What's so awful about THE PRINCESS BRIDE, THE RIGHT STUFF, and FOR YOUR EYES ONLY?

Two words: The Music.

The eighties were a time of musical experimentation, for which we have MTV, in some dubious ways, to thank. Out were long concept albums; in were short songs suitable for videos. Out were solos, prog-rock, and radio shows; in were Martha Quinn, massive synthesizers, and--unfortunately--composers like Vangelis.

Yes, Vangelis. Bolstered by the electronica revolution on MTV, someone got the bright idea to score Chariots of Fire with synthesizers instead of the London Philharmonic, or the London Symphony. And it worked.

Once.

But Chariots won for the Best Picture, Vangelis for the Best Score and, emboldened by his success, other directors and producers jumped on the synthesizer/fake orchestra band-wagon.

But the tunes that came from that band-wagon appealed to me about as much as sharing a toothbrush with Keith Richards.

I recall The Bounty, a very passable film starring Mel Gibson and Anthony Hopkins. Lavishly filmed; well-acted; and the story of Bligh, Christian, et co. was, as usual compelling.

But married to that film was this horrible, ear-drum assaulting electronic soundtrack. Even then, back in the early eighties, I remember recoiling immediately.

It didn't work. Electronic music CANNOT and DOES NOT belong in period pictures--PERIOD!

It only worked that once, for Chariots, but never again.

Now do you know why those initial three films irritate me? And it's not because I don't like them--hell, The Right Stuff is in my all-time Top Ten, Eyes Only is my third favorite Bond film, and Bride has more good memories from my past than I can list here.

But each contains elements of an electronic score that is more disturbing than, than, than--than finding out that Kevin Federline has been dating your mother. There--that's about it.

Bride and Stuff have some terrific music--Mark Knopfler's guitar score for Bride is wonderful, and Stuff uses Holst's "The Planets" with power--but the electronic sections make me throw up a little bit in my mouth.

As for Eyes, it's the only Bond film, I believe, without a typical John Barry score--what a waste! Did anyone REALLY think that Bill Conti could substitute for one of the greatest film composers (listen to the Out of Africa score if you don't believe me) of all time?

Oh, it's just a nightmare from which one cannot awaken. A perfectly great Bond film ruined by that awful electronic disco-ey score.

Hold on--I have to take a compazine.

Okay, the nausea has passed. Thank God, too, that the short-lived phenomenon of scoring movies electronically has passed as well. If only those three great films could be rescored, then all would be right with the world.

Unfortunately, not everything can be "As you wish."

What's so great about SYRIANA?

For my money, this is truly the best film of the past year. Why? Let's compare it to Munich, thought by others--delusionally, I'm afraid--to be the best of 2005.

Syriana: has a feel of absolute authenticity; is well-acted and photographed; has quiet, well-filmed cinematic moments (the weapon-tipped boat bearing down in near-silence on the large ship is masterful); weaves at least five disparate plot-lines into one powerful, cohesive message; has George Clooney in a terrific Oscar-winning performance; and, finally, leaves one wondering what the priorities of our nation are, and perhaps what they should be. It's really resonant.

Munich: the drama feels exceptionally contrived, bearing the distracting mark of the screenwriter; lacks authenticity in its approach, except in the Munich Olympic scenes; contains truly odd plot/visual choices in some of its scenes (especially some of the weird sexual stuff with Avner and his wife making love while he imagines the Munich massacre--a very bizarre thing to do) which I feel take the viewer out of the picture; the photography is gimmicky and distracting; the experience left me without resonance of almost any kind except that of disappointment.

The usual knock against Syriana is its plotting--too confusing! some say. What's going on? ask others.

But I found it reasonably easy to figure out (as did my wife), and here it is:

There's a country in the Middle East where two princes are fighting for future control after their elderly father steps down. One is well-equipped for the role, desiring democracy and independence from Western business influences; the other is a "playboy" type who is unambitious, wishing to maintain the status quo and go along with Western and U.S. interests.

On the American side, two large oil companies are merging, but before that can happen, the Justice Department investigates an oil contract that was just signed. Money apparently exchanged hands in order for that contract to be sealed, and the lawyer looking into it is "forced" to give up two upper-level oil company employees before the US Govt is satisfied and will approve the merger.

In the Middle East, the merger forces a reorganization that causes many young workers to lose their jobs. They are recruited into an Islamic school that gives them room, board, and emotional support, but this gradually erodes their moral beliefs, turning them into fanatics. Two of the young men become suicide bombers, planning to pilot a boat equipped with an advanced weapon and destroy a large ship in a nearby harbor.

