COLUMBIA CLASSICS 4K HD COLLECTION - Volume 2: 4K Blu-ray (Columbia 1959-2010) Sony Home Entertainment
The collective brain trust at Sony Home Entertainment, the present-age custodians of the old Columbia Pictures motion picture catalog, have a curiously skewed opinion on what constitutes ‘a classic’. Their second volume of 4K Columbia Classics houses at least two certified masterpieces from the studio’s golden age – 1959’s Anatomy of a Murder and 1968 megaton, 6-time Oscar winner, Oliver! – adding (or padding, as the case may be) to this mix, the seminal 70’s drama, Taxi Driver (1976), a memorable, though hardly iconic T&A comedy to have kickstarted the 1980’s – Stripes (1981), a superb example from the literary renaissance that overtook the 1990’s – Sense and Sensibility (1995) and capping everything off with The Social Network (2010) – a pseudo-bio-pic, yet to prove it has what it takes to be branded under the moniker of a cinema classic. The definition of a classic ought to be true today, true yesterday, and ‘arguably’ true in perpetuity…at least, for the foreseeable future. I count only two from this current set owed such pause for consideration to be revisited more than twice on home video. As I age, I tend to adopt the Irma Bombeck outlook on my movie-going experiences. Bombeck, after learning of her cancer diagnosis, commented if she knew then what she knew today, she’d have laughed a lot more at life and cried a lot less at the movies. I can’t argue with that. But I digress.
For me, at least, Columbia Classics: 4K Ultra HD
Collection - Volume 2 is a handsomely crafted box set in which the efforts invested
in its creation are self-evident at a glance and yet somehow, fall short of
expectations – chiefly, because the content itself does not support the
Herculean labors poured into all of the swag and goodies that accompany it. And
swag and goodies there are – aplenty. More on this later. The whole shebang begins
with an irrefutably timeless cinema masterwork: Otto Preminger’s Anatomy of
a Murder (1959), a jazzy riff of a court room drama that, like all great
art, tells far more than it actually shows. Anatomy of a Murder hasn’t
aged. Part of the reason is Wendell Mayes' snappy dialogue -edgy without sounding
dated. The other half lies with the actors doing the talking. There’s nothing
even remotely creaky about these performances. James Stewart is brilliant, as
are Lee Remick, Arthur O'Connell and Ben Gazzara: not a false note among them.
George C. Scott's flashy mouthpiece is a tad over the top, but a nice contrast
to Stewart's understated approach to his courtroom antics. All the pistons are
firing and the results are pure entertainment dynamite. However, at the time of
its release, the film was a horrendous flub for all concerned, garnering
critical praise by only a select few critics while being virtually overlooked
by the general public. But time does strange things to art - or perhaps, even
stranger things to the emotional psyche of a film’s potential audience.
Perhaps, we have finally grown up - at least enough to justly appreciate Anatomy
of a Murder as the true powerhouse that it genuinely is. From its
unexpected (though, most welcome) Duke Ellington’s bee-bop score and Saul
Bass's impressionist main title sequence, to its hard-hitting, frank and
engrossing screenplay by Wendell Mayes (based on a novel written by Supreme
Court Justice John B. Voelker) that never lets up for a moment on being up to
the minute ultra-cool, slick and stylish - but with substance, Anatomy of a
Murder takes one of the most tried and true genres in American movies (the
crime/detective thriller) and makes even its most obvious conventions seem
brand new all over again.
The picture stars James Stewart as Paul Biegler, a
laid-back small-town lawyer whose imminent talents in the court room are not
all that apparent at a glance. Paul used to be the D.A. in Upper Michigan. However,
since losing his re-election, he spends most of his time fishing, playing piano
and catering to the alcoholic whims of friend and colleague, Parnell McCarthy
(Arthur O'Connell). Paul's secretary, Maida Rutledge (Eve Arden) also does
double duty as 'his girl Friday' and devoted mother hen to both men, even if
her pay voucher has a fifty-fifty chance of bouncing. They're quite a team,
both in and out of the courtroom. Paul is contacted by Laura Manion (Lee
Remick) whose husband, Army Lieutenant Fred (Ben Gazzara) is currently in jail
for plugging innkeeper, Barney Quill, under the pretext Quill raped Laura while
he was away on duty. Unfortunately for Fred, he cannot claim justifiable
homicide. But he may be able to use 'irresistible impulse' as his defense
strategy. There are chinks in this armor, however. For starters, Laura is
hardly the meek, stay at home little woman. In fact, Paul has to practically
order her to swear off of men, honky-tonks and outright flirting to tame her
party girl image. Worse, Fred seems to have a temper. Laura's black eye certainly
attests to as much. The Manions' marriage is not a loving one. In fact, Fred's
rather aloof when it comes to his wife's advances.
Paul attacks the case against Fred by putting the
current D.A. (Brooks West) and prosecutor, Claude Dancer (George C. Scott) at
ease with his homespun charm. But inside his head a keen deductive reasoning is
playing out every possible high-stakes shenanigan he can use to achieve an
acquittal for his client. Against Dancer's strenuous objections, Paul gets
Laura's rape admitted into court as evidence with Judge Weaver (Joseph Welch).
Dancer's next strategy is to demolish Laura's pretext of a squeaky-clean
reputation. A minor bombshell explodes when Dr. Matthew Smith (Orson Bean)
testifies he doubts Laura Manion was raped. Dancer next points the finger at
the Manions loveless marriage and brings out Fred's mistrust of his wife. In
the meantime, Quill's daughter, Mary Pilant (Kathryn Grant) stands to inherit
the inn. Mary refuses to believe her father would rape anyone. But she is also
fighting to keep her identity a secret because she was born out of wedlock.
Worse for Paul, the inn's bartender, Al Paquette (Murray Hamilton) – who quite
supposedly witnessed the murder - absolutely refuses to testify on the stand.
In the climactic courtroom showdown, Mary testifies she found Laura Manion's
panties in the laundry room after the alleged rape, proof Quill did, in fact,
try to conceal the evidence as Laura had earlier suggested. Dancer retaliates,
first by calling Mary a liar, then by accusing her of being Quill's lover.
Instead, Mary submarines his theory by declaring Quill was her father. Fred is
acquitted by reason of insanity. But Paul's victory comes with a rather
unsettling postscript. The day after the trial, Paul and Parnell go to the
Manions' trailer park to collect his legal fee only to discover they have left for
parts unknown. A note left at the scene by Fred suggests he was seized by an ‘irresistible
impulse' - the same theory Paul used in his defense. Whatever the reason for
the Manions hasty departure, the film concludes on the open-ended premise. Paul
and Parnell are on their way to having another fine weekend together.
Next up is Sir Carol Reed’s Oliver ! (1968)
With its big and bloated Dickensian London recreations designed by John Box, a
pre-sold story, Lionel Bart’s illustrious score orchestrated by Johnny Green, a
cast of thousands tottering on Onna White’s bell-kicking choreography, and some
truly indelible performances put forth by the likes of Ron Moody, Jack Wild,
Oliver Reed (the director’s nephew), Shani Wallace and Harry Secombe. Oliver!
is a curio of oddities. For although it trundles out the treacle and vinegar of
Dickens with oodles of charm to spare and several absolutely stunning
production numbers, living up to our expectations from that bygone sixties’
‘roadshow’ era, it’s really a rather flat and over-long musical to boot. Box’s
sooty cityscapes - awash in gentlemen and guttersnipes, lurid, colorful
bastards and barmaids bursting from these elegant doorways and gas-lit back
alleys and byways, with social castes colliding, temperaments flaring, everyone
caught in the thistle and thatch, hustle and bustle, and, hullabaloo on display
for all to see, somehow fall to pieces, leaving Oliver!, rather bizarrely,
to lack the one essential no amount of razzamatazz can transform into a silk
purse from the proverbial sow’s ear. Where is Oliver Twist?
