Reviews

Here's a movie that turns out nothing at all like you'd think it would. Look at the cover box for the videotape and you'll see a picture of Burt Lancaster grinning broadly while swimming laps in a luxurious pool. Don't let the imagery fool you. In fact, this is a dark, depressing odyssey through one man's personal failure and wasted life.

Ned Merrill (Lancaster) is an affluent Connecticut businessman enjoying a poolside visit with some old friends. Out of the blue it dawns on him that every house between his friends' home and his own has a swimming pool. He will therefore swim his way home, stopping at every pool along the way for a dip. He is unable to explain why he is so determined to do this, but it becomes his mission and he cannot rest or linger until it is carried out.

Each residence Merrill visits brings back old memories of his own wrongdoings and shortcomings. He has not lived a virtuous life. He has cheated on his wife, snubbed his friends, and lived above his means. Everything has come easily to him because of his ability to make people like him and comply with his wishes. In short, he has spent his entire life BS-ing all those close to him, and is just now discovering that the love and respect he believed others had for him does not exist. As he gets closer and closer to his own home the resentment grows stronger, until he finally learns he is detested most of all by his own wife and children.

`The Swimmer' is partially a story of retribution – what goes around comes around. Merrill is mocked by those he tries to aid and comfort, and all his kindness is met with indifference and scorn. It is partially an allegory – it hurts most when it hits close to home. However, it is mainly a study of a misspent life, discovered as such too late in the game to amend. At the center of the movie is Lancaster's captivating performance, depicting all the pathos of a man desperately keeping up a front to hide his complete lack of character. The film is marred only by occasional grandiosity, as in an overlong and unnecessary slow-motion sequence and especially in the ending, which indeed packs a punch but upon reflection is too pretentious for its own good. Nonetheless, this is a powerful and often surreal story, the likes of which you will probably never see again on film.

In all earnestness, can you imagine a more enjoyable way of spending two hours than journeying through the jungles of Africa with Clark Gable, Ava Gardner and Grace Kelly, in a film directed by the legendary John Ford? Neither can I, and `Mogambo' does not disappoint.

It is a remake of `Red Dust,' a film made by Gable over twenty years earlier, and here (remarkably enough) Clark reprises his role from the first film, with a few small changes. This time around he plays Victor Marswell, a rugged big game hunter and safari leader. Into his African camp comes Gardner, a wisecracking American chorus girl stranded in the jungle and none too happy about it. She and Gable have a brief affair, but the arrival of a British anthropologist and his sheltered wife (Kelly) quickly puts an end to it. Gable agrees to lead the anthropologist on an expedition into gorilla country, and along the way he falls deeply in love with Kelly, and she with him. Gardner, feeling rejected by Gable, first tries to make his life miserable with constant innuendos, but later admits defeat and becomes his ally. In the midst of the gorilla hunt, Gable and Kelly try to find a way to explain their situation to her husband.

Their main problem is that the husband is just too likable. He is a decent, good-humored man who loves Kelly dearly and is filled with admiration for Gable, so neither wishes to hurt him. Meanwhile, developments occur in the Gardner character – she once loved and lost, and is now on the lookout for another man, setting her sights on the macho Gable. She, too, is impossible to dislike, with her sharp wit and ability to size up every situation. She knows where she stands.

This is one of the few remakes in Hollywood history to equal, and in my opinion surpass, its predecessor. Of course, this film is not constrained by indoor sets as was the previous one, but there is much more to it than that. `Red Dust' was directed by Victor Fleming, certainly a competent filmmaker, but Ford was a master. He cleverly decided not to use a musical score, but instead to rely on jungle sounds and tribal chants for the soundtrack. Gable is more confident here than before, replacing his earlier smugness with a more mature and hard-bitten performance. Kelly, on the brink of achieving stardom, is rightly prim and proper but still produces a strong, rich characterization.

However, the film belongs to Gardner, who admittedly has all the best lines but makes even the mundane ones sound appealing. She lights up every scene she is in, and unfortunately those she is not in are weaker by comparison. Her performance is at once radiant, robust, perceptive and exuberant, and yet somewhat sad. She really gets under the skin of her character and gives arguably the finest performance of her career.

