Monday, May 4, 2020

Leave Her To Heaven

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Mar 24, 2020
Review by Christopher S. Long

The genres of melodrama and noir share only a short border, but both intersect in the enigmatic and magnetic blue-green eyes of actress Gene Tierney, star of director John M. Stahl's “Leave Her To Heaven” (1945).

Ellen Berent (Tierney) and Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde) size each other up on a train. Richard coyly steals glances while Ellen gazes with increasing boldness and evident hunger. The meet-cute turns meet-sinister when Ellen explains the fascination this stranger on a train holds for her: “You look so much like my father.” Yikes!

Perhaps a bright, successful novelist like Richard should take this was a warning to switch cars while he still can, but the problem is that Ellen looks so much like Gene Tierney. He was doomed the instant he spiraled into the gravity well of those inescapable eyes. Next thing Richard knows, they're married, even if he can't quite remember the proposal. Ellen has a way of getting what she wants, and she wants Richard. All to herself.

Stahl makes Tierney's uncanny beauty the centerpiece of the film, and not just by asking screenwriter Jo Swerling (adapting the best-selling novel by Ben Ames Williams) to devise excuses for the actress to slip into a diverse array of sweaters, bathing suits, and nightgowns. Tierney's flawless face matches the flawless d├ęcor of the palatial Berent estate, and her ruby-red lipstick, positively bleeding in lush Technicolor, shines as luminously as the sun that glistens off the pools and lakes featured in the film.

To the degree that “Leave Her To Heaven” qualifies as a noir, it is the rare noir that doesn't rely heavily on shadows and murky spaces. The lustrous colors and the sheer brightness of the set design threaten to envelop Richard as surely as the gloomiest of noir alleyways, and so does the ugliness lurking just beneath his perfect housewife's perfect visage. She won't let anything get in the way of their wedded bliss, not her family, not their baby, not even Richard's polio-stricken little brother (Darryl Hickman). Richard is warned that “Ellen always wins” but fortunately he's not in a full-fledged noir, so fate still permits him a potential escape route, primarily in the form of Ellen's true-hearted cousin Ruth (Jeanne Crain).

Ellen's beauty blinds Richard to her flaws and Tierney's beauty can blind viewers to the quality of her performance. She renders Ellen both as supremely domineering and also vulnerable as a woman who only “loves too much”, at least according to her mother (Mary Philips). And though Tierney relishes in some of the overwrought flourishes of the traditional melodrama (a spiteful trip down a flight of stairs among them) she creates one of the most soul-chilling scenes of 1940's Hollywood simply by sitting still and staring passively through a pair of dark sunglasses.

“Leave Her To Heaven” ends on its weakest note with an extended and tedious courtroom scene which at least gives Vincent Price something to do after only the briefest of cameos earlier on. But Tierney's performance is indelible and cinematographer Leon Shamroy, who netted the film's sole Oscar win, deftly paints peril into every frame of this glowing Technicolor dreamland turned nightmare. 

The film is presented in its original 1.37:1 aspect ratio. From Criterion: “This 2K digital restoration was undertaken by Twentieth Century Fox and the Academy Film Archive, with support from The Film Foundation. A new digital transfer was created from a 35 mm color reversal internegative. A 35 mm nitrate Technicolor print was used as a reference for picture restoration.”

Without the original Technicolor footage, we can't be certain how precisely the colors match the original release, but with the reference print, this 1080 restoration provides a robust, bright image bursting with color. I couldn't spot any obvious flaws in the presentation.

The LPCM mono track is cleanly mixed with no evident dropoffs. The swelling original score by Alfred Newman is well-preserved. Optional English subtitles support the English dialogue.

Criterion has gone light with the features this time, including only a Trailer (2 min.) and a new interview (26 min.) with critic Imogen Sara Smith, the author of “In Lonely Places: Film Noir Beyond The City.” Smith touches on the mysterious early life of director John M. Stahl, who long claimed to be born in New York but was, in fact, born in Azerbaijan. She also provides some visual analysis of a few scenes in the film.

