Escapist entertainment takes plenty of knocks, these days
and every generation. But what certainly the Hostels and 300s and even
the Grandma’s Boys and Benchwarmers of today are largely
missing is the tone of blithe naughtiness that went hand-in-hand with the
T&A comedies (and even lunk-headed actioners) of the 1980s. Regardless of
the individual quality of these films, there was seemingly no real ill was
done, and malevolence didn’t seem part of the mainstream creative oxygen. Even in
action thrillers, it was more about the hero triumphing and getting over on
someone than the nasty villain’s downfall.

Perhaps apart from the original Porky’s, nothing embodies this trend more than 1984’s Revenge of the Nerds, a happy-go-lucky
underdog comedy that provided the easy headline of least deliberation for every
profile of Bill Gates and Steve Jobs written in subsequent years. Its successive
sequels — including two made-for-TV projects — would reach a point of
diminishing return sooner rather than later, and quickly scrape the bottom of the
creative barrel, but this film remains an overachiever.

Its story centers around Lewis Skolnick (Robert Carradine)
and Gilbert Lowell (Anthony Edwards), two bookish, somewhat socially inept college
freshmen. Shortly after their arrival on campus at Adams
College, members of jock fraternity
Alpha Beta accidentally burn down their own house in a prank gone wrong, and boot
the ineffectual freshmen out of their dorm, turning them into refugees living in
the gym.

Here Lewis and Gilbert meet up with a veritable smorgasbord of
social outcasts, including the fey Lamar (Larry Scott), under-aged Wormser
(Andrew Cassesse), freaky-haired, spectacled Poindexter (Timothy Busfield,
later to be name-checked by Young MC), Japanese exchange student Takashi (Brian
Tochi) and nose-picking Booger (Curtis Armstrong), who never lets mixed company
get in the way of a bodily function or impulse to scratch. These dweebs band
together to form their own fraternity and eventually coalesce under the banner
of the reluctant Lambda Lambda Lambda, a national African-American organization.
A series of prank wars ensues, with everything peaking at the climactic “Greek
Games.”

The brains-versus-brawn template and familiar social ladder shenanigans
give Revenge of the Nerds a lightweight
yet sustainable frame, and while everyone might remember only Carradine’s
donkey-ish laugh (not improvised, as
frequently reported), the truth is that the joke-writing and dialogue in the
movie is reliably strong too. The supporting cast is also a strong group, consisting
of, among others, Ted McGinley, as Stan Gable, president of the Greek Council; John
Goodman, as the goading Coach Harris, an ally of the jocks; James Cromwell, as
Mr. Skolnick, Lewis’ father; and David Wohl, as the railroaded Dean Ulich.
Everyone seems on the same page as to what type of movie is being made, and while
there are a few implausibilities here and there, the tone and pitch doesn’t veer
wildly, which is more than you can say for many modern comedies of this sort.

Presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen to preserve the
aspect ratio of its original theatrical presentation, this special edition
version of Revenge of the Nerds comes
with English language stereo and mono audio tracks, optional subtitles in
English and Spanish, and Spanish and French mono audio tracks to boot. The
transfer is adequate, but only that — hardly a painstaking effort. Grain and discoloration
are fairly steady, and just part and parcel with both the movie’s low-fi
concept and certainly the shrugging regard in which it was held by those
responsible for its archival.

Luckily, there’s a nice collection of extras to help bump up
this release’s collectibility, starting with a collective audio commentary track
from actors Carradine, Armstrong and Busfield and director Jeff Kanew. This is
a relaxed and self-effacing chat, again benefiting from everyone’s appreciation
of the movie for what it is. A 40-minute making-of featurette includes sit-down
interviews with the aforementioned actors (no Anthony Edwards, alas!) and many
others from off camera, and it’s a great trip down memory lane, a well-produced
and nicely packaged little affair. McGinley gets more run in a grab-bag of a
half dozen deleted scenes, while the movie’s theatrical trailer and a television
pilot (fairly jaw-dropping in its awfulness) for the aborted, reconstituted series of the
same name round out the bonus material. B+ (Movie) B+ (Disc)

Director Allen Coulter’s Hollywoodland
posits itself as a Hollywood murder mystery, and it’s
true that it has at its center, in the death of actor George Reeves, a doozy of
a high-profile homicide. But a straight historical whodunit this isn’t — Hollywoodland is instead very much a
film about the warped intersection of celebrity, ambition and regular life, and
the unique commingling of aspiration and desperation that its Tinseltown
setting produces.

Gadfly private investigator Louis Simo (Adrien Brody) has a
wife and young son in the Valley, but he still has a single man’s irresponsibility
hardwired to his being, hustling tips for whatever jobs he can from a former
partner. When he’s advised that the distraught but somewhat estranged mother
(Lois Smith) of Superman TV star
George Reeves (Ben Affleck) isn’t buying the official police ruling of suicide
in the death of her son, Simo sees not only a lucrative payday, but also a high-profile
gig that will boost his shingle for years to come, and get him out of the cheating-hearts
business of stringing along petty, paranoid husbands who’re convinced their
wives are cheating on them.

Simo dives into the case, and finds all sorts of
incongruities, including some strange bullet holes in the floor, and potential
signs of a struggle. The film, then, flashes back to show us Reeves’ long-term relationship
with older woman Toni Mannix (Diane Lane), the wife of film executive Eddie Mannix
(Bob Hoskins), a powerful and more than slightly menacing figure at MGM. Eddie knew
of the duo’s arrangement, and tacitly approved — after all, he had his own
mistress. But Reeves’ eventual shaking free from his “kept-boy” chains (while
Toni kept him living in comfort and style, he resented that she never did more
for his career), and subsequent engagement to money-hungry fiancée Leonore
Lemmon (a perfectly off-balance Robin Tunney), may have earned him enmity that could
have fueled a hasty, jealous attempt on his life — one that could then look
somewhat like suicide.

At least this is what Simo speculates, and the film
indulges. Hollywoodland cops a bit of
its moves from L.A. Confidential, there’s
no doubt, but the set and art design work is so superlative, that you find
yourself quickly immersed in its world, and giving in to its yarn of multi-layered,
overlapping motivations (a dilemma that the recently released, somewhat similar
The Black Dahlia never conquered). The
problem is that the flashback structure (we bounce around from 1951 to ’59) is somewhat
at odds with Simo’s present day investigation, and the film lacks a clear resolution.
Definitive “truth” need not be uncovered, but restiveness must be quelled by
some sense of finality. Hollywoodland
doesn’t have that.

