The Best Movies to Buy or Stream This Week: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Indiana Jones, Dumb Money and More

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.

This is the final disc and streaming column of the year, and I wanted to say a word or two about that. 

2023 marks my ninth year of writing this column, first as a weekly and then twice-monthly feature, first for Flavorwire, then for the Playlist, and now here. And while I’ve always taken pains to include a couple of streaming titles, and to note when the spotlight films are available on those platforms, the primary focus has always been on DVD, Blu-ray, and (later) 4K UHD releases — always over the objections of my editors, who’ve said for its entire run that readers are more interested in what’s new on Netflix than what’s new from boutique Blu-ray labels. 

They’re probably right. But I’ve fought to keep this column’s focus there because I firmly believe that streaming is not the future — a bold assertion in 2015, but one that seems far less controversial today. Streaming platforms across the board have raised their prices while simultaneously shrinking their libraries; years of operating in the red have finally caught up with them, and they’d still rather spend their budgets on creating new material than licensing old, even when they subsequently turn around and yank that new material within months (or even weeks) as a tax write-off. Even more worryingly, digital “ownership” has proven to be an oxymoron — witness the recent story of Discovery programming that was yanked from the Playstation libraries of users who bought it

There’s certainly something to be said for convenience (and space!) of digital media, but I can also happily say, with a reasonable amount of certainty, that David Zaslav cannot march into my house and repossess any of my Blu-rays. And that’s why I think, and hope you agree, that features like these are important; it increasingly feels like the archives of cinema cannot be entrusted to those who own it outright, and that it’s imperative to support physical media in order to preserve the history of an art. (Not to get too high-falutin’ about this stuff.) So I’ll close with a gentle plea: if you feel the same, please feel free to share these columns and spread the word about new releases, and to click through on the titles if you see something you’d like to buy yourself. Thanks, as always, for reading. 

PICK OF THE WEEK: 

Days of Heaven: One of the most beautiful movies ever made, every image like a gorgeous watercolor suitable for framing, gets the 4K upgrade from Criterion, and the results are luminous. The cinematography – by Nestor Almendros with Haskell Wexler – is gorgeous, a swirling dance of light, shadow, and sunlight, and the compositions (most of them either up-tight, intimate close-ups or stunning wides) are breathtaking. But what’s most striking about Days of Heaven, this far on, is how in spite of decades of canonization, it doesn’t feel like an Important Movie; it’s free, and fleeting (93 minutes), and vulnerable. (Includes audio commentary and interviews.)

ON PARAMOUNT+

Finestkind: Brian Helgeland’s tale of scallop fishermen in New Brunswick, Mass has plenty of problems, and they’re detailed in my diary from TIFF, where it premiered. But sometimes you’ll sit through a mediocre or even bad picture for a good performance, and Finest Kind has three of them. Ben Foster can do this kind of chip-on-his-shoulder roughneck in his sleep by now, but it’s still pretty electrifying. Jenna Ortega absolutely lights up what is otherwise a fairly thankless girlfriend role; her initial interactions and flirtations with protagonist Charlie (Toby Wallace) are just scorching. But the MVP is Tommy Lee Jones, who is at that point in his career, and his life, where he simply has to show up and exist on screen, and we’re not looking at anyone else. (Robert Duvall hit it in the early ‘90s.) As Foster’s wise and weathered father, he’s utterly incapable of a false note, and when Lolita Davidovich shows up as his divorced but still affectionate wife, we’re watching two old pros just tossin’ it off. Watch the way he says “I’m outta quarters, babe,” and try to tell me he’s not one of the best to ever do it. (Streaming December 15.)

ON MUBI:

The 8-Diagram Pole Fighter: Beginning December 22, MUBI is showcasing a spectacular program of Shaw Brothers classics, an excellent stand-in if you haven’t been able to swing the recent deluge of Shaw Blu-ray releases from Shout and Arrow. This is one of the best, a late-period martial arts epic from the Hong Kong studio, and showcasing “36th Chamber of Shaolin” director Lau Kar-leung at the peak of his powers. The stunning wide-screen group fight that opens the film is like a ballet that becomes a bloodbath, and the inventive prop work and choreography (plus wince-worthy gore) of the closing fight are breathtaking. In between is a poignant story of a family that loves drama, but the dramatic scenes never feel like filler thanks to the strong performances of Gordon Liu, Kara Hui, and the late, great Fu Sheng (who died during its production). (Streaming December 22.) 

