The Cross and the Switchblade

Boone as David Wilkerson.

Based on the 1963 autobiography, The Cross and the Switchblade (1970) tells the true story of David Wilkerson (Pat Boone), a small-town Pennsylvania pastor who moves to New York City to minister to gang members and drug addicts amidst the violent, crime-ridden streets of the late 1960s. Facing intense hostility, Wilkerson attempts to bring a message of hope to rival gangs, specifically targeting the "Mau Maus" and their ruthless warlord, Nicky Cruz (Erik Estrada). Despite death threats and repeated rejections, the pastor's persistence and faith eventually lead to dramatic results. 

I first heard of The Cross and the Switchblade when the movie was shown for free at my junior high school. It wasn't a school-wide event, but rather the film was shown in the evening. I didn't go, but remember seeing the dramatic posters on bulletin boards throughout the school. It's taken me several decades to finally watch The Cross and the Switchblade, but I'm glad I did.

It's a flawed film, to be sure. It suffers from Pat Boone's too-perfect protagonist, whose only shortcoming is a lack of support for his pregnant wife—a plot point that is ultimately left dangling. Furthermore, the movie is hindered by bland, distracting, and dated songs. Actor Don Murray, in his directorial debut, lets the rumbles between the gangs go on for too long. And the screenplay could have been tighter had it focused on David or Nicky, instead of trying to tell both their stories.

Erik Estrada as Nicky.

Still, despite these weaknesses, The Cross and the Switchblade benefits from a fascinating true story, on-location filming in and around Harlem, and a handful of powerful scenes. The most impactful one has a young woman, who has recently gotten clean from her heroin addition, visiting a drug dealer at the first sign of stress. When she explains she has no money, her dealer assures her that the first fix is always on the house. He gleefully prepares her fix, shown in great detail, as she waits in emotional agony.

Pat Boone brings sincerity to his performance as Wilkinson, but I've got to think that the real pastor was more dynamic and more effective at delivering his message. In his first acting role, Erik Estrada, seven years before CHiPs, does a good job showing Nicky's inner struggles--although his climatic transformation still feels underdeveloped.

These days, The Cross and the Switchblade would be classified as a faith-based film. It fits that mold, but it's important to remember that these kinds of movies were rare in the early 1970s. No studio wanted to produce The Cross and the Switchblade, so it was financed independently. While not the ideal star, Pat Boone's enthusiasm for the project and his name recognition were undoubtedly key in getting the film made. On his website, Erik Estrada claims that "The Cross and the Switchblade...is still shown every week at about 500 youth centers across the country because of it’s powerful anti-drug message."

Memories of a Boys' School Headmaster

Robert Donat as Chips. 

Based on James Hilton's novella, Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939) follows the life of Mr. Charles Chipping (Robert Donat), a shy and somewhat rigid Latin teacher at the English boys’ school Brookfield. Early in his career, he struggles to connect with students and colleagues, remaining an unremarkable figure—until a chance meeting changes everything.

While on holiday in the Alps, Chipping meets Katherine Ellis (Greer Garson), a warm, spirited young woman who sees the kindness beneath his stiff exterior. Their marriage transforms him: he becomes more confident and more compassionate--and also more respected by his students.

Told in flashback, as an elderly "Chips" reflects on his life, Goodbye, Mr. Chips uses a narrative structure built almost entirely from vignettes. Each one is a brief, self‑contained memory from Chips' long life at Brookfield. The film unfolds as though we are moving through his own recollections—quick flashes of defining moments: his disastrous first class of unruly boys, the sting of being passed over for headmaster, the quiet heroism of teaching while bombs fall during World War I. These scenes don’t build a traditional plot so much as accumulate emotional weight, showing how a seemingly modest life becomes meaningful through countless small encounters.

Greer Garson and Donat.

The only extended sequence in the film is the section in which Chips meets, courts, and marries Katherine. Even that runs less than half an hour, but in the context of his life it represents a turning point—the brief, luminous period that reshapes everything that follows. Because Katherine’s influence transforms Chips from a timid, overlooked teacher into the beloved figure remembered by generations of students, it makes sense that the film lingers there. 

Robert Donat carries film wonderfully, portraying Chips as a young man, a middle-aged teacher, and an elderly retired headmaster. His performance earned him a Best Actor Oscar at the 12th Academy Awards against competitors that included Clark Gable (Gone with the Wind), Laurence Olivier (Wuthering Heights), and James Stewart (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington). 

Greer Garson was nominated for Best Actress despite her brief screen time (losing the award to Vivien Leigh). It remains one of Garson's best performances--she lights up the screen as Katherine. In fact, my only quibble with Goodbye, Mr. Chips is that Katherine's role in Chips' story is so small. I understand this is the story as Hilton wrote it--and that he is making a point about how brief periods in one's life may have the greatest impact. That still doesn't negate the fact that Garson makes Katherine so charming, intelligent, and caring that one wants to see more of her!

There have been three other adaptations of Goodbye, Mr. Chips. Peter O'Toole and Petula Clark starred in a pleasant (if overlong) musical version in 1969. A British miniseries in 1984 starred Roy Marsden (Dalgliesh) as Chips and Martin Clunes (Doc Martin) played the character in a 2002 made-for-TV film.

Singers Make Movies: Connie Francis and Donna Summer

Connie Francis & Harve Presnell.

When the Boys Meet the Girls (1965). What possessed a Hollywood producer to pitch a 1960s update of the George and Ira Gershwin stage musical Girl Crazy starring Connie Francis, Liberace, Louis Armstrong, Herman's Hermits, and Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs? We may never know. But shockingly, the movie was made and now we can experience When the Boys Meet the Girls.

The "plot" sends a wealthy college student named Danny Churchill (Harve Presnell) to Nevada to avoid marriage to a vivacious, troublesome blonde (Sue Ane Langdon). Once there, Danny meets Ginger (Connie Francis), a hardworking gal whose father is drowning in gambling debt. Danny quickly becomes invested in helping Ginger save her family’s ranch, which is on the verge of being seized by Reno gangsters. His big idea: transform the ranch into a divorcee getaway resort, with his new college friends pitching in on construction.

This framework is just an excuse for the incongruous musical numbers: Liberace and Louis Armstrong perform their own compositions, Connie and Harve sing Gershwin tunes, and Sam the Sham offers "Monkey See, Monkey Do." Peter Noone does double duty, performing the Gershwins' "Bidin' My Time" and a contemporary tune called "Listen People," which peaked at No. 4 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart the following year.

