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So, what of A Matter of Life and Death? This wartime romantic fantasy, released in 1946 and a film with the unique privilege of being the first ever Royal Film Performance (meaning that the royal family of England, not as seemingly irrelevant then as they may be now, saw the film first, elevating its status instantly), provides that inexplicable feeling, the knowledge that you're in the throes of a great movie. I'll go further: I'll wager that A Matter of Life and Death is one of the most assured, most charming, most entertaining movies I've ever seen. The irony, as always, is that you probably haven't seen the movie (and if you have, you know what I'm talking about, in terms of the many delights the movie has to offer). If I haven't convinced you to see the movie by the time you're done with this review, I'm not sure what can be done for your film-going knowledge.

In general, though, it's taken me 25 years and change to come to the realization that there may be no greater pleasure in the life of the filmgoer than to watch a film from the Archers. What impresses me most about their films, this one included, is that these are the movies that people should think of when lamenting why filmmakers don't make movies the way they used to. A Matter of Life and Death did not break the mold; it is the mold. This is the movie that epitomizes what defines classic filmmaking. The stylistic flourishes Powell and Pressburger devise are present in all aspects, and yet are never in-your-face choices. What's most impressive here is that A Matter of Life and Death could easily have suffered from an overwhelming amount of whimsy, but it always skirts the line well.

The movie opens with a tense and somehow sweet sequence in which the two main characters meet cute, as Roger Ebert would put it, in the most unlikely situation: the female lead is June, a cheery and cute radio operator from Boston working in Britain during World War II. The male lead is Peter, a Royal Air Force squadron leader who expects to be dead in about five minutes. His plane has been shot at, all but one of the squadron have parachuted to safety, the other man is dead, and his parachute is shot to pieces. Before Peter jumps out of the plane (as he'd prefer not to blow up), he talks with June and, crazily enough, falls in love, even if it's just with a disembodied voice. Still, the time comes for him to jump, and he does so, expecting the worst with a stiff upper lip.

And then a funny thing happens. Peter wakes up. On the shore of the beach he jumped onto. Alive and unharmed. What's more, Peter has landed in the same place where June lives during her time in the war; with a new lease on life, he runs to her and they begin their affair in earnest. The question of mortality ending has, for Peter, ended temporarily, but is just beginning for his celestial conductor, a fop from the French Revolution who was meant to claim Peter's body for death as he jumped out of his plane. Thanks to all the fog permeating the English highlands, though, he missed Peter and has to reclaim the man for death. Peter, though, chooses to appeal with the highest court of all, so he may continue to live with June, who he's now head-over-heels for. Thus, all that's left to wonder is if Peter and June will make off or not (take a wild guess).

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