The bottom line is that this movie is downright fun. Everyone involved does a top-notch job, and not once does the story drag. It is beautifully photographed in Technicolor, and the animal sequences are exciting and well paced. It's a joy to watch from start to finish, and is highly recommended to all those who love movies. Enough said.

Although movie buffs seldom mention `The Circus' in the same breath as Charlie Chaplin's more touted masterpieces (`City Lights,' `Modern Times,' `The Gold Rush'), this film contains some of his best work manifested in a number of ingenious sequences. Chaplin once again dons the role of the tramp, this time having all sorts of adventures (and misadventures) under the big top.

In order to evade the police who suspect him of being a thief, the tramp ducks into a circus tent and acts as if he is part of the show. The cops follow him into the tent and try to apprehend him, with comical results. The crowd goes wild, believing all this was planned ahead of time. The audience's reaction is so strong that the tyrannical circus owner hires him on the spot. When it is discovered that Chaplin cannot be funny intentionally, the owner gives him a job as a prop man, clumsily lugging equipment around the tent as part of the show. Again the crowd roars its approval at his inadvertent antics, and soon the tramp is the circus' main attraction. In the meantime, he falls in love with the owner's daughter, a bareback rider who herself loves the tightrope walker, and romantic complications ensue.

`The Circus' is an all-around Chaplin effort. In addition to playing the lead role, he wrote, directed, produced and edited it, and composed the music as well. It is a meticulous production on all counts, with each sequence choreographed to elicit the maximum capacity of laughter from the audience. The scenes in which the tramp is pursued through a hall of mirrors, trapped inside the lion's cage, and forced to double for the missing tightrope walker stand alongside his finest achievements. The ending sequence is especially heartrending, as many are in his films. Here is a movie to be cherished by all fans of Chaplin, but appreciated even by casual viewers. This is because it achieves a rare blend of comedy and poignancy through appealing, sympathetic characters and with genuine honesty adding a note of realism to counterbalance the clowning.

An intelligent and well-acted film that remains highly absorbing even though the outcome of the real-life story is already known. Taking a documentary-style approach in its unraveling, the plot manages to be effective as both a crime drama and a psychological character study. It rises above the traditional manhunt clichés, and makes use of a few clever cinematic tricks which only add to the suspense.

It is set in the early 1960s, with Boston being plagued by a series of grisly stranglings. Police are baffled by the identity of the perpetrator, an undistinguished middle-aged man who would talk his way into the homes of defenseless women, slaughter them by means both savage and bizarre, and vanish without a trace. As victims pile up, the police are left with very little to go on, since the women are of varying ages, races, and backgrounds. After a number of leads fail to pan out, John Bottomley (Henry Fonda), a professor of law, is assigned to head a special unit in tracking down the murderer.

Bottomley takes a systematic approach to the task, carefully investigating each fragmented clue. He is lead through a number of dead ends and into an underworld of lowlifes and deviants, but all of this is to no apparent avail. When the killer, Albert DeSalvo (Tony Curtis), is finally caught, it occurs as a result of carelessness on DeSalvo's part rather than through any feat of police ingenuity. Following the capture, the film delves into DeSalvo's psychological profile, as Bottomley interrogates him and attempts to discover what makes him tick. It is to the film's credit that the screenplay provides no tidy resolutions or explanations, as none would exist in reality. Instead, it fades out with the bleak image of a perplexed Curtis, standing against the barren white backdrop of the interrogation room, desperately trying to make sense of his situation. It gives the impression of a man who is literally and figuratively lost in the world, a portrait of sheer disorientation.

`The Boston Strangler' takes a grim and realistic approach to all aspects of the storyline, pulling no punches in its documentation of the hunt, capture, and examination processes. Its use of split-screen photography is more than just a stylish trick; it is an important and effective narrative tool. Because the killer is not revealed to the audience for the first hour of the film, viewers are able to form their own impressions while the suspense mounts. The movie successfully recreates key events of the period, particularly Kennedy's funeral, which coincided with, and possibly provoked, DeSalvo's final assault. Fonda's strong presence humanizes the keen legal expert who is at first reluctant to take the job, but later admits to enjoying it. Curtis, however, is an absolute revelation. He creates a brilliant portrait, chilling in its intensity, of a mild-mannered family man driven to acts beyond his comprehension, unable to justify or account for his behavior. It is a stark and stunning characterization, singular in his filmography, and one that single-handedly makes the film a unique and special experience.

