Steven Soderbergh’s sprawling Oscar success, Traffic, is derived from an even more ambitious five and one half-hour 1993 British television miniseries, “Traffik,” starring Scottish-born Bill Paterson (Comfort and Joy, Sunshine) in the Michael Douglas role. Timed to hit the American market at the same time as Soderbergh’s epic, “Traffik” offers the dedicated fan the opportunity to look inside the creative process, as the action here takes place in the United Kingdom, Pakistan and Germany (Traffic shifts the action to the USA and Mexico). But both works are about the intricate and intertwined world of drug production and distribution. While the USA Films DVD pressing of Traffic has no director commentary (Soderbergh has hinted that work on the upcoming Ocean’s Eleven has delayed the extras-laden version of the film he has envisioned), the two-disc Acorn Media edition of “Traffik” features interviews with writer Simon Moore and producer Brian Eastman, production notes and crew filmographies (among other things, the miniseries marked the screen debut of Julia Ormond). Thus, the DVD of Traffic is a good—if not great—opportunity to own one of 2000’s best films on disc right away (most collectors will want to wait to see if Soderbergh’s promise materializes), while the “Traffik” box is recommended.

Back to the slashers, again. This time, the kid who was embarrassed during a Valentine's Day dance at school resurfaces years later to take his revenge against the now-adult girls whom humiliated him, and they all turn out to be living in the same city, saving the killer the time and hassle of having to commute. If you've seen any of the Friday the 13th, Halloween or Freddy Krueger movies, or some of the Italian giallo-maestro Dario Argento's thrillers, then you can practically call the shots in Valentine before they arrive. Nothing may prepare you, though, for the one scene for which this film will be, if at all, remembered: Denise Richards luring a guy into a bedroom, tying him hand and foot to the bedposts, putting a blindfold over his eyes...and then, unannounced, dripping hot candle wax onto his prostrate body. Some girls will just do anything. Warner’s DVD includes a commentary track from director Jamie Blanks.

Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey turn out to work surprisingly well together as, respectively, a professional wedding organizer and a guy whom she meets, strikes some romantic sparks with, but who turns out to be the groom at the very next wedding she is scheduled to present. The remainer of The Wedding Planner, unfortunately, is remarkably uninspired, replying on some pretty paltry jokes (embarrassing pieces of public statuary getting stuck on character's hands with Krazy-Glue, for instance) rather than trust the audience to simply sit back and enjoy an unfolding, yet credible, romance. At least Lopez isn't being chased by gargoyles and serpent-haired devil as she was when we last saw her in The Cell, which is cause enough for relief. The Columbia TriStar DVD includes deleted scenes, a commentary track from director Adam Shankman and the writers, and a production featurette.

Beyond the A List

In the deadpan Japanese comedy Adrenaline Drive, unassuming car rental clerk Suzuki (Masanobu Ando) and shy nurse Shizuko (Hikari Ishida) dodge a bumbling Yakuza crew as they make off with a bloody trunkful of gang money. In 1996, writer-director Shinobu Yaguchi made a marvelously droll comedy called My Secret Cache (Himitsu no hanazona), in which a bank clerk kidnapped by some thieves goes to great length to recover the money lost when the gang was captured; as he’s only made five features, it’s safe to assume the director has an agenda of some sort. Be that as it may, the film is fresh, funny and very physical, with the antics of the pursuing gang a comic highlight (they’re played by a popular veteran comedy ensemble known as Jovi Jova). Adrenaline Drive was among the first batch of movies presented in series form by the now-defunct Shooting Gallery (see also Orphans, below), and the crisp Image Entertainment DVD pressing is marred only by a lack of extras and slightly muddy subtitles.

In a drab northern England town, undertaker’s assistant Billy Fisher (Tom Courtenay) breaks up the monotony via elaborate fantasy sequences and is spurred into change in his real life by the beautiful young Liz (Julie Christie, in her first important film). Marking an extraordinary bridge between the “angry young man” black and white realism of early 1960s British cinema and the soon-to-break carefree abandon of the swingin’ London scene, Billy Liar had the great misfortune to open in the United States shortly after John F. Kennedy’s assassination; by the time the Beatles stormed America’s shores 60 days later, the moment had passed and the film languished in obscurity until its recent rescue by New York City-based programmer Bruce Goldstein and his Rialto Pictures. The Criterion Collection DVD pressing boasts a flawless widescreen transfer of the film itself (an early-career triumph from director John Schlesinger), supplemented by a lengthy brochure essay from Goldstein, audio commentary from Schlesinger, Courtenay and Christie, and an episode from a BBC series on British film in the 1960s (hosted by A Hard Day’s Night director Richard Lester).

