A good year for women on film, as exemplified in new releases The Eyes of My Mother, Miss Sloane, and more
Matthew Lickona 5 p.m., Dec. 9
Alfred Hitchcock, slimmed down to the lightweight class (he's in best form as a light-heavy), tells a nothing tale about a debonair cat burglar who is forced out of restful retirement on the French Riviera. Hitchcock uses jewels as a sexual symbol in such a manner as to pass for sophistication in 1950s Hollywood (it is actually little more than adolescent smuttiness), and every once in a while he orders his shots into a catchy rhythm that passes for high style (it is just finger exercises). Cary Grant, Grace Kelly. 1955.