2017년 12월 15일 금요일

The Old Alien-Fighter Never Dies, Just Fades Away- Nigel Kneale's QUATERMASS (1978) Blu Ray Review

QUATERMASS a.k.a THE QUATERMASS CONCLUSION. A Euston Films/Thames Television Co-Production, broadcast through ITV. 1978. Four Chapters Miniseries, Aspect Ratio 1.33:1, Monaural. 216 minutes. Theatrical Version, Aspect Ratio 1.78:1, Monaural, 106 minutes [uncompressed from PAL transfer]. Director: Piers Haggard, Executive Producer: Verity Lambert, Screenplay: Nigel Kneale, Producer: Ted Childs, Music: Marc Wilkinson, Nic Rowley.  

CAST: John Mills (Quatermass), Simon MacCorkindale (Joe Kapp), Barbara Kellermann (Clare Kapp), Margaret Tyzack (Annie Morgan), Ralph Arliss (Kickalong), David Yip (Chen), Paul Rosebury (Caraway), Brewster Mason (Gurov), Bruce Purchase (Roach), Rebecca Saire (Hettie, Quatermass's granddaughter), Joanna Joseph (Debbie Kapp), Sophie Kind (Sarah Kapp).

Bernard Quatermass, Nigel Kneale's pioneering scientist-hero of the British science fiction TV and cinema, returns for the last mission of his life, in the manner of Hercules Poirot in Agatha Christie's Curtains (1975). Having missed the mini-series's (a format extremely popular in late '70s and '80s, as I recall) stateside broadcast, I have only known it in its theatrical release format, The Quatermass Conclusion, until the new century. With the advent of the DVD, A&E managed to release the original miniseries in 2005, bringing both editions together into one handy collection. However, despite A&E's then-exemplary presentation, the series, like many classic British television shows, benefits tremendously in visual terms from a new HD transfer, as attested by Network's new Blu Ray presentation.  

Quatermass, played by different actors every time he was called in to battle the alien menace (six in all, not including the youthful Jason Flemyng in the rather pointless BBC remake of Quatermass and the Pit [2005]), is a unique SF protagonist in the annals of TV science fiction, with the direct, personal connection to the early postwar space program but also sharing some qualities with Lovecraftian protagonists like Charles Dexter Ward, lifters of the veil, so to speak, who gets to observe, as a vanguard of the mankind, the true horrors lurking behind the glittering stars in the night sky. In Hammer Film's superb early film versions, shot through with a terrific feeling of cosmic dread and paranoia-- The Quatermass Xperiment (1955) and Quatermass 2 (1957)-- he was played by the American actor Brian Donlevy, whose hard-boiled and irascible, almost ruthless, interpretation of the character brought an intriguing film noir inflection to the proceedings, something probably never intended by Kneale. In Quatermass and the Pit (1967), Andrew Keir was a much warmer and approachable Quatermass, but that film's real hero was actually his idealistic colleague Dr. Roney (memorably essayed by James Donald), consigning the nominal hero into the role of an observer/narrator of the fantastic events rather than a man of action.  

This mini-series cast the great star of early postwar British cinema John Mills (winner of the supporting Oscar for Ryan's Daughter [1968] but best known for such mid-century mainstream UK hits as The Colditz Story, The Great Expectations and I Was Monty's Double) as Quatermass, and he brings sophisticated shadings of tragic alienation and compassionate intelligence to the battle-scarred scientist.  Appropriate for a pop culture diagnosis of the global '70s-'80s transition, Quatermass puts the eponymous scientist right in the middle of a global apocalypse, a nightmare of '60s style social liberalism and '70s OPEC-era political pessimism run amuck. The streets are overrun by hideously color-coordinated gangs armed with sub-machine guns and grenades. Hippies calling themselves "Planet People" inarticulately chant about traveling to the outer space and gather together at the local prehistoric stone circles to summon the alien guidance. Quatermass's own granddaughter, the only surviving family member of his, has joined the Planet People cult. Their aggressive antics are in turn confronted by a thuggish police force with no qualms about using brutish tactics.

The deteriorating social order and degeneration of culture are displayed for the viewers through a rather ironic device of imbecilic TV programs produced by a BBC-like station that invites Quatermass to confer about the US-Soviet joint space station venture. When the space station is spectacularly destroyed live on satellite broadcast, our heroes become aware of an extraterrestrial threat. The old Dr. Q, despairing to the point of abandoning all hope for the mankind, manages to connect with the younger astrophysicist Joe Kapp (Simon MacCorkindale) whose pronounced Jewish heritage and devotion to his wife and daughters serve as an entry point to Neale's somewhat heavy-handed illustration of the global Zeitgeist slipping back into a form of collective mindlessness.

Neale's teleplay is intelligent if cynical and manages to generate an impressive amount of suspense with little time wasted. He does not need voiceover narrations or long expository dialogues to explain how the world civilization had rapidly gone to seed. His ideological position here is not conservative in the usual Tory sense of the term (and he is hardly the only British writer of the last century to assume that the "civilized world" in essence contains only white people… with the membership for the enlightened extended to Jews and maybe some Russians. Oh, David Yip [View to a Kill] is a lone Asian scientist in Kapp's astronomy lab team, I shan't forget to mention!), but it is clear that he carries a lot of distaste for the promiscuous and superficial aspects of '60s British culture (not that surprising, considering that he is the mastermind behind the aptly prophetic The Year of the Sex Olympics [1968]). Sometimes Quatermass evokes the sense of a curmudgeonly disapproval from an old man who has seen better times, especially during the chapter in which Quatermass is rescued and helped by a community of elderly squatters. When the young people are uniformly portrayed as stupid and savage, whilst the old people gentle and reasonable, I wonder whether there is any way to call such a view other than "conservative."

Thankfully, Kneale, or perhaps director Piers Haggard (responsible for the cult horror film The Blood on Satan's Claw [1971]), restrains the urge to deliver position speeches and keeps the core appeal of the series alive, that is, its cosmic SF monsters that properly "puts the mankind in its place" in the great food chain of the universe. Quatermass demonstrates that, to the inscrutable Lovecraftian alien beings, we earthlings are no more than livestock with exotic flavors, not even worthy of being directly manhandled by them, but only fit to be anonymously mass slaughtered via a column of energy beam that reduces human bodies into clumps of white ash (another possible reference to the Holocaust, the idea also picked up by Steven Spielberg in his masterly War of the Worlds). This depiction of the "harvesting" of earthlings is downright chilling despite its minimalist special effects. MacCorkindale, at other times blustery and overacting, is quite effective here as a decent man of science who becomes nearly as unhinged as his adversaries due to the personal devastation visited on him. Indeed, Quatermass is infused with an unusually somber mood, almost a tone of bereavement, which might in turn lead some viewers to conclude that the series is too dour to be truly compelling.

