By virtue of its release date, this is Renoir's last perfect film.

Ahhahah, yes. Shot in duo-vision! And featuring the title song sung by tuneless starlet Tiffany Bolling. A can't-miss proposition. For heaven's sakes find and watch this right away.

Greenstreet and Lorre have at each other - a delight to witness.

What a fucking mess. Imagine Tideland on the set (and budget) of a Bobcat Goldthwait film with no style worthy of the name and a pointless Dylan soundtrack and you're almost there. First you have to experience a 13 year old getting raped which is passed off as profundity. Then you're there.

I think...and one's never 100% certain about this sort of thing, but I think he's the greatest living filmmaker. Bellocchio, Varda, Malick and Alfredson are close behind him.

It may not be a five star film, but I had a five star time.

Has the feel of an Italian production, what with its weirdly misused spectacle and scope and Burt Lancaster hanging around and the murky photography.

Serviceable film, to be sure, but that fucking music is something else. I could almost see Preminger telling Mockridge and Harline to try and distill that otherness Monroe has into that heavenly chorus that springs up from time to time. It's truly amazing and otherworldly and begs you to slow down and appreciate a moment.

Am I wrong in thinking this is Fleischer's best and most appropriately stylish film?

Though it's brief, the chase at the end of the film stands as one of the finest slapstick set-pieces in history. There are nods to Keaton all over the film and of course Doris Day is a live action cartoon character on par with the director's best creations at Warner Bros. Pure Tashlin. Pure filmmaking.

FREE JAFAR PANAHI!!!!!!

If for nothing other than the quote above...

Worth it to hear the Supremes, even if the performance is canned, they are radiant. Watching Dick Miller and imagining his inner monologue is also something I find immensely enjoyable.

Entertaining, but fundamentally and ideologically hollow.

It's a little tame but I'm too in love with John Brahm, master of shadows, making a youth-in-peril film in the desert where there isn't a tree to hide under, let alone the ceiling in a crowded, candlelit drawing room. It's so far from his comfort zone, and is a different sort of work. Whereas Hangover Square is a timeless work of art, Hot Rods is pop art so purposely glued to its era that every brick seems brand new.

Holy shit. Too much to mention. Psychedelic jew-harp on the soundtrack, ham-acting contest between Ralph Baits' egregious Italian accent and a baby, dwarf seduction, blase stripper auditions, puppet hand murders... In short, too much fun!

Anyone else feel cheated out of the original synth score? I feel like the new one brings it further down to convention, westernization and modernity and the original would have maintained a more distinct flavor to go with this beautiful piece of bloody ballet.

If Fear & Desire had a script to match its psychological aspirations and stunning photography, it might look like this. Collinson isn't a stylist of much note, but he is very good at getting under your skin and introducing characters who seem beautiful and out of there depth, doomed even before we know them.

So...has he ever made a good movie, or...?

Does anyone have any idea where or how we can watch this? It's been killing me!

No director ever fawned over his leading lady as beautifully as Sirk canonized Hudson in light. Hudson played many roles for his cinematic father, but he was never so purely nice, innocent to a fault. Here, he's the heart and soul of America, eyes watering like a child's under the weight of the potential to do good. Godard never made Karina this idyllic; Sternberg and Dietrich could have learned a thing or two.

How marvelous that Greenaway spends three hours concocting and throwing away character traits that would later define American independent cinema. Obfuscating and creating at once. Every film ever called Quirky in the wake of Wes Anderson has been nothing but one of The Falls stretched to feature length and given much more credence than Greenaway thought necessary or interesting. He was the Violent Unknown Event.

Fresnadillo is a filmmaker who is truly borderless. His films are perfect representations of the planet as melting pot of language, colors, origins, and though they have specific settings, they could be anywhere and are fascinating in that he refuses to treat one culture as inherently different from another. The film isn't a masterpiece, but his movies will always be more interesting than most genre films.

"Extra. Extra. READ ALL ABOUT IT."

This film, more than any other movie I've ever seen, captures the feeling of a modern Young Adult novel; as such it's more than a little tepid, flirts with dark imagery, and completely ordinary. I commend Harron for making a film for/about teenage girls, but I do wish she brought some of her biting, nearly balletic sense of pop satire.

Takes a little too liberally from Cooper's 33 version, but then again, Cooper didn't have all those severed heads.

A splendid tribute/history of the accidental birth of one chapter of midnight movie history. The volume of people that Hennenlotter and Maslon dug up for interviews would be staggering enough if each weren't so fascinating and charismatic. For something that received all the fanfare of a DVD extra, it's one of the most engaging documentaries about filmmaking I've ever seen. Course, I could watch Lewis footage all day

This outdoes all of Assonitis' own movies through sheer force of personality. Outer Space Satan's first goal: throw off Kareem's jump-shot. John Huston controls the bald, all-male chapter of cirque de soleil. Glenn Ford attacked by parakeets. Sam Peckinpah, humble abortionist. Shelley Winters as Hattie McDaniel. Django is Jesus. The soundtrack tries for a best supporting actor oscar. Death by Ice-dancing. A must.

A Bressonian serial killer film. A true original and a window into many psychosexual arthouse thrillers from the early 2000s.

The only film I've seen in Franco's almost immeasurable canon that is an out-and-out love story. And, sue me, hate me, ridicule me, I felt for the poor lovers at the heart of the story. There's also a metaphor for Franco's relationship with his producers in there, but that's another story. Look for sleaze and you'll be disappointed, but sometimes it does you good to remember that even Jesus Franco has a heart.