“YOU
AREN’T REALLY ANYBODY IN AMERICA IF YOU’RE NOT ON TV”
By
Raymond Benson
While
Nicole Kidman had been working in films since the late 1980s and starred in two
big movies with future husband Tom Cruise in the early 1990s, for this reviewer
it was 1995’s To Die For that proved to the world that Kidman could hold
her own and carry a movie alone. Even with an impressive body of work that
would continue to today, To Die For can easily be listed as one of the
actor’s best works.
To
Die For is
based on a 1992 novel by Joyce Maynard, which, in turn, was a fictionalized
improvisation on the true-crime murder-for-hire case of Pamela Smart. The
murder of Smart’s husband by teenagers who were, as it turned out, hired by
Smart herself, was sensational TV fodder in 1990-1991. The keywords of
“sensational” and “TV” become the thematic concepts of Buck Henry’s adaptation
of the novel that turns the tabloid tale into an acerbic dark comedy about the
lust for fame and the means by which some people might employ to get it.
Gus
Van Sant directs the film with a bravura collage of styles that molds the story
into something of a mockumentary. Actors address the camera as if they are in a
television reality program (something that was just beginning to take off in
those years). Videotape footage mixes with film stock, emphasizing the fine
line between Suzanne Stone’s reality and fantasy life on television.
Stone
(Kidman) is a drop-dead gorgeous young woman with big ambitions. She wants fame
and fortune by being a television personality, and once she sets out to
accomplish that goal, her little hometown in New Hampshire will never be the
same. First she seduces and marries Larry (Matt Dillon), the son of Italian
parents who may or may not have connections to the mob. Larry is in a
successful restaurant business, so he has enough money to keep Suzanne in
style. Next, she finagles her way into the local cable TV news station, run by Ed
(Wayne Knight). When she begins a personal video project at the local high school,
she attracts the attention of three juvenile delinquents—Lydia (Alison
Folland), who isn’t a bad person but is sadly trapped in a “white trash” world,
Russell (a young Casey Affleck), the true bad-news of the trio, and Jimmy (a
young Joaquin Phoenix), who is short on brains but long on libido. Suzanne, who
feels resistance from Larry regarding her dreams to leave town and head to Los
Angeles where she’s convinced she can make it big, decides to seduce poor Jimmy
and get him and his friends to bump off Larry. To reveal more, which indeed
differs from the true case of Pamela Smart, would spoil the “fun.”
Yes,
“fun” it is. This is a comedy, folks. Sure, it’s a pretty dark one, but the
team of Van Sant and Henry make sure that this sordid little fable is told with
tongue-in-cheek. It’s also somewhat of a cautionary tale, warning us that what
we see on television isn’t always the truth. Those beautiful people on the
screen who anchor the news, interview celebrities, or present the weather are
not gods and goddesses. It’s one thing to work toward a career in television
with determination… it’s another thing altogether to think of that career as a
Xanadu in which everyone is rich and famous.
Nicole
Kidman is superb in To Die For. She’s funny, sexy, and at times very
scary. Kidman plays this madwoman to the hilt and she’s the backbone of the
movie. Apparently the role was first offered to Meg Ryan, who turned it down.
Kidman, however, takes it and delivers an exhilarating star turn. Phoenix, in
one of his early appearances, also makes an impression. At the time, who knew
that he would one day be a multiple Oscar contender and ultimate winner? The
same is true of Affleck. Other notable actors in the movie include Illeana
Douglas as Larry’s sister, Dan Hedaya as Larry’s father, and Kurtwood Smith and
Holland Taylor as Suzanne’s parents. The film also sports a few interesting
cameos: Joyce Maynard, the novel’s author, appears as Suzanne’s lawyer; Buck
Henry is a high school teacher; George Segal is a lecherous network executive;
and David Cronenberg (!) is a hitman.
The
Criterion Collection’s 2-disk package presents the film in a new 4K digital
restoration, approved by Van Sant and director of photography Eric Alan Edwards.
It comes with a 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack (and it makes Danny
Elfman’s lively score sound really good!). The first disk is the picture
in 4K UHD with Dolby Vision HDR. The second disk is a Blu-ray and the special
features. Disappointingly, there isn’t much in the way of supplements. An audio
commentary featuring Van Sant, Edwards, and editor Curtiss Clayton is good
enough. The only other extras are some deleted scenes (some of which
tantalizingly depict how the film might have had alternate endings) and the
theatrical trailer. An essay by film critic Jessica Kiang accompanies the
booklet.
To
Die For is
for fans of Nicole Kidman, Joachin Phoenix, and the caustic mind of Buck Henry.
One
of the more popular and enduring genres to come out of Hollywood in the late
silent era and the first fifteen years of talkies was the gangster picture. They
sprung into the public consciousness as a result of Prohibition (late 1919 to
1933), which is when real life gangsters were making a splash in America. Early
Pre-Code gangster movies were shockingly violent and gritty—titles like Little
Caesar (1931), The Public Enemy (1931), and Scarface (1932). After
the Production Code kicked in during the summer of 1934, the genre was still
popular and being churned out (especially by Warner Brothers) but they had been
toned down somewhat with more “likable” gangsters.
James
Cagney became a star as a result of playing a gangster in The Public Enemy,
and a pretty mean one at that. Coming from vaudeville, though, he had other
talents. His real heart was in singing and dancing (he won his only acting
Oscar for doing just that in Yankee Doodle Dandy, 1942). In the late
thirties, he continued to make gangster films but he made a big deal out of
resisting them. When The Roaring Twenties was made in 1939, Cagney
proclaimed that this was his swan song playing such a character. At least it
was for ten years, when he made his one and only gangster comeback in White
Heat (1949).
Panama
Smith (Gladys George) says in The Roaring Twenties, “He used to be a big
shot.” There is no “used to” with James Cagney. He was always a big shot in
Hollywood and on the silver screen, a larger than life actor who commanded
whatever picture he was in. He had charisma in spades, the kind of energy that
could ignite a movie projector’s lighting rods, a voice that would forever be
fodder for impressionists, and a superior talent that many actors today could
only dream about.
It's
no surprise that The Roaring Twenties totally belongs to James Cagney,
even when someone like Humphrey Bogart is co-starring. (At the time Bogart had
yet to star in his own feature film; throughout the thirties he did a lot of
playing second banana.) In fact, The Roaring Twenties was the third and
last picture that Cagney and Bogart made together (the other two being Angels
with Dirty Faces and The Oklahoma Kid, 1938 and 1939, respectively).
The
movie came from a short story, “The World Moves On,” by Mark Hellinger, a
well-known journalist of the time. An info-scroll at the beginning of the movie
tells us that Hellinger based the story on “real people” that he knew, implying
that The Roaring Twenties is a true story, or at least inspired by one.
The story was turned into a screenplay by Jerry Wald, Richard Macauley, and
Robert Rossen. Anatole Litvak was initially hired to direct the movie, but it
was ultimately helmed by Raoul Walsh, who had already made some gangster
pictures and would do more in the future.
Eddie
Bartlett (Cagney), George Hally (Bogart), and Lloyd Hart (Jeffrey Lynn) meet in
a foxhole during World War I and become friends. Upon returning home to New
York City, times are tough for GIs. Eddie and Lloyd start a taxi company and
George goes into crime. Eddie reaches out to the young woman who had written to
him during the war, Jean Sherman (Priscilla Lane), but discovers she’s a bit
too young for him. A couple of years later, though, she’s the right age. By
then, Prohibition has kicked in. Eddie and his good friend Danny (Frank McHugh)
get into the bootlegging business with Panama Smith at a speakeasy. Eddie wants
to marry Jean, but Jean actually has eyes for Lloyd, so there’s a little
triangle thing going on to which Eddie is blind. Eddie eventually partners up
with George, and throughout the “roaring twenties” they make names for
themselves as powerful racketeers. But then things go south, as they always do
in gangster pictures.
The
Roaring Twenties was
one of the more popular movies of 1939. It was a big hit, and in fact it out
grossed The Wizard of Oz at the box office. This is not a surprise, for The
Roaring Twenties is an excellent piece of Hollywood entertainment. It’s
slick, it’s well acted and well directed, and its “epic” in structure, covering
a period of fifteen years, is compelling. It’s also a bit of a musical, too,
with Priscilla Lane adeptly performing a few 1920s-era numbers at the
speakeasy. Today the movie is considered one the best of the 1930s gangster
titles, and for good reason—and that reason is James Cagney. Why the film was
not nominated for a single Academy Award is a mystery.
The
Criterion Collection’s new 4K digital restoration with an uncompressed monaural
soundtrack is presented in a twofer package that contains a 4K UHD disk of the film in Dolby Vision HDR, and a
Blu-ray disk with the film and special features. An audio commentary, ported
over from the old Warner Home Video disk, is by film historian Lincoln Hurst. English
subtitles are available for the hearing impaired. The restoration is truly
magnificent, a beauty to behold. The images, shot by DP Ernest Haller, are so
pristine and clean that the movie might have been shot yesterday.
Disappointingly,
the special features are minimal. There is a new interview with critic Gary
Giddins that is interesting enough, and a short vintage 1973 interview with
director Walsh, the theatrical trailer, and that’s it. It’s a shame, really,
that the original Warner DVD’s supplements of the “Warner Night at the Movies”
features—shorts and a cartoon—and hosted by Leonard Maltin, are not included
here. An essay by film critic Mark Asch adorns the booklet.
So,
get on your Fedora and pin-striped suit, or your flapper outfit, and take a
trip back to The Roaring Twenties. Highly recommended for fans of James
Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, gangster pictures, and classic Hollywood studio movies.
Although
he had made two previous feature films and several shorts, it was Mean
Streets that placed Martin Scorsese into the minds of discerning filmgoers.
This low budget independent picture (released by Warner Brothers) proved, as
filmmaker Richard Linklater states in a Directors Guild of America interview
with Scorsese from 2011 (presented here as a supplement), that artists who
wanted to make a movie could go out and find the means to put their
vision on the screen without interference from studio brass. Indeed, that’s
what Scorsese did.
At
the time, Scorsese was trying to make it in Hollywood. It was John Cassavetes
who had urged him to stop working for Roger Corman (for whom Scorsese had made
1972’s Boxcar Bertha) and “go back to his roots.” Well, Scorsese’s roots
were in the Little Italy neighborhood of New York City. He had grown up there.
He had friends there. He knew the life there, all the “goodfellas” and wannabe
tough guys and low level (and some high level) gangsters. So the filmmaker
crafted a screenplay with fellow NYU film school alumnus Mardik Martin, cast
guys he knew such as Harvey Keitel in the lead (he had starred in Scorsese’s
first feature, Who’s That Knocking at My Door from 1967, retooled and
released in 1968 and again in 1969) and Robert De Niro (who had also grown up
in the neighborhood and had known Scorsese when they were younger; this was
Scorsese’s first collaboration with De Niro, then an actor who had done some
Roger Corman films and was still attempting to up his game). Other familiar
faces that have appeared in Scorsese’s oeuvre were also cast—Victor
Argo, Harry Northup, David Carradine, and Murray Moston—but also other notable
actors who have been in mob-related pictures such as David Proval, Richard
Romanus, and Cesare Danova. Amy Robinson, who later became a producer (she
co-produced Scorsese’s After Hours in 1985) was cast as the female lead.
Mean
Streets features
the hallmarks of what we would come to know to be in a “Martin Scorsese Film,”
especially when he focuses on the underworld, a topic to which he has returned
many times: brotherhood, loyalty, friendship, betrayal, guilt (lots of guilt),
Catholicism, sex, drugs, rock and roll, crime, and violence. This life in
Little Italy is edgy, gritty, dangerous, and quite self-contained. There isn’t
a moment in which an audience might think—oh, this couldn’t happen… because
Scorsese convinces you that it can and has.
Charlie
(Keitel) is a small time hood in Little Italy. His uncle is Giovanni (Danova),
a big time Mafioso. Charlie acts as a big brother figure to his friend, Johnny
Boy (De Niro), who is reckless and not the brightest bulb in the socket, and
who owes money to several gangsters, including Michael (Romanus). Charlie
secretly dates Teresa (Robinson), who is Johnny Boy’s sister. She suffers from
epilepsy and is an outsider to the closed-knit Italian culture of the
neighborhood. Giovanni wants Charlie to get away from Johnny Boy, but Charlie
can’t do it. Eventually the debtors come to get Johnny Boy to pay up, and Charlie
must make decisions that will tear him apart. And that’s when the violence
erupts.
What’s
truly amazing about Mean Streets is that, according to cinematographer Kent
Wakeford, only 6% of the film was actually shot in Little Italy (this reviewer
believes it is slightly more, but certainly not as much as 10%). The rest was
all shot in the Los Angeles area! Scorsese and his design team managed
to find locations in California that somewhat resembled New York City, and
nearly all of the interiors were shot in real spaces (existing bars, hotels,
and apartments). No sound stages were used. For decades, critics and film
historians have touted Mean Streets to be one of the “great New York
films, shot on the streets” when, in fact, it wasn’t! That’s not to say that
it’s not a great New York film, because it is.
Mean
Streets is
a rough and ready, visceral, fast moving, in your face crime picture with unsavory
characters and a vibe that will make you nervous. You might ask, well, is it
entertaining? You bet your life it is. But with these ne’er-do-wells, your life
may not be worth much.
The
Criterion Collection presents a new 4K digital restoration approved by Scorsese
and frequent collaborator/editor Thelma Schoonmaker (who was not involved with
the film), with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack. After several home video
releases in the past on DVD and Blu-ray, this one is obviously tops.
Supplements
include the excellent previously mentioned discussion about the film between
Scorsese and Richard Linklater at the DGA; an audio commentary by Scorsese and
Amy Robinson on specific scenes from the film; a new, observant video essay by
Imogen Sara Smith about the picture; an interview with DP Wakefield; excerpts
from a documentary about co-writer Mardik Martin; a vintage promo video from
1973 about the making of the film (the only supplement ported over from
previous home video releases); and the theatrical trailer. The package booklet
contains an essay by critic Lucy Sante.
Mean
Streets is
a must-have for fans of Martin Scorsese, Harvey Keitel, Robert De Niro, and New
York City mob movies. Get it now… just remember to pay your debts!
Step
up, step up, don’t be shy! Come one, come all, to the fabulous and terrifying
sideshow!
Just
in time for Halloween, Cinema Retro enthusiastically welcomes The
Criterion Collection’s new 2-disk Blu-ray box set release, Tod Browning’s
Sideshow Shockers, which is a triple feature extravaganza containing a highly
anticipated high definition presentation of the classic and controversial 1932
pre-code horror film, Freaks, and two earlier rare silent films, The
Unknown (1927) and The Mystic (1925). All three have in common the
circus/carnival/sideshow milieu in their stories, and all have similar themes
focusing on the concept of “the other.” Interestingly, all three are more
relevant today than ever.
When
approaching this marvelous set of pictures, one must understand a little about
the director, Tod Browning. Thankfully, we have as a supplement the immensely
listenable and entertaining interview with acclaimed author and TV showrunner,
the erudite Megan Abbott, who gives us in thirty minutes a comprehensive
character study of Browning and comments about the three films. As Abbott
explains, Browning was someone who actually did “run away to join the
circus” as a young man, and he spent a great part of his life in that world. It
is no surprise, then, that many of his films deal with that universe and the
beings who inhabit it. Abbott’s presentation here is practically worth the
price of admission… except that we have a three-ring circus of significant and
wondrous motion pictures also in the box.
Freaks, of course, is the
main attraction, as it has never been released on Blu-ray in America or the UK
prior to now (Warner Brothers released a DVD years ago). Considered one of the
most unusual movies ever produced in Hollywood, as well as one that has been
banned in many territories, pulled from release, re-issued, chopped up, and
once held as an example of Tinsel Town’s depravity and exploitative nature, Freaks
is actually a masterpiece of cinema. (Is there anyone who has seen Freaks
who hasn’t ever recited the famous line, “Gooba gobba, gooble gobble, one
of us, one of us!”?)
The
story concerns Hans (Harry Earles), a little person who works in the sideshow
of a traveling circus. He is engaged to be married to another little person,
Frieda (Daisy Earles, in real life Harry’s sister), and he happens to have an
inheritance of some value. Cleopatra (Olga Baclanova) is, as Hans calls her, a
“big person.” She is a beautiful trapeze artist, and Hans has an unrealistic
crush on her, much to Frieda’s displeasure. Cleopatra’s beau, though, is
Hercules (Henry Victor), the strongman. Cleopatra and Hercules conspire to bilk
Hans out of his fortune, first by Cleopatra seducing Hans and getting him to
propose to her. After the marriage, they will poison him, and she will inherit
the money; then Cleo and Hercules can run away together and leave behind the
circus life. Friends of the sideshow people, clown Phroso and seal trainer
Venus (Wallace Ford and Leila Hyams), are a romantic couple (also “big
people”), try to look out for Hans’ interests, but fail. The other sideshow
personnel decide to get revenge for Hans, and the results are not pretty.
Browning,
who knew and worked with real sideshow performers, cast them in the movie.
Besides the several little people, there are a few individuals with microcephaly
(then known by the derogatory term “pinheads”), a “human skeleton,” conjoined
twins, a bearded lady, men and women without limbs, an “intersex” person, and
others. Back in the old days of circus sideshows, audiences paid money to view
these “freaks of nature” to be horrified and thrilled. Sadly, practically the
only way these individuals could make a living was by displaying themselves in
such a fashion.
When
Freaks was first released, the reaction from audiences was exactly what
it would have been at a circus sideshow—one of horror and revulsion. As a
result, MGM, the studio that released the picture, realized that they had a
bomb on their hands and pulled it from release. In the late 1940s, exploitation
film distributor Dwayne Esper bought the rights and re-exhibited it as an
exploitation film, which didn’t help the movie’s reputation. Freaks was
terribly misunderstood for decades and remained so until the 1960s, when the
era of youth rebellion and the collapse of the Production Code allowed for more
freedom of expression in art and from audiences. Once the long-haired young
people began referring to themselves as “freaks” and having “freak outs,”
suddenly a film entitled Freaks had new meaning. The movie was reissued
to play on college campuses and as a midnight movie in art houses—and it found
new life and support.
Browning’s
picture was never really meant to cause disgust in the audience. His intent was
for the audience to empathize and root for the “freaks.” This is a film
in which the actors with disabilities and “otherness” are the heroes, battling
for the dignity and respect they deserve from the conniving and evil “normal”
people who are criminals. Browning simply used the thriller genre as a means to
tell the story. But in 1932, audiences could not get past the sideshow aspect
of what they were looking at. They didn’t get it.
Thankfully,
now we do. Yes, Freaks is hailed as one of the great horror films,
but it is also a respectful look at congenital disabilities and a compassionate,
endearing examination of the human condition (which leads to the question—is it
really a horror film?).
Criterion’s
new 2K digital restoration (with uncompressed monaural soundtrack) looks
gorgeous (except for the final one-minute epilogue, which, due to poor quality
source material, could not be improved). There is a new commentary by Browning
expert and film scholar David J. Skal (different from the one on the former
Warners DVD). Supplements pertaining to Freaks are all of those that
appeared on the Warners disk (an hour long documentary on the making of the
film, a look at the alternate endings, and the excised exploitation-release
prologue), plus a new video gallery of many stills and portraits from the film,
and the 2019 audio podcast of Kristen Lopez’s Ticklish Business.
The
Unknown
was a 1927 silent picture by Browning starring the great Lon Chaney in one of
his most acclaimed performances as a sideshow performer with no arms. His
pretzel-like feats in the film to achieve this illusion are masterful, but we
learn from the commentary and Megan Abbott’s interview that Chaney had help
from a real life sideshow stunt double. Nevertheless, Chaney is marvelous in
this tale about Alonzo, a criminal who is hiding from the law by strapping his
arms underneath a costume and pretending to be armless. He falls in love with
ring assistant Nanon (a young Joan Crawford). Strongman Malabar also loves
Nanon, but she rejects him because she has a phobia about hands touching
her—therefore she is partial to have a platonic relationship with Alonzo.
However, when Nanon finally decides to break free of her fear and marry
Malabar, Alonzo does something drastic—with tragic results.
For
a 1927 silent film with a new piano score by Philip Carli, The Unknown is
quite engaging, especially due to the terrific performances by the entire cast.
Why it’s called The Unknown is a head-scratcher, but the roughly
hour-long picture is riveting. It comes with a new introduction and commentary
by David J. Skal.
The
Mystic, from
1925, is apparently one of the rarest of Browning’s films. Running at 72
minutes, it’s the story of a sideshow fortune teller “mystic,” Zara (Aileen
Pringle), her father, the impresario Zazarack (Mitchell Lewis), and assistant
Anton (Robert Ober). Con man-criminal Michael Nash (Conway Tearle) recruits the
trio to come to America to swindle wealthy patrons. As noted by Abbott, the
plot is very similar to that of the 1947 film noir, Nightmare Alley…
but the visuals, storytelling, and acting are all surprisingly compelling for
this silent picture. The score, by Dean Hurley, vastly helps with the
movie’s allure. David J. Skal also provides an introduction to the film.
Criterion’s
packaging is superb, and the enclosed booklet comes with an essay by film
critic Farran Smith Nehme.
Tod
Browning’s Sideshow Shockers is highly recommended for fans of the
director, Freaks, silent movies, Lon Chaney, and the unique
sensibilities of pre-code Hollywood. Gooba gobba!
Thanks to the Criterion Collection for making us aware of this shoebox arthouse cinema in Juneau, Alaska, which provides creative and diverse programming to grateful local residents. All movie lovers will wish they had a similar venue in their hometown!
Filmmaker
Nicolas Roeg always managed to challenge cinematic norms. Even his most
accessible and popular film, Don’t Look Now (1973), still had what some
might call “arty” shots and experimental editing. Roeg was a director who loved
the images the camera caught, but he also enjoyed manipulating the narrative of
his pictures with the kind of radical editing likely inspired by the French New
Wave, but probably more by the so-called New American Cinema movement that included
revolutionary filmmakers such as Andy Warhol, Stan Brakhage, and others.
Roeg
began his work in film as a cinematographer—and a very good one, too (second
unit on Lawrence of Arabia, The Masque of the Red Death, Far
from the Madding Crowd, and more). After a co-directing (with Donald
Cammell) debut of Performance (1970), Roeg struck out on his own and
made a name for himself as a director of provocative art house fare.
First
out of the gate was Walkabout (1971). It was Australia’s official entry
to the Cannes Film Festival that year, despite it being primarily a British
production (and Roeg himself being English). It was based on the 1959 novel by
James Vance Marshall (a pseudonym of Donald G. Payne), which was first
published as The Children but subsequently renamed Walkabout.
Roeg had apparently wanted to adapt the book into a film for years, and he
finally got the chance to do it with only a million dollar budget. Producers
Max L. Raab and Si Litvinoff (both known primarily as executive producers of
Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange, because they had initially owned the film
rights) provided the funding for what was essentially an independent
production, eventually released by 20th Century Fox. Playwright Edward Bond wrote
a treatment that acted as the screenplay, but most of the picture was
improvised on the go.
Taking
a minimal crew and a cast of unknowns into the Australian outback, Roeg gave us
a haunting, enigmatic, gorgeous-to-look-at, existential treatise on innocence,
the loss of it, and the importance of communication.
“Girl”
(a young Jenny Agutter, who was sixteen when the film was made) and “White Boy”
(Nicolas Roeg’s son Luc Roeg, credited as Lucien John, who was age seven during
production) are siblings who live what appear to be “normal” lives with their
parents in Sydney. One nice, sunny day, “Father” (John Meillon), takes the two
children to the desert for a picnic. There, he attempts to shoot them, but Girl
protects her younger brother and they hide. Father kills himself and sets the
family car on fire. The two kids are now stranded in the outback. Lacking
survival skills, they manage to make it through a few days (but time is never
clear in the film). Then they meet a young “Black Boy” (Australian and Yolngu
actor David Gulpilil, whose age was unknown at the time but since estimated to
be about eighteen when cast) who is out in the wilderness alone. He befriends
the two, regardless of a language barrier, and effectively saves the white
kids’ lives by teaching them how to find water and hunt for game to eat. Interestingly,
it is White Boy who is able to communicate with Black Boy through mime and
playful gestures; Girl seems to be at sea when dealing with the human who is
totally foreign to her. Days pass as the trio travels across the striking
landscape, culminating in a moment in which the physical adolescence of Girl
and Black Boy follow a natural course to sexual tension. Black Boy performs his
native “courtship ritual” dance in tribal makeup and clothing for Girl. Not
understanding what he’s doing and fearful of him, Girl rejects him. Revealing
the rest of the tale would certainly be a spoiler.
A
“walkabout” is a rite of passage in Australian Aboriginal society. Adolescent
males must spend six months in the wilderness and survive—or not—to became an
adult. Hence, while Black Boy is likely enacting his own walkabout, the film
becomes a walkabout for Girl and White Boy. There’s a lot going on underneath
the surface here, including an examination of race and class differences in a
land where the British Empire encroached on an indigenous people, sexual mores
and taboos, and how one’s social environment dictates how one behaves.
Walkabout
is a
fascinating film, and it was highly praised by critics upon release—but, sadly,
it was a box office failure. It has since become a cult classic and a cinephile
favorite. There was some criticism (still is) of the picture’s display of
nudity of all three leads, seeing that, technically, Agutter and young Roeg
were underage. Some bits were cut for the initial release, but footage was
restored in the 1990s. The British Board of Film Classification, though,
determined that the film was not “indecent.” Agutter herself has contemporarily
defended the nude scenes and says that they are essential to the themes of the
movie.
The
Criterion Collection released the film on DVD and Blu-ray years ago, but now
the company has issued a new 4K UHD edition containing two discs. A 4K UHD digital
master in Dolby Vision HDR occupies the first disc, while a Blu-ray of the film
plus special features are on the second. The visuals are, naturally, stunning. An
audio commentary featuring both Nicolas Roeg and Jenny Agutter accompanies the
film. Special features include vintage interviews with Luc Roeg and Agutter, an
hour long documentary on the life and career of David Gulpilil, and the
theatrical trailer. An essay by author Paul Ryan is in the booklet.
With
John Barry’s lush score, Roeg’s own striking cinematography, the sweeping
panoramas of the Australian outback, and the likable, honest performances by
the cast, Walkabout is a highly recommended must-see.
