BobLib

"The Bulldog of Bergen," Jim Braddock was a fighter who came out of the depths of the Depression to win the World Heavyweight Championship against incredible odds, one who lived to see himself honored as a folk hero, a legend of sports, and one of New Jersey's first citizens. Had he lived long enough to see Ron Howard's excellent film on his life, "Cinderella Man," he would have almost certainly approved.

A box-office disappointment when released, and all but overlooked at the Oscars, "Cinderella Man" is, nonetheless, one of the best films of 2005 in the opinion of everyone I've known who has seen it, as well as myself. As much as Peter Jackson in "King Kong," Howard and his team take a grimy, unsentimental look at the Depression Era that is both fascinating and unsettling at the same time. The New Jersey/New York area of Braddock's time, as well as such venues as the old Madison Square Garden Bowl in Long Island City, are faithfully and meticulously recreated. Howard's direction is, as always, right on top of things. The pace doesn't slacken for a minute, the storytelling always grabs you.

But technical aspects are only part of what makes a movie great. There are also the performances, and in this respect, "Cinderella Man"'s cast doesn't disappoint. Russell Crowe gives his best performance yet (And, no, I'm not forgetting Howard's earlier "A Beautiful Mind") as Braddock. He doesn't play the part, he IS the part, gentle and loving with his family, a hard worker on the docks, a tiger in the ring. Renee Zellweger effectively de-glamorizes herself as Braddock's loving wife, Mae, tender yet tough. Paul Giamatti definitely earned his Oscar nomination as Braddock's best friend/manager Joe Gould, who won't give up on Jim even when everybody else has. And Craig Bierko gives an appropriately over-the-top performance as Max Baer, Sr., the flamboyant champ, a devil with the ladies and in the ring, whom Braddock challenges for the championship. This was the performance that motivated Baer's son, actor/producer Max Baer, Jr. (Jethro on "The Beverly Hillbillies"), to sue the producers, claiming, justifiably, that they presented a very one-sided view of his father, turning him, for the sake of a good story, into a villain he was far from being.

All in all, a great movie about the triumph of the human spirit. Once you see it, you will never forget it, and always want to come back again.

Incidentally, the DVD of "Cinderella Man" (a nickname for Braddock coined by Damon Runyon) features several interesting bonus features. There is a commentary track by Ron Howard, cut scenes, newsreel footage of Braddock in action, and interviews with Braddock's family.

While not generally associated with the great horror films of the early 1930's, MGM certainly made some noteworthy contributions to the genre during that period, most notably Tod Browning's great trio of films: "Freaks," "The Devil Doll," and "Mark of the Vampire." And then there is the fascinating "The Mask of Fu Manchu," directed by the underrated Charles Brabin and starring the man who, by 1932, had established himself as Hollywood's master of the macabre, the great Boris Karloff.

Forget the convoluted plot, involving a lot of twists and turns trying to receive the mask and sword of Genghis Kahn. The script, as with Sax Rohmer's original novel, hews closely to the western view of Asians during the period as a sub-human "race" bent on bringing death and destruction to the good, pure, non-racist (Ha!) Caucasian peoples of the world. Concentrate, instead, on Tony Gaudio's fluid camera-work, Cedric Gibbons' suitably elaborate production designs, and Adrian's equally elaborate costumes.

Focus especially, though, on the performances, which are the heart of this film. Rarely did Karloff convey more sheer, unadulterated menace than here as Fu Manchu. From the first time we see him, his face distorted behind a magnifying glass, to the climax as he prepares to lead his "yellow hordes" on an orgy of death and destruction, he dominates every scene and commands your attention all the way, like the consummate actor he was. Lewis Stone comports himself with the innate dignity he brought to every role as his adversary, Inspector Neyland Smith. Likewise Jean Hersholt as the archaeologist Von Berg. Future Durango Kid Charles Starrett and 1930s ingénue Karen Morley are appropriately bland and attractive as the young lovers. Finally, there is the young Myrna Loy, just on the cusp of major stardom, playing the last of her many early faux-Asian vamp roles as Fu's sadistic daughter. To see her going almost orgasmic at the sight of Starrett being tortured is to witness pre-code high camp at its best.

