Somewhere, in some studio filing cabinet or on some studio hard drive, there exists the concrete data on loveable family comedies with towheaded kids and canines who go to great lengths in order to stay with their lil’ tyke owners. I know this information exists not merely because marketing helps drive the creative process amongst creative types who like to, you know, make money and eat, but because movies like Cool Dog, an innocuous family dramedy seemingly shaped to its very core by pre-sales ROI and market research dictums, continue to get made, despite the ample supply of similar titles still readily available.

Jimmy (Jackson Pace), a vibrant 10-year-old boy, lives in the tranquil
town of Eagle Rock, Louisiana, with his father (Michael Pare), stepmother (Christa Campbell, taking a break from horror flicks) and, most
importantly, his best friend — a German shepherd named Rainy. When Jimmy’s
dad gets a promotion, the family relocates to an apartment in
New York City that has a strict no-pets policy. Unwilling to let his
master go without a fight, Rainy embarks on a cross-country journey to
New York, navigating through all sorts of peril on the way.

Co-writer-director Danny Lerner has a prodigious list of producing credits (including Command Performance and a bunch of Steven Seagal movies), and as a director has made a couple schlocky shark-related flicks (my favorite may be Shark in Venice), so clearly this is his sop to “family,” a movie about adolescent friendship and devotion and all that. And it’s fairly harmless and enjoyable, in an undemanding sort of way. The doggy stagings aren’t always the most imaginative or well executed, but it plays plenty fine for those ages 7 or 8 and under — a video babysitter that peddles reassuring messages of decency and love always winning out.

Cool Dog arrives on DVD in a full frame presentation, with a 5.1 digital surround sound audio track that more than adequately handles the straightforward and relatively meager aural demands of this title. Optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles are also included, and a gallery of trailers for other First Look titles complements the feature as the only bonus material inclusion. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C- (Movie) C- (Disc)

Much more interesting than anything that actually transpires in the mildly terrible albeit titillatingly titled Chinese Kamasutra would be modern-day interviews in which some of the Chinese courtesan extras talk about their technique in mock nipple-tonguing, since that is one of the unintentionally amusing high points in this otherwise rather tedious exercise in attempted erotic drama and exotically set sexploitation.

Directed by Joe D’Amato, this 1993 Italian import centers on Joan Parker (the lovely Georgia Emerald), a good-natured but somewhat fuddy-duddy British librarian living in China who stumbles across a copy of the ancient “sex text,” digs in, lets her fingers do some walking, and then of course starts having wild, intrusive fantasies that run counter to her real-life proclivities. This yawning set-up allows for lots of unimaginative back-and-forth, as Joan spurns the advances of a Chinese colleague, but also dreams of lesbian canoodling and the like.

The aforementioned Emerald is a natural beauty, but not much of an actress (it’s unsurprising to learn she has no other screen credits), even though she basically just has to approximate a blank slate. The other performances here are similarly challenged, and the material never becomes textured or interesting in any manner beyond the obvious, which is to say involving sporadically unclothed females. Basically, Chinese Kamasutra is a bore, which is pretty damning and problematic, given its title.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Chinese Kamasutra comes to DVD presented on a region-free disc in a letterboxed widescreen 1.66:1 aspect ratio, complete with a modern-day cover model who is not in the film, and bears a badly Photoshopped lower back tattoo to boot. Its audio options include a dubbed English language Dolby digital stereo 2.0 track and the original Italian language track as well, also in Dolby digital stereo 2.0. The transfer is grainy, and likely not from original film elements. Apart from a dozen motion-animated chapter stops, its sole supplemental feature is an unprocessed (i.e., time-coded), 44-second deleted scene. Amusingly, Chen Kaige is actually credited as the movie’s second assistant cameraman, but I’m thinking it was not the director of Farewell My Concubine. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. D (Movie) D+ (Disc)

Going to school in indefatigable style on Ice Cube’s lessons of crossover career management and branding, rapper and erstwhile drug dealer 50 Cent has transformed himself into a peddler of not only music and ring-tones, but also water, fitness supplements and, of course, movies. Ergo, the market for something like Gun, a slickly shot weapons-trafficking actioner that brings nothing terribly new to the table, but does at least go through the motions with energy and a streamlined clarity of purpose.

