Originally meant to be a satire... though of a film very few have ever seen nowadays, the Norman Z. McLeod western comedy The Paleface (1948), written by Frank Tashlin about 1929's Virginian, infuriated the man in how it was directed (as a more generic spoof of the western)... but funnily enough, despite the screenwriter’s opinion, until Blazing Saddles (1974) came out, it was the highest grossing western parody of all-time and spawned a sequel in Son of Paleface (1952), while it was also remade as the Don Knotts vehicle The Shakiest Gun in the West (1968). After government agents tasked with tracking down an illegal gun smuggling ring turn up dead, the infamous Calamity Jane (Jane Russell) is secretly broken out of jail by Gov. Johnson (Charles Trowbridge) with the hope that she will take a pardon for going undercover to get to the bottom of this rebel-rousing (similar to rabble-rousing) gang in the frontier land.

"Grand Hotel. . . always the same. People come, people go. Nothing ever happens". But we know this is not so. The winner of Best Picture at the 1932 Academy Awards (the only film to ever win the big prize without being nominated for any other Oscar), Grand Hotel is the first film to ever bring together a who’s who cast to create an ensemble. Breaking the mould, where studios would have had only one or two of their stars in a single film (to cut down on costs as well as avoid strife), MGM united five of their top actors. The iridescent Greta Garbo plays Grusinskaya, a temperamental prima ballerina who is depressed and disillusioned, feeling like her best days are behind her. The versatile John Barrymore plays the Baron, a man who, despite his aristocratic title, has fallen on hard times, desperate for money.
There is a scene about a quarter of the way into Elia Kazan’s Viva Zapata! where our protagonist, Emiliano Zapata (Marlon Brando), has been arrested for attempting to save the life of a peasant who has been unlawfully arrested. Failing, a number of the impoverished, who witnessed the attempt, plead for Zapata to hide in one of their homes. Moving on, he is soon arrested, and the villagers clap with whatever they have in their reach; working tools, rocks or any other implements, as a way to show their support for the hero as he is ushered away. As the officers transport the man through the wilderness, people pour out of the mountainous forest – soon, droves are leading, following and walking beside the police procession. Eventually overwhelmed by the masses, they free the man, aware that they will never be able to manage the united crowd. It is this scene that perhaps best exemplifies the film. A heartfelt sequence, it shows that solidarity in the face of oppression, that boldly standing up for what is right, is a righteous, albeit difficult stance.
One of the most prolific westerns (and sometimes argued to be the last great western) to come out of Hollywood, George Roy Hill adapts William Goldman’s script that brings to life the real, mythical-type figures of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. The background of the script is quite something, with Goldman sending it out to all of the studios – only one was interested (and that was if he made a major change to it). Instead, a few minor adjustments were made, after which Goldman discovered that every studio in town now desperately wanted it. In the end, it was 20th Century Fox President Richard D. Zanuck (son of co-founder Darryl F. Zanuck) who purchased the screenplay for a whopping 400,000 dollars (the biggest sum ever spent on a script up to that point) – and 200,000 higher than he was allowed to spend. Putting his job on the line, it was a wise choice, as it became the highest grossing motion picture of 1969. Goldman ended up winning the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay. Originally titled ‘The Sundance Kid and Butch Cassidy’, Zanuck didn’t find that the title sounded right when it was reversed to its final iteration – funnily enough, it now feels utterly awkward in its original form.

Born out of the horrors of World War II, famed British filmmakers Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger released A Matter of Life or Death one year after the conclusion of the hostilities. Cleverly evoking the complexities of the era, the writer/director team fuse together multiple themes that, in some way, make sense of love, life, death, Heaven and the wounds that soldiers suffered during the traumatic affair. Beginning on a grand celestial scale, we are brought forth to an intimate, heartbreaking moment when British Royal Air Force Squadron Leader Peter Carter (David Niven), after ordering his crew to bail out (letting them know that he will soon follow), reveals to an American radio operator, June (Kim Hunter), that his plane is crashing and he has no parachute. His smooth vocals, grievous situation and stiff upper lip attitude leave the woman distraught, and the two fall in love by way of the irregular circumstance. Leaving his dead friend Bob (Robert Coote) on the plane, Carter leaps into the pea soup thick fog just off the English coastline.
It is hard to fathom that Frank Capra’s classic feature It’s a Wonderful Life turns 70 this year (on December 20th to be exact). A movie of vital importance to millions of people the world over, it has not only become a Christmas staple, but also a yuletide tradition for many a family, though this was not always the case. Getting off to a more than sluggish start (losing major money at the box office), it was not originally a hit (or believed by most critics that it would ever leave an impactful mark on the spools of film history). In a miracle befitting of the fantasy drama, the tides for the downtrodden film turned around in the 1970s (thanks to a fortunate copyright lapse), finding a more than accepting audience on the television screen. Taking off, it has gained the traction director Capra once had hoped for, for his story – though he never truly expected it to get a second chance. He actually said (to The Wall Street Journal in 1984): "It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. . .The film has a life of its own now and I can look at it like I had nothing to do with it. I’m like a parent whose kid grows up to be President. I’m proud. . . but it’s the kid who did the work. I didn’t even think of it as a Christmas story when I first ran across it. I just liked the idea."

Perhaps one of the most iconic introductions to a character finds Clint Eastwood’s Man with No Name riding into a dry, vile town, wearing the now legendary garb – dust covered poncho, brown gaucho-style hat, black jeans, spurs, and a Colt in his trusty holster (the stubby cigars will come a little later). Stopping for a drink of water, he takes in the violent, melancholic locale, where people gaze at him in a distrusting and ominous way through their wooden shutters, and children are shot at in the street by thuggish individuals. The first of what would become the "Dollars Trilogy" (or "The Man with No Name Trilogy"), A Fistful of Dollars, despite its now celebrated status, was poorly received by most North American and British critics when originally released. Once again showing how time is a fickle thing, the term Spaghetti Western (this type of motion picture), was first coined as a negative, disparaging term (ridiculing the European product for being of poorer quality to their American counterparts) – though today, it is generally thought of as an endearing and highly positive term. Directed by Sergio Leone, its unique visual style (beautifully framed close-ups that differ from the typical Hollywood use of the technique, as well as his then unorthodox use of viewpoint that places us in the moment over Eastwood’s gun), and attempt to move away from the traditional American tropes of the western, is now viewed as the beginning of the rejuvenation of the historic genre.