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BETTER MAN Gives a Global Superstar a Proper Tribute
“As my soul heals the shame, I will grow through this pain.”
As a lifelong Robbie Williams fan, it’s hard to describe just how much of a cultural phenomenon he is everywhere in the world… except in America. When the label launched his debut album back in 1999, I could see why he wouldn’t take off. As a personality, Williams was sarcastic and favored cheeky antics, while his lyrics revealed a soulfulness and vulnerability that left some confused. His melding of different sounds, including brit pop, rock, and even cabaret, made him hard to package to a Backstreet-loving market. As an artist, Williams is both universal and singular; he’s hard to pin down and even harder to sell, despite possessing a talent few have ever questioned. But if America ignored Robbie then, those who see Better Man will surely remember him afterward.
Directed by Michael Gracey, Better Man traces the humble beginnings and stratospheric ascent Robbie Williams (Jonno Davies and Robbie Williams) took in transforming from a working-class boy to an international music superstar. Along the way, Robbie experiences the gamut of the pitfalls that come with fame, including instant success, addiction, and crippling doubt.
Gracey, whose most recent feature-directing outing, The Greatest Showman, was a musical extravaganza, brings the same buoyancy here. Better Man is filled with one dazzling number after another, each one centered around a classic Robbie Williams track. The filmmakers certainly had a treasure chest to choose from as Williams has amassed more hits than he can count at this point. Gracey and company transform each one into a series of dizzying sequences featuring dancers, effects, and an altogether new perspective on the collection of songs that have lived in the memories of legions of fans for decades. It also helps that, as a lyricist, Williams has never shied away from wearing his heart on his sleeve whenever he wrote, making his catalog of songs just perfect for this specific medium. Of the many featured here, it’s “Rock DJ,” “She’s the One,” and of course, “Angels” (Williams’ signature song) prove to be the standouts. Finally, the re-recording of the classic tracks Williams did for the film can’t help but bring out the kind of reflective quality found in only the most rewarding of musical biopics.
I suppose it is time to talk about the monkey in the room. Yes, the monkey being Robbie Williams. As the trailers have already shown, Better Man tells the story of its main subject through the use of a CG monkey. Played in perfect mocap fashion by both Davies and Williams, we see Robbie go through every scene, number, and character moment as a monkey. To say this was an unexpected choice would be correct, even for longtime Robbie fans such as myself (although a song on his 2002 album Escapology was titled “Me and My Monkey.”) Seeing everyone react to a monkey as the main character in a musical biopic does take some getting used to, but the effects work is so stellar, that after a while it becomes easy to believe that this is the Robbie fans have known all along. The device also allows Williams to portray himself and, in doing so, gives Better Man a deeper authenticity that, as strange as it sounds, just wouldn’t have been possible without the real-life singer’s furry movie counterpart.
The supporting cast of British character actors all do their part to show their respective character’s influence on the burgeoning pop star’s life, including Alison Steadman as Robbie’s grandmother, Kate Mulvany as his mother, and Steve Pemberton as the father with whom he had a complicated relationship with. But it’s in the performances of both Davies and Williams himself that Better Man shines most. While the former excellently brings to life the younger Robbie’s journey, the older real-life Williams gives a performance that sees him engage with his past and himself in a touching and cathartic way.
Better Man‘s story beats will be familiar even to those who haven’t been treated to the seemingly endless amounts of musical biopics from the last few years. There’s nothing new here in terms of what Robbie experiences since the pitfalls of fame are, sadly, par for the course when it comes to most musician’s stories. But the movie’s retreading of plot points isn’t worth going into. Suffice it to say, you’ll see the bust-ups, the break-ups, the deaths, and the healing. Ultimately, the movie shows how it ultimately matters very little whether or not you’ve seen something done before. What matters is how you’re seeing it done now. I’m betting no one has ever seen anything quite like Better Man.
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BABYGIRL Shows the Dangerous Thrills of Desire
“Do you like being told what to do?”
Watching the trailer for Babygirl, it would seem that the premise of the new erotic thriller from writer/director Halina Reijn would lend itself to a flurry of social commentary. Theories on power dynamics, male/female relationships, age gaps, and the expectations of women who rise to the top of their fields all seem ripe for exploration here; explored they are with the daring curiosity necessary to make it all work. Reijn’s film looks at all of these factors from the vantage point of today in a manner whose truthfulness is matched by its upfront nature. But Babygirl is more than just a reiteration of the social politics and mores of the day, it’s a tale of desire, of identity, and what happens when one woman finds herself facing both of those forces within her.
In Babygirl, successful CEO Romy (Nicole Kidman) is at the top of her professional game but is feeling personally unsatisfied when it comes to her sexual self, despite a healthy marriage to Jacob (Antonio Banderas). When a new crop of interns introduces Romy to Samuel (Harris Dickinson), a game of seduction begins with the former finding herself amid a powerful affair that’s all at once thrilling and terrifying.
On its surface, Babygirl is less about exploring the kind of sexual terrain most would never have entertained before than it is about uncovering the side of oneself that’s drawn to that world. Reijn’s film is about the effects of yearning for what you don’t have, the craving one develops towards the scary, exciting, and unknown, and what kind of person you might be in that world. This is a movie whose main focal points are the desires within that aren’t satisfied and how they manifest themselves in a woman who should, again, on the surface, be completely satisfied. Romy is the perfect vessel for this kind of human exploration. Upon immediately meeting her, we recognize a stifling quality within that she’s learned to live with, if for no other reason because embracing it helps to mask the lack of completeness she feels. Romy is a great character from the get-go as she is the perfect illustration of someone alive, but never existing as her true self, making her journey incredibly involving and even relatable at times.
By the time Babygirl reaches its impressive third act, the film shifts from the dangers of suppressing one’s true desires to the danger of what happens when these wants and instincts are unleashed. When the reality of getting what you really want and having those desires fulfilled comes to light, the inevitable question becomes: What comes after? For Romy, there is the need to maintain and sustain it, something which is out of her hands as Samuel has made it quite clear that he holds all the cards in their dark arrangement. Yet the side of Romy that has been awakened remains so consuming and overpowering, that she eventually finds herself battling the desires she longed to have satisfied. Amid this journey she’s taken is the need to protect her reputation and her relationship with her family, especially once the walls begin to close in on her. Once that starts to happen, we see Romy still having to hide your true self yet again.
Kidman once again delivers perfection. The actress has cultivated a collection of roles based on her willingness to explore the darker sides of the subconscious (most of which frighten other actresses) and the scary and exciting places Kidman takes Romy to is yet another worthwhile journey for the actress. Dickinson proves a great playmate for Kidman in the acting department, oozing intrigue in every scene but also remaining fiercely guarded with Samuel to ensure he remains a mystery. Elsewhere, Banderas manages some stellar moments, while Sophie Wilde as Romy’s executive assistant ends up being a surprising standout.
