Sir
Carol Reed has always been a stylish director, someone who could evoke a striking
mood with atmospheric cinematography and lighting, setting, and the perfect
compositions that placed his actors within the picturesque frames. Reed is
mostly remembered for his masterpiece, The Third Man (1949), an earlier
British noir called Odd Man Out (1947), and for his later Oscar-winning
musical, Oliver! (1968). One of his more overlooked gems is The Man
Between, another polished British noir from 1953 that obviously attempts to
capitalize on what made The Third Man and Odd Man Out memorable.
The
movie is a Cold War thriller set in early 50s Berlin, several years before the
erection of the Wall. Like The Third Man, the story deals with wavering
loyalties to the politics that govern a particular location. Here, the
East-West conflict in Berlin is beginning to broil into a seriously tense
situation. Nevertheless, Reed and his cinematographer, Desmond Dickinson,
transform the intrigue into a gorgeously rendered, haunting treatise of
melancholy that permeates the succession of expressionistic, high contrast
black and white tableaux.
A
young Claire Bloom stars as Susanne, an English tourist who has come to Berlin
to visit her brother, Martin (Geoffrey Toone). Martin is married to Bettina
(Hildegard Knef, credited as Hildegard Neff), who has a mysterious connection
with former German lawyer Ivo (James Mason, displaying a somewhat awkward
German accent, but it’s effective enough). Ivo seems to be in trouble, as a lot
of men in trench coats or uniforms are looking for him. Even though the man is
decidedly bad news, Susanne falls in love with Ivo. Without spoiling the
revelations of the story, suffice it to say that Ivo is involved in nefarious arrangements
with the East Germans, but at the same time yearns to be in the West. Unfortunately,
Susanne gets caught up in the tangled web and finds herself stuck in the
Eastern bloc; hence, a good portion of the film centers on the harrowing
attempts to get her back to the West without the authorities closing in.
While
The Man Between is beautiful to look at and well-acted, the plot is a
bit muddled—we’re not really sure what Ivo is actually doing until late in the
game, and even then it’s not very clear. There are also some believability
issues regarding Susanne’s attraction to Ivo, but I suppose since he’s a young,
handsome James Mason, it’s all good. It really doesn’t matter, for the
moodiness and the melodrama carries one through the picture with grace and a
good deal of suspense, even if we’re not entirely sure what’s going on.
Kino
Lorber’s new 1920x1080p Blu-ray is indeed an exquisite presentation—the image
is sharp and crystal clear. It comes with an audio commentary by film critic
and author Simon Abrams. The supplements are impressive. Of special interest is
the nearly 45-minute retrospective of Carol Reed’s career, featuring several
talking heads, including John Boorman, and film clips. There’s also a long, wonderful
audio interview with James Mason, who is a much funnier man than we’ve often
been led to believe. A short video interview with Claire Bloom is also
enlightening, and various trailers round off the package.
The
Man Between is
a good example of one of the more high-class, bigger-budget productions coming
out of the U.K. in the early 1950s.
Ken (Dale Midkiff) and Bob (Preston Maybank) land
in a propeller plane and speed off on motorcycles to a large mansion. Ken calls
Julie Clingstone (Debbie Laster) via radio as Bob scales the side of the
building. Julie wants him to give her access to “the mainframe†when suddenly,
somewhere a puppet (yes, a puppet)
begins yelling Danger! Danger!, obviously aware of the imminent
intrusion. Edward Brake (Wellington Meffert) is sleeping in bed in the mansion
while Bob takes off his necklace and lays it on the ledge after reaching the
mansion’s roof. He rotates a parabolic dish and the puppet, operating some sort
of a crude computer and using telepathic powers, makes the necklace turn into a
sphere (think Phantasm). Bob starts
to bleed from the face and falls to his death. The action breaks into the
opening credits to “Nightmare†as sung by Miriam Stockley.