Nonetheless, as a work of "hard" science fiction with sharply honed dystopian edges, the series maintains its integrity and dignity. Yes, its "Planet People" sequences are sometimes borderline ridiculous, especially now that we all know what subsequently transpired under the Thatcher/Reagan '80s, but I can at least respect its point of view articulating the apocalyptic anxieties that had gripped the older-generation Euro-American intelligentsia in late '70s.  

Blu Ray Presentation:

Network/Fremantle Media International. Region B. Video: Full frame ratio 1.33:1/Widescreen ratio 1.78:1, 1080p. Audio: Mono/Dolby Digital 5.1. English (HOH) Subtitles. Supplements: Music-only tracks for 4 episodes, Episode recaps, Textless titles, Image Gallery, insert book essay by Andrew Pixley. Street date: July 27, 2015. List Price: £15.42

Networks's packaging of Quatermass Blu Ray puts all four episodes in the first disc and The Quatermass Conclusion in the second. The theatrical release version is not simply a truncated version of the mini-series, and puts a slightly different spin on characters and events, with interesting results. To cite an example, the character arc of the lone survivor of the Ringstone Round (a smaller-scale Stonehenge of sorts) "contact," Isabel (Annabelle Lanyon), is notably different in two versions. In the mini-series, she stumbles out from behind the rock on her own, but in the movie version she is discovered by Quatermass while lying supine and dazed. Her final fate takes place somewhat anticlimactically in the mini-series, but in the movie version it is one of the more shocking moments directly witnessed by the rocket scientist (in the mini-series he never gets reconnected to the Isabel thread again, except presumably in the form of an off-screen after-the-fact report). Likewise, an entire section in Chapter 3, in which Quatermass is nursed back to health by a group of elderly squatters, is excised from the theatrical version. In the latter, he simply does not get separated from Anne Morgan.  

As I have mentioned above, I have watched The Quatermass Conclusion many years before I had a chance to lay my eyes on the mini-series, so that is the version that I am used to seeing. The video presentations also slightly favor the widescreen format, although the HD encoding greatly improves the experience of watching the mini-series as well. As Kneale himself noted with approval, Euston and Thames TV production, unlike BBC (think of Dr. Who), eschewed studio-bound sets and filmed as much action in outdoor locations as they could, and with 35mm film elements, which allowed for it to become a major beneficiary of a new HD scan. Overall, the color scheme appears to me slightly redder and the contrast darker in the theatrical version, but no huge divergences are noticed.  


 From QUATERMASS Mini-series
This Blu Ray package does not contain one of the DVD extras from the A&E package, a documentary on the Stonehenge, but it is not missed. As is usual with Network, the insert booklet essay by a Dr. Who specialist Andrew Pixley is an exhaustively researched, archival piece with tons of quotes from Nigel Kneale.  It mostly details production history, why it had taken the good chunk of '70s for the project to actually get made, how Hammer Films almost got hold of it before losing out to Euston and Thames TV, how much it cost (about £300,000 per episode, quite high-end for the time), Kneale's subsequent unhappiness with the production, especially its casting choices, as he found Mills too soft and grandfatherly, MacCorkindale too unintelligent-looking, and so on (it is understandable but unfortunate that Kneale is like a lot of "hard" SF writers in insisting that his scientist hero remain a sort of Platonic superman, as if academic intelligence is panacea for all problems confronted by a literary character), and other nuggets of information. One interesting critique Kneale advanced and quoted by Pixely is that his original conceptualization of the Planet People was not successfully translated onscreen: apparently his take was a lot more dangerous and futuristic, a "sort of cross between super-punks and whirling dervishes." Perhaps his original version, while still firmly rooted in the anti-'60s mentality, did look forward to the cyberpunk trend just coming up in the horizon.

The venerable creator's less-than enthusiastic evaluation aside, having re-visited the Bernard Quatermass in the superlative Blu Ray format, I found both mini-series and the film thoughtful, thrilling and even a little moving: living up to the mantle of a quality hard science fiction, unflinchingly taking the unpopular (again, Lovecraftian) view that God out there cares naught about us except as resources to be exploited. We are the little silkworms of the dark universe, who get boiled to death as we surrender our cocoons, from which the harvesters pick out threads of beautiful silk. Given our own propensity for indifference and exploitation toward other species on our planet, could we truly expect anything better from the advanced species out there?  

The Network Blu Ray of Quatermass is highly recommended to the fans of British Cinema and hard science fiction, despite its admittedly misanthropic tone.

2017년 9월 25일 월요일

Vioent Cop (1989)- Q Branch Academia Blu Ray Review

VIOLENT COP その男, 凶暴につき.  A Shochiku-Fuji/Bandai Media Co-Production, 1989. 1 hour 43 minutes, Aspect Ratio 1.85:1, Eastman Color 35mm, Stereo Sound System. Director: Kitano Takeshi 北野武. Screenplay: Nozawa Hisashi. 野沢尚 Cinematography: Sasakibara Yasushi. 佐々木原保志 Producer: Okuyama Kazuyoshi. 奥山和由 Production Design: Mochizuki Masateru. 望月正照 Music: Kume Daisaku 久米大作   CAST: Kitano "Beat" Takeshi (Azuma), Kishibe Ittoku岸辺一徳 (Nito), Hakuryu白竜 (Kiyohara), Ashikawa Makoto 芦川誠 (Kikuchi), Kawakami Maiko 川上麻衣子(Akari), Terajima Susumu 寺島進 (Orida), Ozawa Kazuyoshi 小沢一義 (Ueda), Sakuma Tetsu 佐久間哲 (Katahira), Sano Shiro 佐野史郎 (New District Chief), Kawakami Ei 川上泳 (Hashizume), Hayami Kei 速水渓 (Nito's Secretary) 

Violent Cop is "Beat" Kitano Takeshi's debut feature film. Kitano, who has turned seventy this year (2017), has been a hugely successful comedian, best known for politically incorrect, some might say actively offensive, stand-up acts (or more precisely the Japanese version of it, manzai, similar to Abbott and Costello in the sense that the format requires two performers, a straight one [tsukkomi] and a dopey one [boke]). His comedian's moniker "Beat" Takeshi derives from the manzai duo's name "Two Beats," a partnership with "Beat" Kiyoshi a.k.a. Kaneko Jiro, which Kitano claims has never been officially dissolved. In December 1986, fed up with the scandal mag Friday's relentless pursuit of his extra-marital affairs, Takeshi, leading a group of his comedy pupils known as his "troops (gundan)," attacked journalists working for the mag, physically threatening them and trashing their office. Even though he was thought to have received a fatal blow to his career, Takeshi rebounded. He has also been working steadily as a film and TV actor, taking non-comedic roles, some of which highly acclaimed-- most notably, as a Korean-Japanese murderer Kim Hiro in a TV docudrama Kim's War [Kimu no sensoキムの戦争, 1992], a brutish yet sensitive Imperial Army sergeant in Oshima Nagisa's Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (1983) and a vicious gay assassin in Ishii Takashi's GONIN (1995), among others-- since at least 1980 (barring his youthful works as movie extras). 

