Equinox

EQUINOX (Murren, Mcgee, Woods, 1967 and 1970)

Criterion Collection, DVD, Release Date June 20, 2006

Review by Christopher S. Long

(I'm reposting this 2006 review with some modest revisions. Nearly a decade later, the Criterion Collection has expanded significantly so perhaps the first few paragraphs aren't as relevant today. Criterion has actually released a decent amount of B-movie horror - now we need to get them working on more films from India, China, and a whole lot of other national cinemas. In any case, I don't remember a lot of these details about "Equinox" but I do remember that I enjoyed the heck out of this release.)

Many Criterion fans have been asking the same question in recent weeks: Who the heck decided to release “Equinox” (1970) in the collection and can I have some of what he or she was smoking?

The question is an understandable one. With its dirt-cheap production values and formulaic screenplay about teenagers battling demons and giants, “Equinox” ranks somewhere between B-movie and student film. What’s next: The Criterion Collection is proud to present … “Manos: the Hands of Fate”?

But this question expresses a bias of what constitutes “important” cinema. The Criterion Collection has always featured top-quality transfers, premiere extras, and, of course, great movies, but if I have any complaint about the company, it’s for their relatively narrow focus. The Criterion Collection bills itself as “a continuing series of important classics and contemporary films” but that “important” can too often be read as “IMPORTANT!!!” Criterion tends to stick with films by the most sanctified European or Japanese auteurs with the occasional nod to American independent cinema or classic Hollywood along the way. That’s a far sight better than the aesthetically-bland studio dreck the AFI’s most recent list is promoting as “Great Films” but it doesn’t do full justice to the diversity of world cinema. Understood in this context, “Equinox” is not just a quirky choice by Criterion, but a welcome step in an exciting and relatively new direction.

For every studio blockbuster or art-house masterpiece, there are thousands of home movies being shot throughout the world. Amateur filmmaking is the heart and soul of cinema, from the simplest vacation video to an ambitious backyard project such as “Equinox.” Dennis Muren, David Allen, and Mark McGee were three teenage cinephiles who worshiped at the altar of special-effects gurus like Willis O’Brien (“King Kong”) and Ray Harryhausen (“The 7^th Voyage of Sinbad” and many others). They didn’t just watch monster movies - they discussed them, scrutinized them, and paid tribute to them in the most loving manner possible: they made one of their own.

Literally filming in Muren’s backyard (and other nearby locations), they combined Allen’s puppets, McGee’s screenplay, and the help of several friends to shoot a feature-length film they eventually dubbed “The Equinox… A Journey into the Supernatural.” The title was grandiose, but the story was simplicity itself: four teens (the actors were in their 20s but played young) take a trip to the woods where they find a mysterious old book of evil and are attacked by an array of underworld denizens that includes an ape-like creature modeled on King Kong, a giant octopus, and a flying devil who really makes life hell for the poor kids.

For a film made by teens with no formal training and virtually no budget, the results are amazing and reflect the passion they poured into their debut feature. The stop-motion animation is rough, but quite compelling, and the team even figured out a way to use front projection (a technique not even in use in Hollywood at the time) to make some of the actors look like they were running in front of the animated puppets. Muren, who directed the film, also used forced perspective to create a scene in which a not-so-jolly green giant (played by friend Jim Duron) battles the group. The monsters are the raison d’être for the show, so it’s understandable that Muren didn’t focus too much energy on coaxing convincing performances out of his eclectic cast that includes the future Herb Tarlek of “WKRP in Cincinnati” (Frank Bonner) and, of all people, fantasy author Fritz Leiber in an all-too-brief cameo as the mysterious Dr. Watermann. If you're going to get upset about the stiff acting, maybe this movie just isn't for you.

The filmmakers were delighted with their results and were disappointed when they struggled to find any interested buyers. Fortunately, stalwart producer Jack H. Harris (best known for “The Blob”) saw promise in the boys’ handiwork and acquired the film with plans to re-shoot parts of it for a theatrical release. This ultimately involved re-shooting the majority of the scenes (with the same actors, now just a few years older) and adding a menacing forest ranger named Asmodeus (that’s never a good sign!) to the mix. Harris whittled the title down to the more succinct “Equinox” and it became a surprise hit in 1970, succeeding both in theaters and in home sales, fueled by ads in Forrest J. Ackerman’s legendary magazine “Famous Monsters of Filmland.” “Equinox” became a cult hit that was most ardently embraced by special-effects aficionados who were quite understandably amazed and downright inspired to learn that teens could make a “Harryhausen-style” movie in their own backyard.

