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Posted on 17 July 2004
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The Best DVDs of 2002
Michael Winterbottom’s 24 Hour Party People is a recounting of late 70s era Manchester, England. The superbly directed film — a meld of original and vintage footage — stars Steven Coogan as producer Tony Wilson and is one of the past year’s best.
Midway through Coogan sits in an editing room next to the actual Tony Wilson. They watch monitors airing footage from the film. “This scene didn’t actually make it to the final cut,” remits Coogan, as Wilson. “I’m sure it will be on the DVD.” It is a scene of ironic self-reference, in which the parent medium addresses the child it has spawned.
Within this analogous scope 2002 was the year the DVD format aged. The year saw two of the most extensive special editions: Pearl Harbor; Director’s Cut and The Fellowship of the Ring; Extended Edition. In an estimable trend two admired directors were represented by competing distributors: David Lynch (Blue Velvet, Mulholland Drive, and Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me) and Quentin Tarantino (Jackie Brown, Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, and True Romance). The concert film also had three noteworthy releases: A Hard Day’s Night, The Last Waltz, and The Complete Monterey Pop Festival.
This list of the past year’s best DVDs is of films seen before, yet are presented in superlative packages, with supplementary material ranging from Bruce Campbell’s documentary Fanalysis to the source story for Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon. The following films span 50 years and 21 discs.
#10
Preaching eternal optimism, Lloyd Dobbler is outfitted in an old trench coat and Nikes layered in soot. Diane Court — a name uttered in whole due to its bearer’s significance, like a president’s — is his opposite in appearance. The valedictorian, she is romantically inaccessible.
Say Anything resists the juvenile antics of 80s teen dramas. Whereas other teens in film display a freedom in their youth, Lloyd and Diane are prohibited by different circumstances: Diane is attached to her possessive, untrusting father; Lloyd is trapped by his complete lack of ambition. At a dinner, Diane’s father asks Lloyd, “What are your plans for the future?” “To spend as much time as possible with Diane.” He is, of course, serious.
Diane’s father is the owner of a retirement home, and because he is rooted comfortably in an apparent wealth his every move is closely measured by IRS investigators. This is a device that serves to separate Diane and her father (predictably leading to her solace with Lloyd), althoughit is only alluded that Jim Court’s means are questionable, and second, illegal. A collection of deleted scenes — this DVD’s most laudable feature — attend to this detail. Deleted scenes are a token feature on DVD, and in most cases are expendable and irrelevant bits of footage. For Say Anything, they reinforce the thematic arc of the film.
Regularly priced at under fifteen dollars, Say Anything is a steal. It is effortlessly quotable, aptly scored, and nostalgically relevant for most anyone who endured their teens.
#9
Despite aversion to the Fab Four (a symptom I admit), it is difficult to remain unengaged by A Hard Day’s Night. The film violates its loose fiction by depicting an interest in mass-fanaticism — an issue explored by both of the parties in conflict: the hesitant Shepard and his many, eager sheep. The Beatles are scrutinized without the influence of media discrimination, and use the opportunity to pronounce their personality. Their music may be interpreted to be a background element. Films are chiefly produced, falsified environments, and in A Hard Day’s Night the principle subject is the most realistic aspect.
The DVD comes two years following the film’s 2000 re-release. The video is matted to a widescreen aspect ratio (originally 1.33:1) and the audio has been expanded to 5.1. A second disc contains several interviews and a making-of documentary, though there is a notable exclusion: director Richard Lester’s short Running, Jumping & Standing Still with Peter Sellers, available on the previous video version of the film.
A Hard Day’s Night may be heralded, secondly, for its stylistic tactics. Shot in cinema verité the film mimics unstaged news footage, securing the realistic standpoint of the vanguard performers. A Hard Day’s Night precedes This is Spinal Tap in its pseudo-documentary form.
#8
Granting Rashomon the title of Akira Kurosawa’s greatest achievement is subjective, though no film in the legendary director’s catalogue was as singularly responsible for engaging the international attention towards Japanese cinema.
In description Rashomon resembles a filmic concept: a woodcutter enters a forest and finds a murdered samurai and his wife, raped. The wife, the samurai (present in the form of a spirit through a medium), and a bandit are gathered to recount the crime and to establish guilt towards the responsible party. Each has a different story, and each claims to be responsible for the death.
These stories are complicated. Each is retold in a segment in which the crime is reenacted; each time, details are slightly altered, lines are said differently, and staging is redone. It is in resolution the same scene seen four times, yet in retelling is tainted by the perspective of its teller. Rashomon challenges the notion that the film medium bears a relative truth, that events are understood to be true in the context of fiction. Rashomon is over Fifty years old, and persists to be entirely innovative.
