From the Vaults: 'The Black Swan' (1942)

The current Natalie Portman film is not, perhaps, technically a remake of this movie. Instead of dueling ballerinas, the 1942 film features dueling pirates. Instead of the "Dying Swan" dance, there is a big battle at sea with cannons. And instead of Portman and Mila Kunis, the 1942 film stars Tyrone Power and Maureen O'Hara. But everything else is totally the same.

Actually, 1942's "Black Swan" is based on a novel by Rafael Sabatini (I haven't read it, but I loved "Scaramouche") and concerns the uneasy relationships between the English, the Spanish and the non-law-abiding pirates in the glory days of the Spanish Main. Power plays Jamie, a very enthusiastic pirate whose hero Captain Morgan (Laird Cregar) lures him into a respectable non-pirating life as governor of Jamaica. This sits none too well with the feisty Margaret (O'Hara), whose dad was the previous governor, but Jamie finds her an irresistible wench all the same. Sparks fly!

Meanwhile, Jamie and Morgan's former pirating colleague Leech (George Sanders) is continuing to ply his trade off Jamaica in violation of Morgan's wishes. Jamie must use all his old pirating skills to track down his rival and win Margaret's affections! But will the siren song of the high seas lure him back again?

This movie's got a fab cast. In addition to the top stars it's got a sinister Anthony Quinn in an eye patch as Leech's sidekick, and a very lively Thomas Mitchell (yup, Uncle Billy) in a headscarf as Jamie's best friend, Tommie Blue. All the wigs and pirate beards do make it hard to recognize some people -- I would never have identified Sanders (whom we last saw thinking about a brick wall in "Village of the Damned").

From the Vaults: 'MASH' (1970)

I loathe war movies. I also loathe hospital movies, and movies with predominantly male stars (really, who wants to sit and watch a bunch of men running around?) And I really loathe movies with long football scenes. Yet then we have Robert Altman's "MASH," and it is one of my favorite movies. I watch it every fall, mostly for the football scene.

The story, such as it is, opens with surgeons Hawkeye (Donald Sutherland) and Duke (Tom Skerritt) arriving at their Mobile Army Surgical Hospital near the Korean War front lines; they amble into the mess hall, where they're greeted by a cacophony of overlapping dialogue as they ogle the beautiful Lt. Dish (Jo Ann Pflug). Then they get to work. And that's pretty much the movie: They work, and they goof around trying to stay sane. Their antics are silly but the movie's never cute -- there's always an edge.

Duke and Hawkeye are soon joined by heart surgeon Trapper John (Elliott Gould), and the three set about taking down their twin nemeses: Bible-thumping Maj. Frank Burns (Robert Duvall) and bureaucracy-loving Maj. Margaret Houlihan (Sally Kellerman). I love the moment when Frank is praying out loud while the others drink martinis, and he earnestly asks God to protect the soldiers and the commander in chief; Duke and Hawkeye both start and lower their glasses in genuine shock. It's a massive faux pas to them, I think, to suggest that God has anything to do with the hideous things that are happening at the front.

The movie's not quite antireligious -- Rene Auberjonois plays the affable chaplain Dago, who's kind of in his own serene little world but who's much more practical than Frank. There's a wonderful bit where Duke interrupts him as he performs last rites in a hopelessly understaffed operating room: "Dago! I want you over here to hold this retraction. Now! ... I'm sorry, Dago, but this man is still alive and that other man is dead, and that's a fact." In a field hospital, God just has to wait.

 

From the Vaults: 'Pillow Talk' (1959)

"I love you."

"I know."

You know what movie that's from, right? WRONG! Years before Han Solo (and hey, RIP Irvin Kershner), his possibly-most-famous line gets drawled by Rock Hudson, playing a womanizing songwriter in "Pillow Talk." Hudson tosses it off almost before the credits are over; when another woman says, "Let me come over and fix you dinner," he replies, "Well, I guess that'd be all right." Hmm... unlike scruffy-sweet Han, this guy is a real jerk!

"Pillow Talk" is, of course, the first of several snappy, innuendo-filled comedies starring Hudson with the radiantly snub-nosed, impeccably tanned Doris Day. And I'm reviewing it on the recommendation of my mom. Hi, Mom! You were right, of course: This movie is hilarious -- it's a blast to watch Hudson's character gradually get his comeuppance. And Doris' fashions are just incredible. I didn't think it was possible for me to covet a teal-blue suit jacket with a giant collar, but I want one.