Two years after the scandal and in the midst of the rebound, Kitano was cast in a lead role, as the title character of Dirty Harry-like Detective Azuma, in the present project, originally to be directed by Fukasaku Kinji (1930-2003, Graveyard of Honor 仁義の墓場, Battle Royale). However, producer Okuyama Kazuyoshi apparently did not favor Fukasaku's approach, which, judging from the first draft written for him by screenwriter Nozawa Hisashi (Sleepless Town 不夜城 [1998], The Frame 破線のマリス [1999]), was very much in the social realist-exposé mode. After Fukasaku left the project citing a schedule conflict, Okuyama offered the director's chair to Kitano, who completely rewrote the screenplay as one of the conditions for accepting the responsibility. The situation, in retrospect, was an intriguing one, as if Clint Eastwood was asked to direct Dirty Harry after Don Siegel dropped out, and he proceeded to make a moody, psychological thriller in the mold of Play Misty for Me, entirely undercutting Harry Callahan's sense of control and (frankly) fascistic tendencies (We could talk some other time about the parallel between Kitano and Eastwood, two iconoclastically right-wing superstars, who nonetheless had directed some brazenly "artistic" films that seem to undermine their own beloved public personas).

Even though Violent Cop certainly lives up to its English and Japanese (the literal translation of the Japanese title is something like "The Man, Known to be Violent" in the manner of a warning sign) titles, it is not entirely the film that North American viewers might expect, based on its reputation. The film opens with a horrifying sequence in which a homeless man is senselessly beaten to death by a group of bicycle-riding teenagers. The protagonist, Detective Azuma, drops in one of the teenager's comfy home, passes by the boy's befuddled mother, and goes up to the latter's room. He then proceeds to mercilessly beat up the boy, who begins to wail like a little child. Later, a peaceful barge boat passing beneath a bridge is pelted by empty soda cans, thrown by a bunch of foul-mouthed pre-schoolers. This is not the polite, circumspect Japan, all right, but a society seething with ugly hostility toward one another. Yet, we soon find out that Azuma, as played and directed by Kitano Takeshi, is no Dirty Harry. He is a much more enigmatic creature.

Indeed, one of the most disturbing yet intriguing things about Violent Cop is that Kitano continuously sabotages any inkling on the part of the viewer to rally toward, sympathize with or even connect emotionally to its troubled protagonist. The patented "Beat Takeshi" look, a poker-faced non-expression (which is apparently a product of his extreme shyness) is cannily deployed by his directorial self to essentially prevent the viewers from second-guessing Azuma's internal psychology. One of the effects of this strategy is that the film is completely devoid of the kind of sentimental, macho bullcrap that often stands for the "rage against the system" in standard Asian crime films (for instance, in contemporary South Korean cinema). Often, Azuma appears completely indistinguishable from a sociopathic thug. He is ostensibly a good buddy to the corrupt cop Iwaki and at least attempts to care for his mentally ill sister, but as played by Kitano, the viewers cannot help but be suspicious about his true motives: when Iwaki shows up as a corpse hanging from a bridge, we are momentarily not sure if it was Azuma who actually killed him, not because of the story logic, but because the taciturn detective was the last person to see him on-screen (we never find out what the content of their conversation was, either). He seems entirely capable of committing a heinous crime himself, and displays no particular "personal code of honor." What he does possess, though, is a bucketful of charisma. Azuma definitely looks dangerous without the aid of Eastwood-like macho growls, and the fact that we cannot "read" his face or body language generates an odd kind of suspense. We are never sure what crazy stunt he will pull off next.

While the movie is no liberal indictment of a corrupt police system, it likewise fails to meet expectations of the conservative viewers who have come to see a movie in which a righteous cop doles out sadistic punishment to the criminal scum. When Azuma mercilessly pounds on suspects, his sister's boyfriends, or even hapless colleagues, the viewers are invited to either laugh at the utter absurdity of the violence that is never organically generated from the situational logic, or cringe at its sheer, dehumanizing randomness. An excellent example is the villain's-- reptilian drug dealer Kiyohiro, a frightening performance by the Korean-Japanese singer Hakuryu-- sudden attack on Azuma outside a movie-house. Kiyohiro, on the ground from the latter's fierce resistance, pulls out a gun. Azuma swiftly kicks his nemesis's wrist, and the bullet flies off hitting a wrong target, a young female bystander whose brain matter is graphically splashed all over the marquee. The scene is shocking, never failing to elicit shouts of surprise and disbelief among the viewers, but its emotional impact is ambivalent: it is like watching a horrific traffic accident rather than a life-and-death struggle between Good and Evil.

Director Kitano, however, never allows the film to degenerate into wallowing in meaningless and purposeless displays of violence. Through excellent but never show-offy filmmaking (except one or two passages in which slow motion is employed with a bit too much irony), he compels us to follow the story, and to coolly examine, rather than easily identify with, the character dynamics. He introduces his Zen-like "spaced" style, which in later films like Sonatine and Hana-Bi would invite comparisons with Robert Bresson and Ozu Yasujiro, dismantling the typical rhythm of a conventional thriller, showing his characters doing nothing or staring into empty space, or extending scenes (for instance, of Azuma walking around in that funny, vaguely ducky gait) beyond their dramatic necessity. In some cases, the effect does remind one of Stanley Kubrick's early works (especially Clockwork Orange, a film much admired by Kitano). Yet this method of cool, dry "zoological observation" stops, in my view, short of completely alienating the viewers.