Unless you're a fan of the musical acts, the only reason to see When the Boys Meet the Girls is Sue Ane Langdon. She looks fabulous, exudes endless energy, and performs a peppy rendition of "Treat Me Rough." If you're like me, you'll be wondering why Danny didn't want to marry her character!

Disco queen Donna Summer.

Thank God It's Friday (1978). At the height of the disco era (yes, I was there), record company giants Motown and Casablanca teamed up for this time-capsule comedy that won an Oscar. I bet that caught your attention! OK, the Oscar was for Best Song for Donna Summer's classic "Last Dance," but, hey, it's still an Oscar.

Thank God It's Friday take place during a single night at The Zoo, a bustling Los Angeles disco. Over the course of the evening, an aspiring singer tries to get her big break, underage teens scheme to enter a dance contest, a married couple’s anniversary takes an unexpected turn, and a frazzled roadie races to deliver The Commodores’ instruments before showtime. As flirtations, mishaps, and disco‑fueled dreams unfold across the crowded dance floor, one is reminded how good Saturday Night Fever really was.

While this is a movie that will test your patience, there are some nuggets of interest. As a young woman looking for love, Debra Winger flashes the charm that would make her a star in An Officer and a Gentleman. Jeff Goldblum, in an early performance, uses his charisma to make the nightclub's sleazy owner almost likable. And Donna Summer proves that no one could match her high-octane and high-octave disco song performances. As a added bonus, The Commodores perform an original song called "Too Hot ta Trot" (take special note of Lionel Ritchie's 1970s hair and mustache).

For trivia fans: Thank God It's Friday has a connection to another Best Song Oscar winner. Terri Nunn, who plays one of the teen girls in the dance contest, later became lead singer for the group Berlin. She sang "Take My Breath Away" for the Top Gun soundtrack in 1986 and that song earned an Academy Award.

Newlywed Problems Abound in "The Family Way"

Hayley Mills and Hywel Bennett.

These days, The Family Way (1966) is best-known for featuring one of Hayley Mills' first grown-up roles and a music score by Paul McCartney. Viewers expecting a song-laden soundtrack by McCartney will be disappointed. It's a pretty pedestrian instrumental score, to be honest, though notable because Paul did it while still a Beatle. On the other hand, Hayley Mills fans will enjoy her nuanced performance as a newlywed--even if her own father, John Mills, steals the film.

Hayley and Hywel Bennett star as Jenny and Arthur, a young, working-class couple in Lancashire whose marriage remains unconsummated due to a lack of privacy, interfering in-laws, and personal anxiety. To make matter worse: they can't get their own place due to a housing shortage; they lose their honeymoon money in a scam; and they barely see each other because Arthur works nights as a movie projectionist. But their biggest challenge is the lack of physical intimacy in their marriage--Arthur begins to feel inadequate and Jenny starts to wonder if she is somehow responsible.

As a result, Arthur seeks professional help from a marriage counselor and, at her mother's urging, Jenny discusses the situation with her Uncle Fred (a masseur, which makes him a "medical professional"). Thanks to gossip and loose lips, family, friends, and neighbors soon learn about the state of Jenny and Arthur's marriage--.which, of course, make their lives exponentially worse.

Bill Naughton wrote an early version of The Family Way as a television play called Honeymoon Postponed, which aired on British TV in 1961. He expanded it into the stage play All in Good Time in 1963, which was a modest hit in Britain and a flop on Broadway in 1965 (that cast included Donald Wolfit, Richard Dysart, and John Karlen). John and Roy Boulting acquired movie rights to the play and produced the film. Roy Boulting began a relationship with his star, Hayley Mills, who was 33 years younger than him. They married in 1971, had a son, separated in 1975, and divorced in 1977.

John Mills as Ezra.

While the film's young stars acquit themselves nicely, The Family Way belongs to John Mills and Majorie Rhodes as Arthur's working-class parents Ezra and Lucy. John Mills gives Ezra a sharp, almost comic rigidity, scolding his son for wasting time on “fancy books” with the bluster of a man terrified of anything he can’t control. Yet, at the same time, he offers Jenny unexpected support that reveals a gentler instinct beneath his hard exterior, making his contradictions feel painfully human.

Naughton's screenplay hints at unresolved issues, specifically the sudden disappearance in the past of Ezra's best friend Billy. In one scene, Ezra reminiscences about his and Lucy's honeymoon, noting that watching a sunrise alone with Billy was the best part. Later, Lucy talks of the night Billy disappeared, leaving one to wonder if Arthur is really Billy's son.

The Family Way isn't among Hayley Mills' best non-Disney films. Those would include Tiger Bay, Whistle Down the Wind (based on a book by her mother), and The Chalk Garden. Yet, it's an effective family drama and well acted by the cast. By the way, that's Murray Head ("One Night in Bangkok") as Arthur's brother. Hayley Mills and Hywel Bennett reteamed for Twisted Nerve (1968) and Endless Night (1972). 

Stanley Baker Takes Command in Yesterday's Enemy

Stanley Baker as Captain Langford.

Set during the Burma Campaign of World War II, Yesterday’s Enemy (1959) follows a small, exhausted remnant of a British Army brigade struggling to escape through the jungle after being cut off by advancing Japanese forces. Led by the hard-edged Captain Alan Langford (Stanley Baker), the group stumbles upon a village held by the Japanese and seizes control after a brief skirmish.

Langford takes possession of a Japanese's general's map, but cannot decipher its meaning. As the situation grows desperate, Langford makes a morally fraught decision: he orders the execution of two innocent villagers to coerce a suspected informer into revealing crucial intelligence. His actions spark outrage from his unit's chaplain and a war correspondent traveling with them.

Langford defends his decision by pointing out the hypocrisy of war: It's easier to accept bombs killing thousands of innocent people than it is to watch two people die by a firing squad. Langford then argues that his actions will save many more lives than the ones lost. Later in the film, Langford’s arc turns on a brutal irony: the very ruthlessness he once justified as “necessary” is eventually used against him. 

