This one looks kind of odd to me. I saw it a while back about a block from my workplace and it's an earlier vintage than I usually see. The finish seems strangely matte (to me, a Caddy needs to be souped-up, glossy and gleaming), but still, it's pretty sweet (if rather bulbous).  In 1938, some of the top films were "Jezebel" (starring the astoundingly talented Bette Davis ), the Alfred Hitchcock masterpiece "The Lady Vanishes," Norma Shearer in "Marie Antionette" and one of the truly most enjoyable films in history, "The Adventures Of Robin Hood" starring Errol Flynn. And the legendary Ella Fitzgerald had a #1 song that year with "A-Tisket, A-Tasket:" So come on, let's hop in that big boat of a car and hang out at a glamorous nightclub. After all, it's 1938 and it's Open Post, darlings! Photo Credit: AK

The fog lifts, the dead arrive, and Peckerwood throws a party only the afterlife could survive. By 10:45 the fog machines had unionized and refused to work without hazard pay. Candles hissed in protest. The chandeliers flickered like a dying Broadway star refusing to leave the stage. Outside, the wind howled through the magnolias like an ex-lover with opinions. Inside, The Midnight Manor opened its doors to the annual Peckerwood Halloween gala—a social experiment that asked: what happens when the dead are better dressed than the living? The valet was losing his mind. The first car that pulled up was a hearse. Bela Lugosi stepped out wearing Tom Ford and an expression that said he was above this, though he absolutely wasn’t. He swept through the foyer like a man expecting applause. Moments later, a red Tesla arrived and disgorged a congressman who insisted he’d been invited by “someone in communications.” Everyone silently agreed this was a cosmic clerical error. He spent most of the ni...

While watching Lee Daniels' new movie, "The Deliverance," I was struck by the three lead actresses, Glenn Close, Andra Day and Demi Singleton, by how believable they were as a troubled, but close-knit, family. In one key scene, Close, the matriarch, tends to her adult daughter's hair, played by Day, and in turn, Day tends to her pre-teen daughter's hair, played by Singleton, while they all half-watch "Valley of the Dolls" on TV and chat about their day. It's a brief, near-throwaway scene, but it felt so real, so casually lived-in, that it almost seemed documentary-like - but much fuller, juicier, as much of this movie is before the horror kicks in.  This one haircare scene, I think, exemplifies why "The Deliverance" works so well, even with its minor missteps. The actresses, especially Close and Day, give masterful, but not showy, performances; they're relaxed in their characters' skin in a way few actors are. Likewise, Daniels'...

She was born Lucile Vasconcellos Langhanke, daughter of Otto Ludwig Wilhelm Langhanke (sounds like she was as German-American, as I am) in 1906. Her childhood was not happy; her parents figured out very early that she could be a money-maker for them, so they pushed her into acting and basically kept her prisoner while she was funding their lavish lifestyle. Yet all she ever wanted was to be was a classical pianist. She practiced daily and she was very talented. In 1926 she was named one of the WAMPAS (Western Association of Motion Picture Advertisers) baby stars. She was in good company. Among her fellow awardees were Fay Wray (Mrs. King Kong), Dolores Del Rio, Janet Gaynor and some little nobody named Lucille LeSueur, who'd just been given a new name by MGM, Joan Crawford. Mary was professional and popular with filmgoers, well on her way to a very successful career.  Young Mary Astor (via Getty Images) In fact, when she was earning $2,500 a week, her parents graciously gave her an...

Better known as Bette Davis, Ruth Elizabeth Davis was born on April 5th, 1908, in Lowell, Massachusetts. Her parents separated when she was 15, and her mother took her and her younger sister to New York City to be a portrait photographer. Surprisingly, Bette faced a lot of rejection at first after making her way to Hollywood. One studio considered terminating her contract because they didn't find her particularly interesting or memorable. A cinematographer disagreed, saying he thought she had lovely eyes, and they decided to keep her. It was a slow start. Later, she recounted how modest and virginal she had been, a true Yankee girl not ready for the racy world of cinema. After six films that failed to attract attention, she was let go and was heading back to New York when actor George Arliss chose her as the lead in The Man Who Played God, 1932. It was her big break; she was signed for a five-year contract with Warner Bros. and remained there for 18 years. Her career might have sta...