Confession time: I’ve been a fan of the works of Dashiell Hammett for decades.
 
If I remember correctly, it was a college professor who recommended Hammett to me back in the day.  I’d written something for a creative writing class that the teacher was impressed by, and he encouraged me to check some prose crafted by Raymond Chandler, Thomas Pynchon, and Hammett as part of my summer reading.  Well, Pynchon just never quite took.  I tore through four of Chandler’s novels over several weeks.  Then, I settled in on Hammett, almost immediately falling in love with The Maltese Falcon and some of the stories involving his Continental Op.  Afterwards, I briefly recall picking up a copy of The Thin Man, but – like some of the sentences and ideas slung around by Pynchon – it didn’t quite have the same feel as his other stuff.  Some of it might be owed to the fact that I couldn’t get into the characters as easily as I could the more traditional and/or hard-boiled private detectives; so, I let that one go.
 
A few years later, I discovered The Thin Man film series on home video.  Similar to my experience with the novel, the first film – simply titled The Thin Man (1934) – was a bit zanier and frenetic (at times) than I prefer my mysteries; and, yet I was somewhat captivated by the work of William Powell and Myrna Loy in the roles of Nick and Nora Charles onscreen respectively.  I think it was one of the first times that I saw what I viewed as screen chemistry working on a level I fully appreciated in a classic film.  The two strutted about as somewhat effete socialites without a care in the world and yet they were completely likable, almost as if they were daring the audiences to think less of them in the process.  It was some delicious work, indeed, and watching it now a few decades later it’s clear to see why their match-up launched a series of productions that lasted across six films from 1934 through 1947.  Even Wikipedia.org reports that audiences saw this husband-and-wife team working so effortlessly together that they fully believed Powell and Loy were married in real life!
 
That, my friends, speaks volumes about the effectiveness of true talent, great writing, and excellent production values.
 
Thankfully, the good people at Warner Archive have recently re-released The Complete Thin Man Collection on Blu-ray so that I can rediscover these stories one at a time for my readership as I think they remain the kind of screen gems that should never ever go out of style.  Next up is 1939’s Another Thin Man directed by W.S. Van Dyke and adapted (from a Hammett story) by Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett.  Powell and Loy returned are back in top form – as was Asta, the dog – and all were joined in this installment by Virginia Grey, Otto Kruger, C. Aubrey Smith, Ruth Hussey, Nat Pendleton, and others.  This time out, the Charles find themselves pulled into a potentially murderous affair involving a distant family friend who may or may not be the target of some nefarious plot … and baby makes four!
 
Why, it’s an offer that this dynamic duo just couldn’t refuse …
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“An explosives manufacturer suspects a young man is out to kill him. He calls in new parents Nick and Nora to sort things out.”
 
Any reader of classic crime fiction will tell you that a big disadvantage to even some of the best is that the eventual identity of who performed the fateful deed – usually a murder – might have been beyond suspicion of the audience.
 
A great deal of these stories originated in the pages of novels – or in the cheapies like Black Mask Magazine – and in order to keep solutions reasonably fresh the writers often concealed a bit of trickery from disclosure.  In fact, that’s always been a huge complaint of mine when it comes to appreciating the cases of the famed Sherlock Holmes as penned by the great Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: because I wasn’t shown all of the detail the chief detective was, there was no possible way I could solve the crime.  As this is often why a good many readers show up in the first place, there’s likely to be some disappointment in those closing pages and/or their subsequent filmed moments.  If I can’t enjoy the tale vicariously, then why take the journey in the first place?
​

In my opinion, the first two pictures in The Thin Man series avoided that pitfall (mostly) by keeping the majority of the action along with the detective’s big reveal limited to things shown on film.  While perhaps not everything was put up there in glorious black-and-white, there was still enough connective tissue that viewers had little trouble conceiving their own opinions on the criminal mastermind; when a little suspicion goes a long way, then you feed the audience more than enough to keep them invested.  But in Another Thin Man, the denouement comes a bit from outside these elements, so much so that some might’ve been scratching their heads about how they could’ve possibly missed that despite never having been shown.
 
Having expanded upon their pairing with the addition of Nick Jr., Nick and Nora Charles are finally setting out to see the world once more, heading out to the Big Apple – aka New York City – to reconnect with friends, family, and society at large.  Family friend and executor of the Charles’ family businesses Colonel Burr MacFay (played by C. Aubrey Smith) invites the family to his expansive country estate for the weekend, but – upon their arrival – the couple learn that he had an ulterior motive.  As it seems, MacFay has drawn some unwanted attention from Phil Church (Sheldon Leonard), a small-time gangster who is convinced he has some minor powers of precognition.  Once Church claims to have seen the old colonel dead, he naturally comes under suspicion once MacFay, indeed, turns up stabbed to death in his bed.  This understandably draws the Charles back into the business of investigating some dark deeds they’d rather have nothing to do with, even though they initially try to avoid the association by heading back into the city.
 
From there, Another Thin Man pretty much evolves very similar in structure and tone to what’s been established as the recipe for the franchise: Nora finds herself minorly aghast with the unsavory characters that keep popping up in and around her husband’s shenanigan while Nick does his best to do the heavy intellectual lifting that police detectives seem to avoid.  Actor Otto Kruger fills out the role of Van Slack, the assistant district attorney whose mission it is to solve the MacFay murder, and Nat Pendleton as Lieutenant Guild is back in action as a lumbering police presence who clearly is in a league of his own.  It’s only with Nick’s direction that these somewhat bumbling forces of good can be pushed in the right direction; and the former detective proves once again that he’s only got eyes for his wife … and a life solving crimes.
 
Even though Another Thin Man feels at home with what’s come before, the script also takes a short cut of two necessary to conceal a key player’s identity, so much so that the real whodunnit doesn’t feel quite as authentic as perhaps it did in the two earlier films.   While a bit of diversion is sometimes necessary to maintain a storyteller’s fascination with twists and turns, things shouldn’t be manufactured out of whole cloth in the last reel (as happens here).  Doing so kinda/sorta cheapens the experience, although I’d offer that no legitimate fans will find a great deal of fault with the rest of the picture.  In their third pairing as the husband-and-wife sleuths, Powell and Loy might be at the peak of their prowess here; and giving them a baby to work off of as well is a bit of surprising Hollywood charm.  Though Asta occasionally feels a bit left out of the action, it’s still better than a dog’s life than most pooches ever got.
 
Another Thin Man (1939) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM).  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds exceptional from start-to-finish.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts a few extras – a short and a cartoon – from the era, along with the flick’s theatrical trailer.  Meh.  A bit of a disappointment, if you ask me.
 
Recommended.
 
One of the biggest complaints over the years regarding classic whodunnits is the plots tended to grow unnecessarily complex, and there are hints of that occurring across Another Thin Man (1939).  The story involves a change in setting once more – the Charles do so like to travel – not once but twice; and a few of the character introductions are a bit truncated.  As can also happen, a portion of the big solution details events that the audience wasn’t exactly privy to, so the big culprit feels like a bit of invention as opposed to be an organic development.  Still, the formula works – quite well in the lighter sequences – and its great to see Nick and Nora back doing what they do best: entertainment themselves with us along for the ride.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Another Thin Man (1939) – as part of their The Complete Thin Man Collection – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

I’ve been a fan of the works of Max Allan Collins for decades now.
 
Those of you who missed it (and many did, based entirely on ratings), his singular hitman/assassin creation Quarry was given screen life in a single season aboard the self-titled program on HBO/Max.  It was a glorious, glorious time – all eight episodes – and I’m often caught still recommending it to folks whenever I get the chance.  It presented a great backstory to the character that has endured an incredible sixteen novels (to date), and it remains a show deserving of greater praise.  Otherwise, Collins’ name has long been associated with 2002’s Road To Perdition starring Tom Hanks, Paul Newman, and Daniel Craig: this Academy Award winning feature film first sprang from Collins’ imagination as a series of graphic novels from DC Comics.  And – last but not least – the author picked up stewardship for the works of the late, great writer Mickey Spillane after the Mick passed: I tore through a handful of Spillane’s best in my youth, and it’s good to know that the further adventures of private investigator Mike Hammer were bequeathed to such a responsible and respectful voice.
 
Naturally, I couldn’t pass up the chance to give Collins’ Blue Christmas a whirl when it was offered up to me via a distributor relationship.  I’d heard nothing about the project, advertised as a hard-boiled interpretation of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol complete with ghosts, gals, and an unsolved murder.  The advertising insert to the DVD slipcase includes a brief essay from Collins, more of a recounting about where the story came from, which was very helpful; and – what with all of us being in the midst of the silly season right now – I thought it appropriate to pony up my two cents on the whole affair.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Chicago 1941. Meet private eye Richard Stone, celebrating at his Christmas Even office party after beating the draft by way of a bribe. He's a disappointment to his secretary and main squeeze, Katie Crocket, whose brother Ben is fighting overseas; and his honest young employee joey Ernest is guilt-ridden over all the divorce-racket keyhole peeping. Worst of all, his equally sleazy partner, Jake Marley, was murdered a year ago tonight and Stone didn't bother solving Jake's ho-ho homicide.”
 
Textually, Blue Christmas works, but – and I do say this with some conviction – I think it really only works best for fans of the hard-boiled dime novel prose that’s always served as an inspiration to its author and director, Max Allan Collins.  Because it’s a loose retelling of A Christmas Carol but set in the early 1940’s universe fueled with gangsters, g-men, and the constant threat of a looming World War, it’s entirely relatable, too, though there’s a bit of slang here and there that might throw the uneducated for a loop.  In other words, there isn’t a great deal of room for any big narrative surprises: yes, there’s a strong hint of the classic criminal whodunnit in there, and the limited number of faces in this cast of less than a dozen doesn’t exactly make much room for any big surprises in the last reel.
 
