FILM FRENZY

Kevin Tighe and Randolph Mantooth in Emergency! (Photo: Universal)

By Matt Brunson

(View From The Couch is a weekly column that reviews what’s new on Blu-ray, 4K, and DVD. Ratings are on a four-star scale.)

BEING THERE (1979). Peter Sellers is nothing short of brilliant in director Hal Ashby’s alternately lovely and lacerating satire. Adapting his own novel, Jerzy Kosinski has penned a delightful comedy about Chance (Sellers), a simple-minded gardener who, after an entire lifetime spent on the grounds of a Washington, D.C., home, suddenly finds himself out on the streets. A “chance” encounter, however, leads to him being invited into the majestic D.C. residence (filming took place at Asheville’s Biltmore Estate) of politically connected millionaire Ben Rand (Melvyn Douglas) and his wife Eve (Shirley MacLaine). Both take an instant liking to Chance the gardener (whose name they take to be Chauncey Gardiner), and, like everyone else, they interpret his elementary observations as profound musings on the state of the nation. Soon, Chance has been reinvented as an international man of mystery who speaks eight languages and whose CIA and FBI files have reportedly been destroyed — much to the dismay of the U.S. president (Jack Warden), who would like some background info on the man whose advice he’s suddenly following. Amusingly (actually, sadly), what seemed outrageous at the time — a man this stupid ascending this far in the national political arena — became factual with the elections of both George W. Bush and especially Donald Trump. Sellers earned a Best Actor Oscar nomination for his disarming performance, while Douglas copped his second Best Supporting Actor statue (his first was for 1963’s Hud) as the elderly politico; Richard Dysart also scores highly as the family doctor, the only person who suspects the truth about Chance.

Blu-ray extras include a retrospective making-of piece; deleted scenes; an alternate ending; and a gag reel.

Movie: ★★★½

CONVOY (1978). There have been movies based on a board game (Clue, Battleship), based on a stand-up routine (Bebe’s Kids), and even based on a series of bubble gum cards (The Garbage Pail Kids Movie). Here’s one of those based on a country song, and while the tune itself remains catchy, the movie ranks as the worst of director Sam Peckinpah’s entire career. A road movie of the yee-haw variety, it makes the more enjoyable Smokey and the Bandit (see From Screen To Stream below) look positively Shakespearean in comparison and almost allows the dim-witted The Cannonball Run to appear as mature and masterful as The Grapes of Wrath. The C.W. McCall radio hit serves as the linchpin for this insufferably shallow yarn in which a legendary trucker known as Rubber Duck (Kris Kristofferson) leads a caravan of trucks across America’s highways while evading capture by corrupt sheriff “Dirty” Lyle Wallace (Ernest Borgnine). Along the way, Rubber Duck becomes a folk hero, and he must decide whether to become part of the Establishment or continue to flip it the middle finger. Peckinpah and scripter Bill L. Norton suggest that the spirit of the American cowboy has been transferred to today’s truck drivers — a ludicrous notion by any standard — but then don’t even bother to provide much reflection on behalf of their theory, choosing instead to fill the picture with labored car chases and barroom brawls. The charismatic Kristofferson does what he can with his threadbare role, while Ali MacGraw, who arguably still owns the worst Oscar nomination ever given to a performer (Best Actress for Love Story), is typically terrible as the Duck’s latest squeeze. Borgnine is, well, Borgnine, and his character turns out to be the most maddeningly inconsistent of the bunch.

4K extras include film historian audio commentaries; deleted scenes; and image galleries.

Movie: ★

EMERGENCY!: THE COMPLETE SERIES (1972-1977). As was his M.O. with all the series he created (including Dragnet), Jack Webb insisted on making Emergency!, his new show about firefighters, paramedics, and doctors all pooling their skills to help the good people of Los Angeles, as realistic as possible. Thus, what emerged was one of those series where the educational value managed to top even the entertainment value, as it was this program that helped accelerate the acceptance of emergency medical services (EMS) throughout the country. Pulling the storylines of many episodes from actual case files, this centers on the rescues pulled off by firefighter-paramedics John Gage (Randolph Mantooth) and Roy DeSoto (Kevin Tighe) and the medical attention provided by Rampart General Hospital ER doctors Kelly Brackett (Robert Fuller) and Joe Early (Bobby Troup) and head nurse Dixie McCall (Julie London, Troup’s real-life wife and Webb’s real-life ex-wife). While much of the medical jargon might seem dry today — each episode had multiple chats along the lines of “The vital signs are B.P. 110 over 92. Pulse, 90. Pupils, sluggish. She is diaphoretic. Temperature is… hold on, Rampart. Coming up. Temperature is 105.” — the agreeableness of the actors (particularly Mantooth and London) and the attention to detail is what sold the show.

