Reviews

This movie has so much---stunning scenery, a great cast, tight writing, economic plot, and haunting music---and it takes its time to unfold its tale of stark vengeance and redemption. This is unmistakably and indelibly a Sergio Leone vision. One could imagine that Clint Eastwood was first offered the role of Harmonica, the avenger, and then it went to Charles Bronson. Perhaps he wasn't, as Bronson was superb as the Everyman hero/possible avenging angel character; he projected a subtle sorrow in his piercing eyes, even his body language, that made him perfect for the role.

The plot is multilayered, revolving around a lovely widow (Claudia Cardinale) of a shrewd man named Brett McBain, who is brutally murdered along with his family by the railroad's hired guns while she is enroute to join them at their home in Sweetwater. Her property is what is coveted and it becomes Harmonica's bait to settle an old score with the railroad's chief hired gun, Frank, who is shockingly revealed to be played by wholesome Henry Fonda. His clear blue eyes, so apparently innocent-looking, become frightening in their lack of human emotions. Frank kills without remorse whatever it befalls him to kill as casually as flicking a leaf off his sleeve. Human life is meaningless to him, even more so than to his tubercular cancer-ridden boss Morton. At least he has a motive (greed) to explain his hubris; Frank evidently needs no such excuse and kills because it's what he was born to do.

Another character is brought into the tense mix, a bountied outlaw named Cheyenne, appealingly played by Jason Robards. He is also a killer, but one with a sense of humor and a kind streak, as well as a soft spot in his heart for pretty women. He and Harmonica form a strange alliance against Frank and the railroad, which Cheyenne sees as a threat to his way of outlaw life. At the same time, he becomes friendly with the widow Jill, who in turn is oddly drawn to Harmonica. When Cheyenne realizes this, he utters his famous line: "There's something inside a man like that... something about death." It is discovered that McBain bought a substantial amount of property and had planned to build a railroad station. He had everything legally in place to build the station but if it isn't finished by the time the railroad reaches Sweetwater, his heir forfeits the right to build it and even to keep the land. Harmonica uncovers the motive for McBain's murder and finds the means to prevent McBain's dream from failing by making Cheyenne's gang build it.

Frank, who is usually so icily carefree about death and those who stalk him, grows more obsessed with finding out who Harmonica is, since every time he asks him, the enigmatic drifter keeps answering by naming off men that Frank has killed. Everything comes apart for Morton and Frank as the killer begins to slowly but relentlessly unravel, with vague flashbacks rising as to who Harmonica might be. They, however, keep his past shrouded sufficiently so that Frank cannot quite close this maddening chapter in his life by just gunning down Harmonica and being done with him.

At last, Frank is mortally wounded in the climatic gun duel by Harmonica, who mysteriously is less fazed by what should also be a mortal wound, leading to the speculation that Harmonica is more than he appears to be. Placing his harmonica to Frank's dying lips where his weakening breath wheezes out a few ragged discordant notes, Harmonica watches as recognition dawns and his past is finally realized by Frank. He had sadistically stood a man upon his younger brother's shoulders with a noose around his victim's neck, then shoved a harmonica into the boy's lips. Easing back to watch for the moment when the younger man's legs would finally give out and his brother would hang, Frank is smiling with cold pleasure at his handiwork. It is at that point that the older brother cursed his killer and kicked the boy out from under him, thus alleviating the responsibility placed on Harmonica to keep him alive.

But this sequence, though gratifying from a vengeance point, does not answer the question about Harmonica's mysterious knowledge about Frank's victims or his apparent ability to shake off a serious wound with little effect. That combined with Harmonica's penchant to be in the right place at the right time, to stand outside of events while at times controlling them, gives his character a dimension that disconnects him from temporal events. He becomes at those moments like a mysterious angel of death.

Every actor was wonderful in his role, from Claudia Cardinale to Jason Robards, but the two principals were outstanding. Fonda, renowned for playing good guys, turned his reputation as an actor completely around with his flawless portrayal of the vicious and heartless killer, Frank. His foil, played to understated perfection by Charles Bronson, was the reluctant vigilante, the man consumed with revenge for his brother's murder, and yet not merely that. Bronson projected from Harmonica a deep and inexplicable sadness that permeated his words, appearance and actions.

This was not Leone's choice for a movie. He had abandoned the spaghetti Western concept after the Clint Eastwood films, but was persuaded to take on this project. It did not fare well at the box office, which is no surprise considering its length of almost three hours. A great pity, as it is often overlooked by fans of the spaghetti Western genre for both its lack of commercial success, and for committing the unforgivable sin of not having Eastwood in the lead. It is a great film and works on many levels; in some ways, it is the distillation and the perfection of the SW genre even as it closed it out for good.

This is the third incarnation of the original novel "I Am Legend" by Richard Matheson and undoubtedly the best in terms of entertainment and production values. The first filmed in 1964 starred Vincent Price and was titled "The Last Man On Earth". It was very faithful to the novel and very pessimistic, with a grim ending in which the last human being dies and humanity is now a race of vampires. The second adaptation, 1971's "The Omega Man", starred Charlton Heston. It was more freely adapted from the source material and the main character was changed into a medical military researcher capable of developing a cure for the virus. The ending, in which the main character dies, was altered so that he lived long enough to donate his blood to those who were uninfected so they could treat others and reverse the disease.

This version, starring Will Smith as the lone survivor Dr. Robert Neville, is essentially the second version lifted straight from the screenplay, which is why "I Am Legend" credits John and Joyce Corrington, the screenwriters from "The Omega Man". There are updates and changes, of course, but the essential story remains the same: Man meddles with nature and the meddling produces a super-virus that kills ninety percent of the population and turns all but one percent of the survivors into rabid light-sensitive vampires. There's one uninfected person left who's learned to adapt to the situation in such a way as to stay safe and conduct experiments in an effort to find a cure for the virus. He does so having no clue whether or not his efforts are worthwhile; for all he knows, he's the last uninfected person on earth. Still, he keeps trying.

In the novel, there isn't really a chief villain to fight against nor a female to whom the soldier gets attached. The 1971 adaptation did try for both but that diluted the storyline too much. This version changed the villain to a more general one and kept the female presence to a bare minimum, so that the main actor had to carry the story essentially alone. Price was good, and Heston was better, but Smith is the best so far. He projects a vulnerability that makes his character more sympathetic than in the previous versions. His talking to the mannequins adds a nice touch of pathos; he's lonely almost to the point of insanity, yet he keeps going, working on trying to develop a cure. His only companion is his dog, Sam, that he takes hunting with him for the plentiful deer that have overrun New York City.