If you’re still reading this, I commend you,
because I would have stopped at the mention of the word “puppetâ€. There are few
films that leave me at a loss for words (Quentin Dupieux’s 2010 film Rubber is hands-down the most
infuriating movie I have ever watched; I might have to re-watch that one as I
must have missed the point completely),
but Henri Sala’s Nightmare Weekend
(1986) is, in the words of the late film critic Gene Siskel in his review of
1978’s Surfer Girls, one of the most
improbably lousy movies I have ever seen. This doesn’t stop one’s viewing of
the film from being a total loss,
however, as Nightmare is if nothing
else that we can be absolutely sure of a time capsule of the 80’s, with
artifacts of the Zeitgeist on full display: girls workout wearing leg warmers,
a guy dances nearly everywhere with a Walkman in his pants, a tough guy and his
Laura Brannigan lookalike chick get it on atop a pinball machine, and computer equipment is
crude, big and bulky. Clocking in at 85
minutes, Nightmare seems longer than
Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather Part
II (forgive me for mentioning them both in the same sentence, I do
apologize). Edward Brake is an entrepreneur/inventor who has created a
computerized “Biometer†which changes naturally aggressive animals into docile
house pets. He ultimately wants it to be used for the betterment of society,
but it’s just not ready for prime time. His partner Julie can’t wait for him
and goes behind his back to team up with a nefarious organization that will pay
her millions for the Biometer. Edward’s daughter Jessica Brake (Debra Hunter) is a Carol Alt
lookalike who, with her friend Annie (Lori Lewis) and another woman, has been
chosen to be part of Julie’s experiment for which they will both be paid 500
dollars each for their involvement. The idea is to see how the Biometer works
on people. The aforementioned puppet, named George, is housed in Jessica’s room
and is operated by a computer named Apache, indubitably the precursor to the Apache HTTP Server (Danger! Danger! Sarcasm!), and is part of
the whole operation. The motley crew, and there are a lot of characters to keep
track of unnecessarily, all find themselves one way or another being affected
by the Biometer.
The
two biggest issues with Nightmare are
the screenplay and the editing. I love bad movies that are entertaining but
unfortunately this isn’t one of them. The
film never seems to make up its mind as to what it wants to be: horror,
soft-core porn, comedy, campy/serious? Scenes and shots are so
short it’s nearly impossible to keep track of the goings-on. It’s also
occasionally insulting to women as they are all pretty much on display simply for
men’s gratification.
Nightmare is a Troma
production which means that it exudes its own special, patented brand of strangeness.
It’s difficult for another film director or producer to attempt to ape the Troma
style as it is a singularly unique, signature and patented style of strangeness.
Shot in July 1983 in Ocala, FL on a budget of ostensibly half a million dollars,
Nightmare defies
description which, in the hands of a seasoned auteur like David Lynch, can be a
good thing. That isn’t the case here. Nightmarefalls into the “so-bad-it’s-badâ€
camp. You feel like you’re watching auditions with an amateur acting troupe,
although amazingly other reviewers have championed the acting in an otherwise
disjointed film. That being said, if you’re a fan of the film, it has been
released as a DVD/Blu-ray combo from Vinegar Syndrome. The image has been scanned in 2K and looks
really nice and is a far cry from the VHS tape from 30 years ago. It also
contains an interview with producer Marc Gottlieb that runs just under 13 minutes.
He’s very engaging and fun to listen to as he describes the making of the film
and how they promoted it at the 1984 Cannes Film Festival. Dean Gates, who did
the makeup effects, speaks for nearly 23 minutes and provides us with an
interesting perspective on the effects that he created in the days before movie
companies made the switch to CGI for most of this type of work.
Vinegar Syndrome has put together a really nice
package for this title. It has a reversible cover and very colorful
artwork.
Nightmare
Weekend is best
viewed on a weekend while severely inebriated!
Growing
up, I remember listening to the CBS Radio Mystery Theater, hosted by the gifted
actor, E.G. Marshall.But as the
plethora of new media choices came online over the years, I had thought that
kind of pure audio entertainment had gone the way of the RCA Selectavision Video
Disc… The delightful Passport to Oblivion
2-disc set from Spiteful Puppet proved me wrong and is a welcome return to
adventure for the ears and mind.
The
production, based on James Leasor’s 1964 best-seller (filmed as Where the Spies
Are in 1966) stars ex-007 George Lazenby as Dr. Jason Love, a reluctant spy
lured back into service to make a seemingly routine rendezvous for MI6 – a
rendezvous that turns out to be anything BUT routine.Love is no high-flying secret agent, but a
comfortably retired doctor in rural England.
