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DVD Digest for February 24, 2009

Paul Clark — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 15:00:00 GMT

This week, the midwinter doldrums hit the DVD market, with only a handful of notable DVD and Blu-Ray releases hitting shelves today.

The big news this week is the controversial Blu-Ray release of William Friedkin’s classic police procedural, The French Connection. Much ink has been spilled over William Friedkin’s tinkering with the look of his Oscar-winner for the Blu-Ray release, and while I can’t say for sure (not having bought into the Blu-Ray scene as yet) the images I’ve seen from the new release haven’t been encouraging. With their almost oppressive graininess and a color shift that appears to put the blue in “Blu-Ray”, nothing I’ve seen speaks very well to the suitability of the new technology Friedkin ran on the film when preparing the disc. But then, I’ve always been of the mind that DVD and Blu-Ray was meant to be not only a means of watching a film in the comfort of your living room, but also of film preservation, of keeping a record of the films they contain as close as possible to the way they were originally seen. Anyway, that’s enough of my editorializing. The French Connection is one of three Blu-Ray only releases getting released today by Fox, the other two being John Frankenheimer’s The French Connection II and Richard C. Sarafian’s Vanishing Point, a prime future candidate for a Reviews By Request column.

Another ideal Reviews By Request topic would be Eagle Pennell’s early proto-indie, The Whole Shootin’ Match (Watchmaker Films). Considered by many a keystone of the independent film movement, Pennell’s film went unseen for years before turning up again in theatres last year. Other classics coming to DVD today include Hector Babenco’s Ironweed, starring Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson, and Dario Argento’s Four Flies on Grey Velvet.

This week’s selection of recent releases coming to DVD is a pretty meager lot, highlighted by a pair of arthouse offerings: the documentary Chris and Don: A Love Story (Zeitgeist), about the author Christopher Isherwood and his decades-long love affair with much-younger artist Don Bachardy, and the Irish marital drama Eden (Ryko Distribution).

Finally, this week’s TV on DVD releases include: Bender and friends in their newest feature-length adventure Futurama: Into the Wild Green Yonder (Fox, also Blu-Ray); Bryan Cranston in Breaking Bad Season 1 (Sony); nineties “Must See TV” staple Just Shoot Me Season 3 (Sony); and family-friendly Indiana Jones-lite adventure in The Librarian: Curse of the Judas Chalice (Sony).

Precursors: Friday the 13th I-III

Nick Schager — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 16:00:00 GMT

Jason Voorhees, he of the menacing hockey mask and bloodstained machete, returns to theaters this weekend in Friday the 13th, not another of the franchise’s many sequels but, rather, a “reboot” produced by Michael Bay and directed by Marcus Nispel, the team behind 2003’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre do-over. Recently, I braved a return to Camp Crystal Lake so that those unfamiliar with the getaway’s horrific history (or those simply in need of a refresher course) might become well-versed in Jason’s legacy and, thus, properly prepared for his latest exploits. The first of this week’s three retrospectives – in this, the weekly column formerly known as See It First – begins in 1, 2, 3…13!

Friday the 13th (1980)

The one that started it all is something of a snooze, given that it’s mainly interested in generating tension via the mystery of its camp counselor-slaughtering madman’s identity. While numerous shots of the killer’s hands dispatching the staff of Camp Crystal Lake – reopened after twelve dormant years following a 1968 twin-homicide – prove serviceable shout-outs to Dario Argento’s giallos, they hardly rise to the level of suspenseful. Still, the finale’s revelation that the psycho in question is Jason Voorhees’ mother, driven mad by her son Jason’s drowning (thanks to neglectful camp staffers), is deservedly legendary, as is the cheesy gotcha climax in which decaying Jason explodes out of the water to grab hold of sole survivor Alice (Adrienne King).

