Dear readers, please note that Popcorn & Prejudice is going on hiatus while its CEO (that would be me) takes a little vacation. I'll be back on November 16, rested and refreshed and ready to make all manner of comments about Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart and why neither of them seem able to keep from looking mildly nauseated in "Twilight" -- and, possibly, in "New Moon." And where am I going? Well, let's just say that a favorite movie of mine was partly shot there, and I'll feature it when I get back and finally get around to launching Hat Movie Week. In the meantime, think about your favorite movie hats. There will be a quiz. Well, no, there won't.

(This means, alas, no more "Mad Men" blogs, as the season ends in two weeks, before I return. Talk amongst yourselves, and thanks for all the great comments about the show.)

And one last topic, before I vanish: Today Variety reported that Ricky Gervais will host the Golden Globes; yes, the same Ricky Gervais who yelled at Kate Winslet from the podium something to the effect of "I told you that if you do Holocaust movies, the awards will come!" last year. The Golden Globes are always fun to watch; they just, to my mind, got even better. Over at the more staid Oscarcast, the job of producing the show has just been given to studio exec Bill Mechanic and director/choreographer Adam Shankman ("Hairspray," "Bedtime Stories"). Shankman's a former dancer who frequently judges "So You Think You Can Dance," so we can expect a fairly dancey show.

But who will host? Though there's no official comment, I'm hearing buzz that Hugh Jackman won't be back. Could be wrong -- buzz sometimes is, you know, just buzz -- but if that's the case, who would you like to see host the Oscars? I've long thought that Lily Tomlin, so engaging when she presented an award with Meryl Streep a few years ago, would be perfect, and of the recent Oscar hosts my favorite is probably Steve Martin. (In just a few seconds in last year's show, Martin stole it, interrupting Tina Fey mid-sentence with a stern, and wonderfully random "DON'T fall in love with me!") So why not have them host together, in an "All of Me" reunion? (Seen "All of Me?" Go rent it. It's great.) But who do you think? Somebody younger? Somebody more serious? George Clooney? Should we just give in to the inevitable and have Pattinson and Stewart host the damned thing?

Have a nice chat, see some great movies (I loved "An Education," coming to Seattle Nov. 6) and enjoy some popcorn; I'll be back in a few weeks. For now, so long . . .

Sorry. Couldn't resist. Later.

So, yesterday I went to the "West Side Story" sing-along at Cinerama, went home and made a steak dinner, then watched "Mad Men." Clearly all I needed to complete this retro-'60s day was a girdle and a martini.

And oh, what an episode, focusing on Joan, Roger, and Don/Betty. Joan first, because she's such a welcome sight: How heartbreaking is it to watch her coaching her sad sack husband in interview techniques, and to try so desperately to keep encouraging him when things inevitably go badly? And did you cheer when she finally, in frustration ("have YOU ever wanted something and didn't get it?"), whacked him with a vase? I did. This led to a wonderfully layered phone conversation with Roger, and the reminder that nothing those two say to each other is remotely what it seems on the surface. I think Roger, to the extent that he can, truly loves Joan, but more on that in a minute. Meanwhile, Joan's useless hubby (whose name I keep forgetting, because I just want him to go away, but it's Greg) has hit on a brilliant solution: He'll join the Army, and be a military surgeon (because apparently the military doesn't care if he's all thumbs), and maybe have to go to Vietnam eventually "if anything's still going on there." Hmm. I hope Joan has a lovely black dress ready.

Roger, that scamp, was reunited with an old flame -- Annabel, a dog-food-company heiress and former client -- who long ago broke his heart. He's never forgiven her, and because of that we saw him reject her advances; not, I think, because of Jane (who Annabel amusingly dismissed as "a teenager"), but because he's still holding a grudge, rather than a torch. That torch, I think, is for Joan; notice how his voice and demeanor changes when he talks to her -- he seems to be trying, in spite of himself, to behave a little better -- and how this show's laziest and most self-absorbed character is busy making phone calls on her behalf, speaking of her with real affection and respect. Joan has too much pride to ever leave her husband, but Vietnam just might settle that question; I think we haven't seen the last of Joan and Roger.

