Intricately depicted Egyptian funerary temple carvings tell the story of a magnificent trading vessel that embarked on a royal expedition to a
mysterious, treasure-laden land called Punt, near modern-day Sudan. Little other record of its success or failure exists, however. So was
this journey for incense and other valuable then-exotic commodities mere myth, or was it a reality?

Directed by Stéphane Bégoin, this hour-long NOVA special travels to the legendary temple, built some 3,500
years ago for the celebrated female pharaoh Queen Hapshepsut, who ruled Egypt around 1,500 B.C., in search of answers to this tantalizing archeological mystery. Did the ancient Egyptians, who built elaborate barges to sail down the Nile River, also have the expertise to embark on long sea voyages? Using the history of Hapshepsut’s temple and the corollary model of a reconstructed Khufu boat as guides, Building Pharaoh’s Ship, as the title might suggest, centers on a tantalizing project, spearheaded by Coastal Carolina University
professor Cheryl Ward, to reconstruct the mighty vessel shown in the mysterious carvings, and then launch it in to the Red Sea on a unique voyage of discovery.

Part historical examination, part myth-busting construction project, Building Pharaoh’s Ship is a nice mixture of History Channel staidness and Discovery Channel noodling. If not outright stars, Bégoin at least makes interesting parallel figures of engagement out of Ward’s team of archeologists and nativist boat builders, while talking heads like Boston University’s Kathryn Bard and others provide valuable context to their efforts. It’s interesting to see all the traditional methods and tools used in the modern-day construction of the boat, as well as how Egyptians threaded rope through planks to provide essential structural support but also some give-and-take. I won’t give away the ending, but this title provides a bit of ammunition for both camps — those that think modernity and technology naturally solve all of mankind’s problems, and those that believe there are valuable lessons to be learned in how past civilizations traveled, built, healed and lived.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Building Pharaoh’s Ship comes to DVD presented in 1.76:1 anamorphic widescreen, with an English language stereo audio track. Its static menu screen yields to seven segmented chapters, but apart from link information to the PBS web site, there is no additional supplemental material, which comes across as especially disappointing considering the hearty commingling of past history and present effort that this title represents. To purchase the DVD, phone (800) PLAY-PBS, or simply click here. B (Movie) D+ (Disc)

The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast and then, of course, Aladdin and The Lion King are the four films most generally credited with kick-starting the animation revolution of the end of the 20th century, and opening audiences’ minds to the possibilities of animated films being more than just lip-service “family entertainment,” but instead robust, breathtaking and fully sketched tales full of vim and verve that capture and charm adults just as easily as children.

I’ll always have a soft spot for some of the even earlier animated films, though, chief amongst them The Great Mouse Detective, a winning adventure that grafts the rapscallion spirit of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s most famous creation
into a richly animated, Sherlock Holmsian tale set in Victorian-era
London’s underground mouse kingdom. In an age before DVDs, my parents either bought the over-priced VHS tape or ripped it off HBO during one of those free preview months we occasionally took advantage of, ostensibly for the enjoyment of my younger sibling. I’m man enough to now admit it, however — I believe I fired it up a time or two on a sick day home from school, or “submitted” to it with my sister.

And why not? Inspired by the adventures of Doyle’s brilliant detective Sherlock Holmes, and based on Eve Titus’ engaging book Basil of Baker Street, The Great Mouse Detective is a smartly sketched blend of comedy, action, adolescent drama and mystery which marks the directing debut of now legendary filmmakers Ron Clements and
John Musker, important creative forces behind such Disney animated blockbusters as The
Princess and the Frog, as well as the aforementioned The
Little Mermaid and Aladdin.

The plot provides youngsters with both a sympathetic surrogate and a hiss-worthy villain, not to mention some properly modulated intrigue. When talented toymaker Hiram Flaversham is mousenapped, his winsome daughter Olivia turns to the most famous mouse detective of them all, Basil of Baker Street (above right). Buoyed by imaginative gadgets and disguises, and accompanied by his assistant and confidante, Dr. David Q. Dawson, Basil uncovers a villainous plot spearheaded by a slimy, contemptible sewer rat, Dr. Ratigan, to replace Moustoria, Queen of the Mice, with a look-alike robot that will leave him free to take control of the entire rodent population of London. As Basil sniffs out one clue after another with unmatched ingenuity, he leads little Olivia closer and closer to a reunion with her beloved father.

