Being Human—Complete 3rd
Season
(e one)
As their relationships with
humans become more complicated, the trio of supernatural roommates must deal
with more bizarre strangeness, as when the ghost Sally (the always-terrific Meaghan
Rath) avoids rotting away completely by no longer being one of the living dead at
the expense of losing her loved ones. The series premise is carried to ever
less plausible heights, but since this is sci-fi fantasy, who’s to argue with
the direction it’s going by the end of these 13 episodes? The hi-def image is
excellent; extras include behind-the-scenes and cliffhanger featurettes,
bloopers and San Diego Comic-Con panel.
For Ever Mozart
Hail Mary
(Cohen Media)
Jean-Luc Godard has remained a
provocateur throughout his 60-year directing career, and these two films show
him at his most provocative. 1996’s Mozart
is a muddled if striking treatise that explores, through the disastrous Bosnian
conflict, what art can—or can’t—do in response to the modern world’s atrocities.
1985’s Mary, a brilliantly conceived
study of how the modern world responds to a virgin birth; it’s not as ridiculous
as it sounds and Godard’s partner Anne-Marie Melville’s preceding short, The Book of Mary, is a perfect
complement. Both Blu-ray images are wonderfully detailed; extras include
commentaries and interviews on both discs and Godard’s own Notes on Hail Mary on that disc.
(Millennium)
For their leaden horror comedy,
co-directors Robert Ben Garant and Thomas Lennon—who also broadly and unfunnily
play conniving priests— waste the immense comedic talents of Robb Corddry and
the daring of the lovely Leslie Bibb. This lame, lunkheaded It’s Alive/Rosemary’s Baby/The Exorcist
parody has bursts of cartoonish violence amidst the desperate attempts at humor:
although missing laughs, there’s enough gratuitous nudity to keep the young men
who titter over that sort of thing awake. The Blu-ray image is first-rate;
extras include deleted scenes and gag reel.
(Kino Lorber)
Director Eric Valli’s stunningly photographed
1999 drama is a magnificent-looking journey through the remote, mountainous
regions of Nepal, where the malign wintertime climate makes simply surviving a
chore. The story, which focuses on the balance of power between an elderly
leader and a younger man, is fairly routine, but the visuals and spiritual
sense are presented so sublimely that they make the plot superfluous. The hi-def
image is splendid; extras comprise Valli’s commentary and making-of featurette.
(Anchor Bay)
Economist Robert Reich and
director Jacob Kornbluth’s documentary about how the betterment of the middle
class will also improve the standing of the ultra-rich is easy to absorb, well
thought out commonsensical in its approach to solving our country’s crisis as the
haves get more and the have nots less. Reich’s personality—he’s a man of short
physical stature, which he pokes fun at himself—is that of a pleasant but
cajoling professor, which helps sell his heartfelt screed. The Blu-ray image is
good; extras include Reich interview and deleted scenes.
(Warners)
When Milos Forman’s colossally
trivial Amadeus swept the 1984 Oscars,
this major war film was robbed: I have scant use for the Oscars, but they can highlight
worthy achievements at times. Joffe’s shattering dramatization of the
relationship between journalist Sydney Schanberg (a fine Sam Waterston) and
Cambodian refugee Dith Pran (Dr. Hnaig S. Ngor, in a formidable, Oscar-winning
performance) encapsulates the Vietnam War’s absurdity. Except for using “Imagine”
too obviously at the end, Joffe and screenwriter Bruce Robinson have made an
enduring, important work. The Blu-ray image is exceptional; Joffe’s informative
commentary is the lone extra.
(Raro Video)
Francesco Rosi’s unsparing, stark
1970 anti-war drama shares similarities with Paths of Glory—World War I trench setting, officious general
barking impossible orders, soldiers dying by firing squad as “examples”—but Rosi’s
point of view is less despairingly nihilistic than Kubrick’s. There’s a superlative
cast—headed by Gian Maria Volonte, Mark Frechette and Alain Cuny as the crazed general—in
Rosi’s powerful glimpse at war’s insanity, fashioned with consummate artistry.
The restored hi-def image is stunning; extras include a 28-minute Rosi
interview and restoration demonstration.
