The Shooting/Ride In The Whirlwind

The Shooting

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

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

Review by Christopher S. Long

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

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

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

Warren Oates, being awesome

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

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

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

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

Hanging out in Ride in the Whirlwind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Video:

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

Audio:

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

Extras:

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

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

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

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

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

Film Value:

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

Irma Vep

 

IRMA VEP (Assayas, 1996)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Apr 27, 2021

Review by Christopher S. Long

I remember first watching “Irma Vep” (1996) in film school. Like many viewers, I was baffled by the film's enigmatic ending and couldn't get those final scratchy, assaulting images out of my mind for weeks. While struggling, like any earnest film studies scholar, to interpret their meaning, I failed, like any earnest film studies scholar, to notice the film's most obvious quality: It's a total hoot!

In his vertiginous portrait of the joys, terrors, chaos, jealousy, and inspiration that form the short-lived desert-bloom culture of a film set, writer-director Olivier Assayas has plenty to say about the perilous yet exciting state of French cinema as it celebrates its centennial and warily eyeballs a new millennium. But whether “Irma Vep” turns out to be a requiem for or a celebration of the seventh art, Assayas and his cast and crew seem determined to have fun along the way.

Actress Maggie Cheung, playing a fictionalized version of herself, arrives on the set of a low-budget French art film in which she will star. She's three days late thanks to her previous project, a big budget Hong Kong action flick that ran over schedule, a reminder that Cheung (both the real one and the film's fictional version) is one of the most famous movie stars in the world, even if some of the members of the tiny, insular French crew are barely aware of her work.

Cheung meets with director Rene Vidal (Nouvelle Vague icon Jean-Pierre Leaud) who has made the bold decision to cast the Hong Kong star in his remake of the Louis Feuillade silent film serial “Les vampires” (1915-16). Cheung will play Irma Vep, the daring criminal thief first portrayed by Musidora, an actress hailed at the time by surrealist poets as the very definition of the modern, liberated French woman and who was crowned Paris's Queen of Cinema in 1926. Why cast Maggie Cheung as this most definitively French of French icons? Vidal attributes his choice to Cheung's “grace” and her “mysterious” persona. In other words, he's turned on by her.

Libido is one of the primary engines of creativity, and Cheung's presence on set fuels a great deal of creativity. Costumer designer Zoe (Nathalie Richard), tasked with repairing the slinky but flimsy latex catsuit into which Cheung is poured, both befriends and lusts after the actress. Some crew members gossip about Cheung's alleged sexual exploits while others pigeonhole her in xenophobic fashion as “the Chinese girl.” Cheung, for her part, integrates herself into the film set's culture while retaining a bemused detachment, something necessary to carve out her own identity while being fetishized by her co-workers in this strange, new land.

Assayas served time as a critic before directing his own films, and he's keenly aware that everyone holds their own loopy view of what makes a movie great. A hyperbolic interviewer (Antoine Basler) browbeats Cheung with his unbridled enthusiasm for John Woo (ah, the “ballet” of violence!) and his devotion to Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jean-Claude Van Damme, true artists who make movies for real people, not the pallid arthouse fare served up by intellectuals for intellectuals. Conversely, two former militant leftist filmmakers screen their old agitprop movie at a late-night cast party, but to minimal enthusiasm. For an on-set accountant (Alex Descas), what matters most is that the film can be projected to amortize at seven percent – now that's a great movie!