Flashbacks reveal the background to his current situation and how he lost his wife and daughter. Between excursions out to seek fresh meat---a hard to find commodity---and survivors that are even harder to find, he's working in a lab to develop a cure using rats. Eventually, Neville captures an infected female human to try things out, but it's slow going. In the interim, his dog gets infected trying to save him from a trap, and he has to kill her, then gets badly injured seeking revenge for her death. Just when things look bleakest, he's found by two uninfected people, a woman and a child, who help him but don't know enough to cover their scent. The infected track them to Neville's hideout and, even as Neville realizes his efforts to develop a cure on his infected lab subject have worked, the vampires start breaking in and he's out of time.

Giving the cure to the two people who found him, Neville shuts them inside a safe place and waits as a group of infected humans finish breaking into his lab. He runs at them with a live hand grenade, in effect sacrificing himself for the cure. The woman and child make it to Vermont, where the cold has kept the virus in check, and deliver the cure to medical personnel who will know how to replicate and use it. The ending, like in the 1971 version, gives a small glimmer of hope that does not exist in either the novel or its 1964 film adaptation.

The pacing is good and the special effects very well done. The effects of sunlight on the infected people's skin are instantaneous burning, like being in a supercharged tanning bed. The vampires, though CGI, are creepy and well-crafted, and the dark seeker dogs are very scary. All of the acting is solid and Will Smith really shines in his role. Like Heston before him, he seems to have found a niche doing science fiction, but his acting is more natural and he's better at projecting emotional vulnerability. Of the three times "I Am Legend" has been brought to film, this is the best incarnation yet.

This episode is one of the better written and acted ones with two plots happening at once connected by two Romulan enemy soldiers: One that is dying on the Enterprise and one in danger of dying on an asteroid called Galarndon Core. The first story, in which the ill alien can only be saved by a transfusion, is the less compelling tale. Worf is the sole available donor but cannot get past his hatred of Romulans for killing his Klingon parents. Picard tries to convince him to go through with the transfusion, aware that it won't look good for the Enterprise if the soldier dies while in Federation custody. However, the captain feels he can't order Worf to do this. In the battle between Worf's hatred and the limited time the Romulan has, the enemy loses out.

The second subplot is better. Geordi Laforge misses his transporter window of opportunity and is stuck on the asteroid, which has an ionized atmosphere that wreaks havoc on humanoid nervous systems. That is what killed the first soldier and is now killing the second one that, unbeknownst to Geordi, is also trapped on Galarndon Core. The only hope for Geordi is to find a beacon that the Enterprise sends him to locate the safe transporter location. Normally, that would be no problem, as he can track it with his visor. Unfortunately, the ionized air is causing the interface between his brain and the visor to disintegrate. The enemy soldier knocks Laforge out and takes him prisoner. When Geordi wakes, he realizes the soldier is in trouble and he soon will be, too. His enemy---whose name is Bochra---must become his ally when the Romulan loses the ability to walk and Geordi loses the ability to see.

This episode is tight, well-directed and solidly produced, and the acting was spot on. John Snyder as the strangely honorable Bochra was particularly intense. The Romulan commander was also well-played by Andreas Katsulas. There was good tension from the unresolved dilemma faced by Worf and its results, in that the Enterprise almost comes under attack when Picard admits that the Romulan soldier died in Federation custody. The conflict is averted when Geordi and Bochra are beamed safely to the bridge of the Enterprise and the commander is told by his still-living soldier of how honorably he has been treated. Overall, a good Next Generation episode.

The few stars I'll give this muddle is for the clever plot twist of having Will save the day again---only this time, not as a little boy, but as an embittered adult. That's about the only merit to this film, along with bringing back the original robot's voice from the old series. Other than that, Hollywood ruined it. The original Irwin Allen production had so much good in it. The cast was professional, from Guy Williams as the father to Billy Mumy as the precocious but likable Will. The parents loved each other; the kids were important to their parents and each other, not to mention a far more mature-acting Major Don West; Zachary Smith, at first an evil genius capable of reprogramming the robot to obey only him, is then a perpetual self-serving whiner who was the only dysfunctional one in the group. The effects were cheesy and the writing sometimes not the greatest, but as a family show, it had charm. The characters were capable of drawing the viewers into caring about them. Sadly, the charm was drained right out of this movie to make it more "contemporary". Like its distant cousin Star Trek, Lost in Space would've transferred so much better from small screen to big if its creators had remembered a simple rule: If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Both shows had existing fan bases waiting for the movie versions. Of course, it's unrealistic to expect absolutely no change whatsoever, but to alter the basic premise so drastically was to invite disaster. If alienating the fan base, the cast and crew should try to produce something seriously entertaining. This failed miserably. Special effects were okay; music was adequate; the story could have been better, though it didn't absolutely tank. The biggest problem was the cast. William Hurt lacked depth and projected no real sincerity as the father; Mimi Rodgers was annoying as the mother. Judy was portrayed as terrified of getting intimate with a man. Don was too young, not in years but in maturity; the original Don was impetuous but also knew how to take orders and wasn't such a cocky hotshot. The kid playing Will did all right and had a mischievous streak that actually was occasionally funny. Oldman, handed the thankless task of playing the role immortalized by the great Jonathan Harris, pulled it off enough to make Smith over into a purer embodiment of evil. The biggest mistake was how Penny was portrayed; she was utterly ruined, a spoiled self-centered brat that evoked no sympathy whatsoever until the movie was practically finished. It's a shame. As one reviewer noted, it would've been a real coup if they'd cast Bill Mumy as the adult Will. And why couldn't the powers-that-be come up with a role for Harris, when they were able to for Lockhart, Kristen, Cartwright and Goddard? This could've been a good story about a family's misadventures in space travel. Instead, it became a ponderous mess about a typical Hollywood concept of the American-family-as-totally-dysfunctional-disaster. That's what turned this into a disaster.

Are there spoilers in here? Perhaps, I guess, though I'll try to keep them small. . . . With the decade of the sixties awash in westerns of virtually every stripe, it was easy to find the good, the bad and the ugly, as well as the overrated ones like Gunsmoke and Bonanza/Ponderosa. This entry into the genre was more daring and original than most. Set in the era immediately following the American Civil War, it featured a matriarch instead of a patriarch and a lead character that was illegitimate, which back when this show aired was a big deal. The Big Valley started out with so much promise; it was well-cast, well-acted and well-directed. Though it lacked the authenticity of the later series The High Chaparral, this show had heart.

