As the digital realm continues changing the movie-watching landscape for better or for worse, physical media still has its dukes up. Certain titles that were thought to be long since swallowed by obscurity are being uncovered and treated like kings by specialty labels with the cinephile's best interests in mind. Even still, not everything is lucky enough to be picked up by the Criterion Collection, Olive Films, and the like, with a multitude of movies still waiting for their chances at a second life. Fortunately, studios have begun combing their expansive catalogues for material for their burn-on-demand services. These may not be the decked-out, high-def Blu-rays some fans are clamoring for, but it's still a chance for vintage film fans to check out treats they might never have known existed, as yours truly recently did with a pair of comedies from the good old days: Sony's Carolina Blues and Warner's Sidewalks of New York.
 
Sidewalks of New York (1931)
 
Once MGM got its hands on Buster Keaton, they wasted no time in farming him out to some of the corniest comedy talkies they ever produced. Thankfully, while Sidewalks of New York may push its tear-jerking qualities a little on the hard side, Keaton's penchant for pratfalls will sustain fans throughout the rampant gushiness. Our man plays a millionaire who goes ga-ga for a beauty (Anita Page) who lives in a tenement he owns. As it turns out, the best way to this gal's heart is through helping reform her little brother (Norman Phillips Jr.), a hoodlum-in-training who's been falling under the influence of a local crook. Even for an old-timey studio melodrama, Sidewalks of New York is awfully heavy on the contrived crises and "So's yer old man!"-style street talk. It's easy to see why, despite the movie's commercial success, Keaton wasn't terribly fond of the endeavor, one of many he made for MGM that denied him the imagination and creative control that made him a silent cinema superstar. Sidewalks of New York can be formulaic to a fault, yet that's not to say there's no heart to it, period. It remains an overall likeable and well-intentioned picture, thanks mostly to Buster's sympathetic sap, who gets roped into such physical hijinks as a "fixed" match with a boxer who's been paid to deal real right hooks (easily the film's highlight). Having seen what inferior material the sound era would hoist upon Keaton, I can't muster up too much hate for Sidewalks of New York, which may be too broad for its britches but at least sets aside a little time to show fans the Buster they fell in love with in action.

Carolina Blues (1944)
 
Carolina Blues was the last starring vehicle for Kay Kyser, a renownd bandleader, successful radio personality, and pretty decent movie star in his own right. The few pictures he made were the sort of frivolous farces that emphasized the soundtrack more than the story and were a dime a dozen in their time. But the man's energy and aw-shucks charm were often all you needed to take your mind off of whenever the plot fell short. Carolina Blues is no different, being possibly the flimsiest narrative upon which Kyser ever had to string a series of big-band tunes. Playing a version of himself, Kyser is hopelessly caught up in a wartime comedy of errors, struggling with romancing a hopeful singer (Ann Miller), headlining a bond drive, and getting his musicians some long-overdue time off. While saying that Carolina Blues clunkily handles its subplots is doing it a kindness, its spirits are too entertainingly high for you to be brought down easily. This is fluff at its most feel-good, an assortment of skits and musical numbers tossed together with the mildest pretense of a structure that brings on the warm 'n' fuzzies regardless. Film buffs in this day and age might view Carolina Blues as beyond old hat, but I'd bet good money that before it's over, there'll be more toes tapping than eyes rolling.

(Carolina Blues is offered by the Sony Pictures Choice Collection, and Sidewalks of New York is offered by the Warner Archive Collection. Both are available to purchase at www.warnerarchive.com)