VOD/Virtual Cinema/Streaming/In-Theater Releases of the Week 

How a newly-widowed dairy farmer overcomes her grief and stands up to a corrupt local co-op monopoly is the captivating subject of Icelandic director-writer Grímur Hákonarson’s droll drama, which rarely forces its pertinent points about injustice and community.

 

 

Of course, Hákonarson is greatly assisted by Arndís Hrönn Egilsdóttir’s remarkably unself-conscious portrayal of his heroine Inga, whose journey to independence is accompanied by an almost miraculous transformation, as she positively glows as her battle against a true Goliath reaches its climax.

 

 

 

 

 

Limbo 

In this comic misadventure about Omar, a Syrian refugee awaiting asylum while living on a remote Scottish island, writer-director Ben Sharrock’s deadpan style meshes well with the absurdity of Omar’s predicament—at least for a while.

 

 

Would that Sharrock wasn’t content to simply run in circles: we get a stultifyingly inordinate amount of time at a culture awareness class (run by the effortlessly charming Sidse Babett Knudsen, who’s unfortunately wasted in the one-note teacher role) and a melancholy but near-happy ending blatantly underlined by the film frame opening up from a confined, square aspect ratio to spacious widescreen. Still, there’s much to admire, especially the stoically dignified Amir El-Masry as Omar. 

 

 

 

 

 

My Wonderful Wanda 

Breathing glorious and funny new life into such a well-worn trope as the haves vs. the half-nots, Swiss director Bettina Oberli hits the right emotional, dramatic and comic buttons in this delightfully skewered story about a poor Polish woman who, while working as a caretaker for the patriarch of a mega-rich family, contrives to insure that she receives a handsome payout.

 

 

Admittedly, Oberli’s solution for her heroine is the ultimate contrivance but it’s done artfully and drolly—as well as acted to a fare-thee-well by Agnieszka Grochowska as the eponymous heroine, André Jung as the patriarch, the redoubtable Marthe Keller as the matriarch and Birgit Minichmayr and Jacob Matschenzas their adult children, all ludicrous but also very real.

 

 

 

 

 

Paris Calligrammes 

In this magnum opus, German avant-gardist Ulrike Ottinger remembers the beginnings of her long and varied artistic career through the prism of the city that beckoned to her, whose juxtaposition of art and politics helped inform and transform her own artistic inclinations for the next half-century.

 

 

Narrated in English by Jenny Agutter—there’s a French version is narrated by Fanny Ardant and Ottinger herself narrates the German version—Paris Calligrammes is a wonderfully vital journey even for those barely aware (or fully unaware) of the filmmaker, whose biggest arthouse title, 1989’s Joan of Arc of Mongolia, is barely remembered.

 

 

 

 

 

Blu-ray Releases of the Week 

The classic Irving Berlin musical about sharpshooter Annie Oakley was a huge Broadway hit in 1946, followed four years later by George Sidney’s colorful if bumpy film adaptation.

 

 

Betty Hutton is an indefatigable Annie, Howard Keel a perfect romantic foil and Louis Calhern a boisterous Bill Cody, but even with timeless Berlin tunes “There’s No Business Like Show Business” and “Doin’ What Comes Naturally,” the movie is too static; Robert Alton stages the musical numbers effectively, although “I Am an Indian, Too” will undoubtedly raise ire today, despite Hutton’s energetic performance. The film looks smashing in hi-def; extras include a 2000 DVD intro by Susan Lucci and several musical number outtakes, both video and audio-only.

 

 

 

 

 

Hercules and the Captive Women 

This exceedingly cheesy entry in the Hercules canon was released in Italy in 1961, then re-edited and released in the U.S. two years later. For those who are in the mood, it’s certainly entertaining enough, but with wooden acting and less-than-special special effects, it most likely won’t gain new adherents.

 

 

There’s a very good hi-def transfer; extras are the 1992 Mystery Science Theater 3000 (MST3K) airing, an intro by MST3K writer and co-star Frank Conniff, critic/screenwriter Tim Lucas commentary; and featurette Hercules and the Conquest of Cinema.

 

 

 

 

 

Masculin Feminin 

One of Jean-Luc Godard’s most revolutionary films (a famous title card refers to “The children of Marx and Coca-Cola”), this 1966 cinematic essay is now quaint, dated and only occasionally compelling. Jean-Pierre Leaud is as dislikable as ever and the adorable Chantal Goya has little screen presence, which makes their onscreen travails—as well as Godard’s usual visual/verbal asides and nonsense refrains—less than beguiling, as serious events are treated trivially and mundane things are blown up to larger than life.

 

 

Still, it paved the way to the following year’s masterpieces, 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her (when is that coming out on Blu-ray?) and Weekend. The B&W photography of Willy Kurant looks luminous in hi-def; extras comprise interviews with Goya, Kurant and Godard collaborator Jean-Pierre Gorin, footage of Godard from Swedish TV, and discussion of the film by two French critics.

 

 

 

 

These two beautifully programmed recital discs showcase the splendid artistry and radiant vocals of two of the best sopranos around today, both accompanied by the sensitive pianist, Joseph Middleton. Louise Alder’s beguiling French disc, Chere nuit, mixes several familiar melodies with a handful that are equally fine but less well-known; although I miss obvious classics like those of Faure and Chausson, Alder’s voice sounds so bright and elegant on everything from Ravel’s Sheherazade and Messiaen’s Trois Melodies to lovely miniatures by two female composers, Pauline Viardot and Cecile Chaminade; it’s a nice bonus to hear her tackle obscure songs by 20th century masters Poulenc and Satie.

 

Carolyn Sampson explores the music of Robert and Clara Schumann on Album fur die frau, setting up a dialogue between the husband-and-wife composers, with Robert’s masterly Frauenliebe und -leben as the jumping-off point for a give-and-take between the couple that’s missing from the original. The conceit works effectively, at times luminously, and becomes quite affecting by its end, thanks to Sampson’s emotional readings of such highly personal songs.