The Show:
Lord Peter Wimsey is novelist / translator / academic Dorothy Sayers’ most well-known creation. As literary legacies go, that’s not too bad. Subject of eleven novels, numerous short stories, and a stage play, Wimsey is the iconic posh English detective, using his affable and buffoonish upper class persona to disarm parlor maids and peers alike, worming his way to the truth with his underappreciated wit and insight. Detecting is just sort of a hobby, as he’s independently wealthy, and thus he is immune to bribery, and is often happy to dispense karmic rather than strictly legal justice.

After much urging from actor Ian Carmichael, who plays the eponymous detective, the BBC finally got around to producing television adaptations of five of the novels in the early seventies. Along with his faithful gentleman’s gentleman Bunter (played by Glyn Houston in four of the series, but by Derek Newark in The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club for some reason), Wimsey sallies forth into the upper crusts of British society to foil jewel thieves, poisoners, and drug runners. And there’s usually murder, or as good as, in the offing.

What sets Sayers apart from other mystery authors has always been her accomplished literary style. The tales she weaves are always pleasantly intricate (sometimes a bit too intricate, but I’ll touch on that later), and have plenty of human foibles, betrayals, bloody murders, etc. to please the mystery fans. But she’s interested in the fascinating characters as well, and not just as window dressing or a serving of oddity, but as real, relatable people. The BBC productions, surely to the great relief of her fans, do a fairly good job of hewing close to the original plots. Of course, it’s inevitable that some things will have to be added, or cut, or combined together. Four or five hours aren’t enough time to adequately convey a complex novel, and some things simply don’t translate. But these productions are remarkably faithful to their source material, in both story and spirit.

The Lord Peter Wimsey Mysteries Complete Collection includes on six discs all five television adaptations that Ian Carmichael starred in. Edward Petherbridge also portrayed Wimsey for the BBC in the eighties, adapting different books. The visual quality is what one would expect from a British TV drama of the period. The look of the interior scenes (shot on television cameras) and exterior scenes (shot on more mobile film cameras) are quite distinct, and both have suffered over the years. Washed out color, film scratches and dirt, and a slight fuzzy indistinctness are all present. If you’ve seen episodes of Dr. Who or other BBC shows from the seventies, you’ll know what to expect, and the low quality of the video doesn’t really detract from the enjoyment of the story.

Below is a list of the shows, with brief descriptions included with the discs:

Clouds of Witness
Death hits close to home when Lord Peter’s future brother-in-law is murdered. Complicating matters is the man who stands accused: Gerald Wimsey, Lord Peter’s brother.

The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club
When a member of the prominent Bellona Club dies on the same day as his sister, Lord Peter must determine who will inherit a sizeable fortune.

Murder Must Advertise
Lord Peter goes deep undercover at Pym’s Publicity to investigate the suspicious death of a young copywriter following his affair with a wealthy and indolent socialite.

Five Red Herrings
When the body of an unpopular artist is found in a stream, it’s up to Lord Peter to determine which of six suspects could have committed the crime.

The Nine Tailors
Stranded in a sleepy village after a car accident, Lord Peter quickly stumbles upon a decades-old case of stolen emeralds, unidentifiable corpses, and coded messages.

All of the shows are good, though some are better told than others. The Five Red Herrings particularly is incredibly complex, with at least a dozen speaking roles, and as the title implies, six suspects, five of which didn’t do the deed. A lot of the mystery relies on railway timetables and who could have caught which train when, and it’s a bit much to take in. The book shared this complexity, but it’s easier to get through when one can pause and read back through to figure out what’s going on. At the other extreme, The Nine Tailors is definitely the standout piece, with an intriguing series of puzzles, colorful characters (but not too many of them), and Wimsey on his finest form. Once again, none of the shows are really less than delightful, but some are more fully satisfying than others.

The British have a special flair for mystery stories, and Sayers has that flair to an even finer degree. By sticking close to her original intent, portraying Peter Wimsey as she wrote him, the BBC has provided a great service to mystery fans around the world, and managed to give us seventeen hours or so of ripping murder yarns. Highly recommended.

