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Dennis Burger

Review: The Bad Batch

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review | The Bad Batch

These animated series is not only a successful Star Wars spinoff but an audiovisual treat as well

by Dennis Burger
May 11, 2021

Beginnings definitely aren’t Dave Filoni’s strong suit. As much as I’ve raved about his efforts on Star Wars: The Clone Wars, that show took at least a season to find its footing. The followup, Rebels, also went through an awkward adolescence before developing into another incredible series—seriously some of the best Star Wars storytelling in the Disney era.

As the architect of the galaxy far, far away in the animated domain, Filoni puts a lot of faith in his audience’s ability to invest in a long game, but the flipside is that we in the audience have to put a lot of faith in him, to trust that things will pay off in the end. And they always do, at least so far. What, then, to make of the fact that The Bad Batch, the latest Star Wars series to spin from Filoni’s mind, starts off pretty darned good?

Before we dig too deeply into the execution of this new Disney+ series, let’s get some horse-race stuff out of the way for those of you who are interested. The Bad Batch is a direct sequel to The Clone Wars. In fact, the first four episodes of the seventh season of TCW served as a transparent back-door pilot for this show, which follows the trials and tribulations of a squad of rogue clones in the earliest days of the Galactic Empire.

The first episode overlaps with the final four episodes of The Clone Wars and the third act of Episode III—Revenge of the Sith, which is starting to become pretty well-worn territory in the new Star Wars canon. But rather than use the fall of the Republic, destruction of the Jedi, and rise of the Empire as a denouement or conclusion, the new show uses them as a jumping-off point, which quickly leads into territory that hasn’t been explored in live-action or animation.

Not to drop too much geekiness on your screen here but what makes Clone Force 99 (aka the Bad Batch) special is that they’re defective (or “deviant,” in their own words), and as such immune to the programming that causes the Clone Army to become proto-Stormtroopers in the new Empire. Each has a mutation that gives him a special skill but also makes him less controllable. And you don’t have to be a rocket surgeon to guess that their uniqueness will eventually put them at odds with the new totalitarian regime.

Neither do you have to be too observant—although perhaps you do need to be of a certain age—to recognize that this Bad Batch shares a lot of similarities with another group of small-screen anti-heroes, The A-Team, as well as big-screen misfits like The Dirty Dozen.

In the two episodes that have aired thus far—the 75-minute “Aftermath” and the 30-minute “Cut and Run”—we don’t really get a sense of what if any role this unruly team will serve in the impending rebellion. In fact, we don’t really get much of a sense of what the show’s formula will be, aside from the “formed family on the run from the Man” trope already explored in Rebels.

But in a way, that sort of doesn’t matter—at least not yet—The Bad Batch doesn’t stand or fall on a unique premise. What makes the show work already is that it has, established a consistent tone and style in just two episodes, something that Clone Wars and Rebels fumbled around with for a bit too long. It also seems to already know what it’s about—mainly, the internal tug-of-war that arises from being an iconoclast searching for a purpose and a meaningful role in a society that seems to be falling apart.

In terms of its look, the series definitely builds on the foundation of Clone Wars, relying on similar character models and generally following the trend of taking a sort of Gerry Anderson-esque “Supermarionation” vibe and injecting a healthy dose of articulation and fluidity into the animation.

Computing power has, of course, come a long way since Clone Wars first hit screens in 2008, though, and Filoni and his team don’t seem compelled to stick to the style of that series slavishly. The animation in The Bad Batch is much more detailed, and the backgrounds in particular benefit from much more richness, depth, and sophistication.

Perhaps the most striking thing about the visuals, though, is the way  the imagery benefits from high dynamic range. The Bad Batch was created from the ground up for exhibition on Disney+, not broadcast TV, and as such has much more freedom to use shadows and light in interesting and effective ways. It remains to be seen if it maintains this Botticellian chiaroscuro aesthetic as it moves into new and unexplored environments—and it seems it will—but it already represents among the best application of Dolby Vision I’ve seen in animation to date.

Big props are also owed to composer Kevin Kiner, who returns to deliver a very different musical landscape from those he developed for Clone Wars and Rebels. With the former series,  his music skewed heavily toward a Star Wars prequel-era style, and with the latter he had to at least evoke the music of the original trilogy. With The Bad Batch, though, the he has managed to create a new and different musical language that nonetheless feels perfect for the franchise. There’s a mix of traditional and experimental, of orchestral and electronic, that feels like Star Wars without aping John Williams or Ludwig Goransson or even Kiner’s own previous work in this universe.

The sound mixers seem to realize that they have something special to work with in Kiner’s score, because they give it oodles of room to breathe, both spatially and proportionally. At its most intimate, the sound mix is a center-speaker-heavy affair. At its most bombastic, it uses the entire Dolby Atmos soundscape to drop you right into the conflict. For the most part, though, it’s a three-channel, front-heavy mix, with dialogue following the characters from left to right across the screen and Kiner’s music filling the front soundstage, leaking onto into the surrounds to give it some ambience and an additional sense of space.

In short, The Bad Batch is an audiovisual treat of the best kind. And while the series itself hasn’t quite risen to the narrative or thematic heights of its predecessors, it’s off to a consistently entertaining start, which is something that couldn’t be said of Filoni’s previous animated Star Wars adventures. It also seems to be playing things a little safe at the moment, trying too hard at times to recreate the magic of its predecessors. If it can break out of that rut (and knowing Filoni’s past work, I have every reason to suspect that it will), The Bad Batch has the potential to be something truly great.

