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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.    

In the days before films relied on computers to entertain us, Billy Wilder used a movie camera to tell us stories. His stories might be funny or sad, but all held some grain of human insight, with even hard observations tempered by an underlying affection for his fellow man. At the closing titles, this made his many fans feel not only satisfied, but edified.

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.)

Olivia de Havilland’s death not only marks the passing of a great actress, but also the last vestige of Hollywood’s Golden Age, when the old studio system held sway. In those far-off days, motion pictures, viewed in theaters still owned by those studios, were widely considered the pre-eminent form of mass entertainment.

This Independence Day, America confronts a host of serious challenges, and appears diminished on the world stage. There’s a vacuum of leadership for all the world to see.

It is mystifying but true that when Alfred Hitchcock first visited Hollywood in the late thirties, none of the major studios was willing to offer him a contract — that is, until independent producer David O. Selznick stepped up.

Over the course of a distinguished film career as writer, director and actor, 1948’s “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre” marked a memorable juncture for John Huston.