Wednesday, December 20, 2017

General Idi Amin Dada: A Self-Portrait


GENERAL IDI AMIN DADA: A SELF-PORTRAIT (Schroeder, 1974)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Dec 12, 2017
Review by Christopher S. Long

How the heck did director Barbet Schroeder score direct access to Idi Amin, the controversial military dictator of Uganda? He simply asked.

The title star of “General Idi Amin Dada: A Self-Portrait” (1974) may have been mocked by the Western intelligentsia as an ignoramus and a buffoon, but he understood the importance of the media and, especially, the importance of being on camera as much as possible. The self-made general and self-styled savior spewed absurd lies while also claiming to be universally loved because he was the only man who told the truth, and to be feared throughout the world for his unparalleled savvy and might. It never mattered how ludicrous his empty posturing was, only that people were constantly watching and listening. Of course he said yes to the Frenchman who wanted to make him a movie star.

I know what you're thinking, dear 2017 reader. If you are tempted to draw a seemingly obvious comparison to a current world leader, however, please note that in his not-brief-enough tenure, Amin allegedly murdered a few hundred thousand of his fellow citizens, and jailed many more of his real and imagined political foes, so let's respect the horror suffered by a generation of Ugandans and move on.

Schroeder was aware of the perils of providing grist for Amin's publicity mill, leading to the canny decision to subtitle the film “A Self-Portrait” by Amin. In so doing, Schroeder acknowledged his potential complicity as a propagandist, but also mitigated the damage by emphasizing that this awful, asinine man called the shots (at one point he even orders the cameraman to film a helicopter), so viewer beware and do not be deceived by the term “documentary.”

Amin struts and preens his way through a series of pathetic military exercises, including one in which his crack paratroopers prepare for battle by leaping off a two-inch-high porch step, and equally pathetic cabinet meetings where he promises he wants nothing but openness and honesty, and pauses for neither. The question isn't so much whether Amin believes his preposterous rhetoric, but whether he thinks anyone else will believe it, at least anyone not living under immediate threat of his force.

Schroeder notes that Amin was such a natural on camera that he only needed about eight hours of total footage during his two-week shot to accumulate enough material for a feature-length cut. The general is undeniably magnetic and all the more terrifying for his carefully rehearsed sense of calm. He does not yell or directly threaten anyone, but his over-the-top laughter, feigned interest in conversations that are really monologues, and his icy stare speak volumes.

The documentary opened to widespread acclaim in 1974, and multiple descriptions of the film as the funniest comedy of the year provide evidence that irony-drenched hipsters are not exclusively a twenty-first century creation. Certainly, the film offers its share of absurdist humor (“Dada”), such as Amin cheating in a swimming race by barreling over an opponent who quite obviously had no intention of daring to challenge the great general, but it is also a chilling record of a genuine monster, a sociopath too irresistibly and disturbingly entertaining to be easily forgotten. 


Video:
The film is presented in its original 1.37:1 aspect ratio. I can't imagine too many people were clamoring for a high-def upgrade of this documentary, but the “new 2K digital transfer” certainly looks sharper than the old 2002 SD Criterion release, and features more subdued color tones.

Audio:
The linear PCM mono track is crisp and efficient. There's not much to say about a film consisting mostly of interviews save that there are no audio problems that would distract the viewer. Optional English subtitles support the audio.

Extras:
The 2002 Criterion DVD was scant on extra features, and this 2017 Blu-ray upgrade only adds a few small ones.

We get the old 2001 interview with Barbet Schroeder (26 min.) and a new 2017 interview (12 min.) with the director which covers a good deal of the same ground. But, oh, that story of how Amin “suggested” certain film cuts to Schroeder can't be told enough.

The only other extra is a 2017 interview with author Andrew Rice (16 min.) who discusses Amin's reign from seizing power to his self-imposed exile (he ran like a coward).

The slim fold-out insert booklet includes an essay by film critic J. Hoberman.

Final Thoughts:
Go ahead, laugh at the movie. It's funny. But reflect on Amin's long, dead-eyed stare that wraps up the film before you go calling it a rip-roaring comedy. In any case, it's a great and essential documentary.

Monday, December 18, 2017

The Complete Monterey Pop Festival


THE COMPLETE MONTEREY POP FESTIVAL (Pennebaker, 1967)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Dec 12, 2017
Review by Christopher S. Long

On a 1958 episode of “What's My Line?”, pioneering rock-and-roll songwriters Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller faced the withering condescension of the show's self-appointed cultural gatekeepers. An outright vicious Dorothy Kilgallen sniped “That's no excuse!” when the pair's commercial success was mentioned, and the not-at-all-with-it host, John Daly, offered the friendly hope that the boys would “go on and do perhaps more serious things in music.”

In 1967, director D.A. Pennebaker was only a few years younger than both Kilgallen and Daly were in 1958, butwas fortunately far more receptive to the nation's new dominant musical genre. When tasked with filming the Monterey Pop Festival on three sunny California days in June, 1967, Pennebaker not only took the event seriously, he rendered it an almost instantly myth, a cultural landmark that still exerts considerable sway a half-century later.

Pennebaker was hired in part because of his success with the Bob Dylan documentary “Don't Look Back” (1967), but he still wasn't entirely familiar with the whole scene organized by festival producers Lou Adler and John Phillips (of The Mamas & The Papas). He claims he didn't even know who Janis Joplin was (they later became friends), and had only heard snippets of Jimi Hendrix before. Fortunately, Pennebaker and his team, including Direct Cinema stalwarts Albert Maysles and Ricky Leacock, were able to employ their hand-held cameras, mobile direct sound, and versatile 16-mm Ektachrome stock with free-wheeling versatility, sometimes capturing entire sets by the relentless parade of star acts, some already legendary, others whose fame would be launched in no small part by the festival and the film. 


“Monterey Pop” eases into this now-fabled launch of the Summer of Love, waiting nearly ten minutes to actually get to the music, focusing on the crowds of flower-power youth completing their solemn pilgrimage. One bright-eyed fan promises that it's going to be like Easter and Christmas and New Year's all rolled together and that “the vibrations are just gonna be flowing.” Police worry about the rumored threats of the Hell's Angels and Black Panthers, but joking interactions between hippies and cops suggest that all will be well.

The rest is the stuff of legends, as vital and vibrant today as when first captured on film. Grace Slick and Joplin at their peaks. Cass Elliott charming the audience. Hendrix setting his guitar aflame. Otis Redding just months before his tragic plane crash. All amazing, but can any of them top sitar-master Ravi Shankar completely owning not just the crowd, but a whole new musical world with a performance that staggers belief? No need to pick your favorite act. Who could?

If there's any disappointment with Pennebaker's magical film, it's that it's too damn short at just 79 minutes. But if you finish feeling like you could listen to hours more, well, that's just what this Criterion Blu-ray set is for.


Video:
The films in this 3-disc set are presented in their original 1.33:1 aspect ratios. After the original 2002 SD-DVD release, Criterion re-released “Monterey Pop” (see below) on Blu-ray in 2009. However, this 2017 Blu-ray re-release features new 16-bit 4K resolution transfers. I don't have the 2009 Blu-ray to compare to, but the difference between these transfers and the 2002 DVDs represents a considerable improvement, a total transformation really. Of course the audio quality is going to be of greater interest to those considering a double dip.

