COLUMBIA CLASSICS 4K UHD COLLECTION: Vol. 1 Blu-ray (Columbia, 1939-96) Sony Home Entertainment

A bit of an ‘odd duck’ roll out for some of Columbia Picture’s finest achievements, if anything, the Columbia Classics 4K HD Collection: Volume 1 gives one hope more of the studio’s time-honored output will eventually hit the UHD market in the not-so-distant future.  Yet, there is no getting around the fact this set, however lavishly appointed, just seems a hodge-podge rather than a ‘celebration’ of the studio’s best. Sony’s marketing has taken 2-bona fide Oscar-winning Best Pictures (Lawrence of Arabia, 1962, Gandhi, 1982), a pair of more recent comedies (A League of Their Own, 1992, Jerry Maguire, 1996), one Stanley Kubrick masterpiece, (Dr. Strangelove, 1964), and another from Frank Capra (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, 1939) and mashed them together without much cohesiveness. Thematically? – no. Artistically? - hardly. By genre – uh…guess not. By decade? Nope.  I will take mild umbrage to Sony’s marketing claim this is “the ultimate collection for the ultimate fan” because it actually is more of an eclectic blend  aimed toward the non-discerning type, who is not altogether particular about what they watch, so long as they watch it.  Where kudos are owed is in Sony’s dedication to the quality of the product itself. There is not a single flubbed transfer in this set – owing to Grover Crisp’s asset management program that, over the decades, has proven light years ahead of its competition. Sony’s commitment to salvaging, restoring and remastering the Columbia catalog, in some cases, working from extremely flawed and far less than properly archived elements from the past, has presented the film industry with an exemplar of how all film-based custodianship ought to be handled by a Hollywood major. Each of the movies here has been given the utmost consideration – the level of quality, not to mention the formidably archived groundswell of goodies to augment our entertainment experience, results in a gathering of the clan, with each of the individual discs marked as ‘the comprehensive and definitive’ UHD edition – no reissues required. This, plus Sony’s swag – an 80-page hardbound book, offering wonderful art and backstories, marks Columbia Classics 4K Ultra HD Collection Vol. 1 as, if nothing else, a class act.  

Before delving into the movies, I will simply point out more comprehensive reviews for 4 of the 6 movies in this set exist for the standard Blu-ray releases already critiqued on this blog. So, if backstory is what you crave, please seek out the detailed perspectives put forth in those reviews, as this one will primarily concentrate on overviews as well as a critique of the 4K UHD quality. This collection kicks off with Frank Capra’s final picture for Harry Cohn; Mr. Smith Goes to Washington to garner Capra almost as much controversy as it did praise.  In a Depression-ridden America, people had renewed their faith in the Presidency of Franklin Roosevelt and his fireside chats. Alas, Capra had aimed a malicious little arrow into the heart and legitimacy of its Congress, pitting filmdom’s most winsome male ingénue, James Stewart – as the ‘every man’ and cockeyed optimist, up against a decidedly corrupt political machinery, typified by a dyed in the wool fraud, masterfully calculated by the superb, Claude Rains. Smith arrives in Washington, only to have his heart nearly broken when he discovers the American ideal has been distorted by political graft. Mr. Smith Goes To Washington is an unsurpassed gem in Capra’s crown; a movie, not unlike Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard (1950) in its biting social commentary. Indeed, Cohn was ‘encouraged’ not to make the picture, but went ahead anyway on the merits of his star director.  

