I was eleven when I accompanied my brother, his date and her sister to an opening-weekend matinee of Big Trouble in Little China. Because we were the only ones there, I'm sure the projectionist thought twice about taking the afternoon off. I remember the film unspooling with the curtain still in place, obscuring most of the prologue--a fact that would probably please Carpenter, since the studio forced Victor Wong's opening speech on him, anyway. I remember being transfixed by the film's unpredictability (even in stylistic terms, you're not sure what's coming next), and missing Kim Cattrall when she was off-screen (Lea Thompson overtook her position as my #1 Crush later that summer upon appearing in a negligee in Howard the Duck), and laughing at being startled by the final shot (surely inspired by De Palma's Carrie).

And I remember my brother's proto-irritating companions dismissing Big Trouble in Little China immediately thereafter as "weird." They had black nail polish--to my young eyes, that was weird. Their joint reaction triggered my first realization that everybody sees a different movie when they watch one together; I saw Kurt Russell in lipstick armed with a bowie knife and thought, "Super-duper." They, like babies, wanted formula. By nature, people are loath to try new things--I'm one of the biggest scaredy-cats around when it comes to food I've never tasted before--but the cinema is in such dire condition because of rampant distrust in our own capacity for escape.

It's this same sort of anti-intellectualism that finds moviegoers lobbing insults at unseen "art films" in the same breath that they attack nebulous 'critics' for thumbs-downing so-called "popcorn pictures." (I eat popcorn or the like at any given screening.) The pot calls the kettle black often in Hollywood, too: the box-office unsuccess of Big Trouble in Little China dented Carpenter's career with some permanence, yet Fox invested a miniscule amount in marketing it and put prints into rotation against their smash hit, Aliens. The film is a cult phenom now, of course, but is it too little, too late? Has Carpenter resigned himself to financial failure, thus inhibiting his imagination? That's a question I hope his Village of the Damned, In the Mouth of Madness, and Vampires didn't answer.

Time and again, DVD producer David Prior's passion for an overlooked title has translated to an unrivaled Special Edition (to sift through his Ravenous, Fight Club, and Titus packages is to become born-again fans of those motion pictures); I am eternally grateful he was in Big Trouble in Little China's corner, enabling a 2-disc set that offers fans cherished archival material. But let's start with the basics: the 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen image is pristine, if edgy; letterboxing is essential on many a kung fu flick, and this hybrid, with its maxed-out compositions, is no exception. The washed-out, low-contrast colours of pan-and-scan incarnations are a distant memory, although Big Trouble in Little China does not sacrifice its B-movie scrappiness by suddenly appearing too polished.

Both the DTS and Dolby Digital 4.1 audio streams bring generous gravity to a mix dated by thin gunshots and meat-and-potatoes surround usage. Jack's "Pork Chop Express" and a few of the tunnel escapades carry deeper-than-average bass, LFE info that is slightly better controlled in the DTS environment. Disc One also contains commentary from old hands Russell and Carpenter. The duo's easy chemistry shines through their third 'yak-track' together; it doesn't really matter that Big Trouble in Little China is discussed sporadically (Carpenter ends by saying, "Sorry we haven't talked more about the movie, but that's the way we are"), for the copious laughter to be had renders this recording an event unto itself. (Loved the ribbing Russell receives for Captain Ron...)

Disc Two is stacked. Enthusiastic animated menus allow access to: eight workprint-quality deleted scenes (presented anamorphically!), the penultimate of which is incomplete (finished off by storyboard concepts), the final actually "a collection of various deleted odds and ends"; a charming extended ending that's longer by two scenes; the original electronic press kit (7 mins.), which unfortunately proves that promotional making-ofs were fluffy as far back as 1986; a 13-minute, multi-angle interview with special effects designer Richard Edlund that closes with disheartening statements about the industry's current youth; step-frame reproductions of Big Trouble in Little China articles from Cinefex and American Cinematographer, replete with inset photos that can be clicked on; a super-size gallery of production stills; production notes; cast and crew bios; three trailers (one subtitled in Spanish) and six TV spots (one for Pay Per View); and, last but not at all least, the very, very funny music video for Big Trouble in Little China's theme song, which was sung by Carpenter, whom Russell compares to Jim Morrison! (Aside: as with most Prior efforts, be sure to scrounge around for Easter eggs.)

When placed alongside the remaining entries in 'wave 2,' the other DVDs seem pathetic. Sure, Unlawful Entry comes with a featurette and commentary from director Jonathan Kaplan, but it's not likely to give anybody insomnia. Here, Russell plays an everyman (inasmuch as a wealthy contractor can be an everyman) whose trophy wife (Madeleine Stowe) half falls into the arms of unbalanced Officer Pete (Ray Liotta) after a break-in. The 1992 film is feebler now than it ever was, and there's no honour in its sensationalistic Rodney King parallels. Then again, for pure button-pushing, it's uniquely unrestrained and therefore perversely enjoyable. The disc's 1.85:1, 16x9-enhanced video transfer is quite stunning, while its DTS and DD 4.0 mixes are a small miracle of envelopment, considering that Unlawful Entry's theatrical release predates the widespread installation of digital audio equipment in moviehouses.

I had hoped that Kathryn Bigelow's Point Break (bonuses: wave 2 Fox trailers; featurette) could make such claims for its DTS and DD 4.1 mixes on DVD, but they sound as overprocessed as the dialogue (e.g. "...When three o'clock comes, he will gut her like a pig and try not to get any on his shoes"). Despite my soft spot for a central foot chase (there's something winningly cheeky about a man in a Reagan mask being pursued through the California reservoirs) and relaxed early scenes involving Reeves' FBI agent, the remainder is just too self-important and oafishly paced to get behind. Nevertheless, it is, as the tagline tells us, "100% pure adrenaline" next to the hebetudinous Chain Reaction (bonuses: wave 2 Fox trailers; two TV spots), wherein Reeves' taciturn machinist character is falsely accused of detonating a none-too-fatal hydrogen bomb and goes on the run with his lovely physicist colleague (a pre-Mummy Rachel Weisz) in tow. Morgan Freeman collects a paycheck as their shady superior. Chain Reaction is the richer 'Reeves' video and audio presentation, with more distinct images and honest-to-goodness 5.1 DTS/DD mixes, the latter of which, however, possesses such ear-splitting bass in chapter 2 that it's just plain wrong.-Bill Chambers