The DVD

Video:
The video is presented in 4:3 standard, and as stated above has some significant issues. However, the quality isn’t anything unexpected in British television fare of the period, and doesn’t detract from the experience. If you’re looking for sleek visuals and flawless video, you won’t find it here. But it’s not important.

Sound:
Audio is Dolby digital 2 channel, and does the job well but isn’t anything spectacular. The dialogue is always clearly audible, and there aren’t any great problems audible. English subtitles are included, but no alternate language tracks.

Extras:
The most significant extra is a fairly long interview with Ian Carmichael from 2000, which is split up in pieces across several of the discs. Carmichael talks about his vision for the Wimsey character, the long road to getting the series produced, doing stunts, his history in musical comedy, and lots of other topics. He’s incredibly engaging, and the interview is fun and informative. There are also text biographies of Carmichael and Sayers, and text production notes, which are really more interview material with Carmichael. There’s quite a lot of interesting material here.

Final Thoughts:
Peter Wimsey is an iconic character in British mystery stories, and Acorn has done a great job in packaging and presenting The Lord Peter Wimsey Mysteries, with Ian Carmichael as the eponymous detective. The tales are well paced, funny, exciting, and provide the intricate puzzles that mystery fans demand. This is good stuff, and conveniently all in one place.

Delightful comedy western romp. Warner Bros.’ Archive Collection line of hard-to-find library and cult titles has re-released A Big Hand for the Little Lady, the 1966 feature from Warner’s starring Henry Fonda, Joanne Woodward, Jason Robards, Charles Bickford, Burgess Meredith, Kevin McCarthy, Robert Middleton, Paul Ford, John Qualen, James Berwick, and Gerald Michenaud. With that cast of boisterous scene-stealers, A Big Hand for the Little Lady would probably have landed in the “plus” column no matter how it turned out in the end. Luckily, the witty, clever script from Sidney Carroll, and genial direction from Fielder Cook, help brand A Big Hand for the Little Lady as one of the more enjoyable Western comedies that still holds up to repeat viewings. No need to double dip here if you bought this either as a stand-alone or as part of Warner’s Leading Ladies Collection: Volume 2 set back in ’07: it’s the same great-looking disc here…with no extras.

Laredo, Texas. The territory’s richest undertaker, Benson Tropp (Charles Bickford), furiously whips his hearse team of horses as he picks up first lawyer Otto Habershaw (Kevin McCarthy) at the courthouse, and rancher Henry Drummond (Jason Robards). Never mind that Habershaw was just getting ready to give a final summation that would save his client’s life, or that Drummond was in the middle of marrying off his homely daughter: the men’s annual high-stakes poker game was waiting in Laredo and nothing was going to stop them from attending. Already waiting at the table is rancher Dennis Wilcox (Robert Middleton), and cattle broker Jesse Buford (John Qualen). With the whole town going wild to know how the game is progressing, the arrival of poor, henpecked would-be rancher Meredith (Henry Fonda), his beautiful, disapproving wife, Mary (Joanne Woodward), and their grave little boy, Jackie (Gerald Michenaud) almost goes unnoticed…until gambling-fever Meredith begs his wife to just watch the game. Habershaw, clearly taking a fancy to the serene, lovely Mary, allows Meredith to watch, but Meredith’s fever quickly takes over, and he manages to bet his family’s entire $4,000 stake on one remarkable hand. When spiteful, needling Drummond demands the tapped-out Meredith to either meet another raise or fold, Meredith suffers a heart attack and soon it’s up to Mary–who knows nothing about cards–to save the family fortune against the pack of heartless card sharks.

 A staple of afternoon movie shows when I was growing up, A Big Hand for the Little Lady, with its sly, funny storyline and snarky one-liners, was a welcome sight in the local TV guide (having previously been written and performed for the DuPont Show of the Week in 1962, with its reliance on close-ups unlike other 60s widescreen Westerns, it played just fine on commercial-interrupted TV). I don’t know how much of a success it was back in 1966 when it was released; no doubt it was green-lit after the success of Western spoof Cat Ballou and poker drama The Cincinnati Kid the year before, perhaps in the hopes of striking a hybrid hit. Bigger-scale Westerns from ’66, like Nevada Smith, The Professionals, Duel at Diablo, Alvarez Kelly, Texas Across the River, The Appaloosa, Return of the Seven, and The Rare Breed probably pulled in more coin (if not, then certainly more publicity ink). However, with the exception of The Professionals, I’d say A Big Hand for the Little Lady holds up better than the rest, its genre-tweaking smart-assedness mixing delightfully with an almost lyrical whimsy that’s quite unexpected in this particular subgenre.

