Digital Week – October 17

This dazzlingly effective 1973 occult thriller—despite a few implausibilities—by director Robin Hardy and screenwriter Anthony Shaffer authentically and creepily depicts a deeply religious, Druid-like society on a remote Scottish isle whose people lure an unsuspecting detective from the mainland and he becomes fodder for their rituals. What begins as a murder mystery almost imperceptibly morphs into a horror film with an unforgettable finale—and final shot. Edward Woodward (detective) and Christopher Lee (pagan leader) have never been better; the spectacular supporting cast is led by Britt Ekland, Diane Cilento and Ingrid Pitt. Lionsgate’s 50th anniversary steelbook includes Hardy’s final cut, which looks luminous on both 4K and Blu-ray, accentuating the gorgeous photography by Harry Waxman; extras include several vintage and new featurettes and interviews.

Frank Darabont’s 2007 adaptation of a Stephen King story has its adherents—just like his overrated “Shawshank Redemption” and stultifying “The Green Mile”—but it’s just another competently made, occasionally eerie but crude attempt at social commentary wrapped in an apocalyptic thriller. The main interest in rewatching this ungainly “Twilight Zone”/Stanley Kramer hybrid is the B&W version, which Darabont prefers—it’s OK but has barely more resonance than the color version. Both cuts are included on 4K and Blu-ray, and they look quite exceptional. Extras are Darabont’s commentary with producer Denise Huth; deleted scenes with Darabont’s commentary; and a conversation between Darabont and King.

This sleeper box-office hit is a clever but routine horror flick about a disembodied hand that a group of teenagers conjures spirits with but who soon unleash forces they can’t understand or control. Directors Danny and Michael Philippou play around with horror flick conventions but bow to too many of its tropes, like jump scares, illogical dream sequences and a nagging feeling that extremely stupid people who do dumb things aren’t worth watching. In the lead, Sophie Wilde carries the film with an impressive maturity, which helps ease the sting of an insipid 90 minutes that promises—or threatens—a sequel. The film looks flawless on 4K; extras include the brothers’ commentary, deleted scenes and a making-of featurette.

In Iranian director Asghar Farhadi’s sophomore feature, A’la and Firoozeh, the sister of his imprisoned friend Ahmed, now 18 (he killed his girlfriend at 16 and is now of age to be executed), visit the victim’s father to convince him to forgive Ahmed, which may reduce his death sentence. Grave moral complexities abound in Farhadi’s script, which is less meaningful than ponderous—perhaps he should waited until later in his career to make the film. Still, there are moments of insight and precise observation, and his leads, Babak Ansari (A’la) and Taraneh Alidoosti (Firoozeh), carry the heavy weight.

Based on Kristen Roupenians’ short story in “The New Yorker,” Susanna Fogel’s psychological drama follows 20-year-old Margot, who meets the older Robert cutely at the movie theater concession stand where she works—her best friend says she should just text him, but Margot decides to take the plunge: they go on dates, she goes to his home, they have sex, but all the while she’s worried he might be a sadistic serial killer. Before losing control with a copout ending that strains credulity, Fogel has made an alarming cautionary tale about the contemporary dating scene, anchored by Emilia Jones’ dazzling performance as Margot—and Nicholas Braun as Robert ain’t too shabby either.

Writer, director and producer Eddie Alcazar’s off-kilter and wildly uneven sci-fi adventure touches on immortality but never reaches the desired results, whether visually or narratively. Part of the problem is that there’s not much in the way of characterization, so Scott Bakula and Stephen Dorff are unable to do much with their characters. Alcazar knows how to film attractive women in B&W, so Karrueche Tran, Bella Thorne and adult-film star Emily Willis are given a loving photographic treatment.

Tracy Droz Tragos’ impassioned documentary follows several brave women trying to ensure that others, in the face of ever dwindling resources, have access to the mail-order “abortion pill.” With state legislatures regularly closing avenues for women to have safe, legal abortions, these pills—which are also under fire—are the only way to keep the patriarchal government from having complete control of their bodies. Including intimate interviews and guerrilla-style camerawork providing a record of the many ways they (and the opposition) are working, Tragos provides a valuable and necessary window into one of the most urgent political and moral issues of our time.

Two real curios from the stable of shoestring producer Roger Corman comprise this release, the first being a risibly Z-grade 1959 horror flick about a giant spider-like monster terrorizing a group of thieves who’ve just pulled off a heist; directed by later indie darling Monte Hellman, it’s entertaining in a car-crash kind of way. The second, 1960’s “Ski Troop Attack,” is an ambitious but naive war movie made by Corman himself with much of the same cast and in the same locales; it’s slightly easier to watch. The films look decent in hi-def; extras are the longer TV version of Beast; commentaries on both films; a featurette, “Hollywood Intruders: The Filmgroup Story: Part One”; and an easter egg.

In Emmanuel Carrère’s incisive drama, Juliette Binoche gives her usual intensely committed performance as Marianne Winckler, a writer posing as an unemployed divorcee who takes a menial cleaning job in order to detail an exposé about corrupt practices. Based on investigative journalist Florence Aubenas’ book—a French bestseller when it was published in 2010—Binoche and Carrère have created a harrowing look at what is mainly a problem for women, which is probably why it hasn’t gotten more coverage or traction in the media or with politicians. The film looks fine on Blu.

The film Dutch writer-director Marlene Gorris made before her international breakthrough, 1992’s “Antonia’s Line,” is a quite astonishing progressive tract set in the aftermath of a plane crash where its 7 survivors—5 men and 2 women—handle power games on the deserted island that touch on sexuality, gender and social status. Gorris handles this shopworn material with skillful finesse, making insightful points without hammering them home. There’s a fantastic central performance by Shelagh McLeod as the only fertile woman left alive. The restored hi-def transfer is good; extras comprise producer Dick Mass’ audio intro, film scholar Peter Verstraten’s audio commentary, behind the scenes footage, and a 1990 interview with political columnist Annemarie Grewel.

I was actually surprised that this wasn’t a bigger hit with audiences: I assumed that having Jamie Foxx and Will Farrell playing foulmouthed talking dogs would be an automatic box-office bonanza. But, on the other hand, there’s only so much you can watch of playful dogs running around chatting about bodily functions and fluids before you tune out. Maybe a 20-minute short would have worked better, but director Josh Greenbaum and writer Dan Perrault pile on the vulgarity for 90 minutes; at least the real canines are adorable. There’s an excellent hi-def transfer; extras are several featurettes and interviews.