The slim fold-out booklet features an incisive essay by novelist Megan Abbott.

Final Thoughts:
Gene Tierney was at her career peak, following up “Laura” (1944) with a role of a lifetime as Ellen in this film. Criterion offers little in the way of extras this time, though the interview with Smith is very strong, but this is a solid high-definition presentation of this strange melodrama-noir.

Saturday, April 11, 2020

Destry Rides Again

DESTRY RIDES AGAIN (Marshall, 1939)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date April 14, 2020
Review by Christopher S. Long

“Destry Rides Again” (1939) is a Western starring James Stewart and Marlene Dietrich. If you're already thinking “That's all I need to know!” I'm not here to tell you you're wrong. But feel free to read on anyway.

Deputy sheriff Thomas Jefferson Destry Jr. (James Stewart) doesn't ride into the frontier town of Bottleneck until the start of the film's second act, but he quickly establishes his unique brand of machismo. When local saloon owner/bad guy Kent (Brian Donlevy) demands to confiscate the new lawman's guns, the soft-spoken Destry assures him that's not going to happen. As Kent prepares to draw, Destry quenches the smoldering spark of violence by adding that he simply means he doesn't carry any guns at all. He doesn't believe in them.

The saloon crowd jeers, mocking the outsider as a wimp. But Destry's true grit stems from his unshakable faith in his own code of honor. He knows he's right and he cares so little for what the unwashed mob thinks of him that he'll happily brandish a lady's parasol or wield a mop and bucket without feeling the least bit diminished or unmanly.

It's a role so tailor-made for Stewart – the aw-shucks master of rugged humility – that it's hard to imagine anyone else playing it. Yet Universal executives were skeptical that the gangly, drawling actor who'd only recently broken out as a star in Frank Capra's comedy “You Can't Take It With You” (1938) could headline in a virile genre like the Western. Stewart worked out just fine as a cowboy hero, thank you very much ma'am, though it would somehow take another decade before he'd strap on his spurs again in Anthony Mann's magnificent “Winchester '73” (1950).

Producer Joe Pasternak caused studio execs even more sleepless nights when he also pursued German siren Marlene Dietrich for the role of dance-hall singer Frenchy. Not only did it seem absurd to cast the thickly-accented actress in the most quintessentially American milieu, but Dietrich had proven to be box-office poison in recent years, all but abandoning Hollywood to return to Europe.

The unforgettable role of Frenchy represented both a triumphant comeback and a major transformation for Dietrich, her icy glamor melting into an earthy accessibility. Frenchy could belt out a mean tune (“See What The Boys In The Back Room Will Have,” soon to become a staple in Dietrich's repertoire), deftly cheat a man at poker, and claw her way through a prolonged catfight with a vengeful wife (Una Merkel). Frenchy, of course, eventually falls for the deceptive charms of the not-so-meek Destry, a man like no other in town. Stewart and Dietrich also conducted their own affair off-screen.

Universal had already shot a fairly straightforward adaptation of Max Brand's novel “Destry Rides Again” in 1932, with Tom Mix as the righteous hero. For this 1939 version, director George Marshall would shoot from a radically revised script (credited only as “Suggested by” Brand's book) which approached the material with more of a satirical eye. I'm not certain, however, that “Destry” can really best be described (as it usually is) as a comedic Western.

This “Destry” does offer its share of comic-relief characters such as the drunk-turned-sheriff (Charles Winninger) and the henpecked Russian husband (Mischa Auer), but is still composed primarily of standard Western elements. Kent is a cowardly, treacherous villain who all but twirls his mustache; some characters the audience cares for will be gunned down; and the pacifist Destry inevitably turns out to be a crack shot who may have to break his code to enact justice. The unexpected ending (which I won't spoil here) does represent a major departure from formula, but seems too radical to pigeonhole as comedy. Perhaps the film's enduring appeal rests in its ability to function simultaneously both as a revisionist comedy and as an exemplar of the classic genre with a unique and unforgettable hero.

