As with most months, May was bursting with Home Movie possibilities, and although we didn’t get to all of them, below is a beefy compendium of the touchstones that made their way onto DVD or Blu-ray this month. Kino International offers a survey of Italian icon Sophia Loren and mild-mannered documentarian Nicolas Philibert, and so do we. Cinema Guild releases José Luis Guerín’s under-the-radar effectual romance “In the City of Sylvia.” And Blue Underground delivers another Hi-def miracle with Dario Argento’s “Cat o’ Nine Tails.” But May Home Movies belongs to Criterion, as we obsess over five swoon-worthy Blu-rays of five diverse must-see films: “Solaris,” “Smiles of a Summer Night,” “Diabolique,” “Something Wild,” and our Pick of the Month, “Pale Flower.” Kathie Smith

Pick of the Month

DVD/Blu-ray: Pale Flower (1964)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Masahiro Shinoda

Amazon Price: $27.99

In the late 1950s, when Japanese audiences were being torn from theaters by the evil grip of television, a group of conservative studios (specifically Nikkatsu and Shochiku) were brave enough—or just desperate enough—to give a group of young and opinionated assistant directors a chance to win back audiences. Many of the most prominent directors working in the '60s, loosely dubbed the Japanese New Wave, got their foot in the door due to the moderate success of two taiyozoku (Sun Tribe) films depicting a narcissistic post-war generation of thrill-seeking youth: Takumi Furukawa’s “Season of the Sun” and Ko Nakahira’s “Crazed Fruit.” Masahiro Shinoda was one of those filmmakers and, after serving as assistant director on Nagisa Oshima’s 1959 film “Town of Love and Hope,” he quickly moved up to direct his own films. These early peripheral influences lurk in the background of “Pale Flower,” Shinoda’s tenth film in four years and an undeniable technical crescendo in his career thus far. “Pale Flower” works as both a sardonic and stylish maturation of the Sun Tribe films and an inspired ninkyo-eiga Yakuza film, but was in a class and genre all its own.

“Pale Flower” is the live-life-with-nothing-to-lose story of Muraki (Ryo Ikebe), a career-criminal recently released from prison, and Saeko (Mariko Kaga), a doe-eyed beauty bored with social norms. They meet in a gambling den where Saeko is dispassionately throwing bundles of cash down on the mat. Muraki attempts to match her bravada in a flirtatious and wordless exchange of careless betting. Cash, kicks and nihilism fuel their ensuing Platonic relationship toward an inevitable end of destruction. Hidden under Saeko’s cavalier nighttime attitude of reckless driving and freewheeling gambling is a rejection of a stagnant future as a housewife, the potential for which we only catch a glimpse of. Saeko is a few years older than the girls in those initial Sun Tribe films, and “Pale Flower” implies that within those fragile years of 16 to 19 comes a dark pessimism. But while Saeko is obliviously careening, Muraki is consciously resigned; he's an outcast even among his fellow gangsters, uninterested in the cheap thrills of his underlings but also ambivalent of the sterile power of his boss. Eight years later, Natsuhisa in “Crazed Fruit” has matured into Muraki, a man who has come to grips with the frivolity of life. Saeko and Muraki may be lost, but they share an inspired moment of understanding near the end of the film as Muraki plunges his knife into the boss of a rival gang and seals his fate—the two lock eyes from across the room with near operatic bliss.

Shinoda builds a structurally gorgeous film out of quick edits and specific framing in the night-lit world of Yokohama’s quiet streets and the underworld’s back-rooms. At the center is a haunting dream sequence that dives into the depths of Muraki’s subconscious of panic and the slow-motion pursuits of a fallen angel. Both Ikebe and Kaga as Muraki and Saeko possess a suave and elusive aura that captivates the screen. But it's Toru Takemitsu’s score and sound design that pulls these components together in fits of chaos, cadence and beauty. Although the film opens with ambient sounds and Muraki’s voiceover, the entrance into the gambling den is our entrance into the world of Takemitsu’s brilliance, building to one of the greatest credit sequences of images married to sound in film history. The click of the hanafuda cards is mixed into the repetition of the dealers call for bets, and there's a rhythm set; when Muraki throws down his money in what seems to be the scene’s climax, Shinoda tosses up the title card and Takemitsu picks up the ambient tempo with freeform jazz and disjunctive beats. If you think you're hearing tap dancing, you’re right; mimicking the sound of cards, Takemitsu recorded tap dancers and included it in his score as well.

