Reviewer: Jeffrey M. Anderson
Rating (out of five): *****

The National Film Preservation Foundation, located in San Francisco, has been quietly releasing extraordinary DVD box sets over the past ten years, entitled the "Treasures" series. There isn't a better word for it. These sets are packed with little gems that had to be dug up and assessed before it could be determined how valuable they were. The first set (Treasures from American Film Archives), from 2000, came with fifty comedies, dramas, experimental films, cartoons, newsreels, documentaries, and tons of other stuff, all historically valuable as well as entertaining. Volume Two, from 2004, had more just like it. Volume Three focused on Social Issues, and Volume Four looked at Avant-Garde Film.

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Perhaps the set's most exciting film is Victor Fleming's Mantrap (1926), starring the irresistible Clara Bow, just a year before she became the "It" girl. Based on a novel by Sinclair Lewis, the action begins on a burned-out divorce lawyer, Ralph Prescott (Percy Marmont), who becomes fed up with women and decides to go away with a friend (the great Eugene Pallette, who would later be known for his frog-voice) for an extended trip to the woods. Meanwhile, the rugged he-man, Joe Easter (Ernest Torrence) decides to leave the wilderness for the big city; he hasn't seen anything more than a woman's ankle in years.

When he arrives, he goes for a haircut and meets the pretty manicurist Alverna (Bow). Before long, they're married and living back in Mantrap, in the middle of nowhere. Eventually Alverna meets Ralph and begins throwing herself at him, hoping for a ticket back to the big city. Bow's character is slightly despicable, but she's nonetheless appealing since Fleming more or less celebrates her free will and unquenchable spirit; she even has some great "dialogue" written for her in the title cards. Neither of the men are very attractive, but they bring an earthy, honest quality to the movie, and all the moods, from the lightest jokes to the heaviest romance, come from an organic place.

My old colleague Michael Sragow, currently the film critic for the Baltimore Sun and author of Victor Fleming: An American Movie Master, provides the excellent commentary track.

Based on a Bret Harte story, Salomy Jane (1914) -- a romance/revenge thriller, but with a strong female lead -- is another of the box set's feature films, discovered in a complete version in 1996. An unusual find, it was made at a time before feature films were typical, and in San Francisco, rather than Hollywood. There's also the 65-minute The Lady of the Dugout (1918), starring real-life "outlaws" Al and Frank Jennings, and directed by a young W.S. Van Dyke (also known as "One Take Woody," the future director of Tarzan and The Thin Man). The story shows the bandits discovering a woman and her hungry son on the way to their hideout.

The last feature in the set is incomplete, Womanhandled (1925), directed by Gregory La Cava, who is best known for his comedies (Stage Door, My Man Godfrey, etc.); only about 55 minutes of the original seven reels exists. It's also a lighthearted tale, with a modern-day setting, about city slickers who head out to a real ranch.

Last of the Line (1914) is historically fascinating: produced by Thomas Ince and running 26 minutes, it's one of a series of Westerns focused on American Indians. It has some very striking cinematography, making lovely use of depth of field. Moreover, Japanese-born Sessue Hayakawa, a future Hollywood star and Oscar nominee, plays one of the Indians. In a similar vein, the set also includes films devoted to Mexicans and Mexican-Americans, as well as The Girl Ranchers (1913), dedicated to intrepid women characters.

Another surprise is We Can Take It (1935), a promotional film for Franklin Roosevelt's Civilian Conservation Corps, a program designed to alleviate unemployment during the Great Depression and to conserve and develop natural resources. Imagine such a program today!

Mack Sennett's comedy The Tourists (1912) was shot at D.W. Griffith's Biograph company, in-between their more serious films, and just before Sennett left to found his Keystone company. Griffith himself also contributes to the box set with Over Silent Paths: A Story of the American Desert (1910), shot on location.

The first Western star, Gilbert M. Anderson, a.k.a "Broncho Billy," is also here with one of his 125+ films, Broncho Billy and the Schoolmistress (1912) -- a fairly unique mix of comedy and drama. We also get a one-reel Tom Mix movie, Legal Advice (1916), which was much more interested in action and stunts. (Mix was considered a much more "genuine" cowboy than Billy.)

The Sergeant (1910) was thought lost until 2010, a full century after it was made. It was shot in Yosemite, and uses that stunning landscape to beautiful effect. Sunshine Gatherers (1921) was produced by the Del Monte corporation to help sell fruit, but it's such an elaborate, gorgeous movie that it goes beyond mere advertising. Additionally, there are also a handful of fascinating newsreels, promotional films, and other little documentaries, including some films from Thomas Edison's studio.

The total running time is something like ten hours, spread across three DVDs. Each film comes with a new music score and an optional commentary track by various experts. 

Reviewer: Jeffrey M. Anderson
Rating (out of five): *****

The National Film Preservation Foundation, located in San Francisco, has been quietly releasing extraordinary DVD box sets over the past ten years, entitled the "Treasures" series. There isn't a better word for it. These sets are packed with little gems that had to be dug up and assessed before it could be determined how valuable they were. The first set (Treasures from American Film Archives), from 2000, came with fifty comedies, dramas, experimental films, cartoons, newsreels, documentaries, and tons of other stuff, all historically valuable as well as entertaining. Volume Two, from 2004, had more just like it. Volume Three focused on Social Issues, and Volume Four looked at Avant-Garde Film.

Continued reading Treasures 5: The West, 1898-1938...

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Reviewer: Philip Tatler IV
Rating (out of five): *** 1/2

Michelangelo Frammartino's La Quattro Volte ("The Four Times") is about a goatherd who dies and is reborn as a goat. The goat briefly frolics before it loses its way in a forest and dies of starvation and exposure to the elements. However, the goat’s essence lives on; its being is assimilated into a tree, which is then cut down and converted into charcoal. The end, spoiler alert, etc.

Volte dares you to process it simply, even though it’s composed of eighty minutes of rather simple, wordless, shots. The plot and actors matter very little and are eclipsed by Frammartino’s impressive formal flexing. Volte is more of an installation piece or a moving monograph.

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Whether or not Frammartino buys this thesis isn’t apparent or even important. He uses it as a jumping off point to revel in the elements. Earth crawls with black ants, wind hisses, wood smolders, and water is broken as a new goat leaves the birth canal. As tedious as a wordless mediation on organic cosmology may sound, Volte is beautifully wrought and gains a sort of ecstatic momentum as the film progresses. The strictly controlled compositions and sound design force the engaged viewer into the frame.

I've seen the film categorized as "documentary" and it is... sort of, inasmuch as a monograph of Brueghel’s transcendental renderings of pastoral life can be filed under "non-fiction." It’s also misleading to suggest anything here is "narrative," but the film follows a surprisingly linear path from one philosophical plot point to next. There’s even an exceptional "set piece" of sorts, about thirty minutes in, when the camera moves for the first time to cover a series of mishaps involving a sheep dog, a runaway truck, a group of Passion players, and the ubiquitous herd of goats.

Obviously, Volte is not for everyone. Those willing to endure the glacial pace, lack of incident, and altogether quiet of the piece will be rewarded. At times it feels like a motion picture adaptation of an Andy Goldsworthy piece; an exploration of nature that pushes beyond the bounds of its beautiful imagery and reaches for something a little more esoteric.

