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Review: Licorice Pizza

Licorice Pizza (2021)

review | Licorice Pizza

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This Best Picture nominee deserved better than this compromised non-HDR 1080p home release

by Dennis Burger
March 4, 2022

Seriously, what the hell is going on with Hollywood these days, especially on the home video side? Of all the films I’ve seen in the past year, if any of them begs to have been released in UHD HDR, it is Paul Thomas Anderson’s Licorice Pizza. Shot on a variety of Kodak Vision3 stocks, it was finished photochemically instead of in a digital intermediate, and even exists in the form of a 70mm blowup that saw some limited theatrical exhibition. 

It’s one of Anderson’s most visually captivating movies, and that’s saying a lot. It boasts an image that can only be described as a celebration of the classic cinema aesthetic, but for whatever reason, MGM has seen fit to dump the film to market on Blu-ray or in Blu-ray-equivalent resolution for its home video release.

I can understand not wanting to fork over the dough for UHD Blu-ray disc replication. There have been so many supply-chain issues with 4K discs in the past few years that it’s almost not worth the trouble anymore, for studios or consumers. But to limit digital retailers—including Kaleidescape—to a compromised 1080p SDR transfer is borderline criminal. And look, I don’t want to give the impression Licorice Pizza is a sacrosanct cinema masterpiece. It’s roughly on par with 2017’s Phantom Thread—a bit of a step down from 2007’s There Will Be Blood but a big step up from 2014’s Inherent Vice—if you’re looking to rank it within PTA’s most recent output. 

But so much of the film’s delightful look hinges on its delicious organic chaos, its unapologetic analog nature. So to limit it by squashing it to fit video standards from 16 years ago just doesn’t make a lick of sense. Even on Kaleidescape—which delivers a better-than-Blu-ray-quality download—you can at times see the image struggling against its constraints.

Not consistently, and not egregiously, but there are numerous instances throughout in which flesh tones lack that nuance, highlights are blown out, and detail is lost in the shadows. Put this transfer in front of me back in 2015 and I would have found it wholly acceptable. But I’ve been so spoiled by HDR and the way it unlocks the full color spectrum and tonal range of photochemical film negatives that I now find these limitations glaring and distracting. There are also one or two scenes in which I felt UHD’s enhanced resolution might have rendered the film grain a little more finely and a few long shots with more meaningful detail.

Should you use any of this as an excuse to skip Licorice Pizza? Of course you shouldn’t, especially if you’re a fan of Anderson’s work. It is in many ways indicative of his continued evolution as a filmmaker, especially in terms of the emphasis on artful composition over whiz-bang camera wizardry. 

As always, though, the heart of the story is character interaction, and it very much follows the PTA template of throwing two humans together, having them bounce off one another, and seeing what comes from that. It is, in other words, a further distillation of his “Just get two people talking” approach to story writing. 

Interestingly, though, while so many of the characters in his previous films could best be characterized by their almost pathological need to define themselves for others, that’s less the case here. One of the two main characters—Alana, played brilliantly by pop-rocker Alana Haim—at times grapples with others’ perceptions of her, but seems less inclined to paint a rose-colored picture of herself and force those around her to accept it than you might expect an Anderson character to do. In fact, she spends far more time looking for other people to define her or at least to affirm her own self-image. That’s part of why Licorice Pizza feels more consistently honest than many of the filmmaker’s previous efforts, but there’s also the fact that he doesn’t employ nearly as much visual/verbal misdirection here. 

Overall, it’s as meandering and unfocused an experience as you might expect but it’s worth the journey if only for Haim’s performance. She is an utterly effortless and hypnotic screen presence—the sort of actor who makes you forget she’s acting at all. I found myself shocked at times that co-stars the likes of Sean Penn and Tom Waits could come close to matching her natural energy. 

And you could say the same about her co-lead, Cooper Hoffman. Had he failed to rise to Haim’s level, nothing about the film would have worked. But he did, and it does. My only real beef with the substance of the film—aside from its somewhat messy structure—is that it seems like Anderson just had no clue how he wanted the story to end, and as such it ends . . . weirdly. It will, I imagine, be a divisive conclusion even among those who enjoy the rest of the film.

But as for the home video presentation? You’ll hear no such ambivalence from me. I’m pissed. The sound is good, mind you—a rather front-focused DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 mix that would have worked just as well in 3.1 or stereo. But the important thing is that it does justice to the dialogue, the fantastic soundtrack music, and the fascinating score by Jonny Greenwood, who is quickly becoming one of my favorite modern film composers. 

The picture, though, is inexcusable. And I don’t blame Kaleidescape here—they delivered an unimpeachable encode based on the materials given to them. I lay the blame squarely at the feet of MGM. Will we see a bait-and-switch of the sort Universal pulled with Phantom Thread, which dropped in HD resolution only at first and was followed by a UHD release a month later? I can’t know, of course, but I hope so. At the very least, if the studio manages to get its act together with this one, the upgrade path will be easy for Kaleidescape owners.

Dennis Burger is an avid Star Wars scholar, Tolkien fanatic, and Corvette enthusiast who somehow also manages to find time for technological passions including high-end audio, home automation, and video gaming. He lives in the armpit of Alabama with his wife Bethany and their four-legged child Bruno, a 75-pound American Staffordshire Terrier who thinks he’s a Pomeranian.

PICTURE |  Kaleidescape does an excellent job with its better-than-Blu-ray-quality download, but you can see the image struggling at times against the constraints of the studio-supplied 1080p SDR transfer they had to work with

SOUND | The front-focused DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 mix would work just as well in 3.1 or stereo but does justice to the dialogue, the soundtrack music, and the Jonny Greenwood score

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Review: The King’s Man

The King's Man (2021)

review | The King’s Man

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This roots-of-the-Kingsman story is less breezy than the other entries in the series but is still a solid actioner 

by Roger Kanno
February 28, 2022

The King’s Man brings us the origin story of the Kingsman film franchise, whose previous films starred Taron Egerton and Colin Firth as operatives in a fictional British secret service agency. This prequel stars Ralph Fiennes as Duke Orlando Oxford, a British spy at the turn of the century who establishes the Kingsman organization around the time of World War I. Unlike the first two films, which take place during modern times, The King’s Man eschews much of the breezy comedic feel and use of pop music to augment the fast-paced action. There are still comedic elements but this latest installment is more serious in tone. And as it tries to find its own identity, I couldn’t help but feel it would benefit by more fully committing to its darker narrative and leave behind the light-hearted elements of its predecessors. (Think James Mangold’s Logan and what it did for the X-Men franchise.) 

