While most people reading this feature might struggle with only visions of sugarplum dragon tattoos dancing in their heads, there's plenty else deserving of your attention in the realm of movies at present. With a great puff of hot air, Jordan Cronk and I attempt to pin-down the fall’s best DVD and Blu-ray releases, and just in time for your wish/shopping list. As a matter of fact, the twelve releases below may just suffice as replacement for the ol’ partridge, turtle doves, French hens and colly birds. Kathie Smith

Pick of the Month

DVD/Blu-ray: Blue, White, Red: Three Colors (1993-94)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Krzysztof Kieślowski

Amazon Price: $50.49

Only three years after completing his incredibly ambitious "Decalogue," a master stroke in and of itself, Krzysztof Kieślowski gathered the troupes—screenwriter Krzysztof Piesiewicz, composer Zbigniew Preisner and cinematographers Slawomir Idziak, Edward Klosinski, Piotr Sobocinski—to embark on a series of equally great emotional breadth and grandeur. “Blue,” “White,” and “Red” were the final, elegiac chapters in Kieślowski’s career, and the European cinema extravaganza of the decade, rolled out with great anticipation at Venice (winning the Golden Lion), Berlin (winning the Silver Bear for directing) and Cannes (where “Red” lost to “Pulp Fiction”). The iron curtain had fallen, the Berlin Wall was rubble and Europe opened a new chapter on unification that Kieślowski filtered through his dramatic lens. Although profoundly universal, Kieślowski’s 'Three Colors' stitched Europe together by veritable heartstrings of shared sorrow, personal trials and mysterious acts of fate. Each film in the trilogy ruminates on ideals of the French Revolution, as represented by the colors of the French flag: liberty, equality and fraternity. Rather than a celebration of these principles, Kieślowski and Piesiewicz chose to pin-down the quandaries and contradictions of those concepts through a series of very intimate portraits.

Kieślowski traverses from France in “Blue” to Poland in “White” to Switzerland in “Red.” The impressionistic opening of “Blue,” wheels spinning toward tragedy, launches us into the world of Julie (Juliette Binoche), where grief and rediscovery are cloaked in flooding color and music. Because of the loss of her husband and daughter, Julie’s self-fulfilling desires of isolation (and liberation) from her past create a void in her future. In “White,” we cycle back to Julie as she briefly intrudes on the proceedings of Karol (Zbigniew Zamachowski) and Dominique’s (Julie Delpy) divorce. The film follows the bitter and heartbroken Karol—via suitcase—back to his home country of Poland, where opportunity waits in a changing economic landscape. A sardonic comedy, the middle chapter of 'Three Colors' is unremittingly cynical, presenting equality as a very bitter pill of resentment. But it's “Red” that anchors the entire epic series. Valentine (Irène Jacob) is the trilogy’s altruistic soul, tripped by fate to save an injured dog and rattle the conscience of a defeated man. Kieślowski seems concerned about a notion of false fraternity or connectedness, specifically through the science of the telephone, and the importance of smashing that delusion with humanity and tenderness—a message more important now than ever. The finale of “Red” acts as an epilogue, wrapping Julie, Karol and Valentine into a larger context of great possibility.

Criterion should lock one gift selection up on every self-respecting cinephile’s Christmas list with a new, high-definition digital restoration of all three films, packaged together in one handsome set. Nothing amplifies the beauty and mastery of these films more than sitting down with them in a five-hour stretch, but Criterion also gives a good excuse for spending time with them each separately: these discs aresupplemented with interviews, essays and documentaries to get you hooked on exploring the many scholarly and entertaining facets of the films. Archive interviews with Kieślowski are fascinating as well, as are the more contemporary reflections of Piesiewicz, Preisner, Delpy, Jacob, Binoche, Zamachowski, producer Marin Karmitz, and editor Jacques Witta. The set also includes three short films by Kieślowski: 1966's “The Tram”; 1978's “Seven Women of Different Ages”; and 1980's “Talking Heads.” After completing “Red,” Kieślowski announced he would retire from filmmaking, which he did—he then sadly died in 1996 at the relatively young age of 55. This trilogy, and its unadulterated sincerity and dramatic perfection, lives on as perhaps the crowning achievement of his illustrious career and in the cinema. Regardless of whether you are an armchair fan of foreign film or a devotee to Krzysztof Kieślowski work, Criterion’s 'Three Colors' is a swoon-worthy release that everyone can fall for. KS

