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.”

Many Wars Ago

MANY WARS AGO (Rosi, 1970)

Kino Lorber/Rario Video, Blu-ray, Release Date Jan 7, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

While World War II movies bring to mind a host of settings from tense submarine cat-and-mouse battles in the Pacific to stiff-upper-lip homefront movies in the UK, a single dominant motif comes to mind when thinking of World War I on the screen: trenches. That's partly due to my own ignorance as I have largely missed out on the grand tradition of World War I pilot movies,including the first Best Picture winner “Wings” (1927). But from “All Quiet on the Western Front” to “Paths of Glory” and even “Blackadder Goes Forth,” the most enduring image of the Great War is of men huddled in muddy, makeshift trenches, awaiting the order to go over the top, knowing all the while it probably means not coming back.

Francesco Rosi continued this tradition with “Many Wars Ago” (1970 – AKA “Uomini Contro”), a film adapted from the slightly fictionalized memoir “A Year on the Plateau” by Italian officer Emilio Lussu. The film recasts Lussu as Lt. Sassu (American actor Mark Frechette, fresh of his breakout role in “Zabriskie Point” and a few years before his arrest for bank robbery and subsequent death in prison) and transforms the book's first-person account into an third-person narrative with Sassu only gradually assuming a more prominent role.

Italian soldiers stationed on the Asiago Plateau in the north of the country hunker down in trenches less than a half a mile from Austrian soldiers heavily fortified atop a hill. On an early maneuver, an Italian scout calls for a halt when enfilading fire strafes the ranks. The unauthorized stop enrages General Leone (French star Alain Cuny) who, while stationed strategically towards the rear of the advance, orders the scout to be immediately executed.

Some fancy maneuvering by the general's subordinates saves the man's life, but Leone and his fellow commanders intend to make sure that the hill is retaken no matter how many of their own soldiers must die. In a series of developments that inevitably calls to mind Stanley Kubrick's “Paths of Glory” (1957), the upper echelon explore every legal option they have to “discipline” their troops, including repeated decimation of the ranks (i.e. firing squads for randomly selected soldiers). These bastards will get motivated over their dead bodies! The officers' pathology is underscored in one scene in which the terrified Italian soldiers are ordered to launch a futile frontal assault (one of many obsolete strategies from many wars ago) that prompts the also-traumatized Austrians to implore them to retreat: “We can't go on killing like that!”

The troops are understandably distraught, and the film traces the open rebellion of Lt. Ottolenghi (Gian Maria Volonté), a committed socialist, and the gradual awakening he induces in the more by-the-numbers Lt. Sassu. The soldiers initially view the Great War as another natural plague to be endured, but become increasingly convinced that they are the victims of a class war. As the dissension mounts the film builds to a critical decision point: will the troops spin right around and attack the real enemy back at headquarters?

As you might expect, “Many Wars Ago” paints a drab portrait all in green, gray, and brown with the occasional flourish of red. Rosi balances scenes of sodden inertia in the trenches with chaotically choreographed battles sometimes as difficult to make sense of as it must be for the ground-level participants to experience. Some images are difficult to shake, like the almost Python-esque spectacle of men outfitted in medieval armor and sent right into the line of modern machine gun fire.

Rosi's bleak depiction of war sparked controversy from many quarters when it debuted at Venice in 1970. The right predictably fumed about the movie's alleged defamation of the military while some on the left weren't satisfied that the film appropriately portrayed the righteousness of the class struggle. Rosi doesn't conflate courage or conviction with success, and provides no promise that the martyred victims will inspire a new generation to fight the good fight. Maybe he read a history book or two, and learned that sometimes the hero's journey just ends.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.33:1 aspect ratio.

According to the packaging, the movie has been “digitally restored in collaboration with the National Cinematheque and the Turin National Film Museum under the supervision of Francesco Rosi.” Another note slightly complicates the matter.

From the booklet included with the Blu-ray, Sergio Toffetti, curator of the Italian National Film Archive, writes, “This copy of 'Many Wars Ago' was reprinted at Cinecitta laboratories from a reversal belonging to the Italian National Film Archive. As the original negative has been lost, a duplicate negative was made according to an obsolete technical process which allows the original negative to be printed directly onto reversal film. The resulting film... has a reasonably high level of definition, although some fluctuations of color and dominant doubles tend to alter the original chromatics. The original tone and density of the color may eventually be recovered using digital modern techniques.”

This somewhat unusual note suggests that the film could use another level of restoration, but the high-def transfer we get looks fairly strong to me. The note makes me wonder whether the drab colors are entirely faithful to Rosi's original vision, but they seem appropriate to a film about trench warfare. Some modest damage is visible in a few scenes, mostly a few flecks and speckles, but nothing significant. An even better version might await, but Kino and Raro Video have provided a solid transfer here.

Audio:

The DTS-HD Master 2.0 track isn't particularly dynamic, and dubbing in Italian movies of this era always sounds weird, like it's coming from a disembodied source, but that's not a flaw in the mix. No distortion is noticeable and the sometimes overwhelming score by Piero Picconi sounds surprisingly resonant. Optional English subtitles support the Italian audio.

Extras:

This Kino/Raro Video release includes a recent interview with director Francesco Rosi (28 min.) and a brief piece (2 min.) about the film's restoration. The latter is somewhat odd as a few of the side-by-side before and after examples don't show evidence of significant change. You can also access a PDF of the Original Screenplay by Tonino Guerra, Raffaele La Capria, and Francesco Rosi.

Raro Video has also included a nifty 20-page insert booklet with many short essays from various sources, including a note from Rosi as well as essays and reviews from critics. Many of them are translated from Italian with occasionally awkward grammar, but the diversity of material cited here provides a strong sampling of opinion about this controversial and somewhat overlooked film.

