Pierre Etaix Blu-ray Review - The Criterion Collection

With the release of the Criterion Collection’s monumental box set of eight Pierre Etaix films (and Janus Films’ theatrical run that preceded it), there have been a number of pronouncements along the lines of “greatest comic filmmaker you’ve never heard of.” For the most part, this isn’t just cinephile posturing — chances are, you hadn’t heard of Etaix until recently, and even if you had, it’s unlikely you’d seen much of his work. Mostly unavailable since their initial releases due to legal disputes, the films in the small but formidable Etaix oeuvre represent a major rediscovery. There’s at least one stone-cold masterpiece in this collection.

Criterion’s two-disc Blu-ray set is nearly a complete collection of Etaix’s filmography (only a couple TV works are left out) — three shorts and five features. Etaix, who was an assistant director on Mon Oncle, surely owes a debt to Jacques Tati, and like Tati, Keaton and Chaplin, Etaix was a whole-hog auteur, writing, directing and starring in all his films. There are shades of Tati’s bemusement/cynicism with the modern world, Keaton’s persistent outsider status and Chaplin’s warm-hearted humanism here, but Etaix isn’t a second-tier imitator. Pulling on his experiences as a circus clown, Etaix made elegantly melancholy comedies that are often poignantly still when they’re not raucously funny.

The short films are a little more standard, but still expertly executed physical comedies. Rupture (1961) is a master-class in tiny comedy, as Etaix’s small gestures add up to a riot as he attempts to fire off a reply to the Dear John letter he just received. The Oscar-winning Happy Anniversary (1962) is a frantic series of pratfalls, as a beleaguered husband tries to make it home to his wife to celebrate, thoughtful errands turning into massive ordeals (and unwittingly disrupting the lives of bystanders everywhere). Feeling Good (1966) was originally part of portmanteau film As Long as You’ve Got Your Health, but was replaced by Etaix several years after release, and it’s an amusing satire of camping, even if its concentration camp imagery seems kind of heavy-handed.

The re-release version of As Long as You’ve Got Your Health (1966) is included here, and it’s the weakest of Etaix’s features simply by virtue of being so disjointed. Despite an homage to silent cinema and Méliés in its opening, the film’s four segments don’t cohere together, although all are enjoyable on their own merits. More interesting are Etaix’s three narrative features, The Suitor (1963), Yoyo (1965) and Le Grand Amour (1969), which all combine techniques of silent comedy and surrealism, framed by Etaix’s wry sense of humor.

The Suitor stars Etaix as a nebbish still living with his parents. Despite his romantic ineptitude, he snags a relationship with his brash next-door neighbor, only to realize he really would rather not see her. At the same time, he falls in love with a singer via the magic of television, and his obsessive personality finds a new target. Etaix skewers his protagonist’s fantasy life while simultaneously rendering us rapturous to it — the sequence when Etaix first sees Stella, the singer, on TV has a hypnotic quality that allows us to understand the character even as he remains generally unlikable.

Yoyo, the Fellini-esque crown jewel of the set and Etaix’s career, is marvelously funny and permeated with wistfulness. The film’s silent prologue (punctuated only by over-the-top foley effects) portrays a millionaire’s lonely existence in his chateau; constant sources of amusement can’t distract from the pain of losing the woman he loves. When the circus comes to town and she re-enters his life, she brings along their son, a tiny clown named Yoyo. Etaix stars as both the millionaire and later, Yoyo all grown up, now an extremely successful clown whose primary goal is restoring his father’s dilapidated chateau. As the years pass and Yoyo adapts (or tries to) to the changing entertainment landscape, the chateau remains his ultimate focus. Was it worth it? The film’s melancholy and absurd observations about family, career and love are fascinating, even if the film doesn’t provoke as many laughs as Etaix’s others.

No such problem with Le Grand Amour, a tale of temptation that’s much more than meets the eye, thanks to the way it plays with narrative convention. Etaix’s married man can’t help but feel dissatisfied with his wife; thoughts about past flames and his stunning new secretary conflate to stoke the restlessness. There are a few of the expected gags here (Etaix accidentally propositioning the wrong, much older secretary is stock material, but hysterical all the same), but Le Grand Amour is consistently surprising and possesses a mostly downbeat tone that sets this apart from your average sex farce.

