BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA: UHD Blu-ray (American Zoetrope/Osiris/Columbia 1992) Sony Home Entertainment
I would really
appreciate some self-respecting woman offering up an explanation as to why the
very thought of some four-hundred year old blood-sucking vampyre feasting on
her neck, resulting in a painful transformation into the eternal undead, is
considered a pleasurable erotica. Personally, I have never been able to wrap my
head around the idea. So, it is perhaps
saying much that I continue to adore Universal’s 1931 masterpiece, Dracula, starring Bela Lugosi. Clever
people, over at Universal then: crafting an alternative mythology to the one
put forth by Gothic impresario, Bram Stoker; Legosi’s courtly caped Count, with
his pomaded pate of jet-black hair, and those dark and flashing Hungarian eyes,
moodily lit for maximum effect along the Borgo Pass, establishing the template
for all cinematic incarnations of the Count that followed it. Curiously, while
Tod Browning’s legendary film set the bar very high, subjecting Count Dracula
to ‘countless’ (and increasingly
bastardized) re-constitutions of the most basic attributes – and vices – as depicted
in Stoker’s novel that no film maker could resist when retelling the fable, none
of the subsequent movies ventured to tell Stoker’s story verbatim until Francis
Ford Coppola’s ambitious 1992 reincarnation. Alas, here too, and despite the
film’s full moniker –as ‘Bram Stoker’s
Dracula’ – Coppola could not resist, but to deviate from the original text
by including a brief pro and epilogue, devoted to the ‘history’ behind the histrionics.
Vlad III,
Prince of Wallachia is more infamously renowned in the historical record today
as ‘Vlad the Impaler’, for skewering
his foe like shrimp upon the barbie. He ruled a tiny principality in the
Balkans from 1456 to 1462; legendary in his uprising against the Ottoman
Empire, and for his subsequent bloody victories. Superficially, at least, these
served as Stoker's inspiration too for the 1897 novel. Nevertheless, Stoker
makes no outright mention of the Prince or his bloody battles in the novel,
leaving Coppola to handcraft his own bookends for the movie. It goes without
saying, Coppola’s Count is about as far removed from Legosi’s cultured
aristocrat as one might suspect. His enigmatic star, Gary Oldman, does possess
something of Legosi’s hypnotic sway over the hearts and souls of his victims.
But Coppola’s vision for this Dracula
is more creepily represented as a very disturbed, semi-tragic snapshot of the
fallen angel; Vlad’s shallow victory over the Turks, resulting in the suicide
of his paramour, Elisabeta (Winona Ryder).
From this auspicious beginning, Coppola sets about on his flawed
premise: to make Count Dracula the hero of a sweeping gothic romance. Again, this
closely mirrors Stoker’s empathy for the character. Too bad for Coppola what works in literature
rarely gels as pure cinema.
Personally,
Coppola’s high concept in this retelling of the time-honored tale, already
regurgitated ad nauseam as cinema folklore, has never worked for me. Coppola’s
determination to employ no digital effects; rather, perform virtually all of
the SFX shots in camera, is undeniably commendable, though it nevertheless adds
a layer of gratuitous pretense to this already operatic exercise. Establishing
mood is one thing. But increasingly, the effect is counter-intuitive to the
entertainment value to be gleaned: Coppola, merely striving much too hard to be
clever. Michael Ballhaus’s cinematography, Thomas E. Sanders’ production
design, Andrew Precht’s art direction and Eiko Ishioka’s costumes draw undue
attention to their individual contributions, instead of weaving all of these
disparate elements into a seamless tapestry that is comprehensively a netherworld
counter to our own. Ironically, it is not the theatricality of the piece that
stifles and/or distracts, but the individual contributions made by these
artisans. Each repeatedly takes us out of the story. Reviewing Francis Ford
Coppola’s Dracula again after an
absence of some years, I am repeatedly struck by how often my subconscious is
allowed to leave the story for more absorbing particulars within its
composition, like set design and costuming. To be sure, there are many visually
stunning vignettes in Dracula;
marvels of period recreation and engineering, all of them confined to the
stages on the old MGM backlot, using hanging miniatures, forced perspective,
matte painting and good ole-fashioned movie-land trickery that harks, in some
cases, all the way back to the silent era; marking a tradition in craftsmanship,
since sadly discarded for the invisibility of digital compositing. However, in
the same paragraph, I draw attention to the fact good shots alone do not a
great movie make.