The Criterion DVD includes a lengthy booklet with four writings on the film, the most notable are the film’s sources: Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s “Rashomon” and “In a Grove.” Though brief, the stories lend tremendous insight towards the film.
#7
Blue Velvet is accessible because of its belonging to film noir; or rather, its identification of an established film genre. It is, contrarily, unique for its every additional aspect. Simply put, it is the product of a director acknowledging his use of a genre, yet who views it through a discomforting, prying gaze.
Blue Velvet is a reissue and is an improvement over the former edition in both audio and video. Siskel & Ebert’s reaction to the film is included as a brief featurette (the team also appears on the Pulp Fiction platter). The segment acknowledges the importance of historical context in film; Blue Velvet, as most films, becomes less shocking in its age, yet upon its initial release inspired caustic reactions that founded its notoriety. The clip, from 1986, is a part of the making of one of the most hostile, uninhibited, and best films of the 80s.
The disc includes a making-of documentary entitled Mysteries of Love. Dennis Hopper discusses his apprehensive commitment to the film, his second role following his exit from rehab. More importantly, Isabella Rossellini justifies her position in her demeaning female portrayal of Dorothy Vallens — her depiction is amongst Blue Velvet’s most notorious citations. For David Lynch enthusiasts Mysteries of Love collects vintage interview footage of the reclusive director, and is interesting for his comedic methods of dodging questions. As an added benefit, Blue Velvet is the only Lynch film on DVD befitted with chapter stops.
#6
Alejandro Jodorowsky achieved popular notice with 1970’s El Topo, only to lose it immediately thereafter upon the 1973 release of The Holy Mountain. Beatles’ producer Allen Klein handled the US distribution for each film. Due do an alleged dispute with the mystifying director Klein kept the rights to both films and disallowed any legitimate release of either in any video format.
Italian video distributor RaroVideo announced a DVD release date for each film in August. Though an import, the discs cater specifically to American audiences, including subtitles for the film and English translations of the liner essays and supplements. Each disc is in PAL format and is region free.
To date this is the closest domestic video distribution the films have found — and, moreover, are placed on this list largely due to their availability. Jodorowsky’s films are a difficult pill for most, though are deserving for their contribution to the ideology and character of 70s cinema — they are legends in what is arguably the most creatively potent decade in film.
#5
This reissue of Memento is, in short, the best concept DVD ever released. The first platter is played and viewers are not treated to a traditional menu (it is not even easily navigable), but a quick series of words. The list completes and ends with a page that displays four columns. Selecting words that did not appear in the previous list direct towards menu options such as audio selections and commentary. This idea is, at times, tedious (the second disc is much more convoluted than the first), though is perfectly attuned towards the idea of the film. That is, the series of “games” require memory. They employ a method of conditioning cited in the film itself.
Beneath the heap of logic and questions are the original script, original short story (the best feature of the previous edition) and a chronological version of the film. Memento’s innovation as a film is paralleled by its presentation on DVD.
#4
TRON is both a relic of 80s science fiction and of primal computer animation, and is historically valuable for the same reasons. It is an oddity in the catalogue of Disney films (its nearest cousin is the equally out of place The Black Hole). Miraculously, however, TRON does not appear dated. The animation is juvenile, although is attuned to 70s video-game landscapes. In an unique and appropriate directorial trait, Steven Liseberger recommended his actors to play arcade games available on set between takes.
The DVD contains one of the more fascinating documentaries of the past year. The supplements cover every aspect of the film’s making: the frame-by-frame digital animations, color matting and rotoscoping animation, and film stock (the film has a neon palette, and was shot in black & white). TRON is a masterful film, and its background, addressed on this set with interest, is thoroughly fascinating.
#3
Horror is what Anchor Bay does best, and this, their seventh edition of The Evil Dead is a testament of their evolving commitment; it is the superlative edition of a film whose popularity is entirely indebted to the video format.
The included documentary Discovering Evil Dead traces the film’s phenomenal popularity on video, beginning with the film’s acquirement by Palace Pictures in 1983, ending in the film’s 1998 video release (a year in which its sales rivaled Titanic’s). This is an inclusion of note, as the film’s distributive history is intrinsic to its success and in spawning the careers of those involved.
The best feature is Bruce Campbell’s Fanalysis, concerning the actor’s perspective on obsessive fandom. Fanalysis resembles two other documentaries on the same topic, Trekkies and A Galaxy Far Far Away, and is the most introspective of the lot. Campbell is in the best position to discuss the topic (aside from the Evil Dead films, his Brisco County and Xena roles have also inspired devoted cultists), and does so without resentment or disdain but genuine curiosity.