Finishing out the set is a vastly different film, Land of Milk and Honey (1971), an experimental documentary that plays like an ironic version of Chronicle of a Summer. Etaix interviews French citizens on eroticism, violence, marriage, advertising and other societal topics, often cherry-picking obtuse responses or juxtaposing the interviews with incongruous footage for maximum ironic effect. Sometimes it feels like a bold experiment, and sometimes it feels like a restless comic genius just screwing around. Either way, it’s a nice inclusion.

All of the transfers in the set are sourced from the 2010 restorations, and the results are fantastic. Presented in 1080p high definition and 1.66:1 aspect ratios (aside from the two earlier shorts in 1.33:1), the films feature excellent sharpness, superb detail and a surprising lack of damage given the reportedly poor conditions the elements were stored under. The black-and-white films tend to look a little better, with a sharper image and consistent grayscale reproduction as opposed to the slightly faded, occasionally wavering color films, but overall, it all looks impressive. The uncompressed monaural soundtracks are just fine.

Extras include newly recorded introductions to each of the films by Etaix and an hourlong retrospective doc by Etaix’s wife, Odie. An extensive booklet features an essay by David Cairns.

Blu-ray Review: The Blob - The Criterion Collection

The Film
If you're into that sort of thing, The Blob is a likable low-budget creature feature with a ridiculous premise and an even more ridiculous conclusion. Made for just over $100,000 by primarily industrial filmmaker Irvin Yeaworth Jr., The Blob is a minor standout among films of its ilk simply by virtue of its technical competence, inventive practical effects and solid performances. The film has elements both tongue-in-cheek (Burt Bacharach's goofy title song might just be my favorite thing about the film) and serious (Steve McQueen, in his debut lead role, doesn't really wink at the audience), without ever tipping too far in either direction. This is light, fun drive-in entertainment, and it's lack of apparent striving for more is definitely appealing.

The film opens with McQueen's Steve Andrews and Aneta Corsaut's Jane Martin on a lovers' lane date, their tryst interrupted by a meteorite crash nearby. They look for the crash site, but an old man discovers it first, and the gelatinous, pulsing object he finds there has soon attached itself painfully to his arm. Steve and Jane happen upon the man and deliver him to the town's doctor, but the menacing blob with the huge appetite becomes far too much for any one person to contain.

As people begin disappearing and Steve tries to convince the local police force of the danger, his rantings are dismissed as a mere teenage prank. Eventually, the authorities become aware of the threat, but it might be too late to put a stop to the ever-growing blob.

Although popular culture's value of ironic enjoyment probably means most modern audiences would interpret The Blob as a campy riot, it's not really the kind of detritus that deserves a Mystery Science Theater-style smackdown (or requires one to even get through). Sure, it's a silly movie, and there are plenty of jokes you could make at its expense, but if one is going to enjoy The Blob at all, it ought to be on the film's own terms -- as a well-crafted if totally disposable piece of lite sci-fi/horror.

The Blu-ray Disc
The film may not be all that essential, but it gets a transfer worthy of a canonical film. Presented in 1080p high definition in its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio, The Blob looks fantastic throughout, with sharp, clean images, deep blacks and vibrant colors across the spectrum. Film grain is healthy and consistent, and though a few scenes have some softness around the edges, the elements are clearly in superb shape. One would hardly expect a film of this kind to have been preserved so well, but the evidence is up on the screen. The uncompressed monaural soundtrack isn't quite as impressive, with some distortion and inconsistent volume levels that likely are due to cheap recording equipment. Most everything is intelligible, but there's some straining to catch all the dialogue.

Special Features
Criterion carries everything over from their 2000 DVD release, save for the poster reproduction that came inside the DVD package. Two audio commentaries are the main extras -- one with producer Jack Harris and historian Bruce Eder and another with director Yeaworth and supporting player Robert Fields. A photo gallery of production stills and Blob memorabilia and the film's theatrical trailer are also included. The package includes an insert with an essay by Kim Newman.

