A Touch Of Sin

Dahai (Jiang Wu) gets even

A TOUCH OF SIN (Jia, 2013)

Kino Lorber, Blu-ray, Release Date April 8, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

It's both exciting and confusing when a filmmaker appears to make a decisive break with his previous work, complicating the picture for critics who thought they had him conveniently pigeonholed. Jim Jarmusch caused plenty of consternation with the release of his revisionist Western “Dead Man” (1996). While he certainly laced his entry in the quintessential American genre with his trademark deadpan humor, the easy-going satirist had made a surprisingly violent film, a scabrous indictment of the genocide inflicted by “stupid fucking white men” on Native Americans. Blood spurted, skulls were crushed, and bodies piled up in this nightmare on earth. Fans looking for the gentle laughs of “Down By Law” didn't quite know what to do, and a few former critical boosters (like Roger Ebert) took the opportunity to jump ship.

“A Touch of Sin” (2013) is, at least in some ways, director Jia Zhangke's “Dead Man.” There are noteworthy parallels between Jia and Jarmusch, though they shouldn't be overstated. Both directors cite Robert Bresson as a formative influence and both have often been attracted to marginalized protagonists surviving on the fringes of urban society. Like Jarmusch (born in 1953), Jia (born in 1970) is viewed as one of the defining figures of his generation's independent film movement; bootleg copies of Jia's heavily censored early films like “Pickpocket” (1997) changed hands regularly on the Chinese black market and inspired legions of cineastes from Jia's home province of Shanxi all the way to Beijing (and even attracted financial support from Takeshi Kitano's production company in Tokyo).

From the festival breakthrough “Platform” (2000) through critically praised works such as “The World” (2004) and “Still Life” (2006), Jia established himself as one of the preeminent chroniclers of China's rapid transformation to an industrial and capitalist economy, a globe-altering metamorphosis that displaced millions of Chinese citizens. Jia's characters face off against forces too big even to acknowledge their existence, but while his movies are inevitably tinged with a sense of sorrowful resignation, they also became increasingly playful, occasionally outright hilarious. They have also been, to the exasperation of many “slow cinema” skeptics, long on patient observation and short on dramatic incident.

“A Touch of Sin,” by contrast, plunges headlong into incident: no fatalistic watching and waiting here. In the first few minutes, a man on a motorcycle is accosted by thugs armed with hammers and axes; his handgun wins the day and initiates a body count that reaches double digits. And he's not even the main character of the opening section of a film organized into four separate but loosely connected segments (another Jarmuschian parallel, though JJ doesn't exactly own the format). 

Dahai is still mad

 That honor belongs to Dahai (Jiang Wu), a former coal miner turned social crusader in Shanxi who rages against the corruption of local officials who sold the publicly-held mine and clung very privately to the profits. Brash and loud-mouthed, he has probably never been good at winning friends and influencing people, but he does his best to funnel his furious protests through official channels before personally confronting the big boss, a meeting that winds up with Dahai being savagely beaten with a shovel wielded by one of the boss's thugs. Whether spurred by his head trauma or his innate obstinacy, Dahai grabs a shotgun and cuts a bloody swath through town starting with a low-level crooked accountant and ending with the money-grubbing politicos at the top.

Like most of the violence in the film, the shootings are artfully and artificially staged. Heads explode, bodies launch through the air on wires, geysers of blood soak clothing and walls. Nothing coy here, but also nothing particularly realistic. These are movie murders and Jia makes overt references to films most Western viewers (including yours truly) aren't too familiar with; the movie's English title is a pun on King Hu's popular wuxia (martial arts) film “A Touch of Zen” (1971). 

Xiaoyu (Zhao Tao) makes her point

 Jia loves to collapse the barriers between documentary and fiction, and freely mixes surrealism with naturalism. That's not quite what he's up to here, but it might explain the movie's abrupt detours into full-blown “movie-dom.” In the third segment, Xiaoyu (Zhao Tao, Jia's long-time muse and now wife) works in the “Nightcomer Sauna” as a receptionist. A pushy businessman mistakes her for something else and won't take no for an answer as he insists on a “massage.” The otherwise passive Xiaoyu reaches in her purse for a switchblade and, posing like an avenging angel from one of a host of wuxia films, slices the abusive john to bits, then wanders the streets in a daze, drenched head to toe in blood. I've spoken to some viewers who find moments like this distracting or phony, but they're intended to disrupt the apparent realism of each situation, though with my lack of familiarity with the cultural touchstones Jia references, I'm reluctant to guess precisely what his motivations are.

All four of the movie's major stories are drawn loosely from real-life incidents in China that went largely ignored by the state-controlled media. I don't know enough to claim that violent crime has become more common in China over the past decade or two, but “A Touch of Sin” definitely portrays a nation traumatized by upheaval, with money being the root of all brutality. In the final segment, a feckless but generally well-meaning teenager (Luo Lanshan) loses his soul to the twin destructive forces of young love and factory work, Jia's response to a rash of suicides by assembly-line employees at the multinational corporations that rushed in to exploit cheap Chinese labor. The protagonist of the second segment (Wang Baoqiang, also the motorcyclist from the opening) may be the most damaged character of all, but his dysfunction is more difficult to link to current events: he is a killer who likes to shoot guns because everything else (including village life with his family) is too boring. Perhaps the fresh whiff of prosperity, tantalizingly out of reach by legal means, has made it difficult for him to play by the rules anymore.

I should note that I haven't seen Jia's first film “Pickpocket” so it's possible that what I'm describing as a major departure is a return to roots. However, “A Touch of Sin” is not only much more graphic than Jia's previous 21^st century movies, it also moves at a more relentless pace with few of the long, contemplative takes that have marked most of his work. The movie races from one violent eruption to the next, and the sense of inevitable tragedy builds implacably. There are still a few moments of Jia-esque humor (Dahai, in the midst of his righteous rampage, prepares to kick down a door but stumbles when startled by a phone ringing off-screen) but everyone here is just circling the black hole at the center of capitalist China, waiting to spiral into its gravity well and be torn to shreds.

It's all quite a shock for a Jia fan expecting more “Still Life” and it's a challenge to process. It might be my least favorite of his movies, but I still count it as one of the best films of 2013 which should tell you what I think of this extraordinary filmmaker. I can't wait to see whether this marks a new turn in Jia's career, or if it will turn to be a bracing exception. 

Video:

The film is presented in a 2.35:1 aspect ratio. This high-def transfer from Kino Lorber has the slightly soft look of a movie originally shot on HD with the occasional instance of digital blurring in scenes with rapid motion, but nothing significant that would detract from the viewing experience. Image detail is sharp throughout and colors are vibrant, though the film (shot by Jia's long-time collaborator Yu Lik-wai) is not exactly meant to look beautiful. The look ranges from drab (a lonely, ignored statue of Mao overlooks a declining town square in Shanxi) to gaudy (a nightclub/sex fantasy room made up to look like a train car reserved for party officials) and the 1080p image presents it all vividly, though with a few flaws.