PASOLINI 101—a monumental collection of nine films by one of the most original thinkers of the 20th century. Collected together for the first time in celebration of the Italian iconoclast’s daring vision of cinema as a form of resistance.
One of the most original and controversial thinkers of the twentieth century, Italian polymath Pier Paolo Pasolini embodied a multitude of often seemingly contradictory ideologies and identities—and he expressed them all in his provocative, lyrical, and indelible films. Relentlessly concerned with society’s downtrodden and marginalized, he elevated pimps, hustlers, sex workers, and vagabonds to the realm of saints, while depicting actual saints with a radical earthiness. Traversing the sacred and the profane, the ancient and the modern, the mythic and the personal, the nine uncompromising, often scandal-inciting features he made in the 1960s still stand—on this, the 101st anniversary of his birth—as a monument to his daring vision of cinema as a form of resistance.
NINE-BLU-RAY SPECIAL EDITION COLLECTOR’S SET FEATURES
Nine feature films: Accattone, Mamma Roma, Love Meetings, The Gospel According to Matthew, The Hawks and the Sparrows, Oedipus Rex, Teorema, Porcile, and Medea
New 4K digital restorations of seven films and 2K digital restorations of Teorema and Medea, with uncompressed monaural soundtracks
Two shorts made by director Pier Paolo Pasolini for anthology films: La ricotta (1963) and The Sequence of the Paper Flower (1969)
Two documentaries made by Pasolini during his travels
New program on Pasolini’s visual style as told through his personal writing, narrated by actor Tilda Swinton and writer Rachel Kushner
Audio commentaries on Accattone and Teorema
Documentaries on Pasolini’s life and career featuring archival interviews with the director and his close collaborators
Episode from 1966 of the French television program Cinéastes de notre temps
Interviews with filmmakers and scholars
Trailers
New English subtitle translations
PLUS: Deluxe packaging, including a 100-page book featuring an essay and notes on the films by critic James Quandt, and writings and drawings by Pasolini
“WHEN YOU’RE ALONE AND LIFE IS MAKING YOU LONELY, YOU CAN ALWAYS GO… DOWNTOWN”
By Raymond Benson
Certainly one of the films from the 1980s that genuinely typifies that decade is Martin Scorsese’s dark comedy, After Hours (1985). The picture is especially potent for anyone who might have lived in New York City during those years (as this reviewer did). Did the film work as well at the time for audiences without the New York frame of reference? Likely so, as the movie was a box office success… but there is no question that After Hours was funnier and more frighteningly familiar to native New Yorkers.
After Hours belongs in the surprisingly large group of movies that skew Manhattan into a metaphor for hell on earth. Others might include Midnight Cowboy (1969), The Out-of-Towners (1970), and Scorsese’s own Taxi Driver (1976). As someone who did live in Manhattan for many years, this reviewer can say with assurance that New York City was not hell on earth—but, like anywhere, it could become so if circumstances surrounding a person continually went from bad to worse on a given day (or, in this case, night).
Today, After Hours exists firmly entrenched in the decade in which it appeared. This was a time before mobile phones, for the movie’s plot could not occur had cell phones been in existence. A young, contemporary audience may not “get” After Hours without the 1980s milieu context. That said, After Hours is still a biting, fast-moving, comedy that is simultaneously realistic and surreal. As the director and author/comic Fran Lebowitz agree in an interview supplement, if one does not suspend disbelief and allow oneself to be in the movie while viewing it, then the insane logic of it all could fall apart.
By his own admission, in 1983-1984, Scorsese was in a dark place. Despite the huge success and acclaim for Raging Bull (1980), the director’s next picture, The King of Comedy (1982) was a financial flop and mostly disregarded by critics (although today it is held in very high esteem). Scorsese spent 1983 developing his passion project, The Last Temptation of Christ, and was all set to begin production when the studio got skittish and pulled the plug. Suddenly, Scorsese was box office poison.
Enter Griffin Dunne and Amy Robinson, actors who had taken up producing films. A film school thesis script by student Joseph Minion entitled Lies landed in their laps, and they loved it. Robinson, who had starred in Scorsese’s Mean Streets (1973), managed to get the script to the director. Scorsese, however, was busy with The Last Temptation of Christ and couldn’t do it. Dunne and Robinson had seen Tim Burton’s short film, Vincent, and they offered it to him, even though Burton had yet to make his first feature film. Burton was ready to sign on to do it, but then Last Temptation got cancelled, and Scorsese was unexpectedly free. Burton gracefully bowed out, and Scorsese thought the project might be a way to get him back into the film industry’s good graces. After some work on the script and the retitling to After Hours, the movie became a reality.
Griffin Dunne stars as Paul, an ordinary Joe who works in a boring Manhattan office job. One evening after work he meets Marcy (Rosanna Arquette) at an uptowndiner. The flirtation feels real, and she invites him downtown to SoHo later. (This reviewer always wondered why the movie did not incorporate, along with all the other great pop tunes in the soundtrack, the Petula Clark song “Downtown”—“When you’re alone and life is making you lonely, you can always go… downtown!” It would have fit well.) Armed with a twenty dollar bill, Paul takes a cab to lower Manhattan, but uh-oh, the money literally flies out the open window on the way there. Now with only 97 cents in his pocket, Paul meets up with Marcy, who begins exhibiting strange behavior. She’s staying in the loft of an equally strange artist, Kiki (Linda Fiorentino), who makes bizarre plaster-of-Paris statues and objects. Without giving away too much, the “date” with Marcy does not go as planned, and Paul finds himself stranded in SoHo without the means to get home to the upper east side. The subway fare had gone up to $1.50 at midnight. In attempts to contact someone he knows so he can crash on a couch, Paul encounters a succession of even stranger characters such as thieves Pepe and Neil (Tommy Chong and Cheech Marin), neurotic waitress Julie (Teri Garr), maybe-sane, maybe-psychotic bartender Tom (John Heard), scary ice cream truck vendor Gail (Catherine O’Hara), lonely spinster June (Verna Bloom), and other misfits. Paul’s night indeed goes from bad to worse.
Scorsese’s direction of the proceedings is top-notch. He makes the film move with lightning speed (and the picture is only a brisk 97 minutes long) with his signature dynamic camera actions (the cinematography is by the great Michael Ballhaus, and the editing by longtime Scorsese collaborator Thelma Schoonmaker). The cast is all-in on the dark comedy, and each member is excellent. Other Scorsese character actor regulars make appearances (Victor Argo, Murray Moston, and Rocco Sisto) as well as familiar faces like Dick Miller, Bronson Pinchot, Larry Block, and Clarence Felder. Even Scorsese does a cameo as a searchlight operator in the extreme “Berlin Club,” that portrays a Manhattan nightmare of downtown danger.
The Criterion Collection’s new 4K digital restoration, approved by editor Schoonmaker, is presented on a 4K UHD disc with Dolby Vision HDR, and on a second Blu-ray disc with the film and special features. The picture quality is superb. There is an informative and fun audio commentary accompanying the movie with Scorsese, Schoonmaker, Ballhaus, Dunne, and Robinson. Supplements include the new and delightful aforementioned conversation between Scorsese and Fran Lebowitz about the film; a 2004 documentary on the making of the film with Dunne and Robinson; a new feature on the look of the film with production designer Jeffrey Townsend and costume designer Rita Ryack; and a few brief deleted scenes. An essay by critic Sheila O’Malley is contained in the package booklet.
After Hours may not be remembered as a top tier entry in Martin Scorsese’s filmography, but it is undoubtedly an important stepping stone for the director. After Hours is thoroughly entertaining, funny, and a tiny bit scary, too. Recommended for fans of Scorsese, New York City, and any of the featured actors.
These
days, filmmaker Joseph Losey doesn’t get the acclaim he deserves. An American
who showed great talent in Hollywood in the early 1940s and was well on his way
to a lucrative and respectable career, got sidelined by HUAC—the House
Un-American Activities Committee. Because Losey had ties with the early
Communist Party in the U.S., he, along with many, many other artists working in
Tinsel Town, was blacklisted. He fled his native country to the United Kingdom,
where he remained until his death. Losey made films in England and France, many
of which are admired films noir. In the 1960s and beyond he moved toward
making provocative art films, working with writers such as Harold Pinter and
generally pushing the envelope in the cinema.
The
Servant (1963)
is one of those art films that Losey made, and it was his first collaboration
with playwright Pinter (they did three pictures together). Based on a 1948
novella by Robin Maugham, The Servant is also one of Pinter’s first
attempts at screenwriting. Pinter had been enjoying some success in the theatre
since the late 1950s but was still not yet a fully established theatrical
superstar at that time (this would occur a couple of years later). His own
adaptation of his play, The Caretaker, was also made in 1963. Pinter
took Maugham’s novella and re-tooled it to emphasize the class warfare that is
going on in the subtext of the story, as well as adding what can only be
described as the Pinter’s Theatre of Menace—a sense of subtle, unnerving threat
that exists in most all of his work.
The
story is about a wealthy international real estate developer, Tony (James Fox,
in a debut role), a bachelor who hires a manservant, Hugo Barrett (Dirk
Bogarde). They get along splendidly at first, although Tony’s girlfriend, Susan
(Wendy Craig), senses something off about Barrett and wants Tony to get rid of
him. Tony refuses. Barrett one day convinces Tony to hire his sister, Vera
(Sarah Miles), to be a maid. Vera seduces Tony one night when Barrett is away.
But then one day Tony and Susan come home to the flat and find Vera and Barrett
in bed together. Turns out they’re not brother and sister at all. And then the
tale takes a sharp left turn into nightmare territory as relationships change
and power dynamics are reversed. To reveal more would spoil the creepiness of
what happens next.
The
Servant is
a powerful, disturbing film. The crowning touch is the superb, unsettling
performance by Bogarde, who won the BAFTA award that year for Best Actor (the
film was nominated for Best Picture). The movie was ignored by the Oscars, but
Pinter did win the award for Best Screenplay by the New York Film Critics
Circle. Today, the movie resides at #22 on the BFI Top 100 British Films of the
20th Century list.
Losey’s
perceptive direction masterfully uses mise-en-scène in a carefully
staged sense of place that is claustrophobic and austere. He treats the
theatre-of-the-absurd goings-on with absolute sincerity and realism… a perfect
approach to Pinter’s exceptional dialogue and the mood established by the piece.
The
Servant is
very much an adult film, something that couldn’t have been made in America in
1963, and it’s a bit surprising that Britain’s censors weren’t all over it. But,
then again, everything lies in the subtext. What you don’t see on screen can’t
be censored, can it? The film is a brilliant display of shocking subject matter
done in an ordinary, matter-of-fact presentation.
The
Criterion Collection’s new Blu-ray release features a new 4K digital
restoration with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack. It shows off the striking
black and white cinematography by Douglas Slocombe, a longtime British DP who later
won three Academy Awards (including one for Raiders of the Lost Ark).
Supplements
include a new, interesting overview of Joseph Losey’s career by film critic
Imogen Sara Smith; a rare audio interview with Losey from 1976; a revealing
1996 interview with Harold Pinter; vintage interviews with actors Dirk Bogarde,
Sarah Miles, James Fox, and Wendy Craig; and the theatrical trailer. The
enclosed booklet contains an essay by author Colm Tóibín.
The Servant is for fans of Joseph Losey, Harold Pinter, and, especially,
Dirk Bogarde, who owns this motion picture. His portrayal of Hugo
Barrett surely upends the old adage that ‘you can’t get good help these days.’
Finally!
Chaplin fans can rejoice that The Criterion Collection has at last released the
long-awaited missing entry in their run of excellent Blu-ray and DVD
editions of the filmmake's feature films. For a while it appeared that The
Circus, one of the auteur's best and certainly, arguably, his funniest
picture, was forgotten, as it's been a few years since Criterion's last Chaplin
release. Now, here it is. (The only features that remain to be given the
Criterion treatment are A Woman of Paris from 1923, which didn't star
Chaplin, and A King in New York, from 1957, his last starring vehicle. A
Countess from Hong Kong, from 1967, perhaps doesn't count.)
The
Circus was
made just as Hollywood was beginning the transition from silents to talkies.
There were still plenty of silent pictures being produced in 1928, and the move
to sound wouldn't be seriously completed until 1930 (or, in some rural areas of
the country, 1931!). Ironically, Chaplin chose to make an additional silent
comedy in 1931, City Lights, and a semi-silent movie, Modern Times,
in 1936!
Charlie
is The Tramp, of course. Broke and penniless, he wanders near a traveling
circus and, while eluding the police who mistakenly suspect him of being a
pickpocket, accidentally finds himself in the Big Top ring in front of an
audience. They find his antics hilarious, and the cruel and greedy proprietor/ringmaster
(Al Ernest Garcia) hires him on the spot, mainly to take advantage of him. The
Tramp does not realize he's funny and how much he's worth! Then there's the
bareback rider (Merna Kennedy), with whom Charlie falls in love. He sets out to
protect her from the abuse inflicted by the boss.
That's
the story in a nutshell, but it's the collection of hilarious set pieces that
make this film a classic. The opening pickpocket/sideshow/fun house sequence is
inventive and clever. Charlie's introduction into the circus, and especially his
unwitting messing up of the magician's act, provides belly laughs. But the real
stroke of brilliance is the climax of the movie, when Charlie attempts a
tightrope act and is beleaguered by a group of monkeys that have gotten loose. One
of these primates, an impish cutie named Josephine, appeared in many movies of
the period. How her trainer got her to bite Charlie's nose without hurting him
is a marvel.
It's
interesting to note that The Circus practically disappeared for decades
until Chaplin dug it out again in the 1960s to provide the original score and
title song, restore the feature, and re-release it. It had a reputation of
being a lesser work, mainly because it had been made during a painful time in
Chaplin's personal life and he may have suppressed it. The truth is that the
film is underrated -terribly so. It's one of the genius's masterworks.
Criterion's
new 4K digital restoration of the 1969 re-release version (the only one we can
get, I presume) is beautifully presented with an uncompressed monaural
soundtrack. Chaplin's own original score, complete with a vocal title song
("Swing Little Girl", sung by Chaplin himself) sounds terrific. A new audio
commentary by Chaplin biographer Jeffrey Vance accompanies the feature.
Supplements
abound. New to the Criterion edition include a fascinating interview with
Chaplin's son Eugene (complete with home movies); a wonderful and eye-opening examination
of the visual effects and production design of the film with film scholar Craig
Barron ("In the Service of the Story"); footage of 1969 interviews on Chaplin's
Swiss estate; an audio interview from 1998 with musical associate Eric James; and
newly discovered outtakes of the Tramp and the Bareback Rider. There is also a nearly
half-hour documentary from 2003, "Chaplin Today: The Circus", that provides
insight into the troubled production; unused sequences with a new score by
Timothy Brock and related outtakes; excerpts from the recording session of "Swing Little Girl"; footage from the 1928 Hollywood premiere with appearances
by many celebrities; and re-release trailers. The package booklet sports an
essay by critic Pamela Hutchinson.
The
Circus demands
to be reevaluated and cherished as a treasure from one of cinema's most
important creative artists. This one's a must.
Even
diehard fans of filmmaker David Lynch were puzzled by his 2006 epic surrealist
horror picture, INLAND EMPIRE. There are legions of fans and critics who
love the movie, but there are likely more who find it impenetrable, way too
long, self-indulgent, pretentious, and, as one critic called it, a film that
might have been made by a “former genius who now has Alzheimer’s.”
INLAND
EMPIRE is
tough viewing. It deals with what could be called “multi-verses” before that
term was trendy. Some consider it to be the third film in a loosely
interconnected trilogy of movies Lynch made about “psychogenic fugues,” or dissociative
disorders. Lost Highway (1997) and Mulholland Drive (2001) both
deal with similar themes in which protagonists become “somebody else” during
the course of the stories.
One
aspect of the film that everyone agrees on is the stellar, virtuoso performance
by Laura Dern. Lynch famously sat on Hollywood Boulevard with a live cow in an attempt
to campaign for Dern’s performance to be considered for an Academy Award (she
wasn’t nominated). Ironically, even Dern has admitted she has no clue what is
going on in INLAND EMPIRE.
The
best this reviewer can make of the story is that Dern plays Hollywood actress
Nikki Grace, who is married to a Polish man, Piotrek (Peter J. Lucas), who has
something to hide. Nikki has just been cast in a movie called On High in
Blue Tomorrows, to be directed by the great Kingsley Stewart (Jeremy Irons)
and co-starring heartthrob Devon Berk (Justin Theroux). We learn that the movie
is based on an unfinished German movie from decades ago that was allegedly
“cursed” because the lead actors were murdered. Nikki, who has begun an affair
with Devon, sets out to investigate this history and literally falls through a
series of rabbit holes (there are even sequences featuring the anthropomorphic rabbits
from Lynch’s online shorts series, “Rabbits”) and becomes Sue Blue, who may or
may not be a completely different character from Nikki or perhaps a separate
personality. And then there’s the “Lost Girl” (Karolina Gruszka), a
human-trafficked prostitute in Poland in another decade (the 1930s?) whose
actions mirror what’s going on in Sue’s world.
Is
it a story of reincarnation? Of death and what might be the afterlife? Or maybe
there isn’t a story at all that can be followed linearly. Perhaps Lynch
intended INLAND EMPIRE to be an experience of emotions, images, and
surrealism in the vein of classic experimental filmmakers such as Stan
Brakhage, Germaine Dulac, Man Ray, and the Luis Buñuel
& Salvador Dalí collaborations. Maybe the movie is the
attempt to film in dream logic—which often makes no sense but can be vividly visceral.
At
any rate, INLAND EMPIRE is not for a mainstream audience. This is Lynch
at his most Lynchian. Be forewarned. Interestingly, it is the last theatrical
feature the filmmaker has made to date.
The
Criterion Collection has issued a new HD digital master on Blu-ray, made from
the 4K restoration supervised by Lynch, with both a 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master
Audio and uncompressed stereo soundtrack (also remastered by Lynch and original
recording mixers Dean Hurley and Ron Eng). As is usually the case with Lynch’s
films, the sound is always impressive, and INLAND EMPIRE doesn’t disappoint
in that regard.
The
package contains two disks—one with the feature film (it’s 180 minutes in
length), and the other with hours of supplements. Some of the supplements are
ported over from the original 2007 Rhino-Studio Canal DVD release: “More Things
That Happened” (75 minutes of extra scenes); LYNCH (a 2007 nearly-90-minute
behind-the-scenes documentary made by blackANDwhite); and “Ballerina,” a 2007
short film by Lynch. New to the Criterion release is an excellent half-hour
conversation between Laura Dern and actor Kyle MacLachlan, who both discuss
their respective work with Lynch and specifically Dern’s role in INLAND
EMPIRE; LYNCH2, a shorter documentary made by blackANDwhite; an
audio excerpt read by Lynch from his autobiography, Room to Dream
(co-written with Kristine McKenna); and the theatrical trailer. The booklet
contains an interview excerpt from Richard A. Barney’s book David Lynch:
Interviews.
Love
it or hate it, INLAND EMPIRE is without question one of the most
challenging and provocative pieces of cinema released since the New Millennium.
Click here to pre-order from Amazon. (The Blu-ray will be released on March 21.)
One
of the most talked-about and popular films of 1968 was Franco Zeffirelli’s
adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Audiences in the
UK were treated to the film early in the year (March), but the release date in
the USA was held back to October. By then, the picture was a worldwide phenomenon.
Nino Rota’s theme song (known in various markets as “Love Theme from Romeo
and Juliet,” “A Time for Us,” and “What is a Youth?”) had been covered by
numerous musical artists and was already a standard on the radio and other
media.
A
British-Italian co-production, the picture’s creative team consisted of mostly
Italians, while the production/financing and actors hailed largely from Britain
(with some Italian actors being dubbed into English). Director Zeffirelli had
already enjoyed some success with his earlier Shakespearean adaptation, The
Taming of the Shrew (1967, with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton). It
made box-office sense for the filmmaker to go a step further and bring more
Shakespeare to the masses.
Zeffirelli
made a canny decision to cast two young actors who were the same ages of the
characters in the play. Productions of Romeo and Juliet in the past had
always cast actors who were well into their thirties and beyond (the most
notable being the 1936 George Cukor-helmed picture featuring Leslie Howard and
Norma Shearer). Leonard Whiting and Olivia Hussey were 16 and 15, respectively,
when they were cast, and 17 and 16 during filming. Not only were the two stars
extremely attractive and likable, they were also competent and charismatic
performers as well.
The
film captured the zeitgeist of 1968—an era of youth rebellion, “free love,” and
pushing the envelope in the arts. There was much ado of how Zeffirelli and his
co-screenwriters (Franco Brusati and Masolino D’Amico) cut massive portions
from Shakespeare’s text in order to release a movie that ran a little over two
hours (and with an intermission, too, to mimic the experience of a stage play).
Schools in America organized field trips to see the film, because for once,
Shakespeare had been made “commercial.” Some markets, however, made cuts in the
film to eliminate the brief nudity in the bedroom scene. This reviewer recalls
that in West Texas, two different versions of the film played. The picture was
released prior to the creation of the movie ratings system in America, but by
the time it ran in West Texas, the ratings were in effect. The cinema where Romeo
and Juliet was shown in late 1968 or early 1969 arbitrarily exhibited a
censored “M” (for Mature Audiences) rated version during matinees, and an “R”
(for Restricted Audiences) version in the evenings. All this seems rather silly
in retrospect, because the film is, at worst, a “PG” in today’s rating
sensibilities.
Filmed
on location in Italy, the movie is gorgeous to look at (with Oscar winning
cinematography and costumes by Pasqualino De Santis and Danilo Donati,
respectively). As mentioned previously, the now classic score by Nino Rota had
a great deal to do with the movie’s success. One must give Zeffirelli his due,
though (he was nominated for Best Director but didn’t win). His direction of
the film is superb, not only in guiding his two young stars into intense,
utterly believable performances, but especially in the street brawls and sword fighting
scenes. The sequence in which Romeo and Tybalt (Michael York) have at it is
appropriately awkward, messy, and realistically choreographed.
The
Criterion Collection has released a lovely Blu-ray disk (the first time in the
USA and UK for a Blu-ray, although the film has been available on a Paramount DVD
for years). The 4K digital restoration, with an uncompressed monaural
soundtrack, looks magnificent with its expected 1960s-era film stock
appearance. Supplements include an excerpt from a 2018 documentary on
Zeffirelli, and interviews with stars Whiting and Hussey from 1967 after
filming was complete and in 2016 at a retrospective screening.
Whiting
and Hussey have recently made the news by filing a lawsuit against the studio for
allegedly being pushed by Zeffirelli (now deceased) into doing the brief nudity.
Interestingly, in the 2016 interview on the disk, they joke about the bedroom
scene as “being fun” and there are interviews with the couple in recent years in
which they defend the nude scenes as appropriate to the material. It will be
interesting to see how this all plays out in the legal proceedings.
Regardless,
Criterion’s release of Romeo and Juliet on Blu-ray is a landmark
presentation of a classic, beloved motion picture. It is perhaps the definitive
adaptation of Shakespeare’s play on film, and the disk is highly recommended
for fans of the Bard, the play itself, Nino Rota’s music, Zeffirelli, and the
two stars who light up the screen. As Romeo says of Juliet, “O, she doth teach
the torches to burn bright.” They both do.
RETRO-ACTIVE: THE BEST FROM THE CINEMA RETRO ARCHIVES
By Lee Pfeiffer
You don't have to be gay to admire John Schlesinger's 1971 film Sunday Bloody Sunday but it probably helps in terms of appreciating just how ground-breaking the movie was in its day. As a straight guy of high school age when the film was released, I do remember it causing a sensation, although it would literally take me many years before I finally caught up with the film. Gay friends always spoke reverently of the movie and expressed how the most refreshing aspect of the story was how normally a loving relationship between two adult men was portrayed. In viewing the film as a Criterion Blu-ray release, I feel I can finally appreciate that point of view. Gay men have long been portrayed in movies, of course, but for the most part they had been depicted as objects of ridicule or as sexual deviants. There were the odd attempts to present gay characters as sympathetic in films such as The Trials of Oscar Wilde and the brilliant Victim. Yet, even these fine efforts present homosexuality as a burden those "afflicted" must bear. Stanley Donen's 169 film Staircase offered fascinating and bold performances by Rex Harrison and Richard Burton as two aging queens. However, the studio marketing campaign over-emphasized the oddity of two of the film industry's great lady's men playing a gay couple. In fact, the ad campaign showed Burton and "Sexy Rexy" giddily dancing, thus falsely conveying that the film was a comedic romp instead of a poignant and intelligent look at loving homosexual relationship. Schlesinger, one of the first unapologetic directors to come out of the closet (if, indeed, he was ever in one), decided that the most daring aspect of this highly personal film would be in its very ordinariness. The story covers a complicated love triangle between three disparate people. Dr. Daniel Hirsh (Peter Finch) is a middle-aged, Jewish London doctor who is involved romantically with a much younger man, Bob Elkin (Murray Head). Hirsh doesn't flaunt his homosexuality, nor does he attempt to painstakingly deny it. He just lives his life as a respected member of his community, although it is clear his family thinks he's straight. (In one amusing, though uncomfortable sequence, Hirsh attends a Bar Mitzvah and has to endure attempts by nosy female relatives to set him up with his "dream girl"). The relationship between Hirsh and Bob is fairly intense, but is compromised by one uncomfortable fact: Bob is bi-sexual and is carrying on an equally intense love affair with an older woman, Alex Greville (Glenda Jackson). Both Hirsh and Alex know about each other and (barely) tolerate the triangle as the price of having Bob in their lives. For his part, Bob is a rather self-absorbed young man who seems to have genuine affection for both of his lovers, but is also either oblivious or uncaring about how the uncertainties of the relationship are affecting their psychological well-being.
Sunday Bloody Sunday was released a time when the gay rights movement was moving into high gear in the post-Stonewall period. It illustrates why the 1970s is regarded by many as the most liberating decade in film history, with old line directors like Hawks, Welles and Hitchcock working at the same time young turks like Schlesinger were shaking things up in a way the old masters never had the opportunity to do, thanks to the restrictive motion picture code. Sunday is primarily remembered for an eyebrow-raising scene in which Hirsh and Bob engage in a romantic kiss. There's nothing sensational about the tasteful way in which this rather routine gesture between lovers is presented on screen. In fact, it was the sheer lack of sensationalism that drove home Schlesinger's primary message: that loving gestures between gay men can be every bit as routine as they are between husband and wife. The fact that the kiss was enacted by two straight actors did add considerable gravitas to the moment and must have caused more than one straight viewer to think "Well, if they don't care about enacting such a scene, why should I feel uncomfortable watching it?" Schlesinger also dared to film tasteful but passionate bedroom scenes between Bob and Hirsh. Nevertheless, nothing much actually happens in Sunday Bloody Sunday. The story was based in part on real-life experiences and people from Schlesinger's own life. The story merely traces the ups and downs in the love triangle as Bob causes panic in both Hirsh and Alex by announcing he is thinking of moving to America. Hirsh and Alex do have an unexpected face-to-face meeting during this crisis and their sheer civility and inability to engage in more than light banter only adds to the dramatic tension.
