laying down the law

a resounding cry of "yes! finally!" went out across the land this week as the criterion collection released a feature-packed edition of erle c. kenton's masterpiece, island of lost souls (1932). this first, and still greatest, adaptation of h.g. wells' the island of doctor moreau has never seen a dvd release until now. for collectors of classic horror cinema this represents a significant gap being filled. it is one of my favorite examples of pre-code filmmaking, regardless of genre, and one of the most unsettling films ever to come out of hollywood's golden age.

it is a forbidding and claustrophobic film from start to finish. it opens on the ocean, aboard the cargo ship covena, completely shrouded in fog, moves to an overgrown jungle and then into the zoo-like compound of the good doctor. there isn't a single significant setting that provides characters any room to move. it is suppression and control at every turn. navigating that initial fog bank, the steamer comes upon a derelict vessel carrying the lone survivor of a shipwreck, edward parker. he is taken aboard ship and nursed back to health. fighting through his fever, parker asks the doctor to send a wire on his behalf to his fiancée to let her know he is safe. plucked from the ocean, on the mend and equipped with a wireless, his fortunes seem to be on the upswing. "i'm in luck", he says. i don't know that i would go that far.

parker's intended receives the good news and is left to bide her time until they make it into port. meanwhile, back on board, parker runs afoul of the captain of the vessel. captain davies is transporting a virtual menagerie to an uncharted south sea island and seems to be little more than just another animal himself. already drunk and on edge, the captain lashes out at m'ling, the servant of the doctor who ministered to parker, knocking him unconscious. parker comes to m'ling's defense, returning the favor and knocking the captain out, as cold as a mackerel. rushing to m'ling's aid, parker notices something a little odd about the man - a pointed, fur-covered ear.

strange things are afoot. parker lays low at doctor montgomery's suggestion and soon they meet doctor moreau to transfer the cargo. completing the transfer, davies brutally throws parker overboard and he is now left in moreau's diabolical hands. echoing a shot from when parker was rescued, the camera pans across moreau's crew and it becomes startlingly clear that something is terribly wrong here. the crew is populated by lumbering sub-humans, blasphemous by their very existence. they haven't even made it to shore before moreau has developed a devilish plan. parker is going to come in very handy. they repair to his compound and an elegant meal only to have it interrupted by the first of many ugly and horrifying screams. parker returns to his room as the doctor puts his plan into action. he intends to introduce his greatest creation, lota, to parker and let nature take its course. lota and parker begin to get comfortable as moreau lingers in the shadows, watching his latest experiment with a voyeuristic satisfaction that seems hardly scientific. more screams erupt and parker abandons the court and spark to see just what can be making such horrific sounds. stumbling onto the house of pain, he finds moreau in mid-vivisection.

in a textbook example of frying pan/fire, parker takes lota and flees into the jungle, where they stumble onto a colony of more man-beasts. led by the sayer of the law, a perfectly tortured bela lugosi, these creatures waste no time in moving in on lota and parker but moreau quickly puts them in their place. playing the plantation owner to the hilt, moreau, whip in hand, has his subjugated creations recite the code by which he keeps them in thrall. according to the law, it is forbidden to eat meat, go on all fours or spill blood. "are we not men?!", the beasts intone repeatedly at lugosi's urging, asking a question that they don't actually know the answer to yet.