Somewhat surprisingly, not once did Emergency! crack the Nielsen Top 25, although airing against All in the Family and, later, The Jeffersons certainly had something to do with that. Nevertheless, it was popular enough to last six seasons and 122 episodes (its first season was an abbreviated one, as it was a midseason replacement for the DOA sitcoms The Partners, starring Don Adams, and The Good Life, with Larry Hagman and Donna Mills). After the series ended its regular run in 1977, it was followed by six TV movies in 1978 and 1979. All 122 episodes plus the six TV movies are included in this Blu-ray collection. As a bonus, the set also contains the 1972 crossover episode with the Top 10 hit Adam-12, whose stars, Maltin Milner as Officer Pete Malloy and Kent McCord as Officer Jim Reed, had appeared earlier that year on the Emergency! pilot episode to basically bestow NBC’s blessings. Unfortunately, there are no included episodes of Emergency +4, a 1973 Saturday morning cartoon with Gage and DeSoto (voiced by Mantooth and Tighe) joined in their adventures by four kids and several animals.

Series: ★★★

50S SCI-FI 4-FILM COLLECTION (1953-1958). As someone who will always prefer old-school visual effects to modern-day CGI, I’m particularly taken by this quote from Steven Spielberg: “If somebody put out George Pal’s War of the Worlds and took the strings off the machines, I’d be very upset. When that machine crashes in downtown Hollywood, and you see the strings going from taut to slack, that’s the thing that allows me to both understand this movie is scaring the hell out of me and at the same time this movie is a creation of the human race.” Those who appreciate the sentiments behind that soundbite will dig this new Blu-ray set from the Warner Archive Collection, which contains four genre staples showcasing hands-on effects.

As a production designer, Eugène Lourié worked on numerous pictures by Jean Renoir, including such masterworks as La Grande Illusion (see From Screen To Stream below), The Rules of the Game, and The River. To fans of fantasy flicks, he’s better known as the director of a handful of sturdy genre films from the 50s and early 60s, of which The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms (1953) was the first. But the big name to emerge from the movie was that of stop-motion genius Ray Harryhausen, who landed his first major assignment and never looked back. Based on the story “The Fog Horn” by Harryhausen’s friend Ray Bradbury — or, as the screen credits blare, “Suggested by the Sensational Saturday Evening Post Story by Ray Bradbury” — this begins when an atomic bomb being tested in the Arctic inadvertently releases a dinosaur frozen in the ice. The giant behemoth destroys plenty of property down the Eastern United States seaboard before ending up at the Coney Island amusement park, where a scientist (Paul Christian) and a soldier (Lee Van Cleef) attempt to stop it. This is credited as the first film to showcase a nuclear-created monster, as it preceded even Godzilla (which landed in 1954), and it’s a well-mounted creature feature, with Lourié coming up with some memorable bits like the ill-fated diving bell and that Coney Island climax.

The best film in the set — and, even more impressively, the best of all the “giant creature” movies that flooded theaters during the 1950s — is Them! (1954), which offers mystery and suspense even before the title monstrosities are shown. After spotting a little girl (Sandy Descher) wandering in a state of shock through the New Mexico desert, policeman Ben Peterson (James Whitmore) and his partner (Chris Drake) investigate the surrounding area and discover a damaged trailer, a damaged store, and a mutilated body. The FBI sends along Agent Robert Graham (James Arness) — he and Peterson are soon joined by a father-and-daughter team of entomologists (Miracle on 34th Street Oscar winner Edmund Gwenn and Joan Weldon), since all signs point to insect activity. Before long, it’s established that the nuclear age has again messed with Mother Nature, in this case producing enormous ants. A strong cast, taut direction by Gordon Douglas, an intelligent and involving screenplay, and the visual effects (which earned an Oscar nomination) combine to make this a genuine classic. Future Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone star Fess Parker appears as a farmer who spots the gi-ants, and many familiar faces appear uncredited in small bits, among them Leonard Nimoy, Dub Taylor, and Richard Deacon.

World Without End (1956) represents a typical sci-fi flick from the era, as four men on a mission to Mars end up in a time warp that deposits them in the year 2508. There, they find that the post-apocalyptic demographics consist of brainy but meek men and beautiful young women living underground and rampaging, mutated brutes populating the surface. No, they’re not known as the Eloi and the Morlocks, although the similarity to The Time Machine was strong enough that H.G. Wells’ heirs took a look (they ultimately decided not to sue). In a Six Degrees of Separation sorta thing, one of the astronauts is played by Rod Taylor, who would later star in the 1960 adaptation of The Time Machine. That’s clearly the superior film, but this one is a perfectly decent watch, with an ending that slightly differs from the norm. Scanning the film’s IMDb page yielded some uncredited surprises — according to the site, Cool Hand Luke co-star Strother Martin appears as one of the future underground dwellers, The Wild Bunch director Sam Peckinpah served as dialogue director, and future Hollywood bigwig Walter Mirisch (an Oscar for producing the Best Picture winner In the Heat of the Night) was an executive producer. The biggest shock, however, came while watching the film and noticing the name of someone who was credited. Could “Set Sketches By Alberto Vargas” refer to the Alberto Vargas, the pin-up artist extraordinaire? Affirmative, and this represents his only work on a theatrical feature (although he did design the classic poster for 1933’s The Sin of Nora Moran, seen in all its glory here).

In Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman (1958), wealthy alcoholic Nancy Archer (Allison Hayes) is understandably perturbed that her loutish husband Harry (William Hudson) is always down at the bar necking with va-va-voomish floozy Honey Parker (Playboy Playmate of the Month Yvette Vickers). Since she’s perpetually soused, nobody believes her when she claims to have been attacked by a giant bald alien (Michael Ross). But while Harry and Honey plot her murder, she has another encounter with the massive Mr. Clean, absorbing enough radiation to experience her own growth spurt. This is generally considered to be one of the worst movies ever made, but don’t you believe it. Certainly, you’d be hard-pressed to find shoddier effects in any sci-fi film this side of an Ed Wood joint — an 8-year-old with four popsicle sticks and a tube of glue could create a more convincing monster — and much of the film is stridently silly: Nancy grows to massive proportions yet still fits comfortably inside her bedroom, and the alien wears a jacket with a bull illustration on the back. But director Nathan Juran (billed as Nathan Hertz) was no talentless hack — a former Oscar-winning art director (How Green Was My Valley), he helmed such fine fantasy fare as The 7th Voyage of Sinbad and Jack the Giant Killer and does what he can with a tiny budget. And all three stars deliver solid performances, playing characters who could have stumbled out of a film noir. It’s not a good film, but to its credit, it’s also not an awful one.

Extras are few and far between, but they include an archival discussion with Harryhausen and Bradbury on The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms and archival audio commentary by Vickers and film historian Tom Weaver on Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman.

The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms: ★★★

Them!: ★★★½

World Without End: ★★½

Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman: ★★

FURY (2014). This World War II drama makes its one major concession to convention by shaping its story as the experience of a greenhorn soldier who finds himself coming of age in the presence of his more seasoned comrades. That would be Norman Ellison (Logan Lerman), who’s only been in the army for a few months when he’s assigned to a tank unit led by a gruff sergeant known as Wardaddy (Brad Pitt) and populated by hardened grunts (Shia LaBeouf, Michael Peña, and Jon Bernthal). It’s this soft rookie who worries Wardaddy, since any hesitation in battle on the kid’s part could result in G.I. deaths. The claustrophobic tank setting brings to mind such notable submarine dramas as Das Boot and Run Silent, Run Deep, right down to the inhabitants’ frayed nerves and constant bickering. Writer-director David Ayer does a superlative job mining the tension between these men, and that’s especially brought to light in an excellent stretch set in a liberated German village, wherein Wardaddy and Ellison play house (so to speak) with a pair of villagers (Alicia von Rittberg and Anamaria Marinca) until the other, more boorish members of their outfit puncture the fantasy. Subscribing to the “War Is Hell” theory, Fury (incidentally, the name given to the tank) depicts the brutality and the insanity of armed combat in punishing, visceral fashion. Ayer doubtless intended for the sweet, sensitive Ellison to serve as the audience surrogate and de facto tour guide through this landscape — a logical approach, even if the character’s presence sometimes feels too facile. In every other regard, though, Fury stares deep into the mouth of madness and steadfastly refuses to flinch.

Extras in the 4K + Blu-ray edition include a making-of piece; deleted scenes; and various featurettes on tanks.

Movie: ★★★

GRETA GARBO 4-FILM COLLECTION (1930-1939). When the American Film Institute’s “100 Years” series ended the 20th century by picking the top 25 male and top 25 female stars from the golden age of cinema, Greta Garbo impressively landed in the #5 spot on the female side — only Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Audrey Hepburn, and Ingrid Bergman ranked higher, with such superstars as Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, and Judy Garland actually placing underneath. So popular in her day that she was frequently billed on posters as simply “Garbo” (see also “Karloff” and “Chaplin”), she wowed audiences and peers alike (Gregory Peck once called her his favorite actress), but try to find anyone agreeing on which film houses her best performance. Anna Christie? Queen Christina? Camille? Ninotchka? It’s easy to compare, since all four pictures harboring these characterizations can be found in a new Blu-ray set from the Warner Archive Collection.

When Garbo was beckoned to Hollywood from Sweden in 1925, she spoke no English. No problem: Motion pictures were silent, and the actress immediately emerged a star. By the time the talkies were in full force, she had mastered English, and MGM promoted her first sound film, Anna Christie (1930), with the tagline “Garbo Talks!” Her first line is her most famous next to Grand Hotel’s “I want to be alone”: As she plops herself down in a bar while looking for the father (George F. Marion) she hasn’t seen in 15 years, she utters, “Gimme a whiskey, ginger ale on the side. And don’t be stingy, baby!” Garbo is great as a weary prostitute, and, as a waterfront dipsomaniac, so is 61-year-old Marie Dressler, who was noticed thanks to this film and became one of Hollywood’s unlikeliest box office draws. (Dressler would win the Best Actress Oscar the following year for Min and Bill but would then tragically die of cancer in 1934 at the age of 65.) But this adaptation of Eugene O’Neill’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play isn’t cinematic enough to overcome the rigid staginess that weakened other early talkies. A box office hit, this earned a trio of Oscar nominations for Best Actress, Director (Clarence Brown), and Cinematography. (Garbo and Brown also earned noms this year for their other collaborative effort, Romance.)