Hudson and Day play total strangers who happen to share a phone line, since this is back in the days of party lines. He woos women over the phone, while she's a businesswoman who needs the phone for her interior-design clients. Before they've even met, they're at each other's throats: She tries to get his access to the line shut off; he calls her and accuses her of jealousy and "bedroom problems." My goodness! But then he gets a look at her and falls madly in lust. Rather than reveal he's the man she hates, he concocts a goofy Texan alter ego, and the fun begins.

From the Vaults: 'Metropolis' (1927)

I am just about the last person on earth to see Fritz Lang's "Metropolis." And I chose to break my fast with a nice long incarnation of it: the newly restored 145-minute version, recently shown for the third time by the wonderful people at Cinefamily (formerly the Silent Movie Theatre), as part of their ongoing Silent Wednesdays series. To be perfectly honest, I was prepared for some occasional boredom. But the 145 minutes flew by. "Metropolis" is, of course, terrifically impressive.

Here's what I wasn't expecting: all the medieval/religious imagery; the total smoking hotness of Alfred Abel (as city father Joh Fredersen); the amazingly kinetic storytelling; and the brilliance of Brigitte Helm in her dual role as Maria.

The movie helpfully lays out its theme in an epigram: "The mediator between HEAD and HANDS must be the HEART." And with excruciating tidiness, it follows through. Beautiful, futuristic Metropolis is run by brainy, privileged Joh Fredersen and his colleagues; it's maintained by overall-clad laborers, who walk with their heads down and labor balletically at beautifully Expressionistic machines. Fredersen's son Freder (Gustav Frolich) takes an interest in the workers' plight thanks to beautiful, kind teacher Maria (Helm). Will the two of them become the "heart" of the city? Um, does a cinematic workers' revolt end in chaos? Of course they will!

From the Vaults: 'The Howling' (1981)

Well, Joe Dante's horror classic "The Howling" was not at all what I expected! Every werewolf movie is necessarily idiosyncratic, of course -- it's not like "Dracula" or "Frankenstein," with an established storyline and characters to follow or riff on. With werewolves, you have people who turn into wolves, but from there you can go wherever you like. Dante's film (written by John Sayles, picking up from Terence Winkless) starts as a contemporary noir, then develops into a sort of backwoods psychodrama before finally revealing itself as a werewolf movie. It's a fascinating mix.

TV news anchor Karen White (Dee Wallace, now Dee Wallace-Stone) rounds up her news crew and goes to confront an L.A. serial killer named Eddie, who's been stalking her. Eddie does something horrible off-camera before authorities dispatch him; utterly traumatized, Karen consults her psychiatrist, George Waggner (Patrick Macnee), who suggests she recuperate at his woodland retreat up north. Soon Karen's off to "The Colony" with her mustachioed husband, Bill Neill (Christopher Stone).

But things are weird up there, even beyond the residents' self-help blather about energies and assertiveness training and EST ("Another five years of real hard work, and maybe I'll be a real human being," quips one). Karen hears strange animal noises in the night. Nearby cattle are mutilated. An older resident, Erle Kenton (John Carradine), mutters angrily about his teeth and tries to hurl himself into a campfire. And a sexy thing called Marsha tries to put the moves on Bill! Karen calls her city friend Terry (Belinda Balaski), who figures out that Eddie may still be around -- and that this "Colony" thing may be a cover for something very hairy.

From the Vaults: 'The Time Machine' (1960)

Nope, not the Guy Pearce version from 2002, lovely as he and his cheekbones may be. This is the classic adaptation directed by George Pal, who'd adapted H.G. Wells' "War of the Worlds" a few years earlier. Wells' "The Time Machine" seems at first like it'd be a lower-budget idea -- you don't need to design Martian war machines this time, just a fancy little chair -- but Pal's use of time-lapse photography is pretty impressive even today. Plus his storytelling is excellent, riffing nicely on Wells' unbeatable premise. I was exhausted and cranky when I put this movie in my DVD player, and I still had a blast.

Wells doesn't name his protagonist, so the movie thoughtfully gives Rod Taylor's time traveler the name "H. George Wells." Aww! (Three years later, Taylor would go on to captivate Tippi Hedren in "The Birds." Here, he comes across like a proto-Bill Pullman, round-chinned and lovably earnest.) On New Year's Eve 1899, George gathers several close friends  and tries to convince them he's invented a time machine. When nobody believes him, he bids them good night, climbs in alone and sets off to explore the future!

