DVDs, 9/18.

"It's been proposed that the restrictive conditions of life under Franco's dictatorship somehow brought out the best in [Carlos] Saura, and one can certainly argue that Saura's subsequent work, which started to make a habit of looking backwards, suffered from having too few limitations," writes José Teodoro at Stop Smiling. "But for Cría Cuervos..., this notion feels reductive, especially given the film's debt to Saura's collaborators: [Geraldine] Chaplin, who was Saura's lover, muse and co-financier; producer Elías Querejeta, who helped groom Saura's career toward such prestige that the censors let the film pass; and, of course, [Ana] Torrent, who, in keeping with her unforgettable debut in 1973's Spirit of the Beehive, provides the film with its enduringly compelling core."

24 or 25 frames per second? Criterion's been debating its presentation of Fassbinder's Berlin Alexanderplatz; Peter Becker presents the cases for two sides.

Steven Shaviro on Dusan Makavejev's Sweet Movie: "Two allegorical/sexual sequences, then: one is capitalism and the other is communism. Both are sinister: both are fueled by libidinal energies, which they co-opt and transform into a surplus of seductive power. Makavejev shows us these transformations, without explicit judgment. We have to make what we can of them, and of their juxtapositions."

"From the start, [Sansho the Bailiff] declares its intention to examine what truly defines being human, living in a civilisation," writes Ian Johnston at Not Coming to a Theater Near You.

"Coeurs is, for Resnais detractors, one of a long line of confusing domestic light comedies or dramas that Resnais has been engaged on since at least his Melo (1986)," writes Alex at motion picture, it's called. "Confusing because these films seem to reject Resnais's early, more political and seemingly more experimental work. Careful examination (as with Resnais’ Pas sur la bouche) indicates the opposite."

"'Criminal mutilation,' says Woody Allen. 'Artistic desecration,' says the Directors Guild of America. 'Cultural vandalism,' says the Western branch of the Writers Guild of America." That's from a 1987 piece for Time from Charles Krauthammer, and the mutilating vandal they were talking about was colorization. Now, Ray Harryhausen has been supervising the colorization of three of his black-and-white science-fiction films from the 1950s - It Came From Beneath the Sea (1955), Earth vs the Flying Saucers (1956) and 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957) - as well as the 1935 version of She, a fantasy adventure produced by Merian C Cooper of King Kong," writes Dave Kehr in the New York Times. "And his stake in the original films gives him a moral authority: In recent interviews, he's said that he'd always wanted to make his 50s movies in color, but budgetary restrictions wouldn't allow it. (Today, of course, science-fiction and fantasy films seem to command almost unlimited funds in Hollywood, while it's the other genres that go begging.) If anyone is entitled to a do-over, it is Mr Harryhausen, one of the real heroes of this medium."

This week, reviewing a new set of films featuring Vincent Price, Dave Kehr notes that they "belong to the later stage of Price's career, when he had essentially become a comic actor, executing entertainingly campy pirouettes.... In this context Witchfinder General stands out like Raymond Chandler's proverbial tarantula on a slice of angel food cake." More from Tim Lucas, John McElwee and Kimberly Lindbergs, who also celebrates "the work of my favorite Bollywood star, the stunningly beautiful and incredibly talented Helen."

Rob Humanick compares the two versions of Death Proof we have so far, the one that appeared in theaters as part of Grindhouse, and the one that appears on the newly released DVD: "Shorter or longer, though, I still believe that Death Proof is indicative of a new phase in Quentin's artistic career, though I suspect it is one we won't be able to truly appreciate except in retrospect."

"Having finally seen [Horrors of Malformed Men], I can say that, taboo-bursting freak-out that it is, films of more recent vintage have certainly surpassed it in terms of sheer offensiveness and grotesquerie," writes David Austin at Cinema Strikes Back. "However, to say that is not to say that they have surpassed it in terms of artistry or creative vision. There, Horrors of Malformed Men has the advantage of being the child of three fathers, each ground-breaking in their own field: director Teruo Ishii, theatrical pioneer Tatsumi Hijikata, and author Edogawa Rampo."

