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One of a slew of late 40s Hollywood musicals about show biz folks, this film stands out for the charm of Dan Dailey and the warmth and sparkle that he enjoys with his co-star, Anne Baxter. They play a married couple who also share a vaudeville stage and then a silent film career. When talking pictures come in, the usual troubles of transition unfold, with Baxter making it big and Dailey, eventually, deciding to stay as a song-and-dance man. Along the way a score of great songs from the teens and 20s allow Dailey not only to display his talents as a hoofer (to choreography by the great Nick Castle), but to sing (the title song is worth the price of admission). Not by any means as good as 1951's "Singing in the Rain" which also concerns the transition to talkies, "You're My Everything" is nonetheless a highly entertaining, indeed lovable, picture.

"White Christmas" is guilty of many of the sins catalogued by other commentators: its got a sappy story line, predictable plot twists, it plays outrageously for sentiment and patriotism (not your usual Christmas theme!). But I confess to having loved it from the first moment I saw it nearly a half century ago. I, too, like many, make it a point to view it every Christmas season, along with much better holiday fare such as "It's a Wonderful Life," "The Wizard of Oz," and "Miracle on 34th Street." I think, contrary to many folks, that Danny Kaye succeeds in the second lead role better than Fred Astaire did in "Holiday Inn," and while he isn't given an opportunity for his patented zaniness, he adds a thoroughgoing charm to the role that sometimes the rather stiff Astaire lacks.

Rosemary Clooney is lovely in the rather thankless role of the practical sister and was at the peak of her genius as a pop singer, Vera-Ellen does her usually charming thing, and Crosby! The master implants his genius in virtually every frame. In supporting roles veteran character actor Dean Jagger is splendid as the general, while Mary Wickes steals every scene she's in as the nosy hotel housekeeper, Emma. The singing and dancing are first-rate (even without Astaire), and the songs by Irving Berlin are among his very best, including a number of tunes written especially for the film. One that never ceases to charm me is the trifle, "Snow," sung by our four stars in the dining car of the railroad train bound from Florida to Vermont. What a magical moment, among many in this thoroughly delightful, if flawed, jewel.

Rarely has such a star-studded cast and crew been so wasted as in this deeply-flawed quasi-historical account of the career of the Mexican bandit-patriot Pancho Villa. Yul Brynner is woefully miscast in the lead, Robert Mitchum sleepwalks his way through the film (as usual). Only Charles Bronson contributes any punch or power to the film (no, Herbert Lom is also fine as the corrupt and vicious General Huerta). I understand that Sam Pekinpah, who wrote the original screenplay and was replaced at the urging of star Brynner, disavowed any responsibility for what resulted, as did the writer Robert Towne, who replaced him. A sad mess.

One of a brace of classic comedies to come out of Britain in the late 50s-early 60s, "Two-Way Stretch" combines all the elements: great comic actors, tight little story line, fast pace, and not overbroad slapstick. Sellers, Cribbins, and Jeffries reprise (sort of!) their roles in "Wrong Arm of the Law," with Sellers and Cribbins the crooks and Jeffries representing the Law. But this time Jeffries is a delightfully wicked "screw," out to "get" the two lay-about inmates in any way he can. A brilliant piece of work, as was his more "Clouseau"-like performance in "Wrong Arm." And kudos to Wilfrid Hyde-White, masterminding the whole thing from his vantage point as a venal vicar! As usual, there is strong support, as well, from the unsung females, the buxom and zany Liz Fraser as Sellers' girlfriend, Ethel, and the incomparable Irene Handl as Cribbins "mum." A delight all-round!

Just a note to echo another's comments about the fine performance of that excellent, if underrated, character actor Brian Blessed. His performance of the messenger Tathybius is sensitive and powerful. From significant featured roles, such as the emperor Augustus in the TV series, "I, Claudius," to minor but essential roles such as Kenneth Branagh's invaluable sidekick in "Henry V," Blessed has been a tower of strength in setting after setting.