Friday the 13th Part II (1981)

Steve Minor’s sequel may not be as memorable as its predecessor, but in its employment of various tropes – its introductory dispatching of the previous film’s heroine, its recap exposition, its red-herring scares, stereotypical characters and gruesome murders – the film nonetheless helped set the ‘80s slasher flick template. A resurrected, fully grown Jason, tormented by mommy’s decapitation, is now the one who wants to kill-kill-kill, and his targets are a group of counselors-in-training situated on the shore opposite Camp Crystal Lake. They’re dull, anonymous drones, but Miner’s concluding sequence is reasonably well-executed, and his depiction of Jason as an overalls-wearing baghead in the mold of The Town That Dreaded Sundown’s villain is kinda-sorta chilling – or, least, more chilling than the regurgitated final shot of mutie Jason slo-mo snatching another would-be heroine.

Friday the 13th Part III (1982)

Though ably enhancing a protruding eyeball gag, 3-D effects don’t make this third installment tolerable. Fortunately, however, two other elements just barely do: Jason’s maiden appearance wearing his legendary goalie mask (coming at exactly the one-hour mark), and a flashback that lends some twisted verve to the otherwise torpid proceedings. In said sequence, skittish female lead Chris (Dana Kimmell) recounts how, after being slapped by her parents for arriving home late from a date, she ventured into the woods, where she was accosted by Jason – and, as director Minor none-too-subtly implies, eventually raped. Consequently, Chris’ struggle to slay Jason is cast as an emblematic teenage attempt to break free from domineering paternal abuse/control, a surprisingly intriguing undercurrent for a series predominantly concerned with gory money shots.

Click Here For Parts Two & Three

In Other Blogs: The Movie Killer

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 15:30:00 GMT

Film critics may be disappearing from the pages of daily newspapers by the dozen, but it’s still not happening fast enough for some in Hollywood. Specifically, as Patrick Goldstein writes in The Big Picture, New York Times critic Manohla Dargis is feared and loathed by studio brass. “It's an open secret in indie Hollywood that no one wants Manohla Dargis to review their movie, fearing that the outspoken critic will tear their film limb from limb. It's the ultimate backhanded compliment, since what they really fear is Manohla's persuasiveness -- that she'll write a review whose combination of vitriolic snarkiness and intellectual heft will actually persuade high-brow moviegoers to drop the film from their must-see list. (To be fair, she can be equally passionate about films she loves; for example, Synecdoche, New York, or anything by David Lynch.)… No one blinks an eye when a critic eviscerates a dumb summer comedy -- that's a fair target. It's the filmmakers who've aimed high and been brought to their knees by a Dargis pan who feel as if they've been gored for sport. You might say Manohla occupies a unique perch: She's the critic you love to read, just as long as you're not reading about your movie.”

Karina Longworth takes issue with Goldstein at Spoutblog. “It’s almost as if Goldstein is advocating for a kind of affirmative action for art (or, at least, artsy) films: all pictures may be on a level playing field in Manohla’s eyes, but a certain type of picture should be given special consideration for at least trying to be art, even if it fails… I guess it’s not that surprising that Goldstein’s attack on Manohla would resemble the faux-populist, ‘Let’s see you do better’ line of the over-protective commenter class. But if he’s actually suggesting that critics should allow “empathy” for the architects of blatant awards bait to temper their judgements, then this might be his harshest anti-criticism statement yet.”

At Beyond the Multiplex, Andrew O’Hehir chats with Steven Soderbergh about Che. ‘It was still, for a long time, one script. And it was becoming really unwieldy. And worse than that, because it was so long, we were still trying to make it into one film, or one normal-length film. The themes were really, really short, and you really couldn't go into any detail about anything and it started to feel like a two-hour trailer for a four-hour movie. And that's when I suggested busting it in half…My attitude was like, "Look, in nature, when a cell gets too big, it divides in order to survive. That's what we've got here. That's what we have to do." And I think, in retrospect, it was the right thing to do. Now I look at it and wish we'd just gone to HBO and done 10 hours.”

Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule pays tribute to Forrest J. Ackerman with a video presentation: My Visit to the Ackermansion. “In 1998 my wife and I made a pilgrimage to the Ackermansion and, some 20 or so years after my obsession with Famous Monsters had been tabled, I finally got to meet the man who had meant so much to me in the formative years of my film education. I brought along a video camera and taped the entire affair, a glimpse inside the halls of the most famous movie mansion of them all…if you never got a chance to take the trip yourself, spend some time with the Ackermonster and enjoy him doing what he enjoyed most—interacting with fans and reliving a life well spent chronicling his beloved history of horror.”

Year-end lists are trickling in. Marshall Fine’s top ten at Hollywood and Fine is topped by Revolutionary Road. “Director Sam Mendes returns to suburbia circa 1956 and reteams Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet in this film version of Richard Yates’ novel. The acting is terrific – nuanced yet passionate – and Mendes captures the novel’s era-defining feeling of seekers putting their dreams on hold to chase conventional success.” Nathan Lee has five underrated films that deserve your love, including Mother of Tears. “Dario Argento’s deranged b-movie extravaganza about the uncorking of a witch from an ancient urn that ushers in the second Fall of Rome is the most fun I’ve had at the movies…ever?” Hello, Netflix!

Reviews By (Sorta) Request: Tenebrae (1982, Dario Argento)

Paul Clark — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 19:00:00 GMT

Note: Due to an untimely Netflix issue, I wasn’t able to watch and review your selected film, Let Sleeping Corpses Lie, in time for this week’s Reviews By Request. Instead, I’ve written about the film that received the second-highest number of votes, Dario Argento’s Tenebrae. I’ll be writing about Let Sleeping Corpses at a later date, as soon as I’m able to view it. Thanks for understanding.

In addition, I’ll be polling you to determine the film for my November 14 Reviews By Request column. To vote, see the poll at the bottom of this review.

One of my fondest memories as a moviegoer was attending the semi-legendary world premiere of Dario Argento’s The Mother of Tears at last fall’s Toronto Film Festival. The movie itself was only so-so, but what made the experience such a thrill was that Argento himself was in attendance. While most filmmaker Q&As are pretty buttoned-up affairs, Argento’s was anything but. There was an irreverent, almost party-like (since it was his birthday, we even sang to him) atmosphere that filled the room, and Argento, crazy eyes beaming as he took the stage, presided over it all. As he answered question after question in his own inimitable way- even discussing his urge to cast lesbians with no pubic hair as witches- one thing was clear: It was Dario’s happening, baby, and it freaked him out.

I mention this experience not to brag or to be a name-dropper but to make it clear that, above all else, Dario Argento is a showman, something that comes through in all of his best-known work. And of all the Argento films I’ve seen to date, none has demonstrated this so clearly as Tenebrae. In Tenebrae, Argento uses all of the filmmaking tricks in his arsenal to keep his audience entertained. The result is intoxicating.

The movie begins as a fairly standard-issue whodunit. The story focuses on Peter Neal (Anthony Franciosa), a best-selling author who specializes in violent mysteries. After he arrives in Rome, people begin getting killed in gruesome ways. A woman, her throat slashed, is found with Neal’s latest page-turner- entitled Tenebrae, of course- stuffed into her mouth. The police get involved, and Neal begins receiving letters from the killer. As is par for the course in murder mysteries, Neal is surrounded by plenty of likely suspects, nearly all of whom are picked off, one by one, by the actual killer. As bodies begin to pile up, it’s up to Neal and the police to figure out who, shall we say, dunit.

As I said before, the setup is nothing special. But Argento is too much of a showman to make a simple- albeit extremely bloody- murder mystery, which the second half of the movie makes abundantly clear. Around the time Neal- and the audience- has figured out the most likely suspect in the case, the suspect is brutally and decisively murdered. Yet the killing is far from over. From that point on, the key color is red- the color of both the herrings and the blood that flows liberally up until the very end of the movie. At one point, Neal quotes Arthur Conan Doyle, saying, "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” One of the chief pleasures of Tenebrae is just how improbable Argento is willing to make his storyline in the service of his crazed, brilliant vision.

