The Sugarland Express (1974)

I marvel at Steven Spielberg’s debut theatrical film: “The Sugarland Express,” a fictionalized take on an outlaw Texas couple (William Atherton and Goldie Hawn) on the run from hundreds of Texas cops as they seek their stolen toddler, now in state custody to an old couple out of GOP Weekly. Dad (Atherton) is just in early release from prison when Mom (Hawn) breaks him out comedy-like to get their boy, high-jacking an elderly couple’s car. She knows she’ll hold her baby. He knows they’ll die first, but he’s too in love to say “No.” Even the cop they take hostage feels bad for the duo. Forty years on, Spielberg’s film vibes with wonders – dig the scenes where we follow a tense screaming match via radio from inside a car, the camera roving about like a passenger, and the way he mixes in equal parts America’s outlaw romance and right-wing NRA types who shoot first and keep shooting. This is still timely. Hawn is so fantastically in the moment, and Atherton -– he found fame playing assholes in “Die Hard” and “Ghostbusters” –- is pure American Guy, stuck between choosing life and his blonde, and, well, there is no choice. Wife. A

Death Becomes Her (1992)

Before he got lost in stop-motion animated films, Robert Zemeckis made live-action movies that used jaw-dropper special effects to tell wildly fun stories. On the darker side was “Death Becomes Her,” a “Twilight Zone”-like satire about a beauty-obsessed actress (Meryl Streep), her former high-school rival (Goldie Hawn) and the sad-sack plastic surgeon (Bruce Willis) who comes between them. A creepily beautiful Isabella Rossellini plays a sorceress who gets between everyone, with a potion that promises eternal youth, with all its hiccups (take care of your body, she warns). I will say no more for those who have not seen this wicked tale, except to say Zemeckis has a ball showing how many times a person who cannot die can die. The script is barely skin deep, but the three leads are in top comedic form. Willis lampoons his “Die Hard” persona, sporting ugly sweaters and nerd glasses, and Hawn is gloriously Hawn, with a streak of evil. Steep opens the film with a hilariously bad musical number. B+