Jason Bailey
Every Tuesday, discriminating viewers are confronted with a flurry of choices: new releases on disc and on demand, vintage and original movies on any number of streaming platforms, catalogue titles making a splash on Blu-ray or 4K. This twice-monthly column sifts through all of those choices to pluck out the movies most worth your time, no matter how you’re watching.
PICK OF THE WEEK:
Amadeus: Theatrical Cut: A funny thing happened on the way to Amadeus’s home video afterlife: when Milos Forman’s director’s cut — 20 minutes longer, and with enough additional adult-oriented material to bump it up from a PG to R rating — was released on DVD in 2002, it basically replaced the original theatrical version, becoming the only cut available to buy, rent, or stream. The trouble is, that’s not the version that won the Oscar for Best Picture of 1984, and many admirers of the original found this expanded version to be inferior. Thankfully, its 4K UHD debut brings back that original cut (though it’s odd that those additional scenes aren’t, at the very least, included as a bonus feature), and reminds us of what a splendid film it is. Most biographical filmmakers view their subjects in the most straight-ahead manner possible — coming at them through the front door, if you will — but Forman and writer Peter Shaffer (adapting his play) came at Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart through the window. In spite of its title, Amadeus isn’t a biography of Mozart at all; it is the story of his rivalry with composer Antonio Salieri (F. Murray Abraham), and Mozart (Tom Hulce) is only seen through that character’s eyes. By focusing on the intricacies of that relationship (one that Shaffer highly fictionalized), this exquisite character study becomes less a biopic than an absorbing drama all its own. (Includes featurettes.)
ON THE CRITERION CHANNEL:
Between the Lines: This comedy/drama about the goings-on at a Boston alt-weekly from director Joan Micklin Silver (Crossing Delancey, see below) was a reasonable success when it hit theaters in 1977 – big enough for a short-lived TV sitcom adaptation, at least. But it disappeared in recent years, so its rediscovery was something of a revelation; it’s both a marvelous time capsule of its era, pulsing with authenticity (Silver was herself an alum of the Village Voice) and a reminder that certain concerns of journalism – low pay, editorial interference, corporate buyouts – are sadly timeless. Yet because the film is of that era and not merely about it, screenwriter Fred Barron manages to capture the scene without sentimentalizing it. Verisimilitude aside, it’s a sharp, fast, funny piece of work with a stellar ensemble, including John Heard as the perpetual malcontent, Lindsay Crouse as the seen-it-all photographer, and (in one of the best pieces of casting of the era) Jeff Goldblum as the scamming rock critic.
ON BLU-RAY / DVD / VOD:
Nosferatu: Robert Eggers’s take on the venerable Dracula rip-off feels like the movie he’s been building towards for all of these years, a meticulously crafted assemblage of vampire lore, throwback effects, theatrical performances, and vibes. Bill Skarsgård is chillingly effective as Count Orlok, who crosses land and sea to sink his teeth into Ellen Hutter (Lily-Rose Depp, shouting out Isabelle Huppert’s work in not only Herzog’s version but Żuławski’s Possession). Nicholas Hoult is also a standout, zeroing in on the complicated eroticism and fear of his typically dull character, but Eggers is really the star; every image is suitable for framing, and every moment accumulates into a mosaic of darkness and dread. (Includes audio commentary, extended cut and theatrical version, deleted scenes, and featurette.)
September 5: Tim Fehlbaum directs and co-writes this tight-as-a-drum control room thriller, set on the last day of the 1972 Munich Olympics, in which the games were taken over by a hostage situation in Olympic Village—and the ABC Sports crew, which was only on hand to cover volleyball games and boxing matches, found themselves tasked with something entirely different. Peter Sarsgaard is in his best mode, the taciturn professional, as Roone Arledge, the ambitious sports producer who fought to keep the news division from taking over the story, but found himself and his team grappling with questions of journalistic responsibility they’d never had to consider before. Gripping from top to bottom, and boasting impressive supporting turns from John Magaro, Ben Chaplin, and The Teachers Lounge breakout Leonie Benesch. (Includes featurettes and Q&As.)
