Undersea Warriors (originally published 7/02)

Military dramas naturally lend themselves to effective action and suspense scenes. By their very nature, they tend to tell stories in which the protagonists spend much of their time in harm's way on a grand scale. If you take those characters and enclose them in a claustrophobic environment under the ocean, isolated and utterly dependent on their own resources to deal with whatever misfortune comes their way, the tension can sometimes become unbearable.

Small wonder, then, that filmmakers through the years have made a number of military pictures set on submarines. "K-19: The Widowmaker," currently in release, is the most recent such film, but its forebears are numerous and distinguished. To see how earlier filmmakers have used submarines as the setting for martial drama, look for these titles on home video.

"Run Silent, Run Deep" (1958). This World War II submarine classic mirrors the central conflict of "K-19" in that it revolves around a clash between a sub captain and his executive officer. Clark Gable plays Commander Richardson, whose last command ended in humiliation when his sub was sunk by a Japanese destroyer. This sets up a plot device that is used in lots of submarine movies, borrowing the theme of obsessive revenge from "Moby Dick." Richardson's one desire is to get command of another sub so that he can sink the destroyer that sank his own ship. When he does get another command, he is confronted with a resentful executive officer (played by Burt Lancaster) who had thought that the command would go to him. Much of the dramatic action of the film flows from the conflict between the two officers. Gradually, the crew seems to side with the executive officer, especially when their captain ducks a confrontation with an enemy vessel in order to save himself for the object of his personal vengeance. Gable was, at the time, a second generation movie star nearing the end of his career, while Lancaster was a third generation star in his prime. It's fascinating to watch them play off each other.

"The Enemy Below" (1957). Robert Mitchum stars as Captain Murrell, commander of a U.S. Navy destroyer. Virtually the entire film is devoted to a protracted duel between Murrell and Von Stolberg (Curt Jurgens), the captain of a German U-Boat. Murrell's ship detects and stalks the U-Boat, attempting to destroy it with depth charges. There is no quick and decisive outcome, however, because both Murrell and Von Stolberg turn out to be experienced and crafty sailors. What might have been a brief and violent encounter, therefore, turns into something more like a chess game, with subtle moves and countermoves. And with each exchange of tactical moves, the two captains' respect for each other grows. Interestingly, Von Stolberg is portrayed quite sympathetically. It's clearly established that he is a career navy man who doesn't particularly approve of the Nazi party. This would have been unthinkable in a film released during the war.

"Destination Tokyo" (1943). In this film, which did come out during the war, the portrayal of the enemy is very different. The Japanese are presented as subhuman vermin whose total extermination really wouldn't have any significant downside. Cary Grant plays Captain Cassidy, commander of the USS Copperfin. Having been ordered into the heavily mined Tokyo Bay on a special mission, the Copperfin encounters more than its share of heart-stopping crises. As if dodging mines and depth charges weren't enough, one of the crewmen develops appendicitis, necessitating an undersea appendectomy under conditions not entirely conducive to successful surgery. Especially inconvenient is the lack of a qualified surgeon on board. They don't make them much more suspenseful than this one.

"We Dive at Dawn" (1943). The British perspective on sub warfare is ably represented here by director Anthony Asquith. Borrowing from the documentary techniques pioneered by fellow Englishman John Grierson, Asquith chronicles the exploits of the submarine Sea Tiger and her crew. Asquith's understated approach makes for an interesting contrast with "Destination Tokyo."

Speaking of contrasts, just to show that not all submarine war movies are white-knuckled suspense dramas, you might also want to take a look at Cary Grant's second role as a sub commander, in the Blake Edwards comedy, "Operation Petticoat" (1959). There aren't any undersea appendectomies in that one, but there are a couple of births.

The Second-Stringers (originally published 7/02)

Of all the plum roles that an actor can luck into, one of the juiciest must certainly be that of the leading character in a continuing series of movies. As long as the movies in question maintain their popularity, it's the gift that keeps on giving. Even so, actors do occasionally tire of repeating a particular characterization or become unable to continue in a role. If that happens while the box office potential of the series is still robust, as with Harrison Ford's departure from the current series of Jack Ryan movies, then it becomes necessary to look for a replacement actor. Those of us whose closest brush with acting is buying a ticket to the show can only imagine how daunting it must be to replace an actor who has established himself in a popular role. For a look at how some of Ben Affleck's forerunners have handled this problem, look for these titles on home video.

