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Another gorgeous film from Miike (is it the filters, film stock, or the Chinese landscape that makes it all so visually engrossing?) that trades in incessant, sensationalistic violence for light-hearted (relatively speaking) fantasy. Which is not to say that Chûgoku no chôjin avoids heavy social topics while maintaining its calm demeanor: the inevitable encroachment of civilization, and the assimilation/annihilation of traditional rituals and beliefs in the sweep of modern culture are issues thoughtfully explored along with arresting images of unspoiled Chinese vistas by frequent Miike collaborator Hideo Yamamoto. An unusually pensive yet rewarding experiment from Miike, and one that continues to prove there is much to his oeuvre besides global destruction, excruciating torture scenes, and zombie dance numbers.

OK, I've seen a few of Sam Fuller's films now, but I'm still not sure whether he's a veritable genius or just a complete crackpot. Street of No Return does little to clarify things. As others have pointed out, it's not a particularly good film, but it is classic Fuller, in that it attempts to deal with salient social issues with bombastic acting, lurid violence, and some seriously ham-fisted dialogue. But that's why people (myself included) can't get enough of Fuller's work: it's so preposterous yet sincere you can't help but love it. After forty years of directing, Fuller obstinately sticks to his thematic and stylistic guns, for better or worse. In particular the dialogue seems incredibly anachronistic, as though everyone in the film grew up watching Fuller's own Pickup on South Street or Underworld USA. Like Kinji Fukasaku's Triple Cross (92), Street of No Return is the work of an aging maverick director who, despite a complete lack of commercial and critical success, never wavered in his artistic convictions. And for those of us who may stumble upon their work years later, it makes their films all the more endearing. The fantoma DVD release comes with a 'making of' which is really just an excuse to film the bellicose yet lovable Fuller spouting off on (what else?) race, violence, and the good old days of street journalism, and is well worth the price of rental alone.

Takeshi Kitano is one of Japan's premiere directors whose films, along with Takashi Miike and Shinya Tsukamoto, never cease to enthrall me. First things first: the film's look is simply stunning. The color palette is subtly drained, almost sepia-tinted, giving it the allure of nostalgic cinema tones that stands in sharp, almost egregious contrast to the film's gratuitous cgi-violence. But this is a juxtaposition that seems to be at the crux of Kitano's filmic M.O: his keen cinematic eye for framing scenes and obsession with violence both slapstick and disconcerting meld into a style distinctly his own. Throughout Zatoichi, the camera moves with a sort of graceful yet implacable momentum, training the eye on the subject in a way that is never imposing or obvious. Likewise, the narrative follows its own momentum, traveling along character digressions or long wordless sequences, like the sibling's dance practice. While this sequence doesn't have the same artistic prominence as, say, the flower-animal paintings in Hana-bi, it's still indicative of a auteur's unique, highly stylized way of encapsulating his world view. To say that Zatoichi is a crowd pleaser is drastic understatement: samurai violence, slapstick humor, quirky characters, and Kitano as charming as ever as a soft spoken, untouchable blind samurai masseur all elide to create a unique and highly entertaining visual experience.