DVD/Blu-ray: Aki Kaurismäki’s Leningrad Cowboys (1989-94)

Distributor: Eclipse

Director(s): Aki Kaurismäki

Amazon Price: $25.70

You could label everything Finnish filmmaker Aki Kaurismäki has done as deadpan comedy. But It pays to differentiate: great works such as “Ariel” and “Drifting Clouds” are downright melodramatic as compared to the Leningrad Cowboys series, which took as its subject the ongoing exploits of the titular collective, an outlandishly coiffed troupe of rock ‘n’ roll-bred optimists who travel halfway across the world looking for Stateside success, only to find fleeting fame in Mexico and eventually fall prey to the temptations of the bottle. The whole thing plays like “Spinal Tap” for the arthouse set: like everyone’s favorite classic-rock parodists, the Leningrad Cowboys achieved their own real-world success, touring throughout the ‘90s and on through to today with a repertoire consisting of stadium rock fixtures and cliché-riddled originals.

The three films and five music videos included in Criterion’s new Eclipse set, “Aki Kaurismäki’s Leningrad Cowboys,” represent the complete works the band created in collaboration with Kaurismäki. The collaboration's 1989 debut, “Leningrad Cowboys Go America,” remains the most indelible: travelling cross-country to Mexico, frozen guitarist in tow, stopping off for comic vignettes with Jim Jarmusch, and unsuccessfully avoiding run-ins with the law. The more thematically ambitious follow-up, “Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses,” turns their estranged manager into a prophet, who, upon reconciliation, exoduses them from the purgatory of Mexico. With the CIA now tailing the group, they head north on a tip for Coney Island before deciding to seek spiritual enlightenment in the Promised Land of Siberia.

Together the films form a circular sort of narrative and can easily stand alone as the fictionalized account of these earnestly elfin entertainers. Fiction meets reality in “Total Balalaika Show,” Kaurismäki’s concert film documenting the Cowboys’ 1993 homecoming in front of 70,000 (!) fans. It’s as ridiculous as it sounds, but as both time capsule and victory lap, also kind of charming in its way. As per usual, this Eclipse set has virtually no supplements—only the five original Cowboys' music videos (most of which play like short films), made between 1986 and 1993, and one-page liner notes by Michael Koresky on the inner case sleeve of each keep-case. It’s a modest set, one more for Kaurismäki completists or Leningrad Cowboys super-fans (there are at least 70,000 of you out there, apparently) than those unfamiliar with Finnish black comedy. But it's an oddity of such consistent delight that an Eclipse set of this sort seems like the perfect vehicle to bring the films to those who crave them. Jordan Cronk

DVD/Blu-ray: Blue Velvet (1986)

Distributor: MGM

Director(s): David Lynch

Amazon Price: $16.99

“I can’t figure out if you’re a detective or a pervert.” This question, uttered by Sandy (Laura Dern) to Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan) in his growing obsession with the seedy side of his quaint hometown, was probably lingering on the minds of most people in regards to David Lynch after seeing “Blue Velvet” in 1986. With a careful balance between macabre eccentricity and melodramatic ardor, Lynch’s fourth feature set in motion themes and aesthetics that we have come to learn are completely unique and cannot be pigeonholed—in a word, “Lynchian.” An ear leads to the police, the police lead to a daughter, and the daughter leads to the Deep River apartment building where a narrative deserving of its Kienholz-like environs emerges. It’s a descent into another world, through the well-manicured green grass and into the dirt with the bugs and the worms. The ruler of this world, Frank Booth (in Dennis Hopper’s return to acting), is a character that is easily as disturbing as Henry and Mary’s baby in “Eraserhead,” and as frightening on a subconscious level as the man behind the dumpster in “Mulholland Dr.” The psychosexual maelstrom is sewn together with the contradiction of a naïve romance and brought to a climax with heartfelt corniness, a thankful artifact from our deceptive decade with The Gipper. Vestiges of “Blue Velvet” resonate in the films Lynch has made since: “Wild at Heart,” “Twin Peaks,” “Lost Highway,” "Mullholand Dr.,” and “Inland Empire.” I especially took note of when Laura Dern made her first appearance in “Blue Velvet” as Sandy Williams, emerging from the complete darkness, a scene echoed with horrifying verve in the middle of “Inland Empire.” Lynch’s intention of making films that can be revisited over and over again become even more profound as his oeuvre grows.

