What time is it? Why, time to work those dance grooves with Troy, Gabriella, Sharpay, Chad and the rest of the gang from East High, of course. High School Musical 2: Deluxe Dance Edition hits DVD just in advance of the theatrical bow of the series’ third flick, designed to pry a few more dollars from the wallets of tweens and their parents, in exchange for a movie ticket voucher and some celebratory, dance-along instruction. Fans of course know the story particulars of the top-rated Disney Channel original movie and its sequel, and those who’ve built up a wall of mental isolation from the flicks don’t really care, so it’s best to just note that High School Musical 2: Deluxe Dance Edition is an essential release only for hardcore series completists. More casual fans make certainly make do with the prior DVD release, while shrieking middle school devotees can dance along with the cast and learn their favorite kickin’ routines with moves actually taken from and showcased by the movie’s director-choreographer, Kenny Ortega.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a glittery, yellow-tinged cardboard slipcover with raised lettering, High School Musical 2: Deluxe Dance Edition comes spread out over two discs, and presented in 1.33:1 full frame, with complementary English, French and Spanish language Dolby digital 5.1 sound mixes. A special, three-minute sneak peek at the forthcoming theatrical release in the series kick-starts the slate of over five hours of bonus material, and is of course the driving reason behind this iteration’s existence, since a movie ticket voucher is also included herein. The bulk of the other material is imported from the movie’s previous DVD release, including four minutes of deleted scenes, a four-minute blooper reel and music videos for “You Are the Music in Me” and “Gotta Go My Own Way.” Perhaps most interestingly, various international music videos and promo clips are granted their own section, including a bizarre Japanese animated piece. Also included are a 30-minute making-of featurette, a virtual scrapbook featuring the cast
and crew, 35 minutes of choreography and rehearsal footage, and an exclusive musical number that will make “the coolest
summer vacation ever” last all year round… or at least until your tweens have to get up and manually hit replay after wearing out the DVD player’s remote control. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B- (Movie) B+ (Disc)

I’d been behind in posting a review of the 20th anniversary edition DVD of Child’s Play, but now I’m kind of glad that I was, because I received jarring, prima facie evidence of its cultural… significance? longevity? …let’s say impact, in the form of a costumed Chucky dancing around at a Los Angeles intersection but two or three days ago. Oh, advertising costumes for Halloween, right? No, this was one of those guys that apartment complexes pay to stand outside in the heat and twirl gigantic cardboard arrows advertising their special rental rates. Except that instead of wearing sunglasses and a walkman, he was wearing a full little Chucky get-up, complete with giant overalls.

Unnerving, I know. But probably not more so than the 1988 film itself, which married slasher flick conventions with a pinch of the Cajun-inflected supernatural and a heaping helping of animatronic, talking-doll creepiness, spawning an ironic-hipster horror franchise to stand in diminuitive counterpoint to Freddy Krueger‘s Nightmare on Elm Street franchise. The story, of course, centers around six-year-old Andy Barclay (Alex Vincent), whose parents have recently undergone a divorce. His mom Karen (Catherine Hicks) gets him the toy that he most wants for his birthday — a cheery “Good Guy” doll whom he christens Chucky. Problem is, this particular Chucky is possessed by a notorious serial killer (Brad Dourif), who engaged in some voodoo shenanigans to temporarily put his soul on ice, until he could round up a body to return to inhabit. Scheming to transfer out of his pint-sized body and into Andy, Chucky terrorizes his ill-fated babysitter, Karen and pretty much everyone in sight. Cop Mike Norris (Chris Sarandon), meanwhile, tries to save the day.

In perfect hindsight, yes, some of the special effects work seems a bit schlocky, no doubt. But there’s also an interesting and for the most part effective mixed use of forced perspective camerawork, human stuntwork, models and animatronic mayhem, which was a nascent technology in film at the time. There’s no doubt that digital rendering has made some of this passé, but as far as deftly channeled primal kiddie nightmare stuff goes, this remains a solidly constructed film. It’s easy to understand the $33 million domestic gross, and additional $11 million overseas revenue.

Housed in a regular Amray case in turn stored in a cardboard slipcover with a raised, slightly 3-D portrait of Chucky, and a lenticular eyeball that “dares [one] to watch,” Child’s Play is presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, and comes with a slew of bonus features that give weight to its special anniversary presentation. This is no empty, cash-cow repackaging, in other words. English language audio tracks in Dolby surround and Dolby 5.1 surround sound are included, along with Spanish and French language tracks of the former variety, and optional English and Spanish subtitles.

Kicking off the special features are two audio commentary tracks. The first is with actors Hicks and Vincent, and Chucky designer Kevin Yagher, who was fresh off the success of the Elm Street franchise. While on the surface this seems like an odd pairing, it actually works quite well, since Hicks and Vincent can speak to the specifics of the actual work experience and interaction with Chucky, in all his various forms, and Yagher can explain the means by which certain shots/sequences were achieved. The second commentary track is with producer David Kirschner and screenwriter Don Mancini, who have continued a fruitful working relationship on the subsequent sequels in this series.

By far the biggest disappointment of the set is the scene-specific “Chucky commentary,” which is presented in discrete, stand-alone fashion for four or five scenes. It’s full of long silences, and not that funny to boot. Much better, thankfully, are three solid new featurettes, each running seven-plus minutes. Here, Kirschner and Mancini talk about the genesis of the project, and how Mancini’s original script — first called Blood Buddy and then, amusingly, Batteries Not Included — had a supernatural inspiration, and a doll with synthetic skin that would cut and bruise when played with roughly. (This all sounds a bit more interesting and high-minded than the “Lakeshore Strangler” serial killer element hatched by Kirschner and introduced by screenwriter John Lafia in his rewrite.)

There’s also a scrollable photo gallery, a six-minute vintage production featurette and five minutes of footage from 2007’s Monster Mania convention, where Hicks, Sarandon and Vincent field audience questions and talk about the chilly Chicago shoot. Finally, there’s a 10-minute featurette, with footage both old and new, that delves specifically into the construction of Chucky, and how an L-shaped bracket for his jaw helped open up a whole new range of facial expressions. Yagher is insightful and interesting, and special effects wizard Tom Savini helps frame the advances and from-the-hip work of the time, which is supplemented with all kinds of pre-production material, including Dourif rehearsal footage and plenty of robotic tests. About the only thing missing here is an interview with the dwarf who played Chucky in a couple chase sequences, on apartment sets specially built to a larger scale. Otherwise, this is a knife-sharp piece of horror nostalgia. B- (Movie) A- (Disc)

A kids’ favorite on PBS for over seven years, Caillou helps children discover the wonder of being a little kid in a big world. Caillou’s Winter Wonders collects a quartet of snow-filled, thematically similar episodes, so with winter just around the bend in many parts of the country, the disc could make a nice stocking stuffer or autumnal birthday gift for smaller children.

Heavy on primary colors and soft, thin lines, and eschewing any of the harsh angularity of more complex, adult animation, just looking at Caillou makes me want to slip on a pair of galoshes and mittens… and I now live in Southern California, for God’s sake. The show is all about the capacity for exploration and wonderment in everyday life, so most episodes are constructed around ostensibly pedestrian events.

This title is no exception. In four new-to-DVD episodes that include 14 exciting, winter-themed adventures, the delightfully adventurous young Caillou does almost everything seasonal except race Todd Palin on a snowmobile. In “Caillou the Snowman,” he explores all the fun activities of winter, including building a snowman, playing ice hockey and making snowflakes out of paper. In “Caillou’s Christmas,” Caillou learns about holiday traditions, from caroling with his friends and family to different cultural festivities in playschool. “It’s Cold Outside” finds Caillou having more fun playing in the snow, including sledding and making snow angels, while the aptly titled “Winter!” finds Caillou discovering the joys of yet more winter sports, like ice skating and skiing. All in all, Caillou’s wonder-filled exploration of everyday life will inspire children to join in the role-playing fun as the world becomes limited only by their imaginations.

Housed in a regular plastic Amray case, Caillou’s Winter Wonders is presented in 1.33:1 full screen, and also includes interactive games, character bios, parents’ information and even coloring pages, to help extend the hours of fun and entertainment. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Series) B- (Disc)

From the heart of Hollywood to the breezy island vibe of its namesake island, Jamaican Gold seduces through music. Well known throughout the state, Jamaican Gold is the longest-running reggae club in California, and possibly the world. It continually plays host to performances from the hottest names in reggae and dancehall, and now there’s a concert DVD to celebrate and cement its status.

