Some Came Running

Images of the day, 10/30/12

The Exterminating Angel, Luis Buñuel, 1962.

But seriously, folks...

Here's a downed tree on Carroll Street between Smith and Court. My Lovely Wife (follow her on Twitter!: @ClaireicalError) were among the very lucky ones in terms of Hurricane Sandy last night, coming through with power intact and only a measly interruption in various digital services. Our neighborhood is a mess but not nearly as much as others are. This was no joke and continues to be no joke. 

It's tough after all the anxiety and post-storm confusion to know exactly HOW to help, beyond extending an immediate hand to neighbors who might be in need. I'd say to anyone out there who wants to lend aid from afar or not so afar, a visit to the website for the Food Bank For New York City is a good place to start. As is, as always, the Red Cross, both the nationwide site and the Greater New York site. 

If you have more pertinent links, or stories to tell, or just wanna check in, the comments are open for that. Be well, all. 

Image of the day, 10/29/12

Jared Gilman and Kara Hayward, Moonrise Kingdom, Wes Anderson, 2012

The last of Louise

That's Louise Brooks up there, flanked by John Wayne and Ray "Crash" Corrigan, with goofball Max Terhune in front of her, in a publicity still for Overland Stage Raiders, her last film, made in 1938. What a way to go. Overland Stage Raiders was an entry in the "Three Mesquiteers" short features made by the not-quite-Poverty Row studio Republic Pictures (you want to see REAL Poverty Row Westerns, go PRC) between 1936 and 1943. You think today's movie franchises overdo it, chew on this: there were fifty-one of them. The Mesquiteers were a trio of amiable cowboys whose adventures were kind of unstuck in time (in 1938's The Night Riders the boys appeal to President Garfield to help them out in a land-grabbing case, and he is assassinated before he can set things straight; by 1942's The Phantom Plainsmen they're fighting Nazis). The pictures were one of the many places where Duke Wayne found a cinematic home whilst kicking around Hollywood between 1931's The Big Trail and 1939's Stagecoach. 

Overland Stage Raiders is one of the more close-to-contemporary Mesquiteers tales, in which the boys discover that the mining business they have some kind of interest in (the fellas are really quite the entrepreneurs, with specialties in pretty much every kind of business venture that turns up in a Western) can somehow be improved via airplane travel, and determine to go into business with a young pilot, Ned Hoyt (Anthony Marsh) has a purty sister that Mesquiteer Stony Brooke is kinda sweet on. Yes, Beth Hoyt is none other than Brooks, her iconic pageboy hairdo replaced by a less-severe tonsorial non-style, long, loose and straight with ladylike pin-curls. The dresses she wears are kind of plain too. 

It's important to remember that the aforementioned iconic pageboy is only iconic today. Brooks' work with G.W. Pabst was/is sensational, but it didn't make her a star the way Dietrich's work with Sternberg on The Blue Angel did. This was the fault of the times, and, as Brooks recalls in her own indespensible book Lulu In Hollywood, her own fault as well. "[It] was during the making of Diary of a Lost Girl—on the last day of shooting, to be exact—that Pabst moved into my future. We were sitting gloomily at a table in the garden of a little café, watching the workmen while they dug the grave for a burial scene, when he decide to let me have it. Several weeks before, in Paris, he had met some friends of mine—rich Americans with whom I spent every hour away from work. And he was angry: first, because he thought they prevented me from staying in Germany, learning the language, and becoming a serious actress, as he wanted; and second, because he looked upon them as spoiled children who would amuse themselves with me for a time and then discard me like an old tow. 'Your life is exactly like Lulu's,' he said, 'and you will end the same way.' [...] At the time, knowing so little of what he meant by 'Lulu,' I just sat sullenly glaring at him, trying not to listen. Fifteen years later, in Hollywood, with all his predictions closing in on me, I heard his words again—hissing back to me. And, listening this time, I packed my trunks and went home to Kansas."

On the very next page of my edition, the opening line of her epilogue, "Why I Will Never Write My Memoirs," reads "'The trouble with us,' Grant Clarke told me in 1930, 'is that we are too degenerate for one part of Hollywood and not degenerate enough for the other.'"

