the traveler's resource guide to festivals & films
a FestivalTravelNetwork.com site
part of Insider Media llc.

Connect with us:
FacebookTwitterYouTubeRSS

Reviews

October '18 Digital Week IV

Blu-rays of the Week 

Arizona 

(RLJ Entertainment) 

In this pitch-black comedy that swings for the fences but falls short, Danny McBride is a frustrated home owner who’s been foreclosed on and who takes it out on the real estate agency that sold him the house—as he makes more lunatic decisions, he leaves a trail of blood and bodies.

 

 

 

McBride is fiendishly funny as the crazed nutcase and Rosemarie Dewitt is a persuasively resourceful hostage, but Luke del Tredici’s script and Jonathan Watson’s direction bumpily alternate trenchant dark humor about people at the end of their rope with crass violence that undermines, rather than underlines, their point. The Blu-ray transfer is excellent; lone extra is a making-of featurette. 

 

Bad Ronald 

(Warner Archive)

This unnerving 1974 TV movie has a basic premise—teenage mama’s boy accidentally kills girl, mom hides him in a secret room of their house, she dies, the house is sold, he starts to terrorize the new family, especially the teenage daughter—and director Buzz Kulik keeps it simple and straightforward, making it that much more plausible and effective.

 

 

 

Scott Jacoby is frightfully credible as the bad seed Ronald, while Kim Hunter brings a smothering creepiness to Ronald’s mom. The hi-def transfer is crisp and clear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

City Slickers 

Get Shorty

(Shout Select)

The latest Shout Select releases are two ’90s films that pleased a lot of people, and even (in the case of the former) garnered Jack Palance his only Oscar. 1991’s City Slickers has an amusing premise and entertaining support from Palance, Daniel Stern and Bruno Kirby, but it all depends on one’s tolerance for Billy Crystal (I have little).

 

 

 

Likewise, 1995’s Get Shorty is a decent Hollywood takedown—though not as nasty as Altman’s The Player—with wonderfully weird work from Gene Hackman, Danny DeVito, Dennis Farina, Delroy Lindo and a pre-Sopranos James Gandolfini, although again I find John Travolta and Rene Russo to be wet blankets. Both films have solid new hi-def transfers and vintage extras like featurettes, interviews and commentaries.

 

Down a Dark Hall 

(Lionsgate)       

Based on Lois Duncan’s 1974 young-adult novel, this stylishly convoluted gothic horror set in a foreboding old house that’s currently a convent for wayward young women has moments of suspense and even an occasional fright, but is mostly pretty tame.

 

 

 

Director Rodrigo Cortés makes everything look right, including his protagonists—AnnaSophia Robb as the young heroine and Uma Thurman as the eccentric schoolmarm—but it remains empty and dull at times. There’s a great-looking hi-def transfer; extras are a making-of and deleted scene.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shampoo 

(Criterion)

Warren Beatty and Robert Towne wrote a scathing script about disaffected Hollywood types, circa 1968—when a loathsome Nixon was elected—but Hal Ashby’s scattershot 1975 satire doesn’t equal the sum of its parts. Despite terrific acting by Goldie Hawn, Julie Christie, Oscar winner Lee Grant, Tony Bill and Jack Warden, and with Beatty’s hairdresser hopping in and out of various beds, the movie feels unfinished, its humor and observations topical but superficial.

 

 

 

Criterion’s release does the film no favors; there’s a top-notch hi-def transfer, but contextualizing extras are needed for such a divisive and controversial film; instead, we get 10 minutes of a 1998 Beatty profile and a 30-minute talk between critics Frank Rich and Bob Harris.

 

Trauma 

(Artsploitation)

When a movie opens showing forced intercourse between a teenager and his mother—whose brains are blown out while he is still thrusting—you know you’re in for something particularly and peculiarly demented. And that’s what Chilean director Lucio Rojas’ grotesquely horrific drama is.

 

 

 

The boy grows up to be a madman who tortures a quartet of young women, all subjected to endless moments of nasty and even nauseating violence that end up making those opening moments seem relatively docile. There’s a first-rate hi-def transfer that catches all the minutiae of Rojas’ gorefest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whitney 

(Lionsgate)

Kevin Macdonald’s documentary about the short, sad life of Whitney Houston (who drowned in a bathtub at age 48 in 2012) makes some strange directorial choices—like all of the “current-events” archival footage during some song performances—but it still paints an illuminatingly ugly portrait of a brilliant singer who lost her way because of family, friends, fame, money, and, worst of all, marriage to Bobby Brown.

 

 

 

Interviews with some of the main people in Whitney’s life, like her brothers, former husband, mother and even Kevin Costner—with whom she famously starred in the smash The Bodyguard—present a cautionary tale that’s all too familiar but still depressing. The film looks fine on Blu-ray; lone extra is a Macdonald commentary.