The movie unfolds in Detroit, and director Jessy Terrero — working from a script by his star, actually — uses that fact, in ways both nakedly transparent and occasionally sincere, to pump up the film’s zeitgeist quotient. Gun-runner Rich (50 Cent) and his crew oversee a vast arms-laundering operation, in part by purchasing stolen, illegal and otherwise “hot” weapons on the cheap from pawn shops, and turning around and selling them on mark-up. They terrify the populace with their aggressive violence, as characterized by an opening in which some rivals are flushed out of a nightclub and mowed down in the middle of the street.

When Rich’s old friend and fellow criminal Angel (Val Kilmer), who 10 years earlier saved his life in a gun-and-drugs exchange gone bad, drifts back into his life, Rich welcomes Angel back into the fold, which makes his longtime henchmen paranoid and on edge. Things get worse when it becomes obvious there’s a snitch in the group, and
two local detectives (James Remar and Paul Calderon), working both the case itself and trying to fend off the territorial-investigative advances of the ATF, start closing in.

Unsurprisingly, Gun has swagger to spare, a result of its star’s sly charisma, as well as some savvy casting in bit parts (including Danny Trejo). But Kilmer works in subversive fashion to give the movie a more settled sense of reality, and his interactions with 50 Cent really help ground the film, to the extent that anything surprising happens within the confines of its who’s-the-rat? storyline. Otherwise, apart from some fine, saturated work by cinematographer Zeus Morand, there’s about what one would expect here — lots of bravado, agitated cops tired of being handcuffed by legal boundaries, and some characteristically ridiculous “gangsta” discharging of firearms. Oh, and the requisite sex scene is discreetly shot so as to save AnnaLynne McCord (a ringer for a young Rene Russo) from any wildly embarrassing screen-caps, though Mr. Cent (billed here in hybrid fashion as Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson) does bare his butt, which I’m sure is of interest to someone.

Housed in a regular snap-shut Blu-ray case, Gun comes to the format presented in 1080p high definition, in 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen. The transfer is truly superb, actually, free of any edge enhancement, blocking or other artifacts, and characterized by hard-edged clarity throughout. Sound is delivered via a DTS-HD 5.1 master audio track. While certainly serviceable throughout, the mix levels here seem a bit off, or perhaps just marred by typical disproportionate genre leveling; gunshots and explosions are given a ridiculous decibel bump that will as often as not have one reaching for their remote control. Optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles are also available, and the film is partitioned by a dozen chapter stops under a motion-enabled main menu screen. Apart from an inclusion of the movie’s trailer, however, there are unfortunately no supplemental bonus features contained herein. To purchase the Blu-ray disc via Amazon, click here; to purchase the film via iTunes, meanwhile, click here. C (Movie) C (Disc)

Sometimes a movie’s title really says everything, and hardly any formal review is necessary. Such is the case with Vintage Lesbian Erotica.

A Cult Epics home video title that collects two-plus hours of peep show reels and other naughty black-and-white sapphic short films spanning almost 40 years, from the 1920s into the 1960s, this slapdash set is a weird peek behind the curtain and under the bedsheets mostly of our grandmothers’ generation, and of arguably little value, even as some sociocultural relic.

Unfolding in bedrooms, opium dens, parks and other outdoor locations, the almost two dozen shorts here are fairly wide-ranging in set-up and accoutrement, let’s say, and yet also curiously of a piece. A small handful are surreal (one incorporates body painting), but the majority of are of the wiggly-silly variety, and seem to play like an older variation on Girls Gone Wild, with women groping each other for giggles or play-acting and doing things that they believe men want to see. But hey, a banana does get worked into the mix, for those wondering. Still, none of this is particularly interesting or titillating, apart from the thoughts it provokes in regards to the cameramen and production teams behind this material.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Vintage Lesbian Erotica comes to DVD on a region-free disc, and is presented in a matte-framed 1.33:1 full frame aspect ratio. The quality of the source material varies widely, as one might surmise, but it certainly doesn’t look as though there has been any effort made to clean it up. Much of it is flat-out terrible, sub-VHS grade. The audio track also fluctuates a good bit, since some of the shorts are accompanied by madcap orchestral selections, and others barely scored at all. A main menu screen gives way to a separate selection screen which purports to divvy up the selections by decade, but this is needlessly muddled (sections within other sections), and in French to boot, which makes little sense, given the international, ahem, spread of the material. Finally, there are no other supplemental bonus features. So is it really true that Vintage Lesbian Erotica elicits chiefly a yawn? Yes, yes it is. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, however, do your thing and click here. D (Movie) F (Disc)

