Q: The energetic young producer of theatrical prologues (those staged performances, usually musical, that often proceeded the movie in the larger cinemas in bygone days) must deal with crooked competition, fraudulent partners, unfaithful lovers & amateur talent to realize his dream of making his mark on the FOOTLIGHT PARADE.

While closely resembling other Warner's musical spectaculars, notably the GOLDDIGGER films, this movie had a special attraction none of the others had: Jimmy Cagney. He is a wonder, loose-jointed and lithe, as agile as any tomcat - a creature he actually mimics a few times during the movie. Cagney grabs the viewers attention & never lets go, powering the rapid-fire dialogue and corny plot with his charisma & buoyant charm.

The rest of the cast gives their best, as well. Joan Blondell is perfect as the smart-mouthed, big-hearted blonde secretary, infatuated with Cagney (major quibble - why wasn't she given a musical number?). Dick Powell & Ruby Keeler once again play lovers onstage & off; the fact that her singing & acting abilities are a bit on the lean side are compensated for by her dancing ; Powell still exudes boyish enthusiasm in his unaccustomed position as second male lead.

Guy Kibbee & Hugh Herbert are lots of fun as brothers-in-law, both scheming to cheat Cagney in different ways. Ruth Donnelly scores as Kibbee's wealthy wife, a woman devoted to her handsome proteges. Frank McHugh's harried choreographer is an apt foil for Cagney's wit. Herman Bing is hilarious in his one tiny scene as a music arranger. Mavens will spot little Billy Barty, Jimmy Conlin & maybe even John Garfield during the musical numbers.

Finally, there's Busby Berkeley, choreographer nonpareil. His terpsichorean confections, sprinkled throughout the decade of the 1930's, were a supreme example of the cinematic escapism that Depression audiences wanted to enjoy. The big joke about Berkeley's creations, of course, was that they were meant, as part of the plot, to be stage productions. But no theater could ever hold these products of the master's imagination. They are perfect illustrations of the type of entertainment only made possible by the movie camera.

Berkeley's musical offerings generally took one of two different approaches, either a story (often rather bizarre) told with song & dance; or else stunning geometrically designed numbers, eye candy, featuring plentiful chorus girls, overhead camerawork & a romantic tune. In a spasm of outre extravagance, FOOTLIGHT PARADE climaxes with three Berkeley masterworks: 'Honeymoon Hotel' and its pre-Production Code telling of a couple's wedding night; 'By A Waterfall' - dozens of unclad females, splashing, floating & diving in perfect patterns & designs (peer closely & you'll see how the synchronous effects were achieved); and finally, 'Shanghai Lil' - a fitting tribute to the talents of both Cagney & Berkeley. OPTIONS:
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A: positive
Q: Cafe Lumiere is a beautifully photographed nullity. Unacquainted with the work of the director, I am well-acquainted with the filmmaker he is supposedly paying tribute to - Ozu Yasujiro. While not even approaching Ozu in greatness, Hou has communicated nothing of Ozu's depth of emotion and concentration on meaning within a closed space. One of the things he misses entirely is Ozu's attention to character - we are not even "introduced" by Hou to his lead character (a perfect blank page). There are no medium or close shots of his people. One of the DVD extras offers interviews with the actors and gives us precisely what Hou doesn't - a good look at their faces.

There was a great Spanish film by Bardem called Nunca Pasa Nada, which translates to something like "Nothing Ever Happens". That would be a far better title to this pointless exercise. All through the film we are given clues about an obscure Taiwanese composer some of whose work we hear on the soundtrack. But the clues, like everything else, add up to nothing. Unless you're a trainspotter, this film has nothing to recommend it. OPTIONS:
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A: negative
Q: We now travel to a parallel universe where the appearance of giant prehistoric monsters flattening cities are part of the daily routine. It's the world of Godzilla, Rodan, Mothra Ghidrah and their kind - a strange world, and one made even stranger by the appearance of an unidentified flying turtle called Gamera.

Forever in the shadow of the monolithic Toho Studios, second rung Daiei Studios were more famous for samurai sagas than monster movies. In the mid 60s they decided to join the giant reptile race and designed a rival monster series to Toho's mammothly successful Godzilla. They wisely chose Gamera as their flagship - a giant turtle that shoots flames from between its snaggle-teeth, and spins through the air by shooting flames through its shell's feet-holes (and at one point you almost see the paper mache shell catch fire!).

The first Gamera film "Gamera The Invincible" (as it was sold to the US) is a virtual mirror of the first Godzilla film, only 10 years behind. American fighters chase an unmarked plane over the Arctic to its fiery demise - the nuclear bomb on board ignites and awakens the giant Gamera from its icy slumber. Feeding off atomic energy, it immediately goes on a rampage, and the world wants to destroy Gamera once and for all, but a little Japanese boy named Kenny, who has a psychic connection with the giant turtle and even keeps a miniature version in an aquarium by his bedside, believes Gamera is essentially kind and benevolent. He's like a little Jewish kid with a pinup of Hitler. "Gamera is a GOOD turtle," he pleads, then sulks, and puts on a face like someone's pooped in his coco pops. Miraculously the world's leaders listen to him, and so begins Z-Plan to save the world AND Gamera from complete destruction.

Released in 1965, Gamera was a surprising hit. The annoying infantile anthropomorphism actually worked on kiddie audiences in both Japan and the US, and the sight of Gamera on two feet stomping miniatures of Tokyo and the North Pole is gloriously chintzy. Most surprising of all is the longevity of the series: eight original Gamera films, plus a slew of recent remakes. Not bad for a mutant reptile whose only friend is mewing eight year old milquetoast - and if I hear "Gamera is friends to ALL children" one more time I'M going to crush Tokyo. Which appears to be an easy task in the parallel universe where children are smart and turtles are bigger than a Seiko billboard in the 1965 turtle-fest Gamera. OPTIONS:
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A: negative