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The new 'Wolfman' does a lot of things right, which I guess makes the dead spots and scenes that DON'T work that much more noticeable. But it definitely has its heart in the right place and there is much to enjoy here. There are echoes of Lon Chaney Jr. in Benicio del Toro's performance of the tormented Lawrence (never 'Larry' here) Talbot. I found Emily Blunt's portrayal a welcome feminine touch, nicely done, even sexy in a subtle way. And Anthony Hopkins probably won't get an Oscar nomination, but there's no denying he is a special actor, someone you just can't take your eyes off. The two most memorable scenes for me were, first, the scene in the gypsy camp where a werewolf runs loose. Fast-paced, chaotic and frightening. The other is the scene in the asylum, which really caught me off-guard. But there is, admittedly, much time that passes where nothing much happens. And this in a movie that is not overly long by today's standards. It's good that the director takes his time to build up an appropriately spooky atmosphere, but that time need not be boring. Hopkins' performance reminded me somewhat of his turn as Professor Von Helsing in 1992's 'Dracula,' and indeed sometimes 'The Wolfman' looks and sounds like that earlier (and much better) film. Still, 'The Wolfman' is a fun ride for the most part and surprisingly faithful to the 1941 classic on which it is largely based.

Just when I had convinced myself that Alfred Hitchcock didn't make any clunkers during the fifties, I decided to watch 'The Man Who Knew Too Much." Maybe 'clunker' is too strong a word, but this is definitely one of Hitchcock's lesser films. It is ponderous, with phony suspense, ill-placed humor, and Doris Day singing 'Que Sera, Sera'... twice. There are, to be sure, some typical Hitchcock touches, but not enough to sustain this overblown two-hour melodrama. Which is really what it feels like, more than the thriller or international intrigue it was meant to be. James Stewart is fine in the lead; his performance is better than the material. It would be easy to say Doris Day is overwrought in her portrayal, but again, it is really the script that fails her. I don't know that any other actress could have done better. The film veers from feverishly serious to clumsily comedic, often in the same scene. A problem here is the subject matter. All parents' worst nightmare is the thought of their young child being kidnapped and placed in danger, and that is exactly what happens. Stewart and Day go from being greatly worried one moment to making silly banter the next, and it just doesn't work. Day in fact often has a confused look on her face as though she doesn't know HOW she's supposed to react. The climactic scene in the Royal Albert Hall is beautiful to look at, and provides the added treat of having famed film composer Bernard Herrman actually conduct the orchestra, but as a suspense setpiece, it is completely ineffective. The scenes following it not only feel superfluous, but during the second rousing rendition of 'Que Sera, Sera,' are also almost unbearably interminable. The standing-around and emotional handwringing in this movie really grow quite tedious. (When the boy starts whistling from upstairs, you'd think nothing could stop Stewart from running up to free him, but no, he just stands there impatiently, decorum apparently demanding he wait till the end of the song.) 'The Man Who Knew Too Much' just goes to prove that even a Master sometimes comes up short.

Apparently, the makers of 'U.S. Marshals' figured that approximately 50% of the appeal of 'The Fugitive' was Tommy Lee Jones' Sam Gerard and his oddball, sometimes dysfunctional team of agents. (The other 50%, obviously, was Harrison Ford as Dr. Richard Kimble.) They were correct in at least one regard; 'U.S. Marshals' grossed about half of what 'The Fugitive' did. So it's sort of a sequel but not really. More like the continuing adventures of some of the same characters. At first anyway, it certainly seems like a re-hash of 'The Fugitive.' There are many similar scenes. A character played by Wesley Snipes (who herewith will be called 'Snipes,' as he has three different names in the movie), is arrested on a relatively minor charge, then is revealed to be a suspect in the murder of two federal agents, and so is put on a plane with several other prisoners for New York, where he will stand trial. Instead of a spectacular train wreck, we get a spectacular plane crash. Snipes escapes. There is a huge investigation at the crash scene. Snipes makes his way down a river with forests on either side as a massive manhunt ensues. He hijacks vehicles and professes his innocence while always staying one step ahead of his pursuers. Any of this sound familiar? But whereas we were amazed in 'The Fugitive' at Richard Kimble's varied and ingenious ways of evading capture, here more often than not, our mouths drop open at the almost determinedly inept methods with which Gerard and his team fail to capture Snipes and other suspects. It's almost as if they are aware they are in a movie and if they catch him too soon, the movie will be over. Anything, even the slightest thing, that can prevent them from cornering Snipes, does. Taxis, stoplights, dressing rooms, walk/don't walk signs, bad traffic, pedestrians, diplomatic immunity... Gerard and his underlings seem to actively seek them out so they don't get their hands on the guy too quickly. At one point, Gerard on his cellphone even TELLS an assistant who is following Snipes' girlfriend that Snipes is in the dressing room with her. So what does the assistant do? He sticks his head in the dressing room, sees no one but the girl, apologizes and then leaves. (Snipes is in the room behind it.) So much of this goes on for so long that we feel like screaming at the screen. What then is worthwhile in 'U.S. Marshals?' Tommy Lee Jones is fine as always, in the kind of role he was born to play, again and again and again. Kate Nelligan is fun as his boss, giving him hell at times, then unexpectedly backing him up when we least expect it. The always interesting Robert Downey Jr. introduces a new character, a federal agent assigned to assist Gerard, and his actions at the end provide something of a surprise twist. There are some nice action scenes, like the aforementioned plane crash and some well-staged shootouts. But it is the confused pursuit of Snipes and a Chinese operative that ultimately ruins the film. After a while, the audience is left scratching its collective head, wondering what the hell the Feds want to accomplish and why they are going about it the way they are.