Reviewer: Philip Tatler IV
Rating (out of five): *** 1/2

Michelangelo Frammartino's La Quattro Volte ("The Four Times") is about a goatherd who dies and is reborn as a goat. The goat briefly frolics before it loses its way in a forest and dies of starvation and exposure to the elements. However, the goat’s essence lives on; its being is assimilated into a tree, which is then cut down and converted into charcoal. The end, spoiler alert, etc.

Volte dares you to process it simply, even though it’s composed of eighty minutes of rather simple, wordless, shots. The plot and actors matter very little and are eclipsed by Frammartino’s impressive formal flexing. Volte is more of an installation piece or a moving monograph.

Continued reading Le Quattro Volte (The Four Times)...

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Reviewer: James van Maanen
Rating (out of five): ***

The majestic forests of Turkey -- who knew? Sure, we've heard about minarets and the massacre of Armenians, but I, for one, certainly had never heard about all this lush greenery? I know now, thanks to filmmaker Semih Kaplanoglu and his "Yusuf" Trilogy, of which BAL (Honey) is the final film. And a beautiful, quiet, sad addition to the threesome it is. It is also an immensely educational movie -- from the forest that plays a big part in the riveting opening scene to the schooling of the leading character, who stutters (but without the royal pedigree of our Oscar-wining king and his speech). Bal is also, unfortunately, a rather slow movie.

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It is not the slowness per se that I object to; that's part 'n parcel of the film and its style. But the amount of event within the framework is too minimal. The beginning, with it quiet tread toward something shocking and vital, leave us and the movie itself suspended in mid-air, until finally we come back to that opening event much later.

As the movie progresses, we get our fill of the very camera-friendly family at the core of the film: Yusuf (played by newcomer Bora Altas), his father (Erdal Besikçioglu) and mother (Tülin Özen) -- and a more cinematic group you'd be hard-pressed to find. They and the life they lead prove finally interesting enough to hold us in their grasp. They also make us wonder what will become of young Yusuf. And for that, you'll need to turn to Süt (Milk) from 2007, that offers Yusuf, now university-aged, and Yumurta (Egg) made in 2008, that shows us Yusuf as an adult.  

This DVD does not feature any extras. 

Reviewer: James van Maanen
Rating (out of five): ***

The majestic forests of Turkey -- who knew? Sure, we've heard about minarets and the massacre of Armenians, but I, for one, certainly had never heard about all this lush greenery? I know now, thanks to filmmaker Semih Kaplanoglu and his "Yusuf" Trilogy, of which BAL (Honey) is the final film. And a beautiful, quiet, sad addition to the threesome it is. It is also an immensely educational movie -- from the forest that plays a big part in the riveting opening scene to the schooling of the leading character, who stutters (but without the royal pedigree of our Oscar-wining king and his speech). Bal is also, unfortunately, a rather slow movie.

Continued reading Bal (Honey)...

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Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): ****

Yuen Woo-Ping began his career as an actor in martial arts movies in the 1960s. He rose to prominence when he directed the breakthrough Drunken Master (1978), one of Jackie Chan's greatest early roles. He began a multi-faceted career, involving acting, stunts, fight choreography, and occasional directing. His feats became known in America and he was hired to choreograph the exciting, fluid, fast-paced action sequences for movies like The Matrix series, the Kill Bill movies, and Unleashed as well as international productions like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Kung Fu Hustle, and Fearless. In 2001, Quentin Tarantino helped bring Yuen's dazzling Iron Monkey (1993) to American theaters. But despite all this notice, acclaim, and employment, he has not directed another movie in over ten years. Thankfully True Legend comes out on DVD this week, and it's a real stunner.

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Meanwhile, the evil Yuan -- whose skin turns a freakish white -- has the couple's young son and jealously guards him. Su begins venturing daily into the mountains where he battles with the God of Wushu (Jay Chou); or is he just losing his mind? Eventually Su makes it back to civilization and faces his menacing step-brother; the fight doesn't quite turn out as expected, which sends the movie into an unexpected third act. Without saying too much more, this segment features some terrific drunken boxing. And, in one of his final roles, David Carradine appears as a nasty American fight trainer.

In the past few years, Hong Kong and Chinese filmmakers seem to have been upping the stakes, making bigger and more spectacular movies to make up for the post-1997 slump. Most of these have paid off, but True Legend, for whatever reason, did not make back its budget in its home release.

It starts off spectacularly, with some of the finest, fastest and most graceful fight footage I've ever seen, but by the final act, the movie has turned a bit soapy; the main character has an unfortunately tendency to sulk and feel sorry for himself for long periods, which could have turned off audiences. Perhaps director Yuen is better in smaller, more focused portions than he is at big epics. However, fight fans can appreciate this movie in its glorious bits and pieces and come away fully satisfied.

The DVD and Blu-Ray, released by Vivendi, comes with five behind-the-scenes featurettes, a story-board-to-scene featurette, a music video, trailers, and more.

Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): ****

Yuen Woo-Ping began his career as an actor in martial arts movies in the 1960s. He rose to prominence when he directed the breakthrough Drunken Master (1978), one of Jackie Chan's greatest early roles. He began a multi-faceted career, involving acting, stunts, fight choreography, and occasional directing. His feats became known in America and he was hired to choreograph the exciting, fluid, fast-paced action sequences for movies like The Matrix series, the Kill Bill movies, and Unleashed as well as international productions like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Kung Fu Hustle, and Fearless. In 2001, Quentin Tarantino helped bring Yuen's dazzling Iron Monkey (1993) to American theaters. But despite all this notice, acclaim, and employment, he has not directed another movie in over ten years. Thankfully True Legend comes out on DVD this week, and it's a real stunner.

Continued reading True Legend...

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Reviewer: James van Maanen
Rating (out of five): ***

Peter Mullan is a wonderful actor (The Red Riding Trilogy, Boy A, Children of Men) and a good writer/director (Orphans, The Magdalene Sisters and now, NEDS -- which stands for Non-Educated Delinquents.

Although his latest film -- which deals, and very well, with the smarter, younger son of a dysfunctional family who gets slowly sucked into "gang" life -- was part of this year’s Tribeca Film Festival line-up, it did not get much, if any, of a theatrical release. It is, however, certainly worth seeing, which makes its recent DVD debut appreciated, despite a major flaw in the film.

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Kids, and all the various trouble they can get up to, are like catnip to the filmmaker, and here, he is dealing with an extremely bright boy who sees the system set against him early on. As his anger builds, he finds some interesting and creative ways to use it, and it is here that Mullan as writer and director succeeds best: letting us see how this behavior crests and breaks, along with all the collateral damage it can finally do.

As the movie proceeds however, it becomes, as does its lead character (played by fine newcomers Greg Forrest, as the young lad, and Conor McCarron, as the beefy, older boy), more and more overwrought. This leads to, I am afraid, redemption spelled in big, block letters, making for a heavy-duty finale, which is more than this generally realistic and pleasurably small movie can bear.

Still, I'd love to learn what happens to this young man, after said event. Maybe there'll be a chapter two, and if so, I’ll be there to see it. DVD includes some deleted scenes as a bonus. 

Reviewer: James van Maanen
Rating (out of five): ***

Peter Mullan is a wonderful actor (The Red Riding Trilogy, Boy A, Children of Men) and a good writer/director (Orphans, The Magdalene Sisters and now, NEDS -- which stands for Non-Educated Delinquents.

Although his latest film -- which deals, and very well, with the smarter, younger son of a dysfunctional family who gets slowly sucked into "gang" life -- was part of this year’s Tribeca Film Festival line-up, it did not get much, if any, of a theatrical release. It is, however, certainly worth seeing, which makes its recent DVD debut appreciated, despite a major flaw in the film.

