Pennies From Heaven 1981 Poster
(Photo: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer)

Moviegoers who saw the Steve Martin musical Pennies From Heaven were pleasantly surprised by Christopher Walken’s athletic dance to the song “Let’s Misbehave.” But Walken trained as a dancer early in his career, and among his early jobs was a role in the Broadway musical Best Foot Forward with Liza Minnelli. Still fond of music and dance, Walken recently told me that his ambitious routine in Pennies From Heaven is among his proudest achievements.

Forbidden Planet lobby card
(Photo: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer)

The iconic spaceship in Forbidden Planet didn’t retire from show biz after the film wrapped. It was re-used several times on the MGM lot; most memorably in several episodes of Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone. And Robby the Robot, built at a cost of $125,000 for the film, later turned up in many TV shows (you’ll also recognize Marvin Miller’s voice as Robbie—he did the same duty for the famous robot on the series Lost in Space).

Pennies From Heaven 1981 Poster
(Photo: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer)

Even most rabid Steve Martin fans haven’t seen his 1981 musical Pennies From Heaven—it disappeared from theaters almost as soon as it opened, and it’s not even available on DVD. Here’s a rare chance to catch this dark, brooding tale of false optimism in the face of the Great Depression. Martin seems positively Fred Astaire-ish in the musical numbers; an amazing feat (feet!) when you consider he never took a dance lesson until a few months before filming started.

Rome: Open City
(Photo: Criterion Collection)

Rome: Open City helped change the way movies were made. It’s a gripping fictional story of Italian resistance fighters during World War II, but it has the look and feel of a documentary. Director Roberto Rossellini took to the streets to make the film almost as soon as Nazi tanks rolled out of Rome in 1945. The ruined buildings, the dusty vehicles, the worn-looking people in the background are exactly what you would have seen were you to walk the streets of newly liberated Rome.

Gregory Peck and Ingrid Bergman in Hitchcock’s Spellbound
(Photo: Criterion Collection)

Most film fans know that Gregory Peck’s spooky dream sequence in Alfred Hitchcock’s Spellbound was designed by the surreal artist Salvador Dali. It’s unforgettable as-is, but costar Ingrid Bergman later said the scene was originally planned to run for 20 minutes. Production stills show one excised segment in which the stars dance beneath a flock of grand pianos, hung from the ceiling.

Anne Francis (right) and Robbie the Robot
(Photo: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer)

Despite Forbidden Planet’s groundbreaking special effects, for at least half the audience the film’s most unforgettable visual effect was Anne Francis as Altaira, the daughter of Walter Pidgeon’s Dr. Morbius. Look closely at the scenes that take place in Altaira’s lush, colorful garden; for those shots, MGM re-used elements of Munchkinland from The Wizard of Oz, filmed on the same stage 17 years earlier.

I used to think of Facebook as a sort of friend to the friendless. Whatever its societal shortcomings, I reasoned, at least by redefining the term “friend” to mean “any being capable of hitting the ‘accept’ button on a computer screen” Facebook put friendship — or something like it — within reach of just about everybody, no matter how awkward, ugly, or generally unappealing they might be.

In other words, it was the perfect place for me.

But even that at-least-it’s-better-than-drinking-poison quality was dashed against the cyber-rocks of reality the other day when I opened my Facebook page and was slapped in the kisser by this stark accusation:

Note the presumptive nature of that second line: “You’ve been sending friend requests to people who don’t know you.” Well, how does Facebook know that? I am perfectly willing to accept that I may have been sending friend requests to people who don’t want to say they know me, but I’m not at all sure Facebook is in possession of all the facts in this matter.

Here’s how it works: Assume you’ve got a handful of Facebook friends. When you click on a friend’s picture, you get a list of all their friends, and next to each one is a big button that says,

Now, to me, that’s an invitation, right? Well, apparently not right. If you click that button and the person on the other end doesn’t know you from Adam — or doesn’t remember you from high school, or turns out to just be someone with a name similar to that of an old acquaintance — your would-be friend is asked the question: “Do you know [YOU!] outside of Facebook?” A “No” response sets off a screaming alarm at Facebook Headquarters in Palo Alto, Calif., prompting a sludge-covered hate note like the one that awaited me at my desk.