Most fans are familiar only with the Jack H. Harris version which has played on many a late-night television station (probably one high up in the UHF band), but the Criterion DVD also includes the original 1967 version as filmed and cut by Muren and crew. Both movies use the same cast and same story, but the differences are considerable. The original version has a Hardy Boys “gee gosh” quality to it; the characters are more interested than terrified when they encounter flying demons and corpses, and the acting reveals an almost total disregard for psychological realism. It is much more an adventure film than a horror flick. The 1970 release is crafted to more closely fit the expectations of the horror genre, and the script and the performances have been polished to seem more naturalistic (we're talking on a relative scale here) as heroes become active participants rather than passive gawkers. This later version is more coherent and a bit “scarier,” but with coherence the flaws in the film seem more like mistakes than signs of personal craftsmanship. I appreciate the wide-eyed innocence of the original just as much, if not more, than the relative sophistication of the more professional version.

In the late '70s, Dennis Muren heard a rumor about a space movie a fellow named George Lucas was making and he asked if he could help out. The rest, as they say, is history. Muren now has seven Oscars (plus two Special Achievement Awards) on his shelf for his work with Lucas, Spielberg, Cameron, and other titans. He didn’t let his love of stop-motion animation blind him to other possibilities in the field. Muren was a pioneer both in short-lived go-animation (“Dragonslayer”) and CGI animation (with an award for “Jurassic Park” among others). David Allen likewise became a force in the animation industry with his work on films such as “Twilight Zone: The Movie,” “Willow,” and many others before his death in 1999.

“Equinox” is no masterpiece of modern cinema, but it is a lot of fun, especially when you know the story behind the movie. I suspect many viewers will get their kicks from laughing at the film’s wooden acting or ham-fisted writing, and that’s OK. But don’t condescend too much – this movie was made with a rare degree of sincerity and passion, and it helped to launch several successful film careers. I’ll take “Equinox” over at least half of the films the Academy has deemed Oscar-worthy over the years. Heck, maybe even three-quarters.

Video:

Both version of the film are presented in their original 1.33:1 aspect ratios. The 1967 version was restored from a 16mm workprint that I can’t imagine was stored under the most pristine conditions, and it shows the wear and tear of nearly forty years. The 1970 version looks considerably better, though it is quite noticeable when the film switches from the re-shot footage to original footage from the ’67 version. Of course, with movies like this, the poor quality of the image only adds to the charm, so there’s really nothing to complain about here. I doubt either film has looked better than on these restored transfers.

Audio:

The films are presented in Dolby Digital Mono. Optional English subtitles support the audio, and may be necessary in some of the more poorly-recorded spots.

Extras:

You wouldn’t expect a whole lot of extras for such a low-budget film, but you would be mistaken. Criterion has unearthed just about every possible nugget for this two-disc release.

Disc One includes both versions of the film, each of which comes with an audio commentary: Muren, McGee and animator Jim Danforth for the 1967 version, and Jack Harris and director Jack Woods for the 1970 version. The true joy for horror fans, however, is a video introduction by the legendary Forrest J. Ackerman who talks mostly about himself, but then again, he’s Forrest J. Ackerman, so why not?

Disc Two offers the most eclectic collection of ephemera I have ever seen on a Criterion release. The best approach is to summarize them in list form.

- Monstrous Origins: includes silent outtakes from the film (7 min.) and silent test footage (2 min.) of David Allen’s original Taurus puppet (the ape-creature in “Equinox”).

- Dennis Muren Interview (7:30).

- Cast Interview (9:35): with actors Frank Bonner, Barbara Hewitt and Jim Duron.

- “Zorgon: the H-Bomb Beast from Hell” (1972, 9 min.): A silent student film directed by Kevin Fernan, featuring not only the titular beastie but also cast and crew from “Equinox” (Mcgee, Allen and Jim Danforth) plus future FX/makeup guru Rick Baker.