ON 4K / BLU-RAY / DVD / VOD:

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem: Few cinematic prospects were less promising this year than yet another big-screen take on the underground-comic-turned-‘90s-kiddie-property, but that’s what I get for underestimating Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg (who co-produced and co-wrote) and Mitchells vs. the Machines’ Jeff Rowe (who co-wrote and directed). This one is pure pleasure, much closer to the spirit of those original comics than the later iterations, filled with eye-catching animation, witty vocal performances, and plenty of quotable dialogue. It somehow carries over the improvisational spirit of Rogen and Goldberg’s grown-up, live-action work — quite a bit tougher for an animated feature — and the result is delightful for weirdos of all ages. (Includes featurettes.) 

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny: This summer’s commercial failure of the fifth film in the Indiana Jones franchise was a keen reminder that there are no sure things in contemporary Hollywood. Then again, there were dicey elements to this proposition; it had been a decade and a half since the previous installment, and making an Indiana Jones movie without Spielberg at the helm makes about as much sense as making a Scream movie without Wes Craven. It opens with a near-fatal miscalculation, a lengthy prologue set roughly in the same timeframe as the original film, with director James Mangold putting a de-aged Harrison Ford (but his croaky, 80-year-old voice unchanged) through a choppy cosplay that only underscores the new director’s shortcomings, and those of murky CGI when compared to the original picture’s glorious practical effects. But the rest of the time, Dial isn’t half bad; once Mangold makes his own movie, of a senior Indy going on one last run with a colleague’s daughter (Phoebe Waller-Bridge, exquisite) whom he may or may not be able to trust, he stakes out plenty of charms and thrills of his own. (Also streaming on Disney+.) (Includes isolated score and making-of documentary.) 

ON 4K / BLU-RAY / NETFLIX:

Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio: The 2022 Oscar winner for best animated feature makes the leap from Netflix to 4K via the Criterion Collection, and it’s a vivacious mating of source material and interpreter, playing like a descendant of both the Disney classic and del Toro’s previous work (the war-era darkness of Pan’s Labyrinth and the carny milieu of Nightmare Alley, for starters). He sets his story in fascist Italy before and during WWII, and while that interpretation may be a bit of a stretch, it’s so refreshing to see a new spin on this well-worn tale that the speed-bumps are forgivable. (The less said about those songs, though, the better). More lovingly-rendered stop motion animation in 4K, please and thank you! (Includes featurettes, interviews, and panel discussion.) 

ON BLU-RAY / DVD / VOD:

Dumb Money: Craig Gillespie adapts Ben Mezrich’s book The Antisocial Network, chronicling the fascinating tale of how a ragtag group of individual investors boosted the value of the stock for the video game store GameStop, and screwed a bunch of venture capitalists in the process. The smart script by Lauren Schuker Blum and Rebecca Angelo crosscuts between a selection of individual investors and interested parties; the construction is perhaps too schematic, but that rigidity occasionally pays off. The casting choices are bullseyes throughout, and Gillespie’s direction is thankfully much closer to I, Tonya than Cruella. This is a genuinely compelling story, with a lot to root for, entertainingly told. 

The Creator: A less charitable viewer might say that Gareth Edwards’s latest is assembled from spare parts – of Blade Runner, of Terminator 2, of his own Rogue One. But he pulls those pieces together with skill and ingenuity, building big action sequences and small character beats with equal aplomb, keeping us on our toes with unexpected flourishes (that Radiohead needle drop!) and ebullient performances; John David Washington finds all the right notes for his reticent hero, and Allison Janney brings some welcome nuance to what is essentially the Sigourney Weaver role. Sure, it has like three endings — but they all work, so why not? (Includes featurette.)