Meanwhile, that weapon was procured during a deal CIA agent George Clooney made earlier in the film. Clooney was working undercover in a sting-assassination operation, but while he sold two of these weapons to his targets, eventually killing them, one of the weapons was moved out before it could be destroyed or accounted for. This weapon becomes the one to be used in the suicide-boat plan.

After that initial event, Clooney is sent on a mission to try and take down the well-educated and -qualified Prince that wishes to turn his country into a democracy--you see, his brother is the one with U.S. favor since he does not want independence from the West. Clooney is double-crossed by an old contact who is now an Islamic jihaddist; he is tortured, leaving the Middle East somewhat in disgrace, and his CIA superiors decide to expose and demote him to save face. Clooney's passport is taken and he becomes the fall-guy for the missing weapon and the failure of his last mission. He soon realizes that the Prince wishing democracy will be killed; his disenchantment with the CIA and U.S. aims in the region causes him to try and stop that event.

Allied with the targeted Prince is Matt Damon, a rather idealistic man who has now become the Prince's economic advisor after a tragic event obligates the Prince to repay Damon (and Damon's Geneva-based firm) in some manner. By his association with the Prince, however, the increasingly cynical and profit-minded Damon has placed himself unknowingly in great danger.

I won't reveal whether the Prince is killed, or Damon's character survives, or if Clooney stops the American-sponsored assassination of the Prince, or whether the suicide-boat bombers succeed in their mission--that's for you to see for yourself.

But I will reveal this: it's utterly compelling viewing. Don't get overly concerned about every little nuance of plot, or wondering overly-much about who is this guy?, or who is that guy? Just go along for the ride--everything comes clear in time. And the ride is an unusually interesting, thrilling one.

Directed and written by Stephen Gaghan (the real mastermind behind another film that was the finest of its year, Traffic, which also should have won Best Picture), Syriana raises some real issues about America's priorities and involvement in the Middle East, and whether, in the long-term, they're more detrimental than helpful. But it's not political in the blue-state/red-state sense, as some "message pictures" are. It's not preachy at all, helped out by its documentary-like feel, playing out objectively without the dreaded "mark of the screenwriter" contrivances that so plagued Munich.

It's intelligent, superior film-making for adults and thinking persons. Please check it out--we need more films like this as opposed to American Pie: Band-Camp. In a year filled with some perfectly dreadful, profit-motivated efforts, Syriana is a cinematic oasis in the film desert.

Why do I talk about so many old movies? Why not stick only with new releases?

Fair question, with a ready, multi-form answer:

1. There are an endless supply of old films that many people haven't seen. Too many people assume that old films, some of which are--horror of horrors!--in black and white (or even without talking! Say, what's that all about?) are dull, or archaic, or stupid. Well, they're not. Psycho remains one of the greatest horror films of all time; All Quiet on the Western Front, while a little dated in acting style, remains a powerful anti-war film. Old does not mean out-dated.

2. I have two children, and almost any film before 1960 can be watched with them without reservation. Even some modern PG-13 films have elements that a kid under 12 should probably not be exposed to--unless their parents want to have some awkward conversations afterward.

3. New films are so hit and miss nowadays, that many of them are basically no fun to write about. I started to watch Date Movie last night, but after laughing only once in the first 30 minutes, gave it up and moved on to a "real" film, Syriana (which, in my opinion, was the best picture of the year). If I was a critic that had to sit through crap like Hostel or Basic Instinct 2 every week, I'd just about go nuts.

4. And now the biggie: old films were made under the auspices of the "Production Code" which, by itself, lent itself, by necessity, to imaginative film-making.

Ever heard of "The Code"? Here's a brief history which might be more interesting than one might initially think.

Back in the mid-thirties, some persons were becoming disturbed by unsavory elements in film, not the least of which was Congressman Will Hayes. The Depression was in full swing, and while movies were still popular, no business was unaffected by those hard times. Movie moguls had to keep people going to theaters, and when some politicians threatened increasing over-sight of the mogul's product if the unsavory elements were not soon removed from film, they caved. Voila, the infamous Production Code, overseen by a martinet named Joseph Breen.

And one can see the influence right away. Prior to the mid-thirties, one might occasionally glimpse a naked female breast, or uncover a thinly-veiled homosexual reference, or watch a story with adulterous elements. That explains how DeMille got by showing Claudette Colbert's boobies in a milk-bath in The Sign of the Cross, or how the astute viewer with a functioning DVD pause button can basically see Maureen Sullivan's lady-business in the original Tarzan film, Tarzan and his Mate.

