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:
You Can Count on Me: If I may get a little personal: I saw Kenneth Lonergan’s 2000 debut feature upon its release, at age 25, and felt it was fine. Now another 25 years have passed, and I’ve revisited it for the first time, and suffice it to say it is considerably better than fine; it’s a devastatingly wise and often uncomfortably truthful meditation on family, adulthood, and the various ways in which we never really change. Laura Linney is as excellent as ever — this really felt like the performance that solidified what a magnificent film actor she is — and Mark Ruffalo’s electrifying performance as her perpetual screw-up brother is a startling reminder of what he can do with a director who knows how to use him. (Includes audio commentary, interviews, trailer, and essay by Rebecca Gilman.)
ON 4K / BLU-RAY / DVD / VOD:
The Phoenician Scheme: One day, we will look back at how Wes Anderson was taken for granted, how so many film critics and film fans saw his prolific output and distinctive style as a bug rather than a feature, and wonder what on earth they were collectively smoking. Yes, his latest features his signatures: a fussy yet enthralling sense of composition, marvelously intricate production design, jazzy camera movement, an expansive but impressive ensemble cast, and quotable dialogue. But as he always does, he’s also trying new things — and saying new things, subtly baking questions of legacy, family, and honesty into this wickedly funny globe-trotting adventure. Benicio del Toro is magnificent in the leading role, but newcomer Mia Threapleton steals the show with her bone-dry line readings and A+ comic timing. (Includes featurette.)
Pavements: Director Alex Ross Perry explains, early in his film Pavements, that he wanted to see what would happen if he put their “slacker songs” into “the most sincere art form” imaginable: musical theater. One could argue that he also puts them into the second most sincere art form as well — the musical bio-documentary, and in that case, it’s not done for the sake of irony. Perry’s film begins with the idea that Pavement is “the world’s most important and influential band,” and follows four strands commemorating them: a documentary profiling their history as they prepare for a 2022 reunion tour, their first shows in 12 years; a jukebox musical featuring their songs; a pop-up museum exhibit of artifacts and ephemera; and a Bohemian Rhapsody-style big-screen biopic. All but the first of those strands is basically fiction, creations by Perry invented for inclusion on the film, sending up the pretensions of these forms (and the fawning press that typically surrounds them). It all requires a delicate balance, in which much but not all of it can feel like a smug in-joke, but Perry pulls it off; his affection for the band is clearly genuine, and that affection makes the rest of the contraption feel somehow legit. (Includes audio commentary, Q&A, deleted scenes, and featurettes.)
ON BLU-RAY / DVD / VOD:
Ghostlight: This drama from directors Kelly O’Sullivan and Alex Thompson (Saint Frances) is so modest in its aims and so subtle in its execution that you might not realize how well it’s working, or even what it’s doing, until it absolutely clobbers you towards the end. Keith Kupferer stars as a construction worker and family man who is dealing with the recent death of his teenage son in the manner that men of his age and class are expected to: by bottling it up, putting his head down, and being “strong.” But, by a peculiar turn of events, he finds himself acting in a no-budget community theater production of Romeo & Juliet, where he finds the tragedies of his life informing his interpretations of the tragedies on stage. It all sounds pat and predictable, and it’s not that it isn’t; it’s that it’s all written, directed, and acted with such sensitivity and emotion that the “what” matters less than the “how.” (Also streaming on Hulu.) (Includes audio commentary, deleted and extended scenes, audition footage, and essay by Marya E. Gates.)
All We Imagine as Light: Payal Kapadia’s drama opens with documentary-style images of the Mumbai dockyard, and what feels like man-on-the-street voice-overs extolling the virtues of urban living (“In Mumbai, there’s work and money – why would anyone want to go back?”). The film that follows is scripted and staged, but that opening puts the picture squarely in the territory of social realism and observation, and anchors what follows in a palpable sense of time and place. Kapadia tells the story of a pair of overworked nurses who take an impromptu road trip to figure out, or at least temporarily escape, their romantic and emotional woes. It’s a story of stasis, and of recognizing the elements of your life that are beyond your control, but Kapadia approaches this potentially depressing material with a welcome lightness of touch. (Includes interview and trailer.)
