My 50 Most Wanted Films

There’s something about obscurity that has long appealed to me. Maybe it’s the fear that my own creative works will be overlooked that drives me to seek out and appreciate the overlooked works of others. Maybe I just like the feeling of having discovered something no one else knows about – hell, at one time I thought Logan’s Run was pretty damn obscure, and for a short time it was one of my favorite movies!

This article is the result of roughly two years’ work, so naturally most of what you’re actually about to read was put together in the last few days. (It worked for college.) My original plan was to cover 100 films. Then my plan was to cover 50 films in detail and list 50 additional films with only brief explanations of my interest. Then I decided to save the additional 50 for another post so I could get this one out on time (and it is, as I type this, inching toward 4 in the morning, so I’d better wrap it up).

My thoughts on the films to follow are a combination of original research, notes I made for previous incarnations of this article, and material drawn from a series of 50 posts I made on social media two years ago detailing films I wanted to see but could not, at least not as readily as I would like. So some films will be dealt with rather briskly, and others will be dealt with at length. I did not mean to give any film short shrift, but that’s the way things shook out.

And now, let us take a trip through 50 films, spanning almost 70 years of cinema history, which have especially caught my interest. Please feel free to suggest additional titles or offer leads on seeking out the films below.

A couple of notes before we begin. Many of the films which follow can be found online, but I will not be providing links to them or naming the sites they can be found on, as I don’t wish to jeopardize the status of the uploads. Also, for some of the more elusive titles, downloads are available, but for a variety of reasons, I don’t download films, and so I do not count them towards a given film’s availability.

A key to the availability of each film: (OL) – Available online; (HV) – Available on home video; (BL) – Available via bootleg (or non-Region 1 home video); (NA) – Not available for viewing

• Amanita Pestilens (1963, Dir. René Bonnière)

One of the earliest Canadian color features and apparently the first filmed in both English- and French-language versions, with an early role for Geneviève Bujold as the daughter of a suburbanite whose lawn is overrun by the titular species of fungus, whose attempts to eradicate the menace nearly alienate his family. It’s a fascinating premise – one source compares its tone to Buñuel – and it boasts considerable historical significance beyond that, but aside from a 1998 broadcast on Canadian TV and a few special screenings, it’s wholly unavailable. A number of still images and additional information can be found here. (NA)

• An American Romance (1944, Dir. King Vidor)

Vidor’s little-known epic deals with an Eastern European immigrant (Brian Donlevy) whom becomes a steel tycoon; it was conceived as the third part of a loose thematic trilogy with The Big Parade and Our Daily Bread. Produced on a big budget and in Technicolor, MGM cut 30 minutes from the film after its first showings, and it subsequently flopped, falling into obscurity. The cut version is available from the Warner Archive (whether the longer version survives is unknown), but it remains of considerable interest as an ambitious project from a major American director. (HV)

• Americana (1983, Dir. David Carradine)

Carradine’s passion project stars himself as a Vietnam veteran who comes to a small Kansas town and decides to restore a broken-down old carousel, inspiring mixed emotions among the locals – one of whom is played by Barbara Hershey, then Carradine’s partner. As a native Kansan I’m especially interested in it (it was filmed in and around the town of Drury), but the offbeat premise also intrigues; it sounds like a precursor to the indie dramas of later decades. It’s also based on a novel, The Perfect Round by Henry Morton Robinson, whose later novel The Cardinal was filmed by Otto Preminger, in my view quite successfully. A DVD release is long out of print, but it’s not hard to find online. (OL)

• And Now My Love/Toute Une Vie (1974, Dir. Claude Lelouch)

An ambitious, decades-spanning romance tracing a pair of star-crossed spirits across several lifetimes, from the early 20th century (with sequences done in the style of silent film) to a hypothetical dystopian future – at least in the original French release; this and other sequences were trimmed for the American release. Despite receiving an Oscar nomination for its screenplay, it is now largely forgotten and not readily available, at least in North America; there was a Region 1 DVD, but it’s well out of print. An edition featuring both the French and the American cuts would be ideal. (HV)

• Andy (1965, Dir. Richard C. Sarafian)

Found and reviewed here.

A little-known character drama about a mentally handicapped man (Norman Alden) living an increasingly fragile life in New York with his aging parents. By all accounts an effective and realistic depiction of the challenges facing the mentally handicapped and their families – still a relevant theme 50 years on – with historical value for its portrait of 60s NYC…but despite its status as a major studio release (Universal), it’s totally unavailable; even the trailer can’t be found online, only a few images and reviews. (NA)

• Around the World in 80 Ways (1988*, Dir. Stephen MacLean)

Found and reviewed here.

I’ve always loved the premise of this Australian comedy; a pair of brothers spring their father from a nursing home and take him on a trip around the world…without ever leaving their house! Using imagination and ingenuity they “visit” Hawaii, Las Vegas, Tokyo, and so forth. And the reviews I’ve been able to find have been generally favorable; it helps that I have a pretty high opinion of Australian cinema, which has been responsible for a great many hidden gems, Wake in Fright and Bad Boy Bubby being my go-to examples.

Sadly, although it’s available on DVD in Australia; it was released over here in VHS and laserdisc editions, but those are both quite hard to get ahold of, as you can imagine. (*Various sources give the year for this film as 1986, ’87, and ’88; according to Australian Screen Online it was finished in ’86 but not released until ’88, so I’ll take that as the most accurate date.) (HV)

• The Astrologer (1976, Dir. Craig Denney)

Found and reviewed here.

A carnival psychic learns he actually has the gift, becomes incredibly wealthy (making a blockbuster film in the process), and then loses everything.