Dickens’ impressionable moppet, herein played by Mark
Lester, is wan, virtually nondescript and tone deaf – his singing voice dubbed
to even less effect by Kathe Green, the daughter of the famed orchestral
arranger/conductor. I have always had a problem with Lester’s depiction of this
iconic ragamuffin, herein reconstituted as a soft-spoken, slightly effete and
wholly unimpressive musical protégée. Lester – or rather Kathe - cannot hold a
note to save her life. When the ensemble choral pauses for the libretto, we are
belabored by a wooden expulsion of Bart’s memorable score, the words dragged in
thick sustained breaths that seem to be taxing the strength of our pint-sized
hero almost as much as they continue to wear thin on the ear. At some base level, Reed must have realized
his multi-million-dollar extravaganza was in trouble with Lester at its helm,
because Oliver! - the movie - never spends too much time getting to know
the diminutive Mr. Twist. Despite having a whole show built around and named
after him, Lester’s Oliver spends almost all of his time reacting to other
characters more flamboyant than him.
It’s an interesting trick on Reed’s part, cleverly keeping the audience
at bay and deflecting the pleasures and pitfalls to other parts of the story.
It works – superficially, at least, the movie’s overblown musical sequences
grinding the rather straight forward plot (that of a displaced person finding
his place in the world) to a halt. There is, in fact, an embarrassment of
riches in Oliver! starting with the four utterly brave and exuberant
performances shoring up the chasm left behind by Lester’s mini-pop wannabe.
Ron Moody - barely thirty, plays the fifty-something
slum-living reprobate, Fagin as a veritable fountain of corrosive, courtly
malice and myrrh. When Moody’s Fagin is on the screen everyone else fades from
view. Fagin, the wily deceiver, mollifying his young brood of trained
pickpockets with a clear-cut zest for petty larceny firmly caught between his
teeth. Whether he is ‘reviewing the situation’ or simply ‘picking a
pocket or two’, Moody sells us on empathy for an otherwise fairly
unsympathetic character. Of course, Moody’s turn as Fagin would be nothing at
all without a pair of delicious deviants to illustrate just how toxic, yet
endearing, his presence can be. These counterpoints are supplied to perfection
by Jack Wild – the quintessential Artful Dodger and Oliver Reed – an absolutely
terrifying Bill Sikes. First to Wild,
who has the presence of mind and devotion to his craft to will his thoroughly
shrewd and manipulative urchin into a devastatingly hypnotic procurer of
gullible underage minions for his master. The adult influences in Oliver!
are all jaded, dark and enterprising. And Wild’s Dodger is on the fast track to
becoming just like them. Or has he already surpassed his mentor with a master
stroke of unorthodoxy? After Fagin has
lost everything of monetary value, he briefly contemplates turning legit - a
prospect quashed by Dodger’s sudden reappearance – another man’s wallet firmly
in hand and casually tempting his former employer with replenishing their
ill-gotten gains… one stolen artifact at a time. As for Oliver Reed - he is the
embodiment of a certain type of masculine brutality carried one step too far,
the once corruptible child, now overgrown into a burly beast dominated by his
vices. Reed’s penetrating stare is soulless, his piercing eyes devouring
virtually anyone who gets near him. Reed, a fine actor whose career was
derailed by bouts of alcoholism and a generally malignant personality, often to
crucify his costars, eventually branding him as unmanageable, remains the
personification of Dickens’ terrific brute. We can believe his Bill Sikes would
commit murder as easily as threaten the very life and limb of a petrified
child, simply to escape his own folly. Reed’s great gift to the movie is his
absolute immersion in the part. He is
bone-chillingly on point.
The other great strength of Oliver! is its
landmark sets, titanic recreations of Dickensian London with all their quaint classicism
intact - the drab and dank inner sanctum of the state-run workhouse, the
gleaming white flats in Hyde Park Square, vibrant Covent Garden with its
veritable array of meat packers, aproned fishmongers, child labor chimney
sweeps and carnival folk mingling with the hoity-toity, the bleak and
foreboding slums where every form of rank villainy is on display - these have
all been lovingly recreated to an exacting perfectionism by John Box. Not a
moment in Oliver! was photographed outside Shepperton Studios. Add to
this, Phyllis Dalton’s impeccable costume design and the teleportation to
another place in time is made absolutely complete. Oliver! looks every
inch a timeless homage to that not so merry ole England. If only it were not a
road show – that sixties’ movie hybrid prone to overblown spectacles suffering
from acute elephantiasis. Oliver! might have risen above its rank
sentimentality still oozing from the peripheries of Carol Reed’s overreaching arc
in dark cynicism. But Oliver! is, regrettably, an exultation of the
stage show from whence its fame hailed, laboring over Lionel Bart’s lurid
songs, Johnny Green’s florid underscore and Onna White’s lengthy excursions
into tedious and occasionally sloppy footwork. The choreography is not
intricate so much as it becomes distilled into a few overly-simplified steps even
Mark Lester – who admittedly claims to have been born with two left feet – is
capable of performing without much concentration. The grander musical ‘set pieces’ – ‘Who
Will Buy?’ and ‘Consider Yourself’ are staged almost as montage,
with Oswald Morris’ cinematography never resting on a single performer, perhaps
for fear the audience will notice this short-shrift. When Reed has a gifted
performer like Ron Moody to single out, as in ‘Pick a Pocket or Two’ the
musical sequences ignite with a potent noxiousness and bawdy excess. But
otherwise, it is the mere excess that dominates and deflates the score.
Oliver! is therefore a
movie musical of contradictions. On the one hand, it extols its period and place
with great visual zest. On the other, it cannot help but explore, indulge and
celebrate the decidedly 42nd Street pizzazz of live theater. Carol Reed’s
curious amalgam of these two irreconcilable worlds never quite fits as
succinctly as one might hope. The movie’s strength – apart from the
aforementioned pluperfect casting and production values – is that it never once
waters down the action for the tiny tot sect munching on their popcorn in the
audience. The children depicted in this movie are not really children at all,
but hard-bitten realists and old souls deceptively sheathed in pint-sized
bodies, and, wearing the tattered remnants of ill-fitting hand-me-downs. The
tragedy of Oliver! therefore resides in Mark Lester’s complete
incongruity to assimilate into this backdrop. Lester’s physical features are
too fine-boned and untouched by the harshness of the reality that surrounds. Perhaps this makes Lester a good
counter-presence to Jack Wild’s Artful Dodger – the unashamed
all-seeing/knowing procurer, corrupted well beyond his years. But the bloom in
Lester’s cheeks is just a little too pure and a tad too cleanly naïve. Thank
Dickens and Bart for the foresight to have surrounded our diminutive ingénue
with a menagerie of magnificent felons who do battle over his providence.
We begin in a workhouse in Dunstable, visited by the
wealthy governors who fund it. While these virtuous men dine in the upstairs
offices on turkey with all the trimmings, the orphaned wretches just beyond
their walls struggle to consume their daily gruel, dreaming of ‘Food,
Glorious Food’. When Oliver Twist (Mark Lester) approaches Mr. Bumble
(Harry Secombe) with a request for more gruel, the penitence for his hunger is
to be sold into service to the highest bidder. The undertaker, Mr. Sowerberry
(Leonard Rossiter) pays for this privilege. Oliver will be a mourner at
children’s funerals. But after only his first, Oliver attacks Sowerberry’s
assistant, Noah Claypole (Kenneth Cranham) for insulting the memory of his late
mother. Subdued inside a coffin by
Claypole and then pitched into a dank cellar below the establishment, the
frightened boy wonders ‘Where is Love?’ before discovering the window
grate is loose. Escaping into the night, Oliver reaches London. Alas, he is
ill-equipped to cross paths with the Artful Dodger, a petty thief who
manipulates Oliver into ‘considering’ himself as both a friend and one of the
family, thereafter misled into the attic hideaway of Fagin who exploits young
urchins in his life of crime. ‘You Got to Pick a Pocket or Two’ Fagin
explains before skulking off to meet Bill Sikes (Oliver Reed), one of his
former pupils with whom he now conducts a very lucrative business. In the
meantime, Sikes’ sometimes girlfriend, the bar wench Nancy, emotes ‘It’s a
Fine Life’ to the various cronies at the pub while masking her sadness at
being unable to live plainly as Sikes’ beloved.
