FILM FRENZY

Marlon Brando and The Goldwyn Girls in a promotional shot for Guys and Dolls (Photo: Warner Archive)

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.)

BROADWAY ON THE BIG SCREEN (1954-1971). I love movie musicals; I really do. The Astaire-Rogers classic Top Hat provides me with more pure joy than just about any other movie ever made, and I’m also crazy for titles as varied as Meet Me in St. Louis, Yankee Doodle Dandy, Singin’ in the Rain, and Yellow Submarine. But movie musicals based on Broadway shows? My track record ain’t so great there. There are certainly many, many that I adore (Hair, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Oklahoma!, The Sound of Music, etc.), but there’s also a rather sizable chunk that I find lumbering, overlong, and missing the snap-crackle-and-pop of the stage shows. Alas, this six-pack overall leaves me wanting to put Fred and Ginger back into the player instead. However, many musical fans rate most (if not all) of these very highly, so it’s probably best to listen to your own inner (singing) voice when it comes to this sextet.

Vincente Minnelli was certainly no stranger to musicals, having directed approximately a dozen (including Meet Me in St. Louis, An American in Paris, and Gigi). Unfortunately, Brigadoon (1954) ranks near or at the bottom of the list — it’s a stillborn picture despite the presence of Gene Kelly. He and Van Johnson star as Tommy and Jeff, two Americans who get lost in the Scottish Highlands and stumble across a mythical village that appears out of the fog only once every 100 years. Jeff (usually boozing) doesn’t care much for the place but Tommy is enchanted, particularly after he meets and falls for a local lass named Fiona (Cyd Charisse). Budget cuts meant that this ended up being filmed on a sound stage, and the artificiality is pronounced to a distracting degree — sets don’t look like magical, off-kilter locations in Scotland but merely like sets. The Lerner-Loewe tunes include “The Heather on the Hill” and “Almost Like Being in Love,” but the musical numbers aren’t very memorable, and, between the dreary visuals and the clone-like behavior of the conformist and perpetually beaming locals, nothing about this village is very inviting. Brigadoon isn’t a nice place to visit, and I wouldn’t want to live there. This box office underachiever earned three Oscar nominations for its sets, costumes, and sound.

Guys and Dolls (1955) is the best film in the collection, despite it also being the longest (often a problem with bloated movie musicals). Working from a stage hit that featured Frank Loesser tunes and was based on Damon Runyon stories, writer-director Joseph L. Mankiewicz packed this one with star power, casting Marlon Brando as Sky Masterson, Frank Sinatra as Nathan Detroit, and Jean Simmons as Sarah Brown. The selection of Brando has garnered lots of ink, much of it negative, over the years, but it was actually Sinatra who was chosen against the wishes of both Mankiewicz and Loesser (the latter refusing to ever see the film). Nevertheless, the movie was a box office hit, emerging as the fifth top-grossing picture of 1955 (just under another Broadway transplant, Oklahoma!). Brando is an interesting — and successful — choice, bringing his Method maneuvers (Sinatra derisively nicknamed him “Mumbles”) to his role of the gambler who falls for Christian charity worker Sister Sarah Brown. Sinatra isn’t quite as aptly cast, but he’s still fun to watch as a fellow gambler who’s perpetually upsetting his long-time fiancée, Miss Adelaide (Vivian Blaine). Sky sings “Luck Be a Lady,” while Nicely-Nicely (Stubby Kaye, imported from the stage) offers “Sit Down,  You’re Rocking the Boat.” Guys and Dolls nabbed four Oscar nominations for its cinematography, sets, costumes, and musical score.

The various Broadway productions of The Pajama Game have won a zillion Tony Awards, and the film version of The Pajama Game (1957) certainly has its rabid fans. Yet when it comes to movie musicals helmed by Stanley Donen (who shared directing duties with Broadway legend George Abbott), I’d have to rank this one near or at the bottom, a good 20,000 leagues below the likes of Singin’ in the Rain and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. The big story here is that Donen and Abbott were able to import practically the entire cast from Broadway, electing to replace Janis Paige with Doris Day to give the film one movie star. In addition to its feeble plot involving factory workers seeking a raise (for a musical set inside a factory, give me the raucous Kinky Boots instead), a major problem with the picture is that all the performers who were apparently so wonderful on stage don’t tone down the theatricality one iota for the big screen, resulting in plenty of unchecked and overbearing shrieking. Carol Haney, the scene stealer on Broadway, merely gave me a headache, and as for leading man John Raitt, this was his only starring role on film, and it’s easy to see why — he’s utterly bland, and whatever made him so memorable on the boards was clearly lost in the transition. Even Day isn’t at her best, overcompensating for her thin role with an unexpected harshness. The songs are for the most part forgettable, leaving only some of the choreographed numbers by Bob Fosse as a partial saving grace.

