Medea Blu-ray Movie

Rating summary

Movie		3.5
Video		3.0
Audio		2.5
Extras		3.0
Overall		3.5

Medea Blu-ray Movie Review

It's all Greek to Pasolini.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Kauffman December 5, 2011

Have you ever noticed how clean things were in Ancient Greece, Rome or the Holy Land—at least as recreated by Hollywood production designers. Any number of historical epics culled from either myth or the Bible or some other long ago source are full of gargantuan sets, gorgeous costumes and really, really pristine streets. It’s that air of Hollywood artificiality which probably added to the allure of such films, at least in their heyday of the fifties and sixties, when audiences were still recovering from the horrors of World War II and then the fears brought on by the nuclear age and the Cold War. Seeing mammoth buildings full of well robed glamorous stars was something like filmic comfort food, a quasi-spiritual experience that in a very real way was akin to going to church. There are some notable differences in European approaches to some of the same subject matter, whether it be in sillier films like the Steve Reeves Hercules outings or even Spanish or Italian filmed epics like Sodom and Gomorrah or even El Cid. There’s a somewhat grittier ambience to a lot of these Continental productions that is diametrically opposed to the shiny splendor of the Hollywood way of doing things. But even the “typical” Continental historical epic would most likely look glossy when compared to Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Medea, an incredibly visceral recounting of the Euripedes tragedy featuring opera diva Maria Callas in her only dramatic screen appearance. Medea is unlike any historical epic ever filmed, and in fact it’s not all that “epic,” with an intimate approach that is palpable in a way that perhaps only Pasolini could achieve. Medea is also notable for being almost a silent film a lot of the time, despite a really evocative soundtrack that utilizes a number of ethnic, quasi-archaic music. But there’s precious little dialogue throughout the film, and this is a cinema experience that relies more than virtually any other film of this ilk purely on visual material to relay its story.

The tragic tale of Medea has inspired artists in various genres literally for millennia, with her story being woven through everything from several operas (including an emotionally devastating one by Greek composer Mikis Theodarakis, known for his iconic film scores for Zorba the Greek, Z and Serpico) to ballet (by American composer Samuel Barber) to at least a handful of film adaptations. Perhaps surprisingly, Pasolini’s was the first major film to try to bring the story of the wronged wife and mother to the screen, and his version is arguably the most innovative and emotionally direct to have been filmed. It’s all the more remarkable because Pasolini’s film is, as might be expected, extremely stylized though within the confines of what could almost be termed a neorealist ethos that brings the world of the Ancient Greeks fully alive in a way that has never even been attempted by traditional Hollywood productions.

Generations have grown up with Ray Harryhausen’s iconic Jason and the Argonauts and probably many if not most of those who have seen the film have their best understanding of Jason’s story from that great stop motion animation film. Those who have delved a bit deeper into the source elements know that Jason’s story is a good deal more shaded in its most ancient tellings, and that includes his initially hopeful but ultimately disastrous marriage to Medea, one which saw Jason uproot the woman from her own tribe and attempt to transport and assimilate her into his own culture. In Pasolini’s film, Jason is arguably the center focus, despite the title of the movie, and in fact the first act of the film is largely Jason’s alone, starting with his childhood and then with his attempt to regain the Golden Fleece, which is what ultimately brings him into contact with Medea herself. Pasolini’s depiction of Jason is more than a bit odd. He comes off in the film as a sort of swaggering buffoon, one who winks at maidens and blows kisses inappropriately, and this clownish behavior is made even more evident when he decides to ditch Medea when he’s made a marriage offer he can’t refuse, entering into a politically advantageous union with Glauce, leading to devastating results.

