Criterion Closet

#1118 – The Last Waltz

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This film should be played loud!

On Thanksgiving Day, in 1976, The Band took the stage for the last time together. After 16 years of nearly constant touring as backing band for Ronnie Hawkins and Bob Dylan, as well as their own group, Robbie Robertson, Levon Helm, Rick Danko, Garth Hudson, and Richard Manuel decided to hang it up. Well, Robbie Robertson decided to hang it up, and the rest of The Band had to go along with it. In order to go out with a bang, they decided to perform at the venue of their first show as The Band in 1969: the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco, and invited a gaggle of friends and influences to join the show, including Ronnie Hawkins, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Van Morrison, Ringo Starr, Neil Young, Neil Diamond, Emmylou Harris, Muddy Waters, the Staple Singers, Joni Mitchell, Paul Butterfield, and Dr. John, and called in Martin Scorsese to film it all.

The Last Waltz acts as both a concert film, capturing this momentous event in its raw, unfiltered glory, and a music documentary, chronicling their history and where they are at the end of the road through interviews with members of The Band. Ultimately, the film is a piece of music history and a good bit of Thanksgiving-time viewing if you’re into that sort of thing.

Scorsese’s love of rock music seeps into everything we see throughout the film: camera angles, lighting, rhythm and what’s on screen and when. He’s a perfect fit. And he brings with him a slew of talented cinematographers, particularly László Kovács, who was a staple of the look of the American New Wave, having worked on such films as Easy Rider, The Last Movie, Paper Moon, and Shampoo. The result is a natural look and mood. Even a couple of songs performed on a soundstage feel real.

Behind the scenes, drug use and rockstar ego made for a difficult production, but it hardly interferes with the overall product. You can’t tell from watching The Last Waltz that Bob Dylan nearly got the entire production shut down because he backed out of wanting his performances recorded on film at the last minute. You can read into the body language and inflections on what’s said that Robertson and the rest of The Band clashed on calling it quits, but it doesn’t actually show up on film. You can’t see the glob of cocaine hanging from Neil Young’s nose because it was edited out in post-production. But it’s all part of the mythos of rock stardom and The Last Waltz.

The highlight of the movie is, of course, the music. The Band is at the top of their game as they barrel through their hits, a few lesser gems, and covers of some of their favorites. Their encore, which takes place at the beginning of the film, is an ironic cover of Marvin Gaye’s “Don’t Do It”. Other highlights include a soulful rendition of “The Weight” featuring the Staple Singers, Van Morrison belting out “Caravan”, Robertson taking over a guitar solo from Eric Clapton on “Further On Up the Road” after Clapton’s strap broke, without missing a beat, and “I Shall Be Released” which features everyone who performed over the course of the show, plus Ringo Starr and Ronnie Wood, led by Bob Dylan.

The Last Waltz is considered the greatest concert film of all time, and it’s hard to disagree. It’s such a perfect storm of music and film history, during a tumultuous time in American history, that it acts as a time capsule that merits our attention even 45 years after its release.

Drunken Angel

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Our first entry in Noirvember is a film of multiple firsts. It is the first film to portray yakuza in a post-World War II environment, and maybe more importantly, it is the first collaboration between director Akira Kurosawa and actor Toshiro Mifune – considered one of the greatest filmmaking duos of all time. It is also an early example of Japanese Noir.

Takashi Shimura plays the titular drunken angel, Sanada, a doctor with a bit of a drinking problem. At the very beginning of the film, he’s mending the hand of a patient, Matsunaga (Toshiro Mifune), a yakuza who just got out of a gunfight with a rival. Sanada diagnoses Matsunaga with tuberculosis after a particularly bad coughing fit. They develop a volatile friendship as each of them refuses to let go of their masculinity to allow themselves the vulnerability of someone who needs help. When the tuberculosis diagnosis is confirmed through x-ray, Matsunaga is instructed to shun alcohol and women so his body can rest and fight off the TB.

At first, Matsunaga is determined to listen to the doctor, but when Okada (the previous yakuza in Matsunaga’s position) is let out of prison, Matsunaga quickly falls back into his usual vices. Okada has another tie to Sanada than just Matsunaga. Miyo, Sanada’s female assistant, was once Okada’s girlfriend, and in fact, him cutting up her face is what got him sent to prison in the first place. In an attempt to get Miyo back, Okada shows up at the doctor’s with the intent to kill him if he doesn’t reveal where Miyo is. Matsunaga, barely able to stand at this point, defends the doctor from harm, and simultaneously determine that Okada is not one he should be running around with. When it’s clear that Okada intends to let Matsunaga get killed, Matsunaga sneaks away from the doctor’s place to Okada’s apartment to settle things once and for all.