The second of the Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce Sherlock Holmes films and their last for 20th-Century Fox, 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' contains all the elements that made the series so enjoyable, particularly the wonderful interaction and byplay of Holmes and Watson. By this point, their characters were set, and Dr. Watson's in particular is sealed when Holmes tells him, "Watson, you are an incorrigible bungler." Thus the doctor's transformation from intelligent chronicler to bumbling sidekick is complete, and is reinforced throughout the film, and the rest of the series. Also on hand for the first time is Professor Moriarty, here played by George Zucco in a fine, menacing performance. His cruel belittling of his underlings underscores Moriarty's evil nature and though he almost certainly dies at the end, this is but a minor impediment to his appearing again as Holmes' nemesis during the Universal run. But for all this, 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' isn't as good as its predecessor, 'Hound of the Baskervilles,' mainly because of the script, which claims to be based on a London stage play by William Gillette. Just as Moriarty's plot centers on throwing Holmes off the scent of the master criminal's real intentions, so the screenplay seems intent on leading the film audience up several blind alleys. But the denouement when it comes is so brief and casually tossed off, it is not very satisfying. The main problem is with the character of Jerrold Hunter (Alan Marshal). Hunter is due to marry Ann Brandon (a fetching and very serious Ida Lupino in an early role); Brandon in turn is convinced her brother will be killed, on the tenth anniversary of her father's death. Hunter pooh-poohs the idea, and becomes angry when Ann takes it upon herself to see Sherlock Holmes about the matter. At every turn in the story, Jerrold Hunter is portrayed as a suspicious, taciturn individual who quite probably is involved in the brother's eventual murder. He won't answer any questions, even from Ann, as to why he wasn't worried about the brother's safety, or why he didn't want Holmes involved. He even meets privately with Moriarty. Moriarty, while orchestrating the brother's murder as a distraction for Holmes, has as his primary intention the theft of some of the Crown Jewels from the Tower of London. Holmes discovers the deception at the last moment, tracks Moriarty down and shoots him, then throws him off the tower. In the briefest of epilogues, Watson asks Holmes about Hunter and is told it was all a ruse. That's it. As I said, not a terribly satisfying ending. Still, the film overall is lively, intriguing, and well-staged. The banter back and forth between Holmes and Watson is sharper and more memorable than in any other entry, and for that reason alone, 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' is worth seeing.

Some hardcore Trekkies are not happy with the new movie, 'Star Trek.' But unless you're one of those who is immersed in the minutiae of the Trek 'canon' (as purists call it), chances are you'll find it exciting and involving. I am myself a long-time fan and I found it very faithful to the original series, admittedly in spirit more than every tiny detail. In any event, the makers of the new 'Star Trek' have given themselves a free pass by utilizing a time travel story which in effect creates an alternate universe and history of sorts, so that things aren't exactly as they once were anyway. But the characters are as we remember them, brought to life in greater detail than the original series allowed. Kirk in particular is fleshed out, made believable and three-dimensional as never before. A two-fisted hellraiser as a youth, he basically joins Star Fleet on a dare and continues to fly by the seat of his pants, fighting authority while at the same time becoming a leader. Spock is his opposite, and here he is portrayed as even more aloof and tortured than Leonard Nimoy's interpretation. He has quite a temper and does not suffer fools gladly... and at first he considers Kirk a major fool. At one point, while briefly Kirk's superior officer, Spock has Kirk thrown off the ship, literally. The two have many great encounters during the movie, arguments, discussions, fights and finally collaboration. Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto are fine as Kirk and Spock, respectively. Despite early press stories which indicated the actors would not imitate their predecessors in the various roles, that is exactly what appears to be happening. Certainly Karl Urban as Dr. McCoy seems to be channeling DeForest Kelley. And how else to explain Anton Yelchin's insanely absurd Russian accent as Pavel Chekov? All of the regular cast are 'copying,' to one extent or another, their counterparts in the original cast. And the great thing is, it works. Eric Bana as Nero is a serviceable villain, a crazed Romulan out for revenge against the future Spock (Leonard Nimoy in a good featured role thankfully, instead of a throwaway cameo) and then the entire Federation. The somewhat standard-issue plot is helped by a few surprises that might not sink in until after viewing the whole film. And Bruce Greenwood is excellent as Christopher Pike, first captain of the Enterprise. It would have been tempting to make him a cardboard character, someone to cast aside to make room for Kirk, but he's not- he's wise, resourceful, and committed, which makes him the perfect mentor for Kirk. Others worth noting include Simon Pegg, in a too-brief appearance as Scotty. He makes the most of his screen-time and has some of the funniest and most perfectly-timed lines of dialogue. Zoe Saldana makes a sultry Uhura, who apparently has the hots for Spock. Something tells me this will come up again in the inevitable sequel. The opening sequence, where Kirk is born during a vicious attack on his father's starship, has to rank as one of the most exciting scenes in all of Star Trek history, which as we all know, covers a lot of territory. And that's just the beginning. This year's 'Star Trek' is not only a strong candidate for best 'Trek' ever, it's also the best movie of the year, so far.