Barbara Stanwyck lit up the screen as Victoria Barkley, the clan's motherly leader. She was a starchy actress wearing her role like a second skin and was convincing as a woman who could be both feminine and tough as nails. Eldest son Jarrod, the calm and suave lawyer, was wonderfully portrayed by Richard Long. The thankless role of hotheaded middle son Nick went to Peter Breck, who handled it well and made the flawed character likable. The third and most sensitive son, the bastard Heath, was acted by the normally wooden Lee Majors, who actually managed to convey some real feelings. Beautiful and high-strung daughter Audra was played perfectly by young and lovely Linda Evans. (The actor playing the youngest son Eugene vanished after only one season---turns out he was drafted, too bad.) With a great cast, good music(especially the theme song), solid direction and production, all that remained to keep The Big Valley great was the writing. At first fine, the scripts began to decline in quality, becoming too formulaic. Victoria soon became more of a prop than a person, what with her constantly being kidnapped or vanishing somehow. Audra's spirited character was watered down to wimpish, as if a girl couldn't be both pretty and strong. Nick and Heath's initial friction wore down too fast and too soon. It would've been nice to see a more gradual growth in their relationship from strained to brotherly, since their early clashes provided the conflict needed for good drama. Jarrod remained generally unchanged and didn't seem to grow much as a character. The youngest boy Eugene left without much fanfare, regret or explanation, which was a pity, because he was good for the show and perhaps deserved a better send-off.

The stories' decline was gradual and there were some good episodes that dealt with racial issues, mental illness, the trauma and horror of war, and day-to-day problems of living in the only partly settled American West. Many fine guest stars abounded, such as Barabra Luna, Marty Allen and Martin Landau, though the regular cast was strong enough to carry the show without much outside help. Unfortunately, the writing's weakness was The Big Valley's Achilles' heel. Even when handled by such a solidly professional cast, the scripts were becoming increasingly lame and the great feeling of angst that had been part of the original show evaporated. Still, decline aside, this program remains one of my favorite Westerns in rerun land. Though not as strongly crafted or consistently good as its later cousin The High Chaparral, The Big Valley was superior to Bonanza/Ponderosa and had far more energy than that venerable dinosaur Gunsmoke. On a scale of one to ten, I'd give this show a seven.

From the moment this odd series aired, it was doomed. It was too esoteric, too eccentric, and like many other sci-fi series from the 80s, it lacked a large enough audience. All of which was a great pity. Martin Kove was brilliantly cast as "Jesse", a powerful alien who's being ostracized by his race for excessive use of violence. His sentence is to do time on Earth, a planet equally renowned for its own violence. A little yet powerful orb called Control watches over Jesse and tries to help him out of jams. Hot-headed and stronger than the humans around him, the alien gradually learns patience and to think rather than lash out in blind anger. Unfortunately, the series was cancelled after a mere thirteen episodes, not giving Jesse's character much of a chance to develop. Kove was brilliant, bringing subtlety to a potentially cardboard role, and the effects, writing and supporting players were all decent. Perhaps someday it'll crop up on the Sci-Fi Channel, during the weekdays when other equally obscure but strangely compelling shows appear(such as Automan, Manimal, the Flash, etc.). It'd be fun to catch it again sometime.

Jane Austin is not to everyone's taste; her wordiness tends to drain the life from her characters. Fortunately, Emma Thompson realized this and corrected it when she adapted the novel into her award-winning screenplay. Miss Thompson took essential elements from the romantic tale, enhancing both humor and drama, and the result is undeniably both Jane Austen and immensely appealing.

This movie is an English period romance, set in pre-Victorian times. It's hard for modern people to imagine, but life back then was more structured; every situation was carefully controlled by social codes and strict manners. It was a stifling time, particularly for women, who had virtually no legal rights and opportunities beyond marriage or a religious life. As the story begins, a man is dying, and he's fearful, not of his death but for his surviving second wife and three daughters. He pleads with his son John Dashwood, the heir to his vast fortunes, to care for John's stepmother and half-sisters. John agrees to help them, but is soon talked out of it by his selfish wife Fanny, and the poor females find themselves virtually broke and strangers in their own home. To complicate matters, Elinor has met her soulmate in Fanny's younger gentle brother Edward Ferrars, but Fanny makes it clear to Elinor that a match between them would never do. The atmosphere in the Dashwood mansion is uncomfortable, and the mother and her daughters want to flee, but can't afford to move.

Help comes in the form of a kindly relative, a nobleman named Sir John Middleton who offers them a cottage on his estate, rent-free. Mrs. Dashwood takes her three daughters---sensible Elinor, passionate Marianne and young Margaret---to stay there. Their relative insists they join him and his nosy mother-in-law Mrs. Jennings frequently for dinner. The old woman is a busybody and an incurable matchmaker, and is bound to see one of the older two Dashwood girls married to Colonel Brandon, the most eligible bachelor in the county. When Brandon first sees Marianne playing a melancholy melody on a pianoforte and singing like an angel, he is incurably smitten. He is, however, also considerably older than Marianne and realizes that she wouldn't see him as a suitor. When Marianne hurts her ankle and is rescued by Willoughby, the dashing young man steals her heart and though Brandon detests the charming rogue, he steps aside so that Marianne might be happy.

Twists ensue, for the road to love is seldom smooth. Elinor discovers that Edward is engaged to a selfish young woman named Lucy Steele, which Lucy tells her in confidence and then tosses in Elinor's face at every opportunity. When the women expect Willoughby to propose to Marianne, he instead severs his relationship with her and hurries away to London. When Mrs. Jennings's daughter Charlotte and her husband Mr. Palmer visit, they offer to take Elinor and Marianne to London. Elinor is apprehensive, for she's afraid to see Edward, and Marianne is thrilled, for she can't wait to see Willoughby. When they go there, however, neither encounter is anything like the young women expected, and Marianne ends up suffering an emotional breakdown.

Throughout it all, Brandon is on hand to help Marianne in his unobtrusive way, and he goes with Elinor and Marianne to stay with Charlotte and her husband. Heartsick over Willoughby, Marianne takes note when Charlotte mentions that his estate Combe Magna is visible from a hill on their property. At the first opportunity, Marianne slips away to find the crest overlooking Combe Magna, which is over five miles from their house. A cold rain falls and she is drenched and shivering when Brandon finds her and carries her all the way back. Weakened by lack of eating and sleeping from her emotional distress, Marianne becomes gravely ill, compelling the Palmers to leave with their infant son and his nurse. Brandon is going insane with fear for her and begs Elinor to give him something to do that would help her younger sister. Elinor dispatches him to fetch their mother, and they return as Marianne is declared to be out of danger. It is apparent that Marianne has learned the difference between romance and real love. They go home to their cottage and the colonel then begins a gentle courtship of her.

Elinor faces her own pain when their manservant Thomas mentions that he met Mrs. Ferrars, the former Lucy Steele, when he was in town. She goes to her room and holds the handkerchief Edward had given her long ago, when he had stayed at the Dashwood estate and they had first become acquainted. However, what Thomas told her turns out to be incomplete. Lucy is indeed married to one of the Ferrar brothers, but it is the one who is most like her. In the end, the young Dashwood ladies end up happily married to men who are best for them.