Continued reading NEDS...

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Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): *** 1/2

If movies are the art form that comes closest to replicating our dreams -- sounds and images dancing before our eyes in the dark -- then, ironically, very few filmmakers have come anywhere near to capturing the elusive rhythm of dreams. David Lynch, Orson Welles, and Luis Bunuel have all succeeded from time to time, and especially Ingmar Bergman. A short nightmare sequence in Wild Strawberries (1957) is quite chilling, and the whole of Persona (1966) has the possibility to move in any direction, at any time.

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Ullmann plays Dr. Jenny Isaksson, a psychiatrist who begins the film by moving out of her current office. The bare rooms contain little more than a phone, resting on the floor. Jenny moves in with her grandparents, a temporary arrangement meant to last a couple of months until Jenny's husband returns from some extended business trip. She attends a party and meets Dr. Tomas Jacobi (Erland Josephson, who co-starred with Ullmann in eight Bergman films). He flirts with her, and she responds, but refuses to let him sleep with her. She flirts with him some more, and then loses her mind.

She begins to see a creepy old lady with one black eye (death?) lurking around her grandparents' home. Soon after, she finds herself in a full-fledged dream world, but one filled with cinematic symbols rather than emotions. She wears a red cloak/gown. She is warned not to enter a certain door, but enters anyway, etc. She finds herself in a room full of mental patients, all scrambling for her attention. It's all very heavy and literal; it never haunts or has any kind of below-the-belt effect.

Face to Face is a surprising misstep, coming between two Bergman masterpieces. Cries and Whispers (1972) sharply used color and space to match its claustrophobic, emotionally wrenching story of three sisters; and Fanny and Alexander (1983) was one of the director's warmest, most personal films. It seems Face to Face is the awkward transition between these two phases; it shows Bergman thinking too hard, perhaps knowingly searching for something and being unable to find it.

But then there's Ullmann, who would have been in her late 30s here, sublimely beautiful, with constantly searching, thoughtful eyes. Bergman stays close on her face for long portions of this 136-minute movie, and she finds its key: she never acts crazy. She merely acts like she can't understand or believe that these things are happening to her. She tries to navigate the insanity with as much sanity as possible, which puts the viewers on her side. Nevertheless, the material gives her plenty of big moments to build up and break down, which inevitably attracted the attention of the Oscar voters. (She had been nominated once before, for The Emigrants in 1971. In 1976, she lost to Faye Dunaway.) Regardless, her overall grace saves the movie.

Face to Face has been one of the most difficult to see among Bergman's movies (along with Summer with Monika and After the Rehearsal). Now Olive Films has rescued it from the Paramount vaults with a new DVD. According to some reports, the movie was originally shot as a TV miniseries (as was the case with many other major Bergman features), and so the picture is a bit on the soft side, but otherwise it looks luscious. There are no extras. (Apparently, young Lena Olin has a bit part as a shop assistant, if you look fast.)

Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): *** 1/2

If movies are the art form that comes closest to replicating our dreams -- sounds and images dancing before our eyes in the dark -- then, ironically, very few filmmakers have come anywhere near to capturing the elusive rhythm of dreams. David Lynch, Orson Welles, and Luis Bunuel have all succeeded from time to time, and especially Ingmar Bergman. A short nightmare sequence in Wild Strawberries (1957) is quite chilling, and the whole of Persona (1966) has the possibility to move in any direction, at any time.

Continued reading Face to Face...

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Reviewer: Philip Tatler IV
Ratings (out of five): 

Intimidation: ****
The Warped Ones: ***½
I Hate But Love: ***½
Black Sun: ****½
Thirst for Love: ***½
SET:  ****

Koreyoshi Kurahara is most well-known for the 1983 ”sled dogs overcome cruel nature” piece Antarctica (Nankyoku Monogatari) which was Japan’s number one box office smash for over a decade. Diving into the five early Kurahara features featured in this set, however, it’s hard to imagine him being picked for such a Disneyesque enterprise.

The set begins simply enough with Intimidation (1960), a tamped-down caper that twists and turns right up to the last of its scant 65 minutes. Just as bank manager Mr. Takita (Nobuo Kaneko) is enjoying his ascension to the upper echelon of society, his past sins return to haunt him whilst compelling him to embezzle three million yen from his bank’s vault. Takita enlists his long-suffering “friend,” a pathetic underling named Nakaike (a heartbreaking, soulful Akira Nishimura), as a sort of fall guy. Naturally, nothing goes according to anyone’s plan and it’s only a matter of time before fate sinks its teeth into all involved.

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Though the plot is boiler-plate film noir, there’s an itchy formalism at work; the camera can never be trusted to stay prim and locked down, with Kurahara often opting for invasive close-ups and nervous hand-held. The central set piece is a near-silent bank robbery that feels like a distillation of Jules Dassin’s famous heist sequence in Rififi. There’s a high anxiety staring match to rival Sergio Leone and a brilliant use of first person POV that I'd spoil if I went into any more detail. Intimidation is a perfect crime story (and also features one of the most hilariously piss-poor bank security “systems”) that’s not to be missed by fans of the genre. However, it also showcases a director getting his bearings in anticipation of more personal work.

If Intimidation has a nasty bite, The Warped Ones (which Kurahara made the same year) is downright venomous. The film belongs to a sub-sub-subgenre that I’m only aware of thanks to Chuck Stevens’ liner notes accompanying this set: the Sun Tribe film. From what I can gather, these were early ‘60s Japanese youthsploitation films that were an Eastern corollary to The Wild One, Rebel Without a Cause and certain AIP films.

To call Warped’s lead character, Akira (Tamio Kawachi), an antihero is a bit generous. He’s a droog without a vocabulary, a shaved ape whose principal interests are jazz, car theft, and rape. Initially, Akira and a friend, Masura (Eiji Go), are set up in a club raid by an opportunistic journalist (Hiroyuki Nagato) and sent to junior prison for a stint that’s just long enough to make them even more nihilistic. Over the opening credits, a prison melee – depicted with frenetic cuts between shaky cam and freeze frames -- plays out over skittering jazz. The opening is a shot in the arm, setting an amphetamine pace that doesn’t relent for the rest of the film.

Soon Akira and Masura are back yowling through the alleys of Shibuya, stealing anything that isn’t nailed down while making a few bucks pimping out Fumiko (Noriko Matsumoto), Masura’s equally hell-bent girlfriend. A trip to the beach results in an encounter with the journalist and his artist girlfriend, Yuki (a staggeringly luminous Yuko Chishiro) and Akira enacts a brutal dose of revenge on both. Rather than horror, Yuki begins to regard Akira with a perverse fascination and develops a wrongheaded attachment to him.

Thus begins Akira’s cat-and-mouse with Yuki and her world of art sophisticates. They’re all too happy to glom on to the street tough, whom they romanticize as an extraordinary example of fauvism. He enjoys playing with them and, above all, injecting his Shiva-the-destroyer energy into every scenario he encounters.

The Warped Ones represents Kurahara in his rawest, most primal state. The film depicts a Tokyo populated only by juvenile delinquents and their victims and the anxious, impatient cutting and camera mimics Akira’s id-driven trajectory. It’s a visceral experience but, since everyone’s crazy dial is switched to eleven, it can also be a taxing one. The film is driven by a measured, hard bop jazz soundtrack but the characters behave more to the pandemonic avant-skronk of Albert Ayler et al. In fact, I’d say The Warped Ones is a jazz movie in the same way Easy Rider is a rock movie or Repo Man is a punk movie. Akira and his gang are on an extended freeform riff and the meandering camera does its best to keep time. The film whips and contorts its way to an act of “social justice” appropriately warped, with Kurahara extending a huge middle finger toward class pretense and posturing. The Warped Ones is not for the weak-stomached but, even at its worst, has style to burn.

