Posts Tagged ‘The Bing Crosby Collection’

The DVD Wrap: Fantasia/Fantasia 2000, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Knight and Day, Cairo Time, The Sicilian Girl, Vampires Suck … and more

Tuesday, November 30th, 2010

Fantasia/Fantasia 2000: Blu-ray
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice: Blu-ray

According to Disney legend, Dopey the Dwarf was originally pushed for the role in Fantasia that went to Mickey Mouse. Instead, Uncle Walt went with the established star, hoping the role would maintain Mickey’s high profile in movies. Although Dopey might have been an inspired choice, there’s no questioning Mickey’s enduring appeal as the aspiring magician whose imagination nearly gets him killed.

Seventy years later, in the live-action Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Jon Turteltaub paid homage to Mickey’s conjuring of an unruly army of brooms and buckets, by creating a similar sequence for Jay Baruchel. For me, it was the highlight of the movie.

Historians have written entire books about Fantasia, so it would be difficult to add any more scholarship in the space allotted here. It was Walt Disney’s dream to advance the art of animation to a point where it would be taken as seriously by high-brows as it was by the masses. To accomplish this, he asked his stable of artists to translate great passages from the classical-music repertory into visual narratives.

It was a revolutionary concept, to be sure, and audiences failed to warm to the 125-minute, 64-speaker experiment. Some say Fantasia wasn’t accorded its due until the 1960s, when potheads embraced its unique blend of sensual stimuli. Today, of course, it’s considered to be a work of genius.

If Fantasia had succeeded commercially, Disney probably would have continued to produce such animated symphonies, although not necessary at feature length. His artists kept coming up with ideas, but it wouldn’t be until the turn of the millennium for the sequel to arrive in theaters, and it took the stewardship of nephew Roy Disney to do it.

Initially limited to IMAX screens, Fantasia/2000 reprised The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, while adding Beethoven’s “Symphony No. 5”; Respighi’s “Pines of Rome,” with its choreographed whales; Greshwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue,” using imagery inspired by caricaturist Al Hirschfeld; Shostakovich’s “Piano Concerto No. 2, Allegro, Opus 102,” combined with Hans Christian Andersen’s tale of a heroic toy soldier; Saint-Saens’ “Carnival of the Animals,” with its comically confounded flamingos; Edward Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance, Marches 1, 2, 3 and 4,” starring Donald Duck; and Stravinsky’s “Firebird Suite, 1919 Version,” which harkens back to “The Rite of Spring” from the original Fantasia. Tellingly, perhaps, Fantasia/2000 was limited to 75 minutes, to fit contemporary consumers’ limited attention spans.

Both movies look and sound splendid in Blu-ray, of course. (They also beg the question as to how they’d look in HD 3D.) The supplemental features also make this package an ideal holiday gift. They include Disney’s Oscar-nominated short Destino (2003) and the feature-length documentary, Dali & Disney: A Date With Destino, which explains the film’s 50-year gestation period; The Schultheis Notebook: A Disney Treasure, with newly discovered production notes; Musicana, Walt Disney’s inspiration for a sequel; a tour of the Disney Family Museum, in San Francisco, with daughter Diane Disney-Miller; an interactive art gallery; audio commentaries; and Disney Virtual Vault, via BD Live. The DVD bonuses are limited to “Musicana,” the museum tour and audio commentaries.

Turteltaub’s live-action Sorcerer’s Apprentice seems to have been influenced as much by Ghostbusters as Fantasia, in that its Manhattan location provides an ideal backdrop for super-sized supernatural activity.

Baruchel plays Dave, the reluctant apprentice to Nic Cage’s Balthazar Blake. The madly eccentric magician is one of three seemingly immortal protégés of Merlin, who prophesized the messiah-like arrival of a sorcerer as great as he was. That person is perceived to be Dave. Also vying for control of the young man’s powers is the devious Maxim Horvath (Alfred Molina), who would love nothing more than to unleash the long-contained evil of Morgana Le Fay (Alice Krieg). Together, they could trump Dave and Balthazar’s intrinsic goodness and raise an army of the dead to destroy humanity.

If all one knew about Sorcerer’s Apprentice is that it’s produced by Jerry Bruckheimer, it still would be possible to imagine the kind of inspired mayhem that transpires when Balthazar, Horvath and Morgana do battle in the Big Apple. Neither would it surprise anyone to learn that the apprentice’s mission, like that of his mentor, would be complicated by a lovely and supportive young woman (Teresa Palmer and Monica Bellucci, respectively).

None of this will matter to audiences drawn to the promise of CGI legerdemain, as promised in the trailers. Fans of Fantasia will dig the homage to Mickey Mouse’s interpretation of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice and placement of his starred hat among the artifacts in Balthazar’s antique shop, even if such nods sail right over the heads of younger viewers.

Turteltaub’s version cost a fortune to make, but failed to ignite much passion among audiences drawn to such special-effects extravaganzas. There’s no reason to think it won’t dominate video rentals for the next couple of weeks, though. Among the many Blu-ray supplements are the making-of featurettes, Magic in the City, The Science of Sorcery, Making Magic Real, Wolves and Puppies, Fantasia: Reinventing a Classic, The Fashionable Drake Stone and The World’s Coolest Car; backgrounders, The Grimhold: An Evil Work of Art and The Encantus; several deleted scenes; outtakes; Easter eggs; and visual-effects demos.

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Waking Sleeping Beauty
The Boys: The Sherman Brothers’ Story
Walt & El Grupo

Admirers of all things Disney will find a cornucopia of unexpected riches in these three fine documentaries, which are as entertaining as they are informative. The title with the most across-the-board appeal is probably Waking Sleeping Beauty, which describes how Hollywood’s premier animation studio was rescued from the brink of irrelevancy in the early 1980s and re-established in its familiar position of dominance within a decade.

Artistically, the time period covered in Don Hahn and Patrick Pacheco’s film spans the crushing disappointment over critical and commercial returns for The Black Cauldron – a movie that still has its champions — and elation over the stunning success of The Lion King. From a corporate point of view, however, Waking Sleeping Beauty is bookended by the arrival of Michael Eisner, Frank Wells and Jeffrey Katzenberg, and the famously acrimonious departure of Katzenberg, who, in 1994, would found DreamWorks with Steven Spielberg and David Geffen.

In between, of course, would come a string of successes that would include The Little Mermaid, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin and Lion King. None of these films would have seen the light of day if the studio had been lost in a hostile takeover, as feared, and Roy Disney hadn’t committed to restoring Disney’s prominence in the Hollywood Pantheon. Among other things, it kept the company’s stable of artists and innovators intact and cautiously optimistic, at least.

That family spirit is palpable in “home movies” and other material shot during the development of the ambitious new projects. Interviews with all the key players describe an atmosphere, first, of corporate pride and joy, but, before long, intrigue and back-stabbing. It’s a fascinating story, to be sure, but viewers only interested in the final product might prefer not knowing how the moguls behaved during this tumultuous period. Added material includes the overview featurette, Why Wake Sleeping Beauty?; deleted scenes; The Sailor, the Mountain Climber, the Artist and the Poet, commemorating Roy Disney, Frank Wells, animator Joe Ranft and lyricist Howard Ashman; studio tours; a directors’ reunion with Rob Minkoff and Kirk Wise; a discussion of how the studio operated before and after the death of Walt Disney; webisode shorts; and a gallery of photos, caricatures and art from the period covered in the documentary.

Anyone who’s had the misfortune of having “It’s a Small World (After All)” echo through their brain cavity for hours at a time can blame Disney tunesmiths Robert B. Sherman and Richard M. Sherman, subjects of The Boys: The Sherman Brothers’ Story. The same could be said of such irresistible numbers as “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocous,” “Chim-Chim-Cheree” and “I Wanna Be Like You.” Even though the feature-length documentary was conceived, produced and directed by two of the songwriters’ sons,

The Boys isn’t all sugar. There’s some strong medicine in the mix, as well. For example, the brothers remained personally estranged throughout much of their 50-year-plus partnership and tenure with Disney. Among the bonus material is a look at the Disney Studios in the 1960s; the casting of “Mary Poppins”; writing songs for theme-park attractions; a profile of animator Roy Williams, a.k.a. the Big Mooseketeer; Bob Sherman’s artwork; testimonials from celebrities; and a “Sherman Brother’s Jukebox,” with such songs as “Tall Paul,” “Chim Chim Cheree,” “Feed the Birds,” “There’s a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow” and “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” as well as the stories behind them.

Walt & El Grupo describes a time in history when the world was a much larger place and Mickey Mouse may have been our country’s most popular and effective ambassador. It was 1941, before the declaration of global war, when Walt Disney was asked to make a goodwill tour of Argentina, Brazil and Chile. Snow White and Pinocchio and had already demonstrated their viability as stand-alone features, but the studio’s health had been threatened by an industry-wide strike.

Uncle Sam agreed to pick up the expenses for the 10-week trip, though, so Disney decided to bring along a coterie of 16 artists, who the boss hoped would collect ideas for such future projects as Saludos Amigos and The Three Caballeros. Moreover, it was believed that Disney’s estimable presence could counter inroads made in South American by Nazis and other fascist propagandists.

Like The Boys, El Grupo was made by the son of a Disney stalwart: Frank Thomas, one of The Nine Old Men. Theodore Thomas mined studio archives for source material, interviewed the relatives of participants, borrowed their memorabilia and re-traced the animators’ steps in Brazil and Argentina. In addition to watching Disney and el grupo interact with the locals, it’s fun to watch artists going about the business of recording their experiences on paper. The DVD adds commentary by Thomas and historian J.B. Kaufman; “Photos In Motion,” which described how photos came to life in motion pictures; three extended sequences; the theatrical version of Saludos Amigos and original trailers for Saludos Amigos and The Three Caballeros.

