How could we not be sceptical about another book on 1980s movies? Nostalgia, ho! But Hadley Freeman’s ode slash entreaty to us not to forget how good we had it [despite what those awful film critics might have said at the time] paired with discussion of current industry goings-on does provide a considerable dollop of hey-I-never-knew-that alongside her own personal brand of 1980s film worship.

This is like reading The Guardian front to back only it’s all about films and is liberally dolloped with wise and fun words from many of our film heroes. With chapters on why abortion isn’t in film any more, how When Harry met Sally is a shining example of how romcoms can be totally excellent and how Ghostbusters provides a template for how men should behave (thought it would be something to do with crossing the streams but appears not), it is an entertaining read but one that must be picked up and put down again after every couple of chapters. There is much and detailed dissection of social issues as demonstrated by directors John Hughes and Tim Burton.

There is also far too much worship of Ferris Bueller for my liking and I have to confess that The Princess Bride did not make the same impact on me at all. So, unsurprisingly, some of it is subjective to individual film likings but obviously other film loves are universal. You will definitely need to break out every single film mentioned and give them another watch, especially the back catalogues of John Belushi, Bill Murray and Eddie Murphy.

You may not always agree with Hadley Freeman but her dedication to the minutiae of 80s film is commendable and she makes some points that will get your brain cog-things whirring. Anything which raises the increasingly important issue of the fact that the big studios are profit-focused machines which don’t really give a time machine built out of a DeLorean about how good or diverse the films are as long as they make the big bucks in China is marvellous in anyone’s book.

Maryann has awarded Life Moves Pretty Fast (book) three Torches of Truth

It is understandable how the stories and controversy surrounding a film’s production can contribute to the way it’s eventually perceived when released. John Huston’s The Misfits (re-released this week) is famous for being the final film of Clark Gable and Marilyn Monroe before their untimely deaths, along with the on-set complications of Gable’s complaints about his health and Montgomery Clift’s rehab for drug and alcohol addiction. Apart from all that, The Misfits is a haunting and beautifully shot western drama that loses itself midway among the characters’ camaraderie. Director John Huston presents a bleak and spectral Nevada where Arthur Miller’s capering screenplay blossoms with vivacious characters and a slow-burn conflict.

After divorcing her husband (a blink and you’ll miss him Kevin McCarthy), Marilyn Monroe’s woozy Roslyn Taylor plans an impromptu trip across Nevada with her friend Isabelle (Thelma Ritter) and car mechanic Guido (Eli Wallach). Rugged cowboy Gay Langland (Clark Gable) tags along and the foursome drink, frolic and journey further to participate in a rodeo with his friend Perce (Montgomery Clift). Feuds occur after Roslyn dances, Gay falls in love and unveils a business plan, the nature of which stokes a fissure in the clique.

Monroe saunters dazed and melancholy in a manner that makes you wonder how much was performance given her constant inebriation and Gable is beguiling as the craggy, laid-back Gay. Considering how much he struggled working with Monroe, Gable’s performance of a man in love is remarkable but it’s Thelma Ritter who steals the show as Rosalyn’s doting buddy, Isabelle.

The Misfits fails to totally enchant due to a laborious middle but the compelling characters and evocative imagery remain captivating throughout. Monroe dancing seductively in the moonlight and Gable pondering death are extremely poignant while great conflict eventually arises in the final third. It is possible The Misfits wouldn’t have been as widely remembered and appreciated if it wasn’t for the stories that made it famous, yet it remains a beautiful and evocative western with moments that stay with you long after viewing.

Daniel has awarded The Misfits (1961) three Torches of Truth

In the 1940s a term to describe a type of (sub) genre of film came to prominence in cinema- The ‘woman’s picture’. Though films of this nature had been in existence since the silent era, the term reached its zenith during World War II, coinciding with the absence of men in the home and in the cinema, films populated with female-centric narratives and protagonists came to fruition. The woman’s picture was a film that encompassed women’s concerns such as problems in the home and within the family, of motherhood and the notion of self sacrifice. Now we have the depressingly narrow term and prospect of the ‘chick flick’; films aimed at women which a lot of the time cannot even boast two women talking about something that isn’t a man. There’s something wrong with that picture, but then again whoever said that progress and the passage of time move in the same direction. So what is the reason for the backwards movement? One could say it was the growing fear of the unlikeable or ‘unreliable’ woman in cinema.