Everything in this movie works, from the costumes to the cinematography, but it's the acting that really illuminates the screen. Emma Thompson is wonderful as the calm elder sister who patiently endures so much for the sake of others; Kate Winslett is perfect for the mercurial Marianne who wears her feelings on her sleeve. Hugh Grant is endearing as the shy Edward. Alan Rickman, playing against his usual type of role, is awesome as the unselfish Brandon; though outwardly aloof, Rickman conveys the hidden passionate side of his character with subtle brilliance. We also loved Hugh Laurie as the sarcastic Mr. Palmer, who hides his kindly nature under muttered comments to his flighty wife. Another delightful aspect of this film is the haunting and evocative musical score.

Sense and Sensibility is a fine example of English period romance. It won't appeal to action movie fans, and requires a serious attention span. Well-written and professionally acted, this film is well worth viewing; it's enjoyable and lovely.

This is a relatively obscure film that occasionally appeared on A&E, and the print was in abysmally awful condition. We ordered a video and discovered the print quality on that was still pretty poor. Nevertheless, we still watch it. And we love it. Pimpernel Smith is a wonderful film, the brainchild of the great English actor Leslie Howard who was, ironically, the son of Hungarian immigrants. In film, he became the quintessential Englishman, and in real life, he loved his country as passionately as a man could love anything. His untimely death over the Bay of Biscayne while on a flyby mission for England bore that out.

Pimpernel Smith was written, produced and directed by Howard, who also starred in it and no doubt hand-picked its cast. It retells the older story of The Scarlet Pimpernel, but is in some ways a stronger movie than its more lavishly produced predecessor. The setting is more modern and accessible to most viewers; it has a film noir flavor that is appealing; and the enemy is not the mindless tyranny of the French Revolution but the carefully planned and mechanized tyranny of the Third Reich. Its obvious propaganda message is compelling and moving when one recalls the plight of England at the time. Howard made this film to bolster his countrymen and offer hope, which it must have done, and yet Pimpernel Smith retains a sense of timelessness in its message that tyranny must always be resisted, no matter what the cost.

As the movie opens, the viewer is thrust into a Europe shadowed by Nazi threat, where people are routinely rounded up if the state deems them a danger. A medical researcher is arrested, but then whisked out from under his captors' noses by a mysterious rescuer who slips the doctor to safety. The Nazis are livid, for this unknown savior is their bane, and they want him caught as soon as possible.

From the European mainland, the scene shifts to an English college campus, where works Horatio Smith, an archeology professor who fusses over his prized statue of Aphrodite, is absent-minded and late for everything, and eschews social engagements. The only woman in his life is the aforementioned statue. His students think he's a few bricks shy of a full load, he keeps his superior in a state of confusion, and Horace exasperates his well-meaning brother. Smith is tolerated as a harmless eccentric and resident laughingstock; though brilliant, he's also borderline dysfunctional.

It is, naturally, an act, one carefully cultivated to disarm people so Smith can go about his real business of rescuing those endangered by the Nazis. As an archaeologist, he's free to travel Europe, and he comes up with a plan to take his students with him on a hunt for traces of a lost Aryan civilization. The young men sniff and sneer, but a trip to the continent is irresistible and off they go. The Nazis, meanwhile, have a secret weapon of their own: a seductive and beautiful young woman named Ludmilla Koslowski who spies for them. She does this because her beloved father is a Nazi prisoner and she hopes to secure his release.

Ludmilla meets Smith and finds him oddly compelling, though he for his part does his best to keep his distance from her. She concludes that he must be the elusive rescuer. The Nazi general for whom she works laughs at her suggestion, for Smith has already ingratiated himself to the general as an annoying little English pest. Ludmilla, however, knows she's right and comes to Smith's room to plead with him to help her father. Apparently unmoved by her plight, the professor falls in love with her and later communicates to her that he will rescue her imprisoned father. How he does so is ingenious, employing his students as erstwhile journalists and parlaying the Nazis into unwitting assistants. The rest of the film concerns a trap laid for Smith, using poor Ludmilla as bait.

Pimpernel Smith was Leslie Howard's last film and somehow that seems in keeping with the way he died. The final scene, in which he says from the shadows that he will always be back, is haunting, for he wouldn't be able to return in the flesh. It is Mr. Howard's spirit that returns, time and again, when this deeply personal movie of his is played. This film remains an important reminder that tyranny under any guise must be constantly fought, no matter what it takes.

This unusual little film, featuring James Mason, Ann Todd and Herbert Lom, is a strangely haunting study of a tortured relationship. In the opening scene, a lovely young woman attempts suicide by leaping from a bridge. She is rescued, and a worried doctor named Larsen tries to ascertain what drove her to try to end her life. Her story is revealed; when fourteen, an orphaned Francesca Cunningham is sent to live with her only relative, a second cousin named Nicholas Cunningham. He is a bachelor with no use for females, and makes it clear to her that the only way they'll get along is for her to stay out of his way as much as possible. Francesca is intimidated by his forceful personality and meekly appears to obey, while actually practicing passive-aggressive rebellion. She is lonely and unhappy in his house and he ignores her until a letter from her former teacher---a letter she tries to hide from him---reveals that Francesca has a real talent for music, particularly playing the piano. Nicholas compels her to play for him and is delighted at her ability. Francesca is pleased that at last she has found a way to garner his attention.

Her pleasure changes to sorrow and frustration as time passes and he drives her to practice for hours upon hours, day after day. It seems that due to his ugly and dysfunctional relationship to his mother, Nicholas cannot grow intimate with women beyond a certain point. He evidently adores and cherishes his lovely ward as she grows into a beautiful and accomplished woman. Unfortunately, his affection is expressed poorly as he bullies and intimidates his sensitive second cousin. Francesca eventually rebels more openly by seeking romantic relationships with other men, first with popular musician Peter Gay and then with bohemian artist Max Leyden. Nicholas puts a stop to the first relationship and tries to end the second; he explodes violently and lashes at her hands with his cane. Francesca tries to run off with Leyden but then is involved in a car accident that slightly injures her hands. She awakens and is convinced she can no longer play the piano, though her hands are not permanently damaged, and then tries to end her life. The whole mess swirls around a hauntingly lovely piano piece by Beethoven. Larsen correctly deduces that this music is crucial to healing not only Francesca but also her guardian. When he plays the record for Nicholas, the tortured man flies into an inexplicable rage, shattering the record and dropping his cane, then stomping on the stick when Larsen bends to retrieve it. Larsen realizes at that moment that Nicholas loves Francesca beyond words and has always, despite his cruel bullying of her, wanted whatever is best for her. And oddly enough, on some level, Francesca loves him equally, though she's afraid of the harsh front he wears to hide his true emotions from her. The final scene is fraught with tension when Larsen appears to tell the three men who love her that Francesca is cured. When she appears at the top of the stairway, she runs not to Peter or Max, but straight into the arms of the man who turns away in despair that she couldn't possibly want him. At last, Francesca and Nicholas can love each other without disorder getting in the way. (Since they're second cousins, the relationship is not incestuous; sorry to disappoint those who believe it is.)

