Vincent Sherman, Hollywood director during the Golden Age, screwed all his leading ladies. Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Rita Hayworth. When you’re watching those old “women’s pictures” on DVD (and you do), you invariably come across him, ancient but chipper, reminiscing in one of the extras about how he romanced this one and that one between scenes of the movie you’ve just watched. It’s always a bit hard to believe the old man was a lothario until later, in another Extra on another DVD, you run into, say, Bette, copping proudly to her affair with him. (It was in her best interest.) Sherman, who died at the Motion Picture and Television Hospital in Woodland Hills a few days ago at 99, regretted only that he didn’t fight to get the better movies to direct. His eagerness to keep working, he said, his fear of sudden poverty and the loss of his career, led him to make movies that were successful at the box office but of little lasting merit. Although Mr Skeffington, The Hard Way, The Damned Don’t Cry, and Old Acquaintance are nothing to sniff at.