Sight & Sound: October 2011

Cover of Sight & Sound October 2011The latest Sight & Sound is out, complete with the following pieces by me:

  • Out of sight, out of mind (p. 27) – a brief history of the production and suppression Ken Loach’s notoriously polemical documentary for the Save the Children Fund, given its public world premiere on September 1 after being shelved for forty years;
  • Page One: Inside the New York Times (p. 72) – review of Andrew Rossi’s access-all-areas documentary about the venerable American broadsheet newspaper at a time of crisis for traditional media;
  • Before the Revolution (p. 84) – review of the BFI’s dual-format edition of Bernardo Bertolucci’s dazzlingly precocious second feature;
  • The Colour of Pomegranates (p. 84) – review of the Second Sight DVD, which finally does the film justice after several near-misses;
  • Father (p. 85) – review of Second Run’s excellent DVD of István Szabó’s coruscating second feature, a milestone of 1960s Hungarian filmmaking;
  • The Garden of the Finzi-Contini (p. 85) – review of the latest Arrow Academy release, a DVD-only edition of Vittorio de Sica’s final Oscar-winner. Presumably the poor quality of the transfer explains the lack of the usual Blu-ray: a shame, as the package is otherwise excellent;
  • The Music Room (p. 86) – Satyajit Ray’s masterly fourth feature given the deluxe Criterion treatment;
  • Schloss Vogelöd (p. 89) – review of Masters of Cinema’s DVD of F.W. Murnau’s oldest surviving feature, also (misleadingly) known as The Haunted Castle.

Sight & Sound: September 2011

Cover of Sight & Sound September 2011The latest Sight & Sound is out, complete with the following pieces by me:

  • The Interrupters (p. 52) – this month’s Film of the Month, a sobering documentary study by the maker of Hoop Dreams of Chicago street violence and a promising initiative aimed at dealing with it;
  • Carmen (p. 83) – review of the DVD (sadly, I wasn’t sent the Blu-ray) of Second Sight’s restored edition of Francesco Rosi’s 1984 opera-film;
  • Cœur fidèle (p. 83) – review of Masters of Cinema’s first Jean Epstein release, a demonstration-quality silent film Blu-ray;
  • Pigs & Battleships/Stolen Desire (p. 87) – review of another Masters of Cinema package, this time devoted to Shohei Imamura’s first and fifth features;
  • They Went Into Space (p. 88) – review of Telewizja Kinopolska’s sci-fi collection (‘Pojechane w kosmos’), containing the DEFA co-productions The Silent Star and Signals: An Adventure in Space, the Stanisław Lem adaptation Pirx’s Test Flight and the hilarious Indiana Jones ripoff The Curse of Snake Valley. The latter may well be the silliest film I’ve reviewed for S&S to date.

Szindbád review roundup

DVD cover for SzindbádSecond Run’s DVD edition of Zoltán Huszárik’s masterpiece Szindbád comes out today, and reviews have generally been ecstatic.

These ones are less keen on the film, but are nice about the extras:

…and here’s Second Run’s own page about the film and the DVD.

Sight & Sound: August 2011

Cover of Sight & Sound August 2011The latest Sight & Sound is out, complete with the following pieces by me:

  • Faccia a faccia (p. 85) – review of Eureka’s new DVD of Sergio Sollima’s underrated Italian western, released uncut for the first time in Britain;
  • The Halfway House (p. 86) – review of Optimum’s excellent DVD restoration of Ealing Studios’ J.B. Priestley-like wartime ghost story;
  • The Kremlin Letter (p. 86) – review of Eureka’s DVD of John Huston’s fantastically downbeat Cold War drama about disillusioned spies;
  • Rififi (p. 89) – review of the Arrow Academy edition of the classic heist thriller, complete with one of the best black-and-white pictures yet seen on a Blu-ray;
  • The Kingdom I & II (p. 91) – review of the superb new Second Sight edition of Lars von Trier and Morton Arnfred’s gleefully unhinged hospital soap opera.

Szindbád

DVD cover for SzindbádA test pressing of Second Run’s Szindbád arrived in the post, allowing me to confirm a few things about the final release (currently scheduled for 11 July – Amazon/MovieMail/Play).