The
story unfolds with a highly skilled cast including Glynis Barber, Terence Stamp
and Nickolas Grace, all performing against a rich audio bed of sound effects,
other voice actors and music cues. There’s even a Bondian-sounding theme song
by the talented British singer Verity White.
Lazenby’s voice is
unmistakable – his Australian accent has aged, with a rich timbre. Having
recently turned 80, he does the show with the confidence of an artist who has
nothing left to prove, taking us through all the twists and turns of Leasor’s elaborate
plot, his famous voice conveying outrage, confusion, humor and his natural
Aussie charm.
By
all reports, Lazenby enjoyed the experience and unlike his one screen
appearance as Bond, he’s keen to do more.Spiteful Puppet has the option to release nine more of Dr. Love’s
adventures in dramatic audio format.For
director/producer Barnaby Eaton-Jones, working with Lazenby was a peak experience
– “It was always a coup to get George on board and the challenge of him
playing a reluctant spy, rather than a super confident double-O-agent, was
something that clearly appealed (to him). When you meet him, you quickly realize
he was essentially playing himself as Bond. He has a swagger and a twinkle and
a devil-may-care attitude that hasn't changed even though he's now hit 80 years
old.â€
During
production, Eaton-Jones observed George displaying the same hot-blooded
instincts he showed while making On Her Majesty’s 50 years ago – “… he was perkiest in the recording studio when Glynis
Barber and Carla Mendonça were present (our two leading females) but, between
takes, he would regale us with the antics of his past.â€
In a world crowded with video games and streaming videos of every
description, Spiteful Puppet’s Passport to Oblivion audio drama is a
welcome return to the entertainment of old – well-crafted, detailed and
absorbing.
Passport
To Oblivion
will be released as a 2-disc audio set in a custom illustrated sleeve on
November 29, 2019 and you can order it by clicking here.
It’s
been 45 years since the release of Thunderbolt and Lightfoot. At the
time it seemed to be one of the better Clint Eastwood vehicles produced by his
company, Malpaso. Alas, the film has aged considerably along with both stars of
the film—Eastwood and Jeff Bridges (who was 24 at the time of its release).
The
picture was written and directed by the late Michael Cimino, who would later go
on to pick up Oscar gold for the The Deer Hunter (1978). Cimino got his
start with Eastwood, having co-written the script for Magnum Force
(1973) and then convinced the star to take on his original screenplay that he
had pitched prior to the making of Magnum. Cimino landed the job to
direct as well, and the planets aligned for the budding young talent.
It's
a Buddy Movie/Heist Flick/Road Picture/Action-Comedy about two common criminals—a
bank robber named Thunderbolt (Eastwood), and a drifter named Lightfoot
(Bridges)—who find each other by happenstance and become friends and partners. Complicating
matters is Thunderbolt’s old gang, headed by the vicious sociopath Red (George
Kennedy), who believes Thunderbolt ran off with the money from a previous
robbery at which many of their cohorts were killed. In truth, Thunderbolt hid
the cash in an old one-room schoolhouse—but when he went to claim the loot, he
found that the city had built a modern school in its place. Lightfoot convinces
Red to team up with him and Thunderbolt to pull off a more complicated heist as
a consolation prize. They are joined by Goody (Eastwood cast stalwart Geoffrey
Lewis) and the plan goes well… until it doesn’t.
Both
Eastwood and Bridges make a great team. Bridges (who received a Supporting
Actor Oscar nomination for his role) is so winning that he steals the movie.
Kennedy is also effective as the volatile heavy. The picture is full of the
kind of action (car chases, shoot-outs, fist fights) typical of Eastwood fare
in the mid-70s, as well as comedy. Unfortunately, a lot of the humor is at the
expense of women. This is sadly a sign of those times. Today, the bits of sexism
and chauvinism sprinkled throughout the picture are cringeworthy.
The
movie also suffers for playing too much to a blue-collar audience, much like
Eastwood’s later comedies, Every Which Way but Loose (1978) and Any
Which Way You Can (1980). There seems to be a sophomoric, redneck
sensibility to the characters and presentation that might have played well in
1974, but it comes off today as crass.
Nevertheless,
Kino Lorber’s new high definition 1920x1080p release looks sharp and colorful
(the location shooting in Montana provides gorgeous vistas). It is accompanied
by an audio commentary by film critic Nick Pinkerton. Supplements include a
near-half-hour featurette on the making of the movie with a rare audio
interview by the reclusive Cimino, the theatrical trailer, and a handful of TV
and radio spots.