"Ghost of Frankenstein" (1942). Boris Karloff established the role of Frankenstein's monster for Universal Pictures and played it in two sequels. By the time the studio initiated a fourth film in the series, however, Karloff was tied up with an ongoing stage commitment in "Arsenic and Old Lace" on Broadway. In any case, Karloff had grown weary of the role, especially in view of the marathon makeup sessions. For "Ghost," Universal passed the neck bolts on to Lon Chaney, Jr., the son of the versatile silent film star who had incarnated "The Phantom of the Opera" and "The Hunchback of Notre Dame." Chaney's performance as the monster is much less subtle than Karloff's, more like the familiar lead-footed, stiff-armed stereotype of the monster. This doesn't mean that Chaney was a poor actor; in fact, he was excellent as Lennie in "Of Mice and Men" three years earlier. Instead, it reflects the studio's lack of interest in developing the monster's characterization, which is why Karloff wanted no part of it.

"The Mask of Fu Manchu" (1932). Even before Karloff relinquished the Frankenstein monster to Chaney, Karloff himself was asked to take over for another performer in an established role. Warner Oland had appeared three times as Dr. Fu Manchu, a Chinese physician who is obsessed with avenging the deaths of his wife and child in the Boxer Rebellion by persecuting the family of an English officer. Oland had played the part more or less straight, but Karloff and his co-star, Myrna Loy, opted for a tongue in cheek interpretation. This campy approach serves to soften what is essentially a virulently racist story, thereby salvaging some entertainment value.

"Charlie Chan at the Wax Museum" (1940). Warner Oland moved on from the role of Fu Manchu to become forever identified with the role of Chinese detective Charlie Chan. He was not the first film actor to play the role, but it wasn't long before he made it his own. Oland's genial portrayal of the self-effacing Chan had enormous audience appeal. When Oland died in 1938, character actor Sidney Toler drew the unenviable assignment of following him in the role. Toler's Chan was a bit edgier than Oland's; not quite so resolutely humble. Of the few Toler Chans available on video, "Wax Museum" is the most popular. What better place to solve a murder than in a wax museum, surrounded by the images of Jack the Ripper and Bluebeard?

"The Falcon's Brother" (1942). One of my favorite examples of one actor passing the torch to another occurs in the "Falcon" series. In the tradition of suave, aristocratic amateur detectives, the Falcon blithely solves mysteries that baffle the plodding and ineffectual police detectives. After three outings in the lead role, however, George Sanders had had enough. In "The Falcon's Brother," Tom Conway was brought in as the main character's brother. Later in the film, the Sanders Falcon is killed off, leaving his brother to carry on in future films of the series. What makes this on-screen passing of the baton so interesting, however, is that George Sanders was Tom Conway's brother in real life. Conway went on to do nine more Falcon pictures.

If you want to compare these latecomers to their predecessors, I recommend Karloff in "The Bride of Frankenstein" (1935), Oland in "Charlie Chan at the Opera" (1936), and Sanders in "The Falcon Takes Over" (1942).

The Courts-Martial (originally published 6/02)

Playwrights have always been drawn to the portrayal of trials. The most likely explanation for this, it seems to me, is that trials by their very nature are structured like dramas. Playwrights, after all, spend their lives taking life in all its complexities, contradictions, and nonlinear unruliness and trying to mold it into clearly defined conflicts that move toward clear-cut resolutions. Most of the time, it's devilishly difficult work.

But dramatizing a trial is another matter. Trials are predicated on conflict, and they move from the exposition of relevant information to the struggle against opposing forces, and then to a climactic and decisive resolution of that struggle. If you're a playwright, what's not to love? And if there's anything more fun to write than a civilian courtroom drama, it must surely be its hard edged, spit and polish cousin, the military courtroom drama. If you enjoyed "High Crimes," the latest release in this genre, here are a few earlier titles to look for on home video.

"The Caine Mutiny" (1954). Director Edward Dmytryk's film of Herman Wouk's novel and play is the granddaddy of the genre. Humphrey Bogart is outstanding as the psychotic Captain Queeg, whose junior officers see fit to remove him from command in a crisis situation. Queeg's nervous habit of rolling a pair of steel balls in his hand when upset or preoccupied has become as much a part of the Bogart mythos as Rick's Café in "Casablanca." But Bogart doesn't give the only memorable performance. Jose Ferrer is equally brilliant as the defense attorney who must expose Queeg's instability. The scene in which he takes Queeg apart on the witness stand is world-class theater.

