Often considered the real beginning of the French New Wave movement, this 1958 film, the first feature by Claude Chabrol, is also-strangely-underrated on its own terms. The story of a theology student (Jean-Claude Brialy) who returns to his provincial home town for convalescence and reunites with his unhappy childhood friend (Gerard Blain), the film introduces many of Chabrol's pet themes and interests, particularly the Hitchcockian relationship between two characters who transfer or implicitly share a private experience or fate. Chabrol's consideration of that idea would naturally deepen and become more complex over the years (brilliantly in 1969's La Femme Infidele and Le Boucher), but at this career flashpoint it is a little overstated and obvious in religious allusions. Still, Le Beau Serge is an engrossing film with no shortage of dramatic momentum. The final act, driven by the main character's efforts at self-sacrifice, is as affecting as ever. -Tom Keogh.

No wonder Franklin Delano Roosevelt has drawn scores of actors to portray him over the years: creator of the New Deal, national cheerleader during the Depression, statesman extraordinaire, cool-headed World War II commander-in-chief. But one of the most touching portrayals of him lies in Dore Schary's play and film, Sunrise at Campobello, which deals just with the period during which FDR was stricken with polio at age 40 and his torturously slow recovery, up to his thunderous nominating speech for Democratic presidential candidate Al Smith in 1924. Ralph Bellamy, avuncular character actor, gets the role of a lifetime as Roosevelt, and inhabits the character with subtlety, verve and heart. The humility he learns while immobilized infuses his political outlook from that point on, as he touchingly confesses to wife Eleanor (played admirably by Greer Garson, who struggles only a bit with the great lady's singular speech patterns). The film is based on Schary's play (for which Bellamy won a Tony Award), and in the film the dialogue seems rather stagy, especially in the long scenes while Roosevelt, bedridden, is off camera. But when Bellamy, with Hume Cronyn as his coarse but knowing political adviser, is center stage, we are reminded of the very human-and frail-person behind the historical tower of strength. "I feel I've had to go through the fire for some reason," he tells his wife. "Eleanor, it's a hard way to learn humility, but I've had to learn it by crawling. I know what is meant, 'You must learn to crawl, before you can walk. '" And after viewing this affecting film, so do we. [+]

The exquisite circularity of the roundelay has always been an attractive cinematic device, but never has it been used with more delicacy and canny insight than in La Ronde, Max Ophüls's adaptation of the Arthur Schnitzler play Reigen. The camera glides, swirls, and delicately dances around fleeting moments between lovers, from chance meetings and secret trysts, to the sincere but hopeless courtship by a besotted admirer, to the relaxed banter of cuckolding married couples. Ophüls's wry glimpses behind closed doors and pulled curtains are both cynical and sweet, generous of character but suspect of motive. As one scene ends, we waltz along as the characters change partners and dance again and again; we follow streetwalkers and soldiers, courtesans and counts, until we come full circle. Returning to the superb metaphor of the carousel, where dapper Anton Walbrook wanders about as host and commentator (a sort of literary ringmaster, like Peter Ustinov in Lola Montes), Ophüls plays at the game of love with a cocked grim and a sly jab, though he never belittles or judges. What could easily have descended into farce is lifted into loving satire by Ophüls's elegant touch and sparkling wit. A huge success in Europe, its continental attitude wasn't embraced by American audiences at the time. But it has come to be regarded one of Ophüls's finest and most beautifully visualized films. Everyone is somebody's fool, and isn't it wonderful? -Sean Axmaker Ophuls presents his amused view of the rituals of love and lovemaking in ten timeless sketches full of humor and tenderness. Set in half-lit, turn-of-the-century Viennese interiors, La Ronde is an elaborate satire on sexual behavior, a panoramic display of illicit love in old Vienna that comments on the futility of transitory relationships in which the deceivers are always deceived.

Continuing the "alienation trilogy" that began with L'Avventura and ended with L'Eclisse, Michelangelo Antonioni's La Notte is a visually arresting, emotionally numbing exercise in chronic ennui. The film's anesthetizing effect is entirely intentional; Antonioni's central couple (Marcello Mastroianni as a self-absorbed novelist, Jeanne Moreau as his bored and wealthy wife) wallow in their own emotional desolation, constantly drifting-and in Moreau's case, literally drifting-from one disaffected scene to the next. Antonioni's pained study of modern detachment is richly supported by his visuals, often placing his isolated characters in a harsh landscape of empty glamor and even emptier emotions. Driving the point home is Monica Vitti as Marcello's would-be mistress; in their aimless lassitude, neither can muster the necessary passion. It's all too superficial to register with any lasting dramatic impact, but La Notte remains the fascinating work of a master, redefining how movies reflect the many facets of humanity. -Jeff Shannon Antonioni's study of alienation and moral decay chronicles a day in the life of a middle-class couple whose marriage has been destroyed by mutual indifference and impenetrable loneliness.

A roguishly clever and energetic documentary about the exploits of the Marx boys, this is as humorous and irreverent as the comedians' distinctive brand of humor. Directors David Leaf and John Scheinfeld accomplished the nearly impossible: they produced a fast and funny documentary as enjoyable as any piece of fiction. Though it runs for over two hours, this is so full of factual detail and amusing rumor about the exploits of the Marx boys that it could easily have gone on another 30 minutes. Its one flaw is the disappearance of the minor Marx brothers about halfway through, and the lack of information regarding the last days of all involved. -Rochelle O'Gorman.

When, oh, when will scientists learn to stop playing with radiation? Island of Terror takes place on a remote island off the coast of Ireland. No phones, no regular transport to and from the mainland, but there is a well-equipped cancer research center where the well intentioned-but foolish!-scientists are irradiating lumps of tissue. The local constable finds a body with no bones in it ("No bones?" "No bones!") and soon a team from London, led by the ever-game Peter Cushing, arrives to investigate. Let's hope that darned generator doesn't give out. Island of Terror isn't going to keep you awake at night, but it is a lot of silly fun. Be warned, though-whatever the evil menace is, it can climb trees! Aaaaiiiieeeeeee! -Ali Davis.