The Grey: Blu-ray
In the frequently frightening man-vs.-nature thriller, “The Grey,” director Joe Carnahan and co-writer Ian Mackenzie Jeffers resurrect old demons and reignite ancient fears of mankind’s impotence against the pack mentality of less-evolved species … as if wolves didn’t already have enough problems in the Darwinian universe. There are some places humans simply aren’t meant to inhabit and, as the movie suggests, the sub-Arctic wilderness is one of them. So, when a small group of oil workers miraculously survive a fiery plane crash on the way home to Anchorage, they’re pitted against elements no man is prepared to endure without weapons, thick layers of fur and a good reason to be there. Ottway (Liam Neeson) knows this better than most of the other guys who avoided death in the crash. As a hunter who collects a bounty for every wolf he keeps from trespassing in the oil camp, Ottway understands his prey better than those working the rigs and haunting the bars. He also knows how to avoid freezing while stalking a wolf and being ambushed by its allies. Robbed of his rifle and down-filled clothing, Ottway must convince the motley crew of reprobates of the necessity of allowing him to become the alpha-male in a pack dedicated to one thing: survival. These are not men who welcome each other’s company in the best of times, let alone be required to take orders from a stranger. Indeed, one of the reasons they’ve come to Alaska is to escape the demands and restraints of polite society. Some agree to cooperate, while others must be introduced to the sole alternative. It doesn’t take long for wolves to find them and make their displeasure known. To escape white-out conditions on the frozen lake where the plane crashed, they decide to make a beeline to the treeline, where they might find shelter and wood for a fire. As is their nature, the wolves lay back in anticipation of a wounded straggler separating himself from the herd, where he’ll be vulnerable to attack and defenseless against the pack. After managing to kill a few of their attackers and reach the forest, Ottway senses that they’ve stumbled into a situation where aggressive young males would like nothing better than to unseat the reigning leader of the pack. For this to happen, though, the winner would be forced to prove his strength, cunning and ferocious desire to dominate the others. During the next 100 minutes, or so, the humans and the wolves engage in something resembling a war of attrition, with Mother Nature and natural terrain favoring the local team. No one need be shocked to learn that the final battle will be waged between Ottway and the most determined candidate for the position of alpha male. In life, as in Hollywood, such things are pre-ordained. Between the spectacular natural settings (Alberta and British Columbia for Alaska) and CGI-enhanced predators, however, there’s no shortage of thrills and chills leading up to the exciting climax.

Credit Carnahan for navigating past the shoals of a screenplay that demands a suspension of disbelief so great “The Grey,” it sometimes makes “True Blood” look like a documentary about the prevalence of shape-shifting in domesticated werewolves. It’s difficult, for example, to ignore the absence of rescue teams attempting to locate survivors of the crash or the presence of a pack of wolves that might normally be expected to be trailing migrating caribou. The robustness of the animals doesn’t square with the lack of sustenance to found in the frozen surrounding. The hours of sunshine available to the survivors would suggest, as well, that the writers skipped a chapter or two in their high school geography textbook. An attempt to escape being trapped on the edge of a cliff is so poorly rendered that its execution and partial success inadvertently reveal its green-screen origins. Neither does Ottway turn into a Popsicle after jumping into an ice-encrusted river to save a buddy from drowning. The movie’s worst sin, though, is in ignoring everything we learned about sub-Arctic wolves in Carroll Ballard’s wonderful outdoors adventure “Never Cry Wolf” – among other fine documentaries and books — and ascribing behavior to them that isn’t found in nature. While the final scene neatly contextualizes the writers’ overriding hunter-becomes-the-prey conceit, it does so only after turning the long-demonized beasts into something out of a 1930s Universal horror classic. Neeson, though, is extremely credible as the existential bounty hunter, who, like the other survivors, is haunted by memories of his lost family and a life that got sidetracked along the way to Alaska. Dallas Roberts (“The L Word”), Dermot Mulroney (“Lovely & Amazing”) and Frank Grillo (“Warrior”) are among the cast members who shine in the time allotted them on screen. Carnahan and editors Roger Barton and Jason Hellmann provide commentary on the Blu-ray and there are 22 minutes of deleted scenes. – Gary Dretzka