Somewhere
along the process, Coppola has become too enamored with these ‘old school’ techniques to appreciate
that the story he is endeavoring to tell has, for the most part, already been
told before – and arguably better – if not as ostentatiously – elsewhere. The
fundamental flaw herein is Coppola’s perception, or rather mis-perception of
Vlad the Impaler as a tragic Christian martyr, conquering the Moors in a
hellish onslaught, presumably as tribute to God; only to discover the scald of
battle has been repaid him with the loss of his beloved Elisabeta. How quickly
the human heart can turn to stone, even toward divinity; Vlad, sacrificing his
immortal soul by defying and blaming the heavens for his beloved’s death. After
reading Stoker’s novel again, I still do not see how Coppola could have
embraced Dracula as a heroic figure;
nee, flawed anti-hero with whom we are meant to empathize. Inevitably,
screenwriter, James V. Hart (whose prose underwent a myriad of rewrites before
and during production) has elected to treat Dracula as a man ‘merely misunderstood’. So Coppola
suggests, Vlad might have been the good little Christian soldier, if only
Elisabeta’s untimely passing had not shattered his lusty soul. Yet, to suggest
as much is a little like inferring Adolf Hitler could have been a great
impressionist painter instead of a mass murderer, if only the Vienna Academy of
Fine Arts had accepted his portfolio.
A man is
either truthful – or not – to his religious convictions. Vlad is a man who
serves his own earthly precepts, taking God’s name in vain. Elisabeta’s death
merely affords him the opportunity to reveal his truer self to the Almighty,
and it is a nightmarish beast we behold; one unleashed on the unsuspecting
world as the love-starved Count goes through his various permutations in search
of his next sexual conquest. Near the end of the picture, Count Dracula, having
transformed into a life-size, and remarkably hairy bat, confronts Professor Van
Helsing (Anthony Hopkins), angrily pleading his case for redemption. “Look at what your God has done to me!” But what the Count, Coppola and Hart fail to
understand is God is not responsible for the suffrage Dracula has endured these
many centuries since his renunciation of the church. Rather, the Count has
condemned himself to this eternity of darkness from which no speculative
redemption can comes to him, unless through the porthole of death he has
defied.
We have to
give it to Gary Oldman here; one of the most enigmatic, introspective and
highly intelligent actors of his generation, in yet another mind-boggling
transformation into Count Dracula. Enduring endless hours of interminable and
painful makeup applications (building up his slender features with wire and
latex appliances; layer upon layer of glue, powder and other sundry tricks to
sufficiently age and/or mutate his fine-bones into this ancient relic, an eerie
bat or humpbacked wolf), sewn into even more ill-fitting and improbable and
unwieldy costumes, designed by Eiko Ishioka (who had never seen a Dracula movie
before), Oldman nevertheless manages to unearth an unsettling alter ego from
beneath this camouflage and deliver the most credible performance in the movie.
His Count is teeming with all the vial repugnancies and immoral vices of a
fallen angel like Raphael. But Oldman also evokes a queerly disconcerting
empathy for this ageless deviant, caught in a purgatory of his own design. If
only the rest of the actors were as good, Coppola’s movie might have at least
had one leg to stand on.
Instead, we
get Anthony Hopkins’ over-the-top physician cum vampire hunter; hurling
blood-soaked and fiery crucifixes about the landscape while espousing religious
platitudes with all the ineffectual resolve of a misguidedly drunken cleric
having tumbled from his pulpit. At one point, Hopkins grasps an unsuspecting
Mina (Winona Ryder) around the waist, drawing her near him to sniff her
understandably frightened visage; a very bizarre gesture – even for a craven
scientist – and a wee too deliberately reminiscent of his Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs (1991). But
even Hopkins’ grandstanding proves a revelation compared to the likes of Keanu
Reeves, Cary Elwes and Billy Campell. Reeves’ in particular is an epic misfire.
I have yet to know Keanu Reeves as an actor. I am not certain what he is here.
