From Russia with Love (1963) and The November Man (2014)

Sean Connery-era classic Bond “From Russia With Love” (1963) is unapologetically mean, early 1960s fun and danger, crude indeed, the absolute best of the 007 series as our hero knowingly enters a trap to snatch a top secret Enigma-code like device from the Russians. 

Except it’s not the Russians setting the trap, its SPECTRE, the terrorist group led by an unseen Blofed and fronted by a blonde thug (Robert Shaw) who seems to embody a Hitler Youth fantasy and a madwoman fascist (Lotte Lenya) with a steel-toe kick. Connery nails the film without lifting an eyebrow or breaking a sweat. His train car tussle with Shaw is one of the best fight scenes ever, and “Russia” only gets better with a boat chase, a helicopter terror hunt, and a finale inside a hotel room. It’s perfect cool. 

Now, later Bond man Pierce Brosnan goes all wrong in the forgettable, drab “The November Man” (2014) as a professional assassin who trains his protégé to never fall in love and birth children, and then secretly… well, you know. Right? I mean, here’s a spy film where you can guess every next spy-plot twist and sit back and watch it. Yawning. Brosnan is too good for this.

Russia: A November: C-

The Great Escape (1963)

Watching World War II action/drama “The Great Escape” -– based on fact, highly dramatized, three hours long -- has a new, unshakable tinge of sadness that did not exist during my childhood viewings. The entire principal cast has now passed, with Richard Attenborough and James Garner dying earlier this year. The true story: In 1944, 250-plus Allied prisoners attempted the most brazen escape from a POW camp ever known, with hundreds of minds and hands and three tunnels dedicated to infuriating Hitler’s military machine. Director John Sturges has made a near classic, even if it whiffs far too sanitized even for 1963. Attenborough, Garner, Steve McQueen, James Coburn, Donald Pleasence, and Charles Brosnan play the master escapists. Two hours document the dirt and work, the final rousing hour focuses on border runs. Pleasence’s forger is still my favorite hero of the bunch. The motorcycle chase with McQueen is exciting as hell, all stunts, no CGI. This kind of epic -– gifting character development and attention to process -– exist no longer. In Michael Bay’s world, it’s all flash and bang. Another sad passing. A-

Jason and the Argonauts (1963)

“The greatest film ever made.” Says Tom Hanks of “Jason and the Argonauts.” Damn it, he might not be right, but he’s not far off. How can you argue? This is absolute movie magic beauty: Giddy childish wonder watching wide-eyed as a group of men take on the gods and battle skeletal beings risen from the ground, all for honor. The director is Don Chaffey, but this is Ray Harryhausen’s gem: The special effects guru dreamed up those skeletons and the myriad giants and monsters and living ships that make up this classic. Screw CGI, this is the stuff of a boy (and girl’s) deepest imagination. The plot veers way off the Greek religious record as Jason (Todd Armstrong), lost son of a dead king, captures the Golden Fleece to –- unknown to him -– reclaim his rightful throne in an adventure that should spawn 100 sequels. Along the way, Jason finds a ship, Argo, brave warriors, and adventure and love, and monsters, and I will stop. Ditch Jason. The hero is Harryhausen. Dig those skeletons battling men to the death. This is what it meant to be young in 1963! A

The Lord of the Flies (1963)

“The Lord of the Flies” is a surreal yet documentary-like, micro-budgeted stark black-and-white staging of William Golding’s novel of children stranded on a Pacific island, left to their own wild imaginations and ultimately violent tendencies. As with the book, this is a stellar display of that animal (weak or cruel) inside all of us, and the great lie of childhood innocence. The boys here set out to mimic adults, and they do well at it. Look at the body count. There’s something about director Peter Brooks’ wonky sound-recording and often haphazard cinematography that makes this feel less like an adaptation that a capturing of the novel, from the nonsensical dialogue the children trade in, to the “take my ball home” with a slice of pulverizing violence. Brooks funded much of the production, having the cast live on an island for real. Genius. Daring. Hugh Edwards breaks hearts as Piggy, the boy who trusts too much, while Tom Chapin terrifies as Jack, the monster who feels it’s his God-given right to rule the weak. Very modern Republican. At 50 years old, “Lord” is still a tough watch as anything recent, including the tepid 1990 remake. A

Charade (1963)

This. THIS is what “Tourist” -– the dull-flat romantic caper with Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie -– wanted to be, and failed. Starring Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn, with assist from George Kennedy, James Coburn, and Walter Matthau, twisty-turny, tongue-in-cheek thriller/comedy “Charade” follows a new divorcee (Hepburn) whose Parisian rich ex-husband turns up dead before the legal papers can be signed. Woe for her, because $250,000 is missing, and the cops and the crooks know in their blood Ms. Hepburn has it. Enter Grant’s slippery admitted conman who switches identities quicker than he does clothes, and this film -– directed by Stanley Donen (“Singin’ in the Rain”) -– is a hoot of 1960s cool/suave. The turncoats, betrayals, and reveals are played for suspense and laughs, alternating one after the other, none better than when a parade of men stalk into dead hubby’s funeral, studying and abusing the corpse, making sure he’s dead. Grant is old enough to be Hepburn’s father, but the “ick” factor is joked away, with Hepburn on top, so to speak, even if some of the “you’re-just-a-girl” shtick is sexist. Doesn’t distract, though, from this cinematic shell game. Hepburn shines, as always. B+