Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story By Martin Scorsese

ROLLING THUNDER REVUE: A BOB DYLAN STORY BY MARTIN SCORSESE (2019)

Currently Streaming on Netflix, Release Date June 12, 2019

Review by Christopher S. Long

Martin Scorsese is in a playful mood. He opens his (or is it really his?) newest movie with an excerpt from silent-film pioneer Georges Melies' “The Vanishing Lady” (1896), in which the illusionist-filmmaker delivers on the title, making a seated woman disappear and reappear through the magic of editing.

Why start a Bob Dylan documentary (or is it a documentary?) in 1896 France? The cheeky answer is that Scorsese just likes Georges Melies, but that doesn't make it a bad answer. It's a direct reference to Scorsese's “Hugo” (2011) in which Ben Kingsley portrayed Melies, which raises the possibility that Scorsese has issues of authorship in mind. Starting with a wink and a nod to your own work is an efficient way to impress your auteur stamp on a film that consists primarily of footage of other artists' work.

Choosing this specific Melies clip also serves as Scorsese's promise to deceive, and therefore to entertain, by any cinematic means at his disposal. He makes the promise clearer by transitioning directly from the Melies clip to the word “Conjuring” in bold blue letters, hovering alone on the screen for a beat before he adds the words “The Rolling Thunder Revue” right under it. Revue then becomes Re-vue, and is finally completed by the subtitle “A Bob Dylan Story by Martin Scorsese.” So much to keep track of and we haven't really even started.

You probably get it by now. Netflix might call this a documentary, but it's a story, and a story by a guy who loves to play tricks, so be careful what you believe. The ostensible subject of said story is the Rolling Thunder Revue, a barnstorming rock tour through both small towns and big cities in America and Canada in 1975 and 1976, spearheaded by Bob Dylan but featuring a dynamite troupe including Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell, Roger McGuinn, and many others. Poet (and sort-of aspiring musician) Allen Ginsberg even hitched along for part of the ride, and is feature at length here.

The film mixes interviews (mostly new, some archival) with concert and behind-the-scenes tour footage. Unsurprisingly, Dylan is the chief talking head, but, also unsurprisingly, he's not all that helpful, claiming not to remember a thing about the tour because “it happened so long ago, I wasn't even born.”

Sure, Bob. Dylan is still wearing a mask, just like he did while performing at many stops on the tour, either an actual mask or thick white face-paint. Scorsese is quite enamored of the mask as a running theme, cutting in random footage of masked film performers. This also explains why Scorsese introduces us to Stefan van Dorp, the enigmatic and pompous European filmmaker who shot all the concert footage and is delighted to brag today about his crucial role in the project. We'd probably tolerate his vanity better if he wasn't an entirely fictional character played by performance artist Martin von Haselberg and serving, perhaps, as a mask worn by Scorsese – note that Van Dorp is credited simply as The Filmmaker. Did Scorsese cast him just because his name is Martin too? Sounds good, let's print it. ("It's all true!," bellows an angelic Orson Welles from a steakhouse high above.)

Viewers may or may not realize which of the talking heads are fictional, though film buffs should figure out that something's up once we start hearing from former Senator Jack Tanner (Michael Murphy). What's clear is that there isn't a chance in hell we're going to get to know the “real” Bob Dylan or even the “real” Scorsese, and it doesn't really matter.

I won't claim to be certain exactly what all of Scorsese's chicanery accomplishes. It may frustrate some viewers who wind up feeling betrayed when, to take one example, they find out that story about Dylan hooking up with a teenage Sharon Stone might not actually be totally, entirely, completely true. For me the various contrivances and misdirections serve as a reminder that, when dealing with artists, all we can rely on for certain is the art itself, and boy does “Rolling Thunder Revue” deliver on that front.

At the twenty-minute mark, Dylan launches into a performance of “Isis” that absolutely rips the roof of the house, with Scarlet Rivera ripping it up on violin (she's amazing throughout the film). It's some of the best concert footage I've ever seen, and it's just the beginning. We get a knockout version of “When I Paint My Masterpiece” and, oh man, the most amazing “A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall” you've ever heard. Just one molten hot number after another, peak Dylan beyond what I previously thought his peak was. Any skeptic who has ever sniped, “But Dylan can't sing!” can watch this movie and then kindly please never speak on the subject again.

It's breathtaking at its best, but is this Martin Scorsese's movie or Bob Dylan's? Trick question, because the real answer is that now it's yours.

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.

The Magic Flute

THE MAGIC FLUTE (Bergman, 1975)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Mar 12, 2019

Review by Christopher S. Long

The plot of Mozart's “The Magic Flute” never really made much sense. Prince Tamino's first accomplishment is to faint while fighting a dragon. This leads the Queen of the Night and her assistants to identify him as just the man to rescue the Queen's kidnapped daughter, Pamina. They probably just think Tamino's hot, which is fair enough. The Queen gives the prince a magic flute that will help him in his quest, but it doesn't really do much, and anyway, Tamino discovers that the kidnapper, Sorastro, isn't such a bad guy after all. A big battle brews at the end, but the bad guys just suddenly disappear, and everyone else lives happily ever after. Or maybe not, I'm not entirely sure. The End.

None of this has prevented millions from falling in love with one of the most-performed operas of all time, with Swedish director Ingmar Bergman proudly numbering himself among its biggest fans. Bergman actually tried to stage the opera in his childhood puppet theater, but wouldn't get to fulfill his dream until the much-ballyhooed 1975 release of his film adaptation.