And how right that it was Halloween when Don's mask was finally, irrevocably dropped. Betty confronted him with his Pandora's box of secrets, and we watched Don become Dick before our eyes; all smoothness melted away, and he was suddenly an insecure lost boy with fumbling fingers (Don Draper would never, ever drop a cigarette, but Dick Whitman would) and uncertain words. He tried to explain, a furious Betty tried to listen, and the two had a moment of genuine connection: when, clearly overcome with emotion, Don told her of his role in his stepbrother Adam's death. Beautiful, beautiful work here by Jon Hamm and January Jones; I'll be turning this scene over in my head for a long time. I love how we're finally seeing Betty in a position of power (note how, at her father's house, she sat at the desk, clearly in charge), and that she doesn't know quite what to do with it. Their tentative exchange in a later scene -- "Do you want something?" "Are you having anything?" -- hinted at, perhaps, a tiny step toward a reconciliation, and their perfect-family Halloween outing was certainly lovely to look at. But what would Betty have done if she'd known that MIss Farrell was in the car for the entire time she was confronting Don? And have we really seen the last of Miss Farrell?

Best random moment of the episode: Peggy, being told to "turn off" the dog-food focus group: "I can't stop it. It's really happening." (I think that's what she said; did I remember the line right? It seemed, like so many other lines on this show, to describe so much more than what she meant.) And, bravo to director Jennifer Getzinger, who established a remarkable tone of tension mixed with poignance in this episode, particularly from the moment Sally surprised Don with a "Hi, Daddy!" in the dark entry hall.

And what did you think of this tale of gypsies and hobos, choices and consequences, lies and truth? Do tell.

Everyone's favorite cad (including Joan's?): John Slattery as Roger Sterling; photo by Frank Ockenfels, courtesy of AMC

I'm going to re-watch "Psycho" this weekend; it's been a while, and maybe the best way to get those screechy violins out of my head is to immerse myself in them. And that gets me thinking a bit about horror remakes. Why do they never work? Remakes aren't necessarily disasters (though my dear Dad disagrees with me, I think the recent "Ocean's 11" is way better than the original), but in the horror genre, they usually are. The "Psycho" remake was sort of an interesting idea, maybe, but didn't fly at all; the remake of "The Haunting" from a few years back was a mess; and nearly all of the recent Japan-to-Hollywood horror flicks ("The Grudge," "The Ring," "The Eye," etc.) have suffered in translation.

Here's one that didn't: "Dark Water," originally a Japanese film directed by Hideo Nakata and then an American remake directed by Walter Salles, works just fine in both languages. It's a stylish, cerebral film whose scares lie in anticipation -- in what we think we're going to see -- and in the way that something simple, like unexpected water, can be terrifying. I'm not sure if the Japanese version ever got a U.S. release (I remember seeing it at the Seattle International Film Festival, maybe six or seven years ago), and I think the American version, which starred Jennifer Connelly and John C. Reilly, was too subtle to find a wide audience. Either one's a good bet, if you're looking to be scared this weekend.

And, while we're on the subject -- any horror remakes that you've liked? Surely I'm forgetting something decent. Any horror movies that seem ripe for a smart remake? Anything else scaring you? Happy weekend, all.

Here's the U.S. "Dark Water." It's been a few years since I've seen it, but I remember that dank apartment very well; creepy, creepy stuff.

Wow . . . lots of great suggestions yesterday and the day before, and I'm sure all of this has nothing to do with the fact that I couldn't sleep a wink last night. Or maybe it was that snake on the cover of the Times the other day. (To the person who wondered about the French film "With a Friend Like Harry" -- yes, it's very good and very creepy, with Sergi Lopez as a, well, snakelike "friend" who's clearly too good to be true.)

So yesterday, I was talking to a friend who had never seen "Psycho," and trying to urge him to watch it for his Halloween scary-movie-night ritual. Not sure if I convinced him, but it's always fun to think about Hitchcock's classic. I found a Hitchcock wiki today that had the transcript for a documentary about the making of the film (available on some editions of the DVD) and it was full of interesting tidbits.

On how the plot was kept secret:

Joseph Stefano (screenwriter): Hitch's feeling about the movie was that it had to be kept secret. That the fun of it, the magic of it would exist in your not knowing the truth about the story. Up until the last moment, you had to believe that the mother was alive. Therefore, he didn't want me to discuss the script with anybody. Didn't want anybody talking about it. I don't think many people knew what we were doing really. My friends knew I was working on a movie with Hitchcock, but they didn't know what it was. Had no visitors on the set. It was a very closed shop, and that was the way he wanted it.

