Star Pick with Kurt Angle

A Christmas movie that is truly special has that moment. . . that specific sequence magically able to transcend the medium – enlivening our spirits, touching our hearts, rejuvenating the soul. . . a bell ringing – it giving an angel its wings; a humbug of a man able to get another chance at really living life; a family, despite all odds, getting home to their young son that has been left home alone; and, in today’s film, though the ending could arguably be it, a woman brings her newly adopted (orphaned) Dutch daughter to see Santa Claus at the mall, as the little girl truly believes she will be able to speak to him – her mother, knowing that he can’t speak the language, is gobsmacked when he starts to talk to her – bringing so much joy to her cherub-like face. Of course, you’ve probably guessed it, I am referencing George Seaton’s 1947 classic Miracle on 34th Street (he both writes and directs). After a drunk Santa is removed from his post during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade thanks to the complaint of Kris Kringle (Edmund Gwenn – winning an Oscar for the role), methodical event director Doris Walker (Maureen O’Hara) asks the man to don the suit – filmed during the actual parade.

A perfect example of ‘you can’t outrun your past, present or future’, 1949's Act of Violence, directed by Fred Zinnemann (High Noon; From Here to Eternity), starts with quite the hook: a man, limp noticeable, hurriedly, and with purpose, makes his way through a city in the clutches of the glum night, eventually entering a room that holds a deadly object – a gun. . . hopping onto a bus, it does not bode well. With a deliberate, unyielding presence, Joe Parkson (Robert Ryan – for another one of his great film noirs, see The Set-Up) is the thing of nightmares. . . a stalking figure in trench coat and fedora – the Michael Myers of the noir genre. Ryan, with his lined face, imposing size, and disturbed demeanor, is an ominous heavy – the enigmatic grunt opening a phone book and circling the name of one Frank R. Enley (Van Heflin).

We’ve all had it happen before. . . an experiment goes awry – a recipe doesn’t turn out (and the cake somehow turns green), or we simply think ‘the old Mentos in a bottle of Coke trick’ is just a myth, but you’ve likely never had a day quite like scientist André Delambre (David Hedison – the only actor to play Felix Leiter in two James Bond flicks), a moment that will change his life forever – so, without further ado, I present to you 1958's: The Fly. Written by James Clavell (based upon a short story by George Langelaan) and directed by Kurt Neumann, the story is set in exotic Montreal, the french speaking Canadian city that is one of the oldest continuously inhabited locations in North America. It is here that a wealthy industrialist family is seemingly struck by a more than unusual tragedy – André Delambre has been found dead, head and arm obliterated by a hydraulic press. . . further adding to the mystery, his loving wife Hélène (Patricia Owens) is seen running from the scene of the crime.

One of the great horror directors of the 1930s, James Whale shot Frankenstein, The Old Dark House, The Invisible Man, and The Bride of Frankenstein in just four short years, an impressive feat that also somewhat overshadows a few of his lesser known, non-spook related features – specifically, 1931's Waterloo Bridge. . . which, interestingly enough, earned Whale so much favour with the head of Universal Pictures’ production department, that Carl Laemmle, Jr. (due to a combination of his quality work and coming in under budget), gave the director the choice of anything the studio had in early planning stages – the filmmaker chose Frankenstein, a smart decision. His Waterloo Bridge is based upon Robert E. Sherwood’s 1930 Broadway play of the same name (the playwright based it upon many of his own experiences), where we are transported to London, England, circa World War I. Stuck in the metropolis is Myra (Mae Clarke), a chorus girl who has fallen on hard times.

Picture this – a stunning modernist gallery catches the eye of a passerby late one night, not because of its striking white floors and walls that are the backdrop for noteworthy pieces of art, but rather, because it is the scene of a brutal attack. . . a woman being knifed by a man dressed in a dark raincoat, fedora and gloves, her panicked look and seeping blood in stark contrast to the pale decor. Attempting to rescue her, he gets stuck between two hard-wired glass door panels – this is the hook for the benchmark 1970 giallo The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, written and directed by Dario Argento. The man is Sam Dalmas (Tony Musante), a struggling author from the United States. Coming off of a bender, it is this disturbing sight that enlivens his senses, a chivalric jolt of adrenaline. Though he cannot rescue the girl directly, he is able to sound the alarm, flagging a late-night walker who calls the police.

Tackling Raymond Chandler’s1953 novel “The Long Goodbye” (which features detective Philip Marlowe) in a unique way, director Robert Altman decided to, “call him Rip Van Marlowe, and we took the position that he had been asleep for twenty years, woke up, and Elliott [Gould] just wandered through that film. . . and that was our idea – that he was wandering through this landscape, the film trying to invoke the morals of a previous time into this early seventies.” Set exactly twenty years after the novel’s release date, detective Philip Marlowe (Gould) awakes in the middle of the night from a deep sleep – voice raspy, five o’clock shadow quickly moving onto six. . . a man in an endless stupor. His retro suits, skinny ties and constant smoking are out of place, much like his 1948 Cabriolet Lincoln Continental Convertible – a gent who is undoubtably from another time (even his salary closely resembles what a detective would make in the late 40s or early 50s).