By the Skin of Your Teeth

Every once in a while, a scene, or to break it down even further, a moment, forever captures the zeitgeist of the cinema world. . . more long lasting and memorable than the movie ever could be. By now, you may have already guessed that I am talking about the breezy subway grate blowing up Marilyn Monroe’s flowy white dress (cooling her down on a hot summer’s night) in The Seven Year Itch (1955). Funnily enough, the press generated from the scene’s filming in New York City (the excitement of over five thousand fans watching them shoot and then spreading the word. . .along with the risqué-for-the-time photographs that circulated around the world) brought people into theatres to experience a moment that could never truly match up with what was broadcast. . . for the Hays code would never allow the revealing extent shown before the release to be seen on screen – though that is not to say that it is still not a fabulous clip. . . and I’m here to also say, so is the film.

A night (or matinee) at the movies isn’t what it used to be. Now, we’re lucky if we see two trailers, the rest of the lengthy pre-show being packed with commercials that frustrate – bringing the atmosphere down several notches. Drawing your attention to what you would have seen circa 1940, you would have experienced a newsreel, followed by a live action short, then an engaging cartoon. . . all of this leading into the main event (the trailers running after the film’s closing. . . if you’ve ever wondered why they are called trailers, now you know). Flashing back to August 1940, air conditioned audiences would have witnessed the visual horrors of the war – specifically, the bombing of Britain (which started in July), these realities then leading into Alice in Movieland – a short depicting the dream machine that is Hollywood leading a girl to fame and glory (a fascinating watch due to its young lead – soon to be star Joan Leslie; How to Marry a Millionaire director Jean Negulesco’s direction [this a much earlier work]; and perhaps more than anything else, a screenplay written by young journalist Ed Sullivan – long before his rise to fame).

Ranked as the 17th greatest British film of all-time by the British Film Institute (and perhaps a bit more surprisingly, finding itself on the Vatican’s top 45 “great films” – in the “art” category), 1951's The Lavender Hill Mob, written by T.E.B. Clarke (winning him the Oscar for Best Writing, Story and Screenplay) and directed by Charles Crichton (A Fish Called Wanda), is a clever send up of the crime caper. Setting out to write an authentic crime story, Clarke actually went to the Bank of England, looking for advice. The Bank formed a special committee, the screenwriter asking numerous questions as they basically laid out the only way such a heist could work (by today’s standards, this seems absolutely ludicrous), meaning that, what we see in this 1951 feature is an accurate portrayal of what it would have taken to rob this iconic institution.

Twisting the twinkling night sky into a harbinger of doom, 1948's Night Has a Thousand Eyes is a classic film noir that delves into the inexplicable realm of parapsychology. Based upon a novel of the same name written by iconic crime scribe Cornell Woolrich (and adapted by Barré Lyndon and Jonathan Latimer), John Farrow (Where Danger Lives; Around the World in 80 Days) directs this intriguing story. Opening in dramatic fashion, we witness a last second rescue of a young woman attempting suicide late one night at a bustling industrial railway depot (a stunning visual sequence).

An overtly cheerful vacation romp to the French countryside. . . until it isn’t, 1946's So Dark the Night, directed by Joseph H. Lewis (Gun Crazy), transforms from unexpected romance to film noir murder mystery in the blink of an eye. Following famous Parisian detective Henri Cassin (Steven Geray), the man is finally getting his long awaited vacation. Though those within the station talk about his recent stress level, the portly, closing-in-on-retirement detective seems in very good spirits.

The third of four films made by the husband and wife dream team of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, 1947's Dark Passage, written and directed by Delmer Daves (Destination Tokyo), is perhaps one of the most unique film noirs of the classical era. Not revealing star Humphrey Bogart’s face until sixty-two minutes into the movie, studio head Jack L. Warner (Warner Bros), upon learning this, was absolutely furious. . . but, the film was already so far into production that nothing could be done.