As
the DVD market gets flooded with old-school product, cineastes and
average consumers alike wanting to bone up on their classic cinema
sometimes face a conundrum in unlocking the best way to jump back in
time. Point of entry can be everything. Case in point: The Buster Keaton Collection,
which culls together two hearty handfuls of 17-to-20-minute shorts from
the legendary silent-era screen comedian. One would think this would be
a godsend for those seeking some one-stop shopping, but upon further
examination, this compendium spotlights a more fallow period from later
in his career.
The advent of the talkie meant changes for all
in Hollywood, but among those who suffered the bumpiest transition was
Keaton. Spanning a few years from the late 1930s through the middle of
1941, the somewhat arbitrarily ordered shorts included herein are: Nothing But Pleasure, General Nuisance, The Taming of the Snood, His Ex Marks the Spot, Mooching Through Georgia, Pardon My Berth Marks, Pest From the West, So You Won’t Squawk, She’s Oil Mine and His Spook Speaks.
Most are helmed by producer-director Jules White, who also made many
noted collaborations with the Three Stooges, and it’s easy to spot the
infusion of that brand of broad physical humor here, which is
incongruous with the best of Keaton’s work, and certainly out of step
with what’s most synonymous with his name.
The appealingly unassuming nature of Keaton’s sly physical comedy is present only in fleeting morsels here. 1941’s She’s Oil Mine (a reworking of The Passionate Plumber)
perhaps best exemplifies old-school Keaton; he silently squares off in
a duel with Eddie Laughton, who does the talking. Others of the shorts
— all filmed as works-for-hire for Columbia — though, like Mooching Through Georgia and The Spook Speaks, fall flat, at least for those wanting a true slice of brilliance.
Packaged in a cardboard sleeve in turn housed in a pull-out cardboard case, The Buster Keaton Collection
does a nice job of preserving the original, full-screen,
black-and-white presentations. The audio, meanwhile, has been
re-mastered in English Dolby 2.0 (with optional subtitles), eliminating
the native hiss that can mar even the most sterling visual brush-ups of
classic material. Audio commentaries from assorted film historians
pepper each inclusion. Ed Watz’s track on The Taming of the Snood is probably the best, though all provide important contextual information and insight.
There’s also a 24-minute documentary, titled “Buster Keaton: From
Silents to Shorts,” that gives an overview of the actor’s vaudeville
days and delineates his downward trajectory in the face of the rise of
“talkies.” Rounding out the supplemental fare is an original screenplay
reproduction of She’s Oil Mine included within, featuring a
nice, additional introduction by Melissa Talmadge Cox, Keaton’s
granddaughter. For completists this is definitely worth a look, but for
others it’s not the best introduction to Keaton. C+ (Movies) B (Disc)
Before
gross-out humor became the almost-exclusive dominion of mainstream
studio comedies, there was significant dabbling in much darker and more
nuanced terrain, as evidenced by this 1949 treat from director Robert
Hamer. One of the more barbed laughers of its era, Kind Hearts and Coronets
centers on an embittered young commoner who develops a case of
birthright tunnel vision, working to secure by any means necessary what
he thinks is his rightful heritage — the dukedom of an aristocratic
family. In doing so, the movie lays one of the first cornerstones for
an entire generation of objectionable film protagonists to follow.
Dennis
Price stars as Louis Mazzini, an impoverished shop attendant who
becomes determined to avenge he and his mother’s unjust disinheritance
by bumping off all those in front of him in the D’Ascoyne line of
hierarchy. Long before Eddie Murphy’s latex-aided adventures as Sherman
Klump and his brethren, and even Peter Sellars’ multiple turns in Dr. Stangelove,
Alec Guinness would dazzle in playing all eight doomed characters,
imbuing each with small but telling and amusing details. From gunplay
to a hot-air-balloon mishap, there are more deadly permutations on
display here than in Clue.
Given the production code of the time, the satirical film’s ending
was altered in the United States, nipping in the bud any mortifying
reading that crime might pay. (That swapped ending is glimpsed herein.)
