Holiday Gift Ideas for the Classic Film & TV Fan (2011 Edition)

One of the Cafe's most popular articles each year is a list of holiday gift ideas from our contributors (click here to read previous recommendations). This year, we're proud to present the third post in this series (hey, it's a trilogy now!). Hopefully, you'll find some gift ideas for the classic film and/or TV lover in your family. Our picks run the gamut from a boxed set from the Master of Suspense to Raymond Burr's Perry Mason TV series to creepy horror films from the 1980s.

Alfred Hitchcock: The Masterpiece Collection (recommended by Rick29). Although this boxed set of 14 Hitchcock classics retails for $120, you can buy it online for less than $75. It's a steal at that price, considering it includes Hitchcock favorites such as Shadow of a Doubt, Rear Window, Vertigo, Psycho, and The Birds. Plus, you get some genuine surprises such as the underrated Marnie and The Trouble With Harry (which improves with subsequent viewings for me). The films have been digitally remastered and come with lots of extra goodies: a 360-page booklet, 14 documentaries, and nine featurettes.

The Brigitte Bardot Classic DVD Collection (recommended by Dawn). One of the silver screen's best-known blonde bombshells sizzles in three stories of love, scandal and betrayal: The Night Heaven Fell (1958); Plucking the Daisy (1956);  and Don Juan (1973). Ms. Bardot's stunning looks often overshadowed that she was a fine light comedienne, as evidenced by Plucking the Daisy. The other two films in this collection were directed by her one-time husband, Roger Vadim.

West Side Story: 50th Anniversary Edition (recommended by Paul). A must-have for any West Side Story fan, this new three-disc Blu-ray set includes a book, postcards, tribute CD, and much more. For many fans, watching the film in high definition and listening to the remastered songs will be enough! Russ Tamblyn, who played Riff, said: "Fox has made this Blu-ray rendition that is just beautiful and so clear. You see so many things that you missed in the original."

Make your own Rebecca Gift Basket (recommended by TheLadyEve). My holiday gift recommendation this year springs from an idea that came to me a month or so ago when I started thinking about how best to enjoy chilly evenings at home. I spent a few nights reading Daphne du Maurier’s classic modern gothic, Rebecca and watching the classic 1940 film version starring Joan Fontaine and Laurence Olivier. In the end, I put together a couple of blog posts on the joys of books and the movies made from them – plus warm drink recipe suggestions to accompany…so here’s my 2011 gift idea…A Rebecca gift basket containing: one copy of Daphne du Maurier’s 1938 novel (from $5.98 new on Amazon); one copy of the Oscar-winning Hitchcock/Selznick film (DVD @$14.99 on TCM.com); one 14.5 oz. canister of Godiva Dark Chocolate Hot Cocoa mix (from $13.99 on Amazon); 16 oz. Hot & Spicy Winter Toddy Mix (add ice cream, hot water or spirits) available on Amazon.com for $6.95;  one 50 g. canister of loose leaf tea (black, green white or flavored tea of your choice from the Tea Fountain (from $4.95 at http://www.teafountain.com/). Feel free to add or subtract to your gift basket.

A Free Film! (recommended by ClassicBecky). It may seem mundane, but I would love to receive a gift packet for my favorite movie theatre, good for two shows with popcorn and a Coke for each.  Givers with more pocket money could add more tickets or give enough for prime-time movies.  Those with limited budgets could give a matinee packet.  Considering the high cost of going to the movies, I would be thrilled with such a gift!

Perry Mason (recommended by Rick29). Seasons 1-5 of Raymond Burr's first-rate courtroom TV series are available separately or in a (pricey) boxed set. If you want to go with just one season, I recommend the first, which includes a number of episodes adapted from the Erle Stanley Gardner novels. The mysteries are fun and Burr is fabulous as the clever, sometimes smug super-lawyer. Plus, as you and your friends watch, you can discuss the relationship between Perry and Della...are they more than just co-workers?

Any Horror Fans among your family and friends? (Recommended by Sarkoffagus) This holiday, scare yourself silly and see what terror looks like in high definition. Numerous horror movies have been released on Blu-ray just in time for the festive season. Movies that came out for Halloween but would still make great gifts include the 30th anniversary of the 1981 cult TV movie, Dark Night of the Scarecrow; William Lustig’s Maniac Cop (1988), featuring cinematic icons Bruce Campbell and Richard Roundtree; two impressive outings from famed Italian horror maestro, Lucio Fulci, Zombie (aka Zombi 2/1979) and The House by the Cemetery (1981); and Lon Chaney making horror movie history in the classic 1925 silent version of The Phantom of the Opera. Released this month was the 25th anniversary of Sam Raimi’s horror-comedy sequel, Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn (1987), which also happens to star Bruce Campbell, and the Spanish/UK produced Horror Express (1972), featuring Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing and Telly Savalas, will make its way onto Blu-ray on Nov. 29th. Tuesday, Dec. 13th, will see two horror gems on hi-def format: The 1989 Intruder, written and directed by Scott Spiegel, who co-wrote Evil Dead II with Sam Raimi, who appears in Spiegel’s film (with appearances from Sam’s brother, actor Ted Raimi, and – one more time – Bruce Campbell); and the popular vampire flick, Fright Night (1985), whose release coincides with the home media debut of its recent 2011 remake. And finally, if you don’t mind dropping an IOU into people’s Christmas stockings, two offbeat classics will sleep through the holidays and sneak onto Blu-ray in late January 2012, The Deadly Spawn (1983) and Night Train Murders (aka L’ultimotrenodellanotte/1975).

Keeping a Really, Really Close Eye on the TV

One of the most peculiar movie-watching experiences I’ve had took place when I was in college, somewhere between three to 30 years ago. My very last semester was over, I’d more or less passed my finals, and I was packing my things to move out of my apartment. My apartment was slightly smaller than a hole in the wall, the rooms -- living area, bathroom and bedroom -- only accessible by dancing the grapevine. The offset that was deemed “the kitchen” by the assertive landlord had likely been conceived by an M.C. Escher fan, a convoluted, seemingly impossible design in which opening the refrigerator door would result in your left elbow banging against the right side of your head.