Inspired by Biblical accounts of the massive, gold- and copper-flecked splendor of his temples and palaces, countless treasure-seekers (and more than a few Hollywood adventure story peddlers) have set off in search of King Solomon’s mines, trekking through burning deserts and scaling the forbidding mountains of Africa and the Levant. Yet the actual evidence supporting the existence of Solomon and other early kingdoms in the Bible has been highly controversial. In fact, there is so little physical evidence of the kings who ruled Israel and Edom that many contend that they are no more real than King Arthur. The PBS-fronted edu-doc Quest for Solomon’s Mines attempts to sort out some of this mystery.

Produced and directed by Graham Townsley through National Geographic Television, the hour-long Quest for Solomon’s Mines offers up a couple new clues buried in the pockmarked desert of Jordan, as it tries to pin down the source(s) of the great material wealth that shaped regional political might in the Dead Sea Valley, and helped empower the first mighty Biblical kingdoms. As with tele-news magazine reporting, this program blends speculative historic reenactments with some talking head footage, in this case from University of California-San Diego Levantine Archaeology Lab hands Mohammad Najjar, Thomas Levy and others. The carbon dating of new-ish archaeological excavations at Khirbet en Nahas bring up some interesting facts, illuminating an era and making a convincing case that slave labor — and with it probably all the attendant human rights abuses and faulty criminal convictions, to ensure a large enough workforce — powered a regional rise much earlier than previously known. It’s an interesting title, even if its conclusions are ultimately rather glancing.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Quest for Solomon’s Mines comes to DVD presented in 1.78:1 widescreen, with an English language stereo audio track, divided into seven chapters. There are unfortunately no supplemental features of note. To purchase the DVD, phone (800) PLAY-PBS, or click here; if it’s Amazon that’s your thing, meanwhile, click here. C+ (Movie) C- (Disc)

The lives and sordid actions of serial killers are so far beyond the pale that they rather understandably make rich fodder for movies, with Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer and of course Aileen Wuornos — for which Charlize Theron won an Oscar in Monster — getting recent screen treatments. Next up is John Wayne Gacy, who serves as the imprisoned boogeyman in Dear Mr. Gacy, a film that puts a strange twist on the inside-the-mind-of-a-killer sub-genre.

Based on a curious but apparently true story, as chronicled in
the bestselling book The Last Victim, Dear Mr. Gacy recounts the experiences of a headstrong 18-year-old college student, Jason Moss (Jesse Moss), and his relationship with the notorious Gacy (William Forsythe), an Iowa businessman, short-order cook and community volunteer who got demented mileage out of frequently parading around in a clown costume. As part of a school assignment, Moss sends a letter to Gacy in prison, portraying himself as a vulnerable kid, and hoping to work his way into his psyche and get him to confess his crimes. (Gacy initially admitted to many murders, but later recanted, explaining away the more than two dozen bodies found in a crawl space in his house as part of a strange police conspiracy.)

Suspicious at first, Gacy subjects Moss to a series of tests, but is won over by some beefcake photos and collect-call telephone conversations, coming to eventually trust him, and value his friendship. Moss’ preoccupation with Gacy somewhat understandably confounds his
girlfriend Alyssa (Emma Lahana), and his younger brother is a bit creeped out too, when Gacy starts requesting letters from him. What follows is a bizarre game of psychological cat-and-mouse between two manipulators, in which Gacy alternately cajoles, rants, rages and urges the youngster who he believes is his new friend to engage in street hustling, while Moss finds his life turned upside down in unexpected ways. When it seems things couldn’t get even more unusual, Gacy’s death row appeal is denied, and he sends an invitation to Moss to visit him in prison for a private meeting.