Even Hollywood’s self-governing board of censorship attempted to put the kibosh on this movie. It sounds mildly absurd today, but the climate of another looming war in Europe then inspired Joseph Breen in his zealous dissuasion, fearing any misrepresentation of America’s politicos, as anything less than diligent, hard-working citizens, tirelessly laboring in the best interest of the nation, would offer fuel to the Axis Powers’ already dwindling respect for American might and morality. In refusing to kowtow under pressure, Harry Cohn quickly discovered he had a real fight on his hands. It is rumored the FBI opened a file on Cohn after he refused to back down on Mr. Smith; a quietly benign threat to keep Columbia Pictures under a microscope for decades thereafter, for its presumed ‘subversive activities.’  At some point, the original ending to Mr. Smith Goes to Washington was distilled – or rather, rewritten. Very begrudgingly, Frank Capra was granted limited access to a few choice locations in Washington D.C., including Union Station, the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol Building, leaving Capra’s art director, Lionel Banks to indulge in meticulous – and very costly – recreations.  Cohn had a lot of money riding on Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Alas, and despite its virtues, the picture was quickly labeled as the quintessential ‘whistle blower’, its’ reputation suffering at the box office. Despite this disappointment, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington has long since endured as one of Capra’s top-tiered entertainments and the quintessence ‘Capra-corn.’ In 'every man', James Stewart, Capra has the absolute perfect embodiment of the bright-eyed, big-hearted American to whom even the very concept of moral turpitude is foreign, much less its varying improbability transferred from theory into practice. Stewart spares us the spectacle of schmaltz. Regardless of the critical muckraking that occurred upon the film’s premiere, Mr. Smith remains Capra’s class ‘A’ affair for the studio he once called home.

Leaping ahead, and past the 1940’s and 50’s altogether – fertile periods in Columbia’s history that ought to have at least been given some consideration in this box set (and hopefully will in subsequent offerings), we arrive at an irrefutable cinema masterpiece: David Lean’s peerless epic, Lawrence of Arabia (1962), a testament, not only to Lean’s prowess as a storyteller, but also Peter O’Toole’s startling and formidable merits in recreating the enigma of these desert sands - T.E. Lawrence. Lawrence of Arabia is a huge thing, buoyed by Freddie Young’s incredible cinematography and the lyrical sweep of Maurice Jarre’s quixotic score; all of it, seamlessly woven into Robert Bolt and Michael Wilson’s screenplay. Perhaps the definitive example of Lean’s showmanship, the picture remains an undeniable valentine made by one man about another, the latter, larger-than-life, and, whose egotism was no less unctuous than the man devoted to telling his story on the expansive screen. Lean’s penchant for bold visual compositions makes Lawrence of Arabia an indescribable piece of exquisite celluloid perfection. Lean found his enigma in Peter O’Toole – a relatively unknown Brit-born actor, capable of infusing the filmic Lawrence with an impeccable grace and incurable vanity. For the part of Sharif Ali, Lean made another inspired casting choice in Omar Sharif; a dark and statuesque star of Arab TV. Sharif almost turned the project down, until a fortuitous meeting with Lean at the Dorchester changed the trajectory of his career forever. Lean’s reputation as the leading purveyor of big screen epics would be forever cemented with this sweeping fictionalization. Working from Lawrence’s private journals, diaries and public writings, the screenplay by Robert Bolt (and, an unaccredited Michael Wilson) challenges the mysterious circumstances surrounding Lawrence’s death. Indeed, the real Lawrence had been a rather shameless master manipulator of his own publicity.

Fittingly, the Bolt/Wilson screenplay begins with Lawrence’s accidental death on a lonely English country road. From the resplendence of his thought-numbing state funeral, we regress to a basement map room in Cairo where Lawrence (Peter O'Toole) is plucked from his interminable obscurity by Mr. Dryden (Claude Rains) a subversive politician, and sent into the desert to ‘observe’ the brewing ‘Arab revolt’ - much to the strenuous objections of Colonel Brighton (Anthony Quayle) who regards Lawrence as little more than a defiant, and not terribly bright upstart. Given the opportunity of a lifetime as special envoy to Prince Feisal (Alec Guinness), Lawrence’s defiance of mother England and the hidden agenda of its political overseers in making the Arab nation a British protectorate, ingratiates him to Feisal, who also has ulterior motives in supporting Lawrence’s seemingly impossible quest to unite the warring Arab factions into a single army. Alas, after brokering a fragile truce between Feisal’s Sharif Ali (Omar Sharif) and the lusty Auda Abu Tayi (Anthony Quinn) Lawrence starts believing his own publicity and becomes an unwitting pawn, played right down the middle by both sides. A shattered man, whose thirst for revenge now supersedes his desire for a peaceable victory, Lawrence transforms the Arab revolt into a private bloody war, bent on the complete annihilation of the Turkish forces. His noblest intentions in tatters, Lawrence watches in disbelief as the truce he helped forge unravels.  Arguably, Lawrence of Arabia is the most perfectly realized epic - ever. Undeniably, it remains a visual feast, breaking new ground with Anne V. Coates’ editing techniques borrowed from the French New Wave. Lean tirelessly toiled under some of the harshest working conditions ever to make Lawrence of Arabia a masterpiece, and the proof is in every last frame of the picture; given a Royal Command Performance for Queen Elizabeth, with tickets sold out months in advance.

