Witness for the Prosecution. Billy Wilder. 1957.

Hey! Billy Wilder! Oh, yeah. I bought a box set some years ago and this is the only movie from that set I haven’t seen yet.

And it’s based on an Agatha Christie short story?

Charles Laughton, fatter than ever, is present, as is Marlene Dietrich and Tyrone Power. And Elsa Lanchester!

What! This is the 66th most top-rated movie on imdb? How odd. I haven’t heard of this movie.

This is really a throwback to screwball comedies from decades ago. The dialogue snaps and crackles, and there’s all these little uncommented-upon sight gags going on in the background. It’s really fun!

But when the movie disappears into the courts, the it loses some sparkle. It devolves into a quite amusing TV courts drama, but that’s a bit of a disappointment.

On the other hand, it’s such a simple, straightforward movie that all the expected unexpected twists and turns feel comfortable and strangely satisfying.

It does what it does extremely well. Best in class.

Aw shucks.

He just can’t stay mad!

I’m pensing! I’m pensing!

All work and no play.

OK, I can’t watch this.

Or… OK… I’ll give it ten more minutes.

OK, I gave it ten more minutes but it didn’t help.

Even Money. Mark Rydell. 2006.

This is the night of DVDs which I have no idea why I possess: So here’s the most befuddling one. I have two copies of this DVD. But why! Do I have even one?

This has like all my least favourite actors, like Kelsey Grammer and Forest Whitaker. And, OK, Kim Basinger.

And it has Tim Roth, who I like quite a lot.

And by a director I’ve never heard of but who namechecked himself like a dozen times before the movie started.

Hm… Oh, he did On Olden Pond. That wasn’t very good.

OK… perhaps… I received these DVDs as packaging? Did I mean to buy something called something vaguely like “Even Money”?

Oh god. This is about sports.

I watched the first fifteen minutes, but this is the worst thing ever, so I’m bailing.

I’m going with the “packing material” hypothesis.

Sunday Bloody Sunday. John Schlesinger. 1971.

There’s a few movies I have that I have no idea why I’ve bought. Some of these may just be things I’ve picked up at random at sales, but not this one, I think.

From the name of the movie, I’m assuming it has something to do with the Irish Problem.

John Schlesinger… the name sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

Ah! Midnight Cowboy and Marathon Man. I’ve seen those. Otherwise not a lot from his career…

Oh! It’s not about the IRA at all.

This is intensely late-60s British: All muted browns and greens and beige. Everything’s so outrageous: Older women (and men) having affairs with young hunks; children smoking pot; rubbing cigarette ashes into carpets.

The woman looks awfully familiar. Glenda Jackson. I feel like I must her a gazillion times, but looking at her imdb, I’m getting nothing. Perhaps The Music Lovers? Or perhaps a TV series of some kind?

So now that I know what the genre is (at 20 minutes in), I’m making this prediction: The gayest one will die, and the two other ones will have learned something deep about their own lives.

OK, enough with the cynicism: Even if the script feels like a random walk of Pressing Issues, it’s difficult not to be entranced by some of these scenes. The performances are marvellous. The cinematography is… er… clear: We’re being shown things in a most didactic manner. And the phone service thing to tie everything together is quite clever.

And spoiler: my prediction was totally off the mark. This is a really good movie.