Anna Faris is a rarity in young Hollywood — a fairly known
commodity and proven performer to boot, but still an undervalued stock. Collectively, the four Scary Movie films in which she has starred have taken in over $430 million domestically, and Faris’ supporting turns in movies like The Hot Chick, Waiting, Just Friends, My Super Ex-Girlfriend and, of course, Sophia Coppola’s Lost in Translation have shown her to be an inspired comic performer, equally adept at blank-faced satire, unhinged farce and physical slapstick. Yet, thus far, true breakout stardom has eluded Faris. Her highest profile solo-starring turn, however, The House Bunny, has the marketing advantage of her in a skimpy pink bikini.

The first film from executive producer Adam Sandler’s Happy Madison production company to fully give itself over to a mostly female ensemble, The House Bunny
is an utterly predictable and formulaic comedy given a huge kick in the
keester courtesy of its effervescent star. The movie’s
inner-beauty/empowerment arc is consignment-shop thin, and handled with
little élan by Fred Wolf, a former Saturday Night Live writer and Team Sandler veteran who stumbled through his directorial debut in the form of this year’s quietly dumped Strange Wilderness. In the end, though, it doesn’t matter, because every moment Faris is on screen is a moment in which something delightful could happen, and that’s as good a reason as any these days to go to the movies.

Faris
(above left, with Emma Stone) stars as Shelley Darlingson, a third-tier
Playboy bunny (she of the “Girls of the Midwest” and “Girls with GEDs”
pictorials) who aspires to print centerfold-dom (“It’s like the highest honor — it says, ‘I’m naked in the middle of a magazine… unfold me’”).
When a misunderstanding facilitated by a conniving housemate leads to
Shelley getting the boot from the Playboy mansion, though, she sets out
on her own, and stumbles across a small college with a sorority house
in need. Unless they can sign a robust new pledge class, the seven
socially clueless women of Zeta Alpha Zeta will lose their house. Needing a place to stay, Shelley talks her way into becoming their new house mother, and a cracked, colorful alliance is formed.
Throw in a few token love interests (including Colin Hanks for Faris’
character), some bureaucratic bit players (Christopher McDonald and Beverly D’Angelo) both sympathetic and hard-line, and some scheming counterparts — in the form of the girls
of rival sorority Phi Iota Mu, led by Sarah Wright — and one doesn’t need their own
GED to figure out where this is all headed.

Owing to the fact that it’s penned by the same screenwriters, Karen McCullah Lutz and Kirsten Smith, The House Bunny at times feels like a tailor-made companion piece to 2001’s Legally Blonde, both in color (pink, everywhere!) and bouncy tone. Though there are moderately well integrated cameos from Hugh Hefner and his real-life Aryan princesses,
there are also more than a few narrative bumps along the way, and gears
sometimes grind for a scene or two when characters are forced to more
nakedly advance the story. (It’s best, for instance, not to think about
the logistics of Shelley teaching the gals all about what boys like,
when American Idol runner-up Katharine McPhee plays a very
pregnant coed.) Speaking generally, though, there’s actually some
amusement to the gender inversion of Greek-clash college flick clichés,
and the value of the ditzy quips (“Eyes are like the nipples of the face,” advises Shelley) and some other banter are certainly above average. It’s funny, too, to watch Shelley discover that a steaming manhole isn’t always the best place to try to re-enact a Marilyn Monroe moment.

Faris’ breathy essence, though, is both the engine and the gasoline that makes this movie run.
(She also nabs a producer credit, her first.) With her in the driver’s
seat, the sturdy Oldsmobile-feel of this plot earns its racing stripes.
Faris has the savvy comic timing and inherent appeal of a new millennial Carole Lombard or Lucille Ball,
and the casting dilemmas she presents — clearly too talented and
naturally charismatic for eye-batting girlfriend roles, and such a
force of potential personality that she would eclipse a lot of drippy
rom-com leading men, like Edward Burns or Luke Wilson — summon to mind a similar problem faced by Téa Leoni,
another under-appreciated comedic performer. Whatever its final
commercial haul, one thinks, however, that the skimpy pink bikinis on
display in The House Bunny might finally help Faris get Hollywood’s lasting attention.

Housed in a regular plastic Amray case, The House Bunny is presented in 2.40:1 anamorphic widescreen, with English and French language Dolby digital 5.1 audio mixes and optional subtitles in the same language. Eleven-plus minutes of deleted scenes headline the extra features, though they run unscrubbed, and with time-code information on the bottom. A couple of the scenes, rightly excised, deal with a story strand in which Shelley, after being forced to pay for parking for the first time in her life, takes the advice of the lot attendant and gets a job, waitressing at IHOP.

It’s disappointing that for a film based on an idea she herself had more than two years ago, there isn’t an audio commentary track with Faris, but those are the breaks. She’s in demand, I guess, and couldn’t squeeze it into her schedule. In its place, the DVD producers opt for sheer volume, in the form of a whopping 12 featurettes. Truth be told, these bits run about 50 to 55 minutes when strung together (a “play all” feature is thankfully included on the disc), and could have easily been integrated into a more cohesive long-form documentary with a bit more editorial effort. Interviews with all prominent cast and crew members are included, from the screenwriters and members of Sandler’s creative team (producer Allen Covert, et al) to even ex-USC quarterback Matt Leinart, who cameos in a scene at the Playboy Mansion.

Various segments focus on the ensemble female players; the make-up and hair transformation of Shelley’s Zeta housemates; the film’s volcano-centric party sequence; Colin Hanks; the movie’s calendar shoot; and the on-set experiences of first-time actress Katharine McPhee and first-time actor Tyson Ritter, from the band The All-American Rejects. Naturally, one bouncy segment focuses more on Faris, and she reflects on the creation of her character, her 50 costume changes and interactions with others. Also included, yawningly, is a music video for McPhee’s version of “I Know What Boys Like,” which plays under the credits and, even more worthlessly, a one-minute “introduction” to the video by ever-sunny McPhee. Rounding things out are a gallery of previews for Hancock, The Other Boleyn Girl and 10 more Sony DVD releases. To view The House Bunny‘s trailer, click here; to purchase the film on DVD via Amazon, click here. B+ (Movie) B (Disc)

Most people imagine California during the 1960s to be an idyllic, peaceful and highly creative place in which some of the greatest and most imaginative music of the last half century was created. In many ways this is true, but there was also a dark social undercurrent that took hold during the later part of the decade, and it stretched out and infiltrated what many people believed to be “America’s band” when Beach Boys drummer Dennis Wilson for a time became involved with a cult led by Charles Manson. The Beach Boys and the Satan, a hour-long German documentary
directed by Christoph Dreher, explores some of the more dubious events
and people of the 1960s, spotlighting the yin and yang of a much-discussed era.

The movie details the Beach Boys’ rise to success in a broader context than just your typical music documentary. Rarely seen footage of the band is interspersed with clips of some of the more controversial characters of that period, like Anton La Vey and Kenneth Anger. A fairly comprehensive portrait of the band’s history and
development is illustrated with this rare footage, as well as interviews with Kim
Fowley, Don Was and none other than the reclusive creative force behind
the Beach Boys, Brian Wilson. At the core of The Beach Boys and the Satan, though, is Dennis Wilson’s much speculated about involvement and friendship with
Manson and his “family” of followers — the dark side of the Summer of Love’s setting moon. While the speculative/comparative conceit at its core is intriguing, and a nice point of attack, it’s the solid interview “gets” that anchor the movie, which was originally released in 1997 and has since then been commercially unavailable, except on the black market.

Housed in a clear plastic case with a segmented cover that spotlights its putative subjects, as well as a lonely surfer, The Beach Boys and the Satan comes on a region-free disc. There are unfortunately no supplemental bonus features, which is a shame, since extra interview and/or commentary material with Dreher about the inspiration and genesis of the project would have likely been fascinating. To purchase the disc via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) C- (Disc)

Queen Latifah came of age, as an actress, in 2002’s Oscar-winning Chicago, a $306 million worldwide earner, and the following spring’s Bringing Down the House, a $162 million global hit. From her earliest days, though — whether on her platinum-selling rap albums or in something like 1996’s ensemble bank heist tale Set it Off — Latifah’s strengths have been her brassiness, sassiness and volume. The bigger, the better: she’s always been able to locate and articulate a recognizable point-of-view amid so much swirling craziness.

So it’s strange to endure a film like Last Holiday, which
makes its Blu-ray debut just after Christmas, since it so clearly
represents a wan attempt to dampen down so much of what makes its star
special. Alternately forced-cute and painfully obvious, it proves a
weird, shot-on-location, multicultural mash-up — imagine a jumble of
Under the Tuscan Sun and How Stella Got Her Groove Back — with a
declamatory litany of costume changes and falsely empowering imparted
life lessons.

Last Holiday opened to just under $13 million on the second weekend of January in 2006 — good enough to take third place behind Hoodwinked and Glory Road in a tight
debut frame — and went on to gross just over $38 million domestically, a figure in line with Latifah’s two previous headline outings,
the Barber Shop spin-off Beauty Shop and Taxi, her ill-fated action-comedy
pairing with Jimmy Fallon. But Last Holiday isn’t a film that anyone but the hardest of hardcore Latifah fans will appreciate, given the degree to which it relies on contrivance and emotional gimmickry.

A shy cookware department store clerk, Georgia Byrd (Latifah) lives a
modest and demure life, singing in her church choir and eschewing risk
in favor of simplicity. Once she’s told that she has but a few weeks
to live — and is rejected by her healthcare provider for treatment
reimbursement — she cuts loose, cashing in her life’s savings and
leaving New Orleans for a dream vacation in Europe. She ends up at the posh Grandhotel Pupp in the Czech Republic,
“blossoming” by trading in her sensible outfits for high-end fashion and
indulging in all manner of culinary indulgences.

