March 22nd 2013. Pick Of The Day.

Joseph L. Mankiewicz's SUDDENLY, LAST SUMMER screens for the last of its three day run as part of MOMA's Auteurist History of Film series. Being as this slice of Tennessee Williams' happy is the closest we're bound to get to the season itself anytime soon I'm tempted to make it my Pick for a second time this week, but I stand by my anti-double-dip rule. Sorry Liz...

IFC Center's complete retropsective of the films of Stanley Kubrick proceeds apace today with screenings of THE SHINING, KILLER'S KISS, 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY and A CLOCKWORK ORANGE. Two masterpieces, a movie I'm not so nuts about any more and an early effort worth a big screen viewing if only to watch the emerging style of a future master. I'll let you sort which is which. All worthy of your attendance but as they screen on a fairly regular basis in our beatuiful burg I'm passing them up as my Pick today. Sorry Stanley.

Jacques Rivette's LE PONT DU NORD gets a week long hug from BAM starting today. Rivette's kookfest follows a mother and daughter team's journey through a surreal Paris as they go about solving the mystery of why this film got made. Kiddin'. Never seen, and actually haven't ever seen a Jacques Rivette flick, so I'd normally gravitate toward this screening, only today I'm choosing something I consider much more worthy. Read.

Finally caught Fritz Lang's incomparable M at Film Forum last night in its new DCP restoration, which looked fantastic. It screens for one more week, so although I can't repeat yesterday's Pick I still implore you to catch this before it's gone!

Anthology Film Archives resumes its trib to the late great Andrew Sarris with a double bill of Phil Karlson's THE BROTHERS RICO and Joseph H. Lewis' MY NAME IS JULIA ROSS. Karlson and Lewis are regarded as gritty meat-and-potatoes directors emblematic of the better B-noirs that were cranked out in postwar Hollywood, and were faves of the author of THE AMERICAN CINEMA: DIRECTORS AND DIRECTIONS. Tempts, but no.

The Rubin Museum's Cabaret Cinema screen lights up once more with a screening of Louis Malle's BLACK MOON. For some reason a lotta bugfuckerry's been on display at our local rep houses lately, and this tale of a delusional teen coming of age at a secluded farm where they raise sheep and unicorns fits snugly in with that bunch I thank ye. I always dig lounging back with a brew at the Rubin but I defer my Pick to another. Sorry, monks...

And midnight movies in our city include Hitchcock's last interesting flick FRENZY, at the IFC Center, and the flick Hitch's VERTIGO (unjustly) knocked off the top spot in the latest Sight and Sound poll, Orson Welles' CITIZEN KANE, screening at the Landmark Sunshine Cinema. Again I see these booked fairly often, and there's not a damn thing wrong with that, but a film is unspooling today as part of a week-long run in service to its reappraisal, and I'm pretty sure after this week it'll be quite a long time indeed before it screens again. Don't let that put you off attending, you may just participate in the rebirth of a misread and misjudged classic.

So much has been written about this movie that more people know about it without having seen it than have. So I'll skip the usual backstory synopsis and tell you about my history with the film. It all started with DUNE, which I saw in 1984 and became immediately obsessed with. Not because it was a good film by any means, LORD no, but because of the sheer brain-boiling miasma that unfolded in the movie theater that night. I rewatched the film incessantly like an air disaster investigator replays the black box, trying to explain to myself why the filmmakers had made each bizarre choice that ended up on the screen, how this much money and talent could result in something so whowhatnow? It fascinated me that they spent a then-record 60 milion bucks on a flick that featured giant worms made from condoms and Kenneth McMillan getting the Harkonnen version of a hot stone massage.

So I was inspired and went on a epic disaster kick, hunting down notorious flicks whose budgets could support a small country for a year and landed at the box office with a thud. My journey found me discovering flicks I really enjoyed (William Freidkin's SORCERER, Howard Hawks' LAND OF THE PHAROAHS), and those I did not (hello, BARRY LYNDON). The elusive puppy was the infamous behemoth that was such a monstrosity, such a disaster, it had actually destroyed the studio that made it and took the director's career with it. Some rep, huh?

Now back in the Mesozoic era, kiddies, we had a thing called VHS, and we were damn lucky to have it and lugged it the whole ten mile walk through the rain to school. Well someone did. Along with the VHS player that played VHS tapes there were these things called VHS stores where you could plop down $100 bucks and actually PURCHASE a movie Mr. Moneybags, or for a montlhy fee you could rent from the vast library of classics that lined the aisles of said establishment. So if you wanted PORKY'S or BACHELOR PARTY the keys to paradise were yours. Finding an obscure flop from the end of the New Hollywood era in Country Club, The Bronx, mebbe not so much. However the kind teenagers who oversaw these lucrative operations would occasionally hunt down a title for you, provided you bribed them with arcade money and bugged them every week. This one title, though, proved a slippery catch indeed. Week after week I'd show up at KGV Video on Tremont avenue to see if this Friday was inded the night it would arrive, only to be let down and rent STAR TREK 2 again.

Then one week it was handed to me, resplendent in its worn, dusty, clunky packaging. The Holy Grail of bad films. The worst western of all time. Had the clerk known the toxicity of this flick he'd have handed me the videocassette with tongs. I raced home and made popcorn and told my buddies I was about to watch the Anti-Christ of modern cinema.

3 1/2 hours later I finished watching a masterpiece. My jaw went through the ground. I loved it, absolutely loved it. I could not for the life of me figure why this charming and well-crafted movie was not merely panned but subjected to the sort of invective reserved for puppy kickers and Betty White's enemies. The music grabbed me. The cinematography and production design were immersive. The story and perfs were joyous in moments and haunting overall. I was moved by this alternate take on the story of America, that utilized the tropes of the mythical movie west in order to deconstruct it. I found the narrative rich and nuanced, where some found the plot as murky as its smoke and mud mise en scene. And ultimately I connected with the trad love triangle at the movie's core, between a respected lawman, a bounty hunter and the proverbial hooker with a heart of gold they both desire. Ever since I first saw this film in 1985 I've been consigned happily to the minority that is its fanbase. Seen it probably 20 times, jumped for joy when Criterion announced its special edition BluRay last summer, and now, 33 years later, I'm finally gonna get to see this on the big (well sorta big) screen. I'll be honest, my love for this film may well have something to do with its long standing underdog status, but my love is also such that I would gladly sacrifice said status and welcome the day this movie is no longer a cult curiosity, but an acknowledged classic.

Michael Cimino's HEAVEN'S GATE screens for a week at the Film Forum at 1:20pm and 8pm. Buy the large popcorn. Trust me.

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Be safe and sound and make sure the next guy is too, Suckahz! Back tomorrow to close out this week's Picks! Film, Bebeh, film!

-Joe Walsh