Woo’s most riotous American film receives a solid upgrade to UHD.
Mann’s classic thriller has never looked better on home video, and Shout!’s extensive extras make this the version of the film to own.
The film, never sensational or saccharine, is a tough but tender tribute to the creative power of maternal love.
It could have used far more of King’s mordant humor, which might have imbued the metaphorical autumnal proceedings with a much-needed jolt of pop anarchy, or even pathos.
For a series that had to switch networks to provide closure for the open-ended third season, there’s no grand expressive sense of ending.
Lee’s aching study of the “me” generation provides a stunning array of period detail to give distinct form to the social disconnect and discomfort of the Nixon era.
The film comes to Blu-ray armed with a superb A/V transfer and a solid packing of extras from Universal.
Go back to the first episode of Luck and you’ll see how much is made of a little goat (known for his giant testicles) that hangs out in Turo’s barn.
These famous fights to the death should, together, sate even the bloodthirstiest film fans.
As in creator David Milch’s previous HBO shows, one of Luck’s central themes concerns the building of a community.
After the emotional high points reached in last week’s installment of Luck, it’s only natural that this week’s episode feels a bit like a come-down.
Penetrate the dream, and you’ll understand the nightmare.
The most chilling thing about Mann and Brian Cox’s version of Lecktor is his verisimilitude.
The film heralds Hannah Senesh’s life with a sustained and striking briskness that avoids shameless exploitation.
Nixon is a staggering work of empathy for Stone.
An epic film deserves an epic DVD treatment, and Nixon gets one.
And Lee and film editor Tim Squyres tie the film together in the masterful, interwoven tension of the night of the storm.
Change, or the struggle to make change fit into the established system, is Lee’s most familiar chord. He struck it loudest in The Ice Storm.
A thorough adaptation of Lynn H. Nicholas’s book, The Rape of Europa scrupulously details a Nazi practice usually relegated to historical footnotes.
Paul Greengrass’s latest plops on the screen with lots of hi-fi energy but, strangely, very little feeling.