That’s the bare-bones basic summary I’ve gleaned from the reviews I’ve read, but to quote one of them:

Synopsizing the plot is both impossible and useless in describing how bonkers THE ASTROLOGER is…I could tell you all that, but it would be a woefully incomplete account and wouldn’t move the needle one iota toward describing how truly crazy and incompetent THE ASTROLOGER is.

The film appears to include all manner of surreality, with cinematic styles and gimmicks being thrown at us wholesale, and jumps in time and space which defy any traditional sense of narrative logic; to cite one example, the protagonist is locked up in a hellish Kenyan prison in one scene and totally free the next, with not the slightest explanation as to how. And it’s apparently a huge ego trip for Denney, who also plays the title role; it’s his only know film credit in any capacity, and information on his life is extremely sparse. In other words, it’s catnip to an obscurophile (Is that a real word? No) like myself.

Unfortunately, as the film uses a large amount of unlicensed music (especially from The Moody Blues), it’s apparently precluded from home video release (though it was released on BetaMax…in Australia); the American Genre Film Archive, however, has backed a number of screenings of it over the past few years, so hopefully I can catch one of those. (BL)

• Betrayal (1983, Dir. David Jones)

The story of a love triangle told backwards, between a man (Ben Kingsley), his wife (Patricia Hodge), and his best friend (Jeremy Irons), adapted by Harold Pinter from his brilliant play. The film was released to generally strong reviews, earned Pinter an Oscar nomination for Adapted Screenplay, and won the National Board of Review award for Best Film (tying with Terms of Endearment). Despite the acclaim and the strength of the cast (and just imagine if Helen Mirren had been cast instead of Hodge – she was in the running), it’s never had a digital release on either side of the Atlantic, and the tape is eons out of print. Uploads, however, are relatively plentiful. (OL)

• Chronopolis (1982, Dir. Piotr Kamler)

A French stop-motion animated feature, the result of five years’ work by its creator (most of it, apparently, single-handed), with an intriguing premise about a race of immortals who decide to create time. Fairly easy to find online in the 52-minute director’s cut…but the original version was 15-20 minutes longer and featured narration from actor Michael Lonsdale. This version was released on VHS in the States around 1990, but unsurprisingly it’s long out of print and very difficult to track down nowadays (although a few university libraries have copies). (OL)

• The Cool World (1963, Dir. Shirley Clarke)

Shirley Clarke had already made a name for herself with the documentary-style drug addiction drama The Connection; this semi-documentary portrait of gang life in Harlem, centering around a gang called the Royal Pythons, was comparably controversial, but was regarded as a pioneering work, and in 1994 it was added to the National Film Registry. It has other noteworthy credits: Gloria Foster and Clarence Williams III are in the cast, the noted documentarian Frederick Wiseman produced it, and the Dizzy Gillespie quintet performed the score.

Despite all this, I cannot find solid evidence that it has ever been officially released on home video; latter-day commentators seem somewhat divided on how well the film holds up, which might partially explain its unavailability. Bootlegs can be found fairly easily, however. (BL)

• The Crowd (1928, Dir. King Vidor)

This, on the other hand, has been released on home video, but only on VHS and laserdisc, and has been out of print for decades. And yet, this is widely considered one of the masterpieces of American silent cinema, being nominated for Unique and Artistic Production (a category that only existed for the Oscars’ first year, it was subsequently absorbed into Best Production, which later became Best Picture) and Best Director at the 1st Academy Awards, and in 1989 it was one of the first 25 films added to the National Film Registry. It’s a big deal.

It’s the story of a young couple trying to make it in the big city, their hopes and ambitions being quashed by unfulfillment and outright tragedy, and serves to showcase Vidor’s stylistic ambitions, taking cues from German Expressionism which he married to Hollywood techniques – one particularly famous shot has the camera glide up the side of a building to deposit the viewer on an upper floor. For Vidor’s direction and for its blunt, unglamorous depiction of everyday people (with an extremely bittersweet ending to boot – which MGM boss Louis B. Mayer especially hated), it has been acclaimed since it first appeared. I can think of very few films on this list which so badly need to be made more widely available. (HV)

• Diamonds of the Night/Démanty noci (1964, Dir. Jan Němec)

A short feature (just over an hour) about two boys during World War II who escape a concentration camp and flee across the countryside, interweaving dreams and flashbacks with the boys’ present struggles, until a double ending which leaves their fates up to interpretation.

After seeing it receive four bones (their top rating) from Videohound, I had this film in the back of my head for some years; during the earliest genesis of this project, I sought out additional reviews, all of which praised the film highly. But despite the praise, its only home video release in North America is a long-ago VHS release from Facets; it is available on DVD in the UK, but that so heavily acclaimed a film is so hard to find over here (possibly due to the glut of other films dealing with similar subject matter) is pretty inexcusable, especially given Němec’s reputation. (UPDATE: this will be released on DVD and Blu-Ray by the Criterion Collection on April 16, 2019. Details here.) (HV)

• Electric Dreams (1984, Dir. Steve Barron)

Found and reviewed here.

It’s a film about a love triangle involving a man, a woman, and the man’s sentient computer. It gained some renewed prominence when Her came out, but not enough to secure it a DVD release (at least in the States; it’s on Blu-Ray in the UK, however). However, it can be found fairly easily online, and it was released on VHS.

There’s a lot here to fascinate me. The wonky premise, for one (the computer becomes sentient because champagne is poured on it!); the solid cast, with Bud Cort as the computer and Virginia Madsen as the woman; and the super-80s score by Giorgio Moroder and others, featuring the BAFTA-nominated song “Together in Electric Dreams“; and the reviews which suggest the film is, indeed, quite a bit of fun.

