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Pimpernel Smith (1941) is Leslie Howard's updated riff on his previous leading role in The Scarlet Pimpernel (1934), the classic espionage adventure of rescue set during the French Revolution. In the former movie, released just 2 years before Howard's shocking and untimely death at the hands of the Luftwaffe, Howard is Horatio Smith, an absent-minded archeology professor at Cambridge who recruits his students for a summer trip to Socialist Germany. From the very beginning of the film, it is utterly transparent that the professor leads a double life as a smuggler of human cargo out of the terrorist state, but Howard consistently sustains the film with his nonpareil blitheness and comical faux obliviousness in the company of Nazi officers. In the end, the film is nothing but shameless Allied propaganda,* complete with a heavy-handed, proselytizing monologue; but by God, Howard's unapologetic delivery at this point is truly energizing.

* Which is possibly why the Luftwaffe targeted Howard for death in 1943.

Poster for Pimpernel Smith, released as Mister V in the United States, from Wikipedia and reproduced under fair use law.

Watching The Final Countdown (1980), starring the recently departed James Farentino, is more of an exercise in "How could I make this movie really good?" as opposed to recognizing its few merits—one of which is the evergreen premise of rewriting history through time travel. This is a solid, if not always entertaining, sci-fi theme, which is unfortunately directed and scored here in cringe-inducing, ham-handed fashion. And let's not even talk about the special effects, which are laughably rudimentary, even for 1980. One wonders what Spielberg and John Williams would have done with the not-so-terrible screenplay in their prime (and if Spielberg had actually passed on the project at some point during its development).

The setup: For some completely inexplicable reason, the USS Nimitz, the world's largest aircraft carrier, is transported through a freakish Pacific wormhole on December 7, 1980, to—you guessed it—39 years earlier.* The conflict (shouldered largely by the ship's commander, who is played solidly by an otherwise too-old Kirk Douglas): To prevent the Japanese raid on Pearl Harbor or to not fuck with the Day of Infamy and the world's destiny generally. Military men being military men, most are completely up for a technology-fueled ass-kicking of Japan's propeller air fleet; while an on-board civilian from the Defense Department (Martin Sheen**) warns of the so-called butterfly effect and other pesky philosophical stuff. The ship's commander must also have the safety of his crew in mind, especially given the haphazard nature of the arbitrary wormhole. What if the warship accidentally travels back to 1980 while its F-16 pilots are in flight, chasing the Japanese?

The movie also stars a sputtering (no matter what decade he's in) Charles Durning and a forever-young Katharine Ross—whose character (like us) worries most about what happens to her gorgeous collie.

* When "Nimitz"--ha, ha--was only the name of the guy who commanded the US Pacific fleet.
** This must have been a refreshing walk in the park after Apocalypse Now.

"Life on Mars" (2006-2007): A modern-day Manchester policeman (played by the terrific John Simm) is transported back to politically incorrect 1973 after being struck by a car. Is he mad, in a coma, or back in time? The nifty opener to the equally nifty British TV series*—which was really just an excuse to produce a 70s cop show—asks this question repeatedly, and we're given kind of an answer in the show's remarkably satisfactory finale (at the end of the second season).

Because of the show's popularity and critical acclaim in the UK, it was predictably bought for an American treatment, and the results were almost as predictably disappointing. A glimpse of both shows indicates that a successful trans-Atlantic adaptation is heavily dependent on casting, which may be about 99.44% of the formula in my estimation. (The lead for the NYC version was, somewhat ironically, an Irish actor, and his charisma as an American detective was sorely lacking, also somewhat astonishingly.) There's also something a bit disingenuous about a 70s show in the US drawing on inspiration from a Bowie song (ie, "Life on Mars"). Glam rock was and always will be the purview of England, while urban soul would be the period equivalent for Manhattan, I would think. Eh, the whole US rendition just didn't work, in definite contradistinction to the gritty, groovy, and frequently comical British production.

* Two seasons, 8 episodes each.

The October Man (1947): Seriously brain injured in a bus crash (which takes the life of his young companion), a recovered, but terribly guilt-ridden, man (John Mills) is suspected of murdering a needy female acquaintance. Given his mental handicap, he, himself, is not sure of his innocence and spends the remainder of the film vacillating between suicide and a desperate search for the real murderer. A very acute eye will catch a young and wholly charming Juliet Mills, the real-life daughter of the collectively beloved leading man.

My Foolish Heart (1949): A major weepie with Susan Hayward. As an alcoholic and terribly unhappy wife, Hayward recounts the lost love of her life to a visiting college chum. The movie, which is oh-so-loosely based on* J. D. Salinger's short story "Uncle Wiggly in Connecticut,"** was viewed with such scorn by the author (and critics) that he refused to sell the rights to his other, more famous works for film adaptation. Nevertheless, Hayward and especially Dana Andrews (as her former love) sustain the story and preserve an authentic glimpse of a bygone, melodramatic era.

* Really more, inspired by.
** Originally published in The New Yorker.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (1979): The faithfully adapted 7-part BBC mini-series of John Le Carre's titular novel—a story as much about of the banality of espionage during the Cold War, as it is about the treachery. Starring the (nearly) incomparable Alec Guinness as Le Carre's George Smiley, a British agent pulled out of retirement to flush out a Russian—oops, Soviet—mole in the upper ranks of the UK's secret service. Compare and contrast with the new and very well-received theatrical release of the same name, starring Gary Oldman as Smiley. To wit: "Guinness's turn is the Torah; Mr. Oldman's the Talmud." Uh, whatever the hell that means, Manohla Dargis.

Loosely based on the life of Austrian Johann Kastenberger, The Robber (2010) is the semi-true story of a talented marathon runner, bank robber, and evidently incurable adrenaline junkie. We know what the ending of this tautly edited, highly kinetic tale must be; we just don't know how it will end.

The Square (2006): Modern noir Down Under. A philandering contractor's attempt to steal money for his lover escalates into a ridiculous series of coverup crimes. As the contractor, Australian actor David Roberts effects perfect, clueless ineptitude. We scoff at and feel the pain.

The cryptically titled Bubble (2005): While watching this largely improvised and amateur-acted story of jealousy and murder, set among employees of a rural latex-doll factory, one wonders why all of Stephen Soderbergh's movies can't be this completely mesmerizing.

A Halloween KBF by guest blogger KTG:

Buried in the pile (some might say steaming pile) of campy horror flicks from the 1950s are a few lumpy gems—which, when compared with the rest of the genre, smell positively April fresh. Night of the Demon (1957), a British production, is one such notable exception: a psychological, supernatural thriller, redolent with genuinely creepy atmosphere.

Eminent American psychologist, Dr. John Holden (played by a seemingly unflappable Dana Andrews*), is summoned to a British conference, the intent of which is to debunk a local stanic cult. The coven's distinguished, goateed leader (real-life surgeon Niall MacGuinnis) spends his afternoons performing magic shows for underprivileged children while dressed as a clown**; but the devilish character has a few real tricks up his sleeve, one of which marks Dr. Holden for death in 72 hours at the hands of a hideous hell-beast—an unholy cross between South Park's ManBearPig, the Statue of Liberty, and a flying monkey. Admittedly that description sounds like an unintentional comic misstep, and there are a few in Night of the Demon; but the movie generally prevails with several great frights (one of which features a truly disturbing defenestration), a satisfyingly grisly death, and a chilling final shot.

Boo.

* Despite a role that screams, "DOWNWARD CAREER SPIRAL."
** Confirming once again: Clowns are scary.

Title shot from Night of the Demon, with some kind of creepy font.