The next film in the set, I Hate But Love (1962), is a romantic melodramedy shot in vibrant color, with two good-looking movie stars playing ennui-tainted rich people. On the surface, it has little in common with the two shoestring-budgeted, mean-spirited films that precede it. But I Hate But Love still traffics in tortured love/lust, class dissatisfaction, and the search for authenticity in a sea of pampered phonies.

A thoroughly dissatisfied television celebrity Daisaku Kita (Yujiro Ishihara) decides to jettison his career in favor of a “humanistic” pursuit – driving a beat-up Army jeep to a medical mission in a village 900 miles north of Tokyo. His sudden breach of contract chagrins his handlers to no end, especially Noriko (Ruriko Asaoka) his manager, with whom he’s having a Platonic love affair (they’ve made a “no physical contact, not even kissing” pact that perplexes everyone around them). She commandeers a Jaguar and pursues her cracked lover, hoping to convince him to return to his day job of being loved by millions.

The ingredients for the type of Technicolor romantic farce that Hollywood made in the ‘50s and ‘60s are all here, but something is a little… off. For starters, the brilliant, saturated mise-en-scene would be right out of a Frank Tashlin film but Kurahara’s acrobatic camera lurches and lunges, New Wave-style through scenes. The leading man slaps around his leading lady and calls her an idiot. There’s a suicide attempt. The two leads aren’t afraid to delve into the dark, unlikable corners of their characters’ psyches – she’s controlling and obsessive, he’s misogynistic and moody. There’s a lived-in sense to their relationship; they’re long past the part where they “met cute.” Much of what transpires is about them tearing down their relationship and mining the rubble for whatever is worth salvaging. Ultimately, the whole film takes a shot at the romantic notion of the so-called “pure love” the couple claims they’re in search of, underlining the very unpopular fact that real love is a lot of work.

1964’s Black Sun finds Kurahara revisiting the setting and a few of the characters from The Warped Ones. However, Akira (still played by Kawachi) has been retread and refined. Here he’s called Mei and, though the opening finds him once again thieving, it’s clear he’s a bit more vulnerable and less toxic than the Akira of The Warped Ones. Hell, in the second scene of the film he actually pays for a jazz LP and thanks the saleslady, already light years beyond the ill-mannered shoplifter of the prior film.

Mei is holed up in a collapsing church, squatting for as long as he can avoid the police or the bulldozers, making a living pinching cars and scavenging. He lives for jazz, his beloved mutt, Monk, and the occasional fling with Fumiko (Matsumoto again). His simple life is soon complicated when a runaway American G.I. named Gill (Chico Rolando, reprising a very small role in The Warped Ones) takes refuge in Mei’s hideout.

“You… you’re black!” Mei exclaims upon discovering the desperate, machine gun-wielding Gill. “Today’s my lucky day!”

Despite an impenetrable language barrier, Mei is thrilled to have stumbled upon an actual black man in his house. He assumes that they’ll get on famously and that Gill, being black, must be a talented jazz musician in his own right. Of course, Gill isn’t interested at all in making friends. He’s committed murder and wants nothing more than for Mei to escort him through the military dragnet and to the sea where Gil hopes to find a way back to his mother in the States. They’re relationship becomes quickly adversarial; Gill accidentally kills Mei’s dog and Mei quickly discovers that Gill isn’t a magical Negro jazz fairy but a living, bleeding human with very clear and present problems.

Black Sun dabbles in satire; at one point, Mei disguises Gill by painting his face white, culminating in the two of them gallivanting around town performing a sort of inverted minstrel show. There’s also a strange reverie juxtaposing images of violence from America’s Civil Rights movement and Japan’s post-war reconstruction. But any social commentary plays second fiddle to the very complex relationship that develops between the two men. As Mei eventually commits to helping Gill, the two outcasts forge a wordless alliance with a common goal: to reach the sea, a place where they will ultimately be cleansed.

If there’s a must-see film in the bunch, it’s this one. It’s more carefully considered and refined than The Warped Ones but retains that film’s frenzied empathy for marginal characters. There’s also a lot more to like about Kawachi’s character here; he’s still an anarchic street punk but he possesses strong undercurrent of compassion that he lacks in the other film. Roland plays Gill like a wounded tiger cub, childlike and heartbreaking but always on the verge of snapping. The two men play wonderfully off each other, so much so that a gritty scene where one man has to perform DIY surgery on the other is oddly moving while still being supremely uncomfortable.

Black Sun also employs the best use of handheld camera I’ve seen in a long time, using the disorienting, unpredictable technique to build genuine psychological/emotional tension, not just seasick unease. Further, the film has a must-be-seen-to-be-believed ending that takes its title image to a bizarre, literal level.

The final film in the set, Thirst for Love (1967), is the most formally controlled and, consequently, a bit chillier than the others. The stunning Ruriko Asaoka plays Etsuko, a woman who married into a collapsing aristocracy and was widowed soon after. When the film begins, Etsuko has already struck up an affair with her late husband’s father (Nobuo Nakamura), a coldly practical business men resigned to cutting his losses and enjoying his twilight years.

On the fringes of their lives is Saburo (Tetsuo Ishidate) a young groundskeeper at their estate and a reluctant Lothario who attracts the attention of his female coworkers and, most significantly, the increasingly unstable Etsuko. The upstairs-downstairs, May-December pairing of Etsuko and Saburo soon begins to unravel the social fabric of the family.

“I don’t care if I’m punished,” Etsuko announces when questioned about her relationship with Saburo. “In fact, that’s what I want.” Soon it’s clear that Etsuko is using the young man as a stepladder to her own self-destruction and is one of those unfortunate beings for whom happiness is impossible.

The film is based on a Yukio Mishima novel and Mishima’s doomed fatalism suffocates the film, from the beginning scene of Etsuko accidentally nicking her father-in-law/lover’s face during a shave to the baroque climax involving slow-motion showers of blood. While Kurahara’s forever-wheeling camera and asymmetric editing remain intact, the heavy atmosphere mutes his style. One could say this is the most “mature” of the set, but there’s a joy missing that was inherent in the other films.

Still, there’s plenty to commend Thirst for Love, most especially Asaoka. Miles away from her red-blooded turn in I Hate But Love, she rules over the proceedings here with a quiet tyranny. As a woman bound on making people hating her, Asaoka does a nice job keeping our sympathies for as long as we can stand it. But it’s soon clear that she’s a calcified version of the vibrantly destructive youths in The Warped Ones – a rebel against life itself. Another denizen of Kurahara’s warped world.

Criterion’s Eclipse brand prides itself in showcasing “lost, forgotten, or overshadowed” films for “the adventurous home viewer.” Koreyoshi Kurahara joins the ranks of Basil Dearden, Allan King, William Klein, Raymond Bernard, Larisa Shepitko, etc. etc. – filmmakers that Eclipse has wisely, graciously brought to light for our appreciation.