Audio:

The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 soundtrack is crisp and has a convincing sense of depth; gunplay almost overwhelms the speakers at times. The sound is as angry as the story at times. Optional English subtitles support the Mandarin and Cantonese dialogue.

Extras:

All we get are five trailer for films from Kino Lorber.

Final Thoughts:

In my review of “Still Life,” I described Jia Zhangke as my favorite under-50 director. I've had no reason to revise that claim. “A Touch of Sin” may be his most accessible movie, admittedly an ambiguous description. It won Best Screenplay for Jia at Cannes in 2013 and placed highly on most year-end critical polls. Unfortunately this is a bare-bones release from Kino Lorber, but it's great to have this available to more viewers. Everyone needs “A Touch of Sin.”

The Shooting/Ride In The Whirlwind

The Shooting

THE SHOOTING AND RIDE IN THE WHIRLWIND (Hellman, 1966)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date November 11, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

[Director Monte Hellman died April 20 at the age of 91. Often labeled a "maverick" filmmaker, Hellman first honed his craft under producer/guru Roger Corman before striking out on his own to craft entirely personal and often startling (not to mention trippy and existential) entries in familiar genres. His "Two-Lane Blacktop" (1971) is celebrated by many cinephiles, including yours truly, as the greatest road movie ever made. This Criterion release showcases two of Hellman's idiosyncratic Westerns, perhaps the genre he was most identified with. "The Shooting" is also a reminder of one of Hellman's greatest contributions to cinema: serving up some of the very best roles in the career of one of Hollywood's best actors, Warren Oates.]

“The Shooting” (1966) and “Ride In the Whirlwind” (1966) have always been joined at the existential hip for obvious reasons. Funded by Roger Corman and directed by Monte Hellman, the low budget Westerns were shot so close together they even share some of the same horses and were both filmed near Kanab, Utah, a hardscrabble moonscape of sterile rock and foot-high, sickly-green sagebrush. It seems only appropriate that a portion of the area now forms the bottom of Lake Powell as the people of both films could only fully belong to locations that aren't quite there.

Though they'll always be connected, each of Hellman's Westerns offers its distinct pleasures. “The Shooting” is, at its core, a documentary about Warren Oates being awesome. The best inventions seem so obvious you can't imagine nobody had thought of them before, and this movie will leave you flabbergasted that Hellman was the first person who had thought to make Oates a leading man. Has the camera ever loved a face so much? Oates imbues the role of cowhand Willett Gashade with a presence so palpably dense you can almost imagine he's the only person in the film who really exists and has simply dreamed everyone else (maybe the audience too) into existence just to keep himself occupied.

Warren Oates, being awesome

“Everyone else” in this case includes only a handful of other people, one of whom (B.J. Merholz as Leland Drum) is dead before the story begins. Among the living (maybe?) are Gashade's twitchy sidekick Coley (Will Hutchins) and an unnamed woman (Millie Perkins) who simply materializes on a distant ridge before hiring Gashade and Coley to... well, we don't really know. Mostly to pick a perilous path through an unpopulated desert in pursuit of whatever the woman is pursuing and to meet up with a toothy wolf of a hired gun named Billy Spear. Spear is introduced with a close-up of his eyes which must have seemed evocative and anonymous at the time, but which are now instantly recognizable as Jack Nicholson who also co-produced both films with Hellman.

The script by Carole Eastman (writing as Adrien Joyce and soon to be Oscar-nominated for “Five Easy Pieces”) is peppered with terse dialogue like Gashade's “My mind's all unsatisfied with it.” The essence of the project is revealed in a typically efficient exchange: Gashade says, “I don't see no point in it” to which the woman replies, “There isn't any.” Beckett rides again!

If the shooting of “The Shooting” was rushed there's no visual evidence aside from the occasional and irrelevant lapse in continuity editing; this film, like its twin, features consistently gorgeous cinematography by Gregory Sandor. The camera retreats to a high, distant vantage point for long panoramic shots that situate the lonely riders as shimmering dots who almost disappear into the landscape, then pulls in for meticulously composed close-ups that seize the opportunity to explore that pensive sculpture that is Oates' face which critic Kim Morgan so aptly describes as “handsome and sometimes ugly... a face with history and innocence.” In one of the most memorable shots, Oates squats down in the foreground and scans the horizon for the trouble he knows is brewing while Hutchins fiddles around with a bag of flour in the background; a gunshot sends Hutchins into a panicked run for cover with a trail of flour billowing behind him. Oates hardly budges because, well, he's Warren Oates.

“Ride in the Whirlwind” is, alas, an Oates-less oater, but compensates as best as possible by dropping us right into the middle of the no-nonsense action. I may not be qualified to declare anything the “best” of all-time but I can say the film begins with the most convincing stagecoach robbery I've ever seen. A group of men, not yet individuated, mill about nervously as they prepare to swoop in for the score. Shootings occur at a clinical distance that renders them as confusing as they must feel in the dusty swirl of action. It's all over quickly though nowhere close to cleanly.

Hanging out in Ride in the Whirlwind

“Whirlwind” is slightly greener than “The Shooting” and teeming with more human life. And death. The film switches from the robbers to three riders who happen upon a man hanging from a tree. These cowhands may be rugged but they don't dismiss the grisly sight, savvy enough to know that there but for the grace of a disinterested God go they. Vern (Cameron Mitchell) is the veteran leader of this strictly working class bunch, Wes (Nicholson again) the younger man who looks up to him, with the quiet Otis (writer Tom Filer in his only film role) rounding out the pack.

Seeking shelter for the night, they unwittingly stumble upon the thieves' hideout, a point at which “Whirlwind” further distinguishes itself from more formulaic genre entries. The film (with a script also by Nicholson) stages the “duel” between the two groups as a volley of anxious glances, awkward postures and forced politeness (everyone is "much obliged”). They manage to co-exist but quickly huddle up separately to share their fears, and the “bad” guys (led by Harry Dean Stanton without the Harry in his credit) are just as worried as the “good” guys. These are predators who know how easy it is to become prey.

The lesson is reinforced the next morning when a posse, like the mysterious woman in “The Shooting”, suddenly materializes in the morning. They threaten to smoke out the robbers and think, quite reasonably, that Wes, Vern, and Otis are with the outlaws as well, setting up the chase that structures the rest of the movie. Young Wes sulks at the unfairness of it all, “We wasn't doing nothin', damn it!”, an exclamation that now seems connected by genre-veins to “Unforgiven” and its “Deserve's got nothin' to do with it.”

This is the kind of world (maybe not unlike ours) where the innocent can be forced by circumstance to become the guilty and where the plainly guilty can still be victims of summary justice. It's certainly not the kind of world with muscular heroes or righteous lawmen, just survivors and the dead.

I always remembered “The Shooting” as the better of the two, perhaps because of its more abstract, hallucinatory qualities (I've avoided describing the doozy of an ending just for your sake, dear reader), but revisiting the pair for the first time in a half-dozen years I might give the nod to “Whirlwind” now. There's really no way to lose with either. Nicholson is marvelous, surprisingly vulnerable and looking even younger than 28 in one of his earlier major roles. The landscape is once again a character of its own, especially the box canyon that hems in our unlucky fugitives and reminds them that neither the terrain nor its designer will be providing them any refuge.

