The success of a hearty piece of genre fare like Annapolis, a military drama of macho square-off, is largely reliant upon the magnetism of its lead. There’s a comfortable rite-of-passage to these narratives, and audiences need a sturdy and personable guide to make their interest seem something more than fleeting. A very good thing, then, that Annapolis enlists the services of James Franco. For the full review, from IGN, click here.

1977’s Eaten Alive is the movie Tobe Hooper made two years after Texas Chainsaw Massacre,
and it’s being re-released on DVD now alongside another tricked-out DVD
version of that aforementioned horror classic, and in the shadow of a
big screen prequel from New Line. Plotwise, this thinly imagined Psycho
knock-off is little more than a derisible piece of classic-era slasher
mayhem, but — notably for genre buffs — it does replace Diamond
Entertainment’s horribly substandard transfer and full-frame release of
several years back.

Set deep in the Texas bayou, amidst the
dankest of whorehouses and bars, sits the decrepit Starlight Hotel.
Owned and operated by lonely war veteran Judd (Stalag 17’s
Neville Brand, oozing maniacal intensity), it receives few visitors.
That could be because of the remote backwoods location, or maybe it’s
Judd’s violent mood swings. Or maybe it’s the giant alligator in the
half-moat that snakes from the backyard around to the front porch. Who
knows…

Regardless, you know from frame one of a movie like this that things
aren’t going to end well, for pretty much everyone involved. Among
those that get caught up in Judd’s web are Clara (Death Race 2000’s
Roberta Collins), a runaway prostitute from the nearby town; a strange
young couple, Faye (Marilyn Burns) and Roy (William Finley) and their
ward; a dying father (Mel Ferrer) and his nubile daughter (Crystin
Sinclaire); and a sex-starved local yokel named Buck (a youngish Robert
England), who delivers the same rhyming, introductory line of
evocative-kitsch dialogue that Quentin Tarantino would nip for use in Kill Bill, Vol. 1.

Packaged in a regular Amray case, Eaten Alive is presented in
1.85:1 format, with Dolby digital and 2.0 mono audio mixes. Bonus
features include a brief featurette with new video interview footage
from Robert Englund recounting his participation in the movie, a still
photo gallery and theatrical trailers, among other tidbits. The worthy
supplemental distraction in the midst of all this rather craptacular
execution comes in the form of a fascinating and careening cobbled
together audio commentary track from producer/co-writer Mardi Rustam,
make-up artist Craig Reardon (who recounts his first occupational brush
with rouging bare breasts, as well as Hooper being fired and missing
from some of the shoot) and actors Finley and Richards. It’s the aforementioned
Collins, however, who provides the most entertainment bang for your
buck, recounting star Brand’s sweet disposition… until he tried to
sexually assault her! I guess the statute of limitations has expired,
but still: fascinating stuff, if for mostly the wrong reasons. D- (Movie) B- (Disc)

Veteran
filmmaker and producer Sydney Pollack came uncertainly to his first
documentary, on celebrated modern architect (and longtime friend) Frank
Gehry, but the result is a casually seductive and disarmingly relaxed
filing, the perfect movie for those intrigued by notions of the sublime
in buildings and structures, but generally unable to articulate or wrap
their heads around such concepts.

Responsible for some of the
most stunning and innovative designs in the world — including the
Experience Music Project in Seattle and the Walt Disney Concert Hall in
Los Angeles, which gets major run here during its formative phases —
Gehry’s work style can best be likened to improvisational jazz; he
loves messy freehand sketches (hence the title), and after taping
together an early mock-up of the aforementioned Disney Hall in a
brainstorming session, he describes it as “so stupid it’s beautiful.”
Mixing the freewheeling nature of art with the much more unforgiving
laws of physics that govern design and construction, Gehry is a true
American original.

Pollack, prowling about with his mini-DV camera, inserts himself
into the proceedings here, but in a far from officious manner. Rather,
he’s the perfect Everyman guide for a project like this, bringing to
the table neither a wonkish appreciation for architecture nor, really,
overindulgence upon explicatory, talking head vocabulary. That doesn’t
mean we don’t get insightful interviews, because we do — with everyone
from Charles Jencks and Ed Ruscha to Dennis Hopper (who lives in a
Gehry-designed home) and Bob Geldorf. Jumping back and forth between
stories about the man (he changed his last name from Goldberg at the
hectoring insistence of his first wife) and his methods (he often works
in two or three different scales at once on a single project, so as to
avoid getting married to the models), Sketches of Frank Gehry is an absorbing look at a unique imagination and a fascinating little movie in its own right.

Housed in a regular Amray case, Sketches of Frank Gehry is
presented in a clear, 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen transfer that
preserves the aspect ratio of the movie’s brief, ultra-limited
theatrical bow this past May, alongside an English language 5.1 Dolby
digital audio track that smoothly captures the movie’s rather
pedestrian aural demands while also showcasing hints of accompanying
atmospherics that paint a rich portrait of Gehry’s work space.
Additionally, subtitles are available in French. The film’s sole
supplemental bonus feature comes in the form of a 34-minute Q&A
with Pollack from its Los Angeles premiere. Moderated by Sideways
director Alexander Payne, this informal chat of friendly softballs is
marred somewhat by poor sound quality, but Pollack is an always
interesting interview, and he speaks in engaging fashion about his
first, breathtaking experience with the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao,
Spain (he was licking his wounds during the international press tour
for Random Hearts, and ducked in to its grand unveiling after
an invitation from Gehry) and his reluctance to heed editor Karen
Schmeer’s instincts and insert conversational footage of him into Sketches of Frank Gehry. To purchase the movie via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) B- (Disc)