the half-man, half-cat out of the bag, moreau lays it all on the surgical table for parker. all animal life is tending toward human form, he theorizes. his plan is to strip away all of those thousands of years of evolution. through the miracle of modern science he has created this race of miserable, tortured hybrids out of lower animal forms. "do you know what it means to feel like god?", he asks parker as he slinks almost lasciviously around his laboratory, sickening grin bubbling up on his face. lota, his most successful experiment so far, will play eve to parker's adam in this hellishly inverted garden of eden. the seduction is almost complete when lota's panther origin begins to aggressively reassert itself. parker rockets past guilt at betraying his betrothed into full blown confused disgust as the implications of the bestiality he wants to commit settle on his brain. he threatens to expose moreau but it is idle at best, as moreau holds all the cards, it would seem. at least it seems so until parker's fiancée, ruth, shows up. she managed to secure passage to moreau's island and is intent on getting her man back. blinded to the inherent dangers of all these interlopers, all moreau can focus on is the next unspeakable experiment made possible by ruth's arrival. parker, with his troublesome knowledge, is no longer of consequence if he can simply mate ruth with one of his abominations. he wastes no time in putting that plan in motion but it goes awry and parker and company decide they can no longer wait. they must escape now. they send the captain who ferried ruth to moreau's island back to the ship but he is waylaid by one of moreau's things. moreau instructs the beast to kill the man, a direct violation of the law. it is the thread that begins moreau's unraveling. he has developed a beast with enough intelligence to understand his hypocrisy. this violation means one thing. law no more!

his abominations explode in open revolt as they begin to understand that he, too, can die. they pursue him into the compound and finally bring him to the house of pain where his hideous shrieks ring out as they use his own implements to cut him to ribbons while still alive. our protagonists use this opportunity to make good their escape and moreau's hell on earth literally burns to the ground behind them as they row to freedom, moreau's former assistant imploring them, "don't look back".

the great horror movies succeed often because of a perfectly sustained mood. the texas chain saw massacre (1974) is so effective because the entire second half is a raw nerve. it turns your cerebellum into a jangling fire alarm that simply does not stop. audition (1999) works so well because it sits in your stomach not like sickness, but the anticipation of sickness. it's that feeling where you try to kid yourself that if you just lay still and think of something cool it will all be alright when you know nothing could be further from the truth. this film succeeds because it is a seventy minute bruise. i don't know if i know another film that is so drenched in pain, definitely not one from this era. instead of glorious black and white it should be in purple and sickly yellow tinged with green. the stifling settings, the lack of a score, everything about it contributes to one prolonged howl of miserable agony. you have never heard screams like the screams you hear in this film. they are truly horrifying and heart-rendingly sad. they make you sick to your stomach because they impart such pain.

charles laughton is pitch perfect in the lead role. he is utterly charming and sadistic beyond measure. he takes the blasphemies that preceded him and obliterates them for sheer pleasure. the transgression of frankenstein (1931) is that henry frankenstein dared to know things beyond the scope of mortals. moreau is not satisfied with that. he must make it not only transgressive but perverse. forbidden knowledge is not enough. there must be immeasurable suffering as well. why on earth would this doctor elect to never use anaesthetic? he treats his creations with callous disregard, handling them like things, like meat. laughton is utterly convincing. there is a glee bordering on sexual euphoria that flashes in his eyes every time he strikes upon a new way to manipulate, miscegenate or amputate another cog in his diabolical machine. he is seductive and repulsive in equal measure. his ego is beyond control and yet he seems intimately acquainted with the idea that man's control over nature is tenuous and temporary, at best.

this movie hasn't lost a step. the potential for allegory abounds - old testament god/satan, british colonialism, american slaveholding, employer/employee relations and on and on. the wicked implications of moreau's methods and madness cast long, sick shadows over every mad scientist that followed in his wake. bestiality, rape, murder, eugenics - heady stuff, be it 1932 or 2011. at its core, though, it remains so powerful simply because it is so painful. the horror comes directly from that, undiluted.