"Seeing Il Posto for the first time made me think about how inconstant the critical landscape is, with the 'discovery' of newer filmmakers, or of other past films and filmmakers that at an earlier time were considered less worthy of serious evaluation," writes Peter Nellhaus.

"Something magical happens between a viewer and their favorite films," writes Edward Copeland. "Perhaps it's close to being in love, but I'm not sure. All I know is that every time I watch my favorite film of all time, Jean Renoir's The Rules of the Game, I feel as if I'm seeing it for the very first time, even if I know the film intimately well."

"[F]inally Stuart Gordon's From Beyond (1986) and Dan O'Bannon's The Return of the Living Dead (1985) arrive on DVD, blasts from the not-so-distant, Reagan-befouled past when horror farce wasn't harmlessly Mel Brooks or Scary Movie, but something much more perverse and bizarre," writes Michael Atkinson at IFC News. Also: "On the Silver Globe is an unfinished thing; it's both difficult to say it's a successful film as it stands - that was certainly never [Andrzej] Zulawski's intention - and to imagine what it might've amounted to, almost 30 years since its plug was pulled. But you're not likely to see anything remotely like it, ever."

In Flak Magazine, Aemilia Scott considers the broader cultural implications of 300:

Civil Libertarians should not be worried about Bill O'Reilly defending the existence of Guantanamo Bay; instead they should be worried about how fucking awesome it is when Jack Bauer goes dark and interrogates the Russian Ambassador by breaking his nose and chopping his fingers off with a cigar clipper. Jews should not be worried about Mel Gibson's anti-Semitism; instead they should be seriously worried about a movie theater full of people totally on board with Spartan eugenics. That - that amazing, intoxicating feeling of being swept up in something so badass that you can barely stand it - that is the real enemy of those who fight for principles like the rule of law and civil liberties, principles that are exercised more for those in the minority than those in the majority. That feeling is what starts the parade.

Via Bookforum.

Michael Wood reflects on the deaths of Bergman and Antonioni in the London Review of Books and revisits Wild Strawberries and L'Avventura.

"Though Flicker Alley's new Valentino collection doesn't feature his best-known films, such as The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Blood and Sand, The Sheik and his final film, Son of the Sheik, the four-film disc, arriving Tuesday, is a great example of Valentino's enduring screen magnetism," writes Susan King in the Los Angeles Times. Adds Michael Atkinson: "He was clearly the first male movie star made famous only and exclusively by his ability to ignite the loins of his female viewers. All other considerations were off the table."

After Hours is a "comedy that tightens the knots in your back," writes Victoria Large at Not Coming to a Theater Near You. "Perhaps what intrigues me most about the film is the deep-seated ambivalence - about New York City, about our protagonist Paul, about human interaction in general - that's wedded to the jittery laughs it inspires. In particular, After Hours taps into the tension between the dull-but-safe conformity of button-down desk job life and the alluring, but threatening, prospect of venturing outside of that mainstream. It's a tension that the film never fully resolves."

Noel Vera revisits Popeye, "easily one of my favorites of Altman's misfires (if, again, we consider it a misfire - a slippery concept when it comes to Altman). Popeye is comic poetry; rickety, broken-down poetry but nonetheless poetry that staggers, stumbles (hence the term 'comic'), and on occasion, flies. And when it does take flight, it's a sight like nothing on earth."

Charles Mudede in the Stranger on Stranger Than Paradise: "Every time one watches this groundbreaking movie, one is amazed by the extent and beauty of American nothingness."

DVD roundups: Bryant Frazer, DVD Talk, Antonio Pasolini (Kamera) and the Telegraph.

Posted by dwhudson at September 18, 2007 11:31 PM