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THE TREE OF LIFE: Terrence Malick’s Revelatory Wrestling Match With The Eternal
A profound meditation revisited in a new director’s cut from Criterion
Job 38: 4,7: Where were you when I laid the foundations of the Earth?….When the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?
Rare indeed is the film that attempts to grapple with the eternal, with the beginning and end times on a cosmic level; a film that attempts to be at once deeply intimate and profound on the grandest scale. Rarer still is the film that attempts these things and succeeds wildly, leaving viewers in a state of awe and wonder. The Tree Of Life is that rare bird of a film. So rare that even filmmaker Terrence Malick himself has struggled to recapture that same grand wonder in his subsequent films which are crafted in a similar (and wholly unique) style which is so specific as to be dubbed “Malickian”. The Tree Of Life, it seems, is the most perfect match of subject matter and the filmmakers style, and ranks among his great achievements.
Humans ask questions. It’s a core trait that has compelled us to where we are as a species today. We universally ask big questions and meditate on higher things, whether we aim those questions at God or a higher power, or simply to fate or the rules that seem to govern the universe. It appears that Terrence Malick is a man of faith who crafts The Tree Of Life around questions aimed at the Christian God of creation. That’s the lens and framework through which The Tree Of Life asks its questions, but it by no means precludes those among us who might direct their questions elsewhere. That’s part of what makes Malick’s film so profound and effective. Religious cinema is far too often crafted for an audience who already believes and exists simply to pat them on the back for those beliefs. It’s exclusive and generally artless. Malick, on the other hand, gets at something elemental and universal among us. One need not personally believe in the Christian God to take the profound journey that The Tree Of Life beckons us on. While the high style and ethereal narrative of the film may impede the more conventional viewer, those who choose to engage with The Tree Of Life will almost certainly find some truth to cling to, some pain to grapple with, or some profundity to meditate on.
The Tree Of Life brings us intimately into the lives of the O’Brien family and grants us access to their memories and internal monologues. We experience them in multiple “timelines” spanning across large swaths of their lives. We get to know and identify with our characters in the way we access and engage with our own memories, in dreamlike vignettes with some details coming into sharp focus, and others peripheral. We leap through time in much the same ways that our minds can when accessing memories. This results in an extremely fragmented narrative that nonetheless coalesces into a kind of symphonic order and rhythm that’s simply unlike the work of any other filmmaker.
That said, there very much IS a narrative. At the core of The Tree Of Life is the tragic loss of a child at the young age of 19. We don’t see the death onscreen or even see the O’Brien children at this stage of their lives. Rather, we’re quickly made aware of the death, and then go back in time, experiencing the rapturous growth of a family as adoring mother (Jessica Chastain in her first big breakout role) and stern father (Brad Pitt) revel in the miracles as three baby boys are born to them. This sequence is almost miraculous in its beauty, yet always tinged with melancholy (as is the rest of the picture) as we know of the tragic death to come and the impact that will have on the family.
We’re also introduced to a modern-set timeline in which Sean Penn is playing the adult Jack, the eldest son of the O’Briens. Played for most of the 1950s-set sequences by actor Hunter McCracken, much of the film is experienced through Jack’s consciousness (though not all of it). By introducing the “modern” generation into the story, we see the intense ripple effects of not just a tragic loss, but of the entirety of the impact one’s family has on the person they become. Sean Penn’s Jack feels disconnected and out of place in the modern world as he wrestles with who he has become in light of his family and childhood. “Mother. Father. Always you wrestle inside me. Always you will.”
And in an oft discussed and massively bold departure, The Tree Of Life regularly leaves behind the O’Brien family and spends large chunks of time depicting sequences of space, the cosmos, the literal creation of the earth, and extinction of the dinosaurs. Yes… there are dinosaurs in The Tree Of Life. And they’re glorious. There are also micro sequences depicting cells, reproduction, and the authoring of life. Accompanied by classical music, these sequences are filled with such awe and wonder as to bring tears to one’s eyes. They’re also the only possible response to the harrowing and gut-wrenching questions the O’Brien family, representing us all, are asking.
It’s the middle son, R.L. (Laramie Eppler), who will pass on tragically young. We’ll see the three brothers grow, play, bond, and interact with their parents in genuine moments of pure spontaneity as captured by Malick’s signature style that only he can bring. R.L. is shown to be more of a burgeoning artist and musician (like his father), but with the gentle soul of his mother. Jack is often depicted in conflict with his father and warring against the traits he sees within himself that are more like his father than his mother. Despite the dream-like style of the narrative, The Tree Of Life actually allows us an uncomfortably intimate access to the O’Briens. They’re painfully human, and it’s easy to personally identify with their experience and therefore plant oneself into the story right along with them, making this a very personal journey. We understand the compulsion to do the wrong things, like Jack experiences in his adolescence. We recognize the purity and fierceness of a mother’s love for her children, the all-consuming nature of motherhood. We swing wildly from hatred to understanding as we observe Brad Pitt’s portrayal of the stern father who believes he must make his kids strong in order to face an unforgiving world with no room for weakness. “The world lives by trickery. If you want to succeed, you can’t be too good”.
The ultimate brilliance of The Tree Of Life is the film’s utter disinterest in answering the questions it poses. The film escapes triviality or pretension, criticisms that could easily be hurled at a movie attempting to portray the entirety of the human experience from creation to the afterlife, by refusing to preach or moralize. Sure, we’re shown the eternal through the lens of a Christian worldview, but Malick insists on portraying universal themes that hit us very close to home. The only response possible to questions such as “Where were You?” are to pull back, consider the grandiosity of the cosmos, and attempt to contextualize our own lives and their ultimate significance in the face of cosmic and microscopic realms. It’s the very same brilliance of the book of Job, in which Job is stripped of his fortune, his lands, his family, and cries out to God for answers. God’s response, as quoted at the top and in the opening card of the film, is simply to ask MORE questions of Job; essentially asking “who are you?” in the face of the eternal. The Tree Of Life allows viewers to feel anger towards God, or the universe, or whatever power you need to feel angry at. It allows viewers to experience purity and light. It depicts a final restoration of all things, when the O’Briens are reunited and all loss and pain are gone, no longer haunted by spectres of time or looming loss. The Tree Of Life allows viewers to feel, honestly, the entire gamut of the human experience, and does so authentically and rapturously. There simply aren’t but a handful of films that can claim to accomplish this feat.
The Director’s Cut
Lauded as an unprecedented project within the Criterion Collection, the company underwent this project with Terrence Malick and his team. They restored footage and funded the process, allowing a substantially longer new vision to come into being. The theatrical cut and new version aren’t fundamentally different films, however. The review written above can fully apply to both versions, for instance. Early rumors swirling around this new cut were that the film was wildly different. Those rumors are exaggerated.
What was there in the theatrical cut remains on screen in this version. I didn’t detect anything from the theatrical cut being excised. Certainly in a film like this with such fleeting and flowing visuals, there could have been some content removed which I simply missed. But mostly this new cut adds to what was there before. Some major sequences are added which include a family visit from Chastain’s character’s family, including a brother/uncle to the boys. This sequence adds some nuance to the mother which is somewhat lacking in the theatrical cut. I think it fleshes out the humanity of the mother wonderfully. There’s also an extended sequence depicting a hurricane hitting the small town where the O’Briens live (ostensibly Waco, TX). This is visually interesting, but didn’t add the same level of new insight that the family visit did. There’s also further sequences featuring the mother character’s own mother. These conversations also further serve to flesh out Chastain’s character in positive ways. Jack’s story is also fleshed out more and it’s revealed that Jack is sent away to boarding school at some point to relieve some of the tension between his father and himself. This portends the disconnected and mournful adult Jack we meet in the theatrical cut.