The Bottom Line
Some people love The Blob. I can't get on board with the film's reputation as an essential cult item, but it's entertaining enough, and the amazing transfer here is sure to please fans of all enthusiasm levels.

Blu-ray Review: Purple Noon - The Criterion Collection

The Film
René Clément's Purple Noon is a film filled with immediate, textural pleasures, from its sun-drenched Mediterranean locations to the carnal allure of its leading man, Alain Delon in his breakout role. This is the kind of movie you can luxuriate in, allowing its images to transport you elsewhere for two hours. In that way, the film represents pure escapism, but it's hardly mindless entertainment; the film's ability to get you to identify with a full-fledged sociopath is actually quite insidious. Purple Noon isn't necessarily a cynical, audience-implicating attack, but its poison heart hiding beneath a gorgeous exterior certainly makes for a first-rate thriller.

Based on Patricia Highsmith's novel The Talented Mr. Ripley, the film stars Delon as Tom Ripley, an American charged with retrieving wealthy playboy Philippe Greenleaf (Maurice Ronet) from his Mediterranean vacation on daddy's dime. But Tom gets swept up in the lavish lifestyle, enjoying luxury yachts and opulent hotels, and he becomes a permanent third wheel to Philippe and fiancée Marge (Marie Laforêt), a would-be academic whose ambitions Philippe doesn't take seriously.

Tom, who displays a clear knack for forgery and mimicry, possesses an increasingly jealous eye, leading to a plan that involves murder, identity theft and all manner of deception. Delon makes for an irresistible villain because his descent into evil is so casual and gradual. This is not a character with a master plan; he improvises and makes it up as he goes along, and he does so with a kind of wide-eyed innocence. There's just a hint of desperation behind his eyes, jostling for position with his placidly cool exterior, and it's nearly impossible not to be charmed.

The Blu-ray Disc
Purple Noon is granted a 1080p high definition transfer in its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio. This is one of the most gorgeous color Blu-rays I've seen in a while, with Henri Decaë's deeply saturated, completely stunning photography looking just perfect. The transfer is exceptionally film-like, retaining a prominent but not distracting grain structure and offering a crisp image with fantastic levels of detail. The colors here, especially the blues, are so vibrant and stunning, you just want to step into the world of the film and never leave. The uncompressed monaural soundtrack is nicely clean, with no obvious issues.

Special Features
Scholar Denitza Bantcheva is featured in a new interview that discusses the scope of Clément's career, while archival interviews with Delon and Highsmith delve a little more into Purple Noon itself. The film's American theatrical trailer is also included. The package's booklet features an essay by Geoffrey O'Brien along with a reprinted interview with Clément.

The Bottom Line
The sheer beauty of the high-def image here is enough of a basis on which to recommend the disc; it certainly doesn't hurt that the film is as alluring as it ought to be, given its subject matter and star.

Blu-ray Review: Ivan's Childhood - The Criterion Collection

The Film
Andrei Tarkovsky's debut feature, Ivan's Childhood, kind of looks like an anomaly compared to the rest of his filmography. The auteur behind dense, cerebral and stark films like Solaris and The Sacrifice began his career with a transcendent emotional gut-punch. One couldn't fairly describe Tarkovsky's work as universally cold and distant, but there's an immediate emotional resonance in Ivan's Childhood that's unlike anything else I've ever seen from the Russian master.

Jumping back and forth between reality, memory and dreams, the film centers on 12-year-old Ivan (Nikolai Burlyaev, in one of the all-time great child performances), a boy who has lost his mother, father and sister to German attacks in World War II. Desperate for revenge, Ivan begs a group of Russian soldiers to put him on the frontline and bristles at their insistence on sending him away to military school. Ivan's Childhood is one of those war films that barely depicts any actual war, opting instead to show its physical and psychological effects on Ivan, while contrasting that with flashbacks to an idyllic past long since destroyed.

