Amy Freed

Rickety wooden walk-ups, and the SF moneyed class, but mostly Julie Christie and George C. Scott -- two of the most architectural faces in film––epitomize the zeitgiest of the ’60s. In the lobby of the Fairmont Christie says to Scott, “Can't you tell I'm not wearing a bra?” The unself-conscious fetishism of the child-like free spirit is as much of its era as the glimpses of North Beach when it was an affordable neighborhood.

Great Noir with memorable San Francisco footage and backdrops. Madness and mayhem during market day. This time the hotel is the Saint Francis, and the hotel is hopping with crazed salesmen and salesladies. All room doors are open and the Manhattans are flowing. The picture features great shots of Nob Hill and Market Street from the second dawn of location filmmaking.

Gets under all emotional radars. A beautiful documentary about a homeless musician and the wild birds that he befriends. I saw some of the flock not too long ago down at Fort Mason. The bird's eye views of the roofs and characteristic tiered backyard habitats of the hills are stunning. The movie captures both the ambience and the human spirit of modern-day San Francisco.

Gordon Inkeles's short documentary about the life and times of some young North Beach belly dancers gives us San Francisco in the early 1970s, with its residual bohemian scene. The women are beautiful, and the dance sequence at the Embarcadero takes us back to some distant afternoon of youth and possibility.

I love this movie. One of the greatest pop-culture expressions of unconscious anxiety. Richard Chamberlain is the soft-eyed spineless agent of destruction. Set in the most beautiful of American cities, it's a cautionary tale for urban planners: The glass tower burns, not the old wooden neighborhoods.