The story is hopelessly dated, and the Freudian treatment ludicrous to untangle this tormented relationship, but the bizarre plot is saved by the acting. James Mason is perfect as the wounded and flawed man who cannot openly offer his heart to the woman he loves. Herbert Lom does well with his potentially clichéd role as the psychiatrist. Ann Todd is actually a bit weaker than her co-stars at conveying her inner turmoil and conflicting feelings for Nicholas; she seems to lack the range necessary for such a demanding role. This is a strange yet compelling tale, and a fine example of British genre cinema for its time frame. Great movie for a rainy afternoon or a bout of insomnia.

Spectre was an entry into the horror/fantasy genre that was already waning on television in the late 1970s. It's a pilot that wasn't sold into a series, which was too bad, because it was intelligent, spooky, and for its time frame a bit shocking. Sebastian, the lead character, was excellently played by Robert Culp and Gig Young was great as his partner, an alcoholic doctor. Majel Barrett was Sebastian's housekeeper; heck, it was a Gene Rodenberry production, wasn't it, and that means she had to have a role. She was actually very well-suited for the part of combination witch and protectress of her boss and his friend. We really liked how she cured the doc of his drinking problem by slipping him a potion that would cause nausea in him every time he tried to consume alcohol.

The plot was well-written, with nice twists here and there. Sebastian has done paranormal investigations long enough to know to trust nobody. Even the most innocuous-appearing person may be evil or even an evil spirit. When approached by a beautiful and seductive woman, he dispatches her by pressing an ancient holy text (the Book of Tobit) over her heart and changing her back into a hideous succubus. Taking a case is taxing for him; Sebastian alludes to an ongoing thorn in his side, which means he suffers some sort of chronic pain, and his work is draining on him. However, he accepts a difficult case involving a young man who's undergone a marked personality change. To Sebastian, such behavior means either possession or something even worse. When he unravels the mystery, oh, yes, it's something way worse. . .

The effects are pretty good, considering the limitations of both budget and time frame; the smoke and flashes are way better than stuff seen on Dr. Who or Space: 1999. There are also some fairly sleazy scenes at the satanic worship bits which pushed the envelope, somehow making it past the television censors. But the acting still remains the best reason to watch this. The cast, from leads to bit players, all did a great job. The script was intelligent and suspenseful, with a fine twist at the conclusion of Sebastian's investigation and a climatic scene involving an attempt to fix a broken seal. All in all, this was a great movie, whether pilot or stand-alone, and we highly recommend it for fans of spooky horror.

When Rankin and Bass unveiled their version of Tolkien's "The Hobbit" in 1977, it was a charming if abbreviated made-for-television animated film that was fun and even a bit scary. Their voice casting choices were fine, especially Richard Boone, whose cancer-rasped voice brought the dragon Smaug to life, and Theodore as the creepy and loathsome Gollum, who evoked fear and disgust but little pity. In 1978, Ralph Bakshi attempted to bring the first half of "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy to the big screen in his lushly animated epic. Unfortunately, his big-budget film flopped, much to the disappointment of Tolkien's fans, and Bakshi would be unable to make his sequel. In an effort to finish off the unfinished series, Rankin and Bass tried to make their own version to satisfy the audience who wanted to see closure. It was and remains an unmitigated disaster.

Why is this cartoon so awful? Well, the answer lies mainly in the word "cartoon". Unlike The Hobbit, which featured beautifully painted scenery that evoked delicate watercolors and ethereal linework, which had so evidently been crafted with loving care and cast with thought to matching characters to actors, The Return of the King had all the earmarks of having been hastily cobbled together. It wasn't so much an animated homage to a great writer's work as a hatchet job. A huge chunk of the events in Tolkien's books were missing between where Bakshi's fairly faithful rendition ended and this abomination began. The drawings were slapped together and were often repetitious and ugly. Voice actors from the first film returned and some of them worked: Orson Bean was fine as Frodo, Theodore was again great as Gollum, Theodore Bikel did a fine job as Aragorn, and Roddy McDowall was wonderful as Samwise Gamgee. The rest were abysmal. Instead of hiring actors to do the characters, cartoon voice actors such as Don Messick (Scooby-Doo) and Casey Kasem (Shaggy) were cast. It was downright painful to hear a Nazgull being done by Scooby Doo through a distortion filter. Many characters integral to Tolkien's story were cast away: Where was Gimli? Faromir? Any of the elves (other than Elrond) such as Legolas or Glorfindel? How about the Army of the Dead or Sauroman? Merry and Pippin didn't develop as characters; Gollum remained merely vile, as if Bakshi's attempts to show this tortured being's strangely noble and pathetic side never happened. The dialog was stilted and sometimes unintentionally hilarious ("As the flag's standard broke the wind. . ."). It was awful beneath description from beginning to end, appearing to be a shameless attempt to cash in on the hopes of frustrated fans who'd wanted the second animated movie made.

That, of course, was the entire problem. This cartoon was, despite its trappings and claims, just a cartoon, less charming by far than The Hobbit and far less noble than Bakshi's film. Both of those were honest attempts at creating art, and each succeeded in its limited way until swept aside by Peter Jackson, who finally gave Tolkien's opus the treatment it deserved. The two earlier films merit a place of honor for trying to achieve cinematic beauty. Rankin and Bass's The Return of the King deserves to simply be forgotten.

This was a riveting film, well-written, with both a gritty realism and a flair for high-tech imagination that was obviously rooted in familiarity for military aircraft. Its direction was tight, its cinematography excellent, and its acting top-notch. The plot was basic: big bad military has nasty plans for unsuspecting civilian public, and it's up to a somewhat messed-up and semi-disgraced Viet Nam veteran to save the day. Francis Murphy, the reluctant hero of this film, is a police helicopter pilot. As the movie opens, Frank's breaking in---and razzing---his new partner, Richard Lymangood. Before long, Frank and Lymangood, alias JAFO, are tapped to try out a brand new Army Apache helicopter bristling with new technology, from hypersensitive surveillance equipment and a gun that responds interactively with the pilot's helmet to a whisper mode that allows the chopper to slip secretly through the sky. Unlike the sleek machine in the later TV series Airwolf, the Blue Thunder in this movie is a beast, its very design seeming to snarl menacingly as it glides through the air.

