A Warm December was something of a breakthrough when it was first released, in that it was a mainstream film in which black actors were at last able to suffer nobly in the same way that white performers had been doing for some time. In 1973, this was enough to make December mildly diverting, but nowadays it seems awfully quaint and far too contrived. If one substitutes "unnamed incurable disease" for "sickle cell," there's simply no real difference between December and dozens of other movies. Granted, December does boast a fine performance from Sidney Poitier, though at 50 he is a bit long in the tooth for this role. And it does give Esther Anderson a chance to blaze across the screen, making a very fine impression (and looking absolutely stunning). And there are some other delights in the performers, including young Yvette Curtis and the very interesting singer Letta Mbulu. But Poitier's direction is only slightly less predictable than the script; it works, bringing about the requisite tears and tugging at the emotions as it's supposed to, but one wishes it were all done with a bit more imagination.