Still, Fiennes does an admirable job as the upper-crust gentleman who secretly protects England and the world from the evil plans of a group known as the Flock led by the Shepherd, even though his understated and sophisticated demeanor sometimes seem a bit out of place amongst all the action. He is joined by accomplished actors such as Djimon Hounsou and Daniel Brühl, but it is Gemma Arterton who shines as the strong-willed and intelligent former member of Orlando’s household staff whom he has recruited into his spy ring. She plays her character with both style and humor while always maintaining proper British restraint. As with the previous films, The King’s Man is written and directed by Matthew Vaughn who has worked on X-Men prequels as well as Layer Cake, Stardust, and Kick Ass, so there is definitely no lack of style or flair in the film’s production.

The King’s Man began streaming on HBO Max and Hulu and made available for purchase or rent from other services on February 18. I accessed it through Google Play, which allowed me to view a 4K version with a 5.1-channel Dolby Digital Plus soundtrack. The picture quality was very good even though it lacked HDR when streamed in this. During a particularly challenging, fast-paced fight sequence, the highly choreographed, ballet-like action showed little artifacting. Even as the villainous Rasputin leaps and pirouettes repeatedly in rapid succession, I could still make out the fine details in his long hair and flowing beard.

When we see the mountain top hideout of the Shepherd, the sun-bathed, snow-covered precipices look stunning, with steely blue and grey rocks contrasted by sparkling white frost and ice. As the scene moves inside the hideout, the picture could have benefitted from HDR enhancement as it loses some sharpness and detail. There was a lack of gradation in shadows as the edges of dark articles of clothing blended together into singular black objects, appearing smooth as they lacked texture on their surfaces. Other than the lack of some highlights in these darker scenes, the overall picture quality was quite satisfying.

The soundtrack is very active, with excellent use of Matthew Margeson’s music score. Throughout action scenes, the orchestral music is used to effectively to fill the soundstage, while sound effects and dialogue remain clearly audible. During an extended battlefield sequence, the constrained but ominous sounds of hand-to-hand combat combined with discordant, driving rhythms, then transitioned to an all-out aural onslaught. As the music surged with strings, horn and choir, mortar shells and automatic gunfire rang out all around as the voices of German and English soldiers were easily discernible amidst the din, which placed me palpably amidst the intense action. 

This third installment of the Kingsman is a bit of departure from the previous two but action fans will likely be drawn to the slickly made prequel. And for those yearning for the return of Eggsy (Egerton) and Harry Hart (Firth), they’re slated to be back in 2023 with the release of Kingsman: The Blue Blood.

Roger Kanno began his life-long interest in home cinema almost three decades ago with a collection of LaserDiscs and a Dolby Surround Pro Logic system. Since then, he has seen a lot of movies in his home theater but has an equal fascination with high-end stereo music systems. Roger writes for both Sound & Vision and the SoundStage! Network.

PICTURE | The image quality is very good, even though it lacks HDR when streamed on Google Play. Particularly challenging action scenes showed little artifacting.

SOUND | The 5.1 Dolby Digital Plus soundtrack is very active. Throughout action scenes, the orchestral music is used to effectively to fill the soundstage while sound effects and dialogue remain clearly audible.

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Review: CODA

CODA (2021)

review | CODA

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With many of its characters deaf, you’d expect this film to veer into inspiration porn, but it turns out to be both feel-good & socially aware at the same time

by Dennis Burger
February 23, 2022

Sian Heder’s CODA is a tricky film to write about insofar as anything I could say to define it for you will, I fear, give you exactly the wrong impression, and the more I prattle, the more wrong your impression will be. So I’m inclined to keep this brief in the interest of doing as little harm as possible, but there’s just so much I want to dig into. 

CODA is an acronym for Children of Deaf Adults, and in this case that label applies to Ruby—played to perfection by Emilia Jones—who is the only hearing member of her immediate family. She’s also a gifted singer, to the surprise of everyone including herself, and although the trailer would lead you to believe that the movie’s major source of conflict is her family’s failure to understand her desire to join the school choir and even audition for a scholarship to the Berklee College of Music, that’s far from the whole story. 

A far bigger problem—and one largely glossed over by the film’s marketing—is that Ruby and her family are working poor, and their attempts to scrape together a meager living are hampered by everything from climate change to bureaucracy to neoliberal regulatory forces. CODA is, in short, one of the most subtle and compelling anti-capitalist films in ages but I wouldn’t be surprised if many viewers miss that fact, as well as the irony of its being distributed entirely by Apple. 

That it manages to explore this territory without being overtly political is a neat trick. But by far CODA‘s niftiest sleight-of-hand is that it deals with issues of disability without devolving into inspiration porn of the sort the trailer sells it as. Deafness is certainly a characteristic of three of its four main characters but it’s not a defining one. 

The film is irreverent without going for cheap shocks, adorable without being cloying, sentimental without being schmaltzy, awkward without being affected, and fits firmly into the tradition of feel-good cinema without being overly manipulative emotionally. My only criticism is that it plays it safe in terms of broader story structure. Let’s call it what it is—the Hero’s Journey. And as a result, by the end of the first act you’ll probably have an accurate sense of how it ends. 

But given how specific its scenario is—lower-class fishing family, three-quarters of whom are deaf, fight a constant battle to find balance between the desires of the individual and the needs of the collective—the tried-and-true narrative template serves mostly to add a much-needed dose of universal relatability. And in that sense, it very much succeeds. I’d be shocked if you can’t find some common ground with these characters, no matter your station. 

CODA is a remake of a French film called La Famille Bélier, which I’ll admit I wasn’t aware existed until I saw it listed in the closing credits. That does make some sense of a few things—notably the fact that American filmmakers rarely know what to do with class struggles, if they even bother to grapple with them. Whether La Famille Bélier is a better film, I can’t say. But CODA stands on its own as a very good one. 

The Apple TV+ presentation is a lovely thing to behold. Shot on location in Gloucester, Massachusetts, it certainly looks like no soundstages were employed. The Rossi family cottage has the sort of grit and clutter that reads as authentic whether it is or not, and it gives the entire picture a ton of texture and a warm cast overall. 

Even before we get our first peek at the home, though, the image is packed with the sort of chaos that makes me somewhat nervous when viewing at streaming bitrates. That never ends up being a problem, though—a least not when watched on Roku Ultra. The opening shot is of a rickety trawler bouncing around on choppy seas, with a flat sky above that’s broken up only by a few clouds on the horizon. 