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 | Perhaps the most striking thing about the visuals is the way  the imagery benefits from high dynamic range

SOUND | At its most bombastic, the soundtrack uses the entire Atmos soundscape to drop you right into the conflict, but for the most part it’s a three-channel, front-heavy mix

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Want to Dig Deeper Into the Mandalorian?

The Mandalorian

Want to Dig Deeper Into The Mandalorian? This Is the Way.

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Season Two shows just how deeply this Disney+ series is woven into the Star Wars universe

by Dennis Burger
January 2, 2020

It’s difficult these days to have any meaningful discussion about Star Wars without obsessing over The Mandalorian. This lightning-in-a-bottle Disney+ series has the sort of universal appeal that none of the main saga films have enjoyed since The Empire Strikes Back. (And let’s not forget that TESB wasn’t so universally beloved until years after its initial release.)

There’s good reason for the series’ universal appeal, of course. As I said in my wrap up of the first season, The Mandalorian is a wonderful deconstruction of everything that made the original Star Wars such a smash hit. In breaking the galaxy far, far away down into its essential components (the gunslinger, the samurai, the strange-but-familiar environments, the wonderful sense of mystery, the thematic through-lines of honor, familial baggage, and redemption) and recombining them into a shape we’ve never quite seen before, the series continues to be both stimulating and comfortable, both innovative and grounded in the past.

One thing I said about the series’ first season no longer rings true after the second batch of episodes, though. In my Season One overview, I made an offhand comment about the show’s “tenuous connections to the larger mythology,” despite the fact that that season ended with the appearance of one of the most legendary Star Wars weapons of all time: The Darksaber.

In Season Two, the connections to the legendarium become much less tenuous, much more overt, and much more central to the underlying themes and meaning of The Mandalorian. And it’s that last point that’s most important, because the simple truth is that you don’t really need to know the history of Mandalorian culture or its various factions to follow the plot of this past season. That history simply helps in unpacking what it all means.

And I can say that pretty confidently, because I talk to so many of my friends who are absolutely gaga over “new” characters introduced in Season Two who aren’t new at all. Characters like Bo-Katan Kryze, played to perfection by Katee Sackhoff not only in this live-action series but also in three seasons of The Clone Wars and one particularly memorable episode of Star Wars: Rebels. I was worried, when rumors of Bo-Katan’s return started circulating on the internet, that she would feel shoehorned into this series, that her presence would feel like fan-service of the worst sort. Nothing could be further from the truth, though. To misquote Voltaire, if Bo-Katan hadn’t already existed, it would have been necessary to invent her for Season Two to make a lick of sense.

The Mandalorian

This season also features the return of Ahsoka Tano—perhaps the single most beloved character ever created by George Lucas, but one that many fans of The Mandalorian had never heard of or only knew secondhand thanks to hyper-nerds like myself. Again, though, due to the way showrunners Jon Favreau and Dave Filoni have woven her into this series, you don’t really need to know Ahsoka’s backstory to understand her mission in The Mandalorian. But I would argue that you do need to know where she has come from and where she’s going if you want to truly understand why she’s on that mission.

The point I’m trying to not-so-subtly make here is that you can go into The Mandalorian having only seen the original Star Wars films and not really feel like you’re missing anything essential in terms of plot. You may get the sense that there’s a larger story unfolding that you’re not privy to, but that’s always the case with any good Star Wars story. But if you haven’t watched The Clone Wars and Star Wars: Rebels, you actually are missing out on a deeper level of understanding that’s just sitting there waiting for you to discover.

I’ll give you just one example, although I feel the need to throw out an obligatory spoiler warning here for those of you who are making your way through Season Two slowly in an effort to ameliorate some of the pain caused by the long wait for Season Three.

In the epic finale of this season, there’s a moment in which Din Djarin, the titular Mandalorian, offers the Darksaber to Bo-Katan after being informed of its cultural significance. This moment almost perfectly mirrors a scene from “Heroes of Mandalore,” the Season Four premiere episode of Star Wars: Rebels. There, a Mandalorian named Sabine Wren offers Bo-Katan the blade and Bo-Katan accepts it, although not without some hesitation. In the season finale of The Mandalorian, she rejects it outright. And I won’t get into all of her political reasoning for doing so, as the episode spells all of this out. My point here is that the mirroring of these two scenes adds an extra level of tension to the finale and quietly tells a tale we haven’t seen unfold in any form to date.

The fact that Bo-Katan refuses to simply accept the Darksaber this time around, when we’ve seen her do so before under nearly identical circumstances, tells us something about the character that no amount of exposition could convey nearly as artfully. Namely, it tells us that she blames herself for the so-called Great Purge of Mandalore and the genocide of her people, an event we’ve only heard about in rumors and retellings.

I could go on and on, rambling about little nuggets of this sort you can glean from viewing The Mandalorian in the context of its animated forebears, and I’ve done so in private conversations with friends who love the live-action series but seem hesitant to watch “kids’ cartoons.” It honestly doesn’t help my case that The Clone Wars didn’t start off with a bang. Even as a devoted fan, I have to admit that the first season was childish and wildly uneven.

But by Season Two, The Clone Wars gets good. Really good. By Season Three, it’s honestly some of the best Star Wars ever made. And by Season Four it transforms into one of the best TV series of all time, subject matter be damned.

So, if you’ve tried getting into The Clone Wars and found it a tough pill to swallow, I recommend giving it another try—but this time around, skip the bulk of the first season. Watch “Rookies,” the fifth episode, then skip to the final four episodes in that first run: “Storm Over Ryloth,” “Innocents of Ryloth,” “Liberty on Ryloth,” and “Hostage Crisis.” Objectively, they’re nowhere near the quality of later seasons, but they’ll give you a good foundation for what’s to come, especially the second-season episodes that really lay the foundation for The Mandalorian, starting with Episode 12, “The Mandalore Plot.”