It’s hard to say if the Director’s Cut is my preferred version or not. While this film borders on the transcendent, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Malick’s style is so singular and so earnest that the shorter experience of the theatrical version might be more successful as an overall experience simply because it’s more sustainable. At 3 hours in length, the Director’s Cut fleshes out a lot of the human elements of this tale more fully, but potentially slips some in its ability to sustain our wrapt wonder.
The Tree Of Life is an essential addition to the Criterion Collection and this release is absolutely visually stunning. On top of the two cuts, there are bonus features and essays aplenty, making this the clear and obvious definitive release of the film. The only thing I could possibly have wanted might have been for Criterion to finally break into the 4K market and release this stunning title in that new and cutting edge format. Malick fans and Criterion collectors will want to seek this out at their earliest convenience.
And I’m Out.
The Tree Of Life is now available on Criterion Collection Blu-ray
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In 4K, PREDATOR is Definitely Not an “Ugly Motherfu**er”
A capital G Great action film hits 4K UHD
Predator director John McTiernan dwells among the action movie gods. You can’t get much more elite than having *several* of the greatest titles of the action genre under your belt, not the least of which being Die Hard, which is generally regarded as history’s greatest pure (American) action film. He also helmed Die Hard With A Vengeance, which virtually all Die Hard fans will agree is the second best film in that storied franchise.
Just prior to jumping on the John McClane train in 1988 and forever cementing his action bona fides, McTiernan directed Arnold Schwarzenegger in Predator in 1987. That’s right. Back to back, from the jungle to Nakatomi Plaza, John McTiernan lensed two of the greatest action movies in the genre’s entire history.
Predator has gone on to inspire about as many sequels as the Die Hard franchise, with either a fourth or a sixth entry (depending on who you talk to and whether you count the two Alien Vs. Predator films) hitting theaters soon from director Shane Black. That upcoming film is certainly the reason that Predator, Predator 2, and Predators are all getting the 4K treatment, and I’m here for it.
One of the things that makes Predator so fundamentally great is just how far from a guarantee this eventuality was. Plagued with myriad issues, Predator could easily have become an embarrassment for all involved. Instead it has become a shining example of a smart team of filmmakers rallying, getting creative, and crafting something eternally memorable. Shooting locations required jungles, and their first choice for that setting was a total debacle. They rallied, moved, and shot one of the most iconic jungle films ever made. The necessary “heat vision” for the Predator creature proved cost prohibitive and ineffective. They rallied, found a solution, and the heat vision has been an essential visual cue for the entire franchise. The Predator creature design initially filmed on set has become a thing of legend: embarrassingly silly looking and, curiously, worn by a then-unknown Jean-Claude Van Damme. They rallied, and Stan Winston’s workshop created one of modern cinema’s most iconic movie monsters. All of these examples just go to show how much of a true uphill battle motion pictures really are, and all of those challenges had really nothing to do with some of the core elements of great filmmaking: the script and the cast.
Brothers Jim and John Thomas wrote a great script for Predator. That could all have been for naught if the elements above had gone south. But when McTiernan and crew came through, it was the strong backbone of a wonderful script that kept this thing afloat. (Though McTiernan indicated in his commentary that he also made some character changes that probably impacted the final shooting script). Snappy, filled with characters that you feel like you know and love before they’re unpleasantly dispatched, and appropriately badass, the Thomas’ script stands the test of time (and their return for the sequel also proves crucial to the success of Predator 2 as well).
It’s in the cast where Predator cements its legacy. Arnold Schwarzenegger plays Dutch, a military team leader who is the “best of the best”. His unit is brought into the jungle on a CIA mission led by Carl Weathers’ Dillon, a former operative turned desk jockey who has a past with Dutch. There’s a fair amount of action and drama that establishes these characters, as well as Dutch’s whole team including Bill Duke, Sonny Landham, Shane Black, Jesse Ventura, and more, which all takes place before we really even leap into the extraterrestrial with our titular intergalactic hunter. In many movies this would be a bad thing. Wheel spinning. But here we get killer set pieces that really give weight to our characters, the situation they are in, and shows us how formidable of a group of opponents they are going to be for our Predator.
It can’t be understated just how awesome the Predator creature really is. Truly a work of designing genius, this creature just looks like the epitome of what can be done to make a man (Kevin Peter Hall in this case) in a suit look like something entirely otherworldly and also very physically present, tangible, and threatening. The Predator has endured as a cinematic monster of our generation because they have a story behind them as well. Sure, an alien that hunts for sport isn’t EXACTLY Shakespeare, but the look of the creature, the VFX utilized to bring its cloaking and heat vision technology to life, the Alan Silvestri score and sound design, and the mythology and culture behind its actions all build together to create a wholly satisfying threat to Dutch and his men.
And that screenplay really shines as the story goes along. Different aspects of the creature are revealed ever so slowly in a page right out of the Jaws manual of filmmaking. Characters are methodically killed and removed from the equation. Eventually, as though it were destined, only Dutch and the creature will remain. It’s a showdown for the ages, with mankind’s greatest physical specimen up against a godlike creature with powers beyond those of a mere man, but with a bit of a hunter’s code that gives Dutch just the edge he needs.
A whole mess of talent working at the top of their games in front of and behind the camera came together at the perfect times in their careers to create the lightning in a bottle that is Predator. If any of the various pieces of this wildly constructed film had failed, this movie almost certainly would have collapsed. Instead Predator fires on all cylinders and stands out as the far and away best entry in a now long-suffering franchise that hopefully gets a shot in the arm in just a weeks time with Shane Black at the helm.
The Package
Predator is one of those films that, due to its enduring and widespread appeal, has gotten the prestige home video treatment many times in the past. Just 5 or 6 years ago a big prestige Blu-ray featuring a 3D version of the film hit the market with much fanfare. (I never caught that version as I am not much of a 3D guy). I’m happy to report that the 4K disc does indeed look great, with the best visual of the entire film being the sweaty, panicked face of Bill Duke as he encounters the Predator. All that said, this is one of those situations where the 4K presentation didn’t create a demonstrably new viewing experience for me. As a matter of fact, I watched Predator 2 on Blu-ray just after this, and that film looked so fantastic on Blu-ray that it retroactively made me think this 4K wasn’t all that revolutionary.
For Predator fans who haven’t revisited the film in ages, this release is an easy recommend. You get the Blu-ray and a ton of the special features that likely all existed in previous releases, and you get the new 4K transfer. If you’re happy with the Predator films you already own, however, I wouldn’t say rushing to the store to buy this 4K disc is a must. I may have felt differently if I’d gotten the chance to check out all of the films in their new 4K transfers, but I only got the chance to see the first and best one.
And I’m Out.
Predator is now available on 4K UHD from Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment
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Back to School Series: Two Cents Cheers on DON’T TALK TO IRENE
Two Cents is an original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team will program films and contribute our best, most insightful, or most creative thoughts on each film using a maximum of 200 words each. Guest writers and fan comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future entries to the column. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion.
The Pick
You’ve seen plenty high school misfits, but you’ve never met Irene (Michelle McLeod).
The eponymous heroine of Don’t Talk to Irene, from writer-director Pat Mills, goes through all the usual rigors of high school (and then some) in her quest to become a cheerleader. This, despite being openly discouraged by her worrywart mom (Anastasia Phillips) and roundly mocked by mean girls like Sarah (Aviva Mongillo).
When one of Sarah’s cruel pranks gets both girls suspended and assigned to do volunteer work at a neighboring retirement home, Irene makes the best of the situation and recruits some of the elderly inhabitants (alongside other local misfits) to her fledgling dance troupe.