This solid, region-free concert disc, recorded from July 2006 through the summer of last year, features all sorts of sub-genre superstars, from known commercial commodities like Beenie Man, Elephant Man and Damian Marley to even lesser known artists like Cham, Lady Saw, Luciano, Spragga Benz, Jr Reid, Richie Spice, Cecile and Mad Cobra. In addition to live performances, these artists discuss their music, culture, rastafari inspirations and love, all while of course paying homage to musical trailblazer Bob Marley, who paved the way and remains a staple of many hazy college dorm rooms courtesy of greatest hits compendium Legend. There’s some sideshow entertainment value, too — a legend is crowned “King of the Dancehall” by his peers, while a beautiful, sexy dancer is hailed as the “Dancehall Queen.” Certainly this is a treat to hardcore reggae fans, and all in all it’s not a bad introduction for newbies either. Packaged in a regular Amray plastic case that comes with an attractively sketched group watercolor-portrait cover, Jamaican Gold is presented in 1.33:1 full screen, and runs just a nip under two hours. There are unfortunately no supplemental bonus features, like extra interviews or the like. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Concert) C- (Disc)

Lewis Black is an acquired taste as a comedian, to be certain; choppy and spastic, his delivery is a deal-breaker to some. But the man is also a fount of sometimes eloquently perverse rage, so it makes for a good fit, casting him as the emcee/arbiter of taste and decency in a mock-procedural show of his own creation.

That’s basically the premise of Comedy Central’s Root of All Evil — a send-up of both our tabloid-happy culture and seemingly never-ending national love affair with celebrity judges. Each half-hour episode finds Black sitting in judgment in a sort of death-match, oratorical vote-off between two things that either get his nose in a twit or are somehow generally regarded as societal ills (e.g., “Weed vs. Beer“). A rotating panel of fellow comedians like Andrew Daly, Paul Thompkins, Kathleen Madigan, Greg Giraldo, Patton Oswalt and Andy Kindler serve as advocates on behalf of one of the topics, and argue the case before “Judge” Black and a studio audience sitting in the round.

When the show is “on,” it’s very funny; Giraldo opines that Tila Tequila has “a braided vagina,” and goes on to assert that “she achieved the impossible — she dumbed down MTV.” (VH-1, really, but I’ll let it  slide.) “I watched her show for five minutes and now it burns when I pee,” Giraldo rants, eventually winning his argument. Other times, though, the banter and ad hominem attacks between comedians just seem like leftover material from an all-star roast, as when Giraldo notes that Oswalt “can flail his little fetus arms about,” and Oswalt responds in kind by calling Giraldo “a bird-faced 10-year-old boy with clamidia and a spray tan.” Diversionary bits like this runs counter to the cultural-critique premise of the show, which is its strongest mooring; otherwise we’re just watching a joke-off, the Frankensteinian mash-up of a couple different stand-up acts into one 30-minute show.

The first season release of Root of All Evil comes housed in a regular Amray plastic case, presented in 1.33:1 full screen. Supplemental extras consist of three minutes of interviews with the show’s comedian lawyers, and a piddly 90-second interview with Black, who incredulously recounts how an audience member asked him if “the show was real,” as if somehow an air-quote judgment against Oprah Winfrey or Paris Hilton could be enforced. There are also some post-show interviews (send-ups of those outros on The People’s Court, when courtroom winners and losers reflect on the verdict), and a three-minute, black-and-white spoof about legal proceedings and the show. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C+ (Show) C+ (Disc)

Missi Pyle is an instantly recognizable and yet still oddly anonymous actress. Tall, broad-faced and characterized by an imperious visage, she’s marked her comedic presence in a wide variety of films — everything from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Stormbreaker to Dodgeball and the execrable American Crude. Interestingly, though much younger and less experienced, Emily Osment is almost as immediately recognizable. Yes, you see, she’s the sister of The Sixth Sense‘s Haley Joel, and she looks exactly like him. Soccer Mom is the movie that brings these two together, telling the story of a single working mother who poses as a famous athlete in an effort to try to boost her daughter’s spirit and save her soccer team.

Smart and hard-working, Becca Handler (Osment) is a good kid, but lacks a father figure. When her losing soccer team finds itself in need of a new coach, Becca’s mom Wendy (Pyle) decides to masquerade as the famous Italian soccer star Lorenzo Vincenzo (Dan Cortese) and take the job. Leaning on her hairdresser and make-up artist best friend for assistance, she comes up with a disguise, and throws herself into a mad charade to energize the girls. But can Wendy lead Becca’s team to the regional finals before her increasingly crazy double life comes totally unglued? Naturally, an appearance from the real Lorenzo figures into the finale of this airy, heartwarming all-ages flick, which skates by as an inoffensively charming slice of entertainment largely due to the fact that everyone involved is on the same unfussy page.

Soccer Mom is “just” a family film, yes, so its plot pivots aren’t all that groundbreaking. And neither does the movie’s obviously cramped production schedule allow for a lot of artistry in the telling. That said, while screenwriter Frederick Ayeroff’s script trades in all the obvious angles, it also works in a few winking tweaks of the conventions it’s honoring (“If we lose today you’ll still be my daughter, it’ll just be a little harder to love you,” says the sneering, overbearing mother of Becca’s competition). Some of the dialogue, too, is also charmingly specific in its zings, free of dull studio executive workshopping. (“He looks like Al Pacino. Or that Burger King guy,” says one of Becca’s friends when confronted with the curious, minute discrepancies in appearance between Lorenzo the pin-up star and Lorenzo in person.)

The film’s special effects make-up is handled by the Academy Award-winning team at Drac Studios, whose credits include Mrs. Doubtfire, White Chicks and Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and if their efforts sometimes look a pinch garish, they for the most part effectively bridge the gap between Cortese and Pyle, aided by the latter’s somewhat masculine-leaning features. Also, for what it’s worth, popping up for weird cameos in the movie are Victoria Jackson, as Wendy’s sounding-board shrink, and terrible rapper-turned-self-peddling-mogul Master P, as well as Emily Osment’s dad, Eugene Osment.

Housed in a regular Amray case, Soccer Mom comes with a couple bonus featurettes. First off is an eight-minute-plus making-of featurette, which includes interviews with cast and crew. There’s also a six-and-a-half-minute featurette that delves into the make-up work required in the movie. Chief make-up artist Todd Tucker talks about his vision for the film, and we’re also treated to footage of Cortese and Pyle sporting gold body suits used to map a corresponding, mixed-mean physical vantage point that they could then each match in character, as Lorenzo. Time-lapse photography shows Pyle’s complete above-shoulders transformation, and there’s also footage of her working on physical mannerisms, and perfecting her Italian-tinged Borat impression. To purchase the movie via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) B- (Disc)

In honor of Clive Owen’s 44th birthday, I’ll drop a DVD review of Derailed, originally published on IGN in March, 2006, upon its release. To wit:

The first release under the Weinstein brothers’ eponymous new distribution and production company, Derailed is definitely a throwback to ’80s cinema, when the threshold for on-screen twists was much lower. So much so, in fact that the “reveal” here — more a function of a sly marketing campaign, which played up the tempted infidelity angle — will actually serve as little more than a narrative hiccup for those that have heard of and are thus anticipating some brilliant and labyrinthine surprise herein.

There’s a reason this film was a bit of a domestic theatrical disappointment, grossing only $36 million Stateside, and it’s not because it’s too smart and slick for average filmgoers. Clive Owen stars as Charles Schine, a Chicago advertising executive sort of floating through life. He and his wife Deanna (The Amityville Horror‘s Melissa George) have drifted apart from one another, focusing all their attention on their pre-teen daughter, who’s on dialysis and needs either a transplant or some new, experimental drugs that both cost a lot and have yet to be approved by the FDA.

One day Charles meets Lucinda Harris (Jennifer Aniston) on a commuter train, and Lucinda pays for his fare after Charles forgets to purchase a ticket. They strike up a conversation, and when he pays her back the next day, more generally innocent but somewhat flirtatious conversation leads to an evening drink, and the two eventually make their way to a hotel for a more intimate encounter. Plans go awry, however, and their one-night stand becomes a night from hell when a stranger explodes into their room and robs them. To say more is to give away nothing exceptional save part of the narrative bent that the movie’s marketing campaign aimed to purposefully muddy… so I will say more.

The thug in question is a Frenchman named Laroche (a gleefully malevolent Vincent Cassel, lacking only the moustache to twirl), and he pistol-whips Charles and rapes Lucinda for good measure. Several weeks later, blackmail follows, with Laroche and his right-hand man Dex (rapper Xzibit) threatening to expose the pair’s infidelity unless Charles ponies up thousands of dollars. Instead of merely getting matching “Worst One-Night Stand Ever!” friendship rings or novelty T-shirts, Charles relents, pays Laroche and takes, in bitch-like fashion, an additional punch to the stomach. Laroche then has his hooks in Charles, and some weeks later makes another cash call. At this point Charles leans on his friendship with mailroom employee Winston (the Wu-Tang Clan’s RZA), who agrees to scare Laroche off. Things go horribly awry, of course, and Charles is eventually forced — despite the time-honored advice of The People’s Court‘s Doug Llewellyn — to take matters into his own hands.

Adapted by Stuart Beattie from a novel by James Siegel, and directed by Mikael Hafstrom, Derailed is obviously supposed to be on some level a less willfully incendiary, thriller genre updating of the galvanized male insecurity on ripe display in Straw Dogs, yet the casting of the virile, square-jawed Owen — and his quiet but hardly cowardly performance — undercuts this notion. The compression of key dramatic turns hardly helps, either. One absolutely awful third act scene finds a character being shot, Charles having his money taken, an inquisitive hooker rolling up on the scene and the police arriving in tow all in a manner of a single minute or so. I get it. It’s supposed to be tense. It’s ludicrous, though.