Likewise, Star Wars: Rebels gets off to a similarly uneven start, and I wish I could give you a similar cheat sheet for which episodes are skippable. But you’ll just have to trust me on this one: By the time you get to the end of Season Four, it becomes clear that there wasn’t a throwaway moment in the entire 75-episode run. It’s simply one hell of a slow burn.

All seven seasons of The Clone Wars and all four seasons of Rebels are available to stream on Disney+, and it’s worth noting that the streaming provider presents the former with all of the content that was censored by Cartoon Network in the original broadcasts. Don’t go in expecting anything overtly gratuitous or vulgar, but I often advise my friends with young children that the series explores the implications of war in a way pre-teens aren’t quite mature enough to digest. So take that for what it’s worth.

Of course, we can’t know for sure how much of an impact the events of The Clone Wars and Rebels will have on future seasons of The Mandalorian, especially given that there’s no clear and obvious path forward for the series. Taken as a whole, the first two seasons of this wildly popular live-action show have told the tale of a man whose sense of self was predicated on a moral code that he never questioned—until forced to do so. It’s the story of a man whose ideology begins to conflict with his principles, and whose entire notion of who he is and what he stands for has been torn to shreds as a result of his own empathy and moral awakening. By the end of Season Two, Din Djarin has succeeded in his quest and as a result is left with nearly nothing—no purpose, no culture, no tradition to fall back on and believe in. As such, where his journey goes from here is nearly anyone’s guess.

But I have a sneaking suspicion that however this story ends up blossoming, the seeds will have been planted in The Clone Wars and Rebels.

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.

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Demo Scenes: Batman Returns

Batman Returns

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Quiet and subtle instead of action-packed and bombastic, this scene offers a nice alternative to the usual home theater demo

by Dennis Burger
June 3, 2021

Chapter 7 | 40:24–43:01

There seems to be some sort of weird consensus that a compelling AV demo scene must be action-packed, or at the very least loud. One of my favorite things about the new UHD/HDR release of Tim Burton’s Batman Returns is that it handily dispels this notion. In fact, it flips it right on its head.

Sure, the movie has its rousing battles and feats of impossible athletics, especially in the tête-à-tête throwdown between Batman and Catwoman. But the film’s most compelling sequences, at least from the perspective of audio and visual spectacle, are its quieter moments. Indeed, its weirder moments.

One of my favorites comes at the start of Chapter 7 in the Kaleidescape download or UHD Blu-ray, from 40:24 to 43:01. The Penguin—aka Oswald Cobblepot, played so spectacularly by Danny DeVito—visits the grave of the parents who abandoned him in his infancy. Plot-wise, it’s such a simple scene: The Penguin waddles through the graveyard, places a pair of black roses on the ground, waddles back to the gate, and monologues in front of the gathered press.

The way the scene is photographed, though, and especially the way it’s presented in UHD with HDR, makes it a bona fide feast for the eyes. It’s easy to forget that even in its initial theatrical release, audiences never saw Batman Returns presented this pristinely. The limitations of film prints, combined with the shortcomings of commercial projection, mean that we’ve never—until now—experienced the film with its blacks this black, nor its highlights this spectacular.

The interplay of dark and light makes each frame look like a chiaroscuro painting. Your eye can’t help but to be drawn to the finest of details—the individual hairs on the Penguin’s head, the little glint of piercing light in the middle of his coal-black eyes. Simply put, it’s a little discombobulating to see such razor sharpness and startling contrasts from a film shot in the analog era.

It’s worth comparing this scene to other nighttime shots in shows like Game of Thrones. Rather than pointing the camera into darkness and hoping you get the picture, cinematographer Stefan Czapsky used stark blue lighting, not to repel the shadows, but to give them something to work against. The laser-focused beams of illumination make the darkness look that much darker, the blacks that much blacker, the textures that much more tactile.

Not to be outdone by the spectacular imagery, the new Atmos mix also positively shines in this scene. Danny Elfman’s iconic score is delivered with deep, rich, bombastic bass, and sparkling detail. And when the music falls away, the howling, haunting whirl of wind that fills the void whips and wanders from wall to wall and floor to ceiling in a way that’s downright spooky, but utterly engrossing.

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.

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Demo Scenes: It (2017)

It (2017)

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The opening of this latest take on the Stephen King classic makes for a perfect home theater demo

by Dennis Burger
June 3, 2021

“The S.S. Georgie & the Sewer”

(Chapter 1, 5:06–9:11)

A great home theater demo scene should accomplish a handful of things, aside from merely looking and sounding great. It should be compelling in its own right, even if you’re not familiar with the movie from which it’s pulled. It shouldn’t spoil anything major about the story. And in terms of imagery and sound, it should engage the viewers in a way that wouldn’t be nearly as effective on a lesser AV system.

The opening chapter of It—the first of two movies to adapt Stephen King’s 1,138-page horror opus—does all that and more, especially the 4K/HDR release with Dolby Atmos sound. If you own the film on Kaleidescape, you can access the best parts of this opening sequence by navigating to the Scenes collection and picking the first option: “The S.S. Georgie & the Sewer.” If you own the film on disc or via another digital retailer like Vudu or iTunes, just press play and let the opening of the film run. You’ll have to sit through the opening credits and a few establishing shots, but it doesn’t add a lot of unnecessary length to the demo.