In summary, “Destry Rides Again” is a Western starring James Stewart and Marlene Dietrich. Which is really all you need to know.

The film is presented in a slightly odd 1.35:1 aspect ratio, not that you'd notice the difference from a typical 1.33:1 if the Criterion booklet didn't list the specifics. Also from Criterion: “This new 4K digital restoration was undertaken by Universal Pictures in collaboration with The Film Foundation, with special consultation by filmmakers Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg. A new digital transfer was created in 4K resolution from a 35 mm nitrate composite fine-grain and a 35 mm safety composite fine-grain.”

The high-def transfer provides sharp black-and-white contrast and a rich grainy look. I can't judge whether it looks as fresh as it did when it debuted in theaters in late December 1939, but this 80+ year-old film sure looks spiffy in this newly-restored 1080p transfer.

The LPCM mono audio mix is both clear and appropriately flat. The audio design isn't terribly complex, but the mix does a fine job presenting both the Frederick Hollander composed tunes (lyrics by Frank Loesser) and the film score by Frank Skinner. Optional English SDH subtitles support the English audio.

Criterion kicks off the collection of extras with an interview with film critic Imogen Sara Smith (2020, 17 min.) Smith discusses situates the film within the context of Stewart and Dietrich's career. This is one of the very few critic interviews I've ever seen in which the film's director isn't even discussed, perhaps a sign that while George Marshall has always been respected as a competent professional and jack-of-all-trades, he was never identified with a single genre or noted as a visual stylist. I note that I did nothing more than mention his name once in my review above. No insult intended, Mr. Marshall!

The disc also includes an interview with Donald Dewey, author of “James Stewart: A Biography.” Obviously, he provides more analysis of the role the film played in Stewart's career. Stewart was just emerging as a star, but wasn't quite yet a top-line household name. He had just filmed “Mr. Smith Goes To Washington” but it wouldn't be released until production on “Destry” wrapped.

Criterion also offers a 19-minute audio interview with director George Marshall. This was recorded in 1973 at AFI and mostly covers Marshall's reminiscences about his silent film career.

Finally, we get a recording (54 min.) of the “Lux Radio Theatre” broadcast of “Destry Rides Again.” Broadcast on Nov 5, 1945, this truncated version stars Stewart with Joan Blondell as Frenchy.

The slim fold-out booklet includes a typically insightful and comprehensive essay by critic Farran Smith Nehme.

Final Thoughts:
I repeat: James Stewart and Marlene Dietrich in a Western. With a strong high-def transfer and a solid offering of extra features from Criterion. What more do you need to know?

Tuesday, February 25, 2020

Three Fantastic Journeys by Karel Zeman

Invention for Destruction

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Feb 25, 2020
Review by Christopher S. Long

In the animated worlds of Czech filmmaker Karel Zeman, submarine-based pirates ride bicycles underwater, church bells chime like piano keys, and a knight's armor can transform in a twinkling into an astronaut's spacesuit complete with jetpack. Being swallowed whole by a giant whale merely provides the opportunity to meet new friends already inside. Zeman's vision captures the wide-eyed wonder of childhood imagination where all possibilities are treated as both equally plausible and as equal sources of awe and delight.

Zeman may not be a familiar name to you, but he remains a legend in the world of animation and fantasy, still revered today more than thirty years after his death in 1989. Terry Gilliam cites him as a major influence, and not just because they both made films about Baron Munchausen. Koji Yamamura, Tim Burton – the list of Zeman fans is long, yet nobody has ever made a film quite like the works of this pioneer and genuine original.

Zeman, who began directing animated shorts in the 1940s, combined live action with an array of animation/illustration techniques ranging from matte painting to stop-motion, paper cutouts, and a host of other devices. Action is often depicted on multiple planes with real actors in the foreground looking at hand-drawn vistas in the background, and then stepping right into them, new details being revealed the closer we get.