Combining quirky comedy, dance moves, the lewd habits of the elderly, Canada, and Geena Davis voicing herself as Irene’s spiritual guide and mentor, Don’t Talk to Irene received rave reviews as it did the festival circuit recently, and seems primed to enter the cult canon alongside other off-beat high school films.
But does Irene have what it takes to soar alongside some of the other picks in our Back to School series, or should she stay on the sidelines? — Brendan
Next Week’s Pick:
Continuing our Back to School series, history comes alive for two dopey but good-natured teen rockstar wannabes when a hip visitor from the future, knowing that the duo will have a profound influence on society, arrives on the eve of their last day of school to save them from flunking history, thereby bringing an end to the most excellent timeline. Armed with a time machine, the dudes set out on the ultimate cram session by rubbing shoulders with some of history’s most interesting personages firsthand. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure is a beloved 80s classic, but if you haven’t seen it in awhile you might be surprised at how incredibly smart and infectiously lovable it is. — Austin
9/14 — Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure
9/21 — Back to SchoolWould you like to be a guest in next week’s Two Cents column? Simply watch and send your under-200-word review to twocents(at)cinapse.co anytime before midnight on Thursday!
The Team
Well, this was charming all get out. I wasn’t sure what to make of Don’t Talk to Irene at first, as the film’s twee sensibilities put me in mind of a Canadian Napoleon Dynamite about a decade past that particular aesthetic’s sell-by date. But there is a kindness and generosity to how Mills tackles this story, and there is just enough bite to the humor and worldview to give the proceedings a sense of weight, even as Irene is visiting the astral plane to speak with Geena Davis (long story).
Irene lays things on a bit too thick with characters like Irene’s Mom and bully, both of whom are such caricatures of shrill nastiness that their pre-ordained conversions to Irene’s side don’t work as well as the material between Irene and the seniors, or Irene’s bonding with some of the other misfits in town. But the film is such a cheery concoction that it’s hard to hold these imbalances against it. Don’t Talk to Irene strays towards some dark subject matter at times, but it’s ultimately a big warm hug of a film. (@theTrueBrendanF)
We all know and love Geena Davis the actress, but in the last few years she’s been quietly carving out a niche as a producer, promoter, and champion of independent film, especially in amplifying female voices, most notably as the co-founder of the Bentonville Film Festival. Davis lends her star power as a supporting character in Don’t Talk To Irene, but the film has charm to spare with a cast of quirky characters.
Chubby and sheltered Irene, who has a staggering lack of self-awareness, is immediately a heroine to root for. Even though she’s bullied and taunted endlessly, she follows her passions and never gives up (thanks in part to encouragement from Geena Davis), even when it means looking ridiculous. It’s pretty delightful watching her win over new senior friends (and other misfits) through her sincerity and get them to grudgingly join her dance troupe, culminating in a big finale that doesn’t go as planned but perhaps is something better. It does come off as a bit scripted and quirky for quirk’s sake, but is ultimately a winsome and surprisingly non-judgmental story that even ends with the suggestion that Irene’s tormentor Sarah is not beyond redemption.
The film targets R-rated laughs with profane humor and language (particularly among the cranky seniors) and does a fun job of it, but it’s interesting to think of how a cleaner version of this might play as a family film more accessible to young girls in need of encouragement. (@VforVashaw)
Irene has all the qualities of a high school outsider: She’s fat, has chunky glasses, and is unaware of her quirkiness. She’s also fearless.
The over-the-top happy ending that caps the film doesn’t feel contrived, but rather feels right for this young girl who knows who she is, what she wants, and won’t let anyone tell her she’s too flawed to have it. Irene is a teenager worth rooting for.
Editor’s Note: You can read Rod’s full review HERE. (@rodmachen)
Next week’s pick:
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RAPID FIRE: Brandon Lee’s Star Is Born
One of the great action films of the 1990s hits Blu-ray
The Crow isn’t even my second favorite Brandon Lee movie.
Sure, there was a time when it was the greatest thing to ever grace this earth. I dressed as The Crow multiple years in a row for Halloween and mourned Lee’s death like only a true 13 year old can. Obviously I still find his early and accidental death to be tragic and mourn for the life and career that could have been. And yes, The Crow was a visionary trend setter and propelled Lee to international stardom which could have blown his career up to brand new heights.
But I’m here to tell you that Rapid Fire is far and away Brandon Lee’s greatest film. And it’s a showstopper ranking among the very best action films of the 1990s. This was Lee’s first solo starring role after co-headlining Showdown In Little Tokyo with Dolph Lundgren (and yes, I’m also here to tell you that that film is Brandon Lee’s second best). Rapid Fire utilizes Bruce Lee’s Jeet Kune Do style of fighting effectively and respectfully. It also takes that Bruce Lee style and infuses some John Woo and Jackie Chan into the mix to create a unique space for Brandon Lee to bring something to the screen that only he could. Lee starred in three major Hollywood/studio films and they’re all uniquely awesome and portray a handsome, talented, charming, and charismatic leading man who not only honored the legacy of his father Bruce Lee, but made an impact all his own for my generation. It’s few and far between a person lives a life (or leaves a legacy) like that.
Bringing his own martial arts choreography to the project, Lee not only stars and does his own fight sequences, but also had the part written specifically for him and was involved in the pre-production from the start. Rapid Fire is Lee’s movie, and that’s why it’s his best. Alex Proyas is one of the few directors who lives up to the loaded moniker of being a “visionary” director. And while his vision for The Crow broke Lee into a whole new world of potential roles, Rapid Fire showcases a young man with passion to honor his father’s martial arts legacy and take his shot at the spotlight. It’s been unfairly swept aside due to the drama and enduring goth legacy of The Crow, but it truly deserves to be spoken of alongside such other 1990s action classics as Speed, Cliffhanger, Point Break, and the like. It’s perhaps lower stakes than those, and certainly lower budget. It fits a formula maybe a little bit too comfortably. But dammit… it’s a great formula and a sublime piece of mass consumption entertainment.
Lee plays art student Jake Lo, a talented young man who tragically watched his father die in a protest in China’s Tiananmen Square and who consequently wants nothing to do with any righteous causes. When he witnesses a gangland murder, he’s caught up in a fight much bigger than himself. But soon, good cop Mace Ryan (Powers Boothe, typically fantastic here) and his team will be the only shot Lo has at getting out alive. But Mace will need Lo just as much as Lo will need him. The script from Alan McElroy is effective, keeping Lo on his toes, providing a rogues gallery of villains you love to hate, and sprinkling classic action set pieces throughout. As Twilight Time essayist Julie Kirgo astutely point out as well, there’s a touching father figure subplot between Lee and Booth’s characters that takes on more potency knowing Lee’s own loss of his father. It’s subtle enough to be effective without ever getting melodramatic. Director Dwight H. Little had just done Steven Seagal’s Marked For Death prior to this project, and displays some major action chops here. Lee’s choreography is deftly captured, the pacing is strong, the comedy beats click, and most importantly the characters connect.
Ultimately it’s Lee’s contributions to the film that really make it sing, however. And the action he was able to create along with his team led by stunt coordinator (and living legend) Jeff Imada is the kind of inventive and fist pumping stuff that gives you goosebumps. It’s hard to review this kind of thing because of how purely visual and kinetic it all is, but there are moments here that absolutely slay and stand far and above your average sequence of fisticuffs. Lee sells all of this displaying both vulnerability and engenuity, all of which endears us to his character.
With heart, thrills, killer action set pieces, homage to legends, and a new twist that only its spectacular lead could pull off, Rapid Fire is a film that feels squarely of its time, but singular in its execution. Though it’s been largely forgotten by time and overshadowed by The Crow, Rapid Fire is the film that will allow Brandon Lee to live forever in my memory as a bright shining star who will never be replaced.