'Valkyrie' made me think of 'Apollo 13' in the sense that both are about true stories most people have heard about but whose details remained obscure, and thus make the stories worth telling, even though the endings are never in doubt. In the case of 'Valkyrie,' Tom Cruise and a supporting cast largely made up of British actors take us through the fascinating tale of the last documented attempt to kill Adolf Hitler (there were fifteen altogether), and the intricate plan to seize the German government, disable the dreaded SS, and negotiate an end to World War II. Unless one is a student of the war, chances are you've only heard a fragment or two of the whole story; many might think a German officer placed a briefcase with a bomb in it next to Hitler at a meeting and that was it. But as we find out in 'Valkyrie,' there was much more to the scheme and it came tantalizingly close to succeeding. The only real problem was that Hitler wasn't killed by the blast. Many of Germany's top generals had serious doubts about Hitler's military strategy, particularly toward the end of the war, but there had been resistance movements against Hitler since the late thirties, with a changing roster of conspirators. 'Valkyrie' details the last one, spearheaded by Colonel Claus Von Stauffenberg (Cruise). The other major players, mostly generals, varied in their degrees of commitment to the plot. Some were adamant in their hatred of Hitler and demanded he be killed; others wavered back and forth, obviously in fear for their lives and their families if the plot failed and they were discovered. The more insistent ones, like Stauffenberg, pushed the plan forward and at times bullied their more reticent comrades into taking action. This is all presented in a very straightforward fashion. 'Valkyrie' reminds one of nothing so much as a very good WW2/espionage film made at the time. The script is tight and well-drawn, the actors uniformly believable. Cruise himself is somewhat subdued compared to other roles he's played, which is the right approach here. The thing that will strike many viewers as most surprising is how far the scheme got. After the bomb explodes during a meeting where Hitler is present, the conspirators waste no time in rounding up SS officers and phoning German commanders in the field to notify them of Hitler's death and the change in government. For a while, it works and there is surprisingly little resistance to what is in effect a coup. Eventually though, Hitler's voice is heard in a telephone call to Berlin, and that is the end of it. Needless to say, the conspirators are nearly all killed, as well as many others who had nothing to do with the plot. Such was the kind of vengeance practiced in Hitler's Germany.

A riveting and intense movie, 'No Country for Old Men' can apparently be seen on a couple of levels. I'm afraid I only saw it on one, that of a conventional chase/thriller done with style and intelligence, with some unexpected twists and turns. It's also quite gory and violent; it would be hard to argue though that the violence here does not add to the film's characters and its story. Javier Bardem's Anton Chigurh ranks right up there with Robert Mitchum's Max Cady ('Cape Fear') and Dennis Hopper's Frank ('Blue Velvet') as one of the creepiest, most malevolent bad guys ever to stalk across the silver screen. Like those classically evil characters, he is relentless and ubiquitous, seemingly impossible to kill and without a shred of conscience. Chigurh exists for one reason: to kill in cold blood again and again. Virtually none of the people he kills pose any sort of threat to him personally; he could find out what he wants and be on his way, but it appears that if someone has seen him and spoken to him, a code of sorts within him demands the person be killed. Yet occasionally, the person isn't, for reasons never made clear. A couple of times in the movie, he lets a coin toss decide a person's fate. Chigurh's prey in 'No Country for Old Men' is Llewelyn Moss, played with taciturn toughness by Josh Brolin. I think the main thing that makes this story work is the fact that Moss is almost a match for Chigurh. While many of the rest of the people we meet in the film are simply mowed down by Chigurh, Moss proves to be a cunning and resourceful foe, at one point even turning the tables on the seemingly invincible executioner and shooting HIM. The third main character is Tommy Lee Jones' Sheriff Ed Tom Bell. As always, Jones is fascinating to watch and gives a fine performance, but I found myself wondering how many times he's played the same role. 'The Fugitive,' 'U.S. Marshals,' 'The Client,' even 'Men In Black'... they're all essentially the same character, a cranky but endearing authority figure with a droll sense of humor. It's a character that wears well though, and nobody does it better than Jones. Here he is investigating the murders and Moss' disappearance though he stands apart from the action, wryly commenting on the case and life in general while never actually encountering Chigurh. The plot concerns Moss chancing upon a satchel with two million dollars in it at the scene of an apparent shootout between two rival Mexican drug gangs, at a remote spot in West Texas. All the gang members are dead save one who is badly wounded. Moss makes off with the money but quickly discovers others are after him to recover it. Chigurh works for one of the gangs as their prime hit-man and thus begins his pitiless and unrelenting cross-state pursuit of Moss and the stolen loot. Moss ingeniously escapes time and again, and Chigurh just as ingeniously tracks him down to his next hiding place. (Pity the poor motel clerks wherever Moss chooses to hole up; they almost always fall victim to Chigurh.) The ending is 'unconventional,' as they say, but hey, it's a Coen Brothers' film... what do you expect? I'll leave the existential explanations of 'what it all means' to someone else and say, to me, the lesson of 'No Country for Old Men' is that nobody just forgets about two million dollars.

Probably the most whimsical installment of the first season, 'Shore Leave' has its ups and downs; some parts drag on too long and others are unambitiously cut short, but one can't deny they threw in everything but the proverbial kitchen sink to make this an entertaining episode. Kirk and crew seem to have found the perfect planet for shore leave after an extended tour of duty has left everyone on board in need of rest, relaxation and so on. It appears for all intents and purposes to be an uninhabited Earth, with beautiful scenery and an ideal climate. The first indication that things might go just a little awry is when McCoy, leading an advance team, spots Alice (from Wonderland) following a large white rabbit wearing a vest. Kirk beams down and finds the others reporting similarly bizarre happenings and encounters. The one thing they all have in common is that each crew member was thinking about the person/place/thing they discovered right before they discovered it. This doesn't immediately sink in with Kirk or anyone else. More strangeness ensues, including sightings of Don Juan, a Siberian tiger, a WW2 fighter plane, etc; Kirk meets up with Ruth, a gorgeous old girlfriend (of course) and a bully from his Academy days, Finnegan. The chase/fight scene with Finnegan goes on too long but at the same time, McCoy is run through with a lance by a knight on horseback and apparently killed. Finally, an elderly man appears and explains what has been happening. The planet is a futuristic 'amusement park' where visitors have only to imagine something to have it appear. Nothing is permanent; McCoy isn't really dead. Once this is explained, Kirk decides to order shore leave for everyone after all. Despite the 'it was all a dream' sort of ending, 'Shore Leave' holds up as another first-rate episode of Star Trek's first season.