Newly uninhibited, she also befriends the hotel’s venerated chef,
Didier (Gerard Depardieu), and teaches lessons to unscrupulous
businessman Matthew Kragen (Timothy Hutton), conveniently also her up-the-ladder boss, who’s convinced by Georgia’s blithe manner that she’s actually a
shrewd business rival. Finally, sensitive co-worker Sean Matthews (LL
Cool J) enters and the requisite love affair ensues, feeling more like a dictated necessity than an artful
or even florid indulgence. In the end, Georgia learns of her
misdiagnosis, something one could surmise from Jeffrey Price and Peter
Seaman’s problematic script, which has trouble balancing disparate
tones throughout.

Director Wayne Wang, who burst onto the scene in earnest with 1993’s
The Joy Luck Club, has impressed most with a string of esoteric and
sometimes impressionistic character pieces, including Smoke, Blue In
The Face and The Center of the World. He previously segued into
mainstream fare with the serviceable Anywhere But Here, but Last
Holiday feels more of a piece with the joyless and anonymous Maid in
Manhattan. There’s little of note to the direction, and nothing beyond
the promise of a sizeable studio paycheck to particularly suggest his interest or
psychological investment in the project. Giancarlo Esposito is underutilized in a small supporting role.
Latifah, meanwhile, generally acquits herself, but this tepid outing
proves that her talents are best suited to projects where she shies
away from such early forced timidity.

Bowing on Blu-ray on December 30, Last Holiday is presented in 1080p high definition. Though there’s not much need for action crispness (apart from a cringe-inducing ski sequence) or special effects/small object detail, the picture in the film’s
Blu-ray release is, as advertised, solid, and a noticeable step up from regular DVD quality. Audio is
anchored by a Dolby TrueHD 5.1 mix, with French
and Spanish 5.1 Dolby digital mixes and optional English, French
and Spanish subtitles as well. Special features include a high-definition version of the movie’s original theatrical trailer and, imported from its original DVD release, a pair of deleted scenes and three behind-the-secnes featurettes which chart the movie’s pre-production history, location shooting and filming style. To purchase the film on Blu-ray, click here. C- (Movie) B+ (Disc)

A story of awkwardly overlapping romances liberally seasoned with the patented, over-the-top humor of the brothers Farrelly, The Heartbreak Kid — new to Blu-ray this month — reunites the behind-camera comedy specialists with star Ben Stiller in a careening showcase for serial outrageousness that favors potent commercial formula over strict adherence to narrative through-lines.



Stiller stars as San Francisco sports store owner Eddie Cantrow, who, after years of bachelorhood and ample pressure from his widowed father, Doc (Jerry Stiller), and best friend Mac (Rob Corddry), starts to wonder if he’s being too picky about the women he meets. The wedding of a former girlfriend only serves to amplify these feelings of isolation, so when a chance encounter with an alluring blonde marine researcher named Lila (Malin Akerman, above right) leads to the sweet bloom of romance, Eddie believes he’s finally found true love. When the threat of a potential job transfer for Lila endangers the relationship, he impulsively proposes.

But as the newlyweds drive down the California coast on the way to their honeymoon to Cabo San Lucas, Eddie feels familiar pangs of unease and discomfort. Soon after reaching their exotic Mexican hideaway, he’s convinced he’s made a terrible mistake, put off as he is by Lila’s aggressive bedroom demeanor and a chain of kept secrets that range from merely unnerving (a deviated septum) to jaw-tighteningly negligent (a mountain of debt, an old drug habit). It’s here that Eddie also happens to fall for the down-to-earth Miranda (Michelle Monaghan), who’s visiting with her family.

Miranda has no clue that Eddie has just married, and with Lila confined to the honeymoon suite with a brutal case of sunburn, Eddie struggles to find a way to extricate himself from his days-old marriage without losing the (new) girl of his dreams. A tangled bit of misunderstanding leads Miranda to believe that Eddie is a widower, but when that gives way to the truth, and Miranda returns home, Eddie sets off to try to win her back.

While The Heartbreak Kid retains the Farrelly’s trademark humanistic touch (evident with the care paid to Miranda’s country-raised family, including Danny McBride) it also doesn’t hesitate to offend, chiefly through Lila’s sexual voraciousness, but also a wide variety of casual brusque language and one-liners. Notions of character consistency are hard to pin down, though, especially since some of Lila’s sprung “surprises” are matters that would have easily been previously sorted out, even in six weeks of virginal, whirlwind courtship. There’s the soft but frustrating contrast, too, of scenes in which Lila talks about being just like an elderly couple in 10 years (she’s “not good at math,” she confesses), then immediately references she and Eddie spending the next 40 or 50 years together.

The fact is that The Heartbreak Kid asks in many ways to be taken air-quote seriously as something a bit darker and of more modern, sardonic substance than director Elaine May and screenwriter Neil Simon’s original 1972 comedy — from Eddie’s familial entanglements with his “would-be” in-laws to the movie’s general view of relationships and its barbed, deliciously bleak-hearted ending. The film’s wild and crazy, blue asides, then (bits that include a shot of Lila’s hairy, pierced pubic area, and a discussion of Carlos Mencia’s hotel concierge placing Lila’s hand on his genitals), often arrive with the jarring force of a less-than-well-oiled traveling theme park ride; they’re naughty, outside-the-lines coloring, wedged in for cheap effect. Still, the performances are almost uniformly engaging, with Stiller cycling through a catalog of sputtering resistance ploys that still mostly work, no matter their familiarity.

Presented on Blu-ray in stunning, 1080p high definition, The Heartbreak Kid comes with three audio options — English language 5.1 Dolby True HD, French language 5.1 Dolby digital and Spanish language 5.1 Dolby digital — as well as optional subtitles in English, French, Spanish and Portuguese. Imported from the movie’s previous DVD release are a series of fairly brief standard definition featurettes and gag reels, along with a high definition of the movie’s original theatrical trailer.

An audio commentary track with the Farrelly brothers anchors this release, and anyone who’s heard previous alt-audio tracks with these guys knows that their chats are anecdote-laden and full of love for all the background players, which typically consist of their extended family and friends. This track is no different; it’s breezy and lively, but short on what you might call psychologically penetrating analysis. Still, there’s mad affection dished out for the production leeway granted them by DreamWorks, and unsuspecting viewers might be surprised to learn about a plot tidbit suggested by none other than Steven Spielberg. Clocking in at 16 minutes is “The Farrelly Brothers: In the French Tradition,” a short, tongue-in-cheek joint biographical sketch about the filmmaking siblings, and what pointed them down the occupational path they eventually chose.

The five-minute “Ben & Jerry” finds Ben Stiller and his real-life father yukking it up, and talking about how they love working together, while “Heartbreak Halloween” showcases the cast and crew donning Halloween costumes and having a grand old time on set. Extending that theme is another eight-minute featurette, this one about the off-book egg-toss contests held on set, as well as a four-minute gag reel of flubbed lines and interactions from the film. These segments are basically all of a piece, and while they’re fun and jokey, they don’t necessarily bear repeat or scrutinizing viewings. Rounding things out, along with the aforementioned trailer and a gallery of some other previews, is a small collection of a half dozen deleted scenes. To purchase The Heartbreak Kid on Blu-ray via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) B (Disc)

Have trouble keeping track of exactly which 1960s bands served as incubators to other seminal groups? Answers arrive in the form of The Story of the Yardbirds, a solid documentary covering the group in question, as well as the 1963 to 1968 rock scene in general, in glancing, effective shorthand.

Running about 52 minutes, this behind-the-scenes look at an influential but short-lived supergroup includes tons of original tunes, archive convert footage, interviews with bandmates, session musicians and other associates, and of course plenty of footage of Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page. Two 1964 live cuts with Clapton and the Yardbirds, “Louise” and “I Wish I Would,” are given the most reverential spotlight treatment, but in all honestly the title works as both a primer for classic rock neophytes and a nice little blood-pumping exercise in reminiscence for long-time fans. The rest of the track listing of musical selections is as follows: “I’m a Man,” “Heart Full of Soul,” “Still I’m Sad,” “Train Kept Rolling,” “Over, Under, Sideways, Down,” “Shapes of Things,” “Happening Ten Years Ago,” “For the Love,” “My Girl Sloppy,” “Stroll On” and a personal favorite, “Dazed and Confused.”

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, The Story of the Yardbirds is presented on a region-free disc in 16×9 widescreen, with an English mono audio track. The sole supplemental feature comes in the form of 14 minutes of full-frame bonus footage of the Yardbirds, with a very young Jimmy Page on guitar,
from a German TV broadcast in late March, 1967. Trippy, amusing stuff, though an academic/talking head dissection of it would have been a cool inclusion as well. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) B- (Disc)

It’s all news to me, but Zoom was a popular PBS kids’ series in the 1970s that was created to inspire young
audiences to be active investigators, creators and problem-solvers. Since the nostalgic DVD market for those that came of age too late for the free love era is largely untapped, the debut of Zoom: Back to the 70s seems to stand a good chance of standing out and catching the attention of fortysomething-ish parents looking for a rib-nudging birthday gift. Errr… I think.