The primary attribute of the film, aside from Schlesinger's spot-on direction, is the brilliance of the performances. Glenda Jackson was then emerging as a national treasure for the British film industry and the little-known Murray Head acquits himself very well indeed. However, it is Peter Finch's performance that dominates the movie as we watch his character go from loving acceptance of Bob's youthful self-absorbing actions to downright fury as his realization that Bob will never have the same passion for him. It's a superb performance on every level. Some viewers find the film's bizarre final sequence in which Hirsh addresses the viewer directly about his philosophy of life, but I found it to be a distraction and somewhat confusing. Nevertheless, this is a fine film, worthy of the praise it has generated over the years, and one that remains remarkably timely today.
The Criterion Blu-ray is right up to the company's top-notch standards. The transfer is beautiful and there are the usual informative extras including:
New interviews with Murray Head (who says that, as a young actor, he found his character to be rather despicable), cinematographer Billy Williams (who supervised the Blu-ray transfer), production designer Luciana Arrighi, Schlesinger biographer William J. Mann and the director's long-time partner, photographer Michael Childers who shot many of the great production stills for the film.
A 1975 audio interview with Schlesinger
Screenwriter Penelope Gillatt's original introduction to the published screenplay (there is plenty of coverage throughout the Blu-ray concerning the tense working relationship between Gillatt and Schlesinger, who accused the writer of taking the lion's share of credit for a screenplay he had extensively rewritten.)
The original theatrical trailer
Extensive liner notes by writer Ian Buruma, Schlesinger's nephew who appeared as an extra in the film.
In all, an outstanding tribute to an outstanding work by one of the era's great filmmakers.
Click here to order from Amazon. The film is also currently streaming on the Screenpix app, available for $2.99 a month through Amazon Prime, Roku and Apple TV.
The
late Ingmar Bergman lived and worked on the Swedish island of Fårö, where he filmed many of his stark masterpieces such as Persona,
Shame, and others. He had more than one house on the island, and the
population there protected the filmmaker’s privacy with the fervor of a
national guard.
Today, though, his estate is run by a
foundation that allows artist-in-residency grants to writers, filmmakers,
musicians, and painters, as well as activists working for free speech and
democratic ideals. One merely has to submit an application at a specific time
of year, and if one is lucky, grants/permissions are doled out to several
people per year. The person gets to stay free of charge at one of Bergman’s
abodes and work on a designated project (it doesn’t have to be related to
Bergman or film) as long as some “contribution” is made to the community in
terms of a cultural event. (For those interested, see https://bergmangardarna.se/application/.)
French filmmaker Mia Hansen-Løve
uses this residency gift as a setting for a sensitive romantic drama that
explores the relationship between art and real life, as well as the muses and
inspirations that drive artists in their work. Bergman Island also
displays in lovely cinematographic intimacy (shot by DP Denis Lenoir) the
grounds of Bergman’s homes, which is, in itself, an absolute treat for any
viewer who is a fan of the master’s movies. Note that although the film is
mostly a French production set in Sweden, it is 95% in English. Some Swedish
residents on the island speak in their native tongue and are subtitled.
Tony
(Tim Roth) is an established filmmaker who has received a grant of residency to
stay at Bergman’s Dämba property to work on writing his next
project. Accompanying him is his wife, Chris (Vicky Krieps), also a writer, who
has a work in progress but is experiencing writer’s block. Chris turns out to
be the protagonist of the film, and the story is told from her perspective. There
are cracks in the marriage, mainly because Chris feels that Tony doesn’t give
her enough support or encouragement (but from what the viewer sees on the
screen, this isn’t entirely true; nevertheless, Tony does tend to take phone
calls in the middle of deep conversations and is easily distracted by what is
apparently a major film production he’s working on). Ironically, they’re
staying in the bedroom where Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage was shot.
The housekeeper tells them that the film was so popular that millions of
couples around the world “got a divorce” because of it!
The
couple, usually separately, take in sightseeing excursions on the island to
Bergman’s other abodes and the film center where Tony delivers a talk. There is
even a “Bergman Safari” bus that takes visitors around the island to film
locations and such (and all this is real).
Chris
finally relates to Tony the story she’s been struggling with so far. The movie
then becomes a “film within a film,” illustrating Chris’ story, which involves
Amy (Mia Wasikowska), a filmmaker, and a former lover, Joseph (Anders Danielsen
Lie), both of whom are attending a wedding of mutual friends on Fårö. Mia and Joseph rekindle their love affair, and Mia
would like for it to go further, but apparently Joseph considers the fling to
be temporary. Interestingly, people that Tony and Chris have met during their
stay on the island are transported into Mia and Joseph’s story, so there is
cross pollination of ideas between the “real” tale and the “fictional” tale.
Bergman Island is told in a leisurely, dreamlike fashion that emphasizes
the pastoral influence of the surroundings on the characters. There is also the
strong (but unseen and unheard) presence of Ingmar Bergman’s ghost, who informs
all the characters’ motivations. Tony and Chris are told that the late
filmmaker believed in ghosts—for example, Bergman was firmly convinced that his
late wife occupied the house with him after she had departed the earth. Thus,
the ghosts of their own pasts are ever present in the lives of Tony, Chris,
Amy, and Joseph. That said, the movie is not a Bergman homage or
pastiche. Its style and tone is much gentler and more feminine.
The Criterion Collection has issued a
top-notch package containing a 2K digital master of the movie, approved by the
director, with a 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack. The colors of Fårö in summer are a striking contrast to the black and white
imagery of the locations in Bergman’s 1960s and 70s pictures. Berman Island is
indeed lovely to look at it.
The supplements include a lengthy
interview with director Hansen- Løve in which she speaks about the history of
the film, its casting issues (originally Greta Gerwig and John Turturro were to
have played the roles of Chris and Tony), and the power of the island location
on the choices she made for the picture; an interview with Vicky Krieps; and a
short behind-the-scenes documentary shot by cast member Gabe Klinger during the
production. The booklet contains an essay by film critic Devika Girish.
Bergman
Island is
a fascinating and meaningful little picture that is worth one’s time,
especially for fans of the late Ingmar Bergman. Recommended.
In a worthy attempt to focus attention on the work of writer/producer/director/actor Delmer Daves, Criterion has released a Blu-ray edition of his 1956 Western Jubal. It's a rather odd choice for the label, which specializes in gold-standard editions of established classics and revered cult films. On the surface, Jubal may sound like a standard horse opera, especially with the title role played by reliable-but-unexciting Glenn Ford. However, the reason why Criterion sought to have the movie re-evaluated is immediately apparent. This is an unusually mature Western with a very dramatic story line that builds in intensity under Daves' assured direction. Ford plays Jubal Troop, a troubled loner and drifter, who is saved from certain death in the mountains by Shep Horgan (Ernest Borgnine), a boisterous but kind prominent rancher who nurses Jubal back to health and rewards him with a job on his ranch. It isn't long before Jubal proves his worth and impresses Shep enough to make him the new foreman- an act that offends and alienates another, long-time ranch hand, "Pinky" Pinkus (Rod Steiger), who had sought the position himself. Jubal's seemingly idyllic situation is further hampered by the fact that Shep's sultry Canadian wife Mae (Valerie French) is disgusted by her husband's boorish behavior and his tendency to treat her as a prized steer. Clearly suffering from sexual frustration, the isolated woman exists in a world of misogynistic men. It isn't long before she's making eyes at Jubal, who must summon all of his willpower to resist her advances out of respect for his friendship with Shep. Adding to the rising tensions is the fact that Mae had once had a fling with "Pinky" and he can't accept the fact that she now favors Jubal. The intricate plot takes numerous turns leading to Mae's manipulation of Shep and Jubal by implying to her husband that she has slept with his ranch foreman. This sets in motion a series of tragic circumstances.
Although Daves is best known for his seminal Western 3:10 to Yuma, there is much in Jubal that rivals that classic. Daves makes full use of the magnificent Wyoming locations, using the widescreen process as effectively as George Stevens did with Shane. While the personal relationships of the principal characters are perpetually in crisis mode, Daves seems to use the sweeping cinematography to intentionally dwarf the key players, as though to imply that, in the end, we're all just rather inconsequential figures in nature's landscape. The performances are all first rate, and this may well be the most effective performance of Glenn Ford's career. His low-key approach to acting has often been dismissed as boring, but Ford always brought a quiet intensity and "guy next door" quality to each of his performances. As Jubal, he's just a shy man who wants to get through the demons of his past by starting a new life that is unblemished by personal stress. Instead, he finds himself in the unlikely situation of being embroiled in a cauldron of sexual tension, betrayal and violent death. Ernest Borgnine is terrific as the hapless Shep, a likable "man's man" who remains oblivious to the fact that the wife he so adores has nothing but contempt for him. Rod Steiger seems a bit out of place here, as he as always seemed far more comfortable in gritty, urban dramas. Valerie French practically steams up the screen as the femme fatale at the heart of the deception that endangers the men in her life. She clearly the villain, but you can't help but empathize with her plight, which must have mirrored that of countless women of the plains: she is trapped in a man's world of endless work with little appreciation for her femininity beyond her "duty" to provide sex.
The Criterion transfer is flawless and the colors leap off the screen. Frustratingly, the film is devoid of any bonus extras. It would have been a nice touch to hear a film scholar discuss the film and Daves' work in general. However, there is a booklet that contains a lengthy and informative essay by Kent Jones. If you like Western, this one is a "must".
RETRO-ACTIVE: THE BEST FROM THE CINEMA RETRO ARCHIVES
BY LEE PFEIFFER
Criterion has released a dual format Blu-ray/DVD edition of director Michael Mann's 1981 crime thriller Thief starring James Caan. It's a highly impressive film on many levels, especially when one considers this was Mann's big screen feature debut. He had previously directed the acclaimed 1979 TV movie The Jericho Mile, which was set in Folsom Prison. Mann was inspired by his interaction with the world of convicts and wrote the screenplay for Thief, which is credited as being based on author Frank Hohimer's novel The Home Invaders, but he maintains virtually none of the source material ended up on screen. The story centers on Frank (James Caan), a bitter man with a troubled past. As a child he was raised in state-run homes before being sent to jail for a petty crime. Inside prison, he committed violent acts in order to defend himself but this only resulted in lengthier jail terms. By the time he has been released, he has spent half of his life behind bars.
While in jail, Frank befriended Okla (Willie Nelson), a older man and master thief who is doing a life sentence. He becomes Frank's mentor and father figure and teaches him the tools of the trade. When Frank is finally released, he becomes a master at his craft, which is pulling off seemingly impossible heists of cash and diamonds. Before long, he has become a legend in his field. As a cover, Frank runs a major used car dealership and a small bar. However, he realizes that his luck will certainly run out at some point and he is determined to retire after making a few more high end scores. He works with a small team consisting of two confederates (James Belushi, Willam LaValley) who are also pros in gaining access to seemingly impenetrable vaults. The headstrong Frank wants to also settle down and raise a family. He makes an awkward introduction to Jessie (Tuesday Weld), an equally head strong, down-on-her luck character who nevertheless becomes smitten by him and ends up marrying him. The couple face frustration, however, when their attempts to adopt a baby are thwarted by Frank's criminal record. Frank is ultimately approached by Leo (Robert Prosky), a local crime lord who entices him to stop working independently and pull off a high profile heist for a fortune in diamonds. Frank rejects the offer but eventually he relents, though he is reluctant to work with a new partner. Leo has managed to break through Frank's cynicism by showering him with praise the benefits of his influence, which include arranging for Frank and Jessie to illegally adopt the baby they want so desperately. The lure of being able to retire after this one huge score leads Frank to go against his better judgment and he agrees to work for Leo on this one big job. The diamonds are located in a vault so secure that it would seem to be better suited for Fort Knox. In order to break in, Frank and his team must use highly sophisticated drills and other equipment that would rival the top gear used by any branch of the military. On the verge of realizing his greatest score, however, things go terribly wrong on any number of levels. Frank, seeing his world crumble around him, goes on a violent rampage of destruction and self-destruction.
Thief is a highly stylized movie that moves at a rapid clip and features one of James Caan's strongest performances. The problem, however, is that the character of Frank is so obnoxious, he is difficult to relate to. Peckinpah, Scorsese and Coppola always had a knack for making disreputable characters seem appealing, but Frank is nasty, arrogant and self-centered. This is certainly realistic, given the bitter feelings he has toward society, but the viewer never warms to him in any meaningful way. He is only sympathetic because the people he deals with are so much worse. Nevertheless, Thief is a crackling good yarn that boasts some fine performances especially by Tuesday Weld and character actor Robert Prosky, who is brilliant in a scene-stealing role. Willie Nelson's screen time is very limited but he makes effective use of his two scenes. The film features superb cinematography by Donald E. Thorin, who made his debut here as Director of Cinematography. His night sequences on the rain-slicked streets of Chicago evoke visions of neon-lit nightmare. The film features an electronic score by Tangerine Dream, the band that provided the memorable music for Willliam Friedkin's Sorcerer. Strangely, their score for that films holds up well but their work in Thief comes across as a bit monotonous and dated. The film's ultra-violent conclusion is exciting but rather cliched with Frank turning into yet another pissed- off screen hero who decides to take down all of his enemies in an orgy of shootouts and destruction. (I know it sounds petty but I can never accept such sequences when they are set in urban neighborhoods in which no one ever seems to call the police even as houses explode and machine gun fire is sprayed all over the place.). The film excels, however, in the break-in sequences which are superbly directed and feature camerawork that make the crime scene look like an attraction from Disney World, with fireworks-like sparks filling the air.
The Criterion Blu-ray transfer is superb on every level. Extras, which are carried over to the DVD, include a commentary track by Michael Mann and James Caan that was recorded in 1995. There are also fresh video interviews with both men that are rather candid. (Caan, who has worked consistently through his career, modestly says "I was rather popular at one time" in reference to his work on the film. Mann says he is still debating in his mind whether he regrets using Tangerine Dream's score.) There is also an interview with Johannes Schmoelling of the band, who discusses working with Mann to create the score. An original trailer is included as is a nicely illustrated booklet with an informative essay by film critic Nick James.
I
once lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan in the 1980s. Occasionally, I
would spot Jake LaMotta in the neighborhood. The former boxer must have lived
nearby or had reason to visit sometimes. One day as I was walking along 1st or
2nd Avenue, I spotted LaMotta coming toward me. As he passed me, I quietly (but
loud enough for him to hear) spoke in that whispery kind of voice that imitated
a “crowd noise.” I said, “Jaaaaake LaMoooooottaaaa!” in the style of a boxing
announcer. LaMotta turned to me with a frown. At first I thought he was going
to punch me or something. But then he grinned, clasped his hands together in a
self-clasping handshake that is a gesture of triumph and victory, and waved them
over his head. It was a special moment.
That
gesture of triumph from LaMotta is indicative of the man’s redemption he
received from the biopic about his life that was released in 1980. Raging
Bull, brilliantly directed by Martin Scorsese and superbly acted by Robert
De Niro, Joe Pesci, and Cathy Moriarty, is indeed a feat of greatness. LaMotta
(played by De Niro), who was a middle-weight champion boxer active professionally
between 1941 and 1954, is depicted as a troubled soul who cannot control his
anger—his rage—and this is the character trait that propels him through boxing
matches. Unfortunately, his rage also propels him through his relationships
with his wife, Vickie (Moriarty), and brother Joey (Pesci). The film must have
brought some closure to the real Jake LaMotta, who experienced a newfound fame
and celebrity after his post-boxing years of ups and downs.
Much
has been made by film critics and fans alike about the Academy Awards for
1980—that Raging Bull deserved the Best Picture award over what won (Ordinary
People). I recently wrote at length about the latter film in a Cinema
Retro review of a new Blu-ray release. In it I defended People’s
win, so I won’t go into it again here. That said, Raging Bull is a
magnificent piece of film craftsmanship. The double-punch team of Scorsese and
De Niro, along with the two-punch partnership of Scorsese and editor Thelma
Schoonmaker, all combine to exhibit one of the most dynamic showcases of
bravura filmmaking.
Robert
De Niro delivers the performance of his career, and there was no question that
he deserved the Oscar for Best Actor that year—everyone else could have just
stayed home. The actor’s commitment to the role is seen by De Niro famously
gaining over fifty pounds—and then losing it—to play the older LaMotta. At the
time, this was unheard of for an actor. Joe Pesci also made a name for himself
in the picture, as he was virtually unknown to the general public prior to Bull.
The same is true for Cathy Moriarty, who was only seventeen when she was cast.
Raging
Bull is
arguably Scorsese’s most accomplished film in terms of mastery of the craft,
although there are other titles that I personally enjoy more. And this is
perhaps key to why Raging Bull is problematic to anyone who isn’t a film
connoisseur. The movie is about brutality. It features a rather unlikable violent
person who is abusive to everyone around him. The movie is nonstop in its
assault on an audience, such that at the end we feel as if we’ve just spent a
few rounds in the ring with the character ourselves. There is no question that
it’s an absolute masterpiece of cinema and should be admired as such… but it’s
not a pleasant picture to watch. Therein lies the rub. Of course, art isn’t
always safe.
The
Criterion Collection presents a gorgeous new 4K digital master approved
by Scorsese, in two versions—a 4K UHD disk and Blu-ray. The 4K UHD package
comes with the second Blu-ray disk, but the Blu-ray alone can also be purchased
separately. Both feature 2.0 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtracks. The UHD
disk is the film by itself presented in HDR. The Blu-ray disk contains the film
and all the supplements. The movie comes with three previously-released audio
commentaries: a) One with Scorsese and Schoonmaker; b) one with DP Michael
Chapman, producer Irwin Winkler, casting director Cis Corman, music consultant
Robbie Robertson, and others; c) and one with LaMotta and screenwriters Mardik
Martin and Paul Schrader.
The
supplements are terrific, especially the new video essays by film critics
Geoffrey O’Brien and Sheila O’Malley that examine both the film and the actors.
Previously released features include a four-part making-of documentary; three
short programs highlighting Scorsese and De Niro’s collaborations; TV
interviews with LaMotta, Moriarty, and Vickie LaMotta; and a piece with former
boxers reminiscing about LaMotta. The booklet contains essays by poet Robin
Robertson and film critic Glenn Kenny.
Raging
Bull has
been issued on Blu-ray more than once, but the Criterion Collection’s
presentation is the Cadillac of them all. It is indeed worth the upgrade. For
fans of Scorsese, De Niro, and cinema that delivers a K.O.
Joachim
Trier’s The Worst Person in the World, a film from Norway, was nominated
for the Best International Feature at the 2022 Oscar ceremony. It also received
an Original Screenplay nomination. It lost the International Feature award to
Japan’s Drive My Car, and the Screenplay award to Kenneth Branagh’s Belfast.
For
this reviewer’s money, Worst Person deserved the Oscar over the (albeit
excellent) Drive My Car. It’s such an original, lively take on the
concept of “romantic comedy” (with shades of darkness) that it was a joy to
view.
Worst
Person is
the third in director Trier’s so-called “Oslo Trilogy,” which includes Reprise
(2006) and Oslo, August 31st (2011). All three films were written by
Trier and Eskil Vogt. Filmed in and around Oslo during the pandemic, the
picture is a marvelous depiction of how the quality of a production was maintained
during Covid-19, and a behind-the-scenes supplement included on the disk
emphasizes this achievement.
Julie
(Renate Reinsve) is a 29-year-old single woman who at first thinks she wants to
be in medical school, but she changes her mind and veers toward psychology. But
then she takes a left turn and pursues photography. It soon becomes clear, even
after Julie turns 30, that she isn’t sure what she wants in life. She dabbles
in writing, works in a bookstore, and becomes involved with a handful of men.
Two of these romantic relationship are central to her world—the first, to
underground comics writer/artist Aksel (Anders Danielsen Lie), and then to coffee
shop baristo Eivind (Herbert Nordrum). Aksel is a bit older and is keen on
solid commitment and having a family—something to which Julie is adamantly
opposed. Eivind, who is more her age, is in tune with her free spirit ways.
Julie’s parents are divorced, and she gets along well with her mother (who
obviously has concerns about Julie’s lack of direction in her life), but not so
well with her father (who has remarried a younger woman with a daughter). By
the end of the tale, Julie finally settles on what appears to be a path that
hopefully will make her happy—but of course this is ambiguous, like life
itself.
Renate
Reinsve is absolutely radiant in the role of Julie, and she lights up the
screen in every shot. She is totally believable as a character that is so
deeply nuanced and real that we feel as if we know her. The two leading men are
also excellent, especially Anders Danielsen Lie, who must undergo a physical
change in the flow of the story.
Trier’s
direction is superb. He manages a tightrope act of comedy and drama that
recalls some of the best of Woody Allen, Eric Rohmer, and Francois Truffaut,
but there are also hints of old Hollywood screwball comedy in the mix. And then
there is the influence of intimate Scandinavian angst, as in Ingmar Bergman. The
celebrated dream/fantasy sequence, in which Julie “stops time” one morning,
runs across town to meet her new lover, spends an entire twenty-four hours with
him, and then returns to the flat is simply exhilarating. Extras on the streets
of Oslo are “frozen” in movement, along with cars and bicycles, and the only animated
humans in the scenes are Julie and Eivind. Shooting the sequence proved to be a
challenge because of Covid, as illustrated in the previously-mentioned
supplement. The filmmakers had to halt production and resume it during a
completely different season of the year.
The
Criterion Collection’s new Blu-ray is a 2K digital master with a 5.1 surround
DTS-HD Master Audio. Kasper Tuxen’s gorgeous cinematography is showcased in
this exceptional presentation. Supplements include a nearly hour-long “making
of” documentary containing interviews with Trier, Vogt, Reinsve, Lie, Nordrum,
Tuxen, and sound designer Gisle Tveito. The supplement about the pandemic
difficulties and time-freezing sequence is fascinating and is a canny lesson
for budding filmmakers. Finally, there are some deleted scenes that are also
worthwhile. One involves Julie and Aksel texting each other after their
breakup; the time lapse photography is very effective and would have been a
nice addition to the final cut.
The
Worst Person in the World is funny, sad, and provocative. It is a celebration of
what it means to be a Millennial, albeit a European one, in today’s mixed
messages society. For fans of romantic comedies with bite, international
sensibilities in film, and solid storytelling and acting.
If
any film can be called the quintessential film noir, it has to be Double
Indemnity. Even film noir scholar Eddie Muller, the go-to author and
historian who seems to appear in every supplemental feature attached to Blu-ray
and DVD disks of film noir titles, agrees.
Double
Indemnity,
directed by Billy Wilder and released in 1944, contains every cinematic trait
that is associated with film noir: cynical characters, a femme fatale,
betrayal, voice-over narration, witty dialogue, contrasting light and shadow,
German expressionism in the production design and camerawork, smoking,
drinking, murder, and an unhappy ending.
Based
on James M. Cain’s scandalous 1943 novel (but it was first serialized in Liberty
magazine in 1936), the picture was a challenge to the Hays Office censors,
for the Production Code was heavily enforced at the time. Several studios had attempted
to buy the rights in 1936, but the Hays Office warned producers that the novel
was a non-starter as a Hollywood production. Years later, just after the
separate publication of the book, Paramount tried again and this time, based on
a treatment by Billy Wilder and his writing partner Charles Brackett, they were
able to secure the rights.
Apparently,
Brackett felt the material was too seedy and left the project, so Wilder sought
out a new collaborator to pen the screenplay. Raymond Chandler landed the job,
and the resulting alliance was the stuff of Hollywood gossip and legend. The
two men couldn’t stand working together, but nevertheless the turmoil was the
necessary ingredient. The screenplay, nominated for an Academy Award, is
brilliant. What is especially notable is how the writers fooled the Hays Office
with it. The dialogue was full of innuendo that spelled out to an audience
exactly what was going on, even though no literal words were said that
indicated that two people were committing adultery. Wilder and Chandler
improved Cain’s dialogue in this manner, and it’s a delight to hear what comes
out of the mouths of Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray, and Edward G. Robinson
during the course of the picture. (Phyllis, responding to unsubtle advances:
“There’s a speed limit in this town.” Walter: “How fast was I going, officer?”)
Walter
Neff (MacMurray) is an insurance salesman who calls on the Dietrichson house to
renew an auto policy, but Mr. Dietrichson isn’t home. However, his wife,
Phyllis (Stanwyck) is. There is an immediate attraction and flirtation, which
leads to you-know-what. Phyllis eventually talks Walter into getting a life
insurance policy—with a double indemnity clause (it pays double for accidental
death)—for Phyllis’ husband, whom she can’t stand. Once Dietrichson (Tom
Powers) is tricked into signing the policy, the naughty couple set out to
murder him and make it look like an accident, and they succeed. Even Walter’s
canny boss, Barton Keyes (Robinson), who has a “little man” inside of him that
senses when something doesn’t add up, believes the story until he starts to
closely examine all the angles. Throw in Dietrichson’s grown daughter from a
previous marriage, Lola (Jean Heather), and now there’s an additional threat
that comes between Walter and Phyllis. Keyes gets closer to the truth, Walter
gets paranoid, Phyllis goes a little mad, and things heat up to a boiling
point.
The
acting, the direction, the script, the cinematography (by John F. Seitz), the
editing, and the music score (by Miklós Rózsa),
are all superb and were nominated for Oscars in each of these categories
(Stanwyck was up for Best Actress). Why MacMurray and Robinson were not also
nominated is a mystery worthy of Raymond Chandler! More significantly, Double
Indemnity confirmed Billy Wilder’s future in Hollywood as one of the great,
classic filmmakers.
The
picture has been issued on home video many times in all formats, including
Blu-ray. The Criterion Collection has now released two new editions—one in 4K
UHD and Blu-ray combo (three disks), and another in just Blu-ray (two disks). The
4K digital restoration is the best this reviewer has ever seen the movie. It’s
a flawless presentation with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack.