This is stress-test material for any video codec, even one as good as HEVC. But amidst the chaos of the waves and the nearly imperceptible gradations of the sky, I never saw any of the misplaced textures or banding you’d have to keep an eye out for even on UHD Blu-ray. The only perceptible flaws in the image are a couple instances of unnecessary edge-enhancement you might not even spot depending on when you blink. 

While the picture doesn’t live or die based on razor sharpness, you can definitely see the benefits of the 6K shooting resolution and the 4K DI. Apple presents the film in Dolby Vision, and while you won’t notice many scenes with high overall brightness, the pinpoint bursts of specular intensity—especially on the seas—give the image a nice amount of pop. There’s also a lot of breathing room at the lower end of the value scale, which really helps with dimly lit interiors.

Apple delivers the film with a Dolby Atmos mix (AC-4, if your hardware supports that codec; Dolby Digital+, if not) that serves the material well. There’s one scene early on where the overhead effects were slightly gimmicky for about two or three seconds, but other than that it’s a nicely immersive mix that seems more concerned with accurately portraying interior and exterior spaces than with stressing your amps or subs. The school music room in which so much of Ruby’s story unfolds, for example, has its own sonic fingerprint, with exactly the sort of modes and other resonances you would expect of such a space, along with the consequent vocal colorations. The mix avoids the mistake of switching over to dry studio vocals during music numbers, and as such it all just sounds that much more authentic. 

In the end, it’s little authenticities of that sort that make CODA such an enjoyable film, despite the predictability of its larger structure. Yes, from a bird’s-eye view you’ll know how this one ends as soon as you settle into it, but there are oodles of little moment-to-moment surprises that make it a journey very much worth taking anyway. 

Dennis Burger is an avid Star Wars scholar, Tolkien fanatic, and Corvette enthusiast who somehow also manages to find time for technological passions including high-end audio, home automation, and video gaming. He lives in the armpit of Alabama with his wife Bethany and their four-legged child Bruno, a 75-pound American Staffordshire Terrier who thinks he’s a Pomeranian.

PICTURE | The Dolby Vision presentation is lovely to behold, with pinpoint bursts of specular intensity giving the image a nice amount of pop. A lot of breathing room at the lower end of the value scale really helps with dimly lit interiors.

SOUND | A nicely immersive Atmos mix that’s more concerned with accurately portraying interior & exterior spaces than it is with stressing your amps or subs

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Review: Belfast

Belfast (2021)

review | Belfast

This Best Picture nominee uses black & white to evoke the late ’60s but features a surprisingly active—and modern—Atmos mix

by Ryan Rutherford
February 23, 2022

Kenneth Branagh’s Belfast (recipient of seven Oscar nominations) tells a semi-autobiographical tale of growing up in the turbulent Belfast of the late ‘60s. At its core it’s about a small community of people looking after one another and of one family’s struggle over whether to stay amid the violence around them or leave their home and extended family behind. 

Branagh’s had an up-and-down filmography from the start (I have a soft spot for Dead Again), but this is clearly among his strongest films. He garners fantastic performances from novices and veterans alike (the film has earned nominations for vets Judy Dench and Ciaran Hinds), yet centers the movie on the performance of young Jude Hill. It’s through his eyes that we see the neighborhood and the talks with family members and friends but also the several bursts of violence that propel the family into its dilemma. 

Belfast deserves the Oscar nods it’s received but I was surprised it wasn’t nominated for cinematography. The film is artfully shot in black & white by Branagh’s frequent collaborator Haris Zambarloukos, with unique splashes of color thrown in to remind the characters that there’s life beyond all the turmoil. Compared to the many weak movies of the past couple of years, this is clearly a quality effort by someone with a personal investment in seeing it made with care and an authentic eye.

Shot digitally, the 1.85:1 aspect-ratio picture is beautiful to behold. The movie opens with modern shots of Belfast awash in color and then goes to black & white as it transitions to 1969. Black levels are deep and unlike most similar period movies. The images have an artful gleam, with no artificial grain introduced to fake traditional film, and have a smooth look throughout, with extraordinary detail at all levels, from the sharpness of fabrics to the richness of textures.  

When the characters go to see a movie, we’re shown what they’re watching in vivid color, and it’s an interesting juxtaposition (if not a bit showy). The HDR10 image displays strong contrast, with almost every frame transitioning from deep black to bright highlights of sunlight beaming through windows. Torches and other lighting effects pop off the screen and blacks are rich with fantastic delineation and shadow detail. This is a top-level video presentation, and the encode enhances the black & white in the way HDR has always promised.   

Also nominated for Sound, Belfast doesn’t disappoint here, either. This film doesn’t have strong dynamics or the kind of bass that will challenge a system, but it does have such a wonderfully natural and room-filling Dolby Atmos track that it’s shocking at times. You wouldn’t expect this type of movie to have an active object-based surround track, but the filmmakers made it a priority to immerse you in the neighborhood’s goings-on, and at that it succeeds immensely. 

Dialogue is natural and well placed in the center, and Atmos effects are almost constant when characters venture out into the streets. Belfast sounds like a contemporary movie but its period bent makes the well-recorded effects and surround mix stick out from time to time. Helicopters swarm overhead in a warm and full-bodied effect, fires burn from surrounds, and explosions burst from the main channels in a very modern way, much like the Van Morrison soundtrack. 

The music is the weakest element here, and by foregoing his usual collaboration with Patrick Doyle, Branagh missed out on tying the score to the moment emotionally. The Morrison tracks burst out almost at random, taking me out of the movie. Aside from that one gripe, this is a strong soundtrack that further enhances being pulled into the characters’ world, taking me by surprise with its warmth and inventiveness.

Ryan Rutherford is a 20-year home theater sales & installation veteran who owns Northstar Audio Video in Altoona, Pa. In between designing & installing systems, he loves his time with his two children and beautiful wife while obsessing about how much better the next TV/receiver/speaker will perform in his home.

PICTURE | This is a top-level video presentation, and the encode enhances the black & white in the way HDR has always promised

SOUND | The film has such a wonderfully natural and room-filling Dolby Atmos track that it’s shocking at times

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Review: Tick, Tick . . . Boom!

Tick, Tick . . . Boom (2021)

review | Tick, Tick . . . Boom!

Lin-Manuel Miranda acquits himself nicely in his directorial debut with this musical tale of the final days of Rent creator Jonathan Larson

by Anthony Savona
February 22, 2022

He’s not well known in the wider world but in the musical theater domain, Jonathan Larson is considered a tragic genius. The creator of Rent (the Tony Award- and Pulitzer Prize-winning ’90s Broadway show that inspired a whole generation of theater fans and creatives), Larson died of a sudden aortic dissection the night before the show was to have its first preview, never knowing the tremendous success his work would receive or the influence it would have. 