The real show starts at around the 5-minute mark, as little Georgie Denbrough—the younger brother of one of the movie’s main protagonists—ventures out into a storm to test his new and freshly waxed paper boat in the suburban streets of Derry, Maine.

Though the weather may be frightful, the imagery here is absolutely delightful, thanks largely to the blend of inky shadows and striking highlights caused by projectiles of rain bombarding the slick neighborhood blacktop. The visual are matched by an equally engrossing Dolby Atmos sound mix, which fills the room not only with the sound of falling rain and splashing puddles, but also the fantastical score by Benjamin Wallfisch. The music starts playfully, perhaps even innocently, but takes a turn for the sinister as little Georgie’s waxed paper boat slips away from him and rockets down the gutters toward the open maw of a storm sewer nearby.

The shadows in this storm drain are so stygian that it’s honestly a shock when the visage of Pennywise the Dancing Clown appears therein, first as a pair of creepy eyes floating in utter darkness, then as a murderous grin hovering in a stray beam of almost-but-not-quite-complete blackness. From here on out, the scene would strain the confines of creepiness even if it were just Pennywise and Georgie talking across the lip of the storm sewer. But the movie cranks the tension to even higher levels by filling the overhead channels with a haunting mix of thunder, wind chimes, and strings that sound more like they’re being tortured than played.

You don’t have to be a spooky-movie expert to know that things aren’t building toward a happy ending for little Georgie here. Heck, you don’t even have to look at the screen to know that Pennywise is up to no good. But the audiovisual experience here is just so enthralling that you won’t be able to cover your eyes (or your ears) even if you want to.

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.

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Review: Star Wars Visions

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review | Star Wars: Visions

The quality of some of these Star Wars-themed animated shorts can vary, but the series as a whole is well worth checking out

by Dennis Burger
September 27, 2021

I honestly can’t decide if Star Wars: Visions represents a huge risk for Lucasfilm and Disney+ or a sure bet. So let’s just agree that it’s off the beaten track but following a path that seems obvious in retrospect, and leave it at that. The new anthology series comprises nine disconnected shorts built on a single premise: Give the Star Wars mythos to nine different anime directors spread across seven anime studios and let their imaginations run wild, with no imposed ties to the existing Star Wars timeline or canon.

Given that the shorts range from 14 to 23 minutes long, with the average running length coming in at right around 17 minutes, it’s understandable that none of the concepts are fully developed, and there’s not a lot by way of story in some of them. But that really sort of misses the point. I think the intent here was to riff on the themes and iconic visuals for the Galaxy Far, Far Away from a different perspective. And in that respect, it’s a stunning success. Every single film in this collection is a wonder to behold in terms of color, design, detail, and motion (the latter despite the fact that a lot of it seems to be animated on threes or fours).

Does that mean you’ll like it? Well, of course not. Even as a self-described Star Wars scholar, there were episode of Visions I simply hated. And there were a couple (“Lop and Ochō” and “Tatooine Rhapsody”) that had potential but turned me off with their hyperbolic, uber-kinetic cutesiness and sensory overload.

But there are five shorts in particular that deserve your attention, even if you’re not a fan of Japanese animation in all its diverse and disparate forms, nor a dedicated consumer of every ancillary Star Wars program to roll out on Disney+.

“The Duel,” directed by Takanobu Mizuno and animated by Kamikaze Douga, the studio behind JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, is such a perfect but unusual blending of Kurosawa, Leone, and Lucas that it feels essentially Star Wars despite breaking so many rules of the universe.

“The Village Bride,” directed by Hitoshi Haga and animated by Kinema Citrus (Tokyo Magnitude 8.0) is a hauntingly beautiful little fable that resonates despite its predictability.

“The Elder,” directed by Masahiko Otsuka and animated by Studio Trigger (Little Witch Academia) is delightfully creepy and, in its English dub, features a great performance by David Harbor of Stranger Things and Black Widow fame.

“Akakiri,” directed by Eunyoung Choi and animated by Science SARU (probably best known in America for their work on the trippy Adventure Time episode “Food Chain”), is an absolute audiovisual masterpiece and a deliciously ambiguous morality tale at that.

But the best of the bunch, for my money, is “The Ninth Jedi,” directed by Kenji Kamiyama and animated by the legendary studio Production I.G, best known for Ghost in the Shell. Of all the shorts here, this one really felt like it should have been developed into a feature-length film, even if most of its substance comes from its style.

Check out those five shorts first if you’re unsure about whether or not you want to dip your toes into this weird experiment. If I may, though, I’d like to recommend watching each of them twice: Once in the original Japanese and once in the dub of your choice. As for the latter, I can only speak to the quality of the English dubs, but they’re incredibly well done throughout, with great voice acting and none of the awkward fumbling that normally comes from trying to match vocals to lip movements animated for a different language.

Furthermore, turning off the subtitles gives you the opportunity to soak in the Dolby Vision presentation of the animation, which looks a bit different from short to short, but always impresses with gorgeous contrasts, sumptuous color, and oodles of detail. (I did notice a brief moment of aliasing in one shot of one short, but I think that was a consequence of production, not the online delivery.)

In either the original Japanese or in dubbed English, the Dolby Digital+ 5.1 soundtracks vary a bit in terms of intensity and expansiveness but always deliver the goods on dialogue intelligibility and musical fidelity. By far the best of the bunch in terms of sound is “Akakiri,” which benefits from a decidedly Eastern percussion soundtrack almost entirely devoid of musical notes, but which nonetheless feels right at home in the Star Wars universe, or at least this version of it.