Take one of Violent Cop's most notorioius and talked-about scenes, wherein the drug dealer Hashizume (Kawakami Ei) is viciously slapped at least a dozen times by the irate Azuma, who wants to know the source of the dope traffic, in an uncut, single take. The sequence is exceedingly uncomfortable to watch, as the viewers begin to identify with the ordeals suffered by the actor Kawakami rather than the diegetic character Hashizume. It is "real" and at the same time deliberately meta-diegetic, as the slapping looks so brutal that we begin to worry about the performer's safety ("Jeez, is Takeshi really slapping that poor guy?"). The effect is that, when Hashizume finally confesses in a raging outburst, he seems to be responding to the denigration of his being/character/role, momentarily conjoined, in the hands of Azuma/director Kitano, rather than to the pain. The affective outcome is unusual, far removed from the conventional "sympathy" we are supposed to feel toward either Hashizume or Azuma, but is definitely not indifference, either. This makes an interesting contrast to the scene of physical violence in Dirty Harry wherein Scorpio pays a black pugilist to beat him up so that he can claim that Harry Callahan physically abused him, which enlists the shock of violence to underlie deeply manipulative, evil character of the villain.  I don't want to make a big theoretical deal out of it, but what Violent Cop does is to draw the viewer's attention to the violence itself perpetrated on the human bodies, rather than "rationalizing" such violence in the name of plot advancement, or ideological satisfaction. 

The irony about everyday preponderance of violence is clearly underscored by Kume Daisaku's music, based on jazzy arrangements of Erik Satie. Key chase sequence in the middle of the movie is punctuated by this droll, playful music, heightening the ridiculousness of the very notion of an "action sequence." The film also makes excellent uses of back alleys and other non-glamorous locations throughout Tokyo. It entirely dispenses with the (good) countryside- (evil) city dichotomy.

The cast is uniformly good. Other than Kitano and Hakuryu, who had unfortunately been typecase in gangster roles after this pic, the former musician Kishibe Ittoku (best known for Oguri Kohei's Sting of Death 死の棘 [1995]) cuts a lanky, nonchalantly ruthless figure as Nito, the wealthy boss of the drug ring. He is seen to be presiding over the opening of a fancy restaurant, and treats Azuma's threats with well-practiced aplomb. Yet Nito is not above making a punching bag out of the face of his recalcitrant underling, carefully wiping off unseemly blood from the latter's face afterwards. A Kitano regular Ashikawa Makoto plays a rookie, haplessly caught between Azuma's insane antics and the police regulations, but the denouement surprises us by giving him a role that again subverts the convention of the genre. The only character that receives short shrift, not surprisingly, is Azuma's sister, Akari. It is clear that Kitano cut out a large chunk of background exposition concerning the brother-sister relationship, in order to prevent the viewer's emotional investment in Azuma. All the same, her character is used like a prop, as an object of gang rape by the villains to get back at Azuma: at least Kitano does not stoop to exploiting her mental condition.

Since Violent Cop, Kitano Takeshi has achieved an international fame and dabbled in many genres, but the movie has not lost much of its power to shock and disturb. It does require delicate handling before being unspooled in front of an unsuspecting audience, but it manages to put a kind of coldly hypnotic cinematic spell on most of them. Few can doubt the director's firm control of its elements, nor, when it comes right down to it, his artistic integrity, even if a sizable number of the viewers may not be able to "enjoy" the film in the usual sense.   

Blu Ray Presentation:  
Film Movement Classics. Region A. Video: widescreen 1.85:1, 1080p. Audio: Japanese Stereo. English (HOH) Subtitles. Supplements: Theatrical and U.S. trailers, an insert essay by Tom Vick. Street date: October 11, 2016. List price: $39.95.

Film Movement has released Violent Cop as a Blu Ray in a no-frills edition stateside. The presentation is good, if not spectacular, with fine sheets of grain over nighttime scenes and appropriately subdued contrast levels. Sometimes the camera shows prominent lens flares but that is not the problem with transfer. Color scheme is also somewhat pale, but again this is probably by design. Tom Vick contributes a nice, concise insert essay that introduces the essentials of production history and the unprecedented nature of the film as a Japanese genre film (He does quote from Aaron Gerow's authoritative study of Kitano's cinematic oeuvre, discussed below).  

Given the current international status of Kitano (even taking into consideration the opinion that he has been wildly overrated as a filmmaker), it would have been more appropriate if more substantial supplements were included. It would have been fascinating to get the lowdown on the circumstances of Kitano's taking over of the project, or on the filmmaking process seen from the POV of the supporting players, some of whom have subsequently gone on to productive careers (Bandai Visual's Japan-produced Blu Ray is also barebones, priced around $45, but surprisingly comes with English subtitles). 

By the way, the present Blu Ray edition has been subject to some unexpected online criticisms, due to its distinctive cover illustration in the mold of an underground American comic. It is perhaps understandable given the starkly minimalist poster for the movie (in Japan, a threatening glare from Beat Takeshi was quite sufficient to draw curious viewers into the theater), and the illustration does capture the hardcore film noir ambience of the film to a certain degree, but the main problem is the figures depicted simply do not resemble any of the characters. The green thug with a knife on the left does vaguely look like Kiyohiro, but who the heck is the guy in the middle with a cigarette butt in his mouth? No one remotely like him appears in the movie. I am willing to take a radical, off-off-Broadway visual concept for a Blu Ray cover, but wouldn't it have to indicate at least some connections with the personages in the film?  

Can we use it in class? Obviously the undergraduates need to be forewarned about the dry and shocking nature of the violence in the film. I wouldn't recommend using the film as a source of sociological or anthropological insight into the pre-Burst Bubble Japanese lives, other than as a corrective to the hoary myth of Japan as an eternally peaceful, communal nation. Which is not to say that Violent Cop is particularly unrealistic in terms of depicting the late '80s Japanese society. The "yakuza" that, according to some movies at least, seems to be the dominant political force in Japan (yes, this is meant to be a snarky dis), is conspicuously absent in this film. Neither do the cops here behave as if drug addiction is a unique American problem.

The film should be a lot more significant as a resource for a Cinema Studies course. The best text to assign along with the film is a section on it from Aaron Gerow's Kitano Takeshi (London: British Film Institute, 2007), a concise and knowledgeable interpretation of all of Kitano's films up to his remake of Zatoichi (2003). Professor Gerow presents a highly readable, cogent analysis of the film's radically minimalist approach, explaining to the potential viewers of the film how its "off-putting" qualities are in fact an outcome of directorial intentions. He discusses in detail (pp. 69-76) a relatively unimportant scene in which Azuma is asked to resign by the District Chief, and persuasively illustrates how the way Kitano cuts and arranges shots deconstructs drama and genre conventions (and, I might add, a sense of righteousness on both character's parts). 

In the end, though, Gerow's interpretation is auteurist, reading Violent Cop predominantly as a text both distances the viewers from "Beat" Takeshi the comedian, and creates an entirely new leading man for the cineaste Kitano Takeshi. This part may not be so easy to comprehend for those who are not privy to Kitano's amazing and unequalled run as a mega-entertainer in Japan. I highly recommend Professor Gerow's study to any student of cinema seriously interested in Kitano Takeshi. 

