The "How to Destroy a Monster According to the Movies" Quiz

In this new quiz, we describe how a "monster" was killed in a specific movie and ask you to identify the film. As with all of quizzes, please answer no more than three questions per day and try not to research your answers. Good luck!

1. Salt water is used to kill carnivorous alien plants.

2. A dinosaur-like creature is eliminated with an "oxygen destroyer."

3. A jet squadron launches a napalm attack on an enormous spider.

4. Giant locusts are drowned in cold water.

5. A vampire is destroyed in the shadow of a windmill.

6. A large jelly-like mass is frozen. (Technically, it may not be destroyed....)

7. Aliens that possess human corpses are killed with a "sound gun."

8. A werewolf is beaten to death with a silver-headed cane.

9. Aliens that possess human corpses are killed by a bullet to the brain or being burned. (Looking for the first film....)

10. A torpedo destroys a giant octopus (which technically has less than eight tentacles).

11. A vampire is trapped in sunlight by forming a crucifix with two candlesticks.

12. A human-like creature is knocked into a hot sulfur pit.

13. A dragon is killed with a giant crossbow on a beach.

14. Common bacteria in Earth's atmosphere kill alien invaders.

15. A mechanical digger is used to shove a T-Rex over a cliff.

Randolph Scott Rides Alone

Randolph Scott as Buchanan.

The Ranown Cycle consists of six Westerns made between 1956 and 1960 that starred Randolph Scott and were directed by Budd Boetticher and written by Burt Kennedy. These films don't comprise a formal series as Randolph Scott plays a different character in each one. However, they are thematically similar with each protagonist being a loner with a high moral code who isn't afraid to use his gun. The pictures were shot on a 10-day schedule and typically ran a brisk 70-80 minutes. Some of them were produced by Ranown, a company owned by Randolph Scott and Harry Joe Brown. However, the "Ranown Cycle" is the informal designation for all six films (a seventh Scott-Boetticher effort, Westbound, is sometimes erroneously listed as part of the series).

Made in 1958, Buchanan Rides Alone stars Scott as Tom Buchanan, a cowpoke heading from Mexico to West Texas to start his own spread. His journey takes him through the border town of Agry, where he decides to spend the night. Buchanon heads over to the saloon for a meal, but is confronted there by a loudmouthed young drunkard. After a brief tussle, he pretty much ignores the youth. Yet, shortly after leaving the bar, Buchanan witnesses a young Mexican man running out of the saloon after killing the drunkard in self-defense. When the sheriff's men start to beat up the young Mexican, Buchanan intervenes to stop it. He gets pummeled for his trouble and thrown into jail.

Yes, that's Peter Gunn as Carbo.

It turns out that the dead man was the son of Judge Simon Agry (Tol Avery), a local bigwig with political aspirations. His brother Lew, the town sheriff, shows little interest in dissuading the townsfolk from pushing for a lynching. However, Simon's right-hand man, Carbo (Craig Stevens), has a better idea. Knowing that the alleged killer's father is a wealthy rancher, he suggests that Simon exhort $50,000 for the young man's release. That plan doesn't sit well with the greedy Lew (Barry Kelley), who has his own plan for getting rich.

Frankly, it's hard to describe the rambling plot to Buchanan Rides Again. In a 2008 interview, Boetticher admitted he and Burt Kennedy ad-libbed the screenplay (which is credited to Charles Lang). The result is a weak narrative filled with colorful characters and a handful of priceless scenes that are unexpectedly amusing. A perfect example is a trial in the saloon in which the "bailiff" provides these instructions to the jury: "All right. Quiet! Quiet, everybody! Your trial is about to start. Now Jim here is going to pass among you with a tray and the judge wants me to have you put all your glasses in that tray... empty! The judge don't want no more liquored-up opinion like he had in that last trial."

As Tom Buchanan, Randolph Scott often seems too amused at the goings-on, with a smile plastered on his face. However, it is refreshing that Buchanan isn't the brightest cowboy in the world. When he arrives in Agry, he unwisely starts flashing his grub stake money which attracts the sheriff's attention (and that of a third Agry brother, a wimpy hotel owner).  It's also interesting that Buchanan acts mostly as a catalyst, while the plot revolves around the relationships among the three Agry brothers.

L.Q. Jones delivers a eulogy.

The film's best performance belongs to L.Q. Jones, a supporting actor best known as playing the ranch-hand Belden in 25 episodes of The Virginian TV series. Jones later became a producer of the notable "B" movies The Brotherhood of Satan (1971) and A Boy and His Dog (1975), which he also directed. In Buchanan Rides Alone, he plays one of the sheriff's deputies who forms a bond with Buchanan because they both hail from West Texas. His eulogy for one of his comrades, who is "buried" in a tree, is the film's highlight.

Buchanan Rides Alone is an above-average Western, but it lacks the intensity and scope of the James Stewart-Anthony Mann oaters made earlier in the 1950s. However, if you've seen those pictures, then by all means check out the Scott-Boetticher collaborations. You'll certainly be entertained.

Revisiting The Red Shoes

Moira Shearer as Vicky Page.

Black Narcissus is my favorite Michael Powell-Emeric Pressberger film--and I also think it's their masterpiece. But most critics and fans confer that "masterpiece" title on the duo's The Red Shoes (1948). I watched it many years ago, but, honestly, it didn't leave a significant impression. However, after recently viewing Made in England, an excellent documentary about Powell and Pressberger--and listening to Martin Scorsese gush about The Red Shoes' influence--I decided to give it another try.

For those who have not seen it, the plot revolves around three characters: ballet company impresario Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook), ballerina Vicky Page (Moira Shearer), and composer Julian Craster (Marius Goring). Each is dedicated to the musical arts, but to varying degrees. 

Anton Walbrook as Lermontov.

Lermontov lives for his ballet company--its employees are his family. When his star ballerina joyously announces her engagement to the company, Lermontov disappears into the wings of the theater. He is already deciding who will replace her. His preference for the ballet company over the people that comprise it earns him disdain at times. One colleague refers to him as a "gifted, cruel monster."

Julian is dedicated to his music. He wakes up in the middle of the night thinking about it and rushes to the piano to transcribe it. However, Julian can balance his profession and his personal life, especially after he falls in love with Vicky.

