Geoffrey Lewis (1935-2015)
April 8, 2015
April 7, 2015
FKMG presents UNFORTUNATELY-ARRANGED MOVIE MARQUEES
Sometimes planning in advance is a good idea...
"Noooo!"
"Noooo!"
The STAR WARS DIGITAL COLLECTION Available for the First Time on Digital HD April 10th
Watch the Trailer Here
April 6, 2015
SINISTER 2 Exclusive Teaser Clip Now Available
The fear is spreading – in this exclusive teaser clip from SINISTER 2,
the highly anticipated sequel to the 2012 sleeper hit horror movie.
This clip, courtesy of Blumhouse Productions and Focus Features, scared Wondercon attendees out of their badges…
Check it out below. The film opens nationwide on August 21! Stay tuned for the premiere of the Official Trailer on April 9, exclusively on Fandango!
April 4, 2015
THE TIME MACHINE (1960) and the Unfortunate Pig
Essay by D.M. ANDERSON
George Wells (Rod Taylor) may have invented a time machine, but he sure as hell doesn’t know what to do with such awesome power at his disposal. Being yet-another ‘genius’ more concerned with intellectual enlightenment than personal gain, he decides to travel 800,000 years into the future to witness what humankind has accomplished. What he finds instead is a race of dumb blondes, the Eloi, who are collectively less self-aware than a classroom of 7th graders, along with another batch of cannibalistic underground dwellers (Morlocks) sporting more manboobs than the drunken audience at a David Allan Coe concert (perhaps from chowing down on all those Eloi).
Sure, in The Time Machine, Wells hooks up with Weena (17-year-old Yvette Mimieux, nearly 15 years younger than Taylor...yeech). But rather than getting his jollies in paradise, he returns to his own time, disillusioned that humankind is only going to get dumber (foreshadowing Mike Judge's Idiocracy?). Yet Wells never uses his time machine to alter future events so we don’t end up on the Morlocks' buffet table. In fact, he does a complete about-face and goes back to the same dumbass future, likely to commence bumping-uglies with Weena.
Now that I think about it, I guess ol’ George knows exactly what to do with a time machine, because he’s likely in hog heaven right now (not-to-mention the smartest man on Earth).
That’s the thing about time travel. Ultimately, we’d all probably use it for personal gain. Think about it…what would you do with a time machine at your disposal? Would you truly be curious about the future, would you kill a tyrant like Hitler to prevent attempted genocide, or would you manipulate the past for your own benefit?
I’m honest enough to admit I’d use a time machine for selfish reasons, such as:
- 1) Traveling back a week with the latest Powerball numbers.
- 2) Talking my 18-year-old self out of getting married right after graduating high school.
- 3) Slapping some sense into Seattle Seahawks head coach Pete Carroll before calling-in that bone-headed final play in Super Bowl XLIX which lost them the game.
For example, I met a pig today.
Not on purpose. It was one of those weird little incidents that, while not necessarily life-changing, you never forget simply because you wonder how things would have turned out if you’d have done just one thing differently.
While I was at work (I'm a middle school teacher), my wife called to say she locked herself out of the house and needed me to come home and let her in. It was good timing, really, because my lunch period had just started. I had roughly forty minutes to get home, unlock the house and get back before my next class. I was a little miffed having to skip lunch to bail her out, but that subsided when I remembered it was chicken nugget day in the cafeteria (their nuggets have the same taste and consistency as a plate of Hacky-Sacks).
I made it home in about 15 minutes. The driveway gate was open when I pulled in. We’re usually pretty good at keeping it closed, since our dog, Murphy, isn’t the brightest crayon in the box. But after climbing from my car, I noticed Murphy was actually trapped in the house, barking at me through the living room window (his eyesight ain’t so great either). I had expected my wife to be sitting on the porch with a sheepish grin on her face, but she wasn’t.
Then I heard the thump-thump-thump of one of her disco CDs and knew she was in the garage on the treadmill to pass the time. I headed toward the back of the house. And that’s when I saw it…a pig. Not a very big one, about the size of our dog, pushing his snout through some weeds. I immediately froze in stunned disbelief.
 |
| Planet of Manboobs |
But this was a pig, and not one of those cute, fuzzy potbelly ones hipsters adopt as pets. This was a pig pig, fat and pink, the kind most of us only come in contact with only after they’ve become pork chops. Okay, maybe he was a little cute, like the one in Babe. But still, he was wet, muddy and not something I'd want sitting in my lap.