In short, see "Mask of Fu Manchu" for what it is: A true camp-fest of large proportions and solid performances, particularly by Karloff and Loy.

While all of the Fleischer/Famous Studios "Superman" cartoons are excellent, "Billion Dollar Limited," the third in the series, is probably the best of the lot in terms of overall animation, plot, and pacing. Why it wasn't even nominated for an Oscar as Best Animated Short for 1942 (Incredibly enough, only the first one was) in inexplicable.

Here, Lois Lane is assigned to cover the transfer of one billion dollars in gold to the U.S. Mint. Masked gangsters in their super-powered (for 1942) car take off after the train, determined to get that gold. Without giving too much away, what ensues is a thrill ride for both the characters and the audience, with truth, justice, and Superman triumphant at the end.

As they did in all the Fleischer/Famous Superman cartoons, Clayton "Bud" Collyer and Joan Alexander, who played Clark Kent/Superman and Lois Lane on radio, have the voice work honors here, and Fleischer perennial Jack Mercer gets a little to do as one of the bad guys, as well.

As with my fellow posters, I, too, grew up in the greater New York area and viewed "Wonderama" as nothing less than a weekly ritual, as hosted by Sonny Fox and, a little later, the late, great Bob McAllister. Both men had a real knack for talking to children without talking down to them. Really, they seemed to be having as much fun as the kids. And the kids were having a ball, obviously. From the exercise segments ("Exercise! Exercise! C'Mon, everybody, do your exercise!"), to the dance contest (where the main songs always seemed to be the Grass Roots' "Midnight Confession" and the Foundations' "Build Me Up, Buttercup," long after both had ceased to be hits), through McAllister's superficially nonsensical, but ultimately unforgettable songs ("Nobody Here Has an Aardvaark," "I've Got You"), to his Professor Fingleheimer creation ("The more you fingle, the less you heimer. Fingleheimer! Fingleheimer! Fingle-dingle-heimer!"), it was the sort of simplistic (But fun!) programming that would never pass muster with today's more sophisticated youngsters. And for that reason, I pity today's kids. They don't know what they're missing.

But we former "Wonderama" fans DO know. It was an irreplaceable part of our childhood, one we'll always treasure.

James A. Michener's mammoth novel, "Hawaii," is the subject of this suitably mammoth film, one with a lot to recommend it. Julie Andrews proves that she can handle a dramatic role as well or better than musical roles. Her Jerusha Bromley Hale captures our sympathy the minute she comes on screen and sustains it for the rest of the film. Likewise, Jocelyn LaGarde, a real-life Tahitian princess with no previous acting experience, gives an equally good performance as Alii Nui Ruth Malama Konakoa, for which she was justifiably nominated for an Oscar. There are also good supporting performances from Carroll O'Connor and Gene Hackman, both just a few years away from stardom when this picture was made. Russell Harlan's cameras capture the islands at their most beautiful, and Elmer Bernstein's haunting, evocative score is one of his best.

The one fatal flaw in all this is the actor playing the central male character, Reverend Abner Hale. While Max von Sydow was always good in the great Ingmar Bergman films ("The Seventh Seal"), in most of his English-language films, with the sole exception of "The Exorcist," he always came off as something of a well-dressed stiff. It's an image he upholds here. Perhaps it's the fact that he's working in a language not his own, perhaps it's just the hopeless nature of the lines he's saddled with, but his is an Abner Hale who could transform the staunchest Christian into a Druid. He, quite simply, generates no sympathy. Plus, as many of the best clergymen seem to know, you can win more converts by stressing the kind, loving qualities of Jesus than by belching out fire and brimstone. It seems to me that, for Andrews's character, choosing between this mannered stiff and Richard Harris's vigorous sea captain shouldn't have been much of a choice at all.