(Broadway Video)
Eric Idle and Neil Innes’
inspired Beatles spoof, 1978’s hilarious All
You Need Is Cash, is finally resurrected for hi-def release, while Idle’s far
less good but occasionally funny sequel-cum-remake, 2002’s Can’t Buy Me Lunch, remains on DVD. Although the video quality of Cash is noticeably improved, it’s too
bad that many of the extras from the first DVD releases are missing: all that
remains are an amusing Idle commentary and interview and the original Saturday Night Live short film that introduced
the Rutles.
(Criterion)
Akira Kurosawa’s samurai films
are of an astonishing caliber and variety, and his inventive Noh-influenced
adaptation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth
is among his most audacious and fiendishly entertaining creations. With
superlative performances by Toshiro Mifune and Isuzu Yamada as Lord and Lady,
Kurosawa conjures an exceptionally fine action-cum-monster movie whose heart happily
beats bloodily. The excellent hi-def transfer is par for the course with the
Criterion Collection; extras include a section of the series Akira Kurosawa: It Is Wonderful to Create
and a commentary.
(e one)
In his aggressively empty thriller,
co-writer-director Jim Mickle recounts a family of cannibals trying to keep
their generations-old secret from getting out: when it does, the blood and the
flesh start flying even more than usual. Despite the gore and general air of
yuckiness, a cast led by a solid Bill Sage as the father does what it can, but
they can only do so much: eventually, the movie eats itself from within. The
Blu-ray image is first-rate; extras include a making-of documentary, commentary
and interviews.
Birth of the Living Dead
(First Run)
Rob Kuhns’ arresting documentary
explores the legacy of Night of the
Living Dead, George Romero’s shoestring 1968 zombie flick that spawned a
cottage industry of Romero sequels, countless undead movies and TV shows like The Walking Dead. Interviews with an
animated Romero and others, along with tidbits and trivia about the film, make
this irresistible entertainment. Extras include a new Romero interview and 1971
audio talk at the Museum of Modern Art.
(Kino Lorber)
The Taviani brothers (whose career
turned bumpy after their early successes The
Night of Shooting Stars and Kaos)
return with a documentary-fiction hybrid set in a notorious Roman prison, where
maximum security inmates put on Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. On paper, insights abound as these hardened men
tackle such complex roles, and the men are “characters” in a very real sense.
But the 76-minute movie comes off half-baked, as if the brothers’ one idea is
enough: offstage glimpses help bring needed depth to the men.
(StarVista)
This daring Vietnam TV drama’s first
season created a precarious decision for its creators: keep moving forward or
settle into a conventional format. The series goes both ways simultaneously in
1988-89, becoming—despite accomplished acting (by Dana Delany, Megan Gallagher
and Marg Helgenberger) and well-chosen period songs (i.e., Hendrix’s “All Along
the Watchtower,” Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit,” Procol Harum’s “Whiter
Shade of Pale” and The Troggs’ “Wild Thing”)—a frustrating watch. Extras
comprise interviews, commentaries and a Voice
of War featurette.
(Monarch)
This routine drama about Cuban nightlife
during Batista’s waning days—when wine and women flowed freely—centers on a cop
who, while investigating department corruption, falls for a beautiful nightclub
singer. Leading lady Elisabetta Fantone and leading man Juan Riedinger look
terrific together but lack chemistry, while the atmosphere of Havana in 1957 is
only intermittently plausible; coupled with a banal plot, it lacks all sizzle.
Britten—War Requiem
(Warner Classics)
One of the final releases in the
centennial year of Benjamin Britten’s birth is another version of his awe-inspiring
anti-war oratorio, new instead of the 1962 premiere and the following year’s
studio recording. Although it certainly won’t usurp the current top choice—that
1963 recording conducted by Britten himself—Antonio Pappano leads a heartfelt
performance by the Orchestra and Chorus of Rome’s National Academy of St.
Cecilia, with veteran Britten interpreter Ian Bostridge, American baritone
Thomas Hampson and a surprise choice, Russian soprano Anna Netrebko (heretofore
not known for her Britten association), giving their all as the soloists.
(RPO)
The scintillating pianist Natasha
Paremski breathes fresh life into these Russian warhorses so that we hear them
anew, starting with Tchaikovsky’s splashy but irresistible concerto, which in
the gargantuan opening movement—already weighty and uncompromising—has rarely
sounded so delectable as well. Her Rachmaninoff Paganini Variations might be even better: she plays like an
improviser, constantly surprising while remaining true to the composer—actually,
both composers. Conductor Fabien Gabel and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
lend fine support.
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