"adaptation"

We’ve all done it, watched a movie and thought, “How do they think this stuff up?” and, “Do they expect us to believe this?” Yes, “they” do, because movies depend on the suspension of disbelief for their magic. Musicals, horror, and romantic comedies are all fueled by the high octane of fantasy.

Name almost any type of film and it’s likely Robert Wise made at least one of them.   Whether it's a horror movie, a science-fiction outing, a war picture, an ensemble drama, a suspense film or a musical, Wise handled it, usually in exceptional fashion. (The only area he really didn’t tackle was pure comedy.)   Yet predictably, his versatility didn’t play well with some film commentators of his time who prescribed to the “auteur” theory, which lent more significance to directors who consistently followed a signature style in their work.

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. 

Everyone knows Welles, Huston, Kubrick, Spielberg, Scorsese and Nolan. But what about Leisen, Hill, Hiller, Boorman, Mann and Sayles?  For every “name” director, there are several others we feel deserve more recognition. They may have had successes—critical and/or financial—but for some reason they’ve tended to fly under the radar. Here are six filmmakers whose legacies deserve our respect and appreciation. Even though their names may have faded from memory, their finest work lives on, as you’ll soon discover.

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!”

It seems Peter Lorre was born to be sinister. Though small in stature (just under 5'4"), his oversized, sleepy eyes seemed to pierce right into your soul. His soft, eerie voice, though imitated countless times by comedians, never failed to chill. Lorre sometimes belittled his own talent, describing himself as "a face maker." But what a face! Lorre's creepy presence was surprisingly flexible, allowing him to appear in everything from horror films, to comedies, to film noir.

When Simon and Garfunkel came out with the song “Mrs. Robinson” on the soundtrack for the coming of age film “The Graduate” (1967), baseball great Joe DiMaggio was angry about the lyric that asks, “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?” Then one day Simon and Joltin’ Joe met coincidentally at a restaurant where, according to Simon, they “immediately fell into conversation about the only subject we had in common." "What I don't understand," DiMaggio said, "is why you ask where I've gone. I just did a Mr. Coffee commercial.” Simon explained that he didn’t mean it literally – he just meant that he considered Joe a hero at a time that “genuine heroes were in short supply.” What he didn’t say was… And now, you are doing a Mr. Coffee commercial.

I can vividly recall the first moment I saw Meryl Streep on-screen. The film was “The Deer Hunter” (1978). Her part was relatively small — she played the stateside love interest of two men shipped off to Vietnam — but I was immediately struck by her presence.