i would have been thrilled for this to get a dvd release at all. no more scrambling around trying to record the occasional televison showing, no more need to employ dying vhs technology. to have criterion issue it, though, is a godsend. in addition to the pristine, uncut restoration it is full of treats. gregory mank contributes a commentary track with plenty of anecdotal delights. there is a conversation with john landis, rick baker and bob burns in which their enthusiasm for the film makes it possible to picture them as the kids who fell in love with movies far before there was even an inkling that it might become their profession. there is an extended interview with david j. skal, one of my favorite horror film historians. richard stanley, originally slated to direct the version that was eventually completed in 1996 by john frankenheimer, gets out his scalpel and dissects what exactly went wrong with that whole process. my favorite feature, though, is the interview with gerald casale and mark mothersbaugh of devo about what a profound impact the film had on them. i, as i am sure a number of other geeks can, relate to their story on a number of levels: the thrill of discovery via the local late night horror host, the encouraging feeling that someone else is speaking your language, the way things that find you like this have a way of taking on a significance you could never expect. if you have been lucky enough to have an experience like this, it's easy to relive as they describe theirs. the whole package makes for great viewing and great fun. this one is essential.

look what the cat dragged in

the criterion collection have outdone themselves this halloween season with a pair of dvds that are absolute musts for fans of classic horror cinema. in this first of two reviews, i want to talk to you folks about their freshly-minted release of kaneto shindō's kuroneko (1968).

based on a japanese folk tale called the cat's revenge, this is an evocative and beautifully photographed tale of supernatural retribution during a period of civil war. it opens with a sedate, static shot of a solitary house on the edge of a farming village. winds ruffle the tall grasses and the only sound is that of insects. almost imperceptibly, a ragged band of starving samurai creep out of the surrounding forest. entering the house, they find the two women who live there in mid-meal. the samurai avail themselves of whatever food they want and then proceed to brutally rape and kill the women. shot from exaggerated angles in closeup, the samurai are transformed into leering, murderous grotesques. their bushidō code is a sham, as they are no more concerned with the sanctity of innocent lives as they are with stealing a few grains of rice. satiated, they leisurely wander back into the forest, as if this is all in a day's work. we return to the same static shot of the house and field, this time only to have the frame begin to fill with smoke, as the samurai have also set fire to the house. a scene that was, just moments ago, idyllic is now ghastly. it is a shocking burst of sexual violence, a sickening and brutal reminder of how quickly fortunes can turn, especially in a region beset by war and strife.

in the wake of this destruction, a black cat wanders through the wreckage of the burned house, lapping at the wounds of the dead women. it is a harbinger of the terrible fate that will soon be visited upon all samurai who have the misfortune to travel through this grove. the spirits of the dead women make an unholy pact with the god of evil to return as deadly spirits and feast upon the blood of every samurai in the world. in the guise of noblewomen, they haunt the rajomon gate, luring one samurai after another into their ritual of seduction, then complete destruction. this sequence of the film is captivating. the spirits are introduced to us as they come tumbling through the air, balletically flying about the heads of their intended victims. asking for escort through the grove, they lure one traveler after another to their home. once ensconced in their abode - a house adrift in a fog-shrouded, bamboo netherworld - they ply the samurai with sake and the promise of pleasures of the flesh. guard sufficiently lowered, the samurai soon have their throats ripped out and their bodies litter the countryside.

oh, how the tables have turned. we see this deadly ritual repeated several times in this beautifully edited section of the film, each time performed with a little more speed and ruthlessness, until things reach a fever pitch and the governor must send for a champion to dispatch these foul spirits.

that hero is gintoki of the grove, whom we first see locked in mortal combat of the david-and-goliath variety. proving his worth as the sole survivor of a bloody battle in the north, he is charged with dealing with the marauding spirits. upon visiting his home he discovers it burned to the ground. it turns out that the dead women are his mother and wife whom he hasn't seen since he was conscripted into service in the civil war, dragged straight from plowing his fields. he would seem to be the last honorable man in japan, having served bravely in the wars and also having avoided becoming bloated and arrogant like so many of the samurai the spirits have destroyed before him. he visits the rajomon gate and is soon met by the ghost of his dead wife. he escorts her home and partakes of their hospitality. stunned to find spirits that are so obviously his loved ones, he attempts to draw them out by telling them his story and how he fought desperately for years to return home. due to their vow to the god of the netherworld they cannot be as forthright. he does survive the night, however, something that cannot be said of his brethren. he returns to their home and the seduction ritual we have seen so many times begins once again, this time with an entirely different ending. it is he who wants to devour her. the young lovers are reunited and spend a week experiencing the joys they once knew.