Launching Q Branch Academia Reviews

My day job still does not allow me enough time to properly do this, but I know that I will never get around to getting the present blog up and running again if I kept waiting for "enough time." One of my original ideas for the revived Q Branch was to set it up as a critical database cum personal notations for the audio-visual materials that to be used for my classes. Well, as it turns out, my students at UCD are less and less interested in watching motion pictures in class, and the equipment for media presentation are no longer well taken care of. My showings of The Epitaph and The Host during my Korean History class last year were met with student enthusiasm, but unfortunately the DVD player went dead in the middle of showing the latter, to my acute embarrassment. Sigh…

Honestly, given the crappy situation with humanities curriculum in a university in today's world, I don't know if I will get around before my retirement a course totally devoted to Asian movies. But for now, I am going to operate under the assumption that, if I write about those Asian (Japanese, Korean, Chinese and Southeast Asian) films, not just about the films themselves but regarding the accessibility and quality of the vehicles in which they are presented (to wit, Blu Rays and DVDs) and, most importantly, about how they could be deployed as instructional resources, somebody out there might find such jottings useful. Of course this public service orientation needs not be taken too seriously by anyone who reads my entries. I am doing this mostly for my own pleasure, partly to show off my collection, and partly to opinionate about other people's artistic achievements (which, wouldn't you know it, is always a great fun!). But a part of me, believe it or not, genuinely cares about what the motion pictures, animated features, Korean TV dramas and other media products could
really teach the young 'uns about not just the Asian societies, cultures, histories, but the human condition as we know it. 

So here is what I will do: in addition to my usual analysis and opinionating, I will incorporate into the reviews of these select films/animated features/whatnot my musings about their potentials as classroom teaching resources. Can we ("instructors") actually show hyper-violent, disturbing thrillers such as Violent Cop or Battle Royale in classroom settings, and if we do, what could students be able to "learn" from them? Can we assign any cinematic version of Chushingura in an early modern Japanese history course as a legitimate interpretation of the changing ethos of the 18th century Japan? These and other questions might be addressed, to the best of my ability, in these entries devoted to the Asian media products. 

Oh, and I decided to classify these reviews under the "Q Branch Academia" rubric, inspired by the Arrow Video's "Academy" line of classic titles. Pretentious, I know, but what can I say? Pretentiousness is a sine qua non for most of my "productive" activities. So onward I march!

The first title to be covered under this new "Q Branch Academia" category isViolent Cop, Kitano "Beat" Takeshi's feature-film directorial debut. Don't tell me you expected a Miyazaki Hayao title, eh? (Not to worry, a Studio Gibhli Blu Ray may yet be covered in these pages sooner than later, after all)  

2017년 1월 16일 월요일

My Favorite Twenty Blu Rays of 2016

It has been a couple of years since I have discontinued the year-end (more truthfully, the next-year-beginning) list of My Favorite DVDs and Blu Rays. That is, the English language list. The Korean language one, catered to the Korean-speaking consumers, cinephiles and fans of genre cinema, has been going on without break, although it always threatens to get delayed until at least mid-January of next year: those interested can find it here.  Well, it is now, as a matter of fact, mid-January of 2017, and I am right smack in the middle of perhaps one of the busiest Januarys I have ever experienced in my twenty-plus-year teaching career.  All signs indicate that I should just give it up and move on to my day job, but something about this year being 2017, coming at the heels of one of the most stupendously terrifying year, politically and intellectually speaking, made me extra defiant and foolhardy.  Since the politics of the world, and especially the United States, is so distressing and gloomy, I find it more necessary than usual to stick to the "meaningless" habits and commitments such as this list, just to remind myself that I am still here, and the ugly and dumb shit happening in the realm of politics has not affected (not yet, anyway) the amazing proliferation of classic, cult and genre films in the physical media.  The United States may go down the sinkhole with the orange lardball at its helm, but its appreciation of classic cinema worldwide certainly shows no sign of flagging. 

Industry wags have been predicting the death of optic discs for many years by now, at least more than a decade, and it is true that streaming and VOD services are now mainstream means through which most people in industrialized nations watch cinema.  And yet, this did not spell the death of DVDs and Blu Rays.  While Blu Rays, with its superior 1080p resolution and lossless soundtrack, have not replaced DVDs in the manner the latter have done with VHS tapes, contrary to general predictions, an increasing number of important and rare titles are coming out in Blu Rays, sometimes in "dual format" packages, which seems to be the industry's way of hedging the bets.  As a college professor who has insisted as early as 2007 all my laptops be equipped with a Blu Ray drive, I am quite happy with this development. 

Approximately 23 percent of the titles I have purchased in 2016 were DVDs.  Many of them are fascinating, unusual and/or academically significant titles, such as the classic Korean animation film Hong Kil-dong (Korean Film Archive), but the 2016 list in the end ended up being limited to Blu Rays.  Even then, it was a near-impossible task to limit the number of choices to twenty.  (I freely confess to cheating, of course, and including two items here that I had to leave out in the Korean-language list, and vice versa) 

A few words should be spent on the titles that did not make it into the list.  Foremost among them is the British Film Institute's Dissent & Disruption: Alan Clarke at the BBC (1969-1989), a truly awe-inspiring collection of seven Blu Ray and DVD discs that covers the two decades of the experimental, resolutely avant-garde and sometimes almost viciously political video/film works of Alan Clarke, covering all the imaginable genres and styles, from SF to literary dramas to Swiftian political satires to unnerving psychological thrillers to documentaries.  It is only not included in my selection for the entirely absurd reason-- I freely admit how absurd it is-- that it somehow felt inappropriate, or more honestly, inadequate, to term this package one of "My Favorite" titles of the last year.  There were also two powerhouse BR titles that I have purchased from Japan, Kurosawa Kiyoshi's Creepy and Tsukamoto Shin'ya's Fires on the Plain, that would have made the list in ordinary years, but there was a strong pull toward keeping the list only with "old" movies.  This also is a small, probably pointless, resistance against the Japanese practice of keeping their Blu Ray discs stubbornly domestically confined.  I am gonna say it again, they should learn from Koreans, and put English subtitles into the titles that they know are going to be bought by "foreigners."  I won't complain about the ridiculous prices they put on their discs: all I ask is, eigo no jimaku, irenasai.  OK? 

As the designation "My Favorite" should make it loudly clear, you, the reader, should not entertain any illusion that the following list encompasses in any way more than a tiny fraction of all the amazingly restored, beautifully packaged and/or unfairly ignored Blu Ray releases available out there. The days when a few savvy supercollectors could be on top of the most of the key releases of classical, cult and outré cinema in DVDs and Blu Rays out there, have been gone for a few years already. 