The animation, naturally, doesn’t provide the same depth-of-field wow factor to which we are now accustomed, but what drew me in and always impressed me with the movie as a kid was its characters, and they hold up remarkably. There’s warmth and vibrancy to the vocal performances, and though there’s a trio of musical numbers, they don’t overwhelm the production, which is a sometimes under-addressed minority report complaint of later Disney animated films, which got locked into a rigidity of formula that didn’t always best serve the story. Overall, there’s plenty to delight kids and adults alike in this charmingly
downsized slice of Victorian adventure and suspense. One may think it tough, to wind back the technological clock so after kids have experienced Toy Story and Shrek and Monsters Vs. Aliens. But if you have youngsters, give it a try — I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a cardboard slipcover, this “Mystery in the Mist” special edition DVD release of The Great Mouse Detective tweaks its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio; instead, both full screen and 1.78:1 widescreen versions are available here, along with a Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio tracks in English, French and Spanish, as well as optional English SDH, French and Spanish subtitles. Viewers can test their own powers of deduction and go behind the scenes
of the movie with a nice variety of bonus features that include a solid making-of featurette that also roots the material in the real-life history of Scotland Yard, a sing-along version “The World’s Greatest
Criminal Mind,” and an animated look at the history of detective work,
complete with a crime-solving puzzle for the entire family. So if you’re interested in the history of where the word sleuth comes from, you’ll have your answer. There’s also a clutch of promotional trailers for programming featuring the Sprouse twins, as well as other Disney titles. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. A- (Movie) B+ (Disc)

Being John Malkovich really opened the door for all sorts of meta-concepts, comedic and otherwise, but among its most unlikely spawn would have to be Bollywood Hero, a sprawling, dance-infused dramedy in which Chris Kattan, playing himself as fed up with being a Hollywood has-been and bit player, trips to India in order to land a romantic lead role. Perhaps even more unlikely is just how robustly this fanciful project connects, with crisp production value, humorous writing and engaging performances all around.

Bollywood Hero first unfolded on the small screen on IFC, as part of a three-part comedy event — shorter than a miniseries, but longer than your typical movie. It retains that structure here, its trio of 56-minute episodes each playable separately, and containing brief introductory recaps. The story opens in Los Angeles, with Kattan unhappily locked into a starring role on a science-fiction TV show. His agent is unable to provide any traction with respect to leading man roles, but Kattan fortuitously stumbles across Monty (Ali Fazal), a second-generation Indian filmmaker who happens to have an opening in his projected Bollywood epic Peculiar Dancing Boy, which he bills as “a serious critique of the caste system as told through the medium of dance.”

Monty pitches Kattan, who eventually comes around to the idea. Soon he’s on a plane, and then in India, but before production can even begin Kattan causes a national uproar by planting a very public kiss on his leading lady, Lalima (Neha Dhupia), a bankable starlet around whom the entire production is built. While Kattan is literally burned in effigy in the streets (!), Monty’s headstrong producer sister Priya (Pooja Kumar) tries to wheel and deal, while Monty also puts up his late father’s expansive studio as collateral to bring together the necessary final financing. With his own career and sanity hanging in the balance, not to mention Monty and Priya’s livelihoods too, Kattan throws himself into learning (at least some of) a nation’s customs and rituals, cinematically if nothing else. Adding flavor to the proceedings are Julian Sands as Reg Hunt, an intellectual, Jeremy Irons-type British costar of Kattan, plus Maya Rudolph, Jennifer Coolidge (a former real-life girlfriend of Kattan’s), Andy Samberg, Keanu Reeves and David Alan Grier, all playing themselves in cameos.