Despite the apartment’s miniscule size, packing everything up was a grueling task. I was only there for two years, but I never discarded anything, shoving all my papers and notes into drawers and inside the closet and underneath furniture. I could have been a participant on a spin-off of the A&E show, Hoarders: The College Years. On my final evening, anticipating a ride the following morning (with a stipulation that everything be ready for stockpiling the car), I realized that I was nowhere close to finishing. I decided to forego sleep and work through the night and early morning hours.

The problem with that plan was my eyesight. I see no greater than 20/400, which means that any person or object in my line of sight is nothing more than a blur. If my vision couldn’t be corrected, I would be legally blind. I’ve worn contact lenses for years, but back then, I didn’t have a pair of glasses for backup, at least nothing with a strong enough prescription. You can wear many contacts overnight, but my contact lenses in college were not the overnight variety, so I had to remove them and keep them out for about four hours. Consequently I worked blindly, in the literal sense. It was all a blur, but by this point, I was perusing stacks of papers and throwing away most of it. I was relatively safe. Walking outside to run up and down dilapidated, somewhat misshapen steps and launch a hefty trash bag over a railing when I could barely see a foot in front of me, now that was fairly stupid.
I had turned on the TV for noise, not because I couldn’t work in quiet but because I was trying to drown out my neighbor’s perpetually thumping bass. Then, at three o’clock in the morning, a station started running Orson Welles’ 1946 movie, The Stranger. Orson behind the camera. Orson in front of the camera. Edward G. Robinson and Loretta Young. That sounded good to me. Unfortunately, even sitting on a park bench with scratchy butt comforters (aka the couch) and leaning close, I was still only seeing an illuminated gray. So I knelt in front of the television, as if in prayer, the TV an altar. I planted my face mere inches away from the screen to watch Edward accuse Orson of being a Nazi and participating in war crimes. My eyes watered frequently, not so much from the dramatic engagement as from my ill-advised proximity to the TV and the cathode ray tube searing my corneas. During commercials, I would stretch my legs with a series of grapvines around the apartment, like a drunken Electric Slide (although, let’s be honest, anyone who dances that looks drunk). I also performed some blinking exercises and kept looking at my hands to verify that I could still see something. I think it’s a testament to the movie’s preeminence, that I would willingly suffer through all of that just to watch it.

By the morning, I was fully prepared for my departure with my contact lenses amending my poor vision once again. I loaded my driver’s car with no help and only requested a stop at a gas station, where I proceeded to fill an industrial-sized mug with strong coffee. I’m an avid fan of Orson Welles and his movies. While The Stranger may not be his best, I have fond memories of it, as I will always remember the first time I saw it. My eyes were glued to the TV, or at least they would have been, had I not already packed the glue. I’ve watched The Stranger since then and was happy to see that it was just as good, even when you aren’t in the TV’s personal space.

Trivia Time 102

Here are the answers to the unanswered and partially answered questions from TT101:

1. Name the two NFL teams playing in the Superbowl in the film Black Sunday.

Answers: Dallas Cowboys and Pittsburgh Steelers.

2. Name the starting quarterbacks for each team in the previous question.

Answers: Roger Staubach and Terry Bradshaw.

3. Name the actor who did not do any of his own driving in the film Grand Prix.

Answer: Brian Bedford


4. Who Said This In Which Film? Person one: "Let's do some reefer! We'll get high and I'll iron the chick's hair!" Person two: "Reefer…whoaaaa!" (Hint: no, it's not Reefer Madness)

Answers: Pia Zadora and Rick Ocasek in Hairspray (1988). You can watch a video of this scene here.

5. Who Said This In Which Film? "Do you realize that Otto spelled backwards is Otto?"

Answer: Pamela Tiffin in One, Two, Three.

9. Name two films that Peter Fonda and Bruce Dern made together.

Answers: The Trip and The Wild Angels.

10. Name two films in which Kirk Douglas' character had a peg leg.

Answers: Both Dawn and Yvette got The Man From Snowy River, and Yvette guessed Treasure Island for the second one. The actual name of the second film is Scalawag…but good try, Yvette!


Well, I've managed to keep my promise to come up with another Henry Hull question...so with no further ado, the questions for Trivia Time #102 start below!

1. Name any films Henry Hull made with Humphrey Bogart or Errol Flynn.

2. In which film did Richard Loo appear with Humphrey Bogart?

3. Who Said This In Which Film? "Besides that, it's all in the reflexes."

4. Name a mid-1950s film that inspired Bruce Springsteen to compose a song with the same title.

5. How did the song title in the previous question became a major part of the plot in a completely different film? Be specific.

6. Name a film featuring both Pamelyn Ferdin and Teri Garr.

7. Name all of the stars of the film in #6.

8. Which classic '60s game show used music from the Tijuana Brass LP "Whipped Cream & Other Delights"?

9. Name the songs from the Tijuana Brass which were used by the show in the previous question.

Ante Meridiem Theatre: Late Night Movie Watching Requires Stealth and Elasticity

Ante Meridiem Theatre is a place to focus on movies that used to crop up on television late at night into the early morning hours. This month, I thought I’d stick with the theme of Movie-Watching Memories and share with you the things that can happen when you stay up past your bedroom for a movie.

In my youth, a wide range of movies was not exactly at my disposal. The premium movie channels – HBO, Showtime, Cinemax, The Movie Channel (shockingly, only one of each) – were available to rich folk. Not that my family was poor. Let’s just say that my brother and I’s G.I. Joes didn’t convene at the coveted USS Flagg Aircraft Carrier but instead engaged in battle at the Barbie Dream Condo – though its three floors and elevator access made it ideal for snipers. But those guys who had the USS Flagg were the same ones watching HBO every night while I stayed at home and held a tape recorder up to a radio, waiting for the guitar solo before sneezing so I wouldn’t forever wonder what the lead singer was actually saying in the second verse.

Turn to a channel not in your dish package today, and you’ll just see a message telling you to upgrade. With basic cable, you saw snow, but sometimes, just beyond the snow, you could see movement. People. More specifically, actors. Acting out a movie. Crank the volume, and you could hear crackling voices reciting lines. The snow on the HBO channel we didn’t get was unrelenting. Nothing but snow. But on the other channels, all bunched together in sequence, films were often slightly visible and barely audible.