As Koreanfilm.org's own Jiro Hong aptly points out in his own year's end list, Arrow Video's Rainer Werner Fassbinder Collection, including twelve of his major films, some of which released for the first time in Blu Ray, beautifully transferred and chock full of supplements as expected, did not even make it in the 100 top releases aggregate list compiled by DVD Beaver.  That's not top 10 you just misread.  So, for anyone to come down and say, "Hey, why is Criterion's Naked Island not included in your list?" all I can do is, shrug.  I could give you a number of reasons but there are probably five other titles just as worthy that did not make it in my list.  And there are whole bunch out there that I am not even aware of.

Nevertheless, I am compelled to caution you one more time, this is not a "cinephile's" or even "film critic's" inventory of the Great Masterpiece Released in the Blu Ray Medium in 2016 at all. This list is as personal as it could get, so the actual "quality" or a film's status as a world classic or critic's darling has little to do with why it is included here.  And that's all the reason you will get for explaining why certain world classics appearing in Blu Ray for the first time-- Tarkovskys, Kieslowskys, Fassbinders-- are not included (although given my propensity, if Solaris had been out as a Blu Ray for the first time in 2016, it probably would have made it to the roster). 

Shall we then move onto the list?  The weekend is already half-gone and there are many tasks to be completed, so do forgive me for keep cracking the riding crop. One package, regardless of the actual number of discs, is treated as one title.  I have confined myself to the titles physically released in 2016.   

20. The Sect (1991, Shameless, Region B)

This Italian horror opus is one of those kinds of movies that tend to survive in your hazy memory as fragments of surreal imagery, simultaneously incongruously beautiful and bizarrely grotesque.  San Francisco's Le Video used to supply more than its share of grey market or legit VHS titles that, years later, makes you severely doubt the veracity of your movie memories, if not your sanity. The Sect, it turns out, is a fairly coherent and intriguing variation on the theme of Rosemary's Baby, but like Michele Soavi's companion piece, the ultra-Gothic The Church, seems to spring forth from a particular adolescent nightmare world, obsessed with clockwork mechanisms and snow globes, and overrun by the inscrutable Fallen Ones that sometimes assume the guise of avian creatures.  The Sect here represents "Did I really see that movie?" constituency of My Favorite items, masterminded by Shameless (not always reliable, but doing fine here) in an eye-pleasing, colorful HD transfer, with the options of Italian and English audio tracks, and a nice, relaxed interview (in English!) with director Soavi.

19.  Lone Wolf and Cub (1972- 1974, Criterion Collection, Region A)

I am frankly not a big fan of the original comic book series by Koike Kazuo and Kojima Goseki, due to its indulgence in borderline fascist aesthetics. The TV and cinematic adaptations, however, while hardly making any visible effort to "de-feudalize" characters, tend to humanize the anti-hero Ogami Itto (who comes off in the comics as a humorless hardass with disgustingly self-serving rationalization ready for every act of back-stabbing or sadistic killing, even overt exploitation of the vulnerability of his own infant son to kill his-- much more compassionate-- opponents) and his enemies, the Yagyu family, the heads of which had served as Tokugawa shogun's "fencing instructors." (I love this completely inappropriate English transliteration)  Perhaps not as comprehensive and ultimately rewarding as Criterion's Zatoichi collection, the six films from the Lone Wolf and Cub series are nonetheless starkly efficient, viciously entertaining programmers that should belong to the shelves of any self-respecting chanbara fan.  Criterion's package of course includes Shogun Assassin (1980), a cleverly edited compendium of violent highlights from the series with a hilariously "mythical" claptrap "plot" threaded through them.

18. Crimes of Passion (1984, Arrow Video, Region A & B)

I remember catching this ultra-challenging '80s concoction by Ken Russell in a local movie theater, with the predominantly male crowd expecting something in the order of Basic Instinct or Showgirl.  Needless to say, they were befuddled and disappointed.  I still to this day remain not quite sure if this outrageous and massively un-PC exegesis on the sexual habits and hypocrisies (really?) of '80s America is meant to be taken entirely seriously.  "China Blue" certainly remains Kathleen Turner's most daring role, and she is absolutely mesmerizing in it, which I guess is more than enough to recommend this title. Just do not expect something safely sleazy that you can snicker at while munching on the popcorns. Serious or not, this film still can deliver a sucker-punch to your solar plexus when least expected.

Arrow Video's aggressive, full-neon, visual-assault packaging is highly appropriate for this particular title.

17. 10 Rillington Place (1970, Columbia Pictures/Twilight Time, Region A)

 A film that should come with a warning label that states, "Do not watch on a gloomy day," 10 Rillington Place is one half of the serial killer-themed films directed by Richard Fleischer lodged in this list.  Aside from their dispassionate, non-sensationalistic approach to the sordid subject matters, there are little stylistic similarities between them.  This film, with some location photography done on the actual sites of serial murder, presents one of the most perplexingly monstrous serial murderers in cinema history, played by Richard Attenborough as a completely nondescript steamed bun of a man, cowardly lethal yet disgustingly believable in his easy dominance over the less educated and privileged members of the postwar British society.  However, the film's great emotional impact owes much to John Hurt's devastating performance as a less-than-intelligent husband of the murder victim, whose horrendous fate under the British legal system is unbearable to watch.

A film that deserves much greater reputation but is so effective that it is likely to elicit repulsion instead of admiration, Twilight Time's Blu Ray release of 10 Rillington Place is thankfully outfitted with highly informative commentaries by Hurt and Judy Geeson.

16. Try and Get Me! (1950, Paramount Pictures/Olive Films, Region A)

Try and Get Me!, an early effort by the American expatriate filmmaker Cy Endfield (Zulu, The Sands of Kalahari), beats out many competitions to climb up to this position. Lloyd Bridges is exceptional as the swaggering, sweating petty crook whose harebrained schemes ensnare an ordinary Joe Arthur Lovejoy in a series of gas station robberies, and finally a kidnap and a murder. Sharply observed characters run headlong toward a horrific disaster, propelled by mob mentality and corporate sensationalism in media reporting: the film has lost none of its searing intensity and unfortunately more relevant than ever today, where so many seemingly pine for "The Great America" wherein mob lynching was an accepted form of "justice." The fact that it is based on a true story, that had taken place in San Jose, only an hour's drive from where I currently reside, only adds to the chill.  

15. The Reflecting Skin (1990, Soda Pictures, Region B)

One of those famed fantasy/horror films impossible to catch in any decent form, The Reflecting Skin finally makes it into Blu Ray with its Andrew Wyeth-inspired, super-gorgeous cinematography intact.  The young Vigo Mortensen stars as a returning soldier slowly dying from radiation poisoning, and his young, imaginative brother is led to believe his condition results from vampirism practiced by a mentally unstable, perpetually sunglass-wearing widow next door.  Set in a highly artificial, golden-wheatfield-canvassed fantasyland resembling 1940s Idaho, The Reflecting Skin is like an enigmatic painting that vividly comes alive, both sadly transient and hypnotically beautiful.   