My vote for Garbo’s finest performance would go to her magnificent turn as the title character in Queen Christina (1933), a satisfying (if dramatically shaky) biopic about the Swedish ruler who abdicated at the age of 27. Under the skilled direction of Rouben Mamoulian, Garbo (who herself was 27 when filming began) once again uses minimal movements to maximum effect, often allowing only her eyes to convey meaning and emotion. John Gilbert, her frequent leading man back in the silent period, co-stars as the Spanish ambassador who leads her to question her life as a bachelorette — he’s adequate, but this really is a one-woman show that just happens to include a cast of hundreds. That lengthy final close-up, as much an affirmation of the actress as of the character she plays, remains a classic snatch of cinema.

Garbo earned another Best Actress Oscar nomination for what has endured as one of her signature roles. In Camille (1937), she portrays Marguerite Gautier, Alexandre Dumas fils’ La Dame aux Camélias and a courtesan who catches the attention of both the handsome Armand Duval (Robert Taylor) and the scowling Baron de Varville (Henry Daniell). From first frame to last, Garbo is larger than life — George Cukor has long been tagged a “woman’s director,” and his elevation here of the actress from mere mortal to silver screen goddess is a prime example of why.

“Garbo Laughs!” blared the tagline for director Ernst Lubitsch’s fizzy romantic comedy Ninotchka (1939). The prospect of seeing the usually oh-so-serious Garbo nyukking it up proved irresistible to the moviegoing public of 1939, thereby turning the film into one of the year’s more robust moneymakers. Garbo plays a humorless Russian official who arrives in Paris on business, only to be defrosted by the charming Count Leon d’Algout (Being There’s Melvyn Douglas); Felix Bressart, Alexander Granach, and the wonderful character actor Sig Rumann co-star as her three comrades, who clearly prefer the comforts of capitalism to the Russian interpretation of Communism. Despite receiving fourth billing, Bela Lugosi is on camera for less than three minutes, turning up in one scene toward the end as a grouchy Russian bureaucrat. Billy Wilder and Charles Bracket contributed to the screenplay, as evidenced by the number of brilliant and biting exchanges — Ninotchka: “Must you flirt?” Leon: “I don’t have to, but I find it natural.” Ninotchka: “Suppress it.” is the most famous, although I’ve always been partial to this one: Ninotchka: “[Your butler] looks sad. Do you whip him?” Leon: “No, but the mere thought makes my mouth water.” Ninotchka earned four Oscar nominations: Best Picture, Actress (Garbo’s fourth and final), Screenplay, and Original Story.

As was often the case during this period, Hollywood would shoot foreign-language versions of their pictures, typically using different casts but retaining the same sets (see: the English and Spanish versions of 1931’s Dracula). A German-language version of Anna Christie was shot simultaneously, with Garbo also starring in this one. This take on the tale is one of the extras included in this set, as is a 1921 silent version of Camille (with Alla Nazimova as Marguerite and Rudolph Valentino as Armand). Other extras include a 1938 radio adaptation of Anna Christie starring Joan Crawford and Spencer Tracy; an audio-only radio promo for Camille; 1939’s Oscar-nominated live-action short Prophet Without Honor; and two 1956 episodes of the ABC series MGM Parade that focus on Garbo.

Anna Christie: ★★½

Queen Christina: ★★★½

Camille: ★★★

Ninotchka: ★★★½

THE HARD WAY (1943). At one early moment in The Hard Way, song-and-dance man Albert Runkel (Jack Carson) looks at aspiring actress Katie Chernen (17-year-old Joan Leslie) and notes that she reminds him of Ginger Rogers. It’s likely that Rogers’ name wasn’t plucked out of the air by the scripters, since it’s long been suggested (even by the film’s director, Vincent Sherman) that the character of Katie is based on Rogers, including her short-lived marriage at age 17 to song-and-dance man Jack Pepper and her relationship with her mother (and stage mom) Lela. The central character in The Hard Way is not a mother but a sister: Helen Chernen (Ida Lupino), who feels trapped in her impoverished mill town and is determined to give her kid sister Katie a chance at big-city success. When the vaudeville team of Albert Runkel and Paul Collins (Dennis Morgan) hits town, Helen pushes for a marriage between Katie and Albert, correctly viewing this as an opportunity to leave poverty behind and gain a foothold in show business. Helen continues to manipulate matters behind the scenes, even when it will lead to devastating circumstances, and only Paul understands what’s really going on. Morgan and Carson share palpable chemistry as the best buddies — the actors would later be paired in a string of movies emulating the Crosby-Hope Road pictures — and the story maintains interest as it shows how Helen’s Machiavellian maneuvering affects all those around her. But the juicy melodrama eventually dries up during the third act, with flagging interest in the increasingly unconvincing scenarios.

