Blu-ray Consumer Guide: Labor Day 2013 edition

Given how and when the last Blu-ray Consumer Guide came into being, it may be that scheduling these to appear at random national holidays may be the way to go. 

Equipment: Playstation 3 for domestic discs, OPPO BDP 83 for import discs, Panasonic Viera TCP50S30 plasma display, Pioneer Elite VSX-817 AV amplifier/receiver.  

Blood and Sand (Fox)

This has been on my “to see” list since I read Tom Milne’s passionate and persuasive monograph on Rouben Mamoulian, recently reprinted in the BFI’s wonderful Silver series. It cites an article by Mamoulian for American Cinematographer in 1941, the year of this film’s making, in which the director writes of how he deliberately styled scenes in the movie after the work of Spanish painters: Murillo, Goya, Velasquez, El Greco, Titian, Veronese, Sorolla. The strictures of Technicolor in that year allowed Mamoulian sufficient flexibility to achieve dazzling visual effects, and this high-def transfer is simply breathtaking in their reproduction. The fact that Rita Hayworth and Linda Darnell are also dazzling visual effects in Technicolor is also a major plus. As for the remainder of the movie, you know how some people don’t really get Glenn Ford? I’m kind of like that with Tyrone Power. Oh well. Doesn’t matter. An amazing picture, and an absolutely appositely wonky commentary (imported by the standard def issue) by cinematographer Richard Crudo who, among other things, makes note of the scarcity of diffusion-wedge use in contemporary cinema. —A+ 

Body Double (Twilight Time)

Not a guilty De Palma pleasure, but a complicated one, in my case at least in part because my first New York girlfriend had a horrible date with Craig Wasson a little while before she first met me. So I’m torn between being grateful to him for being such a lunatic ass that he made me look good, and kind of thinking he nonetheless was asking for a smack in the chops. This was clearly made from a less wonky HD master than that from which the problematic Twilight Time Blu of The Fury was derived (I’ll be covering the corrected rendering of that picture soon to come from Arrow). It is a really beautifully detailed version, a little disquietingly so at points, as in the visibility of Melanie Griffith’s lower ribs in her topless dancing scenes. Have a cheeseburger, girl, it won’t kill you! The dazzling parts remain dazzling, and there are plenty of them. The silly parts remain silly, but I’ve developed affection for them. — B+

Cleopatra (Fox)

Sure is pretty. As is not unusual, the movie is not as bad as its detractors claim, or as good as its contemporary champions trumpet. Good lord it is long. But hardly as unwatchable as has sometimes been threatened. I recommend looking at it in 45-minute chunks. That way you’ll be all like “Hey! Hume Cronyn!” and all that, but not have enough time to start feeling super-bad for Elizabeth Taylor, who’s trying SO hard throughout. The transfer is so sharp that there are several scenes in which the leading lady’s real-life tracheotomy scar is PAINFULLY visible. Was that the case on the big screens on which it famously flopped? I need to ask my mom. —A-

 The Driver (Twilight Time)

A good, solid high-def transfer of a movie that didn’t inspire all that rapturous a reception when it came out but now plays perfectly all the way down the line. Inspired by Melville, clearly, but to my mind even more perfectly distilled than Melville’s own Le Samourai, in which one can detect a whiff of affectation compromising his attempt to wed Les enfants terribles to Le doulos. Writer/director Walter Hill achieved a kind of perfection here, particularly with his depiction of the brutality of the story’s criminal world. The movie is noteworthy for its preponderance of chase sequences, many of them set at night, and all of them are rendered nicely here. The greenish hue discerned in the DVD Beaver review was not quite as noticeable on my display’s settings, but where it was most present, as in O’Neal and Adjani’s exchanged-glance-on-the-modernist walkway, it wasn’t inapposite. Extras are typically minimal, which I usually don’t much care about but in this case I’m VERY curious about the makings of this movie, specifically Hill’s influences in the writing, and this disc tells me NOTHING about those things, so I’m withholding the “plus” from my grade. That’ll show ‘em. —A

The File on Thelma Jordan (Olive)