14. Female Prisoner Scorpion Complete Collection (1972-1974, Arrow Video, Region B)

Arrow Video's transfer of these films have been subject to some internet complaints and indeed, the color scheme may not reproduce the eye-popping primary color hues of, for instance, the old Image DVD edition of Female Prisoner #407: Scorpion, which was one of the early DVD titles drafted to showcase the dramatic difference between a DVD and a VHS tape in terms of color reproduction.  While the "blue-green" orientation is not as damaging as in the case of, say, Mario Bava's Whip and the Body, it is no doubt disturbing to some who suspect a form of revisionist color timing (whether this is indeed such an act of revisionism seems open to question at this juncture).  Nonetheless, this boxset, lovingly curating all four films in the stoic Kaji Meiko-strarring Toei exploitation series, is a good example of Arrow Video's commitment to the Japanese cult cinema.  The archival values of the supplementary documentaries and such are surprisingly high.  

13. Cutter's Way (1981, Twilight Time, Region A)

Having lived in California Bay Area now for twenty years makes me appreciate more and more the largely forgotten or still underappreciated films of '70s and '80s that depict the outwardly beach-party-happy, consumerist-lifestyle-indulging West Coast inhabitants wholly inadequately dealing with the post-Watergate, post-Viet Nam U.S. society and the death of the alleged '60s idealism.  The more U.S. history you study, the more this idealism looks like a thin layer of ideological makeup applied by the cultural elite to the faces reflecting the much more disturbing social realities. There are lessons in dem dang movies that the Millennials could do well to learn. 

Those who champion Cutter's Way tends towards an allegorical, social-critical reading of the film, as superbly represented by Julie Kirgo's liner notes for this Twilight Time release, but for me, the film's broken-spirit, sad ambience, immensely helped by Jack Nietzsche's near-experimental score, and anchored in beautiful performances of John Heard, Lisa Eichhorn, and Jeff Bridges, is what has always haunted me for years.  Now presented in what is doubtlessly the closest approximation to its theatrical experience in TT's HD Blu Ray, Cutter's Way is the film that deserves much better reputation, released in the era wherein Kramer vs. Kramer and Ordinary People were considered the apex of truthful American filmmaking.

12. The Night Visitor (1971, VCI Entertainment, Region A)

The hardscrabble DVD labels such as VCI and Mill Creek always deserve my support. No star labels such as Arrow or Criterion will ever release a little obscurity like The Night Visitor, a motion picture that I only recollect, albeit extremely vividly, as a black & white late night feature caught at the AFKN (American Forces Korean Network) channel.  What is it?  Well, it's a murder mystery, one of those works wherein a psychotic killer nonetheless builds a foolproof alibi for himself, and goes on to commit violent revenges against those who wronged him-- except that it is location-filmed in the snow-bound rural areas of Denmark, and stars Max Von Sydow, Liv Ullmann and Per Oscarsson. Trevor Howard plays a stalwart and prudent police inspector challenged by the seemingly unsolvable puzzle of Sydow's escape from a mental asylum built literally like a medieval castle.  Cold, vicious, suspenseful, complete with a nasty scorpion's sting of an ending: hooray for VCI for quenching the thirst of this old Korean movie fan in a most unexpected way.

11. The Boston Strangler (1968, Twilight Time, Region A)

The other half of the Richard Fleischer-directed serial killer film in the present list, The Boston Strangler is the best evidence for the claim that any avant-garde, experimental cinematic style or technique can be appropriated for the objectives of storytelling and character-building.  The techniques in this case are impressively mounted split-screen montages that also make full use out of the widescreen aspect ratio, as well as strikingly "subjective" visuals that re-tell stories of murder from the viewpoint of the premier suspect, Albert De Salvo (Tony Curtis, wearing a practically invisible fake nose).  It's the kind of dazzlingly cinematic piece that ironically could have been made only by Hollywood veterans.

10. Oldboy (2003, PLAIN Archive, Region A)

Despite its unshakable reputation as the most influential and best known work among the New Korean Cinema, Oldboy has been subject to numerous controversies regarding its representation in the DVD/Blu Ray media. PLAIN Archive's collector's edition comes as close as humanly possible at this juncture to have the final word in this regard, with the director- and cinematographer-approved remastered transfer and collecting practically all supplementary materials made in Korea about the film (PLAIN claims bonus features in totality clock at nine hours and thirty-seven minutes […]).

Perhaps the biggest attraction, aside from the mind-boggling packaging that hark back to the days of exquisite collector's edition DVDs South Korean labels used to release in early 2000s, is Old Days, a new documentary looking back at the making of the film as well as its worldwide impact, directed by Han Sun-hee, that incorporates extremely valuable raw footages.  And the whole thing is very English-friendly.

9. Flight of the Pheonix (1965, Eureka! Masters of Cinema, Region B)

Robert Aldrich's "adventure film" is one of those genres American male filmmakers excel at: a group of ornery individualists with divergent expertise nonetheless collaborating with one another to accomplish an impossible objective.  Except that, in the hands of Aldrich, there is just a threat of uncontrolled fury and psychosis as well as pitch-black cynicism lurking beneath its reassuringly masculine exterior.  James Stewart, Richard Attenborough, Hardy Kruger are all excellent but it is the sometimes surprising and heartbreaking fates of supporting characters-- Ernest Borgnine cracking under pressure, Peter Finch both tragically and stupidly remaining unaware that how much his inferior (Ronald Fraser) has come to resent military discipline-- that remain with you long after the film is over.  Gloomy and pessimistic about (masculine) human nature and at the same time a defiant celebration of the human capacity for greatness, Flight of the Pheonix receives a modestly colorful but sharply intelligent treatment from the British Eureka! Masters of Cinema. 

8. A Touch of Zen (1971, Criterion Collection, Region A)

Two Asian films included in this list are quite famous on their own, but again, few among those I know have actually seen these films in the best possible mode of presentation.  I was totally absorbed into this King Hu's masterpiece as the camera panoramically, poetically pans across the mountains and the rivers, as if to announce that this is the nature upon which we, puny men, struggle to leave our traces of inconsequential existence. "Spiritual" in the sense that is very easy to misconstrue, especially for those fans of wu xia pian who want their martial arts/kung fu films to remain supreme exaltations of bodily skills and nothing more or less, A Touch of Zen is beautifully curated by Criterion Collection, which indeed could spend some more time reaching out to Asian films outside of the established Japanese classics.