ON 4K:
A New Leaf: Elaine May’s messy and memorable feature directorial debut (making its 4K debut in a deluxe edition from Cinématographe) finds the writer/director spinning the darkly comic tale of a snooty Manhattan aristocrat (Walter Matthau) whose trust has run dry, and who thus seeks out a rich woman (May) to marry – and off. The picture is both deliciously twisted and likably daft, thanks in no small part to the considerable charisma and chemistry of its stars, who get into rhythms that rival May’s old nightclub act with Mike Nichols. (Matthau and May reteamed several years later for Neil Simon’s California Suite.) It sometimes leans erratic – thanks, presumably, to the editing room interference that May’s work was so often subjected to – but it’s such a sui generis piece of work, the speed bumps barely matter. (Includes audio commentary, interviews, video essay, archival May and Nichols Q&A, trailer, and essays by Sarah Fensom, Elena Lazic, Willow Catelyn Maclay, Hannah Strong, and Richard Brody.)
Carnal Knowledge: Selecting the “best” Mike Nichols film is a fool’s errand, based (as such questions always are) on personal preference and shifting winds. But there’s a solid case for the idea that his most influential picture was this 1971 examination of toxic masculinity, long before we were calling it that (making its debut in the Criterion Collection). Jack Nicholson and Art Garfunkel are superb, Candace Bergen and Ann-Margret are appropriately tragic as the women in their spheres, and Jules Pfeiffer’s screenplay is a vivid dramatization of what it’s like to be young and male and horny. And as was his wont, Nichols brings it all together with crisp intelligence and offhand insight. (Includes audio commentary, interviews, Q&As, trailer and radio spot, and essay by Moira Weigel.)
The Rage – Carrie 2: This 1999 sequel to Brian De Palma’s (and Stephen King’s) horror classic was widely dismissed upon its release, with most shrugging “why bother?” and leaving it at that. Now, thanks to Vinegar Syndrome’s new 4K edition, it can be reassessed — and should be. The director is the gifted Katt Shea (Stripped to Kill, Poison Ivy), and turnabout is fair play; the first film offered a male director’s perspective on the cruelty of girls, so its sequel gives us a female perspective on toxic masculinity. Shea and screenwriter Rafael Moreu do not go for half-measures, creating some of the most loathsome dudes in movie history, but by barely expanding the kind of sexual gamesmanship that was all the rage in such comparatively “nice” movies as She’s All That and American Pie. To have done it in the same year as the latter film, and even with some of the some actors, makes it feel downright subversive in retrospect. (Includes audio commentaries, deleted scenes, alternate ending, and trailer.)
Fade to Black: Vernon Zimmerman’s 1980 horror thriller (out in a new, upgraded 4K by Scream Factory) hit theaters not long after Friday the 13th completed the genre’s pivot to slasher movies, and Black nicely straddles the line between traditional chillers and the new wave, concerning as it does a socially awkward weirdo (Breaking Away star Dennis Christopher) whose obsession with classic scary movies manifests itself in murderous ways. Zimmerman doesn’t just lift from the surface; his filmmaking is classical in approach and execution, which (combined with the fully committed performance from Christopher) makes this a stand-out entry in one of the genre’s golden eras. (Includes audio commentaries, interviews, and trailer.)
Silent Scream: Released the previous year, this slasher from director Denny Harris helped set many of the conventions of the subgenre — most specifically, and perhaps most importantly, that everyone in it is a horny little sicko. (It’s one of those horror movies that makes the subtext text by intercutting a sex scene with a stabbing.) The screenplay by Harris, Ken and Jim Wheat, and Wallace E. Bennett isn’t reinventing the wheel, but it’s done with wit and some intelligence, throwing in a couple of solid twists and arriving at a satisfying conclusion. More than that, the vibes are immaculate, radiating the late ‘70s setting in its design, performances, and borderline nihilism. (Includes audio commentaries, featurettes, interviews, trailer, and TV and radio spots.)