And he decided that if he spread some rumors about casting the mother in the movie, this would simply solidify it, certainly amongst the Hollywood people. They were the ones he was most worried about... because if they knew what the story was about, then the public would find out. So he did get word around that he was looking for someone to play Anthony Perkins' mother, and the agents piled on with their suggestions. So it was a hoax that worked to the benefit of the picture and to the benefit of the audience who would ultimately be seeing it.

On Janet Leigh's body double for (part of) the shower scene:

Hilton Green (assistant director): We were one of the first to ever work with a nude photo double. That was all a secret, hush-hush thing. There were signs on the door, and we never allowed a visitor in.

Joseph Stefano (screenwriter): Hitchcock wanted a nude model because he felt that a person who was naked professionally would be easier to deal with than an actress who had no experience being naked in front of hundreds of people. And he brought in a nude model, a very nice young lady. It was quite charming to see the two of them standing there talking. Hitchcock here and the naked girl there.

On those creepy stabbing sounds:

Janet Leigh: The sound that they used for the stabbing... He had the propman bring different melons, and, you know, he would stab the melons. Mr. Hitchcock wasn't looking, but he knew what each one was, and he said, "The casaba."

On the decision to allow no one into the theater after "Psycho" had begun:

Peggy Robertson (assistant to Hitchcock): In New York, some journalists thought, we'll show this is just a publicity stunt. So they got hold of a woman who was pregnant and coached her what to say to the manager with her so-called husband. He went in and said, "Look, my wife is pregnant, you can see, but she wants to see Psycho. Let us in, now that the picture's started. Please, sir." So the manager said, "I'm very happy for you that she's pregnant, sir, but we can't allow her in the theater. She's perfectly welcome to sit in my office until the next program starts, but you can't come in in the middle of the program." And that was true. They carried it out. Of course, you had long lines photographed by people, people waiting to get in, which was very good.

And here, just for fun, is the delicious "Psycho" trailer, with Hitch himself giving a tour of the Bates Motel. Watching Hitchcock's hands alone is almost as much fun as the movie.

Great conversation yesterday, even if you all reminded me of a few scary movies I'd rather forget. (I thought I'd succeeded in erasing "Audition" from my mind -- not because it's bad, but because it's too good at what it does -- but it's baaaack. Thanks a bunch.) A few favorites of mine, from among those named: "The Innocents" (the wonderful 1960s version of "The Turn of the Screw," with Deborah Kerr); "The Birds" (which gets overshadowed by "Psycho," but has some scenes as scary as anything I've ever seen, particularly when the birds get really quiet); and the Nicole Kidman thriller "The Others" (very influenced by "The Innocents," and very scary). A few that weren't mentioned: "Rosemary's Baby," anyone? "The Omega Man" (suggested by my editor)?

So, let's take a poll. Here are the most mentioned classic scary movies from yesterday; vote for your favorite:

Belen Rueda, getting scared (so will you) in "Orphanage." (Photo courtesy Picturehouse.)

We'll talk more about scary movies tomorrow (keep 'em coming!), but those who know me or read this blog know that I absolutely can't resist any excuse to mention the great Julie Andrews. She was given an award last night at Elle magazine's Women in Hollywood tribute, and she was of course gracious and funny and practically perfect in every way.

On working with her husband (Blake Edwards): She described how once when he was directing her during a love scene, he told her, "That was just fine, darling, but I know you can do it better."

On being nervous at the podium, even after all these years: "I'm wondering if you can see through my gown," she said. "I'm wearing a Spanx and pop socks and God forbid you happen to see all that."

(No, I don't know what pop socks are. But if the great Dame Julie is wearing them, they're OK.)

But first, a scary story: Yesterday, my hard drive died. (In a fascinating trifecta, it died at the same time that the Times phone system briefly went offline and my cellphone announced that its battery was spent. Which meant that, for one brief shining moment, I was utterly unreachable. This was surprisingly thrilling, though brief.) Anyway, said hard drive has been dying slowly, over several weeks, and I finally got fed up with the glacial pace and summoned the assistance of a nice tech guy named Jason, who took a look, frowned, and said, "This is generally an indicator of doom." He then took my computer apart, showed me where things were weirdly leaking, and took the hard drive out and let it dangle outside the box, like guts on a zombie. I asked, trying not to betray too much emotion, whether it could, as its final act, save the Nick Hornby interview I'd been writing up. He said "maybe" and we stood and watched it for a while, like the next of kin standing over a hospital bed while a ghostly white invalid summons his last moment of strength to initial the new will. And then, it was over.

