I haven't set this up as a 'Forum Awards' affair, more as a discussion thread, but if anybody wants to turn it into that, be my guest. In the past this has been positioned as "non-Criterion", but I haven't stuck with that, since in my world they got shunted aside on their own merits. Criterion-heavy posts could probably be more usefully aligned with the Criterion awards thread
yonder.
It seemed useful to restrict comments to a top ten, but I've cheated outrageously and you can too.
Best Label
There was a veritable flood of “best releases of the year” from various quarters in 2008, though seldom from Criterion, which seemed to be thoroughly outmanouevred in terms of “essential arthouse” by BFI, MoC, Second Run and even itself, in Eclipse drag.
Most valuable label for me this year was BFI, which has really pulled itself up by its bootstraps in the past few years from a label with a great catalogue and sometimes indifferent releases of it to a consistent powerhouse. What puts it ahead of the equally reliable MoC this year is its sterling work in curation and restoration. MoC’s output tended to create definitive editions out of pre-existing good materials, such as its addition of subtitles, contextual extras and those fabulous books to the French Pialat and Mizoguchi releases. BFI, however, was bringing a lot of its stuff to DVD for the first time, creating its reference editions from scratch (and I haven’t even caught up with their major scholarly releases of the British documentary movement and GPO films yet). Tellingly, both labels pipped Criterion at the post on two of its benchmark releases of the year (
Salo and
Vampyr).
Not that Criterion was necessarily slacking. The Varda boxset was an early triumph, possibly their best box set to date, the Mishima releases were superb, and I was pathetically grateful to finally see
Death of a Cyclist,
The Fire Within,
The Furies and
The Small Back Room, but more than half of the releases on the main line were films that were already available on DVD, often in fine, if barebones, editions, and occasionally in arguably superior ones. Eclipse’s more modest output was generally a lot more interesting and necessary (specifically Mizoguchi, Ozu and Shepitko) but still tinged with redundancy (Kurosawa and Kaurismaki).
10 Best Releases
Kiju Yoshida Oeuvres complets, Vols 1 & 2 (Carlotta) – A dream release, even if it lacked English subtitles. Beautiful transfers, pithy intros, and some of the most exciting films of the 1960s. Volume 2 is the one packed with masterpieces, but it’s such a luxury to be able to absorb a major filmmaker’s evolution blow by blow that I’m loath to separate them. And then, of course, there’s the indispensible
Eros + Massacre, which I don’t include here simply to save space for other gems. In any other year it would probably have been the best thing released. Did anybody really think they'd ever get to see the uncensored cut of that film looking so good?
Hiroshi Shimizu boxsets (Shochiku) – Japanese labels have been releasing superb editions of important films for years, but, hip-hip-hooray, they’ve finally got around to including English subtitles. Sublime films from an unjustly obscure master, in fine transfers (though the source prints are often pretty rough).
Wojciech Wisniewski (PWA) – Possibly a 2007 release (if so, it was in darkest December), but the greatest revelation of the year for me, a completely unknown filmmaker who made films like none I’ve ever seen. Even though their remit is extremely specific, PWA is probably THE most reliable DVD label in the world. I’m blind-buying everything they release, and they give value for money like no other label. Any of their other 2008 releases could have ended up on this list.
Polish Experimental Animation (PWA) – A phenomenal 3-disc collection. The only minor downside was that this set didn’t include the expected squarebound book with detailed notes on every film (but the extensive essay covered an awful lot of ground very efficiently), which is more a comment on how swiftly we’ve been spoiled by the improbable bounty of these releases than any substantial shortcoming. Like several of the PWA releases, the governing definition (of ‘animation’ in this case) is pretty loose, and that’s a very good thing, since it allows most of disc 2 to slip through, including the two extraordinary contributions from Zbigniew Rybczynski. Rybczynski’s work also features on the other animation sets, and he’s about as major a discovery as Wisniewski. Both of his films on this set are masterpieces.