While there’s an admirable, very adult restraint in Hollywoodland’s refusal to offer up a
single, wildly conjectural opinion on the death (as well as, I’m sure, some
very compelling legal reasons not to do so), in the end the movie doesn’t quite fully gel and pull off the feat of
leaving you shaken, stunned or wowed by the canvas of conspiratorial hush-hush
it presents. What it does provide the
opportunity for is a nice display by its cast, particularly Brody and Lane, and a collection of ambitious, damaged characters more alike than they realize. Even
casual film fans will be caught up enough by these performances to find more reward
than complaint in Hollywoodland.

Presented in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen that preserves the
aspect ratio of its initial theatrical exhibition, Hollywoodland comes with matching English and French language Dolby
digital 5.1 surround sound audio tracks, as well as optional subtitles in
English, Spanish and French. An audio commentary track with Coulter kicks off
the slate of supplemental features, and it’s a nice, relaxed chat in which he
discusses scene-to-scene directorial choices, and talks a lot about the
collaboration with various actors, including Brody, for whom he has much
praise. There’s also a five-minute collection of deleted scenes, which further
flesh out Simo’s investigations. A trio of short, comparative featurettes on
the recreating of old-time Hollywood round things out, lending
more appreciation for the film’s behind-the-scenes players, since much of it
was filmed in Canada. B (Movie) B (Disc)

Responding to the brutal 2005 storms that caused billions of dollars worth of property damage (and untold psychological harm) to his home state of Florida, rocker Rick Derringer rounded up some of his old cohorts — friends that included some of classic rock’s biggest names — for a special one-night-only event. Dubbed “Musicians for Disaster Relief,” the concert at Orlando’s Universal Studios raised several hundred thousand dollars for charity, and now the show comes to DVD in the form of Rock Relief, where a portion of proceeds from its sale will benefit the same-named charitable trust.

Kicking off things nicely is Loverboy. If you’re like me, when you think Loverboy, you think of three things: “Workin’ for the Weekend,” Chris Farley and Patrick Swayze. Their sketch about an audition for a final slot at Chippendale’s remains a Saturday Night Live classic, and has left an indeliable visual marker on that tune for me. “Turn Me Loose” (which I oddly heard on the radio three times in one day recently) is an underrated era gem, and solidly performed here; “Hot Girls in Love” and “Lovin’ Every Minute of It” are also included.

Twisted Sister’s Dee Snider (“The Price”) and Derringer himself follow suit, the latter with a loose-limbed version of “Hang on Sloopy” and a more feel-good, less sneering “Rock & Roll Hoochie Koo.” Allman Brother Dickie Betts contributes “Ramblin’ Man” and “Southbound,” but the show highlight may be 1980s pin-up Eddie Money, whose “Two Tickets to Paradise,” “Take Me Home Tonight,” “Wanna Go Back” and “Baby Hold On” deliver a sort of goofy, joyful catharsis. The hooks on those songs are much stronger than one might remember.

The odd man out here is Michael Bolton, creepily shorn just as he was creepily long-locked back in his stronger days of FM suckitude. Contributing “When a Man Loves a Woman,” “Rock Me Baby” and a cover of the Otis Redding staple “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay,” Bolton’s set, though short, still feels like an unwelcome change-up coming as it does amidst all of the up-tempo rockers presented here.

There are unfortunately no supplemental extras on this 90-minute disc (even a brief interview with Derringer on the impetus for his involvement would have been nice), but the well-captured tunes offer up a lot of reminiscence, and it’s all for a good cause. B (Concert) C- (Disc)

An honest, unflinching account of bittersweet relationships
that can never be what they once were, writer-director Dito Montiel’s candidly autobiographical
debut, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints,
is a poignant look at untangling misplaced love and idle idol worship, reconciling with family and
embracing the ghosts of your past.

Dito (Robert Downey Jr.) is a successful writer who, after a
15-year absence, is summoned home to Astoria
from Los Angeles by his mother
(Dianne Wiest) when his father (Chazz Palminteri) becomes seriously ill. Memories
of Dito’s misbegotten youth come flooding back as he revisits the old
neighborhood, attempts to rebuild a fractured relationship with his father and
encounters his “saints” — Dito’s few childhood friends who aren’t in prison or
dead. As Dito finds himself whisked back into the youthful events that shaped him
(Shia LaBeouf plays him in these flashbacks), an unforgettable cast of
characters unfolds to the sweltering heat of the summer of 1986. These include
Laurie (Melonie Diaz), Dito’s childhood sweetheart; Mike O’Shea (Martin
Compston), a transplanted Scot with an Irish name who dreams of becoming a punk
rock musician; Giuseppe (Adam Scarimbolo), a reckless, destructive and possibly
insane member of Dito’s street posse; and the unforgettable Antonio (Step Up‘s Channing Tatum),
Dito’s cocky and volatile best friend, who grapples with an abusive father.

Montiel’s film is a halfway compelling, muggy-summer snapshot
of angsty youth gone wild. The film premiered at the 2006 Sundance Film
Festival, taking home awards in the Best Ensemble and Best Director categories;
it also picked up three Independent Spirit Award nominations, for Montiel’s
screenplay, and Diaz and Tatum’s respective supporting turns. If some of the
moves here feel somewhat copped (some of the jump cuts to me feel like nervous affectation
more than a solidly reasoned artistic choice), the investment of the cast definitely
elevates the material, and makes for a mostly pleasurable viewing experience.

Presented in a 1.85:1 aspect ratio and solid transfer that
beautifully preserves Eric Gautier’s evocative cinematography, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints’ DVD comes
with a Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track, optional subtitles and a very healthy complement of supplemental
extras. Montiel and editor Jake Pushinsky sit for a full-length audio commentary track,
and since everything is a first for the effusive writer-director, his
enthusiasm and sense of appreciation is palpable throughout. A quite solid 20-minute,
making-of documentary includes interviews with cast and crew. There’s also audition
footage and a six-minute, Sundance Lab workshop version of a rooftop scene in the
final movie in which Montiel acts opposite Helen Dallas. This is intriguing
chiefly in comparison to the finished product. An alternate opening and four varying
endings stack up alongside 11 more deleted scenes, all of which come with
optional audio commentary from Montiel, who cops to learning a lot about writing
in the process of editing the movie; he says he overwrote the film by about 15
or 20 percent. C+ (Movie) A- (Disc)

The Heart of the Game is a documentary that charts a
seven-year span in the life of Seattle’s
Roosevelt High School
women’s basketball coach, Bill Resler (above right). Initially, filmmaker Ward Serrill had
intended to produce a modest film documenting a single season. The team that
year had a talented roster, but the main draw was their eccentric new head
coach. Still, while it was a successful year, Serrill didn’t feel he had quite enough
material for a full-length documentary, and so he continued chronicling the girls
into the following year, a decision that paid off when incoming freshman
Darnellia Russell joined the team.