the reunion is bittersweet, though, as his wife has broken her vow by letting him live. this gift of seven days comes with a high cost and in order to pledge her love in this way she has consigned herself to an eternity in hell. with his wife lost to him once again, a grief-stricken gintoki appeals to the governor to find someone else to finish the job. his mother has resumed killing, however, so the governor makes him an offer he can't refuse - destroy the spirit once and for all or be destroyed himself. it is now his turn to haunt the rajomon gate, waiting night after night until his mother returns. she eventually does, pleading to him to visit the home one last time to read her a sacred sutra, whereupon she will gladly descend into hell herself and put an end to this terrible cycle. all is not as it seems, however, and on the trek through the grove they do battle. gintoki takes the spirit's arm and returns to the governor with his vile trophy. gintoki then begins a week of ritual purification and prayer. throughout, he is taunted and tempted by his mother's vengeful spirit and finally deceived into letting the demon into this sacred space. there is a heated battle and she reclaims her arm.

he gives chase, returning to their home only to find it frustratingly empty. he stumbles impotently through the house, brandishing his sword at nothing and crying in anguish until he collapses, feverish and mad. the old homestead is now a funeral pyre that has claimed the entire family.

shindō is in wonderful form throughout, combining elements of traditional theatre, fable and expressionist cinema to deliver a beautiful, spare film that is an atmospheric marvel. on one level it is an eerie traditional tale of vengeful spirits, on another it is a thoughtful dissection of duty and love amidst the hypocrisy of traditional japanese social strata. shindō's agrarian background left him with little respect for the samurai class. throughout his body of work he is more than willing to dispel the myth of the samurai as noble and righteous. in his universe they are often corrupt, lustful and unjust and it is precisely these characteristics that lead to their undoing. setting the carnage amidst beautiful chiaroscuro lighting and nifty aerial trickery (it was shindō's first use of wire work), he has crafted one of the most lovely and nuanced ghost stories i have ever seen, ending up with a halloween treat that is as artistic as moralistic.

and, as usual, criterion ups the ante. their restoration has resulted in a transfer that is crisp and full of rich contrasts. the real treat, however, is the pair of interviews included in the special features. critic and film historian tadao sato has a brief segment in which he sheds some light on the cultural significance of japan's proclivity for cinematic ghosts and where kuroneko fits into the grand scheme of things. there is also a lengthy and wide-ranging discussion with shindō hosted by seijirō kōyama, shindō's assistant director on a number of films, including this one. it delves deeply into his ideology, working methods and personal history, offering the type of insight you don't often see in filmmaker interviews. particularly affecting, i thought, was the section in which the prolific shindō sought to do away with the notion that once you reach a certain point in your life you become peaceful, a contented and wise elder statesman. not so, says he. if you are vital you struggle to the end, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing, but always striving. i admire that a great deal. it is the inclusion of this type of material that always make criterion editions worth the investment - not just a beautiful film, well presented, but a richer understanding of the art and the artist. it's available in the states on dvd for the first time this week. i highly recommend you take advantage of this spooky delight this season.

the tramp's last stand

when it comes to silent film comedians, one debate will continue eternally - charlie chaplin versus buster keaton. chaplin, to me, is the beatles of this argument. virtuosic, precise, total. he also has that blasted sentimental streak. keaton, the rolling stones. he gets by - ahead, even - more on guts and guile. he's no slouch in the talent department either, he's just more about the heart than the head. he certainly was much more blues than tin pan alley. it may be stating the obvious, but i am an unabashed keaton guy, all the way. chaplin, although i always recognized his considerable skills, always just seemed so damned smug and self-satisfied. w.c. fields, who makes me laugh like no other single person on the planet, once said about chaplin, "he's the best ballet dancer that ever lived, and if i get a good chance i'll strangle him with my bare hands". while i wouldn't go that far, there was always a bit of a gulf between me and the man's work.