Also worth noting is the fact that Visions is accompanied by a pretty healthy collection of bonus features: 5 to 8 documentaries for each short that give some background on the filmmakers, their love of Star Wars, and their unique approaches to each episode.

All in all, Star Wars: Visions isn’t going to be everyone’s cup of blue milk, but it’s nonetheless exciting to see Lucasfilm exploring, taking risks, and expanding the scope of what Star Wars can look like. It may not have been entirely successful for me, given that I really only enjoyed five of the nine shorts, but still—I want to see more of this sort of thing going forward.

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 of the animation, which looks a bit different from short to short, always impresses with gorgeous contrasts, sumptuous color, and oodles of detail

SOUND | The Dolby Digital+ 5.1 soundtracks vary a bit in terms of intensity and expansiveness but always deliver the goods on dialogue intelligibility and musical fidelity

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Review: Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian

Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian

review | Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian

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Disney’s behind-the-scenes look at The Mandalorian harkens back to the glory days of DVD extras

by Dennis Burger
June 3, 2021

One of the biggest concerns I’ve had about about the home video marketplace in the years since we started to transition from discs to online distribution is the decline in well-made behind-the-scenes supplemental material. We’ve seen some exceptions, like Beyond Stranger Things on Netflix, but bonus goodies of this sort almost seem like a vestige and little more, and they’re far too rare even at that.

I’m not sure if Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian is a full-blown reversal of this trend but it’s certainly a welcome addition to the ever-growing library of content available on Disney+. You know what? Strike that. To call Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian a return to the glory days of behind-the-scenes documentaries that flourished during the DVD era would be to sell it short. Unlike far too many of those bonus features, this eight-episode exploration of the making of the first live-action Star Wars TV series doesn’t have a promotional or congratulatory bone in its body. Nor does it lean on all of the tropes that practically defined the making-of doc in decades past.

Few and far between are the stereotypical shots of creatives or performers answering questions in front of a green screen. In fact, one almost gets the sense that director Brad Baruh has never seen a behind-the-scenes documentary and is making up his own formula as he goes along.

That’s actually not the case. Baruh has been involved in the making of a few Marvel Cinematic Universe docs and even had a hand in a couple of the best “one shot” short films set in the MCU. But with Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian, he breaks the mold, structuring the series around a series of roundtable discussions, each focusing on a different aspect of the series or its legacy, rather than following the making of the series in chronological order.

The first episode takes a deep dive into the directors who worked on the show, and subsequent episodes explore its place in the Star Wars universe from a storytelling perspective, as well as a pop-culture phenomenon perspective, along with the actual grunt work of production and post production.

But what really makes Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian such a joy is that it’s wildly unpredictable. Rambling discussions that would have been left on the cutting-room floor in the hands of a more seasoned pro instead become the centerpiece of an episode. Actors, directors, producers, and effects artists are allowed to take the conversations in directions that interest them, rather than simply pandering to the voyeuristic tendencies of the viewer.

(Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of the trailer for this series, which seems intent upon cherry-picking the few shots and discussions in which it does gravitate toward tried-and-true territory, but oh well. Marketing people are gonna market. Don’t let that turn you off.)

The series even treats some of the controversies behind the making of The Mandalorian—like the fact that star Pedro Pascal wasn’t really behind the mask of the titular Mandalorian all that much, and was instead played primarily by stuntmen Brendan Wayne and Lateef Crowder depending on the needs of the scene—with unapologetic honesty.

The best episodes of the series so far are those that focus on the technical wizardry that made The Mandalorian possible, like the advances in virtual set technology and the reliance on video-game engines for real-time rendering of backdrops that responded to camera movement. But at its heart, what makes Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian such a pleasure to watch is that every story it tells is ultimately a human story. While watching the series, my mind has been blown on several occasions to discover that things I thought were special effects actually weren’t, and things I never would have suspected to be special effects actually were. But instead of treating these technological wonders as the subject of interest in and of themselves, Baruh treats them as the efforts of creative humans solving problems in a way that no one ever solved them before.

And in a way, that’s a bit of a metaphor for Disney Gallery: The Mandalorian as a behind-the-scenes documentary. You’ve certainly seen bonus features that aim for the same end goals. But you’ve rarely seen ones that approach those goals quite like this.

Even if you’ve never been a fan of supplemental material, this one is so original in its approach to deconstructing the creative process that you owe it to yourself to give it a shot. And if nothing else, the title of the series—not The Making of the Mandalorian, or Behind the Mask, or anything of the sort, but rather Disney Gallery—gives me hope that this series isn’t a one-off, that indeed Disney+ will be home to future series of this nature, which maintain the spirit of old DVD making-of supplements by documentarians like Charles de Lauzirika, Van Ling, David Prior, and Laurent Bouzereau, but in a fresh new way that embraces the streaming era of home cinema.

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.

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Demo Scenes: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade

demo scenes | Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade

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The 4K HDR / Atmos releases of the Indiana Jones trilogy are so consistently excellent that they’re brimming with demo scenes—but here’s the best one

by Dennis Burger
June 24, 2021

Chapter 16, 0:00–14:12

If you’re a fan of old movies, you’ve probably figured out by now that 4K HDR can be a hit-or-miss affair for films actually shot on, you know, film. Without access to the original camera negatives, HDR remasters of these old flicks can look dodgy and inconsistent—often worse than the old HD releases. Thankfully, though, the new Indiana Jones trilogy (yes, trilogy! I said what I said) is an example of older films being brought into the modern home video era with stunning success.

