Lone Wolf and Cub: Original Films (1972-74)

Lone Wolf and Cub: Original Films (1972-74)

Dirs. Kenji Misumi [Films 1,2,3,5] / Buichi Saitô [Film 4] / Yoshiyuki Kuroda [Film 6]

Sometimes referred to as the 'Baby Cart' series, the six Lone Wolf and Cub films tell the story of a skilled ronin-for-hire named Ōgami Ittō, played by Tomisaburo Wakayama. When not dishing out vicious and bloody samurai action to the people that deserve it, Ittō wheels his young son Daigoro (Akihiro Tomikawa) from place to place in an iconic wooden baby cart.

Characterised by extreme violence, minimal dialogue, and highly stylised framing that closely resembles the manga they're based on, the films have a well-deserved place in Chanbara history.

The three-disc Criterion collection (pictured) contains the six original films on Blu-ray, restored at 2K from the OCNs. [1]

Discs 01 and 02 have three films apiece, while Disc 03 contains bonus features. Thoughts on each individual film can be found below the cut. Disc 03 also contains the English language dubbed Shogun Assassin (1980), which I'll cover at the end, for completeness sake. [2]

The Wicker Man: Music (1973/1998/2002)

The Wicker Man (1973/1998/2002)

Composed, arranged and recorded by Paul Giovanni and Magnet

The OST contains film score and songs written for the film, some of which are sung by the cast. That may sound like a bad idea, but if you've experienced the film, then you'll maybe agree they deserve inclusion. It was written in 1973, released in 1998 and re-released with superior sound in 2002 but with less tracks and minor changes elsewhere. Still, it's the better option if all you want are the songs in the best quality.

Musically it's dark and beautiful pagan folk that'll either lull or repulse you, but one word of warning: key tracks contain samples of spoiler dialogue, so it's best if you watch the film first.

The Wicker Man: Film (1973)

The Wicker Man (1973)

Dir. Robin Hardy

Police Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward) travels alone to a remote Scottish island to investigate the disappearance of a young girl, but the local villagers hinder his efforts at every turn.

Undeterred, the single-minded officer digs deeper and discovers things that shock and offend him, both on a literal and spiritual level.

The Wicker Man has singing, dancing, and Christopher Lee in a wig and summer dress. I'm sincere when I say it's perhaps the most unique British film ever made (certainly that I've ever seen, at least) and is arguably both Christopher Lee's and Edward Woodward's finest moment. Both men had a CV filled with superb work, many times over, so it's high praise indeed.

It's been described as "The Citizen Kane of Horror Movies," and while that means absolutely nothing in real terms (I don’t even consider it a horror film) it's undeniably atypical and for that alone deserves to be applauded, even if you hate it.

Doctor Who: The Three Doctors (1972-73)

Doctor Who: The Three Doctors (1972-73)

Dir. Lennie Mayne | 4 episodes, approx 25 mins each.

I don't plan to do all of the Classic Era Doctor Who serials — partly because I don't own them all, and partly because there's too damn many, even if I was lucky enough to have the full set — but I'll do some of the more notable ones, which should mean I can feature each of the seven actors at least once.

The Three Doctors, as the name implies, gets me three of them in one post. It's technically a Third Doctor (Jon Pertwee) serial celebrating DW's tenth anniversary, but it has the First (William Hartnell) and Second Doctor (Patrick Troughton), too.

First Broadcast in weekly intervals from 30th December 1972 to 20th January 1973, it was the first story in Pertwee's fourth season and is a significant serial for a number of reasons.

In addition to being the first televised adventure to feature multiple versions of the titular Time Lord, it was, sadly, Hartnell's last time playing the role - he died two years later, aged 67.

Idaho Transfer (1973)

Idaho Transfer (1973)

Dir. Peter Fonda

Because it's my favourite genre, I've watched hundreds of science fiction films and TV Series in my lifetime — everything from Méliès to modern trash; from love songs to the genre made on a shoestring budget to Hollywood excesses that cost stupid amounts of money — but never one quite like Idaho Transfer before, which makes it even more interesting to me than it might be otherwise.

It's an arty, minimalist production that's both peaceful and oddly unsettling. Even though they're in very different genres, it's reminiscent of Easy Rider (1969) at times in its editing and in how it presents an important worldview in an understated but engaging manner. It even has something that reminds of the former's cemetery scene.

The plot involves an unnamed future cataclysm that destroys life on earth; all life or just some of it, we don't know. A chosen group of under-twenties travel fifty-six years into their own future to avoid the end. Free of government and societal pressures they have an opportunity to start civilisation over again, hopefully for the better.

As far as I know, at time of writing it isn't available to purchase or stream in any kind of HD format. The market for it is probably just too small. But it was shot on 35 mm, so there's hope.

