as “the man you’d want for your father,” and one of the most memorable scores of all time, by Elmer Bernstein.
I’ve written fairly recently about how much I appreciated Sidney Lumet’s adaptation of Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night (co-starring Katharine Hepburn, Ralph Richardson, Dean Stockwell, and Jason Robards, Jr.), but I will put in yet another plug for it as one of the best theatrical adaptations out there.
So far, so black-and-white… But let’s not forget that the original James Bond movie — Dr. No — debuted this year in glorious Technicolor, featuring not only stylish Sean Connery but bodacious Ursula Andress in her iconic white bikini.
I was also delighted to find that The Music Man has held up really well and remains eminently sing-along-able.
What can I do, my dear, to catch your ear
I love you madly, madly Madam Librarian… Marian
I’ll leave it at that for now, but suffice it to say that 1962 offered up plenty of creatively diverse and enjoyable must-see titles spanning genres, countries, and budgets. Happy viewing!
P.S. I just found out that I’m not alone in noticing how many awesome films were released this particular year… I’m curious to check out this book!
I hope 2023 has been good to you. I’m continually grateful that films offer at least some solace and affirmation despite everything else going on in the world.
“Jesus, the days that we have seen!”
Let’s get to numbers right away. So far, I’ve watched and reviewed fewer movies overall this year — just 147, as opposed to 287 last year — but I’m still making excellent progress towards completion of this venture, with only 670 more titles left in the book (out of 4300). I wonder if I may actually be done with this project in ~3-4 years?!
As I mentioned in my 2022 year-end recap, I’m not at all upset with this — it means I’ll have time to rewatch favorites, catch up with noteworthy titles NOT listed in Peary’s book, and finally start diving into more modern recent classics (I’m curious how many will make the cut as must-see.).
Here are just a few other reflections from my past year in (re)viewing:
I plowed my way through quite a few more Godard films this year, and only have six of his later-career titles (from the 1970s and 1980s) left. Other than Weekend (1967) — which remains historically relevant, but not at all fun to watch — the only one I’ve voted as must-see from this year’s viewing binge is Alphaville: A Strange Adventure of Lemmy Caution (1965), which I refer to in my review as an “unexpectedly provocative, typically low-budget Godard film” in which “there are enough interesting ideas explored … in visually creative ways that it’s easy to stay engaged.”
(While I’m not personally a Godard fan, his innovation, consistency, and lifelong commitment to his beliefs were certainly to be commended — RIP, JLG: 12/03/30-09/13/22.)
The Great Escape (1963) has held up well as an epic WWII-era adventure classic. In my review, I point out that “the storyline — co-constructed by six writers — is almost unbearably tense at times, with no illusions that these men will escape unharmed.”
Arthur Penn’s Little Big Man (1970) remains an unsung western classic, one which effectively incorporates Native perspectives with humor, insight, and compassion. Both Dustin Hoffman (in the lead role) and Richard Mulligan as mad General Custer turn in especially memorable performances.
A personal treat this year was finally watching Peter Watkins’ innovative biopic Edvard Munch (1974), about the troubled Norwegian painter (who happens to be a not-so-distant ancestor of mine). The visuals are beautiful, and we really get a sense of his unique work coming to life.
My last pick to highlight from this past year is Das Boot (1981), which remains unparalleled in its gritty portrayal of life onboard a wartime submarine. It’s impossible not to marvel at how well director Wolfgang Petersen and his team — including his excellent cast — viscerally convey the hellishness this comprises.
On a final note, it was exciting to hear my 13-year-old son say that Night of the Living Dead (1968) is now his favorite movie! (We watched it together this summer in anticipation of him acting in a super-informal theatrical version of it.) While his camp production kind of — well, fell apart… I’m happy that watching the original movie sparked an interest in him. He’ll be attending a filmmaking camp for young teens next summer, and I’m curious to see what he comes up with.
Here’s to yet another year of watching and reviewing classic films!
— Film Fanatic.org
P.S. No, it’s not lost on me that none of the images chosen above represent women. I’ll add in a little Monica Vitti for your viewing pleasure, since I watched all four of her films with Antonioni this year. The still below is from (IMO) the best of them all — L’Avventura (1960).
“I’ll never get used to anything. Anybody that does, they might as well be dead.”
Here are a few thoughts and highlights:
Out of a total of 68 films from 1961, I once again voted Yes (i.e., “must see”) on 32 — nearly the exact same ratio as for 1960. (I wonder if I will see similar patterns as I look back at other years; I’m now motivated to go and check… )
Of these 32 must-see titles, 14 (nearly half) are non-American, with 7 British titles, two Spanish (though one of these — Jess Franco’s The Awful Dr. Orloff — was dubbed), two French, one Italian (Divorce, Italian Style), one Japanese (Yojimbo), and one Czech.
Speaking of the latter title, Karel Zeman’s The Fabulous Baron von Munchausen remains a truly unique treat — especially for lovers of animated features. As I wrote in my review, “It’s impossible to describe the sheer wealth of visual enjoyment Munchausen has to offer… The narrative basically consists of one bizarre, humanly impossible adventure after the other, and is written with a droll sense of humor.”
Disney had a couple of authentic hits that year, including One Hundred and One Dalmatians (featuring one of cinema’s most enduring villainesses, Cruella de Vil):
… and The Parent Trap, which is flawed (certain narrative elements strain credulity) but well worth a revisit simply for its cult status — and for Hayley Mills x 2.
Marilyn Monroe fans won’t want to miss her noteworthy performance in John Huston’s The Misfits, where “it’s literally impossible to keep your eyes off of her, and we instantly understand why all the other characters want to be near her.”
Among Spanish director Luis Buñuel’s considerable output, his b&w classic Viridiana (co-starring Fernando Rey and Silvia Pinal) remains an accessible highlight, showcasing “the futility of noble intentions in the face of a thankless and debased humanity.”
Another not-to-be-missed title is Stanley Kramer’s Judgment at Nuremberg, which should probably be required viewing for all humans, not just film fanatics; but be forewarned that it’s “a uniquely challenging courtroom drama to sit through” given the complexities of the issues at stake.
Speaking of films with challenging topics and/or characters, there were plenty to go around in 1961 — including Robert Rossen’s The Hustler, featuring Paul Newman’s standout performance as “Fast Eddie” Felsen:
… Sam Fuller’s Underworld U.S.A., a “morally challenging” “long-con revenge tale”:
… and the original cinematic adaptation (featuring Sidney Poitier) of Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun, in which “the toxicity of societal racism comes through loud and clear.”
Finally, a few personal favorites from 1961 include Jack Clayton’s highly atmospheric adaptation of Henry James’s “The Turn of the Screw,” retitled The Innocents:
… Victim, which took a bold cinematic step towards addressing legally sanctioned homophobia:
… and Bryan Forbes’ little-seen Whistle Down the Wind (an excellent choice for Christmas viewing).