Final Thoughts:

I imagine Rosi and some of the film's boosters get tired of comparisons to “Paths of Glory,” but they are apt. While “Paths of Glory” is a difficult film to match, Rosi's movie was a riskier proposition as he was critiquing his own country's military history; Kubrick wasn't chancing as much by tackling a sordid episode in the history of the French army. “Many Wars Ago” deserves a more prominent place in discussions of World War I cinema, and this Blu-ray should help stir the conversation.

Don't Touch The White Woman!

DON'T TOUCH THE WHITE WOMAN! (Ferreri, 1974)

Koch Lorber, DVD, Release Date July 14, 2009

Review by Christopher S. Long

As a great philosopher said, there’s a fine line between clever and stupid, and Marco Ferreri spent most of his career stumbling along that line like an unrepentant drunk, weaving back and forth until finally falling face first onto one side or the other. With the stark raving mad “Don’t Touch the White Woman!” (1974), Ferreri collapsed into clever and produced one of the strangest un-Westerns ever made.

The film is nominally a re-enactment of Custer’s last stand. Ferreri wasn’t particularly obsessed with historical accuracy and the keen-eyed viewer may spot a few inaccuracies along the way. First, all of the characters speak French. Second, there’s some guy who hangs around the set wearing a University of Denver sweater and eating potato chips. Third, while all of the principals are dressed in period clothing when they go to the train station everyone else is wearing jeans and t-shirts. Also, Richard Nixon is president.

This sounds like a film made on the cheap and it may well have been but it sure as hell attracted an all-star cast: Marcello Mastroianni (as Custer), Catherine Deneuve, Michel Piccoli (as Buffalo Bill), Alain Cuny (as Sitting Bull), Philippe Noiret, and scene-stealing character actor Ugo Tognazzi as Custer’s Native American servant named, of course, Mitch. 

Mitch is a total prick who thinks that selling out to the white devil makes him an equal in their eyes. But whenever his eyes look at their ladies, Custer slaps him: “Don’t touch the white woman!” Custer slaps a lot of people. He’s a total prick too, cruel, vain and petty. Come to think of it, Buffalo Bill’s a total prick too, and so is Catherine Deneuve’s character (Marie-Hélène), giving “Don’t Touch the White Woman” a significantly higher prick count than “Bruno.”

Ferreri shot the film on the site of a demolished mall in Paris. Instead of roaming the open plains, the Indians (led by Sitting Bull) mill about in the ditch that serves as the construction site. It’s basically a big hole with mounds of dirt and rocks all over the place. I think it’s supposed to be the reservation. The soldiers all live in a building at the top of the ditch and the two groups occasionally shout at each other seeing as they’re all of a few hundred feet apart.

Custer spends most of his time blustering, being jealous of Buffalo Bill, and trying to seduce Marie-Hélène. Mitch tries to play both sides of the fence which only results in him being despised by everybody. Sitting Bull eventually gets stoic, man, and prepares his people for the climactic battle.

And what a battle. It is so gloriously unconvincing, so utterly absurd that it achieves a kind of greatness, though precisely what kind scholars have not yet determined. When Custer sweeps onto the battlefield (i.e. goes down into the ditch) he is shocked when ambushed by a group of Indians who were pretty much just hiding behind a dirt mound. The last chunk of the film is basically just a slaughter with white men getting impaled, clubbed and scalped to death, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t a hell of a lot of fun to see them all get it all real good.

“Don’t Touch the White Woman” is a giant cup of “What the fuck?” but it’s absolutely riveting. And pure Marco Ferreri, which is unlike anything else ever.

Video:
The film is presented in a 1.66:1 aspect ratio. This is a pretty miserable transfer, almost certainly a PAL dupe. A sickly green hue permeates the film, and the image is muddy and dull. It looks like a 3^rd or 4^th generation VHS dub. But it's still watchable.

Audio:

The film is presented in Dolby Digital Mono. Forced English subtitles support the French audio. The sound mix is adequate, at least compared to the video.

Extras:

The only extra is a 3-minute excerpt from the documentary “Marco Ferreri: The Man Who Came from the Future.”

Film Value:
Ferreri’s anarcho-anachronistic exercise in historical deconstruction is a feat of inspired insanity. I don’t know if it’s great film-making but it’s definitely… something. And I love it dearly.

The Max Linder Collection

Max Linder at his most dapper

THE MAX LINDER COLLECTION (Four Films Starring Max Linder)

Kino Lorber, DVD, Release Date May 27, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

You want to talk about instant sensations? Less than a year after Charlie Chaplin's 1914 film debut, he was one of the most popular entertainers in America and the country had caught a acute case of Chaplinitis that would linger for decades. Demand for his films was so intense he easily parlayed his initial $150/week acting contract into a much-publicized “million dollar contract” in 1917 and soon his own studio. His Tramp was probably the most recognizable fictional figure of the early 20^th century, and Chaplin is frequently described as one of the first international film stars.

Chaplin himself was keen to point out his trail to glory had already been blazed by Max Linder, the French-born star who Chaplin once described as his “professor.” Linder had a similarly meteoric rise to fame, making his screen debut in 1905 (after several years honing his craft in live theater), premiering his urbane “Max” character (a dapper figure with top hat and cane whose slapstick exploits generated even more laughs from their incongruity with his apparent suavity) in 1908, and signing a “million franc” contract in 1912. Max was instantly recognizable to European audiences and was at the very height of his popularity in the years immediately preceding the Tramp's arrival on the world stage.