A peaceful, hardworking farming family suffers the strains and unavoidable losses of the Civil War in `Shenandoah.' James Stewart is the head of the clan, who does not keep slaves and refuses to fight for men who do. Since the death of his wife, he has raised his large family to work hard and fight for what is right, and now the onset of the war forces them to come to terms with everything they believe in.

The film is largely set on Stewart's farm in the Shenandoah Valley. At the start of the film, the family tries to go about its business as if the war did not exist. Ignoring the war becomes increasingly difficult, however, with soldiers constantly marching through the property trying to recruit the sons and requisition the livestock. When the youngest son is taken prisoner Stewart decides the time has come to take action, so they set out to find the boy. Along the way, lives are lost, values are tested, and mindsets are changed with experience.

Stewart's performance as the proud patriarch is excellent. It is a grizzled, more mature Jimmy Stewart than one is used to, with a cigar stub constantly dangling from his mouth and a perpetual scowl on his face, but in essence it is the same proud, upright character that he has always specialized in. He is effective in conveying the fear and vulnerability of a man who is unsure of the right thing to do, looking out for his family and land in the midst of a war-torn nation. His conversations at his wife's gravestone stand among the most poignant work of his career.

`Shenandoah' takes its time in telling its story, interspersing simple, low-key scenes (in church, at the dinner table) with action sequences. Its characters are real people with real problems, and with whom the audience can readily identify. It is a mature, beautifully realized film, with scenic photography and sensitive performances.

An epic in every sense of the word, `El Cid', boasts everything one would expect to find in a film of its kind: huge crowd scenes, massive battle sequences, and a strong, controlled presence at its core. It achieves the latter in the form of Charlton Heston, who has carried as many epics on his back as has any actor in Hollywood history. However the screenplay is middling, the supporting characters are unremarkable, and the proceedings are routine. The whole thing feels as if it were put together from random components after an explosion at the sweeping epic factory.

The plot is difficult to relate. It is not so much a flowing narrative as a collection of isolated incidents. It begins with 11th century Spaniard Rodrigo (Heston) journeying homeward to his intended bride (Sophia Loren), and along the way becoming involved in a battle with the Moors. His willingness to spare the lives of Moorish prisoners brands him as a traitor, but earns him the title of El Cid, one who is fair and merciful. Through his strength and courage, he clears his name and becomes the king's champion. However, when the king dies and his sons fight bitterly for the throne, Rodrigo is forced to take a stance. This lands him and Loren in exile, but his loyal band of warriors follows him. After a number of battles with the Moors, his army grows to nationwide proportions and he is welcomed back by his king. All this leads up to one defining battle that could drive the Moors from Spain once and for all.

El Cid lives again in Heston's commanding performance, a solid piece of work which fuels the long, often taxing story. Heston has been in enough movies of this kind to know exactly how to ground them, and it is because of him that the film holds the viewer's attention throughout. Loren has little to do but appear in close-up after close-up, expressing anger, concern, and sacrifice through facial expressions. The rest of the cast, and especially the writers, fail to find anything unique in their assignments, and because of this the story comes off as routine – `Lawrence of Arabia' without its scope or vision. A been-there-done-that feeling haunts the entire film, and prevents it from achieving greatness.

Bing Crosby stars in this paper-thin musical comedy which doubles as an all-out flag waving morale-builder for the war effort. Although it boasts a noteworthy Johnny Mercer score, and Crosby's buoyant personality, `Here Come the Waves' is marred by extreme predictability and a glaringly overexuberant turn by Betty Hutton.

Crosby stars as a popular singer and bobbysoxers' idol, in a quasi-parody of Sinatra or even Crosby himself. Despite his colorblindness, he enlists in the navy and becomes romantically involved with a pair of WAVES who happen to be twin sisters (both played by Hutton). This leads to the usual complications, schemes, mistaken identities, one-upmanship, hurt feelings, and reconciliations. Along the way, Crosby and the WAVES put on a gala production for the servicemen, which climaxes in a show stopping performance of `Accentuate the Positive.'

