Never rule out a film because its director seems like a lesser light or, worse, a philistine. Even ardent cinephiles have a tendency to follow old precepts and declare careers of no interest based on hearsay or judgments made on insufficient       knowledge. These days, when movies are by and large available, there’s no excuse for persisting in antiquated practices and denying oneself the joys of unexpected discoveries. In the newest entry in his obligatory DVD blog (which now rewards its fortunate visitors with more frequent posts) the high priest of enlightened cinephilia, Bertrand Tavernier, mentions that he continues in his exploration of the British period of director John Guillermin’s career, and proceeds to write about the BFI pairing of Song of Paris (1952) and The Crowded Day (1954), and the Warner Archive edition of Tarzan’s Greatest Adventure (1959).  About The Crowded Day, an unassuming tale of working girls,Tavernier observes: “I didn’t think that Guillermin, whom I saw as a specialist in action films and thrillers, had tackled that sort of theme… In the more dramatic portion of the film he goes for unusual, tilted framings which prefigure his film noirs.” Guillermin’s penchant for out-of-the-ordinary camera angles can be seen even in an early comedy such as Miss Robin Hood (1952). Of course, interesting bits alone do not make a whole film worthwhile, but here and there in his filmography Guillermin delivered more nourishing fare. On the cusp of joining the ranks of British purveyors of big-budget international productions (Ken Annakin, Lewis Gilbert, Guy Hamilton), he made what must surely be his most singular film, an ethereal chamber drama shot in Brittany with a French crew that owes a great deal to contemporary trends in European cinema. The story of a lonely teenage girl and her infatuation for an escaped convict, Rapture (1965) was actually backed by 20th Century-Fox, one of those instances of an American major venturing into arthouse territory. Dean Stockwell and Melvyn Douglas share acting honors with 15-year-old Patricia Gozzi, who had made an indelible impression in Sundays and Cybele (Les dimanches de Ville d’Avray, 1962). Gozzi’s luminous performance, Marcel Grignon’s exquisite black and white Scope photography and Georges Delerue’s haunting score are the elements most remembered by Rapture‘s small, dedicated following. The film belongs in that category of orphaned studio product never before available on home video. In the heady days of big DVD sales it would not see the light of day. The market being what it is now, the chances of having it as a pressed DVD would be close to nil, let alone a Blu-ray. But that’s exactly the treatment Rapture is receiving from Twilight Time, a result of Fox agreeing to license their library, and Brian Jamieson and Nick Redman’s knack for cherry-picking this gold mine of a catalog. As is Twilight Time’s practice the forthcoming Blu-ray will feature Delerue’s music on an isolated track. But the full score can also be heard on a CD just out from Intrada, also produced by the indefatigable Redman. Rapture, both film and score, are most deserving of this kind of attention.