Callas is imperious in her one screen role, but she’s also at least passingly vulnerable in a couple of key moments, specifically after she’s shared some intimacy with Jason and stares lovingly at his naked body. But her Medea is a fierce and proud woman who only pretends to be going along to be getting along, and that makes the devastating climax all the more riveting. Audiences and critics alike have been debating for years Pasolini’s patently odd stylistic curveball thrown late in the film’s game, when the death of Glauce and her father is depicted in two different ways, one right after the other. It’s almost like the filmic equivalent of one of those children’s books where the reader has the choice at the bottom of any given page where to turn next, and the story will take a different turn depending on which subsequent page is chosen. In this case, the actual denouement remains the same, but getting there is different each time. Why did Pasolini do this? Is one version simply Medea’s fantasy (albeit it the most “traditional” version of what happens to Glauce)? Is the other a more realistic sociopolitical approach to what Glauce herself realizes she’s become once she dons the ornamental robe Medea once wore? Pasolini in his short but tumultuous career obviously loved to draw parallels between ancient peccadilloes and the continuing absurdities of modern man, and there’s little doubt that he was doing something along those same lines here, in a sort of proto-feminist screed of sorts.

This is visceral filmmaking of the highest order, from the human sacrifice that immediately brands Medea’s tribe as pagan idolators to the equally primitive but supposedly more civilized world Jason transports her to. This Medea has a mythic quality of its very own, but it’s also suffused with a proto-surrealistic element that at times is redolent of Fellini. It’s an odd concatenation of the hyper-real with the patently unreal, and it gives this retelling of this saddest of stories a gut wrenching emotional impact.

Medea Blu-ray Movie, Video Quality 

Medea is presented on Blu-ray courtesy of Entertainment One with an AVC encoded 1080p transfer in 1.85:1. Medea was not a high budget film and it most certainly looks it. The film stock here does not appear to have been top quality, and that problem is exacerbated on this high definition presentation by what appears to be some moderate DNR. The overall image here is rather soft, although occasional close- ups reveal some decent if not overwhelming fine detail. Colors are blanched, probably the result of a faded print, and midrange shots can devolve into fuzzy blurs a lot of the time. All of that said, some of the film still manages to pop quite nicely. Some of the outdoor scenes across what can only be termed a sort of weird moonscape, with towers of rock looking like pillars of salt, look pretty spry. But the palette here is depressingly bland quite a bit of the time, with only blues and an occasional bright red retaining the luster that was probably part of the original theatrical exhibition.

Medea Blu-ray Movie, Audio Quality 

Medea is presented with only a lossy Dolby Digital 2.0 (mono) mix of the original Italian language track, which is odd, since a European Blu-ray evidently offered a lossless LPCM 2.0 mix as well as the English dub in LPCM 2.0. The film was obviously shot silent and post-looped, and equally obviously the multi-national cast was speaking a variety of languages when they filmed, meaning that the Italian dub is almost ludicrously out of synch with lip movements quite a bit of the time. If you can get past that anomaly, even with the standard Dolby rendering of the soundtrack, there's a lot to like here, especially the excellent use of environmental sound effects and the hauntingly effective score, which utilizes a lot of ancient instruments and evocative choral singing. Fidelity is above average, if lacking the fulsome bass and high end that a lossless track would have provided.

Medea Blu-ray Movie, Special Features and Extras 

• Callas (HD; 1:31;22). This brilliant documentary by Tony Palmer is a fantastic overview on the diva's life and career. This presentation seems weirdly albeit slightly anamorphically squeezed to fit a 4:3 frame, though it was broadcast in 1987 in the United Kingdom, which means it really should be framed at 1.33:1. I'm at a loss to explain this technically, unless Palmer actually filmed the documentary in 1.66:1 and it was cropped for broadcast. This makes a compelling companion piece to the equally excellent Callas: assoluta which I reviewed here some time ago.
• Trailer (HD; 2:45)

Medea Blu-ray Movie, Overall Score and Recommendation 

This is a somewhat different Pasolini from some of his other, more controversial, work, though this Medea is most definitely a Pasolini film. The weird combination of neorealism with super stylized moments that verge on surrealism at times is certainly not going to be to everyone's taste, but that can just as certainly be said of any of Pasolini's films. This is a cinematic experience that wends its way into the subconscious and delivers a rather surprisingly visceral blow, but that's not to say that the film is easy to watch or even easy to understand at times. As with all of Pasolini's work, the director is almost defiantly challenging his audience to engage with the material. If you're up to the challenge, this is a fascinating and memorable film. The image and sound quality here is certainly less than optimal, but the film itself is Recommended.