Its R rating description is hilarious (“For language and a sexual gesture”), and its dialogue and performances don’t always connect, but low-budget, sci-fi-inflected thriller Altitude is a better-than-it-needs-to-be and at times even borderline-artful entry in the direct-to-DVD sweepstakes — a movie that makes smart use of its limited means, and works, in a sort of old-school Twilight Zone fashion, to wring maximum effect out of tried and true storytelling devices rather than merely goosing CGI special effects work.

The plot centers on a group of teens on a weekend getaway (they’re headed to a Coldplay concert) aboard a small plane, and the sudden turn for the worse that sparks much bickering, consternation and screaming. Jessica Lowndes stars as rookie pilot Sara — she of the mother whose life was tragically cut short by a small-engine airplane crash — and along for the trip are her socially awkward boyfriend Bruce (Landon Liboiron), her cousin Cal (Ryan Donowho), her friend Mel (Friday the 13th‘s Julianna Guill) and Mel’s insufferably jerky boyfriend Sal (As the World Turns‘ Jake Weary, showcasing his soap opera demonstrativeness). After take-off, unexplained mechanical malfunctions send the aircraft climbing out of control, and into the heart of a strange, dark storm. Unable to land, but running out of fuel, the group tries to troubleshoot their problem and figure out what’s going on, but eventually come to realize they’re locked in battle with a sort of supernatural (and perhaps fated) force.

Altitude‘s dialogue, in its efforts to evoke panicked realism, sometimes comes off as merely ridiculous (“This doesn’t make any sense — the systems aren’t supposed to fail like this!”), and a nod to Sartre doesn’t quite ring true coming from Sara’s mouth. Still, the basic third act plot twists are interesting and for the most part well rendered, which mitigates some of the movie’s uneven acting. It certainly helps, too, that director Kaare Andrews — who actually has a background in comic book artwork and animation, in addition to some short films — tells the story with an emphasis on, well, the story. There’s green-screen work galore, given the nature of the confined setting, but his camerawork, editing and even the film’s other fairly modest special effects feed a spiraling sense of uncertainty and doom. He also deftly interweaves some integral flashback material, related to Sara’s mother’s flight. Altitude isn’t a must-see smash, but what it accomplishes certainly bodes well for its behind-the-scenes creative team.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a cardboard slipcover, Altitude comes to DVD presented in 2.40:1 anamorphic widescreen, divided into a dozen chapters, with an English language Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio mix, and optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles. It’s very heartening, too, that the DVD features such a robust slate of bonus material, anchored by 50 minutes’ worth of behind-the-scenes footage that includes interviews with all the cast and crew, and charts the movie from inception (producer Ian Birkett was a film school classmate of Andrews, and his older brother Paul worked up the script) through pre-production work, shooting up in Canada, and post-production. There’s also a separate 10-minute featurette on the film’s green-screen special effects work (one gets to fully appreciate the imaginative nature of a ceiling-mounted spinning camera), a trailer, and a scrollable “concepts gallery.” To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B- (Movie) B+ (Disc)

My first exposure to Kylie Minogue came in the form of some sort of tabloid news reportage, when she was dating an American actor… David Schwimmer, I think it was, maybe, during the earliest days of Friends? I shrugged, maybe let a glance at one of her photos linger, and then moved on. Years later, I would discover, via her Fever hit “Can’t Get You Out of My Head,” that Minogue spoke (sang) the refracted truth; she knows how to craft and deliver a catchy vocal performance. All of which is further confirmed by Kylie: Rare and Unseen, a new DVD title that delves into her career, which now spans more than two decades.

Though it runs only an hour, and evidences all the editorial precision of a totally-like-oh-my-god-excited teenager, Kylie: Rare and Unseen presents, in its own scattered way, a compelling snapshot of the career and offscreen life of Minogue. There’s an Australian TV interview with a 21-year-old Kylie, a collection of British small screen interviews from the late 1980s on through to today, footage from her first-ever TV appearance (on London’s 6 O’Clock Show) and much, much more, including fashion shoot and awards show footage. While some of the interstitial bits from her concerts yawningly lean too heavily on overwhelmed fans professing their undying love for Minogue, and other passing declarations of childhood inspiration (Olivia Newton-John, the Muppets) come across as indistinct soundbites to a media hungry for informational nuggets to plug into a promotional machine, there’s also a good bit of nice footage in which an on-stage Minogue fields questions from fans, and gives props to her brother and sister (who always seem to be in the audience, actually). These bits — and other frank discussion excerpts, where Minogue talks about her battle with breast cancer — give nice human shading to her otherwise glamorous celebrity. This isn’t a wildly revelatory biography, really, but it is a nice glimpse behind-the-scenes for fans, and seemingly confirmatory proof that Minogue is a hip, real-world gal.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Kylie: Rare and Unseen comes to DVD presented in 1.78:1 widescreen, on a region-free disc, divided into 10 static chapters of loose thematic grouping. Its audio mix, which tends to fluctuate quite a bit, is an English language Dolby digital 2.0 stereo track. There is no slate of additional bonus material. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C (Movie) C- (Disc)

I was hoping the phrase “Croatoa” might make an appearance carved into a tree, but no, instead, jungle-set horror-thriller The Lost Tribe is a basically just a warmed-over iteration of Predator, with Lance Henriksen, a healthy pinch of The Ruins and a bit of Neil Marshall’s The Descent thrown in for good measure.

