Here, we will do a Blu-ray review of several classic movies from renowned directors. Here, we will go in depth about some of the most renowned movies from Hollywood directors.
Embark on a cinematic journey delving into the distinctive worlds crafted by visionary filmmakers Joaquim Pedro de Andrade, Mohsen Makhmalbaf, Olivier Assayas, and more.
Each of these auteurs has left an indelible mark on the global film landscape, contributing to the rich tapestry of storytelling through their unique perspectives and storytelling prowess.
Joaquim Pedro de Andrade, a Brazilian filmmaker, brought a poetic and politically charged lens to his works.
Mohsen Makhmalbaf, an influential Iranian director, is renowned for his exploration of societal complexities and human resilience.
Olivier Assayas, a French filmmaker, has consistently pushed cinematic boundaries, blending genres and narratives to create thought-provoking and visually striking films.
Join us as we explore the films of these cinematic maestros, uncovering the thematic threads and artistic innovations that define their remarkable contributions to world cinema.
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Blu-Ray Review: Joaquim Pedro de Andrade: The Complete Films Kino Lorber
The Cinema Novo movement from Brazil has unfortunately been given limited representation on English-friendly home video, with even the most recognizable figure, Glauber Rocha, lacking any of his films available on DVD in the US.
In light of this scarcity, Kino’s three-disc set presenting the complete filmography of Joaquim Pedro de Andrade stands out as a remarkable offering.
The collection provides a comprehensive exploration of this versatile filmmaker’s work, which has been less accessible in the United States.
Including eight shorts and six features, the set reveals the shifting styles and varied concerns of Andrade’s filmmaking.
While “Macunaíma” (1969) may be his most renowned work, the importance of having all his films together in one package becomes evident, allowing viewers to appreciate the diversity that defines Andrade’s cinematic oeuvre fully.
Joaquim Pedro de Andrade’s journey in feature filmmaking commenced with the documentary “Garrincha: Joy of the People” (1963), a poignant portrayal of the tragic end of soccer legend Garrincha. Shifting to fiction, he explored the austere drama of “The Priest and the Girl” (1965).
Where a newly ordained priest grapples with his principles when encountering Mariana, a young woman controlled by her determined caretaker.
This film stands out among Andrade’s later sardonic works due to its sincerity and emotive undertones.
The surreal comedy “Macunaíma” is a unique offering, lampooning Brazil’s racial politics and militarized society.
Born a fully grown man in the Amazon jungle, Macunaíma undergoes fantastical transformations, navigating through scenarios with cartoonish violence, assaultive sound design, and a surprisingly somber conclusion.
Andrade’s evolution continued with “The Conspirators” (1972), a docudrama with a fatalistic edge, recounting Tiradentes’ failed anti-colonial coup.
“Conjugal Warfare” (1975) parodies the Brazilian s*x-comedy genre, exploring hate and sex as equal and cooperative forces.
“The Brazilwood Man” (1981) breaks the biopic mold, portraying writer Oswald de Andrade with male and female actors interacting in distinctive ways.
The collection includes mostly documentary short films, along with “Tropical Lane” (1977), a segment from an erotic omnibus film.
The 1080p transfers, sourced from new 2K restorations, showcase impressive visual quality across Andrade’s diverse filmography.
While lacking on-disc extras, the included booklet offers a comprehensive overview of Andrade’s career in an essay by critic Fábio Andrade.
Cold Water (L’eau froide, 1994) Criterion Collection
Olivier Assayas enthusiasts have reason to rejoice with Arrow’s recent UK Blu-ray releases of “Irma Vep,” along with his initial two features, “Disorder” and “Winter’s Child.”
Even more gratifying is Criterion’s rescue of “Cold Water,” a film that never saw a non-festival theatrical release in the US but stands as one of the French filmmaker’s most significant accomplishments, now available on home video.
“Cold Water” presents a fully realized portrayal of disaffected youth, immersing viewers in the tumultuous mindset of teenagers Gilles (Cyprien Fouquet) and Christine (Virginie Ledoyen) through Assayas’ on-the-verge-of-chaotic handheld camera work.
Despite a class divide and seemingly disparate interests, the shared frustration with the stagnancy of their lives forms a combustible attraction.
Their rebellious acts, starting with stealing records from a store, lead to dire consequences, pushing Christine into a precarious situation within a mental institution.
The film’s centerpiece sequence unfolds during a party at an abandoned house, escalating their gambit to break free from bourgeois boredom.
Olivier Assayas defies the conventional criticism of needle-drop soundtracks for their literalness in “Cold Water,” proving that it can be a nuanced and immersive experience.