Soulless stick figure is a moniker that immediately comes to mind. At this
point in his respective career, I would mercifully have settled for mere competence;
Reeves’ herein reading every line as though staring blankly into a mirror with
the cue cards written in reverse and Mactac-ed to his forehead. Once again, we
discover him channeling his inner moon-doggie, leaden and uninspiring as the
solicitor, Jonathan Harker; sent by his law firm to oversee the estate of Count
Dracula after his predecessor, R.M. Renfield (Tom Waits) has been stricken with
a strange malady, presumed as stark-raving madness. Reeves so badly bungles
this pivotal role, out of his element as Mina’s youthful suitor held prisoner
in the Count’s castle and ravaged as a concubinus for ‘the sisters’ – Dracula’s
undead trio of brides – his performance prompted Total Film critic, Josh
Winning to astutely surmise, “You can
visibly see Keanu attempting not to end every one of his lines with 'dude'.”
The miscasting
continues with Winona Ryder as Mina; the virgin-esque counterpoint to the
high-bodice/high born voluptuary, Lucy Westenra (Sadie Frost). Lucy and Mina
are devoted to one another; Mina reveling in her girlfriend’s unabashed and
audacious contemplation of sex and men. Engaged to Lord Arthur Holmwood (Cary
Elwes, doing nine minutes as a sort of clichéd Texan loudmouth), Lucy is
destined to befall the evils of the world for her brazen contempt of its
natural order. Women from a certain vintage – particularly Stokers’ – are
property – not people – meant to be praised while quietly swooning for their
menfolk. This, Frost’s Lucy absolutely refuses to do. Winona Ryder, who would
appear almost verbatim in terms of costuming and deportment for Martin Scorsese
in The Age of Innocence one year
later, is fairly unimpressive herein as the chased ‘chaste’ object of Dracula’s desire; her transformation from naïve
waif - green in the ways of the world – to turbo-charged amatory viper,
hypnotically thirsting for the blood of the vampyre, despite Vlad’s strenuous
objections, reeks of a grotesquely inadequate frenzy, meant, presumably to
evoke Mina’s sexual frustration: though herein, more school girl-ish than
festering bloodlust. Throughout the picture, Ryder is just awkward, silly and
unprepossessing; overshadowed by Frost’s more energetic and animated turn as
the deviant mistress, doomed to haunt eternity as just another of Dracula’s
undead brides, until Harker and Van Helsing put a stake through her heart and
behead her.
Our story
begins with a prologue set in 1462: Vlad Dracula, belonging to the Order of the
Dragon, returns from a bloody war against the Turks to discover his wife,
Elisabeta (also played by Winona Ryder) has committed suicide after receiving a
false report of his death on the battlefield. The priest (also played by
Anthony Hopkins) passes sentence over her remains. Elisabeta cannot enter the
kingdom of heaven after having taken her own life. Unable to reconcile this
rejection, Vlad instead damns God; defiling the chapel and causing its statuary
and candles to run red with the blood of his sins. Presumably, because nothing of merit occurs
in the next 400 years, we fast-track to 1897; introduced to Jonathan Harker, a
newly qualified solicitor, entrusted by his firm to look after the formidable
estate of the Transylvanian Count Dracula after his predecessor, Renfield, has
succumbed to madness. Jonathan, engaged to Mina, speculates he will be gone
little more than a week to setting the accounts and hasten the Count’s
acquisition of various other properties throughout Europe, including Carfax
Abbey in London.
The initial
meeting between Jonathan and Dracula is inauspicious. The aged and curiously effete
Count, draped in majestic flowing robes of state, suffering from an albino
white skin condition, is seemingly fragile, as he encourages Harker to take
supper at his table. However, when Jonathan offers a polite chuckle regarding
the Count’s family tree, his playful insinuation is met with an unanticipated
outburst of energy. The Count’s wrath is quelled after he witnesses Harker
remove a small photo of his fiancée; Mina’s image stirring Dracula to speculate
she is the reincarnation of his beloved Elisabeta. Seducing Harker into
exploring his castle, Dracula allows Harker to become ensnared by his
nightmarish brides. The women make Harker their captive in the dungeon, feeding
upon his fresh and blood daily to the point where he is severely aged and weakened.
In the meantime, Dracula, now miraculously transformed into a much younger
facsimile of his former self, long black tresses flowing from beneath a
gentleman’s top hat and sporting the latest fashion and dark spectacles to
conceal his blood shot eyes, ventures across the sea in a terrible gale. His
arrival in London is foretold by Renfield’s mad ravings: Renfield, now a
patient of the dashing Dr. Jack Seward (the marvelous Richard E. Grant in a
throw-away part), who is also confidant to both Mina and her girlfriend, Lucy.