Danger: Diabolik: Indisputably the best movie MST3K ever took on, this sexy spy caper from director Mario Bava pulls off what the Matt Helm, Derek Flint, and similar copycats couldn’t: it slyly spoofs the conventions of the Bond franchise, while also spinning off into its own nutty thing. Based on the Italian comic book series by Angela and Luciana Giussani, it features John Phillip Law as the title character, a master thief who looks like a cross between a superhero and a submissive, and Marisa Mell as Eva Kent, his partner-in-crime and main squeeze. Bava’s well-earned gift for visual panache is more than accounted for; the colors are vibrant, the set pieces are snappy, and KL Studio Classics’s 4K restoration is jaw-dropping. (Includes audio commentaries, featurette, music video, theatrical teaser and trailer.)
Billy Madison: Adam Sandler’s wildly unruly big-screen starring debut may seem a less likely candidate for a 4K spit-shine, but director Tamra Davis is no slouch, and she gives the picture a bright, pop art sheen. One can make complaints about the film itself: the unevenness of the acting, the sloppiness of the construction, the general dopiness of the enterprise. But the fact of the matter is, it’s funny, and it showcases the comic personality at its center, and that’s all it’s supposed to do; in the grand scheme of things, the silly dialogue and flat compositions matter about as much as the romantic subplots in a Marx Brothers movie or the continuity errors in a W.C. Fields picture. What’s important is the sheer manic energy, which is more than abundant—you get a real sense that Sandler (legitimately) didn’t know if he was going to get a chance like this again, so he gives it his all. (Includes audio commentaries, deleted scenes and outtakes, and theatrical trailer.)
Little Buddha: Bernardo Bertolucci’s 1993 drama begins with the words “Once upon a time,” and that might be the best way to approach it: as a fairy tale, filled with beautiful images and archetypal characters and a fair amount of cringe. Much of the latter comes from the unfortunate casting of Keanu Reeves as a Nepali prince (yes, there is… make-up), and also of Chris Isaak, a fine singer and good-enough actor who was not up to this particular task. And yet Vittorio Storaro’s cinematography is breathtaking (the 4K saturation really pops), Bridget Fonda is a warm and welcome presence, and the picture’s big questions about fate, faith, and destiny land gracefully. (Includes audio commentary, archival featurette and interviews, and theatrical trailer.)
Hiding Out: Let’s be honest: by just about any reasonable person’s standards, this 1987 mash-up of high school comedy and crime drama is not particularly good. The tone is all over the place, dialogue is frequently clunky, the sexual politics have aged like warm chocolate milk, and there are plot holes big enough to drive a truck through. But if you are of a certain age, and you saw Hiding Out at a certain time, there’s a good chance that none of that will matter to you. It certainly didn’t to me. I was about 13 years old when it first hit HBO and, well, they played it a lot. At that tender age and at that point in the late 1980s, it had about just about everything you could ask for in a movie: it had big, dumb laughs, there was a cute girl, there were shoot-outs and a mob subplot, and it starred Ducky from Pretty in Pink. My criterion for quality filmmaking has changed quite a bit in the interim, but I’m afraid that my affection for this particular film has not, and KL’s 4K edition nicely captures its best qualities (the cheery production values, the vintage music, Annabeth Gish’s face), and its worst one (Cryer’s comically fake beard) as well. (Includes audio commentaries, interviews, and trailer.)
ON BLU-RAY:
Northern Lights: This winner of the 1979 Cannes Camera d’Or (new on Blu from Kino Classics) is noteworthy for its mere existence, as an American independent drama in an era where those were few and far between. That it’s also a compelling and involving drama is a nice bonus. Telling the story of the 1915 struggles of North Dakota farmers to form the Nonpartisan League, an activist collective (essentially a union), it’s filled with in-the-weeds breakdowns of the logistics and ethics of agriculture. That sounds dull, but it’s not — partly because the writing is so immediate, and partly because the picture is so masterfully assembled. The black-and-white photography is gorgeous, but more than that, these landscapes feel lived in; they have texture and weight, and are inhabited by real characters instead of political placeholders. It’s a tricky, sometimes difficult movie, but well worth the effort. (Includes audio commentary and re-release trailer.)