Still, Hamer and John Dighton’s sparkling adaptation of Roy Horniman’s
novel chiefly pulls Kind Hearts and Coronets along, with its
mordant wit and some crackling dialogue. The crisp characterizations,
though, are what really make it sing; Price gives the performance of
his career.
Packaged in a double-sized Amray case, Criterion’s two-disc release
features a new, restored, high-definition digital transfer presented in
1.33:1 full screen, preserving the original aspect ratio of the film’s
release. The monaural sound mix satisfies the basic requirements of the
relatively straightforward audio presentation, and the more base DVD
extras include the movie’s original theatrical trailer and a
substantial gallery of production and publicity photographs. Additional
English subtitles are also available. The second disc of supplemental
material, though, is where the real meat is found. A feature-length
television documentary on the history of Ealing Studios is interesting
for Anglophiles, but even better is a rare, 1977 talk show appearance
by Guinness (clocking in at a whopping 70 minutes!) in which he
discusses, amongst other things, his work on a little movie called Star Wars
and a chance meeting with James Dean a week before his death. A 14-page
insert booklet with an essay by film critic Philip Kemp rounds things
out nicely. A- (Movie) B+ (Disc)
The First Wives Club), to tales of sexual abandon (How Stella Got Her Groove Back),
to all the romantic comedies that peddle the notion that love is still
just around the corner, no matter how career-oriented (One Fine Day), old or divorced (Must Love Dogs) or famous but still wanting (Notting Hill)
women happen to be. The straightforward fact is that the enormity of
movie screens and the communal nature of moviegoing — the simple act of
watching with other people as the larger-than-life unfolds — reinforces
our collective dreams and makes them seem attainable, if only for a
fleeting afternoon or evening.
After settling the latest preposterous squabble, driving the babysitter
home or picking up take-out for one, we may reenter the slipstream of
our pedestrian lives, but we carry with us trace elements of the belief
that things can be different. It’s no pure coincidence, the degree to which film took off here as a form of popular entertainment; movies are America’s chief cultural export because their vastness, in both
material and emotional scope, aligns with our sociopolitical views of
freedom and opportunity.
And yet, that wish fulfillment that comes in
so many shapes rarely comes in quite as many sizes. Written and directed by Nnegest Likké and distributed by Fox Searchlight, Phat Girlz
takes a look at two frustrated plus-size women (Mo’nique and Kendra C.
Johnson), who obsess over their weight while struggling to find love
and acceptance in a “minus-size” world. A braver or more interesting film would have perhaps more directly addressed happiness without attachment, but Phat Girlz
is less a call to (flabby) arms than a simple turning of the tables on
romantic comedy convention, proof that large women can have wishes
cinematically fulfilled too. For the full review, from FilmStew, click here.
You needn’t be a fan of Phish to imagine my disappointment when I opened The Spike Lee Joint Collection and discovered it was not a signature line of weed awaiting my review, but instead a compendium of five of the diminuitive but incendiary writer-director’s films. Oh well, you win some, you lose some.
The Spike Lee Joint Collection is the latest in a line of sparsely packaged DVD sets, many from Universal, designed to pull in more cavalier consumers of film product who might not naturally or avidly follow the work of a particular director. Compiling Do the Right Thing, Mo’ Better Blues, Crooklyn, Clockers and Jungle Fever, it works here because of Lee’s undeniable stamp of personality and the deeply felt socio-political undertones — albeit sometimes forced — of each film.
Do the Right Thing, from 1989, is probably Lee’s best known film, or certainly right up there with Malcolm X, and it remains his signature work and the crown jewel of this set, interweaving in uncompromising fashion darkly funny and yet still very seriously held views of race, all of which come to a boil in New York City on the hottest day of the summer. As the white owner of a Bedford-Stuyvesant pizzeria, Danny Aiello headlines a fantastic ensemble cast that includes Rosie Perez, Ossie Davis, Giancarlo Esposito, Richard Edson, Bill Nunn, John Savage, John Turturro and of course Lee himself. This is the film that spawned Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power,” and when that jam comes on, I defy you not to at the very least bob your head along in rhythm. Me, I pulled out the breakdance mat and started doing helicopter spins.