After a few bucolic outdoor shots, Bergman moves into the theater (a recreation of the Drottningholm Theater, built in the 18^th century in Stockholm) and lingers on the faces of the audience members as they listen to the overture. Though he focuses on a smiling little girl, Bergman shows close-ups of a diverse collection of opera enthusiasts of many ages and races, suggesting his eagerness to share his love of this opera with the whole world. To be honest, I found this extended montage of face it a bit on the interminable side, but it's certainly heartfelt.

Though Bergman made some substantive changes to the material (Sarastro is now Pamina's father, which casts the Queen of the Night as an embittered ex-wife), he and cinematographer Sven Nykvist present a fairly straightforward staged opera, though with a few playful looks backstage, including the Queen of the Night (Birgit Nordin) taking a smoke break at intermission. The action moves briskly as Bergman delights in underscoring the grand artifice of the big show, with unconvincing (yet charming) costumed creatures cavorting in the background and the actual text of the lyrics at times draped above the actors.

As Prince Tamino and Princess Pamina, Josef Kostlinger and Irma Urrila are little more than a blandly virtuous prince and a princess in need of rescuing, but they were cast to sing which they do pretty darn well. Hakan Hagegard steals all his scenes as the comic-relief chatterbox Papageno, whose function has always been to steal pretty much every staging of “The Magic Flute” so Bergman's just observing tradition here. Nordin shreds it as the Queen of the Night. Is “shreds it” standard opera criticism? Sorry, I am but a novice.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.37:1 aspect ratio. The film was digitally restored in 2017 by the Swedish Film Institute. Criterion originally released this on DVD in 2000 (it retains Spine Number 71) with a transfer many considered subpar by the company's high standards. This high-def restored transfer showcases warm colors and a bright overall look. The image generally looks a bit soft, or at least not as sharp as the best Criterion 1080p transfers, but it's still a strong effort. I don't own the old DVD as a comparison point, but from everything I've read and stills I've seen online, this looks like a substantial upgrade.

Audio:

The music for the film was prerecorded with Eric Ericson as orchestral director, and the singers mimed to their lines for the film. The lossless stereo mix captures the score quite robustly with no dropoff or any evident weaknesses at all. Optional English subtitles support the Swedish audio.

Extras:

The original Criterion DVD release was bare bones. This Blu-ray upgrade isn't exactly packed with extras, but offers a few interesting supplements.

In a new interview (2018, 18 min.), critic Peter Cowie discusses the film's production history and provides some analysis of the unique Bergman touches added to Mozart's opera.

The disc also includes an interview with Bergman (29 min.), conducted by Sigvard Hammar, which originally aired on Dec 27, 1974, in tandem with the film's holiday release. Bergman casts himself as a populist, making an opera that the whole family can enjoy.

“Tystnad! Tagning! Trollflojten!” (1975, 65 min.) is a behind-the-scenes documentary which originally aired on Swedish TV on Jan 6, 1975. I found it a bit dull and rambling, to be honest, but fans might enjoy some of the looks at the film's crew hard at work.

The slim fold-out booklet includes an essay by author Alexander Chee.

Final Thoughts:

Bergman's “The Magic Flute” is often described as one of the best filmed operas, a judgment I'm not qualified to assess. It's certainly a fun ride, a much more sprightly and pleasant film than some viewers might expect from the stern Swede, but then again he directed his fair share of comedies. Like “The Seventh Seal.” Seriously, that's a damn funny movie – Gunnar Bjornstrand's sarcastic squire cracks me up every time.

King of Jazz

KING OF JAZZ (Anderson, 1930)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Mar 27, 2018

Review by Christopher S. Long

The jokes in “King of Jazz” (1930) aren't particularly funny and not every song swings, but this everything-and-the-kitchen-sink musical revue has one thing going for it: it never lets up, not for a second, not for a single beat.

Actually, it's got at least one other thing going for it in bandleader Paul Whiteman, the titular monarch whose reign over the American musical scene began in the 1920s and extended through much of the Depression era. A megastar in his day, Whiteman was known as much for his hefty Oliver Hardy-like physique (which he gleefully poked fun at) as his ornate symphonic arrangements, and this Universal project, produced by Carl Laemmle, Jr., was built entirely around his famous persona.

Eschewing any semblance of narrative, “King of Jazz” is structured as Whiteman's scrap book, sometimes literally as the pages of a giant book are turned on stage to introduce the next number. The film rockets through dozens of varied routines ranging from quick comedy bits (most of which were ancient in their day) to vocal trios like The Rhythm Boys (featuring a young crooner named Bing Crosby) to elaborate song-and-dance routines featuring dozens of performers. The most ambitiously and audaciously choreographed sequences helped to establish Hollywood musical standards later expanded on by Busby Berkeley and others. 

Inevitably, the bits vary wildly in quality, but both the hits and the duds celebrate the power of sheer chutzpah, and showcase a kaleidoscopic array of special effects. Whiteman's orchestra appears in miniature on a table top at one point, then crammed inside a giant piano. Double-exposed images are super-imposed over the numbers at times, and one singer's face is quadrupled in a proto-psychedelic shot. The greatest effect of all may be the early two-strip Technicolor, restored for this edition in all its gaudy glory.

No, check that. The greatest effects are still the performers themselves, especially a few of the more supernaturally flexible dancers. In “Ragamuffin Romeo,” dancer Marion Stadler is flung and spun into a series of seemingly impossible contortions, while in “Happy Feet” Al Norman shows everybody exactly how he earned the nickname “Rubber Legs.” A rousing rendition of “Rhapsody in Blue” (which Whiteman commissioned George Gershwin to compose for him in 1924) blows off the roof too. I'll admit that the film's over-over-the-top grand finale, a “Melting Pot” routine that consumes the final fifteen minutes or so, leaves me cold, but it sure as heck isn't for lack of trying.

