My Top 30 Films From 1950-1974 (third of four in a series)

The Last Picture Show

Regular readers of this blog (I'm looking at you Gwendolyn Crustacean of Comptche, California) will recall that two months ago I published a list of my top thirty films from the first quarter of this century. I followed that last month with my top thirty from the preceding twenty-five year period (1975-1999). Next month I'll list my top thirty from 1925-1949. This month I offer my top thirty from 1950-1974. You're welcome. Not surprisingly it was much more difficult to narrow down the many films I love for this list than the previous two, in large part because the time period includes the first five years of the Seventies, my favorite decade of films and the fifties and sixties were a golden time for foreign films. You will note there are five films on the list directed by Ingmar Bergman and four from Federico Fellini. You will also note that I include an honorable mention category at the end. This was because even after listing thirty pictures there were still five greats that deserved a mention. Finally, seventeen of the thirty films listed are in foreign languages as are three of the honorable mentions.

1. The Last Picture Show (1971) Bogdanovich

2. The Godfather (1972) F. Coppola/The Godfather 2 (1974)

3. Winter Light (1963) Bergman

4. Chinatown (1974) Polanski

5. The Searchers (1956) Ford

6. The Seventh Seal (1957) Bergman

7. La Dolce Vita (1960) Fellini

8. A Clockwork Orange (1971) Kubrick

9. Sunset Blvd. (1950) Wilder

10. Cabaret (1972) Fosse

11. Nights of Cabiria (1957) Fellini

12. 8 1/2 (1963) Fellini

13. The Emigrants (1971)/The New Land (1972) Troell

14. Amarcord (1973) Fellini

15. Umberto D. (1952) DeSica

16. Aguirre: The Wrath of God (1972) Herzog

17. Through a Glass Darkly (1961) Bergman

18. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) Kubrick

19. If….(1968) L. Anderson

20. L’Eclisse (1962) Antonioni

21. A Woman Under the Influence (1974) Cassavetes

22. The Flowers of St. Francis (1950) Rossellini

23. Psycho (1960) Hitchcock

24. Shame (1968) Bergman

25. The Burmese Harp (1956) Ichikawa

26. On the Waterfront (1954) Kazan

27. Persona (1966) Bergman

28. Vivre sa Vie (1962) Godard

29. The Great Escape (1963) J. Sturges

30. The Apu Trilogy: Pather Panchali (1955)/Aparjito (1956)/The World of Apu (1959) Ray

Honorable Mention:

The Last Detail (1971) Ashby

Red Desert (1964) Antonioni

Night of the Hunter (1955) Laughton

Rashomon(1950) Kurosawa 

Closely Watched Trains (1966) Menzel

Battleground Berkeley: My Tour of Protest Sites from the Sixties

Downtown Berkeley 1969

I don’t really remember how the tear gas felt. I remember what it did, but I have no recollection of the tearing of the eyes, or the choking. But I remember the difference in the pepper fog and how much harsher it was. I vividly recall the adrenaline, the excitement, the fear of the police charging at us nightsticks raised.

I am a veteran of the Sixties protest movement. I saw action on several occasions, representing the left. I had been in rebellion against authority from a young age but it was the sight of a helicopter spraying tear gas overhead in May of '69 that proved a seminal moment, radicalizing me forever.

I tried to convey these feelings last Thursday when I took a group of students from the school where I teach on a tour I called Battleground Berkeley. (I teach English to people from other countries as I’ve been doing for the past fourteen years.) Battleground Berkeley was a school “activity” the first I’ve led at Kaplan where I’ve had the privilege of teaching since September.

Among the students on the tour were individuals from several South American and Asian countries, including a Vietnamese and and a handful of Europeans.

I was uniquely qualified to led the tour for not only did I participate in some of the more famous protests, but I have extensively researched and read about those times. They form the backdrop of a novel I've written. 

