Yes, this is Gary Oldman week for me and retro cinema, but you won't see me complaining. Usually, the chameleon Oldman morphs and slides onto the screen for one of his many diverse supporting roles. Most recently, he's taken on heroes like Sirius Black and Lt. James Gordon, but he's got a past that includes the little person Rolfe, the creepy Mason Verger, Pontius Pilate, Zorg, a Russian hijacker, and as I shared earlier this week, Ludwig van Beethoven. 1993's Romeo is Bleeding, however, marks one of the few times like Immortal Beloved where we can see him shine in the lead.

Oldman plays Jack Grimaldi, a cop who has been lured by the dark side in a noir '90s landscape. (Think Twin Peaks' timeless quality and haunting music, but set within a violent urban environment.) To supplement his low-pay job as a sergeant, Grimaldi is working for the mob -- directing them to the locations of different witnesses under protection. For his efforts, he gets thousands of dollars, which he hides in the back of his yard. But this is only the tip of Jack's moral failings. While he has a wife named Natalie (Annabella Sciorra) at home, he's also acting out fantasies with his grating girlfriend, Sheri (Juliette Lewis).

The trick to creating a successful adaptation is not so much in being a stickler about the plot, but in recreating the verve behind the words. It goes beyond simple interest in the characters. Adaptation is just like translation -- translated word for word, it will seem flat and lack the life it does in its original setting. The translator must understand the context of the words within the language, and then find the best fit to recreate that same sentiment. Yet it must also stay true to the original words. If it diverges too much, the life will be lost, even if the meaning is the same. The right adaptation will flow so well that it will not only feed a fan's penchant for details, but also recreate the element of surprise within them.

It, of course, helps when the original screenwriter is the woman who wrote the novel -- Anne Rice. But even director Neil Jordan's inclusions, which took some liberties, Interview with the Vampire maintained most of the spice that made it a book worthy of a cinematic adaptation. He brought the world to the screen, impressing audiences as well as Rice herself -- who was, at first, quite vocal in her distaste over casting. But even she was stunned with what Jordan and his cast accomplished, and ultimately gave the film much praise.

If you were to ask the 9-year-old version of me what the scariest movie ever made was, he would say it was Twilight Zone: The Movie -- a film so terrifying that I was reduced to tears merely by my father's description of it.

Specifically, he was telling us about the opening sequence, the one that begins with Albert Brooks and Dan Aykroyd listening to "Midnight Special" on a cassette tape and ends with Aykroyd saying, "You wanna see something really scary?" and then making good on his pledge. For some reason, the way my dad retold this story -- which really is a good campfire-type story, when you think about it -- scared the living daylights out of me. I immediately freaked out, sobbing and screaming. The mere idea of the story tormented me, to the extent that I couldn't actually watch the movie for years to come.

(If the preceding anecdote gives you the impression that I was a total pansy as a child, that impression is accurate.)

I did finally watch the film a couple times as a teenager and young adult, and again recently when it was released on DVD for the first time. That prologue with Aykroyd and Brooks? Still pretty great. You don't know it's going to have a scary ending because most of it is just the two men talking about old TV shows and their favorite Twilight Zone episodes. That "You wanna see something really scary?" bit comes as a shock, an abrupt change in tone that exemplifies The Twilight Zone's single best attribute: the ability to surprise us.

My grandfather was a very sick man. You are talking about the nonsensical ravings of a lunatic mind. Dead is dead. Hearts and kidneys are tinker toys! I'm talking about the central nervous system! I am a scientist, not a philosopher! There's more chance of reanimating this scalpel, then you have of mending a broken nervous system. My grandfather's work was doodoo! I am not interested in death! The only thing that concerns me is the preservation of life! Dr. Frederick Frankenstein

For years, Dr. Frederick Frankenstein (Gene Wilder) has tried to distance himself from the mad science of his grandfather, the original Dr. Frankenstein. He is so desperate not to be linked to it that he swears his name is pronounced "Frankensteen," not "Frankenstein." Yet he is still drawn to the science that his grandfather was enveloped in. The young Frankenstein is also a doctor, and he touts the importance of the central nervous system to fresh medical minds whilst damning the name of the first Dr. Frankenstein. But then he is presented with an ornate box, his grandfather's will, and given the key to understanding his relative's madness.

And this is the brilliance of Mel Brooks' stylish, black and white Young Frankenstein. Based on Mary Shelley's novel, and co-written with star Wilder, the comedy was part of a duo with Blazing Saddles that made 1974 a wonder year for the relatively new director -- one that garnered him five Oscar nominations between the two. The solid source material and stellar writing were only part of the film's success. It boasted one of the best comedic casts to ever hit the screen -- Wilder, Cloris Leachman, and Teri Garr, as well as some of the best faces of comedy who are no longer with us -- the purring and wonderful Madeline Kahn, the world's best monster, Peter Boyle, and the scene-stealing Marty Feldman.