"Paths of Glory" (1957). Stanley Kubrick's grim anti-war film is set during World War I. In the lead role, Kirk Douglas defends three men who are being tried for cowardice under fire. In point of fact, the men are scapegoats for commanding officers who are unwilling to admit that they ordered a pointless, suicidal raid on a clearly impregnable position. Kubrick relentlessly contrasts the cigar smoking, wine sipping officers with the wretched, mud drenched foot soldiers, leaving no doubts as to who he thinks ought to be on trial. This was the film that unmistakably marked Kubrick as a major force in world cinema.

"The Court-Martial of Billy Mitchell" (1955). Stoic Gary Cooper portrays the controversial general who commanded the airplane squadrons during World War I and went on to become a leading advocate of air power as a military priority. When his recommendations regarding the urgency of developing a credible air force went unheeded by his superiors, he went public with his grievances. This earned him a court-martial for insubordination and a five year suspension. The reason Mitchell's court-martial makes for good drama is that almost all of his predictions regarding the importance of air power to future warfare were subsequently proved accurate. This film will therefore resonate with anyone who has ever had to deal with an intransigent boss who wouldn't listen to reason.

"Sergeant Ryker" (1968). Lee Marvin stars as a Korean War soldier who was ordered to carry out a secret intelligence mission by temporarily pretending to defect to the enemy. Returning to U.S. lines, he is caught in an enemy uniform and tried as a traitor. Unfortunately, the general who gave him the assignment has died in the meantime, having mentioned the assignment to no one, and having left behind no written record of it. This film began its life as a television show, airing as a segment of "Kraft Suspense Theater." They simply added a few exteriors that weren't in the TV budget and released the newly enhanced version to the theaters. Fortunately, the expansion did little to impair the tightness of Seelig Lester and William Gordon's script, which packs a lot of storytelling into 85 minutes.

"Sergeant Rutledge" (1960). Legendary Western filmmaker John Ford deals with the issue of military justice and the black soldier in this remarkable film. Woody Strode stars as an African-American cavalry sergeant falsely accused of a double murder. Released a quarter century before "A Soldier's Story," at a time when the civil rights movement was still in its infancy, this moving study of racial prejudice in the military is one of Ford's most remarkable films. It's a pity that it isn't better known.

Doing Hard Time (originally published 6/02)

When asked why he was so attracted to morbid subject matter, Alfred Hitchcock used to tell a story, probably apocryphal, but nonetheless revealing, about his childhood. At the age of 6, Hitchcock explained, he was caught misbehaving. His father sent him down to the local police station with a note for the desk sergeant. The officer read the note, then locked the youngster in a cell for five minutes, saying, "This is what we do to naughty boys."

The truth is that most of us, with or without childhood traumas, are fascinated by crime and punishment. It is a perverse attraction that is older than either Hitchcock or Dostoyevski. The history of the movies is rich with both crime and punishment, but some of the most interesting films have been those that focused mostly, or entirely, on punishment.

With that in mind, it's not so surprising that HBO launched its experiment in hour-long series drama with a prison show, paving the way for "The Sopranos" and "Sex and the City." After five successful seasons, the producers of "Oz" have now begun production on a sixth and final season. If you're a fan of this groundbreaking prison drama, here are some classic prison movies you might want to look for on home video.

"I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang" (1932). Paul Muni, one of the most respected actors of the 1930s and 1940s, plays the part of James Allen. Arrested for a crime he didn't commit, Allen is sentenced to 10 years of hard labor on a Georgia chain gang. The treatment of the prisoners is portrayed as unbelievably brutal and sadistic. In a time when many movies tried to take people's minds off hard times, the Warner Brothers studio earned a reputation for tackling social issues. This unblinking expose of reprehensible penal practices is a prime example.

"Each Dawn I Die" (1939). By the end of the 1930s, Warner Brothers had very nearly cornered the prison movie market with pictures like this James Cagney vehicle. Cagney plays a crusading reporter who is framed on a manslaughter charge when his investigations point to corruption in the district attorney's office. Once he's inside, the prison system inexorably strips him of ideals, hope, and dignity.