We met in a classroom where I gave them some background on the protest movement in Berkeley which got its impetus with the Free Speech Movement in 1964. I then discussed the Third World Liberation Front Strike of 1967 and various protests against U.S. participation in the Vietnam War and the draft. I then discussed People’s Park in 1969. I showed photos from the era starting with one that showed the national guard in downtown Berkeley with the current site of our school in the background.

I finished this part of the activity by reading an excerpt from my forthcoming novel, The Blood of Love, which is set in Berkeley in the Sixties. 

We were within two blocks of Haste Street, where you would turn left to get to the park, I was stunned to see battalions of police. Then someone turned on a fire hydrant. The cops didn’t hesitate, without warning they started shooting tear gas canisters at us. Marchers responded by throwing rocks. The scene had changed dramatically in a matter of seconds. A peaceful march had become a pitched battle.

People screamed, people shouted angrily, people looked for anything they could find to throw. Many threw the tear gas canisters back. I was in a state of disbelief. 

I turned to Cyrus, “They tear down our park, then when we march in peaceful protest they attack us.”

I emerged from incredulity feeling the raw power of anger. Cyrus and I joined a cluster of protestors on Haste Street below Telegraph. Like my compatriots, I threw anything I could get my hands on. 

I picked up a coke bottle, hurling it through the air. Then I found a chunk of brick and tossed that. A canister landed among us and exploded. I ran south down Telegraph. Cyrus and I were separated. 

Looking back I saw a woman in a nurse’s uniform being beaten by cops. Looking forward I saw someone leaning against a car watching. A cop came up behind him putting him in a chokehold with his nightstick.

I saw different types of police: Berkeley City Police, UC campus police, Highway Patrolmen and later, Alameda County Sheriffs, the dreaded Blue Meanies.

I drifted a block further down Telegraph to Dwight Way. A few feet from me someone I knew named Chris was felled by a blast from a shotgun. “They’re shooting birdshot at us!” Someone shouted. A protestor who’d been a medic in Vietnam tended to Chris.

The Blue Meanies were shooting at us. 

This was new. 

This was war and we were unarmed. 

There was a malevolence to police actions. The helmeted monsters were like alien robots programmed for mayhem. It was Chicago all over again. A police riot.

It was impossible to reconcile what I was seeing with the America I’d grown up pledging allegiance to. The supposed representatives of law and justice, those charged with serving and protecting the people, were attacking us — wantonly, viciously, with malice.

A girl to my right screamed “fuck you! Fuck you pigs!” With such rage and power that I was shaken — at the same time I sympathized with her.

I saw an elderly woman across the street knocked down by a cop. Demonstrators rushed to aide her. A man crossed the street to help. A cop told him to get back. “I’m a doctor, I want to help this woman,” he pleaded. The cop charged him, his baton raised. The doctor was lucky, he escaped. I saw some who weren’t so lucky. Most people who were caught, received beatings, sometimes from more than one officer. 

A jeep drove down the street spraying tear gas. It was a surreal scene of indiscriminate mayhem and vengeance.

Further down the street a police car was upended then set afire, sending thick flumes of black smoke into the air to mix with the white of the tear gas. In its angry beauty, Berkeley was resembling a battle field. 

Police and protestors were scattered over the area. Protestors were in groups ranging from a two or three to dozens. The police were hell-bent on exacting revenge for the objects being thrown at them.

I was an unarmed soldier without direction or purpose.

I was feral. 

I was a witness.

I saw people who clearly were not involved being shot at. I saw pepper fog machines indiscriminately spraying their foul and hurtful smoke. I saw protestors swearing and screaming as they threw rocks and bottles. I saw, to paraphrase Allen Ginsberg, the best minds of my generation destroyed by anger: raging, hysterical, confused.

I came upon a tall young man who was bleeding from a facial wound. A medic from the Berkeley Free Clinic was tending to him. I heard someone say, “I did a tour in Vietnam, in a way this is as bad. At least over there the enemy wasn’t our own cops.” 

Back on Telegraph I was filled with impotent rage, watching a girl being dragged along the ground by cops and a protestor being struck repeatedly in the arms and back by another cop. I saw Blue Meanies aiming and firing at people who were running away. I wanted desperately to do something. Something more meaningful and effective than throwing a rock.