More insidious is the “People You May Know” notification that pops up just below the list of people asking to be your friend. Right now, at this moment, Facebook is tempting me to “add friend” Eric Clapton.

Well, I think Eric Clapton is awesome, but really, after what I’ve been through I’m not going to touch Eric Clapton with a 10-foot mouse.

Alas, Facebook wasn’t through with stripping away any vestiges of my positive self-image. First it wouldn’t let me leave the page until I checked off a box acknowledging the penalty for sending “Friend requests to people who don’t know me” — an act that sent my psyche flying back to third grade, when Mrs. Quinn made me stand in the corner for looking ahead in the reader. Then, Facebook directed me to another page, this one more harrowing than the first:

“These people,” the text declared, “haven’t responded to your request. Would you like to cancel these?”

And there, stacked 35 deep, was a roll call of people to whom I had extended the hand of Facebook friendship; all of whom had callously rejected me. If you’re reading this, you know who you are, and shame on you. But heartbreaking as it was, a darker, more soul-shattering truth lay beneath: At least one person on that list had punched the “I don’t know this person” button — most likely known internally at Facebook as the “Alert the authorities I am being stalked by a madman” button.

Was it an old schoolmate who had utterly forgotten me? Someone I’d worked with in a previous job (to be fair, most of them are journalists, and a good number of their brains have long since been fried)? Okay, Judi Dench was there, and I confess she doesn’t know me, but her contact was legitimately gotten off the “friend” list of a veteran columnist who had kindly befriended me, Facebook style. And anyway I doubt Dame Judi has the time or inclination to go blacklisting members of the public who try to befriend her. She seems nicer than that.

“Most people,” the notation at the top of the page continued, “cancel their pending friend requests to avoid being blocked from sending requests in the future.”

Sitting starkly at the bottom of the page was a button labeled “Cancel Requests.” I ran my eyes up and down the Judas List one last time. “Et tu, Brute?” I whispered, and hit the button.

Still, Facebook was not through with me. Yet another page of shame appeared on my screen.

“Remember,” it taunted, “you should only send friend requests to people you have a real-world connection with.”

That “real world” is, I suppose, far removed from the fantasy world in which I live; the one where old friends remember me, or where celebrities — who pretend to be my friend when I pay money to see their movies or buy their books — list themselves on Facebook because they actually want people to contact them.

I consulted the resident Social Media expert here in the office, and she explained to me that Facebook is lately trying to head off companies that use the site as a marketing tool, blanketing it with scurrilous “friend” requests. The poisoned dart of a pop-up screen I got is part of the campaign to root out Web evildoers. One way to try and avoid the blackball, she said, is to send a message along with each friend request, something to the effect: “Please do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.” Also explain who the heck you are.

I was hurt for a little while, and then I began to get mad. Am I crazy, or for the longest time didn’t we keep hearing from folks who were proud of their thousands of Facebook Friends? When Facebook was trying to elbow past My Space for web supremacy, I didn’t read any quotes from Mark Zuckerberg urging moderation in our friend-making pursuits.

The New York Times reported in 2010 that Facebook itself allows you to have “only” 5,000 friends. Really? Just 5,000?

Now, after forever cheapening the notion of a “Friend,” Facebook wants to walk it back. We ought to let them, really. We ought to demand it, actually.

I pored over the Facebook page where my friends are listed (283), and I’m satisfied that I know, or have at least met, all of them — and that includes my son’s cat Georgie Fruit (feel free to friend him). I took some solace in that, especially when after hearing about my bad morning my wife Carolyn wrote on my page, “I’m your forever friend — Facebook or anywhere.”

So who cares if I had to delete Judi? Who cares if Facebook banishes me to the Realm of the Facebook Friendless? I’ve got all the friends I need.