Adapted by Peter R. Newman from his own 1958 British TV play, Yesterday's Enemy is a compact, tense drama made on a modest budget by Hammer Films (yes, the same studio famous for its Gothic horror films!). To save money, director Val Guest shot the entire film indoors. Yes, the Burmese jungle look "stagey" (though the black & white photography compensates somewhat). However, the film's artificiality contributes to its claustrophobic setting with Langford and his men trapped in a small village for much of the running time.

Gordon Jackson as Sgt. MacKenzie.

Stanley Baker, as Langford, heads a strong cast consisting of: Gordon Jackson (Upstairs, Downstairs) as Langford's loyal sergeant, Leo McKern (Rumpole of the Bailey) as the journalist, and Guy Rolfe as the chaplain. But this is Baker's show and he excels at playing a leader intent on looking strong and decisive in front of his men--even as he grapples with his inner demons. Baker, Jackson, and director Val Guest earned BAFTA nominations for their work on Yesterday's Enemy.

The previous year's Camp at Blood Island and Yesterday's Enemy were both moneymakers for Hammer. One would have thought more World War II films might have followed, but the only serious effort was The Secret of Blood Island in 1965. Part of the reasons may have had to do with the films' controversies. According Hammer Films: An Exhaustive Filmography, a Japanese film official wanted The Camp at Blood Island banned in the U.S. for its negative portrayal of the Japanese Army. In contrast, Yesterday's Enemy incurred controversy (as did the earlier TV version) for its unflattering portrait of a British Army officer.

Richard Greene Rides Again as Robin Hood

Richard Greene as Robin Hood.

Sandwiched between The Men of Sherwood Forest (1954) and A Challenge for Robin Hood (1967), Hammer Films produced Sword of Sherwood Forest (1960). This action opus about the legendary English outlaw stands out for one big reason: It stars Richard Greene, famous for playing the title role in The Adventures of Robin Hood TV series. As all Robin Hood fans know, that's the one where he's "riding through glen with his band of men."

One might think that Sword of Sherwood Forest is a big screen continuation of the TV series that ran from 1955-59. However, that's not the case in terms of the storyline and the cast (with the exception of Greene and some minor players). The film features veteran actors in most of the major roles: Nigel Green (Hercules in Jason and the Argonauts) as Little John, Niall MacGinnis (Night of the Demon) as Friar Tuck, and Hammer regular Peter Cushing as the Sheriff of Nottingham. 

Peter Cushing as the Sheriff.

Screenwriter Alan Hackney wisely dispenses with the typical Robin Hood origin story. His tale has the Sheriff of Nottingham collaborating with the greedy Earl of Newark (Richard Pasco) to steal land by manipulating the court system. Maid Marian, who is the Sheriff's niece in this version, gets wind of their scheme. When her uncle won't change his evil ways, she seeks help from the Chancellor of England, who is visiting the area in his other capacity as Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Meanwhile, Robin is trying to figure out why the Sheriff killed an unknown traveler. Along the way, he happens on Marian, who has just bathed in a lake (it's a Hammer film, after all). Despite her feeble protests, there is an instant attraction between the two (although Robin is almost twice her age). But before they can get together, the Earl of Newark must be stopped before he can assassinate the Chancellor.

Hammer's most renowned director, Terrence Fisher, keeps Sword of Sherwood Forest moving briskly through its 80-minute running time. There are a plethora of outdoor scenes, perhaps in an attempt to keep production costs down. Contemporary reviews call it colorful, but, unfortunately, the print used for Mill Creek's Blu-ray disc (part of the Hammer Ultimate Collection) is a muted one. 

Sarah Branch as Marian.

Greene still has the required panache to play Robin, but, at age 41, he lacks the physicality required for the role (it's easy to spot his stunt double). Chemistry is definitely lacking between his Robin and Sarah Branch's Marian. The former model had little prior acing experience at the time and, though she tries, she seems miscast as a spunky heroine.

Peter Cushing and Richard Pasco excel as the villains. The problem is that, in a movie this short, there's only room for one villain. As a result, Cushing's Sheriff of Nottingham gets nudged into the background all too often. It's a shame to waste an actor of Cushing's caliber.

Finally, it's always fun to see who pops in British films of the 1960s. In uncredited roles, look for the following:  Desmond Llewelyn (Q in many Bond films) as the "wounded fugitive" at the beginning; Derren Nesbitt (Von Hapen in Where Eagles Dare) as Martin, one of the merry men; and Oliver Reed as Newark's henchman. I am convinced that Oliver Reed was dubbed, even though some sources contradict that claim.

Pat Boone and Shirley Jones Find April Love

Pat Boone.

Pat Boone as a bad boy? Well, he doesn't really play a bad boy in April Love (1957), but his character Nick is sentenced to probation after being arrested for joyriding in Chicago. To keep him out of trouble, his mother sends Nick to his uncle's rural Kentucky farm. Aunt Henrietta welcomes him, but Uncle Jed (Arthur O'Connell) isn't so sure about the big city troublemaker. Nick feels like a fish out of water until he meets a pretty neighbor named Liz (Shirley Jones) and gets involved with harness racing.

This remake of Home in Indiana (1944) was clearly designed to showcase Pat Boone, who was already a popular singer. His recording of "April Love" would turn out to be one of his biggest hits. The song also earned its writers, Sammy Fain and Paul Francis Webster, an Oscar nomination for Best Song (it lost to "All the Way" from The Joker Is Wild). Boone's co-star Shirley Jones, despite starring in the earlier Oklahoma! (1955) and Carousel (1956), doesn't even get a solo number (though she does sing a reprise of "Give Me a Gentle Girl"). 

Shirley Jones.

As light musicals go, April Love is pleasant, but never compelling. I was hoping that Liz's sister (played by Dolores Michaels) might take a serious interest in Nick, setting up a juicy triangle. But, after some innocent flirting, she makes it clear she's not interested in the boy from Chicago. After that, the viewer just has to wait for Nick to realize that Liz is played by the awesome Shirley Jones and he'd better make a commitment before some other guy comes along.

Incidentally, you may wonder if--after watching April Love--you somehow missed Nick kissing Liz at least once. No, you did not miss it! It never happens--though Nick almost kisses her before the couple is interrupted. You can read why that kiss never took place in this article from TCM.

Pat Boone experienced greater success on the silver screen than many of his singing peers (e.g., Connie Francis). He followed up April Love with a supporting role in the enjoyable Journey to the Center of the Earth (1959), a starring role opposite Ann-Margret in State Fair (1962), the Debbie Reynolds comedy Goodbye Charlie (1964), and the fact-based drama The Cross and the Switchblade (1970). By the early 1970s, Boone's acting career consisted almost entirely of TV appearances.

