jacques tourneur Tagged Articles at Cinematical

Reading about movies, you hear stories of some films shot in five days and other films shot over three years. Some of the poverty-row directors and B-movie makers cranked out as many movies as they could during a calendar year, while filmmakers like Charlie Chaplin and Stanley Kubrick waited years between projects (making each release a new "event"). Most filmmakers, I think, given the chance would probably release one film per year, keeping their toes in without burning out. But sometimes, whether it's a trick of the calendar, or some peculiar rhythms of timing, some of the greatest directors manage to release two films per year. And even less often, both of these films turn out great. The following is my not-exactly-extensive, but enthusiastic celebration of the one-two punch or the director's double-whammy.

1. Jacques Tourneur: I Walked with a Zombie and The Leopard Man (1943)
The world has frankly been a better place to live since Warner Home Video released the five-disc, nine-film DVD "Val Lewton Horror Collection" box set in 2005. I have often promised myself that, if ever en route to a desert island, it would be the first thing I'd grab (provided that said island came with its own entertainment system). Four directors worked on those nine great horror films (counting poor Gunther von Fritsch, a footnote in film history for being too slow, getting fired from The Curse of the Cat People, and thus launching Robert Wise's career). But Jacques Tourneur -- son of silent era filmmaker Maurice Tourneur -- is undoubtedly the most talented of the group. He started the cycle with the extraordinary Cat People in 1942, and followed it with this one-two punch in April and May of the following year. Sure, they're cheap, quickly-made B-movies, but few films have ever been made -- in any genre, for any price -- with so much textured atmosphere and such a resounding sense of dreamy dread.

New technologies often lead directly to the death of old technologies, and that's what happened with VHS. It changed home viewing habits forever, and then itself was killed off by DVD. It was a slow death that finally ended last fall, when the last major supplier of VHS tapes quit the business.

That might be that -- out with the old, in with the new, and all that rubbish -- except when VHS died, it might have taken an untold number of innocent victims along with it to the grave. "Hundreds of important and critically acclaimed films [are] no longer readily accessible for home viewing," reports Anthony Kaufman at Moving Image Source. "In the wake of video-store shutdowns across the country, and a move toward DVD-only subscription services modeled after Netflix and digital download initiatives, the non-digitized movie is becoming an endangered species. The death of VHS has long been foretold ... But the industry appears to have overlooked the films themselves."

If the only movies you watch are recent blockbusters, then this is a non-issue. But if your tastes extend to the margins, to the lesser-known, less-heralded titles by noted filmmakers like David Cronenberg, Samuel Fuller, Jacques Tourneur, and Robert Bresson, or if you've ever been curious about discovering "important little-known American auteurs" like Lew Landers and André De Toth -- cited by Dave Kehr of the New York Times in the article -- it's sobering to think that so many films are "vanishing into the ether," as Kehr says. "They're just gone from the conversation and that's unfortunate. The younger critics haven't seen this stuff, but how could they?"

Call it the "VHS Dead List," the flip side of the DVD wish list, where movie buffs express their yearning to see what they've rarely or never seen.