Remember that bizarre yet highly entertaining 1971 nature documentary The Hellstrom Chronicle that cautioned against insects taking over the world? Mark Lewis’ 65-minute 1988 Australian film Cane Toads: An Unnatural History is a bit like that, a strange-but-true account of the Bufo Marinus and how its 1935 introduction to the continent to battle a pernicious beetle has had comically disastrous consequences in the intervening years. Basically, they can’t be gotten rid of. From the little girl who dresses them up in frilly doll’s clothes to the Queensland natives who consider them “mates,” Cane Toads is, in the immortal sleeve words of one Seymour Wishman, as “if Monty Python produced a National Geographic special.” The First Run Features DVD also includes an interactive guide to the Cane Toad and Lewis short film Signing Off.

A genuine cinematic curio, Chac: The Rain God is a mystical adventure about thirteen men from a small Tzeltal village in the Chiapas section of Mexico who set out to find the shaman who can summon the title deity to relieve their terrible drought. Little seen since its American distributor went out of business, Chac was rescued by Milestone Film & Video, which has reissued the film on VHS. Most critics compare producer-writer-director Rolando Klein’s only completed film to Aguirre, the Wrath of God, Walkabout and El Topo; in truth, the film shares a certain mystical beauty with those films, and is well worth efforts to seek it out.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong in writing down daily, with absolute frankness, the most humble and insignificant secrets of a life, which actually has none,” says young yet sickly rural parish priest Claude Laydu upon arriving at his first job. Yet these words will come back to haunt him, as the rookie clergyman, a man of faith in a cold secular world, is overcome by the burden of his task. Robert Bresson’s The Diary of a Country Priest is among the most deeply affecting of films, from a director yet still little-known outside his native France. Among the first titles from the newly-acquired Interama catalogue to be reissued by Kino on Video, this exclusive-to-VHS transfer is a bit soft but generally good-looking for a picture its age. Although priced slightly higher than the average title, The Diary of a Country Priest belongs in the collection of every serious disciple of international film, and Bresson himself is a director whose work is worth seeking out for further study and appreciation.

On the North Sea island of Foula, off the coast of Scotland, the townspeople go about their lives as mainland influences slowly but surely encroach on their way of life. Against this backdrop, three young people and their families influence the villagers’ fate. Although he’d already made some two dozen films since 1930, the visually lovely and dramatically satisfying The Edge of the World marked the first film the great British director Michael Powell actually “wanted to make.” Following a limited theatrical engagement, Milestone’s release of The Edge of the World is exclusive to VHS, and the tape also includes Powell’s five-minute 1941 propaganda short An Airman’s Letter to His Mother, during which the camera lovingly lingers on many of Powell’s own possessions as John Gielgud reads an actual missive from a young pilot who subsequently died during World War II. The set’s final bonus is the half-hour color film Return to the Edge of the World, which documents the 1978 reunion of Powell with surviving crew and actors on Foula. Many of Powell’s best films have been reissued lately on DVD, including Peeping Tom, Contraband (aka Blackout) Black Narcissus, with The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp promised from Criterion in 2002; here’s another essential title for the Powell enthusiast.

Zeitgeist Films makes a welcome entry into the DVD arena with four early films from Canadian filmmaker Atom Egoyan (The Sweet Hereafter) in three separate packages. Next of Kin follows an unhappy young man as he presents himself to another family, while Egoyan’s breakthrough film, Family Viewing, is a sly black comedy about media manipulation and the power of video (these films come in a two-disc set). Speaking Parts extends Egoyan’s concern with the media in thriller form, as an aspiring actor and casting agent become entangled with each other. And Calendar stars Egoyan himself as a photographer whose trip to Armenia with his wife (played by real-life mate and muse Arsinee Khanjian, the mother in Catherine Breillat’s upcoming French import Fat Girl) turns problematic. Each disc features freshly-recorded commentary tracks from Egoyan, variouis interviews, outtakes and even some early short films (on the Family Viewing disc). The picture quality is pristine on all discs (especially considering the textural roughness of some original material), and each comes swaddled in stylish motion menus.

