Shared Darkness

The phrase is such a part of the American lexicon, and so engrained as an element of the modern-day Hollywood filmmaking enterprise, that the movie from which all ramshackle “buddy films” sprang is sometimes almost forgotten: 1969’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Just a few minutes, though, of screenwriter William Goldman’s dazzlingly unconventional take on the Western genre, sold to 20th Century Fox for a then-record sum of $400,000, and you’ll be hooked, recognizing this film classic’s imprint on future generations of male-bonding-and-bickering action flicks.

When a relentless “super posse” is dispatched to corral notorious Old West outlaws Butch Cassidy (Paul Newman) and the Sundance Kid (Robert Redford), the duo take a break from their lawless ways and flee to Bolivia with Sundance’s girlfriend, Etta (Katharine Ross). But old habits die hard, of course, and the pair soon find themselves on the lam again, outnumbered and outgunned.

Director George Roy Hill’s work is brave and interesting (he keeps his actors committed to the seriousness of their lines, and who else would’ve okayed the offbeat inclusion of “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head?”), and cinematographer Conrad Hall shoots a gorgeous frame. But it’s Newman and Redford, of course, who make the biggest and best impressions here. The former was already a star, but the latter bloomed into one with this picture.

Housed in a clear Amray case with a snap-in tray for its first disc, the two-disc Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, billed here as an ultimate collector’s edition, slips into a cardboard keep-case and comes with an eight-page insert booklet that features photos from the movie and offers up some interesting bits of trivia: the studio wanted Paul Newman… for the role of Sundance, and Steve McQueen as Butch Cassidy. And even after Hill stuck to his guns and Newman was cast as Butch, Redford almost didn’t land the role that would help jumpstart and define his career; Marlon Brando was allegedly slated to play the sharp-shooting bandit until he dropped out due to distress over the April 1968 assassination of Martin Luther King. (One can perhaps imagine today an eponymous culinary celebration or Native American arts fair in lieu of a film festival had the part of Sundance remained cast the way it was originally intended.)

The film is presented in a solid 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen transfer, with audio in English stereo, English mono, Spanish mono and French mono mixes. Imported from the previous DVD release are a nice, hearty handful of period cast interviews; an audio commentary track with Hill, Hall, lyricist Hal David and associate producer Bob Crawford; production notes; and a 43-minute making-of documentary, rife with narrated production footage. Amongst the new supplemental features is an audio-commentary track with screenwriter Goldman, one of Hollywood’s richest and most astute observers and commentators. There’s also a feature-length doc on the history of outlaws of the time, and an all-new retrospective documentary with superb interviews with Newman, Redford, Goldman, composer Burt Bacharach and others. Buoyed with interviews with historians, the 25-minute Wild Bunch: The True Tale of Butch & Sundance, meanwhile, specifically examines the delicate balancing act of fact and fiction with regards to the film’s main characters. A timeless film stocked here with extras of ample value, this DVD release of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is a bull’s-eye winner. A (Movie) A (Disc)

Am I the best person in the world to be reviewing Star Trek Fan Collective: Q,
the one who’s going to inundate you with all manner of minutiae about
the technological specs of the spacecraft and various linguistic
derivations of Klingons? No, not by a long shot. And yet my outsider
perspective is probably a better fit for something like Star Trek Fan Collective: Q, the sort of one-off collection that’s aimed at more casual fans of the sci-fi franchise.

A word about my own background: I came to Star Trek: The Next Generation as an occasional reader of science fiction, and someone who’d only casually seen the original Star Trek series in reruns, but not followed it with any religious fervor. The late night showings of The Next Generation
dovetailed perfectly with my schedule for a few years, and it was here
that I happened across the familiar face of John de Lancie, whom my
mother knew better as Eugene Bradford from Days of Our Lives.
De Lancie was perfectly serviceable in that role, and many others in
which I’ve seen him, but his distinctive timbre (he would also go on to
be an uncredited letter-reader in Saving Private Ryan) and
expressive face would be best put to use as the impish, omnipotent Q, a
lowercase-G god-like being who would float in from a plane of parallel
existence called the Q Continuum. It was a perfect merging of rascally
talent and character.

