Fedora

Billy Wilder revisits the territory of his Hollywood Babylon classic Sunset Boulevard, with the same male lead (William Holden) in an almost identical role as a washed-up screenwriter trying to get to a reclusive and mysteriously ageless one-time screen queen in order to pitch her a comeback script. Story elements include Oscar Wilde's Picture of Dorian Gray and (off-screen) the many mad-doctor yarns of the 1930s and 1940s in which Boris Karloff messes about with Things We Were Never Meant To Know. Looks great in a brittle and glitzy 1970s way, as befits its scornfully depicted international-rich-white-trash milieu. Essentially it's a sombre but humanistic sermon on the hopeless worship of physical youth and beauty: as a medieval English writer put it, "who sows hope in the flesh reaps bones". A very relevant film for our narcissistic times, its only big flaw is that it's a mighty chilly piece of work, easier to admire than to love.