Ivan's Childhood does anticipate Tarkovsky's carefully controlled long-take camerawork, and there are a number of images here that are instantly indelible, whether depicting present-time horrors, a brief romantic respite or fantasies of a simpler time. A tracking shot through a swamp that settles on a pair of Russian corpses, desecrated as a warning sign by the Germans, is unforgettable. A break away from Ivan's plight features the tentative courtship of a captain and an army nurse in a grove of seemingly infinite thin, bare birch trees; the dance culminates in a stunning low-angle shot of a kiss while he holds her aloft above a trench. In dreams, Ivan is free once again to commune with nature; a cart spills a cascade of apples and he runs across a beach, utterly carefree.

The visual poetry here is so assured and so coherent, it's hard to believe this is the work of a beginning filmmaker. While Tarkovksy would go on to carve out a fairly different filmmaking niche for himself, Ivan's Childhood is a fully formed and masterful debut.

The Blu-ray Disc
Ivan's Childhood is presented in 1080p high definition in its original 1.33:1 aspect ratio. This is a superb transfer by Criterion, reproducing the delicate shadow work of Tarkovksy's black-and-white palette with fantastic detail and clarity. Blacks are rich and deep, while whites remain crisp and stable, and fine detail is abundant even in the many darker scenes. The presentation is thoroughly film-like throughout. Audio is presented in a problem-free lossless monaural track.

Special Features
Everything from Criterion's 2007 DVD release is ported over here. A 30-minute interview with scholar Vida T. Johnson offers up background on the Soviet film industry at the time and Tarkovsky's introduction to the project, while interviews with cinematographer Vadim Yusov and actor Burlyaev feature their perspective on the film. The set also includes a substantial booklet with essays by scholar Dina Iordanova and Tarkovsky, and a poem by the filmmaker's father, Arseny Tarkovsky.

The Bottom Line
An unforgettable debut film gets a beautiful high-def upgrade.

Blu-ray Review: Two-Lane Blacktop - The Criterion Collection

The Film
Is there a duller, less inspired way to describe this movie than "the essence of cool"? Oh well, because it works. Monte Hellman doesn't seem to be striving or straining in a single scene of Two-Lane Blacktop; its countercultural ambitions are not worn on its sleeve or maybe anywhere visible at all. It's an almost purely elemental experience.

Like the primer-gray, accoutrement-free '55 Chevy that James Taylor and Dennis Wilson drive, this is a film stripped down only to its essential parts. Another tired description? Maybe, but it can be hard to articulate exactly why Two-Lane Blacktop is such a thrilling cinematic experience. Sure, Taylor telling a prospective racing opponent in the film's early moments, "Make it three yards, motherfucker, and we'll have us an automobile race" is a spine-tingling moment by virtue only of the diction, but most of the film's pleasures are more obfuscated. There's hardly a traditional structural payoff or emotional beat to latch onto anywhere, which ends up making the film all the more elusively cool.

The bare threads of a narrative find The Driver (Taylor) and The Mechanic (Wilson) taking on a smug Pontiac GTO driver (Warren Oates), whose feigned gregariousness stands in direct opposition to their impossibly aloof nature. It's clear that he's everything they are not, a mere pretender who drives a stock sports car he knows little to nothing about; all flash and image and a wide, deceptive grin. When they decide to race cross-country, with the winner taking over ownership of both cars, it seems a healthy dose of comeuppance is in store.

But, this is not one of those films, as one could probably surmise from the elliptical editing that pays little attention to winners and losers in the film's early street-racing scenes. Hellman relies more on composition than dialogue to develop his characterizations, which become more complex than they seemed at first blush. Complicating matters between the three male leads is the presence of The Girl (Laurie Bird), a hitchhiker who falls in with the Mechanic and the Driver, but isn't averse to G.T.O's attentions either.

Two-Lane Blacktop is one of the greatest road movies, precisely because it avoids nearly every convention that we've come to expect from the increasingly hidebound genre. There are no moments of "unexpected" bonding, no fraught run-ins with the law. There's only the road — cold and unforgiving, but constant.