Streisand directed herself in the 1983 movie musical Yentl (photo by orionpozo)

One of the great what-if stories in Hollywood history has Elvis Presley turning down the starring role opposite Barbra Streisand in A Star is Born.

Well, although we never got to see an Elvis-Babs pairing (he would have been SO much cooler than Kris Kristofferson), Monday, April 22, brings the next best thing: Streisand on the same stage with the Elvis of presidents, Bill Clinton. He’ll present her with the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Chaplin Award in honor of her lifetime of achievement in the movies — an award that has been presented to the likes of Clint Eastwood, Alfred Hitchcock, Frederico Fellini … and Charlie Chaplin himself.

Streisand’s musical career is so legendary it’s easy to forget that, even if she had the singing voice of Andy Devine, she would be considered one of the foremost female filmmakers of the past half-century. She won a Best Actress Oscar for Funny Girl and was nominated for another in The Way We Were. She directed just three films — Yentl, The Mirror Has Two Faces, and The Prince of Tides — but they were nominated for a cumulative 11 Oscars.

Hollywood Royalty: John Wayne and Streisand backstage at the Oscars 1970 (photo by Alan Light)

Interestingly, in her 20 or so acting roles she’s only brought her singing chops to a handful of flat-out musicals, among them Funny Girl, Hello Dolly!, On a Clear Day You Can See Forever, and Yentl (A Star is Born has music, but it’s not really a musical). The rest of the time she’s been either profoundly dramatic (Nuts, The Prince of Tides) or else the way I like her best, the funniest woman on screen (The Owl and the Pussycat, What’s Up Doc?, and her recent, underrated comedy The Guilt Trip).

It used to be the norm, but these days there are only a handful of movie stars who give the impression they’ve just descended from Olympus. Streisand is one of them, largely because she rations her personal appearances like Scrooge parts with his coal, and because when she does appear, the attendant publicity is akin to a Papal pilgrimage.

Quite possibly, Streisand doesn’t need us all that much. She seems supremely happy puttering around Malibu with her husband of the past 15 years, James Brolin. She has a good relationship with her son Jason Gould — from her eight-year 1960s marriage to Elliott Gould — and even took him along as a duet partner on her 10-city concert tour last year.

Streisand with hubby James Brolin (photo by Lifescript)

And it’s not impolite to mention how terrific she looks. My chief criticism of The Guilt Trip, which is now coming to DVD, was that if you did the script’s internal math, her character would need to be somewhere in her early 50s. And of course, La Streisand had long since turned the Big Seven-Oh (she’ll be 71 April 24). But in the end I had to mute that complaint because, well, just look at her. More than a few newly minted AARP members would love to know her secret.

Well, here it is: She’s Barbra Streisand.

Also of Interest

• How to Defeat Space Aliens: A Moviegoer’s Guide
• 5 Surprising Facts About Leave It to Beaver’s ‘Lumpy’ Rutherford
• Join AARP: Savings, resources and news for your well-being

See the AARP home page for deals, savings tips, trivia and more

Still, as Tom Cruise proves in his new movie, Oblivion, it is surprisingly easy to fight back against space aliens. These classic sci-fi flicks provide an excellent primer in last-line-of-defense strategies against invaders from beyond the stars:

Teach Them Yoga

War of the Worlds (1953; 2005)

With those spindly arms and legs, the bending part comes easy to space aliens—but that deep, cleansing breath at the end of their first yoga session will kill them for sure. As we’ve learned time and again from every adaptation of H.G. Wells’ classic, to space aliens the microbes in Earth’s atmosphere are a silent but deadly air assault.

(Paramount Pictures)

Hit Them With a Baseball Bat

(Touchstone Pictures)

Signs (2002)

When all else fails, a good whack with a Louisville Slugger will stun a marauding space alien as effectively as any ray gun will, as Joaquin Phoenix discovers. It also helps to have the monster then stagger into an array of half-filled glasses of water, because the second lesson of Signs is that water will dissolve space alien skin faster than you can say, “Hey, careful with that water!”