A
vintage audio commentary by Richard Schickel, ported over from previous
releases, is included. Supplements abound. A port-over vintage feature on film
noir (“Shadows of Suspense”) is welcome, but new extras produced by
Criterion are especially fun: an interview with film scholar Noah Isenberg
(editor of Billy Wilder on Assignment); and a lively conversation
between film historians Eddie Muller and Imogen Sara Smith. There are two radio
adaptations—from 1945 and 1950—both starring Stanwyck and MacMurray. The entire
second disk is a three-hour BBC documentary on Billy Wilder (originally on the Arena
program), directed by Volker Schlöndorff and Gisela
Grischow. The booklet comes with an essay by critic Angelica Jade Bastién.
Even
if you already own a previous release of Double Indemnity, the Criterion
Collection’s new editionis a must-have and worth the upgrade. For fans
of film noir, Billy Wilder, the three stars, and solid, edgy filmmaking
that raised eyebrows in 1944 and is still potent today. Highly recommended.
One
of the most celebrated and critically acclaimed rock concert films is Martin
Scorsese’s documentary, The Last Waltz, which was unleashed in the
spring of 1978. The movie documents the final concert performed by The Band,
the legendary session group for Bob Dylan and others that became a recording
and touring entity in their own right in the late 1960s and early 70s.
The
Band, hailing from Canada, got their start as The Hawks, the backup band for
rockabilly singer Ronnie Hawkins. By the mid-sixties, they were working for
Dylan with the name change to The Band, and also started recording on their own
(Music from Big Pink was their debut in 1968). At the time of their
breakup, the group consisted of Robbie Robertson (guitar, vocals), Rick Danko
(bass, guitar, fiddle, vocals), Richard Manuel (keyboards, vocals), Garth
Hudson (keyboards, sax), Levon Helm (drums, guitar, vocals), and unofficial
sixth member John Simon, who was their record producer and occasional musician.
By
late 1976, Robertson had become weary of touring and wanted to do a final
concert (and ultimately leave the group). The rest of The Band went along with
it, even though they didn’t particularly want to end their partnership. Robertson
enlisted the help of concert impresario Bill Graham, and they secured the
Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco for a “celebration” on Thanksgiving Day
(November 25), 1976, that even included a turkey dinner for attendees. Both Bob
Dylan and Ronnie Hawkins were invited to perform, but as the event was being
planned, more guest stars were added, culminating in a who’s who roster of top
musicians, including Eric Clapton, Neil Young, Van Morrison, Neil Diamond, Joni
Mitchell, Ringo Starr, Ronnie Wood, Paul Butterfield, Dr. John, Muddy Waters,
and others. Even more guests were filmed in studio settings later. (Not widely
known is that Stephen Stills was supposed to join the concert, but he arrived
late toward the end of the evening, only to participate in a group jam that was
deleted from the final film. This can be seen as a bonus supplement outtake on
home video versions of the movie.)
A
mere six weeks prior to the concert, it was decided that the event should be
documented on film, and so Robertson, impressed with what he’d seen of Martin
Scorsese’s work and knowing that the man had been assistant director and
co-editor of Woodstock (1970), called the filmmaker. Scorsese, busy with
New York, New York (1977), somehow found the time to fit the shoot into
his schedule. With minimum preparation, Scorsese hired such cinematographers as
Michael Chapman, Vilmos Zsigmond, László
Kovács, and others to strategize and film the
complicated live show in which anything could happen.
They
got the job done, and the result is indeed remarkable.
Scorsese
and Robertson (also acting as co-producer) decided to intersperse the concert
footage with backstage interviews, a tour of The Band’s recording studio and
HQ, and a couple of extra performances shot on a sound stage with Emmylou
Harris and the Staple Singers.
Indeed,
The Last Waltz is a wonderful concert film—the photography and sound is
exceptional and the performances are fun and enjoyable. However, this reviewer
has always had a minor quibble with the movie—and concert films like it—when
the flow of the concert is broken up by inserting backstage interviews. When
compared to something like Stop Making Sense (1984), which is a Talking
Heads concert from start to finish without interruptions, The Last Waltz feels
choppy. Aside from that, The Last Waltz deservedly belongs on the list
of four or five greatest rock concert documentaries.
The
Criterion Collection’s new re-issue comes in two flavors—4K Ultra + Blu-ray
Combo (2 disks), or the single Blu-ray only package. The movie is a new 4K
digital restoration, supervised and approved by Scorsese, and it looks beautiful.
The 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio is supervised and approved by Robertson.
There are two alternate soundtracks—the original 1978 2.0 surround mix, and an
uncompressed stereo mix from 2001.
Two
previously issued audio commentaries accompany the movie. Both feature Scorsese
and Robertson and/or other members of The Band, the production crew, and
performers Dr. John, Ronnie Hawkins, and Mavis Staples.
Most
of the supplements are ported over from the previous 2002 “special edition” DVD,
including the aforementioned “Jam 2” outtake, a TV interview from 1978 with
Scorsese and Robertson and a featurette, “Revisiting The Last Waltz.”
New to the Criterion edition is a recent half-hour conversation between
Scorsese and Rolling Stone writer David Fear as they discuss rock
concert movies in general, Scorsese’s history with rock music, and The Band’s
legacy. The trailer completes the package, along with an essay by critic Amanda
Petrusich in the booklet.
The
Last Waltz is
a must-have for fans of rock concert movies, The Band, Martin Scorsese’s
filmography, and pretty much any of the guest performers who appear in picture
(Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Neil Diamond, Eric Clapton, etc.). The
film documents what truly was, as Scorsese claims, “the end of an era.”
When
Miller’s Crossing was released in 1990, we as an audience were still
trying to determine what the Coen brothers were all about. This, their third
feature film, was totally different from their previous movie, Raising
Arizona (1987), which was radically different from their debut title, Blood
Simple (1984). Raising Arizona was a wacky comedy. Miller’s
Crossing may have had more similarities to Blood Simple, being that
they are both neo-noir crime dramas with a gritty, hard edge but laced
with the now-familiar but then-surprisingly unique ingredient of Coen dark
humor. Still, Miller’s Crossing, being a period piece that takes place
during the Prohibition years, is a more elegant, and certainly more technically
accomplished, picture than Blood Simple. Sudden, brutal violence, though,
remains a trait of both movies.
In
an excellent supplemental interview with Joel and Ethan Coen that appears on
the new Blu-ray release from the Criterion Collection, the brothers discuss noir
influences in both literature and cinema with author/screenwriter Megan
Abbott, and the revelations are both illuminating and hilarious, as one would
expect from these guys. They admit that Miller’s Crossing likely owes
more to the works of Dashiell Hammett than, say, Raymond Chandler or James M.
Cain. They also cite the numerous film noir productions pouring out of
Hollywood in the late 1940s and early 50s as influences, although Crossing eschews
this stark black and white style for gorgeously rendered color cinematography
(by Barry Sonnenfeld) to create a more poetic, art-house rendition of a noir
crime drama.
For
the first half (or so) of the brothers’ career, the Director’s Guild rules
prohibited both names being credited as director, so Joel was usually credited
as director and Ethan was credited as producer, and both were credited as
screenwriters. Now the brothers share all three credits. When they were writing
Miller’s Crossing, they became stuck. The plot is complex, with a hint
of Hammett’s Red Harvest within in that the protagonist, Tom Reagan,
sets out to play two rival mobs against each other. When the writer’s block
became so fierce, the Coens put the script aside and went on to write what would
be their fourth film, Barton Fink, a script they finished in three weeks
(ironically, it’s about a screenwriter with writer’s block). That break allowed
them to come back to Miller’s Crossing afresh, and the screenplay was
completed.
In
viewing the film, one might think it’s about hats. Fedoras, to be precise. Just
about every male character wears one, and Tom, especially, takes great care to
always pick up his hat if it falls off or if he gets hit in the face (which
occurs multiple times during the course of the movie). In fact, the opening
credits focus on a hat on the ground in the forest, and the wind mystically
picks it up and carries it away from us—certainly a metaphor for the era
depicted in the story that is now gone with the wind. Hat tricks.
Tom
Reagan (Gabriel Byrne) is the right-hand man for Irish mob boss Leo O’Bannon
(Albert Finney), who “runs the (unnamed) town.†The mayor and police chief are
in his pocket. Rival Italian mob boss, Johnny Caspar (Jon Polito), desperately
wants to knock Leo off the throne, but his current concern is to bump off
Bernie Bernbaum (John Turturro), a bookie who has been selling information about
Caspar’s fight fixes. Leo won’t allow Caspar to kill Bernie because he's dating
Bernie’s sister, Verna (Marcia Gay Harden). Little does Leo know, but Tom and
Verna are also seeing each other behind his back. Caspar and his goons strike
at Leo, fail in an assassination attempt, but succeed in knocking Leo off his
pedestal. Now Caspar is in charge and the mayor and police chief are in his pocket.
Leo and Tom fall out over the Verna situation, so Tom goes to work for Caspar.
The Bernie problem is still a thing, so to show his loyalty to his new boss,
Tom must reluctantly take out Bernie. To reveal more would spoil the twists and
turns the tale takes.
The
cast, especially Finney and Harden, are excellent. Jon Polito and John
Turturro, however, steal the film with over-the-top performances that are
Kubrickian in nature. Steve Buscemi makes his first appearance in a Coen brothers’
picture in a small but memorable fast-talking scene. Look for Frances
McDormand, making a cameo as the mayor’s secretary, as well as Coen brothers
friend Sam Raimi as a gunman.
Carter
Burwell’s music is a counterpoint to the action. Burwell had the idea to
develop a plaintive, melodic Irish folk tune as the theme; the Coens at first
weren’t sure about that, but once they heard it, they agreed it was the way to
go.
All
of that said, this reviewer finds Miller’s Crossing to be a good, but
not great, entry in the Coen brothers’ canon. The overly complicated plot is a
little difficult to follow without repeated viewings. It’s also a challenge to
empathize with Tom Reagan, which may be due to actor Byrne, who elicits little
warmth in the role. Nevertheless, the picture creates a mood and visual beauty
that are striking.
The
Criterion Collection’s new 2K digital restoration, approved by Sonnenfeld and
the Coens, looks marvelous. It comes with a 5.1 surround soundtrack mix,
presented in DTS-HD Master Audio. There are English subtitles for the hearing
impaired.
There
are wonderful supplements on the disk. The aforementioned interview with the
Coens is priceless. There are also new interviews with Gabriel Byrne and John
Turturro, Carter Burwell and music editor Todd Kasow, Sonnenfeld, production
designer Dennis Gassner, and vintage featurette interviews from 1990 with the
cast. The booklet contains an essay by film critic Glenn Kenny.
Miller’s
Crossing is
for fans of the Coen brothers, certainly, as well as cast members Byrne,
Finney, Harden, and Turturro. And if you’re an aficionado of mobster
flicks—period or modern—then Miller’s Crossing is the hat trick for you.
A
concentration camp survivor returns home after the war only to find betrayal
and deceit in “Phoenix,†a Blu-ray release from Criterion. Nina Hoss is Nelly
Lenz, a German Jew returning to Berlin in 1945 both physically and
psychologically damaged after years in concentration camps including the
notorious Auschwitz death camp. A successful nightclub singer prior to the
horrors of Nazi Germany, she returns home with a disfigured face hidden under
bandages when we first meet her on screen. Nelly is aided by her friend Lene Winter
(Nina Kunzendorf), a fellow German Jew who fled to England before the war.
Nelly receives reconstructive surgery on her face which alters her looks,
although we never see what she looked liked prior to her facial disfigurement.
We first see her after the bandages are removed post surgery.
Nelly
wants to be reunited with her husband, she married shortly before being taken
by the authorities to a Jewish detention camp. She finds her husband, Johnny Lenz
(Ronald Zehrfeld), who had not been arrested because he is not Jewish, working
at a local restaurant. He doesn’t recognize her when they talk and it appears
he is oblivious to who she is. Johnny returns to her the next day with a
request. He asks if she will pretend to be his (presumably) dead wife so he can
make a claim for her estate and then he’ll share some of the money with her. Nelly
agrees to the ruse if only to be with her husband even though it is play acting
on his part.
The
psychological scars are deep for both Nelly and Lene, who has survivor’s guilt
from avoiding internment. Those scars are deeper than the physical scars for
Nelly which prevents her from revealing her true identity to her husband as she
learns more about him. Nelly hopes her husband will somehow come to recognize
her as the real Nelly, but plays things out maintaining the ruse in an attempt
to learn how he survived throughout the war. The climax is chilling, as it is
revealed how Nina was betrayed and by whom. These developments are played out
in flashback.
Nina
Hoss and Ronald Zehrfeld are excellent as Nelly and Johnny. as is Nina
Kunzendorf as Lene. Directed by Christian Petzold with a screenplay co-written
by Petzold and Harn Farocki,, the story is based on “motifs†from the novel “Le
retour des cendres†by Hubert Monteilhet. I found it fascinating to watch as
Johnny teaches Nelly how to act like Nelly, dress like Nelly and sign her name
like Nelly in order to “fool†her own family and friends who survived the war. The
movie has a definite “Vertigo†vibe going for it, almost as though we are experiencing
a lucid daydream.
Nina
Hoss may be familiar to fans of the television series “Homelandâ€, wherein she
played Astrid in 13 episodes of the Showtime series from 2014 to 2017. She was
also in the Showtime 2020 series “The Defeated.†Her co-star, Ronald Zehrfeld,
is also terrific and convincing as the “widowed†husband who does not recognize
his own wife, but knows this “other†woman looks close enough to hopefully fool
everyone and claim Nelly’s estate. Zehfred appears in mostly German
productions, but does appear in the 2020 Netflix series “Barbarans†as Berulf.
If
the basic plot of “Phoenix†sounds familiar, as it did to me while I first
viewed the Blu-ray, it’s because the same novel was adapted for the 1965 thriller,
“Return from the Ashes,†which is also the English translation of the novel. That
movie, directed by J. Lee Thompson and adapted by Julius Epstein, features
Maximilian Schell, Samantha Eggar and Ingrid Thulin. I’ve never read the
original novel, but a quick check on the web revealed “Return from the Ashesâ€
is the more faithful while “Phoenix†focuses on “motifs†lifting the basic plot
of the inheritance claim and changes the location from post- World War II
France to Germany and adds the plastic surgery subplot.
“Phoenixâ€
was released in September 2014 in Germany and found an audience as an American
film festival and art house release throughout 2015. While not a blockbuster,
the film did brisk business and deserves a fresh viewing. The movie is 98 minutes
and filmed in German language. The Criterion Collection Blu-ray of “Phoenixâ€
looks and sounds terrific in the original German with English subtitles. The
disc also includes a making of documentary, interviews with the director,
cinematographer, cast and also the trailer. There’s also an informative booklet
with an essay about the film by Michael Koresky included with the disc
packaging. The movie is highly recommended and makes a great double feature
with “Return From the Ashes.â€
Jane
Campion’s 1993 masterpiece, The Piano, is a singular motion picture
unlike any other, except for perhaps other pictures by Campion (her most
recent, The Power of the Dog, manages to evoke much of the same mood and
atmosphere, albeit within a totally different setting and context).
Campion
was the second woman to be nominated for the Best Director Oscar for The
Piano and the first to have the same title nominated for Best Picture.
While she failed to win in these two categories, she did justly win for Best
Original Screenplay. Holly Hunter won Best Actress, and little Anna Paquin, in
her debut film appearance, won Best Supporting Actress, becoming the
second-youngest performer ever to win an Oscar (she was nine and ten during the
making of the film, and was eleven when she received the trophy). The Piano was
also nominated for Cinematography (Stuart Dryburgh), Costume Design (Janet
Patterson), and Editing (Veronika Jenet). Astonishingly, Michael Nyman’s
heartbreakingly beautiful score, vitally important to the film in that the
music is practically a character in the story, was not nominated. Nyman was
nominated, however, for nearly every other film award and won several of them.
The
Piano is
not an ordinary movie. It is a perfect art-film, an extremely personal
meditation on the role of women (and men) not only in 19th Century New Zealand,
when the story takes place, but it is also a comment on contemporary dynamics
between the sexes. Campion’s work might remind viewers of the films of Terrence
Malick, in that the landscapes of location and Mother Nature are just as
important as the inner “voices†of the characters in a tale that is more about
atmosphere and feeling than it is “plot.†Campion, in an interview in a
supplement on this new Criterion disk, says she looks for the broad vista with
tiny figures placed within, like Lawrence of Arabia—so perhaps she has
taken a cue from David Lean, too. The difference is that Jane Campion’s point
of view and sensibility is decidedly feminine and provocatively feminist.
It’s
the late 1800s. Ada (Hunter) is mute by choice (but she can hear and play the
piano exquisitely) with a young daughter, Flora (Paquin), who was apparently
born out of wedlock (interestingly, Flora’s name is never uttered in the
picture). Flora acts as Ada’s mouthpiece as they use sign language to
communicate, and then Flora interprets to other people. Ada’s father has sold
her into a marriage to Alisdair (Sam Neill), a wilderness-man of sorts living
in the New Zealand wild among the MÄori people. Ada and
Flora arrive by sea, complete with a piano in a crate, and they must wait on
the expansive beach of dark sand for Alisdair and the MÄori
porters to fetch them the next day. Alisdair refuses to bring the piano, which
he wasn’t expecting. This immediately causes a rift between Ada and Alisdair,
for the piano is Ada’s heart and soul. Baines (Harvey Keitel) is a foreigner
who has adopted the ways of the MÄori, and he is
immediately attracted to Ada. He arranges for the piano to be brought to his
home and makes a deal with Alisdair for Ada to teach him how to play it. In
private, Baines bargains with Ada, telling her that he’ll trade the piano back
to her key-by-key if she will do “favors†for him. These requests become sexual
in nature. At first Ada resists, but then she finds the man is much more
appealing than her stern and unimaginative husband. How long can Ada and Baines
hide their affair from Alisdair, especially when Flora and other MÄori
people are always around? Eventually, the situation explodes, and the violence
that ensues will change the life of each principal character.
This
is powerful, sensual stuff. The sex scenes between Hunter and Keitel were shocking when The Piano was first released in 1993, and they are
still potent and moving. This reviewer can recall women saying about the film
that they “never knew Harvey Keitel could be so sexy!†The Piano is a
story of a woman’s journey from “silence,†in every sense of the word, to
“music,†the awakening of sensuality and the escape from being controlled.
Ada’s piano playing, through Michael Nyman’s pieces, express her thoughts and
emotions when she is unable to convey them by voice. Hence, the piano itself
becomes a symbol of Ada’s freedom. (It should be noted that Holly Hunter
herself played the music in the movie.)
Both
Holly Hunter and Anna Paquin deserved their Oscars. Hunter’s performance is
remarkable, one of visceral intelligence and passion. Many viewers raised
eyebrows when young Paquin won the award, but in retrospect, it is clear that
her accomplishment is truly extraordinary. As someone who had never acted
professionally, Paquin’s command of character, mood, and presence is nothing
short of a miracle.
The
Criterion Collection’s new Blu-ray (also available in 4K Ultra) is a package
worthy of its content. The film itself is a new, restored 4K digital transfer,
supervised and approved by Campion and DP Dryburgh. It looks marvelous. There
is an informative audio commentary by Campion and producer Jan Chapman, and the
picture comes with a new English subtitle translation for the deaf and hearing
impaired (and for the MÄori dialogue).
Supplements
abound. There are new and/or recent interviews with Campion, Hunter, production
designer Andrew McAlpine, MÄori advisor Waihoroi
Shortland; vintage interviews with Nyman and costumer Patterson; a new
conversation between Campion and producer Chapman; a vintage featurette “Inside
The Pianoâ€; Campion’s 2006 short film The Water Diary (starring
Campion’s daughter, Alice Englert); and the theatrical trailer. The booklet
comes with an essay by critic Carmen Gray.
The
Piano is
easily one of the great cinematic achievements of the last thirty years. For
fans of Jane Campion, the main cast members, New Zealand beauty, exceptional
music scores, and art house drama of the highest quality. Enthusiastically
recommended.
What
character in cinematic history has appeared in the most films? Our friend the
Internet says that Sherlock Holmes holds the record, followed by Dracula.
However, most people outside of Asia might not realize that possibly third on
the list is a Chinese martial arts practitioner and physician named Wong
Fei-hung, who was a real person who lived mostly in the Canton area from
1847-1925. Wong became a cultural folk hero in his native country, spawning literature,
comics, television series, and many, many films.
Wong
Fei-hung (Wong is the surname, so in the West he would be Fei-hung Wong) has
been known in fictional settings as Huang Fei-hong, Huang Fei Hong, Wong Fei
Hong, and in this recent series as Wong Fei-hung. The actor most associated
with the character in China is Tak-Hing Kwan, who made over 75 films between the
1940s and 1980s. Kwan is to Wong Fei-hung as Sean Connery is to James Bond. For
many, Kwan is Wong. The titles to these movies invoke those of old
serials, and they always begin with Huang Fei-hong… (e.g., Huang
Fei-hong and the Courtesan’s Boat Argument or Huang Fei-hong’s Fight at
Foshan).
However,
other actors have portrayed the character in more recent years—Gordon Liu, Andy
Lau, and Jackie Chan. Most recently, the actor Jet Li is associated with the
role in director Tsui Hark’s extremely popular film and television series
produced in Hong Kong in the 1990s.
Tsui
(again, his surname) is one of the giants of the Hong Kong film industry. He
began his career in the 1970s and worked on many films as director, writer,
producer, and other capacities. He eventually started his own film company and
became a major player in the region. In the early 90s Tsui decided to resurrect
Wong Fei-hung in an updated, more politicized series of pictures that reflected
a subtext of the anxiety felt by the Hong Kong people about the upcoming
handover from Britain to China in 1997.
Thus,
Once Upon a Time in China, as it was known in the West (in Cantonese the
title is simply Wong Fei-hung), was unleashed in 1991 and proved to be a
huge success. Jet Li, who was already a star on the Chinese film scene, moved
to Hong Kong and solidified his standing along the likes of other martial arts
superstars like Jackie Chan. The film’s triumph was such that the green light
was given to make a sequel in 1992, Once Upon a Time in China II,
followed by III in 1993. Jet Li dropped out of the series for the next
two, IV (1993) and V (1994), and was replaced by Vincent Zhao
(credited on screen as Zhao Wen Zhuo). Tsui Hark co-produced and co-wrote all
five pictures, and he directed the first, second, third, and fifth. IV was
directed by Yuen Bun. The five movies were then followed in Hong Kong by a five-episode
television series called Wong Fei-hung, also starring Vincent Zhao as
Wong. For a coda, a sixth film, Once Upon a Time in China and America was
made in 1997, was directed by Sammo Hung, and Jet Li returned to the role of
Wong one last time.
The
overall theme in the series is one of nationalism. Unlike most high-action
martial arts films produced in Hong Kong in the 90s, the Once Upon a Time series
is overtly political, emphasizing how foreigners (i.e., Britain, the U.S.,
Europeans) invaded China and corrupted centuries-old cultures and traditions.
Hence, in most cases, the villains in the films are the foreigners, although
often the bad guys are also Chinese religious cults aiming to undermine not
only foreigners but the current government.
The
Criterion Collection has released a magnificent box set of the six feature
films, plus a ton of supplements. Each movie takes place in the late 1800s
(early 1900s in the last film) during the Qing Dynasty. Wong lives in a town
called Foshan and runs a martial arts and Chinese medical clinic. He is
surrounded by recurring characters who, while adept at martial arts and
participate in the amazing action sequences, are there mainly for comic relief.
A major recurring character is Leung Foon, played in the first picture by Yuen
Biao, and from then on by Max Mok. Both Wong and Leung’s love interest is Yee
Siu-kwan, more commonly addressed in the series as “13th Aunt†because of a
complicated familial relationship to Wong. She is always played by Rosamund
Kwan throughout the series. Wong himself is a serious guy who is honest,
patriotic, and loyal. As played by Jet Li (and by Zhao as well), he is a dynamo
at kung fu. For this reviewer’s money, he could take on Jackie Chan any day of
the week and it would be troubling to decide upon whom to bet.
The
films in the set:
Once
Upon a Time in China (1991;
Directed by Tsui Hark). A superb picture that won several of the Hong Kong Film
Awards (their equivalent to the Oscars) of its year—Best Director (Hark),
Editing (Marco Mak), Action Choreography (Yuen Cheung-yan, Yuen Shun-yee, Lau
Kar-wing), and Original Score (James Wong). The main title theme song, based on
a Ming Dynasty folk song, “A Man of Determination,†became the running theme
for the entire film series and a popular hit tune. The song has long been
associated with Wong Fei-hung, even before Tsui’s series. Here it is sung by
George Lam (in the second feature it is sung by none other than Jackie Chan
over the end titles). The film was nominated for Best Picture, Cinematography,
Art Direction, and Supporting Actor (Jacky Cheung, as “Bucktoothâ€). The story
involves Wong and his team battling a gang that operates like a mafia,
terrorizing businesses in Foshan, as well as the corrupt American officials who
plan to kidnap Chinese women and export them back to the U.S. as slaves (i.e.,
prostitutes). Although this first feature in the series is a little too long
(134 minutes), it introduces all the ongoing characters, establishes the mix of
action, comedy, and melodrama, and is full of visual spectacle.
Once
Upon a Time in China II (1992; Directed by Tsui Hark). This reviewer ranks the
second feature as the absolute favorite among the bunch. Replacing Yuen Biao
with Max Monk as Leung Foon, who is Wong’s main sidekick, is an improvement. The
story is tighter and not so all over the place as it was in the first picture. Wong
and company travel to Canton to attend a medical conference, where they meet
real-life political figure. Dr. Sun Yat-sen (Zhang Tielin). A dangerous
religious cult, the White Lotus Sect, threatens not only the foreigners in the
region, but also any Chinese who believe in progress or moving away from
outdated traditions. Everything in the movie works, and the fight scenes are
especially inventive and exciting. The historical perspectives involving Sun
Yat-sen are also engaging. While there is no evidence that the real Wong
Fei-hung ever met the real Sun Yat-sen, it’s entirely possible because their
lives overlapped.
Once
Upon a Time in China III (1993; Directed by Tsui Hark). This one provides a change
of scenery as Wong and his team travel to Beijing to participate in a “lion
dance†competition. Although made in Hong Kong, the film’s art direction
convincingly creates landmark locations in Beijing, such as the Forbidden City.