1. It’s definitely a fresh anamorphic transfer, not an upscale of the old letterboxed Mokép DVD. A side-by-side comparison reveals noticeably more detail on the Second Run version.

2. Even though I can’t judge the accuracy of the translation, I can confirm that the subtitles are a clear improvement on Mokép’s, both in terms of filling in previously untranslated gaps in the dialogue, and in subtitling onscreen text (which the Mokép disc didn’t do).

3. Although there were rumours that Zoltán Huszárik’s breakthrough short Elégia would be included on Second Run’s disc (as it is on the Mokép one), it seems that a last-minute and wholly unexpected rights complication meant that it had to be dropped.

4. So the only video extra is one of Second Run’s “personal appreciations”, this time by Peter Strickland, the director of Katalin Varga. To my surprise, he opens by crediting me with his discovery of the film in the first place (it was my contribution to Sight & Sound‘s “75 hidden gems” feature of summer 2007), so I should probably acknowledge that Stefan Kuhn was the man responsible for drawing my attention to it a few months earlier when he sent me the Mokép DVD. It was fascinating seeing Peter visibly wrestling with the same issues that I had with the booklet (see below) – namely, how do you put into words what you feel about such a supremely visual and aural experience?

5. The other extra is a 20-page booklet, which I haven’t seen yet, but I suspect it’s mostly devoted to the 6,000 word essay I wrote about the film, its literary origins and its director. To put it mildly, this was one of my more challenging recent commissions – I agreed to do it without hesitation because I loved the film, but even aside from the difficulty of conveying its pleasures in verbal form, background research was stymied by the lack of much of any substance available in English, or indeed any other language besides Hungarian. Thankfully, Google Translate was my friend (though I was very careful indeed to source factual claims from more than one document), and various back issues of the Hungarofilm Bulletin (produced by the Hungarian Communist authorities five times yearly to promote their national cinema to English speakers) supplied interviews and other useful background. I also drew on George Szirtes’ translation of some of the original Gyula Krúdy short stories (published as The Adventures of Sindbad), and a New Yorker piece on Krúdy by the Hungarian critic John Lukacs).

Oh, and here’s an enlargement of the cover:

DVD cover of Szindbád

I’ve been a fan of Second Run’s artwork more or less since the label was launched (you can see the lot here, and I singled out personal favourites in this Kinoblog post), but I really think they’ve excelled themselves with this. It was no small challenge summing up this gorgeously-shot but deliberately slippery and elusive film in a single image (the Hungarian DVD opted for the film’s original poster), but they’ve done a blinding job here, conveying the sense of fading memories, the way they’re triggered by Proustian associations with objects, the film’s literary source and Szindbád’s obsession with the opposite sex.

Sight & Sound: July 2011

Cover of Sight & Sound July 2011The latest Sight & Sound is out, complete with the following pieces by me:

  • Brothers in arms (p. 12) – my contribution to the ongoing ‘Lost & Found’ series, whose contributors are given a page to extol the virtues of a film that’s been neglected for far too long – I picked Paolo & Vittorio Taviani’s 1974 film Allonsanfàn, and the piece is also available online.
  • After the Apocalypse (p. 56) – review of Antony Butt’s sobering documentary about the social, cultural and biological aftermath of four decades of nuclear testing in Kazakhstan.
  • Yu-Gi-Oh! 3D – Bonds Beyond Time (p. 82) – loud, shouty and (for non-devotees) borderline incomprehensible Japanese sci-fi animation.
  • Apocalypse Now (p. 85) – review of Optimum’s amazing three-disc Blu-ray that combines both cuts of the main feature with the documentary Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse and much more besides;
  • Films by Ozu Yasujiro (p. 88) – namely, the new BFI dual-format editions of Late Autumn (1960) and An Autumn Afternoon (1962) plus the supporting features A Mother Should Be Loved (1934) and A Hen in the Wind (1948);
  • Taxi Driver (p. 90) – Sony’s outstanding new Blu-ray crams in pretty much everything you could conceivably want, including an onscreen trivia track for people like my mother-in-law who always needs to know what else someone has been in;
  • Avant-Garde to New Wave: Czechoslovak Cinema, Surrealism and the Sixties (p. 93) – review of Jonathan L. Owen’s excellent book about the relationship between the Czech and Slovak avant-garde and the New Wave filmmakers of the 1960s, revealed more often by common artistic preoccupations than close personal relationships.

