The author struggle is heady not so much because of the physical roadblock representative in two directors taking the helm.
The only thing that doesn’t move in The Pajama Game is Doris Day’s scary butch hairdo.
Frank Tashlin turns the central conflict into just the sort of half-cocked farce the scenario deserves.
I’d like to presume that Lynde is removing lipstick from his teeth, and not Vaughn’s short curlies.
Benoît Jacquot’s A Tout de Suite retains an impressive poker face.
Judge for yourself. I’m late for my appointment to get my head examined.
William Lustig’s surprisingly evocative widescreen compositions are peppered with an absurd parade of Americana.
The layers of pastiche that fuel the film multiply like the titular character’s fat white rabbits.
Though there are no live torsos pulverized to mush in the film proper, there’s an unmistakable misogynistic bent.
One is almost tempted to entertain De Palma detractors’ arguments that his exploitation of Hitchcock tropes is nothing but a dead end.
One of EC’s most lasting legacies is in the unforgiving dual nature of their bile against humanity.
Human After All is a nagging brat of an album.
Jules Munshin’s recipe for, ahem, tossing salad is about as compelling as Easter Parade gets.
Almost every incidental character has their own song to sing, their moment to define their function in the plot through performance.
To neutralize scorpion venom, all you have to do is surgically remove a camel’s bladder to harvest the ammonia in its urine.
Fox’s video transfer here is practically up to the level of their “Fox Studio Classics” line.
Bitter Victory is far more than the sum of its images, though one can certainly understand the desire to gape.
The film is a balancing act between race-against-time melodrama and proto-naturalistic Kazan flourishes.
Same furnishings, same instrumentation, same emotionless façade.
These films are the director’s riskiest statement on sexual ambivalence.