#project glowing rectangle

42nd Street (1933) is a backstage musical following the cast and crew of 'Pretty Lady', a new show preparing to open on Broadway. The leading lady, Dorothy Brock (Bebe Daniels), is having an affair with the show's financial backer (Guy Kibbee) whilst continuing to see her old vaudeville partner (George Brent) behind his back. And despite a string of successes the director, Julian Marsh (Warner Baxter), is bankrupt thanks to the Great Depression. He's staking everything on 'Pretty Lady' being a hit. Into this high-pressure environment comes Peggy Sawyer (Ruby Keeler), a wide-eyed ingenue looking for her big break.

But the real star of the show is legendary Hollywood choreographer Busby Berkeley. He's responsible for the spectacular, kaleidoscopic dance routines that make 42nd Street so memorable. The musical numbers in the 'Pretty Lady' show-within-a-show don't seem to make much sense or tell any kind of story—but they're exactly the kind of spectacle I came to see.

This afternoon's film was Only Angels Have Wings (1939), a romantic drama directed by Howard Hawks. Cary Grant stars as Geoff Carter, chief pilot of an airmail company in South America. The mail route is extremely risky; pilots are frequently killed, giving the survivors a rather jaded, fatalistic attitude. But when visiting pianist Bonnie Lee (Jean Arthur) falls for Geoff, his determination not to be tied down is put to the test.

Picking a film for 1927 was tricky. This was the year that gave us the seminal sci-fi classic Metropolis, and the Oscars' first Best Picture, Wings. But in the end I settled for the first American film by German Expressionist pioneer F.W. Murnau: Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans.

A Man (George O'Brien) is seduced by a glamorous Woman From the City (Margaret Livingston), who persuades him to murder his Wife (Janet Gaynor). The Man takes his Wife out in a rowboat, planning to push her overboard. But as she cowers and pleads for mercy, he is stricken with guilt and cannot do the terrible deed. He begs her forgiveness, but can their fractured relationship be healed?

Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans won three of the first ever Academy Awards. One was for cinematography, one for Janet Gaynor's performance. Its third Oscar was in a category never since repeated: Unique and Artistic Picture. (I wish they'd bring that one back!) It's almost a mirror image of another film I watched recently: Varieté. That film started with a man leaving his wife and ends in murder; this one starts with attempted murder and ends in reconciliation. I question whether reconciliation with a would-be murderer is really A Good Thing, but Sunrise is such a visually stunning piece of cinematic storytelling, I find myself swept along by it regardless.

The film uses a variety of German Expressionist techniques to vividly evoke the characters' emotional landscapes. There are too many enchanting images to count. I particularly love the shot of the Man surrounded by ghostly images of the Woman From the City, clinging to him seductively as he contemplates the murder of his Wife.

Its use of sound is equally inventive. Despite being a "silent" film, it came with an early example of a synchronised soundtrack—no "talkie" dialogue, just music and occasional sounds effects. The music, like the imagery, overlaps different styles and tones to create complex sonic textures.

In a recent video I made an offhanded comment about maybe watching a Century of Cinema, inspired by my friend Gavin's project to read a Century of Sci-fi. Having combed through my film collection and found almost every year accounted for (the only exceptions being 2020, '22, and '26), I've decided to take the idea more seriously. So here's my mission statement:

I aim to watch a Century of Cinema: One film for every year from 1926 to 2026. Some films will be new to me, others old favourites. In most cases they'll already be part of my physical media collection. I won't use this as an excuse to buy more films! There's no deadline for the project, and I'm not promising to make blog posts or videos about it. It's just a fun personal project of mine. I won't announce the full list ahead of time, so I'll have some wiggle room with my choices as I go along. And I'll check in with myself every ten films to decide whether I want to continue with the project. If it stops being fun, I'll stop.

With all that out of the way… Today's film was The General (1926), the classic Buster Keaton comedy. Keaton stars as Johnnie Gray, a Confederate train engineer whose engine, the titular General, is hijacked by Union soldiers. Johnnie sets out to retrieve the train he loves, coincidentally rescuing the woman he loves (Marion Mack) along the way, and helping his side win the battle… if not, thankfully, the war!