Golf in the Kingdom
Writer/director Susan Streitfeld has made two feature films in the last 16 years: the aptly titled sexual psychodrama “Female Perversions” and this overly talky and somewhat convoluted adaptation of Michael Murphy’s contemplative 1972 novel, “Golf in the Kingdom.” If the two movies have anything in common, it might be that Murphy set his book at Scotland’s mythical Links of Burningbush and the star of “Female Perversions,” Tilda Swinton,” is a product of the same nation. Considering that “Golf in the Kingdom” was shot on location at Oregon’s exclusive Bandon Dunes Golf Resort … well, even that highly tenuous connection doesn’t exist. Like the novel, Streitfeld’s barely released film describes what happens when a young American philosophy student turns left at London, on his way to India in search of enlightenment. Instead, he finds it at an enchanted seaside links course upon which the residents of Brigadoon might have played. Mason Gamble (“Dennis the Menace,” Rushmore”) plays the cocky young golfer, who arrives at the celebrated course full of spit and vinegar and leaves a day later humbled by the experience. Conveniently, Murphy is paired with the course’s loopy golf pro, Shivas Irons (David O’Hara, of “The Tudors”), and a caddie toting a bag full of mystical tricks. When he isn’t playing the Shakespearian fool, Irons dispenses wisdom about the game that makes it sound as if it were invented by a Zen monk, instead of a bunch of bored soldiers and farmers at Saint Andrews. He also invites Murphy to join him on a midnight snipe hunt, during which they share a bottle of single-malt and search for a hermit living among the course’s craggy cliffs, dense thickets and winding ravines. Off the course, Irons and some of his other friends wax philosophic about how the game’s lessons apply to everything from soup to nuts to sex. “Golf in the Kingdom” is for golfers who find meaning in the game deeper than the rush that comes from making a birdie or kicking their ball to a more advantageous lie without getting caught. Many of the same musings apply to the game of baseball, especially when viewed from the grandstands at Wrigley Field or Fenway Park. Knowing, going in, that it’s impossible to achieve perfection in golf – unlike, say, bowling and baseball – writers must content themselves with explaining  how grown men and women can justify wasting four or five hours of their lives on a pursuit that demands so much devotion, yet is so damned frustrating, even for those who make a living from the game? The poetry in their words often belies the banality of the sport’s most prominent practitioners. The Shivas Irons of the world are few and very far between. There’s nothing wrong, however, with the magnificent scenery and a spirited cast that also includes Malcolm McDowell, Frances Fisher, Julian Sands, Joanne Whalley, Tony Curran, Catherine Kellner and Jim Turner. – Gary Dretzka

Norwegian Wood
Normally, it wouldn’t be unusual for a filmmaker of any ethnic or cultural background to choose a Beatles song for the title of his or her movie. “Norwegian Wood,” however, is a particularly significant track in the band’s repertoire, both for its enigmatic Lennon-McCartney lyrics and George Harrison’s choice of the sitar as a lead instrument. That it was based on an affair between Lennon and a friend’s wife also set it apart from the “yeah, yeah, yeah … I wanna hold your hand” bunch. Set in Japan, amid the tumult and promise of the 1960s, Anh Dung Tran’s adaptation of Haruki Murakami’s best-selling novel captures the mystery and exoticism of the Beatles’ “Norwegian Wood,” while also remaining true to the book’s bittersweet romanticism. As rendered by cinematographer  Mark Lee Ping-bin (“In the Mood for Love,” “Millennium Mambo”), it may be one of the most sumptuously beautiful movies you’ll see this year on DVD – sadly, not released here on Blu-ray – or in theaters, as well.

How significant is it that the Japanese-backed production was entrusted to a Vietnamese director (“Scent of the Green Papaya”), now living in Paris, and a Taiwanese cinematographer? As significant, I think, as any fusion of tastes experienced at a pan-Asian restaurant in that city of uncommonly gifted chefs from outside France. Why bother parsing the flavors, though, when it’s the whole of the meal that matters?

In “Norwegian Wood,” we’re introduced first to longtime friends Toru (Kenichi Matsuyama), Naoko (Rinko Kikuchi) and Kisuki (Kengo Kora), whose platonic bond recalls Francois Truffaut’s “Jules and Jim” and Paul Mazursky’s “Willie & Phil.” Too soon, however, Kisuki commits suicide, leaving the other two to mourn deeply and separately ponder the origins of such despair. Several years later, Toru and Naoko enjoy a joyous, if unexpected reunion. After a failed attempt at a sexual liaison, initiated by the shy and brittle Naoko, she abruptly disappears from Toru’s life again, leaving him to his studies amid the chaos of almost daily clashes between students and police. Toru finds relief in the company of fellow student Midori (Dallas-born newcomer, Kiko Mizuhara), who’s as self-confident and outgoing as Naoko is withdrawn and fragile. The possibility of a longterm relationship between them, however promising, is thwarted by Midori’s emotional commitment to another man. In due time, Toru receives a letter from Naoko, asking him to visit her in at a secluded sanitarium in Japan’s lush and bountiful highlands. She’s suffered a nervous breakdown after her brief liaison with Toru and may or may not be ready to reclaim her sanity. Slowly, the facts of her relationship with Kisuki are revealed, as are several other facets of her psychological makeup. There’s no reason to go into any greater depth here. Suffice to say that the new triangle tests the strength of Toru’s loyalty and heart as greatly as the previous one. Curious viewers are advised to remember the lyrics, “I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me” and the song’s original title, “This Bird Has Flown.” The DVD adds a very decent making-of featurette, filmed on location and in the studio. – Gary Dretzka