The glaring problem with the film is that nary a black musician appears in this alleged kingdom of jazz, prompting the question “King, eh? Very nice. And how'd you get that?” A few of the experts who speak in the extras on this disc note this troubling element, and also point out that Whiteman wante to integrate his band and did employ African-American composers backstage. That doesn't change the fact that the film presents us with the absurd prospect of a supposedly comprehensive jazz revue that doesn't acknowledge the bulk of jazz history or its most prominent performers and pioneers.

“King of Jazz” followed on the heels of several uninspired Hollywood music revues and flopped at the box office, but it has since become a favorite of early music buffs and was added to the National Film Registry's archive in 2013. Since then, it has received an extensive restoration that led ultimately to this expansive Criterion Blu-ray release. Viewers might not be convinced that Paul Whiteman merited the title “King of Jazz,” but there's little doubt that he (and director/Broadway producer John Murray Anderson among many others) knew how to put on one heck of a show. 

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.37:1 aspect ratio. This 4K restoration was undertaken by Universal Pictures and based on the film's initial 1930 release. Surely much of the labor involved restoring the two-strip Technicolor to its original state which is something to behold – the colors don't look naturalistic and sometimes bleed out into the frame, and it's all quite beautiful. Image quality varies a bit throughout and there are a few missing frames here and there (the film is presented “in the most complete form possible”), but the final high-resolution product has a luminous quality that should satisfy everyone.

Audio:

The film is presented with a linear PCM mono audio mix. I swear I thought I was listening to surround sound at times. This music might sound a bit tinny at times, but the mix has a full, vibrant quality to it that more than does justice to the eclectic musical selections. Optional English subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:

Criterion has absolutely stacked this Blu-ray disc with an array of features sure to please music aficionados.

The film is accompanied by a commentary track by jazz/film critic Gary Giddins, music and cultural critic Gene Seymour, and musician and bandleader Vince Giordano.

Criterion has also included two new interviews. In the first, Gary Giddins (17 min.) discusses Whiteman's influence on jazz, and also the film's reception. Musician and pianist Michael Feinstein (19 min.) talks about his love for Whiteman's work and provides more information about the other musicians in the film.

Authors/archivists James Layton and David Pierce recently published a book about “King of Jazz” covering its production through its recent restoration. In four separate short video essays (42 min. total) they touch on different issues surrounding the film. We also get an extra short gallery of images of composer James Dietrich's notations on the musical score.

Four Deleted Scenes have been included – these were restored for the film's 1933 theatrical re-release but aren't part of the original 1930 film and thus not included in the feature here.

“All Americans” is a 1929 short film (19 min.) presenting an earlier version of the “Melting Pot” routine that ends the feature, also directed by John Murray Anderson.

“I Know Everybody and Everybody's Racket” (1933, 21 min.) is an oddball short from Universal starring... Walter Winchell? The Broadway gossip columnist is presented hard at “work” trying to pick up juicy new tidbits at the Biltmore Nightclub in New York, where the Paul Whiteman orchestra happens to be playing. Bizarrely, Winchell is portrayed as something pretty close to a collaborator with mobsters and seems to have no problem with it. This short is surprisingly entertaining.

An early sequence in “King of Jazz” features a cartoon showing how Whiteman became “King of Jazz” (its point and relevance escapes me, however). Criterion has decided to include two Oswald the Lucky Rabbit cartoons as final supplements, one of which co-stars an animated Paul Whiteman, and the other includes animation from the film. They run 13 min. total.

The insert booklet features an essay by critic Farran Smith Nehme.

Final Thoughts:
“King of Jazz” was a flop when it was released in 1930, but it has survived as a fan favorite more than eighty years later. This Criterion Blu-ray presents the film with a restored print showing off the glorious Technicolor and a vast array of extras more comprehensive than any of the film's fans could possibly have expected.

The Complete Monterey Pop Festival

THE COMPLETE MONTEREY POP FESTIVAL (Pennebaker, 1967)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Dec 12, 2017

Review by Christopher S. Long

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

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

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

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

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

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

Video:

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

Audio:

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

Extras:

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

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

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

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

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

Day One:

The Association – Along Comes Mary

Simon and Garfunkel – Homeward Bound, The Sounds of Silence

Day Two:

Country Joe and the Fish – Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine

Al Kooper – (I Heard Her Say) Wake Me, Shake Me

The Paul Butterfield Blues Band – Driftin' Blues

The Steve Miller Blues Band – Mercury Blues, Super Shuffle

Quicksilver Messenger Service – All I Ever Wanted To Do (Was Love You)

The Electric Flag – Drinkin' Wine

The Byrds – Chimes of Freedom, He Was A Friend of Mine, Hey Joe

Laura Nyro – Wedding Bell Blues, Poverty Train

Jefferson Airplane – Somebody to Love

Moby Grape – Hey Grandma

Day Three:

The Blues Project – Flute Thing

Big Brother and the Holding Company – Combination of the Two

Buffalo Springfield – For What It's Worth

The Who – Substitute, Summertime Blues, A Quick One While He's Away

The Grateful Dead – Viola Lee Blues

The Mamas and the Papas – Straight Shooter, Somebody Groovy, I Call Your Name, Monday Monday, San Francisco, Dancing In The Street

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

Disc Three:

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

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

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

Final Thoughts:

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

Buena Vista Social Club

BUENA VISTA SOCIAL CLUB (1999, Wenders)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Apr 18, 2017

Review by Christopher S. Long

The secret to the smash success of Wim Wenders' “Buena Vista Social Club” (1999) is no secret at all: it dishes up great music and that most reliable staple of all filmmaking both fictional and non-fictional, instantly likeable characters.

