Released on Blu-ray alongside This Is Cinerama, Windjammer is not a true Cinerama film. Originally released as the first film shot in Cinemiracle (a rival format that was quickly purchased by Cinerama), it was later re-released in Cinerama. The difference between these formats is negligible, having more to do with projection method -- unlike Cinerama, Cinemiracle could be projected from a single projection booth -- than audience experience. As a result, the visuals on this Smilebox Blu-ray are not dissimilar from those found in This Is Cinerama, once again bringing the format to home video in something approximating its original glory. Windjammer has a more muted, subdued color palette than This Is Cinerama, but it improves upon that film in several key ways.
Cinerama was a major step forward in the technological history of cinema, giving the medium fresh life as it was starting to feel endangered by a new adversary: television. Shot with three interconnected cameras and projected (via three separate projectors) on a giant curved screen, Cinerama films updated the widescreen innovations of Abel Gance’s Napoleon for an era of color and sound. The first film made in this format, This Is Cinerama offered the kinds of sights and sounds that couldn’t be translated to the small screen, which might explain why it's been so difficult to see the film for the last five decades or so. Cinerama was designed to enhance the theatrical experience, but it was also designed to demonstrate the limitations of television. Therein lies the challenge Flicker Alley faced in making this Blu-ray. Can a film that is deliberately incompatible with television be translated to the small screen? Thankfully, the answer is a resounding yes.
In 2009, 2010 and 2011, I posted Twitter reviews after every movie I saw at TIFF and compiled them here following the festival. That wasn't possible this year, as I was covering the festival for The Screening Room and many of the films I saw were embargoed when I screened them in the weeks leading up to the festival. On the plus side, this also made it possible for me to see more films than usual (56). Below you'll find links to the reviews I posted at The Screening Room, as well as belated, Twitter-style reviews of everything else I saw. I'm still feeling a bit scatterbrained after the heavy-duty cinema immersion of the past few weeks, but this should offer something approximating a coherent overview. -- JD
On Sunday, June 10th, Roger Avary made a rare public appearance to discuss The Rules of Attraction at Toronto's TIFF Bell Lightbox. Avary recounted much of the film's production history, including its unlikely connection to Bubba Ho-Tep and the challenges of shooting on September 11th, 2001. In his introduction, he explains his method of adapting Brett Easton Ellis' novel using an anecdote involving John Milius, Stanley Kubrick and a gun. He also offers some clues about the eventual fate of Glitterati, the feature length expansion of the film's exhausting (but very memorable) European vacation sequence. I don't want to jinx it, but it sounds like a French DVD release is imminent. -- Jonathan Doyle
Anatomy of a Murder is arguably the greatest courtroom film, edging out Billy Wilder’s Witness for the Prosecution and Sidney Lumet’s The Verdict. Featuring a unique blend of suspense, humor, character study and insight into changing American mores, this 1959 film is also the last unqualified masterpiece by Otto Preminger. In a small town on Michigan’s upper peninsula, folksy attorney Paul Biegler (James Stewart) defends Frederick Manion (Ben Gazzara), an army lieutenant charged with the murder of a man who raped his wife, Laura (Lee Remick).
A film doesn’t have to make complete sense to be engrossing. Visual style and a striking central performance carry Seijun Suzuki’s Branded to Kill despite the director’s pronounced indifference to clarity. Hanada (Joe Shishido) is Japan’s third-ranked hit man and not a bit happy about it. (Suzuki never explains who compiles such rankings.) In fact, he doesn't even believe that the number-one assassin exists. The film follows Hanada through several hits, leading to the inevitable showdown with his nemesis (Koji Nanbara). Along the way, he indulges in S&M with his wife (Mariko Ogawa) and meets a strange, mysterious young woman (Annu Mari).
Alfred Hitchcock’s final British masterpiece, The Lady Vanishes is one of the legendary filmmaker's most entertaining films, and a template for several of his later films, most notably North by Northwest. All the elements of classic Hitchcock are here in abundance: suspense, romance, comedy, irony and sexual innuendo. When the English governess Miss Froy (Dame May Whitty) disappears on a train somewhere in central Europe, no one on board will confirm that she even exists, despite the protestations of our heroine, Iris (Margaret Lockwood). Even when the handsome hero (Michael Redgrave) tries to help, obstacles keep blocking their path to the truth.