Possessing a self-touted IQ of over 2,000, and claiming to be
ageless and beyond the grasp of emotion, Q nonetheless was prone to
petty outbursts and tantrums. The dozen episodes here include eight
from The Next Generation, where Q saw the bulk of his work; three from Star Trek Voyager; and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine’s “Q-Less.” The arc of his relationship with Captain Jean-Luc Picard (Patrick Stewart), though, and the rest of The Next Generation’s
Enterprise crew, is the main attraction here, as Q goes from attempting
to put them all on trial for being a grievously savage race to reaching
a somewhat illuminated respect for humanity, as glimpsed in the series
finale “All Good Things…” Part device of moral engagement, part testily
colorful figure of self-involvement, de Lancie’s Q was never boring,
and he’s over the years brought a lot to the venerable Star Trek franchise, which makes this set plenty of fun.

Star Trek Fan Collective: Q is spread out over four discs
housed in their own plastic trays, and it comes in a sturdy cardboard
casing that in turn slips into a cardboard slipcase with raised
lettering and a slightly holographic cover. Episodes are arranged
chronologically, and presented in 1.33:1 full screen with a Dolby
digital 5.1 surround sound English mix and optional English subtitles.
Extra features are sparse, with text commentary by Michael and Denise
Okuda on three episodes (The Next Generation’s “Déjà Q,” episode #161; Deep Space Nine’s “Q-Less,” episode #407; and Star Trek: Voyager’s “Death Wish,” episode #130). Where’s the in-depth interview with de Lancie, however? Ah well, Q probably knows… B (Show) C- (Disc)

My impressions are admittedly forged chiefly by syndicated rerun viewings, but Home Improvement seems the classic example of a television series that defines its audience
early on and then gives that subset more of what it has grown to love,
while also adding enough small character wrinkles to keep things
legitimately fresh and moving forward. The show was originally rooted
in the gruff, “guys’ guy” stand-up comedy of star Tim Allen — part of a
spate of pilot production deals handed out to up-and-coming comedians
in the early 1990s — but anyone who followed the series in its later
years will attest that only the most trace amounts of that edge
remained. Instead, Home Improvement grew into the equivalent of
a pine tree — a dependable if unspectacular small screen laffer with
not quite the majesty of an oak, the delicious novelty of an apple or
lemon tree nor the mannered beauty of a willow tree.

For those
unfamiliar with the Detroit-set show, Allen stars as Tim Taylor, the
affable, pun-loving host of a Bob Villa-type, do-it-yourself television
program called Tool Time. His faithful co-host is Al Borland
(Richard Karn), and his long-suffering wife is Jill (Patricia
Richardson). Together, they preside over a brood of three rambunctious
sons (with an irritating nine names between them — Zachery Ty Bryan,
Jonathan Taylor Thomas and Taran Noah Smith), and live next door to a
rarely glimpsed neighbor, Wilson (Earl Hindman), who dispenses nuggets
of advice that help, when necessary, steer the perpetually
mishap-making Tim toward compromise and apology.

Highlights from the series’ fourth season find Tim dropping a
three-ton beam on Jill’s car, Jill deciding to return to college and
Tim additionally both baffled and slightly jealous when Al is named one
of the city’s most eligible bachelors. Home Improvement, like
many of its familial sitcom brethren, stoops a bit too often to the
overly simplified husband-as-idiot routine. Still, the characters are
nicely sketched and warmly brought to life by both Allen and especially
Richardson, who would pick up the second of four unfulfilled Emmy
nominations for her work this season. Episodic highlights include “Ye
Olde Shoppe Teacher,” “A House Divided,” “Brother, Can You Spare a Hot
Rod?” and the cleverly titled “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s Just
Irresponsible.” Guest stars herein include Dave Chappelle (not as Rick
James, alas), Lucy Liu and Michelle Williams.

Presented in 1.33 full screen with audio in Dolby digital 2.0 stereo, Home Improvement: The Complete Fourth Season
comes in a unique cardboard slipcase that showcases a saw on its
undercover. Spread out over three discs that are in turn housed in
sturdy gatefold packaging, this is a prime example of a bit of extra
time and effort being put into the presentation of a set, and it’s nice
for consumers. Unfortunately, though, the only bonus material comes by
way of a brief blooper reel, at least some of which fans will no doubt
recognize from Dick Clark’s visit to the set for his blooper-laden
specials. C+ (Series) B (Disc)