Kotch is a gentle comedy that reunites Walter Matthau with Jack Lemmon (this time behind the camera) in a wry look at the alienation of the elderly. Matthau's character of the title is a retired man who lives with his son and increasingly stressed daughter-in-law, as well as the grandson he dotes on. Finding himself pushed more and more into the sidelines, Kotch sets off on a journey that brings him into contact with pregnant teenager Erica (Deborah Winters), a relationship that re-introduces purpose into his life. Matthau is perfect as the eccentric Kotch, stealing every scene with his rambling monologues, although Winters brings out the caring, paternal side perfectly. It is a little schmaltzy in parts (the opening credits are particularly off putting), but Koch is ultimately an effective work that makes you wonder just why Lemmon never took the director's chair again.

On the DVD: Given the wealth of potential material, the half-hearted effort at providing some extra insight is pretty woeful. There are no visual images, just a few production and biographical notes--a huge opportunity missed. --Phil Udell

Godfrey Reggio's Koyaanisqatsi ("life out of balance") and Powaqqatsi ("life in transformation") are the first two parts of a trilogy of experimental documentaries whose titles derive from Hopi compound nouns (2002's Naqoyqatsi, or "life in war", is the third). Both feature indispensable musical contributions from minimalist composer Philip Glass.

Made in 1983, Koyaanisqatsi was shot mostly in the desert southwest USA and New York City on a tiny budget with no script. But it then attracted the support of Francis Ford Coppola and George Lucas and reached a much wider audience. Its techniques, merging cinematographer Ron Fricke's time-lapse shots (alternately peripatetic and hyperspeed) with Glass' reiterative music (from the meditative to the orgiastic)--as well as its ecology minded imagery--crept into the consciousness of popular culture. The influence of Koyaanisqatsi has by now become unmistakable in television advertisements, music videos and, of course, similar movies.

Dating from 1988, Powaqqatsi finds the director somewhat more directly polemical than before, with Glass's score stretching to embrace world music. Reggio reuses techniques familiar from the previous film (slow motion, time-lapse, superposition) to dramatise the effects of the so-called First World on the Third: displacement, pollution, alienation. But he spends as much time beautifully depicting what various cultures have lost--cooperative living, a sense of joy in labour and religious values--as he does confronting viewers with trains, airliners, coal cars and loneliness. What had been a more or less peaceful, slow-moving, spiritually fulfilling rural existence for these "silent" people (all we hear is music and sound effects) becomes a crowded, suffocating, accelerating industrial urban hell, from Peru to Pakistan. Reggio frames Powaqqatsi with a telling image: the Serra Pelada gold mines, where thousands of men, their clothes and skin imbued with the earth they're moving, carry wet bags up steep slopes in a Sisyphean effort to provide wealth for their employers. While Glass juxtaposes his strangely joyful music, which includes the voices of South American children, a number of these men carry one of their exhausted comrades out of the pit, his head back and arms outstretched--one more sacrifice to Caesar. Nevertheless, Reggio, a former member of the Christian Brothers, seems to maintain hope for renewal. --Robert Burns Neveldine