Both films failed to make any kind of box office impact on their initial release in 1966 but would eventually find a second life, in part because of Nicholson's growing reputation but also with fans drawn to Hellman's work through masterpieces like “Two-Lane Blacktop” (1971), one of several Hellman-Oates collaborations which also included the marvelous “Cockfighter” (1974) and “China 9, Liberty 37” (1978).

Hellman's entry in “The Film Snob's Dictionary” pokes fun at the considerable art-house reputation his low-budget genre films have earned, but the appeal should be obvious (the relatively pedestrian IMDB user ratings for both films fall under the category of “This is why we can't have nice things.”) Flawlessly shot and edited, built around focused, concrete scripts, these are the kinds of movies that should be held up as examples for aspiring filmmakers. Of course, not every film student has access to a Warren Oates or a Jack Nicholson or the talent of a Monte Hellman, but let's not quibble over details.

Video:

Both films, included on the same single Blu-ray disc, are presented in their original 1.85:1 aspect ratios. These new 4K digital transfers (supervised by Monte Hellman) do a fine job of capturing detail in the fairly uniform color schemes. “The Shooting” is a whole mess of dirt and dirt-colored rocks, the same hue filling the entire frame sometimes. The all-earth tone scheme makes flesh tones really stand out and the image detail is particularly strong in close-ups. Did I mention that the camera loves Warren Oates' face? So does high-def.

Audio:

Both films have linear PCM mono audio tracks. The lossless audio is as crisp as usual from Criterion; those old recycled ricochets never sounded so distinct. Optional English subtitles support the English audio and might be needed for time to with the idiomatic dialogue.

Extras:

Though Criterion has fit two features onto a single disc, they've still found room to include a good deal of extras without skimping on audiovisual quality.

Both films are accompanied by new commentary track by Monte Hellman and film historians Bill Krohn and Blake Lucas and Monte Hellman's dog Kona. Krohn and Lucas offer some genre analysis but Hellman's stories of the film's production and his thought process really power the commentaries.

The bulk of the extras are new interviews conducted by Hellman, the first being a reunion of sorts with Roger Corman (6 min.) Seeing these two together, and both looking fantastic, is a real treat. Hellman also speaks with actress Millie Perkins (16 min.), actor Harry Dean Stanton (3 min.), actors B.J. Merholz and John Hackett together (17 min.) and Gary Kurtz (19 min.) who served as assistant camera on “The Shooting” and assistant director on “Whirlwind.” A feature called “The Last Cowboy” mixes footage of Hellman interviewing chief wrangler Calvin Johnson (no relation to the Detroit Lions' Megatron) with footage of Hellman revisiting (what remains of the) locations from the films (17 min.) Film programmer Jake Perlin also interviews actor Will Hutchins (15 min.)

One of the best pieces on the disc is “An American Original” (14 min.), an appreciation of Warren Oates written and narrated by critic Kim Morgan. It's a great piece, the text of which I briefly quoted above and which you can also find at her blog Sunset Gun. I think she might be a fan of Mr. Oates.

The fold-out insert booklet includes an excellent essay by critic Michael Atkinson.

Film Value:

“The Shooting” and “Ride In the Whirlwind” were mostly seen on shoddy TV broadcasts for years and a few undistinguished DVD releases years ago only improved the situation marginally. These high-def restored transfers present the films in a state at least approaching their original luster and it's unlikely many people have ever seen them looking so good, maybe not even Mr. Hellman at least in quite some time. The films work alone and even better as a pair. Each deserves consideration in the pantheon of great Westerns and this disc should provide ample evidence to back up that claim.

Macbeth

MACBETH (Polanski, 1971)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date September 23, 2014
Review by Christopher S. Long

Roman Polanski's 1971 adaptation of Macbeth is long on action, but pointedly short on grandeur. Yes, this is a history of “great men” crossing swords for control of a kingdom, but what a shameful, shabby affair it all is. When the king (Duncan, before he gets MacSnuffed) and his courtiers gather in the throne room to celebrate victory in battle, they look like precisely what they are: a tiny group of poorly-groomed sycophants clustered in a filthy little room in order to curry favor and get drunk.

Macbeth (Jon Finch) only distinguishes himself from the pack by the extent of his ambition. Where Shakespeare's villain was at least courageous and valiant in his own way, this Macbeth is just a cruel opportunist. He's not particularly cunning or even charismatic, just an efficient and willing brute. Even his frequent expressions of guilt for his misdeeds fail to convince; this thug cannot feel remorse, only fear for his own well-being. Though he mounts an impressive final stand, by the time his head winds up on a pike the viewer is left with one main thought, “What a loser.”

The script, co-written by Polanski and famed British theater critic Kenneth Tynan, exhibits no admiration for its wretched subjects. Francesca Annis initially sparks interest as the scheming Lady Macbeth, her innocent appearance a stark contrast with her sadistic impulses, but her descent into madness plays out as good riddance to bad rubbish. She's gone and quickly forgotten, and soon the same will happen to her husband.

Cinematographer Gilbert Taylor, a long-time Polanski collaborator, develops the visual equivalent of the script's jaundiced perspective, depicting 11^th century Scotland (shooting on locations mostly in Wales and England) as a grimy, murk-shrouded patch of nothing hardly worth fighting for. There is intermittent beauty in some of the more distant wide-screen panoramas and the silhouetted hills and forests, but nothing the Scottish tourism board will be using in its brochures.

The release of “Macbeth” in America was overshadowed by the circumstances of its production. It was the first film produced by Hugh Hefner's Playboy Production which meant it was preceded by expectations that it would be tasteless (it's not) and graphic (it is). “Macbeth” was also the first film Polanski made after the murder of his pregnant wife Sharon Tate, and critics (both then and now) couldn't help but see echoes of the real-life tragedy in the movie, particularly when Macbeth's soldiers murder the wife and children of his foe Macduff (Terence Bayler).

Perhaps this explains why so much of the commentary lingered on the film's alleged extreme gore and violence. The film does shift the murder of Duncan from off-stage to on-screen with a nifty geyser of blood as punctuation, but there is nothing exploitive or gratuitous in the movie. Polanski needed a brutal film to highlight the brutishness of his characters. An early scene in which a soldier stands over a wounded man lying face-down in the mud and promptly bludgeons him to death is the first subtle hint that we're not in King Arthur's chivalrous court.

Essentially, Polanski's interpretation of Macbeth boils the story down to another round of the time-honored game of “crown goes on, head comes off.” And Macbeth doesn't matter one whit more than any of the other fools who played and lost. Few directors were better suited to portray the futility and absurdity of their schemes than Polanski.