I stared dumbfounded, the reality of a farm animal on my property not really registering for a second.
“Honey?” I called to my wife, which startled the critter from his burrowing to look up at me. “There’s a pig in our yard!”
She couldn't hear me over the sounds of ABBA, but the pig heard all he needed to before breaking into a sprint, whizzing past me as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him. He snorted as he went by, obviously terrified, toes clicking on the driveway as he scurried out the open gate. I didn't realize they could run so fast.
“Hey, wait!” I yelled, feeling immediately stupid, as if the beastie would suddenly stop, rear his head and reply, “What is it, Dave?” Hell, my own dog doesn’t come to me when I call him.
Still, I panicked and chased after him. We live on a busy road, and I worried he might run out into traffic. He may not have been a beloved pet, but that didn’t mean I wanted to see him get pancaked by an SUV. By the time I reached the end of the driveway, he was nowhere to be seen. I was a bit relieved at the time. At least he didn’t run out into the road. He must have disappeared into the neighbor’s bushes or something.
Finished on the treadmill, my wife came out of the garage. I asked her if she had seen the pig in our yard. She looked at me like I just had a six-pack for lunch.
“I swear to god,” I claimed. “There was a pig snooting around in the weeds. I hope he stays off the road.”
I could tell my wife thought I was making this up…or worse, hallucinating. In fact, she only half-jokingly suggested that very thing.
Anyway, after checking the time, I forgot about the pig. I had to get back to work fast to be in time for my next class. Kids are allowed a few mulligans when it comes to tardies, but teachers aren’t.
Back at school, I told the students in my next class about my pig encounter. None seemed too impressed. Granted, seeing a pig may not be as awe-inspiring as a UFO landing in your yard, but it isn’t like the streets of Portland are teaming with swine. The only comment I got back was from one girl, who asked, “Was it fat?” Yeah, like the pig’s size was the missing detail to make my lunchtime account a better story.
After the school day ended, I got home in time to join my wife in waiting for my daughter’s bus.
On the way back from the bus stop, there was the little pig lying on the side of the road about thirty feet beyond our driveway…
...dead.
Fortunately, my little daughter had a friend she’d invited home for a play date, and in their quest to get home and start dressing Barbies, they didn’t notice him. I’m glad because she only recently informed us she would no longer eat pork because pigs are cute animals.* Not only that, she doesn’t handle death too well. She cried for two hours when a fifty-cent snail in her fish’s bowl died.
After the girls had vanished into the house my wife and I ventured over to the dead pig, which was definitely nailed by a car. I guess he wandered out into the road after all.
“See?” I victoriously exclaimed to my wife. “I told you I wasn’t making this up.”
But inside, I was sad. No, I don’t get upset every time I spot roadkill. In fact, part of me does a silent cheer whenever I see the bloodied carcass of a raccoon that meets its end with a car bumper. Raccoons may be cute, but they're nasty, mean animals (and one beat the shit out of my cat once, which resulted in a $500 in veterinary bill).
But a pig? In the city? I don't know how he got there, but the little critter was obviously out of his element and probably scared to death. And as I looked down at his carcass (not a bloody, gory mess…just lying there on the sidewalk with his little black eyes still open, which actually made it worse), I started to wonder if I could have prevented this. What if I had closed the gate when I got home to let my wife in? What if I had tried to catch the little pig as he tried to flee my driveway?
I tried to reason it through in order to feel better…he wasn’t my pig and I sure as hell didn't have the space or resources to take care of one, even temporarily, while I scouted the neighborhood to find its owner. My wife suggested going to Zenger Farm, a nearby business which isn’t so-much an actual farm as a tiny agricultural Mecca where urbanites congregate and buy pumpkins and wine. Maybe one of Zenger’s animals escaped. So I checked. But they had no real livestock, just some chickens and bunnies for school kids to fawn over during field trips (just what purpose do bunnies actually serve on a farm, anyway?). After that, I felt I did all I could for the little pig. It ain’t like we bonded or anything. This dead pig wasn’t my problem. I didn't ask him to wander into my yard.