Anyway, Halloween is coming, and just a few strains of Bernard Herrmann's "Psycho" score heard on the radio the other day kind of freaked me out (there's going to be a few fun "Psycho" screenings next week at Benaroya with live accompaniment by the Seattle Symphony, did you know?), and got me thinking about scary movies. So often, what affects us about scary movies is the setting and mood in which we see them. If you watch a movie in your living room, with bright lights and telephone interruptions and cats jumping in and out of your lap, it might not seem very scary; even a horror movie in a theater, if you go feeling skeptical, can just seem silly. (This happened to me with "The Blair Witch Project.") But in the right mood, some movies can terrify.

I think of "The Shining," which I saw long ago when I was an undergraduate, at a late-night screening at the Harvard Exit. Three of us took the bus up the hill to the theater, all giggly and nervous and not quite sure what to expect except something scary. And -- well, I will never forget how much that movie affected me, with its endless hallways and creepy music and slow depiction of violent madness, and how everything seemed strange and terrifying on the ride home in the dark. The friends with me, still dear friends to this day, probably still remember that night as well. (Katy and Sally, are you reading this? Do you remember? "Redrum! REDRUM!") If I saw "The Shining" on TV today, it probably wouldn't affect me much; indeed, just this clip seems fairly tame out of context. But oh, those twins haunted me years ago:

So, let's talk about scary movies, and the circumstances that surround them. What's your favorite? Do you think it would scare you in a different setting? What scene has truly stayed with you? (That final grab from the grave in "Carrie"! Janet Leigh in the shower! You tell me . . . )

Oh, my. After teasing us a few episodes ago with a shot of Betty absently rattling the locked drawer on Don's desk (as if it's something she routinely tries), laundry day brought a bonus: the key, in Don's robe. Pandora, of course, promptedly opened the box, and while she can't entirely understand Don's secrets, what's immediately obvious to Betty is that she's not, as she had thought, the first Mrs. Draper. And, because "Mad Men" is all about the slow burn, we didn't get a confrontation scene, even thought Betty was clearly fired up for one: Don spent the night blathering about colors and the like with his angelic grade-school-teacher lover, and Betty finally put the box back where she found it and went to bed. And sat, looking beyond perfect (as she always does at her most angry), at the Sterling Cooper anniversary party, silently pondering her next step.

So, we're about to learn what Don is like when he's uncovered. His secret is known by at least two people at work (Bert and Pete), and now it's out at home, or at least partly so. And clearly he's feeling haunted by his past; the helping hand he extended to Miss Farrell's brother was clearly tinged with guilt for abandoning his own brother, two seasons ago.

This was a busy episode full of plot (those who complain that nothing happens on this show must have been quiet last night). Sterling Cooper, we learn, is for sale -- and of course, we were reminded that Don is now under contract, and may soon see his own worst nightmare: being shackled to a new and unknown boss. We saw a bit of Paul's work techniques, which are about what we might have expected. (Am I alone in thinking that Michael Gladis is overplaying this role, just the tiniest bit? Paul is, of course, a pompous, theatrical twit, but he doesn't always entirely ring true to me; I think Gladis needs to pull it back just a hair. Normally I wouldn't even make such an observation -- subtlety in TV acting being the rare thing that it is -- but the caliber of acting on "Mad Men" is so uniformly high, you notice somebody being just the littlest bit off.) We saw, again, how Peggy does that Don trick of getting into a sort of ad-speak trance and voicing brilliant ideas off the top of her head (and, in the funniest moment of the episode, Paul staring at her with a how-did-you-do-that puzzlement). We noted that MIss Farrell, who surprised Don by turning up on his commuter train, just might be a bit of a stalker. And we saw Betty watching Carla watching Betty, and the entire Draper household wondering who that hang-up call was. (I think it was Miss Farrell. If Sally acquires a bunny in the next episode, watch out.)

No Joan (but she's back next week!); no Sal; no Pete. Though it drives me crazy, I love how this show rations out its storylines. In the preview for next week, we see Betty packing a small suitcase. Is she leaving? How could she possibly fit even a few of her crinolines into a suitcase that size? Stay tuned; I can't wait.

Call it "Mad Women." Betty, as noted, always looks her best when at her most furious; this is the night she went to the Jimmy/Bobbi party in Season 2, suspicious (rightly) that Don was having an affair. (Photo courtesy AMC.)