New Book is a far more elaborate version of Figgis’
Timecode, with nine continuous ten minute takes (arranged Hollywood Squares fashion) that don’t just narratively interlock, but visually interlock as well (so that, as figures or objects leave the left side of one frame they enter the right side of the adjacent one, even though the physical spaces presented in each frame are not contiguous): an overwhelming technical feat that has to be watched multiple times.
Oh, I Can’t Stop! is hilarious – a brilliant coupling of the world’s longest (and accelerating!) tracking shot with the world’s funniest foley track. I get the compulsion to rewatch this film every couple of days.
The Bill Douglas Trilogy (BFI) – At last! The Terence Davies releases are a tad more comprehensive (but then, there’s a living director involved), but this is a world-class release of some great, forgotten films.
Jose Luis Guerin (Versus) – On the strength of an encounter with the wispy, evocative
In the City of Sylvia I took the plunge on this set and a couple of other Guerin DVDs. Lovely presentation, reasonably English-friendly apart from the lavish enclosed book and the extras disc (but most of what I was interested on there were Guerin’s own, generally wordless, shorts and fragments). Guerin is a superb, eclectic filmmaker, and if none of these works were quite up to
Sylvia’s standard (also available in an impeccable, English-friendly DVD), the set is a great illustration of how much more accessible contemporary international cinema has become in the DVD era. Ten or fifteen years ago, the chances of me seeing anything else by Guerin after that chance encounter were as good as nil. Now, I can soak up practically his entire filmography, plus lots of contextual marginalia, almost immediately. The silent feature
Some Photos in the City of Sylvia (and I mean silent, not dialogue-free) could be considered a glorified DVD extra on the wrong DVD, as it’s an outline of / commentary on its parent film composed almost entirely of still photos (sort of
In the City of Sylvia (
La Jetee demo mix)), but it’s a hell of an extra. By offering a ‘real,’ autobiographical version of the same situation as the feature, it sets up a troubling, teasing relationship between the two films, between fiction and documentary, and between filmmaker and character.
Tren de Sombras (Train of Shadows) wraps visually stunning material (shifting-light landscapes and still lives plus artfully distressed ‘found’ home movies from the twenties) around the vestige of a Ruizian puzzle (an amateur filmmaker who disappears during an excursion).
Innisfree is the second disc of a Criterion
Quiet Man release just waiting to happen (and fuck with the heads of red-blooded John Wayne fans everywhere).
Georges Melies (Flicker Alley) – An exhaustive, exhausting set, and an obvious labour of love. It’s something I have to dip in and out of, but it’s a film library cornerstone. A flabbergasting release. Flicker Alley were the epitome of the small-but-perfectly-formed DVD company this year.
L’Enfance-nue (MoC) – These Pialat releases are going to be some of MoC’s best work, a really major contribution to cinephilia for the English-speaking world. This is here rather than the similarly impeccable
Police because it’s one of the greatest debuts of all time, and has, if I’m not mistaken, never before been available on home video with subs.
Barravento (Versatil) – There were three Glauber Rocha discs issued this year, thus completing his Brazilian films in this invaluable series (hopefully we’ll get the exile films and the in-betweeny
Cancer in 2009). They’re all excellent, with copious to-the-point extras, everything carrying English subs, and the restorations are astonishing (most strikingly with the sharp, searing
Antonio das Mortes recovered from a patchwork quilt of generally awful, washed-out and incomplete prints). Actually, I need to give special acknowledgement to the restoration docs on each of these discs – some of the best I’ve ever seen, extremely thorough and engaging.
Barravento gets the particular nod here because the film was such a delightful surprise. Rocha’s first feature, and apparently a reluctantly inherited project, it starts out as picturesque neo-realism but evolves before your eyes into pure Glauber. The extras are exemplary, including over an hour of interviews with academics who illuminate the film from many of its facets (founding text of Cinema Novo, component of the multi-director Bahia trilogy, ethnographic record, political tract and so on).
L’Integrale Jacques Demy (Cine-Tamaris) – Pretty much complete, good transfers (unless I’ve missed some duds in my sampling), good, brisk supporting materials (without English subs, alas) and superb presentation. This set does everything it says on the box. France seems to be the country for authoritative career-spanning retrospective sets, and this is as essential as the Pialat and Yoshida sets that preceded it.