Rene, described at one point as a director who “used to be very good,” experiences a violent breakdown and gets replaced on the project as it rapidly spirals out of control. But just when all seems lost, we see the short bit of film that Rene had a chance to edit before his ouster. The grainy black-and-white footage, with its visual and audio scratches, and crude animation seemingly drawn right onto the film, could be seen as evidence of the director's mental turmoil, or perhaps as the promise of a whole new direction in cinema, a merging of the experimental (those two leftists at the party) and the mainstream (John Woo's “ballet”) that has always defined the medium. Perhaps you can still be a radical after all, even after a hundred years of filmmaking and the need to coordinate budgets with a half-dozen international production companies. No wonder Assayas describes “Irma Vep” as his film that has the happiest ending. Of course “Irma Vep” only pulled in a few hundred thousand at the box office on a $1.4 million budget so, y'know, there won't be a sequel.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio. According to Criterion: “This new 2K digital restoration was undertaken from the 16 mm and 35 mm camera negatives.” Most of the film was shot on super 16 and this 1080p restoration preserves the grainy look with sharp detail throughout.

Audio:

The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 surround track provides a sense of depth and handle's the film's eclectic soundtrack quite well. Optional English subtitles support the audio which is in French and English.

Extras:

Criterion has packed this release so heavily, they've spread the supplements over two Blu-ray discs.

In addition to the film itself, Disc One includes a recent interview (2021, 28 min.) with Assayas. The writer-director discusses the film's genesis, which started as a project with filmmaker Claire Denis. He also discusses how he first met Maggie Cheung (to whom he was married from 1998-2001) at Cannes, then writing and shooting “Irma Vep” rather quickly while he was preparing for a much larger project.

Disc One also includes two older supplements previously included on other discs. First is a conversation (2003, 34 min.) between Assayas and critic Charles Tesson. They discuss their shared passion for Asian film, and a 1984 trip they took to Hong Kong, which turned into a major article in “Cahiers du Cinema.” Second is an interview (2003, 17 min.) with actresses Maggie Cheung and Nathalie Richard regarding their experience on “Irma Vep.”

Disc One also includes thirty minutes of “On the Set” footage from the making of “Irma Vep.”

Disc Two leads off with “Les Vampires: Hypnotic Eyes” (2016, 59 min.), the sixth episode of Louis Feuillade's landmark serial film. I think “Les vampires” is public domain, though I'm not sure how that concept applies in French law, but I know it's not hard to find online. However, this 1080p upgrade of an episode is a pleasure to watch.

The second disc includes perhaps the best supplement in this package, the documentary “Musidora: The Tenth Muse” (2013, 68 min.) Directed by Patrick Cazals, this feature tells the story of the much celebrated French actress who portrayed the sultry Irma Vep, and inflamed the fantasies of a few generations of French film lovers. Musidora (real name Jeanne Roques) was far more than a fetish object. She was one of the first French women to direct films. She also produced and wrote in addition to acting, and hobnobbed with major figures of the time, including her friend Colette. Later, she worked with Henri Langlois and the Cinematheque. This is a fantastic documentary.

In “The State of Cinema 2020” (46 min.), Assayas holds court on what has and hasn't changed in film in the quarter century since he released “Irma Vep.” He has devoted a lot of thought to this and bombards the viewer with his densely-packed arguments, which is fascinating and also might require a few sittings to absorb.

Disc Two wraps up with two short supplements. “Man Yuk: A Portrait of Maggie Cheung” (1997, 5 min.) is a short directed by Assayas, which sort of picks up where those final images of “Irma Vep” left off. We also get 4 minutes of Black-and-White Rushes of Cheung on a rooftop set in her Irma Vep costume.

The slim fold-out insert booklet includes an essay by writer and film programmer Aliza Ma.

Final Thoughts:

With “Irma Vep,” Olivier Assayas appears to be asking a few major questions about his career and his medium of choice: “What have I been doing?” and “What can I do next?” The answer to the latter appears to be “just about anything.” “Irma Vep” argues, in part, that boundaries between genres and between high and low art are false. Cinema thrives on the confluence of its many historical crosscurrents, and Assayas's portrait of creativity as a gloriously chaotic mess is intoxicating and downright inspiring. Criterion has loaded this two-disc release with a strong array of extras to support this top-notch high-def transfer.