Audio:
Linear PCM and DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 mixes are available options for the films in this set. The 5.1 mix, newly remastered from the original 8-track audio, are exceptionally robust with no drop-off or distortion audible anywhere. It sounds even better than you'd imagine possible for a concert captured with mobile synch sound equipment of the '60s. I can't imagine it can ever sound better than this. No subtitles are provided, which I suppose isn't a big deal, but I still wouldn't mind having them.

Extras:
It's easy to get confused by the many Criterion releases of “Monterey Pop.” It was first released as two separate DVDs in two separate keepcases back in 2002. They then released the set again on Blu-ray in 2009. And in 2017, they are releasing both a single-disc ob Blu-ray and the three-disc set which is reviewed here.

What you really need to do is that this three-disc set includes all the original extras from the 2002/2009 releases and also adds a second disc consisting of over two-hours of outtakes/extra performances from the festival. We'll get to it all eventually.

Disc One includes the main documentary (79 min.) which is accompanied by the 2002 commentary track by Pennebaker and festival producer Lou Adler. Older features also imported include a 2001 interview with Pennebaker and Adler (29 min.) and interviews with John Phillips (16 min.), Cass Elliott (12 min.), David Crosby (9 min.), and Derek Taylor (29 min.). More older material: promotional TV and radio spots, festival ephemera (including a photo essay by Elaine Mayes), and images of the original festival program.

New features on Disc One include a 2017 interview with Pennebaker (15 min. - it's actually a mix of three interviews) and a 2017 interview with Lou Adler (12 min.) These cover some of the same material as their joint 2001 interview. In addition, the disc includes the short film “Chiefs” (1968, 20 min.), directed by Ricky Leacock, concerning a convention of American police chiefs in Waikiki. It's relevance to “Monterey Pop” is based mostly on Leacock's involvement in both projects.

Disc Two will thrill music lovers with 129 minutes of additional musical performances from the festival. I've done my best to list them in detail. They are organized by each day of the three-day festival.

Day One:

The Association – Along Comes Mary
Simon and Garfunkel – Homeward Bound, The Sounds of Silence

Day Two:

Country Joe and the Fish – Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine
Al Kooper – (I Heard Her Say) Wake Me, Shake Me
The Paul Butterfield Blues Band – Driftin' Blues
The Steve Miller Blues Band – Mercury Blues, Super Shuffle
Quicksilver Messenger Service – All I Ever Wanted To Do (Was Love You)
The Electric Flag – Drinkin' Wine
The Byrds – Chimes of Freedom, He Was A Friend of Mine, Hey Joe
Laura Nyro – Wedding Bell Blues, Poverty Train
Jefferson Airplane – Somebody to Love
Moby Grape – Hey Grandma

Day Three:

The Blues Project – Flute Thing
Big Brother and the Holding Company – Combination of the Two
Buffalo Springfield – For What It's Worth
The Who – Substitute, Summertime Blues, A Quick One While He's Away
The Grateful Dead – Viola Lee Blues
The Mamas and the Papas – Straight Shooter, Somebody Groovy, I Call Your Name, Monday Monday, San Francisco, Dancing In The Street

The disc also includes footage of Tiny Tim performing in the Hunt Club (the festival's official green room), four short songs in all.

Disc Three:

And we still haven't gotten to perhaps the most substantial extras in the set.


This disc includes two more Pennebaker films: “Jimi Plays Monterey” (49 min.) and “Shake! Otis at Monterey” and you should be able to figure out the subjects of both films, which are wonderful. “Jimi” has a 2002 commentary track by music critic Charles Shaar Murray and also a brief interview with Pete Townshend (1987, 4 min.” “Shake!” comes with two commentaries by music historian Peter Guaralnick along with a 2002 interview (19 min.) with Phil Walden, Redding's manager. These are all imported from the original 2002 SD release, but now in high-def.

The thick, square-bound 72-page insert booklet includes essays by Michael Chaiken, Armond White, David Fricke, and Barney Hoskyns as well as Michael Leydon's article about the festival, originally published in “Newsweek” in 1967.

Final Thoughts:
Great high-def transfers and rich DTS 5.1 audio mixes are reason enough to recommend this upgrade, but the real treat is the more than two hours of additional concert footage included on Disc Two (listed above). This set has been available in some form for quite some time now, but comprehensive re-release genuinely deserves the title “The COMPLETE Monterey Pop Festival.” Strongly recommended.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

Jabberwocky


JABBERWOCKY (Gilliam, 1977)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Nov 21, 2017
Review by Christopher S. Long

Human beings are tautly-stretched sacks of blood and puss who spend most of their day consuming and excreting matter, just eating, pissing, farting, and crapping their short lives away. That appears to be Terry Gilliam's primary thesis in “Jabberwocky” (1977), and even if you're in the minority who stubbornly disputes such an obvious claim, his first solo film as director provides ample evidence to support it.

When the film's protagonist, Dennis Cooper (Michael Palin), a simple villager named for his family occupation (Cooper, not Dennis, I mean), sets to wooing his sweetheart Griselda (Annette Badland), she responds to his tender entreaties by gnawing on a rotten potato, scratching her ass, and unleashing the occasional bum blast. Griselda's father, Mr. Fishfinger (Warren Mitchell), also conducts a blithely casual conversation with young Dennis while taking a equally casual dump out of a window and into the polluted water below.

When Dennis sets out, quite accidentally, to become a hero and slay the mysterious and menacing Jabberwocky that terrifies the countryside, he plunges knee-deep into mountains of dung and wakes up to a drive-by golden shower or two. Meanwhile, King Bruno the Questionable (Max Wall) orders a glorious joust to determine a champion to fight the Jabberwocky, and the results of each heroic battle are depicted primarily by the various fluids spattered on the onlookers. Robert Bresson may have dealt a fatal blow to chivalry a few years earlier with “Lancelot du Lac” (1974), but Gilliam took great pleasure in dropping by to crap on its corpse.

Any adaptation of Lewis Carroll's “Jabberwocky” would necessarily be a loose one, but Gilliam actually works in much of the poem's text into his film and ultimately delivers a genuine monster “with eyes of flame.” Hero Dennis Cooper is not, however, a particularly “beamish boy” unless “beamish” means “a colossally dull bean-counter.”

Portrayed with as little personality as possible by Palin, Dennis embodies another horrifying aspect of humanity beyond their oozing, stinking bodies: a relentlessly unimaginative obsession with profit margins. Dennis's father (Paul Curran) takes great pride in crafting quality barrels, in loving and respecting the wood he works with, and is mortified to learn that his son can see nothing but the opportunity to cut corners in the name of competitive business. Alas, Dennis is more in tune with his times than dear old dad. The nobles and businessmen of the utterly wretched city to which Dennis ventures to make his fortune are in no great hurry to eliminate the Jabberwocky. The threat of having all their flesh flayed from their skeletons keeps the peasants at home, and thus willing to work for lower wages, and the general chill even sparks a bull market in commodities.

Gilliam surely selected a pre-sanitation medieval setting to emphasize the filth, but the film's depiction of the squalid state of humanity has a timeless quality. Give them a few centuries and these miserable wretches will be spewing their filth into the atmosphere. A few years after that, the corporate machinery of Gilliam's “Brazil” (1985) would be run by a legion of paper-pushing Dennis Coopers, and dreamers are about as welcome in the society of “Jabberwocky” as in “Brazil.” Aside from Dennis's father, nobody here seeks or even imagines a better way of life because, quite frankly, they don't deserve and aren't capable of anything better. You are what you shit.