But there was nothing I could do. Nothing. I reared my head back emitting a full-throated primal scream.

Hours after beginning a peaceful march down Telegraph, I was spent. Bone weary, hungry, thirsty and permanently embittered, I walked home. Despite the mayhem, somehow I’d been spared, suffering nothing worse than stinging red eyes from tear gas. 

Our first stop was across the street from the school where there had been  a mass arrest of protestors during the People’s Park demonstrators in what was then a Bank of America parking lot. Those arrested were taken in buses to the county jail in Santa Rita where they suffered horrible mistreatment ranging from abusive language to beatings. Virtually everyone arrested that day was subsequently released with no charges preferred.

A block up form there is the Cal campus. I pointed out the spot where I avoided arrest through my nimbleness (I was a soccer player) on one occasion as I and other protestors fled campus. 

We walked up to Sproul Plaza with me pointing out the sights I saw and experiences I’d had as a young protestor (I was in high school). This included the spot where a tear gas canister landed in front of me. At Sproul I showed them where Mario Savio had spoken at the outset of the Free Speech Movement, where I stood when the helicopter spraying tear gas flew over head, where UC Student Body President Dan Siegel encouraged protestors to take back the park and incidentally where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once delivered a speech. We walked down Telegraph and I again pointed out various “battle” sites. I took them to People’s Park which is now surrounded by huge shipping containers to discourage any latter-day protestors. We concluded be seeing the roof where James Rector sat watching the protests when the Alameda County Sheriffs shot and killed him. There’s a plaque on the building commemorating the tragedy.  I told them how the violence was instigated by the police (at the behest of our government, particularly the then governor of California, the odious Ronald Regan). They were truly police riots.

I was peppered with questions which is unusual for foreign students. The Vietnamese man thanked me for protesting U.S. participation in the war that had ravaged his country.

With that we parted company. As I started my walk home the rain that had held off during our tour started to fall.

The next day at school I was told by higher ups that the tour was well-received and I should certainly do it again. Already looking forward to it.

The Author Worries About a Former Student Who is Missing and Then Has a Go at Religion

A few days ago I learned that a former student of mine  is listed as a missing person. In my last year as a middle school she served as the editor of the school newspaper for which I was faculty adviser. I had selected her for the position which tells you what I thought of her. She did an excellent job and I had great respect for her. At the end of the school year we went our separate ways — this was seventeen years ago. The only thing I knew about her post middle school days was that she went to college at UC Davis.

The short newspaper account of her disappearance noted that she was “at-risk” which I’ve been given to understand means that she is suicidal. Her listed address was here in Berkeley at the home of her parents. Beyond that all that was said about her was what she was last seen in the neighborhood where she lived and what she was wearing.

I was stunned. 

It seems that they never stop being your student, you continue to feel responsible for them. Even seventeen years later.

There was next to nothing that I could find out about her via google. She had studied environmental science though she hadn’t landed a job in that field and had been, according to Linkedin, “Seeking new opportunities” for four years now. I have drawn the conclusion that she’s not been working for four years. That’s an eternity when you’re in your late twenties/early thirties.

I’ve had a lot of former students go on to enjoy great success in life: doctors, engineers, business owners, actors, directors, professors, lawyers. I naturally assumed that this now-missing young lady would enjoy similar success. But people can be badly derailed in life. I don’t here refer to those who choose a different path and meander their way through life in various places and occupations before settling down later, I mean those who get knocked for a loop by terrible circumstances or hauntings by inner demons.

I shared the news of the young lady’s disappearance with two former colleagues who had also been her teachers. Both shared memories of what a good student and person she’d been. One assured me that his church congregation would be praying for her. I find this endlessly mystifying. Specifically the notion that offering prayers will somehow help. I suppose it a reflection of helplessness. People pray when there’s literally nothing they can do. It gives them a sense that they’re helping. People pray when a loved one is badly sick and in the care of doctors. What else, they reason, is there to be done? But how do they imagine this works? Does god here that a person or a group of people are praying for a person and suddenly think, “by jove, I should help this person out instead of leaving them to die, I’ll cure them.” If it worked that way word would have gotten out and no one would stay ill for very long at all, they’d need only have someone pray to the almighty and they’d be good as gold. 