As I write this, it is still lying on the side of the road while cars whiz by. I feel bad about that because surely there must be someone missing their pig, even if they only intended to make bacon strips out of him. I’m thinking I should go outside with a few towels and hoist him off the sidewalk, away from the road where he met his death. Why? Maybe it's guilt, knowing that dumb little porker would still be alive and snorting if I had simply closed the gate when I came home, and now I felt removing his dead carcass from the indifferent rush hour traffic would atone for my lack of foresight.
I know, considering the circumstances, it's dumb to think this way, but guilt is a powerful, vicious beast. It can claw and eat away at you, even when you've haven't consciously done anything wrong. Hindsight is the mother of all bitches, and she doesn't care what your best intentions are.
If I had access to a time machine, I'd love to give that bitch the slapping she deserves.
*She has since rescinded that proclamation just a couple of weeks later, when she awoke to the smell of bacon frying on the griddle last Sunday.
April 2, 2015
YOUR DYSTOPIAN VACATION DESTINATION AWAITS...
So why not really unleash your inhibitions with one of Hollywood’s many “DYSTOPIAN PARADISE PACKAGES”?
Nevada’s infamous Bunny Ranch will seem as tame as a Puritan honeymoon compared the pleasures which await you. And who knows… you might even get to kill some people!
If such decadence sounds appealing (and you know who you are), perhaps you’d fancy visiting the following destinations…
VENUSVILLE (Total Recall)
Sure, Mars may not be as aesthetically romantic as venturing to
the rings of Saturn (“Everyone raves about ’em”), but doesn't
that seem sort-of like today’s old folks embarking on a cruise
hoping to rekindle some spark in their marriage?Venusville, on the other hand, is for those who just want to get their rocks off while pretending to be a secret agent (which applies to every self-aware male ever born). While there are numerous bars and brothels which will indulge you, your best bet is to check-out The Last Resort, featuring mutant lovelies who’ll make you wish you had three hands.
THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: Okay, sure…the folks working on Mars are oppressed, and yeah, you might find yourself morally obligated to liberate them. But hey…in the meantime…three boobs!
ROUGE CITY (A.I: Artificial Intelligence)
In a future where global warming has flooded most of the planet and procreation is a crapshoot at best, we can purchase little robot children who will love us unconditionally, even after the novelty has worn off. But hey, you didn’t come here to play wet nurse to a walking, whiny piece of snot-nosed circuitry. You want action!
Look no further than Rouge City, a neon wonderland of carnal pleasure for members of both sexes, provided by ‘professionals’ programmed to do whatever you want. This sexual utopia is the perfect destination for spiky-headed douche bags who weren’t around when Ft. Lauderdale was still above sea level. As for you ladies, make sure to ask for Gigolo Joe!
THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: Despite all the practical and personal perks of the advanced robotics in this world, one can’t help but think the human race is already doomed. So enjoy your stay while you can.
“THE NOT-TO-DISTANT FUTURE” (The year
2018, as imagined by 1975’s Rollerball)
What a world! And it’s only three years away!
No crime…no poverty…no unemployment. Everything’s been taken care of by corporations who run the world and know exactly what you need to be happy: Sports, sex and synthetic drugs, all of which are provided in abundance.
Even if you’re not content in your day job, these guys have turned designer drugs into an art form, creating pills specifically manufactured to make you dream to be anyone you want, from a corporate executive to a Rollerball champion. Speaking of which, Rollerball is the only sport left, but it’s so brutal, bloody and punishing that you’ll never miss the old days of the NFL or UFC. And yeah, players die on a regular basis, especially since the rules are changed more frequently than they are in NASCAR.
And the women? Depending on your status, one will be provided for you by the corporation as a reward! She’ll be waiting at home for you, tarted-up and glamorously garbed. Beats the hell out of trying to impress them on a first date, doesn’t it?
THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: If you’re a woman, you’re pretty-much considered property. If you’re a man, you’re stuck wearing tight polyester bell-bottoms and shirts with ridiculously-flared collars. There aren’t any books either (which makes this place a total utopia for most 7th graders), but don’t worry…most of them have been transcribed and edited by a central computer, which sometimes works properly. And whatever you do, DON'T try to stand out from the crowd. Just pop your pills, enjoy your luxurious life, don’t ask questions and your stay will be a happy one.
DELOS (Westworld)
Delos…the adult Disneyland. For $1000 a day, you can visit one of three distinct worlds, Medieval World, Roman World or Westworld, and indulge in your every whim. For example, in Westworld, you can rob banks, engage in gunfights and essentially kill anyone you want with absolutely no repercussions! Why? Because you’re simply shooting robots who are programmed to lose any lethal confrontation you initiate!