If there’s one aspect about Babygirl that surprised me about it after the fact, was the realization that it wasn’t the most outwardly erotic film, at least not in the conventional sense. Yes, the movie has plenty of sex scenes featuring its two beautiful leads, but one would be hard-pressed to call them sexy. This had to have been one of the most instrumental choices Reijn made in crafting her film, and it was the right one. To shoot Babygirl‘s love scenes in a style that would have echoed classic Hollywood fare we’ve seen before would have been to shortchange it. Reijn wasn’t interested in sexy per se; she was curious about the boldness and rawness of the world she was delving into and what she was looking for. Suffice it to say, she found it.
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CHILDREN OF MEN: A Prophetic Nativity [Two Cents]
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Original Children Of Men Artwork by Neil Cook Two Cents is a Cinapse original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team curates the series and contribute their “two cents” using a maximum of 200-400 words. Guest contributors and comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future picks. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion. Would you like to be a guest contributor or programmer for an upcoming Two Cents entry? Simply watch along with us and/or send your pitches or 200-400 word reviews to [email protected].
We all know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and all that noise, right? There are tons of Christmas movies from neo-classics like Elf to old-time favorites like A Miracle on 34th St to Hallmark’s 1000 new films each year to that Hot Frosty movie on Netflix that’s getting all the buzz. We have all seen these and we all have our favorites and least favorites. And, each year there are hundreds of film bros who tell you that Die Hard is their favorite Christmas movie, too. This is a valid selection, for sure… at least, in our eyes… as Christmas is in the eye of the beholder. So, this year, in the spirit of John McClane, we present some other films that are secretly Christmas films. – Justin Harlan
The Pick: Children Of Men (2006)
Alfonso Cuarón writes/directs an adaptation of author P.D. James’ novel, and the result is the greatest film ever made, according to our Editor In Chief. Read on to hear our reflections on a new nativity.
Featured Guest
Abby Olcese is a film critic and the author of Films for all Seasons: Experiencing the Church Year at the Movies.
It may not even occur to some folks that Children of Men might belong in the “actually it’s a Christmas movie” camp. I was one of those people for years. I finally had my head turned right thanks to Filmspotting and Think Christian’s Josh Larsen, who wrote about it as such in his book Movies Are Prayers. Alfonso Cuaron’s film has so many parallels to the Nativity story that I ended up writing about it as a Christmas movie in my own book Films for all Seasons.
First, there’s the obvious element of the character Kee’s miracle pregnancy, which kicks off the plot. That pregnancy is revealed to Clive Owen’s character, Theo, in a barn. In a great bit of “HEY THIS IS A METAPHOR,” Theo mutters “Jesus Christ” in shock at seeing Kee’s pregnant belly. Kee is on her way to a group called The Human Project who are trying to find the cure for worldwide infertility, and Theo ultimately ends up becoming the Joseph to her Mary — ensuring the safety of a world-saving child that isn’t his, and that child’s mother.
Kee gives birth in a refugee camp, not a stable, but this still isn’t a place you’d want a child to be born. She’s exposed to the elements, crowds of strangers and violence. The baby’s arrival temporarily puts an end to that violence, in the famous scene where Theo leads Kee and the baby out of the bombed-out building they’re sheltering in. We get the movie’s version of a “silent night,” which lasts all of five minutes before bombs start going off again.
What I like most about Cuaron’s repurposing of P.D. James’ novel, however, is the way it considers the birth of a savior as a radical act. I’ve always understood Christ’s birth the way Mary does in the Magnificat when she says God has “cast down the mighty from their thrones and lifted up the lowly.” It’s an event that upends the established order and clears the path for a new way of life. This is true in Children of Men as well. In this world, the future of humanity comes in the form of a refugee woman of color and her baby girl, who carries the hope of future generations. The film’s racist, xenophobic future dystopia (informed by our own racist, xenophobic present) is about to get wiped off the existential chalkboard.
The Team
Ed Travis
I believe Children Of Men is the best film ever made. A prophetic nativity. One of the greatest stories ever told. It had an immediate impact on me upon theatrical release, but over the years I’ve granted it GOAT status. This allows me to recommend it often, as when people find out I’m a movie person the next question is almost always “what’s your favorite movie?”
Set 18 years into an infertile future devoid of hope, Children Of Men is about everything, in the way masterpieces often are. Packed into its modest runtime are potent meditations on chance versus fate, the use of fear to rally the people, extremism, immigration/deportation, art and preservation, and the end of the world. But most importantly of all, Children Of Men is about hope, and where hope comes from, even in the midst of the end of all things.
The nativity is an inherently revolutionary tale of God himself coming to live in the body of a human being, born as an immediate threat to power, born an outcast, born both humbly, nay, ignobly, and yet, with a celestial significance. Children Of Men offers us a deeply grounded, gritty, street view of a hope-drained and collapsing world that experiences an impossible new nativity in the form of Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey), a lovely young Black woman, considered an illegal in Britain, who is carrying the hope of all mankind in her womb. We’re brought into Kee’s journey through Clive Owen’s Theo, a burned out husk of a bureaucrat who used to be an activist and a father. Theo’s fire is relit as he makes increasingly desperate sacrifices to guide and protect Kee and her baby to connect with The Human Project, mankind’s final bastion of hope (science) in a collapsing system. Thrilling and efficient in every frame, Children Of Men is engrossing and exciting, told with incredibly subtle long take sequences of harrowing peril for our holy forged family. But it’s the sacrifices and choices made by Theo, Kee, and others surrounding this new holiness in the world that make Children Of Men great; make it sacred. Chiwetel Ejiofor’s Luke, a revolutionary, feigns reverence, but would kill to use Kee’s baby as a flag. Theo repeatedly and consistently risks everything he has to protect and nurture Kee and her new miracle, whom she names Dylan (a girl, this time) in honor of Theo’s lost child.
It’s impossible to sum up a masterpiece like Children of Men in a blurb, but the film only gets more prescient, more prophetic, as humankind appears to steer increasingly headlong into fear, hate, and exclusion. Even if miracles come, we must nurture, protect, and sacrifice to bring fragile hope from the margins to a desperate world that can’t survive without the beauty of the outcast.
Frank Calvillo
It’s not much of a surprise that Ed should choose Children of Men, given its religious symbolism and the fact that he’s our resident Jesus guy. I hadn’t revisited the film (or even thought about it, actually) since its release in 2006 when it tried to stand out in the midst of so many other end-of-year prestige titles. I don’t know if time has been kind of Children of Men, but in many ways it’s certainly caught up with it. The film’s themes of an epidemic, news headlines detailing the deaths of children, and a police state way of life, have all become par for the course in the 2020s.
Children of Men makes many parallels to The Nativity Story, but in ways which don’t always hit you on the head, making this a highly compelling retelling of perhaps the most famous story in the world. The religious side was never going to be everyone’s cup of tea, but within it lies the movie’s ultimate theme; hope. The journey Clive Owen’s character leads everyone on is plagued by a myriad of dangers, but it’s a journey which is never anything short of necessary. Alfonso Cuarón documents this journey through some of the most captivating camera movements of the mid-00s, further cementing him as a true cinematic maestro. Atonement may be driving Owen’s Theo with regards to his own tragic past, but it’s also the belief that at the end of this journey is the light that will end the darkness. Through the seemingly never ending bleakness of Children of Men, it’s the idea of hope that remains; it’s importance, vitality and the possibility of what it can lead to.