Devotion: A Biographical Misfire

Ida Lupino as Emily Bronte.

With a top-flight cast, rich source material, and high production values, Devotion (1946) has all the makings of a classic film biography of the Bronte sisters. And yet, when "The End" finally flashed on the screen, all I could do was ponder how things went so terribly wrong. It's not a dreadful movie, mind you--but it's inaccurate, inconsiderate, and empty.

The inaccuracy is nothing new when it comes to film biographies. There are plenty of biographies that take dramatic license with real events. Devotion imagines that Charlotte Bronte (Olivia de Havilland) and her sister Emily (Ida Lupino) fell in love with the same man, a curate (Paul Henreid) who worked for their father. Each sibling pours their passion into their novels and the results are Charlotte's Jane Eyre and Emily's Wuthering Heights. 

According to most accounts, real life featured less emotional turmoil and more interesting people. There was no love triangle. Emily never married; in fact, there is no indication of any romantic relationship in her life. Wuthering Heights was the product of her literary imagination. She and Charlotte were not close (the latter was eight years older); Emily felt a more kindred connection with her younger sister Anne. Keith Winter's screenplay does get some things right: brother Bramwell was an alcoholic; the sisters attended a school in Belgium; and Jane Eyre was a contemporary popular success while Wuthering Heights was not.

Olivia de Havilland as Charlotte.

The inaccuracies in Devotion, though, are less offensive than the film's inconsiderate treatment of its audience. The filmmakers seem to assume that the audience can't handle a serious portrait of the Bronte sisters' lives. The first half of Devotion unfolds like an adaptation of Little Women with the sisters and their brother frolicking on the moors and Charlotte developing a schoolgirl crush on her headmaster. Just as Ida Lupino, who provides some much-needed gravitas, finally steers the film in the right direction, Emily is relegated to the background as Charlotte becomes a London celebrity. From there, Devotion limps to its conclusion.

There are small pleasures to enjoy along the way, in particular Erich Wolfgang Korngold's rich music score and Ernest Haller's atmospheric cinematography. There is almost a quaint charm about the stagey "B" movie sets that are supposed to be the moors. Yet, nothing can save Devotion from its fate as a subpar biography dressed up like a Warner Bros. "A" production.

Although completed in 1944, Devotion was not released until two years later--a rare practice in the 1940s. Some historians believe that the delay was related to Olivia de Havilland's landmark lawsuit against Warner Bros. that resulted in the creation of the De Havilland Law.

Westworld: When Androids Run Amok

Yul Brynner as an android.

Delos is a luxury resort made up of three immersive, android‑populated theme parks: Westworld, Romanworld, and Medievalworld. Guests are greeted with a polished, almost too-perfect welcome that promises “the vacation of your dreams” in a place where nothing can go wrong. The staff present the resort as a flawless, high‑end escape where every desire can be indulged safely, thanks to the supposedly infallible android hosts. It’s a sales pitch wrapped in luxury and reassurance.

Richard Benjamin plays Peter Martin, a first-time visitor, who is still coping with the breakdown of his marriage. His friend John (James Brolin) has brought him to Westworld to forget about his troubles and indulge in his fantasy of living in the Old West. Initially, Peter is skeptical. But after defeating a gunslinger (Yul Brynner) in a saloon shootout and spending the night in a rowdy brothel, he begins to enjoy his vacation.

However, unknown to Peter and John, the scientists that operate the park have noticed some inconsistencies in the behavior of the androids. When a cascading system failure transforms some of the androids into killers, the two men must fight for their survival.

Bestselling author Michael Critchton wrote and directed Westworld (1973). It marked his theatrical film directing debut (he helmed the made-for-TV movie Pursuit one year earlier). The film's theme is one that would become prevalent in many Critchton books and films: When humans build powerful systems they don’t fully understand, the systems eventually stop behaving the way we expect. The most obvious extension of Westworld is Jurassic Park, in which there is a park (again) populated by man-made creatures (again) that react in an unexpected and violent way (again).

Richmond Benjamin.

Westworld is built on a fascinating premise, but its emotional core is thin: the film never invests enough in its characters for us to truly care when their lives are threatened. James Brolin’s John is so smug and self‑assured that he barely registers the danger around him, while Richard Benjamin’s Peter mostly frets about his failed marriage. Other guests—such as Dick Van Patten’s eager Medievalworld visitor—appear briefly and vanish before we can form any attachment. The result is a film rich in ideas but emotionally cold, a clinical exploration of technological hubris that keeps viewers intellectually engaged yet distant from the human stakes.

The supporting cast includes Yul Brynner as an android gunslinger--his all‑black outfit intentionally styled to evoke his iconic role as Chris Adams in The Magnificent Seven. Brynner also appears briefly as the Gunslinger in the best-forgotten Westworld sequel Futureworld (1976), which did not involve Critchon. Star Trek fans may recognize Majel Barrett, Nurse Chapel on the original Star Trek, as the brothel madam.

The Westworld TV series (2016-2022) is not a continuation of Crichton's film. Rather, it is a rethinking that reflects on and expands the original's themes.

Hollywood Goes Welsh: How Green Was My Valley and The Corn Is Green

Maureen O'Hara and Walter Pidgeon.

How Green Was My Valley (1941). One of John Ford's most beloved movies, How Green Was My Valley won five Academy Awards including Best Picture. It ranks #75 in the 2007 edition of the American Film Institute's 100 Years…100 Movies. In 1990, the Library of Congress added it to the National Film Registry, recognizing it as a "culturally, historically, and aesthetically significant work."

The film follows Huw Morgan (Roddy McDowall) as he nostalgically recalls his childhood in a Welsh mining village, where his close‑knit family endures the hardships of dangerous coal‑pit labor, economic decline, and social upheaval. Through Huw’s eyes, the story traces the Morgans’ struggles with a miners’ strike, the fracturing of family unity, and the bittersweet passage from an idyllic green valley to an industrially scarred landscape.

Roddy McDowall.