Max wasn't entirely displaced by the Tramp as there was plenty of room for more than one draw at nickelodeons and other theater houses, but Linder heeded the siren call of an American studio that wanted a competitor to Chaplin. The career gamble was mostly a failure as American movie-goers weren't quite as enchanted by the “sophisticated slapstick” of Linder's European dandy-about-town, preferring the more knockabout exploits of Chaplin and peers. While moving back and forth from France to America over the next several years, the star was never able to regain his former dominance. Linder also battled severe depression during this period, a battle he would lose in 1925 when he and his young wife committed suicide in Paris in 1925.

The films on Kino Lorber's “The Max Linder Collection” do not represent Linder at his commercial peak, but provide strong evidence that his less lucrative films of the 1920s merit a place of pride in his often-overlooked legacy. “Seven Years Bad Luck” (1921, 64 min.) spins the kind of thin narrative line upon which Linder liked to string his inventive gags and set-pieces. Linder (playing a character with his stage name) is engaged to be married, but fears an ill fate when he breaks a large mirror in his room. In his effort to avoid any risky situations, he generates nothing but risk. The film features one of the earliest instances of the oft-copied mirror gag (two actors ape each other's movements through both sides of an empty mirror frame) and a lengthy chase scene (consuming much of the final half hour) that begins on a train and ends in a lion's cage at the zoo. Linder is not quite as gymnastic as either Chaplin or Harold Lloyd, but his combination of determination and ingenuity spark the action and the laughs in a film that cannily pays only the slightest attention to plot-based needs.

Poster for Be My Wife

“Be My Wife” (1921, 58 min.) is somewhat more burdened by story and suffers for it. Max competes for the hand of the lovely Mary (Alta Allen) with the portly Archie (Lincoln Stedman). Some of the film's best bits involve Max trying to avoid Archie's pesky dog (though viewers might have concerns when the poor dog gets tossed out a window) but it bogs down in a series of irritating miscommunications that advance the shopworn plot to its inevitable conclusion. It's the least successful film on the set, at least to my taste, but still of interest if for no other reason than the fact that the beefy Stedman is a mere fourteen years old here but looks and plays a completely convincing adult. Tall, thin, stern-looking Caroline Rankin also cuts a unique and memorable figure as Mary's judgmental, protective aunt. 

Linder laughs at danger in The Three Must-Get-Theres

“The Three Must-Get-Theres” (1922, 57 min.) sees Linder, eager to connect with American audiences, dropping his signature character and donning period garb as the not-so-dashing Dart-In-Again in a parody of Douglas Fairbanks Jr.'s smash hit “The Three Musketeers” (1921). Dart-In-Again spends the first reel trying to mount a donkey (oh get your mind out of the gutter) and repeatedly kissing his very clingy father goodbye before stumbling (sometimes literally) into royal court intrigue and battling the evil forces of Cardinal Richie-loo. There are some nifty bits of slapstick and swordplay, but the film is most successful as a send-up of the macho movie hero; I laughed hardest at a scene when the overconfident Dart-in-Again bursts in to a room to present his professional credentials with the line: “Here's a letter from my daddy.” The period movie is loaded with intentional anachronisms (phones, motorcycles, a reference to the NYC subway) and gleefully showcases it silliness as men dispatched by the deadly blade of Dart-in-Again keep moving and even speaking after their deaths. The humor is broader than any barn side and no less satisfying for it.

The disc also includes one short film, “Max Wants a Divorce” (1917, 27 min.) The short was one of Linder's first American flops, but has its merits. Max is newly married, but receives notice of an inheritance that requires him to be a bachelor. After bribing his bride (Martha Mansfield) with a pearl necklace in order to go along with his scheme, he arranges to be caught cheating so they can divorce and later re-marry after he cashes his inheritance check. Jealousies and general incompetence prevent a simple plan from falling to pieces, and some of the ensuing mayhem is quite amusing if not exactly inspired.

Video:

The copy on the back of the DVD case (housing the single disc that contains the three features and one short) states that the films have been “meticulously restored from archival materials.” Unfortunately, the only information regarding these restorations is presented as pre-credit notes for two of the films. “Be My Wife” was restored in 2008 by Lobster Films in collaboration with Fondazzione Cineteca Italiana, Milano from two original nitrate color-tinted prints with addition digital restoration in 2014 by Lobster Films.

The original American version of “The Three Must-Get-Theres” disappeared and this edition was restored in 1995 by Stiftung Deutsche Kinemathek from a nearly complete copy in the Netherlands Filmmuseum with supplemental material from the collection of filmmaker Gerhard Lamprecht. English titles were adapted from a German release.

No information is included on restoration (if any) of the other two films in the collection except for the notation “Digital restoration and special contents by Lobster Films.”

As you would expect with silent films over ninety years old, even restored versions are far from flawless. Of the two that clearly indicated as restored, “Be My Wife” is the strongest with only a few scenes (esp one where Mary goes to a clothing store) showing significant wear. “The Three Must-Get-Theres” displays minor damage in many shots, vertical scratches or white/dark splotches on the print, but it still holds together fairly well overall. “Seven Years Bad Luck” may be the best looking of the bunch with only relatively minor wear visible throughout. “Max Wants a Divorce” is in much rougher shape than the other three, looking like a well-worn print in various states of deterioration from scene to scene. The action is still clear but the image is soft in most shots. Still, it's a wonder it survives at all.

Audio:

The films are each accompanied by relatively recent scores: “The Three Must-Get-Theres” by Maud Nelissen, “Be My Wife” by Eric Le Guen, “Seven Years Bad Luck” by Robert Israel, and “Max Wants a Divorce” by Donald Sosin. Obviously the music is the only sound for these silent films and the Dolby Digital mix presents the various scores clearly and without distortion.