The quality of the movie pushing through the static varied. Cinemax would be nearly perfect one night and unwatchable the next. Sometimes a film on The Movie Channel couldn’t be seen on one TV but was drive-in quality on another. The television in the basement was the best, which was fitting since my mock bedroom was there – “mock” because the basement and my bedroom were all one room, separated by a desk and a bureau and a gun cabinet that acted as my closet but turned away from the community side of the room for, you know, privacy and what not. But one fateful night, at around two o’clock in the morning, the movie I was attempting to watch wasn’t very clear. I decided to risk checking the TVs on the first floor.

On the top floor, my stepfather, mother, sister and brother slept. When it was this late, watching anything on the TV in the TV room (my stepfather’s TV) was a little like juggling knives in the dark. You’d have to stand and listen by the stairs for any creaking to allot yourself ample time for fleeing. Fortunately, the stairs to the basement were adjacent to the TV room. On this particular night, however, the TV room TV was no better than the basement one. So I opted for the TV in the dining room, an ironic location as we were never allowed to watch TV while eating. The movie was Stripped to Kill (1987), which, of course, I had to see because I’d already seen Stripped to Kill II (aka Live Girls/1989), and I wanted to see if the first film would help the second film make more sense. As it turns out, they’re only related by title.

It was a cold night, and I was wrapped in a blanket, sitting uncomfortably in a wooden chair and watching a tiny television resting on a countertop, all atop two cabinets, like a faux desk. The good news: The movie looked amazing, like I’d bought a pristine VHS copy. The bad news: The dining room was farther away from the basement stairs than the TV room, and I didn’t realize that I hadn’t mapped out an escape route until I heard someone creaking down the stairs.

I quickly turned off the TV and ducked into the cubbyhole under the countertop. I pulled the chair as closely as I could, sitting with my knees against my chest. My stepfather appeared from around the corner and walked into the dining room, thankfully not turning on any of the lights. He stood next to a huge window and surveyed the backyard. He was maybe five feet away from me, and I could smell his Old Spice. I pulled the blanket up to my nose and held my breath. Finally and mercifully, he walked away, headed for the restroom. I waited patiently, frozen like a derelict statue. He finished his business and headed past the dining room and in the direction of the stairs, but I still couldn’t move, convinced that he’d seen me and was waiting around the corner. When my knees started cramping, I slowly pushed the chair away, crawled out from my nook, and half-jogged to the basement, not a stepfather in sight. I decided to catch the film some other time.

At the time, it was an unsettling experience. It didn’t prevent me from taking first-floor trips for marginally visible movies, but the dining room did become a quarantine zone. Years later, I saw Stripped to Kill in its entirety, and let me say: It’s no Stripped to Kill II.

Memories of Anastasia Romanov and "West Side Story"

Our month of movie-watching memories continues with a guest post by classic film blogger Jessica Pickens. You can read more reviews by Jessica at her blog Comet Over Hollywood.

I’ve always had a slightly obsessive nature when it came to movies I really liked. This tendency first surfaced in the third grade when my family went to see the animated film Anastasia. It is a cartoon about what could have happened to Russian princess Anastasia Romanov after the massacre of the royal family in 1918. I was hooked by the mysterious story and remember floating home that day in November 1997.

I listened to my cassette tape soundtrack every day, collected Anastasia memorabilia, became interested in Russian history and somehow thought that I could be the lost princess Anastasia--in short I drove my family crazy.

This Romanov obsession continued on and off until the seventh grade. In high school I introduced the movie to a boyfriend who wanted to watch it nearly every time we hung out. After this I got really tired of watching the movie.

We take this stroll down memory lane to 1997 as a prelude to what happened when I was 14 years old. In the summer of 2002 I had become more interested in classic film and was devouring Doris Day and Audrey Hepburn films.

That spring my dad introduced me to West Side Story, because he thought I would enjoy the musical version of a modern Romeo and Juliet. He later said he created a monster--my West Side Story obsession would rival my previous Anastasia craze.

I remember watching the movie awestruck. I thought the dances were amazing (and even tried to learn some) and the music was better than any other musical I had ever seen, though it bugged me that Natalie Wood's singing voice was very obviously dubbed by vocalist Marnie Nixon.

Richard Beymer as Tony was extremely attractive to me and it was weird seeing Russ Tamblyn playing a rough gang member when I was used to seeing him as sweet Gideon in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.

Above all, the thing that struck me the most was the ending. I knew it was a story based off Romeo and Juliet but somehow I hoped it had a happy ending, Tony's death was a real shock to me.

When the movie ended that night in March 2003, I wondered why Maria had lived and Tony had died. If she had died, maybe they could've been happy in the after-life. Now Maria has to live with her grief.

I understand now how much more powerful it is that Maria lives rather than dies. I think it makes her character stronger and proves more of a point with the racism theme that the film covers.

My obsession with West Side Story irritated my family--loving a three hour tear jerker can be tiring for your mother--but it opened up a lot of doors in the classic film world. It is why I have seen 432 musicals to date and it encouraged me to start seeing other classic films.

I think part of me was looking for another movie that was as moving as West Side Story--daring all other classic films to have the same impact on me.

While Anastasia was the first movie that I really loved, West Side Story made more of an impression on my life and interests.

Feel Free to Spoil the Ending

I’m sure it’s happened to anyone who’s an avid fan of movies. You’re watching something, and then suddenly you’re not. An hour or so into the movie, and it ends, but much earlier than intended. Maybe you’re at the theatre, and the film falls off the reel. Or you’re at home, and a thunderstorm knocks out the dish. Or you’ve rented a DVD, and the previous renter got his grubby hands all over the playing side and thought the best thing to do would be to clean it with his raggedy shirt, and the movie’s final thirty minutes are pixelated garbage because the disc looks as if it’s been scrubbed with sandpaper.

