* indicates that this title is also available to rent, stream, or purchase on various platforms. Please note that streaming options may differ from these home video presentations in terms of visuals, supplemental features, etc.
“The Long Kiss Goodnight” * (1996, Arrow Video) Deeply silly but action-packed thriller with Geena Davis as a suburban mom who discovers that amnesia has blocked her secret past as a government assassin. Davis and Samuel L. Jackson (in sidekick/incredulous reaction mode) do all the heavy lifting for Shane Black’s script, which is needlessly convoluted but wisely loaded with his signature smart-funny quips, and covers its tracks with a wealth of action setpieces, all precisely orchestrated for maximum boom potential by Davis’s then-husband, Renny Harlin. Solid support from Brian Cox and Craig Bierko figures into the mix; despite its absurdities, “Goodnight” has a cult following, which should be pleased with Arrow’s Limited Edition 4K UHD/Blu-ray presentation. It includes two new commentary tracks, interviews with stunt coordinator Steve Davidson, makeup artist Gordon Smith, and actress Yvonne Zima, who played Davis’s daughter, and multiple video essays, many focusing on the film’s status as a female-led action pic, as well as vintage interviews and making-of featurettes.
“AUM: The Cult at the End of the World” * (2023, Greenwich Entertainment) Unnerving documentary about Aum Shinrikyo, the doomsday cult responsible for a 1995 gas attack that killed 13 people in Japan. Directors Ben Braun and Chiaki Yangimoto eschew the gory details that fuel many Netflix doc series in favor of a forensic examination of the economic and sociological factors that allowed Aum’s leader — a failed yoga teacher named Shoko Asahara — to amass not only adherents to his cause but also the funds to purchase weapons from Russia and build a chemical lab that produced the gas. Media attention, which initially painted Asahara as a harmless kook, helped spread the word (sound familiar?), and a disorganized response from law enforcement didn’t help; “AUM” does well at making these points but is less successful in stitching them into a cohesive, overarching portrait. It also drops the ball on an interview with Aum survivor and spokesperson Fumihiro Joyu, who now oversees the current incarnation of the cult. Joyu goes unquestioned when he signs off, without remorse, on Aum’s hideous history; it’s a huge miss that undermines the doc’s otherwise capable work. Available via streaming on various platforms and in limited theatrical release.
“Blue Sunshine” (1977, Synapse Films) Now that a car salesman has decided that science and health have no place in the new world order, perhaps we can look forward to nightmare scenarios like “Blue Sunshine” in our not-too-distant future. The title of writer-director Jeff (“Squirm”) Lieberman’s cult thriller refers to a strain of Aquarius-era bathtub LSD which causes users to turn homicidal (and bald) a decade later. The rash of killings is pinned on twitchy Zalman King, who tries to prove that a former dealer turned congressional candidate (Mark Goddard from “Lost in Space”!) brewed the bad batch. Though its grindhouse pedigree is evident in the threadbare budget, “Blue Sunshine” evades the subgenre’s surly bonds with above-average performances (by, among others, Robert Walden and Deborah Winters), some genuinely shocking violence, and a smart script which connects the numbers between post-’60s disillusionment, ’70s complacency, and government-fueled paranoia, all neatly summed up in the twin poles of King (ex-hippie turned social justice warrior who can’t get a job) and Goddard (ex-hippie turned proto-Reaganite; with his checkered past and campaign trail bluster, he’d have no problem finding a Cabinet position today). Synapse’s new three-disc Limited Edition 4K UHD set includes a 4K restoration of the film on both UHD and Blu-ray; the literate and engaging Lieberman is featured on two commentary tracks, as well as archival interviews and panel discussions on “Blue Sunshine” and even liner notes; his 1972 short “The Ringer,” a go-for-broke satire of craven advertising and mass consumption, is also included, as are two vintage anti-drug films, the astonishing “LSD-25” and “LSD: Insight or Insanity?” which peddle the same misinformation spoofed in “The Ringer.” Promotional stills, trailers, a fold-out poster, and a CD of Charles Bernstein’s unnerving score round out the set.
“Dinner with Leatherface” (2024, Anchor Bay Entertainment) Affectionate documentary tribute to actor Gunnar Hansen, who remained largely anonymous as the character he played – the cannibal Leatherface in the original “Texas Chain Saw Massacre” – became part of the greater pop culture lexicon. By all accounts, Hansen was nothing like his on-screen persona: When not appearing in horror films, he was a scholar and writer/poet, and his kindly nature is paid homage by members of the original “Chain Saw” cast and crew (as well as several actors who played Leatherface in sequels) and figures from the horror/cult movie community, including Bruce Campbell and Barbara Crampton. Their comments help director Michael Kallio, who co-starred with Hansen in the 2002 indie “Hatred of a Minute,” overcome the occasional lack of technical polish with an abundance of palpable warmth for the film’s subject, which should appeal to both diehard and novice horror fans. Anchor Bay’s Blu-ray includes commentary by Kallio and editor Josh Wagner and extended and deleted interviews.
“Art For Everybody” (2023, Tremolo Productions) Documentary look at Thomas Kinkade, whose highly sentimental paintings of an imagined folksy America won favor in middle class and especially religious circles during the 1990s while also earning brickbats from the art scene. That disconnect was part of Kinkade’s appeal — his popularity allowed access to a highbrow world that was aggressively off-limits for those outside of certain cultural and financial demographics — as was his apparent embrace of Christian iconography in his work. That the real Kinkade was neither middle-brow nor squeaky-clean was a uncomfortable revelation for his fans (who were no doubt horrified by his death from overdose in 2012); editor-turned-director Miranda Yousef personalizes the schism between public and private Kinkade by framing her documentary around his daughters, who discovered a hidden cache of art that suggested their father’s real interest lay outside his homogenous, homespun subjects. Given that its subject is unavailable to weigh in, “Art” remains speculative and somewhat open-ended, but the personal angle and crumbs of detail left by Kinkade hold interest throughout. In limited theatrical release.