Spencer Brickey
Man, I haven’t revisited this one in forever, and had forgotten not only how bleak and harsh the whole affair is, but that it may be one of the best films in illustrating the feeling of that decade.
Existing in a classic “sci-fi future that is really just our world with a few tweaks”, Children of Men drops us into a quiet apocalypse: a world where no new children are born. Taking place a few decades into this slow roll extinction, the world is a vicious, mean place, where everyone is just waiting out their days; some fill them living in the past, some spend them trying to hold onto the beauty of the world just a bit longer, and some want to get it over with and burn everything to the ground.
Not to do a 1:1 comparison, but it isn’t far from the mindset many had in 2006. Just like how the ‘70s cinema reflected a world that was still reeling from Vietnam and Watergate, cinema took a dark turn in the mid 2000s as the world turned sour. After the “golden age” of the ‘90s, where it felt like a “happy ever after” to the century, the 2000s started off rough, and got meaner. 9/11, wars throughout the Middle East, violence across the world. By 2006, the world seemed to be going to hell in a handbasket, and the classic question came up; Are we the last generation? Is it all over?
In Children of Men, Alfonso Cuarón takes that question and makes it a reality; what if we actually were the final generation? In doing so, he creates a world of resignation, where effort is useless and relationships fleeting. But, true to the genre form, there is a glimmer of hope; a pregnancy. A world that’s completely lost is still able to produce some hope, some possibility of turning things around. In 2006, that seemed like a pipe dream, but we made our way out.
I say this last bit as context to our current moment; after the election results, that same “last generation” question has started to come back up, and watching this film in this climate definitely highlights the nihilism. But, just as Children of Men shows hope in a hopeless world, I too believe we’ll find our way back out of these dark times again, as well.
…YOU KNOW THAT’S ACTUALLY A CHRISTMAS MOVIE, RIGHT?
To ring in the Holiday Season, the Cinapse team has assembled all of our favorite movies full of Holiday Cheer–all while pretending to be anything but a Christmas movie. Our list for Noel Actually includes Sylvester Stallone action epics, Medieval twists of fate, a whimsical anime take on the Biblical Magi, the rebirth of Humanity, and of course, Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman–ensuring December has a wide spectrum of cinema for the nice and naughty alike to enjoy.
Join us by contacting our team or emailing [email protected]!
12/30 – Batman Returns
And We’re Out.
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NOSFERATU is a Spellbinding Re-Evaluation and Reclamation of a Horror Classic
Robert Eggers’ dazzling re-adaptation confronts and overcomes hard truths about Vampire lore
Stills courtesy of Focus Features. From The Witch to The Northman, Robert Eggers’ films are defined by his meticulous dedication to period authenticity, while seamlessly infusing his historical accuracy with timeless, sinister themes. Collaborating with cinematographer Jarin Blaschke and production designer Craig Lathrop, Eggers crafts stunning visuals that transport audiences to Viking-era Iceland, Puritan colonies, and now with Nosferatu, the wilds of the Carpathian Mountains and the bustling metropolises of turn-of-the-century German port cities. These richly recreated settings are more than just visually immersive—they serve as moral landscapes where characters’ intense desires collide with the rigid codes of their societies. This clash fosters a gripping tension, as the fragility of these seemingly immovable worlds is exposed by the primal instincts lurking beneath. In this long-awaited passion project, Eggers brings this dynamic into sharp focus, reframing F.W. Murnau’s unauthorized adaptation of Dracula as a hypnotic, deadly battle of control between a cursed woman and an unholy man, both out of sync with the centuries to which they belong.
Much like the original Murnau film, Nosferatu follows young newlyweds Thomas (Nicholas Hoult) and Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp) as they struggle to embark on a new life together. Still in debt to his childhood friend Harding (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), Thomas seizes on the chance to become a partner at his real estate firm by venturing out into the forests of Transylvania to get Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård) to sign the last of some crucial real estate documents. But Ellen knows what all will soon discover–Orlok’s relocation to Germany is a long-festering plan for the vampiric Count to reunite with her in a consummation of a psychic–and romantic–bond groomed since Ellen’s childhood. As Orlok’s arrival wreaks havoc on Germany, Ellen and Thomas seek answers from crazed Professor Von Franz (Willem Dafoe) before it’s too late.
While Eggers’ take on Nosferatu remains as reverent to the source material as it does its period setting, it’s how Eggers imbues his film with a sharp, modern sensibility that makes Nosferatu a tale worth re-telling. Eggers and an astonishing Depp grant this Ellen a vast interior life compared to the original. Society may find it easy to write off her anguish as another bout of feminine melancholy to be treated with as much Ether as possible; however, Ellen is a woman more tortured by the world’s inability to heed her warnings of the dangers around them. It’s clear Ellen possesses a powerful gift, yet she is undermined and underestimated at every turn–to the point where she heeds “modern” society’s conditioning and rejects her powers, finding solace in love and marriage as soon as possible. Ellen’s victimized and patronized–and told to be grateful on top of it all.
It’s this promise that first leads Orlok to answer Ellen’s general call for comfort–and it’s the same that leads Ellen into a healthier (by comparison) relationship with Thomas. Their dynamic has a sincere passion for one another–yet their shared, imposed desire to conform to the world’s demands (have a family, a house, a steady job where Thomas is the breadwinner) drives them apart as much as it reunites them. What’s more, Orlok’s growing power over Ellen reveals just how much power Thomas fails to deliver–calling out the ineffectual bandaid that is Thomas and Ellen’s relationship, which takes on physical extremes as Orlok’s distance closes. Nosferatu‘s standout sequence, as Thomas and Ellen derangedly try to reckon with each other’s flaws and desires, showcases just how powerfully Depp and Hoult have inhabited the darker angels of their characters’ natures.
In sharp contrast to this is Skarsgård’s Orlok–who Eggers and his company of dang-ass freaks have realized as the least sexy vampire in Centuries. With the film’s tantalizing marketing campaign urging audiences to “succumb to the darkness,” viewers may expect a lecherous gothic romance that would make Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula call for modesty. Nosferatu delivers on its primal desires, yet even by modern standards as much as the film’s Imperial German setting, Orlok’s lurching, imposing nature is defined by a craven menace that’s more revolting to the senses than appealing. By Orlok’s words, he is “an appetite, nothing more:” a true creature of the night, he has no opportunity or need to put on dubious charms when he can pounce and feed, a process that goes straight for the heart and requires full undulation of his lanky frame, turning himself into a lamprey-like full-body pump. It substitutes the seductive allure of Gary Oldman for the conquest-driven nature of the O.G. Vlad the Impaler, just sans people on spikes.
Nosferatu’s treatment of Vampires is less of a repudiation of the “sexy vampire” and more of unearthing the uncomfortable truths about them that some willingly bury beneath the surface. The call to “succumb to the darkness” isn’t some tragically romantic sentiment–it’s the creepy calling card of an undead incel, one that removes its victims of an agency that society may have already convinced them to give up.
