'Dreams' is pure cinema, an intoxicating assembly of images, sound and thought-provoking existentialism that only cinema can provide. Kurosawa’s confidence in his ability to hold the audience’s attention through a series of narratively disconnected and peculiar episodes is remarkable.
Showing posts with label Japanese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Japanese. Show all posts
Tuesday, 20 December 2016
Tuesday, 25 October 2016
The Story of the Last Chrysanthemum
Wednesday, 31 August 2016
Woman in the Dunes
'Woman in the Dunes', the third film from Japanese provocateur Hiroshi Teshigahara, is an indefinable film for genre and full of glorious Japanese strangeness, a captivating two-hander about a man imprisoned in a sand dune with a woman with no means of escape. Both a thriller, and meditative art film - "Knife in the Water" meets "L'Avventura"- the film also has the distinction of receiving a Best Director Oscar nomination – then a rare feat for a foreign language film.
Wednesday, 1 June 2016
The Naked Island
Two lowly Japanese farmers repetitively climbing an intense incline slope from the seaside shore to the top of a mountain to water their measly crops is the signature image of Kaneto Shindô’s social realist experimental film. Shindô observes his characters' backbreaking work with the same kind of salt of the earth honour as in the Soviet propaganda films if the 1920’s. Shindô’s cinematic eye triumphs over his self-imposed dialogue-free obstruction to achieve a woefully tragic slice of Japanese peasant life.
Monday, 1 April 2013
Sansho the Baliff
The monumentally powerful Japanese ‘jidai-geki’ classic which explores passionately the lifelong journey of a son and daughter of an exiled feudal governer from a life of privalege to slavery and finally salvation is realized by Japanese master Kenji Mizoguchi with immense emotional power and mythological thematic resonance.
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
The Ballad of Narayama
A brilliant hybrid of stage theatricality and bold colour anamorphic photography elevate this strange Japanese folk legend of a woman who desperately desires to die honourably in the hallowed heights of a mysterious mountain into a haunting and powerful artifact of Japanese cinema’s golden age.
Thursday, 17 May 2012
Late Spring
Starring: Chishu Ryu, Setsuko Hara, Haruko Sugimura
By Alan Bacchus
For most of this film Noriko (Setsuko Hara) is a happy-go-lucky spark plug of energy with a perpetual smile on her face, but at 27 years old pressure from her father and her auntie to marry takes its toll, eventually stripping the woman of her pride and independence. This simple conundrum fuels this quiet domestic masterpiece from Japanese cinema-giant Yasujirô Ozu.
Professor Shukichi Somiya (Chishu Ryu) is a widower, left with only his unmarried 27-year-old daughter to take care of him. It’s an honourable duty, which Noriko accepts with considerable pride. But for Shukichi, Noriko needs to be married off to fulfill a life of her own and to appease the social expectations of the family. At first, Noriko, who wears a mask of infectious optimism, is impervious to her father's and auntie’s nudges. But it’s the pressure of her own friends, her peers in whom she can no longer confide, that eventually causes the intense pain and stress she can no longer bear.
It’s a remarkable emotional journey delicately executed with the kind of Japanese neorealist sensibilities that Ozu has made his career from (e.g., Tokyo Story, Floating Weeds, Late Summer). The qualities of his most renowned picture, Tokyo Story, notwithstanding, Late Spring connects deeper with its audience. The inter-generational conflict - traditional values versus progressive self-determination - feels as relevant today as in Noriko’s day.
Ozu never settles with base characterizations either. It would have been easy to portray the father as a stubborn autocrat unable to adapt to new social mores, and it would have been easy to portray Noriko as the bastion of feminist freedom. Instead, Ozu’s characters are built from the inside out and are more complex than any hip post-collegiate comedy of today - which is how a story like this would be packaged these days.
As usual, Ozu keeps his characters’ emotions in check for most of the film - buried deep behind the duty of family. Without words we can sense Noriko’s trembling and painful inner turmoil. Her devotion to her father is heartbreaking. Even when she's expressing deep sorrow her smile breaks through, making her pain that much more sad. The effect of Noriko's smile is much like the final smile in Chaplin’s City Lights.
Part and parcel to this delicate balance of emotions is Ozu's trademark visual style, which is in full force here. Immaculate compositions featuring low camera angles, static frames and 180-degree coverage slow down time allowing drama to ooze into our pores. Ozu’s distinct dialogue coverage, shot very close to the actors' eye line, has the effect of the characters looking into the audience’s eyes – a technique also used heavily by Jonathan Demme – which subliminally creates a strong connection between audience and character.
Recently many critics have been posting their top ten lists for this decade's Sight and Sound Best of Cinema list. Ozu might again find his Tokyo Story in the top ten, but the earlier film Late Spring is better. It's like a Japanese John Ford film with cinematic tenderness personified, impossible to forget and guaranteed to affect you emotionally.
****
Late Spring is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.
Friday, 16 March 2012
The Blind Swordsman: Zatoichi
Starring: Takeshi Kitano, Tadanobu Asano, Gadarukanaru Taka, Yûko Daike, igorô Tachibana
***
By Alan Bacchus
Zatoichi is one of Japan’s treasured fictional heroes, a blind wandering masseur/samurai whose unassuming, quiet and lumbering gate fools his opponents into underestimating him. As a champion of justice, Zatoichi travels the lands of 19th century Japan helping those in need of protection against evil.
Between 1962 and 1989, 26 films were made starring the character’s original actor, Shintaro Katsu, as well an American remake, Blind Fury, with Rutger Hauer. And so in 2003, Japanese screen legend Beat Takeski’s version arrived with both excitement as well as a certain amount of caution. Having not been familiar with any of the other depictions of the character, Takeshi’s makes for pure cinematic entertainment - humour, action, music and dance blended seamlessly in a package hyperaware of its audience and its need to entertain. For this reason it gobbled up the prestigious Audience Prize Award at the Toronto International Film Festival and the Silver Lion at Venice as Best Director. Though, for one of my trusted colleagues familiar with Japanese cinema, it’s a pale comparison to Shintaro Katsu's legacy.
Zatoichi (Takeshi Kitano) is no ordinary masseur. He's a blind Ronin samurai wandering the land with his trusty blade hidden in his red cane, always at the ready. In the opening scene, limping, hunchbacked and featuring a strange died blonde hairdo, Zatoichi is approached by a gang of malfeasants looking for an easy score. Before one of the thugs even blinks an eye Zatoichi reveals a sword from his cane, slices it through the thug's body and replaces it back in its sheath. Wow. That’s just one guy, but when the whole group of them attack at once, their defeat is just as fast, grisly and effortless. Zatoichi soon wanders into a poor rural town controlled by this same group of gangsters. Fighting back against the gang are a brother-sister duo masquerading as geishas and looking for revenge against their parents' death. Like the covert politicking in A Fistful of Dollars and For a Few Dollars More the geishas attempt to sabotage and subvert the action of the gang from within. And when they team up with Zatoichi, hell be damned for the gang.