Where I take issue with Blue is entirely with its aesthetics, which I’ll get to after a synopsis.
 
Big city P.I. Richard Stone (Rob Merritt) passed on the chance to investigate the murder of his long-time partner Jake Marley (Chris Causey) when he prioritized his efforts on cementing the sole proprietorship of their surviving practice over following the unspoken code of defending and avenging one’s best friend.  Now a year later, he’s living the good life; and – on Christmas Eve – he gathers those nearest and dearest to him for the customary celebration.  Even though gifts are exchanged and the yuletide seems gay, there are hints that changes to his world are afoot; and – later that night – he’s visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future, all imploring him to return to the high road, make peace with those remaining under his employ, and solve that big case he turned a blind eye to only twelve months ago.
​

Of course, the similarities between Dickens’ and Collins’ central idea are as plain as the nose of a face; and – as I stated above – that’s largely why Blue achieves its measure of theatrical respectability.  Think of it as a set of good bones around which to throw some bones, blood, and brains; and you get the idea for exactly how this wild holiday ride is meant to begin and end.  While there are no surprises there, I was a bit aghast with the fact that all of it was staged much like a community theater production: the entirety of the affair transpires in P.I. Stone’s office, a rather expansive room but still reasonably low budget.
 
Now before my words rile any of you up, let me be clear: I came from a community theater background, so that’s not intended necessarily as any insult.  I understand perfectly the aesthetic that writer and director Collins was going for in this case – given that the bulk of the procedure is tied to a kinda/sorta dreamlike existence between here and wherever, it’s an entirely plausible setting.  What I’m trying to suggest is that because of the nature of holiday storytelling and the wide, wide world of hard-boiled criminal fantasies, I disagree with it.
 
There’s very little chance to amp up the atmosphere, though clever lighting, shadows, and maybe a bit of fog here and there do work wonders.  Still, there are some inserts sprinkled across these 80 minutes – exterior sequences set-up the time and place, and some stock photographs here and there are used as entirely frame Stone’s journeys with the ghosts – and these noticeably break the milieu established by the ‘single set’ construct.  Were these places captured in photographs hanging on the walls of Stone’s business?  If so, then they might make more sense.  But because the audience is given no narrative foreshadowing to these few places (and they could’ve), the tone shifts a bit more than I think those of us who watch this stuff closely for artistic reasons expected.  Hell, even the inclusion of Bonnie Parker – of Bonnie & Clyde fame – could’ve been explained by having a newspaper headline mounted in the background; and such a suggestion could’ve given Stone a reason to suspect (even more plausibly) that it was all a dream.
 
Critically, Blue is a nice project.  As someone who evaluates art, I realize how it’s easy to get lost in the minutiae of why one aspect was chosen over something else.  When a storyteller is using a previously established framework – like Dickens – with which to weave his or her own magical tale, then it becomes increasingly important to distinguish something fresh, new, and innovative in order to avoid being accused to simply ripping off or riffing on what’s come before.  I’m not sure Collins and company went far enough to stand on their own two feet; and yet those of us who still cherish what Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, Elmore Leonard, James M. Cain, and Mickey Spillane did before are likely to be among those most tickled pink …
 
… or is that “tickled red and green?”  For the holidays?
 
Blue Christmas (2024) was produced by Dreampost Media.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at MVD Visual Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be respectable throughout: there’s a bit of a jarring after effect to a sequence or two that jump from filming to what I’m assumed are stock photos, but it’s only a few spots so no real worries.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts an audio commentary, some Q&A highlights, and a documentary exploring Collins’ career.  It’s a nice package worth opening on Christmas morning, for those who like that sort of thing.
 
Mildly Recommended … but genre fans of private detectives should definitely check it out.
 
Like any a holiday yarn, the beating heart of Max Allan Collins’ Blue Christmas is in the right place, but I’ll also admit this is probably going to have limited, niche appeal (at best).  It isn’t so much a theatrical experience as it is a single-stage community theatre-style production realized via digital filmmaking; and many might be put off by the exceedingly low production values.  (Hey, I’m just bein’ honest.)  Still, those who respect hard-boiled storytelling might be intrigued enough to stick with it from start-to-finish … though I’ll always question including – ahem – the King of Rock’n’Roll as the Ghost of Christmas Future.  (Yes, yes, yes: it’s explained in the script, but it still feels like forced humor, and audiences deserve better than that.)
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at MVD Visual Entertainment provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Blue Christmas (2024) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

Confession time: I’m not all that enamored with the works of Abel Ferrara.
 
While some might suggest that the truth here is that perhaps I don’t understand what Ferrara is often trying to say, I’m still not inclined to mince words on what might be a great or even a not-so-great experience regardless of who made a particular flick with a particular message.  As a review, it’s only my task to evaluate the merits of said project in so far as I can understand and appreciate it.  If something remains opaque to me, then that may or may not mean I’ve not the intellect to grasp what’s been communicated: the weak link here could be that the maker may not have gone far enough in saying something clearly just as much as it could be (sigh) I’m just not smart enough to catch the drift.
 
If I’m perfectly honest, then I’m fine admitting that perhaps I haven’t seen enough of the Ferrara library to be even modestly considered any kind of participant in his wares.  This more often than not underscores why some reviewers might feel some inadequacy in reaching an informed opinion; and, yet, I’ll always pop my head up once again to remind everyone concerned that it should never be the responsibility of the audience to bone up on a particular artist in order to comment on the art.  Only art lives forever – not any individual voice – and, as such, I expect minimally to experience that in a single sitting.  I realize on that front some storytellers just can’t compete; and that amounts to my personal opinion on Ferrara … he’s just not for me.
 
Still, I persevere, especially when something he’s attached to drops into the realms of the Fantastic, which an occasionally nifty little ditty like The Addiction (1995) qualifies.  This vampire story was scripted by Nicholas St. John (an earlier co-contributor of the director’s); and the big screen outing offers an impressive line-up of talent like Lili Taylor, Christopher Walken, Annabella Sciorra, Edie Falco, and Paul Calderon.  As a yarn, Addiction explores the conceit of becoming and being a vampire from the perspective of – you guessed it – being an addict; and that’s about where the goodness of it starts and stops.  Otherwise the rest of this is little more than a structure employed to give this talented handful of Thespians a few good individual scenes without ever giving enough serious consideration to the meal as a whole.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or character.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A New York philosophy grad student turns into a vampire after getting bitten by one, and then tries to come to terms with her new lifestyle and frequent craving for human blood.”
​

The absolute beauty of a project like director Abel Ferrara’s The Addiction is that – as an art film – it’s meant to speak to audiences in ways vastly different and sometimes more complex than a regular picture does.  A performance here or there might be interesting.  A few of the written passages might be stunning in some subtle way.  The way a scene or two get rendered in thought-provoking black-and-white might say something about the grandeur of the universe in which these players are captured.  Usually, his works are deliciously dark … and – while I’m willing to suppose that’s the case here – they’re meant to say something about who we are as inner beings always surpassing the superficial layers with which we walk about daily in the world.
 
All of the above could be said about The Addiction.
 
Certainly, you can’t have performers like Lili Taylor – whose long been on my radar – and Christopher Walken – a bankable commodity that’s easily lampooned as much as celebrated – in a picture and avoid speaking about what they accomplish in.  Yes, Taylor’s time spent in the tortured existence of Kathleen Conklin – a philosophy student in pursuit of her Masters – is interesting here and there, especially given the context that she’s suddenly plunged into an alternate world wherein she’s forced to prey on others in order to survive.  Yes, Walken achieves far more in his handful of minutes in here than many actors do across an entire career; and it’s as much noteworthy as it is occasionally cringeworthy.  Sadly, they’re time together as mentor and student is a bit too slim to account to much collectively, but the two of them produce respectively watchable scenes.
 
Furthermore, the idea of exploring what it means to be a vampire set against the backdrop of stuffy and effete, self-serving academia gives the viewer something to mull over.  These professors and the rest of our cultural betters love preaching about what’s good and grand to life; and how they’re reduced to little more than livestock in the feature’s bombastic feeding frenzy in the last reel is exactly the kind of scene some might appreciate vastly more than others.  There’s no shortness to sizzling ideas anywhere across the film’s 80+ minutes; and – without a doubt – the same thing could not be said of lesser works from arguably even greater minds.  There’s prescience at every corner one looks … and, yet, I’ve emerged still hungry.
 
My biggest complaint to The Addiction is that the production values are stunning awful in a few spots.  For starters, there are long sequences wherein I couldn’t hear clearly what was being said between Taylor and whomever she was addressing.  While I’ll accept that in an instance or two that might’ve been achieved by design – implying that what’s being said was hardly nearly as important as what was happening – I tend to resist such conclusions.  If all I’m given is 80 minutes to tell a story, then I’m not going to waste any single element; and – sorry folks – sound matters.  If it was captured, then it was meant to be in there.  Awarding inferior technical production greater merit because you think it was suggestive of deeper, more meaningful themes is a fool’s errand; otherwise, why use sound at all?  When one person can be heard clearly and the other is obviously muffled, I’ll always chalk that up to inadequate sound recording or unacceptable sound mixing; and neither of those should be achieved deliberately.
 
What I can say about The Addiction’s meaty core is that I believe Ferrara intended to allow Conklin to transcend the limitations of her physical world – its culture, its relationships, etc. – in order to achieve a kind of spiritual redemption in – ahem – death.  Her last scenes are ultimately ones of peace after visiting her gravesite – she’s a vampire, you see, so technically, she doesn’t die – and finally looking like she’s emotionally and psychologically balanced.  But isn’t that what the Walken character told us a handful of scenes earlier?  Didn’t he, too, find equilibrium in learning how to control his wants, needs, and desires through acceptance?  What are we to make of two characters initially in conflict then winning balance, one through restraint while the other chose glorious excesses?  It would seem to me that The Addiction never finds collective balance – meaning that’s the responsibility of individuals and not society as a whole – or am I thinking too deeply here?
 