For me, there’s also the film’s status as a latter-day MGM production, at the time when their glory days were a distant memory and they were producing such oddities as my beloved Pennies from Heaven, Douglas Trumbull’s strange Brainstorm, the fascinating, never-officially-released Nothing Lasts Forever (which isn’t on this list because I have managed to see it), and of course, Gymkata. (OL)

• Emilio and His Magical Bull (1975, Dir. Edward Nassour)

An extremely obscure stop-motion animated feature about a young Mexican boy and his pet bull who is sold and forced into the bullring, featuring a dream sequence where the bull fights a dinosaur – reflective of the film’s origins in a story by effects pioneer Willis O’Brien. Mostly produced in the late 1950s, lawsuits and the director’s suicide put it on the shelf for years, until his brother assembled the existing a footage into a short feature which saw a brief theatrical release. Notable as a non-Disney animated feature at a time when such things were quite rare in the States, but it has since vanished almost totally from view – although a DVD of the film was included in an auction lot of materials from the production, so at the very least it is not lost. A full review and additional information can be found here. (NA)

• The Enchanted Forest (1945, Dir. Lew Landers)

Found and reviewed here.

A comparatively rare fantasy film for the time, and from the Poverty Row PRC studio, no less: it’s the story of an old hermit who lives in the titular forest, communicating with its flora and fauna. One day, he rescues a lost child which he begins raising as his own, and the efforts of the child’s mother to locate him are interwoven with the hermit’s attempts to prevent a logger’s intentions to destroy the forest. It’s in color, too – filmed in the Cinecolor process, its success (according to Wikipedia, it was the highest-grossing film in PRC’s history) helped popularize the process. to the point where even major studios began using it.

I haven’t read many reviews of it, but what I’ve found tend to be positive; this review in particular praises it for making one believe in the hermit’s special bond with the forest, overcoming its low budget with a sense of genuine magic. It sounds like an all-around hidden gem; add to that my long-standing fascinating with early color cinema, and it firmly belongs here. There’s a DVD edition from the late 90s (which is, of course, long out of print), but it can also be found online. (OL)

• The Fossil/Kaseki (1975, Dir. Masaki Kobayashi)

Masaki Kobayashi wasn’t exactly an upbeat filmmaker; his best known works are the Human Condition trilogy (about a pacifist crushed by war), Harakiri (about a suicidal samurai), and Kwaidan (a quartet of ghost stories, some quite tragic). This deals with a tycoon who learns he’s dying and, concealing the truth from those around him, travels abroad, coming to terms with his impending death and grappling with visions of a mysterious woman, possibly his own Angel of Death…and then he meets her in person.

It’s also 200 minutes long, and according to one source, it was condensed from a miniseries.

Reading reviews of it online, the consensus seems to be that it’s something of a lost masterpiece, much less idealistic and humanistic than the similar Ikiru, but marked by a superior lead performance and Kobayashi’s excellent direction; it’s never been made available on home video over here, and while I have in the past found it online, I cannot currently do so, and as I recall those past uploads were not subtitled. Given that Kobayashi is already pretty well represented in the Criterion Collection, it might behoove them to tackle this one. In the meantime, it is available on DVD in Japan. (BL)

• Four Bags Full/A Pig Across Paris/La traverseé de Paris (1956, Dir. Claude Autant-Lara)

In occupied Paris, a black marketeer is tasked with smuggling a slaughtered pig across Paris, after curfew and under the noses of the Nazis. Unable to carry the four suitcases of meat by himself, he enlists the help of a stranger, an artist who turns their clandestine journey into a showcase for his own wit and cunning. As he cries out, “This pig’s making a genius of me!”

Although its darkly comic take on the Occupation made it controversial at the time, it was a huge hit in France, and to my knowledge is still well-regarded there (it’s available on DVD there). But aside from a limited release then and a very limited reissue in 2013, it has passed largely unnoticed here.

A pity, as those who have seen it speak well of it; Pauline Kael called it “explosively funny”, and Truffaut considered it director Claude Autant-Lara’s best work; I myself am intrigued also by the promise of certain scenes, like the chaotic slaughter of the pig, the sounds of which the black-marketeer attempts to drown out by playing an accordion. (BL)

• Funnyman (1967, Dir. John Korty)

Found and reviewed here.

John Korty has had a rather fascinating career; his animated feature Twice Upon a Time would likely make this list if the Warner Archive hadn’t rescued it in fairly glorious fashion. Much less fortunate was this early feature, about an improvisational comedian attempting to do something more “meaningful” with his life; his efforts include a stint in the world of advertising – which encompasses an animated sequence depicting an insecticide commercial he develops – and a picaresque road trip. (A fairly detailed review can be found here.)

The use of animation and the protagonist’s involvement in improv (a world I have some experience in and fondness for) in particular pique my curiosity; indeed, the film features performances by the famed San Francisco-based group The Committee, which star Peter Bonerz was a member of. Frustratingly, it was briefly available as an upload somewhere online, but I didn’t get a chance to see it before it was removed; it can be downloaded, if that’s an option you’re willing to pursue. I am not, although the film appears to be totally unavailable otherwise. (NA)

• Get to Know Your Rabbit (1972, Dir. Brian de Palma)

The idea of a comedy directed by Brian de Palma is odd enough; odder still is the fact that isn’t an especially dark or violent one. It’s the story of a business executive (Tom Smothers) who drops out of the rat race to pursue his dream of becoming a tap-dancing magician; Orson Welles plays a master illusionist he trains with, Katharine Ross playes his love interest, and John Astin is his former boss, who badly wants him back.