Screenonline: Lost No More

Sean Connery and Dorothy Tutin in 'Colombe' (1960)Screenonline has just updated its homepage, the highlight being last year’s discovery of seventy previously missing BBC programmes at the Library of Congress (the picture is of Sean Connery and Dorothy Tutin in a 1960 production of Jean Anouilh’s Colombe). I contributed a piece about Much Ado About Nothing (1967), based on Franco Zeffirelli’s controversial 1965 National Theatre production with the soon-to-be-married Maggie Smith and Robert Stephens supported by Derek Jacobi and his Cornetto-salesman accent. I also wrote a short biography of Barry Ackroyd, Ken Loach’s regular cinematographer, recently Oscar-nominated for The Hurt Locker.

L’âge d’or

Cover of L'âge d'orToday sees the release of the BFI’s dual-format reissue of their 2004 DVD package containing both Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí film collaborations, Un chien andalou (1929) and L’âge d’or (1930), together with José Luis López-Linares and Javier Rioyo’s feature-length documentary A propósito de Buñuel (which is actually longer than the two main films put together). I contributed a short biography of Buñuel to the 2004 release, which has been reprinted in the booklet of the new one.

Here are the specs:

  • Presented in both High Definition and Standard Definition;
  • Selected scenes commentary for L’âge d’or by author and filmmaker Robert Short;
  • Un chien andalou (1929, 16 mins): the 1960 restoration of Buñuel and Dalí’s debut;
  • Alternative score for Un chien andalou by Mordant Music;
  • Commentary for Un chien andalou by Robert Short;
  • A propósito de Buñuel (2000, 99 mins, DVD only);
  • Filmed introduction by Robert Short (25 mins, DVD only);
  • 26-page illustrated booklet with essays, biographies and credits.

Originally, Un chien andalou was going to be the same standard-definition version as featured on the 2004 release, on the grounds that the BFI didn’t have anything better. Thankfully, and possibly as a result of discontented rumblings online (one person even pre-emptively gave the release a one-star Amazon review – since deleted – purely because of this), they were able to track down a duplicate 16mm negative of the 1960 restoration, which was the last one that Buñuel worked on directly. The result is a mixed bag – in many respects it’s a clear improvement on the older version, not least because there’s noticeably more detail visible, but the cropping is the same (impossible to ignore when it affects onscreen text) and the image clearly hasn’t undergone much if any proper restoration.

On the other hand, L’âge d’or looks magnificent. This needs a slight qualification, as a film of this age and lengthy history of suppression will never look pristine, as indeed this doesn’t. But simply reframing it at the correct 1.19:1 aspect ratio makes a significant difference over previous 1.33:1 versions (there’s much more visible headroom), meaning that even the DVD represents a marked advance over its predecessor. But the extra definition is where the upgrade really shines – clearly sourced not just from 35mm but from a cleaner print than anything I ever saw in cinemas (and I saw this film pretty regularly throughout the 1980s and 90s, as it would often get free screenings at places like the then Tate Gallery), it’s hard to imagine it coming across much more effectively.

Reviews

  • Cathode Ray Tube (Frank Collins);
  • The Digital Fix (Anthony Nield);
  • Mondo Digital (Nathaniel Thompson);
  • Rock! Shock! Pop! (Ian Jane).
  • Alice

    Cover of AliceThe BFI’s long-awaited dual-format edition of Jan Švankmajer’s Alice finally hits the streets today amid much anticipation and excitement: reviews so far have been mostly frothing raves. I’m credited as co-producer (though in truth my role was more of a consultant: Upekha Bandaranayake and technical supervisor James White deserve far more credit for the physical product) and also wrote several of the pieces in the booklet.