Directed by Roel Reiné, the movie unfolds on a remote tropical island, where a cold open reveals a primeval secret that that fells a group of archeologists. Much later, a group of friends are shipwrecked on that same island — a group including young physician Anna (Emily Foxler), her boyfriend Tom (Nick Mennell), Chris (Hadley Fraser), Joe (Marc Bacher) and Alexis (Brianna Brown). (The ex-almost Mrs. Ed Burns, Maxine Bahns, also appears as Maya, for what it’s worth.) There, the guys and dolls find quite a secret waiting for them: a strong,
ravenous, and none-too-friendly tribe of humanoids. Facing off with these remnants of prehistory, this group of friends becomes
the hunted, relying on their own animal instincts to survive.

Reiné works in an efficient visual style that is compelling enough in an of-the-moment fashion. The problem is that The Lost Tribe‘s script is thin on interesting characterizations, and even thinner still on the mystery it halfheartedly attempts to attach to Henriksen’s brutal and ruthless Catholic crusader. Ergo, the (much less interesting) horrific thrill-hunt elements of the film overwhelm any sense of slow-building trepidation or mystery regarding the discovery at the movie’s core. Diehard genre fans might enjoy a twirl with this Tribe, but general audiences won’t be missing much.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, The Lost Tribe comes to DVD presented in a nice transfer and 2.35:1 aspect ratio, enhanced for 16×9 televisions, with a Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track and optional English SDH subtitles. Bonus features come by way of the movie’s trailer, a 10-minute behind-the-scenes featurette and a very literal-minded audio commentary track with Fraser and producer Mohit Ramchandani. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C (Movie) C+ (Disc)

Nicole Holofcener, whose filmography consists of Walking and Talking, Lovely & Amazing, and Friends with Money, is the sort of director whom reasonable film critics would like to force into indentured Hollywood studio servitude, if only the Hollywood studio system would accommodate her talents. (It’s no coincidence, sadly, that all of her movies have been financed independently.) Her work is character-centric and engaging, low-key without sacrificing its steady hum of liveliness and quiet wit. Her movies sometimes pivot on what could in lesser hands be characterized as melodramatic turns, but she counterbalances this with a smart attention to detail. In short, she has a finely honed sensibility that injects her work with recognizable humanity — something that a lot of even adult-pitched mainstream Hollywood product lacks, especially in its self-defeating quest to more readily identify with only either drama or carefree laughs.



Holofcener’s latest film centers in part around a pair married Manhattanites, Kate (Catherine Keener) and Alex (Oliver Platt), who are parents to a teenage daughter, Abby (Sarah Steele). Together, they operate a successful secondhand furniture store shrewdly stocked with trendy estate sale items. Planning for the future, Kate and Alex purchase an option on the apartment next door in order to expand their two bedroom apartment. Their only problem is the cranky old lady, Andra (Ann Morgan Guilbert), living in it by herself, and the indelicate fact that they’ve got to wait for her to die.

Andra is mostly cared for by one granddaughter, Rebecca (Rebecca Hall, above left), a sweet-natured radiology technician, and scorned by her other granddaughter, Mary (Amanda Peet, above right), a callous and self-centered spa clinician thrown for a loop by the fact that her last boyfriend for some reason dumped her. (She’s the dumper, never the dumpee, you see.) Things become more complicated when these two families’ lives intersect, resulting in a dramedy that’s billed as being about love, death and liberal guilt.

The simple, brilliantly calculated shock of Please Give‘s opening, a matter-of-fact montage of mammograms, gives way to interactions that are of a piece with writer-director Holofcener’s three other films — talky, urbane ensemble flicks that pry quiet but deeply sincere smiles and laughs from an audience, and just as often showcase hushed moments of pinprick vulnerability. Holofcener’s touch with actors is so superb, and her ear for smartly calibrated revelatory dialogue generally so acute, that one feels like they could trip along forever with these characters. Kate’s emotional frailty (she gives charitably to homeless people and wants to volunteer, but is overwhelmed with sadness on the occasions she does reach out) is deftly contrasted with Andra’s deteriorating physical condition. It’s heartening, too, that Abby is a very much a real teenager, with splotchy skin, shifting motivations and interests, and fitful swings of mood. Holofcener crafts believable characters, and then lets them rub up against one another in interesting ways.

If there’s an easy knock on Holofcener’s work overall, it’s that her chosen focus is hopelessly bourgeoisie (though Lovely & Amazing undercut this argument rather convincingly), and out of step with a large swath of what modern American audiences would find dramatically compelling or humorous. (A running deadpan joke about day-tripping out of the city to “watch the leaves turn” reinforces this view, in its very whitebread, New England specificity.) The only other false notes — small qualms, really — come when Holofcener tries to nakedly advance the plot, or color in tragic backstory. These bits feel forced, like some sizzle added to sell the steak. Otherwise, though, Please Give is a wry, absorbing and beautifully observed snapshot of free-floating malaise and burgeoning hope. In gazing both outward and inward in equal measure, it encourages more human engagement and connection, which is always a good thing.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Please Give comes to DVD presented in 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen, preserving the aspect ratio of its theatrical exhibition. Audio options consist of Dolby digital 5.1 audio tracks in English, French and Thai (!), with optional subtitles in English, Spanish SDH, French, “regular” Spanish, Korean, Mandarin Chinese and Thai. Supplemental bonus features consist of roughly four minutes of outtakes, a 12-minute behind-the-scenes featurette that includes on-set and EPK-style chats with cast and crew, and a separate eight minutes worth of material with Holofcener that is OK, but also leaves something to be desired. A bit more of a comprehensive overview of Holofcener’s canon would be nice; she’s not a “name” filmmaker to many, sadly, but she really should be. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B+ (Movie) B- (Disc)