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Ever have a bad hair day? Sure you have. You do everything you can to make things right, but nothing seems to work. “Oh, well,” you think. “At least it’ll be better tomorrow.”

Once famous, Bob Dylan didn’t wait long to put his poetic, socially rebellious, cage-rattling persona on film. In the words of former girlfriend Joan Baez, he “burst on the scene already a legend” in 1961, and had only been recording for three years when he became the subject of documentary filmmaker D.A. Pennebaker’s groundbreaking tour diary, “Don’t Look Back” (1965). 

Cities are like people, in that some periods represent career peaks, and there are plenty of examples of golden ages to go around: Paris in the 1920s, Los Angeles in the 1940s, and New York in the 1950s all brim with romance in the popular imagination. But no scene was quite as explosive in sheer energy and style as London was in the 1960s. A nation finally emerging from Blitz mentality and the rationing of World War II, England was primed for a major cultural earthquake, thanks to the crumbling of centuries-old social constriction, and the emergence of the Baby Boomers's youth culture. And when that earthquake, or “youthquake,” came, it was the movies that registered its shockwaves. “Swinging” London was its epicenter, as bands like The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Who, and the Kinks created a danceable soundtrack for the era, and pioneering hair stylist Vidal Sassoon snipped girls’ hair into a bob, perfect for bouncing along to the beat (and of course, boys’ hair grew down past their collars). 

Robert Duvall fully earns the hallowed term “actor’s actor.” He is superb in most anything he’s in. And at age 83, he’s still doing his thing. On a plane recently, I finally caught Tom Cruise’s diverting thriller “Jack Reacher” (2012), and there was octogenarian Duvall playing a gun dealer, stealing every scene he was in. Watching him ace this small but key supporting role made me feel it was time to pay tribute to a man who’s appeared in some of the greatest films of the past half-century.   Born to William Howard Duvall, a career military officer from Virginia, and his wife Mildred, an amateur actress and descendant of General Robert E. Lee, Duvall's childhood was peripatetic; his father was transferred frequently to various bases around the country.

Turning leaves, the appearance of tweed, and the visceral thrill of a cool nip in the air all evoke a seasonal tide turning. Autumn on film is one of the medium’s richest commodities, and a visual feast to mirror the one that rolls around every November.  Filmmakers can’t resist all that color or the movement of falling leaves, with deep nostalgia swiftly evoked in a few frames of swirling red and gold. Regardless of plot, cast or dialogue, the unsung hero of the autumnal movie is the cinematographer.  Fall on film seems to break into two categories: city and country; and that city is most often New York. It not only dresses the part, but the energy that arrives in town after Labor Day belongs to a law of physics. 

Does the name Dick Smith ring a bell? Probably not, I’d guess. So you’ll be surprised when I tell you that Mr. Smith, who passed away on July 30th at age 92, was actually responsible for some of the most memorable and astonishing moments in American film. His area of expertise: the unsung art of movie makeup. Smith — a Yale graduate who’d originally wanted to become a dentist — was a veteran of both TV and films. On the small screen, he worked on the campy sixties horror soap, “Dark Shadows,” and was Emmy-nominated four times, winning one for transforming a then-young Hal Holbrook into a considerably older Mark Twain in 1967’s “Mark Twain Tonight!”

Keep all those “Zoolander” jokes to yourself, because being a model in a movie doesn’t necessarily mean a pretty face (or body) catwalking across the screen for mere amusement or titillation, or because the director needed a hot date for the Screen Actors Guild awards. Underneath the high cheekbones and sculpted abs often lie the makings of a great actor. Here are some of the folks who made astonishingly smooth moves from still photography to motion pictures.

The lunacy had to end sometime. We just didn't think it would be this week. Robin Williams is dead at 63.     He was best known for his manic comedy work, the sort that moved critics to describe him as a “comic supernova,” but he proved equally adept at tackling dramatic roles. Already Oscar-nominated three times, he finally won a statuette for his warm, nuanced performance in “Good Will Hunting.” As time went on, he seemed to relish appearing in even darker films, such as “One Hour Photo” and “Insomnia.” Many of us got our first glimpse of him in the 1970s ABC sitcom “Mork and Mindy.” Williams played the lovable alien Mork so well that it took years for him to be taken seriously as an actor. His rise on the big screen began in the late 1980s with films like “Good Morning Vietnam” and “Dead Poets Society.” There was no turning back. He became known for playing funny characters who displayed a sensitive side, but he could still unleash the raw improvisational madness for which he was known, such as when he provided the voice of the genie in “Aladdin” or appeared in drag for “Mrs. Doubtfire.”

Do you remember Walter Brennan? Sure you do. No? Well, you should. After all, he spent four decades as sidekick to some of the top stars in the business. If his face isn’t familiar, I’ll bet you’d recognize his voice. Like Cagney, Bogart, and Mr. Magoo, Brennan owned a voice that was unmistakable. It became fodder for comedians and impressionists, and I’m pretty sure one of your uncles took a crack at it, too.    Brennan was the go-to guy when a director needed a town drunk, a good-hearted hobo, a local priest, or a deputy (he was indeed a natural for Westerns). But to say he was merely adept at playing local yokels undermines his achievements in the business. Brennan won the first ever Best Supporting Actor Oscar in 1937, and by 1941 had won it twice more. His feat of winning three Academy Awards wasn’t matched by another actor until Jack Nicholson and Daniel Day-Lewis did it decades later (and Nicholson and Day-Lewis needed a lot more than four years to equal Brennan’s record). To date, Brennan is still the only actor to win three statuettes for Best Supporting Actor.