There is a cathartic thrill to the tables eventually being turned, but little about Charles’ plan makes concrete sense, and the movie doesn’t particularly dote on repairing its shattered domesticity, either. This leaves one time to ponder Derailed‘s ridiculous tangential elements, like the RZA, as Winston, playing an ice hockey fan and frequenting Irish bars, or Xzibit, as Dex, writing coffee commercial jingles. (Don’t ask.)

Hafstrom points and shoots in functional if not necessarily memorable fashion (though the movie’s central seduction scene is quite well done) and Owen is perfectly passable as a leading man. The utilization of various supporting characters doesn’t make sense, though, and Aniston cycles through three hairstyles, making one wonder about re-shoots. Everything else, alas, is utterly forgettable. In that sense, Derailed proves an apt title.

Presented on a single disc in a regular Amray case, Derailed offers up a sparse collection of supplemental features. Presented in a 2.55:1 widescreen format, preserving the aspect ratio of its original theatrical exhibition, the movie certainly looks nice on the small screen. The film’s blue-grey color palette is captured with precision and clarity, and detail is excellent close up. Blacks are deep consistent, though shadow detail could be a bit better. There are no problems with grain or compression artifacts.

Derailed features both English and French Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio tracks (so Cassel can switch back and forth, one presumes), and they are equally solid. While Charles’ daughter’s beeping dialysis machine gets nicely foregrounded in one scene — making a dramatic point, if a little heavy-handedly — much of the rest of the movie’s mix is straightforward, with rear channels rarely engaged. English and Spanish subtitles are also available.

As for bonus material, alongside the theatrical trailer three deleted scenes total a whopping 10 minutes, mostly adding further depth and shading to the illness of Charles’ daughter via an interminable hospital scene where he’s required to tell her a story to distract the family from the gravity of the situation. There’s also a brief, one-minute bit, also set at the hospital, where Deanna confesses an affair to Charles, and he unblinkingly says that he doesn’t care. Whether part of the book or not, this smidgen of desperate parallelism is obviously designed to let Charles off the hook for his behavior, and was rightly cut. The only other bonus feature is a cursory eight-minute making-of featurette that includes interviews with the cast, writer Beattie, producer Lorenzo di Bonaventura and director Hafstrom, who puzzlingly refers to the movie as a “Kafka nightmare.” This is all a pure back-slapping, EPK-type love-fest, but the unintentionally comedic high point comes when whitest-of-white Jennifer Aniston talks about and praises Xzibit. I don’t know quite why, but this 20 seconds had me in stitches, and almost cries out for a rental itself.

Overall, Derailed is serviceable but hardly memorable mash-up of Unfaithful, Tempted, Unlawful Entry (believe it or not) and a dozen other adulterous con flicks. While it has a few stylish set pieces early on, its reaches for Hitchcockian suspense or zeitgeist profundity come up empty-handed. C (Movie) D (Disc)

In the realm of straight-to-video, almost more than anywhere else in the movie business, ironically, topicality and zeitgeist matter. The margins are thinner, so being able to reliably turn out a particular genre “base” is quite important; there’s not the muscle of a $35 million-plus P&A budget to bail you out. Ergo, in these troubled times in which the term “bad guy” remains somewhat vague and shadowy, enter Tortured, a moral-quandry suspense drama about the psychological fraying of an undercover cop as he works a domestic underworld case.

Going by the name Jimmy Vaughn, a young, ambitious war veteran and FBI agent (Cole Hauser) undertakes a mission infiltrating a long-established underworld gang run by a mysterious, Keyser Soze-like figure named Ziggy, who has evaded the federal government for decades. Despite the warnings of caution from his bureau chief father Jack (James Cromwelll), Vaughn feels he has the strength and skills to take Ziggy down. What he doesn’t expect is the brutal initiation rites into Ziggy’s grim, violent, paranoid world. After enduring beatings and interrogations to prove trustworthy and gain admittance, Vaughn receives his task — to extract information via torture from Ziggy’s kidnapped accountant Archie Green (Laurence Fishburne), whom Ziggy alleges stole money from him.

From here, Vaughn’s double life starts to truly unravel. Already beset by doubts, his longtime girlfriend Becky (Emmanuelle Chriqui, displaying a fleeting bit of side-boob) leaves him, and the FBI psychiatrist (Kevin Pollack) he’s seeing recommends aborting the mission. Still, Vaughn plugs ahead. Horrific twists and unknown old alliances finally emerge as he dives deeper into the criminal underbelly, leading to a grim finale with lasting consequences for all involved.

Tortured is written and directed by Nolan Lebovitz (Dr. Benny, a 2003 “gynecological comedy” that as best I can determine went undistributed domestically), and it on the surface would seem a fairly disposable and anonymous slice of action drama. The cramped production schedule is evidenced in the tight framing and cramped visual scheme for the film, a lot of the who-knows-what inter-agency scenes early on come across as a bit pat, and the examples by which the movie raises points about the nature of how torture warps those who commit it are fairly boilerplate (post-coital arguments with a teary Becky, nightmarish visions of Archie talking about his family). But the film is also fairly well cast (Jon Cryer and James Denton also have small roles), and peppered with some smart dialogue. It’s ironic that the moral inquiry portion of the movie (and the reason for its double-meaning title) doesn’t play nearly as well as the more traditional, Donnie Brasco-type drama, which is nicely layered. A coiled ball of swallowed feeling, Hauser is so-so in the lead role. Lebovitz, though, effectively surrounds him, and also works in a couple nice twists to keep things lively and engaging.

Housed in a regular Amray case housed in a cardboard slipcover, Tortured comes presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, with audio tracks in English, Thai, French and Spanish, and a vast array of subtitles in those languages plus Korean and Chinese. The disc’s sole bonus feature is a 19-minute making-of featurette which includes interviews with almost all the chief players, behind-the-scenes and on-screen. Lebovitz makes an articulate case for what interested and inspired him to make the movie in the first place, and Fishburne talks about having done another movie in which he doled out torture (that would be 21, actually), and wanting to experience the other side of the moral equation. To purchase the movie on DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) B- (Disc)

Settling down with an old movie, one wouldn’t necessarily expect the over/under on Robert Loggia being called “a spic bum” to be set at two occurrences, but that’s totally true of 1957’s The Garment Jungle, a quite serviceable, black-and-white pro-union urban thriller from director Vincent Sherman.

Set on the mean streets of New York City’s garment district (“a teeming world of conflict, brutal competition and terror,” as the opening voiceover hard-sells us), the film centers around returning war veteran Alan Mitchell (Kerwin Matthews, a sort of cross between Fred MacMurray and Paul Rudd), an only son who discovers that the fabric and dress business owned by his father Walter (Lee J. Cobb) is being controlled by the mob. The movie opens with Walter, vehemently anti-union, having a heated argument with his pro-union designer and business partner, who then plunges 27 floors to his death in an elevator “accident.”

Walter isn’t explicitly aware of his partner’s erasure — he in fact is legitimately heartbroken — but he is in a way complicit in his death, having for years used Mafioso muscle, no questions asked, to crack heads and maintain the status quo. Times are changing, though, and Walter’s beginning to feel the squeeze of that change. Enter Alan, who wants to finally learn the ropes of his father’s built-from-scratch business. While he at first finds some of the charges hard to believe, Alan is at least willing to listen to labor leaders out to unionize the whole district, including headstrong organizer Tulio Renato (Loggia), whose fiery wife Theresa (Gia Scala) constantly worries for his safety. When bodies start turning up, Alan is even more apt to believe the worst about the puppet-masters controlling his father’s company. So he sets out to cleave them from the business, eventually enlisting the assistance of dress buyer Lee Hackett (Valerie French), an air-quote friend of the widowed Walter.

Written by Harry Kleiner, based on articles by Lester Velie, The Garment Jungle is fairly on-the-nose with respect to both dialogue and structure. There aren’t many surprises within the narrative, and those that do pop up are easily foreshadowed. In essence, this is a meat-and-potatoes urban issue drama, but director Sherman helps give it some pop, as do committed, intense performances by Loggia and Cobb. Matthews, for his part, is the perfect Everyman foil — a squeaky-clean guy discovering the world is a fucked-up place. The loss of innocence and subsequent discovery of steel-backed resolve may both be telegraphed, but it’s done in an engaging enough manner so as not to be a turn-off.

Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, The Garment Jungle comes presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, with complementary English and French Dolby digital audio tracks, and optional subtitles in each language. Apart from the theatrical trailer and static scene selections, the only supplemental bonus feature is a “Martini Minute” segment (running 90 seconds, actually) entitled “How to Play the Leading Man.” This basically is a mash-up of clips from other leading male turns in other films in the “Martini Movies” series (Sony’s packaging strategy for a handful of catalogue titles), and has very little to do directly with The Garment Jungle. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B- (Movie) C- (Disc)

Written, directed and produced by David Dugan and narrated by Harrison Ford, Lord of the Ants profiles E.O. Wilson, an emeritus professor at Harvard still going through his “little savage” phase of boyhood exploration of the natural world. This soft-spoken Southerner is an acclaimed advocate for ants, biological diversity and the controversial extension of Darwinian ideas to human society.