Last Summer: Ever the provacateur, writer/director Catherine Breillat‘s latest drama tackles the porn standby of seducing the stepmom and turns it inside out. Léa Drucker is terrific as a lawyer who bonds over one languid summer with her husband’s 17-year-old son from a previous marriage, which goes from loaded glances and interactions to taboo-crossing. Breillat is refreshingly (but unsurprisingly) matter-of-fact about the sex itself, primarily conveying their intimacy via her careful framing; she also knows that there will be fallout, and doesn’t softpedal or romanticize any of that, even when she risks turning us on her protagonist. It’s a knotty, thoughtful, and unflinching. (Includes interview and trailer.)
ON 4K:
Crossing Delancey: The aforementioned Joan Micklin Silver had her biggest mainstream success with this 1988 romantic comedy, which hits the formula beats — girl meets boy, girl resists boy, boy resists girl, girl gets boy — but does so with uncommon depth and nuance, delving into questions of social class, ethnic assimilation, and urban gentrification. Amy Irving is a thriving modern woman, with an uptown apartment and a foot in the door of New York’s literary scene; Peter Riegert is a pickle salesman from her old neighborhood (and her old world) with whom she’s set up by a marriage broker. The stars sparkle, the dialogue zings, and Silver orchestrates it all with a light touch, while Criterion’s 4K restoration nicely conveys the picture’s casual beauty. (Also streaming on the Criterion Channel.) (Includes new and archival interviews, trailer, and essay by Rachel Syme.)
Drugstore Cowboy: This 1989 adaptation of James Fogle’s autobiographical novel (also new to the Criterion Collection) was Gus Van Sant’s big breakthrough, and we’re already seeing some of his distinctive touches: a narrative playfulness, matter-of-fact use of place and period (the film takes place in the Pacific Northwest, circa 1971), spare but effective voice-over narration, home movies as scene-setting device. Most importantly, he burrows right into the seamy, grimy world of his characters — drug addicts who knock over drugstores, where they’re only looking for the pharms — without judging or condescending. He lives in there with them, at ground level, staying up those long days and nights, lunging for the next fix, indulging in their desperation, their disconnection, their gallows humor, capturing the brisling energy of their “heists.” (Includes audio commentary, featurette, interviews, deleted scenes, trailer, and essay by Jon Raymond.)
Performance: The great Nicolas Roeg made his first, tentative step towards the director’s chair by co-helming this 1970 feature with Donald Cammell (also making his feature directorial debut). It begins firmly entrenched in the world of British crime pictures, with James Fox as a ruthless gangster who crosses the wrong boss and flees into hiding. Said hiding occurs at the home of a rock star, played (appropriately enough) by Mick Jagger, and once he enters that zonko orbit, things get really weird. Shot in 1968, Performance captures the feel of that hero with convincing authenticity; it feels like the late-‘60s, in both subject and style, and Cammell and Roeg’s innovative camerawork and editing, crisply captured on this Criterion 4K, made it no-brainer for cult status. (Includes featurettes, interviews, trailer, and essays by Ryan Gilbey and Peter Wollen.)
Cronos: This week’s final new addition to the Criterion Collection is another noteworthy feature debut, the 1992 indie horror haunter from Guillermo del Toro. His unique aesthetic and celluloid-tinged worldview are already firmly intact in this tale of an inventive alchemist, an antiques dealer (Federico Luppi, delightful), a vulgar American (Ron Perlman, in a beast of a performance), and a mechanism for everlasting life. del Toro’s screenplay is filled with none-too-subtle (and thankfully irreverent) religious overtones, as well as gallows humor and unapologetic bloodlust; it’s an inventive, eccentric, and undeniably poignant picture, kicking off an admirably personal and unfailingly singular filmography. (Also streaming on the Criterion Channel.) (Includes audio commentaries, short film, featurettes, interviews, and essay by Maitland McDonagh.)
