A forerunner of North by Northwest, Alfred Hitchcock‘s Saboteur (’42) is about an innocent man (Robert Cummings‘ “Barry Kane”) suspected of arson, espionage and manslaughter, and is on the run from the bulls as he darts from one location to another.

Early on the handcuffed Kane shows up at a mountain cabin occupied by “Phillip Martin” (Vaughan Glaser), a blind but kindly and obviously wise and well educated older fellow. (Phillip’s distant European cousin was the blind, bearded hermit who showed kindness to Boris Karloff‘s Frankenstein monster in The Bride of Frankenstein.)

Phillip’s niece Pat Martin (Priscilla Lane) shows up, spots Kane’s cuffs and concludes he’s the alleged arsonist the cops are after. She takes Phillip aside and warns him about the “dangerous” Kane.

Phillip patiently explains to Pat that his blindness has left him with heightened perceptions, and not just in terms of touch, hearing and a sensitivity to aromas. He knew Kane was wearing handcuffs from the get-go, he tells her, because he could hear their slight clinking, but more importantly he can sense when a person is innocent or good of heart, and he knows without question that Kane is no saboteur.

In fact, several people whom Barry encounters during the first half of Saboteur not only believe in his innocence but help him to elude capture — the mother of a deceased burn victim, a cheerful truck driver, a troupe of circus performers.

Saboteur was shot between December 1941 and February 1942. Roughly two months after finishing principal photography, the big premiere happened in Washington, D.C. on 4.22.42. It opened in New York City’s Radio City Music Hall on 5.8.42. Here’s Bosley Crowther’s review.

After two or three days of radio silence about what actually happened to poor Jeremy Renner during that traumatic accident with his Snowcat, Collider’s Ryan O’Rourke has supplied some details.

What happened then? Renner was run over by the truck–sized Snowcat, treds and all, blunt force impact upon one of his legs or his chest or something. Possibly, one suspects, because he failed to secure the vehicle with the emergency brake. Or because the Snowcat had been taken possession of by Christine or HAL 9000.

O’Rourke:

WordPress tells me that I’ve written and posted 49,645 items and stories over the last 18 and 1/2 years. 18.5 x 12 = 222 months = 223 posts per month or 7.5 posts per day. This is why I revisit and repost from time to time. Figure half of what I’ve written is better than the other half, so just under 25,000 are possibly worth a revisit or reconsideration. Narrow these down to the real creme de la creme (roughly 20%) and you’re left with 5000 gold-standard riffs, reviews and articles. Well-written articles sometimes spark ideas for fresh takes. Part of the process.

I’m guessing that Romeo and Juliet costars Olivia Hussey, 71, and Leonard Whiting, 72, are being asked right now by their business managers and agents to think about submitting to psychiatric evaluation. Just a guess.

“Four aging pallie-wallies (played by Lily Tomlin, Jane Fonda, Rita Moreno and Sally Field) travel to Houston to watch their hero Tom Brady and the New England Patriots play in the 2017 Super Bowl.”

It’s important to understand that 80 for Brady (Paramount, 2.3) was produced by Brady, and that he also costars in it.

Pic was shot by the great (and in this instance slumming) John Toll (Almost Famous, Tropic Thunder, Braveheart, The Thin Red Line, The Last Samurai, Legends of the Fall).

There was only one acceptable reaction to the traumatic, life-threatening injury suffered last night by Damar Hamlin. Everything had to stop in terms of the game. Football and “the game must go on” stopped mattering. Anyone who so much as mentioned the concurrent question of whether the game would be replayed or forgotten about was all but beaten senseless by Twitter gorillas. The biggest such episode was triggered by a single tweet by veteran sportscaster Skip Bayless). It was unanimously suggested that Bayless needed to be cancelled, stomped upon, drawn and quartered, tarred and feathered, etc.

Hamlin is reportedly okay or at least stable, but when things appeared to be touch and go, his Buffalo Bill teammates were visibly distraught. I saw some weeping. Except — hello? — this mishap was a result of the normal playing of a football game. Football is intended to be the most violent professional sport of all, a game that routinely calls for brutal tackling, bruising, body-slamming. Players occasionally get hurt or even knocked unconscious, and nobody bats an eye when they do.

Hamlin suffered a cardiac arrest (it was a freak occurence) and was a heartbeat or two away from death, and was saved on the field by fast-acting medics. Thank God he survived, but the expectation of violence and the threat of serious injury…well, isn’t that partly why people pay to see football games?

Remember that climactic scene in Jerry Maguire when Cuba Gooding, Jr.‘s Rod Tidwell was knocked unconscious during a Monday Night Football game between the Cardinals and the Dallas Cowboys? Everyone was extremely anxious and concerned for Rod, and thank God he came to. But what if he hadn’t recovered and had slipped into some kind of coma? Would the game have been forgotten about out of respect for poor Rod and his wife and kids? Put it this way: If you were the screenwriter and Rod slipping into a coma was an irreversible plot point, would you have cancelled the game out of compassion for the poor guy? I honestly don’t think that would or could have happened in the world of 1996 and Jerry Maguire.

Hamlin’s physical survival is obviously the most important issue, but at the same time no one is allowed to even mention other aspects of this situation…no other considerations. Last night’s Twitter mood was unmistakable. If you stepped out of line and talked about anything else besides the paramount issue of Hamlin’s health, you were vermin and deserved to die.