The title album had been released two years earlier to great success, in part thanks to the producing and marketing efforts of American musician Ry Cooder, who was keen to share the sounds of the great Cuban soneros of the pre-Castro era who, if not forgotten, were not the stars they deserved to be. The album was an instant hit, but Wenders' follow-up documentary, which directly follows Cooder on trips to Havana as well as on tour with the Club, launched it into the stratosphere as one of the best-selling records in the world. Where Cooder helped to sell the music, Wenders painted vivid portraits of the musicians behind the sound.

Of course, the real credit belongs to the performers themselves whose extraordinary appeal revolves around their definitive repudiation of any notion that advancing age must lead to gradual obsolescence. Ranging from their swinging sixties to their virile nineties, these singers, piano players, guitarists and percussionists leap off the screen as the youngest, freshest act in all of world music. Listeners encountering them for the first time had no doubt that they were hearing these performers right in the the primes of their careers.

Singer Ibrahim Ferrer emerges as the film's star. A mere lad of seventy, Ferrer's smiling face lights up the frame and his soulful baritone is so rich and elegant, audiences will be shocked to learn that the Buena Vista Social Club was his first broad success aside from his club days in the fifties. Singer Compay Segundo charms audiences with a knowing wink by noting that, at age ninety, his main interests in life remain women and rum, and music too. Pianist Ruben Gonzalez and singer Omara Portuondo (in her mid-sixties, the kid in the group) are so charismatic, you only regret that the film afford them so little time.

Wenders has minimal interest in presenting context or exploring background, so curious viewers will have to hit Google to learn where some of these performers got their starts or even what the title actually refers to. Instead, Wenders balances the film between stage performances and studio recording sessions, and traveling shots that glide through the streets of Havana or probe gently into the homes and private lives of the musicians.

At times, I find myself frustrated by Wenders' predilection for cutting from the middle of a rollicking number to another shot of waves splashing over the sides of a low-lying Havana bridge, but fans can always cue up the album for more sustained blasts of musical bliss. The film tracks the band's journey from Havana to a sold-out concert in Amsterdam and ultimately to a climactic Carnegie Hall performance with relish, but the point, I believe, is that their ongoing story consists of far more than just a few high-profile concerts, or even that smash album.

I remembered “Buena Vista Social Club” as being much more of a sustained rush than it actually is. Its pleasures are more mellow and contemplative than your typical concert film, and if it leaves you wanting much more of the actual music, then consider the possibility that that was precisely Wenders' intention.

Video:

The film is presented in Wenders' preferred aspect ratio of 1.78:1. This was filmed during the brief period where MiniDV was all the rage. It felt like it looked good then, but admittedly hasn't worn well even after a short period of time. The original master tape was used to make a 35 mm negative and that was the source for Criterion's digital restoration. I'm not sure exactly how much restoration was done, but the image quality is crisp throughout even if the MiniDV color scheme inevitably looks a bit wan and the overall look will never knock anyone out.

Audio:

The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 track is rich and vibrant and does justice to the music that is the heart and soul of the project. Optional English subtitles support the Spanish and English dialogue.

Extras:

Criterion has piled on the extras once again, though some have been imported from earlier releases.

The commentary track with Wim Wenders was recorded in 1999, way back in another century.

Wenders also chimes in with a new interview (Dec 2016, 26 min.) recorded for Criterion in which he shares his obvious fondness for his subjects, and also speaks about his long-term working relationship with Ry Cooder.

The disc also includes a 1998 interview with Compay Segundo (60 min.), originally broadcast on the Spanish television show “Las Claves.” For fans who want much more of this nonagenarian dynamo, the interview delivers the goods.

We also get a series of short radio interviews with various Club members, including Eliades Ochoa (10 min.), Manuel “Puntillita” Licea (8 min.), Orlando “Cachaito” Lopez (5 min.), Manuel “Guajiro” Mirabel (7 min.), Juan De Marcos Gonzalez (11 min.), Omara Portuando (8 min.), Ibrahim Ferrer (6 min.), Barbarito Torres (7 min.), Pio Leyva (6 min.), Ruben Gonzalez (7 min.), Manuel Galban (9 min.), and Alberto “Virgilio” Valdes (8 min.) It's more than a little sad to realize that so many of the performers have since passed on – it still feels like many of us only just met them – but that only makes these interviews even more valuable.

Finally, the disc includes three additional scenes (19 min. total) which includes a full version of the song “Candela” performed in Amsterdam as well as a Theatrical Trailer (93 seconds).

The insert booklet includes a lengthy essay by author and geographer Joshua Jelly-Schapiro.

Film Value:

I dug up one review that predicted the “Buena Vista Social Club” would be unlikely to win over any new fans. Safe to say that call didn't pan out. “BVSC” is one of the most successful music documentaries of the past few decades, and its many pleasures are obvious to all. I do wish it was heavier on the music and perhaps a bit lighter on tracking shots through the streets of Havana, but that's a minor quibble, and fans who get a taste of the performers in this movie now have ample opportunities to seek out more of their work.