As one would expect from Argento, the killing scenes are worth the price of admission- not merely the manner of death itself, but also the way Argento directs them. Clearly, Argento means to entertain the audience with the carnage, and while that might not wash with those who tut-tut the use of violence as entertainment (Michael Haneke would certainly not approve), the sheer excessiveness of Argento’s style makes them shamelessly thrilling. There’s an undeniable naughty-boy glee to be derived from seeing the convoluted ways in which Argento steers his characters to the slaughter, coupled with liberal uses of Grand Guignol-style lighting, complex camera movements, and of course, that Goblin score. And now, having seen Argento in person, it’s impossible not to imagine him sitting next to the camera and reveling in the bloody deliciousness of it all.

Perhaps most delicious of all, to my eyes, is the way Argento teases us with the identity of the film’s killer. At several points in the story, Argento intercuts a flashback sequence involving the murder of a beautiful woman, but fails to tell us who’s having the flashback. Eventually, when the woman’s red shoes turn up again on the feet of another character, Argento tantalizes us with by making us wonder what the connection might be. It goes without saying that the killing of this character and the revelation of the killer will go more or less hand in hand, but when Argento makes it happen in one of the most spectacularly bloody scenes I’ve ever witnessed, the result actually surpassed all my expectations.

In the past, I’ve enjoyed a number of Dario Argento’s films, especially Suspiria and Inferno, but none has ever really clicked for me the way Tenebrae does. In many ways, Argento’s classic-period films are fairly similar. But I’d say that what puts Tenebrae over the top is that it’s goes, well, over the top. More than any other Argento film I’ve seen, Tenebrae injects the style that won Argento legions of fans with an irresistible kind of wretched excess. And, to quote a film by another famously stylish contemporary of Argento’s, “nothing exceeds like excess.”

As before, I’m using a poll to select my next Review By Request. This time around, I’ve included two titles from a previous poll along with three new choices, which have nothing in common but for the fact that I’ve never seen them. The choice is yours:

What should I watch next? | BuzzDash polls

Again, feel free to use the comments to stump for your favorites of this lot, to suggest possible future titles, or simply to agree with me about how awesome Tenebrae is.

DVD Digest for September 23, 2008

Paul Clark — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 14:00:00 GMT

This week, a number of classic crime stories hit DVD, plus the big summer movie whose blockbuster gross surprised almost everyone with a Y chromosome.

DVD of the Week: Okay, so maybe there are more high-profile titles in the mix this week, movies that are both more popular and more critically acclaimed (see the next paragraph). But to my eyes, the big DVD news this week is the arrival of Eclipse Series 12: Aki Kaurismaki’s Proletariat Trilogy. For years, Kaurismaki’s work has been woefully underrepresented on Region 1 DVD, with only his recent films The Man Without a Past and Lights in the Dusk currently in print. So Eclipse’s release of three of his best early works is cause for celebration among his fans, in whose company I count myself. In evidence in each of the set’s three films- Shadows in Paradise, Ariel and The Match Factory Girl- is Kaurismaki’s patented deadpan humor, although in Match Factory Girl, the best of the three, the comedy can be a little difficult to spot at times amid the pathos generated by the film’s title character. If you already know Kaurismaki’s work, you’ve already reserved a copy of this, no doubt hoping that Eclipse will continue their commitment to Kaurismaki with eventual releases of Drifting Clouds and Take Care of Your Scarf, Tatjana. But if you’re looking to get into Kaurismaki, this is as good a place as any to start.