From one of the sixties’ irrefutable intellectual masterpieces, we segue into one of its most ribald and scathing farces: Stanley Kubrick’s byproduct of the Cold War, to eviscerate and celebrate the art of politically subversive espionage in tandem. While the threat of communist infiltration and a possible WWIII doomsday scenario remained paramount on everyone’s minds throughout the decade, Kubrick chose to dilute the severity of our collective societal angst with a thorough embrace of the threat as farcical nonsense. Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) remains a silly, yet sober milestone. Originally intended to be a faithful adaptation of Peter George's dramatic novel 'Red Alert', the screenplay by Kubrick and Terry Southern was instead tailored to suit Kubrick's more aberrant sense of dramatic irony. Perhaps Kubrick had always intended it so - as, he did very little preliminary work on preparing a dramatic script, but rather, jumped headstrong into exploring the demented psychology of warfare. The resultant screenplay is a potpourri for Kubrick’s fascination with this veritable collection of loose cannons; the entire geopolitical future and, in fact, salvation of the planet, resting on one simple push of mankind’s ‘self-destruct’ button.

Ladling absurdity upon hyperbole, our story opens with Brigadier Gen. Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden) declaring a state of emergency at a high security military base in order to launch his own counteroffensive against communism. It's a private war with very public consequences. Summoning Gen. Capt. Lionel Mandrake (Peter Sellers) to his office, Gen. Ripper reveals his truer intent to bring about total world annihilation through the use of the atomic bomb. Naturally, the more cool-headed Mandrake is outraged and terrified - but powerless to stop the general in his efforts. Meanwhile, high overhead, a U.S. patrol of B-52 bombers under the command of Major King Kong (Slim Pickens) are ordered to fly toward Russian air space and detonate their nuclear device. Inside the U.S. war counsel room, President Merkin Muffley's (also Peter Sellers) is attended by ensconced feckless stooge, Gen. Buck Turgidson (George C. Scott), gregarious alcoholic, Russian Ambassador Alexi de Sadesky (Peter Bull) and the mysterious cripple - Dr. Strangelove (also Sellers); an exiled Nazi genius put to work for the U.S. on the secretive doomsday device now threatening the very existence of life on earth.

For the next 2-hours, these models of political inefficiency will endlessly debate the pros and cons of destroying the world before inevitably, though quite by accident, bringing about an end to civilization. Such was and remains Kubrick's message - that at any point in time the fate of humanity hangs in the balance of omnipotent powers who may or may not have the most altruistic intentions. Today, some 50-years removed from the movie’s debut, this message remains as ominously relevant as ever. It should be pointed out Peter Sellers gives three of the most startlingly wicked and ambitiously satirical character studies ever conceived for a single film. His Mandrake is a foppish and placid political fool; his Muffley, an ineffectual egghead, and finally, his Strangelove, the most deliciously sinister, brainwashed demigod known to man. Separately, these characterizations span the gamut of politico hacks, but together, they are comedic brilliance, tinged with more than an ounce of wild-eyed reality.