Les Blank: Always for Pleasure

Les Blank behind the camera

LES BLANK: ALWAYS FOR PLEASURE (Many Films by Les Blank)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray Box Set, Release Date November 25, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

Les Blank's documentaries might be the most powerful all-natural anti-depressants on the market. And thanks to this epic three-disc release from the Criterion Collection they are, indeed, finally on the market in a set aptly subtitled “Always for Pleasure.”

I sometimes picture Les Blank as being like the doctor in a “Seinfeld” episode who describes everyone and everything he sees as “breathtaking.” More accurately, Blank trained his hand-held camera on the people and places he found breathtaking and celebrated their most vibrant, vital qualities. His twin obsessions were music and food with a pronounced, though not exclusive, fondness for the rural South. Prowling through Louisiana and Texas, Blank shot portraits of blues men Lightnin' Hopkins and Mance Lipscomb, and local Cajun musicians like Tommy Jarrell as well as various Mardi Gras street bands along with films that spotlighted the meticulous and succulent preparation of freshly caught crawfish, spicy gumbo, and other local delicacies. That you can really hear Les Blank's films is no shock, but damned if you can't taste and smell them too.

Blank's playful titles alone can put a smile on your face. Who wouldn't want to watch “Yum! Yum! Yum!” or “Garlic is as Good as Ten Mothers” or “In Heaven There Is No Beer?” The latter film, released in 1984, sees Blank turning his gaze north for a change as he chronicles America's red-hot polka scene, a musical genre he had only recently come to appreciate. Though Blank was just learning about his newest passion, he adopts his usual policy of full immersion, beginning with close-ups of feet spinning on the dance floor and beer steins overflowing with suds before blasting the music: “In heaven there is no beer. That's why we drink it here.” Nonsense, of course. Les Blank's heaven is all beer; it just happens to be right here.

Blues man Lightnin' Hopkins

Blank's immersion strategy reflected his belief that people (and their music and their food) are best understood in relation to their environment. “The Blues According to Lightnin' Hopkins” (1968) was Blank's first hit (as well as the first film on this Criterion set) and it certainly spotlights the titular blues legend who turns out to be just as skilled a raconteur as a picker and singer. But the film digresses frequently for shots of Hopkins' neighbors and his neighborhood. Blank was a gifted athlete and his agile camera could catch both the perfect close-up and the most distant peripheral details, a little girl playing on a fence or a field of flowers (Blank loved flowers so much he named his company Flower Films.) Hopkins' music stands on its own but gains a special poignancy when situated in the specific context that gave birth to it.

“Garlic Is As Good As Ten Mothers” (1980) does indeed focus laser-sharp on its titular fetish object, but the film features far more than just halitosis-inducing recipes. It relates the grand history of the stinking rose and the American Puritanism that led to the oppression of the magical bulb and its aficionados. Blank portrays a robust, nation-wide community of garlic lovers who will lurk silently in the shadows no more and want to share their love that dared not speak its name with every budding gourmet in the land. Garlic never smelled so sweet.

Gap-Toothed Women

“Gap-Toothed Women” (1987) is perhaps the most inspiring of all of Blank's celebrations. You can never accuse the director of burying the lede. The title promises and the opening shots deliver: a series of extreme close-ups of gap-toothed smiles greet the viewer before expanding into a study of women of all ages and ethnicities and the supposed flaw that makes them all beautiful. From celebrities like Lauren Hutton and Sandra Day O'Connor, to little girls and senior citizens, to artists and truckers, these gap-toothed heroines share tales of insecurity and triumph, each shining under the ecstatic gaze of Blank's camera.

This set presents 14 films (as well as a few related shorts and a passel of extras) that cover Blank's singular career from the late '60s to the mid-2000s. It is not a complete collection of his films, most notably omitting his best know work, “Burden of Dreams” (1982), the making-of documentary about Werner Herzog's “Fitzarraldo” that exceeds its already remarkable subject in every way. That's OK. Criterion already released that on its own along with the honestly titled “Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe.” You might regret a few other omissions like “Chulas Fronteras” (1976) but considering these films have long been closely held by Flower Films, this set is pure manna for Blank's fans.

The films on the set also provide ample evidence for those (like yours truly) who claim that Les Blank belongs on the very, very short list of candidates for the title of The Great American Filmmaker. As vivid, thrilling portraits of American individuals and communities, his body of work simply has no peers. And nobody's films could ever leave you feeling any hungrier.

The films are distributed across three Blu-ray discs. Short capsules of each follow:

DISC ONE:

“The Blues According to Lightnin' Hopkins” (1968, 31 min.): Blank had already made a short documentary on Dizzy Gillespie and followed his jazz piece with a portrait of the blues legend from Houston. Hopkins' magnetic presence is the selling point, but the film is every bit as much about Les Blank, showcasing the themes, motifs and philosophy that would define his career for the next 40+ years.

“God Respects Us When We Work, But Loves Us When We Dance” (1968, 20 min.) Perhaps the most anomalous film in the set, this is a chronicle of Flower Power at its brightest blossom during the 1967 Easter Day love-in in Los Angeles. Kids and dogs play, people twirl, and it starts getting real trippy about halfway in. Psychedelic music by Spontaneous Combustion

“Spend It All” (1971, 43 min.): Les Blank spent plenty of time documenting Cajun music and culture in Louisiana, but perhaps never more brilliantly than here. This is an ode to the history and vitality of the Cajun people although we do learn a nasty secret: one of them uses Hunt's Tomato Paste in his cooking. Great music, great food, and a very pragmatic party-goer who pulls out his own tooth before cracking open a cold beer. Warning: One or two animals start out being alive and wind up being dinner.