The notion of a blind swordsman is ridiculous, and indeed it makes for fun, irreverent physical humour. Kitano walks around embellishing all the precariousness of an old, poor blind man, with the pay-off being the pinpoint accuracy of his striking. In fact, there’s really nothing he can’t do that a full-sighted man can. So what’s the point of making him blind? Well, it makes for great gags and it changes way the other characters relate to him. But it works as an extreme version of the archetypal lonesome unsuspecting hero.
But Takeshi’s charisma is maximized. His head tilt and twitchy facial ticks embellish the actor’s already enigmatic persona as well as his archetypal characters. We barely even get a full-frame shot of his face, his head always angled away from the camera.
The film’s swordplay scenes are lightning quick. Death comes in one or two quick movements, a conscious decision of Kitano to avoid the monotony of lengthy and repetitive unrealistic sword clanging. The use of digital blood that splatters across the frame with each kill is not invisible to us. Although in the Blu-ray special features Kitano tells us his motivations are for added ‘realism’, its effectiveness is the opposite, a cinematic hyperrealism and that distinct Romero-like carnage of a zombie movie.
The story beats are plotted out with the same western genre familiarity, and then there’s the surprise of the final sequence, which plays like the Ewoks' group song at the end of Return of the Jedi – in a good way. Kitano teases us with the rhythmic sounds of the farmers throughout the picture. And by the end the monotonous plowing and wood chopping syncs up forming a musical beat. This evolves into a large-scale choreographed tap dance sequence played straight to camera - a finale, which, like the Bollywood dance number closing out Slumdog Millionaire, sends the audience out with a bang and a smile. Enjoy.
The Blindswordsman: Zatoichi is available on Blu-ray from Miramax/Walt Disney Studios Home Entertainment.
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Branded To Kill & Tokyo Drifter - Seijun Suzuki X 2
Tokyo Drifter (1966) dir. Seijun Suzuki
Starring: Tetsuya Watari, Chieko Matsubara, Hideaki Nitani
***1/2
Branded To Kill (1967) dir. Seijun Suzuki
Starring: Jô Shishido, Kôji Nanbara, Isao
****
By Greg Klymkiw
Nobody. Seriously. Nobody. Nobody. Nobody. Nobody - and I'm dead serious - NOBODY ever or will ever make crime pictures like the supremely stylish and (possibly) clinically insane Japanese maestro of strange gangster shoot-em-ups - Seijun Suzuki. In the span of just over a decade, Suzuki directed 40 - count 'em - 40 B-movies for Japan's Nikkatsu studios.
Suzuki's favourite setting was against the backdrop of the Yakuza and his pictures just got increasingly delirious as he continued to grind out one after another. He hit his peak with Nikkatsu in 1966 and 1967 with, respectively, Tokyo Drifter and Branded To Kill. The latter picture was so confounding, so over-the-top, so disinterested in narrative logic, that the studio fired him - even though he delivered consistent product that made money for Nikkatsu.
He successfully sued the company for wrongful dismissal, but his high ideals and legal victory effectively blacklisted him from making a movie for over ten years.
Tokyo Drifter, shot in lurid technicolor and scope a pure visceral rollercoaster ride of violence and - I kid you not - musical numbers. Even John Woo in his Hong Kong prime NEVER delivered such inspired nuttiness.
The plot, such as it is, involves a loyal hit man, Phoenix Tetsu (Tetsuya Watari) who respects and acquiesces to his mob boss' desire to go straight. However, Tetsu is one bundle of trouble and every rival gang is drawn to creating a nightmare for his boss. Tetsu does the only thing honour will allow - he imposes a strange self-exile and becomes a drifter; a man without a country, so to speak. Loyalty, only goes so far, however, and when he realizes he's been set-up as a fall-guy, there is hell to pay.
One action scene after another is shot in near-fluorescent colour with lurid, yet stunning backdrops. The guns blaze and the blood flows freely. I'm also happy to declare that the climactic shootout ranks way up there with all the greats.
Oh, have I mentioned yet that there are musical numbers?
Tokyo Drifter made absolutely no sense to the top brass at Nikkatsu and they demanded that Suzuki tone it down for his next movie.
He agreed.
And he lied.
The next picture was the hypnotically demented Branded to Kill. Shot in glorious widescreen black and white with wall-to-wall sex, violence and tons of delectable nudity, it told the tale of hit man Goro Hanada (Jô Shishido) who is currently rated as Killer #3. When he screws up a job, his status in the Yakuza is threatened and soon, he finds himself the target of several hit men and hit ladies (including his mistress and wife). And soon, he is embroiled in a cat and mouse dance of death with the almost-ghost-like Killer #1.
Like Tokyo Drifter, Branded to Kill has absolutely no need or respect for issues like continuity and narrative clarity. Suzuki can barely acknowledge the plot and in its stead, stages one brilliantly shot and choreographed action set-piece after another.
If Luis Bunuel had been Japanese, not even he would have approached the surrealistic heights that Suzuki ascends to so dazzlingly.
Branded to Kill is populated with some utterly delicious babes - all of whom sport guns and remove their clothing a lot. Our hero Goro, is played by the suave, ultra-cool Jô Shishido. With his odd puffy cheekbones and wry expression, Shisedo invests his role with steely intensity. The movie oozes with style like lava chugging out of a roiling volcano. The stunning black and white photography is worthy of John Alton's great noir work and the movie is driven by a terrific score that blends ultra-cool jazz styling with Ennio Morricone-influence spaghetti-riffs with crazed orchestral action genre music as if performed by the Kronos Quartet on crack cocaine.
If the picture has one crowning glory (and frankly, it has many) it surely must be Goro's fetish for the smell of boiling rice. Any excuse Suzuki can give his hero to demand it and then sniff away with abandon he manages to find it. Sometimes, there isn't even a good reason for it. Sometimes, it's just the thing to do. Sometimes, a man's just got to sniff boiling rice.
This, I understand. I hope you do, too.
If not, go to Hell.
"Tokyo Drifter" and "Branded To Kill" have been released with mind-bogglingly stunning Blu-Ray transfers on the Criterion Collection label. Both films are replete with fine added content, but ultimately, it's the movies that count. These are keepers and belong in any self-respecting cineaste's collection.