Completely skipping over the 1970’s, the next movie to be immortalized in 4K is Gandhi (1982), director, Richard Attenborough’s sprawling epic about ‘the little brown man in sack clothes’ – a proponent for peace against inhospitable circumstances. That Attenborough could find no one to fund the project (virtually all of the moneys necessary to complete Gandhi, coming from private investors and indie/art house distributors) attests to the financial apprehensiveness afflicting the film-making community in Hollywood. To make the picture, Attenborough would need two strokes of good luck: the first, from an unlikely alliance with the Indian government, and, the second, in finding just the right actor to play the part. Then, as now, the Indian caste system was cause for concern – its upper strata, condescending and opposed to the project, its lower strata, adhering to a kinship with Attenborough and his crew, determined that a good movie be made. Gandhi became something of a passion project for Attenborough – repeatedly delayed/denied in its journey from page to screen, and Attenborough, spurred on, after having read Louis Fisher’s superb biography. The picture opens with an interesting disclaimer about any movie’s inability to fully capture a person’s life in totem, almost an apology for what follows: an ambitious slate of vignettes, masterfully linked together by screenwriter, John Briley and even more impassioned by Attenborough’s desire to make a living monument to his subject. Miraculously, and mercifully, Attenborough does not get his wish, as Ben Kingsley’s portrait as one of the greatest men of the 20th century evolves into a subtly nuanced account of the peacemaker, made real and engaging, despite espousing nearly 3-hours of platitudes. 

We know absolutely nothing about Gandhi in private, nor even from childhood, not before, as a young attorney-at-law, newly returned from Oxford, he is forcibly ejected from a first-class coach of a moving train in his native India. Arguably, the past is irrelevant as Attenborough and Briley concentrate on Gandhi’s contributions to Indian, British and world history. The absence creates a distance between Gandhi and the audience’s understanding of how such an optimistic dreamer could morph into one of the most astute political philosophers of his generation. Herein, Attenborough has gone on record, stating his movie was meant to pay tribute to Mahatma in an openly deferential attitude. Undeniably, this abetted cooperation from the Indian government and Gandhi’s surviving heirs and colleagues.  If it also prevents the movie from delving beyond the official transcript of the great man’s life, it nevertheless helps to mythologize an already larger-than-life figure, sparing no moment to pontificate, sermonize, and otherwise, establish Gandhi as one of the most translucent and enigmatic mirages of the 20th century. Merely to hint at those critical junctures that helped shape the character of the man is quite enough for Attenborough, who relies heavily on Ben Kingsley’s startling transformation and superb mimicry to fill in the blanks. And Kingsley’s tanned philosopher is one of the truly great performances ever committed to film. Given the girth of the real Gandhi’s achievements, Attenborough’s movie cannot help but devolve into a sort of thumbnail sketch, filtered through a white Anglo-Saxon perspective. If the flavor of India is slightly absent here, then Kingsley’s actor-centric star turn mostly suffices as the Cole’s Notes’ version of this historical/famous figure; an actor’s showcase with Kinglsey at his most mystical.

The movie’s reputation has not weathered well these 30+ years, perhaps more of a sad indictment on our present age and its inability to appreciate any work on celluloid that would dare call itself ‘a world event’ and not deign to slam us over the noggins with a heavily liberalized ‘message’ – and then, proceed to deliver 3-hours of sobering exceptionalism without making any sort of judgement call. Yet, if innovation on Attenborough’s part is lacking, Gandhi’s peerless execution and the overall sincerity, with which everyone from Attenborough and Kingsley, right down to the most unremarkable extra are exhibiting, remains faultless. And Gandhi may indeed hold itself proudly as the very last of the analog era epics. No digitized crowd scenes here. No fudging in post-production either to add scope and quality otherwise absent at the time of the shoot. No, everything here is full-scale, on occasion, dealt with mind-boggling precision.