Blu-ray extras include a 1944 radio adaptation starring Miriam Hopkins and Franchot Tone; the 1943 live-action short Over the Wall; and the 1943 Daffy Duck vs. Adolph Hitler cartoon Scrap Happy Daffy.

Movie: ★★½

THE HUCKLEBERRY HOUND SHOW: THE COMPLETE SERIES (1958-1961). Here’s more Hanna-Barbera on hi-def, with a Blu-ray set for the blue hound dog. One of television’s first animated series — and made for syndication rather than Saturday morning consumption — each episode offered a trio of 7-minute cartoons. Huckleberry “Huck” Hound was the star of one segment, Yogi Bear the attraction in another, and Pixie and Dixie and Mr. Jinks (two mice and a cat) in the third. Huck was a congenial, laid-back dog with a Southern drawl, but it was Yogi Bear who became the breakout star — immediately apparent, since his segment in the first episode (“Yogi Bear’s Big Break”) was the funniest of the three. Yogi Bear was kept in rotation for the first two seasons, after which he was given his own show and replaced on The Huckleberry Hound Show by Hokey Wolf. Like most Hanna-Barbera productions, this was “comfort cartoon,” lacking the go-for-broke zaniness of Looney Tunes and the artistic aspirations of Disney. That’s not meant as a knock, as their shows (including this one) rarely failed to entertain. The Huckleberry Hound Show was the first animated series to win an Emmy Award, nabbing the honor for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Children’s Programming (for the record, its competition that year consisted of Captain Kangaroo, Lassie, Mr. Wizard, and another H-B production, Quick Draw McGraw).

The set contains all four seasons and 68 episodes. What makes this collection particularly appealing is that it offers the original bumpers and bridges as well as vintage commercials starring the characters. (Since Kellogg’s was the show’s sponsor, expect pushes for Corn Flakes and Raisin Bran as well as for long-extinct cereals like OKs, All Stars, and Sugar Stars.) Extras consist of a tribute to Daws Butler, the voice of Huck, Yogi, and many others; a piece on Huck’s houndspeak; and a music video featuring memorable Huck quotes.

Series: ★★★

PATTERNS (1956). One of the earliest hit series on TV was Kraft Television Theatre, a live anthology series that ran from 1947 through 1958. Among the dozens of future stars who performed before the cameras were James Dean, Paul Newman, Joanne Woodward, Grace Kelly, and Jack Lemmon, while behind-the-camera talent included directors such as Robert Altman, Sidney Lumet, and George Roy Hill, and writers such as Rod Serling. It was Serling who scripted one of the show’s most acclaimed stories, so popular that (to my knowledge) it was the only one to be brought back for a second live performance. Patterns was such the success in 1955 — Serling won an Emmy Award for his teleplay while stars Everett Sloane and Ed Begley nabbed nominations — that a theatrical film version was released the very next year, retaining Serling, Sloane, Begley, co-star Elizabeth Wilson, and director Fielder Cook but replacing the male lead, Richard Kiley, with Van Heflin. Heflin plays Fred Staples, a hard-working engineer who’s hired to work at a major New York corporation by its president, Walter Ramsey (Sloane). Staples befriends veteran VP Bill Briggs (Begley), but what he doesn’t know is that he’s being groomed to replace the older man, a decent person who’s perpetually mocked and insulted by the ruthless Ramsey. Future Tony Award winner Wilson is memorable as Briggs’ loyal secretary, while Beatrice Straight, forever best known for holding the record for the all-time shortest Oscar-winning performance  (all of five minutes earned her the Best Supporting Actress award for 1976’s Network), portrays Staples’ wife. The film’s uncompromising look at boardroom bloodletting remains relevant, and Begley stands out as a man whose gentle nature has no place in a cannibalistic culture.

There are no Blu-ray extras.

Movie: ★★★

TRON (1982) / TRON: LEGACY (2010). With a new TRON installment due in theaters this October (TRON: Ares), Disney has elected to offer its predecessors in 4K UHD editions.

If the Disney-manufactured hype surrounding the theatrical release of TRON: Legacy was to be believed, 1982’s TRON was the Gone With the Wind of its day, a Citizen Kane for the modern age, a blockbusting, award-winning blah blah blah. No. TRON was a lightly entertaining movie (and notorious box office underachiever) whose sole claim to fame was its groundbreaking computer-generated effects. Jeff Bridges headlines as Kevin Flynn, a software engineer who discovers that one of his former bosses, Ed Dillinger (David Warner), is engaged in criminal activities. To stop Flynn from exposing him, Dillinger manages to have him transported inside a computer, where he befriends helpful programs Tron (Bruce Boxleitner) and Yori (Cindy Morgan) while battling the dastardly Sark (also Warner) and navigating the grid’s various games. TRON functions best as a silent film, since it’s a work that’s better seen than heard. Just mute that sound and marvel at the groovy computer imagery — the flaccid plot and ill-developed characters don’t provide any real reason for the volume to be raised. This earned Oscar nominations for Best Costume Design and Best Sound; there have long been rumors that the Academy’s visual effects branch denied it a nomination since they objected to the use of computers (amusing today, of course).