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Knight and Day: Blu-ray

If there’s one thing we know for sure about Tom Cruise, it’s that he enjoys performing his own stunts. Last week, for example, photos of the 48-year-old actor dangling from the observation deck of Dubai’s Burj Khalifa skyscraper, the world’s tallest, were published in newspapers and magazines around the world. The act of dare-deviltry was performed for the fourth installment of “Mission:Impossible,” movies that often use elaborate stunts to advance a recognizable narrative.

As far as I can tell, Knight and Day is a romantic thriller with no plot, discernible or otherwise. It’s one long stunt in search of a grand finale. Considering that most popcorn movies wouldn’t recognize a narrative if it rose from the pages of a screenplay and bit them in the rear end, that remark sounds a bit more dismissive than it’s intended to be. The stunts are very good, indeed, and Cruise’s insistence on performing some of them, at least, make Knight and Day that much more interesting.

According to a featurette in the bonus package, co-star Cameron Diaz also agreed to do some of her own fighting and driving stunts. Knight and Day opens with Cruise’s Roy Miller literally bumping into Diaz’ June Havens in a Kansas City airport. They will find themselves on the same flight, which is nearly devoid of passengers. While June is in the lavatory adjusting her makeup and trying to decide whether or not to hit on Roy, their fellow passengers and crew reveal themselves as assassins bent on killing him.

Before she can even say, “Huh?,” June joins Roy in the ensuing skirmish and behind the wheel of the plane, which he crash lands in the middle of a corn field. It takes nearly the entire length of the movie for June to figure out for which agency Roy works and why two different groups of assassins, minimum, are chasing them around the globe. Viewers are pretty much left in the dark, as well. The good news, though, is that it hardly matters, especially as the action moves from Boston to Kankakee to Jamaica, Salzburg, Sevilla, Point Magu and the Little Europe backlot at Universal City.

Director James Mangold (3:10 to Yuma, Walk the Line) keeps everything moving at break-neck speed, while a budget estimated to be in the neighborhood of $120 million (imagine if Cruise and Diaz hadn’t done their own stunts) allows for much lovely scenery and a re-creation of the running of the bulls at Pamplona. And, yes, it’s fun to watch. Making-of featurettes demonstrate how some of the larger set pieces were accomplished, with much bright banter between Cruise and Diaz. There’s also a music video for “Someday,” starring Cruise and the Black Eyed Peas; humorous viral videos; and BD Live extras.

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Cairo Time

I’m terrible at predicting Oscar nominees, but I’d be very surprised if Patricia Clarkson’s name wasn’t among those announced as a finalist in the Best Actress category for her work in Cairo Time. Few actors are as predictably excellent as Clarkson, who, after first gaining attention as the German junkie in High Art, turned in stellar performances in Far From Heaven, Pieces of April, The Station Agent, Good Night, and Good Luck, Elegy and Married Life, among other pictures.

In Ruba Nadda’s heady romantic drama, she plays an American magazine writer in Cairo to reconnect with her husband, a United Nations relief worker in Gaza. If the splendid hotel digs are any indication, it promises to be a wonderful reunion. Unfortunately, Juliette Grant’s husband has been delayed by a disturbance in the occupied territory and there’s no telling how long it will be before he can make the short hop to Egypt.

He’s asked a former co-worker to help Juliette find her bearings in the city of 18 million people, a duty Tareq (Alexander Siddig) takes extremely seriously. From that short description, anyone who’s seen more than a dozen indie romances should be able to guess what happens if not next, then close to it. Juliette and Tariq spend so much time together, in so many exotic places, that it’s inevitable some sort of intimacy should develop between them. Whether it should blossom into something sexual – or lasting — is the question Nadda asks viewers to consider. Not being a Hollywood product, Cairo Time provides its characters with sufficient time to mull and re-mull their emotional impulses, privately, without the input of a Dr. Ruth surrogate.

Tareq is far too loyal and polite to act impulsively, while Juliette seems willing to believe her husband will join her any minute now. What’s wonderful about Cairo Time is summed up distinctly in its title. Nadda, a Canadian of Syrian descent, captures the rhythm and other sensual stimuli of the Egyptian capital and their pull on two emotionally vulnerable, if distinctly different people. Such decisions should not be made in haste, even if lust is a more powerful force than patience.

In the interviews included in the supplementary material, Nadda says she was especially interested in introducing audiences to the kind of Arab man rarely, if ever seen in western films. As portrayed by Siddig (Syriana, 24), Tareq is every bit that person and, through him, we experience Cairo and Egypt – from the casbahs, cafes and congested streets, to the pyramids, White Desert and Alexandria – as if we had a native making sense of it all for us.

The making-of featurette describes how difficult it was to make a movie in the teeming streets of Cairo, with temperatures approaching 120 degrees and setup points that are here today and gone tomorrow. There’s also a Q&A from a press conference at the Toronto Film Festival and some of Nadda’s earlier short films.

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The Sicilian Girl

As we learned in the second and third chapters of The Godfather, the Sicilian Mafia is a very different creature than its American iteration. Besides the fact that its soldiers tend not to dress as snappily as their counterparts here, vendettas are carried from generation to generation to generation, ad nausea. Both, though, are governed by the code of omerta, which demands a level of secrecy few other organizations can maintain.

In Marco Amenta’s The Sicilian Girl, we’re introduced to a 17-year-old girl who risks everything to exact revenge on the men who killed her father – himself a Mafia don – and her older brother. Because there are no men in her family left to do the deed in the traditional way, Rita Atria decides to do the unthinkable: turn state’s evidence against men once considered to be as close as family members.

In doing so, Rita turns to Judge Paolo Borsellino, one of the few law-enforcement officials willing to stand up to her father in a forthright manner and remain incorruptible, even when threatened with assassination. Rita’s no pussycat, however. Even after she enters the country’s witness-protection program, she proves herself to be very much her father’s daughter. When prosecutors don’t appear to be moving fast enough, she confronts them with angry diatribes and ignores their common-sense advice. Neither does she endear herself to the magistrate assigned to the trial of dozens of her father and uncle’s former lieutenants.

Yet, at great personal cost, she delivers the goods. Atria’s direction isn’t always fluid, but Veronica D’Agostino’s gripping portrayal of Rita rarely wavers. It’s a portrait in courage to which the families of American Mafiosi ought to aspire, instead of agreeing to play themselves in hideous reality-TV shows.

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Going the Distance: Blu-ray

For all its profanity and horndog dialogue, Going the Distance is about as provocative as a sketch in the final third of Saturday Night Live. Like most rom-coms about long-distance relationships, Geoff LaTulippe’s script demands of its lovers that they meet-cute and spend the rest of the movie conceiving new and increasingly flimsy reasons why they shouldn’t find a way to be together.

Before the advent of the Internet and unlimited long-distance calls, filmmakers dealt with the futility of such relationships by showing generic jetliners transverse the continent, their nose cones pointing in opposite directions, sometimes on the same day. Today, the same effect can be derived by having lovers converse via Skype or text messaging, although such technologies are rarely exploited correctly.

Devoid of originality or realistic human interaction, Going the Distance plays very much like an episode of Friends, during which the characters chat inarticulately about inconsequential subjects and wonder why they spend more time drinking coffee than making new friends. Here, Drew Barrymore and Justin Long play the couple stuck in the long-distance relationship. They seem extremely comfortable together in person, but devoid of passion when separated, even in de rigueur long-distance masturbation scenes.

The sidekicks who provide Long’s Garrett with bad advice are played by Jason Sudeikis and Charlie Day, while Barrymore’s Erin receives hers from Christine Applegate, as the humorless sister, and Jim Gaffigan, as her lumpen brother-in-law. The bonus features are dominated by deleted scenes and self-congratulatory interviews with cast and crew.

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Vampires Suck: Extended Bite Me Edition

Given a resume that includes Date Movie, Epic Movie, Meet the Spartans and Disaster Movie, it was only a matter of time before parodists Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer would tackle the recent epidemic of vampire movies. Their formula is simple, really. They break down a currently popular genre according to stock characters, narrative clichés, experiences shared by protagonists and common background elements, with an eye to lampooning archetypes and ridiculous plot devices.

In Vampires Suck, for example, the bloodsuckers that live in a rainy town in the Pacific Northwest tend to be young, attractive and prone to exposing large patches of skin, just like their counterparts in Twilight. Here, though, the teens appear to be practicing for the same quarter-finals as the ones in Glee.

There also are plenty of references to True Blood, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Vampire Diaries. When those gags run dry, Friedberg and Seltzer turn to gay, shirtless werewolves and such non-generic pop-cultural touchstones as Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, Tiger Woods, the Kardashians, Lady Gaga and blow-up sex dolls. If one joke or sight gag doesn’t work, another will surely follow 30 seconds later.

And, speaking of clichés, the ubiquitous Ken Jeong has been assigned the task of parodying himself. The further one is removed from their sophomore year in high school, the less fresh and amusing “Vampire Sucks” will be. The DVD comes with both theatrical and unrated editions, deleted scenes and a gag reel.

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Greaser’s Palace

Made in 1972, in and around Santa Fe, Greaser’s Palace is a wildly eccentric re-telling of the life of Jesus Christ, if He had chosen to make a return engagement in a dumpy desert town in the Old West. As conceived by underground auteur Robert Downey Sr. – yes, Junior, makes a brief appearance as, what else, a 7-year-boy – Greaser’s Palace is an equal-opportunity blasphemer, which, of course, should have made it must-viewing for the midnight-movie crowd.

