Well, I'm not afraid to come out and say it. This film was without doubt one of the best major studio releases of last year. I feel better now, having come clean about my problem, and I feel I can move on with my life. The vitriol attached to reviews of this film was patently absurd, and in the course of the past year, I've asked many people to explain that reaction, and I've never received one satisfactory answer. The truth is, this movie hurts. And guess what — it's supposed to. It's a perfect, formal fusion of two of the greatest cinematic provocateurs in the history of film — one was a fine thinker, who made us think as well, and the other is perhaps the most considered conjuror of audience response, the undisputed king of drawing emotion, even when we don't want it drawn. The collaboration between the late Stanley Kubrick and Steven Spielberg resulted in a genuine attempt to express the ideas and designs of one filmmaker as filtered through the very different prism of the other, and the finished article is a film that, perhaps like Barry Lyndon (1975), is doomed to be initially rejected, then retrospectively hailed as a masterpiece decades later. How Haley Joel Osment was forgotten in the Oscar race for best actor boggles the mind, and Frances O'Connor in the year's most difficult role should have been a shoo-in for supporting actress.

DreamWorks Home Entertainment has issued a sumptuous two-disc set that brings to luminescent life the camerawork of Janusz Kaminski, and the evocative understated melodies of John Williams' life-affirming score. The movie, matted in 1:85.1, perfectly suits the dimensions of home viewing, and the transfer is DVD–demonstration quality. The special features housed on the second disc comprise several short-form featurettes on various aspects of the film's production; the acting choices, robot-lore, special effects, music and so on and so forth, but in the end it's AI itself that commands your interest and compels another visit. Its ineffably sad denouement will remain one of the most heartbreaking wish-fulfillment fantasies in contemporary cinema, suffused as it is with the love of home, the love of a parent, and the strange inexorable need in all humanity to love and be loved in return.

Strictly Ballroom (1992)
Directed by Baz Luhrmann

In 2002, director Baz Luhrmann was nominated for a DGA Award for Moulin Rouge!, the third film of the cycle he calls his "Red Curtain Trilogy." The song-and-dance extravaganza was foreshadowed ten years earlier by his debut feature Strictly Ballroom, the first part of the trilogy completed by 1996's Romeo and Juliet.

Strictly Ballroom, a colorful romantic fable set against the backdrop of the Australian ballroom dance world, tells the story of Scott Hastings (Paul Mercurio), a renegade dancer who breaks all the rules with his insistence on dancing his own steps in competition. Much to the horror of his dance teacher/mother, he seems on the verge of literally throwing away a promising career with his stubborn refusal to toe the line. When his partner dumps him for a more traditional dancer, he finds an unlikely replacement in Fran (Tara Morice), a beginning dancer and class ugly duckling, who turns out to have a few surprise steps of her own. With engaging characters and inventively choreographed and photographed dance scenes, the film managed to transcend the lightweight plot and became the darling of the 1992 Cannes Film Festival.

Luhrmann is joined by his production designer/co-costumer Catherine Martin, and choreographer John "Cha-Cha" O'Connell on the audio commentary track on this DVD offering called "Kendall's Studio." In the opening sequence Luhrmann reveals that he initially envisioned Ballroom as a stage project when he was in drama school and the difficulties involved in translating the award-winning play to the screen. Martin and O'Connell add color to Luhrmann's commentary that ranges from how the film is really an allegory to the struggle for artistic freedom, to the effect the film ultimately had on the real ballroom dance world. And along the way Luhrmann admits that even though the film's characters are drawn from characters he grew up with during his dance competition days, and his dance teacher parents are often stopped on the street and asked if they starred in Strictly Ballroom, the film is far from strictly autobiographical.

The Fast and the Furious (2001)
Directed by Rob Cohen

The 150 mph plus world of illegal street racing in Los Angeles provides the backdrop for this tale of an undercover cop attempting to break up a gang of electronics shipment hijackers. Paul Walker (Joy Ride) plays the cop and Vin Diesel (Pitch Black) is the illegal racing icon who may or may not hold the key to the identity of the hijackers. Director Rob Cohen (Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story and nominated for the DGA Award in 1999 for his movie for television The Rat Pack) provides an equally fast-paced audio commentary for this Universal Home Video release. Cohen says that it wasn't until he attended his first illegal street race that he became excited about doing the project. The key for him, was to find a different way to demonstrate the speed of these races, to expand a ten second real-time race to two minutes and give the audience some sense that these racers were completely attune to their cars. "[The challenge] was to dig into how to do speed in a way not seen in previous racing films," Cohen says. "To go into the cars, through the cars, around the cars. What I realized was that the only way to get speed was to treat the racing not as it lived in the real world, but as it would if it were a science fiction film. It's as if we're going into Star Wars and these are not cars, but spaceships." How he accomplished this is thoroughly documented in the commentary, the featurette, The Making of the Fast and the Furious, and several multiple-angle stunt and interactive special effects sequences included on this special edition. Also included is the original magazine article by reporter Kenneth Li that served as inspiration for the film and a number of deleted scenes.