The unforgettable Mance Lipscomb

“A Well Spent Life” (1971, 44 min.): It's difficult to pick the most unforgettable Les Blank subject, but Mance Lipscomb is in the running. Lipscomb identifies himself as a sharecropper and speaks about the extraordinary struggles he's faced over 70+ years in Texas. It's not until halfway in that Blank even makes it clear that Lipscomb is also a very accomplished blues musician. Perhaps the structure of the film reflects the fact that though Lipscomb was playing music his whole life, he didn't record his first album until he was in his sixties. And he might not even be the most interesting Lipscomb in the film as wife Elnora absolutely steals the show.

“Dry Wood” (1973, 37 min.): Blank takes a look at Mardi Gras, not as frequently depicted on Bourbon Street but in rural Louisiana with many less-familiar and thoroughly riveting images and people. Lots of Zydeco and, yes, plenty of food.

DISC TWO:

“Hot Pepper” (1973, 54 min.): Shot at about the same time and place as “Dry Wood,” this focuses on renowned Zydeco musician Clifton Chenier. Chenier, a savvy professional who controls his image tightly, remains a bit more distant than most of Blank's subjects, but the camera gets a lot closer to many of the townsfolk ('round about Lafayette, LA) talking about life.

“Always For Pleasure” (1978, 57 min.): After spending so much time in Louisiana, Blank finally enters the heart of New Orleans, starting off with images of the many barges steaming into town every day and expanding to a multi-cultural portrait of a city that loves parades almost as much as it loves food and music. What a coincidence that Blank feels the same way. We see a more familiar view of Mardi Gras revelers here, but far more interesting are the scenes of the second-line bands who play at the raucous funeral processions that bop through the city streets. When the film screened at some locations, Blank would prepare red beans and rice (as seen in the movie) and walk up and down the aisles making sure the audience got a strong whiff of what they were watching. He called it “Smell-Around” and it sounds truly awesome.

Garlic Is As Good As Ten Mothers

“Garlic is as Good As Ten Mothers” (1980, 50 min.): Possibly my favorite film on the set for reasons I've already explained above. Blank argues quite convincingly that various garlic festivals and feasts are an act of resistance against the blandness of American food and culture. It may be his most sensual film, and that's saying plenty.

“Sprout Wings and Fly” (1983, 30 min.): North Carolina fiddler Tommy Jarrell is the kind of man who can tell a story about a relative who cut his toe off with a wood chisel and a friend who got drunk and was accidentally run over by an oxcart and make them sound even funnier than they already do. He also plays one mean fiddle.

DISC THREE:

“In Heaven There Is No Beer?” (1984, 49 min.): Shirtless old men cavort on the beach, couples stomp across the dance floor, and Polish-Americans brim over with pride like suds pouring over the sides of a beer stein. That's the power of polka happiness which has taken over this nation and, indeed, thrives only in America despite originating in Europe. This is a long way from Lightnin' Hopkins but the music is every bit as thrilling. If this movie doesn't make you smile, then you just need more polka. You may also finally learn who stole the kishka.

“Gap-Toothed Women” (1987, 31 min): Speaking of smiles, no film has ever shown so many radiant ones. Today we have an awful lot of bad ideas about building unjustified self-esteem. This movie was the real affirming deal.

“Yum! Yum! Yum!: A Taste of Cajun and Creole Cooking” (1990, 31 min.): Blank first met accordionist Marc Savoy while shooting “Spend It All” and they remained friends, in no small part because Les kept coming back for the cooking. If there's a single line that sums up Blank's philosophy it's Savoy's wrap-up to the film: “You know what's better than a bowl of gumbo? Two bowls of gumbo.”

The Maestro himself, Gerald Gaxiola

“The Maestro: King of the Cowboy Artists” (1994, 53 min.): Art is a religion, not a business. That's one of the credos of Gerald Gaxiola who takes great pride in the fact that he's never sold any of his paintings though it's not immediately clear who would be buying. Gaxiola calls himself The Maestro and stages Maestro Days where he invites California audiences to watch him do his “quick draw” paintings and other variety acts while decked out in rhinestone-studded suits he sewed himself. Though he claims to have no interest in the commercial side of art, he has eagerly pitted himself against the likes of Andy Warhol (Andy was so intimidated by the Maestro's personal challenge he just upped and died) and Christo in an effort to score his fifteen minutes plus. I'm not sure Blank quite knew what he thought of The Maestro, only that he makes for one heck of a movie star.

“Sworn To The Drum” (1995, 34 min.): This last film on the set is the only one that doesn't feel like a quintessentially Les Blank film. A tribute to Afro-Cuban drummer Francisco Aguabella, this feels more like a generic music documentary though it's possible my lack of enthusiasm is related to my relative disinterest in the musical genre. But you do get brief cameos from Dizzy Gillespie and Carlos Santana.

Video:

The films are all presented in their original 1.33:1 aspect ratios. Most were shot on 16 mm film and the grainy look is well-preserved and looking generally fantastic in high-definition 2K resolution. As you would expect the image detail isn't as razor sharp as some other Criterion 1080p transfers, but I never thought I'd see Blank's films looking so good. Very little damage is visible in any of the films.

Audio:

The linear PCM mono tracks for all films except “Sworn to the Drum” (which gets a stereo track) sound pretty wonderful. Not a lot of dynamic sound here but there's not really supposed to be. The music sounds great, the dialogue mostly clearly mixed though you will need the optional English subtitles to help with some of the dialects; some films have subtitles built into the prints as well.