Frank admires the technical aspects of the chopper but remains leery of its darker side. Ostensibly made up for the upcoming Olympics in Los Angeles, Blue Thunder is a prototype for a weapon to be used against civilians, both abroad and at home. The two cops discover this by accident when following Frank's old wartime nemesis, Colonel F. E.(F*&% Everybody)Cochrane to a clandestine meeting. Unfortunately, they're found out, and the real suspense starts as the bad guys pull out all the stops to get back a piece of incriminating evidence, a tape produced by Blue Thunder's own surveillance setup. This leads to all sorts of insanity, including the calling in of military jets to shoot the helicopter from the sky over L. A. when Frank steals it. Lymangood proves amazingly strong and resourceful in his hiding of the tape, and Frank's girlfriend---possibly the worst driver in America---is pressed into emergency service to get the tape to a television station. In the midst of all the chaos, Frank's police boss and the city's mayor face down the baddies howling for the renegade cop's blood. At the ending, Cochrane is satisfactorily dealt with and so is Blue Thunder, in such a way that a TV series seems utterly stupid.

The actors made this a great watch. Roy Scheider was likable as the regular guy who slowly turns into the gladiator fighting for the people he's sworn to protect. A young Daniel Stern gives a polished performance as the naive but brave Lymangood. Warren Oates, with his gravelly voice and weathered features, was great for the part of Frank's embattled boss. As for the evil Cochrane, he was played to slimy perfection by Malcolm McDowell. Even the more minor characters were well-played and supported the story. This was a good action movie, enjoyably blending suspense with some touches of light comedy, with a gratifying finish. Recommended especially for fans of Roy Scheider and lovers of military aircraft.

From the opening music (possibly the coolest theme song in the history of television) to the sleek dark helicopter, to the brooding pilot movie for this series, there was everything for action fans to love! Airwolf began with so much potential: Its brooding anti-hero Stringfellow Hawke and his search for spiritual cleansing and atonement after his experiences in Viet Nam; his gruff mentor, Dominic Santini, whose checkered past sometimes caught up with him; and Archangel, real name Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, a suave and occasionally very dangerous spy with whom the first two form a reluctant agreement. Add to these three different characters some female help and a dose of high-tech espionage, and what emerged was a winner from the mind of Donald P. Bellisario, who also brought the public Quantum Leap and Murder, She Wrote.

Airwolf began as a mid-season replacement show and started off the series with the top secret chopper being stolen by its developer, Dr. Charles Moffett, and taken to Libya to be used as Qaddafi's personal weapon against anyone he dislikes. Stringfellow is approached by Archangel, who very nearly died when Moffett stole Airwolf, and is offered plenty of money to get Michael's pet project back. Hawke, however, has little need of money; he's already comfortable and cultured, so the offer of riches means little to him. There IS something else Hawke wants and, being a top-level spy with access to classified information, Archangel may be able to get it for him. String wants his MIA older brother St. John found. Alive or dead, he doesn't care, but he wants his brother brought home from Viet Nam. Dominic objects vigorously to Hawke having anything to do with Archangel, but he's talked into the deal. He and String retrieve the stolen Airwolf but then refuse to return it to Michael. Hawke wants to use the chopper to force the spy to help him. Archangel seems more amused than annoyed at Hawke's actions, and is amazingly unsurprised by Airwolf's theft. The three men form a shaky alliance: Archangel will try to use his resources to find St. John Hawke, and String and Dom will fly missions for the spy and his organization, the FIRM.

The implausible technology aspects aside(helicopters cannot attain supersonic speeds without destroying themselves), this was a decent show. The effects were passable, the writing generally good, and the acting was solid. Airwolf was unusual in that it had three former movie veterans in its lineup. Jan-Michael Vincent was great as gloomy Stringfellow Hawke, Ernest Borgnine was perfect for tough old Dominic Santini, and Alex Cord made a sophisticated yet vulnerable Archangel. Deborah Pratt played Michael's assistant Mirella for the first half-season. She was later replaced by Jean Bruce Scott as spunky Caitlin O'Shaughnessy, a pilot that Hawke had helped in a previous episode.

Airwolf never sank significantly in the ratings but was pulled after the second full season. Part of the problem was CBS's efforts to tone down the brooding dark quality of the show that made it so unique. The network wanted a more "family-friendly" program, which caused the episodes to veer almost schizophrenically between human interest fluff and cool espionage stuff. The biggest obstacle to the show's success was the escalating substance abuse problem of its main star, Jan-Michael Vincent, which negatively affected his work. Airwolf was a fantastically expensive series, even by 80's standards, and having its star showing up with increasing frequency unprepared for work couldn't be tolerated for long. We at first thought it was a cross between Blue Thunder and Firefox, but soon realized that it was neither. It was, and remains, a very original program that we seriously hope comes out on DVD someday---soon! It was a fun flight of imagination in the 80's and is still one today.

This horror movie, based on the novel of the same name, suffers from flawed production and choppy, amateurish direction, but it's nonetheless strangely compelling. Unlike shocker horror flicks such as The Exorcist, this movie takes the viewer on a slow yet relentless dip into a pool of evil. It drifts into horror, which dawns on the audience with the same dreamlike slowness as it dawns on the poor girl who's been unwittingly chosen to be the next sentinel. Her appointed task is to sit at the gates of hell and prevent evil from erupting into the world. This falls on her in atonement for her attempted suicide earlier in her life.

The story is true to the book, which was riveting, but the way it's edited can lose the viewer. There are subtleties in the plot that are shaved away and never explained satisfactorily, which hurts this film. That's a pity. The Sentinel is not an edge-of-your-seat kind of flick; it's more a watch-and-squirm uncomfortably. Like a bad car wreck, there's a compulsion to look even when it becomes unbearable. This movie isn't all bad, and still has a capacity to shock.

The cast was competent. Christina Raines was captivating as Alison, the vulnerable girl under spiritual attack from both sides, a pawn in the never-ending battle between good and evil. Chris Sarandon was good as her caring but ultimately self-centered boyfriend. Eli Wallach and a very young Christopher Walken are the detectives struggling to unravel the bizarre puzzle they've been handed. Ava Gardner is elegant as the realtor unaware of the horrors lurking in her rental property. The gaunt elderly John Carradine, with his arthritis-twisted hands, is excellent as the dying sentinel who must be replaced. The devil is played to charming perfection by Burgess Meredith; he's so sweet and yet so evil. There are future stars hidden in this film: Beverly D'Angelo and Jeff Goldblum as friends of the poor girl, and Jerry Orbach playing successfully against type as a jerky television director. The damned souls at the end are portrayed by actual sideshow freaks and geeks. Whoever thought to do that was a twisted but brilliant genius.