    The full specs:

    • Presented in both High Definition and Standard Definition;
    • Original Czech and alternative English-language audio;
    • Alice in Wonderland (1903, 9 mins): the first screen adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s classic;
    • Elsie and the Brown Bunny (1921, 8 mins, DVD only): early advertising film for Cadbury Bros. Ltd;
    • Alice in Label Land (1974, 12 mins): animated COI film explaining the 1973 food labelling laws;
    • Stille Nacht II: Are We Still Married? (1992, 3 mins): the Quay Brothers’ Alice-inspired music film;
    • Stille Nacht IV: Can’t Go Wrong Without You (1993, 4 mins): the white rabbit returns in the second of the Quay Brothers’ music films for His Name is Alive;
    • 34-page illustrated booklet with essays, film notes, biographies and credits.

    Although I’d been treated to glimpses of the new high-definition transfer during the production, it wasn’t until my own copy arrived a fortnight or so ago that I could appreciate the radical transformation. It’s not just the extra detail (though this makes a substantial difference in itself: Švankmajer has always been obsessed with texture and tactility) but the eye-poppingly punchy colours. Although it probably looked pretty similar back in 1988, when I first saw the film in 35mm, successive video editions have contrived to make it look as drab and battered as Švankmajer’s much-abused puppets. No longer.

    Being in the original Czech for what I think is the first time in an English-speaking country also makes a huge difference. Not so much for the language itself (both Czech and English soundtracks are pitched at children’s vocabulary level – my Czech is laughable, but I can follow much of it easily) as for the elimination of that jarring dislocation between the English soundtrack and the gigantic close-ups of Alice’s lip movements. In fact, since the girl in the closeups wasn’t even lead actress Krystyna Kohoutová (who lost a front tooth at a crucial moment), I can only assume that financial issues prevented splicing in clips of an English girl as an alternative, as that would have been far more aesthetically effective. Still, despite an obvious preference for the Czech, the BFI was absolutely right to retain the English soundtrack, and not just for nostalgia purposes – my six-year-old daughter loves the film, and there’s no way I’d have got her to sit through anything in subtitled Czech.

    My only real regret about such a superlative package is that it’s spoilt me to the extent that I now want to see Švankmajer’s entire output in Blu-ray in similarly peerless transfers sourced from the best possible 35mm materials (the BFI had access to the camera negative and original 35mm interpositive – in other words the mother lode). But I fear that this may take some considerable time, if it ever comes close to happening at all.

    Reviews

    Sight & Sound: June 2011

    Cover of Sight & Sound June 2011The latest Sight & Sound is out, complete with the following pieces by me:

    • Forgotten Pleasures of the Multiplex (p. 16 and online) – a celebration of neglected and/or forgotten mainstream gems from 1981-2011 by multiple authors. My contributions were Joseph B. Vasquez’s Hangin’ with the Homeboys (1991), a film several orders of magnitude more intelligent and indeed charming than its title suggests, and Craig Hamann’s Boogie Boy (1998).
    • Attack the Block (p. 57 and online) – review of Joe Cornish’s uproarious feature debut, an aliens-vs-hoodies monster movie set in a highly recognisable sarf London;
    • Bedevilled (p. 84) – review of Optimum’s DVD of Jang Chul-soo’s debut, distinctive enough to rise above initial impressions that this was yet another by-the-numbers Korean revenge flick;
    • Early Kurosawa (p. 86) – review of the BFI’s DVD collection of Akira Kurosawa’s first six features. “A mixed bag, and that’s putting it mildly”, I said – but the two terrible films are more than balanced by four good ones.
    • The Lighthouse (p. 88) – hugely impressive 2006 debut by Armenian director Maria Saakyan, given a belated British premiere release courtesy of a typically loving presentation from Second Run;
    • Apocalypse Now (p. 85) – review of Optimum’s amazing three-disc Blu-ray that combines both cuts of the main feature with the documentary Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse and much more besides;
    • Mamma Roma (p. 89) – review of Mr Bongo’s barebones but well-presented DVD of Pier Paolo Pasolini’s second feature, in which the relatively untried director manages to assert his own strong artistic personality even in the face of Anna Magnani’s torrential lead performance;
    • Minnie & Moskowitz (p. 89) – review of Mr Bongo’s excellent presentation of John Cassavetes’ 1971 screwball (ish) comedy (even more ish);
    • Il posto (p. 90) – review of Mr Bongo’s barebones but decent DVD of Ermanno Olmi’s lovely 1961 film about the fleeting pleasures and grinding tedium of both getting and keeping a job.