Given its age and explicit horror it is curious The Evil Dead has spawned so many marketing gestures, including a lunchbox (with thermos), an action figure, and a video game — all over fifteen years after the film’s initial release. The current DVD edition excels them all, as it places the abhorrent necronomicon in the hands of its demented fans.
#2
D. A. Pennebacker’s 1968 Monterey Pop is a brief and incomplete presentation of the landmark concert. The film’s most famous sequences (Pete Townsend smashing his guitar in unwarranted frustration following The Who’s “My Generation”; Jimi Hendrix one-upping him by setting his aflame) are quietly joined by the ghost of omissions: The Grateful Dead, namely, is completely left out. Monterey Pop — the first music festival — lasted three days, and in the film is trimmed to an insufferably mere 79 minutes. It is, however, a nostalgic success.
The Criterion Collection’s The Complete Monterey Pop Festival recoups much of the losses in an extensive boxed set. The video transfer does not hide the abundant grain of its 16mm source stock, and the colors vary from muted to luminescent reflections of stage lights. This is no fault; Monterey Pop is a piece of history, and is befitted by its wear.
The real treat is a remixed 5.1 DTS soundtrack. The ambience, reverb, and splintering guitars all present, Monterey Pop is both a commendable presentation of the film and of the concert itself, well worth its seventy-dollar price tag.
A second disc contains two of Pennebacker’s films taken from unused footage at Montery, Jimi Plays Monterey and Shake! Otis at Monterey. Each is the entire set of the respective performer (again, in 5.1 DTS); each is energetic and involving. Jimi is the more inclusive of the two, containing footage prior to Monterey Pop (the concert was regarded as his American breakout).
A third disc contains all the leftovers, over two hours of outtake footage and unused performances. Pennebaker used one song from each act in his film, and here includes everything else: to name a few, The Association, Buffalo Springfield, The Byrds, Jefferson Airplane, The Mammas and the Papas, Simon and Garfunkel, and The Who.
The Complete Monterey Pop Festival spans several hours of concert footage and a thorough scrapbook. The package is a time capsule, one that highlights not only the music but the scene, the dancing, the clothing, and the mentality of a generation.
#1
Anchor Bay’s The Herzog/Kinski Collection is a repackaging of six Werner Herzog films, each available individually. Separate, three of the films, at most, achieve regular acknowledgement. When together — when viewed as components of a partnered history — the films relay the particular strengths of one of the strangest, most notorious collaborations in cinema.
The collaboration between Herzog and actor Klaus Kinski, as given in the set’s sixth disc My Best Fiend, was at once vengeful yet mutually reliant, hostile yet dependent. It is a relationship composed of the two most polarized agents, and is entirely fascinating.
There is a strength in the collaboration that redeems interest the package’s less-received films. Aguirre, The Wrath of God, Herzog’s most famous film, contains one of Kinski’s most known performances — yet he is curiously subdued in comparison to his work Woyzeck, in which he plays an abused and hostile German soldier.
The Herzog/Kinski Collection includes the films Aguirre, The Wrath of God, Nosferatu, Phantom Der Nacht, Woyzeck, Fitzcarraldo, Cobra Verde, and the documentary My Best Fiend. Their presentation is symbolically tied to the course of the collaboration; each disc is a different color, and complete a spectrum. This appropriately presents six films that display the variety, range, and resolute strength of the pair’s collaboration.
My Best Fiend compliments the set, providing background and contextual information for each film. Herzog revisits the locations of his most famous works (the Amazonian jungles of Aguirre and Fitzcarraldo), recounting Kinski’s murder threats. There is a telling moment when Herzog recalls how he aided Kinski by choosing the most violent, scathing adjectives to describe himself in the actor’s autobiography.
I was regularly awed by this set, by its whole: the breadth of Herzog’s direction and Kinski’s violent talent as his principle actor.
ANTICIPATION
Though this assertion may be premature, 2003 has slated a number of releases that will likely be considered for next year’s list. Including: from The Criterion Collection, By Brakhage, a two-disc collection of the abstract filmmaker’s shorts, and I am Curious…, a set of the notorious Swedish import that challenged ratings leniency and allegations of immorality. MGM has announced the March release of Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Three Colors trilogy (Bleu, Blanc, and Rouge) with several identified extras.
Finally, for those whose tastes divert from mine, an extended edition of The Two Towers has been announced as well, and will presumably contain enough material to occupy fans for a month in anticipation of the series’ closing chapter.