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:
North by Northwest: Alfred Hitchcock’s elegant 1959 spy picture—finally joining the rest of his classics on 4K—is perhaps the most emblematic of his particular gifts, the most Hitchcock movie if not quite the best Hitchcock movie, one rife with his cinematic signatures: a ridiculously handsome leading man (this time, Cary Grant); an icy-cool and inscrutable blonde leading lady (Eva Marie Saint); gorgeous globe-trotting cinematography; an innocent-man-wrongly-accused narrative; and not one but two of his show-stopping suspense set pieces. Midway through, protagonist Roger Thornhill (Grant) finds himself in the isolated countryside, pursued and nearly killed by a crop-dusting plane, and at the film’s conclusion, he finds himself dangling from Mount Rushmore with the villain’s shoes crushing his fingers. They didn’t call him the Master of Suspense for nothing. (Includes audio commentary and featurettes.)
ON MAX:
I Saw the TV Glow: Writer/director Jane Schoenbrun’s follow-up to We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, already exhibits, on just their second feature, a confidence of tone, texture, and composition that recalls Sofia Coppola’s early work. And not just her; “Lynichian” is overused, and rarely accurate, but it feels like the only reference point for waking-dream storytelling like this. It doesn’t all work — some of it’s a little heavy-handed, and the acting can get mannered. But the ambition is undeniable, and when Schoenbrun is really cooking, it feels like they’re doing nothing less than rewriting the cinematic language, using unexpected camera movement and on-screen text like a Millennial Godard.
ON BLU-RAY / DVD / VOD:
Red Rooms: There is a moment late in Pascal Plante’s chilling psychological drama in which his protagonist, Kelly-Anne, watches a video. But it’s not just any video; it’s a recording of a live-stream in which a serial killer tortures and murders a teenage girl. We don’t see that video—only her face as she watches and reacts, a choice that requires an actor to deliver everything within that video, and her own inner monologue besides. As Kelly-Anne, Juliette Gariépy lands that near-impossible moment, and many others besides; it’s a tricky, difficult turn, and some of the best acting I’ve seen this year. Plante transcends the ghoulishness of the material by working in a cold, clinical style, and taking his narrative into the darker corners of Kelly-Anne’s psyche in ways that are both surprising and satisfying. (Includes audio commentaries, featurettes, trailer, and essay by Jourdain Searles.)
Hush: Mike Flanagan’s breakthrough feature, a Netflix fave for years, gets a big, four-disc 4K release from Scream Factory, and it remains a model for low-budget chiller efficiency, a lean, mean single-issue thriller where the high concept (deaf woman is stalked by a slasher) is clever, and every potential complication and variation has been carefully, thoughtfully worked through. The new flourish for this release is the alternate “shush” cut, in which Flanagan desaturates the picture to his original, preferred black-and-white format, and uses a stripped-down, minimalist sound design to create a genuinely new and compelling viewing experience—a fine excuse to revisit an excellent little potboiler. (Includes original and “shush” cut, audio and video commentaries, and interviews.)
ON 4K:
The Shape of Water: Guillermo del Toro is, in many ways, as much an architect as a storyteller – his films construct magical worlds, and you just want to crawl through the screen and live in them. His Best Picture winner, new to the Criterion Collection, concerns a merman, a mute janitor, a closeted gay ad man, and a Russian spy whose allegiances are tested by his love of science. Oh, and it has Michael Shannon as a sadistic government agent, telling Biblical stories and ripping off his fingers. In other words, to quote Stefon, this movie has everything – but most of all, it has a heart, telling an honest-to-goodness interspecies love story with grace, charm, and affection. And, like so much of Del Toro’s work, it’s somehow constructed out of popular culture remnants, while taking flight as its own, singular creation. (Includes interviews, featurettes, masterclass, trailers, and essay by Carlos Aguilar.)
Paper Moon: This 1973 Depression-era comedy found director Peter Bogdanovich at the peak of his powers and fame—and right before the steep fall that would accompany the releases of Daisy Miller and At Long Last Love in the next two years. But he approaches something like perfection in this story of a con artist (Ryan O’ Neal, never better) who is tasked, very much against his will, with taking an old flame’s orphaned daughter (his real-life daughter Tatum, who won an Oscar for this performance, and earned it) out on the road, only to discover that the kid is quite an asset to his ventures. They’re both wonderful, playing the arc from distrust to begrudging respect to something like affection with grace (the looks they exchange in the closing scene, and the contrast with the words they’re saying, are deeply affecting), and Madeline Kahn comes in for like a half hour and absolutely steals the whole damn thing. Criterion’s 4K restoration is a jaw-dropper, rendering every one of László Kovács’s desaturated frames into a gorgeous picture postcard. (Includes audio commentary, introduction, video essay, featurettes, archival interviews, trailer, and essay by Mark Harris.)