The film may suffer a bit by comparison to some of its peers. As an adaptation of the Scottish play, it is no “Throne of Blood,” but then nothing is. As a cynical deflation of medieval heroism, it is certainly not the equal of Robert Bresson's “Lancelot du Lac,” released just a few years later. But then nothing is. And in Polanski's oeuvre, it surely slots behind “Chinatown,” “Rosemary's Baby,” and several other works. Good thing there's plenty of room beneath the highest of bars for quality cinema.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 2.35:1 aspect ratio. Criterion's 1080p transfer is typically excellent with a rather muted color palette throughout – of course it's hard to tell under all the cloudy skies. Image detail is sharp enough to enhance the grimy, run-down feeling of it all. From the Criterion booklet, “The picture was restored by the Criterion collection... (and) additional restoration work was performed by MTI in Los Angeles and Sony Colorworks in Culver City, California.”

Audio:

The DTS-HD Master Audio offers a slightly unusual 3.0 surround track, staying true to the original source. The clanging of swords and thumping on castle gates ring loud and true in a mix that provides a real sense of depth and place. Music by The Third Ear Band (including a fantastic end credit track) is well-preserved. Optional English subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:

Criterion offer a lengthy feature which intercuts new 2014 interviews with Polanski, producer Andrew Braunsberg, assistant executive producer Victor Lownes, and actors Francesca Annis and Martin Shaw (who played Banquo). I winced when Polanski dismissed “Throne of Blood” as not being a real adaptation (he's not criticizing the film, just making the bizarre claim that since it's in Japanese it's not really Shakespeare) but there's plenty of detailed information here, though the various commentaries lean heavily towards a defensive position, i.e. this amazing film was horribly treated by distributors and critics.

“Polanski Meets Macbth” (47 min.) is a 1971 making-of feature with lots of on-set and behind-the-scenes footage. It was directed by Frank Simon and is clearly promotional in nature but still of interest.

The disc also includes two television excerpts. “Two Macbeths” features Polanski and British theater director Peter Cole discussing their different adaptations of Macbeth. The footage (30 min.) is from the Jan 27, 1972 episode of British program “Aquarius.” Of much greater interest is an excerpt from the May 7, 1971 episode of the Dick Cavett Show with co-screenwriter Kenneth Tynan as guest. Only the last few minutes of this thirteen minute segment addressed “Macbeth” but Tynan is such a magnetic raconteur, and Cavett such a fine reviewer, you'll want to watch if only to pine for the days of substantive talk shows.

A Trailer (4 min.) played at the Playboy Theater and promised patrons both a major renovation and the world premiere of “Macbeth.”

The slim fold-out booklet features an essay by critic Terrence Rafferty.

Film Value:

I don't know that there's a clear winner in the contest for Roman Polanski's bleakest depiction of human nature. But “Macbeth” is indisputably in the running. This Criterion Blu-ray offers a strong transfer and a substantial collection of extras, making it the definitive North American release of the movie.

Throne of Blood

THRONE OF BLOOD (Kurosawa, 1957)

Criterion Collection, Blu-Ray/DVD, Release Date Jan 7, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

An ambitious general receives a prophecy that he will one day rule the land. Spurred on by his ambitious wife, he kills his master, moves to assume power, is plagued by guilt and paranoia, and winds up snuffing it before he ever takes the throne. So yes, Akira Kurosawa's “Throne of Blood” (1957) is an adaptation of Shakespeare's “Macbeth,” but one that cuts out almost all of the dialogue, transplants the action to feudal Japan, and replaces the conventions of Elizabethan theater with those of Japanese Noh. So “Throne of Blood” isn't exactly an adaptation of “Macbeth.” Rather, it is most distinctly a film by Akira Kurosawa.

The movie opens on a desolate, fog-enshrouded rocky landscape populated only by a forlorn wooden marker indicating that a great castle once stood here; a chorus underscores the Ozymandias-like quality by reminding viewers to “behold the ruins.” When the music stops (and we've jumped back in time a few centuries), there's nothing but fog and a howling wind until a tiny figure on horseback finally wavers into view. The film maintains this Spartan look throughout, a gallery of empty spaces, ruined landscapes, and lengthy silences.

Raging against the void comes Toshiro Mifune in high dudgeon as General Washizu who, along with his Banquo-like friend General Miki (Minoru Chiaki), wanders through a labyrinthine forest that insists on funneling them to a specific clearing where they encounter the spirit (the eerie and effective substitute for Shakespeare's three witches) who seals their fate simply by revealing it to them. From this point on, it's clear that even (and especially) these most powerful of men are just puppets or, more aptly, fools embracing the illusion that they are masters of a world that views them as little more than a punchline in the cosmic joke. And perhaps not even that.

Oddly enough, the vain, ambitious Washizu appears sensitive to this aura of inevitability too. Mifune rants and raves as he hacks his way closer, but never close enough, to power, yet he is plagued by doubt and shame even before he crosses the line into cowardly treason. It's as if he's already read the script, even the parts the spirit hasn't related to him, and prepares himself for the inevitable, perhaps buoyed by the thought that, at the very least, he will be granted one of the greatest death scenes in movie history.

Dialogue is pared down massively with dramatic emphasis given over to music (piercing flute and percussion) and the tightly controlled physical performances typical of Noh theater that Kurosawa loved so much. Even the volcanic Mifune moves with a choreographed deliberation distinct from his more feral performances, and his scheming wife Asaji (Isuzu Yamada) sometimes looks like a statue with her rigid posture and chalky mask.

The stark black-and-white photography by Asakazu Nakai is never less than breathtaking, as are the blighted sets built, with great difficulty, on the slope of Mt. Fuji. It's a world of mud and crumbling rock and rolling fog banks, a nature that rejects its most misguided creations and has no patience for their silly game of thrones.

Kurosawa never created a more seductive atmosphere, and “Throne of Blood” goes down as one of the greatest “lost cause” movies ever made. Just enjoy the ride along with the doomed protagonists. It's OK, they deserve it.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.37:1 aspect ratio. Like most new Criterions, this is a dual-format release, meaning that you get two separate discs, one with a SD-DVD copy, the other with a high def Blu-ray transfer. Only the Blu-ray is reviewed here.

A film constantly enveloped by fog might present problems for a digital transfer of any kind, but this high-def treatment captures the grimy black-and-white images with vivid sharpness. A rich grainy structure has been well preserved, lending to the stark look of the film. A few instances of damage are evident from time to time, not a surprise considering that the film's original negative no longer survives. From the Criterion booklet: “This new digital transfer was created in 2K resolution on a DFT Scanity film scanner from the original 35 mm fine-grain master positive.”

Damage, however, is fairly modest and doesn't detract from the impressive look of this 1080p image. The original Criterion SD, released ten years ago, was just fine. This is several steps above fine.

Audio:

The LPCM Mono track really sounds great. It's not very dynamic, but isn't meant to be. The sharper musical cues come through very clearly and the slightly hollow sound enhances the mood of the film.

Viewers are given the option to select between two different English subtitle options. The first (default) option is subtitled by scholar Linda Hoaglund, the second option is subtitled by the late, great scholar Donald Richie. There are significant differences between the two options, an indication of the latitude translators always take, and the particular challenges represented by the highly stylized, idiosyncratic dialogue in “Throne of Blood” that isn't necessarily best translated in a the most literal fashion.