- A David Allen Appreciation: Allen passed away in 1999, and this feature is a tribute to the legacy he left behind to the animation community. “The Magic Treasure”(19 min.) is a stop-motion animated kids' short in the spirit of “Frosty the Snowman” or “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Also included is a classic Volkswagen commercial featuring a King Kong who is delighted to find a Volkswagen spacious enough even for the portly primate.

-Equiphemera includes an endless array of stills, posters and just about anything else you can name associated with the film or with the filmmakers. I still haven’t gotten to the end of this one.

Disc Two also includes a trailer and two radio spots.

Finally, one of the best features in this set may well be the superb essay by Brock DeShane (who also produced the DVD) which highlights the delightfully garish insert booklet. This is a must-read for anyone who cares about this kind of filmmaking.

Final Thoughts:

“Equinox” (in either form) will never be confused with “Citizen Kane” but it’s a splendid example of amateur filmmaking and a damned fine piece of special effects work at that. Today everyone has access to advanced editing tools and effects via their Mac or PC, but in the 1960s, Muren, Allen and McGee achieved something pretty extraordinary. Kudos to Criterion for expanding its horizons and giving this film the attention it deserves.

Baby Peggy: The Elephant In The Room

BABY PEGGY: THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM (Iwerobor, 2012)

Milestone Films, DVD, Release Date Nov 5, 2013

Review by Christopher S. Long

(This fascinating portrait of one of Hollywood's great silent stars didn't get nearly enough play. I had a blast consuming this entire Milestone DVD, from the main documentary to all the Baby Peggy films includes as extras. Diana Serra Cary, the former Baby Peggy, turns 98 today, which makes this a great time to re-post my review and help film fans celebrate an impressive woman. And I strongly recommend this great DVD package, one of my favorite releases of the decade.)

Potty training is enough of a responsibility for most toddlers. Just imagine the burden when you're also your family's sole bread-winner.

Baby Peggy coasted for her first year, at least if you consider spending your days and nights in a tent in Yosemite National Park the life of Riley. But after Baby's daddy Jack uprooted the family so he could play cowboy (as a stunt double for Tom Mix and others) in Hollywood, she learned that she was going to have to earn her daily bottle. Peggy-Jean Montgomery was discovered in 1920 by director Fred Fishback and the 19-month old was put to work as a co-star with Brownie the Wonder Dog. After poor little Brownie proved too gentle for this wicked world, Peggy was forced to strike out on her own. She struck gold.

Baby Peggy became one of Hollywood's hottest commodities, shooting 56 comedy shorts over three years' worth of full work weeks. Peggy's precious reaction shots, surprisingly adroit stunt work, and ability to imitate stars like Pola Negri, Mae Murray, and Rudolph Valentino made her America's littlest sweetheart. The studio, along with her controlling father and banker grandfather, developed Baby Peggy into a major property with a line of merchandise covering the range from dolls to jewelry to underwear. She even shared the stage with FDR at the 1924 Democratic Convention. Or maybe FDR shared the stage with her.

By the age of five, Peggy had socked away over a million bucks in a time when that wasn't a hedge fund manager's pocket change, and she was promoted to feature-length films as a contender to the now rapidly aging child star Jackie Coogan (stretching his shelf life as a doddering ten year old). Unfortunately it wasn't enough for papa Jack whose feud with a producer not only broke her multi-million dollar contract but allegedly got her blacklisted for life. The grandfather billed as a banker turned out to be more of a bankster and absconded with all of the funds of the Baby Peggy Corporation, leaving the Montgomerys almost destitute.

Ever the consummate show biz professional, Peggy dusted herself off and shuffled off to vaudeville, logging even longer work weeks on the stage over the next several years, traveling the country on an endless tour. Several years of sweat equity bulged the family coffers to over $650,000 after which dad promptly lost every penny. Just north of ten years old, Peggy-Jean Montgomery had earned two fortunes and lost them both to incompetent relatives. She was ready for her next fresh start.

Dutch filmmaker Vera Iwerebor was a little girl herself when she first saw a postcard of Baby Peggy, and the image fascinated her enough to eventually write a fan letter to Peggy Montgomery. The response came from a woman named Diana Serra Cary, already a suggestion of an interesting story to be told. The two became friends, enabling Iwerebor to learn the rest of the tale and ultimately to share it with the world in this thoroughly entertaining documentary, “Baby Peggy: The Elephant In The Room” (2011).

