In 1985 creator Glenn Gordon Caron debuted a two hour, made for television adventure/comedy/mystery entitled Moonlighting. Drawing on a wealth of admiration for the old Nick and Nora Charles, Thin Man film series made by MGM in the 1930s and 40s, Caron developed witty repartee between a sultry ex-model and raucous gumshoe thrust together by unusual circumstances on a race against time.

In fact, Moonlighting was the third project in a 3 picture deal brokered by Caron with ABC television. While Caron’s previous two efforts had met with indifference and outright rejection, Moonlighting was decidedly different. Holding open auditions for the part of the gregarious P.I., David Addison, Caron easily found the embodiment of the character in then unemployed actor, Bruce Willis.

Unfortunately, executives at ABC could not see the merit in Caron’s choice. Given Hollywood’s penchant for “pretty boys” it is perhaps understandable why ABC balked at Willis from the start. But what Willis lacked in conventional good looks he easily made up in raw charm and spirited charisma.

After shooting a screen test with Willis and costar Cybil Shepherd, ABC reluctantly agreed. The result: a most perfect blending of star talent conceived for the small screen.  The chemistry between Willis and Shepherd cannot be overestimated, producing palpable sparks of raw sexual frustration that eventually became the backbone of the series and its lamentable undoing. So popular with audiences was Moonlighting’s pilot that ABC immediately informed Caron he would be making a TV series.

Caron, who openly admitted he never had any such intentions from the start, now found himself having to produce weekly episodes that lived up to the same, high artistic standards as his original project. That Caron refused to sacrifice integrity for the sake of keeping up the pace gradually began to wear the series down. In the 5 years that Moonlighting was a main staple on television, it never remotely approached its quota of 32 episodes per annum and, in fact, totaled a scant 76 prior to its cancellation.

Season One and Two of Moonlighting easily represent one of the most outstanding, quirky romantic comedies ever to come to television. Like most of the series one-hour mysteries, the two-hour pilot’s narrative is flawed. It begins when former top model Maddie Hayes (Shepherd) discovers that her accountant has absconded with her life savings, leaving her penniless.

Determined to liquidate her tangible assets for some quick cash, Maddie arrives at the Blue Moon Detective Agency, overseen by the gregarious David Addison (Willis). Saying all the wrong things – but loveably so – David manages to incur Maddie’s wrath repeatedly until the two become embroiled in a crime in which the only clue is a stolen, broken watch. 

In truth, Caron and his team of writers always placed their emphasis more on the double entendre between Willis and Shepherd than on successfully resolving many of the “who done its” that serve as a very thin basis for what is essentially a sex comedy with plenty of oomph! For a while, this shift in traditional focus from sleuthing to seducing sustains the series, particularly throughout seasons one, two and part of season three.

Highlights from this first two years include “The Next Murder You Hear”, in which Maddie becomes obsessed with the disembodied voice of a lonely hearts radio jockey after he is supposedly murdered on air, and, “The Lady in the Iron Mask”, in which a disfigured woman hires the duo to find the man who threw acid in her face twenty years earlier. There’s also “The Bride of Tupperman”: Maddie and David search for the ideal mate for a man who is plotting an insurance scheme.

Guest stars include Tim Robbins, as a career killer in “Gunfight at the So-So Corral” and Dana Delaney, cast as David’s conniving old flame, out to set him up for murder in “My Fair David”. But the truly outstanding episode of Season Two is undeniably “The Dream Sequence Always Rings Twice”: a homage to 40s film noir shot almost entirely in B&W in which David and Maddie separately contemplate how an unsolved crime at an upscale nightclub went down some 50 years before. As a big-band chanteuse, Cybil Shepherd acquits herself nicely of the standards “Blue Moon” and “Told You I Loved You, Now Get Out”.

To some extent, the series crests after the end of Season Two, with both Willis and Shepherd, curiously enough, looking considerably older at the start of Season Three. If the third year of Moonlighting doesn’t quite live up to the series reputation, it nevertheless provides some groundbreaking television programming, including “Atomic Shakespeare”, a lavishly appointed and upbeat take on The Taming of the Shrew – and “Big Man on Mulberry Street”, in which David and Maddie do a big-scale musical production number/dream sequence reminiscent of the great MGM musicals from the 1950s. Mark Harmon makes his debut near the end of Season Three as Maddie’s old flame, Sam, who forces David to grapple with his true feelings toward Maddie too little too late. 

But the big buildup of having David Addison and Maddie Hayes fall into bed together could only last so long, so at the end of Season Three the results of their great seduction are more a weak expulsion of the inevitable that proved a subsequent letdown for viewers.

As a result, Season Four of Moonlighting separates the two lovers almost for the duration of the season, with David sexually frustrated and sleuthing in Los Angeles while Maddie convalesced privately at her parent’s home in Chicago, only to discover that she is in fact pregnant – quite possibly with either David or Sam’s baby.

To fill the void created by this separation, Caron and his writers bump up the importance of two subordinate characters in the series: Blue Moon’s dutiful but dumb secretary, Agnes DiPesto (Allyce Beasley), and pontificating operative with a short man’s complex, Herbert Quentin Viola (Curtis Armstrong). At the end of Season Four, Maddie returns to Blue Moon, pregnant and married to Walter Bishop (David Dugan), a man she has met on the train back to L.A. – leaving David deflated and vengeful. In fact, Maddie has married Walter to rid herself of the lingering passion she still harbors for David, a rouse that eventually crumbles when David vindictively forces the couple to renew their vows before God and their friends in a church.

Seemingly painted into a corner, Season Five begins with Maddie’s divorce from Walter and her miscarriage of what we come to learn was, in fact, David’s baby. However, instead of reconciliation between the two costars, the tragedy of losing a child reforms Maddie into a kinder, gentler woman, completely robbing the series of its electric banter. Maddie no longer wishes to reform David. In fact, she no longer has feelings for him at all, referring to David almost exclusively as her colleague, even when her cousin Annie (Virginia Madsen) arrives for a visit.

Annie and David become lovers, but the move is short-lived when Annie’s husband Mark arrives. David resigns himself to losing Annie, pretending to have an affair with a co-worker so that Annie will make the right choice and return to her husband. Agnes and Herbert marry, and Maddie and David are informed by ABC that the network has decided to cancel their series.

All through the series, producer/director Glenn Gordon Caron had toyed with inserting inside jokes into the narrative: from having David periodically giving direct address to the viewing audience to both Maddie and David providing running commentary in constant quips about ABC’s lack of imagination and the rigors of producing a television series. Caron even spoofs the fact that the series could never keep up with the expected 32 episodes per season in “The Straight Poop”, where Hollywood gossip columnist Rona Barrett arrives on set to confront a supposedly standoffish Maddie and David. Tragically, the last year and a half of Moonlighting is a hodge-podge of mire, more melodramatic and soapish than trend-setting good fun.

Lion’s Gate Home Entertainment has made Moonlighting’s five seasons available on DVD in four box sets. Season’s One and Two come packaged together. For the most part, image quality is about what one might expect from vintage television with a generally smooth image exhibiting dated colors and bright contrast levels. Occasionally however, the image falters with bizarre shortcomings.

Portions of “Atomic Shakespeare”, for example, are riddled with grain and excessive age- related artifacts, while much of “A Womb With A View” exhibits a curious haloing effect that makes the image severely blurry in spots as though it were shot on old Technicolor film stock that has separated and/or shrunk. The audio in all cases is mono but adequately represented.

Extras on Season One and Two include three documentaries: “Not Just A Day Job: The Story of Moonlighting”, “Inside The Blue Moon Detective Agency”, and “The Moonlighting Phenomenon”. Season Three also has a half-hour documentary that reunites Caron with Shepherd and Willis. For the rest, audio-commentary tracks are scattered throughout each season, at times offering an insightful backdrop to a series that had no equals during its brief reign.

Alfred Hitchcock's American films - Part Two: from Notorious to Strangers on a Train

By all accounts David O. Selznick was not the most patient of men to work for. Indeed, by 1946 the strain of toiling under Selznick's scrutiny was getting the better of Alfred Hitchcock. All the more reason to discover that Hitchcock's Notorious (1946) was a production free of most of the angst and headache that had dogged previous Selznick/Hitchcock collaborations. Hitchcock was afforded a rare freedom in artistic expression. Selznick had been forced to bow out of the project while it was still in preproduction. He would eventually sell off his rights as part of a package deal to RKO which included stars Ingrid Bergman, Cary Grant, and Hitchcock's services for a slick $800,000 -- plus half the revenue made from the finished film. Selznick used this money to help finance a project closer to his heart: the grandiose and oddly absurd western epic, Duel in the Sun (1946).

Based on a novel by John Taintor Foote, Ben Hecht's screenplay opens the story with Alicia Huberman (Ingrid Bergman) whose father has just been convicted of being a Nazi spy. Alicia's notoriety as a public party girl with a list of spurious associates garners the attention of the FBI, which sends special agent T.R. Devlin (Cary Grant) to blackmail Alicia into participating in their infiltration of a Nazi League stationed in Buenos Aires. Devlin falls in love with his secret agent: a complication magnified after Alicia agrees to marry one of her father's old Nazi friends, Alexander Sebastian (Claude Rains), to keep up appearances. However, from the start Alex's mother Anna (Leopoldine Constantin), is critical of the union, suspecting that her daughter-in-law is not all she pretends to be.

At a gala party, Devlin discovers uranium being smuggled in wine bottles inside Alex's cellar, accidentally breaking one of the bottles in the process. To cover up his tracks, Devlin embraces Alicia under Sebastian's watchful eye, thereby drawing suspicion to her marital fidelity rather than his scheming. It is a superficial diversion and Alex quickly discovers the truth about Alicia. Together with his mother, Alex attempts to quietly poison his wife. The resulting rescue of Alicia by Devlin draws suspicion from the Nazi plotters, who decide for themselves that Sebastian is an unstable link in their chain, one that cannot be allowed to live.

Notorious is Hitchcock's most perfectly realized American thriller from his 40s vintage. It is full of stylish, subtle nuances and visual mastery of film as pure art. Hitchcock also scored a subtle coup against the censors who, in their infinite wisdom to ban salacious sexuality from the movies, had deemed that any on-screen kiss should last no more than a few seconds. Placing his camera only inches away from Bergman and Grant's faces, Hitchcock had the actors merely peck one another over and over again for almost a minute, intermingling the touch of their lips with erotically peppered bits of dialogue. Though none of the kisses lasts for more than a second, the cumulative result on screen became akin to observing two people in the throws of some great lustful passion.

To date, Criterion and Anchor Bay have released credible copies of Notorious on DVD. The former provides for an updated transfer that unfortunately has several glaring examples of edge enhancement, while the latter is currently out of print though free of the aforementioned digital anomaly. Both transfers offer a refined image. Criterion's appears to have had its contrast levels artificially boosted, while Anchor Bay's contrast seems just a hint too low. The Criterion also contains an audio commentary, booklet and radio presentation. Interestingly, Criterion's version substitutes the Selznick International Studio logo for the RKO Radio Pictures logo and then severely picture boxes the opening credits with a very thick black border. The audio on both discs is mono as originally intended with no discernable sonic discrepancies between the two.

The Paradine Case (1947) effectively ended the association between Hitchcock and Selznick with a modest thud. That the resulting project failed to live up to everyone's expectations (coming directly after Notorious) belies Selznick's intervention on the project, even though the film itself is consistently charming and moody, if nowhere near the caliber of its predecessor.

Originally Hitchcock had wanted either Ronald Colman or Laurence Olivier for the role of the barrister, Anthony Keane. There is some speculation that Hitch also sought the elusive Greta Garbo as his Mrs. Paradine. Disinterested in paying for these loan outs, Selznick assigned his own homegrown contract players to the cast. Hitchcock was disenchanted with this decision. Although he greatly admired Gregory Peck, Alida Valli and Louis Jourdan as actors, he felt all of them entirely unsuited for their roles.

Nevertheless, the project progressed at a grueling ninety-two day shoot, the longest of any Hitchcock shooting schedule to date. At the start of shooting it had been Selznick's intension to create yet another colossus in film length: an extensive courtroom melodrama with obsessive love as its underpinning.  Working from a script by Selznick and Ben Hecht, Hitchcock chose to acquiesce to Selznick's demand rather than fight his desires for a really big movie, delivering nearly three hours of rough cut to Selznick at the end of the excursion. For once, Selznick felt that a film could in fact be too long and, after having disposed of Hitchcock's services once and for all, he went to work chopping the narrative down to a modest 125 minutes.

Though the cuts are not damaging to the overall continuity of the story, they tend to reduce various characters to mere cardboard representation. Imminent personalities such as Charles Laughton and Ethel Barrymore (cast in the film as tawdry philanderer, Judge Lord Thomas and Lady Horfield) simply float in and out of the story rather than becoming an integral part of it. So too does the ending in hindsight seem slightly rushed.

The story that emerges on screen is rather threadbare, and in viewing the film today one wonders just how much more there might have been to sustain an audience's interest for three hours. The plot concerns one Maddalena Anna Paradine (Valli), the late wife of a blind colonel whom she is accused of poisoning to death. It seems Mrs. Paradine has been having an affair with her husband's valet, Andre LaTour (Jourdan). On the advice of legal council, Sir Simon Flaquer (Charles Coburn), Maddalena hires handsome hotshot attorney Anthony Keane (Peck) as her defense. But the trial is made problematic when the married Keane begins to invest in Maddalena's innocence on the basis that he is slowly becoming enamored with her. Keane's wife, Gay (Ann Todd) is patient in her love, allowing her husband his romantic fancies while all the while knowing that they will come to not; for Maddalena is guilty of the charge.

Given the severity of Selznick's editing, the distillation of Hitchcock's usual sterling zeal for generating suspense into tepid melodrama at best is perhaps forgivable. The resulting film is much more a polite melodrama of manners than political/crime thriller. There are no surprises, no great complexities to wade through and no rivalry between characters once the audience has figured out that the accused is in fact destined to die.

To date, only Anchor Bay Home Video has managed to release a credible DVD transfer of The Paradine Case. The disc is currently out of print but readily available on Amazon and other websites. The B&W transfer is generally sharp and clean, with only moderate lapses of grain and age related artifacts and the occasional hint of edge enhancement that will not distract. The audio is mono as originally intended and presented at an adequate listening level. The one regret here is that Anchor Bay did not produce either a documentary of featurette on the making of the film.

Alfred Hitchcock's first effort as a freelance director and his first film in color was Rope (1948) for Transcontinental Pictures. The original story is based partly on the Leopold Loeb case and more directly derived from Patrick Hamilton's modestly successful stage play, Rope's End. In the original tale, a pair of homosexual school mates strangles a straight colleague for kicks, then throws a party for the family of the deceased while the body is still hidden somewhere in the house. The film went one step further, placing the body inside a rather large credenza and then serving food and drinks to the family from its closed top converted into a dining table.