 

DVD of the Week

Generation Wealth 

(Lionsgate)

Lauren Greenfield returns to the scene of many of her photographs and her previous film The Queen of Versailles: the ultra-rich whose conspicuous consumption—from plastic surgery on themselves and their pets to flying a teenage son to Amsterdam to lose his virginity to a prostitute—is the ultimate in American exceptionalism.

 

 

 

This parade of grossly self-centered narcissists makes Donald Trump seem modest, but Greenfield also shows that this is the world we’ve created, and it could actually get worse: soon, we might pine for the halcyon days of Kardashians and Trumps.

Off-Broadway Review—Glenn Close in “Mother of the Maid”

Mother of the Maid

Written by Jane Anderson; directed by Matthew Penn

Performances through December 23, 2018

 

Grace Van Patten and Glenn Close in Mother of the Maid (photo: Joan Marcus)

Jane Anderson’s Mother of the Maid, which enters Joan of Arc’s well-trod story through the path of her mother Isabelle, is a modest, unapologetically sentimental drama that has precious little that’s new to add, despite looking at Joan from a different angle.

 

Instead, everything we already know about Joan is checked off by Anderson, who also puts some familiar family dynamics into play as the rustic Arc family tries to comprehend the otherworldly transformation of Joan into a savior of, then martyr for, France. This interest-holding if not very illuminating drama gives the Arcs a crassly contemporary vernacular to stand in for what Anderson thinks would be their lower-class French. However, exchanges like this one from Act I steer the play into unfunny sitcom territory:  

 

ISABELLE: Is it the Bonheur boy? You feeling something for him?

JOAN: Gah no.

ISABELLE: He’s sweet on you. I seen him looking at you.

JOAN: If he’s getting ideas about me, not my fault.

ISABELLE: Not anyone’s fault. It’s natural for a boy to be looking at you. You’re a good-looking

girl. Nothing wrong with it, if he’s having a look.

JOAN: Let him look. Nothing to me.

ISABELLE: He’ll grow on you. He’s decent. Works hard. And not so bad on the eyes. You think

he’s all serious business, then he smiles and gets that little dimple on his cheek. I like a man with a dimple don’t you?

JOAN: You marry him then.

 

Later, when Isabelle and husband Jacques visit the opulent castle Joan stays at (her older brother Pierre is also there, as a sort of bodyguard), Anderson can’t resist some easy country bumpkin jokes, which quickly wear out their welcome.

 

Matthew Penn’s straightforward staging is assisted by John Lee Beatty’s canny sets—which become the Arc family farm, the Dauphin’s elaborate court and an English prison—and Lap Chi Chu’s inventive lighting, in which a single shaft of the sun can speak more eloquently than Anderson’s dialogue. The sturdy cast features Grace Van Patten’s amiable Joan; as the eponymous Isabelle, Glenn Close brings the tough-minded but soft-hearted woman to such powerful life you wish she’d been given a better vehicle for her talents. 

 

Mother of the Maid

The Public Theater, 425 Lafayette Street, New York, NY

publictheater.org

October '18 Digital Week III

Blu-rays of the Week 

Ant-Man and the Wasp 

(Disney/Marvel)

In this protracted, fitfully entertaining sequel to Ant-Man, the interplay among Paul Rudd, Evangeline Lilly, Michael Douglas and Michelle Pfeiffer makes it work, despite several good actors like Bobby Cannavale, Michael Pena and Anthony Mackie having scandalously little to do.

 

 

 

The effects are decent and Hannah Jones-Kamen, Laurence Fishburne and Walton Goggins are an intriguing trio of villains, but another installment is promised—oh boy. The hi-def transfer is first-rate; extras include deleted scenes, a gag reel and featurettes. 

 

Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot 

(Lionsgate)

Joaquin Phoenix’s intense but sympathetic performance as John Callahan, a caustic cartoonist who was a paraplegic and worked from a wheelchair until his death in 2010, is the main draw of Gus Van Sant’s interesting but workmanlike biopic.

 

 

 

There’s little to distinguish this than something like The Sessions, with John Hawkes and Helen Hunt, and the typically blah appearances by Jonah Hill and Rooney Mara in supporting roles don’t help; luckily, Phoenix’s committed portrayal smooths over most of the rough spots. There’s a fine hi-def transfer; extras are two brief featurettes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eight Hours Don’t Make a Day 

(Criterion)

Reiner Werner Fassbinder’s gargantuan 1973 made-for-West-German-television series takes its working-class family seriously, but a few hours’ worth of material is stretched to eight, making the perceptiveness of the early scenes give way to self-parody and melodrama by the time it limps to its conclusion.

 

 

 

Excepting the 15 1/2-hour Berlin Alexanderplatz—which, to be sure, gave the director ready-made source material in the form of the original classic novel—Fassbinder usually did better with less; the extended format gives free rein to his damaging self-indulgences. The hi-def transfer is solid; extras include a retrospective featurette comprising new interviews with actors Hanna Schygulla, Irm Hermann, Wolfgang Schenck and Hans Hirschmüller.