The Package
As always, this Twilight Time limited edition Blu-ray release is accompanied by a stellar essay from Julie Kirgo. The commentary track highlights the score of the film and features Twilight Time founder and film historian Nick Redman interviewing Rapid Fire composer Christopher Young. Redman and Young are old friends and have an easy rapport. The track heavily focuses on film scores and composition, which is just fine by me. You’ll also get some promotional featurettes from the film’s release and the theatrical trailer.
Because Rapid Fire is a visually explosive film, it thrives here on Blu-ray and comes with a high recommendation for any action fans.
And I’m Out.
Rapid Fire is now available on limited edition Blu-ray from Twilight Time
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Do Your Parents Know That You’re Ramones? Two Cents Takes a Trip to ROCK ’N’ ROLL HIGH SCHOOL
Two Cents is an original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team will program films and contribute our best, most insightful, or most creative thoughts on each film using a maximum of 200 words each. Guest writers and fan comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future entries to the column. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion.
The Pick
The weather’s getting cooler, the day’s are getting shorter, and every child wears a matching expression of vague existential dread. Yes, it must be just about time for school to start up again.
And Two Cents is more than happy to mark the occasion. Our “Back to School” series features four films over the course of the next four weeks, leading off with the cultishly adored Rock ’n’ Roll High School.
In the late 1970’s Roger Corman was looking to create a new teen film in the vein of some of the lighthearted fare he’d put out earlier in his career. Allan Arkush had already conceived of just such a film, and he worked with Joe Dante, Richard Whitley, Russ Dvonch, and Joseph McBride to flesh out the story of an anarchic teenage girl joining forces with her favorite band to conquer her restrictive high school.
Surprisingly, Arkush’s biggest hurdle was locking down a band for such a showcase. Todd Rundgren, Cheap Trick, and Van Halen were all bandied about as possibilities but either contract disputes or the band’s infamy for bad behavior resulted in deals falling through.
Ultimately, it was the gangly, New Yawk squawks of the Ramones that headlined Rock ’n’ Roll High School. The film stars PJ Soles as Riff Randell, a fledgling songwriter and all-purpose troublemaker in a battle of wills against new, fascist principal Evelyn Togar (Mary Woronov). Togar wants to clamp down on the free-wheeling fun and mayhem enjoyed by the students, but Riff just might end up blowing the roof off the joint.
Next Week’s Pick:
We’re continuing our new series to coincide with the opening of a new school year! Class is in session with a lineup of school and student-themed comedies from ranging 1979 to 2017. Next up is the most recent pick of our series, last year’s indie charmer Don’t Talk to Irene, about a misfit teen whose troubles at school inadvertently set her out on a new adventure: starting a dance troupe with members from an unexpected source.
9/07 — Don’t Talk to Irene
9/14 — Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure
9/21 — Back to SchoolWould you like to be a guest in next week’s Two Cents column? Simply watch and send your under-200-word review to twocents(at)cinapse.co anytime before midnight on Thursday!
Our Guests
Rock ’n’ Roll High School is Allan Arkush’s best film (yes, even better than Deathsport). Its vibe is kind of a throwback to an earlier era of teen movie (not entirely different from Grease — released a year earlier) but filtered through the chaos and insanity one might expect from a late ‘70s Roger Corman production. It is anchored by charming, sincere performances by the Ramones-obsessed Riff Randell (P. J. Soles) and her best friend Kate (Dey Young), and as you move from those leads to the supporting cast the actors and performances get wilder and zanier. Clint Howard is impressively sleazy as a car salesman-esque teen matchmaker, and Corman regular Paul Bartel makes an appearance as the music teacher. And of course since it’s a Corman production (with a co-story credit for Joe Dante!) that guy Dick Miller shows up as the police chief. Thankfully Arkush realized that the Ramones were not actors and kept their speaking roles in the film to a functional minimum. But their music is perfectly suited to the rebellious nature of this anti-authoritarian teen movie, and it gives the film much of its personality. There are certainly elements of Rock ’n’ Roll High School that have not aged well, but when that soundtrack kicks in I can’t help but enjoy myself. They really don’t make them like this anymore. (@T_Lawson)
The Team
Growing up, I watched 1991’s Rock ’n’ Roll High School Forever, the sequel to the iconic Ramones-fueled punk rock high school film many, many times. It played on local TV and cable quite often. I remember loving it and, to me, it was the only Rock ’n’ Roll High School that I knew. A few years later, in my later teens, I had all but forgotten it and a friend mentioned the original film. Their description, however, was far different than the film I knew. In fact, I was quite confused when he began talking about The Ramones being in the film. This, of course, meant that I was forced to watch and discover the original gem soon thereafter.
These days, I love the original and am afraid to go back and watch the sequel starring the Coreys. I know it’s likely “actual trash” (as our own Liam O’Donnell would say), but I’d like to preserve its memory as a fun and enjoyable little film. Instead, I’ll just keep revisiting the ACTUAL Rock ’n’ Roll High School and continue to enjoy all of its greatness. (@thepaintedman)
What a wonderful surprise this turned out to be! I honestly knew nothing about Rock ’n’ Roll High School other than the title and the fact that it starred PJ Soles and the Ramones, but it turns out that it’s a gleefully silly and self-aware little comedy, one much closer in style and tone to Airplane than Animal House. I almost wish the film had come into being a little bit after Airplane, if only so Arkush and his team could have seen just how far you can stretch a cartoon reality so long as the jokes are good, which many of these really, really are. And beyond just being consistently clever and charming, Rock ’n’ Roll High School has a sweetness to it that is vastly out of step with other high school/college films that were getting cranked out during this time (an era where ‘wacky date rape’ was an all-too-often used comic occurrence). Rock ’n’ Roll High School is cheerfully non-judgmental about the pastimes of the youth, and it never judges its ensemble of teenagers for being horny and shallow and more interested in smoking weed and listening to rock albums than studying.
Rock ’n’ Roll High School sort of trails off in its second half, as the Ramones show up and the clever dialogue and gags fade away in favor of endless sequences of the Ramones playing music. And while that’s something of a shame…I mean…it’s the Ramones. It’s never, like, a ‘bad’ thing to watch them perform. None of the Ramones look remotely comfortable on camera, but all seem to be having a perfectly good time goofing around, which is just about the exact right vibe for this particular movie. (@theTrueBrendanF)
My introduction to Rock N Roll High School was a 35mm screening at the Alamo Drafthouse. The color-faded print was practically pink, but that didn’t matter — it was one of the most infectiously joyful movie experiences of my life.
The film is on a crazy wavelength that radiates anarchy in a ludicrously fun way, celebrating rock & roll as the voice of a generation — it’s crazy to think this was conceptually Disco High at one point, which couldn’t possibly achieve the same lasting impact as the final product.
The Ramones are the perfect musical ambassadors for this venture. I can’t think of a single band that better embodies punk sensibilities, street cred, rock & roll spirit, and the commercial accessibility of multiple hits — all necessary requirements for this to work — together in one package.
There are a few moments where the anarchy gets too mean-spirited and betray the overall tone (most notably when students line up cafeteria workers in a firing squadron and pelt them with food), but if anything it’s refreshing that a teen movie of this vintage lacks the usual toxicity, de-emphasizing (while still acknowledging) the sex and drugs and focusing on the rock & roll. Anyone who can not love this movie, after watching Paul Bartel’s stuffy music teacher join the rockin’ student rebellion after being won over at a Ramones show, has no soul. (@VforVashaw)
Next week’s pick:
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BLAST & CRAZY SIX: An Albert Pyun Blu-ray Double Shot From MVD Marquee
Sometimes it’s hard being an Albert Pyun fan
Albert Pyun is best known for his 1980s output, and has earned an eternal fan in me for those films. Such films as The Sword & The Sorcerer, Cyborg, and even the early 90s Nemesis (not to mention his infamous Captain America film) will always endear him to me. The fact that he’s currently still working even amidst a fairly devastating health diagnosis, and being very open and candid with his fans is also quite brave and meaningful to me on a human level. So yeah, I’m a fan of Albert Pyun, and I always will be.