Reviewer: Philip Tatler IV
Ratings (out of five): 

Intimidation: ****
The Warped Ones: ***½
I Hate But Love: ***½
Black Sun: ****½
Thirst for Love: ***½
SET:  ****

Koreyoshi Kurahara is most well-known for the 1983 ”sled dogs overcome cruel nature” piece Antarctica (Nankyoku Monogatari) which was Japan’s number one box office smash for over a decade. Diving into the five early Kurahara features featured in this set, however, it’s hard to imagine him being picked for such a Disneyesque enterprise.

The set begins simply enough with Intimidation (1960), a tamped-down caper that twists and turns right up to the last of its scant 65 minutes. Just as bank manager Mr. Takita (Nobuo Kaneko) is enjoying his ascension to the upper echelon of society, his past sins return to haunt him whilst compelling him to embezzle three million yen from his bank’s vault. Takita enlists his long-suffering “friend,” a pathetic underling named Nakaike (a heartbreaking, soulful Akira Nishimura), as a sort of fall guy. Naturally, nothing goes according to anyone’s plan and it’s only a matter of time before fate sinks its teeth into all involved.

Continued reading Eclipse Series 28 - The Warped World of Koreyoshi Kurahara...

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Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): *****

Imagine a filmmaker dying of Tuberculosis at the age of 29, leaving behind only four films, whose running time totals less than 3 hours. In the age of YouTube, such an event wouldn't rate much more than a single morning's news story, if that. But in the case of Jean Vigo (1905-1934), his legend has endured across a century. There are many tales about him, such as that his anarchist father was murdered in prison, and that Vigo himself directed much of his final film from a stretcher. He has inspired so many filmmakers, everyone from Francois Truffaut to Michel Gondry, and hardly a list of the greatest films goes by without a mention of one of Vigo's extraordinary works.

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Vigo's previous, and second-longest film, the 44-minute Zero for Conduct, has thus far been available in fairly shoddy editions, on VHS, and streaming on the web; and his first two short documentaries, À propos de Nice (1930) and Taris (1931), were difficult to see at all. A complete Vigo DVD collection has been available for years overseas, and now a U.S. edition has finally, thankfully been released (on both DVD and Blu-Ray) by the Criterion Collection. Along with Kino's collection of Buster Keaton's short films, this is easily the release of the year. Anyone that has ever been in love with film needs to see it.

The twenty-three minute À propos de Nice (1930) and the nine-minute Taris (1931) are documentaries of a sort, though they are peppered with Vigo's little slices of dreamlike non-reality, and they point the way to a major career to come. The first film -- a silent -- depicts a day in the life of the city of Nice, France, juxtaposing the upper and working classes. Some of the footage appears staged and some of it stolen. Though the movie has something to say, it stays off the soapbox. Rather, it comes together as a poetic impression of a city, and a time, and a culture.

Vigo gave his cinematographer Boris Kaufman co-directing credit on the film, and indeed Kaufman was an essential part of Vigo's vision. He shot all four of Vigo's films, and then went onto a prestigious Hollywood career (On the Waterfront, 12 Angry Men).

The second film, Taris, is another combination of realism and poetry. Very simply, the champion swimmer Jean Taris gives a little demonstration on how to swim. Some shots are straightforward, some feature gorgeous underwater footage, and some are surreal, such as backward shots of Taris jumping out of the pool, arriving on the ledge, dry.

When most people see Jean Vigo's two longest films, Zero for Conduct and L'Atalante (1934), they tend to prefer Zero for Conduct at first. (Film critic James Agee was among them.) It's Vigo's most personal work, more unrefined and reckless. It's no more poetic than L'Atalante, just more potent, cramming as many ideas and images into a scant 43 minutes.

Zero for Conduct tells the story of three boys stuck in a terrible boys' school. The school is wretched and strange. It serves nothing but beans (everyone calls the cook "Mrs. Bean"), the teachers are inept, and the dean is a dwarf with a huge beard who keeps his hat under glass. Sometimes this stuff plays like Bunuel's Un Chien Andalou and sometimes it's goofy, like a Little Rascals short. These three boys dream up a plan to take over the school on Alumni day, which happens in a miraculous sequence during the last 10 minutes.

The boys begin by ripping up their bedding, throwing white feathers everywhere. Then Vigo takes the film into slow motion, as the boys line up for a parade. The floating feathers surround them, hanging in the air. Then our heroes climb up on the roof, and begin pelting teachers with all kinds of debris. Then, they hop-frog along the rooftop to their escape, and run off into the sunset.

The key into the movie is realizing that Vigo was able to let his anxieties, passions, dreams, and feelings come out lucidly on the screen. He wasn't hiding anything. It helps to simply let the weirdness and anarchy wash over you.

Jean Vigo's greatest (and longest) of his four films, the 89-minute L'Atalante, is a deceptively simple love story. Vigo reportedly made it on assignment, but given the story of a barge captain getting married and taking his wife down river, the great poet of the cinema saw extraordinary things hidden within. And he made an extraordinary film.

The story begins with a wedding, which occurs offscreen. First mate Père Jules (Michel Simon) and a dopey cabin boy (Louis Lefevre) run out of the church in their wedding finery to get their barge ready. Soon the married couple marches dutifully out of the church, followed by their friends and family, toward the docked barge. Before she can even change out of her wedding dress, the bride Juliette (Dita Parlo) finds herself on board and beginning her new life as a barge wife.

As the captain, Jean (Jean Daste), shoves off, Juliette climbs up top and walks up the length of the barge as it moves down river. Vigo and cinematographer Kaufman keep her in frame with the river and the boat moving opposite her. And that's only the film's first breathtaking moment.

It takes Père Jules a little time to get used to the new passenger, but he melts when she uses him as a model while hemming her dress. He shows her his collection of gizmos from all the ports of the world, including a puppet, a record player, and a dead friend's hand kept in a jar. He even smokes a cigarette from his belly button. Vigo gets remarkable use out of the limited space on board the ship, especially Père Jules' overcrowded quarters filled with his collection of stray cats. Vigo makes the film feel both cramped and roomy at the same time.

Before long, Juliette gets cabin fever and longs to see Paris. A traveling salesman (Gilles Margaritis) helps persuade her to run off. Juliette goes window-shopping and finds herself enchanted by the moving figurines therein. But she soon finds the dark, unappetizing side of Paris, with its hungry denizens and thieves, and longs to return to the ship. Vigo shows Paris as just another version of the barge, both beautiful and sad.

Though L'Atalante is a love story, Père Jules becomes the center of the movie. It's he who accepts Juliette aboard the barge (rather than resisting her presence) and it's he who brings her back at the end. The actor Michel Simon, with his gorilla arms and mashed-potato face, was one of the greatest actors in all cinema (he can best be seen in Jean Renoir's La Chienne and Boudu Saved from Drowning). Simon brings unexpected and unusual depth to his nothing-much character and hence adds beautiful weight to the entire piece. He also creates the only moments of magical realism, such as when he demonstrates a wrestling move with himself.

Perhaps the greatest scene, though, occurs with Juliette alone in a Paris hotel, and Jean alone on the barge. Vigo shows them in a dialogue-free sequence, alternately cutting from one to the other as they physically long for each other from their lonely beds. It's one of the most sensual scenes ever filmed.

Vigo died just a few days after the butchered film's unsuccessful release. He never knew the reaction his restored version would have upon the world. It's hard to imagine what more might have come from this fertile mind, but even with his precious, tiny output, Vigo remains one of the cinema's great masters.

The Criterion Collection's disc is so gorgeous it could inspire tears of joy. Vigo scholar Michael Temple provides commentary tracks for all four films. Other extras include a new score for À propos de Nice, by Marc Perrone, recorded in 2001; an alternate cut of that first film, including footage that did not make the final cut; a 1968 conversation between Truffaut and Eric Rohmer; a tribute to Vigo by Michel Gondry; a documentary on L'Atalante; and more.

Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): *****

Imagine a filmmaker dying of Tuberculosis at the age of 29, leaving behind only four films, whose running time totals less than 3 hours. In the age of YouTube, such an event wouldn't rate much more than a single morning's news story, if that. But in the case of Jean Vigo (1905-1934), his legend has endured across a century. There are many tales about him, such as that his anarchist father was murdered in prison, and that Vigo himself directed much of his final film from a stretcher. He has inspired so many filmmakers, everyone from Francois Truffaut to Michel Gondry, and hardly a list of the greatest films goes by without a mention of one of Vigo's extraordinary works.

Continued reading The Complete Jean Vigo (Taris, À propos de Nice, Zéro de conduite, L'Atalante)...

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Reviewer: Philip Tatler IV
Rating (out of five): ****1/2

"How do you get an idea that hits you here," Martin Scorsese asks, jabbing a finger at the center of his forehead, " an image that hits you here, and then translate it through this… this… piece of equipment?"

The piece of equipment Scorsese is referring to, of course, is the movie camera. No one knew better how to translate the thoughts of directors through the unwieldy workings of a camera than Jack Cardiff, the subject of Cameraman.

A fifteen-year labor of love, Craig McCall’s documentary mines the career of Cardiff, the pioneering cinematographer known best for his three collaborations with "The Archers" (Micheal Powell and Emeric Pressburger). Those films – A Matter of Life and Death, Black Narcissus, and The Red Shoes – remain benchmarks of cinematic innovation.

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The audience for this thing seems to me a little pre-sold. You’re either into film history or you aren’t and dilettantes aren’t going to be swayed by a documentary on a 90-year-old cameraman. However, for anyone who cares about the making of films and the innovative work of Cardiff, Cameraman is just about perfect. Cardiff is a consummate raconteur and his career has intersected with so many of cinema’s legendary figures, from Marlene Dietrich to Sylvester Stallone. Adding insights(and not just effusive praise) are Scorsese, Kirk Douglas, Lauren Bacall, etc. etc. Perhaps due to the relaxed nature of the production schedule, McCall seems to have ingratiated himself to his interview subjects, mining plenty of anecdotal gems.

The only criticism I might have with the film is its lack of extra-cinematic revelations about Cardiff. I’m always curious about how someone like Cardiff managed to balance a paradigm-shifting career and a family life, but the film limits itself (appropriately enough) to Jack Cardiff: Cameraman, eschewing any of the other hats he might have worn (aside from a brief discussion of his decade-plus stint as a director). There’s nary a word about Cardiff’s personal life and its successes or failures relative to his career. When Cardiff passed on in 2009, he was survived by four children and a third wife but there’s nothing here to indicate who they were and what they thought of their pater familias.

Strand Releasing’s disc comes generously appointed with extra interviews that significantly enhance the enjoyment of the film. Watching Cardiff share his home movies shot while on location for The African Queen or listening to Cardiff, Scorsese, Freddie Francis, etc. discuss the intricacies of the director-cameraman relationship offers an inspiring look into these filmmakers processes. Not to be missed.

Reviewer: Philip Tatler IV
Rating (out of five): ****1/2

"How do you get an idea that hits you here," Martin Scorsese asks, jabbing a finger at the center of his forehead, " an image that hits you here, and then translate it through this… this… piece of equipment?"

The piece of equipment Scorsese is referring to, of course, is the movie camera. No one knew better how to translate the thoughts of directors through the unwieldy workings of a camera than Jack Cardiff, the subject of Cameraman.

A fifteen-year labor of love, Craig McCall’s documentary mines the career of Cardiff, the pioneering cinematographer known best for his three collaborations with "The Archers" (Micheal Powell and Emeric Pressburger). Those films – A Matter of Life and Death, Black Narcissus, and The Red Shoes – remain benchmarks of cinematic innovation.

Continued reading Cameraman: The Life And Work Of Jack Cardiff...

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Reviewer: Philip Tatler IV
Rating (out of five): ***1/2

Until I watched Kino’s new DVD special edition of David Holzman's Diary, I was only familiar with its significance as a hatch-mark on a film history timeline. Diary is often cited as one of the earliest mockumentaries, prefiguring (among others) Christopher Guest’s skewering of self-serious musicians, dog show denizens, community theater actors, etc.

In this case, director Jim McBride aims his satirical guns at a particular type of pseudo-intellectual, the eponymous Holzman (L.M. Kit Carson, who co-wrote the film with McBride). Holzman is a recently unemployed cinema obsessive who decides to film himself over the course of a week in July 1967. He cites Godard’s oft-repeated axiom that “film is truth 24 frames per second” as his mantra. As the film unfolds, it becomes abundantly clear that Holzman is a budding sociopath, documenting his own devolution. Holzman makes for insufferable company, both for his (soon to be ex-) girlfriend Penny (Eileen Dietz) and the viewer. 

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Holzman’s diary entries are underscored by the faint strains of radio reports detailing the violence in Vietnam, the Israeli-Egytian conflict, and the 1967 Newark riots. The filmmakers focus especially on the latter, rather obviously juxtaposing the rioting of disenfranchised African-Americans with the willful mental illness of a privileged white layabout.

Twenty minutes in, the ouroboros attack as one of Holzman’s friends delivers a monologue heavily aimed at David, questioning the entire purpose/thrust of what we’re watching.

“Your life is not a very good script,” he drolly notes. “You’re not getting truths, just half truths and I think that’s worse than a lie… You stop living. Your decisions stop being moral decisions and start being aesthetical (sic) decisions.”

It’s an obvious corrective to the Godard quote and must have been fresher at the time. In fact, much of Diary is a bit stale. The film is a wonderful time capsule of late ‘60s New York, shot in beautiful high-contrast B&W. I’m sure on some level it deserves 5-star classic status just for its historicity (indeed, it’s been inducted into the National Film Registry). But it’s 75-minute length gives it the feel of an overly long short film.

There are two stand-out moments:

At one point, Holzman decides to distill a few hours of TV into a minute or so, capturing a few frames of every shot he saw that evening: “each shot that went into my head,” Holzman claims. The result is profound: images of phony drama, talk shows, and (above all) advertisement flash by in a disorienting mess of visual overload. The idea of monitoring what we monitor, shot by shot, is something that was probably novel enough to consider then. Do we even think about these things today? Especially when multiple “shots” are entering our vision at a time via the multi-paned deliver of the internet and cable news, etc.?

The other is a brief bit where Holzman’s camera slow-motion circles around Union Square, capturing the faces of hundreds of elderly folks parked there for the afternoon. The muffled strains of a UN vote play over the soundtrack, adding a strange weight to the moment. It’s a brief bit of cinematic exhilaration.

These pieces have resonance beyond their context in the whole and certainly belong in the canon of 1960s avant-garde film. Moments like David pacing in and out of frame mumbling accusations at and demanding answers from the camera, however, feel tired now and fail to resonate beyond functioning as a sort of ur-text for all the self-indulgent Youtube videos out there. Satire or not, real or fake, it’s not an abyss I care to stare at for very long.

“I wish I would have learned something, “ David Holzman says to the camera at the end of his “diary.” “I would have preferred not to have done this, but I did it.” I’m glad he did and I’m glad I finally caught up with the Diary. But now it’s crossed off my list, never to be looked at again.