Afterwards, you can venture to the local brothel and take your pick of the many beauties in bustiers. Despite your initial inhibitions over having sex with a robot, these lovelies are willing, submissive and almost like the real thing (just don’t look at their hands).
THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: Sometimes Delos’ computers go all funny, causing the robots to turn homicidal, which may have you questioning why they would arm their gunfighters with real bullets in the first place (especially if one Is chasing you). You also have to wonder whose job it is to sterilize the robots you (and everyone else) have been indiscriminately humping during your stay, and praying they do more than a quick ‘wipe down’ each day.
THE CITY (Logan’s Run)
The City is the perfect world of total pleasure…there’s just one catch…
Let’s take care of the pleasure part. It’s 2274; everyone is young, gorgeous and dressed in skimpy attire just one step removed from lingerie. They spend their days wandering a massive, climate-controlled domed city (looking a lot like a mall in downtown Dallas), indulging in whatever fancies them, having indiscriminant sex or engaging in orgies at the local Love Shop. But even if you aren’t inclined to mingle, you can stay home and simply use your remote control to have the perfect temporary partner materialize right in the room!
Need a break from all that uninhibited fornicating? Venture over to Carousel, take a seat and get your jollies watching some other poor rubes in leotards hoisted into the air before exploding.
THE DYSTOPIAN DOWNSIDE: Here’s the catch: Those poor rubes you enjoyed watching explode just turned 30, which is as long as you’re allowed to live. Anyone who tries to make it to 31 are hunted down by Sandmen, the few guys who appear to have actual jobs in this world (Hey, if you’re forced to work, why not have one that lets you kill people?). Still, you also have to ask yourself what would be better…30 years of engaging in nothing but self-indulgent pleasure, or working your ass off in a tedious job for decades before retiring at an age when you can no longer control your own bowels?
What do you say…shall we book your Dystopian Destination now?
March 31, 2015
Blu-Ray Review: THE DIRTY DOZEN: THE DEADLY MISSION / THE DIRTY DOZEN: THE FATAL MISSION
Starring Telly Savalas, Ernest Borgnine, Randal “Tex” Cobb, Bo Svenson, Wolf Kahler, Gary Graham, Vince Edwards. Directed by Lee H. Katzin. (1987, 90 min).
THE DIRTY DOZEN: THE FATAL MISSION
Starring Telly Savalas, Ernest Borgnine, Hunt Block, Jeff Conaway, Alex Cord, Erik Estrada, Ray “Boom Boom“ Mancini, Heather Thomas. Directed by Lee H. Katzin. (1988, 100 min).
Olive Films
The Dirty Dozen is undeniably one of the great war films of the 1960s (in this writer’s opinion, it's one of the best of all time). The compelling story, dynamic characters, eclectic cast and perfect direction (by the always underrated Robert Aldrich) seem as fresh today as they did nearly 50 years ago. Simply put, it’s a one-of-a-kind film experience that can’t be duplicated.
But not for a lack of trying. In addition to numerous inferior knock-offs which popped-up over the years, a made-for-TV sequel, The Dirty Dozen: Next Mission, was produced in 1985, featuring some of the same characters and actors who survived the original film (including star Lee Marvin). It looked & played like just another TV movie, but brand name familiarity made it successful enough to spawn two more sequels, The Dirty Dozen: The Deadly Mission and The Dirty Dozen: The Fatal Mission, both now available on Blu-Ray for the first time.
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| "Here you go...hot off the presses." |
However, if you’re somehow able to forget the whole Dirty Dozen connection, lower your expectations and watch them on their own terms, these films, while never escaping their 1980’s made-for-TV origins, provide some passable entertainment. Savalas is no Lee Marvin, but makes a stoic leader, guiding casts of somewhat familiar faces (mostly TV actors) through their paces. Neither story is as interesting as the original, but you already knew that. Both films are directed by Lee H. Katzin, skilled at depicting budget-conscious action in previous television programs such as Man from Atlantis, Space: 1999 and MacGyver.
These films are mildly entertaining, though ultimately forgettable, save for any nostalgia one may have for a time when TV movies ruled the ratings on Sunday nights. This was back when copping a familiar brand name to churn out low budget television sequels made them seem like a bigger deal than they really were.