Additionally, as most of you know this week also brings the release of Paramount’s The Godfather: Coppola Restoration Collection (also Blu-Ray), which includes newly remastered versions of the first two films, commentary tracks by the director, and special features both old and new. There’s also the L.A. Confidential Two-Disc Special Edition (Warner, also Blu-Ray) that includes a new commentary track featuring the cast and crew, plenty of new special features, and even the music-only feature that was a highlight of the original pressing. Finally, two new collections of note: Sony’s new line of “Martini Movies” (whatever that means), which includes Dollars, The Garment Jungle, Affair in Trinidad, The Anderson Tapes, and The New Centurions; and the Warner Brothers Pictures Gangsters Collection Vol. 4- includes The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse, The Little Giant, Larceny, Inc., Invisible Stripes, and Kid Galahad.

This week’s new releases coming to DVD include: Sex and the City: The Movie (Warner, also Blu-Ray); George Clooney’s Leatherheads (Universal, also Blu-Ray); Ewan McGregor and Hugh Jackman in the Skinemax-ready Deception (Fox, also Blu-Ray); Dario Argento’s final installment in the “Three Mothers” trilogy The Mother of Tears (Dimension); the Flatliners-style thriller Pathology (MGM); and Simon Pegg in Run Fatboy Run (Warner).

This week has plenty to offer in TV on DVD, including: Boston Legal Season 4 (Fox); Brothers and Sisters Season 2 (Disney); Cashmere Mafia: The Complete Series (Sony); CSI: New York Season 4 (Paramount); Friday the 13th The Series: The First Season (Paramount); and Samantha Who? Season 1 (Disney).

Finally, this week’s relatively small slate of Blu-Ray only releases includes: Blow (Warner), and Cirque de Soleil: Corteo (Sony).

Caught in the Net: The Pitiful History of the Internet Thriller

Phil Nugent — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 17:00:00 GMT

Steve Johnson contemplates the ongoing disappointment that is the Internet thriller. It's not as if Hollywood has ever trusted computers any farther than they could throw them. HAL 9000 tried to hog the spacecraft for himself in 2001: Space Odyssey; in Colossus: The Forbin Project, an electronic super-brain invented by the guy who plays Victor on my grandmother's beloved The Young and the Restless, was designed to serve as a perfect missile defense system but immediately started acting too big for its business; its descendant, the computer in WarGames almost started World War III in an excess of playfulness; and don't get me started on that weekend at Westworld. (Hell, I had more fun at Euro Disney.) But for the better part of a decade now, Hollywood has been specifically trying to tap into the supposedly vast, ominous potential of the Internet and hook into some of those cool cyberpunk dollars, with decidedly mixed results. "Like a virus shrugging off an outdated antibiotic," Johnson writes, "the Net has proved resistant to such attempts. You've seen evidence of the struggle. Over and over, Hollywood has shown us things happening on computer monitors in improbably large and cartoonish letters, as if all Web sites dealing with national security are designed by the folks at Webkinz. 'To eliminate Baltimore, click here,' that kind of thing."

You can see the thinking. Someone with mad hacking skills could spy on you, erase your identity, fill your Netflix queue with Ed Burns movies, make your life hell itself. That line of thinking helped produce such early cyberduds as The Net, in which hackers laid siege to Sandra Bullock while the audience just sat there wondering why she was so hard up for company that she was hanging out with Dennis Miller. Then there was Hackers starring Jonny Lee Miller and an alarmingly hot young Angelina Jolie (sporting an English accent and cobalt-blue nail polish) as the leaders of a team of master web surfers who run afoul of an evil computer genius called The Plague (Fisher Stevens), who single-handedly caused the cancellation of our plans to compose a list of the Ten Lamest Movie Super-Villains because the computer that writes our Top Ten lists kept insisting on assigning his name to all ten slots. (The most convincing hackers in movies are the team of government-run nerds in Enemy of the State--Jack Black is among them--who act like big swinging dicks when they're alone in a dark room with their computer screens in front of them and who fold faster than Superman on laundry day when pulled into the light and asked to account for what they've been doing--just following orders, natch.) More recently, as in Untraceable, movies have tried to go the Lee Siegel route of suggesting that there's just something about the 'Net that short circuits the frontal lobes and renders people incapable of fighting off their baser instincts. Here, the villain is a serial killer who yokes his victims to a webcam and urges people to check in at his site, "killwithme," having made it clear that "the more that watch, the faster he dies." Naturally, people watch in droves. (The set-up faintly recalls The Card Player, a 2002 Dario Argento horror in which the serial killer bets the victim's life on a video card game with the cops; if the killer wins, he executes his latest captive in front of a webcam while the police watch on helplessly.)