Funny Girl: William Wyler’s 1968 film adaptation of the Broadway smash gets the Criterion treatment, though it’s less of a great movie than a great showcase for its star, Barbra Streisand. This is the role that made her a star, and you can see why; as Ziegfeld Follies star and radio comedienne Fanny Brice, Streisand dances with skill, sings with her entire heart, gets big laughs, sheds big tears, and generally shows that there’s nothing she can’t do. The trouble is that the second half gives itself almost entirely to her doomed love story with gambler Nicky Arnstein (a sleazy yet dull Omar Sharif), and it’s a big drag. Enjoy it for Babs being funny and charming, and for the vibrant, colorful cinematography, which looks just grand on this Criterion 4K. (Includes new and archival interviews, deleted scene, featurettes, “Directed by William Wyler” documentary, and essay by Michael Koresky.)
Blazing Saddles: Mel Brooks knew an injustice when he saw one. You see, the sitting-around-the-campfire-eating-beans scene was a standby in every Western—but all they ever did was eat beans. “I mean, you can’t eat so many beans without some noise happening there,” he said at the time, and thus, a classic scene was born. Low-down and vulgar, maybe; funny, undoubtedly. But that sequence was indicative of the anything-for-a-laugh nature of Brooks’s 1974 smash; he’d do anything for a laugh, from double entendres to racial humor (some of it provided by co-writer Richard Pryor) to punching horses to rather literally breaking the fourth wall, busting out of the movie and across the Warner Brothers set in the climax. At a moment like that, it feels like Brooks is breaking all the rules—but it’s worth noting that he was capable of tremendous visual and stylistic discipline, from the black-and-white backlot look of Young Frankenstein to the vast Technicolor vistas here, which are beautifully captured by Warners’ new 4K restoration. (Includes audio commentary, deleted scenes, and featurettes.)
The Terminator: James Cameron was a little-known special effects man and B-moviemaker when he wrote and directed this surprise 1984 smash, which mates everyone’s go-to time machine wish (“I’d go back in time and kill Hitler”) with good old-fashioned ‘80s action. It made Linda Hamilton a star, should’ve made Michael Biehn one, and finally gave Arnold Schwarzenegger a role you could believe him in. It became such a massive hit, and (mostly for ill) long-running franchise that it’s easy to forget what a grimy little item the original is. But it plays now like a low-budget wonder, lean and mean and deliciously of its moment (god, that synth score is to die for), and it looks great in 4K—something you can’t say for all of Cameron’s films. (Includes deleted scenes and featurettes.)
Arabesque: Stanley Donen’s Charade is generally acknowledged as the best Hitchcock movie that Hitch didn’t direct; Donen was certainly no hack (he made Singin’ in the Rain, for goodness’ sake) but in that film, he deftly borrows Hitchcock’s snazzy style, as well as Cary Grant, one of his go-to leading men. Donen’s 1966 follow-up to Charade (new on 4K from KL Studio Classics) doesn’t quite measure up, primarily because Grant turned it down and star Gregory Peck is, no disrespect, no Cary Grant. But this is a jazzy and stylish slab of pseudo-Hitchcock, boasting witty dialogue, globe-trotting locations, a four-star score by Henry Mancini, and a keen sense of self-awareness; at one point, Peck jumps in a cab and commands, “Follow that car!” to which the cabbie responds, “All my life I’ve waited for somebody to say that!” It’s utterly ridiculous, and totally charming. (Includes audio commentary, featurette, trailers, and TV spots.)
Play Misty for Me: Perhaps in response to his ill treatment by longtime studio Warner Bros., KL is giving a trio of Clint Eastwood’s ‘70s flicks the 4K upgrade, and they look and sound spectacular. First up is his 1971 directorial debut, a no-nonsense stalker flick—arguably an early iteration of the later-ubiquitous erotic thriller—in which Eastwood’s late-night disc jockey hooks up with a frequent listener (Jessica Walters, later of “Arrested Development”) for a “no-strings attached” situation that turns out to be anything but. It’s a taut, brutal thriller, indicating an admirable command of mood and form from Jump Street. (Includes audio commentaries, interview, video essay, TV spots and trailer.)
Two Mules for Sister Sara: This 1970 oater from director Don Siegel was only Eastwood’s second Western after his iconic trilogy with Sergio Leone, and it feels like an extension of those films, from his costume and cigar to the marvelous and memorable Ennio Morricone score. But it’s also a decidedly American product, an odd couple movie, with Eastwood’s freelance gunfighter pairing up with a (seemingly) prim and proper nun (Shirley MacLaine) for some prickly but affectionate byplay. Gabriel Figueroa’s widescreen cinematography is crisp and lovely, while Siegel stages his action well while (as per usual) keeping his characters squarely centered. (Includes domestic and international cuts, audio commentaries, archival Eastwood interview, radio and TV spots, and trailer.)
The Eiger Sanction: The least successful of the bunch is this oddity, Eastwood’s 1975 stab at a James Bond movie, which is about as uneasy a fit as you’d imagine (while considerably amplifying the, shall we say, more timely elements of its inspiration). But a lot of it works, and splendidly; Eastwood also directs, staging the big action set pieces with brio and panache, while cheerfully allowing George Kennedy to bust in and take over the movie entirely. (Includes audio commentaries, new and archival interviews, vintage EPK, radio and TV spots, and trailer.)