Like 'The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street,' 'The Shelter' is a feverish episode which puts forth the suggestion that below a fairly shallow facade of manners and politeness, we're all uncivilized, just waiting for the right circumstances to revert to selfish, greedy savages. In best 'Twilight Zone' fashion, the show begins in an everyday community, specifically a birthday party for good old Dr. Stockton, neighborhood physician, much loved. The only criticism the neighbors can come up with is that godawful racket he makes late at night building his bomb shelter, which they all consider a damn fool idea. Then over the radio comes an emergency message- early warning radar has detected a possible missile attack on the US. The neighbors all run off to their homes. Rod Serling's intro is classic- "What you're about to watch is a nightmare. It is not meant to be prophetic; it need not happen. It's the fervent and urgent prayer of all men of goodwill that it never shall happen. But in this place, in this moment, it does happen. This is the Twilight Zone." The neighbors start to drift back over to the doctor's house, singly and then in a group, pleading and then demanding to be let in to the bomb shelter. Finally they fashion a battering ram of sorts and beat down the shelter door just as it is announced over the radio that the previous warning was a false alarm... there is no missile attack in progress. Everyone feels appropriately sheepish and embarrassed about their behavior, but the doc feels it is worse than that: they've all revealed their true nature and nothing will ever be the same again. Pretty ham-handed, 'The Shelter' suffers from a surfeit of illogic in a number of ways. Surely at least SOME of the neighbors realize there's no way they can all fit in the shelter. And for a shelter that we assume is designed to withstand an atomic blast, the door sure proves to be flimsy. Along the way there is much sweaty-browed arguing, even race-baiting... this is pure Cold War hysteria. It has been parodied so many times in the years since that audiences today are likely to find much of it unintentionally amusing. But this is a theme that Serling and writers like him would return to again and again... the fear of a nuclear Armageddon really motivated them. It perhaps reached its most dramatic peak with the ending of 'Planet of the Apes,' which Serling co-scripted.

'And When the Sky Was Opened' is a good example of a story type that has been used many, many times, not only on 'Twilight Zone' but in seemingly hundreds of other TV shows and movies. It's one where the main character (or characters) experience something that nobody else does and almost inevitably, they break down and at some point scream, "I'm NOT insane! Why won't anyone believe me?" or something similar. In this case, three test pilots go up in an experimental aircraft and when they come back down, one of them disappears. But nobody notices except one of the other pilots. As usual for this kind of plot, there is the desperate effort of trying to prove the man existed and went on the flight as well, to no avail. Despite the well-worn storyline, 'And When the Sky Was Opened' manages to hold interest with some clever dialogue and visual tricks and a fine, manic performance by Rod Taylor. Rod Serling's teleplay (loosely based on a short story by Richard Matheson) throws in some diverting speculation as to why what's happening is happening as well.

Certainly 'Twilight Zone' had more than its share of famous episodes, and 'It's A Good Life' has to be considered one of them... perhaps the most well-known, easily among the most oft-quoted. It's an ingenious little tale about about a rural community that somehow has been transported/cut off from the rest of the world, courtesy of a young boy with extraordinary mental powers. One of the great things about this episode is its mystery, all the details that are never explained. When did Anthony (Billy Mumy) acquire these powers? Where is the town now? What happens if someone tries to leave? The answers to these questions are maddeningly elusive, and we are left with a sort of snapshot, a few hours in the lives of these confused, scared people and the bizarre existence they lead. And they are scared, all of them. Scared to death of Anthony and incurring his wrath for the smallest perceived slight by him. He can read minds to an extent and so the people are forced to constantly think 'happy thoughts,' especially about him, or Anthony disposes of them without a second thought. His preferred method of doing this is to 'wish' them away to a cornfield, never to be seen again. The grocery store's stock is almost depleted, but no one dares to complain about it. Anthony's mother and father are in the same boat as everyone else, bending over backwards to placate the little monster every moment of every day. At the end, during a party for one of the neighbors, the man whose birthday is being celebrated has too much to drink and finds in his intoxicated state the courage to say what everyone else thinks, much to Anthony's annoyance. The man pleads with the others to kill Anthony while the boy's attention is focused on him, but no one has the nerve. So Anthony turns him into a jack-in-the-box before wishing him away. And life goes on as before. While inducing nervous laughter at the dialogue ("It's GOOD that you done that, Anthony!"), there was never a creepier episode of 'Twilight Zone.' A classic.