Coinciding with the film’s 25th anniversary, MGM’s spiffy new Blu-ray is yet another definitive edition of this cult classic, only barely one-upping their DVD release from 2002. The film itself looks great, with added detail and depth, and is well worth the upgrade. But the real carrot on the stick is the inclusion of the so-called ‘Newly Discovered Lost Footage,’ presented in crisp HD. If these sequences look familiar it’s because a ‘Deleted Scene Montage’ was constructed from publicity stills on the 2002 Special Edition DVD to re-imagine scenes that “researchers have rummaged subterranean film vaults to find.” Suspiciously, as stated by David Lynch on the Blu-ray, “It’s like the song ‘Amazing Grace.’ The footage was lost but now it’s found.” Despite the questionable definition of "lost" in this context, the 50 minutes of restored footage is the perfect icing on this cake; most of it involves connecting Jeffrey to his college life and his family, but there's also a five-star bar scene punctuated by Frank Booth’s reign of terror, and a gorgeous scene where Dorothy Valance (Isabella Rossellini) invites Jeffrey to "escape" to the roof of her building. It’s a sublime, heartbreaking scene that must have been a very tough cut. Other special features are carry-overs: the entertaining 2002 making-of, a clip of Siskel’s appreciation and Ebert’s contempt, and the original trailers and TV spots. Although the Blu-ray has chapter stops (Lynch’s nemesis since the advent of DVDs), it oddly doesn’t have a main menu—you are forced to access supplements through a pop up menu while the film is running. Overall, this Blu-ray is a compulsive step-up for a one-of-a-kind film. KS

DVD/Blu-ray: Kuroneko (1968)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Kaneto Shindo

Amazon Price: $27.60

The Samurai class has been so romanticized in 20th century Western art and culture that it can frequently paint an inaccurate portrait of Japan’s top-tier warrior demographic. The cinema has helped propagate broad opinion concerning this nominally noble, militarized sect of pre-industrial Japan, and while the bushidō code certainly tied loyalties close to the regime at hand, there were those—just as in every successive strata of nobility the world over—who used their status as a means for personal or political gain. Born into a farming family, Japanese journeyman director Kaneto Shindo frequently parlayed his adolescent experiences with rebel Samurai into opportunities for less than flattering cinematic portrayals of the East’s most lasting cultural coterie. Shindo’s 1968 J horror-anticipating “Kuroneko” treads similar ground to that of his 1964 masterpiece “Onibaba,” both of which pit two women against an evil strain of wandering Samurai. However only "Kuroneko" accentuates its supernatural and spiritual elements, elevating the narrative into the realm of fable. After a mother and daughter are left for dead by a troupe of rouge Samurai, a mysterious black feline (the film's title literally translates to “black cat”) tends to their wounds as the deceased spirits of the women make after-life plans to enact punishment on their abusers. Commingling the characteristics of both apparition and bakeneko, the women execute a series of comeuppance rituals on anonymous Samurai before coming face-to-face with their long-absent son/brother—now a Samurai himself—inevitably pitting new-found instincts against memory. Through an innovative use of wire choreography and immaculate stage lightning and cinematography, Shindo orchestrates a series of thrilling ariel dance showdowns against eerily shadowed backdrops. But it’s his expert balance of the humane, the spiritual, and the metaphysical which ultimately provide the necessary dimensions—both cerebral and visceral—to canonize this masterful work.

After rolling out a theatrical restoration of “Kuroneko” in 2010, in association with Janus Films, the Criterion Collection debuts this jewel of the kaidan genre in an equally impressive 1080p transfer. Together with a new, uncompressed soundtrack, the aural and visual flourishes of Shindo, cinematographer Kiyomi Kuroda, and composer Hikaru Hayashi translate in the highest possible regard. Extras are slim but informative: an hour-long interview with Shindo conducted in the late ‘80s highlights the set, and though it doesn’t touch on “Kuroneko” at any great length, there’s enough contextual and biographical information that is touched on to make it a very worthwhile inclusion here. A second interview rounds out the video supplements, this time with critic Tadao Sato, and running about ten minutes in length. Included in the requisite booklet is a historically detailed essay on the film by Maitland McDonagh, as well as an excerpt from Joan Mellen’s 1972 interview with Shindo, which first appeared in the book “Voices from the Japanese Cinema.” Criterion have always done an admirable job representing Japanese film in the collection, but “Kuroneko” is one of their best recent acquisitions and their presentation of the film is both aesthetically pleasing and satisfying for its many annotations. JC