Reputedly it had a troubled production and was taken out of de Palma’s hands before being given a minimal release, but later reviews have been quite appreciative of its absurdist humor and charm, talking it up as a true hidden gem (my favorite kind, if you couldn’t guess). Luckily, it’s pretty easy to find online, and it’s available from the Warner Archive as well. (OL)

• Half a House (1975, Dir. Brice Mack)

Found and reviewed here.

This is the film that inspired this entire project. Not because it’s supposed to be good – in fact, from what very little I’ve heard, it’s not very good at all. But it may well be the most obscure feature film nominated for an Oscar, at least after 1970, which wasn’t nominated for Best Foreign Film or Best Documentary. It was nominated for Best Song, for “A World That Never Was,” and was so little seen in its own time that a special hotline was set up just so the Academy voters could hear the song! (You can hear it here.)

I spent no little time rooting around the internet, trying to find some trace of it, and what was originally meant to be an article primarily about that search became an overview of the films I most wanted to track down precisely because they are so hard to find.

The film itself, a comedy about a divorcing couple who are forced to share their home for a trial period of separation, and the ensuing shenanigans, is not entirely unavailable on home video…but it’s pretty damn elusive, since the only video edition I’ve been able to trace is a Greek videotape (well, I have found some evidence it was made available on BetaMax as well…in the U.K.). Actually seeing the damn thing would therefore take some doing, but in the meantime, the film’s AFI page is surprisingly quite detailed – and notes even the songwriters’ frustration at the film’s obscurity. (BL)

• Harvey Middleman, Fireman (1965, Dir. Ernest Pintoff)

Found and reviewed here.

Animator Pintoff made his live-action debut (he also wrote the script) with this comedy about a Walter Mitty-ish fireman, and what happens when he rescues his literal dream girl (shades of Brazil?). Hermione Gingold plays his psychiatrist, which in of itself sounds quite promising. I’m also quite curious to see how Pintoff adapted his style to live actors (notably, he seems not to have returned to animation thereafter), and from I’ve read it sounds like an agreeably offbeat diversion, if not a lost classic.

It’s incredibly obscure and will probably never see the light of day on home video…but it can be found online. (I had actually been able to find it online at one point, then lamented when the upload was removed; that’s how long I’ve been working on this post.) (BL)

• Impossible on Saturday/Pas question le samedi (1965, Dir. Alex Joffé)

This one is for my dad. He saw it when it was theatrically released in America 50-some years ago, but hasn’t been able to find it since. It’s the story of a Jewish man trying to find Israeli wives for his six sons, and Robert Hirsch (who, sadly, passed away during the lengthy gestation of this article) plays the father, the father’s father, the sons, and several other roles, by all accounts to great effect. Totally unavailable in the States, as far as I can tell (despite earning a Golden Globe nomination for Best Foreign-Language Film) it is available on DVD in France…but without English subtitles. (BL)

• The Incident (1967, Dir. Larry Peerce)

I’d known about this film for a while and was already interested; largely set in a New York subway car, it depicts how two hoodlums (Martin Sheen and Tony Musante) terrorize the passengers, a cross-section of society who remain all too passive to each others’ sufferings. But then I discovered just how stacked the cast of passengers is:  Beau Bridges, Ruby Dee, Jack Gilford, Ed McMahon, Gary Merrill, Donna Mills, Brock Peters, Thelma Ritter, and Jan Sterling. Not too shabby, no?

Moreover, most of the reviews I’ve read praise the film’s tension and how well it evokes the “I don’t want to get involved” attitude – which remains all too prevalent to this day. And in spite of my own concerns that it might show its age, many of the reviews suggest it holds up quite well. But aside from a British DVD and an old VHS release, it’s not readily available for home viewing – possibly due to Peerce’s subsequently checkered career. Luckily, it can be found online. (OL)

• Last Summer (1969, Dir. Frank Perry)

Three adolescents – two boys and a girl (Barbara Hershey, who briefly renamed herself Barbara Seagull after an incident which occurred during the production) – become close friends during an idyllic summer on Fire Island. But then a fourth person, a shy, awkward girl (Catherine Burns), tries to join their group, it throws their dynamic out of alignment and events lead to a shocking and tragic conclusion.

Frank Perry made a splash with his first film, David and Lisa, earning an Oscar nomination for Best Director. But he never quite reached that height of acclaim again, and after an uneven couple of decades he made the film he’s best remembered for…Mommie Dearest. As such, even his better-received films are now somewhat forgotten, and this was and is highly-rated among his works for its frank depiction of how cruel teenagers can be to each other and to the world. Also praised, then and now, is the acting; in fact, Burns received an Oscar nomination for Supporting Actress, making hers a rare Oscar-nominated performance, especially post-1950, that isn’t readily available for viewing.

It’s not completely unavailable, having been released on videotape at one point, but there has never been a proper DVD release (possibly because, apparently, none of the film’s 35mm prints still exist). But there are occasional screenings and the eternally-ringing hope that it will someday be rescued. (HV)

• Leadbelly (1976, Dir. Gordon Parks)

While Gordon Parks (a fellow native of southeast Kansas) was best known for Shaft, reputedly he held his more personal works, like The Learning Tree, in higher regard—and I’d have to imagine he would hold his biopic of folk/blues musician Huddie “Leadbelly” Ledbetter in similar esteem.

The film focuses on Leadbelly’s early life and struggles with the law, and how he used his musical skills to secure his freedom. The words on the poster mark the film as a product of the Black Power era—”You can’t bury a black legend like Leadbelly!”—as does the image of Leadbelly himself, his feet chained but his body strong, holding his guitar like a weapon against the powers that be.