In a supplementary commentary, Peter Grilli, president of the Japan Society in Boston and coproducer of a recent Takemitsu retrospective at the Film Forum, leads us through selected scenes where Takemitsu’s work plays a large roll, including his choice of Henry Purcell’s “Dido and Aeneas” for the finale. Deeply involved in the films production, Takemitsu would not only compose music for the film but also record ambient sounds to weave into the film. Grilli’s insights are a great listen, and I can’t help but feel a little cheated out of a feature length commentary given Grilli’s expertise. Criterion also includes a new interview with Shinoda, who, although retired from filmmaking, is still a vibrant character, eloquent in reflecting on his films. Chuck Stephens includes a flowery essay that reads more like a poetic story than an informational read, but is nonetheless full of keen cultural references for even the most ardent fans of “Pale Flower.” Although I literally had my hands on the new 35mm print of “Pale Flower” a month ago, owning Criterion’s Blu-ray matches that thrill with the value of innumerable replays. The overall aesthetic brilliance of “Pale Flower” leaves me craving more high-def Japanese New Wave releases. KS

DVD/Blu-ray: Something Wild (1986)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Jonathan Demme

Amazon Price: $27.99

A little over halfway through Jonathan Demme’s “Something Wild,” Ray Liotta comes out of left-field to transform this effortlessly charming road trip romance into a tense thriller with palpable implications weighing on each remaining line of E. Max Frye’s sharply written screenplay. It’s here, when Liotta has finally persuaded his estranged wife Audrey (Melanie Griffith) and her new faux-husband Charles Driggs (Jeff Daniels) to take a midnight drive through a small town suburb, that he nonchalantly comments about his vintage Cadillac: “They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.” I cringe at the inherent cliché of the sentiment, but the same could be said about “Something Wild” itself, Demme’s beloved 1988 romantic comedy, from a time when those two words together didn’t elicit flashbacks of bad Matthew McConaughey and Jennifer Anniston flicks. Part road-movie, part off-kilter romance, part thriller, “Something Wild” found Demme juggling genres with the verve and energy only a young filmmaker could muster. And despite making some worthwhile pictures prior to this, Demme reveals in an accompanying interview on this new Blu-Ray that “Something Wild” was something like a first film for the now veteran director. To that end, he certainly decked out the fringes of his cast like he may never work again, corralling cameos by everyone from John Waters to Tracey Walter to John Sayles to reggae legend Sister Carol; and as far as band cameos in ‘80s films go, the Feelies serenading a high school reunion is right up there with Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds forecasting the apocalypse in “Wings of Desire.”

Criterion debut the film in high-def with their new Blu-Ray, and the results are simply outstanding. These are some of the most vibrant colors I’ve seen rendered digitally for a film from this era (and without glossing over the film grain in the process), with Tak Fujimoto’s cinematography translating in unaltered and pristine overall condition. Sound is especially key in “Something Wild” as well, and Criterion’s DTS-HD 2.0 stereo mix wonderfully handles all the film’s wide-ranging music, which includes contributions from David Byrne, X, Fine Young Cannibals, the aforementioned Feelies, Sister Carol, and a host of other left-field contributors. Supplements-wise, the disc is a little slim by Criterion standards; in addition to an always handsome booklet—here with an essay by critic David Thomson—the only other extras are two video interviews, one with Demme and one with E. Max Frye. Together they total about 45 minutes and are certainly informative, but nevertheless the cast is conspicuous by their absence. Still, this is one of the most impressive transfers of the year so far—I seriously doubt “Something Wild” will ever look better than it does now—and the film remains an excellent example of late-'80s studio filmmaking at its best. Jordan Cronk

DVD/Blu-ray: Diabolique (1955)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Henri-Georges Clouzot