“Jabberwocky” manifests the expected unevenness of a first film. It's phenomenal at depicting the grotesque (special shutout to Annette Badland for gamely embracing her caricatured role) but it's not particularly funny, especially not when Gilliam seems to reaching most emphatically for laughs, a shortcoming that leads to some tedious stretches. However, the idiosyncratic vision that would soon produce gems like “Time Bandits” (1981) and “Brazil” (1985) arrives almost fully formed in Gilliam's solo debut. And the monster, held back until the very end, is pretty darn cool too.


Video:
The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. I only recall seeing “Jabberwocky” on the old 2001 Columbia DVD which was pretty flat and muddy looking. This recent restoration by the BFI National Archive and The Film Foundation works from the original 35 mm camera negative to produce an impressive 1080p image, sharp and richly textured throughout. It looks sharp in motion too. The color palette is fairly drab, but we're talking about Gilliam's version of the Middle Ages here – many piles of poop, few rainbows. All in all, this is a very strong high-def presentation.

Audio:
The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 mix is quite robust, effective with the sometimes elaborate sound effects (OK, by elaborate I sometimes mean sounds of suspicious 'plops' in the water) and the eclectic classical music mix. Optional English (SDH) subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:
The film is accompanied by an old 2001 audio commentary by Terry Gilliam and Michael Palin.

“Jabberwocky's Good Nonsense” (41 min.) mixes interviews with Gilliam, Palin, Annette Badland, and producer Sandy Lieberson. In sharing their reminiscences about the film's production, they cover mostly familiar ground with an emphasis on Gilliam's desire to break away from his Python roots in his first solo directorial effort.

In another interview (15 min.), special-effects artist and designer Valerie Charlton (co-credited for “Monster Creation” in the film) discusses the development of the film's title monster.

Cinematographer Terry Bedford (22 min.) also discusses his work with Gilliam on both “Holy Grail” and “Jabbewrocky” in these audio-only excerpts.

Criterion has also included the film's Original Opening. Gilliam changed the opening/title sequence for the film's U.S. release and settled on a hybrid version for home video release. This original U.K. Cut skips the paintings of the U.S. title sequence.

We also get a 2001 program which compares Gilliam's original sketches to the final screen version of several scenes.

Finally, in addition to a Trailer (1 min.), we also get a reading of the poem “Jabberwocky” by Palin and Badland.

The slim fold-out booklet features an essay by critic Scott Tobias.

Final Thoughts:
“Jabberwocky” is one of Gilliam's lesser efforts, but even if it's disappointingly short on laughs, it's a fascinating preview of the glorious visions to come from this one-of-a-kind director. Criterion's high-def transfer is stronger and the selection of extras is satisfying, if not overwhelming.

Thursday, November 16, 2017

The Philadelphia Story


THE PHILADELPHIA STORY (Cukor, 1940)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Nov 7, 2017
Review by Christopher S. Long

Wealthy socialite and bride-to-be Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn) finds herself pursued by two prospective suitors, neither of whom happens to be the man she plans to marry tomorrow. Ex-husband C.K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant) disrupts Tracy's plans not only by barging in unannounced, but also by dragging cranky reporter Mike Connor along in his wake to cover the wedding for his magazine and to wreak further chaos. Tracy's fiance George (John Howard) barely merits a footnote even as his own day of bliss approaches.

Director George Cukor and screenwriter David Ogden Stewart adapted “The Philadelphia Story” (1940) from Philip Barry's 1939 smash-hit play, also starring Hepburn. The project was designed from the outset as an effort to re-establish Hepburn as a star after a series of box-office failure in the late 1930's, which included the now-beloved “Bringing Up Baby” (1938). Hepburn exerted considerable control over the production from the earliest stages, from choosing Cukor to direct to selecting her co-stars (though she initially wanted Spencer Tracy as one of the leads), and the result was a career re-defining triumph, scoring big at the box office and also at the Academy Awards.

Like most romantic comedies of the era, the film relies almost exclusively on the blunt force power of star charisma on which the world-conquering Hollywood system was built. Every seemingly implausible or rushed development in the script has a simple justification. When the cynical Mike abruptly stops grumbling about the corruption of the upper-class and confesses his undying admiration for Tracy, there is only one explanation for his change of heart: she is Katharine Hepburn, and everyone loves Katharine Hepburn. Why does the poised, urbane Tracy still fall for the boorish, narcissistic, alcoholic who once hit her? Because he's Cary Grant, and everyone loves Cary Grant. All of which goes triple for Jimmy Stewart.

I confess that I am largely insensitive to the charms of studio mega-stars, a natural defect which generally leaves me less receptive to the romantic comedies of the golden age than most other viewers are. But I can still acknowledge the impeccable sense of timing Cukor and his cast enjoyed, as well the myriad of little flourishes provided by a deft script engineered to augment the strengths of the performers. Stewart repeatedly spits out the full name “C.K. Dexter Haven” as an accusation targeted at an entire privileged class. Hepburn endures a baseless series of accusations blaming her for the shortcomings of every man in her life without losing either her patience of her dignity. And Ruth Hussey outshines the top-line stars in an underappreciated role as a photographer and Mike's ill-treated love interest.

The ending is utterly ludicrous, but it's Hepburn, Grant, and Stewart. No need to ask further questions.


Video:
The film is presented in its original 1.37:1 aspect ratio. The film's original camera negative was destroyed in a 1978 fire, so you would expect any restoration would have to make compromises based on the limitations of their source prints, but it's hard to see any compromise here. Criterion's 1080p transfer offers sharp image detail, strong black-and-white contrast, and a fine grain structure that really makes the film pop. The look is so consistent throughout, I honestly can't spot a noticeable dropoff or flaw of any kind. It's difficult to envision a superior version of this film.

Audio:
The linear PCM mono audio track is sharp and relatively flat, as the original audio mix was. The sound design qualifies as strictly functional with dialogue and a Franz Waxman score the only relevant elements. It's all clearly mixed and consistent throughout. Optional English subtitles support the English dialogue.

Extras:
Criterion has stacked this new high-definition release with an impressive selection of extras, though only a few are new for this Blu-ray.

The film is accompanied by a 2004 commentary track by film scholar Jeanine Basinger.

“In Search of Tracy Lord” (2017, 22 min.) details some of the real-life inspirations for Hepburn's signature character, inspirations which include Hepburn herself along with a few people in playwright Philip Barry's life. This feature combines interviews with Miranda Barry (Philip Barry's daughter), Janny Scott (granddaughter of Edgar and Hope Scott, the latter considered to be an inspiration for Tracy Lord), and Donald Anderson, author of a book on Philip Barry's plays.

“A Katharine Hepburn Production” (19 min.) is a new piece about Hepburn's role in shaping the film from the very start, and mixes interviews with filmmakers David Hedley and Joan Kramer.

The disc includes two full episodes of “The Dick Cavett Show” (69 min. each) which aired in October 1973. Hepburn was known for her reluctance to do interviews, so these lengthy discussions, conducted on a closed backstage, were quite a coup for Cavett and a treat for Hepburn fans. We also get an excerpt (15 min.) from George Cukor's appearance on a May 18, 1978 episode of “The Dick Cavett Show.”

Criterion has also unearthed a “Lux Radio Theatre” performance of “The Philadelphia Story” which was broadcast on June 14, 1943, and stars Loretta Young, Robert Taylor, and Robert Young in the three leads. Cecil B. DeMille serves as your host for the evening.