The Montgomery family returned hat-in-hand to Hollywood where they worked as extras, but vague promises of future speaking roles never materialized for the former superstar. Peggy eventually left the family, finding love and religion while forging an entirely new identity as Diana Serra (the first name from a favorite actress, the last name from Franciscan friar Junipero Serra). She ran a bookstore, founded a greeting card company (conveniently marrying artist Bob Cary to help with the venture), and wrote several books on film history, mostly chronicling the biographies of child stars from Jackie Coogan to, of course, Baby Peggy. Not bad for a woman who received almost no formal education because she was working full time while still in diapers.

A good chunk of the documentary consists of footage shot over several days around Mrs. Cary's 90th birthday in 2008. In some of the most effective passages, she explains to her granddaughter Stephanie that she never had much of a childhood. She remains unfamiliar with most kids' games (Stephanie had to explain the concept of hopscotch) and admits that she quickly grew to resent Baby Peggy, a personality she considered distinct from herself, even staging a ceremonial burial for her infant alter ego. But several decades later, she became curious about what was left of the child star's legacy and has even grown fond of her once again now that several of the shorts (about 12 of the 56) have been rediscovered and have recently played to appreciative audiences.

Iwerebor must have had a difficult time winnowing this film down to its trim 54 minute running time. Both Baby Peggy and the adult Diana Serra Cary are remarkable ladies who deserve their own projects. The documentary benefits greatly by playing off their distinct charms; Baby Peggy beaming precociously from another century, and Mrs. Cary speaking so eloquently today. It might have been a sad film if the two couldn't be friends, but now that they seem to have reconciled we're left with an inspiring portrait of a great and no longer forgotten Hollywood star.

The documentary is narrated by actor Simon West, and the narration is co-written by Mrs. Cary.

Video:
The film is presented in 16:9. The new footage shot by Iwerebor looks just fine in standard definition; it's almost exclusively interviews or material recorded at a silent film festival. The silent film clips obviously vary greatly in quality as well as in aspect ratio, but none are so hopelessly damaged that they interfere with viewing.

Audio:
All of the dialogue is clearly recorded and, obviously, there are no audio concerns regarding any of the film clips. No subtitles are provided.

Extras:
Milestone never fails to deliver great DVD packages. While they didn't call in any film scholars to chip in with the project, they have included the most important supplemental material: Baby Peggy films. As mentioned above, only about a dozen of the 56 Peggy shorts are currently known to exist and most were found in European film archives. Three of them have been included here and they're really a blast.

“Carmen, Jr.” (1923, 11 min.) casts Peggy as a fiery senorita who embarks on “a Latin love adventure” which mostly involves dancing until she gets dizzy and taking the ring as a brave toreador taming a man in a cheap bull suit.

“Peg O' the Mounted” (1924, 12 min.) moves Peggy north to Canada where she rescues a Mountie and tracks down a band of moonshiners. She even rides a tiny horse in this one.

“Such Is Life” (1924, 17 min.) isn't quite the same escapist fare. Peggy is found homeless in the snow, but the plucky little bugger dives right into a career as a match girl and saves another child from a fire.

There are obviously a few shots or scenes missing from some of the shorts, producing a few abrupt jumps in the storyline, but overall they look fairly good, or at least as good as anyone could reasonably expect from films that could easily have been lost forever.

Peggy's brief sojourn into full-length filmmaking is also represented with the only feature that survives intact. “Captain January” (1924, 58 min, directed by former Keystone Cop Edward F. Cline) situates Peggy as the title character who washed ashore during a storm and was unofficially adopted by aging Maine lighthouse keeper Jeremiah Judkins (Hobart Bosworth). I was really caught off-guard by this moving story. Daddy Judkins is asked to give up his li'l Cap'n for her own good, and the tug on the heartstrings is undeniable. Peggy tends to her menagerie of pets (including a stork named Hamlet who gets renamed Ophelia after laying an egg) but is caught off-guard by a parrot who squawks “Go To H---!” in one of the more unexpected shots I've ever seen in a silent film.