Brooks made Overland Stage Raiders about six years before she packed her bags and went back to Kansas. In the movie, she looks as if she never left there. Although she looks entirely innocuous when Stony offers to carry some packages for her, Corrigan's Tucson Smith observes, "It never fails, when Stony meets a gal we meet trouble." Her now-seemingly cornfed looks and plain bearing aside, her line readings speak of elocution lessons above all. There is some not-unintriguing subtext available for her character. Brother Ned, it happens, is an ex-con; although he was cleared of trumped-up charges, he's still got a prison rap that turns out to be excellent kind-of blackmail fodder from back-East gangsters who wanna horn in on that mining bonanza. "Can't you forget the past?" Brooks' Beth asks her brother, and those familiar with the glories of Brooks' seedy, tragic, and definitively fatale Lulu in Pabst's Pandora's Box can easily imagine a past for this now-banal presence to have escaped from, if not forgotten. The feeling gets a little stronger, and a little funnier, when she looks up at Wayne and says, "Stony, there's something I've got to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago."

With Fritz Kortner in Pandora's Box, 1929. 

In a blog post in The New Yorker last spring, Hilton Als praises Girls' Jemima Kirke and her performance in that show thusly: "[S]he's less interested in our approval than she is in being watched." Als continues: "In this, Kirke is the descendant of Louise Brooks in almost anything." The tenability of comparing Jemima Kirke to Louise Brooks is, happily, no concern of this department. But as to the quality to which Als alludes, the interest in being watched, what fascinates about Brooks' presence in Overland Stage Raiders is the almost total absence of the desire to be even seen, let alone watched. Five years after turning down a lead role in The Public Enemy, six years before quitting Hollywood for good, she was done. 

Overland Stage Raiders, a pretty entertaining picture overall, as long as you're not too creeped out by Max Terhune's ventriloquism stuff, is available in a pretty nice-looking Blu-ray from, who else, Olive Films. 

All aboard for "Fun Size"

I'm sorry, that's "All aboard for fun time." Entirely different thing.

Fun Size, on the other hand, is a not-intolerable teen comedy opening today which I review for MSN Movies. 

"Cloud Atlas"

A substantial achievement, and a substantially frustrating one. Reviewed for MSN Movies. 

Literary interlude, with image from "Holy Motors"

Elise Lhomeau and Denis Lavant, Holy Motors, Leos Carax, 2011

She sank upon her knees beside his pillow, took his thin hand in her own; begged him not to make an effort—not to tire himself. 

His face was of necessity serious—it was incapable of the muscular play of a smile; but its owner apparently had not lost a perception of incongruities. "What does it matter that I am tired, when I have all eternity to rest?" he asked. "There is no harm in making an effort when it is the very last. Don't people always feel better just before the end? I have often heard of that; it's what I was waiting for. ever since you have been here; I thought it would come. I tried two or three times; I was afraid you would get tired of sitting there." He spoke slowly, with painful breaks and long pauses; his voice seemed to come from a distance. When he ceased, he lay with his face turned to Isable, and his large unwinking eyes open into her own. "It was very good of you to come," he went on. "I thought you would; but I wasn't sure."

"I was not sure either, till I came," said Isabel.

"You have been like an angel beside my bed. You know they talk about the angel of death. It's the most beautiful of all. You have been like that; as if you were waiting for me."

"I was not waiting for your death. I was waiting for—for this. This is not death, dear Ralph."

"Not for you—no. There is nothing makes us feel so much alive as to see others die. That's the sensation of life—the sense that we remain. I have had it—even I. But now I am of no use but to give it to others. With me it's all over." And then he paused. Isabel bowed her head further, till it rested on the two hands that were clasped upon his own. She could not see him now; but his far-away voice was close to her ear. "Isabel," he went on, suddenly, "I wish it were over for you." She answered nothing; she had burst into sobs; at last he gave her a long groan. "Ah, what is it you have done for me?"