The Blu-ray Disc
Two-Lane Blacktop is presented in 1080p high definition in its original 2.35:1 aspect ratio. This isn't a dramatic improvement over Criterion's 2007 DVD release, if only because that transfer was pretty strong already. Here, we get an image that is more film-like, with a better-resolved grain structure and some additional fine detail, especially in well-lit close-ups. Likely inherent to the source, the film's darker scenes are just a tad muddy, but it feels appropriate to the look of the film. The drab color palette isn't meant to pop, but skin tones are natural and consistent.

Audio options include the original uncompressed monaural and a Hellman-approved 5.1 DTS-HD Master Audio track. The surround option is a good way to go, preserving most everything in the fronts while adding a few effects and the music to the surrounds in a crisp presentation.

Special Features
Everything is ported over from Criterion's two-disc DVD set, save for the screenplay that was included in that box. The extras include two audio commentaries — one with Hellman and filmmaker Allison Anders and one with screenwriter Rudy Wurlitzer and author David N. Meyer. Also included is a piece where Hellman revisits shooting locations and talks about production, a conversation between Hellman and Taylor, interviews with a number of crew members and another conversation between Hellman and Kris Kristofferson, whose "Me and Bobby McGee" is featured in the film. Screen tests for Taylor and Bird, several photo galleries and the film's trailer round out the disc. Also brought over is the booklet with a superb essay by Kent Jones, appreciations by Tom Waits and Richard Linklater and a Rolling Stone on-set article.

The Bottom Line
The upgrade over the DVD isn't major, but it's certainly worth it for fans of the film's exquisite photography.

Blu-ray Review: In the Mood for Love - The Criterion Collection

The Film
Every frame of Wong Kar-Wai's breakout 2000 masterpiece In the Mood for Love is suffused with a palpable sense of longing. A deliberately composed and unusually paced film, In the Mood for Love would seem to have the potential to leave the viewer cold, but instead, it's one of the most achingly romantic depictions of love's intensity — constrained and thwarted though it may be — in cinema. Wong's canny ability to combine effusive sound and image in a way that maxes out the senses but stops short of overload is at its best here; In the Mood for Love may not be my favorite Wong Kar-Wai film, but it's hard to argue it's not his most formally precise.

Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung star as Mr. Chow and Mrs. Chan, strangers who move into neighboring apartments on the same day and strike up a polite acquaintanceship, their encounters brief but friendly. Both have spouses we never get a clear look at, but offscreen interactions reveal drifting relationships and frequent lonely nights. When the pair discovers their spouses are actually having an affair with each other, they're instantly bonded by betrayal, their previously sublimated attraction now threatening to rise to the surface.

One might be tempted to call In the Mood for Love a study of repression, with an expertly realized 1962 Hong Kong setting acting as the perfect backdrop. To be sure, Mr. Chow and Mrs. Chan's bond is defined as much by restrained formality — both cultural and personal — as it is by romantic feelings — a paradox mirrored by Wong's filmmaking that's both extravagantly supple and tightly controlled at the same time.

But, at its heart, In the Mood for Love swoons, tracking Maggie Cheung's graceful movements on her frequent nightly noodle runs, luxuriating in the cigarette smoke as Tony Leung types away at a short story in his rented room and scoring it all with recurring Nat King Cole Spanish-language songs and the stirring strings of Shigeru Umebayashi's "Yumeji's Theme," an instantly indelible piece of movie music if there ever was one. How can your heart not swell right along with the music and images?

The Blu-ray Disc
Criterion upgrades their 2002 DVD of the film, presenting it in 1080p high definition and its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio. The Blu-ray represents a strong upgrade, offering a thoroughly more film-like presentation in every category, from grain resolution to image depth and clarity to color vibrancy and consistency. In the Mood for Love is not a tack-sharp film — a number of shots possess an intentional slight softness, but the look is never due to image degradation or overt digital manipulation. The 5.1 DTS-HD Master Audio track is outstanding, immersing the viewer in Wong's inventive and powerful soundscapes and offering crisp, clear dialogue from the fronts.