His sister Angharad (Maureen O'Hara) falls in love with the village preacher, Mr. Gruffydd (Walter Pidgeon), but social pressure pushes her into an unhappy marriage. Huw witnesses his brothers leave the valley in search of better opportunities as wages fall and the mines grow more perilous. He endures his own hardships at school, where he faces bullying before proving his resilience. The central figures in the story, though, are his hard-working father (Donald Crisp) and his steadfast mother (Sara Allgood).

There is much to admire in Ford's family saga, from its outstanding sets and cinematography to the performances of Crisp, Allgood, McDowall, and O'Hara. However, Philip Dunne's adaptation of Richard Llewellyn's 1939 bestseller tries to cram too much plot into the two-hour running time. Characters, such as Huw's charming sister-in-law Bron, are introduced and then ignored for long stretches. A subplot about a local choir performing for Queen Victoria is left hanging. After a long opening narration by the adult Huw, the closing narration feels rushed and incomplete. According to some sources, producer Daryl F. Zanuck originally intended to make a three-hour epic. I think that would have worked better in this case.

How Green Was My Valley is a very good John Ford picture, but I wouldn't rank it with his best. Ford’s most enduring achievements—The Quiet Man and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance among them—derive their strength from a concentrated attention to a handful of characters. These films reveal how much more incisive Ford becomes when he works on a smaller emotional canvas, rather than the sweeping, ensemble-driven mode of How Green Was My Valley.

Bette Davis as Miss Moffat.

The Corn Is Green (1945). Set in the late 19th century, The Corn Is Green stars Bette Davis as L.C. Moffat, a determined English schoolteacher who moves to a struggling Welsh mining village and opens a school. The story centers on her discovery of a young miner, Morgan Evans, whose academic potential is waiting to be unlocked. As Morgan transforms from an unrefined laborer into a promising scholar, the film highlights themes of social mobility, the power of education, and the personal sacrifices required to change a life.

Adapted from Emlyn Williams' 1938 stage play, which starred Ethel Barrymore on Broadway, The Corn Is Green is a Bette Davis vehicle in every sense of the term. She dominates her scenes with the same conviction that Miss Moffat brings to her role as local educator. It may not be Ms. Davis's most subtle performance, but it's a passionate one that propels the plot and themes effectively. It helps that she is surrounded by polished supporting players, three of whom reprise their roles from the Broadway production: Rhys Williams and Mildred Dunnock whose characters are recruited as teachers, and Rosalind Ivan, who plays Miss Moffat's housekeeper.

Joan Lorring.

However, the only members of the cast nominated for Oscars were John Dall (Supporting Actor) and Joan Lorring (Supporting Actress). The latter has the film's showiest role as the housekeeper's dissatisfied daughter whose selfish desires alter the lives of Miss Moffat and her protege. Lorring pulls off the part with conviction, reminding me a little of Bette Davis's similar performance in Of Human Bondage (1934). Sadly, it was her most notable role in an abbreviated screen movie career.

John Dall provides the necessary earnestness and conflict as Morgan. He shines in a scene in which he recounts to his teacher the simple joy of having an intelligent conversation with a fellow scholar. Still, Dall seems miscast at times. He was a last minute replacement for Richard Waring, who originated the part on Broadway, but entered the Army during World War II. At age 25, Dall looks too old to pass for a teenager (Waring was even older!). The stage-trained actor also sounds too articulate despite his attempts to sound blue-collar. 

Director Irving Rapper directs efficiently, making no attempt to "open up" the stage play adaptation. He worked frequently with friend Bette Davis. Their other collaborations include Shining Victory (1941), Now, Voyager (1942), Deception (1946), and Another Man's Poison (1952).

George Cukor directed Katharine Hepburn in a 1979 made-for-TV adaptation of The Corn Is Green. Five years earlier, Bette Davis starred in a 1974 pre-Broadway musical adaptation called Miss Moffat. It was set in the Southern U.S. with Moffat teaching a young Black man. It closed out of town, never reaching Broadway.

Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting...Vampires!

John Forbes-Robertson as Dracula.

I first saw The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires in a re-edited U.S. print called The Seven Brothers Meet Dracula. Let me start this review by encouraging you to never see that movie! It eliminates 14 minutes of plot and, if memory serves, still repeats a couple of scenes. Even the title change makes no sense as one of the "brothers" is a sister.

So, it was with trepidation that I watched The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (1974) several years later. My concerns were quickly put to rest as I viewed this wacky, wildly entertaining blend of vampires and kung fu. Over the years, it has become an annual Halloween tradition for this reviewer.

The film begins in Transylvania in 1804 with a Chinese monk named Kah journeying to Castle Dracula. Kah, an evil high priest, used to rule the village of Ping Kuei with his seven Golden Vampires. However, their power is fading and Kah wants Dracula to return them to full strength. Initially, Dracula shrugs off the idea because, obviously, he gains nothing from it. However, realizing that Transylvania has been sucked dry of blood, Dracula kills Kah, assumes his form, and heads to Asia to build a new empire with the Golden Vampires.

Cushing as Van Helsing.

A century later, Hsi Ching, a young man from Ping Kuei, seeks out Professor Van Helsing (Peter Cushing). Hsi Ching wants the famous vampire hunter, who has been lecturing at a Chungking University, to help his fellow villagers destroy the Golden Vampires and their leader. Van Helsing agrees and sets off on a trek to Ping Kuei accompanied by his son Leyland, Hsi Ching and his siblings, and a wealthy, beautiful widow (Julie Ege) who has financed the mission. Along the way, the group is confronted by bandits, staves off a vampire attack in a cave (the film's highlight), and eventually battles the Golden Vampires and Count Dracula.

Although kung fu and vampires might seem like unlikely bedfellows, The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires merges the two genres seamlessly. The film was a co-production between Hammer Films and Shaw Bros. However, it's definitely a "Hammer film" and boasts the studio's usual polish (e.g., good-looking costumes, James Bernard's music). Peter Cushing, playing Van Helsing (or a descendant) for the fifth and final time, also provides some much-needed of gravitas. 

Most of the film was directed by Hammer veteran Roy Ward Baker. However, according to Geoff Mayer's book Roy Ward Baker, Shaw Bros. executive Run Run Shaw insisted that the fight scenes be overseen by his in-house director Chang Cheh. 

David Chiang as Hsi Ching.

David Chiang, who plays Hsi Ching, was already a popular Asian star and punches and kicks with authority when it's time to pummel vampires. On the other hand, his character's romance with Julie Ege's overdressed widow never quite gels. The same can be said for Leyland Van Helsing's attraction to Hsi Ching's sister. Neither relationship has time to develop given the film's pace and 89-minute running time.