The movies included in this set, thus far reviewed, are, irrefutably, classics from another time, arguably, for all time. The two movies that follow, however, remain, curiously in search of such hallowed repute.  Only time will tell if they are deserving of their inclusion herein. The first of these is Penny Marshall’s A League of Their Own (1992) – a movie I instantly fell in love with upon seeing it for the first time theatrically. Here is an exceptionally good story, set against the backdrop of WWII, an epoch reflected upon ad nauseam in movies, most devoted to heroism abroad but, and with very few exceptions, left a complete mystery regarding life on the home front. In hindsight, the other aspect of A League of Their Own to leave a warm soft spot in my heart (or perhaps, head) is Dottie Hinson (superbly played by Geena Davis as the young ‘dirt in the skirt’ scrapper/war bride. We really must admire director, Penny Marshall for her daring to eschew the tried-and-true ‘aged’ makeup route, forcing youthful actors to interpret (often badly) what the ravages of time can do to a taut bod. And while lots of movies before and since A League of Their Own have cast two people to play one part, dividing the acting duties between youth playing young and the elderly being themselves, I have never seen it done more convincingly than herein. I had to blink twice to assure myself Lynn Cartwright (elder Dottie) was not Geena Davis given a time warp into the future; her looks, demeanor and diction uncannily on point and alike.

In the years since A League of Their Own’s general release I have done a fair amount of reading on women’s baseball during the war and can more fully appreciate the exceptional level of verisimilitude achieved in Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel’s screenplay, an engrossing fictionalized ensemble piece with poignant, true-to-life reflections to touch upon the emotional strength of these trail-blazing ladies; also, with an astute, subtle social commentary on the sexual/racial politics of these more conservative times.  A League of Their Own neither preaches to the choir nor ever becomes heavy-handed in its desire to teach the rest of us ‘a life lesson’. Better still, Bill Groom’s production design and Tim Galvin’s art direction (ably abetted by Miroslav Ondrícek’s cinematography) get the ‘period look’ just right. A League of Their Own has the yellowed gravitas of a vintage Kodachrome excised from those war years, but with a decidedly fresh sense of humor, decidedly, not like a movie desperately trying to convince us of its authenticity. And lest we forget that it takes more than vintage bric-a-brac neatly rearranged within the frame to give meaning, depth and purpose. Yet from the beginning, what Marshall and her cast present to us has the ‘lived in’ appeal of your grandmother’s favorite memory - homey, richly textured and incredibly rewarding.

Weaving a seamless tapestry of comedy, drama, history and sentiment is never as easy as it appears, and, at times A League of Their Own veers dangerously close to losing its emotional center. The trick and the wonderment: everything remains true, not just to its characters, but also the period. The movie works on virtually every artistic level one may wish to ascribe, not the least for its cleverly executed balancing act between the ‘hearty laugh’ and the ‘good cry’. Some might call this a shameless manipulation of sentiment. Respectfully, I disagree. A League of Their Own hails as exceptional movie-making, perpetually to tickle the fancy as it effortlessly massages the heart to rose-colored yearnings for that simpler time when life had a more even cadence.  There is an all-pervading, corn-fed, bucolic ‘feel good’ at play; joyously impervious to even the obtrusively contemporary slant lent ‘All-the-way’ Mae Mordabito, a character transparently emulated by Madonna. The picture has other stars to account for: Tom Hanks as the crusty but benign, former all-star, now manager of the Rockford Peaches; Jimmy Dugan, and Rosie O’Donnell (typecast as loudmouth butch 3rd base, Doris Murphy).  Yet in hindsight, A League of Their Own’s greatest innings derive not necessarily from these bigger names in its batting roster, but from the participation of character actresses like Tracy Reiner (Betty ‘Spaghetti’ Horn), Megan Cavanagh (wallflower Marla Hooch), Anne Ramsey (pin-up Helen Haley), Bitty Schram (Evelyn Gardner) and Ann Cusack (Shirley Baker), who meant absolutely nothing to me back in 1992, and – regrettably – have rarely been given such opportunities to make as big a splash elsewhere since.

