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Each year around Oscar time, there’s a lot of speculation about which film will win Best Picture. From what I’ve read online, it appears that my own favorite, Ryasuke Hamaguchi’s brilliant drama “Drive My Car,” is a long shot for the top prize.

Whenever I note Harvey Keitel’s name in the credits of a film, its stock automatically goes up a bit. His involvement may not guarantee a great film, but it does guarantee a remarkable performance within it.

Beyond the tragic loss of George Floyd, for me the saddest part of this past week is realizing how little progress we’ve made on racial inequality since the founding of the Civil Rights movement well over half a century ago. 

If you’re like me, sometimes you’re in the mood for just that — a classic that takes you back to your childhood or gives you a glimpse into another era. Great older films tend to move slower, with longer scenes and fewer cuts. And they usually contain one precious ingredient that too many narrative films lack today: an emphasis on intelligent, clever dialogue, recalling a time when good conversation was considered an art.

It’s striking just how alike they were: both petite women with big personalities and talent who achieved overnight success in iconic movies at age 19; both immensely driven professionals who, in the face of personal challenges and misfortune, channeled their prodigious energies into their work.

Marvin Neil Simon was born on Independence Day, 1927 in the Bronx. His father Irving was a garment salesman who struggled to make a living during the Depression. He also had a volcanic marriage to wife Mamie; young Neil would always remember putting his pillow over his ears during their many screaming matches.

In the years after the smashing success of Mike Nichols’s “The Graduate” (1967), Anne Bancroft came to believe that her portrayal of Mrs. Robinson, the bored middle-aged wife and mother who seduces newly minted college grad Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman), overshadowed the rest of her career.

Rarely if ever has a collaboration between artist and muse yielded such rich cinematic treasure. Master director Akira Kurosawa and his favorite actor Toshiro Mifune worked together on sixteen films in as many years. Most of these titles achieve a very high level of quality and hold up beautifully, while a few are truly brilliant.

With the gradual passing of opening movie credits, we also lost a vital element that distinguishes many so-called “classic” movies: the original music score, including a heroic, memorable opening theme. What’s the last film you remember that had a score you could hum while walking home from the theater — a piece of music you knew you'd always remember and associate with the film?