“A great-the greatest-cinematic tone poem of American urban life” (David Edelstein, New York), Charles Burnett's Killer of Sheep evokes the everyday trials and fragile pleasures of blue-collar African Americans in 1970s Watts. Burnett made the film on a minuscule budget with a mostly nonprofessional cast, combining keen on-the-street observation with a carefully crafted script. The episodic plot centers on the character of Stan, a slaughterhouse worker mired in exhaustion, disconnected from his wife, his children, and himself. Stan and his neighbors struggle just to get by, let alone get ahead; as befits an L.A. movie, vehicular metaphors of breakdown abound. Only the kids, leaping from roof to roof, seem to achieve a mobility that eludes their elders. For years the film has been nearly impossible to see, partly due to problems with music rights; with this loving restoration, Burnett's black-and-white photography shines, and the brilliantly selected tunes on the soundtrack sing out legally at last.