Not long ago, buying food was a much more involved process — people had relationships with their butchers and grocers, they had a sense of which foods were in season during different times of the year, and no one celebrated their birthday by going to On the Border and eating a burrito as big as their head. Thanks to a number of factors I won’t bore you with here (including anti-poverty initiatives, developments in food technology, and the ever-more-tangled American farm subsidies program), all that’s changed in the last 35 years; these days, for more than a few of us, getting food is as automatic and thoughtless as the folks who dreamed up The Jetsons imagined it would be. And one of the results, for far more than a few of us, is an obesity epidemic that has made tons of money for Bob Harper and Jillian Michaels, not to mention pharmaceutical companies, Big & Tall franchise owners, and funeral homes.
We’ve reached the point where, as a culture, we no longer have a real relationship with our food. We haphazardly react to the conflicting streams of data we receive — eggs are good for you! Eggs are bad for you! Holy shit, there’s e. coli in the spinach! Get whole grains in your Wonder Bread without sacrificing that gummy white flavor! — without really developing an understanding of what it means. But here’s the thing: Food really isn’t any more complicated than it’s ever been. And thanks to a number of authors, including Eric Schlosser (Fast Food Nation) and Michael Pollan (The Omnivore’s Dilemma, In Defense of Food), people have slowly started to take a more active role in what they eat. But book sales being what they are, a movie about the ugly underbelly of agribusiness is probably a more effective educational tool. Enter Robert Kenner’s Food, Inc., which wowed critics during its limited theatrical run earlier this year, and reaches DVD and Blu-ray today. (more…)
As anyone who takes spirituality seriously knows, it’s only natural for a person to experience ebbs and flows in his relationship with whatever higher power he believes in. But what if your career was founded on that relationship? What if you were famous for it? And what if…it ended? Badly, even?
That’s the premise at the heart of writer/director John Hindman’s The Answer Man, which stars Jeff Daniels as Arlen Faber, a sort of cranky cross between Neale Donald Walsch and J.D. Salinger whose 20-year-old book, God & Me, became the kind of hit that enables an author to take the rest of his career off — which is a good thing, because even though God & Me was inspired by a supposedly personal connection with the Almighty, Faber doesn’t have another book in him; he hasn’t felt anything but anger toward God, and contempt for his fellow human beings, in many years. It’s really a pretty interesting idea for a movie, which is why it’s such a pisser that Hindman decided to turn it into a thuddingly obvious romantic comedy.
The Answer Man is the kind of movie that tells you almost everything you need to know — about its characters, about its various plot arcs, and about the likelihood of tripping over the movie on Lifetime six months from now — in its first 15 minutes. And even worse, it tells you even before it tells you: Watching Lauren Graham in her opening scenes as an overprotective mother who feeds her son soy bacon and plays classical music as she drops him off at school in her Saab, you just know she’s going to rev the engine and crank up some rock & roll as soon as the kid is in the building. And lo, she does. Hindman makes it clear from the beginning that he doesn’t trust his audience to draw its own conclusions, drawing with the kind of broad, dumb strokes you’d expect from a Matthew McConaughey movie. How do we know the struggling bookstore owner played by Thumbsucker’s Lou Taylor Pucci is an alcoholic? Because he tells us with his very first lines. So on and so forth. (more…)
During its brief lifespan, Blu-ray has been helped along by the usual early adopters, but now that the format has beaten out HD DVD for next-gen dominance, if it’s really going to assert itself as a genuine successor for DVD, it’ll have to appeal to the market that really matters. I’m talking about film buffs — the folks who feel the sting of shame every time a movie is given the deluxe reissue treatment because, even though they’ve already paid to own it on at least one format, they can’t help wanting to own it all over again. If you’re one of those people, you’ve hated yourself a little for owning more than one copy of Spinal Tap, or Terminator 2, or The Wizard of Oz — and now you can add North by Northwest to the list, because as part of its 50th birthday celebration, Warners is rolling out a newly remastered version of the Hitchcock classic to replace the one it released less than a decade ago.
And you know what? From where I’m sitting, it’s actually worth buying again — at least on Blu-ray, where Northwest is the first of Hitchcock’s films to receive the hi-def upgrade. Warner Bros., which has been busily schooling its competitors with lovingly assembled Blu-ray transfers for months, has come close to outdoing itself here; I think only its Wizard of Oz reissue is better, and that’s at least partly due to the fact that the Oz Blu-ray comes in a giant box with reams of bonus material and a watch my daughter is wearing right now. (more…)
In 2009, Land of the Lost was a crappy, overblown Will Ferrell movie that tanked at the box office, suffered the wrath of critics, and even earned a condemnation from the American Medical Association for daring to show Ferrell’s character holding a pipe — a case study in how to take $100 million and piss it away on all the wrong things. In a deeply ironic twist, the new Lost is twice as cheesy, half as entertaining, and infinitely more expensive than the old one. Gotta love Hollywood, right?
