The Misfits (dir. John Huston). I dropped it after about forty minutes; it might be more enjoyable if I hadn’t read of its history. The script spends too much of the time exclaiming how wonderful the writer’s wife is. Clark Gable looks like the celeb of the week on a kid show: hold the famous smile for awhile, now frown avuncularly, now cock an eyebrow as fan service for any mothers or grandmothers who might be watching.
The Guns of Navarone (dir. J Lee Thompson). More nuanced than typical war movies of the time. — Gregory Peck has one embarrassing moment: contained fury is not something he sells well.
The Hustler (dir. Robert Rossen). The sequel The Color of Money (1986, dir. Scorsese) led me to expect a caper, not a damn sports-underdog story. I like caper movies.
West Side Story (dir. Robbins/Wise). Did the dances look less absurd when it was new? — I’d never have spotted Rita Moreno, so much younger here than I’ve seen her before.
The Comancheros (dir. Michael Curtiz, John Wayne). Amiably standard Western fare.
One, Two, Three (dir. Billy Wilder). Funny script, but most of the characters are one-note; I get tired of the constant shouting of Cagney (as Coca-Cola’s man in Berlin) and Buchholz (as a fervent young Communist swept up in circumstance).
Une femme est une femme (A woman is a woman) (dir. Godard). Not long on plot or character, but stylish: quite interesting to watch.