Bigger Than Life (The Criterion Collection) [Blu-ray]

Director Nicholas Ray delved into the dark underbelly of middle class juvenile life in the justly celebrated Rebel Without a Cause, and he does a similar examination of the middle aged side of that equation in Bigger Than Life. A striking melodrama rooted in the sights and sounds of the 1950s, Bigger Than Life isn’t quite in the same league as Rebel, In a Lonely Place, or They Drive by Night in portraying in psychodramatic terms the real angst inherent in American lifestyles of the period, but it comes close, and it’s certainly a drama that still holds one’s attention even if it seems more grounded in its 1950s time period than other celebrated films of the same era.

 

Underpaid and overworked primary school teacher Ed Avery (James Mason) is stricken with inflammation of the arteries, a life-threatening illness, and his doctor (Robert Simon) prescribes cortisone, then a recent “miracle drug” whose side effects were not well documented. Though he’s told to stay rigidly on the drug with no deviation from its every six hour dosage, Ed begins over medicating and subsequently begins undergoing strange shifts in temperament (a raging sense of superiority and elitism) and physical behavior (rougher with his family without regard for their well being) which cause him problems at work and home. Wife Lou (Barbara Rush) and son Richie (Christopher Olsen) bear the brunt of his insidious psychological torture, but there seems to be no solution in sight since the uptight Lou wants to keep their problems a secret and not seek outside help.

 

The screenplay by Cyril Hume and Richard Maibaum was based on an article in The New Yorker on the uses and dangers of cortisone by Berton Rouche. We’re never sure if the drug would have had the same overdramatic reaction on Ed had he continued to take it in only regular doses (he did seem to be less uptight and more spendthrift even before he started doubling and tripling his dosage but he was clearly prone to wild mood swings), but the inevitable effect as seen in James Mason’s performance verges on the insane. Nicholas Ray keeps the mood increasingly dark and menacing as Ed’s paranoia deepens though in today’s view, one has a hard time dredging up sympathy for Barbara Rush’s Lou who stands for the abuse far longer than rationality would suggest. Contrivance is the key word as it just happens to be the weekend when she finally decides to take action, a time when Ed’s doctor is conveniently out of town and she consequently resists sharing the problem with another doctor (though we see throughout the film that Ed has a battery of doctors attending his condition, any of whom she could have consulted.) The ending’s a bit too pat as well though there is a bit of uncertainty with the family’s welfare even as the film concludes. Still, there’s no denying that the drama is potent and the sense of danger beautifully realized in Ray’s capable hands. He takes small things like a broken bathroom mirror or the father’s visage suddenly appearing in a bureau mirror as threatening portents of serious trouble to come.

 

James Mason served as producer as well as star of the film, and his casting as Ed, while not really ideal, is an interesting take on a middle class American. An Alan Ladd or a James Stewart would seem to have been a better fit for the part, but Mason’s wildly shifting emotions and growing sense of unbalance certainly is gripping. Barbara Rush does all she can with the somewhat simpering wife role though she generally internalizes the emotion and lets it peep through wonderfully in certain key moments. Christopher Olsen, who played the kidnapped child in Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much before undertaking this part, does a superlative job trying the gauge his father’s many moods but not without an awesome struggle. Walter Matthau has some effective moments as the school’s gym teacher who’s a concerned friend of the family while Robert Simon as the trusted doctor keeps his poker face well under control in a slightly dullish performance.

 

 

 

The Cinemascope 2.55:1 theatrical aspect ratio is presented in a 1080p transfer using the AVC codec. Color is richly saturated and most appealing in the transfer though an occasional close-up isn’t always as sharp as one would wish. Flesh tones seem to vary throughout the film with them occasionally looking too brown and sometimes too hot and pink. Blacks also are only of average depth through much of the movie. The print used for the transfer is clean and free of damage or age-related artifacts, and overall the transfer is splendid. The film has been divided into 20 chapters.

 

 

 

The PCM (1.1 Mbps) 1.0 audio track mixes the dialogue, music, and sound effects quite well with neither of the latter overpowering the former. You’ll likely be quite impressed with the above average spatial dimension of this nicely rendered mono audio track. Again, there are no instances of age-related artifacts that distract from the sound presentation.

 

 

 

The audio commentary is by Nicholas Ray expert Geoff Andrew, and while he considers this Ray’s greatest film (I disagree), he offers a scene-specific commentary elaborating on his thesis. There is a bit too much description of what we’re seeing during the talk, but he does have a great command of Ray’s film output at his disposal and makes use of it throughout the commentary.

 

A 1977 interview with Nicolas Ray for the CBS program Camera Three is presented. Interviewed by critic Cliff Jahr, the discussion concentrates too heavily on Rebel Without a Cause at the expense of the other films (Bigger Than Life isn’t mentioned), but hearing Ray talk about his Hollywood experiences and his work after he left moviemaking is undoubtedly interesting, and this is a major piece of Ray memorabilia. It runs 28 ¾ minutes and is presented in 1080i.

 

Author/critic Jonathan Lethen offers a loving 27 ¼-minute critique of the movie using clips from the film and presented in 1080p.

 

Nicholas Ray’s wife Susan is interviewed for 22 minutes about her husband’s philosophies and her opinions about Bigger Than Life in particular. The interview is presented in 1080p.

 

The film’s theatrical trailer runs 2 ¾ minutes in 1080p.

 

The enclosed 22-page booklet contains complete cast and crew lists, some gorgeous color stills from the movie, and a lengthy and interesting examination of the director and his film by writer B. Kite.

 

The Criterion Blu-rays include a maneuvering tool called “Timeline” which can be pulled up from the menu or by pushing the red button on the remote. It shows you your progress on the disc, the title of the chapter you’re now in, and index markers for the commentary that goes along with the film, all of which can be switched on the fly. Additionally, two other buttons on the remote can place or remove bookmarks if you decide to stop viewing before reaching the end of the film or want to mark specific places for later reference.

 

 

 

Bigger Than Life may not be as celebrated a Nicholas Ray film as Rebel Without a Cause or Johnny Guitar, but it deserves a revisit, and this Criterion Blu-ray release offers a terrific film transfer along with some delectable bonus features to make the package especially enticing to Nicholas Ray fans or anyone interested in experiencing this little seen drama from the 1950s. Recommended!

 

 

 

Matt Hough

Charlotte, NC