A gray-haired, crinkle-smiled 78-year-old who looks a pinch like a less irascible Ralph Nader, Wilson is renowned for two seemingly unrelated roles. First, as the “ant man,” his infectious enthusiasm for his scientific specialty has encouraged many house dwellers to reach for a magnifying glass instead of ant traps when faced with these tiny invaders. (One gets the feeling that David Lynch is especially a fan, for those who recall his experiment with a small head fashioned out of cheese and turkey.) Secondly, as a lightning rod in academic circles for his 1975 book Sociobiology: The New Synthesis, Wilson put forth the notion that evolutionary principles could explain large swatches of social behavior throughout the animal kingdom — including in humans, an idea that many detractors found uncomfortably similar to those that fueled the eugenics movement.

Yet these two elements of Wilson’s work, ants and sociobiology, are intimately connected, as this engrossing, hour-long NOVA title ably showcases, since it was Wilson’s understanding of the social nature of ant society that gave rise to his ideas of sociobiology. An engaging portrait of a ceaselessly active scientist and eloquent writer who’s accumulated two Pulitzer Prizes among his many other honors, Lord of the Ants but skims the surface of its subject, it’s fairly true, but it does leave one with some interesting questions to ponder on their own time.

Housed in a regular plastic Amray case, Lord of the Ants is presented in 16×9 anamorphic widescreen. Apart from closed captions and video descriptions for the visually impaired, the only special feature is a small bundle of downloadable materials for educators. To order this title or any DVD or VHS release from distributor WGBH Boston Video, including A Walk to Beautiful, The Secret Law of Attraction or Cracking the Maya Code, phone (800) 949-8670 or click here. B (Movie) C- (Disc)

Most of what one needs to know about Made of Honor can be gleaned by looking at its DVD cover art, which was the same as the film’s theatrical release poster. Patrick Dempsey gazes straight at the viewer, with a wry, welcoming smile. Michelle Monaghan looks longingly at him, lips pursed. And both are air-brushed to a creamy monotone. It’s the perfect metaphor for a movie that has obviously had plenty of the spiky edges of its original conception smoothed down, polished to an agreeable, mass-market tone. It’s not that there’s anything necessarily wrong with that, it just is what it is — a sign of how Hollywood unfailingly attempts to create, both in actuality and impression, blandly similar product.

Directed by Paul Weiland (a fact that lost me about four or five
minutes, wondering how different the film would have been if directed
by ex-Stone Temple Pilot frontman Scott Weiland), Made of Honor opens with a screwy college meeting of Tom (Dempsey) and Hannah (Monaghan); the former is dressed in a Bill Clinton mask and looking for sexual escapades, the latter gets mistaken for her roommate. A perfume macing ensues, but flash forward 10 years and the pair are best friends. They even have a little every-Sunday routine of dim sum, trolling for antiques at the local market and stopping off for a spot of shared dessert, where they play cutesy games over what will be ordered. Tom still has commitment issues, in no small part because of his father (Sydney Pollack), who’s seen entering into his sixth marriage with a gal (Kelly Carlson) with whom he has his lawyer negotiate bi-monthly blowjobs as part of a clause in their pre-nuptial arrangement.

When a six-week business trip to Scotland nets Hannah a suitor and proposal from the dashing Colin (Kevin McKidd), she asks Tom to be her maid of honor and, advised by a friend (Kadeem Hardison, who if he’s in a movie really should be sporting flip-up glasses) that it’ll be easier to bring down the whole relationship from the inside rather than the outside, Tom accepts. Frou-frou shenanigans follow, with Tom getting heaps of crap from a bridesmaid (Busy Phillips) that hates him, and finding out that Colin is a more formidable romantic rival than he first figured.

A lot of the scenarios, story choices and accompanying production flourishes in Made of Honor
feel lazily nipped from other films — right down to the inclusion of Tomoyasu
Hotei’s “Battle Without Honor or Humanity,” used widely elsewhere, including in the
trailers for Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill, in a slow-motion scene that introduces the
bridesmaids. The banter is slightly above average, but what helps give the movie a small amount of lift is mostly Dempsey, who
brings a nice, light touch to a character who could otherwise easily come across
as too much of a have-his-cake-and-eat-it-too lothario. Ergo, as the saying goes, those who like this sort of thing will find much in this thing to like.

Made of Honor comes housed in a regular plastic Amray case in turn stored in a cardboard slipcover. Its dual-layer disc offers up viewers a choice of 2.40:1 anamorphic widescreen or 1.33:1 full screen presentations. An audio commentary track from Weiland serves as the only bonus feature on the disc. On it, he talks up the production’s shifts to various locales (both England and Los Angeles at times substitute for New York), and points out his son in the background of multiple shots. Weiland also mock-apologizes to a test-audience screening member for a scene in which Tom leaves a pair of sunglasses in an open convertible in New York, one of but several scenes in which there’s a sloppy disregard for prop detail. One of my pet peeves also receives more filmic ammunition when Tom carries a pair of very obviously empty coffee cops to his car. Still, who cares, right? After all, these are beautiful people! For a clip from the movie, click here; to purchase the DVD, meanwhile, click here. C+ (Movie) D (Disc)

Constantine’s Sword, Oscar-nominated filmmaker Oren Jacoby’s fascinating and exceedingly relevant to these times documentary, explores some of the massive amount of violence and ill done in God’s name throughout history
— a skipped-stone journey of remembrance and reckoning. Starting with
the story of conservative Christian ideology being peddled at the Air
Force Academy in Colorado Springs (where fliers for Mel Gibson’s The Passion
were handed out, and Ted Haggard’s New Life ministries touted) and
winding back in time, the movie follows author and former Roman
Catholic priest James Carroll as he interweaves his own family history
with a grander inquisition into faith, and in particular the nasty, tangled intersection between Christianity and Judaism.

Neither naked provocation nor burrowing analysis is a part of Jacoby’s
agenda here. In fact, as soon as the film alights on some engrossing
historical nugget — Roman general Constantine’s 310 A.D. conversion,
which ushered in the iconography of the cross — it’s just as quickly
off to something else. This occasionally makes for some minor
frustration, since one wants a deeper probe and massage of certain
topics. Carroll, though, is a fantastic and articulate guide, and this exceedingly contemplative and engrossing work
is both topically important — warning of what happens when military
might and religious fervor are mixed — and intellectually stimulating
as all get out. Film needn’t always be pat in scope and definitive in conclusion, as this enthralling film-as-theological-conversation ably demonstrates.

Housed in a regular Amray case, Constantine’s Sword comes to DVD in anamorphic widescreen. A very personal 90-second introduction by Gabriel Byrne toplines the list of supplemental extras, with the Irish actor (unaffiliated with the project) talking about how much it moved him. Also included are a single extended scene, running nine-plus minutes, and an outtake/deleted scene, running seven-plus minutes. Textual, scrollable director’s notes and biographies of Jacoby and Carroll round out the bonus features, along with a small gallery of trailers for Michael Apted’s 49 Up and other First Run Features releases. To purchase the movie on DVD, click here. A (Movie) B+ (Disc)

I didn’t much care for last December’s mixed-format big screen adaption of Alvin and the Chipmunks, for reasons that you can read about here. Naturally, to the detriment of my insurance premium for slack-jawedness, the movie then went on to gross $217 million domestically and another baffling $142 million overseas, where the critters were never very big in the first place. Now comes the inevitable sequel (slated for 2010) and slew of rib-poking, nostalgia-peddling DVD releases from the Chipmunks’ fairly deep canon.

Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Alvinnn!!! Edition collects 14 episodes of the animated series, which ran from 1983 to ’87 on the small screen in the States. The stories, of course, center around wishy-washy single guy Dave Seville, a would-be musician and jingle peddler, and the three talking, surf-happy — and, more importantly, singing — chipmunks that come into his life. Boisterous Alvin is the rascally ringleader of the group, always getting them into trouble; Simon is the bespectacled, rational one; and Theodore is the tubby bastard.

The titles of the episodes, in a couple instances, are more clever than the finished product. The basic template seems to be to crib from some of the routines of the Three Stooges — in which the tiny trio are thrust into an outlandish scenario or graced with an unlikely gift — and then connect a few basic plot points to ensure reliably chaotic, slapstick results. “The Curse of the Lontiki” kicks off the set; Alvin attempts to win a surfing contest, but is instead waylaid by an ancient curse. “Mr. Fabulous” finds Theodore thrust into a wrestling match. “Unidentified Flying Chipmunk” finds Alvin, having recently watched E.T., dressing Theodore (undeniably the “Curly” of the group) up as an alien. “Snow Job” finds Alvin trying to enter and win a celebrity ski contest, in order to impress a girl. “Maids in Japan,” meanwhile, finds the Chipmunks’ dabbling in local culture during a rocky tour of Japan. Other episodes include “A Horse of Course” and “New, Improved Simon.”