"White Heat" (1949). It's Cagney again, this time as a gangster named Cody Jarrett. While he's doing a penny-ante prison stretch to avoid a more substantial rap, the police decide to send in an undercover man to be Cody's cellmate. Edmond O'Brien plays the cop whose job it is to ingratiate himself with Cody to try to get him to spill the beans. Most of the gangsters that Cagney had played in the past were just average street hoodlums with above-average mean streaks, but Cody is different. He's a full-blown psychopath. Cagney made the most of the dramatic potential of the role, creating one of his finest and most enduring performances.

"Riot in Cell Block 11" (1954). This grimly realistic chronicle of a prison riot was something of a pet project for producer Walter Wanger. He had recently seen prison conditions firsthand while serving a prison term for shooting and wounding a man who was fooling around with his wife. Director Don Siegel shot the film inside Folsom Prison, using actual convicts as extras.

"Birdman of Alcatraz" (1962). Burt Lancaster gives a virtuoso performance as Robert Stroud, the real-life murderer who became an authority on birds while serving his sentence and published an ornithology textbook from prison. When he subsequently tries to publish a book on penology, the authorities confiscate the manuscript. The parallel between caged birds and caged men is clear.

"Cool Hand Luke" (1967). One of the pillars of the Paul Newman film persona is his performance as Luke Jackson, the chain-gang convict who can take everything that The Man can dish out without losing his cool. The supporting cast is also uniformly excellent, especially Strother Martin as a particularly nasty guard. His immortal line, "What we've got here is failure to communicate," is familiar even to people who have never seen the film. Indeed, the memorable phrase loomed large in the advertising for the film, as you can see in the picture's promotional trailer, reproduced below courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.



By the way, unless your cool is as unshakeable as Luke's, I don't know that I'd recommend seeing more than one of these films at one sitting. To tell you the truth, I'm a little stir-crazy just from writing about them.

The American Version (originally published 5/02)

The movie industry has been called the world's biggest floating crap game, with every new release a high-stakes roll of the dice. Because the ante is so high and the risk so great, studios are constantly on the lookout for anything that can give them an edge.

One trick that seems to work is to look for a movie that has already been made and enjoyed success in a foreign country, then remake it domestically. The recent release of "Insomnia," a remake of a 1997 Norwegian thriller, is the most recent example. This transatlantic version of the sincerest form of flattery is not, however, unique to the entertainment conglomerates that control modern studios. The practice was alive and well even in the old days of the studio system. If you're curious about how we borrowed movie plots from overseas in the old days, here are some titles to look for.

"Intermezzo" (Sweden, 1936) and "Intermezzo" (USA, 1939). It would perhaps be a bit of a stretch to call Swedish director Gustav Molander the Ingmar Bergman of his day - that title probably belongs to Victor Seastrom - but he was a significant and influential figure nonetheless. His single most enduring influence on world cinema, however, came by way of the Swedish actress who starred in this sentimental tale of love and sacrifice. The main character is a pianist who falls in love with a renowned concert violinist. Although the violinist is married, he asks the young woman to tour with him, acting as his accompanist. Knowing that he will leave his family to be with her if she asks him to, she must decide if she can live with the guilt of breaking up a happy home.

The actress who played the lead role was a striking beauty named Ingrid Bergman. American producer David O. Selznick was so taken with her performance that he brought her to Hollywood to star in the 1939 remake. Her costar was Leslie Howard, who would also appear that same year as Ashley Wilkes in "Gone With the Wind."

"Pepe le Moko" (France, 1937) and "Algiers" (USA, 1938). Director Julien Duvivier's "Pepe le Moko" is a fascinating precursor to the film noir tradition of the cinematic femme fatale, which would be taken to extraordinary heights (or depths, perhaps) in the American cinema of the forties. The setting is Algiers, during Algeria's period as a French colony. Pepe, played by Jean Gabin, is a local gangster who operates out of the Casbah, or native quarter. As long as he remains within the Casbah, he is untouchable, but the wily Inspector Slimane has noticed his fascination with an alluring woman named Gaby, who is visiting from Paris. If only Gaby can be used to lure Pepe from his safe haven, justice can be served.

The part of Pepe was originally offered to Charles Boyer, who turned it down. When the American remake was cast, Boyer was again approached, and this time he accepted. And yes, this is the film that inspired the famous line, "Come with me to the Casbah." But, like the equally famous Casablanca line, "Play it again, Sam," it's never actually said in the movie.