Crosby brings his routine charisma to the role, which fits him like a glove. He gets to croon several other memorable songs, including `That Old Black Magic' and `Let's Take the Long Way Home.' But Hutton throws herself completely into her role(s), and comes off as far too bubbly and high-strung. Whether she honestly felt that the part called for so much pep or if perhaps she was trying her best to steal scenes from Crosby I do not know, but regardless of her motivations it is just too much, as director Mark Sandrich should have realized and immediately corrected. I grant that in a movie like this the plot is of minimal importance and exists merely to hold the tunes together, but this premise is tired and stale, and all the plot twists can be predicted from a mile away. It's unabashedly patriotic and perfectly harmless enough as entertainment, but there's honestly nothing new here.

A searing behind-the-scenes look at a larger than life television personality, which still packs a punch today in spite of its many imitators. Written by "The Twilight Zone"'s Rod Serling as a "Playhouse 90" televised drama, it contains an explosive performance by Mickey Rooney that stands unparalleled in his body of work, prior to or since.

Rooney plays Sammy Hogarth, an egomaniacal comedian who demands perfection from everyone around him. His main target is his weak brother, Lester (singer Mel Torme), whose job description basically consists of taking Sammy's round-the-clock abuse, doing his dirty work, and pretending to worship the ground he walks on. Another outlet for Sammy's wrath is his head writer (Edmond O'Brien), who has lost his edge and who, in his desperation to please Sammy, has stolen material from a dead comic. Lester's wife (Kim Hunter) is fed up with her husband's role as Sammy's whipping post, and threatens to leave him if he doesn't rectify the situation. His opportunity to do so comes when he catches wind of the plagiarism, and he threatens to expose Sammy to an acidic columnist unless he cuts a monologue which savagely ridicules Lester.

All of the events in the story lead up to a 90-minute telecast which Sammy believes will be the highlight of his career, and must therefore be flawless. That means no last-minute cuts the day before the show, especially the monologue. O'Brien is forced to be the go-between amongst Sammy, Lester, and the columnist, navigating his way with carefully chosen words and ego-stroking. The film is told largely from O'Brien's point of view, and the audience can honestly feel for him as he digs himself into an ever-deeper hole. However, Serling's screenplay is too smart to portray Sammy as a one-dimensional hothead. Actually, he's not at all predictable. In a lesser film, upon discovering the theft of material he would simply explode, screaming his lungs out at everyone in sight. Watch the finesse with which he handles the situation here, and you will witness a marriage of great writing and direction (by John Frankenheimer).

That's not to say that Sammy isn't a hothead. As played by Rooney, in a grand, scenery-chewing performance, he is a man so determined to win the undying love of all his fans that he will go to any extreme in achieving that end. Torme demonstrates great acting potential in the role of the spineless brother. His final on-camera breakdown is amazing. O'Brien has perhaps the film's most difficult role, walking a very narrow tightrope and pulling it off marvelously. The most amazing part of the production is the fact that it was filmed live, with no second chances. The actors were obviously comfortable with their assignments, as they were able to move past plain remembrance of lines and create expressions, gestures, etc. "The Comedian" stands as a testament to the capability of television to tell stories in an equally compelling manner as theatrical films.

The second of three film versions of one of the most acclaimed musicals of all time, this one is far from perfect but nonetheless has several moving sequences and, of course, the legendary score. It offers somewhat deeper characterizations than the 1951 version, but they are not satisfactorily developed or resolved. Also, some of the performances have dated poorly, and the finale is extremely unsatisfying as well as implausible.

This time around Irene Dune is cast as Magnolia Hawks, the daughter of a Mississippi showboat captain (Charles Winninger). When Julie (Helen Morgan), the star of the show, is discovered to be half black, she is forced off the boat and Magnolia takes her place. In doing so, she falls in love with her leading man (Allen Jones), and they eventually marry. They leave the showboat and have a daughter, but his compulsive gambling threatens their union. When his persistent losing streak forces the family to lower its standard of living, he abandons them. Magnolia goes on to become a famous star of the stage, and her daughter follows in her footsteps.