Amazon Price: $27.99

The final title card to Henri-Georges Clouzot’s mystery reads, “Don’t be devils! Don’t ruin the interest your friends could take in this film. Don’t tell them what you saw. Thank you for them.” I may not be able to have the same restraint needed in 1955, but because “Diabolique” does such a fantastic job at hiding the bomb under the table, it still seems unfair to reveal its secrets all these years later. Its perverse power and brutal tension culminates in a big twist unveiling Clouzot’s masterful restraint and structural precision built around a triangle of two women and one man: a docile and repressed wife (Véra Clouzot, Henri-Georges’s wife), a severe and fearless mistress (Simone Signoret) and a brutal and petty husband (Paul Meurisse). All three teach within the cloistered environs of a boys’ boarding school, where the adulterous affair is oddly aboveboard. Christina, the rich and pious wife, actually sympathizes with her husband’s lover, Nicole, when she shows up for school with a black eye. The monster between them is Michel, a misogynist who clearly thinks he has both women under his thumb. Nicole has had enough and devises a plan, but first she must convince the saintly Christina to conspire murder.

Save the foreboding dirge that opens the film with the title sequence, the film’s tension is built alongside an ambient soundtrack—a daring feat for a thriller of any age, but it's nothing compared to psychological and visceral shocks Clouzot has up his sleeve. An early scene that builds ample sympathy for the cold-blooded intentions of the two women, we watch as Michel humiliates Christina by forcing her to eat something she doesn’t want to in front of the entire school, and then proceeds to rape her. Even though the latter is simply implied, its nastiness is shocking even today. Not to mention the murder itself, with a horrifying recognition of the (supposed) situation between Christina and Michel before Nicole shoves his head underwater. The finale however is the film’s brilliant mise-en-scéne coup d’état, best experienced, as Clouzot had hoped, without spoilers. The two lead women anchor the film at either ends of the personality spectrum. Signoret’s Nicole is brusque, beautiful and completely frightening. Clouzot’s Christina, the other accomplice in this wretched murder, is compassionate, innocent and fragile. Clouzot was yesteryear’s Lars von Trier in that he was notoriously hard on his actors, even his wife. The heart condition that Christina suffers from in the film was no different from the illness Véra Clouzot suffered from and succumbed to only five years after the filming of “Diabolique.”

Clouzot, in many ways, out-Hitchcocked Hitchcock with “Diabolique.” Clouzot snatched the rights to the source material—Boileau-Narcejac crime fiction "Celle qui n'était plus"—practically right under Hitch’s nose. (Hitchcock would later adapt the Boileau-Narcejac fiction “D’entre le morts” into “Vertigo,” but without the immediate success that “Diabolique” enjoyed.) It was the risqué and startling nature of “Diabolique,” however, that Hitchcock would use to his advantage in “Psycho.” Clouzot was arguably at the peak of his career with “Diabolique,” both commercially and critically, and Criterion has finally given it a place in the sun. Updating their DVD release from over 10 years ago with an amazing high-def transfer and the extras it deserves. The new release is full of informative supplements that present a very good overall picture of Clouzot and “Diabolique.” The first is a spirited introduction by Serge Bloomberg, director of the documentary “Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Inferno.” Bloomberg is the kind of film expert I could listen to for hours—his enthusiasm for and knowledge of the material reads loud and clear. There's also a more dry but informative commentary of select scenes by French film scholar Kelly Conway, an interview with critic Kim Newman giving the film context in genre, and an essay by Terrence Rafferty. I had seen “Diabolique” before, yet the film was so engrossing and the Blu-ray so pristine, when the film ended I immediately watched it again. KS

DVD/Blu-ray: Cat o’ Nine Tails (1971)