To augment the oddity of the exercise, the murderous duo also invites their old college professor, Rupert Cadell, to the party for two reasons: first, because he is supposed to have instilled in them Nietzsche's theory of the superman, thereby providing a theory of justification for their killing, and second, because Cadell is to have had a homosexual affair with one of the killers.

Given the climate of censorship in Hollywood at that time, Hitchcock could not directly suggest any of the aforementioned aspects about the crime, though he did succeed in creating a rather sycophantic closeness between the two actors who eventually played murderers, Brandon Shaw (John Dall) and Philip Morgan (Farley Granger). For his part, Hitchcock used Rope as his second exercise in shooting an entire film on one set: a technical gimmick he promoted as a film having "no edits" or shot in "one continuous take." The premise, while interesting from a technical standpoint, proved improbable. Only ten minutes of film existed in a camera at any given time.

Undaunted, Hitchcock rehearsed his camera movements meticulously, closing in on an actor's back or close up of a wall at the end of ten minutes before reloading the camera for his next reel. The resulting assemblage of film footage thus gives an awkward illusion of the continuity Hitchcock desired: an "uninterrupted" photographic account of the stage play - though it also makes the viewer acutely aware of the gimmick every ten minutes throughout the story.

In hindsight, the chief problem with Rope is in its central casting of James Stewart as Rupert Cadell, the boy's criminology professor. The inability to project the subtext of homosexuality onto the squeaky clean persona of Stewart places the film's chief premise off balance, for no such motive or intimate understanding between Brandon, Philip and Rupert ever exists in the finished film.

Stewart is thus left with the mundane responsibility of detecting their crime and bringing his former pupils to justice. Perhaps feeling more than a tad insecure about his role, James Stewart reportedly told an interviewer midway through the shoot that "the only thing that's been rehearsed around here is the camera" -- a bit of uncharacteristic bitterness that, if not entirely, then at least for the most part, was true. His comments leaked out to the trades before the film had its premiere. When Rope was finally released, it did respectable business but was by no means a resounding success. However, it was not a failure either.

Universal Home Video's DVD transfer is just average. Color fidelity is slightly dated. Colors are not quite as rich or punchy as one might expect. Flesh tones have a very unnatural pink tint. Contrast levels are slightly weaker than expected. Blacks register a deep gray; whites often acquire a slightly yellow or blue tinge. Fine detail is evident throughout, though the image does tend to have an overall soft appearance. The audio is mono and presented at an adequate listening level. Extras include a comprehensive "making of" documentary that includes interviews with surviving cast members, as well as a theatrical trailer.

Alfred Hitchcock's Stage Fright (1950) marked a return of sorts to Hitchcock's British period in films. The story of deception and murder was familiar to the master's hand -- though in crafting the piece he made one critical error that threatened to unravel the film's success. Hitchcock cast the sultry Marlene Dietrich as greedy chanteuse Charlotte Inwood. In the flashback that opens the story, Charlotte arrives on the doorstep of her lover, Jonathan Cooper (Richard Todd) with her dress bloodied. She has presumably just shot her husband and is seeking asylum and an alibi.

To protect Charlotte from the crime, Jonathan returns to her home to get her a clean dress. However, in attempting to make the homicide look like an accidental killing after a burglary, Jonathan is discovered by the upstairs maid who alerts the police of her findings. Fleeing the scene, Jonathan relies on his good friendship with Eve Gill (Jane Wyman) to aid in his escape. The subtext is that Eve harbors an unrequited puppy love for Jonathan and proves the weight of her affections by taking him to her father, Commodore Gill's (Alistair Sim) remote seaside cabin to hide out for a few days. There's just one problem: everything until this point in the narrative has been a lie. Told from Jonathan's perspective, the flashback is a ruse that neither the audience nor Eve is aware of.

The rest of the story is rather benign and meandering as Eve masquerades as a maid to secure employment in Charlotte's house with the hopes of discovering some evidence against her for the crime of murder. Meanwhile, congenial Scotland Yard Detective Wilfred Smith (Michael Wilding) has begun to harbor affections for Eve. The nearer he draws to her side, the closer he suspects he is coming to the truth about Jonathan, though, oddly enough, love seems to be on his mind more than sleuthing. Despite these problems in narrative construction, Hitchcock's direction excels during two pivotal sequences.

The first is an outdoor charity fundraiser where Charlotte is scheduled to sing. Doubting Jonathan's theory about the crime, Eve's father sends a girl scout up to the stage with a baby doll that he has soiled in a red stain to resemble the blood on Charlotte's dress. The ruse works, interrupting Charlotte's performance and drawing suspicion away from the real culprit. The scene is a brilliant bit of Hitchcock staging with hardly any dialogue. But it also tends to support the false premise that Charlotte -- not Jonathan -- has committed the murder.

The latter moment of artistic brilliance comes at the very end of the film; concealing Jonathan deep within the bowels of the music hall, Eve confronts him with her suspicions about the crime. Before her very eyes Jonathan crumbles, confessing to Eve his obsessive love that drove him to murder Charlotte's husband. Hitchcock captures this sequence almost entirely in extreme close-up with Richard Todd and Jane Wyman's eyes growing larger: his with rage, hers widening in fear. This sublime moment of visceral chills ends with a chase through the music hall. Jonathan is accidentally cut in two by the steel safety stage curtain.  By the time, Hitchcock exposes the truth about Jonathan, even the audience finds it difficult to believe that they have been left out of the narrative loop. 

Warner Home Video's DVD exhibits just slightly below average quality. The B&W image is often grainy, poorly contrasted and, at times, contains a slight green tinge. Contrast levels are weaker than expected. Though blacks are a very dark gray, whites are a dingy light gray. Fine details are lost during darker scenes. Age related artifacts are present throughout and, at times, distracting. The audio is mono as originally recorded and presented at an adequate listening level. Extras include a scant "making of" featurette and theatrical trailer.

After a rather uneven filmic tenure in the 1940s, director Alfred Hitchcock redeemed himself in the public's estimation as the master of suspense with his first thriller of the new decade: Strangers on a Train (1951). It was a precursor of the greatness that was to follow. The film is a diabolical and terrifying excursion into the mind of a psychotic, based loosely on the dark, elegant novel by Patricia Highsmith. Hitchcock wanted and received the services of hard-boiled detective writer Raymond Chandler for the screenplay. A master of dialogue, Chandler's narrative construction left something to be desired, and Hitchcock then turned the project over to Czenzi Ormonde to polish the script into its final form.

The story begins in earnest with a chance meeting between two men, one a sycophantic mama's boy, Bruno Anthony (Robert Walker), the other the all-American hunk and tennis pro, Guy Hanes (Farley Granger). After forcing a luncheon meeting on Guy, Bruno confides in him a plausible way of committing the perfect murder. Two strangers meet and swap crimes: each murdering a total stranger, thereby foiling the motive necessary for any criminal investigation to convict.

The idea, while intriguing to Guy -- whose wife Miriam (Kasey Rogers) is attempting to blackmail him with a pregnancy for alimony -- is dismissed once the train pulls into Guy's hometown of Metcalfe. However, Bruno takes the challenge seriously. Tailing Miriam to a fair ground, Bruno isolates his prey in a darkened corner and strangles her, then he returns to Guy with Miriam's broken glasses as proof that she is dead.

Appalled, Guy threatens to expose Bruno's crime, a move Bruno discourages because, after all, Guy is an accessory before the fact. Also, Bruno is in possession of Guy's cigarette lighter which he threatens to give to the police as proof of his complicity in Miriam's strangulation. The resulting plot entanglements are a race against time, as Guy struggles to find a way of exposing Bruno as the real killer without making his association known to fiancée Ann Morton (Ruth Roman) or her wealthy family.

The film throughout is peppered in Hitchcockian twists and turns, not the least of which is Hitchcock's casting of real life daughter Patricia as Barbara, the younger sister of Guy's new fiancée, Ann and a dead ringer for Guy's late wife, Miriam. After finagling his way into a house party at Sen. Morton's (Leo G. Carroll), Bruno, mistakenly believing that Barbara is the ghost of Miriam, nearly strangles a wealthy dowager during a parlor game.

The suspense culminates with a dramatic showdown at the fairground where Miriam was murdered. Bruno attempts to throw Guy from a racing carousel. Instead, the carousel spins out of control, killing Bruno but not before he exposes to Guy and the local authorities that he is still in possession of Guy's lighter, thus releasing Guy from the suspicion of murder.

For this climactic finish, Hitchcock wanted a shot of a man crawling beneath the racing carousel en route to its emergency release lever located in the center axis. After toying with the idea of incorporating rear projection to accomplish the feat, the stunt was instead accomplished live by Harry Hines who performed it without trick photography or safety devices -- his head only an inch away from being decapitated by the whirling floor boards of the ride. In an interview conducted many years after the fact, Hitchcock's face grew pale and nervous when he spoke about Hines' foolish bravery.

Hitchcock immensely enjoyed working on this film, perhaps because the problems he had had previously with structure and staging were absent from the Chandler/Ormonde screenplay allowing him to indulge in creating his "pure cinema" without having to constantly perform a patch up job on the script.

Warner Home Video's 2-disc reissue is welcomed. The initial release of Strangers on a Train on DVD included the pre-release cut billed as the "British version". Hitchcock never released this version theatrically. This 2-disc reissue also includes the alternative version of the film -- both having been completely remastered and restored. The B&W image is therefore smooth -- virtually free of grain and age-related artifacts. The image is sharp without appearing digitally harsh and with an incredible amount of fine details present throughout. Contrast levels are bang on. Blacks are deep and solid. Whites are pristine. The audio is mono as originally recorded and presented at an adequate listening level.

Extras include an audio commentary on disc one. On disc two we get thorough documentaries on the making of the film, interviews with surviving cast members and a fleeting retrospective on Hitchcock's career.  A stills gallery and theatrical trailer round out the extras.

Alfred Hitchcock's American films - Part One: from Rebecca to Spellbound

The arrival of Hitchcock in Hollywood began innocently enough with a personal invitation from producer David O. Selznick to work on the story of the ill-fated Titanic for Selznick Pictures. Arguably, Selznick had zero interest in this project, but he knew that it was of considerable interest to Hitchcock. Stuck in a comfortable bungalow in Hollywood but with precious little to do, Hitch's dismay was somewhat quelled when he and Selznick concurred on Rebecca (1940) as his foray into American movies. The author of the novel, Daphne du Maurier, was not only greatly admired by Hitch, she was also a close personal friend.

To say that Hitchcock was wholly unprepared for the omnipotent and intrusive way that Selznick ran his studio is perhaps an understatement. Though Hitchcock has been described by some as the movies first great auteur, he failed to recognize before the ink had dried on his contract that, although his boss's official credit was strictly as producer, Selznick considered himself more a co-collaborator than a mogul. On the set of Rebecca, Hitchcock found himself taking "advice" from Selznick in everything from the way certain scenes should be shot to his choice of leading lady.

Rebecca is essentially Bronte's Jane Eyre set in modern times. A young nameless waif (Joan Fontaine) marries aristocratic, Maxim de Winter (Lawrence Olivier) while vacationing with her paid companion, Edythe Van Hopper (Florence Bates) in Monte Carlo. For a while Maxim and his new bride are divinely happy. However, upon returning to Maxim's home, the foreboding seaside estate - Manderly, the spiritual essence of Maxim's first wife -- the late, though haughty Rebecca, begins to intrude on the couple's serenity. It seems that everyone from Maxim's sister, Beatrice Lacey (Gladys Cooper), to the matronly, yet strangely demonic housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson), will not allow Rebecca's memory to fade.

Feeling stifled in her new home, the second Mrs. de Winter (never named in either the novel or film) decides to throw a costume ball to liven the mood. However, her plans go horribly awry when she appears at the ball costumed in a gown that Rebecca wore the year before: one that Mrs. Danvers deliberately suggested. The costume sends Maxim into a rage and he orders his wife to go upstairs and change.

The new wife and Danvers have their confrontation in Rebecca's bedroom with Danvers' attempting to brainwash the bride into committing suicide. Instead, the discovery of a shipwreck on Manderly's rocks leads to the discovery of another sunken vessel with Rebecca's concealed remains. Maxim further complicates matters when he confides to his wife that he knew all along the body was there. "How did you know?" his wife asks. "Because I put it there," Maxim explains.

This filmic revelation is worthy of consideration because it is not as it appears in the novel. In print, du Maurier had made her hero a murderer as well: Maxim killed Rebecca in a fit of rage after she announced to him that she was pregnant with another man's child. Selznick, a purist in adapting literary works to the big screen, utterly detested the revision from murder to accidental death imposed on the film by the Censorship Production Code of Ethics. In truth, what ought to have been a moment of shocking revelation now plays as slightly anticlimactic, though Olivier's power in orating the tragic moment when Rebecca accidentally stuck her head on a sharp piece of ship's tackle adds considerable weight to the tepid revision.

Exonerated from any wrong doing at a public inquest, Maxim hurries home to his new wife whom he realizes he truly loves, only to discover that Mrs. Danvers has gone mad and torched his beloved Manderly, presumably with his new wife inside. After a brief frantic search, the lovers are reunited on the front lawn just in time to witness Mrs. Danvers being consumed by the flames. 

As Hitchcock's American entrée, Rebecca is impressive to say the least. In hindsight, Selznick's constant badgering through memos strengthens the novel's loose construction. Hitchcock, though a meticulous technical craftsman, was not always as well served after he and Selznick parted company. On the heels of Selznick's gargantuan success with Gone With The Wind (1939), Rebecca proved a valiant successor, popular with audiences and receiving critical praise and accolades -- including the Oscar for Best Picture of 1940: the first and only time an Academy Award would be bestowed on a Hitchcock film.

To date, Criterion and Anchor Bay Home Video have released competing versions of Rebecca on DVD. Anchor Bay's disc is bare bones, though its transfer does not contain the annoying edge enhancements that sporadically pop up on Criterion's presentation. The B&W film elements on both are refined and solid, nicely contrasted and with a fair amount of fine detail present. The audio on both is mono as originally intended and adequately represented.

There are several oddities on the Criterion disc that deserve mention. First, Criterion's disc replaces the original title credit with an alternative version that was never seen theatrically: very strange. Second, the opening credits are heavily window-boxed. Third, although Criterion advertises an isolated score track as one of its extras, various cues have been omitted and/or substituted from other parts of the film. Other extras on Criterion's edition include an audio commentary, radio broadcast of the film, a handsome booklet and the film's theatrical trailer. Due to the aforementioned inconsistencies on the Criterion disc, it is this critic's advice that the consumer purchases the Anchor Bay copy for its fidelity to the original source material and purchase the Criterion for the extras.

