Fat City; The Red Badge of Courage

In his long, illustrious career, director John Huston helmed a number of hits (The Maltese Falcon, The African Queen, Prizzi's Honor) and misses (The Bible, The Kremlin Letter, Casino Royale), not to mention serving up brilliant performances in films such as Chinatown and Winter Kills. Although not in the same league with his best efforts, Huston's production-beleaguered The Red Badge of Courage (1951) and scrappily independent Fat City (1972) both have their considerable merits. Based on Stephen Crane's classic Civil War novel, The Red Badge of Courage was slashed to a severely truncated 69 minutes by a new MGM regime after testing poorly with preview audiences. Masterfully cast against type, WWII hero Audie Murphy stars as Henry Fleming, a new Union soldier who cuts and runs during his first battle and later overcompensates for his cowardice with maniacal bravery. Backed by an excellent supporting cast that includes political cartoonist Bill Mauldin, Royal Dano, and Arthur Hunnicutt as soldiers in Fleming's regiment, Murphy witnesses the myriad emotions of men in battle: fear, anger, desperation, exhilaration, confusion, sorrow, the whole spectrum of human feeling. The sparkling b&w transfer on this otherwise extra-less disc is crisp with nice contrasts. Recommended. A much more intimate film, Fat City, based on Leonard Gardner's novel, stars Stacy Keach as Tully, a washed-up alcoholic amateur boxer who not only encourages a kid with pugilistic promise (Jeff Bridges), but also decides to get back in the game himself, hooking up with his former manager/promoter (Nicholas Colosanto). Unfortunately, he also hooks up with Oma (Oscar-nominated Susan Tyrrell), a grasping drunk who doesn't share Tully's newfound enthusiasm for clean living and getting ahead. While Tully's downward spiral is familiar and to some extent predictable, that doesn't make his story any less true (it's a sad fact that some people simply do not get any of the breaks), and the final classic shot of Keach and Bridges in a diner is a hauntingly mute testament to the divide between the haves and have nots (even relatively speaking). Although extra-less, the disc sports a handsome transfer and offers viewers the option of watching the film in either a full screen or widescreen version. Recommended. (R. Pitman)