well, that gulf was bridged a great deal this week when the criterion collection released a stunning two-disc set of my favorite chaplin film, modern times (1936).

the film opens, appropriately enough, on a ticking clock. chaplin was certainly up against it. almost a decade into the sound era, anyone else would have been laughed out of town if they had stubbornly attempted to make a (nearly) silent film in 1936. time was running out for the little tramp, make no mistake. this would be the last time chaplin portrayed the character - the most universally known and loved cinematic figure in the world, at the time - on film and he certainly makes the most of it.

the film plays as a series of episodes, really, like a number of thematically linked two-reelers. chaplin's little tramp perseveres through each, enduring a number of indignities foisted upon him by the encroachment of the mechanized age. the socially conscious (and critical) tone is established right away as the opening credits fade in on a flock of sheep that quickly dissolves into a shot of workers coming up from the subway on their way to the factory. once inside, we find chaplin tightening bolts on an assembly line. right away, the choreography is noteworthy. it's a simple introduction, but his grace and cleverness are immediately evident. the toll of all this progress on the little man is evident, as well. it is easy to draw parallels between the burdens borne by chaplin's alter ego and the position he found himself in, professionally. the technological advances in talking pictures threatened to be his undoing, but his solutions to the problem were fairly ingenious, the spectacular sound design of this film being just one of them. amidst the static and whirring of modern industry, human voices are heard for the first time in a charlie chaplin movie but every one of them is via a transmission of some sort. intercoms, phonographs, closed circuit systems - every human sound is filtered through a device of some kind, every voice one step removed from humanity. it is a clever concession, indeed. and the human voice is just the beginning.

in the race to outdo competitors with more production and efficiency, a machine is brought in to feed the workers directly on the job. of course, the machine goes comically haywire and, not long after, the little tramp suffers a nervous breakdown on the assembly line, which, at one point literally swallows him. he has become, in no uncertain terms, just a cog in the machine. the worker is simply fodder for the industrialized era, to be devoured in the name of progress.

it drives the tramp around the bend. he ends up in the hospital to get his mind right and is released only to stumble right into another misadventure. again, chaplin's (sometimes muddled) politics that would come to full flower a few years later in the great dictator (1940) begin to peek through. he is mistaken for a labor agitator and thrown in jail. for the duration of the film, the tramp goes back and forth between the relative comfort of jail and a series of jobs that were obviously in short supply in the depression-era united states. all along the way, authorities threaten to impede his pursuit of happiness. those authorities, however, did not count on this film's secret weapon, paulette goddard.

the kid's a pip, i'll tell you. as the gamin, she is every bit chaplin's equal here. there's a light in her eyes that poverty and hunger cannot extinguish. i cannot think of a woman in the history of film that i would rather live by my wits with. that whole pursuit of happiness thing? she's game, and no lousy cop, pencil-pushing social worker or any other cheap chiseler is going to keep her from it. for the first time in chaplin's career, he had a co-star that was as exciting as he was inventive. she makes every scene work that much better. the roller skating sequence in the department store isn't just thrilling and funny, with her on hand it's poignant also. and late in the film, when we finally hear chaplin's voice on camera for the first time ever (the only voice in the film that's not a transmission), she seems crucial to me. it feels like the line between life and art blurs right there and chaplin might not have been able to summon the courage to sing, a brilliant routine too, if it weren't for her moral support. this indispensable chemistry was a result of their close relationship offscreen, as goddard was chaplin's common-law wife for a number of years, and his camera never made her less than radiant. he afforded her things, including his trademark finale, that no other acting partner of his had ever gotten and, as a result, ended up with the best picture of his career. it's a valuable lesson for all of us, auteurs or not - the important things are often better when you share them with someone.

paulette goddard - no yoko.