For
Eastwood fans, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot is a cult film that does have a
lot going for it, especially the performance by Jeff Bridges, but viewers
should prudently place it within the context of when the picture was made and
released.
The
filmmaker who made the iconic Clint Eastwood vehicle, Dirty Harry in
1971 also made something of an early test-run three years earlier in the form
of a crime picture called Madigan. Starring Richard Widmark as a tough,
cynical, and world-weary police detective in New York City, Madigan
displays the same look, feel, and grit that the later Eastwood police
procedural exhibits. And, like Harry Callahan, Dan Madigan doesn’t always
follow the rules.
Don
Siegel (credited here as “Donald†Siegel for some odd reason, for he had been
“Don†in earlier films) had been a solid craftsman since the 1950s, responsible
for such works as Riot in Cell Block 11 (1954), the original Invasion
of the Body Snatchers (1956), the admirable remake of The Killers
(1964), and Coogan’s Bluff (1968). Likewise, Madigan is a
well-made thriller with a hard-boiled plot and realistic characters portrayed
by an excellent cast that includes Henry Fonda, Inger Stevens, and James
Whitmore.
The
tale begins when Madigan (Widmark) and his partner Rocco Bonaro (Harry
Guardino) screw up while attempting to bring in hoodlum Barney Benesch (Steve
Inhat) for questioning, unaware that he is wanted for murder in Brooklyn. Benesch
gets the upper hand on the pair and runs away with their guns. Police
commissioner Russell (Fonda) isn’t happy about this, but he has other problems
on his mind. Besides being involved in an adulterous relationship with a mistress (Susan Clark) that’s going
south, Russell’s best friend on the force, Chief Inspector Kane (Whitmore), may
be accepting bribes. Madigan has marital problems, too; his wife, Julia
(Stevens), is fed up with him, for he is married more to the job than to her. As
the two storylines converge, Russell orders Madigan and Bonaro to track down
Benesch by following the leads of several colorful characters, including
“Midget Castiglione†(Michael Dunn). Of course, the investigation culminates in
a climactic shootout with tragic results.
Widmark
is very good as the film’s protagonist, although the actor always seems to play
“Richard Widmark†in whatever movie he’s in (except Kiss of Death, which
made him a star as a psychotic killer). It is Fonda, however, who dominates the
picture. Russell’s plotline is ultimately more interesting than that of
Madigan’s, revealing a troubled, conflicted man who appears to have his mind on
the job but his heart ready to chuck it all.
Kino
Lorber’s new 1920x1080p Blu-ray looks slick and sharp, and it has optional
English subtitles. An interesting audio commentary by film historians Howard S.
Berger, Steve Mitchell, and Nathaniel Thompson accompanies the movie, but there
are no supplements other than the theatrical trailer and some TV spots.
Madigan
became
a short-lived television series in the early 70s with Widmark reprising his
role, but it is the 1968 feature film that packs the punch. A warm-up to Dirty
Harry? Perhaps not intentionally, but Madigan is a strong entry in Don
Siegel’s filmography.
While
it’s got its defenders and fans, The Fearless Vampire Killers is not
Roman Polanski at his best. It does, however, have a certain charm if one
places the film within the context of when it was made and released.
Originally
titled Dance of the Vampires, the movie is a comedy horror flick that is
an obvious send-up of the British horror movies made by Hammer Studios that
were hugely popular in the 1960s. It looks like a Hammer picture… the
film stock is the same and the colors have that muted, yet oddly vibrant, appearance—and
of course the blood and bosoms are in full bloom. It was a British production
as well, but the film was made in ski resort locations in Italy, doubling as
“Eastern Europe.â€
Probably
of special interest these days is the presence of Sharon Tate in a lead role,
as well as her soon-to-be husband, the director himself, Roman Polanski, as the
protagonist’s sidekick. Their off-screen budding romance is palpable in the
movie, and, if anything, The Fearless Vampire Killers reflects a moment
in time when there was no controversy in the filmmaker’s life and the future
for him and his bride-to-be appeared to be rosy.