Here, Eggers makes no qualms about the fact that Count Orlok, for all his talk about willing devotion, has groomed Ellen since childhood, instilling a sense of inevitable romantic destiny. Orlok may sincerely believe that–but to Ellen, this is an arranged marriage from hell–conditioned for years by the world Ellen lives in as much as by Orlok himself. The experience has warped what should be a self-actualizing power and her ability to desire into tormenting feelings of shame and self-loathing. Eggers has already drawn early criticism for this approach–but I’d say that this thematic blast is Nosferatu’s whole raison d’être.
There’s nothing sexy about decades of emotional manipulation–and Eggers knows that we must realize this on the same level as the desires we keep locked up deep within ourselves. Given the fatalistically patriarchal nature of Ellen’s waking life from birth to inevitable death, it should come as no surprise that Ellen has grown to romanticize death to the point of dreaming about marrying Death itself. In that aforementioned standout scene, Ellen’s confession and unpacking of her psychological trauma pulls her on invisible strings between the lover she consents to and the one hell-bent on controlling her, a puppet long-drained of agency and hope.
Ellen’s sole ally–and for all of Thomas’ intentions, I mean that–is Willem Dafoe’s crazed Professor Von Franz, who’s similarly shunned by a world that to him has been “blinded by the gaseous light of science” (among other verbal bangers). Taking inspiration from 1922 Nosferatu’s equally occult-steeped producer Albin Grau, Von Franz has embraced the modern revelations of scientific theory without compromising an even deeper passion for more otherworldly beliefs. As much as characters like Thomas, Harding, and even former student Sievers (Ralph Ineson) bury their heads in the sand for a rational explanation for Orlok and Ellen’s madness, only Von Franz recognizes the validity of Ellen’s warnings, as well as her worth when it comes to stopping Orlok–precisely because no one else is willing to. The delicious irony is that no one else has reason to listen to him either. This mutual decision to play into each other’s madness leads Eggers to his most modern deviation from Murnau’s film, one that grants Ellen the self-determination that Orlok and his world have feverishly tried to strip from her.
Nosferatu, like The Witch, recognizes how both impulsive and logical it can be to bend towards evil and villainy, especially when the world demonizes one’s gender or abilities from birth. But where The Witch sees Evil as an inevitable endpoint, Eggers flips the script with Nosferatu to grant Ellen the opportunity to funnel her gifts into a tragic victory. In a key confrontation, Von Franz urges one to “know and crucify the evil within us;” Ellen is more than able to do such self-reflection–but after millennia of being placed on such a social pedestal, it’s a gift that all men in her world seem to lack.
It’s an approach that extends to Eggers’ diabolically unsettling depiction of Orlok himself and the hypnotic influence he exerts on others. Skarsgård’s absence from the film’s marketing isn’t some PR ploy. Much like Junji Ito’s romantically manipulative undead creature Tomie in Ataru Oikawa’s 1998 adaptation, Nosferatu’s Count Orlok is calculatedly removed from the frame almost until the film’s final act. While his voice may infiltrate every speaker in the sound system, Skarsgård lingers on the edge of every frame or is kept at a remove cloaked in darkness or masked by firelight. Especially in the film’s other best scene, as Thomas arrives at Castle Orlok and meets his surrogate employer over an unearthly dinner, it’s as if Blaschke’s camera can hardly bear to look at him as much as others. Yet, despite this urge to look away, Blaschke and editor Louise Ford’s year-best cinematography and editing, hide invisible cuts in camera movements to create hallucinatory jumps in time and space with the fluidity of unbroken cuts–as if trapped on the same conveyor belt of fate that Orlok wholeheartedly believes in.
Yet, for all of the victimhood that Orlok, Thomas, and the world impose upon Ellen, it’s she who breaks this spell–unafraid to look her psychic kidnapper in the eye and find the light to overpower him and hopefully reject the darkness we’re told to succumb to.
For so many films this year about power and control, it’s inspiring that Eggers’ Nosferatu is the one to so openly reckon with desire, depravity, victimhood, and reclamation on such a spellbindingly even keel–silencing its doubters to create a film that will hopefully remain as timeless as its inspiration.
Nosferatu opens in theaters on Christmas Day courtesy of Focus Features.
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WALLACE AND GROMIT: The Complete Cracking Collection [4K-Review]
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A joyous (but flawed) release celebrating Aardman Animation’s beloved duo
It was Christmas 1990 that I first met Wallace and Gromit. I remember the adverts, the quirky promise of what looked to be a quintessentially British comedy adventure. When A Grand Day Out aired it delivered that, and instantly etched two characters into our lexicon. Building the stop-motion magic of Aardman Animations (and creator Nick Park) takes time, but over the past few decades we’ve seentheir short film exploits in The Wrong Trousers (’93), A Close Shave (’95), A Matter of Loaf and Death (’08), the mini-series Cracking Contraptions, and a feature film, Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (’05).
These are just exemplary puns, but testaments to the humor and craft of Aardman Animations. For the unknowing, Wallace is a rather befuddled old sort who happily resides in the North of England (Wigan to be precise) with his faithful hound Gromit. An inventor by trade, it’s his pursuit of technological marvels to make life easier that is usually the source of the (mis)adventures he gets drawn into. Gromit, when not by his side, is typically putting out the fires ignited by his ‘owner’. A smart, streetwise canine, who is all too often put through the wringer and usually saves the day.
A Grand Day Out saw a cheese shortage (the pair’s favorite food) launch the pair off to the moon to see if it really made of the stuff. The Wrong Trousers cemented their status with a heist scheme encircling Wallace’s latest invention and their new, mysterious lodger. A Close Shave opened up Wallace to the possibility of love, and the scourge of sheep rustling, while A Matter of Loaf and Death saw the duo launch their own bakery and solve the ensuing mystery of disappearing competitors. All shorts, perfectly spun yarns under 30 minutes. The Curse of the Were-Rabbit was a full blown feature where a monstrous force is threatening the town’s prized vegetables, just before the annual competition. It’s quirky and whimsical fare with each entry to the series feels like a familiar warm hug, yet packed with inventive and playful fare. With witty scripts, a treasure trove of visual gags, an array of superb voice-performers, and a singular aesthetic that makes champions the use and character afforded by stop-motion animation.
For over 30 years Wallace and Gromit have delighted us, and this set from Shout! Factory isn’t just striving to celebrate the past, but the upcoming release of Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl which lands on the BBC on Christmas day, rolling out internationally over Netflix from January 3rd, 2025. Having already seen the film, I can happily attest it delivers another adorably whimsical adventure for this beloved duo.
The Package
The package adorably replicates an old school travel suitcase that you’d expect to see carried by Wallace himself. Adorned with stickers from their many adventures, and with a removable slip that details the contents of the package.
The case flips open to reveal a full color booklet (more below), a sheet of stickers, and a card disc holder.
The disc holder opens to reveal a gatefold of the pair, tucked away within are three discs hosting the shots, feature, and extras.
The booklet is 24 pages and showcases a mix of stills, original art, playful blueprints (of Wallace’s many inventions), a few articles on the series, and a selection of recipes, all involving cheese.