Here, Jesus is portrayed by a zoot-suited Allan Arbus, who returns to Earth, via parachute, somewhere north of the Mexican border (“to get it right this time,” Downey argues in an interview). In addition to healing the sick and raising the dead, as he makes his way to Jerusalem, the dapper drifter will break into song and dance a mean soft shoe to impress potential disciples. The closer Jesse gets to the dancehall saloon run by Seaweedhead Greaser, the greater the number of followers he accumulates.

Anyone who’s read the New Testament should be able to guess what happens to Jesse next. Critics have openly despised Greaser’s Palace since its brief run in New York City, in 1972. Downey was coming off the success of the anti-establishment comedy Putney Swope and his admirers could hardly wait to see what he could accomplish with the relatively large budget of $1 million. To say they were disappointed would be a huge understatement.

Today, though, much of Downey’s folly looks inspired, at least by comparison to what passes for sacrilegious underground humor these days. (Jesse wows the crowd at the Palace not with his vaudeville shtick, but by falling back on the time-honored stigmata gag.) Among other things to look for: a pre-Fantasy Island appearance by Hervé Villechaize, whose Mr. Spitunia is married to a bearded transvestite, and Toni Basil (Easy Rider, the hit song “Mickey”) as a topless Indian maiden. The DVD includes an interview with Downey Sr.

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The Bing Crosby Collection

The closer we get to Christmas, the more we’re reminded of Bing Crosby, whose image and songs are practically synonymous with the holiday. If we see Going My Way, Holiday Inn and its color remake, White Christmas, once, we’re likely to encounter it a dozen more times before New Year’s Day. That hardly qualifies as a crime, however, considering the wonderful songs and warmth of the screenplays.

The crooner became a Hollywood staple at the dawn of the talkie era and continued to be active in films and television until the 1970s, as a variety-show host and actor adept at drama, comedy and playing singers, like himself. More than 30 years after his death, it’s the odd season when one of his songs, at least, doesn’t appear on a soundtrack.

The rarely seen films collected in Universal’s highly entertaining The Bing Crosby Collection are distinguished by the Tacoma native’s truly splendid singing voice, leading-man good looks and participation of some of the most popular performers of his day. In College Humor (1933), Crosby plays a singing professor at a college where football is king. The instructor falls for the same beautiful blond coed (Mary Carlisle) as the team’s star (Richard Arlen). Among the delightfully goofy things in College Humor is the depiction of collegians – the male students, including Jack Oakie, all look as if they’re over 30 – who wear beanies and letter-sweaters to class and slinky gowns and tuxes to parties. George Burns and Gracie Allen add to the fun.

George and Gracie also appear in We’re Not Dressing (1934), alongside Carole Lombard, Ethel Merman, Ray Milland and Leon Errol. Crosby plays a deckhand on a yacht that is shipwrecked on a seemingly deserted island. Lombard plays the snobbish heiress who ultimately succumbs to the sailor’s charms. Also released that year, Here Is My Heart imagines a rich radio crooner posing as a hotel waiter to warm the heart of an icy Russian princess, played by Kitty Carlisle. Also on hand are William Frawley and Akim Tamiroff.

Mississippi (1935) pairs Crosby with W.C. Fields, as a Yankee gentleman who loses face when he refuses to duel a Southern military officer, who covets his fiancé. Disgraced, he takes a singing job on a riverboat captained by Fields. The songs are by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart. In Sing You Sinners (1938), Crosby, Fred MacMurray and Donald O’Connor play the singing Beebe Brothers, who seek their fortune in Los Angeles but are distracted by the temptations of horse racing. (Crosby was a co-founder of the Del Mar race track.)

In Welcome Stranger (1947), Crosby plays an upstart doctor assigned to cover patients of a cranky old physician (Barry Fitzgerald) while he’s on vacation. Joan Caulfield plays the local girl who makes waves with her financee by befriending the singing sawbones, at least until he requires emergency medical care.

These titles were made by Paramount Productions, between 1929 and 1949. In 1958, they were part of a 700-film transaction, through which MCA/Universal acquired the rights, ostensibly for television distribution. They movies have all been upgraded and look and sound terrific.

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Death of a Snowman

A few months back, a nasty crime thriller titled Gangster’s Paradise: Jerusalema emerged from the truly mean streets of Johannesburg, South Africa, chronicling the ascendency of a pair of poor township teens from common thieves to well-connected urban ganglords.

In 2005, Gavin Hood’s Tsotsi took home a Foreign Language Oscar for its grim depiction of thug life in post-apartheid Jo’berg. Released in 1978, Death of a Snowman also describes a city beset with crime and vigilante violence. Clearly a product of its time, Christopher Rowley and Bima Stagg’s crudely made thriller was informed by the same action, rhythms and fashions that distinguished such American blaxploitation classics as Super Fly and Shaft.

In it, Steve Chaka (Ken Gampu) plays an ambitious news reporter, who’s handed the scoop of the year by an all-black vigilante group known only as War on Crime. Chaka’s anxious to cleanse the streets of the capital of the same scum targeted by the killers, so he ignores any potential conflicts. Seeking the verification of official sources, the reporter enters into an uneasy alliance with a cynical white police detective. Together, they get drawn into the mayhem created by War on Crime in their bloody feud with various facsimiles of “The Man.”

Death of a Snowman is a far from perfect movie … hell, it’s not even that close to being good. Still, I found it interesting for a couple of reasons, unrelated to its violent storyline: 1) the absence of apartheid references and positive representation of middle-class black professionals; and 2) the inclusion of Trevor Rabin’s name on the credits. At the time, the Johannesburg native was something of a local musical phenom and the funky R&B/disco sound of Snowman was right up his alley.

An ardent opponent of apartheid (one of his cousins wrote Biko, while another represented the slain activist’s family in a wrongful-death suit), Rabin had yet to move to London and Los Angeles, where he would join the reunited prog-rock ensemble, Yes, and compose several of the group’s later hits. Obviously, though, Rabin had caught the composing bug. After leaving Yes, he would go on to provide scores for such high-profile movies as Con Air, Armageddon, Enemy of the People, Remember the Titans, National Treasure, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice and, yes, Snakes on a Plane.

For my money, that’s sufficient justification for rental of Snowman.

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Exam
Alarm
The Possession of David O’Reilly

It takes a lot of skimming to separate the gold from the dross among movies that arrive on these shores virtually unseen by critics here and are immediately relegated to video-store shelves. Unreleased American films that end up in the same place generally can boast of one recognizable star or director, at least, while others have benefitted from screenings at festivals. Blurbs from critics are the most unreliable of references, probably. At best, they might lead adventurous viewers to websites devoted to niche films or compiling reviews from other sources.

It’s an inexact science, to be sure, but sometimes the rewards are worth the effort. Here are three imported thrillers that lack most of the usual credentials, yet could find an audience among fans of psycho-dramas.

Exam is being pitched as a twisted spinoff of “Apprentice,” in which eight ambitious men and women compete for a vaguely articulated job with an unknown company, and are accorded a mere 80 minutes to demonstrate their worthiness to an unseen observer. Given only the barest of clues as to the single question that requires an answer, the participants must work as a team, knowing only one of them is likely to survive the challenge.

As soon as any one of them breaks a rule, they’re dragged from the room by a guard, never to return again. This gives the proceedings an Agatha Christie feel, although her scenarios didn’t include anything this sadistic. In another conundrum, the more participants learn about each other, the easier it is for them to target foibles and eliminate potential allies.

At 101 minutes, the winnowing process takes place in real time, so viewers theoretically have no greater advantage than the individual contestants. Exam is an entertaining diversion, but patience is required.

In Alarm, a traumatized Irish woman trades the mayhem of Dublin, for what she expects to be a more sedate existence in the countryside. Director Gerard Stembridge doesn’t give Molly (Ruth Bradley) much time to enjoy her new digs, before he assigns unknown forces to break into her home at night and deprive her of sleep. Even after Molly has an alarm system installed and gets a dog to protect her, the intrusions continue.

There are plenty of people who have the means to torment the pretty young woman, but hardly any reasonable motives. This leaves, of course, the distinct possibility that Molly is completely nuts and she enjoys the attention. For most of its 105-minute length, however, Alarm is full of a lot noise that signifies almost nothing.

The Possession of David O’Reilly imagines a scenario in which a shell-shocked young man arrives at the house of friends, bringing a world of hurt along with him. No sooner does David O’Reilly settle in for the night than he conjures visions of bogeymen and blood-soaked demons. At first, the welcoming couple attempts to comfort their pal by insisting he’s still in mourning over a lost love. Before long, however, David begins wielding a butcher knife around the house, threatening everyone and everything in his path.

Again, the question becomes: is David bonkers or is the house truly haunted? The distributors would love for us to find parallels between their movie and Paranormal Activity. Not having seen the latter title, I wouldn’t know. If you do want to find out if that’s the case, I suggest watching Possession with the lights out.

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David Bowie: Rare and Unseen

This DVD, the latest entry in MVD/Wienerworld’s excellent Rare and Unseen Collection, arrived after my review of The Sacred Triangle: Bowie, Iggy & Lou ran here, so there’s really no reason in rehashing Bowie’s contributions to rock music over the last 40 years. Films in the Rare and Unseen are particularly worthwhile for their presentation of archival interviews from non-mainstream sources, as well as largely unseen concert footage and newsreel clips. The same holds true for the Bowie DVD.