This unusually discursive 1950 noir mismatches Barbara Stanwyck against Wendell Corey. With Robert Siodmak at the directorial helm, one might expect some primo oddness, but the movie is frustratingly diffuse as it plods to an admittedly bizarre finale. The Olive Blu is an unextraordinary transfer of a not-great (scratches, wobbly contrast in places, etc.) source. For Siodmak completists only. —B-

 The Fog (Scream Factory)

Silly snobby me turned up my nose at this thing when it first came out in 1980, because it wasn’t “scary” enough. It’s still not particularly scary but good lord is it a beautifully crafted film, a complete pleasure to watch from shot to shot, start to finish. This Blu-ray honors that, far more than the Optimum issue released in the U.K. in 2008. It’s an example of the “good things come to those who wait” ethos of Blu-ray collecting. Although five years ago Scream Factory didn’t exist. How was I to know? Anyway, this is a gorgeous thing with terrific extras and something you’ll want to watch pretty often; there’s something kind of classic-movie-appealing about the way it plays with campfire ghost-story conventions that makes it apt for, you know, Halloween quadruple features and such. —A+

Heaven’s Gate (Criterion)

Still a problem movie, in that it wants grandeur, and largely achieves bloat. Also, the director’s cut doesn’t have my favorite line in the movie, which is “That man is a friend of the President of the United States.” (So Kristofferson’s character observes of a guy who’s mooning him from across a battlefield if I recall correctly.) Other portions of the extant dialogue are sloppy: one doesn’t admit to “blackballing” someone, seriously. I’m still fond of the line “Sure as hell isn’t convenient,” though. I’m rambling here. As far as the movie’s concerned, here are more complaints; No characters, just good actors looking tragic; overlong expository scenes; numbingly obvious political and moral points scored with relentless ham-handedness. The homage to Dr. Zhivago with Waterston in fur hat on train is pretty funny though. And there are some “stirring” moments and a fair amount of protean filmmaking. I’m glad this exists, I think the treatment is in many respects deserved, but don’t feel bad about yourself if you don’t fall in love with it. —B-

Help! (Apple)
Remarkably beautiful, in every respect. It’s one of those movie’s that’s directed with such simultaneous freedom and assurance that the flow of the innovations is kind of moving in and of itself. This is particularly true in the musical sequences, which in their way are as sublime as anything Busby Berkeley ever concocted. Richard Lester doesn’t much care if he pushes the aperture so the grain gets to Pennebaker levels, and he is wise not to care; his command of focus and color are what gives him the confidence to experiment, improvise. He happened to be working with artists of a similar bent, who were maybe a little tired of being put through comedy paces by this point but looked good and performed gamely. Wrote good songs for the picture, too. — A+

Keep Your Right Up (Olive)

In the late-Godard-aspect-ratio war, Olive puts its foot down at an unambiguous a 1.33 for this 1987 feature, a slight, light picture that extrapolates from the Woody Alien film editing scenes of King Lear and the string quartet rehearsal sequences in Hail Mary First Name: Carmen. Featuring Godard in a lead role, sorta channeling Peter Sellers as Chauncey Gardener and some unspecified Buster Keaton character simultaneously. Doesn’t do a bad job, either. The movie as a whole has an almost antiseptic look; unlike the maddeningly dark Detective or the multi-hued Nouvelle Vague this is bright and flat…rather like a TV commercial advertising the end days of cinema as Godard knew it. No extras, no choice about the subtitles, ‘cause they’re burned in; in other words, the usual gift-horse-you-ought-not-look-in-the-mouth from Olive. For Godard completists only. —B+

Kentucky Fried Movie  (Shout! Factory)

The food-oil-as-fuel joke in this movie has ACTUALLY COME TRUE, people. Other than that: This movie STILL looks terrible. As in super low-rent; the materials used were likely at their best, and they were transferred well. Actually, for celluloid nuts, the grindhouse crudity of much of the lensing has its own appeal, and given the pastiches involved in a lot of the takeoffs, the cruddy look is purposeful in a lot of instances. The first time I saw this 1977 movie I didn’t quite get it all. The second time, with a cannabis assist, I laughed harder than I had at any other movie. This time around, I thought it was pretty funny. Not quite sure I can pronounce it an immortal comedy on that basis. I still like it though. —B+