Awash in the success of Alfred Hitchcock's first American thriller, Rebecca, it seems inconceivable that Selznick would allow his star director the opportunity to make a movie for someone else. In point of fact, after acquiring Hitchcock's services but having nothing for him to shoot, Selznick quietly loaned Hitchcock to independent producer Walter Wanger for Hitch's first big hit, Foreign Correspondent (1940), a taut and timely spy thriller set at the cusp of WWII. Though shot before Rebecca, Foreign Correspondent was ultimately released after the former's debut.

In hindsight, Selznick may have already been moving away from producing his own movies to assume the roll of a savvy business agent: setting up projects, acquiring scripts, getting talent in front of and behind the camera on board and then wholesale-farming out the package deal for a considerable fee and percentage of the finished film's gross.

Foreign Correspondent is the story of Johnny Jones (Joel McCrea), a newspaper hound who is sent to Europe to cover the pending political upheaval. Rechristened Huntley Haverstock, Jones is introduced to the curmudgeonly Stebbins (Robert Benchley), who instructs him to play everything low key, including his role as a "foreign correspondent." But Jones is determined to make good on his assignment.

Finagling a brief interview with diplomat Van Meer (Albert Basserman), Jones is plunged into the middle of political intrigue when Van Meer is seemingly murdered before his very eyes. Though a resulting chase across the stark landscape of Holland reveals that the diplomat's double is the one who has been assassinated, Jones is unable to prove his findings when the real Van Meer once again disappears.

Jones' investigation is further complicated by two unforeseen circumstances: first, his main contact, Stephen Fisher (Herbert Marshall), is actually a double agent working for Nazi intelligence, and second, Jones has fallen in love with Fisher's daughter, Carol (Laraine Day), who knows nothing about her father's corruptions.

Attempting to confide in Carol, Jones is nearly run over, pushed off a high tower, and murdered in a struggle with Fisher's henchman, Mr. Krug (Eduardo Cianelli). Eventually, the plot to obtain state secrets is foiled and Fisher, along with his daughter and Jones are trapped in a plane bombed by the Axis en route to Britain. In the resulting flood and deluge Fisher saves his daughter from drowning then nobly commits suicide, leaving Jones free to rekindle his romance with Carol. 

Originally, the story that Wanger owned dealt with espionage of a different kind during the Spanish American war. As that conflict had already faded into obscurity by the time this film was set to go before the cameras, Wanger had the premise updated to reflect the dangerous rise of fascism in Europe. The final sequence, with Jones delivering his patriotic summation of "why we fight" during a London bombing, was a tack-on after production had wrapped and Hitchcock had already turned his attentions to filming Rebecca. Ironically, Wanger shot this final speech himself, an intervention Hitchcock deplored though it has remained one of the galvanic moments most readily admired by audiences and easily associated with the film.

Warner Home Video's DVD exhibits a smart visual characteristic. The B&W image is beautifully rendered with solid contrast levels and a fair amount of fine detail evident throughout. Blacks are deep and solid; whites fairly pristine. Film grain is rendered effectively as grain rather than digital grit, which is often not the case in DVD mastering. Age related artifacts are present but do not distract. The audio is mono as originally recorded and well represented. Extras include a brief making-of featurette and theatrical trailer. Recommended!

The demand for Alfred Hitchcock's services following back to back premieres of Rebecca and Foreign Correspondent was overwhelming. While producer David O. Selznick toyed with developing future in-house projects he loaned Hitchcock to RKO for an unlikely dabbling in screwball comedy: Mr. and Mrs. Smith (1941). Scripted by Norman Krasna, the film tells the rather conventional tale of married couple Ann (Carole Lombard) and David (Robert Montgomery), who are floundering for reasons to stay married. The problem it seems stems from the couple's "one question a month" rule.

Ann asks David if given the opportunity to go back in time, knowing then what he knows now, would he still have married her. In a moment of honest weakness, David confesses that although he loves his wife he also misses his freedom, leading Ann to deduce that he no longer loves her at all. David's response is made even more problematic when the couple learns that their marriage is not legal because of a state boundary dispute. Recognizing that he has been free all along and assuming the question is therefore moot, David decides to propose marriage to his wife again. Only, it is now Ann who contemplates the practicality of spending the rest of her life with David.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith is an admirably nutty bit of unhinged comedy that is masterfully pulled off by Lombard and Montgomery. But given Hitchcock's proven prowess in the field of suspense one wonders today what could have possibly been going through the executive mindset at RKO to hire him for a romantic comedy.

Hitchcock shoots his film with uncharacteristically non-Hitchcockian flair. His direction is solid and more than salvageable, if not on par with the mastery of directors like Leo McCarey and Preston Sturges; both refined Sultans of the screwball. In this respect, Hitchcock clearly lags behind his contemporaries with providing the subtle nuances that might otherwise have made Mr. and Mrs. Smith not merely equitable comedy, but an outrageously ingenious one.

Warner Home Video's DVD delivers a below par picture quality. The B&W image is grainy, poorly contrasted and contains a litany of age related artifacts. Overall, the image quality isn't terrible, though it is also very far from pristine. Contrast levels are weak at best. Blacks are a deep gray; whites, a pale gray. Fine details tend to get lost under the patina of film grain. The audio is mono as originally recorded and adequately represented. Extras include a very brief featurette on the film and its theatrical trailer.

By 1941, Alfred Hitchcock had begun to grow restless with the films he had been assigned under his ironclad contract with David O. Selznick.  A reprieve of sorts arrived just in time with Hitch's first project for RKO, Suspicion (1941), the story of wealthy wallflower, Lina McLaidlaw (Joan Fontaine) and her inexplicable romantic obsession with male gold digger, Johnnie Aysgarth (Cary Grant). Defying her parents, Lina becomes Johnnie's wife then slowly begins to realize what a scamp her new husband is.

After the death of her father, Lina is shocked to learn she has been left out of his will. For Johnnie, the snub is more critical. He has mortgaged their fabulous lifestyle on the assumption that Lina's inheritance would bail them both out of debt. Now, Johnnie is forced to find other means to sustain the lifestyle to which they both have become accustom. Johnnie confides a get rich quick scheme to close friend, Gordon "Beaky" Thwaite (Nigel Bruce), who agrees to help fund Johnnie's plans -- then mysteriously dies after the project is established. Suspecting that her husband may be a murderer, a progressive thought that ought to have led to an entirely different third act in the film, Lina resigns herself to the love she feels for Johnnie, despite her misgivings about his own sincerity in their relationship.

Johnnie tells Lina he is taking her to her mother's because he cannot stand the fact that she distrusts him. On the way there Lina's car door suddenly flies open and Lina, assuming that Johnnie is attempting to throw her from the speeding vehicle, fights him as his hand reaches for her. Instead, Johnnie pulls the car aside and tells Lina that she is a fool. He then further confides that he has always been in love with her -- an unsatisfactory bit of tacked-on nonsense that succeeds in convincing Lina to get back into their car. The two drive home together, all mistrust between them seemingly forgiven.

Suspicion is based on Anthony Berkeley's popular novel. In the novel's original ending, Lina discovers that her worst fears are true: Johnnie is Thwaite's killer and is planning to murder her next for the insurance money. An inexplicable obsessive love prevents Lina from saving herself. Knowing that she will be dead by morning, Lina writes her mother a note of confession, explaining the truth about Johnnie, then asks Johnnie to mail it for her after he has already made her drink a glass of poisoned milk. Lina dies and Johnnie, believing that he has managed to murder his wife while making it appear as a suicide, decides that the least he can do for the deceased is to mail her final letter home. The last shot in the film was to have been Johnnie tossing Lina's letter to her mother in a postal mail slot, thereby ensuring audiences and the censors that justice would eventually prevail on Lina's behalf.

The censors balked at this scenario, arguing that it did not resolve in very clear and concrete terms for the audience the apprehension of a cold-blooded killer (one of the absolute "musts" in the Production Code of Ethics) and furthermore, that presenting Cary Grant as a murderer would do irreprehensible damage to the actor's reputation with fans. Unable to sway the censors otherwise, revisions to the shooting script were eventually made and the film's ending was awkwardly diluted. Though Suspicion did respectable business at the box office, it proved to be less successful than Hitchcock's previous efforts, the one exception being that Fontaine's performance as Lina ultimately won her the Best Actress Oscar statuette. 

Warner Home Video's DVD release is welcome indeed. Suspicion has never looked better. Though the B&W image still contains instances of obtrusive grain as well as sporadic appearances of age related artifacts, the overall quality is one of brightly contrasted, sharp and refined details throughout. The audio is mono as originally recorded and represented nicely herein. Extras include an all too brief featurette on the making of the film and its theatrical trailer. Recommended.

Alfred Hitchcock's Saboteur (1942) returns the director's footing to familiar ground -- in hindsight, perhaps too familiar in light of Foreign Correspondent's success. Produced independently for Walter Wanger, the story is that of Barry Kane (Robert Cummings) an aircraft factory worker who is suspected of being a Nazi saboteur after a fire kills his best friend. On the lam, Barry meets kindly blind man, Phillip Martin (Vaughan Glasser) and his niece Pat (Priscilla Lane). Though Pat is ready to believe the worst about the mysterious man hiding in her uncle's cabin -- even going so far as to make several valiant attempts to return Barry to the authorities -- Phillip reminds his niece that not all men accused of a crime are guilty of it.

Eventually winning Pat's trust, Barry embarks on a cross country chase after the man he knows is the saboteur the police are looking for: Frank Fry (Norman Lloyd). Narrowly escaping a lavish house party where his arch nemesis, the ever-plotting Nazi sympathizer, Charles Tobin (Otto Kruger), is waiting to kidnap Pat and murder Barry, Barry instead tracks down Fry and chases him to the top of the Statue of Liberty. Fry loses his footing and falls to his death, with Pat ably explaining to the police that he, not Barry, is the saboteur.

Saboteur is a patchwork of themes visited more skillfully elsewhere in the Hitchcock canon.  Its screenplay by Peter Viertel, Joan Harrison, and Dorothy Parker is extremely episodic and often not terribly engaging. Decidedly uneven in its plotting, the film provides Hitchcock with an opportunity to test his globe-trotting agility across the continental U.S.: an exercise more fully and artistically realize a decade later in North by Northwest (1959).

Universal Home Video's has remastered Saboteur for its second DVD outing. The first, released in 1998 was marred by excessive grain and weak contrast levels. Both oversights are much improved on this reissue, though occasionally, contrast still seems to be a problem, with whites appearing sporadically as a dingy light gray. On the whole, the image quality will not disappoint. The audio is mono as originally recorded and adequately represented. Extras include an informative documentary on the making of the film and a theatrical trailer.

There are many reasons why Alfred Hitchcock considered Shadow of A Doubt (1943) one of his best. Certainly, the film represented Hitchcock with the opportunity to break away from David O. Selznick's hawk-eyed scrutiny, which he regarded as oppressive at best. The production also realized Hitchcock's desire to direct films that he also produced; this one for his own company Skirball Productions, peripherally aided by Walter Wanger. The film also realigned Hitchcock's inherent zeal for directing cloistered suspense thrillers in confined spaces: a Hitchcock forte in England where money was tight and production schedules tighter still. Despite director/historian Peter Bogdanovich's statement that Shadow of a Doubt is Hitchcock's "first American thriller" (meaning that it was set in America instead of England), that dubious honor goes to the aforementioned Saboteur.

The script by Thornton Wilder, Sally Benso,n and Alma Reville concerns the congenial Newton family living in the sleepy hamlet of Santa Rosa, California. Charlie (Teresa Wright), a teenager emotionally wilting from misperceived boredom, is invigorated to learn by telegram that her Uncle Charles (Joseph Cotten), for whom she has been named, is arriving in town for a visit. There's just one problem: Uncle Charles is also The Merry Widow strangler, responsible for the heinous murders of rich elderly dowagers.

Despite the fact that Charles presents the Newtons with lavish gifts (token souvenirs from his brutal slayings) upon his arrival in town, the motive for his killings is not money. In one of his most uncharacteristically wicked moments ever inserted into a Hitchcock movie, Uncle Charles illustrates his indelible contempt for "rich, fat, greedy women," equating their useless lives to that of slovenly animals fit for the slaughter.

The declaration raises more than a few curious eyebrows around the dinner table, particularly Charlie's.  She has begun to contemplate that her uncle is perhaps not what he appears to be. With a bit of amateur sleuthing, Charlie learns the truth about her beloved uncle, though she is initially reluctant to share it with the family, particularly her emotionally fragile mother, Emma (Patricia Collinge), to whom Charles' reappearance in town has meant everything.

Instead, a dangerous game of cat and mouse ensues. Charlie threatens her uncle with exposing the truth unless he leaves Santa Rosa immediately. After several failed attempts on Charlie's life, Uncle Charles agrees to Charlie's demand. However, once aboard his train, Charles, intent on throwing her into the path of an oncoming locomotive, isolates his niece until the cars begin to pull from the station.  Instead, Charles loses his footing and slips between the two speeding trains, crushed to death beneath its wheels.

Shadow of a Doubt is a beautifully crafted drawing-room murder mystery, methodically paced and quite stylish in its evocation of idyllic Americana turned upside down. Hitchcock shoots the Newton house -- an actual home in Santa Rosa -- with loving care for its cloistered hominess, as though it were the epitome of small-town gracious living. He furthers this idealism by populating the home with a solid cast of stellar supporting performers, including Henry Travers as Mr. Newton, Hume Cronyn, a humorously meddlesome neighbor with a murder fixation, Herbie Hawkins, and Macdonald Carey (a Fox favorite) in probably his best role, as the sympathetic police detective, Jack Graham, with whom Charlie has begun an adolescent romance.

From the onset, Hitchcock's directorial footing is secure and swift, maneuvering his characters to their inevitable conclusion but in such a way that belies where the story is actually headed -- thus, keeping his audience guessing. His subsequent film ventures of this period would not be quite so decisive in their narrative path.

Universal Home Video's remastering effort on Shadow of a Doubt delivers a refined B&W image with marked improvements in sharpness and tonality. Contrast levels are much improved. Blacks are deep and solid. Whites are generally clean. The image is sharp with fine details nicely realized throughout. Occasionally, a hint of edge enhancement and shimmering of fine details intrudes but does not distract. Age related artifacts are present but tempered. The audio is mono but adequately represented. Extras include a thorough and informative documentary of the making of the film, stills and a theatrical trailer. Recommended.

Alfred Hitchcock was loaned out by David O. Selznick to 20^th Century-Fox for an adaptation of Steinbeck's Lifeboat (1944). The film became the first of Hitchcock's attempts at shooting an entire movie within the confided space of a single set. In this case, that set is a lifeboat. The story concerns a small group of survivors attempting to keep body and soul together after their luxury liner has been torpedoed by a German U-boat. The survivor's list includes feisty reporter Constance Porter (Tallulah Bankhead), mistrustful, John Kovak (John Hodiak), spirited businessman, Charles Rittenhouse (Henry Hull), loyal nurse, Alice Mackenzie (Mary Anderson), proud cook, George Spencer (Canada Lee), lumbering Gus Smith (William Bendix), and trusting Stanley Garrett (Hume Cronyn).