Groundhog Day (1993)
Directed by Harold Ramis

Bill Murray is perfectly cast by director Harold Ramis as Phil a cynical, wise-cracking TV weatherman, on assignment to cover the annual weather predictions of another Phil, Punxsutawney Phil, a prognosticating groundhog who may or may not see his shadow. Once in Punxsutawney, weatherman Phil is stuck in a time loop, repeating the same day over and over until he gets it right. On his audio commentary Ramis covers a broad range of topics: casting choices, chosing locations, comedy and working with actors, human and animal. Appropriately, Ramis also offers a number of amusing anecdotes from the filming. Topping off this Columbia release is a making of documentary called The Weight of Time.

World Cinema Roundup

Our travels around the cinematic universe this issue uncovers some gems. First, is Wong Kar-Wai's In the Mood for Love (2000), a charming romantic fantasy set in 1962 Hong Kong. Presented in Cantonese and Shanghainese, it documents a particular community the director grew up in — that of the immigrants from Shanghai who populated Hong Kong but retained their own language, culture and cuisine. The story is a touching, burgeoning romance between neighbors whose respective spouses have secrets of their own. Maggie Cheung Man-Yuk, the almost impossibly beautiful leading lady, undulates through a landscape of tiny rooms, stairwells and restaurants like a dream waiting to be realized, and the director's mise-en-scene drifts with her, going with the easy flow. Wong Kar-Wai's methodology is to begin shooting without a script, often with only a short story to work with, and then, when things are moving along he reconceptualizes everything, ending up in a totally different place from where he began. Such is the case with In the Mood for Love, and its gestation is well chronicled on Criterion's opulent two-disc set. As well as the exquisite film, we get a documentary by the director on his project, and additional interviews and essays on his work. Special attention is paid to the music, which not only concentrates on popular Cantonese radio favorites, but also draws from opera and well-known "Western" songs. The score by Michael Galasso is showcased by the use of languid montage which enables the movie to wordlessly draw us closer to the sensual atmosphere.

Incidentally, for a lady of such slender elegance, Miss Cheung Man-Yuk seems to consume about 50 lb of food across the course of the film's equally lean 98 minutes.

Fellini of course, is often mentioned in these columns and this one is no exception because Juliet of the Spirits (1965), the maestro's first color film, has just been issued in a dazzling new transfer. Like Criterion's other recent restorations of Fellini's canon, this one is eye-popping and makes the weird and wonderful happenings all the more pleasurable. Juliet (Giulietta Masina), whose home is populated with, well, Felliniesque characters, indulges herself in daydreams that turn her fears and frustrations into color-coordinated flights of fancy that only the shagadelic 1960s could conjure. Masina as always, is an elfin kitten on the keys, childlike and enchanting. Unforgettable in the earlier Nights of Cabiria (1957), she galvanizes her scenes — and remains one of the most compulsively watchable actresses of her generation. Included on this sparkling DVD is a rare archival interview with Fellini himself, culled from the BBC. Dating from 1966, it's a candid 19-minute conversation with a gentleman called Ian Dallas. He seems a pleasant and knowledgeable fellow and Fellini appears to be enjoying himself. Early on, he relates a wonderful anecdote about his first day of shooting on The White Sheik that tells us more about the nature of his chosen calling than a hundred seminars — but you'll just have to buy the disc to hear it.