Extras:

Unfortunately, Kino Lorber has not included any extras, opting to save room on the single DVD for the 205 minutes worth of films in the set. A booklet or a text feature on the disc with more information about the restorations and/or background on Max Linder would have been nice, but then again I guess that's what the Internet is for.

Final Thoughts:

Before Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd, there was Max Linder. One of the very first superstars of cinema, his fame has been eclipsed by the comedians for whom he helped pave the way, but this collection from Kino Lorber provides viewers a taste of his American-produced films. Since Linder was best known to audiences for French short films, this set doesn't showcase him in his popular prime, but the films certainly show off his wit and talent. I had a lot of fun “discovering” one of the true titans of silent cinema with this set, and I hope you will too.

Ghost Bird

GHOST BIRD (Crocker, 2009)

Kino Lorber, DVD, Release Date August 16, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

No wonder nobody likes skeptics.

In 2004, an Arkansas man boating through the swamp spotted an ivory-billed woodpecker, a species thought to be extinct since the early part of the twentieth century. A fleeting glimpse of the majestic creature recorded on video set the bird-watching community on fire, attracting the attention of ornithologists and enthusiasts from around the world. The discovery breathed new life into the small town of Brinkley, AR; tourists flocking to spot the elusive bird could browse at an ivory-billed woodpecker gift shop, enjoy $25 ivory-billed woodpecker haircuts, and munch down on ivory-billed woodpecker burgers (not made of actual ivory-billed woodpeckers). Even the small-town newspaper the Brinkley Argus enjoyed a surge in circulation thanks to their new feathered friend.

Hosannas rang throughout the land and both man and bird lived happily ever after... until a few smarty pants scientists crashed the party by pointing out that the bird barely seen in the grainy video looked an awful lot like the plain old pileated woodpecker. And since nobody gives a damn about the plain old pileated woodpecker, a spirited debate ensued.

In “Ghost Bird” (2009), director Scott Crocker crafts a surprisingly suspenseful tale as he follows the battle of experts on each side as well as the more fundamental tug of war between faith and empiricism. Unlike with global warming, the scientific community did not reach consensus. A Cornell researcher claimed new audio evidence supported the discovery, but the skeptics continued to do their skeptic thing. The annoying fact that nobody else spotted the faintest sign of another ivory-billed woodpecker was problematic, but parties with vested interests as well as those who just think it's more fun to believe could cherry-pick the evidence to suit themselves.

Refreshingly, there are no villains in this nifty nature tale. Crocker discovers fascinating people on both sides, most notably Nancy Tanner, wife of the deceased ornithologist James Tanner who worked with ivory-billed woodpeckers more than half a century ago. She relates a rich history of this beautiful phantom creature, so revered by local Indians they called it “The Lord God Bird.” Even if you're not a bird enthusiast, the film makes it easy to appreciate why people would get so excited about the potential discovery, though one researcher offers the depressing observation that efforts to track the ivory-billed woodpecker in the past may have led directly to its extinction.

That's a sobering thought, but the movie is somewhat less successful when shoehorning in broader ecological concerns, including a somewhat arbitrary warning that humans will render fifty percent of species (all species?) extinct by the end of this century. Fortunately, the movie only occasionally wanders afield, usually staying focused on this amazing bird and the people who cared about it. Everyone wanted the unlikely survival story to be true, they just differed on whether they required proof to believe it.

Video:

The film is presented in a wide-screen anamorphic transfer. The SD transfer from Kino Lorber is a solid effort with no obvious signs of damage, boosting, or distortion. There are a lot of talking heads, but also some lovely swamp and forest footage (cinematography by Damir Frkovic) and the transfer treats it as well as a standard def transfer can be expected to.

Audio:

The Dolby Digital Stereo mix is efficient if not dynamic. There's some great music in the film, including the Sonny Terry track “Lost John.” Only obsessed cinephiles would instantly identify that track with Werner Herzog thanks to its unforgettable use at the end of the masterpiece “Stroszek” (and “Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans” if memory serves). The company credited with the film is “Small Change Productions” with “small change” also being an unforgettable line from “Stroszek.” A coincidence? A fine original score by Zoë Keating helps too.

No subtitles are provided.

Extras:

The disc includes nine extra/deleted scenes, running a total of approximately 40 minutes.

Final Thoughts:

“Ghost Bird” is the most compelling ivory-billed woodpecker documentary I've ever seen, and ever expect to see. Long may the Lord God Bird live.

The Trials Of Muhammad Ali

THE TRIALS OF MUHAMMAD ALI (Siegel, 2013)

Kino Lorber, DVD, Release Date April 22, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

The trial of Muhammad Ali would have made a fascinating documentary all by itself. After Ali (still referred to as Cassius Clay by a press and a legal system that would not respect his name change) refused to fight in Vietnam, he was sentenced in 1967 to five years for draft evasion. His case slowly climbed the ladder to the Supreme Court in 1971 where it was given little chance to succeed.

Indeed, the decision initially came down 5-3 (with Justice Thurgood Marshall recusing himself) against Ali, but while drafting the opinion Justice Harlan learned of a precedent that eventually led the Court to a unanimous finding in support of Ali's right to claim conscientious objector status. In a delicate piece of legal maneuvering the Court found a way to make the judgment applicable only to Ali, in order to avoid establishing precedent for a new wave of objectors.

The captivating and bizarre twists and turns of the now famous ruling are presented in this new documentary, but only in passing. There's too much else to cover to look too closely. Instead of a narrow focus on just one aspect of Ali's story, director Bill Siegel (“The Weather Underground”) casts a wider net, opting for the plural title “The Trials of Muhammad Ali” (2013) instead.