What happens when prayers are offered for someone fighting cancer and the patient dies all the same? We’re told it was god’s will. Well, if god was going to do what they wanted anyway, why bother with the praying?

Two people are in a car accident and are taken to the hospital in serious condition. Their families are devout and pray for their recoveries. One of the two dies and the other makes a full recovery. What’s god playing at here? Why answer one family’s prayers and not the others? Seems cruel. But people are often told not to question god. That’s convenient. Whatever god does cannot be questioned and is their will. What a scam.

The Blogger Expounds on Writing, Words, Memories and the English Town of Shrewsbury

Cybill Shepherd around the time I "remember" us being in a relationship 

Writing is a release. It lets out things you’ve been keeping bottled up. It’s also a great means of self-discovery. When it’s really flowing you end up revealing things about yourself that you didn’t realize were there.

They come out. Some good. Some not. Some words are just that, but others have meaning behind them sometimes beyond what you can grasp. Our minds can be limited in what they perceive the first time you try to understand something. But they also can unlock worlds.

Brains are funny things. Great tricksters they are at times. Our memories are/can be faulty. It’s said that when we think about something in our past we remember our last memory of it and not the incident itself. I suppose that’s different if you hadn’t thought of something since it happened. It’s best not to put complete trust in our memories. For example maybe my memories of making love to Cybill Shepherd in the mid 1970s are faulty. Maybe it wasn’t a daily event for several months. Could it even be that it never happened? Similarly are my memories of  sexual encounters with Linda Ronstadt in 1973 based in reality? Or Stevie Nicks in 1972? Diane Keaton in 1979? Then there was Lola Falana in the late Sixties. And in the 1980s I had an on and off thing with Heather Locklear -- if memory serves.

I’ve digressed as I’m want to do. Writing is like that. Either you have a laser like focus or you meander and when the latter you can't trust where you might go. But as long as it’s somewhere it is — as they used to say — all good. I guess some people still say “all good.” Do people say “mad respect” anymore? Did they ever? I’ve wrote before about how I miss “funky” and “jive turkey.” Bring those back. “Right on” and “power to the people” left us too soon. Groovy was around just as long as it need to be. Same with “far out.” Both very much of their time. When I was kid things we liked were “boss” or “keen.” You know what’s always been around (not literally always, but since the late 1920s) is “cool.” And I mean in it’s present form. Although now we also use it for “are we cool?” Like is everything okay between us or do you now understand what I was saying.

I remember about ten years ago two of my colleagues were using “cute” for something that would be normally be called “wonderful” “really nice” or “terrific.” I didn’t approve of this and was grateful that it never caught on. But just the other day another colleague used it but was called out by another. Let’s keep “cute” where it belongs: describing puppies, toddlers and girl’s haircuts. Thanks.

The British have more interesting expressions than Americans. We say “thanks.” They do to, but they also say “cheers” and the informal, “ta.” Three ways as opposed to our one. I also like things being “a bit of a muddle.” In sports we say a team has won six in a row or six consecutive games. The Brits say those to, by they also say “six on the bounce,” “six on the trot” and “six on the spin.” Three extra ways of saying it. British sports announcers put their American counterparts to shame.

An American: “and we’re tied!” British: ‘the two sides are back on level terms.” American: “he’s hot right now!” British: “he’s very much the man in form.” 

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day. I’ve never understood the day’s popularity aside as for an excuse for amateur drinkers to get plastered. You’re expected to wear green. Why? I’m not Irish. Most people aren’t. Are we really honoring Irish culture? Don’t think so. March 16th was Saint Urho’s Day. I didn’t insist that anyone wear blue and white or drink blue beer. It’s a silly holiday — just like Saint Paddy’s day. 