A Russian acquaintance of 13th Aunt, Tomanovsky (John Wakefield), supplies
romantic conflict as well as antagonist duties. There are also rival gangs in
the competition who aim to cheat to win, and Wong must dispel these challenges
to his honor. It’s not as engaging as the first two—it feels as if we’ve seen
much of it before. It’s also not surprising that Jet Li decided to leave the
series after this production. Still, for fans of the films, it provides enough
of the goods to entertain.
Once
Upon a Time in China IV (1993; Directed by Yuen Bun). Vincent Zhao replaces Jet
Li as Wong, but the rest of the cast remains the same. Rosamund Kwan and her
character is absent, but she is replaced by her sister, “14th Aunt,†played by
Jean Wang. In this one, Wong participates in an international lion dance
competition, and there’s another fanatical religious cult, the Red Lantern
Sect, this time made up entirely of women. In many ways, IV is a repeat
of III, and the production values seem cheaper. Most interesting is the
new dynamic of the romantic trio between Wong, Leung, and 14th Aunt.
Once
Upon a Time in China V (1994; Directed by Tsui Hark). Hark must have decided to
direct again due to the disappointing IV. Rosamund Kwan is also back as
13th Aunt, but Wang as 14th Aunt is still present, creating an even more
romantic whirlwind conflict among the characters. A big improvement over IV,
this picture features Wong and company moving to Hong Kong, where they join
forces with the local government to battle pirates who are cutting off supply
routes.
Once
Upon a Time in China and America (1997; Directed by Sammo Hung). This one
seems like an afterthought, although it is unique and entertaining in its way.
Jet Li returns to the role of Wong Fei-hung, and this time the team travel to
Americaand the Wild West in the early 1900s. Think Back to the
Future Part III, as the Chinese characters are fish out of water, dealing
with cowboys, outlaws, and Native Americans. The movie was made in the U.S.,
too, and there are scenes in Monument Valley and other locations identified
with Hollywood westerns. It’s mindless hokum, but different enough from the
others that it’s still enjoyable.
The
first two films in the Criterion Collection set have 4K digital restorations,
and new 2K digital restorations for the others, all presented in original
Cantonese theatrical-release sound mixes in uncompressed monaural or stereo
(the latter available as a choice for the first two films). Supplements abound
on each of the six disks in the box. There are too many to list here; suffice
it to say that there are new interviews with Tsui Hark, editor Marco Mak, and
others, as well as vintage interviews with Jet Li and Tsui. A new interview
with critic Tony Rayns is essential viewing for a background to the Wong
character and the series. There is much more, including a master class given by
martial arts choreographer Yuen Wo-ping, making of featurettes,
behind-the-scenes footage, and deleted scenes. Essays by film critic Maggie Lee
and novelist Grady Hendrix are included in the booklet.
The
final word—Criterion’s Once Upon a Time in China—The Complete Films is a
must-have package for fans of Hong Kong cinema, Jet Li, Tsui Hark, and martial
arts extravaganzas.
Scottish
filmmaker Lynne Ramsay burst onto the scene in the late 1990s with the striking
independent picture, Ratcatcher, which may or may not have been somewhat
of an autobiographical meditation on being a young child in early 1970s
Glasgow.
Ratcatcher brought Ramsay the
Carl Foreman Award for Newcomer in British Film at the BAFTA Awards, as well as
other prizes from various film festivals. It is indeed an art film of high
quality that is filled with haunting imagery, melancholic moods, and wonderful
performances by a host of young child actors (as well as adults).
The
year is 1973 or thereabouts, and ghetto-like sections of Glasgow, Scotland, are
on track to be demolished. The residents have been promised new housing in more
modern structures that are being built. Life on these tenement-like streets is
harsh. Often there are no utilities, a stagnant and dangerous canal runs along
the street, and currently there is a garbage strike. Trash is piled on the
sidewalks, creating a massive health hazard and an attractive gathering spot
for rats. The children run around and play in this environment. Our
protagonist, James (William Eadie), is a rather lonely, unhappy kid with few
real friends. He is the middle child with two sisters (one older and one
younger). James is often the target of bullies (a gang of slightly older boys
who roam the streets causing trouble). His father (Tommy Flanagan) is a drunk
and wife-beater, and his well-meaning mother (Mandy Matthews) does what she can
to keep the family together and fed. After accidentally causing the unwitnessed
drowning of one of his only friends in the canal, James buries the guilt and
lives with it as he navigates the horrid conditions of his life. At one point,
James befriends a slightly older girl, Margaret Anne (Leanne Mullen), who is
unwillingly the community tart for the boy-gang. Ultimately, James must come to
terms with what accounts for his existence, such as it is, while the family
waits to be called to their new home.
The
film is a slice of life, a combination of street scenes and life in tiny,
decrepit flats. The squalor is tangible, and one can almost smell the stench. Director
Ramsay has presented a visceral and yet poetic, impressionistic look at
poverty. Her approach might remind one of the works of Terrence Malick, as
there is much more visual storytelling than dialogue (and, in fact, one of the
pieces of music heard in the film is what Malick used as the main title song
for his Badlands, the Orff-Keetman piece Gassenhauer).
The
dialogue is heavy Scottish, which may be unintelligible to North American
audiences. When Ratcatcher was released in cinemas in the U.S., English
subtitles accompanied the film. It is highly recommended to those outside of
the U.K. to turn on the subtitle function of this superb Blu-ray disk produced
by The Criterion Collection.
Upgraded
from an earlier Criterion DVD edition, Ratcatcher comes in a new 4K
digital restoration, supervised by Ramsay and cinematographer Alwin Küchler
(Ramsay and Küchler attended film school together). The
movie is in 2.0 surround DTS-HD Master Audio.
Supplements
on the original DVD are ported over: a 2002 interview with Ramsay, and three of
her early shorts (Small Deaths, Kill the Day, and Gasman),
and the trailer.New to the Blu-ray supplements are an updated 2021
interview with Ramsay, and a 2020 audio interview with Küchler.
The booklet comes with essays by film critic Girish Shambu and filmmaker Barry
Jenkins.
Ratcatcher
is
for fans of international cinema, modern Scottish culture and history, and
independent filmmaking.
They
say (whoever “they†are) that it’s the “oldest profession.†Maybe it is and
perhaps it’s not, but there is no question that prostitution is indeed a
profession—if it’s voluntary. Yes, it’s illegal in most places, but still…
In
New York City during the 70s, 80s, and 90s (and probably still today), private
brothels were plentiful throughout the metropolis. One only had to pick up a newspaper
that catered to underground activities (available at any newsstand), or even New
York Magazine or the Village Voice to find classified ads that
directed clientele to phone numbers for discreet services. It is assumed that
law enforcement is paid off for protection—or maybe it’s the mob, so who knows?
While assuredly there may have been instances of human trafficking going on in
these places, most of the time these brothels were operated privately and
employed ordinary, women-next-door types who looked upon the “job†as a way of
making money.
Feminist
filmmaker Lizzie Borden’s docu-drama Working Girls,about the goings-on
and culture of a private brothel, premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in 1986
(it won the Special Jury Prize), and then was released to the public in 1987. It
is a realistic, frank, and non-judgmental examination of a handful of women who
are “working girls†and what a typical shift might be like. Suffice it to say
that it’s not the typical day job.
Molly
(Louise Smith) is a smart, attractive, Yale graduate with two degrees. Her life
partner is a woman, and they have a daughter together. Molly rides a bicycle to
work, which is an apartment with several bedrooms upstairs and a comfortable
living room and kitchen downstairs. The building’s doorman is discreetly paid
to keep things quiet. Molly works with two to three other women throughout the
day, seeing various men who make appointments over the phone. The madam is Lucy
(Ellen McElduff), an attractive middle-aged woman who states, “The two things I
love most in life are sex and money… I just never knew until much later they
were connected.†Lucy is all about the business, keeping clients happy, and
only slightly considerate of her employees. Molly, Gina (Marusia Zach), Dawn
(Amanda Goodwin), and, later, April (Janne Peters) and Mary (Helen Nicholas) “entertainâ€
a variety of men who run the gamut of personalities—shy and awkward, confident
and boorish, nice but weird, and creepily aggressive. Molly, who is usually personable
and “acts†the part she’s supposed to do, takes the work in stride until she is
pressured to take another shift into the night. Finally, the stress becomes too
much.
This
is a fascinating picture that will assuredly make you uncomfortable. It is
insightful and raw in its matter-of-factness. Director Borden takes a
documentary-like approach to the material, even though the story is fiction and
focuses on a character arc that evolves over a twelve-hour period. There is
nothing here that can be called a stereotype, and it can be said that the
sexual activity on the screen is far from erotic. The approximately 90-minute
picture was released unrated, but it likely would be a hard R or perhaps an X
(this was before X was replaced by NC-17). It should be noted that most of the
creative team and crew were women.
Louise
Smith is marvelous as Molly. She exhibits a knowing canniness to the
proceedings without letting her true emotions erupt until she finally does
reach the breaking point. McElduff’s Lucy is also perfect as the ingratiating
boss who pretends to care about the working girls, but she is truly only
interested in her married boyfriend and the gifts he bestows.
The
Criterion Collection’s Blu-ray release features a new, restored 4K digital transfer
supervised by Borden, and it comes with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack. There
are English subtitles for the hearing impaired. An optional audio commentary
from 2007 is enlightening and smart, spoken by Borden, director of photography
Judy Irola, and actor Amanda Goodwin.
Supplements
include a new conversation between Borden and feminist filmmaker Bette Gordon (Variety;
1983); a terrific new Zoom discussion between actors Smith and Goodwin,
producer Andi Gladstone, and assistant director Vicky Funari; and a new Zoom
discussion between real-life sex workers Antonia Crane, Daphne, Selena the
Stripper, and Jo Weldon. The booklet contains an essay by author So Mayer and
excerpts from a 1987 interview with Borden by film scholar Scott MacDonald.
Working
Girls is
a time capsule of 1980s New York City, a sobering view of what really goes on behind
these closed doors, and a prime example of smart, challenging, independent
filmmaking.
It
boggles this reviewer’s mind that Bringing Up Baby, released in early
1938, was considered a “flop†at the time. Was it really, or is that Hollywood
PR nonsense? The truth is that it did fine, but perhaps not as well as the
studio, RKO, had hoped. Shortly before its release, the Independent Theater
Owners of America had deemed star Katharine Hepburn (and other popular leading
ladies) “box office poison.†This bit of nastiness may have had an impact on Baby’s
earnings in 1938.
The
movie was re-released in the early 40s after the success of The Philadelphia
Story (1940) and did much better. When television began broadcasting Bringing
Up Baby, the picture’s reputation shot through the roof. Today, it’s
considered one of Hollywood’s greatest screwball comedies, and fans agree that
it contains performances that are among Hepburn’s and co-star Cary Grant’s most
beloved.
This
reviewer counts it as one of the funniest movies ever made and could very well
be the quintessential screwball comedy, which is what this type of wacky romantic
comedy was called in those days, especially if the lovebirds involved were of
differing social classes and temperaments.
And
while both Hepburn and Grant are absolutely a delight to watch in Bringing
Up Baby, the film is also filled with other funny character actors
delivering eccentric performances—Charles Ruggles, May Robson, Walter Catlett,
Barry Fitzgerald, and others. Howard Hawks was known to have said that his one
error with the film was that every character was “crazy,†and that there should
have been a few grounded in sanity. This reviewer disagrees! It’s the zaniness
of Baby that makes the movie special.
The
plot? Mild-mannered and shy paleontologist Dr. David Huxley (Grant) is building
the skeleton of a brontosaurus for his museum, and he’s missing the one bone
that will complete the project: the elusive “intercostal clavicle.†He’s also
engaged to be married to ho-hum Alice (Virginia Walker). On the golf course, Huxley
meets flighty but beautiful Susan Vance (Hepburn). She immediately sets out to
snare Huxley, and Vance does everything in her power—unwittingly or not—to
wreak havoc on the man’s life and stability. Complicating the matter is the
presence of “Baby,†a tame leopard that Vance’s brother had sent to her. The
one thing that calms down the animal is if someone sings to it the song, “I
Can’t Give You Anything but Love, Baby,†which both Huxley and Vance are forced
to do—a lot! Vance convinces Huxley to help her take Baby to a farm in
Connecticut, and then the picture really does become a mad, mad world. Vance’s shocked
aunt turns out to be a wealthy patron who may be donating money to Huxley’s
museum—she also owns a wire fox terrier named George (played by “Skippy,†who was
also Nick and Nora’s “Asta†in The Thin Man). When Huxley finally
receives the intercostal clavicle, George steals it and buries it somewhere.
One would think the dog and the leopard are conspiring against the couple! To
reveal more would spoil the rollicking good rollercoaster ride that is Bringing
Up Baby!
The
Criterion Collection has done a bang-up job on the new Blu-ray release. The
restored 4K digital transfer, with uncompressed monaural soundtrack, is a
marked improvement over the 2005 Warner special edition DVD (which was pretty
good to begin with!). Besides optional English subtitles for the hearing
impaired, the audio commentary included is by filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich, ported
over from that DVD release. All the other supplements on the Criterion edition
are different.
There’s
a wonderful video essay by author Scott Eyman on the early career of Cary
Grant; a new interview with cinematography John Bailey about DP Russell Metty;
a fascinating interview with film scholar Craig Barron about visual effects
wizard Linwood Dunn, who handled the tricky rear-screen projection and
traveling matte shots involving the leopard with the actors (and Dunn didn’t
receive credit!); a selected-scene commentary by costume historian Shelly Foote
on the work of designer Howard Greer for the film; an enlightening 1-hour
European documentary on Howard Hawks (with subtitles) by Hans-Christoph
Blumenberg, made not long before Hawks’ death; a fun audio interview from 1969
with Cary Grant answering audience questions after a screening of the film; audio
excerpts of a 1972 conversation between Hawks and Peter Bogdanovich (whose What’s
Up, Doc? is a direct homage to Baby); and the theatrical trailer.
The
enclosed booklet contains an essay by critic Sheila O’Malley, and, of special
interest, the original 1937 short story by Hagar Wilde upon which the film is
based.
Bringing
Up Baby is
guaranteed to make you laugh. Highly recommended for fans of screwball comedy,
Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, Howard Hawks, and pure zaniness.
Samuel
Fuller’s 1953 film noir, Pickup on South Street,was
shocking in its day and still manages to deliver a punch to the gut.
In
the conservative early 50s, who would have thought that Hollywood would green
light a picture in which a pickpocket, a “loose†woman, and a stool pigeon are
the protagonists? Film noir titles often told stories from the point of
view of the criminals when they didn’t focus on cynical and hard-boiled private
investigators, but Pickup attempts to make these lowlifes sympathetic.
Surprisingly, the movie succeeds. While the film was not well-received upon
release, the years have been kind to it. Today, Fuller’s hard-edge crime
story-cum-Cold War spy thriller is considered a masterpiece of its ilk.
Sleazy
Skip McCoy (Richard Widmark) is a professional pickpocket, often preying on
unsuspecting women on New York subway trains. When he lifts the wallet from the
attractive and sultry Candy (Jean Peters), Skip doesn’t realize that she’s being
watched by the Feds. Candy is unwittingly delivering the movie’s MacGuffin—a
microfiche of top-secret government goods—to a Communist cell in the USA. Candy’s
handler and former boyfriend, Joey (Richard Kiley) seems subservient to his
bosses at first, but we soon realize he is a dangerous powder keg. The Feds
enlist the NYPD’s help to recover the stolen wallet, and the cops, in turn, go
to stool pigeon Moe (the fabulous Thelma Ritter), who has her own problems with
the law—but she seems to know everyone in the underworld. Eventually, McCoy
realizes he’s in possession of something quite valuable, so he embarks to play
both ends against the middle, with Candy as a pawn in his risky game.
“Red
Scare†movies were a thing in the late 40s and early 50s. The paranoia went
part-and-parcel with the Hollywood blacklist and House Un-American Activities
Committee work to flush out Communists in the entertainment industry. Several
anti-Communism pictures were produced, mostly B-movie crime thrillers that were
similar to the cheap science fiction alien invasion movies also being made at
the time. Pickup on South Street, though, is one of the better Red Scare
movies in that it is more of a crime thriller… and a sort of twisted love
story, too.
Yes,
McCoy and Candy develop a sizzle for each other, despite McCoy violently abusing
and assaulting the woman. This aspect, perhaps, is a bit difficult to swallow
in terms of believability—why would she fall for a guy who punches her in the
jaw? But this was 1953, and film noir characters did not often behave
rationally (or realistically).
While
both leads are terrific, it is Thelma Ritter who steals the movie; in fact, she
was nominated for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her performance. The
picture is also buoyantly elevated by the several supporting character actors
who play cops, Feds, and underworld figures.
Pickup is loosely based on
a short story, “Blaze of Glory,†by Dwight Taylor, but the screenplay is by
Fuller himself. The direction is tight, frank, and economical. It is easily one
of the controversial director’s most accomplished works.
The
Criterion Collection’s new Blu-ray release is an upgrade from a previous DVD
edition. This time the feature is a 4K digital restoration with an uncompressed
monaural soundtrack. Most of the DVD’s supplements are ported over—a 1989
interview with Fuller conducted by critic Richard Schickel; a 1982 French TV
program in which Fuller talks about the film; a Hollywood Radio Theatre adaptation
from 1954 with Thelma Ritter reprising her role; and trailers for this and many
other movies directed by Fuller. New to the Blu-ray is an excellent interview
with critic Imogen Sara Smith, a film noir scholar and expert, who
provides many enlightening tidbits about the picture, its director, and the
cast. The booklet comes with essays by Martin Scorsese (Pickup is
allegedly one of Scorsese’s favorite pictures) and critic Luc Sante, plus a
chapter from Fuller’s autobiography.
Pickup
on South Street should
appeal to lovers of film noir, Samuel Fuller, Cold War-era drama, and
edgy crime thrillers of yesteryear. Highly recommended.
One
of the more unique entries in the film noir movement of the 1940s and
50s is the 1947 melodrama, Nightmare Alley. Based on a novel by William
Lindsay Gresham, the picture was made only because Tyrone Power expressed the
desire to star in it after reading the grim tale of a carnival barker who rises
to the top of the charlatan world, only to ultimately fall hard to rock bottom.
While
classified as film noir, the picture has little of the usual trappings
of the movement. There is no central crime in the story, there are no cynical
detectives, and one can argue that there are no femmes fatale. It is
only in the visual presentation that one can consider Nightmare Alley an
item of film noir—the high contrast black and white photography (by the
great Lee Garmes, who had photographed several of the early 30s Josef von
Sternberg pictures starring Marlene Dietrich), the heavy light and shadows, and
the dark, pessimistic themes in the story. Interestingly, the author of the
screenplay is John Furthman, who also worked with von Sternberg and penned such
titles as Shanghai Express and Blonde Venus—but he also wrote or
co-wrote such fare as the 1935 Mutiny on the Bounty, Only Angels Have
Wings, To Have and Have Not, and The Big Sleep. Director
Edmund Goulding had a long career starting in the silent era. He helmed Grand
Hotel, The Dawn Patrol, Dark Victory, and The Razor’s Edge,
to name a few of his classics.
Add
the casting of Power and Joan Blondell as the top-billed stars, plus the
charismatic Coleen Gray and Helen Walker, and you have a smorgasbord of talent
involved in the production. It was indeed a different kind of role for Tyrone
Power, who shed his matinee idol persona to play a flawed character. The
result? Nightmare Alley is an intelligent, seriously played, and
strikingly original B-movie that deals with the sleazy underbelly of the
carnival circuit, mediums and hocus pocus (the “spook racketâ€), and con
artists. It’s no wonder that a big-budget remake by Guillermo Del Toro is due
for a December 2021 release starring Bradley Cooper, Cate Blanchett, Rooney
Mara, Willem Dafoe, and Toni Collette.
Stanton
Carlisle (Power) works as a barker in a traveling carnival and is fascinated by
the “Geek†attraction, which is billed as a “missing link†between man and
beast. The Geek is really a down-on-his-luck alcoholic bum who willingly
degrades himself to bite the heads off live chickens in exchange for a little
pay and a bottle of booze. Stan is sweet on Molly (Gray), the young and
attractive girl-of-all-trades in the sideshow, but she is attached to Bruno the
strongman (Mike Mazurki). Stan then makes a play for Zeena (Blondell), the
mentalist who is married to another alcoholic, Pete (Ian Keith). Zeena still
loves Pete, although she sees the opportunity to better her situation with
Stan. She teaches Stan her tricks so that he can take over Pete’s part in the
act. After Stan unwittingly causes Pete’s death, the dynamics between the
characters shift. Stan and Molly are forced into marriage after a
behind-the-scenes tryst, and then they run away to become a big act in Chicago
using Zeena and Pete’s methods. But their fortunes turn, of course, especially
after Stan meets beautiful psychiatrist Lilith (Walker). To reveal more would
be unfair, but it is not a spoiler to say that the Geek plays a bigger role in
the yarn than we first thought.
While
Nightmare Alley is a terrific character study of an overly ambitious man,
it is really a cautionary picture about alcoholism. The Lost Weekend had
been a critical and popular success only two years earlier, so the producer
(George Jessel) and the studio must have thought Nightmare Alley would
fly—but it proved to be much too bleak, even for film noir. It was a box
office flop, despite some good reviews and the admirable quality of the
filmmaking. However, the movie gained a following over the decades and earned a
reputation as a dark classic that was little seen until home video and runs on
TCM.
The
Criterion Collection has now issued a superb Blu-ray presentation of Nightmare
Alley, an upgrade from Fox’s previous DVD release. The new 4K digital
restoration looks sharp and glorious, and it comes with an uncompressed
monaural soundtrack. There is an audio commentary from 2005 by film historians
James Ursini and Alain Silver. The supplements include an informative interview
about the film by critic Imogen Sara Smith; a truly excellent interview about
the history of the carny life by sideshow performer and historian Todd Robbins;
an interview from 2007 with actress Coleen Gray; an audio excerpt from a 1971
interview with filmmaker Henry King, who discusses Tyrone Power; and the
theatrical trailer. The booklet contains an essay by film writer and
screenwriter Kim Morgan. Bonus!—there are a handful of nifty tie-in Tarot cards
to play with!
Nightmare
Alley is
a fascinating gem from the darker side of film noir, which was already
pretty dark to begin with! Highly recommended.
RETRO-ACTIVE: THE BEST FROM THE CINEMA RETRO ARCHIVES
“THE LADY VANISHES
ONE MORE TIMEâ€
BY RAYMOND BENSON
The
Criterion Collection has issued a Blu-ray upgrade to a previous winning DVD
release—Carol Reed’s World War II suspense adventure, Night Train to Munich. It’s a terrific example of the fine cinema
Britain was managing to produce even while at war. Released there in August of 1940, the country
was already in the conflict, although the Blitz had not yet occurred. (The picture was released in the U.S. in
December 1940, smack dab in the middle of
the Blitz.)
What’s
more striking is its resemblance to Alfred Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes (1938) in tone, setting, and even characters.
Marketing pushes at the time suggested that Night
Train to Munich was a “sequel†to Vanishes,
which was an extremely popular movie on both sides of the Atlantic. Night Train is not a sequel, though—it’s
more of a remake.
Somebody
at the studio must have thought they needed “another movie like Lady Vanishes†so writers Sidney Gilliat
and Frank Launder, who were responsible for the previous screenplay, were
secured to pen the new one. Both pictures have plots that involve spies, double
agents and Nazis, and a major portion of the stories takes place on a passenger
train. To sell the “sequel†concept even more to the public, popular actress Margaret
Lockwood, the star of Vanishes, was
cast as the lead, this time opposite a young Rex Harrison instead of Michael
Redgrave. Most curious, though, is the inclusion of two characters (and the actors who played them) from Vanishes—the duo of the very British,
comical, possibly gay men known as Charters and Caldicott (played by Basil
Radford and Naunton Wayne). The couple was such a hit the first time around,
the two fellows had to be passengers on board Night Train, too. There has
been much discussion about Charters and Caldicott’s sexual orientation since
their several appearances in these and a few other films of the late thirties
and early forties. Are they gay? There are certainly several humorous “clues†in these
two first titles to suggest it. Since something like that couldn’t be blatantly
talked about in those days, it was best for the audience to simply find it
funny that two men are traveling together (again, on a train?) and possibly
using the same bed (in Vanishes).
In
Night Train, Lockwood plays the
daughter of a Czech scientist who is the MacGuffin of the story—both the Allies
and the Nazis want him. When father and daughter are captured and held in
Berlin, Harrison, a British agent whose cover is to perform and sell sheet
music in an English seaside town, is sent to Germany to free and bring them back
to the U.K. He impersonates a Nazi major in order to get “inside,†and his
impromptu escape plan involves the boarding of a train traveling from Berlin to
Munich (with fellow passengers Charters and Caldicott willing to help!). In the
meantime, a Nazi captain played by Paul Henreid (here credited as Paul von
Henreid—before he moved to Hollywood to be in Casablanca) is dedicated to keeping the scientist and his daughter
under the thumb of the Reich. Never mind that both Harrison and Henreid are
both in love with Lockwood.
Sounds
pretty far-fetched, doesn’t it? Forget it—this is a fast-paced,
intelligently-written, well-acted, and suspenseful adventure film. Mixed in
with all the excitement is light humor, in the tradition of Hitchcock’s
picture, thus providing viewers with an entertaining ride. Reed, who would go
on to make other classic British thrillers such as Odd Man Out and The Third Man,
handles the material with panache and style—just as Hitchcock did—but with a
more personal, friendlier touch.
The
new disk comes with a restored, high-definition digital transfer, with an
uncompressed monaural soundtrack. The image is remarkably clear and sharp, a
testament to the outstanding job Criterion does in presenting vintage cinema.
Supplements include a fascinating 2010 conversation between film scholars Peter
Evans and Bruce Babington about the director, writers, and the socio-political
climate at the time the picture was made, and an essay in the booklet by film
critic Philip Kemp.
So
“All aboard!†and take another ride on the thriller-adventure train. It doesn’t
matter if you don’t know The Lady
Vanishes—Night Train to Munich stands
on its own as top notch filmmaking. Better yet, get them both and make it a
double feature!