EXTRAS: None
KITTY CONSENSUS:
Not bad...like Cat Chow
March 28, 2015
Blu-Ray Review: THE VOICES
Lionsgate
If nothing else, The Voices confirms what I’ve always suspected about my beloved house pets. If they were truly able to speak, my dog would encourage me to return the cash-stuffed wallet I just found to its rightful owner, to always drive the speed limit and never cheat on my taxes. My cat, on the other hand, would be the one goading me into throwing snowballs at strangers, spend all my disposable income on prostitutes and bolt from a restaurant without paying the check. Based on what we already observe about their behavior, it’s easy to imagine dogs being our moral compass, while cats would be that little devil on our shoulder, encouraging us to engage in all kinds of decadent behavior simply because it feels good.
If I were teetering on the brink of insanity, seeking the advice of my pets, having a cat in the house would be a bad idea. To them, a good time is to go out and kill something.
That’s the essential premise of The Voices. Ryan Reynolds is Jerry, a psychologically-unstable young man who lives above an abandoned bowling alley and struggles to function in society, but has since stopped taking the medication which keeps the voices in his head at-bay. These voices are manifested as good and evil through his dog, Bosco, and cat, Mr. Whiskers (both voiced by Reynolds). After the accidental killing of a co-worker he has a crush on, Fiona (Gemma Arterton), Jerry is torn between doing the right thing and notifying the police, encouraged by Bosco, and continue killing because, as pointed-out by Mr. Whiskers and the now-disembodied head of Fiona, part of him actually enjoyed it. Jerry almost regains his sanity through a relationship with another co-worker, Lisa (Anna Kendrick), but her accidental death (after discovering Fiona’s dismembered body sealed in Tupperware throughout Jerry’s house) pretty-much cements his destiny as a serial killer.
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| "Alright...who peed?" |
Obviously, The Voices is not for everyone, a very black comedy which can only be appreciated by those totally onboard for a dark - sometimes morbidly amusing - journey into madness. The film is unable to extend its premise to a truly satisfying conclusion (it ends terribly), but for viewers up for a bit of pitch-black fun, The Voices more-or-less delivers...
...and you'll never look at your own pets the same way again.
EXTRAS:
- FEATURETTES: “The Voices - From Fridge to Frame”; “The Making of Bosco & Mr. Whiskers”; “The Voices of Ryan Reynolds”
- Deleted and Extended Scenes
- Animatics
- Costume Sketch Gallery
- Digital Copy
KITTEN CONSENSUS:
Purr...like a good scratch behind the ears
(and hey...it has cats in it!)
March 27, 2015
PHANTASM II and the Grand Illusion
Essay by D.M. ANDERSON
If you’re over 40, maybe a few of you can relate to this…
I was a complete ass in my early 20s, but never realized how big of an ass until years later, when maturity whipped-out its indestructible mirror and shoved my face against its glass. While I cringe at my reflection, some solace can be found in the knowledge that I’m no longer that guy and, perhaps most importantly, no longer in contact with many of the people who knew me at my worst (though there are some to whom I owe an apology).
Yours truly made the mistake of marrying his high school sweetheart before the ink on his diploma was dry (another sad story told HERE). Like many star-crossed young lovers, we divorced a few years later while still basically kids. My parents were pretty happy because they hated my first wife, and agreed to pay for me to go back to school to make something of myself. I couldn’t move back home (Dad was still distrustful from my dubious life choices so far), so they arranged for me to live with my grandmother in Prosser, a tiny farm town in Washington where the cows outnumber the people.
Since I’ve always been a fairly decent artist, my folks pretty-much arranged in-advance for me to attend a Graphic Arts program at Perry Technical Institute in nearby Yakima. While grateful for this second chance, I was mostly concerned with making up for all that wasted time being monogamous.
By the time my divorce was final, I’d dropped a lot of weight. I also made the decision that, for the first time in my life, I was gonna look and dress how I wanted, not what a wife, parent or employer expected. I grew my hair out, got my ear pierced and started wearing a lot of black. Most of the time, I resembled an unholy cross between David Coverdale from Whitesnake and Kiefer Sutherland in The Lost Boys. My appearance elicited some chuckles from some of the yokels of Yakima, but I didn’t give a damn, since my rocker garb seemed to appeal to a lot of women.