These days, it’s easier to find another copy of a movie, and if you’re desperate, you can peruse the full synopsis on Wikipedia. But way back whenever, it took a little more effort. You’d have to find someone who’d seen the entire film and beg them for a breakdown of the parts you’d missed. But chances are that person would be another movie buff and would refuse to reveal anything, not wanting to “ruin” it for you, regardless of how many times you screamed, “Ruin it! Ruin it!” in their face. The only remaining option would be to wait for a return trip to the theatre, wait for your local video store to replace its dreadful copy, wait for the movie to crop up on TV someday. A whole bunch of waiting. And then maybe some dinner, followed by more waiting.

The first time I can remember missing a rather significant chunk of a movie was when my siblings and I stayed with our aunt and uncle. My uncle pushed a VHS copy of George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968) into a VCR. I was only 10 years old and had never seen it. The movie opens with a spooky drive to the cemetery as Johnny and Barbra visit their father’s grave. My sister wondered aloud why Johnny was putting on black leather gloves, and the potential reasons seemed feverishly endless. Johnny deliberately scares his sister: “They’re coming to get you, Barbra!” And suddenly a man appears, but he’s really a ghoul, and he attacks Johnny, and Johnny hits his head on a tombstone, and is he dead? No time to check, as Barbra runs to the car, locks herself inside, but oh, no! She doesn’t have the keys, Johnny does, and seriously, is he dead? The ghoul smashes the car window, and Barbra shifts into neutral, and the car starts rolling to prospective safety, and it looks as if she’s made her escape, but the car hits a tree, and she has to jump out, and --

Snow. My uncle had stopped the movie. For the longest time, I thought he’d cut it off because it was terrifying my sister, but I learned much later that he feared my mother’s reaction if he’d shown us a zombie movie. But I’m not sure he realized what he’d actually done. I didn’t see Night of the Living Dead until I was in my teens, so for years, my curiosity was relentless: What happened to Barbra? Did she get away? Was she turned into a ghoul? And seriously! Is Johnny dead?!

I was most affected by a premature ending with Alfred Hitchcock’s Marnie (1964). I’d recently discovered the British auteur and was on a massive run of Hitch films. I saw that Marnie was going to be on TV, and for whatever reason, I had to ask my sister to set the VCR for me. There I sat, following along with Marnie’s thievery and the wavering relationship between Marnie and James Bond… or, well, Sean Connery’s character. Then Marnie’s riding horseback, and her horse is wild, and it hurdles a stone wall, collapsing from an injury. Marnie is horrified, and she retrieves a pistol and returns to her fallen steed. Hitch’s camera is aimed at her hand as she lifts the revolver, hammer cocked and --

Static, image clearing, two ladies on a talk show. My sister, unaware of the film’s running time (about 130 minutes, probably two and a half hours on TV), set the VCR for only two hours. I shuffled through a few choice words but had no way of learning how the movie ended. Years later, my uncle, perhaps to redeem himself for the Night of the Living Dead incident, showed me the last 30 minutes or so. And here’s the clincher: the image of Marnie holding the gun is the image that’s been seared onto my brain, and, worst of all, I’ve forgotten the ending.

Instances like that have happened since and will likely happen again. But every shoddy DVD can be replaced by another. Every disappearing dish signal can be vetoed by a few YouTube clips. Every busy schedule can be ridiculed by a DVR full of things to watch at your own convenience. So now if you miss a movie’s ending, you need not worry. You’ll find the ending somewhere. You may have to wait, but only for a few hours or days, not years. It’s a persistent speculation, running the possibilities through your head: What was the ending like? I mean, just imagine. You’re totally invested, you don’t know how everything will wind up, and then suddenly --

Trivia Time 101

Here are the answers to the unanswered questions from TT100:

1. Mike Post said that this singer, who later turned actor, had a real problem singing on key. Who is he talking about?

Answer: Kenny Rogers

2. In the late '70's this composer scored a scene that many (myself included) consider to be one of the greatest "G-rated" love scenes ever filmed. Name the composer, the film, and the director.

Answer: Jerry Goldsmith, Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Robert Wise

3. Regarding #2, did the composer work with that director before the film in question? If so, name the previous film.

Answer: Yes, they worked together during the making of The Sand Pebbles.

6. Name two Jerry Lewis films featuring music by Count Basie.

Answer: The Errand Boy and Cinderfella.

7. Who did a commercial for "Shower In A Briefcase"?

Answer: Martin Short on SCTV

8. In The "Gunslinger" episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show (final episode), name the song that Laura sang.

Answer: "I Don't Care"

10. Beginning in December 1942, Judith Anderson and Ruth Gordon appeared together in a Broadway show. They starred with Katharine Cornell in the Chekhov play, The Three Sisters. Can you name a film featuring both Judith Anderson and Ruth Gordon?

Answer: Edge of Darkness (1943)

11. Name the stars and the director of the film in #10.

Answer: Errol Flynn, Ann Sheridan and Walter Huston starred in Edge of Darkness; the director was Lewis Milestone.


TT101 begins below… have fun!

1. Name the two NFL teams playing in the Superbowl in the film Black Sunday.

2. Name the starting quarterbacks for each team in the previous question.

3. Name the actor who did not do any of his own driving in the film Grand Prix.

4. Who Said This In Which Film? Person one: "Let's do some reefer! We'll get high and I'll iron the chick's hair!" Person two: "Reefer…whoaaaa!" (Hint: no, it's not Reefer Madness)

5. Who Said This In Which Film? "Do you realize that Otto spelled backwards is Otto?"

6. Name two films in which Henry Hull played the same character. Who were the stars of the aforementioned films?

7. Who were the directors of the two films in the previous question?

8. Name at least four films that Henry Fonda made with John Carradine.

9. Name two films that Peter Fonda and Bruce Dern made together.

10. Name two films in which Kirk Douglas' character had a peg leg.

Hayley Mills Times Two in "The Parent Trap"

Following the delightful Pollyanna (1960), Hayley Mills and writer-director David Swift teamed up again for The Parent Trap, Disney’s best live-action comedy. The gimmick of having Hayley play twins was achieved through then-innovative use of traveling mattes and split screens. It works amazingly well, but the film’s enduring appeal has nothing to do with its clever special effects. The Parent Trap retains its popularity because if its ability to function as a smart, romantic comedy (for adults) and an enjoyable children’s film (in which the teen protagonists outwit their elders).  