And while his life story is ripe for the telling—a starving artist who dreams of changing musical theater and does so but passes away just before he can see his dream become a reality—that isn’t the tale Tick,Tick . . . Boom! tells. It’s more of an origin story for Rent, based on a one-man musical written and performed by Larson himself. And, as the film’s opening narration says, “Everything is true . . . except for the parts Jonathan made up.”

In Tick, Tick . . . Boom!, Larson (played by Oscar nominee Andrew Garfield) shares the stresses he’s under preparing for a first reading of a musical he’s been working on for eight years (not Rent), his best friend and roommate Michael (Robin de Jesus) moving out of the dumpy downtown NYC apartment they share, and his girlfriend Susan (Alexandra Shipp) looking to move out of the city and settle down. Oh, and he’s about to turn 30 and still hasn’t made a name for himself on Broadway, unlike his hero Stephen Sondheim (Bradley Whitford).

The film moves between a stage version of the musical—which includes Larson, a small band, and two singers, Roger (Joshua Henry) and Karessa (Vanessa Hudgens)—and his life at the time, juggling the pressures of his creative and personal life with shifts at the Moondance Diner to scrape a living together until he hits it big.

Garfield is a marvel and deserves all the attention and awards love he’s receiving. He’s no stranger to Broadway, having won a Tony for the play Angels in America in 2018. But he admits he had no deep knowledge of Larson prior to this film, and that keeps his performance from being a star-eyed tribute. His Larson is charming and talented but also so driven that he’s often blind to everything else happening around him.

The film’s director, Lin-Manuel Miranda—yes, of Hamilton fame and composer for seemingly every Disney animated film of late (including Encanto)knows quite a bit about the business of Broadway and what it takes to break through. Having been deeply influenced by Rent and Larson, he’s the perfect person to tell this story, which is clearly important to him—and it shows in the care he’s taken to present it.

Thanks to Miranda’s well-connected address book. two scenes feature cameos from Broadway’s best. In one—a musical number at the diner where Larson works—stage stars from the ’60s through today harass Larson for brunch, including Miranda himself along with fellow Hamilton alums Phillipa Soon and Renee Elise Goldsberry. In  the other, Larson is presenting his songs in a workshop where the class is made up of some of Broadway’s biggest writers, composers, and producers. (You can read up on who’s who here.)

Miranda works in several homages to Rent, including the answering machine “beep!,” Larson riding his bike past the Cat Scratch Club (where one of the characters worked), Jonathan lighting a candle while speaking with his girlfriend in the dark, and a rooftop scene where numbers on a nearby building add up to 525,600. (Anyone who knows the song “Seasons of Love” just sang that number instead of reading it.)

All of that is fantastic for theater fans but what if you could care less? Tick, Tick . . . Boom! still has you with a gripping, well-paced story of a frustrated artist trying to decide whether to give it all up or keep on trying. That we already know what Larson chooses doesn’t make the story any less compelling, and knowing how little time he has left only adds to the urgency, punctuated throughout by the sounds of a persistently ticking second hand.

Shot in 7K resolution, Tick’s transfer is taken from a 4K digital intermediate. On paper, this should translate into truly stunning image quality but it didn’t feel like the Netflix stream was able to deliver on all of its visual potential. It looked more like it was shot on film than having the hyper-clear sharpness and detail of video, and often felt more like I was watching a 1080p Blu-ray. One scene that really delivered, though, was the haunting ballad “Why?,” which was beautifully shot in the empty Delacorte Theater in Central Park. It hits you right in the feels, and the image quality has great depth and sharpness, letting you clearly see the sharp lines of the theater and count the rows of seats.

The HDR grade isn’t overly aggressive, with the focus on making natural, lifelike images with good depth and shadow detail. We do get some nice highlights of bright sunlight streaming in through windows, glowing street lights and lamps, and white-hot stage lighting. 

Of course, a musical is only as good as its songs. Fortunately, Larson knew how to write a good rock song, Garfield knows how to deliver them, and Miranda knows how to handle the multi-layered delivery. The Dolby Atmos track makes the music the worthy star of this performance. Audio is kept across the front, except when the musical numbers begin; then the soundstage expands, filling the room with the score, occasionally placing some vocals out in the surround channels. The mix also gives a bit of ambience to other scenes, such as the spaciousness and echoes in the open rehearsal room where the reading happens or street noises in the city. Don’t expect a lot of action out of your subwoofer, though it does come to life courtesy of some drums.  

“I’m the future of musical theater,” Larson tells one obnoxious party-goer. Unfortunately, he didn’t live to see the truth of that statement. All in all, this is an encouraging directorial debut from Miranda and another star turn for Garfield, making it an easy recommendation the next time you’re wondering what to watch on Netflix. 

Anthony Savona is the Editor of Residential Systems and the VP of Content Creation for Future’s B2B—AV Tech Group. He is also the keeper of a wealth of useless knowledge in topics such as comic books, modern Broadway, ’90s punk music, and outdated AV media.

PICTURE | The Netflix stream doesn’t deliver on all of the 4K transfer’s visual potential, looking more like it was shot on film than having the hyper-clear sharpness and detail of video 

SOUND | The Atmos track makes the music the star of the performances, with the audio kept across the front except when the numbers begin. The soundstage then expands, filling the room with the score. 

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Second Thoughts: The Book of Boba Fett

Second Thoughts: The Book of Boba Fett

Second Thoughts | The Book of Boba Fett

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Not only did this Disney+ series not live up to expectations but it devolved into grownups playing with action figures

by Dennis Burger
February 21, 2022

Rarely have I seen a series launch with so much potential and squander it so spectacularly as did The Book of Boba Fett. Reflecting on the show now that it has run its course, I still stand by my review of the first episode. It was a great slow-burn setup for what promised to be a fascinating character study and a rumination on how cultural forces shape the individual. 

But by the third episode, that promise was broken as the show devolved into a silly and chaotic biker-gang/cowboy/sci-fi mash-up action romp devoid of any real meaning or cohesion. And by the fifth of its seven episodes, it took a hard right turn and became the very thing I said it wasn’t in my review: The Mandalorian Season 2.5. 

Oddly, that episode was one of the best of the series, but only taken in isolation. Why it wasn’t simply the first episode of The Mandalorian Season Three is beyond me, as plopping it into the middle of this spinoff rendered the entire affair narratively and thematically incoherent. And things only get worse from there. By the seventh episode, The Book of Boba Fett came across as a bunch of middle-aged men playing with Star Wars action figures more so than any attempt at creating something compelling or comprehensible. And it became so bogged down by fan service that it’s nearly impossible to take it seriously. 