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Just unleashed by Miramax Home Video is the widescreen DVD of The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967), Jacques Demy's wacky musical follow-up to The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964). As with Umbrellas, Catherine Deneuve is the breathtaking star, this time paired with her real-life sister Francoise Dorleac (tragically killed in a car accident at the end of filming). Together they are magical and transform the drab town into a riot of song and dance. Later, Demy would cast Deneuve in his third musical Peau dOane (1971, Donkey Skin), an even stranger adventure that cloaks Deneuve's extraordinary looks in the suit of a beast of burden. This trilogy of off-the-wall homages to Hollywood's golden era of musical magic have to be seen to be believed, and they are necessary treasures in anyone's collection. Young Girls, like the other two, has a wonderful score by French genius Michel Legrand which finds him at the top of his form, and the film gains extra weight from guest appearances by Gene Kelly and George Chakiris.
I could go on and on about the spectacular accomplishments of Demy and Legrand, but I haven't the space to do so, and in any case I wouldn't want to bore you. Suffice it to say, these movies are a law unto themselves, and once you are snared in their gossamer grip, there's no going back. Young Girls of Rochefort suffered at the critics hands because it was perceived as folly to attempt another Umbrellas of Cherbourg. It matters not, because in Jacques Demy's world the only important thing is the revelation of startling beauty amidst the ordinary evidence of everyday existence. And it doesn't hurt to have Catherine Deneuve, Francoise Dorleac, Genevieve Thenier and Danielle Darrieux around to help you find it.

In a different vein entirely, George Washington (2000), makes its debut on DVD, and this is a stylish effort from neophyte David Gordon Green. Recently, the market for independent films has become a wasteland of wannabe–studio hacks airing their subpar wares in the hope of a three-picture deal — this film is a melancholy, yet humorous wander through a blue collar environment that is startlingly poetic. Graced with a Terrence Malick influenced juvenile narration, this lovely study of disaffected youth in a beaten-down community reminds us of what movies used to be like in those halcyon days of 30 years ago. Green's film is admirably presented on the digital format in a gorgeous scope transfer and includes a commentary, the director's earlier short projects and an interview conducted by Charlie Rose. Featured too is Clu Gulager's 1969 short film, A Day With the Boys, which is said to be an inspiration for George Washington. Anyone who can point to Clu Gulager as an influence can't be all bad.

Frances (1982) vaulted Jessica Lange to stardom and was at the time of its release something of a cause celebre. Receiving the Anchor Bay treatment it surfaces now as a special edition DVD complete with commentary from British helmer Graeme Clifford and a newly generated featurette with recollections from all the principals. Made by BrooksFilms, Frances was producer Jonathan Sanger's next effort following The Elephant Man, and it's easy to forget that Mel Brooks' company put together some stellar productions. Based on the life story of actress Frances Farmer, Jessica Lange gave such depth to this woman's tortured existence that she almost became a legend herself in the process.

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Image Home Entertainment has begun releasing the Broadway Theater Archive — classic movies for television based on Broadway productions available now for the first time on digitally remastered DVDs. The most recent releases feature superb adaptations, with equally superb performances from the works of playwright Eugene O'Neill. There's The Iceman Cometh (1960) starring Jason Robards and a very young Robert Redford directed by the masterful Sidney Lumet. Also recently available is A Moon for the Misbegotten (1975) which again stars Robards, this time with Colleen Dewhurst and Ed Flanders and directed by José Quintero and Gordon Rigsby. Keep in mind that because of the source material and technology available at the time, the digital remastering reveals some of the flaws of early television. However, the electrifying performances and direction more than make up for this. These programs are yet one more reminder of just how powerful and dynamic television can be.

On a lighter note, Beverly Hills Cop (1984) has finally surfaced on disc, and it's a treat to see it again. One of the most successful comedies of all time, Cop is amazing because it contains about three laughs before it climaxes in a nihilistic bloodbath reminiscent of The Wild Bunch. I guess comedy has a new connotation now, and it ushered in a wave of "actionomedies" that stand or fall on the charm of the leading man. Eddie Murphy of course had it all, and he is the glue in this particular confection. Director Martin Brest delivers a thoughtful commentary, wherein he seems as puzzled as the rest of us. The movie however still packs a wallop, although it is fairly restrained by today's standards. Paramount, which seems to care the least about how their films are represented on home video, have done an adequate job, and it is still hilarious watching Murphy as Axel Foley teasing Bronson Pinchot in the art gallery.

And finally, Kino Home Entertainment has recently released The Art of Buster Keaton, a massive eleven disc box set that could easily be renamed Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Buster. All the favorites are here in remastered digital glory — The General, Steamboat Bill, Jr., The Navigator, Sherlock, Jr. — as well as many shorts and lesser known works. But what truly sets this compilation apart is the disc Keaton Plus, which is only available in the box set. This disc contains over three hours of rarely–seen–before footage including Keaton's home movies, his 1950's TV show, two educational shorts Jail Bait and Allez Oop, photos and so much more. Any aficionado of comedy needs to have this set in their home video library.

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