Distributor: Blue Underground

Director(s): Dario Argento

Amazon Price: $14.99

It’s hard to imagine that the director of “The Mother of Tears” would be unsatisfied with a film like “The Cat ‘o Nine Tails,” but Dario Argento is on record saying that it’s his least favorite film. The second in his animal trilogy—following his outstanding debut, “The Bird With the Crystal Plumage,” and preceding his underrated “Four Flies On Grey Velvet”—“Cat o’ Nine Tails” is yet another example of the director’s innovative formal creativity with a camera. In his hay day, Argento was a formalist on the fringes who completely changed the rulebook, and although ‘Cat’ may not be the best example of this, it's all the same a very good one. The film teases out a mystery from the Terzi Institute, a genetic research facility, where someone has broken in but nothing is missing. Corporate espionage is suspected, but Terzi is anxious to keep the police from sniffing around their secret experiments. When a scientist from the Tenzi Intstitute accidentally falls in front of a train only one day later, an intrepid blind puzzle master smells a fish. As with many Argento films, the soldiers of truth come in the form or ordinary citizens, and in this case, the odd couple to join forces is handsome and charismatic newspaper reporter Carlo Giordani (James Franciscus) and the ex-reporter who lost his sight 15 years ago, Franco Arno (Karl Malden, who will always be the American Express guy to me.) Argento dangles a title that freely references both a mutant cat and a torture device, but the nine tails are the illusive leads Arno and Giordani must follow to catch the killer.

The film is stacked with stylistic audacity even if the story itself falls short. Until the killer’s identity is revealed, he's portrayed with the subjective camera Argento was known for, literally putting the audience in the killer’s shoes. The chaotic camera direction at the scene of the scientist’s murder represents Argento’s unbridled ingenuity with tight edits and the camera swinging between train and victim, back to train and then back to victim. It’s capped by the violence that we should have seen coming as the poor sack is pushed in front of the train and nearly severed in two. Fast women and snappy men are Argento du jour, but so is a subversive homosexual context that was anything but ambiguous. He’s completely open about one character being gay, tempting the audience’s prejudices to suspect him. (It’s not surprising that when the film was originally released in the US, its 110-minute runtime was cut by 20 minutes, including all the scenes directly referencing this elegant scientist who hangs out in the St. Peters Club.) Ennio Morricone, who worked on scores for all three of Argento's animal trilogy films, creates a jazz piece that starts light and transforms into something discordant, relying heavily on a sludgy baseline reminiscent of Goblin’s killer score for “Deep Red.”

Despite imitators, there's really no one like Dario Argento. His 70s films, even today, are idiosyncratic masterpieces, islands of originality. Blue Underground’s Blu-ray is a sight for sore eyes and a remarkable improvement over the available DVD. Argento’s films are ones of style and atmosphere, and I can’t imagine ‘Cat’ looking any better than this progressive 1080 transfer where the colors, compositions, extreme close-ups and elusive clues are clear and palpable. Same goes for the remastered English audio. Although the dialogue was done in a post-dub, it was at least all acted in English, so the lips match the dub. The Blu-ray includes extras, but they're carried over from the 2001 Anchor Bay release: 15-minute making-of “Tales of the Cats,” which includes Argento, Morricone and co-writer Dardano Sacchetti, and audio interviews with actors James Franciscus and Karl Malden. Some care has definitely been put into this release—right down to the animated main menu, with a cat twirling its nine tails—and after watching a half-dozen releases from Blue Underground, a cult film fanatics dream, I wouldn't hesitate lining my shelves with their growing catalogue of stellar Blu-rays. KS

DVD/Blu-ray: Smiles of a Summer Night (1955)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Ingmar Bergman

Amazon Price: $27.99

As the story goes, Ingmar Bergman, fed up with dwindling box office in his native Sweden, a general apathy from American critics and audiences, and a crippling bout of depression, holed up and wrote one of the great erotic comedies of mid-century world arthouse cinema. The resulting “Smiles of a Summer Night” would go on to put Bergman on the international map, though it remains something of an anomaly amidst his undisputed classics, with its lightness of  tone and freewheeling humor bearing little in common with such gutting masterpieces as “The Seventh Seal,” “Wild Strawberries,” “Cries and Whispers,” and “Scenes from a Marriage.” Still, Bergman’s eye for detail was already precisely acute, the film’s elaborate mise-en-scène reflecting his character’s inner plights, as four couples juggle partners over a weekend stay in a country estate. Of course, this being a Bergman “comedy” and all, there's still time set aside for a botched suicide attempt and a game of Russian roulette that moves from tense to hilarious over the course of a few swigs of vodka. Despite leaving behind such unguarded humor in his proceeding work, the film would prove highly influential, bearing marks on filmmakers as disparate as Bertrand Tavernier and Woody Allen (check the latter’s blatantly reverential “A Midnight Summer’s Sex Comedy” for perhaps the most obvious example).