The majority of the film is dedicated to star Russell’s
tumultuous five-year high school career. There are several highlights on the
court, but Russell’s off-the-court problems nearly sidetrack her aspirations. Though supremely talented, Russell’s quick temper, inattentiveness and other self-destructive behavior threatens to compromise her athletic eligibility. Ever
passionate, Resler continually reaches at working and inspiring his players on what
is, apart from Russell, otherwise a fairly mediocre team. He uses Russell as an instrument of sorts, and as she responds, so too do those around her.

Since it pulls at heartstrings and concerns basketball, the
obvious comparison is to Hoop Dreams, but while The Heart of the
Game is an inspirational look at what perseverance and dedication can
accomplish, it isn’t tempered with quite as many salient secondary storylines,
and neither does it feel like a snapshot of an untainted moment, as that
aforementioned film now does in a world where high school recruiting
information is disseminated on the Internet in the blink of an eye. Interestingly,
the movie glancingly recalls Ryan Gosling’s Half
Nelson, insomuch as
it presents a somewhat atypical mentor-mentee relationship. The pitiless muddied
absolutes of that movie, though, are traded in for more familiar uplift, making
The Heart of the Game a movie certainly
as much for habitual viewers of ABC’s Extreme
Makeover as regular sports fans.

Housed in a regular Amray case, the movie is presented in
1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, with an English language Dolby digital 5.1
surround sound track and a Spanish language Dolby digital 2.0 track. Optional
subtitles in English and French are also available. Hearteningly, though
perhaps not surprisingly, The Heart of
the Game also includes a slate of supplemental extras which play up
audience reaction to and interaction with the film, including footage of
promotional screenings from around the country, attended by Russell and Resler.
Director Serrill, meanwhile, provides an informative audio commentary track
full of information on bit players and supporting characters in the movie, and
there are also around a dozen or so of the many, many scenes that Serrill hacked his way through in trimming down several hundred hours of footage to a 97-minute running time. B (Movie) B+ (Disc)

An Inconvenient Truth
surely had some folks casting their minds back to the election year of
2000, and wondering what might have been. For Gore, though — who
good-naturedly poked fun at rumors of a presidential bid launch in
front of a worldwide audience of more than one billion in a staged bit
in which his mock announcement was interrupted by the Oscar orchestra —
it’s the future that’s on his mind, not the past. And in this regard, An Inconvenient Truth delivers a mightily damning indictment of our collective stasis on the issue of global warming. For the full DVD review, from IGN, click here.

Journey to the End of the Night is a
gritty, passably persuasive, sin’s-underbelly crime thriller about an illegal narcotics deal gone
wrong. Two Americans living in exile, Rosso Sinatra (Scott Glenn) and his bitter
adult son Paul (Brendan Fraser), have spent the last several years carving out
a living in Brazil
running a nightclub-brothel, but the margins seem to be shrinking and each harbors
dreams of getting out of the business once and for all.

One night, it seems their prayers are answered when a
customer leaves behind a suitcase in the club that contains the means for Rosso
and Paul to change their collective fates. The potential end results make this eying
of a one-time drug deal seem lucrative. Rosso makes plans to take his beautiful
young wife, ex-prostitute Angie (Catalina Sandino Moreno, above left), to start over in a new
city far away, along with their 5-year-old child
together, Lazare. Paul, meanwhile, wants to escape mounting debts and an
escalating cocaine habit, as well as finally be rid of his father, whom he
despises and blames for almost all of his problems. The X-factor is his own involvement with Angie — yep, it’s
one of those types of relationships. Further
mixed up in all of this is Nigerian immigrant kitchen worker Webma (Mos Def, above right), who’s
recruited by Rosso to take the place of the original drug mule and navigate the
perilous, nocturnal gauntlet of Sao Paulo. But to whom will his allegiance ultimately
tilt?

Helmed by Manito
director Eric Eason, Journey to the End
of the Night benefits from its maker’s keen eye for sweaty travelogue detail
and mood. There’s actually a pinch of the same sort of world-weariness and
Spartan intrigue on display in Frasor’s own The
Quiet American, but this movie amps things up to a considerable degree, and
Frasor’s performance is a bit too loud, comparatively speaking. I didn’t really
buy into the overly dramatic father-son stakes in the film; it’s too hazily
pitched. The movie is otherwise nicely acted, though, and cinematographer Ulrich Burtin (Red Carpet) shoots an interesting frame. While the story is a familiar one, it’s these elements that hold one’s attention.

Delivered with a Dolby digital 5.1 audio track and in a
widescreen anamorphic presentation, the disc’s transfer impressively captures
the movie’s rather dim and dank visual palette — which is in and of itself an
outwardly manifested metaphor for the dangerous, loathsome and conflicted inner
workings of its characters. A simple making-of featurette is the only DVD
supplemental extra, providing EPK-type chats with actors and a handful of the
behind-the-scenes players, like Eason and Burtin. Previews for other First Look
DVD releases round things out. B- (Movie) B- (Disc)

The popularity of YouTube and other video-sharing sites can
be credited to the idea of “audience empowered entertainment,” a somewhat new
and still not wholly formed notion, but one that’s not hard to grasp. You can watch
a clip when you want, and decide when you’ve had enough. Forget quaint old
notions of “appointment television” — this gives you the viewer control of your
own appointment calendar and vast multimedia catalogue.

Still, episodic web-based series are in their infancy, and
figuring out both a business model and ways to try to incorporate viewers’
expectations and interests into their product. An interesting experiment in
this realm, then, comes in the form of Soup
of the Day, a free-flowing narrative show that took its lead character’s social
blogging on MySpace.com and used that to help inform his relationship decisions.
In 2006, the series attracted almost nine million online views.

Directed by Scott Zakarin (a producer of Comic Book: The Movie and executive producer of
the reality series Kill Reality for
E! Entertainment Television), Soup of the
Day was loosely co-scripted by Zakarin with writer-producer Rob Cesternino,
who first wedged his foot into the entertainment industry by appearing on Survivor: Amazon. The series centers
around nice guy photographer Brandon Craig (Jon Crowley, of The Jigsaw of Life), a regular guy who accidentally
stumbles into concurrent “monogamous relationships” with three very different women: tough
gal Wendy (Patty Wortham), an undercover cop; free-spirited Franki (Tina Molina),
the host of a popular Internet show called Missleblast;
and his photo editor boss Monique (Catherine Reitman, daughter of director Ivan,
and possessing his same big, sleepy eyes). Brandon
knows he must eventually choose between them, but he finds himself genuinely
enjoying the company of all three, and confused as to how to proceed.