I thought I was finished writing but then I thought: what will happen if I start another sentence? Let’s see where it leads and here we are with no place to go and plenty of time to do it. Empty space being filled by words strung together. Like the time I got on the wrong train as I was going from London to Wales and ended up in Shrewsbury. That’s where I realized my mistake and got off the train. For some reason I held my error against Shrewsbury and have always rooted against their football team. Looking it up as I just did I discover that it’s not a bad looking town (I only saw it at night). In the West Midlands. Has a rich history, is by a river and hosts a two-day flower show and the annual Shrewsbury Folk Festival. Then there’s this: “The Old Market Hall cinema opened in 2004 in the prominent Tudor market hall positioned in The Square. The independent cinema features daily screens of films from around the world along with a cafe and bar.” Sounds worth a visit. As for that footie team that I referenced, Shrewsbury Town have never played in the top flight of English football nor have they ever had a as many as 20,000 fans at any home match. Not a glorious history but they’ve pulled a few upsets over the years and had a few players who went on to stardom — elsewhere. 

So how’d I get to Shrewsbury? (Funny answer: by train.) It’s what happens when you have no direction. What’s the old saying? Something like: if you don’t know where you’re going you’ll end up somewhere else. 

That’s for sure.

The Banality of Evil As Seen on TV --- Descriptions of Sitcom Episodes

My Three Sons, Precursors to the Manson Family

Courtesy of the Decades TV network -- "Catchy Comedy."

The convent inherits a prizefighter who hates to fight. — The Flying Nun 3/14/68

Thelma plans with her African boyfriend despite Florida’s objections. — Good Times 1/19/77

Dan’s colleagues question his ulterior motives when he proposes to an awkward heiress. — Night Court 2/21/85

Ralph gets asked to do a candy bar commercial, but must first get rid of a toothache. — The Honeymooners 9/25/54

Wally uses a psychology test to trick Rick into going on a blind date with his cousin. — Ozzie and Harriet 1/14/59

Chip’s baffled when he’s assigned to write a composition about his mother. — My Three Sons 11/30/61

When Marcia is cast in the school play, she gets a swollen ego. — The Brady Bunch 10/29/71

Jesse and Joey want Stephanie to apologize to a boy she has been teasing. — Full House 10/13/89

French contemplates marriage to raise his professional esteem. — A Family Affair 12/23/68

A fun time is had by all when Grady serves his friends, including two policeman, a salad made with marijuana. — Sanford and Son 11/29/74

Archie tries in vain to keep a black family from moving into the neighborhood. — All in the Family 3/2/71

Bilko tries to help a buddy get an inheritance. — The Phil Silvers Show 11/27/56

Brooks, Conklin and Boynton investigate when Mr. Bagley, the mailman, suddenly quits his job and leaves no forwarding address. — Our Miss Brooks 1/15/54

Donna fights city hall to save a carob tree. — The Donna Reed Show 11/11/65

Lucy rents Viv’s room to a pair of bank robbers. — The Lucy Show 10/19/64

Ted is stricken by a mild heart attack and undergoes a personality change — The Mary Tyler Moore Show 10/23/76

Problems develop when Rhoda adds a few unwanted pounds just as Brenda becomes slim for the first time in her life. — Rhoda 11/1/76

A scratch on Rob’s brand-new car brings on a domestic crisis. — The Dick Van Dyke Show 3/25/64

Felix and Oscar’s bowling team is pitting against the Kingpins in a championship game. — The Odd Couple 9/19/74

KAOS has brainwashed Agent Maxwell Smart so that he will kill the chief. — Get Smart 2/19/65

Stephanie is furious when she discovers she will not be participating in a beauty contest. — Newhart 3/26/84

Dobie’s investment in eggs goes sour — The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis 2/27/62

Toody and Muldoon devise a plan to keep Officer Schnauzer and his wife from fighting. — Car 54, Where Are You? — 2/18/62

Tony Bennet stars as Danny’s cousin, who refuses to work in his father’s dry-good business. — The Danny Thomas Show 1/12/59

Ann is stuck in a faucet just before opening night. — That Girl 1/8/70