It is enhanced by film borrowed from the archives of Britain’s Independent Television News and restored television interviews, in which he discusses his drug use, alter egos and Berlin period. Another rarity is a backstage visit paid Bowie by celebrity journalist Janet Street-Porter and an interview with the late talk-show host, Russell Harty.

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Monk: Complete Series Limited Edition Box Set
The Bionic Woman: Season One

Movie stars will tell you that portraying evil characters generally is a more satisfying experience than playing virtuous ones. In television and novels, the opposite is almost always the case. Dexter Morgan may be a serial killer, but what keeps viewers tuning in each week is his insistence that some criminals shouldn’t be given an opportunity to escape justice on a legal technicality.

Tony Soprano was responsible for the deaths of quite a few people, almost all of them killers in their own right. We identified with him, because, at home, he couldn’t cope with the moods of his teenage children any better than we can. The writers of serial mysteries and series television not only are required to create protagonists who are smarter than the average bear, but also possess quirks and idiosyncrasies that endear them to viewers.

More than 130 years after readers were introduced to Sherlock Holmes, you’d think writers would have exhausted all possible idiosyncrasies.

No crime fighter in memory has more ticks, endearing and otherwise, than freelance San Francisco detective Adrian Monk, and, after eight seasons, it would be difficult to imagine such an obsessive-compulsive character being portrayed by anyone except Tony Shalhoub. (ABC originally wanted Michael Richards and passed on the show when he turned them down.) Normally, you’d think anyone as tightly wound and germ-phobic as Monk would be the last person you’d want to see entering a crime scene in his paper booties. Even if the gag worked once or twice, how long could any actor keep it rolling for a whole season, let alone eight?

Shalhoub, a veteran character actor with established comic chops, crafted performances that somehow kept Monk’s inarguably annoying traits from overwhelming the intricacies of detection. To this end, the show’s writers gave Monk devoted a sidekick, alternately Sharona Fleming and Natalie Teeger (Bitty Schram was replaced by Traylor Howard in the third season), and a cautious ally in the police department in Captain Stottlemeyer (Ted Levine). It’s formulaic, but good scripts trump clichés every night of the week.

Beyond all the obvious reasons for coveting Monk: Complete Series Limited Edition Box Set, its release corrects a problem inherent in the show’s rise to mainstream acceptance. After ABC realized it might have misjudged the popularity of the USA Network show, it scheduled prime-time reruns in the summers of 2002 and 2004. Anticipating a writers’ strike in 2008, NBC picked up second-run airings of Monk and Psyche.

While this exposed the show to countless new viewers, it was difficult for them to keep track of what happened, when, and what might have been missed in the interim. This box corrects any such confusion. Additionally, it offers such special features as “Mr. Monk and His Origins,” “Mr. Monk and His O.C.D.,” “Mr. Monk and His Fellow Sufferers,” “The Minds Behind the Monk,” character profiles, “Life Before Monk,” episode commentaries, a treatise on the writing process, the 32-page “Defective Detective Handbook” and “Mr. Monk Says Goodbye,” which helps tie up ends loosened in Episode One. Look for such guest stars as John Turturro, Howie Mandell, Virginia Madsen Sarah Silverman and Stanley Tucci, Shalhoub’s co-star in “Big Night.”

Last week’s big news in the TV-to-DVD arena was the arrival of The Six Million Dollar Man collector’s box. I’ve subsequently been reminded of the recent release of the first season of The Bionic Woman, the spinoff series that starred Lindsay Wagner.

Initially, Jaime Sommers was introduced as a love interest for Col. Steve Austin (Lee Majors), but viewers demanded more of her. So, she was accorded a bionic future of her own, as a top-secret agent for the Office of Scientific Investigations. The box set includes the five original episodes featured in Six Million Dollar Man and new “Bionic Beginnings” featurette.

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The Special Relationship
Marvel Knights: Iron Man: Extremis
Sid & Marty Krofft’s Saturday Morning Hits

Americans should be excused if they can’t tell the difference between actor Michael Sheen and former British Prime Minister Tony Blair. Sheen has performed dead-on impressions of Blair in The Queen, The Deal and The Special Relationship, an HBO original movie whose title not only describes the enduring alliance between England and the United States, but also Blair’s friendship with President Bill Clinton.

We’ve come to know Blair as a strong ally of America during periods of conflict and an astute domestic politician. He shared with Bill Clinton an aggressive approach to diplomacy and a broad smile, which often disguised shark’s teeth. Here, Clinton (Dennis Quaid) is the more experienced leader and Blair would love to hitch his star to the president’s wagon.

When the Monica Lewinsky scandal erupts and the U.S. is accused of waffling on human rights in the former Yugoslavia, Blair must decide if Clinton’s friendship is worth the aggravation. Once again, screenwriter Peter Morgan (The Deal, The Queen) has been asked to imagine what might have been said in conversations between the two world leaders, between the men and their wives and their reactions to embarrassing revelations.

Quaid is very good as the shiftless American president, who’s as difficult to pin down as mercury, and Hope Davis is spot-on as the occasionally clueless Hillary Clinton. Once again, Helen McCrory plays Blair’s wife, Cherie. Movies like these make history fun, even if the circumstances that inspired them were anything but that.

Apparently, some superheroes share a body chemistry that includes a substance that, when synthesized through nanotechnology, allows them to heal themselves at an accelerated rate. Who knew, right? In the latest edition of Marvel Knights, this serum is called Extremis and an arch-enemy of Iron Man has used it to his benefit in a battle supreme. It leaves billionaire Tony Stark at the mercy of a militia headed by Mallen, who wants to avenge the deaths of close family members.

Can the substance be used by the good guys to counter impending doom? Stay tuned.

The set includes a “conversation” with artist Adi Granov, a behind-the-scenes look at the “Marvel Knights” animation process, “Marvel Super Heroes: What the–?,” a visual history of Iron Man and a music video.

Sid & Marty Krofft’s Saturday Morning Hits is just that: a compilation of classic episodes from such beloved kiddie (and early-rising stoner) shows as H.R Pufnstuf, Lidsville, Sigmund and the Sea Monsters, Bugaloos, Electra Woman & Dyna Girl, Wonderbug and Bigfoot & Wild Boy. The shows featured colorfully decorated puppets and live-action characters, who battled evil in highly unusual situations and distant lands.

Besides 154 minutes’ worth of vintage entertainment, the set adds fresh interviews with Marty Krofft and stars of the most popular shows, as well as a never-before-seen pilot episode of an early Krofft production.

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Edie & Thea: A Very Long Engagement
Anotherworld

When individual states began recognizing same-sex marriages, less than a decade ago, media outlets treated the collective rush to the figurative altar as if it were just another sideshow in the American circus. Photos of gays and lesbians kissing on Page One of local newspapers caused controversy and controversy sells papers – and raises ratings – at a time when consumers are looking elsewhere for their news.

After a few days, gay marriage became as commonplace in those states as ribbon-cuttings at the local mall, only less likely to rate a headline outside the weekly announcements page. If the Supreme Court rules in favor of same-sex marriage, half of all Americans probably will weep and wail for the next 24 hours, then another crusade to champion or decry.

Edie & Thea: A Very Long Engagement chronicles the exclusive 40-year-plus partnership and eventual marriage two years ago, in Canada, of Edie Windsor and Thea Spyer. The non-polemical documentary showcases the evolution of their relationship through the most mundane medium known to man: home movies and slide shows.

Together, the New Yorkers reminisce about vacations, parties, friends and other shared experiences, and how their lives changed after Stonewall. For Thea, who died last year of complications associated with MS, recollections of nights spent dancing are, at once, painful and joyous. They appear to be wealthy, so most of the memories are pleasant, especially those sparked by cheesecake photos of themselves in bikinis, during summer breaks at their home in the Hamptons. That’s it, really.

A Very Long Engagement is a portrait of two people – who happen to be lesbians – in love, and the complications associated with growing old. Their marriage was far less a political statement than an affirmation of their love and dependence on each other. One is free, however, to find the political in the personal, but only so far as it pertains to legalizing something already validated by mutual commitment.

The DVD, from Breaking Glass, includes an interview with Judge Harvey Brownstone, who presided over their nuptials; coverage of Edie, as she accompanied filmmakers Susan Muska and Gréta Olafsdóttir (The Brandon Teena Story) on the festival circuit; the featurette, “Coping With Disability”; a photo gallery; and link to the segment pertaining to Edie and Thea, in “In the Life.”

The official condemnation of homosexuality by the Roman Catholic Church and its reigning pontiff, the former Cardinal Joseph Aloisius Ratzinger, hangs over Anotherworld like a storm cloud threatening a downpour. Pope Benedict XVI may not carry much weight in the gay ghettos of the United States, but, in Italy, the Vatican’s mind police are never very far away from home.

In Fabiomassimo Lozzi’s deeply affecting film, actors dramatize monologues taken from the works of Antonio Venetians and Ricardo Reim. They represent the heaven, hell and purgatory of homosexual culture in Italy. Along with tales dominated by fear and self-loathing are sequences filled with self-discovery and love. At times, their intimacy is overwhelming. Naturally, there is plenty of nudity and rough talk, but Anotherworld shouldn’t be confused with pornography.

MW on DVDs: Metropolis, Flipped, Last of the Mohicans, The Bing Crosby Collection … and more

Wednesday, November 24th, 2010

PICK OF THE WEEK: CLASSIC

Metropolis (Most Complete Version) (Four Stars)

Germany: Fritz Lang, 1927

Metropolis, Fritz Lang’s great, spellbinding science fiction epic about a futuristic city gone mad, has been regarded as a cinematic classic since almost the very hours of its premiere, in Berlin in 1927.