We Were Here: The AIDS Years in San Francisco
My Perestroika
The War: Ken Burns
Something Ventured
Although many fine documentaries and feature films have been made about the AIDS epidemic, “We Were Here: The AIDS Years in San Francisco” marks something of a turning point, in that the eyes of its creators are set as much on the future as in the past. Twenty years ago, many gay men feared there might not be a future from which to reflect upon the struggles of the past. As the tide has turned on the possibility of a cure or preventative medicine, members of the LGBT community have been allowed the luxury of turning their attention to such issues as same-sex marriage and protection from discrimination and bullying. That’s an especially useful and welcome change, given the need to combat the Hitlerian rhetoric being employed by Republican candidates and religious bigots to attract the lowest common denominator of voters. Like Claude Lanzmann’s highly influential 1985 Holocaust documentary “Shoah,” “We Were Here” is informed by interviews with a half-dozen men who survived the 20-plus-years scourge and women who worked to comfort the afflicted in San Francisco’s Castro district. Directed by David Weissman and Bill Weber (“The Cockettes”), it chronicles the epidemic’s shocking impact on one neighborhood, whose plight was ignored by politicians, used as rhetorical fodder by clergy and for which there still exists no cure. In addition to describing the fear and uncertainty that comes from knowing something mysterious is causing neighbors, friends and lovers to wither and die before their eyes, those interviewed explain how the community put aside its differences and rallied not only to support the victims but also demand action from politicians and pharmaceutical interests. Many, if not most residents of the Castro had been disowned by their relatives, after all, and it became necessary for new support networks to be formed. Fortunately, the political activity that followed in the wake of Harvey Milk’s assassination caused networks to be formed ahead of the plague years and revelation that unprotected sexual activity exacerbated the spread of the disease. Because the witnesses all have lost dozens of friends, lovers, relatives, patients and co-workers, their stories necessarily are heartbreaking. If there are tears shed in “We Were Here,” though, they finally are overshadowed by the pride and optimism that comes from surviving a war, even one that’s not yet been completed. The people we meet speak eloquently for the “lost generation” of gay men, everywhere, whose dreams and promise were extinguished so quickly and cruelly. Finally, what’s left is promise for the future and an insistence that the dead not be forgotten or ignored by those who weren’t even born when the horror was replaced by hope.

A similar methodology is employed in Robin Hessman’s highly illuminating “My Perestroika,” during which a half-dozen Soviet-era baby boomers attempt to convey what it was like to have everything they’ve known in life change overnight, with the reforms instituted by Mikhail Gorbachev and other forward-thinking members of the Communist Party. These now-middle-age men and women remember growing up in a state quite different than the one portrayed by American politicians, industrialists and militarists, who couldn’t tolerate a world in which more than one economic ideology prevailed. Soviet leaders were no less inflexible in their beliefs about capitalism and the limitations of western-style democracies. They were, however, able to make a convincing case to Soviet citizens that their ethnically and culturally diverse country, where the state ensured full employment and something resembling equal opportunity, was superior to one in which segregation was legal, joblessness was acceptable and poverty was ignored. In “My Perestroika,” these well-educated and gainfully employed Russians — raised at a time when the last of the hardened veterans of World War II were losing their grip on the Politburo – admit to being downright nostalgic for a time when school, sports, rallies, vacations and camp were the only thing that mattered. Yes, Soviet schoolchildren were mindful of the potential for nuclear war. Instead of being advised merely to “duck and cover,” however, they’re shown donning gas masks, digging trenches and visiting shelters infinitely more intricate and safe than the ones permitted Americans not working for the government. No matter, they probably would have fried with the rest of us. Clearly, too, perestroika and glasnost didn’t cure all of the country’s ills or prevent some of the horrors of capitalism from visiting citizens. Just as in every country that’s come to embrace free-market economics, the skyline of Moscow is littered with billboards and neon-lit logo. Fast-food restaurants have corrupted the native palette and chain stores have pushed traditional shops and merchants to the fringes of town. As a pair of middle-class teachers reminisces, their son is glued to the TV set watching “South Park,” while also playing video games on his hand-held computer. A close friend recalls forming a punk-rock band dedicated to condemning both imperialism and Soviet intransigence on promoting individual freedoms and cultural diversity. He quit after other founding members found higher-paying gigs in banks and other new businesses, yet continued to rail against conformity and capitalism in their music. A former classmate lives in the same apartment her parents once occupied and where she was raised, alongside a dozen relatives. She resides there now, with her sister and their two children, and it still looks small. Nevertheless, she seems happy to be in the same neighborhood of high-rise residences where she grew up. Another man has opened a chic shirts-and-ties boutique, but has trouble convincing his employees that they should adhere to a dress code that requires them to wear the company’s apparel. Above all, the people we meet fear that lessons learned in the past are being lost on their kids and older Russians who have begun to yearn for Soviet-style security, as manifest by possible President-for-life Vladimir Putin. Instead of blaming the system, they’ve become as intolerant of immigrants as any politician in Arizona. “My Perestroika” is just under 90 minutes, but the bonus package adds more than an hour of extended interviews, archival material and discussions of issues brought up in the film. It’s remarkable how similar these Russians are to their American counterparts, who were raised at the same time.