Kurosawa’s use of the guitar soundtrack in this film is interesting as it contrasts greatly from the scenes taking place on screen. The music is surprisingly upbeat despite the violence and depressing tone of the movie. It’s an entertaining use of dichotomy, but not the most significant. What is significant above all is Kurosawa’s critique on masculinity and American influence in Japan. A nightclub scene, complete with jitterbugging and a written-for-the-film jazz number, is particularly scathing.

More than anything else, however, the highlight of Drunken Angel is the performance of the two leads. Shimura, by this point, was no stranger to Kurosawa’s films, as he appeared in Kurosawa’s directorial debut, Sanshiro Sugata, as well as four other Kurosawa films and a near 15-year career prior to Drunken Angel. Mifune, however, was only on his third film with no prior acting training when he played Matsunaga. All at once, he is angry, charming, sympathetic, and pathetic. Some people are just born to act, and Toshiro Mifune was one of those people.

If you’re looking for something noir-ish to watch this season, Drunken Angel has a lot to offer.

#1198 – Mean Streets

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I recently watched this film again, also through the Criterion Channel, after not having seen it since college. I remember when I watched it that first time and thinking, “This movie looks cheap. New York City looks so grimy, and the camera is all over the place.” At that time, I naively considered these flaws of the filmmakers, and enough to make me dismiss the film as a whole. Obviously, I have since changed my tune. Those things still remain, but some are due to budgetary restrictions and therefore cannot affect the merit of the movie as a whole, and some are stylistic choices. Most Scorsese gangster movies have a crisp look to them. NYC isn’t the problem, it’s the people who are grimy. Mean Streets informs us that it’s both, and that, in part, was the intention.

Charlie (Harvey Keitel) is a good boy – he works for his mafia-connected uncle, and therefore has to do some unsavory things, but he’s very concerned with his sense of morality and the salvation of his immortal soul. So concerned that, every time he sees fire, he tries to touch it in hopes he can withstand the heat. Anyone who has ever touched a hot stove knows that doesn’t go well for him. Since the Catholic Church will not absolve him of his sins without him actually confessing them, he attempts to earn his salvation another way.

Enter Johnny Boy, played by a nearly brand-new Robert De Niro. Johnny Boy is the cousin of Charlie’s epileptic girlfriend, Teresa, but more importantly, he’s a ne’er-do-well on the path to eternal damnation. Charlie sees Johnny Boy as his ticket to Heaven. If he can get Johnny to walk the straight and narrow, there’s no way Saint Peter would turn him away. The only problem is that the more Charlie interferes with Johnny Boy’s erratic way of living, the worse it gets. Johnny Boy feels coddled. Some people just don’t want to be saved. His antics not only set his life on a downward spiral, but he begins taking everyone else down with him – particularly Charlie. It all comes to a head in a drive-by shooting in those mean streets. Johnny Boy, Teresa and Charlie are all hurt, but Johnny Boy walks away into an alley where the red, flashing lights of a police car hint at his final destination, and Charlie walks out into the street, baptized in the waters of a broken fire hydrant. Only Teresa is unable to get out on her own, more damaged than the others, requiring the EMTs that get to the scene first to help ease her out of the car. Teresa and Charlie will survive, but while he kneels in the street, and images of the sinful life he is potentially leaving passes before his eyes, Charlie doesn’t even acknowledge the condition Teresa is in. And in that moment, that final scene, we understand how selfish Charlie’s quest to earn his own salvation truly is.

As I said before, my views on this film have changed significantly. Where as once I held Mean Streets with slight disdain, even considering it lower-tier Scorsese, I have now nearly flipped that completely. Mean Streets isn’t just a great film, it’s also pure Scorsese, through and through. It’s full of Catholic guilt, religious imagery (a chat between Charlie and Johnny Boy in a graveyard, where Johnny lays on a grave and Charlie leans against a cross, is particularly excellent), an internal wrestle between saint and sinner, a killer 60s pop soundtrack (one of the first examples of a jukebox soundtrack; the infamous bar brawl scene is set to the Marvelettes’ “Please, Mr. Postman”), tracking shots (that same bar brawl), and a whole lot of New York City.