The film unfolds with Bryan Ferry’s undulating voice emanating from Gilles’ and his brother’s radio, tuning in to “Virginia Plain” like a transmission from another world.
In the pivotal party sequence that dominates the film’s second half, classic-rock hits layer atop one another, featuring Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan, Creedence, and Alice Cooper, creating a soundtrack that feels authentic to the characters’ interests.
Assayas skillfully blurs the line between diegetic and non-diegetic music, complementing the swooning movements of his camera.
As Gilles and Christine make likely doomed plans, the romance of the moment captivates, only to be punctuated by Assayas’ brutally perfect final shot.
Criterion’s 1080p, 1.66:1 transfer, sourced from a new 4K restoration, impressively captures the 16mm-shot film’s grain structure.
Despite occasional softness or out-of-focus moments due to the on-the-fly nature of the imagery, the overall presentation looks excellent, even on a large screen.
Muted yet consistent colors contribute to the film’s visual appeal, with minimal visible damage.
The 5.1 DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack shines, particularly during the party sequence, and remains solid during dialogue-heavy scenes with clear and clean audio.
The extras include insightful but brief new interviews with Assayas and cinematographer Denis Lenoir, accompanied by an excerpt from a 1994 French TV show featuring interviews with Assayas and the two leads.
The supplement package is rounded out by an insert featuring an essay by critic Girish Shambu.
Les Parents Terribles (The Storm Within, 1948) Cohen Media
A true polymath, Jean Cocteau left an indelible mark on poetry, literature, theater, and film.
While celebrated for his surreal flights of fancy, such as the beloved adaptations of “Beauty and the Beast” and the Orpheus-myth trilogy, Cocteau’s filmmaking prowess extends beyond fantastias.
“Les Parents Terribles,” based on his own play and retitled in English as “The Storm Within,” offers a clear-eyed dose of tragedy and stands as a sterling example of a theater-to-film adaptation.
The narrative revolves around a dysfunctional family, featuring the classic farce setup.
Where the grown son, Michel (Jean Marais), challenges the overbearing influence of his mother (Yvonne de Bray) by entering into a relationship with Madeleine (Josette Day).
The ensuing complications involve not only the disapproving mother but also the father (Marcel André), who is secretly involved with Madeleine as well.
While the premise leans towards melodrama, Marais injects a significant dose of humor as an oblivious man-child, hindered by his unhealthy connection to his mother.
De Bray’s portrayal, though bordering on the overwrought, unveils the literal lifeline she perceives in her son’s attentions.
Cocteau masterfully peels back the outward concern exhibited by each character, exposing the deeply rooted self-interest propelling their actions.
This is particularly evident in the character of Aunt Léo (Gabrielle Dorziat), initially portrayed as a responsible caretaker before her past wounds come to light.
Set primarily within the complex confines of the family home, “Les Parents Terribles” unfolds in a seemingly labyrinthine space, with Jean Cocteau’s camera skillfully exploring passageways and peering down from the ceiling.
The family estate, rather than exuding a homey atmosphere, becomes a foreboding backdrop where each room harbors a secret capable of tearing these characters apart.
Cohen’s 1080p, 1.37:1 transfer, sourced from a new 2K restoration, offers a visually pleasing experience marked by vital clarity, stability, and commendable levels of fine detail.
While the image occasionally appears slightly soft, with a few quality dips, the overall presentation is solid.
The uncompressed 2.0 mono audio is clean, albeit limited by the age of the source material.
The extras include a new and enthusiastic introduction by Richard Peña, an archival interview with assistant director Claude Pinoteau, and several camera tests.
The inclusion of the original and re-release trailers rounds out the supplementary features.
Mohsen Makhmalbaf: The Poetic Trilogy Arrow Academy
When it comes to Iranian cinema, my mind immediately goes to the cerebral meta-fictions of Abbas Kiarostami and Jafar Panahi (obviously a reductive way to describe these two masters’ films, but a quick shorthand).
The three films by Iranian filmmaker Mohsen Makhmalbaf in Arrow’s extraordinary new set are working in a different mode, though the most recent and least successful has some meta flourishes.
In Gabbeh (1996) and The Silence (Sokout, 1998) especially, Makhmalbaf’s sensual imagery is astounding, using vibrant color and intricate sound design as its primary narrative tools.
Both films’ fable-like stories blossom into something profound by sheer force of their imagery.
In Gabbeh, an elderly couple (Hossein Moharami and Rogheih Moharami) washes their gabbeh, a traditional Persian rug, in a stream before being visited by the woman (Shaghayeh Djodat) depicted in the rug’s design.