Oliver witnesses Fagin steal a little off the top of Sikes’ stash. Nancy
is sent to retrieve the money, but befriends Oliver instead. Ever naïve, Oliver
asks to go with the Artful Dodger on ‘a job’ – Oliver, apprehended for the
theft of a wallet belonging to the gentleman, Mr. Brownlow (Joseph O’Conor)
that the Dodger has actually stolen. At trial, Fagin, Sikes and Nancy pensively
await the outcome, fearful Oliver will rat them all out. Instead, the boy
remains silent. At the last possible moment, a bookseller who witnessed the
crime comes forth to attest to Oliver’s innocence. Brownlow takes pity on the
boy. But Sikes remains unconvinced Oliver will not confess to their other
crimes out of loyalty to his new benefactor.
Sikes orders Nancy to recall Oliver into their fold,
beating her initial refusal into submission. In the meantime, Brownlow entrusts
Oliver with some books and money to be delivered in London. Regrettably, Sikes
and Nancy seize upon this opportunity to kidnap Oliver. When Fagin learns what
they have done he begins to ‘review his situation’ – recognizing Sikes
unrepentant violent streak. In the meantime, Mr. Bumble pays Mr. Brownlow a
visit, presenting him with a locket belonging to Oliver’s late mother who turns
out to be Brownlow’s penniless niece. The girl having died in the workhouse
during childbirth, Brownlow now realizes Oliver is his long-lost relative. In
the meantime, Sikes forces Oliver into a life of crime. While the pair is away
on a burglary, Nancy sneaks off to Brownlow’s home, confessing her part in
Oliver’s kidnapping, but promising to return the boy at midnight at London Bridge.
Sikes, however, has other plans and keeps a watchful eye on both Nancy and
Oliver while he and Fagin discuss their future prospects. Nancy engages the crowd at the pub in a
spirited song, whisking Oliver away amidst the hullabaloo, though not before Sikes
witnesses her treachery. Pursuing the pair to London Bridge, Sikes bludgeons
Nancy to death and steals Oliver back. But Sikes dog, Bullseye, having enough
of his master’s brutality, alerts police to his whereabouts. Sikes scales the
back alley to the rooftops, using Oliver as his hostage. A police man
intervenes, shooting Sikes dead. In the ensuing mayhem, Fagin drops his jewel
box, the spoils of thievery sinking into the mire and mud, forever lost to him.
Despondent, Fagin contemplates going legit, his head turned to a new criminal
enterprise by the Artful Dodger. In the final moments, Fagin and the Dodger
skulk off into the twilight and Oliver is rightfully returned to Brownlow’s
care.
OIiver! is undeniably
ambitious film-making. Yet it never quite evolves into the sort of buoyant
musical entertainment one expects. Carol Reed’s adaptation is too literal in
its Dickensian appeal, yet somehow too Broadway-based to be anything more than
a big-time entertainment splashed across 70mm projection and with overture,
intermission, entr’acte and exit music to endure. The movie is grand in all
its’ production value-laden spectacle, though, only occasionally vibrant in its
performances. The dramatic parts are too full of melodramatic intensity for the
fragile Lionel Bart score, the songs bursting forth almost as an afterthought.
One genuinely senses Carol Reed – best known for his dramas and thrillers –
would have much preferred to do a straight forward, non-musical remake of David
Lean’s Oliver Twist (1948) rather than embarking on a movie musical -
and this, at a time when musicals in general were decidedly falling out of
favor. Nevertheless, Oliver! was hailed by the critics as a masterpiece.
It was also a financial success for Romulus Films and Columbia Pictures
(distributing it) and the recipient of six Academy Awards including Best
Picture.
A seminal film of the counterculture 1970's and Martin
Scorsese's breakout as a director, Taxi Driver (1976) is an ironic,
deeply troubling glimpse into the deranged mind of an obsessive madman whose
crimes against humanity are reconstituted by a misguided media into vigilante
genius, worthy of our praise and vindication. Paul Schrader’s screenplay delves
into the haunted recesses of a loner pushed over the edge by mitigating
circumstances. These produce a psychopath whose anti-social behavior is foisted
onto an unsuspecting public as ‘take charge’ vigilantism. The underlying
message is, of course, that in a crazy world the most insane among us can
achieve the greatest success and even become a role model. Now, why does none
of this sound surprising in 2021?!?! But Schrader's initial concept for the
character of Travis Bickle as a disgruntled black man was quashed by Scorsese
during preliminary talks because he felt it gave the narrative an unwanted and
subversive racial undertone, although, arguably, in 1976, it would have
perfectly dovetailed into that subgenre of ‘blacksploitation’ pics that were,
then, all the rage. At Scorsese's insistence, the location in the script was
also changed from L.A. to New York, since cabs are more an iconic part of the
latter's public transit.
Over the decades, I have had my own love/hate
relationship with Taxi Driver. Born in 1971, and therefore too young to
have seen it when it premiered, when I first saw it in a revival in the mid-80’s
I absolutely hated it. Cut me some slack. The 80’s were a ‘feel good’
candy-floss decade with their own effervescence, and Taxi Driver then,
at least to me, seemed like a bitter and bellicose relic in which angry, ugly
people I really couldn’t relate to did unspeakably wicked things to one
another. It wasn’t until the eighties had faded from view and I began to
explore the cinema of the seventies more aggressively through film scholarship
that I started to realize how emblematic the picture was of its decade’s social
outlook, unrest and collective cynicism. And Taxi Driver then, began to
grow on me – arguably, like a fungus with a ferocity never entirely to be expunged
from my memory. I still believe Martin Scorsese has done better work since and elsewhere.
But as a breakout to launch his career, and as a seventies’ time capsule, I
definitely can see now what all the critical fuss was about then. As with many
films of the 1970's, Taxi Driver opens with a rather laconic character
study of its central protagonist. New York cabbie Travis Bickle (Robert DeNiro
in a career-defining performance) is an isolated, slightly depressed insomniac.
Honorably discharged from the marines, Travis reluctantly assimilates into
mainstream society as a taxi driver on the graveyard shift where he quickly
grows disillusioned by all the gutter filth and depravity that surrounds him.
Inexplicably, Travis is drawn to Betsy (Cybill
Shepherd); the slinky campaign manager in charge of the Presidential Nominee
Committee for New York State Senator Charles Palantine (Leonard Harris).
Betsy's initial reaction to Travis is awkward. She relates to his isolationism
and agrees, after some coaxing, to go out on a date. Unfortunately, Travis is
out of Betsy's league and proves it by taking her to a porn theater on their
first date. Repulsed, Betsy ditches Travis and takes another cab home. Betsy's
rejection ignites an unforeseen spark of vigilantism within Travis. By day he
obsesses over Palantine and stockpiles his apartment with a small arsenal of
weaponry acquired from gun salesman, Andy (Steven Price). He postures shirtless
in front of a mirror in full blown 'tough guy mode' and practices his prowess
with a pistol. In retrospect, it all has a very John Hinckley-esque quality to
it; Travis’ misguided infatuation with Betsy and his plan to assassinate
Palantine a fairly accurate foreshadowing of Hinckley’s obsession with Jodie
Foster and plot to murder Ronald Reagan. On one of his midnight trolls through
the city, Travis unexpectedly encounters child prostitute, Iris Steenma (Jodie
Foster) who is trying to escape her drunken pimp, Sport Matthews (Harvey
Keitel). To defuse the situation Travis pays Sport for Iris's time but refuses
to take advantage of her. Despite her refusal to eschew 'the life', Iris comes
to trust Travis.