Craig is a so-so guide, a decent enough chap, and there are
certainly some interesting scenarios of flagellation constructed here. Honestly,
though, a lot of the rest of the acting is uneven; it’s Reitman who really
scores as the assertive Monique (she has Craig photograph her nether regions on
their first “date”), and you find yourself wishing other characters were
jettisoned entirely. The main thrill of Soup
of the Day must have been in following it serially online, and that adventure
is obviously dented here in its captured form on DVD. The main problem of this
construct, it seems to me, is that audience members might respond to a portion
of a show, but find certain characters (which is to say, bluntly, actors)
unappealing, and then lead a rebellion of sorts that — if you’re a producer hell-bent
on trying to maintain a core audience — impacts your show in largely unforeseen ways.

The full-length feature film version of Soup of the Day collects what I gather are its first 19 episodes, but
the nicest thing about its commercial release might be the approximately three
hours of bonus footage the double-disc DVD set offers up. Supplemental extras kick
off with a 35-minute documentary that lays out the ambitious conceit of the
show, and details its off-camera assemblage. Also included are bloopers and
deleted scenes, a filmmaker commentary audio track, cast interviews (consisting
of both in-character footage and straight, off-set material), audition clips, and
never-before-seen alternate endings. I’m not entirely sold on Soup of the Day
as is, in its current form, but there are some interesting things being done on
the Internet, and this effort certainly reflects that. C+ (Movie) A- (Disc)

I wasn’t really sure what to expect from English rockers Hawkwind, of whom I’d only passingly heard prior to this disc. I kept thinking of U2’s “Hawkmoon 269,” to be honest, and the kooky, sci-fi cover to this concert release offered forth no secrets — it just seemed reminiscent of some old, discarded Yes or Journey conceptual art.

So in went Out of the Shadows and out come an aggressive, druggy Blue Oyster Cult-type synth-metal, with progressive rock trappings. Dense keyboard textures and overlapping guitars are the driving force, in other words. OK, fine, but it’s still all a bit mezzo-mezzo, in my opinion. The amplitude, musicianship and in-unison riffs are solid, but strong melodic arrangements aren’t necessarily Hawkwind’s strong point, and that’s eventually a bit of a distraction or bore for me.

Recorded from an early December 2002 show at the Newcastle Opera House in Newcastle, England, this 14-song set offers up quite a show, clocking in at more than two hours. The complete track listing is as follows: “Aero Space Age Inferno,” “Angels of Death,” “Out of the Shadows,” “Time Captives,” “Master of the Universe,” “The Song of the Gremlins,” “Time & Confusion,” “Hurry on Sundown,” “Lighthouse,” “The Watcher,” “Assassins of Allah” (surely a strong contender for the closing theme of the next Republican National Convention), “Earth Calling,” “Sonic Space Attack” and “Silver Machine.”

Fronted by founding member Dave Brock, Hawkwind has, through the years,
featured a revolving-door roster, and this is evident in some of the music, which comes across as a sum of parts rather than a codifying whole. Motorhead’s Lemmy — a figure with
whom I was more familiar — was apparently a member and driving
creative force for a time, around for their seminal effort In Search of Space and 1975 follow-up Warrior on the Edge of Time, which provide a couple of tunes herein. Presented with a solid 5.1 surround sound mix, Out of the Shadows is, I reckon, a decent offering for loyal, longtime fans, and it includes an interview with Brock as well. It’s a shame, though, that there’s not a more proper reunion on tap with all of the original and/or important creative forces in the band. That might really be something. C (Concert) B- (Disc)

The first two volumes of this compendium concert series, presented separately in their own Amray cases, offer forth a nice array of classic rock tunes for the nostalgia-rabid, concert-loving boomer or, alternately, the ones that didn’t/couldn’t get out of their house and down to their local venue at the time.

While James Brown, Little Richard, Elvis Presley and (to a much lesser extent) the Beatles were tearing up the charts but also catching head-on flak for corrupting the country’s minors, many artists here (the baby-faced Bobby Vee, for instance, and Tommy Sands, derided by edgier deejays for years as “Tommy Blands”) were viewed as safe, relatively wholesome alternatives — proof that rock ’n’ roll wasn’t going to completely unravel the moral fabric of America. While cover groups like The Diamonds (“Why Do Fools Fall in Love,” “Church Bells Are Ringing”) could never be accused of being ground-breakingly original, they were certainly a solid act in their heyday, and their presence here — alongside highly skilled and under-regarded craftsmen like The Crickets, who would continue to perform as a collective after the tragic death of frontman Buddy Holly — is certainly welcome and not entirely unwarranted.

The first volume, housed behind a turquoise jukebox slipcover, contains, among other acts, The Coasters and Del Shannon, The Tokens, Jive Five and The Dixie Cups alongside the aforementioned Sands. Of these, it’s probably the Coasters (“Yakety Yak,” “Young Blood”) and the Tokens (the amusingly forthrightly-titled and double-edged “Tonight I Feel I’m in Love” as well as “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” which still holds up) that come across best, though there’s a soft spot in my heart as well for the Dixie Cups’ “Chapel of Love,” which was a favorite song of an aunt of mine.

The second volume, mirroring the cover of the first release but with pea-green shading, kicks off with Sands, who cycles through “Teenage Crush” and “The Beat Goes On.” Ex-Drifter Johnny Thunder (a less frequently mentioned inspiration for Eddie Murphy’s James “Thunder” Early in Dreamgirls, but part of the amalgamation, alongside James Brown and Little Richard) scores with “Suzi Q” and “Loop de Loop,” followed by the previously mentioned Vee, the Diamonds, the little known Johnny Tillotson (“Earth Angel,” “It Keeps Right on Hurting”), inarguable highlight the Crickets (“That’ll Be the Day,” “Peggy Sue”) and saxophonist show closer Ace Cannon.

Recorded at the Rock ’n’ Roll Palace in Orlando, these concerts are latter-day affairs, meaning there’s a slight whiff of mothball melancholy already attached to certain performances, and not the heady contact high of some of their original inceptions. While there are unfortunately no supplemental extras, each disc runs approximately 60 minutes, and comes presented on a region-free disc, meaning that these hits of yesteryear are set to travel and A-OK for worldwide play. B- (Concerts) C- (Discs)

Director Jean-Marc Vallée’s C.R.A.Z.Y. explores the triumph and beauty of acceptance, both of
oneself and others. Spanning two decades, the film chronicles the life of young
gay male Zac (Marc-André Grondin), focusing on the contentious relationship he
has with his father Gervais (Michel Côté). The pain they endure, the lessons
they teach one another and, ultimately, the love they exude for one another helped
make this heart-warming coming-of-age film a smash hit in its native
French-speaking Canada,
ringing up over $5 million in theatrical receipts.