Vicky is torn between her need to dance and her love for Julian. Like Lermontov, she is obsessed with ballet and cannot live without it. Yet, she loves Julian passionately and cannot envision a life without him. When circumstances prevent her from dancing for Lermontov's company and being with Julian, Vicky confronts an existence that's burning from both ends.

While the characters portray the conflict between art and "real life," director Michael Powell visualizes it for the audience. The centerpiece of The Red Shoes is an audacious original ballet that literally pulls the viewer from the audience into an imaginary world. Powell opens the scene showing the curtains drawing back to reveal a solitary dancer, a shoe cobbler holding red ballet slippers, on the stage. Then, he cuts to a shot of the village that crops out the framing of the stage. The viewer is now on the stage with the performers and immersed into their world. 

Vicky dancing with a newspaper man.

Over the next fifteen minutes, the ballet is presented as an almost surrealistic film, recounting Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale of The Red Shoes. It's a colorful, energetic, sometimes visually frightening display of artistry, with Moira Shearer gliding past sheets of gel, floating through the air, and dancing with a man made of newspapers. The ballet ends with the protagonist's death and the shoe cobbler with the red slippers on the stage alone as the curtains draw to a close.

The controlling ballet shoes.

Powell and Pressberger merge their "real" and fantasy worlds in the climax to The Red Shoes. When Vicky appears to choose her career over love, Julian storms out of her dressing room. As Vicky walks toward the stage, her red ballet shoes seemingly take on a life of their own--forcing her to run out of the theater and toward a moving train. (It's no surprise that a train features prominently in this sequence, since Powell foreshadows its importance by integrating it into numerous scenes earlier in the film.)

Anton Walbrook is the standout among the cast. In his third Powell-Pressberger film, Walbrook gets a chance to portray a complex character that straddles the line between supportive and manipulative. Lermontov is an unforgiving taskmaster, but he recognizes artistic brilliance and supports it. When Vicky wants to leave the ballet company to be with Julian, Lermontov releases her from her contract. But when given a chance to see her again, he pressures her to come back into the fold. He wants to be gracious, but ultimately he must do what he feels is right for the ballet company.

Do I now rank The Red Shoes over Black Narcissus? No, the latter is still my favorite Powell & Pressberger film. But I am glad I watched The Red Shoes again. I have grown to admire its dazzling  colorful imagery, Powell's bold directing, and the film's exploration of the thin line between real world and the fantasy world created through visual and aural artistry.

Corbucci's The Great Silence

Jean-Louis Trintignant as Silence.

The most acclaimed Spaghetti Western filmmaker not named Sergio Leone. 

That's an apt description for Sergio Corbucci, a prolific Italian director and screenwriter whose career spanned four decades. Although he directed comedies, horror films, and sand-and-scandal epics, Corbucci is best known for his Spaghetti Westerns, especially Django (1966). Inspired by his friend Leone, Corbucci crafted a violent, allegorical Western that generated dozens of imitations and grew in critical stature over the years. Still, many critics now consider it Corbucci's second-best film--hailing The Great Silence as his masterpiece.

Released in 1968, The Great Silence takes place in Utah during the Great Blizzard of 1899. Starving men, who have become outlaws, have hidden in the snowy mountains with their families awaiting amnesty from the governor. A group of bounty hunters, based in a small town called Snow Hill, are killing the outlaws for the rewards. As one of the bounty hunters notes, each man's bounty is small but they add up if you kill enough of them.

Klaus Kinski as a bounty hunter.

Enter a mute gunfighter known only as Silence (Jean-Louis Trintignant), who is willing to kill anyone for money. To avoid being pursued by the law, Silence only kills in self-defense--sometimes provoking his enemies to reach for their guns first. Silence helps out the outlaws and later accepts "payment" from a widow to kill her husband's murderer. Of course, Silence has his own agenda in Snow Hill—which is revealed as The Great Silence reaches its climax.

There are critics who hail The Great Silence as a political or anti-capital allegory. I'm not sure about that, because you could probably make similar claims about any number of Westerns pitting ranchers against settlers. I believe it's the setting and the ending that make The Great Silence stand out among other Spaghetti Westerns.

The film is seemingly bathed in white snow. I'm hard-pressed to think of a snowier movie, though perhaps the 1993 film version of Ethan Frome comes close. In both movies, the dark skies and the flat white drifts provide a blanket of bleakness. The characters wrap any available scrap of cloth around their faces to stay warm. The horses trudge through high snow, sometimes collapsing to the ground in exhaustion. It's a visually grim landscape that is perfect for the inevitable ending that lurks behind every frame of The Great Silence.

As for that ending, I won't include any spoilers in this review. Let's just say it's unconventional and was the reason that Richard Zanuck refused to release the movie in the U.S. To appease his producers, Corbucci shot two alternate endings, though it's possible that neither one was actually used.

Is The Great Silence a Spaghetti Western masterpiece? No. It lacks the vivid characters and splendid set pieces of Leone's films. It's missing the brutal passion that made Django memorable. Neither of those criticisms implies that it's not worth a viewing. 

Vonetta McGee as Pauline.

Klaus Kinski gives one of his best performances as one of the villains, a vile rascal who is surprisingly intelligent (e.g., he refuses to be provoked by Silence, knowing that he would lose a gunfight). And Vonetta McGee gives an quiet understated performance as the widow who hires Silence. She would later star in the equally unconventional Blaxploitation Western Thomsine & Bushrod (1974).

Django, The Great Silence, and The Specialists (1969) are sometimes referred to as Corbucci's  Mud and Blood Trilogy.

The Eiger Sanction Is a Tough Climb

The Eiger Sanction (1975). This action thriller, directed by and starring Clint Eastwood, follows a former assassin who is coerced into one last mission. There is some talk about recovering a germ warfare formula, but the mission is really about revenge. Two bad agents kill one of ours, so a shadowy U.S. agency wants them sanctioned--which is apparently code for eliminated. Eastwood's ex-killer now teaches art at a college (!) and wants nothing to do with this tit-for-tat until he's told the identity of the deceased agent.

Jack Cassidy as a villain.