All of the films have been fully restored from the original negatives, with subtle applications of computer wizardry just to clean up things like bad compositing and wires and errant reflections. And each successive film looks better than the one before it.

Here’s the thing, though: If you’re looking to pop in some archeological action-adventure as a home cinema demo scene, finding a self-contained clip within the movies isn’t easy. Once the ball starts rolling (literally and figuratively), the action just keeps cranking along until the closing credits.

But one of the most spectacular demo scenes comes right at the beginning of the third movie, The Last Crusade. It’s basically a self-contained short film with an inviting beginning, rousing climax, and rip-roaring conclusion, all within a span of 14 minutes. It’s also some of the consistently best-looking and -sounding material in the entire franchise.

The scene opens in 1912, with a young Indiana Jones (played by River Phoenix) riding through the Utah desert with his Boy Scout troop, when he stumbles upon graverobbers and manages to abscond with the precious artifact they’ve stolen. There’s a thrilling chase on a circus train. There’s a pit of snakes. There’s a lion. Then there’s a flash-forward to 1938, where a grown Indiana (Harrison Ford) is yet again trying to get his paws on the same crucifix.

You’ve seen the movie. You know how it goes. But here’s the thing: I don’t think you’ve ever seen it look (or sound) like this. Compared to the old Blu-ray release and digital HD version, this new 4K HDR remaster of The Last Crusade doesn’t look like an oversaturated cartoon. The color palette is more subdued, but also richer, more nuanced, more natural. Still, it’s punctuated by splashes of color far beyond the capabilities of Blu-ray. Indy’s scarf, the rich saturated colors of the illumination his father is studying—these hyper-color elements give the imagery the punctation it needs to look vibrant and dimensional without looking like a toddler got ahold of the Hue and Saturation knobs of your projector.

The new Atmos mix is also simply fantastic, especially in the 1938 sequences, where Indy has been captured on a vessel at sea in the midst of a raging storm. The crashing waves, the whooshing wind—all of it is given extra dimension by the new mix. It feels like you’re in the movie. Hell, it kind of feels like you’re in a theme-park ride, but that works for this franchise. The fact that they managed to add a third dimension to this aging mix without adding new sound effects is astounding. It doesn’t sound like a modern film—that would be stupid. But it does kind of sound like Atmos would have sounded like if it had been around in the 1980s. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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.

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Review: Saturday Night Fever

Saturday Night Fever

review | Saturday Night Fever

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This might not be a great film but it’s a cultural classic, and it’s well presented in this 4K HDR release

by Dennis Burger
updated August 15, 2023

Watching Saturday Night Fever for the first time for this review was an uneven slog. On the one hand, you have John Travolta’s performance, which—even as a non-fan—I have to admit is captivating. There’s something so utterly and effortlessly hypnotic about his turn as Tony Manero, a virtually prospectless 19-year-old who works in a paint shop by day and finds his only legitimate escape from his mundane life on the dance floors of a local discotheque by night.

There’s also the incredible soundtrack, packed with classics like “Boogie Shoes,” “Night on Disco Mountain,” “If I Can’t Have You,” and of course the big four from the Bee Gees: “More Than a Woman,” “Night Fever,” “How Deep Is Your Love,” and the ever-popular “Stayin’ Alive.”

And then there’s everything else. While there’s a legitimate attempt here to ape the zeitgeist of the era and deliver a gritty slice-of-life drama, the results are almost all style and no substance. The screenplay simply bites off more than anyone involved (other than Travolta) is capable of chewing. In the hands of a better director, a more capable cinematographer, and an editor with a backbone, it could have been decent.

Perhaps the film’s biggest sin is that it’s meandering and unfocused, with far too many subplots that do nothing to counter its overall thematic or narrative inertia. And that would be fine if literally anyone in the supporting cast rose to Travolta’s level, but the rest of the performances are laughably bad—save perhaps Martin Shakar’s turn as Tony’s brother.

But if Saturday Night Fever is your jam, I’m not here to yuck your yum. I’m glad there’s something in life that brings you joy. I’ve also got some really good news for you: The UHD HDR release is a model for how these sorts of remasters/restorations should be handled. On Kaleidescape at least, this presentation looks like really well-preserved 35mm film—no more, no less.

There’s an incredible amount of detail on the screen, especially in closeups, combined with a healthy (though never distracting) level of wholly organic film grain that varies based on the film stock used from scene to scene. In brighter environments, the grain is fine and all but unnoticeable. In nighttime scenes and interiors shots of the discotheque, grain is a bit more prominent but never out of line with expectations.

The dance-floor scenes are also, unsurprisingly, where the high dynamic range shines. In a handful of shots, the disco balls and lighting are eye-reactive. But aside from that, HDR is applied judiciously to give the image a bit of much-needed dimensionality and add some subtle enhancements to the predominately warm color palette. In so many ways, this new presentation of Saturday Night Fever is a cinephile’s dream.

It’s not reference-quality home cinema demo material, though, but that’s more due to flaws in the source than anything with the restoration or transfer. The original camera negative is plagued by rampant halation, which is, of course, preserved here. There’s also the fact that, aside from the dance sequences and the last few minutes of the film, the composition of any given shot would have been more interesting if director of photography Ralf Bode (Uncle Buck, Made in America) had simply closed his eyes and pointed his camera at the loudest sound he could hear.

But none of that has any bearing on the quality of the transfer, which is the platonic ideal of how you should handle source material like this. The wacky manipulation of contrast levels, digital scrubbing, and edge enhancement that plague far too many 4K restorations of films of this era are nowhere to be seen. This should be celebrated, and Paramount deserves props for handling the original negative with such care.

