"The love impulse in man," says a psychiatrist in Bringing Up Baby, "frequently reveals itself in terms of conflict. " That's for sure. For a primer on the rules and regulations of the classic screwball comedy, which throws love and conflict into close proximity, look no further. A straight-laced paleontologist (Cary Grant) loses a dinosaur bone to a dog belonging to free-spirited heiress Katharine Hepburn. In trying to retrieve said bone, Grant is drawn into the vortex surrounding the delicious Hepburn, which becomes a flirtatious pas de deux that will transform both of them. Director Howard Hawks plays the complications as a breathless escalation of their "love impulse," yet the movie is nonetheless romantic for all its speed. (Hawks's His Girl Friday, also with Grant, goes even faster. ) Grant and Hepburn are a match made in movie heaven, in sync with each other throughout. Not a great box-office success when first released, Bringing Up Baby has since taken its place as a high-water mark of the screwball form, and it was used as a model for Peter Bogdanovich's What's Up, Doc? -Robert Horton.

Burt Lancaster was cock of the walk in 1954. The Lancaster-starred From Here to Eternity had just swept the Oscars®, his personal production company Hecht-Lancaster could do no wrong, and he had marquee magic in two back-to-back Westerns directed by Robert Aldrich, Vera Cruz and this one. There are moments in his performance as Massai, the Apache warrior who wouldn't surrender with Geronimo, that seem choreographed to express the actor's exultation. Massai has hard going all the way-starting with having to recross half the continent on foot after escaping from a prison train bound for Florida-but Lancaster the ex-circus athlete who insisted on doing his own stunts fairly sings with the ecstasy of movement as he scampers over rocks, rolls unscathed between the wheels of racing wagons, and generally makes the screen look like his private gym. Apache wasn't the first Western to sympathize with Native Americans done wrong, but it's among the liveliest-although, ironically, it was destined to be outshone in power and complexity by Aldrich and Lancaster's masterpiece Ulzana's Raid nearly two decades later. Typically of its time, Apache features non-Indians in all the Indian roles, including Jean Peters as Massai's beloved Nalinle and Charles Buchinsky (later Bronson) as her other suitor, Hondo, one of the tribesmen who has donned U. S. Cavalry blue. John McIntire contributes his crusty moral authority as Al Sieber, the real-life scout who helped defeat Geronimo and then Massai, and respected both. John Dehner is, as usual, a real bastard. [+]

No Hollywood studio was willing to buy or distribute this 1974 family film made in Texas, but it managed to find a considerable audience anyway in the U. S. and become a minor classic under its own steam. While Benji's production values aren't everything they could be, and the acting is at best uneven, the movie is really held together by the immense charm of the unassuming mutt who plays the title character. He may not look as impressive as Lassie or Rin Tin Tin, but poor stray Benji (played by a pooch named Higgins) is as brave and resourceful as they come, especially when a couple of neighborhood children are kidnapped and in need of rescuing. And what about that romantic subplot: Benji falling for a pampered pup from the good side of the tracks. Director Joe Camp earned himself a profitable franchise with Benji and its several sequels, but it was this first film and the debut of a new canine icon that stirs pleasant memories. -Tom Keogh.

The team of Jerry Lewis and director Frank Tashlin (The Geisha Boy) were at the peak of their hit-making prowess with Cinderfella, a klutzy take on the fairy tale. Jerry is the stepson in a snooty family, dominated by wicked stepmother Judith Anderson and lounge-lizard brothers Henry Silva and Robert Hutton. Fairy godfather Ed Wynn turns up one day, not only promising "Fella" a happy-ever-after but basically accusing the old fairy tale of ruining the lives of countless married couples by raising unrealistic expectations of Prince Charmings in every home. (Tashlin always had a nose for psychoanalytic explanations along with the pratfalls. ) The movie's very slow-especially whenever Ed Wynn is around-and has a strange taste for "interior monologue" songs, emphasizing the mawkish side of Lewis's personality. The good comic scenes are worth it, especially a lengthy sequence at an elongated dinner table, which Lewis must navigate repeatedly. His physical skills are showcased in a musical mime to Count Basie's "Cute" (Basie and his orchestra also appear in the big ballroom scene) and some violently geeky dancing. This one is unlikely to win over non-Jerry fans, but the already initiated will be fine with it. -Robert Horton.

One of Laurel and Hardy's greatest efforts in the full-length form. They play a pair of unlikely prospectors whose best pal has died, leaving the deed to a rich gold mine. It's up to them to deliver the deed to his daughter. She, however, is a scullery maid in the saloon of unsavory Jimmy Finlayson, who tries to pass off his own wife as the grieving heiress. This film includes several classic moments, including a delightful song-and-dance by L&H and a struggle over the deed itself, in which Stanley is tickled nearly to death. Try to avoid laughing at Laurel's infectious braying-it can't be done. -Marshall Fine.

This 1950 film by Akira Kurosawa is more than a classic: it's a cinematic archetype that has served as a template for many a film since. (Its most direct influence was on a Western remake, The Outrage, starring Paul Newman and directed by Martin Ritt. ) In essence, the facts surrounding a rape and murder are told from four different and contradictory points of view, suggesting the nature of truth is something less than absolute. The cast, headed by Kurosawa's favorite actor, Toshiro Mifune, is superb. -Tom Keogh.