The problem here could be that Ferrara, too, has given in to some excess.  Across The Addition’s running time he inserts countless photos involving human atrocities – the war in Vietnam, Nazi concentration camps, etc. – dangling them as constant reminders of the fact that humanity might not be this glowing beacon on a hill we’ve all been raised to believe it is.  Somehow, we always seem to find our way into the dark as opposed to the light; but I’m at a loss to even grasp what any of this has to do with vampires.  Is he saying that even monsters are good?  Is he saying that even good people are bad?  Or is he just throwing whatever tickles his fancy into a single screen image and leaving that up to the viewer to decide what to make of it … good, bad, or ugly?  Honestly, I’ve no way to know; and – come the conclusion – I just didn’t all that much care.
​

I know, I know, I know.
 
My frustration with The Addiction will probably go down in critical history as ultimately saying more about me than it does about the film; and that’s okay.  As a viewer, I’ve never tried positioning myself above any creative effort, nor do I consider myself alongside it (generally) in trying to contextualize what a narrative may or may not say.  (Trust me when I say I took a helluva lotta heat when I admitted I didn’t understand the last reel of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, either, except to say it looked like a hallucinogenic drug trip to me.)  Though I can appreciate any storyteller’s effort to bulk up his yarn by including subversive references to every conceivable idea, the result should still be accessible; and – on that front – I’ll always refuse to struggle with much ado about nothing.
 
The Addiction (1995) was produced by Fast Films.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) was coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional from start-to-finish: yes, in case you’re unaware, this is a black-and-white production, and I do love such texture.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  In order to be specific, I’m doing the reliable copy-and-paste from Arrow’s press release previously published on Blu-ray.com:

• BRAND NEW 4K RESTORATION from the original camera negative by Arrow Films
• DOLBY VISION/HDR PRESENTATION OF THE FILM
• Optional lossless 5.1 and 2.0 soundtracks
• Optional English subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing
• Audio commentary by director Abel Ferrara, moderated by critic and biographer Brad Stevens
• Talking with the Vampires, a 2018 documentary about the film, featuring actors Christopher Walken and Lili Taylor, composer Joe Delia, cinematographer Ken Kelsch, and Ferrara himself
• 2018 interview with Abel Ferrara
• 2018 interview with Brad Stevens
• Abel Ferrara Edits The Addiction, an archival piece from the time of production
• Original trailer
• Image gallery
• Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Peter Strain
• Illustrated collector's booklet featuring writing on the film by critic Michael Ewins and an archival interview with Ferrara by Paul Duane

 
To clarify: typically when I receive my copy via the distributor, I am not provided any physical media inserts (i.e. artwork, booklets, essays, etc.), so I cannot speak to the efficacy of any of those materials.  In such cases, please consider them ‘buyer beware.’
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
The Addiction isn’t a Horror film for those who like Horror films about vampires.  Rather, it’s an Art film meant for those who might like an Art film that comments more on philosophy, society, religion, and culture than it ever authentically does vampirism … and I just don’t go to Horror films for such discussions.  It isn’t a bad flick so much as it is a project intended for perhaps the smallest niche audience imaginable.  As such, I can’t see any of its ideas or performances ever suffering a great deal of praise though a bit or two are memorable.  It’s that kind of experience wherein if you say ‘I don’t get it’ then its supporters will argue, ‘Well, it wasn’t meant for you,’ all the while insisting they’re smarter, better educated, and maybe don’t need to have their parking validated when they’re finished speaking to their shrink.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of The Addiction (1995) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ 
​

Often, I find myself lamenting across SciFiHistory.Net that the Horror genre doesn’t have any great returning faces any longer.
 
Oh, I mean no disrespect to various Kane Hodder’s, Tony Todd’s, or any number of veritable Scream Queens that turn up without delay.  While a great many actors and actresses have long staked out the territory exploring things that go bump in the night, I’ve also seen as many of them showing up and simply turning out ‘more of the same.’  (This is especially truthful and noteworthy when it comes to Scream Queens.)  My point is that rarely do audiences discover a screen presence who shows up over and over again with the measure of variety and versatility that ably demonstrates not only the depth of skill but also the willingness to keep pushing boundaries so that Horrors might become something new.  All too often, today’s features – big and small – tend to run on a central idea; and that structure just doesn’t leave enough room for these talented professionals to ‘push the envelope,’ as it were.  Even when they do, some producers likely have them ‘dial it back,’ fearing that straying too deeply into uncharted waters might upset fans, so why bother?  Personally, I think that’s a disservice to both sides of the aisle as I’d always rather see more than less when I’m choosing my next entertainment meal.
 
As perhaps an even better example, why is it that we don’t get talents like the late Boris Karloff any more?
 
I know, I know, I know: the likes of a Karloff and what he brought to any role is decades old, and today’s Thespians seem to be more concerned with avoiding being typecast than they are truly committed to exploring the many faces of Horror moviemaking itself.  Hell, I’ve even read that – after a time – Boris never much gave being selected again and again and again for scare audiences silly a second thought, embracing the fact that it kinda/sorta became who he was.  When you’re good, then you’re good; and the actor – to this day – remains one of the very best at vamping into whatever role producers desired.  Here I am late in my fifth decade of existence, and I’m still discovering what the man could do with a role, even something as curious as he did with 1936’s The Walking Dead from director Michael Curtiz.
 
Right up front, I think that a name like ‘The Walking Dead’ has been ruined for modern audiences.  I suspect that – given the juggernaut of an intellectual property that AMC has made of that Robert Kirkman inspiration – anyone even considered this almost 90-year-old flick might consider it as a quaint zombie feature, but nothing could be further from the truth.  In reality, the story from Ewart Anderson, Joseph Fields, Lillie Hayward, Robert Hardy Andrews, and Peter Milne is more of a crime/thriller hybrid with a dash of the supernatural thrown in for good measure … and it works.  In fact, it works surprisingly well once you’re really in on what’s transpiring.  Granted, it could’ve used a bit more set-up or perhaps an expository scene to clarify everything that’s going on, but even without such an explanation what emerges is a great film carried almost entirely on Karloff’s accomplished shoulders.
Wouldn’t it be great to say the same for other actors and actresses today?
 
Sigh.
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“After hapless pianist and ex-con John Elman is framed for murder, he is resurrected by a scientist after his execution.”
 
On the commentary track for 1946’s The Beast With The Five Fingers (the film is reviewed here), I learned that the late movie mogul Jack Warner – once called ‘the meanest man in Hollywood’ – wasn’t a fan of Horror features.  While his studio certainly produced a few Horror classics under his leadership, Warner apparently had to be persuaded to allow directors and screenwriters to explore such ideas; and even then there remain suggestions that he had them tone down a scene or two in order to soften the frights so that audiences didn’t turn away and go elsewhere for their escapism.
 
Perhaps that’s why – to some degree – it’s easy to see how a flick like The Walking Dead actually got made when it did.  At first glance, the feature barely looks like a Horror entry – it arguably has no central creatures like the Universal Pictures big hits of the same era had introduced – and what scary scenes it has requires the greater suggestion of violence and bloodshed as opposed to outright showing any nefarious activities.  When you have a talent as great as Boris Karloff, however, that might be the only way to effectively pull that screen magic off.  This one likely wouldn’t have worked so well in any other actor’s hands.
 
John Elman (played by Karloff) is a down-on-his-luck ex-convict who can’t seem to get a break no matter where he turns.  Having served his days in the big house after what he insists was an accidental murder, this former musician goes from one odd job to the next, scraping out just enough of a living to make ends meet.  When he gets word that famed attorney named Nolan (Ricardo Cortez) might have a task he could be suited for, Elman shows up excitedly … only to be turned away into what winds up being little more than a set-up to become a patsy for a criminal fixer known as Trigger Smith (Joe Sawyer).
​

As it turns out, Smith, Cortez, and a handful of other faces actually run the big city crime syndicate; and they need a fall guy they can frame for the death of crusading Judge Roger Shaw (Joe King).  Thus, Elman gets easily convicted and sentenced to die in the electric chair; and die he does, even though a late breaking development of witnesses coming forward occurs only seconds too late.  This causes the scientist Dr. Evan Beaumont (Edmund Gwenn) to request that Elman’s body be turned over to him so that he can use it as the first subject to reanimate with some cutting-edge discoveries.  Eventually, the doomed man is resurrected, and yet – as is often the case when man plays God – he isn’t quite himself any longer.
 
Essentially, Elman returns to the mortal plane bearing a set of uncharacteristic gifts.  First, he has somewhat magical knowledge of the identities of those in the syndicate who were responsible for his demise.  Second, he can apparently convince them with little more than a stare for them to throw caution to the wind and grievously harm themselves.  And third – while it’s even a bit more nebulous – he can’t be killed again!
 
Well …
 
The truth to The Walking Dead is that the honest limits of these powers are never quite sufficiently explained.  In short, they are what they are only in so much as our hero Elman needs them in order to exact a measure of vengeance on those who wronged him in the process, so consider this some convenient spectral developments.  While I would’ve appreciated a bit more by way of exposition or even the actor’s greater demonstrations, director Curtiz and his screenwriters think they’ve provided just enough to tell the story as is; and who am I to argue with that?  Of course, it’s easy to see that Elman’s suggestions of his enemies’ doom is ample, but a bit of extra nuance could’ve easily been slipped in here and made this one even better.
 