Shown on PBS in 2007 and released previously on DVD, Ken Burns’ epic documentary eschews the case-by-case, day-by-day, mile-by-mile approach to chronicling the history of World War II, in favor of describing how it impacted the lives of everyday Americans and average towns across the country. Burns doesn’t attempt to convince anyone that the men and women who served the Allies’ cause represented our “Greatest Generation,” as some would like us to accept as Gospel. The people we meet here, along with most of those who served, have continually refused to present themselves as anything other than citizens who answered Uncle Sam’s call to duty. Even as these men and women were changed by war, so too were their hometowns: Waterbury, Connecticut; Mobile, Alabama; Luverne, Minnesota; and Sacramento, California. Burns and co-director Lynn Novick build on a template created for other of the team’s popular documentaries. Stories are told through individual testimony, letters, public records, cultural artifacts and, of course, archival film and newsreel footage and photographs. Celebrities contribute their voices to the narrative, without stealing any of the thunder of the people they represent. No matter how many movies and documentaries we’ve seen about the war and the people who participated in it, Burns’ seven-part, 15-hour “The War” adds something fresh and compelling to our understanding of the time and ourselves. Not surprisingly, the Blu-ray presentation is excellent, adding audio and video clarity to what already was a handsome package. The set includes a 36-minute making-of featurette, 45 minutes of deleted scenes, Burns and commentaries on two episodes and nearly an hour’s worth of bonus interviews.

There are at two different forms of capitalism practiced in the United States. One of them demands that the institutions that control the money supply be nourished and protected by the federal government, even when they make horrendously bad decisions, lose billions of investor dollars and ignore laws instituted to protect us all. The other allows investors to assume all of the risks of entrepreneurial invention and, if things work in their favor, reap the rewards. If not, tough bananas. Sometimes, a sharp fellow like the media-beatified Steve Jobs — a central figure in “Something Ventured” – is able to work the system in such a way that he not only benefits mightily from the risks taken by venture capitalists, but also enjoys the protection of government when he decides he doesn’t want to pay taxes and insists on subcontracting work to companies that enslave workers in China. Instead of lionizing the idiosyncratic inventors and visionaries, most of whom ended up being fired after their companies went public, Dan Geller and Dayna Goldfine’s documentary focuses on the men – almost exclusively – who backed the ideas of Silicon Valley entrepreneurs either with their own money or that of other risk-takers. Typically, the banking and investment establishment has been loath to fund anything that doesn’t come with a sound and proven business plan, a conservative board of directors and a guarantee of profits according to an established timeline. Anyone without an Ivy League education and solid track record need not apply. With the 1970s came a new breed of inventors, whose idea of a good time was nerding out in a laboratory and creating cool new toys for the enjoyment of their friends and fellow geeks. If any of them owned a Brooks Brothers suit, it would have been handed down to them by a grandfather and left in the closet awaiting his funeral. Only a handful of investors saw promise in their inventions or could explain them to their buddies over lunch. By rolling the dice on such aspiring interests as Intel, Apple, Cisco, Atari, Genentech and Tandem, the more visionary among them reaped immense rewards. Not all of the start-ups would pan out, of course, but the ones that did would turn the heads of the eastern establishment toward Silicon Valley and change the course of Wall Street history. Inevitably, perhaps, so much money was being poured into projects doomed to failure that it precipitated an economic disaster in the Bay Area that presaged the current national malaise. The venture capitalists we meet in “Something Ventured” clearly have survived those catastrophes and with their wallets and senses of humor intact. As always, what’s most fascinating is learning how little was invested in companies that today seem to have been no-brainers.  “Something Ventured” is especially relevant in light of Facebook – a company built on chatter and pictures of pet dogs and cats – going public at what promises to be a record haul. – Gary Dretzka

Road Trip: UNR8D
Nine years before “The Hangover” sent Todd Phillips’ stock soaring into the stratosphere, he caught the attention of Hollywood studio executives with the gross-out, campus-slacker comedy “Road Trip.” That’s what happens when a $15-million first movie returns $68.5 million at the domestic box office. Three years later, he would return to college with the similarly themed and equally successful “Old School.” Then, in short order, came “Starsky & Hutch,” “School for Scoundrels,” “The Hangover,” “Due Date” and “Hangover II,” with a third entry in the franchise scheduled for 2013. Along the way, Phillips even had time to collaborate on “Borat.” Not all of the comedies became blockbusters, but the ones that did were the cinematic equivalent of grand-slam home runs. “Road Trip: UNR8D” arrives on Blu-ray as a Best Buy exclusive, with an alternative “R8D” version (60 more seconds of topless-coed hilarity, I’m guessing); the featurette, ‘Ever Been on a Road Trip?”; deleted scenes; and an Eels music video, “Mr. E’s Beautiful Blues.”

