If Bardot is a disappointment, it’s gotta be age

You know that you are getting old when Brigitte Bardot has become boring. Or maybe time has passed both of us.

As part of my Netflix.com membership, I have been reviewing the exciting films of my youth, most of which were originally viewed in the ultra-trendy Exeter Theater, just off Newbury Street in Boston’s Back Bay. With thousands of college co-eds in every store, classroom and singalong bar, those were the days, my friend. A few even went out with me.

Through Netflix.com, I rent classics through the mail and take walks down my misty memory lane.

One of the “breakthrough” films of my ancient youth was “And God Created Woman,” the 1956 classic by Roger Vadim, who, if memory serves, actually married Bardot. It took years for the film to reach Boston, where the censor’s office had legendary control over what we were allowed to watch,

When it finally came, (probably heavily edited), we all (at least I ) thought it was an erotic masterpiece. The French film opens with Bardot lying nude on the ground!

Naturally, I had that high on my “Rental Queue” on Netflix. When it arrived last week, I couldn’t wait to see it again. Sadly, it didn’t even pass the couch test. The problem I have these days is that I cannot stay awake long enough to view an entire movie, unless I start them at 10 a.m.

Even with the hot “mambo” scenes that might have been something in their day, I fell asleep twice during the Bardot classic and wondered why husband Michel (Jean Louis Trintignant) bothered to chase her all over town. .

But I am thrilled to report that other classics viewed during the past few weeks have stood the test of time. I think I saw “King of Hearts” at least 10 times in various theaters. I probably will see it 10 more.

The 1967 classic, directed by Philippe De Broca and starring Alan Bates and the luscious Genevieve Bujold, ran in Harvard Square for years. The whimsical plot takes place during World War I, when an English soldier (Bates) decides that a French insane asylum (that’s what they called it) makes a lot more sense that the battlefield. The fact that Bujold was in the asylum had a lot to do with his decision, one would presume.

In the good old days, there was no more romantic movie than “A Man and a Woman,” the 1966 classic directed by Claude Lelouch, that starred the stunning Anouk Aimee and the fortunate (again) Trintignant. The co-star of the film is the Mustang which racing driver Trintignant drives through the French surf, with suitably hypnotic music playing in the background.

That one passed the couch test.

My walk down memory lane was not restricted to French films.

The Japanese classics “Rashomon” (1950) and “Ran” (1985) by Kurosawa are as exciting today as they when they were made. You can’t fall asleep on these classics. They are simply too noisy.

One I missed during its original run was “Sunday, Bloody Sunday,” the 2002 documentary-style account of the slaughter of Irish demonstrators by English troops. Directed by Paul Greengrass and starring James Nesbitt and Allan Gildea, the film captures the sights and sounds of Northern Ireland so well that it took me a while to realize that it wasn’t a documentary.

I always think that “Godfather” is my favorite movie, unless I am watching “Apocalypse Now.” I could watch “Apocalypse” once a month for the rest of my life. The 1979 classic was directed, of course by Francis Ford Coppola. A frighteningly young Martin Sheen actually stands up to Brando and my favorite actor of all time, Robert Duvall. I still love the Playmates dancing to “Susie-Q” as the troops go insane. Duvall’s “I love the smell of napalm in the morning” is at least a top 10 classic movie line.

“Being John Malkovich” is so pleasingly bizarre that I can’t believe it was ever made.

My walk into the pleasant, misty past will now continue with “Clockwork Orange,” “The Third Man” and of course “Casablanca.” They are the latest on my “Rental Queue.”

I hope Bogie doesn’t disappoint like Bardot did.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.