The Walking Dead reminds me greatly of 1983’s The Dead Zone, a stellar adaptation of the Stephen King novel helmed by director David Cronenberg.  In that story, Johnny Smith (Christopher Walken) is tragically put into a coma for several years; and – once he emerges – the man comes back with a unique gift of foresight as it pertains to touching others and seeing what Fate itself has in store for them.  Naturally, this grants the man the ability to also change the future – when he meets a person destined for a dark turn, he can warn them – and that serves as the foundation for exploring the nature of his somewhat tortured existence.  Similarly, Elman has gone to the other side and come back with these curious faculties, but The Walking Dead never quite hammers in if this was meant to be a blessing or a curse.  Rather, his gifts simply are what they are, and he uses them solely to see that justice is served for those who did him wrong.  While that’s understandably noble, it’s also a bit self-serving, leaving other avenues completely untouched as to whether or not Elman could’ve become a saint to mankind at large.  I suspect not; but, again, there’s no explanation provided.
 
What there is, however, is the suggestion that Elman might know a bit more about life, death, and the wider mystery of the universe.
​

On more than one occasion, Dr. Beaumont implores the recovering musician to share with him what he either saw or experienced when he crossed over into death.  Was Heaven real?  Was there a long dark tunnel that ended with a blaze of light?  Did he meet God or the Devil?  (I’m inserting some of these ideas and not pulling any of this from the script verbatim, mind you.)  Clearly, everyone involved in the creation and expansion of this idea recognized the importance of such an achievement; and the script touches on these possibilities in a few spots.  Sadly, they just get dangling like carrots, never really giving Elman the chance to respond at any great length (he does say something, but I’ll leave that unspoiled); and I think, too, the picture could’ve been strengthened by giving us just a wee bit more than what they did.
 
As for how a Horror like this could’ve been made under Warner’s watchful eyes?
 
As I said above, The Walking Dead appears to be much more of a crime story in roughly its first half.  The concentration is on the syndicate and their shadow business; it isn’t even until the second half that Elman finds himself railroaded behind bars and facing his ultimate demise.  Given that the spectral hints are handled fairly lightly, I wonder if Warner was even paying close enough attention to realize what frightening or magical goodness he truly had on his hands.
 
The Walking Dead (1936) was produced by Warner Bros. Pictures.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been handled by the fine folks at Warner Archive.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to this nifty little thriller/chiller to be exceptional across the board; director Curtiz and cinematographer Hal Mohr occasionally get high marks for utilizing some wonderful production design in key sequences, and I wish they’d done a bit more of that in the quieter moments.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Along with a few cartoons from the era, the disc boasts a documentary on Curtiz and not one but two excellent commentary tracks from film historians.  This was a surprisingly good collection, especially considering the film’s age and relative anonymity.
 
Strongly Recommended.
 
While The Walking Dead (1936) doesn’t quite go far enough to explain the limits of the spectral powers that Karloff’s character inherits from his trip to the afterlife and back, the narrative sufficiently fills in the blanks well enough that audiences should readily grasp what’s going on.  (Pardon me if I prefer a bit more specificity!)  Karloff’s work is quite good – rarely have I seen him demonstrate this measure of sympathy – as are the faces of the criminal syndicate he matches wits against.  Director Curtiz keeps this one moving at a crisp pace, making exceptional use of a lean and mean 66 minutes run time.  If you like older flicks, then this one is definitely worth discovering, despite the fact that you’ll likely suspect it’s not as horrific as are a great many others in Karloff’s catalogue.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Walking Dead (1936) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“In a turn-of-the-century Renaissance Italian mansion, its tyrannical owner, a wheelchair-bound one-handed pianist with a strong belief in the occult is murdered.”
 
The history of bad decisions in all of filmdom has made for a great many entertaining and informative articles.  Some of these notable curiosities involve actors and actresses turning down roles that went to other talent, and then those films went on to become huge, huge box office and critical successes.  In other cases, directors have decided to give projects a certain look, resulting in aesthetics that perhaps left audiences more confused than receptive.  Still, how many of us have watched a veritable disaster that perhaps could’ve been made modestly better with another go-round at the script or even spending a wee bit more on special effects to make the outcome just a bit more special?
 
Now, in fairness, not all of these miscalculations rise to the level of being, say, a JarJar Binks grade disaster.  Yet I’ve no doubt eyebrows were raised way back in 1946 when audiences were treated to a stunningly grand Horror/Thriller from director John Florey – namely The Beast With Five Fingers – that implodes under the weight of an incredibly stupid breaking-the-fourth-wall moment in – literally – the closing moments.  You’ve heard of that trend in films wherein a bad guy’s detached hand comes back to life and commits a series of tawdry and violent acts?  Well, Beast was – I believe – to explore the concept, and it did so with Hollywood legend Peter Lorre, arguably near the height of his prowess.  What more could you ask?  Well, a closing scene that absolutely destroys all of the goodwill audiences likely blessed it with is a bridge too far; and I’ll bet a good many have forgotten what a gem this production otherwise is because of that fateful mistake.
 
On the commentary track for the new Warner Archive release, film experts Steve Haberman and Constantine Nasr point out that Beast is an uncharacteristic production for studio head Jack Warner.  Apparently, Warner had been on record about somewhat detesting Horror films in general; so the fact that something so obviously horrific managed to get greenlit at the studio under his leadership is a bit of mystery.  Perhaps the fact that the script – Curt Siodmak and Harold Goldman are credited with adapting the original W.F. Harvey story – deals more with the psychological descent into madness on the part of Lorre’s Hilary Cummins the Hollywood heavyweight looked the other way.  Were that the case and then Warner saw the completed project, could he have been the reason why Florey tacked on this insufferably bad ending?  Chalk this one up to a case of “who knows?”
 
Famed pianist Francis Ingram (played with considerable menace by Victor Francen) has devolved into a bitter and shallow caricature of the musical genius he once was.  Having suffered a stroke that left him bound to a wheelchair and with only one useful arm, he whiles away in silence playing single-handed adaptations of great pieces rewritten to suit his disability by Bruce Conrad (Robert Alda).  Otherwise, Ingram’s companions are limited to his caretaker – Julie Holden (Andrea King) – and Hilary Cummins (Lorre), a bit of a parasite who’s spent several years sponging off the pianist’s wealth and general favor.  As of hate, however, Ingram has turned somewhat disgruntled with Cummins’ presence, mostly because the man gets in the way of time better spent with the lovely Holden.  After dinner one evening, Ingram is awakened from his sleep by the storm outside.  As he wanders in his chair about the house seeking the attentions of his caregiver, he accidentally tumbles down a massive staircase.  Collapsing at the bottom, he breaks his neck and dies.
 
Whenever a wealthy socialite passes, relatives come out of the woodwork; and Ingram’s expiration is no different.  Brother-in-law Raymond Arlington (Charles Dingle) and his son Donald (John Alvin) arrive on the scene, immediately expecting to claim everything of the Ingram estate; but – lo and behold – the pianist had recently dictated an all-new last testament leaving all he owned to the apple of his eye, Holden.  Privately, Arlington and the attorney Duprex (David Hoffman) conspire to have the will nullified, an act that would have Ingram’s previous expressed wishes for his brother-in-law to inherit the spoils reinstated.
 
There’s a bit more to Beast’s set-up that helps to set the stage: because he’s fallen out of the pianist’s good graces, Cummins admits to the elder musician that Julie is, in fact, planning on leaving him, running off potentially in the arms of her beau Conrad for greener pastures.  Refusing to believe it, the confession still enrages Ingram so much that he attempts to strangle his former constant companion; and it’s this jilted relationship that fuels a good portion of the resulting mystery that takes residence in the mansion.
 
Before he can seize control of his client’s estate, Duprex is murdered; and it would seem to be that the guilty culprit is none other than … the deceased!  Somehow, Ingram’s left hand has been sawed off his body; and the sniveling Cummins has seen it crawling about the house in pursuit of untold retributions on those who may’ve wronged the man while he still retained his mortal coil.  While modern audiences might scoff at the use of such primitive special effects, Beast actually makes great usage of such visual trickery, giving the film just enough of what Horror fans expect – albeit fairly late in the picture – to make it a memorable chiller.
​

Google.com reports that – at best – Beast was a modest success, perhaps owed more appropriately to the fact that it wasn’t all that expensive for Warner Bros. to produce.  Siodmak’s script focuses very strongly on Cummins’ weakening mental state, and – in all seriously – Hollywood couldn’t have had a better pair of hands (snicker snicker) to rest that in than Lorre’s.  He roared to international acclaim back in like-minded territory board Fritz Lang’s M (1931), so what little that’s required here is little more than a walk around the proverbial park.  As incredulous as the premise of a homicidal appendage might be to some, all of it works as well as it does because the actor rather eloquently picks it up and shoulders the effort from start to finish.  While Cummins isn’t revealed as being particularly duplicitous, it’s very clear that the man has unresolved issues – perhaps even sexual, some might say – that inspires him to consider some dark deeds on his path to spiritual and financial wellness.
 
Without being overly critical, I’ll still take issue with the remainder of the cast as being one of the principle reasons why Beast stumbles here and there.
 
Though Francen is very good as the anguished pianist, he only appears chiefly in the film’s set-up; after thirty minutes or so, he’s dispatched to the shadows, leaving the remaining members of this ensemble to step up their game and no one does.  J. Carroll Naish isn’t bad as Commissioner Ovidio Castanio, but he occasionally plays his part a bit foppish, almost a parody of what an authentic detective might be.  King and Alda – as the lead romantic pairing – don’t muster much screen chemistry – Alda is downright bland in a few spots – so it isn’t as if I ever felt like I needed to root for their survival.  Even some of the camerawork is a bit too plain in sequences wherein Florey truly could’ve tried something special; it’s clear that he occasionally heightens the resulting tension – most of which gets tied to Lorre’s work – and it would’ve been nice to see as much workmanship applied to even the smallest of exchanges.
 
But if I’m being perfectly honest, then I’ll have to admit that, yes, I liked Beast … liked it quite a bit … right up until about the last minute of the production.
 