ON 4K ULTRA HD BLU-RAY:

JFK: Shout Selects’ 4K release of Oliver Stone’s 1991 career-definer couldn’t be more appropriately timed, appearing as it does just a couple of weeks after the disc debut of Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer — a picture that could only be more ‘90s Stone-coded if it had Tommy Lee Jones in a supporting role. To love JFK is to acknowledge its gaping errors and undeniable flaws: the unapologetic hero-ifying of absolute nutjob Jim Garrison (personified by Kevin Costner in his white knight-iest era), the evangelizing of copious sketchy conspiracy theories, the casual homophobia, the drag of the nagging wife subplot and its wasting of the great Sissy Spacek. None of that matters when Stone’s engines are revving, masterfully deploying his oft-imitated multi-media mosaic style (the cinematography by Robert Richardson and the editing by Joe Hutshing and Pietro Scalia are unmatched), forceful dialogue, and cast of thousands to create the most unsettling fog of cinematic paranoia this side of The Parallax View. (Includes theatrical and director’s cuts, audio commentaries, deleted and extended scenes with optional commentary, alternate ending, featurettes, new interviews, and theatrical trailer.) (Available December 19.)

Titanic: The James Cameron catalogue is finally getting the 4K treatment, with Aliens, The Abyss, and True Lies out this week digitally (they all hit disc in March, with full reviews to come at that time). And then there’s this 1997 beast, out this week both digitally and on disc, and looking better than ever; the image is stunning, the sound roars, and that damn-near-real-time sinking sequence remains some of the best pure filmmaking of Cameron’s career. And the rest of the movie is pretty damn good too. Much of the picture’s criticism, at the time and since, seems fairly myopic — yes, the script is a little corny, and yes, Cal is a mustache-twirling cartoon villain, but that’s all appropriate to the kind of movie Titanic is, to the big CinemaScope epics Cameron was taking inspiration from, and building on. Kate and Leo are, as ever, a vivid portrait of youthful attraction; the movie would sink without their electrifying chemistry, and instead, it soars. Still no excuse for that Celine Dion song, though. (Includes audio commentaries, new making-of documentary, deleted scenes, featurettes, music video, and trailer.)

The Color Purple: Steven Spielberg’s first real play for cinematic “respectability” came in the form of this 1985 adaptation of Alice Walker’s staggering book, new on 4K as both part of Warners’ centennial celebration and tied to the new musical version, in theaters for Christmas. And while it’s very, very easy to get hung up on the movie it could’ve been—the jettisoning of the novel’s potent and powerful sexuality still doesn’t sit well, and there’s always the question of whether a white man was the right filmmaker for this material—let us not disregard the movie Spielberg made, which is filled with warmth and empathy, tees up rage and tragedy when appropriate, and captures a Whoopi Goldberg performance (her film debut) that still astonishes. (Includes featurettes and trailer.)

Face/Off: John Woo’s transition from Hong Kong to Hollywood was not exactly smooth sailing; his first American effort, Hard Target, was badly compromised, and Broken Arrow was a bit of a whiff. But this 1997 shoot-‘em-up, new on 4K from KL Studio Classics, was everything us Woo-heads wanted, marrying his distinctively cool-as-cucumber style and snazzy ultra-violence with the seemingly limitless resources of a major studio. And that meant giving American movie stars the Woo treatment; neither John Travolta nor Nicolas Cage may have even been as badass as they are here, and while the plot is utterly bonkers, the parameters of their dual roles allow each actor to play both deeply-rooted pathos and absolute insanity, with equal effectiveness. (Includes audio commentaries, deleted scenes with optional commentary, featurettes, and trailer.) 

Point Break: The turns of time would recognize Kathryn Bigelow as an important filmmaker grappling with the wounds of war, but lest we forget, she also gave us the greatest American dramatization of bank-robbing surfers, and the undercover cops who both pursue and idolize them. Shout Factory’s 4K nicely captures the sleek professionalism of Bigelow’s aesthetic, a sense of style and performative machismo that frequently compensates for the flaws of her performers (I’ve come around on Keanu, but there’s no denying the goofiness of this performance). It is, as advertised, 100 percent pure adrenaline, with generous helpings of Gary Busey yelling thrown in for good measure. (Includes additional scenes, featurettes, and theatrical trailer.) 

Silver Bullet: Speaking of Busey yelling, there’s much more where that came from in Shout’s new upgrade of Stephen King’s 1985 adaptation of his novella Cycle of the Werewolf. It was mangled by critics upon its original release, and yes, King’s script has its fair share of clunky dialogue. But stars Busey and Corey Haim are sympathetic and convincing, Daniel Attias’s direction is wildly over-the-top (those snap-zooms!), Carlo Rimbaldi’s make-up effects are spectacular, and the supporting players came to play; reliable ol’ Terry O’Quinn is terrific as the town sheriff, while Everett McGill is deliciously unhinged as the villain. (Includes audio commentaries, isolated score selections, interviews, featurette, trailer, and TV and radio spots.)