Benjamin Brand’s script offers up a nice balancing act, neither trading in bland generalities nor lacquering on the specificity so grandly that it conflates Kattan’s problems with capital-I important issues. It takes the piss out of Kattan, in other words (there’s some good-natured fun had at the expense of Corky Romano), but lightly and lovingly so, basically allowing Kattan to play-act what one presumes is an only slightly canted and elevated version of his own anxieties and frustrations as a performer.

Director Bill Bennett, meanwhile, gives the movie real heart and soul, as well as a unifying production design. The film isn’t expansive or overly doting in its ritualistic homage to Bollywood cinema; there’s definitely a cant and concession made for Western audiences, from the original “in” of the narrative hook to the tone of the humor. But I’ll say this — Bollywood Hero is gorgeously shot, and sincere and tonally consistent throughout. It isn’t cheap with its jokes, and it doesn’t careen wildly from one set piece to another. There’s a trajectory for Kattan, and the supporting characters as well. And through it all, Kattan delivers an engaging and surprisingly emotionally resonant performance. His timbre of his voice — at times somewhat tremulous — works against his stated desire to be taken seriously, but that’s part of the joke, too, and the third act path the film carves, all part of Kattan’s unlikely redemption.

Housed in a white, regular plastic Amaray case, Bollywood Hero comes to DVD presented in 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen, with an English Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track and optional English subtitles. Apart from its aforementioned chapter selection, the only supplemental bonus feature comes by way of eight minutes of additional excised material, including an extra dance scene and a mock condom commercial starring Kattan. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) C- (Disc)

The violations and indignities that the written word suffers in Hollywood are many and sundry, but screenwriters get their say in Tales from the Script, a highly interesting documentary built around wide-ranging conversations with almost four dozen big screen storytellers, from John Carpenter and Frank Darabont to Bruce Joel Rubin and William Goldman. Eschewing voiceover narration or some artificially manufactured chronological narrative structure, the movie instead more or less embraces chaos theory that conventional mainstream narrative storytelling rejects, thematically grouping its anecdotal insights in ultra-loose fashion with title cards.

Yes, Tales from the Script is exclusively a talking-head affair, which lends it the feel of a cultured curio — a selling point, to be sure, for cineastes, but something of a hurdle for general audiences. (There’s also a hefty companion book to the film, underscoring a certain academic worth.) A lot of the observations herein are pointed but somewhat generic. Steven de Souza (above) amusingly and perceptively notes that there are people in the room during a story meeting who basically make their day, work-wise, by offering comment on your script, so such an environment encourages even dumb, from-the-hip remarks over more thoughtful silence.

Some stories, however, are pure, unadulterated gold, like Guinevere Turner hilariously recounting her work experience with director Uwe Boll on BloodRayne, Darabont talking about being offered a $30 million budget for shooting The Mist with a different ending, and Rubin ruefully recalling a Disney executive taking him to lunch and surreptitiously picking his brain for ideas for Armageddon by just letting Rubin talk about his work on Deep Impact. Director Peter Hanson and co-producer/co-writer Paul Robert Herman are also smart enough to include in the mix a number of writers laboring chiefly in the straight-to-video realm, which helps keep Tales from the Script grounded in reality. Too much focus on only pie-in-the-sky top-shelf Hollywood product would make the risk-reward somehow seem more palatable, or like less of a long-shot. While it could use a bit more insights from independent writer-director-producers, as is the movie comes across as an accurate, unblinking and certainly engaging look at the balancing act between art and commerce that is screenwriting, and moviemaking in general.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Tales from the Script comes to DVD presented in anamorphic widescreen, with an English language stereo audio mix. Bonus features are ample, kick-started by 46 minutes of additional interview footage that is, unsurprisingly, entertaining as all get-out. Billy Ray (Shattered Glass, Breach) shares his own metaphor of Hollywood’s fickle embrace, relating an anecdote about Christmas gifts spread out over a couple years. Ron Shelton compares a script to sheet music, but says that it unfortunately only gets played once; he then goes on to talk about Bull Durham being written in a single draft, with his film’s opening two-page monologue dictated into a microcassette recorder while driving the back roads of North Carolina. Other writers, too, weigh in on the delicate balance between money, hack-itude and narrative ownership. The aforementioned Rubin asserts that a writer is always the birth parent to a film, while a director is an interpreter, akin to a conductor. Shooter screenwriter Jonathan Lemkin, meanwhile, says he consciously alternates between being “an artist and a whore, because if I was just the former I’d be broke and if I was just the latter I’d be sad.”

