 Barbershop (2002)
Directed by Tim Story
Director Tim Story's Barbershop garnered much press in regards to the controversy over the comic actor Cedric the Entertainer's raucous performance as an elderly barber more than willing to espouse his less than politically-correct views, which led civil rights statesman Jessie Jackson —also lampooned — to threaten a boycott if the movie was not re-edited. A lesser amount of ink was devoted to the fact that the ethnic-themed film was a marketing grand slam and its success helped rescue MGM from financial doldrums.
Set and filmed in Chicago, Barbershop stars Ice Cube as Calvin, the young inheritor of his late father's salon, which serves as the heart of the community. Calvin dreams of doing anything other than a lifetime of cutting hair and in a fit of frustration he sells the shop to a local loan shark. When he realizes the true value of what he's lost he'll do anything to get it back. The film also interweaves an often hilarious and sometimes poignant tapestry of subplots of the shop's employees and patrons misadventures including the Laurel and Hardy-ish attempt of two bumbling thugs to open a purloined ATM machine.
The disc includes an audio commentary with Story, producers Robert Teitel and George Tillman, Jr. and one of the films' writers Don D. Scott where it is revealed that some of the more outrageous gags in the film are based on their own experiences in Chicago. There are also deleted scenes and outtakes, several behind the scenes featurettes with the cast and crew, a music video of "Trade It All" the film's opening theme, and much more.
Incidentally, the filmmakers stood firm against the calls to recut the movie and when all the dust was settled, the facts remained that this little day-in-the-life film about an inner-city barbershop's crew was a number one box-office smash which resulted in the green-lighting of its sequel.
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 My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)
Directed by Joel Zwick
Budgeted at $5 million, My Big Fat Greek Wedding became the biggest surprise hit at the box office in a very long time, currently racking up nearly $240 million. The simple story of a young Greek woman (played by actress Nia Vardalos who also wrote the screenplay) struggling to get her family to accept the love of her life, a non-Greek, high school English teacher (played by actor John Corbett), delighted America with its humor and old-fashioned charm. An updating of the perennial "ugly duckling" story, Wedding's word of mouth packed them in for much of 2002. The HBO DVD release, which promises to be as successful as the film itself, features both a widescreen and full-screen transfer of the film. Also featured is a running commentary by Vardalos, Corbett and director Joel Zwick. It thoroughly, and with great humor, covers many aspects of the production, including the casting, tight budget and their surprise at the reaction to this little film with a big heart. It also gives you the necessary introduction for the upcoming television series it spawned.
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 "If you live, shoot!" should indeed be a creed we all follow, not just filmmakers of course, but assorted gunslingers and killers of every stripe. Blue Underground rises to the challenge with a box set we can be proud of, compiling Django (1966), Django, Kill! (1967 aka If You Live, Shoot!), Run Man Run (1968) and Mannaja (1977) into a quartet of spaghettis the like of which is not likely to be galloping over the horizon again anytime soon. In fact, Django directed by Sergio Corbucci and starring Franco Nero, is one of the best non-Leone pasta-splatters, and is presented here in a lovely transfer, uncut, with every pristine drop of sweat intact. Franco Nero is interviewed on the disc and his engaging reminiscenses are well worth the price of admission. Scholarly Christopher Frayling supplies solidly informed liner notes. Django, Kill! is an engaging rarity as it's the only western directed by radical filmmaker Guilio Questi. Starring Tomas Milian, this depraved gorefest has not been seen in its complete version outside of Italy before, but now "...its infamous scenes of savagery and slaughter are fully restored." I won't scare you all by listing them, but suffice to say my favorite moment comes when a man who has been shot six times with bullets made of solid gold, experiences, while still alive, the townspeople plunging their hands into his body to extract them! Guilio Questi, an unusual footnote in Italian cinema, (he also directed the quaintly-named Death Laid an Egg), speaks eloquently about his work in the neat accompanying documentary, along with Tomas Milian, who waxes woozily rhapsodic about something vaguely to do with the project. He reappears in equally violent guise in Run Man Run, directed by spaghetti-alum Sergio Sollima, which is another first-rate entry in this most misunderstood of genres. William Lustig is to be congratulated for its liberation, again presented in uncut form, from well-vaulted elements. The disc contains a fantastic bonus, a sixties-era documentary featuring terrific behind-the-scenes footage of Run Man Run and The Great Silence. Rounding out the package is Mannaja, made in 1977, when the pasta-sauce had all but dried up. Following the cult success of Lucio Fulci's Four of the Apocalypse (1975), which set the bar for sadism, Sergio Martino's Mannaja is a final flourish of blood in the sand, a last gasp if you will, of an era all shot full of holes.
 Ernst Lubitsch's trademark frothy wit, full of sublime free-love hints, are all on view in the dotty, risque Trouble in Paradise (1932) just released by Criterion. In a video interview, Peter Bogdanovich pleads a convincing case for the movie's classic status and laments its unjustified relegation to the minor leagues. Like all Lubitsch movies, it is unique, odd, out of kilter with its time and unimaginable if made today. (One wonders why it has never been turned into a musical.) Starring Miriam Hopkins and Herbert Marshall, the movie's central characters seduce, deceive, and rip each other off with frolicking gay abandon. The disc is a treasure, with a sumptuous transfer and plethora of goodies — an audio "lecture" by Lubitsch biographer Scott Eyman, a 1940 Screen Guild Theater program, and various tributes to the fabled director by such luminaries as Billy Wilder, Leonard Maltin and Cameron Crowe.
 Moving across the pond we have a pair of French gems; Pepe Le Moko (1937), directed by Julien Duvivier, and Jean-Luc Godard's eccentric whimsy, Band of Outsiders (1964.) The former is a true towering achievement, as we accompany Jean Gabin's rakish adventures through the fleshpots and bars of the casbah, descending before his reformation into the murky underworld. The film is shown here uncut, and it's a revelation to behold. A 1962 interview with the director is but one of the juicy extras. Jean-Luc Godard's film is a horse of a different color, and this one is stark black and white. Anna Karina is still vitally compelling, gambolling like a damaged colt across a sea of tawdry, thieving goings-on, but the film is weirdly dated now, slight and unfulfilling. One of the special features offers an interesting behind-the-scenes look at the film, excerpted from a 1964 documentary.
 Finally, back in Blighty, we can peruse a brace of home-grown anomalies, courtesy of Home Vision Entertainment. I See a Dark Stranger (1946), directed by Frank Launder, and Victim (1961) directed by Basil Dearden. The earlier film, which stars Deborah Kerr and Trevor Howard, is a comedy about a naive farm girl from Eire who hopes to leave home and join the IRA...! Instead, she meets up with a Nazi spy and merry mayhem ensues. The team of Launder & Gilliatt specialised in this kind of monkey business, which was surprisingly exportable. I See a Dark Stranger was quite an international hit, and earned gamine young Deborah Kerr a Hollywood contract. Victim, on the other hand, was a controversial film in its day, detailing as it does, the unsavory blackmailing of a closet homosexual. Dirk Bogarde plays the role of the victim to perfection, and it's shocking to remember that at the time of the film's production, homosexuality was, in Britain, a criminal offense. The success and mild notoriety of Victim was later credited in helping to repeal the law which changed in 1967. David Thomson's all-too brief, but typically sensitive liner notes are a joy to read.
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