Moss (The Uninvited, Final Destination 3) does a capable job as… Moss (weird twist, that), in that he basically has to play a smart kid who’s way in over his head — who has a game plan, but not a back-up plan (or more deeply seated psychological mooring) for when Gacy starts to pull some really sick shit. In this regard, Moss ably communicates the overwhelmed nature and quiet interior panic of his character (or his acting shortcomings do the same thing). Forsythe (The Devil’s Rejects), meanwhile, has a Rolodex of sickos and weirdos to his credit, and while he’s obviously given the showier role, he seems to intuitively understand — even if the quality of the writing he’s given is sometimes lacking — that since he’s playing Gacy already incarcerated he’s not playing a “monster” so much as Gacy playing another character (aggrieved victim of justice and all that), lashing out in weird, distasteful ways.

The basic problems with Dear Mr. Gacy seem to stem from a sweetheart adherence to its source material — to not step outside of Moss’ life and his interactions with Gacy, and render judgment or at least deeper shading upon Gacy himself. The film ends on a strange note, too, with footage of the real-life Jason Moss appearing on a talk show, chatting about his motivations for writing the serial killer. Then a brief textual overlay informs us that he took his own life only several years later. This coda undercuts Dear Mr. Gacy, and makes its dramatic machinations seem entirely empty, because clearly there was something deeper going on with Moss — something that this film sidesteps entirely.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Dear Mr. Gacy comes to DVD presented in 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen, with an English language Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track, and optional English and Spanish subtitles. Along with the teaser and theatrical preview trailers, the disc’s only other supplemental feature is a 22-minute making-of featurette, which looks into the production, and features interviews with cast and crew as well as one of Gacy’s childhood friends, Barry Boschelli, who walks and talks with Forsythe. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) C+ (Disc)

Every year, over a million visitors are drawn to the Salisbury Plain in southern England to gaze upon a mysterious circle of stones. Meanwhile, in grade and middle school classrooms across the United States, scores of bored, unchallenged kids steal away from their peers during library-mandated “study time” to thumb through picture-heavy texts of the same famous site, their imaginations fired by the extravagance of varied possibility.

Yes, Stonehenge may be the best-known and most mysterious relic of prehistory, which makes the new short-form, NOVA-stamped documentary Secrets of Stonehenge both wildly intriguing and more than a bit frustrating. First, a bit of history: excavations from the mid-20th century revealed that the structure — with some stones standing 20 feet tall, and ranging in weight from seven to 45 tons — was built in stages, and that it dates back some 5,000 years, to the late Stone Age. The greater meaning of the monument, however, was until recently anyone’s guess, spawning all sorts of fantastic theories, inclusive of astrological worship, human sacrifices or even extraterrestrial visitation.

Running just under an hour, Secrets of Stonehenge takes a scientific tack, following a team of researchers as they attempt to get to the bottom of how prehistoric people quarried, transported, sculpted and erected the giant stones — some of which came from Wales, over 150 miles away. Archeologists Mike Pitts and Mike Parker Pearson, of the University of Sheffield, are able to give interesting speculative on-site overview, even as they refine their theories a bit based on things they uncover in fresh excavations.

Most interesting is the inarguable linking of Stonehenge to fellow Neolithic settlement Durrington Walls, which with its henge and large timber circle likely served as a gateway touchstone to the living, while Stonehenge was a complementary spot for clan members moved on, since rock had stronger ancestral connotations. Less engaging are curiously inexact experiments in stone movement, along with funny pronunciations of the words “cosmos” and “skeletal.” Also, somewhat damningly for those with a more rooted anthropological curiosity, Secrets of Stonehenge doesn’t delve satisfyingly into the day-to-day lives of the people, spanning generations, who crafted this amazing structure. Either way, though, there’s at least some truth in the title here, if not a complete and definitive rewriting of the story of Stonehenge.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Secrets of Stonehenge comes to  DVD with a static menu screen, split into seven chapters and presented in 1.33:1 full screen. Optional English SDH subtitles are included, but there are no other supplemental features. To purchase Secrets of Stonehenge, phone (800) PLAY-PBS, or click here. Or if Amazon is totally and irretrievably your thing, then click here, by all means. B- (Movie) C- (Disc)

Niche market fans of 1970s erotica have found a willing enabler in Impulse Pictures, which has done well cycling through a variety of softcore European titles, inclusive of the Schoolgirl Report series, which hails from Germany. Its latest release, the seventh volume in the series, again presents a triptych of unrelated segments, all characteristically involving some combination of voyeurism, burgeoning sexual curiosity and power imbalance.