 Now, you and I both know there’s a big surprise twist at the end of A Big Hand for the Little Lady, and no I’m not going to spoil it for anyone new to the movie by discussing it (which pretty much guts this review)…although anyone familiar with O. Henry shouldn’t have any trouble seeing where the movie is going. Everyone seems to focus on that twist, and it’s certainly artfully accomplished, as well as quite fun the first time you experience it. Already anticipating that climax, one can focus more intently on the performances, a task made easier by director Cook’s big, tight close-ups. Robards is certainly the showiest here, creating a querulous, nasty blowhard that’s hilarious in its absolute mean-spiritedness. Bickford, in his last big-screen appearance, uses his own reportedly real-life frosty demeanor to great effect as the woman-hating undertaker, while McCarthy is all smooth calculation, watching Woodward intently for signs of weakening under his stealth romantic manipulation. I’ve never been a big fan of Woodward (distant and too archly mechanical), but she’s perfectly cast here, as is Fonda, who shows sweaty, sickly grinning weakness that’s so different from his established screen persona. Not being able to discuss how the movie ends, I can say that once the twist is revealed, director Cook lingers past the surprise denouement, transforming the climax from one of bemused enjoyment at being tricked, to a wistful romanticism tinged with deep, deep cynicism that makes you wish the movie could have explored that angle more deeply.

The DVD:

The Video:
The anamorphically-enhanced, 1.85:1 widescreen color transfer for A Big Hand for the Little Lady looks terrific, with a super-sharp image, bright, clean color, and no imperfections.

The Audio:
The Dolby Digital English split mono track is clean, as well, with no hiss. English and French subtitles are included.

The Extras:
No extras for A Big Hand for the Little Lady.

Final Thoughts:
You can still enjoy this clever, nasty-tinged comedy caper if you already know the ending. The performances are perfectly pitched, the direction by Fielder Cook is tight and knowing, and the script is a curious, delightful mix of the mean and the wistful. I’m highly, highly recommending A Big Hand for the Little Lady.

Paul Mavis is an internationally published movie and television historian, a member of the Online Film Critics Society, and the author of The Espionage Filmography.

In 10 Words or Less
Inside the world of all-lady ’80s pro wrestling

Reviewer’s Bias*
Loves: Documentaries
Likes: Pro wrestling (when I was a kid), G.L.O.W. (when I was a kid)
Dislikes: My disturbing memories of G.L.O.W.
Hates: Pro wrestling (now)

The Show
When I was a kid, Saturday mornings were all about the Saturday morning cartoons on network TV. When they would do the prime-time fall cartoon previews, and you got to see all the new shows coming, it was like a second Christmas. But when the clock turned 12, I would flip over to WPIX on channel 11 and wrap up my morning with G.L.O.W, the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling. As a hardcore wrestling fan, this mid-day helping of grappling was like manna from heaven, but as a young boy, this gathering of over-the-top women wrestlers wielding weapons and aggressive attitudes was also a frightening proposition that seared itself into my boy brain, which had only just begun to appreciate the fairer sex.

Today, wrestling is more like a soap opera than the cartoonish battles of good and evil of yesteryear, which makes the comedy-heavy G.L.O.W. look even more unusual by comparison. A short-lived cultural phenomenon in the ’80s, the all-female wrestling promotion, headquartered in Las Vegas at the Riviera Casino, suddenly disappeared shortly after its peak, leaving a cast of media darlings without their livelihoods and a generation of fans with memories and questions about what happened. As with most such situations, the truth makes for a great story, and along comes Brett Whitcomb’s GLOW to tell that story, directly in the words of the women who made G.L.O.W. such a large, yet brief success.