"What is it you did for me?" she cried, her now extreme agitation half-smothered by her attitude. She had lost all her shame, all wish to hide things. Now he might know; she wished him to know, for it brought them supremely together, and he was beyond the reach of pain. "You did something once—you know it. Oh, Ralph, you have been everything! What have I done for you—what can I do to-day? I would die if you could live. But I don't wish you to live; I would die myself, not to lose you." Her voice was as broken as his own, and full of tears and anguish.

"You won't lose me—you will keep me. Keep me in your heart; I shall be nearer to you than I have ever been. Dear Isabel, life is better; for in life there is love. Death is good—but there is not love."

"I never thanked—I never spoke—I never was what I should be!" Isabel went on. She felt a passionate need to cry out and accuse herself, to let her sorrow possess her. All her troubles, for the moment, became single and melted together into this present pain. "What must you have thought of me? Yet how could I know? I never knew, and I only know today because there are people who are less stupid than I."

"Don't mind people," said Ralph. "I think I am glad to leave people."

She raised her head and her clasped hands; she seemed for a moment to pray to him.

"Is it true—is it true?" she asked.

"True that you have been stupid? Oh no," said Ralph, with a sensible intention of wit.

"That you made me rich—that all I have is yours?"

He turned away his head, and for some time said nothing. Then at last—

"Ah, don't speak of that—that was not happy." Slowly he moved his face toward her again, and they once more saw each other. "But for that—but for that—" And he paused. "I believe I ruined you," he added softly. 

—Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady (Chapter LIV), 1881, from the 1985 Library of America edition 

Disgracefully Overdue Face-Saving Blu-ray Consumer Guide, October 2012

How did this happen? With the best of intentions, I threw myself into the ostensible May Consumer Guide with relish after posting the April edition, and then, as Joseph Heller said, something happened. More than something, a few things. The necessities of making a living. The warming weather. Then the public pool opened. Then...I split my big toe open on a steel step and got twenty stitches in that toe, and, with no swimming options and limited exercise options, I figured, "Well, great, I'll finally get that Consumer Guide sorted. Hell, I might be able to get a COUPLE sorted if this thing doesn't heal up quick." But something else got a hold of me. I was possessed by an artistic impulse that consumed all of my attention and I thus finished a book that I'd been dicking around with for too long. So there was that. In the meantime the discs piled up, the notes stagnated.

So, I took what was supposed to have been some time off to catch up and produce this largely not-exactly-entirely-current-release-oriented assessment, to clear the deck and to maintain the integrity of my brand, damn it. The main problem with trying to produce one of these things on a consistent monthly basis is that it's not remunerative. I don't understand why. Blu-ray market too esoteric? Writer too esoteric? Who can say. If things don't get too distracting I hope to have a nifty holiday CG up before Christmas. I'll say right now so far that Universal Classic Monsters box is looking good. Enjoy. 

 

Black Sunday (Kino Lorber)

Eventually the enthusiast’s, or if you prefer, cultist’s cry of “Fantastic! The chef d’oeuvre of [insert name of cinematic object of reverence] is finally out on Blu ray, and it looks…fantastic” starts to sound like an inverted claim of “Wolf!” even among the converted, or at least the curious. But I’m not just being contrarian when I admit to being slightly underwhelmed by this high-definition version of Mario Bava’s 1960 breakthrough (auteur-wise) picture. This is an excellent presentation, don’t get me wrong. Of an English-language only version, in not-quite 1.66 framing, and…still showing speckles, wear, damage. Film restoration has not quite caught up with B pictures yet, and there were times watching this when, for the first time in a long time, I felt an awareness of the ways in which this picture and its maker were NOT able to transcend budgetary constraints. I don’t know if it’s the high-def, I don’t know if it’s advanced age and/or aesthetic calcification, I don’t know if it’s because for some reason or another this movie resides in my film memory a little too close to Murnau’s Nosferatu, but there you have it. Still. It’s Black Sunday and it’s a good looking version—an excellent looking version, above-mentioned imperfections notwithstanding—and it has an excellent audio commentary from Bava biographer Tim Lucas, so, there’s all that. —A-

The Color of Money (Disney)