The films were made by male screenwriters and directors (as they, like today, dominated the industry) however they featured strong female characters and the screen was commanded by powerful actresses such as Bette Davis, who fought the studios for creative rights and produced a chameleon body of work. These films offered women a glimpse of a world outside the home, with depictions of characters who achieved successful careers and though there were still elements of romance and marriage, often this was portrayed without the surrender of independence.

One of the era’s definitive woman’s pics was Mildred Pierce (Michael Curtiz, 1945) a sensationally vicious melodrama that also evoked the aesthetics of the film noir, with its opening scene of the mystery of a dead body, shrouded in low key lighting. Joan Crawford plays Mildred Pierce, a smart, ambitious and driven woman whose devotion to her eldest daughter Veda (a venomous Ann Blyth) becomes her undoing, the ideals of maternal instinct become pathological, turning Momma’s apple pie deliciously nasty. It is a film where the female protagonist is not motivated by the love of a man but, misguidedly, by her love for her daughter, she turns herself from housewife to waitress to a successful restaurateur to fulfil Veda’s demanding appetite for the finest things in life. The film is a dark study of the family home, one that turns the American suburban dream into chaos its depiction of women is one of neurotic and possessive but shows that they can come out of the kitchen and be multi-dimensional and inhibit the characteristics that are often reserved for the onscreen male. This tale and this hero are an enduring one, as Kate Winslet successfully reprised the role of Mildred Pierce for a mini-series in 2011.

Alongside Mildred Pierce there were many other women’s pictures that became classics of the genre such as Now Voyager (Irving Rapper, 1942) where Bette Davis overcomes the repression of matriarchal dominance and All That Heaven Allows (Douglas Sirk, 1955) a sumptuous melodrama where self-sacrifice and repressed insecurities bubble under the surface of the suburban home. Although Hollywood continued to makes films characterised with some of these elements, the term ‘woman’s picture’ disappeared in the 1960s.

Now the idea of a woman’s film is firmly placed in a rom-com box, an ABBA infused sing-along akin to something that might happen at a hen party or most recently, a half-hearted film featuring BDSM. Even the advertising changes in these screenings, particularly in the case of Fifty Shades of Grey as it was a guaranteed mostly female audience, the adverts were changed to cosmetic products, suggesting that women are only interested in shampoo and perfume.

For every 15 plus male directors, there is just one female director, so the chick flicks are mostly made by men who are crediting us women with a certain (limited) degree of intelligence and unfortunately many of us are buying into it. While the chick flick is not the route of all cinematic evil, it is astonishing how many of these female centric films still revolve around the idea of men and reject the idea of female independence. Perhaps then, the problem is that this male-dominated industry exhausted all its imagination and gumption by the 1960s, instead plumping for the stereotypes as some sort of passive-aggressive backlash against the growth of feminism.

Contemporary cinema is jostling with its representations of women, we have a strong heroine in The Hunger Games but at the same time there is a plethora of fairytales being rebooted and a film about the Suffragettes is on the horizon at the same time a live action version of Barbie has been green-lit. As for the ‘unreliable’ female, well she may once more have her rightful place in the spotlight thanks to all the writers falling over themselves to create the next Gone Girl. There are many male directors who give the Davis’s and Crawford’s of our time great roles, such as Julianne Moore and Cate Blanchett but we also have many whose only choice of role over a certain age is that of the downtrodden mother while the men of Hollywood are allowed to become aged action stars or still be the romantic lead to women half their age.

For a gender to be represented onscreen, there must be more gender equality in the industry itself, and hopefully one day we won’t need Patricia Arquette to have to make a rally cry upon receiving her Oscar. And perhaps one day we won’t need a term for a woman’s film at all, it will simply be called a film.