DVD/Blu-ray: Hickey & Boggs (1972)

Distributor: MGM Limited Collection

Director(s): Robert Culp

Amazon Price: $16.49

The 1970s gave us enough high profile crime films for a near-lifetime of enjoyment, but there are just as many overlooked—or in some cases, flat-out forgotten—genre efforts from the era that deserve critical reassessment. Peter Yates’s “The Friends of Eddie Coyle,” for example, is a recently rediscovered classic from this fertile period of morally ambiguous crime thrillers. A curio on a similar level but unfortunately without the digital distribution of a company like Criterion, MGM’s unexpected made-on-demand DVD-R of Robert Culp’s 1972 detective saga “Hickey & Boggs” grants this under-seen work its first legitimate digital home video release. As the titular, odd couple detective duo, Bill Cosby and director/actor Robert Culp make for a surprisingly compatible comedic and dramatic team, ricocheting off screenwriter Walter Hill’s realistically urban-centric dialogue. The intimate chemistry between the actors alone is enough reason to seek out the film, but from the director’s chair is where Culp does even more impressive work, staging a number of action set-pieces to rival anything your Freidkins or your Lumets were doing concurrently. (The centerpiece shootout at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, in particular, seems to have made at least a peripheral impact on filmmakers such as Michael Mann.)

This being a made-on-demand disc, no extras have been appended—nor were any expected. Here’s a film good enough to warrant a legitimate release but apparently without sufficient interest to make manufacturing and distribution of the title financially feasible. That’s why these M-O-D discs can prove worthwhile, as the simple availability of a film such as “Hickey & Boggs” is endorsement enough for the trend to continue. For those curious, this is the only game in town; and seeing how the film's been treated the last forty years, this could be it for the foreseeable future. Plenty of films deserve the digital red carpet treatment; most receive nothing of the sort. Perhaps we should be glad “Hickey & Boggs” has arrived to us in even this form, as availability is the first step toward remembrance and reconsideration. JC

DVD/Blu-ray: Island of Lost Souls (1932)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Erle C. Kenton

Amazon Price: $27.99

Following Universal’s twin successes of “Dracula” and “Frankenstein” in 1931, Paramount was anxious to capitalize on the pre-code possibilities of a horror film. The result was the tawdry and scandalous “Island of Lost Souls,” one of many adaptations of H.G. Wells’s “The Island of Dr. Moreau.” This classic shocker offered a vamping Kathleen Burke as the titillating Panther Woman (“Lured men on—only to destroy them body and soul!”) and the ban-worthy implications of vivisection. The evil Dr. Moreau, played with a sneer by Charles Laughton, has been banished to an island for horrifying crimes to animals and humanity. Just what kind of crimes? Our sympathetic and serendipitous hero Edward Parker is about to find out. Moreau’s House of Pain and its tortuous operations on living things is soon discovered, as well as his plan to pair Edward with his panther-cum-seductress Lota. But Moreau’s unchecked ambitions are about to catch up with him, with a not-so subtle gang of psychologically manipulated man-beasts primed for revolt—the leader played by none other than Bela Lugosi. Directed by Erle C. Kenton, “Island of Lost Souls” is a tantalizing film that still maintains a measure of repulsion augmented with Moreau’s completely unredeemable character, and the film’s fantastic dark ambiance.