The girlfriends are inseparable; Mina fascinated by Lucy’s audacity in
romantically pursuing Lord Holmwood, newly arrived from Texas.
The narrative
timeline gets a little muddled as Lucy is bewitched under Vlad’s hypnosis and
lured into the gardens during a violent thunderstorm. Mina chases after her
unresponsive friend, but keeps her distance; shocked to discover Lucy splayed
across a tombstone in the moonlight, observing her raped by a wolf-like
creature. The next day, Lucy’s health begins to deteriorate. She suffers from a
strange sort of possession, speaking in tongues and growing more pale and gaunt
as the days dwindle down into night. Unable to even suggest a cure, Seward, who
was once desperately in love with Lucy, now suggests to another cast off lover,
Quincey and her current paramour, Holmwood they summon Seward’s old college
mentor, Prof. Van Helsing to devise a method of recuperation. Alas, Van
Helsing’s initial assessment proves prophetic. Lucy has been consumed by the
blood of the vampyre. It is too late for her reprieve. She will suffer a
terrific metamorphosis and die. It is only a matter of time. Yet, a ray of hope
there may be in a primitive blood transfusion; Van Helsing ordering Holmwood
and Seward to roll up their sleeves and pledge to the cause immediately.
In the
meantime, Harker has managed a daring escape from the Count’s Transylvanian
castle, tumbling into its moat physically depleted, though somehow managing an
escape to a nearby abbey where he is marginally nursed back to health by the
sisterhood. In London, Dracula presents himself to Mina in his youthful
incarnation. He tempts her as a stranger in town to show him the sites,
especially the Cinematique. Mina is, at first, stern. However, she is bewitched
and does accompany Dracula to the tented show where all sorts of various
oddities are being projected onto canvases, much to the amusement of the other
patrons. The romantic mood is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a lone
white wolf, bursting into the room and snarling at Mina. The frightened crowds
flee. But Dracula is unafraid, coddling the animal as though it were a harmless
puppy and encouraging Mina to do the same. Despite the Count’s decidedly odd
appearance – and his even more abnormal behavior – Mina is attracted to him.
However, upon learning of Harker’s salvation abroad, she packs her bags and
travels to Romania to be reunited with the man she truly adores. In Romania,
Harker and Mina are married. Outraged, the Count – unseen and lethally enraged –
takes possession of Lucy, transforming her into a vampyre as Van Helsing,
Quincey and Holmwood helplessly look on.
To spare the
girl eternal damnation, Van Helsing convinces Quincey, Holmwood and Seward they
must exhume Lucy’s remains from the family crypt, drive a stake through her
heart and behead her. Holmwood is, at first, vehemently opposed to this
desecration. However, he nevertheless follows the others into the crypt;
shocked to discover the glass casket empty. Lucy emerges at the top of the
stairwell, carrying a frightened half-naked child in her arms, presumably meant
as a human sacrifice. The whites of her eyes swollen with blood, a newly formed
set of fangs from her mouth, Lucy is driven back into her casket by Van
Helsing, who defends himself with the crucifix long enough for Holmwood to
drive a stake through his dead lover’s heart and then decapitate her with his
sword. Sometime later, Harker and Mina arrive in London; Harker helping Van
Helsing to locate and destroy the Count’s secret hiding place where his boxes
of Romanian soil are stored.
A vengeful
Dracula transforms himself into a silken green-glowing mist, oozing past the
iron bars of the asylum to murder Renfield for his betrayal. Mina, who has been
confined to Seward’s quarters, is visited by Dracula, now in the shape of a
life-size vampyre bat. Van Helsing, Harker, Seward and Holmwood burst in: Van
Helsing, at the point of a crucifix, ordering the Count to return to
Transylvania. Alas, the religious icon holds no sway over this demon of the
night; the cross bursting into flames in Van Helsing’s hand. The Count manages
to reincarnate Mina as his former lover and under his spell she not only
confesses to being Elizabeta, but professes to still be in love with him. At
Mina’s insistence, Dracula begins transforming her into a vampyre. Too late to
prevent the inevitable, Van Helsing instead manages to read Mina’s mind via her
connection with Dracula, learning of the pair’s sailing for Transylvania.