In addition to a clutch of preview trailers for more First Run Features home video releases, other supplemental features include 12 minutes of peer genuflection at the altar of William Goldman (Darabont compares him to the funny-without-knowing-it uncle who has all the best stories), and nine minutes of advice for beginning screenwriters, most of which underscores the occupational frequency of rejection, and the necessary psychological fortitude one must have to continually endure it. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) A (Disc)

I first got to know Muse in tangential fashion, through a clutch of startlingly fresh radio tunes that sounded quite different than the rest of their FM modern rock brethren. Owing to my laziness and idiocy, it was a while before I was able to piece together the fact that what I was hearing was in fact the work of the same band, but once I did it certainly made sense — their ability to swing effortlessly between ethereal noodling, emotive prog-rock and somewhat more traditional brawn (think “Knights of Cydonia”) infused their work. I first caught them live as the opening act during U2’s stadium tour last fall in Washington, D.C., and I wasn’t disappointed. Some of their influences — Queen, Manic Street Preachers, Blur — are readily apparent, but Muse makes music that is undeniably all their own.



As its title would suggest, the new straight-to-DVD doc Muse: Under Review provides an overview of the band’s entire career, mixing rare performance and interview footage of the group with talking head contributions from some of their closest colleagues, as well as those who have witnessed and written about their journey. This list includes band engineer Ric Peet, video director Mat Kirby, biographerand NME writer Mark Beaumont, and, most notably, former manager Safta Jaffrey and legendary producer John Leckie, whose insights are especially invaluable.

Three teenage pals from the tiny English seaside town of Teignmouth, Muse is comprised of guitarist-frontman Matthew Bellamy (above center), bassist ChrisWolstenholme (left) and drummer Dominic Howard (right). Bellamy is painted as the driving creative force behind the band, shaping the epic pomposity of their sound, in which huge guitar riffs and otherwise occasionally bombastic production meet shimmery instrumentation and intersect at odd angles with Bellamy’s fragile falsetto. There’s not much in the way of thematic heavy-lifting, however, so those wanting to delve into Muse’s preoccupations with paranoia, space exploration and transcendence will be left mostly guessing.

If one can forgive this lack of self-analysis and firsthand narration (the old interview tidbits with the band are few and far between), the DVD is actually a fairly solid watch, both for longtime devotees and more casual inductees to the band’s mushrooming fan base. At times Muse: Under Review dips rather stupidly into extended song clips from tangential mock-influences (Captain Beefheart, Tom Waits) to make up for this hole at its core, but a nice selection of old concert and showcase footage buoys the spotlighted arc of Muse’s career, for which Jaffrey and Leckie provide the spine. Everything is touched upon, from the musical roots of Bellamy’s father and an important 1998 showcase for Rick Rubin and Columbia Records to the production of debut album Showbiz and reasons for the four-year Stateside delay of sophomore follow-up Origin of Symmetry. Some good anecdotes are revealed, too, like Bellamy highjacking a real church organ for “Megalomania.” Overall: interesting stuff.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a complementary cardboard slipcover, Muse: Under Review comes to DVD presented in a letterboxed 4:3 aspect ratio, with a 2.0 stereo audio track. Its bonus features consist of text biographies for its talking head interviewees and a 10-minute look at the group’s focus on staging and accompanying visual efforts (mainly the music video for “Hysteria,” actually), buoyed by interview material with director Kirby. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B+ (Movie) C+ (Disc)

Woody Harrelson is probably never going to be a star whose depths of deceptive talent are fully and widely recognized. This is in large part because he’s so affable that he’s most frequently cast in comedies (e.g., Semi-Pro), but also because his contrarian streak will likely prevent him from re-ascending to the leading man career heights he could have conceivably scaled in the wake of his lauded turn in The People Vs. Larry Flynt. He got some awards circuit attention (and heck, even an Oscar nomination) for the under-received coming-home drama The Messenger, but Harrelson acolytes know his other 2009 work, in Defendor and Zombieland, are, to paraphrase Beck, where it’s really at.