the film was already my favorite chaplin, by a mile - long on inventive sights and sounds, relatively light on treacle, the undeniable spark goddard brought to the proceedings - but criterion's work on this is just lights out. it has turned a film i simply liked a great deal into one i can now say i love, one of my dvd releases of the year. the restored transfer is as crisp as if the film was just made and i can't say enough about the special features. with criterion, the features are almost always great but they outdid themselves this time. if you watch this edition of the film without taking advantage of these extras you are just straight up cheating yourself. there's an insightful commentary track, trailers, a two-reeler that gives you more of chaplin's mastery on roller skates and home movies. in particular, a pair of visual essays plus a feature on the sound design and visual effects provided me with a depth of understanding of chaplin's work i had not had previously. the hanging miniatures chaplin employed were fascinating, both for their effectiveness and subtle sophistication. a dissection of the aforementioned roller skating sequence left me even more impressed than i already was with it.

most importantly, though, i have a better grasp of chaplin's devotion to his medium and am staggered by the amount of effort and ingenuity he demonstrated as performer, writer, director, producer and composer. i send a sincere thanks to criterion. their work turned simple enjoyment into true appreciation.

and, yes, that makes harold lloyd the kinks.

shadows and fog

i just started digging into the new 3 silent classics by josef von sternberg box from the criterion collection this week. the set contains underworld (1927), the genesis of the gangster film genre, the last command (1928), one of emil jannings' greatest performances, and the film i wanted to talk about today, the docks of new york (1928).

the plot is simple, pure melodrama. bill roberts, a stoker on overnight leave from his ship, has it in mind to prowl the docks of new york for an evening's revelry. almost as soon as he sets foot on land, though, a wrench is thrown into the works. mae, a denizen of the docks with a less than savory reputation, throws herself into the drink in an attempt to end it all. bill rescues her, finds her shelter and they begin a whirlwind courtship that ends with them getting married in the sandbar, a dive if ever there was one. jealousy enters the picture in the form of andy, third engineer on bill's ship and bill's superior. andy is enamored of mae, even though he is married, and, in the final act, makes unwanted advances on her. lou, andy's long-suffering wife, follows him to mae's room and puts a couple of slugs in him. bill, his leave at its end, goes back to his ship but can't get mae out of his head. he jumps overboard and swims back to shore just in time to find mae in the dock (get it?), up on charges for stealing the clothes she is wearing. it turns out, bill actually swiped them for her so she could have something dry to put on after he pulled her out of the harbor. he confesses and gets tossed in the clink for six months but not before mae says she'll wait for him.

pretty standard stuff in 1928. pretty standard stuff now, for that matter. melodrama doesn't tend to change an awful lot. we're not here for the story, though. we are here for how it's told. there is an intersection of talent here that resulted in what is possibly the last great film of silent cinema. just a year prior, the jazz singer (1927), ushered in the era of the talking picture. al jolson's voice sounded as the death knell for the silent form. unfortunate, in a way, because if you look at the list of silents produced in 1928 it is painfully evident that these filmmakers were just beginning to hit their stride. in a number of ways, craftsmanship went out the window for a while with the introduction of sound and people seemed to be settling for the novelty of it without caring about much else. the docks of new york certainly provides a stunning document of what was sacrificed.

practically every frame is masterfully composed. cinematographer harold rosson and set designer hans dreier complemented von sternberg's vision of the docks by shrouding it in a nearly impenetrable fog and providing expressionistic backdrops that combine to make it almost otherworldly.

that's no mean feat, to pull off this level of artistry and still maintain the reputation for realism in social drama that von sternberg had. i don't think i can overemphasize just how much there is to look at in almost every shot. it's all done with great economy and style. what would be overly busy in less talented hands is rich with necessary detail here. even the scenes in the sandbar, riotous and calamitous as they are, take advantage of the little details.

in this pivotal scene, which revolves exclusively around the two principles, you can observe what is happening in the room via the mirror. it's action that would have been easy to imply with sound, but vital to portray in silent cinema. nothing that will allow you to immerse yourself in the experience is left out or half-done. there is a staggering amount of technique on display but it never feels like an exercise.