The film is a masterpiece in many ways, not the least in terms of the gripping performances of the leads and the stark atmosphere of shabby genteel poverty and hopelessness conveyed by Christy's depressing flat. Some have criticized the slowness of the film, but the pace only enhances the banal horror of Christy's mind as he manipulates the poor, ignorant, frightened creatures who become his victims. Attenborough plays this middle class murderer with consummate insight. Judy Geeson and John Hurt play off each other brilliantly, she the flighty sexpot with ambition to escape her miserable life, only too ready to believe Christy's pretensions of being a "medical man"; Hurt a dimwit whose only avenue to self-esteem seems to come from lording it over his young pregnant wife...until Christy comes along with his mind-games to dupe the poor sap into becoming vulnerable to a charge of murder. The miscarriage of justice is, of course, appalling, made worse by the ineptitude and indifference of the police. One can never forget the haunting plaintive cry of "Evans" as he proceeds to his fate: "Christy done it! Christy done it!"

This is an appallingly boring film. Perhaps it was an interesting stage play...I don't know. But it doesn't work as a film because there is virtually nothing cinematic about it. It remains confined largely within the dimensions of a stage set (there is really only one set, a shabby-genteel apartment where "Stevie" (the real-life poet Stevie Smith) lives with her long-suffering aunt (played by Mona Washbourne). Stevie, you see, has problems---emotional problems, problems with her "muse," problems living with her dependent aunt, problems with lovers (one of them, Trevor Howard, bears the enigmatic name of "The Man.") And Stevie TALKS...all the time, a constant stream of arty, supposedly meaningful, but utterly self-indulgent jabber. Glenda Jackson plays "Stevie,"...she really liked talky parts, it would seem. This one fits her like a glove. She, Howard, Washbourne, and Alec McCowen are four of the finest actors Britain has produced. Yet they wallow in this mess for what seems like days (the film actually only runs a bit over the usual 90 minutes). Steer clear of this deadly dull bio-pic, unless you just can't do without the poetry and posturings of Stevie Smith, or you absolutely must see the entire "oeuvre" of Glenda Jackson, M.P.

I, too, saw this picture as a child, on television, alone, late at night, and I can still recall the powerful impression it made. Truly frightening in its revelations of human depravity and mob violence. Lloyd Bridges' best performance by far, he is absolutely gripping as the deranged and heartless murderer. The scene in which he is in his cell, with the mob breaking into the prison and coming to get him, is stunning in its power. I haven't seen the film in a half century, but I still remember those moments.

This wretched film was inflicted upon me at a weekend house party, when the hosts insisted that we all watch this "absolutely lovely movie" together. Imagine being trapped for 2 and a half hours with a VIDEO of this travesty, on a small TV screen, seeking brief respites ("could you pause it while I visit the 'facility'?"), having to mumble polite monosyllables of assent in response to the hosts' appalling praise of what turned out to be absolute drivel. The film does have exquisite scenery...Norway's a beautiful country! It has lovely music...Grieg was a decent enough composer! It also has the most atrociously awful acting (the lead is one Toralv Maurstad, who has mercifully vanished from sight, Florence Henderson is in this, for Pete's sake---and what on earth are Robert Morley, Edward G. Robinson, Oscar Homolka, and Harry Secombe doing in this?), a sophomoric (or worse) script, amateurish direction, incompetent film editing. And it is SO BORING!!!! No, it's worse than boring, it is profoundly IRRITATING in its boredom.

The highlight of this film is the undiscovered songs by George Gershwin, which brother Ira wrote new lyrics to and Kay Swift arranged to make a film score that is a delight. One genuine hit, "For You, For Me, For Evermore," plus a near-hit, "Aren't You Glad We Did," are supported by a host of other pleasing tunes, including the witty novelty, "But Not in Boston." Dick Haymes' rich baritone is another strong point in what is, from a storyline point of view, a rather silly film.

Despite its Technicolor processing, this film retains a dark, almost sinister atmosphere, as the tension mounts. Much of the center of the film is simply spent waiting, as Van Heflin, the leader of this small band of Confederate soldiers, tries to keep their secret, keep the group together with its morale intact, and becomes more deeply involved with his boarding housekeeper, Anne Bancroft. Great character acting by many sustains this picture, notably Lee Marvin as the hotheaded rebel officer and Richard Boone as a discharged one-armed veteran Union soldier. Also notable is Robert Easton as a young confederate (Easton went on to become one of Hollywood's most successful and remarkable dialect coaches). Although there is a fine bit of military action near the conclusion of "The Raid," this is mostly a film about character and the stress of relationships. A fine effort.