Watching the 1931 version of 'Dracula' now is like watching a silent movie with occasional bits of dialogue. It is creaky, like nearly all early sound movies, and there's not even a music score (one was added nearly 70 years later.) People move slowly, there are long gaps between lines which seem unnatural. At times, the entire movie seems to be playing in slow-motion. It's hard to imagine a teenager of today sitting still long enough to watch it, much less enjoy it. But to a film buff, there is still much to enjoy and the main thing this 'Dracula' has going for it is its own peculiar, unique sense of weirdness. Bela Lugosi's vampire seems to affect the other characters without ever biting their necks. They move about as if in a daze and speak in a halting, confused manner... including Edward Van Sloane's Professor Van Helsing, who's supposed to know what's going on. Perhaps stranger than Lugosi is Dwight Frye as Renfield, with his lunatic laughter (if one could call it that). Renfield pops up in scene after scene, even after he's supposedly locked away in his room at the sanitarium. The sets are every bit as odd. The lower chambers of Dracula's castle and later Carfax Abbey are as barren as the surface of a dead planet, just dirt and pillars and a few coffins. They truly look like places no human should go, places only for rats and wolves and bats. It's hard to believe Bela Lugosi was already 49 years old when he made 'Dracula.' He looks much younger. And though he doesn't have a great deal of dialogue, his most famous lines are all here. "I never drink... wine." "The children of the night... what music they make!" "Now that you have learned what you have learned." Harder still to believe that Universal only had him play Dracula once more, 17 years later, in 'Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein.' As stagy and slow-moving as it is, 'Dracula' earns its reputation as an original with its many indelible images and sparse, stark dialogue. It truly is one of a small group of films that everyone should see at least once.

There were plenty of stinkers during ST's final season, but the designation for All-Time Worst Episode usually comes down to a choice between 'Spock's Brain' and 'The Way To Eden.' 'Spock's Brain' might best be described by the question, "what would happen if Ed Wood directed an episode of 'Star Trek?'" 'The Way To Eden,' on the other hand, is the show trying desperately to be 'hip' and contemporary, with painful results. A short plot re-cap pretty much says it all- six space hippies hijack the Enterprise to take them to the planet Eden. Kirk is the rigid, unyielding authority figure that they mock by calling him 'Herbert.' Spock is the cool go-between, because he and the hippies 'reach.' Chekov was once in love with one them, the beautiful Irina, before she 'dropped out.' The mind reels at some of the scenes present here, like the jam session which Spock takes part in. Charles Napier, of all people, plays Adam, lead singer (and sort of lead guitarist) for the hippies. Yes, this is the same Charles Napier who would later appear as a redneck cowboy in 'Blues Brothers' and a police officer/dinner morsel for Hannibal Lecter in 'Silence of the Lambs,' among many other roles. Some of his lines are priceless, like "He's not Herbert!" and "It would sound!" But it is his many songs that are burned into one's brain forever. Eden turns out to be a deadly planet, because all of the plants there contain 'acid.' (How trippy is that?) And at the show's close, Kirk turns to his first officer and says, as only William Shatner can, "We... reach, Mr. Spock." What an appropriate final line for a real howler of an episode.

Rod Serling wrote in many different genres for 'The Twilight Zone,' including of course horror and science-fiction, but also westerns, alternative history, mysteries, etc. with a relatively high batting average. One type of writing though seemed beyond him- comedy. While his well-developed sense of irony meant he was perfectly capable of inserting funny lines into serious scripts, somehow constructing an entirely humorous episode was something Serling failed at again and again. If one looks at the many Zones intended to be funny, such as 'Mr. Bevis,' 'Cavender Is Coming,' or 'Mr. Dingle, The Strong,' almost without exception they are painful to watch, lacking in wit and leaden in pacing. So to say 'The Whole Truth' is one of Serling's better stabs at humor is damning it with faint praise, I suppose. It would be too much to say the episode is laugh-out-loud funny, but at least for once, Serling's verbose script actually does raise a grin or two and is well-delivered by veteran character actor Jack Carson. As used-car dealer Harvey Hunnicut, Carson buys a 'haunted' Model A which compels him to tell the truth about everything as long as he owns it. This, of course, ruins his business and he realizes he must sell it to save his skin. Apropos of nothing really, Hunnicut ends up selling the car to Nikita Khrushchev, of all people. While this idea obviously tickled Serling, to the average viewer it just seems odd. As a side-note, 'The Whole Truth' was one of six second-season episodes to be shot on videotape as a cost-saving device. Aside from some glare 'halos' off car bumpers that early videotape seems to have been prone to, the difference is not terribly noticeable today. It is doubtful even regular filming could have prevented this from being a strictly average episode.

Shown as an installment of 'Westinghouse Desilu Playhouse' in 1958, 'The Time Element' was meant as the pilot for what would become 'The Twilight Zone.' CBS had passed on the idea as a series, but eventually the show was aired as a one-off. Viewer reaction was so positive (reportedly, the network received 6000 letters) that 'Twilight Zone' was given the go-ahead after all, and the rest as they say is history. The one-hour teleplay was written by Rod Serling of course, and it contained most of the essential ingredients of later 'Zone' episodes. A strange set-up, the idea played out, then the twist at the end. Peter Jenson (William Bendix) is having a recurring dream that he has gone back in time to December 6, 1941, the day before Pearl Harbor. He relays the dream in all its details to a psychiatrist, Dr. Gillespie (Martin Balsam), insisting he is not really dreaming but time travelling. At the end, Gillespie finds himself alone in his office, apparently never having spoken to Jenson, then learns Jenson is dead, having been killed in the attack on Pearl Harbor. The script is pure Serling, at times incisive, at times wavering uncertainly between comedy and drama. One lesson learned apparently was that these kinds of stories were much more effective in a half-hour format; otherwise they felt padded, though this lesson was then forgotten briefly by the time the abbreviated fourth season of 'Twilight Zone' rolled around. 'The Time Element' is a somewhat tentative first step, one that allowed Serling time to coalesce the various ingredients that would go into the new series. One ingredient that is definitely missed here is Serling's presence as host and narrator.

