Anger Management—Complete 1st Season
(Lionsgate)
After being dumped from Two and a Half Men when he went publically
postal, Charlie Sheen returned to TV with this slick sitcom that cast him as a
man with anger issues—if that sounds like an unfunny joke based on his unhinged
persona, the show itself is even less funny. Sheen garners a few laughs with in-jokes
that trade off on his meltdown, but the show quickly goes downhill, and there’s
little left but just another bland comedy. The hi-def image is adequate; extras
include on-set interviews and a gag reel.
(Cohen Media)
This distaff costume drama has few
insights into a familiar subject: the last days of Marie Antoinette as French queen.
Its teenage heroine, a quietly dutiful handmaiden who becomes Marie’s favorite,
is so colorless as to be a blank slate, severely hampering director Benoit
Jacquot’s attempt to chronicle the chaos surrounding the storming of the
Bastille and its aftermath. On familiar ground, at least Jacquot doesn’t approach Sofia
Coppola’s insipid Marie
Antoinette. Diane Kruger’s Marie and Virginie Ledoyen as her BFF
are fine, but Léa Seydoux is hampered by a dull part. The film is certainly
pleasing to the eye—it was partly filmed at Versailles—and the Blu-ray image is
luminous; extras include interviews.
(Syndrome)
On the basis of the trio on display,
these films—the inept and unappealing Ecstasies
of Women, Linda and Abilene and Black
Love—should have remained “lost.” For the era (1969-72), they may have been
a breakthrough, thanks to plentiful nudity and unabashed sexuality, but even
the hardcore sequences of Black Love
are not particularly arousing. The acting is amateurish, the writing and
directing even more so—unless you’re interested in film history, don’t bother.
The hi-def transfers are decent if unexceptional
The Man Who Knew Too Much
(Criterion)
Alfred Hitchcock’s 1934 drama—at 75
minutes, his tightest thriller—is superior to his own 1956 remake with James
Stewart and Doris Day. Here, Peter Lorre’s slimy villain stalks innocent couple
Leslie Banks and Edna Best after they stumble into a murder plot. Hitchcock’s
pinpoint direction stuns throughout, and the B&W image—thanks to the Criterion
Collection’s hi-def transfer—looks superlative. Extras include a Guillermo del
Toro appreciation, archival Francois Truffaut audio interview, archival Pia Lindstrom
and William K. Everson video interviews, and historian Philip Kemp’s commentary.
(Warners)
Two ancient Best Picture Oscar
winners finally arrive on hi-def: 1932’s Grand
Hotel and 1942’s Mrs. Miniver. Hotel,
which was the first multi-storyline hit, is most notable for the presence of
Greta Garbo, while Miniver triumphs by
Greer Garson’s sensitive portrayal of a stoic Londoner who fights back in her
own way against the German blitz. Both melodramas, while flawed, are historically
interesting. The Blu-ray images look wonderful for such old films; extras
include featurettes, shorts and a Hotel commentary.
(Dark Sky)
Jaume Balaguero’s dark drama
strains to make plausible crazed concierge Cesar’s one-man band of nastiness
and outright evil against an innocent young woman who lives in his apartment
building. Unfortunately, the movie falls off the cliff early—when Cesar is
caught hiding under her bed as she returns with her boyfriend—and the last half
is spent ratcheting up ham-handedn implausibility. Luis Tosar makes Cesar’s lunacy
captivating—almost. The Blu-ray image is excellent; extras include deleted
scenes and a making-of documentary that’s longer than the movie itself.
(Sony)
Woody Allen’s episodic comedy is
as scattershot as anything he’s made since What’s
Up Tiger Lily?: at least Midnight in
Paris had the cleverness of his best short stories, while Rome is tired and familiar. Hamstrung by
hammy Judy Davis, Roberto Benigni and Penelope Cruz, the movie scores as a
travelogue and a witty subplot about a man who can only sing in the shower—the
one time the movie approaches the surrealistic banter of Woody at his literary
best. The Blu-ray image magnificently shows off Darius Khondji’s photography—and
the glories of Rome itself; lone extra is a making-of featurette.