Damn Yankees (1958) pretty much followed the modus operandi of The Pajama Game: Use Donen and Abbott again as co-directors and Import practically everyone who had something to do with the successful stage show but recast the leading role with a Hollywood rather than Broadway player. In The Pajama Game, it was Doris Day; here, it’s Tab Hunter. Tab only appears after middle-aged Washington Senators fan Joe Boyd (Robert Shafer) mutters to himself that he would sell his soul to the Devil if only his beloved team would beat those damn New York Yankees. Enter Satan, billing himself as Mr. Applegate (Ray Walston) — he magically transforms Joe Boyd into a baseball sensation who goes by the name Joe Hardy (Hunter). But while the outwardly young Joe is winning game after game, the inner old Joe misses his wife Meg (Shannon Bolin) something fierce — afraid that this longing might upset the Faustian bargain that’s unfolding, Mr. Applegate sends his top seductress, Lola (Gwen Verdon), to deal with the problem. Damn Yankees tops The Pajama Game in that it features better acting and offers a more interesting storyline, but the music is almost as unmemorable (“What Lola Wants” is probably the only title known to the masses), and the mise-en-scènes are often found wanting (almost certainly from calls made by stage director Abbott rather than film director Donen). This earned an Oscar nomination for Best Scoring of a Musical Picture.

As a theatrical property, Gypsy is considered one of the greatest of all stage musicals, with Ethel Merman originating the role of show business mom Rose Hovik and Angela Lansbury, Bernadette Peters, and Audra McDonald among those tackling the role in various revivals over the decades. As a motion picture, Gypsy (1962) isn’t bad, although greatness clearly remains out of its reach. Rosalind Russell is appropriately prickly as Rose, determined to turn her kids into stars. Her domineering manner eventually forces her daughter June (Ann Jillian) to head out on her own (she became known as actress June Havoc, who incidentally is still alive today at the age of 97); as for her other daughter, Louise eventually transforms into stripper and burlesque legend Gypsy Rose Lee (Natalie Wood). The film feels too sanitized to offer adequate peeks into the world of burlesque, and Wood is miscast as the striptease artist (the Harvard Lampoon’s annual “Movie Worsts” Awards were often brutal toward poor Natalie, and for this picture she received a special citation “for her unquestionably atrocious performance in Gypsy, which she did her utmost to ruin.” Ouch.). A box office hit (#8 for ’62), it garnered three Oscar nominations for its cinematography, costumes, and score adaptation.

In 1971, writer-director Ken Russell found himself Public Enemy #1 across the globe thanks to his controversial film The Witches, which earned an X rating stateside and was banned or heavily edited in many countries. Russell’s follow-up film was apparently a palate cleanser for his reputation, as he served up the G-rated musical The Boy Friend (1971). Based on a ‘50s stage show that featured Julie Andrews’ debut, it finds superstar model Twiggy making her winning film debut as Polly Browne, an assistant stage manager at a U.K. theater who gets elevated to leading lady after the show’s star (an uncredited Glenda Jackson, who had won the Best Actress Oscar for Russell’s 1969 drama Women in Love) breaks her ankle. While a Hollywood director (Vladek Sheybal) watches with interest, Polly takes part in a show that co-stars the object of her affections, a young actor named Tony Brockhurst (Christopher Gable). The film whiplashes between scenes showing the amateurish play being performed and the lavish production that’s going on in the minds of cast and crew; the original numbers are far more entertaining than the ones which merely borrow heavily from Busby Berkeley. Along with Twiggy, Tommy Tune scores best as Tommy, an agile American dancer — in 1983, Twiggy and Tune reunited for the Broadway hit My One and Only, with Tune winning a Tony Award and Twiggy landing a nomination. As for The Boy Friend, it scored a solitary Oscar nom for its score adaptation. Nearly 30 minutes were removed for the picture’s U.S. run; this edition offers the full 136-minute cut.