The show, for those of you who don’t remember, related the adventures of scientist Rick Marshall and his kids, Holly and Will, following their accidental deposit in a strange parallel dimension that almost (but not quite) resembled prehistoric Earth. Because the filmmakers were smart enough to realize that Will Ferrell needs at least a PG-13 rating to be the least bit funny — and because it isn’t a Ferrell film unless his gross, fumbling sexual advances are being inexplicably accepted by a woman far more attractive than he is — there are no kids here; instead, Ferrell’s Rick Marshall is joined by a fellow scientist named Holly (played by Anna Friel) and a hygienically deprived gift shop owner named Will (played by a clearly coasting Danny McBride). (more…)
Mention Jonathan Demme’s 1984 concert film Stop Making Sense (Palm Pictures), and a lot of people are likely to respond with a two-word summary — big suit. While David Byrne’s oversized suit is an effective and enduring image, he doesn’t don it until late in the show, and he doesn’t have it on for very long. Byrne accurately predicted that the big suit would make his head look small, but it’s a sideshow. The important matter is that Stop Making Sense is one of the finest concert films ever made, a nearly perfect blend of musical innovation, passionate performance, and cinematic brilliance.
It begins with an empty stage. Enter David Byrne with his acoustic guitar and boom box. Byrne treats us to a solo version of “Psycho Killer” that has all the dementia and danger you want out of that particular song. While Byrne is playing, Tina Weymouth’s bass riser is rolled on, followed by Weymouth herself, joining Byrne for “Heaven.” So it continues until all the core members of Talking Heads, including drummer Chris Frantz, and guitarist/keyboard player Jerry Harrison are present. The band is augmented by guitarist Alex Weir (of the Brothers Johnson), keyboard player Bernie Worrell (Parliament Funkadelic), percussionist Steve Scales, and backup vocalist Lynn Mabry (Brides of Funkenstein), and Edna Holt. Once everyone has arrived on stage, the full band blasts through a torrid version of “Burning Down the House.” (more…)
Synopsis:A poor little boy wins a ticket to visit the inside of a mysterious and magical chocolate factory. When he experiences the wonders inside the factory, the boy discovers that the entire visit is a test of his character.
A movie about a wild-eyed reclusive madman who sends the entire world into a candy-scrabbling frenzy as part of an elaborate mindfuck culminating in the transfer of his candy empire to a child, 1971’s Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory is one of the odder “children’s” movies ever made, and one whose survival as a cult favorite was largely dependent on Gene Wilder’s tremendous work in the title role, as well as the movie’s natural appeal to the type of weirdos who grow up to be film directors (see: Burton, Tim). Willy Wonka wasn’t terribly successful when it was released, least of all among parents who questioned its dark overtones and smattering of scary moments (just ask poor Spike Jonze about those folks), but it’s become accepted as a sort of minor classic over the years, particularly since Burton fumbled his Johnny Depp-led Wonka remake a few years ago. (more…)
If you’ve been looking for an excuse to make the jump from DVD to Blu-ray, look no further. Matter of fact, thanks to Disney’s brilliant strategy of bundling DVDs with their Blu-ray releases, you don’t even have to own a Blu-ray player to take advantage of the new face lift the studio has given its 1937 classic — but if you do have one, make sure you put a pillow under your mouth the first time you watch the Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Diamond Edition transfer, because your jaw is going to drop.
There have been a fair number of catalog Blu-ray reissues at this point, and consumers have had to resign themselves to the fact that not all hi-def upgrades were created equal — when you’re dealing with source material from more than, say, 20 years ago, you’re going to see a fair number of defects, even after the most painstaking remastering job (see the Batman Blu-ray for an example). Given this, you’d expect the Snow White Blu-ray to be the kind of pleasant-but-not-remarkable upgrade you’d get out of most older films, but you’d be wrong — Disney has been rolling out some truly breathtaking restoration jobs in the last year or so, and Snow White might be the fairest of them all. Is it perfect? Probably not — you can go over any transfer with a magnifying glass and pick out flaws here and there, however minor. But watching Snow White, you won’t want to; you’ll be too busy marveling at just how incredibly lush and beautiful this hand-drawn classic remains more than 70 years after its release. Every feature-length animated film has its roots in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs — along with quite a few live-action movies — and this set gives it the fawning respect it deserves. (more…)
One of the year’s most divisive films — and I mean that almost literally — writer/director Jody Hill’s Observe and Report had the misfortune of following the loathsome Paul Blart: Mall Cop into theaters, which, coupled with Seth Rogen’s face all over Observe’s posters, left people expecting a raunchy blast of cheerful lowbrow comedy. Even under the best of circumstances, I think this movie would have left audiences confused, but landing in Blart’s shadow made its uphill climb that much steeper. Ultimately, it was probably always the kind of movie destined to find its most appreciative audience on the home video market — which is where it lands today, arriving on Blu-ray, DVD, and Video on Demand.
