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The French Connection had one of the best film endings a show of this kind could ask for. There was absolutely no need for a sequel. Obviously the success of the first film laid the groundwork for another adventure. In reality the case was rather left open, so there was certainly room to follow up the action. The problem is that none of the elements from the first film remain in the second beyond Gene Hackman’s portrayal of Popeye Doyle and the return of Fernando Rey as the villain Charnier. Friedkin would not return to direct, and even though he was replaced by an even greater director in John Frankenheimer, not much of the original crew remained.

It didn’t take the Friday The 13th film series long to reach down into the gimmick bag. The sad thing is that the franchise didn’t really need a gimmick. Steve Miner returned to the director’s chair, and he delivered an important, if not great entry into the franchise’s history. Jason would, for the first time, don the hockey mask that would make his image the iconic horror visage it remains today. This was also an important film because a young makeup artist from this staff would break out to become one of the best in the business. Stan Winston was an uncredited artist on this film.

It’s 1980. The Reagan Years are upon you. The country is hopeful it will soon come out of the toilet bowl it was in for the last four years, and while things may seem bleak, you’re one of the lucky ones that still have a job, a girl, and a reason to live. As April becomes May and the days grow considerably hotter a little at a time, what better way to take a break from it all than driving you and your sweetie down to the local movie house for opening night of a new horror film you really haven’t heard all that much about entitled Friday the 13th?

It’s hard being the bad guy, but sometimes you just don’t like a film that seemingly everyone else does. Such is the case for me with Funny Face, the classic Audrey Hepburn-Fred Astaire teaming that sees a bookish young lady go from the obscurity of her lonely library to the glitzy Paris lights as a high-profile fashion model.

Holly Golightly is perhaps the most tragic, depressing character in all of literature and film, especially to those of us who know (or have known) people just like her. As an example to aspire to, Golightly fails miserably. She is internally and externally destructive, intentionally so. Truman Capote, author of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the novella in which she was formed, has created in her a realistic portrait of people that fear happiness, and so imprison themselves to lives of restless and reckless abandon.

High art it isn’t, but one thing’s for sure: Dynasty is ass-in-seat television. Launched in 1981, the John Forsythe-Linda Evans-Joan Collins starring vehicle crossed lines and took chances few of its contemporaries were willing to take. For several years Dynasty defied conservative conventions with sordid tales of extramarital affairs, catfights, and the hot-button issue of homosexual parenting. It’s this last issue that is featured so prominently in Dynasty – The Third Season, Volume Two.

Casino Royale was the only one of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels that was not a part of the deal with Ion Productions. It was the only Fleming story that was off limits even though it was the first Bond story written. Until recently it was never filmed as part of the official Bond franchise. However, there was a version made back in 1967 that has been deservedly long forgotten. After 40 years it remains unclear who originally came up with the idea for this farce, and after watching the results, I’m not expecting anybody to stand up and take credit any time soon. This is a James Bond film, but in name only.

Star of song and stage Jeannie Laird (June Haver) returns from a triumphant tour to settle down in her new suburban home. Next door is widowed cartoonist Bill Carter (Dan Dailey), and sparks fly between the glamorous star and the low-key nice guy. The course of true love doesn’t run smoothly, however, due to Bill’s son Joe (Billy Gray, of The Day the Earth Stood Still), who doesn’t take kindly to the new woman in his father’s life.

Jack Lemmon is a rather meek insurance company employee who is slowly working his way up the corporate ladder by lending his apartment to married executives looking for a place to take their girlfriends. Life is rather inconvenient, as he is locked out of his home at all hours, but things become even more complicated when the big boss (Fred McMurray) takes an interest. The good news is that Lemmon gets another promotion. The bad news is that McMurray’s affair is with Shirley MacLaine, the elevator girl for whom Lemmon is carrying a torch.

World War II has just ended, and the recently discharged Robert De Niro hits New York on the prowl for sex. He runs up against WAC Liza Minnelli, and the more she resists his advances, the more determined he becomes. There is more: he is a saxophonist, and she (of course) is a singer). So begins a tempestuous relationship between two artists whose enormous talents and equally enormous personalities mean they can neither live with nor without each other.