It’s borderline impossible to make any sense out of what this series is about, what we’re supposed to take from it, or how it in any way advances the post-Return of the Jedi storyline that continues to unfold on Disney+. Because, in the end, Boba Fett himself sort of meanders, and The Mandalorian’s storyline lazily reverts to the status quo ante, undoing all of the gripping character progression that happened in the second season of his own series. I honestly haven’t seen this concerted an effort to undo what came before since J.J. Abrams’ ham-fisted attempt at erasing The Last Jedi from existence with the hatchet-job whose name I will not utter here. 

If you’re a hardcore Star Wars fan, it’s a safe bet you’ve already slogged through this mess and my warning is too late. If, though, you’re a more casual fan who enjoyed The Mandalorian and want to stay abreast of what’s going on in that narrative thread, my recommendation would be to peruse the episode recaps on Wookieepedia and save yourself some time. None of it will make a lick of sense, but none of it made any sense in real-time, either.

Dennis Burger is an avid Star Wars scholar, Tolkien fanatic, and Corvette enthusiast who somehow also manages to find time for technological passions including high-end audio, home automation, and video gaming. He lives in the armpit of Alabama with his wife Bethany and their four-legged child Bruno, a 75-pound American Staffordshire Terrier who thinks he’s a Pomeranian.

Why “Second Thoughts”?

Reviewing series is always a challenge. If you weigh in after everything’s wrapped up, you run the risk of being late to the party and offering up your insights when the world has already moved on to pastures new. Ideally, you want to go on the record early enough to give the reader a sense of whether they should commit to something for its duration—but then the show might blindside you in a big way, for the good or the bad. So we’re launching this department to give our writers a chance to offer some sometimes badly needed additional perspective when a series doesn’t turn out quite how they expected. 

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Review: The Power of the Dog

The Power of the Dog (2021)

review | The Power of the Dog

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One of this year’s big Oscar favorites, this Netflix western leans more on character and atmosphere than action

by Roger Kanno
February 18, 2022

The Power of the Dog (written and directed by Jane Campion, and based on the novel by Thomas Savage) has received many accolades, including 12 Academy Award nominations, the most of any film this year. It tells the story of the Burbank brothers, Phil (Benedict Cumberbatch) and George (Jesse Plemons), two successful Montana cattlemen in the 1920s who meet Rose Gordon (Kirsten Dunst), a widowed innkeeper, and her son Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee) during a cattle drive. While the kind-hearted George falls in love with and eventually marries Rose, Phil is unnecessarily cruel to everyone he meets, especially Rose and Peter. 

It is sometimes difficult to watch Cumberbatch, so convincing is his portrayal of the wholly unpleasant Phil, but his performance is never over the top; rather, it’s nuanced and fascinating in an unnerving manner. Real-life couple Plemons and Dunst are just as convincing and no less captivating as the subdued counterparts to the volatile Phil. Smit-McPhee is excellent as the meek, studious young Peter, seemingly out of place among the rough ranch hands. All are deserving of their Oscar nominations. Campion is also nominated for her adapted screenplay, as one of the producers for Best Picture, and as Best Director. The Power of the Dog is both a period piece and a psychological drama, as well as a finely crafted character study of complex individuals. 

Outdoor scenes filmed on location in New Zealand have an austere look, wonderfully capturing the rustic atmosphere of cattle ranching at the end of the Wild West era. The color palette is on the cool side, with dusty cattle-wrangling scenes sometimes showing slight aliasing, but otherwise the picture (shot in ArriRaw at 4.5K and presented in Dolby Vision on Netflix) has excellent sharpness and detail. While the exterior shots are bright and sharp, the dimly lit interiors can look a little soft, but the lighting has a natural organic quality even though the interiors were shot entirely on soundstages. 

Ari Wegner’s cinematography, which was also nominated for an Oscar, is breathtaking, with the untamed New Zealand landscape looking both stark and dazzling. Images are framed with the picturesque scenery in mind, and wide shots will look truly majestic on high-quality video displays. There aren’t a lot of bright primary colors to be seen as exteriors are dominated by dry, prairie-like landscapes and the characters wear mostly earth tones, but the film’s UHD presentation is simply gorgeous in an understated manner.

The Oscar-nominated sound design by Richard Flynn, Robert Mackenzie, and Tara Webb is similarly subdued. The opening scenes start off with well recorded, rambling plucked strings and the atmospheric sounds of a cattle drive on the open plains setting an appropriately melancholic tone. But much of the rest of the film consists of only dialogue, occasional Foley effects, and very limited use of the music score. Foley is often mixed at low levels but is well suited to the onscreen action, and the minimalist sound design meticulously captures the feeling of the story’s setting during simpler times.

The lack of surround presence during most of the film serves to highlight a scene where Phil’s banjo playing emanates from the right surround channel then moves to the front speakers once his presence is established. This sudden use of the surrounds is unexpected and helps to heighten the significance of Phil’s actions. There is more liberal use of Jonny Greenwood’s haunting, Oscar-nominated score near the end of the film as the story builds to its deliberate and satisfying conclusion. 

The Power of the Dog is Campion’s first film in more than ten years, during which time she created two limited television series, Top of the Lake and Top of the Lake: China Girl. Both are slow burns like The Power of the Dog and worth seeking out if you’re a fan of her work, but her return to the big screen is beautiful to look at and an absolutely compelling film. 

Roger Kanno began his life-long interest in home cinema almost three decades ago with a collection of LaserDiscs and a Dolby Surround Pro Logic system. Since then, he has seen a lot of movies in his home theater but has an equal fascination with high-end stereo music systems. Roger writes for both Sound & Vision and the SoundStage! Network.

PICTURE | While the exterior shots in Netflix’ Dolby Vision presentation are bright and sharp, the dimly lit interiors can look a little soft, but the lighting has a natural organic quality even though the interiors were shot entirely on soundstages

SOUND | The Oscar-nominated sound design is subdued, with much of the film consisting of only dialogue, occasional Foley effects, and very limited use of the music score

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Review: Flee

Flee (2021)

review | Flee

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This unique documentary uses animation creatively to both tell the story and protect the identity of its subject

by Dennis Burger
February 17, 2022

You can’t help but get the sense filmmaker Jonas Poher Rasmussen began work on Flee with no firm idea of where it was going or even what it was about at anything other than the 30,000-foot level. That may seem an odd statement to make about an animated film, given how meticulously most of those are pre-engineered. But Flee, as it happens, wasn’t animated for aesthetic reasons—it was animated to protect the identity of its subject, Amin, for reasons that become clearer and clearer as the story unfolds.