In the first TV series inspired, written and performed by kids, the
cast of “Zoomers” used material submitted by viewers to act out plays,
talk openly about their lives, experiment with games and cooking, sing
and dance, and of course have fun just being a kid. Think cable access show, as dressed up by PBS. From Ubbi-Dubbi (Zoom‘s own secret language) to Fannee Doolees and Zoom-games and -plays, nostalgia adventurers can experience the sheer joy of Zoom
all over again; featured segments include original musical numbers like “Zoomers in Wonderland” and “John Henry,” a visit with a girls ice hockey
team, pieces on how to make both stained glass cookies and the ultimate
sandwich, and games like story concentration and the rubber band relay race. This two-disc collector’s edition includes a “Best of the 70s” clip show, featuring every Zoomer from all six seasons of the show, as well as four complete episodes to enjoy just like you did back then. Frankly, upon first glance I thought this set was an elaborate put-on, a prankish ruse orchestrated by Sacha Baron Cohen or someone. But if the most musical zip code in history, “0-2-1-3-4,” means something special to you, then by all means, kick back, drop some acid* and remember what it was like to be a kid in the 1970s.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Zoom: Back to the 70s is presented in 1.33:1 full screen. Bonus features include a behind-the-scenes slideshow, printable Zoom cards, a guide to Ubbi Dubbi and downloadable Zoom wallpaper. To order this or any DVD or VHS release from WGBH Boston Video, phone (800) 949-8670 or click here. C (Show) C+ (Disc)

* – optional

In entertainment, there are spin-offs that flame out (Joey, say), spin-offs that achieve real, lasting success (Frasier, say), and then there are spin-offs that completely obliterate memory of their springboard predecessors. Though not a sit-com, were it not for the thrice-weekly inter-show pitches between its host and The Daily Show‘s Jon Stewart, such would be the case with Comedy Central’s award-winning The Colbert Report.

Conceived as a satirical broadside against Bill O’Reilly and The O’Reilly Factor, and launched in the fall of 2005 with Daily Show writer and on-air talent Stephen Colbert playing a self-named, caustic, clueless right-wing blowhard, The Colbert Report (with “t” being silent in both of the last two words) was an out-of-the-box smash, injecting into the zeitgeist words like “truthiness” — Colbert’s embrace of the notion that one could “know something emotionally or instinctively, without regard to evidence or intellectual examination.” From there, the show has of course gone on to score numerous Emmy and Peabody nominations, with Colbert only further defining his mock-self-serious, ego-stoking persona through presidential primary campaigns, product solicitations and orchestrated e-campaigns to name various bridges, statues, baby bald eagles and minor league sports franchises after him.

His second hour-long DVD release, A Colbert Christmas is an affectionate, painstakingly rendered send-up of variety show-type celeb-specials of yore — canned “live studio audience” applause, low production values and chintzy backgrounds and all. The conceit of the special finds Colbert, utterly depressed at the prospect of having to pay royalties to sing existing Christmas songs, making up his own ditty, which then leads to a whirling-dervish song-and-dance routine to which he dresses himself in wintry outerwear. Unfortunately, when he tries to leave his cabin to head to New York to tape his Christmas special with Elvis Costello, Colbert finds himself “trapped” due to a huge, angry bear outside. (Bears remain one of Colbert’s steady phobias, with him frequently denouncing them as “godless killing machines.”)

Throughout his show’s tenure, Colbert has indulged in the occasional oddball musical guest and duet; he’s actually a good singer, in addition to his deft wit. So it’s no surprise, really, that Toby Keith, Willie Nelson, John Legend and Feist all make appearances in A Colbert Christmas, singing comical holiday-inspired tunes, before Costello — decked out in a little tin soldier costume — shows up for an enthusiastic, group sing-along version of “What’s So Funny (About Peace, Love and Understanding).” With Colbert contributing an angelic background vocal of response, Nelson’s number, poking fun at his, ahem, smoky image, is probably the high point (no pun intended) of the special. Most of the ditties are decently amusing but, truth be told, drag on a bit too long; far from interludes, they are the show, in essence, full musical numbers. And while that may be in general in keeping with the aping of musical specials of years gone by, for anyone who’s come to appreciate the razor-sharp satire of Colbert’s show, it also feels like a bit of doggy-paddling time filler. The show’s one real non-professional musician segment, in which Stewart stops by, and enters into a conversation with Colbert about the differences between Hanukkah and Christmas, hints at some of the amusing interplay left untapped in the creation of this show.

Housed in a regular Amray plastic case, and presented, obviously, in 1.33:1 full screen that preserves the aspect ratio of its initial telecast, A Colbert Christmas comes with a nice slate of bonus features. They include a virtual advent calendar, a bonus song, three mock “alternate endings,” and an 18-minute “Yule log” virtual fireplace, into which a couple books are tossed. All in all, A Colbert Christmas is a decent little title with some solid seasonal replay value — although one hopes its sell-through success doesn’t disincline Colbert and company from producing another holiday special further down the line. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B- (Movie) B (Disc)

I happened to flip by one of VH-1’s many rock hit compilation shows recently, and there was Living Colour’s Vernon Reid, praising the hybrid, rap-rock-punk fusion of Faith No More, as particularly evidenced in their hit single “Epic.” The points he was making were not without merit, and yet it was slightly ironic, in that here was a true trailblazing pioneer lending praise to a group who owned a piece of the FM airwaves the year after his group’s debut release.

For their millions of fans around the world, of course, metal-funk rockers Living Colour need no introductions: Reid, Will Calhoun, Doug Wimbish and Corey Glover are among the leading New York musicians who helped break down the doors leading to a renewed musical landscape in the waning days of the 1980s, one the very few groups — if not the first and only — that can be talked about as authentic sons of Jimi Hendrix while all the while still retaining their own inimitable edge. All this and more is obvious in the intense 2007 concert that this disc captures, in which the swaggering masters of groove grind through tunes old and new.

Filmed in high definition at the New Morning Club in Paris, this mid-summer gig showcases a group a bit puffier in their faces, but no less accomplished on their instruments. Directed by Daniel Farhi, it’s a rollicking, well-staged show, full of nice close-ups (see Glover sweat it out!) and other smooth editorial choices. The concert kicks off with “Type,” the band’s highest charting single, before moving into “Middle Man” and “Funny Vibe,” and then seguing into “Song Without Sin,” “Nova” and “Sacred Ground.” The rest of the track listing features “Memories Can’t Wait,” “Papa Was a Rolling Stone,” “Glamour Boys,” a cover version of “Crosstown Traffic,” “Go Away,” “Either Way,” “Ignorance Is Bliss,” “Drum Solo,” “Flying” and “Love Rears Its Ugly Head” before the show closes, somewhat predictably, with a thrashing rendition of the Grammy Award-winning “Cult of Personality.” A bonafide treat for connoisseurs of the band who are aware of the fact that Living Colour’s groundbreaking music is at its most impressive when performed in the intimate heat of a small club, Living Colour: The Paris Concert also serves as a solid introduction to the group for those that might have for some reason skipped their multi-platinum 1988 debut Vivid the first time around, wrongly thinking the band was a bunch of pre-fab posers.

Housed in a clear, plastic Amray case, Living Colour: The Paris Concert is presented on a region-free disc in a 16×9 aspect ratio, with DTS stereo and Dolby digital 5.1 audio tracks. There are unfortunately no supplemental features (interviews would have been great, as these gents are articulate, interesting cats), but there is a two-CD package of the concert available as well. For more information on both releases, click here. B+ (Concert) C+ (Disc)

A gay spy thriller cobbled together from bits and pieces of the amnesiac-on-the-lam Bourne series and any number of other fight-the-system actioners, Kiss Me Deadly is a straight-to-video thriller misfire starring Robert Grant and Shannen Doherty, directed by the Emmy-nominated Ron Oliver (Degrassi: The Next Generation).

Grant (Nip/Tuck, The Closer) stars as Jacob Keane, a former spy who now… works as a fashion photographer? Yes, seriously. Jacob gets drawn back into the shadowy world of international espionage when his former partner Marta (Doherty) reappears after 17 years, her memory erased. With no idea who wants them dead, or why, Jacob and Marta elude rub-out from a pair of ruthless assassins working for an unknown entity, and then start trying to unravel a labyrinthine backplot. Their up-the-ladder investigations lead them back into mortal danger, and eventually cast light on a mysterious villain looking to gain classified information at any cost.

At 82 minutes, Kiss Me Deadly is lean and mean, but still all knees and elbows, narratively speaking. Grant is OK, but not given much in the way of smart dialogue. The other acting here — even though recognizable pro John Rhys-Davies also pops up in a small supporting role — is uneven, and not particularly aided by soap opera-type editing, wherein dramatic information is conveyed in a series of ever-closer close-ups of a telephone answering messages and frozen, nostrils-flared protagonist. Naturally, one of the bad guys also sports outrageously blonde, spiked hair, just so that he’s more easily identifiable in crowd-stuffed chase scenes. Interestingly, the parts of the movie that work best are probably the relationship stuff; Jacob’s boyfriend is understandably weirded out when his beau shows up with a gal and demands the keys to his car, telling him he can’t explain the situation. It’s as an actioner — even a mid-grade, budget-pinched anonymous thing — that Kiss Me Deadly kind of falls flat.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Kiss Me Deadly is presented in 16×9 widescreen, with Dolby digital 2.0 and Dolby digital 5.1 English language tracks. A feature-length audio commentary track with Oliver kicks
off the bonus materials, and the director keeps the anecdotal patter coming at a fast and furious pace, talking about the movie’s New Zealand shoot, local casting (one actor scored a role after showing up with a broken nose, just days after he’d been discovered in bed with his best friend’s girlfriend, he confessed), and the emergency drafting of extra bit players, like the twin brother of the production’s main driver. Oliver cops to hating gratuitous nudity, and being embarassed by a scene of it in the movie, but also talks about the freedom of local actresses with their bodies. (“Once you get south of the equator, everything changes,” he opines.) The unintentionally hilarious high point may come when Oliver, sizing up a plot twist within the movie, says, “I think there’s something inherently sleazy about two guys making out in a bathroom stall.” Other supplemental extras include a 23-minute making-of featurette
comprised of back-slapping interview tidbits (“I like to think it’s incredibly European, in its own way,” says Doherty) interspersed with lots of
clips from the movie; the theatrical trailer; and previews for other gay-themed here! and Liberation Entertainment releases like Kiss the Bride, starring former Doherty 90210 classmate Tori Spelling. To
purchase Kiss Me Deadly on DVD via Amazon, click here. C- (Movie) B- (Disc)

Starring erstwhile Beverly Hills, 90210-er Jason Priestley and La Bamba‘s Lou Diamond Phillips, Termination Point follows an inventor of a teleportation device who has disappeared with this classified time-travel technology, and must be found before repercussions from potential time shifts threaten to destroy the Earth. Playing like a cross between Stephen King’s short story “The Langoliers” and some anonymous actioner from Wesley Snipes, circa 1999, that never quite got made, this cut-rate cable programmer will provide diversionary intrigue for huge fans of the Sci-Fi Channel, but few others.