But this shouldn't drive you away from "Hawaii." For all the good points I mentioned, it's definitely worth seeing at least once.

Produced and written by Leonard Stern, associate producer of "Get Smart," "Run, Buddy, Run" had many similarities to "Smart" in that it combined crime and comedy in equal proportions, with the one never getting in the way of the other. It had two top-drawer character men, Jack Sheldon and Bruce Gordon, as the leads, and it had a good spot on the schedule. Just about everyone I know who saw it, myself included, enjoyed it.

Why, then, did it fail? There could be any number of reasons. The most likely of all, I think, was that too many shows with similar formats had established themselves by then, leaving "Buddy" with, literally, nowhere to run. Also, the somewhat offbeat premise didn't help much, either. Nowadays, such a show would have been given more time to build up an audience. In 1966, it was axed halfway through the season.

Pity, as this was one of the most creative, funny shows to emerge from the Golden Age of Sitcoms.

There's Pavarotti, at the height of his powers and popularity, in glorious voice, and some beautiful photography, and that's about it for this misguided attempt to turn Luciano Pavarotti into the Mario Lanza of the 1980's. The whole thing was totally uninspired by anything except the desire to make a quick buck out of Pavarotti fans. All the critics panned it when it came out, but thought it would succeed on the strength of Pavarotti's (then) huge fan base. They were wrong. Talent or no, the rotund Pavarotti was nobody's idea of a romantic leading man. The fans wanted to hear Pavarotti sing, not see him try to act, and "Yes, Giorgio!" sank like a stone at the box office. Only Eddie Albert managed to rise above the mess with his dignity intact, giving his usual good, understated performance (Was he ever capable of giving a BAD performance?).

In short, if you want to see and hear Pavarotti at his best (roughly 1973-90), watch one of his videos/DVDs, either of his opera performances or his concerts, and avoid this best-forgotten failure.

After seeing "The Passion" on opening night, I sent an e-mail out to friends with my thoughts. The following comments are taken therefrom:

"The Passion" is more than a movie, it is an experience, in several senses of the word. Yes, it is as brutal as you've heard. You're repulsed, even sickened, by the scenes of the scourging of Christ by Pilate and the crucifixion itself, yet you can't look away. It's that riveting. I found myself thinking, again and again, "This isn't the traditional image we all have of Jesus's last hours. It's not like you've pictured it in the Bible, it's not what you see in religious art, and it's not how it's been presented in other biblical movies, like 'King of Kings.' And yet, given what we know of the history of the times, this is probably the truth."

Several men and women at the showing I attended were in tears. At least a couple beat a hasty retreat in the direction of the bathroom. I found myself so emotionally drained by it all that I went to bed almost immediately after getting home. There was prolonged applause at the end.

To paraphrase the old advertising slogan, this is NOT your father's bible epic ... nor your mother's, nor your grandparents'. In fact, it's so totally unlike any previous film on the life of Jesus that it's, in every way, unique unto itself.

It is also one of the best, most moving films I have ever seen.

Bravo to Turner Classic Movies for making available, once again, the cinematic art of one of the best actors ever, Lon Chaney. As Andreyev's disappointed scientist turned circus clown, Paul Beaumont, Chaney makes the most of every scene he's in, and never disappoints. We feel the agony of his hopeless love for the lovely bareback rider Consuelo, as well as the seething anger toward the man who ruined his life, the despicable Baron Renard. It's a far better performance, in my opinion, than his similar role four years later in "Laugh, Clown, Laugh," much more understated and, therefore, much more involving.