Capitalizing on the commercial and critical success of Do the Right Thing, Lee made jazzy valentine Mo’ Better Blues the following year, partially inspired by the life of his musician father Bill Lee. Denzel Washington stars as trumpeter Bleek Gilliam, a smooth playboy torn between Indigo (Joie Lee, Spike’s sister) and Clarke (Cynda Williams). Washington is, as always, magnetic, but at 132 minutes, the movie is more than a little bloated, and its divergent, unhoned focus seems to bespeak a desire to simply get another movie out in the pipeline as much as anything else.
Lee rebounded in 1991 with Jungle Fever, a film for which he struggled for some time to get financing. Wesley Snipes is a married black architect and Annabella Sciorra his white secretary, and their affair provides a prism through which to examine the trials and consequences of interracial relationships. While I think that the infidelity angle irrevocably warps and distorts the putative issues on display in significant fashion, the performances here are top notch, and the reactions of friends and family of the characters are certainly telling and interesting, definitely rooted in reality. The main problem is that Lee himself seems to believe that interracial relationships themselves are inherently a matter of novelty and (misplaced?) passion, and thus skin-deep. In refusing to imbue in them a more realistic depth, he ultimately shortchanges his characters and story.
The sole feature here not rated R, 1994’s sweet and surprisingly moving Crooklyn is a throwback to Lee’s childhood, telling the ’70s-set story of a headstrong young Brooklyn girl and her family. For those who doubt Lee has a soft bone in his body, this is stirring evidence to the contrary. He pulls a real winner out of the casting hat with newcomer Zelda Harris, while Alfre Woodard and Delroy Lindo anchor the adult roles.
Adapted by Lee and Richard Price from the latter’s novel, 1995’s Clockers serves as an antecedent of sorts to the recent Freedomland, a morally gray crime tale suffused with issues of race and class. Stepping in for Martin Scorsese (who took a producing credit and went off to make Casino instead), Lee scores again in pulling acting neophyte Mekhi Phifer to the foreground as Strike, a petty drug dealer who locks into a battle of wills with his boss, Rodney (Lindo again), the worst sort of father figure one could have. Isaiah Washington is Strike’s big brother, Victor, who gets sucked up in a criminal investigation by Rocco Klein (Harvey Keitel), and fellow cop Andre (Keith David) is the neighborhood enforcer who tries to lean on Strike to steer straight. While this film serves as the genesis of Lee’s famous (and famously jarring) point-of-view camera style — and also features the same sort of garish gangsta videogame parodied in Inside Man — it’s so crisply drawn and compellingly acted that you easily forgive it a few lapses in sense.
Nicely presented in three-way, gatefold packaging with plastic cases for each disc, The Spike Lee Joint Collection spans three DVDs, with one film presented on each side of a disc. Clockers and Jungle Fever share a disc, as do Do the Right Thing and Mo’ Better Blues. Crooklyn, meanwhile, rates its own DVD. The entire package then slips into a clear, plasticine cover with a replicated autograph from Lee.
All of the films in The Spike Lee Joint Collection are presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen transfers that preserve the original aspect ratio of their theatrical exhibition and generally offer a satisfying viewing experience. There are no problems with compression and grain is generally held to a minimum. Owing to Lee’s wide-ranging experimentation in film stock and camera technique, though, color consistency is sometimes an issue. The shadows in Jungle Fever (overall a very dark movie) are alternately muted and pitch black, and there’s some flickering in Clockers‘ interrogation scenes that makes for temporary distraction.
English-language, Dolby digital tracks anchor each film herein. There are Dolby 5.1 mixes for Clockers and Crooklyn, and Dolby digital 2.0 mixes for Jungle Fever, Do the Right Thing and Mo’ Better Blues. Dialogue is clear and consistent, and the jazzy rhythms of Mo’ Better Blues are in particular nicely captured. There aren’t a lot of rear channel demands on Lee’s films, which are mixed in fairly straightforward fashion, so these audio presentations are more than adequate. Alternate English captions for the hearing impaired stud each release, and there are additional Spanish subtitles on every film except Mo’ Better Blues, plus French subtitles on Jungle Fever.