Extras:

Criterion has added one Extra not included on its 2003 SD release of “Throne of Blood.” We get yet another installment of the apparently sprawling Toho Masterworks series, “Akira Kurosawa: It Is Wonderful To Create” that has appeared on so many of Criterion's Kurosawa releases. This 23-minute excerpt from this massive series addresses “Throne of Blood” and heavily relies on an interview with the director.

Repeated from the 2003 SD is the commentary track (recorded in 2002) by Japanese-film scholar Michael Jeck who offers a wealth of information in a style that finds a happy medium between the conversational and the academic and should appeal to most listeners.

The only other extra, also repeated from 2003, is the four-minute theatrical trailer.

The 24-page insert booklet includes an essay by writer and film professor Stephen Prince as well as essays by Linda Hoaglund and Donald Richie explaining their respective approaches to subtitling “Throne of Blood.”

Final Thoughts:

I'm always surprised when “Throne of Blood” is described as being second-tier Kurosawa. It's never meant as an insult since his second-tier is above most first-tiers, but only to suggest that it isn't one of his very best films. I disagree vehemently. It's top three Kurosawa for me, though perhaps I am biased since this was my introduction both to Kurosawa and to Japanese cinema. Criterion's new high-def transfer is a real thing of beauty. Extras are somewhat sparse, but it's still a must-own for any fan of the director.

For another adaptation of the Scottish play, see Roman Polanski's groovy, grimy take.

Thief

THIEF (Mann, 1981)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Jan 14, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

Let us hark back to an ancient time, a mystical era known as the '80s, when master criminals were manly men with giant tools, the kind of tools that forced their users to grunt and sweat, great hulking tools that spewed giant arcs of flame. Real fire, not firewalls built to be hacked by myopic ectomorphs slouched over increasingly tiny keyboards. You needed hair on your chest, not Red Bull on your desk, if you wanted to move some serious capital back in the golden age.

For director Michael Mann, it was also a time of blue filters and tangerine dreams. “Thief” (1981) was Mann's theatrical debut after an apprenticeship in television that included an episode of “Police Woman” and the rock-solid TV prison movie “The Jericho Mile” (1979), and he intended to flex every stylistic muscle he had toned up. Mann portrays his hometown of Chicago as a sparsely-populated island enveloped by a darkness gashed only by flashing neon lights and slow-burning streetlamps, hemmed in on one side by a sprawling stretch of water that both promises and denies escape. Soft blues, muted reds, and orange sparks reflect off metallic surfaces; the hoods of cars can look like traveling kaleidoscopes, shimmering as they speed through the night. 

It's the perfect milieu for Frank (James Caan), a safecracker and diamond thief who operates as the consummate professional along with his equally efficient team. No need for attention or pizazz; just grab the goods and go. In the opening scene, Frank and partner Barry (James Belushi in his feature debut) pull off a nearly wordless heist that climaxes with Frank boring a gigantic drill through the cold thick steel of a safe door. The nearly ten-minute sequence is prominently accompanied by a pulsing electronic score from Tangerine Dream, a love-'em or detest-'em creative element that defines the movie's cool industrial attitude toward crime and the city.

After business it's time for pleasure, at least to the limited degree that Frank is capable of experiencing such an emotion. Frank is a state lifer, raised in an orphanage and handed over to the prison system where a short sentence for petty burglary morphed into a longer stint after the young man was forced to defend himself from jailhouse predators (or at least that's how Frank tells the story). More than a decade in the joint has chiseled a heart of stone; Frank proudly admits to Jessie (Tuesday Weld), a diner waitress who catches his eye, that he survived in jail only by getting to the point “where nothin' means nothin'.”

If you're looking for chinks in Frank's nihilistic armor, witness the way he eagerly flocks to the aid of his imprisoned mentor Okla (Willie Nelson), but this appears to be the exception. Even Frank's campaign to win Jessie's heart is strictly a business matter; he decided in prison that he wanted to settle down with a nice woman and have a child, and he's the sort of man who always follows through on his plans and by his own rules. When local gang boss Leo (Robert Prosky) tries to enlist the lone wolf in his ranks, Frank (who never uses contractions) means it when he replies, “I am Joe the boss of my own body.” Frank will soon remember what he learned in jail and ever so briefly forgets in the real world; you can only be in charge when you have no other responsibilities.

“Thief” is nominally based on Frank Hohimer's book “The Home Invaders,” though Mann claims he discarded everything but the basic idea. Mann's script is built mostly out of genre cliches: the hardened career criminal looking to make one last big score, the world-weary but loving woman who accepts his shady past, honor among thieves, the corrupt cops and two-bit gangsters who want a piece of the action. “Thief” distinguishes itself in terms of style and also by James Caan's lived-in performance; his hairy swagger and willingness to let actions speak louder than words make Frank entirely believable, even if unsympathetic. He is a bully and a narcissist whose tunnel vision and methodical calculation leave no room for the feelings of others. Knowing the tough upbringing that shaped him adds depth to the character, but still offers little to be fond of. He uses and abuses whenever he has the power to do so: “To hell with me, with you, with everything.” At least he's honest.

Mann's ultra-cool formalism has made him the favorite of many auteurist critics for reasons I've never fully understood. As a result, “Thief” is now often hailed as the precursor of a style-drenched decade, a game-changer, or something similar; as an auteur's first theatrical film, it simply must be historically important in some way. Better to set aside any alleged landmark status, and accept “Thief” as a crisply filmed, well-acted crime move that benefits immensely from the verisimilitude of its heist sequences. Real safes, real tools, real pillars of flame; these jobs are labor intensive, man. Pure sweat equity. It beats the hell out of the gravity-free zone of CGI action. Heck, there are even real pay phones here, and phone calls that can be missed if you're not there to take them. That's when men were men, and Mann was the Mann.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. Criterion's 1080p transfer is virtually flawless, and I can only assume the vibrant chromatic palette is true to the original. It's easy to get lost in the precisely sculpted, moody imagery and the high-def treatment really brings it to life. There are plenty of nighttime scenes and the detail brought out in the darker shots is often remarkable; I'm sure fans who have only caught it on DVD will see things they've missed before. I can't think of anything to complain about.

Audio:

The DTS-HAD Master Audio 5.1 surround track is equally impeccable. Whether you love them or not, you get Tangerine Dream's score vividly presented in all its abstracted glory. The industrial sounds of men at work and the ambient sounds of the city all come through on this evocative surround track. Optional English subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:

The film is accompanied by a commentary track by Michael Mann and James Caan. It was recorded in 1995, and was included on the long-ago released SD by MGM/UA.