"The Wages of Fear" (France, 1952) and "Sorcerer" (USA, 1977). Henri-Georges Clouzot's existential suspense tale involves four down and out men languishing in a rotten South American backwater. An American oil company needs four drivers to transport nitroglycerin to the site of an oil well fire, but the fire is some three hundred miles away over wretched, bumpy mountain roads. Our protagonists, enticed by the large wage being offered and with nothing much to lose, take on the job. This is an unspeakably tense film, not for the faint of heart.

Director William Friedkin's remake, "Sorcerer," features Roy Scheider as one of the drivers. Hardly anyone seems to like this film, but I've never understood why. No, it isn't as good as the original, but the suspense still works, and Friedkin's affection for Clouzot's classic is unmistakable. That, it seems to me, is the single most important factor distinguishing "Sorcerer" from my other examples. "Algiers" and Selznick's "Intermezzo" were, primarily, economically motivated. "Sorcerer," on the other hand, was homage, one filmmaker saluting another. Personally, I'm pretty clear on which type of remake I'd rather encourage.

The Movie Hostages (originally published 5/02)

In most movies built around the taking of hostages, the hostage taker is the villain of the piece. The recently released "John Q," starring Denzel Washington as a frustrated father whose child has been failed by the health care system, reverses that convention by aligning our sympathies with the hostage taker. Either way, a hostage situation is ideal as a basis for engaging drama, since it usually involves, one way or another, an act of desperation. Here are some earlier hostage movies to look for on home video.

"The Petrified Forest" (1936). Humphrey Bogart, in the breakthrough role that launched his career in Hollywood, plays Duke Mantee, a gangster who holds a group of people hostage in a lonely desert café. Based on a play by Robert Sherwood, the film stars Leslie Howard, who insisted on Bogart for the role of Mantee after seeing him play the part on Broadway. Screenwriters Charles Kenyon and Delmer Daves sensibly left Sherwood's excellent dialogue largely intact, allowing the intriguing cast of characters to carry the film rather than relying on suspense alone. Reproduced below is the film's original promotional trailer, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies.



"The Desperate Hours" (1955). Some twenty years later, Bogart again played a hostage taker. In the role of escaped convict Glenn Griffin, he holds a terrified family hostage; not in a desert café, but in their own quiet, suburban home. Fredric March and Martha Scott play Dan and Eleanor Hilliard, two perfectly ordinary people who suddenly find themselves in the midst of a crisis with which they are completely unprepared to cope.

"The Taking of Pelham One Two Three" (1974). Robert Shaw plays the leader of a gang of men who hijack a New York City subway train, holding the passengers for ransom. Walter Matthau plays the city transit cop who has to try to manage the situation. Shaw and Matthau are excellent, playing off each other by radio communication for much of the film. Director Joseph Sargent does an admirable job of keeping the suspense taut and the action thrilling.

"Dog Day Afternoon" (1975). Frank Pierson's Academy Award-winning script looks at hostage taking as a media event by loosely recreating an actual incident from August of 1972. Al Pacino and John Cazale star as a couple of inept bank robbers. Their attempt to rob a Brooklyn bank quickly degenerates into a standoff as they are forced to hold the bank employees hostage to keep at bay the police waiting outside to apprehend them. As the standoff drags on, a crowd gathers outside, along with the inevitable television cameras. Soon both the robbers and the hostages are playing to the cameras, milking their fifteen minutes of fame. This remarkable film represents one of the most outstanding achievements of Hollywood in the seventies. Pacino and director Sidney Lumet were both operating at the top of their game, taking what could easily have been a bland, cliched movie of the week and turning it into a fascinating, entertaining slice of life with rich, full-bodied characterizations.

"The Delta Force" (1986). Director and co-scripter Menahem Golan based this Chuck Norris vehicle on the June 1985 hijacking of TWA Flight 847 and the subsequent hostage situation in Beirut. Although names are changed, the recreation of some of the most dramatic moments from that event leave no doubt as to the intended reference. By fictionalizing the story, however, Golan allows himself to tack on a wish-fulfillment ending, in which an American anti-terrorist squadron swoops in and saves the day.

