I’m not quite old enough to say I “grew up with” Monty Python, but I certainly became a fan of theirs in the 1980s, thanks mostly to reruns of Monty Python’s Flying Circus on PBS and the availability on their great films Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) and Life of Brian (1979) on VHS. Countless re-watches of those things and more led to memorization of scenes, bits, and lines, each countlessly recited by me and the guys at my lunch table, to the point that the legendary comedy troupe had become a considerable pop culture force in my life. I haven’t see the entirety of their collective work, but I’ve seen enough to call myself a loyal fan.

The primary narrative of the nonlinear documentary Monty Python: The Meaning of Live focuses on the historic live reunion show the troupe performed for 10 nights at the O2 Arena in London in July 2014. The show was titled Monty Python Live (Mostly): One Down, Five To Go. The “mostly” references the fact that some of the bits in the show are recorded and appear onscreen, at times in concert with the live portion. The subtitle is a little gallows humor referencing that five of the Pythons—John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones, and Michael Palin—are still with us while the sixth, Graham Chapman, passed away in 1989.

Those five surviving members fully participated in the show, which was an old-time revue consisting of a blend of new comedic material, old and new musical numbers, and classic Python sketches (with the men reprising the roles they had made famous some 30+ years prior; where necessary, the Pythons filled in for Chapman’s characters). Behind the scenes, the doc reveals the surprising reason for the reunion and captures everything from the show’s inception to its production, including Idle’s early creative process (the troupe tapped him to write all the new material for the show), table reads, dress rehearsals, promotional media appearances, backstage scrambling, etc. Parts of the show itself are also shown, although no single sketch is shown in its entirety.

The O2 shows were historic because the last time the living Pythons performed together was at the Hollywood Bowl in 1980 (that concert film—Monty Python Live at the Hollywood Bowl—was released in 1982). The troupe had appeared together en masse in non-performing contexts since then, and they had performed in subsets since then, but only the O2 shows (originally conceived as a single performance, but eventually expanded to 10) featured full performances by the surviving five members.

This is the part of Monty Python: The Meaning of Live that is a big wet kiss to Python fans everywhere. It is glorious to see these septuagenarians perform the sketches and bits that made them famous, to do so at a comedic level that newcomers a third their ages would die to attain, and to show a spark in their eyes that belies the wrinkles around them. It’s also wonderful to watch the men interact, both onstage and off. This troupe is more than just an old comedy group; they are akin to a legendary rock band getting back together to reminisce about the past, play the greatest hits, and revel in the glory one more time.

That wet kiss, though, is pretty sloppy. The secondary narrative, the one more structured like a traditional documentary, is about an 80/20 blend of nostalgia and history, dating back to the troupe’s beginning days and running through the Hollywood Bowl performance. It’s a high-level history that covers moments in time like bullet points, albeit bullet points with hysterical pictures and video clips. It is a threadbare history of the troupe and its players, although not entirely without impact; the memories of Chapman still hurt, and they suit the presentation style particularly well.

Most striking about the Pythons’ present-day group dynamic is how positive they all are. It is clear these men recognize the history they are making and might never get the chance to make again, given their ages and individual schedules. It’s a bittersweetness that is never outwardly expressed, yet it is undeniably present. In fact, this “last great ride” vibe clearly affects the Pythons, or the filmmakers, or (I suspect) both in how their history is recalled and/or (selectively?) represented. The good old days weren’t always good, as the saying goes, but you wouldn’t know it from this doc.  There isn’t a sense that anything onscreen is disingenuous, but it’s clear that the finality of today influences the perception of yesterday.

Monty Python: The Meaning of Live caters almost exclusively to existing fans. Because of the selective history presented and the rose-colored glasses through which that history is viewed, there isn’t enough to educate a Python neophyte. Also, because the sketch clips shown from various sources are incomplete, there is no way to give a newcomer a sense of what Python was all about. The film is still entertaining and someone new to Python won’t have a bad time, but at its best, the film is a whimsical companion piece to Python’s overall body of work.