Design for Living is not one of Ernst Lubitsch’s masterpieces, but this 1933 film is thoroughly entertaining and provides a wonderful example of the sexual content Hollywood could get away with before the advent of the Production Code. Beyond the title and the basic premise, the film has little to do with Noël Coward’s 1932 play. Gilda (Miriam Hopkins), a commercial artist working for an advertising agency in Paris, meets George (Gary Cooper) and Tom (Frederic March) -- a painter and a playwright respectively -- and falls almost immediately in love with both, while fending-off the advances of her stuffy boss (Edward Everett Horton). Some rash decisions are made, leading to misery for all concerned -- until an unconventionally happy fade-out.
Jean Renoir’s The Rules of the Game has had one of the most complicated histories of any famous film. Condemned by French critics and audiences after its 1939 premiere and shortened by thirteen minutes a few days later, the film was finally restored -- with an additional twelve minutes -- in 1959. Since this restoration was hampered by the destruction of the original negative during World War II, The Rules of the Game has never looked quite as good as it should. The Criterion Blu-ray edition is grainy at times, with a few scratches here and there, but Renoir’s use of deep focus has never been so clear. As the overwhelming number of extras on this disc explain, Renoir wanted to comment subtly on the rapidly approaching war through what appears to be an extramarital farce.
While some consider Wes Anderson’s films a tad precious and insular, few can dispute the charm of Rushmore. Released in 1998, the writer-director’s second film is one of the best ever about the pains of growing up, anguish which seems amusing only in retrospect. The life of fifteen-year-old Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman) is idyllic because of his involvement in a slew of extracurricular activities, notably the Max Fischer Players, a theatre group that stages flamboyant productions of films such as Serpico. Things become more complicated when Max finds himself vying -- along with millionaire Herman Blume (Bill Murray) and a doctor (Luke Wilson) -- for the affections of widowed teacher Rosemary Cross (Olivia Williams). One of the film’s many highlights comes when Herman, overcome by his burgeoning love while delivering a message from Max, sprints away from Miss Cross like a cartoon character.
Regardless of how you feel about Kelly Reichardt’s films, you have to admire her audacity. She’s going to make them her way, an approach that couldn't be further from the rom-coms, comic-book movies and earnest indie films cluttering theatres. Meek’s Cutoff is slow, but it's action-packed compared to Reichardt’s Old Joy and Wendy and Lucy. Suggested by a real event, this film tells the story of a small group of settlers heading for Oregon in 1845 under the guidance of Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood), who proves to be an incompetent blowhard. Only the stubborn resolve of Emily Tetherow (Michelle Williams) keeps things from tipping over into complete chaos.
If you missed last week's Joan Didion Q&A at Toronto's Harbourfront Centre and desperately need to hear a muffled, lo-fi recording full of maddening audio interference and generally poor sound quality, you are in luck. Discussing Blue Nights -- a companion piece to 2006's The Year of Magical Thinking -- Didion exhibited the fragility and fatigue that she writes about so eloquently in this unsettling new memoir. Where a lesser writer might pander to readers with false levity, Didion confronts the perils of aging (she turns 77 on December 5th) and death (her daughter Quintana died shortly before the publication of Magical Thinking) with unflinching honesty.
Claude Chabrol's 1959 follow-up to Le beau Serge shows the director becoming more sure of himself and inching toward the crime cinema that would dominate his later career. Les cousins has the same stars as its predecessor, but this time they reverse their roles. Charles (Gérard Blain) is an innocent from the provinces, who comes to Paris to study law. While there, he stays with his decadent cousin Paul (Jean-Claude Brialy) -- also a law student -- in their uncle's apartment. Instead of studying, Paul stages an endless series of parties, while Charles struggles to avoid temptation. This becomes impossible when he meets Florence (Juliette Mayniel), who proves unworthy of his love.