"OUT OF THE PAST: THE BEST FROM CINEMA RETRO'S ARCHIVES"
“A STUDY OF
DARKNESSâ€
By Raymond Benson
One
of the more controversial motion pictures to emerge out of what film historians
call “New Hollywood†was In Cold Blood,
which was released to theaters “for mature audiences only.†The New Hollywood
movement began around 1966, when the Production Code finally started to
collapse (and before the movie ratings were instituted) and studios commenced
allowing auteur filmmakers to do
whatever the hell they wanted. The year 1967 was especially a groundbreaking
one with the release of such “adult†fare as Bonnie and Clyde, The
Graduate, In the Heat of the Night,
and In Cold Blood.
In Cold Blood is based on the
“non-fiction novel†by Truman Capote about the true crime of 1959 in which an
innocent family of four in Kansas were murdered by two ex-cons who believed
there was $10,000 hidden in a safe in the house (there wasn’t). Capote spent
several years writing the book, interviewing law enforcement men involved in
the case, as well as the two killers themselves—Perry Smith and Dick Hickock.
The accused were eventually executed in 1965. In Cold Blood turned out to be, along with Vincent Bugliosi’s Helter Skelter, one of the two most
successful true crime books ever published.
Richard
Brooks was a Hollywood veteran who had been working in the industry since
before World War II. In the 1950s, he made a name for himself as a
writer/director, especially as an adapter of previously existing material. He
had won an Adapted Screenplay Oscar for Elmer
Gantry (1960) and had brought to the screen other acclaimed pictures such
as Blackboard Jungle (1955), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), and The Professionals (1966). Brooks
received Oscar nominations for both Director and Adapted Screenplay for In Cold Blood.
Deliberately
filmed in black and white at a time when most movies were in color, the picture
is a stark, dark, and ultra-realistic depiction of two psychologically-damaged
men, brilliantly portrayed by Robert Blake as Smith and Scott Wilson as
Hickock. Brooks’ reasoning to film in black and white was that “documentaries
were usually in black and white†and he wanted that true-to-life feel. Conrad
Hall, the director of photography, used a palette of extreme blacks and harsh
whites to achieve a higher than usual contrast (Hall was also nominated for an
Oscar). This served to emphasize the darkness that resided in these two men’s
souls.
In Cold Blood is a tough picture
to watch. It’s very disturbing, even today. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have
its rewards. As a study of darkness, and a display of virtuoso filmmaking, it’s
easily one of the better motion pictures of that decade. Brooks considered it
to be the best film he ever made, and he’s probably right.
The
movie is very faithful to the book with a few minor exceptions, such as the
addition of a reporter character who provides some voice-over narration, and
the complete elimination of the trial. The only scene from the trial in the film
is the prosecutor’s closing argument for the death penalty. Oddly, one figure
is totally absent from the movie, and that is Truman Capote himself. As shown
in the recent pictures, Capote (2005)
and Infamous (2006), the author
inserted himself into the convicted men’s incarcerated lives on an intimate
level. (It is highly recommended that after viewing In Cold Blood, one might want to take a look at Douglas McGrath’s Infamous, an often overlooked and
underrated biopic on Capote that deals closely with the author’s relationship
with Perry Smith, who in this case is played by none other than Daniel Craig!).
Many
have said that In Cold Blood is a
statement against the death penalty, but in many ways, it’s also the opposite.
While Brooks does a great job in evoking some sympathy for the killers by
portraying the hard life Perry had as a child and other circumstances that
brought the two killers to commit murder, it’s also difficult not to side with
the jury. The Clutter family—the victims—are presented in such a compassionate
light that, in the end—at least for this viewer—the verdict makes complete
sense.
The
Criterion Collection disc presents a new 4K digital restoration with 5.1
surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack (and the jazz score is by Quincy
Jones—also nominated for an Oscar!). Visually, the Blu-ray could not be more
striking. The abundance of supplements is also impressive. There are new
interviews with: a) Author Daniel K. Daniel on director Brooks, and this is
very enlightening; b) Cinematographer John Bailey about DP Conrad Hall and his
work; c) Film historian Bobbie O’Steen on the film’s editing; and d) Film
historian and jazz critic Gary Giddins about Jones’ score. Vintage interviews
include one with Brooks from 1988; one with Capote from 1966 during a visit to
the crime scene; and one with Capote from 1967 conducted by Barbara Walters.
There is also a short 1966 documentary on Capote directed by Albert and David
Maysles. The film’s trailer and an essay by critic Chris Fujiwara in the
enclosed booklet rounds out this excellent package.
In Cold Blood is not for the
faint-hearted, but it is also hard-hitting, arresting, and brilliantly made.
It’s a must for fans of crime drama and those who appreciate a little art with
their popcorn.
The
late Loren Adelson Singer, who passed away in 2009, has published several
novels as an author, among them That’s the House, There (1973), Boca
Grande (1974), and Making Good (1993). His first work, 1970’s The
Parallax View, published by Doubleday, was written as an answer to his disdain
for the printing business he worked at with his father-in-law and proved to be
enough of a success to permit him to become a paid author. The inspiration for
the book came from the covert operations he assisted in while training with the
Office of Strategic Services and was penned following the high-profile political
assassinations of the 1960’s. It also provided the blueprint for the film of
the same title directed by the late Alan J. Pakula, the second in his informally
named “paranoia trilogy,†bookended by Klute (1971) and All the
President’s Men (1976).
The
Parallax View concerns
the mysterious workings of a corporate entity, The Parallax Corporation, that
appears to be behind the assassinations of political nominees regardless of
which side of the aisle they sit on. It is 1971 and Charles Carroll (William
Joyce) is campaigning while at a luncheon atop Seattle’s Space Needle. Lee
Carter (Paula Prentiss) is covering the event for a television news story and her
ex-boyfriend, newspaper reporter Joe Frady (Warren Beatty), attempts to gain
access to the event but is denied entry when Carter shrugs him off. An
associate of Carroll’s, Austin Tucker (William Daniels), speaks with Carter in
a short on-camera interview. Two sinister-looking waiters (Bill McKinney and Richard
Bull) serve food when suddenly the former shoots and kills Carroll in front of
shocked and horrified guests. A chase ensues and the other “waiter†falls to
his death.
Three
years later, a shaken Carter goes to Frady and unleashes a tale of paranoia,
revealing that several witnesses at the luncheon have all died under mysterious
circumstances. Frady initially brushes off her concerns until Carter is found
dead 24 hours later. Out of guilt, he begins to investigate the deaths and in a
major scene lifted straight from the novel he nearly dies himself, outsmarting
a “sheriff†who sets Frady up to be drowned at the hands of a deluge running
out from a dam (in the novel it’s a “helpful hotel managerâ€). Frady manages to
secure documents concerning the Parallax Corporation from the sheriff’s house
and tries to convince his skeptical editor, Bill Rintels (Hume Cronyn), of the
links to the deaths. Frady then turns his attention to Austin Tucker and
accompanies Tucker and his aide on a yacht ride to talk – until a bomb onboard
kills both men and Frady narrowly escapes by jumping overboard. It seems that
wherever Frady goes, a Parallax minion is not too far behind. This sets in
motion a series of near logic-defying events which results in an ending of ambivalence.
To
fully appreciate this film in 2021, one needs to be aware of the climate of
fear and panic that must have pervaded the zeitgeist in the 1960’s and 1970’s
when seemingly no one could be trusted. After the assassinations of John F.
Kennedy in November 1963, Malcolm Little/Malcolm X in February 1965, Dr. Martin
Luther King, Jr. in April 1968, and Robert F. Kennedy in June 1968, who really
could? The film was shot in the Spring of 1973 while the country was in the
Watergate scandal and points to evil forces at work that Frady hope to get to
the bottom of. In the novel, Joe’s name is Malcolm Graham and works with Austin
Tucker to uncover the mystery.
Conspiracy
thrillers of this era concerned with Everyman against the Establishment often
possessed creepy, minimalist musical scores and The Parallax View is no
exception. Michael Small provides an excellent theme on the heels of his work
for Klute prior to passing the baton to David Shire on All the
President’s Men (Mr. Shire coincidentally scored Francis Coppola’s, his
then-brother-in-law, masterful The Conversation in 1974). It is
reminiscent of the music he would later write for John Schlesinger’s Marathon
Man (1976).
Walter
McGinn, the late actor who sadly died in an automobile accident in March 1977,
is excellent as Jack Younger, a rep from The Parallax Corporation who is sent
to feel out and vet Frady (who is assuming the identity of “Richard†and
wanting to give the impression that he died on the boat) based on his (forged)
test results. One can only wonder if Jack has fallen for Frady’s/Richard’s ploy,
or if he is actually privy to the deliberate subterfuge – given how meticulous
and cold The Parallax Corporation is, and the transpiring of events during the
film’s ending, one has to assume the latter. The audience is made to believe
that the Corporation is for more sophisticated than the average company at the
time, if they have access to top-of-the line intelligence and money-is-no-option/sophisticated
surveillance equipment. A shrewd viewer will beg the questions: how did The
Parallax Corporation manage to keep several steps ahead of the subjects it
intended to kill? Assuming they did had access to top security equipment, how were
they able to harness it? One could theoretically drive themselves crazy
pondering such questions.
In March of 2019 I took a drive to the Hudson River town
of Nyack, New York, for a rare public screening of Bob Dylan’s ill-fated
cinematic opus Renaldo & Clara.The film, originally released to art
houses in New York City and Los Angeles January of 1978, was mercilessly panned.The movie – shot during Dylan’s fabled autumn
1975 tour with his ragtag Rolling Thunder Revue – all but disappeared from
cinemas and, mostly, from public consciousness within the span of a few
weeks.The original cut of the film was,
let’s charitably say, a rambling affair, clocking in at just under four hours.
There’s one aspect of the original production that’s
pretty remarkable.In the torrent of old
releases that would flood the market following the advent of home video, Dylan never
chose to green-light an official release of Renaldo
& Clara.The notes to this set suggest
one reason this might be so:the
original negative of the musical
portion of the Rolling Thunder Revue tour footage seems to have been lost.The dazzling tour footage offered here on
this new Criterion release - material mostly culled from vintage Renaldo & Clara footage in strikingly
gorgeous quality, all things considered – is the result of a pristine 4K
transfer from a surviving 16mm workprint.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.The reason behind my traveling to Nyack in
2019 was two-fold.The screening of Renaldo & Clara that afternoon was
to be hosted by Rob Stoner, the bass player and bandleader of the Rolling
Thunder Revue, Bob Dylan’s backing ensemble in autumn 1975.I was hoping that since Stoner was a central
figure in Dylan’s inner circle (at one time), we might – at long last – experience
the film in better resolution.The only
copies of Renaldo and Clara that
circulated through “underground†channels amongst collectors had allegedly been
sourced from a couple of one-off European TV broadcasts.Since the videotapes of those broadcasts
varied wildly in picture and sound quality, the caliber of the bootleg sourced
was dependent upon what generation a copy had been mastered from.
So it was with some surprise and disappointment when I discovered
that Stoner’s personal copy was hardly better than any of the several rather ropey
dupes that found their way into my own collection over the years.What didn’t disappoint were the memories and asides
that Stoner would re-live and share as the near four-hour epic that is Renaldo & Clara unspooled, once
again, before our eyes.
The old saying suggests “truth is stranger than fiction.â€I personally believe that truth is, more
often than not, actually far more interesting
than fiction as well.Which leads me
into this discussion of Martin Scorsese’s Rolling
Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story, newly released as part of the white-glove
Criterion Collection series.There were
plenty of reasons to be excited by this release.Scorsese is an unabashed Bob Dylan fan.Anyone who saw “Life Lessons,†the director’s
segment of the 1989 anthology film New
York Stories, will recall Nick Nolte’s emotionally-wrought artist fiercely thrashing
away at his canvas as Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone†plays angrily on the
stereo in his studio loft. More
importantly, it was Scorsese that also gave us – via a PBS broadcast in 2005 -
the celebrated and highly recommended 207 minute long two-part documentary film
Bob Dylan: No Direction Home.
So when it was announced in 2018 that Scorsese would be
tackling a film recounting Dylan’s legendary Rolling Thunder Revue tour for
Netflix, my expectations ran pretty high.But on the evening of the film’s streaming premiere, I switched off the
TV at the program’s conclusion with, at best, a sense of
half-satisfaction.The footage of
Dylan’s musical performances was stunning, an affirmation of the legendary
status long affixed to these shows.On
the other hand, I admit to being totally dismissive of the film’s faux
documentary aspects.As a huge admirer
of Dylan’s music and career, it only took a few minutes in to see that the
feature’s sub-title “A Bob Dylan Storyâ€
was a literal one.It was exactly that,
a story: an uneasy blending of factual items with fantasies and outright
deceptions.
The problem with the folks who involve themselves on Bob
Dylan’s various film projects is that they allow themselves to get personally sucked
into his personal orbit of playful disinformation and obfuscation.His film collaborators become, in effect, coconspirators.The reason that D.A. Pennebaker’s seminal
documentary of Dylan’s 1965 tour of England, Don’t Look Back (1967), will very likely remain the most honest
portrait of the artist is that this director didn’t allow himself to be
manipulated by the bard - to any great degree, at least.I’m not of the camp to pretend that the
Dylan we’re introduced to in Don’t Look
Back (magnetic, abrasive, playful, rude, gifted), is the “real†Bob
Dylan.Once Pennebaker’s cameras begin to
roll, Dylan may or may not have consciously play-acted before them.But at least audiences were allowed to decide
for themselves whether or not Dylan was the ultimate brat or a musical genius
or, perhaps, a confusing and peculiar mix of both.
I
first saw Fellini Satyricon four or
five years after its initial release in the USA (1970; originally released in
Italy in 1969) on my college campus. It wasn’t a very good print and all I
remember was that the film was weird, confusing, and not as good as some other
Fellini pictures I had seen. Over forty years later, I sat down to view the new
Criterion Blu-ray release, and... wow.
I couldn’t believe it was the same movie I’d seen as a freshman in college. For
one thing, I’m older and more appreciative of what Fellini did with his films, Satyricon notwithstanding. Secondly,
Criterion’s new 4K digital restoration, supervised by director of photography
Giuseppe Rotunno, is absolutely gorgeous. The colors are vivid and the focus is
sharp. The new subtitles are readable and clear. It is an entirely different
film from what I remembered.
Fellini Satyricon is loosely adapted
from an ancient satirical “novel†by Petronius, and we learn from the extra
documentary interviews with classicists Luca Canalli (a consultant on the film)
and Joanna Paul, that only fragments of Petronius’ work survived. Roughly three
“chapters†of the original novel is all Fellini had to work with, and therefore
he fashioned the film as if we are looking only at scraps of a story. This is
why the film seems to cut inexplicably from one situation to the middle of
another. The final tableau of ancient ruins, upon which the main characters are
frescoed, sums up the this theme very well—the picture consists of glimpses into Petronius’ tale of three
students/vagabonds/thieves who travel through a bizarre and barbaric universe
that is ancient Rome. Once this concept is understood, then the film makes a
lot more sense.
Additionally,
Fellini chose to envision this special world within the sensibilities of 1969;
therefore, the picture is incredibly psychedelic. This is ancient Rome on an acid
trip. The grotesquery on display is meant to shock, of course, but it’s also
strangely beautiful. The colors of the settings, costumes, flesh, and blood
assault the senses, rendering the audience into a state of hallucinatory
hypnosis. This is Fellini’s most imaginative and mesmerizing film. Oddly, the
only Oscar nomination it received in 1970 was for Best Director; it most
definitely should have been honored in the technical and design categories.
The
episodic story is told in vignettes as Encolpius (Martin Potter), Ascyltus
(Hiram Keller), and Giton (Max Born)—three Adonis-like bi-sexual
lovers/friends—move from one fantastic set piece to another, the most
fascinating being the feast/party of a rich man where decadence and debauchery
abounds. For 1969, this was powerful, out-of-the-box stuff.
Other
extras on the disc include a fascinating hour-long vintage documentary, Ciao, Federico!, shot on the set during
the making of the film. Audio commentary of the film itself features an
adaptation of Eileen Lanouette Hughes’ memoir On the Set of ‘Fellini Satyricon’—a Behind the Scenes Diary.
There’s a new interview with Giuseppe Rotunno, archival interviews with
Fellini, and a new interview with still photographer Mary Ellen Mark. Felliniana is a presentation of numerous
Satyricon ephemera. The booklet
contains an essay by Michael Wood.
If
any Fellini film deserved “the Criterion treatment,†it is Fellini Satyricon. Do yourself a favor and pick up this magnificent
edition and behold its wonders. You’ll never think of ancient Rome in the same
way.
Throughout the history of the Academy
Awards, several foreign language (i.e., non-English) films have been nominated
for the top honor, Best Picture. The first was Jean Renoir’s Grand Illusion (1937,
released in the U.S. in 1938). Recently, Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma had a
good shot at the award in 2018. Most of the time these same pictures are also
up for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar, and because there is usually no
chance of the title winning Best Picture, getting the Foreign Language trophy
is the consolation prize.
In 2020, however, for the movies
released in 2019, South Korea’s Parasite won Best Picture, marking the
first time ever that a non-English language movie won the award. (2011’s The
Artist, a French production, doesn’t count because it was silent.) Parasite
also picked up Oscars for director Bong Joon-ho, for its original screenplay
(by Bong Joon-ho and Han Jin-wan), and, for good measure, Foreign Language Film!
History was made that night. Oh, and earlier in 2019, Parasite was the
first South Korean film to pick up the Palme d’Or at Cannes.
That said, Parasite happens to be
undoubtedly worthy of every honor it received. It’s the type of movie that one
should hopefully know nothing about before going in because there is a surprise
at every turn. Just when you think the film is about one thing, it goes in a
different direction and becomes something else. Parasite is a surreal
black comedy that is also a horror film, a domestic drama, and an examination
of the social classes in South Korea. It’s funny as heck, as weird as any
nightmare, and aesthetically beautiful to watch. With Parasite,the
talented Bong Joon-ho (The Host, Mother, Snowpiercer)
solidified his position as one of the reigning filmmakers working today.
While the picture has been released on
Blu-ray previously, The Criterion Collection has reissued this 2-disk special
edition which not only contains a new 4K digital master of the theatrical
release (approved by Bong and director of photography Hong Kyung Pyo) with a
Dolby Atmos soundtrack, but Criterion has also included on the second disk the black-and-white
version of the picture with the same soundtrack and an introduction by
Bong.
Black-and-white version, you ask? Yes,
Bong had the desire to create a black-and-white presentation of the film
because of his love of classic black-and-white pictures by Hitchcock and others.
There is a precedent. Frank Darabont originally intended his 2007 horror flick of
Stephen King’s The Mist to be black-and-white to mimic the 1950s horror
and sci-fi fare it resembles, but the studio wouldn’t allow it. So, after the movie’s
theatrical release Darabont turned the color version into black-and-white, exhibited
the new picture in select theaters, and released it as part of the Blu-ray
package. The same has occurred here in the fabulous new Criterion offering of Parasite.
So how is Parasite in
black-and-white? For this reviewer, it doesn’t pack the punch that the color
edition does. The theatrical release is jaw-dropping gorgeous with its
vibrant color scheme. The dichotomy between the Kim family’s surroundings and
the Park’s exquisite home and the design schemes used for each is vitally
important to the themes in the picture. Go with the color edition, although for
a novelty, the black-and-white presentation is interesting enough.
If you haven’t seen Parasite,
this reviewer is loath to reveal much. Let’s just say the story concerns the
Kims, a poor family in Seoul (we presume) that lives in a tawdry basement
apartment—father (Song Kang-ho), mother (Jang Hye-jin), son (Choi Woo-shik),
and daughter (Park So-dam). However, they are deviously ambitious. The son,
Ki-woo, finagles a job as a tutor for the daughter (Jung Ji-so) of the very
wealthy Park family. The Park father (Lee Sun-kyun) and mother (Cho Yeo-jeong)
are oblivious to how privileged they are and don’t notice when the entire Kim
family infiltrates the household in other jobs (chauffeur, housekeeper, and
tutor for the young son). In other words, the Kims become the parasites of the
Parks. But wait—what lurks in the basement? Who steals food from the kitchen in
the middle of the night? What other secrets are held by each member of the two
families? You’ll have to see this twisting, turning extravaganza of bravura
filmmaking to find out.
In addition to the two excellent
presentations of the feature film, Criterion includes some exemplary
supplements. There are all new interviews with Bong, DP Hong, production
designer Lee Ha Jun, and editor Yang Jimmo. Each of these are lessons for any
filmmaking student. Especially instructive is the approximately hour-and-a-half
master class conducted by Bong from the 2019 Lumière Festival in Lyon. There’s
also a new featurette on the New Korean Cinema with Bong and director Park
Chan-wook (Oldboy, The Handmaiden), the Cannes Film Festival
press conference with Bong and the cast, a storyboard comparison, and trailers.
The essay in the booklet is by critic Inkoo Kang.
The Criterion Collection never fails to
deliver a first-class product. With a masterpiece like Parasite as its
subject, you can’t go wrong. Highly recommended.
David
Lynch is one America’s national treasures as an artist. He is mostly known as a
filmmaker, of course, but he is also a painter and sculptor, a musician, and an
author. At the time of writing, Lynch is 74 years old. His filmmaking output
has slowed down considerably and these days he concentrates mostly on the fine
arts. Nevertheless, he is arguably the heir apparent to Luis Buñuel
as the foremost surrealist of our time.
And
to think… Lynch owes it all to Mel Brooks.
Okay,
maybe that’s an exaggeration. Lynch’s talent likely would have broken through
the barriers of Hollywood for him to become David Lynch in perhaps other
ways, but there is no question that Mel Brooks gave Lynch his first big break
in cinema.
Lynch
had made one feature film, Eraserhead (1977), a low-budget, bizarre,
surreal horror-comedy about fatherhood that became a darling of the “Midnight
Movie†phenomenon of the late 70s and early 80s. Then, as the story goes,
producer Jonathan Sanger got the rights to a screenplay by Christopher De Vore
and Eric Bergren about the life of John (in real life his name was Joseph)
Merrick, the so-called “elephant man.†Merrick suffered unimaginable physical
deformity from birth, lived in poverty in Victorian London, worked in “freakâ€
sideshows, and tolerated horrible abuse and exploitation. Ultimately, he was
“rescued†by Dr. Frederick Treves, who was able to get him a permanent home
inside the London Hospital until Merrick’s untimely death at the age of 27.
That’s the story in a nutshell.
Sanger
approached his friend and colleague Brooks about the script. Brooks was in the
process of forming a production company, Brooksfilms, which would make other
pictures besides his own comedies. Brooks liked the script and decided that The
Elephant Man would be the first feature from Brooksfilms. But who would
they get to direct it?
Another
mutual friend, Stuart Cornfeld, suggested to Sanger that he see Lynch’s Eraserhead.
This led to Sanger and Lynch meeting, and Lynch becoming enthusiastic about the
project simply because he liked the title. Brooks screened Eraserhead,
after which he told Lynch, “You’re a madman! You’re in!â€
Thus,
David Lynch found himself at the helm of a Hollywood picture budgeted at $5
million to be shot in England, and featuring such classic thespians as Anthony
Hopkins, John Hurt, John Gielgud, Wendy Hiller, and Anne Bancroft (Brook’s
wife)! Not bad for a man in his early thirties whose favorite expression was
“Peachy keen!â€
The
Elephant Man is
a landmark, powerful movie that is easily one of the significant pictures of
the 1980s. Despite its grim subject matter, it was a commercial and critical
success, garnering eight Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture,
Best Director, Best Actor (Hurt), and Best Adapted Screenplay. It’s a
monumental achievement, and it went a long way to show the entertainment
industry that David Lynch knew what he was doing.
The
movie is simultaneously harrowing, horrific, surreal, and beautiful. Shot in
glorious black and white, the “Lynchian†touches are ever-present, especially
in the dreamlike prelude and ending. At the time of release, fans of Eraserhead
could immediately see that the same director was in charge; for everyone
else, he was obviously a new talent to be reckoned with. While the film might
not be one of Lynch’s personal pictures as writer/director (he did co-write the
script with De Vore and Bergren), his stylistic signatures are all over it.
Additionally, the acting is superb. John Hurt, in the title role, is brilliant
and heartbreaking. Anthony Hopkins otherwise carries the film as protagonist
Dr. Treves. Anne Bancroft, as the stage actress Madge Kendal, is also winning.
Mel
Brooks did not put his name anywhere in the credits for fear that audiences
would expect The Elephant Man to be a comedy. Nevertheless, Brooks
deserves a great deal of credit for getting the picture made.
The
Criterion Collection presents a magnificent new 4K digital restoration with an
uncompressed soundtrack. The supplements are plentiful. Lynch and co-author
Kristine McKenna read (on audio) an engrossing lengthy section from their Lynch
biography, Room to Dream. (Room to Dream, by the way, is an excellent
book… it is a potent treatise on art, creativity, and life.) There are
archival interviews from various decades with Lynch, Brooks, Sanger, director
of photography Freddie Francis, makeup artist Christopher Tucker, and stills photographer
Frank Connor. Another audio recording from 1981 of a Lynch interview at the AFI
is a treat, but even better is the video interview of Lynch from 2006 conducted
by filmmaker Mike Figgis. There’s also a 2005 documentary on the life of the
real Joseph Merrick, a 2001 documentary on the making of the film, and trailers
and radio spots. The booklet contains an excerpt from the book Lynch on
Lynch and a reprint of an 1886 letter to the London Times by Francis
C. C. Gomm (played by John Gielgud in the film) about Merrick.
The
Elephant Man sees
its first official Blu-ray release in the USA with this must-have edition from
Criterion. David Lynch fans will rejoice, to be sure, but The Elephant Man is
also an accessible, moving piece of art that any lover of cinema should see.
Cinema Retro has received the following press release:
Joining in the international celebration of Federico
Fellini's 100th birthday, Criterion is thrilled to announce Essential
Fellini, a fifteen-Blu-ray box set that brings together fourteen of the
director's most imaginative and uncompromising works for the first time.
Alongside new restorations of the theatrical features, the set also includes
short and full-length documentaries about Fellini's life and work,
archival interviews with his friends and collaborators, commentaries on six of
the films, video essays, the director's 1968 short Toby Dammit, and
much more.
The edition is accompanied by two lavishly illustrated
books with hundreds of pages of notes and essays on the films by writers
and filmmakers, as well as dozens of images of Fellini
memorabilia. Essential Fellini is a fitting tribute to the maestro of
Italian cinema!