Eternal Love is a chance to see a long-lost, rediscovered and restored film drama by director Ernst Lubitsch (primarily known, now, for his comedies) along with actor John Barrymore, in the starring role, during his acting prime. He plays the wild and rugged Marcus, who hunts for game amid the peaks surrounding the Swiss village where he lives in the early 19th century. He also spurns the attentions of Pia (Mona Rico)—who shakes herself and makes eyes at him, to no avail—in favor of the lovely blonde Ciglia (Camilla Horn, who appears to glow from within). But Ciglia's father, Reverent Tass (Hobart Bosworth) won't rush to approve a marriage between her and Marcus, and Pia manages to lure/trick Marcus into going to bed with her (in a sequence that couldn't have been more delicately, or artfully, suggested), after which her mother demands that Marcus marry the “disgraced” girl. He does, in a daze, leaving the way open for the erstwhile Lorenz (Victor Varconi) to pounce on Ciglia and propose. She accepts: now they're both stuck in loveless marriages to spouses they don't want. The ending, which involves Marcus and Ciglia being chased into the mountains by an angry mob, is an absolute doozy. But I suspect that Lubitsch and his screenwriter, Hans Kraly, were probably more concerned with another film that they also brought out that same year (1929), The Patriot, which went on to garner a truckload of Oscar nominations. (And which, unfortunately, is currently a lost film.) Barrymore may not have been taking this too seriously, either—he doesn't seem concerned that the lip rouge and eye shadow meant to accent his famous features and profile look heavier than the make-up on his female costar—but he gives it a good try. Another good reason for having a look at this film: the inclusion of the original music (by Hugo Riesenfeld) and sound-effects recording for the film's original theatrical release, which was sent out in the form of large acetate discs that were very easy to break and had to synced separately to the projected film (a prime motivator for the invention of the now-standard optical print track). Eternal Love is part of the current release slate from Milestone Film & Video; if your favorite store can’t come up with a copy you can reach Milestone via their website at milestonefilms.com.

In a blue-tinted early 1970s Paris and environs, brooding cop Coleman (Alain Delon) and master thief Simon (Richard Crenna) both love the beautiful Cathy (Catherine Deneuve), but must engage in an elaborate battle of wits with each other over two elaborately planned robberies. Once you’ve seen French director Jean-Pierre Melville’s acknowledged masterpieces Bob le Flambeur (1955) and Le Samourai (1967), both available on VHS, you’ll be ready for the director’s 13^th and final film, Un Flic (literally, The Cop, but released in America as Dirty Money). There’s not much in the way of plot, or fundamental plausibility, for that matter, but it looks great and has style to spare. Notice also how the opening bank robbery and the train heist are templates for how such things are done (Brian De Palma borrowed liberally from the latter for the climax of Mission: Impossible 2, and this entire film will make you look at John Frankenheimer’s extraordinary Ronin in an entirely new way). Yes, that’s Richard Crenna as Simon (either the dubbing is terrific or he’s performing in French), and bonus points if you recognize the late Michael Conrad—Sgt. Phil “Let’s Be Careful Out There” Esterhaus on “Hill Street Blues”—as tight-lipped driver Louis Costa. Anchor Bay’s pressing is immaculate, with a clear Dolby 2.0 mix but few extras of note.

A backstage musical about the opening of Paris’ Moulin Rouge? No, it isn’t the new Nicole Kidman movie, but the great Jean Renoir’s late-career romp French Cancan, the master’s first French film in nearly 15 years and a typically humanist riot of color and motion in which the fatherly Monsieur Danglard (Jean Gabin) nurtures the famous theater into life during the time of the Impressionists (of which Renoir’s father was a prominent figure). Cleverly surfing the newfound interest in all things cancan, Kino’s fullframe presentation restores the film to its original length and showcases Boris Lewin’s magnificent Technicolor photography. And don’t miss the climactic dance sequence, among the most kinetic ever filmed.—Eddie Cockrell

Although endearingly smirky British comedian Benny Hill didn’t get a lot of exposure in the United States prior to about 1979, he’d been a fixture in English music halls, radio and television since just after World War II. Apparently culled from the period between 1969 and 1972, the some 30 bits that comprise the 1974 feature The Best of Benny Hill include “Throw Open,” “Lower Tidmarsh Hospital” and “Film School” (although there are none of his extravagantly spoofy dance numbers here); if you don’t know what this means, then a good 87-minute dose of Benny Hill is just what you need—although surprisingly for a disc from Anchor Bay Entertainment, the pressing is muddy and seems to have been copied from a video. Still, other than Warner’s upcoming three-disc “Benny Hill—Golden Greats” package, this is it for DVD representation of the comic’s work to date.—Eddie Cockrell