The documentary roughly covers the period from Ali's stunning upset of heavyweight champion Sonny Liston in 1964 to the aftermath of the Supreme Court case in 1971, a period during which young Cassius Clay from Louisville, KY became Muhammad Ali of the Nation of Islam. Never a shrinking violet, Ali spoke bluntly about his religious conversion and his refusal to fight for a country that had enslaved black Americans, pulling off the seemingly impossible trick of drawing more attention to his life outside the ring than inside it.

Siegel digs up some riveting footage, the finest of which covers the period between 1967 and 1971 when Ali was banned from boxing. Still in his mid-twenties, he made his living during this time on a nationwide speaking tour, and progressed from parroting rote religious rhetoric to sincerely engaging sometimes hostile college crowds and talk show hosts. The champion never hedged his language and was perfectly capable of calmly confronting “the white devil” even while using incendiary terms. Opponents weren't shy about returning in kind. The documentary opens with a blistering attack by TV host David Susskind: “I find nothing amusing or interesting or tolerable about this man. He's a disgrace to his country (and) his race.”

At other times, the documentary seems to tackle too much material. The focus on the politics of the Nation of Islam, including Ali's fierce loyalty to Elijah Muhammad and the chaos after Malcolm X's split from the group is essential to understanding our protagonist's political awakening, but plays more like name-dropping than fresh insight. Perhaps it's useful to people just learning about these events for the first time, but in scenes like this, as well as much of the coverage of Ali's boxing career, the movie feels like a generic entry in the burgeoning field of Muhammad Ali documentaries.

Still, it's hard to go wrong with footage of the charismatic and abrasive Ali and he is not always depicted as a saint: the young firebrand can be mean, arrogant, and unsympathetic to anyone he identifies as an enemy (including Malcolm X). In addition to the archival material, the documentary relies on several talking head interview subjects, including Ali's second wife Khalilah, his brother Rahaman, and lawyer Gordon B. Davidson (one of Ali's business backers before and during the legal troubles). Each has his or own agenda, but their insider perspectives provide much needed nuance.

Video:

The documentary is presented in a 1.78:1 anamorphic transfer though the ratio varies with different archival footage. Likewise the quality of the video varies from the recently shot interviews to the older footage. Overall, this SD transfer is perfectly solid if unremarkable.

Audio:

The Dolby Digital Stereo mix is straightforward and fairly clean though, again, quality varies based on the source (archival vs. newer) used. No optional subtitles are provided though limited subs are used for interviews that are a bit more difficult to make out.

Extras:

The film is accompanied by two different commentary tracks. The first is by director Bill Siegel, composer Joshua Abrams, and editor Aaron Wickenden. The second is by executive producer (and artistic director at Kartemquin Films) Gordon Quinn and journalist Salim Muwakkil. I only had time to sample the first commentary and it sounds like it covers the usual bases.

Kino Lorber and Kartemquin Films have also included a handful of short features. First is “The Mock Trials of Muhammad Ali” (8 min.) which provides brief coverage of mock trials of Ali's Supreme Court Case run by high school students in Kentucky in 2010. We also get four very short Extra Scenes (8 min total), including footage of Ali's 1964 photo opp with the Beatles and a short piece about Ali's brief suspension from the Nation of Islam.

The disc also includes Educational Resources which can be accessed on your computer. These include audio and a transcript of the Supreme Court case.

Final Thoughts:

The more general approach is probably the smart commercial move, but a laser-like focus on just the Supreme Court case would have helped distinguish the documentary from its considerable competition. You'll be left wanting to know more about pretty much everything, but maybe that's the point in an age where documentaries serve as a starting point and arrive with additional “educational resources” designed to continue the discussion.

Better Things: The Life and Choices of Jeffrey Catherine Jones

BETTER THINGS: THE LIFE AND CHOICES OF JEFFREY CATHERINE JONES (Cabardo, 2012)

Kino Lorber, DVD, Release Date February 24, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

“Who is Jeffrey Jones? … I don't know.”

That's how artist Jeffrey Jones opens the documentary “Better Things” (2012), so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when my informal poll of fellow comic book aficionados produced a similar response. You mean J.G. Jones? No, Jeff. Bruce Jones? No, the totally awesome Jeff Jones! Even an acquaintance who has eidetic recall of the inkers and letterers on every comic book he's ever read couldn't place the name, which makes me sad and which makes director Maria Paz Cabardo's movie even more essential.

The Studio

Jones was one of the four founding members of The Studio, a 1970s comic book artist collective in New York City which included industry superstars Bernie Wrightson, Barry Windsor-Smith and Mike Kaluta. Those three names remain widely recognized by fans even forty years later, but Jones has since lapsed into relative obscurity. Where the others worked primarily in comic books and were closely identified with specific characters (Wrightson had Swamp Thing, Smith with Conan and others, Kaluta and the Shadow), Jones's brush graced the covers of many fantasy novels (including a gorgeous edition of the Solomon Kane collection “Red Shadows”) as well as fine art illustrations. Jones still produced brilliant art for the major publishers, including a few of the best “Wonder Woman” covers ever made, as well as early work in the Warren horror and war magazines, but never had a sustained run on any single title. Jones was not temperamentally inclined to produce work on a factory schedule.