Apart from contractually mandated credit information for each picture, housed on the interior of the gatefold packaging, though, there are no special features, just a branching menu and static scene selections for each movie. The package is clearly an attempt to move units based on the recent theatrical bow of Lee’s Inside Man, and as such there’s a ticket voucher for that movie inside, though unbilled on the outer packaging.
Overall, as with Universal’s recent The Gary Cooper Collection, this is a good way to pad the cumulative total of one’s serious film stash without putting too hearty of a dent in your wallet. The Criterion version of Do the Right Thing is obviously vastly superior, with its array of supplemental material. The outspoken Lee is always an interesting interview, and he has an authorial presence such that his complete absence here creates a weird sense of displacement. Still, if found for the right price, The Spike Lee Joint Col
lection certainly offers up more hits than misses, and is a boon for casual film fans who want to immerse themselves in the work of a passionate and talented, if not always completely on the mark, director. To purchase the DVD set via Amazon, click here. B (Movies) C- (Discs)
A Sound of Thunder is a time-travel adventure, one of those
effects-laden movies in which man putatively battles nature but really
himself and his own hubris. That means that the dire warnings of noble
scientists about the dangerous butterfly-effect of meddling with the
past are ignored in a mad dash for cash, and then subsequently grappled
with in clumsy, predictable sci-fi fashion. The irony, though, is that
despite all of its noise and fury, the $80 million A Sound of Thunder
stands poised to disappear from the collective filmgoer consciousness
with barely a ripple of consequence, just as it did at the domestic box
office, where it tanked to the tune of a $1.9 million one-month release
(yep, you read that right) last autumn. For the full review, from IGN, click here.
You’re
courting critical bashing when you have Rob Schneider star as the most
athletic member of your ensemble, but that’s just what The Benchwarmers
does. A formulaic and somewhat slapdash comedy of the wholly expected —
about a trio of misfits and social pariahs who enter into a round-robin
competition to strike a score-settling blow for underdogs — the movie coasts by on its chaotic charm and quip-laden dialogue, the perfect
lazy Sunday rental for genre devotees and young fans of the cast.
After
catching some nasty neighborhood bullies picking on a younger kid, Gus
(Schneider), Richie (David Spade) and Clark (Jon Heder) earn the
appreciation of said kid’s Segway-riding, millionaire father, Mel (Jon
Lovitz), who eventually comes up with the idea of sponsoring a
tournament in order to turn the tables on teen tormenters past and
present and fund a new stadium for all the oddballs and nonconformists.
Template mayhem ensues.
Directed by Dennis Dugan (Happy Gilmore, Big Daddy)
from a script by fellow Adam Sandler acolytes Allen Covert and Nick
Swardson (who also costars as Richie’s sun-fearing brother, Howie), the
film isn’t a masterwork of subtlety, and it surely overdoes the
titty-twister, fart and poop humor. Some of the acting, too — from
ex-NFLers Sean Salisbury and Bill Romanowski, plus Craig Kilborn —
dashes past the comically villainous into downright derisible.
(Seriously, Kilby, you gave up your own late night show for this?)
Still, the rapport between the guys is warm and genuine, and it’s
actually refreshing to see Lovitz play a character other than a total
schlub.
Even if Heder’s Napoleon Dynamite shtick is wearing a bit
thin — though here it’s arguably still a function of the script, he
needs a complete straight man role or random indie drama, stat — he at
least nicely counterbalances Spade’s snarky doofus persona. And
speaking of Spade, by the way, he digs further down into his filmic bag
of humiliating hairstyles, coming up with a bowl cut-and-pencil-’stache
combo that’s part mop-headed Alex D. Linz, part serial killer John
Waters aficionado (no wonder Richie’s a video store clerk). I’m usually
not a fan of wigs representing a character’s defining characteristic,
but here it oddly works.