Tuesday, 20 December 2011
Tora, Tora, Tora
Starring: So Yamamura, E.G. Marshall, James Whitmore, Martin Balsam, Jason Robards, Tatsuya Mihashi, Joseph Cotton
****
By Alan Bacchus
What a terrific picture this is despite being considered a failure in its day, perhaps because of the concerted attempt to de-heroize the era and create a realistic portrait of war from both sides of the battle. If anything, the matter-of-fact modus operandi at play here reminds me of Paul Greengrass’s procedural approach to 9/11 in United 93. This picture is utterly believable and because of the hefty budget the production values are virtually invisible to its age.
The title, which Hollywood execs probably fought the filmmakers on, refers to the Japanese code word for the green light given to attack on that fateful day of December 7, 1941. Under the meticulous research efforts and strong adherence to historical credibility, Tora Tora Tora by proxy represents an antidote to the shameless tragedy-turned popcorn entertainment Jerry Bruckheimer/Michael Bay version a few years ago.
Among other things, what separates Michael Bay from Richard Fleischer here is the fact that Fleischer and company believe wholeheartedly in the drama and power of the event, as opposed to manufactured character-based dramas injected into the story. Without the distraction of a brotherly battle between troops, a black cook who overcomes racial prejudice to become a hero on the day or a romantic dalliance between a pilot and a nurse, the riveting day-by-day, minute-by-minute details leading up to the attack is pure cinema, as tense and thrilling as any genre film can create.
The film goes back months before the attack to the planning stage from the Japanese point of view and the systematic piecing together of details by the Americans. If anything, the dual storylines feel like the cat and mouse chase in the Day of Jackal. In that picture, the Jackal and his pursuers begin far apart, but gradually become closer together as the picture goes along. Unfortunately, we can't fictionalize an ending in this case. In the magnificently staged action climax, a 45-minute long attack sequence, it's Hollywood destruction at its finest.
With that said, there is something missing in the emotional detachment. In United 93, it was the fine editing work that created a singular moment of pain and triumph felt by the audience in the very last frame. Of course, in this film WWII has just started for the United States, so closure would have been impossible without such Bruckheimer dramatic manufacturing.
The producers famously recruited Japanese directors Kinji Fukasaku (who would go on to direct Battle Royale in his older age) and Toshio Masuda to direct the Japanese sequences. This is more than a gimmick. Admirably, the Japanese side is humanized as much as possible. Sure the Imperial army and its commanders are certainly made out to be power-hungry strategists looking to expand their control of the ocean, but the rationale for the attack is sufficiently justified. And the doubt expressed by many of its leaders creates a powerful inner conflict from this opposing side.
The American side of the story focuses on the various generals, chiefs of staff and other officers piecing together the Japanese plan. Accurately, the attack is never portrayed as a true 'surprise' attack, nor is there any embellishment of conspiracy theories about the Americans' pre-conceived knowledge of the attack. Again, the filmmakers always land on the side of realism and the truth.
Sadly, Tora Tora Tora is rarely ever spoken of in terms of the great war films in history. Perhaps it’s because of lingering effects of the film's perceived failure and its budget overruns. But discard these notions and discover this terrific picture.
Tora Tora Tora is available on Blu-ray from 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment.
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
Harakiri
Starring: Tatsuya Nakadai, Akira Ishihama, Shima Iwashita, Tetsurô Tanba, Masao Mishima
***½
By Alan Bacchus
What can we possibly expect from a film entitled Harakiri, that terrible act of ritual suicide that brings honour in death to dishonoured Japanese samurai? It promises to be a grisly movie, and indeed in the opening we’re witness to a gruesome botched suicide. It’s a horrific scene, which sets up Kobayashi's intriguing story of redemption and revenge.
Harakiri finds Hanshiro Tsugumo, a wandering ex-Samurai (aka Ronin), arriving at the estate of the wealthy Iyi clan looking to commit suicide via harakiri in their honourable courtyard. To the clan leader the visit reminds him of a similar request from a younger man, Motome Chijiiwa, who, like Hanshiro, wanted to die by his own sword in their courtyard. Unfortunately, Motome's death, as told by the elder, was less than honourable – a grisly, drawn-out death due to his dull 'bamboo' blade, a fact that does not sit well with Hanshiro.
Recalling the flashback structures of Rashomon, Citizen Kane and All About Eve, for most of the film the backstory of Motome is revealed while Hanshiro is sitting down in the courtyard recounting his story to the elders. As we learn the details of how Hanshiro came to be at the same place as Motome, Kobayashi opens up his remarkably tragic story – the fall of a once-great warrior clan, victims of the country's dismissal of its warrior heroes, the Samurai, who, as with Ronin, in their obsolescence would resort to such painful forms of self-mutilation.
The film, which won the Grand Jury Prize at Cannes, has been hailed as one of the great films made during this 'Golden Age' of Japanese cinema, a time of Kurosawa, Ozu, Mizoguchi and Ichikawa. Thematically, the film is filled with Japanese cultural touchstones of death, dishonour, authority and rituals, themes that connect the feudal system to the then state of Japanese politics in the post-war period.
The modern metaphors require some digging or knowledge of Japanese political and cultural history, but the pain and suffering inflicted on Motome, and Hanshiro's innate need for vengeance, resonate loudly.
Harakiri was made in 1962, arguably one of the greatest periods of cinematography in film history. It comes at the end of the black and white era, when cinematographers absolutely mastered the medium. In comparison to the lesser quality colour film stock at the time, a film like Harakiri stands out as a masterwork of visual art.
Kobayashi's use of his 2.35:1 widescreen frame is maximized, using wide angle lenses and deep-focus photography to open up the audience to the world in his frames. The exacting nature of the lighting complements the precise camera movements. Kobayashi's elegant camera creeps in and out of his characters, expressing all the intrigue and suspense of the film's clever plotting while expressing the heightened emotions of the characters.
It's a long picture, running two hours and fifteen minutes, but by the final bloody fight scene at the end, which pits Hanshiro against the entire Iyi clan, the film pays off with maximum flare. It’s an awesome display of carnage, as bloody-lust satisfying as any of the great action sequences in Akira Kurosawa's oeuvre (i.e., Sanjuro, Seven Samurai, Ran).
Harakiri is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.
Monday, 31 October 2011
Kuroneko
Starring: Kichiemon Nakamura, Nobuko Otowa, Kei Satô, Kiwako Taichi
***
By Alan Bacchus
Delicious Gothic atmosphere from the fog-filled and misty bamboo forests is the star of this loopy and often haunting Japanese ghost story of female revenge against malicious Samurai soldiers.