The last movie in this six-pic compendium is, I must confess, the weakest of the lot – director, Cameron Crowe’s Jerry Maguire (1996), a coy and cloying sports/comedy/drama, also written and produced by Crowe, and costarring heavy hitter, Tom Cruise, with then relative newbies, Cuba Gooding Jr. and Renée Zellweger in his back pocket. As basic fluff from the mid-1990’s, there is nothing awful about Jerry Maguire, and yet, in hindsight, nothing particularly remarkable about it either. In its day, the movie was heavily promoted by the studio, and given a real push at Oscar-time, with Gooding Jr. taking home Best Supporting Actor for a role, neither to stretch the boundaries of his craft, nor, in any way, rival the competition put forth that same year. Produced by James L. Brooks, the screenplay drew its inspiration from sports agent, Leigh Steinberg, who also acts as technical consultant. As the 9^th highest grossing picture of the year, with a whopping intake of $273 million, Jerry Maguire was undeniably a box office titan. But is it also an artistic achievement? While virtually all the other movies included in this box set possess ballast, fit for renewable viewing, Jerry Maguire is the one to have burned brightly at the box office in 1996, but since virtually faded into obscurity.

Our story concerns the titular, Jerry Maguire (Tom Cruise) a sports agent, suffering a life-altering epiphany that causes him to question not only his own, but also sports management’s ethics. As the league does not much care for Maguire’s candor, they hire up-and-comer, Bob Sugar (Jay Mohr), Jerry's protégé, to fire him. Consequently, a rivalry ensues, Jerry attempting to hold on to the services of his clientele. While Sugar is able to persuade the rest of Jerry's clients to leave him now, Jerry becomes embroiled in a desperate quest to keep Arizona Cardinals wide receiver, Rod Tidwell (Cuba Gooding Jr.). Tidwell wants a $10 million contract to stick around. Now, Jerry announces he is quitting to start his own agency and asks if anyone is willing to join him. Only Dorothy Boyd (Renée Zellweger) agrees. Out on his own, Jerry loses a chance to manage superstar quarterback, Frank Cushman (Jerry O'Connell). On the home front, Jerry gets dumped by his fiancée, Avery (Kelly Preston), turning to Dorothy, who is a single mom raising her young son, Ray (Jonathan Lipnicki). The two are wed, but their future is off to a bumpy start. Meanwhile, Jerry and Rod, now his only client, clash over Rod’s inability to perform at a level worthy of the contract he desires, but as yet, Jerry is unable to secure for him. Pulled in too many directions, Jerry and Dorothy separate. However, as this is a rom/com, not a melodrama, predictably, they patch things up. Meanwhile, Rod comes to respect Jerry. Clearly, he is an agent of integrity, and, unbeknownst to Rod, Jerry has quietly secured an $11.2 million contract with the Cardinals, allowing Rod to finish his pro-football career in Arizona. A visibly shaken and grateful Rod behaves graciously. We end on Ray, pitching a baseball to Jerry, who now considers the kid’s future may be in the sports arena with him acting as his manager.

Jerry Maguire is the sort of modestly charming programmer to greatly benefit from the romantic chemistry between Tom Cruise and Renée Zellweger. Their scenes play with an affecting sincerity the picture otherwise wholly lacks. The hallmarks of a great comedy ought to be unearthed in the writing, not exclusively in the performance. But without Cruise and Zellweger, Jerry Maguire would simply fall apart. Cuba Gooding Jr. gives an adequate, though hardly Oscar-worthy performance here, while Jonathan Lipnicki is one of those ‘too cute for his own good’ child stars from Central Casting whose appeal escaped me in 1996, and, continues to systematically grate on my nerves in UHD. If Jerry Maguire does indeed accurately capture the ruthlessness of the agent biz, it also retains a backbone for that curious alliance between agent and client, the psychological investment and forging of professional alliances through camaraderie and friendship. In the end, Jerry Maguire is an amiable picture – but hardly in the same ‘league’ as Lawrence of Arabia, or Dr. Strangelove.