At the risk of divulging the ending (which can probably be guessed anyway), there is a flash-forward of several decades for a reconciliation scene, in which all three generations are alive and well. This whole scene feels like an artificial and oversimplified attempt to tie up all the loose ends, when in fact it does just the opposite – it undermines the characters and leaves the viewer unfulfilled. Other characters are left dangling in thin air. Take Joe (Paul Robeson) and his wife Queenie (Hattie McDaniel). They appear for a few songs at the beginning, make strong impressions, and are never seen or heard from again. The worst incidence, however, is with the character of Julie. After a magnificent introduction, most of her potential is squandered. She is seen once more in a heartbreaking sequence, but one is left wondering whatever became of her.

As I noted before, many of the performances have not aged well. Dunne fills the role of Magnolia adequately, but her lilting soprano seems out of place from today's standpoint. That goes double for the vocalizations of Jones, who is completely unconvincing as the roguish cardsharp. Morgan's much-praised portrayal of Julie suffers from lack of footage, but she stops the show with her rendition of `Bill,' pouring her heart and soul into the song and leaving a lump in the throat of every viewer. Winninger almost steals the movie with his spirited performance as Captain Andy. At one point, in one of the all-time great displays of physical comedy, he enacts all the parts of a very animated play, doing so with the kind of indomitable dexterity that can only be compared to Donald O'Connor's `Make ‘Em Laugh' routine from "Singin' in the Rain." Finally, there's Paul Robeson, whose creates a Joe who is wise and all knowing, just like the `Ol' Man River' which he immortalizes in song during the sequence which is the film's high point.

As for the other songs, they're all here: `Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man,' `Make Believe,' as well as a few that could have been disposed of. (Do we really need to witness Jones singing a love song to Dunne's stocking?) Still, as directed by "Frankenstein"'s James Whale, it is a high quality production with excellent set designs and cinematography. Like the later version, there's a lot to like, but not quite enough to recommend.

A powerful and absorbing commentary on the plight of poor adolescents in working-class British society. The story is told through flashbacks, as a reform school delinquent recalls his troubled home life and the events that drove him to become what he is.

Colin (Tom Courtenay), the rebellious young man, embodies the depths to which one can sink as a result of poverty. When his father dies, he is forced to become the figure of stability in the lives of his abrasive mother and all his siblings. The incessant desire for money, instilled in him by his mother, drives him to rob a bakery. This lands him in reform school, where his aptitude as a long distance runner catches the eye of the school's progressive governor (Michael Redgrave). The governor has resolved that his students must defeat the local public school in a race, and puts Colin in training to represent them.

Running provides Colin with an opportunity to escape his problems, vent his aggressions, and consider his prospects. The governor takes a liking in him and begins giving him special privileges. He is forced to decide if he should continue with his defiant behavior, or instead play by the rules.

Redgrave wisely plays the governor not as a stereotypical prison warden, but as a fair and rational man driven to win. Courtenay's performance is nothing short of brilliant. He captures all the agony of an individual forced to mature before his time, molded by a society which has no use for his kind. Do any of the inmates in the school really reform, or do they all just `play the game' until they are released? This is among the many pertinent questions raised by this key film of its time.

This third film version of the beloved musical features superb music and an effective recreation of time and place, but unfortunately falls short in the story and characterization departments. The lead characters are presented in very broad strokes, with any real depth glossed over. This leaves only surface personalities to mask their essential hollowness.

The main plot line involves the captain's daughter, Magnolia (Kathryn Grayson), who falls in love with a debonair cardsharp (Howard Keel). His gambling fever quickly puts their marriage to the test, and she is helpless to prevent him from throwing away their fortune when luck ceases to shine on him at the card table. Realizing he is no good for her, he hops a train out of town, unaware that she is carrying his child…

The chief problem with all this, in the way it's presented, is that it is simply not very interesting or compelling. Much more so is the subplot involving the tragic Julie (Ava Gardner), forced to leave the showboat when it is discovered that she is half black. Drifting aimlessly from one bar to another, she nonetheless keeps constant tabs on Magnolia from afar. She is determined that Magnolia's life be worthwhile even as her own lies in shambles. One cannot help thinking that the film would have been much better had it shifted its focus to Julie, because she's the only fleshed-out person in the story.

To give the film its due, the Technicolor photography is striking and adds a great deal to the movie. `Ol' Man River,' the show's signature song, is performed with feeling by William Warfield (although it can't match Paul Robeson's version from the previous film). Julie's renditions of `Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man' and `Bill' are marred by the fact that Gardner's dubbing is painfully obvious. Among the other songs, `Make Believe' and `Life Upon the Wicked Stage' come off best.