Not surprisingly, the primary focus for the makers of TRON: Legacy was to create visuals that took viewers to the next level. But, as with the first film, did they have to do so at the expense of virtually every other department? Certainly, the effects in this sequel are sometimes astounding, and, for the first hour, the film offers a fair amount of fun. As he searches for Kevin Flynn (Bridges), the father who disappeared two decades earlier, Sam Flynn (wooden Garrett Hedlund) finds himself whisked into a digital landscape fraught with danger. The setup is sound and the early action sequences are stirring, but then the film settles into a sameness that allows viewers to focus too intently on the feeble plotting, the tired dialogue, the unfortunate performances (as the opportunistic Zuse, Michael Sheen camps it up like a villain from the old Batman TV show), and the awful use of the character of TRON himself (Boxleitner). By the time this overlong feature arrives at the anticlimactic standoff between Kevin and his digital alter ego CLU (a creepily de-aged Bridges), most viewers will be wanting their quarters back. This earned a solitary Oscar nomination for Best Sound Editing; considering the Academy’s eventual embrace of CGI, it seemed like a likely contender but was bypassed for the likes of Alice in Wonderland, Iron Man 2, and deserved winner Inception. If nothing else, TRON: Legacy resulted in one of my favorite reader comments I’ve received over the decades, as under my negative review back in the day, someone posted, “your the kind of person that enjoys books aren’t you….”

Extras on TRON include audio commentary by director Steven Lisberger and others; a making-of feature; deleted scenes;; and a piece on the film’s prophetic nature in regards to its computer technology and jargon. Extras on TRON: Legacy include The Next Day: Flynn Lives Revealed, a piece that examines what occurs after TRON: Legacy ends; the music video for Daft Punk’s “Derezzed”; and a look at the 2012 Disney XD animated series TRON: Uprising.

TRON: ★★½

TRON: Legacy: ★★

FILM CLIPS

THE CLASS OF ’74 (1972). Obviously, it’s a given that a softcore flick from the seventies will be pro-sex, but it’s not a given that it will also be pro-feminist. Yet the women in The Class of ’74 have healthy, even insatiable libidos and are never patronized nor punished by the male directors. True, a couple seem to view “gold digger” as a viable career option, but the noble sentiment is there. Unfortunately, messaging does not a movie make (or at least this movie), and it’s a particularly amateurish production (flat acting, lame dialogue, the works) in which three college students (Pat Woodell, Sondra Currie, and Marki Bey of Sugar Hill fame) decide to help their virginal friend (Barbara Caron) become experienced in fleshy pursuits.

The only Blu-ray extra is film historian audio commentary.

Movie: ★½

DESPERADO (1995). There’s style to burn in Robert Rodriguez’s enjoyable (if exceedingly violent) follow-up to his 1992 art-house hit El Mariachi. Antonio Banderas is magnetic as the tormented Mariachi, a musician seeking to avenge the death of his girlfriend, and he and co-star Salma Hayek (as his new lady love) immediately established themselves as one of the sexiest movie couples of modern times. Cold-blooded to a fault, the film is nevertheless packed with exquisitely staged showdowns, witty one-liners, and quirky characters filled out by the likes of Steve Buscemi, Cheech Marin, Quentin Tarantino, and Danny Trejo. This was followed by 2003’s disappointing Once Upon a Time in Mexico.

Extras in the 4K edition include audio commentary by Rodriguez; an interview with Rodriguez; and theatrical trailers.

Movie: ★★★

FROM SCREEN TO STREAM

HOW THE WEST WAS WON (1962). To note that everything about How the West Was Won is big — from its setting to its all-star cast to its Cinerama presentation — is to issue an understatement. It took veteran Western writer James R. Webb, three directors — the legendary John Ford, the dependable Henry Hathaway, and the serviceable George Marshall — and a cast of thousands (reportedly over 12K) to present this saga about the taming of the American West as seen through the eyes of the members of one pioneer family. Zebulon and Rebecca Prescott (Karl Malden and Agnes Moorehead) head west with their clan in tow; daughter Eve (Carroll Baker) ends up marrying a frontiersman (James Stewart) and settling down on a farm while her sister Lily (Debbie Reynolds) becomes a saloon singer and gets mixed up with an opportunistic gambler (Gregory Peck). Eventually, the Civil War breaks out, and Eve’s now-grown son Zeb (George Peppard) answers the call of duty. Divided into five sections of variable quality, the film is too episodic to provide a comprehensive overview of this chapter in American history (and in a mere 164 minutes, to boot), but the production is first-rate all the way (Alfred Newman’s superb score is especially noteworthy), and it’s fun to play spot-the-star — John Wayne, Henry Fonda, and Richard Widmark are among the other celebs who pop up here and there, while Spencer Tracy provides the occasional narration. This was one of only two fictional films shot in the ultra-widescreen Three-Strip Cinerama process, the other being 1962’s The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm. A box office smash — it was #2 for 1963, below only Liz and Dick’s Cleopatra — it earned eight Academy Award nominations (including Best Picture) and won three: Best Original Screenplay, Film Editing, and Sound.

