Breaking in… July 14, 2006
Posted by John Hodson in : General , add a commentI love getting DVDs in the mail; little packages, usually from beyond these shores - it’s almost like getting a gift (except (a) I’ve paid for it and (b) I usually know what it is). But I hate the security tape that Region One discs come bound up in.
Fox is the worst, all three opening sides of the box coming taped up with the fiercest of sticky backed plastic, stuff that is a beggar to get a fingerhold in, trying to peel it off without doing any damage, it clinging to the box for dear life. In the pursuit of instant gratification, I just want to cram the little silver disc, trapped inside, into my player as soon as humanly possible. The tape seems designed specifically to prevent me doing that. It’s sniggering at me.
My pockets are filled with cellophane wrapping, bits of still impossibly sticky tape, as I wrestle in Homer Simpson fashion with this infuriating, inanimate object, veins throbbing in my temples, gorge rising, I even shout at the damned, stupid, stupid box (not too loud - think of the neighbours).
Mustn’t grumble too much; I get a childlike rush of pleasure when I finally - finally - break in…and I’m ready to watch my film. Maybe it’s a feature? Like ‘interactive menus’ listed on the back of the packaging…
Boxing clever?
Posted by John Hodson in : Film General , add a commentAll things - and in this case that has to be value for money, content and quality - considered, Warners (US; Warners UK seems to be as clueless as the rest) has to be my favourite studio when it comes to slapping films on to a digital medium.
Not everything they touch turns to gold; economies of scale mean that not all films are as wonderfully restored and transferred as Casablanca, and their usually reliable output of the past four or five years, means that it’s something of a shock to receive anything that is less than top notch.
Of course, they are also capable of the occasional howler; though it looks better than I have ever seen it before, their recent 50th Anniversary Edition of The Searchers suffered from human error on the colour timing front; not disastrous, but Warners is apparently working on a corrected version. Much worse, whoever gave the go ahead to slice up and butcher Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid into a new version, attempting to second guess one of the great original visionaries of 20th century cinema (while at the same time woefully neglecting the transfer of Peckinpah’s original ‘directors cut’) is guilty of one of DVDs great crimes. For shame.
So, they aren’t perfect but the good far outweighs the bad, and without their output of recent years, this classic film fan’s world would that bit poorer (though I would be financially richer; win some, lose some…) This year alone, Warners are producing over 50 boxed sets. How much that weighs on your bank account is down to individual tastes and circumstances - these aren’t necessities, these are luxuries after all.
But Warners strategy has shifted my pattern of spending with them. I am buying more box sets; they present excellent value for money, each film (and because this is Warners, usually accompanied by decent extras) costing under £5, sometimes £3-£4. And buying more boxes means I’m buying fewer individual releases - I look at titles, at the stars therein, and if there’s a chance that it will end up in a box, at a fraction of what it would cost to buy individually, then I turn my face to it. I kid myself that I’m actually saving money…
Happy news then, that my R1 vendor of choice when it comes to boxes, Movietyme, tells me that an improved deal with their supplier means an improved deal for me.
Thus the upcoming James Stewart and Ronald Reagan Signature Collectionscan be had for £21.99, each, delivered (usually very promptly), with no potential for any, ah, ‘imperial entanglements’. Which is nice.
Boxing clever, or just plain boxed in? Hmmm…
Compulsive / Obsessive disorder…
Posted by John Hodson in : Film General , 3 commentsThe postman struggled to the door this morning, laden with another haul.
I’ve been a film fan since I was a wide-eyed child, staring at a blurry black and white rented television (thank the Lord for ‘Radio Rentals’), and wishing I was Errol Flynn, flashing blade in my hand, or John Wayne, daring the bad to guy to draw.
But the video boom came and went, and, apart from haunting the paltry ’widescreen’ sections of Virgin or HMV, I never really amassed a collection. Laser disc? Never entered my head. I suppose there were other factors. During those periods, disposable income was at a premium and DVD probably came along at just the right time - I had the money, the time and I certainly had the inclination. That quantum leap in quality from VHS to DVD, accompanied by a brand spanking new widescreen TV and a Home Cinema sound setup that I couldn’t really afford (I’ve always been a firm believer in retail therapy) had me hook, line and sinker.
But I look at my collection now, not without a little dismay; right in there are DVDs I bought, early doors, simply because they demonstrated just how good that sound system was. ‘Hear that?’ I was saying ‘Mine is much bigger and, well, more manly than yours!’ That soon stopped.
As the collection matured, bang per buck became much less of a factor. In fact, it wasn’t a factor at all; I was much more interested in seeing older films in pristine condition, with good, robust, original sound. Hence I also have in there some films which, well, quite frankly, aren’t very good. But boy, they’ve been restored to hell and back and look fantastic - question is, can I stand watching ‘em? Hello Amazon Marketplace!
And then there are the films I’ve bought ‘blind’ because I thought they were worthy, because I thought I should watch them because, well, someone else has labelled them masterpieces. They glare at me sullenly from the shelf, unwatched, unloved. I scurry passed them, sheepishly, and hope they’ll go away.
But amongst the groaning shelves are the real treasures, the films that I can watch repeatedly, seeing something new every time, actually giggling out loud from the sheer pleasure. And sometimes a treasure is found in a blind buy, or maybe in a film I’m watching for the first time in OAR, or perhaps in a film that I ‘get’ for the very first time, and it blossoms, right in front of your eyes. I bask in their glow and let them wash over me; I’ve never taken drugs (well, there was that one time…no, concealing it in a brownie doesn’t count, I think) but I can imagine the high these moving shadows give me feels slightly similar.
So here we are; the postie brings me one six disc box set, another box containing three DVDs, and an envelope that has another two; I’m Mr ‘Meat ‘n Potatoes’ now. Pretty much going with ‘old friends’, pretty much out of the Hollywood Golden Age, give or take a decade, and pretty much having a whale of a time. How many diamonds within those packages, how many old friends that will give me the orgasmic pleasure described above? Old friends - certainly. Treasures? Not one, if I’m totally honest (the films that provoke that reaction are relatively rare).
So why buy them? Well, obviously, you can’t survive on a diet of caviar and Champagne all the time; sometimes you want a fish supper and a cool brewsky (actually, bad example - if I had my druthers, I’d go for the latter. But you know where I’m coming from). The degree of pleasure may be slightly less, but, well, you get your pleasures where you can…
How else can I explain away my ‘Carry On…’ box sets?
Which reminds me…
Posted by John Hodson in : General , 4 commentsWhy am I such a wuss these days? I shed bucket loads of tears at the daftest things on screen. My wife tells me it’s my age; I’m weeping for my ‘lost youth’, watching older films only reminds me that I’m scraping my boots on the welcome mat of God’s Waiting Room.
I smile and nod and then tell her that I’m responding to displays of genuine emotion, crafted by auteur directors, demonstrated by actors of great genius. ‘Lost youth’ my arse…
Then I read that as we age, males naturally produce less testosterone (we, er, mature guys simply don’t need it. Apparently.) And so, in essence, our response to even the slightest displays of emotion is heightened. (A less enlightened blogger would say that I’ve become a big girl’s blouse. I would never dream of typing such a thing.)
In brief; my youth. I’ve lost it.
Ain’t nature cruel?