The director's earliest love was puppets and he uses them liberally in his work, both shot as full-scale models and as animated miniatures. This is showcased to great effect in the first film in this Criterion set, “Journey to the Beginning of Time” (1955), in which a group of adventurous boys encounter wooly mammoths, giant rocs, and even witness a groovy stegosaurus battle.

Perhaps the Zeman aesthetic could be summed up as proto-steampunk by way of Jules Verne (Verne's stories provided the loose inspiration for each of the three features in this set), a paradoxically cutting-edge retro style which tweaks antiquated technology into marvels of futuristic engineering. Pedal-powered dirigibles! But his willingness to incorporate a wide variety of effects in many shifting combination makes him difficult to pigeonhole, though I think it's fair to describe the feel of every frame of Zeman's animations as meticulously and lovingly hand-crafted.

The films in this set emphasize the creation of fantastical worlds populated with nifty gadgets and transportation devices, maritime vessels and flying-machines of all stripes. The story-telling is simplistic by design – gosh-wow adventure is the currency of Zeman's realm - and characterization definitely takes a back seat to the design.

The boys in “Journey to the Beginning of Time” (the only film in the set heavier on live action than animation) exist only as stand-ins for dinosaur-loving kids everywhere, gaping at the brontosaurus foraging in the forest and the pterodactyls swooping overhead as their boat drifts placidly along the river that carries them back through the prehistoric eras. Even the colorful title character of “The Fabulous Baron Munchausen” (1962) is little more than a blowhard fabulist with a cool beard, but this isn't a shortcoming. What character could compete with the spectacle of the caldera of an extinct volcano that serves as the hideout for the pirate villains in “Invention For Destruction” (1958)? The smoke coming from the volcano actually belches from the factories hidden inside! Now that's cool.

Sound plays a crucial role in Zeman's work too, which I guess is an obvious statement to make about most animation. The music of composer Zdenek Liska is often foregrounded in both “Invention” and “Munchausen” with the swordfights and horseback chases assuming a symphonic quality.

Zeman was no fringe figure beloved only by cultists. “Invention For Destruction” not only won attention on the festival circuit, it played internationally (opening in English-language markets as “The Fabulous World of Jules Verne”) and, by some counts, remains the top-grossing Czech film of all-time. “Baron Munchausen” was also a hit. Remaining largely apolitical, Zeman was able to continue working through multiple regime changes in Czechoslovakia, though his output would be severely curtailed after the crackdown following the Prague Spring in 1968, also coinciding with a time when he felt new developments in special effects rendered some of his own techniques less potent.

“Journey” is pitched primarily at kids, with their down-river trip through time functioning like a museum tour, with educational interludes along the way. “Invention” and “Munchausen” appeal to kids of all ages, and their elaborate animated worlds continue to amaze more than half a century later. Could any rational person argue that the average CGI-laden blockbuster today can compete with these hand-crafted marvels?

All three features in the set are presented in their original 1.37:1 aspect ratios.

The Karel Zeman Museum was founded in Prague in 2012, and has worked in cooperation with the Czech Film Foundation to digitally restore many of Zeman's films. The 4K restorations were created from the original 35 mm negatives, though a duplicate positive of “Journey to the Beginning of Time” was used to replace some damaged scenes.

The high-def transfers are strong throughout, even preserving the fine hatchwork that marks many scenes in “Invention” and “Munchausen.”

The LPCM mono audio mix sounds surprisingly robust for non-stereo audio. Composer Zdenek Liska's music really sounds great in the final two films. Optional English subtitles support the Czech audio.

Criterion has provided an affectionate tribute to Zeman's work with this three-film box set, beginning with the unique design of the case for the film. Inside a typical cardboard outer-casing, the three discs in this set are tucked into an interior case which opens out with 3-D pop-up art, featuring mammoths and hot-air balloons and cannons. Be careful when you open it, you'll want to preserve this one.