Movie: ★★★½

LA GRANDE ILLUSION (1937). Over the years, this Jean Renoir classic has never lacked for fans: It can always be found somewhere in the decennial Sight & Sound poll of the greatest films of all time, and, back in 1952, both Orson Welles (you know, that Citizen Kane guy) and David Lean (you know, that Lawrence of Arabia helmer) cited the movie as one of their 10 all-time favorite films. Still, not everyone was a fan: Joseph Goebbels, Hitler’s rat-faced Minister of Propaganda, declared it “Cinematic Public Enemy No. 1” and ordered all available prints destroyed. Luckily, it survived this and other historical hiccups, including the loss, and then rediscovery, of the original negative. Set during World War I, the film focuses on three French soldiers — the working-class Lieutenant Marechal (Jean Gabin), the Jewish, middle-class Lieutenant Rosenthal (Dalio), and the aristocratic Captain de Boeldieu (Pierre Fresnay) — who get captured and spend time in a pair of German prison camps. The second of these prisons is overseen by Captain von Rauffenstein (Erich von Stroheim, commanding in both senses of the word), who feels a special kinship with his upper-class equal, de Boeldieu. So beautifully realized and deeply felt that its title can mean different things to different people — for starters, the grand illusion can be that war solves anything, that the well-bred aristocracy will survive such a brutal conflict, or that the lines that divide classes, races, and countries can ever be erased — the movie pushes Renoir’s humanist views without having to resort to any manufactured sentiment or cheap theatrics. In short, it’s as honest as it is humbling. La Grande Illusion became the first foreign-language film to be nominated for the Best Picture Academy Award.

Movie: ★★★★

PATCH ADAMS (1998). The worst film of 1998 was also one of the worst films of its entire decade, but that didn’t stop it from becoming a $135 million hit and a movie adored by the masses (as a theater manager told me after a packed screening back in ’98, “This movie’s terrible, but the audience at the last screening gave it a standing ovation”). Certainly, the picture stinks on ice, but it panders so shamelessly in an effort to manipulate every conceivable human emotion that it was instantly embraced by easy-to-please filmgoers (I also recall that the woman who sat next to me at an advance screening identified herself as a “Joy Germ” and annoyingly giggled and clapped throughout). Robin Williams (in a cloying performance) plays a medical student who demonstrates his belief in the adage “Laughter is the best medicine” by doing whatever it takes to bring smiles to the faces of the ill people around him — this includes dancing with bedpans on his feet and swimming in a pool filled with 12,000 pounds of wet noodles. But his unorthodox behavior stirs the wrath of the university’s humorless dean (Bob Gunton), who you know is the bad guy because his face is often lit from underneath, thus giving him that menacing aura usually reserved for rapists and serial killers. Patch also annoys a fellow physician (Philip Seymour Hoffman) who’s probably the most sensible character in the film but is treated by the hack filmmakers as a lout simply because he won’t wear a clown nose like the insufferable Adams. Patch Adams is offensive in the way it trots out every hoary plot device, no matter how improbable, exploitative or downright moronic. But judge for yourself: You’ll either laugh, cry, and squeal with delight, or you’ll groan, curse, and dry-heave with uncontrollable abandon. Incidentally, the film is based on a real individual, Hunter “Patch” Adams — needless to say, he despises the picture.

Movie: ★

SHORT TERM 12 (2013). A former child actress who later began filling out small but memorable parts in such features as Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, 21 Jump Street, and Don Jon (stealing, if not whole scenes, at least steady glances in a near-wordless role as Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s sister), Brie Larson landed her first leading role in this indie feature from writer-director Destin Cretton. She’s wonderful as Grace, one of the staffers at Short Term 12, a facility for at-risk teens. Like her boyfriend and fellow worker Mason (John Gallagher Jr.), Grace has dealt with the burden of once being a troubled foster teen herself; hence, she’s well-equipped to handle these kids who largely come from homes where they’ve been physically beaten and/or sexually abused. Grace cares about all the youth in her care, including a sullen teen named Marcus (LaKeith Stanfield), yet she takes a particular interest in new arrival Jayden (Kaitlyn Dever), whose sexual abuse at the hands of her father has left the girl angry, isolated, and prone to emotional meltdowns. Cretton doesn’t shy away from showing the results of the brutalities life has hurled at these poor kids, including keeping the camera uncomfortably close to Jayden as she kicks and spits and swears at the staffers who seek to help her. Cretton joins these scenes of horror with scenes of heartbreak — particularly a superbly scripted bit in which Grace listens silently to Jayden’s metaphorical tale about the friendship between an octopus and a shark — but above all, he offers plenty of scenes of hope, illustrating how these people, the at-risk kids and the young supervisors who understand their pain, function best when they can turn to each other for the love and support that’s been denied them their entire lives.