Hey, remember that Popular Mechanics article I did a few years ago where I talked about Scorsese editor Thelma Schoonmaker agonizing a bit over whether to use the awesome powers of digital to turn some aqua-felted pool tables a little more green, and deciding that maybe it was okay after all? Well, they studio powers that be finally got around to running off a Blu-ray from that master. And it looks very delightful indeed. Scorsese has said that he wanted to shoot this Hustler sequel in black-and-white but was soon resigned to the fact that that wasn’t gonna happen; what we have here is a movie with muted, almost pastel colors and long shadows. But not a case of out-and-out desaturation. Bare-bones in the extras department but very handsome looking, and a pretty good movie, too; its compromises do not look like a very big deal at all, which is funny considering the cries of sacrilege that were raised by some at the time concerning the very idea of sequelizing the earlier poolhall classic. Now the picture looks more like a product of The Hustler’s era than this one. Bare-bones. —B+

UPDATE: In the wake of Bob Harris' scathing assessment of this disc (http://www.hometheaterforum.com/t/321398/a-few-words-about-the-color-of-money-in-blu-ray) I am given pause, and wonder if my assessment was made in too much haste. Please take the above with a grain of salt, and I'll investigate further and post an update in a separate post in the near future, I hope.)

The Conformist (Arrow, Region-B-locked U.K. import)

Blu-ray mavens very reasonably take exception to slathered DNR and its echo artifacts and more. But sometimes, when calling attention to it, they don’t, to my way of seeing,  take into sufficient account the fact that one doesn’t actually watch a movie on Blu-ray stepping through it frame-by-frame, the better to catch egregious digital image artifacts. Motion pictures move. And so, despite there being a certain amount of DNR softness on this disc, the overall viewing experience of the visually sumptuous Bertolucci film is a pretty impressive one. It is certainly the best it’s ever looked in home video format. Do I hope for a corrected, more carefully restored/fixed version somewhere down the line? I do. In the meantime, I do not regret purchasing this, because when I feel like watching the movie, it offers a better-than-watchable presentation. —B+

Demetrius and the Gladiators (Twilight Time)

The sequel to The Robe and a further demo of the Wonders Of Cinemascope, it has a weird low-rent quality that’s attributable I guess to Victor Mature’s presence in the lead (sorry Victor) and a more pronounced sword-and-sandal vibe that the prior picture. In any event, it doesn’t push the viewer to convert to Catholicism a whole lot, that’s for sure. Delmer Daves’ sure hand behind the camera notwithstanding, this old “4:30 Movie” fave is one goofy picture. It completely wastes Debra Paget, casting her as a virginal future martyr who does ZERO snake dancing or anything.  But it looks pretty great on this disc: Really solid colors. Good compression. Check out Susan Hayward in lavender. A little subdued in the saturation department compared to The Robe, but still pretty wonderful. —B

Desiree (Twilight Time)

This one, if you’ll excuse the inexcusable sexist metaphor, really separates the men from the boys in the CinemaScope festishizing department. Because it’s kind of a terrible movie. Marlon Brando gives one of his least-engaged performances (he might have been tranquilized, or thinking of buying a house) as Napoleon in this Henry-Koster-directed snoozefest. As he had also helmed The Robe, this gig gave him further opportunity to expand on his theory of widescreen. In Contempt Fritz Lang famously complains that the anamorphic format is good only for shooting “snakes and funerals.” Well, Lang forgoes coronations. And receptions after coronations. This motion picture seems replete with them. On the plus side, it’s a beautiful transfer of excellent materials; if one is sufficiently struck by the particularities of a CinemaScope frame, abstract or not, and has no need of a conventional movie to justify them, this serves a fine function. —B

Harold and Maude (Criterion)

I don’t remember the movie being quite this beautiful when I saw it as more or less a child, but I do remember every video version of it up to now being sufficiently ugly as to make me wonder what it was I saw in the movie in the first place, even. Anyway, now I know. Such a wonderful autumnal look throughout, imposing a sort-of reality principle on what is, I finally realize, a work of magical realism. In terms of director Hal Ashby’s work, it’s way closer to Being There than to The Landlord. That’s why I don’t mind the kind of dated counter-cultureish anti-military stuff; it KNOWS it’s outlandish caricature stuff. The larger point being, that this kind of presentation (not even getting into the extras, which are wonderful) is so essential because it can make you see a movie with fresh eyes. It’s not a repeat viewing, it’s a rediscovery. I’m grateful for Criterion for helping me rediscover this movie and for everything else they do. —A+