The rest of the extras are all newly recorded interviews. Critic Scott Foundas interviews Mann (2013, 24 min.) who discusses growing up in Chicago and his reliance on real-life thieves as consultants and actors (safecracker James Santucci plays a crooked cop in the film). We also get a new interview with James Caan (2013, 10 min.) who lists “Thief” as one of his proudest accomplishment and a new interview with Johannes Schmoelling, formerly of Tangerine Dream (2013, 16 min.) The disc also includes a Theatrical Trailer (2 min.)

The slim insert book includes an essay by “Sight & Sound” editor Nick James.

Final Thoughts:

I haven't liked a Michael Mann film in quite a while, but his career got off to a fine start with this stylistic crime movie and later peaked with the only true Hannibal Lecter (or Lecktor) movie, “Manhunter” (1986). Criterion's high-def transfer is superb; fans might have hoped for more extras, but the new interviews are certainly worthwhile.

All That Jazz

It's showtime!

ALL THAT JAZZ (Fosse, 1979)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date August 26, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

“All That Jazz” (1979) pits choreographer-director Bob Fosse's razzle-dazzle against lead actor Roy Scheider's serene confidence to create a movie musical like few others.

Fosse, who also co-wrote the script along with Robert Alan Arthur, takes the autobiographical impulse as far as any feature filmmaker this side of Terence Davies. Joe Gideon (Scheider) is a famous Broadway musical director who has spent most of his life pushing every boundary of personal and professional conduct and now also finds himself pushing fifty. Through flashbacks, we find out that Joe (like Fosse) grew up in show business; an adolescence in the company of burlesque strippers proved to be the ideal apprenticeship for the big stage and also explains the constant charges of vulgarity that dog much of Joe's work. Fortunately the supremely talented Mr. Foss... I mean Gideon doesn't lack for confidence, at least until his heart gives out on him. It's a wonder it held up up so long, having to power a body that has already burned through a dozen lifetimes, not to mention a few hundred thousand cigarettes.

Expanding the style he first fully explored in “Cabaret” (1972), Fosse (along with editor Alan Heim, who netted an Oscar for his efforts) wasn't shy about chopping his dance numbers into snippets of motion and gestures and re-assembling the sequence in post-production. The frenetic, kaleidoscopic style thrills fans with its nova-burst energy while frustrating other viewers who would rather see more documentary evidence of an actual physical performance, though it looks positively tame compared to the absurd, fully-mulched extreme to which Rob Marshall took “Chicago” (2002). Factor in the film's complex time-hopping structure, which often returns to a black-clad Gideon conversing backstage with a very sympathetic angel of death (Jessica Lange), and it's not hard to understand why the film has sometimes been described as both indulgent and excessive – by supporters as well as detractors.

Roy Scheider provides the calm amidst the sensory maelstrom. He imbued every role he ever took with instant credibility, whether blowing up sharks, piloting a helicopter, or sorting out a massive Broadway casting call while confronting his impending death. Scheider is the ballast that steadies the entire production, so at ease in the role you'd never know he wasn't a song-and-dance man by training. Maybe his career as an amateur boxer was better preparation for life both as and under the direction of Bob Fosse. Scheider is at his best when showing just how hard Foss.. I mean Gideon works at just about everything: his choreography, the movie he edits in his non-existent free time, his drugs, and his very active love life. Few characters better embody the credo that it's better to burn out than to fade away.

With apologies to the movie's many ardent fans, I find most of the Cuisinarted musical numbers to be gaudy and irritating. Fosse was used to that kind of criticism and even addresses it with humor in the film when Gideon suffers a second heart attack while watching a vapid TV film critic tear apart his new movie.

Ending on a high note

The film's final number, recently parodied (perhaps “paid homage to” is more appropriate) in the “Eagleheart” finale, is a distinct exception. Actually I guess it isn't much of an exception. Gideon's final farewell is even more ostentatious than every other number, but it is so profoundly heartfelt that it moves me to tears despite my not feeling much for the protagonist up to that point.

Whether or not Fosse was indulgent (and don't we want talented artists to indulge that talent?), he was honest. This was his genuine vision and he worked relentlessly to achieve it. It's not my bag, but it's still damned impressive, and thank goodness he found such a perfect collaborator to realize that vision in Roy Scheider. 

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. Criterion's 1080p transfer is spectacular as usual. Perhaps surprisingly, the film isn't particularly colorful. However the image detail is sharp throughout and the rich grain structure lends it a very filmic look.

From the Criterion booklet: “Undertaken by Twentieth Century Fox and the Academy Film Archive in collaboration with The Film Foundation, this new 4K digital restoration was produced from the original camera negative at Sony Colorworks in Culver City, California.” The restoration has certainly paid off.

Audio:

Criterion goes with a DTS-HD Master Audio in the original 3.0 surround track. The lossless sound is sharp and dynamic without a hint of damage or boosting anywhere. Optional English subtitles support the English dialogue.

Extras:

I guess Criterion has embraced the excess that comes with Bob Fosse as they have included thirteen separate extras totaling approximately four hours running time.

And that doesn't include the feature-length commentary track by editor Alan Heim, originally recorded in 2007.

If that track isn't enough, you also get a Selected-Scene Commentary by Roy Scheider, recorded in 2001 and running 35 minutes in all. Both of the commentaries were included on previous DVD versions of the film from Fox.

Other carry-overs from previous DVDs include: “Portrait of a Choreographer” (2007, 23 min.) which includes interviews with Liza Minnelli, Rob Marshall and others; “The Soundtrack: Perverting the Standards” (2007, 8 min.), a compilation of interviews with composers Glen Ballard, Jerry Casale, Mark Mothersbaugh and Diane Warren; and “The Making of the Song 'On Broadway” (2007, 4 min.) which is an interview with singer-songwriter George Benson.

Most of the other features are new to Criterion's Blu-ray. These include a new interview with actresses Ann Reinking and Erzsebet Foldi (2014, 34 min), who play Gideon's girlfriend and daughter, respectively, and also interviews with editor Alan Heim (2014, 15 min.) and Sam Wasson (2014, 21 min.) who wrote the biography “Fosse.” The Heim interview is of particular interest and also encompasses his work with Fosse on “Lenny” (1974).

Archival footage includes the Jan 31, 1980 episode of Tom Snyder's “Tomorrow” show, with Fosse and Agnes De Mille as guests (32 min.), the Mar 8, 1981 episode of “The South Bank Show” (27 min.) hosted by Melvyn Bragg, and a 1986 interview of Fosse conducted by critic Gene Shalit (26 min.) There are also two short on-set featurettes: “Fosse Directing” (8 min.) and an on-set interview with Roy Scheider (4 min.). A Theatrical Trailer (2 min.) rounds out this exhaustive collection.

The 28-page insert booklet includes an essay by writer Hilton Als.

Film Value:

Criterion has released a definitive version of “All That Jazz” with a flawless transfer and as many extras as could be squeezed onto a single Blu-ray, I'm sure. Fans shouldn't hesitate to add this to their libraries.