Regrettably, Travis comes to regards himself as Iris's
savior. With daybreak Travis endures yet another Jekyll/Hyde transformation. He
shaves his head into a Mohawk, dons dark sunglasses and prepares for the
assassination of Palantine during the candidate's first public address.
Thankfully, this plan is bungled by a pair of secret service agents (Richard
Higgs and Victor Magnotta). Retreating to his morally superior high ground,
Travis goes after Sport instead. He bursts into the seedy brothel, guns
blazing, killing Sport and Iris's Mafioso john (Bob Maroff) before being
wounded in the neck. In a bizarre, if redemptive epilogue (that invariably has
been interpreted by some critics as Travis's dying dream) a reluctant Travis is
deified in the press as the city's moral crusader: the misanthrope rechristened
as a model citizen. Fully recovered from his wounds, Travis returns to his old
life and career as a cab driver. His last fare of the night is Betsy, who is
once again attracted to him and flirts in the hopes of rekindling their
relationship. Bad luck for Betsy that Travis has decided he is through with
her. He drops her off at her apartment and drives into an uncertain future. In
various vintage reviews of the film, Travis has been interpreted as a shell-shocked
Viet Nam vet. But this reading does not hold water, especially when one
considers how initially inept Travis is with firearms.
At the time of Taxi Driver’s theatrical release,
the MPAA forced Scorsese to tone down the color registration during the final
bloodbath in the film in order to escape the dreaded 'R' rating. Scorsese
willingly complied, but cinematographer, Michael Chapman was less than pleased.
Regrettably, when the film was being reissued on home video some years later
Scorsese and Chapman discovered that in reprinting the original negative to
accommodate this alteration, it had also been altered irreversibly making it
impossible to print up the contrast to Scorsese’s original intent for a
director’s cut. Taxi Driver was a colossal financial and critical
success, earning $28,262,574 in the U.S. alone. In retrospect, like so many obscure
and pessimistic social critiques from the 70's, this one seems to foreshadow
the counter culture that regrettably appeals to us today, re-made as
acceptable, and certainly, far more ‘mainstream’ than it weas back in the day.
There is a theory about cinema from the 1980’s – that,
it tends to date twice as quickly as movies made during any other decade before
or since. Personally, I disagree – mostly…partly…well, all right – somewhat. But I cannot argue with that assessment when
reviewing Ivan Reitman’s Stripes (1981) – the creative launching pad for
the career of droll comedian, Bill Murray as John Winger. On his way to the premiere of Meatballs
(1979), Reitman conceived of a Cheech and Chong styled farce about joining
the army. Nothing new in this, actually. Abbott and Costello took on the armed
forces in the 1940’s – making veritable comedy mincemeat of its various
factions. However, Stripes is the beneficiary of a more laissez faire,
post-censorship Hollywood, prone to crudeness masquerading as comedy. It’s a
nonsensical, but often charmingly whacky farce, and, an early jewel in Bill Murray’s
court-jester’s crown. Interesting to think of Murray here – both at the cusp
and yet, beginning of the end of his super-stardom. For in 1984, after
appearing in the iconic Ghostbusters, he would blunder through a very
costly remake of The Razor’s Edge, greatly to temper his popularity and
further dilute his reputation as a comedian. And although Murray has continuously
worked in Hollywood ever since, and furthermore proven he can handle drama as well
as comedy, the movies to pad the bulk of this tenure are a spotty cavalcade of near
hits and fatal misses, skewed to the more thoroughly forgettable fluff,
intermittently salvaged by some outstanding efforts feathered in to keep his
career afloat.
Reitman’s other inspiration here was John Landis’ Animal
House (1978), which he had also produced – merely, to migrate its crude
humor to the army milieu. Initially, the project was to have a go at Paramount –
not Columbia – as Cheech and Chong were ecstatic about the Len Blum/Dan
Goldberg screenplay. Alas, masters Marin and Chong wanted absolute creative
control. At this juncture, Reitman asked Goldberg to revisit the main
characters, tweaking them to appeal to the strengths of Bill Murray and Harold
Ramis – who had already contributed much to Animal House, Meatballs
and Caddyshack (1980). Ramis, however, had zero cache as an actor in
Hollywood – his biggest moment to date, in a TV sketch for Second City.
Moving to Columbia, Reitman encountered major opposition from the front offices
in the casting of Ramis with Murray, already established, digging in his heels in
support of this decision. At this
juncture, Columbia relented, and Reitman pretty much had his way filling subsequent
roles in the picture: Conrad Dunn as Francis ‘Psycho’ Soyer, Judge Reinhold (Elmo,
lent the best on-liners from the original screenplay) Sean Young (as the love
interest) P. J. Soles (of Halloween fame, as Stella Hansen), John Diehl (in his
debut as ‘Cruiser’) and John Candy who, on Reitman’s say-so, was not required
to even test for the role of Dewey 'Ox' Oxberger.
Reitman cast Warren Oates as Sergeant Hulka
out of respect for the actor’s work in westerns from the mid-60’s onward.
Oates, who was happy to regale the cast with stories from his past, was not at
all pleased when Reitman secretly ordered the other actors to perform an
impromptu carpet-haul of Hulka through the mud without informing Oates of these
plans first. The stunt, done entirely to provoke an ‘honest reaction’ from Oates,
instead chipped his teeth. Reitman also orchestrated the scene between Hulka
and Winger to test for Murray’s acting chops as a serious actor. But perhaps
the biggest improvisation came during the iconic mud-wrestling sequence, with
Reitman simply instructing his cast to ‘go for it’ and observing as the
free-for-all unraveled before his very eyes and the camera. Stripes
opens with the implosion of the life of Louisville cabby, John Winger who, in a
matter of hours, loses his job, apartment, livelihood and gal/pal, Anita
(Roberta Leighton) who has sincerely tired of his immaturity. With no outlets
left, Winger decides to join the army, taking with him Russell Ziskey (Harold
Ramis), a vocational teacher of English as a second language. The boys enter basic
training and upon their arrival at Fort Arnold are introduced to Sergeant Hulka
whom he almost immediately makes a bad enemy. John and Russell discover kindred
spirits in their platoon, armed in their distaste of Captain Stillman (John Larroquette) – an arrogant dullard. John and Russell also become
romantically involved with MPs Louise Cooper (Sean Young) and Stella Hansen. Prior
to graduation, Hulka is injured by Stillman’s ineptitude. Taking advantage of Hulka’s
infirmity, the boys skulk off to a mud-wrestling bar where Winger goads Dewey ‘Ox’
Oxberger to wrestle a group of women. The police raid the club. But Stella and
Louise manage to conceal John and Russell. The rest of the platoon, however,
are hauled off to base, with Stillman threatening to make everyone begin basic
training from scratch.
Buoyed by their sexual encounters with Stella and
Louise, Winger and Russell motivate the platoon to engage in an all-night practice.