FIFTEEN-BLU-RAY SPECIAL EDITION COLLECTOR'S SET FEATURES
New 4K restorations of 11 theatrical features, with
uncompressed monaural soundtracks for all films
New digital restorations of the short film Toby Dammit
(1968) and the television film Fellini: A Director's Notebook (1969), with
uncompressed monaural soundtracks
Feature documentaries Fellini: I'm a Born Liar (2002)
and Marcello Mastroianni: I Remember (1997), the latter presented in its
193-minute version
Four behind-the-scenes documentaries: Reporter's Diary:
"Zoom on Fellini" (1965), Ciao, Federico! (1969), The Secret Diary of
"Amarcord" (1974), and Fellini racconta: On the Set of "And the
Ship Sails On" (1983)
Fellini racconta: Passegiatte nella memoria, a 2000
documentary featuring interviews with a late-in-life Fellini
Giulietta Masina: The Power of a Smile, a 2004
documentary about Fellini's wife and frequent collaborator
Once Upon a Time: "La dolce vita," a French
television documentary about the film
Audio commentaries on six of the films
Program from 2003 on Fellini's 1980s television
advertising work
Archival audio interviews by film critic Gideon
Bachmann with Fellini, Mastroianni, and Fellini's friends and family
Video essays, trailers, and more
PLUS: Deluxe packaging, including two lavishly
illustrated books with hundreds of pages of content: notes on the films by
scholar David Forgacs, essays by filmmakers Michael Almereyda, Kogonada, and
Carol Morley; film critics Bilge Ebiri and Stephanie Zacharek; and novelist
Colm TóibÃn, and dozens of images spotlighting Don Young's renowned collection
of Fellini memorabilia
Throughout
the fascinating and seriously creepy film, The Comfort of Strangers, an
Italian man named Robert (diabolically played by Christopher Walken) repeatedly
speaks about his father. “My father (pause) … was a big man. He had a big black
mustache…†The story relates how his father colored his mustache black with
mascara after it turned grey, and how no one at the dinner table was allowed to
speak unless the father addressed the person first, whether he or she was a wife,
daughter, or son. A portrait is eventually formed of a man who was brutally
sadistic and controlling. And Robert is the result.
Based
on the novel by Ian McEwan, Strangers was adapted by the great
playwright Harold Pinter, who turns McEwan’s already strange psycho-sexual
drama into something of palpable menace. Directed with style and finesse by
Paul Schrader, this Italian-British production brings to an audience a collage
of beauty, mood, and horror that only Pinter can deliver with his elliptical
dialogue and potent pauses of what is not said. The locale of Venice is
also a character in the picture, and movie buffs might be reminded of Nicolas
Roeg’s Don’t Look Now when viewing Strangers.
Colin
(the Adonis-like Rupert Everett) and Mary (the late, radiant Natasha
Richardson) are a couple on holiday in Venice. Mary is divorced with two
children (who are in England with their grandmother). The subtle tension
between the couple is the question of taking their relationship to the next
level—that is, should they get married? While wandering the twisty, turny
streets of the city, they meet Robert, who at first is friendly enough. He
invites them to his lush, expansive home that resembles an art museum. There,
Robert’s welcoming wife Caroline (Helen Mirren) reinforces the nagging
suspicious that there is something off about this couple. Colin and Mary
realize early on that they really don’t like Robert and Caroline, and yet they
are perversely and inexplicably attracted to them. Once they visit Robert’s
apartment a second time, they are unwittingly ensnared in the web. Exactly what
Robert and Caroline have in store for the younger couple, especially Colin, cannot
be revealed here! Just know there is sex, more sex, and unexpected violence in
the works.
Director
Schrader is here working with Italian designers (for example, Giorgio Armani is
the costumer) so the look for the film is impeccably gorgeous. The music score
by Angelo Badalamenti is also hauntingly exquisite, underlying the melancholy
and mystery of the proceedings. As for the acting, it is top notch. Walken
shines as the enigmatic villain of the piece. In a supplemental interview, the
actor explains that he channeled Italian actor Rossano Brazzi to exhibit charm
and sensuality that is distinctly European. Everett and Richardson are so
shockingly stunning to look at, both clothed and without, that they cast a
spell over the viewer. And Mirren, in a small role, showcases her dark side
that she once did so well in many independent pictures before her rise to the
super-A-talent category. For this reviewer’s money, though, the stars of the
movie are Walken and writer Pinter. In a few of the supplements, the tale is
related how Pinter came to Venice for one week of rehearsals prior to shooting.
As was his way, not one word of his script could be altered or changed. If an
actor didn’t understand something, Pinter would simply say, “Read the text.
Then read it again.†By the end of the week, all the actors knew what they were
doing.
The
Comfort of Strangers is
an art film for discerning viewers who appreciate unconventional tales about
relationships, sex, desire, and mystery. As usual, the Criterion presentation
is top notch. Recommended.
Criterion has
released a Blu-ray edition of one of the best science fiction films from the
1950s or any other decade for that matter. George Pal’s version of War of
the Worlds, directed by Byron Haskin, landed in theaters in 1953 and has become
an iconic symbol of alien invasion stories.
H.G. Wells’
novel had already been made famous by Orson Welles’ landmark CBS radio drama in
1938. The Martian invasion played out as news bulletins concerning an
attack on the East Coast by enemy tripod machines armed with a terrifying heat
ray and poisonous gas. With Americans nervous about a possible war in
Europe at the time, audiences listening that night were especially vulnerable
hearing the fabricated reports of destruction and carnage. One has to wonder
why many of the people glued to their radios didn’t turn to another station for
confirmation.
With Alfred
Hitchcock and Cecil B. DeMille linked to film adaptations of Wells’ novel at
different times, it was producer George Pal who finally brought the story to
the screen in 1953. Pal, an Academy Award winning animator, had already
thrilled moviegoers with Destination Moon and When Worlds Collide, both of
which were box office successes. His Puppetoon short from 1942,
Tulips Shall Grow, depicted the Nazi invasion of Holland and provided a
template for the attack sequences in War of the Worlds.
Featuring a relatively
hefty budget of $2 million, Pal funneled most of his resources into the famed
special effects depicting the deadly Martian war machines destroying Los Angeles.
An in-house team at Paramount, led by Gordon Jennings and art director Albert
Nozaki, designed and built the futuristic swan-like vehicles armed with
ferocious heat rays and skeleton beams that lay waste to all military weapons
that stood in their way. Striking miniature work and beautiful paintings
by astronomical artist Chesley Bonestell completed the look of this Technicolor
masterpiece.
The cast
included future Bat Masterson star Gene Barry, beautiful newcomer Ann Robinson
and radio actor Les Tremayne. The script was fashioned by Barre Lyndon who
transferred the story from Victorian England to modern day California. The
three-strip Technicolor photography was supervised by George Barnes and the
pulsating music score was composed by Leith Stevens. The unsung heroes of War
of the Worlds were the sound effects teams led by Paramount regulars Gene
Garvin and Harry Lindgren. All manner of new sound cues were created for
this film and many of these effects are still in use today.
Criterion’s
Blu-ray features the 2018 4K restoration produced by Paramount Pictures, and
the results are truly spectacular with amazing color saturation and crisp,
clear sound. Errors in registration of the Technicolor strips have been
cleaned up and an alternate 5.1 soundtrack has been realized by Star Wars
sound designer Ben Burtt. Purists will be happy to know that the original
mono track has been included as an option.
War of the
Worlds was filmed in the 1.37 aspect ratio although some theaters were
exhibiting it in a matted 1.66 version. After adjusting my monitor to
view this cropped presentation, I found the picture to look cramped and noticed
that important information was occasionally lost. The original stereo
tracks are now lost but, according to Ben Burtt, they only provided exaggerated
sound effects to the additional speakers.
As a 9 year-old
watching War of the Worlds on its’ NBC television premier in 1967, I was
terrified and hooked at the same time. Much like experiencing an E-ticket ride
at Disneyland, I enjoyed being
scared. I
found the narration by Sir Cedric Hardwicke to be gripping as he described the
“rout of civilization" during a montage of destruction. Through the
years I continued to enjoy this film on network and local television broadcasts
and at college screenings. Eventually I owned home video copies in the
VHS, CED disc, DVD and now Blu-ray formats. To say War of the Worlds
is my favorite film is an extreme understatement.
The
brilliance of Preston Sturges’ brilliant screwball comedy aside, what is
striking about the new Blu-ray edition of the filmmaker’s 1941 The Lady Eve from
The Criterion Collection is the supplement that is a Zoom conversation between
Tom Sturges (Preston’s son), filmmakers Peter Bogdanovich, James L. Brooks, and
Ron Shelton, and critics Leonard Maltin, Kenneth Turan, and Susan King. While
it’s unclear if this is the first acknowledgment of the Covid-19 pandemic in the
production of home video supplementary features, this reviewer found the
inclusion to be revelatory. How amazing it is to see these personages in the
Brady Bunch-style squares all discussing Sturges and the film, and mirroring
what many of us are doing while working at home. At one point, Brooks’ internet
connection fails and his image freezes. All the others comment that they’ve
“lost Jim,†but he returns a few minutes later and resumes the chat.
Bogdanovich’s phone rings in the middle of the presentation, yet another sign
of the times and how we’re all dealing with the reality that is the spring and
summer of 2020.
As
for the movie itself… In the year 1940, Hollywood screenwriter Preston Sturges
elevated his career to become the first writer/director double threat of the
sound era. For a brief five years in the early 40s, his flame burned brightly
as he churned out sophisticated screwball comedies that had great wit,
intelligence, and a stock company of iconic supporting comic actors—the guys
you always recognize but never know their names (actually, they are talents
like William Demarest, Eric Blore, Eugene Pallette, Melville Cooper, Janet
Beecher, Jimmy Conlin, and Al Bridge, to name a handful who appear in The
Lady Eve).
The
sub-genre known as “screwball comedy†usually pitted characters of the opposite
sex who were from different social statures, and the plot revolves around the
man and woman falling in and out of love, and back in again. The Lady Eve is
considered one of the prime examples. It is full of charm, sophistication, and
slapstick. The number of pratfalls performed by Henry Fonda—Henry Fonda!—is
astonishing, and he does them so well! He plays Charles Pike, the wealthy son
of an ale manufacturer (the always hilarious, frog-throated Eugene Pallette).
Charles studies snakes for a living, and on the ship back to America from an
African expedition, he meets Jean Harrington (Barbara Stanwyck), a con-woman
and daughter of a card shark conman (Charles Coburn). Jean sets her sights on
Charles for devious purposes, but then she finds that she’s falling for him. As
for Charles, he is lost at first sight.
Then,
thanks to Charles’ efficient bodyguard and handler, Muggsy (William Demarest),
he learns the truth about Jean and her father. There is a messy breakup before
the boat reaches U.S. shores. However, Jean is determined to make Charles even
more uncomfortable by pretending to be the aristocratic British society lady,
Lady Eve Sedgwick, and showing up at his father’s estate. The seduction begins
again, despite the obvious fact that Eve looks exactly like Jean. Revealing
what happens next would spoil the fun.
And
fun it is. Watching Fonda’s Charles bewilderment and shy-man routine fall
victim to Stanwyck’s domination over the entire proceedings will induce much
smiling and several belly laughs. The improbability of the story and how it’s
delivered with confidence is part of Sturges’ genius. This is great stuff.
The
Criterion Collection had previously released this title on DVD years ago, and
the new high definition upgrade is worth the double-dip. It’s a new, restored
4K digital transfer with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack. Most of the
original supplements are ported over—an audio commentary from 2001 by film
scholar Marian Keane; a video introduction from 2001 by Peter Bogdanovich; a
featurette on Edith Head’s costume designs; the Lux Radio Theatre adaptation
featuring Stanwyck with Ray Milland; and the theatrical trailer. What’s new is
the previously mentioned, thoroughly entertaining and informative Zoom
conversation between Tom Sturges and friends; a fascinating video essay by film
critic David Cairns; and an audio recording from 2013 of “Up the Amazon,†a
song from an unproduced stage musical based on the film. The illustrated
booklet comes with an essay by critic Geoffrey O’Brien and a 1946 profile of
Sturges from Life Magazine.
Criterion
always delivers a class-act product, and the new Blu-ray of The Lady Eve is
no exception. In the age of Covid, a little Preston Sturges is a welcome
distraction.
“PORTRAIT
OF AN EMERGING ARTIST AS A YOUNG MANâ€
By
Raymond Benson
It
is always fascinating to examine early works by a renowned filmmaker. Do we see
stylistic and thematic elements that crop up more dynamically in the later, more
well-known, popular pictures? Did the artist hit the ground running with a
solid handle on the craft? How did the director evolve?
The
Criterion Collection has released a compilation of five early shorts by Martin
Scorsese that were made in the 1960s and 70s. All of them are 4K digital
restorations with uncompressed monaural soundtracks, and they are a joy.
Two
of them date from when Scorsese was at NYU film school. What’s a Nice Girl
Doing in a Place Like This? was made in 1963. It’s not quite ten minutes
long, is a comedy, and consists of a multimedia approach containing film, still
shots, animations, and is obviously influenced by French New Wave traits of
radical editing and jump cuts. It’s about Harry (Zeph Michaelis), who is
obsessed with a picture of a boat on the water. He meets a woman at a party
(Mimi Stark), they fall in love, and get married. Harry soon becomes obsessed
with a different picture of the sea sans a boat. That doesn’t sound like
much of a plot, but the presentation is funny and engaging. What we see in this
little ditty is Scorsese’s flair for quick editing and unexpected
characterizations.
It’s
Not Just You, Murray!
was made in 1964 and is around fifteen minutes in length. This one assuredly
points to Scorsese’s later works (especially GoodFellas) in that it
takes a humorous— black comedy, really—approach to mobsters. Murray (Ira Rubin)
is a middle-aged criminal who relates his “life story†with flashbacks to
Prohibition bootlegging with his partner and best friend, Joe (Sam De Fazio).
Murray is constantly lying, deluding himself about the wonderful things that
are happening to him—but what we see on the screen is a direct dichotomy. For
example, it’s obvious that Joe is backstabbing him with Murray’s own wife (and
fathers her children). Scorsese pays homage to Fellini at the end with a direct
reproduction of the finale of 8-1/2, in which Marcello Mastroianni
oversees an outdoors circus-like parade with the entire cast. The film is a
step up from Nice Girl in that the characterizations are more developed,
and Scorsese seems to be having more fun with the camera and what he’s
attempting to say.
Next
up is perhaps the most striking and controversial of his early shorts. The
Big Shave (1967) was made after Scorsese’s graduation from college in 1965,
was entered into an important avant-garde film festival and, according to its
programmer, elicited quite a reaction: “People were angry. People were
laughing, and I think laughing out of the horror of it, maybe.†The Big
Shave is only around six minutes, but it packs a punch because it is
Scorsese’s comment on the Vietnam War at the time. In it, a young, good-looking
man (Peter Bernuth) steps into his bathroom, removes his shirt, applies shaving
cream to his face, and begins to shave with a razor. As he does so, he
continually cuts himself and bleeds profusely, although he doesn’t seem to
notice. By the end, his torso and the very white sink are covered in red. It
doesn’t take much analysis to see that this was a metaphor for America’s
involvement in the war. There is no doubt that The Big Shave is a Martin
Scorsese picture.
Moving
up to the 1970s, the collection presents one landmark short that was produced
for television and another one that holds cult status in that it has been
little seen. Italianamerican (1974) was made for a series about
immigrants in the U.S., and here Scorsese interviews his parents, Catherine and
Charles Scorsese, in their apartment on Elizabeth Street in New York City, a
stone’s throw from Little Italy. Catherine, of course, is known to Scorsese
fans, for he has used her as an extra in several of his feature films (e.g., she’s
Joe Pesci’s mother in GoodFellas). The couple relate stories about their
respective families, how they came over from Italy, and what it was like to
assimilate in New York. Italianamerican runs about 50 minutes and is
engaging, funny, and sweet. Scorsese himself appears as an interviewer, and one
can see how amused he is by some of his parents’ answers and actions.
American
Boy (a Profile of Steven Prince) was made in 1978 during troubling times in
Scorsese’s life. You may remember the character of “Easy Andy†in Taxi
Driver? He was the smart-talking, hilarious guy who is an arms and drugs
dealer—he takes De Niro’s character into a shabby hotel room and lays out
various weapons for De Niro to purchase. (“Isn’t that a honey?â€) The actor was
Steven Prince, a fringe fellow who was a friend of Scorsese. Prince had worked
as a rock group road manager (particularly Neil Diamond), an actor, and in other
assorted odd jobs. For a while he was a heroin addict. In American Boy,
which runs around 55 minutes, Scorsese and his crew are at the L.A. home of
actor George Memmoli, and he films Prince telling stories. Movie fans might
recognize one of his tales as the scene in Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, in
which John Travolta stabs a hypodermic of adrenaline into Uma Thurman’s heart.
Apparently, this was a true event that Prince performed, and Tarantino had
borrowed it. This was a period when Scorsese was heavily involved with cocaine
and was eventually hospitalized. Watching the filmmaker in this piece, we see that
he is maybe hopped up on something. The behavior of everyone in the room
is erratic, to say the least. Again, a fascinating documentary, but for this
reviewer, the weakest entry in the collection.
Supplements
include an outstanding new interview with Scorsese with film critic Farran
Smith Nehme, in which the filmmaker discusses his film school years and how all
the foreign films were such an influence in the early sixties. (“And Bergman…
every two months he’d come out with another masterpiece. It was annoying!â€) There
is also a fun discussion of Scorsese’s works by filmmakers Josh and Benny
Safdie (Uncut Gems) and Ari Aster (Hereditary), and a public
radio (audio only) interview with Scorsese in 1970. The booklet features an
essay by film critic Bilge Ebiri, plus storyboards, treatments, and bits of
correspondence from Scorsese’s archives.
For
any fan of Martin Scorsese, Scorsese Shorts is a must-have.
Most
of the available home video options for the works of Buster Keaton consist of
his classic—and brilliant—independent films of the 1920s… movies like Our Hospitality,
Sherlock Jr., The Navigator, The General, Steamboat
Bill Jr., among other features and many shorts. These have separately been
repackaged and restored recently by companies like Kino Video and Cohen Media
Group.
Now
The Criterion Collection is grabbing a corner of the Buster Keaton market with
the release of two of his pictures from the late 1920s, after the
actor/director was forced to close his indie studio and sign a contract with
MGM in order to survive. That’s right, Criterion’s new Blu-ray release of The
Cameraman is a double feature! You get not only The Cameraman, Keaton’s
1928 first feature with MGM, but also the second title made with the studio, Spite
Marriage (1929). Both pictures are silent, and, in fact, they are the last
two silent movies Keaton made. For the remainder of his brief—and
unhappy—contract with MGM, he made sound pictures. Unlike many silent era
stars, Keaton adapted smoothly to talkies… however, talkies did not adapt
easily to Keaton.
The
supplements on this superb release emphasize repeatedly how Keaton was
mistreated, unable to exert his way of working on the films, and having to bow
to the studio’s demands for an “assembly-line†product, i.e., adhering to an
approved script before production began, working with an assigned director, and
being prohibited from performing most of the hair-raising stunts for which
Keaton was known. The comic’s tenure with MGM ended in 1933 with an
unceremonious firing, which catapulted Keaton’s stock into a tragic decline. It
was only later, in the 1950s, that his work was re-assessed, and he suddenly
found himself the object of deserved adoration (for example, Keaton received an
honorary Oscar in 1959).
That
said, one might not know any of this when viewing The Cameraman, which
in this viewer’s opinion, is on par with most of Keaton’s independent features.
It’s genuinely funny, with some remarkable set pieces in which Keaton does do
his own stunts. The movie was considered lost for many years, with the only
print destroyed in the MGM vault fire of 1965. Luckily, a partial print was
found overseas in 1968 and another in 1991—and these two treasures were both
used to create the version we have today.
It’s
the story of Buster, a tintype photographer who attempts to make a living on
the streets of L.A. He meets and falls in love with Sally (Marceline Day), a
secretary who works at the MGM Newsreels division. Buster applies for a job,
but he needs a new camera. He picks up an old, painfully out of date silent
film camera from a pawn shop, and proceeds to shoot various assigned
subjects—which he totally muffs (hilariously). Sally takes pity on him, though,
and keeps helping Buster out. Harold (Harold Goodwin), another newsreel
cameraman, is Buster’s rival for Sally’s affections, and soon the conflict
between them increases. Finally, in a spectacular and belly-laugh-producing
third act, Buster teams up with a hurdy gurdy monkey (played by the amazingly
talented Josephine the Monkey, who also worked with Chaplin and Harold Lloyd at
various times), and eventually saves the day, Sally, and his job.
Criterion’s
new 4K digital restoration looks fantastic—it’s as if the film might have been
made yesterday. It comes with a new score composed and conducted by Timothy
Brock and is presented in uncompressed stereo. There’s also an audio commentary
from 2004 featuring Glenn Mitchell, author of A-Z of Silent Film Comedy.
Contained
within the supplements is the complete feature Spite Marriage, which may
not be as top-notch as The Cameraman, but it still contains an abundance
of laughs and clever set pieces. Here, Keaton is Elmer, a pants-presser, who
has a crush on a stage actress, Trilby (Dorothy Sebastian) and he goes to see
her perform at every performance. His rival this time is Lionel (Edward Earle),
an actor who stars with Trilby. Hilarity ensues when Elmer finds himself
backstage before a performance and is quickly inducted to be a soldier extra
when the original actor must flee the cops. When Lionel marries another woman,
Trilby is so angry that she picks the first man available—who happens to be
Elmer—to marry out of “spite†to Lionel. Things obviously do not go well. The
last act is reminiscent of Keaton’s The Navigator (1924), that finds the
two un-lovebirds alone on a boat cast adrift on the sea.
Spite
Marriage is
a 2K restoration with its original soundtrack (music plus sound effects, but no
spoken dialogue). There is an audio commentary by film historians John Bengtson
and Jeffrey Vance.
The
rest of the supplements include the excellent 2004 TCM documentary, So Funny
It Hurt: Buster Keaton & MGM; Time Travelers, a new documentary by
Daniel Raim that features interviews with Bengtson and film historian Marc Wanamaker
as they explore sites around Los Angeles where The Cameraman was filmed;
new interviews with James L. Neibaur, author of The Fall of Buster Keaton;
and a 1979 documentary about the history of the motion picture camera from the early
silent days through the first few decades. The package booklet contains an
essay by film critic Imogen Sara Smith and a chapter from Keaton’s 1960
autobiography (co-written by Charles Samuels).
Buster
Keaton fans should rejoice. The Criterion Collection’s The Cameraman is
cause for celebration indeed. Both titles contained within display a cinematic
genius still at the full height of his powers. Highly recommended.
“THEY
DON’T MAKE CONCIERGES LIKE HIM ANYMOREâ€
By
Raymond Benson
Wes
Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel was this reviewer’s favorite film of
2014, and what a delight it is. The brilliant and amazing cast. The gorgeous
colors and production design and engaging music. The wit and “history.†The
subtle stream of melancholy that runs through the subtext. In short, this is a
Wes Anderson picture to the Nth Degree, a masterwork that defines the
director’s output after, at the time of release, nearly twenty years in the
business.
As
expected, The Criterion Collection does a bang-up job in presenting this
marvelous movie in a superb product that contains the film in a 2K digital
transfer supervised by Anderson with a 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio
soundtrack, tons of supplements, and cool pieces of ephemera in a nifty
package.
In
case you were living under a rock in 2014, The Grand Budapest Hotel is
the story of an elegant, now old-fashioned, luxury hotel located in a fictional
East European country. One might think it is reminiscent of Hungary or Romania
or the Czech Republic, or maybe even farther east into Russia. In fact, the
story is structured like nesting Matryoshka Russian dolls, set in four
different time periods. The present day frames the film, as a young girl visits
the shrine of “the Author†(Tom Wilkinson), whose book about the Grand Budapest
Hotel he begins to narrate in the year 1985. He tells the story of how he, as a
young man (now Jude Law) in 1968 visits the lonely and nearly empty hotel to do
some writing. There he meets the elderly Zero Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham), who
relates the tale of how he, when he was a young teen (Tony Revolori), was a
lobby boy, serving under the concierge, M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes) in 1932.
Each of the four sections/time periods are presented in distinct aspect ratios,
with the bulk of the movie (the 1930s) in the old Academy ratio of 4:3, but in
vivid color.
They
don’t make concierges like Gustave anymore. Not only is he impeccable when he
services the hotel clientele, he is also the lover of elderly women like Madame
D. (Tilda Swinton, wearing Oscar-winning makeup), who ends up mysteriously
murdered. She has bequeathed a valuable painting—the “Boy with Appleâ€â€”to
Gustave, giving her gangster son, Dmitri (Adrien Brody) a near apoplexy. Gustave
must go on the run, accompanied by young Zero, to avoid being killed by Dmitri
and his henchmen (such as J. G. Jopling, played by the sinister Willem Dafoe!).
Thankfully, Gustave is a member of “the Society of Crossed Keys,†which
consists of fellow concierges around Europe who act as a network of spies and
fixers (Bill Murray, Bob Balaban, among others). Oh, and Henckels (Edward
Norton) is a private investigator out to find Gustave, and then there are
escaped convicts led by Harvey Keitel in the mix.
In
short, this a comedy, a drama, a murder mystery, a chase movie, and a
philosophy lesson, all rolled into a tour de force of writing, direction,
acting, and design. It is a truly remarkable achievement, deserving of its
Oscar nominations for Best Picture, Director, Original Screenplay,
Cinematography, and Editing, as well as its wins for not only Makeup, but
Original Score, Production Design, and Costume Design.
Criterion’s
transfer is gorgeous. It is accompanied by a new audio commentary featuring
Anderson, filmmaker Roman Coppola, critic Kent Jones, and actor Jeff Goldblum
(who plays Madame D.’s attorney). The supplements are plentiful. New to the
disk are selected scene “animatics†of storyboards, a “making of†documentary,
and interviews with the cast and crew. There are video essays by critic Matt
Zoller Seitz and film scholar David Bordwell, and behind-the scenes featurettes
detailing the production design and visual effects, the “ethnic†music played
on balalaikas, and the miniatures. Also included are an abundance of
promotional featurettes from the release year, such as Bill Murray acting as a
tour guide on location, or various cast and crew members talking about what
it’s like to make a Wes Anderson movie. This reviewer’s favorite piece is the video
on “how to†make the elaborate chocolate puff pastries from “Mendl’s,†complete
with the recipe and instructions, if one is so daring to attempt it.