But that's not to take away from the other performances, by any means. Norma Shearer, in her first major role as Consuelo, is suitably attractive and gives a good performance, but to see her at her best is to see such '30's classics as "A Free Soul" and especially "Marie Antoinette." There, she was a mature actress; here, she was a promising newcomer. John Gilbert already shows that he had the goods to become one of the top leading men of the '20's, managing to convey virility even in multicolored tights. And Marc McDermott and old veteran Tully Marshall make two of the best silent villains ever as the aforementioned Baron and as Consuelo's father, an impoverished nobleman ready to force his daughter into marrying the Baron just to improve his fortunes, respectively. You're genuinely glad, at an almost visceral level, when they wind up getting what they deserve in the end.

I don't know who composed the music score used in the print seen on TCM, but it's excellent and really compliments the action.

Victor Seastrom's moody direction is perfect, especially his use of a globe-spinning clown to serve as sort of a Greek chorus at various points in the film.

In short, this is a true silent classic, silent film making at its' best, and well worth seeing.

In the fall of 1970, two Neil Simon adaptations premiered on ABC, "The Odd Couple" and "Barefoot in the Park." Both were based, of course, on hit plays and the hit films adapted from those plays. "Odd Couple," thanks primarily to the solid chemistry of Tony Randall and Jack Klugman in the leads, caught on immediately and went on to a successful four-year run. "Barefoot in the Park" wasn't so fortunate. One of the first all-black TV shows on a major network, it always suffered from just a tinge of blaxploitation as far as the situations and characters were concerned. The whole cast, including leads Scoey Mitchell and Tracy Reed and the always funny Thelma Carpenter and Nipsy Russell, tried their best, but just couldn't overcome a succession of weak scripts. As I recall, the show was canceled mid-season.

Let me start by saying, just for the record, that I think the original "Batman" TV series was, at its' best, one of the most imaginative, creative series ever. Production values, particularly in the first two seasons, were top-line all the way. The writing, particularly when the great Stanley Ralph Ross was involved, was first-rate, as well. Maybe Batman and Robin, as intentionally overplayed by Adam West and Burt Ward, were a little too straight arrow to be real, but that was part of the fun.

But the villains were the real stars of the show. They were not only more fun to be around than stuffy ol' Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, but they had better lines. Sorry, Jim, Danny, and Jack, but, to any real fan of the show, Frank Gorshin, Burgess Meredith, and Cesar Romero WERE the Riddler, Penguin, and Joker, respectively. And like most of the guest villains, they seemed to be genuinely having fun with the roles. Sleek and sensuous, delicious and deadly, Julie Newmar as Catwoman was my first big crush as a kid. Even watching her now, I think, "If this is torture, chain me to the wall!" As a boy of eight, however, I think my first thought was, "HOLY WOW! If this is a woman, what does that make my mom?" I had a similar reaction, only not quite as strong, when Joan Collins played the Siren. But I digress (pleasantly). The villains were not so much villains as anti-heroes, and it was always fun to see what sort of predicament they could get Batman and Robin into at the end of the Wednesday episode, and how they would escape from said predicament at the beginning of the Thursday show.

And what kid didn't think, back then, that the George Barris-designed Batmobile was the coolest thing on four wheels?

I just wish the series was shown a little more often, at an accessible hour, on TV. And even better, released on VHS or DVD. I know a lot of people who would buy it. I know I would. Batman: Still one of the greatest shows of all time.

While not as well-known as other versions of the Dickens classic (Owen, Sim, Magoo, Scott), the 1935 British film of "A Christmas Carol" is almost in their league. Among other things, it preserves, in sound, the performance of one of the legendary Scrooges of the English stage, Sir Seymour Hicks, who definitely does not disappoint. In the beginning, his Scrooge is one of the nastiest ever seen on film, his appearance that of something that crawled out from under a rock. But it is precisely these qualities that make his gradual transformation all the more affecting. At the beginning, we loathe the man, at the end, we rejoice with him at his redemption.

The performances of the rest of the cast are on the same level, with Oscar Asche's Falstaffian Ghost of Christmas Present a particular standout. And, although this is probably the one major film version of the story where you don't actually see Marley's Ghost, the anonymous actor who provides his voice, the accompanying special effects, and Hicks's reactions are enough to make the scene that much spookier.