Though I’m aghast at ever spoiling anything, I honestly have to in this predicament because I think I can offer a solution to those who are interested in giving the film a whirl.  You see, I’m never a fan of players breaking that wall that separates us from the experience: while it can be done to great effect in screen Comedies (Marvel’s Deadpool’s appeal is that he’s often sharing his innermost impressions at the least appropriate time), it just fails in other genres.  In my humble opinion, Dramas should never do it; but I’m willing to consider the technique as having some usability in certain flights of fancy.  Use it sparingly – if ever – and don’t look back.
 
With Beast, I’d encourage viewers to stop the tape right after the Castanio pieces together this mild whodunit and right as he reaches the mansion’s door to exit.  What happens afterward – albeit incredibly brief – functionally destroys the tale, reducing it to little more than a whimsical yet bizarre dream, the kind one might have were they to go to bed with a belly too full.  It cheapens every damn element that comes before it, and it should be surgically excised from theatrical existence.  It’s a painfully unfunny coda that both the talent and the audience never deserved; and the studio should’ve known better.
 
Consider yourself warned.
 
The Beast With Five Fingers (1946) was produced by Warner Bros.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds exceptional across the entire run time.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The aforementioned commentary track earns high marks from this listener as Haberman and Nasr do an admirable job covering what little is known about the production process along with a good amount of associated material.  There are also a few cartoons from the era along with the original theatrical trailer.
 
Recommended.
 
The single greatest selling point I can offer to The Beast With Five Fingers (1946) is that – despite not receiving top billing for the effort – this really is Peter Lorre’s picture.  It’s a solid bit of acting with some appreciable highs and lows, the kind that pretty much defined the actor’s career.  How this guy wasn’t a bigger star?  I’ll never be able to explain.  Furthermore, it’s a solid thriller for those who like things just a bit outside of normal, although I would like to have seen a bit more from the rest of the ensemble, including Florey’s direction.  As older flicks go?  I liked this one quite a bit … but the closing scene is painfully out-of-narrative-sync with the rest of the film.  I hope someone lost his job over it!
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Beast With Five Fingers (1946) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

Confession time: I’ve been a fan of the works of Dashiell Hammett for decades.
 
If I remember correctly, it was a college professor who recommended Hammett to me back in the day.  I’d written something for a creative writing class that the teacher was impressed by, and he encouraged me to check some prose crafted by Raymond Chandler, Thomas Pynchon, and Hammett as part of my summer reading.  Well, Pynchon just never quite took.  I tore through four of Chandler’s novels over several weeks.  Then, I settled in on Hammett, almost immediately falling in love with The Maltese Falcon and some of the stories involving his Continental Op.  Afterwards, I briefly recall picking up a copy of The Thin Man, but – like some of the sentences and ideas slung around by Pynchon – it didn’t quite have the same feel as his other stuff.  Some of it might be owed to the fact that I couldn’t get into the characters as easily as I could the more traditional and/or hard-boiled private detectives; so, I let that one go.
 
A few years later, I discovered The Thin Man film series on home video.  Similar to my experience with the novel, the first film – simply titled The Thin Man (1934) – was a bit zanier and frenetic (at times) than I prefer my mysteries; and, yet I was somewhat captivated by the work of William Powell and Myrna Loy in the roles of Nick and Nora Charles onscreen respectively.  I think it was one of the first times that I saw what I viewed as screen chemistry working on a level I fully appreciated in a classic film.  The two strutted about as somewhat effete socialites without a care in the world and yet they were completely likable, almost as if they were daring the audiences to think less of them in the process.  It was some delicious work, indeed, and watching it now a few decades later it’s clear to see why their match-up launched a series of productions that lasted across six films from 1934 through 1947.  Even Wikipedia.org reports that audiences saw this husband-and-wife team working so effortlessly together that they fully believed Powell and Loy were married in real life!
 
That, my friends, speaks volumes about the effectiveness of true talent, great writing, and excellent production values.
 
Thankfully, the good people at Warner Archive have recently re-released The Complete Thin Man Collection on Blu-ray so that I can rediscover these stories one at a time for my readership as I think they remain the kind of screen gems that should never ever go out of style.  Next up is 1936’s After The Thin Man directed by W.S. Van Dyke and adapted (from a Hammett story) by Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett.  Of course, Powell and Loy returned – as did the adorable Asta – and all were joined by James Stewart, Elissa Landi, Joseph Calleia, Jessie Ralph, Alan Marshal, and more.  Interestingly enough, the story picks up not all that long after the conclusion of the first feature, which Nick and Nora arriving in San Francisco to once again get conscripted back into the world of criminal investigations when Nora’s cousin, Selma, is accused murdering her estranged husband.
 
Why, it’s an offer that this dynamic duo just couldn’t refuse …
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Back in San Francisco after their holiday in New York, Nick and Nora find themselves trying to solve another mystery. It's New Year's Eve and they are summoned to dinner with Nora's elderly, very aristocratic family. There they find that cousin Selma's husband Robert has been missing for three days. Nick reluctantly agrees to look for him but the case takes a twist when Robert is shot and Selma is accused of murder. Several other murders occur, but eventually Nick gathers everyone in one room to reveal the identity of the killer.”
 
The addition of a theatrical sequel to any intellectual property almost guarantees that the core mythology of the growing series is going to get a bit more complex.  New characters are introduced – sometimes families are even expanded upon – and audiences typically learn a bit more about the central players in the process as well.  Generally, these new additions don’t radically change anything that’s come before; rather they’re looked upon as organic extensions to an already existing commodity, more often than not adding a thin veneer of new characterization upon what’s already known.  And, of course, there will likely be ample amounts of what made the previous installment work so well.
​

Much of this could be said for After The Thin Man, the follow-up to the successful first outing that introduced Powell and Loy partners in love and crime (solving, that is).  Audiences are quickly introduced to the extended family of Nora Charles, including vociferous and opinionated Aunt Katherine (played by Jessie Ralph) and the frail and mildly emotional Selma Landis (Elissa Landi).  It isn’t long after the Charles arrive back in California that Selma’s husband Robert (Alan Marshal) is murdered; and – for all intents and purposes – the scene is played out in black and white fully suggesting to the audiences that Selma herself shot him in cold blood.  As one who has watched more than a fair share of mysteries, I always question sequences that imply instead of specifically detail such particulars, and I encourage readers to do the same: trust me when I say this will likely keep you one step ahead in solving the mystery.
 
Frankly, there’s quite a bit more to this evolving story.  Given that Nick was a famed investigator not all that long ago, a fair number of his previous associations figure somewhat conveniently into this affair, including nightclub and possible criminal mastermind Dancer (Joseph Calleia) and his business partner Lum Kee (William Law).  Without spoiling some of the finer points, these characters wind up serving ultimately as distractions away from the guilty party, but classic screen mysteries – especially those evolving from written works – tended to lean heavily into some elaborate set-ups, ones that at first blush might be a bit difficult to follow.  Regardless, Nick and Nora manage to whittle away the unnecessary details in the conclusion when all the possible suspects are rounded up once more for a chatty showdown if ever there were one.
 
To my surprise, there’s a bit more humor – not all of it as cunning or inventive from the preceding film – that fills the screen in quieter moments.  For example, Asta gets a bit more exposure as viewers learn that he, too, is married and has his own troubles that require a bit of attention.  Such schlock has never been to my liking, but – like with any relationship – you take the good with the bad, and I’ll bite my tongue instead of piling on.  There’s also another sequence shot in the dark with some gunplay that tries a bit too hard to be funny; any time there are guns fired, I’m not all that interested when I learn the screenwriters intended something so dangerous as comic relief.  Hopefully there won’t be more of that as the series goes on as such humor feels a bit out of place when the writing is otherwise so smart.
 
And, yes, you caught that above: screen legend James Stewart makes a surprise appearance in the film, playing Selma’s previous lover who can’t quite seem to shake the lady’s charms.  About the time that viewers realize that his David Graham do anything to have her again it becomes easy to believe his role in all of this might turn out to be bigger than it looks.  As I always stop short of spoiling any of the big surprises, I’m just going to leave it at that.  The truth is there are plenty of shady characters in After, and audiences will likely be kept guessing until Nick uncovers the fatal misstep only he would, could, and should see coming.  It’s a doozy.
 
After The Thin Man (1936) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been handled by the fine folks at Warner Archive.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be pretty exceptional in this sequel: I honestly wasn’t as impressed with the quality as compared to the first flick as I noticed a bit of grain here and there largely owed to several scenes being photographed in near darkness.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts a few extras drawn from the era (a short, a cartoon) along with the radio theatre adaptation of the film.  It’s a little something extra for those so inclined.
 
Recommended.
 
Though not as enamored with After The Thin Man (1936) as I was its predecessor, I’m still hesitant to suggest in any way that the sequel in an inferior film.  It has most of the elements that made the first one so memorable, but I’m rarely a fan of humor thrown in for humor’s sake as a good deal of what’s in here feels.  Perhaps producers wanted to lighten the mood a bit too often, or maybe they even miscalculated just a bit what made the Powell and Loy pairing so groundbreaking.  Whatever the case, the magic still works wonderfully.  Viewers are encouraged to continue to sit back and enjoy the masters doing what they do best … even if there might be a cringe or two along the way.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of After The Thin Man (1936) – as part of their The Complete Thin Man Collection – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

​(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A man is hypnotized at a party by his sister-in law. He soon has visions and dreams of a ghost of a girl. Trying to avoid this, nearly pushes him to brink of insanity as the ghost wants something from him - to find out how she died. The only way he can get his life back is finding out the truth behind her death. The more he digs, the more he lets her in, the shocking truth behind her death puts his whole family in danger.”
 
A quick search of Google.com indicates that Stir Of Echoes (1999) enjoyed some good (but not great) box office returns, essentially surviving on the strength of earning back domestically twice its reported budget (i.e. $25M receipts versus a $12M studio cost).
 