It’s the Senguko period in Japan, that is the 17th century when most other Japanese Samurai films are set, and like most places in times of war, men go off to fight and women stay home for sometimes years waiting for their husbands to return. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. For Gintoki it’s been three years since her husband was literally snatched from their house leaving her and her mother-in-law, Yone, home alone. We’re exposed to a particularly brutal opening, which has a rogue band of soldiers wandering through Gintoki’s farm stopping for some water. It’s an innocent visit at first, but quickly turns into a heinous rape and murder of the two women and the burning of their home.
But with the help of a wandering black cat the women are reincarnated as ghosts to exact revenge on their assailants. Now the women ply the lands of the neighbouring forests as sirens of sorts seducing wandering Samurai into their home for room, board, sex and then vicious, blood curdling, vengeful murder. But when Gintoki’s husband returns, she finds herself at odds with her Faustian bargain. She must either kill her husband, who as a Samurai is now her sworn enemy, or lose her ghostly abilities and cross back over into the land of the dead.
Billed as a ‘horror film’ this picture is less a shocker than a brooding and existential psychological study. Shindo creates a haunting atmospheric feeling during the sirens' frequent seduction sequences. The crisp and contrasting black and white cinematography is gorgeous – jet black frames delicately populated with splashes of light, creating a feeling of eerie Gothic strangeness.
This film was made in 1968, and there’s a strong psychedelic tone to the staging of the film’s key sequences. Gintoki’s love scenes are tastefully choreographed, covered up skin appropriately with flowing drapes and such, but Shindo sure teases us with artistic silhouettes of Gintoki’s supple nude body.
The attacks on the men are vicious and perhaps speak to a feminist movement in the world zeitgeist at the time. But the emotional core of the film arrives in the third act when Gintoki’s husband learns the truth of his wife’s apparitions. A forlorn and tragic love story emerges from the Gothic horror.
Unfortunately the film is also bogged down by a stiffness in performance that is common with these types of period Japanese films. The extreme reactions and emotions of the characters are far from the naturalism we usually expect from Western films. But this is a purposeful convention of Japanese cinema – take it or leave it.
Kuroneko is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
High and Low
Starring: Toshiru Mifune, Tatsuya Nakadai, Kyôko Kagawa, Tatsuya Mihashi, Isao Kimura
****
By Alan Bacchus
This is my favourite Kurosawa film, without question. Perhaps I appreciate it so much because it falls outside the feudal period – a Samurai picture. Here, it’s the present, and Mr. Kurosawa executes the procedural crime thriller to end all procedurals. High and Low is more than just an exercise in style. Kurosawa expertly plugs distinctly Japanese themes of honour, pride and the class system that has been in existence since the feudal period into Ed McBain’s American crime novel (the original source material).
Toshiro Mifune plays Kingo Gondo, a ruthless businessman who is introduced along with his fellow company directors arranging pieces on a chess board of sorts to engineer a hostile takeover of their shoe company ‘National Shoes’. When Gondo doesn’t comply with the other directors’ demands his colleagues storm out of the house sowing the seeds of corporate warfare. Later that night, Gondo receives an anonymous phone call demanding a ransom for his kidnapped son. Coincidence?
That set-up would be dramatic enough, but Kurosawa twists the scenario to create an even more complex problem. Soon after Gondo agrees to pay up, his son shows up at the house, which means it was his friend, the son of Gondo’s limo driver, that was the kidnap victim. Now Gondo is put into an even tighter vice. The ransom money is enough to ruin him. Does he sacrifice this for another man? The ethical question is difficult enough, but as a business owner, what about the public opinion against Gondo if he doesn’t pay up?
Meanwhile, the cops are on the case – remarkably thorough and thoughtful cops, mind you. They’re cops that can sleuth out and analyze the details as good as anyone in CSI or a Michael Mann film, but remarkably decent human beings with impeccable bedside manner. The Chief Detective Tokura’s devotion to serving Gondo is as engaging as the procedural compilation of the evidence behind the crime.
This relationship is key to serving Kurosawa’s theme and defining this procedural genre he’s practically inventing. In the best genre films, we discover character and theme through action, in this case, the work assigned to Tokura. As Tokura and his team meticulously pour over every detail, however insignificant or minute, we come to appreciate the work ethic and pride he has for his job. Gondo echoes the same attitude when wrestling with the prospect of losing his job. For Tokura (and for much of Japanese society), he is defined by his work, the loss of which is worse than death.
The setting and location supports another key theme – class. For half of the picture we’re exclusively in Gondo’s magnificent house perched atop a hill in Tokyo, which looks down upon the rest of the town. It’s a literal representation of Gondo's superiority over the lower classes. The specific Japanese class definitions are expressed chiefly through Gondo’s relationship with the limo driver, who despite losing his son, is obliged by the nature of his job and position in society to feel sympathy for his employee before himself. It’s enlightening but truly sad to see the poor man grovel and plead for the money to save his son, a sacrifice we know is most painful.
This is the guts of this wonderfully rich and layered potboiler. And if there wasn’t enough depth on the page, Kurosawa’s cinematic instincts elevate the work even higher. I can’t think of another film that uses the widescreen frame better than High and Low. Shot in true anamorphic 2:35:1 ratio, Kurosawa populates the scenes by maximizing every inch of the frame. In almost every scene we see a dozen or more characters working or reacting to the events in play. Even in the opening scenes in Gondo’s contained hilltop house we see Tokura’s men dotted in the foreground and background. In the magnificent ‘evidence’ scene when Tokura solicits the results of the investigation there are more than 20 people in every shot, the effect of which supports the theme of work and provides terrific visual compositions. Even when there are 24 people or more, Kurosawa’s mise-en-scene knows how to draw our attention to his intended subject. He never needs to frame a close-up or reaction shot.
High and Low is available in magnificently pristine high definition Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection. It was Kurosawa’s second last B&W film (before Red Beard) and was at the tail end of his remarkable association with Toshiro Mifune. It showcases a great filmmaker at the pinnacle of his career in absolute command of the medium, a film accessible to all audiences, Japanese or American, mainstream or art house.
High and Low is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.
Monday, 4 July 2011
The Makioka Sisters
The Makioka Sisters (1983) dir. Kon Ichikawa
Starring: Keiko Kishi, Yoshiko Kasuma, Sayuri Yoshinaga, Yuko Kotegawa and Juzo Itami
**
By Greg Klymkiw
I wanted to love this movie for three reasons.
First of all, I must admit that even after having seen over 30,000 movies in my life, there are still so many more to see. Japanese director Kon Ichikawa, one of the foremost masters of his country's cinema, is - for example - a filmmaker who inexplicably fell below my radar. I knew he existed, but bad timing forced me to keep missing the handful of massive retrospectives of his work at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) Cinematheque (now housed in the grand TIFF Lightbox complex in Toronto, Canada).