For anyone not familiar with Jones's work, the documentary showcases numerous examples that testify to an extraordinary talent, reason enough to watch the movie. The film also includes several interviews with some of the biggest names in the field (all big Jones fans as well) including Neil Gaiman, Moebius, Dave McKean, Bill Sienkiewicz, Mike Mignola, and Rebecca Guay along with former Studio-mates Wrightson and Kaluta. Writer-editor Louise Simonson, formerly married to Jones, provides unique personal insight to augment the enthusiastic professional appreciations.

Jones's "Tarzan and the Dum Dum"

But the centerpiece of the documentary is the eloquent but sad Jeffrey Jones, interviewed mostly in 2010 and now both alone and poorly rewarded for a lifetime of high-quality work. Living in a nondescript one-room apartment, Jones is frequently in a reflective mood and keen to discuss deeply personal matters. Jones recalls always (even from the age of five) feeling like a female trapped in a male body, began cross-dressing as a teenager and continued to do so in secret while married; the revelation of that secret at least partially contributed to Jeffrey's divorce from Louise in the early '70s.

Later in life Jeffrey Jones became Jeffrey Catherine Jones, beginning hormone replacement therapy in 1998. Jones unfortunately doesn't joke often in the movie, but does note with some humor her surprise upon realizing that “I was now a lesbian.” She continued to paint, but also continued a life-long battle with depression and anxiety. Jones suffered a nervous breakdown (Jones's term, though one not accepted clinically anymore) in 2005 and 2006 and was no longer able to create the beautiful images that had marked a unique talent for the prior four decades, both a personal loss and a loss to the world. Jones died in 2011 at the age of 67 of complications from emphysema.

One can't help but mourn for Jones's death (a eulogy delivered by daughter Julianna is heart-breaking) as well as the first-hand knowledge of her intense struggles, but “Better Things: The Life and Choices of Jeffrey Catherine Jones” also leaves us with much to celebrate: the resilient spirit of someone who fought every day, the admiration of so many of her peers, and, above all, the extraordinary legacy Jones left behind. The gallery of stunning portraits occasionally leave the viewer breathless as well as wanting even more. It's easy to understand why the legendary illustrator Frank Frazetta once described Jones as “the greatest living painter.”

Video:

The movie is presented in its original 1.78:1 aspect ratio. The SD transfer from Alive Mind Cinema and Kino Lorber is solid if unspectacular. The documentary relies heavily on talking-head interviews and the transfer is more than adequate to that task. Perhaps a high-def rendition of some of Jones' art would reveal more detail, but what we get is just fine.

Audio:

The Dolby Digital Stereo track is free of any noticeable distortion. Dialogue is clearly mixed. No subtitles are provided.

Extras:

Nothing at all. It's understandable that no supplements were available, but a stills gallery of Jones's art would have been nice.

Final Thoughts:

Comic book and fantasy art fans who don't know about Jeffrey Catherine Jones now have an opportunity to fill a major gap in their knowledge. “Better Things” is a moving testament to the life and work of a major American artist.

Nostalghia

NOSTALGHIA (Tarkovsky, 1983)

Kino Lorber, Blu-ray, Release Date Jan 21, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

“The Turin Horse” and “Jeanne Dielman” are my ideas of cinematic bliss. When frustrated viewers complain that “nothing happens” in a movie, save me an aisle seat. By that standard, Andrei Tarkovsky's “Nostalghia” (1983) should be a natural fit for me. Long shots of immobile people staring at the camera and ten minutes of a man walking back and forth while holding a candle? Sounds awesome.

Yet I find “Nostalghia” largely impenetrable, and not necessarily in the usual rewarding way. Conceptually, it's not too difficult to grasp. Tarkovsky was living in self-exile in Italy and the great Russian director wanted to make a movie about “the melancholy that arises from being far away” from the homeland and family. Coincidentally enough, the protagonist of the film (with a script by Tarkovsky and frequent Antonioni collaborator Tonino Guerra) just happens to be a Russian poet named Andrei (Oleg Yankovskiy) doing research in the Tuscan countryside on an 18 century Russian composer who committed suicide there; yes, you guessed it, it's a light-hearted romp. Andrei splits time between obsessing over his project and reminiscing about his family back home in flashbacks shot in grungy black-and-white.

That's all straightforward enough, but it's the details that sometimes baffle, particularly the opaque relationships between Andrei and the film's other two major players. Eugenia (Domiziana Giordano), his young translator and guide, initially appears put off by Andrei's self-absorption, but suddenly begins screaming furiously at him for not making a pass at her, causing the detached intellectual to categorize her as “insane.” Stranger still is local eccentric Domenico (Erland Josephson) who resists speaking to Andrei initially, but then unleashes a torrent of pseudo-apocalyptic ranting that apparently has a profound effect on our protagonist, but remains enigmatic for everyone else (or at least for yours truly).

As usual in the director's work, there's water, water everywhere with rain equally as likely indoors as outside, and the film is chock full of steam-bellowing spas and fog-enshrouded vistas. This is one of the moistest movies you've ever seen. Dark spaces on screen are ever-so-gradually illuminated, and vice versa, and the camera always meticulously tracks the action, or inaction. The sense of atmosphere is both palpable and palpably sad. The net result is perhaps the most self-consciously stylized Tarkovsky film, providing an inherent challenge and potential reward to viewers. 

The key to appreciating movies where “nothing happens” is to tune in to their wavelength and let the mood envelop you at its own languid pace. If you're tuned in, you may well have a stronger emotional response than you get from films that rely on traditional narrative tension and pathos. Viewers may experience the same kind of reverie-state as Andrei and lose themselves completely in the rich, tactile world of the movie.