Dark Victory: Both Humphrey Bogart and Ronald Reagan appear in supporting roles in this 1939 melodrama from director Edmund Goulding (re-releasing on Blu-ray from Warners), which makes it a helpful title to keep in your back pocket on movie trivia night, but the attraction here is Bette Davis, in prime hellraiser mode. “I’m young and strong and nothing can touch me,” she announced cockily, early on, which all but ensures that she won’t be by the picture’s end. As a goodtime heiress who’s stricken with a mysterious disease (while embarking on a doomed romance with her doctor), she really does break your heart; Davis does tough and brittle so well that her moments of vulnerability land like a thunderbolt. (Includes audio commentary, theatrical trailer, “Lux Radio Theater” broadcast, featurette, and “Warner Night at the Movies” with trailer, newsreel, short and cartoon.)
Gigi: You sometimes have to look past things when you’re watching old movies, and this 1958 Vincente Minnelli musical comedy requires a lot of looking past — the narrative is, essentially, a grooming story. But, if you can look past that, you’ll find a big-canvas studio movie painted with Minelli’s customary skill, filled with memorable songs by Lerner and Lowe, anchored by prototypical turns by Leslie Caron (gorgeous), Louis Jourdan (charming), and Maurice Chevalier (charming x 10). It is what it is! (Includes audio commentary, theatrical trailer, “Lux Radio Theater” broadcast, featurette, short, cartoon, and full 1949 non-musical version.)
We’re No Angels: A commercial and critical failure upon its release in 1989, this remake of the Humphrey Bogart comedy from screenwriter David Mamet and director Neil Jordan gets a second chance from Cinématographe, and deserves it. It’s mostly a broad comedy, with Robert De Niro and Sean Penn as a pair of dim bulbs who are caught up in a daring escape from a prison near the Canadian border, and must masquerade as visiting priests in order to blend in and eventually cross over to safety. These Very Serious Actors are clearly having a blast playing goofballs, mugging like it’s going out of style, bluffing their way through the singing of Latin prayers. The gestures towards darkness (particularly in the opening) occasionally overwhelm and the climax action is a little strained. But the production design is a marvel, Mamet’s dialogue is sharp, and Penn’s arc is particularly enjoyable. (Includes audio commentary, new and archival interviews, and essays by Patrick Dahl, Joshua Dysart, and Matt Prigge.)
The Tattooed Dragon: That this 1973 bone-cruncher from director Lo Wei (who helmed several early Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan efforts) features inventive fight scenes and tip-top photography goes without saying; that’s what he does. What’s surprising is the surplus of human interest in this story of a drifter (Jimmy Wang Yu of The One-Armed Swordsman) who takes on the mobsters who’ve installed a casino in a small village to wreak financial and emotional havoc. (The fate of the wife and children of one degenerate gambler makes for a bleak sequence.) That aspect is refreshing — but it also doesn’t detract from the sheer exhilaration of the furious fight scenes, up to and including a breathless final fight that includes benches, tabletops, planks of wood, and fighting an opponent who is literally on fire. Eureka’s restoration and presentation of this new-to-Blu-ray title is, unsurprisingly, top-notch. (Includes audio commentaries and interview.)
Teenage Gang Debs: Some movies show you a tantalizing title and fail to deliver on it, and you must hand it to this 1966 exploitation flick (new on Blu from AGFA): there are plenty of teenage gang debs here. The story is the typical “newbie crashes the gang and havoc ensues” sort of situation, with lots of scrappy fights, trash talk, and territoriality; it’s kind of like Switchblade Sisters by way of Hairspray, a down-and-dirty juvenile delinquent movie incongruently populated by cardigan-wearing, bouffant-sporting good-girls-gone-bad. It’s not art, but boy is it excellent trash. (Includes audio commentary, bonus feature The Rebel Set, three short films, and essay by Lisa Petrucci.)
Anita, Swedish Nymphet: Here’s another one that’s not gonna bait-and-switch you — a 1973 Swedish exploitation movie that is, in fact, about a young nymphomaniac named Anita (played with amorous enthusiasm by Thriller: A Cruel Picture star Christina Lindberg). Writer/director Torgny Wickman details her exploits less through an eye of sensationalism than anthropology; that holds even more true when he introduces the character of Erik, a sympathetic college student who becomes something of a therapist, or at least an eager ear for stories of her misadventures. What makes it especially fascinating is that Erik is played by an impossibly young Stellan Skarsgård, basically doing a dry run for the character he’d play 40 years later in Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac. (Includes alternate edit, audio commentary, documentary, and interview.)