I wanted to look those numbers up because while I distinctly remember seeing the film during its original theatrical run I honestly didn’t much remember the story.  I have vague recollections of comparing it to The Dead Zone (1983) and The Sixth Sense (1999), though I also recall thinking that the story of a man being psychically overwhelmed by a dead body hidden beneath the floorboards of his rental home seemed a bit too familiar to the great Edgar Allan Poe short story, “The Tell-Tale Heart.”  Having not read 1958’s A Stir Of Echoes – the Richard Matheson novel upon which all of this was based – I can’t state whether or not any of the comparisons are warranted when it comes to the source material, but there’s no escaping the fact that the theatrical incarnation benefits a good deal from association to some of what’s come before.
 
However, I can’t help but wonder if Stir’s immediate prospects in 1999 were hampered by being released in the wrong place at the wrong time.  That year, I do recall an overwhelming number of flicks going through theaters that dealt with similar subject matter.  The aforementioned The Sixth Sense from director M. Night Shyamalan lead the pack with his picture ending up the second highest theatrical blockbuster that year (a reasonably distant second behind George Lucas’ Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace); and the found-footage-film everyone loves to hate on – The Blair Witch Project – rounded out the top ten big earners for the year.  With other entries like The Haunting, Stigmata, House On Haunted Hill, and Sleepy Hollow hitting screen roughly around the same timeframe, it’s rather easy to conclude that perhaps viewers felt a bit overwhelmed with things that go bump in the night and were a bit more discriminating in their choices as that might explain why Stir didn’t made as much of a stir as it perhaps should have.
 
Tom Witzky (played by Kevin Bacon) is a blue-collar phone lineman who finds himself kinda/sorta on the cusp of a way-too-early mid-life crisis: frustrated that his life hasn’t quite worked out the way he and wife Maggie (Kathryn Erbe) believed it would, he senses the walls are closing in around him when his little lady announces that she’s pregnant with what would be their second child.  Their first – Jake (Zachary David Cope) – is of that impressionable age wherein he’s starting speaking with imaginary friends; and Tom decides he needs to give up on his dream of becoming a musician.
 
At a get-together with family and friends, he agrees to being hypnotized by his somewhat wacky but kind-hearted sister-in-law Lisa (Illeana Douglas).  As he descends into his deep sleep, he experiences some quick flashes of seemingly random and unrelated images, none of which make much sense to him although they leave him with a sense of despair.  Once he awakens to the faces of his cohorts smiling all around him, he figures they were treated to something interesting though he can’t quite begin to imagine what it was.  A bit distressed from it all, he and Maggie head home for the night and crawl into bed.
 
In the wee small hours of the morning, Tom begins to see a bit more of those visions that plagued him earlier, enough so that he can establish the loose context that he believes he had watched someone being grievously injured.  But once he’s fully awakened, he slowly begins to discover that he’s somehow been gifted with a form of second sight – a soft precognition, of sorts – and he starts predicting a few harmful events before they occur.  Before long, these voices from beyond begin instructing him to go further into some self-destructive behaviors, ones that defy any conventional explanation.  If he can’t gain control of his senses once more, then he’ll risk losing those he loves dearest while trying to right some wrong that’s hanging over our plane from the other side of existence.
​

While Stir gets very good mileage out of Tom’s newly discovered abilities (there’s a strong suggestion that the gift was always there only awaiting a spiritual awakening), there’s really a great deal of convenient circumstances that tie several of these seemingly unrelated events together.
 
The Witzky’s just happen to be renting a property in which some dark event occurred; and both father and son just happen to be receptors for messages from the Afterlife.  Furthermore, the aforementioned dark event just happens to involve other members of the neighborhood; and those potentially nefarious characters just happen to be keeping an eye on developments within the Witzky household at key scripted moments.  While I’m no expert on supernatural issues, I’ve seen enough HBO, Cinemax, and Netflix to know that haunted houses have many ways in which to manifest themselves; and usually practical intervention can open doors to easier resolutions than what takes place here.  Suffice it to say, Tom makes a mess of his stately mansion in the process; and he practically stumbles into a dead body being planted where no one expected it.  Couldn’t the ghost/s have been a bit more specific if wanting to be found?  What if he had stumbled left instead of right?  This is what I mean about convenient circumstances: far too many of them are required for this one to unfold the way this one does.
 
Additionally, I think the script from writer/director David Koepp never quite gets a solid handle on Tom as a character.  He’s easy to understand in the opening set-up, but before you know it he descended into full-blown cray-cray territory without any real development.  There’s something to be said for a bit of nuance, and Bacon – as a talent – has had the chops for years to do some great work on camera.  Getting dialed up to eleven should’ve been a more pronounced progression – we only see him at work in a single scene, and then the next we hear about it he’s basically abandoned his job – and the interactions between the husband and the wife could’ve been more special than what gets delivered here.  Once he’s taking shovels to every square inch of the back yard, Maggie should’ve been vastly more alarmed than she comes off … or maybe I’m just thinking how my wife would’ve treated me had she returned home to find me knee deep in such a descent.
 
Still, there’s a refreshing likability to just about everything else in Stir.
 
As a ghost story, it’s easy to follow, never quite relying on any significant measure of visual trickery to sell its scares, which are more cerebral in nature.  It chocked full of familiar faces in the talent department, so much so that there’s no trouble whatsoever accepting it as some authentic New York neighborhood where everyone knows everyone else’s business despite the presence of all-consuming skyscrapers in the near distance.  Bacon’s been a bit of a handyman before – 1990’s Tremors immediately comes to mind, but this is a far stretch from that lovable nitwit Valentine McKee – so seeing him in this weary Brooklyn body feels natural enough.  Though it did seem a bit odd that – being from the neighborhood – he and Maggie seemed somewhat unaware of the disappearance of Samantha Kozac (Jennifer Morrison) that fuels the spectral half of this story, that’s a minor hiccup in an otherwise proficient Horror feature.  It’s a film that I think deserves a bigger audience than it originally got, and maybe this will be rectified with Lionsgate’s 25th anniversary release.
 
Stir Of Echoes (1999) was produced by Artisan Entertainment.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Lionsgate Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional throughout: there’s one minor quibble I have with a certain ghostly image being a bit too underwhelming, but that’s about all she wrote.  If you’re looking for special features?  In order to be precise, I’m doing the ol’ copy-and-paste from Lionsgate Home Entertainment’s press release previously published on Blu-ray.com:

• NEW 4K RESTORATION OF THE FILM
• DOLBY VISION/HDR PRESENTATION OF THE FILM
• DOLBY ATMOS AUDIO TRACK
• NEW Visions of the Past - Revisiting Stir of Echoes
• NEW Establishing Shot with Fred Murphy
• PLUS Legacy supplemental features, including:
  • Audio commentary
  • Featurettes
  • Cast and Crew Interviews
  • Promotional Materials
  • AND More...
• Optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles for the main feature

 
Strongly Recommended.
 
While I may not have appreciated Stir Of Echoes (1999) as much as the next Horror fan, I still have a solid appreciation for the solid craftsmanship going into any respectable thriller/chiller.  Director Koepp adapts the original Richard Matheson story for the screen with some obvious affection for it; and he manages to have his talented players hit all of their marks in just the right doses.  If anything, I’ll always nitpick a performance that doesn’t feel fully realized, and that’s the case here: Bacon’s descent into madness was far too quickly staged and far too easily hyped, ignoring the nuance I expected from a man slowly and calculatedly losing his mind over the spectral visions he’s been delivered.  There are other ways with which to deal with unresolved issues transgressing from the Afterlife into our realm, and why were absolutely none of them considered here?  That alone seems a bit of a miss.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Lionsgate provided me with a complimentary 4K UltraHD Blu-ray of Stir Of Echoes (1999) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

Confession time: I’ve been a fan of the works of Dashiell Hammett for decades.
 
If I remember correctly, it was a college professor who recommended Hammett to me back in the day.  I’d written something for a creative writing class that the teacher was impressed by, and he encouraged me to check some prose crafted by Raymond Chandler, Thomas Pynchon, and Hammett as part of my summer reading.  Well, Pynchon just never quite took.  I tore through four of Chandler’s novels over several weeks.  Then, I settled in on Hammett, almost immediately falling in love with The Maltese Falcon and some of the stories involving his Continental Op.  Afterwards, I briefly recall picking up a copy of The Thin Man, but – like some of the sentences and ideas slung around by Pynchon – it didn’t quite have the same feel as his other stuff.  Some of it might be owed to the fact that I couldn’t get into the characters as easily as I could the more traditional and/or hard-boiled private detectives; so I let that one go.
 
A few years later, I discovered The Thin Man film series on home video.  Similar to my experience with the novel, the first film – simply titled The Thin Man (1934) – was a bit zanier and frenetic (at times) than I prefer my mysteries; and, yet, I was somewhat captivated by the work of William Powell and Myrna Loy in the roles of Nick and Nora Charles respectively.  I think it was one of the first times that I saw what I viewed as screen chemistry working on a level I fully appreciated in a classic film.  The two strutted about as somewhat effete socialites without a care in the world and yet they were completely likable, almost as if they were daring the audiences to think less of them in the process.  It was some delicious work, indeed, and watching it now a few decades later it’s clear to see why their match-up launched a series of productions that lasted across six films from 1934 through 1947.  Even Wikipedia.org reports that audiences saw this husband-and-wife team working so wonderfully that they fully believed Powell and Loy were married in real life!
 
That, my friends, speaks volumes about the effectiveness of true talent, great writing, and excellent production values.
 
Thankfully, the good people at Warner Archive have recently re-released The Complete Thin Man Collection on Blu-ray so that I can rediscover these stories one at a time for my readership as I think they remain the kind of screen gems that should never ever go out of style.  First up is 1934’s inaugural flick – The Thin Man – directed by W.S. Van Dyke and adapted from Hammett’s original novel by Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich.  Joining Powell and Loy in the cast are Maureen O’Sullivan, Nat Pendleton, Minna Gombell, Porter Hall, Henry Wadsworth, and others.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Former detective Nick Charles and his wealthy wife Nora investigate a murder case, mostly for the fun of it.”
 