Chop Shop

 

CHOP SHOP (Bahrani, 2007)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Feb 23, 2021

Review by Christopher S. Long

In an early scene in director Ramin Bahrani's “Chop Shop” (2007), twelve-year-old Alejandro (called Ale, and played by non-professional actor Alejandro Polanco) and his friend step onto a New York City train with boxes of candy for sale. Young Ale delivers the passengers a brazen, honest pitch: “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the interruption. We are not gonna lie to you. We are not here selling no candy for no school basketball team. In fact, I don’t even go to school, and if you want me back in school today, I got candy for you.” There you have the entire film and its protagonist in a nutshell: no nonsense and a whole lot of moxie.

“Chop Shop” takes place in the Willets Point neighborhood of Queens, right in the shadow of Shea Stadium; chants of “Let’s go Mets!” can be heard in the background but they might as well be voices from halfway around the world. Willets Point is its own hermetically-sealed world of garages and body shops where Alejandro busts his ass to scrape out a living among the mechanics (both legit and dubious ones) and the street hustlers. Little Ale gamely flags down drivers who havecruised into the area looking for cheap repairs, guiding them to the shop run by his boss Rob (Rob Sowulski, a real garage owner.) A perpetual motion machine, Ale skips up stairways, races across bridges, and squeezes his tiny body through windows in the relentless pursuit of an extra buck, selling bootleg DVDs, stolen hubcaps, or anything else he can scrounge.

Soon, Ale's teenage sister Isamar (Isamar Gonzalez) arrives from a safe house to live with him in a cramped room above Rob's garage. Without parents, an education, or any kind of social safety net to rely on, the siblings' life seems precarious, but Ale is confident he can surmount any obstacle. He assures Izzy there's nothing to worry about because: “I'm gonna work this shit out.” Even when his faith in the value of all his hard work is sorely tested by jarring revelations that challenge what's left of his youthful naivete, Ale just keeps working shit out.

Like Bahrani's debut feature, “Man Push Cart” (2005), his second film immerses viewers in the working world of marginalized characters, most of whom are persons of color. Likewise, “Chop Shop” is also shot with a hand-held HD camcorder (with Michael Simmonds back as cinematographer) that follows Ale everywhere as he works and sometimes plays in Willets Point. Actor Alejandro Polanco actually worked part-time in Rob Sowulski;s garage for a few months during shooting, and this experience, enhanced by the intimacy of the handheld camerawork, lends the film an authentic feel few filmmakers have ever been able to capture so vividly. Don't mistake it as a pseudo-documentary, however. Bahrani and crew shot dozens of takes for some scenes in pursuit of that convincing illusion.

“Chop Shop” is also a city symphony film. Hundreds of films have been shot in New York City, many of them in Manhattan. Some have focused on other neighborhoods, but Willets Point is a kind of forgotten land, unseen by the hordes of Mets fans congregating right next door at Shea Stadium (at least until Shea was dismantled in 2009). Manhattan is clearly visible across the river, yet plays almost no role in the lives of the denizens of Willets Point. But this neighborhood of cheap side-view mirrors and quickie paint jobs is every bit as much a part of New York as anything “Sex and the City” or Woody Allen have ever depicted.

Alejandro Polanco delivers one of the best performances by a child actor that I've ever seen. Ale is plucky and preternaturally poised but without a hint of precociousness, and Polanco bought into the role completely, going places some adult stars wouldn't dare. In the train scene mentioned above, Polanco went onto a real train and sold candy to real passengers (a few were plants from the cast) who, in typical New York fashion, barely paid any attention to the camera. They just wanted some candy, like Ale just wanted some money. No nonsense. And a whole lot of moxie. What a great movie.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.78:1 ratio. Like “Man Push Cart” this film was shot on an HD Camcorder, but this high-def transfer looks a bit sharper, especially in motion. Detail is strong, colors are naturalistic. It's a solid improvement from the 2008 DVD released by Koch Lorber with its interlaced transfer, the only other release of this film I've seen.