It's
the story of Professor Abronsius (Jack MacGowran), a sort of Van Helsing
figure, and his assistant, Alfred (Polanski), as they hunt for vampires. Tate
is Sarah, the daughter of the tavern innkeeper (Alfie Bass), and Alfred falls
madly in love with her. When she is taken captive by the local vampire head
honcho, Count von Krolock (Ferdy Mayne), Abronsius and Alfred take it upon
themselves to rescue her and destroy the count’s huge coven of undead
followers, who congregate annually for a ball in Krolock’s castle.
The
movie is wacky, full of slapstick, and has little true horror. There’s something
of a Benny Hill sensibility that permeates it; the picture is certainly
atypical of what we think of as a Roman Polanski movie. Polanski himself is
quite good in his role of the 90-pound weakling who summons the bravery to
complete his tasks. Tate is eye candy supreme, and she plays her role
relatively straight. MacGowran, when you can understand his dialogue, is
effectively comical, but it is Polanski who steals the picture.
When
the film was first released in the U.S., the distributors re-cut it and added a
cheap animated sequence before the credits, dubbed MacGowran’s voice with a
silly-sounding one, and added the subtitle: …OR: Pardon Me, but Your Teeth
Are in My Neck. The movie bombed at the time, disappeared, and was relegated
to cult status over the years. Eventually, a restored U.K. version (Polanski’s
preferred cut) resurfaced and was released on home video. The Fearless
Vampire Killers was then re-evaluated, and it is now considered, in some
circles anyway, to be one of the filmmaker’s minor classics.
The
Warner Archive’s new Blu-ray release is, thankfully, the original U.K. cut, and
it looks quite good in its widescreen, colorful splendor. The supplements
include the U.S. animated pre-credits sequence, a vintage featurette on the
making of the picture, and the theatrical trailer. English subtitles can be
turned on, which is highly recommended—the dialogue, with its many accents and
muddied deliveries, can be rather difficult to follow.
The
Fearless Vampire Killers is an oddity, but it’s enjoyable enough to pass the time
and serve as a rare happy bookmark in the life of one of cinema’s most important—yet
troubled—filmmakers.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM THE CINEMA RETRO MOVIE STORE
In
1951, Ealing Studios in Britain were on a roll. The so-called “Ealing
Comedies,†which became a sub-genre all their own, had become a sensation,
especially when the pictures starred the versatile and charismatic Alec
Guinness. Earlier that same year, The Lavender Hill Mob was one of the
most popular films ever released in the U.K., and it was proving to be a hit in
America as well (and would, the following year, win an Oscar for its writing).
Following
hot on the heels of Lavender Hill was The Man in the White Suit,
which featured Guinness as Sidney Stratton, a brilliant but over-zealous
scientist who will stop at nothing to realize his dream of creating an
impervious textile.
As
discussed in the supplemental documentary, “Revisiting ‘The Man in the White
Suit,’†the picture was made at a time when Britain was on the precipice of
“the future†in terms of technological advancements, but there was in some
quarters a resistance to leaving the conservative past behind. While there are
plenty of laughs in the movie, it is also a cautionary tale about the dangers
of advancing too quickly.
In
the course of the story, the determined Sidney makes many enemies, but a few
friends as well, and eventually he succeeds in creating a starkly white suit
that repels dirt and stains, will not tear, and is slightly radioactive. It
also glows in the dark! The problem, as the men in power come to realize, is
that manufacturing the textile will put everybody else out of business—mill
workers, launderers, clothing makers, and more. Therefore, the decision is made
to suppress the invention—and this causes Sidney to go berserk and escape from
the clutches of both the upper management and the lower workers.
There
are many hilarious sequences, such as when the chemicals keep exploding and
destroying the laboratory, much to the chagrin of the managers. While the brew
is cooking, the test tubes and beakers bubble musically with tones and
beeps—“testubular bells,†so to speak. Very amusing.
Guinness
is terrific, of course, and he is supported by the superb Joan Greenwood, Cecil
Parker, and Michael Gough. One highlight is the appearance of Ernest Thesiger
(of Bride of Frankenstein fame) as one of the wiley, old textile
industry barons.
