purrlgurrl

Honestly, I fell asleep. The narrative's pace is too slow to be suspenseful. Vikander's character is underwritten and opaque. Teiji, the photographer at the apex of the love triangle, is so uncharismatic her obsession with him is baffling. So is the fact that two young women are drawn to him. I guess his being a photographer is supposed to be enough to make him a darkly romantic, irresistible figure. Whatever.

The mystery of what happened to the other young woman isn't compelling. It sure couldn't keep me awake

I think the film's underlying theme is about guilt over things undone that resulted in harm to someone - the sins of omission rather than commission. But since I nodded off halfway through I'm probably wrong.

If you're a fan of long, pregnant pauses where the main character stares soulfully into the middle distance while nothing happens and nothing much is said, you might enjoy this.

If you do watch it, I suggest doing so with a big cup of strong, black coffee because without one, you could fall asleep, too.

Let me acknowledge right off that I'm a Boomer and this was the music of my generation - the soundtrack of my formative years that I listened to unceasingly. That said, this is a look back at that music through the rose-colored glasses of pure nostalgia, devoid of any objectivity. This music was hardly as influential as it's painted to be here. You can hear none of its influence in today's popular music, which is the child of hip hop and rap. Popular music hasn't been this "white" since the 1980s, except for country.

A little of this 60s influence lives on in adult alt-rock, but that's hardly today's mass market music. No, this was a music of its time and place, and that time has passed while the place seems to be filled now with geriatric former rock gods. Rock and roll wasn't forever, even though we Boomers were devoutly sure it would be. It's all but gone today except for aging tribute bands and the Rolling Stones, who seem to be planning to expire on-stage.

Nope, the Beach Boys don't stand up to comparisons with Bach. It wasn't art that was being created in the late 60s, it was top 40 singles and platinum selling albums. You can cut through the pretentiousness here with a knife. I kept thinking of a quote from the late Bill Graham about the Jefferson Airplane's artistic pretensions. To paraphrase Graham , he said something like every time they cross the street they think it's ballet. These used-to-bes still think it was all ballet.

The best film adaptation of a James M. Cain novel ever made (neither version of "The Postman Always Rings Twice" even comes close). The script, by Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler, is flawless. Wilder's direction is masterful. The cast is phenomenal, with Fred McMurray as a smart-talking but naive chump, Edward G. Robinson as a shrewd and relentless insurance investigator, and Barbara Stanwyck (her very best performance ever, IMO) as a scheming wife who wants her inconvenient husband out of the way.

The smartly-written dialogue still snaps and crackles and the suspense has lost none of its edge in the 70-plus years since the film was made. This is as fine a thriller as you'll ever see and a film that truly deserves being called a classic.