The Criterion Completionist on disc.
The Auteur Archivist on stream.
Somewhat clunky propaganda (redundant, yes), but Lang still made a very potent war-time thriller here. Has anyone ever figured out why movies typically portray male Nazis as effeminate and females as butch? It's such a common trope, I guess it's all just part of the propaganda machine at work. I really "enjoyed" the hell out of this. The story is simultaneously too pat and way too complicated towards the end. But it works, as a thriller, as a noir, as a flag-waver, as a horror movie. And that title is one for the ages and also prescient years before Nuremberg.
There's nothing to add that hasn't been said already.
It's as eye-opening as you've heard.
The footage is incredibly well-restored.
It's not nearly long enough.
Yoko is not the devil.
George needs a hug.
John is hilarious.
Ringo is zen incarnate.
Paul doesn't want to not be a Beatle.
Michael Linsday-Hogg is insufferable.
Glyn Johns needs to pick up the pace a bit.
Mal Evans would never have it better.
George Martin centers the universe.
Alan Parsons does his job.
Brian Epstein dying killed the Beatles.
Billy Preston saved the Beatles.
No one should eat that much toast.
We all needed this.
Call me a contrarian, but when I watch a fiction film (even when it's based on a true scenario), I want to watch actors. Filling your film with "real" people doesn't lend it an air of authenticity, it lends itself to self-consciousness and sing-songy line deliveries. So Frances McDormand comes across as inhabiting the pain and soul of a searching woman, David Strathairn as that of a man who knows he's missed too many opportunities. Everyone else hits their marks…