Movie: ★★★½

SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT (1977). Film fans know that 1977 was the year that science fiction exploded at the box office thanks to Star Wars, but look right below it on the chart and you’ll see that the next spot belonged to Smokey and the Bandit. (Since 1977, re-releases have allowed both Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Saturday Night Fever to pass it on the all-time top moneymakers chart.) Burt Reynolds was already a sizable box office draw when he headlined the film, but when this audience favorite became the biggest smash of his career, it enabled him to subsequently land in the number one slot on Quigley Publishing’s annual (since 1932!) list of the Top 10 Moneymaking Stars, a position he held for five consecutive years. Perhaps the best of the “good ole boy” flicks that were so popular during the 1970s, this finds the narcissistic Bandit and his partner Cledus (Jerry Reed) agreeing to deliver hundreds of cases of Coors beer from Texarkana to Atlanta in 28 hours. That’s a tough enough task, but since transporting beer over state lines is illegal, the pair also have to contend with the law, particularly the blustery Sheriff Buford T. Justice (Jackie Gleason). Perfect popcorn entertainment, the movie benefits from some excellent vehicular stuntwork, an apt role for Reynolds, the introduction of Reed’s smash single “East Bound and Down,” and a bright turn by Reynolds’ then-real-life girlfriend Sally Field as a peppy hitchhiker. And then there’s Gleason at his hammiest — where else has one character gotten the glorious opportunity to use such terms as “possum’s pecker,” “schnauzer’s dick,” and “tick turd” all in the same film? An Oscar nominee for Best Film Editing, this was followed by a pair of limp sequels.

Movie: ★★★

THE STING (1973) / ALL THE PRESIDENT’S MEN (1976). We lost a giant with the passing of Robert Redford earlier this week. An upstanding American patriot who espoused numerous progressive causes, he fought hard on behalf of the LGBTQ community, indigenous people, and the environment. He was the co-founder of the Sundance Institute and its attendant film festival, and he won a Best Director Academy Award for his very first helming assignment with 1980’s Ordinary People (he picked up a second nomination for one of my all-time faves, 1994’s Quiz Show). Of course, he will always be best known as an actor, and while he starred in a few turkeys, among them 1993’s awful Indecent Proposal and 2007’s painful Lions for Lambs (which he also directed), he also starred in many gems. I’ve periodically championed 1975’s Three Days of the Condor in recent years, I maintain that 1985’s Out of Africa is not one of the weaker Best Picture Oscar winners, and I admit I’m one of the few who responds favorably to 1974’s The Great Gatsby. I’m also a big fan of 1972’s Jeremiah Johnson, 1975’s The Great Waldo Pepper, 1998’s The Horse Whisperer (which he also directed), and the two classics covered below.

Few movies offered me as much pure pleasure during my teen years as The Sting, and while the picture has lost a bit of its luster over the ensuing years, it’s still a highly entertaining lark — and miles ahead of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Reuniting the principal team from Butch — Redford, Paul Newman, and director George Roy Hill — The Sting proved to be an even greater success, nestling near the top of the all-time biggest moneymakers list alongside Gone With the Wind, The Sound of Music, and The Godfather. Redford, earning the only Best Actor Oscar nomination of his lengthy career, is Johnny Hooker, a small-time con artist in 1930s Chicago who teams up with master hustler Henry Gondorff (Newman) to swindle ruthless mob kingpin Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw). A great pick for repeat viewings, The Sting offers opulent period detail, snazzy outfits by legendary costume designer Edith Head, Marvin Hamlisch’s adaptation of Scott Joplin’s ragtime tunes (leading to renewed popularity), and a marvelous script (by David S. Ward) packed with a dizzying array of twists and turns. Nominated for 10 Academy Awards, this won seven, including Best Picture, Director, and Original Screenplay.

All the President’s Men depicts the American media during one of its finest hours of glory, when two of its brash reporters, Washington Post journalists Bob Woodward (Redford) and Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman), stuck to their guns despite testy opposition and eventually blew open the Watergate scandal that toppled the presidency of Richard Nixon. This superb motion picture, expertly mounted by director Alan J. Pakula, has long been acknowledged as a classic political thriller, but watching it in today’s climate, at a point when a timid and ineffectual media is par for the course, also reveals its increasingly significant value as a time capsule piece — as at least one participant noted when the film first hit Blu-ray, there’s no way the Watergate incident would have earned even a sideways glance by the mainstream media had it occurred in the 21st century. Nominated for eight Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Director, and Supporting Actress (Jane Alexander as the bookkeeper who provided valuable inside information to the journos), it captured four: Best Supporting Actor (Jason Robards as Post editor Ben Bradlee), Adapted Screenplay (William Goldman), Art Direction & Set Decoration, and Sound.

The Sting: ★★★★

All the President’s Men: ★★★★