Watching the movies, I was struck by the notion that they provide evidence that those primitive audience from long ago liked to spend their free time watching kids and pets do funny things. Peggy's charm is undeniable as well, and it's easy to see how she won over the hearts of so many viewers. I'd happily watch more if they were ever released.

The shorts are accompanied by scores performed by Guenter Buchwald. "Captain January" has a score by Donald Sosin with vocals by Joanna Seaton.

Final Thoughts:
“Baby Peggy: The Elephant In the Room” succeeds both as a record of a film history seldom told, and as a portrait of a remarkable woman. The journey from Baby Peggy to Diana Serra Cary is a story of determination and constant reinvention, and director Vera Iwerebor has captured it all vividly. Milestone's handsomely produced DVD includes three Baby Peggy shorts and a Baby Peggy feature that fill out the story and would be worth a purchase all by themselves. As mere “extras,” they sweeten the pot considerably, making this one of the most enjoyable DVD releases of the year.

For more information, check out the link at Milestone's site. You can also find more information under the Press section linked at the top of their page.

McCabe & Mrs Miller

MCCABE & MRS. MILLER (Altman, 1971)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Oct 11, 2016

Review by Christopher S. Long

“McCabe & Mrs. Miller” (1971) slowly builds up its world and its characters layer by layer, the better to tear everything down.

When fur-swaddled John McCabe (Warren Beatty) first rides his horse into the Pacific northwest frontier town of Presbyterian Church, he arrives as a barely noticed stranger. Crossing a rickety wooden bridge into the equally rickety wooden town, he enters a decrepit saloon, its cramped interior space shrouded in dusky gloom and, no doubt, pungent with the aroma of its unwashed clientele.

As the newcomer gladhands his way into a low-rent poker game, the saloon customers, only partially visible in the murk, whisper up a gossipy storm: “Is he wearing a gun?... Swedish gun.” Soon, saloon owner Sheehan (the always fabulous Rene Auberjonois) is racing through the gin joint like a town crier, announcing the stranger as “Pudgy” McCabe, a deadly gunfighter who's “got a big rep... a big rep.” Bit by bit, a Western legend is built.

In an uncharacteristically wise move, McCabe declines to confirm or deny the rumors, leveraging his “big rep” into the self-declared position of big man in town, peddling bargain-priced prostitutes to the town's lonely, grubby miners. The big man, however, is no match for the big woman. After a steam engine ushers Mrs. Miller (Julie Christie) into town, everyone's plans change. The Cockney entrepreneur, an expert on managing classy whorehouses and a fancy five dollar hooker in her own right, sweeps the shiftless McCabe up in her wake, and soon has the entire unkempt populace bathing regularly for the privilege of patronizing her prestigious establishment, now only nominally fronted by McCabe, who is lucky and (mostly) happy just to be along for the ride.

Director Robert Altman loved to turn his actors loose, and some of his best films often feel like documentaries about actors conducting “business,” the gradual accretion of their various tics and idiosyncrasies defining their characters more than any role they play in an amorphous plot that rarely matters much. The weaselly Sheehan, Shelley Duvall's mail order bride, and Keith Carradine's affable greenhorn cowboy just drop in from time to time, emerging as distinct presences primarily from a series of glances, mumbled lines, or, in Carradine's case, a ratty, stretched-out pair of long johns. Eventually we have a growing town full of snifflers, belchers, mutterers, and beard scratchers negotiating the turn-of-century transition from Wild West to proto-civilization.

Altman builds the town of Presbyterian Church nail by nail too. Shooting mostly in sequence, Altman incorporates his construction crews, dressed in period costumes, into many scenes as they actually build the set on location near Vancouver, as the town transforms from mud puddle to respectable tourist attraction, if not quite a glittering metropolis. Nothing in “McCabe & Mrs. Miller” could really glitter anyway. Altman asked ace cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond to degrade the image by partially exposing the negative before shooting, adding a weird antique patina that is simultaneously grubby and beautiful, all in gloriously dull color.

Still more layering. Altman recorded each speaking part on a separate track, giving him the opportunity to isolate vocals in scenes that include multiple simultaneous speakers, dialing them up or down as desired. The technique renders much of the dialogue barely intelligible, a quality that drove some audiences, critics, and Warren Beatty to distraction. Watching the film at home with subtitles transforms the experience so much, it simply has to count as cheating, but who can resist?