The second disc opens with “Every Chipmunk Tells a Story,” the series’ very own Rashomon tale, in which the story of Dave’s broken piano is recounted from three very different perspectives. “Romancing Miss Stone,” one of several episodes to rather wanly reference films or other TV programs, finds Alvin nursing an adolescent crush on a school teacher. “Chip Off the Old Tooth,” meanwhile, details one of those staple fears of adolescence — going to the dentist. Other episodes include “3 Alarm Fire,” “Alvin’s Oldest Fan,” “Whatever Happened to Dave Seville?” and “Cadet’s Regrets.” The vocal performances here are a bit grating, and the quality of the jokes and writing in general is fairly yawn-inducing. A few musical numbers provide brief respite, but that’s not enough to recommend this title.

Housed in a regular plastic Amray case, Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Alvinnn!!! Edition is presented in 1.33:1 full screen, and comes with an English language Dolby digital mono soundtrack. There are no supplemental bonus features, which in a way is just as well, given the title’s failure as a slice of nostalgic pie. For young kids still thrilled by the new-to-them notion of its premise, this collection of cartoons may work as a diversionary time-killer, if not outright amusement. Beware, though, anyone old enough to open the case and pop the disc into a DVD player by themselves. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. D+ (Series) C+ (Disc)

I first saw Brian Regan during some promo reels they used to run before the movie trailers at Los Angeles cinemas in the late 1990s. There was some sort of loose tie-in or affiliation with AMC Theaters, if I’m not mistaken, and the self-effacing bit with Regan showed him purchasing a ticket and concessions, then, when told to enjoy the show, saying, “Yeah, you too.” He then caught his gaffe, and proceeded to berate himself, up and down the dial, as “the guy who doesn’t know when to use the phrase ‘You too.'” It’s a credit to Regan’s offbeat energy and goofy charisma that, despite seeing this bit probably a couple dozen times, I never really tired of it, or winced when it started up.

Filmed during his most recent tour, Brian Regan: The Epitome of Hyperbole showcases the comedian — who could be played by Will Ferrell were there ever a need for a biopic — fully in his comfort zone, in front of a crowd. He starts out talking about taking up speed reading, and the resultant plunge in his reading comprehension. In fact, a good bit of Regan’s show is about education, or the dumbing down of America. (“If reading is supposed to make you smarter,” he opines during one joke, “why do they put the book’s title on the bottom of all the pages?”) In another long run, he assays long sentences (especially in reporting, and newspapers), and how he likes to deconstruct them. In scattershot fashion, Regan also touches on Russell Crowe, criminalizing loitering and the decertification of Pluto as a planet, as well as failed and/or bad ideas for theme park movie rides.

Prowling about like a cat, Regan has a stage presence at once goofy and stalking. He tends to extend titters into bigger laughs with lots of physical pantomiming, but because it’s consistent throughout his set it comes across a lot less as milking time and material and more something that’s built in, and interwoven into the fiber of his act. Regan’s humor is neither particularly dirty nor topical, so it’s definitely something that has some replay value, and can be enjoyed by a fairly broad age range. His observational stuff is pretty solid, but a decent portion of the connection here comes from his affable demeanor and indefatigable insistence at inserting himself into various situations, often as the butt of the joke.

Housed in a regular Amray plastic case with snap-shut hinges and a deep-set tray, Brian Regan: The Epitome of Hyperbole comes presented in 1.85:1 widescreen, with a choice of 5.1 and 2.0 Dolby digital soundtrack options that each more than adequately capture the relatively meager aural demands of this title. The feature presentation runs about 42 minutes, and there are also two bonus featurettes — a four-minute selection of encore material where Regan fields joke requests from fans in the audience, and a 14-minute backstage segment which is partially about Regan’s act but mostly about the logistics of putting the show together. B (Show) B- (Disc)

A distinctive, flamboyantly extroverted personality, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes traveled a long and challenging road from adolescence to stardom. She was probably the driving creative
force behind TLC, who gained international fame with hit songs like
“Waterfalls,” “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg” and “What About Your Friends?” In the 1990s, the group would become one of the top-selling female R&B groups of
all time, but the whirlwind of fame was suffocating, and at the height
of her shared popularity, Lopes sought to escape the chaos and
regain control over her life. Talented and vibrant, but secretly troubled in ways that tabloid coverage of her more outlandish moments (in 1994 she set fire to the suburban Atlanta home of her on-again, off-again boyfriend, NFL wide receiver Andre Rison) only hinted at, Lopes was a star who
shined brightly before being extinguished in sudden, tragic fashion.

Originally produced for the VH1 Rock Docs franchise, Tupac: Resurrection director Lauren Lazin’s Last Days of Left Eye features archival footage of Lopes, her family and TLC, but is first and foremost a kind of zonked travelogue, built as it is around footage, much of it never-before-seen, from a self-shot documentary that Lopes was planning and filming in April 2002, the month before her death.

Having several years prior met the mysteriously monikered Dr. Sebi, a peddler of an all-liquid herbal cleansing diet, Lopes became infatuated with both his regimen and his homeland of Honduras, building a recreational center there for local children and engaging in other goodwill projects. Wanting to undergo some sort of fuzzily-defined spiritual enlightenment, Lopes decided to take an extended trip with a group of her cousins and other friends, decamping in rural Honduras for four weeks of pilates, talking, sipping of rancid “natural” concoctions, and introspection. Using a video camera and the encouragement of those closest to her, Lopes talked about her ups and downs, never knowing that these home movies would comprise her final audio-visual journals. Near the end of her stay, just before her 30th birthday, Lopes would be killed in a terrible auto accident; the seconds leading up to the event are captured with her own video camera.

Last Days of Left Eye bills itself as providing insight into the life of a musical superstar “who seemed to have regained a new spirit for life just as an untimely death took it away.” In reality, though, it’s a desperately mixed bag. There’s the obligatory hint of rock-doc, detailing TLC’s 2.3 million-selling 1992 debut, subsequent financial struggles (in hilarious and yet clear-eyed fashion Lopes breaks off some great math on the specifics of record label deals), and personality clashes resulting from Lopes’ increasingly erratic behavior. The much more interesting portions, though, actually recall Shooting Sizemore, the brief-lived VH1 series in which actor Tom Sizemore’s stab at recovery was intercut with darkly fascinating paranoid ruminations that he had self-recorded at various points over the previous years.

When Lopes, perhaps undiagnosed as bi-polar, is talking about “Nikki,” her drunken persona, or showcasing the inch-tall scar on her arm that reads “Hate,” carved there after Rison failed to visit her as much as she would have liked in rehab, one gets a sense of the very deep reservoir of pain in this girl. Likewise, in eerie fashion, the week leading up to Lopes’ death finds her convinced that an evil spirit is stalking her. Her fears are reinforced when a young boy runs out in front of a car in which she is traveling, and is fatally wounded; she thinks the spirit was coming for her, and simply “missed.” Delving into some of these rants and/or beliefs, either with family or psychologists, would have been illuminating, but this is a non-fiction project of simple presentation, not investigation. No great sin, really, but that limits Last Days of Left Eye‘s appeal — which Lazin litters with interstitial cards both platitudinal and speculative (“During yoga, Lisa digs deeper…”), and never quite finds a smooth tone of interweaved intrigue — mainly to those that already know her, and her troubled story, quite well.

Last Days of Left Eye comes housed in a regular Amray case with yellow-spined slipcover art, adorned by the above photo on the cover. It’s a full-frame presentation, and the stereo audio track more than adequately handles the meager aural demands of the program. When source audio gets a bit potentially fuzzy, and even when it’s just captured at a low level, subtitles are provided to aid the viewer. Bonus material consists of deleted scenes from Lopes’ source tapes, and an exclusive new unreleased song, “Let’s Just Do It,” that’s available via DVD-ROM, and touted as being part of a forthcoming Lopes album, consisting of material she recorded prior to her death. To purchase the movie on DVD via Amazon, click here. C- (Movie) C+ (Disc)

Narrated by Russell Crowe, Bra Boys is a documentary film about the real-life brotherhood, murder and family loyalties of Australia’s warring surf gangs — most notably the chest-thumping, title-indicated clique from Maroubra, an economically depressed beach-side suburb 14 kilometers from the Sydney Harbor.

Written, directed and produced by Sunny Abberton, himself a childhood
resident of Maroubra’s public housing projects, the film traces the
cultural evolution of the tattooed, much maligned youthful
surfing community. Abberton uses his own brothers as a narrative point of entrance for the subcultural study. In addition to himself,
there’s Koby, Jai and Dakota — one charged with murdering a Sydney “standover
man” (Australian slang for an extortionist who uses threats or physical violence
to extract payment on behalf of another), another pursuing
a professional surf career but charged as an accessory in his brother’s
murder trial, and another trying to hold the family together. Then there’s Sunny, whose sole inheritance is his siblings’ national infamy.