Judex

Judex, with a bird for a head, just because he can

JUDEX (Franju, 1963)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date June 17, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

Georges Franju's “Judex” (1963) isn't really about plot or characters or even action or making sense. Mostly it's about Musidora, or at least the effect the silent film actress had on a generation of French cinephiles. Musidora, née Jeanne Roques, starred in two very popular serial films by Louis Feuillade, as the sultry Irma Vep in “Les vampires” (1915) and as the equally sultry Diana Monti in “Judex” (1916). Her piercing dark eyes and willingness to slip into form-fitting leotards rendered her the supreme fetish figure for Surrealists like André Breton and for the other film junkies who first saw the serials at La Cinémathèque Française where the great programmer and archivist Henri Langlois championed Feuillade's work.The fact that Feuillade's films, despite their seemingly straightforward pulp adventure plots, played like fever dreams only heightened the erotically-charged Musidora effect, one obviously remembered vividly by director Georges Franju.

Franju had actually wanted to adapt “Fantômas” (1913), an earlier (Musidora-free) Feuillade serial, but the rights had been optioned, so he turned his attention to updating “Judex.” Except that updating isn't the right word. Where Feuillade's film felt futuristic, Franju's seems archaic; it's as if they meet somewhere in between 1915 and 1963 at a time that never existed.

While condensing the 12-part, 6-hour serial, Franju sticks close to the basics of the original. Judex is a masked crimefighter who threatens the corrupt banker Favraux with death if he does not atone for his crimes. Favraux's governess Marie-who-turns-out-to-be-Diana takes advantage of the feud by attempting to abscond with the ill-gotten funds. Whacky hijinks ensue.

Acrobat vs. Cat Burglar, the old familiar story

In shaving off 210 minutes or so, Franju eliminates all the backstory along with any concern for motivation or logic. But he keeps all of the weird and usually tight costumes, adding a few of his own. Diana (Francine Bergé, then a relative neophyte) stalks around in an Emma Peel-style catsuit, switches to a men's tailored outfit, and later shows up disguised as a nun with a bird-shaped habit and a hypodermic needle. Diana winds up in a rooftop battle with a very curvy leotard-clad acrobat (Sylvia Koscina) who just happens to wander along with a few minutes left in the film and abruptly becomes a major player in the denouement, one of a vast array of dramatic rules for which Franju displays total disregard.

Franju has even greater disregard for Judex, the barely-existent protagonist played by American magician Channing Pollock. Pollock wasn't really an actor and barely spoke French, leaving him baffled through most of the shooting, but it doesn't really matter. Judex's only notable scenes exploit Pollock's sleight-of-hand talents as he produces a series of live pigeons from handkerchiefs and other sources. When the costumed avenger finally leaps into action at the end, he is almost instantly knocked out and tied up; once freed he still does little but stand around while the acrobat (who, I remind you, doesn't even appear until the final reel) takes care of business. Seen today, it might play like a dismissive parody of the super-hero, but I have no idea whether Franju had even the slightest interest in comic books.

Edith Scob

So much for Judex. Franju mostly just wants to stuff women into tight outfits, and bless his soul for that, but he's also eager show off the otherwordly Edith Scob, his young muse who was so memorable as the disfigured daughter in Franju's “Eyes Without a Face” (1960). As Jacqueline, Favraux's innocent daughter, Scob isn't shoehorned into any skimpy uniforms, but with her thin swan neck and wide eyes she is a striking, unique presence who adds a charged mystique even to a thankless role which mostly involves her wandering hallways and being knocked unconscious.

“Judex” is a film built out of fetishes, but also flourishes. Like Feuillade, Franju has the ability to create truly bizarre images in a completely mundane fashion. In one scene, Judex's dogs scare off Jacqueline's would-be kidnappers, and a German shepherd casually places a protective paw atop the unconscious young woman as she lies sprawled on the ground. When Judex's prisoner throws his jacket at a surveillance camera, the jacket instantly goes up in a furious blaze. And in an inexplicably touching development, an undistinguished henchman suddenly discovers his long-lost father and, for just an instant, turns into the closest thing the movie has to a full-fledged character.

If you're the sort of viewer who needs moments like this to “add up,” you'll probably wind up feeling frustrated. Franju didn't give a damn about the math, just the moment. 

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio. Vertical scratches on the edge of the frame are visible from time to time; it almost feels like an intentional nod to the film's silent film source material but perhaps it's just damage to the source print. In any case, it's not too bad and the 1080p transfer is otherwise quite strong with rich black-and-white contrast and a pleasant grainy look.

This is a dual-release format from Criterion with two DVDs (one with the film, the other with most of the extras) and a single Blu-ray. The SD transfer from the DVD has not been reviewed here.

Audio:

The linear PCM Mono track is simple and efficient. Though the film features an effective score by Maurice Jarre, the soundtrack is mostly silent for long stretches, lending greater importance to specific sound effects like bird chirps and creaking doors, each of which is separated out sharply on this mix. Optional English subtitles support the French audio.

Extras:

Criterion has included an impressive array of extras.

An interview with actress Francine Berge (2012, 11 min.) was recorded in Paris and doesn't include anything particularly revelatory, but her appreciation of Edith Scob's unique qualities is well-spoken. She also claims she was just about the only person who paid any attention to poor Channing Pollock.

An interview with Jacques Champeux(2007, 12 min.), co-screenwriter of the film and grandson of Louis Feuillade, provides some background regarding the development of the film. Apparently they were hoping to get Brigitte Bardot for the role of Diana and her curve-hugging outfits, but they didn't have the money.

"Franju, le visionnaire" (51 min.) is directed by Andre S. Labarthe and is a program which originally aired on Sep 2, 1998 as part of the French television program "Cinema, de notre temps." It cobbles together interviews with Franju recorded over a stretch of 23 years and includes clips from many films that North Americans may not have had a chance to see.

 The disc also includes two short films directed by Georges Franju.

"Le grand Melies" (1952, 31 min.) gives Franju a chance to indulges his appreciation for pioneering filmmaker Georges Melies. In this rather melancholy pseudo-biopic, Melies's widow Jeanne D'Alcy plays herself while his son Andre Melies (who had a small role in "Judex") portrays his father.

"Hotel des invalides" (1951, 22 min.) is an antiwar documentary shot by Franju at a former Parisian military complex now turned into a museum and burial site. Narrator Michel Simon takes on a tour designed to show the futility of war.

The 26-page insert booklet includes an essay by critic Geoffrey O'Brien and a selection of writing by Franju about "Judex."

Final Thoughts:

Between the Scarlet Pimpernel and Zorro, there came Judex, costumed crime-fighter and all-around weirdo. He was kind of a dork in the 1916 Feuillade serial but still did some pretty neat things and the series still fascinated today because it feels like it could not have possibly been made when it was. In Franju's remake/fan appreciation, Judex is still a weirdo but he also doesn't really do anything except make a few pigeons appear. Fortunately Franju is definitely a weirdo himself and the film's strongest moments stem from his indulgence of various eccentricities. I'll take the serial any day, but this condensed re-dreaming is definitely worth watching.