The
Man in the White Suit was nominated for the Writing—Adapted Screenplay Oscar at
the same ceremony in which The Lavender Hill Mob was nominated (and won)
for Writing—Original Screenplay. Ealing Studios was indeed at the top of their
game in 1951.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray 1920x1080p restoration looks quite good, a vast
improvement over previous DVD releases. There are optional English subtitles,
as well as a learned audio commentary by film historian Dr. Dean Brandum. Supplements
include the previously mentioned documentary, the theatrical trailer, and
trailers for other Kino Lorber releases.
The
Man in the White Suit is classic British comedy, timeless Alec Guinness, and a swell
time to be had by all in comfortable home theaters!
One
of the greatest and most commercially successful fantasy series of the 1960s, The Avengers actually started out in
1961 as a gritty crime drama focused on Doctor Keel, played by Ian Hendry, one
of British television’s biggest stars at that time. In the first episode his
wife is killed by drug dealers, and a mysterious undercover agent named John
Steed, played of course by Patrick Macnee, helps him to avenge her death. The
two end up working together on a number of other crime cases, thus forming the
basis for a series that would ultimately outgrow its noir origins and become an outrageous Technicolor riot of science
fiction, martial arts, sexy fashion and comedy. Once Doctor Keel was out of the
picture, the playful ‘will they? – won’t they?’ (or even ‘have they? – haven’t
they?’) nature of John Steed’s relationship with his female partners – Cathy
Gale (Honor Blackman), Emma Peel (Diana Rigg) and Tara King (Linda Thorson) –provided
a frisson of excitement and the occasional wink towards the adults in the
audience of what was essentially a family show. After coming to an end in 1969,
John Steed was soon back in 1976 with The
New Avengers, as a mentor to his new younger companions Purdey (Joanna
Lumley) and Mike Gambit (Gareth Hunt).
Of
course, where there is success merchandising is never far behind, and The Avengers and The New Avengers was no exception. This new volume by John Buss,
following closely on the heels of his volume on The Man from U.N.C.L.E., features global examples of original
books, toys, magazines, records, clothing and promotional items, many from the
author’s own personal archive. One might expect novelisations and collectible
annuals to have been standard in the 1960s, but Honor Blackman’s Book of Self-Defence, in which she demonstrates a
number of techniques, is perhaps a little more surprising. As was common at the
time, most of the cast at some point released singles or albums, with the only
exception being Diana Rigg, who was far too serious for that kind of thing.
Macnee and Blackman released that notorious novelty record ‘Kinky Boots’
(recorded after a long session in the pub according to Honor Blackman), but
Linda Thorson had some success as well with her single ‘Here I am’, which was
released all over Europe. Blackman also released an entire solo album in 1964,
‘Everything I’ve Got’, capitalising on her popularity from both The Avengers and Goldfinger.
With
well over 100 items discussed in this full-colour volume, John Buss is clearly
Britain’s leading 1960s TV memorabilia collector and historian. This is an
essential purchase for anyone who remembers the thrill of owning an annual,
plastic gun, board game or jigsaw from your favourite show.
It
was a surprise to discover this engaging, tightly-written and directed
thriller—released in 1950!—about a possible nuclear nightmare taking
place in London. In fact, the film was awarded the Oscar for Best Story (back
when that category still existed). The writers were Paul Dehn (who would years
later co-pen the script for Goldfinger and, after that, The Spy Who
Came in from the Cold) and James Bernard (primarily known as a film score
composer, best remembered for his work for Hammer horror pictures).
The
Boulting Brothers (identical twins!) were a sort of British Coen Brothers at the
time, having made numerous quality movies from the late 1930s to the 1970s,
usually directing separately. Seven Days to Noon is the only picture on
which both brothers are credited as directors.
While
the tale is fiction (and based on a novel), it plays as if it’s a true story. A
brilliant nuclear physicist, Professor Willingdon (Barry Jones) has written a
letter to the Prime Minister, saying that he’s stolen one of the suitcase-sized
nuclear bombs from the British weapons development facility, and he will
detonate it on the following Sunday at noon (seven days from the beginning of
the picture) if Britain does not announce the cessation of atomic weapons
creation. Willingdon goes into hiding to wait out the days, staying in shabby rooms-to-let
near the center of London. One of his landladies is the colorful (and morally
dubious) Goldie (Olive Sloane). Scotland Yard Superintendent Folland (Andre
Morrell) teams up with one of Willingdon’s colleagues, Lane (Hugh Cross), who
happens to be sweet on the professor’s daughter, Ann (Sheila Manahan), to try
and figure out Willingdon’s whereabouts.