Despite her abilities as a singer, Grayson does not possess the actorly charisma necessary to carry the film. Her performance is bland and lacking in dimension. Keel tries hard to make more out of his role, but fails to raise it above the clichéd suave gambler persona. Joe E. Brown makes a whimsical and sympathetic Captain Andy. However, the heart of the movie is Gardner's performance as Julie. She is stunningly beautiful and heartbreakingly poignant - her final close-up almost makes the whole thing worthwhile. Not a bad film; in fact there's quite a bit to like, but there are just too many missed opportunities to merit a recommendation.

Here's a lavish, exuberant tale of the high seas, produced and directed by Cecil B. DeMille, and presented with all the excess and spectacle the great showman built his career on. It involves shipwrecks, deep-sea diving, and giant squids, among other things. It's that rare kind of movie that's genuinely fun to watch, where you find yourself smiling because you're so engrossed in the story and the characters, often in spite of yourself. It's of the Saturday-afternoon-at-the-movies genre, where you leave plausibility at the door and put yourself in the hands of people who know how to entertain.

`Reap the Wild Wind' is the story of a sea captain (John Wayne) whose cargo ships are repeatedly sunk and plundered by a vicious crew of salvagers. When one of his ships is struck down, Wayne is rescued by a spirited southern belle (Paulette Goddard), with whom he falls in love. In order to help Wayne get the command he dreams of, Goddard becomes friendly with an influential lawyer (Ray Milland), and a love triangle develops. Through various turns of events, the two men find themselves on opposite sides of the fight against the raiders, with Goddard caught in between them. The story builds up to a spectacular battle with the squid, which single-handedly won the film an Oscar for its special effects.

The movie is well acted straight across the board. Wayne, having just achieved stardom, has the least colorful role but still registers strongly. Goddard plays her tempestuous role to the hilt, and is a joy to behold throughout. Her character is a welcome variation from the frail, straitlaced heroines of her time – she enjoys salty sea ballads, throws frequent tantrums and is not afraid to get her hands dirty – something of a toned-down Scarlett O'Hara. Raymond Massey is rightly villainous as the chief pillager. The highest acting honors go to Milland, however. His performance as the shrewd but foppish attorney is delightful, stealing scene after scene and providing priceless moments of comic relief, then turning noble toward the end.

In addition, the movie is beautiful to look at. At the time the film was made, color photography was still relatively new and quite costly, so it was generally reserved for epics. You can see every penny of it on the screen here. The direction is brisk and vigorous, and the visual effects are fantastic for that era or any other.

A thoroughly unsatisfying blend of messages and ideas which do not make sense and have no sound basis in logic or reality make for a film that has no idea what it's trying to say or why. How's that for an opening?! Yet it's not nearly as vague or pontificating as Strange Cargo itself.

Clark Gable stars as a smug Devil's Island convict who is determined to escape with the least amount of effort. Being Clark Gable, he naturally does just that, and in record time to boot. Apparently the guards are completely inept; they must be since they continually rely on two-bit informer Peter Lorre to track down the prisoners. With Gable now on the run with Joan Crawford and a half dozen other convicts, one of them (Ian Hunter) emerges as the leader, confidant, and spiritual adviser to the group. Soon it becomes clear that Hunter is supposed to be a representation of Christ. I do not congratulate myself on my perception for recognizing the metaphor; it's practically pounded into the viewer's consciousness with a sledgehammer. Along the way, Gable and Crawford develop a love-hate relationship, as it suits the plot.

I doubt I could pass a test on the message of the film. It makes so many different points which are hazy and indistinct at best, that together they defeat the purpose of making any point at all. Is it a religious film? Is it just another jailbreak picture? Is it a testament to the bounds of true love? Who cares? Even on its most basic level with no message whatsoever, it fails to be entertaining or to draw any sympathy for the characters.

For once Gable's trademark conceit works against him. He is simply too arrogant for any audience to care what happens to him. Crawford fares a bit better, but her character is poorly written. Both seem to be parodying their lines while they are delivering them. Who could blame them; the lines deserve to be mocked. Hunter at least gets effort points, for making unspeakably banal dialogue almost tolerable. He's the only cast member who takes his role seriously. The others fall back on their well-worn personalities. Considering the talent involved and the film's potential, it comes off as a major disappointment.