(MPI)
Most zombie movies, despite their
ridiculousness—which is there by definition—have a minimal amount of energy
that allows indiscriminate viewers to enjoy the crazy ride. However, this World
War II action flick never rises to the giddiness of something like Osombie, instead wallowing in boring
talk that’s rarely transcended by the bloody violence these movies are supposed
to provide in spades. The Blu-ray image looks OK.
Battle for Brooklyn
(Virgil)
This impassioned piece of
cinematic advocacy follows one of a group of Brooklyn residents fighting city
hall—and New York State and billionaire developers—in their attempt to prevent
the building of new sports arena. The case spans several years, and although
the outcome is never in doubt—I’ve been to Barclays Arena, so I know it’s been
built—the near-impossibility of dealing with the Goliaths of Big Business and
Government together is painstakingly shown. Extras include actress Annabeth
Gish’s intro and filmmaker interviews.
(Kino Lorber)
One of the most important
documentaries ever made—and the only reason it lost the 1970 Best Documentary
Oscar is because of a juggernaut called Woodstock—has
been restored to its original three-hour running time, which still feels short
considering the amount of historical import in every frame. Showing Martin
Luther King’s very public life from 1955 to his 1968 assassination, King is essential viewing for anyone
interested in our country’s checkered past, but also as a bracing reminder that
racism is no ancient, shopworn concept.
(Acorn)
Francesca Annis is breathtaking
as Lillie Langtry, a celebrated Englishwoman of the late 19th-early
20th centuries, an independent, worldly who rubbed shoulders (and
much more) with many artists, businessmen, politicians and royals of her time.
This 10-hour mini-series (made in 1978) is about as thorough an account of her
life as we’re going to get. Annis, from teenage to old age, is persuasive throughout;
the leading men—from Oscar Wilde to James Whistler—are not up to her standard,
but that’s a minor quibble.
(Fox)
As the title implies, this is the
latest in a long line of kitchen-sink movie parodies, with several recent hit
thrillers being lampooned mercilessly—and, for the most part, unfunnily. The one-note
jokes and infantile send-ups fly byfast and furiously, but the basic premise of
found-footage movies is silly to begin with, so this comedy has little bite.
The lone extra is a brief-making-of featurette.
(Fra Musica)
Benjamin Britten’s tense chamber
opera, from Henry James’ classic ghost story, is one of the most chilling stage
dramas ever composed, and Jonathan Kent’s 2011 Glyndebourne, England staging treats
the material as the eerie tragedy it is. Statuesque Swedish soprano Miah
Persson makes a formidable governess who battles over her two charges with the
spirit of Peter Quint (a properly scary Toby Spence). Jakub Hrusa conducts the
London Philharmonic Orchestra with tact; extras comprise two behind-the-scenes
featurettes.
Lisa Batiashvili—Brahms and Schumann
(Decca)
Georgian violinist Lisa
Batiashvili plays one of the most well-worn warhorses in the repertoire: her
take on the Johannes Brahms’ concerto sounds lovely but adds little to the
numerous recordings already out there. Instead of performing such safe works, it
would be nice to hear something different—like the nine-minute
tease we do get, a Clara Schumann chamber piece that’s played with enthusiasm
by Batiashvili and pianist Alice Sara Ott. More would be welcome, especially on
a disc with another half-hour to fill.
(Blue Griffin)
This trio—clarinetist Kliment Krylovskiy,
pianist Riko Higuma and violinist Vanessa Mollard—plays repertoire, both familiar
and unfamiliar, that sounds resonant in their hands. Bookended by animated
readings of Igor Stravinsky’s charming La Histoire
de Soldat suite and Bela Bartok’s magnificent Contrasts (originally written for Benny Goodman), the trio also performs
Nicolas Bacri’s A Smiling Suite, a lighthearted
foray through various styles, and Galina Ustvolskaya’s Trio, a serious piece that never becomes oppressive.
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