My favorite feature on the disc is a “Restoration Demo” (6 min.) with Criterion's expert technicians explaining the challenges in restoring the film, most of which stem from the fact that the original camera negative was lost in a 1978 fire at the George Eastman House.

The collection rounds out with a Theatrical Trailer (3 min.)

The slim fold-out booklet includes an essay by critic Farran Smith Nehme.

Final Thoughts:
A fantastic transfer and a stacked offering of extras. Fans of the film could hardly ask for more.

Monday, October 9, 2017

The Champion


THE CHAMPION (Perez, 2015)
Milestone Films, DVD, Release Date Oct 17, 2017
Review by Christopher S. Long

On the run from the big-city crime syndicate's goons, an intrepid band of heroes hides out in a sleepy little town …

No, that's not the set-up for a low-budget crime caper or Western, it's the set-up for actual film history. OK, perhaps the Motion Picture Patents Company (AKA The Edison Trust) wasn't an actual crime syndicate, but their rigorous enforcement of the stranglehold they held on crucial motion-picture equipment patents forced many independent New York-based filmmakers to devise more innovative methods of production.

One of the simpler strategies was to hop the ferry across the Hudson River to New Jersey, where it would be at least somewhat more difficult for Trust detectives to muscle out the competition. Film producer Mark Dintenfass was one of the first to make the leap, setting up his Champion Studios in Fort Lee, NJ, which kicked off a movie boom as other producers soon made the same move, all of which explains the title of the new documentary, “The Champion: A Story of America's First Film Town” (2015).

Produced by the Fort Lee Film Commission, directed by Marc J. Perez, and based on the book “Fort Lee, the Film Town” by Richard Koszarski, this sleek 35-minute documentary tells the story of the rise and fall of this pre-Hollywood movie mecca and the colorful personalities who flocked to it, and then soon fled. The list includes Florence Lawrence, often described as the first American actress to be studio-marketed by name; Theda Bara, who first vamped world audiences from Fort Lee; and trailblazer Alice Guy Blache, the first woman to run an American studio (Solax). Future Hollywood moguls such as Mack Sennett and D.W. Griffith filmed in Fort Lee as well.

Dintenfass's Champion cranked out a series of Westerns and Civil War pictures for a few years, before falling to local competition. The documentary, largely filmed on Fort Lee locations, vividly evokes the specific spaces of this old boom town, from Rambo's Hotel on the main street to the steep Palisades nearby which would provide the backdrop for many of the earliest (literal) cliffhangers. The Fort Lee boom wouldn't last long, petering out due to a host of factors: the waning of the Edison Trust's powers, war-time shortages, a flu pandemic that hit the northeast particularly hard, and, of course, the rise of Hollywood, California. But during its brief peak, the town still produced a plethora of significant early films.

Even with its short running time, “The Champion” pauses to mourn Fort Lee's fall from glory (as “the first film town” anyway) and particularly the degree to which even locals, let alone the rest of the world, have largely forgotten its movie history. Never fear. This sharp, engaging, and informative documentary brings this vital story back to life with passion and clarity, and once you've seen it, you'll never forget about Fort Lee's role in the formative years of the industry.

Still, at just 35-minutes, “The Champion” might be a tough sell as a stand-alone disc, but you may not be aware that this a Milestone Films release. And the name Milestone guarantees not just supreme quality but also a comprehensive roster of supplemental features on any release, and in this case, enough to expand “The Champion” into a 2-disc set.

Milestone has, in keeping with its glorious tradition, included not one, not two, not... aw heck, they've included nine additional films, all of which are accompanied by new scores.

DISC ONE includes the main documentary feature, “The Champion” along with six other films.

The first five extra films on the disc were shot at Champion from 1910 to 1912.

“The Indian Land Grab” (1910, 11 min.) tells the story of an Indian leader who petitions the federal government not to seize his tribe's land. You might groan a bit at the prospect of a film from this era depicting Native Americans, but the film portrays them as the aggrieved party out for justice and even takes time out for the Indian leader to fall in love with the daughter of a legislator which, according to the notes included with this set, generated controversy at the time.

“A Daughter of Dixie” (1911, 10 min.) presents viewers with an innocent, true-hearted Southern belle whose loyalties are torn when her brother joins the Confederacy and her boyfriend joins the Union. It's no masterpiece, but at least it doesn't indulge mindlessly in the pro-Confederacy nostalgia that was the coin of the realm in so much early cinema.

Florence Lawrence


“Not Like Other Girls” (1912, 9 min.) was shot for Universal Victor, a studio built primarily around Florence Lawrence, often called America's first named movie star. This was a bit of a thrill for me as I've actually lectured on Florence Lawrence without ever seeing a full movie with her before. Lawrence plays another true-hearted heroine who proves she doesn't love her beau just for his money. The movie is predictable fluff, but I give a big thumbs up to F-Law.

“Flo's Discipline” (1912, 11 min.) is another Florence Lawrence vehicle that is, alas, not as saucy as its title teases. Lawrence plays a teacher tasked with taming an unruly boys' school which requires a good deal of ingenuity and assertiveness on her part. Lawrence is no shrinking violet here, and the movie is a lot of fun.

“Marked Cards” (1913, 10 min.) was one of the last of Champion's films and it doesn't do much to argue that the brand should have continued. A banker gets ripped off in a crooked card game and seeks revenge in a rather half-baked manner. It's much hard-boiled then the other films on the disc, but not particularly successful.

The sixth extra film on Disc One is yet another documentary about Fort Lee. “Ghost Town: The Story of Fort Lee” (1935, 17 min.) adopts a full elegy mode little more than a decade after Fort Lee's boom went bust. Produced by New Jersey film buff Theodore Huff, it positions the collapse of “America's first film town” as a cautionary tale for a society built on the boom-bust cycle, the future ruins of capitalism visible in the ruins of Fort Lee's film studios. It's quite moving, and seems like a clear inspiration for “The Champion.”

DISC TWO offers three silent films also shot in Fort Lee, though not specifically for or at Champion.



“The Danger Game” (1918, 61 min.) is an early Samuel Goldwyn production, directed by Harry Pollard and starring Madge Kennedy, a Broadway comedienne then making the jump to the suddenly (somewhat) legitimate big screen. Kennedy plays Clytie Rogers, a sheltered young woman of privilege who fancies herself the next great American novelist. When her first book (published largely because of her well-connected father) is panned by a critic who accuses her of being too na├»ve to write convincingly about the world, she vows to prove she can commit to a life of crime. Hilarity ensues. The film adopts an ambivalent if not outright condescending view of the liberated post-war American woman, but Kennedy (perhaps best known to '50s audiences as Aunt Martha on “Leave it to Beaver”) is a game performer who throws herself headfirst into a series of challenges.

“A Grocery Clerk's Romance” (1912, 8 min.) is an early Keystone Comedy directed by Mack Sennett which was shot at Rambo's Hotel in Fort Lee. It's not quite as zany or kinetic as more familiar Keystone comedies, but it's got plenty of pizazz, not to mention bombs and quickie marriages. Starring Ford Sterling.

“Robin Hood” (1912, 31 min.) was shot at Eclair Studios, one of the most successful outfits to set up shop in Fort Lee. At a half hour in length and with some elaborate action sequences, it was a fairly ambitious undertaking for its time that remains quite compelling more than a century later.


