Synopsis: Mourning his dead child, a haunted Vietnam War veteran attempts to uncover his past while suffering from a severe case of dissociation. To do so, he must decipher reality and life from his own dreams, delusions, and perceptions of death.

Cast: Tim Robbins, Elizabeth Pena, Danny Aiello, Matt Craven, Pruitt Taylor Vince, Jason Alexander, Patricia Kalember, Eriq La Salle, Ving Rhames, Brian Tarantina, Anthony Alessandro, Brent Hinkley

Format: Blu-ray
Published by: Imprint

Director: Adrian Lyne
Writer: Bruce Joel Rubin
Cinematography: Jeffrey L. Kimball
Editing: Tom Rolf
Music: Maurice Jarre

The first time I watched Jacob’s Ladder, it was the DVD release, which looked pretty rough. The Blu-ray looks infinitely better, even sourced from the 35mm negative. The film retains the grainy texture that’s part of its charm without becoming distracting. The movie itself remains a nightmare—and not something I exactly “look forward” to revisiting. Not because it’s bad (it’s excellent), but because it’s a tough watch.

If you’ve never seen Jacob’s Ladder before, it sits in a curious corner of film history. Marketed as a psychological thriller that underplayed the Vietnam War elements, it is indeed psychologically driven—but the engine is the war’s effect on a mind. For many who’ve seen it, Jacob’s Ladder is impossible to separate from “anti-war” cinema; in another world it would sit on the shelf beside Platoon, Apocalypse Now, and Full Metal Jacket.

Tim Robbins plays Jacob, a Vietnam veteran back in New York who is haunted by images of his dead son, ghoulish figures, and worse. As reality blurs and he lashes out—pushing away his girlfriend—he begins hunting for answers to his waking nightmare.

Stories persist that an original cut was toned down after test audiences found it too intense. True or not, Jacob’s Ladder remains a dark, draining watch. It’s consistently bleak in both look and tone, with scant levity outside the flirtations of Jacob’s girlfriend Jezzie (Elizabeth Pena) and the warmth of his chiropractor, Louis (Danny Aiello). The movie’s strangeness feels tailor-made for fans of Cronenberg and Kubrick.

Jacob’s Ladder is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio in 1080p. The transfer looks great: shadow detail and contrast outclass the old DVD, and color timing feels natural. Audio is excellent as well, with a DTS-HD MA 5.1 mix that makes the opening Vietnam sequence—Hueys roaring overhead—thunder through the room.

The extras make this a must-buy for fans. Two ~30-minute video essays stand out: one by film historian Alexandra Heller-Nicholas exploring the film’s spiritual themes, and another by Josh Nelson examining Vietnam War trauma as depicted in the movie. The latter, in particular, clarified my own reading of the ending and reframed the film in a compelling way.

Jacob’s Ladder isn’t for everyone, but it always sparks conversation—and this disc gives you plenty to keep that conversation going, even if you’re among those who dislike the ending.

Purchase Jacob’s Ladder [Imprint Collection #207] from the Imprint Store.

Film Score

Blu-ray Score

(Jacob’s Ladder [Imprint Collection #207] Blu-ray supplied for review)