"14"

You may remember her as Rosanne Barr’s Granny on TV. Or perhaps the rotund former swimming champion who dives in on cue in 1972’s delightfully cheesy “The Poseidon Adventure.” 

The premise begins with a hard, basic fact: 95% of movies are not great. We’re here to show you the 5% that are.  The truth is, it’s extremely hard to make any movie, much less a great one – lots of moving parts, tons of things that can go wrong. The nature of the film business itself makes it even harder to find an outstanding film- it's downright perverse, particularly to a former ad-man like me; indifferent or abysmal movies get tons of advertising and promotion, drowning out smaller, exceptional pictures. Studio executives are profit-driven and risk averse. They believe – rightly – that there's a sizable movie audience that simply wants to be entertained without investing too much thought or effort. These viewers also tend to respond to what's familiar. So, the reasoning goes, why gamble on something new and different when you can print money by rolling out slight variations on a proven formula? The only problem is that there's another audience out there clamoring for meatier, more intelligent and original fare. And since they're not finding enough of it, increasingly they're turning over their precious viewing time to quality cable series like "House Of Cards" and "Downton Abbey."

I just got back from San Francisco, a strange, beautiful, bewitching city that has been gradually revealing itself to me since my first visit over forty years ago. As with all great movies, every time I see it I see something new.

In August 1947, RKO released a tingling film noir entry called “Crossfire.” It had been shot in 24 days for just $250,000. Eclipsed months later by Elia Kazan’s “Gentleman’s Agreement,” a glossier film that dealt with the same issue, it stands as the first American film to confront the issue of anti-Semitism at a time when this scourge was even more prevalent in our society.

As the weather warms, in our house the Brazilian tracks start playing, mainly those glorious sixties samba tunes from Antonio Carlos Jobim, Joao Gilberto, Stan Getz, and so many others. The music is sexy, sad, and impossibly romantic, like the country itself.

Advances in gay rights have been hard-won, and there's still much work ahead, but Sunday presents an opportunity to embrace all the progress to-date. It’s a day for Pride.    

After the particularly painful song of ice and snow that was Winter 2013-14, I’m happy to say that the robin in yonder dell is finally chirping “Spring! Spring! Spring!” Yes, the world is puddle-wonderful again and that means that, like any other hibernating animal, I feel an urge to shake off the cold, stretch my legs, and participate in some old-fashioned migration. So windows are rolled down, sleeves are rolled up – it’s time for a good long drive to greener horizons, or most anywhere from here. I raise my face to the sun, and movie fanatic that I am, hear Groucho’s voice ringing in my ears: “Sing ho! For the open highway! Sing ho! For the open road!” (Anyone remember the movie?) Or maybe the strains of Bob Hope – “We’re off on the Road to Morocco!” (Bob – it’s better off-season.)

A recent visit to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where it all began back in 1903, started me thinking about all the classic movies that explore the risk, adventure and excitement of aviation. Whether in the context of war or peace, the airplane has been very good for movies, and vice versa.

Looking back half a century (can it really be half a century?), I’m reminded that 1971 was a very good year for movies.