If you're not tuned in, the terminal solemnity can strain both credibility and patience. “Nostalghia” could well play as a kind of art-house parody with its gallery of glum faces and frozen tableaux, its proud reliance on pregnant symbolism, frequent switches from color to black-and-white, and the blasts of Verdi and Beethoven heard at cathartic moments. It's hard to know what to make of these characters engaged in deep, deep thoughts and their mysterious and deep, deep interpersonal exchanges. Do we have any reason to care about the limpid Andrei? Is Domenico anything more than the tired cliché of the lunatic who sees more clearly than the rest of us?

Tarkovsky's record guarantees that the filmmaker deserves the benefit of the doubt, but don't feel bad about not quite getting it. A second (or third or fourth) viewing might be required, and will surely be well worth it. I know I'll be circling back to this to see what I missed the first time through.

Video:

The film is presented in a 1.66:1 aspect ratio. The transfer is described as “newly mastered in HD from archival 35 mm elements” though it's unclear how much, if any, restoration has been involved. Image quality is fairly strong with an appropriately muted color palette, but a surprising amount of damage is visible with flecks and speckles visible in most shots. It's slightly distracting, but certainly not troublesome enough to interfere with the viewing experience; it seems a bit much from a film that's only 30 years old, though.

Audio:

The LPCM 2.0 track is solid if unremarkable. Shouted dialogue seems to be mixed very loudly relative to the rest, but that may be part of the original sound design. The lossless audio gives a sense of depth and resonance to the classical and folk music. Optional English subtitles support the Italian dialogue.

Extras:

Kino has provided only a three-minute Trailer.

Final Thoughts:

“Nostalghia” was Tarkovsky's penultimate feature, and has generally not been accorded quite the same status as the films between which it is sandwiched: “Stalker” (1979) and “The Sacrifice” (1986). I can't argue. It's probably my least favorite of his, but every Tarkovsky film has improved for me on subsequent viewings, so I reserve final judgment til a later date. Kino Lorber's high-def transfer isn't immaculate and comes with no extras, but the image is solid enough and the chance to see any Tarkovsky in 1080p is welcome.

Burt's Buzz

BURT'S BUZZ (Shapiro, 2013)

Kino Lorber, Blu-ray, Release Date September 16, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

If you've ever wanted to know the story about the bearded man on the Burt's Bees packaging, then you're one up on me. Before this documentary I thought the company only made throat lozenges, the ones I pass by on my way to the store brand that costs half as much. But Burt's Bees' line of personal care products is so extensive and so popular that the company that began as a couple of beehives in rural Maine was ultimately sold to Clorox for $925 million in 2007.

You'd think that company co-founder Burt Shavitz, now a world-wide icon thanks to his much-reprinted portrait, would be living the high life today, but Burt's not your typical entrepreneur. He's not your typical anything.

Shavitz, now in his seventies, lives on a farm in Maine ('round about where he started tending his first hives) where he doesn't see the point in modern amenities like hot water or alarm clocks. He goes to sleep when it gets dark and wakes up with the sun because that's just the way he does things. A similar mindset led a twenty-something Shavitz to abruptly abandon New York (his hometown) and a career in photojournalism to drift north, live the simple life, and just fall by chance into the beekeeping business.

He probably would have been content to sell honey out of his truck for the rest of his life, but then he met a single mother named Roxanne Quimby. She had both ambition and talent, and thanks to a brilliant marketing campaign she expanded Burt's Bee into a multi-national brand worth millions. Shavitz never forgave her for it. All he ever wanted was a kindred spirit to help him feed the wood stove and keep the hives, and he still feels betrayed that she didn't want the same thing.

Director Jody Shapiro's “Burt's Buzz” (2013) only hints at this conflict until exploring it deeper in the final third of the film, opting instead to place Shavitz and all his eccentricities at center stage, following him about his daily rituals. He's a fascinating man in no small part because of how little of himself he is willing or able to reveal. The only time he displays any deep emotion is when he talks about the death of his beloved golden retriever Rufus, but this carefully guarded man wears all of his wounds openly. Pretty much everyone and everything has proven to be a disappointment, so he sticks mostly to his farm and his dogs and does his best to shut out the parts of the world that don't suit his idealized vision of life.

He's not entirely a hermit, however. Though Quimby more or less pushed him out of the business, he is still the corporate spokesman and we get to see this bemused celebrity doing his best to make it through a trip to Taiwan and the scores of enthusiastic Burt's fans who want to meet him. In moments like this, it's fair to question just how savvy Shavitz might be in spinning a portrait of a crusty old recluse who doesn't care about money, fame, or modern technology. He's still willing to play the game and work the crowd; is the Burt we see in the film any less a creation than the one in Quimby's marketing campaign?

Whatever the case, the Burt Shavitz of “Burt's Buzz” (2013) is a magnetic presence who makes a natural subject for a documentary. If the film leans a bit too heavily on his stubborn idiosyncrasies to propel the story, viewers probably won't object to an enjoyable and occasionally surprising visit with a true American original. More information about the corporate takeover by Quimby would have been welcome, but would have made for a very different type of movie.

Video:

The film is presented in a 1.78:1 anamorphic transfer. The high-def transfer from Kino Lorber is a solid affair with strong detail and naturalistic color. The film has a lot of talking heads though we also get some nice rural New England footage.

Audio:

The 5.1 Surround track is sharp and clear though there isn't a whole lot to it beyond dialogue which is all clearly mixed. No subtitles are offered.

Extras:

Continuing in the form and spirit of her wonderful “Green Porno” shorts, Isabella Rossellini (co-producer of “Burt's Buzz”) directs and stars in three short films about bees: “Burt Talks to the Queen Bee” (3 min.), “Burt Talks to the Drone Bee” (4 min.) and “Burt Talks to the Worker Bees” (4 min.) In each eco-short, Rossellini plays both Burt Shavitz and the title bees and the they have a conversation about matters of apiology. The disc also includes a Theatrical Trailer (2 min.) and two other trailers for films from Kino Lorber.