Uncle Buck: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles writer-producer-director John Hughes and star John Candy reteamed for this 1989 hit, which offered the jolly actor even greater opportunities to explore the poignancy possible within his onscreen persona. He stars as the title character, a ne’er-do-well Chicago gambler and screw-up who is called in as the last (and I do mean last) resort sitter for his nieces and nephews in a family emergency. The household shenanigans — adventures in cooking, cleaning, and child care — are funny but expected; what’s memorable are Candy’s quieter, darker moments, including one of his best-ever scenes, a mute moment while contemplating an ill-advised road trip that becomes a small, perfect piece of physical acting and reacting. (Includes audio commentaries, interview, and trailer.)
Looking for Mr. Goodbar: A year before winning the Oscar for Annie Hall, Diane Keaton dazzled in a very different kind of role, fronting Richard Brooks’s controversial film adaptation of Judith Rossner’s novel. She stars as Theresa, whose mild manner and milquetoast day job (she’s a literal schoolteacher) hides her predilection for casual, and even risky, sexual encounters. Brooks lays on the moralizing a bit too heavy-handedly, but he knows how to build dread, and Keaton is flawless in a beautifully realized portrait of simultaneous sunshine and darkness. Long MIA on home video due to tricky music licensing, this knockout 4K is one of Vinegar Syndrome’s most important achievements to date. (Includes audio commentary, new and archival interviews, featurette, trailer and radio spots.)
The Keep: Another welcome bit of restoration and dissemination by Vinegar Syndrome, which rescued Michael Mann’s 1983 sophomore theatrical effort from languishing in a similar VHS-only purgatory. Its reputation as a patched-up mess isn’t entirely unearned; Paramount’s desperate last-minute edits are frequently obvious and ugly, though one also gets the feeling that Mann never quite figured out the story he was telling, and how to tell it. But there are moments here of astonishing beauty and mood, thanks to Alex Thompson’s astonishing cinematography and Tangerine Dream’s evocative score, and they make the moments that don’t work worth the effort. (Includes audio commentary, interviews, and trailer.)
The Possession of Joel Delaney: Warris Hussein’s adaptation of Ramona Stewart’s novel (also new on 4K from Vinegar Syndrome) came out four years after Rosemary’s Baby and the year before The Exorcist, and it sits snugly between them—a supernatural tale anchored in the minutiae of everyday living in New York’s wealthier enclaves, dramatizing how rational people react to forces they cannot explain. It gets at the uneasy intersection of privilege and counterculture that was seemingly inescapable in early-‘70s urban settings, exploring class inequality and racial fear with some insight and some clumsiness. The closing scenes don’t work at all (they’re both offensive and ugly), but Shirley MacLaine is excellent in the leading role, while Perry King, as the title character, pulls off several seemingly impossible beats and transitions. (Includes audio commentary, interviews, featurette, and trailer.)
Virtuosity: There was once a moment in mainstream cinema where nothing was more compelling — scary, titillating, endless in its possibilities — than “virtual reality.” Brett Leonard’s 1995 cyber-thriller, another new-ish 4K release from Vinegar Syndrome Ultra, as one of the most of-that-moment entries in that subgenre, for better or worse; it’s endlessly silly, sometimes self-consciously so, yet it caught both the awe and paranoia of that odd moment. Years before their high-profile team-up in American Gangster (not to mention their shared fronting of the Gladiator movies), Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe faced off as an incarcerated cop and the virtual criminal whom he tracks in an experimental VR training program. When the bad guy escapes the digital realm and enters the “real world,” the cop gets a temporary pass to hunt him down, and mayhem ensues. Virtuosity wants badly to be Demolition Man, but can’t pull it off without that movie’s sly wit. But it’s a solid mid-‘90s programmer, and that’s not nothing. (Includes audio commentary, interviews, and featurettes.)