Extras:

Criterion has really worked overtime on this set, providing at least one extra for each of the main fourteen films on the set. Blank didn't make his films alone and these extras feature several of his collaborators, including long-time filmmaking partner Maureen Gosling.

The extras are discussed by film below.

The Blues According to Lightnin' Hopkins:

-“The Sun's Gonna Shine” (10 min.) consists of extra footage from the film and illustrates one of

Hopkins' stories about childhood

-“Lightnin' Les” - Hopkins performs a song he wrote about his new friend Les Blank (3 min.)

-”Making Lightnin'” (8 min.) is an interview with Skip Gerson who collaborated with Blank on

some of his earlier films, including this one

-“An Appreciation by Taylor Hackford” (2013, 10 min.) Hackford, director of “Ray” and “Devil's

Advocate,” speaks about Blank's underappreciated poetic camera technique

God Respects Us When We Work, But Loves Us When We Dance

-“Flower Power” (6 min.) is an interview with Skip Gerson and Les Blank's son Harrod as they

discuss the creation of Blank's company Flower Films and other topics

Spend It All

-fans will probably flock first to this “Appreciation by Werner Herzog.” Herzog and Blank were,

of course, linked as a result of “Burden of Dreams” but Herzog had been a fan of Blank's work

long before then. Herzog says he learned more about America because of Blank's films and I

don't think you need to have been born in Bavaria to have the same experience.

A Well Spent Life

-“No Man Like Mance” (13 min.) is an interview with Skip Gerson and Chris Strachwitz, founder

of Arhoolie Records (and a long-time Blank collaborator), the label that signed Lipscomb and

distributed albums by many blues performers. Blank's sons Harrod and Beau are also interviewed.

Dry Wood

-“A Cultural Celebration” (18 min.) is an interview with editor, sound recordist and long-time Blank

collaborator Maureen Gosling, Taylor Hackford, and Harrod Blank. This feature discusses both

Dry Wood and Hot Pepper which is why the latter, the first film on Disc Two, is the only one

without its own extra attached.

Always For Pleasure

-“Lagniappe” (25 min.) is a short film composed of extra footage from the shoot of “Pleasure” and

which was compiled by Blank and Gosling in 2006. Blank just couldn't get enough of New Orleans.

-“Celebrating A City” (10 min.) is an interview with Gosling and collaborator David Silberberg

which talks about Blank's athleticism and his “smell-around” screening strategy.

Garlic Is As Good as Ten Mothers

-“For the Love of Garlic” (10 min.) is an interview with Gosling, Harrod Blank, and chef

Alice Waters who is featured in “Garlic.” We learn a lot of neat tidbits in these short interviews,

including the fact that Blank used to carry garlic buds in his pocket in case he needed to add a

dose to a meal during the course of the day.

-“Remembering Les” (10 min.) allows Alice Waters and Tom Luddy, co-founder of the Telluride

Film Festival and major Blank booster, to reminisce about their friendship with the director.

Sprout Wings and Fly

-“My Old Fiddle: A Visit With Tommy Jarrell” (17 min.) is a short film consisting of additional

footage from “Sprout”

-“Julie: Old Time Tales of the Blue Ridge” (12 min.) gives Tommy Jarrell's wife Julie a chance

to show off her story-telling talents

-“An Elemental Approach” (5 min.) sees Maureen Gosling discussing her editing strategy for

“Sprout”

In Heaven There Is No Beer?

-“Polka Happiness” (8 min.) is an interview with collaborator Chris Simon. Though it's not

spelled out, a few commentators mention that Blank, despite his joyous films, often dealt with

depression. Apparently polka helped him over a rough patch.

Gap-Toothed Women

-“Mind the Gap” (11 min.) is an interview with Chris Simon, assistant to the director Susan Kell,

and Harrod Blank. We are reminded that Les Blank loved women in many ways and how this film

was one of a few women-centric films he might have made (his file on Red-Headed Women never

made it to the screen.)

Yum! Yum! Yum!

-“Marc and Les” (7 min.) is an interview with Chris Simon and Chris Strachwitz talking about

Blank's relationship with Marc Savoy who appeared in multiple films.

The Maestro: King of the Cowboy Artists

-“The Maestro Rides Again” (29 min.) Blank continued filming Gaxiola and completed this

follow-up in 2005. The Maestro has now built a museum to himself. This film seems to take a

somewhat more skeptical view of the Maestro though perhaps that's just because the foodie

director was horrified by Gaxiola's project to paint a series of McDonald's franchises

-“The Maestro” (12 min.) is an interview with Gerald Gaxiola who, surprisingly, does not seem

entirely pleased with Blank's film and remains baffled both by Blank's approach and by the fact

that The Maestro has not become a famous artist.

-“Art for Art's Sake” (7 min.) is an interview with Chris Simon

Sworn To The Drum

-“A Master Percussionist” (10 min.) is the final interview on the set, with Chris Simon and

Tom Luddy

The square-bound 56-page booklet features a capsule on each film and wraps with a comprehensive overview of Blank's career by screenwriter and film professor Andrew Horton.

Set Value:

When Les Blank died in early 2013, I staged my own memorial on Facebook. It was a little hard to find material because Blank's films have been closely held by Flower Films, with only “Burden of Dreams” widely available. Now we have a huge chunk of his career available for home viewing. If my review is a few weeks past street date, it's because there's a lot of material and I vowed to watch every single minute of it (extras and all) before writing it up. I regret nothing. You know what's better than a Les Blank film? Fourteen Les Blank films.

Let me end with an easy pull quote. This is the Blu-ray release of the year.