In Defendor, Harrelson plays introverted construction worker Arthur Poppington, who doesn’t need superpowers or fancy toys to fight crime. Armed only with a childlike sense of wonder and a quirky arsenal of cheap, homemade gadgets — like jars of wasps, bags of marbles and an old billyclub he inherited from his grandfather — at night Arthur becomes Defendor, a black-clad vigilante with a duct-taped costume. Obsessed with finding the city’s most fearsome crime boss, Arthur finds an unexpected partner when he rescues and falls for a local junkie prostitute, Katerina Debrofkowitz (Kat Dennings), herself on the run from a shit-heel undercover cop, Chuck Dooney (Elias Koteas). Action and a pinch of angst ensues, with Harrelson crafting a character that is by turns goofy and sympathetic.

Defendor marks the directorial debut of actor Peter Stebbings, who also wrote the screenplay, and while its area of inquiry — a guy playing superhero — would seem to be a rather cheap and potentially empty grab at commercial significance, Stebbings infuses his work with a depth of feeling and honesty rare for comedies, and even indie film in general. Defendor isn’t ever really laugh-out-loud funny, at least not consistently; it’s more of a slow-burn thing, which in a way matches the low-fi vibe that the film’s production design helps establish. (Arthur records all his exploits on VHS, with a camera strapped to his helmet.) There’s a split-structure aspect as well, with Sandra Oh popping up as a therapist questioning Arthur in the wake of his apparent arrest. This gives the movie something of a stuttering feel, since tonally you’re jerked back and forth between Arthur’s vigilante quest and burgeoning relationship with Katerina, and this mystery of how and why he’s been nabbed.

Stebbings also never resolves how to integrate Arthur into the existing power structure (i.e., the police) within the city. Chuck becomes an immediate enemy, for both reasons related to Katerina as well as other factors. The precinct captain, or whomever, is also given a few scenes with Arthur, and it’s clear that he regards him as for the most part not that dangerous. But it’s not quite fully exploited, either for comedic or dramatic effect. Still, Harrelson’s performance locates real pathos, without ever simplifying Arthur into a complete boob. Stebbings, too, crafts a small, to-scale world of action and consequence; his movie feels nicely pieced together. The only big blow to its hold, really, is composer John Rowley’s terrifically unimaginative and on-the-nose score, which apes square-jawed, into-the-breach heroism without adding any ironic undercurrent to it, and sounds tinny to boot.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Defendor comes to DVD presented in 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen, with English, Spanish, Portuguese and Thai language tracks in Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound. Optional English SDH, Spanish, Chinese, Korean, Portuguese and Thai subtitles are also included. An audio commentary track with Stebbings, Dennings, Harrelson and producer Nicholas Tabarrok (Left Behind) kicks off the robust slate of supplemental material that helps additionally elevate this title.

There are also deleted scenes, as well as five robust making-of featurettes which run around 10 minutes apiece, and cover the entire creative process, from scripting through pre-production, casting and shooting. Stebbings talks about being wowed by Harrelson (and his prominent jawline) in No Country for Old Men, and receiving a hemp sweater as a gift from his star, at the wrap of production. Two-and-a-half minutes of bloopers wrap things up, with Koteas getting his jacket stuck in a car door and mock-swatting wasps that will be added later, via CGI; Harrelson also goes method, using a real hacksaw on his cast but eventually breaking character when Stebbings drags his feet in calling “cut.” To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) A (Disc)