But soon, all that would be a distant memory. By 1936, there would be no more bare boobs--a little middle-cleavage was acceptable, but no under-cleavage; no nipples; no diaphanous gowns that showed the breast's full profile. Adultery and murder were acceptable only if the perpetrators were shown to suffer for their actions. Homosexuality was strictly verboten, which explains why William Wyler made films based on the Lillian Hellman play The Children's Hour twice: once after the code had been relaxed with the full homosexual plot in place, but during the pre-code days, the plot was changed so the illicit relationship was a heterosexual one. And language was clean--"hell" was frowned upon, and it almost took a papal dispensation to allow Clark Gable to utter the famous words, "Frankly Scarlett, I don't give a damn."

But something rather wonderful happened as a result. While a few films almost certainly suffered from the code--like Wyler's mentioned above--most were enhanced by it. Sex could only be hinted at, often in the most clever of fashions (witness Rhett Butler carrying off an unwilling Scarlett O'Hara up the stairs, cutting to Scarlett awakening with the biggest s--t eating grin in film history the next morning!). Films were uncynical and life-affirming, since evil-doers always paid for their crimes. The female breast was lifted and pushed together in more ways than one can count, but the resulting decolletage was sensual and enticing, hinting deliciously at what still lay concealed underneath. Four letter words barely existed, so other ways of expressing displeasure had to be devised. And violence was minimal--no hacked off heads and limbs; no blood-spatters striking the camera.

I won't pretend it should have stayed that way; by the early sixties films were bursting at the seams trying to explore more provocative themes. And in the sixties, when the code finally fell, it fell at the hands of some superior films: Bonnie and Clyde, The Graduate, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, and the 1959 Otto Preminger film Anatomy of a Murder. The victory was so complete that by 1969, almost anything was possible--even the winning of Best Picture by an X-rated film, as indeed happened with the release of Midnight Cowboy.

No, the code had its time and place, and though we'll never see the like of those old studio-made films again, their prudish legacy is a wondrous one for modern audiences, accustomed to gratuitous nudity and sexual content, the raining-down of "F-bombs" in even teen-movies, and the sick, sadistic ultra-violence used for entertainment (!) in films like the above mentioned Hostel.

I'm no prude--heck, some of my favorite films are rather disturbing and graphic, like Blue Velvet and Taxi Driver--but when the majority of releases seem to be "hard" PG13's (and, you know, you are allowed one "F-bomb" in a PG-13 film), and R's, I think there's perhaps something wrong. When every G-rated film is aimed solely at the under twelve market, and are almost always of the animated variety, I think something's wrong.

If Gone With the Wind was made today, I have a feeling there'd be plenty of bare butts and boobs, probably a torture scene involving a limb being hacked-off, at least three rapes, and the closing line modernized to "Frankly my dear, I don't give a flying f---!".

Now you know why I reveiw so many old movies.

What's so great about REAR WINDOW?

To my mind, this is Hitchcock's finest film: terrific suspense, great actors (James Stewart, Grace Kelly) and that wonderfully voyeuristic, vicarious premise: a laid-up guy with nothing but time on his hands spies on his many neighbors across the way and discovers that one of them has been murdered.

Why do I use the word 'vicarious'? Because we all know that, given the chance, we'd sure as hell do the same thing! And that's the charm of the film: by focusing on an every-man type like Stewart, in a situation all of us could relate to, Hitchcock and Co. absolutely make us believe in this story. Hell, 'our' character, in addition to being a voyeur who solves a murder, also gets to have Grace Kelly as his girlfriend! Who wouldn't want to relate to that guy?

I watched the first five minutes with my daughter today, pointing out all the little touches 'Hitch' uses to set up the story: it's the hottest day of the year; all the apartment building's windows are open; people sleep on the fire escape to escape the swelter; there's a dancer living across the way, and a love-lorn type, plus an unhappily married guy, a guy writing a song, a woman and her little dog.

But then the focus on Stewart begins: though he's shown reclining, he's not lounging like the others--you see, his leg's in a cast. Why? The camera lingers on a broken camera on a table; then an all-too-close up photo of a wreck in a car-race; and then a magazine cover. Simple: he's a professional photographer who was injured while taking pictures at an automobile race.

So much to tell the viewers, and yet so elegantly done with no dialogue.

Touches like this litter the film: the songwriter gets his inspiration and the melody dissuades the love-lorn girl from suicide; Grace Kelly absconds with the dead woman's wedding ring, flashing it to Stewart from the woman's apartment; Stewart uses his flash to blind the murderer and avoid becoming the man's next victim.

And it's all done in 2 hours on, basically, one set, with only about six people having any lines of dialogue in the entire film. The photography is great, too--that really saturated Technicolor of the fifties almost becomes a character in itself (it's the best-looking of all of Hitchcock's color films).

