it blew it's load a little early by having the little kid saying faggot over and over when talking to his mom(hur hur real funny :rolleyes: ).

This was one of two Criterion Collection DVDs I checked out from the Oldham County Public Library yesterday, selected specifically for this month's DVD Talk Criterion Challenge. The only bonus feature to be found is the original theatrical trailer, which has a rather disturbingly lighthearted tone. A recurring point of discussion in my movie circles is the giveaway trailer, so thoroughly summarizing the film that the audience finds little surprise. The aforementioned theatrical trailer for this film is guilty of being very forthright about the story, but this is an instance where there are some extenuating circumstances.

Based upon a novel in turn inspired by an urban legend, <I>Spoorloos</I> [<I>The Vanishing</I>] begins already somewhat behind the 8 ball. We know from its very premise - traveling woman disappears, man searches for her - there are only a few possible outcomes. It's like a "Choose Your Own Adventure" with, like, three final chapters.

Yet what director George Sluizer's film manages to do is concede the obvious and dares us to come out from behind our presumptuous cynicism and answer the question, "Do you <I>really</I> want to know what happened to Saskia?" As Kim Newman put it in her <a href=http://www.criterion.com/current/posts/136-the-vanishing>2001 essay</a>, "Rex’s revelation also indicts the audience’s culpability—after all, we too want above all to learn the answer, even if it is truly appalling."

We're not tag-along detectives, seeking to help Rex find Saskia. We're sadistic voyeurs, enthralled by the brazenness of Raymond Lermorne in much the same way that our interest in Patrick Bateman supersedes any sympathy we may have for his victims in <I>American Psycho</I>. The truly interesting villains don't even see themselves as villainous, which is part of Raymond's intrigue. His rationale for abducting Saskia is dazzling: he wishes to prove that his moment of heroism would eclipse the darkest act he could think of performing, to test the absolute value of his goodness. It's the kind of intellectual exercise that, on paper, holds a lot of genuine interest. Thankfully, of those capable of appreciating the academic value of such hypothesis, scant few would ever consider actually trying to apply their curiosities.

And that's really where <I>Spoorloos</I> finds its place. The film allows us to vicariously go in places our own values would discourage us from exploring. We're not here to ask how, in Rex's position we might handle the abduction of our loved one (though I do appreciate that the film shies away from making Rex out to be a righteous avenger, as has become the fetish in contemporary cinema best personified by <I>Taken</I>). No, Rex exists solely so that Raymond has a proxy for confessing and explaining everything to us.

<I>Spoorloos</I> is not a film of the escalating depravity that characterizes <I>American Psycho</I>, but Raymond and Patrick are clearly kindred spirits. Patrick is more outrageous of the two, certainly, but there's something about Raymond that suggests he may operate on a "higher" level. His actions, after all, are couched in an admittedly repulsive philosophical argument about the nature of man's goodness, whereas Patrick kills more to test whether anyone in society is paying the slightest attention to what he does. There's that specific moment when Raymond dismisses the appeal of abducting prostitutes: they're willing to get into his car, and no one will miss them. There's insufficient challenge to the act of abduction, then, that prevents him from truly exploring the depths of his darkness as he needs to do. Patrick, of course, makes no such discrimination and indeed, favors prostitutes and other victims who will not be missed.

On a lighter note, I kept thinking the whole time that Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu (Raymond) bore a strong physical resemblance to Major League Baseball pitcher Eric Gagne and also to a former classmate I never liked. In some shots, Gene Bervoets reminded me of Christopher MacDonald.

The way that wealth is obtained in The Bank Dick is solely on luck...and not just regular luck, but dumb luck...the dumbest luck and I wonder if the film was made today, if there would be heavy criticism levied at W.C. Fields for hating the wealthy. The conclusion seems very telling as it is a near mirror of the opening sequence in the home: the only difference are suits, a larger home, some servants, etc. Nothing has changed, no one has learned a lesson, they just happen to have come into money by the most accidental means. In the world W.C. Fields creates, you don't come into money through hard work, it literally falls into your drunken lap.

One of the checklist items for the DVD Talk Criterion Challenge is to watch a Criterion DVD in its entirety. I freely admit, what put <I>The Hidden Fortress</I> to the top of the list of Criterion releases I wanted to consume so thoroughly was its inclusion of the video interview with George Lucas. I almost feel bad about that, embarrassed and a bit resentful that my being a fan of <I>Star Wars</I> should make me so pliable. Yet, Criterion clearly counted on that; the relationship between this film and Lucas's flagship franchise is plastered all over this release, from the inclusion of the aforementioned video to an outright declaration of its influence in the DVD synopsis. I figure if they're willing to pander to <I>Star Wars</I> fanboys, I can meet them halfway and allow them to pander.