Loaded with interviews with many of the series’ most popular wrestlers (credited on-screen only by their wrestling name) and archival footage from the show, the documentary does a fine job of establishing what G.L.O.W. was all about for the uninitiated, and refreshing the memories of the nostalgic fan, before diving into what exactly happened to the organization and where the women are today. With over 20 years having passed since the show left the air, only the biggest of fans will know even half of the stories shared here, including the origins of G.L.O.W., the strange housing arrangements for the girls and one of the more gruesome injuries ever in wrestling. That makes for an entertaining and enlightening experience for anyone approaching this documentary, no matter their level of familiarity with the subject matter. Of course, if you grew up watching these amazonians do battle, there’s the added joy of recapturing a touch of your childhood though the inclusion of so much old footage of matches and promos.

Though most of the history is lighthearted and told through the rose-tinted glasses of the ladies’ positive memories of being part of the promotion, things occasionally become a bit dark, especially when we visit with two of G.L.O.W.’s biggest stars (figuratively and literally), Mountain Fiji and Matilda the Hun. Two of the group’s largest ladies, their bodies have failed them over the years, and their participation in G.L.O.W. remains their proudest moment, which is both sad and uplifting, as despite their damaged bodies, they are both remembered fondly by the fans and their fellow wrestlers. This leads to a reunion that helps lend some emotional heft to a story about such a relatively silly subject. It’s a perfect tribute to such an ultimately meaningless endeavor, a very ’80s exploit, yet at the same time, something cherished by so many.

The DVD
The film arrives on a single DVD, which is packed in a standard keepcase with a nice double-sided cover featuring a photo of many of the wrestlers. The disc features a static, anamorphic widescreen menu with options to play the film, select scenes and check out the extras. There are no audio options and no subtitles.

The Quality
The new footage shot for the documentary looks pretty nice, with a good level of fine detail and appropriate color, while the archival clips, which were pretty much entirely shot on video, look like old TV, coming off as soft, full of noise and harsh color. That said, they probably could have looked worse based on their age. There are no notable issues with compression artifacts.

Delivered via a Dolby Digital 2.0 track, the audio here is fine, with nothing worth complaining about, though there’s nothing that will impress much either (though most documentaries don’t require anything more.) Everything is center-balanced, and there’s no competition between the music and dialogue, making for a solid presentation.

The Extras
The big extra is an audio commentary that runs nearly the length of the film, ending a few minutes early, with Billy Corgan and wrestlers Little Egypt, Matilda the Hun and Hollywood. If you don’t recognize that first name from the world of G.L.O.W., that’s because he’s actually the lead singer of The Smashing Pumpkins, one of the biggest alternative bands of the ’90s. He’s a big wrestling fan (a fact that blows my mind) and he serves as a great moderator for the track, asking good questions of the ladies, making notes of important bits of G.L.O.W. history and staying out of the way when he doesn’t have anything to add. The track is barely screen-specific, but there’s a lot of good discussion, so that’s not very important.

If you want to hear even more from the wrestlers, as well as a bit from the show’s director, Matt Cimber (who declined to be interviewed in the film,) check out the United Film Festival Q&A. It’s a bit chaotic, with over 20 wrestlers on-stage, so there’s some crosstalk, but there are also some tidbits that didn’t come out in the film (mostly because of Cimber’s non-involvement.)

The rest of the extras are made up of various featurettes and clips, which run a total of 84 minutes. They start with a pair of classic matches, with Big Bad Mama and MTV facing Zelda the Brain and Mountain Fiji (10:29) and Daisy versus Zelda the Brain (7:40). Though they both oddly feature the lesser-known Zelda, they are good examples of G.L.O.W., with all the smack talk, personalities, plot and cheesy commentary the show was known for. They also show just how low-budget the show really was. There’s even more old-school G.L.O.W. in a reel of skits (15:57) showing off the terribly corny, Hee-Haw-level jokes that populated the series (as well as the unusually thoughtful and/or topical bits by Zelda.) The one extra I couldn’t really watch spends almost seven minutes on the dislocation of Susie Spirit’s arm in the ring, which is replayed again and again to a sadistic degree. It’s really disturbing, and the commentary does not help matters.