Special Features
Criterion's two-disc DVD set was stacked with great material and most of it makes its way to the Blu-ray edition, along with some new stuff. The erudite Tony Rayns offers up two new interview segments, one placing the film in the context of Wong's career and another discussing the soundtrack. Carryovers from the previous release include an hour-long making-of created by Wong, a handful of deleted scenes with optional commentary by Wong, Wong's 2000 short film Hua yang de nian hua, archival footage from the 2001 Cannes Film Festival and the 2000 Toronto International Film Festival, trailers and TV spots. Several text features and a different examination of the soundtrack have been dropped from this release.

Also included in the package is a booklet with a new essay by critic Steve Erickson and Liu Yi-Chang's short story Intersection, which provided thematic inspiration for the film and is the source of the film's textual intertitles.

The Bottom Line
In the Mood for Love earns a high ranking among the greatest screen romances, and its excellent Criterion Blu-ray edition is all the more reason to discover or rediscover it.
 

Blu-ray Review: Umberto D. - The Criterion Collection

The Film
One of Vittorio De Sica's Neorealist masterpieces and his proclaimed favorite, Umberto D. is a different sort of Neorealist film than what is perhaps De Sica's crown jewel, Bicycle Thieves. In a number of key ways, Umberto D. is not that different — the urban visual textures are similar, the lead performance from non-actor Carlo Battisti is appropriately unmannered and its tale of economic and class division woe is suitably socially conscious.

Still, there's a sentimental edge to Umberto D. that sets it apart. It's no melodrama — large portions of the film are spare and (at least cursorily) mundane depictions of urban life. But the heart of the film: Pensioner Umberto Domenico Ferrari's immensely intimate bond with his mutt, Flike, is loaded with heart-tugging sentiment. How could it not be? An elderly man essentially alone in the world, clinging to his loyal, intelligent dog who likes to walk on his hind legs and can hold a hat in his mouth to catch spare change.

Part of what makes Umberto D. such a great film is that De Sica deploys sentiment genuinely but judiciously. The film is never in danger of revealing a maudlin, manipulative side, as De Sica's canvas is much broader than a reductive "old man and his dog" summary would imply. Umberto's world also includes interaction with members on either side of his own class standing — his viciously bourgeois landlady (Lina Gennari), eager to evict Umberto as soon as possible, and the house's kind but naive maid (Maria Pia Casilio), whose seeming devotion to Umberto might not run very deep.

Despite these interactions, and those with a number of old friends he hails down in the street, Umberto is a man almost entirely alone, his meager pension funds unable to sustain him and his dignity almost completely obliterated. Is his relationship with Flike the only thing sustaining him or is it too just window dressing on a thoroughly unfulfilled life? De Sica straddles this gap, offering up a vision of postwar Italy where hope is in short supply, but isn't entirely snuffed out.

The Blu-ray Disc
Umberto D. is presented in 1080p high definition in its original 1.37:1 aspect ratio. This transfer offers up a distinct improvement on Criterion's 2003 DVD, featuring greater clarity, better grayscale separation and more abundant detail, seen especially in clothing fabrics and facial details. The quality of the transfer is a bit variable, owing to the condition of the source. There are some rather rough shots in the second half of the film where the image becomes notably fuzzier and more worn. Some scratches and print wear pop up on a regular basis in the second half as well. Additionally, contrast can look a little boosted, with some whites blooming in a couple of shots. Still, it looks quite nice overall and is a marked improvement over DVD. The uncompressed monaural audio is relatively free of distortion, and offers a solid, intelligible aural experience.

Special Features
Pretty much a port of the DVD here, although a couple text supplements haven't made it over. The main extra is an hour-long documentary on De Sica's career, which doesn't particularly focus on Umberto D. but is an excellent look into the filmmaker's career. Also included is a short interview with Casilio, whom De Sica discovered for this film before she went on to a fairly prolific career. The trailer is also on the disc, while the included booklet has a superb essay by Stuart Klawans and reprinted pieces from De Sica and Battisti.

The Bottom Line
Surely an essential film, and Criterion's Blu-ray upgrade is well worth it.