Using archival shots, new on-site footage and interviews with all sorts of local figures, Bra Boys presents a dynamic portrait of the current “surf vision,” a story that is at once compassionate, compelling and confrontational: fights for against-the-odds success, predictable failures. The centerpiece of the film details a massive incident in which Bra Boy members tangled with a bunch of off-duty coppers at a birthday party. “Just a good, old-fashioned brawl,” demurs one participant, but it’s this easy, reflexive embrace of knuckle-dusting that comes across as most unnerving. One sees how this shrugged-off behavior calcifies into justification for further violence when an older member says of the area’s rampant carjackings and shootings: “It’s good, it turns us into what we are.”

Grim stuff, it sounds like, and that’s not entirely untrue. Ultimately, though, part of the film’s narrative illustrates how even amidst the burdens of a stigmatized legacy, a new generation can hope and strive for better, and work to try to end violence. If other surf documentaries like Dogtown and Z-Boys and Bustin’ Down the Door only whetted your appetite for international glimpses at the cultural surrounding dedicated beach life, this film is definitely worth a look.

Housed in a regular Amray case with an attractive accompanying cardboard slipcover, Bra Boys is presented in a non-anamorphic 1:78 aspect ratio, with Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound and 2.0 stereo audio tracks.
Unfortunately, and somewhat surprisingly, there are no supplemental extras, which seems quite curious for a boutique release whose maker is obviously so passionate about, and personally involved in, the movie’s subject matter. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) D (Disc)

Jamie Kennedy is an interesting celebrity case study. When his most recent film came out, I received an amusing email from a friend, baffled that — more than a decade after Scream, and despite ample evidence rejecting a widescale public embrace of him as a comedic leading man — Kennedy could still headline a film in which he gets to kiss Maria Menounos. Tonally, the email was one of awed respect. A bit tongue-in-cheek, perhaps, but tinged with true amazement. Kennedy, though, is undeniably fairly shat upon; a quick perusal of message board threads on IMDb turns up: “Annoying and not funny,” “Nothing worse than a dude who thinks he’s black,” “How did he sink so low?,” “Horrible comedian” and “Cancer is funnier.” Only Carrot Top and Dane Cook may currently serve as the targets of more vitriol amongst comedians.

All of which brings us to Heckler, Kennedy’s two-headed, ramshackle documentary examination of show-interrupters and professional critics. Directed by Michael Addis, the movie is packed full of revelatory interviews with other comedians, which form the backbone of the film and are inarguably its highlight. Bobby Lee recounts getting punched out by a guy. Louie Anderson jokes about shooting a single heckler, to end it all. (Word would quickly spread, he reasons.) Patton Oswalt, meanwhile, advocates for a que sera sera mindset, saying, “Eroticism and comedy you really can’t argue. If there’s a comedian I hate but everyone else is laughing at him, then I’ve lost the argument.” Other interviewees include Bill Maher, Joe Rogan, Lewis Black, Jon Lovitz, Dave Attell, Carrie Fisher, Henry Winkler and Craig Ferguson. Arsenio Hall probably gets in the best sideways crack, assaying Michael Richards’ infamous moment of profane heckler snap-back thusly: “That’s some other kind of problem — like, ‘I need therapy,’ or ‘Somebody from the Raiders fucked my woman.'”

There’s also some semblance of intellectual inquiry, with Dennis Prager, Christopher Hitchens and Drew Pinsky offering up their thoughts on why hecklers heckle. More of this line of social examination and evaluation would have been welcome and edifying, particularly at the expense of the baffling talking head inclusions of ex-football coach Mike Ditka, singer Jewel Kilcher and a random transsexual.

Coming off a nasty critical drubbing in Son of the Mask, Kennedy obviously feels aggrieved, and that he has an axe to grind, but the connection that Heckler tries to make between live, in-person stage heckling and film criticism (however poorly written, and/or driven by ad hominem attacks) is a fairly tenuous one at best, and it doesn’t make its argument very convincingly. The movie succeeds rather smashingly as a piece of lightweight entertainment, but it suffers from this bifurcated focus. Kennedy should have either made Heckler much more of a personal journey — meaning even more interviews with dissatisfied club patrons and (published) critics of his work — or gotten out of the way. As is, Heckler is caught in a weird limbo that mitigates its effectiveness.

Presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen with a Dolby digital 2.0 audio track, Heckler was sent to me on a bare-bones screener disc, sans bonus features. Touted supplemental extras include a feature-length audio commentary track with Kennedy and Addis, and more than 35 minutes of deleted scenes and extended material, including footage of director Uwe Boll‘s boxing challenge matches with critics. To purchase the movie via Amazon, click here. B- (Movie) I, for Incomplete (Disc)

A sort of laboriously “hip,” teen-pitched re-interpretation of a literary classic, Virgin Territory is adapted and directed by David Leland from Giovanni Boccaccio’s The Decameron, and bills itself, weirdly, desperately, as “a freewheeling mix of Monty Python’s historical absurdity with American Pie‘s teen raunch.” In reality, this period piece comedy — packaged by executive producer Dino De Laurentiis and produced by his wife Martha — is an atonal mish-mash that star Hayden Christensen probably took on for the several scenes in which he gets to make out with various topless nuns (as shown below), in some weird dream fetish realization.

In the aftermath of the “Black Plague” in 14th century Florence, the city’s lusty young men and chaste maidens flee to the countryside. But for charming scoundrel Lorenzo di Lamberti (Christensen), the only woman that sets his heart ablaze is orphaned beauty Pampinea Anastagi (Mischa Barton), who is betrothed to an obsessed Russian nobleman, Count Dzerzhinsky (Matthew Rhys), but also being pursued by Gerbino de la Ratta (Tim Roth, playing the Rufus Sewell role), a conniving countryman and business associate of her late father who has vowed to take Pampinea’s virtue. With Gerbino trying to kill him, Lorenzo escapes to to countryside, where he feigns being deaf and mute in order to be taken in at the Sacred Sisters of the Blessed Heart convent. Naturally, these nuns turn out to be quite lusty, so they make Lorenzo their kept boy, and take turns satisfying themselves on/with him.

As Pampinea escapes to the countryside and Gerbino and Count Dzerzhinsky square off, Lorenzo’s adventures are intercut with another band of wayward travelers, including a guy whose chirpy, proper redheaded girlfriend (Rosalind Halstead) is making him wait until marriage to savor her carnal delights. (Think of him as the film’s Jason Biggs character.) Pampinea soon comes across Lorenzo, and things come to a head when he has a chance to confess his feelings to her, and eventually win her over in swashbuckling fashion.

Made in 2005 and screened last year at the Toronto Film Festival, the sumptuously costumed Virgin Territory has trouble connecting in large part because it
can never settle on a convincing tone. It partially desires to be a
twisted look at 14th century love and angsty sexual repression, but it’s staged, written and shot with an eye toward decidedly modern tropes, set-ups and visual flourishes — hence very straightforwardly presented nudity, characters falling face down in piles of feces, and a terrible, surf guitar-infused score from Ilan Eshkeri. The movie is also saddled with a strange, rib-nudging narration from a supporting character, painter Tindaro (Craig Parkinson), that is far less clever and essential a guide than director Leland clearly thinks.

Christensen and Barton — frequently bagged on by critics for their star turns in the Star Wars prequels and on the small screen in The O.C., respectively — are individually fine, but never really given the chance to generate quite as much lead-character heat as this movie needs to sustain its fallow passages. The air-quote wit here is pretty thin, which makes the whole thing feel like a time-warp episode of your average high school small screen serial, recast in period-piece fashion in Florence for sweeps, or a fourth season kick-off. On the upside, there is plenty of nakedness, but 15-year-olds no longer need faux-arty film rentals to glimpse such things, do they?

Virgin Territory comes housed in a regular plastic Amay case stored in a cardboard slipcase with alternate cover art, and is presented in 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen, enhanced for 16×9 televisions, with a Dolby surround 5.1 audio track. A cover sticker touts the movie as being part of Anchor Bay’s new “Unzipped”
label, whatever that means (presumably films with copious nudity). A 13-minute behind-the-scenes featurette includes interviews with Christensen, Leland and cinematographer Ben Davis, but also leans far too heavily on long scene snippets for such a short production overview. In addition to the movie’s trailer, a preview of Rock of Love that starts automatically upon insertion of the DVD, and a three-minute spotlight of David
Walliams — the star of TV’s Little Britain, USA, who has a bit part here as a doofusy cart pusher who Lorenzo happens upon — there are about three-and-a-half minutes of material billed as “censored scenes of sexuality.” These are for the most part extended/alternate takes of material already in the movie, including a scene in which Kate Groombridge emerges from a river and showcases her landing strip. Though unbilled on the back cover, there’s also a scrollable picture gallery of Roberto Cavalli’s costume sketches. C- (Movie) C+ (Disc)

A stand-up compendium, The Best of Comedy Central Presents 2 groups together feature specials from eight comedians — most from the past several years, and each running about 20 minutes apiece. The end result is a nice buffet spread/sampler pack, something to allow a nice cross-section without forcing the consumer to go all-in on a single performer’s catalogue.