By the end of the first scene, I had already cottoned onto the most obvious parallel: the peasants (reincarnated as the droids, R2-D2 and C-3PO). I kind of enjoyed wondering whether R2 was bleeped because he was saying to 3PO some of what Tahei and Matashichi say to one another throughout the film. Of course, then we get to the scene where the two pick straws to see which one will leave and which will get a chance to sexually assault the sleeping princess and I found myself irrevocably disgusted by the pair of them for the duration of the film. I know it was played for laughs and to remind us how base the two are, but I just could not forgive them that.

Wipe transitional edits also stood out as a common element. There were the shots of enemy forces gathering in the trees with an odd horn sounding (borrowed for both <I>Return of the Jedi</I> and <I>The Phantom Menace</I>). And, of course, the whole idea of the princess hiding behind decoys was recycled in <I>The Phantom Menace</I>, as noted by Armond White in his 2001 <a href=http://www.criterion.com/current/posts/117-the-hidden-fortress>essay</a>. Still, I wasn't trying to keep score of similarities between <I>The Hidden Fortress</I> and <I>Star Wars</I>; I was trying to enjoy and appreciate <I>The Hidden Fortress</I> for what it is.

I did appreciate the grand, old-school adventurousness of the story. It's great fun. As David Ehrenstein notes in his 1987 <a href=http://www.criterion.com/current/posts/837-the-hidden-fortress>essay</a>: "Overall, there’s a sense of sheer 'movieness' to <I>The Hidden Fortress</I> that places it plainly in the ranks of such grand adventure entertainments as <I>Gunga Din</I>, <I>The Thief of Baghdad</I>, and Fritz Lang’s celebrated diptych <I>The Tiger of Eschnapur</I> and <I>The Hindu Tomb</I>." This is a very kinetic film that moves at a brisk clip from start to finish. The premise is ultimately that this is a sort of "road" picture, and the key to such films is to keep things moving. That generally means one setback after another to befall our protagonists, and that's precisely what <I>The Hidden Fortress</I> offers.

Outside of the aforementioned peasants, I did like the three other principals. We quickly accept Rokurota as a bad-ass, knowing that this is not a guy to be underestimated or crossed...and secretly, we hope someone is fool enough to make him demonstrate why. I particularly enjoyed his relationship with Hyoe Tadokoro: adversarial, but bonded through mutual respect. I've always been a sucker for those kinds of relationships in stories, where people are able to connect with one another despite the schism of allegiances and causes, etc., between them. Hyoe's eventual defection was obvious, but triumphant all the same.

Princess Yuki's exasperation at Japanese stoicism and fealty to her and the class system is surprising, and also humanizing. Yet, there's something about the always-angry performance of Misa Uehara that's entirely incongruous with the character. Yes, I get it; she was raised to be masculine and she lacks the softness of femininity. Just the same, there is a surprising lack of subtlety to her anger and forcefulness that prevents me from fully accepting Yuki as a developed character.

There was greater room in the story to develop the character of the farmer's daughter, rescued from slavery by the princess (by way of Rokurota). Of course, her role in the film is obvious: the loyalty she shows the princess is earned, not instructed. She represents the kind of relationship between sovereign and subject that Yuki can respect and appreciate, a stark contrast between the mindlessness she accuses Rokurota and others of according her.

Yet, even though she's there facing execution with the princess in the end, I find myself disappointed that we don't get a sense of her fate once they've safely reached Akizuki. (Or, if we do, I missed it because I had to yell at the cats.)

Of course, I also come to the film with virtually no meaningful exposure to Japanese culture or cinema. I did study Japan in a cursory fashion years ago when I took a course on East Asian history & politics, so I have a sense of the basics but it's certainly a blind spot for me.

<B>DVD Bonus Features</B>

Lucas on Kurosawa (8:08)

This was, of course, the big draw for me. It's actually perfect: in eight minutes, Lucas emphasizes that <I>The Hidden Fortress</I> isn't his favorite Kurosawa film, or even in his top four, and that the only thing he really borrowed from it for <I>Star Wars</I> was the point-of-view of the peasants/droids. Lucas acknowledges the parallel of escorting a princess through enemy territory, but quickly dismisses it as more coincidence, noting that his princess, Leia, "is much more of a stand-and-fight" character than is Yuki. Leave it to Lucas to take a lot of hype and quash it.

Original Theatrical Trailer (3:47)

An alright trailer, I suppose, though I confess I'm not sure seeing it would have necessarily made me any more eager to see the film. Trailers are really difficult to appraise this far removed from their original era. I did catch where the subtitles misspelled "couldn't" as "coudn't" at one point. That made me cringe.

. I find it difficult to blame Margaret for being fooled by the same scam twice when I fell for it as well, despite being warned repeatedly by Mantegna's character that we can't trust him or that world.

Even late in the film when she shows generosity to both her stripper neighbor and her husband's mistress, she does so with a coldness that suggests that while she acknowledges she can't cut herself off completely from the world, it doesn't mean she has to like it.