Blu-ray extras on Brigadoon consist of deleted musical numbers and the theatrical trailer. Extras on Guys and Dolls include a retrospective making-of piece and anecdotes about the movie. Extras on Damn Yankees consist of theatrical trailers. Extras on The Pajama Game consist of the deleted song “The Man Who Invented Love” and the theatrical trailer. Extras on Gypsy consist of two outtake musical numbers and the theatrical trailer. Extras on The Boy Friend consist of a vintage behind-the-scenes featurette and the theatrical trailer. (Purchase this title here.)

Brigadoon: ★★

Guys and Dolls: ★★★

The Pajama Game: ★★

Damn Yankees: ★★½

Gypsy: ★★½

The Boy Friend: ★★½

THE CHASE (1966). Set in Texas, The Chase focuses on a small town in which practically all of the well-scrubbed, well-to-do characters turn out to be brutish, racist, and adulterous gossipmongers who spend most hours getting drunk, getting laid — usually by someone else’s spouse — and getting violent with the town’s peaceful black citizens. The news that former resident Bubber Reeves (Robert Redford) has escaped from prison and possibly killed a man in the process stirs the yahoos into a vigilante rage, one that the decent Sheriff Calder (Marlon Brando) has trouble containing. Meanwhile, Bubber’s wife (Jane Fonda) is having an affair with his best friend (James Fox), although she still cares enough for her husband that she’ll do anything to aid him. This might be a case of too many gourmet cooks spoiling the broth, as the well-documented conflicts between producer Sam Spiegel, director Arthur Penn, and screenwriter Lillian Hellman (adapting Horton Foote’s play) doubtless had something to do with the haphazardness that plagues this interesting if erratic endeavor. Brando, Fonda, and Redford are all miscast, conveying too much intelligence to be convincing as the rubes on display here (and in what universe would a redneck named Bubber look and talk like the WASPy Redford?). This leaves the more convincing turns to come from the other all-stars cited lower in the cast list, particularly Angie Dickinson as Calder’s supportive wife and Robert Duvall as a weak-willed bank officer. That’s Marlon’s older sister, Jocelyn Brando, as Mrs. Briggs, and look for Paul Williams as one of the town youths.

There are no Blu-ray extras.

Movie: ★★½

DONNIE DARKO (2001). A cult film in the truest sense of the term, writer-director Richard Kelly’s Donnie Darko was thrown away by its distributor but ended up finding its audience on home video and at midnight screenings. Like Being John Malkovich and 2001: A Space Odyssey and too few others, this is one of those mind-melting cinematic achievements, a movie that’s meant to be absorbed rather than enjoyed in the traditional sense of following a linear plotline from Point A to Point B. To even attempt to describe the story seems like an exercise in madness, but suffice it to say that this trippy flick, set in October 1988 (when the airwaves were filled with Dukakis and Bush sound bites), centers on disaffected teen Donnie Darko (Jake Gyllenhaal), whose suburban lifestyle is interrupted by frequent trips to a psychiatrist, a jet engine crashing into his house, and the disturbing presence of a human-sized rabbit (James Duval) who informs him that the world is about to come to an end. Drew Barrymore (also an executive producer), Patrick Swayze, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Noah Wyle, and Jena Malone are among the many actors offering sharply drawn characterizations in a brain-twister that holds up upon repeat viewings.

The 4K + Blu-ray edition offers the theatrical version and the director’s cut. Extras include audio commentary by Kelly and Gyllenhaal; a making-of featurette; deleted scenes; the music video for Gary Jules’ excellent cover of Tears For Fears’ “Mad World”; and a short documentary by a guy who professes to be the film’s number one fan.