Each of the three feature films in the set is housed on a separate Blu-ray disc, each of which has its own selection of features.

Sprinkled across all three discs are a series of short Museum Documentaries (most ranging from 2-6 minutes), all produced by the Karel Zeman Museum. They're all short informational features, some about the filmmaker, some about the making of each film, or the effects, the restoration, etc. There are 4-6 Museum Documentaries on each of the three discs.

The “Journey To The Beginning Of Time” disc also includes the 1960 U.S. release of the film, in which the four Czech boys are converted into Americans by way of a newly-short framing device set in New York and the dubious miracle of dubbing. The body of the film remains mostly intact, save for the dubbing. The disc also includes a Trailer (2 min.) and an interview (12 min.) with animation filmmaker John Stevenson.

On the “Invention For Destruction” disc, we get an Alternate Opening for the U.S. release which features... Hugh Downs (huh?) lecturing on Jules Verne and speaking of the wonders of “Mystimation” viewers are about to see. The disc also offers “Making Magic” (23 min.), a 2019 interview with special-effects artists Phil Tippett and Jim Aupperle. I enjoyed this interview, though it feels like half of it consists mostly of them gushing about Zeman and only getting to the analysis of his techniques at the end. We also get a Trailer (1 min.)

The “Invention” disc also provides four short animated films by Zeman: “A Christmas Dream” (1945, 11 min.), “A Horseshoe For Luck” (1946, 4 min.), “Inspiration” (1947, 11 min.), and “King Lavra” (1950, 30 min.) They're all lovely, but “Inspiration” is the real standout. Dedicated to Czech glassmakers, it takes on the challenge of animating glass figurines, all presented as microbial life in a droplet of rainwater. It's just gorgeous.

The disc for “The Fabulous Baron Munchausen” provides the heftiest extra in the set, the 101-minute documentary “Film Adventurer Karel Zeman” (2015). Including interviews with the filmmaker's daughter Lyudmilla Zeman, filmmakers Terry Gilliam, Koji Yamamura, and others, it covers the director's career from his days in advertising to his more challenging final years. The disc also includes a Trailer (2 min.) and a brief promo for the Karel Zeman Museum (1 min.)

The slim fold-out booklet features an essay by critic Michael Atkinson.

Final Thoughts:
The most playful and inventive of Karel Zeman's films play out like the kind of dreams you used to have with your eyes wide open. Maybe you still have those dreams. Zeman held on to them for most of his career and realized them in a groundbreaking style that has influenced many. Criterion's set includes three of Zeman's best-loved feature films, several shorts, and a host of extras, all wrapped up in a slick design with pop-up art. This is a must-own for any animation fan.

Tuesday, February 18, 2020


TEOREMA (Pasolini, 1968)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Feb 18, 2020
Review by Christopher S. Long

As in many of the greatest works of speculative fiction such as “Jeffty Is Five,” “The Exterminating Angel,” and “Groundhog Day,” the uncanny premise of Pier Paolo Pasoilin's “Teorema” (“Theorem”, 1968) is neither explained nor justified in any logical fashion. It's just assumed to be a reality in the story.

A telegram is delivered to the patriarch (Massimo Girotti) of an upper-class family in Milan announcing “Arriving Tomorrow”, and so The Guest (Terence Stamp) arrives the next day. The Guest then immediately begins disrupting the household's fragile status quo simply because that's what the film's “theorem” posits he would do.

Emilia (Laura Betti), the family maid, ogles The Guest while he lounges about at full manspread. He reads Rimbaud, book cradled at crotch level (Stamp's “power angle” features prominently in the film), and Emilia is driven into a frenzy by his Rimboner. She flits frantically about the palatial estate, failing in her assigned chores, then races into the kitchen to asphyxiate herself at the stove. The Guest intuits what she's doing and rushes to save her, or perhaps he wants to preserve her for future torment. We don't know enough to guess which, and we never will. In either case, he makes love to her instead.