The stories here (a student, in love with her teacher, switches her identity to bed the unsuspecting older guy; a sexy hitchhiker lures men into sex in order to rob them) are fairly straightforward, and meant, in their own tongue-in-cheek fashion, to serve as warnings of surging adolescent libidinal impulses. This flick is from 1974, and the girls are certainly attractive, but the set-ups are laborious, and the acting of course terrible. Caveat emptor, and all that.

Housed in a regular Amaray case, Schoolgirl Report: Volume 7 comes to DVD presented in 1.66 anamorphic widescreen, with a Dolby digital 2.0 mono audio track. Its uncut German aural presentation comes complemented by a set of newly translated, removable English subtitles. There are unfortunately no bonus supplemental features, dinging both this title’s collectibility and its value for those wishing to merely dip a toe in the sexploitation genre. C+ (Movie) C- (Disc)

I previously touched on the wide variety of of musical sub-genres present in American life, and the fervent (albeit to-scale) embrace of said niche markets means there’s room for all sorts of CD and DVD compilations that celebrate that merged diversity and commingled ethnicity.

A spin-off/continuation of the previous quartet of releases from 20th Century Entertainment, this new batch of two-hour concert clip titles includes a separate break-out look at blues (a bit of a cheat/overlap with the rhythm and blues title of earlier this fall, but so be it), as well as DVDs spotlighting dixieland jazz, soul and folk music. Each is engaging in its own way, but the folk and blues discs are probably the standout efforts of this batch, focusing as they do on deeper cuts that chart the hybrid influences (and future influence) of these styles. The soul title, meanwhile, hosted by Leon Isaac Kennedy, is a groovy testament to the sway of secular testifying, with James Brown’s “Payback,” Gladys Knight and the Pips’ “Midnight Train to Georgia” and Ben E. King’s “Spanish Harlem” all serving amongst the highlights.

Housed in regular plastic Amaray cases, each title in this collection is presented on a region-free disc in 1.33:1 full frame and Dolby stereo. Given the wide berth of sourcing, the video quality of the performances varies a bit, understandably, and while most are presented in color, black-and-white archival footage and photographic stills are also interspersed throughout. There exists no additional supplemental bonus material. For more information, click the individual hyperlinks above, or click here. B (Movies) C (Discs)

I sampled a slice of Icelandic survival horror recently, in the form of Harpoon: Whale Watching Massacre. I wish I had remained on land.

The tale of a pleasure cruise gone deadly wrong, Harpoon unfolds on the cold waters off Iceland’s coast, as a boatload of international tourists set off on a (three-hour?) whale-watching expedition. When a freak accident leaves their captain mortally wounded, folks become stranded, and the ocean’s loveliness suddenly turns ominous. Help seemingly arrives in the form of a mysterious, bearded whaler (horror veteran Gunnar Hansen) who offers to take them back to shore, but instead leaves them on a decaying barge. At first the strandees believe they’re alone, until they discover that the barge is already occupied by a psychopathic family who likes to hunt humans. Bummer, dude!

Award-winning novelist (and occasional Bjork collaborator)
Sjon Sigurdsson penned the movie, and tries to sprinkle in some cultural differences amidst all the corpses-to-be, to differentiate between characters and give them something tangible to “overcome.” Unfortunately, director Julius Kemp doesn’t have the chops to deliver on this approach, and instead, after a first half that lags badly, gives in to stupid special effects (an animatronic killer whale pops up) and poorly staged gore.