Finally, kudos to Sydney Blythe and William Luff for their excellent camerawork. Fog-shrouded 19th century London has rarely been presented this well in ANY picture. And the play of light and shadow, particularly during the Christmas-Yet-to-Come sequence, would scare even the Scroogiest among us into repentance.

In sum, while this is not on the level with the excellent versions I've already mentioned, it has more than its' share of good points, and deserves to be seen at least once.

While not on the level of the work being done in Warners crime films during the same period ("The Public Enemy," "Little Caesar"), "The Secret Six" is a fine picture with a lot to recommend it.

Primarily, this comes from the cast. Wallace Beery, then at the height of his fame, makes for a good central figure as Louis "Slaughterhouse" Scorpio, as the name implies, a former slaughterhouse worker turned bootlegger and murderer. His ordering "a hunk o'steak" after spending all day crushing animals heads with a sledgehammer suggests, right at the beginning, that killing means nothing to this huge primate of a man. Lewis Stone, on the wrong side of the law for once, is Newton, the dandyish crooked lawyer and head of the gang, giving an understated, sinister performance and making every scene count. Ralph Bellamy, one of the movies' perennial nice guys, plays a very, very bad guy here, as the gangster who brings Scorpio into the gang, to his later regret. And veteran Marjorie Rambeau, while she has little to do overall, is good as Bellamy's blowsy mistress, Peaches, a far cry from the society matrons she would specialize in later in her career.

But the big surprise, and one of the main reasons for watching this picture, are the solid early performances of Jean Harlow and a young, sans-mustache Clark Gable. Both were free-lancers who were hired for this film on a one-time basis. MGM was so impressed with their work as, respectively, Anne, the cigarette girl who loves and loses reporter Johnny Mack Brown, and Carl, the crusading reporter who aids the Secret Six of the title in bringing down Stone and Beery's criminal organization, that they were hired to long-term contracts right after the picture was completed. Both turn in solid performances. Those who think Harlow couldn't act should see her in the last third of the film, particularly the trial scene. And the sheer mile-a-minute energy Gable brings to his role makes his every scene watchable. Within the next few years, these two would establish themselves as the stuff of Hollywood legend.

Directed by the excellent, underrated George Hill ("Tell It To the Marines," "Min and Bill," "Hell Divers"), scripted by the great Frances Marion, and with the aforementioned solid cast and the usual MGM gloss, "The Secret Six" makes for a very enjoyable film, for historians, crime film buffs, fans of the stars, and just those of us who appreciate a good, involving story.

Gotta admit it, no studio was as good at making crime movies as Warner Brothers during the 1930's. With Cagney, Bogie, and, here, John Garfield, there were fewer actors at any one studio who were as good at being bad. And that's what makes "East of the River" so watchable. The performances help to turn what's basically a routine crime drama into a watchable, second-string noir treasure.

As to the basic plot, that's been done again and again in endless variations. Warners even used it at least a half a dozen times. Boyhood best friends/brothers get into some sort of juvenile scrape. One goes "good," the other "bad." Both meet years later and thereby hangs the tale. However, when the boys are played by Garfield and popular 30's second-lead William Lundigan and the girl they both love by Brenda (Mrs. William Holden) Marshall, the good performances that result raise the story above the standard clichés. Almost as good, albeit with a lot of stock "Italian" mannerisms ("You a good-a boy!"), is Marjorie Rambeau as the boys' mother. Rambeau was one of those actresses who could shine in a broom closet, playing either the star's mother or a world-weary chippie (Catch her her in 1931's "The Secret Six" sometime) with equal finesse, transcending whatever stereotyped qualities may have been in the script. Also excellent are old Warners standby George Tobias as an excitable "Italian" waiter, Douglas Fowley as a particularly despicable heavy, and Moroni Olsen playing yet another of the authority figure roles he always did so well.