The story begins at Camp Inch with 13-years-olds Susan Evers and Sharon McKendrick discovering they’re twins separated at an early age when their parents divorced. Determined to reunite their mother (Maureen O’Hara) and father (Brian Keith), the girls trade places. Their scheme encounters a major obstacle, however, when Sharon learns that Dad plans to marry a young, gold-digging socialite (Joanna Barnes). 

Brian Keith and Maureen O'Hara.

It’s a simple framework that allows the winning performances and sharply written script to shine. Brian Keith unselfishly plays straight man while Hayley and Maureen O’Hara get most of the funny scenes. Still, they’re almost upstaged by supporting players Joanna Barnes and Leo G. Carroll, who each deliver some of the film’s best lines. After talking sweetly about Sharon in front of her father, Joanna Barnes’ character confides to her mother: “First change I make in that household is off she goes to a boarding school in Switzerland.” As a whimsical priest charmed by Maureen O’Hara’s ex-wife, Leo G. Carroll absentmindedly remarks to the new fiancée and her mother: “Delightful, charming woman…it’s amazing how he let her slip away from him.”

The film’s breezy nature and charm mask two major flaws in its premise. First, how could any parents be so cruel as to separate twin sisters—and never even tell them about one another? Secondly, it’s obvious that the parents are still very much in love, so why did they split up in the first place? Since any answers would be unsatisfactory, writer-director Swift wisely chooses to ignore them altogether. 

Joanna Barnes in the original.

The Disney studio produced a pleasant remake of The Parent Trap in 1998 with Lindsay Lohan as the twins (and Joanna Barnes as the mother of the fiancee she played in the original). In the 1980s, Hayley Mills reprised her roles as grown-up versions of Susan and Sharon in three made-for-cable sequels. Interestingly, Eric Kastner’s book was filmed previously as the seldom-shown British comedy Twice Upon a Time. 

Trivia fans, take note: The duet that Hayley sings with herself, “Let’s Get Together,” peaked at No. 8 on the Billboard Top 40 chart in 1961. Annette Funicello and Tommy Sands recorded the title song for The Parent Trap between takes on their movie Babes in Toyland. Finally, the uncredited Susan Henning-Schutte played the other twin in the scenes where it wasn’t necessary to show Hayley’s face.

Speaking to Scarlett O’Hara

Why, Ms. Scarlett (Vivien Leigh), I do declare that you are one of the greatest female characters, both in film and prose, in American history.  You might be calculating but oddly still stupid at times, but I still like you and your 18 inch waist (pre Bonnie, rest her dear soul). Perhaps I often found myself hoping that Ms. Melly (Olivia de Havilland) would slap you or that a Yankee soldier would defile you—both to teach you a lesson—but I still hoped beyond hope that you would triumph in the end.  Alas, your god and creator, Margaret Mitchell, got it right in the end—let the reader/viewer decide how  your tomorrow turned out.  Of course, had Mitchell known that her money-grubbing descendants would allow Alexandra Ripley to write a trashy sequel (I won’t name the title, but the title is the most creative thing about it…and that’s all you need to know, Ms. Scarlett), perhaps she would have relented about writing the end of your story.  So, what makes you and your film merit a four-star rating, Ms. Scarlett? 

Star one: your theme music.  Dramatic and memorable—just like you Ms. Scarlett. Whenever I hear it I immediately think of the lush green gardens of Tara (and the burning of Atlanta, too—damn those Yankess, Miss Scarlett, damn them!),  Ah, and just like you were robbed by those damn Yankees, composer Max Steiner was robbed by the Academy when he lost the Oscar to some silly guy named The Wizard of Oz—now you know that’s not a decent, Southern gentleman’s name, Ms. Scarlett. Of course, it only makes sense that you would have one of the most memorable film scores ever, Ms. Scarlett, as you are the most memorable female film character in history.  Every badass needs a badass theme song, Ms. Scarlett, and rest assured, when your overpriced barouche is cruising the streets of Charleston (or Savannah, Atlanta, etc.) people know what badass is coming. 

Star two: your clothes.  With a figure like yours, Ms. Scarlett, you would look good in anything.  While I don’t know how wise it is to wear a green and white dress to a BBQ, I still think you make it work—and that green ribbon that attaches your hat to the rest of you could be used as a napkin if need be. What I’m saying is, you know how to make any dress work.  Take for example the white ruffle dress—some people would look like a roll of toilet paper gone wrong, but somehow it looks flouncy on you.  Another example is the red garnet gown that you look ultra-fierce in.  Some people just couldn’t work those feathers and the gauze-veil thingy, but you rock it. And, who but you could make a dress out of green velvet drapes seem stylish (sort of)?  Granted, it was because of those damn Yankees that you had to rip those curtains down and wear the tassels as an accessory belt, but we can’t blame the dress for the circumstances into which it was born. 

Star three: your crew. Rhett Butler (Clark Gable) may have left you in the end, but while he was with you he was the man in charge.  Your scenes together alone could have burned down Atlanta—damn Yankees.  I have to admit, I just couldn’t understand why you were always after that loser Ashley Wilkes (Leslie Howard) when you had a man like Rhett around. Was it that he rejected you, Ms. Scarlett?  You were just too much woman for that weak man!  He needed a calm woman like your cousin Ms. Melly, so he could continue the cycle of inbreeding. Melly, now there was a woman who knew how to endure, Ms. Scarlett.  Just think of all the insufferable things Aunt Pittypat (Laura Hope Crews) said over the years to that poor girl!  And you thought listening to Prissy (Butterfly McQueen) and Mammy (Hattie McDaniel) all the time was almost too much to bare.