As a result, they oversleep and nearly miss the ceremony. Rushing the parade
grounds still disoriented and disheveled, the troop, led by Winger, improvise a
highly coordinated, drill that impresses Post Commander General Barnicke
(Robert J. Wilke) who misinterprets the men as real ‘go-getters’ worthy of his
EM-50 project in Italy. Shipped overseas, the troop is reunited with Hulka and
assigned to guard the EM-50 Urban Assault Vehicle, an armored personnel carrier
disguised as a recreational vehicle. Believing this to be a colossal waste of
their time, Winger and Russell ‘borrow’ the EM-50 to visit Stella and Louise,
stationed in West Germany. A frantic Stillman launches an unauthorized mission
to retrieve the ‘top secret’ vehicle. Much to Hulka’s regret, the platoon
inadvertently cross into Czechoslovakia. Realizing they are in Soviet-armed
territory, Hulka manages to get off a mayday message before the entire troop is
taken prisoner. Now, Winger and Russell, along with Stella and Louise, invade
the Soviet base. In the resulting mayhem, the men are liberated. They arrive
back on US soil, hailed as heroes. Relieved to have escaped the deluge with his
reputation intact, Hulka retires, embarking on a new career as the owner of the
HulkaBurger franchise. Stella marks her sexy debuts on the cover of Penthouse,
Ox – the cover of Tiger Beat, Russell for Guts magazine, and John getting his
notoriety on the cover of Newsworld. A disgraced Stillman winds up at a weather
station in Nome, Alaska.
Next up, Ang Lee’s Sense and Sensibility (1995),
the exquisite adaptation, nee quintessence of Jane Austen’s adroitly humorous
and utterly astute critique of social mores and mannerisms. These have been brought
winningly to life by Lee, in all their meaty flourish, with a pedigree Austen
herself would likely have been proud to be associated. It is, I think, a
picture that goes well beyond mere quality. Emma Thompson’s vibrant translation
of Austen’s rather wordy prose into even more ribald and spirited byplay
amongst England’s hoi poloi is wed to an exceptional ensemble of cultured
thespians accrued under a master storyteller and vigilant visual artist. Patrick
Doyle’s enchanted underscore attains the pluperfect expression of this pastoral
romantic comedy with Luciana Arrighi’s impeccable production design and Jenny
Beavan and John Bright’s celebration of the empire waist line – et al. Each
facet of the movie-making apparatus has come together as in the old days of
that bygone, fastidiously planned and magnificently executed ‘home grown’ in-house
studio-made assembly line for which Hollywood was once world renowned. For all
the aforementioned reasons, Sense and Sensibility has magnificently
endured.
Jane Austen’s novels have long been admired, though
not always by literary critics and scholars. All the more perplexing then, that
one of Austen’s most popular and enduring masterpieces – Sense and
Sensibility (humbling to consider it her first novel) – had never before
been made into a movie until Emma Thompson elected to take a crack at the
material. At once, the book has everything one might hope to find in a great
film - strong, independently-minded and interesting characters (and
caricatures), a supremely satisfying love story (or rather, three interwoven
and unfolding for the reader in tandem), a few surprises along the way, and, a
lot of witty banter, rife for humorous situations derived from life. Years,
after her prepubescent snap analysis of Austen, film producer, Lindsay Doran
would make it her personal calling to do a picture based on at least one Austen
novel – preferably, Sense and Sensibility which, in the interim, had
easily become her favorite. Alas, kismet was not immediately forthcoming. In
fact, it took time - ten years, before Doran landed a job for director, Sidney
Pollack’s Mirage Productions, encouraged to pursue her dream project while
working on others to pay the bills. Fortuitously, Doran’s first movie for
Mirage was Dead Again (1991), a thriller co-starring then marrieds
Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson. Doran quickly discovered a kinship with
Thompson over their mutual affinity for Austen.
Again, time passed. Thompson toiled between other
projects, writing drafts and scenes, and cutting, pruning and reshaping the
material to suit the demands of a modern motion picture, tidying up dialogue
and telescoping Austen’s sprawling narrative to a finitely focused story about
Elinor and Marianne – the Dashwood sisters: the former, in danger of becoming a
spinster, the latter, destined to have her passionate reflections about love
broken. In resurrecting Austen’s wicked verve for social satire, Thompson was
mindful that any adaptation of Sense and Sensibility could not simply
ape Austen’s prose or excise whole portions of her original text with new
narrative bridges to connect these scenes together. The requirements of a
period picture needed to be delicately preserved for Austen purists. But the
film also need not be slavishly devoted to them either. In fact, in creating
her final draft, Thompson was cautioned by Sidney Pollack to appeal to more
contemporary tastes while remaining true to the essence and spirit of Austen’s
own sentiment. Even when merely perusing
Sense and Sensibility one is acutely aware of Austen’s admiration and/or
contempt for the characters she describes and the classicist morals she judges
with remarkable clarity and razor-sharp precision. Austen’s pen may
intermittently be poisoned, though ironically, never to ooze with self-indulgent
belligerence or insincerity. The trick of the screenplay would therefore be to
preserve this rare and uniquely unvarnished quality without stepping into
shameful parody. In this regard, Emma Thompson’s Golden Globe-winning (and
Oscar-nominated) screenplay ought to be considered a paradigm, cleverly seizing
upon and maintaining this ‘Austenian’ mystique.
Ang Lee was not a devotee of Austen. But he came to
this project with a striking appetite for the work, deriving deeper meaning
from the novel’s ‘sense’ and ‘sensibilities’ – the quintessence
of life itself - plus a parable for life’s tenuous balance of joys and sadness…
the great mysteries of the divine erring into humanity caught in the throes of
its own human comedy. If we may pause a
moment to judge Emma Thompson’s turn as the elder Schlegel sister in Howards
End (1992) as illustrative of her formidable powers of observation as a
very fine actress, blessed with stately patrician beauty, then her performance
as the emotionally disciplined Elinor in Sense and Sensibility
unequivocally illuminates her more earthy appeal, teeming in introspection.
Thompson is surrounded by an enviable roster of British talent in Sense and
Sensibility, many to whom everlasting fame and fortune had been narrowly skirted
on this side of the Atlantic. Too few would quickly establish themselves as
forces to be reckoned with in Hollywood: Kate Winslet, Hugh Grant, Hugh Laurie
and the late Alan Rickman among the cherished names now very much a part of our
international film and television appreciation, but until Sense and
Sensibility, hardly blips on our radar.
Sense and Sensibility relates to its
audience on an almost heartbreaking emotional level, its clever writing
expertly paced by Lee and played out with gusto, exceptionally stitched in the
editing room by Tim Squyres from the ‘fine-boned’ features of Austen’s
own aristocratic wit and charm. And yet, largely, it is not Austen we hear or
see verbatim in this movie, rather, Thompson’s brilliant reincarnation of the
authoress, speaking in her tone and tongue with a decided relish for the crisp
flavor of Austen, but without copying her sassy criticisms verbatim. As such,
it is as though we are hearing and seeing Austen for the very first time,
uncannily, on her own terms – a bit less conservative and considerably more
relaxed, perhaps, but strangely satisfying nonetheless, despite being radically
different from the novel. It is difficult (if not impossible) not to be wholly
absorbed into this plushy pastoral social sphere, exuberantly realized by
Michael Coulters’ ravishing cinematography.
Under Coulter’s inspiration, the pictorial aspects take on an almost
David Lean quality – minus Lean’s verve for the extended long shot. Here,
Coulter and Lee conspire to keep the action tightly contained within a series
of two shots and using the close-up and establishing shot sparingly, though
nevertheless, to as magnificent effect. I was also reminded of cinematographer,
Nicholas Roeg’s contributions on 1967’s Far From The Madding Crowd. Yet,
here, at last, is the world of Jane Austen as she wrote it, or rather, as we
who have basked in our re-imaginings of the novel might have expected it to
appear concretely, down to the last ‘minute’ detail brought forth with a varied
and textured voracity that engorges our ‘senses’ almost from the moment the
main titles disappear.
Taiwanese-born, Ang Lee’s great contribution here is a
fresh pair of eyes, his undeniable grasp of Austen on an almost intuitive level,
tapping into Austen’s sublime raconteur while allowing these characters to
discover their core within the situations and relationships as presented as an
almost natural progression in a movie more highly stylized than most. Sense and Sensibility harks all the
way back to Hollywood’s golden era that briefly experienced a renaissance
during the mid-1990's. Arguably, the public’s passion for old English dramadies
has never entirely run its course - still alive and well in BBC-produced TV
shows like Downton Abbey, though arguably seeing its last gasp on
American movie screens with Robert Altman’s memorable ensemble piece, Gosford
Park (2001). English drama is one thing. English farce, quite another.