One part Jacques Tati, one part Living in Oblivion and one part ESPN, The Ice Rink is a mischievously funny and completely uncategorizable French comedy that follows the travails of a feature film unit shooting on frozen pond. As the unflappable French director becomes slowly flapped, he finds himself in competition with his American action star Sylvester Barrymore (The Evil Dead’s Bruce Campbell in a role written with Jean-Claude Van Damme in mind) for the affections of the sensitive leading lady (Charlie Chaplin’s granddaughter Dolores, playing an actress named Sarah in a movie called Dolores). Mix in a bumbling crew, a pushy yet graceful producer (the always-luminous Marie-France Pisier) determined to make the Venice film festival deadline, and a drunken Lithuanian hockey team, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster—and laughs. This genuine find is the first original screenplay from novelist-turned-auteur Jean-Philippe Toussaint, who scores the action with a typically droll mix of Brahms, Bowie and Placebo. And although he never talks about his five books or the films he’s made from two of them, The Ice Rink speaks to Toussaint’s blossoming visual talent on the level of Buster Keaton and Jerry Lewis. Kino on Video’s letterboxed DVD pressing is fine, with the only extras consisting of a theatrical trailer as well as eight additional trailers for current Kino releases.

The rich tapestry that is Iranian cinema is further spotlighted by foreign film mainstay New Yorker Video with the release of The Mirror, the amusing yet serious saga of a neglected young girl who takes here fate in her hands from director Jafar Panahi (whose latest film, The Circle, is currently doing the festival rounds) and The Silence, Mohsen Makhmalbaf’s captivating tale of a blind 10-year-old boy from a small village in Tajikistan who relies on his other senses to create a world of captivating sounds and rhythms. In keeping with their quality presentations, New Yorker offers both titles in properly letterboxed editions with clear and easy-to-read English subtitles of the Farsi dialogue.

On the nocturnal, rain-soaked streets of Glasgow, four grief-stricken siblings each come to terms with their father’s death in their own unique ways. The directorial debut of actor Peter Mullan (star of Ken Loach’s My Name is Joe and Michael Winterbottom’s The Claim), Orphans is a raw, kinetic, and often darkly funny drama about dysfunction, grief and the bonds of family. A standout among the fine cast is Gary Lewis (who went on to play the befuddled father in Billy Elliot) as the eldest son, whose emotional odyssey is at once heartbreaking and darkly funny. One of the original nationwide series of distinctive foreign films presented by the late, lamented Shooting Gallery (see also Adrenaline Drive, above), Image Entertainment’s DVD pressing of Orphans offers the distributor’s original gambit of adding English subtitles to the thick Scottish burr (of the two subtitle sets created, the more expletive-laden one was chosen); unfortunately for those who actually understand the accent, the titles can’t be turned off.

Translated as “Beauty Prize,” Prix de Beauté marks the final starring role for Kansas-born dancer and silent screen beauty Louise Brooks as a Parisian typist whose dreams of beauty pageant success and big-screen fame end in tragedy. Though dubbed, Brooks’ charisma comes through undiluted, and Kino’s decent print source, combined with what look to be new English subtitles, make the film a must-own for fans of Brooks’ previous successes Diary of a Lost Girl and the immortally erotic Pandora’s Box—which had been made only the year before the debut of Prix de Beauté. Brooks returned to dancing for a number of years and then made a flurry of lesser Hollywood films before disappearing off the screen altogether in the late 1930s; to this day she remains a contradictory enigma to even her most devoted fans, an actress who pioneered both onscreen sexuality and media manipulation in ways that are imitated—but rarely equaled—to this day.

A Rocky Horror-level cult item in its native Great Britain, the howlingly bleak and unrelentingly acerbic Withnail and I follows the misadventures of two unemployed actors (Richard E. Grant and Paul McCann) in 1960s London who decide a week in the country to escape their massive drug-taking might be just what they need—if it doesn’t destroy their friendship or kill them first. In How to Get Ahead in Advertising, ruthless ad exec Dennis Bagley (Grant again) develops a talking boil on his neck with an agenda of its own. Welcome to the wonderful world of Bruce Robinson, who began as an actor (Lieutenant Pinson in Francois Truffaut’s The Story of Adele H) before moving to screenwriting (The Killing Fields) and finally to filmmaking. Supposedly suffused with autobiographical overtones, Withnail and I is the true find of the pair, long unavailable in anything resembling its original form (British audiences have apparently been known to yell along with the tongue-twisting, drug-fuelled dialogue). The Criterion Collection’s pressings are up to their usual high standards; director of photography Peter Hannan (Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life) supervised both letterboxed transfers, and the Withnail and I disc includes the 1999 documentary appreciation Withnail & Us, pre-production photos and a folded poster from original artist Ralph Steadman (yes, that Ralph Steadman).