Bug: The late, great William Friedkin spent much of the 1980s and 1990s lost in a wilderness of forgettable pictures and unmade projects, but he came roaring back to life with this taut, raw, powerful examination of fear, paranoia, and madness in an Oklahoma motel room (new to 4K from KL). It marked his first collaboration with playwright and screenwriter (and actor) Tracy Letts, with none of the latter’s black-box-theater intensity sanded down; he gets a career-best performance out of Ashley Judd and a star-making turn from Michael Shannon. This psychological horror mini-masterpiece truly, literally, gets under your skin. (Includes audio commentary, interview, featurette, and trailer.)
The Hunted: Friedkin again, though I’ll confess to skipping this one upon its original release, due to a) actively disliking Friedkin and star Tommy Lee Jones’s previous team-up, The Rules of Engagement, and b) trailers that made it look like a shameless cross between First Blood and The Fugitive. But it wears those influences much less nakedly than the marketing indicated; this is the kind of two-fisted, no-nonsense thriller that studios rarely bother making anymore, with a haunted, enigmatic leading turn by Benicio del Toro and Jones doing the kind of brusque efficiency that makes him an ideal match to the director. It’s basically just one long chase, given extra oomph by Caleb Deschanel’s knockout cinematography and some brutal kills, but hey—when you want one long chase, Friedkin is your guy. (Includes audio commentary, deleted scenes, featurettes, and trailer.)
A Simple Plan: Few filmmakers crafted as distinctive a style in the 1980s as Sam Raimi, who used a DIY inventiveness and the hard work of his friends (including the Coen brothers and star Bruce Campbell) to craft a series of cult hits. None of them were big box office, but Raimi’s cockeyed visuals and sharply cinematic sense of humor won him plenty of affection among critics and moviegoers. His attempts to cross over to the mainstream were spottier, but this morally murky drama (adapted by Scott Smith from his remarkable novel) showed the filmmaker taking on a mature and introspective tone, muting the snazzy visuals and telling a riveting story with modesty and restraint. Bill Paxton is perfect, all aw-shucks good guy until he’s confronted with a bag of stolen money and a chance to make off with it; Billy Bob Thornton was deservedly Oscar-nominated as his misfit brother, and the picture’s best moments tiptoe gingerly into their friendly but fraught familial dynamic. This one has lingered in DVD-only limbo for far too long; kudos to Arrow for giving it the 4K bump it deserves. (Includes audio commentaries, new and archival interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, trailer, and essay by Bilge Ebiri.)
ON BLU-RAY:
Shawscope Vol. 3: The latest of Arrow’s massive box sets honoring the output of Hong Kong’s Shaw Brothers studio shifts focus, from the kung fu pictures of their first two volumes into the wuxia films that first defined the label. For those outside of the know, wuxia movies are period action epics known primarily for their swordplay; basically, the films that inspired Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The centerpiece of the set is director Chang Cheh’s One-Armed Swordsman trilogy, which features impressive action seats, copious blood-letting, and the burning charisma of Wang Yu in the title role. Arrow’s transfers are, per their standard, gorgeous, and the fourteen films (spread over eight discs, plus disc of bonus features and a soundtrack CD) are all worth a look. (Includes commentaries, interviews, featurettes, alternate versions and scenes, and theatrical trailers.)
The Visitors: The penultimate film from director Elia Kazan betrays its low budget in both look and feel, but as such, it now feels wildly ahead of its time; it has the grimy texture and narrative twitchiness of a far younger filmmaker. A then-unknown James Woods and Patricia Joyce star as a young couple living on their father’s farm who are surprised by a visit from two of his former platoon-mates from Vietnam (Steve Railsback and Chico Martínez); we soon discover that the other men were court-martialed for the rape and murder of a young Vietnamese woman (Kazan drew from the incident that subsequently inspired Casualties of War), and Woods was the primary witness against them. Darkness swirls underneath the pleasantries and forced smiles, and Kazan stretches the tension until it snaps; it’s like a pot that simmers for an hour, and then explodes. The performers are low-key but affecting, though the live-wire intensity that would subsequently land Railsback the leading role in Helter Skelter is certainly present here. (Includes audio commentary and trailer.)
Mountains of the Moon: This 1990 adventure-drama from Bob Rafelson (working on an atypically large canvas, and filling it more than capably) is a fascinating inquiry into what might have been, w/r/t Patrick Bergen. In the leading role here, as noted British explorer Sir Richard Burton, he’s a sturdy, muscular presence, and could’ve easily played more complicated hero types. But the following year, he co-starred as the monstrous husband in Sleeping with the Enemy, and was so scarily convincing that it pigeonholed him forevermore. Iain Glen is a bit of a drag as his companion-turned-rival, John Hanning Speke, but Fiona Shaw lends her usual friskiness, Richard E. Grant is deliciously wormy, and keep an eye out for Delroy Lindo in an early role as an African tribesman. (Includes audio commentary, featurette, and trailer.)