Rogen stars here as Ronnie Barnhardt, head of security at Forest Ridge Mall, where he rules, purse-lipped and crazy-eyed, over a lazy and ineffective crew that includes John and Matthew Yuan (as the twin Yuen brothers, natch) and Michael Peña (as Ronnie’s hilarious, lisping second in command, Dennis). As the movie opens, Forest Ridge is dealing with the parking lot shenanigans of a profane serial flasher whose assaults provoke Ronnie by not only upsetting the object of his affection, perfume salesperson Brandi (a congested-sounding Anna Faris), but putting him in the shadow of the police detective assigned to the case (Ray Liotta). It’s a premise ripe with comedic possibilities, and Rogen is one of the few movie stars who can both carry a movie and make you believe he really works in a mall. Observe’s first act takes advantage of all of the above, wringing big laughs out of its outlandish characters (particularly Aziz Ansari, as an unctuous lotion salesman who has an axe to grind with Ronnie) while teasing the dark edges of Ronnie’s fraying psyche. (more…)
He’s played with Miles and the Brecker Brothers, netted multiple Grammy nominations, and generally helped redefine jazz guitar for over 30 years, but Mike Stern has never reached the “name brand” level of fame enjoyed by other upper-echelon guitarists (see: Frisell, Bill), or sales consistent enough to keep him from making a pair of label changes in the last decade — but he is talented enough to inspire a worldwide following, and long overdue for a hi-def concert movie besides. The recently released New Morning: The Paris Concert, filmed last year at the Paris club whose name graces the title, takes advantage of both of these things, and if you’re an HD-equipped jazz fan — or a music lover with a stomach for fusion that doesn’t suck — you’re in for a 105-minute treat.
If jazz makes you gag, let me try and put Stern’s sound into perspective: In the fall of 1991, a year I spent mostly listening to Van Halen’s For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge, Atlantic sent me a promo copy of Stern’s Odds or Evens, and it kicked off a fascination with his music that has stayed with me to this day. This is not to say Mike Stern sounds like Eddie Van Halen — far from it — but as that album (and much of what has followed) proved, Stern is the rare jazz guitarist who is consistently able to walk the line between pure entertainment and sheer technique. He’s got a signature tone that’s stunningly pretty, and he isn’t afraid to use it in the service of uncommonly melodic songs — but he’s equally at home tracing skittery lines in the sand between skronk and lite FM. As an example, here’s the opening cut from Odds or Evens: (more…)
It’s an established fact that the core members of Spinal Tap (David St. Hubbins, Nigel Tufnel, and Derek Smalls) are not fans of the 1984 film that bears their name, or of the film’s director, Marty DiBergi. This first became apparent on the commentary track for the DVD release of the film, which is nearly as funny as the film itself. There, Tap (they hate being called Tap) takes many people to task, including former manager Ian Faith, Polymer records publicist Bobbi Flekman, midwest promo man Artie Fufkin, and former record company president Denis Eton-Hogg, who is said to now be running a summer camp for pale young men. Keyboard player Viv Savage and drummer Mick Shrimpton are not spared. There is much discussion about whether these, and other people who appeared in the original film, are alive or dead. The most intense vitriol, however, is reserved for DiBergi, and his fake beard, not to mention his obviously changed name.
Now, in celebration of the 25th anniversary of This Is Spinal Tap, the film has been released for the first time on Blu-ray. The package not only includes all of the extra features that were on the DVD version, but there’s a second disc of brand new bonus features, including Spinal Tap’s “Stonehenge” performance at the 2007 Live Earth Festival, and a National Geographic Stonehenge interview with Nigel Tufnel. Finally, the great English band gets a full chance to have their say about that exploitative film, and to demonstrate that they are indeed a great band, and not the bumbling idiots that the bastard DiBergi portrayed them as.
There’s a reason why This Is Spinal Tap is a favorite movie among musicians. The film hits very close to home. To one degree or another, we are all Spinal Tap. Every tour involves some unbearable, cringeworthy moments, along with some triumphant ones. It’s when you get to the point that the latter outweigh the former that you know that you’ve made it. (more…)
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One of the year’s most divisive films — 
Mike Stern – New Morning: The Paris Concert (2009, Inakustic)