Amin is an Afghani refugee who fled to Denmark during the Afghan Civil War that followed the Soviet–Afghan War of 1979-1989. The exact circumstances of his circuitous journey were a closely guarded secret for many years—even from his closest friends—and when he finally started to open up about his past, Rasmussen recorded the conversations, sometimes on his phone, sometimes with professional equipment, but always in fits and starts. 

I hesitate to say much more than that since Flee is largely about self-discovery and the nature of suppressed memories and unspoken truths. And the twists and turns Amin takes in not only unpacking but accepting his past add up to an incredibly compelling human drama that needs to be experienced in real-time, as unspoiled as possible.

Make no mistake, though—it can be a frustrating journey, worthwhile as it is in the end. The animation occasionally acts as a barrier between the viewer and the subject, and although the insertion of unanimated and unaltered newsreel footage serves as a consistent reminder that these were real events that happened to real human beings, there are times when the umbilical between the cartoonish imagery and the reality lying beneath it is stretched almost to the point of snapping. 

It’s easy to make criticisms of that sort. It’s not so easy to think of another way this project could have come to fruition. So don’t take any of the above as a reason to skip Flee. Just know that you’ll occasionally need to do some work here. This isn’t a passive viewing experience; nor is it entertainment. It’s a shocking look at geopolitical and societal forces of the sort most of us have never been subjected to, filtered through the lens of one man’s memories and experiences, then filtered through yet another lens of two-dimensional artwork. 

Thankfully, given the attention the film is getting due to its various Oscar nods for Animated Feature, Documentary Feature, and International Feature Film, Flee isn’t hard to find. It’s available to Hulu subscribers with both its original soundtrack (a mix of several languages but primarily Danish and Dari, with a good bit of Russian and English sprinkled in) or in an English dub. I instead rented it from iTunes and viewed it via the Apple TV+ app on Roku, as I find that’s often a safer bet in terms of image quality. 

Doing a quick spot-check between various scenes in the Hulu and Apple presentations, though, I honestly found only one meaningful difference, in a live-action establishing shot of New York City. Apple-by-way-of-Roku renders this brief shot with a little less aliasing and a bit more detail. Aside from that, they’re practically identical. 

By that I mean that both look quite good, given the material they’re working with. Flee does benefit from artful character design and very nice background animation but it’s not super-detailed nor is its color palette nuanced. As such, the HD/SDR presentation available on most streaming retailers is more than up to the task. I know we’re not quite to the point where high-def looks consistently great at streaming bitrates—certainly nowhere near as great as UHD/HDR—but Flee is aided by the fact that there isn’t quite as much to compress here as would normally be the case with animated features. 

The picture is often animated on the fours or sixes, and at times as low as one or two frames per second. It’s also largely devoid of texture for long stretches. So aside from that aforementioned shot of NYC, there isn’t much that would trip up any reasonably modern video codec. But if you’re overly concerned with any of the above, you’re missing the point. The animation is employed as a tool, not a treat. The question is: Does it get the job done? And the answer  is: Yes, undeniably.

The film’s 5.1 sound mix is utterly fascinating. Again, keep in mind that some of the audio was sourced from smartphone footage shot from the back of a moving car and some of it was from spur-of-the-moment recordings done in hotel rooms and bedrooms. In a weird way, this results in the audio being the strongest anchor to reality throughout the film. There’s also a lot of creative mixing, and the shape of the soundfield is frequently used to mark the transition between the present and the past, between the reality of the conversation between Jonas and Amin to the memories of the latter—sometimes crystal clear, sometimes hazy and nebulous. 

Weirdly enough, the 5.1 sound also upmixes beautifully into Atmos, a fact I stumbled upon purely because I forgot to turn off my system’s Atmos processing before pressing Play. There’s one scene—a recreation of Amin’s memories of being smuggled out of Russia in the belly of a rickety boat—that’s so sonically immersive it’s hard to believe it wasn’t mixed in Atmos proper. 

Again, though, to focus on such issues is to put the cart before the horse. Amin’s is a story that needed to be told, and it’s one you need to hear. It’s a story about acceptance, dealing with trauma, and self-sabotage and the nature of memory. In short, despite all the artifice, it’s a film rooted in the messiness of life and the juxtaposition between the forces of history and the individual human spirit. And all of that makes it very much worth your time.

Dennis Burger is an avid Star Wars scholar, Tolkien fanatic, and Corvette enthusiast who somehow also manages to find time for technological passions including high-end audio, home automation, and video gaming. He lives in the armpit of Alabama with his wife Bethany and their four-legged child Bruno, a 75-pound American Staffordshire Terrier who thinks he’s a Pomeranian.

PICTURE | Aside from one brief live-action shot, there’s no meaningful difference between the film’s HD presentation on Hulu and AppleTV+

SOUND | The 5.1 mix is deployed creatively, providing the strongest anchor to reality throughout the film, and upmixes to Atmos surprisingly well

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Review: Reacher

Reacher (2021)

review | Reacher

The successful book series spawns an even more successful Amazon Prime series, with Tom Cruise nowhere to be seen 

by John Sciacca
February 13, 2022

“My name is Jack Reacher. No middle name, no address. I’ve got a rule: People mess with me at their own risk.”
                                                                                                                   —Jack Reacher’s Rules

The name Reacher either immediately conjures up a pre-defined and fully formed image in your mind, or it means nothing. If you’re in the first group, then you’ve probably already devoured all eight episodes of Amazon Primes’s original series Reacher and might enjoy this review from one fan to another. If you’re in the second group . . . well, I envy you in a way. You have an incredible literary road ahead of you and a fantastic new series to kickstart your journey.

I first discovered Lee Child’s character Jack Reacher while visiting my wife’s family in Alabama. There were a couple of paperbacks lying around that my father-in-law had recently finished, so I picked one up and started reading. And that was it.

Since then, I’ve devoured all of  the Reacher novels, which currently number 27. And while they mostly follow a similar pattern—Reacher rolls/walks into a new town with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a few dollars in his pockets where he randomly stumbles across some trouble or injustice he’s compelled to settle, and in doing so he meets some strong, smart, attractive female he either needs to help or work with to resolve the issue before putting his folding toothbrush back in his pocket and heading on to the next place—they’re still great fun to read. Child keeps the language simple, the story interesting, the locales and characters varied, and the pace fast. 