Despite the clear bid for relevance, and despite reviews then and now which claim it to be one of the rare musical biopics that really transcends the clichés of the genre, the film has always been given short shrift by Paramount; Parks largely left the film industry after it was given a perfunctory release, and it’s never been released on DVD, remaining obscure to this day. However, it can be purchased or rented on YouTube, which is a great deal better than nothing. (OL)

• Little Dorrit (1987, Dir. Christine Edzard)

Little Dorrit is one of Dickens’ less popular works, and this is the only English-language big-screen adaptation of it since the silent era. It covers the book in great detail, running a total of six hours in two parts (each from a different perspective); as it received Oscar nominations for Edzard for Adapted Screenplay and for Alec Guinness (as Old Dorrit) for Supporting Actor, it is one of the longest Oscar-nominated films ever made. (It was also theatrically distributed over here by Cannon Films, which is kind of amazing.)

Widely acclaimed (read Ebert’s rave if you need to be persuaded to see it) and the nominee and/or recipient of quite a few major awards, it’s fallen into almost total obscurity in North America, aside from a contemporary VHS release. It appears to be more readily available in the UK, but so acclaimed and ambitious a film should be easier to find. It has a rather starry cast, to boot; in addition to Guinness and Derek Jacobi as Arthur Clennam, it has Joan Greenwood, Robert Morley, Miriam Margolyes, and Cyril Cusack to name a few. (HV)

• Love in a Taxi (1980, Dir. Robert Sickinger)

NYC-set romance about a cab driver and a single mother; Leonard Maltin and TV Guide, about the only sources to review it, professional or otherwise, both praised it, with Maltin calling it “wonderful” and TV Guide complimenting the performances and production values. Despite this, it seems to have had very little release outside of festivals (although it would seem to have at least been shown on TV, if TV Guide reviewed it), and I have been unable to find so much as a still from it. (NA)

• The Man Without a World (1992, Dir. Eleanor Antin)

One of the most recent films on this list, but this flew well under everyone’s radar then and now, and if not for Leonard Maltin’s happening to review it, I’d probably never have heard of it. On paper, it’s right up my alley: a mock silent Yiddish-language shtetl melodrama, supposedly directed by one Yevgeny Antinov. The story involves the romance of a poet and the daughter of a merchant, a Romani acting troupe, a dybbuk, and the Angel of Death—but the real emphasis here seems to be on the aesthetic and Antin’s efforts to bring the past back to life by executing it; her mother was an actress in the Yiddish theater in Poland and the film was conceived in part as a tribute to her.

That it contains material (namely sex and nudity) which would never be remotely allowed in the Yiddish cinema of the era may just add another layer to Antin’s interplay with the past. I note it more because it’s one of the few things I know about the film.

There is a DVD-R of the film available from Milestone Film & Video; it costs around $30 plus shipping and handling, but compared to what it would take to get ahold of some of these films, that’s not bad. (HV)

• Maroc 7 (1967, Dir. Gerry O’Hara)

I have a clear motivation for wanting to see most of the films on this list. Not so much Maroc 7. I’m not sure just what piqued my curiosity to begin with; possibly the unusual title (it refers to Marrakesh), possibly my oddly persistent hunch that Stanley Donen directed it, or possibly the casting of Cyd Charisse as a fashion editor moonlighting as a jewel thief. Or maybe it was my erroneous assumption that the film involved a case of dissociative identity, possibly prompted by Leonard Maltin’s lukewarm review stating the film dealt with a “split-personality thief.” How I managed to have two significant misconceptions about one fairly obscure film is beyond me.

I am also intrigued by the fact that this, a fairly minor film released well before the advent of home video, actually received a VHS release from a major distributor (Paramount). It’s not a film I’m especially itching to see, but for a number of little reasons, spread out over a surprisingly long period of time (I’ve known about it for years), I feel like I’ll eventually make it a point to. Who knows. Maybe I’ll really dig it. (HV)

• MindWalk (1990, Dir. Bernt Amadeus Capra)

A scientist (Liv Ullmann), a poet (John Heard), and a politician (Sam Waterston) wander around Mont Saint-Michel in the north of France, discoursing on the issues facing the world through the prisms of their respective philosophies. And that’s about it.

Based on Fritjof Capra’s The Turning Point and directed by his brother Bernt Amadeus, it makes no bones about its goals, billing itself rather pompously as “A film for passionate thinkers”. I know little of Capra or his theories, or how the film and the ideas in it would seem to modern eyes – if it would seem timeless or too much of its time. But the idea of a film so wholly dedicated to philosophical conversation, especially acted out by three fine actors against a picturesque setting, sounds like the kind of thing I’d be more inclined than most to enjoy.

It was released on VHS and can be found easily online, but never made it to DVD, and seems to be mostly forgotten now. Whether that was because it’s all a bunch of bunk, or whether it was just because it came out at the wrong time and/or in the wrong context to make an impact, I cannot say. (OL)

• Mr. Sycamore (1975, Dir. Pancho Kohner)

Jason Robards wants to be a tree. Sandy Dennis, his wife, thinks he’s crazy. Jean Simmons, a librarian, is willing to help him.

Some of the films that get on this list get on by virtue of being so thoroughly strange as to be, to my admittedly strange sensibilities, irresistible. Not that I’m anything like obsessed with this film – it’s not supposed to be that good, although I haven’t heard that it’s notably bad either – but such a premise, originally a play (with Stuart Erwin and…Lillian Gish!), brought to screen 30-odd years later, all but asks me to gawk at it for 90 minutes, just to say I’ve seen it. Maybe even to say “You know…it’s actually not terrible.” But mainly to say I saw a movie where Jason Robards wants to be a tree.

Released once on VHS over 30 years ago, it’s pretty readily available online. (OL)

• Moon Pilot (1962, Dir. James Neilson)

While nearly every Disney animated feature is part of the canon to one degree or other, their live-action films have a far weaker batting average. For every Mary Poppins or 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, there’s a The Littlest Outlaw or The Miracle of the White Stallions. Moon Pilot is as obscure as those latter titles, but it may deserve rather more than that.