Now, for the really good news. Volume One of Columbia Classics 4K UHD is a text book offering of finely wrought video masters, afforded all the bells and whistles to make each sparkle as it ought. Virtually all of the titles benefit here, some more prominently than others. The biggest overall improvement here goes to Dr. Strangelove – a restoration, meticulous to say the least, despite having been culled from less than perfect elements. Here, the B&W image advance with subtle improvements made to overall sharpness and clarity, with slightly nuanced specular highlights. Grain structure is vastly improved. This is a solid offering, derived from print masters, and, as near to perfect as it can ever look, barring the discovery of original fine grain elements unearthed in a bunker somewhere. The most impressive UHD transfers in this set are owed Lawrence of Arabia, Gandhi and A League of Their Own; each, showing off renewed and re-invigorated fine details throughout. Truly, watching all three in UHD was like seeing these movies for the very first time, or, at the very least, as they were always intended to be seen. Color density is remarkable, and overall image clarity will positively blow you away; the stark and sparkle-sand landscapes of the Nefu, the miraculous burnt orange fertile earth of India, and, the vibrant natural turf of the baseball diamond, all come rushing forth with miraculous color density, saturation and overall tonality. The least impressive, though by no means, ‘unimpressive’ transfers in this set are owed Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and, oddly, Jerry Maguire. First, to ‘Smith’ whose original elements, like those of Strangelove, are long gone. Here, the B&W elements crisp up – marginally – but the technical shortcomings of surviving source material make for only a modest improvement - no argument and no complaints. The image lacks the overall refinement an original camera negative 4K scan would have brought forth in spades. Now, concerning ‘Maguire’ – the rather soft and grain-heavy image is a little perplexing. I saw Jerry Maguire in theaters in 1996, but do not recall it looking this thick around the edges. Not claiming due diligence has not been applied here, but the results just seem a tad less surprising or even satisfying for a movie derived from an OCN, and, of the most recent vintage.

From an audio standpoint, each film obviously varies. Mr. Smith is given an identical DTS 1.0 mono, as already featured on standard Blu-ray. But Lawrence of Arabia has been afforded a new 7.1 Atmos, in addition to the 5.1 DTS – also included from the original Blu-ray. Objectively, these are very similar, each replicating the original 6-track 70mm magnetic stereo quite well, although the Atmos pushes it just a tad further, with ambient SFX and subtler spread of Maurice Jarre’s iconic, and, gorgeous score.  Dr. Strangelove has a 5.1 DTS option originally featured on the Criterion standard Blu-ray release in PCM, though virtually identical as a listening experience. The more contemporary releases here receive 7.1 Atmos upgrades – Gandhi, A League of Their Own and Jerry Maguire, obviously advancing considerably over the old 5.1 DTS mixes, which are also included for consideration. The differences are more noticeable on the latter two titles – with subtler spread and a refined clarity that truly offers an immersive experience.

Perhaps best of all, each of these movies has had all of their extras ported over as Sony has included the original Blu-ray counterparts (with one minor caveat). Not going to critique the extras herein, as they are virtually identical to those already addressed in individual standard Blu-ray reviews already critiqued on this blog. Extras are mostly isolated to the Blu-ray counterparts included herein, and not reproduced on the 4K disc. We get featurettes for each movie, and audio commentaries a plenty, and interviews, reproduced stills, theatrical trailers – basically, anything and everything we have come to expect from ‘deluxe editions’ of our favorite movies. Now, for the caveat. Apparently, someone at the authoring station dropped the ball on a disc-load of goodies from Lawrence of Arabia – so, only half of the extra content that was readily available on the 50^th Anniversary has made it here. Rather than quibble about the losses, Sony has already assured us this was, indeed, a misfire, and better still, are diligently making the mends to offer a replacement disc program shortly in the future. So, again, a real class act from Sony. No dumping of the goodies. (Paramount…are you listening?!?) Instead, Sony has sought to provide the best overall quality to these preexisting extra features as to give the first-time collector a thoroughly comprehensive look back at what made these movies cultural touchstones of their day. While the 4K Columbia Classics box set is an odd compendium of movies lumped together – I would have preferred two 10-film sets – one concentrating on real classics (1930-1979), and another, to celebrate the more recent accomplishments of the studio (1980-2020) – this 6-film set represents some of the best work done at Columbia over the last nearly 100 years. Each movie has been given the utmost care. Virtually all advance in image quality from their standard Blu-ray predecessors (which were no slouch in the image department either). So, buy with confidence, and treasure forever. Encourage Sony to do more.  I know I will.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

5+ overall

VIDEO/AUDIO

5+

EXTRAS

4.5