Housed in a regular case, Harpoon comes to Blu-ray presented in 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen, with a Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track, in a transfer that looks more than a bit underlit. An interview with Hansen complements a fairly run-of-the-mill making-of featurette, laden with behind-the-scenes footage and more interaction with cast and crew. The creative name makes Harpoon seem like it might be a wild romp that puts an electric spin on American horror conventions. It most certainly does not. Nonetheless, to purchase the Blu-ray via Amazon, click here. D+ (Movie) C+ (Disc)

Before he was a jet-setting filmmaker and in-demand commercial director with his own inimitably florid style, Australian-born Baz Luhrmann was just another precocious, headstrong art school punk, with dreams of making the leap from aspirant cinematic craftsman to actual filmmaker. He did that with the wild, colorful Strictly Ballroom, his 1992 directorial debut. Inspired
in part by Luhrmann’s own childhood experiences with ballroom dance
classes and his mother’s career as a dance instructor, the movie
itself was based on a 20-minute 1986 stageplay that Luhrmann co-wrote
while in drama school, and its poster tagline (“A life lived in fear is a life half
lived…”) might as well serve as an unofficial motto for the rest of Luhrmann’s professional career.

A hyper-stylized and wildly offbeat comedy about a male dancer, Scott (Paul Mercurio), who bursts free from the restraints of convention and exuberantly charts his own destiny, Strictly Ballroom is a movie bristling with verve and youthful energy, and it clearly serves as a narrative marker for Luhrmann’s own outsized artistic ambitions. Just before he’s scheduled to compete in the big Pan-Pacific ballroom
championships, Scott — who refuses to follow the accepted rules of ballroom dancing, and creates his
own style of choreography, which infuriates the ballroom dancing
establishment — loses his longtime partner Liz (Gia Carides), who leaves him for another dancer. Undeterred, Scott takes up a new partner, Fran (Tara Morice), a beginner who initially seems without promise. After a rocky start, however, things come together for the odd couple, paving the way for a finale at once unlikely and heartwarmingly familiar and reassuring.

Even before it was released theatrically in 1992, the film quickly emerged as an unusual hybrid — an unabashed crowd-pleaser that also racked up praise and awards from critics. After garnering the Cannes Film Festival’s Prix de Jeunesse (“Award of the Youth”) in 1992, it was snapped up for Stateside distribution by Miramax’s Harvey and Bob Weinstein. A rapturous embrace at the Toronto Film Festival later that fall, followed by a cool dozen Australian Film Academy awards, paved the way for an early 1993 Stateside release, where Miramax smartly played up the movie’s dizzying pace, arresting style and beautiful choreography, selling it as an exotic (but English language!) bauble.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a cardboard slipcover, the new DVD special edition of Strictly Ballroom comes to retailers presented in 1.85:1 widescreen, enhanced for 16×9 televisions, which preserves the aspect ratio of its theatrical presentation. A solid Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track complements the superb video transfer, and optional French and Spanish subtitles are also included, along with a nice new menu screen. All of the special features from the movie’s original DVD release are imported here, including an audio commentary track with Luhrmann, production designer Catherine Martin and choreographer-actor John O’Connell, as well as a two-minute deleted scene in which Scott rebuffs a late attempt to replace Fran with Liz. A 3-D gallery with a robust slate of images from the movie and its pre-production is also included, and an amusing sort of time-capsule featurette, “Samba to Slow Fox,” that includes period piece interview footage with real dancers and special competition material.

The most attractive bonus feature, though, is the addition of a new, 23-minute featurette built around recent interviews with Luhrmann and the film’s creative team, which charts the project’s inception, from its stageplay roots and the fitful securing of financing to its eventual whirlwind international reception. Luhrmann speaks, with great passion and clarity, about his view of the material’s connection to Joseph Campbell’s universal mythology, and Martin (Luhrmann’s offscreen partner as well) has some cherished anecdotal memories of the sort which only flow from the foolhardy effort of youth. Huzzah to this beautiful reflection. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B+ (Movie) A- (Disc)

Atypical genre plotting and some absolutely delicious twists feed British kidnapping thriller The Disappearance of Alice Creed, the solid and engaging feature directorial debut of J Blakeson. Plenty of movies have covered this narrative terrain before, but few in recent memory with as streamlined a sense of tension-soaked purpose.