The story involves a group of college guys who are required to make a road trip from New York to Texas after a roommate of Breckin Meyer’s character sends his girlfriend a video cassette in which he allows himself to be seduced by a blond hottie (Amy Smart). Naturally, the only vehicle available to them is owned by the class geek (D.J. Qualls, in his breakthrough role), who insists he be allowed to join them on the trek. Along the way, the students encounter crazy hillbillies, swinging senior citizens, a frat house full of doubtful black brothers and a gleefully sadistic nurse at a sperm bank. Tom Green, front and center on the cover of the DVD, is left behind to entertain a group of high school seniors and their parents with his recollections of the epic road trip, seemingly as it’s happening. There are many undeniably funny moments in “UNR8D,” even if the laughs-per-scene ratio will vary according to the viewer’s age, maturity and sobriety. Nothing new there, however. – Gary Dretzka

Walking Tall Trilogy: Blu-ray
While not technically a vigilante movie, “Walking Tall” differs from such nearly contemporaneous crime/revenge/vigilante dramas as “Dirty Harry,” “Magnum Force,” “Straw Dogs,” “Billy Jack,” “Death Wish” and “Taxi Driver” in that it was based on an actual, larger-than-life Tennessee lawman. Knowing this going into the theater, 1973 audiences reportedly erupted into applause and standing ovations whenever Sheriff Buford Pusser went medieval on local gangsters and corrupt public officials with a fence post. Even 40 years later, the events detailed in “Walking Tall” are disputed and debated by locals who remember both Pusser and the production. At 6-foot-3, Joe Don Baker was extremely credible as the 6-foot-6 star athlete and ex-marine. Not only did he look as if he might have been carved from an oak tree, Baker was large enough to wield such a weapon without it looking as if it were made of rubber. In the sequels also included in “Walking Tall Trilogy” and subsequent TV series, Pusser was played by the 6-foot-4 ex-Marine, Bo Svenson. (The lawman was asked to play himself in the first sequel, but he died in a car accident on the day he signed with Bing Crosby Productions. Considering the modest $500,000 budget, veteran director Phil Karlson’s version of the legend of Buford Pusser holds up pretty well as an action picture and biopic of a genuine American hero. There are times when it resembles an episode of “The Dukes of Hazzard,” but audiences lapped it up to the tune of $23 million in domestic box-office revenues. “Walking Tall Part II” picks up the story after the murder of Pusser’s wife (Elizabeth Hartman) at the hands of members of the notorious State Line Mob. “Final Chapter: Walking Tall” covers the period between Pusser being voted out of office and losing his life in the accident, the cause of which is left ambiguous. The 2004 “Walking Tall,” starring Dwayne Johnson, borrowed the facts of the original but changed the name and characteristics of the protagonist. The DVD set comes with a vintage featurette and trailers. – Gary Dretzka

Father of the Bride: 20^th Anniversary Edition/Father of the Bride, Part II: Blu-ray
Bringing Down the House: 10th Anniversary Edition: Blu-ray
If “Father of the Bride” and “Father of the Bride, Part II” show Steve Martin working at or near the top of his game, “Bringing Down the House” locates the onetime A-lister at the point in his career when he became known for recycling time-worn shtick and easily predictable physical humor. (His spotlight dance with Queen Latifah in “BDTH” is only a slight variation on the ones he performed decades earlier in his numerous “SNL” appearances.)  All three movies did well at the box office, but Martin clearly wasn’t being offered – or he wasn’t accepting – roles that deviated from those he played in a dozen previous comedies. In any case, by 2003, Martin seemed far more interested in writing essays, plays and novels, playing banjo and raising his profile in the art world than seeking out better material in the movies. He’d already paid for the privilege many times over, so good for him. “Father of the Bride” and “Father of the Bride Part II” are updated versions of “Father of the Bride” and “Father’s Little Dividend,” which were written by Albert Hackett and Francis Goodrich, directed by Vincente Minnelli and starred Spencer Tracy, Joan Bennett and Elizabeth Taylor. The 1950 “Father of the Bride” was nominated for Oscars in the Best Picture, Best Writer and Best Actor categories. Likewise, the 1991 and 1995 remakes were directed by Charles Shyer, written by Shyer and Nancy Meyers, and starred Martin, Diane Keaton and Kimberly Williams, although Martin Short stole the show in both pictures. Comparing the DVD versions of both the originals and updates is an exercise I recommend to fans of the actors.