The Transfer
The notable aspect of this release is the 4K-transfers/updates to the shorts, Curse of the Were-Rabbit and Cracking Contraptions remain Blu-ray releases. As someone who owned all three on VHS and DVD, the release is overall a significant step-up. The colors are robust and well saturated, blacks are strong, detail impresses too. You can even see some of the fingerprints left in the clay figures. these films are a labor of love and the 4K presentation drives that home.
It should be noted that this release has come under some scrutiny and it is apparent while watching that some aspects of the transfer show off some over processing. Noise reduction is often cranked up and it’s been indicated that AI smoothing might be responsible. This is most apparent in reducing some detail, largely in regards to background detail. Best examples of this are in some of the glimpsed newspapers and labels. These often include throwaway visual gags (or hints at plot points), which can be argued are integral to the sharp ongoing humor so associated with the series. I’m a devotee of physical media, and an advocate for AI-free restorations, clearly this release conflicts with that. Is it the most authentic and best possible representation, perhaps not. Is this the best presentation of Wallace on Gromit currently available, yes. The package is superb, the visual presentation is flawed. It doesn’t detract from overall enjoyment of the shorts, but is a cautionary tale about how to approach a transfer and restoration.
Extra Features:
- Peter Lord & Nick Park Interview: The studio founder and head honcho/W&G creator talk about the studio, their niche, approach and ethic, and the challenge and character of using stop-motion techniques
- Audio Commentaries: Great accompaniments to the film with insights into both some of the technical challenges and approaches, script/character development, and some of the Easter eggs littered in the works
- “The Amazing World Of Wallace & Gromit”: Only 15 minutes in length, but it packs in a lot about the creation of W&G, and their popularity around the world
- Cracking Contraptions: A series of 10 short-shorts, each with Wallace showing off a brand new invention to Gromit. A nice burst of the wit and whimsy you’d expect
- “Inside The Wrong Trousers”: A nicely put together making of that complements the audio commentary pretty well, albeit draws from other talent involved in the production
- A Close Shave – How They Did It: As above
- The Making Of A Matter Of Loaf And Death – How They Donut: The last making of
- When Wallace Met Harvey: A look at the use of the duo in an ad campaign for department store Harvey Nichols
- 28-Page Booklet, Picture Gallery, Invention Blueprints
Wallace & Gromit: The Complete Cracking Collection is available via Shout! Factory from December 3rd
About Wallace & Gromit
Wallace and Gromit, Aardman’s most loved and iconic duo have been delighting family audiences around the world for 30 years. First hitting our screens in Nick Park’s Academy Award®-winning ‘Wallace & Gromit: A Grand Day Out’ (1989) the pair went on to star in three further half hour specials (Wallace & Gromit: The Wrong Trousers (1993), Wallace & Gromit: A Close Shave (1995) and Wallace & Gromit: A Matter of Loaf or Death (2009)) and a feature length film Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005) and are internationally celebrated winning over 100 awards at festivals – including 3 Academy Awards® and 5 BAFTA® Awards.
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Jaume Collet-Serra is Back in His Zone With CARRY-ON
After a two movie journey with The Rock, Jaume Collet-Serra is back in his B-movie wheelhouse with the Netflix thriller Carry-On. If you’re looking for a break from year-end awards contenders or holiday season feel-good affairs, Carry-On offers up a fun reprieve.
Taron Egerton stars as Ethan Kopek, a TSA agent who’s stuck in a career rut. He didn’t pass muster at the police academy and he’s settled into a routine of complacency at the airport. In case you haven’t seen this kind of movie before, you may be surprised to know that Ethan’s girlfriend Nora (Sofia Carson) is not only more driven, but also pregnant. Ethan and Nora both work at LAX and on this day, Christmas Eve, their lives are about to be upended, as they often are, by a nameless, nefarious guy played by Jason Bateman.
While at his station, Ethan gets an earpiece and a mysterious text that connects him to Traveler (Bateman). All Ethan has to do is let something he shouldn’t onto a particular plane without getting flagged. From there the cat-and-mouse game is on. T.J. Fixman’s script is briskly plotted and escalates at a nice pace. Collet-Serra’s direction is as slick as every, finding small moments to ratchet up the tension without laying it on too thick.
Most of the movie’s juice comes from the ongoing conversation between Ethan and Traveler. Traveler is all seeing and knowing, constantly a step ahead of Ethan’s attempts to play the hero. Egerton and Bateman have good chemistry. Bateman isn’t necessarily doing anything new here, but his blend of sincerity and sarcasm ups the level of menace in Traveler’s words. Egerton’s intensity sparks off Bateman, so their dynamic is a lot of fun. Whether they’re on the phone or face to face, they give the film a solid foundation.
In a different era, Carry-On would’ve been a cable staple. The direction is slick, the action is engaging (including the best baggage sorting set piece this side of Toy Story 2), and the performances (including supporting turns be Dean Norris, Danielle Deadwyler, and Theo Rossi) are strong enough to get viewers to buy in. I don’t know if this the best version of this kind of movie Collet-Serra has done, but after spending years away from the genre while working on Jungle Cruise and Black Adam, he hasn’t lost his touch. Talk about being home for the holidays.
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Criterion Review: SEVEN SAMURAI [4K-UHD]
![Criterion Review: SEVEN SAMURAI [4K-UHD]](https://i0.wp.com/cinapse.co/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/image-18.png?resize=1140%2C835&ssl=1)
Kurosawa’s cinematic landmark reminds us of it’s lasting legacy
Seven Samurai is a landmark of cinema. Not just in evaluating it as a standalone feature, but in it’s impact and resonance throughout the medium. Akira Kurosawa has inspired scores of filmmakers and their works since the release of his masterwork in 1954. The story is familiar to all, thanks to it’s imprint on cinema, and inspirational qualities. A small village in feudal Japan is plagued by bandits. An elder named Gisaku (Kokuten Kōdō) convinces the people to hire some samurai to help repel their attacks and secure their safety. A team of seven unites, each with their own history, skills, and quirks, and endure these assaults to save the village.
Written by Kurosawa alongside Shinobu Hashimoto and Hideo Oguni, this is the marriage of an action epic, with a story that dives into the history, culture, and conflict of 1600s Japan. An era in the grip of civil war. Factions rise, some fall, and in the background, bandits roam the countryside taking advantage of the weak and helpless. The first to be convinced to lend his blade to their cause is Kambei Shimada (Takashi Shimura), whose experience and status leads to other samurai joining his band, notably Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune), who having risen from the peasant class, offers a bridge of sorts to the villagers. Necessity forges this alliance, but a it’s not as simple as good vs evil, as these two classes collide. Its more than privilege vs poverty, as to the villagers their saviors represent the very warring forces that have destabilized the land.
The legend and legacy of the Seven Samurai comes not just from heroic exploits, but from the craft behind the film. The technical aspects of Kurosawa’s approach are unsurpassed in every riff off this tale we’ve seen. From blocking to staging, the cuts, pacing all conjure up a dynamic flow, and immersion in the story. Production design showcases considered and detailed work, adding depth to a worlds that is given life by richly drawn and acted characters. Mifune is a microcosm of this, with a character that delivers elements of comic relief, but adds story and emotional weight with an impeccably layered performance. Tonally, it’s a perfect blend of irreverent humor, comedy, and violence. Kurosawa is not crafting an simple over the top actioner, but something deeper in construct, with an underlying message about the weariness of war and social strife. All these men, regardless of station, end up down in the dirt. It adds a lingering poignancy and underscores how influential the film has been for wave upon wave of filmmakers.