Based on a novel by Rodney William Whitaker, The Eiger Sanction can't overcome a poorly-written screenplay and an opening half-hour of mostly filler material. The plot finally perks up when Eastwood's out-of-shape assassin starts training to climb the Eiger mountain in Switzerland in preparation for his mission. These scenes benefit from the casting of George Kennedy and Jack Cassidy in familiar roles (Kennedy as Eastwood's old pal and Cassidy as a slimy villain). Both actors were frequently stuck in these kinds of roles, but still--somehow--managed to deliver entertaining performances.

Vonetta McGee--wasted as Clint's gf.

Clint plays a softer variation of Dirty Harry, though he's more interested in the opposite sex. Indeed, the film's portrayal of women and the sexist attitudes toward them may be a little jarring for modern audiences. Part of that can be attributed to the decade when The Eiger Sanction was made--though there were strong female characters in Black action films like Cleopatra Jones and Coffy. To his credit, Eastwood starred in The Enforcer the following year with Tyne Daly as Dirty Harry's gritty partner.

There are thrilling scenes in the final third of The Eiger Sanction, as Eastwood's assassin scales the title peak while trying to figure out who to kill. However, the climax is such a letdown that I didn't realize it was the climax until John William's closing music started to play. (Incidentally, the dreadful score proves that the great John Williams was only human after all.)

Overall, The Eiger Sanction ranks as one of Eastwood's least interesting 1970s films. It's recommended for Clint completists only.

That's Dancing in Kiss Me Kate!

Kiss Me Kate (1953) boasts a Cole Porter score full of familiar tunes and was made by MGM during the era when the studio was known for its lavish musicals. And yet, it was considered a box office failure when first released and remains largely forgotten today. That's a shame because it features some truly spectacular musical numbers featuring the dancing of Ann Miller, Tommy Rall, Bobby Van, Bob Fosse, and Carol Haney. Some of those names may be unfamiliar if you're not a aficionado of great dancers. But their jaw-dropping talents make Kiss Me Kate worth your time despite a creaky, overly-familiar plot.

Howard Keel singing to Kathryn Grayson.

For the record, the story has producer/ star Fred Graham (Howard Keel) mounting a stage musical of The Taming of the Shrew starring his ex-wife Lilli (Kathryn Grayson) as Katherine and himself as Petruchio. Lilli is engaged to a Texan millionaire and Fred is interested in a pretty dancer, but it's clear that the divorced couple still harbor romantic feelings toward each other.

This unoriginal plot gets a boost from the side stories, especially one featuring a couple of thugs (wonderfully played by Keenan Wynn and James Whitmore) who believe Fred owes their gangster boss money. Fred convinces the duo that he can't pay if the musical shuts down and that Lilli is threatening to leave the production. Thus, the thugs have to ensure that Lilli remains with the show!

Soprano Kathryn Grayson signed with MGM in 1940 at the age of 18. She had appeared in a number of hit movies (e.g.,  Anchors Aweigh) before headlining the studio's highly successful remake of Showboat in 1951. Kiss Me Kate pairs her with Showboat co-star Howard Keel. Their duets on Porter classics like "So in Love" and "Wunderbar" are pleasant, but Grayson's finest hour is her no holds barred rendition of "I Hate Men." As she punctuates the lyrics, she repeatedly slams down a metal goblet to emphasize her point--and dramatically sweeps the surface of a table at the finish. 

Ann Miller.

Despite Grayson's triumph, the best parts of Kiss Me Kate are the dance numbers. Ann Miller kicks off the hoofing with an energetic "Too Darn Hot" (though it seems tossed into the plot at the last minute). Later, she and Tommy Rall dance an acrobatic duet to "Why Can't You Behave." However, the film's highlight is "From This Moment On." which features Miller, Rall, Bob Fosse, Carol Haney, Bobby Van, and Jeanne Coyne (ex-wife of both Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen). Fred Astaire's frequent collaborator, Hermes Pan, choreographed all of Kiss Me Kate's dances except for the Fosse-Haney duet near the end of "From This Moment On." It showcases what would become Fosse's trademarks and sizzles with sexuality and flair.

By the way, if you watch Kiss Me Kate and wonder why people and objects keep moving toward the camera, it's because the film was shot in 3D. It's a minor distraction, though. If you enjoy stylish, energetic dancing, then Kiss Me Kate is a must-watch. 

Here is the "From This Moment On" number, which we're currently featuring on the Cafe's YouTube channel:

The Conversation and Repeat Performance

Gene Hackman.

The Conversation (1974). Francis Ford Coppola directed this overlong, but engrossing look into the life of an intensely private surveillance expert (Gene Hackman) whose recording of a seemingly innocent conversation has tragic results. Hackman’s character strives to distance himself from his subjects (“I don’t care what they’re talking about.—all I want is a nice fat recording.”). But his latest assignment conjures up painful memories of a previous job where one of his recordings led to murder. Hackman perfectly captures the loneliness and paranoia of a man who intrudes on others’ privacy, while zealously guarding his own. The best scene: Hackman and surveillance rival Allen Garfield try to one up each other during a party with other experts in their field. A young Harrison Ford plays a menacing business executive and Cindy Williams (Shirley in in the 1970s hit sitcom “Laverne and Shirley”) plays one of the subjects in the title conversation. Hackman, Coppola, and the film all earned Oscar nominations; Coppola lost to himself (he won for The Godfather Part II). Hackman played a similar surveillance expert in 1998’s Will Smith thriller Enemy of the State.

Joan Leslie.

Repeat Performance (1948). I first saw Repeat Performance over the Christmas holidays when I was in high school. The timing was impeccable since the film’s opening takes place on New Year’s Eve. I suspect I watched it because the supporting cast included Richard Basehart (star of my first favorite TV series “Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea”) and Tom Conway (from The Falcon detective films). In any event, I found myself watching what amounted to an extended episode of “The Twilight Zone”—and, this case, that's a high compliment. Joan Leslie plays Sheila Page, a popular stage actress who kills her playwright husband at December 31st. Distraught over what she has done, Sheila goes to see her emotionally fragile friend, poet William Williams (Basehart). Sheila tells William that she wishes for a second chance—if she could live the year again, she would do things differently. When the clock strikes midnight, the year begins over again. Yet, no matter what Sheila does, fate intervenes and she seems powerless to alter the ultimate course of destiny. Released by budget-minded Eagle Lion, Repeat Performance was regarded as a minor “B” film when first released. It has gained a little fame over the years, having been remade as the 1989 made-for-TV movie Turn Back the Clock with Connie Selleca (and featuring Joan Leslie in a cameo). In the late 1990s, it began to pop up at film noir conventions, sometimes with Leslie in attendance. Incidentally, the supporting also features a young Natalie Schafer—Mrs. Howell from “Gilligan’s Island.”

