I’m a sucker for French films; perhaps it’s because I studied French in grade school and like brushing up on my vocabulary, or maybe it’s because they make so many good movies. For the fourteenth year, Francophiles here in Los Angeles have been lucky enough to see some of the best new work from young directors and veterans alike at the City of Lights—City of Angels Festival. It’s a source of perpetual frustration to me that the COLCOA event, now in its fourteenth year, always occurs when I’m on book deadline. If I could, I would camp out at—
After a long and productive day working on my book last Sunday I decided I had earned a reward, so my wife and I attended a double-feature at the Egyptian Theater in Hollywood, where the American Cinematheque and the Film Noir Foundation are unspooling their annual Film Noir festival. This is always an enjoyable experience, as the faithful gather to discover rare goodies from the world of dark shadows and rain-soaked streets, mostly from the 1940s and 50s.
In recent years, Eddie Muller and Alan K. Rode, from the Film Noir Foundation, have stretched the definition of film noir to (and some would say past) the breaking point, but I don’t think anybody minds the opportunity to watch—
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