Along the way, this group fish out the captain of the U-boat that sunk them, Willy (Walter Slezak). Although Willy first presents himself as grateful and sympathetic, he slowly begins to despise the lot of Americans as his sworn enemies and thereafter plots to murder them one by one. After amputating Gus's infected leg in order to save his life, Willy waits until the rest of the survivors have fallen asleep before sadistically pushing the crippled man overboard.

Claiming that Gus's death was accidental, Willy next lies about their whereabouts. He is not sailing them to an American port in Bermuda as planned, but toward a German rescue vessel where he will be saved, while the others will most likely slaughtered or sent to a concentration camp. Charles learns first what Willy is up to and incites the rest of the crew to mutiny. The crew kills Willy in a mob rule before the Axis rescue ship is reached. A battle breaks out between the German ship rapidly gaining on them and an American war vessel looming on the horizon. The German ship is sunk by the Americans with the presumption that the American ship will now rescue the surviving members aboard the lifeboat.

It is interesting to note that although Hitchcock avoids garnering any audience support over the prospect of emotional salvation for the lifeboat survivors -- as per their collective crime of murder - he also fades to black before the American war ship has rescued its inhabitants, leaving the fate of the lifeboat survivors an open-ended question mark.

Initially written by imminent American author John Steinbeck, Lifeboat is perhaps Hitchcock's most finely wrought character drama to date. The performances throughout are top notch. However, Hitchcock infuriated Steinbeck's sensibilities as an author when he called writer Ben Hecht in to rework several key sequences, including the film's ending. Interestingly enough, despite its overwhelmingly positive conclusion -- that of the assumed rescue of the survivors - the film was misperceived and reviewed by the top film critics in the country as un-American and -- worse --  pro-fascist propaganda. Concerned that this litany of negativity would also blacklist him a communist, Fox's CEO Darryl F. Zanuck pulled the film from circulation shortly after its premiere, despite the fact that it opened to positive opening weekend box office receipts and steady business thereafter. Lifeboat would remain buried in the Fox vaults for the next 40 years. 

Fox Home Video has released a Special Edition of Lifeboat that belies the poor storage of the original film elements. Working from a print rather than the original camera negative, the overall quality of the B&W image exhibits boosted contrast levels and a considerable amount of grain that loosely translates into digital grit. Overall, the image quality is not bad, it just lacks in the areas of refinement and fine details. Blacks are deep. Whites are a dirty dingy mess. The audio is mono as originally recorded and presented at an adequate listening level. Extras include a commentary track by noted Hitchcock expert, Drew Casper, a featurette on the making of the movie and its theatrical trailer. Recommended.  

Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound (1945) is a superior psychological thriller. Though produced at RKO, producer David O. Selznick's interference on the film resulted in his Selznick International banner preempting the title sequences instead of RKO's trademark radio tower. Subsequent reissues of both films have attempted to alternate the logo that appears before the credits. Regardless, and in essence, the two films bear Selznick's stamp of meticulous structure and planning.

After initial apprehension, Hitchcock persuaded Selznick to purchase the rights to the novel The House of Dr. Edwardes for $40,000. Hitchcock also scored a minor artistic coup by suggesting to Selznick that renown painter Salvador Dali (left) stage the elaborate dream sequences that would stand in as the main character's psychoanalytic nightmares. Spellbound begins in earnest with the introduction of Constance Petersen (Ingrid Bergman), a somewhat sexually repressed psychotherapist analyzing other sexual neurotics at Green Manors, the county sanitarium.

Although Constance cloistered professionalism becomes the brunt of Dr. Fleurot's (Jon Emery) cynical jokes and flirtations, her own romantic life kicks into high gear with the arrival of new chief of staff, Dr. Anthony Edwardes (Gregory Peck), who will be replacing retiring head, Dr. Murchison (Leon G. Glenn). However, certain phobias begin to manifest in Edwardes' character, drawing Constance romantically closer to him, but at the same time, exciting the mother instinct in her to protect Edwardes both from himself and the authorities, who suspect him in the murder of the real Anthony Edwardes.

Hitchcock's battles with Selznick on the set of Spellbound were daily and exhausting. At one point the director pleaded with Selznick to buy out the rest of his studio contract and find another director to complete the film. Selznick retaliated with the threat of a lengthy lawsuit, forcing Hitchcock back in the saddle on the project. He also encountered resistance from Salvador Dali, who had planned an elaborate dream sequence far too costly and much too lengthy for the purpose of the film.

Although Hitchcock convinced Dali to reduce his scale, many sequences that were filmed were eventually excised by Hitchcock from the final release print to tighten Dali's meandering symbolism. None of these edits pleased Dali's artistic sensibilities. For his part, Selznick intruded on the production by hiring a psychotherapist to act as his ears and eyes, and to make suggestions. After clashing with Hitchcock as to where the film deviated too liberally from the domain of legitimate clinical psychotherapy, Hitchcock reportedly told Selznick's advisor, "My dear, it's only a movie."

After Spellbound's premiere, Hitchcock focused his attentions on crafting Notorious. Believing that Spellbound's narrative still lacked clarity, Selznick pulled the general release print and removed a montage explaining the clinical treatment of patients, effectively eliminating an additional fourteen minutes from the finished feature. Even after enthusiastic reviews and favorable box office, Selznick seemed dismissive about the final film, calling it "just another man-hunt wrapped up in pseudo-psychotherapy."

To date, both Criterion and Anchor Bay have released credible copies of Spellbound on DVD. The former provides for an updated transfer that, unfortunately, has several glaring examples of edge enhancement, while the latter is currently out of print, though free of the aforementioned digital anomaly. Both transfers offer a refined image. Criterion's appears to have had its contrast levels artificially boosted, while Anchor Bay's contrast seems just a bit too low. Also, the Criterion version seems to be a tad sharper with more reveal of fine details than the Anchor Bay version which is softer in appearance. The audio on both discs is mono as originally intended with no discernable sonic discrepancies between the two. Extras on the Criterion Edition include an extensive booklet of linear notes, a radio broadcast of the film and an audio commentary. The Anchor Bay disc contains NO extras.

Being Julia, High Noon, U-Turn, The Best of Everything, Phone Call From A Stranger

Istvan Zabo's Being Julia (2004) is an adroitly humorous, often frank critique of life upon the wicked stage circa 1920s. The film stars Annette Benning as grand dame of the theater, Julia Lambert. Though the actress' professional life could not be any better, she is currently wrapping up a successful London engagement and looking forward to a vacation. Her temperament and frequent bouts of backstage depression render her a rather emotionally unstable spouse for manager Michael Gosselyn (Jeremy Irons).

Michael and Julia have an open marriage.  So lax, in fact, that Michael deliberately introduces his wife to scheming social climber and much too young, though handsome upstart, Tom Fennel (Sean Evans) knowing the probable likelihood that Julia will take a sexual interest in him. Before long, Tom and Julia do indeed become passionate lovers. The trick works. Julia snaps out of her depression and bounces gloriously back into a brand new hit show guaranteed to make Michael a lot of money.

But Tom wants too much. Not content to simply accept Julia's expensive gifts, though she is quite generous in the affair (lavishing her stud with expensive clothes, jewelry and money for travel), Tom is really after some rapid advancement with his own career and wants Julia to offer her understudy's position to his girlfriend on the side, Evie (Juliet Stevenson).

Believing that the acceptance of Tom's terms will bring them closer together Julia agrees, and then she quickly regrets her decision. Evie is a harpy and decidedly not the actress that patrons will pay good money to see. Worse, Tom has grown more distant from Julia since Evie's appointment. Then the truth comes out: Tom is scheming with Evie to have Julia deposed from her perch as the undisputed first lady of the footlights. Only this time depression will not be the order of the day: totally delicious revenge has taken its place.

Primarily an old-time screwball comedy buried beneath some rather contrived and maudlin melodramatic trappings, the narrative clings together -- compellingly so -- thanks to Benning's brilliantly conceived actress of multi-contradictions. Julia is a tour de force, masterfully carried off with a wily sense of self-deprecation. The rest of the cast pales.  Jeremy Irons is given precious little to do. Sean Evans is never quite convincing as the lover driven by purpose. As an audience, we know immediately what his intentions are, begging the question of how could such a woman as sophisticated as Julia be so easily deceived.

The finale is a celebratory mode of preconceived vengeance with Julia taking care of all those who have crossed her, but with an unerringly light touch of distinct pleasure that is never entirely heartless or without merit, even as it delivers immediate personal satisfaction. Being Julia is therefore never easy. Benning however, makes it all seem quite effortless.

Alliance Atlantis DVD presentation is quite acceptable. The anamorphic widescreen image exhibits a refined color palette with rich bold hues, very natural flesh tones and adequately rendered contrast levels. Blacks are solid,  though on occasion do tend to be deep gray.

Age-related artifacts are a non-issue, but distracting edge enhancement and pixelization crop up now and then. A patina of film grain is quite prevalent and more often rendered as digital grit for an image that is, at times, not as smooth as one would hope for. The audio is 5.1 Dolby Digital and quite sufficient for this primarily dialogue driven presentation. Extras include a very brief "making of" featurette and theatrical trailer.

Often coined "the existential western," Fred Zinnemann's High Noon (1952) is a controversial classic: the examination of one man's moral compass amidst a town of hypocritical weakness. Based on John W. Cunningham's pulp story, "The Tin Star," the screenplay by Cunningham and blacklisted writer Carl Foreman was met with considerable indifference, even outrage upon the film's premiere. Western zeitgeist John Wayne went public, declaring High Noon as the worst movie he had ever seen. While it is certainly true that the film challenged audiences' preconceived expectations of the classic western genre and a certain level of expectation for the readily apparent clichés that were then part in parcel of the western style, there is little to deny that the story was in fact decades ahead of its time.

So too did controversy swarm around the casting of Gary Cooper opposite Grace Kelly as the film's romantic couple. Coop was twenty years Kelly's senior in an era when May/December romances were not nearly as commonplace and even occasionally frowned upon. Foreman's contributions on the screenplay were picked apart under government scrutiny as in support of some hidden communist agenda: an erroneous claim that nevertheless temporarily ended the writer's ability to procure work in Hollywood for several long years and eventually led to his incarceration. Today, removed from McCarthyism and the "Red Scare," High Noon plays much more like the timeless morality parable it was conceived to be rather than that misperceived subversive euphemism for political paranoia from its own time.

Filmed in and around various Californian locations, including Tuolumne City and Jamestown, the story benefits almost remarkably from its uncharacteristic ballad sung by Tex Ritter and its stark and unromantic landscape. This is the Old West revisited, without sumptuous saloon halls, loveable sidekicks or classic long shots of the gallant posse riding against the backdrop of a picturesque sunset. In every way, High Noon deals openly with very adult themes and equally genuine imminent danger facing its central protagonists. 

The story begins with the marriage of Marshal Will Kane (Gary Cooper) to lovely Quaker bride, Amy Fowler (Grace Kelly). A respected pillar of the small community in which he resides, Kane has agreed to resign his commission as the law and live obscurely as a farmer with his new wife; that is, until news comes that notorious outlaw Frank Miller (Ian MacDonald) and his desperadoes are making haste on the noon day train to return and exact their revenge on Marshal Kane for incarcerating them several years before.

Urged by Mayor Jonus Henderson (Thomas Mitchell), his deputy/nee acting sheriff Harvey Pell (Lloyd Bridges), Judge Percy Mettrick (Otto Kruger) and other friends to get out of town fast, Will and Amy make haste on a coach to beat the arrival of the noon train. However, only a few miles outside of town, Will has a sudden attack of conscience. After all, how can he leave the men and women who entrusted their lives to his particular brand of stoic lawfulness?

Making the decision to return to town and face down his adversaries, Will is stunned when the very men and women who stood at his side now cower in the shadows at the thought of confronting Miller and his gang once again.

For her own safety, Will instructs Amy to take the noon train out of town. She agrees but vows to Will that if he stays behind to fight Miller their marriage will be over before it has begun. Her religious beliefs prevent the prospect of any killing, even in self-defense. In the meantime, Harvey Pell reveals his true jealousies toward Will. Always feeling inferior to Will, Harvey seizes the opportunity to attempt to break Will's spirit and perhaps his jaw in order to gain a certain amount of limited respect as the new law in these parts. He refuses to take up arms and publicly stand by Will's side.

While awaiting the train at the town's hotel, Amy comes in contact with local madam, Helen Ramirez (Katy Jurado), who once had a rumored relationship with Will before he met Amy. The women exchange mutual glances, followed words and finally mixed emotions over the one man that means so much in both their lives. Helen agrees to take Amy to the station, but when Miller and his gang start shooting up the town, Amy disembarks as Helen looks on. Amy has chosen her husband's safety over her own religious beliefs.

As Will faces down a posse of four in a violent hailstorm of bullets, Amy takes up arms, killing one of Miller's men before being taken hostage. Realizing that he just might lose this fight, Miller pledges a trade up to Will from the relative safety of his hideout: Amy's life for his own. Instead, Will shoots Miller dead, the cowardly town's people rushing to his side with restored gratitude. Understanding just how little that gratitude now means, Will tosses his sheriff's star into the dust at their feet, desolate but wiser that he has proven himself as the law he vowed so readily to uphold, even in the face of total dishonor.   

High Noon is a sobering cinematic experience. It neither glorifies the Old West visually nor seeks to represent the inhabitance of this every town America as either upstanding, brave or law abiding. In the final analysis, Zinnemann's classic tale is anti-heroic, a rarified chapter in the annals of American movies in general and the Western genre in particular.

Lionsgate DVD rectifies the gross miscarriage of justice heaped upon previous DVD reissues of High Noon from Artisan Home Entertainment. In the past, the film has had its contrast levels artificially bumped up with a very severe image quality riddle with edge enhancement, shimmering of fine details and pixelization. This reviewer is happy to report that all of the aforementioned shortcomings have been largely corrected for this new 2-disc Ultimate Collector's Edition.

The grayscale has been impeccably remastered with its middle range tonality restored. Contrast levels appear more naturally balanced. Blacks are deep and solid. Whites are clean. Age related artifacts have been greatly tempered for an image that is smooth and satisfying. Occasionally, edge enhancement appears, though not nearly as distracting or obvious as before. The audio has been remixed to 3.1 Dolby Digital. The original mono is also included. Extras include all of the special features directly imported from the disastrous Collector's Edition with their inherently poor image quality. These include the Leonard Maltin hosted documentary, an informative audio commentary, and a radio broadcast of Tex Ritter performing the film's signature title tune. The real revelation herein is the newly produced, lengthy and informative documentary Inside High Noon. At 55 minutes, it is dense with information and second-hand personal recollections from the sons and daughters of late cast members. Bottom line: High Noon is a must-have and this is the version to own. 