I had also been aware of Ichikawa's ongoing obsession with adapting the best of Japan's wealth of great literature and how this generally distinguished him amongst many of his contemporaries. Yasujiro Ozu and Akira Kurosawa were particularly interested in original screenplays - good on them, but I never look a road map in the mouth, so to speak. For me, Japanese literature (save for Yukio Mishima) continues to be an unknown commodity and I have been chomping at the bit to dine at the Ichikawa Buffet (as it were) to use his movies as a barometer and/or guide to some of these great literary works. In essence, I have been preparing to use Ichikawa like the "Classics Illustrated" comics from my childhood. They always promoted the notion of "now you've read the comic, read the full length book" and for me, that used to work wonders. I mean, really! What the hell! I'm technically not a kid anymore, but even adults with a bit of book learnin' can use some help now and again.
The second reason I wanted to love The Makioka Sisters is that the first half hour is utterly spellbinding. Though we focus only on the four sisters of the title (Keiko Kishi, Yoshiko Kasuma, Sayuri Yoshinaga, Yuko Kotegawa) and one husband (Juzo Itami, eventually a noted Japanese director in his own right), Ichikawa lays out an extremely complex backstory that forces us (not distractingly) to work overtime sorting out and digesting the relationships between the characters and the cultural/historical backdrop.
Add to the above, one of the most heart achingly beautiful visual set pieces imaginable - the sisters taking a lazy stroll to enjoy the cherry blossoms - and you feel like you're diving into what might be a life-changing masterwork (save for the intrusion of one execrable element I will mention much later in this piece).
The final reason I wanted to love this movie is that it's one of those potentially great Chekhovian stories I'm a sucker for - people looking desperately to make connections with each other (or ANYONE) against a major cusp period where it's easier to remain rooted in what's dying or dead than move forward and embrace or accept the new.
It's a world where the ghosts of the past - replete with all their sins and triumphs - want to be at peace, but the living will not let them go, much to the detriment of all concerned. Within this social/cultural/historical cusp period, some will make it, most will not - and out of this shift in the divide should come both tragedy and comedy - all the stuff of great drama.
Alas, The Makioka Sisters falls short of its goals. It is not even especially GOOD drama, let alone being great.
Its story is a simple one - as most great stories are. Four sisters in pre-war (1938) Osaka live a life of relative luxury. Buoyed as they are by the inheritance left to them by their late parents, all should be well. It isn't. Tradition dictates that the sisters marry in descending order of their age in order to qualify for their share of the loot - which is, essentially to be their dowries. This is all well and good for the two eldest sisters who are already hitched, but the third eldest is a major wallflower and the youngest is clearly a modern lass with a burning desire to get on with her life.
Tradition is holding her back, And ultimately, for the family as a whole to move "forward", marriage (and by extension, tradition) is seen as the only option - hence the central goal of the story being the marrying off of daughters three and four. Romance would be nice in the equation, but clearly low on the totem pole of what's seen as necessary for the preservation of the family. The needs of the individual are less than an afterthought. In fact, they're negligible.
What keeps the movie from soaring, even though it occasionally feels like it wants to, is Ichikawa's approach to rendering the narrative. He often hangs back in medium wide shots and lets long conversations play themselves out. God knows I'm happy to watch bearded warriors in lotus positions in Kurosawa pictures as they discuss WHY they're at war and HOW they will do battle. I'm especially happy to sit for hours on end while people talk to each other in tatami-level shots in Ozu. Their pictures are replete with emotion and narrative drive - unlike The Makioka Sisters.
For several reasons, Ichikawa's approach just doesn't cut it. Some will argue that his method is restraint - that he's avoiding the obvious pitfalls and clichés inherent in goosing every dramatic beat to the max. On the other hand, it could almost be argued that he's either lazy, incompetent or hampered by exigencies of production. Almost every single time he moves from his favourite (and I'd suggest rather dull) fixed camera position, so many of the cuts feel jarring and awkward (and not intentionally) while the variation of shots often seem to be from the wrong angle. Well, given the number of stunning set pieces in the movie, he's neither lazy nor incompetent, but I do think he was wrong to tell this story the way he chose to tell it.
This is a story that, while simple on the surface, is loaded with layer upon layer of complexity and yet, one is hardly compelled to even bother peeling back those layers as the director seems so disinterested in wrenching our guts for fear, I suspect, of being melodramatic.
Well, this is a bit of a problem when the story has all the hallmarks of great melodrama and none of the required execution. Ichikawa goes out of his way to mute every major melodramatic beat to the point where a handful of scenes compel you in a certain direction, then refuse to deliver up the goods. The movie has five major emotional set pieces (you'll discover those on your own) and they're exquisitely rendered on both visual levels and from the great cast (who are often wasted by Ichikawa's overall mise-en-scene).
Sorry, Kon. This is really annoying, bud. You need to loosen up a bit.
Ozu, for example, is able to wrench out drama from the smallest details and he is NEVER afraid of emotion. Some have suggested his approach is indeed restrained in order for the emotional core to open up and be real. I disagree. Ozu, like Kurosawa, is NOT afraid of being sentimental or even melodramatic. They are storytellers - first and foremost - and will use every trick up their sleeve to wrench emotion from an audience. As well, I'm not suggesting a measured, mannered approach can't work. It can. It just doesn't work in The Makioka Sisters due, at least based on this picture to Ichikawa either unwilling or incapable of achieving the heights his colleagues aimed for or worse, his inability to properly execute his own approach.
On a surface level, the movie's concluding moments come close to creating that heart breaking devastation that's as sad as it is soaring, but by then, it's too late. Ichikawa has spent most of the movie muting all the emotion, occasionally and sloppily tossing in a dollop of it here and there, then allowing it to all hang out at the end.
Great melodrama (or even straight-up drama) needs to build to such an explosion. Ichikawa seems so obsessed with his snobby attempts at restraint that he forgot he had an audience he needed to please.
I've thus far avoided any background on exigencies of production that might have lead to Ichikawa creating this supremely flawed work (wildly praised from people who really should know better). The above were my impressions knowing nothing about the making of the film (my preferred method of seeing anything for the first time). That said, upon discovering that Ichikawa was commissioned by Japan's Toho Company to make the feature as part of its 50th year celebrations and that he was subsequently and idiotically nickelled and dimed to death, is still not reason enough to change my mind. In fact, I watched the movie a second time and my conclusions stand - it's a movie with occasional beauty, tons of potential but finally, a mess.
