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The holidays are here once more, resulting in a cascade of interesting and intriguing titles. So much so that the discussions are necessarily briefer than usual.

Leading the pack are two Blu-rays from the Criterion Collection. Ask me to name my favorite films of all time, and "Modern Times" (1936) makes the list. Two Chaplin titles are on that list, actually, the other being "City Lights"; with two earlier efforts — "The Kid" and "The Gold Rush" — on the related and somewhat lengthy list of films I most want to see on Blu-ray.

But Chaplin was a filmmaker, the greatest and most successful of modern and all times. The greatest of the silent era, at least, and for him one of the major elements of modern times was the arrival of talking pictures in 1927. Chaplin's worldwide popularity was due in part to the silence of his character, the tramp; a veritable Everyman. For "City Lights," in 1931, he simply ignored sound; audiences, who until recently had never heard the screen talk, happily bought into the conceit that Charlie's new film was (virtually) silent. Five years later, though, the notion of a silent film was decidedly outdated and old-fashioned. So, part of the modernity of "Modern Times," along with machines and strikes, had to be the inclusion of sound. Leave it to Chaplin to find ways to add sound, and dialogue, without having any character actually speaking. And while there had always been musical accompaniments for Chaplin silents, "Modern Times" used music as a major element; the main theme, which Chaplin theoretically wrote, was strong enough to find future life as the pop standard "Smile" (as in "Smile, though your heart is breaking"). We say theoretically because while Chaplin wasn't strong on sharing credit for anything, he had a 23-year old assistant named David Raksin whose job was to "take down" whatever Chaplin might hum and turn it into a masterpiece. In any case, the theme plays an important part in the film, especially in the final scene; what need words when the music swells?

"Modern Times" looks very good on Blu-ray, although it's fair to say that the most recent DVD restoration was notably good. Bonuses include two documentary discussions of the film; another centering on visual and sound effects; two cut sections; a 1992 interview with the aforementioned David Raksin; the 1916 two-reeler "The Rink," which can be compared to Chaplin's skating exhibition in the department store section of "Modern Times"; and an 18-minute home movie shot by Alistair Cooke on a 1933 weekend yachting excursion to Catalina with Charlie and Paulette Goddard.

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The other glimmering present from Criterion is one of the most remarkable, powerful and unusual films in the archives. Charles Laughton was a one-of-a-kind actor, or as close to one-of-a-kind as you're likely to stumble across. Late in life he saw fit to direct a film — his one and only foray into the field — and came up with The Night of the Hunter [Criterion].

Words can't begin to describe this film; you really need to see it. This is a Depression-era tale set in Appalachia about an itinerant preacher (Robert Mitchum) — the words love and hate are tattooed on his fingers, if that gives you an idea — who marries the widow (Shelley Winters) of a bank robber and terrorizes her children, the better to find the hidden money. They flee and seek protection from a strong-willed woman (Lillian Gish), who proves to be a match for the preacher. But a description can only hint at the marvels of this movie, which has the feel of a German expressionistic film of the 1920s translated to Appalachia via 1955 Hollywood. Screenwriter James Agee, from Tennessee, and director Laughton, from Yorkshire, plus Hollywood movie star Mitchum at his grittiest, Actors Studio-sexpot Winters at her best, and silent film legend Gish at her strongest. Anyone familiar with this movie is likely to immediately say that those countless haunting images captured by cinematographer Stanley Cortez must look remarkable on Blu-ray. Shelley's final image, anyone?

Bonuses include a new documentary with interviews; a clip from the "Ed Sullivan Show" with cast members performing a scene deleted from the film; an archival 15-minute documentary about the film; and the full-scale documentary "Charles Laughton Directs 'The Night of the Hunter.'" Filled with outtakes, behind-the-scenes footage and more, this last runs two-and-a-half hours — an hour longer than the film itself — and makes a fascinating supplement to a fascinating film.

But the bonuses are merely dressing compared to "The Night of the Hunter" itself. If you haven't seen it, grab it. And if you have seen it, isn't it time to watch it again? Haunting, frightening, beautiful, and unforgettable.