Godzilla: Shōwa Era Films (1954-74)

01. Godzilla (1954) 

Dir. Ishirō Honda

NOTE: for simplicity's sake I've used English language titles for each of my Godzilla reviews, but it's always the original Japanese language versions of the films that I refer to.

The monstrous growl that's heard over the film's opening credits foreshadows what's to come, which can be summed up as the Japanese people facing a monstrous terror that the rest of the world has never seen. It begins at sea and then moves inland.

The creature responsible for the inhuman roar — the monarch of kaijū eiga — is a force to be reckoned with, for sure, and is more than just an excuse to have a guy in a rubber suit trash tiny models. You don't need to be a history scholar to pick out the many wartime parallels: nuclear weapons testing in the Pacific, irradiated wells, air raid sirens, and footfalls that sound like distant bombs impacting and exploding are all highlighted.

Crash (1973)

Crash (1973)

Author:  J.G. Ballard | Page Count: 185

"The intimate time and space of a single human being had been fossilized for ever in this web of chromium knives and frosted glass."

Crash is a subversive novel about a film-maker named James Ballard (the same as the author) who meets a deviant named Robert Vaughan. The longer Ballard spends in Vaughan's company the more influenced by him he becomes. He's soon happily entwined in a secret world of car crashes and illicit sex, and as a result his own sexual ideals begin to change dramatically.

Robert Vaughan is a character seen previously in The Atrocity Exhibition (1970). He was a perverted weirdo there and he's much the same here. He surrounds himself with like-minded individuals, the reasons for which will become clear the more of the book you read.

F for Fake (1973)

F for Fake (1973)

Dir. Orson Welles / François Reichenbach, Oja Kodar, and Gary Graver (uncredited)

In Orson's own words, it's a "film about trickery," which is something that's explored in both the subject matter and through the medium via which it's presented.

Part documentary, part biopic, and part essay on the nature of what's real and what's fake, the film twists viewer perceptions while remaining wholly faithful to its own agenda, whatever that may be at any given time.

Its carefully constructed randomness is anything but. Hiding insight inside of hindsight, at times it's as frustrating as it is revealing, but about what exactly is something that's very much open to debate. Ultimately, it's a work made and narrated by Orson, but might be more about him than anyone else featured in it, real or constructed.

NOTE: depending where you look, or which edition you prefer to own, it's variously listed as having been released either in 1973, '74, or '75. The earliest screening date I can find is 1973 (San Sebastián Film Festival), so I went with that.

Planet of the Apes: The Original Films (1968-73)

01. Planet of the Apes (1968)

Dir. Franklin J. Schaffner

The original Apes movie that started the hairy ball rolling is the best of the lot.

Charlton Heston is our guide. He's Taylor, the everyman; albeit an everyman who can pilot a spaceship, has a cynical disposition, a will of iron and some well-groomed chest hair.

He and three other crew members are testing a scientific theory about time dilation aboard a US space shuttle. But something goes wrong, and they crash-land on the titular planet.

The story, based on Pierre Boulle's novel La Planète des Singes (1963), isn't just sharp social commentary (including powerful observations on such topics as the crippling consequences of having a government that places science and religion in the same bed, and the murky moral waters that too much pride can place a people in), it's also cold, hard science fiction that holds a mirror up to modern life, showing self-evident truths that, despite having been made in the late 60s, are still a part of how we live today.

HAMMER: Dracula Films (1958-74)

Dracula (1958)

aka Horror of Dracula (in the US)

Dir. Terence Fisher

It took huge liberties with Bram Stoker's original story, but otherwise Hammer's first flirtation with the Dracula figure is the best vampire film they ever made.

The elaborate sets are beautifully lit. The creeping strings and timely crashing cymbals of James Bernard's score lift everything from routinely dramatic to legendary heights.

What gets the most attention, deservedly so, is the addition of Christopher Lee in the lead role and Peter Cushing as his nemesis, the pursuant Dr. Abraham Van Helsing. Pitting those two against each other is like having mountains collide amid a thunderstorm.

The ending is the most memorable of any vampire film I've ever seen.

Lady Snowblood: Films (1973-74)

Lady Snowblood: Blizzard from the Netherworld (1973)

Dir. Toshiya Fujita

Yuki Kashima was conceived without love and birthed for one reason: to be an instrument of posthumous vengeance for her mother.

The film is a clash of styles that merge together to create something unique and freeform. When it works, it’s a breathtaking example of Japanese B-movie vengeance cinema that's overly bloody and shamelessly violent. It knows what viewers want and it delivers it coloured blood-red.

It has much in common with the Lone Wolf and Cub films; it lacks the finesse of that series but Yuki cares little for finesse.