I Know Where I’m Going (1945)

A headstrong British woman is engaged to marry a Scottish millionaire, and their wedding plays in a brief but accurate fantasy sequence:

She’s off to a remote Scottish island for the ceremony, but fate and bad weather take her to the wrong island, and she won’t be able to sail to her intended on the intended island until the storm has cleared. Meanwhile, she’s hosted by a different and charming Scotsman on that wrong island, and this being a movie, you can guess how things turn out.

The surprise is the authenticity of this otherwise trite tale. It was filmed on location amid Scottish castles and estates, lords and ladies, men in kilts, storms at the coast, and the bloody hell of Scottish folk songs galore, with a bagpipe trio. The accents are thicker than steak, and some brief bits of the dialogue might as well be Gaelic without subtitles.

It’s all a magical spell that neither Joan Webster nor I could resist, only briefly interrupted by lame greenscreen work, as a tiny boat is battered by a fake storm. In all other regards, however, this is a fine and enjoyable piece of romantic fluff.

Written and directed by that dynamic duo, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. And yeah, that little kid is Petula Clark, years before she slept in the subway, darling.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦

I Mobster: The Life of a Gangster (1959)

As the title promises, this is a baddie’s biography. In the earliest scenes he’s an errand boy, age 11, but he already has the look and swagger of a gangster. His immigrant parents love him but don’t understand him, his gangster boss gives him a promotion into dirtier work, and he grows up to be the boss of the whole south side, with doublecrosses to be dealt with along the way.

Like an overpacked suitcase, this movie is jammed with every gangster trope, and there’s not even one plot point you haven’t seen before. It does it all with panache coming out the ying- yang, though, and the dramatic scenes are punctuated with a killer score of pulsing swing music.

Steve Cochran stars, and he’s the walking embodiment of a bad guy with a hint of a heart well-hidden under his hairy chest. Compelling camerawork by Floyd Crosby. Directed and produced by Roger Corman, proving once again that he could create more than merely schlock. Like most of us, he often didn’t give his best effort, but for I Mobster, he sure does.

As the bad guy’s girlfriend, Lita Milan is rememberable — I made up that word, just for her, because I remembered her from Girls on the Loose. She doesn’t look or act the way mobster’s girlfriend roles are usually written and cast, and nothing about her performance says performance. According to IMDB she had a B-level career, which she walked away from to marry the son of Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo.

Verdict: BIG YES.

♦ ♦ ♦

I Was a Teenage Werewolf (1957)

Tony (Michael Landon) is a teenage boy with anger issues. Tap him on the shoulder, he’ll take it as an assault and start fighting back.

Adolescence does that to some kids, so his parents send him to an expert for help, but Whit Bissell is the wrong expert. Instead of curing the boy, he wants to experiment with his hormones and regress him to a primitive state of werewolfitude!

If you want a ridiculous horror flick, you’ll probably be disappointed. It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds, or its title. It ain’t bad, actually. It’s a monster movie, sure, but Landon and Bissell are both excellent, and the show’s almost half over before there’s even the suggestion of anything werewolfy.

It’s a slow simmer, set in the horror of adolescence. With a monster, too.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦

Point de Fuite (1987)

I’ll confess, I discovered this at a porn site, but it’s not porny, or even sexy really. It’s a small piece of art that has a sense of humor.

Directed and co-written by Olivier Smolders, it’s a very French 10-minute short in which a math teacher shows up to teach her class, but finds the students naked at their desks. A free math lecture is included, but no subtitles, so it’s not educational unless you speak French.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦

They Won’t Forget (1937)

Claude Rains stars, but he’s not at his best. Set somewhere in the 1930s American South, the movie opens with closeups of two statues, giving Abe Lincoln and Robert E Lee equal time. Each statue has a quote, and Lee’s, of course, brags about the greatness of the South without mentioning slavery. “Dixie” plays triumphantly on the soundtrack.

It’s Memorial Day, when the whole town honors its Confederate dead with a parade. A gaggle of ancient Confederate solders reminisce about the glories of their war, look forward to marching in the parade, and saunter off-screen to more joyous, celebrate-the-South music.

Here in 2025, I am increasingly convinced that men like those Confederate soldiers should’ve been executed by firing squad at the conclusion of the Civil War, instead of allowing them comfortable lives telling lies to their descendants. And movies like this, made 70 years later but still celebrating that vile Old South, ought to be seen as trash and propaganda. Or better yet, unseen.

The movie is soaked in that ugly aura, and I couldn’t bring myself to keep watching. Instead I skimmed ahead, and behind its assumptions of Southern greatness, there’s a noirish courtroom drama about a local school teacher — a dratted Yankee — who’s accused of a student’s rape and murder. It ends with a faux righteous condemnation of miscarried justice, and the message seems to be that even northerners deserve a fair trial.

Verdict: NO.

5/20/2025

Logo illustration by Jeff Meyer. No talking once the lights dim, and only real butter on the popcorn, not that fake yellow stuff. 

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