The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 is a wonderful example of how material like this should be remixed for modern sound systems. It’s an absolute blast from beginning to end. If you’re particularly bothered by the mismatch in fidelity that comes from marrying low-fidelity audio stems from the ’70s with pristine, high-fidelity music, you’ll likely notice a bit of that here. But it’s never distracting; it never pulls you out of the experience of the film.

Had my fingers been the ones fiddling with the mixing knobs, I probably would have turned in a subtler surround mix for the music. But I think I would have been wrong. The disco tunes—as well as the score music by Barry, Maurice, and Robin Gibb—explode from every corner of the room and, of course, gave my subwoofers a proper beating. There was one brief instance, during the last appearance of “More Than a Woman” where I thought the mix leaned a little too hard on the surrounds, and as a result pushed the vocals down in the mix. But that’s my only criticism.

Kaleidescape’s release of the film is unfortunately devoid of extras, but that’s hardly surprising. In the digital domain, the only provider to include all the goodies from the 40th-anniversary Blu-ray release a few years ago is Apple. So if you’re itching to see retrospective documentaries, hear John Badham’s audio commentary, or check out the director’s cut—which adds four minutes to the runtime and isn’t available in 4K, as far as I can tell—your options are limited. But if you’re just itching to revisit the film again in top-shelf quality, Kaleidescape’s download is everything you could hope for in terms of audiovisual presentation.

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 | This 4K HDR release is a model for how these sorts of remasters/restorations should be handled, looking like really well-preserved 35mm film—no more, no less

SOUND | A blast from beginning to end, the DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 is a wonderful example of how material like this should be remixed for modern sound systems

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Review: It’s a Wonderful Life

It's a Wonderful Life

review | It’s a Wonderful Life

The 4K HDR transfer of this Christmas classic, while subtle, is a huge leap over what’s appeared on broadcast TV for decades

by Dennis Burger
updated August 13, 2023

It’s a Wonderful Life is such a pervasive presence on broadcast TV during the holidays that one almost has to wonder if there’s actually any value in owning it. If you care at all about this beloved Frank Capra classic, you have ample opportunity to view it for free so why would you spend your hard-earned money to make it part of your permanent film library, when you’re just going to ignore it again until the holidays roll again?

Kaleidescape’s 4K HDR download of It’s a Wonderful Life provides a pretty compelling answer. Whether you’ve seen the film once or you binge it like the sugary confection it is, you’ve never seen it looking like it does here.

Working with the best elements they could get their hands on, the Paramount Pictures Archive restored the film in 2019, which wasn’t easy given that only 13 of the film’s 14 original camera-negative reels survived, all with significant deterioration at the ends. The team also had two complete fine-grade nitrate prints from 1946 to work with, which they used to fill in the gaps.

The result is astonishing—rich in detail and organic nuance, with a healthy level of very fine grain but none of the noise that often plagues old nitrate films of this era, especially those sourced from multiple generations of assets. The film has also been given a very subtle but effective HDR grade, the likes of which you certainly won’t see on broadcast TV.

Comparing it to the standard-dynamic-range HD release of the film (sourced, I believe, from the same restoration), you won’t notice much by way of enhanced highlights, even from the neon lights that line the streets of Potterville toward the end of the film. But what you will notice is a broader and smoother range of midtones, as well as enhanced shadow detail and depth closer to the bottom end of the value scale.

This really stood out in the scene when George Bailey sits with his father at the dinner table discussing the future. In the HD transfer, George’s jacket is a medium gray since taking the image much darker would have swallowed the folds and details in the fabric. In the 4K HDR transfer, the jacket is very nearly black, and yet all of the subtle textures and contrasts that give it shape shine through. The effect is to give the scene a greater sense of intimacy, to make it look and feel more like a family dinner than a brightly lit movie set, and you can see that sort of benefit from HDR throughout the film. The image never gets much brighter than you’ve seen it before, but HDR allows it to get properly darker in places without losing any detail or crushing any blacks, which gives the film a more consistent look from beginning to end.

There are times when I suspected I could see where the second-generation nitrate prints had been substituted for the original camera negative—the sort of thing you can normally pick out much more easily in HDR. A few shots here and there are ever-so-slightly plagued by diminished midtones and a loss of highlights. The occasional camera angle looks a little more dupe-y, a little less pristine.

Watching the excellent 13-minute documentary about the restoration process, though (included on the UHD Blu-ray but not available on Kaleidescape, sadly, although you can just as easily access it on YouTube), I’m inclined to believe I was mistaken in blaming these minor issues on the restoration. You can see in the doc, especially at around 7:45, that the second-generation elements were so seamlessly integrated into the original camera negative that it’s nearly impossible to tell them apart unless you know exactly where the splices are. So the occasional second or two of subpar imagery throughout the film must be an artifact of the original production. And I’m even more inclined to believe that given that every shot of Donna Reed looks like the lens was slathered with five pounds of Vaseline before “Action!” was called, something that’s even more noticeable given the enhanced resolution here.

This handful of visual booboos is hardly a distraction—nowhere near the level of something like The Blues Brothers Extended Edition—and they’re only worth nitpicking at all because the rest of the film simply looks so impossibly gorgeous.

What can be distracting at times is that the dynamic range of the DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack (labeled as stereo, but in actuality two-channel mono) is so limited that, especially in louder scenes—like Harry Bailey’s graduation party—the sound can get a bit harsh, and dialogue intelligibility suffers in spots. But this is still the best the film has ever sounded, so it’s hard to complain.