I suspect this was probably not the best introduction to Ichikawa's work. I'll certainly see more and I'll eventually watch this again with the context of his fuller canon behind me. Maybe I'll change my mind., though I doubt highly I will - especially in light of the following:
The most bafflingly egregious element of The Makioka Sisters is the music. In spite of the fact that the movie was made in the '80s where the style of music chosen was popular for the RIGHT movies, it is completely, utterly and overwhelmingly incomprehensible to me why a movie that DEMANDED a full orchestral score is miserably fouled with synthesized music so god-awful it might as well have been crapped out by Harold Faltermeyer.
The problem with this is that The Makioka Sisters is not about a Detroit cop in Beverly Hills. Given the score, it might as well have been.
"The Makioka Sisters" has been lovingly restored and presented on a nice looking, but extras-lacking Criterion Collection Blu-ray.
Monday, 2 August 2010
Drunken Angel
Starring: Toshiro Mifune, Takeshi Shimura
***1/2
by Alan Bacchus
“Drunken Angel” was the beginning of the director’s influential collaboration with Toshiro Mifune. Set in post war Japan, Mifune plays a yakuza gangster who strikes an unusual friendship with his doctor played by Takeshi Shimura. The film is also considered Kurosawa’s first auteur film with a fully realized creative control. It doesn’t disappoint.
Two of the great Kurosawa players, Takeshi Shimura and Toshiro Mifune, play friends and adversaries in a small village in post war Japan. The opening shot establishes a toxic lake of post-war chemicals, which has caused much sickness, disease and squalor. The depressed area has also brought the Yakuza and their misanthropic brothels, booze and violence. Matsunaga (Mifune) is a handsome tuberculosis-afflicted gangster who is treated by a doctor Sanada (Takeshi Shimura). At the beginning Matsunaga is standoffish to Sanada’s vehement pestering to change his lifestyle for the sake of his disease. But when the ruthless yakuza boss Okada returns to the village to reclaim his power over the gang, Matsunaga finds himself at an impasse in his life. With death knocking at his door, he sees Sanada’s selfless gestures as a sign to change his life for the better. The film climaxes with one of Kurosawa’s most famous violent endings, a heroic fight between Matsunaga and Okada.
The time and place of “Drunken Angel” is as important as any of Kurosawa’s films. In 1948, much of Japan was war torn and in the midst of rebuilding. The conflict in every scene is born from the filthy swamp – a symbol for their violent defeat in WWII. Out of this setting Kurosawa builds two great complex characters: Matsunaga, the doomed Yakuza whose honour is crushed with the return of his ruthless comrade and Sanada the pathetic failed doctor who can only sustain his practice by treating gangsters and thugs and. The contradiction which brings the two together is Sanada’s instinctive need to care for his patients in and out of the office – specifically Matsunaga.
In addition to his two great characters Kurosawa builds a tight and suspense narrative when Okada, the ruthless Yakuza leader returns to the village. The subplot involving his search for his former girlfriend, who is now Sanada’s assistant, provides the stakes and jeopardy which results in Matsunaga’s heroism in the end. Though the final fight in the hallway, slipping around through spilled paint cans, has become famous I was disappointed with the climax. When Matsunaga decides in his weakened diseased state to confront Okada, suspense is built for a climatic David vs. Goliath match up. Although Okada is established as a ruthless killer, but we never see Okada demonstrate this power. And so I think their sloppy choreography reduces the power of that scene.
The Criterion Disc as usual out does itself with the special features and packaging of the material. We are treated to a wonderful 30 mins documentary on the making of film. It was made prior to Kurosawa’s death, and so we get a well-made and polished documentary with Kurosawa and his collaborators completely deconstructing the film. We get to learn not only about the technical aspects of the set construction, but also how Kurosawa and Mifune first met and collaborated.
“Drunken Angel” is special because Kurosawa wonderfully blends the Westernized genre elements of a complex noir, with the wholly Japanese themes of honour and self-sacrifice. These sensibilities would become more important and recognizable in his later films which brought his international success. Enjoy.
Saturday, 22 May 2010
Tokyo Sonata
Starring: Teruyuki Kagawa, Kyôko Koizumi, Yû Koyanagi, Inowaki Kai, Haruka Igawa
***1/2
By Alan Bacchus
Kiyoshi Kurosawa (Cure, Pulse) smartly leaves the languishing J-Horror genre behind him and branches out creatively with this acclaimed and award-winning art-house, humanist drama. With its absurd, but staid, tone, Tokyo Sonata succeeds in enlightening us, with that familiar Asian peculiarity, to the effects of the global financial crisis from the point of view of a middle class Japanese family.
When Ryuhei (a husband and father of two boys) loses his job, he finds himself helpless, like a turtle on his back, unable to comprehend such upheaval. Embarrassed and hurt, he keeps this a secret from his wife Megumi and continues his daily routine of leaving home in the morning and returning before dinner. His days though are spent walking long soup kitchen lines with other fellow corporate castaways and job-hunting at various temp agencies. Ryuhei's frustrations extend to his domestic life when his inability to control the actions of his two boys sends him over the edge. His elder child decides to enter the military so he can fight for the U.S. Army in Iraq and his young son develops an interest in music, an endeavour of which he stubbornly and vehemently disapproves.
Though I've never been to Japan, my impression of its working culture is that it's an unforgiving powder keg of stress. So, for Kurosawa, Ryuhei's breakdown and inability to ask for help sharply mirror his society's over-protectiveness of its pride and fallibility in the context of their country's financial crisis.
Kurosawa's observational photography looks fantastic, bringing to mind the satirical work of Roy Andersson (Songs from the Second Floor, You, the Living). Tokyo Sonata moves at a very slow pace and might test the patience of those not inclined to relax or sit still, but as it moves towards its third act, Kurosawa brings his characters to the edge, engineering a powerfully emotional climax and an optimistic glimmer of hope at the very end. Thank god for that.
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
Ran
Starring: Tatsuya Nakadai, Akira Terao, Jinpachi Nezu, Daisuke Ryû, Mieko Harada
***1/2
By Alan Bacchus
The 1980’s were kind to Mr. Kurosawa, the legendary cinema master who by 1985, was nothing short of a living legend. After a tepid decade of the 70’s with a couple of odd, though no less interesting features, ‘Dodes'ka-den’, and ‘Dersu Uzala’, Kurosawa returned to his genre of choice, with two astounding epic Samurai films which effectively tied a neat bow to his illustrious career (his 90's non-Samurai films notwithstanding).
