Joseph Losey’s Stranger on the Prowl nonetheless suggests at least as much formal experimentation as it does political restlessness.
The film set the thematic template and aesthetic model for Siegel’s career.
Long saddled as simply an escapist comprise, Kurosawa’s unabashedly entertaining 1958 film gets an unexpectedly substantial Blu-ray upgrade.
The Visitor is one of its era’s most indefinable, inconceivably progressive pieces of cinematic nonsense.
In less than a minute, before the film’s opening titles even conclude, Marketa Lazarová has announced itself as something potentially unique, perhaps indefinable.
It all but predicted where Hitchcock would head in both style and scale in the coming decades, and it arrives on Blu-ray in a strong package.
Aki Kaurismäki’s steels itself against prevailing trends, whether of early-‘90s association or a more contemporary variety.
Satyajit Ray’s final films ably maintained his predominant thematic concerns and commitment to humanistic storytelling.
This set will hopefully foster a dialogue and encourage further interest in these rare films and their contemporary counterparts.
Still one of cinema’s great technical showcases, it should likewise endure as both a dramatic reconstruction of Russian history as well as a crucial glimpse into the nexus of then-nascent celluloid/digital divide.
The film remains at once the most bracingly concrete and amorously diffuse work of Antonioni’s structuralist period.
Lewis Allen’s 1944 familial horror tale remains both stately and stoic, an aesthetic wonder far greater than the sum of its parts.
Franju’s 1960 classic continues to represent a pivot point between classic and modern horror idioms.
The work produced by Rossellini and his muse would do nothing short of usher in what we now know as the modern cinematic age.
Cohen Media Group continue their winning streak with the digital home-video debut of Jean-Pierre Melville’s little seen but influential 1959 tribute to American film noir.
Fueled on equal parts inspiration, naïveté, and sheer creativity, the early films of Rainer Werner Fassbinder evidence a filmmaker with an appropriationist’s eye who nevertheless has larger sociological concerns on his mind.
At its best, with its quiet, ominous pace in the early going and its economical distribution of information throughout, the film is reminiscent of Todd Haynes’s Safe.
French director André Téchiné’s reputation for unruly, melodramatic narratives is set in stark relief by 1979s The Bronte Sisters, a richly restrained, formalist work ripe for reappraisal.
The film would announce the belated arrival of a veteran embarking on a late-period run of masterpieces yet to be matched in compositional expertise, thematic maturity, or emotional resonance.
An intimate epic, a tangible hallucination, a visceral symphony, and a beautiful display of brutality.