Criterion’s new Blu-Ray is an upgrade of the already rather impressive standard DVD from 2004. The 1080p transfer advances subtly in most of the areas we’ve come to expect, with contrast appearing more balanced and the overall picture sharpening up a degree. Extras are duplicated from the original issue, and include a quick intro to the film by Bergman himself, and a 15 minute video conversation between Bergman scholar Peter Cowie and Jörn Donner, executive producer of “Fanny and Alexander.” The booklet is also identical, though the essay by John Simon is still one of the single best pieces of criticism on the film that I’ve read, while Pauline Kael’s original review—in which she calls the film a “nearly perfect work”—is also essential reading. Bergman would go on to make more thematically and aesthetically ambitious films, but “Smiles of a Summer Night” remains one of his most re-watchable, endlessly entertaining works, and this new Blu-Ray, despite not necessarily being worth the upgrade if you already own the original DVD, is now the best edition available for those interested in discovering the film for the first time. JC

DVD/Blu-ray: In the City of Sylvia (2007)

Distributor: Cinema Guild

Director(s): Jose Luis Guerin

Amazon Price: $29.95

Four years after its Venice Film Festival premiere, and three years after its American theatrical release, Jose Luis Guerin's “In the City of Sylvia” has finally arrived on DVD from Cinema Guild. Now established as one of the strongest independent theatrical distributors to make a name for themselves in recent years, Cinema Guild has also started acquiring DVD rights to films they didn't initially distribute, such as Manoel de Oliveira's “Eccentricities of a Blonde-Haired Girl,” Damien Chazelle's “Guy and Madeline On a Park Bench” and Pedro Costa's “Ne Change Rien.” "In the City of Sylvia" was given a very small theatrical release in the US in 2008 to a smattering of effusive critical accolades, but then seemingly disappeared, with no sign of it on home video. Now Guerin's sublime meditation on memory and missed connections has been given the DVD treatment it deserves, and is available to a much wider audience than it ever was before.

There's something reminiscent of the work of Manoel de Oliveira at work here, except in place of de Oliveira's characteristic formalism, there's a kind of fluid formlessness—a plotless but engaging drive toward feeling and emotion rather than a conventional story. “In the City of Sylvia” unfolds like something out of a hazy memory; faded, sun-dappled recollections revisited on a warm summer's day. It all revolves around a young artist who's returned to Strasbourg six years after meeting a young woman who changed his life forever. Determined to find her and reconnect, he spends his days languidly lounging around cafes and wandering about the city, hoping for a glimpse of his long-lost love. The film takes its time observing the surroundings, as the young artist hopes to spy the mysterious Sylvie, sketching each woman he sees while he waits. Who are these women? What are their stories? We only catch snippets of conversations—dialogue is kept to a minimum—as the young artist studies each, their mannerisms, their smiles, the emotion behind their eyes. Then, as if by magic, we know immediately that he's spotted the elusive Sylvie before we even see her; his face tells us all we need to know. He follows her, and unwittingly embarks on a journey that will take him through the streets and back alleys of Strasbourg, chasing a shadow in order to recapture a dream.

Like its protagonist, “In the City of Sylvia” ferrets off down back alleys and unturned corners, following paths that may or may not lead anywhere, not interested in the destination as much as the journey. Guerin is content to simply sit back and observe, and while the film's middle section is perhaps more plot-driven, the director nimbly avoids imposing any kind of stilted narrative. It's the world around the film where the real story lies; in the eyes of a stranger, an offhand gesture. For our young artist, happiness is always just around the corner, but it always presents itself as something abstract, a concept rather than a story, an idea rather than a plot. It's there, but it's felt rather than seen. The effect is strangely hypnotic; Guerin draws the audience in with an intoxicating simplicity, linking together images, sounds, and music that add up to something uniquely magical. As usual, Cinema Guild's presentation doesn't just add throwaway extras for the sake of padding. The extras enhance the film, and include Guerin's 2007 film “Some Photos in the City of Sylvia,” which strings together photos from the director's own trip to Strasbourg that provide a sketch of the film that would eventually become “In the City of Sylvia.” Like the drawings in the young artist's book, the extras open up a window into the artistic process. It's a fascinating insight into the evolution and inspiration for the film. The is a fitting package for one of the hidden gems of the last decade—a beautiful and poetic paean to youthful love and second chances. Matthew Lucas