Available in a regular Amray case on a disc made to look like a baseball, The Benchwarmers
is presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, preserving the aspect
ratio of its theatrical exhibition, with an English language 5.1 audio
track and a clutch of optional subtitles (English, Spanish, French,
Portuguese, Thai, Chinese, Korean). Unfortunately, though, the presence
of discrete audio tracks in French, Spanish, Portuguese and Thai (!),
plus two feature-length commentary tracks, really slows down the disc’s
interactivity, which is a bummer. Director Dugan sits for one of those
audio commentaries, in which he opines that guest star Reggie Jackson’s
forearms are seemingly “sculpted by Rodin,” and says, “Some people
think there are too many booger and fart jokes in the movie; I
disagree.”
It’s self-deprecating co-stars Heder and Spade, however (the latter
a commentary track’s best friend) who provide much more humorous
insight on their feature-length chat. There’s an anecdote or two for
every cast member or bit player, no matter how small. Four ultra-brief
featurettes — two separate edited-together, thematically-grouped series
of EPK interviews, one bit centering on Swardson’s “best moments” as
Howie, and another focusing on the aforementioned Reggie Jackson — are
also included alongside a collection deleted scenes, but where’s the
extended gag reel? That omission and issues of interactivity bump this
release down a half-grade. C+ (Movie) C+ (Disc)
Why another blog? Why now? And why about film? It’s simple. There’s so much to talk about. As traditional media continue to search out new manners of content delivery and interactivity on the Internet while still preserving their old business models, low-fi web sites and blogs are filling in where there’s been a certain collapse of reader dependence and trust. Direct, peer-to-peer communication is a sort of “idea Darwinism,” with bandied-about thoughts, opinion and feelings that rise to a certain critical mass helping shape public opinion and action moving forward.
And as far as pop culture, film is the nexus of this. The straightforward fact is that the enormity of movie screens and the communal nature of filmgoing — the simple act of watching with other people as the larger-than-life unfolds — reinforces our collective dreams and makes them seem attainable, if only for a fleeting afternoon or evening. After settling the latest preposterous squabble, driving the babysitter home or picking up take-out for one, we may reenter the slipstream of our seemingly pedestrian lives, but we carry with us trace elements of the belief that things can be different. It’s no pure coincidence, the degree to which film took off here as a form of popular entertainment; movies are America’s chief cultural export because their vastness, in both material and emotional scope, aligns with our sociopolitical views of freedom and opportunity.
Besides, if blogging is good enough for Dwight Schrute, it’s good enough for me.
I come from a print journalism background, and for five years served as editor-in-chief and chief film critic for Entertainment Today, Los Angeles’ oldest entertainment-exclusive free weekly publication. Hopefully, here you’ll appreciate some advance word and arguably somewhat discerning critical opinion — after all, it’s my belief that studio popcorn films can transcend the nature of their formula and touch brilliance, while deeply original and idiosyncratic works (The Ballad of Jack and Rose, let’s say) can just as easily be indulgent and masturbatory. I may, like everyone, have certain screen predilections, but I’m not a genre snob by any stretch of the imagination.
“Shared Darkness” will ideally be a repository for brief opinion on the best (and worst) of independent film, as well as tangential observations about big-budget studio fare and all the latest Hollywood trends. This doesn’t mean inflammatory gossip, alas, but there will occasionally be some off-the-record chats with well-placed industry sources (the better to preserve their candor), as well as informal interviews with writers, directors, cinematographers and the like — all in an effort to further shine a light on the often violent collision of creative process and fiscal reality that is modern filmmaking.
There will also be film set visits, DVD dissections, all manner of random explications and theories (just wait until you hear my thoughts on Cannonball Run…) and definitely plenty of recommendations on off-the-beaten-path movies both new and classic. Basically, it’s a place to further indulge my points-of-view, and hopefully enter into a bit of a discourse about both them and where you see and want to see film to go in the future. I hope you enjoy.
The First Wives Club), to tales of sexual abandon (How Stella Got Her Groove Back),