The story of an astronaut who finds himself making the first manned flight around the Moon in the company of a chimpanzee and a mysterious alien girl, it was well-reviewed at the time, particularly for its satirical elements, such as the mention of a pamphlet entitled “Simple Science for Senators.” Leslie Halliwell, not known for his critical generosity, gave it two stars (even one is worth noting) and called it “engaging”, while Leonard Maltin in his The Disney Films talks it up as something of a little gem.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to find nowadays. There’s a DVD release, but it’s a Disney Movie Club exclusive (though these releases occasionally find their way into thrift stores), and the last VHS release was 20 years ago. It’s worth nothing that more recent reviews are, on the whole, rather less favorable. (HV)

• The Morning After (1974, Dir. Richard T. Heffron)

Dick Van Dyke shed his family image in a big way with this made-for-television drama (scripted by none other than Richard Matheson) about a PR man whose life is gradually destroyed by his alcoholism – drawing upon his real-life struggles, and earning an Emmy nomination in the process. Reading the synopsis, it sounds incredibly bleak and haunting, especially for American prime-time television of the era; it ends not with recovery or even the hope of recovery, but with Van Dyke drunk and alone, having lost everything. Although it’s reputedly shown in rehabilitation centers to this day, it never seems to have had an official home video release, and it’s not available as an upload that I’ve found, but bootlegs do exist. (BL)

• The Noah (1975 – Dir. Daniel Bourla)

A quintessentially obscure film, this is to a large degree a one-man show for character actor Robert Strauss, who plays the only survivor of an apocalypse, who staves off loneliness by creating imaginary companions, ultimately finding them as unpredictable and uncontrollable as real people. (Their voices, which we hear, are provided by Geoffrey Holder, Sally Kirkland, and others.) Filmed in 1968, it was given an extremely limited release in 1975 before falling back into obscurity until the late 90s, when it was shown on public television; the renewed attention (including this article, featuring a lengthy interview with Bourla) led to a DVD release several years later.

Many of the reviews I’ve read suggest it doesn’t quite work as a feature film, but respect its ambition and Strauss’ performance. That, and its near-legendary obscurity, are more than enough for me. I’d like to get ahold of the DVD, but it’s also available online. (OL)

• Northern Lights (1978, Dir. John Hanson & Rob Nilsson)

In 1910s North Dakota, Ray Sorensen travels far and wide in his Model T, trying to raise support for the Non-Partisan League, the goal of which is to end corporate control of farms and farmers. 60 years later, Hanson and Nilsson brought his story to screen, shooting on a low budget on location in the dead of winter with a mostly non-professional cast, and initially distributed the finished film themselves, releasing it only in North Dakota and Minnesota, where it turned a decent profit before the rest of the country so much as heard of it.

When a wider release was secured, it earned critical acclaim, won the Camera d’Or at Cannes, and Roger Ebert suggested it “makes some history of its own as a successful recent example of the movement toward a regional cinema in America.” That regional cinema never really came to pass, and both the film and its directors fell into obscurity; Hanson seems to have retired after the early 90s, and while Nilsson remains prolific to this day (his 9 @ Night series sounds fascinating), his films are largely unseen outside of festivals.

This is all pretty tragic, as Northern Lights not only represents a slice of American history little known outside of North Dakota (and maybe not that well-known there either), but also marks an important milestone in truly independent American cinema. An old VHS release exists (and for a time the whole film could be found online), but there is no official DVD release, and I’m not even sure about a bootleg in this case. (HV)

• One Potato, Two Potato (1964, Dir. Larry Peerce)

Found and reviewed here.

Larry Peerce again, with a groundbreaking story of interracial marriage that earned an Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay, and won Best Actress at Cannes for Barbara Barrie. Barrie plays a white woman who marries a black man (Bernie Hamilton) and ends up in a custody battle with her ex-husband (Richard Mulligan) over their young daughter, a battle which lays bare the prejudices of the era.

While parts of the plot do seem contrived, and while the film may well have not aged terribly well – Loving v. Virginia came just three years later, the same year Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner tackled the topic of interracial marriage much more visibly (and profitably) – for its importance in film history, it deserves to be more readily available. (For what it’s worth, the latter-day reviews I’ve read have been mostly quite positive.) It has never been released on home video to my knowledge, and although some clips can be found, the film as a whole remains unavailable. (NA)

• Open the Door and See All the People (1964, Dir. Jerome Hill)

Found and reviewed here.

I spent years trying to track down Jerome Hill’s first feature, The Sand Castle, and lucked out when the Jerome Foundation officially uploaded it to Vimeo. But for whatever reason, they didn’t do the same for this, his second and last dramatic feature. And if it was tough to learn much about The Sand Castle, it was damned near impossible to find anything about this; the one image I found seems to be from a French pressbook. It’s a good thing I saved it when I found it, as I haven’t been to retrace even that shred of evidence.

Here’s the synopsis as per TV Guide:

[Maybelle] Nash plays two elderly identical twins who are complete opposites. One is a wealthy, cranky hypochondriac, and the other is a fun-loving supermarket cashier. Both have families, and the film looks, and pokes fun, at the differing social values of the sisters.