Movie: ★★★½

THE GOOD SHEPHERD (2006). A fictionalized look at the creation of the Central Intelligence Agency, The Good Shepherd is methodical in its style and intelligent in its execution, which in some circles will translate as dull, slow-moving, and impenetrable. Yet patient viewers will find much to appreciate in this chilly yet absorbing drama, which takes the cherished ideal of patriotism and turns it on its head. Damon delivers a bold performance that seeks no audience empathy — he’s cast as Edward Wilson, whose role as one of the founders of the CIA finds him over the course of several decades having to contend with all manner of Cold War shenanigans, including the presence of a mole within his own agency. Directed with a fine attention to detail by Robert De Niro (who also appears in a key supporting role), The Good Shepherd repeatedly runs the risk of losing viewers with its flashback-laden structure drafted by scripter Eric Roth. But the strength of the film rests in its clear-eyed vision of Edward Wilson, whose fierce devotion to his country in turn strips him of his humanity and reduces him to a suspicious and paranoid cipher, an American too busy fighting unseen enemies to enjoy the freedoms and privileges that his nation provides for him. The star-packed cast also includes Angelina Jolie, William Hurt, Alec Baldwin, John Turturro, and 2001: A Space Odyssey’s Keir Dullea.

The only Blu-ray extras are deleted scenes.

Movie: ★★★

MIMIC (1997). An early effort from Frankenstein filmmaker Guillermo del Toro, Mimic finds Mira Sorvino (not long after her Mighty Aphrodite Oscar win) cast as a scientist who creates a new strain of insect to help combat a deadly disease that’s being spread by cockroaches across New York City. The ploy initially works, but three years down the line, she’s shocked to learn that the new breed has rushed through countless generations of development and now lives in the bowels of the New York subway system. Working from a short story by Donald A. Wollheim, scripters del Toro and Matthew Robbins — and, based on the advance material at the time, Steven Soderbergh and John Sayles in uncredited assists — manage to cleverly incorporate elements from mad-scientist movies, giant-insect flicks, and traditional monster-on-the-loose tales, and the mere thought of roach-like critters the size of Arnold Schwarzenegger will unnerve anyone with even a hint of a bug phobia. The fact that these creatures have the ability to “mimic” their prey (i.e. look superficially human) only adds to the discomfort, and viewers will be forgiven for wanting to rush next door and douse their neighbors with RAID.

The 4K + Blu-ray edition contains both the theatrical version and the extended director’s cut. Extras include audio commentary on the director’s cut by del Toro; film historian audio commentary on the theatrical cut; a video prologue with del Toro; deleted scenes; and a gag reel.

Movie: ★★★

RED DUST (1932) / MOGAMBO (1953). It’s not unusual for an actor who headlined a movie to also appear in its remake in a much smaller role — among the many examples are Burt Reynolds, who starred in The Longest Yard and then essayed a supporting role under Adam Sandler in the remake, and Michael Caine, who headlined Get Carter and then had to toil in a smaller part under Sylvester Stallone in that redo. (It probably goes without saying that in these two examples, the gritty originals are classics while the limp remakes are anything but.) On the other hand, it’s rare for a star to handle the lead role in both the original and the remake. Lon Chaney did it with The Unholy Three, and so did Greta Garbo with Anna Karenina (with the first version titled Love). And Caine kinda did it if you count him playing different leading roles in both versions of Sleuth (recently reviewed here). The most notable example, though, might be when newly minted Hollywood star Clark Gable saw his stock climb even higher when he took top billing in Red Dust and then was still a big enough draw 21 years later to headline the remake.

Adapted by John Lee Mahin from Wilson Collison’s play and directed by Gone With the Wind helmer Victor Fleming, Red Dust is a robust piece of pre-Code entertainment. Gable has rarely been as handsome, or as virile, as he is in this picture, and he’s matched by the sensual Jean Harlow in the second of their six pictures together. He’s Dennis Carson, the owner of a rubber plantation in French Indochina; she’s Vantine, a prostitute who stumbles onto said plantation and eventually stumbles into a carnal relationship with Carson. But when the prim and proper Barbara Willis (Mary Astor) arrives alongside her husband Gary (Gene Raymond), a novice engineer, Carson decides he prefers her instead and actively pursues her. Red Dust is cheerfully vulgar in almost every respect, from hot’n’heavy scenes (Vantine bathing outside in a barrel, Carson carrying Barbara through a powerful rainstorm, Carson’s wandering fingers up Vantine’s leg) to the witty banter between Carson and Vantine (when his right-hand man comments that Vantine is attractive, Carson retorts, “I’ve been looking at her kind ever since my voice changed.” And alluding to her profession in another scene, Vantine states, “Don’t mind me, boys. I’m just restless. Guess I’m not used to sleeping nights anyway.”).