DVD/Blu-ray: Nénette (2-Disc Set) (2010)

Distributor: Kino

Director(s): Nicolas Philibert

Amazon Price: $35.99

DVD/Blu-ray: Louvre City (1990)

Distributor: Kino

Director(s): Nicolas Philibert

Amazon Price: $22.49

Distributor: Kino

Director(s): Nicolas Philibert

Amazon Price: $22.49

DVD/Blu-ray: Every Little Thing (1997)

Distributor: Kino

Director(s): Nicolas Philibert

Amazon Price: $22.49

May was Nicolas Philibert month, at least at Kino International, and now is a great time to either catch up or revisit his gentle and inquisitive documentaries with the release of his newest, last year's “Nénette,” as well as four others: 1990's “Louvre City,” 1992's “In the Land of the Deaf,” 1996's “Animals and More Animals” and 1997's “Every Little Thing.” Best known for his 2002 film “To Be and To Have,” Philibert has honed unobtrusive observation to a fine art. While most documentarians manipulate realities into their personal truths before handing them out, Philibert finds subjects, presents their stories with the utmost candor, and turns them into magical reflections of understated humanity. “Louvre City” is his first feature length documentary. This is reflected in its modest intentions but not its exquisite sense of detail and patience. Framed as a day-in-the-life, the film spends 84 minutes mining the alcoves of the grand museum during its renovation that included I.M Pei’s Pyramid. Like the tour you are forbidden to take, it’s a captivating behind-the-scenes look at moving, restoring and cataloguing some of the world’s most famous art. Far from the sterile notion of an art museum, this view of the Louvre is teaming with life and you can almost imagine the historical mirror image of activity when the structure acted as part fortress, part palace in the 13th century. “Animals and More Animals” is packed together with “Nénette,” but it's better paired with “Louvre City.” ‘Animals,’ shot from 1991 to 1994, documents the restoration and reopening of the Paris Natural History Museum. Like ‘Louvre,’ Philibert’s camera goes to the back rooms of the archives and the quiet workshops of restorationists preparing the freeze frame animals for their new home. This short film doesn’t linger too long on anything, instead giving fascinating glimpses into the secret lives of these stuffed animals, right down to the drawer full of false eyes. “Louvre City” and ‘Animals’ are magnetic with their gravitational appeal.

“In the Land of the Deaf” and “Every Little Thing” are two films also easily paired together, quietly investigating two separate social strata on the fringes. ‘Deaf’ plunges the viewer into the silent world of the hearing impaired and lends an attentive lens to their stories. Interviewing adults who have suffered from the worst abuses and watching children as they're taught to vocalize and hear with the assistance of aids, Philibert dispels stereotypes and exposes the minor battles and the major joys behind the shield of French Sign Language. Florent, a young boy struggling with his disability, nearly steals the show with his fragile but lively personality. It is with the same unadorned sensitivity that he visits La Borde Psychiatric Clinic as they are rehearsing for their annual open air play in “Every Little Thing.” The patients’ insecurities and honesty are put on full display, as is the respect Philibert gives to his subjects. “In the Land of the Deaf” and ‘Every Little Thing” are a little more introspective, forcing us to reflect on the human condition. Philibert has a talent of presenting subjects with no pretense, and, as a result, we never feel like we are outsiders looking in, but rather companions in the experience and the inquiry. His most recent film finds a middle ground between the natural fascination of “Louvre City” and “Animals and More Animals” and the human empathy of “In the Land of the Deaf” and “Every Little Thing.” “Nénette” is by far the most delicate documentary of these five releases and starts to reveal the man behind the curtain. Focusing on a 40 year-old orangutan that has spent 37 of those years in captivity, “Nénette” transforms into a portrait of us through the reflection of this amazing but stifled wild animal. For 70 minutes we watch Nénette and her mundane activities through the thick glass of her habitat, as schoolchildren cajole and mock and adults ponder and judge. The simplicity defies its subdued power and its ability to cast a wide net on humanity. As one might expect, “Nénette” is the best-looking DVD of the bunch, by a long shot. “Louvre City” is anamorphic, but the other three are letterbox and all have the foggy grain of a bad transfer. “In the Land of the Deaf” is marred with artifacts and even contains the cue marks of an exhibition print. It’s a sad reminder that there simply aren’t the resources to give these small films the attention they deserve. KS

