The Night of the Hunter (Charles Laughton, 1955). This tale of nefarious preacher with LOVE and HATE tattooed across his knuckles is often cited as of the finest films ever directed by an actor, at least someone far more noted for their acting. I wouldn’t make that claim, but it sure is a wild, offbeat ride. In particular, it’s unbelievably dark given that copyright date, putting the film’s children in constant, gloomy danger as it send them fleeing from the money-lusting villain. The film has a grand theatrical sense, pulling off impactful bits involving distant silhouettes and stark lighting effects that owe something to the rich field of stagecraft. At the film’s dark heart is the performance by Robert Mitchum, a sly portrait of nasty allure and fierce danger lingering just below the surface, likely to bubble up at any time.

Murder at the Gallop (George Pollock, 1963). Part of a series of films featuring Agatha Christie’s detective Miss Marple, Murder is what a movie franchise was like in the context of early-sixties British cinema. It’s cursory, pedestrian and touch too self-amused. It may have been great fun for fans at the time to see Miss Marple reduced to dancing a frug in the middle of dance floor of zippy young people, but that’s not exactly the route to timeless moviemaking. The film does contain a nice throwaway performance by Katya Douglas as one of the heirs of the poor victim whose untimely end triggers the murder mystery. She plays her scenes with a casual sense of entitlement that suggests a more mature, more sedate Veruca Salt.

Sunshine Cleaning (Christine Jeffs, 2009). This is an utterly ordinary film. It’s a collection of superficially quirky details made wan, and emotional conflicts made flat. It’s appealing enough at time, and the script by Megan Holley is solid enough in a by-the-numbers way. It’s hard to find much specific to fault. There are no egregious missteps, just enough of a safe plodding approach to drain the film of energy and make it completely forgettable. The same could actually be said of the previous film by Jeffs, 1993’s Sylvia Plath biopic Sylvia , which at least boasted a fully committed performance by Gwyneth Paltrow. By contrast, Amy Adams, Emily Blunt and Alan Arkin all deliver suitable work, but they all sometimes seem disinterested. That’s understandable, anyway. I certainly felt the same way.

Harlan County U.S.A. (Barbara Kopple, 1976). Kopple’s first feature documentary depicts the grueling battle the ensues as Kentucky coal miners go on strike. There’s no doubt that Kopple picks a side, but she also takes seriously her responsibility to point her camera and take in the happenings as evenly and fairly as possible. Even as she makes hard points against the energy companies that seemingly disregard the safety of their workers or the union officials who develop their own callous disconnection from the men they’re charged with defending and protecting, Kopple never stoops to demonizing any party, never panders by painting people more heroically than they are. People onscreen emerge as real individuals, and the pain of the conflicts is piercingly felt. She also has a knack for capturing fine, telling moments, nothing better than a conversation between a striker who’s traveled to Wall Street to make his points and the New York City cop that enters into a casual conversation with him.

The French Connection (William Friedkin, 1971). Friedkin’s cop drama is terse, gritty, effective and oddly thin in conception and construction. What undoubtedly looked revolutionary in its procedural attentiveness in 1971 seems more like something that could be programmed regularly on any night of the week on CBS, which is more of testimony to the film’s enduring influence than its lack of creativity. Still, it can be hard to see the film through the murky reflection of all its countless descendants. Gene Hackman is strong and fearsome as Detective Popeye Doyle, the role that won him the first of two Oscars, but there’s little room for him to dig in and find depth to the character. It all bangs along efficiently enough, and has many gripping moments–notably the justifiably famous car chase scene–making it a solid enough entertainment, but, despite its reputation, short of great art.

(Posted simultaneously to “Jelly-Town!”)