I haven't read Wells' novella but my understanding is that the action heads immediately into the distant, sci-fi-style future. Since we're watching a 1960 version of an 1895 story, Pal has George make a couple stops of historical interest: 1917, where George is appalled by World War I; and 1940, where he's appalled by World War II. Most chillingly, the action stops again in the 1960s, where George is perplexed by an air-raid siren -- and then watches in horror as a mushroom cloud brings civilization to an end.

From the Vaults: 'The Woman Who Came Back' (1945)

What an odd yet pleasing little film is “The Woman Who Came Back.” A New England woman returns to her hometown and, after a near-death incident, becomes afraid that she’s under the spell of a famous local witch. It’s like a cross between “Carnival of Souls” and “The House of the Seven Gables.” And atmospherically, it’s got everything: a thunderstorm, a creepy old house, a frightened child, an eerie family crypt, suspicious locals and a band of kids all done up in vintage Halloween costumes. This is a perfect Halloween movie.

Nancy Kelly (who would go on to play Patty McCormack’s mom in “The Bad Seed”) stars as Lorna Webster, who’s heading home after some time away under unspecified circumstances. Almost immediately, strange things start to happen. Her bus crashes, killing everyone else on board. When she recovers, a strange dog starts following her around. She accidentally poisons some goldfish. The townsfolk all look askance at her -– all, that is, but her adoring ex-fiance, Matt (John Loder). Lorna’s soon convinced that there’s something wrong with her.

One of Lorna's ancestors, it turns out, was a notorious New England judge who once convicted a number of local witches and sentenced them to burn at the stake. This, of course, never happened in the United States –- all our witches were hanged, thank you (except for that poor man who was pressed to death) -– but never mind. It’s only a movie! The judge's most famous victim was a woman named Jezebel Traister, who left a statement threatening revenge from beyond the grave, and hinting that she might return by possessing a young maiden. Could this be happening to Lorna?

From the Vaults: 'The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari' (1919)

Is there anything new to say about "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari"? Not really, but Halloween is a time for classics. And the best thing about this silent landmark of German expressionism is how magnificently new it still looks. Grainy and faded, sure, but with imagery that still looks like nothing else, no matter how many times it's been imitated or referenced. If you've never seen it, don't miss it.

We open with a framing device, in which handsome leading man Francis (Friedrich Feher) tells a concerned-looking friend about a transforming experience he shared with his fiancee (Lil Dagover), who wanders by with a white nightgown and a glazed expression in full "House of Usher" style. Then the movie flashes back, and it's here the fun begins.

Francis' hometown of Holstenwall is having a carnival, we're told, but it looks like every day in Holstenwall is a day in the funhouse. Walls and ceilings tilt at insane angles, crazy patterns are painted on the streets and floors: It's all unabashedly artificial-looking and wild. Even the man who lights the streetlamps is askew, walking with a limp. But most of the townspeople just stroll through this strange like it's all perfectly normal. The effect is immediately a bit dizzying.

Something new and weird is at this year's carnival: a somnambulist, named Cesare (Conrad Veidt), placed on display by one Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss). Apparently being a somnambulist means you don't mind being kept in a box and can predict the future -- but we quickly learn that it also means being an enslaved murderer! Cesare is quickly dispatched to slay a town clerk who gets on Caligari's nerves, as well as a local guy named Alan (Hans Heinrich von Twardowski). Unfortunately for Caligari, Alan was Francis' best friend, and Francis resolves to solve the murder. (The town clerk, it seems, had no friends.)

From the Vaults: 'Cat People' (1982)

Remake time! Although apparently director Paul Schrader ("American Gigolo"; also the writer of "Taxi Driver") insisted that he didn't intend "Cat People" as a remake of the 1942 film. Still, it's got main characters named Irena, Oliver and Alice, who all have roughly the same relationships with each other. And it's got the same conceit: that Irena, if aroused to physical passion, will transform into a panther and kill her lover. But rather than a shadowy thriller, Schrader turns that material into an erotic sort of psychodrama. Does that count as a remake? You decide!

Schrader makes Irena's duality -- sweet virginal girl/homicidal cat person -- much more literal by giving her an older brother, Paul (Malcolm McDowell). As the film opens, Irena (Natassja Kinski) is meeting him for the first time; she's been raised up north by foster families but has come to live with Paul in hot, sweaty New Orleans. Paul knows about the cat-people thing and embraces it, but Irena's got no idea. I wouldn't have thought it, but these two do make a sublimely feline pair: McDowell leaps lithely onto railings, Kinski wriggles kittenishly, and both of them gaze around with their huge, hypnotic eyes. Meow!