Claude Chabrol's 1958 debut is often called the first French New Wave film, primarily because the director was previously a critic for Cahiers du cinéma, along with future nouvelle vague luminaries Jean-Luc Godard, Jacques Rivette, Eric Rohmer and François Truffaut. However, Le beau Serge is more traditional than the early efforts by these filmmakers. François (Jean-Claude Brialy) returns to the village of Sardent after a long absence and is shocked to see how much his friend Serge (Gérard Blain) has declined, falling far short of his ambitions and weighed-down by his marriage to Yvonne (Michèle Méritz). Between confrontations with Serge and the local priest (Claude Cerval), François has a brief affair with Serge's teenaged sister-in-law (Bernadette Lafont, then married to Blain).
Before he established himself as a genius with Paths of Glory, Stanley Kubrick made three low-budget films (Fear and Desire, Killer's Kiss, The Killing) and this is easily the best: tightly constructed, with fully developed characters, quotable dialogue and beautiful black-and-white cinematography by Lucien Ballard. Visually, this is one of the most striking examples of fifties noir -- Ballard gets startling effects from lamps and bare blubs -- but Harris claims that the cinematographer hated the director. Many of the images resemble the photographs of Kubrick and they have a beautiful clarity in this new HD transfer.
In spite of the abundance of visual imagination in Ken Russell's Tommy, there are three reasons I've never fully embraced it: 1) its proggy, parodic soundtrack pales in comparison to the original, 2) most of the characters are too cartoonish to have any real dramatic impact and 3) its surrealism is too motivated and comprehensible. Complete with a mystical, Jordan Belson-ian psychedelic intro, this rare trailer suggests a more irrational version of the film, filled with suggestive, open-ended imagery. After revisiting Tommy on Blu-ray recently (an eye-popping experience, particularly when compared to this visually-degraded trailer), the conclusion I've reached is that Tommy is best-served in small doses -- and this trailer is just the right size. 8.5/10
TIFF 2011 Twitter Re-cap
Rather than expand on the brief Twitter reviews I wrote of the films I saw at TIFF 2011, I'm just going to continue in the tradition of 2009 and 2010 and re-post those reviews. In most cases, I've also included a trailer or clip, which generally say far more than I could in 280 characters (2 tweets). The obvious exception is The Descendants, which has a bizarrely misleading trailer. Also, if I'm not mistaking, there isn't a single note of music anywhere in Outside Satan, so try to pretend that (somewhat effective) cue isn't there. -- JD
Into the Abyss - Less obviously mystical and poetic than other recent Herzog docs, but full of peculiar behaviour and anecdotes. A bit too conventional and clear about its moral perspective. Strange, appealing combination of pathos and humor. 7.8/10
In several recent reviews (Diabolique, Life During Wartime), I've become preoccupied with the effect of repeat viewings. High and Low is another intriguing case study, as its exhausting suspense is largely dissipated on a second viewing. When I first saw this film years ago, I was convinced that it might be Kurosawa's best (to be honest, I've had this reaction to several Kurosawa films), but when you watch High and Low with an awareness of its outcome, its greatest virtue (suspense) is lost. To be clear, I don't think this is a weakness, just an unfortunate fact for those of us hoping to re-live that amazing first viewing. If you're gearing-up to see this incredible film for the first time, consider yourself lucky.
When I saw Life During Wartime at TIFF in 2009, I had several major problems with the film. While Todd Solondz's collaboration with cinematographer Ed Lachman yields the most refined visuals of his career, there were four glaring problems: 1) the characters seem like pale imitations of their more striking Happiness incarnations, 2) there's a complete lack of tension in the film's muddled, rambling narrative, 3) it's far too talky and 4) Solondz can't stop himself from ridiculing his characters. While I stand by the first three criticisms, I can now retract the fourth. As Solondz points out (in a 45-minute, audio-only Q&A on this disc), his audience tends to be divided between those who laugh at the characters and those who get mad at those who laugh at the characters. I've never really been in either camp, but the mean-spirited laughter in the Life During Wartime screening I attended turned me (somewhat unjustifiably) against Solondz. Re-watching the film alone in my living room, a surprising empathy emerged, no longer concealed by the condescension of an audience.