Special Agent Caleb Smith (Priestley) is a man on a mission. When the mysterious, covert Alpha Stream Project is compromised and military time-travel technology is stolen by rogue scientist Dr. Daniel
Winter (Phillips), Agent Smith leads an all-out government
manhunt to get it back. Winter is determined not to let this
all-powerful weapon fall back into the hands of the military, however. When
Agent Smith finally tracks down his target, he must risk everything — including his wife Claire (Stefanie von Pfetten) and young daughter, who were on a commercial aircraft that entered a wormhole — in order to stop the weapon from being unleashed
on the world. Planes vanish, time distorts, Priestley glowers, and the very existence of
mankind hangs in the balance.

Written by Peter Sullivan and directed by the intriguingly named Jason Borque, Termination Point is relatively bad in ways perhaps expected (the special effects, to quote Butt-Head, aren’t very special), but also, more than that, just kind of sigh-inducing and disappointing. Phillips chiefly acts with his goatee, and Priestley (pretty good in 1997’s Love and Death on Long Island, let’s not forget) stoops to overly demonstrative television acting-type cues. Dutifully balancing “thrills” and shoot-’em-down chest-thumping to match a buzzed score, Sullivan and Borque never tap into their conceit’s conspiratorial element in a truly interesting manner.

Housed on DVD in a regular plastic Amray case, Termination Point is presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, and features an exclusive, 16-minute behind-the-scenes featurette that includes interviews with all the principal on-screen players, as well as director Borque. These congratulatory EPK-style chats are all shot on location, which makes for a slightly amusing interruption when nearby cows start mooing wildly and disrupting the audio. Priestley and Phillips discuss how they first met (playing poker, over 15 years ago, for those scoring at home), and all invovled chat up Borque as an effective, quick lenser. Previews for six additional Sony titles — The Lazarus Project, The Water Horse: Legend of the Deep, Denis Leary’s Rescue Me, Hancock, Kabluey and My Mom’s New Boyfriend — are also included, rounding out the spare supplemental extras. To purchase Termination Point on DVD via Amazon, click here. C- (Movie) C (Disc)

Billed as a fun and sexy romantic comedy, and slapped with the tagline “Guess who’s coming out for the wedding!”, Kiss the Bride is in reality a rather forced and wearying gay(er) send-up of My Best Friend’s Wedding, directed in a very boxed-in, flat fashion by C. Jay Cox, the writer of the blockbuster Reese Witherspoon hit Sweet Home Alabama.

Scripted by by Ty Lieberman, the movie chronicles the impending nuptials of seemingly happy heterosexual couple Ryan (James O’Shea) and Alex (Tori Spelling, a bit less wince-inducing than usual), whose marriage is thrown into disarray by the arrival of Ryan’s old high school friend Matt (Phillip Karner, of Will & Grace and Sex and the City), now a hotshot, big city magazine editor. As the movie’s blowjob flashback sequence quickly establishes, Ryan and Matt had a fling in their teenage years. Matt may still even be in love with Ryan, who knows. A hard-boiled (and newly single, naturally) cynic, he drops everything when he finds out about the wedding. So as the big day fast approaches, old feelings resurface and secrets are revealed. Individually and collectively, the characters must balance the past with the present, and make choices that will determine the rest of their lives.

The first film produced by the Outfest Screenwriter’s Lab, a dynamic three-day, mentor-led workshop in Los Angeles ran by Outfest, the leading organization nurturing and preserving LGBT film images and artistry, Kiss the Bride, in its endgame, aims to be a somewhat realistic and messy exploration of the complex sexual landscape of today’s society. How it gets there, though, is a mess. Heartily embracing the, umm, very borrowed nature of its narrative roots (Matt’s assistant even tells him early on, “You are so Julia Roberts in My Best Friend’s Wedding right now!”), the movie quickly becomes a litany of fetishistic depictions (well-oiled shirtless guys in low-slung pants, the occasional shamrock tattoo) that come across as a heterosexual caricature of gay cinema. The jokes, meanwhile, are all easy and predictable, strung together scene-to-scene by rib-poking, upbeat ditties that serve as aural emotional placeholders. Furthermore, the film’s slapdash shooting schedule and production value are
underscored in a variety of scenes that devolve into lengthy, static
chatfests.

The exceptions, the scenes that do offer up a bit of spiked curiosity — another high school flashback to Matt and Ryan playing a game of “Battlestrip,” and doing shots out of paper cups, or a pre-bachelor party sequence in which Matt takes umbrage with the derogatory use of the word gay by a couple of Ryan’s redneck friends — either drag on too long or dip into a different tone that makes the film seem stilted and off-stride. Of course, nothing does that quite so much as Spelling’s earnest exhortion of, “You guys should fuck!” upon finding out about her fiancé’s predilection. Yes, Kiss the Bride is fascinating in some respects, but not always in the good sense of that word. Some of its bit players (a group that includes Joanna Cassidy, Robert Foxworth and Amber Benson) deliver maximum effort, but there’s not enough of wit or substance here to make this Bride worthy of a rental’s kiss.

Housed in a regular plastic Amray case, Kiss the Bride is presented in 16×9 widescreen, with Dolby digital 2.0 and Dolby digital 5.1 English language tracks. A feature-length audio commentary track kicks off the bonus materials, comprised of Karner, O’Shea and Cox. Their rapport is warm and winning, but they also spend a lot of time jokingly critiquing wardrobe and their bodies, which grows old. Other anecdotes include stories about Spelling’s allergies (she was apparently six to seven months pregnant when filming), a pancake-related continuity error, and the use of a trophy to simulate a bulge in Karner’s pants. Other supplemental extras include 13 minutes worth of deleted scenes (an extended bridal shopping sequence takes up a lot of this running time) with optional commentary from Cox; a 25-minute making-of featurette comprised of back-slapping interview tidbits interspersed with lots of clips from the movie; the theatrical trailer; a two-minute scrollable photo gallery montage; and previews for other Here! releases. To purchase Kiss the Bride on DVD via Amazon, click here. C (Movie) B (Disc)

An overlong and wildly uneven film and yet still in some ways one of the more brutally effective films of horror maestro Dario Argento’s latter-day canon, The Stendhal Syndrome stars the director’s daughter, Asia Argento, as a policewoman tracking down a violent serial killer and rapist. While trading chiefly in procedural elements not typically a part of Argento’s more explicit zombie horror flicks, the film still manages to showcase the filmmaker’s sensory flair and great touch in eliciting queasiness through stabbing shock.

The story centers around Anna Manni (Argento), a beautiful detective following the bloody trail of a sophisticated serial criminal (The Pianist’s Thomas Kretschmann) through the streets of Italy. Along the way, she falls victim to a strange, hallucinatory phenomenon which causes her to lose her mind and memory in front of powerful works of art (above). Trapped in this twilight realm, Anna plunges deeper and deeper into sexual psychosis, until she comes to know the killer’s madness more intimately than she ever imagined.

The Stendhal Syndrome takes what might be characterized as a few Hitchcockian elements — an imperiled woman, a strange psychological impairment, psychosexual perversion and mirrored identities — and places them in a blender. It’s obvious that the movie wants to also summon forth, in its own way, elements of The Silence of the Lambs and the mid-1980s oeuvre of Shannon Tweed, but the execution here is merely so-so for vast swatches of the movie’s two-hour running time, and the fairer Argento, just 20 when The Stendhal Syndrome was filmed over a decade ago, is a bit too young to pull off the necessary gravitas of a seasoned police inspector.

Anna’s hallucination sequences employ some relatively low-tech digital effects work, but it works in a way that’s not entirely corny. That said, does The Stendhal Syndrome induce its own hallucinatory stupor? No, there’s too much wild overreaching for parallelism here for things to cohere on a structural level. Yet while it doesn’t measure up to Suspiria or Inferno, a handful of moments in the film retain papa Argento’s visceral pop and effectiveness, so much so that certain scenes from The Stendahl Syndrome stuck with me in lingering fashion long after its initial viewing.

Previously edited outside of Italy, The Stendhal Syndrome is presented here in stunning high definition, transferred under the supervision of cinematographer Giuseppe Rotunno (Amarcord) from the original Italian 35mm interpositive. Split into two dozen chapters, the film is presented in 1.66:1 widescreen in 1080p HD resolution, with four audio options — English 7.1 DTS-HD, English 7.1 Dolby True HD, English 5.1 Dolby digital surround EX and Italian 5.1 Dolby digital surround EX — as well as optional English subtitles. Imported from the movie’s previous DVD release via Blue Underground are a wonderful series of in-depth widescreen interviews, each of which is conducted in Italian, with additional English subtitles.