The roster here, listed alphabetically, includes Dave Attell, Mike Birbiglia, Frank Caliendo, Zach Galifianakis, Stephen Lynch, Patton Oswalt, Nick Swardson and Daniel Tosh. Attell’s set is I believe the oldest, dating from the late 1990s, or early 2000; he’s funny (introducing himself by saying, “I have an Andre Agassi-with-a-drinking-problem kind of look”), but it’s before he really found his stride. He talks some about mock-sexual bonding with his dog, but the funniest bit from him is when he talks about how summer weather is not the right fit for fat guys.

Caliendo, of course, currently in heavy commercial rotation sending up everyone from William Shatner and John Madden to George Bush, trots out plenty of impressions, and Lynch breaks out the guitar for some silly ditties. Swardson, performing in front of a picture of himself at six years of age, jokes about teeth whitening and wanting zoo animals in his one-bedroom apartment. His funniest bit, though — about the outdated pictorial representation of bombs on airport security signs — draws mostly uneasy and indifferent reactions from the live crowd.

The very funny Oswalt’s show isn’t among his best, necessarily. He talks about watching old movies in L.A. and losing both love and hate in his “old” age (he recently turned 30 before this set), and there’s an extended riff about a pot-fueled trip to Amsterdam. The biggest shocker of the disc, though, may be Tosh, with whom I wasn’t too terribly familiar prior to settling down with this DVD. Exuding a zonky energy that turns familiar stage riffs (the difficulties of unhooking a woman’s bra) into screwy high-wire acts, Tosh has a rapid-fire imagination that crams jokes of accompaniment all around his main anecdotal bits. His best bits involve a laboriously set-up joke about collecting change in cargo pants and then paying off a homeless guy in lottery-winner fashion, and befriending seventh graders to boost one’s self-esteem.

The Best of Comedy Central Presents 2 comes presented in 1.33:1 full screen. Trailers for the first season of Kenny Vs. Spenny and South Park‘s eleventh season are amongst the preview gallery that comprise the only bonus supplemental features on the disc. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Concert) D+ (Disc)

There’s no Bono, alas, but the new concert DVD Absolutely Irish brings together the brightest stars of traditional Irish music for a once in-a-lifetime concert that will leave folk music fans appreciatively awed by its virtuoso performances.

Filmed live at the intimate Irish Arts Center in New York City’s famed Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood, this disc finds Irish music impresario Mick Moloney presenting three generations of brilliant musicians as they display their mastery on much-beloved jigs, reels and airs, then rock the hall with contemporary takes on favorite traditional tunes. Clearly shot and crisply captured, Absolutely Irish includes
performances by whistle player Joanie Madden; fiddlers Liz Carroll,
Eileen Ivers and Athena Tergis; flute and banjo player Seamus Egan;
guitarist John Doyle; singers Karan Casey, Robbie O’Connell and Susan
McKeown; concertina player Tim Collins;
accordionist Billy McComiskey; dancers Niall O’Leary and Darrah
Carr; and piper Jerry O’Sullivan. There are also special guest appearances by two living legends — 80-year-old flute player Mike Rafferty and 85-year-old Irish dancer Jo McNamara — and a heart-tugging rendition of “Leaving Liverpool” performed by the entire ensemble. Absolutely Irish belies the sometimes misguided notion that folk music is an utterly American tradition, and showcases some of the best talent on the Irish music scene today.

Housed in a regular Amray plastic case, Absolutely Irish runs around 70 minutes, and is presented in anamorphic widescreen, enhanced for 16×9 televisions. The DVD also includes bonus footage of eight additional performances taped at the same venue. A bit of commentary or interview footage would have been a nice inclusion as well — just to get a chance to better know some of these personalities — but for those already heartily interested in the trad-Irish music scene, this is a nice value. To order any DVD or VHS release from WGBH Boston Video, including Absolutely Irish, call (800) 949-8670 or click here to visit their web site. B- (Movie) B- (Disc)

The original Phantasm, released in 1979, broke new ground in horror filmmaking, instantly marking Libyan-born writer-director Don Coscarelli as one of his generation’s masters of the genre. After two sequels filled with zombies, dwarves and slicing spheres, this wild, gory desert-set flick delivers perhaps the most bizarre installment of Phantasm yet.

For years, the Tall Man (Angus Scrimm) has waged a gruesome war against humanity, slowly populating the world with his undead legions. To stop the horrifying onslaught, two determined heroes, Mike (A. Michael Baldwin) and Reggie (Reggie Bannister) hurtle themselves through a gateway in the time/space continuum to unearth a vital clue that may just put an end to the horror. Along with Jody (Bill Thornbury), Mike and Reggie come to understand the terrifying birthright of the Tall Man, as well as the origins of the infamous and lethal sphere. As the Tall Man prepares his final assault with his dark army, the future of the human race hangs in the balance.

“Phans” of this series waited years for this installment, making their wishes known at horror conventions all over the world. And Anchor Bay Entertainment, the leader in cult and classic horror DVDs, does the series proud with its release of the uncut
version of Phantasm IV: Oblivion — reinstating scenes that were deleted prior to its
original 1998 North American theatrical release — as part of its prestigious “Anchor Bay
Collection” banner. Presented in 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen with an English language Dolby digital 5.1 audio track, and boasting both a brand new video transfer and fiery new cover art, the DVD also features
a number of supplemental extras that vastly boost its value when compared to the bare-bones 2001 DVD version. The crown jewel of the set is undeniably a newly recorded
audio commentary track with writer-director Coscarelli, Reggie Bannister and the Tall Man himself, Scrimm; in it, Coscarelli talks some about the genesis of the series and the fact that Roger Avary penned a concluding chapter for the Phantasm series that was prohibitively expensive, leading him to pen this as an alternate, and not mutually exclusive wrap-up. A short retrospective featurette is also provided, built around some never-before-seen production footage. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) B- (Disc)

As the originator of the beloved Chicken Soup for the Soul
series of books, author and professional speaker Jack Canfield has personally taught millions of individuals his
unique and modernized formulas for success, and The Secret Law of Attraction, a direct-address lecture in front of an engaged, all-walks-of-life audience, gives viewers an enlightening new look at how to achieve happier and healthier personal and professional lives. At a time when uncertainty and unhappiness are bubbling up and threatening to boil over in the world, it’s a welcome, streamlined piece of positive visualization and goal-oriented self-betterment.

An internationally
recognized leader in peak performance strategies, Canfield’s solutions are less rah-rah motivational coaching of uplift than source- and process-based advice. For him, it doesn’t matter if your goal is to be the top sales person in your company, become a leading architect, lose weight, become a better parent, increase confidence and self-esteem, buy your dream home or just make more money — Canfield aims to help you develop a clear, personal plan of action that will shatter stasis and transform your life into exactly what you want it to be.

For more than 30 years, Canfield
has been coaching individuals, entrepreneurs, educators and corporate
leaders to accelerate the achievement of their personal and
professional goals, live their dreams and create more joy in their
life every day. These decades of experience show. Canfield is a solid speaker, and communicates clearly — in concise and understandable language that also manages to avoid cornball platitudes. Peddling affirmation through vision boards and the like, he makes a compelling case for order and clarity of purpose as part of the foundation for happiness. Canfield explains how people without goals get used by people with them, but is also a big believer that if one is merely clear about what they’re pursuing, the how will “show up,” in his words, or reveal itself. Hence his behavioral advice to focus on a “vibrational match,” which is sort of the emotional equivalent of dressing for the job you want instead of the job you have.

There are anecdotes galore here, but the title’s greatest strength lies in Canfield’s pleasant, easygoing manner, which lends him believability as a potential guide to help you get from where you are to where you want to
be. The only time that The Secret Law of Attraction really slips up is in dealing with a question about the issue of bad things (like cancer, and the like) happening to inherently decent people, which Canfield has trouble filtering through his prism of belief that in our lives we attract everything to ourselves. Here, an awful lot of fog gets dispensed, when you just really want him to stop talking and chalk it up to something beyond any human control.

Housed in a regular Amray case, the DVD comes presented in 1.33:1 full screen, and includes as supplemental features a 14-minute audience Q&A with Canfield and an 18-minute “Life Purposes” bonus video in which Canfield talks more about locating and focusing on one’s chief goal in life. To order this, or any DVD or VHS release from WGBH Boston Video, call (800) 949-8670 or click here to visit their web site. B- (Movie) C+ (Disc)

After a protracted rights hang-up that saw its release delayed more
than a year from its Sundance 2007 bow — until after the recent Rambo sequel — the canted coming-of-age comedy Son of Rambow finally saw release earlier this spring. While it didn’t at all hook on with Stateside audiences in theaters — pulling in only $1.8 million of its $10.1 million cumulative haul — its DVD release gives fans of whimsical coming-of-age tales a chance to rediscover the movie.