Pearl Buck's story of the ups and downs of a Chinese peasant family is adapted for the screen in a stately and dignified manner. Extreme respect is paid to the characters, who are given ample screen time to mature and develop. The roles are filled by actors who are able to get inside their characters without ever giving the impression that they are `performing,' and their performances are all the richer for it.

The story begins on the wedding day of Wang Lung (Paul Muni), a kind and gentle farmer. His wife, O-Lan (Luise Rainer), bears his sons and quietly encourages him to pursue his dreams, no matter what sacrifices they entail from her. The family lives through a famine and finally achieves prosperity and success. However, with success comes greed and corruption, and soon Wang is buying large plots of land and the Great Hall at which O-Lan was a servant. Eventually, he takes a second wife and breaks ties with all who were once close to him. It takes a tragedy for him to see the error of his ways.

All the while O-Lan stands behind him, supporting every decision he makes in her own tranquil way. Rainer's Oscar winning portrayal, like O-Lan herself, is the glue that holds the story together. Muni, often prone to hamminess in his work, shows restraint here and contributes a beautiful, multifaceted performance. The cinematography, which also received an Oscar, is excellent, as are the special effects. A sequence which involves locusts, invading the crops by the million, is nothing short of unforgettable. It is storytelling in the grandest sense of the word, with strong characterizations, high production values, and an engrossing story which more than justifies `The Good Earth's status as a classic.

One of the chief problems with the movies of today is `plotiness.' Potentially interesting subjects and characterizations are left in the lurch, due to filmmakers' insistence on giving top priority to the twists, turns and layers of the story. In a good movie the characters should drive the action; not the other way around. Those who disagree with this assessment are referred to "Lilies of the Field."

Here is a film which gets by cheerfully on a wisp of a plot. It's a simple tale about Homer Smith (Sidney Poitier), an amiable drifter who stops to get water for his car and is eventually conned into building a chapel for a band of European nuns. There is no great conflict in the film; only the constant threat of running out of materials. In the midst of this, Poitier manages to teach the nuns a bit of English, as well as a `goin' to meetin' song' called `Amen,' which serves as the film's theme and is played throughout.

The real joy of the film is in the personalities and interactions of the characters, and in the individual scenes. Poitier is dynamic and jovial in his Oscar winning role. It may not have been his top performance, or indeed the year's best acting, but it has a special low-key charm that few other actors could have mustered. The supporting cast is uniformly excellent, particularly Lilia Skala as the wily Mother Superior. There are several touching sequences, and also a richness of humor. Delightful on every level, this is a film to treasure.

Santa Fe Trail may not be great filmmaking, but it succeeds in what it sets out to accomplish and is generally satisfying viewing. Errol Flynn stars as J.E.B. Stuart, fresh out of West Point and now stationed at Fort Leavenworth in the Kansas territory, the starting point of the westward Santa Fe Trail. This was particularly hazardous country at the time, because abolitionist John Brown (Raymond Massey) was conducting violent raids along the trail. It quickly becomes the duty of Stuart and his pal Custer (Ronald Reagan) to capture Brown dead or alive, and put and end to his attacks.

There are many exciting sequences in the film, leading up to the final confrontation at Harper's Ferry. There's also a predictable romantic triangle between Flynn, Reagan and Olivia de Havilland. (Guess which one she picks!) The movie deserves credit for taking an objective viewpoint toward Brown, acknowledging that his motives were good even if his methods were not.

As Stuart, Flynn proves to be equally adroit in westerns as in swashbucklers. Reagan and de Havilland fill their less demanding roles with ease, and Alan Hale and Guinn `Big Boy' Williams provide much-needed comic relief. Massey somewhat overplays his hand as Brown, however. He comes off as too sanctimonious, more a cliché villain than a three-dimensional human being.

Apparently, the film is a travesty in terms of historical accuracy. Who cares? Movies are an entertainment medium. Anyone seeking facts alone had better confine their search to encyclopedias. Otherwise, just sit back and be amused.

At the peak of his stardom, Fred Astaire made this charming and highly enjoyable musical – unfortunately, minus Ginger Rogers. She is replaced in this film by Joan Fontaine, who, while a fine actress in other vehicles, proves to be incapable of light comedy and a thoroughly hapless dance partner.