Lifeforce (Scream Factory)

The Showgirls of horror/sci-fi movies! Once considered louche and risible, what with its Steve Railsback post-Helter Skelter/Stunt Man cuh-razy astronaut and constantly nude space vampire Matilda May, it now plays pretty damn well, a gonzo Hammer picture with all the exploitation elements taken to their logical ‘80s extreme. The movie’s 70MM status wasn’t too played up at the time of its release but damn, on this GREAT looking disc the fisheye widescreen vistas look especially great. Terrific extras too. Unmissable. —A+

The Only Game In Town (Twilight Time)

I was looking for an auteurist lost cause to champion…and I didn’t find it here, alas. George Stevens’ last film is drab and lifeless, with decent individual moments (Warren Beatty’s stalk into the casino after he gets his money off of Elizabeth Taylor) lost in a fog of theatrical speechifying, dubious sexual chemistry, and cultural desert-wandering (you’d never guess this was a 1970 movie). The Blu-ray has a mixed look that mostly matches the movie’s lifelessness. Every now and then, on some comment thread or another, the perpetually dissatisfied and tetchy cinephile who calls himself Lex G goes on a rant about how 1.85 is a complete pussy aspect ratio. I do not agree with him, but if I had to take his side on the debate team, I’d make this movie Exhibit A. Stevens, who had done superb work in both CinemaScope and1.66 in the past seems utterly lost in the framing department here. And the cinematographer is Henri Dacae, for heaven’s sake. — B-

Possession (Second Sight region B U.K. import)

This movie is so great for a number of reasons, one of which is that is starts off at a pitch of emotional hysteria that most dramas take an hour or two or six to build to, and then it goes CRAZIER from there. The distribution and home video history of the 1981 Andrzej Zulawski is long and storied and perhaps even more insane than the movie itself. Hell, I didn’t even know this picture was in 1.66 until the excellent Second Sight Blu-ray, which gets my unqualified recommendation. Zulawski, predictably, does fabulously in the audio commentary, revealing that the movie was initially a project for Paramount (!!!) and recounting a dinner he had with Gulf and Western head Charles Bludhorn at which Bludhorn asks Zulawski “What is this movie about” and Zulawski responds  “It’s about a woman who fucks an octopus” and Bludhorn delightedly asks him when he starts shooting. And it gets better from there. —A+

The Producers (Shout Factory)

This label is unostentatiously turning into pop culture’s answer to The Criterion Collection. Mel Brooks’ debut feature is as sloppy a piece of technical work as you can get and still be a Great Film, but it is nevertheless delightful to be able to see it in something resembling the glory with which Avco-Embassy presented it in 1969. A single extra that wasn’t on the MGM standard def disc is the only addition to the disc array. But the Drew Friedman cover art is an absolutely marvelous extra in and of itself. —A+

 Safety Last (Criterion)

The 2005 box set The Harold Lloyd Comedy Collection was a labor of love, and that was evident throughout, but certain technical hurdles didn’t get fully addressed. The image on the features and shorts, while clear, had a lot of combing artifacts. That’s generally a thing endemic to an interlaced television picture, which, in the new HD era, ought not exist any more. The Criterion issue of  Lloyd’s best-known and perhaps best-loved film is in fact a 1080i (for interlaced) transfer, but nevertheless rids us of the combing problem, and presents a delightful, pristine image that represents the best way to appreciate the performer and gagman’s sunny  can-do disposition and athletic slapstick prowess. This retains most of the extras from the 2005 box (including an informed commentary featuring Leonard Maltin) and adds three shorts and a twenty-minute documentary featuring writer John Bengtson, who also contributes commentary to the shorts. One hopes more Lloyd of this quality turns up in high-def. —A 

Seconds (Criterion)