The central conceit of this first-season episode written by Charles Beaumont is simple, yet marvelously played out. Walter Jameson (Kevin McCarthy) is a college professor engaged to be married to an elder colleague's daughter. The older professor, Samuel Kittridge (Edgar Stehli), has noticed something odd though about Jameson- in the twelve years they've known each other, Kittridge has become an old man while Jameson hasn't aged at all. Then the truth is admitted by Jameson- he's over two thousand years old and the college professor he claims to be now is just the latest in an almost endless series of guises he's adopted over the centuries to keep from being found out. In one beautifully written scene in Kittridge's living room, Jameson gives us an idea what it must be like to live for so long. Without being terribly specific, the mental image he paints is not a happy one. Always outliving friends and colleagues, having to abandon wives and family before they realized he wasn't aging... the existence he describes, far from being some wondrous miracle, comes across as bleak and desperate, hollow and dishonest. The final scene has one of his previous wives, now a very old woman, finding him and killing him, before he can marry again and continue the endless cycle. McCarthy's performance and accompanying trick lighting and make-up while he is dying and aging rapidly is quite convincing, even now, and very eerie. A stellar episode of 'The Twilight Zone,' and one of Charles Beaumont's best scripts.

One of the Twilight Zone's quietest episodes, 'The Changing of the Guard' belongs to a sub-category within the series marked by shows like 'Walking Distance' and 'A Stop At Willoughby.' These are all stories, inevitably written by Rod Serling, which are ruminations on life and what is truly important. The main character, always an ordinary average man, usually begins the episode unhappy with his life and by the end finds some reason to feel fulfilled. So it is with Donald Pleasance's Professor Ellis Fowler, who finds himself forced into involuntary retirement and is convinced his life's work has been meaningless, until he is told otherwise by the ghosts of dead students. There's no denying it's a sweet, sentimental episode with a gentle performance by Pleasance, but it needed something more substantial to make it memorable. One gets the impression that Serling could write these kinds of stories in his sleep, and that's almost where the episode puts us. This was the last episode of the third season; it seems the show and Sterling were beginning to run out of steam.

'The Galileo Seven', like most in the first season, is an above-average episode that shows Star Trek's creators coming up with imaginative and clever twists in the show's format almost every week. And, like most episodes, the budgetary restraints of the series prevent some ideas from being fully realized. But there are some problems with the script as well, particularly in the crew's interaction with one another. This is the first episode to 'star' one of the shuttlecraft (though one figured prominently in ''The Menagerie'). These smaller craft are nifty little show elements that came in handy from time to time. 'The Galileo Seven' amounts to an early starring role as well for Mr. Spock, as commander of the shuttlecraft. The Enterprise is in route to deliver emergency medical supplies to a plague-decimated planet and passes near a quasar-like planetary system. Since the starship cannot stop to investigate, Kirk sends Spock and six others in the shuttlecraft Galileo to do so. Soon after, the small ship is pulled off course and forced to land on a rocky, barren world inhabited by giant, aggressive humanoids. The rest of the episode concerns the shuttle crew's attempts to survive and repair the ship's ability to lift off, and the Enterprise's search for them. 'Interference,' as always, prevents sensors and communicators from functioning. Mr. Spock is given merciless hell by the others any time he makes a decision, particularly from Dr. McCoy and a specialist, Lt. Boma. A certain degree of tension is understandable, given their situation, but 'The Galileo Seven' really goes overboard with it, to the point where a de facto mutiny takes place and Spock is forced to reverse a decision. At another point, it appears they might leave Spock behind on the planet. Nearly all of this stems from Spock's lack of emotions, which one would think the rest of the crew would have accepted and gotten used to by now. In the end, the Galileo is able to lift off, just barely, but the Enterprise has been ordered to give up the search. As one last (desperate?) attempt at attracting the starship's attention, Spock ignites and dumps what remaining fuel they have, the effect being, as Scotty says, of sending up a flare. It seems pointless, and hopeless, but the Enterprise does indeed detect it and beams the Galileo's crew safely aboard.

In retrospect, 'Dune' is not a satisfactory adaptation of the famous sci-fi novel by Frank Herbert; neither is it the total disaster some critics claimed it to be upon release. Its problem is a common one, one that filmmakers have wrestled with ever since they started making movies from books. How do you take a sprawling epic of several hundred pages, with dozens of major characters and condense it to a two-hour feature? In that sense, 'Dune' is neither better nor worse than many such attempts. And yet Gene Siskel was moved to write, "I hated watching this film." His partner, Roger Ebert, called it "the worst movie of the year." Such vitriol seems unnecessarily harsh. Director David Lynch makes a brave stab at faithfully transferring the story to film, and his ubiquitous leading man, Kyle MacLachlan, is actually quite good in the starring role of Paul Atreides. At times, Lynch succeeds in capturing the genuine weirdness of Herbert's novel, but at others, the film seems like a too-literal translation of the work. The special effects range from impressive to pedestrian. The key failure to me is one I became aware of about two-thirds of the way through: in the novel, the near-total lack of water on Arrakis/Dune is described in stunning detail and at great length, and as more than one reader pointed out, reading 'Dune' actually made you thirsty. This major element is never conveyed believably in the movie, and it is crucial. Other cast members' performances are generally adequate, with a few standouts. Kenneth McMillan makes an appropriately disgusting Baron Harkonnen, and Francesca Annis is a beautiful and stoic Lady Jessica. One bit of casting that caused quite a stir at the time was rock star Sting as Harkonnen's nephew, Fayd-Rautha. As it turns out, it hardly warranted the big fuss; Sting has virtually nothing to do in the film. He struts on camera smirking a few times, has barely any dialogue, and his one 'big' scene (a fight with Paul Atreides) is pretty brief. 'Dune' disappointments, but is not without its moments of interest. And reading the book first is highly recommended.