Cinema has always been seen as a mirror to society, the changes, the fears, the angers and the themes of a nation are often represented and reflected on the big screen as a window to political and cultural shifts. Selma, a film based on the 1965 voting march led by Martin Luther King, recently landed in cinemas; a film whose themes of blatant social injustice felt sadly more topical than they could have envisaged during the time of its making. David Oyelowo, who plays Martin Luther King in Selma, has been vocal about the racial inequality in the movie industry, something that seemed to be reinforced by his subsequent baffling snub in the Oscars for best actor. The struggle to redress the balance for black actors and recent events in the U.S. serve as a reminder to an actor, who came to cinema in the era of Selma, who through the roles he portrayed created a legacy of progression and inspiration.

Sidney Poitier came from humble beginnings, the son of tomato farmers who lived on Cat Island in the Bahamas. Born prematurely on 20 February 1927 whilst his parents were selling tomatoes in Miami, Sidney was not expected to survive yet he returned to Cat Island with his parents where he would spend his childhood. As he was born in Miami, Sidney had entitlement to US citizenship so at the age of 15, he joined his brother who lived there but he found the transition hard. Hailing from an all black community Poitier struggled with the mentality of the south and after one summer washing dishes, he left for New York.

With a passion to exist beyond menial work Poitier auditioned for the American Negro theatre but he was rejected because of his strong Caribbean accent and his poor reading skills. Down but not out, Poitier worked on his accent and refined his reading ability and six months later he was accepted at the theatre and worked hard to dispel the lack of faith his peers appeared to have in him.

Early roles came in No Way Out (1950) and Blackboard Jungle (1955) but it was his role in The Defiant Ones (1958) that saw Poitier take on a role that tapped into the racial tensions in society, which earned him an Oscar nomination in the process. The film depicted Poitier and Tony Curtis as escaped convicts, chained together; they must work as a team in order to survive, the plot serving as a metaphor for the race relations affecting America.

In 1963 Poitier starred in a film that would make cinematic history; Lilies of the Field, a story of a travelling handyman named Homer, who, after breaking down in his car in rural Arizona, finds himself welcomed by a group of nuns. Despite clashing with the mother superior the nuns are convinced that Homer has been sent from God to help them build a chapel and despite different beliefs these two worlds collide to find acceptance and unlikely friendship. Poitier’s humorous and touching performance led to him becoming the first black man to win a Best Actor Oscar, in the midst of the civil rights movement, and his win was just that little bit more poignant for a film whose message was how a multicultural and multi or no faith society – white, black, Hispanic, Mexican and German – could peaceably thrive.

Not everyone was enamoured with Poitier, some accused him of appeasing the white male rather than contesting the existing status and that he was too much of a nice guy, when some felt that a more radical symbol should blaze onto the screen. Yet Poitier was more aware of the need for activism than many gave him credit for.

1967’s In the Heat of the Night featured Poitier as Philadelphia detective Virgil Tibbs, who investigates a murder in a racist small town in Mississippi and contained an infamous scene that almost didn’t happen. Originally in the scene between Tibbs and the racist plantation owner Mr Endicott (Larry Gates), Endicott was to strike Tibbs without retaliation but Poitier called for changes to be made so that Tibbs strikes him back. The producers initially would not agree to this but on Poitier’s insistence, the scene was altered and remains one of the most electrifying moments in cinema within the context of the time. Anti-war protests and civil rights marches were lining the streets and this politically charged moment echoed the feelings of many in America who felt the North/South divide long after the abolition of slavery. It also held special resonance as the year that In the Heat of Night won the Best Picture accolade, the Academy Awards ceremony was postponed in the wake of the assassination of Martin Luther King.

Sidney Poitier would continue his career with a string of films that would challenge the stereotypes of the black male that had previously been seen, he would represent the system but also try to subvert it at the same time. In To Sir with Love (1967) Poitier played a teacher assigned to a predominantly white London school and in Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967) he had to meet the parents of his white fiancée who struggle with the idea of an interracial relationship.

Poitier brought sophistication and dignity to the characters he played, commanding the screen and the respect of his contemporaries. At the 2014 Oscars, Poitier presented the Best Director award with Angelina Jolie, where he received a standing ovation and to which Jolie declared to Poitier ‘we are in your debt’.