Young Guns: This 35th anniversary Steelbook release of Christopher Cain’s Brat Pack Western underscores the amusing fatal flaw of the entire enterprise: for all of the publicity surrounding the handsome young movie stars (Emilio Estevez, Kiefer Sutherland, Charlie Sheen, and Lou Diamond Phillips) in its title roles, the character actors on the periphery absolutely clean their clocks, both in terms of performance and charisma. Terrence Stamp makes the biggest impression as the father figure whose death is the narrative’s inciting action; the picture barely stays afloat after his exit. The aforementioned Terry O’Quinn plays his frontier lawyer with the right combination of intelligence and bluster, and as the key villain, Jack Palance is, well, Jack Palance. They all have the gravitas of characters (and actors) who’ve spent much of their lives on horseback; their younger counterparts seem like they’re just play-acting. Also, were there really bleached highlights in the Old West? (Includes audio commentary, featurettes, and trailers.)

The Warriors: Yes, friends, our prayers have been answered. Arrow Video’s new 4K release of Walter Hill’s 1979 does, in fact, center the original 1979 theatrical version; previous HD releases were reserved for Hill’s inexplicably preferred 2005 recut, with its unforunate comic book panel interstitials. That makes this release a legitimate cause for celebration (though they’ve also given the 2005 cut the 4K treatment, if you’re one of those weirdos) — to say nothing of the film itself, which retains its lean narrative efficiency, bravura action sequences, spiky central romance, and odd combination of time capsule and post-dystopian qualities. It’s still a blast, 93 minutes of taut, tight, low-budget exploitation filmmaking from one of the true masters. (Includes audio commentary, interviews, new and archival featurettes, panel discussion, and trailer.) 

ON BLU-RAY:

Blast of Silence: This noir-tinged crime picture’s rep got a big boost when the Criterion Collection added it in 2008 (its first time on home video) and its Blu-ray bump is welcome if overdue — and just in time for the holidays, glimpsed in the background throughout, to boot. A low-budget marvel from 1961, Allen Baron’s tight little B-movie is the hard-boiled tale of a hired killer on the move in New York City. The tough-talking second-person voice-over narration by Waldo Salt (who penned the screenplays for Midnight Cowboy and Serpico, among others) is tasty enough to bite off and chew, and the supporting performance of Larry Tucker as Big Ralph is so off-kilter and bizarre that you can’t take your eyes of the big lug. A dark, nasty, unforgettable treasure. (Also streaming on the Criterion Channel.) (Includes featurettes, photo galleries, and trailer.) 

Goodbye, Dragon Inn: Metrograph Pictures’ new restoration of Tsai Ming-Liang’s 2003 masterpiece inherently only plays so well at home; as it takes place entirely during the final screening of the final movie shown at a shuttering movie palace, a theatrical viewing would certainly amp up the atmosphere. But we make do, and Goodbye is still magical even when viewed at home, unfolding in real time and in the company of the sparse handful of attendees, people who are there due to employment, nostalgia, or simply having nowhere else to go. It’s a low-key work, meditative even, but the effect is transcendent — by the time, late in the film, when one character sighs, “No one comes to the movies anymore,” it feels like a statement of endless weight and tragedy. (Also streaming on Metrograph at Home.) (Includes audio commentary, introduction, short film, and re-release trailer.) 

Mondo New York: This 1988 documentary portrait of the downtown Gotham art scene, titled and modeled after Mondo Cane and its ilk, has long been impossible to see legally; a late performance of a “Hard Day’s Night” cover offers one explanation, or it could just be that this is the kind of thing that ages quickly, and not always well. But this new re-release, out via the MVD Rewind Collection and the recently-resuscitated ‘80s icon of Night Flight, is a vivid time capsule from a bracing era, following a wordless and nameless protagonist on a tour through subways, performance art spaces, galleries, S&M parties, nightclubs, shooting galleries, and Washington Square Park. Some of the performances are thrilling; some are annoying, but they’re over with quickly enough, and director Harvey Keith friskily captures a New York that we’d never seen before, and will certainly never see again. (Includes interviews, trailer, and soundtrack CD.) 