Zachary Beaulieu was born on Christmas Day in 1960, a symbolic
blessing indicative of his power to heal, according to his very Catholic mother (Danielle Poulx). Of his five sons, Gervais seems to favor Zac over the others, but Zac’s birth date
is just one of many things that set him apart from his siblings. When Gervais begins
to witness unusual behavior in his son at an early age (including Zac’s preference
for his mother’s clothing), their relationship undergoes a change; he becomes distant
and disdainful of him, an aversion that Zac will spend the rest of his
childhood trying to overcome. Zac still shows signs of those tendencies through
his teenage years (such as his David Bowie-style glam-rock look), but his
father’s conservative values push him to repress his sexuality for a long time.
As Zac ultimately moves towards self-actualization, Gervais must also come to
grips with the reality about his son, and grapple with acceptance of his
lifestyle.

C.R.A.Z.Y. was a
sensation on the festival circuit, playing at the Toronto International Film
Festival, picking up an audience award at AFI Fest, and winning 10 Genie Awards
including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor (Côté). It’s easy to see why. The film is nicely acted, and superbly constructed by Vallée. (Much praise has also
rightly been given to the eclectic soundtrack of the movie, which ranges from Pink
Floyd and the Rolling Stones to Patsy Cline and David Bowie, and a European friend of mine recently mentioned was a club re-mix staple in Amsterdam). The only big knock on the movie is that its script is a bit repetitive and married to structural clichés, in that it elongates the arc of sibling bickering to such a degree that resolution feels forestalled instead of worked through and arrived at. Still, there’s some fine work here, if one is inclined to be interested in coming-out stories.

Presented in a regular Amray case, in 1:85 anamorphic widescreen
and with a French language Dolby digital 5.1 sound, C.R.A.Z.Y.
comes with English subtitles, obviously. There are unfortunately no supplemental DVD extras to distinguish this disc. B- (Movie) D (Disc)

Every once in a while, slightly more often than a blue moon, Hollywood
turns out similar films. Sometimes, though, the thematic overlap is
considerable, and the lapsed time between windows of release quite
small. Such is the case with Infamous, the second of two movies
within a little over a year to concentrate on author Truman Capote and
the penning of his “nonfiction novel” masterwork, In Cold Blood. As such, Infamous feels a bit like a late-arriving guest who
shows up wearing the exact same fashionable, boutique-bought dress or
snakeskin jacket that an earlier partygoer already received heartfelt
compliments on. For the full DVD review, from IGN, click here.

American
Idol this season, if it hasn’t already), and if it fails to lift a sour
mood for at least two-and-a-half minutes then one is certifiably one hardcore grump.

No surprise, then, that it’s that tune that serves as the
kick-off treat and centerpiece to this concert disc (it’s actually performed twice). But Reeves was no one-hit
wonder. Her act, Martha and the Vandellas, were one of Motown Records’ earliest
and most exciting girl groups — a more and edgy forceful alternative to the airy lift of
the Supremes. Their first hit was their second release, a beat ballad called “Come
Get These Memories” that represented Holland-Dozier-Holland’s first
collaboration as a songwriting team, hit #3 on the R&B charts in 1963.
Other smashes soon followed, including “Jimmy Mack,” “Heatwave” and, of course,
the finger-snapping “Nowhere to Run To,” another romp of a song.

All of these tunes get a workout in this 54-minute showcase,
recorded from a 2005 show at the Rock ’n’ Roll Palace in Orlando,
Florida. Reeves is older and the
arrangements thusly stretched out just a bit from the full-throttle pace of the
originals. Still, if her attempts at energetic reach-out don’t convey the
full-on catharsis one might want (sorry, but tambourines don’t fully convey the
will to move that “Dancing in the Street” instills), Reeves proves she still has
some power left in her pipes. Special guest Sam Moore also comes out to offer
up some of his hits (“Hold On, I’m Coming,” “Wrap It Up, I’ll Take It”) as
well, which leads to the nice conclusion of “Soul Man,” another energetic tune.
There aren’t any special features to speak of on this full-frame, region-free presentation,
but the audio is loud and clear, and as long as one supplies their own dance
moves, it’s a nice enough treat from Motown’s star-studded past. B (Concert) C+ (Disc)

So self-serious, so very indie and so very dreadful, The Quiet
is
marked by a bracing solemnity, except that it doesn’t fancy itself a
satirical goof on that tone. An exposé of idyllic suburbia that offers
forth
the surface appearance of evocative contrasts with none of the
corresponding psychological depth, the movie is an undeservedly
self-satisfied drama, and a bore to boot.

Leading the parade of
wafer-thin characterizations is high-school cheerleader Nina (Elisha Cuthbert, above left), whose sneering, unsubstantiatedly vicious
demeanor is egged on by an equally catty and bitchy friend, Michelle
(Katy Mixon). Nina has an outwardly perfect life, which naturally means
that she’s masking a dark secret. The most immediately apparent source
of Nina’s irritation is Dot (When a Stranger Calls’ Camilla
Belle), a silent, presumably deaf girl, whom Nina’s parents, architect
Paul (Martin Donovan) and interior decorator Olivia (Edie Falco), have
taken in after the death of her father. Dot is the very definition of
unassuming, but nonetheless becomes a whipping post for Nina’s pent-up
anger — even more so when letterman Connor (Shawn Ashmore), Michelle’s
crush of the moment, expresses an interest in her. All manner of
guarded secrets then come tumbling forth, both in confession and
through deduction, with life-altering consequences for nearly all those
involved.

The Quiet is actually director Jamie Babbit’s second feature film (she’s also helmed episodes of Popular, Gilmore Girls and Nip/Tuck), but it exhibits none of the colorful eccentricity of her first — the zonked-out high school lesbian comedy But I’m a Cheerleader,
which I found kind of awful, but at least flamboyant and original, bad in an
interesting fashion. Penned by Abdi Nazmian and Micah Schraft, The Quiet
merely substitutes tranquility for perspicacity, and is driven by the
twin engines of illogicality and whimsicality. Characters are defined
frequently only through others’ descriptions of them; Olivia is a pill-popping, emotionally
inattentive zombie, though we see no evidence of that in our first (and
longest) encounter with her. Connor, meanwhile, is a “hunk” (and
desired by Michelle) merely because he’s the only
young male in the movie. The movie is shot, furthermore, in what is possibly the most dimly lit
house ever.