Sliver: Fresh off the worldwide phenomenon of Basic Instinct, newly minted star Sharon Stone and wildly overpaid screenwriter Joe Eszterhas re-teamed for this 1992 erotic thriller, a similar reputation-rescue effort from Vinegar Syndrome. It’s no match for their previous collaboration, mainly because workmanlike director Philip Noyce is no Paul Verhoeven. But it has its virtues: Stone is fully committed, Tom Berenger is appropriately creepy (this one makes a good double with Goodbar), and the picture’s implicit commentary (intended or not!) on how desire manifests in watching and being watched. (Includes new and archival interviews, featurettes, alternate scenes, and trailer.)
Deranged: The crimes of Ed Gein inspired some of the most durable chillers in all of cinema. This low-budget independent horror flick, released in 1974 (the same year as the Gein-adjacent Texas Chain Saw Massacre) is more direct than others — “only the names and the locations have been changed,” per the opening text, and Dragnet-style narration is provided by a square-jawed newspaperman, who deems it “a human horror story of ghastly proportions.” It’s a fascinating mixture of seemingly incongruent purposes, with the grisly kills and post-mortem sequences checking the gross-out boxes, but actor Roberts Blossom (who would later play Old Man Marley in Home Alone), fully committed in the role of Gein stand-in Ezra Cobb. What initially looks like mere exploitation evolves into to something far more deranged and subversive, like a Psycho remake by John Waters; you may love it and you may hate it, but whatever the case may be, you’re unlikjely to forget it. (Includes audio commentaries, interviews, archival documentary, introduction, and trailers.)
Cruising: One of the most controversial New York movies of the fruitful 1980s, and for good reason – William Friedkin’s grisly police procedural was framed as “an odyssey to the edge of city life” in which a NYPD detective (Al Pacino) goes undercover to find a serial killer who’s stalking gay men in downtown S&M bars. Activists famously haunted the film’s locations, using music and noisemakers to wreck sound recordings, objecting that the film framed all gay life in the city as decadent and depraved. The results are certainly #problematic, but it does preserve a fascinating subculture, with scenes shot in real downtown leather bars, and stands as one of the most haunting attempts to Americanize the giallo. Arrow’s 4K upgrade is appropriately grimy and garish, and the copious special features from their previous Blu-ray are thankfully intact. (Includes audio commentaries, deleted scenes and alternate footage, new and archival interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, new and archival featurettes, Q&A, theatrical trailers and TV spots.)
ON BLU-RAY:
Frances: Jessica Lange won the Oscar for her delightful supporting performance in 1982’s Tootsie, but that same year, she was also up for a Best Actress trophy for a turn that was 180 degrees from that showbiz comedy. She stars as Frances Farmer, film and stage star of the 1930s and 1940s whose off-screen woes (alcoholism and mental illness, specifically) all but ended her career and landed her in a mental institution. Her story is a harrowing one, not only for the horrifying abuse she suffered behind those walls, but her (sadly) more common exploitation in Hollywood. It makes Frances a tough sit, but director Graeme Clifford tells the story with sensitivity, and Lange’s performance is a revelation, by turns ferocious, tender, sexy, and broken. Tootsie may have won her the Oscar, but Frances was the film that announced her as a real artist. (Includes audio commentaries, featurette, and trailer.)
Summer Rental: KL Studio Classics complements their Uncle Buck 4K with this 1985 Carl Reiner comedy, one of (sadly) few John Candy solo vehicles. He stars as a frazzled Atlanta air traffic controller who’s ordered to take a much-needed vacation, only to encounter every imaginable irritation in the beach community where he and his family rent a home. The script is fairly formulaic, a typical 80’s paint-by-numbers snobs vs. slobs affair, culminating in big, Caddyshack-style third-act competition climax. But Reiner’s direction is energetic, and Candy is (as always) a gas, a charming, likable, charismatic lead who elevates even the lamest bits. (Includes audio commentary, featurette, and trailer.)