Video:
Obviously, with ten total films released as much as a century apart, the video quality varies considerably. I'll just note that “The Danger Game” required the most extensive restoration and is still missing some footage (replaced with stills here) and is at its most perilous state of decay in the first reel. It's amazing that the film survives at all, and the restoration to reach its current presentable state has been quite extensive, more heroic work from our great film restoration experts.

Audio:
Each of the silent films is accompanied by a new score. All of the films aside from “The Champion” on Disc One have music by Ben Model. “The Danger Game” has music by Donald Sosin. “A Grocery Clerk's Romance” and “Robin Hood” are accompanied with music compiled by Rodney Sauer and performed by the Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra.

Extras:
The “extras” are all described above. The only additional extra is the slim inert booklet with summaries and historical background for each of the films includes in this two-disc set.

Final Thoughts:
“The Champion” is yet another lovingly and meticulously curated release from Milestone Films, telling a vital and largely forgotten story about the formative days of the American film industry. The inclusion of a cornucopia of silent films, many never previously released on DVD and some painstakingly restored here, is a source of celebration for any true film lover. Plus you get two Florence Lawrences!

Vampyr


VAMPYR (Dreyer, 1932)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Oct 3, 2017
Review by Christoper S. Long

(The following is a substantially revised version of the review I wrote back in 2008 on the occasion of Criterion's DVD release of “Vampyr.” Video, Audio, and Extras sections refer, of course, to Criterion's 2017 Blu-ray release. Images embedded in this review are NOT taken from the Blu-ray itself.)

Carl Theodor Dreyer's “Vampyr” (1932) shares several traits in common with Jacques Tati's “Trafic” (1971), also released by Criterion this month (Ed. Note: Criterion released both films on DVD in July 2008). Both films were intended to be more commercially viable follow-ups to box-office failures; respectively, “The Passion of Joan of Arc” (1928) and “Playtime” (1967). Both of those prior “failures” happen to be among the greatest films of all-time, each being comfortably ensconced in my personal top twenty, their box-office failure a testament to the failure of audiences (and maybe distributors, too).

Another similarity merits further discussion. Both “Vampyr” and “Trafic” feature idiosyncratic, elaborate sound designs which distinguish them sharply from most other films. When I initially wrote this review, I described both movies as “feeling like silent films” which was not terribly accurate. “Trafic,” like all Tati films, tells its story largely without words, while relying on the dense mix of sound effects and music to create a hermetic pocket universe. Tati-world resembles no other, but silent cinema it is not.

“Vampyr” also enjoys an otherworldly quality due in no small part to its sound design, but Dreyer didn't intend this from the get go. Dreyer, already one of the great masters of silent cinema, was somewhat reluctantly shooting his first sound project and had little interest in adapting his style, refined while working as a de facto independent filmmaker within the studio system. He shot the entire film without sound, and only recorded sound effects and voices (in three separate languages: German, English, and French) in post-production.

With the need for heavy blimps to muffle the noise from loud camera motors and microphones with limited range, the cameras on many (though most certainly not all) early sound films were often anchored in place. Unburdened by synchronized sound, however, Dreyer's camera remained free to glide wherever he willed it to go, roaming alongside and well ahead of intrepid adventurer/ghost hunter Allan Gray (Julien West) on his rambling supernatural journey. The tinny voices and exotic animal sounds (produced by local performers, not clipped from a sound library) combine with the gracefully untethered camera to lend the film a genuinely uncanny feel, a feel both perfectly suited to its pulpy material and all but unique to Dreyer's hybrid silent/sound film.

“Vampyr” loosely adapts two short stories by Irish author Sheridan le Fanu, situating protagonist Allan Gray in a world with all the stock elements now familiar to the vampire genre, a genre which had enjoyed a mini-boom in literature and on the stage but had only made a minimal impact on cinema. Allan Gray materializes out of the fog with virtually no back story. During his “aimless wanderings” he happens upon an isolated seaside inn. A strange man, also appearing without warning, wanders into Gray's room and cries out, “She must not die!” Gray soon discovers that this man's daughter, Leone (Sybille Schmitz), teeters on the brink of death, plagued by strange bite marks on her neck, while a creepy doctor (Jan Hieronimko) provides her dubious care. You know where this one's going, but most 1932 audiences probably didn't.


Gray, unable to sleep, wanders through the inn at night and then to the abandoned house out back where he encounters an array of spooky sights and sounds. Shadows dart across the moors, one appears to be “undigging” a grave, another peg-legged shadow moves independently of its more human (?) counterpart.

Gray does little but gawk at these supernatural displays, sometimes appearing to have no reaction at all. This is partly attributable to the fact that lead Julian West is really Baron Nicolas de Gunzburg, a non-professional actor who agreed to finance the film only if he got to star in it was well. His Allan Gray is bizarrely passive, which might sound like a flaw, but only further contributes to the unnerving quality and free-floating anxiety of Dreyer's immensely strange film.

And it sure is strange. Dreyer exhibits minimal interest in providing clear match cuts or other expected standards of film grammar (of which he was, let's once again note, already a master), rendering the timeline and especially the screen geography downright confusing and disorienting at times. There is no clear flow from room to room, from one location to another. Gray and other characters wander in and out of shots, which oscillate from point-of-view shots to objective shots, then back again. Is everything being filtered through Gray's perception, or have we entered a netherworld where the rules of time and space and logic simply don't apply? It doesn't become any clearer on multiple viewings, one of many reasons “Vampyr” is one of the most enjoyable horror films ever made.

At least one aspect of “Vampyr” is crystal clear. It features one of the greatest sequences in the history of horror film and, for that matter, in all of cinema. It's the sequence in which Gray imagines his own death and there's really no way to do it justice in mere words, so I'll let you discover it for yourself. I'll just say that I first watched it about fifteen years ago, and it still gives me chills just to think about it. That view through the window in the coffin...

That reminds me. I've made it this deep into the review without even mention the titular “Vampyr,” haven't I? Oh well, you'll have to discover that for yourself as well. If you dare!


Video:
This version of “Vampyr” is based on a 1998 restoration by Martin Koerber, as was Criterion's 2008 DVD release. This 1080p transfer still shows the scratches and other damage visible from the film's very old source print, but they seem less prominent in parts on this high-def upgrade. Overall, the image quality is quite sharp with an appropriately grain feel that's only occasionally a bit washed out due to likely boosting necessary to buff the image. The old DVD looked pretty darn good, but this 1080p transfer is a meaningful improvement for a film that more deserves the very best.

The film is presented in its original 1.19:1 “pillar-boxed' aspect ratio, a ratio only common for a few of the early years of sound cinema.

Audio:
The film is presented with a linear PCM mono sound track. I can't say I notice a huge difference from the old SD Dolby Digital mono mix, but it's a bit sharper and still preserves that tinny, haunted quality so crucial to the film's success. Optional English subtitles support the German audio.

Extras:
This Blu-ray imports all of the extras from the 2008 SD release with no new features added. However, the Blu-ray is now a single disc compared to the old 2-disc DVD release.

The film is accompanied by a 2008 commentary track by film scholar Tony Rayns. Rayns is one of the very best in the game and his commentary is packed with information and analysis and is riveting from start to finish.

Criterion has also included as “English Text” version of the film. As mentioned above, Dreyer shot in three languages. Though it's a sound film, he also includes silent-style title cards and this “alternate” version includes English text for those title cards instead of the German text in the more common version. The film is otherwise just about the same.

