Here are the highlights (and the deep cuts) from the Criterion Collection’s "B" section. Spine #209: Beauty and the Beast (1946) Before Disney, there was Cocteau. This is not a children’s film; it’s a surrealist poem about loneliness. The living candelabras are creepy, the beast is heartbreaking, and the final shot of Jean Marais flying through the starry sky is pure magic. If you own only one French fantasy film, make it this one.
Antonioni leaves Italy for Swinging London. A fashion photographer (David Hemmings) thinks he’s photographed a murder. Or did he? This is the film that invented the "blow-up-the-photo" trope, but it’s less a thriller than a meditation on the impossibility of truth. Plus: The Yardbirds with a young Jimmy Page smashing his guitar. The Criterion Collection - B
In the Criterion universe, “B” is a heavyweight. It contains the Bergmans, the Bressons, and the Bunuels. But more interestingly, it contains the other B’s: the blockbusters that got arthouse respect ( Being John Malkovich ), the noirs that cut like glass ( Blast of Silence ), and the one David Lynch film that makes Eraserhead look like a Disney ride ( Blue Velvet ). Here are the highlights (and the deep cuts)
Terry Gilliam’s masterpiece of bureaucratic dystopia. It’s the only film in the collection that feels like a Kafka novel rewritten by Monty Python. The Criterion laserdisc (and subsequent DVD/Blu) set the gold standard for supplemental features—including the infamous "Love Conquers All" studio cut, which you should watch only to feel genuine rage. The Weird, Wild, and Wonderful Spine #724: The Big Chill (1983) The ultimate "baby boomer navel-gaze" film, and I mean that as a compliment. Lawrence Kasdan assembles a murderers’ row of actors (Hurt, Close, Goldblum, Kline) to ask a simple question: What happened to the revolution? The soundtrack (You can’t always get what you want) does half the emotional labor, but the look on Kevin Kline’s face at the end does the rest. The living candelabras are creepy, the beast is