all of that said, though, you can't sell melodrama without a fair dose of humanity and the cast also transcends the material as written. george bancroft is fine as bill. you never have any doubt that he is, as he puts it, "just a dirty stoker". barrel-chested, not exactly refined, he enjoys nothing more than squeezing all the life out of an overnight leave. olga baclanova inhabits lou's skin about as well as a woman could. she can booze and brawl with the best of this lot and she's had just about enough of you, buddy. and then there's betty compson. every glance is shot through with resignation. every breath is a capitulation. she is carrying the weight, to be sure.

but it's not just her. it's everyone. every single character that lives, drinks, fights and loves on the docks carries that weight. they don't want pity for it. it's their lot. maybe, for mae, bill is her brass ring. the kid's got to take her shot, right? so they get married, why not? like light on water, throughout this seventy-five minutes, you see these glimmers of hope, even though everyone down here knows better. you see it when the pastor performs the ceremony in spite of himself because he sees how much it means to mae. even though every movement is rough and brusque, there is tenderness in the way they talk to each other forged out of a shared desperation. the characters lack the sophistication to even express it but somehow they manage. the fact that we all know it's going to come to nothing, most especially mae, only makes it that much more poignant.

it's a shame it all had to end.

another iron in the fire

i apologize to you folks that are getting this news multiple times with all of our cross-pollination here but we're kind of excited about getting the word out about our new enterprise.

my friend, bobby munoz, and i are starting a new podcast called criterion by the numbers. it will be an examination and appreciation of the films in the criterion dvd library starting with spine number 1, jean renoir's the grand illusion (1937) and, honestly, just going as far as we can. as of this posting, they are at spine number 534 and are releasing titles at a steady clip so we doubt we'll cover the whole thing but we will do our damndest to get as far as we can.

the goal is pretty much like what we do here at vitagraph, american. we'd like to encourage discussion among the folks who are already familiar with these films. revisit them with us, discover something you might have missed or confirm suspicions long-held, check in on old friends. for people who might not have had a chance to see them we hope our enthusiasm for these films encourages newcomers to find out exactly what is so great about the work the criterion collection does. with any luck, there will be a little something for everyone.

episode 000 is up now. it's just a little introduction so you can get to know us a bit. give it a listen if you have time and please feel free to pass it along to any friends you think might be interested. comments and email, as always, are encouraged and appreciated.

thanks for tuning in.

cover me

during the course of an average workday i see a lot of dvd cover art. usually, at this point in this recurring feature we heap derision upon the lame, tired and utterly safe art/design that graces the covers of about 95 percent of the dvds that are manufactured. the wretched sameness that permeates the industry is of epidemic proportions. all the more reason we should celebrate the handful of people that slip those surly bonds. today we take a blessed detour from the usual.

eric skillman is a graphic designer, illustrator, comic artist and art director who does a great deal of work for the criterion collection and i think what he does is first rate. here are a few samples of some of his finished covers, alternate takes and accompanying art.

clearly, this stuff is head and shoulders above what you see lining the shelves of your average rental chain. his design work alone is reason for us to celebrate him but he goes that one better. he writes a great blog called cozy lummox in which he offers a great deal of background and insight into the entire design process. you'll get to see alternate versions, the evolution of the design, some scrapped bad ideas. it's a treasure trove for folks who geek out equally over film and graphic design. i recommend you read it regularly, but if you just want to start by checking out what goes into making some of these covers here are some direct links to some particular favorites of mine.

stagecoach (1939)

che (2008)

revanche (2008)

the spy who came in from the cold (1965)

blast of silence (1961)

berlin alexanderplatz (1980)

clean, shaven (1993)

an angel at my table (1990)

it's nice to know he's out there, fighting the good fight. better still, he lets us in on how it works. let this provide you consolation in your hour of darkness, starring ashley judd and morgan freeman.