The
package itself is fun, too. The booklet, adorned with stills and the Boy with
Apple on the cover, contains excerpts from two 2014 pieces by critic Richard
Brody, and an 1880 essay on European hotel portiers by Mark Twain. You
also get a double-sided poster of artwork made for this release, and a foldout
pamphlet of reproduced movie ephemera.
The
Criterion Collection’s presentation of The Grand Budapest Hotel can’t be
recommended highly enough. The only thing missing from it is a membership in
the Society of Crossed Keys.
John
M. Stahl’s celebrated melodrama from 1945, Leave Her to Heaven, is often
cited as a film noir. I argue—vehemently—that it is not. It is a
melodrama with elements of a crime in the plot, but it does not contain any of
the signature traits of true film noir other than the presence of a femme
fatale (and a glorious one at that, in the form of Ellen Berendt, played by
the luminous and Oscar-nominated Gene Tierney).
Film
noir is
exclusively black and white by definition. Leave Her to Heaven is filmed
in gorgeous Technicolor. Film noir must contain a crime, which Heaven
does, but it is not the essential plot device. The protagonist of Heaven—writer
Richard Harland (played by Cornel Wilde)—is not a cynical, hard-boiled
character, which is a fundamental ingredient of film noir. In this case
he is a victim of a mentally ill woman who is so possessive of him that she
destroys everything around him, including her own sister, Ruth (adopted into
her family, played by Jeanne Crain). There are no bizarre plot twists of the
type usually seen in film noir; no dialogue filled with innuendo; no
scenes in shabby bars, motels, or streets; no night scenes; no corrupt law or
authority figures (unless Vincent Price’s D.A. counts for being overly jealous
of Harland); no camerawork evoking the style of German Expressionism; no
thematic emphasis on fate or destiny; no flashbacks or voice-over narration;
and, most tellingly, it has a happy ending. (All of the above examples are
common attributes of pure film noir.)
No,
the most film noir element that Leave Her to Heaven has going for
it is the femme fatale character… and she is also perfectly at home in
the old-fashioned domestic melodrama, which is what this motion picture
certainly is. Granted, she is a bit more twisted than most antagonists in
“women’s pictures,†in which director Stahl specialized during the 1930s. That
said, as a melodrama, Heaven is quite good. The acclaim it receives for
the color photography is well deserved (it won the Oscar for Color
Cinematography).
The
story in a nutshell—Richard meets Ellen on a train on the way to visit friends
in New Mexico. Ellen is engaged to someone else, but within a few days, she
breaks off the engagement and talks Richard into marrying her. She then
proceeds to dominate Richard’s life, even pushing out his beloved disabled
younger brother (which will lead to the tragic, evil, most famous sequence in
the picture), and her own family. The term “mental illness†was probably not
used much in 1945, but Heaven is a masterful depiction of a woman with
that affliction. This is what the movie is about—not the crime that
takes place in the story.
It's
all very engaging, although the courtroom scene toward the end has flaws of
believability. Price’s D.A. character constantly badgers witnesses
without a single objection from the opposing lawyer (played by Ray Collins),
and the charges against the accused—and subsequent prison sentence for a
different person—are so far off base from true legal standing that it’s
laughable. (I also find Alfred Newman’s score to be a bit overbearing.)
Still—Leave
Her to Heaven is good throwback viewing to the 1940s… and, wow, that
Technicolor is something to behold on Criterion’s superb Blu-ray disk! It’s a
new 2K digital restoration by Twentieth Century Fox, the Academy Film Archive,
and The Film Foundation, and it contains an uncompressed monaural soundtrack.
The
only supplement is a thorough, informative interview with critic Imogen Sara
Smith. The booklet contains a wonderful essay by crime novelist Megan Abbott.
Criterion’s
Leave Her to Heaven package is certainly worth an upgrade if you already
own the previously issued DVD.
What do you do when you despise the person most likely to bring your goals to fruition? We're not talking about the Republican establishment's dilemma with Donald Trump but, rather, the central plot premise faced by the U.S. Olympic ski team coach (portrayed by Gene Hackman) in director Michael Ritchie's acclaimed 1969 film "Downhill Racer". The protagonist of the movie is one Dave Chappellet (Robert Redford), an almost impossibly handsome young man from the rural town of Idaho Springs, Colorado, who has a single-minded obsession of being America's first gold medal winner for downhill skiing in an era when the sport was dominated by Europeans. With his good looks and superficial charm, Chappellet is used to being a big fish in a small pond. He is virtually penniless and, when not practicing on the slopes of European mountains, is forced to eek out an existence by living with his cold, unemotional father (non-professional actor Walter Stroud in a striking performance.) He has no career plans beyond his single-minded obsession with getting on the Olympic team. His lack of intellectual curiosity or abilities to socialize with others don't seem to phase him. Like any narcissist he savors any small victory as a sign of his superiority over the peasants he must occasionally interact with.Chappellet lacks any self-awareness or introspection. He takes a cocky delight in being able to drive down the main street of his one-horse town, pick up a local old flame and get her to have sex in the back seat of a car. He seems oblivious to the fact that the battered vehicle belongs to his father and that he doesn't even have a place of his own to carry out his carnal activities. Chappellet gets the big break he is looking for when a top skier on the Olympic team suffers a grievous injury. The team coach, Claire, calls in Chappellet to replace him. From the start, their relationship is a rocky one. It becomes clear that Chappellet is not a team player. He skis superbly and Claire recognizes him as the team's potential best hope for victory. However, he is also alarmed by his independent streak and his inability to follow protocols. Chappellet is in this for personal glory and his teammates are viewed as unnecessary distractions. True, he can go through the rituals of socializing. He's polite to his roommate and occasionally joins the other guys for beers, butChappellet is clearly a vacuous, self-absorbed figure. The film traces his achievements on the slope and Claire's unsuccessful attempts to turn him into a team player. Chaplette also meets a vivacious business woman in the sports industry, Carole (Camilla Sparv). He's instantly smitten by her exotic good looks and libertarian outlook toward sex. The two begin an affair but it turns sour when Chaplette can't accept the fact that Carole is an emancipated young woman who marches to her own beat. Her unwillingness to dote over him or to treat their relationship as anything but superficial bruises his ego. In Chaplette's world, it is he who treats sex partners like disposable objects, not the other way around. The film concludes with Chaplette and his teammates engaging in the make-or-break competition against top-line European skiers to see who can bring home the gold.
The Best of Frenemies: Redford and Hackman
"Downhill Racer" was a dream project of Robert Redford, who had championed the film, which is based on a screenplay by James Salter. Redford's star had risen appreciably with Paramount following the success of "Barefoot in the Park". The studio wanted to do another film with him and suggested that he play the male lead in the forthcoming screen adaption of "Rosemary's Baby". Redford pushed for "Downhill Racer", a film that the Paramount brass had dismissed as being too non-commercial. (This was before Redford would reach super stardom with the release of "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid".) Thus began a game of brinksmanship between Redford and the studio. He managed to get Paramount to supply a small budget ($2 million) and creative control over the project to him and Roman Polanski, who was enthused about directing the film. However, the studio made a counter-move and lured Polanski to direct "Rosemary's Baby". Annoyed, Redford had to find a new director and settled on Michael Ritchie, and up-and-coming talent who was eager to make the transition from television into feature films. He and Redford, along with their tiny crew, used their limited budget to travel to international ski competitions in order to film real life action on the slopes that could later be combined into the final cut of their movie. For all their efforts, "Downhill Racer" was a boxoffice disappointment and would be overshadowed by the release of "Butch Cassidy" later in 1969. Yet its a film that Redford is justifiably proud of. There are many admirable aspects of the production, not the least of which is Redford's compelling performance as a protagonist who is not very likable or sympathetic. He's also not very intelligent, either, a character flaw that doesn't seem to bother him much, as he feels he can get by on his looks. The down side of "Downhill Racer" is that when the central character is a total cad the viewer finds it hard to be concerned with his fate, unless there is a major dramatic payoff as in the case of Andy Griffith in "A Face in the Crowd" or Paul Newman in "Hud", two of the most notorious characters in screen history. Where "Downhill Racer" blows it is in the final sequence during the championship ski run. There was an excellent opportunity to end the movie on a poignant note but the movie punts and leads to an emotionally unsatisfying ending. Nevertheless the exotic scenery and fine performances (especially by Hackman, who is under-seen and under-used) compensate for a story that is as chilling as the locations in which it was filmed.
Criterion has upgraded their previously released DVD special edition to Blu-ray and it looks spectacular. There is a wealth of interesting extras, all ported over from the previous release. These include separate interviews conducted in 2009 with Robert Redford and James Salter. I found them to be most enlightening because I was blaming Salter, as the screenwriter, for being responsible for the film's unsatisfying ending. Lo and behold, Salter expresses the same exasperation. Apparently his original script called for the more dramatic finale that I was envisioning. However, he says that Redford made the change without his permission. It's still apparently a sore spot with him. For his part, Redford is defensive about the decision, saying that he felt the the ending he insisted upon was the correct choice (Note: it wasn't.) It would be interesting to see Redford and Salter lock horns over this in the same interview at some point. In any event, Redford's enthusiasm for the film is evident even if it seems to exceed that of audiences. To reiterate, it's a fine movie with many qualities but Redford has had superior, under-appreciated gems in his career. Other bonus extras on the Blu-ray include interviews with editor Richard Harris (whose work on the film is most impressive), production executive Walter Coblenz and champion skier Joe Jay Jalbert who was hired as a technical consultant and became indispensable on the production, serving as double and cameraman. The footage he captured skiing at high speed with a hand-held camera is all the more amazing because he was a novice at shooting film. There is also a vintage production featurette from 1969 and a very interesting one-hour audio interview of director Michael Ritchie at an American Film Institute Q&A session in 1977. The affable Ritchie was there to promote his latest film "Semi-Tough" but goes into great detail about how he became disillusioned with the constraints of working in the television industry where directors at that time were just hired guns whose creative ideas and instincts were constantly being suppressed. Ritchie tells an extended anecdote about shooting an episode of "The Man From U.N.C.L.E." during which he came up with a suggestion to improve a key scene in the script. He was told to mind his own business by the producer (who he doesn't name). When series' star Robert Vaughn agreed with him, Ritchie shot an alternate version of the scene that was met with enthusiasm by the network. Instead of being congratulated, he was blackballed from the series henceforth. Ritchie would go on to make some very fine films including "The Candidate" (again with Redford), the wacko-but-mesmerizing crime thriller "Prime Cut", "The Bad News Bears" and others. However he never lived up to his full potential and ended up directing many middling films before his untimely death at age 63 in 2001. The AFI audio included here is a rare opportunity to listen to his views on filmmaking while he was at the height of his career. The Blu-ray set also contains the original trailer and a collectible booklet with essay by Todd McCarthy.
The
art-house darling of 2018, like 2019’s Parasite (from South Korea), was a foreign language
film from Mexico. Except that it didn’t play in many art houses—it was a streaming
Netflix production, and that’s how most people in the U.S. saw it (although the
picture did play in cinemas a short time in order to qualify for Academy
Awards).
Roma
emerged
from the memories of its creator, Alfonso Cuarón, who grew up in the
Colonia Roma neighborhood of Mexico City. Taking place in 1970-1971, when Cuarón
himself was between the ages of eight and ten, Roma is the story of a maid/nanny
who lives with an upper middle-class household and is, for all intents and
purposes, a member of that family. Apparently Cuarón
had been close to his nanny, and the picture is a compilation of fictionalized
memories from his childhood.
Cuarón
took great pains to recreate the house where he grew up, the neighborhood, and
milieu in the city during that period. In fact, the production utilized the
house directly across the street from the one in which the Cuarón
family lived. The filmmaker also served as his own cinematographer, shooting
the picture in widescreen black and white digital—thus creating a completely
grainless, “modern†look to a movie taking place in the early seventies. The
results are absolutely gorgeous.
Roma
is a
slow burn that sucks you in at a meticulous pace, but once the characters and
the mesmerizing tone of the piece have begun to work their magic, you can’t
escape. As with 2019’s The Irishman, also a Netflix streamer, I heard
many complaints that Roma was “boring.†I blame that reaction on folks sitting
at home, most likely in a living room with the lights on, with distractions
galore, looking repeatedly at a phone in hand, and the lack of attention one
might alternatively devote if the locale was a movie theater. Roma was anything
but boring. Itwas an intimate study of a family on a broad,
impressionistic canvas.
Yes,
there’s a story. Cleo, the maid (vulnerably played by Oscar-nominated Yalitza
Aparicio), enjoys a pleasant life working for the family of a doctor, Antonio (Fernando
Grediaga), and his wife SofÃa (Oscar-nominated
Marina de Tavira). She is close to the four children, but especially one of the
boys (Cuarón’s alter-ego). During the course of the
picture, Cleo becomes pregnant by a young man who then wants nothing to do with
her, Antonio leaves his wife for another woman, and the family unwittingly clashes
with political events in the street (the violent El Halconazo of June
1971). This description barely scratches the surface of the tremendous depth of
emotion and wonder that Roma evokes, but suffice it to say that the film
is more an experience than a movie.
Unlike
Parasite, Roma did not win the Best Picture Oscar for which it
was nominated, but it did pick up trophies for Director and Cinematography
(both for Cuarón) and Foreign Language Film, the first title from Mexico to do
so.
The
Criterion Collection, thank goodness, released Roma on Blu-ray and DVD
(original content from Netflix rarely makes it to home video). The deluxe
package is exceptional. The 4K digital master was supervised by Cuarón
and contains a Dolby Atmos soundtrack—and it looks and sounds fantastic.
The
supplements are plentiful. A feature-length “making-of†documentary, Road to
Roma, is a virtual filmmaking lesson from Cuarón
as he relates how the movie happened from conception to release, complete with
behind-the-scenes footage. Another long piece, Snapshots from the Set,
features interviews with producers Gabriela RodrÃguez and Nicolás
Celis, actors Aparicio and de Tavira, production designer Eugenio Caballero,
casting director Luis Rosales, and others. If that weren’t enough, there are
documentaries on the movie’s design, sound, and post-production processes, as
well as a doc on the film’s release campaign and its social impact in Mexico.
There are alternate French subtitles and Spanish SDH. The enclosed, thick
booklet contains several essays with beautifully reproduced images from the movie
(with notes by Caballero).
Although
you can still stream Roma on Netflix, the Criterion edition is a superb
collectors’ package with an abundance on material you don’t otherwise get. Highly
recommended.
Almodóvar
is known for his highly eccentric, colorful, and socio-political dramas and
comedies that often take place in the worlds of theatre, the LBGTQ milieu, and
the walks on the wild side of modern urban Spain, especially Barcelona. He can
be surreal, harkening back to the style of his great fellow countryman, Luis Buñuel,
but one can see the more significant influence from the likes of Italian
filmmakers Federico Fellini and Lina Wertmuller. It is also evident that Almodóvar
loves old Hollywood, as All About My Mother demonstrates with its echoes
of Bette Davis and All About Eve.
While
there are plenty of comedic moments in the film, as is Almodóvar’s
way, this is a drama that touches heavily on the themes of motherhood, the
challenges of a transgender lifestyle, and AIDS, as well as religion and its relationship
with all of these things. It’s a powerful, beautifully acted and exquisitely
shot social statement that was a shocking revelation in 1999 and is just as
potent twenty-one years later. It’s Almodóvar at his best.
Criterion’s
new edition sports a 2K digital restoration supervised by Almodóvar
and his executive producer (and brother) Agustin Almodóvar,
with 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack. The all-important Almodóvar
colors are appropriately vibrant—almost “day-glo.†The transfer is
simply gorgeous.
There
are three supplements. Part of the series A Film and Its Era, the
52-minute “Once Upon a Time—All About My Mother†(directed by Serge July and
Marie Genin) is an excellent and informative 2012 documentary on the making of
the film, and it contains interviews with Almodóvar and many of the
cast and crew. A 48-minute Q&A from a 2019 twentieth anniversary screening
of the film featuring the director, his brother, and actress Paredes, is
enlightening (it also contains a preview of Almodóvar’s latest picture
and Oscar nominee, Pain and Glory). The most interesting of the three
supplements is the short 1999 piece on the film that focuses on Almodóvar
and his mother, who definitely has strong opinions about her son’s work!
All
About My Mother is
a cinephile’s dream, a picture that gets under the skin and stays there. Highly
recommended.
Tennesee Williams’s play Orpheus Descending stands out
among his works for being a flop at a time when the playwright could seem to do
no wrong. The seemingly unstoppable commercial and critical success Williams
had enjoyed for more than a decade came to a momentary halt when Orpheus
Descending tanked on Broadway in 1957. Despite the unexpected failure of the
stage production of the play, however, a few years later plans were made to
turn the story into a major motion picture, with up-and-coming director Sidney
Lumet behind the camera, and acting luminaries Marlon Brando, Anna Magnani, and
Joanne Woodward playing key roles. Williams, who’d been working on various
versions of the play for close to 20 years, was so thrilled by this development
that he signed on to co-write the screenplay.
But Williams’s beloved tale just seemed to be doomed.
Despite his reputation as a writer, and despite the high quality of the
personnel involved in the creation of the movie, 1960’s The Fugitive Kind was a
box office disaster and a feature not generally loved by film critics of the
time. Why? With Criterion Collection issuing a new, deluxe version of the film,
it’s an opportune moment to explore whether Williams’s tale just wasn’t right
for the big screen, or if moviegoers and critical experts got things wrong in
assessing The Fugitive Kind’s merits.
Like Williams’s play, the movie is set in America’s deep
South, and largely in a dry goods store. Also like Orpheus Descending, The
Fugitive Kind revolves around three social outsiders and how they relate to the
rank and file locals, as well as to one another. Brando is Valentine “Valâ€
Xavier, a snakeskin jacket-wearing, guitar-slinging drifter who winds up in the
town by chance. Val has just turned 30 and he’s a good looking, sullen man who
is irresistible to women, oftentimes to his own dismay, and who just always
seems to find trouble for himself. Val has grown tired of the nightclubbing,
stud for hire lifestyle he’s been leading since he was a teenager and is
looking to settle down. Woodward portrays Carol Cutrere, born and bred in the
small town, and from an upper crust family, but at odds with the other
citizens, and her own kin, because of her hard-drinking, hard-living,
freewheeling and lawless lifestyle. Magnani plays Lady Torrance, whose husband
owns the dry goods and store and who is running the shop while her spouse is
laid up with a potentially fatal health problem. Lady is unhappy in her
marriage and has suicidal thoughts. Also, she’s a woman who’s deeply embittered
about the fact that the small-minded, bigoted locals burned down her late
father’s wine garden because he committed what they saw as an unforgivable sin:
he served black people at his establishment. Lady suspects certain townsfolk of
being responsible for the destruction of the wine garden and for the death of
her father, who died while fighting the fire; and her own estranged husband is among
those she believes were the culprits.
Lady hires Val to clerk at the mercantile store. She is
drawn to him emotionally and physically, and they become involved with each
other, despite the fact that Lady’s ailing, mean-spirited husband is generally
just one floor away from them, in his sick bed in the couple’s living quarters
above the shop. Carol wants Val, too, but he tells her she’s just the kind of
wild child he wants to avoid getting involved with from then on, plus she is
basically banned from showing her face in the town. All the locals keep a close
watch on Val and, not surprisingly, the men folk aren’t overly fond of the
homme fatale and the kinds of responses he tends to draw from women who
encounter him. As Val begins living at the store and spending more and more
time with Lady, as Lady makes plans to re-open a confectionery that she sees as
the rebirth of the spirit of her late father’s wine garden, as Carol continues
to show up and try to drag Val off to a life on the road with her, and as the
townsfolk watch all of this happening, a climax that we’ve seen coming and that
can’t be anything but destructive, is closing in all the time.
A
naive but principled young guy from the sticks gets embroiled with outnumbered
and outgunned rebels in an uprising against a tyrannical empire, has his life
saved more than once by a roguish outlaw, is menaced by an older relative, and
goes on the run with a spirited young woman of royal lineage, all in a 1970s
movie featuring a talented cast of fresh newcomers and distinguished veteran
British actors.What, “Star Wars�Well . . . yeah, I suppose so . . . but
actually I was thinking of a substantially more obscure picture, Delbert Mann’s
1971 production “Kidnapped,†now available on Blu-ray from Kino Lorber.Mann’s movie was based on the Robert Louis
Stevenson novel, once widely read by teenage boys but now supplanted, I guess,
by “Minecraft†and Japanese Manga.I saw
the film in a nearly empty theater during its U.S. release in early 1972, a rare,
intelligent G-rated costume drama in a season otherwise dominated by the
cynical and hyper-violent likes of “Dirty Harry,†“Straw Dogs,†and “A
Clockwork Orange.â€It hardly made a stir
then, nor is it much remembered today, even among fans of Michael Caine, who
starred as Stevenson’s dashing, 18th Century Scots firebrand Alan Breck
Stewart.If fans remember Caine for any
film from 1971, it’s undoubtedly “Get Carter.â€Caine himself famously disowned “Kidnapped,†pissed because he had to
help bail it out financially when it ran out of money well into filming.“It was an absolute disaster,†he once
said.It’s difficult to fault Sir
Michael -- no actor likes to be stiffed after months of hard work, whatever the
circumstances -- but you have to wonder if some kind words from the popular
star might have given the film greater critical respect and commercial
visibility.
In
the movie’s tidy, thoughtful script by Jack Pulman, incidents from Stevenson’s
1886 novel are combined with others from its relatively obscure 1893 sequel
(titled “Catriona†in Britain and “David Balfour†here) and sieved through the
real-life social issues of the Vietnam and Bloody Sunday era. That doesn’t
particularly date the movie, since similar issues are still with us in today’s
arguments over Trump’s Border Wall, the Middle East, and Brexit.David Balfour (Lawrence Douglas), an orphan,
travels to Edinburgh in 1745 to claim his inheritance from his miserly uncle
(Donald Pleasence).The older man has
David abducted on board a ship to the Carolinas, where he’ll be dumped into
indentured servitude.Off the Scottish
coast, the ship acquires another passenger, the fugitive rebel Alan Breck
Stewart, who’s trying to keep insurgency against England alive after the Scots’
bloody defeat at the Battle of Culloden and the flight of Charles Stuart,
“Bonnie Prince Charlie,†the pretender to the British throne.(The Scots uprising may be familiar today
from Diana Gabaldon’s “Outlander†series.)When the treacherous ship’s captain (Jack Hawkins) tries to have Alan murdered
for his money, David helps the rebel and the two are subsequently
shipwrecked.In a trek across the
Highlands, they’re given shelter by Alan’s cousin James (Jack Watson).Unlike the nearly fanatical Alan, James is
tired of throwing away Scottish lives to support Prince Charlie’s dubious
cause.In an attack against James‘s
farmhouse by a rival clan allied with England, the Campbells, their chief Mungo
(Terry Richards) is shot to death by an unknown assassin.James is felled and thought killed, and Alan
and David flee with James‘s daughter Catriona (Vivien Heilbron).Eventually reaching Edinburgh, they learn
that James is still alive and in prison, charged with Mungo’s murder.David knows that James is innocent, because
he was standing beside him when the shot was fired from somewhere else in the
house.He tells the family lawyer
(Gordon Jackson) that he intends to appear at the trial as a witness for the
defense, even if the outcome is a foregone conclusion.Lord Grant, the government’s prosecutor
(Trevor Howard), is sympathetic to David’s stubborn integrity, but he knows
that the Campbells demand a scapegoat, and Campbell support is essential for
preventing more bloodshed and anarchy, even at the cost of an innocent man’s
life.“You live in a simple world,
David,†Grant says, not unkindly.“And
who protects that world?I do.â€Catriona seeks Alan’s help, but the rebel is
inclined to sail to France, raise further support for the Cause, and leave
James to his fate.
David
Lean’s Brief Encounter, based on Noël
Coward’s one-act play Still Life and
adapted for the screen by Lean, Anthony Havelock-Allan, and Ronald Neame,
represents one of the most admired and poignant love stories ever put on
celluloid. The picture frequently lands on various “best†lists and is often
called one of the great movie romances. It is also a decidedly British picture,
one that deftly captures the zeitgeist of
immediate post-war England with a focus on middle-class values and morality of
the time. It appeared in British cinemas in late 1945 and was released in the
U.S. in 1946; thus, it was nominated for the ‘46 Academy Awards for Best
Director, Best Actress (Celia Johnson), and Best Adapted Screenplay.
The
Criterion Collection released the film on DVD years ago, both alone and as part
of the box set collection, David Lean
Directs Noël Coward (the collection was
also released on Blu-ray); however, until now the title was not available as a
separate Blu-ray disk. All of the supplements from the box set edition have
been ported over to this single disk version.
Brief Encounter is the story of Laura
(wonderfully played by Johnson), a respectable, happily-married woman who
happens to meet a respectable, happily-married doctor named Alec (Trevor
Howard) one day in the train station. There is a mutual attraction, and they
begin to see each other on day outings over the next few weeks. They fall in
love, of course, and the next big question is... will they or won’t they?
With
Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2
underscoring the affair, this is lush, romantic stuff.
It
was Lean’s fourth collaboration with Coward (their first picture, In Which We Serve,was co-directed by both) and it’s the piece that exhibited Lean’s
growing artistry as a filmmaker. For a man who went on to make big budget epics
like Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago, Brief Encounter is strikingly small and intimate, and that’s the
reason it has such charm and resonance. The two leads are superb. Johnson (whom
James Bond fans may know was, in real life, the sister-in-law of Ian Fleming)
displays such controlled emotion (in a manner that is distinctly British), that
it becomes heartbreaking to watch. Howard’s conflict between desire and
responsibility is palpable. Their rapport is very real and totally believable,
even seventy-one years later.
The
Blu-ray disk contains a high-definition digital transfer of the BFI National
Archive’s 2008 restoration, with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack. There is
an audio commentary from 2000 by film historian Bruce Eder.
The
supplements include an insightful interview from 2012 with Noël
Coward scholar Barry Day; a terrific short documentary on the making of the
film; a nearly-hour-long 1971 television documentary on Lean’s career up to
that point; and the theatrical trailer. An essay by historian Kevin Brownlow
appears in the booklet.
Brief Encounter is the perfect date
movie. Watch it tonight with someone you love.