Adam Shankman’s “Bringing Down the House” benefits from being able to appeal to crossover audiences not fussy about the gags in which Martin and Eugene Levy (also in both “FOTB” releases) are required to perform as if their characters know how actual African-American gangstas might act. The stereotypical portrayals of the black characters, including co-star Queen Latifah, weren’t terribly funny in 2003 and, nine years later, appear to have been created by someone whose only contact with people of color is through 1970s sitcoms. No matter how lame Jason Filardi’s script still feels, “BDTH” is Queen Latifah’s baby and she runs with it. A consummate professional, Martin keeps up with her as well as he can, but her youth and ambition allow her to dominate most of the scenes they share. Martin plays a lawyer whose devotion to duty has caused his wife and children to consider him a lost cause. He and Latifah connect in an Internet chatroom devoted to discussions of legal issues. She allows him to confuse her with a blond in a photograph attached to her contributions and, of course, he looking for someone to match up to his wife’s new boyfriend. He’s shocked to realize Latifah’s not only black but also a suspect in a bank robbery. Latifah works the homegirl angle to perfection, coercing Martin into letting her crash at his expensive home and accepting her legal case. Naturally, his nearest and seemingly only neighbor (Betty White) is appalled by the presence of Negroes in their neighborhood. Things get even more testy when Latifah invites half of the ’hood to a pool party.  The lawyer’s kids take an immediate liking to her, though, and this proves to be the turning point in their relationship. Joan Plowright has a few enjoyable moments as an onerous bigot, as does Levy, whose character falls in love with Latifah’s booty. Both Blu-ray editions come with commentary, deleted scene and funny bits featuring Levy, Short and Martin. – Gary Dretzka

Hell on Wheels: The Complete First Season: Blu-ray
PBS: Titanic & Me
PBS: Seven Wonders of the Buddhist World
History: The Universe: The Complete Season Six: Blu-ray
History: Top Shot: The Gauntlet
Any fans of HBO’s “Deadwood” who haven’t already checked out AMC’s “Hell on Wheels” are doing themselves a huge disservice. The same goes for folks who love traditional and/or revisionist Westerns. Until last week, I hadn’t watched more than a few minutes of “Hell on Wheels,” either. Once hooked, though, I spent the next 450 minutes of my life catching up with the series.  It’s that good. Although it doesn’t contain any of the artistically rendered cursing, flesh-eating pigs and topless hookers that made “Deadwood” such a unique experience, “Hell on Wheels” is every bit as gritty, violent and angry. In the series’ first stanza, the writers focused as much on the intrigue that surrounded the early days of the construction of the Transcontinental Railroad as the emotional tomult of a former Confederate soldier (Anson Mount) determined to avenge the murder of his wife by Union soldiers. Colm Meaney plays the unethical tycoon willing to break any law in pursuit of his dream to connect his line’s tracks to those of the Union Pacific, thus making him richer and more powerful than only a handful of other American. Mount’s Johnny Reb soldier, farmer and onetime slave owner forms an unlikely and decidedly uneasy alliance with a freed slave (the Chicago rapper, Common) while working in close proximity to each other on the tracks. Wes Studi stands tall as a Cheyenne chief, with one son raising hell as a dog soldier and another in the camp of the workers preaching the gospel. Among the other key characters are a slightly mad, if inarguably devout preacher (Tom Noonan), who gave up his family to ride with abolitionist John Brown; the pretty blond wife (Dominique McElligott) of a surveyor killed in an attack by dog soldiers, in possession of his precious maps; a prostitute (Robin McLeavy) whose facial tattoos mark her as a former Indian captive and target for ridicule; and a Scandinavian road boss (Christopher Heyerdahl), whose high forehead and cold eyes recall Doctor Frankenstein’s monster. Myriad other characters pass through the work camp when needed, but these are the ones whose stories are laced through the series. The cast is uniformly good – if mostly unwashed — and the Alberta setting provides a reasonable facsimile of Kansas and Missouri in the post-Civil War era. The Blu-ray adds a half-dozen excellent making-of featurettes.

I’m already on record, saying, “Enough, already, with the Titanic.” If I see one more ship sink on screen in the next 10 years, it could inspire me to spray-paint something blasphemous on the side of the Queen Mary, berthed in Long Beach. Naturally, along comes the PBS documentary, “Titanic & Me,” to test my resolve. Blessedly, the producers of this fine documentary assumed, as well, that everything we need to know about that the dreadful night on the North Atlantic has already been revealed, ad nausea, and they would have to come up with something new to justify its existence. It does so by remaining mostly on dry land, exploring the impact of the disaster on folks who didn’t make the ill-fated trip. Among other things, “Titanic & Me” reminds us of the ship’s first casualties, among the labor force that built the great ship. Remarkably, the ledger includes a man who was killed as the Titanic was lowered into the sea from dry dock. Records show just how much – or, more specifically, how little – these men were worth to the company. It’s also shocking to learn how the disaster impacted on one city, Portsmouth, where so many crew members lived and raised their families. Virtually, the entire adult male population went missing. When he was hired to run the most-exclusive restaurant on the ship, a much-celebrated Italian-born restaurateur brought his entire kitchen and wait staff from London to join him in the enterprise. They all died, too.