It sounds interesting enough – kind of a forerunner of the offbeat character studies of modern indie cinema. And even if I’m not expecting greatness (The Sand Castle is hardly a masterpiece), I’d like to be able to check it out. As of now, the only way I can find to so is to rent it from the Film-Maker’s Cooperative…on 16mm or 35mm, that is. (NA)

• Perceval (1978, Dir. Eric Rohmer)

Rohmer, best known for his conversational character dramas, left realism far behind to adapt Chrétien de Troyes’ epic poem Perceval le Gallois, telling of the exploits of the titular knight of the Round Table. Adopting a highly stylized visual scheme which looks like an illuminated manuscript come the life, the narration uses Chrétien’s words supplemented with ironic meta-commentary, adding to the stylized atmosphere. The image at right gives you an idea of the film’s look, which is like virtually no other film I can think of (the closest parallel might be Paradjanov); I’m frankly surprised they even sprung for a real horse.

While not universally embraced, it sounds absolutely fascinating to me, and there is a DVD, but it’s well out of print. I’ll cross my fingers for a reissue (Criterion’s put out some Rohmer before, so…), or for a stroke of luck in stumbling across it. (HV)

• Plainsong (1982, Dir. Ed Stabile)

A period drama set in 1870s Nebraska (but filmed in New Jersey!) about the difficult lives of several pioneer women, based on the diaries of one Sara Charity Karker. Praised by Leonard Maltin (“extremely moving”; “Wonderfully directed”) and the few who’ve reviewed it on the IMDb, but it seems to have vanished from sight after a few festival screenings, so much so that I can’t even find stills from it. Hopefully it will someday resurface. (NA)

• The Projectionist (1970, Dir. Harry Hurwitz)

Found and reviewed here.

An introverted projectionist (the very recently deceased Chuck McCann) alternatively projects himself into the classic films he’s showing and indulges in original superheroic fantasies of his own, where he woos and wins his dream girl and defeats his arch-nemesis, who happens to resemble his loathsome boss…

…played by Rodney Dangerfield.

This one’s been on my list for a while now; arguably, it’s a charter member of my most-wanted club. I’m drawn to it by the premise, the offbeat casting, the blending of reality and fantasy, the constant homages to classic cinema (supplemented by ample clips from actual classics), and of course, the fact that such an intriguing and imaginative film remains so little known. That it became a part of the Museum of Modern Art’s film collection has hopefully, at least, ensured its preservation. While reviews have been somewhat mixed, with most at least appreciating its ambition and the love for cinema on display while arguing the film itself doesn’t live up to the promise of its premise, it is too much my cup of tea not to seek out.

There is a DVD release which isn’t impossibly hard to track down, but it’s not all that easy to get ahold of, either. (HV)

• Question 7 (1961, Dir. Stuart Rosenberg)

Found and reviewed here.

One of the primary reasons I’m so fond of the National Board of Review is how frequently, especially in years past, they go off the beaten path in selecting their top 10 films of the year. Well, Question 7 is not only one of the most obscure films to make their lists post-1950, it’s one of the most obscure ever to earn the #1 spot! Set in East Germany during the Cold War, it tells about a teenager who must answer a set of seven questions to enter a prestigious musical academy, the last of which asks about a major influence in his life. Being the son of a minister, his religious faith is the honest answer, but that clearly won’t do in the political climate of the time.

The NBR has never shied away from honoring films with religious themes; in 1968 their #1 film was the underrated papal-succession drama The Shoes of the Fisherman. Question 7 was a reasonable choice for them, especially given its timeliness – but it’s totally forgotten today, having only 62 votes on the IMDb and almost no reviews online. It is, however, available on DVD through a Christian media source. (HV)

• Richard (1972, Dir. Harry Hurwitz & Lorees Yerby)

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Harry Hurwitz again, this time with a very early satire of Richard Nixon, predating even the Watergate revelations, co-directed by the playwright Lorees Yerby (whose “jazz opera about tabloid sex” entitled The Golden Bull of Boredom I would love to trace), telling the story (a full synopsis and additional info here) of Nixon as a struggling politician who is aided in his rise by a guardian angel (Mickey Rooney!) and subsequently brainwashed by a cabal of advisers, and who ultimately smokes weed, renounces his selling-out, and becomes a song-and-dance man!

I’ve long been fascinated by Nixon, and the idea of a whole film lampooning a sitting president, let alone one that does so in such an offbeat manner (and with such a cast; John Carradine, Paul Ford, Vivian Blaine, and Kevin McCarthy all appear), is frankly irresistible. Naturally, it’s all but vanished from view, although a few posters and the odd still can be found. However, there’s an archive of Yerby-related material at UCLA which includes a VHS tape of Richard, so it can be seen, just not easily. (NA)

• Russia (1972, Dir. Theodore Holcomb, Kira Muratova)

There are fewer traces of Russia left than almost any other film on this list. The most accessible and notable testimony to its very existence is Roger Ebert’s 4-star review; I think I came across a poster or pressbook online some years ago, but have never been able to locate it since. A panoramic documentary of the Soviet Union in the early 70s filmed by American Theodore Holcomb, he was apparently given unusual freedom to film throughout the U.S.S.R., but as he left the country, the authorities attempted to destroy his film with an X-ray machine; they did not succeed, and the result was nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Documentary.

But they might as well have, since the film is so totally out of reach. A film entitled The New Russia directed by Holcomb does appear to be held in some university archives (none near me), but whether this is Russia, a re-edit, or another film entirely is not clear. For all practical purposes, Russia cannot be seen. (NA)

• Singleton’s Pluck/Laughterhouse (1984, Dir. Richard Eyre)

An intriguing premise; farmer Singleton (Ian Holm) must walk his 500 geese 100 miles to market in London, with shenanigans presumably ensuing. This is the film whose poster heads this article, and yes, the title is play on “slaughterhouse.”

I first came across it in Leslie Halliwell’s guide, and between the premise, the relatively recent vintage of the film, my never having heard of it, Halliwell’s comparatively favorable opinion of the film, it seemed like a perfect fit for this list.