“Carl Th. Dreyer” (30 min.) is a 1966 documentary directed by Jorgen Roos on the occasion of the release of Dreyer's final film, “Gertrud” (1964). It touches on his pre-“Joan of Arc” career, which many Dreyer fans might not know as much about.

I greatly enjoyed the “Visual Essay” (2008, 36 min.) by film scholar Casper Tybjerg. Tybjerg discusses many of Dreyer's influences and also analyzes stills and clips, including some material removed by censors.

We also get a 1958 radio broadcast (23 min.) in which Dreyer reads an essay about film-making.

The Blu-ray is stored in a keep case which is tucked into a slip case alongside a very thick booklet, reproduced from the 2008 release. This very thick booklet includes the film's screenplay by Dreyer and writer Christien Jul along with Sheridan Le Fanu's short story “Carmilla” (1872), one of the sources from which “Vampyr” was loosely adapted. “Carmilla” is one of the classic pre-“Dracula” vampire stories and also features a lesbian subtext (more text than subtext, really) that Dreyer omitted from the film.

In addition to this additional booklet, Criterion has also included a more typical insert booklet, tucked into the keepcase along with the disc, which includes an essay by critic Mark Le Fanu, an essay by novelist Kim Newman, and an essay by Martin Koerber about the film's 1998 restoration. The booklet also includes a short interview with actor/financier Baron Nicolas de Gunburg, originally published in 1964.

Final Thoughts:
I used to think “Vampyr” was a great film, and certainly a unique entry in the horror genre, but clearly not on par with Dreyer masterpieces such as “The Passion of Joan of Arc” and “Day of Wrath” (1943). Now I see it as one of his most audacious and formally daring films, and quite possibly the best horror film ever made by anyone other than Stanley Kubrick. This Blu-ray upgrade more than does justice to Dreyer's remarkable and unparalleled achievement, and kudos to Criterion for once again including the marvelous supplemental booklet with both script and Sheridan Le Fanu story, a nice bonus for an already impressive package.

Monday, September 25, 2017

David Lynch: The Art Life


DAVID LYNCH: THE ART LIFE (Nguyen, Barnes, Neergard-Holm, 2016)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Sep 26, 2017
Review by Christopher S. Long

The most disturbing moment in the new documentary, “David Lynch: The Art Life” (2016), occurs as the film's subject relates a story from his youth. Lynch reflects back on the day when his neighbor Mr. Smith came by and... “I can't tell the story,” says a shaken Lynch. And, indeed, he does not.

The aborted anecdote feels like a quintessentially Lynchian moment not just for its enigmatic quality, but because it arrives amidst a series of tales of a fairly serene and utterly “normal” youth: a picket-fence suburban home, a loving family, and parents who believed in hard work and the American Dream. Is this frightening non-story of Mr. Smith the origin of the Lynchian vision of the horrors lurking in every nice and normal small American town?

Probably not. And Lynch isn't foolish enough to confirm or even entertain such a simple-minded take. Indeed, as the documentary's title (suggested by Lynch) indicates, art is nothing less than life itself, a life-long project, evolving every day with each scrape of the brush or smear of plaster or turn of the saw or snip of celluloid, and Lynch has been passionately living the art life for more than half a century.

Lynch does actually offer one clear-cut origin tale, the moment when he discovered his true calling. The revelation arrives during what he describes as a “dark” time in high school in Virginia, when he learned that his friend's father was an artist (Lynch's mentor-to-be Bushnell Keeler). The idea that a real, living person could actually be a full-time artist struck Lynch like a bolt from the blue and from that point on, he had little doubt what he wanted his future career to be. Whether the non-art aspects of life (wife, children, rent) would allow him to do so is another story.

Directors Jon Nguyen, Rick Barnes, and Olivia Neergaard-Holm enjoyed surprising access to an artist both famous and celebrated for his reserve. Many Lynch fans thrill to the now-legendary interview in which Lynch opined, “Eraserhead is my most spiritual film” and replied to the interviewer's request to “Elaborate on that” with a blunt “No.” Lynch doesn't actually analyze his art in this documentary, consisting exclusively of interviews conducted with Lynch over a three-year period, but he is surprisingly candid about his life story, from his peripatetic youth to his disturbing college-age experiences in Philadelphia (“thick, thick fear... sickness, corruption”) to the major boost he achieved upon admission to the American Film Institute in Los Angeles, where he would spend several years filming his breakthrough feature debut, “Eraserhead” (1977).

Lynch's audio interviews are edited with close-ups of his artwork throughout the decades as well as numerous shots of him just relaxing and smoking, sometimes with rows of empty glass Coke bottles lined up next to his work station. There's nothing revelatory here, no a-ha moment that “explains” Lynch's work, but who would want such a terrible thing anyway? Instead, the directors have presented a portrait of man who works every day, takes his share of smoke breaks, and just keeps on living the art life, and that's about it.

Well, there's also the story about the naked woman who walked through town one day but...



Video:
The film is presented in its original 1.78:1 aspect ratio. The documentary was shot over several years on both a 5D digital camera and an iPhone5, so the image quality varies throughout, but looks sharp.

Audio:
The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 surround track is crisp and efficient. There's not too much to say about it, really. Optional English subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:
Surprisingly, the only notable supplementary feature is a new (2017, 16 min.) interview with co-director Jon Nguyen who talks about the genesis of the project, acknowledging that it was, for the most part, made to meet Lynch's approval. The film also uses three of Lynch's songs.

A Theatrical Trailer (2 min.) is the only other extra.

The slim fold-out booklet features an essay by film critic Dennis Lim as well as reproductions of some of Lynch's art.

Final Thoughts:
“David Lynch: The Art Life” is certainly essential viewing for Lynch devotees. It's an unusual release for Criterion, as it feels a bit more like one of the spectacular supplemental features the studio would offer along with another film than a stand-alone release with only one short extra. But it's certainly compelling.


Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Certain Women


CERTAIN WOMEN (Reichardt, 2016)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Dare Sep 19, 2017
Review by Christopher S. Long

Before introducing any of the “Certain Women” in her film, director Kelly Reichardt begins with a long shot of a distant train rumbling along a track through a wide-open expanse of Montana countryside. As in the majority of her films, Reichardt foregrounds the landscapes her characters navigate – mountains and hills loom at the edge of the frame, even intruding as reflections in a car window during a tense, quiet conversation between driver and passenger. These exquisite shots by Reichardt and cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt don't necessarily evoke a specific mood, but rather integrate the often-isolated protagonists with their environment, suggesting that a person's story cannot be related or understood without knowing about the spaces they inhabit.

In “Certain Women,” the limitless horizons of big sky country provide more obstacle than opportunity. Young lawyer Elizabeth Travis (Kristen Stewart) is forced to drive four hours each way to teach a night school class because she misread the name of the town when she signed up. Her bosses won't help her get out of the gig because they think it's funny. For businesswoman Gina (Michelle Williams), the remote, bucolic woods allow for a quiet camping trip and even a cheap place to build a country home, but no escape from the tensions of a badly fraying family life.

Laura (Laura Dern), the first protagonist in a film divided into three separate though slightly overlapping stories, interacts less directly with the sprawling Montana landscape than with the men who inhabit it and who also comprise most of her work and social circles. Her client, Will Fuller (Jared Harris), recently suffered a head injury in a workplace accident, and refuses to believe her when she informs him he has exhausted all legal recourse. Only the identical words from a male lawyer convince Fuller his case is lost, prompting him to take justice into his own hands in the film's sole “action” sequence in which Laura act bravely, patiently and sensibly, only to be all but completely ignored by the men who commiserate after the resolution of the crisis. 