At that first showing, German audiences and critics — most still in the throes of the post war German economic collapse, the Weimar Republic’s woes, and the orgiastic frenzies of the ‘20s — were stunned by the film‘s scope, ambition and brilliance, by its incredibly elaborate visions of the future, and by its clear reflections of those ferocious contemporary conflicts that would eventually lead to Hitler, fascism and World War II.

Metropolis, then and now, was in some ways, naïve and simplistic, a heart-on-sleeve movie ode to the possibilities of universal brotherhood and co-operation. (Its final motto, which Lang later faulted, was “Between the head and the hand, stands the heart.“) But it was also a powerfully wrought, strikingly visualized allegorical fable about the war between Capital and Labor, waged on vast sets that created a towering city of skyscrapers, air cabs and skywalks, a rooftop paradise of playgrounds for the rich, and, deep below those bright streets, a dark cavernous world of underground factories, manned by huge Moloch-like machines and by marching, trudging, all but beaten-down workers who lead a herded, slave-like existence far from the sunlight.

Acting out the fierce social schisms in Lang’s tale were a massively influential industrialist, Joh Fredersen (Alfred Abel), his idealistic, progressive young son Freder (Gustave Frohlich), Fredersen’s secretive assistant Josaphat (Theodor Roos), the factory workers’ angelic darling and spokeswoman Maria (Brigitte Helm), the head worker Grot (Heinrich George) and the not-quite-mad scientist, Rotwang (Rudolf Klein-Rogge), who has created a robot “False Maria” (also Helm), to seduce the workers into self-destructive riot and revolt.

The movement of the film is from regimentation and mechanical entrapment to chaos — or what would actually happen to Germany in the years to come.

Metropolis‘ Berlin premiere was a triumph. Audiences were mesmerized by the overwhelming visions that Lang and his company — including nonpareil cinematographer Karl Freund, art directors Otto Hunte, Erich Kettelhut and Carl Vollbrecht, and special effects photographer Eugen Schuftan — had summoned up: a breathtaking world of wonders, dreams, extrapolations and nightmares that later science fiction filmmakers, in later epics like 2001: A Space Odyssey, Star Wars, Blade Runner and Avatar, have ever since striven to match or surpass

But that Berlin run was also one of the last times that audiences got to see Metropolis the way Lang and his chief collaborator — the film’s novelist/scenarist (and Lang’s wife) Thea von Harbou — intended it. The Berlin version was about 153 minutes long, not excessive for an epic like Metropolis. But soon, the film was cut for distribution to the rest of Germany, cut further for American release, and cut again and again for its international distribution, eventually down to 87 minutes, for the 1984 disco score version by composer Giorgio (Midnight Express) Moroder.

While Lang’s great canvas of a city and a future in flames was repeatedly shortened and stripped and re-jiggered, World War 2 intervened. Lang, the son of a Jewish mother, hating the Nazis, fled Germany for America and Hollywood. Von Harbou stayed behind and herself became a Nazi Party member. And the shattered couple’s masterpiece was left, it seemed, to the whims and winds of history — and in the dubious hands of fascist tyrants who were, ironically, sometimes (including Goebbels and Hitler himself) among the movie‘s biggest fans. Soon, the original 153-minute version seemed lost forever, replaced by a plethora of alternate “Metropolises” and of true and false Marias. Those snipped-up cities became the Metropolis that most film enthusiasts knew for the rest of the Twentieth Century.

When Metropolis was restored (and I have that version; I love it) to a carefully reassembled 124 minutes and shown in Berlin in 2001 (the year in which the film is set, as Stanley Kubrick well knew), restoration supervisor Martin Koerber, while also celebrating the beauty of all they‘d found and restored, sadly wrote that “a quarter of the regional premiere version of Metropolis, including the part containing the core of the story as conceived by Thea von Harbou and Fritz Lang, must be considered to be irretrievably lost.”

But, between the head and the heart, it seems, stands the hand. Of the worker, the librarian, the finder, the keeper…

As archaeologists are there to remind us, cities (and civilizations) can rise from the ashes and the earth. Just as the original, long-lost version of Carl Dreyer’s 1928 masterpiece The Passion of Joan of Arc was finally found (in a Norwegian asylum), a nearly complete print of the original Metropolis was discovered in 2008, in an archive in Buenos Aires. Unfortunately, Argentina, a country itself battered by fascism, was subject to storms of history that may have delayed that discovery — and the print had deteriorated, become worn and scratched, over years of neglect.

Still, it was an epochal find. And it led to the reconstruction and the distribution (by Kino) of a 147-minute version that now contains almost all of the 1927 Metropolis.

Restored are a long-gone crucial subplot involving Josaphat and the Metropolis underworld; a mysterious character called “The Thin Man”; a long sequence set in the “Yoshiwara,” or red light district; and many small bits that amplify and clarify the film’s originally Byzantine narrative. This is not just a longer “Metropolis,” but a brilliantly elaborated one that finally contains all the pieces of the puzzle. Shorn of the confusion of most of the previous cuts, it is, in the end, a well-spun narrative that grips us throughout — besides filling us all over again with admiration for its sheer cinematic reach and fire and genius.

The false god of Metropolis is technology. The true god of the movie is humanity and love. The heroes of Metropolis are Lang and his munificently talented fellow artists. And the hero of the restoration tale is that Buenos Aires archivist, who finally brought to the light the film that had been thought lost forever for more than 80 years.

Lang himself came to reject Metropolis, perhaps because of the turn to Nazism of the woman who wrote the novel and (with him) the screenplay, his ex-love and ex-wife Thea. (The True Thea? The False Thea?) But their movie still amazes us. And the real-life story of loss, destruction and rediscovery behind this release gives us hope for other recoveries.

Maybe someday, somewhere, someone really will uncover the missing sections of Welles‘ The Magnificent Ambersons. And all those many missing reels of Von Stroheim’s Greed. Von Sternberg’s A Woman of the Sea. Murnau’s Four Devils. All those missing silent films by Kenji Mizoguchi and Yasujiro Ozu. And all the rest of the lost gems of cinema‘s lost history.

Maybe even the last six missing minutes of Metropolis.

In most cases, we probably won’t find and recover them, won’t retrieve the irretrievable. But, like Fritz Lang and the young, pre-Nazi Thea (who still believed in head, hand and heart), we can dream, can’t we? (Silent, with English intertitles and the original score by Gottfried Huppertz.)

Extras: Documentary Voyage to Metropolis; Interview with Paula Felix-Didier, the Argentine museum curator who found the lost print; Re-release trailer.

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PICK OF THE WEEK: NEW

Flipped (Four Stars)

U. S.; Rob Reiner, 2010

For the past few years, I’ve been looking, yearning even, for some American studio movies that would make me feel the way I sometimes did as a movie-going kid — digging among all the sappy dreck and obvious trash of most so-called family movies today for the kind of warm, smart, family film I used to love: movies that had great characters, that depended for theirs impact on personality, writing “invisible direction” and a strong connection to the culture outside.

I’ve longed, usually in vain, for just a few live action movies that could made me laugh and cry the way It’s a Wonderful Life or The Quiet Man or The Wizard of Oz or Meet Me in St. Louis or the old Disney feature cartoons all did when I was young. Or the way the best Pixar animation often does now.

Rob Reiner just made one. Flipped.

You may be surprised at my high evaluation of Flipped — I’d rank this movie with my favorites of the year — because, even though Reiner‘s puppy love chronicle about a grade school crush in the ’50s and ’60s (told by the smitten girl and reluctant boy in alternate chapters), has received some positive or even ecstatic reviews, and fully deserves them, it’s also received almost as many mixed notices or witty, acid-tongued knocks.

Since Flipped’s nay-sayers tend to be from the more sophisticated media outlets, you may have sensed some consensus of hip brewing. It’s an understandable take. It’s been a long time since I‘ve felt about a Rob Reiner movie the way I feel about this one. But when I walked out of the screening room for Flipped, thoroughly entertained, I was also both elated and weeping. I could feel the tears coursing down for at least twelve blocks on my walk home. (I’ll tell you why later.)

Flipped risks the opposite response, critical contempt, just as its little heart-on-sleeve heroine, Juli Baker, keeps risking rejection by throwing herself on the line repeatedly for her leaden-footed, unadventurous big crush, Bryce Loski.

Yet not only has Reiner completely regained his form here (if he ever lost it), I actually prefer Flipped to Stand By Me. (I like Stand by Me fine, but I think it was a mistake for Wil Wheaton, and not River Phoenix, to have that gun at the end.) I would also rank Flipped with or above the other previous top movies in Reiner‘s canon, This is Spinal Tap, The Sure Thing, Misery, The Princess Bride and even When Harry Met Sally. I’d be surprised if, despite those sophisticated pans, he wasn’t very, very proud of it. And he should be.

Flipped is based on the 2001 teen novel by Wendelin Van Draanen, a longtime school teacher and mother, and someone who obviously understands kids from ground zero, with depth and sympathy. She‘s arranged the novel, ingeniously, as the two-sided story of a longtime schoolgirl crush.

In the beginning, live-wire second grader Juli Baker (played by the adorable Morgan Lily) rushes across her sunny suburban street to meet her new neighbors, the Loskis, and immediately flips for blonde, blue-eyed fellow second grader Bryce Loski (played at seven by the skittish-looking Ryan Ketzner). It’s one of those golden days, where every detail lingers forever afterward in your memory– for Juli, but not for Bryce, who immediately tries to ditch her. He gets his escape hatch when his dad Steven (Anthony Edwards), who understands pesky little girls and how annoying they can be, and tells him to go do some chores.