Additionally, The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires requires a little suspension of belief. It's never clear why Dracula (not played by Christopher Lee) needs to assume the guise of Kah. The timeline is also out of whack with the rest of the Hammer Dracula series. If Dracula started posing as Kah in 1804 and was still doing so a century later, how could he have encountered Van Helsing in Dracula in 1885?

I suppose one needs to cast those quibbles aside and enjoy The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires for what it is: a unique, quirky mash-up of vampires and kung fu with a dash of plotting borrowed from The Seven Samurai. Now, who can refuse that?

Raquel Welch Races Around the Rink in Kansas City Bomber

Raquel Welch was at or near the peak of her career when she starred as a roller derby queen in Kansas City Bomber (1972). It's not the kind of role one would typically associate with the 1970s biggest sex symbol--but that's probably why she took it. Throughout her career, Welch sought out unexpected roles in films like Hannie Caulder (1971), The Wild Party (1975), and The Legend of Walks Far Woman (1982). Sometimes, her choices panned out (her delightful turn in The Three Musketeers) and sometimes they did not (the ill-fated Myra Breckenridge). Kansas City Bomber falls into the former category.

Welch stars as K.C. Carr, a promising roller derby player who is surprised to learn that she has been traded to the Portland Loggers. Most of her new teammates are unenthused about her arrival--especially Jackie Burdette who fears she is being replaced as the team's star. Actually, Burdette has little cause for concern, as the Loggers' owner (Kevin McCarthy) plans to sell the team and make K.C. a superstar for his new Chicago team. 

So, is Kansas City Bomber a character study? A chronicle of life on the road, in the vein of the later Slap Shot (1977)? Or a a portrait of hardcore fans obsessed with a scripted "sport"? The problem is that Kansas City Bomber is all of those things...and it's too much to pack into a 99-minute movie overstuffed with roller derby footage. 

Welch makes K.C. an fairly interesting, albeit confused, protagonist. The roller derby star wants to be a good single mother, but chooses a job that keeps her away from her family for weeks at a time. Her daughter (a young Jodie Foster) copes well enough, but her son rejects her (a subplot cast by the wayside). K.C. wants to fit in with her teammates, but starts an awkward romantic relationship with the team's owner (talk about accusations of favoritism!). She befriends a socially-challenged male player, totally misreading that he believes it's more than friendship.

K.C.'s exploits are framed against blue collar northwestern locations (much of it was filmed in Portland). Director Jerrold Freedman--who later helmed the excellent made-for-TV thriller A Cold Night's Death--captures the dingy locker rooms, the long bus rides, and the neon bars. He also paints an effective portrait of the manic fans, who spend their money to taunt the players and throw trash on the track. Though George Roy Hill covers the same ground more effectively in Slap Shot, it's worth noting that Freedman did it earlier. Indeed, Freedman's only misstep is the inclusion of too many extraneous roller derby scenes. (Ten minutes could have been easily trimmed from the 99-minute running time.)

Kansas City Bomber is not a hidden gem waiting to be discovered. It's a solid, unexceptional film that proves that Raquel Welch became a better actress as her career progressed. It's a must for Welch fans and for those who appreciate early 1970s cinema (as I do). For other viewers, there are worse ways to spend a lazy afternoon or late night.

A Double Bout of Amnesia: Love Letters and The Groundstar Conspiracy

Jennifer Jones and Joseph Cotten.

Love Letters (1945). During World War II, soldier Allen Quinton (Joseph Cotten) writes eloquent love letters on behalf of his less‑articulate comrade Roger. The woman receiving them, Victoria (Jennifer Jones), falls in love with the writer--whom she believes is Roger. She and Roger later wed, but the marriage ends in tragedy. The trauma results in amnesia, with Victoria forgetting everything about her past except the name Singleton. After the war, Allen struggles with PTSD. At a low point in his life, he meets a beautiful, strange woman with whom he connects instantly. She goes by a one-word name: Singleton.

Ayn Rand (The Fountainhead) penned the screenplay Love Letters from the novel Pity the Simplicity by Christopher Massie. It's a canny mixture of Cyrano de Bergerac and Random Harvest, though it never reaches those heights in terms of drama. The film's first half works best, with its emphasis on Allen and Singleton and their evolving relationship. Eventually, though, it turns into a somewhat conventional mystery with Allen trying to figure out what happened on the tragic night that caused the amnesia.

Jennifer Jones gives one of her most restrained performances. However, Cotten anchors the film with his quiet compassion. Surprisingly, he was the second choice for the role of Allen, with Gregory Peck turning down the part. The strong supporting cast includes a very likable Ann Richards, Cecil Kellaway in a role that should have been larger, and Glady Cooper in a brief, compelling appearance.

Love Letters earned four Academy Award nominations: Best Actress for Jennifer Jones; Best Score and Best Song for Victor Young; and Best Art Direction (black & white). 

I always find a certain charm about Hollywood's recreation of England in the 1930s and 1940s (see The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, The Uninvited). Love Letters is another fine example, aided by Lee Garmes' evocative cinematography. The acclaimed Garmes worked with Jennifer Jones on three films, the other two being Since You Went Away (1944) and Duel in the Sun (1946). 

George Peppard as Tuxan.

The Groundstar Conspiracy (1972). A sabotage attempt at a top‑secret research facility leaves a single survivor: a badly injured man who insists he has no memory of who he is or why he was there. Government investigator Tuxan (George Peppard) becomes convinced the man—now calling himself Welles—is a spy, and he pressures him for answers. As Welles (Michael Sarrazin) struggles to piece together fragments of his identity, a larger web of deception emerges, revealing that the truth behind the break‑in is far stranger and more unsettling than anyone expected.

The Groundstar Conspiracy was one of several amnesia films made in the 1960s and early 1970s (others include Mirage, Mister Buddwing, and Jigsaw). It's an efficiently made movie that holds interest without delivering the thrill its teases. The big twist at the climax, while lacking originally, works surprisingly well. And that's important in a film like this, because if the "big reveal" is a letdown, then the audience may feel ripped off for investing its time in a shoddy product.