Working with director John Ford, Mahin retooled his Red Dust script and came up with Mogambo. This remake reflected the changing times. Whereas Red Dust was in black-and-white, Mogambo was in Technicolor; whereas Red Dust was filmed on a studio lot, Mogambo was filmed on location; and whereas Red Dust reeked of sex and scandal, the Production Code ensured that Mogambo was a far meeker endeavor. The setting has been switched to Africa, with Gable now cast as safari guide Victor Marshall. The basic plot particulars remain unchanged: Marshall is first visited by the worldly Eloise “Honeybear” Kelly (Ava Gardner in the Harlow role) and focuses his attention on her until the prudish Linda Nordley (Grace Kelly in the Astor role) arrives accompanying her hubby Donald (Donald Sinden). Of course, the Vantine/Eloise part is no longer a prostitute but a showgirl, and the lustful looks that lead to the sack are replaced by flirty glances that presumably lead to cold showers. But while Mogambo pales in comparison to Red Dust, it works well enough on its own, with lovely footage (filming locations included Kenya and Uganda) and some tense sequences (a tribal uprising, a confrontation with gorillas). This earned Gardner an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress (the sole Oscar nomination of her career) and Kelly one for Best Supporting Actress (she would win Best Actress the following year for The Country Girl).

Extras on Red Dust consist of the 1932 live-action short Over the Counter; the 1933 live-action short Wild People; and the original Spanish theatrical trailer. Extras on Mogambo consist of the 1953 live-action short Land of the Ugly Duckling; the 1953 Tom & Jerry cartoon Just Ducky; and the theatrical trailer. Purchase Red Dust here; purchase Mogambo here.)

Red Dust: ★★★½

Mogambo: ★★★

TENNESSEE WILLIAMS: 4-FILM COLLECTION (1951-1962). Here are four motion pictures from the mind of the legendary Tennessee Williams, with the playwright adapting his own works for the first two and writer-director Richard Brooks handling scripting duties for the latter pair.

While I’m not one of the countless critics who would call Marlon Brando the greatest screen actor of all time — I’ve simply seen him deliver too many lazy or hammy performances to deserve such a lofty honor — I would never argue with anyone who opined that he was the greatest screen actor of the 1950s. In a decade full of astounding turns from this Method giant, his breakthrough performance in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)  remains my favorite — simply put, it’s one of the finest acting jobs ever committed to celluloid. As for the movie itself, it’s an unqualified masterpiece, and certainly the definitive screen Williams. Brando, of course, plays the brutish lout Stanley Kowalski, married to simple Stella (Kim Hunter) but engaged in a particularly twisted battle of wills with her mentally fragile sister Blanche DuBois (Vivien Leigh). Williams himself tackled the screenplay, with Elia Kazan in the director’s chair and Alex North contributing a potent score. Nominated for 12 Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Director, and Adapted Screenplay for Williams, this won four: Best Actress (the tremendous Leigh), Supporting Actress (Hunter), Supporting Actor (Karl Malden as Blanche’s suitor), and Black-and-White Art Direction-Set Decoration. Yet it’s Brando who towers over the film with his magnetic, animalistic work. He lost Best Actor to sentimental favorite Humphrey Bogart for The African Queen; if the Academy had only already given Bogie the Oscars he deserved for Casablanca and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, then Streetcar might have become the only film in history to win all four acting categories. Incidentally, this cut of the movie contains a few minutes of footage trimmed by the Legion of Decency right before the film’s initial premiere.

After generating controversy with A Streetcar Named Desire, Kazan and Williams were back at it with Baby Doll (1956). This time, they created a movie so contentious that it was banned in a few countries, pulled in several U.S. cities, and denounced by Cardinal Francis Spellman, the Archbishop of New York, who forbade his flock from seeing it “under pain of sin” (now there’s a pull quote for the ads!). Combining and adapting a pair of his short plays (27 Wagons Full of Cotton and The Long Stay Cut Short, or The Unsatisfactory Supper), Williams reveals himself to be in a wickedly playful mood, spinning a broad farce about a virginal child bride in Mississippi and the older men who lust after her. Married at the age of 17, Baby Doll (Carroll Baker) laments the fact that she’s about to turn 20, since that means she’s finally expected to give up her virginity to her middle-aged husband Archie (Karl Malden). Perpetually tormenting her oafish spouse, she flames the tension even further by openly flirting with his vengeful business rival (Eli Wallach in his film debut). The dialogue, performances, and situations are pitched to such an outsized degree that more liberal viewers won’t be able to take any of this very seriously, although it’s easy to see how conservative types might balk, considering that even the movie’s poster (Baby Doll resting in a crib while sucking her thumb) left many of them flustered. Baby Doll earned four Oscar nominations: Best Actress (Baker), Supporting Actress (Mildred Dunnock as the fragile Aunt Rose Comfort), Adapted Screenplay, and Cinematography (Boris Kaufman, who had won two years earlier for Kazan’s On the Waterfront).