Oliver Stone's U-Turn (1997) is an abysmal trifle, disposable entertainment of gargantuan misfires. Bogged down by John Ridley's screenplay that presents a "bad day" gone virtually insane, this film is easily the most vile excuse for a road-trip movie ever attempted. The landscape of Ridley's novel and screenplay is populated with a bizarre cast of reprobates that Stone has chosen to flesh out with cameo turns from a potpourri of established talent in a vain attempt to legitimize the minor tale into major box office.

The story begins when con-artist Bobby Cooper (Sean Penn) bursts a radiator hose in his 1964 Mustang convertible. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, Cooper, a shyster who has lost two fingers as partial payment to a Vegas hood, Mr. Arkady (Valery Nikolaev), and his henchman, Sergi (Ilia Volokh), was on his way back to Vegas with his $30,000 repayment when this accident occurred. Barely making it to Harlan's, an automobile graveyard and makeshift repair shop run by bleeding gums redneck, Darrell (Billy Bob Thornton), the egotistical Bobby makes short shrift of Darrell's limited intellect before entrusting his repairs to Darrell and then departing on foot to the nearby town of Superior Arizona: a figurative name at best.

In reality, the town is little more than a ramshackle of nearly abandoned store fronts and hovels populated by discarded lost souls that time forgot. Bobby's first encounter is with a Blind Indian (Jon Voight) begging for loose change and a cold beverage on the street corner. Quickly, however, Bobby's interests segue to town slut Grace McKenna (Jennifer Lopez), a sultry Hispanic lugging several large boxes of window shades back to her Jeep. Bobby helps Grace with her load and earns an invitation to her home. However, once there, Grace baits Bobby with sexual flirtations that end when Grace's husband, Jake (Nick Nolte), arrives home.

A physical altercation ensues. Bobby leaves the McKenna home but is picked up by Jake not far down the road. After apologizing for giving Bobby his bloody nose, Jake propositions Bobby to kill his wife for the $40,000 insurance claim. Bobby refuses. However, when his own bag of money that was to be paid to Mr. Arkady is destroyed in a shotgun blast during the hold up of a local convenience store, Bobby begins to have second thoughts. Distraught and desperate, Bobby telephones Arkady to plead his case, only to have his paymaster send Sergi after him.

In the meantime, Bobby incurs the wrath of local hothead, Toby N. Tucker (Joaquin Phoenix), who misinterprets a harmless conversation between Bobby and his girlfriend, Jenny (Claire Danes), as a passionate flirtation. It doesn't help that Jenny -- a clueless waif with more imagination than tact -- enjoys observing Toby in action, thereby fostering reasons for him to vent his rage.

Bobby telephones Jake in agreement with his plan to murder Grace, but once alone on a cliff with her, Bobby instead falls under her spell. The two attempt to have sex, but Grace pulls away at the last moment -- confessing that Jake was actually her mother's second husband before he became hers. She tells Bobby of a $200,000 loot McKenna has stashed in a floor safe at their house.  He wears the key to the safe around his neck for safe keeping. Together Grace and Bobby plot Jake's murder.

Meanwhile, Sergi arrives in town in search of Bobby. He is promptly arrested by Sheriff Virgil Potter (Powers Boothe) for speeding. Bobby next arrives at McKenna's home that evening with the intent to murder Jake. But the plan goes awry, and after considerable struggle, it is Grace who takes an Indian tomahawk to her husband's chest instead. Bobby and Grace make haste with Jake's body in the trunk of his car only to be pulled over by Virgil, who tells Bobby that he and Grace were supposed to run away together.

Grace murders Virgil in cold blood, and she and Bobby dispose of both bodies over the side of a steep ravine. Unfortunately for Bobby, Grace has no intension of sharing her dead husband's money with him. She pushes Bobby over cliff side and he tumbles to the rocky plateau far below, breaking a leg and an arm on the way down.

It is only then that Grace realizes Bobby still has the car keys in his pocket. She crawls down him to retrieve them, but Bobby is still alive and after much flailing about, strangles Grace to death instead. Making his way back to the car with considerable difficulty, Bobby laughingly proclaims that he is "still lucky," only to have the replacement radiator hose that Darrell fixed explode on him in the middle of nowhere. Trapped and mortally wounded, Bobby dies in the baking sun, his body awaiting the arrival of the local vultures to be picked apart.

Those pondering the significance of this tale will be more than a tad perplexed by its convoluted morality play. None of the characters are above suspicion or reproach, hence none escape the dingy grit and uselessness of their faded, miserable lives. The point of the story is undoubtedly to illustrate the illusive tragic quality of both bad karma and fate/destiny. Bobby has begun his journey with bad intensions -- therefore, his fate can only mirror his own selfishness and greed.

Jake is a child rapist who, even in death, is forced to watch another man pleasure the young woman he took advantage of for so many years. Grace is a perverse femme fatale. Though she tells Bobby that she suspects that Jake is responsible for her mother's fatal tumble down a cliff many years before, Grace's own predilection for murder and her final betrayal of Bobby suggest that perhaps she might have killed her own mother to be with McKenna instead.

Ridley's screenplay is more a series of improbable vignettes strung together by Bobby's inability to learn from past mistakes. There's no progression or arch to any of the characters' personal development. In fact, each is a cartoonish cut-out with only the most peripheral of understandings in relation to one another. Sean Penn is a fairly descent actor, but this isn't his finest hour. He sleepwalks through his part, utterly disengaged. As Grace, Lopez is drearily magnificent: a cold-blooded reptile beneath her smoldering façade. As Jake, Nolte adds another wacko to his most recent list of performances. Perhaps, in the final analysis, the only point to the film is "you can't win," a fitting tag line, considering how poorly U-Turn performed at the box office.

Poor is a good work for Sony Home Entertainment's anamorphic widescreen DVD transfer that is marred by excessive age related artifacts -- dirt, scratches -- and by a very muddy color palette. At times the image can be crisp and relatively grain free. However, there are many instances where browns, taupe, oranges and beiges blend into one indiscernible mess.

Flesh tones are much too orange throughout. Fine details are lost during night scenes. Stock footage is slightly out of focus and grainier than the rest of the film. Pixelization occurs in background detail. The audio is 5.1 Dolby Digital but often registering as slightly unclear during whispered portions of dialogue. This flipper disc also contains a full-frame version of the movie on Side B.  There are NO extras.

Jean Negulesco's The Best of Everything (1959) hardly lives up to its title. The film headlines Joan Crawford and Louis Jourdan even though neither star appears in anything but brief cameos in the film: clearly a cheap publicity attempt to use "big" names that at this point in their respective careers were not quite as big as they had once been. The screenplay by Edith Sommer and Mann Rubin tells the rather generic story of four girls working in a steno pool at Fabian's Publishing Company.

Caroline Bender (Hope Lange) wants a career. Her role model is Amanda Farrow (Crawford), a hard-nosed "bitch" boss whose affair with a married man is on the rocks. Early on, Amanda senses that Caroline will eventually become her competition, a discovery that first leads to blind animosity, then eventual and mutual respect between the two as Caroline proves herself more than professionally savvy and equal to the task. Caroline's commitment to her job makes her desirable to Mike Rice (Stephen Boyd), a wealthy executive whose intentions toward her are only sometimes honorable.

On the other end of the spectrum is fashion plate Gregg Adams (Suzy Parker). Dropping out of her career on occasion to pursue auditions for Broadway shows, Gregg aspires to playgirl status and is merely biding her time at Fabian's. Though Gregg's eyes are set on the stage, her heart is quivering over vapid Broadway producer, David Savage (Jourdan). David, however, cares for Gregg only superficially, and much later discards her in favor of another innocuous fling.

The central narrative is largely focused on Caroline and Gregg's plight, though it inserts two more aspiring ingénues into the mix: Barbara Lemont (Martha Hyer), working because she is divorced and with child, and April Morrison (Diane Baker), a good-time-gal who gets the short end of the stick -- no pun intended. She winds up pregnant.

This "man's world" corporate commodity is further stirred by the inclusion of randy exec, Mr. Shalimar (Brian Aherne), to whom today's bevy of steno-pool lovelies would have a class-action sexual harassment lawsuit pending. The story only gets more conventional from here, with alcoholism, death and abortion making this melancholy melodrama largely forgettable.  The screenplay is infamous for its clichéd sexual politics, tossing about one liners like, "Find yourself another man...I'm throwing you out...and leave the key" or "I had the ideal husband...too bad he wasn't mine," flippantly out of touch with changing attitudes in the battle of the sexes.

In keeping with Fox's very strange choices in films deemed worthy of inclusion in their Studio Classic Series, The Best of Everything doesn't really live up to either the "studio classic" status or even its own title. Recall that Fox has included movies like Return to Peyton Place (1961), an abysmal little nothing of a sequel to Peyton Place (1957), as part of this series while quietly excluding such worthy titles as Hello Dolly! (1969) and Call Me Madam (1953) from the roster -- and even more to the point -- while film titles like Wilson (1944) and Margie (1946) remain MIA.

Fox Home Video's The Best of Everything does come with a rather impressive anamorphic transfer. Colors are rich, bold and vibrant. After years of viewing various discolored incarnations on VHS and television, seeing this film restored is rather like a completely new experience. Fine details are masterfully realized. Contrast levels are solid. A minimal amount of grain and fading is detected. The audio is lush and lovely in stereo. An audio commentary is the only extra. Forgivable, considering there's not much here to warrant a deluxe handling.

Star billing in ensemble acting is always tricky business. In Jean Negulesco's Phone Call From A Stranger (1952) - an uncanny amalgam of noir styling, conventional melodrama, and a touch of screwball comedy - it becomes downright confusing. Shelly Winters is given above the title credit even though Gary Merrill has infinitely more screen time. The script by Nunnally Johnson and I.A.R. Wylie is a tedious mishmash of clichés and uncertainties with a few brief nuggets of hidden surprise that seem to come out of nowhere.

The story concerns David L. Trask (Merrill), an attorney running away from his home life after he discovers that wife Jane (Helen Westcott) has been unfaithful. After telephoning Jane from the airport, David buys his ticket under an assumed name. He is "picked up" by lonely ex-actress/former stripper Bianca Carr (Shelley Winters) while waiting for their flight in the terminal, and thereafter also becomes friends with two other passengers: traveling salesman Edmund Hoke (Keenan Wynn) and Dr. Robert Fortness (Michael Rennie).

The flight takes off during a terrible storm and is grounded in Vegas overnight. Dr. Fortness confesses a deep, dark family secret to David, whom he is hoping will be able to provide some much needed legal council. It seems that one night not so very long ago, the good doctor departed a fashionable party with fellow colleague, Dr. Tim Brooks (Hugh Beaumont), en route to treat a patient at a nearby hospital. Unfortunately, David's cockiness and the influence of alcohol contributed to a head on collision where Brooks and all of the passengers in the other vehicle were killed instantly. Lying on his hospital bed, Fortness tells presiding physician, Dr. Luther Fletcher (Harry Cheshire), that it was Brooks, not he who was driving the car. Fortness' story is backed by his dutiful wife, Claire (Beatrice Straight), even though she knows the truth about the accident. The secret eventually tears Fortness' family apart.

Meanwhile, inside the airport terminal, Edmund is proudly passing around a picture of his wife, Marie (Bette Davis).  [Aside: the photo is actually an airbrushed image with Davis' face pasted onto the body of a bathing beauty pin-up.] Bianca jokingly tells Edmund that he is far too lucky to have Marie as his wife. Fortness agrees. For both Fortness and Bianca, Edmund is misperceived as boorish, grating and nonsensical. However David finds Edmund amusing, if not enlightening.

With weather conditions all clear, their plane takes off the next morning only to suffer ice buildup on its engine and wings. It crashes, killing all but three on board. David is the only member of his troop to survive and he spends the rest of the film's running time reluctantly contacting the family members of Dr. Fortness, Edmund, and Bianca to relay their final hours and provide closure and solace to each family.

In Fortness' case, David is able to reunite Claire -- who had become estranged from her husband - with their embittered son, Jerry (Ted Donaldson). In Edmund's circumstance, David learns that Marie has been paralyzed for many years following an ill-fated elopement with her lover that Edmund forgave.

The most peculiar of all reconciliations, played out in flashback like a bad screwball moment ripped from another film, involves David's brief interaction with nightclub proprietor Sallie Carr (Evelyn Varden) and Bianca's estranged husband, Mike (Craig Stevens). Possessive mother-in-law Sallie hated Bianca's independence and fabricated a persona for her that reads more that of the heartless vixen. Sensing Sallie's relish in demonizing Bianca, David fabricates a bit of his own wish-fulfillment about Bianca's audition with Rodgers and Hammerstein, thereby deflating Sallie's claim that her daughter-in-law was a no-good, useless failure.

As film entertainment, Phone Call From A Stranger is acutely convoluted.  Its plot suffers from too many half-ideas that never meld into one complete narrative. Merrill does his usual laconic "world-weary" loner routine with aloof disenchantment. He doesn't seem terribly engaged, but rather trudging from one plot point to the next with an "Am I there yet?" mentality that, at times, is rather oppressive.

Bette Davis is wasted in her near cameo. Truly, Davis' acceptance of the part of Marie (a role that any actress could have played blindfolded) has to be one of the all-time cinema curiosities. How desperate for work was she? Winters is a bit long in the tooth to be the tart with a proverbial heart of gold, but she pulls it off for the most part. Wynn overplays his hand with a painful example of ham acting. In the end, the characters and the plot do not gel the way they should. The results are mediocre at best.

Fox Home Video provides a beautiful DVD transfer. The B&W image exhibits exceptional tonality in its grayscale. Blacks are deep and solid. Whites are nearly pristine. Contrast levels are perfectly balanced. Age related artifacts are rare and do not distract. The audio is mono as originally recorded and presented at an adequate listening level. Extras are limited to an interactive press book and lobby and stills gallery.

April - June 2008 reviews

No Country For Old Men, Judgment at Nuremberg, The Queen, Anne of the Thousand Days/Mary, Queen of Scots

An utterly faithful adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's brilliantly original novel, Joel and Ethan Coen's Oscar-winning No Country For Old Men (2007) is pitiless, unrelenting social critique seamlessly blended to a harrowing game of cat and mouse. Shot primarily in the empty backdrops of Texas, New Mexico, and Las Vegas, the film's dark, edgy and sparse cinematography by Roger Deakins, along with its sweeping, yet emotionless script by the Coens, produces an unforgiving landscape of soulless characters caught in their own congruent and spiraling webs of self-destruction.