The Disappearance of Alice Creed is a tightly drawn “three-hander,” with a deceptively simple plot. Planning to make a mint on a ransom-and-exchange scheme, ex-con kidnappers Vic (Eddie Marsan) and Danny (Martin Compston) snatch Alice (Gemma Arterton), a young woman estranged from her wealthy businessman father. Despite having set up a secluded safe house and seemingly left nothing to chance, Vic and Danny — the latter the younger and more nervous of the two, the former powered by a snarling, steely conviction — soon find their plans upended. Though scared witless, Alice isn’t about to let her captors just use her as capital, but neither is the film merely some prodding feminist revenge tract.

From the outset, it’s clear that Blakeson’s film won’t kowtow to genre convention. The movie opens with an intriguing, dialogue-free, five-minute prep sequence in which Danny and Vic methodically set up shop — buying a drill, a mattress and other supplies; lining the inside of a windowless van with plastic; assembling a bed for the mattress; and stapling foam insulation and plywood board to the walls and windows of the bedroom that will serve as Alice’s quarters of confinement. When the actual kidnapping takes place, it’s similarly presented in dispassionate, matter-of-fact fashion, despite Alice’s kicks and screams. In fact, it’s 10 minutes into the film before either party utters a line, really.

Interestingly and admirably, Blakeson isn’t concerned with or particularly invested in repeatedly using Alice’s vulnerability to wring tension and unease from his audience. Yet neither does he shy away from it, as when a hooded Alice is stripped, given new clothes and handcuffed in spread-eagle fashion; Arterton arches her back in wild anxiety, which is a visceral and realistic depiction of primitive fear. Once some measure of chatting and an explication of the chain of events yet to unfold begins, though, the movie really hits its stride, fed in large part by the differences in age and gender, and the underlying but ever-shifting power dynamics therein. Without giving away the movie’s twists, it suffices to say that — both before the ransom money arrives, and after — Blakeson does a fantastic job of screwing with both his audience’s expectations and senses of identification, though always in ways rooted in character, and never in a manner that feels tawdry or false.

Given the quiet, steely verve of its set-up, it’s somewhat to be expected that the film’s energy eventually starts to flag a bit. And it would have been interesting — once the film opens up a bit from its quite theatrical staging, and gets to stretch its legs some in its final act — for an outside character or two to force the hand of those grappling for control. But the performances here are gripping, and The Disappearance of Alice Creed‘s commitment to character-driven minimalism makes it a standout genre entry, and well worth adding to one’s Netflix queue.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a cardboard slipcover, The Disappearance of Alice Creed comes to DVD presented 2.40:1 anamorphic widescreen, which preserves the aspect ratio of its original theatrical presentation. Optional Spanish and English SDH subtitles complement its Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track. In his engaging feature-length audio commentary track, Blakeson talks both about wanting to get into the psychology and intimacy of kidnapping (in which the criminal aggressor plays an unusual care-giving role), as well as his desire to have the audience spin forward in their own minds stories regarding the characters. He also notes the difficulty of shooting the movie’s first nude scene, which was of course the first day of production (a safe word was established for Arterton). Finally, Blakeson gives ample credit to the rest of his creative team, including his production designer Ricky Eyres, who added false doors and archways to the interior set to break up the dead space.

Other bonus features consist of five-and-a-half minutes of storyboard material, two deleted/extended scenes with optional audio commentary from Blakeson, and four-and-a-half minutes’ worth of outtakes, which feature some romantic awkwardness, a gun repeatedly failing to fire and, yes, Arterton breaking it down at one point, dance-club style. Only some interviews or other contributions from the actors would have further bumped up this solid little no-wild-frills package. To purchase the movie’s DVD via Amazon, click here. B+ (Movie) B (Disc)

Brian Wilson has always been a figure of much scrutiny and curiosity — one of the first big rock or pop stars to shun the promotional spotlight. While the Beach Boys were for much of their career regarded as little more than a silly surf-pop hit factory, Wilson’s stature has only grown with time, as his creative and sensitive compositions have inspired and taken hold of a new generation of musicians. That fact gets studied and celebrated in the fascinating new musical documentary Brian Wilson: Songwriter 1962-1969.