Set in small town Great Britain
in the 1980s, the movie centers on floppy-armed, pint-sized, fatherless pre-teen
Will Proudfoot (Bill Milner, above right), who lives with his mother and sister as members of a puritanical
religious sect in which recorded entertainment is strictly forbidden.
When Will sees a pirated copy of First Blood, though, his imagination explodes in sugar-rush fashion.
At first blackmailed by rascally ne’er-do-well Lee Carter (Will
Poulter, above left) into helping him out on a stunt reel, Will
convinces his unlikely new pal, a wrong-side-of-the-tracks troublemaker, that they should make their own action epic. When
disenchanted French exchange student Didier (Jules Sitruk) catches wind
and demands a part in the production, suddenly everyone wants in on Will and Lee Carter’s
film.

Written and directed by Garth Jennings (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the
Galaxy), Son of Rambow exudes a handcrafted feel, and is at its best
when seducing us with its
madcap, visually inventive style.
Will and Lee Carter are “types,” though, and their relationship runs a
bit hot-cold; I wished the movie showed more of them actually bickering
and working things out. I was also really intrigued and amused by
Didier, and the notion — introduced in a throwaway bit late in the
movie — that he
was a bit of a poseur, which is to say alien-cool to the Brits, but a
dork to all the rest of the French kids. Jennings unfortunately wastes
the rich comic potential of this premise. Finally, the movie too is
more than a a bit unrealistic with regards to Will’s mother’s sudden slide away from the hermetic existence which they’ve been leading; that just doesn’t pass the smell test. In fact, less is more; Son of Rambow
doesn’t earn or need the tearful scene of familial reconciliation,
centering around the return of a watch belonging to Will’s late father.
This is a extra-familial story, about finding acceptance and
brotherhood outside of conventional structures.

Still, the two lead performances here — one salty, one sweet — give this movie lift. In particular the gangly Milner is unforcedly charming, and physically
sort of a live-action version of Fievel Mouskewitz, from 1986’s An American Tail. Tonally, Son of Rambow has an undeniable pinch of that same comic-tinged nostalgia that makes 1983’s A Christmas Story the de rigueur
holiday viewing for all the alt-cool Christian families out there.

Housed in a regular plastic Amray case, Son of Rambow comes presented in widescreen, enhanced for 16×9 televisions, with English and Spanish language Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio tracks, and optional French, English and Spanish subtitles. Jennings and producing partner Nick Goldsmith anchor a nice audio commentary track, with Milner and Poulter sitting in as well. Two DIY supplemental shorts are also included; the first is a five-minute film that was the winner of a film-sponsored web site contest, the other is Aron, Jennings’ 10-minute 1986 short that was the inspiration for Son of Rambow. Wrapping things up is a great 26-minute making-of featurette, which includes rehearsal footage and laid-back group interview bits, and also showcases the Hammer & Tongs production offices, which consists of two barge boats on Regents Canal. (“Thus we’re an armada,” says Goldsmith, cheekily.) Previews for Shine a Light, Drillbit Taylor and American Teen are also featured. B (Movie) B+ (Disc)

The golden age of the Three Stooges continues with this exceptional third
release in Sony’s chronologically ordered collection. These 23 shorts, spanning from 1940-1942, are all
digitally remastered for the highest quality in sight and sound, and
this collection is even more special than its predecessors, as it features an historical
first: Moe Howard playing Hitler, in
1940’s You Nazty Spy! The film marked Howard as the first American to portray the German dictator, and it was for this reason, among others, that the short remained one of his personal favorites from the entire Stooges canon.

I’ve written before about the sort of direct-line connection between base-level slapstick and the the things that first tickle our funny bones,
and few acts embody that synergistic relationship with more commitment,
fervor and longevity than the Three Stooges. To that end, The Three Stooges Collection: Volume Three gathers more slap-happy
hijinks from the lovable Larry, Curly and Moe, in the form of 23 chronologically
arranged, digitally re-mastered short films. This
latest volume follows the success of the first two sets of Stooges film shorts, released over the last 11 months by Sony, and comes in advance of more like-minded releases.

The debut releases covered 1934-36 and 1937-39, respectively, and this set picks up in 1940, with the aforementioned Spy! and Rocking Thru the Rockies kicking things off. Moe is also cast as a vicious dictator in the 1941 “sequel” I’ll Never Heil Again, powered by crackerjack visual gags. A Plumbing We Will Go is touted as being Curly’s favorite, and it’s easy to understand the “wow” factor of something like the brilliant sight gag of a burst of water popping forth from a new
television set just as it’s broadcasting a live report from Niagara
Falls when filtered through the rubric of the still-nascent medium.

A couple of the shorts here — Cuckoo Cavaliers, Dutiful But Dumb — are, comparatively speaking, big-time misfires, dashed-off japes that seem like they were conceived in one morning and shot later the same afternoon, but most are surprisingly smart and satisfying marriages of concept and set piece tomfoolery. While some of the more historically-flavored entries stumble a bit overall (speaking generally, not with respect to only this set), the wildly disparate settings and the license the Stooges take with them often help breathe invigorating life into their routines. Examples of these include the slapstick-perfect “All the World’s a Stooge,” with its well-timed visual gags; “Cactus Makes Perfect,” a desert-set prospecting spoof; and “Boobs in Arms,” in which the Stooges join the Army and run into a fellow they’ve crossed. With merciless wit, a strong sense of satire and of course impeccable timing, the Three Stooges made folks of different generations laugh together and, as this set shows, gave the world
a brave new perspective on the absurdity of evil and the world powers
of the time.

As with the other releases, this third 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 green. The shorts themselves are shot in black-and-white and presented in 1.33:1 full screen, with Dolby digital 1.0 mono audio track. Apart from a small handful of unrelated preview trailers for other Sony releases, there is unfortunately no supplemental material, a fact established by the first two releases in the series.
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, and 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) B- (Disc)

An underground, DIY-type horror flick, Home Sick angles to blend the surreal, gore-drenched and terrifying, and it achieves this left-field commingling to middling effect. There’s a lot to admire about the atmosphere and mood created on a shoestring budget, if ultimately Home Sick collapses under the weight of a thin premise and too much forced quirkiness.

Recently, if unhappily, back from Hollywood, Claire (Lindley Evans) submits to a small town homecoming get-together with Robert (Will Akers), Mark (Forrest Pitts), Candice (Nightmare Man‘s Tiffany Shepis) and others. The social awkwardness is back-burnered when a grinning idiot who calls himself “Mr. Suitcase” (Bill Moseley) crashes the party with a briefcase full of razorblades, and starts passive-aggressively forcing the partygoers to identify people they hate, all while slashing his own arms. Soon, a black-hooded supernatural killer is loose, killing each person identified by the teens. The terrified friends realize they may also be viciously murdered because Tim (Matt Lero) awkwardly joked that he hated everyone at the party, too. As the corpses pile up and the body parts fly, the surviving kids enlist the help of Uncle Johnny (Tom Towles, of Grindhouse and Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer), a crazed, chili-loving militiaman who has a stockpile of weapons that might help them stay alive.

While the slasher-gore quotient is straight out of an early Peter Jackson playbook, writer Evan Katz tries to fold in some of the off-kilter tonal quirks of David Lynch, which mainly seems to mean oddball, stilted dialogue and set-ups which lend themselves to artificially long pauses. As directed by Adam Wingard, though, some of this emphasis on atmospheric tension gets traded in for excessively bloody effects, which admittedly are fairly nicely rendered, except for too-red blood. The acting on display here runs the gamut, too. Moseley (Rob Zombie’s Halloween, The Devil’s Rejects) has a certain unhinged, manic energy, and his brief appearance is jolting and effective. Evans, in her debut, is also fairly engaging. Unfortunately, other actors seem to be very consciously channeling better known performers (Steve Buscemi is an influence), which gets irksome after a while. While we’re nitpicking, there’s a lot of willfully pallid, over-exagerrated eye make-up, too — a couple actors look like zombies pulling exam season all-nighters.

Attractively packaged in a regular Amray case with gold foil title lettering, Home Sick is presented in 1.85:1 widescreen, with a Dolby digital 2.0 stereo surround audio track. Director Wingard and writer Katz, longtime collaborators, sit for a nervous, chatty audio commentary track, and a menu screen with a background full of razor blades gives way to a slate of special features that include a deleted opening sequence and a trio of short film projects from the aforementioned pair — the seven-minute 1,000 Year Sleep, the 32-minute The Girlfriend and the three-minute Laura Panic, a nice, evocatively photographed mood piece in which a girl muses, via voiceover narration, that her murder of her boyfriend is but a “bump in the road” in their relationship.

There’s also an affected, experimental, very slickly (over-)produced 13-minute making-of featurette, starring Wingard, in which the director hyperactively recounts and acts out certain anecdotes from pre-production and production. Finally, Moseley sits for a six-minute interview in which he rather charmingly cops to the insecurities of an actor when, just prior to filming, a (supposed) friend asks him while running some lines if he’s going to give a performance based on such clichés. To purchase the movie via Amazon, click here. For further information on Home Sick, as well as other Synapse titles, visit their website by clicking here. C+ (Movie) B+ (Disc)