The following titles are available exclusively at the Warner Bros. Archive official site.

Richard Rush's FREEBIE AND THE BEAN is a study in mayhem. Police detectives Freebie (James Caan) and Bean (Alan Arkin) are on the verge of a career-making bust of organized crime kingpin Red Meyers (Jack Kruschen), but the D.A. (Alex Rocco) won't even think about an indictment until the boys secure a witness to decode the rubbish-stained ledger sheet they've snagged from Red's trash; unfortunately, their witness isn't due back in town until Monday, which means Red's free to roam the city streets while a gaggle of hit men try to rub him out. His only line of defense: Messrs. Freebie and Bean - who, to keep him alive, must destroy the city of San Francisco.
Depending on whom you ask, Rush's cop caper is either the pioneering buddy-cop movie or an excessive, hateful bit of nonsense that's best left buried in the 1970s. I mean to honor it for being both. Though some dutiful cinephile will undoubtedly find an earlier version of the mismatched-lawmen-who-hate/love-each-other-and-kill-a-lot-of-bad-dudes-while-working-through-their-issues formula, FREEBIE AND THE BEAN is definitely the first high-profile film of its type. Given the San Francisco setting and its racially insensitive banter, its influence (direct or indirect) on Walter Hill's 48 HRS. couldn't be clearer; as for the wanton destruction of property and endangerment of innocent civilians, it's difficult to imagine Shane Black writing LETHAL WEAPON without the reckless example of Rush's picture - which works best as a fourteen-year-old's fan-flick answer to DIRTY HARRY (a noted Black favorite).
This juvenile spirit generally allows Rush to get away with Freebie's random, epithet-laden outbursts, most of which are directed at Bean, who - despite being played by the remarkably Jewish Arkin - is Mexican. In other words, "spic" is just a brusque term of endearment for Freebie. Granted, this doesn't excuse his tirade against Bean's preference for shirts manufactured by "gooks" in Taiwan, but Rush and screenwriter Robert Kaufman (working from a story by Floyd Mutrux) are hardly celebrating the guy's racism. Freebie's just an Archie Bunker-esque crank (a point hammered home by a direct reference to ALL IN THE FAMILY late in the film); it's not like he spends his downtime studying MEIN KAMPF and plotting pogroms. (Actually, in light of his casually perverse binding-up of an albino informant's nubile girlfriend, it's possible that Freebie does some off-the-clock trawling of his city's many S&M clubs.) If you can get past - i.e. accept as an extreme character flaw - Popeye Doyle blurting out "Never trust a nigger", you should have no trouble with Freebie's harmlessly knuckleheaded tantrums.
But if you do want to take offense at the treatment of Christopher Morley's transvestite villain, particularly in the film's closing moments (which I'll not spoil for the uninitiated thousands who are ordering FREEBIE AND THE BEAN from the Archive store right this instant)... eh, you might be justified; from his bubble-bath introduction to his climactic Candlestick Park antics, he's clearly supposed to make our skin crawl. However, because I'm an idiot, I'm more interested in how his portrayal links up with Jane March's gender-hopping character in Rush's COLOR OF NIGHT. This might prove a big ol' dead end, but I've been desperately/sheepishly looking for an excuse to revisit the director's intensely reviled follow-up to the critically-acclaimed THE STUNT MAN for years now.
Rush remains a fascinating director due primarily to that audacious 1980 triumph - which came out of nowhere for critics who wrote off FREEBIE AND THE BEAN as a callous, undisciplined mess and simply dismissed his earlier, quite solid work for AIP as puerile junk. The thing is, THE STUNT MAN is plenty raucous and low in its own right; it's just got the prestige of three Academy Award nominations (Director and Adapted Screenplay for Rush, Actor for Peter O'Toole) to keep its reputation from tumbling (though some who've revisited the film over the past decade have noted that it's not quite the virtuosic work it initially seemed to be).
As an admirer of chaotic moviemaking, I'll happily enter a vote for FREEBIE AND THE BEAN as the apotheosis of Rush's aesthetic. From start to finish (with the exception of one lengthy marital spat between Arkin and a garishly-accented Valerie Harper), it's essentially the cinematic equivalent of a bratty kid flinging his Matchbox cars all over the living room and breaking every vase, window and decorative plate in sight. That bodily harm and, occasionally, death figure into the proceedings is basically just an obligatory acknowledgment that these are the things that happen in grown-up movies; save for a surprise third-act shooting, you're not supposed to feel anything but exhilaration as Freebie and Bean lay waste to San Francisco.
If you can excuse the non-stop political incorrectness and police brutality, you might find that FREEBIE AND THE BEAN is one of the most relentlessly entertaining movies of the 1970s (in which case you'd be in agreement with Stanley Kubrick, who was allegedly a fan*). Two of its protracted car chases (most notably the one that concludes with Freebie losing control of his car on the freeway and crashing it into the third floor of an apartment building) are in the pantheon alongside classic scenes from BULLITT, THE FRENCH CONNECTION, VANISHING POINT, DIRTY MARY, CRAZY LARRY, TO LIVE AND DIE IN L.A. and DEATH PROOF, while the mumbled banter between Caan and Arkin is exquisite despite being borderling indecipherable (sometimes, their dueling cadences alone are hilarious). If this was a childhood favorite, rest assured that it holds up and then some. And if you've never seen it, treat yourself because you're never going to see anything like it again (outside of BAD BOYS II).
Also new from the Warner Archive this month is Nicholas Ray's 1958 classic PARTY GIRL. Much as I love FREEBIE AND THE BEAN, this CinemaScope masterpiece from the esteemed director of REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE, IN A LONELY PLACE and THEY LIVE BY NIGHT (to name a very few) is undoubtedly the must-own title of the month.

Set in 1930s Chicago, this colorful, decadent and shockingly violent gangster flick - possibly the bloodiest movie shot for a major studio pre-1960 - stars Cyd Charisse as Vicki Gayle, an aging nightclub dancer who falls for mob attorney Thomas Farrell (Robert Taylor). Both of these characters are fed up with their dead-end gigs: Vicki yearns for a respectable dancing career (or, at the very least, the opportunity to solo at the club), while the crippled Farrell wants nothing more to do with saving unrepentant murderers from the electric chair. They recognize in each other a kindred weariness, which blossoms into a touching romance that - due to the possessiveness of their shared benefactor, the vicious mobster Rico Angelo (Lee J. Cobb) - seems fated for a tragic end. Even when the film resorts to genre convention (which is surprisingly often for the director of the defiantly unconventional JOHNNY GUITAR), it remains engaging thanks to Ray's stunning widescreen compositions and the heartbreaking performances from Charisse and Taylor. Interestingly, Charisse's flatness (she was never a particularly strong dramatic actress) works to her advantage here: her lack of warmth is stunningly offset by her two red-hot dance numbers, which are as erotically charged as anything I've ever seen in any medium. She's so untamed that you can't help but fear for Farrell's well-being, particularly after he undergoes an expensive procedure to assuage his physical crookedness (right at the same time he's seeking to go straight as an attorney, of course). Either they don't make women like Charisse anymore, or we're just lacking the kinds of directors who know how to showcase this kind of overpowering femininity. Frankly, I'd buy either argument. The good folks at the Archive also sent over Sidney Lumet's BYE BYE BRAVERMAN this month, which a former coworker of mine would always bring up as a forgotten classic of the 1960s. Well, Kyle, I finally watched it, and, despite a very intelligent screenplay from Herb Sargent (based on what I'm told is a "satiric" novel by Wallace Markfield), I'm afraid this movie nearly drove me to violence.