Audio:

The film is presented with a DTS-HD Master Audio mix. The sound mix provides some separated details (background sound from location shooting) but is mostly spare with clearly-mixed dialogue. Optional English SDH subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:

Criterion is releasing both of Ramin Bahrani's first two feature films this week, “Man Push Cart” being the other. They've included a similar array of supplements for each film.

The film is accompanied by an old 2006 commentary track featuring Bahrani, Polanco, and cinematographer Michael Simmonds. This is listed as a 2006 commentary even though the film was released in 2007.

“In Search of the American Dream” (2020, 27 min.) is a conversation between Bahrani and scholar Suketu Mehta which touches on a variety of topics, including the influences of Ken Loach and neo-realism on Bahrani's work.

“Making Chop Shop” (2020, 22 min.) is a conversation among Bahrani, Polanco (now grown up), actor Ahmad Razvi (the star of “Man Push Cart” who also has a supporting role in “Chop Shop”), and assistant director Nicholas Elliott. Bahrani talks about first meeting Polanco in school as well as other details about production and even about getting to watch the film in Cannes while seated near Abbas Kiarostami. Viewers will probably be most interested in seeing the adult Polanco, now a successful entrepreneur.

Criterion has also included some Rehearsal Footage from the film, two different sequences that run a total of 33 minutes.

We also get a Theatrical Trailer (3 min.)

The slim fold-out booklet includes an essay by novelist Viet Thanh Nguyen.

Final Thoughts:

I'm certain I'm not qualified to determine what the single best American independent film of the 21^st century is. I'm equally certain that “Chop Shop” is on the short list of contenders for that honor. I fell in love with it the moment Ale gave his pitch on the train, and I found it every bit as potent on a rewatch 14 years later. Criterion has given this remarkable the quality high-def release it has long deserved.

Man Push Cart

 

MAN PUSH CART (Bahrani, 2005)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Feb 23, 2021

Review by Christopher S. Long

In a dimly-lit warehouse, silhouetted men lift boxes, pry open metal doors, and haul heavy equipment, all to prepare for another day of work on the streets. In his feature debut, director Ramin Bahrani immediately immerses viewers in the milieu of New York City food cart vendors, and the daily routine of protagonist Ahmad (Ahmad Razvi) as he attaches a propane tank to the back of his cart; he'll lug that tank with him everywhere he goes, unable to risk abandoning the only frayed lifeline still tethering him to the elusive American Dream.

Ahmad drags his bulky cart behind him, huffing and sweating his way to his assigned corner so he can sell doughnuts and coffee (in cups reading “We Are Happy To Serve You”) to yuppie office workers. In one harrowing sequence, he loses control of the cart and nearly tumbles into the path of merciless NYC traffic. The accident really happened and Razvi, an amateur actor who actually ran a food cart for a year, picked himself back up and heaved the cart as far as he could, hoping that the camera picked up the shot.

“Man Push Cart” (2005) largely defines Ahmad by his work at first, and we only gradually learn a few selected facts about him. A fairly recent immigrant from Pakistan, he is estranged from his young son, and his wife is dead for reasons unspecified though her parents blame Ahmad for it. At one point, Mohammad (Charles Daniel Sandoval), a Pakistani-American businessman, recognizes him as a successful pop singer from back home - the “Bono of Lahore” as Mohammad puts it.

Mohammad tries to give “Bono” a career boost, but Ahmad struggles to complete most tasks, whether they involve repainting windows, working a shift at a concert, or taking care of a kitten he finds in the street. Ahmad even watches passively as Mohammad vies for the affections of Noemi (Leticia Dolera), a Spanish food cart vendor with whom Ahmed has forged a modest connection.

