Not Coming to a Theater Near You
You know him?”
“Not socially. His name’s Jaws, he kills people.
In the past three years, the “Extended Editions” of each subsequent title in the Lord of the Rings trilogy have been routinely and subsequently lauded in year-end lists—The Return of the King, expectedly, is the current bearer of praise. I can acknowledge the quality of these titles; it’s merited that this format is used to exhibit aspects of a film’s production, history, and in this case mythology so thoroughly. But until this year the “Extended Edition” was solely nominated to Peter Jackson’s trilogy—that is until Anchor Bay’s release of George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead.
The film was co-distributed between director George Romero and Dario Argento. Romero’s original cut (disc 2) debuted at Cannes, and was subsequently cut for its American theatrical exhibition (disc 1). Argento was allowed to cut the European cut of the film (disc 3), and his version is markedly different: Goblin’s (Suspiria; Tenebre) synthesizer score is more abundant, and Argento has noticeably different preferences in editing; his version has less ambience, less humor, and more fluorescent blood. The final disc in the set includes the legendary making-of documentary Document of the Dead, a new documentary of interviews with the cast and crew, and a tour of the Monroeville Mall.
Dawn of the Dead has undoubtedly a smaller audience than the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Such disparity illustrates my preference for this set: that it is treated (and packaged) in the same manner as a contemporary blockbuster, although its cost would not likely cover the catering expenses of the more famous trilogy. There are at least a dozen of titles remaining in Anchor Bay’s horror library that deserve the same treatment.
Dawn of the Dead: The Ultimate Edition
Anchor Bay Entertainment
Full Review
Distinct subgenres become identifiable to the viewer as he becomes familiar with Westerns, and they are predominantly aspects of style: John Ford’s archetypal shootouts (which my colleagues seem to prefer) are at one end of the spectrum, with Sam Peckinpah’s scattershot editing at the other. Paramount in terms of style in Westerns, in my opinion, is that of Sergio Leone.
Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West made our top-ten last year, and it is eclipsed—or, at least, paralleled—by MGM’s two-disc reissue of Leone’s uncontested masterpiece, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. The DVD edition follows the 2003 restoration of the film, which includes additional footage—Clint Eastwood and Eli Wallach, even, lent their voices to record additional dialogue in the film. It may be routinely aired on AMC (I’ve even found it on Telemundo), but once Ennio Morricone’s legendary score emanates from a 5.1 setup, you’re captivated for the next three hours.
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
MGM
Full Review
To be fair, Freaks’ debut on Region 1 DVD is somewhat of a mediocre package in comparison to the multi-disc sets that populate this feature. In this case, I’m incapable of ignoring my affinity for a film in order to evaluate the DVD?s technical or supplemental merits. The transfer, which is fine, is identical to the previous VHS edition, the documentary is, at times, irrelevant, and I’ve yet to sit through the commentary entirely, but nothing diminishes the scandal of Tod Browning’s - and, I would say, the 1930s’ - best film.
Freaks
Warner Home Video
Full Review
This year saw both of Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dali’s surrealist films released in two regions. The R2 BFI release contains both films, commentaries on each by Robert Short, and A Proposito de Buñuel (available on Criterion’s The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie). The Region 1 editions are somewhat more fruited: Kino’s L’Age D’Or contains only Short’s commentary, whereas newcomer Transflux Films’ release of Un Chien Andalou comes in a noticeably robust package that contains interviews with Juan-Luis Buñuel (his son), commentary by Stephen Barber, and a booklet transcript of a speech given by Buñel in 1953 which accurately summates the timeless power of his short film:
A film acts directly upon the spectator, presenting him with concrete people and things; in the silence and darkness of the theater, it isolates him from what we might call his normal psychic habitat. For these reasons, it can stimulate him more effectively than any other form of human expression. It can also more effectively stultify him.
L’Age d’Or
Kino Video
Un Chien Andalou
Transflux Films
Robbie Müller’s detached camera roams an anonymous yet distinctly American desert landscape, and we come upon its singular inhabitant, Harry Dean Stanton’s disheveled yet unnecessarily kempt estranged father. This scenario is but one in Paris, Texas’ wealth of uniquely beautiful and austere images that resemble those in no other film—it is a dynamic experience in that it can be listened to (its final act is remarkable, and delivered entirely in monologues), but also watched for its lush visuals.
The film arrived on Region 1 DVD with virtually no fanfare—its amazon.com listing, even, includes no cover art and no mention of its supplementary features, including a director’s commentary and a reel of deleted scenes. A port of the Anchor Bay R2 disc and retailing at under ten dollars, Paris, Texas’ unjustifiably low price is exceptional if only it may entice more to see it.
Paris, Texas
Fox
Full Review