The first was 'Kagemusha: The Shadow Warrior', a beautiful and powerful film with an endearing humanist core, and second is 'Ran' – perhaps his most brutal and cynical film. Loosely based on ‘King Lear’, Ran is the third film in Kurosawa’s filmography which adapted Shakespeare to feudal Japan. At the outset we meet elder warlord Hidetora Ichimonji (Tatsuya Nakadai) who announces he’s giving up control of his empire to his three sons, Taro, Jiro, and Saburo, but with a distinct hierarchy – Taro, the eldest receiving the presitgious first castle and Jiro and Saburo the lesser of the three castles and in essence subordination to Taro. This gesture, which for Ichimonji is meant as a gesture of goodwill, is met with conflict and argument by all. And it doesn’t take long for the brothers to wage war against each other for ultimate power.
The result is Kurosawa’s bloodiest and most violent film, a deep penetrating brutality which digs deeper than mere flesh and blood but actions and choices of his main characters which demolishes the sacredness of family.
As a 'Jidaigeki' film - a Japanese genre refering to the distinct melodramatic dramatic style of Japanese period films - there’s a distinct heightened theatricality to the performances, which for Japanese newbies, might be a little oft-putting. Even I find it difficult to get into many of these films, but like the works of Shakespeare, which are even more daunting to penetrate, Kurosawa’s theme are universal and identifiable. Like the tragedy of his main influence, 'King Lear' , 'Ran' lasers in on the effect of a life of greed on its main character and the dues he's forced to pay at the end of his life.
In the first half of the picture we sympathize with Ichimonji, whom we feel unjustly suffers the pain of his mutinous and greedy sons. But as Ichimonji’s journey progresses we discover the actions of his sons against him represent a shake of bad karma against his own despotic ways. Specifically, the blind character of Tsurumaru, who gives the fleeing Ichimonji shelter, only to discover Ichimonji, himself, was responsible for gauging his eyes out and rendering him blind. And the character of Lady Kaede, who at first comes off as the conniving and manipulative Lady Macbeth of the film, by the end reveals a lifetime of shame at the hands of Ichimonji who destroyed her family’s kingdom and made her marry his son, as a form of brutal subjugating punishment.
At 160mins, ‘Ran’ is no easy task to get through, especially if you have other distractions at home watch a DVD. Many of the scenes linger on and on longer than traditional Hollywood fare – the opening scene which contains the inciting incident could have cut out after 3 or 4 mins, instead Kurosawa stays with the scene for 10-12more mins.
But it's only two scenes in particular which elevate this picture to cinematic high art. The first is the phenomenal midpoint assault on Ichimonji’s castle – a scene of uncompromising brutally, with buckets of bright red blood, comparable to Sam Peckinpah’s carnage in 'The Wild Bunch', but executed with the grace and elegance of a Bergman film. As the armies of soldiers pound each other with swords, arrows and guns, Kurosawa takes out the sound, except for the music for a powerful sublime visual and aural effect.
The final battle scene features some of Kurosawa’s finest compositions, showing his best epic chops, comparable to David Lean’s late career work. Kurosawa uses the engulfing effect of the mountains and landscape to punish his characters and rendering their insatiable actions of greed petty and small. In the end, none of the characters get off scott free, a self-destruction of monumental proportions. And the awesome final shot, featuring the blind and innocent Tsurumaru wandering hopelessly on the edge of massive cliff reinforces this cynicism.
'Ran' is now available on Blu-Ray as part of the Criterion-comparable 'Studio Canal Collection' and via Maple Pictures in Canada. The Blu-Ray transfer is good, though not astounding, but is the ideal way, other than the theatre, to experience Kurosawa's awesome imagery.
Sunday, 4 October 2009
Mothra/Masura
Mothra/Mosura (1961) Dir. Ishiro Honda
Starring: Frankie Sakai, Kyoko Kagawa, Jerry Ito, Emy Ito, Yumy Ito and Takashi Shimura
***
By Greg Klymkiw
The threat of nuclear annihilation has always been a theme at the forefront of science fiction, but nowhere is this more profound than in the cinema of Japan. The devastation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki loomed large within the frontal lobes of most filmmakers from the land of Nippon, but at Toho Studios, a long-running series of fantastical pictures that began with 1954’s “Gojira” (aka “Godzilla”), took the islands of Japan by storm and crossed the waters to tantalize audiences worldwide.
The director who is associated most closely with these pictures is Ishiro Honda, a visionary whose work is often ignored, neglected and/or derided by many critics. That said, if Akira Kurosawa is to be considered the John Ford of Japanese cinema, I’d argue quite strenuously that Honda is the Nipponese Spielberg – an entertainer of the highest order, an expert stylist/craftsman and a serious film artist. Like Spielberg, Honda created a wealth of product that appealed to kids of all ages – from east to west and back again!
Sadly, in the Western world, Honda’s work was so manipulated by American distributors that his dark, thrilling morality tales of nuclear mutated monsters were often reduced to the most basic elements of the monster movie genre with much of the political subtext removed in order to remain palatable to the narrow interests of the Occidental world. With substantial re-cutting and dialogue dubbing, most Western audiences lost out on the opportunity to not only enjoy rip-roaring entertainments, but also do so with considerable food for thought.
In 1961, Honda’s “Mothra/Mosura” was a slight change of pace from his dark horrific explorations of the effects of nuclear radiation. The message of peace is still front and centre, but the delivery of this important missive has a colourful, fantasy-infused lightness. Dappled, as it is, with this lightness of tone and touch is what gives the audience a fresh perspective and creates a creature-feature endowed with a very unique vantage point.
When a strange island is discovered in an area spoiled by nuclear contamination, the world comes face to face with a civilization that devotes itself to worshipping the splendours of the natural world. On this island are two beautiful miniature women – fairies who sing the loveliest of melodies. When an unscrupulous promoter kidnaps and subsequently forces them to perform in his circus, a ragtag group of journalists seeks to rescue them – especially since the tuneful crooning becomes mournful and summons the awakening of the ancient monster Mothra. This snail-like behemoth eventually cocoons and transforms into a horrifying winged beast hell-bent on rescuing the fairies and wreaking major havoc upon the towns and cities of Japan - most notably, Tokyo.
Blending slapstick humour with the sort of destruction one expects from Honda’s monster pictures, “Mothra” is a magical and supremely entertaining thrill ride. Amidst the serious thematic concerns about Western greed and exploitation the entire concoction delivers a fine homage to “King Kong” and a delightful mix of laughs and thrills. The humour is, thankfully, not tongue-in-cheek, but rooted in the characters and situations so that, while broad, it never renders the picture into a knowing gag-fest.
The hallmark of Honda’s work is undoubtedly his handling of the carnage and “Mothra” does not disappoint in this regard. When our title monster transforms into a flying avenger, the force of its wings beating is enough to create hurricane-like winds that send cars, trucks and tanks hurtling into skyscrapers.