The Terror: Film Masters continues their series of Roger Corman releases (following last month’s Beast from Haunted Cave / Ski Troop Attack pairing) with this spiffy remaster of Corman’s 1963 attempt to create his own new story reusing sets, costumes, and actors from his Poe adaptations. Those films are now widely acclaimed, but The Terror is about as good as its reputation: it’s a mess, burdened by a borderline non-sensical script, the hands of multiple uncredited directors (including such heavyweights as Francis Ford Coppola, Monte Hellman, Jack Hill, and star Jack Nicholson), and a rare bad performance by a wildly miscast Jack. But it looks great, and kudos to Film Masters for rescuing it from years of subpar public domain transfers. The real draw here is the bonus feature, Corman’s 1960 horror-comedy The Little Shop of Horrors, notorious at the time for its made-on-a-dare production — it was shot for pennies, on leftover sets, in a single weekend — now beloved for inspiring the musical and its film adaptation. Much of the same personnel appear in both, including Dick Miller, Jonathan Haze, and Nicholson in an uproarious cameo, and Jackie Joseph is delightful as the original Audrey. It’s goofy as hell, but undeniably entertaining, and its one-take, what-the-hell production translates to a palpable, off-the-cuff energy and charm. (Includes audio commentaries, featurettes, and trailers.) 

The Day of the Locust: John Schlesinger’s 1975 film adaptation (new on Blu from Arrow) of Nathanael West’s ruthless 1939 novel was indifferently received upon its release, and its easy to see why. It’s hobbled by some casting snafus (William Atherton isn’t really leading man material, and Donald Sutherland is less than convincing, at least in this period, as an uptight square) and losses in translation; West’s metaphors and moods just work better on the page. But there’s much to admire here, particularly Karen Black’s knotty work as the complicated ingenue, Conrad L. Hall’s shimmery yet grainy cinematography, and a climactic riot sequence that’s upsetting and terrifying, the rot of an entire industry burning it down to the ground. (Includes audio commentary and featurettes.)

TV ON BLU-RAY:

Columbo: The 1970s Seasons: Something hinky happened with KL Studio Classic’s 20-disc mega-set of the original run of Peter Falk’s iconic detective series; a whole host of bonus features, including commentaries and essays, were announced and then pulled due to “unforseen issues.” That’s a bummer, especially for those of us who already owned these shows on DVD, but real fans will appreciate the HD upgrades anyway, and any excuse to revisit this venerable classic. Its recent return to relevance, at least among a certain segment of film fans, isn’t hard to understand; Columbo feels both like the movies of its era (it ran in a TV movie rotation, so episodes are roughly feature length, and frequently feature Falk’s ‘70s film collaborators like John Cassavetes, Gena Rowlands, and Ben Gazarra) and the television (from the production values to the commercial breaks to the other guest stars, including such boob-tube standbys as Robert Culp and Jack Cassiday). It’s the very definition of comfort viewing, the structure and formula as reliable as Columbo’s crumpled old raincoat, and Falk’s work as the deceptively seemingly daffy police investigator never fails to enchant. (Includes original pilot movies and abbreviated cut of “Etude in Black.”) (Available December 19.)

Shaun the Sheep: The Complete Series: As Netflix prepares for the splashy debut of Aardman Animations’ new Chicken Run sequel, Shout Factory gives fans of the British stop-motion studio an even bigger Christmas gift: this 7-disc set, collecting all 170 (!) episodes of their uproariously funny and disarmingly cute Shaun the Sheep series, plus additional specials and shorts. Set at the Mossy Bottom Farm and featuring the title character and his flock of fellow sheep, the self-important Bitzer the sheepdog, and the daft farmer who owns the place, they feature no spoken dialogue, only sound effects, music, and bouncy pantomime. They’re the closest thing you’re going to get to classic silent comedy in this lifetime — and also appropriate for literally all ages, making these adventures the most enjoyable entertainment for parents to watch with their toddlers. Shaun forever, Cocomelon never! 

Jason Bailey is a film critic and historian, and the author of five books. His work has appeared in The New York Times, The Playlist, Vanity Fair, Vulture, Rolling Stone, Slate, and more. He is the co-host of the podcast "A Very Good Year."

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