At $25 million, the film is a modestly budgeted joint venture between Paramount and Miramax Films. Casting is inspired. Newcomer to American audiences, Javier Bardem, justly receives his Best Actor Oscar for this strangely virtuous, almost philosophical, performance as the wedge-cut assassin driven to commit unspeakable acts in a very discerning way. Tommy Lee Jones and Josh Brolin deliver potent and unsettling portraits of righteous fatigue and invigorated greed respectively.

The film begins in the stark landscape of West Texas, circa 1980, with Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) providing an aloof social critique on the sad, slow demise of peace in the region. Professional hitman, Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), brutally slaughters Bell's deputy to escape custody, first stealing his police cruiser, then murdering an unsuspecting, innocent driver for his vehicle to continue the trek across the country.

In the meantime, good ole boy Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) accidentally discovers the remnant-strewn carnage of a drug deal gone bad: multiple corpses, a bag full of money, and a barely alive Mexican who will perish without his help. At first, greed consumes Moss. He hightails out of the valley with the money, leaving the Mexican to die. An attack of conscience sends Moss back to the scene of the crime. Unfortunately, he is discovered by the other banditos and thereafter begins a panicked escape from Chigurh and the law.

Moss hides in a seedy motel, stashing his moneyed satchel in the air vent. Unaware that the satchel also contains a hidden tracking devise, Moss returns to the motel only to discover that the Mexicans have already broken into his room and are awaiting his return to kill him. Cleverly, Moss instead rents the room next door, removes the vent panel from the shared duct, and retrieves the cash before Chigurh arrives to kill the Mexicans in his room.

Moss is tracked by Chigurh to another hotel on the Mexican border. Narrowly escaping death, he is nevertheless wounded, awaking days later in a Mexican hospital to discover that another drug operative, Carson Wells (Woody Harrelson), has a proposition that might save his life. Rejecting Wells outright, Moss telephones him later but is too late to save Wells' life. Chigurh answers Wells' phone, informing Moss that if he does not hand over the money his wife, Carla Jean (Kelly MacDonald), will surely die.  

Moss refuses to give in. Instead, he arranges a rendezvous with Carla Jean.  His plan: to pass along the money and send her to safety. Tragically, Moss is discovered by the Mexicans and Chigurh at the rendezvous first and is murdered. Witnessing the aftermath, Sheriff Bell enters Moss's hotel room -- unaware that Chigurh is standing behind the door. Bell notices similar scratch marks on the vent in the room and realizes that the money is gone.

Interestingly enough, Chigurh does not kill Bell, nor does Bell notice the assassin standing only inches away from him. Instead, Bell visits his invalided uncle, Ellis (Barry Corbin), while Chigurh hunts down Carla Jean for the cash. In a scene of open-ended interpretation, Chigurh offers Carla her life if she will surrender the cash and call a coin toss -- a reoccurring motif in the film. Carla refuses, and Chigurh departs her home with the money, implying that he has killed her. Unfortunately for Chigurh, he is T-boned by another driver, sustaining injury, but manages a painful escape before the arrival of police.

The final moments of the movie are up for discussion, with a retired Bell relating a pair of reoccurring dreams he has about his father to his wife, Loretta (Tess Harper). The first dream involves lost money that his father has given him; the second is a snapshot moment wherein Bell's father, carrying a torch through the frozen wilderness, informs Bell that he will go on ahead to make a fire for their warmth. Bell is left alone and isolated in the cold.  "Then I woke up," Bell concludes to Loretta and the audience, leaving the full poignancy and importance of the dreams a complete mystery.

No Country For Old Men is uncomfortable, compelled viewing. Its landscape of forgotten, hard-bitten men of the new West brutalizing one another for the sake of greed, scheming, and elusive wealth is faintly reminiscent of John Huston's The Treasure of Sierra Madre (1948) loosely reinvented for the Reservoir Dogs (1992) generation. Though the story teems with an ominous oppression and fatalism that is decidedly not "feel good," the Coens' script redeems the narrative from just another conventional "death in the valley of indecision" where not even the most innocent among us is able to emerge unscathed.

Alliance's anamorphic 2:35.1 DVD delivers a fairly impressive image throughout -- highly stylized and with a sun burnt yellowish tint throughout that is in keeping with the original theatrical presentation. Fine details are nicely realized throughout. There is a minor hint of edge enhancement but nothing that will distract.

Contrast levels are bang on with deep blacks. Whites, as aforementioned, adopt a yellow tint but are otherwise clean and refined. The audio is a 5.1 Dolby Digital effort with impressive spread. Extras include four vintage featurettes shot during production, including one largely self-congratulatory offering dedicated to working with the Coen brothers. 

One of the most profoundly sobering movies ever made about the holocaust, Stanley Kramer's Judgment at Nuremberg (1961) is often stagy and slightly stoic, though never anything less than completely engrossing post-WWII melodrama. A revealing look at the aftermath of Hitlerian rule and driven by its star performances, the film is as vitally tragic, viscerally disturbing, yet ultimately as life-affirming as any "message picture" ever produced about the rule of law in an unjust world.

Abby Mann's potent screenplay explores the Nuremberg trials from the perspective of American Justice, Dan Haywood (Spencer Tracy), who is pulled from his retirement to preside on the trial of German judges accused of Nazi crimes. Upon his arrival in Berlin, Dan, a bombed out shell of its former self, is installed in the residence of a deceased Nazi General. Before trial, Dan begins to review the cases of Germany's Chief Justice Dr. Ernst Janning (Burt Lancaster), a patriot once regarded highly for his personal convictions. The others on trial include the ineffectual Werner Lampe (Torbin Meyer), embittered Emil Hahn (Werner Klemperer), and indifferent, Freidrich Hofstedter (Martin Brandt). 

Gaining guarded insight into Germany's political climate during the war from his two servants, Mrs. and Mr. Halbestadt (Virginia Christine and Ben Wright), Judge Haywood's understandings and experiences are significantly broadened when Madame Bertholt (Marlene Dietrich), the former mistress of the house he now occupies, arrives to take some personal effects back to her small apartment. It is through Bertholt's eyes and reflections that Haywood develops a quiet, though nevertheless potent grounding for the people who did not support Hitler's final solution.

However, the film's narrative also forces Dan to reconsider a very loaded question: Who is more to blame for the atrocities committed under Nazi rule? The ardent SS officers who openly supported Hitler or the conscientious objectors that remained silent while millions went to their deaths a stone's throw away from their villages and towns? 

The real crux and spark of the film derives from its passionate court room exchanges between Defense Attorney Hans Rolfe (Maximilian Schell) and the pronouncedly defiant Colonel Tad Lawson (Richard Widmark), who serves as the United States lead prosecutor. One by one, the witnesses are brought forward with heartrending testimony. Rudolph Peterson's (Montgomery Clift) unnecessary sterilization reveals another side to the German justice system that Haywood had not considered. However, it is Irene Hoffman's (Judy Garland) utterly tragic recanting of her platonic teenage association with a retired Jewish merchant -- an association that inadvertently lead to the man's brutal extermination -- that eventually leads Haywood to his ultimate conclusion about the purpose for the trial and its verdict.    

The final moments of the film's narrative are dedicated to a tete-a-tete between Haywood and Dr. Janning, men so similar in their profession and way of interpreting the law that it both startles and haunts Haywood's disbelief that such an intelligent man could so readily support atrocities of the Third Reich. 

Judgment at Nuremberg is not an easy film to sit through. As the audience, we are spared actual visual depictions of Nazi torture and brutalities, though Richard Widmark's gripping commentary as Col. Lawson is quite enough to let our imaginations run wild into their animalistic depravity.  The entire cast performs superbly with Schell and Garland delivering the most haunted moments of reflection. These stellar bits of acting live on long after the footlights have come up.  Nominated for an astounding 11 Academy Awards and winner of 2, Judgment at Nuremberg remains a benchmark in 1960s cinema -- powerfully frank and emotionally satisfying, a story for the ages brilliantly adapted for the big screen. It belongs on everyone's top shelf; a must-have!

MGM DVD delivers a very smooth, though not anamorphic 1:66.1 image that will surely not disappoint. The B&W elements are remarkably clean with minimal film grain, accurately rendered contrast levels, deep solid blacks and very clean whites. The audio has been remixed to 5.1 (the original mono is also included). The two are practically identical in their spatial separation and fidelity, though in the 5.1 mix the music track is decidedly the benefactor.

Extras include a thoroughly insightful featurette in which screenwriter Abby Mann and co-star Maximilian Schell speak of their experiences on the film. Both are so well spoken that they put many a new audio commentary track to shame with their genuine ability to talk on cue. Also included is a 15 minute tribute to Stanley Kramer that is nicely done, if all too brief. A photo gallery, theatrical trailer, and promotional junket materials round out the extras.

Stephen Frears' The Queen (2006) is a case of a good idea distilled into a mediocre film. For starters, its title is deceiving, since the narrative's focus is not structured on the Queen at all, but rather on her reaction to England's tragic loss of Princess Diana. Peter Morgan's screenplay relies heavily on inserted BBC footage from those painful hours of mourning around Buckingham Palace immediately following the news that Diana had indeed died. True, gifted actress Helen Mirren (who won an Oscar for her role as Elizabeth) apes the monarch to perfection. She is the Queen in mannerism and deportment and remains the film's one saleable commodity. Yet, there seems to be no cohesion to the footage excised from life and inserted into this story other than its brief reactionary flashpoints to the various sound bytes issuing from the Queen's television.

The film opens with Tony Blair's appointment to parliament. The Queen (Mirren) reminds him of his temporary place in the general scheme of British politics, a move that wins a rather uneasy détente between them until that fateful night in Paris. Moments after the first televised news that Diana's car has been struck in a tunnel, Blair (Michael Sheen) is on the phone to Her Majesty, cautiously instructing as to the appropriate course of action. Blair advises a public address. But the Queen will have none of it. Instead, she's off to Balmoral Castle for a little R&R with Prince Philip (James Cromwell), Prince Charles (Alex Jennings), and the young heirs to the throne.

At first, the mass sympathy is with the royal house. Soon, however, public opinion turns sour, particularly after the Queen refuses to offer even the most basic acknowledgement of Diana's importance on the world stage: flags flying at half mast, a public address, her return to Buckingham Palace to mix with the outpouring of tears from mourners.

The film delights in exposing a crusty underbelly of tension amongst the royals: Prince Philip's overriding contempt for Diana, Charles' presumed outpouring of loss made ineffectual by an overbearing mother, Cherie Blair's (Helen McCrory) refusal to curtsy before the queen. Yet, the overall empathy of the piece is lost under its barrage of actual news clips and sound bytes and under some heavy handed editing that reduces the Queen to mere glances and moments of silent introspection sandwiched between the documentary footage.

This isn't a great melodrama, just a mediocre one that proved very adept at feeding the loyalist/royalist fan base to both Dianaphiles and devotees of the Queen. In the end, The Queen is a curiosity and an anomaly, an addendum to history made from a curious vantage of extensive research without the infusion of any sort of heart or soul to make the project come alive.

Alliance Home Video's DVD is quite adequate. In theaters, the image had a tendency to be quite grainy in spots. This DVD reduces that grain element somewhat for a more smooth and acceptable image. Excised television snippets retain their broadcast feel. Filmic elements have a more refined quality. Colors are rich and fully saturated. Contrast levels are a tad weaker than expected. Blacks are more deep gray or hazy brown than black. Whites have a slightly yellowed characteristic that seems in keeping with the original theatrical presentation. Overall, the image quality will surely not disappoint. The audio is 5.1 Dolby Digital and presented at an adequate listening level. Extras include the film's original trailer, an audio commentary and a "making of" featurette.

Based on Maxwell Anderson's magnificent stage spectacle, Charles Jarrott's Anne of the Thousand Days (1969) is a visceral and compelling Tudor melodrama about King Henry VIII's mad obsession to produce the next heir of England. Deriving its name from the brief span in which Anne Boleyn became Queen of England then lost her head, the play debuted on Broadway in 1948 with no less a formidable Henry than actor Rex Harrison. Running 288 performances to rave reviews, the filmic adaptation had to be postponed repeatedly until Hollywood's self-imposed code of ethics had sufficiently lapsed, allowing the movie to explore those more seedy sidelines of royal intrigue, incest and adultery.

The film opens on the twilight of Henry's marriage to Queen Katharine of Aragon (Irene Papas). Originally an affair of state, the marriage was thrust upon Henry (Richard Burton) by his father to secure an alliance between England and Spain. However, Katharine has been unable to bear Henry a son. At court, Henry eyes the young maiden, Anne Boleyn (Genevieve Bujold). But his dalliances with Anne's older sister, Mary (Valerie Gearon), have toughened her resolve. Apart from her obvious disdain for a man who would impregnate one woman while still married to another, Anne is in love with Lord Percy (Terrence Wilton).

But their love match is thwarted when Henry denies his blessing, and furthermore uses his influence to command Cardinal Wolsey (Anthony Quayle) to separate Anne and Percy so that he may pursue her instead. Eventually, Anne agrees to marry the King, though not without conflict. She does indeed give birth to the King's future heir, Elizabeth: a bitter pill for Henry to swallow and made even more rancid when their second child -- a son -- is stillborn. 

Producer Hal B. Wallis delivers a formidable -- if lengthy -- filmic feast. By far, Burton's Henry is the most flawed and human of all movie incarnations, revealing a fallible and tragic side. He is superb, but the acting kudos on this occasion belong squarely to Genevieve Bujold who delivers a wholly captivating performance as the woman who would dominate and change the future course of England's history.

Mary, Queen of Scots (1971) charts the rise of Mary Stuart (Vanessa Redgrave), the last Roman Catholic ruler of Scotland. The only legitimate child of James V, Mary becomes the wife of the dauphin Francis (Richard Denning), who dies tragically in a riding accident. Encouraged to return to her native Scotland as the undisputed monarch, Mary is denied passport through England by Elizabeth (Glenda Jackson). Elizabeth further orders Mary's sailing vessel observed.

Despite seemingly insurmountable odds, including a minor revolution and constant threats of death, Mary manages to maintain her faith while attempting to unite her country and restore it to prosperity. She is hampered in her efforts on all fronts by a growing roster of false friends, as well as her own utterly bad judge in choosing male advisers. To this end, Mary falls madly and marries Lord Henry Darnley (Timothy Dalton), the great-grandson of England's Henry VII. But her marriage is hardly ideal, especially with Darnley's growing jealousy toward David Rizzio (Ian Holm), her trusted foreign correspondent. Eventually, Darnley makes a prisoner of his wife, who manages to escape a fate worse than death, only to be thrust into an even more abusive relationship with James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell (Nigel Davenport). 