Honourable Mention (Let the Cheating Commence!):
The Lawrence Jordan Album (Facets) – Neither Jordan nor Broughton, the subject of Facets’ previous expansive retrospective, would be my first choice for this kind of treatment, but any attempts to present comprehensive multi-disc collections of the work of experimental filmmakers needs to be applauded and supported. And any Facets release that meets minimum professional standards of DVD production should also be acknowledged.
BFI 75 Mediamail set – I ordered the Amazon and Mediamail sets, despite some overlaps and double-ups, and Mediamail’s British films collection had the most delightful surprises in it, particularly in the compilations (RW Paul, Dickens, the Rail set), but also in some titles I was lukewarm about (
Caravaggio’s DoP’s commentary is somewhat sparing, but one of the best technical commentaries I’ve heard). And then there were the great discs I actually wanted, like Powell’s wonderful
Edge of the World, a superb presentation of a stunning film. Despite the gripes about losing booklets (most of which, on the basis of other BFI products of similar vintage, seem to me no great loss) and the flimsy packaging, I sort of love it, if only for the refreshing decision to redo the front covers of the slimpacks to remove all text. Those big, bare images look great.
Chikamatsu Monogatari (MoC) – For
Woman of the Rumour, which blew me away and changed my life.
Coeur fidele (Gaumont) – All but barebones, unsubbed edition, but what a film! (Actually, this is probably 2007)
Kings of the Road (Axiom) – Finally, great editions of Wenders’ great 70s films (i.e. the ones which Anchor Bay had managed to carefully avoid in their previous sets). There are a couple of young British labels that seem to be doing everything right. Soda Pictures also deserves a mention, and if I’d got around to getting
Honour of the Knights it might have made this list.
Satyajit Ray sets (Artificial Eye) – I realise that these transfers are not exactly Criterion quality, but in the time it’s taken Criterion to release approximately – um – no films by the biggest name director to emerge from India, Artificial Eye have released ten, including several essential ones, and when it’s a choice between availability and perfection, availability wins every time for me.
4 X Agnes Varda (Criterion) – An adorable set, one of the most lovingly assembled boxes yet from Criterion (though most of that love seems to have been going on despite their interest rather than because of it, with that
Integrale Varda set on the horizon). This is only relegated to an also-ran because it will presumably be rendered largely redundant by the main event from Cine-Tamaris next year.
The Ballad of Narayama (Animeigo) – A beautiful transfer of a great great film. When this was rumoured to be a Criterion title there was breathless anticipation. When it’s released by somebody else – crickets? Animeigo’s eccentric (but damned conscientious) subtitling practices are a small price to pay to see this film looking so good.
Jerzy Skolimowski (Polish Television) – This is a perfect illustration of my, to some no doubt skewed, priorities. This set features mediocre transfers (not Eclipse mediocre, VHS mediocre), poor subtitles, no extras, and a long series of unskippable, bombastic slugs before you get to the menu on each disc. So what does it have to recommend it? Those amazing films. The creepy, dreamlike
Barrier is a particular stunner, and immediately shot into my top 20 for the 1960s. A release for people who love films more than they love DVDs.
Tropical Malady (Second Run) - Because no self-respecting list should be without this essential label, and this is a superb edition of one of the century's greatest films. Wait a minute - was
The Round-Up 2008? Too late!
Mea culpas: I’ve been putting off investing in German Filmmuseum titles until the big Kluge box is released. Despite my eager anticipation of BFI’s Land of Promise and GPO sets, I haven’t got around to ordering them after that 75th anniversary blow-out. And conceivably the best mainstream American boxes of the year (Boetticher and Murnau / Borzage) are currently in transit.
Best releases of 2009?
Alexander Kluge Complete Works - Originally scheduled for last year, still due out in November last time I looked at the Filmmuseum site, but it ain't November no more - surely sometime soon!
Agnes Varda Complete Works
Michael B’s next production masterpiece
Treasures of American Film Archives Avant-Garde set
Kiju Yoshida remaining releases from Carlotta (roll on March!)