All That Heavens Allows and Come September

Rock and Jane in front of the picture window.

All That Heaven Allows (1955). My second favorite Douglas Sirk film (after Imitation of Life with Lana Turner) stars Jane Wyman as Cary Scott, a wealthy widow in a New England town who falls in love with Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson), a younger man who works as a gardener. Their romance faces the disapproval of Cary’s snobbish children and her country club friends, who think Ron is beneath her. Cary must choose between following her heart or conforming to society’s expectations. All That Heaven Allows is not a nuanced film. Indeed, most of the characters are drawn too broadly: Cary's children are shallow and her friends, except perhaps for one played by Agnes Moorehead, are snooty; in contrast, Ron's friends are warm and inviting. However, Sirk imbues this story with an elegant simplicity and paints it with vivid colors. The opening scenes, set during autumn, pop with visual splendor. Later scenes set in front of a picture window in Ron's mill-turned-home look like Paul Gaugin's Winter Landscape come to life. It's clear that Rock Hudson, who also teamed with Jane Wyman in the previous year's inferior Magnificent Obsession, was still honing his craft as an actor. However, he projects his character's earnestness and confidence well and plays off effectively opposite veteran star Wyman. Todd Haynes' 2002 drama Far from Heaven is an affectionate homage to All That Heaven Allows. It also concerns a "forbidden love affair" and Haynes copies Sirk's color palette skillfully. 

Gina Lollobrigida and Rock Hudson.

Come September (1961). Rock Hudson's comedic follow-up to Pillow Talk (1959) is a modestly amusing outing with enough plot for two or three movies. Rock plays Robert Talbot, a wealthy American businessman, who owns a villa in Italy where he spends every September with his Italian girlfriend, Lisa (Gina Lollobrigida).  However, he arrives early one year and finds out that Lisa is about to marry another man, his villa has been turned into a hotel by his concierge, and a group of young American girls are staying there. He tries to romance Lisa, chaperone the girls, and deal with a group of boys interested in the young ladies. With Walter Slezak as the concierge and Brenda De Banzie as the girls' tour guide, Come September could have focused on the villa-as-a-hotel plot and been very funny. Unfortunately, the veteran supporting stars get cast aside for most of the movie in favor of teen star Sandra Dee (Gidget) and pop singer-turned-actor Bobby Darin. That's not to say that Dee and Darin aren't appealing. In real life, they fell in love on the set and got married; their mutual attraction shows up clearly on the screen. However, the overall result is that Come September is a bit of a disjointed mess, funnier in parts than as a whole. By the way, that's future Oscar winner Joel Grey (Cabaret) as Bobby Darin's best friend.

We Name the TV Characters...You Name the Series!

We thought we'd try out a new game this month! For each numbered item below, we have listed three characters from the same TV series. Your task is to name the TV series! Most of these are easy; we tried not to go for obscure characters (at least for this edition). Note that we may have listed a character's first name or last name.

As always, please answer no more than three questions per day so more people can play and have fun. Try not to research your answers as it'd be pretty easy to google the names and get a show's title. 

1. Troy, Hitchcock, Tully.

2. Sam, Howard, Emmett.

3. Sam, Hank, Ralph.

4. April, Mark, Waverly.

5. Tara, Mother, John.

6. Roy, Candy, Jamie.

7. Saunders, Hanley, Caje.

8. Mary Beth, Christine, Bert.

9. Chip, Lee, Harriman.

10. Ward, Colby, Erkskine.

11. Jimmy, Witchiepoo, Freddy.

12. Keller, Stone, Tanner.

13. Tate, McKenzie, Trampas.

14. Pete, Julie, Linc.

15. Larry, Gilbert, Clarence.

Ghost Story--The Film Adaptation Dilemma

Fred Astaire as a Chowder
Society member.

When I watch a film adaptation, I try to evaluate it on its own merits--as opposed to comparing the movie to its literary source. I am struggling with that, though, as I write this review of Ghost Story (1981), a simplified version of Peter Straub's engrossing 1979 bestseller. With its framing device and stories woven into a larger narrative, Ghost Story might have fared better as a miniseries. This 110-minute adaptation plays like a "greatest hits" version of the book. 

Fred Astaire, John Houseman, Melvyn Douglas, and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. portray the four elderly friends who comprise the Chowder Society, a secret club of sorts in the rural upper-New York town of Milburn. The Society's members meet regularly to tell each other creepy stories, which may or may not be true. Things haven't been the same since a fifth member died suddenly a year earlier and the surviving friends began to experience vivid nightmares.

Craig Wasson as Don.

Tragedy strikes again when one of the four, Edward Wanderley (Fairbanks, Jr.), learns that his son David (Craig Wasson) has fallen to his death from his high-rise New York apartment. His other son, Don (Wasson again), returns home for the funeral, but the two struggle to comfort one another. One snowy morning, Edward, believing he has seen his dead son, wanders into the bitter cold and is found dead. Soon after, Don confronts the Chowder Society, revealing that he shares a dark secret with them.

Director John Irvin creates an unsettling ambience in the opening scenes. The isolated town, covered in a white sheet of snow and dark clouds, seems like the perfect breeding place for evil. And one couldn't ask for a more impressive quartet of actors to embody the Chowder Society. Indeed, Ghost Story appears set up to succeed--until it doesn't. When Don tells his story to the group, the narrative goes off-course with an expanded flashback set in sunny Florida. It sucks the wind out of the movie and robs it of its most promising characters.

Later, there's yet another long flashback in which we learn what happened to the Chowder Society members when they were younger. Their horrible secret turns out to be underwhelming after the build-up (though generally faithful to the novel). The casting of the younger Chowder Society members is interesting--I never would have thought Ken Olin (thirtysomething) would turn into John Houseman as he grew older! 

A major problem is that the movie's length cannot support the novel's structure. We don't spend enough time with any of the characters to get to know them. It helps that many roles are played by well-known actors in familiar roles (e.g., Houseman is blustery, Astaire is likable). However, I never really cared what happened to these people.

