FOLLOW THRU (1930) at the Stanford Theatre.

No, Jimmy, your butt certainly does NOT look fat in those swim trunks.

I MET A MURDERER (1939) barely made it out of the silent era, with all those dramatic close-ups, overwrought orchestral crescendoes, and awkward edits. Plus, the leading lady’s eyebrows were about tweezed out of existence. (I know, I’m overly obsessed with eyebrow fashion through the ages.) But she did call their car “Auntie” and James Mason’s character shot his wife because she shot his border collie.  Fair enough.

Oh, yeah, there was another movie in this double bill:

Even three-strip Technicolor couldn’t save this. When the lights went up, one of the PFA regulars loudly pronounced it a “stinker.”

FOOTSTEPS IN THE FOG (1955).

Hello? Yes, this is Clive.

Oh, how lovely to hear from you!

Yes. It was quite a film, in fact, it is a bit of an OBSESSION (1949) of mine.

Uh-huh.

Yes, Monty the dog saves the day, but it is in fact the cat that alerts the police.

Um-hm. Oh, yes, I did see Lucy at the screening. She didn’t take her usual seat, even when one of the regulars offered to scootch over.

No, she’s not that particular. I know.

Um-hm.

Oh, then the other regular mentioned that she’d like to have her ashes buried in the theater!

I know! I almost cannot believe it either!

Yes, the Tea and Larceny series at the PFA is a must-see all around.

See ya, pal!

Oh?

American slang, you say?

Well, Mr. MacGuffin, I have to ring off now.

All right. Good-bye.

Joseph Losey’s opening sequence makes the audience feel complicit in Van Heflin’s crimes in THE PROWLER (1950).

And then…Gene Kelly in the making-of featurette for VIVA KNIEVEL (1977)?

Oh, sad day, Gene, that you were reduced to greasemonkey status in a film starring a stuntman.

And Dorothy Malone is wondering how the hell she got roped into THE FAST AND THE FURIOUS (1954). Her character was trapped in an abandoned shack and got the bright idea to light it on fire to attract attention WHILE SHE WAS LOCKED INSIDE IT!

…and John Sayles as one of the Men in Black in THE BROTHER FROM ANOTHER PLANET (1984). Okay, this is Joe Morton below, of course, not John Sayles; I didn’t get a picture of the latter. But: <squeeeeeee>, that high-pitched noise he and David Straithairn made—ooh, I just about peed my pants with laughter.

How much of a coincidence is it that both directors of tonight’s films had amazingly well-acted cameos in their own films? Romero played a practical, sweet-liqueur-loving priest not about to put up with a lot of mystical guff. And Sayles?  I didn’t even recognize him as the taller twin of the alien “slave”-hunters.

And, just ‘cos I’m a sentimental twit, a lovely dawn picture of the other twins:

Yeah, yeah, I know it’s YOUNG AMERICA (1932), not “Young Americans,” but that doesn’t stop my brain from singing this.  Plus there’re a lot of young americans in this sweet, funny, stupid little film:

…a young Ralph Bellamy, and…

…a baby-faced Spencer Tracy. Oh, and a bunch of really cute juvenile delinquent kids. The print looked so rich and with just the right amount of shimmery contrast; the preservation team under Bob Gitt at UCLA filled in all the jumpy bits around the head and tail leaders with full audio and brief seconds of still image where the missing frames were.  A brilliantly done—and not overdone—preservation.

When a pissy Raymond Burr throws a bowlful of flaming spirits at his ladyfriend, the RAW DEAL (1948) gets flambéed!

Maybe Babs Stanwyck wouldn’t have NO MAN OF HER OWN (1950) if her makeup artist didn’t insist on clowning up her upper lip!  But you better believe that trying on another woman’s wedding ring is bad luck—did you see how those two pregnant gals got tumble-dried in their train carriage?  An implausibly delightful (or delightfully implausible) little lady film noir.

Le Tigre asked.  ”Misogynist?  Genius?  Alcoholic?  Messiah?” they suggested.  I’m in the misogynist camp.  But Peter Falk saves A WOMAN UNDER THE INFLUENCE (1974), and so did this glorious print—from the original camera negative—preserved by my friend Ross at UCLA.

The tell-tale buzz of a motor boat; cuckolded Claude Rains using a damning playbill as a coaster; the sweat on Ann Todd’s brow as she contemplates going under the Underground.  David Lean flushes us down the flashback in THE PASSIONATE FRIENDS (1948).

Why doesn’t the head of the MPAA affix his signature to the bogus ratings they give American films?

NOW, VOYAGER (1942) lap dissolves. Bette Davis confirms what we women have always suspected: a groomed eyebrow changes everything.