But before Bryce can run to his mother Patsy (Rebecca De Mornay), and hide behind her skirts, the determined Juli races after him, the two kids get tangled up, and they wind up holding hands in wittily romantic slow motion. It’s magic for her, embarrassing for him, and an image that hangs over the entire movie, until the very last shot.

From then on, we get the saga of Juli and Bryce from two sides — in alternating chapters, one told by the seemingly exasperated Bryce, the next by the seemingly indefatigable Juli. Soon we jump ahead, to the eighth grade, in 1963, where most of the story takes place.

In the movie, the kids are played as eighth graders by two splendid young actors, Callan McAuliffe and Madeline Carroll (Swing Vote). These two are both so good, so wonderfully unaffected and so completely into their roles, that you can pay them the ultimate actor compliment: You never see or feel them as separate from their characters. I think Madeline Carroll will always be thought of, and treasured, as Juli Baker, and that McAuliffe will likewise always be remembered as Bryce Loski. These youthful actors both give us everything we or Reiner could have wanted in these roles, all the subtlety and undercurrents and emotion, as does the rest of his astutely picked and beautifully controlled ensemble.

Carroll and McAuliffe score in their edgy scenes together and apart and also in the confidingly intimate voice-over narrations, where they speak their mind and tell us what they think and feel. That narrative device has also been wittily knocked, though, of course, it comes right out of the novel. Juli and Bryce’s narrations are funny, and kiddishly candid and revealing, and they tell us more about the kids, and about their families than the speakers themselves may fully understand as they speak.

They’re no natural couple. There’s a schism of temperament between them, and a class split as well.

The Bakers are blue collar, the Loskis white collar. Juli is a little dynamo, who wins science contests and is a brain and a crusader. She tends chickens and sells the eggs, hates the snobby little flirts and phonies in her class, like her big-hair nemesis, Sherry Stalls (Ashley Taylor), and adores her hard-working father, Richard (Aidan Quinn), who paints landscapes on the side; her mom Trina (Penelope Ann Miller); and her high-school age brothers Mark and Matt (Michael Bolten and Shane Harper.)

Juli gets to know, only later, the other family member, her Uncle Daniel (Kevin Weisman), whose partial strangling at birth by his umbilical cord left him mentally challenged and institutionalized, and whose health care bill keeps the whole family financially strapped.

Bryce, on the other hand, is something of a little suburban prince, with a more divided family. Smart but nowhere near as active and accomplished as Juli, he rejects her partly because his snobbish, acid-tongued dad, Steven (a role nailed by Anthony Edwards), looks down so snidely and dismissively on the Baker family and their messy yard (a weedy tangle because the Bakers’ landlord never maintains it and Richard lacks the time). Bryce‘s mother Patsy (Rebecca De Mornay) and his sister Lynetta (Cody Horn) are, in a way, princesses, too, but more likable, earthier ones. They’re basically on Juli‘s side — as is her strongest ally, Grandpa Chet (John Mahoney, good as always), who calls Juli “iridescent” and says she reminds him of his late wife, Patsy‘s mother. (Just as strongly, by the way, she reminds me of my own mother, Edna.)

Bryce, we eventually realize, really does like Juli, even if he can’t admit it. Maybe he would be her friend without prodding, if he had the guts (grade-school girls and boys of that era almost never mixed) and if he wasn’t so destructively influenced by his mean dad. And Bryce’s scathing papa’s venomous prejudices become more understandable after it’s revealed that Steven was a would be musician in his youth (a rock saxophonist in the movie, a guitarist in the book) who sacrificed his big dreams, hates his job, and wishes ill to anyone who has aspirations like the ones he tossed away. Bryce‘s worst instincts are also enhanced by his wannabe-rich-kid rat of a best friend, Garrett (Israel Broussard), a social bully and back-stabbing opportunist of the slimiest kind.

Now, you’ll see from this description that Flipped definitely has its dark and unsentimental, realistic side, that it’s no sunshiny Leave It To Beaver descendant. (It’s worth remembering though, as we now mostly don’t, that the TV Beaver was initially hailed by critics as a more naturalistic, sophisticated innovation in family TV comedies. And back then, it was.)

So, in Flipped, the incidents that drive the story forward are full of symbolic power, genuine conflict, strong themes and real emotion. This is a funny, charming movie about teen romance, but it’s also about bigotry and blasted dreams, social divisions and family tragedy. It’s about never giving up and about finally, morally growing up and becoming a person.

The characters resonate and so do the big scenes. Young Juli‘s neighborhood haven is a huge, gnarled old sycamore tree, from whose upper branches she dreamily watches the world below. When it’s finally slated for chopping down and removal, she tries to organize a town protest, even tries to enlist Bryce in her tree-in, but the embarrassed Bryce wont join — though that article about Juli’s crusade is what draws Grandpa Chet to her, and finally intrigues Bryce as well.

There’s an achingly real and painful sequence where Juli, who’s been selling eggs from her chickens to neighborhood ladies and giving them free every morning to Bryce, finally catches him sneakily throwing them away. There’s the marvelously strained and falsely convivial two-family Baker-Loski supper that Patsy organizes, where, afterwards, we finally see what a tormented bastard Steven really is.

All these episodes take on heightened significance, as we observe them through Bryce’s eyes, then Julie’s. Far from being hackneyed TV sitcom-style stuff, the whole movie is smartly designed and deftly constructed, full of passion, intelligence and wit. And full of a humanity rare for most movies these days. Flipped only seems like a sitcom if you’re not watching it closely.

That’s why it’s so right, so apropos, so flawlessly judged, that Reiner decided to re-set the story from (roughly) the present day to a span from 1957 to 1963, and to embellish the soundtrack with a Scorsesean medley of early ‘60s rock n‘ roll hits and oldies, starting with Curtis Lee’s bouncy “Pretty Little Angel Eyes” (as a fitting anthem for Juli), and ending, devastatingly, with The Everly Brothers’ (or at least Phil‘s) soulful, heart-breaking “Let It be Me.“ (Flipped, like Stand By Me, has the perfect last image and the perfect song playing over it.)

All these songs, juke box gems from the onset of the rock era, obviously mean something precious to Reiner. (They were, after all, the hits and dance songs of his youth.) And they’ll carry a charge to most of the audience as well, including most of the post-Boomer audience who know them only from revivals. There‘s an added boost from the period setting. Putting crusader/activist Juli and her eventual convert Bryce right on the cusp of the ’60s, means we know they’ll go through the late Civil Rights and Vietnam years together — and we know which side they’ll be on.

That isn’t necessarily true of the book. Author Van Draanen sets her Flipped in the present day. (It was published in 2001.) And one of the few cultural details she uses is to make Grandpa Chet a reader of novelist Tom (Patriot Games) Clancy. I hated that, not only because Clancy, a Cold War mega-thriller specialist and right wing trashmeister, seems to me such an overrated, overbought writer (Clancy’s Red Storm Rising is the worst-written long book I ever read all the way through), but because a taste for Clancy doesn’t jibe with Chet’s more liberal, open personality.

Van Draanen’s book is rich in details and insights into youth behavior, and she’s great at character and narrative. But Reiner and his collaborators and his marvelous cast have made it warmer, more deeply touching. Flipped the book would never have made me cry, though maybe Van Draanen doesn’t want tears.

Now I’ll tell you part of why the movie made my tears flow. (Part of the reason anyway.) It’s because something in it reminded me of my own childhood, though nothing that I‘m proud of.

When I was in the third grade, my mother Edna — the woman of whom Juli reminded me so much — began telling me about a family up the street whom she liked and who had a little girl named Caroline, who was about my age, was very smart and took care of some chickens, ducks and other farm animals that the family owned and kept nearby. Edna eventually brought me to meet the family, the animals, and Caroline, who had big eyes and a wide, blazing smile. She was very active and, as Edna said, very bright.

Caroline was a little older than me, and she was sort of temporarily gangly and, for the moment, very tall, as “little girls“ sometimes are at that age — a gawkiness they can grow out of spectacularly. She seemed delighted to have a friend near her age whom she could talk to and play with and show her animals. But I got worried that my classmates would think she was my girlfriend, and tease and laugh at us, if we were seen together too much. So I blew up one day in our house, and, with Caroline there, began storming childishly about how she looked, how she dressed, how tall she was. “Look at her dress! Look at her clothes!” ” I yelled, like a callous little idiot.

I cannot tell you how much I hate myself when I look back on that day, or when I remember Caroline sitting in a chair in our garage apartment, the big smile suddenly gone from her face. How still she was. How sad she was. I’ve replayed that scene and wished a hundred times I could go back in time and shake that little jerk, me, by the shoulders and yell and slap some humanity into him.

I didn’t even have the excuse of arrogant social class or a bad, snobbish father, like Bryce did. My father was a snob, but my parents were divorced and he wasn’t around. My mother and grandparents were maybe poorer than the Barkers. Somehow, I’d picked up that stupid prejudice and cruelty all by myself or from school-friends — a bigotry about looks and dress and apparent social class endemic in our culture and pop culture, and fed to us relentlessly, both then and now.

Poor Caroline. She’d done absolutely nothing to deserve my meanness, any more than Juli did in Flipped, or than Flipped has done to its acid-tongued critic/bashers. My mother made me apologize of course. Edna was embarrassed and hurt too, because in some way, I think she saw some of herself in Caroline and wanted me to like her. But I’d busted things badly; I didn’t have time to set them right.

Caroline‘s family left town shortly afterwards. I never saw her again. But, incredibly, she left me a present before they left. She gave me her two ducks — whom I named Charles Jonathan Duckworth and Janice Elizabeth Duckworth. For years, I fed those ducks and took care of them and walked with them, both quacking, up the street toward Caroline‘s old house, until one day, much later, Charles flew away.