DVD/Blu-ray: Solaris (1981)

Distributor: Criterion

Director(s): Andrei Tarkovsky

Amazon Price: $27.99

Andrei Tarkovsky’s “Solaris” is a lot of things to different people. For some, it’s a sci-fi head-trip, and for others, a tale of doomed romance; still for others, it's a spiritual and literary exegesis. That in actuality it's all this and so much more speaks to its status as one of the elite masterpieces of modern cinema—in context of Tarkovsky’s own catalogue, I’d place it only behind 1979’s “Stalker.” Critics and audiences have been attempting to decode the film's many secrets and implications for decades now, and with Tarkovsky’s stated goal of creating a sci-fi epic in opposition to Stanley Kubrick’s cold, methodical masterpiece “2001: A Space Odyssey,” making interpretation that much more ambiguous, it’ll likely be many more until we’ve even begun to reconcile Tarkovsky’s conflation of the cerebral, spiritual, and emotional. The film’s elliptical, dreamlike structure opens up recesses in the mind of its protagonist, psychologist Kris Kelvin, who's sent to the Solaris space station to investigate curious phenomena aboard the ship and amongst its crew. From here, characters quickly fold in on themselves, in some cases materializing in accordance with a nearby planet which may or may not hold the key to the suffering inflicted on the Solaris crew, while Kelvin himself suddenly finds ramifications of his past and present disrupting his consciousness and shaping an uncertain future.

“Solaris” has been in the Criterion Collection for a while now (spine #164, to be exact), and despite having a pretty solid transfer the first time around, it was probably due for an upgrade. Skin tones on the new Blu-ray are noticeably more accurate and the picture is sharp while maintaining the same basic color palette. The one notable exception is the black-and-white sequences, which on previous DVD editions had carried a light blue tint to them. In an effort to confirm the intended look, Criterion contacted director of photographer Vadim Yusov, who did indeed shoot these sequences in traditional black-and-white. This problem has been corrected for the Blu-ray, rendering the film in the most accurate transfer yet for home video. Also new for this edition is the artwork, marking one of the few times the design of a Criterion package has changed during a DVD-to-Blu-Ray upgrade (never mind that I personally prefer the old artwork). Other than that, supplements remain the same, which is to say, excellent. Now all on one disc, we have the in-depth commentary track by authors Vida Johnson and Graham Petrie, video interviews with Yusov, star Natalya Bondarchuk, art director Mikhail Romadin, and composer Eduard Artemyev, and the excerpt of a documentary on author Stanislaw Lem. Rounding out the package is Phillipe Lopate’s essay on the film, which remains the centerpiece of the accompanying booklet, alongside director Akira Kurosawa’s short appreciation of the film. With the transfer of “Solaris” now existing in its most accurate and pristine condition and Criterion putting noticeable effort into all aspects of this reissue, here’s a Blu-ray upgrade certainly worth the double dip for those so inclined. Either way, this should be a cornerstone of any self-respecting cinephile’s digital library. JC

DVD/Blu-ray: Sophia Loren: Award Collection (1963-70)

Distributor: Kino

Director(s): Vittorio De Sica

Amazon Price: $44.99

When it comes to great movie stars, few hold a candle to the luminous Sophia Loren, whose fiery presence has been an asset to Italian filmmaking for decades. To celebrate this legendary actress, Kino Lorber is releasing three of the actress' greatest triumphs on Blu-ray and DVD, all directed by the renowned Vittorio De Sica (“Bicycle Thieves”). Kino has a catalogue of classic foreign and independent film to rival that of Criterion, and while the Loren collection may not have Criterion-like extras, just having these films on Blu-ray is remarkable enough.