It’s pretty easy to get ahold of in the UK, but its only Stateside release that I can trace was on VHS in the early 90s. However, it is available via Amazon Prime. (HV)

• Slow Dancing in the Big City (1978, Dir. John G. Avildsen)

Avildsen, as with many directors coming off their breakout film – in his case Rocky, which won him a Best Director Oscar – followed it with a passion project which failed disastrously and was quickly forgotten. And unlike, say, Heaven’s Gate, history never got around to redeeming it. But this being a far less ambitious film, and Avildsen being no one’s idea of an auteur, it’s not that surprising.

It is, to be fair, a very strange-sounding film; a Jimmy Breslin-esque writer (Paul Sorvino, playing a romantic lead for probably the only time in his career) falls in love with a terminally ill ballerina (real-life ballerina Anne Ditchburn) and tries to help a drug-addicted teenager. Seemingly an attempt to make a Frank Capra film for the 70s – not the unlikeliest thing, given the streak of nostalgia which ran through much of that decade – by all accounts it was far from successful, and has never been made available on home video (though bootlegs are available). It’s worth noting that Bill Conti’s score was apparently well-received and is available on CD (and possibly online). (BL)

• Special Bulletin (1983, Dir. Edward Zwick)

A made-for-TV mockumentary about a group of anti-nuclear terrorists threatening Charleston, SC with a nuke of their own, presented as broadcasts by the fictitious RBS network, with a cast including Ed Flanders, Kathryn Harold, David Rasche, and in a bit part, Michael Madsen. Widely regarded as one of the greatest made-for-TV movies ever made, it won several Emmys and was specially rated by Leonard Maltin as being “way above average” (the only TV movie he rated so highly). And yet, it’s less well-known than The Day After or Threads, which appeared around the same time, although it’s available from the Warner Archive (well, even that edition is out of print, as WB was only licensing the rights to it) and pretty easy to find online. (OL)

• Steal Big, Steal Little (1995, Dir. Andrew Davis)

Andrew Davis followed up the box-office smash and Best Picture nominee The Fugitive with a $35 million, 135-minute comedy-drama about Andy Garcia as identical twins fighting over an inheritance, co-starring Alan Arkin, Rachel Ticotin, Joe Pantoliano, David Ogden Stiers, and Charles Rocket, among others. It got bad reviews, bombed massively, and pretty much killed Savoy Pictures.

It’s also the most recent film on this list, because the DVD edition (from the mid-00s, no less) is out-of-print and rather hard to find, making this unusually elusive for so recent a film. It might not be all that good, and I wouldn’t necessarily want to spend too much money to see it, but it sounds like such a curious and strange misfire that I really want to give it a look. It sounds like the sort of film I’d defend. (HV)

• The Travelling Players/O Thiassos (1975, Dir. Theo Angelopoulous)

Angelopoulos’ epic film contrasts the vicissitudes of mid-20th century Greece with a troupe of traveling actors, with parallels to Aeschylus’ Oresteia (the characters even have mythological names – Orestes, Elektra, etc.); the film runs nearly four hours and is composed primarily of very long takes, the result being hugely acclaimed by critics then and now, but unsurprisingly being little seen outside of festivals and art-houses (a fate which met most of Angelopoulos’ subsequent films, despite continuing acclaim).

As a thespian and general admirer of works that are epic in scope and/or ambition, it seems like my cup of tea, though never have seen any of Angelopoulos’ work, I can’t say if his style would work for me or not.

The Travelling Players, as such films go, is relatively accessible; it had a VHS release, is available on DVD in Europe, and can be found online. But I figure this is the kind of film which really needs a proper Region 1 release; it would seem to be a shoo-in for the Criterion Collection, but to my knowledge they’ve never done any of Angelopoulos’ work.

• The Victors (1963, Dir. Carl Foreman)

Most of the films on this list are smaller scale and/or independent films – the type of films that can slip through the cracks even today. But this was a blockbuster-scale production, with a huge cast and an epic running time (175 minutes in the original cut). A story – or stories; it was based on a collection of short stories and as such reputedly has an episodic structure – of World War II, it follows a group of American soldiers across Europe, the focus being not on battle but on their lives, loves, and the brutalizing effects of war.

Reviews then and now have been mixed, but Foreman, making his only directorial effort, appears to have included a number of elements reflecting a subversive sensibility; in particular, the opening montage by Saul Bass, tracing European history from 1918 to the 1940s, and a depiction of Eddie Slovik’s execution set to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” spur my fascination. And the cast is awfully damn good, with George Peppard, Albert Finney, Jeanne Moreau, Eli Wallach, Romy Schneider, Melina Mercouri, George Hamilton, and Peter Fonda being only the biggest names in it. It’s available on DVD in Europe and can be found online, at least in what I’m guessing is the general-release version, but I’m really at a loss to explain how it seems to have never come out on home video over here. (BL)

• The Winter’s Tale (1967, Dir. Frank Dunlop)

A film version of the late Shakespeare play (often classified as a “romance” or a “problem play”), essentially a filmed record of an Edinburgh Festival production with Laurence Harvey as Leontes, Jane Asher as Perdita, Jim Dale as Autolycus, and Esmond Knight (if you’ve never heard of him, look him up; he had one hell of a career) as Camillo. Probably created in part as a response to the success of Laurence Olivier’s experimental adaptation of Othello, but being adapted from a far less popular play, it seems to have been far less widely seen, and at present I can’t even find a bootleg of it. The commentary I’ve found seems to focus mostly on how un-cinematic it is, but for the cast and the novelty of seeing the only big-screen adaptation of this particular play, I’d like to track it down. (NA)

To be continued…