Tess

TESS (Polanski, 1979)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray/DVD, Release Date Feb 25, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

I've never understood the current obsession with genealogical research. Everyone's probably got royal blood dripping from one of the upper branches of the family tree, but it's so diluted by now that any claim to kinship is about as meaningful as noting that we are all composed of atoms.

What's new is usually old, of course, and a fixation on even a distant lineage made more sense at a time when it was closely tied to property rights. Thus John Durbeyfield, a relatively happy and absolutely hard-drinking peasant from Wessex circa late 19^th century, is thrilled to learn that he and his expansive family, all currently sharing a tiny shack, are descendants of the aristocratic D'Urberville line. Just like modern genealogists, he discovers that the knowledge does not bring even a whiff of either fame or fortune, but he's already gotten pretty wasted by then so no biggie.

The family's oldest daughter Tess (Nastassja Kinski) is dispatched to the nearest D'Urberville to see if they can claim at least a tiny part of their rightful inheritance, but her first interaction with so-called high society sets her on the inevitable path to destruction instead. A supposed cousin named Alec (Leigh Lawson) turns out only to have purchased the now-defunct blueblood name, but the sight of the lovely teenage Tess fills him with the desire to acquire a real D'Urberville as well. Tess fends off his advances nobly, but has no recourse when the suave seducer resorts to brute force.

In Victorian England, Tess will, of course, suffer all of the consequences of the rape. She bears a child out of wedlock, and finds little sympathy from church or community after the baby dies. To spare her family the shame she flees to work on a dairy farm where she finds true love in the form of the idealistic, handsome Angel Clare (Peter Firth). He loves her too but his idealism does not, unfortunately, extend to forgiving his new wife after she confesses to her past “transgression” even though she has just forgiven him his own affair. Whacky hijinks do not ensue.

I admit that I found Thomas Hardy's “Tess of the d'Urbervilles” an excruciating experience when I read (most of) it in high school. Perhaps I would be more receptive today, but the lingering trauma keeps me from a second try. Director Roman Polanski, however, was fascinated by the book from the moment his wife Sharon Tate insisted that he read it. They both thought it would be a magnificent role for her, but Tate was murdered soon after.

Polanski shelved the project for nearly a decade and a “Chinatown” or two, but decided to return to the project with seventeen-year-old Kinski, then best known as the daughter of Werner Herzog's best fiend Klaus Kinski, in the title role. Though she had appeared in a few previous movies, “Tess” (1979) was Kinski's introduction to the international film circuit and it came with a modicum of controversy. Rumors of a romantic relationship with the director have been denied, though she was certainly his protege, studying acting with Lee Strasberg at his behest. More controversial was the notion of a German actress playing the very British Tess by the very British Thomas Hardy. 

The concerns of Britain's cultural gatekeepers proved unfounded as Kinski adopted not only a convincing accent (the slight German inflection underscoring Tess's outsider status) but compellingly embodied the willful “pure woman” of Hardy's novel. For Polanski, the story of an innocent among predators was a natural choice, and if the film holds any surprises it's that the tasteful and lavish production comes off as rather tame, a contrast to the scandal that forced Hardy to self-censor his book. Though Polanski was able to show what Hardy could only hint at, the director doesn't linger on any salacious sequences (the rape is frightening, but not graphic) and the focus remains constantly on true-heart Tess and her fierce yet doomed resistance.

Cinematographers Geoffrey Unsworth and Ghislain Cloquet capture the sun-soaked French countryside (a splendid stand-in for Hardy's Wessex and environs) in all of its painterly glory, but no perfectly-sculpted landscape shot matches the beauty of Kinski's flawless face. It's extraordinary that a relative neophyte could project both fragility and strength with such naturalistic ease, though perhaps this is a case where genealogy comes in handy. Lawson and Firth are convincing enough, but their pitiful displays of manhood, one an outright cad and the other equally reprehensible in his cowardly hypocrisy, render them unfit to share the screen and the story with Tess. This is Kinski's show and she flat out steals it.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 2.35:1 aspect ratio. The image looks just a bit soft at times and the image detail doesn't jump off the screen the way it does in some Criterion 1080p transfers, but that slightly softer look may have been part of the film's visual design. Grain is present but not too noticeable. Colors are universally vibrant as the film clearly delineates the different seasons. The net result is quite beautiful, if not quite immaculate.

This is a dual-format release which includes two DVDs (with film and extras) as well as a single Blu-ray (with everything). The SD transfer has not been reviewed here.

Audio:

The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 track is fairly robust though not particularly dynamic. Perhaps the lossless audio stands out most in its treatment of the score by Philippe Sarde. Optional English subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:

“Tess” may not occupy the same exalted status in Polanski's oeuvre as “Chinatown” or “Rosemary's Baby,” but Criterion has still given it the deluxe treatment.

The collection starts with a 1979 episode of the French television program “Ciné regards” (49 min.) which includes behind-the-scenes footage from the film intermixed with an interview with Polanski. I found this feature both meandering and ponderous and gave up around the twenty minute mark.

Unfortunately I felt the same way about the plodding “Once Upon a Time... 'Tess'” which is a 2006 documentary that looks back on the making of “Tess” through interviews with Polanski, Kinski, producer Claude Berri, actor Leigh Lawson and others. At one point the documentary narrator states quite matter-of-factly that “Tess” was shot “in 1978 and 1979, the most pivotal years of the twentieth century.” I assume this claim has something to do with the Bee Gees.

I'm sorry to be a downer yet again, but I didn't make it too long into an episode of the BBC's “The South Bank Show” (1979, 50 min.) I had to pull the plug early when host Melvyn Bragg described the rape allegations against Polanski as “just another chapter” in his life story.

The disc also includes three short 2004 documentaries by director Laurent Bouzereau about the making of “Tess.” “From Novel to Screen” (28 min.) is by far the most interesting of the lot featuring Polanski discussing the genesis of the project as well as other experts addressing the censorship problems Thomas Hardy encountered when his book was first serialized in 1891; it eventually netted him a tidy sum. “Filming Tess” (26 min.) is a broad but engaging look at the production. “'Tess' The Experience” (26 min.) functions mostly as an unnecessary catch-all for whatever interview snippets didn't fit into the first two features, consisting of whatever gossip and minutiae is mentioned by the subjects involved with an emphasis on what a happy family everyone was during shooting.

The collection wraps up with a Theatrical Trailer (2 min.)

The somewhat surprisingly slim insert booklet includes an essay by critic Colin MacCabe.

Final Thoughts:

The tasteful and relatively staid period picture was perfectly suited to the Academy's tastes, earning six total nominations (including Best Picture and Best Director) with victories for Best Cinematography, Best Art Design, and Best Costume Design. This was the year wizened Academy voters mistook the absurd “Ordinary People” for a masterwork, but that's not Polanski's fault. Though nobody knew it at the time, the release of “Tess” marked the beginning of a fallow period for the director; his next feature wouldn't be released until 1986 and “Pirates” was not exactly viewed as a return to form from the master. “Tess” is not one of his greatest films and might strain patience at just under three hours, but Nastassja Kinski's performance is impressive and the knockout cinematography shines through in this high-def release.