In The Mood For Love (Criterion)

This ended up in  pretty high position in the Sight And Sound “50 Greatest Films Of All Time” poll, and there was a lot of grumbling about this on blogs and social media. And I got it. “Sure,” I said, “It’s PRETTY great, but it’s not Wong Kar-Wai’s best movie.” Then I got this Blu-ray upgrade and watched it. In the immortal words of Billy Strayhorn, “oh yes I was wrong.”  Well, not WRONG, exactly. This still might not be Kar-Wai’s best film. But damn, is it strong, and unusual, and beautiful. I understand that a lot of his signature visuals have been picked at by so many carrion-esque commercial and music video directors, but that’s not his fault. And the fact is that they work here, and that he builds up such a tender, fragile, and yet very definite, emotional climax with his uncannily beautiful images and magnificent manipulation of sound that this certainly does achieve greatness, and the disc’s high-def upgrade is at times almost literally breathtaking. Watch it and tell me I’m wrong now. —A+

Jaws (Universal)

Helluva movie, that’s for sure. Interesting to hear that even back in the day John Williams couldn’t resist laying it on thick…not with the scary music stuff so much but with the borderline-insipid Gorton’s fisherman sailing music every time Quint pulls in and out of port. Said music is ever more enveloping on the otherwise very well-mixed  surround soundtrack. The image has been un-fucked-around with to the extent that you’d think a very pure filmmaker supervised the transfer. An exceptional package. —A+

 Lady for a Day (Inception Media)

Even going to the website doesn’t tell you much about who this “Inception Media” outfit is, but this seemingly anomalous release from the company is a gift horse cinephiles do not need to look in the mouth. Unlike a lot…hell, almost ALL…releases of TCM-type movies that aren’t actually put out on disc in conjunction with TCM, this rendition of a too-little-seen 1933 Frank Capra movie is really quite beautiful, very sharply detailed black-and-white with that luscious silvery quality relished by many of us. And  it’s  crackerjack picture, too. Adapted from a Damon Runyon story with the untransferable-to-Hollywood-title Madame Gimp, it's an exemplary mix of pre-code sass and Capra corn filled with memorable characters played by ace character actors. Massive. I’m not asking questions: I’m just preordering the company’s next vintage title, the British comedy On Approval.—A

 The Last of England (Kino Lorber)

Derek Jarman’s magisterially pissed-off  cinematic cri de couer contra Thatcher’s Britain is an assemblage of footage mostly shot on smaller gauge formats and blown up to 35mm, and this was of course entirely purposeful. Oversaturated colors, lots of grain, compromised focus; that, among other things, is what these images are made of. This disc presents a transfer that is not as entirely specific as I might have liked: often the amplified grain gives way to a more digital  variety of smear. If it happened too often it’d be annoying, but…As Godard demonstrated in In Praise Of Love, digital smear has some of the same expressive qualities as amplified grain. Hence, this rendition works damn well. A paradox of  the medium, for sure. —B+

 

The Lost Weekend (Eureka!/Masters of Cinema Region-B-locked U.K. import)

I applaud the U.K. label’s burst of enthusiasm for golden-age Hollywood fare: this is one of three such pictures Blu-rayed at the same time by MOC, the other two being Lifeboat and Double Indemnity. Here’s also to John F. Seitz, one of the very best cinematographers Billy Wilder ever worked with, and the guy who made the blacks in the shadows of this dark film practically palpable. There is a background contrast flicker thang going on here, and it’s very much in keeping with the film-going-through-a-shutter-at-24-frames-per-second issue, so it has its integrity and place. And once you’re absorbed in the drama you don’t much notice it. I have yet to look at the aforementioned titles that were part of this particular release spurt but I’m awfully excited to. Extras are extensive and offer some unexpected stuff, as is customary for this company. —A+

Magical Mystery Tour (Apple)