George Peppard's "hero," Tuxan, is an unlikable, relentless security expert. To potentially gain information, he has no qualms about using a hidden camera to film an innocent woman--even when she is making love. Thematically, Tuxan's belief that potential intelligence outweighs an individual's privacy is the most provocative part of The Groundstar Conspiracy and an issue that remains relevant today. However, even of exploring this theme in depth (as The Conversation would do later), The Groundstar Conspiracy is content to function as disposable thriller.

Peppard is well cast, having long ago jettisoned the romantic, nice guy roles that stifled his early career (e.g., Home from the Hill, Breakfast at Tiffany's). He brings a hard edge and a rebellious attitude toward authority to his role. Michael Sarrazin does what he can as the amnesiac, but it's a thankless part to some extent because he essentially functions as what Hitchcock would call the MacGuffin.

I first saw The Groundstar Conspiracy on NBC's Monday Night at the Movies in the 1970s. While I forgot the plot over the years, the opening always stuck with me because of a very long pre-title sequence (an oddity at the time).

Edward G. Robinson Movie Reviews: Good Dad, Bad Dad

Edward G. Robinson & Margaret O'Brien.

Our Vines Have Tender Grapes (1945).  A year after receiving a special "outstanding child actress" Oscar for Meet Me in St. Louis, Margaret O'Brien teamed up with Edward G. Robinson in this earnest family film. They portray father and daughter (along with Agnes Moorehead as the mother) who live in a rural Wisconsin town settled by Norwegian immigrants. Like To Kill a Mockingbird, the narrative is a collection of childhood memories: the new progressive teacher who takes over the school, a circus that passes through the town, a youthful lark that turns dangerous, and one family's tragedy that impacts the entire town. The effects of World War II also loom quietly in the background, affecting the farmers' livelihoods and causing one resident to make a life-changing decision. The primary focus is on the close relationship between young Selma (O'Brien), an only child, and her father (Robinson). When the latter is forced to discipline his daughter, you can see the anguish on his face. To make amends, he gets up in the dead of night and takes Selma to see a traveling circus making a rest stop as it passes through the the town. When Selma gets excited at the prospect of seeing a "real, live" elephant, her father pays the animal's trainer to let her pet the majestic creature. It's a lovely scene that's certain to hit home with anyone who has shared a special childhood experience with a parent. A climatic scene, in which Selma makes a personal sacrifice to help a neighbor, is equally potent. The rest of Our Vines Have Tender Grapes cannot replicate the power of those scenes (and Butch Jenkins is mighty annoying as Selma's friend). Still, it's a poignant reflection on another time and place. By the way, the film's title--which is never spoken--is from the same Bible verse that provided the title for Lillian Hellman's The Little Foxes.

Allene Roberts & Edward G. Robinson.

The Red House (1947). When teenager Meg (Allene Roberts) convinces her father to hire a young man to assist with the farm chores, it appears to be a blessing. Her father (Edward G, Robinson), who adopted Meg with his sister, struggles with his wooden leg now and needs the help. Meg also has a crush on the young man, Nath, though he is dating someone else. It looks like a promising situation--until Nath decides to take a shortcut home through the nearby woods. Meg's father tries to stop the lad and warns him of dire consequences. But the more he discourages Nath, the more the young man becomes obsessed with the forest and the old red house that lies within it. One of my favorite filmmakers, Delmer Daves, directed and wrote the screenplay for The Red House. It was his fourth directorial effort and it's clear that Daves was still learning his craft. Running 100 minutes, The Red House feels like a much longer movie and could use some serious editing. That said, there are several brilliant sequences, most notably Nath's initial trek through the woods which foreshadows a later scene in the horror classic Night of the Demon. The cast is solid and features rising stars such as Julie London (as Nath's shallow girlfriend) and Rory Calhoun (a bad boy interested in Julie). It also affords Judith Anderson an opportunity to play the antithesis of Mrs. Danvers. Edward G. Robinson overplays his performance as Meg's father, who becomes gradually unhinged as he tries to hide a dark secret from his beloved daughter. It's not his best acting job, but it doesn't damage the film either. It's interesting to note that The Red House as been described as a horror film, a film noir, and a Gothic drama. I'd call it a psychological thriller--a flawed one that is nevertheless worth a look.

Michael Crichton's "Coma" Thrills

Geneviève Bujold as Dr. Wheeler.

Bestselling author Michael Crichton (Jurassic Park, The Andromeda Strain) directed seven films during his career. They ranged from very good (Westworld, The Great Train Robbery) to very lame (Looker, Physical Evidence). From a directorial perspective, his best work may be Coma (1978), a smart medical thriller which Crichton also adapted from the popular novel by his friend Robin Cook.

Geneviève Bujold stars as Dr. Susan Wheeler, an accomplished surgeon at a progressive Boston Hospital. After her best friend becomes brain dead following a routine abortion, Susan makes a startling discovery. She learns that a statistically high number of hospital patients have fallen into comas and then transferred to a mysterious facility called The Jefferson Institute. She shares her findings with her boyfriend (Michael Douglas), an ambitious fellow surgeon, and her department head (Richard Widmark). Both men dismiss Susan's concerns and imply, in a condescending manner, that Susan is being too emotional because of her friend's death. 

Michael Douglas as Mark.

Crichton's screenplay works well as both social commentary and paranoid mystery. As one of the few female doctors in the hospital, Susan has to work harder than her male counterparts. She is hampered by her unwillingness to play the "politics game"--unlike her boyfriend Mark, who lobbies blatantly for a promotion. 

Bujold comes across as cold at times, which makes her character both interesting and distant. It's an effective contrast to Michael Douglas, who makes Mark likable and supportive (well, up to a degree...his main focus is always on himself). In fact, Douglas is so good that one can't be sure whether Mark is a good guy or a bad guy heading into the climax.

Crichton can't cover all the film's weaknesses, of course. Any mystery movie buff will recognize that a key part of Cook's plot was lifted from the 1946 classic Green for Danger. As with many movies with hospital settings, there is an abundance of empty, darkly-lit hallways and rooms (apparently, there is no night staff). And, worst of all, the family of Susan's friend is never shown--apparently, her husband doesn't care that his wife is brain dead and has been shuffled off to another facility.

However, those are minor complaints about a satisfying thriller. Crichton flashes his writing talent with a delightful scene in which a pair of pathologists argue about the best way to murder someone without evidence appearing during the autopsy. It infuses some much needed dark humor at the perfect time. Later, Crichton shows his visual flair with a scene inside the Jefferson Institute that shows dozens of comatose bodies hanging helplessly from the ceiling on wires.