I read that Scorsese wrote the screenplay for this film (not something he does often) after a talk with actor/director John Cassavetes, where Cassavetes criticized his previous film, Boxcar Bertha, for being uninspired. His advice to a young Scorsese was to make films he’s passionate about. You can feel the passion in Mean Streets. I argue you will not find a film so near and dear to Scorsese’s heart again until 2019’s The Irishman. It’s reflective and thoughtful. It’s genuine. It’s a filmmaker in the middle of insecurity, discovering his voice and, somehow, confidently firing on all cylinders. Martin Scorsese’s third film is, dare I say, a masterpiece, and sits alongside Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, and GoodFellas in the discussion for his best.

#1186 – The Ranown Westerns

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This collection of five films from the Criterion Collection showcases the bulk of collaborations between under-the-radar B-Western director, Budd Boetticher, and longtime Western hero, Randolph Scott. The films included are The Tall T, Decision at Sundown, Buchanan Rides Alone, Ride Lonesome, and Comanche Station. All five films feature Randolph Scott as the lone wanderer with his own moral code to live by, and relatable villains. We’ll take them one at a time.

The Tall T
This one is based on a story from Elmore Leonard, the writer of many classic Western tales, such as 3:10 to Yuma, Valdez is Coming, and Last Stand at Sable River. Scott plays Pat Brennan, a rancher with a “place of his own” that he hopes to build up into something great. We see him wandering through the opening credits and stopping at a way station to begin our story. The place is operated by a man and his little boy, and Brennan promises to bring the little boy back some candy when he returns from visiting the nearby town. Unfortunately, after leaving the town, Brennan loses his horse and is forced to hop on a stagecoach with the daughter of a rich mining baron and her new husband. The coach stops at the way station where three men, Frank Usher, Billy Jack, and the unfortunately-named, Chink, have taken over and murdered the man and his boy. Richard Boone plays Frank Usher, and while his young henchman are a little too trigger happy, Usher has a code of ethics similar to Brennan, only he’s willing to let innocents die to get what he wants. Through their conversations, they both realize that, in another life, they might have been friends.

Usher is looking for a big payout so he can live the life he wants, and he seems to have stumbled into it when the newlywed husband turns out to be a craven, self-serving piece of trash. He admits his wife’s father is rich and is willing to go and deliver a ransom note to the baron in exchange for his own freedom. Once the plan is set in motion, and the husband is no longer needed, he gets a bullet in the back, courtesy of Frank Usher. The justification being that the husband was no-good for abandoning his wife, and at that point, it’s hard for the audience to disagree.

The film has a tight runtime of 78 minutes, and Burt Kennedy’s script is an economic tension-builder that matches the best of them and shows us what makes the post-World War II Westerns such a joy to watch.

Decision At Sundown
The second film in this set takes the tropes of these Westerns and turns them on their head. Scott, this time, plays Bart Allison, a man who rides into the town of Sundown with one thing on his mind: vengeance. He’s after the man he blames for his wife’s suicide, Tate Kimbrough, and he’s not leaving until he kills him. Lucky for Allison, Kimbrough has the entire town of Sundown in a vice grip, and they aren’t too happy with the way he’s running things.

Once Allison arrives in town, the movie jumps right into the action. Allison stops Kimbrough’s wedding and a shootout ensues. The rest of the movie is a true Western standoff – the town is completely quiet, all doors are shut, and the heroes and villains yell at each other from around the corners of buildings. However, in that time, we learn that Bart Allison is far from the hero we expect from Randolph Scott. He is fueled and blinded by his hatred. He refuses to believe his good friend, Sam, when he is told that his wife was not a good woman to begin with and never loved him. His code of ethics has been swapped for revenge, and revenge alone. And when even the sheriff of Sundown gets in his way, well, that’s just too bad for the sheriff.

Kimbrough is obviously not a good guy, so we’re happy at the thought of him getting his comeuppance, but it doesn’t happen. Kimbrough is allowed to escape as Allison deals with the loss of his friend, Sam, and the realization that what he said about his wife was true. In the end, multiple people are dead, Allison fails in his mission, and the town of Sundown is freed. The town, of course, is happy to celebrate, but for Allison, there is nothing to do but mourn his losses. He leaves Sundown, refusing their thanks, and alone once more.

Buchanan Rides Alone
In this film, Randolph Scott is Tom Buchanan, and you guessed, he rides into town alone. Agry is not a town you want to ride into and stay very long, even the townspeople say so. As soon as Buchanan passes the bridge from Mexico into Agry, he is greeted by a suspicious sheriff who aggressively gets Buchanan off his horse and patted down. Buchanan soon finds that Sheriff Lew Agry isn’t the only unfriendly soul in town, nor is he the only one the town is named after. Lew has two brothers, and while he is sinister, scheming one, his brother, Amos, is too dimwitted to do anything beyond run the hotel, and his other brother, Simon, is the most respected of the brothers and the town judge.

When Simon’s son, Roy, the town hothead and drunk, is shot and killed by Juan de la Vega, a Mexican who had a personal vendetta against Roy, Tom Buchanan gets roped into the town’s politics, and it’s up to him to get de la Vega out of trouble. The brothers Agry’s war amongst themselves sucks in the entire town, as well as the lives of Buchanan and de la Vega, presenting several twists and turns along the way. It all culminates in a nail-biting shootout involving hostages on both sides of the same bridge Buchanan crossed when he entered the town and a saddlebag with $50,000 smack dab in the middle.

Because of how this movie zig-zags throughout and the intense finale, Buchanan Rides Alone may be my favorite out of the Ranown films I’ve watched so far. This one clocks in at 80 minutes, so again, it’s short and sweet, tightly-paced, with several interesting, flawed characters to keep viewers invested. A great film to show those who are skeptical of the Western genre.

Ride Lonesome
Randolph Scott stars as Ben Brigade, a bounty hunter who is after more than just the money when he tracks down and captures wanted criminal, Billy John. In his attempt to get Billy to Santa Cruz, Brigade runs in with a couple of outlaws with their own motivations and a woman who is all alone in the harsh western country. Together, they have to outrun Indians and a band of outlaws (the leader of which is Billy’s brother, Frank), until Brigade’s true intentions are made known.

The film consists of many twists and turns, and the entire time, it’s hard to keep track of the alliances and loyalties between the characters. The film banks on misdirection. Even one of the outlaws, Sam Boone (Pernell Roberts), at the end of the film, claims to Brigade, “Ain’t it funny how a thing can seem one way and turn out another?” Brigade can’t help but agree. Neither can we. Even as the ending comes, and all loose ends are tied, and all the good guys have gotten what they wanted, the film still plays on this misdirection. It was a comedy in the classic sense, right? The happy ending? And then the final shot of the film happens, and you realize what a truly cold revenge story this was.

Burt Kennedy’s script sense shines once again, as the characters are mostly fleshed out, except for the villain, Frank. Even though he’s played by the great Lee Van Cleef, he remains forgettable. The woman and Native American characters are treated the same, but that’s at least a bit more common of the genre. Ride Lonesome is certainly not the best film in this collection, but it is an entertaining one, and probably carries a lot more rewatch value than some of the others.

Comanche Station
In the final film between Scott and Boetticher, Scott plays Jefferson Cody, another man alone on his own personal mission. He rescues a woman from a tribe of Comanches, and rides off with her only to be waylaid by a trio of outlaws – the evil Ben, the scheming Frank, and the dimwitted Dobie. They all ride together for a time, and during that time, Ben and Frank come up with separate plans for how to make off with the woman and a $5000 reward for her safe return. Dobie, of course, follows along but doesn’t come up with any plans of his own or really approve of Frank or Ben’s methods. Cody, meanwhile, claims to know nothing about the reward; he is rescuing the woman, Nancy Lowe, for his own reasons.

Similar themes run rampant in Comanche Station as does through the others in this collection – loyalty, personal honor, the fine line between hero and villain, and it’s chockfull of a few twists and turns along the way. Why is Cody risking his life for Nancy without a thought of the financial reward? Can Nancy believe him when he claims to have no prior knowledge of the reward? What secret is Nancy hiding herself? Are any of the outlaws to be trusted? The finale is as much shocking as it is endearing.

This film and the previous one, Ride Lonesome, were both filmed in CinemaScope, so you get some beautiful wide landscapes of the open range, as well as that sunburned color look, so they look best in the 4K format on the biggest screen you can handle. Scott is often framed to reflect his larger-than-life hero image. The script is once again precise and tight, even if, at this point, it’s familiar territory.

Looking back on the whole collection, I don’t think I would marathon these films in one or two sittings. They benefit from being allowed to breathe. As I alluded to in the paragraph above, by the end of the series, it begins to feel repetitive. The same basic premises, with just enough of a twist to justify being their own releases, and Randolph Scott basically plays the same character in each one (except for Decision At Sundown).

Having said that, I still recommend this set or at least these movies to anyone who likes Westerns, early Revisionist cinema, or wants something to watch under an hour and a half. They look great, especially in Criterion’s new 4K release, and they’re an excellent cap to Randolph Scott’s impressive career. He retired after Comanche Station, only to come out of retirement for Sam Peckinpah’s Ride the High Country before retiring again, for good, but in my opinion, these films are the better closure for his lifetime of moviemaking.

You can purchase the set here from Amazon.

#490 – Wings of Desire

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“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” – 1 Corinthians 13:11

God is not directly mentioned in Wim Wenders’ film, Wings of Desire. Neither is the specific passage from the Bible I’ve quoted above. However, both permeate the film as our main character, an angel named Damiel (Bruno Ganz), spends his time staring down at humanity from the top of the Berlin cityscape, contemplating what it means to be human. A poem that he frequently quotes, called “Song of Childhood”, sticks in his mind while he passes through the mortal world, unnoticed…except, of course, by children. Children can see angels, even if they don’t fully comprehend what they’re seeing. Even a girl with glasses – a girl who cannot see on her own – is able to see Damiel as he stands in her house, watching her family live.

Angels are voyeurs in Wenders’ film. They can watch you without you noticing them, and they can hear your thoughts and prayers. Angels know everything about you, and yet, they can do nothing. As Cassiel, another angel that Damiel frequently poses his psychospiritual questions to, basically says, their job isn’t to live or help humans live. Their only responsibility is to observe. Because of this, the life of an angel is very fact-oriented. It’s very black-and-white. Literally. The only time Damiel can see color is when he gets too close to humanity. He goes beyond his responsibility and helps humans feel and change emotionally, and because he has crossed a line, he now is gifted with the knowledge of human limitations.

The movie touches on several themes throughout the film, but one it continually refers back to is this: the untethered freedom the angels have is, ironically, confining. There is joy and pleasure in being limited beings because there is then a mystery to what is beyond those limits. Because their mind, bodies and souls are limited, humans have capacity to experience. Angels are not so lucky. They are distant, as we can see from their point-of-view throughout the film.

Damiel is content to think and ask questions until he sees the trapeze artist, Marion. Once he has seen true beauty as only a human can contain, his black-and-white world is shattered. There is no merely observing any longer. It’s live or die, despite his immortality. Luckily, he also has a brush with the actor, Peter Falk (yes, Peter Falk plays Peter Falk in this movie), who turns out to be a former angel who grew tired of immortality and decided to leave it for the human experience, like a selfish Jesus Christ. Damiel follows in Peter Falk’s footsteps, and abandons his angelic responsibility and immortality to become a human, waking up to a now-colorful Berlin. He meets Marion at a Nick Cave concert, and finally has a knowledge and understanding that no angel ever could.

Wings of Desire is a beautifully shot and thought-provoking film; a staple of the New German Cinema. Wenders manages to dive deep into spiritual questions and somehow, like an angel, keep it at an arm’s length for better examination. The poem, “Song of Childhood”, says, “When the child was a child, it didn’t know it was a child.” Wenders pulls back that curtain, and allows us to see that we are just children, and considering how children are portrayed in the film, isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

For anyone considering watching this movie, I would to emphasize that the film is unapologetically artistic in its expression – it’s meditative – and so it has a rather slow pace. Since the pace is intentional, I can’t really call it a flaw, but slow-burners aren’t for everyone. If you find yourself getting bored with slower films, would rather “turn your brain off and enjoy” a movie (a concept I disagree with entirely, but now’s not the time for that discussion), or you can’t handle subtitles, then you may want to skip this one. And I don’t say that to be pompous or snobby. I just think many people miss out on great cinema because they aren’t willing to challenge themselves. With that said, I encourage any and all who are willing to watch this deeply personal and moving film, whether you are religious, or not, or some ecclesiastical wanderer in the middle.

You can purchase this film <a href="http://<a target="_blank" href="https://www.amazon.com/Wings-Desire-Criterion-Collection-UHD/dp/B0BVXXD9Y2/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=wings+of+desire&qid=1692304127&sprefix=wings+of+des%252Caps%252C211&sr=8-3&_encoding=UTF8&tag=destinedforme-20&linkCode=ur2&linkId=30b1f3000f5407d550fac3bd6b94c874&camp=1789&creative=9325">Wings of Desire 4khere from Amazon.

#1187 – One False Move

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One False Move is the second film directed by Carl Franklin, and the first to feature themes of the Black experience front and center. The film was co-written by Billy Bob Thornton, who portrays Ray, a criminal who, along with his partner, Pluto, and girlfriend, Fantasia, murder six people in a single night in LA as they seek a hidden stash of cocaine and cash. Ray and Pluto are willing to murder innocent neighbors just to cover their tracks. Fantasia is seemingly along for the ride. From LA, they make their way down to Houston to sell the cocaine to an acquaintance of Pluto’s.

Two LA detectives are investigating the case, and discover their suspects might be heading toward Star City, Arkansas, so they reach out to the local authority, Dale Dixon (though everyone calls him “Hurricane”), played by Bill Paxton. Dixon might be crazy, but he’s a good ol’ country boy, and he’s thrilled at the opportunity to do what he considers “real” police work. Dixon’s giddiness at working with the big boys provides the first half of the film with some comic relief. One particular scene involves Dixon trying to interrogate a local chicken farmer who is getting too old and deaf to be properly interrogated. It’s a little slice of Southern charm amidst the blood and carnage.

Ray, Pluto and Fantasia stop at a convenience store in the middle of nowhere, where their likenesses can be seen via security footage and a highway patrolman can get a good look at them. The patrolman pulls them over on their way out, and as things get heated, Fantasia shoots him. No longer an innocent bystander, Fantasia panics and takes off to Star City on her own, hoping to reunite with her son while she still has time. Dixon also sets out on his own in an attempt to catch Fantasia, whose real name is Lila, before the detectives do. He finds her in a little house in the middle of nowhere, and there, it is revealed that Lila’s son, Byron, is Dixon’s from an affair some years ago. Lila, at the time of their affair, was young, only 17, and criticizes Dixon for taking advantage of a young, Black woman who can’t say no to a cop. I guess Dixon is not as good as, and more country than we previously expected.

The tension builds as a montage set to a lone bluesy harmonica plays. We see Ray and Pluto driving toward the house where Lila and Dixon are waiting; Dixon’s deputy, Byron, and the two LA detectives are hunting for Dixon and Lila; Dixon’s wife and daughter are at home, anticipating Dixon’s safe return. Then, the shooting happens, and it’s all over too quickly.

This film, despite some of the names attached, was originally intended to be released straight to video. However, through word of mouth, it developed enough of a following to come out in theaters in 1992. It didn’t fair well at the Box Office, but through home video, it has survived. It’s unfortunate that a film like this flew under the radar. It’s an excellent crime drama, keeping you on the edge of your seat the entire time, and drawing attention to the disparity between Whites and Blacks in a Southern Rural town. Paxton turns on a dime when it’s revealed that the happy-go-lucky police chief isn’t what we thought he was. Cynda Williams shines as both killer and victim. Michael Beach is terrifying as the ruthless Pluto, who keeps his weapon of choice, a knife, up his sleeve at all times. Billy Bob Thornton is a little unbelievable as the earring-wearing, cocaine-addicted Ray, but he got better as an actor as time went on.

One False Move is a near-perfect Neonoir. It’s character-focused, multilayered, the violence is intentional and necessary, and it moves with purpose. Franklin proves his talent that he later perfects with Devil in a Blue Dress, which I’m sure I will review at some point, and this film acts as Exhibit A as to why he is one of the underrated masters. Do yourself a favor and watch this movie.

You can purchase a copy <a href="http://<a target="_blank" href="https://www.amazon.com/One-False-Move-Criterion-Collection/dp/B0C2JJCJ2V/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=one+false+move+4k&qid=1692304343&sprefix=one+false+mov%252Caps%252C218&sr=8-1&_encoding=UTF8&tag=destinedforme-20&linkCode=ur2&linkId=83aca5a646d8f2f97b5271c206f0ad30&camp=1789&creative=9325">one false move 4khere from Amazon.