The horror that pervades the movie bubbles up unexpectedly, such as when Alison opens a door and finds something that evokes a flashback to when she found her father with his two whores. She relives her first suicide attempt, faces a pair of strangely dysfunctional lesbians, and sees a cat cut up as a cake. Time and again, she's yanked back and forth through reality and fantasy, through dreams and waking nightmares, all the while lacking the means to cope. In truth, the devil is trying to drive her insane enough to kill herself before becoming the next sentinel. Will he succeed...? In summary, slow-moving yet indescribably creepy, well-acted but poorly directed, and a very typical 70's horror film before the real shockers cut loose. (No pun intended) This movie may not work for those with a short attention span, but it can still send chills up the spine, and still can provide some low-key shock value. It remains a strangely compelling and entertaining dip into the realm of evil.

This film is like junk food for the brain, a guilty pleasure, and a movie not to admit liking in front of fans of true cinema. Hawk the Slayer was produced as a knockoff of the Hobbit/Lord of the Rings fantasy genre. Somehow the producer mixed those elements up with the budget of Dr. Who. The resulting mutation is rife with cheesy effects and unintentional hilarity.

First, the casting. Jack Palance gives ham a whole new dimension as the necessarily evil elder sibling Voltan. He's too old to be credible and his acting is so overdone it hurts to watch. John Terry as the heroic lead character is flat and wooden, with little vocal inflection; he almost seems to sleepwalk through the movie. The minor characters and supporting roles are far better: Gort the giant was fun, as was the dwarf Balin and the strangely alien elf Crow. The nasty hunchback was great, as was the woman who played the part of the Mother Superior who's kidnapped. Even the villains and lowlifes were more interesting than the leads, but, then again, Mr. Terry could make anyone in a scene with him appear superior by default.

Next, the plot. Good versus evil, it could be surmised, but more like twisted jealous older brother versus supremely indifferent younger one. The viewer is supposed to believe that Hawk is a loner because he lost someone precious to him at Voltan's hands. That's hard to buy when the lead character doesn't convey any serious emotions of any type. It's possible that the subplots of battling brothers and the church against Voltan were echoing each other, but the whole thing seems banal and contrived.

Finally, the effects. Dr. Who and then some. It's been years, maybe even decades, since we'd seen such horrifically cheap stuff. The scene when the witch helping Hawk sneaks in and douses a bad guy with Silly String had us rolling. The repetitious camera shots of the elf firing arrows, the obvious backwardly rolled footage of him leaping "into" a tree, and the freaky little plastic things in the supposedly terrifying forest were all pathetic.

So, why do we watch this thing? It's a great flick to hit mute on and toss in alternate dialog, a la MST3000. Our kids come up with great comedic material from viewing this thing. Treat it as a serious movie and it's a groaner. Have some fun with it, and it's great. Just don't admit to lovers of cinema that you watch this type of cheesy flick.

To begin, apologies to fans of Chris Noth. He is and always will be the best junior detective to grace the original Law & Order series. That said, however, I can only call this film a disappointment. It may appeal to those viewers who are die-hard fans of Mr. Noth or seasons 1-5 of L & O, but as a longtime fan of the original show, I found this film rather flat. It came across as a showcase for Mike Logan, focusing on his desire to rejoin his old precinct, yet the ending ensured that Logan would never again be seen on L & O. The movie drove a stake into the hearts of those fans who wanted Mikey back, and was both cavalier and even cruel in its treatment of longtime characters.

A junkie-prostitute was murdered and her body mutilated to prevent identification by the police. Logan used this homicide as a launching point to move back up the ranks after his demotion and exile (hence the clever title) to Staten Island following his punching out of an obnoxious city politician. He befriended the murdered girl's sister only to use her to help him rejoin homicide; he returned to his old stomping ground just to stomp on everyone's toes. Logan's confrontation with his old partner Briscoe was flat and pointless. Why on earth would Lennie stick his neck out when there wasn't a thing he could do for his former workmate? He was just a disgraced recovering alcoholic detective who had to start from the bottom up years ago, or had Mikey forgotten that? And the Van Buren hostility was lame, too; she and Logan often butted heads, but they also worked together to solve many crimes, and they at least seemed to mutually respect each other. Apparently, that was forgotten when this plot was written. As for McCoy, he didn't much like Logan but he worked with him the same as with any cop from the Manhattan area, but Mikey wasn't from there anymore and Jack owed him nothing. At least that was the feeling the movie gave, which seemed wrong, for McCoy wasn't a vicious or cold man; in fact, he was very passionate about his work but in Exiled he just seems icy and predatory. Rey Curtis was about blown off and Mikey treated him like he wanted to have a hosing-down contest with him to see who was the better man.

Lennie laughed at an incredibly nasty joke about the deceased girl, which, given his own daughter was brutally murdered, seemed woefully tasteless and out of character. But then, no character was spared to make Logan look good. By the end of it, Profaci was revealed to be the perp for a truly contrived reason: FERTILITY TREATMENTS, which he couldn't afford on his cop's salary. (We all know that wanting those pesky kids leads to all manner of evils!) Poor Profaci had always been one of the most down-to-earth and professional cops from the original show, and to see him treated thus was heartbreaking.

At the end of it all, Logan was left with nothing: no promotion, no girl, no friends except maybe for his current partner. It was an empty finish to a pointless movie that seemed only to serve as a finale---not a grand one, either---of Noth's L & O character. Maybe it was intended as a pilot but it didn't come across that way; it felt more like an end than a beginning. Exiled seemed like Noth's way of saying, "I am NOT Mike Logan anymore!", much in the same way Leonard Nimoy used to vehemently deny he was Mr. Spock after Star Trek was cancelled. In summary, this was a grim foray into the obsessive side of a character we used to admire but, by the end of this film, grew to dislike and even pity. We will most likely never watch it again.

Westerns come in several types: classic, John Wayne, John Ford, spaghetti, and ensemble. Each has its strengths and weaknesses. If a viewer is a big Clint Eastwood fan or loves John Wayne, then any film starring those men is golden. However, there is nothing wrong with this film as an ensemble western. It is incorrect to consider it a flat-out remake of its predecessor; the original was both a John Ford and John Wayne project and carried the indelible marks of both men. It was a sweeping vista of a western that focused heavily on Wayne's character, the Ringo Kid. This 1966 version doesn't sprawl across the screen. It has instead a warmer, more intimate feeling that draws the viewer into caring about the characters that inhabit it.