Sliced and diced by censors far and wide, ‘Island’ is made available in a complete version from Criterion, on both DVD and Blu-ray. It’s not hard to imagine that the film looks better than it ever has regardless of the kinds of flaws expected from a film almost 80 years old. An informative audio commentary by film historian Gregory Mack is included, and although he’s rather un-animated in his monologue, I am thrilled that the commentary is feature length. (Feature length! Not selected scenes!) A separate, 15-minute interview with David Skal provides even more context to this now-infamously banned film (and the climate it found itself up against in 1932, which coined it “a rich man’s ‘Freaks’”). Criterion throws in some well-considered extras to sweeten the deal: a conversation between John Landis, make-up artist Rick Baker, and genre mega-fan Bob Burns; a segment with director Richard Stanley (fired from the 1996 adaptation); and yet another with two members of the band Devo, and the inspiration they found in Erle C. Kenton’s films. You could probably dig up a VHS copy at a local library or find a dodgy bootleg of some kind online, but “Island of Lost Souls” is finally and officially 'available,' after a very long absence. KS

DVD/Blu-ray: Identification of a Woman (1982)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Michelangelo Antonioni

Amazon Price: $17.99

As Michelangelo Antonioni grew older, his release schedule became ever more methodical, reflecting his films’ patient narratives, while instilling even more weight on each subsequent image he deemed worthy of immortalization. Seven years passed between “The Passenger” and 1982’s “Identification of a Woman,” and it would mark not only a homecoming after 25 years of filmmaking in other parts of the world, but a final, completely solo effort for the Italian modernist. (His true final film, 1995's “Beyond the Clouds,” was facilitated by the efforts of Win Wenders, who shot and helped edit portions of it as Antonioni’s health waned.) In terms of precedence, “Identification of a Woman” can be seen as something of a sister film to “L’Avventura,” concerning as it does the disappearance of a leading female character and our male protagonist’s subsequent search and growing relationship with another, emotionally antithetical woman. 'Identification' bears all the hallmarks of late-period Antonioni: hypnotizing longtakes, powerfully evocation compositions, beautiful imagery, and risqué sequences of passionate sexuality. Always less a narrative filmmaker, more a purveyor of themes, these tools service three of Antonioni’s most memorable standalone moments: an extended sequence along a fog-enshrouded highway, an emotionally purging exchange set on a horizon-swallowing lagoon, and a climatic vision with sci-fi implications which stands as probably the loopiest, most left-field ending in Antonioni’s oeuvre (which is saying something).

Criterion’s new Blu-ray upgrades a blown-out, previously available import DVD of the film whose region-free capability was just about its only positive attribute. But beyond the darker, sharper hues exported by the 1080p transfer and the upgraded PCM audio track, there isn’t much else to mark this as a definitive release of the sadly underrated work. Unfortunately, there are no supplements included on the disc—a rarity for a debuting Criterion release in 2011—and only an essay by critic John Powers and a concurrent interview with Antonioni are included in the accompanying booklet (which is typically well-designed). It’s certainly great to see the film finally looking so fantastic for the home video market—and it’s certainly worthy of inclusion in the Collection—but it’s slightly disheartening that a film such as this, which could really use a serious critical reexamination, has been left so blankly staring back at the viewer when the resources that are presumably available for some sort of contextual supplements. JC

DVD/Blu-ray: Destroy All Monsters (1968)

Distributor: Tokyo Shock

Director(s): Ishiro Honda

Amazon Price: $24.99

It's little wonder why “Destroy All Monsters” is a fan favorite among the kaiju genre; from a superficial (but very relevant) standpoint, the film is a veritable who’s-who of rubber-suited wonders, employing the talents and grandeur of (in order of appearance) Godzilla, Rodan, Anguirus, Mothra, Gorosaurus on the island, Manda rocking Tokyo, and finally Minilla, Baragon, Kumonga, and Varan, all joining forces to kick a little King Ghidorah ass. But on another level, “Destroy All Monsters” signifies the end of an era; it was that the last film that employed the four original creators of “Godzilla” (producer Tomoyuki Tanaka, music composer Akira Ifukube, special effects master Eiji Tsuburaya and, of course, director Ishiro Honda). Monster Island is an unapologetic time capsule of nostalgic childhood fantasy that survives as a masterclass in special effects camp. The world’s giant monsters have been corralled to a remote locale where they live peacefully in captivity. At least, that's the case until an alien race lands and takes malicious control of the monsters, leading to a final battle that lives up to the film's title. I have a soft spot in my heart for “Destroy All Monsters” with its brilliant miniatures, imagination-inducing set design and paintings, and the lumbering Godzilla whose arm-swinging anger charmingly reminds me of senior citizens doing aerobics. The merits of this film, and many other kaiju spectacles from across the Pacific, defy scrutiny and lie in a sort of juvenile enjoyment of creative cinema that I’m thankful I haven’t lost.