The Package
One of the most welcome aspects of the 4K platform is the wave of classic films getting a new lease of life and Seven Samurai doesn’t disappoint. Being rendered in black and white, the range of contrast is impressive, as is the inky depths of the blacks, and crispness of the whites. The backbone of the film is strong, and lends to a superb depth of image detail and clarity, which really lets the films visuals shine. Grain is naturally and consistent too. Overall it’s a stable and consistent image, but some of the wide shots of the countryside do look a little diffuse around the edges, likely due to the source material.
- One 4K UHD disc of the film and two Blu-rays with the film and legacy special features
- Two audio commentaries, one featuring film scholars David Desser, Joan Mellen, Stephen Prince, Tony Rayns, and Donald Richie, and the other Japanese-film expert Michael Jeck: The first is interesting in spurts (largely in terms of insights into the films legacy), but a bit piecemeal as it’s stitched together from several different commentaries. The commentary with Jeck is incredibly well put together, taking in a wider look at Japanese cinema and culture, and also the resonance of Kurosawa’s feature on film in general
- Making-of documentary, created as part of the Toho Masterworks series Akira Kurosawa: It Is Wonderful to Create: Around 50 minutes, and a nicely comprehensive ‘making of’ that explores the inception, planning, filming, and release of the film. A great look at Kurosawa’s process
- My Life in Cinema (1993), a two-hour conversation between director Akira Kurosawa and filmmaker Nagisa Oshima: Two legendary figures of Japanese cinema talking film
- “Seven Samurai”: Origins and Influences, a documentary looking at the samurai traditions and films that helped shape Kurosawa’s masterpiece: Just under an hour in length, it draws from many notable film scholars (some on the commentary above) to open up understanding on the film, and the Japanese/Samurai culture at its core
- Trailers and teaser
- Gallery of rare posters, behind-the-scenes photos, and production stills:
- PLUS: Essays by Kenneth Turan, Peter Cowie, Philip Kemp, Peggy Chiao, Alain Silver, Stuart Galbraith IV, Arthur Penn, and Sidney Lumet, and an interview with actor Toshiro Mifune from 1993: An expansive booklet full of some notable essays and information on the 4K transfer/restoration
The Bottom Line
Often referenced, inspiring a wealth of filmmakers than came in it’s wake, but there is something so distinct about Kurosawa’s feature that sets it apart even after all this time. Seven Samurai is a landmark of cinema, and Criterion’s 4K treatment is a reverential affair, one that offers up some superb extras alongside a new 4K transfer that is the new benchmark for watching the film.
Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai is available on 4K-UHD via Criterion now
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Two Cents Celebrates Christmas Miracles with TOKYO GODFATHERS
Two Cents is a Cinapse original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team curates the series and contribute their “two cents” using a maximum of 200-400 words. Guest contributors and comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future picks. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion. Would you like to be a guest contributor or programmer for an upcoming Two Cents entry? Simply watch along with us and/or send your pitches or 200-400 word reviews to [email protected].
We all know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and all that noise, right? There are tons of Christmas movies from neo-classics like Elf to old-time favorites like A Miracle on 34th St to Hallmark’s 1000 new films each year to that Hot Frosty movie on Netflix that’s getting all the buzz. We have all seen these and we all have our favorites and least favorites. And, each year there are hundreds of film bros who tell you that Die Hard is their favorite Christmas movie, too. This is a valid selection, for sure… at least, in our eyes… as Christmas is in the eye of the beholder. So, this year, in the spirit of John McClane, we present some other films that are secretly Christmas films.
The Pick: Tokyo Godfathers (2003)
Satoshi Kon’s wintery urban comedy Tokyo Godfathers has stealthily become a Christmas mainstay for more than just anime fans. The madcap tale of three homeless friends who discover an abandoned baby could have leaned toward gripping melodrama like Kon’s earlier works. Instead, it radiates the chaotic, heartfelt magic of the Christmas season. Through moments of coincidence and acts of kindness, the film finds holiday spirit even in life’s darkest corners. It’s a Christmas movie under its grime and glitz, one that breaks free from cozy, Hallmark small-town clichés to remind us that true holiday magic shines brightest in those who give selflessly, no matter how much or little, to help others in need.
Featured Guest
Zoë Elizabeth
Zoë Elizabeth is a behavioral therapist (on hiatus) and fitness instructor with an abiding love for David Cronenberg and Jean Claude Van Damme.
Satoshi Kon’s Tokyo Godfathers opens during a Christmas evening service in a church full of people, many of whom seem to be struggling (and possibly only in attendance so they can line up for the soup being served afterward), where the preacher declares to the crowd, “Jesus was born to offer those alone a place in which to be alive.” Enter our three unlikely heroes: Hana, a warm and loving trans woman with an endearing flair for the dramatic; the aptly named Gin, a (mostly) well-meaning but prickly middle-aged alcoholic; and Miyuki, a troubled, jaded teenage runaway. They discover an abandoned newborn baby on their way back to the cardboard box the three of them call home. Hana, driven by her desire to give the baby the motherly love she herself never received and to protect the baby from the nightmares of the foster system, convinces Gin and Miyuki that the three of them must take matters into their own hands to find the baby’s parents and figure out what happened.
The city of Tokyo (though intricately and dynamically rendered, as one would expect from any work of Kon’s) is washed-out, bleak, and cold. The hostility of the city’s aesthetics extends to its occupants: riders crowd to one side of a subway car to maintain distance from our group of undesirables; later, a group of teenagers drag Gin out of a tent to mug and beat him in the street. The warmth, color, and humanity that Tokyo so desperately lacks come in the form of our trio and the immigrants, drag queens, and working poor who come to their aid with timing that can only be described as divine, expecting nothing in return. If we’re talking about the “spirit of Christmas” in terms of proximity to its namesake, this may be the purest Christmas movie I’ve ever seen.
Tokyo Godfathers is funny, beautiful, and touching: a story about togetherness, selflessness, and redemption; a testament to the power of found family, the tendency of the universe (and/or God, if you like) to provide in mysterious ways, and the grace and connection that await us on the other side of shame; an assertion of the universal, irrefutable truth that we need each other.
The Team
Spencer Brickey
Up top, a confession; Anime has never been my cup of tea. It was probably a mix of being introduced to Toonami like 2 years too early and being creeped out by those horror anime ads in the back of Fangorias, but I steered clear of the genre for the most part. I’ve since remedied that in the past few years, trying to watch all the bigger titles, like the Studio Ghibli films and Akira, and anything else that catches my eye.
Particularly, the films that have wowed me the most since checking out the genre have been the works of Satoshi Kon. On a friend’s recommendation, I went and saw a screening of Perfect Blue back in 2019, and it was like a whole new type of film opened up to me. It was terrifying and propulsive and satisfying, in ways I hadn’t really thought animation could be. I vowed to see the rest of his (tragically short) filmography, and, in classic lazy cinephile style, I am just now seeing my second Kon film with Tokyo Godfathers.