In the second story, Gina and husband Ryan (James Le Gros) bicker on a camping trip while their petulant teenage daughter (Sara Rodier) shuts them both out. The about-to-go-nuclear family stops to visit an older acquaintance (Rene Auberjonois) to ask him if they can purchase a pile of sandstone on his property. He has also suffered a recent head injury that leaves him confused, and the young “power” couple briefly struggles with ethical concerns over negotiating a deal with him. Very briefly. He wasn't doing anything with it anyway, and there's just so much unused Montana space waiting to be developed.

The final story, widely and properly reviewed as the film's strongest, witnesses the aforementioned Elizabeth griping about her awful teaching job out in the sticks to one of her students, a young rancher (Lily Gladstone) who just wandered into the classroom on a whim. The rancher swiftly becomes enamored of the frazzled, frumpily-dressed Elizabeth, and seeks to impress her by offering her a ride through town on her horse.

Screenwriter/director Reichardt adapted the film from several short stories by Montana-raised author Maile Meloy. According to Meloy, Reichardt stuck fairly closely to the original material, though with the significant change of turning the male rancher from her story “Travis, B.” into a young woman.

I am not familiar with Meloy's work, but that final decision by Reichardt yields a true breakout performance by Lily Gladstone who shines both in her scenes alone, completing the grueling drudge work on the ranch with a perky corgi tagging along behind her, and especially as she rides through town with her new love clinging to the saddle behind her, her serene triumphant smile crowned by a nimbus of light from the streetlamps in the background.

Dern, Williams, and Stewart are sensational as well in what I thought was the best-acted film of 2016. And even in a small role, Rene Auberjonois shouldn't be overlooked either, but then nobody could overlook one of the most magnificent, expressive faces in the last half century of American cinema and television. 


Video:
The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. Shot on 16 mm, “Certain Women” has a grainy, sturdy look that has been well-preserved in this 1080p transfer. Image detail is sharp throughout. It's as strong as you'd expect from a recent film.

Audio:
The DTS-HD 5.1 Master Audio is crisp and rich, highlighting the details of a fairly quiet film in which seemingly “minor” sound elements are still quite important. All dialogue is clearly mixed and the audio quality is consistent throughout. Optional English subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:
Criterion has only included a few short interviews as supplemental features on this Blu-ray release, all of which were recorded in early 2017 for the Criterion Collection.

Kelly Reichardt (14 min.) speaks briefly about the project's development and makes sure to share credit with her many collaborators. Filmmaker Todd Haynes (14 min.), executive producer of the film, speaks about his longtime support for Reichardt (“I just dug her!”). Author Maile Meloy (13 min.) turns out to the relatively rare writer who is thoroughly pleased with a filmmaker's adaptation of her work. The only other extra is a Theatrical Trailer (2 min.)

The slim fold-out insert booklet features an essay by film critic Ella Taylor.

Final Thoughts:
Fans who felt Reichardt's previous film, “Night Moves” (2013), was her first misstep (and I was one) can relax. The director of “Old Joy” (2006), “Wendy and Lucy” (2008), and “Meek's Cutoff” (2010) is still one of the greatest contemporary American filmmakers, and “Certain Women” confirms she remains at her peak.

Monday, August 21, 2017

Sid and Nancy


SID AND NANCY (Cox, 1986)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Aug 22, 2017
Review by Christopher S. Long

As a portrait of the London punk scene circa 1977, Alex Cox's “Sid and Nancy” (1986) relies on its fair share of shortcuts and cliches. Watch the scary punk smash his head against the wall! See him spray paint graffiti all over some poor sod's apartment! Yet as the film progresses, the carnivalesque caricatures resolve into more fully-fleshed personalities, and as the film's other elements drop off one by one, leaving the two title characters alone in their tiny pocket universe, it achieves a tragic resonance.

The film relates the squalid and now well-known tale of the doomed, co-dependent relationship between Sex Pistols bassist Sid Vicious (Gary Oldman) and American punk groupie Nancy Spungen (Chloe Webb), a drug-fueled relationship that culminated with Vicious being charged with Nancy's murder in New York's Chelsea Hotel. Vicious died of a heroin overdose a few months later.

The loud-mouthed, heavily pierced punk rockers and various hangers on seldom appear to be having much fun, motivated primarily by a need to alleviate the boredom of (non)working-class life in mid-'70s England. This is hardly a romanticized vision of an angry outsider movement: the fans pay more attention to their faux-rebellious fashion statements and Sid's bandmate Johnny Rotten/Lydon (Andrew Schofield) contributes to the scene mostly by belching and farting. Under Nancy's expert tutelage, Sid becomes vastly more concerned with his next drug hit than with the band though, to be fair, he was never exactly big on practice in the first place.

After a few stumbles in London, “Sid and Nancy” picks up considerably when the action shifts to America for the band's failed tour which would see them break up before its completion. If Sid was never the most devoted bandmate, he suffers considerably when cut adrift from the Sex Pistols, now with the directionless Nancy as his only rudder. Thelovers settle into a grubby room at the Chelsea Hotel where only their drug dealers any attention to them as they pass an indeterminate number of blurry days by shooting up and passing out, too impotent and pathetic even to achieve Nancy's stated goal of going out in a blaze of glory.


I admit to finding Chloe Webb's abrasive caterwauling an irritation at times, but the limited archival footage suggests she was embracing the real Nancy with admirable gusto, and there's no denying the relentless ferocity she brings to the role. Pale, skinny Oldman, in his first significant film role, snarls and mumbles his way through an intensely physical performance; the semi-coherent, largely-inarticulate Sid looks ready to collapse at any moment, but somehow keeps powering through to the next day on a mix of spite and apathy. And heroin.

Cox is unflinching in his portrayal of Sid and Nancy's last-days degeneracy, a sticking point for some punk historians and fans as well as a few critics who found it exploitative. Cox and co-writer Abbe Wool certainly have no interest in depicting Sid and Nancy as star-crossed Shakespearean lovers, or as the romantic embodiment of the true punk ideal, but I think they still sympathize with them even at their most pathetic.

Amidst all the cramped, sparsely-lit bedrooms and dive bars (cinematographer Roger Deakins works wonders in dim, claustrophobic spaces), Sid gets one glamorous fantasy sequence. Stumbling down a set of neon-lit stairs that lead to nowhere, he spits out his own obscenity-laden version of “My Way,” a show-stopping scene that somehow remains poignant even after it erupts in gunfire.


Video:
The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. This new “16-bit 4k digital transfer” is virtually flawless, with sharp image detail and a vibrant color palette. It's so strong, I have little to say.

Audio:
The disc offers both linear PCM mono and DTS-HD Master 5.1 surround options. The film isn't quite as heavy on punk music as some fans might prefer (OK, as I might prefer) but in addition to a few Sex Pistols tracks, Joe Strummer provides multiple contributions to the film's score (with fake credits obscuring exactly what he did). Both audio options are crisp and distortion-free, as you would expect from Criterion. Optional English subtitles support the English audio, and might be needed when Oldman embodies Sid at his least articulate.

Extras:
Criterion has packed this Blu-ray release with an overwhelming collection of features, both old and new.

The film is accompanied by two different commentary tracks. The first, recorded for the Criterion laser disc release in 1994, features Oldman, Webb, writer Abbe Wool, cultural historian Greil Marcus, and filmmakers Julien Temple and Lech Kowalski. The second, recorded in 2001, features Alex Cox and actor Andrew Schofield.

