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It was Hollywood in early 1950, and legendary director Billy Wilder had a big problem. In two weeks, shooting would start on his next film, “Sunset Boulevard,” and his mercurial young star, Montgomery Clift, had just backed out of playing the lead.

I have always been a huge fan of the late Alan Bates. His profound talent made him a joy to watch in most anything. Still, I’ve often wondered, why wasn’t he a bigger star?  Eventually, I learned it was a matter of choice. He simply preferred to be a working actor.

During the Second World War, there was no bigger female star in Hollywood than Greer Garson. She was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar five consecutive times over that period, from 1941-1945. (Only Bette Davis matched Garson’s record, between 1939-1943).

His name is seldom invoked today, but if you compiled any list of innovators who’d actually changed the shape of movies, it would have to include Saul Bass.

Today there are certainly bigger stars in Hollywood than Bill Murray, but few if any command the cult-like devotion and fascination that he does from his fans.

By the age of thirty, Montgomery Clift seemed to have everything: youth, beauty, talent, and the prospect of a lucrative film career with limitless possibilities. Along with his friend and colleague Marlon Brando, Clift was the most visible and gifted of a new generation of movie star who’d been trained in “the Method” at Lee Strasberg’s Actor’s Studio. The Studio’s fundamental goal was to help actors inhabit their characters more fully in order to achieve greater realism and intensity in their performances.

Roughly two years ago, I had the honor of dining with Angela Lansbury. It was at a private event, where we screened “The Manchurian Candidate” (1962), which features perhaps her most indelible film role, as the diabolically wicked mother of a would-be presidential assassin. Rarely have I met a more grounded, down-to-earth lady. She had no airs whatever. She might have been the British granny of anyone’s happiest dreams: smart, sensible, with a ready laugh and the confidence to listen.

I was lucky enough to know Gene Wilder. That’s not to boast but to affirm a tired old cliché: to know him was to love him. He was surprisingly reserved, but once comfortable with you, he readily displayed that trademark twinkle. His keen wit and intelligence made him excellent company, and unlike some actors, he listened as intently as he spoke.

Gloria Grahame never quite became a star in Hollywood, but she sure left her mark. If you’re a fan of film noir, you know her already. This shadowy world of double-and triple-crosses was where she thrived. Still, even casual fans of older films will remember that face, that voice, that look.