Even worse, the film's ending totally deviates from the novel. I'll avoid plot spoilers, but suffice to say that the novel involved a nasty supernatural creature that did not go easily into the night. In contrast, the film version of Ghost Story features nothing more than a vengeful ghost.

I was afraid of this. I've spent most of this review comparing book and movie. That's unfair to the cinematic Ghost Story, but I still stand by my assessment is that's no more than an adequate motion picture. There's still a good Ghost Story miniseries just waiting to be made.

(You can currently stream Ghost Story for free by clicking here.)

Roadgames: A Little Bit of Rear Window, a Dash of Duel

Quid (Stacy Keach) with his harmonica.

Directed by Hitchcock admirer Richard Franklin, Roadgames (1981) follows truck driver Patrick Quid (Stacy Keach) as he traverses the desolate highways of rural Australia after witnessing what may have been the aftermath of a murder. You see, there's a serial killer on the loose and Quid suspects it's the mysterious man driving a green van.

Released when slasher films like Halloween (1978) and Friday the 13th (1980) were in vogue, Roadgames is an oddity. It sounds like a slasher film, but--as its PG rating suggests--it's more of a throwback to suspense films like The Hitch-Hiker (1953). 

Thematically, Roadgames mirrors Hitchcock's Rear Window with its exploration of voyeurism and the paranoia that comes with it. Just as James Stewart’s character in Rear Window is confined to his apartment, Keach’s Quid is largely confined to his truck, observing the world through his windshield. The film also echoes Steven Spielberg's Duel (1971) with its intense, road-bound cat-and-mouse game, where the vast, empty landscapes heighten the sense of isolation and danger.

Stacy Keach delivers a standout performance as Quid, a trucker with a penchant for poetry and a sharp wit. His character’s quirky charm and intelligence add depth to the film, making him a compelling protagonist. On the other hand, Jamie Lee Curtis has limited screen time and is mired in an underwritten role as a hitch-hiker (again...she also played one in The Fog).* Aussie actress Marion Edward fares better as a stranded wife picked by Quid--and who fears that he may be the killer.

Shades of Hitchock's Rear Window.

Director Franklin makes exceptional use of the rural Australian settings, capturing the stark beauty and eerie emptiness of the outback. This backdrop heightens the film’s tension and sense of isolation, making one wonder why Franklin chose to stage the climax in an urban setting. It's a clunky ending altogether that negates some of the goodwill that Roadgames has established along the way.

Thus, if you watch Roadgames, watch it for the ride. In that context, it delivers modest thrills and a likable quirkiness. The best example of both is a scene in which Quid believes he has the killer trapped in a bathroom stall--and isn't quite sure what to do.

Though it was not a box office success in the U.S., Roadgames attracted enough attention to get Richard Franklin a plum directing assignment. His next movie, Psycho II (1983), was a belated sequel to one of his idol's most famous films.

* Richard Franklin has stated that Actors Equity of Sydney was displeased that an American actress was cast in the role, instead of an Australian performer. Avco Embassy, who provided some of the film's financing, insisted on a "name star" that American audiences would recognize. That led to the casting of Jamie Lee Curtis, who had previously starred in Halloween and The Fog.

We Name the Cast...You Name the Movie!

This is our second edition of this new game. Please let us if you enjoy playing it. For each movie below, we have listed three performers that appeared in it (not necessarily as a star). Your task is to name the movie! As always, please answer no more than three questions per day so more people can play and have fun. Try not to research your answers as it'd be pretty easy to google the cast and get a film's title. We avoided really obscure movies and lesser-known actors and actresses. 

1. Peter Graves, Shelley Winters, Kathy Garver.

2. James Mason, Deborah Kerr, Jane Greer.

3. Rock Hudson, Tony Curtis, Shelley Winters.

4. Leslie Nielsen, Arthur O’Connell, Red Buttons.

5. Art Carney, Ingrid Bergman, Wally Cox.

6. Tony Curtis, Gavin McLeod, Marion Ross.

7. Myrna Loy, Jean Hersholt, Boris Karloff.

8. Edmund O'Brien, Neville Brand, Telly Savalas.

9. Stefanie Powers, Harry Morgan, Peter Lawford.

10. Lee J. Cobb, Anthony Perkins, Audrey Hepburn.

11. Clint Walker, Paul Lynde, Tony Randall.

12. Jack Weston, Tuesday Weld, Rip Torn.

13. Walter Pidgeon, Peter Lorre, Barbara Eden.

14. Sterling Hayden, Janet Leigh, Victor McLaglen.

15. Dorothy McGuire, Bert Convy, Natalie Schaefer.

Dick Powell Transforms His Career with Murder, My Sweet

Dick Powell as Marlowe.

My favorite fictional detectives are the erudite, snobbish Philo Vance and the sarcastic, sly Philip Marlowe. Both have been the subject of numerous films, but with middling results. Marlowe has been played by an unusual assortment of actors that includes Humphrey Bogart, Robert Montgomery, George Montgomery, James Garner, Elliott Gould, Robert Mitchum, and Liam Neeson. Bogart captured Marlowe’s toughness. Garner projected the right amount of sarcasm. Mitchum exhibited the requisite amount of world-weariness. But none of them could compare to the cinema’s first Philip Marlowe, as portrayed by Dick Powell in Edward Dmytryk’s smashing film noir Murder, My Sweet.

Powell's performance is all the more impressive when one considers his previous films were lighthearted musicals. Indeed, Powell’s early success as a crooner stifled his acting career. (By the way, he had a pleasant voice; my Mom had several of his records.)  But Powell’s career star status was dimming when RKO signed him to a contract. He still had enough clout to pick his own films and his first RKO effort was Murder,  My Sweet. It was based on the second Marlowe novel Farewell, My Lovely—which was my father's favorite book in the series (my second fave to The Lady in Lake).

Like all of Raymond Chandler’s novels, the colorful characters and seedy, neon-lit atmosphere of 1940s Los Angeles overpower the complex plotting which intertwines two mysteries. In the first, a big homicidal lug named Moose Malloy hires Marlowe to find Velma, his former girlfriend. He hasn’t seen her for eight years and it’s been six since she wrote. Of course, Moose spent most of that time in prison--but he still pines for his sweet, little Velma and desperately wants to be with her.