A considerable chunk of the running time in the first half is devoted to a debate between the forces of exploitation and those who desire a more harmonious relationship to the forces of nature. Within these debates, humour abounds – thanks mainly to the comical turns by the blustery Frankie Sakai as the rotund reporter “Bulldog” and the fiery female photographer Michi (played by the delightful Kyoko Kogawa). Jerry Ito is a deliciously slimy villain while fave Kurosawa thespian Takashi (“Ikuru”) Shimura makes a welcome appearance as the news editor who lights a flame under his writers’ butts and has them become actively involved in the proceedings. The real life singing sensation twins (the Ito sisters), known to the world outside of this film as “The Peanuts”, deliver great screen presence and are in very fine voice.
Ultimately, “Mothra” does not disappoint and lovers of Japanese monster movies will get their fair share of peace through superior firepower as the title monster must be cruel to be kind as it cuts a huge path of destruction in its instinctive, single-minded purpose to rescue the twins.
It’s a terrific monster movie and one of the best from Toho Studios. Lovers of this fare will especially be delighted, but even for those not immersed in the canon of Nipponese behemoth pictures, the pleasures to be derived are immense indeed: great carnage, lots of laughs and a worthwhile message about peace and ecology – the latter of which is way ahead of its time.
Sony’s great DVD collection is an especially worthwhile buy for anyone who worships this genre. You not only get s fantastic commentary by Honda scholars, but the transfer to DVD is gorgeous - with deep blacks to offset the vivid colours. Most importantly, the original Japanese version with English subtitles can be viewed along with the truncated, dubbed American version. The only flaw is the horrendous packaging with all three discs in the collection packed onto one spindle – each movie on top of the other and a definite accident waiting to happen.
“Mothra” is available on Sony’s New DVD release “Icons of Sci-Fi: Toho Collection” with two other Ishiro Honda classics “H-Man” and “Battle in Outer Space”.
Monday, 28 September 2009
Hazard
Starring: Jô Odagiri, Jai West, Motoki Fukami, Hiroyuki Ikeuchi, Rin Kurana
**1/2
By Alan Bacchus
Shinichi is a restless Japanese youth bored of his saccharine lifestyle in suburban Tokyo and looking for excitement. He picks up a handbook of the most dangerous places on Earth and finds New York City. So there he goes, an adventure in the urban and exotic environment many Japanese youths only know by its Hollywood depictions and it’s once sordid reputation.
Quickly Shin finds himself an alien in the big city and even gets mugged on his first day. But when he meets Lee, a Japanese-American hustling on the street with a coterie of minor gangland troublemakers he finds his way into the subculture of urban anarchy he’s been looking for. Imagine a mash-up Kubrick’s droogs, Trainspotting’s Begbie and those crazy Italian youths from 'Gomorrah' with Lee as their ‘Artful Dodger’.
We’re in the strange world of Japanese extreme cinema here and this one is off-the-wall even by Japanese standards. The New York in this picture is a cinematic impression of the city completely outside of reality but that peculiar Japanese point of view of a big, bad, alien and thus hazardous environment.
Of course, we don’t get traditional storytelling either, instead Director Sion Sono coasts on constant flow of freewheeling narrative chaos. He shoots the film using a mixture of English and Japanese on location in New York with super grainy lightweight cameras. I imagine few if any permits or organized crowd control was involved and Sono has his actors often interacting with local New Yorkers on the streets with an kinetic run and gun, ‘let’s steal the shot’ attitude.
There’s an exhaustion which sets in somewhere at the midpoint when social disturbance after social disturbance becomes repetitious as Lee and his gang, seemingly without an off-button, continue to throw their hands in the air and yell ‘whoooo’ in praise of their disdain for authority. 'Hazard' is definitely not for the mainstream, but might pique the interest of fans of Japanese cinema and urban subculture, or fans of the edge-pushing filmmakers like Larry Clark or Harmony Korine.
The Evocative Films disc is well packaged with a healthy liner notebook of thoughtful essays and stills about film. The special features include a behind the scenes making of documentary (in Japanese only) and an informative interview with Sono discussing his inspirations for the film.
This review first appears on Exclaim.ca
Friday, 6 June 2008
NIGHTMARE DETECTIVE
Nightmare Detective (2007) dir. Shinya Tsukamoto
Starring: Hitomi, Masanobu Ando, Ryuhei Matsuda, Shinya Tsukamoto
*1/2
I came into "Nightmare Detective" with no context or knowledge of the story or the filmmaker. I confess only a surface knowledge of the J-Horror genre - regrettably from the American remakes only. So as an unbiased, blank slate screening the film is an awful amateurish mess and poor excuse for a horror film.
So how did this seemingly forgettable and disposable piece of sub-standardness ever beat out other horror films to make it across the world and land on our DVD shelves? After doing some research I realized the director, Shinya Tsukamoto, is the cultish director of the Tetsuo films. I could barely sit through the first "Tetsuo" film, and so it would appear I am not the audience for "Nightmare Detective". But I've seen enough horror films to know this film does not past muster no matter who's directing it.
Japanese pop star Hitomi plays Keiko Kirishima, an academic criminalogist who eagerly wants to make the switch into real-world homicide cases. Her assignment is a strange case of several individuals who have killed themselves in their sleep. Keiko discovers the common link between them all is a mysterious man named "0" whom they all called just before going to bed and falling asleep. Keiko hires a notable dream expert Kyoichi Kagenuma (Ryuhei Matsuda) to aid her in the search. Keiko sets a trap using herself as bait. She calls the same number as the victims hoping the killer would visit her in her dreams, with the Nightmare Detective ready to strike.
Hitori is quite stunning and highly watchable on screen. She holds the film together through the mishmash of stylistic excesses.
Unfortunately that's where the praise ends. There’s no elegance to the film. The choppy editing is awkward and draws unnecessary attention to itself, taking the audience out of the film. A comparable film, "Seven", is not a clean film in any regard, but it's still a polished product. "Nightmare Detective" feels like a low budget indie film by an amateur that is in love with his handheld camera, dissolves, and centre-framing. Tsukamoto also paints a bland a colourless world filled with greys and blacks. A good horror director would know what to do with the shadows and darkness but the colour scheme adds nothing to this film.
And the ridiculous electronic music score cheapens the film even more.
J-Horror fans and the "Tetsuo" cult may find some value in some of the consistencies in technique across Tsukamoto's work, but the plain truth is it would never even see the light of day, if his name wasn't attached.
"Nightmare Detective" is available on DVD from Alliance Films in Canada and Dimension Films/Miramax Home Entertainment in the U.S.
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