The earliest of the films collected here is the 1964 Academy Award winner for Best Foreign Language Film, “Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow,” a light and frothy comedy that may come as a bit of a shock to those who only know De Sica for his gritty Neorealist films like “Bicycle Thieves” and “Umberto D.” A lavish Carlo Ponti production from De Sica's commedia all'italiana period, “Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow” is a comedy in three acts, casting Loren and frequent co-star Marcello Mastroianni ("8 1/2") in three different unconnected episodes as three completely different couples. In the first, Loren is a street vendor convicted of illegally selling cigarettes, and who takes advantage of a law allowing for a six month maternity grace period by continually having kids to keep herself out of jail. In the second, she is a wealthy socialite having an affair with a working class stiff (Mastroianni) who begins to see her for the vain, shallow person she is. And in the third, Loren is a prostitute whose beauty bewitches a young neighbor studying to become a priest, much to the chagrin of her most regular client, as well as the young man's very traditional grandmother.

The third segment of 'Yesterday' is the strongest and most compelling. The middle one is much shorter and therefore less developed, but it makes its point in a strong and memorable manner. Loren and Mastroianni are a delight in all three, and De Sica demonstrates his considerable versatility by showing that he's just as adept at light comedy as he is at tragic social commentary. It's also easy to see why this was an easy film for Oscar voters to digest, and while it may not be the of the kind of weighty sentimentalism common of most modern foreign language winners, it's a real charmer that's hard not to like. Included with the two-disc set is the 2009 documentary, "Vittorio D.," which chronicles the director's long and varied career, offering a deeper insight into his craft.

The real jewel of the collection, however, is 1964's “Marriage Italian Style,” which garnered a Best Actress Oscar nomination for Loren, as well as yet another Best Foreign Language Film nomination for De Sica. It showcases a wacky screwball plot with Loren as the longtime mistress of aristocrat Mastroianni who's furious when she finds out he's marrying someone of higher status. So she devises a series of outlandish plans to try and win him back, including faking a life-threatening illness and claiming to have mothered a child he had no knowledge of. It's a romantic comedy every bit as delicious as something Howard Hawks might have concocted, with Loren and Mastroianni proving fine rivals for the likes of Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant. The only problem is that the film stock has aged very badly, and even on Blu-ray it suffers from degraded image quality marked by intense grain and scratches. It's in bad need of a restoration, and of the three films in the collection it benefits the least from the Blu-ray treatment, the sharp HD almost making the grain worse.

That is not to suggest that older films must all be rendered grain-free by Blu-ray, but in the case of “Marriage Italian Style,” the grain is a result of badly aged film stock rather than an extension of its personality. “Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow” and “Sunflower” both feature gorgeous transfers, with colors that pop and just the right amount of grain. It's a shame that the finest film of the bunch has aged the worst. Still, it doesn't take away from the film's inherent charms, which remains a comedic masterpiece every bit as funny and touching as it was nearly 50 years ago.

The most beautiful of the three films here, 1970's “Sunflower,” is a grand melodrama with Loren, in one of her most powerful performances, as a devoted Italian wife whose husband goes missing on the Russian front during WWII. With no news and little help, she sets out for the snow-swept fields of Russia to find her love and bring him back, as time and fate work against her. The only film of the trio that isn't a comedy, “Sunflower” is a sweeping drama that garnered an Academy Award nomination for Henry Mancini's gorgeous score. De Sica's Neorealist roots show themselves a little more here than in his comedies, but there's also a decidedly Hollywood flair. Rather than a Neorealist social commentary, “Sunflower” is a grand, even pulpy entertainment, filled with underlined emotions and tragic romance. There's an almost David Lean quality, especially in the epic battle scenes that tell the story of the Italian army's ill-fated excursion into Russia. It also features the most pristine transfer of the set, made more impressive by the vibrant high-def of the Blu-ray.

In the three films presented here, Loren plays no less than five different characters, showcasing her considerable talent in three varied films from one of cinema's supreme artists demonstrating his considerable versatility. For newcomers to De Sica's work, these films will provide an easily digestible introductions to one of the medium's most revered auteurs. For his fans, they will open up a thrilling and lesser known chapter of his work. For Loren devotees, this is a must-have collection, a consummate set of some of her strongest work. Available either as a DVD box set or as individual Blu-rays, Kino's Sophia Loren Award Collection is yet another welcome addition to the company's considerable catalogue that continues to surprise and impress. ML

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Feature by:
Kathie Smith

Jordan Cronk

Matthew Lucas