Hollywood recognised the contribution and influence that Poitier has given to cinema yet there are many more steps to be taken for black actors today to have opportunities to play the diverse characters that Poitier had access to, the exciting opportunities that Selma afforded this year. The system cannot just congratulate those who stick within the status quo, it also needs to evolve, with courage. As Poitier himself said in his memoir, A Measure of a Man ‘we are all somewhat courageous and we are also considerably cowardly, life is simply an unending struggle against those imperfections’. A happy 88th birthday to a principled and courageous man.

The Comedy of Terrors (1963) stars the king of sardonically delivered horror ham Vincent Price and his esteemed cohorts Peter Lorre, Basil Rathbone and Boris Karloff as hunter and the hunted; Waldo Trumbull (Price) is running a failing funeral directors and John Black (Rathbone) is the creditor about to repossess his assets. Price decides to kill two birds with one stone by making his creditor his next customer into the funeral parlour.

The film starts off quite strongly with a macabre graveyard scene and some highly appropriate black humour but then becomes silly quite quickly despite the occasionally very quick witted script by Richard Matheson. Price is as poised as always and his doomed onscreen relationship with failed opera-singer wife Amaryllis (Joyce Jameson) is amusing, as is his relationship with his creaky old father-in-law Amos Hinchley, played by Karloff. Karloff proves to be one of the best things about the film as even when the farce is so abundant as to be highly irritating, he pulls off some great line or other and temporarily redeems the film. His gleeful recounting of the Egyptian mummification process is the breakout moment of humour, especially so considering the reference to his career highlight playing Imhotep in The Mummy (1932).

The ever-watchful ginger cat (Rhubarb) also provides some interest, some small relief from the try-hard and off-key humour, especially when travelling, regally poised upon the roof of the funeral director’s carriage.

In comparison to some of Price’s work, The Comedy of Terrors is shoddy. It lacks the imagination of The House of Wax (1953) or Theatre of Blood (1973) and is not as inherently likeable as many of the other films from this group of actors. This home entertainment release is clearly one for the collection of Price afficionados and forgiving lovers of kitsch horror but not really for anyone else.

Extras: Film historian David del Valle’s interview with Vincent Price – Vincent Price: My Life and Crimes. Audio commentary from David del Valle and David Deloteau. There is a documentary on the work of director Jacques Tourneur entitled ‘Whispering in Distant Chambers’ and one on writer Matheson ‘Richard Matheson, Storyteller’. The interview with Vincent Price is informative but also quite longwinded at times. The documentaries are worthwhile for anyone interested in the making of the film and the directorial trademarks of Jacques Tourneur.

Maryann has awarded The Comedy of Terrors (1963) on Blu-ray two Torches of Truth

Many actors/actresses use the method, a form of intense training to delve into the feelings and the emotions of the character they are portraying and, if possible, drawing on personal memories to enhance the performance. One actress who almost transcended the notion of the method was Sophia Loren, such was the embodiment of the characters she inhibited, she was the Italian everywoman: the mother, the lover, the abused and the cherished.

Much of Loren’s onscreen persona can be attributed to her background, she was born on 20th September 1934 into an impoverished family that suffered through war torn Italy and with a father who was constantly absent. That lack of a paternal force in her life was filled by director Vittorio De Sica, who became a father figure for Loren, nurturing her and pushing her to take on roles she had not imagined playing. Their close bond led to a fruitful cinematic output, particularly the 1961 film Two Women, a harrowing drama about a mother and daughter’s brutal ordeal during war torn Italy. Loren was initially in line to play the daughter however De Sica encouraged Loren to take the part of the mother, his faith in her outweighed any doubts she had herself. Loren’s performance in Two Women earned her a Best Actress Oscar nomination yet she did not attend the ceremony as she was terrified that she would lose, the self doubt that often plagued her returned, an image which is at contrast with the strong dominant women she often portrayed onscreen. As she stayed at home that evening making sauce for pasta, she would receive a telephone call later from Cary Grant telling her ‘Darling you won’.