Layered on top of the endlessly overlapping dialogue is the ubiquitous use of several songs by Leonard Cohen, another make-or-break feature for audiences. What initially might sound incongruous to the setting soon becomes indispensable, with Cohen tracks like “The Stranger Song” (coded to McCabe) and “Sisters of Mercy” (coded to the most of the prostitutes) so tightly interwoven into the fabric of the film, it's hard to imagine the movie without them, and almost as hard to believe Altman only decided to use the Cohen music during post-production, dropping the surprise on most of his cast at the first screening.

If the film isn't particularly plot-centric and spends most of its creative energy on demythologizing the West and the Western hero, it still adheres in broad structure to some of the genre's classical elements. McCabe's posturing works on small timers, but he soon finds himself outclassed by corporate thugs who intend to take over his business by any means necessary. The audience has long since figured out that the deadly gunfighter is neither deadly nor much of a gunfighter, but the film still ends in one of the more spectacular shootouts in any Western film, a protracted, snow-covered spectacle that crisscrosses the entire town, and consumes the final twenty minutes. Zsigmond works magic, exploiting the edges of the 2.40:1 widescreen frame with sharp movements, long shots framing tiny figures against a vast landscape, and strategic use of the zoom lens. Few snow scenes have ever felt so darn snowy. Any bodies won't be found until winter thaws, which will be never, since the film ends.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 2.40:1 aspect ratio.

Because the film's negative was intentionally exposed to light (a process sometimes called “flashing”) to degrade the image, any video presentation can be a challenge (the Blu-ray release was delayed by a few months to continue to work on the transfer), and any release is guaranteed to generate a debate from experts, some legitimate and some self-styled, who are certain they know what the original release was supposed to look like. I can't attest to any of that, since the film hit theaters before I hit the world, but I know that this transfer looks very strong, and at least feels authentic. There are very dark shots where you'll be frustrated by how little you can see, surely as Altman and Zsigmond intended. And the movie looks suitably muddy and grainy throughout. Is it an exact reproduction of the original? Zsigmond died at the start of 2016, but participated in this transfer which is credited as “timed by Vilmos Zsigmond.”

I suspect you're going to be happy with this rich high-def transfer, and if you're not, you're unlikely to be please with ANY transfer.

Audio:

The linear PCM Mono audio mix is crisp and sounds like it's up to a difficult task. Altman's sound tracks are as complex as anybody's, and I'm sure it's a nightmare to replicate everything exactly. Usually I can say that Criterion audio mixes offer no audio drop off. That's not the case here, but when it drops off, or at least gets somewhat unintelligible, that's because it's supposed to. Even if Warren Beatty couldn't stand it. Optional English subtitles support the English audio, and most people will need the support.

Extras:

Criterion has absolutely packed this release with extras.

The film is accompanied by a 2002 commentary track with Robert Altman and producer David Foster.

The lengthiest extra is titled “Way Out On A Limb” (2016, 54 min.), a collection of interviews with casting director Graeme Clifford, writer Joan Tewkesbury, and actors Rene Auberjonois, Keith Carradine, and Michael Murphy. The feature jumps back and forth among the subjects, providing perspective from both cast and crew. Carradine clearly still appreciates Altman taking a chance on a teenage neophyte, and Auberjonois obviously loved working with him too. They also single out set designer Leon Ericksen for kudos (see more below).

The disc also includes a new interview (2016, 36 min.) with film historians Cari Beauchamp and Rick Jewell, who debate whether or not the film should properly be called an “anti-Western” and also discuss Altman's feelings about the genre (he wasn't a fan, perhaps because of his unsatisfying work on so many TV Westerns, including “Bonanza.”)

We also get a short feature (11 min.) that mixes two interviews with cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond, from 2005 and 2008. He talks about exposing the negative on purpose and also the challenges in preparing for a film where the director didn't always know what he'd be shooting the next day.

Set designer Leon Ericksen is spotlighted in an excerpt from a 1999 Art Directors Guild Film Society event in Los Angeles. Appearing in front of his peers, Ericksen is hailed as a rock star in this 37-minute video.