That said… it can be tough to be an Albert Pyun fan. As technology has changed throughout his career, and budgets have lessened, the films have largely struggled to match the quality of his earlier output. I have virtually no interest in seeing his most recent stuff because what “low budget” looks like today is more green screen work than I can stomach. Whereas “low budget” in the 1980s still involved shooting on film with actual sets or locations, which made a lot of difference.
I’m still thrilled that a group like the fine folks at MVD have chosen to release more of Albert Pyun’s work on Blu-ray, however, and jumped at the chance to review a couple of titles of his that I frankly had never even heard of. As you’ll see, I didn’t count myself a big fan of either film. But God help me… if MVD keeps releasing Pyun films, I think I have to keep reviewing them. There’s a spark in him that I can’t ignore.
Blast (1997)
I am sad to report that I found virtually nothing of interest in 1997’s Die Hard clone Blast. Well, that’s not entirely true. I found precisely 2.5 things of interest, and I’ll focus on those positives. Blast stars Linden Ashby (who had played Johnny Cage in the Mortal Kombat movie just a couple of years prior) as an injured former martial arts Olympian who is now working a security detail in the swim complex in Atlanta where “the games” are being held this year. Of course, some bad guys are going to show up, take the building under their control, make terroristic threats, and only Ashby’s Jack Bryant will be able to stop them.
Pyun has always been a master at cranking films out on a budget, and I won’t deny him that. But the low budget is painfully obvious here. It’s as though the production secured the use of precisely one location, a drab and colorless swimming pool complex, and did their best to shoot an entire action movie within its walls.
The biggest positive and only true spark of life to Blast is the presence of Rutger Hauer. It’s extremely clear that Hauer only had a day or maybe two days on the set of the film as he’s shot mostly alone by a radio communicating his wisdom as some kind of expert on these terrorists. He gets to be the mentor to Bryant. I fully assumed he would stay behind the radio for the whole film, but when his character, Leo, finally gets in on the action… it is not disappointing and serves as the lone true highlight in an otherwise dull film. That isn’t to say that the action beat Hauer gets is “good” per se, or well executed… but it is certainly memorable. Hauer plays Leo as some kind of Willie Nelson looking guy with long braids and, apparently, an explosive wheelchair?! I’ll leave it at that.
The other element of interest in Blast is that it very specifically takes place in Atlanta, and the opening text crawl talks a little bit about the rising threat of terrorism and seeks to tap into the tragedy of the bomb explosion that occurred at the real Atlanta games (and perhaps the even earlier hostage situation at the games in Munich in 1972) to put forth somewhat of an “alternate reality”. The opening crawl indicates that this movie isn’t intended as a mere Die Hard rip off, but an actual approximation, based on “research”, of what an actual hostage situation might have looked like in Atlanta’s “games”. I find this approach fascinating, if somewhat disingenuous. There’s a degree to which the real Olympic tragedies that have occurred are slighted by this lightweight movie pretending to be something more serious than it actually is. But at least it was an angle.
The thing I find at least “.5” interesting is how clearly Pyun and his team did not clear the rights to reference or use the word “Olympics” in any way. There’s no visual queues featuring the famed interlocking circles, and characters strictly refer to “the games”. It’s occasionally humorous listening for the various ways the script has to contort to avoid using the “O” word, and would almost make for a great drinking game if the rest of the film offered anything to recommend.
Alas, Blast is anything but. It lifts its entire rhythm whole cloth from Die Hard. There’s even an “Ellis” character who slimily tries to negotiate with the terrorists and gets himself blown away. And with Hauer playing the film’s Al Powell, and even an ex-wife character standing in for Holly Genero, Blast not only pales in comparison to Die Hard, but stands as one of the most lifeless rip offs of that formula I’ve ever watched.
Crazy Six (1997)
Right off the bat, Crazy Six displays more of Albert Pyun’s heart and style than anything found in Blast. With a music video flair, Crazy Six immediately throws viewers into a stylized Eastern Europe in another vaguely alternate future where drugs have run rampant and devastated Europe after the fall of communism. There’s original music, a frankly unbelievably stacked cast, and the whole thing drips with atmosphere. I don’t know which film was shot first, but it’s almost impossible to believe that these were shot by the same guy in the same year with how much more care seems to have been given to Crazy Six.
That’s not to say that Crazy Six is good. It’s not quite that. But it’s filled top to bottom with curiosities and clearly has a heart.
Let’s talk about the cast. Rob Lowe plays the titular lead, a burnt out junkie who is wanted by rival drug kingpins and the cops. Those warring kingpins are played by Mario Van Peebles (as Dirty Mao, always holding and stroking a tiny dog and always talking about said dog) and Ice T (as Raul, who doesn’t have a tiny dog, but who still shows up and performs here). With just those three leads, you’d already have a more memorable picture than Blast. But then you throw in the man, the myth, the legend: Burt Reynolds as Dakota, a mythological American lawman complete with a cowboy hat and a duster jacket, just traipsing around Eastern Europe for no discernable reason. What on earth?! This cast is crazy stacked with performers that are instantly fun to watch and clearly were enjoying themselves here.
As the film plays out, Crazy Six falls in love with a beautiful musician (Ivana Milicevic as Anna) who herself is sober and rebuilding a relationship with her daughter in her sobriety. But Crazy Six is also dealing with the fallout of having robbed one of the drug lords to appease the other one, trying to kick his habit, and trying to steer clear of Dakota (who has a fatherly eye out for Anna). Lots of musical montages and shoot outs and drug binges occur. Six doesn’t seem to have a whole lot going for him, so I’m not quite sure what Anna sees in him. But they fall in love, and that’s the central thrust of this story.
As I mentioned, Crazy Six has heart. All of these performers are all in, even if the script and plotting are a bit of a slog. The film clearly has a “style over substance” issue and often feels like an overlong music video. But at least the original songs are catchy and emotional. Crazy Six wears its heart on its sleeve and ultimately wants to be a redemptive tale about the power of love and human connection to overcome addiction. It’s the kind of film where love triumphs over all, no matter how devastated the world around you is. I can’t be mad at a movie like that right now.
So, in the end, Crazy Six gets a mild recommendation for fans of any of those lead performers. And it even earns a recommend for folks who really love Albert Pyun the way I do. I’m ultimately glad I watched it and happy to see a personal film such as this one, with a somewhat unbelievable late-career Burt Reynolds turn, no less.
Blast, however, I can’t recommend to anyone. Just watch any of the dozens of other Die Hard clones and you’ll find something there that’s just missing here.
Though I ultimately come down not loving either of these films, I still applaud MVD Marquee for taking aim at this area of the film history catalogue and bringing this type of picture into the HD era. I can’t wait to see what titles they continue to select for this kind of loving care.
And I’m Out.
Blast and Crazy Six are now available on Blu-ray from MVD Marquee Collection
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Unboxing the JACK RYAN 4K 5-Film Collection Box Set
As Tom Clancy’s most enduring character makes his way back to TV screens in Amazon’s new Jack Ryan series, his five film adventures, released from 1990 to 2014, are arriving on UHD Blu-ray in a new 4K box set.