Slump-shouldered, eyes downcast, voice hesitant, Ahmad may be suffering from depression, but it's fair to speculate if he might simply be exhausted. Bahrani and cinematographer Michael Simmonds, filming primarily with a handheld HD camcorder, stalk alongside Ahmad as he laboriously tows that cart along the same streets every day to the same corner to sell the same fifty-cent bagels - an extra ten cents for butter, fifty for cream cheese - all for the privilege of repeating the process the next day (yes, Bahrani cites Camus' “The Myth of Sisyphus” as an inspiration.) The camera clings closer still as Ahmad uses his totemic propane tank as a stepladder to hop a wall so he can eavesdrop on his in-laws, just to feel close to his son.

Every day demands hard labor made harder still in the aftermath of 9/11 and the shadow of the fallen Twin Towers. Ahmad and his fellow immigrants, the bulk of the NYC food cart workforce, live and work in a city where they can be targeted as “terrorists” at any moment, something that actually happened to Bahrani and his crew while shooting the film. If you wonder why Ahmad doesn't seize all his opportunities like the hungry dog he's expected to be, just imagine how tired he must be.

Bahrani researched this project for years, getting to know real food cart workers and learning about their work days. Working with a non-professional cast, a small budget, and an even smaller crew, Bahrani produced a true American independent film of the old-school DIY variety, one devoid of cloying indie quirk but heavy on respectful, empathetic observation. “Man Push Cart” captures a New York City seldom presented on film, a remarkable feat the director would pull of again with his second feature, “Chop Shop”(2007), also released on Blu-ray this week by Criterion.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.78:1 aspect ratio. The movie was shot on an HD camcorder, and it looks a bit washed out and not always sharp in motion, even in this new 1080p transfer. Darker scenes don't reveal a lot of detail at times. However, it all works well for the authentic feel of a low-budget film shot on the streets – a glossy, flawless look wouldn't be appropriate for the material. The handheld photography in this film is sensational at times, and this transfer does justice to the whole production.

Audio:

The film is presented with a DTS-HD 5.1 Master Audio sound mix. Location sounds (traffic, etc.) are well-mixed here and the unobtrusive score by Iranian composer Peyman Yazdanian is well treated. Optional English SDH subtitles support the mostly English audio (with some Urdu).

Extras:

Criterion is releasing two Bahrani films this week, “Chop Shop” being the other. They've included a similar array of supplements for each film.

The film is accompanied by an old 2005 commentary track featuring Bahrani, actor Ahmad Razvi, cinematographer Michael Simmonds, and assistant director Nicholas Elliott.

Criterion has also included “Backgammon” (1998, 12 min.), a short film by Bahrani about an Iranian-American family and a little girl who just wants to play backgammon with her grandfather. Clearly inspired by the works of Abbas Kiarostami, it even includes a direct and very sweet reference to Kiarostami's “Where Is the Friend's House?”

“Formation of a Filmmaker” (2020, 19 min.) is a conversation between Bahrani and scholar Hamid Dabashi, a former professor of Bahrani's at Columbia. They discuss some of Bahrani's influences, including Persian literature. Bahrani also talks a bit about his early production methods, including rewriting his script to suit his actors and also how he shot “Man Push Cart” with virtually no coverage, leaving little wiggle room in the editing bay.

The disc also includes a “Making Of” piece (2020, 25 min.), a discussion among Bahrani, Razvi, and Nicholas Elliott. Bahrani talks about first meeting Razvi as a server in his family's sweetshop. They also talk about other incidents during production, including being contacted by the FBI after a racist apparently placed a call claiming they were engaged in suspicious activities.

We also get a Theatrical Trailer (2 min.)

The slim fold-out booklet includes an essay by critic Bilge Ebiri.

Final Thoughts:

Bahrani's first feature film played at Venice and Sundance, and helped provide the breakthrough for a career that has continued for nearly twenty years now, with his most recent release, “The White Tiger” (2020), debuting on Netflix. Criterion has provided a solid release for the debut film of one of the best American independent filmmakers of his generation.