Making either palpable to an international audience is no small feat, the
vinegar and vim either diluted or translating very badly. Yet Sense and
Sensibility has so obviously been made by those who feel Austen from the
tips of their feather-adorned bonnets to the embroidered lace stockings
encompassing their toes.
Our story opens with an ominous event - the quiet
expiration of the elder Mr. Dashwood (Tom Wilkinson) who, on his death bed,
makes his son from a previous marriage and heir to Norland Park - John (James
Fleet) - promise he will do everything he can to ensure his stepmother (Gemma
Jones) and stepsisters, Elinor (Emma Thompson), Marianne (Kate Winslet) and
Margaret (Emilie François) are properly cared for in a manner befitting their
station. John willingly and compassionately
agrees to this. However, through a series of vignettes we witness his head and
heart gradually turned away from discharging this duty by his greedy/snobbish
wife, Fanny (Harriet Walter) who aims to make Norland her fashionable country
retreat. Mrs. Dashwood is distraught at
the prospect of vacating her late husband’s estate, a decision more
pragmatically embraced by Elinor who begins to make inquiries for a house they
can manage with their rather squalid inheritance of only £500 a year.
Fanny installs herself as mistress of Norland and shortly
thereafter invites her brother, Edward Ferrars (Hugh Grant) for a visit,
insisting Edward be given Marianne’s room for his quarters because the view of
the gardens from it is spectacular. Instead, Edward graciously accepts a room
in the guest quarters, incurring Fanny’s immediate displeasure. This is
exacerbated when Edward begins to court Elinor, the two famously hitting things
off. Marianne questions Elinor and finds her sister’s approach to love does not
match with her own. “To love,” so Marianne explains, “…is to be on
fire” with passion. This gullibility leads Marianne into a relationship
with the impossibly handsome rake, John Willoughby (Greg Wise), a dashing,
though deceitful playboy who quite easily steals Marianne’s heart. In the
meantime, Mrs. Dashwood moves the family to a cottage on the estate of Barton
Park in Devonshire, the ancestral home belonging to her widowed first cousin,
Sir John Middleton (Robert Hardy) who lives in the grand manor just beyond it
with his rather harmless, though meddlesome mother-in-law, Mrs. Jennings
(Elizabeth Spriggs). Fanny ensures no further entanglement will develop between
Edward and Elinor by recalling her brother to London under false pretenses. At
Barton Park, Marianne is admired by the elder Colonel Brandon (Alan Rickman), a
devoted, though rather passionless suitor who allows Marianne her indulgences
with Willoughby. Unbeknown to the Dashwoods, Brandon’s ward Beth, the
illegitimate daughter of his former lover, has been made pregnant by
Willoughby. Upon learning this news, Willoughby’s aunt, Lady Allen disinherits
him. Willoughby goes away without ever revealing to Marianne the motives for
his departure.
In the meantime, Mrs. Jennings invites her
scatterbrain daughter, Charlotte (Imelda Staunton) and droll son-in-law, Mr.
Palmer (Hugh Laurie) for a visit. The pair also brings the impoverished Lucy
Steele (Imogen Stubbs). Lucy confides in Elinor a secret ‘understanding’
between her and Fanny’s brother. Mistaking the attachment as Edward’s shatters
Elinor’s hopes for ever finding true love, a crushing bewilderment made all the
more painful by Mrs. Jenning’s constant nattering over the identity of Elinor’s
secret love. Marianne finds Mrs.
Jennings’ playful inquisitiveness utterly distasteful. But when Mrs. Jennings
proposes an adventure in London, she also takes Lucy, Elinor, and Marianne to a
grand ball, attended by Fanny and Willoughby. Elinor learns Lucy’s secret
attachment is to Fanny’s younger brother, Robert (Richard Lumsden) – not Edward
– and breathes a sigh of relief. It is, regrettably, short-lived. For Marianne,
having spied Willoughby from across the crowded room, buoyantly calls out to
him before hurrying to his side. He barely acknowledges their former
acquaintance and Marianne, in a state of shock and disbelief, follows him into
an adjacent room where she quickly learns the enterprising rogue has become
engaged to the extremely wealthy Miss Grey (Lone Vidahl) for obvious
reasons. Inconsolable, Marianne remains
bedridden and tear-stained while the clandestine affair between Robert and Lucy
comes to light after Lucy reveals to Fanny the two have secretly married, thus
incurring Fanny’s formidable wrath.
Departing for home, Elinor and Marianne elect to stop
the night at the Palmer’s vast country estate not far from Willoughby’s
ancestral home. Marianne is compelled to make the journey to her former lover’s
house and is caught in a terrible storm, momentarily felled by a virulent bout
of pneumonia. She is rescued from certain peril at the last possible moment by
Colonel Brandon. Elinor and Brandon both
remain vigilant at Marianne’s bedside, fearing the worst but praying for her
recovery. Learning of Lucy’s marriage to
Robert, Edward finds he is free to marry Elinor and proposes. Marianne recovers
and Colonel Brandon likewise enters into an agreement with her to marry. In the
final moments we see Elinor and Edward emerge from the church where he has
become the vicar, the pair escorting newlyweds Marianne and Colonel Brandon in
a joyous pageantry witnessed from afar by a panged Willoughby, seemingly alone
and recognizing what a fool he has been.
Sense and Sensibility concludes thus
on a bittersweet note, arguably unimpeded by the immeasurable joyfulness of these
penultimate and thoroughly satisfying revelations. In reviewing the movie
again, it all seems so obviously – nee, effortlessly perfect, one can easily
forget Emma Thompson spent nearly five years writing and re-writing her
screenplay. During filming, Thompson
would experience her own romantic epiphany, falling in love with co-star, Greg
Wise and leaving then husband, Kenneth Branagh to remain at his side. The two
would eventually marry in 2003. Initially, Columbia Pictures was apprehensive
about Thompson’s screenwriting credit. Producer, Lindsay Doran, who had risen
through the ranks at Mirage Pictures, plodded with her belief in Thompson’s
ability, much bolstered with the Hollywood bigwigs after Thompson’s
Oscar-winning turn in Howards End and subsequent triumph in The
Remains of the Day (1993). It should be pointed out Thompson’s revision of Austen
is not entirely faithful, particularly her depictions of Colonel Brandon and
Edward Ferrars. The contemporizing of certain character traits, the jettisoning
of various tertiary characters and subplots (necessary for narrative concision)
and the complete invention of various dramatic and comedic sequences throughout
the movie went largely unnoticed by rudimentary fans of Austen’s novel. The
revisions, of course, bothered literary purists. But in point of fact, given
the longevity of Hollywood’s verve to ‘improve’ upon greatness under the rubric
of ‘artistic license’, Emma Thompson’s efforts herein have achieved the uncanny
feat of bottling Austen’s purpose, wit and social etiquette without miring the
production in a stilted series of moving tableaus. If anything, Sense and Sensibility is
the rich benefactor of Thompson’s intuitive comprehension of its source
material, delving deeply into Austen-land apparently without taking either
herself or strict adherence to Austen too seriously. And yet, the production is
quite seriously mounted to evoke both the period and Austen’s point of view
without anchoring the audience to either for very long. On a relatively
miniscule budget of $16 million, Ang Lee chose to photograph much of the action
on locations indigenous to Austen’s own time and place, the British rural
landscapes virtually unchanged since the 18th century. In the final analysis, Sense and
Sensibility achieves greatness not because it attempts to resuscitate or
even champions the complete resurrection of Jane Austen. To endeavor to do
otherwise would have so easily embalmed the entire experience. Instead, the
effect achieved by Thompson remains Austen-esque while undeniably absorbing.
