French filmmaker Jean-Pierre Jeunet stepped boldly into the arthouse spotlight with Amelié, starring Audrey Tatou, but it was 1991’s Delicatessen,
co-directed with Marc Caro, that authoritatively established his
elaborate visual style and its delicate counterbalancing with gross-out
gags and broader slapstick elements. (Hey, it’s no coincidence that
ex-Monty Python member Terry Gilliam presented the movie’s American
release). Already a deserved cult classic that will find welcome
reception among those who similarly favor Gilliam’s cinematic trinkets,
Delicatessen, with its unusual mix of tones, is worth a look for
those who enjoy their comedy dark and deadpan, but with nonetheless a
pinch of fanciful optimism.

Set in a post-apocalyptic, 21st century Paris where food is scarce (sorry, though, no Kevin Costner), Delicatessen
unfolds chiefly within the confines of a single apartment complex owned
by a man named Clapet (Jean-Claude Dreyfus), who also operates the
downstairs butcher shop. Bartering with locals for other goods and
services, Clapet keeps everyone fed by cycling through and chopping up
a steady stream of drifters who take work in his dilapidated deli. The
latest to answer his newspaper ad is a pliant young former circus
clown, Louison (Dominique Pinon), who is, of course, completely unaware
that Clapet plans to serve him up to the building’s bizarre coterie.
Things change when the butcher’s nearsighted daughter Julie
(Marie-Laurie Dougnac), who buys two of everything to stave off all the
inevitable accidents that befall her, falls for Louison and goes to
abundant lengths to systematically foil her father’s plans.

Jeunet and Caro devised the story with comic book writer Gilles
Adrien, and the latter’s exaggerated sense of action definitely helps
inform the movie’s unique sensibility. The performances are all top
notch, impressing an air of theatricality upon the filmmakers’ definite
humanist leanings. Delicatessen teases up the absurdity of its
cannibalistic premise to dizzying heights, and yet also succeeds in
locating the unlikely whimsicality therein.

Housed in a regular Amray case, Delicatessen is presented in
1.85:1 widescreen enhanced for 16×9 televisions, with a Dolby digital
surround sound original language track and optional English and Spanish
subtitles. The transfer captures the darker chocolates, golds, greens
and other murky hues of Jeunet’s frame, and the audio presentation is
leaps and bounds better than the movie’s previous VHS tape
incarnations, allowing for a fuller appreciation of Jeunet’s sterling
sound design, wherein there’s a sound or three for every gag.

Supplemental extras include a French-language audio commentary track
with Jeunet, meaning American audiences will have to double down on the
subtitles to hear his thoughts on Stateside filmmaking and his own
directorial shortcomings. There’s also a 13-minute making-of
featurette, “Fine Cooked Meats,” and around eight minutes of screen
tests, rehearsal footage and the like. The original theatrical trailer
and a collection of other teaser advertising materials rounds out the
disc. B+ (Movie) B (Disc)

If Only Jennifer Love Hewitt would return my calls. If Only Jennifer Love Hewitt would revoke the restraining order against me. Ahh
yes, then we could make beautiful music together… or at least films
with a bit more personality than this anonymous 2004 confection, in
which she stars, co-produces and even performs two songs featured in
the movie.

If I seem to have an unnatural or unbecoming
affinity for “Love,” it’s only because I appreciate her utterly
refreshing self-awareness in an industry where all too often young
actors and actresses fall victim to all sorts of delusion and inflated
grandeur. Pleasant and unaffected, Hewitt exudes both a professional
sense of responsibility and a down-to-Earth charm — she gets
the nature of her appeal (yes, boobs and all) and has fun with it.
She’s a real girl with real curves, real personality and no diva-esque
drama. If only more starlets were like her.

Efficaciously shot on location in London, If Only is a sort of slightly more wishy-washy version of Sliding Doors.
It provides a decently rangy vehicle for Hewitt — who’s quite good,
actually — but there’s little else of dramatic heft here. Hewitt plays
Samantha Andrews, an impetuous American music teacher and aspiring
singer-songwriter living in a tidy English flat with her workaholic
boyfriend Ian Wyndham (Paul Nicholls, out-blanding oatmeal). When he
won’t reward her surprise morning gift of a leather jacket with a
proper boinking, and accompany her on a forthcoming back to the States
to meet her mother, she feels neglected. This and other stressors
eventually lead to a fight and the couple’s near break-up. Shortly
after, that same evening, Samantha is in a horrible car accident (In the Bedroom’s
Tom Wilkinson costars as the fated cabbie) and dies. In the second half
of the movie, a grief-stricken Ian gets a once-in-a-lifetime
opportunity to relive the tragic day all over again in the hopes of
changing the events that led up to Samantha’s death. There are kisses
in the rain, of course, but can there be a happy ending for all
involved?

If Only is directed by Gil Junger, a television veteran who made the swing into features with 2001’s Black Knight,
starring Martin Lawrence. It’s decent in terms of general production
value, but definitely shows its ABC Family television movie roots in
the conventional staging and an overly maudlin score from Adrian
Johnston. Hewitt is certainly a welcome sight in her Hanes, and again,
she gets an expansive character arc to enjoy — from love-strung but
ebullient to full-blown teary breakdown, which she conveys surprisingly
movingly. The film’s dramatic track, however, feels wan and
predetermined.

Housed in a regular Amray case, If Only is presented only in
1.33:1 full screen, with an English 5.1 Dolby digital surround sound
track; subtitles in only English and French further blunt the movie’s
international appeal amongst hopeless romantics. If Only there were some supplemental features, even a few EPK-style interview tidbits. C (Movie) D (Disc)