The special features of Tokyo Shock’s Blu-ray of “Destroy All Monsters” reflect the kind of fanbased, film-loving attention that can only be termed as a kind of completism. There are four audio tracks to chose from: the superior English dub from the original US release, the so-called international English dub from its re-release, a dual channel Japanese (all in DTS-HD 2.0) and a previously remixed 5.1 Japanese thrown in for good measure. Also included is an informative audio commentary with Steve Ryfle and Ed Godziszewski, co-authors on a new book about Ishiro Honda. Ryfle and Godziszewski are full of factoids and anecdotes about the production, the cast, the monster suits and films that came both before and after "Destroy All Monsters." There's an image gallery with many a monster still, some storyboards from private collections, a US promo real, an odd transfer of 16mm artifacts, and finally, in a sort of fit of being ultra-complete, Tokyo Shock includes the English language credits to show how they were worked into the original film. Although Tokyo Shock barely lists these special features on the package and gives sparse explanation for each, they are catering to the people who are not going to hesitate to pull this Blu-ray from the shelf and buy it, and anyone who does so, will not be disappointed. KS

DVD/Blu-ray: Le beau Serge (1958); Le cousins (1958)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Claude Chabrol

Amazon Price: $24.49; $24.73

Time clouds history. In the world of the arts in particular, it’s easy to streamline events into convenient narratives. The nouvelle vague movement has experienced many a revisionist history lesson, its inception and concluding dates blurred between films, directors, and political incidents. Nowadays, it’s François Truffaut’s “The 400 Blows” that’s generally considered the new wave’s first dispatch. But going by the school of thought that birthed the movement, and which was taught in the pages of Cahiers du Cinema, the first two films by critic Claude Chabrol more accurately mark the new wave’s official demarcation point. Released in 1958, a year prior to Truffaut’s coming-of-age classic, Chabrol’s debut, “Le beau Serge,” finds maturity itself stunted in its title character’s (Gérard Blain) adolescent misconceptions about adult responsibility. When Serge’s lifelong friend, foil and attempted savior, François (Jean-Claude Brialy), arrives home after a prolonged absence, a series of intimate considerations and interventions are staged by Chabrol in soberingly direct fashion. Chabrol had yet to abandon optimism, however, and the look of exhausted hope on Serge’s face as the film closes reflects the sense of progress the new wave was hoping to instill on a stagnant French film industry.

1959's “Les cousins” again posits Blain and Brialy as mirror images of each other; however, in a clever bit of role reversal, Brialy plays the troubled bohemian to Blain’s visiting innocent. The titular duo are staged by Chabrol engaging in verbose debates similar to those in “Le beau Serge,” though the closed confines of much of “Les cousins” bespeaks Chabrol’s increasingly conscious attention to composition and detailed mise-en-scène. Further, the sanctity which eventually marks the characters of “Le beau Serge” is stripped bare in “Le cousins,” Chabrol’s much more severe outlook manifesting in a series of misgivings which lead to tragic consequences for all involved. These bleaker tendencies would eventually find their greatest compatibility in Chabrol’s ultimate genre of choice, the thriller, but restricted to the chic modern interiors of “Les cousins,” they instead give rise to one of Chabrol’s most pointed character studies.

Criterion recently debuted both these early nouvelle vague gems in pristine Blu-ray transfers, enhancing the natural exteriors and countryside sprawl of “Le beau Serge” while highlighting Chabrol’s intricate use of interiors in “Les cousins” with appropriately precise clarity and contrast. And while both discs feature worthwhile extras, “Le beau Serge” is the more robust package. Supplements include a lengthy making-of documentary entitled “Claude Chabrol: Mon premier film,” featuring interviews with Chabrol and Brialy; a vintage 1969 television program that finds Chabrol visiting his hometown of Sardent, where “Le beau Serge” was shot on location; and a wonderful audio commentary track by Guy Austin detailing the history and significance of Chabrol’s debut feature. The “Les cousins” disc features a commentary track of its own by Adrian Martin, but misses out on any further interview or documentary materials (which is unfortunate since this is the better of the two films in my view). Both releases also feature informative and handsomely designed booklets with critical essays and A/V specs. Each package is sold separately but if ever two films felt thematically and historically conjoined, it’s “Le beau Serge” and “Le cousins,” two works that gave realization to the dreams of a new generation of French film theorists. JC