As I’ve always been a fan of mysteries, the Thin Man series is one that’s often either recommended to me by friends or I’m asked what I think of it.  Having watched them many moons ago and not remembered them as distinctly as I would like, I’ve been a bit reticent to offer much of an opinion on them … well, except to say that I’m a huge fan of anything author Hammett penned as well as the screen match-up of Powell and Loy as adventurous investigators trying to get to the bottom of any ill doings.  Their repartee is somewhat legendary, and there’s no denying that the actor and actress were in top form for the first outing, The Thin Man (1934).
 
Suffice it to say, this initial pairing does suffer a bit in the first act from a rather protracted set-up: in fact, Powell and Loy don’t appear until a healthy bit of other characters – ‘the usual suspects’ and more – are introduced.  This might put some viewers showing up to watch what the actor and actress do best off to a small degree, but rest assured that once Nick and Nora Charles are on-the-scene the film switches into overdrive quickly, never coming to a halt until the closing title card.  Yes, it’s that industrious, but – as I said – it takes its own sweet time in getting there.
​

Famed inventor Clyde Wynant (played by Edward Ellis) is set to leave town on some super-secret personal mission when his lovely daughter Dorothy (Maureen O’Sullivan) shows up with news of her engagement to Tommy (Henry Wadsworth).  Seeking to set the two lovebirds off with a successful beginning, the elder Wynant goes to his safe in search of $50,000 in bonds for a wedding gift.  When he finds them missing, he immediately suspects his secretary and former mistress, Julia Wolf (Natalie Moorhead).  The man confronts her, demanding that she return them to him as soon as possible, only then to vanish from the scene on his previously scheduled engagement.
 
Three months later, Dorothy is out celebrating the Christmas holiday when she happens across the old family friend, Nick Charles, and his wife also enjoying the night on the town.  Remembering that the now retired Mr. Charles was one of the world’s best-known private investigators in his previous work life, she tries to cajole him into taking up the case to find her absent father.  Hoping to enjoy his departure from a life of fighting crime, Nick politely declines … only to be repeatedly egged into casually exploring what might’ve happened to the missing inventor by his wife, Nora.  She’s never seen her new husband ‘in action,’ as it were, and she’d love to assist.  Eventually against his will and at the behest of several others, P.I. Charles finds himself back on the case, questioning subjects in one whip-crack exchange after another.
 
The beauty of watching a flick like The Thin Man work is that it invests heavily in its characters.  Nick and Nora are no social slouches, and they’re constantly posed with drinks in hand (at, literally, every opportunity), delivering the kind of witty banter that rarely gets seen on screens big or small these days.  While the story grows respectably elaborate – shade and suspicion gets thrown at just about anyone who had any recent dealings with the absent Wynant – the clear throughline to all of the action stays grounded with the married detectives and their winning pooch, Asta.  About the time that you – the viewer – think you might have an inkling as to the identity of the guilty party, a new thread is pulled, widening the net to include a few unsavory types who might’ve found a way to profit on Wynant’s wealth indirectly, putting you back to square one.  It’s smart writing backed by exceptional screen talent, and it moves about as fast as does the dialogue dripping with machine-gun-style delivery.  Structuring it all as kind of a mildly devious look into the lifestyles of the rich and famous really only helped cement this product as a potential favorite for the rest of us little people, and it’s splendid.
 
Frankly, I couldn’t say whether or not The Thin Man series was the first of its kind of utilize that fateful conclusion wherein all the potentially guilty parties are called together to a single room setting wherein the keen intellect of the great detective finally explains to the audiences what went down when, where, and why.  I’ve long been told that many in-the-know credit that inspiration to Agatha Christie.  Still, I’d put good money on that fact that the Thin Man films were likely one of the first times American audiences were treated to it in so winning a fashion; and this first feature utilizes the structure exquisitely.  It’s a great mental showdown for all involved, setting the stage for a popular film franchise with enough fuel for five sequels.  Furthermore, I’d argue that the intellectual property was so highly regarded that it helped pave the way for many of TV husband-and-wife fighting crime teams that followed in its wake for a few decades if not more.
 
Yes, it’s all that damn good.
 
The Thin Man (1934) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and Cosmopolitan Productions.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I can assure you this film’s provided sights-and-sounds are spectacular: this black-and-white picture remains as vivid and as vibrant as it probably was back in its original theatrical release.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts a radio adaptation of the script along with an episode of The Thin Man TV show – some nice extras but something a bit more centered on the main project would’ve been nice.
 
Strongly Recommended.
 
Look, if you’re a fan of witty banter, then you absolutely have to go back to something like The Thin Man (1934) to see one of the true original examples of it.  What Powell and Loy accomplished in this flick is timeless – their screen presence and the shared command of the narrative gets recreated in countless good and bad knockoffs ever since they set the standard – and the completed film remains a favorite amongst many who discover its charms.  I only stop short of giving it my highest recommendation possible because it does take a bit of patience to get through some rather protracted set-up … but I assure you: the wait is worth it.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Thin Man (1934) – as part of their The Complete Thin Man Collection – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

I’ll likely go to my grave preaching that Fox Television’s stellar The X-Files (1993-2002) was one of the best weekly procedurals to have aired on the Boob Tube ever.
 
So many of its hours worked exclusively on the level of storytelling magic.  A puzzle would be introduced in its opening moments, one requiring the intervention or inspection of the U.S.’s Federal Bureau of Investigation – fallen on very hard times as of late thanks mostly to political shenanigans of a particular party – and an investigation would be launched.  Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully would arrive on the scene – he a staunch believer in the occasionally implausible and she a pronounced skeptic – and they’d begin peeling back the layers of obfuscation in order to get as close to a resolution there was.  Well, the truth usually remained “out there” (as the program’s tagline promised), and the best audiences generally received was a comfortable middle ground – a position that served both the ordinary and the extraordinary.  Then, next week, an all-new predicament appeared, allowing the process to begin again.
 
Since the show’s demise (a double ending if you consider it’s rather unengaging relaunch in 2016 and 2018), viewers have been hungry for anything like-minded to fill that void.  Alas, nothing quite like it has ever surfaced – or perhaps it’s more accurate to suggest that nothing has suitably filled that void, though shows like Fringe (2008-2013) and Evil (2019-2024) arguably got very, very close – and the faithful have had to make do with the occasional big or small budget motion picture to whet their appetites for such conundrums.  Features like Close Encounters Of The Third Kind (1977), Invasion Of The Body Snatchers (1978), and The Arrival (1996) definitely resemble some of X’s machinations with its ideas regarding alien invasions; and I’ll always happily add smaller and quieter prospects like Upstream Color (2013), Lola (2022), Brooklyn 45 (2023) for those with the patience to enjoy something thematically similar.
 
Thankfully, I’ve another one I can add to that short list: 2020’s The Block Island Sound definitely explores territory not all that unlike the stomping grounds that Mulder and Scully traveled. 
 
In fact, I’d argue that it’s the kind of wraparound tale that those agents would most likely have been called in on after bureaucracies like Homeland Security and the Coast Guard came up short in explaining aware the curiosities.  Written and directed for the screen by the McManus Brothers of Kevin and Matthew, it’s a story that blends a few genres – much like X’s best hours did so well – while giving watchers some interesting circumstances played out by impressive talent, so much so that this is an easy ‘thumbs up’ recommendation right at the front of my review.  However, its pacing and the lack of any real closure might have some only giving it a cursory once over then heading back to TV syndication for X-Files reruns in order to digest the real thing.
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Something lurks off the coast of Block Island, silently influencing the behavior of fisherman, Tom Lynch. After suffering a series of violent outbursts, he unknowingly puts his family in grave danger.”
 
Even a cursory reading into the phenomenon of alien abduction will produce a small list of similarities that abductees experience around the world.  Most cases will touch on telepathic communication – sometimes so severe it borders on outright manipulation – along with a prospect of blackouts and/or missing time.  While some might strongly believe that they have been experimented on medically, there may not be any compelling physical evidence to support such a claim.  In some of the more involved instances, the kidnapped might even acknowledge that other members of the family have also been seized previously.  But most – if not the vast majority – return with little to no recall to what precisely happened in their time away, and it’s only through hypnotic regression that they can piece together a possible sequence of events, one usually a dark and confusing affair that escapes understanding.
 
It's this kind of experience that is at the heart of The Block Island Sound.
 
Tom (played by Neville Archambault) has been hearing things – voices and otherwise guttural sounds – on his boat while out fishing on the ocean.  These noises have somehow activated a past tendency to sleepwalk; and – even while seemingly fully awake – he’s become prone to seizing up, staring into nothingness, while life goes on normally all around him.  Though he can’t explain it, there’s a sense as if he’s been ordered to do something – to bring something with him – on his trips out onto the sea; but if he does he never returns with it nor can explain what happened to that which he brought along.
 
Harry (Chris Sheffield) – Tom’s son – has done the best he can in caring for his old man.  While he’s aware of his father’s curious mental state, he’s been unable to convince him that he needs serious medical treatment to treat whatever psychological issue may be affecting his judgment.  Harry has even kept Tom’s cognitive decline a secret from his sister Audry (Michaela McManus), but she instantly recognizes that their family elder is far from himself when she arrives back home for a brief stay involving a work assignment involving her job with the Environmental Protection Agency.  As fate would have it, schools and schools of dead fish are washing up along the shore; and she begins to wonder if there could be some loose connection between that event and the lapses her father is experiencing.
​

Without divulging too much of the narrative magic that makes the film work, Block Island Sound posits that our existence in nature might be vastly more complex than what we perceive.
 