Once again, producer Hal. B. Wallis and director Charles Jarrott regale us with tales of palace espionage. However, even at its lengthy running time, and with so much intrigue to contend with, the film seems pressed for time. The sets and costumes are first rate but the acting is secondary to both. Redgrave is an ample Mary, as is Jackson's turn as Elizabeth. Their confrontations are the best and most enduring aspect about the film. For the rest, this is a mostly glossy and not very compelling melodrama that truncates history and speeds through pivotal events that really deserve more of our time and attention.

Universal Home Video has made a 2-disc collector's set of both movies. Image quality on each transfer is uniform for the most part -- save one discrepancy on Anne of the Thousand Days to be discussed in a moment. On both transfers color fidelity has been nicely preserved. Colors are rich and vibrant. Flesh tones have a very natural appearance. There is a good amount of fine detail available for a generally smooth and pleasing presentation throughout. Contrast levels seem bang on with deep blacks and clean whites. Occasionally, age related artifacts are present, but do not distract. The audio on both is 5.1 Dolby Digital and well represented with a very aggressive spread during music and effects. Dialogue is very natural sounding.

Now for the discrepancy.  On Anne of a Thousand Days there are several brief sequences in which the image jerks horizontally. During these moments, the image is highly unstable and riddled with an excessive amount of edge enhancement and shimmering of fine details. The "jerking" motion is probably due to sprocket hole damage inherent in the original camera negative. But the digital artifacts are entirely unacceptable and quite distracting. Overall, then, this DVD is a worthwhile purchase for its content -- not its presentation.  

January - March 2008 reviews

Crash, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Eyes Wide Shut, East Side West Side

In essence and tone, Paul Haggis' Crash (2004) is a morality play interweaving and overlapping several stories - all serving one fundamental theme: the purity of the human spirit, its tainting by the outside world, and recovery from learned prejudices. Set in present day Los Angeles, with Police Det. Graham Water's (Don Cheadle) family tree providing the flimsiest of cohesion between various story threads, the film is, at times, a sobering reflection on racial stereotypes harbored under false pretenses and an underlying collective mistrust dictated by common fear.

That fear begins for DA Rick Cabot (Brendan Fraser) and his wife, Jean (Sandra Bullock), when their SUV is taken at gunpoint by carjackers Anthony (Ludacris) and Graham's younger brother, Lucien (Dato Bakhtadze), good-natured bad boys destined to meet with an untimely end. En route from their latest heist, the boys accidentally run down Park (Daniel Day Kim), a night worker whose laundry truck is stocked full of illegally smuggled Chinese refugees. Anthony and Lucien decide to save Park's life by dumping his body off at the local hospital, unaware of the cargo they're carrying.

Meanwhile, once safely at home, Jean freaks out about getting the locks changed on all the doors at their fashionable home, employing her own misguided racial profiling to convince Rick that locksmith Daniel (Michael Pena) will sell one of the master keys to thieves, just because he is Hispanic.

Responding to an APB on the Cabot's stolen vehicle, Police Officers John Ryan (Matt Dillon) and Tom Handsen (Ryan Phillippe) pull over a similar vehicle carrying an upscale married couple, Cameron (Terrence Howard) and Christine Thayer (Thandi Newton). Ryan's prejudice toward blacks in general causes him to overreact to the situation. He terrorizes the couple, physically assaulting Cameron and sexually abusing his wife before letting them off with "a warning." Shaken and disgusted by the incident, Handsen attempts to apply for a transfer; a request denied by Lt. Dixon (Keith David).

The narrative next picks up Daniel, who has been called in the middle of the night to fix the lock of a local Persian merchant, Farhad (Shaun Toub). Farhad's daughter, Dorri (Bahar Soomekh), has bought him a gun as a precaution against intruders. However, owing to Farhad's rather hot-headed temper, Dorri has also loaded the weapon with blanks -- foresight that will figure prominently later on.

There is a lot more to each of these lives, best left unsaid for the first-time viewer to discover. The film is fluid and evolving, or unraveling, that is, as the various plot elements spin together to form one compelling ball of tension. Like Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, the screenplay by Haggis and Robert Moresco provides mere snapshots at varying intervals before moving in other directions, only to return and pick up each thread later on. Yet, on the whole, and for this critic's tastes, the resolution to many of these proves a little "too kismet," becoming an inbred glimpse into characters who, try as they might, cannot seem to get away from one another. Praised for its frank and hard-hitting honesty, its bold critique of bigotry and racism, Crash is indeed an interesting exercise or, perhaps, "lesson" is a more fitting descriptor. But as pure entertainment, it does tend to be rather short-sighted.

Maple Home Video's DVD exhibits exemplary mastering. The stylized visual elements are boldly authored with a stark and rather stunning color palette that is bold and vibrant. Contrast levels are severe, as intended. Blacks are jet black. Whites are often blooming, again, as intended. Grain structure varies throughout, though night scenes appear to contain minute traces of digital grit not as obvious during the film's original theatrical engagement. On the whole, the visual quality of this disc will not disappoint. The audio is 5.1 Dolby Digital and delivers an aggressive sonic characteristic.

Disc One contains one of the poorest examples of a DVD "introduction" from a director that this critic has ever had the displeasure of viewing. The audio commentary by Haggis is not much better, though Don Cheadle's and Bobby Moresco's involvement eases the pain somewhat. On disc 2 there are several interesting deleted scenes with or without director's commentary, several additional featurettes on the making of the film, a music montage, storyboard, and script-to-screen comparisons.

Unabashedly optimistic, Steven Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) is arguably the first intellectual science fiction movie ever made. In retrospect then, at last Hollywood dared to tell a story that did not invite the "blood-thirsty haunted beings from a far off galaxy, hell bent on earth and earthlings' destruction" scenario that by the 1950s had become so cliché ridden as to obstruct our sensibilities about the very real probability that "we" are not alone with benevolent travelers from another universe waiting to meet our acquaintance. In reflection on his own work, Spielberg has acknowledged that the film is a young man's dalliance with the "what if" fantasy about alien life and, more directly, a precursor to his own E.T., The Extra Terrestrial (1982).

Richard Dryfuss is Roy Neary, an engineer who, after being called out to investigate a city wide power outage, instead has a close encounter with an alien craft at a lonely crossroads in the isolated country. The experience shatters Neary's family life, already precariously looming toward divorce,  especially when his unsympathetic wife, Ronnie (Terri Garr), refuses to accept that Roy has seen anything but a mental breakdown.

Meanwhile on a remote farm, single-mother Gillian Guiler's (Melinda Dillion) son, Barry (Cary Guffey), is abducted from their home by another alien encounter. After Roy almost runs over Barry with his truck, Gillian and Roy meet and quickly discover their mutual unrelenting and inexplicable urge to journey to the rocky enclave of Devil's Tower where they quickly learn that the U.S. government has been putting up a front to scare local residents into an evacuation so that they can establish interstellar contact with the alien mother ship.

Those expecting fast action pyrotechnics and a conventional "boy meets alien" scenario would do best to satisfy their fixation elsewhere. Close Encounters is a thought-provoking, often lyrical and perennially engrossing tone poem made by a master filmmaker on the cusp of his own journey into the stars and the unexplained. Spielberg's direction is sure-footed but methodically paced. The film raises more open-ended questions than providing closed-minded answers, but ultimately succeeds where lesser sci-fi fodder has failed: at creating an emotional backstory that serves as the film's grounding element, utterly compelling, undiluted or overly explicative. 

At the time Spielberg was preparing for his foray into sci-fi, he had just stepped off the overnight success of Jaws (1976), a film not even Universal Studios had initially harbored much faith in. Ironically, Universal's shortsightedness continued when Spielberg pitched his original idea for Close Encounters, allowing the beleaguered Columbia Studios their bite at the apple of Spielberg's burgeoning "magic touch". Collecting his thoughts and handpicking a cast from an envious roster of stellar performers (including legendary film maker/author Francois Truffaut), Spielberg began shooting his movie under high expectations that were somewhat hampered, then entirely dashed, by Columbia's urging to have the film ready for a Christmas release.

The gamble paid off. Close Encounters was a colossal financial and critical success though Spielberg always felt he had been forced into compromise in his final edit. Hence, after the film pulled Columbia out from its financial red, the studio granted Spielberg's request to go back three years later to shoot additional scenes and re-edit his masterpiece for a new special edition. Unfortunately, Columbia imposed one more stipulation on Spielberg's artistic integrity, forcing him to include a final sequence where Roy is seen inside the mother ship before it departs into uncharted intergalactic territory.

In 1999, Sony released this Special Edition as the "definitive version" of Close Encounters even though it was not to Spielberg liking. Now Sony Home Entertainment has rethought that strategy with Close Encounters of the Third Kind: the 30^th Anniversary Ultimate Edition, a three-disc compendium containing the original theatrical cut, the aforementioned Special Edition, and a new "Director's Cut" approved by Steven Spielberg. All three versions run just a little over two hours and appear to have been sourced from identical film elements. Though much improved in image quality from their original release, these new discs fall a tad short of expectation.

Overall, color fidelity is excellent, particularly during sequences shot during the day. Flesh tones appear more natural then they do during night sequences. Optical shots retain a slightly degraded visual characteristic inherent in the matte and SFX processes employed at the time. Although the work itself retains that elusive aura of make-believe, the overall representation on these discs tends to emphasize their dated characteristic. A few brief shots continue to contain a more heavy and obvious patina of grain than one might expect, exaggerated by a sudden -- if brief -- digital harshness. The soundtrack on all three discs has been remastered using the best possible source material. Oddly enough, the new musical cue inserted into the final credit sequence of the SE fairs better sonically than the original theatrical and DE tracks, which crackles slightly when played at higher decibel levels.

Extras include a comprehensive look back at the creation, upgrading and restoration of this monumental bit of film history and theatrical trailers for all three versions, as well as a special new introduction by Steven Spielberg. Highly recommended!

Stanley Kubrick's final movie before his death was Eyes Wide Shut (1999). He should have quit while he was ahead. For in this last experimental venture through the dark and depraved world of the sexually promiscuous and suicidal, Kubrick offers nothing but rare glimpses and brief flashes of his usual high standards.  Based on the brooding and ambiguous novel by Arnold Schnitzler, [Traumnovelle or Dream Story]  the film veers wildly between realms of subliminal perversion and kooky black comedy, peppered in sickly truncated bits of clichéd melodrama.

It stars then-married couple Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman as Dr. William Harford and wife Alice. Though the thin veneer of William's respectability appears to be holding true to very conservative form inside his cloistered circle of upper crust friends - embodied by his association with fellow physician Victor Ziegler (Sydney Pollack) - alone and behind closed doors, Bill and Alice indulge in hot sex and recreational drug use after their young daughter, Helena (Madison Eglinton), has tottered off to bed.

Now for the wrinkle. Bill's world is inexplicably turned upside down after Alice confides that she once had naughty thoughts over a naval officer she glimpsed in the lobby of the hotel they were staying at during their honeymoon. Though Alice never acted on the impulse, Bill decides to "get even" with his wife by frequenting the seedy part of town and getting into mischief. But his efforts lead to more sexual frustration than liberation.

An awkward dalliance with a prostitute results in the discovery that she is dying of AIDS. A group of college kids inexplicably assume that Bill is a homosexual and decide to rough him up outside a jazz bar. Inside, Bill learns from his old college buddy, Nick Nightingale (Todd Fields), of a frisky group sex party at a country estate. But the deal turns sour when the cult leader of this private affair realizes Bill is a party crasher and almost makes him the object of a group rape.

The filmic styling of the piece is what stands out the most. But style without substance is a poor precursor for solid entertainment value, a commodity the film miserably fails to deliver. Then rumors of Cruise's own marital problems with Kidman are glaringly obvious on the screen. Their tawdry sex scenes have zero chemistry. It's as though they're brother and sister rather than husband and wife.

Opinion remains divided on Kubrick's last film. You either love it or hate it. This critic falls into the latter category. The script by Kubrick and Frederic Raphael is an utterly pointless mishmash of moments best left on someone else's cutting room floor. As the audience, we keep waiting for Kubrick to bring all the loose ends together (perhaps not in complete resolution, but at least a tightening up) and, for the most part, are bitterly disappointed when he leaves us hanging on Alice's final request for she and Bill to just go home and "fuck."

Warner Home Video's anamorphic widescreen DVD is disappointing, not the least for the fact that it does NOT contain both the theatrical and unrated versions of the movie as promised on the slip cover packaging. What is even more disappointing is how overly saturated and softly focused the overall image seems to be. Flesh tones are never natural, but rather a garish stylized orange that is distracting and not in keeping with the original theatrical presentation. Though the image can occasionally be razor sharp, it more often contains a patina of haze and some rather obvious grain (the latter was a part of the theatrical presentation), that plays more like digital grit. The audio is 5.1 and delivers a fairly powerful kick in the film's underscoring. Extras include vintage "making of" featurettes, a meandering audio commentary, and the film's original theatrical trailer.

Based on the scintillating novel by Marcia Davenport, Mervyn LeRoy's East Side West Side (1949) is a potent melodrama that takes a rather frank and unrelenting look at marital infidelity and the fallout incurred in the name of kept-up appearances with faux respectability. The story begins on New York's fashionable East End with married couple Jessie (Barbara Stanwyck) and Brandon Bourne (James Mason) enjoying a ritual Thursday night feast at Jessie's mother Nora Kernan's (Gail Sondergaard) apartment. The gathering seems idyllic and quaint enough. However, as the couple departs for their own home, Nora suspects that all is not entirely well.

You see, Brandon was having a rather torrid romance with viper/mantrap, Isabel Lorrison (Ava Gardner), an affair that Jessie forgave. However, Isabel is back in town, and meaner, hotter and more sensually tempting than ever before. She lures Brandon away from Jessie at every chance, flaunting her success while certain that she will win her conquest in the end. Not that it matters either way to Isabel, who is currently seeing New York thug in a three-piece, Alec Dawning (Douglas Kennedy), much to the chagrin of his other playmate, Felice Backett (Beverly Michaels).

In the meantime, Jessie has befriended former cop turned man of the people, Mark Dwyer (Van Heflin), on leave from his job in Italy. Dwyer's girlfriend, Rosa Senta (Cyd Charisse), has been nursing a school girl's crush and keeping her home fires burning for Mark over the last two years in the hopes that he will feel the same toward her upon his return to America. But Mark quickly develops a yen for Jessie instead.

The great curiosity and skill of LeRoy's direction is how it manages to effortlessly shift from a seemingly conventional soap opera about six lives inexplicably and unpredictably intertwined, into a full-blown film noir after Isabel's body is discovered choked to death inside her apartment. LeRoy's direction is strong and straightforward, though never pedestrian. He keeps the film moving, inserting comedic bits of business to break up the rather dark and brooding monotony of the more sinister plot twists.