In a new interview (2016, 24 min.), Alex Cox speaks about the film's genesis and production. Neat trivia bit: casting Sid came down to newcomer Gary Oldman and relative neophyte Daniel Day-Lewis.

The disc also includes excerpts (14 min.) from Danny Garcia's 2016 documentary, “Sad Vacation: The Last Days of Sid and Nancy.” We also get excerpts (10 min.) from Lech Kowalski's 1980 documentary on the Sex Pistols, “D.O.A.: A Right Of Passage.” The former combines interviews with many commentators. The latter consists mostly of footage of the real Sid and Nancy laying about, Sid stoned out of his mind and wearing a t-shirt with a swastika emblazoned on it.

The rest of the features are all archival material. We get audio of a phone call (13 min.) between Vicious and photographer Roberta Bayley, placed on Jan 19, 1978, a few days after he was hospitalized for a drug overdose on a plane.

In a brief excerpt (3 min.) from the Dec 1, 1976 episode of the British show “Today,” the smug host Bill Grundy outright mocks his guests, The Sex Pistols, and can barely tolerate what he sees as their pathetic, insincere act. The chaotic appearance helped boost their profile considerably.

We also get an excerpt (13 min.) from the Nov 28, 1976 episode of “The London Weekend Show” in which journalist Janet Street-Porter takes a look at the music and fashion of the London punk scene.

The final feature is a Theatrical Trailer (2 min.)

The insert booklet includes an essay by author Jon Savage and a compilation of some research conducted for the film by Alex Cox.

Final Thoughts:
I think “Sid and Nancy” is much more successful in its American scenes than its London ones, but perhaps that's because the most moving parts of the story involve Sid and Nancy in total isolation. With its exceptional transfer and a bounty of supplemental features, this Criterion release should provide fans everything they could ever wanted from a “Sid and Nancy” disc.

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Hopscotch


HOPSCOTCH (Neame, 1980)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Aug 15, 2017
Review by Christopher S. Long

Some spies want to save the world, and some are in it just to get laid. Veteran CIA superagent Miles Kendig (Walter Matthau) just wants to be a bit of a prick.

Kendig, the protagonist of “Hopscotch” (1980), has his reasons. After wrapping a flawless mission during Oktoberfest in Munich, Kendig returns home to learn that he's being shunted to a desk job by his newly appointed boss Myerson (Ned Beatty), an officious paper-pusher short on both imagination and stature. Not one to sulk, Kendig immediately leaps into action, destroying his files and decamping for Austria where he hooks up with old flame Isobel (Glenda Jackson), a semi-retired agent with a similar contempt for the bureaucracy. 


Kendig launches one of the most idiosyncratic plans in the annals of spy thrillers: he writes his memoirs and taunts agencies around the globe by mailing them a chapter at a time from various hideouts throughout Europe and America. A terrified Myerson enlists the aid of Kendig's star CIA pupil and number one fan Joe Cutter (Sam Waterston) to “eliminate” the growing threat posed by the rogue retiree.

Matthau was born with drooping jowls and an AARP card, and it's hard to imagine anyone more perfectly suited to the role of the smartass who refuses to be put out to pasture and wants to make sure his bosses know about it (it's equally difficult to believe he was only 59 at the time). Kendig enacts an overly elaborate and risky scheme simply because it amuses him. He could wait until completing his memoirs before sending them to a publisher, but that wouldn't force Myerson the putz to scramble agents across the globe, always trailing one step behind. He knows his phony Southern accent convinces absolutely nobody, but he deploys it anyway just for shits and giggles. And as for where he decides ultimately to set up his headquarters, well, that's the ultimate flipping of the bird.

Though Myerson is exactly the kind of schmuck who would order Kendig to be “eliminated,” viewers will soon catch on that “Hopscotch” is not the kind of film in which Kendig or anyone else will actually get eliminated. Adapted from a more serious novel by Brian Garfield (author of “Death Wish” which inspired the gentle, philosophical film starring Charles Bronson), “Hopscotch” plants tongue firmly in cheek by sending up the paranoia and pretensions of Cold War spycraft, with the full force of the CIA deployed in a low-stakes venture where professional ego, not global security, is all that's on the hook.

Director Ronald Neame claims he had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the project, finally convinced only by the casting of Matthau. The immaculately directed film displays no signs of Neame's initial reluctance, leapfrogging all across the globe with glee and grace while maintaining a delicate comic balance. Though Myerson blusters and Matthau's schemes become implausibly complex at times, Neame (working from a script by Garfield and Bryan Forbes) still paints in naturalistic tones. His CIA men and the requisite Russian counterpart (played by the great character actor Herbert Lom) are entirely plausible buffoons (or, in the case of Cutter, skeptics who would rather see Kendig get away), bundles of righteousness and insecurity working out their neuroses in the field. Occasional dialogue exchanges deflate them with reminders of their numerous publicly-known failures. If there's one shortcoming in the film, it's that the magnetic Glenda Jackson is too often relegated to the sidelines, just waiting around for phone calls from the impish Kendig who gets to have all the fun.

Matthau is just phenomenal in this movie. He's one of the very greatest actors of all-time, so he's phenomenal in just about everything, but every choice he makes here is pitch perfect. Even a small choice like the way Kendig whistles and hums along to his beloved Mozart at strategic points adds layers to the character that no tedious exposition could provide. The supporting cast is great too, but “Hopscotch” is a pure joy to watch just for the sheer spectacle of Matthau operating at his peak.


Video:
The film is presented in a 2.39:1 aspect ratio. This 2K high-def restoration is sharp in detail if not quite eye-popping in terms of depth or vibrancy. I'd rate this a mid-level Criterion effort which means it is very good, but not quite top shelf. I don't have the 2002 SD DVD release from Criterion as a comparison point, but I have no doubt this represents a significant improvement.

Audio:
The linear PCM audio mix is crisp and efficient, if not overly dynamic. Dialogue and sound effects are clear, as is the frequent Mozart music. Not much to say here. Optional English subtitles support the English dialogue.

Extras:
Criterion hasn't really offered much new for this 2017 Blu-ray upgrade.

From the 2002 DVD release, they have imported an interview (22 min.) with director Ronald Neame and novelist/screenwriter Brian Garfield. Neame talks about his reluctance to direct the project and the pleasure of working with Walter Matthau, Garfield talks about his interest in following up the violent “Death Wish” with a spy novel in which nobody gets hurt at all. Also imported from the old DVD are a Trailer (3 min.) and a Teaser (2 min.)

New for this Blu-ray, Criterion has added an excerpt (22 min.) from a 1980 episode of the “Dick Cavett Show” with Walter Matthau. It's entertaining, but pretty lightweight fare.

The slim fold-out insert booklet features an essay by critic Glenn Kenny.

Final Thoughts:
I had never seen “Hopscotch” before watching it on this disc, and I wasn't expecting much considering the description and my lukewarm reaction to previous Neame films like “The Horse's Mouth” (1958), but I was knocked over by how much I enjoyed this movie. It reminds me a bit of one my favorite '70s films, “Thunderbolt and Lightfoot” (1974), with its relaxed approach to narrative and its wry sense of borderline-absurdist humor. I understand that some look down on “Hopscotch” as a “lesser” entry in the Criterion Collection. I'm here to tell you that's nonsense. “Hopscotch” is an absolute blast.