Okay, "East of the River" may not be in the same league with "Little Caesar," "The Public Enemy," "Angels with Dirty Faces," or even "You Can't Get Away with Murder." What it IS, though, is an excellent little (75 minutes) crime melodrama of the old school that is definitely worth a look.

"Two Seconds" is one of Edward G. Robinson's earliest starring films, and it's also one of his best. Teetering on the edge of hamminess, but never falling in, Robinson believably conveys the downfall of a basically decent, trusting man victimized by circumstances beyond his control, and how those circumstances ultimately destroy him. He commands your attention every inch of the way in this solid, compactly told (67 minutes) story.

Robinson's is not the only noteworthy performance in the film, however. A young Preston Foster, as his co-worker and best friend, gives a good humored, energetic performance (Possible spoiler: The nature of that friendship, as revealed in the film, makes for an interesting gay subtext.). Vivienne Osborne, as the dime-a-dance gal whom the smitten Robinson marries, gives a good, if somewhat shrill, performance that makes you wonder why she didn't have a longer career. Guy Kibbee, here just at the beginning of a WB career that had him playing one Babbitty businessman after another, makes a good impression as a jovial bookmaker. Finally, William Janney, as a young, naive reporter, has a few memorable moments at the beginning and end of the film, and makes the most of them with a convincing performance.

The great Mervyn LeRoy, who guided Robinson through his breakthrough role in "Little Ceaser" a year earlier, handles the sure-footed direction here, and doesn't disappoint.

Good Robinson, good film. Highly recommended.

Director Joseph Newman's "The Luckiest Guy in the World" is, quite simply, a too-long neglected masterpiece of film noir. Like a previous poster, I, too, saw this recently on Turner Classic Movies and it grabbed me right from the beginning, a compelling story of an "average Joe" whose life spirals out of control when he desperately needs money to pay off gambling debts.

Baby-faced Barry Nelson, one of the screen's best portrayers of Mr. Nice Guy types, turns in a solid performance of a man caught in an inescapable trap of his own making. Also excellent, in the only other roles of any size, are Eloise Hardt as his long-suffering wife and Henry Cheshire as his sympathetic, unsuspecting boss. Max Terr's taut musical score is a plus, too.

Almost all the entries in MGM's "Crime Does Not Pay" series were good little crime dramas. Like many live-action shorts of the period, they served as a valuable training ground for promising writing, acting, and directing talents that the studio was trying to develop. "The Luckiest Guy in the World" is, far and away, the best, an outstanding short and a lost classic of film noir.

Okay, I'll admit it: Reunion movies don't always work. They're almost always missing that special something that makes them pale in comparison to the original. That's what I was expecting when I tuned into this, but that's not what I got. "The Misadventures of Adam and Burt" is a BANG! POW! WHAM! gasser, especially if you're a long-time BatFan like me!

First, there's the cast. If there is any justice, Adam West and Burt Ward should be nominated for Emmys for their delightfully funny, wickedly self-parodying performances. Ditto Jack Brewer and, especially, Jason Marsden as their younger incarnations. All four of them truly seemed to be having fun with the roles. And that's the sort of enthusiasm that quickly finds its way to the audience. Sort of like the original series, come to think of it.

As to the other visitors from the series, Lee Meriwether has a delightful cameo as a waitress with at least one surprise up her sleeve. Julie Newmar still looks stupafyin'-ly super in her walk-on, and can still heat up the tube. If time has been a bit less kind to Frank Gorshin, he more than compensates with the sheer enthusiasm and good humor which has always been his trademark.

It's my hope that Fox will bring this out on VHS and DVD soon, ALONG WITH the original "Batman" series. I know BatFans would eat up both like BatBurgers.

God bless Adam and Burt, always heroes in the hearts of their many fans.

