A fictitious snapshot of influential photographer Diane
(pronounced “Dee-anne”) Arbus — think of it as a sort of impressionistic
Polaroid biopic — Fur stars Nicole
Kidman in the title role, and she brings her characteristic full-bodied
attentiveness and intelligence to the part. Still, even this isn’t enough to
bring to a full boil what is essentially a very symbolically telegraphed and
half-lidded sketch about desire, burgeoning self-expression and independence.

Based on a book by Patricia Bosworth, and adapted for the
screen by director Steven Shainberg’s Secretary
partner Erin Cressida Wilson, Fur is
a sort of through-the-looking-glass tale, centered around Arbus’ putative
“inner experience,” and thus inventing characters and situations wholesale. One
can’t say for certain whether it was this approach that in part, large or
small, resulted in the movie’s commercial implosion (it grossed all of $220,000
domestically, though its widest release came at less than 40 screens), but it
undoubtedly further segregates the subject matter from those that might
otherwise be at least half-interested in either a historical biopic or tale of
self-actualization. Fur, you see, is
about Arbus’ personal growth through a relationship with a guy… covered in fur.

Set in New York City in 1958, the story unfolds in a high society world, the sort of place
where Diane’s momentary tearing up and excusal from a presentation is cause for
gasping, whispered chatter. Yes, Arbus is another oppressed housewife, you see, stifled by
life as an assistant to her portraiture and advertising photographer husband, Allan
(Ty Burrell). She harbors her own considerable talents, though, and soon meets
Freudian with Lionel (Robert Downey, Jr.), a new neighbor stricken by
hypertrichosis, which results in a thick coat of hair that covers his body,
head to toe. Though he hides his face under a bag, Lionel’s penetrating gaze
strips the veneer off of Diane’s tidy reality, and she soon finds herself
sucked into what might be characterized as an emotional affair. She begins to meet with Lionel under the guise of taking his photo, but never quite gets around to doing so.

Despite its outwardly manifested outlandish elements, Fur is for the most part a movie of considerable
subtlety and restraint; Arbus’ journey isn’t quite as in lockstep with Betty
Freidan as one might imagine. Allan is a compassionate and sympathetic figure,
and he initially quite supports his wife’s artistic awakening. Even when Diane
begins to shut him off in more explicit or pronounced ways, much of his
frustration is channeled inward — though he does (somewhat amusingly) grow a
beard in a silent gambit of plaintive outreach. The film’s problem, really, is
that it places such weight on an admittedly contrived plot point and character, and so we
learn nothing of consequence about Arbus or her real-life work. She comes across here as widely defined, a placeholder for the creative spirit.

Presented in 1.85:1 widescreen, which preserves the aspect
ratio of its theatrical exhibition, Fur
comes packaged in a regular Amray case, and is anchored by English language
Dolby digital 5.1 surround and stereo surround audio mixes that are each a bit
low on dialogue register, but nicely capture Carter Burwell’s music — full of moody,
heavy string pieces that at times recalls Phillip Glass and at other times Angelo
Badalamenti. Optional English and Spanish subtitles are also included.

Delicate, animated menu screens give way to the disc’s special
features, which consist of a brief making-of featurette nipped from HBO’s First Look series, deleted scenes with optional
commentary by Shainberg and an audio commentary track from the director, who
allows no lulls, uncomfortable or otherwise, to intercede. Generally eschewing
production anecdotes, Shainberg disdains the line of reasoning that Arbus’ portraiture
work of dwarves, giants and deviants is exploitative. A lot of his patter,
though, merely points up Fur’s
ladled-on representational topcoat. “To some extent film is about transmission
of his world to her,” Shainberg says at one point; then, “Lionel being upstairs
is a metaphoric representation of Arbus’ inner life — the world that she wants
to explore is right there.” Sure, we get it. What of Diane’s deeper, truer
feelings, though — unattached to anyone else, family or otherwise? Fur looks past this forest through the
trees, beholden in willful fashion to its own immaculately tasteful art-posturing. C- (Movie) B (Disc)

Presented by Wes Craven and directed by one of his longtime
assistant directors, Nick Mastandrea, The
Breed is a killer canine flick with just a pinch of the same sort of
exotic-travelogue-gone-wrong found in Turistas. Inspired by animalistic horror
classics like Cujo and The Birds, the movie is an exercise of the expected in its
plotting, but generally solid in its execution; it’s powered by familiar jump
cuts, yet also avoids CGI work in favor of practical stunts and thrills, making
for a pleasingly low-fi genre experience.

The story centers around a group of five twentysomething friends
who hydroplane in for a weekend on a deserted island once favored by the
deceased uncle of two of the characters. Making up the main troika are Nikki (Michelle
Rodriguez) and her studious, responsible boyfriend Matt (Eric Lively), but
their relationship is complicated by the fact that Nikki used to also date
Matt’s older brother, the alternately brash and withdrawn John (Black Christmas’ Oliver Hudson, somehow married
to this).
Also along for the ride are blonde and flirty Sara (Hustle and Flow’s Taryn Manning) and Noah (In Too Deep’s Hill Harper). The alcohol flows freely, and the group
settles in for a good time. Strangely, a puppy shows up the next morning, and
later Sara gets nicked by its protective parent while walking the perimeter of
the house.

It’s then that Matt and John recall a camp on the island
where seeing-eye dogs were supposedly trained; only later does Matt mention
hearing about it being briefly shut down, allegedly for a rabies outbreak.
Turns out it was a special canine research unit, and the experiment gone wrong
has produced a flesh-eating pack of more than two dozen now-wild dogs, all genetically
engineered to hunt and kill. Trapped and outnumbered, the friends must stick
together as they struggle to survive and escape.

Rodriguez will soon likely pull a muscle due to her lack of
screen stretching, and though she’s not the only — or even principal — athletic
ass-kicker here, she does get to negotiate a zip-line during an ill-fated
escape attempt, and have her leg shot
through with an arrow. That leaves most of the heroic lifting to Hudson
(above left), who actually shows a bit more personality than for which I had
him pegged. No top-shelf leading man is he, but in the right ensemble, he
serves quite capably. The entertainment value of The Breed ultimately, though, comes down to how much one wants to
see snarling dogs nip at the heels of its relatively well-toned cast members.
It makes sufficiently good on its conceit — nothing more, nothing less. The cast showcases a generally nice rapport, but the script isn’t exactly crackling with insight or very memorable dialogue.

Presented in a 1.85:1 aspect ratio, and anchored by a desultory
5.1 Dolby digital mix that disproportionately favors soundtrack tunes over
source audio, The Breed comes with
optional English and Spanish subtitles, and packaged in a standard Amray case
with slightly holographic cover insert art. Its special features consist of a
making-of featurette and preview trailers for the movie and a trio of other
First Look titles, including The Dead
Girl, Kovak Box and Disappeared. The aforementioned
behind-the-scenes bit clocks in at 24 minutes, and seems to be a special
installment of a regular stand-alone program entitled Eye on Movie Magic. Detailing a very specialized portion of the
movie’s six-week South African shoot, this segment focuses on the film’s animal
stunt work, and as such includes interviews with Mastandrea, producer David
Lancaster, dog trainer Paul “Sled” Reynolds and, briefly, actress Rodriguez. If
one can get past the Afrikaner-accented narration, it’s actually pretty
interesting to see how some of the action beats are choreographed and achieved
in practical fashion. It’s nothing grandly illuminating, really, but a nice
inclusion. C (Movie) C+ (Disc)