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“Bottoms” * (2023, Kino Lorber) Tired of being what their high school principal describes as “the unpopular gays,” friends Rachel Sennott and Ayo Edibiri decide that the best way to improve their social standing and, more importantly, bed their cheerleader crushes (Havana Rose Liu and Kaia Gerber) is to start a fight club disguised as a women’s self defense class. To say that things go awry for the pair oversimplifies this bitingly smart feature from director Emma Seligman (who also co-wrote with Sennott) which plays as an absurdist take on teen sex comedies, queer coming-of-age dramas, and high school horror stories; the final effect suggests “Heathers” without the self-impressed streak, the horniest lost episode of “Freaks and Geeks,” or a slightly more stable “Strangers with Candy.” With NFL great Marshawn Lynch, very funny as the fight club’s fed-up sponsor; Kino’s Blu-ray has two commentary tracks, one with Seligman and the other with the main cast, as well as deleted scenes, outtakes, and a making-of featurette.
“Tunnel Vision” * (1976, MVD Classics) In the censorship-free future world of 1985, the president (Firesign Theater alum Phil Proctor) of the popular “no-bullshit” TV network Tunnel Vision is brought before a congressional committee (led by Howard Hesseman) to defend his company against charges that it has upended the national economy by making people quit their jobs in order to watch its programming. Examples of its lineup are presented as evidence, including news, commercials, series, and specials; if you’ve seen “Kentucky Fried Movie,” “The Groove Tube,” and other ’70s and ’80s sketch comedy films that spoof popular entertainment, you have a idea of Neal Israel and Bradley Swirnoff’s film as well, and like those efforts, it lampoons our base interests while also indulging in them. The hit-to-miss ratio of the material is also on par with the previously mentioned efforts (toilet gags and stereotypes abound), though there’s nothing as inspired as “A Fistful of Yen” from “Kentucky Fried Movie.” Still, some bits stand out, most notably the game “Remember When,” with Joe Flaherty and Betty Thomas as contestants who must recall embarrassing personal information or receive electric shocks, or “Get Head!” with John Candy as a cop whose partner (Roger Prince) is a disembodied head in a paper bag. Much of the pleasure of “Tunnel Vision” comes from ID’ing its cast, which includes Laraine Newman, Chevy Chase, Lynn Marie Stewart, Al Franken and Tom Davis, and Bill Saluga; “Naked Gun” writer Pat Proft, actor William Schallert, Oscar-nominated editor Dody Dorn, producer Danielle von Zerneck, and legendary voice-over talents Ernie (father of Paul Thomas) Anderson, Danny Dark, Tim McIntire, and Dick Tufeld also appear. MVD’s Blu-ray includes detailed commentary by Marc Edward Heuck, an interview with Israel (who discusses what sketches wouldn’t fly for modern audiences – hint: most of them), glimpses of the continuity script, and various promotional material.
“Themroc” * (1973, Radiance Films) Brutish French laborer Michel Piccoli, saddled with a thankless job, a boundless libido, and a troubling home life (aggravating mother, clothing-averse sister), finally snaps and reverts to a Neanderthal state, rendering his home into a cave and disposing of his belongings, which to the dismay of authorities, spurs his neighbors to follow suit. French arthouse title from Claude Faraldo unspools with no dialogue, only grunts and screams, and seems to posit the argument that total freedom and rejection of societal norms – the sort espoused by the then-still thriving counterculture – requires one to embrace every animalistic urge, which eventually includes aggressive (and transgressive) sex and cannibalism. Faraldo’s point seems to be satirical (and given the current political scene, the idea of chucking it all and going ape has its appeal), and Piccoli gives a (literally) full-throated performance as the modern primitive, but “Themroc’s” sexual politics are noxious regardless of intent and become wearying long before the grisly conclusion. Radiance’s all-region Blu-ray includes commentary by critic David Thompson, vintage interviews with Piccoli and Faraldo, a visual essay on Piccoli’s career, and intriguing liner notes by Alison Smith.
“Entertaining Mr. Sloane” * (1970, Severin Films) The first red flag for lonely, middle-aged Kath (Beryl Reid) should have been finding handsome young Mr. Sloane (Peter McEnerny) working out, shirtless, in a graveyard. But this dose of eros and thanatos instead spurs her to bring Sloane home, where she vies for his attention with staid brother Harry Andrews (who pilots a colossal Pontiac Parisienne allegedly owned in real life by Mickey Finn and Syd Barrett), while homophobic dad Alan Webb has his doubts. Lively adaptation of Joe Orton’s once-controversial stage play by Douglas Hickox (“Theatre of Blood”) probably won’t raise eyebrows with its content (more adult material plays today on TV) as it did in 1963, but his tart dialogue and characters’ malevolent moral compasses retain their bite. Title song by Georgie Fame; Severin’s Blu-ray features a 2K remaster taken from the original camera negative, as well as commentary by Nathaniel Thompson and Dr. Emma Parker (who discuss the differences between film and play and the British one-sheet, which suggests a much more heteronormative story), a featurette on actors who have played Sloane (including interviews with Malcolm McDowell and Maxwell Caulfield), the costumes, and Reid’s career, a visit to the locations, and vintage interviews with McEnerny, Orton biographer John Lahr, and Orton’s sister.
“In My Skin” * (2002, Severin Films) Esther (writer/director Marina de Van) is so locked into the stressful regimen of her dull life — demanding job, well-meaning boyfriend (Laurent Lucas) — that she fails to notice a serious injury to her leg, which sets her on a spiral of self-obsession and ever-increasing self-destruction, albeit one that also seems to revive her spirit rather than demolish it. Grisly French drama does not shy away from showing the horrific toll of Esther’s self-mutilation; it is far more cagey in detailing exactly what she hopes to get from it, and as such, may prove slightly frustrating for viewers, though as both a metaphor for the dehumanizing elements of modern life and the snake-eating-its-tail quality of self-harm, it lands a painful blow. Severin’s 4K/Blu-ray release includes seven hours of extras, including commentary tracks by de Van and critic Justine Smith, video essays by Dr. Alexandra Heller-Nicholas and author Barbara Creed, two short students films by de Van and two others by directors Lea Mysius and Priscilla Galvez that address similar themes, and an episode of the “Faculty of Horror” podcast about “In My Skin.”