Another contrast to Loren was her image as a Hollywood sex kitten, as whilst she was a stunning beauty and an enduring pin up, she never took that side of herself seriously, she had a goofy playfulness to her sex symbol status. And though she was the object of affection for some of the industry’s biggest characters, most notably Cary Grant and Peter Sellers, Loren declined their advances as her heart belonged to one man for her entire life. Sophia Loren met Carlo Ponti in 1950 and despite a 22 year age gap, they had a connection that would last a lifetime. The union however was beset by issues, they married in 1957 however as Italian law at that time did not recognise divorce, Ponti was still technically married to his first wife. To avoid bigamy charges, the couple had their marriage annulled in 1962 and had to wait until Ponti obtained a divorce in France in 1966 to remarry again. The couple remained together until Ponti’s death in 2007 and Loren is still unable to talk about her late husband without getting upset, when asked in an interview if she would ever marry again, Loren replied ‘Never again, it would be impossible to love anyone else’.

The idea of an eternal love that faces obstacles was the theme of Sunflower (1970) which has been remastered and released for the first time on DVD. Directed by Vittorio De Sica, Sunflower begins in post World War II Italy with Sophia Loren’s Giovanna, demurely dressed and with flecks of grey in her hair, she demands to the authorities that her husband is still alive, clutching a picture, she appears worn down by life, but still clinging to the fight inside her. The film then flashes back to the past, an idyllic beach where Giovanna is in the first flings of passion with the handsome and playful Antonio (Marcello Mastroianni) caught up in wistful romanticism, they impulsively decide to get married, which will buy them twelve days before Antonio is deployed to war. In a heady honeymoon haze, they hatch a plan to make Antonio appear to have gone crazy so that he can escape the duty of war, yet the lovers are rumbled and he is sent to the Russian front, promising to return to Giovanna, who dutifully waits for him. When the war ends, Antonio does not return home and is listed as missing, yet Giovanna refuses to believe he is dead, the love she carries is convinced that he has survived so she journeys to Russia to find her husband.

Sunflower is a love story but also a story of war and how, despite unfaltering beliefs that love conquers all, sometimes the ravages of war change people beyond repair. Marcello Mastroianni’s Antonio is a somewhat hard character to invest in, his love for Giovanna is undermined by characteristics such as caddishness and cowardliness. The film therefore inevitably belongs to De Sica’s golden girl Loren who runs the gauntlet of emotions as a hopeless romantic, determined wife and hardened realist. Set to Henry Mancini’s Oscar nominated score, Loren’s undeniably expressive face tells every emotion of her journey, the moment she discovers the real fate of Antonio is a beautiful piece of quiet devastation, her journey of time and distance leads to a damning conclusion.

There are parallels in Loren’s life to those of her character Giovanna in Sunflower, allowing Loren to form a fully believable character that draws from her innate instinct and past emotions. Yet, unlike her character Loren was able to overcome her war-stricken upbringing and to find lasting happiness in life. She became an international sex symbol and one of Italy’s most revered actresses, but above all else Sophia Loren was a devoted wife and mother and the role she dedicated herself to the most was a private life with her family. She remains to this day a colourful force to be reckoned with, one of the last true icons of Hollywood and beyond.

DVD Extras: Rather than extras of the film Sunflower there is an extensive documentary on Sophia Loren titled Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow. The documentary features interviews with those who have worked with Loren, those who are friends and those who admire her, such as Woody Allen who exclaims ‘she has it all’. It also includes an interview with Loren herself as she talks about her career, her working relationship with De Sica and her cherished devotion to Carlo Ponti. An interesting snapshot into Italy’s screen goddess.

The remastered film is now available for purchase on DVD, featuring previously unreleased scenes.

Linsey awarded Sunflower (1970) three Torches of Truth

I’m Alright Jack (1959) is a sequel to an earlier film from the Boulting twins named Privates Progress (1956). The inept Stanley Windrush staggers through humorous job try-outs in industry, expecting a cushy management role. He fails and is persuaded to take a blue collar job. Windrush is clearly being used by the company directors to create a situation and is so gormless he causes a nation-wide strike before he finds out what is really going on.

A film in much the same vein as the British comedy of the time; slightly smutty and hamfisted laughs bristling with sexism. The usual stereotypes include a deeply cynical picture of characters – the decent and moral upperclass twit, the work-shy Union/workers and the greedy bosses.

The Boulting Brothers had succeeded previously in serious drama such as Brighton Rock (1947), Seven Days to Noon (1950) and others but despite their acclaimed success in film noir; followed the British Film industry trend, and made some satirical comedy; taking most of their stable of actors along with them.