Okay, are you following me?:

Take AT LEAST two large cupfuls of fires, explosions, an odd ka-blam or two, and assorted mayhem. Add one handsome, if well-seasoned, leading man, one gorgeous leading lady, and AT LEAST two or three detestable, diabolical, dastardly baddies. Stir (DO NOT SHAKE!) in a good, solid plot, being sure to give it several unexpected twists while stirring. Add one cup state-of-the-art FX. If desired, add one of the great ladies of the British theater for extra flavor. Mix together thoroughly, watch for two-and-a-quarter-hours. And, voila! You have the best Bond film in years, and this coming from a confirmed addict who owns all the previous films.

Bond is back like never before! Long may he reign!

... the result is this underseen gem from the last days of the MGM Animation Department. The four geniuses are, of course, Chuck Jones (co-director), Maurice Noble (co-director/designer), Frank Tashlin (script), and Paul Frees (voices). The result is a delight.

Tashlin's Thurbur-like story, which I won't spoil, is a delightful double satire on big business bureaucracy and perception vs. reality, with our hapless ursine hero somehow preserving his dignity and sanity in a situation that rapidly snowballs into indignity and insanity. Tashlin's witty script calls to mind his best work in live-action films, Jones and Noble's direction and designs are among their best, and the understated humor of Frees's voice characterizations wrap up this comic package nicely. That this film wasn't even nominated for an Academy Award is inexplicable.

As I revise these comments, some three years after I originally wrote them, "The Bear That Wasn't" has finally come out on DVD, as part of the Loony Tunes Gold Collection, Volume 3. Do yourself a favor and see it.

... that's about it. Fans of the various actors involved, particularly the always excellent Peck, will probably enjoy this movie. What is arguably Quincy Jones' best film score that isn't "Roots" is also a plus. Other than that, though, "MacKenna's Gold" is a big, sprawling, and, alas, almost instantly forgettable western from an era when certain studio minds seemed to think that bigger was better. You'll enjoy it, to be sure, but a couple hours later you're sure to have trouble recalling the plot. It's not dull, just not that outstanding, either.

A true classic of American Cinema Verite, "The Little Fugitive" works on several levels. On one level, it's a magnificent portrait of New York, and particularly Coney Island, during the early '50's, when New York City, if you were a kid, was truly a magic place. Anyone growing up in that period can easily identify with the fun and wonders to be seen at Coney when you were a kid and had the day free and money to spend from turned-in pop bottles (Remember those?). Professional photographers, the husband-and-wife team of Morris Engel and Ruth Orkin told a simple story with an eye toward preserving, on film, a way of life that would disappear in just two decades time, and in such an involving way that you feel yourself becoming part of it. All that's missing is the salt air and discarded popcorn bags.

Now to the performances, every one of them a gem. Rickie Brewster and especially little Richie Andrusco as Lennie and Joey, two boys with no previous acting experience, give natural, ingratiating performances as the two brothers at the center of the story. One wonders whatever happened to them, and if, in fact, they're still recognized almost 50 years later. As to the adults, most of them New York-based stage actors, Winnifred Cushing, as the boys' mother, come off as just a bit too arch to be really likeable, but Jay Williams, in the main adult role of the ingratiating pony ride man, more than makes up for it with an enjoyable, lively performance. And see if you can recognize a very young Will Lee, aka "Mr. Hooper" from "Sesame Street," as the photo booth man who lets young Joey help him out.

In short, "Little Fugitive" is not only great as a movie, but also as an evocation of a time and place that lives only in the memories of those who were there.

What makes "The Great Race" easily the best of several grand-scale slapstick comedies to come out in the mid-'60's is a generally good cast and several excellent comedy set-pieces. While Tony Curtis could, and often did, come off as pretentious in a lot of his dramatic films, he always was a good light comedian. He proved this in "Some Like It Hot," "Goodbye, Charlie," the underrated "Don't Make Waves," and here. He gives his role as "The Great Leslie" just the right touch of self-mockery that would have been missing had Charlton Heston, the original choice, been cast in the role. His every gesture, every word, seems to say, "Now, don't take any of this foolishness seriously. I'm not." Leading lady Natalie Wood, on the other hand, comes off as just too overdone to be funny. When the right director held her various mannerisms in check, she could deliver a solid performance, as in arguably her best film, "Splendor in the Grass." But here, an indulgent Blake Edwards allows her to let loose with the usual over-the-top histrionics that got her voted Worst Actress of the Year by the Harvard Lampoon on several occasions.