Marlowe’s second case seems even more straightforward. A well-dressed ne’er-do-well named Lindsay Marriott wants Marlowe to accompany him on a midnight rendezvous to buy back a lady friend’s stolen jade necklace. Unfortunately, the plan goes awry when Marlowe is knocked unconscious and awakes to find a pummeled dead body.

Dick Powell and Claire Trevor.

Powell’s dynamic performance anchors the film, but he also benefits from some classic Chandler dialogue (often spoken in voiceover as Marlowe recounts his story to the police). When Marlowe finds a dead body, he quips: “He was just snapped—the way a pretty girl would snap a stalk of celery.” Velma’s sleazy former employer is described as “a charming, middle-aged lady with a face like a bucket of mud.”

Edward Dmytryk was a promising director with a thin resume when he made Murder, My Sweet and he put his all into the film. The pacing is swift, the atmosphere is appropriately sordid, and the visuals are stylish (e.g., when Marlowe is knocked unconscious, a black pool swallows up the frame). I met Dmytryk when he gave a guest lecture at Indiana University in the late 1970s. He wouldn’t have mentioned Murder, My Sweet if I hadn’t asked a question about it. Most of his lecture centered on the years he was blacklisted  during the McCarthy era.

Murder, My Sweet holds up remarkably well as a classic film noir. It also marked a turning point in Powell’s career. He followed it with the compelling, brutal Cornered and established himself as a dramatic actor. He went on to be become a successful film director and a television pioneer when he co-founded Four Star Studios in the 1950s.

For the record, while Murder, My Sweet was the first Marlowe movie, the novel Farewell, My Lovely was adapted earlier as the "B" picture The Falcon Takes Over (1942). Philip Marlowe was nowhere in sight in this version. Instead, George Sanders starred as the debonair Gay Lawrence, who takes on Moose Malloy's case.

Mandy and A Boy Ten Feet Tall

Mandy Miller as Mandy.

Mandy (aka Crash of Silence) (1952). The lives of Christine and Harry Garland are thrown into turmoil when they discover that their young daughter, Mandy, is congenitally deaf. The parents grapple with their own misconceptions and differing views on how to best support Mandy. Should she be kept at home for private tutoring, as her grandparents suggest, or placed in a school with other deaf children? The tension between the parents, fueled by suspicions of an affair, add emotional weight to the narrative. The first-rate British cast shines all around. Phyllis Calvert and Terence Morgan capture the parents’ emotional struggles as they try to determine if their actions reflect what they want or what their daughter Mandy needs. Jack Hawkins shines as an instructor at the deaf school, whose intense focus on his students puts him at odds with an influential member of the school's board. Finally, there is the young actress Mandy Miller (who was not deaf in real life), who plays Mandy. With very limited dialogue, she expresses the young girl's loneliness, confusion, and frustration, especially when placed in the boarding school and separated from her family. (Incidentally, that's Jane Asher--Paul McCartney's one-time girlfriend--as Mandy's eventual friend at school.) Director Alexander Mackendrick, best known for his Ealing comedies and the noirish Sweet Smell of Success (1957), deserves praise for sensitively portraying Mandy’s world. Through her eyes, we witness the challenges of communication, isolation, and the desire to connect with others. (You can stream Mandy for free on the Million Dollar Movie Classics channel.)

Fergus McClelland and Edward G. Robinson.

A Boy Ten Feet Tall (aka Sammy Going South) (1963).  Another Alexander Mackendrick film with a young protagonist, A Boy Ten Feet Tall focuses on ten-year-old Sammy Hartland. After his parents are killed during the Suez Crisis in 1956, Sammy embarks on an epic journey from Egypt to South Africa. Armed with only a toy compass and the knowledge that his goal to is to travel south, Sammy sets out to find his aunt in Durban. He encounters a variety of characters along the way, including: a Syrian nomad who hopes to profit off Sammy; a well-meaning American tourist; and a kind-hearted diamond smuggler. Despite the immense challenges he faces, including the loss of his parents and the daunting task of traveling across a continent, Sammy remains determined and resourceful. His character evolves from a vulnerable child into a strong and independent young boy, showcasing his inner strength and adaptability. Newcomer Fergus McClelland makes a likable lead, but Edward G. Robinson delivers the film's standout performance as Cocky Wainwright, the diamond smuggler who temporarily becomes Sammy’s surrogate father. Robinson brings warmth and subtle compassion to the role, creating a character that is both gruff and endearing.  Director Mackendrick masterfully allows the audience to see the events through Sammy’s eyes, much as he did with the young protagonist in Mandy. This perspective ensures that the film remains focused on Sammy’s emotional journey, making it a poignant and engaging--if episodic--adventure. The mostly on-location shooting brings a raw, realistic quality to the film, highlighting the vastness and beauty of the African continent. This review is based on the 118-minute cut of A Boy Ten Feet Tall, which you can view stream for free on the Million Dollar Movie Classics channel. The original 129-minute version is believed to be lost. An 88-minute version was released to theaters in the U.S. in the 1960s.

Picnic and Written on the Wind

Kim Novak and William Holden.

Picnic (1955). Joshua Logan, who directed the stage version William Inge's Pulitzer Prize-winning play, also directed this screen adaptation. Set in a small Kansas town, the story revolves around Hal Carter (William Holden), a charming drifter who arrives in town seeking employment and a fresh start. He reconnects with his old fraternity friend, Alan Benson (Clift Robertson), the son of a wealthy businessman. At the town's annual Labor Day picnic, he attracts the attention of Madge Owens (Kim Novak), the local beauty queen and Alan's girlfriend. As Hal and Madge's attraction grows, it causes tension and reveals the hidden desires and frustrations of several townsfolk. At age 37, Holden was perhaps a little old for the role of Hal, but he projects weariness and vulnerability masked by Hal's bravado. Holden and Novak sizzle in their scenes together, particularly a dance at the picnic. As they draw closer to one another, their fingers interlocking momentarily, the music (the 1933 standard "Moonglow") merges into composer George Duning's exquisite Picnic love theme. It's a magical movie moment that lingers long after Picnic ends. Rosalind Russell and a teenaged Susan Strasberg get the best scenes among the supporting cast. Russell is almost too overpowering as a spinster teacher desperate for marriage. However, her outburst toward Hal at the picnic--in which she unleashes her sexual frustrations--shows Russell at her best. In contrast, Strasberg delivers a beautifully understated performance as Madge's bookish younger sister, who surprisingly understands her sibling better than anyone else. Picnic was adapted as a TV movie in 2000 with Josh Brolin and Gretchen Mol as Hal and Madge. It's pleasant enough, but lacks the urgency and sexual tension of the 1955 version.

