Tonî Takitani

After seeing "Tony Takitani," it's like I just ate something I have never tasted before, and it left some strange taste in my mouth. Even though I can't say I like what I just ate, but it tastes so interesting that I wanna to taste it again if I get the chance. That's how I feel about this poetic Japanese film.

The film is very slow, like watching a flower blooming on a drizzle day, the film never wants to rush into anything. Tony Takitani is a loner, he is always by himself, until he finally met a woman Eiko. Eiko is a perfect housewife, making Tony forgot about what being alone means. But Eiko has one problem: she can't stop shopping for clothes. What is Tony gonna do about it? What's the consequence might be? I will leave that to you to see the film. But to me, watching this film is not about the plot or the characters, which neither impressed me. The visual is the core of this film, that's what makes me reluctant to say this is a boring film. Quite the contrary. Sometimes, the film makes me feel like watching the animal world on PBS, with the never shutting up narrator. Why doesn't the film let the characters to talk, but constantly uses a voice over? I find it very annoying.

To people who never had sushi and sashimi, I always encourage them to try them, it will be nothing like they ever had before. So try to watch this film if you can have a chance. Just like sushi, I can't promise everybody will like it, but the experience is never to forget.

"Tony Takitani" is the first full length adaptation of a Haruki Murakami tale (the IMDb message board provides a link to an English translation of the story) and it beautifully translates his ethereal prose themes to visuals.

There's his characteristic isolated man, mysterious women who come and go and recur, American jazz and obsessions that all link to Japan's post-war experiences and the prisons we make for ourselves.

The film begins like a narrated slide show as we see biographical images of "Tony" as a child and his father. Gradually, the stills move for longer periods to learn more about each man and focus on "Tony" as a young man who has gravitated to free-lance mechanistic illustration as a perfect professional emotionless counterpart to his internal condition. The characters occasionally take up the narration in almost the only dialog we hear.

The second half of the film explores the nature of loneliness and love. The younger woman he falls in love with literally comes with baggage, as each have a fear of emptiness that they assuage through their own means.

While how she wore her clothes attracted him in the first place, the world is divided between those who are pack rat collectors and those who are not - a division "Tony" thinks he can cross and suppress, only to have those feelings reappear with resonances, with a bit of a spooky reference to Hitchcock's "Vertigo" trying to morph into "Here Comes Mr. Jordan" with almost an O. Henry twist. While most viewers will think the woman's clothes shopping is a fetish (and the montage of her luxuriating in shoe after shoe is humorous), I thought this film was the best since "Ghost World" to make an effort to capture the sensual, addictive feelings of a collector of objects and not as outsiders for an Errol Morris documentary.

As it visually relates her fear of emptiness to the father's and the son's claustrophobic lives, the film lyrically shows how not only is love not enough and how asking one you love to give up something they love destroys love, but the objects themselves will now carry different and unexpected emotions for whomever comes into contact with them.

While Ryuichi Sakamoto's gentle score reinforces this meditation on loneliness, I thought we should have heard more of the father's jazz.

This film, minimalist in the best possible sense, is a lyrical study of isolation and loss. Tony Takitani (Issei Ogata) grows up the loner kid of a jazz-playing, loner father. Like his father, Tony masters an art, drawing, and eventually becomes very successful. Early in his adulthood Tony has a few failed romances but never considers marriage until, in middle age, he meets a woman fifteen years his junior, the sight of whom for the first time adds an unshakable pain to his profound solitude.

A long sequence of aged Japanese photographs acts as a prelude to the film, telling in a few minutes the story of Tony's father. This section of plot takes up a much greater portion of Haruki Murakami's original short story, and Jun Ichikawa made a wise decision in reducing it, though utmost respect for the source material is in evidence throughout the film.

And then Tony's story itself begins, and if you are going to fall for this film, you do it then. From start to finish, really, the film is an episodic accumulation of small, deeply-touching scenes tied together by very simple yet evocative piano music and the enchanting voice of a narrator (Hidetoshi Nishijima) whose warm, thoughtful delivery makes one think of some poet of a bygone era.

Tony's courtship of Eiko and his subsequent troubles draw us closer and closer to this sad, beautiful soul until his loneliness finally becomes absolute. Ichikawa solidifies these intense layers of feeling with wonderfully basic techniques: stirring skylines and skyscapes used as backdrops; lovely, tangible environments; and discrete, minimalist camera angles--key conversations shot from behind the characters, over the shoulder, for instance. As a side note, the one film to which I can compare "Tony Takitani" is Laurent Cantet's "L'emploi du temps" (France, 2001), which has a similarly touching minimalism married to the intense inner lives of characters.

I was fortunate enough to see "Tony Takitani" at the 2005 Seattle International Film Festival, and of the films I have seen at the festival over the past decade, this ranks among my favorite three--the others being the 1996 Israeli film "Clara Hakedosha" ("Saint Clara") and 1999's "A la medianoche y media" ("At Midnight and a Half") from South America. I cannot imagine a better feature film to first bring the brilliant writing of Haruki Murakami to the big screen.

Note: Murakami's "Tony Takitani" was first published in English in the April 15, 2002 issue of The New Yorker.

I'm a big Murakami fan and was fortunate to see Issey Ogata live in Chicago a decade ago. When I read this story, about six weeks before seeing the movie, it struck me as an atypical Murakami story, but then I'm not sure what's typical of his work, anymore. It does revisit his theme of the disappearing wife/girlfriend, but not in quite the same way as "The Wind-up Bird Chronicle" or "Dance, Dance, Dance." There's jazz. There's a WWII P.O.W. thread. There's a vehicular accident. There's a guy who seems to be living on the edge of his own life. All regular Murakami themes, but for some reason, when I read this story, it struck me as operating on a different plane from most of his other stories, maybe because it lacked the high-energy freaky magical realism of "Wind-up Bird Chronicle" or "Wild Sheep Chase." So while all these other flashy stories have been romping around in my imagination as potentially the first movie made from a Murakami work, this quiet and sad little tale snuck right past me.

Using Ogata in this story also seems atypical, not that I'm fully conversant with his career, but when I saw him, he was doing a one-man show of mostly hilarious material stretched out on the Lily Tomlin-Marcel Marceau continuum. He's also a lot older than Tony Takitani is in the early scenes where he plays him as a college student, and that's something Ogata doesn't do much to disguise. That may be the most typical Ogata thing in this movie. In the stage show I saw, he used minimal makeup and did all his character changes in full view of the audience, including the drag turn, and, dang, if he didn't look like Lily Tomlin's twin sister! It was nice to see Rie Miyazawa in two non-kimono parts. And this is seriously non-kimono. Having both leads play two roles apiece is charming and a great showcase for these talents.

I loved how faithful it was to the story as a literary object without being stilted. It was reminiscent of Paul Sills' story theatre and had the quality of a fable. It was both literary and cinematic, no easy feat. And, speaking of feet, Rie Miyazawa's are very expressive in this picture.

Every frame is like a painting. The film is like an art gallery, we walk through each scene with slow-tracking transitions while Sakamoto Ryuichi's hauntingly beautiful piano score plays. The faint colors of Tokyo has never been so breath-taking.

After watching, I felt alone, cold and inspired. Strictly for audiences who are open to new things, because this is likely the first movie you'll see of this kind. Don't expect a complicated storyline, this is an observant piece of cinema focusing on the study of characters. It moves slow but is never boring. Be patient and just enjoy what is shown to you on the screen.

This is how you really tell a great story visually. Mr Ichikawa Jun should be the man to adapt all of Murakami's stories.