A promotional “Behind The Scenes” featurette (1970, 9 min.) covers the location shooting Vancouver.

Criterion has also included two excerpts from “The Dick Cavett Show.” Cinephiles will particularly enjoy the July 6, 1971 (10 min.) excerpt in which critic Pauline Kael takes the opportunity to enthusiastically defend the film against poor reviews from early critics like Rona Barrett and Rex Reed. She predicts that the movie, about to be rushed out of theaters, will be widely hailed down the road, so good call there. An Aug 16, 1971 excerpt (12 min.) sees Altman explaining some problems with the audio in the film's first critical screening.

The “Steve Schapiro Art Gallery” offers 28 stills from the set photographer.

An original Theatrical Trailer (2 min.) wraps up the collection

The slim fold-out insert booklet fetures an essay by novelist and critic Nathaniel Rich.

Final Thoughts:

This revisionist Western has just about everything, but I have to be honest. It had me at Leonard Cohen. Criterion's Blu-ray release has just about everything too, except any participation from the film's stars in the extras. I can live without that, but it would have been fun to hear the words “Hello, I'm Shelley Duvall” at some point.

The Executioner

THE EXECUTIONER (Berlanga, 1963)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Oct 25, 2016

Review by Christopher S. Long

This tender, heart-warming tale begins with a wizened, stoop-shouldered old man who has just killed for the last time, and ends with his awkward, greenhorn son-in-law who follows in his footsteps to work that trusty garotte for the first time. I dare you not to cry. It's the circle of death, and it moves us all. C'mon, everybody sing!

Director Luis Garcia Berlanga is so venerated in Spain that his name appears on street signs and buildings in his birthplace of Valencia. Spanish cinephiles often rank him alongside Luis Bunuel among the nation's greatest filmmakers, but his movies have received relatively minimal distribution internationally. “The Executioner” (1963) is the first Berlanga film I've seen and I have to admit the only other ones I'd heard of before, even in passing, are “Welcome, Mr. Marshall” (1952) and “Placido” (1961). Perhaps it's worth noting that in the 2012 “Sight & Sound” poll, six voters named “The Executioner” one of their top ten films of all time, four of whom are listed in the voting results as being from Spain, one from Mexico, and one from Uruguay.

On one of the extras on this Criterion release, Pedro Almodovar attributes Berlanga's relative lack of international distribution to the director's penchant for overflowing verbiage; his characters talk all the time and often at the same time as each other, and perhaps subtitles can't quite reproduce the experience for non-Hispanophone audiences. I don't know enough about Berlanga's oeuvre to evaluate that assessment. Surely there are other talky directors who have thrived around the globe (Woody Allen, Eric Rohmer) so perhaps there's a more contingent explanation: maybe his films simply weren't marketed effectively enough or at the right time and wound up being eclipsed by better publicized directors. Perhaps, maybe – indisputably, I should leave this matter to someone who knows more about Berlanga.

There's surely no reason “The Executioner” couldn't be enjoyed by audiences anywhere. In this satirical film, co-written by Berlanga, his long-time collaborator Rafael Azcona, and Italian veteran Ennio Flaiano, young undertaker Jose Luis (Nino Manfredi) strikes up a friendship with aging state executioner Amadeo (Jose Isbert), eventually marrying Amadeo's daughter, Carmen (Emma Penella), at more or less (ahem) the same time he gets her pregnant.

The screenplay, which traffics in a familiar brand of Kafka-esque bureaucratic horror, frequently juxtaposes the grotesque with the humdrum quotidian. A bored police officer slurps his lukewarm soup while sad-eyed Amadeo collects his pay for his just-finished execution. Jose Luis talks to his co-worker about making a phone call while the two of them guide a coffin across an airport tarmac with a line of black-clad mourners wailing behind them. At a family picnic, Amadeo, always eager to share his war stories, quite happily demonstrates proper garroting technique with a rolled-up newspaper.