The show’s heavy musical influence is explored via two music videos (one of which (4:34) features most of the good girls in swimsuits, while the other (3:55) spotlights the bad girls), the opening rap intros (1:44) and something called “Le Musical with Susie Spirit” (3:35) featuring the spunky wrestler performing two Ella Fitzgerald songs in the ring, “Let’s Fall in Love,” directed at a ref in the midst of a battle royale, and “S’wonderful,” which she performs while wrestling the Russian Ninotchka.

“Hollywood’s Closet” (4:02) is an extended scene from the film, as the wrestler shows some of the wrestling memorabilia and costumes in her collection, including old G.L.O.W. products, while “Babe’s New G.L.O.W.” (9:49) focuses on the former wrestler’s attempts to keep the brand alive and relaunch it for a new generation, out of a one-room office in her home. Between her operation (which includes what looks like a first-generation iMac) and the backyard wrestling school she uses to train new recruits, the whole thing feels a bit depressing, and out of tune with the rest of the movie. There’s more about Hollywood in “Hollywood Today” (10:24,) a look at her independent custom video business, where she creates wrestling videos for fans for a fee. Though some might thinks these are similar to porn, the only thing they really share is really bad acting.

Some additional interview footage wraps things up, with almost nine more minutes of wrestler Mando Guerrero, who trained the original G.L.O.W. wrestlers. His passion for wrestling and thoughts on his role in the franchise are interesting, but when he starts putting his wife in various holds to demonstrate some ideas, it’s just plain odd. In the remaining clips, Matilda the Hun (9:33) gets to talk a bit more about her pre-G.L.O.W. career, and Spike and Chainsaw (7:15) get to expand on their ridiculous in-ring weapons, including a real frickin’ chainsaw.

The Bottom Line
For fans of ’80s wrestling, this is an entertaining and informative trip down memory lane; a chance to see how the sausage was made, at an age when you can actually appreciate it. The mix of classic footage and fresh interviews with the participants hits all the right marks, the quality is very good and the pile of extras makes for a just-about perfect package. Some interest in wrestling certainly helps make it worth watching, but even just an interest in the culture of the ’80s is enough to make this one you’ll want to check out.

Francis Rizzo III is a native Long Islander, where he works in academia. In his spare time, he enjoys watching hockey, writing and spending time with his wife, daughter and puppy.Check out 1106 – A Moment in Fictional Time or his convention blog called Conning Fellow

*The Reviewer’s Bias section is an attempt to help readers use the review to its best effect. By knowing where the reviewer’s biases lie on the film’s subject matter, one can read the review with the right mindset.

Wonderfully atmospheric and wisely (and delicately) told from a child’s perspective, The Secret Garden (1949) was part of a long tradition of literary adaptations at MGM, but also seems to have been heavily influenced by director David Lean’s Charles Dickens adaptations, particularly the first third of Great Expectations (1946). Instead of a young Pip wandering the decaying estate of jilted bride Miss Havisham, in The Secret Garden it’s a young girl, similar to young Estella in Lean’s film, in the brooding country manor of an equally bitter widower.

Adapted from Frances Hodgson Burnett’s classic 1909 novel, previously filmed only once before, way back in 1919, the 1949 Secret Garden is a first-rate production that succeeds on just about every level, despite the incongruous mix of British and American onscreen talent.

A Warner Archive release, The Secret Garden utilizes a serviceable but unremarkable video transfer. A new high-def transfer would better serve the picture’s splendid cinematography, but based on this incarnation, one guesses an expensive restoration (and Blu-ray release) might be prohibitively expensive. A trailer that gives away one of the film’s big surprises is also included.

The story opens in India, where Mary Lennox (Margaret O’Brien, then about 11 years old), the daughter of wealthy British parents, is orphaned following a cholera epidemic. She is sent to England to live with her reclusive, widower uncle, Archibald Craven (Herbert Marshall), an embittered alcoholic following the death of his beloved wife a decade before. He has little use for his niece, leaving her in the care of the same household staff that maintains his vast but gloomy estate.

Gradually she befriends Dickon (Brian Roper), the young brother of Yorkshire housemaid Martha (Elsa Lanchester); and Colin (Dean Stockwell), Craven’s crippled, chronically bed-ridden son. Dickon tells Mary of a secret garden on the grounds, hidden behind high, vine-covered stone walls and accessible only through a hidden door. When Dickon’s pet raven discovers the key to the door buried nearby, Mary and Dickon enter and immediately decide to restore the garden to its original state.