Ornette: Made in America

ORNETTE: MADE IN AMERICA (Clarke, 1984)

Milestone Films, Blu-ray, Release Date November 11, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

You probably don't expect a documentary about a jazz musician to begin with a re-enacted Western gunfight or to take a trip into space, but Ornette Coleman wasn't like most jazz musicians. For that matter, Shirley Clarke, director of “Ornette: Made in America” (1984), wasn't like many other filmmakers.

Perhaps a director who blazed her own trail with landmark films such as “The Connection” (1962) and “Portrait of Jason” (1967) saw a kindred spirit in the free jazz pioneer whose style was so unique that existing terminology couldn't describe him. He didn't play harmony, he played harmolodics and he saw little difference between his idiosyncratic compositions and his idealistic philosophy/cosmology.

For such a complex man it's appropriate that this film had a complex genesis. Producer Kathelin Hoffman Gray had contacted Coleman to open a new venue in Fort Worth, Texas, Coleman's home town (a 1983 ceremony honoring the artist is the occasion of the opening gun fight). Gray soon learned about footage that Shirley Clarke had shot in the '60s of Coleman and his young son Denardo, then an aspiring jazz drummer, and felt Clarke was the best person to complete the project two decades later.

According to Gray, Clarke was interested in continuing her chronicle of an artist and his son (now an adult and an accomplished professional drummer) while Gray and Coleman saw the film as a contemplation of the creative process. Both perspectives play off each other productively in a film that combines documentary footage from multiple eras (present day being lensed by the great cinematographer and volcanic-non-eruption-survivor Ed Lachman) with dramatic recreations of Coleman's childhood in Ft. Worth, a hardscrabble experience for a young Ornette who could not have imagined he would one day be receiving the key to the city. Or maybe he could; he's got quite an imagination. 

The documentary utilizes multiple formats as well (8mm, 16mm, super 16, and video) while frequently overlapping concert performances from different decades. Shirley Clarke was a dancer before she turned to the cinema so it's not surprising that she would want her film to sway to the music. Several sequences are cut like experimental music videos, strobing and blurring along with the atonal songs. I'm not sure how successful Clarke is at finding a video analogue to Coleman's unique orchestration (her choices seem too redundantly literal at times) but the synesthetic attempt to answer the question “What does free jazz look like?” is occasionally quite intoxicating.

Clark is too savvy to try to answer too many questions about the man at the center of the movie. She's more interested in listening to his soft, slightly lisping voice as he holds court on a variety of subjects, alternating between insightful and utterly impenetrable. One of the great fascinations of Ornette Coleman is the impossibility of categorizing him. He is unique, a true American original and just one strange, brilliant dude. This one story he tells near the end... I just can't tell you about it. Any effort to stuff him or his work into a familiar box would have missed the point altogether. Instead, Clarke's cubistic decade-hopping approach leaves the impression that Coleman has always existed or perhaps that he exists simultaneously at all the points along his timeline, always in communication with all the Ornettes who have ever been or ever will be.

The documentary also features appearances by some of the artists and thinkers who occasionally wandered into Coleman's eccentric orbit, including William S. Burroughs and Buckminster Fuller. 

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio. The documentary combines footage from different decades and different formats (much in color, some in black-and-white) so the image quality obviously varies. From Milestone's press notes, “the film has been preserved from the original edited 35mm negative, which incorporates blow-ups form a variety of archival sources as well as Shirley Clarke's and Ed Lachman's Super-16mm original camera footage.” Obviously 8mm or 16mm footage will look grainier when blown-up but this high-def transfer from Milestone looks consistently sharp throughout with some of the concert footage almost startlingly crisp.

Audio:

The Mono audio mix was restored by John Polito of Audio Mechanics and sounds quite sharp and clean. I'm not enough of a musicologist or audiophile to tell you how true the sound is to Coleman's complex compositions and massive orchestras, but there were certainly no problems that I noticed. Optional SDH English subtitles have been provided.

Extras:

Nobody will ever accuse Milestone of going cheap on the extras.

“Shirley Loves Felix” is a fun little featurette (5 min.). Shirley, displaying her excellent taste, was a big fan of Felix the Cat. This short spot cuts Clarke into a typically minimalist excerpt from the Felix cartoon “Out of Luck” then plays the short feature in its entirety (or at least whatever survives of it).

“The Link Revisited” is a 32 minute interview with Denardo Coleman that revisits (surprise) one of the crucial scenes from the film.

The disc also includes a lengthy (59 min.) interview with Shirley Clarke conducted by Joyce Wexler-Ballard in a studio at UCLA on May 24, 1982. Clarke meets the camera's gaze and speak very candidly open her life and career. For any fans of Clarke, this is a very revealing and moving must-see. The only minor complaint is that this hour-long interview is not broken up into chapters.

We also get an audio interview with Clarke and Coleman that was originally recorded in 1986 for KPFK radio station in Los Angeles. It includes an introduction to the piece and runs 29 minutes.

There are also two trailers, one running 1 min, 31 sec and the other at 37 sec.

The Blu-ray also comes with a slim booklet featuring an essay by producer Kathelin Hoffman Gray.

Film Value:

It might not be the ultimate trip, but it's still a real trip. “Ornette: Made in America” was Shirley Clarke's final film, the capper to a career that has been much neglected but is now being revivified by the good folks at Milestone Film and Video. “Ornette” is Volume 3 in their ambitious Project Shirley. It is being released on Nov 11, 2014 along with Volume 2, “Portrait of Jason” (1967). Volume 1, “The Connection,” will follow in a few months.