Rock Hudson and Dorothy Malone.

Written on the Wind (1956). Alcoholic, millionaire playboy Kyle Hadley (Robert Stack) seems to have found meaning in life after falling in love with and marrying secretary Lucy (Lauren Bacall). However, jealousies are simmering beneath the surface. You see, Kyle's best friend Mitch (Rock Hudson) is already smitten with Lucy and Kyle's sister Marylee (Dorothy Malone), who loves Mitch, resents her brother's bride mightily. Based on a novel by Robert Wilder (Flamingo Road), Written on the Wind is a melodramatic big-screen soap that exemplifies director Douglas Sirk's signature stylistic flourishes. It is filled with bright colors, exaggerated sets that don't hide their artificiality, and over-the-top performances courtesy of Stack and Malone (who won a Supporting Actress Oscar). In contrast to their co-stars, Rock Hudson and Lauren Bacall take a low-key approach. That works well for Hudson, but not Lauren Bacall, whose character fades into the background after a promising introduction. Sirk's fans contend that he wanted to subvert American postwar materialism through his films. I prefer to view his work as character-driven stories told on a broad, bright canvas. Written on the Wind lacks the polish of Sirk's best dramas (All That Heaven Allows, Imitation of Life), but I do love the opening (and closing) scene where dead leaves blow into Stack's house through an open door. Incidentally, Wilder's novel was loosely based on the R.J. Reynolds family and dealt with the tobacco industry in North Carolina. For the film adaptation, the setting was changed to Texas and the family business to oil.

We Name the Cast...You Name the Movie!

This month, we're hosting a different game at the Café! For each movie below, we have listed three performers that appeared in it (not necessarily as a star). Your task is to name the movie! As always, please answer no more than questions per day so more people can play and have fun. Try not to research your answers as it'd be pretty easy to google the cast and get a film's title. We avoided really obscure movies and lesser-known actors and actresses. 

1. Walter Matthau, Victoria Principal, Lloyd Nolan.

2. Strother Martin, Robert Duvall, John Fiedler.

3. Strother Martin, Heather Menzies Urich, Dirk Benedict (spelling counts on this one!).

4. George Kennedy, Lois Nettleton, Jack Elam.

5. Shelley Winters, Ray Collins, Edmund O'Brien.

6. Elizabeth Taylor, Edmund Gwenn, Martin Milner.

7. Dana Andrews, Richard Basehart, Anne Francis.

8. Donald Crisp, Barry Fitzgerald, Roddy McDowall.

9. Anne Francis, Walter Pidgeon, Lee Marvin.

10. Jessica Tandy, George Sanders, Cornel Wilde.

11. Janet Leigh, Mary Astor, Ellen Corby.

12. Janet Leigh, DeForest Kelly, Rory Calhoun.

13. Glynis Johns, Marlene Dietrich, James Stewart.

14. Gloria Grahame, Keenan Wynn, Dean Stockwell.

15. Brock Peters, Chuck Connors, Edward G. Robinson.

The All-American and Yankee Pasha

Publicity still with Mamie Van Doren & Tony Curtis.

All American (1953). Tony Curtis headlines as Nick Bonelli, a star quarterback who transfers to a different university to pursue his interest in architecture after his parents die in a car crash. He faces various challenges and conflicts at his new school, both academically and romantically, and eventually decides to play football again--much to the delight of his new school. All American (aka The Winning Way) is a typical 1950s sports drama, with a predictable plot and stereotypical characters. That doesn't mean it's not an entertaining way to spend 83 minutes. It was clearly intended to provide acting experience for its young cast. Although Tony Curtis is the only one that became a big star, his fellow players include such familiar faces as Lori Nelson (Revenge of the Creature), Mamie Van Doren, Stuart Whitman, and Richard Long (who comes as close to playing an unlikable character as he ever did). Van Doren fares best as a bar waitress who is secretly involved with rich college student Long. It's nice to see her in an appealing role, as opposed to the sexpot types she later played (she also appeared with Tony Curtis in the earlier Forbidden). Sports fans may also spot cameos from real-life football stars Frank Gifford, Tom Harmon (Marks' father), and Jim Sears.

Yankee Pasha (1954). Set in New England in 1800, Yankee Pasha stars Jeff Chandler as Jason Starbuck, a fur trapper who falls in love with the beautiful Roxana (Rhonda Fleming). When Roxana sails to France to escape an unwanted marriage to another man, her ship is captured by pirates and she is sold as a slave in Morocco. Jason follows her across the ocean and infiltrates the royal palace, where he becomes a valued advisor to the sultan--all the while plotting to rescue Roxana. Based on Edison Marshall's 1947 novel, Yankee Pasha is a colorful, if modestly budgeted, adventure with a dash of humor. Chandler and Fleming are agreeable, photogenic leads who let their supporting stars deliver all the good lines. Lee J. Cobb seems to be having fun as the sultan, while Mamie Van Doren shows off her comedic skills as the only member of Starbuck's harem. The film's first two-thirds zip along nicely, but then it inexplicitly lumbers to its conclusion with a conventional, boring rescue. By then, though, Yankee Pasha has built enough goodwill so that you'll overlook its ending and remember it fondly. (You can watch Yankee Pasha for free on the Western Film Classics channel by clicking here.)

The Case for Anatomy of a Murder

Stewart as Biegler pleads his case.

Anatomy of a Murder is the best courtroom drama ever made.

Otto Preminger’s enthralling motion picture requires multiple viewings to be fully appreciated. When I first saw it, I focused on the riveting story, which treats the viewer much like the jury. We listen to testimonies, watch the lawyers try to manipulate our emotions, and struggle to make sense of the evidence. When I saw Anatomy of a Murder a second time, I knew the case’s outcome and was to able to concentrate on the splendid performances. James Stewart, Arthur O’Connell, and George C. Scott earned Oscar nominations, but the rest of the cast is also exceptionally strong. In subsequent viewings, I’ve come to appreciate the film’s well-preserved details, from the small town upper-Michigan atmosphere to Preminger’s brilliant direction (e.g., in one shot, as Scott's prosecutor cross-examines a witness in close-up, Stewart—the defending lawyer—is framed between them in the background).