Pursuing Mina and Dracula to Varna, Harker, Seward, Quincey and Van Helsing
split up to save time and cover more ground.
By nightfall,
only Van Helsing has managed to make it to the castle. In attempting to protect
Mina from further harm, Van Helsing falls under siege from Dracula’s brides;
surrounding himself and Mina in a ring of torch-lit fire and placing a communal
wafer upon Mina’s forehead. Momentarily, Mina appears to awaken from Dracula’s
spell. Meanwhile, the rest of the vampyre hunters are chasing after the coach
carrying Dracula’s remains back through the Borgo Pass. Using his powers of
persuasion, Dracula turns the local gypsies against the hunters. In the
resulting carnage, Quincey is mortally stabbed in the back, though not before
he manages to thrust his own knife into Dracula’s heart; Harker, charging from
behind to slit the Count’s throat. As Dracula staggers into his chapel, Seward
and Holmwood advance upon the castle. They are prevented from pursing Mina by
Van Helsing. It’s no use. Mina is still in love with the Count. Quincey quietly dies in the snow, surrounded
by his friends. Unable to restore himself, since having reverted to his ancient
demonic form in the chapel where he renounced God so long ago, Dracula instead
transforms into his youthful self; Mina’s tender kiss stirring the candles in
the chapel to flicker and ignite. With Vlad’s encouragement, Mina plunges a
stake through his heart, thus breaking the curse upon her soul and freeing
Vlad’s to rise overhead; imbedded in a fresco depicting the Count and
Elisabeta, at long last reunited in their ascendance into heaven.
Bram Stoker’s Dracula – or rather,
Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula –
ought to have clicked more succinctly than it does. I cannot exactly pinpoint
the fault, except to reiterate its existence as detrimental to the overall
appeal of its storytelling. Arguably, Coppola never intended this to be a gory
retread of the caped blood-sucker and his romps through a perpetually fog-laden
London. And yet, some of this old-time Hollywood hokum has been retained;
fleshed out by the grandiloquence in James V. Hart’s prosaic dialogue; too, too
operatic; too Shakespearean even, to be believed; its’ stultifying effect
compounded and then further stalemated by Coppola’s adherence to the script, at
times, as heavy-handed and methodical in his pacing of scenes that in and of
themselves are richly compelling, but ultimately prove convoluted and
dissatisfying as a whole. Somewhere along the way, Coppola has fallen in love
with the exercise of making the movie; overly amused by its artifice without
first realizing too much of a good thing is still, decidedly, too much! At the
start of the enterprise, Coppola gathered his cast together for a retreat on
his Napa Valley vineyard: a dry run of rehearsals and readings; the actors
spending a few days interacting with one another and partaking in the pleasures
of Coppola’s hospitality; doing improvisations and giving Coppola feedback on
his meditations regarding the screenplay. In the interim, Coppola hotheadedly
fired the litany of SFX wizards initially procured to establish the look of the
picture, after each leaned on Coppola to reconsider his deadlock against using
more contemporary and streamlined visual effects. Ensconcing his twenty-one
year old son to helm the production instead, Roman Coppola became the de facto
visual effects supervisor on Dracula; indulging his father’s every whim to make
an ‘old school’ motion picture.
In retrospect,
it is not the artifice that mortally wounds Dracula or even prevents it from becoming an iconic re-envisioning
of the time-honored Stoker tale. Rather, it is Coppola’s own infuriatingly
inability to take an editor’s scissor’s to his work; to see the forest clearly
for its trees, as it were, that cripples the entire production. At some level,
the effects go beyond and draw undue attention to their presence; not as badly
conceived and/or achieved, but rather, as far too clever, gaudy and
overly-produced for their own good. It still might have worked as a sort of
experiment in ‘stage-bound’
theatricality, except that the acting – apart from Gary Oldman’s immaculate
portrayal of the multi-faceted Count – is so woefully pathetic, so muddled by
ill-omen casting decisions, and so profoundly dreary when Oldman is not on
the screen, that the resultant spectacle becomes a bedraggled and benign
cacophony of noise; again, as Shakespeare might have noted, “full of sound and fury…signifying nothing!”
