Canyon Passage. Jacques Tourneur’s 1946 Technicolor Western about life in frontier Oregon is now mainly known (if at all) as the film for which Hoagy Carmichael wrote “Ole Buttermilk Sky.” In fact it is, along with Robert Wise’s Blood on the Moon, one of the two most consistently underrated golden-age Hollywood Westerns, a shrewd character study of loyalty and weakness in which Dana Andrews, Susan Hayward, and the unfailingly interesting Brian Donlevy are all at their best and most characteristic. Gorgeous cinematography by Edward Cronjager. Very highly recommended, even if you think you’re allergic to Westerns (TT).

Rosemary’s Baby. Roman Polanski made his Hollywood debut with this 1968 screen version of Ira Levin’s horror novel about an innocent young couple (Mia Farrow and John Cassavetes) who fall victim to a coven of devil-worshippers led by their nosy neighbor (Ruth Gordon). The book, though cleverly conceived, is devoid of literary distinction, but Polanski, who also wrote the screenplay, succeeded in transforming Levin’s shabby little shocker (thank you, Joe Kerman) into a film of great tautness and elegance–without deviating so much as a millimeter from Levin’s ingenious plot. Marvelous supporting performances by Ralph Bellamy, Elisha Cook, and the gorgeously well-spoken Maurice Evans. Kudos to the Criterion Collection for recognizing its lasting excellence with a newly remastered, carefully restored DVD edition (TT).

The Little House Books: The Library of America Collection. The Library of America has just reissued Laura Ingalls Wilder’s autobiographical novels of frontier life on the American prairie, originally published between 1932 and 1943, in a two-volume slipcovered set edited and annotated by Caroline Fraser. These “children’s novels” are permanent classics of American literature. If, like me, you first encountered them when young but didn’t read them again until middle age, you’ll be astonished by how good they are–and how poetic. I miss Garth Williams’ lovely illustrations, but you don’t need them to appreciate Wilder’s gifts (TT).

Children of Paradise. Marcel Carné’s exquisite 1945 backstage romance about the world of nineteenth-century French theater, one of the few movies that aspires to the richness of a great novel, is now available from the Criterion Collection in a two-disc set larded with bonus features. The film itself, which is presented in a freshly struck, meticulously restored print, has never looked better. Says David Thomson: “It is the simple truth that Renoir or Ophüls would have been proud to sign this film.” See it now (TT).

Miranda Carter, Anthony Blunt: His Lives. Originally published in 2001, this comprehensively informed, smartly written biography tells the believe-it-or-not tale of the Cambridge graduate, distinguished art scholar, royal courtier, and not-entirely-closeted gay who spied for the Russians, then was stripped of his knighthood when Margaret Thatcher blew the whistle on the deepest and darkest of his secret lives. Carter brings off the near-miracle of being just sympathetic enough–Blunt was a genuinely tortured soul–without falling into the fatal mistake of whitewashing the evil that he did. Engrossing, enthralling, horrifying (TT).

Michael Holroyd, Bernard Shaw: The One-Volume Definitive Edition. This meticulously revised 864-page redaction of Holroyd’s massive four-volume biography, published in 1997, improves on the original by trimming away the endless digressions, putting the focus squarely on the complex relationship between Shaw’s life and work. Sympathetic but never hagiographic, Bernard Shaw strikes a proper balance between the major and minor plays, makes no excuses for the playwright’s totalitarian inclinations, and tells you everything you need to know in an unfailingly readable way (TT).

The Rise and Fall of Legs Diamond. Budd Boetticher’s 1960 portrait of an ice-cold sociopath (Ray Danton) is a high-velocity gangster film devoid of the slightest trace of sentimentality. Factor in Lucien Ballard’s knowingly old-fashioned cinematography and Leonard Rosenman’s letter-perfect score and you get one of the most satisfying B movies ever made (TT).

Louis Jordan 1938-1950 (Fremeaux & Associés, two CDs). Imported from France, a near-perfect selection of thirty-six 78 sides by the singer-saxophonist and his Tympany Five, the jumping combo whose hard-swinging brand of populist jazz helped to set the musical agenda for rhythm and blues and early rock and roll. Not to worry–most of the big hits are here (“Choo-Choo Ch’Boogie,” “Is You Is or Is You Ain’t My Baby,” “Saturday Night Fish Fry”). If Jordan’s joyous music doesn’t make you smile and/or pat your foot, you need an intervention, or maybe a lobotomy (TT).