Sometimes one gets the feeling that John Frankenheimer enjoyed working in black-and-white more than he did with color. Or maybe it’s just that it shows more; I can’t really figure whether his black-and-white movies are more genuinely visually expressive than his color ones or if black-and-white brought out his ostentatiously arty side. In films wherein the subject is a kind of madness—this, The Manchurian Candidate—it doesn’t matter. And it especially doesn’t matter here, where the cinematographer is James Wong Howe, whose sensitivity and mastery more than redeem what would elsewhere be severely overdetermined use of the fish-eye lens. Not that such hell-visions perspectives are not apt to this horrific, grim fable about the denial of death and aging. The 1.78 image here is gorgeous, grainy, with blacks so solid you could swallow them, or they could swallow you. I have to look through my old Video Watchdogs to figure out what version of the grape-stomping orgy made it into the theatrical release; this may blow my theory about Blow Up being the first studio picture to feature full-frontal nudity (Seconds came out several months before the Antonioni). I discuss this picture in a bit more detail here. Upgraded from “A” for making Jeffrey Wells unhappy. — A+

The Servant (Studio Canal region B U.K. import)

Man, this is certainly the best looking version of the first Losey/Pinter collaboration I’ve ever seen, so much so that throughout I kind of wondered if it was too perfect. Little if any damage with respect to film materials shows. The black-and-white image is very smooth, with not much in the way of grain. But everything also has a filmic integrity: not much in the way of irritating digital artifacts show up either. A thoroughly credible, nearly breathtaking presentation of a movie of supreme creepiness and multiple ambiguities, with a lot more going on in its odd little world than mere role reversal. Master guitarist Davy Graham is now fully visible and appreciable in his bit part as a pub muso. The extras are voluminous, not all are in the greatest of shape, but the segment of the arts television program Camera 3 on the first New York Film Festival, featuring Losey and Adolph Mekas, is astonishing. —A+ 

Simon Killer (Eureka!/Masters of Cinema region B U.K. import)

Some may blanche that the “Masters of Cinema” imprimatur is going on the second feature of an American filmmaker who’s part of a production collective made up of what the aforementioned Wells would call “beardos” (see also William Holden in Billy Wilder’s Fedora). Let’s get some perspective here. This isn’t the first contemporary picture that the label has released. See also The World, Mad Detective, Tokyo Sonata. And while I myself am not 100 percent sold on this explicit portrait of a very ugly young American getting up to bad behavior in Paris, it is a largely effective construction (although director Antonio Campos is a little too hidebound in his belief that the slow back-and-forth camera pan is a really interesting way to connote that something sinister is happening beneath what’s playing out on the screen). The excellent disc is an object lesson in getting a great home-digital project from a digital source, a process that is not as automatic as a lot of people assume it is. The extras include a persuasive essay by Karina Longworth and a comic documentary short in which the filmmaker and star of the picture are interviewed in tandem with their mothers, and which ought to be avoided by viewers who are already super-skeptical about beardos in moviemaking. —B+

Tabu (Eureka!/Masters of Cinema region B U.K. import)

I shall make a confession here: this 1931 picture is probably my least favorite Murnau. Yes, it’s staggeringly visually beautiful, yes, its final moments of grim implacability are among the most sublime cinema has offered at any time and in any context. But, not to get all holy leftist or anything, its perspective necessarily is entrenched in Western paternalism, which turns out to be more of a stumbling block for me than Sunrise’s sexism. I think this is a genuine problem for the movie, objectively, just as the sexism in Sunrise is. (City Girl remains the most startlingly “progressive” extant film of Murnau’s late period. The MOC Blu-ray of that puppy is pretty awesome too.)  On the other hand,  it’s still effectively just a prejudice on my part because this is still an indispensable movie and it looks wonderful here (although man oh man is the 1.19 aspect ratio SEVERE) and the extras, which include an enthusiastic and informative commentary by critic Brad Stevens and historian R. Dixon Smith, are superb. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to the Nosferatu Blu-ray from this label. —A+

 The Tarnished Angels (Eureka!/Masters of Cinema region B U.K. import)