So, should you buy It’s a Wonderful Life in 4K? If you care at all about the film, I say, Yes, absolutely. I’ll admit that I’ve always been a bit “whatever” about this Christmas mainstay. But watching it in 4K with the benefit of HDR, once I got past the insufferable scenes with the kids in the drug store early on and the laughably bad outer-space sequences, I enjoyed it in a way I never have before.

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 | This 4K transfer is astonishing—rich in detail and organic nuance, with a healthy level of very fine grain but none of the noise that often plagues older films

SOUND | The DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack is so limited that the sound can get a bit harsh, especially in louder scenes and dialogue intelligibility suffers in spots 

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Review: The Sparks Brothers

The Sparks Brothers

review | The Sparks Brothers

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A documentary look at the perpetually obscure but hugely influential pop duo

by Dennis Burger
updated August 10, 2023

I think it’s reasonably safe to say that your interest in any documentary about a pop duo is probably largely contingent upon your familiarity with and love for the band and its music. That creates something of an interesting conundrum for The Spark Brothers, the documentary about brothers Ron and Russell Mael, who’ve been performing together since 1968, first as Halfnelson and, since 1972, as Sparks.

Wait, who? Exactly. Despite having a relatively successful music career spanning five decades, chances are good you’ve never heard of them unless you live in LA, Germany, or the UK. And that’s ultimately kind of the point of this film. In a sense, it’s a 140-minute answer to the questions, “Who are these weirdos, why do so many musicians love them, and how the heck have their teetered right on the edge of success for so very long?”

I’m not quite sure what I expected going into The Spark Brothers, since my impression of them—what little impression I’ve managed to cobble together over the decades—is mostly one of an aloof and enigmatic duo who’ve always been just a weensy bit too clever and ahead-of-their-time for their own good. I’ve seen interview clips here and there over the years—mostly in the heyday of MTV—and they always came off as a bit pretentious and too-good-for-you.

And the intro of this Edgar Wright-helmed doc does nothing to dispel that notion. The first few minutes play right into the brilliance, mystery,  enigma, and theatrics. And once that’s all done, just to give anyone watching the film who’s never heard of the band the same assumptions the rest of us already had, Wright starts tearing down those walls to create an interesting and intimate portrait of two siblings who love each other, love their art, and never really seemed to care too much about commercial success anyway.

It is, at times, a tender exploration of their lives and music. It is, at other times, a silly and irreverent takedown of the music industry and the whimsical and capricious winds of pop culture. But what it always is, from opening credits to the end, is sincere, vulnerable, and honest.

And even if you’ve never heard of the band or any of its songs—despite the fact that they influenced or inspired everyone from Depeche Mode to Duran Duran to Red Hot Chili Peppers to They Might Be Giants—I think you’ll be a fan by the end. But not necessarily of their music. Given that they’re impossible to categorize in terms of genre and change their style with every album, it’s hard to say if you’ll dig any of their tunes. But you’ll certainly be a fan of these delightfully kooky, gracious, humble gentlemen and the shadow they’ve cast on 50 years’ worth of popular music, even if they never got the spotlight for more than a split-second.

And much of that comes down to the way the film was shot and edited. For one thing, The Spark Brothers is just visually spectacular. Yes, it’s comprised mostly of talking heads looking into, or just to the side of, the camera. And there’s also the expected collection of old photos and archival film and video. But Wright also makes liberal use of traditional 2D animation, animated collages, and even some 3D that looks like either claymation or CGI to illustrate anecdotes for which no visuals exist.

This is the sort of film I’d normally treat like an audiobook with accompanying visuals. I might be inclined to put on a documentary of this sort in the background while I’m painting D&D minis or practicing my Rubik’s Cube algorithms. But The Spark Brothers grabbed my attention from the giddy-up and refused to let go.

Kaleidescape’s Ultra HD/HDR presentation certainly didn’t hurt in that respect. It’s true that the HDR doesn’t call attention to itself for much of the film—especially the old videotaped segments, tattered photos, and 16mm film from the ’50s and ‘60s. But it’s there when it’s needed, and it’s applied judiciously to give the image some pop and pizzaz when appropriate, especially toward the end.

I could say much the same about the DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 soundtrack. It’s mostly a front-channel affair, and a dialogue-heavy one at that. But the surround channels are employed with laser precision to expand the soundfield when such is called for. Perhaps the most surprising thing about the mix is just how dynamic it is. Woe be to those who try to cram this punchy and at times energetic mix through TV speakers or a cheap soundbar. It’s not going to tax your amps, exhaust your subs, or remind you every second just what a good investment all those extra speakers around the room were, but it’s still an artful and deliberate mix that serves the film well.

These days, so few films are keepers for me. I’ve grown accustomed to the tenuous libraries available from all the major streaming services, and actual film purchases are getting fewer and farther between, but The Spark Brothers is an absolute keeper. Normally, a doc of this nature would be a one-time watch. After all, there’s nothing else to learn after one viewing, is there? And most films of this nature hinge on controversy, scandal, interpersonal conflict, backstabbing, and an absolute refusal to take any real personal responsibility. But here we have a film with no real salaciousness, bickering, or substance abuse, or orgies or tales told out of school. And yet it’s so visually and narratively interesting that I can’t wait to watch it again.

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 HDR doesn’t call attention to itself for much of the film but it’s there when it’s needed, applied judiciously to give the image some pop and pizzaz when appropriate

SOUND | The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 soundtrack is mostly a dialogue-heavy front-channel affair, but the surround channels are employed with laser precision to expand the soundfield when such is called for

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