trailer tuesday

this week's entry is for one of the absolute essentials of world cinema - jean cocteau's la belle et la bête (1946).

surrealist poet paul éluard said to truly understand cocteau's rendition of beauty and the beast you must love your dog more than your car. i think he was 100 percent right. it is pure movie magic in the truest sense of the phrase. very few films transport me, but this one has never lost its power to do so. i hope it never does. i think it is a wonder.

you can read a little more about it and order a copy here. there are two options, in fact. if you don't care to have the commentary tracks and bonus features, criterion offers a stripped down version from its essential art house line that's half the price. this is one of a handful of must-own films, in my estimation. it has rewarded me over and over again. i hope it will do the same for you.

come on up to the hausu

dear lord, i don't even know where to start with this thing.

janus films is currently touring a print of nobuhiko obayashi's hausu (1977) to select theaters around the country in advance of a rumoured dvd release on criterion in early september. we are lucky enough to have it this week in austin at the alamo drafthouse. there's really nothing i can say to accurately describe this film to you. just forget everything you know about how a movie should be made and give in to the mad logic that exists nowhere else except the 88 minutes captured within.

it starts off simply enough. a group of schoolgirls, after a disappointing change in plans, decide to go to one of the girls' aunt's house for summer vacation to have an idyllic getaway in the countryside. now, when i say simply enough, you have to understand that by this point i have already accepted the conditions obayashi has laid out for us. for, in this seemingly simple introduction, he has already thrown every visual trick in the cinematic book at us - stop motion, all manner of dissolves, fades and wipes, inexplicable slow motion, iris in/out - not to mention aborted musical numbers and a stepmother who apparently takes a wind machine everywhere she goes. take all that and cram it into an early 80's sitcom, a la the facts of life and you're beginning to get a general idea.

then it gets weird.

unfortunately, this bunch's mrs g. isn't nearly as nice. turns out the girl's aunt is the ghost of cannibal witch. yeah, i said it. as soon as the girls arrive it doesn't take long for the fat one to disappear. but don't worry. she shows up again.

and, wouldn't you know it, she's still hungry.

the girls each begin to suffer increasingly bizarre fates at the hands of this demonic house, all seemingly instigated by blanche, the aunt's supernaturally gifted cat - possessions, made into clocks, eaten by lamps. poor melody suffers the most ironic punishment, though. the piano decides to make a snack of her as she plays the lilting theme music of the film.

apparently, having a murderous steinway chomp off most of your fingers is only mildly interesting. at worst, it is just confusing. you don't really worry about it until it takes one off at the wrist.

goodbye, carnegie hall! toss in a tidal wave of cat's blood and a scene with their would-be rescuer, mr. togo, that is simply bananas and you're in the home stretch. a little denouement with stepmom and her wind machine and all is in its proper place.

in a nutshell, you simply have to see it to believe it. you'll certainly never see anything else like it, i am certain of that. it is a genre of one. most folks will have to wait until the dvd release in september, but if you are lucky enough to live in one of the cities where it will be playing over the next couple of months, i recommend you catch it in the theater. this much lunacy is a bargain at any price, much less the cost of one movie ticket. it will be an experience unlike any other you've had. take a friend!

the harmony of overwhelming and collective murder

this is my favorite segment from les blank's burden of dreams (1982), the documentary he made about the production of werner herzog's fitzcarraldo (1982). herzog's earnestness borders on lunacy at times and this was absolutely necessary to complete a project beset with so many perils. lesser men would have given up, saner men would have never even started.

there are any number of things to discuss at length regarding these films but today what i am focused on is the value in following your muse even when your muse threatens you with your ultimate destruction. if you have that sort of fortitude, and you live to tell the tale, you find out things that very few people are privy to.

you can find fitzcarraldo either in a regular, single-disc edition or in werner herzog and klaus kinski: a film legacy, which is worth every damn penny. watch it first, then burden of dreams, which you can get at any online retailer worth their salt or directly from the criterion collection.