Running just under 20 minutes, the first interview is with Dario Argento himself, who discusses where The Stendhal Syndrome fits within his filmography, and where the idea for the film came from. The second interview, running roughly the same length, is with psychological consultant Graziella Magherini, who actually named the curious illness that gives the movie its title. Assistant director Luigi Cozzi discusses his three decade-plus personal and professional relationship with the elder Argento, and his impressions of the filmmaker’s daughter, and her slow gravitation toward her father’s work. Similarly, production designer Massimo Antonello Geleng also chats about style Argento, and the darker visual style that he employs for this film. The fifth and final segment focuses on the movie’s special effects, and runs a bit shorter than the other interviews; still, it’s interesting to hear from Sergio Stivaletti about his working relationship with Argento, and why the filmmaker chose to use CGI for the first (and only) time in his career. To purchase the movie on Blu-ray via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) B+ (Disc)

Not to be confused with Jeremy Kasten’s terrible The Thirst, 1979’s Australian import Thirst, from director Rod Hardy, eschews Hammer or gothic interpretations of vampire lore for the more straightforward tale of a blood-sucking master race/criminal sect, and their efforts at a once-in-a-generation power-grab. The result, a solid genre production, stands as one of the top-shelf Australian horror flicks of its era.

Loosely based on the infamous myths surrounding real-life Hungarian countess Elizabeth Bathory (which Julie Delpy is prepping for a movie, and have already formed the basis of the deadly videogame within the film Stay Alive), Thirst‘s story centers around innocent, pure, unsuspecting Kate Davis (Chantal Contouri), a young woman kidnapped by a bloodthirsty cult looking to reestablish and purify their bloodline. After taking her to a remote village that serves as the hub of their sleek, modern blood-processing facility, the group’s leadership council — consisting of Dr. Fraser (David Hemmings), Dr. Gauss (Above the Law‘s Henry Silva), Mr. Hodge (Max Phipps) and Mrs. Barker (Shirley Cameron) — tell Kate that she’s the descendant of Bathory, and begin a systematic campaign of brainwashing in order to prepare her for her unholy fate.  According to the prophecies of the so-called “Hyma Brotherhood,” Kate must fulfill her destiny by marrying their leader, in convoluted fashion thus helping them quench their eternal thirst for blood.

There’s some good, old-fashioned puncturing of jugulars, yes, but Thirst is mainly a movie about identity, paranoia, group-think and madness, in which its characters just happen to be vampires. There are trace elements of The Wicker Man and THX 1138, and elaborate set-ups for the group’s “Vampire Festival” could also be seen, without too much squinting, as a bizarro-world forerunner for Eyes Wide Shut, a demonic cult ritual where grotesque tortures are laying the groundwork for further psychosexual experimentation. The acting is for the most part tastefully underplayed (as are the purely prurient inclusions — a fleeting glimpse of Countouri’s side boob during a bloody shower sequence accounts for its only nudity), and composer Brian May makes some interesting choices in a strings-powered score, all of which help lend an air of mannered legitimacy to this otherwise fantastical tale.

Presented in a regular Amray plastic case, Thirst arrives to DVD in 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen, with Dolby digital mono tracks in English and Spanish. In addition to an isolated music score, cast and filmmaker text biopgraphies and a small-ish photo gallery, there are also three TV spots and the movie’s original theatrical trailer. The biggest bonus feature, though, is easily the feature-length audio commentary track with director Hardy and producer Antony Ginnane, during which they discuss the film’s $750,000 January-February shoot (the hottest months, down under), the late blessing of securing an unused dairy farm for location filming, and a chopper accident involving Hemmings. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B+ (Movie) B (Disc)

It might not be saying much, really, but Linewatch, an especially attractively shot and generally well made Southwestern border drama, could be Cuba Gooding, Jr.’s best leading role since at least Men of Honor and possibly even Boyz N the Hood — certainly better than the claptrap like Dirty and Hero Wanted that’s cluttered up his recent filmography. It’s been a strange, prolonged post-Oscar debasement for Gooding, Jr., and there’s a melancholic depression that’s blanketed many of his performances in the last half dozen years, all but eradicating memories of his ebullient turn in 1996’s Jerry Maguire. This film, while still finding Gooding, Jr. in more or less down-shifted mode, has enough character shading and other things going for it to strike a chord for patient filmgoers willing to give him another chance. It may ultimately not be the type of showy fare to lift him up out of Actor Jail, but it does work well for what it is.

Linewatch centers around Michael Dixon (Gooding, Jr.), a father and border patrol officer in a small, dusty New Mexico desert town who, in quick order, discovers nine dead illegal immigrants stuffed in a van, suffers the shooting of his partner, and tangles with a group of rogue, militia-style border roamers who make it their business to round up Mexicans in brutish, bounty-hunter-esque fashion. If all that’s not bad enough, Michael’s secret past also catches up with he and his wife Angela (Sharon Leal), in the form of his old Los Angeles gang leader, Kimo (Omari Hardwick, of Gridiron Gang). After a shipment of drugs is accidentally disrupted by Michael’s actions, Kimo tracks Michael down and blackmails him into helping smuggle goods across the border. Further complicating matters is the fact that Michael finds his nephew, Lonnie (Evan Ross), under sway of these negative influences, which awakens a latent sense of responsibility.

Yes, the drama here is all of a relatively familiarly milked variety (a reformed man’s choice between “the life he swore to leave behind” and his threatened young family), but David Warfield’s script is above average in dialogue and plotting, and director Kevin Bray locates the truthfulness in his actors and a similar honesty in the staging, not aiming for amped-up theatrics just in an effort to make an impression, and book his next gig. There’s a pinch here (just a pinch, mind you) of the same forelorn undercurrent on display in last year’s Oscar-winning No Country for Old Men, but also enough tension and thrills to service fans of Walking Tall-type vigilante tales like Conspiracy.

Working with cinematographer Paul Sommers, Bray also shoots a gorgeous film; not only are the natural landscapes and Southwestern magic hour captured with grace and beauty, but there’s an unusual care paid to the composition for a straight-to-video thriller of this nature. All of these things help give Linewatch a bump in production value and watchability… and bring Gooding, Jr. himself into focus a bit, too.

Housed in a regular Amray plastic case stored in a cardboard slipcover with slightly raised lettering, Linewatch is presented in 2.40:1 anamorphic widescreen, and mastered in high definition. It comes with an English language Dolby digital audio track, a wide array of subtitles, and alternate language audio options are also available. The disc’s sole supplemental element is a 19-minute making-of featurette; though rife with intercut film footage, it does include on-set interview snippets with all the principal players, on-screen and off-, and plenty of anecdotes, including producer Reuben Liber talking about Bray showing up with two duffle bags full of books that formed the inspiration for his visual approach to the movie. Rounding out the disc are previews for Tortured, Felon and eight or nine other Sony home video releases. To purchase DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) C+ (Disc)

For those who aren’t big music fans (or scrupulously avoid out-of-field information with respect to genres in which they have no interest), a DVD spine reading, in bright, colorful letters, “Nashville Pussy” can create a bit of a stir. Kind of like the time one had to review another music-related disc entitled This Ain’t Your Mom’s Hardcore, Vol. 2.

Yep, it’s a concert disc, this DVD, and it features the band Nashville Pussy (named in reference to a line from a Ted Nugent’s Double Live Gonzo LP) rifling through 19 blistering songs in a 70-minute set from the Key Club in Hollywood. Husband-and-wife duo Blaine Cartwright and Ruyter Suys — the latter on guitar, the former handling vocals and additional guitar work — are joined by drummer Jeremy Thompson and new bassist Karen Cuda (replacing Corey Parks, sister of douchey ex-Dook hoopster Cherokee Parks), and together they all give the crowd exactly what they want, and then some.

The disc’s track listing consists of “Pussy Time,” “Going Down Swinging,” “High as Hell,” “Piece of Ass,” “Come On, Come On,” “Good Night for a Heart Attack,” “She’s Meaner Than My Momma,” “Go Motherfucker, Go,” “One Way Down,” “Hate and Whiskey,” “Hell Ain’t What It Used to Be,” “I’m the Man,” “Nutbush City Limits,” “The Bitch Just Kicked Me Out,” “She’s Got the Drugs,” “Shoot First, Run Like Hell,” “Lazy White Boy,” “Snake Eyes” and perhaps my favorite (based on title alone) “I’m Gonna Hitchhike Down to Cincinnati and Kick the Shit Outta Your Drunk Daddy.”

Housed in a regular Amray plastic case, this region-free disc comes with Dolby digital audio, and a bonus feature entitled “Pussy Home Movies.” So sit back, grab your bottle of whatever, and enjoy some good, old-fashioned sleaze-rock, if that’s your thing. If not, you might want to query Word Entertainment as to when that Amy Grant concert you liked so much is finally coming to DVD. To purchase the disc via Amazon, click here; for more information on the band, click here. C+ (Concert) B- (Disc)

Thrillers of expansive natural scope that retain both an authentic sense of place and a tightly coiled sense of character interplay are a fairly rare breed, but it’s just that small target for which director Brad Anderson is aiming with Transsiberian, a
slow-boil, humanistic thriller about an American couple who get sucked
into a downward spiraling drug investigation while traveling by train
in a foreign land.

Co-written by Anderson (The Machinist, Session 9) with previous collaborator Will Conroy, Transsiberian
unfolds largely on and around the legendary, same-named train. Iowa hardware store owner
Roy (Woody Harrelson, operating in his charming goofball mode) and his
wife Jessie (Emily Mortimer) decide to take the long way home after a
church-outreach sojourn to China. En route from Beijing to Moscow, the
pair meet up with another young couple, Carlos (Eduardo Noriega) and
Abby (Kate Mara), and bond over booze for the guys and cigarettes for the gals.