If you haven't seen it, and you want to see what old-fashioned, G-rated, classic movies were like--and want to discover how much more sexy and suspenseful they could be than modern films--then rent or Netflix it today.

And after that one, get Strangers on a Train, my other favorite Hitchcock film (it's a close call between that and North by Northwest, but Strangers gets the nod for its more twisted and cynical plot). You won't be disappointed. In this case, it's absolutely true that "they don't make 'em like this anymore."

Today is the official release date for UNDER CLOAK OF DARKNESS which doesn't necessarily mean much in practical terms since pre-ordered books won't arrive for another week or two, but still, it's a milestone for me for it signifies the closure of a project I began on a morning in April of 2004; a project I started almost on a whim, with no publisher, no agent, and not even a firm story in mind--just the idea of this intense, decent young man named John Apparite struggling to do the terrible things he must in service to his country (or, perhaps, in service to the Director, whichever influence is greater at any given moment).

But I DID know a few things I wanted for Under Cloak of Darkness:

1. It had to be a period piece. I wanted "us" versus "them" and only in the 50's and early 60's does one get that full flavor during the Cold War. As a lover of history, I really looked forward to absolutely cramming into the work as much 50's trivia, lore, tid-bits, and doo-dads as I could. From what the reviewers have said, I think I succeeded, for the most part. But there's always room for improvement, and in the second book, especially in regard to baseball and poisons, I think you'll eventually find I've exceeded what I did in the first one. One has to do that in a sequel, I think, to keep it interesting.

2. It had to have no set moral compass, just like "real life." No one is perfect; no one's motives are entirely pure, and that also had to come out. While there's good guys and bad guys in the book, the good guys aren't entirely all good, nor are the bad guys entirely all bad (even Viktor isn't 100% unsympathetic, since both his parents tragically perished in the siege of Leningrad). Apparite, I thought, had to be conflicted with what he was forced to do--what man, aside from a mentally-ill maniac (perhaps like Viktor?) would take true joy in the cold-blooded killing of others as a requirement of their job? I can't imagine any sane man would--and neither would John Apparite. I don't believe in assassin "killing-machines" as entertainment any more than I believe in Ed Gein-like serial killers as entertainment. Apparite might kill, but in a way it begins to wear on him; he realizes, I think, that it is beginning to lessen him as a man; as a human being. That, to my mind, is closer to reality.

3. It had to move quickly. Some reviewers have compared my plotting technique to that of a film's: fast-paced, action-oriented, with detailed visual-based descriptions (almost as if the tale was being seen on film), and so on. The reason it's that way is that, really, I'm more movie-oriented and -influenced than literature-oriented and -influenced. So when I wrote, I wrote the John Apparite movie that was playing in my head more than the, say, John Apparite book I formulated from other books I've read. But I like this style--it's reader-friendly and relatable, and though it's not "high-brow" (I'll never win a Pulitzer for it, that's for sure!) or scholarly, it seems to do the job. The book is meant to be read and enjoyed in a spirit of fun and adventure, not deliberately slogged through like Dostoevsky or Joyce.

4. It had to be technically accurate. I prepared for this by researching books and the internet to its full capacity, and while no man can be 100% accurate when expounding on such varied subjects as weapons, Isshin-Ryu karate, the Washington Senators, Italian meats and cheeses, and the restaurants on the Queen Mary, I don't think I did any worse than the next man. If anyone finds a factual error, let me know! I'd be happy to post and discuss it, and correct it for future editions.

5. Last of all, I wanted to have fun doing it--and I did. I wrote under no deadlines, no pressure, no outward motivation at all except that great writers' feeling of being compelled to tell a story. I can't think of a single word of this novel that I wrote while "blocked," or under some external force to complete the tale. When I wanted to write, I wrote. When I didn't, I waited until I did; waited until the story of John Apparite completed itself in my head and it forced itself out onto the paper.

But now the book is officially "out" as of today so I'm tracking my sales and preparing for signings and compiling press packets and arranging for newspaper interviews and writing this blog and speaking to writing groups and telling the tale of John Apparite, feeling all the while that he's become real, and that one day he will knock on my door and say, "Hey, what's this I hear about you writing a book about me?"

If he ever does, I hope I've done him and the Director proud.

My thanks go to all who helped me get to this point, and to all of you who have either bought, or are going to buy, my book. And please stop back here and post a comment, or write me via the web-site (www.imkoontz.com) and ask about Mr. John Apparite, or J, or the Director, or Viktor, or Hitch, or Standerton, or even Dr. Hoevenaers. Ask anything you want (you can also send e-mails to the address imichaelkoontz@yahoo.com) and I'll do my darndest to give you some kind of answer. Seriously--try me. And tell your friends!

All my best--

I. Michael Koontz