As with the first part of Lean’s Great Expectations, The Secret Garden demonstrates great sensitivity and subtlety in conveying the emotions, psychology, and perspective of childhood. When, for instance, Mary meets her foreboding uncle for the first time, it’s from her point-of-view, a subjective camera angle. When the servants laugh at haughty Mary’s tempestuousness, their over-emphatic laughter appears to be a deliberate choice by director Fred M. Wilcox (Forbidden Planet), an expression of her distorted view of them (and of her self-loathing).

Apparently in Burnett’s novel Mary is supposed to be rather homely, so much so that her parents, ashamed of her appearance, kept her hidden from visitors in the novel’s backstory. Abrasive housekeeper Mrs. Medlock (Gladys Cooper) remarks on Mary’s homeliness, while her uncle expresses disappointment that she isn’t beautiful, as he’d hoped. All this comes off rather strange, as child star O’Brien is ordinary at worst and certainly anything but homely. Nevertheless, in the story it’s this likeminded parental shame, or at least the perception of it, that binds Mary and Colin, so perhaps the filmmakers felt it necessary to retain this story element, despite O’Brien’s appearance.

Conversely, in the story a kindly, perceptive doctor (George Zucco) correctly diagnoses Craven as having essentially transferred his own longing to die to his morbidly fatalistic son, who’s convinced himself he’s a helpless cripple. This results in a poignancy lost to all but film buffs aware that Marshall himself lost a leg during World War I and essentially faked a smooth stride throughout his long movie career. Thus, when the uncle watches as his son, in heavy braces, struggle out of his wheelchair, trying to walk, the tears in Marshall’s eyes appear genuine. Further adding to the poignancy is a Zucco’s long scene with Marshall, where they discuss physical versus psychological infirmities. Zucco, also during the war, lost most of the use of his severely scarred right arm, which looks almost withered onscreen. Zucco, a perennial mad scientist in second features, is cast against type here giving what may be the subtlest, most touching performance of his entire career.

Of the three child leads, Brian Roper, an authentic Yorkshirite, comes off best, but Dean Stockwell, near the beginning of his 65-plus-year career, and O’Brien, in her last MGM film, are all excellent.

Also noteworthy is Bronslau Kaper’s (Them!, the Brando Mutiny on the Bounty) moodily effective musical score.

Video & Audio

The image quality of the full-frame, black-and-white The Secret Garden is a bit soft. Not bad, but other MGM titles on DVD from this period have looked significantly better. The movie itself (but not the advertising or the DVD packaging) offers a bit of a surprise (mild spoilers): Scenes in the restored garden are presented in three-strip Technicolor, which isn’t credited until the end credits, meaning that in 1949 this would have caught many viewers off-guard. When first revealed this is extremely effective, though again the DVD disappoints as the color here is muddy and its matrixes out of alignment some of the time. The Dolby Digital mono audio (English only, no subtitles) is acceptable.

Extra Features

The lone extra is an original trailer, hosted by Paul Jordan-Smith, literary editor of the Los Angeles Times, and who plays up the studio’s long association with classical literature and bestsellers.

Parting Thoughts

A classic children’s film that deserves to be better remembered than it is, The Secret Garden is Highly Recommended, despite its rather unimpressive transfer.

Stuart Galbraith IV is a Kyoto-based film historian whose work includes film history books, DVD and Blu-ray audio commentaries and special features. Visit Stuart’s Cine Blogarama here.

Director: Eric Schaeffer
Starring: Eric Schaeffer, Lizzie Brochere
Year: 2011

I’m always wary when I come across a movie that is written, directed, produced, and starring the same person. I mean, how can you have time and energy enough to put that much of yourself into a film And giving all of that, how can you have anything left in the tank to edit, censor, critique, judge, or just enjoy It’s just not a great idea to make one film the definition of your life; it’s almost guaranteed to fall short of its expectations. And such is the case with After Fall, Winter, which, furthermore, is a sequel to the equally self-indulgent film Fall. It’s obvious that Schaffer put his all into this movie, and he deserves some applause for not holding back. But in doing so, the film became completely about him while totally ignoring his audience. So, while he might love his movie, it’s hard to imagine that anyone else will.