The final movie to be included in Columbia Classics
Vol. 2 is David Fincher’s The Social Network (2010) – a bio-pic on Facebook
‘founder’, Mark Zuckerberg, played herein by Jesse Eisenberg who bears no
earthly physical resemblance to his real-life counterpart but instead manages
to carry off the role with much of his alter-ego’s self-anointed arrogance and callous
disregard for human frailty. The
Social Network sports an excellent cast, but not much of a story to tell
outside of its Kitty Kelly-esque ‘tell all’, embroiling the likes of Andrew
Garfield as Eduardo Saverin, Justin Timberlake (a.k.a Sean Parker) and Armie
Hammer (as twins, Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss); also, Max Minghella as Divya
Narendra. Zuckerberg took no part in the making of this picture, based on the
rather unflattering portrait of him outlined in Ben Mezrich's 2009 book, The
Accidental Billionaires. The sordid details in Aaron Sorkin’s brilliantly
reconceived screenplay begin at Harvard, circa 2003 where Zuckerberg, as an
unprepossessing sophomore is dumped by gal/pal, Erica Albright (Rooney Mara). Under the tired old rubric of ‘…hell hath
no fury’, Zuckerberg quickly becomes the biggest bitch in town, crucifying
Albright in a LiveJournal post, before starting his own site, Facemash,
where he hacks into college databases, swiping photos of female students to be
rated like certifiable beef for their physical attractiveness. The crudeness of
this enterprise is not without fans – a lot of them in fact, and enough to
crash Harvard’s database. For his efforts, Zuckerberg is given six months of
academic probation. However, Facemash's popularity attracts the
attention of twins, Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss and their business partner,
Divya Narendra. They invite Zuckerberg to work on Harvard Connection, a dating
social network exclusive to Harvard students.
Zuckerberg approaches his pal, Eduardo Saverin with an
idea for Thefacebook, a social network, initially planned to be exclusive
to Ivy League students. Saverin provides $1,000 in seed money, allowing
Zuckerberg to build his website. Alas, the Winklevoss twins and Narendra are outraged,
as Zuckerberg’s site – a blatant rip off of their own – has become far more
popular. Their disgust in not shared by Harvard President Larry Summers (Douglas Urbanski), who is indifferent and refuses to take disciplinary
action. Saverin and Zuckerberg meet fellow student Christy Lee (Brenda Song),
who asks them to ‘Facebook’ her. As Thefacebook grows in popularity, Zuckerberg
expands the network to include Yale, Columbia, and Stanford universities. Lee hooks
up Saverin and Zuckerberg with Napster co-founder, Sean Parker (Justin
Timberlake) who pitches his plan to take ‘Facebook’ to new heights as a worldwide
platform for social contact. Under Parker’s auspices, Zuckerberg relocates his
fledgling company to Palo Alto, with Saverin stationed in New York to evolved and
grow the business model.
Parker’s verve to expand Facebook to two continents
allows Zuckerberg to have him stay at his home – also, Facebook’s headquarters.
The Winklevoss twins soon discover Facebook’s aggressive expansion into Oxford,
Cambridge and LSE, and decide to sue Zuckerberg for theft of intellectual
property. On the home front, Saverin freezes Facebook’s bank accounts in
retaliation to Parker’s aggressive stance within the company, relenting only
after Zuckerberg reveals an investment of $500,000 secured from angel investor,
Peter Thiel (Wallace Langham). Alas, this dilutes Saverin’ shares in
Facebook from 34 to barely 0.03% while maintaining the ownership percentages of
all the other stakeholders. Vowing to sue Zuckerberg, Saverin is ejected from
the company and his name stricken from the records as co-founder. However, when
Parker is nailed for cocaine possession, Zuckerberg severs their relationship
too. In separate depositions, the Winklevosses claim Zuckerberg absconded with
their brainchild, while Saverin asserts his shares were unfairly devalued to force
him from the company. Counsel for the defense, Marylin Delpy (Rashida Jones) quietly
orchestrates a deal with Saverin, suggesting to Zuckerberg the sordid details
of his company’s founding, and his own arrogance is enough to tank them at
trial. Retiring from the fray, Zuckerberg sends a Facebook ‘friend’ request to
Albright, then, repeatedly refreshes the page.
The Social Network is an intriguing
take on Zuckerberg’s incredible rise to prominence as one of the richest men in
the world. Is any of it true? Well, as the ad campaign suggests, “You don’t
get to a million friends without making a few enemies along the way!” And,
personal opinion of course, but the real Mark Zuckerberg, like a bug meant to
be squashed, has always made my skin crawl. Apparently, there were more than a handful of
like-minded individuals, eager to believe the worst about Facebook’s founder.
On a relatively average budget of $40 million, The Social Network went
on to rake in a whopping $224 million, as well as garnering critical praise. To
be sure, the movie is skillfully assembled, with Fincher’s darkly purposed
panache and Sorkin’s scathing screenplay doing most of the heavy lifting here. Sorkin’s attraction to the project had nothing
to do with the technological end, but rather the age-old acumens of artful drama
based upon the themes of greed, corruption, jealousy and power. Unable to draw
entirely upon Mezrich’s book, as it was actually being written in tandem with
the screenplay, Sorkin instead immersed himself in personal research and interviewing
actual participants, who asked for, and received, total anonymity for their
participation. Nominated for 8 Oscars, The Social Network won in three
lesser categories - Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Original Score, and Best Film
Editing.
Sony Home Entertainment proves yet again, as though
proof were required, that under the management of Senior VP Grover Crisp, they
remain at the forefront of digital mastering. It’s not so surprising, given
Sony’s technological inventiveness in the realm of movie-making over the last
40 years – developing new lenses, improved digital technologies, and other
processing and editing software to have streamlined picture-making and truly taken
‘the movies’ into the 21st century with a bang. Sony, alas, has
inherited one of the problem children of the industry – the old Columbia
catalog, not always in the best of hands under former management, and, in many
cases, working backwards from decades of crude neglect to have sincerely
threatened the entire back catalog with complete annihilation from the
unforgiving hands of time. Virtually all of the movies contained within this
set have been afforded the proverbial bells and whistles necessary to resurrect
both image and sound quality to optimal levels, in some cases from the edge of
extinction. On Anatomy of a Murder, Mr. Crisp and company were working
from a photochemical restoration conducted by Cinetech in the mid-1990s,
grappling with duplicate negatives that had been spliced into the original
master long ago, and for which, seemingly no alternative – nee, better –
sources existed. Even the fine grains were made from duplicate negatives,
leaving the source in third-generation limbo. Scanning both 35mm original
negatives and duplicates at 4K at Cineric in New York, and fine tuning the
process later at Prasad – a digital image restoration house – with Deluxe Audio
Services overseeing a new Atmos mix from original mono stems has yielded a
miraculous re-discovery of Preminger’s finely wrought melodrama. The grey scale
here is superb, with clarity virtually unseen anywhere on home video before.
Contrast is bang on perfect, with only several sequences retaining a residual
and inescapable softness. Film grain is
exceptionally nuanced and fine detail could scarcely be better. This is a
stunningly handsome B&W image with subtle adjustments to the ambiance of
the courtroom antics and classy Duke Ellington score, now lent an astonishing
aural clarity to truly bring the film into focus for the modern generation.