Monty Python: The Meaning of Live made its Quebec Premiere on July 26th at Montreal’s Fantasia International Film Festival.

With the box-set and wishlist fodder that is typically released by the Criterion Collection each November, December tends to be lighter on must-have items. In 2013, Criterion changed that up a bit with the Martin Scorsese World Cinema box and the critically acclaimed Nashville, Altman’s first Criterion release in over 400 spine numbers. Will we have to make many last-minute changes what we’ll ask from Santa this year? But sure to check back soon for our Criterion Club discussion surrounding this announcement.

Safe

Toddy Haynes – Available December 9

The film that put eclectic filmmaker Todd Haynes on the map, Safe is an intense thriller about a wealthy housewife who becomes obsessed with her chemical sensitivity to the world around her. Julianne Moore, in a career defining performance, stars as Carol White, whose delusions/ailment leads her to a strange and perhaps dangerous cult. A relatively unseen gem, it is a great blend of genre exercise and art.

Notes and Selected Features:

• New 4K restoration
• Audio commentary with Haynes, Moore, and producer Christine Vachon
• 1978 short film The Suicide

Time Bandits

Terry Gilliam – Available December 9

Terry Gilliam’s madcap film has long been in the Criterion Collection, though its DVD release has been out of print for years. Thankfully, Time Bandits finally gets a much-needed Blu-ray upgrade. Time Bandits brings all of the weird humor and horror which defines Gilliam, but with a family film focus. A predecessor to Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, the film involves a young boy who gets caught up in a time travelling adventure with a group of dwarf bandits. The film also includes fantastic performances from Sean Connery, John Cleese and Ian Holm as historical figures and David Warner as the menacing Death. But sure to

Notes and Selected Features:

• New 2K restoration, supervised by Gilliam
• Audio commentary featuring Gilliam, Michael Palin, John Cleese, David Warner and Craig Warnock
• Featurette on the creation of the film’s different historical periods and fantasy worlds

The Night Porter

Liliana Cavani – Available December 9

Another early-edition Criterion selection which gets a long-awaited upgrade, The Night Porter couldn’t be any different than Time Bandits. Set in Vienna following WWII, the film stars Charlotte Rampling as a concentration camp survivor who starts a sadomasochistic sexual relationship with her former tormentor. It is known as being one of the most shocking films to ever comment on sexuality and remains one of the most unique portrayals of the remaining horrors of the Holocaust.

Notes and Selected Features:

• New 2K restoration
• New interviews with Cavani and the film’s screenwriters
• Women of the Resistance, a short documentary made by Cavani about women who lived through the German invasion of Italy

Eclipse Series 41: Kinoshita and World War II – Available December 16

Liliana Cavani – Available December 9

I’m deeply familiar with Keisuke Kinoshita’s work, but I do know that he was an incredibly important and popular filmmaker in Japan in the mid-1940s. World War II was a difficult time for film production in Japan, for obvious reason, so seeing a contemporary perspective from Japan during these years is an interesting opportunity.

Box set includes:

• Port of Flowers, 1943
• The Living Magoroku, 1943
• Jubilation Street, 1944
• Army, 1944
• Morning for the Osone Family, 1946

Terry Gilliam is no stranger to absurd dystopian science-fiction films. His best work came early in his career with films like Brazil and Twelve Monkeys, and his latest film The Zero Theorem feels like an extension to those titles. Written by a creative writing teacher from the University of Central Florida (Pat Rushin), The Zero Theorem takes a satirical stab at a dystopian future — mocking big government, commercialization, our fascination with always being connected, and even the meaning of life itself. Unfortunately, the outcome is neither as funny nor fascinating as it should be, though after a decade of disappointment from the filmmaker it’s at least a step in the right direction.