In PBS’ compelling religious travelogue, “Seven Wonders of the Buddhist World,” we join British historian Bettany Hughes as she crisscrosses the globe, visiting the most important shrines, statues and landmarks of Buddhism. She accomplishes this feat, wearing the same clothes and shoes she had on in Episode One. I’m not kidding. The series begins at India’s Mahabodhi Temple, where Siddhartha Gautama achieved enlightenment under the world’s most famous fig tree. It was from this spot that the philosophy/religion spread to cities throughout the subcontinent and Asia, and, hundreds of years later, across the ocean to the Americas. Hughes spends much time here introducing western viewers to Buddhism’s roots and belief system. At Nepal’s Boudhanath Stupa, she examines the concept of dharma, then, at the Temple of the Tooth in Sri Lanka, she turns to the concept of karma. (Yes, a precious tooth is enshrined therein.) Reincarnation and meditation are explored at Thailand’s Wat Pho Temple and Cambodia’s Angkor Wat, respectively. A stop at Hong Kong’s Giant Buddha inspires a discussion of Zen. Nirvana is reserved for Los Angeles’ Hsi Lai Temple in Los Angeles. The shrines are magnificently designed and maintained, even the complex at Angkor Wat, which was nearly destroyed by Khmer Rouge fighters.

When God created the heavens and Earth, I suspect he already had digital technology and hi-def imagery in mind. As evidence, I present the pictures of deep-space phenomena rendered by computers linked to the Hubble Space Telescope. Words aren’t adequate to describe the majesty of the images we’ve already been shown, and, one suspects, many surprises lie ahead. As such, it’s always good news when History releases another complete-season package of “The Universe” on Blu-ray. Not only do pictures from space sparkle when viewed in hi-def, but the CGI representations also look terrific. The 14 episode titles for “Universe: The Complete Season Six” read like notes from a development meeting at Michael Bay’s office. Among them are “Catastrophes That Changed the Planets,” “Nemesis: The Sun’s Evil Twin,” “Crash Landing on Mars,” “Worst Days on Planet Earth,” “UFOs: The Real Deal” and “Ride the Comet.” Physicists and theologians also have been recruited to discuss where God fits into the universe, as described in the series’ six years.

If Annie Oakley were alive today, besides being 152 years old, she’d probably be a contestant on History’s “Top Shot.” America’s most famous sharpshooter was still knocking down clay pigeons in her 60s, before and after she and her marksman husband Francis E. Butler were involved in a serious automobile accident. Although she was known primarily for her skills with firearms, she probably wouldn’t have any problem mastering the vast array of weapons and projectiles featured on “Top Shot.” In the latest DVD release, “The Gauntlet,” a national revolver champion, two homeland security agents, a former Navy SEAL, firearms instructors, a restaurant owner and a camp director competed for a $100,000 prize. In addition to their weapons of choice, they were assigned state-of-the-art firearms, rocks, Gatling and Hotchkiss Mountain Guns and other unusual devices. The DVD set includes all 12 episodes from Season Three on four discs, plus contestant bios, bonus footage, “Anatomy of a Shot,” a weapons rundown and “Behind the Bullet.”– Gary Dretzka

42nd Street Pete’s 8mm Madness
Sex on the Sunset Strip: Grindhouse Triple Feature
Euro-Grindhouse Double Feature: I, A Woman Part 2 / The Daughter: I, A Woman Part 3
While I can’t begin to imagine how the story of the late porn star Linda Lovelace will translate into a mainstream movie, starring Amanda Seyfried and several other top stars, I believe that it’s in the right hands and won’t exploit her tragic life. If directors Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman (“Howl,” “The Celluloid Closet”), working off a script by Andy Bellin (“Trust”), do manage to pull it off, it will be fun to watch entertainment reporters attempting to explain what made Lovelace more worthy of a biopic than, say, such contemporaries as Seka, Veronica Hart, Vanessa del Rio, Annette Haven and Gloria Leonard. These women not only were prettier than Lovelace and demonstrably better actors, but they also possessed the same skill that she made famous in “Deep Throat.” So did tens of thousands of other actresses and amateurs of both genders. What distinguished “Deep Throat” was that it was the first feature to base its narrative – and, unlike today’s porn, it did tell an actual story – on a particular sexual skill. It also differed from the “loops” collected in “42nd Street Pete’s 8mm Madness” and other early grindhouse fare by having a distinct comic voice and actors who were in on the gag. (Sorry, pun intended.) It wasn’t an immediate sensation, however. By attempting to censor “Deep Throat,” government bluenoses turned it into a cause celebre for open-minded couples and celebrities, willing to wait in line to see it without fear of embarrassing themselves or having a social stigma attached to them. Some ambitious reporters may also attempt to contextualize “Deep Throat,” by looking back at the sexual revolution of the 1960-70s and why it still has resonance today. Let’s beat them to it by checking out some historically significant titles from After Hours Cinema.