The 'good' greatly outnumbered the 'bad' in the first season of 'Star Trek,' in terms of episode quality. In fact, one could argue that the only out-and-out stinker in that opening set of shows is 'The Alternative Factor,' which is confusing to the point of being incomprehensible at times. The universe is in danger of 'winking out,' and if you find the explanation of this phenomenon a little weak, join the club. Maybe it's the 23rd century equivalent of 'freaking out.' Anyway, it's not a good thing, and the Enterprise tracks the source of the trouble to a man on a desolate planet and his small spacecraft there on the surface. The man, Lazarus, is not much help in explaining things either, babbling on and on, sometimes hysterically, about how he has to stop somebody and how Kirk and crew must help him. About a half-dozen times during the episode (seems like more) we are treated to a spinning visual effect that settles on a murky, foggy corridor of sorts where two figures are seen locked in a fierce struggle. Also, Lazarus has a bad habit of falling off cliffs. McCoy treats him for a head injury, and even though he is clearly unbalanced and dangerous, turns him loose to wander the ship and steal a couple of dilithium crystals. When Kirk finds out, naturally being a bit perturbed, he asks McCoy where Lazarus went. McCoy shrugs and says, "Oh I don't know, Jim. It's a big ship." Just totally blows Kirk off. Thank YOU, Dr. McCoy. Anyway, the episode meanders along, and between the spinning corridor scenes and Lazarus falling off a cliff here and there, we finally get to the heart of the matter. A parallel anti-matter universe threatens to collide with our own, destroying everything everywhere. Lazarus has a double in the other universe, a madman, and the only hope is to trap Lazarus and his mad double in the corridor for all eternity. Which they manage to do. But by the end of episode, you really don't care anymore.

Observation about the first dozen or so ST episodes produced- Kirk is more of an authority figure than he would be later, less friendly with the rest of the crew, more likely to bite someone's head off over a minor transgression, as he does in 'The Man Trap' with McCoy. Spock too is more business-like; the advice he gives to the Captain tends to be terse and to-the-point. In fact, the whole structure of the show and life aboard the Enterprise in particular is much more military-oriented, unlike later episodes where there is a more casual feel and easygoing interaction among the crew members. And in the very early shows, like 'The Man Trap', there is a certain stiffness that is perhaps attributable to the above or it may simply be that the series was still finding its way. The plot revisits the idea of a race of creatures with the power of illusion as in the original pilot 'The Cage,' except here there is only one surviving member left. During a routine planetary stop to visit a research station and check on its two inhabitants, Dr. Crater and his wife Nancy, the creature kills an Enterprise crewman. No one realizes at the time that the creature is impersonating Nancy, who in reality is dead, as well as various crewmembers as the episode progresses. Crater has accepted the creature as a replacement for Nancy and so protects it. Finally the truth is admitted by Crater and in an exciting scene in McCoy's quarters, the creature reveals its true, ghastly appearance and is killed. Though the sixth Trek episode produced, 'The Man Trap' was the first episode aired on NBC and so served as the series' introduction to millions of people on September 8, 1966. What they saw was a genuinely oddball installment, in some ways typical and in some ways not, but it may have misled some to think this new 'Star Trek' was going to be more 'monster-oriented' than it in fact turned out to be. (Leonard Nimoy has said at the time he was concerned about this.) Still, it was a satisfactory and at times exciting start to the new sci-fi series.

Watching 'The Exorcist' today, one can safely say it has lost none of its essential power to haunt and terrify. I had only seen it once long ago and my memory proved a bit faulty. For instance, I was surprised how inconsequential Lee J. Cobb's role as Lt. Kinderman really is. And Max Von Sydow's part is shorter than I thought as well, though he has a pivotal part as the older priest, Merrin. The film really focuses on Ellen Burstyn's character (Chris McNeil), Linda Blair (Regan), and of course Jason Miller (Father Karras). Chris McNeil is not a particularly likable person, despite being a devoted mother. She is a spoiled, petulant actress who tends to throw hissy fits if she doesn't get her way. Yet she is the audience's surrogate in the film, a non-believer who ultimately, ironically becomes the most fervent advocate of having an exorcism performed on Regan. And to go off on a tangent for a moment, I believe one's reaction to the film is different depending on if you are Catholic, or were raised Catholic, because what is shown in 'The Exorcist' is pretty much every Catholic's worst nightmare. I can't say what someone else might think of it; perhaps it comes across as simply a very intense horror film. But for those brought up Catholic, I think it is doubly so. The damn previews scared me so bad, I wouldn't even see it when it came out. Father Karras is the center of the film, the doubting, tortured priest who ends up making the greatest sacrifice. Jason Miller is perfect in the role. Karras is too intelligent for his own good and yet when he sees what must be done, he proves his fears do not make him a coward. There is a telling moment when Chris asks him if Regan is going to die; he turns to her and without hesitation, says, "No." And poor Linda Blair is really run through the wringer. One can only imagine the rigors she was put through during the course of filming. But she is game, and though her part has been parodied endlessly in the years since, she acquits herself very well. A couple of shots do not hold up well, for instance, the infamous head-turning scene which now looks more phony than frightening, like a ventriloquist's doll. Most of the special effects though are excellent, as convincing today as they were 35 years ago. One of the most insidious and maddening scenes comes right at the end. The demon inside Regan has killed Father Merrin, which Karras discovers when he re-enters the bedroom. As he tries to revive the old priest, Regan sits on a corner of the bed and begins giggling, as though she has just torn up her best friend's diary or something similarly trivial. Karras goes almost insane with anger, throws her to the ground and begins punching her as hard as he can. It is a powerful scene, unforgettable... as is the whole movie.