(Tim Burton Productions/Warner Bros)

Give Them a Dose of Slim Whitman

Mars Attacks! (1996)

Do they still advertise Slim Whitman records on late-night TV? If so, insomniac space aliens are doomed: In this, the funniest Martian movie ever made, the seemingly invincible invaders fall prey to a recording of Slim singing “Indian Love Call.” Turns out the sound frequency of Slim’s yodeling makes their brains explode in a flourish of green goo. Very satisfying.

Chase Them With Flashlights

(Universal Pictures/Amblin Entertainment)

E.T. The Extraterrestrial (1982)

They arrive in a space ship the size of the Rose Bowl, but for some reason E.T. and his space alien buddies spend the first few minutes of the classic movie totally freaked out by the flashlights wielded by the federal agents who are pursuing them. In fact, E.T. seems to hate flashlights as much as he loves Reeses’ Pieces. Weird, since his finger is actually a little flashlight.

(Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer)

Fuhgeddabout ‘Em

Forbidden Planet (1956)

In this groundbreaking sci-fi classic, Walter Pidgeon discovers that the murderous alien monster is all in his head. If only he could stop thinking about the space alien, it would disappear. But the more he tries not to think about it, the more the thought of it eats away at his mind. It’s a lot like me and Dancing With the Stars.

Go Mano-a-Mano

(Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation)

Predator (1987)

If you really want to get under an Alien’s skin, throw down your high-tech weapons and put up your dukes.  That’s what Arnold Schwarzenegger finally does after nearly two hours of being pursued by this classic’s grotesque extraterrestrial villain. “Put ‘em up!” Ah-nold yells (or something like that), signalling a death match fueled by hefty doses of intergalactic testosterone.

(Edge City Films)

Throw ‘Em in the Trunk

Repo Man (1984)

They never really explain how the four space aliens in this off-beat sci-fi cult flick died, but one thing’s for sure: They turn up in the trunk of a 1964 Chevy Malibu. Of course, they also get the last laugh when the guy who stole the car (Fox Harris) goes insane from the radiation emitted by their bodies.

Just Leave ‘em Be

(Universal International Pictures)

It Came From Outer Space (1953)

One of the all-time great movie arguments on behalf of always taking a wait-and-see attitude is this space invasion classic, in which it turns out that the hideous eyeball-shaped aliens aren’t threatening at all—they’re just a bunch of bulbous beings whose ship broke down while passing by Earth. The hero (Richard Carlson) basically gets everyone in town to stand back and wait-and-see while the aliens change their tire, or whatever, so they can take off again. Just about the most passive solution ever concocted for a horror movie but, hey, whatever works.

Also of Interest

• 5 Surprising Facts About Leave It to Beaver’s ‘Lumpy’ Rutherford
• Jonathan Winters: His 5 Most Memorable Characters
• Join AARP: Savings, resources and news for your well-being

See the AARP home page for deals, savings tips, trivia and more

In the Nitrate Vault (photo by Bill Newcott)

I recently ventured into the hollowed-out Virginia mountain where the Library of Congress keeps copies of every movie, TV show, and sound recording that’s submitted for copyright. Officially, it’s called the the National Audio-Visual Conservation Center.

I call it Heaven.

Here are stored, in specially built vaults, the highly explosive nitrate prints of films made prior to the 1950s…historic videotapes, including the first-ever color broadcast…vinyl and shellac discs dating back to the days of Edison… and in a lead-lined vault that once housed America’s emergency money supply, prints of every single movie you can name from the past 100 years.

And yes, there really is a special room where custom-made robots do nothing but watch old TV shows, 24 hours a day.

Come along with me on this remarkable journey through time, led by the most dedicated bunch of movie/TV/music enthusiasts you’ve ever met.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Also of Interest

• ‘The Twist’ and ‘Sounds of Silence’ to Be Preserved by Library of Congress
• Annette Funicello: From Mouseketeer to Teen Idol
• Join AARP: Savings, resources and news for your well-being

See the AARP home page for deals, savings tips, trivia and more