I may be hearing things, but I'm pretty sure Robert Englund said he was stoned at one point during last night's Q&A at Toronto Underground Cinema. In town as Guest of Honour at the Festival of Fear portion of FanExpo, Englund came out firing on all cylinders following a screening of A Nightmare on Elm St. 3: Dream Warriors. He managed to bend every question that was thrown at him into a detailed exploration of… something completely different. Whether he was actually stoned or not, this turned out to be an effective strategy, yielding some of the most lively and circuitous Hollywood anecdotes I've heard in months. Topics of discussion included Stay Hungry (my personal favorite Englund film and one of his too), Freddy vs. Jason (he's proud of its cinematic lineage and the role his fans played in its creation) and Michael Bay (he doesn't hate him, remake snub notwithstanding). Say what you want about Englund's questionable filmography, he is clearly one of the most charismatic (and friendly) raconteurs in the business. -- JD
Léon Morin, Priest (Blu-ray)
(The Criterion Collection, 7.26.2011)
Jean-Pierre Melville has been acclaimed for cool, existential thrillers, but Léon Morin, Priest is something of a surprise since it's a psychological study of two non-criminals. Since Melville was a Jewish atheist, his sympathetic portrayal of a Catholic priest is also unusual. Adapted by Melville from Barny -- a 1948 semi-autobiographical novel by Béatrix Beck -- this 1961 film occurs during the German occupation of France and centers around Barny (Emmanuelle Riva), who works in an office in a small village. A widow with a small daughter whose father was Jewish, she launches an initially antagonistic relationship with Leon Morin (Jean-Paul Belmondo), only to find herself falling for this priest.
The Adjustment Bureau is a perfectly respectable blend of science fiction, paranoid thriller and love story. In fact, everything about the film is perfectly respectable. It’s well made, intelligent and entertaining -- but it lacks that extra something necessary to make it remotely memorable. Expanded considerably (by writer-director George Nolfi) from Philip K. Dick's 1954 Adjustment Team, The Adjustment Bureau wants to be both romantic and action-packed, in the tradition of North by Northwest. Yet we never feel that New York senatorial hopeful David Norris (Matt Damon) is truly in danger. The fate-controlling group trying to keep him from hooking-up with dancer Elise (Emily Blunt) is not quite ominous enough, despite the worthy efforts of the great Terence Stamp (playing a no-nonsense Adjustment Bureau representative).
36 Quai des Orfèvres was a huge hit in Europe and was nominated for eight Césars, but the 2004 film is only now becoming readily available in North America. It is something of a marketing challenge: too violent for fans of French cinema and too French for the action crowd. Tartan Video seems to be aiming at the latter by calling it 36th Precinct and including both subtitled and dubbed versions. As he points out in the extras, writer-director Olivier Marchal -- who appears here as an ex-con and previously acted in Guillaume Canet’s sublime Tell No One -- has created a semi-autobiographical policier inspired by events he witnessed while serving in the anti-terrorist division of the Paris police. A gang of thieves is robbing armored cars, often killing the guards. Former friends Leo Vrinks (Daniel Auteutil) and Denis Klein (Gérard Depardieu) compete to find the robbers, with the winner succeeding their just-promoted boss (André Dussolier). While neither hesitates to bend the rules, Klein is the more ruthless of the two, ultimately bringing about tragic consequences that turn Vrinks’ life upside down.
Last month's John Cassavetes retrospective at TIFF Bell Lightbox was launched with a visit by his widow and favorite collaborator, Gena Rowlands. In spite of her age (she turned 81 in June), Rowlands managed to offer witty, detailed answers throughout. With the combination of admiring audience questions and even a special guest in the audience (Carole Kane), the event felt a bit like an episode of Inside the Actor's Studio, but with an emphasis on a particular collaboration, rather than an entire career. While Jesse Wente's questions followed Rowlands' collaboration with Cassavetes film-by-film, he somehow managed to bypass Love Streams, arguably the couple's greatest achievement. (For complicated legal reasons, Love Streams is still not available on DVD in North America.) Fortunately, Rowlands had plenty to say about the rest of their films -- and you can hear it all below.-- JD