Richard Lester, after directing the Fab Four in A Hard Day’s Night and Help!, opined in a subsequent interview that the fellows make their next movie themselves, divorced from the “cult of film.” This television film, pulled together to rally the creative forces in the wake of manager Brian Epstein’s death, shows that Lester’s idea was maybe half-good. “We made it up as we went along,” Paul McCartney says right off the bat in his, good lord, director’s commentary. This possibly lysergic-inflected takeoff on a British tradition (the mystery tour, a day’s outing where the passengers don’t know where they’re going) is a mess, and at every turn you’re reminded of how much a surer hand and eye behind the camera and lights would have helped things. Hence, an artifact for Beatlemaniacs only, which category I am proud to almost fall into. The movie looks the way it looks, which is very casually-deployed 16mm style, where the lens flares are wholly accidental and no less lovely for it. The Surround versions of the (great) songs are pretty happening, Macca’s commentary is relaxed and not all that cutesy (he sounds, well, old) and the other extras, which include a genuinely informative “About The Supporting Cast” short film with awesome Ivor Cutler footage,  and a cut Traffic number (as in the band, with young fresh-faced Steve Winwood), are pretty happening too. —A 

The Mizoguchi Collection (Artificial Eye Region-B-locked U.K. import)

I can hear you now: “A four-film Mizoguchi box set on Blu-ray? What the fuck is up?” But don’t get too terribly excited. This British issue duplicated two of the four titles in the domestic, standard-def Criterion/Eclipse collection Mizoguchi’s Fallen Women. And, going by A-B comparisons of those pictures, 1936’s Osaka Elegy and  Sisters of the Gion, both are the same transfers. The beauty of the movies themselves aside, they’re not much to write home about: so soft that the improvement provided by the HD upgrade on the British material is barely discernable. (Of the two Sisters of the Gion has the overall better picture, which kinda bites if you prefer Osaka Elegy, as this reviewer does. It is not entirely surprising that the postwar (1946) Utamaro And His Five Women looks the best in this batch. 1939’s The Story Of The Last Chrysanthemums, alas, is super blotchy. But it’s also The Story Of The Last Chrysanthemums. —B-

Project X (Olive)

I maybe shoulda waited to finish this Guide and taken the time and filled in a more “distinguished” release from Olive, something like The Sterile Cuckoo or even My Son John, but let’s face it: releases such as this, a late William-Castle-directed sci-fi item made in 1967, are part of the appeal of the Olive brand. And we’ve got a couple more respectable Olive titles down the ways  anyways. This, Project X matches a sub-Dickean plotline to a very-television friendly cast that included Harold Gould, of all people, as something of a bad guy. The time-travel hijinks are abetted by very peculiar pre-psychedelic effects by Hanna-Barbara. These have to be seen to be believed. In a sense the whole movie does. The look is a little garish, evoking TV-movie-of-its-time-ness. As novelty Blu-rays go, not terrible by a certain standard, but some of your friends might look at you funny for owning it. —B-

Re-Animator (Image)

Oy, how many video versions of this have there been, anyway? And why do we continue to keep buying them? I don’t know the answer to the first question, and the answer to the second question has the initials “B.C.” This is a movie that it’s likely impossible to see with fresh eyes, and as an exceptionally well-made low budget enterprise, not shot in such a way that upping the definition is going to result in anything revelatory. But it’s a horror classic in excellent digital shape so if you’re ever loved it, or B.C., you should definitely get it. —A

Rio Grande (Olive)

This 1950 picture is arguably the slightest in the informal Ford “cavalry trilogy” that also include Fort Apache and She Wore A Yellow Ribbon. Ribbon is not yet out on Blu-ray, but Apache is, and as it is like Rio Grande in black and white, it makes a good point of comparison. Fort Apache, on Warner, has deeper blacks. Rio Grande doesn’t exactly tend to the soft side, but in some scenes one feels a bit sharpness-deprived. But I’m being picky here. This is passable throughout, and often quite a bit better. Ben Johnson and Harry Carey, Jr. at their cutest, and a rip-roaring Dale Evans song, “Aha San Antone” sung by Ken Curtis/Sons of the Pioneers. (UPDATE: In my haste to mention the participation of the Sons of the Pioneers in this motion picture, I elided a crucial point and said the Sons of the Pioneers sang this song. It is depicted in the film, rather [as a terse commenter points out], as being sung by Curtis, Carey, Jr., and Johnson. Who know's who's REALLY singing it, though.) What more do you want? Extras? Forget it, this is an Olive title… —A