I remember Caroline’s eyes to this day. And her smile. I remember them far more clearly than I do the sparkling eyes and flirty smiles of all the cute little girls, like Flipped’s Sherry Stalls, that I thought were so pretty at the time. But I remember her sudden sadness and stillness that day too. Over the years, every time I recall the day that I behaved like such a worthless little jerk and lost my friend, I dislike my old young self more, and wish more fervently I could wipe it all out, do something to bring back her smile, even for a second.

But how can you? Children can be very cruel. And cruelty uncorrected can blight your life. I hope Caroline was very, very happy all her life, and didn‘t have any more disappointing friends like me. And I hope she doesn’t have too hurtful a memory of the nasty little boy I was that day.

That’s one of the reasons I think Flipped is a great movie. (“I bless the day I found you; I want to stay around you…”) And it’s why I’d like people to try to ignore the negative comments it’s gotten, however persuasive they may seem, and to give it a chance. Don’t treat it like Rob Reiner’s folly, or like his been-there-done-that Stand By Me knockoff, because it isn’t. It’s really his pride and joy, one of the movies he‘ll be remembered for. Treat this sweet, brave, funny, charming, beautiful little picture like a potential treasure, a potential friend — like the little girl (or boy) who keeps knocking at your door and smiling and saying “Hi!‘” and who may have more to offer than you can possibly imagine.

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PICK OF THE WEEK: BLU-RAY

The Last of the Mohicans (Director‘s definitive cut) (Four Stars)

U.S.: Michael Mann, 1992 (20th Century Fox)

From Michael Mann: A politically correct, but still blazingly exciting, version of James Fennimore Cooper’s most romantic Leatherstocking tale: the bloody, brutal war story (French and Huron against British settlers) and buried love, between lovely Cora (Madeleine Stowe) and woosdsman hero and adopted Mohican Hawkeye a.k.a. Pathfinder, a.k.a. Deerslayer a.k.a. Long Rifle a.k.a. Leatherstocking a.k.a. Natty Bummpo (all played by Daniel Day-Lewis), and unspoken feeling between sturdy Mohican Uncas and ethereal Hetty. (Cooper purists tend to dislike this film, but Mark Twain, who wrote the blisteringly funny Literary Offenses of Fennimore Cooper, might have approved. As a story, Mann makes it work.)

Day-Lewis, though seemingly odd casting, makes a terrific hero, Stowe a feisty heroine (second of out feisty Madeleines this week) and Wes Studi (as Magua) a smoldering, scary villain. The other Indians are played by Native Americans too, including Wounded Knee activist Rusell Means as Hawkeye’s eternal pal Chingachcook. The movie is well cast (also on hand are Jodhi May, Eric Schweig, Dennis Banks, Cole Meaney and Pete Postlethwaite, as is French actor-director Patrice Chereau as Montcalm), incredibly rich in detail, and beautifully shot in deep forests and high mountains, by Dante Spinotti. An excellent revisionist Western, in the Little Big Man vein. (R.I.P. Arthur Penn). Along with Heat, it’s as good as Mann has done.

(Two other movie versions of Last of the Mohicans, both worth a watch, are the classic 1920 silent film (Three and a Half Stars) directed by Maurice Tourneur and Clarence Brown, with Wallace Beery as Magua, and a fine 1936 George Seitz version (Three Stars) — the one Mann remembered from his boyhood and adapted here — scripted by Philip Dunne, with Randolph Scott as Hawkeye and Bruce Cabot as Magua.)

Extras: Commentary by Mann, Featurettes.

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PICK OF THE WEEK: BOX SET

The Bing Crosby Collection (Three Stars)

U.S.: Various directors, 1933-47 (Universal)

“Dear gentle folk of Newport…Or maybe I should say ‘hats and cats’: I want you to lend an ear because, well, I want you to hear some really shimmering sharps and flats. For these cozy virtuosi, just about the greatest in the trade, are fixin’ to show you now, precisely how, jazz music is made!

“Well, you take some skins. Jazz begins. And then you take a bass. Man, now we’re getting’ some place…”

Bing Crosby, singing Cole Porter’s “Now You Has Jazz,” in High Society (1956)

Remember that eloquent baritone voice, soaring with melody, rife with melancholy, rippling with wit? Those icy blue eyes? Those wingy ears? That absolutely unflappable demeanor? Remember Bing’s priceless byplay with his trumpet-playing, scat-singing, virtuoso cohort on their great number quoted above, the nonpareil Louis “Satchmo“ Armstrong? (“Hey Pops, you want to grab a little of what’s left here?” “Yeah, Daddy, yeah!”) Remember “Dial ‘O’ for O’Malley?“

We can’t forget Der Bingle of course. But we tend to let slip what an entertainment industry phenomenon Crosby was, especially since his skinny Clan friend Frank Sinatra and that hillbilly cat upstart Elvis Presley have both tended to overshadow him since his death, as singer-actor movie star legends. But Crosby’s record is still pretty amazing.

Mr. C. was the undisputed top ’30’s-’40s recording star, with music’s all time top disc seller (White Christmas) and over 400 charted records in his career (more, this box’s notes gently remind us, than Elvis and The Beatles combined). One of the top box-office movie stars through the ’40s (often swapping positions with his ski-nosed pal Bob Hope). The top-rated radio star of the same decade (Hope again his main rival). A best actor Oscar-winner (for Father O’Malley in Leo McCarey’s excellent and now underrated “Going My Way.“) And don’t forget, Hope never won a competitive Oscar. (He never let us forget it, even when he got career ones.) Crosby paved the way for Frank, Elvis, The Beatles, Michael Jackson, everyone else, and don’t think they didn’t know it.

Crosby was not the usual kind of juke box idol, movie giant or matinee croon-swoon type. He was no schmo. He had a gift of gab, an admirable vocabulary, and he’d roll it out, anytime, anywhere. He‘s the only top 40 singer I can think of who could comfortably use words like “recherché“ and “discombobulate.” (His own writers accompanied him to his sets, which really annoyed Billy Wilder.)

In his early movie career, fresh out of Paul Whiteman’s band, he was sort of a typical singing popular starry-eyed guy, but he had a great sense of humor, was smart as a whip, made one-reel comedies, became a leading man, and also became one of the movies’ all-time great singer-stars and comedy straight men. (He’s usually at his best with partners, whether Hope, or Astaire, or Satchmo, or Frank and Dean — or a leading lady for whom he can lay on the withering schmaltz, and pour out the shimmering honey.

After all that fancy-shmancy intro, I’ve got say this set isn’t the best of Bing. It’s mostly early stuff, a little obscure, a little, dare we say, recherché. (He’s also the only top 40 idol who could get away with “dare we say.”) There’s only one classic here: Mississippi, with W. C. Fields. But it’s all fun to watch. By the way, you can get High Society from Warner. And you should. He does a great duet with Sinatra in the movie too. (“Is that what they’re saying? Well, did you evah!”) And also one with Grace Kelly. And “Now You has Jazz,” is — what can we say — sublime, iridescent, deliciously deliriously, absolutely the pinnacle of musical prestidigitation, a rocker with a bit of the bubbly. just one unsurpassable mellow and magnificent, cool and hot ballad for the ages. Or, as Frank would say, a gasser. (“From the equator, up to the pole: Everybody’s singin’, everybody wingin’ that rock, rock, rock, rock — rock n’ roll!”)

Hey, this intro was fun. I reserve the right to reuse some of it, if they ever put out another, better Crosby set. And they should.

Includes:
College Humor(U.S.; Wesley Ruggles, 1933). Two Stars. College? Humor? Bing is a singing professor, competing for gals with, and crusading for a football team that includes Jack Oakie and Richard Arlen. and a campus that harbors George Burns and Gracie Allen. Rah!

We’re Not Dressing (U.S.; Norman Taurog, 1933.) Well, you can’t beat that cast or that title. Bing romancing Carole Lombard (who, he says in Call Me Lucky, took the title literally), plus Ethel Merman, more Burns and Allen, and, as a lounge lizard, Ray Milland. Here is My Heart(U. S.; Frank Tuttle, 1934). Two and a Half Stars. Bing, a rich crooner, disguises himself as a waiter to romance threadbare Russian royalty Kitty Carlisle and her retinue of Roland Young and Reginald Owen. Sort of imitation Lubitsch, with the best songs in the bunch: June in January“ and “Love is just Around the Corner.” (“And I couldn’t be forlorner.”)

Mississippi (U.S.; A. Edward Sutherland, 1935). Three and a Half Stars. W. C. Fields is a wily Southern riverboat captain and showman, Joan Bennett is a belle of the ball, and Bing is a reputed Northern coward who gains fame as The Singing Killer. A rib-tickling roundelay of rare and roguish jollity. Sing, You Sinners (U.S.: Ruggles, 1938). Two and a Half Stars. Crooner Bing, horn-tootling Fred MacMurray, and dance-up-a-storm young Donald O’Connor are a musical family who try to go straight, until Bing buys a race horse. They’re off! Songs: “Small Fry” and “Pocketful of Dreams.”

Welcome, Stranger (U.S.; Elliot Nugent, 1947) Three Stars. After “Going My Way,” they certainly weren’t strangers, but Bing and Barry Fitzgerald (“Impetuous! Homeric!”) collide again as grouchy old doctor and effervescent young medico, coping with evil pharmacists, medical conspiracies, small town gossip and Joan Caulfield affairs of the heart.

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OTHER CURRENT AND RFECENT RELEASES

The Expendables (Also Blu-ray) (Two Stars)

U. S.; Sylvester Stallone, 2010

Sylvester Stallone could have been a contender.