There are real anxieties and fears involving the Internet just waiting to be tapped for the movies, but there's a built-in problem identified by the writer Scott Rosenberg: "Movies are overwhelmingly a visual medium, and dealing with the Internet is the parallel problem to dealing with writing. In the old days it was a typewriter. There aren't a lot of great movies about someone sitting at a typewriter." The great Internet paranoia fantasy of the movies may still be the original The Matrix, which shot right past the realistic image of someone tapping away at a keyboard and conjured up an impressively imagined world of thrilling liberation and terrifying imprisonment. It understood that what's exciting, and scary, about the Internet is the sense it can give you that you're exploring strange new worlds at the same time that you are, in actual fact, sitting on your ass typing. The Matrix somehow found a way to show what that fantasy neverland located somewhere between the keyboard and the brain might look like, while other attempts to visualize the experience, such as Johnny Mnemonic, became too literal-minded and hit the earth with a splat. And having gotten it right that first time, the Wachowskis then spent a lot of time and money proving just how hard it is to do. As a wise man once said: "Whoa."

Morning Deal Report: Ellen Page Whips It For Drew Barrymore

Peter Smith — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 16:45:00 GMT

Rumors confirmed: Ellen Page will star in Drew Barrymore's directorial debut, Whip It!. According to Variety, the film "follows the exploits of alterna-teen Bliss. . . [who finds] herself after joining a female roller derby team." Story by one "Maggie Mayhem." Yup, this sounds like an Ellen Page project all right. Ellen Page: the Winona Ryder of the '00s? Discuss.

Dario Argento is working on Giallo, "an English-language homage to the genre that made him a cult helmer." (That would be giallo, I take it.) Argento's daughter Asia costars with Ray Liotta and Vincent Gallo. Gallo plays "a solipsistic, penis-obsessed lout who makes movies." No, I made that up.

Forest Whitaker to play inspirational basketball coach.

Landis and Rickles

Peter Smith — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 17:00:00 GMT

Don Rickles and John Landis first worked together in the late 1960s, on the set of the World War II comedy-drama Kelly's Heroes. Actually, "working together" might be stretching it a little. Rickles, then a sometime movie actor but already a stand-up comedy legend, was one of the movie's stars; Landis, not yet the director of National Lampoon's Animal House, was a teenaged "gofer" — "I don't know if you know this," he tells reporter Bruce Bennett, "but production assistant is a relatively new term" — who was at one point pressed into service to appear briefly onscreen as a nun. Twenty-something years later, Landis cast Rickles as a mob lawyer in his 1992 horror comedy Innocent Blood, in which Rickles got his throat torn out by a vampirized Robert Loggia and loaded into an ambulance by an emergency worker played by a creepily solicitous Dario Argento. It took them a long time to figure out how to top that. The answer: a documentary, Mr. Warmth, which covers Rickles's life and career and features performance footage of the eighty-one-year-old comic in action. "It took a long time for him to agree to let me shoot his act," says Landis, because the old trouper, who apparently isn't planning on going anywhere, was afraid that having his material captured on celluloid would kill his career. In the end, though, he agreed, and when he examined the footage himself, Landis thought that he seemed oddly rapt. "Finally," says Landis, "I said, ‘What is so fascinating? You've done this for years.' He said, ‘I've never seen me from behind!'" — Phil Nugent