Final Thoughts:

Since I was only barely aware of Burt's Bees before, I can't judge how much of an audience there will be for a film about its co-founder. But Jody Shapiro has found an engaging and entertaining subject. There's just barely enough material for a feature-length documentary, but it's a fun watch.

The Bankers of God: The Calvi Affair

THE BANKERS OF GOD: THE CALVI AFFAIR (Ferrara, 2002)

Kino Lorber, Blu-ray, Release Date August 5, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

On June 17, 1982, the body of Italian banker Roberto Calvi was found hanging from the Blackfriars Bridge in London. Initially his death was ruled a suicide; later he got upgraded to murder. A Mafia informant identified a killer but, sadly, Mafia informants tend not to be terribly trustworthy. Sadder still, there was no shortage of potential suspects as Roberto Calvi was a wanted man in more ways than one. The details of his murder remain undetermined today. Giuseppe Ferrara's “The Bankers of God: The Calvi Affair” (2002) doesn't provide any definitive answers about the infamous scandal, but it sure proposes a lot of intriguing possibilities.

Ferrara wanted to make the film since the mid-'80s but a series of production deals never quite materialized, and the 1994 death of the great actor Gian Maria Volonte, long attached to the project, did little to expedite matters. Perhaps the prolonged gestation explains why a film eventually shot in 2001 still looks for all the world like a relic from the '80s; or maybe Ferrara and his team just did a remarkable job of period recreation. From the costumes to the hairstyles to the graphics to the low-fi quality of the image (perhaps partially attributable to a so-so high-def transfer here) this feels like a film shot just after the events it depicts.

When we pick up the story, a power shake-up at the Banco Ambrosiano, one of Italy's largest private banks, places the unimposing but ambitious Calvi (Omero Antonutti) in charge. It doesn't take long before he is embroiled in scandal too as he is sentenced to four years in jail for illegal money transfers. An acquaintance jokes that it was “his turn to be arrested” but it's no joke to Calvi; he's a power-seeker but not a tough guy and jail scares the hell out of him. Somehow he not only survives (despite a suicide attempt) but returns to his job at the bank. His troubles are only getting started.

Antonutti during another sleepless night

Antonutti does a marvelous job of depicting the doughy, sweaty Calvi as alternately vulnerable and scheming. It's never entirely clear what he's really guilty of, but what is readily apparent is that whatever delusions of grandeur he may have had while climbing the corporate ladder are dispelled by the discovery that he is but a tiny fish among the sharks. He has cut deals (some legal, some less so) with the local Masonic lodge (apparently a real power broker in Rome), the Vatican Bank (an even bigger broker and a major investor in his bank), and possibly the Mafia (not that they exist) and this little man is fated to be somebody's fall guy.

Ferrara's film rockets from one event to the next with sharp, abrupt edits dropping us in the middle of the action in the next scene with little effort to orient the viewer. The brisk pace might make it difficult for non-Italian speakers to keep up, but the puzzle pieces aren't all meant to snap together. To describe the web of connections as complicated is a gross understatement. Everyone has a hand in the till, most certainly including the Vatican.

Perhaps the film's most controversial claim is that Pope John Paul II was constantly kept informed of the Calvi affair as it unfolded. The pope is only photographed from behind “out of respect for his Holiness” but in one of the most amusing scenes in a film that can be surprisingly wry, the pope (still shot from behind) is shown riding his exercise bicycle rather half-heartedly while a cardinal (played by Rutger Hauer) updates him. Ferrara's “respect for his Holiness” has its limits.

Viewers seeking clarity will be frustrated as the story (scripted by Ferrara and Armenia Balducci) gets lost in it endless layers of conspiracy. But that's largely the point. If there's anything more muddled than religious doctrine, it's modern finance, not to mention Italian politics. Calvi was known as “God's Banker” and he got muscled out by his partner. The poor guy never stood a chance. I feel a little guilty for getting a few chuckles watching his inevitable downfall play out, but then I've come to terms with the truism from “Life of Brian” that the last laugh is on you.

Video:

The film is presented in a 1.66:1 aspect ratio. I experienced intermittent problems with the video looking choppy in the early scenes though that cleared up in short order. However other scenes showed evidence of noise and distortion; nothing major but it's certainly not smooth and flawless. Image detail in this high-def transfer from Raro Video is merely adequate and the film has a slightly greenish tinge at times and the colors are generally somewhat muted. It's not bad, just nothing special.

Audio:

The LPCM 2.0 audio mix is fairly clear but more than any disc I've played in a long time, the different elements are mixed at different volumes. Some voices (especially Calvi's wife) sound unusually loud and I had to dial down the volume substantially from its usual settings. Music, by contrast, is much quieter. Still, no distortion or obvious dropoffs can be heard. Optional English subtitles support the Italian audio. The white subtitles are tough to read against some of the white backgrounds, but it's not too bad. The film can also be played with an English dub which I haven't checked out.

Extras:

The only extra on the disc is an interview (21 min.) with journalist Gianni Barbacetto who does his best to fill in some of the blanks regarding the real-life Calvi affair, but it's a hopelessly convoluted story. Which is what makes it so interesting.

The slim 12-page booklet also includes a lengthy essay on the subject.

Film Value:

I'm fascinated by stories of financial corruption so this film was right up my alley. It feels a bit like a dramatic reenactment of a really complex episode of “American Greed” and that's fine with me. Church vs. Bankers. Whoever wins, we lose.