Buster Keaton's deadpan screen persona makes him feel like the most modern of the legendary silent comedians, and his inventive use of the camera is surely the most cinematic of the bunch. I'm a huge fan, and The General was my introduction to his genius. It's not my favourite of his films—not least because of the slightly uncomfortable Civil War aspect—but as a piece of cinema it’s incredible.

Keaton's daredevil stunts remain thrilling to this day. I feel a frisson every time I watch him use one railway sleeper to knock another off the tracks, all while perching perilously on the front of a moving train. A few years ago I was lucky enough to see the film on the big screen, with live musical accompaniment, and that moment still had the power to make an audience gasp, cheer and applaud. Rewatching it today didn't quite match that magical big screen experience, but I still had a great time.

Kubelik: Some people take, some people get took. And they know they're getting took and there's nothing they can do about it.

C. C. Baxter (Jack Lemmon), aka Buddy Boy, is one of those people who gets took. He works in a huge office building as an insurance clerk, his head stuffed with numbers and statistics. Baxter often works late, not out of dedication to his job but because, despite living alone, his apartment is rarely empty. His key gets passed around the office, his apartment serving as a discreet place for married men to take their girlfriends. In return, Baxter's superiors recommend him for promotions. When he agrees to lend the key to Mr Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray), director of personnel, Baxter finds himself quickly ascending the corporate ladder. Meanwhile he harbours a crush on Miss Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine), an elevator operator at the office. Little does he know she’s already been to his apartment…

It's safe to say The Apartment is my favourite film of all time. My band's debut album, The Way It Crumbles, was named after a quote from the film. I rewatched it today to celebrate my 40th birthday and it made me smile, laugh and blub as much as ever! It's a beautiful film about loneliness, human connection, and the importance of growing a spine and doing the right thing—or, as Baxter's neighbour Dr Dreyfuss (Jack Kruschen) puts it, being a mensch.

This afternoon's film was Sinners (2025), starring Michael B Jordan and Michael B Jordan. The Smokestack twins, Elijah 'Smoke' and Elias 'Stack' Moore, return home to Mississippi after seven years in Chicago. Using money stolen from the mob, the twins buy an old sawmill and turn it into a juke joint. But opening night takes a bloody turn when the transcendent power of music pierces the veil between worlds, summoning a trio of vampires.

This is a solid piece of filmmaking. Michael B Jordan gives two excellent performances as identical twins. The scenes where he shares the screen with himself are perfectly realised; after a few minutes I stopped even thinking about how technically impressive it is. It just works! The supporting cast is also great, particularly newcomer Miles Caton as Sammie, the blues musician whose transcendent singing causes all that supernatural trouble.

Today's film was The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), a musical by French New Wave director Jacques Demy, with songs by Michel Legrand. It's a beautiful, bittersweet story of lost love and missed opportunities. Catherine Deneuve and Nino Castelnuovo star as giddy young lovers, Geneviève and Guy, whose dreams of marriage are suddenly derailed when Guy is drafted into the army.

I spent much of this film trying to decide exactly how I felt about it. The whole thing, though performed with non-operatic voices, is sung-through like an opera. There's even a playful line where one of Guy's work colleagues says—or rather sings—that he hates opera and prefers movies. Well, I'm not a fan of opera myself, nor am I traditionally a fan of movies from the French New Wave. At first I wasn't sure if The Umbrellas of Cherbourg was going to win me over.

But win me over it did! So much so, the final scene had me in floods of tears. The moment Geneviève's car pulled up at the petrol station, I was gone.

Today's film was Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984), an animated film by Hayao Miyazaki — his last before the foundation of Studio Ghibli. The film follows several warring tribes of humans, all trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic landscape. Half the planet is covered in a toxic forest, swarming with giant insects which attack when provoked. But can Princess Nausicaä convince humanity that nature is not their enemy?