The set includes the original trilogy of films, The The Hunt For Red October starring Alec Baldwin and Patriot Games and Clear and Present Danger which recast the role to Harrison Ford; as well as the two one-shot reboots: The Sum of All Fears and Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit, starring Ben Affleck and Chris Pine respectively.
The package’s slipcover features a metallic foil appearance and embossed titles.
The inner case is a black case as is typical with 4K releases. This is the largest one I’ve seen to date, housing 10 discs inside (each movie in dual formats).
As an aside, the discs are packed in seemingly random order. (After photographing them I rearranged them chronologically, as one does).
Also included are digital copies of all five movies. Each has its own code, which is always a nice contrast to a single code for multiple titles.
The Jack Ryan 4K 5-Film Collection is now available from Paramount.
Special Features
The Hunt For Red October
- Commentary by director John McTiernan
- 29-minute behind-the-scenes look at the film (Blu-ray only)
Patriot Games
- 25-minute exploration of the film (Blu-ray only)
Clear and Present Danger
- 29-minute behind-the-scenes feature (Blu-ray only)
The Sum of All Fears
- commentary by director Phil Alden Robinson and cinematographer John Lindley
- commentary by the director Phil Alden and novelist Tom Clancy.
- two-part making-of feature (Blu-ray only)
- five-part exploration of the visual effects (Blu-ray only)
Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit
- commentary by director/actor Kenneth Branagh and producer Lorenzo di Bonaventura
- multiple featurettes exploring the Jack Ryan character and his enemies (Blu-ray only)
- deleted and extended scenes (Blu-ray only)
A/V Out.
Read our 2-Part Review of the set:
https://cinapse.co/jack-ryan-4k-collection-part-1-the-original-trilogy-6860fbd72dcahttps://cinapse.co/jack-ryan-4k-collection-part-1-the-original-trilogy-6860fbd72dca
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All package photography by the reviewer.
https://cinapse.co/jack-ryan-4k-collection-part-1-the-original-trilogy-6860fbd72dca
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Two Cents Sings the SONG OF THE SEA
Two Cents is an original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team will program films and contribute our best, most insightful, or most creative thoughts on each film using a maximum of 200 words each. Guest writers and fan comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future entries to the column. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion.
The Pick
“Come away oh human child,
To the waters and the wild,
with a fairy hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.”Animator Tomm Moore shot to international prominence in 2009 when The Secret of Kells (which he wrote the story for and co-directed with Nora Twomey) earned a surprising nomination for Best Animated Feature, placing the tiny, intimate Kells on the same stage as popular hits from Disney and Pixar (it lost to Up, which… I mean, fair).
For his follow-up (and first solo directorial credit), Moore continued to mine Ireland’s rich history of Celtic lore for both story and style. But whereas The Secret of Kells places the fairies and spirits of the Emerald Isle into a historical context of Vikings and early monks, Song of the Sea’s fair folk are stuck eking out a living alongside a modern, urban Ireland that has no patience or time for owls that serve witches, great kings frozen in stone, or selkies who have lost their voice.
That last point is of great importance to young Ben (David Rawle in the English cast, James Ó Floinn in the Irish). When Ben was just a toddler, his happy family life was destroyed one fateful night when his very pregnant mother disappeared into a storm, leaving only a tiny baby girl wrapped in a luminous coat. Six years later, Ben’s father Conor (Brendan Gleeson) is a broken man, his grandmother (Fionnula Flanagan) is determined to ‘fix’ the family, and his sister Saoirse has still yet to say a word, her silent presence a constant irritation.
But Ben’s world is turned upside down after another fateful night, when Saoirse discovers her true nature as a selkie (a sort of mermaid out of Irish folklore, selkies are shapeshifters that appear as both women and seals). As the last selkie, Saoirse rapidly comes to the attention of powerful forces of both light and dark, and it’s up to Ben to help his sister bring peace not only to the world of gods and spirits, but to their own broken little family.
Did you get a chance to watch along with us this week? Want to recommend a great (or not so great) film for the whole gang to cover? Comment below or post on our Facebook or hit us up on Twitter!
Next Week’s Pick:
It’s time for a brand new series to coincide with the opening of a new school year! Class is in session with a lineup of school and student-themed comedies from ranging 1979 to 2017. We’re kicking off with the raucous, infectiously joyful Rock n Roll High School, conceived and directed by Allan Arkush with Joe Dante, and featuring The Ramones!
8/31 — Rock n Roll High School
9/07 — Don’t Talk to Irene
9/14 — Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure
9/21 — Back to SchoolWould you like to be a guest in next week’s Two Cents column? Simply watch and send your under-200-word review to twocents(at)cinapse.co anytime before midnight on Thursday!
Our Guests
Brendan Agnew (The Norman Nerd):
The more I watch Song of the Sea, the more certain I am that it’s a bone fide masterpiece. Even distinct from the best of Pixar (who I *love*, but their function-first narrative philosophy means that you can really see the gears turning at times), there’s a whimsical and organic nature to the film’s storytelling while still being perfectly on-key.
For instance, the movie isn’t just about love and kindness, it’s specifically about empathy. Notably, about the empathy that children develop for others in order to become functional human beings, demonstrated here by Ben’s attitude towards his little sister. However, as easy as it might be to simply sell an arc on “be nice to people, especially the ones you love,” Tomm Moore and his team spend a lot of the film showing you that empathy is also a path that leads to pain. A happy, loving family is shattered in a single night, a mother is so heartbroken by her child’s suffering that she becomes a monster, and an entire world could die because living in it can be so very hard.
The film’s approach to this is less about belaboring points on soap boxes than letting the themes wash over the viewer, so that elements like the the Wizard of Oz/Peter Pan-esque “double-casting” of characters feels not just natural, but inevitable. The world is just the world, and the story moves just as surely in the smaller in-between spaces along the journey. Our heroes are every bit as likely to have a “symbolic story beat” in a roundabout or at a rusty gate as they are on a stormy cliff or a witch’s lair, adding to an authenticity that is both counter to — yet also utterly true to — the exaggerated flat art style. And because of this leg work during smaller steps, the biggest moments in Song of the Sea land like a meteor.
Because after seeing exactly how hard it is to love, and how awful it is to bottle everything up rather than feel it, a young boy sheds the armor that separated him from his family and “protected” him from the waters that caused his family’s ruin, and faces his greatest fear…for love. But for all its rightness and heroism, it’s still not a choice devoid of hurt.
And that’s why it’s the right one.
After all, you can choose not to feel for those around you, choose not to care because it might be hard and it might hurt, and you can hide behind walls and money and cold iron instead of giving a damn about anyone else. But if that’s how you choose to “live,” you may as well be made of stone. (@BLCAgnew)
You know when you were a kid and you lost yourself in those beautiful water colored picture books? The world was on the page, and the story was contained in between two covers but in your imagination everything lived on.
Song of the Sea evokes that feeling in every frame. It feels like a wonderful storybook come to life, brimming with imagination. This is how I imagined the worlds of my favorite books as a kid popping to life.
At the same time, this feels like a love letter to old Celtic tales. There is an understanding and love that comes through here that reminds me of how you understand how much Guillermo del Toro loves monsters within his films.
The best way to describe Song of the Sea? Luscious. (@hsumra)
The Team
I more or less demanded we do this movie immediately after learning that it had hit Netflix. I love The Secret of Kells, but I flat out adore Song of the Sea, as powerful a meditation on the place that myth holds in reality, that grief holds in joy, and that death holds in life as any of the masterworks from maestros like Guillermo del Toro, Hayao Miyazaki, Neil Gaiman, the list goes on and on. It’s not just that the film is heart-stoppingly beautiful (though it is) or mesmerizing to behold (though it is), and it’s not just that it’s a wonderful “magic in the backyard” adventure story (though it is), or that the film’s emotional core is so pure, so beautifully and immediately rendered, that it’s nigh impossible to get through certain scenes without crying (every time, man, Every. Time.).