Set in an Orwellian future, an introvert computer hacker Qohen Leth (Christoph Waltz) attempts to convince Management (played by a white-haired Matt Damon) for the opportunity to work from home, claiming he would double his work output. Though efficiency isn’t the real reason Qohen is so adamant about working from home. It’s actually so that he won’t miss an important phone call from a mysterious party (for reasons not explained until later). Management compromises by letting him work from home as long as he spends his time solving the equation for the meaning of life, aka Zero Theorem. Only in a Gilliam film is finding the meaning of life a difficult task and not an impossible one. But Qohen is willing to accept this challenge.

Frequent interruptions prevent the recluse from making any breakthroughs on Zero Theorem. Perhaps none more distracting than the beautiful bombshell Bainsley (Mélanie Thierry), who shows up at his door after meeting him at a party. She is easily attracted to him, for no reason other than to move the plot forward, and her character has as much depth as a blank canvas. Bainsley distracts him from his work so much that Management sends his cocky whiz-kid son Bob (Lucas Hedges) to help keep Qohen focused on the task at hand.

For a film with such high concepts and philosophies, The Zero Theorem has some serious logic flaws. It’s unfitting that Management doesn’t enforce any rules despite showing authority. Especially considering Qohen is constantly under surveillance by cameras in his home and follows orders from Management. But for some reason the computer genius gets the luxury of deciding to keep working on a never-ending math problem or calling it quits for a beautiful woman. Which seems like a no-brainer, even for a dim-witted person like myself. Putting logic aside, the major themes of the film involving how life is both meaningful and meaningless are successfully carried out. Just don’t expect it to make a lot of sense.

Although the writing is uneven, the acting on the other hand is an area in which The Zero Theorem excels. Most of the weight is put on the shoulders of Christoph Waltz and as usual he handles the load with ease. His portrayal of an isolated computer genius on the verge of a mental breakdown is divine. The young Hedges serves as a solid companion to Waltz, bringing a lot of the same eccentric energy to his character that Brad Pitt did in Twelve Monkeys. Both Matt Damon and Tilda Sinwton are barely on-screen enough to call for much discussion, but do well with their limited screen time. Mélanie Thierry was doomed from the start as her character is so poorly written as a glorified “booth babe”, simply eye-candy with little substance.

It’s unfortunate most of The Zero Theorem takes place indoors because when the film ventures outside, a beautiful fantasy world is brought to life. In Gilliam’s vision of the future, smart cars zip down streets lined with people wearing bright neon colors, with large electronic billboards far and wide. All of the energy and flashing colors from the city is completely unlike the dark and claustrophobic dungeon where Qohen spends most of his time. On top of the gorgeous production design, Gilliam employs his signature off-kilter camera angles to emphasis the satire bend and circus-like theatrics.

Unfortunately, The Zero Theorem lands in the middle of the road in terms of Gilliam’s work. The film doesn’t reach the levels that Brazil, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, or Twelve Monkeys did, though it easily surpasses his most recent efforts in Tideland and The Brothers Grimm. The Zero Theorem stumbles not for a lack of ambition, but a misfiring of good ideas ultimately stretched too thin. Ironically, The Zero Theorem preaches everything while trying to convince the audience that the film actually amounts to something.

Dangled before us since early last year, Terry Gilliam’s highly anticipated next film The Zero Theorem has a new international trailer that continues to tantalize us. With a vague “Summer 2014” expected US release, the film follows Qohen Leth, played by a very pale and bald Cristoph Waltz, an existentially angst riddled man in an Orwellian future. Qohen is a reclusive computer genius obsessed with his task of uncovering the meaning of life. Unwanted visitors continue to interrupt his progress, including a seductress played by Mélanie Thierry.

David Thewlis, Matt Damon and Tilda Swinton also star. Swinton, playing a character named Dr. Shrink-Rom and sporting a crazy set of fake teeth, proves she can act right through any ridiculous costume. Though it’s hard to remember the  last role she had where she wasn’t playing an on-screen caricature.

At any rate, The Zero Theorem is part of Gilliam’s “Orwellian triptych” which includes his 1985 film Brazil and 1995’s 12 Monkeys. Both of are some of his best work and decidedly better than recent endeavors such as The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, Tideland, and I won’t even mention a certain disappointing 2005 fairy tale flick. Glad to see Gilliam back at what he does best.

