8/10
Rarely-circulated follow-up to “A Man Called Horse” from numerous members of that triumph’s production team — star Richard Harris, producer Sandy Howard and writer Jack DeWitt — was an obvious influence on “The Revenant,” and with good reason. DeWitt’s screenplay adapts the same, allegedly true story of Hugh Glass, a 19th century fur trapper who was left for dead by the people he was working for in the Pacific Northwest. His fight for survival — after an encounter with a bear that nearly kills him — is told in vivid visual fashion by director Richard C. Sarafian, though “Man in the Wilderness” is ultimately a richer story than its later, more graphic Leonardo DiCaprio counterpart, at least from a humanistic angle: Harris’ sensitive and credible performance as Glass, here dubbed Zachary Bass, carries an enhanced emotional component as his hero isn’t driven by revenge, but more motivated to return to the family he left behind. Flashbacks are effectively intercut with excellent scope cinematography (the film was shot in Spain, Mexico and Arizona), making for a surprisingly moving film. In fact, Harris is marvelous here, dialed down and believable in what ranks as one of his best performances (the actor considered the film to be excellent and blamed bad marketing on its box-office failure), and even John Huston, playing the heavy, is far less villainous than one might expect.
Brought to Blu-Ray from the Warner Archive, “Man in the Wilderness” has been treated to a sumptuously detailed 1080p (2.40) AVC encoded transfer with near-photographic levels of detail, outstanding for a catalog title from that era. The movie, seldom screened on video save a 2008 DVD edition, looks spectacular, and the DTS MA mono audio houses a robust and lyrical score by Johnny Harris.
The trailer is the sole extra on a highly recommended disc.
) whose rich-bitch mistress (Isabelle Huppert) witnesses a violent assault on a local woman (Elizabeth McGovern). Not wanting to reveal that she was in her lover's apartment at the time of the incident, Guttenberg suggests simply that he take claim to being the witness instead, which, as things often do in these type of thrillers, ends up going spectacularly awry. Written and directed by the late Curtis Hanson, The Bedroom Window suffers mainly from the casting of Guttenberg, who is too lightweight and amiably bland a presence to really anchor the character's desperation and guilt as the tower of false claims he constructs gradually begins to crumble. With a stronger leading man, The Bedroom Window might have been a minor classic, but even as-is, it's a pretty enjoyable watch (although seeing it via YouTube was not the preferred way to do so), a reminder of how sadly rare these kinds of modestly engrossing, adult thrillers are these days, and of Hanson's unflashy skills as a filmmaker.