"Cadillac Man" (1990). Fast talking car salesman Joey O'Brien (Robin Williams) is having a bad day. He's in dutch with his ex-wife, his boss, and the mob. The last thing he needs on top of all that is a jealous husband to deal with. That's when Larry (Tim Robbins), the husband of a secretary at the dealership, crashes through the showroom window on his motorcycle, brandishing a gun and looking for his wife's lover. The situation quickly gets out of hand, with Larry holding everyone hostage and Joey calling on his persuasive skills to try to talk Larry out of doing anything permanent.

There are plenty of other good hostage movies I could tell you about, but if you want their titles you'll have to meet my list of demands, starting with the release of my comrades in arms in the Disney dungeons at Orlando.

See You in the Funny Papers (originally published 5/02)

When movie directors get down to the business of laying out the specific shots they will use to tell their script's story, they often make use of a visual aid called a storyboard. It consists of a series of drawings intended to illustrate the camera angle of each shot, with relevant descriptions and dialogue written out underneath the corresponding drawings. In other words, the storyboard is in effect a comic strip version of the movie, drawn to serve as a kind of blueprint for the creative team that will put the director's vision on film.

With this in mind, it is hardly surprising that the funny papers have long been a source of inspiration for moviemakers. This year's release of "Spiderman" is the most recent of a long string of movie adaptations drawing on the rich tradition of action-adventure comic strips. Naturally, the producers of this new movie version of the web slinger's exploits were able to spice up their film with imaging technology that could scarcely have been imagined by filmmakers 50 years ago.

On the other hand, the old timers had an advantage of their own: they could adapt popular comic strips as serials rather than as feature films. These episodic "chapter plays" were a much better fit with the similarly episodic comic strips. Also, the typically lightweight story lines were relieved of the necessity of sustaining dramatic interest for the full length of a feature film. If you enjoy the action strips in the funny papers, look for these serial adaptations on home video.

"Tailspin Tommy" (1934). What you have to remember here is that we're flashing back to a time when Charles Lindbergh was a national hero, and all aviators were regarded as daredevil pioneers, much like astronauts were in the 1960s. It is perhaps appropriate, therefore, that this strip, the first to capitalize on the public's hero worship of pilots, was the first comic strip to be adapted as a movie serial. Its success guaranteed that Hollywood would be back to raid the funny papers again. Maurice Murphy plays the title role, defending Three Points Airline against the menace of Tiger Taggart through 12 high-flying chapters.

"Ace Drummond" (1936). This aviator strip had the distinct advantage of being drawn by Clayton Knight, an honest to goodness Royal Air Force aviator, and endorsed by Eddie Rickenbacker. It was supposedly loosely based on Rickenbacker's own exploits; in fact, the claim was that he wrote the story lines. The 13-chapter movie version stars John King as Drummond, who seems to have picked up the habit of singing as he flies in making the transition to the screen.

"Flash Gordon" (1936). Cashing in on the aviator craze and at the same time raising the ante, Alex Raymond's classic science fiction strip puts its aviator in a rocket ship bound for the planet Mongo, where Flash (Buster Crabbe) and his companion Dale Arden (Jean Rogers) face the evil of Ming the Merciless. Unlike most movie adaptations, this 13-chapter serial sticks rather closely to the story line of the original strip.

"Dick Tracy vs. Crime, Inc." (1941). Forget about Warren Beatty. The real movie incarnation of Chester Gould's rock-jawed detective is Ralph Byrd, who appeared in a series of four Dick Tracy serials. Of these, the first is not as good as the last three, which were co-directed by the renowned serial production team of John English and William Witney. In this 15-chapter finale of the series, Tracy tangles with a mysterious, invisible criminal known as "The Ghost."

"Terry and the Pirates" (1940). With its rich cast of characters and striking visual style, Milton Caniff's tales of Terry's adventures in the Orient may well be the best adventure strip ever. The 15-chapter serial version features William Tracy as Terry, Granville Owen as Pat Ryan, and Sheila Darcy as the Dragon Lady.

Now, before you go out looking for these serials, I should caution you about a couple of things. First, don't try to watch them straight through. They were never meant to be seen that way; the repetition will drive you nuts. One or two chapters at a time is plenty. Second, don't expect Spielberg megaproductions. These things were shot in days, not months, for less money than Spielberg spends on lunch. But remember, they also inspired Spielberg to make "Raiders of the Lost Ark."