The style of
the picture was heavily influenced by Jean Cocteau’s 1946 Beauty and the Beast as well as various paintings by Gustav Klimt
and other symbolist artists; Coppola urging his designers to give him “something weird” and further compelling
them to dig deep to bring forth memories from their nightmares. There is little
to deny either the technical proficiency or the ‘artistic’ moodiness derived
from their contributions, the resultant sets, uber-Gothic and brooding; not a
single exterior or location among them. Alas, the cumulative effect proves
rather suffocating; this resplendent darkness consumed by overwhelming lavishness.
Bluntly put, and once more excluding Gary Oldman from this evaluation; quite
simply, the sets and the costumes overpower the actors; the film becoming very
top-heavy visually, and in utter absence of juicier performances into which not
only Count Dracula could sink his teeth. Coppola and his cast are undeniably
luxuriating in the absurd richness of the production design. But the effect is
wholly unattractive instead of sparse and uncanny. In the final analysis, Dracula is a failed (if lavishly appointed) experiment – often,
providing the viewer with exceptional vignettes imbued with an impressionist’s
starkness for boldly re-conceiving the Stoker classic. But the movie founders
in too much good taste and not enough actual food for thought. If the blood is
the life, Dracula remains queerly
anemic, plagued by bloodless arteries to run nowhere except dry.
For a movie
that was only a modest success at the box office, Dracula sure has been released many times on various home media
formats since its initial theatrical release. Sony’s brand new 4K Ultra HD
release has been mastered from the same 4K scan used to render their 1080p
standard Blu-ray for their very short-lived and now defunct Supreme Cinema Series. Aside: I love Sony.
But their marketing needs to get on par with the formidable efforts VP Grover
Crisp invests to ensure the old Columbia catalog is at the forefront of
preservation and restoration. As example: I’d like someone at Sony marketing to
explain why It Happened One Night,
and, The Bitter Tea of General Yen
do not rate as part of the studio-sanctioned ‘Frank Capra Collector’s Series’; the former, distributed via
Criterion, the latter gone the quick n’ dirty route via the studio’s more
recent – and misguided - executive decision to distribute MOD Blu-rays in lieu
of properly mastered ones. But I digress. Coppola’s movie has been restored
from original 35mm negatives in native 4K resolution and with the added bonus
of receiving a new HDR color grade. There’s no dickering here for quality
control. Dracula looks immaculate
and spectacular. You’re going to love
what you see.
Film grain
looks indigenous to its source. A few opticals can appear marginally softer
than the rest of this presentation. Otherwise, prepare to be dazzled. Detail
will blow you away. Black levels are inky gorgeous. This is a first class HDR
presentation with eye-popping reds and scintillating golds. I don’t
particularly like this movie and even I had to admit this UHD remastering gave
me a new respect. The 4K English Dolby Atmos 7.1 mix is the same one created
for the aforementioned standard Blu-ray release. And yet, herein it possesses a
richer dynamic range. For those into such things, Sony bombards us with 5.1
audio mixes presented in virtually every other language known to man. I am just
a little disappointed the old marketing strategy of not including ANY of the
extras in 4K has carried over. If you want the extras, even Coppola’s audio
commentary, you have to watch the 4K mastered standard Blu-ray edition (also
included with this release).
On the regular
Blu-ray we also get Coppola’s intro, and a lot of superfluous featurettes: Reflections
in Blood, Practical Magicians, The Blood Is the Life: The Making of Bram
Stoker’s Dracula, The Design of Eiko Ishioka, and two featurettes on
the highly stylized visual look and SFX, plus 12 deleted/extended scenes, and
two trailers. Absent herein is the original collector’s booklet from the Cinema
Series release. Now, if we could only get Sony to turn their digital wizardry
loose on UHD offerings of 1994’s Little Women, The Remains of the Day,
A League of Their Own, Places in the Heart, Sense and Sensibility and The Age
of Innocence, The Guns of Navarone, The Caine Mutiny, A Man for All Seasons,
etc. et al: titles I would deem just as – if not more – worthy of the honor. I
can see the logic in choosing Dracula
ahead of these – especially with Halloween just around the corner, as
improvements in overall clarity have brought out even more of the movie’s
perverse details. Impressive, yes. Worthy contender…hmmm. Bottom line: highly
recommended for fans of the movie.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
3
VIDEO/AUDIO
5+
EXTRAS
3.5
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