No, what makes Song of the Sea so special to me, like Kubo and the Two Strings, is the way the film speaks powerfully to the way stories (and Story itself) are used to connect us, here and now, with the people who have come before and the people who will come after. Song of the Sea understands how the smallest of things (a hummed tune, a particular character out of a tale) can linger in your mind and bind you and all your past selves together into a whole. For Ben, the story of his family, its tragedies and secrets and triumphs, is the story of Ireland, all connected in a narrative that spans both millennia and entire whole worlds. It’s a transcendentally beautiful idea, and one that the film illustrates with note-perfect clarity. I love this film, that is all. (@TheTrueBrendanF)
Maybe this makes me the monster of the group, but I didn’t like The Secret of the Kells. Now it’s been awhile so I don’t really recall the reason, but despite the beautiful animation, I grew tired of its dense mythology, perhaps because I’m not familiar with the lore, and eventually stopped watching and never returned.
So it was with some trepidation and disinterest that I approached Song of the Sea, co-opting evening cartoon time with the kids (currently making our way through Gravity Falls) to watch this as a family.
The difference was immediate. Song of the Sea presents its rich lore in an approachable and straightforward fashion, providing everything the audience needs understand the tale in its opening narrative. The animation is stunning, and serves as a wonderful medium and style for the fantastical elements of the story, which work in concert with the setting of modernity to create a space where our world hides a secret one — a fairy might inhabit any shrub or stone, an island or mountain might be a sleeping giant, and you might even know a mermaid of sorts — a woman or girl who can turn to a seal when entering in the ocean.
This is ultimately a story about family, with the difficulties and heartache that that can entail. This will resonate with anyone who has lost a loved one, dealt with a cantankerous parent or grandparent, or even squabbled with a sibling. Bring a hankie. (@VforVashaw)
Next week’s pick:
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The Sobering Horror of THE DAY AFTER
The Cold War vision of nuclear devastation comes to Blu-ray from KL Studio Classics
The Day After is available now on Blu-ray from Kino Lorber Studio Classics. Note this article uses a combination of 4:3 and 16:9 screenshots; these are to give representation to both the television and theatrical versions of the film.
Made-for-television movies are making a comeback — of sorts — thanks to original programming on video platforms like Netflix and Amazon, operating outside the traditional studio model. It’s an interesting turnaround for the medium, a near-relic of entertainment history that was left behind by innovations in home video and cable television. But there was a time when only a few networks operated and TV movies were a big deal, and none was a bigger deal than 1983’s The Day After.
The bleak, apocalyptic vision of America’s Heartland suffering post-nuke is perhaps best remembered for its massive impact on culture and even reportedly on American foreign policy, causing an audience of 100 million viewers to consider the terrifying reality of nuclear devastation.
But it’s also more simply a magnificent film.
The film’s first half establishes the climate of escalating global conflict and fear as tensions mount and America finds herself on the brink of nuclear war. The film follows a handful of different narratives including a rural family whose oldest daughter is preparing for her wedding, a KU student who decides to hitchhike home to see his family, a pregnant woman about to give birth, and a small garrison of soldiers of ordered to operate and defend a missile silo.
The narrative is split evenly into pre- and post-nuke halves — had it run in two parts as intended, the falling of the bombs would’ve ended the first, and the devastation of aftermath opened the second.
While there are a few different threads showing the lives of several different characters, Jason Robards is the primary lead as a Kansas City doctor who narrowly survives the city’s decimation while working in the nearby town of Lawrence, KS. He suddenly finds himself in charge of KU’s campus hospital, running without electricity or even room to move — as patients and asylum seekers descend upon it, suffering from injuries, radiation sickness, and displacement.
I’ve come to really appreciate Robards in the last few years, catching his incredible performances in Hour of the Gun and The Ballad of Cable Hogue. He’s a magnificent actor — smart, charming, relatable, and possessing a unique voice — who doesn’t really get his due, and The Day After is another performance of the same caliber as the harried, aging physician who doesn’t even get the chance to process or mourn the assumed deaths of his wife and daughter before facing the maelstrom.
I have a personal connection with the film that influences my feelings about it but also, I hope, enhances my insight on it. The film takes place in and around Kansas City, where I live. The opening shots, establishing the location, are a montage of places I know and recognize: the sports complexes where the Royals and Chiefs play. The J.C. Nichols Memorial Fountain at The Plaza. Union Station and the Liberty Memorial. When I watch this film, it’s not just characters on the screen. It’s my family, my friends, my home.
Similarly, several nearby towns are referenced and most of the film’s back half takes place in the city of Lawrence, best known as the home of the University of Kansas which figures prominently. It’s a place I’m very familiar with, and the home of some of our closest friends. And aside from a mispronunciation of “El Dorado Springs” (a local would say “Do-ray-do”) this depiction of America’s Heartland is an authentic one, and feels recognizable even 35 years later.
It’s hard to convince someone to watch something that’s bleak or depressing. That carries the implication that the reason for doing so is that it’s “important”. And on that count, yes, it is. But moreover, this is a truly incredible film — a provocative, insightful, and moving experience. The Day After is not a celebration of the strength of the human spirit or the resilience of Americans, but a glimpse of the devastation of mutually assured destruction.
The Package
The Day After is now available on Blu-ray from Kino Lorber’s KL Studio Classics line. The physical package includes a reversible cover and 2 discs showcasing the film in dual versions:
- 122-Minute Original TV Version (1.33:1)
- 127-Minute Theatrical Version (1.78:1)
This inclusion is interesting in that not only is the “Theatrical” Cut a few minutes longer and slightly reordered, but also reframed in 1.78 widescreen. It’s more cinematic of course, but the uncropped TV version image naturally includes more of the full frame and is of superior clarity. I was surprised to see it boasts better color as well.
Left: Television Version / Right: Theatrical Version I sampled and enjoyed both versions but ultimately watched the theatrical disc, not only for the additional content but also because it included subtitles (which are omitted on the TV version).
Special Features and Extras
- “Silence in Heaven: Looking Back on The Day After” (28:06)
Lengthy interview with director Nicholas Meyer outlining the history of the project, his involvement, and the significant difficulty in bringing his vision to the screen for the television model (read: maximum ad revenue), constantly fighting executives and dealing with significant political and production pressures
- “Shelter: Remembering The Day After” (12:41)
JoBeth Williams discusses her role in the film, experiences on set, and the film’s surprising performance as a massive television hit
- Audio Commentary by Film Historian Lee Gambin and Comic Artist/Writer Tristan Jones
A/V Out.
Get it at Amazon:
If you enjoy reading Cinapse, purchasing items through our affiliate links can tip us with a small commission at no additional cost to you.Except where noted, all 16:9 screen images in this review are direct captures from the disc(s) in question with no editing applied, but may have compression or resizing inherent to file formats and Medium’s image system. All package photography was taken by the reviewer.
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Two Cents Prevails with V FOR VENDETTA
Two Cents is an original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team will program films and contribute our best, most insightful, or most creative thoughts on each film using a maximum of 200 words each. Guest writers and fan comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future entries to the column. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion.
The Pick
Different filmmakers take different approaches to adapting the dense, heady, heavily-literary work of Alan Moore. Zack Snyder did his damnedest to translate as much of Watchmen as was humanly possible from comic page to live action, often frame-for-frame and word-for-word, while Stephen Norrington threw out virtually every identifiable feature of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen besides the bare-bones premise.