This is one of my favorite "almost great" comedies, with a delightful screenplay, and some magical moments of acting, especially by Peter Falk, Thomas Mitchell, and Edward Everett Horton. The Capra magic is there in many spots, but there are some awful lapses, notably whenever the gangsters are off screen. Capra's decision to cast Ford in the lead pays off surprisingly well for an actor not noted for his comedic talents. But Hope Lang (who was dating Ford at the time) is out of her element in what should have been the brassy role of "Queenie Martin." And two other casting goofs seriously marr the picture: Ann-Margret in a very early role is simply awful, a simpering and cloyingly sweet young thing who makes you wince in pain. And Arthur O'Connell, usually a fine addition to any picture, is hopelessly miscast as a Spanish "Count Romero." Surely the worst foreign accent in a film since Fred Astaire's Russian dancer, "The Great Petroff!"

Particular praise must go to Richard Rodney Bennett for his compelling musical score. He and his colleagues have produced one of the most effective opening sequences in my memory. Over the opening credits (as I recall), as the Orient Express begins to creep out of the station, the music accompanies it, slowly accelerating as the camera captures the huge chugging wheels, the steam escaping at billowing intervals. The growing power of the locomotive, with its wonderful musical accompaniment, creates just the frisson of excitement one would feel at the start of a grand adventure on the world's most fabled railroad. A magical opening to a film.

This thoroughly charming unassuming film succeeds because of superb casting and sensitive direction, including the evocation of an endearing atmosphere of uncomplicated but enduring love. There is not a single casting error in a very large cast. I would single out Minnie Driver, not because her role is deep or profound, but because she makes it all seem to easy...and one should not forget that Ms. Driver is British, yet has developed an American accent of idiomatic perfection. The setting of "O'Reilly's Italian Restaurant" is splendidly authentic, every detail set to perfection, which radiates the warmth and love that is the hallmark of this film. As another reviewer observed, the actors who inhabit the restaurant seem as if they had been together as a family forever. What a splendid job Bonnie Hunt has done in producing this little unpretentious gem of a film!

This film about falling in love after 60 could have easily descended into sentimental sappiness, but its intelligently funny script and fine comedic acting by its principals keeps it light and heartwarming. Spring Byington is charmingly vivacious without losing her dignity; Edmund Gwenn is cherubic and wise as the grocer suitor, and Charles Coburn as his tycoon rival reveals once again why he was one of the best character actors in the business. Stars Ronald Reagan and Ruth Hussey do well with what is essentially strong supporting roles as Byington's put-upon son and daughter-in-law. All in all, an entertaining hour and a half.

I saw this lovely little film shortly after it first appeared. It is a thoroughly charming and winning motion picture about first love, disillusionment, and acknowledgement, as the young and lovely Susannah York comes of age. She is absolutely winning in one of her first major roles. Kenneth More is superb as the object of York's unrequited affections, and Danielle Darrieux is splendid as More's jealous lover. Wonderful scenes of the French countryside (I remember especially a charming visit to a wine chateau) make this a delightfully wistful experience.

Commentator "bux" is right that John Wayne wanted to do this picture and that Republic Studio boss Herbert Yates refused. But as I understand it, Yates nixed the idea because Wayne refused to accept his suggested co-star, the East European figureskater turned bad actress (and Yates's mistress and later wife), Vera Hruba Ralston. It's lucky for us that they didn't agree because Wayne's own film of the Alamo in 1960, though hokey, was infinitely superior to the Republic version.

This film, the pride and joy of Goebbel's propaganda machine, was filmed during the last year of the war. Lavish financial and materièl resources were expended to make the film and it premiered just ahead of the advancing allied armies. Reportedly, Goebbels and company diverted precious rolling stock from a hard pressed Reich to bring in loads of salt to use as "snow" in one wintry scene. Munitions factories were ordered to produce the dummy ammunition expended in the fighting scenes. And Wehrmacht troops were drawn from the battle fronts to serve as extras. For the Nazi hierarchy propaganda had BECOME reality.

I saw this film when I was ten years old and its impact was deep and lasting. It stemmed less from the story or the acting of the principals as from the environment and context of the film, set as it was in east Africa. I believe this film to be one of the first to be shot virtually entirely on location in Africa, and the results are stunning. Shots of stampedes that are clearly not drawn from stock footage are awesome, but even more gripping are the scenes of the Masai and Kikuyu tribespeople, playing themselves and doing so absolutely unselfconsciously. The tribal dancing of these magnificent people is moving (and at times terrifying). I understand that in filming them it was terrifying for cast and crew as well, for the spearthrowing got out of hand, at one point driving Deborah Kerr up a tree! In any case, this version of "King Solomon's Mines" is one for the ages.

While Alec Guinness justly deserves rave reviews for his eight brilliant characterizations in "Kind Hearts," one must not overlook the brilliant performance of the lead, Dennis Price, one of the great character actors of the period. Price, a genuine war hero in World War II, had a career that lasted for nearly 30 years, during which he played comic and serious roles with consummate skill. No one could portray the arch, sophisticated rogue better than Price, as is evident not only in "Kind Hearts" but in another of my favorite comedies of the period "The Naked Truth" (1957, where he plays the elegant but sleazy tabloid editor/blackmailer, opposite the likes of Peter Sellers, Terry-Thomas, and Peggy Mount. He was very funny in a small role as the "gentleman con man" in Sellers' great hit of 1962, "The Wrong Arm of the Law." And for dramatic intensity one can point to his role of Major Charlie Scott in the gripping regimental drama, "The Tunes of Glory." (1960). So three cheers for Price as that charming rogue, "Louis Mazzini," in "Kind Hearts and Coronets."

While I find much in Mr. Crawford's comments to commend, I can also understand director Ray's misgivings about "On Dangerous Ground." It is IN the film-noir genre but not really OF it. The scenes in the city ring starkly true and are gripping. But when the hero, Jim Wilson, moves north into the snow-swept countryside, not only is he out of his element, but the film seems to lose its way, becoming in the end merely another romance, with a happy, but most implausible ending. We are expected to believe that the hard-bitten, truly obsessed Wilson, suddenly within the spate of 24 hours, finds contentment, affirming what his old colleague warned him was true about engaging with others, in the arms of a blind woman.

This dilemma is enhanced not eased by the wintry and isolated environment, which, contrary to Mr. Crawford's views, I found sinister and alienating, especially when seen through the character played by Ward Bond, a hard-bitten man filled with hate.

The acting in this film, by the way, is superb. Bond is powerfully effective as the vengeful father, while Ryan reaffirms his standing at the very apex of film-noir actors. Ed Begley reminds us, once again, of the power of "New York" actors of his era. Only Ida Lupino, usually a fine actress, seems ill at ease in her role as the blind woman.

Director John Ford was notably sentimental about the actors and crew who had worked with him over the years in his film 'family.' Among these was an old stunt man and western wrangler, Fred Kennedy. Against his better judgment, Ford gave Kennedy a stunt ride in "The Horse Soldiers." Kennedy's horse fell, breaking the old actor's neck. The scene was retained in the final cut. But Ford was broken-hearted with guilt.

I agree that the film is in many ways a mess, but what grand songs! Some of the last songs George Gershwin composed (a few actually finished by Vernon Duke). Especially lovely is Kenny Baker slinging hamburgers in a diner, singing "Love Walked In," and later "Love Is Here To Stay." It is also a very early example of a Technicolor film. So although often quite dumb, this film has its moments of fine entertainment.

This is one of the underrated musicals of the 1930s. But it has a lot going for it, most notably the electric performance of one of the greatest entertainers before microphones, Al Jolson. Jolson demonstrates in this film why he could have audiences in the palm of his hand---the power of his voice and the awesome reach of his personality come across on the screen as they must have in a vaudeville house or on the musical comedy stage. Ruby Keeler is also fine as the femme fatale, dancing with great style (though the film could have profited from the talents of a master choreographer like Busby Berkeley!). And Barton MacLane is grand as the heavy. The songs by Harry Warren and Al Dubin are charming and winning, especially such jewels as "She's a Latin From Manhattan," "About a Quarter To Nine," and the title song. In all, a winning little film.

I certainly enjoyed the action and the acting of this genre film, once I was prepared, as always to suspend belief. Our yuppy Bostonian hero has the physical prowess of Chuck Norris and Steven Segal combined, yet lacks even a modest degree of articulateness that one would assume from his character type. His inability to explain the circumstances of his wife's disappearance, even to a sympathetic sheriff, defies belief. Nonetheless for sheer good guy, bad guy action, the film is a success.