Then there’s the niggling matter of Dot’s deafness and muteness.
Throughout the film, it’s advanced that she can read lips if people are
facing her. Yet The Quiet, a movie presumably predicated upon
carefully modulated mood and a few key revelations, is remarkably slack
about enforcing this scene to scene, so twists that in theory should
surprise characters within the movie will have you howling, “Idiot!” at
the screen. By the time The Quiet’s utterly preposterous ending
unravels — complete with a bizarre, out-of-left-field false confession
that both makes no sense within the actual narrative and offers no
sense of authentic catharsis, release or reprieve for the character(s)
it lets off the hook — you’ll be struck dumb in your own way.

The movie is presented in 2.35 anamorphic widescreen, which preserves the aspect ration of its initial theatrical presentation; it also comes with Dolby digital 5.1 surround and Dolby digital 2.0 surround sound English language audio tracks (French and Spanish on the latter as well), and a healthy clutch of subtitles in five different languages. DVD special features include a five-minute dissection of a high school classroom dissection scene within the movie (can we say random?) and a nice seven-minute on-location featurette which examines the movie’s Austin-based shoot. There are also three more brief featurettes on the film’s use of digital photography, its casting, and script development. All of these clock in between five and just under 10 minutes, and while passably interesting, they do raise a flag of potential irritation in that they mention (and show, via on-set footage) various extra scenes and story strands… that we then don’t get to see in unexpurgated form. That’s the definition of a tease, something which The Quiet‘s suggestively tawdy box cover would have you believe is much more a part of the main attraction. D (Movie) B (Disc)

  a routine
Spanish Fly-smuggling trip back from Mexico, two friends stumble upon an
out-of-the-way gentlemen’s club with no cover charge and plenty of sexy,
friendly ladies,” you know that your
life just got better — which is to say, irrespective of the quality of the movie
that follows, you will forevermore have, in your life, the memory of the
phrase, “During a routine Spanish Fly-smuggling trip back from Mexico…”

Yes, Devil’s Den is
that movie. And yes, it’s every bit as ridiculous as you might suspect given
even that one line. What’s that? Oh, right, right… I’ve neglected to mention
the specifics of the rest of the narrative arc. A sort of low-grade rip-off of From Dusk ’Til Dawn, Devil’s Den unfolds at the same-named
strip club, which is actually a recruiting station and portal for an army of flesh-eating
undead. Backed into a corner, drug-running film geek Quinn (Devon Sawa, aka
that kid from Final Destination, and currently
a poor man’s Shane West), trigger-happy assassin Caitlin (Kelly Hu, a loooong
way from the comforts of X-Men
franchise and even The Scorpion King),
samurai demon hunter Leonard (horror icon Ken Foree, of the original Dawn of the Dead, plus Rob Zombie’s The Devil’s Rejects), and airhead
cocktail waitress Candy (Karen Maxwell) must band together and do battle with ferocious
hordes of possessed, gut-ripping strippers.

There’s actually some halfway funny B-movie dialogue here (“Can’t
we just enjoy the spoils of that particular victory?” queries Quinn plaintively,
in making a case for not going deeper into the lair and searching out the “queen”
undead/vampire stripper). There’s also, believe it or not, a full-blown Zatoichi
fantasy sequence (!), for which I give the filmmakers mad props. Still, the
fact remains that limited means and shoddy execution absolutely murder any sort of
relative, to-scale chance this movie has; dialogue is mangled, and all action
is shot in a dirty, over-the-shoulder style that screams unplanned, seat-of-the-pants direction.
Helmer Jeff Burr is a stunt veteran who’s racked up a bunch of genre credits
(including Stepfather II), but he
brings nothing to the table here as far as skillful evocation of goosing mood.
This movie is a decent showcase for one of the most unfortunately maligned
guilds in Hollywood — the Buxom
Stunt Ladies of America
— but nothing more.

Presented in an Amray case with an embossed foil O-card slipcover,
Devil’s Den comes with a 1.78:1 widescreen
transfer, enhanced for 16×9 TVs. The disc does, though, actually include a good bit of supplemental material — an audio commentary track with
Burr, a brief making-of featurette with good-natured interviews with most of
the cast (big shocker: Sawa was inked the night before shooting began) and a blooper
reel that reveals Hu to be just a little bit petulant (concerned about her lighting
and angles, but still flubbing plenty of lines). There’s also a photo gallery and a copy of
the screenplay on DVD-ROM. Too bad the product itself weren’t more worthy of the celebration. Oh well, at least we’ll always have that routine Spanish Fly-smuggling trip… D (Movie) B+ (Disc)

No one really knows if Chinese
Democracy, the fabled Guns N’ Roses follow-up album, will ever really see
the light of day. In fact, democracy might break out in the real mainland China
before that happens. But one thing is for certain: no matter the extraordinary
degree of their ill-fated reunion at the MTV
Movie Awards a few years back (and make no mistake, that was awful, and not just because Slash
was subbed out for a guy named Buckethead), in their heyday in the 1980s Guns N’
Roses plain kicked ass. “Big time,” as Dick Cheney would say.

Fronted by slithery, enigmatic singer Axl Rose, they were
the epitome of all that hairspray metal bands aspired to, and then some. The
biggest group on the planet for a few short years, they sold 50 million albums
and created a hard rock sound all their own before imploding in the all-too-predictable
haze of drugs, alcohol, in-feuding and recrimination. The Guns N’ Roses DVD Collector’s Box is a two-DVD set that features
an unauthorized biography and culls together extant interview footage with band
members, close friends and industry colleagues, family members and the like, along
with a good bit of performance footage. With unpublished photographs, location
shoot footage and more, it all rounds together for a nice gift for the super-hardcore
fan that has everything… except the new material that Axl Rose won’t release.
Casual fans, though, can rest easy, waiting for the onslaught of officially sanctioned,
slightly more polished memorabilia that would no doubt accompany any official
reunion tour or project.

The first title herein is Axl Rose: The Prettiest Star, which may be the silliest, most fey
name for any sort of accompanying piece of celebratory biography I’ve ever
heard. With interviews from former manager Vicky Hamilton, guitarist Chris
Weber, Robert John and the like, this is a look back at Axl in the glam-rock
days of the ’80s, charting the deprivation and isolation of his youth, his
arrival in Los Angeles from Lafayette,
Indiana as basically a runaway and his early
escape into the drug-and-party-fueled music scene. More directly titled is Sex N’ Drugs N’ Rock N’ Roll (duh!),
which churns up some good dirt on the decidedly well-earned bad-boy reputation
of the group (Duff McKagan seems to have had a thing for public urination).
There’s not much really new here, but it’s a nice, rowdy trip down memory lane,
and a look back at a time when rock stars could be counted on to be less
eloquent and more self-destructive and devastatingly entertaining than the
leader of the free world. Ahh, those were the days…

Presented in 4:3 format on region-free discs, these titles
come packaged in their own Amray slipcases, which are in turn stored in a nice,
sealable, cardboard slipcover. Extra features are just so-so, with a trivia
section, a lengthy band quiz and an interactive discography. More framing
critical discourse would have been welcome, but hey — this ain’t academia, I
guess. You’re in the jungle, baby… C (Movies) C+ (Discs)

Hellboy prior to the 2004 film adaptation by Guillermo Del Toro, but I was handily won over by that movie’s spry, smart
blend of band-of-brothers superhero action, wry humor and supernatural
mysticism (the latter a Del Toro staple, dating back to Chronos, and a morsel that would additionally be put to good use in
Pan’s Labyrinth). Hellboy: Sword
of Storms, then, expands upon that movie’s laid track by taking the titular
character — a baby demon originally summoned from hell by the Nazis in order to
help them try to take over the world, but captured by Allied forces and turned over
to a secret underground organization created to help defend the world from
paranormal attacks — into the animated realm, and it does so in engaging fashion.

In Sword of Storms, a professor specializing in the occult
opens up a forbidden Japanese scroll, and is possessed by the restless spirits
of Thunder and Lightning. Springing to action, Hellboy and the rest of the Bureau
for Paranormal Research and Defense (or B.P.R.D.) — a group that includes Liz
Sherman, the amphibious Abe Sapien and Professor Kate Corrigan — investigate
the happenings surrounding the professor’s disappearance and work to set things
right. This means plenty of chances for Hellboy to break out his arsenal of tailor-made
weapons, including that giant club of a right hand. He also stumbles across an old,
important samurai sword, however — a rapier which whisks him away to dangerous
world full of giant spiders and sea creatures, fiery floating heads and hordes
of the undead.

Characterized by deep, lush backgrounds and stark angles, Sword of Storms conforms to the stylized look and
feel of the series that Mignola established with the comic book, but it also —
quite wisely, in my opinion — uses the voice talents of the cast of Del Toro’s
film. Ron Perlman’s Hellboy is forceful and engaging, and Selma Blair as Liz
and Doug Jones as Abe gives the project a nice, corollary feel to the
live-action feature.

Presented in a very nice 1.78:1 widescreen transfer, Sword of Storms looks great — with no
blurring of overlapping dark colors, and no interlacing problems — and comes with
three audio tracks: English language Dolby digital 5.1 and Dolby digital 2.0
mixes, and a Spanish language Dolby digital 2.0 mix. All of these tracks are
clean and strong in the dialogue department, but the 5.1 mix cranks up the
subwoofers and ambient sound to create a truly immersive experience that never overwhelms.

Hearteningly, this release is also chock full of featurettes
that enhance both its casual viewing and collectibility. Probably the best amongst
all of these is A New Breed, a documentary feature that gives newbies an
edifying overview of the Hellboy universe, from the beginning of the comic all
the way up to this film. Mignola and others talk about the evolution of the
character and the series, and conceptual art, animatics and the like are all
nicely showcased. Next up is an audio commentary track from Mignola and the
makers of the movie; full of some good anecdotes, this delves deeper into the underpinnings
of Japanese folklore that provide the movie with its plot. There’s also a Comic-Con
panel discussion on the project and a few other colorful promotional tidbits,
with trailers for a Hellboy videogame
and other forthcoming projects rounding things out. B+ (Movie) B+ (Disc)

Factotum is a rambling, episodic, mock-biography of barfly and author Charles Bukowski, anchored by a fine,
square-jawed lead performance from Matt Dillon, who between this and
Crash has located a better use of his talent in playing louts and
fringe-dwellers. Watching the film — which is actually quite funny at times, despite its darkness
— you get a palpable sense of how Dillon’s character’s acting out (and thus Bukowski’s as well) stems from his racing, perpetually dissatisfied inner monologue, and how his
general disagreeableness is hardwired
to an irreconcilable urgency to locate in both life and his art the same sort of
forward-leaning insistence he feels in his soul. A 28-minute look at the making of the movie and filmmaker Bent Hamer’s other works anchors the supplemental slate. For the full DVD review, from IGN, click here.

Canadian singer-songwriter Jann Arden has sold more than two
million records, but I confess that until I plunked this DVD down in my player,
I don’t believe I’d heard of her. I say I don’t believe that I had because the name sounds vaguely familiar, and
the face seems recognizable as well, as Arden herself self-effacingly jokes in
talking about living life seemingly on the perpetual precipice of something
bigger. Set against a backdrop of her music, Jann Arden: A Work in Progress is apparently part of a
north-of-the-border arts-biography series, and it delivers a charming, revelatory
portrait of a pop singer who steadfastly refuses to be stereotyped in an
industry that thrives on image and radio-ready singles.

Running 50 minutes and anchored by a Dolby digital 5.1 surround
sound mix, A Work in Progress mixes
together interview footage with performance material, to solid effect. First
things first: a complete track listing consists of “I Would Die For You,” “Good
Mother,” “Ode to a Friend,” “Wonderdrug,” “The Sound Of,” “Time for Mercy,” “Hangin’
by a Thread,” “Holy Moses,” “In Your Keeping,” “I Just Don’t Love You Anymore,”
“Could I Be Your Girl,” “Insensitive,” “Wishing That,” “Another Human Being,” “Piece
of It All,” “Sleepless” and “Will You Remember Me.”

It’s Arden’s disarming
candor and skill with a quip, however, that makes this title such breezy fun. Whether
talking about her weight (“I got a boob caught in the blender and thought it
was heartburn…”) and love of cooking, her dating and romantic history, the
occasional acting stint (she’s done a couple tours of The Vagina Monologues) or her musical inspirations, Arden comes off
as refreshingly at ease with who she is, and that in turn translates to the
appeal of her music, which is of the light and evocative singer-songwriter
mode, but with much more thoughtful lyrics. (Think along the lines of a female Luka
Bloom, for point of reference.) There are unfortunately no additional
supplemental extras herein, but this is overall a well-produced disc, and
certainly worthy of your time if interested in getting to know Arden
and her work. For more information, visit her eponymous web site. B (Concert) C+ (Disc)

Half Nelson — for which young star Ryan
Gosling has been deservingly nominated for a Best Actor Oscar — is every bit an
achingly perfect indie film, from its subject matter to the manner it defaults
to jittery close-ups when it doesn’t really know what else to do with its
framing and mise en scène. When
combined with its tragic subject matter, this steadfast adherence to overt
impressionism sometimes comes off as a bit manipulative and calculated. Still,
for the most part, the artistry herein wins one over, because you at least have
complicated characters rubbed raw up against one another — a sight far too rare
in mainstream Hollywood product.