Rarely speaking, but always piercing the soul with his sky-blue-eyes, The Guest systematically seduces each member of the household, including the factory-owner husband, wife Lucia (Silvana Mangano), daughter Odetta (Anne Wiazemsky), and son Pietro (Andres Jose Cruz Soublette). Surprisingly, Pasolini leaves a lot to the imagination, and the film's scandalous reputation (it was banned in Italy) derives from its basic premise rather than its graphic content. After securing his conquests, the Guest then abruptly departs, leaving the second half of the film to follow each of the characters as they descend into madness, now left rudderless in a world without their beloved stranger.

Is he devil or angel? Pasolini coyly described The Guest as just “a boy” but also referred to his arrival as, in effect, the traumatic injection of authenticity into the shallow lives of the sheltered bourgeois family. Ejected from the Eden of their blissful ignorance, they struggle to make meaning out of their lives now that they have knowledge of real pleasure. Odetta begins measuring the lawn with a tape ruler. Pietro starts painting increasingly deranged abstract art, a project that includes pissing on a canvas (sorry, Andy, you weren't the first). I'll let you discover what happens to Emilia on your own.

The film jumps around in time, though that's not clear until near the end, and also shifts from a muted palette to a sepia interlude and then to lush color at the party that introduces The Guest. Stamp's blue eyes may be the film's most enduring image and its greatest special effect. The music, composed and selected by Ennio Morricone, also runs the gamut from jarring electric guitar to somber Mozart, most of it working to defamiliarize the domestic setting.

Pasolini's theorem isn't a particularly persuasive one, at least as sociopolitical critique. If it just boils down to Pasolini's claim that “a member of the bourgeoisie, whatever he does, is always wrong” that isn't exactly a testable, rejectable hypothesis. Viewed more as Bible-inflected science-fiction as filtered through a Marxist lens, “Teorema” is quite thought-provoking, in no small part because it resists any pat psychological motivations. “The Book of Job” and “Stranger In A Strange Land” meet up to wrestle with the class struggle, and all that's left to do in the end is to strip naked and scream into the void. Sounds like a blast. Is it any wonder the pope condemened it?

The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. “This new digital transfer was created in 4K resolution … from the original 35 mm camera negative at Cinecitta in Rome.” The film shifts color palettes a few times, and this high-def transfer does a good job of capturing its full range of tones. Most of the film is shot with bright colors, and they pop here, especially Stamp's blue eyes. Another strong Criterion transfer, as usual.

The linear PCM mono track provides a flat but clear sound. Both dialogue and the Morricone music are cleanly mixed. Listeners can also choose the English dub which isn't as sharp, but still sounds good. Optional English subtitles support the Italian audio.

The film is accompanied by a commentary track by Robert C. Gordon author of “Pasolini: Forms of Subjectivity” which was recorded in 2007 and originally included on a BFI release of “Teorema.”

The disc includes a brief introduction (2 min.) which is really a snippet of a 1969 interview with Pasolini in which he describes the film as a “parable” or “enigma” but mostly avoids providing much of an interpretation.

Another feature from the 2007 BFI disc is offered here in the form of a 33-minute interview with Terence Stamp, which is far more substantive than most actor interviews. Stamp discusses his work with Fellini, which first brought him to Italy, and the ways in which he brought his own philosophy to the character of The Guest, something he needed to do since Pasolini was reluctant to tell him much about the character (and also secretly filmed Stamp even while not acting).

We get one brand new feature, an interview (16 min.) with John David Rhodes, author of “Stupendous, Miserable City: Pasolini's Rome.” Rhodes discusses some of Pasolini's influences (Marxism, etc.) and also touches on the film's importance in queer criticism/film history.

The slim fold-out booklet includes a remarkable essay by critic James Quandt, always a must-read on any topic.

Final Thoughts:
Any movie condemned by the pope has to be worth seeing, right?