The Broken Lizard guys — Jay Chandrasekhar, Kevin Heffernan, Steve Lemme, Paul Soter and Erik Stolhanske — have made a career out of doing “stupid” big, knowing and affable, as in Super Troopers and Beerfest. While not huge breakout stars by any means, they’ve built up a reputation as “fratire” trailblazers, cinematic forerunners for Tucker Max. Their best effort, however, was probably the island-set murder mystery send-up Club Dread, and not merely because Brittany Daniel runs around in a bikini for most of the film, and they got the beautiful Jordan Ladd to go topless. No, that flick had a rooted story around which the jokes were all built. Their latest effort has a lot of what makes their movies of a piece (left-field humor like coleslaw down the pants and a swordfish being punched unconscious), but The Slammin’ Salmon, despite its vaguely sexual title, is a decent comedic premise only fitfully delivered upon.

Set in Miami, the movie centers around the wait staff at a pricey restaurant owned by “Slammin’ Cleon Salmon” (Michael Clarke Duncan), a former heavyweight boxing champion with a penchant for the gregarious mangling of words and the bellowing of “Whatever, motherfucker!” when someone deigns to correct him (which isn’t very often). Having racked up a $20,000 gambling debt to a group of thugs after placing bets on and taking part in catch-and-release Japanese albino hunting (yes, seriously), cash-poor Cleon challenges issues a contest ultimatum to his oddball staff via bumbling, nice-guy manager Rich (Heffernan): to turn over $20,000 sales in a single night, with the top-selling server winning a huge prize and the last-place
server getting a broken-rib sandwich. Preening Guy (Stolhanske), borderline multiple personality screwball “Nuts” (Chandrasekhar), med student Tara (Cobie Smulders), new guy Donnie (Soter), would-be ballerina Mia (April Bowlby) and disgraced actor Connor (Lemme), returning from an abortive television gig, have at it. Spurred on by greed and panic, the staff resorts to backstabbing, bribery and all sorts of indecent proposals in wheels-spinning attempts to “up-sell” patrons.

There’s enough basic structure in place for The Slammin’ Salmon to be amusing, but too large a portion of its jokes and banter feel like first-draft placeholder material, and its consistently scattershot staging and execution too often undercuts whatever comedic momentum it starts to accrue. It’s tough to really pull off comedies confined to a single space and time — the choreography has to be crackerjack, and mindful of how one screw-up or interruption or delay impacts everything around it (think Noises Off, when properly staged), which just isn’t the case here. The Broken Lizard guys go mostly big, obviously, but several of these story strands of wild escalation (Rich’s accidental ingestion of a customer’s diamond engagement ring, for instance, after gluttonously attacking a dessert momentarily left in the “send-back”
area) get left behind, or back-burned in ways that make them a lot less amusing when they return to them. The madcap tone and energy isn’t slowly and believably ratcheted up, in other words. Still, the Broken Lizard guys call in enough favors to fill out supporting roles with recognizable faces, as Will Forte, Olivia Munn, Vivica A. Fox, Morgan Fairchild, Lance Henriksen, Sendahil Ramamurthy and Jim Gaffigan all appear in bit parts.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a complementary cardboard slipcover, The Slammin’ Salmon 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 SDH and Spanish subtitles. Supplemental features are anchored by two separate audio commentary tracks with the Broken Lizard gang; one features Chandrasekhar, Stolhanske and Soter, the other features Heffernan and Lemme. Both unexpectedly suffer a bit from lapses in engagement, but the latter track is the livelier affair, with anecdotes about farting contests between key grips, and Heffernan pointing out a couple bits in the movie’s finale that are copped from Rocky III, from the LeRoy Neiman-inspired painting done by his brother, an artist, to his commissioned choice for a closing credits song, Earth Cock’s “Cry of the Cougar,” that is a straight-up rip-off of Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger.” The only other bonus tidbit is a seven-minute featurette, “Hellish Kitchens: Art Imitates Restaurant Life,” that features the Broken Lizard gang reminiscing about old food service employment, shared and otherwise, all while apparently riding to set together in a noisy van. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C (Movie) C (Disc)