Similar to our scientists experimenting with wildlife on land and in water to better understand what effects we might have upon them, someone might be doing the same to us, resulting in any number of reported phenomena from alien abduction, spirit possession, or ghost sightings.  Could we be little more than fish to the beings who reside higher up the food chain than we do?  Like we pluck them from the water, might these omnipotent overlords be doing the same to us?  While this supposition isn’t all that fresh and/or new, directors Kevin and Matthew McManus frame their spectral procedural against the backdrop of a family who might be dealing with little more than an expansive case of dementia or Alzheimer's; and the structure works winning thanks to the work of an impressive cast.
 
One of the problems the film encounters, however, is some muddled pacing in transferring the bulk of the story between father and son.  About the time that Tom’s mental predicament grows untenable, he suddenly vanishes seemingly from the face of the Earth only to show up dead – bruised and battered nearly beyond recognition – after a brief absence.  With this development, Harry becomes obsessed with finding out what truly went wrong – he no longer believes that his father was the victim of the loss of mental acuity tied to aging – and in the process of conducting his own primitive investigation he, too, begins showing signs of the same psychological malady.  Abruptly, he’s hearing the same voices and sounds that his father did; and he’s freezing up, unable to move and/or process his surroundings.  It doesn’t take long for Audry to suspect that her brother may’ve inherited the same active gene that was slowly destroying her father; and she, too, begins to look into these changes, perhaps wondering if she might be next.
 
It's this gradual shift in focus from the father to the son (then, lightly, to the daughter) that forces Sound to lose a bit of its footing with the film never feeling quite as assured as it did with Tom.  Some of this is likely owed to the choice that the viewers were truly meant to discover these events alongside Harry – initially, the young man is offered up as a kind of everyman for which watchers to identify with and follow along – but it isn’t as seamless as one could hope.  Personally, I think the McManus Brothers – in writing and directing the feature – may have erred into giving viewers as close as experience as possible as they did under Tom: refraining from some of those sharing some of the earlier spooky sounds might’ve kept audiences guessing about the old man’s condition, letting it all be new under his son’s perceptions.  Thus, holding back some of the spectral occurrences would’ve elevated Harry’s discoveries, giving them more narrative strength.  Still, that doesn’t happen here, and it hurts.
 
Also, I think the directors’ erred in allowing a pivotal speech by Audry to be used as a voiceover in the film’s closing segment.  Clearly, the storytellers wanted to leave their audience with a stronger suggestion as to what was really happening out there on ‘the Sound’ (a specific area of the ocean tied to these proceedings); and, yet, those of us who go into these projects watching closely had likely already surmised that Tom, Harry, and inevitably Audry were little more than test subjects for some cruel God-like entity exploring whatever science it was most interested with.  Though I can understand and appreciate what the McManuses were likely going for, I personally felt is was more than a bit intellectually unnecessary.
​

Diff’rent strokes, diff’rent folks.
 
Still, it’s easy to see that everyone in the cast showed up and delivered on the premise of the ideas and their respective scenes, of which several really only enjoyed small moments.  The spine of any good yarn is that its players remain both relatable and sympathetic; and – on that count alone – Sound succeeds.  Because these smaller humanistic moments resonate as well as they do, it’s equally easy to invest in the extraordinary material, regardless of whether this was all the dark business of demons, gods, or aliens.  I felt for the family – as well as those around them – and my investment had me hoping for a happier ending or, at least, happier times.  That doesn’t always happen – certainly not in genre entertainment – so hats off to all involved.
 
The Block Island Sound (2020) was produced by 30 Bones Cinema, Hood River Entertainment, Captain Intertia Productions, Title Media, 79th & Broadway Entertainment.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Synapse Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be excellent from start to finish; there are a few effects sequences a bit undercooked, but this is guerilla filmmaking – meaning reasonably low budget – so it works just fine.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts a directors’ commentary along with a few making-of shorts that should be enough to keep serious fans interested.  A good assortment.
 
Recommended.
 
While billed chiefly as a Horror, The Block Island Sound oft times feels vastly a bit more like a supernatural Mystery, one that incorporates elements from Horror, Science Fiction, and Fantasy in order to weave its moody spell as effectively as it does.  Like a good episode of The X-Files (but without those intrepid FBI Special Agents), Sound posits a premise potentially otherworldly yet one grounded in a possible real-world scientific solution; and – for the most part – it allows its viewers to make up their own mind about it as it goes.  Sadly, the McManus Brothers kinda/sorta cheapen the brew in the last reel, hamstringing their resolution with a voiceover with a bland yet suggestive paint-by-number solution anyone watching closely should’ve seen coming.  Worthwhile with some great performances, it may not possess great rewatchability, but … the truth is out there, my friends.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Synapse Films provided me with a complimentary 4K UltraHD Blu-ray of The Block Island Sound (2020) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

Because all of those middle American hicks have got nothing better to do with themselves but to either (A) hunt or (B) sit back and watch the paint dry.  Ain’t one of ‘em who’s got a respectable job.  Ain’t one of ‘em showers regularly.  Ain’t one of ‘em would ever vote for a Democrat.  Why, even that form of English they speak?  That ain’t English!  Well, it ain’t English like you and I speak!  They may as well be from some Third World country, what with their morals, their values, and their clinging to Constitutional respectability!  It’s enough to make a Progressive write a novel, pen a screenplay, and release it to the masses for their consumption!
 
Is it any wonder that these films don’t make a respectable buck anymore?  According to IMDB, this one didn’t even get anywhere near six digits.  Maybe there’s a lesson worth putting on film, no?
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last three paragraphs for my final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“The tragic death of a beautiful young girl starts a tense and atmospheric game of cat and mouse between hunter John Moon and the hardened backwater criminals out for his blood.”
 
On the surface, John Moon (played by the reliable Sam Rockwell) hasn’t got much to live for.
 
His wife’s left him.  She even took his son with when she checked out.  In the meantime, John’s holed up in a trailer between a rock and nowhere.  No job.  A beat-up old truck.  In fact, all he has is his guns and his hunting.  One day – while out trying to poach a deer in order to have something to eat – he fires into a cluster of greenery and accidentally shoots a fashion model.  (True story.)  Rather than report it to the police (as the typical Hollywood-created backwoods type, he’s already got three strikes against him, see), he hauls her back to the burned-out semi-truck trailer she’s been living in for a decent burial.  Instead, he finds a load of cash with her … which he promptly steals and leaves the body to rot.  Before long, the men looking for that mountain of green come a’knockin’, and guess who they figure right away has absconded with their loot?
 
To be fair, A Single Shot (2013) isn’t an inconceivably bad as I perhaps made it out to be in the plot summation, but it is inconceivably conceived. 
 
For starters, I don’t know (nor have I personally met) any hunter who would blindly fire into a clump of green with only the modest hope of bagging himself a deer; but that kind of irresponsible misrepresentation has never stopped Hollywood from indicting any member of the NRA.  Nor did I for a moment believe Moon’s characterization as constructed by Matthew F. Jones in his screenplay (based on his own novel).  For instance, I found it entirely authentic that Moon – a man who threw up at the discovery of what he’d done so horribly wrong upon seeing the young woman’s body – would suddenly cook up the idea of carrying her through the forest, finding where she hid out, and set it all up to look like a murder someone else committed.
 
Seriously?  Is there no artistic integrity left?
 
Not only that, but even director David Rosenthal didn’t see through the hogwash.
 
Desperate to preserve what semblance of a family he has left, Moon’s willing to threaten others at the point of a gun, turn down a decent chance at employment, and ignore any measure of personal hygiene?  What – pray tell! – caused him to fall into such a “deplorable” state?  Perhaps there was something in here – some inkling as to what magic act brought the man to such a lowly place in his miserable life – but, unfortunately, Rosenthal was more interested in having the majority of his actors speak in arguably the worst set of Southern accents this side of rural Alabama!  Seriously, Jeffrey Wright and Ted Levine appeared in small but pivotal roles, but, without the advent of English subtitles, I couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying!
 
Still, I’ll give points for efforts.  Shot is loaded with some nice cinematography (though Rosenthal probably never met a lighting technician he ever liked), and there are some nice nuances to Rockwell’s performance, along with the usual bankable work by William H. Macy (who proves even small-town lawyers are sleazy) and Kelly Reilly as the estranged wife who only wants what’s best for her son … even if that means having her co-worker with a penchant for watching porn go babysit the boy.
 
Egads.
 
A Single Shot (2013) was produced by United Pictures, Media House Capital, A Single Shot Productions, Bron Studios, Demarset Films, and Unanimous Pictures.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been handled by Well Go USA Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert … well, it’s certainly brimming with some solid camerawork, but – probably for thematic reasons – director Rosenthal felt it necessary to drape far too many shots in darkness.  (Yeah, I ‘get’ that it’s atmospheric, but it’d be nice to ‘see’ things clearly every now and then.)  And don’t even get me started on the dialogue – suffice it to say I had to use the English subtitle track on more occasions than I should have.  If it’s special features you’re looking for, then you have a respectable ‘making of’ short along with some actor interviews with which to get all hot and bothered.  (I didn’t.)
 
Recommended … but hugely disappointing.
 
A Single Shot (2013) creates an interesting but entirely Hollywood-driven atmosphere of rural, backwoods, and/or mountainous America in yet another “thriller” lacking any real thrills.  They (studio people) really want you to believe that these folks (hunters, farmers, and other small-town types) are despicably and dastardly dangerous.  They (those very same studio suits) really want you to understand just how wretched, crooked, and deceitful they are.  In fact, they (once more, those Tinseltown regulars) are convinced that, if something isn’t done about these gun-carrying, Bible-thumping types, we’re all going to Hades in a handbasket.
 
Truth hurts … but, once again, the truth is on the wrong side of the camera.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Well Go USA Entertainment provided me with a DVD copy of A Single Shot by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​