Although Williams was no stranger to writing for the screen — as noted, he earned Oscar nominations for penning the scripts for both A Streetcar Named Desire and Baby Doll — director Richard Brooks nevertheless took it upon himself to whip up (with James Poe) the screenplay for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), the sizzling adaptation of Williams’ Pulitzer Prize-winning play. Williams was understandably upset with the changes from his original text, but Brooks nevertheless knocks it out of the park: While the stage show’s homosexual content was removed since it never would have gotten past the censorious Hays Code prudes, there are still enough pointed allusions in this celluloid version to allow viewers to fill in the blanks themselves. Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman, here both gorgeous beyond measure, strike sparks as the sexually unfulfilled Maggie and her tortured husband Brick, while Burl Ives is sensational as the family patriarch Big Daddy, debating with Brick about the “mendacity” that surrounds all the characters. A sizable box office hit, this earned six Oscar nominations: Best Picture, Actor, Actress, Director, Adapted Screenplay, and Color Cinematography. For his part, Ives was nominated for (and won) Best Supporting Actor for his turn in another 1958 hit, The Big Country.

As A Streetcar Named Desire and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof had already demonstrated, Williams’ controversial plays were often transplanted to the screen in neutered versions that still managed to enrage the moral watchdogs of the day. The same routine applied to Sweet Bird of Youth (1962), which found Brooks returning to Tennessee country. Once again, Hollywood proved to be more constrictive than Broadway — a shocking castration gets replaced by a savage beating — but the Southern discomfort of its characters keeps this torrid melodrama humming. Newman, in one of his patented “cad” roles of the period (see: Hud, The Young Philadelphians, many more), plays Chance Wayne, a pretty boy who returns to his Florida hometown with fading actress Alexandra Del Lago (Geraldine Page) by his side. He’s hoping to reunite with his former sweetheart Heavenly Finley (Shirley Knight), all the while using Alexandra in a scheme to secure him the Hollywood stardom that has so far eluded him. But “Boss” Finley (Ed Begley), the corrupt politician who owns the town, will do everything in his power to keep Chance away from his daughter, and he’s assisted in his endeavors by his sadistic son Tom Jr. (Rip Torn). Newman, Page, Torn, and Madeleine Sherwood (playing “Boss” Finley’s discarded mistress) all reprise their roles from the original Broadway production. Begley nabbed the Best Supporting Actor Academy Award for his brutal and blustery turn, with Page and Knight earning nominations as, respectively, Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress.

Extras on A Streetcar Named Desire include audio commentary by Malden and film historians Rudy Behlmer and Jeff Young; the 1995 documentary Elia Kazan: A Director’s Journey (1995); Brando’s screen test; and a piece on the film’s censorship problems. Extras on Baby Doll consist of a 2006 retrospective piece featuring Baker, Malden, and Wallach, and the theatrical trailer. Extras on Cat on a Hot Tin Roof consist of audio commentary by author Donald Spoto (The Kindness of Strangers: The Life of Tennessee Williams, A Passion for Life: The Biography of Elizabeth Taylor); a 2006 retrospective making-of piece; and the theatrical trailer. Extras on Sweet Bird of Youth consist of a 2006 retrospective piece; screen test footage of Page and Torn (who were married from 1963 until her death in 1987) performing a scene together; and the theatrical trailer. (Purchase this title here.)