Otherwise, there is very little fault to find with this story of an American entertainer (Astaire) visiting London with his press agent and his secretary (the incomparable George Burns and Gracie Allen). Burns has given Astaire a reputation as a ladykiller for the sake of publicity, and Fred longs to meet a woman who's sheltered enough to be unaware of his distinction. Enter the aristocratic Fontaine, who lives in a castle and has never heard of Astaire. She tells him she is in love with an American, and he naturally assumes she means him. The usual complications ensue.

Fontaine's shortcomings notwithstanding, this is a very pleasant movie. Astaire gives one of his best `performances,' if that's the word for it. A considerable portion of the show is stolen by Burns and Allen, who perform some of their funniest routines and (remarkably) hold their own with Astaire, dance-wise. The real highlight, however, are the musical score by George and Ira Gershwin, and the Oscar winning choreography. Songs include `A Foggy Day,' `Nice Work if You Can Get It' and `Things Are Looking Up,' and there is an incredible dance sequence in a fun house. All this forms a winning combination for a highly agreeable film.

Absolute perfection. Without a doubt, `My Darling Clementine' has secured its place in film immortality, resting proudly at the top of the list of the finest westerns ever made. It represents the genre at its peak and the career high point of all involved, including director John Ford and star Henry Fonda. `Clementine' achieves the difficult blend of drama, action, romance and occasional comic relief necessary to appeal to all viewers. This is the kind of film at which Ford excelled - straightforward and powerful, sentimental but never maudlin. It is needless to say that this is the definitive portrayal of Wyatt Earp and the gunfight at the OK Corral. It may not be the grittiest, most penetrating or historically accurate rendition, but it mixes just the right quantities of realism, legend and Hollywood magic. Its characterizations leave no room for improvement. Henry Fonda was born to play Earp. His folksy, unpretentious demeanor, coupled with the hard edge of a man who must occasionally deal out justice through the barrel of his gun, produce a multidimensional performance that others approaching the role could only dream of. With his portrayal of the tubercular Doc Holliday, Victor Mature forever shed his light image and began a series of solid dramatic roles. Other actors have played Holliday as flamboyant and eccentric, but Mature is effective in approaching him as a fatalist who has relinquished his aspirations of greatness and now lives life one day at a time. He forms an alliance with Earp because he has nothing better to do, and nothing else to live for. Walter Brennan's Old Man Clanton is a study in evil personified, and will certainly shock viewers who know him only as the crotchety but lovable grandfather he played on so many occasions. The rest of the cast is uniformly fine, featuring many members of Ford's `stock company' which followed him throughout his career. Ford's direction is strong and sure-footed. Although this was familiar territory for him, he was careful to instill each scene with a certain degree of uniqueness so the film would never appear routine. In this he was entirely successful, and a brief glance at his filmography confirms that this holds true throughout his body of work. The cinematography is breathtaking. Vast outdoor imagery and intimate gatherings of people are conveyed in an equally compelling manner. Earp's soliloquy at his brother's gravestone, a church dance sequence and the gunfight itself are among the film's many highlights. Only so much praise can be given in a review such as this; it must be seen to be appreciated.

Immensely moving drama, highlighted by the incomparable Robert Donat in a remarkable, career-defining performance. The film chronicles the life of devoted schoolmaster Charles Chipping (Donat), affectionately known as `Mr. Chips.' He is introduced as a reserved young man about to realize his dream of teaching at a school for boys. His teaching methods are at first strict and by the book, making him unpopular with his pupils. However, through the love and encouragement of his wife (Greer Garson), he gradually loosens up and throughout the course of the film becomes a beloved institution among students and teachers alike. As Chips' wife and most ardent supporter, Garson makes a strong impression, endowing her character with a simple tranquility that fits just right. However, the heart of the film is Donat's earnest performance, which spans some 58 years of Chips' life with absolute credibility. Donat, whose film career was unfortunately restricted by chronic asthma, won an Oscar for his work here (defeating the likes of Clark Gable in `Gone With the Wind' and Jimmy Stewart in `Mr. Smith Goes to Washington'). Although the film is highly sentimental, it is nonetheless an enjoyable and extremely rewarding experience, and the final scene is unforgettable. A must-see!