The quiet gallows humor forms the gruesome basis for Berlanga's examination of the staggering price of assimilation. In order to secure a major upgrade in government housing, the affable but cowardly Jose Luis reluctantly agrees to follow Amadeo's example and apply for a job as executioner himself (he fills out the paperwork while licking a strawberry ice cream cone), plowing through layers of red tape to secure a position he doesn't even want. The film argues that he has little choice, or is at least very strongly incentivized to pursue his new career, in a tightly-regulated society ruled by a methodical logic. You've got to pay your way, and in Jose Luis's case the math is elementary: bring a life into the world, and the only way to balance the ledger is to take one. I feel like we're asked to overlook the fact that Jose Luis could maintain his personal sense of dignity by settling for more modest accommodations, but let's just go along with the premise.

Berlanga plays most of the film in a sunny tone, focusing on the budding romance and the comfort of domestic space, with the specter of death (i.e., state-sanctioned murder) looming off-stage. Even when newly-minted executioner Jose Luis, who reads the crime section with dread each day, finally gets his first assignment, the family treats it as an opportunity for the honeymoon they never had, as husband, wife, child, and father-in-law bask in the warm glow of sunny Majorca until Jose Luis is finally dragged (almost literally) to work. The light comic tone makes the final sequence all the more chilling, when Jose Luis does everything he can to stall and weasel his way out of the job, praying for a last-minute pardon or illness to take him off the hook. The extended, nerve-racking sequence culminates in a brilliant shot in a vast white room where it is the blubbering executioner, not the condemned prisoner or his bereft family, who collapses on his way to the death chamber and must be consoled by both priest and police.

“The Executioner” became a political hot potato in Francoist Spain after somehow initially slipping past censors; the film was allowed to play (with some official protest) at the Venice Film Festival where it netted the FIPRSECI prize, but drew criticism later, with Franco calling Berlanga “a bad Spaniard.” Some leftists also critiqued the film as an apologia for Franco, which seems like an inexplicable interpretation today, but maybe you had to be there.

The film's matter-of-fact approach to its dark subject matter may throw some viewers, but its a reminder that nothing is more absurd, or terrifying, than reality closely observed. And Berlanga sure has a keen eye for the tiniest and truest details.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. Criterion labels this as “a new digital transfer (that) was created in 4k resolution” which isn't the same thing as a restoration, but if this wasn't restored, it was certainly sourced from a well-preserved 35 mm negative. The black-and-white contrast is strong, though the film mostly takes place in brighter spaces, including the stark white of the room at the end. Image detail is strong throughout. Another top-notch 1080p transfer from Criterion.

Audio:

The linear PCM mono track doesn't have much depth and probably isn't meant to. It is, as is typical from Criterion, clean and crisp throughout. I think most of the dialogue is post-synched, so sometimes voices don't quite sound like they're coming from the actors, but that's fine. Optional English subtitles support the Spanish audio. The white subtitles are occasionally difficult to read against the brigher black-and-white shots.

Extras:

Criterion kicks off the collection of extras on this disc with a brief (4 min.) interview with director Pedro Almodovar, who labels Berlanga one of Spain's two greatest filmmakers, alongside Luis Bunuel. He argues his case enthusiastically in just a few minutes.

The main extra is a collection of interviews titled “Bad Spaniard' (2016, 56 min.) which includes interviews with the director's son Jose Luis Berlanga, critic Carlos F. Heredero, and several others. The features cuts back and forth among the subjects frequently, explaining why Berlanga is so widely admired in Spain. The director's name has become its own eponymous adjective, with Berlanga-esque representing an idiosyncratic brand of chaos. This piece details Berlanga's career from his film school days through “The Executioner” and beyond while also taking time to spotlight writer/collaborator Rafael Azcona's contributions to several of the director's key films.

“La Mitad Invisible” (28 min.) is a 2009 episode of a Spanish television series which investigates the film's influence since its release. I found the style a bit irritating, but it's worth watching.

The final extra is an original Theatrical trailer (3 min.)

The slim fold-out insert booklet features an essay by film critic David Cairns.

Final Thoughts:

The disparity between Berlanga's reputation in Spain and abroad is a reminder that we should understand the biases in any film canon. About ten years ago, the Spanish film journal “Caiman Cuadernos de cine” conducted a poll for the best Spanish films of all time. The top two are widely known – Bunuel's “Viridiana” and Victore Erice's “The Spirit of the Beehive.” Berlanga took the next two spots with “The Executioner” and “Placido.” Now, the top three Spanish films in the poll are all in the Criterion Collection. It's a good start.