Extras include two hours of supplemental documentary diaries McBride shot throughout his career thusfar. Recommended viewing includes the eight minute piece I did watch, “My Son’s Wedding to My Sister-In-Law” which is quite charming and refreshingly to-the-point.

Reviewer: Philip Tatler IV
Rating (out of five): ***1/2

Until I watched Kino’s new DVD special edition of David Holzman's Diary, I was only familiar with its significance as a hatch-mark on a film history timeline. Diary is often cited as one of the earliest mockumentaries, prefiguring (among others) Christopher Guest’s skewering of self-serious musicians, dog show denizens, community theater actors, etc.

In this case, director Jim McBride aims his satirical guns at a particular type of pseudo-intellectual, the eponymous Holzman (L.M. Kit Carson, who co-wrote the film with McBride). Holzman is a recently unemployed cinema obsessive who decides to film himself over the course of a week in July 1967. He cites Godard’s oft-repeated axiom that “film is truth 24 frames per second” as his mantra. As the film unfolds, it becomes abundantly clear that Holzman is a budding sociopath, documenting his own devolution. Holzman makes for insufferable company, both for his (soon to be ex-) girlfriend Penny (Eileen Dietz) and the viewer. 

Continued reading David Holzman's Diary...

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Reviewer: James van Maanen
Rating (out of five): ****

Comparing a movie to an after-school special generally means something derogatory. Not in this case. Not at all. For writer/-director Michael Pavone has given us a coming-of-age, junior-high-school story that's rare in lots of ways. It's the first really good film -- one for which no excuses need be made -- from the WWE (yes, the company formerly known as The World Wide Wrestling Federation). It has a cast -- Ed Harris, Amy Madigan, Molly Parker plus a group of remarkably gifted unknowns and even a WWE superstar (Randy Orton) who proves quite a good actor -- of which any movie would be proud to boast; and best of all, it handles coming-of-age and all the complexities of the adult and teenage worlds with remarkable depth, understanding, generosity and tact. In short, it's an important film that will undoubtedly -- due to its provenance (particularly, I fear, that WWE connection) -- get lost in the hustle and bustle of the mainstream mix.

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Pavone is especially adept at weaving all his themes together so that one does not seem any more important than another -- and all connect to what is basically a terrific coming-of-age tale. The filmmaker and his casting crew -- Denise Chamian, Elizabeth Coulon and Ania Kamieniecki-O'Hare -- have managed to fill every role with splendid performers. Harris, Madigan and Parker are expectedly great, but so are all the young people in the mix. Chase Ellison and Mia Rose Frampton are lovely as, respectively, our designated "hero" and his first love. Frampton brings a particularly saucy, knowing generosity to the proceedings.

Even the prime bully at school, played by Jordan Reynolds is given more character than is usual.

But it is the "outsider," the boy who, no matter what, simply cannot fit in, that seals the deal. He is played by first-timer Alexander Walters, who gives one of the most indelible performers ever seen in a kids-growing-up movie. And he does this with nary a cliché in sight (there couldn't be: the character and the actor are simply too unusual). Who The Big G (as he is known) actually is, and why he does what he does, is a kind of mystery that Pavone smartly allows to be only partially solved (sort of like the human character in all its variety and fascination).  Walters is a marvel in the role. He personifies the dignity that is so much a part of this wonderful film.

The filmmaker thankfully resists every opportunity to smooth things over and show us that all's right with the world. Neither does he make the place unduly dark. Instead, it's one of change and -- we hope -- growth. Interestingly, the WWE star Orton takes on the darkest role in the movie and does a fine job of bringing it to life. Even here, Pavone lets us see that the attitudes expressed are not at all far afield from reality then (the film takes place in the 1960s) and probably only a small step or two from it now.

Ed Harris is simply wonderful as the teacher everyone loves but no one can help (you'd hardly recognize him here from his great work in The Way Back, which appeared on DVD earlier this summer), and Molly Parker, as the Ellison's character's mom, is warm and real, gracious and graceful. The movie ends with one of my favorite songs of all time on the soundtrack -- one that is as timely now as when it was written decades ago: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's Teach Your Children. What a pleasure to hear the song again, and in this particular movie -- which should be shown in every classroom in the country.

Reviewer: James van Maanen
Rating (out of five): ****

Comparing a movie to an after-school special generally means something derogatory. Not in this case. Not at all. For writer/-director Michael Pavone has given us a coming-of-age, junior-high-school story that's rare in lots of ways. It's the first really good film -- one for which no excuses need be made -- from the WWE (yes, the company formerly known as The World Wide Wrestling Federation). It has a cast -- Ed Harris, Amy Madigan, Molly Parker plus a group of remarkably gifted unknowns and even a WWE superstar (Randy Orton) who proves quite a good actor -- of which any movie would be proud to boast; and best of all, it handles coming-of-age and all the complexities of the adult and teenage worlds with remarkable depth, understanding, generosity and tact. In short, it's an important film that will undoubtedly -- due to its provenance (particularly, I fear, that WWE connection) -- get lost in the hustle and bustle of the mainstream mix.

Continued reading That's What I Am...

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Reviewer: Jeffrey M. Anderson
Rating (out of five): ****

While director Edgar Wright was working on his fake trailer for Grindhouse (2007), and preparing Hot Fuzz (2007), Quentin Tarantino screened a couple of cop films for him: Stuart Rosenberg's The Laughing Policeman (1973) and Ruggero Deodato's Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man (1976).

Of the second film, Wright said it was "the most amazing title, ever, apart from Half Past Dead. It's probably the most homoerotic cop film I've ever seen. The cops in it share a bedroom. They have bunks, and they're both real lady killers, but the fact that they share a bedroom -- it's like Bert and Ernie from 'Sesame Street.'"

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As the film begins, we meet our two cop heroes, dark-haired Alfredo (Marc Porel) and blonde Antonio (Ray Lovelock); were they a deliberate echo of "Starsky & Hutch"? They are members of an elite team, the "special squad," which apparently has total license to murder all suspects and destroy as much property as possible. They ride a motorcycle to work together (with Antonio wrapping his arms around Alfredo).

Things kick off with a motorcycle chase that even the DVD box copy correctly describes as "insane," and apparently shot without permits or permission. The heroes madly chase a couple of muggers/killers through the streets of Rome, not stopping until both of the perpetrators are dead; in one case, one of the bad guys needs a little push in that direction, and our cop is willing to provide it.

The main plot has something to do with a gangster and his informer, and how the cops use the latter to catch the former. But all of this is an excuse for the heroes to set dozens of expensive cars on fire, and try to nail every girl that moves. The fact that the two heroes share an apartment as well as a motorcycle doesn't seem to have much bearing on their extremely active sex lives (they don't mind sharing).

Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man is gleefully sexist and violent. As others have pointed out, these loose cannon cops are a bit like Dirty Harry, except for the fact that Harry had a kind of political/idealistic agenda. These guys are just out to have a good time, by shooting people, blowing stuff up, or having sex. Their jobs as cops are kind of beside the point.

The director Deodato is best known for the trash classic Cannibal Holocaust (1980), about a lost documentary crew in the Amazon. A professor finds their footage, brings it back to the city, and watches it, revealing a horrifying display of gruesome behavior. If this director ever had anything more relevant in mind, it's definitely up for interpretation.