The Royal Tenenbaums (Criterion)

For home use, Wes Anderson’s movies need Blu-ray like the flowers need the rain, like the winter needs the spring, etcetera. The only way the company could have improved this package would have been to get the rights to that Anthology rendition of “I’m Looking Through You” and slap it back on the final scene. Anyway, buy with confidence. —A+

 

Summer Interlude (Criterion)

I’m very much in the midst of exploring early Ingmar Bergman, and the takeaway I’m getting is that from the very start of his moviemaking career in the 1940s, he had complete confident control of his technical apparatus. Every shot, every camera movement, every cut, is absolutely sure and absolutely right. This 1951 tragi-romance is his tenth feature film, and it moves along like a sailboat cutting through the calmest of waters on a fleet but quiet wind. The digital restoration here is absolutely stunningly beautiful You see how gorgeous the cover shot is? Every frame of this disc looks that good. Incredible. —A+ 

Too Late Blues (Olive)

In which John Cassavetes, fresh (kind of)  from the very raw and real and fraught Shadows, tries to bring his preferred mode of filmmaking to Hollywood. The result is an odd, not at all bad picture about jazzbo Bobby Darin’s quest not to sell out…an actual concern for Darin, so he brings some real insight to the role. The Olive Blu-ray is solid, not very picturesque. But the picturesque was never Cassavetes’ bag anyway. If you are/were building a J.C. library, this fills a very substantial hole in it. —B+ 

Yellow Submarine (Apple)

This charming trifle doesn’t boast the most technically advanced ethos of animation you’ve ever encountered, which in a way is why a really technically advanced digital rendering of it is the only way to go. A lot of the scenes, as befits the psychedelic moment in which this was made pit very strong almost primary colors against each other and on top of white backgrounds. For the optimum effect, stuff bleeding into other stuff is discouraged. This Blu-ray is brilliant at that, and the results are gorgeous, eye-popping. The remixed soundtrack is well-executed and, again, exceptionally appropriate to a trippy gestalt. The original mono mix continues to work well. While its cuteness isn’t to everyone’s taste, again, if you’re a Beatle person, essential. —A

Panic in Detroit

You may not believe this, but Tyler Perry is the least of the problems with Alex Cross. But the movie's existence did give me a chance to concoct a gallery of passable-to-great movie detectives.

The Sessions presented this critic with a conundrum: it's a substantially laudable movie that does not connect in the least with my preferred aesthetic mode. SEE how I wrestled with this challenge in my review. For MSN Movies. 

Department of slightly overdetermined matching dissolves

Bored James Mason wants his mom to leave him alone so he can roll a die or two...

As he shakes the tumbler and turns it, a table leg and a rug appear...

Out comes the die, flying across the table...

But wait, why's that tennis ball following it...

...and what's with Mr. Winkle chasing after it...

...not to mention the girl grabbing Mr. Winkle's leg...

A peculiar visual flourish from 1943's The Man In Grey, directed by Leslie Arliss. The girl is Phyllis Calvert. From Criterion/Eclipse's very entertaining box set Three Wicked Melodramas From Gainsborough Pictures. 

It was 50 years ago today

 

In England, the Beatles make their debut television appearance, on the Sid-Bernstein-founded Granada TV, a northwest-servicing commercial television franchise. They perform the songs "Some Other Guy" and "Love Me Do."

 

 

In Osaka, Japan, American modernist composer John Cage gives a concert at Mido-Kaikan, for which he is joined by artist Yoko Ono for the piece 26'55.988" for 2 Pianists & a String Player. Ono served as Cage's interpreter for much of the artist's 1962 tour of Japan, and participated in several other performances, including the one pictured above, featuring Cage, David Tudor and Toshiro Mayuzumi.