I was never a guy who really turned heads in high school, so this new-found confidence had me trying to nail everything that moved, saying or doing whatever it took to get between the sheets, from obsessing over my appearance to making-up awesome lies about myself (“Yeah, I’m in a band”). In other words…shallow as an Arizona puddle.
Even douchier was when I chose to fake a British accent, honed by endlessly quoting Nigel Tufnel from This is Spinal Tap. Some of the dimmer bulbs I met in bars would fall for my ruse (or maybe they knew I was full of shit and simply didn’t care). At any rate, I was never in it for the long haul, so what did it matter? I was simply playing-up my assets to meet my needs at the time. Who cared if my bullshit didn't hold up to any scrutiny?
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| "Who farted?" |
Phantasm II was an ironically-fitting first date movie, as it’s the complete cinematic version of my life at the time…aesthetically impressive & sexy on the surface, but shallow and phony when examined too closely. The original 1979 film was no great shakes, bordering on amateurish at times. Still, there was at least some evidence of sincerity in its patchwork attempts at surrealism. But let’s face it…the main reason Phantasm still resonates at all today is the single classic scene in which a flying silver sphere strikes one of The Tall Man’s henchmen in the forehead, drills into his skull and drains his blood as he twitches on the mausoleum floor.
After a brief prologue which recaps the chilling climax from the original (with one preposterous change to make a sequel possible), Phantasm II takes place a few years later, when Mike (James LeGros, replacing Michael Baldwin) is released from a looney bin. He’s joined by Reggie (Reggie Bannister) and the two embark on a long trek in their souped-up Barricuda to locate & destroy The Tall Man (Angus Scrimm). If you have no idea what any of this means, you obviously haven't seen Phantasm, and this sequel doesn't bother bringing you up to speed. Anyway, The Tall Man's trail is easy to pick-up, since he’s left dozens of ravaged and desolate small towns in his wake.
One would think, by now, at least someone besides these two would have noticed entire cities have been destroyed and hundreds are missing, but never mind. We aren’t supposed to scrutinize the story too heavily, much like I didn’t expect women to question why a British rock star wannabe would settle in an agricultural hub like Yakima. In fact, even though Phantasm II is a sequel, it plays as though writer/director Don Coscarelli was counting more on his balls to sell the film, rather than logic, continuity or anyone who recalls the first one so fondly.
And by balls, I mean that literally. Despite a few fleeting attempts at the same surrealism as the original, Phantasm II is mostly a straightforward chase which solely exists to flaunt the one asset that made the first film a cult classic…the deadly flying balls. This time it’s balls, balls everywhere…drilling skulls, chopping off appendages, tearing into bodies, bursting from faces…all in loving, gory detail.
These scenes are easily the most audience-rousing (okay, the quadruple-barrel shotgun is pretty cool, too), deflecting us from the fact that Phantasm II, despite a bigger budget and better production values, has little else. It's a shallow facsimile of the original Phantasm, much like a certain douchebag from the past spotted in a mirror not long ago, who superficially resembled David Coverdale. It’s all surface, no substance…cynically making itself look as good as possible for the few moments it exists in your life. Like Melanie’s initial impression of me (and why we dated only once), it’s a fun flick, but doesn’t stand up to any scrutiny whatsoever. To revisit it a second time would destroy any illusion of greatness.
That’s no way to live, and certainly no way to make movies of any lasting merit. After flunking out of college (though I eventually went back), I gave up the whole rocker ruse, quit scoping the bars for temporary friendship and started just being myself (for better or worse). Coscarelli did too (hey, he made Bubba Ho-Tep!), but not before exploiting that one great scene from the original Phantasm into two more even shallower sequels (both with a lot more balls, so to speak).
SPIRITED AWAY & THE CAT RETURNS on Blu-Ray 6/16
Disney presents two beloved films from the acclaimed Studio Ghibli, Oscar - Winning Masterpiece Spirited Away and the enchanting fantasy adventure The Cat Returns, will be available for the first time on Blu-ray Combo Pack June 16th!
Spirited Away is a wondrous fantasy about a young girl, Chihiro, trapped in a strange new world of spirits. While The Cat Returns is about a schoolgirl, Haru (voiced by Anne Hathaway), bored by her ordinary routine, saves the life of an unusual cat and suddenly her world is transformed beyond anything she ever imagined. Both are magical animated adventures that will delight and inspire the whole family!
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