The characters are archetypical for a western movie. There's the fallen woman who'd love a chance at redemption (Dallas), the alcoholic doctor (Josiah Boone), tough gambler with a heart of gold (Hatfield), nervous reverend (Peacock), pregnant young lady (Mrs. Mallory), slimy guy with a secret (Henry Gatewood), tough-as-nails marshal (Curly Wilcox) and young misunderstood outlaw (the Ringo Kid). Add a shaky stagecoach driver with no nerve named Buck (how'd he get this job?) and trail perils that include washouts and hostile Indians, some very nasty outlaws called the Plummer Brothers that Ringo wants to kill, and the result could come across as a cliché of a classic western. Somehow, it doesn't. Instead, what was a big-screen extravaganza starring a larger-than-life Duke is melted down into a more balanced and less histrionic movie that is easy to enjoy on a Sunday afternoon.

The cast is well-chosen and, despite the temptation to compare them unfavorably to the original set of actors (As though this bunch is second-rate), each plays his part very well. Bing Crosby is perfect as the boozing, amiable doctor who nevertheless comes through in time of need. Young Ann-Margret sizzles on screen as the sultry-yet-sweet Dallas, who loses her heart to the outlaw who treats her like a lady when nobody else does. An also young Stephanie Powers is more than a pretty face in her portrayal of the woman who gives birth. Red Buttons is funny as Peacock and Mike Connors plays the southern gentleman gambler as well as Carradine did; he just appears less creepy. Van Heflin is great as the rugged marshal and Slim Pickens pulls off the shaky driver who keeps bawling that he wants to turn back, etc. Keenan Wynn makes a great and vile killer as the oldest Plummer. And finally, no offense to the Duke or his fans, but Alex Cord was a pleasant surprise as the Ringo Kid. His strange facial features, which are both masculine and sensitive, help him pull off the part of the oddly gentle outlaw who can kill efficiently when he has to. John Wayne's Kid was also good, but on a different level; Cord makes the man he plays incredibly sympathetic, so much so that when we watched the movie for the first time, we kept hoping he wouldn't get killed off. Wayne is great for the older version of Stagecoach and its more epic feel, but Cord fits more seamlessly into this ensemble drama. His on screen presence isn't as big but it's more natural and believable.

The movie is slightly shorter than the older one, too, coming across as more economically filmed, yet fleshes out the characters nicely into real people.

Some have different levels of good and evil within them: the amiable passenger turns out to be a mean-spirited creep; the disreputable gambler is a true gentleman at heart; the outlaw may or may not have committed the crime that has earned him his unsavory reputation; the saloon girl is surprisingly good with the baby. The characters evoke emotion, whether it be pity, dislike, disgust, or affection. In that sense, this movie succeeds.

We liked it better than the older one; it seemed fresher and faster-paced. However, if one's preference is for the more Wayne-centric western, then the 1939 version would be more to taste. However, don't be too quick to put this one down. As a John Ford saga, it didn't work, but as an ensemble drama that focused on all of its characters, the 1966 version came out fine.

We hesitated to watch it based on negative reviews and enjoyed it well enough to add it to our video collection.

Each decade seems to have a favorite genre, and in the 1960's, it was westerns that saturated the airwaves. Some of the more popular ones included Gunsmoke, Bonanza and The Big Valley. However, this later entry to the western genre was far and away the best. The High Chaparral learned from the mistakes of its predecessors and achieved a gritty, realistic feel to it that made it superior to shows of its ilk. It didn't have three sons to play rotating romantic leads nearly every week. The cast was well-chosen and professional; no histronics but just great acting. The writing was intelligent, the problems believable, and the clash of white, Mexican and Indian cultures was portrayed with sensitivity and realism.

The premise was simple yet effective: a family settles in a harsh new land and must face hardships and their own shortcomings to carve out a niche for themselves. Big John Cannon comes to Arizona with his wife Merilee, his kid brother Buck and whiny son Blue, and Merilee dies in an Indian raid. On the brink of losing everything, John's butt is yanked from the fire when he accepts a deal with wealthy Mexican Don Montoya to marry his fiery daughter Victoria. She brings to the High Chaparral her own entourage of servants, ranch hands and her rascally younger brother Manolito. Life is rocky, but gradually things settle down to the point where the Cannons stop fighting each other and concentrate on external troubles. Everyone on this show was great in his role, from Leif Erickson as the flinty patriarch to Mark Slade as his wimpy son Blue. Linda Cristal played the passionate yet tender Victoria to perfection, while Cameron Mitchell was pure enjoyment to watch as the laid-back Buck, and Henry Darrow was wonderful as the foxy Manolito Montoya. The supporting cast and guest stars were terrific, too. This was the first TV show to feature many Hispanic actors, including Cristal and Darrow, in lead roles.

The High Chaparral was also the first western to really portray the west as hot and gritty. When someone was lost and suffering from thirst in the Arizona desert, it was time to go get a tall glass of ice water. Men and even women got dirty from life on the trail; this show achieved realism and refrained from false piety in its treatment of the Indians. The viewer was aware of the reason for the Apaches' hostility (land encroachment by settlers) and the Indians weren't made out to be noble savages; they were a different culture who fought fiercely when they deemed it necessary. This show was also unique in portraying Catholicism with reasonable knowledge and respect. The Mexican characters had dignity; lowlifes came in all colors, and some of the worst were white and racist.

In summary, this was an excellent western program that ran for too short a time, and it appears in syndication on the Hallmark Channel, which we do not receive. I sincerely hope it comes out on a DVD collection for purchase; it'd be wonderful to see these great episodes again someday.

We love anime, own many titles, and even sat all the way through Akira without taking a break. From Lensman to Unico to Magic Knight Rayearth, we watch, admiring the art, the writing and the cultural influences that prevail in Japanese film. Vampire Hunter D remains our favorite. It's bloody and violent, too much so for young children, but its powerful atmosphere and the air of mystery surrounding its hero are compelling. Into a grim village of hopelessness rides a dark man on a mechanical steed, where he is begged for help from a brave yet vulnerable girl named Doris. She cannot pay in money, but she . . . don't worry. This kind of hunter doesn't kill for money or sex, but because he wants to eradicate the stain of the bloodsuckers from the world. He hunts them down while being bound to them by his lineage. In true self-effacing Japanese fashion, D never reveals too much of himself to anyone, not even the viewer. The vampires themselves are considered aristocracy, much like the old landowners and nobility of the Medieval era; they possess power over human life yet have to be constantly vigilant against attacks from within and without. They are contemptuous of the people they victimize but need them desperately. In the village, fear and false bravado surround Doris and her younger brother, and treachery abounds. Even the most seemingly trustworthy person falls prey to head vampire Count Lee's seduction and promises of power, leading Doris to despair. Only D remains able to resist and fight; only he truly understands the mentality of the undead beings he's vowed to slay. The coloring, animation and music all deepen the surrealistic flavor of the movie; the dialog is curt and sometimes stilted, but it does carry the story forward. One especially powerful scene is when D has to fight not monsters or demons but the beast within himself when faced with almost irresistible temptation.

This is a great example of anime, still fresh and powerful almost two decades later.