She tells them about her romantic longing for a man on a horse, but her prospects are continually dashed by societal forces that push her desires as a woman to the background.
Djodat’s expressive face imbues the film with longing, and Makhmalbaf’s images of a teacher plucking colors from the fields and the sky or fabrics being dyed give the film a hypnotic quality that’s quite striking.
In The Silence, a young blind boy, Khorshid (Tahmineh Normatova), uses his superhuman hearing to make money for his family by tuning instruments.
But he’s easily distracted by the noises around him, often losing his way on the way to work because of a musician’s song or even workers pounding and shaping metal containers.
With the landlord impatiently waiting for the rent back home, Khorshid’s inability to do his job becomes even more consequential, but his earthly failures only allow him to fully embrace the mysticism of living in a world of sound.
Again, Makhmalbaf’s use of color is stunning, converting the film’s spirituality to tangible images.
In the documentary The Gardener (2012), Makhmalbaf struggles to make that same leap, as the film’s engagement with spiritual ideas sits on the surface, and the digital imagery only contains hints of the beauty that came before.
With his son Maysam, the filmmaker visits a Bahá’í Faith center in Israel, and the bulk of the film plays out like a promotional testimonial video made by the center itself, as worshippers explain their attraction to the faith.
The meta wrinkle involves Maysam and Mohsen filming each other with their small consumer digital cameras and discussing the purpose of the film.
An early bit of narration asserts that Maysam will focus on the negative aspects of religion while Mohsen will focus on the positive aspects, but aside from a few forced conversations between the pair, this never really plays out.
A third, unseen cameraman captures a lot of the interaction between the two, which weakens the film’s supposed dual-perspective approach.
There are some nice shots here, particularly those using a mirror, and Maysam chiding his dad for shooting so much boring footage of the Gardener is amusing.
But the film never feels fully formed. Arrow’s 1080p, 1.85:1 transfers for the two earlier films, sourced from new 2K restorations, are gorgeous: filmlike, vibrant, and sharp, with superb levels of fine detail.
The Gardener, presented in 1.78:1, has the expected digital artifacts due to its source but looks pretty good, all things considered.
The uncompressed mono audio in the earlier films is clean and reasonably dynamic, while the stereo track for The Gardener is adequate, if expectedly a little thin.
An excellent selection of extras accompanies the films: an audio commentary for Gabbeh from Godfrey Cheshire, whose extensive 1997 Film Comment piece is also reprinted in the booklet.
As well as two interviews with Makhmalbaf, one newly conducted by Jonathan Romney and an archival one focusing on The Silence.
Trailers and stills are also included, while the stacked booklet also features an introduction from Makhmalbaf and an essay by Negar Mottahedeh.
Shampoo (1975) The Criterion Collection
An argument could be made that “Shampoo” stands as Hal Ashby’s finest film, perfectly balancing chaos with a cynical skewering of the era it portrays.
While some may prefer Ashby’s warmer comedies, the bitter laughter in “Shampoo” is precisely calibrated.
The film unfolds with the freewheeling self-absorption of Warren Beatty’s character, George Roundy, gradually evaporating, leading to a stark and poignant “the party’s over” final shot.
George, a hairdresser, navigates through failed attempts at starting his own salon while indulging in numerous relationships with women, including girlfriend Jill (Goldie Hawn) and older lover Felicia (Lee Grant, in an Oscar-winning performance).
As the story unfolds on the night of the 1968 presidential election, just before the Watergate scandal, it reveals a world consumed by trivialities, with George serving as the epitome of oblivious American self-interest.
Seven years after the depicted events, it becomes evident that George has learned little in the intervening years, reflecting a timeless portrayal of self-absorption and societal shallowness.
Criterion’s 1080p, 1.85:1 transfer of “Shampoo” is sourced from a new 4K restoration, showcasing an excellent presentation that adeptly handles the film’s fairly grainy texture.
Fine details are well-preserved, even in low-light scenes, and the color palette remains consistent while on the drab side.
Notably, damage is virtually nonexistent, making this release the best the film has looked on home video.
The uncompressed mono track delivers excellent sound quality, while the 5.1 DTS-HD Master Audio track doesn’t provide significant enhancements.
Unfortunately, the extras are limited, featuring only an archival interview with Warren Beatty from 1998 and a new conversation between critics Frank Rich and Mark Harris. Frank Rich also contributes an insert essay.
While the impressive transfer makes the disc a compelling recommendation, a more extensive selection of supplements would have been a welcome addition.
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