Inevitably for the time, there are some racist comments in a couple of places. The film is also incongruously bookended with female nudity, giving us Carry On and Benny Hill type moments; perhaps used to extend its box office popularity as it was the UK’s biggest grossing film of 1959.

Despite the extremely dated style of the film, I’m Alright Jack is interesting and just about resists classification as a relic. It showcases the push and pull of different interests and positively exudes the resentment felt by a previous ruling class about the workers (undeservedly) having a power they didn’t have in the past. It also gives us a taste of life and nostalgia of a pre-1960s Britain, a feel of the mood of the country at the time. The acting was of a fair standard throughout but it can be said that for the most part these were good actors in inferior roles. Sellers is very good, that role earning him a BAFTA – the film screenplay also won a BAFTA (1960).

Spike Milligan comments in the extras that the Boulting twins were decidedly anti-union and that this was perhaps the main message of the film. This and other criticisms certainly come across but Sellers’ depiction of the droning, dogmatic and wistful Kite manages to deliver us an interesting snippet of a man devoted to the idealism of Communism. I can’t recall any other film of the era that does so in this way.

Blu-ray extras: Interviews with Spike Milligan and Liz Fraser and a short film ‘The Running, Jumping and Standing Still Film’. Milligan speaks of Peter Sellers’ problems with his role, and how he made it his own. Fraser reflects on her first cinema role and how it came about, also provides some insight into her involvement in Carry On. The Running, Jumping & Standing Still Film was made By Spike Milligan, Peter Sellers et al to trial a new type of camera. Not meant for release, it is typical Milligan; bipolar and at times hilarious – all set in a field.

Ann has awarded I’m Alright Jack on Blu-ray two Torches of Truth

Rising levels of anti-semitism and the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz means that the re-release this week of one of the finest films about the Holocaust, Louis Malle’s Au Revoir Les Enfants, is more than timely.

The film is set in a Catholic boys’ boarding school in northern France during the Occupation, and recounts how 12 year old Julien Quentin (Gaspard Manesse) and his schoolmates are joined by three new boys who, unbeknownst to them, are Jewish boys being hidden from the Nazis by the monks. Quentin becomes friends with one of the new boys, Jean Bonnett (Raphael Fejto), whose real name is Jean Kippelstein (Julien discovers this when he searches his locker). But when the Gestapo come to search the school for the boys, Julien gives Jean away when he instinctively glances at Jean when he thinks the Gestapo officer – who has just asked which of the boys is Bonnett – is distracted.

Au Revoir Les Enfants is based very closely on the wartime experiences of Louis Malle, and Julien is Malle’s alter ego. Its examination of authority, bystanding and victimisation is nuanced and complex. There is bullying amongst the boys, and the monks are given away to the Gestapo by the kitchen help Joseph (Francois Negret) – who is likened to an animal by the pupils – after he is unjustly sacked after being caught black-market dealing with some of the boys, children of the haute bourgeoisie, who remain unpunished.

Au Revoir les Enfants is framed by farewells, that of Julien and his mother at the train station when he leaves for school, and that of the Headmaster (Philippe Morier Genoud) when he says goodbye to the children gathered in the schoolyard as he and the Jewish boys are being taken away. It is this scene which is the emotional punctum of the film.

Through its autumn setting, the bleached, grey northern skies, and its muted palette and soundtrack, along with a Bressonian use of empty, vacated space, of exits and entrances, Malle maintains an atmosphere of melancholy and imminent loss. There is, though, much humour and charm in the portrayal of day-to-day life at the school, and in the depiction of the growing friendship between the two boys. Au Revoir Les Enfants is a flawlessly constructed, intelligent and moving example of a particular kind of classical French cinema, now lost, and which died with Malle.

Chris has awarded Au Revoir Les Enfants (1987) five Torches of Truth

The Polar Express is ten years old and being re-released again this festive season.. Mark Searby discovers why the film has grown in stature since its chilly reception in 2004.

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Mark Searby takes a look at the 1960 Italian-French horror Les Yeux Sans Visage (Eyes Without a Face).

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