Ace in the Hole - MatthewHunt

A Canterbury Tale
(Michael Powell And Emeric Pressburger, 1944)
Beware the glueman. Critics writing retrospective analysis of Powell and Pressburger cite Eric
Portman's village squire (who goes around squirting sticky stuff on the hair of girls on dates
with GIs) as evidence that the imp of the perverse was in their work right from the outset.
Glue aside, this is a wondrously evocative paean to pastoral England. The wonder is that it
was made in the middle of the war.
Capturing the Friedmans
(Andrew Jarecki, 2003)
The title has a double meaning, referring to the persecution of a suburban family for
unsubstantiated sex crimes and to the family's compulsion for putting their entire lives on
videotape. The cameras keep running even when they hit rock bottom, making for a
staggering tragedy that dares you to look away.
Caravaggio
(Derek Jarman, 1986)
Jarman brings all the irreverent force of his punk poetry to his take on the wild-child baroque
painter Caravaggio. With its mix of contemporary references and Jarman's highly mannered,
stage-set version of 17th century Italy, this is a movie as non-conformist, as headily, violently
sexual and inventive as its title character.
Carry On Cleo
(Gerald Thomas, 1964)
The Carry On team's tilt at the superstar pairing of Liz Taylor and Richard Burton is one of
their more focused efforts, starring Jim Dale and Kenneth Connor as a primitive Brits taken to
Rome to be sold as slaves. Kenneth Williams steals the show, though, as the haughty Julius
Caesar, going nasally to his death with the immortal line, "Infamy, infamy - they've all got it in
for me!"
The Cars That Ate Paris
(Peter Weir, 1974)
Low budget exploitation has proved an easy entry into moviemaking for many directors, and
the smarter ones manage to sneak in satire. Weir's movie has cars covered in spikes and
enough gore to satisfy the Friday night crowd, with well-aimed barbs at consumerism and
automobile culture for those seeking a little depth.
Casablanca
(Michael Curtiz, 1942)
Rick's Cafe is in Burbank, not north Africa, and Paul Henreid got his scar in make-up, not
Dachau. Who cares, when the real war relieved Casablanca just as the movie opened? This
is looking at you, kid, playing it again, and musing over hills of beans. I have the letters of
transit, but I'm staying in Casablanca forever.
Casino
(Martin Scorsese, 1995)
Scorsese's savage epic weaves a fascinating tapestry, illustrating the workings of organized
crime in Las Vegas - from kingpins to the lowest underlings - as an exercise in controlled
chaos. The graphic violence is essential to the milieu, with the "head in a vice" scene the
most famous among many acts of brute force.
Cat On a Hot Tin Roof
(Richard Brooks, 1958)
Tennessee Williams' brilliant dissections of human relationships were rarely better served
than this luminous melodrama, starring Paul Newman as a former football hero who is falling
into alcoholism and closet homosexuality. His steely-eyed charm meets its match, however, in
the buxom, blousy Maggie - a terrific Southern belle part that liberated Elizabeth Taylor from
her coy National Velvet roots forever.