A Streetcar Named Desire: ★★★★

Baby Doll: ★★★

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof: ★★★½

Sweet Bird of Youth: ★★★

FROM SCREEN TO STREAM

THE BIG CHILL (1983). Earlier this year, the National Film Registry added 25 more movies to the Library of Congress, bringing the total to 925 (of the titles reviewed above, A Streetcar Named Desire made the list in 1999 while Red Dust was added in 2006). This year’s crop skewers heavily toward films released in the past 45 years, including 1982’s The Thing, 1984’s The Karate Kid, 2010’s Inception, and 2014’s The Grand Budapest Hotel. Also inducted was writer-director Lawrence Kasdan’s The Big Chill. A critical and commercial hit back in 1983, it has always had more than its share of detractors, folks who dismiss it as nothing more than a Baby Boomer circle jerk. Fair enough, but for those of us who tap into its frequency (and, for the record, I’m Generation X, not a Baby Boomer), it proves to be a genuinely great film, as universal in its ambitions and appeal as it is specific in its characterizations and timeframe. Following the suicide of their friend Alex (all of Kevin Costner’s scenes in this role were deleted before release), his seven closest college friends reunite for his funeral and end up spending a weekend together. Harold and Sarah Cooper (Kevin Kline and Glenn Close) are the hosts, welcoming everyone into their Beaufort, SC, home. Their guests consist of People magazine reporter Michael Gold (Jeff Goldblum), TV action star Sam Weber (Tom Berenger), career woman Meg Jones (Mary Kay Place), unhappy housewife Karen Bowens (JoBeth Williams), and druggie Nick Carlton (William Hurt); also on the premises is Alex’s young girlfriend, Chloe (Meg Tilly). Over the course of a couple of days, these friends love, fight, reestablish connections, and reflect on their lost ‘60s ideals — all while listening to a steady stream of classic songs (the compilation soundtrack was a smash hit). The entire ensemble is superb, although the edge in acting honors goes to Hurt, Kline, and Place. The Big Chill earned three Oscar nominations, for Best Picture, Supporting Actress (Close), and Original Screenplay (Kasdan and Barbara Benedek).

Movie: ★★★★

CAROUSEL (1956) / THE KING AND I (1956) / SOUTH PACIFIC (1958). More musicals brought from the stage, these three from the minds of Rodgers and Hammerstein.

Carousel (1956) was a box office dud upon its original release, and for good reason: It’s one of the weakest of all Rodgers and Hammerstein films, adapted from a play by Molnar (Liliom) but frequently playing like a dour version of It’s a Wonderful Life. Oklahoma! stars Gordon MacRae and Shirley Jones are reunited for this shallow tale about a deceased lout (MacRae) who wants to return to Earth for one day in order to aid the abused wife (Jones) and lonely daughter (Susan Luckey) he left behind. The score includes the gorgeous “You’ll Never Walk Alone” (recorded over the years by the likes of Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley and, best of all, Judy Garland), but the film itself is a lumbering misfire.

The King and I (1956) is based on the true story of Anna Leonowens, a 19th century British governess who journeyed to Siam to teach the king’s many children and found herself frequently butting heads with the temperamental ruler. Deborah Kerr is sturdy as Anna, but this is Yul Brynner’s movie all the way: While his flamboyant turn as the king borders on hammy, his exuberance and sheer delight in tackling the role is impossible to resist. Nominated for nine Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Actress, and Director (Walter Lang), this won five, including Best Actor and Best Scoring of a Musical.

The stage version of South Pacific (1958) won the Pulitzer Prize, but no comparable honors were forthcoming for this so-so screen adaptation of one of the team’s most enduring works. It’s love WWII-style, as a nurse (Mitzi Gaynor) falls for a French landowner (Rossano Brazzi) while a lieutenant (John Kerr) woos an island girl (France Nuyen) — yet all romance is put on hold once the two men are tapped for a dangerous mission. None of the performers are especially memorable — and Brazzi is downright dull — but the score does include such catchy tunes as “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair” and “Happy Talk.” Nominated for three Academy Awards, this won for Best Sound.