Lee Remick and George C. Scott.

The opening scenes quickly establish Stewart’s shrewd lawyer. After ten years as Iron City’s public prosecutor, Paul Biegler has lost his office and gone into private practice. He’s also lost his passion for the law—he spends most of his time fishing, playing the piano, smoking Italian cigars, and reading old cases with his elderly, alcoholic friend Parnell Emmett McCarthy (O’Connell). His life takes a dramatic turn when he eventually agrees to defend Lieutenant Frederick Manion (Ben Gazzara), who is being tried for the murder of a man who may have raped Manion’s wife Laura (Lee Remick). Manion doesn’t deny killing the man, whom he shot five times. His lack of remorse, his wife Laura’s open sexuality, and the couple’s coldness toward one another tip the scales against them from the start.

Perhaps, it’s those very drawbacks that attract Biegler to the case. With a newly sober McCarthy assisting him, Biegler builds his defense around an old Michigan case in which a man was acquitted of murder because he acted out of “irresistible impulse.” As a psychiatrist (Orson Bean in a great bit part )  explains on the stand, it didn’t matter if Manion knew the difference between right and wrong. He was compelled to act (in the words of another witness, he was a “like a mailman delivering the mail”).

Saul Bass's opening credits as justly famous.

Once the drama shifts to the courtroom, an already-engrossing story seems to shift into a higher gear. The sparring between Stewart and Scott, as an ambitious assistant state attorney, is played to perfection. Remick has a splendid scene as Scott interrogates her on the witness stand. Joseph Welch provides welcome dry humor as the judge, who seems more like a referee trying to keep two fighters from killing each other. Interestingly, Welch was a former Army lawyer who participated in the McCarthy hearings; his real-life wife also appears in Anatomy as one of the jurors.

At the time of its release, Anatomy of a Murder was quite controversial, much of it stemming from the frank discussion of the crime. Preminger seemed to relish in breaking barriers on film content. His sex comedy The Moon Is Blue (1953) shocked audiences with its plot about older men (David Niven and William Holden) pursuing a young virgin. Preminger’s The Man With the Golden Arm (1955) was one of the first mainstream films about drug addiction.

Our favorite Preminger works are the film noir classic Laura (1944), Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965), and, of course, this one. You may disagree with me on whether it's the finest courtroom drama, but I'm not alone in my assessment. Back in 2021, I interviewed Michael Asimow, a professor at the Santa Clara Law School and co-author of Real to Reel: Truth and Trickery in Courtroom Movies. When I asked him what film did the best job of presenting a case realistically, he replied: "Our all-time favorite is Anatomy of a Murder. Almost all of it is a gripping murder trial, with two great lawyers going after each other, full of twists and turns and with an ambiguous ending. Watch this movie—you’ll be amazed at how good it is."

The Alternate Movie Title Game (James Stewart Edition)

Here are the rules: We will provide an "alternate title" for a James Stewart film and ask you to name the actual film. Most of these are pretty easy. Please answer no more than three questions per day so others can play. You may have an answer other than the intended one--just be able to defend it!

1. The Andersons.

2. Me and My Pooka.

3. The Manion Case.

4. The Killer Clown.

5. The Man With One Eye.

6. The Reindeer.

7. Bell on the Saddle.

8. I Spy, You Spy.

9. Matuschek and Company.

10. Desert Wings.

11. The Pollster.

12. Cat and Mouse (this one might be difficult).

13. Teenager Troubles.

14. Vindicator.

15. Trapped Beneath the Waves.

The High and the Mighty and Skyjacked

John Wayne as "Whistling" Dan Roman.

The High and the Mighty (1954). When a passenger airliner en route from Honolulu to Los Angeles experiences engine problems, the pilot faces a critical decision: Does he attempt a dangerous landing in the ocean and hope the Coast Guard can rescue the passengers? Or does he try to make it to the closest airport in San Francisco—even as the plane starts leaking fuel? Directed by former fighter pilot William A. Wellman, The High and the Mighty is considered the granddaddy of the modern disaster film. The now familiar formula augments the tense scenes with a menagerie of characters with background stories of varying interest. Their tales range from a newlywed couple facing the realities of married life to an armed husband who thinks his wife is cheating on him with another passenger. The airplane's crew has its challenges, too, with the lead pilot (Robert Stack) coping with aviation fatigue. There's even the proverbial child on the plane--though, unlike future young passengers--he seems pretty healthy! Bolstered by Dimitri Tiomkin's Oscar-winning score and John Wayne's steady, low-key performance, The High and the Mighty overcomes its weaker characters and subplots (e.g., a gun fired in-flight is quickly forgotten). The result is an engaging film that overstays its welcome at a bloated running time of almost two-and-a-half hours. Here's some interesting trivia: Tiomkin also earned an Oscar nomination for Best Song, though the lyrics are only heard briefly at the end. The tune, with different words, became a pop hit.

Yvette Mimieux and Charlton Heston.

Skyjacked (1972). The first theatrical film inspired by the 1970 blockbuster Airport was not, surprisingly, one of the three Airport sequels. Instead, it was Skyjacked, an satisfactory all-star disaster film based on a David Harper novel. The "all-stars" aren't of the same caliber as Airport, with Charlton Heston on-hand as the only big name star. Still, the best part of Skyjacked is its mix of familiar faces (Yvette Mimeux, Claude Akins, Mariette Hartley), TV stars (Susan Dey, James Brolin), and classic film icons (Walter Pidgeon, Jeanne Crain). The plot concerns a potential bomb aboard a commercial jet flying to Minneapolis. The hijacker, whose identity remains a mystery for the film's first half, wants the flight diverted to Alaska--and then on to the Soviet Union. The film might have been more fun if the hijacker's identity was a surprise, but it's obvious from the beginning. John Guillermin, who would go on to direct the disaster movie megahit The Towering Inferno (1975), keeps the pacing tight for much of the film. However, it lags toward the end, with a flashback romantic subplot involving Heston's pilot and Mimieux's flight attendant adding nothing to the story. Still, Skyjacked makes an interesting pairing with Airport 1975Airport 1975, in which Heston plays a pilot-turned-instructor that gets involved in the rescue of a jet damaged in flight.