The final episode of the second season was unusual as it was also the pilot for a proposed new series, 'Assignment: Earth,' which also serves as the name of the episode. Robert Lansing and a very young Teri Garr were to star in the new show, which was never picked up by the network. Gary Seven (Lansing) is a time-traveling human from the future, sent to 20th-century Earth to help mankind through various difficulties, and Roberta Lincoln (Garr) is his somewhat ditsy secretary. Gary Seven is ultra-cool, ultra-strong, and ultra-smart, sort of an intergalactic James Bond. His first assignment is to destroy a nuclear warhead in orbit before it crashes back to Earth and starts World War III. The Enterprise gets involved because it has traveled back in time too, to do 'historical research.' It is the only time that 'Star Trek' treats time travel as being so routine. In other episodes, it either occurs as an accident or through some alien force and is only attempted by the Enterprise as a last resort to set things right. Here, it is presented as standard procedure. At any rate, 'Assignment: Earth' is entertaining and one can see how it would work as a stand-alone series. No doubt there would have been a surfeit of dumb blonde humor provided by Ms. Garr, but even then the actress was so appealing, she transcended the stereotype. (Fast-forward to 'Tootsie' and consider her take on a similar character.) Kirk and Spock don't really do much but get in the way, which Kirk at the end says they were supposed to, according to the history books. ??? I never really understood that bit, but thanks, Captain.

I almost always love seeing classic old movies I've never seen before, like all the Hitchcock films I've watched for the first time in the last year. Even films that aren't exactly my type, like 'Now, Voyager,' have their interests which I find enjoyable. But I must say I think I've finally stumbled across a cinema classic that I found boring, confusing, and just plain goofy- 'Beau Geste.' What was I expecting? Well, an exciting drama having to do with the French Foreign Legion, I suppose. As I read the cast members, my interest increased. Gary Cooper, Ray Milland, and Robert Preston are the three brothers whose lives are chronicled. A very young Susan Hayward plays Milland's love interest (she has almost nothing to do except play piano and look pretty.) Broderick Crawford is not immediately recognizable to those only familiar with his much later 'Highway Patrol' series. And Charles Barton of all people plays one of the soldiers. (Who? you ask. Charles Barton, the principal director of the Abbott & Costello films.) 'Beau Geste' certainly starts off strikingly enough. A Foreign Legion detachment arrives to reinforce one of its forts in the Sahara Desert. There they find the entire company dead from an attack by Arabs, yet their corpses are propped up at their posts to give the impression of the base still being defended. It is a grisly and spooky scene and, as it turns out, actually the movie's ending, as the rest is a flashback leading up to it. We meet the Geste brothers, Beau, John, and Digby, as children, with their constant companion, Isobel. Then we see them as young adults, though frankly the brothers don't seem to have grown up much. As I said, 'goofy' is good way to describe them. There is some intrigue over a family jewel, a huge sapphire, that ultimately turns out to be a red herring of sorts. The brothers all join the Foreign Legion; Beau is ultimately killed, then Digby, leaving John to return home and (we assume) marry Isobel. Along the way they have to deal with a sadistic sergeant, Markoff (Brian Donlevy) and a weaselly fellow soldier (J. Carroll Naish), both of whom suspect Beau has the sapphire and conspire to steal it from him. At one point, Markoff appears ready to execute almost the entire company for mutiny when, luckily, the Arabs attack. I couldn't help wondering why nobody killed Markoff when they got their rifles back. There is much silly banter back and forth between the brothers, a lot of venomous spouting-off from Markoff, and the occasional exciting battle scene. But in the end, it really doesn't add up to much and the film peters out to a brief final scene that seems more of a shrug than a climax. 'Beau Geste' is definitely no 'grand gesture.'

Another weak third-season entry, 'Is There In Truth No Beauty?' nonetheless has at least one key plot element that is very different and as Spock would say, fascinating. The main character is an alien who must be carried around in a black box because his appearance is so horrendous that it drives humans insane. It's too bad the episode cannot live up to this incredible premise. Obviously, I think, it was a mistake to ever 'show' the alien, as its actual visage in no way even approximates such a daunting build-up; all we get is the standard Star Trek psychedelic light display used for any number of things in different episodes, usually when the ship is passing through a magnetic storm or something similar. In any event, Kollos' appearance can at least be tolerated by Mr. Spock, and then only if Spock is wearing a special visor. (For the longest time, I thought the alien's name was 'Carlos,' which I found humorous, but I digress.) Spock is required to mind-meld with Kollos at one point so that the alien can pilot the Enterprise back to safety. This is accomplished, but when Spock/Kollos go back to end the mind-meld, by golly, Spock forgets his visor. Uh oh. He goes crazy but eventually recovers with the help of Kollos' assistant, a blind woman with psychic powers. This might have been a really bizarre, excellent episode but it is poorly directed and comes across as yet one more badly executed show of the series' last season.