Carousel: ★★

The King and I: ★★★

South Pacific: ★★½

PARANOIA (2013). In 1997’s Air Force One, Harrison Ford’s U.S. president bellows at Gary Oldman’s terrorist, “Get off my plane!” The circumstances surrounding that face-off are far more exciting than the ones in Paranoia, in which Ford’s crusty CEO yells at Oldman’s cranky CEO, “Get off my Facebook page!” OK, that snatch of dialogue isn’t really uttered over the course of the film, but its inclusion might have at least broken the stupor caused by the rest of this grueling, 100-minute bomb. I saw worse films in 2013 (albeit not many), but I saw nothing that year as soul-crushingly boring as this techno-turkey, a ridiculous and risible film that’s about as thrilling as a telephone busy signal. A movie like The Social Network and a TV series like Alias proved that the world of gadgetry and computers can be just as exciting as any car chase or mano-a-mano skirmish, but Paranoia is so ineptly made that the ride home from the Redbox will be more exciting than anything that took place on the screen. Yet the movie isn’t just unabashedly dull but also stridently stupid, with Liam Hemworth’s central character, a techie who gets caught in a corporate battle over cell phone designs, as dim-witted as the story surrounding him — it doesn’t help that the actor’s performance is so feeble that a raised eyebrow or a pursed lip is what passes for deep characterization. Hammy Oldman turns tend to fluctuate between amusing and annoying, and here it’s the latter. As for Ford, whose bald noggin suggests he’s been seeing Vin Diesel’s stylist, he’s purely in paycheck mode — which, come to think of it, is a position he’s pretty much held since tossing Oldman off that airplane back in 1997.

Movie: ★

RABBIT HOLE (2010). One of the best films of 2010, Rabbit Hole features a devastating performance by Nicole Kidman that would have deserved every Best Actress prize on tap were it not for the presence of Black Swan‘s even more worthy Natalie Portman on the awards scene. Kidman is all coiled tension and seething anger as Becca, who, along with her husband Howie (Aaron Eckhart, also top-grade), is still attempting to cope with the accidental death of their young son eight months earlier. The loss has caused some distance between the couple, and both handle the tragedy in different ways. Howie, more sentimental than his spouse, wants to again experience closeness with Becca and, after repeated rejections, toys with the idea of an affair with a grieving parent (Sandra Oh) he meets through a support group. Becca, lashing out in anger at everyone around her (including her dithering mom, nicely played by the great Dianne Wiest), finds some measure of comfort in striking up a friendship with the blameless teenager (a fine debut by Miles Teller) who was driving the car that struck her son. In tackling David Lindsay-Abaire’s play (with a script penned by the playwright himself), director John Cameron Mitchell — at that point going 3-for-3 on my year-end 10 Best lists, following Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Shortbus — makes sure to never betray the material with maudlin melodrama or cheap theatrics. By giving us characters who are sympathetic yet also ofttimes infuriating, the film earns every audience emotion the hard way, not through pandering but by never flinching from its uncomfortable truths. For viewers willing to brave a beautiful bummer, Rabbit Hole proves to be a wonder.

Movie: ★★★½

SPARTACUS (1960). An epic that engages the intellect as well as the eyes and the emotions, this classic stars Kirk Douglas as the title figure, a slave who ends up leading his fellow captives against their Roman oppressors shortly before the time of Christ. There’s much to admire on the screen yet even more to admire behind the scenes: Douglas, also the film’s executive producer, hired screenwriter Dalton Trumbo to adapt Howard Fast’s novel, a brave move given that Trumbo was one of the victims of the heinous Hollywood blacklist. But with this bold gesture, Douglas effectively helped end the blacklist, and Trumbo forged a script that bore more than a passing resemblance to the oppressive events occurring in America. Spartacus also marked the only time director Stanley Kubrick did not enjoy complete control on a project, leading to him distancing himself from the picture over the ensuing years. Yet what’s on view is rousing material, with not only the action scenes delivering the goods but also the numerous sequences focusing on Roman politicizing as well as the love story between Spartacus and the strong-willed servant Varinia (Jean Simmons). With his heavy Bronx accent, Tony Curtis is more earnest than accurate as Antoninus, “duh singah of sawngs,” but the other cast members are excellent, particularly Charles Laughton as the shrewd Roman council member Gracchus, Laurence Olivier (exuding white-collar wickedness) as Roman leader Crassus, Woody Strode as the honorable gladiator Draba, and scene-stealing Peter Ustinov as the droll slave trader Batiatus. Nominated for six Academy Awards, this won four: Best Supporting Actor (Ustinov), Cinematography, Art Direction-Set Decoration, and Costume Design.

Movie: ★★★½