It's also worth noting that Michael Crichton packs the hospital scenes with overlapping "medical speak." It's a sound technique that gives those scene a realistic, vibrant feel. It reminded me of the highly-regarded pilot of the 1994-2009 TV series ER. That should come as no surprise, as the show's creator and pilot screenwriter was...Michael Crichton. 

Marlon Brando Directs!

Brando: Director and star.

Movie buffs and Western fans should to check out One-Eyed Jacks (1961), Marlon Brando’s flawed, overlong—but always interesting—sole directorial effort. Brando allegedly took over the reins after getting Stanley Kubrick fired as director. It was a rocky production, according to most sources, with an ever-changing screenplay (Rod Serling and Sam Peckinpah worked on early drafts). There’s an even a story that Brando had the cast and crew vote on how to end it. When Brando completed the film, Paramount was dissatisfied with the result and recut it.  Brando never directed again.

The plot is a familiar one. After robbing a bank in Mexico, outlaw partners Rio (Brando) and Dad (Karl Malden) are surrounded by a posse. Dad goes for help, but decides along the way that his best chance for survival is to abandon his friend. Rio gets captured and spends five years in a Mexican prison. When he escapes, he heads to Monterey to rob a bank and kill Dad—who has reformed, become the town sheriff, and settled down with a wife and stepdaughter.

To compensate for the familiar revenge plot, Brando focuses on the unique setting and the characters’ relationships. I can’t think of another “conventional” Western with a coastal setting. Charles Lang, Jr.’s exquisite photography (he earned an Oscar nomination) captures the beauty of the surrounding (even Dad’s house is located on the beach). 

The waves crashing on the shore also serve as a metaphor for the inner turmoil of the characters. Rio plays a cruel deception on Dad’s stepdaughter Louisa, but feels remorse immediately afterwards. Dad’s fear of Rio is mixed with guilt over double-crossing his friend. Louisa’s mother lies to Dad to protect her daughter, even at the expense of losing her husband’s trust.

The ending plays like a hastily-constructed one (which it probably was). But the poetic beauty of the closing scene on the beach reminds one that even when it’s being conventional, One-Eyed Jacks is different. That’s why it’s a movie worth seeing.

Frank Sinatra as Tony Rome Times Two!

One wonders if Frank Sinatra regretted turning down the lead role in Harper (1966), one of the '60s best detective films. That might explain his decision to star in Tony Rome, another private eye picture, the following year. Although based on a novel by Marvin Albert, Tony Rome comes across as a Harper rip-off with the locale shifted from the West Coast to Miami.

Tony Rome is a former cop who likes gambling, women, and living on a boat. In need of cash, Tony accepts a job from his former partner to return an heiress, who has passed out in a cheap hotel, to her father. The young woman (Sue Lyon) and her wealthy patriarch (Simon Oakland) each hire Tony for different reasons: She wants Rome to recover a missing diamond pin that she was wearing; her father wants the private eye to find out why his daughter has been acting strangely. 

By the time Tony figures what's going on, he's been beaten up multiple times, accused of murder, and nearly killed himself. On the plus side, he has also met a beautiful, very rich divorcee (Jill St. John)!

Gena Rowlands.

Tony Rome is a lightweight mystery with a convoluted plot that doesn't bear close scrutiny. What the screenplay lacks in depth, it makes up for in snappy dialogue ("Miami Beach--twenty miles of sand looking for a city"). An added bonus is the on-location shooting which gives Tony Rome a different look and feel from the multitude of private eye pictures set in and around L.A. 

On the negative side, Tony Rome is sexist and includes at least one racist remark. It's one thing to have a male character leer at a scantily-dressed lady; it's another thing when the camera lingers--close up--on a woman's derriere. Then, there is the 52-year-old Sinatra who has to fight off beautiful women half his age. (Of course, Frank did date the much younger Jill St. John in real life....).

Jill St. John.

Sinatra brings an affable weariness to his performance as the titular detective. The role certainly doesn't require him to bring his "A" game (as he did on other 1960s films like The Manchurian Candidate and Von Ryan's Express). He and leading lady Jill St. John have a nice chemistry (no surprise there...see above); it's too bad that her character has little to do with the plot. 

Gena Rowlands stands out among the supporting cast, but she's barely in the movie. In fact, none of the female characters get much screen time and that includes Sue Lyon and an unbilled Deanna Lund  (according to Tom Lisanti's Fantasy Femmes of Sixties Cinema, the future Land of the Giants TV star was embarrassed with her performance and asked to have her name removed from the credits.)

Despite just middling box office success, Frank Sinatra returned as Tony Rome in the following year's Lady in Cement. The only other holdover from the first film was Richard Conte as Tony's police detective chum and sometime nemesis. 

The story gets underway quickly when Tony discovers the title corpse while scuba diving for sunken treasure. While the police try to identify the victim, an imposing thug named Gronsky (Dan Blocker) hires Tony to search for a missing go-go dancer named Sandra Lomax. Could she be the lady wearing cement shoes?

Dan Blocker.

While Tony Rome rates a notch about average, Lady in Cement is a perfunctory private eye picture. In the 1940s, it would have been considered a "B" film. Dan Blocker rises above his material, turning Gronsky into a likable--but still threatening--criminal. Along with Jill St. John, he appeared with Sinatra earlier in Come Blow Your Horn. It's a shame that Blocker, who found television fame on Bonanza, didn't have a a bigger movie career. He died in 1972 at age 43 due to complications following gall bladder surgery.

Raquel Welch and her tall hair.

Raquel Welch doesn't fare as well as Sinatra's leading lady. She plays a character very similar to the one portrayed by Jill St. John in Tony Rome. However, whereas St. John excelled at playing sexy, flirty socialites, Welch struggles to find a groove. Some of her scenes are downright awkward. She was much more effective in later films such as Hannie Caulder (1971) and Kansas City Bomber (1972).

Lady in Cement flopped at the box office and plans for a third Tony Rome film--to be titled My Kind of Love--were scuttled. If you plan to watch either film,  I do need to warn you about the music scores: Tony Rome kicks off with an atrocious theme song suny by Nancy Sinatra whereas Lady in Cement boasts one of the 1960s worst soundtracks courtesy of Hugo Montenegro.