The Movie

The story is centered around the life of Michael. Living in New York City and slowly slipping into a deep depression, he struggles just to keep his head above water. Michael is a writer, and although his last novel was very successful, no publishers will pick up his new manuscript. Going further and further into horrible debt, he sells his apartment, moves into a slum, and attempts to figure out what to do next. Luckily for Michael, a friend unexpectedly lends a helping hand, offering him a place to stay, for free, in Paris and a chance to regroup, refocus, and get his life back on track. Not knowing what else to do and still keeping up some hope that his new book will take off, he moves to France and thus begins a new chapter of his life.

Although not speaking the language and also not knowing many of the customs, Michael attempts to explore and understand his new home. Right away he meets a woman, a stunningly beautiful Parisian named Sophie who he can’t stop thinking of. And even though she wants nothing to do with this arrogant American, he refuses to give up and the two very slowly get to know each other. However, they are both keeping similar secrets that threaten to destroy their budding relationship; Michael is a masochist, desiring to be punished, humiliated, and beaten by a dominant woman, and Sophie is a dominatrix, torturing men who pay her for this pleasure. And while neither want this practice to enter their actual love life, both are haunted by the choices that they have made and by the lies that constantly hang over their chance at happiness.

It’s hard to decide where to start when pointing out the problems with this film. As I mentioned before, Schaeffer took on way too much and then couldn’t deliver great quality in any facet. His directing was heavy-handed, his writing (especially the dialogue) was juvenile, and although his acting was perhaps the best part of the film, it was still not wonderful. There was a sense that if he had just focused on one aspect he could have done it very well and professionally. But, sadly, he didn’t and so the movie became unfocused as well. Conversations dragged on much too long and were never believable, side stories kept getting in the way while not adding much depth, and the background music was repetitive, distracting, and generally annoying. Technically speaking, Schaeffer is definitely no Scorsese.

And putting all that aside, the plot had issues of its own, the most major being that I never once believed that Michael and Sophie were in love. Any passion they showed felt forced and the sex between them was strange at best. In a film filled with intriguing taboo practices I was surprised to not feel much of anything at all except bored. I was never rooting for the couple to make it, I never cared whether they found happiness or not, and it never mattered to me that they were sado-masochists who’s souls could never be filled with anything meaningful. And that, I guess, was the problem that I had with the story; I just didn’t care enough. I was never invested in or made to feel passionate for the main characters, and that’s not good.

Now, it wasn’t all bad. There were some redeeming characteristics that kept me watching and semi-interested. Schaeffer himself created a very interesting character in Michael, someone who was so full of pain inside that he desired a woman to give him physical pain and to tell him that he was exactly as horrible as he felt he must be. And Michael’s relationship with Sophie was interesting, as it created a sort of role reversal, with him needing to be loved and wanting to talk through every feeling, while she desired space and had trouble opening up. But these positives just weren’t enough to overwhelm what became a very dreary and depressing film; one that never captured me as an audience member and just left me feeling empty.

The DVD

Video: With an aspect ratio of 1.85:1, the video was HD quality. The shots were crisp, clear, and in high contrast. Although there was no action and the picture wasn’t called upon to be wonderful very often, there was still a high standard in all scenes.

Audio: There are zero sound options with this film. No language selection, no audio choices, and no subtitles; the DVD was produced in stereo. Music and sound play a very minimal role in the movie, as dialogue is the key to the plot and action.

Extras: There are almost no extras to be had on this DVD. However, there are two trailers for the film on the disc, one theatrical and one unrated. Also, there are two trailers for Horizon films; They’re Out of the Business and Modus Operandi.

Final Thoughts

Skip it. Although this film is both disturbing and thought-provoking, I can’t recommend watching it. It’s just too depressing, too overdone, and too much. Yes, there are positives, but the negatives overwhelm them and make After Fall, Winter interesting yet dismissible. The video quality was high, the audio quality low, and the extras unremarkable. All in all, not an impressive movie.

Olie Coen
111 Archer Avenue
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