The
picture goes into fine detail on how such a scenario might play out in the
city. For the first couple of days, the public is kept in the dark; but as the
deadline draws near, an evacuation must occur. A fifteen-mile radius is
determined to be the danger zone, and the filmmakers illustrate what a problem
this would entail.
The
result is a suspenseful, beat-the-clock doomsday picture that foreshadows by
almost fifteen years other similar cautionary movies like Dr. Strangelove or
Fail-Safe. The film moves quickly through its near-ninety-minute
runtime, generating tension and chills galore.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration is a solid black and white, suitably grainy
presentation in 1920x1080p with optional English subtitles. Alas, there are no
supplements save for a theatrical trailer and some for other Kino releases.
Seven
Days to Noon is
terrific stuff, a shining feather in the cap of the British film industry.
In
1988, filmmaker Martin Scorsese unleashed the mesmerizing—and undeservedly controversial—The
Last Temptation of Christ. It revealed a side of the director that one
would call “spiritual,†which to many was something of a surprise. After all,
this was the guy who had given us Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, and Raging
Bull.
Nine
years later, Scorsese presented yet another entry into what now could be called
his “Spiritualism Trilogy,†i.e., three movies that deal with crises of faith.
This one was Kundun, the epic biopic about the life of the Dalai Lama.
(The third piece in the trilogy, Silence, appeared nineteen years after
that, in 2016.)
It
was the late screenwriter Melissa Mathison (E.T., The Black Stallion)
who apparently got Scorsese interested in doing a picture about the Dalai Lama,
whom the other lamas addressed as “Kundun.†Mathison had become friendly with
the real exiled Dalai Lama and he had given his blessing for her to write a
screenplay about his life.
The
result was a fairly expensive ($28 million budget) period/costume piece with no
recognizable/bankable stars about a figure who had little connection with Western
audiences. The motion picture—as lush, beautiful, and well-intentioned that it
is—failed at the box office and was contentious to boot. Kundun was
banned in China, of course, and in fact, the Chinese government punitively banned
all Disney films (the distributor) for some time until the studio
apologized and worked to mend the relationship.
The
story begins in 1937, when a young, precocious child born to poor farmers in
Tibet is single-handedly chosen to become the next Dalai Lama after the death
of the previous one. He is taken from his family to groom and educate. Then, in
the late 40s, Communist China invades Tibet, there is a power struggle, and the
Dalai Lama is forced to flee his country in 1959. He currently resides in exile
in India.
Scorsese’s
film is indeed gorgeous. Roger Deakins received one of his numerous Academy
Award nominations for the cinematography. The picture was also nominated for
Art Direction, Costume Design, and for Philip Glass’s haunting Original Score. The
picture itself is meticulously paced, meditative, and, some might say, dull.
Granted, while it’s not the type of crime picture Scorsese is known for, Kundun
is anything but boring. Let’s just say that it came and went vastly
underappreciated.
Kino
Lorber’s new Special Edition 2-disk Blu-ray release gives us an excellent
1920x1080p restoration that beats any previous home video release. The
accompanying audio commentary by film historian and critic Peter Tonguette is
quite informative, as it also deals with Scorsese’s experiments in spiritualism
in the cinema.
An
entire second disk is devoted to supplements, although they are all vintage
pieces produced around the time of the movie’s release. In Search of Kundun
is a long and detailed account about the making of the film. There is also a lengthy
interview with that documentary’s director, Michael Henry Wilson, on how he got
involved with Kundun. Surprisingly extended outtakes from the
documentary are presented as separate interviews with Scorsese, Philip Glass,
and Melissa Mathison. There is an additional hour-long documentary, Compassion
in Exile, about the real Dalai Lama. Finally, there is a substantial
collection of EPK featurettes with the cast and crew that the studio produced
to promote the film, and the theatrical trailer. The limited edition booklet
essay is by filmmaker Zade Constantine.
Kundun
may
be considered an oddity in Martin Scorsese’s oeuvre, but when one
studies the filmmaker’s thematic through lines in all his works, his
choice to make it is not so mysterious. Kino’s new release is noteworthy and
certainly attractive to Scorsese’s serious fans and to anyone interested in the
life of one of the most respected religious leaders on the planet.