Regardless, fans of Tarantino and "grindhouse" action movies absolutely need to see Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man; otherwise, you just won't believe it could actually have been made. Raro's DVD comes with TV commercials shot by Deodato, a documentary on the film, and a liner notes booklet.]]> 8144@http://guru.greencine.com/ Reviewer: Jeffrey M. Anderson
Rating (out of five): ****

While director Edgar Wright was working on his fake trailer for Grindhouse (2007), and preparing Hot Fuzz (2007), Quentin Tarantino screened a couple of cop films for him: Stuart Rosenberg's The Laughing Policeman (1973) and Ruggero Deodato's Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man (1976).

Of the second film, Wright said it was "the most amazing title, ever, apart from Half Past Dead. It's probably the most homoerotic cop film I've ever seen. The cops in it share a bedroom. They have bunks, and they're both real lady killers, but the fact that they share a bedroom -- it's like Bert and Ernie from 'Sesame Street.'"

Continued reading Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man...

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Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): ****

Thanks to a fan club that includes Quentin Tarantino and John Woo (as well making an appearance in Jean-Luc Godard's Breathless), Jean-Pierre Melville is primarily known as a director of cool crime films. In 2006, there was a small revelation with the official U.S. release of Army of Shadows (1969), a cool crime film that took place during WWII and dealt with the French Resistance; it quickly became apparent that this subject was dear to Melville's heart. Now comes Léon Morin, Priest (1961), making its DVD debut via the Criterion Collection. It's a movie without any crime elements at all, and is almost entirely wrapped up in the Occupation and Resistance. And yet it hardly even touches on those things. The story is almost totally boiled down to the interactions between two characters. They talk almost entirely about religion. They barely talk about the war or its effects at all. But in these talks, everything becomes clear.

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What does preoccupy Barny is the idea of visiting the local church and pulling a practical joke. She chooses a priest based on his name, Léon Morin, and enters the confession booth. When the priest arrives, she announces that religion is the opium of the masses. To her surprise, the priest (Belmondo) more or less agrees with her and engages her in a discussion. He brings her into his office, gives her books to read and invites her to return for more discourse.

Barny is involved in the discussions, but she's probably more interested in Morin himself, with his shabby cassock, his handsome face, and his peculiar manner, both inviting and guarded. She begins to fantasize about sleeping with him, and she's not the only one. After all, it's wartime, and all the men are gone. Morin is the only one around, and he's fascinating to the local women.

Melville plays this little intellectual, erotic dance with great care, strategically staging the actors in the simple sets, but perhaps more importantly is the way that the whole movie descends upon and centers around these two. The war intrudes around the film's edges, but it's always a secondary concern (Melville apparently cut down a much longer, more detailed film to achieve this final result). Even more notable is the odd cutting, with fadeouts that seem to happen very abruptly, as if dreamlike.

Léon Morin, Priest is a peculiar combination of intellectual and instinctive, but it works beautifully. The protected dance between these two fascinating souls builds to a breaking point without ever giving anything away. All that talk, and never any kind of conclusion, which is as it should be.

Criterion's disc comes with a 1961 TV interview with Belmondo and Melville, a selected-scene commentary track by film scholar Ginette Vincendeau, a trailer, and some deleted scenes.

Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): ****

Thanks to a fan club that includes Quentin Tarantino and John Woo (as well making an appearance in Jean-Luc Godard's Breathless), Jean-Pierre Melville is primarily known as a director of cool crime films. In 2006, there was a small revelation with the official U.S. release of Army of Shadows (1969), a cool crime film that took place during WWII and dealt with the French Resistance; it quickly became apparent that this subject was dear to Melville's heart. Now comes Léon Morin, Priest (1961), making its DVD debut via the Criterion Collection. It's a movie without any crime elements at all, and is almost entirely wrapped up in the Occupation and Resistance. And yet it hardly even touches on those things. The story is almost totally boiled down to the interactions between two characters. They talk almost entirely about religion. They barely talk about the war or its effects at all. But in these talks, everything becomes clear.

Continued reading Léon Morin, Priest...

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Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): ****

In last year's Kick-Ass, an ordinary comic book nerd dons a costume and becomes a superhero. Despite his lack of superpowers, he eventually finds himself on a super adventure, with a big, spectacular showdown. James Gunn's Super starts out much the same way, except that this hero (played by Rainn Wilson) doesn't know much about comic books and he's a little less of a role model. In fact, comparisons to Travis Bickle are appropriate.

Frank D'Arbo (Wilson) is the ultimate in schlubby. His clothes and hair are schlubby, he lives in a schlubby town (actually Shreveport, Louisiana), and works as a cook in a schlubby little diner. He has somehow lucked into a beautiful wife, Sarah (Liv Tyler), though she is on the verge of leaving him; she's a recovering addict and is falling off the wagon. When she finally does, it's for a slick, sleazy club owner/drug dealer, Jacques (Kevin Bacon). Frank feels a terrible sense of injustice; he wants to get his wife back, but he also wants to rescue her from that bad influence.

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Super tackles many themes. When in costume, and despite his lack of powers, Frank eventually comes to be decisive and commanding; there's something here about the power of masks, wiping the slate clean and giving someone an entirely new identity. Boltie, likewise, begins to show a very raw, violent, carnal edge. She begins to delight in beating up bad guys and gives in to an irresistible urge to have sex with Frank while they're both in costume. (When she tries on her suit, she strokes her curves and limbs as if she had never noticed them before.)

The movie even dives into religion and spirituality, with images of Frank being "touched by the finger of God," and by a TV show starring Nathan Fillion as "The Holy Avenger", a do-gooder that serves the will of God by defeating bad guys. These images are as fascinatingly mixed-up as Frank is.

Frank's exploits begin as seemingly innocent and heroic, but they eventually turn violent as the heroes collect more and bigger weapons, wreaking more and more destruction with no consequences. The violence here is deliberately sour and brutal, and when Frank himself takes a bullet, he must hide out and limp around for several days before springing back into action. But I think the thing I like best about Super is that Frank's ultimate battle is with himself. No matter how many comic books you've read, you won't be able to guess how this battle ends.

All this is a way of saying that Super digs under the superhero myth more than many other movies. The motivations of superheroes are not exactly pure. Batman, for example, became Batman out of an almost psychotic need for revenge. In donning his costume, Frank finds his strength and his manhood, but he also finds an outlet for some of his most repressed, demented violent tendencies. And Libby demonstrates the sexualized nature of a superhero costume, tights that show off muscles and curves.

Super is a disturbing, amazing experience; it's almost as if the movie itself were an ordinary movie freed from moral conventions by wearing a mask. And in doing so, finds its true self.

Reviewer: Jeffrey M Anderson
Rating (out of five): ****

In last year's Kick-Ass, an ordinary comic book nerd dons a costume and becomes a superhero. Despite his lack of superpowers, he eventually finds himself on a super adventure, with a big, spectacular showdown. James Gunn's Super starts out much the same way, except that this hero (played by Rainn Wilson) doesn't know much about comic books and he's a little less of a role model. In fact, comparisons to Travis Bickle are appropriate.

Frank D'Arbo (Wilson) is the ultimate in schlubby. His clothes and hair are schlubby, he lives in a schlubby town (actually Shreveport, Louisiana), and works as a cook in a schlubby little diner. He has somehow lucked into a beautiful wife, Sarah (Liv Tyler), though she is on the verge of leaving him; she's a recovering addict and is falling off the wagon. When she finally does, it's for a slick, sleazy club owner/drug dealer, Jacques (Kevin Bacon). Frank feels a terrible sense of injustice; he wants to get his wife back, but he also wants to rescue her from that bad influence.

Continued reading Super...

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