And, just as I expected, Kon once again puts together an amazing world, trading in the thrills and terror of Perfect Blue for something much sweeter and funnier, while also being a level of heartbreaking I wasn’t fully ready for. Following 3 hobos who discover an abandoned newborn on Christmas Eve, we’re treated to a journey filled with chance encounters, adventures both comical and dangerous, surreal and magical interventions, and familial bickering that can be kind hearted or cutting. Throughout this trek through Tokyo to find the real parents, we are also introduced to each of these characters’ backgrounds; some are straight forward and tragic, while others take winding roads through white lies and embarrassing truths (while still being incredibly tragic).
By the time we come to the end, sitting with our 3 homeless heroes, we both feel like we know them inside and out, and that we have no idea where their story could go next. That was the strength of Kon; he was able to build worlds, and the people that inhabit them, in such a way that everyone is a fully fleshed out, living and breathing person, who also exists in fantastical worlds where things like heavenly intervention is real. Kon was truly a master of his craft, taken from the world way too soon.
It wasn’t like I was ‘surprised’ to love Tokyo Godfathers. After all, both Perfect Blue and Millennium Actress are masterpieces of the animated feature film form (say that five times fast, damn) so there was every reason to expect that Satoshi Kon would deliver another exceptional outing with this one.
But even with these expectations, I was still absolutely staggered by Tokyo Godfathers when I first watched it, and I continue to be staggered by it each Christmas season when I revisit it (it’s been in the regular rotation for a few years now). It’s just so wonderfully alive, and so fully in love with the great big mess that is the human race and all the ways we ruin ourselves and save one another.
The best Christmas movies are the ones that balance the schmaltz with an embrace of how the new year is also a time for loneliness and introspection. Capra knew that, and so does Kon. Tokyo Godfathers isn’t afraid of the squalid and seedy aspects of its setting and story, but owning those aspects so fully empowers the movie to reach for (and hit) profound levels of joy and hope. A Christmas miracle all around.
Elizabeth Stoddard
I can’t believe I have another excuse in a Two Cents entry this year to bring up John Ford’s 1948 western 3 Godfathers, but it is an obvious influence on Satoshi Kon in the Japanese filmmaker’s creation of Tokyo Godfathers. The premise of three random people finding an abandoned baby is perhaps all the two films share in common, however. Kon’s “godfathers” include runaway teen Miyuki and a trans woman Hana, who – along with homeless alcoholic Gin — find a baby girl in a trash dump. While Hana believes the baby, who she names Kiyoko, is a Christmas miracle, Miyuki and Gin want to take the child to the authorities.
Through a series of misadventures, the trio aims to take the baby back to her mother. The characters’ faces, especially when angry – which, let’s be honest, is a large percentage of the film – are overly exaggerated in their animation. But the film’s animation style otherwise tends towards realism, especially where the city scenes are concerned. When the trio walks by an ad for a Big Mac, it looks like a legit McDonalds poster. One dramatic moment near the end made me gasp in the sheer beauty of the animation; snow glitters the air through a sunbeam, and the viewer is filled with hope for these three.The humanizing quality of Kon’s storytelling leads the viewer to empathize with the trio, while most cinematic depictions of unhoused folks seem to aim for audience pity. Their caper though snowy Tokyo streets allows us time to get to know each of them, as well as the backstories which impacted their current situation. Tokyo Godfathers is emotionally intense in its depiction of families lost and found, yet action-packed at the same time. The story moves in unexpected directions, and the viewer is eager to follow. I appreciated Kon’s film even more on this second viewing. While Millennium Actress remains my favorite of his works, I am tempted to add this one to my regular holiday rotation.
Julian Singleton
It’s a refrain heard often, but Satoshi Kon was gone too soon. His films have such an offbeat sense of humor that provides viewers an unassuming gateway into cripplingly sharp insights about human behavior. While I still consider his TV series Paranoia Agent to be his multilayered masterpiece, Tokyo Godfathers literally sees Kon at his most miraculous.
In attempting to return an abandoned baby to her rightful parents on Christmas Eve, three homeless people–grizzled Gin, trans diva Hana, and young runaway Miyuki–encounter increasingly wild coincidences and twists of fate. Benevolent deeds are rewarded by reappearances of former foes or tucked-away lottery tickets. Becoming a hit man’s hostage leads to cozy respite with his wife, and communing over shared experiences of parent and child regardless of language barrier. There’s mistaken identities, circular crossed paths, and so much more–to the point where even Jesus’ birth seems like a tamer Christmas miracle by comparison.
The journey takes as much as it gives–as the trio use what little resources they have to take care of baby Kiyoko or pay for each other’s hospital visits with hard-saved cash or train tickets across Tokyo, often accompanied by the judgmental scorn of those in higher strata of society. But this flawed found family has forged the kind of deep bond that other blood families only tend to unpack with their Nativity scenes during the holidays. It’s that relationship between one another that, amidst the many divine interventions in this film leading them to Kiyoko’s birth family, forces Gin, Hana, and Miyuki to begin repairing bridges with the families they abandoned by choice or circumstance.
Because for as much loss, heartbreak, and downturn that can define our lives–it’s the ability to find meaning in one another that’s truly miraculous. To Kon in Tokyo Godfathers, The divine forces that interfere in our lives are gales that push us towards one another rather than keep us apart. No one should be discarded, or be made to feel like they’re trash. There’s still the opportunity to reconnect, to come together. Its Christmas setting only speaks further to this feeling of providence, second chances, connection, and rebirth–it’s a film that celebrates how, for all our good and bad actions, we all have the chance to come back in from the cold.
…YOU KNOW THAT’S ACTUALLY A CHRISTMAS MOVIE, RIGHT?
To ring in the Holiday Season, the Cinapse team has assembled all of our favorite movies full of Holiday Cheer–all while pretending to be anything but a Christmas movie. Our list for Noel Actually includes Sylvester Stallone action epics, Medieval twists of fate, a whimsical anime take on the Biblical Magi, the rebirth of Humanity, and of course, Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman–ensuring December has a wide spectrum of cinema for the nice and naughty alike to enjoy.
Join us by contacting our team or emailing [email protected]!
12/23 – Children of Men
12/30 – Batman Returns -
Criterion Review: FUNNY GIRL
Barbra Streisand’s film debut gets the 4K treatment from Criterion
It’s been at least a couple decades since my college roommate introduced me to Funny Girl, the musical biography of comic actress Fanny Brice. And at the time, the lack of an HEA made me feel that it wasn’t a movie for me. Since Criterion Collection released this 4K restoration the same year another close friend and I have been streaming Streisand movies together, the musical was worth revisiting.
A young Barbra Streisand made her film debut in Funny Girl after the original theatrical version turned her into a Broadway star. As a famous name with the Ziegfeld Follies, a 30-something Brice looks back on her career in theater and her ill-fated romance with gambler Nicky Arnstein (Omar Sharif). Streisand and Sharif have a heated chemistry, even during the silly “You Are Woman, I Am Man” number as Arnstein seduces the naïve Brice. Arnstein wants to support his family through his own means (however sketchy they may be) and Brice’s fame and financial success have him doubting his worth. God forbid a woman earns more than her husband.