Shortly after Irena's arrival, Paul disappears, and Irena becomes fascinated with the new black leopard at the local zoo. Irena in turn fascinates zoo boss Oliver (John Heard), to the irritation of his colleague Alice (a sublimely beautiful Annette O'Toole). Let the sexual drama begin!

It may all sound tawdry and godawful, but remember that the 1942 film was considered a B movie. Schrader's film is a rocking good time if you can manage the premise. It's a big pop mashup of myth and sex and blood and fun. My expectations were rock-bottom, but I had an absolute blast watching this. How can you not love a movie that opens and closes with David Bowie's voice?

From the Vaults: 'Cat People' (1942)

I really didn't plan a cat theme, but someone mentioned this movie a few months ago and I thought "hm, if I ever ditch the idea of sticking to movies from specific years, I will have to write about that one." So, done and done! It was a pleasure to sit down last night and rewatch this. Producer Val Lewton (supposedly an ailurophobe himself) created a B-movie classic with his hastily-assembled "Cat People."

Adorably kittenish Irena (baby-faced Simone Simon) meets aw-shucks nice guy Oliver (Kent Smith) outside the panther cage at her local zoo, and quickly has him captivated. But she refuses to let him kiss her, and after their wedding, she expresses a trembling fear of marital intimacy, which Oliver is way too nice to pressure her about. Irena, it turns out, comes from a village in Serbia that's the legendary home of evil, shapeshifting "cat people"; she's afraid that if she surrenders to physical passion, she'll transform into a lethal cat and tear Oliver to shreds. Yoicks!

At first the film seems like a lurid but relatively plausible little psychodrama. A shrink is called in, the oily Dr. Judd (Tom Conway), who taps his cigarette ash and smiles: "These problems are relatively simple for psychiatrists." But then Oliver starts confiding in beautiful colleague Alice (Jane Randolph) about his marital problems -- and Alice soon finds herself menaced by something that's definitely not human.

From the Vaults: 'The Black Cat' (1934)

Lucy Van Pelt: How about cats? If you're afraid of cats, you have ailurophasia.

Charlie Brown: Well, sort of, but I'm not sure.

Actually, the word is "ailurophobia," and Bela Lugosi's character suffers it intensely in "The Black Cat" -- providing a tenuous justification for the title. Supposedly inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's short story, the movie bears no resemblance to it whatsoever, but is still notable for its dark tone, a fascinatingly idiosyncratic atmosphere, and the first on-screen pairing between Lugosi and Boris Karloff. Plus it's only about an hour long, so there's really no reason not to check it out.

Lugosi plays one Dr. Vitus Werdegast, a creepy person who meets a pair of honeymooners on a train and interrupts their private snogging. Through a series of travel mishaps, the three end up at a mansion owned by the even creepier Hjalmar Poelzig (Boris Karloff -- or, as the opening credits have it, "KARLOFF"). Apparently Werdegast and Poelzig have a nasty history! Their mutual vendetta ultimately involves chess, cats, frozen corpses, stolen wives, modernist architecture, Satanic rituals, nationalistic revenge, crazy outfits and the hapless honeymooners. "The Black Cat" crams a lot into its 65-minute run time!

(NB: Lugosi is also featured in a 1941 film called "The Black Cat." That one stars Basil Rathbone and also has nothing to do with the Poe story, or with this film either. So don't get confused.)

From the Vaults: 'Spider Baby' (1968)

Happy autumnal equinox, my scrappy yet plucky band of readers! The unmistakable slant of fall light is upon us now, even in the 90-degree afternoons, and with it comes my very favorite season for movie watching. Which means I have decided to quit adhering to the four specific years -- 1920, 1940, 1960 and 1980 -- that Larry focuses on elsewhere in this blog, and focus on movies that I'm really excited about. What can I say? It was a full moon last night and I'm running amok.

In last week's post I mentioned writer-director Jack Hill's "Spider Baby," a bizarre yet wonderful cult classic that I discovered earlier this year and of which I am inordinately fond. The film was actually shot in 1964 under the title "Cannibal Orgy," but sat around for a while; one imagines people were sitting around wondering what to do with it. Which would be understandable: The black comedy kicks off with a fabulous, "Monster Mash"-style song performed by Lon Chaney Jr. over stylishly animated opening credits, and it just gets zanier from there.