Check out the new trailer.

International Trailer for The Zero Theorem

For No Good Reason (2012), released by Sony Pictures Classics, is a unique documentary on the life and work of Gonzo artist Ralph Steadman. Framed as an extended interview conducted by Johnny Depp, the film features an impressive roster of appearances beyond its two headliners, including Terry Gilliam, Hal Willner, and Richard E. Grant (not to mention some interesting footage of Hunter S. Thompson and William S. Burroughs). The film moves back and forth between Steadman’s personal history, the writers and artists who influenced and collaborated with him, along with his style and technique. As a person with only a passing knowledge of Gonzo journalism, I found the film more interesting for it’s portrayal of life from the sixties into the eighties, discussing the political and social revolutions (and subsequent disillusion) of an entire generation. From Civil Rights and women’s empowerment into the decadence of the following decades, Steadman’s work documents an important time in American and western history. The film does a decent job linking Steadman with the other great writers and artists of the era– as Terry Gilliam said during an interview concerning their generation, they are part of a generation that fought hard for change, and despite their failures plan on fighting till the very end. The film was certainly educational, and for those interested in the radical experiments of the sixties and seventies, may very well be inspirational as well. Indeed, thinking of Steadman’s embrace of the grotesque in his art, highlighting the humor, irony, and horror of daily life, makes for a very powerful lesson. Yet despite it’s self-conscious striving for some deeper understanding of art, beauty, society, etc., in many ways we learn little about Ralph Steadman. The film offers only a passing view of Steadman as a person, something more akin to a guided Disney tour than a thorough investigation of his life. Johnny Depp’s deep involvement with the project, from it’s dramatic stylization, to the grating “Tim-Burtonesque” soundtrack, is undeniable, and ultimately for the worse. The obvious hero worship and romanticization of Steadman and Hunter S. Thompson’s drinking/drug life, paired with the film’s ridiculously high production value, all makes for a stylized and manicured take on the lives of these artists.

While the film nails home the importance of Steadman’s work (which indeed it should), the contradictions, hypocrisies and inconsistencies of his life ultimately remain hidden from us. For No Good Reason also features an insistent undercurrent that asserts Steadman’s equality with (if not preeminence over) Hunter S. Thompson in crafting Gonzo journalism. In between the copious discussions of their rowdy collaborations, the film slips in a claim that Steadman was the “braver” and more forward thinking artist in the creative duo. Yet in its insistence, the documentary becomes too eager to make its point, nearly manic to assert Steadman’s value as a creator. There is a brief moment in the film where we watch a recorded conversation between Steadman and Thompson, where the artist states that his illustrations were at least partially responsible for the success of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Expecting Thompson to acknowledge his contribution, Steadman only received derisive laughter in reply– apparently, little recognition was offered.

This aspect of Mr. Steadman’s life and work, those deep-seated insecurities the film unwittingly brings to the surface, are neither broached nor alluded to. What Mr. Steadman thinks or feels about Thompson’s work, or the fact that his long-time collaborator is better known and receives greater acknowledgement, is never addressed. The questions are all soft-balled, the answers charming, and we all go home happy– this wouldn’t be a problem though, except for the documentary having explicitly stated it would try to create a multisided view of Mr. Steadman’s life.

The less savory side of Mr. Steadman (from his apparent capitalist drive in selling signed prints of his work, to his jealousy over his former partner,) was largely varnished over. What darkness remains is either written off as “acting out of necessity” or portrayed in some manner of victimization. Ultimately, For No Good Reason appears as another example of what’s become Mr. Depp’s “signature” style– dark, affected, and elaborately quirky. Yet putting these mannerisms aside, the film does afford viewers an interesting perspective on an important era in our history, the decent look at the life and work of an important artist, and a really great home-movie of William S. Burroughs, emptying a .38 caliber handgun into Shakespeare’s neck. For those interested in Gonzo, the Beatniks, or the freewheeling, august beauty of Latter-Day Hippiedom, this film is worth it.