What we learn early on—and hear continually throughout each novel—is that Reacher is a hulking, muscle-mountain of a man who’s never intimidated by anyone or anything. While he doesn’t go looking for fights per se he certainly doesn’t back away from them. Standing 6 foot 5 inches and weighing upwards of 250 pounds, in the novel Never Go Back, Child describes him as having “a six-pack like a cobbled city street, a chest like a suit of NFL armor, biceps like basketballs, and subcutaneous fat like a Kleenex tissue.” 

While Reacher is incredibly observant (“details matter”) and brilliant at deducing clues and connecting the dots from even the smallest lead à la Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot, he solves most problems with his fists (or forehead—a brutal headbutt is one of his preferred attacks) or a gun (“Twelve-gauge lead shots settle most disputes at the first time of asking”). His hyper-tuned instincts and investigative skills have been honed and refined from his years leading the Army’s (fictional) 110th Special Investigations Unit (“You don’t mess with the special investigators”) where he solved some of the Army’s toughest cases, and now that he’s on his own, he prefers to just drift around wherever whim or the next bus or hitchhiked ride takes him. 

And coffee. Lots and lots of hot, black coffee. 

When I saw Amazon was going to have an original series about Jack Reacher, I was excited but a little apprehensive. After all, we’ve been down this road twice before with films starring Tom Cruise (Jack Reacher and Never Go Back). And while those films weren’t bad, 5-foot-whatever Cruise could just never be the physical monster Child has created and cemented in reader’s minds. (For the record, I always pictured Reacher as looking like a younger Dolph Lundgren.) Even with forced perspective and other camera tricks, Cruise was just never going to be convincing as Reacher. But when I saw that Child was serving as executive producer and a writer on the series (and actually has a brief cameo at the end of episode eight in the diner) and they cast Alan Ritchson (famous for playing Hawk on Titans and District 1 tribute Gloss in The Hunger Games: Catching Fire), I knew this had a shot to be the series I’d been hoping for. You can’t have a believable Reacher series without a believe actor in the lead, and Ritchson brings all the Reacher feels. Need more convincing the creators of this series understand and respect the character? You’ll recall the phrase, “Reacher said nothing,” throughout the books. Well, that he sits silent without saying a single word until about 7 minutes into the first episode. 

Season One covers the events from the first novel, Killing Floor, and opens with Reacher rolling into Margrave, Georgia on a whim to learn more about jazz musician Blind Blake. Shortly after arriving, he’s arrested for a murder he didn’t commit. As is the way with his life, things get personal and he gets entangled in the events—and bodies start piling up—so he decides to figure out what’s wrong with picturesque Margrave and its seemingly too-good-to-be-true benefactor Mr. Kliner (Currie Graham). While he figures things out and gets events sorted, he befriends Officer Roscoe Conklin (Willa Fitzgerald) and Captain Oscar Finlay (Malcolm Goodwin).

The story hews pretty closely to the book, though they’ve humanized Reacher a bit. In the books, no one typically lands a finger on him in a fight and pre-fight discussions usually go something like this:

“You’re about to get your ass kicked!”
“No. I’m just gonna break the hands of three drunk kids.” 
“There’s four of us.” 
“One of you has got to drive to the hospital.” 

In the series, fights are a little more two-sided, with Reacher taking his share of punches, kicks, and even knife wounds, though he always prevails. Another change is the addition of Frances Neagley (Maria Sten), an ex-member of the 110th who served under him and is one of the few recurring characters in the series. And while much of the books are told from Reacher’s point of view based on what he is thinking—and the lizard-brain instincts that help him act and survive—there are no voiceovers here. 

Also, be mindful of the TV-MA rating. (Amazon actually rates it 18+.) While I’d say the books are mostly PG-13, there’s some pretty strong language throughout the series, more than a fair bit of
violence, and a couple of brutal crime scenes, one involving, ummm, genital mutilation. 

Shot in the increasingly-popular-for-streaming aspect ratio of 2:1, Reacher walks a visual line between cinematic and made-for-TV. Resolution and clarity mostly shine in closeups, letting you appreciate the fine patterns, sharp lines, and details in Finlay’s variety of tweed jackets or vests, or the bulging muscles in Ritchson’s super-human arms. The lenses used often give a very “portrait mode” look to images, with characters in the foreground often in clear, sharp focus, with everything behind or around them blurred. 

Dark and night scenes are clear and have plenty of depth and shadow detail, but the color grade on exterior shots often has a kind of bronze cast. The contrast is often pushed, with clouds losing definition in favor of brightness. 

Sonically, the 5.1 Dolby Digital audio does a fine job of serving the mostly dialogue-driven story, letting you clearly understand what the characters are saying. The surrounds are brought into play for some ambient sounds as well for music, but it isn’t an overly dynamic mix. The series finale has the most traditional action with gun battles and explosions that offer a bit more sonic excitement and bring the subwoofer into play, but this isn’t a series designed to showcase your audio system’s capabilities. 

While clearly designed to appeal to the millions of existing Reacher fans, the interesting story and solid acting are enough to bring the unaffiliated into the fold. And after being released for just three days, Amazon announced Reacher will return for a second season, claiming it’s already one of their Top Five most-watched shows of all time and among its highest-rated original series, with subscribers giving it an average rating of 4.7 out of 5. For those who can’t wait for more Reacher until Season Two drops, Die Trying is the next book in the series. Enjoy. 

Probably the most experienced writer on custom installation in the industry, John Sciacca is co-owner of Custom Theater & Audio in Murrells Inlet, South Carolina, & is known for his writing for such publications as Residential Systems and Sound & Vision. Follow him on Twitter at @SciaccaTweets and at johnsciacca.com.

PICTURE | Reacher walks a visual line between cinematic and made-for-TV. Details mostly shine in closeups, and dark scenes are clear with plenty of depth and shadow detail, but the color grade on exterior shots often has a bronze cast and the contrast is often pushed. 

SOUND | The 5.1 Dolby Digital audio does a fine job of serving the mostly dialogue-driven story, but this isn’t an overly dynamic mix, with the surrounds brought into play mostly for ambient sounds and music

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Review: Summer of Soul

Summer of Soul (2021)

review | Summer of Soul

This documentary of a 1969 Harlem music festival is less about the performances and more about the culture & politics of the time

by Dennis Burger
February 11, 2022

To describe Summer of Soul ( . . . or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised) as the best documentary I’ve seen in recent years would be a disservice to it and to you. It is, without question, one of the best films I’ve seen in ages, regardless of genre. It’s a masterclass in film editing, although it’s never ostentatious in its cutting. Its pacing is hypnotic, resembling the timing and tempo of an album more so than a film (and not for the reasons you might suspect given its subject matter). It manages to be shockingly comprehensive and broad without losing focus. It is, not to put too fine a point on it, going straight onto my exceedingly short list of truly perfect films. 

