Banned in 1939 by a pre-War French government, for being 'demoralising', Jean Renoir's transparently allegorical film is set in a decadent chateau during a hunting weekend when pointed badinage, back-stabbing and partner-swapping suddenly erupt in an act of murder. Watch out for the ominous 'shooting party' scene, with heavily armed toffs turning a rabbit-hunt into a bloody massacre/metaphor.
Non-stop Yakuza-v-zombie action shouldn't be this boring. Director Ryuhei Kitamura knows how to stage a flesh-munching, sword-flashing set piece, but simply stringing a bunch of them together doesn't make a movie. Something to watch when you're in a stoned stupor, perhaps.
Kathleen Turner stars as peachy suburban housewife Beverly Sutphin, who merrily murders most of her annoying neighbours (and anyone else foolish enough to offend her). Turner's fabulous, and John Waters' black comedy is like a blend of Disney and David Lynch. An utter delight.
Gabriel Byrne and Julianna Margulies head up a nautical salvage crew who discover a derelict ocean liner that's been missing since 1962. On board is a fortune in gold bullion—and several hundred ghosts. Pure formula—occasionally bizarre and gory, but in the main outrageously schlocky, with Margulies in plucky heroine mode—and comfortingly reliable.
Philip Kaufman's letter-perfect realisation of Milan Kundera's student classic describes the spiritual transformation of Czech doctor Tomas (Daniel Day-Lewis, mercifully playing a 'real person') from pseudo-existentialist to moral being thanks to the loving idealism of waitress-turned-photographer Tereza (Juliette Binoche). Along the way there's a Russian invasion, an escape to Geneva, and plenty of sex with Lena Olin in a bowler hat.
The Nanny and The Blue Lamp? Just what these two anomalies are doing sandwiched together on DVD is anyone's guess. The former is a campy 1965 Hammer chiller about a bonkers nanny, played by Bette Davis in familiar kabuki make-up. The latter is a breathtakingly obsequious 1950 Ealing Studios tribute to the Metropolitan Police Force, which introduced the world to Dixon Of Dock Green.
Reworked by Claude Chabrol after the death of screenwriter Henri-Georges Clouzot (The Wages Of Fear, Diabolique), L'Enfer sees poor François Cluzet suspect pretty wife Emmanuelle Béart of infidelity then gradually lose it as paranoia and doubt undermine his entire existence. Beautiful, but painful to watch.
The L-Shaped Room is a stagy 1962 adaptation of a Lynne Reid Banks novel about pregnant French socialite Leslie Caron in a London bedsit, and is famous only to Smiths obsessives due to it being the source of the opening sample from The Queen Is Dead. John Schlesinger's 1965 Darling is a key text from the Swinging London canon, breezily and brilliantly skewering vacuous underwear model Diana Scott (Julie Christie) as she seduces her way into wealthy despair.
Belated DVD release for Stephen (Blade) Norrington's flaccid 2001 meditation on the nature of, wince, 'celebrity culture'. Max Beesley, ineffably irritating in Alfie mode, is Billy Byrne, a talentless wannabe whose driving desire for fame sends him on a Hellish Journey™ through London's criminal drug-dealing S&M underworld. Hateful characters, no discernible narrative voice, and hackneyed visuals. A mistake.