On Oliver! the challenges involved a mid-1990’s
photochemical restoration at the Academy Film Archive derived from a severely
compromised 35mm original camera negative. The work then was conducted with 2-missing
reels replaced by even more down-graded dupe negatives made from black and
white Technicolor separation masters. Again, Cineric was called in to do the
heavy lifting in 4K, cribbing from a newly discovered mid-70’s 35mm interpositive
derived from the OCN. With new color grading from Roundabout Entertainment, and
re-framing to match the original theatrical presentation, the work was then
handed over to Sony to create new audio separation masters to isolate, restore
and then recombine the soundtrack into a new 5.1 Atmos, maintaining fidelity in
dialogue, score and sound effects. Oliver!’s subtle color palette looks
absolutely marvelous now. Gone is the faded, soft quality that afflicted the
drab early scenes in the workhouse and the snowy exchange, where Oliver Twist
is sold by Mr. Seacombe into servitude. Colors here are restrained and
excellent. Contrast is solid and fine details abound. Blacks are never entirely
deep, leaning more to deep gray, but serviceable. Film grain is appropriately
placed and close-ups reveal a shocking amount of fine detail.
Taxi Driver’s debut in 4K
has been a long time coming. The work was, in fact, done in 2011, with a
thorough photochemical restoration first to have taken place back in 1996; Sony,
then partnering with MoMA to achieve impressive results. Fifteen years later,
Sony revisited their efforts yet again, cribbing from an OCN in 4K employing a
then experimental wet-gate process at Cineric, with digital files later shipped
to Colorworks with the film’s original cinematographer, Michael Chapman giving
the work his critical once over. MTI Film was called in to do extensive clean-up,
repairing torn and damaged frames and removing decades of imbedded dirt and scratches,
using a 35mm interpositive for their inspiration. At this juncture, Scorsese lent
his appraisal to the work. In addition, Sony was to discover original audio
stems of Bernard Herrmann’s ominous score, recorded in stereo at The Burbank
Studios, making a true 4-track stereo version – as opposed to a re-channeled
mono - possible for the very first time.
On Stripes, Sony became involved in restoring 2
cuts – the theatrical and extended – using an original 35mm camera negative as
their point of embarkation. For the extended cut, additional work was required
to remove more age-related dirt and scratches, with Sony again relying on
Cineric to produce a high quality 4K scan, later given over to Roundabout for
color correction. And again, Sony has gone the extra mile to remaster Stripes
in Dolby Atmos, creating a handsome stereo experience from original mono stems,
restored separately, then recombined for a true 3-track stereo. On Sense and
Sensibility, Sony derived inspiration from the meticulous efforts poured
into its 2012 4K remastering effort, applying additional due diligence to tweak
opticals and finesse further the minute scratches and dirt which became more
prominent in 4K but would have gone virtually unnoticed in standard def. The 5.0
theatrical was retained, but given a slightly sweetened remaster, maintaining its
frontal sounding, dialogue-driven sound mix. Finally, for The Social Network,
a film barely 10 years out the gate and shot digitally, while no ‘restoration’
was necessary, minor tweaking was done to incorporate the vast improvements
made to HDR in the interim, to improve – if not heighten or change – the original
color design of the visuals. Ditto for
the sound mix, given a subtler Atmos upgrade from its original and highly
nuanced 5.1 Dolby Digital.
I have to say, all of the movies in this set are highly
impressive. Less impressive, at least for me, are the extras – a real mixed bag,
beginning with Sony’s inclusion of an ‘extra’ Blu-ray, housed in a non-descript
black pouch attached to the back of its handsome, hard-cover bound collector’s
book. This contains 20 shorts from the studio’s back catalog. But the choices
made are curious indeed. The Three Stooges – Columbia’s bread and butter
throughout the 1930’s and 40’s, and, an enduring comedy trio whose reputations
have only ripened with age, are afforded only one offering here; 1936’s riotous
Disorder in the Court, while Charley Chase – an imminent presence in his
day, though barely remembered now, is afforded 2 shorts: 1937’s Man Bites
Lovebug, and 1939’s The Sap Takes a Wrap. There’s also cartoon
shorts to be had here, though arguably none have the staying power of a vintage
Tom & Jerry or Looney Tunes; the best of the lot here, Stage
Door Magoo (1955) – one from the Mr. Magoo franchise. Sony has done their
utmost to restore and remaster all of these shorts in standard hi-def and the
results should surely not disappoint.
We need to point out that none of the extras afforded
on Criterion’s Blu-ray for Anatomy of a Murder have survived this 4K
release, so, if you already own that edition, you’ll want to keep it closely
guarded, but still upgrade here for a far superior visual presentation of the
movie itself. Sony’s extras on Preminger’s classic are distilled to a new
commentary from Foster Hirsch, and separate interviews with Hirsch, Gary
Giddens and Pat Kirkham, along with a theatrical trailer. Virtually none of
these extras are housed on the 4K disc, but the Blu-ray version – also available
herein. On Oliver!, Sony has managed to claw back the extras it lent out
to Twilight Time for the standard Blu-ray from 2012. So, herein – on Blu-ray
only – we get them regurgitated for your consideration – a commentary from
Steven C. Smith, Jack Wild’s screen test, and vintage featurettes, a
sing-a-long/dance-a-long option, and trailers. On Taxi Driver, Sony has included the 40-min.
making of documentary, storyboards, photo gallery and 20th
anniversary trailer on the actual 4K disc. On the Blu-ray, it adds 2
commentaries, one from Scorsese, the other from Paul Schrader and professor, Robert
Kolker, plus all of the goodies previously afforded Taxi Driver’s
Blu-ray release, including a featurette starring Scorsese, and featurettes on
producing, back-stories, the New York of 1976 and influences and appreciations,
plus the original theatrical trailer.
Stripes’ 4K disc
contains both theatrical and extended editions, a trailer and a retrospective
with Bill Murray and Ivan Reitman. The Blu-ray, in addition, includes an audio
commentary from Reitman and Dan Goldberg on the extended cut only, plus separate
deleted scenes, the 1983 TV version of the movie, and a vintage documentary on
the making of the movie. Sense and Sensibility’s 4K offers no extras at
all. But the Blu-ray contains virtually all the goodies that have accompanied
every Sony release since DVD, with featurettes devoted to cast, crew and
production design, plus 2 separate audio commentaries from Emma Thompson and
Lindsay Doran, the other from Ang Lee and co-producer, James Schamus. There are
also featurettes covering Austen, the creation of the wardrobe and an
appreciation for Lee. We also get deleted scenes, domestic and international
trailers. What’s missing here is Emma Thompson’s Golden Globe acceptance speech
which, frankly, was a real hoot, as Ms. Thompson accepted the award for Best
Screenplay by presuming to interpret what Austen herself might have made of
both the movie and the evening. Aside: I really don’t know why this charming
speech was left off this disc. Finally, The Social Network’s 4K contains
no special features. However, its Blu-ray version houses considerable swag
ported over from its previous release: 2 audio commentaries – one featuring
David Fincher, the other, Aaron Sorkin and the cast, plus an extensive making
of documentary divided into four parts and covering the conception and making
of this movie from every conceivable angle. Bottom line: Depending on one’s
thoughts, the Columbia Classics 4K Ultra HD Collection: Volume 2 is
either another reason to rejoice or scratch the head regarding choices made
about the ‘classic’ status of some of the movies housed herein. While Sony has
independently released a true classic like The Guns of Navarone to 4K
rather than house it in this handsomely mounted box set, but has included The
Social Network, as though to infer it somehow bests a movie like ‘Navarone’
is a bizarre marketing decision I continue to find baffling. Regardless, Sony
has paid each movie in this set much consideration, time and effort to ensure
optimal quality has been achieved for generations to come. But please, Sony –
for future sets – if they are, in fact, yet to follow – more, deep catalog is
required: Lost Horizon, A Man for All Seasons, The Talk of the Town,
Nicholas and Alexandra, Tootsie, Annie, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Howards End,
The Remains of the Day, Gilda, and, Cover Girl to start!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the
best)
Anatomy of a Murder 5+
Oliver! 4
Taxi Driver 4
Stripes 3.5
Sense and Sensibility 5+
The Social Network 3.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
Overall
4.5
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