7. Belladonna of Sadness (1973, Cinelicious Pictures, Region A)

One of the biggest surprises of 2016, it is always with a measure of joy and trepidation that I welcome the release of classic Japanese animation. Produced under the adverse circumstances when Tezuka Osamu's Mushi Productions were going under, Belladonna of Sadness, based on a novel by historian Jules Michelet and based on boldly European-psychedelic illustrations of Fukai Kuni, is a shocking work of art: belligerently exploitative, offensive, archly beautiful, graceful and the emotions it arouses in its viewers are too complex to be parsed out in one viewing.

Warning: its animated visuals could be as transgressive as anything, say, Eastern European Extreme Cinema is producing today, so approach it with caution.  To give you just one example, when the protagonist Jeanne is raped, her body literally splits into two ragged pieces, like a red fruit bisected by a careless harvester: one of the most shocking visual renditions of sexual violence I have ever seen in my life.  Yet you can mount a very convincing argument that this is a proto-feminist work of art that single-handedly atones for all the objectifications of female body in the countless works of anime.  Sublime.

6. Carnival of Souls (1962, Criterion Collection, Region A)

One of those films that depicts with preternatural accuracy what it is like to be caught in an unending nightmare, this regional horror film by a group of talented industrial/education film specialists has not only survived the test of time but for me remains one of the essential reference points for visualization of the uncanny in the cinematic medium.  Lucky you who has never gazed your eyes on this little wondrous scarefest until now… for Criterion's Blu Ray is leaps and bounds superior to even their packed-to-the-gills DVD releases of some years ago.

5. Chimes at Midnight (1965, Criterion Collection, Region A) 

In retrospect, the most astonishing thing about Chimes at Midnight is the dismissive pooh-poohing it got from mainstream critics when Orson Welles released it as a cinematic adaptation of his 1960 theatrical play at Dublin, Ireland.  What were they thinking: that Wells's filming of John Gielgud's magnificent renderings of Henry IV was not cinematic enough?  You really don't need to know Shakespeare to appreciate the sheer cinematic razzle-dazzle that went into this production, highlighted by the frenetic battle sequence as brilliant as anything Wells filmed for The Citizen Kane. But in the end, you are haunted by the tears of joy mixed with heart-rending disappointment in the eyes of Falstaff, an enormous, literally and figuratively larger­-than-life being, as he is ultimately rejected by the newly crowned Henry V: a romantic soul who foresaw with absolute, tragic clarity that the modern world had no room for someone like him. 

Criterion's release of this film and the equally sorrowful adaptation of an Isak Dinesen story, The Immortal Story (1968), bring a closure of sorts to the rehabilitation of Welles's later filmography as brilliant works of art that they are.

4. A Brighter Summer Day (1991, Criterion Collection, Region A) 

          The oft-discussed but seldom-seen masterwork of Edward Yang, who tragically left us at the age of 59, which combines an epic scope of a great American multigenerational saga and painful intimacy of a Neorealist film essay in a thoroughly inimitable and inexplicable way, is finally available in its four hour entirety, without a bathroom break, resplendently restored to its golden twilight hues and awkwardly authentic, dubbed voices of child actors.  Those who expect something like In the Mood for Love going in will be shocked by how much the movie feels "American" and the way the honest emotions of the characters creep under your skin. 

3. The Lion in Winter (1968, Studio Canal, Region B)

I have always loved this devilishly intelligent costume drama but including this film in this list is also my way of protesting the ideologically puerile and disgustingly unimaginative ways Korean filmmakers and viewers treat their "historical dramas." Fusion sageuk my ass!  The country in which movies like Roaring Currents or Sado are considered "authentic" representation of "real" history will never, never, never be able to make something in the order of The Lion in Winter.  Someday, a talented Korean screenwriter will write a screenplay as witty, intelligent, modern and humanistic as James Goldman's for this film about, say, King Taejong's succession problem with three sons (one of which is eventually crowned as the Great King Sejong), and it will reach the screen without "revisions" by meddling, self-important ajeossi directors and producers.  Until then-- and I hope that happens before I die--, let me enjoy this masterwork of a historical drama, featuring supremely affecting, earthbound performances from Katharine Hepburn and Peter O'Toole.

2. Gilda (1946, Criterion Collection, Region A)

Primarily known for its iconic imagery of Rita Hayworth caught in the perfect pin-up moment, as the cascade of her hair gleaming in the lighting as she broadly smiles at the camera, Gilda for me is that one type of movie bubbling out of the pool every year to remind me that there is something fundamentally attractive about classic American films, especially films noirs, that defies explanation, analysis and rationalization.  In the last three years, I have come to see Glenn Ford, more than James Stewart or Gary Cooper, as the face of American Joe, and appreciate how complex and unarticulated emotions squirm under that beguilingly handsome countenance, ever so sweating slightly, with just a glint of craziness quickly suppressed in his eyes. Despite the studio-imposed "happy" ending, Gilda remains just as much a heavy, cinematic trip for me as a Tarkovsky film is. And that's the truth, Ruth.

1. Women in Love (1969, British Film Institute, Region B)

And Gilda would have taken the position of the number one Blu Ray title of 2016, even against the pressures exerted by the cinematic giants such as Chimes at Midnight, A Brighter Summer Day and The Lion in Winter, except that my heart was stolen by this Ken Russell adaptation of the D.H. Lawrence novel.  And yes, I shamefully confess, watching this Blu Ray was the first time I have seen this film.

Words literally fail me in trying to describe why I find this movie stabbing my guts and wrapping itself around my heart like no other motion picture I have seen last year, except to note that all pre-digested "information" about the film was utterly useless when confronted with the real thing.  Even that notorious all-nude wrestling scene between Alan Bates and Oliver Reed was… so amazing.  It was massively erotic, beyond belief, yes.  And also it was… joyous: gay, in the all possible meanings of the word.  My lord, the entire movie was like that.   And Glenda Jackson… why do these British actresses, Vanessa Redgrave, and now her, seem to be so effortlessly traversing in the realm of Godhood?

And so comes to a close My Favorite Blu Rays of 2016. Here's kudos to all the great titles that I have missed out, watched but did not discuss and watched and loved but just had to drop from the list for utterly arbitrary reasons, and the labels-- Criterion, Arrow, Twilight Time, Shout Factory, BFI, Kino Lorber, Olive Films, VCI, Shameless, Synapse, Vinegar Syndrome, Severin-- who keep churning them out year after year. Happy New Year to all of you, and you folks out there who share my taste, my love for the classic cinema of all types!  Happy Blu Ray and DVD hunting in the Year of the Rooster, and hopefully I will be back in January 2018 with another bountiful list!