The Whispering Star

I didn't know what to expect from my first Sion Sono movie, so when The Whispering Star ended up as what I can only describe as Stanley Kubrick meets Andrei Tarkovsky I was certainly surprised. Its narrative is almost wholly visual with minimal dialogue, often spoken in hushed and reverential whispers, expecting the audience to fill in the gaps with the limited information they've been given. Despite the clunky and unoriginal outlook of society and nature, it's the way the film is presented to you that makes all the difference, the black & white photography of the seemingly abandoned Fukushima Prefecture is gorgeous, with one scene of colour feeling beautifully alien to the rest of the movie. The long periods of reflective silence allow the audience and character to ponder on their meaning and place in the universe. While at times feeling akin to that of an arthouse production, for what it's worth, your patience will be rewarded if you can make it to the end.

The Whispering Star very much stands out in the filmography of Sion Sono, who is sometimes criticized for making "loud" movies.

This is an extremely quiet movie. There is no ambience in the spaceship. All the dialogue is spoken in whispers. Not everything that should make a sound effect does. Watch this in a very quiet, dark room for the best experience. I had to pause a file transfer because my hard drive writing itself made a noise too distracting, so this is not a Doritos kind of movie.

Suddenly the subtle sound of crickets on a planet is comforting against the lonely silence of space. The few sound effect that are used are noticeable and very impactful. The beautiful music that plays only 2 or 3 times just overwhelms you.

While not as great as some of his maximalistic films, this one proves Sono is a great storyteller even when he's outside of his comfort zone. The minimalist approach and slow burn story work wonderfully and create a very unique experience as you discover more about the nature of the character and the universe she inhabits. It leaves you with interesting observations to think about. I will surely be revisiting this film in the future.

– Far into the future people are shadows of their former selves. Humans are far too short-lived and vulnerable, so artificial intelligence pervades the universe. One humanoid robot named Yoko, delivers packages to the fringes of distant galaxies. She has time on her hands so she listens to the audio diary of her predecessor, wonders at the fluttering of moths and peeks inside the packages. The parcels are filled with non-essential items that only humans could appreciate; faded photographs, bits of cloth and little mementos of every description. She is intrigued. As she interacts with humans on scattered planets Yoko learns to ride a bicycle and appreciate sounds, among other things. She sees that machines aren't so perfect and make mistakes just like humans do. "This film will give you a greater understanding of what it means to be human," said the director in Toronto. The film is set with 1950s décor and is shot nearly all in black and white, with a burst of color during one scene that represents "nostalgia for the past."

The eerie and abandoned feeling to the city scenery is all too real because it was shot in the cordoned off area around Fukushima. The film crew obtained permits and included non-professional actors who were evicted from the area at the time of the disaster. All sounds were recorded after the scenes were filmed. This imaginative and cerebral film is slow-going. I appreciate slow-moving films, yet felt the points could have been better made in less time. All in all it is wonderful to see the mechanical Yoko begin to appreciate memories, taking pictures, throwing a ball to a dog, music, games and all the little things that humans appreciate. Three and a half of five stars. Seen at the Toronto International Film Festival 2015.

We are flying through space. Pale interior, vintage technology, beyond the window: thousands of stars in a big black nothing. This is what dreams are made of. But, as our hero, Yoko, reveals to us, these scenarios of escapism are not always as exciting as they might seem in the beginning. In the distant future, while Yoko and her sole digital companion travel through space as intergalactic delivery pilots, Yoko tells the sad tale of men's invention of teleportation. Teleportation? "Amazing!", one might think. But, Yoko recalls, when exotic destinations were easily within reach, they quickly lost their charm. When going to the beach is merely another push on a button away, half the fun is gone. Anticipation is the magic word which unfolds its meaning as we get older.

The same goes for Sci-Fi movies. New worlds, far away galaxies and unimaginable creatures all have their appeal. During the run of "Avatar" people spent 2,78 billion Dollar in movie tickets for a good 2 ½ hours of teleportation. But the easier these worlds come to life, the more powerful the CGI-Gods become, the quicker we will be bored and left with a hunger. Horror movies have come a long way from cheap costumes and shadow play to gore and jump-scares. Have they become better? Not necessarily. And so it also happens to Sci-Fi. Better effects, a more perfect immersion, does not equal a more satisfying escape experience.

Funny side note: Star Wars actually tried reworking its visuals with a more technical approach, rising the images "up-to-date", thus making the illusion and escapism more real. The outrage over it is even more known than the outcome itself.

So, Yoko teaches us: Teleportation to the beach, as good as it is, does not satisfy our need for relaxation. And just the same: visual effects do not satisfy our need for good Sci-Fi. Popping in the latest CGI-fest does not necessarily tickle our brains area that craves deep thinking.

So, writer/director Sion Sono puts a spin to his futuristic scenario. Everything feels a bit outdated, the set design is more reminiscent of a 1950s Sci-Fi film. It lets us focus on the content, not the shining outside of the set. In this contrast, a distant day which feels like yesterdays future, the perfect androids that have taken over the world seem helpless. Opening up parcels, finding film strips, feathers or old photographs, they wonder "What the hell is this?". And so do we wonder also: Well, yeah, why in the world do these things have any value? The old scheme, android vs. human, technology vs. romanticism, here it is. This is emphasized by fantastic camera work which takes a human, subjective view and guides us through a world which is not clean and shiny but alive and breathing.

The films filming location, whose background can hardly be ignored, hit me with a cynical note: What a bold move to film a movie in the ruins of the Fukushima region and discuss human virtues vs. technical perfection - In a place where human error lead to an unspeakable disaster which probably would have been avoided by any cold hearted android.

So, is this a masterpiece? Not in my opinion. Did I enjoy it? No. While it makes you think of the genres greats (especially the on-bord computers appearance is straight out of 2001) it falls behind in direct comparison. It lacks focus, throws in too many things instead of being concise with the questions it poses. A computer going through Platos cave allegory? Well, this might be an interesting thought but in this film it simply falls short and leaves you scratching your head.

Oh and it's boring. Let's not forget about that. It is really boring at times.

"The Whispering Star" strikes at first thanks to an unexpected austerity and elegance that set it apart from Sion Sono's most known repertoire. The film follows android Yoko Suzuki's daily life as she travels through space to deliver packages. Despite teleportation technology being available, humans still prefer to spend years, sometimes decades, for their deliveries, as the wait is what makes the items special. The nostalgic mood suggests that people eventually rejected modern technologies to retain their emotions and humanity. Yoko's spacecraft looks like an old Japanese house, and all the technology we get to see is retro to say the least (tape recorders, dry cell batteries, gramophones). A strange emphasis is also put on sound: for example, while the sand under an old woman's fingers is loud as hell, the waves crashing against the shore seem to make no sound at all. On some planets, humans became their own shadows, and cannot survive any sound that is louder than 30 decibels.

The concept is definitely interesting, but I wonder if it was enough for a full-length feature film. Most of the running time is spent with Yoko silently walking across post-apocalyptic landscapes and repeating the same chores all over again inside the spacecraft. Even though these scenes help the viewer feel the monotony and lose the perception of time just like Yoko, I don't think the payoff was worth the patience. Sure the sepia cinematography is gorgeous, and there are a few highly poetic moments here and there, but sometimes it gets tough to keep the focus on the film rather than your grocery list.

It's a contemplative work that cherishes fading memories and reflects on what it is to be human, but a short might have been more than enough to convey the same meaning.