Star four: your attitude.  There’s one thing that makes a person memorable, and that’s their attitude.  Sometimes things don’t go the way you want, but that doesn’t mean you give up. And, Lord knows, Ms. Scarlett you never give up.  Ashley married Melanie, so you married Charles (he was better looking anyway, plus he died and left you some worthless Confederate money—damn Yankees!). When you didn’t have the money to pay the taxes on Tara you and your drape dress found Frank Kennedy.  When the damn Yankees came calling you shot one dead. To me, this is a can-do attitude.  Plus, you always know you are the most interesting woman in the room.  Of course, you do have a touch of willfullness and a rather nasty temper, but Irish blood runs hot!  Now, if I had to make one constructive suggestion to you it would be this: get over your procrastination issue. Tomorrow might be another day, but sometimes that day can turn out to be really crummy. Still, I like the can-do attitude about getting your man back. 

And, that, Ms. Scarlett, is why you and your film are so memorable.

In the Summer of '79: Hot Nights in a Cool Theater with Friends

Terry B.--film buff, celebrity autograph collector, and one of the BEMAD guys--shares a memory from his college days. 

Movie patrons want to escape. They fortify themselves with popcorn, sodas, and candy. They settle in their seats waiting to be entertained and to watch a story unfold. Or, they might also just be trying to exchange a hot summer night for a cool, dark place to hang out without breaking the bank.

The Princess Theatre in downtown Bloomington, Indiana, was the place for all this in the summer of 1979.

It was when I spent my first summer at school, sharing an apartment with three other guys, and trying to find a job. If you’ve ever spent a summer in central Indiana, you know how hot and humid the weather can be. Being poor, we couldn’t afford to run the air conditioner in the apartment so nights spent in the University library were more to stay comfortable than to read and study.

But at least one evening a week, I made a trip to the Princess with my best friend. For $1, you got admission for movies that change every week. For $1 more, you could get popcorn and a soda. Favorite seat: main section, second row, second seat in. Be enveloped by that screen for two hours, kicked back in your chair, legs up over the row in front of you. Totally engrossed.

*sigh*

The movie fare that summer was intense. The moments I remember best included first marveling, then being bored, by the long shots of the redesigned USS Enterprise in beginning of Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Samantha Eggar licking clean one of her “children” in David Cronenberg’s The Brood. David Warner fighting killer bats in Nightwing. And Season Hubley helping a confused George C. Scott search for his runaway daughter in Paul Schrader’s dark Hardcore.

Of course, it wasn’t necessarily the movie that mattered. It was great to stay cool, forget a job search for a while, and enjoy some time in the company of cinematic friends. And, of course, visit my favorite movie palace, one of thousands across the country, each with patrons who love them.

The Princess Theatre was built in 1892 and was often renovated to compete with newer theatres. It competed with several local opera and vaudeville houses before becoming a fulltime movie theatre in 1936. The exotic glazed relief terra cotta tile façade of the Princess Theatre was redesigned in 1923 and the auditorium doubled in size, in the hope of making it competitive with the recently built Indiana Theatre, a few blocks away. My favorite movie theater is now gone, killed in 1985 by the falling roof of its extended auditorium. The façade remains. So do my memories.

That was the summer of 1979 in Bloomington, Indiana.

Caftan Woman: Movie Memories on the Lake Shore

All this month, the Cafe is celebrating "movie-watching memories." Today's guest post is by Caftan Woman, who blogs about classic films and life. Click here to visit her blog. You can also follow her on Twitter via @CaftanWoman.

Henry Fonda in My Darling
Clementine.

The XL Laundromat on Lake Shore Boulevard is about as far away from a movie palace as you can imagine, yet that is where the memories I relate today all happened. It’s been about three years since the owner, Gyeong, put in a big television. Kiddie programs help keep the little ones calm that are there with their mom or dad. Many of the Lake Shore inhabitants seem to get a kick out of Jerry Springer. Whenever I show up, especially if the place isn’t too busy, Gyeong always switches the channel to TCM. I’m not sure when it first started. It may have something to do with the time I almost came to blows with the heavy set fellow who spoke disparagingly about My Darling Clementine. I choose my fights well.

Occasionally Gyeong’s husband puts in an appearance at the shop. He always looks stern and he never speaks to any of the customers, only to his wife in Korean. One day when TCM was airing Sea of Grass, the “mister” smiled at me and nodded. “Katharine Hepburn,” he said. I smiled back. Did you know that it is not music, but the Connecticut gal who is the international language?

A dreadful day last autumn. A day when I could no longer put off doing the laundry. Iron grey clouds, a biting wind off Lake Ontario and a drizzly rain that intermittently showed the strength of a downpour. I filled the bundle buggy and imagined myself a pioneer braving the elements. Six city blocks to the laundromat doesn’t really compare to a barren prairie or dangerous forest, but we do what we can to get through the day. I picked up my Lake Shore breakfast of coffee and lottery tickets at the 7-11 and settled in for The White Cliffs of Dover, the Clarence Brown directed movie of Alice Deur Miller’s poem about love and loss between the wars. The one other customer, a girl of about 20, yet trying to look older, exclaimed: “Hey, do you know that’s Black and White?” Gyeong said: “Good movie. You watch.”

I sipped my coffee and worked on my continuing efforts to become nonjudgmental. I told myself not to judge bad dye jobs. The only reason Caftan Woman has “embraced her emerging silver tresses” is because she is too lazy to dye her hair. At least others are making an effort. I must remind myself there is nothing wrong with a tattoo. The fact that I relate tatoos to the line-man who was our neighbour when I was a kid and to the roustabout who would stay with us when the carnival hit town at the end of the summer…well, that was a different time. Besides, unicorns are whimsical.

Our laundry companion tried to spend some smoking time in the parking lot, but the weather drove her back inside where she accepted Gyeong’s offer of a cup of soup and sat quietly while the movie went on. A couple of times, she chuckled or made a comment on some character’s behavior. She asked about the time the story was set it. I briefly outlined WWI, pointing out that a couple of blocks away was a parkette named Vimy Ridge for a battle fought by Canadians in that war. She’d always wondered what that meant.

I was ready to leave before the end of the movie and as I packed up our young friend asked: “What’s her name?”

“She’s Irene Dunne,” I said. "She’s not always in sad movies, she can be very funny too, and she sings like an angel.”

My tattooed friend smiled and her voice had a mixture of wonder and admiration when she said: “She must be what they mean when they say someone is a real lady.”