The entire cast is superb. Mason, in particular, gives a brilliant read of this sort of "weak/troubled" and utterly flawed, though handsome enough man about town that became his stock and trade during the 50s, most notably as Norman Maine in A Star Is Born (1954). There's great conviction in Stanwyck's performance as well, shifting atmospherically from doting, respectful and understanding wife to a woman who's had enough of both her life and the man who pretends to occupy it with her.  

Warner Home Video's DVD is adequately rendered with minor flaws worth noting. Edge enhancement plagues the main title and end credit sequences. Age related artifacts are present throughout and, at times, heavier than expected. On the whole the gray scale has been impeccably rendered with fine gradation and a considerable amount of fine detail evident throughout. Blacks are solid and deep; whites, nearly pristine.

On several occasions image quality seems to have been sourced from a less than stellar print rather than the original camera negative (as in the scene where Mark takes Jessie to his old neighborhood and runs into a school mate he hasn't seen in some time). Here, the image is briefly softer with lower contrast levels. On the whole, however, this transfer will surely not disappoint. The audio is mono as expected. Extras include a radio broadcast, several short subjects and the film's original theatrical trailer. Recommended.

Inspired by graphic novelist, Frank Miller's highly stylized and much celebrated reincarnation of the Battle of Thermopylae, Zack Snyder's 300 (2006) is a thought-numbing would-be epic of impeccable carnage mostly created through the magic of CGI.  The film charts the ruthless and relentless journey of that noble sect of Grecian warriors, The Spartans, as they prepare to do battle against insurmountable Persian forces.

The Spartans are led by valiant King Leonidas (the spectacularly muscled Gerard Butler, who claims, in one of the behind the scenes featurettes, to holding a strict regime of 4-hour daily workouts 3 months prior to the film shoot), a bit of a maniacal crazy obsessed with an inherent code of ethics that cannot be tempted or compromised.  The Spartans march as one indestructible conquering machine. Throughout the film's rather flimsy narrative, Leonidas makes repeated references to the fact that free men will always fight with more honor/valor and blind determination to preserve what is theirs than an army of slaves.

On the home front, Leonidas is loved by his Queen, Gorga (Lena Headey), respected by his people and worshipped by his soldiers. However, in Sparta's council of elders there is much consternation over the question of leadership, particularly from Theron (Dominic West), a Janus-faced traitor who trades on his political authority for leverage with both the council and the loyalties of its Queen.  At the onset, the Spartans wage an all out slaughter against the Persian forces in one magnificent victory upon the next. But the tide turns out of favor when Leonidas discourages a humpback cripple, Ephialtes (Andrew Tiernan) from joining their forces. Ephialtes betrays his king for superficial and earthly rewards.

The great disappointment of the film is that, though its visuals remain bloody and faithful to Miller's original comic, their overwhelming spectacle is married to a rather passionless hodgepodge: more decorative than narrative and allowing for even less of a personal investment from the audience than one might expect. (For example: The central male/female relationship between Leonidas and Gorga fails to generate even an ounce of believable passion beyond the friction of bodies rising and falling in connubial bliss.)

Understandably, speaking parts are neither the point nor the purpose of Miller's comic or the film's screenplay. That works in service of the graphic novel, but it is a bit more problematic for cinema. In depriving us of words beyond mere sound bytes, the film becomes a derelict of mottos, not motivations. The Spartans' causes - honor, family, glory, freedom - never surmount the bone-crushing epic splendor of an ancient carnival freak show, with the Spartans appearing as though they have taken their memberships to Gold's Gym too seriously and are now suffering from a bad case of penis envy and 'roid rage.

As Leonidas, Gerard Butler clearly has both a physical and emotional grasp and presence. Yet he is oddly deprived of humanity, circumcised in favor of a bloodless façade cut from the same cloth as Arnold Schwartzenegger's Terminator. His actions thus appear more instinctual than articulate, less the meticulous plotting of a master warrior and superior general than the rabid backlash of a wounded animal.

Larry Fong's MTV style camerawork and William Hoy's editing -- though considerably more smooth than most of their generation -- nevertheless contribute to a superficial artificiality instead of total audience engagement. The battle sequences are not so brilliantly staged as they remain plastic and waxen vignettes (a sort of stop-motion tableau of Miller's novel): artful, perhaps, but one-dimensional nonetheless. In the end, 300 inspires praise for its ability to provide an exceptionally accurate recreation of Miller's comic styling. However, taken from its printed context, the filmic excursion remains as flat as those imaginative images on the printed page.       

Warner Home Video's 2 disc DVD is generally pleasing and captures the CGI splendor of the original filmic presentation, though not without a few flaws. The stylized color palette is dramatically recreated. Blacks are solid and deep. There are no clean, pure whites. Occasionally, digital grit (apart from that inherent and planned in the original theatrical release) is quite thick and obvious, particularly during the final battle sequence, where close ups of Leonidas reveal a tiling effect on his headgear. The audio is an aggressive 5.1 Dolby Digital. Extras include an informative, occasionally rambling audio commentary track, plus a litany of behind-the-scenes featurettes on disc 2, delving into every conceivable aspect of the film's creation. Oddly, the original theatrical trailer is not included.

Irving Reis' tragic film noir, The Big Street (1942) is an engrossing character study in toxic relationships: a dark and brooding examination of a tragic woman who is evil in her intent, yet strangely sympathetic in her flawed understanding of human frailty and love. The film stars Lucille Ball as Gloria Lyons, a hot-to-trot nightclub singer who is utterly adored by busboy, Augustus "Little Pinks" Pinkerton (Henry Fonda, playing convincingly against type as the starry-eyed fop). Gloria loves no one -- not even herself. She uses her boyfriend, the thuggish Case Ables (Barton MacLane), until she sets her eyes on a more handsome prospect, playboy Decatur Reed (William Orr). Unfortunately, for Gloria, Ables decides to teach her a lesson: slapping her down a flight of stairs. The resulting fall leads to irreversible and crippling paralysis.

Discarded and embittered, Gloria's recovery is embraced and funded by "Pinks" and his band of faithful well-wishers, fronted by restaurateur Violet Shumberg (Agnes Moorehead), and playful gambler, Professor B (Ray Collins). But Gloria cannot stand the lot of them. Her seething contempt for poverty and those who work to live conceal her deeper fear that her own life is over and that, without the use of her legs, she will never be able to land the rich meal ticket she believes she deserves.

Based on the short story by Damon Runyon (who would later script the glorious Guys and Dolls), the screenplay by Leonard Spiegelgass adeptly moves the action from New York to Florida where Gloria continues to ridicule Pinks and the rest of those who seem to care more for her than even she does for herself. As Gloria, Ball is a revelation, a character so maniacal and oppressive in her discontent that she surely seems to be the most wicked and unflattering of all female leads.

Yet Ball manages to infuse something of a "little girl lost" into her performance, allowing us to see flashes of insecurity behind the sadism that will ultimately doom her to a tragic end. Gloria's motto may indeed be that "a girl's best friend is a dollar" but the infinite wisdom of the film is that it provides for a more enlightened philosophy: Selfless compassion is the admirable redeemer of fallen idols.

Warner Home Video's DVD is fairly impressive. The B&W image is relatively grain free with a minimal amount of age related damage. Contrast levels appear slightly weak at times, but overall the gray scale exhibits a fine tonality with solid deep blacks and relatively clean whites. Occasionally, a slight hint of edge enhancement is detected, as well as pixelization in background details, but on the whole the image quality in this presentation will surely NOT disappoint. Extras are limited to two vintage short subjects and the film's theatrical trailer.

Howard Hawks' The Land of the Pharaohs (1955) is an impressive anomaly in the director's career. Under the creative aegis of making a "Cecile B. Deville-type picture," Hawks aligns an impressive script by Harold Jack Bloom, William Faulkner, and Harry Kurnitz with stellar leads and a cast of literally thousands. The film boasts one impressive spectacle upon the next, not the least of which is Pharaoh Cheops Khu-Fu's (Jack Hawkins) triumphant processional and return to Egypt.

The story begins with Pharaoh's return, trailed by a band of captured peoples fronted by the architect Vashtar (James Robertson Justice). Cheops orders Vashtar to build him an impregnable tomb where he will rest in luxury and want for nothing in his "second life." As construction begins, the spirit and hope of the people are high. Soon, however, Pharaoh becomes consumed by the thought of death, and the tone of his order and rule turns dark and brooding. After discovering that Vashtar's sight is failing and that he has shared the secrets of Pharaoh's tomb with his only son, Senta (then heartthrob, Dewey Martin), Pharaoh condemns both father and son to be buried alive in the tomb after his death.

Even more of a curiosity is the next act of the narrative.  Always loyal to his adoring wife Nailla (Kerima), Pharaoh is inexplicably drawn to hell cat Princess Nellifer (Joan Collins), who first denies Pharaoh's workers the grain and monetary aid to build his resting temple, spits at him and bites his wrist, then plots his murder with her hulking man servant. This plan however goes awry when Pharaoh's loyal advisor, Hamar (Alex Minotis), discovers Nellifer's treachery and devises a fitting end for her after Pharaoh's death.

The tale moves along effortlessly enough with much to admire from both its actors and the enormous and detailed sets that dwarf all human condition set before them. Director Hawks never cared much for the finished product, believing it to be a minor work amongst his illustrious canon of film favorites. Yet there is something genuinely engrossing about this sort of spectacle -- more robust in its plotting and action than DeMille's own Ten Commandments, and far more character driven with subliminal underpinnings of sadism and revenge. Though what is ultimately remembered from the film are not its quiet moments of introspection but the scathing spectacle, Land of the Pharaohs is thrilling entertainment of the sword and sandal vein.  It delivers the golden goods and makes us care about the whole darn mess.

Warner Home Video's DVD is a tad disappointing. The anamorphic Cinemascope widescreen transfer was shot on Eastman Warner-Color film stock, a flawed format. The image, while occasionally sharp and detailed, is moreover marred by a distinct fading throughout, overly orange flesh tones and, at times, a considerable amount of obvious film grain and age related artifacts. There is also a hint of edge enhancement and shimmering of fine details sporadically throughout this presentation. Occasionally, the image wobbles from left to right during dissolves and fades. Colors are flat and pasty for the most part.

The audio is Dolby Stereo Surround and recaptures much of the vintage "scope" stereo sound -- though occasionally the tracks are more strident than pure, with dialogue utterly manufactured. Extras are limited to the film's theatrical trailer and a rather sparse audio commentary by Peter Bogdanovich with inserts of Hawks from an interview conducted in the early 1970s.

To date, Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet (1996) remains the only filmic version of Shakespeare's immortal play to embrace the bard's full text, incorporating all of the scenes and dialogue from the first folio and second quarto: a gargantuan undertaking that Branagh would later admit became his obsession. Not that anyone at Castlerock Entertainment, the studio funding the film's $18 million bottom line, shared in the director's verve for the assignment.

On the contrary, weary that Shakespeare on film has always been risky business, Castlerock hoped against hope to convince Branagh to shoot an "abridged version" that would be released simultaneously with the director's own plans for an epic 4-hour spectacular. In the end, Branagh won out and only the full version had its general limited release to much critical praise, lamentation, and 4 Oscar nominations (but, tragically, no win!).

Hamlet (Branagh) is the rightful heir to the throne of Denmark, usurped of his title when his Uncle Claudius (Derek Jacobi) marries Hamlet's mother, the queen (Julie Christie), thereby become the sovereign liege. But that isn't what perplexes and haunts the very fibers of Hamlet's being. Rather, he suspects foul play in the death of his own father, a suspicion made ruthlessly whole when his late father reappears as a ghost (Brian Blessed) to reveal his poisoning at Claudius' hands. Yet how best to reveal the murder and fraud to the court of Denmark?

Hamlet's mother suspects him to be suffering from some great mental malady, a depression capable of pushing him on the verge of insanity. Hamlet's tender and loyal girlfriend, Ophelia (Kate Winslet), makes valiant attempts to rid her lover of his inner demons. But her own inability to conceive what Hamlet already knows, coupled with Hamlet's growing paranoia that Ophelia's father, Polonius (Richard Briers), the prime minister and Claudius' right hand, might be manipulating his own daughter in service to hatch a new murder plot against Hamlet, sends the young heir into an emotional tailspin from which only great tragedy and death results.

Situating the action loosely somewhere in the 19^th century allows for a spectacular update of lavish locations to take center stage in this magnificent cinematic poem. It also affords Branagh the opportunity to carry off the play's most celebrated soliloquy ("To be or not to be...") in front of a double-sided mirror, presumably making his own exchange in private, while all the while being cautiously observed by a plotting Claudius and innocent Polonius.

The film is also a veritable potpourri for a stunning Who's Who of 20^th century acting talent. Charlton Heston is frightfully on point as the Player King, commanding and well appointed. Judi Dench is an engaging Hecuba; Robin Williams a delightfully obtuse Osric; and Billy Crystal is foppishly coy as the grave digger. True enough, Jack Lemmon's Marcellus and Gerard Depardieu's Reynaldo are mere flashes of dialogue, appearing then disappearing from the plot as written, and arguably master talents like Ruffus Sewell and John Mills are wasted in limited bit parts.

Branagh however, has taken a cue and made a valuable study of all star spectacles à la the cheek and girth of Michael Todd's  Around the World In Eighty Days (1956), while borrowing from the bard's own quill that "the play is the thing." What is therefore memorable about the film, in addition to its superb stellar roll call, is how many big names and even bigger talents managed to appear in brief support and to marvelous effect throughout. This is the Hamlet to put all others (save Olivier's Oscar winning turn in 1949) to shame.

Warner Home Video's anamorphic DVD has been superbly rendered with startling image clarity unseen since the film's original 70mm road show engagement. Colors on this vibrant, rich and fully saturated. Branagh's piercing blue eyes are blue. Claudius' bridal attire is blood red. Fine details are evident throughout. Close ups of actors for example reveal minute lines and wrinkles in their faces.

The film is spread across two discs, broken at the original intermission, a forgivable interruption that allows for the badly needed food and/or bathroom break. Contrast levels are bang on. There is a minute amount of grain and a few minor instances of digital enhancement in certain scenes, but on the whole this is a pristine, near reference quality presentation worthy of addition to everyone's home video collection. The audio has been magnificently remastered to 5.1 Dolby Digital. Patrick Doyle's music cues are the real benefactor, but dialogue too seems to contain a more robust clarity than previously made available on the laserdisc edition.

There is but one disappointment to note in the extras. Although Branagh's and Russell Jackson's audio commentary is superb it is not accompanied by anything but vintage featurettes to augment this presentation. There's no "look back" featurette or documentary with interviews from the surviving cast and crew that would have authenticated this two disc release immensely. Oh well, a minor quibbling, I suppose. This edition of Hamlet comes highly recommended. At every level it is a spectacle of intense emotion NOT to be missed!