Many soon-to-be porn stars entered the business by performing in short films that left no time or budget for such things as plot, character development, exposition, drama, moralizing or comedy. Sex was the only thing that interested customers who frequented the booths in the back of 42^nd Street bookstores and arcades, as well as those outlanders who ordered 8mm loops from the ads in the back of skin mags. As “42^nd Street Pete” explains in his introduction, they would arrive in small white boxes and customers couldn’t be absolutely sure what they bought until they watched it. Depending on length, technical proficiency and whether they were in black-and-white or color, a loop could cost anywhere from $25 to $100, or much more, if certain kinky stuff was specifically requested by collectors. It’s how Lovelace got her start, as dictated by her physically and emotionally abusive husband, Chuck Traynor. Here, at least, Pete doesn’t go into detail about the actors’ motivations, but a taste for exhibitionism played less a role in their decision than avoiding poverty, copping their next fix and keeping their lover/pimp in business. The guiding principle was to convince the rubes they were having a good time and encourage them to keep dropping quarters into the slot to see where it led.  The movies included in “Sex on the Sunset Strip: Grindhouse Triple Feature” represent the next stop on the porn food chain, “one-day wonders.” Four or five times longer than the average loop and shot on 16mm, these films allowed for some plot and character development, as well as some comedy, moralizing and variety in the sexual encounters. Many were populated by actors who looked as if they might have been recruited that morning in the Haight-Ashbury or from the Charles Manson Talent Agency. The young women rarely were shown wearing bras and the guys had crossed “Go to Barber” off their to-do lists. “Trapped in the House” and “Love Freestyle” avoided prevailing anti-pornography laws by not showing penetration or engorged genitals in the group gropes. “See Me, Feel Me, Take Me,” which looks as if it might have taken more than a day to produce, offers plenty of hard-core action and outdoor locations.  The two-DVD sets include informative booklets and liner notes.

Well before crowds thronged to see “I Am Curious (Yellow)” and “Deep Throat,” Americans lined up to see the ground-breaking Swedish sensation, “I, a Woman,” which would quickly spawn two sequels. Viewed from a distance of almost 50 years, “I, a Woman” doesn’t look hot enough to have caused a sensation in Manhattan, Kansas, let alone Times Square. Of course, things were much different in 1965 America than they are in 2012 … except, perhaps, inside the homes of the many Republican presidential candidates and their rabid supporters. (Even Barry Goldwater would have been tarred as liberal by these mopes.)  European erotica retained an arty sheen throughout the 1970s, thanks primarily to Radley Metzger, who introduced “I, a Woman” to American audiences and would go on to make groundbreaking soft-core films set in exotic locations, with sophisticated characters and discernible narratives. Released here in 1968 and 1970, the still-tame “I, a Woman, Part II” and “The Daughter: I, a Woman, Part III” extend the story of Siv Holm, an increasingly sexually liberated literary invention who ditches her perverted husband when his behavior and demands become oppressive. She’s played by different women in the trilogy, all three physically striking and extremely classy brunettes. In “III,” Siv’s daughter is confronted with Swedish racism, when the pretty blond falls both for an African-American ex-pat and his sister, a go-go dancing lesbian. The gallery of vintage trailers is infinitely more sexually explicit than any of the “I, a Woman” series. – Gary Dretzka

Chained: Code 207
Movies as amateurishly produced, directed and acted as “Chained: Code 207” don’t come along every week. Indeed, most can’t find distributors willing to invest good money in a title destined to find a home in remainder bins. Shot on Super 16, Tino Struckmann’s vanity project makes most DIY horror flicks look like “Alien.” I certainly don’t begrudge any aspiring filmmaker for accomplishing the near-miracle of having his dream realized, if only on DVD. Still, it begs the question as to how “Chained” made the cut, while hundreds of other indies couldn’t. Writer/director Struckmann is reputed to be a former Army Ranger and security expert who served as a bodyguard for many prominent celebrities and billionaires. How, then, could the fight scenes in “Chained” look so anemic? It’s as if the actors playing soldiers, cops and thugs had clauses in their contracts requiring financial remuneration for every bruise, cut and broken finger nail suffered. The violence experienced at the line of scrimmage in most high school football games is more plausible than anything here. Neither is it made completely clear whether the bad guys are involved in weapons smuggling, stealing organs from their young victims or white slavery. When the protagonist’s wife is snatched from in front of their motel, it takes about a minute and a half for the guy to trick the local sheriff into leading him to where she and other women are being stashed. By contrast, the rescue proceeds at a snail’s pace. While picking off the guards one by one, the former soldier is joined by one of the first women he’s able to rescue. She turns out to be every bit as ditzy as Johnny Carson’s “Matinee Lady,” Carol Wayne, and as helpless as Snooki at Friars’ Club roast. If Struckmann wanted to add some comic relief to the drama, he would have been better advised not only to hire actors capable of delivering their lines with some semblance of professionalism, but also to dial down the violence inflicted on the caged women around them. Even the blood looks as if it were applied by 1^st Graders, using poster paint and tongue depressors, instead of Caro syrup, red food coloring and cosmetic tools. Otherwise, Mrs. Lincoln, “Chained” is a hell of a movie. – Gary Dretzka

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