Gyeong patted her on the back and said: “Good movie. You watch.”

The Five Best Movies About Nuns

There are a number of memorable films about nuns or featuring nuns in prominent roles. They include warbling nuns (e.g., The Sound of Music, The Singing Nun, Airport 1975), maternal nuns (The Trouble With Angels), and nuns who play sports (Come to the Stables, The Bells of St. Mary's). There are serious films (Black Narcissus, The Nun's Story), comedies (Bedazzled), and biographies (Song of Bernadette, Therese). There's even an Elvis Presely movie with nuns (Change of Habit). Of course, one must be careful in listing nun movies, because in some cases the nuns turned out not to be nuns at all (Two Mules for Sister Sara). The list below is limited to films from the classic era only. As with all the "Five Best" lists, recommended additions are welcomed!

Sister Ruth, not looking like a nun here,
approaching the bells.

1.  Black Narcissus - This Powell & Pressberger masterpiece stars Deborah Kerr as a nun sent to a remote village in the Himalayas to start a hospital and a school. A thematically rich film, it features brilliant performances and is enhanced by the most glorious color photography ever captured on celluloid.

2.  Lilies of the Field - A group of German nuns in a small Arizona town convince a wanderer (Sidney Poitier) to do a roof repair—which eventually results in him building a chapel for them. Yes, Poitier won the Oscar for this and he’s terrific—but he’s matched by Lilia Skala as the Mother Superior. The language difference is the source of much unexpected humor. This is a lovely little film about faith and perseverance.

Ingrid Bergman earned a Best Actress
nomintation for her performance.

3.  The Bells of St. Mary’s - Bing Crosby recreated his Oscar-winning role as Father O’Malley (“Just dial ‘O’ for O’Malley”) in this sequel to Going My Way. But this film belongs to Ingrid Bergman, who anchors it with her captivating, warm performance as Sister Mary Benedict. It’s an incredibly natural performance and her climatic scene with Crosby may be Ingrid’s finest moment on film.

4.  Come to the Stable - Loretta Young and Celeste Holm play French nuns who settle in the New England town of Bethlehem with the goal of building a children’s hospital—but they have no money, no land, and no one to help. A charming film that works its magic in subtle ways, even if the outcome is never in doubt.

Audrey Hepburn was also
nominated for Best Actress.

5.  The Nun’s Story - Aubrey Hepburn gives one of her best performances in this tale of the hardships faced by a young nun. The heart of the film takes place in the Belgian Congo, where Sister Luke assists a physician (Peter Finch) in treating lepers. However, it’s the opening and closing scenes that linger the longest with me.


Honorable Mentions: The Sound of Music (a culture phenomenon in the 1960s...it played for my hometown for a year!); The Trouble With Angels (with Rosalind Russell plays Mother Superior of a girls’ boarding girl and Hayley Mills as the resident troublemaker, and Bedazzled (with Dudley Moore as a nun).

A Life in (Front of) Movies

All this month, the Cafe will celebrate "movie-watching memories." Today's guest post is by Michael Nazarewycz who writes several personal blogs about films from all eras. Click here to check out Michael's blogs. Michael is also an Editorial Contributor at www.ManILoveFilms.com. His daily method of communication with his fellow film-lovers is via Twitter @ScribeHard.

James Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life.

My first-ever favorite actor was Jimmy Stewart. I’ll get to why later.

Jimmy Stewart—he of It’s A Wonderful Life and The Philadelphia Story and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and more classics than I have italics—was once quoted by Peter Bogdanovich as having said the following:

"An’ that’s the thing—that’s the great thing about the movies…After you learn—and if you’re good and Gawd helps ya and you’re lucky enough to have a personality that comes across—then what you’re doing is…you’re giving people little…little, tiny pieces of time…that they never forget.”

God bless Jimmy Stewart.

And he was more right than he realized. Not only are the movies little tiny pieces of time that we never forget, the movies are little tiny pieces of time that we live through. When we watch movies, we aren’t just bearing witness to history, we’re making history of our own—through decisions and events and circumstances that take place as part of the overall moviegoing experience. In fact, many of us can probably construct a timeline of our lives using all of those Little Pieces.

My timeline begins in 1974, at the Route 202 Drive-in theater in West Chester, Pennsylvania. I’m in my jammies and in the back seat of a gigantic Ford Thunderbird (and really, were there any small Thunderbirds in the early '70s?). The night’s double feature begins with Herbie Rides Again. I fall asleep during intermission and never get to see what the grown-ups watch.

Crowds lined up for Star Wars.

Fast-forward to 1977 and the Eric Theater at Tri-State Mall in Claymont, Delaware. The film is Star Wars, and in all of my visits to that mall—whether to see a movie or to get a brand new pair of Buster Browns (from the Shoe Boat, of course)—I’ve never seen a line at the mall’s theater so long. It’s my first event movie before such a phrase even existed.

Now, sometimes the memories of childhood are like the closets of childhood: messy to the point that you know what you are looking for is there, but you simply can’t find it and really wish you could.

Montgomery and Loy in
Petticoat Fever.

The next few years of my life are joyfully cluttered with Little Pieces, including Saturday horror on Creature Double Feature; some new-fangled television system called “cable,” which has entire channels that show nothing but movies (perhaps you’ve heard of it); and the Million Dollar Movie, where I watch my first old movie (if you don’t include those annual, network prime-time airings of such greats as The Wizard of Oz and The Ten Commandments). It’s a forgettable 1936 effort called Petticoat Fever, starring Robert Montgomery and Myrna Loy. Only it isn’t forgettable. I remember it. Well, at least I remember having watched it. It has since played on TCM, and I’ve recorded it, but I’m too attached to the perfection of the memory of watching my first old movie to risk spoiling that memory’s perfection with the film’s potential mediocrity.

Now it’s 1982, and I’m an 8th-grader at Holy Rosary Catholic Elementary School. I’m in the auditorium for what will be the last time my friends wheel in a projector and play Free to Be, You and Me for the entire school. I’ve seen the thing a half-dozen times, but never with the weight of an era’s end hanging around my neck. I’m devastated to have to say goodbye to the babies one last time.