Brice’s home life and career stand in contrast, as she asserts control in her theater work as much as she can. When boss Ziegfeld (Walter Pidgeon) rules she must perform a finale song which calls her “the most beautiful girl in the world,” Fanny makes a quick decision with hilarious results; the audience laughs because she wants them to. Funny Girl is heavy on self-effacing humor as neither Brice nor Streisand fall under the feminine ideal of their time.
Although when Streisand as Brice kicks off the film, saying, “Hello, gorgeous,” to herself in a mirror, the viewer believes it. The camera worships her. The costumes tell us about her character while giving her a flawless look. William Wyler (The Best Years of Our Lives) directed the film and a crew worked on it, but there is little doubt this is Streisand’s film.
And as I’ve grown older, I can recognize that the ending is happy enough as is. It’s better for Fanny to let go of a relationship that demands too much from her with little emotional reward. If Arnstein won’t accept her help due to stereotypical gender roles, then it’s better for Fanny to find her own way. With the ending number, “My Man,” Streisand goes against film musical production expectations and sings/records the song live (with Wyler’s approval); in this way, both character and performer claim space and voice on that stage.
The Criterion Collection Bluray package includes:
- a 4K digital restoration of the film
- 40-minute audio essay from Streisand (recorded in 2024 for this release) about her involvement with the original Broadway show and the later film. She speaks about her performance being informed by her reading of interview transcripts with Brice. She shares stories about producer Ray Stark and embracing the opportunity to collaborate with filmmaker William Wyler. On cinematographer Stradler: “He wanted to show me off.” On co-star Sharif: “He seemed real to me.”
- An informative 2024 conversation between David Wyler (son of William) and Alicia Malone on his father’s varied directing career (“He wanted to do everything”) and working with Streisand on Funny Girl.
- An hour-long documentary from 1986, Directed by William Wyler, includes Wyler’s last interview in 1981 and a star-studded group of interviewees (including Streisand).
- Clip from a 2003 conversation with Omar Sharif, with fairly cruddy audio quality.
- a deleted scene from Funny Girl where the married couple actually discuss how Brice might contribute to their shared living expenses (shock!)
- featurettes from the original theatrical release, including an introduction to Streisand
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AFFLICTION and BRINGING OUT THE DEAD Remain Paul Schrader’s Most Haunting Efforts
“No one asked you to suffer. That was your idea.”
Paul Schrader remains one of our most deceptively prolific filmmakers with a body of work so varied and unforgettable, that it’s hard to even picture the last few decades of film without him. His recent output saw him producing some of his strongest work through the unofficial Damaged Loner trilogy, which consisted of 2018’s First Reformed, 2021’s The Card Counter, and 2023’s Master Gardener. The trio of films wowed longtime fans of the writer/director and even earned him his long-awaited first Oscar nomination. Meanwhile, Schrader’s latest effort, the drama Oh, Canada, sees him reuniting with his American Gigolo leading man Richard Gere for this tale of a former draft dodger reflecting on his life in what looks to be one of the director’s most pensive films in years.
If Schrader has always been more of a cinephile’s filmmaker rather than a mainstream one, his ardent supporters continue to sing his praises, continuously revisiting his past films whenever possible. It’s therefore not so surprising that two of his most acclaimed titles from the late 90s, Schrader’s adaptation of the Russell Banks novel Affliction and the Schrader-scripted/Martin Scorsese-directed Bringing Out the Dead have been given new life on Blu-ray.
Affliction
In 1997’s Affliction, a deputy named Wade (Nick Nolte) finds himself at odds with most of the people in the small New Hampshire town he lives in. This includes his domineering father Glen (James Coburn), who has been a terrifying figure for him his entire life and greatly influenced the man he is today.
Affliction remains an incredibly American film thanks to its vast landscape, small-town sensibilities, and the story’s bleakness which comes across as salt-of-the-earth poetry with a decided edge to it. The film is full of broken people simply trying to exist and, just maybe, find some light in their lives along the way, not least of all Wade. Schrader’s film deals with the ghosts of the past, the ones that aren’t as evidently haunting, but which maintain a special kind of scariness. The increase in Wade’s temper and self-destructive nature with every subsequent scene begs the question: How much anger and pain can a man’s soul contain? Not even a loving relationship with Margie (Sissy Spacek) seems to help, despite her representing the chance to let go of the past that’s been holding him hostage and the father responsible for it. Affliction is hard to penetrate as a film at times, yet remains undeniably poignant throughout. The various story beats (each one more intense than the last) wash over as they would in real life, knocking the viewer back and reminding them of how a person’s world can change in an instant. While Schrader’s film almost becomes too hard to take with its levels of devastation, it’s still a searing and unforgettable portrait of the monster that lives inside of all of us.
Bringing Out the Dead
Schrader and director Martin Scorsese revisited New York with this gripping story of a paramedic named Frank (Nicolas Cage) who finds himself questioning his sanity thanks to the intensity of his job, the unpredictability of the city, and the various characters he encounters on a nightly basis.
If Affliction was Schrader exploring the monsters within us, Bringing Out the Dead, has him uncovering the ghosts inside of us. Underrated almost as soon as it debuted in 1999, Bringing Out the Dead instantly shows itself to be a film about those we feel have left never actually leaving. Scorsese brings Schrader’s script to life with very specific lighting that gives it a surreal edge, echoing the manic quality of the world Frank lives in. Meanwhile, the noirish narration provided by Cage only adds to the surrealness. Schrader’s New York remains just as haunted and isolating as ever. In Bringing Out the Dead, he paints the iconic city as a world full of death and despair. This is life for those who live in it, all of whom routinely treat the writer’s New York as if there’s no other world that exists beyond it. The environment in the film makes it hard to get a handle on the world because it’s so powerful and alien, yet still maintains compelling and fascinating elements about it. It’s such a rough world, that it’s hard to fathom that anything resembling hope can actually happen there and harder to recognize it when it does. This is certainly true for the mentally fragile Frank, who is forever longing for an atonement that will never come, existing as one of the most tragic figures Schrader ever brought to the screen.
Both Affliction and Bringing Out the Dead share more than a couple of similarities, not least of all is Schrader’s passion for each project. The deep compassion he shows for both of his complicated protagonists is surely felt in the way he presents the torturous nature of their inner selves in a manner that’s neither intrusive nor judgmental in the least. Wade and Frank are men who are desperately and hopelessly trying to find themselves again. While their respective journeys are compelling, the one theory that rises above all the others is that maybe the reason neither one can find himself is because they were both always lost.
Affliction is now available on Blu-ray from Shout Factory. Bringing Out the Dead is now available on Blu-ray and DVD from Paramount Pictures.
Action, Affliction, American Gigolo, Blu-ray, Bringing out the Dead, Canada, Drama, First Reformed, Home Video, James Coburn, Martin Scorsese, Master Gardener, Movies, New Hampshire, New York City, Nick Nolte, Nicolas Cage, Oh, Paramount Pictures, Paul Schrader, Richard Gere, Russell Banks, Shout Factory, Sissy Spacek, The Card Counter, Thriller