Roy
gets separated from the group at a stop, and complications ensue when
the trio disembark to wait for him to catch the next train, which ends
up taking a day and a half. When Roy and Jessie are reunited, the
former is accompanied by Ilya Grinko (Ben Kingsley), a Russian narcotics
detective who’s trying to track down some missing heroin, which he
believes may be being smuggled in novel form.

On its own deliberately plotted terms, Transsiberian more or less works, though chiefly as a drama instead of a thriller. As with Session 9, Anderson convincingly establishes a place that serves as a compelling anchor of mood for his film as a whole;
here, though, it’s not plumbed for creepy effect so much as it is for
general detail. The movie turns on a couple shocking acts of violence
that complicate the story in interesting ways, with the intrigue really
thickening at the 50-minute mark, and again with a second story bump at
the 80-minute mark.

Not entirely coincidentally, after an early
introduction, these moments loosely align with Kingsley’s
reintroduction to the narrative. As Grinko, an ex-KGB agent turned longtime cop who’s
suffered the socioeconomic disadvantages of the end of the Cold War and
dissolution of the Soviet Union, Kingsley
displays a certain darkly chameleonic charm; partly solicitous, partly
menacing, he slips into the movie, skulks around and stalks off with
its soul, mostly because we never seem to get a firm grasp of
what exactly he wants. Far from coming off as irresolute, though,
Kingsley just deftly plays the undertones of sometimes conflicting
motivations. Even after fates are decided in relatively stark terms for
the other characters, we’re left to wonder a bit more about Grinko, which seems
in every way appropriate, given Kingsley’s performance.

Housed in a regular Amray case with an accompanying, attractive cardboard slipcover, Transsiberian comes presented in 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen, with an English language 5.1 Dolby digital surround audio track, and optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles. Alas, there are no supplemental extras here, apart from a clutch of previews, which is a drag. Bonus-free discs like these are pointless these days, and a slap in the face to consumers — all the more so since Anderson is such a thoughtful interview. B (Movie) D- (Disc)

In honor of the new month, here’s a DVD review of indie flick November, originally published on IGN upon its initial release a couple years back. To wit:

There are an unfortunate number of independent movies that ape their big-budget siblings in story and attempted scope, telling indulgent tales of smart-talking, gun-toting criminals and the like when you know that the filmmakers have neither the personal experience nor the resources to back up their narratives. Instead of chronicling something they know and are passionate about, these writer-directors (after all, multi-hyphenates are a default designation when variable viewpoint collaboration is the enemy) simply undertake a miniaturized recreation of something much more formulaic. With substance taking such a deep, deep backseat to style, in the worst of these movies you can virtually feel the filmmakers — and even the actors, sometimes — all padding out their reel, reaching for that peach Hollywood gig.

The much rarer flip side of this phenomenon — the category into which the indie November, a noteworthy letdown, unfortunately falls — is that of a movie so self-serious and hell-bent on showcasing its pseudo-intellectual weight that it saps from the audience any notion or recollection that film, as a medium, might actually be fun or stirring. Directed by Greg Harrison (Groove) from a script by Benjamin Brand, November is every bit the coy calling card as every bad Tarantino or Scorsese knockoff out there, the only difference here being that the ambition is not a big studio deal but independent financing for another exercise in willfully arty mimicry.

In the lead, Courteney Cox absolutely swallows her extroverted Friends personae, in what is undoubtedly the film’s strongest selling point. She stars as Sophie Jacobs, a quiet amateur photographer and instructor at a local community college whose short, sensible haircut her bossy mother (Anne Archer) deems that of “an underachiever.” After a dinner out, Sophie and her boyfriend Hugh (James Le Gros) stop at a convenience store. Hugh runs in to buy some chocolate, but is murdered in violent smash-and-grab robbery.

Sophie is haunted by guilt, and starts visiting a psychologist (Nora Dunn) to cope with both her feelings and a series of debilitating migraine headaches. When photo slides of the store from the night of the murder — showing Sophie sitting in her car outside — start mysteriously appearing at her class, Sophie becomes convinced there may a witness that can help apprehend the heretofore uncaught perpetrator.

November is divided equally into three segments — titled “Denial,” “Despair” and “Acceptance” — that re-tell the same basic narrative arc of the plot with differing details, perspective and style. Like Run Lola Run, the film can be loosely construed as the story of a troubled mind trying to set right the confounding and contradictory details swimming around in our protagonist’s head. With its carefully attuned sound design (ominous noises from the apartment above Sophie’s) and the totemic importance given certain objects, November has the feel, for its first half hour, of something of weight and substance. Harrison also deftly uses color filters, slight costume changes and other schemes to differentiate his shifting realities.

The problem with November is that it gets progressively less unsettling and interesting as it unspools. The film is neither fish nor fowl. It doesn’t work as a thriller — it’s too plodding and ponderous for that — and neither are its dramatic stakes high enough to hold sway on its own. There’s no expanding sense of doom or intrigue to the movie, in other words. Once the riddle of its premise is easily unlocked, there’s little left but some experimental and somber filmmaking — a display case presentation. November wears its solemnity like a cloak, but I for one am calling “emperor’s new clothes.”

On DVD, November is presented in a 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen transfer that does cinematographer Nancy Schreiber’s dark, moody digital video compositions few favors. While contrast holds steady and grain, of course, isn’t a problem, there are recurrent pixilation problems. Colors, too, seemingly suffer from attrition around the edges of frame. While the artistic strategy and reach of the movie still comes through, the capacity of Harrison’s rigorous saturation suffers in a small screen presentation, particularly in low- and fluorescent-lit scenes in the convenience store and Sophie’s apartment.

An English language, Dolby digital 5.1 mix anchors this release, and it’s a solid one. The dialogue is clear, if mixed a bit lowly. Plenty of room is instead given to slurry and surreal effect, with natural ambience tightly tamped down. The film’s partitioned construction offers up an interesting primer course for would-be filmmakers, in that returned-to settings are manipulated aurally as well as visually. Sophie’s dinners with her mother, for instance, become more disquieting and estranged, and Sophie’s apartment an unnerving extension of headache-riddled confusion. Subtitles in French are also included — a good choice, since November seems the type of conjectural, inwardly reflective movie that Franco-philes would enjoy.

Two audio commentaries anchor the bonus materials, and offer parallel views of the movie’s exacting construction. The first features Harrison and screenwriter Brand, and delves into the plot twists and decisions about the repeated-act structure. While not riddled with spoilers, this almost assuredly isn’t a commentary you’d want to indulge in before watching the film. A bit more academic, then, is cinematographer Schreiber’s commentary track, also in conjunction with Harrison. Also included are an alternate opening sequence, static photo galleries and a nine-minute conversation with Lew Baldwin, who, interestingly, wore two hats as both the movie’s composer and visual effects supervisor. His thoughts are interesting, and while November doesn’t hold up well as a whole due chiefly to some story flaws, this inclusion does make you pine for a more streamlined post-production sound team. If more filmmakers and/or composers had an intimate grasp of music composition and sound design, movies (particularly those of the independent variety) would benefit from this uniformity of purpose.

Overall, as its thoughtful extras indicate, November is a film that at least attempts to do some different things, to stretch beyond the normal modes of pat, indie narrative. Its forced dourness, though, isn’t a convincing substitute for artfulness. C- (Movie) B (Disc)

Chick Corea is kind of to jazz and fusion what Reese’s peanut butter cups are to chocolate and peanut butter. Fittingly funky, then, this concert DVD, which features an engaging performance by Corea on keyboards. (Dave Weckl sits in on drums and John Patitucci handles the bass chores.)

Part of Miles Davis’ renowned electric group from 1968 to ’70, Corea has bopped back and forth between the two related but idiosyncratic worlds with great ease ever since, forming Return to Forever, which began as a Latin-flavored group, with Stan Getz, and then shifting seamlessly back toward electric fusion and a greater fame. Since the late ’70s, Corea has alternated in the electric and acoustic realms with his Elektric and Akoustic Bands, recording in contexts ranging from solo and duo projects to larger group affairs. In the process, he’s been nominated for 25 Grammys, and won eight.

Live at the Maintenance Shop is sheer proof of this magnificence, and Corea’s skill. Recorded at Iowa State University circa 1987, and timing out at about 75 minutes, it features a pared-down set list consisting of “Sidewalk,” “India Town,” “Malaguena,” “King Cockroach” and the winding, 14-minute-plus “Rumble,” which has a throaty, full-bodied bass line that underscores its title. Corea enthralls throughout, making this title an easy, engaging showcase for longtime fans and jazz newcomers alike.

Housed in a regular Amray plastic case with a striking red-and-white cover, this region-free disc — distributed exclusively internationally by Quantum Leap — is presented in a standard 4×3 format, with a Dolby digital audio mix. Bonus materials consist of a simple, but welcome text band biography and discography, as well as information on other Quantum Leap releases. To purchase the disc via Amazon, click here. B+ (Concert) C- (Disc)

In Cyborg Soldier, former UFC Middleweight Champion Rich Franklin stars as I.S.A.A.C., a genetically altered assassin determined to bring down the crooked military institution that first set about creating such ruthless killing machines. Strangely, the film did not receive an Academy-qualifying theatrical run.

The story? I.S.A.A.C. (Intuitive Synthetic Autonomous Assault Commando, for all you acronym fiends out there) is the first prototype of a confidential “human weapon” program that genetically reconstructs humans to become deadly assassins. Searching for freedom and the truth about his military group, I.S.A.A.C. sets off on the lam, taking Deputy Lindsay Reardon (Tiffani Thiessen) as a hostage. Their lives collide as they try to expose the secrets and lies of the corrupt organization, headed up by smooth-talking Simon Hart (Bruce Greenwood).

Directed by Johns Stead, who also wrote the film with John Flock and Christopher Warre Smets, Cyborg Soldier is hamstrung by never really locating its raison d’etre. Probably first and foremost, of course, the movie wants to service action fans, but its perfunctory set pieces,
many of which end before they ever really seem to get going, is hardly the “highly charged explosive thrill ride” its cover box promises. On a certain level, too, the movie wants to be a paranoid, putting-in-right investigatory thriller, though the means by which I.S.A.A.C. and Lindsay unearth certain clues about his past and predicament are almost always arbitrary and/or ridiculous. There’s a pinch of Shooter here, and of course a healthy smear of more obvious influences like Robocop and Universal Soldier, but what’s most sorely lacking is some sort of spitfire chemistry or, failing that, clever interplay. Plenty of movies throw a guy and girl together for reasons having to do less with story than some predetermined commercial necessity — 1994’s The Chase, starring Charlie Sheen and Kristy Swanson, comes to mind — but it’s what happens once those characters are together that matters. In Cyborg Soldier, it’s unfortunately just a bunch of inane chatter. And no, Thiessen does not get naked, guys.

Housed in a regular plastic case with a PhotoShopped cover of Franklin with a hat pulled low over his eyes (and thus undercutting the movie’s most salient selling point), Cyborg Soldier is presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, with an English language Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track and optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles. Apart from a gallery of preview trailers for other First Look home video releases, there are unfortunately no other supplemental features. Even just a brief chat with Franklin would have gone a long way toward rallying the UFC base presumably most interested in this title. Alas, we’re left wondering where that charisma is that made folks think Franklin was a natural to headline a movie. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. D (Movie) D (Disc)

The
fourth volume of the filthy, infamous, pseudo-educational 1970s German softcore anthology series, subtitled “What Drives Parents to Despair,” features a number of beauties — most notably Christina Lindberg, who would also turn the heads of sexploitation fans in fare like Maid in Sweden and Anita. Owing to that fact as much as its relative-scale artistry, it’s worth a look for curious niche-market fans.

Schoolgirl Report Volume 4 opens in mock-academic fashion, with a one-minute segment in which a sportsjacket-clad, grey-haired man holds forth on the controversial nature of the series, and asserts that the movie’s dozen or so stand-alone scenarios are all rooted in fact, since “life writes the most interesting scripts.” From there the film moves into discrete thematic storytelling, with cautionary voiceover narration weaving together stories that are sometimes pitched a bit silly, but mostly just straightforward.

The opening segment focuses on a young schoolgirl, Elfi (an attractive Karin Gotz), who seduces her math teacher (Wolf Harnisch) in order to get a passing grade. The other bits involve all sorts of sexual experimentation, with randiness typically giving way to a softly admonishing moral, so that the filmmakers might have their cake and eat it too, so to speak. There’s a perverted older man who poses as a doctor in order to give teenagers his own special check-up, as well as a teenage boy who contrives with his girlfriend to simulate the same scenario, so that he might gain admittance to her room while her parents are home. There’s a group of high school boys who get their female classmates to enter into a prostitution ring with them, so that they can all afford nice new clothes and gadgets. Four girls talk sex and take pleasure in torturing a geeky guy at a public pool.

Lindberg’s segment, meanwhile, stars her as Barbara, a young teen girl who lusts after her older brother Wolfgang (Gunther Mohner), masturbates while watching him score with other women, and has trippy dreams involving bloody, naked nuns, a firing squad and lots of writhing about. Dipping into the taboo of incest is controversial, sure, but certainly the most unnerving segment involves a cabal of jealous, spiteful white girls who lure a black classmate to
a party in order to sexually humiliate her. It’s this segment, more than any other, that makes one feel uncomfortable.

What separates the Schoolgirl Report series from much of the rest of its sexploitation brethren, or at least elevates it a bit, is the production value and care that goes into its construction. Gert Wilden’s score is absolutely hypnotizing, and where else would one expect to see a shot of an undressing guy as seen close-up in the eye of his yearning beholder, as in the movie’s segment with Lindberg and Mohner? While it’s mainly (and unapologetically) an excuse to ogle the bodies of its female players, the movie’s makers were also smart enough to dress it up as something else — a harsh, unyieldingly “modern” representation of the adolescent collision of hormones, power-trading, natural curiosity and naivity.

Housed in a regular Amray plastic case, Schoolgirl Report Volume 4 is presented in 1.66:1 anamorphic widescreen, and the video transfer is surprisingly solid, and clear, save some mid-film grain and a brief run of large white splotches. Apart from chapter selections and newly translated optional English subtitles, there are no supplemental bonus features, unfortunately. To purchase the film on DVD via Amazon, click here. For more information on other Synapse releases, click here. B- (Movie) C (Disc)

Director Costa-Gavras is well known for a filmography that trades in overt political themes, and his English-language debut, 1982’s superb Missing, is no different.

The film unfolds in an unspecified South American country but is adapted, by Costa-Gavras and Donald Stewart, from a book by Thomas Hauser that dramatizes the controversial disappearance of American filmmaker and journalist Charles Horman during the 1973 coup in Chile. Once Charles (John Shea), a thorn in the side of his host country’s military ruling elite ever since his arrival, disappears, his wife Beth (Sissy Spacek) and father Ed (Jack Lemmon) wade into a bureaucratic morass to try to find out what happened to their loved one.

Bold and gutsy, Missing is a political tract that doesn’t pull punches about unsavory American complicity. But it also works just fine as a family drama (“I just want my boy back,” pleads Lemmon’s character at one point). The acting is fantastic (Spacek and Lemmon have an edgy chemistry, highlighting their different tacks of preferred action), but Missing is also a film of small, telling details — whether it’s of a Marlboro man billboard looming in the background as a reminder of American influence, or the lack of a handshake for Beth when first visiting the ambassador’s office. Vangelis’ score, a thin string of dread that occasionally builds to a delicate aria, abets the proceedings wonderfully.

Criterion’s wonderful new release of Missing comes spread out over two discs, in a sturdy plastic case that features a two-spindle snap-in tray on the inner righthand side of the case, leaving room on the lefthand side for a nice color booklet that features an interview with Costa-Gavras, an open letter from Horman family friend Terry Simon, the official U.S. State Department response to Missing, and a new essay by film critic Michael Wood. The restored, high-definition video transfer, overseen by Costa-Gavras, is presented in a 1.85:1 aspect ratio, in monaural English and Spanish, with optional English subtitles.

The film itself, along with its theatrical trailer, reside on one disc, while a second disc of supplements is anchored by new video interviews with Costa-Gavras; the real-life Joyce Harmon, mother to Charles; producers Edward Lewis, Sean Daniel and Mildred Lewis; and Hauser, the author of the film’s aforementioned source material. There are also video interviews from the 1982 Cannes Film Festival with Costa-Gavras, Lemmon and the parents of Horman, plus highlights from a 2002 Charles Horman Truth Project event honoring Missing, with Spacek and a variety of other actors in attendance. Rounding things out is a video interview with Peter Kornbluh, author of The Pinochet File, examining declassified documents concerning the coup in Chile and the case of Charles Horman. To purchase the Criterion DVD via Half, click here; to purchase via Amazon, click here. B+ (Movie) A- (Disc)

Singer Johnny Cash was a true American original, straddling the lines between rock ‘n’ roll and country music, sin and salvation, darkness and light. With a rumbling, bass voice that only increased in gravitas as he got older — and, subsequently, more wracked with illness — Cash was never the biggest star in the world, or even the most noted and influential figure in his heyday. But his music loomed large because he seemed to emanate truth — he knew the suffering, despair and conflict of which he sang, and was thus an important bridge between musical genres past and future, as well as a reminder that music can be a great, underclass salve as much as a source of momentary uplift.

Both points-of-view get a compelling workout on Johnny Cash: Live at Montreux, a DVD document of his only appearance at the legendary Montreux Jazz Festival. Having just released the first volume of his acclaimed American Recordings latter day albums and hit Europe on tour, the Man in Black (it’s true — he’s in sweaty, monochromatic fashion here) swung by Montreux for a brisk concert stop featuring a number of tracks from his newest album alongside favorites from his early career, including “Ghost Riders in the Sky,” “Orange Blossom Special” and “San Quentin.”

In all, 19 songs get a workout on this disc, including hits “Ring of Fire,” “I Walk the Line,” “Bird on a Wire,” “Folsom Prison Blues” and “Redemption.” One of the surprises of the set, though, might be “Get Rhythm,” a little rockabilly number whose darkly solicitous bass line interestingly contradicts its call-to-healing chorus. Wife June Carter Cash joins her husband for two numbers later in the concert — “Jackson” and “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” the latter of which also features son John Carter Cash. The singer’s banter between songs is humble and to the point, with a paucity of anecdotal ramblings. He takes the time to introduce his band mates, most of whom have been with him for many years (including drummer W.S. Holland), and introduces “I Walk the Line” with the charming, off-the-cuff utterance, “Here’s us in ’55.”

If there’s a complaint about Johnny Cash: Live at Montreux, it’s that so many of the songs are truncated — not because of trims or edits, but owing to the apparent limitations of the granted set time. (The disc runs just over an hour in total.) Ergo, hits like “Ring of Fire” and “I Walk the Line” are put through the paces alongside sit-down fare like “Tennessee Stud,” and many numbers tail off just when they should be kicking into an extra gear.