It’s 1984, and I watch my first ... hmm. Let’s just say that for as much as my memory fails me about Petticoat Fever, it fails me not when it comes to my first adult film. That night could be a column unto itself.

The Little Pieces Timeline continues to build and build, and behind every movie is a story of what happens around seeing the movie. And for every memory I share here, there are dozens I keep to myself not to horde them, but because I have to stop typing at some point. But please know I want to share them all.

An engagement ring
hiding place!

They range from the Little Piece about my first VHS purchase (Lethal Weapon) to the Little Piece about hiding my wife’s engagement ring under a VHS copy of the first movie we saw together in the theater (Sleepless in Seattle), to the Little Piece about working at a video store, to the Little Piece about being an online film critic, to the Little Piece about crying with my kids at the end of certain films.

To the Little Piece. To the Little Piece. To the Little Piece. Until finally I have a fully-developed (yet far from complete) Little Pieces Timeline that rests with this Little Piece right now, my revisitation with you of some of my Little Pieces of Time.

Which brings us back to Jimmy Stewart, and the promise I made in the open that I would explain why he was my first-ever favorite actor.

It’s the Little Piece about my grandfather.

At some point in that big messy closet of my memory, my grandfather introduced me to and schooled me on the music of the Big Bands of his youth; in particular, the sounds of Glenn Miller and His Orchestra. With that education came repeated viewings of The Glenn Miller Story, starring Jimmy Stewart. It was through Stewart as Miller that my grandfather and I began a movie-based bond that ended not when he died, but when he was buried.

The VHS cover for The
Glenn Miller Story.

You see, the Little Piece about my grandfather is not about watching the movie with him, but about the VHS copy of The Glenn Miller Story that I bought him one year for his birthday, that we would revisit on occasion, and that I placed in his casket the day he was buried.

Between you and me, that’s a big Little Piece.

So, with one clever phrase, my first-ever favorite actor summarized my movie-going life in a way 1,000 or 10,000 or 100,000 words never could.

God bless Jimmy Stewart and his Little Pieces of Time.

Why "Halloween" Made Me Nauseous—It’s Not What You Think!

A BEMAD ad from the Indiana
Daily Student newspaper.

The only thing that can rival the joy of watching a movie with a few close friends is showing a movie to a few hundred strangers. Of course, these are very different experiences. One is about sharing one’s love of movies. The other is about putting on a show!

When I was a junior at Indiana University in the late 1970s, four friends and I formed an organization that showed movies to raise money for our dorm floor. Using the first letter of each of our last names, we called our group BEMAD Productions. BEMAD showed 16mm films at various locations on the Bloomington campus, charging from $1 to $1.50 per student. Our eclectic choice of films included: The Pink Panther; Start the Revolution Without Me; Fellini’s Casanova; Enter the Dragon; Horror of Dracula; and several of the James Bond films. Our biggest hit—prior to 1980—was a Halloween night showing of Night of the Living Dead.

Most show biz stories center on a tenacious rivalry and this one is no exception. The largest film-showing organization on campus was called the Union Board. It received funds from each student as part of a required “activity fee.” As a result, Union Board was well funded and could afford to show the most current 16mm film releases, which sometimes cost as much as $425 for a one-day rental (vs. 50% of the gross profits). BEMAD, which covered its own expenses, couldn’t compete with those exorbitant prices. Furthermore, Union Board got first dibs on current releases because it booked so many films with the 16mm rental companies.

However, things changed in the spring of 1980. Due to graduations, BEMAD’s active members had dwindled to three of us. We only showed films on an occasional basis and donated our profits to the Film Studies Office in the Comparative Literature Department. Terry, BEMAD’s “booker” extraordinaire, had cultivated strong relationships with several of the rental companies. So, one of them contacted Terry when John Carpenter’s Halloween was released on 16mm. Since Union Board’s schedule for the semester was already set, Halloween was available—but at a cost of $500 for a two-day rental vs. 50% of the profits.

The temptation to “scoop” Union Board was great, but the cost seemed prohibitive. We were particularly concerned with showing Halloween in March instead of October—especially since it had played theatrically for a long time at the Princess Theatre, Bloomington’s $1 movie house. That’s when the film company’s rep suggested that we just put the rental on a credit card. We wouldn’t have to pay anything upfront—and surely we’d make more than $500 to cover the cost. The only problem was that, as poor college students, we didn’t have a credit card.

I did, however, have my father’s credit card…which he gave me for use in an emergency. Didn’t the chance to be the first campus organization to show Halloween qualify as “an emergency”? Besides, I wouldn’t even have to tell Dad because the credit card wouldn’t be charged unless we failed to make $500—and that would never happen!

Everything went smoothly prior to the big night. We booked an auditorium in the Business Building. Advertised in the Indiana Daily Student newspaper. Put up 200 flyers all over campus. Procured two projectors. Got a roll of tickets and money for the till.

By 6:30 on Friday night, we were all set up and ready to reap in huge profits. Twenty minutes prior to the first show time—when patrons usually started to drift in—no one was there. At 6:50, I peered into the auditorium and counted about a dozen people. I sat down on the steps of the projection booth as a wave of nausea washed over me. I envisioned myself explaining to Dad how I had spent $500 on a movie rental using his credit card—and lost about $400! How could I have possibly placed myself in such a horrible, embarrassing situation?

And then…people started to arrive…in big bunches. By 7:05, the auditorium was full and John Carpenter’s eerie music was playing over the credits. We sold out almost every show at the 7, 9, and 11 PM showings on Friday and repeated the feat on Saturday. I don’t even remember how much we made, but it was more than enough to cover the full rental cost and allow for a generous donation to the Film Studies Office.

My friend Terry (right) told our Halloween
story to John Carpenter many years later.

I still keep in touch with three of my BEMAD pals. Often, when we start reminiscing, we ramble on for hours about the time we borrowed a coffin to promote Night of the Living Dead or the blizzard that provided a captive audience for The Creature from the Black Lagoon in 3D or the time the projectionist (me) watched the flick as the film unraveled on the floor instead of onto the take-up reel. Today, I can even reflect fondly on the night that Halloween made me nauseous.