Welcome to Fun City: Let’s get the disclosure out of the way right off the top: I’m one of the many souls (including fellow film critics, historians, authors, and filmmakers) who contribute audio commentaries to Fun City Editions’ collection or original trailers and TV spots for films set (and shot) in New York City’s grimy golden era — dozens of movies, from classics to obscurities, spanning from the 1960s through the 1990s. And I’d probably have an inherent interest in this release even if I weren’t a participant. But don’t let those disclaimers sway you! This is a fabulous compendium, including quite a few trailers that you can’t find on YouTube or on the trailer sites (some of them haven’t been seen in decades); you’ll come away with a hell of a watchlist, and some juicy trivia besides. (Includes audio commentaries and essay by Joseph A. Berger.)
Racing with the Moon: Richard Benjamin was, for my money, one of the truly underrated directors of the 1980s, a journeyman whose adaptability and invisibility within different genres made him seem less an artist than he was. He followed up the exquisite My Favorite Year with this fine entry in the coming-of-age period-drama sweepstakes, with Sean Penn as an aimless young man, circa 1942, who’s biding his time before his deployment to the big war, Nicolas Cage as his troublemaking best buddy, and Elizabeth McGovern as the girl he unexpectedly falls for, hard. Penn’s work here is tip-top, exploring and reveling in the contradictions of his brusque but tender, tough but vulnerable character, and Cage plays his live-wire buddy with offhand ease. But the MVP here is McGovern, who gives what could have been a stock character genuine warmth and dimension. Racing With the Moon was a VHS standby that has somewhat faded, so bravo to Fun City Editions for treating it with the respect it deserves. (Includes audio commentaries and featurette.)
Lifeguard: Fun City is also behind this shaggy hang-out flick, with perpetual supporting player Sam Elliot in a rare but welcome leading role (and somehow already looking 40+, even though he was barely 30 when it was made). He stars as a good-time fella who started working as a lifeguard years back and hasn’t found the motivation to do anything else — and it’s hard to blame him, considering the life of sun, sex, and good times he seems to lead. But Ron Koslow’s script is attuned to how good vibes can curdle into a stagnant life, and director Daniel Petrie manages to squeeze those themes in without imposing too much on the bawdy, sexy fun. Some of the period tropes are pretty cringe (gotta love the soft-rock songs with painfully on-the-nose lyrics), but Elliott is such a low-key charmer that it doesn’t matter much. Kathleen Quinlan and Anne Archer are radiant in supporting roles as the women who make him re-think his entire thing, for radically different reasons. (Includes audio commentary.)
Crack House: This 1989 urban action flick, new on Blu from Vinegar Syndrome Archive, looks and sounds like a hundred other disposable shoot-‘em-ups produced primarily for the home video market, and in some stretches (especially early on) that’s all it is; the gang war plot is the oldest of old hats, and the specifics of addiction are barely more sophisticated than Reefer Madness. But two jaw-dropping performances elevate this one above its particulars. Jim Brown is top-billed, but doesn’t appear until an hour into the picture’s 90 minutes — but he appears, whispered about for several reels as the city’s most terrifying crime lord, and he lives up to the hype. It’s a chilling, ruthless performance (even if it feels like a missed opportunity that he shares no scenes with co-star Richard “Shaft” Roundtree). And Cheryl Kay is astonishing as Melissa, who is transformed from a book-worm good girl to a desperate addict. It’s a stock character, but she plays the descent into darkness with real conviction; she was a Playboy Playmate and this was her only film role, and both of those facts are shocking, considering the depth and skill of this performance. (Includes interviews and featurette.)
Cannibal! The Musical: Before they shook pop culture to its core with South Park, Trey Parker and Matt Stone were just a couple of dudes trying to make independent movies. They made this period musical black comedy in 1993, with Parker writing, directing, co-producing, and co-starring, and Stone co-producing and co-starring, and the hallmarks of their style are all there, albeit in embryonic (and sometimes awkward) form. The jokes are broad, the songs are funny, and the gonzo energy is undeniable, and Degausser Video’s sharp Blu-ray is a quite an upgrade from the crusty old Troma VHS and DVD releases. (Includes new and archival audio commentaries, making-of documentary, new and archival interviews, new and archival featurettes, and excerpts from stage productions.)