If you’ve seen the trailer, you know already that it’s a film about the 1969 Harlem Cultural Festival, held at Mt. Morris Park (now Marcus Garvey Park). It has been described as the Black Woodstock, and although clips from the festival have surfaced from time to time—perhaps most notably in What Happened, Miss Simone?, one of the few legitimately good documentaries on Netflix not starring David Attenborough—no one could muster the will or the financial backing to do an entire film about it until Roots drummer and frontman Questlove took it on. 

While all of the above is a perfectly satisfactory summation of the heart of the film, it’s so much more than that. Summer of Soul is the most intersectional film I’ve seen in I don’t know how long. I hesitate to use that adjective and would have instead substituted literally any other descriptor that might have worked. But none does. Make no mistake about it, though: Despite being defiantly and unapologetically political, the film isn’t tainted by modern political biases. 

What do I mean by “intersectional”? In short, the main thing Questlove seems to be saying is, “You can’t understand X if you don’t understand Y,” and the variables he plugs into that equation range from the political and societal to the spiritual and secular, from fashion to art to civil rights to the heroin epidemic that ravaged Harlem at the time. As a Tolkien nerd, perhaps my favorite intersection Questlove plants a street sign into—before driving right on by, confidently and casually—is that you can’t understand shifts in culture without understanding shifts in language. And vice versa. 

It’s interesting that the film doesn’t dwell on this—or any point, for that matter. And I can’t know for sure if there simply wasn’t time to linger or if Questlove simply respects the intelligence of the audience too much to belabor anything (an all-too-rare treat these days), but it hardly matters. The thing is, while you’d think the breadth of topics would be too much for one film to chew on, Summer of Soul manages to be cohesive and focused largely due to its use of the 1969 Harlem Cultural Festival as its center of gravity. Literally everything ties back to it. 

In his audio commentary—available on Kaleidescape—Questlove discusses a much longer first cut that ran close to three and a half hours, and how it differed from the final edit. It seems clear that most of what got excised—aside from additional performances by Sly and the Family Stone and so many other acts on the verge of exploding into the public consciousness shortly thereafter—involved side journeys that got too far away from the festival itself in an attempt to provide an even larger, though less concise, historical context. 

Part of me wants to see that extended cut and part of me doesn’t because as both a historical document and a work of art, the 118-minute cut is not only a complete statement but also an incredibly tight and rhythmically fascinating jam, and it’s borderline impossible to imagine it being improved upon by additional material. 

Bottom line: I’m kicking myself for not watching Summer of Soul sooner. It was made as a Hulu exclusive and originally released last summer. And although I do subscribe to that service for reasons I don’t quite understand, I’ve never been able to bring myself to watch a proper film on it, as  its video quality is unacceptable in most cases. As it turns out, this isn’t a film where image quality makes much difference. The festival was shot on video and not well preserved, so it’s riddled with aliasing, moiré, clipping, chromatic aberrations, and mosquito noise, and no attempt has been made to clean it up à la Get Back. 

Because of that, Kaleidescape’s UHD presentation is practically indistinguishable from Hulu’s for large swaths of its runtime. Only the modern interview segments with attendees and performers reveal any meaningful differences in image quality, largely due to the fact that some lost high frequencies in the Hulu presentation result in a slight dulling of textures and some minor loss of the finest details, all of which Kaleidescape allows to shine. 

Kaleidescape also presents the film with a Dolby TrueHD Atmos soundtrack, which is a little baffling given that the 5.1 mix on Hulu was overkill to begin with. The audio is sourced from mics on the stage, of which there weren’t many, and although fidelity and tonal balance are surprisingly good, there just isn’t much going on in either the surrounds or—in the case of the Atmos track—the overhead channels. Thankfully, the Atmos mix does no harm to the experience, which was my biggest fear. It’s largely unnecessary, but at least it’s never gimmicky. 

But none of the above really matters in the moment. The material is so engaging that you quickly forget about the rawness of the footage or the limitations of the audio recordings. But it does raise a question: Why buy it on Kaleidescape instead of watching it for free on Hulu? 

It comes down to the aforementioned commentary track. This is a commentary for people who hate commentaries. It is, in effect, an alternate version of Summer of Soul, packed with historical perspective beyond the scope of what could be shown in the film, and crammed full of anecdotes that run the gamut from hilarious to elucidating. It feels like a two-hour hangout session with the smartest person you know, just without the laborious pedantry. 

One of my favorite bits involves Questlove describing his creative process, specifically all the little things he did to make Summer of Soul his own without inserting himself or his biases into the work. For one thing, he chose to start the film with a Stevie Wonder drum solo. For another, while he discusses his struggles with resisting the urge to cheat in the editing process, he does reveal some of his few sleights of hand, including the fact that he occasionally re-synced the sound with the footage because he couldn’t bear to see some of his black brothers and sisters clapping on the 1 and 3 instead of the 2 and 4—although he did leave in many instances of such because to remove them entirely would have been dishonest. 

In short, this is a version of the film you absolutely need to experience, and the Kaleidescape download is one of the few ways of doing so, outside of buying the Blu-ray. What’s more, the only extras included on the disc that aren’t available on Kaleidescape have long since been released to YouTube. 

Even if I can’t convince you to check out the commentary, you owe it to yourself to watch the film at your earliest convenience. Again, I’ve barely nicked the paint on this incredible experience, which centers on a wonderful but forgotten music festival but also touches on everything from the moon landing to the repercussions of the assassinations of MLK and JFK to the power of music and the purpose and nature of art. The fact that it does all of this elegantly and with a cohesive narrative thread is itself something of a minor miracle.

Dennis Burger is an avid Star Wars scholar, Tolkien fanatic, and Corvette enthusiast who somehow also manages to find time for technological passions including high-end audio, home automation, and video gaming. He lives in the armpit of Alabama with his wife Bethany and their four-legged child Bruno, a 75-pound American Staffordshire Terrier who thinks he’s a Pomeranian.

PICTURE | The recent interview segments look fine but the music festival was shot on video in 1969, so it’s riddled with aliasing, moiré, clipping, chromatic aberrations, and mosquito noise. 

SOUND | The audio for the Atmos mix was sourced from mics on the festival stage, and although fidelity & tonal balance are surprisingly good, there isn’t much going on in either the surrounds or the overhead channels.

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