But the one man who makes this film really worth watching is Jack Lemmon, in the role of comic villain Professor Fate. He is hilarious, obviously having a good time with the broad slapstick required for the role. He and Peter Falk, as his assistant, Max, play off each other in a manner bringing to mind many of the great comedy teams of the silent era. And, if anything, he's even funnier in a dual role as a drunken, foppish prince in the last third of the film. Things tend to slacken up when he's not there, but, when he is, he always leaves you wanting more.

Blake Edwards'direction is easy and breezy, almost making you forget the 150 minute running time. And Henry Mancini's music (including the Oscar-nominated song "The Sweetheart Tree") is appropriately upbeat throughout.

In short, while "The Great Race" is far from the greatest comedy ever made, it IS funny, often very funny, and you definitely won't be wasting your time seeing it.

I finally saw this film on Turner Classic Movies a few weeks ago. After reading the laudatory comments about it in Michael Blake's excellent biography of Lon Chaney, "A Thousand Faces," I was really expecting something special. As it turns out, Chaney and a radiant young Mommie Dearest are about the only good things in the picture. Chaney was one of those actors who can say volumes with just one look and he made his every scene count, but Crawford was, at this time, still a star as opposed to an actress, getting what was left after Shearer and Garbo got their pick of the plums, and it shows here. It wasn't until 1931's "Paid" that she really established herself as a force to be reckoned with.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. As I say, apart from Chaney, Crawford, an always interesting director, Tod Browning ("West of Zanzibar," "Dracula," "Freaks"), and a few good set pieces, "The Unknown" really isn't much more than average, dragging badly when Chaney isn't around to liven things up. I suspect its' reputation, as with Gilbert and Garbo's "The Flesh and the Devil" from that same period, has been fostered by people who've read a lot of contemporary reviews rather than seen the films themselves and/or who are major fans of the stars involved.

Okay, I'll admit it. The first hour of this film dragged so much that I almost gave up on it. All there was was Julie Christie fighting the Dorset scenery for beauty, and that was about it. Then, Terrance Stamp, as the charming louse Christie marries, came on the scene, and that did it. The story really got moving at that point, with all the principals giving solid performances.

Stamp, as mentioned before, stands out as Frank, the amoral ex-soldier whose love-hate relationship with Christie leads to tragedy. The ever-excellent Peter Finch, underplaying more than was usually his wont, does equally as well as a neighboring farmer, whose growing obsession wth Christie's Bathsheba is brought out subtly but forcefully. And Christie's Bathsheba does, indeed, make a strong protagonist. We sympathize with her through every twist and turn, every trial and tribulation, every pain and pleasure. Why she and Stamp, especially, weren't Oscar-nominated for this film is unfathomable. Richard Rodney Bennet's score, future director Nicolas Roeg's camerawork, and, especially, John Schlesinger's direction bring it all together.

As I said earlier, wade through the first hour as best you can, then sit back and enjoy.

Forget the plot. As far as that goes, be prepared for another Sam Katzman exploitive quickie designed to cash in on whatever was hot at the moment. In this case, it was the pop-folk boom that effectively began with the Kingston Trio's "Tom Dooley" in 1958 and lasted roughly about five years, until just before the start of the British Invasion.

The music, however, is another matter, and you'd do best to just fast forward through the droning dialogue to catch solid early performances by Johnny Cash, the Brothers Four (looking and sounding good even when bouncing on trampolines during one number), George Hamilton IV (singing his # 1 hit, "Abilene") and Judy Henske, among others. Everyone gives good performances despite, or perhaps in reaction to, the overall cheesiness surrounding them.

In short, musically I give this film an 8, otherwise one half of one.