Perhaps the most successful, or at least most well-liked, attempt at adapting Moore’s work came in 2006, when the Wachowskis, hot off concluding their epic Matrix trilogy, co-wrote and produced V for Vendetta, inspired by the 1988 comic by Moore and artist David Lloyd.
Directed by James McTeigue (first assistant director for the Matrix movies, later second unit director for Speed Racer), V for Vendetta follows the action and imagery of Moore and Lloyd’s work (relatively) closely, but shifts the text’s concerns from the UK’s grappling with Thatcher-ian fascism to the Aught’s post-9/11 paranoia over terrorism and government overreach.
V for Vendetta stars Natalie Portman as Evey, an ordinary young woman caught outside after curfew in the police state that is near-future Britain. Evey is rescued by a mysterious vigilante in the Guy Fawkes mask that all your irritating friends wear now. Known only as V (voiced/played by Hugo Weaving, although an unknown amount of footage is Weaving dubbing over work done by James Purefoy, who left after six weeks of filming), the vigilante soon reveals himself to be a terrorist hell-bent on raining chaos down upon the totalitarian government and avenging his own, personal grievance against certain individuals within that government. Evey finds herself drawn into V’s inner circle, struggling to survive while tensions mount as every day they draw closer to the infamous Fifth of November.
V for Vendetta drew controversy back when it was first released in 2006, with the film’s release date delayed after actual terror attacks in Britain (which eerily mirrored material in the film) left no one in the mood for a comic book portrayal of same. Today, V for Vendetta is largely remembered remembered for the iconic Guy Fawkes mask, which has so become ingrained into popular culture that many may not even remember remember the origins of the symbol in the first place.
But today, we remember remember not only a mask, but the movie that the mask came from. With so many of the political concerns depicted in the film still urgent, if not worsened tenfold, does V for Vendetta still pack near the same punch?
Did you get a chance to watch along with us this week? Want to recommend a great (or not so great) film for the whole gang to cover? Comment below or post on our Facebook or hit us up on Twitter!
Next Week’s Pick:
We move from the stark terrors of dystopia to the gentle magic of Ireland with Song of the Sea, an animated adventure from the same team that created the highly acclaimed The Secret of Kells. Like Kells, Song of the Sea was nominated for Best Animated Feature at the Academy Awards, drawing praise for its distinctive animation style and lyrical narrative. The plot follows lonely boy Ben (David Rawle) as he discovers that his mute little sister Saoirse is destined to play a major role in the future of the fairy folk of Ireland, which places her in the target zone for forces both good and bad, light and dark.
Song of the Sea is available to stream on Netflix Instant.
Would you like to be a guest in next week’s Two Cents column? Simply watch and send your under-200-word review to twocents(at)cinapse.co!
Our Guests
I have to admit to mixed feelings regarding V for Vendetta. The performances are quite good — Hugo Weaving managing to be surprisingly expressive for a man who spends the whole film in a mask, Natalie Portman working extra hard to make her interactions with said masked man work, and a who’s who of excellent British character actors in supporting roles. Also the action sequences are very exciting and are both shot and edited well. And I don’t really have a problem with the changes from the source material — at least insofar as it made sense to update the socio-political commentary from Thatcher’s England of the 80s to the post-9/11, Iraq War era. In fact some aspects of the film remain just as relevant today, given the current political climate. However, in making a more streamlined action thriller, the politics are not just updated but also simplified to the point that it is far easier to read (misread?) V as a more conventional anti-hero than he is in the graphic novel. This is compounded by the way that the Guy Fawkes mask has been co-opted through pop culture osmosis toward all manner of political/anarchic purposes. I suppose it’s unfair to blame the film for the way its iconography might be appropriated by others in the real world, but having taught the graphic novel it is striking to me how many students I’ve seen who (primarily due to the film) want to map the plot of both into a standard good guys and bad guys superhero formula when the source material (and, perhaps to a slightly lesser degree the film) often subvert that formula. So I guess what I’m saying is I like V for Vendetta fine, but I am put off by the way its themes (already simplified from the comic) have been reduced, diminished, and/or misinterpreted by so many. (@T_Lawson)
The Team
A month or two ago, I saw our esteemed founder and editor Ed Travis post about how V for Vendetta feels even more powerful in today’s day and age. It made me think hard on the film and ultimately decide to rewatch it. I’ve been coming back to it in my mind ever since.
The comparisons between this Trump administration and the totalitarian fuckos in V for Vendetta are not too difficult to see. While the current administration haven’t gone quite as far as High Chancellor and his cronies, it’s not all that hard to imagine them doing so if given the chance.
Divorcing the film from the politics that inspired it or the politics of today is difficult because it’s clearly meant as a political film; but if I were to look at it simply as a Sci-Fi action flick, it’s a great one still. The action is stellar and the concepts are unique. It makes for an enjoyable watch with its great fight scenes and wonderful explosions.
All said and done, this is a must watch for those who haven’t seen it and a must re-watch for everyone who has. Freedom forever! (@thepaintedman)
This was an odd one. On the one hand, V for Vendetta is a slick and confident piece of mainstream science fiction. The Wachowskis and McTeigue were clearly assured of their own abilities by this point, and the team (along with cinematographer Adrian Biddle, who passed away shortly after completing the film) do a nimble job of merging their aesthetic with the work of Moore and Lloyd. There are certainly moments (Evey’s torture/transformation, Inspector Finch’s (Stephen Rea) vision of past, present, and future events linked as dominoes) where V for Vendetta feels as daring, as alive, as ecstatically human as the rest of the best work that this team has put out.
But it’s all just a little too slick, a little too pat. Not to harp on the adaptation front (I read the comic years and years ago and did not much care for it) but Moore was comfortable with a degree of ambiguity that the movie steamrolls over, replacing complex political philosophies with eeeeeeeeeeeevil government baddies and daring, romantic anti-heroes whose every indiscretion and monstrous action is actually more or less morally above-board. The simplistic approach robs the story of its teeth, and probably plays a large role in why edgelords flock to this movie and that mask as a totemic representation.
I hate to sound down on the film, as I do quite like it. But V for Vendetta ultimately feels like a somewhat pat genre exercise from a collective of so much more, like a last gasp of normal air before the deep plunge into the frenetic, transcendent work that would define the Wachowski sisters’ more recent output. (@theTrueBrendanF)
I’ve always been a fan of V For Vendetta, which is probably not a surprise to anyone who has seen my Twitter handle. Hugo Weaving and Natalie Portman are dynamic in the lead roles, especially considering that our (anti)hero is always obscured behind a mask. They’re supported by equally memorable characters— Stephen Rea’s Finch as a conscientious operator within the system, grappling with the realization that he’s actually one of the bad guys. Stephen Fry’s Dietrich, an undercover homosexual who hides that part of himself simply in order to survive, and who, like V, keeps a secret collection of art and literature — contraband. And then there’s the cinematic nod to 1984, casting John Hurt in the role of the oppressive Chancellor, a huge disembodied head barking orders from a large screen.
V For Vendetta, especially in its original graphic novel form, presents politics that are at times ugly and complicated (do ends justify means?), but the main themes — freedom from tyranny and the rejection of hatred — are not. What’s startling to me, and the reason we picked the film for this week, is how much more relevant this vision of a future England has become to the contemporary US. The cult-like regime of a vaunted figurehead, deliberate misinformation, State-run media, and faux-Christianity was dystopian fiction in 2005. In the short time since, the reality in which we live has become perceptibly closer to this vision. One need not use their imagination to draw a straight line between the hate-filled bellowing of Prothero, the “Voice of London”, and the insane ranting of Alex Jones.
Paradoxically, it’s a work of subversive art, and yet also a completely mainstream entity. That alone seems like a miracle, and one I’m thankful for. (@VforVashaw)
Next week’s pick:
