In addition to being a celebrated milestone of Japanese cinema, Woman in the Dunes is surely one of the most sensual films ever made-not in the purely erotic sense (although eroticism is certainly a potent element), but as a work of pure cinema, in which cinematography and nature combine as powerful forces of artistic expression, melded with a timeless parable of the human condition. Dialogue is sparse and precise, submitting to dreamlike atmosphere and imagery that is genuinely universal; this is the cinematic equivalent of a prehistoric cave drawing, telling a story for all humankind. Woeful of the trappings of civilization, a young entomologist enjoys solitary fieldwork among the dunes of an oceanside village. Missing his bus to Tokyo, he accepts an invitation to stay in the home of a young widow, whose hut lies at the bottom of an ominous sand pit. He soon realizes that he has been trapped, and that his new role as surrogate husband-helping with the Sisyphean task of shoveling the daily torrent of windblown sand-has been forced on him by a mysterious conspiracy of villagers, who supply provisions from above via rope and pulley. As time passes, the man's initial fury gives way to gradual acceptance, until life in the sand pit seems preferable to attempted escape. Hiroshi Teshigahara was a 37-year-old novice when he made this film, which received Oscar nominations for Best Director and Best Foreign Language Film. Intimately observing the emotional arc of his characters, Teshigahara incorporates sex, desperation, ingenuity, suffering, pleasure, and much more into this hypnotic visual experience (accompanied by Toru Takemitsu's masterful score), in which sand becomes the third and most dominant character. With images and sequences that are hauntingly and unforgettably evocative, Woman in the Dunes remains a truly extraordinary work of cinematic art. -Jeff Shannon.

The 1964 Olympics in Tokyo were a milestone as much for the intense athletic competition as the joyous commemoration of Japan's recovery following its defeat in World War II. Director Kon Ichikawa (The Burmese Harp, Fires on the Plain) created an epic film of the event, a documentary that covered the entire athletic competition while also capturing the surrounding atmosphere. Early in the film is a stunning aerial shot of Hiroshima, which first shows the devastated area, where destruction from the atom bomb has been preserved, before focusing on a beautiful park where an Olympic ceremony was being held. The scenes of athletic competition, some of which were shot by cinematographer Kazuo Miyagawa (Rashomon), work beautifully on two levels. The camera frames the extreme effort expended by such athletes as the great American runner Bob Hayes, and thus the film functions as a credible sports documentary, yet the camera also goes in for close-ups, lingering on the athlete's muscled forms to provide images that would look perfectly at home on the wall of a photography gallery. The narration in Japanese is accompanied with English subtitles, and this edition retains the widescreen look of the original theatrical release (in a letterboxed format) as well as the complete 170-minute running time. -Robert J. McNamara.

This program features 14 tracks such as "Spirit Crusher," "Crystal Mountain," "Flesh and the Power it Holds," "Empty Words" and more!

Playing murder as farce is nothing new for French filmmakers, but Bertrand Blier brings the concept to a new level in Buffet Froid, a bleak, ironic black comedy. An unemployed man is enmeshed in a nightmarish situation that plays itself out with unapologetic illogic: he falls in with shady characters like his wife's killer, a corrupt police chief, and a young beauty who is definitely not what she seems. Like all Blier romps (most notably the scatological Going Places and Ménage), Buffet Froid is definitely not for everyone, and Gérard Depardieu fans might feel especially cheated by his passive performance. But if your own taste runs to the surrealistic dreamscapes of Luis Buñuel's final films, then Blier's cheerfully amoral tale is worth seeing. -Kevin Filipski.

The official title of I Live in Fear is Record of a Living Being, and coming as it did after Kurosawa's triumphant Seven Samurai it was perhaps inevitably a box-office failure. With barely a decade passing after the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japanese filmgoers avoided this serious drama about the gloomy specter of nuclear annihilation. It's not always an easy film to watch, but that's only because the story wields substantial emotional power, taking form as a kind of modern King Lear with its scenario of family strife and internal plotting. As such, it bears tangential relationship to Kurosawa's own rendition of Lear, his final epic Ran. Playing a character twice his age, Toshirô Mifune (barely recognizable from Seven Samurai) is the patriarch of a large extended family (the "I" of the title) who has decided to move to a Brazilian farm to escape the psychological torment of the atomic bomb. Charging him with "mental incompetence," his adult children plot to override his decision, and a mediator (Takashi Shimura) attempts to balance the battle. This turns the film (like much of Kurosawa's work) into a quest for truth: Is the father insane with fear? Are his fears truly justified? In Japan of the 1950s these were not easy questions, and the death during production of Kurosawa's best friend (composer Fumio Hayasaka) lends the film additional gravity and import. If the story and its execution seem at times ambivalent, it's only because Kurosawa (and Japan itself) was still struggling to find meaning-to create a record of a living being-in a world that could be destroyed at any moment. -Jeff Shannon.

Glitterbox, with its extra film, Glitterbug, compiled by Derek Jarman's friends following his death, is an especially personal tribute to this idiosyncratic director, writer, and artist. Renowned for his outspoken dedication and experimental portrayals of politically radical heroes, Jarman's films challenge the conventions of narrative filmmaking and expand narrow definitions of sexuality. This boxed set contains The Angelic Conversation (1985), Caravaggio (1986), Wittgenstein (1993), and Blue (1993), which, viewed together, clarify Jarman's preoccupation with the ways language and imagery intertwines or demand separation. Each film contains heavy theatricality, unabashed passion, poetic screenwriting, and a finely tuned color palette, lending the works extreme drama that is an acquired taste. In The Angelic Conversation, a young Morrissey-type searches longingly for love until he finds his possible angel in the form of another hunky sensitive guy. The super-8 footage is romanticized by Judi Dench's reading of certain Shakespearean sonnets that question life's meaning, over a moody, ambient soundtrack by Coil. Caravaggio is an eccentric portrayal of the artist, Michelangelo di Caravaggio (Nigel Terry), embroiled in a hot love triangle between figure model Ranuccio (Sean Bean), and Lena (Tilda Swinton). Far from a conventional biopic, the film capitalizes on Caravaggio's maniacal reputation, with lurid decadence and emotionally weighty scenes throughout. Wittgenstein, co-written by Terry Eagleton, also takes liberties with its depiction of this famed philosopher, played by Karl Johnson. Filmed entirely against a black backdrop, the movie focuses on the thinker's homosexual identity crisis, throughout childhood, then as he makes academic headway at Cambridge. [+]

A thoroughly engaging fairy tale that's family friendly without being condescending, The Princess Diaries is your basic Cinderella makeover story given a fresh, affectionate twist courtesy of a game, energetic cast and a screenplay that skirts schmaltz in favor of gentle, effective comedy. Mia Thermopolis (Anne Hathaway) is a frizzy-haired, glasses-wearing 15-year-old girl whose two highest ambitions are to become invisible and to get a few smooches from the slickly attractive school heartthrob. As a girl who can't stand being the center of attention so much that she throws up during debate class, she's stunned and horrified when her coolly continental grandmother (Julie Andrews) shows up and informs her that she's the crown princess of the European principality Genovia. Soon enough, Mia has to undertake "princess lessons" (and a makeover) from her queenly grandmother, and eventually she blossoms into a confident, radiant girl-despite the worries and pressure that her newfound status brings. What makes The Princess Diaries work is director Garry Marshall's guileless, irony-free approach to the material (based on Meg Cabot's novel). In comparison to most snarky, ultra-hip teen comedies, The Princess Diaries is refreshingly and enjoyably square, content to win you over on charm alone and not a slick bag of tricks. Hathaway is a charismatic, appealing role model with a sharp sense of comic timing, and Andrews-who came to stardom as the object of a makeover supreme in My Fair Lady on Broadway-is at her regal best whether teaching Mia the proper royal wave or learning how to eat a corndog. Both leading ladies are complemented by a finely tuned cast, including Hector Elizondo as Genovia's head of security (and romantic counterpart to Andrews), Heather Matarazzo as Mia's best pal, and Robert Schwartzman as the good guy who ultimately wins Mia's heart. All in all, a royal pleasure. -Mark Englehart.