There are, alas, no supplemental disc extras on this Amaray-packaged
disc from Eagle Rock Entertainment. There is, however, a nice,
tri-fold-printed essay by Michael Heatley that gives an overview of
Cash’s career and prominence. Picture quality for concert recordings is usually dreadful, especially for material drawn from the pre-digital era. But Johnny Cash: Live at Montreux looks great, and additionally benefits from some solid direction. The lighting scheme and camera angles — all things having nothing to do with transfer per se, I realize — highlight the bathed-in-purple set, as well as Cash and his fellow musicians. Instead of just holding on one or two static shots, this concert disc gives viewers a dynamic, well-produced show, and it makes you appreciate even more the speck-free, full-frame presentation. There are limitations, of course, but on a song like “Big River” the directors get so tight in on Cash that you can see the individual lines of sweat forming on his focused face.

The disc is presented with three audio options — PCM Stereo, DTS and Dolby digital 5.1, and this is another slight problem. While the instrumentation is well-microphoned, Cash’s flirtation with the stationary mic means some moments drop down and/or out. While again a function of the original recording, it’s obvious that the source master wasn’t used to “sweeten” the mix here any. The DTS track probably sounds the best, with a more dynamic capturing of the bass and snare work on numbers like “Let the Train Blow the Whistle” and “San Quentin.”

Bottom line: For longtime fans of Cash or even neophytes looking for a brisk, latter-day offering of the Man in Black at the top of his game, this is a superb title, easily and enjoyably digestible in one sitting. Though it doesn’t offer the definitive versions of his most famous tunes, it showcases enough about what makes Cash special and unique to merit attention, and the appearance of June Carter Cash and son make it a winning family affair. B (Concert) B (Disc)

It goes without saying that the Three Stooges are one of the most
important screen comedy teams of the 20th century, and an inspiration
to generations of screen comics that followed. Following their start as a traveling act in venues across the country, the trio’s film career began in
the early 1930s, reached its slapstick peak during their decades-long
tenure at Columbia Pictures, and lasted well into the 1950s. After their initial
retirement late in that decade, television reruns helped reintroduce
them, at home and abroad, to a new generation of kids and adults alike,
and their enthusiastic reception certainly indicates an abiding love
for anarchic silliness. The Three Stooges Collection: Volume Four collects 21 chronologically ordered short films from 1943 to 1945.

At the time of this material, the
vaudeville-born Stooges were no longer some mere novelty act seeking
attention in the still nascent world of filmed entertainment; they had
achieved huge fame, and their countrywide personal appearances, of which
there were many, were frequently mobbed. Naturally, even with such
mainstream embrace (or perhaps because of it), there were cultural warriors who viewed the Stooges’ eye-poking, head-slapping, pie-tossing antics as too violent, and crusaded to have them banished. Thankfully, their efforts didn’t succeed.

Kicking things off is the violent, very funny They Stooge to Conga, which features the
Stooges, cast as handymen, going to work fixing a lady’s doorbell, only to realize that the home
they’re working on is run by Nazi spies. Similarly war-influenced, Back From the Front casts the
Stooges as Merchant Marines who go behind enemy lines after their ship is sunk by the
Germans. In Three Little Twirps, meanwhile, the guys go to work for a circus, but
get scammed on their salaries and turn to ticket scalping, with dangerous (and hilarious) results.

The set’s second disc is anchored by classics like Micro-Phonies and Crash Goes the Hash,
the latter of which casts the Stooges as investigatory reporters
assigned to get to the bottom of the plans of a prince out to marry a
wealthy widower. Testing the bounds of political incorrectness, meanwhile, is The Yoke’s on Me, which will certainly evoke a few winces at its portrayal of Japanese soldiers. Also included are Dizzy Detectives, Spook Louder, Idle Roomers, Gents Without Cents, No Dough Boys, Higher Than a Kite, Three Pests in a Mess, I Can Hardly Wait, Booby Dupes, Dizzy Pilots, Idiots Deluxe, Phoney Express, If a Body Meets a Body and A Gem of a Jam. Of the 21 shorts collected here, only the lazy, quarter-sketched cow-milking-themed Busy Buddies is a real misfire; regular bit players like Vernon Dent and Bud Jamison provide much amusement too.

As with the other releases, this fourth volume comes presented on two
discs in slimline cases that are in turn stored in a cardboard
slipcover; the unifying color scheme this time is purple, which should delight a small group of rabid Kansas State fans. The shorts
themselves are shot in black-and-white and presented in 1.33:1 full
screen, with a Dolby digital mono audio track. Apart from a small
handful of unrelated preview trailers for other Sony releases, there is
unfortunately no supplemental material, a serial fact established by the other releases in the series. As I’ve said, this
cuts two ways; the six-hour-plus running time of the celebrated
material — certainly anyone’s chief measuring stick for value — makes
for plenty of entertainment, and
its straightforward cataloging is invaluable. Still, to register
the same complaint again, just a brief
talking-head retrospective or two would help contextually root the
material for a lot of younger viewers for whom the term “classic
comedy” perhaps only means Eddie Murphy, circa Raw. To purchase the set via Amazon, click here. A- (Movies) C+ (Disc)

Steven Seagal’s Kill Switch is perfectly terrible, which makes it perfectly entertaining. Seagal, of course, was the block-headed, quietly menacing hairdresser-turned-martial-arts star at the center of an improbable string of profitable action flicks from the late 1980s into the early 1990s. It’s been almost two decades since he had real relevance, and it’s pushing eight years since the squandered intrigue of 2001’s Exit Wounds, which could have helped carve out a comeback track as a gruff sidekick to rap stars wanting to “get their act on” in urban knuckle-dusters. Instead, Seagal wanted — and by all accounts, maintains — strict control of his screen image and material, which means impossibly heroic and one-note, straight-to-video action flicks that adhere to the same time-worn templates which first burnished his star. Kill Switch is the latest of these, but it’s a very messy affair, one that definitely ranks toward the bottom of Seagal’s filmography.

Seagal plays a Memphis streetwise homicide detective, Jacob King, dedicated to tracking down serial killers since witnessing the murder of his twin brother as an adolescent. Kill Switch finds King and his partner, Storm Anderson (Chris Thomas King), on the trail of two sadistic killers. One is a ruthless explosives expert who brutalizes and tortures victims just for the thrill of the kill. The other is a disturbed Zodiac-type killer, obsessed with the cat-and-mouse games that crime provides. Reluctantly teaming with federal agent Frankie Miller (Holly Dignard), Jacob decides — you guessed it — to take the law into his own hands, enforcing his own methods of street justice, and engaging in such delightful sidebar antics as smashing in a pimp’s face at a bar.

The script here is of course derisible, but what really sinks the movie is thunderously stupid dialogue and an intertwined lack of convincing stylistic verve or even any smirky joy. Kill Switch‘s action sequences are a wincing reminder of the star’s sartorial weight control. When not busy beating the crap out of old men and playing hand-slap games with tubby rednecks, Seagal used to actually engage in a few legitimate martial arts moves; now, he mostly likes to have guys just run into his fists and jackboot-ed feet. Kill Switch further ups the ridiculousness by indulging in repeated quick-cuts and editorial re-plays that show each bit of table-smashing action six to eight times, from several different angles. Isaac Hayes shows up in a bit role as a coroner, intoning lines from cue cards with such stilted obviousness that it sparks imaginative thoughts of a drinking game. All of this of course means that Kill Switch can on a certain level be enjoyed as a ludicrous comedy, by right-mindset action fans. Inexplicably, the movie’s ending features a tacked-on sequence that reunites Jacob with his never-before-mentioned Russian wife (Andrea Stefancikova) and two kids, mainly just so some extra nudity can be squeezed in.

Housed in a regular plastic Amray case, and presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, Kill Switch comes with a solid Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track, as well as optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles. Unfortunately, apart from a gallery of previews for other First Look home video releases, there are no supplemental bonus features to be found here. Personally, I think Seagal should embrace the kitschy, so-bad-it’s-good vibe that these days drives the most passionate element of his diminished and/or driven underground fan base; if not puffing himself up into ironic, mock-iconic relevance, a la David Hasselhoff or William Shatner, that means at least having smart folks who know and cherish his head-cracking ways advocate on his behalf, or even sit in critical judgment of downward-slope-of-the-hill releases like this. How else will the ritual of “Seagal Movie Nights” be passed to another generation? To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. D-, and therefore, in a way, A (Movie) D (Disc)

Amongst critics and within the industry, Brooklyn-born Talib Kweli is one of the most successful rappers of the past decade. Commercially, it’s never quite worked out for him. He burst on to the scene with 1998’s Black Star, alongside Mos Def and DJ Hi-Tek, but never quite recaptured the hot-burning high of that disc, at least in its fully concentrated form. In his first ever live concert DVD, though, Talib Kweli: Live at the Shrine, Kweli is joined onstage by hip hop legend KRS-One, and shows why he’s so respected.

Rocking a white Rawkus Records jacket and canted baseball cap, Kweli turns through a blistering, sharply captured, 70-plus-minute set that includes “Say Something,” “Eternalists,” “Down for the Count,” “Listen,” “Definition,” “Get ‘Em High,” “Too Late,” “Go With Us,” “One Step,” “Never Been in Love,” “Hot Thing,” “Hostile Gospel,” “The Blast,” “Move Something,” “I Try,” “Get By” and “The Perfect Beat.” The camerawork is crisp and production value tight, with high-definition color digital video intercut with just a smattering of artistically-flavored black-and-white footage. Housed in a regular Amray case and presented in 1.85:1 widescreen with Dolby digital 5.1 and 2.0 audio tracks, the DVD also includes full, uncut rehearsal footage and a collection of music videos. There are also interviews with Kweli and KRS-One, though the latter is a post-set dressing room bit interrupted by Corey Smyth and the former is interspersed liberally with inane and/or boastful patter from the likes of Jellyroll, Planet Asia, Phil the Agony, Krondon and Mitchy Slick, among others. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Concert) B (Disc)