In fact, once upon a time, he was the contender, even almost the champ. Rocky. F.I.S.T.? Rambo? Now comes The Expendables, an action movie for moviegoers who miss the ’80s. (Personally, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to forget them.)

Sly is back, and he’s playing Barney Ross — not the heroin addict boxer of Andre De Toth’s Monkey on my Back, but the deep-voiced, heavily-muscled, mellowed but kick-ass leader of a gang of mercenaries that includes a whole Dirty Dozen or so of once or current upper-echelon action heroes: Lundgren as the scarred hothead Gunner Jensen, Jason Statham as London’s Lock, Stock basher Lee Christmas, martial artist Jet Li as Chinese mauler Ying Yang, wrestler turned actor Stone Cold Steve Austin as Paine, Terry Crews as Hale Caesar, Randy Couture as Toll Road — enough action stars or superstars to start a new country: Actionland, whose national motto is “Mess with the Best, and Die Like the Rest.”

Sending them on their way is a stern C. I. A. schmoozer named Church (played with an admirably straight face by Bruce Willis). Sitting this one out is another Stallone rival, Arnold Schwarzenegger, as the smirking Trench. (“He wants to be President,” Barney mutters.) The main villain is Eric Roberts, in another headcase role as James Munroe (not the president). The love interest is Gisele Itie as Sandra, the radicalized daughter of the evil general of a wild and woolly banana republic.

And giving the guys tattoos, as scraggly Tool, is Mickey Rourke, Eric Roberts‘ costar in that neglected 1984 NYC street classic “The Pope of Greenwich Village,” a top ’80s movie that a lot of people have forgotten or never knew. Rourke steals the entire movie, and Roberts steals what‘s left.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn‘t sometimes fun to watch all these guys, in their muscle-flexing, exploding fireball of a class reunion. But I’d also be lying if I didn’t say this was a second-tier action movie that doesn’t make much sense. (“But that’s the point!“ hard-core ’80s-lovers will lecture us. “It’s from the ‘80s! It’s not supposed to make sense! It made money!“ ) Oh yeah? If this movie had a lot more humor, more camaraderie and less phony cojones, more Mickey Rourke and Roberts, and even some more non-action Stallone, it could have been a lot better, Charlie. Instead, it’s an occasional hoot, but expendable. Extras: Commentary by Stallone; Featurette; Deleted scene; Gag reel.

Eat Pray Love (Also Blu-ray) (Two and a Half Stars)

U. S.; Ryan Murphy, 2010

This movie — taken from Elizabeth Gilbert’s international bestseller about a year spent recuperating from a failed marriage and love affair, reaching nirvana through travel, romance, epicurean feasting and spiritual questing, communing with various great souls (who mix visionary searching with snappy patter) — is so well shot, on such gorgeous locations (Rome, India, Bali), with such a fine cast (Julia Roberts, Javier Bardem, Richard Jenkins, James Franco, Viola Davis, Billy Crudup), that for a while, it seems better than it really is. But it isn’t. In the end, I felt gypped, manipulated, chivvied, jived. Ain’t no way to the Truth.

You have to go to the book to find out that Gilbert got an (apparently very big) advance from her publisher specifically to write this tome, with four months allotted for each country: four months for Rome and food, four months for India and prayer, four months for Bali and whoopee. It’s all on the itinerary except perhaps for the climactic fling with Bardem as Felipe the boatman, without his Coen Brothers haircut.

Better than this movie, I think would have been a romantic comedy in which writer Liz sets up the whole spiritual-epicurean world cruise with her publisher, and then everything goes wrong, except at the end. But I guess life intervened, love intervened, the Great Soul flew down and blew smoke in our eyes. Close your eyes. Breathe. Follow the light. Eat. Pray. Love. Pray. Advance. Bank transfer. Pray. Advance. Bank transfer. We should all have such a publisher! Then we wouldn’t need a spiritual guide. Or Julia Roberts. No, strike that. We‘ll always need Julia Roberts. Love. Pray. Eat.

Extras: Featurette.

I’m Still Here (Also Blu-ray) (Two Stars)

U. S.; Casey Affleck, 2010

This movie — director Casey Affleck‘s seemingly unsparing look at the weird and infamous career-change crisis (from Oscar-nominated actor to slovenly, talentless rapper) of Affleck’s brother-in-law Joaquin Phoenix — divided critics and media writers between those who thought it was a real documentary (or at least part of one), a non-fiction show full of bone-chilling glimpses of the dark side of Hollywood and the creepy side of success; those who thought it was a flat out mockumentary (or at least part of one) artfully concocted by Phoenix and Affleck, whose con game gulled David Letterman (perhaps) and much of the country; and those who don’t know and don’t care but think, in either case, it’s a crockumentary (or at least part of one) and were grossed out by producer-star Phoenix’s seemingly unsparing revelations, or skits, about what a complete asshole, deranged blowhard and ego-tripping nincompoop Joaquin or “Joaquin” can be.

It was a fake, of course and we should have known. (After all, the name of Joaquin’s and Casey’s production company was “They’re Going to Kill Us.”)

Pretty good acting job though. (By Sean Combs as well as Phoenix.) And an interesting acting challenge: Try to fool the whole country for a movie project, for a year. It even has a rich, juicy theme: the longing of a successful movie star to be an up-from-the-streets “outlaw” artist, the destructive hedonism of the Hollywood rich elite, and the ways that big money and big celebrity can curdle your brains.

Summer and Smoke (Two and a Half Stars)

U.S.; Peter Glenville, 1961 (Olive)

Tennessee Williams’ play Summer and Smoke, set in 1916 in a small Deep South town, is about an idealistic preacher‘s daughter named Alma, who believes in the spirit, and a libertine doctor‘s son named Johnny, who believes in the flesh, and how she loves him all her life, and how he‘s drawn to her for at least one night (and maybe more), and how they just miss erotic connections, and wind up on opposite sides of the spirit-flesh debate. It’s one of his most personal and poetic works.

Williams even returned to Summer and Smoke later, as he did to his early play Battle of Angels — which became Orpheus Descending, and then the Brando-Magnani-Woodward film The Fugitive Kind — refashioning Summer years later as The Eccentricities of a Nightingale. But by then he had seemingly lost his commercial touch, if not his lyrical-dramatic one.

The movie — which has its ups and downs, but always has the benefit of Williams’ singing words and impassioned characterizations — also has a famous and first-rate performance: Geraldine Page’s Oscar-nominated turn as too-sensitive, heart-stricken, utterly trapped Alma, a woman whom she infuses with a bruised idealism and unrequited passion that almost hurt to watch, and whom she carries on a believable transition to Blanche DuBois-land and the kindness of one last stranger. (Earl Holliman, as it turns out, as a traveling salesman.)

Malcolm Atterbury and Una Merkel are also fine as Alma’s parents, the stern preacher and his demented spouse. So is McIntire, gruff and lovable again as Johnny’s doctor dad. And Rita Moreno, in the year she won an Oscar for Anita in “West Side Story,“ has another combustible role here, as Johnny‘s fiery temptress Rosa. (Too much fire this time, maybe and not enough scolding and dancing.)

But the movie, which got Oscar nominations for Page, Merkel and for composer Elmer Bernstein (who contributes an excellent, seething, bent-romantic score), seems sometimes florid and phony, in the way incautious, over-pretentious adaptations of Williams can often seem. Perhaps that’s partly due to director Peter Glenville, a theatrical whiz who knows good material (Becket) and gets fine actors, but sometimes cranks up the stage lust and dramatic pyrotechnics too much. Too summery, too smoky.

“Thomas Gomez turns up again, sweating and shouting,” Glenville-basher Pauline Kael said of Summer supporting actor Gomez, in one of her memorably witty knocks. And so he does, as Rosa’s gun-waving gangster- dad, the owner of Johnny’s favorite depraved den of sin and cockfights Moon Lake Casino — and a man who brings Bacchanal wherever he goes. (I’ll forgive Gomez anything though, because of “Force of Evil.“) As Johnny, Laurence Harvey, as so often during his early ‘60s big star career, seems to have a grudge against the world. It‘s a relief when Harvey, who was a fine Romeo in Renato Castellani’s 1954 Romeo and Juliet, gets to read some of Williams’ gentler lines, and to give Alma some of his softer looks.

I hate to say too many bad things about Summer and Smoke, because it’s the kind of material I’d like to see done more often today, with this level of production and cast. Tennessee Williams may have had his flaws, and his sins, but he could write beautifully and honestly, with feeling. Geraldine Page, a real pro, makes us recognize what strong theatrical stuff Summer and Smoke really is.

A Thunder of Drums (Two and a Half Stars)

U.S.; Joseph M. Newman, 1961 (Warner Archive)

This adult Cavalry Western, about a blunt, prickly commander (Richard Boone), a brash lieutenant (George Hamilton, who’s part of a love triangle here with Home from the Hill” castmate Luana Patten), an insubordinate bully of a soldier (Charles Bronson), and the rest f the fort’s motley populace (including Richard Chamberlain and Slim Pickens), was written by James Warner Bellah, who also wrote Sergeant Rutledge and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance for John Ford, as well as the stories from which Ford made the Cavalry Trilogy.

And if Ford had directed this film — which received unusually good reviews and was then forgotten — it might be considered one of his classics. Newman doesn’t do a bad job though, and Boone (who played the wry gunslinger Paladin in the offbeat TV western “Have Gun, Will Travel”) is, here as elsewhere, an excellent, underrated actor. (This movie is made on demand. Browse www.warnerarchive.com or www.wbshop.com.)