By day, idealistic, easygoing Dan Dunne (Gosling) struggles
to reach the underprivileged, predominantly African-American students in his Brooklyn
high school classroom, where he coaches the girls’ basketball team and inspires
his pupils to examine everything from the civil rights movement to the Civil
War with a methodology that leans more on ramshackle, open-ended debate than strict
lecture. By night, though, Dan struggles with alcoholism and an addiction to
crack cocaine, as well as the accumulated weight of all of his disappointments
and disillusionment. Juggling hangovers and homework, Dan keeps his
precariously compartmentalized lives for the most part separated until one of
his students, Drey (Shareeka Epps), catches him, broken down and in the act of
getting high in the locker room after a basketball game. From there, the pair forms
an unlikely and unexpectedly deep friendship — each wordlessly goading the
other into some form of change or self-betterment — that could have potentially
life-altering consequences for each of them.

Co-screenwriters Ryan Fleck (who also directed the movie)
and Anna Boden developed the script several years ago at the Sundance
Screenwriters Lab and, with little money or resources available to produce a
feature, refashioned the story into short form and shot Gowanus, Brooklyn (so named for its setting) on digital video with
friends and local kids as their cast and crew. Once that won the Grand Jury
Prize for shorts at the 2004 Sundance Film Festival, the duo then went ahead
with efforts to mount a full-fledged feature, finding a successful, equally
devoted collaborator in Gosling.

As previously noted, director Fleck trades heartily in
instinctive, verité filmmaking technique, though it frequently seems as much by
nature of budgeted necessity as intellectual approach. Half Nelson is pitiless and full of muddied absolutes, but for the
most part free of calluses — perhaps too much so. The absolute brilliance of
some self-contained scenes — Dan angrily confronting nearby drug peddler Frank (Anthony
Mackie) about Drey, only to have his antagonism melt away in a fit of silently
acknowledged hypocrisy and the casually floated proposition of a free score —
leaves one wanting for a slightly more formalized structure and style. The
floating frames of cinematographer Andrij Parekh’s handheld close-ups sometimes
wear out their welcome, and there is too little sense of logical progression
from scene to scene, too little mooring in the movie’s plump, listless second
act.

What easily redeems Half
Nelson, though, are its characters and superb acting. In Frank and Dan,
Drey is caught between two poles — neither a traditional or proper role model,
yet each attempting in their own way to help shepherd her through adolescence.
Epps’ beautifully low-key performance perfectly captures her commingled
affection for and disappointment in Dan; it’s not a tawdry loss of her own
innocence so much as a slow slide through bystander’s observation, and this is
more emblematic, I feel, of adolescence’s surrender to pessimism.

Presented in 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen that preserves the
aspect ratio of its original theatrical exhibition, Half Nelson comes with English language Dolby digital 5.1 and
stereo audio tracks, as well as optional English and Spanish subtitles. The DVD
comes with a low-key feature-length audio commentary track from Fleck and
Boden; praise runs wide and deep for both Gosling and Epps, and they comment on
the film’s roots in the aforementioned short and paring process en route to the
big screen. Three deleted scenes run a combined three-and-a-half minutes, while
four extended scenes clock in at the same amount. There are no wild new
discoveries here, but a bit more of an establishment of Drey as an adolescent
in a scene that showcases a reliance on manipulation. Seven minutes of outtakes
and a music video (Rhymefest’s “Wanted”) otherwise complement the release; the
only thing missing — and it’s a big hole — is face time with Gosling, a
reluctant star who won’t be forever able to avoid the spotlight if he keeps
delivering the type of fiercely mesmerizing performance he does in Half Nelson. B (Movie) B+ (Disc)

Office Space, but his pitch-perfect,
average-guy pliability in that cult classic sealed the deal for me. Now,
courtesy of the new-to-DVD Relative
Strangers, comes the secret of his success. Says Livingston
on one of the disc’s extras, sitting next to his father, “I just usually try to
imagine how my dad would say something, and say it like that.” Brilliant!

Livingston plays Dr. Richard Clayton, an upward-trajectory
kind of guy for whom everything is coming up aces; he’s got a loving fiancée,
Ellen (Neve Campbell), two wonderful and supportive parents (Edward Hermann and
Christine Baranski), and a successful career as a psychiatrist, not to mention a
self-help book on anger management climbing the best-seller list. Everything in
his life is perfect, right on course — all until, that is, his jealous brother
(Bob Odenkirk) tells Richard in a moment of piqued anger that he was adopted.

Naturally, this stimulates Richard’s curiosity, and he hires
a private investigator to locate his birth parents, who turn out to be Frank
and Agnes Manure (Danny De Vito and Kathy Bates), a pair of perpetually jubilant
but crude and offensive carnies. The crude pair proceeds to make Richard’s life
miserable, from wrecking his relationships with friends and family to
sabotaging his career during a live television taping promoting his new book to
threatening to upend his approaching nuptials.

Directed by Greg Glienna, from a script co-written with Peter
Stass, Relative Strangers leans
heavily on its Meet the Parents roots
(Glienna having written, directed and starred in the 1992 version on which the 2000
Ben Stiller/Robert De Niro remake was based, and received story credit on that
film and its sequel). That means comedy rooted in the collision of the staid
and mannered with the willfully broad. So does Relative Strangers shock you with its transgressiveness or
originality of structure? No, not really. What it does have, though, is a bunch
of comedic heavy hitters doing some fine, fun character work. (Alongside the
aforementioned cast, Martin Mull and Beverly D’Angelo also appear.) De Vito has
an absolute blast as Frank; it’s good to see him back in mischievous top
form. Livingston, meanwhile, is a good, anchored guide through all of this mayhem.

DVD supplemental features consist of a nicely stitched
together, 13-minute on-set featurette, which includes plenty of cast and crew
interviews, plus Livingston jokingly talk about his joy at finally getting to
experience a “nut take” on film, in which his groin is the recipient of a giant
rubber-band ball. (In a zonked-out bit Mr.
Show fans will certainly appreciate, Odenkirk also speaks reverentially
about his first on-set sandwich.) In addition, there’s a five-minute segment
which highlights cast members’ recollections of their own parents, and it’s
here that Livingston palls around with his father. The
film clips within these segments are (rather strangely) rendered in horrible
quality, but the rest of the material is fine. Optional Spanish subtitles stand
alongside a Dolby digital 5.1 surround sound audio track. B- (Movie) B (Disc)