Running over three hours, this superlative title assays the vast amount of material Wilson wrote for and recorded with the Beach Boys during their 1960s heyday, digging into the craftsmanship of the music itself but also smartly framing the material as it relates to the familial group’s career arc and Wilson’s own delicate psyche. All sorts of talking head experts weigh in, but the major difference maker is access to those who matter and are in the know — a group that includes fellow Beach Boys Bruce Johnston and David Marks, former manager and promoter Fred Vail, biographers Peter Ames Carlin and Domenic Priore, and many other family friends.

Snippets of rare and classic recordings stud this release, along with lots of other obscure footage and solid archive interviews, making this the rare biographically-inflected title that doesn’t feature much direct cooperation or reflection from its subject and yet nonetheless feels comprehensive. By far the most interesting portion of the title focuses on the recording and 1966 release of the groundbreaking Pet Sounds, which was a notable departure from what the Beach Boys had recorded up until then. “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” and “God Only Knows” (which never really stabilizes on a particular key) are illuminated in interesting fashion, and Johnston and others talk about how “Sloop John B,” a leftover from the previous year’s Summer Days (and Summer Nights!!) sessions, fits into the album. The latter also talks about Capitol Records’ relative disdain for the album at the time — evident in their indifferent promotion, and quickie release of a greatest hits package — and how the release of “Caroline, No” as a single was “a shot across the bow,” in his opinion.

Spread across two discs and housed in a nice, quasi-hard-shell case with plastic snap-in trays, Brian Wilson: Songwriter 1962-1969 comes to DVD presented in anamorphic widescreen, with a Dolby digital 2.0 stereo track. Supplemental bonus features include contributor biographies, a small clutch of extended interview clips, and a mini-featurette in which Johnston recalls John Lennon and Paul McCartney getting an early preview listen to Pet Sounds. To purchase the DVD, click here; or, if Amazon is totally and irretrievably your thing, click here. A- (Movie) B- (Disc)

Another slick, engaging title in the solid Rare and Unseen series, this briskly paced hour-long doc looks at the iconic British musician, actor, producer and voracious reader of going on five decades now, David Bowie. Most famous for his ostentatious, androgynous “Ziggy Stardust” alter-ego during the glam-rock era of the early 1970s, Bowie has continually reinvented his music and personal image, and is regarded as an influential innovator in both rock music and the intersection of a peddled, constructed public persona.

Told through missing archive interviews and rare and unseen footage, this insightful DVD is a worthy addition to any hardcore Bowie fan’s home video collection. Bowie’s skill as a multi-instrumentalist — in addition to singing vocals he plays electric, acoustic and twelve-string guitar, plus keyboards, alto, tenor, piano, harmonica, xylophone, tambourine, drums and many other instruments — shines through, and the timeless quality of his music is strikingly highlighted. Listening to bits of or ruminating on any of his numerous top 10 hits, including everything from “China Girl,” “Modern Love” and “Starman” to “Space Oddity,” “Under Pressure” and “Let’s Dance,” one is repeatedly struck by the freshness of their composition and arrangement.

Items genuinely unseen and never previously released on DVD stud this somewhat haphazardly pieced together title, including presumed lost but now restored TV interviews with Russell Harty in which Bowie speaks candidly about his drug use and the haze of his famously creative Berlin days. There is also rehearsal and backstage footage, some press conference material and a couple yawning Bowie impersonations by Stevie Riks. In aggregate, it’s a bit like opening an old box of stashed away high school and college mementos (“Why exactly did I keep this?” you wonder, before a splinter of recognition answers your puzzlement), but David Bowie: Rare and Unseen is undeniably a treat for fans of the chameleonic, one-of-a-kind performer.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, David Bowie: Rare and Unseen comes to DVD on a region-free disc, presented in 16×9 widescreen, with an English language Dolby digital 2.0 stereo audio track. There are no supplemental bonus materials of which to speak. To purchase the DVD, click here. B- (Movie) C- (Disc)