Import of the Month

DVD/Blu-ray: A Man Vanishes (1967); Ballad of Narayama (1983)

Distributor: Masters of Cinema

Director(s): Shohei Imamura

Amazon UK Price: £11.99 / £12.99

England’s trailblazing Masters of Cinema continues to roll out the essential and forgotten films of Japanese master Shohei Imamura with a pair of releases drawing from very different points in the filmmaker's long career: the fervently experimental 1967 feature “A Man Vanishes,” on DVD, and 1983's Palme d’Or-winning “The Ballad of Narayama,” available as a Blu-ray/DVD combo. Both receive a five-star restoration, but the release of “A Man Vanishes,” officially available for the first time with English subtitles, is something to shout about from the mountaintops. Long before the juvenile muddling of “Catfish” or the political urgency of “This Is Not a Film,” Imamura questioned the form of film documentation by throwing himself and his viewer headlong into the chaos. The result is an engrossing tour de force that not only underscores the complexities of reality as viewed through the lens of a camera, but also the elusiveness of human nature and the mire of a modern milieu. Launched as an attempt to investigate the rampant phenomenon of ‘missing persons’ in Japan, Imamura focuses on one seemingly ordinary case of a missing man and the fiancé searching for him. Often filming and recording on the sly, this streetwise style becomes conduit to the unexpected discoveries of a latent scandal. Although released by Nikkatsu, “A Man Vanishes” was Imamura’s first feature completed through his independent production company, and it’s a vanguard piece of work rich with life and mystery. The DVD includes an interview with film scholar Tony Rayns, a very laid-back conversation between Imamura and his son Daisuke Tengan and a chunky booklet filled with photos and essays. It's the DVD release of the year.

After spending nearly a decade on documentaries in the '70s, Imamura energetically returned to fiction filmmaking with 1979's “Vengeance Is Mine,” followed soon after by 1981's twofer of “Eijanaika” and “The Ballad of Narayama,” the latter of which anchored Imamura’s reemergence with a hefty win at Cannes. At the invitation of Toei, Imamura found a home for his gestating adaptation of Shichiro Fukazawa’s stories that he had allegedly been thinking about since the '50s. Set in a remote village in mid-19th century Japan, 'Narayama' casts a blunt eye on the harsh realities and carnal pleasures of human survival. Key to the plot is the tradition of sending the community’s elders, an unnecessary mouth to feed, into the mountains to die at the age of 70. Orin is a spry and lively 69-year old matriarch and caretaker to two adult sons and three grandchildren. She prepares her family for her absence and even goes so far as to knock out her own front teeth to convince others she's old and feeble. Imamura goes to great lengths to emphasize the brutality of this microcosm (including the systematic execution of an entire family for their desperate, thieving ways) and its juxtaposition with the harsh beauty of the surrounding natural world. The habitual and sometimes cruel existence of snakes, birds and rats offer a poetic parallel to the muddled human characters. But it's clear Imamura's main concern in ‘Narayama’ lies in the thematic through-line of growing old with grace and humility, a theme he meditates on in the film's final chapter. Imamura was also determined to capture the authenticity of rigorous mountain life, and he ordered cast and crew to a remote location only accessible by foot to achieve this. As a result, the bitter cold of the film has an irreverent physical presence, as does the hot-blooded, near compulsive sex—qualities Masters of Cinema’s restoration only enhance. The MoC release improves on the only subpar version of the film that had been available up to this point, especially with regard to the natural light which Imamura so relied on; the transfer lends added, velvety richness to scenes previously assumed to be lacking visual detail. The MoC disc also contains four original trailers and (as with “A Man Vanishes”) an interview with Tony Rayns. But the care put into the booklet trumps the other supplements by a long shot, offering the assemblage of a director’s statement, a 1983 interview with Imamura, diary entries from producer Jiro Tomoda, and, most importantly, a selection of photos, including one of the greatest production stills ever shot (which also graces the release's back cover). Both films prove that even at age 57, well beyond his rebelling New Wave years, Imamura was an uncompromising maverick. KS

(“A Man Vanishes” is region-free; “The Ballad of Narayama” is region B locked.)

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Feature by:
Kathie Smith

Jordan Cronk