 

Joseph W. Sarno Retrospect Series 

(Film Movement)

Joseph W. Sarno was a straightforward purveyor of soft-core flicks in the ‘60s and ‘70s before moving into hardcore features, and this set collects three of the most typical examples of his sexploitation flicks, whose titles cheekily promise more than they deliver. 

 

 

 

Confessions of a Young American Housewife (1974), Sin in the Suburbs (1964) and Warm Nights Hot Pleasures (1964) are basically teases that pretend to explore sexuality more deeply than they do; they’re interesting historical curios, at least. The films have decent hi-def transfers; extras are commentaries and deleted scenes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Official Story 

(Cohen Film Collection)

Luis Puenzo’s powerful 1985 drama, set in the ‘70s during Argentina’s military dictatorship, focuses on an affluent couple with a young daughter whom they illegally adopted—the mother slowly realizes the girl may be the child of one of the regime’s victims who disappeared and was presumably murdered.

 

 

 

Puenzo’s film—which won the Best Foreign Film Oscar—retains its potency thanks to a searingly real performance by Norma Aleandro as the mother who wants to protect her daughter but realizes the moral (and mortal) implications. The new hi-def transfer is excellent; lone extra is a four-part Puenzo interview.

 

 

CD of the Week

Weinberg—Symphony No. 13 and Serenade

(Naxos)

I feel like a broken record extolling the virtues of Russian composer Mieczyslaw Weinberg, who years after his death in 1996 suddenly had his music getting played and recorded. The always enterprising Naxos label has released several discs pairing one of his symphonies with another orchestral work, and this disc continues that tradition.

 

 

 

The two works, both world premiere recordings, are Serenade (1952), relaxed, yearning and with little of Weinberg’s usual musical agitation; and the weighty, somber Symphony No. 13 (1976), a one-movement, 35-minute work dedicated to the composer’s mother. Vladimir Lande ably conducts the Siberian State Symphony Orchestra.

Off-Broadway Review—A.R. Gurney’s “Final Follies”

Final Follies

Written by A.R. Gurney; directed by David Saint

Performances through October 21, 2018

 

Colin Hanlon and Rachel Nicks in A.R. Gurney's Final Follies (photo: James Leynse)

When A.R. Gurney died last year at age 86, we lost our most elegant playwright, a witty and urbane chronicler of the upper crust who, in the last 15 years—spurred on by outrage at the excesses of the Bush administration after September 11—became an unapologetically polemical artist, writing angry plays of the dystopia our country was rapidly becoming. (He never got to take on Trump, but it’s just as well: nothing he could have written would have out-parodied actual reality.)

 

Before his death, Gurney wrote a one-acter, Final Follies, which Primary Stages has coupled with two of earlier works—The Rape of Bunny Stuntz and The Love Course—for an omnibus evening titled Final Follies, a heartfelt goodbye from one of the theaters that produced his works the most.

 

First up, Final Follies introduces Nelson, a WASP who needs money because he thinks he’s to be cut from his grandfather’s will. He responds to a newspaper ad for work in adult films—or, as the firm’s representative Tanisha calls them, “educational films”—and becomes a big star. Nelson’s jealous brother discovers his secret and shows an offending film to their grandfather and is shocked to discover that, contrary to disowning Nelson, he admires his grandson’s artistry and daring.

 

Final Follies takes obvious shots—some funny, some not—at his favorite Upper East Side targets. But despite being written in 2017, there’s an old-fashioned air to the whole thing, as if the internet and social media had never been created, making it seem as if the play exists in an alternate present. It’s brightened considerably by the presence of Rachel Nicks (Tanisha) and Colin Hanlon (Nelson).

 

The following playlet, The Rape of Bunny Stuntz, brings its eponymous heroine (a tour de force performance by Deborah Rush) to her figurative knees as the self-confident woman slowly admits that she’s not the faithful, dutiful wife and mother she’s supposed to be. Gurney wrote the play in 1965, its absurdism indebted to Edward Albee (who produced its first New York performance at the Cherry Lane); in this age of Me Too, it leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.

 

The finale, The Love Course, is a free-wheeling satire of academia as two professors conduct what for all intents and purposes is a love affair in plain sight of their students while teaching a course on the Literature of Love. Reminiscent of Woody Allen’s artful and witty short stories and impressively enacted by Piter Marek and Betsy Aidem as the battling profs, it’s an amusingly goofy close to a bumpy trio of one-acts that, while minor Gurney works, are reminders of what he could achieve at his best.

 

Final Follies

Primary Stages, Cherry Lane Theatre, 38 Commerce Street, New York, NY

primarystages.org

Newsletter Sign Up

Upcoming Events

No Calendar Events Found or Calendar not set to Public.

Tweets!