I didn’t expect to be watching this again so soon after I wrote a bit about Sirk and Faulkner for the blog, but the MOC Blu-ray seemed to land at my door mere moments after it was announced, and My Lovely Wife was interested in seeing it, so… Anyway, watching the movie with another person and with a different discipline in place, what struck me this time around was how the material was both hemmed in and made strange through the film’s marriage of convenience to conventions of ‘50s melodrama, particularly with respect to Dorothy Malone’s performance. Interesting, though, that Robert Middleton plays the ostensible heavy Matt Ord right down the middle; you could almost mistake him for one more lonely guy in this movie of lonely guys. The whole movie is more or less contained in the shock moment when the Mardi Gras partier masked as Death bursts in to Hudson and Malone’s reflective drinking; a shot I sometimes see in my mind in garish color. Angels is of course CinemaScope black and white, beautiful here. The extras are both scholarly and nifty and include unexpected treats such as a video interview with William Schallert and a contemporary article about the shooting of the aerial sequences from Air Progress magazine. —A+

Teorema/Theorem (BFI Region B U.K. import)

One of Pasolini’s drollest provocations and one of Terence Stamp’s most blithely enigmatic performances. There are very few extras, but one gets the feeling that the movie doesn’t want any explication beyond itself, such is its magisterially serene perversity. Nifty Morricone score too, you could almost swear the title theme was taken off a Freddie Redd record, but it wasn’t! (Per Nick Wrigley's tip, it's actually Ted Curson, not that you'd know from any goddamn credits. Morricone's versatile but not THAT versatile.) Watch on a loop until it tells you what to do with YOUR complacent bourgeois life. —A

Things To Come (Criterion)

I was getting all set to do a Very Important Comparison of a British issued Blu-ray and a Ray-Harryhausen-overseen Blu (on a double feature with She) of this eccentric futurist fable when along comes the announcement of a Criterion version. And once the Criterion version showed up in my mailbox, my suspicions were kind of confirmed: this renders the British disc…well, as it happens, not quite irrelevant. Criterion’s rendering sacrifices a barely discernable smidge of sharpness in the interest of smoothing out the picture for a more internally consistent viewing experience, while the 2012 Network issue opts for getting top detail out of a scratched-up source. I’ll be kind to the late great Ray and just leave his presentation out of the conversation. Anyway, my preference is for the Criterion. I’m not satisfied by the black levels on either rendering. Some will bitch about the grain, there’s a very good deal of it. Until a full-scale restoration is performed, and that’s not a matter of when but rather a very big if, this is as good as we are likely to get. And what a weird ass movie, with all those haughty guys in togas at the end. Yet as William Cameron Menzies directorial efforts go, this is on the relatively sober side (check out The Maze if you ever can; see also Chandu The Magician, twice a year is optimum). —A

Twixt (Fox)

You want personal filmmaking from an established old master? Well, like it or not, it doesn’t get any more personal that Francis Coppola’s digitally-shot, occasionally in 3D (although the disc I’m reviewing doesn’t have that option) sort-of genre movie in which still-bloated but highly game Val Kilmer plays a dissolute hacky horror novelist stuck in a zero-bookstore town (his signing is at the hardware emporium) sucked in to a twisty tale of bohemians and murder and vampires and ghosts. The first gonzo frisson is that the wife Kilmer argues about money with over Skype is Kilmer’s actual ex-wife Joanna Whaley. Then Ben Chaplin shows up as the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe, to give Kilmer’s character some writing advice. Then Alden Ehrenreich turns up in a hybrid of his role in Tetro and Mickey Rourke’s role in Rumble Fish. Then it becomes plain that a lot of the movie is about Coppola’s guilt over his son Gian Carlo’s 1986 death in a boating accident. Coppola demonstrates enough detachment to have a sense of humor about the manifestation of that guilt (and the scenes of Kilmer doing improv impressions to exorcise his writer’s block are a stitch) but there’s nothing funny about the complex sense of loss the movie evokes through various horror tropes, some more hoary than others. A sumptuous-looking transfer of a digital source, its only extra is a charmingly open making-of doc by Gia Coppola, the daughter Gian-Carlo never knew and Francis’ granddaughter, who has since the 2010 shooting of the film made another feature, Palo Alto. —B+