In 1991, the debut of 23-year-old writer-director John Singleton, Boys N the Hood, earned the earnest young filmmaker an Oscar nomination for his clear-eyed script tracing the friendship of a trio of young Black men and the various temptations awaiting them as they come of age in South Central Los Angeles. Janet Jackson made her screen debut opposite Tupac Shakur in Singleton’s 1993 sophomore effort, the tense contemporary romance Poetic Justice. In 1995, Singleton released Higher Learning, starring Jennifer Connelly, Ice Cube, Omar Epps, Michael Rapaport, Kristy Swanson and Laurence Fishburne in a story of racial tension and tolerance on a college campus. Timed to coincide with the theatrical release of his newest film, Baby Boy (10 years to the month after the release of Boys N the Hood), this box set is an eye-opening collection of films made with what might best be described as a shrewd passion, a yearning for positive change tempered with a hard-nosed understanding of the way things are. Although each film is available for individual purchase from Columbia TriStar, those interested in Singleton’s notable career are advised to buy the box; the sporadic extras are the same (for some reason, the debut feature is the only one without a director’s commentary), and the savings will be about $10.

During World War II, laid-back lieutenant Lawson (Cliff Robertson, two years after his Best Actor Oscar win for Charly and about to be seen as Uncle Ben Parker in Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man) is ordered by commanding officer Nolan (a cameo by Henry Fonda) to assist a bunch of disgruntled Brits (including wisecracking Michael Caine, fierce Ian Bannen and cowardly Denholm Elliott) traverse a Japanese-infested island to fulfill a mission. Made the same year as Robert Altman’s M*A*S*H, producer-director Robert Aldrich’s Too Late the Hero has the same anarchic spirit (not to mention the same stenciled credit font), if not the loosey-goosey tone. It’s also cut from the same cloth as Aldrich’s brawny, action-filled 1967 success The Dirty Dozen, as the ragtag band bicker and fight their way to victory (the film was shot on location in the Philippines). Seen today via Anchor Bay Entertainment’s extras-free but spotless DVD pressing, Too Late the Hero is a good old-fashioned Hollywood movie suffused with the then-new freedoms of violence and salty language—not to mention the anti-war cynicism then all the rage. Why haven’t you heard of it? “It appeared at exactly the wrong moment,” Aldrich remembered. “The studio revolution had begun…and Vietnam was the most unpopular war in history.” Let’s hope Aldrich’s terrific pre-Dirty Dozen drama The Flight of the Phoenix also gets the DVD treatment soon…

Box Set Corner:

An occasional exploration of video and DVD’s higher end

Long before his incarnations as Mr. Bean or his turn as Father Gerald in Four Weddings and a Funeral, Rowan Atkinson shot to stardom as a succession of conniving yet inept Blackadder men who bumble their way through British history under the illusion of crafty ambition (“I have a cunning plan…” inevitably leads to disaster, or at least acute embarrassment). The first series, broadcast on the BBC in 1983, was co-written by Atkinson and Richard Curtis (who later wrote -- surprise -- Four Weddings and a Funeral); Ben Elton was brought in to spell Atkinson for the subsequent seasons. The program was so popular that the original six episodes were followed two years later by a half-dozen more set in Elizabethan England. “Blackadder the Third” was made in 1987 and set in the late 18^th Century, while 1989’s clutch of six, “Blackadder Goes Forth,” took place in the trenches of World War One. Available in the United States for years on a seemingly endless series of videocassettes, the sturdy and stylish new BBC DVD collection, distributed by Warner Bros., collects all 24 half-hour episodes on five discs (do the math). The generous supplements include all three separate TV specials created through the years, the rare 15-minute Oliver Cromwell-era episode, the 1999 time-travel reunion “Blackadder Back and Forth” and its 17-minute production featurette. Additionally, there’s an invaluable reference work called “Historical Footnotes,” a half-hour interview with Curtis, a singalong to the catchy title song, and a who’s who of the cast and writers narrated by the one and only Tony Robinson, who played Blackadder’s long-suffering servant Baldrick. Technically, the video transfer is just OK, but it’s the content that counts here.  Incredibly, the region 1 “Black Adder” boxed set precedes the British edition by a good four or five months, with the region 2 set not due until November. Consumers willing to take the economic plunge are urged to invest in the boxed set over the individual seasons, thereby saving a chunk of change. Although it sure helps, you don’t need to know your English history to appreciate “Black Adder”, along with the now-available “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” and the hotly-anticipated “Fawlty Towers” set (due in October), its secure in its place among the crown jewels of British comedy.

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