Testament
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Synopsis
Taking a hauntingly intimate approach to an often sensationalized subject, the singular Testament depicts one family’s daily life in the wake of nuclear devastation. After an atomic attack near her small California town, Carol Wetherly (Jane Alexander, in a fearlessly vulnerable, Oscar-nominated performance) must find the strength to care for her three children as the family contend with radiation sickness and the realization that their close-knit community will never be the same. With a diaristic focus on the emotional toll of unimaginable events, director Lynne Littman puts forth a wrenchingly humane vision of what it means to go on living in a shattered world.
Picture 9/10
Lynne Littman’s nuclear fallout drama Testament receives a new Blu-ray edition from The Criterion Collection, presenting the film on a dual-layer disc in its original aspect ratio of 1.85:1. The 1080p/24hz high-definition presentation is sourced from a new 4K restoration taken from a scan of the 35mm original camera negative.
I have to admit I’m a bit surprised Criterion didn’t opt for a full 4K edition, because the restoration and resulting high-definition presentation look phenomenal. It’s a surprisingly grainy film, but the encode handles it very well, even throughout its many darker sequences. Some highlights can appear a touch buzzy at times, but for the most part the image remains clean and stable. Sharpness isn’t what I would call razor-like, though that seems inherent to the original photography rather than any limitation of the transfer (especially with how well the grain is resolved), and fine detail still comes through strongly enough.
One of the more impressive aspects of the presentation, though, is the range that is present within the film’s low-lit interiors, many illuminated primarily by candlelight, which allows for rich shadows and a strong sense of depth. It’s easy to imagine how a 4K presentation with a properly handled HDR grade could push this even further, but even here the results can be striking.
The color palette isn’t especially expansive and tends to lean warm, though it still looks pleasing overall, with reds and blues standing out nicely when they appear. Black levels are strong as well, remaining deep without crushing shadow detail. With its many high points it’s hard not to question Criterion’s decision to forgo a UHD release as it feels like the material could have benefited from it. Regardless, this Blu-ray presentation is excellent in its own right.
Testament - Screen Captures
Audio 7/10
The monaural presentation, delivered in lossless single-channel PCM, isn’t particularly showy—even for a mono track—but it gets the job done. Dialogue comes through clearly, and James Horner’s score shows a respectable range, with some pleasing highs when called for. The film itself is fairly low-key and meditative, so the track’s ambitions remain modest.
That said, it’s a very clean presentation overall. It doesn’t sound filtered, and I didn’t notice any significant issues.
Extras 8/10
Criterion assembles a solid set of supplements for this release, ultimately making it more of a showcase for Lynne Littman’s work as a whole. Things begin with what essentially plays as a career retrospective in the form of a 24-minute interview between Littman and her friend, author Sam Wasson. Littman reflects on her upbringing, noting how her mother encouraged more traditional pursuits like music and dance, though discovering film, especially The Red Shoes, ultimately set her on a different path. The conversation then moves through her meeting and eventually working with Agnès Varda and later with Barbara Myerhoff, which led to their work on the Academy Award–winning short Number Our Days. Testament does come up, though the focus here is more broadly on her career, which she still seems both surprised by and proud of.
That retrospective nicely leads into two of Littman’s documentaries: the aforementioned Number Our Days (29 minutes, 1976) and In Her Own Time (58 minutes, 1985). The former stems from Myerhoff’s anthropological study on aging, which brought her to a senior Jewish community in Venice, California. The film features interviews with several residents as they share their experiences and perspectives on aging, while Littman captures the sense of community through various gatherings and events.
The documentary avoids becoming heavy-handed in its approach to aging and mortality, even carrying a gentle sense of humor, likely influenced by Myerhoff’s own interest in the subject, remarking that “someday, I will be a little old Jewish lady.” Tragically, that would not come to pass, as she died less than a decade later following a lung cancer diagnosis. That reality becomes central to In Her Own Time, which began as a study of an ultra-Orthodox Hasidic community in the Fairfax neighborhood of L.A. The film opens with Myerhoff receiving her diagnosis before documenting her interactions within the community, now viewed through the lens of her illness. Littman captures how the group offers support (through rituals and customs, including the wearing of wigs) while also contrasting Myerhoff’s more personal concerns about her own treatment (the wig, for example, has a different purpose for her). The documentary ultimately becomes a reflection on belief, comfort, and identity, with Myerhoff reflecting on her own beliefs after finding some appeal to the structure of the community, even if her independent nature prevents her from fully embracing it.
Both documentaries are excellent additions, thoughtfully assembled and directed by Littman, and it’s especially welcome to have them included here given how difficult they’ve been to access. In Her Own Time appears to come from a rough, older source (even retaining the Avco Embassy logo), but Number Our Days has been newly restored and looks quite strong. The encodes for both are generally solid, if not flawless, and noticeably better than some of Criterion’s past efforts with shorts treated as supplemental material, which have occasionally suffered from heavy compression.
The remaining supplements focus specifically on Testament, beginning with two featurettes produced around the film’s 20th anniversary: Testament at 20 at 26 minutes and Nuclear Thoughts at 12 minutes, both directed by Littman. The former serves as a retrospective, bringing together members of the cast and crew, including the children, Ross Harris, Roxana Zal and Lukas Haas, and Jane Alexander. William Devane is notably absent, but it’s a pleasant surprise to see Kevin Costner appear. The piece covers Littman’s narrowly obtaining the rights to Carol Amen’s short story (apparently amid heavy interest) and the film’s transition from a television project to a theatrical feature. It’s not especially in-depth, but it covers the essentials and offers a nice reunion of those involved.
Nuclear Thoughts, meanwhile, looks more at the film’s continued relevance, particularly in relation to government messaging around nuclear preparedness. Clips from Duck and Cover are contrasted with early-2000s Department of Homeland Security “Be Ready” campaigns, while Littman also includes reactions from students who had recently watched the film.
A particularly nice inclusion is an audio-only feature of Jane Alexander reading the original short story, presented over a static menu. Told through journal entries written by the mother (Alexander’s character in the film), the story begins with the attack and unfolds with more detail through her narration, particularly in her grief over her husband’s death and the mounting losses around her. The adaptation proves remarkably faithful, though it’s interesting to see how certain elements, like her reflections on a tree planted by her family, are condensed into brief visual moments in the film, while some of her comments in the story are spoken through other characters in the film. A printed version in a booklet might have been ideal, but this is still a welcome inclusion.
The disc rounds things out with a brief theatrical trailer, while the included insert features an essay by Michael Koresky, which explores the era’s anxieties, a subject the supplements only lightly touch on otherwise.
Despite a few minor gaps, Criterion has assembled a strong and rewarding package here, anchored by an excellent retrospective of Littman’s career.
Closing
A nicely assembled edition anchored by an excellent high-definition presentation. It’s just a shame a 4K upgrade was passed over.
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