Sweet and Old Fashioned, with a Dash of the Postmodern
Writer/director Tornatore welcomes us to a tiny village in post-World War II Italy, where the only indication of time seems to be the daily question of what movie is playing at the local movie house, appropriately named the Cinema Paradiso. Young Salvatore (Salvatore Cascio) is hooked on the world he finds there. It's a place commingled with shining heroes, wise talking gangsters, and fair damsels. Craving to unlock the secrets of his sanctuary world, Salvatore pesters the surly projectionist, Alfredo (Phillipe Noiret), into teaching him the ways of the projector.

Time passes. Salvatore is now a young man (Marco Leonardi) with a movie camera, capturing daily village life on his 8mm, eventually spying through his viewfinder the girl of his dreams. Consulting the advice of Alfredo, who's culled his experience from countless big-screen romances, Salvatore doggedly pursues and wins the heart of his love. But soon it's off to the military and beyond for Salvatore, who eventually becomes a very rich man and all but forgets his days at the Cinema. It's the death of Alfredo that brings him back to the village for one last trip down memory lane.

The actual plot of Cinema Paradiso plays second stage to the chemistry of Noiret and young Cascio, whose gruff mentor/lovable rapscallion dynamic is irresistible. One of the more hilarious scenes involves the near-illiterate Alfredo hopelessly scamming the answers on a grammar test from a shrewdly uncooperative Salvatore. While the film's latter half settles into a more familiar, first-love scenario, it's the give-and-take of Alfredo and Toto's (the affectionate name for Salvatore) friendship that gives Paradiso its most endearing moments.

Tornatore's most unique element in his story (which is largely autobiographical) is the parallel between the evolution of cinema and the experiential growth of his characters. Some moments are more heavy-handed than others, such as the end sequence, when the demolition of the Cinema matches the crumbling of the aging Salvatore's dreams a little too zealously. Other scenes are much more risky, as when a group of teenage boys causes a stir during the screening of a then-scandalous Brigitte Bardot film. These ever-so-slight tweaks on our perceptions of fantasy and reality add a welcomed freshness to what could have been an otherwise humdrum, nostalgic film.

Fantastic Transfer and Subtitles Do the Trick
One look at the shoddy quality of the theatrical trailer on this disc is all you need to realize just how drastic an improvement the DVD's 16:9 anamorphic transfer really is. But those hoping to find Tornatore's full, 170-minute director's cut might be disappointed to find that this is the sliced-and-diced, 121-minute version that was released in American theaters. Thankfully, Miramax's clumsy English dub isn't the only audio option. The original Italian language track is included, as are English, French, Spanish, and Italian subtitles. The original mono and stereo recordings are the only sound options.

Aside from the theatrical trailer, audio options, and a standard awards/filmography section, the only other notable aspect of this disc is the extremely well-designed scene selection navigation. Chapter scanning on most DVDs requires you to move the directional pad in needlessly crisscrossing patterns. In comparison, Paradiso's scenes are accessed with an easy touch of the "down" button for quick scrolling. While this is hardly a stand-out feature, it's surprising how its simplicity enhances the DVD's overall effect. The same could be said about Cinema Paradiso itself; a highly accessible, thoroughly enjoyable piece of work.