Le vase de sable

CASTLE OF SAND is an engrossing, laid-back police procedural that captures your attention even when the plot seems fairly ordinary. A Tokyo cop (Tetsuro Tamba) is troubled when a retired cop is found brutally murdered, with no evidence save the vague recollections of a few townsfolk. At times, the story is reminiscent of a regional travelogue, but in learning more about Japan, Tamba hones in on a small set of likely suspects, but everyone is so agreeable that uncovering the truth becomes like rooting out the one hidden evidence of violence in a sea of potential data.

Regrettably, the film unravels in the final forty or so minutes, when the remainder of the story is told with musical accompaniment of a famous pianist. The plot becomes frankly loses credibility and even becomes rather nonsensical. The movie changes mood and style, and dripping with melodrama.

There's a lot to like about this film, mostly because of the beautiful cinematography and the picturesque Japanese countryside. The unraveling of the police investigation of the central murder has interesting moments, but by the end it becomes too strung-out and torturous. The last 45 minutes or so had me tapping my toes waiting for it to end, as every plot point and every shot was prolonged far past the limits of my patience.

Lovers of classical music will be amused by what passes for the output of the "genius" composer. While composing in the early stages in his home at the piano, he plays quite awful nightclub music. It would never get him an invitation to perform with the New York Philharmonic, as the plot requires. In the last section, with him performing on stage, intercut with scenes of the police concluding their investigation, he plays a pretty forgettable late-Romantic piano concerto, apparently written by a real Japanese composer, Yasushi Akutagawa.

I just finished The Castle of Sand and could not wait to write down how I feel. It is such a classic and so rich in the Japanese culture that I need to share soonest.

A suspense murder story on the surface, The Castle of Sand explores the theme of destiny and invites audience into this Eastern concept. It is full of irony which I will elaborate later.

The film opened in a small town Northeast Japan, which quickly drew me to imagine how this little town would have looked like before the tsunami last March and how it is recovered now. But it quickly shifted focus to other clues of a murder case which took detectives Imanixi and Yoshimura (Tetsurou Tanba and Kensaku Morita) all over Honshu to search for further details. We were taken on a journey to travel with them to the beautiful Japanese countryside and experience their hospitality in the summer heat. By the way, Tetsurou Tanba was very sexy when he rolled up his sleeves and worked hard!

The victim of the murder, Miki Kenji (Ken Ogata), a retired policeman who was loved by everyone in the village, had only done decent deeds all his life. No one believed he had any enemy but he was murdered and his body dumped in Tokyo. When detective Imanishi interviewed Miki's colleagues and friends, we almost see the famous Japanese poet/humanist/teacher Kenji Miyazawa alive: he saved a kid from the fire, carried a sick person to the hospital and sent a sick beggar to the hospital while taking care of his son. I believe the scriptwriters Shinobu Hashimoto and Yoji Yamada were paying tribute to Miyazawa for his humanism when he named this beloved policeman as Kenji who shared the same caring characters of the great writer.

Without divulging too much of the plot, destiny was defined in the film as "being born and being alive" by one of the characters. This can be interpreted in both a positive and negative way – that we enjoy the moment we have and be thankful that we are alive, i.e. accept fate; or that as long as we were born, we have to try hard to stay alive and ahead at all costs. No matter which option we choose, our lives, or whatever we have accumulated, are like the castle of sand which might look magnificent for a while but it will eventually be crumpled and washed away. Therefore, all of our efforts are futile because our fate is already determined. Power, fame, wealth, even love, whatever we desire, will be gone – which is quite a Buddhist philosophy.

What was ironic was the contrast between the friendly hospitality the detectives enjoyed and the sneers by the country people the leper father and his son faced as they roamed and begged all over the country. Another irony was in the second half of the film when the beautiful Japanese countryside in snow, under cherry blossoms, by the sea, and in the mountains was depicted with the roaming father and son struggling in the foreground. No dialogues were necessary (they are male and Japanese!). Yet the passionate piano concerto vividly portrayed their sadness, loneliness, abandonment and strong bonding. It was beautifully overlaid by the performance of the up and coming composer Eriyo Waga (Gou Katou) while he reflected painfully on his past.

I have not read the original novel by Seichou Matsumoto and I intend to do so.

Duration is 143 minutes but did not feel long at all because you will be full absorbed into the search, the enjoyment of the scenes and the sadness felt by each character. This film is a classic as the morals from the story remains valid today: the coldness and avoidance of the villagers to lepers/beggars remind me of the bullying of residents from the Fukushima area. Years pass, seasons change; scenery, prejudice, hospitality and solidarity stay. Ganbare, Nihon!

One thing to beware of with this police procedural is that it's 143 minutes and very drawn out. Director Yoshitaro Nomura has a tendency to explain everything, such as the logistics of the cops as they travel around rural parts of Japan, which he does frequently via words on the screen, to the cops re-stating things that we've already seen or figured out. Also, while there is value to understanding just how much leg work goes into solving a crime, there were times I thought it was overdone, or at least, that the "slow burn" payoff better be high.

Mercifully, the beautiful cinematography offsets some of the issues with pace. Nomura often zooms out back from his characters to show not just wonderful scenery, but I think also to give us a sense for how small these lives are in the grand scheme of things. The past has a tendency to be quickly forgotten by the world, as if it were swallowed up in forests humming with loud insects, but not by individuals. No matter how successful someone may become, no matter the number of years that have gone by, the past is always with us, and trauma can come bubbling to the surface in a heartbeat. This is the main payoff to the film, not a surprise twist in the murder mystery itself, which never really has more than one suspect. There is real emotional power in seeing how the past fits together and affects people in the present. Nomura unveils this quite well via flashbacks set not to dialogue, but soaring music, and the result is a feeling of empathy for a callous man who has killed the kindest of persons. It's melodramatic for sure, but enlightened at the same time.

I just saw this movie for the first time last night at the Japanese Film Festival held in Melbourne. It was a re-mastered print and on the huge screen it was magnificent. The flashback scenes with the father and son set to the stunning musical score seemed like a completely different movie to what had preceded. But to me, final scenes are important - a skillful movie ending turns a good film into a great film. A bad ending turns an average to good film into a piece of rubbish. As far as Castle of Sand is concerned, what started out as an interesting detective story ended as a sweeping piece which left me walking out of the cinema thinking "That was incredible!!".

Japanese cinema rarely fails to impress me. I keep discovering more and more gems, usually from years gone by when I was too young to experience them at the time.