Moetsukita chizu

The movie starts with a detective searching for a man that disappeared half a year ago. The start makes you wonder though why it have taken half a year before hiring a detective.

Unfortunately this and many other mysteries are never revealed. There is no character development in the movie. I found no point in most people being in the movie (which may be the point of the movie?).

I have enjoyed the previous collaborations between writer and director here. But this one I regretted spending my time on. I would recommend only to people interested in cinematography and does not care about the story, or likes to make their own story in the movie.

A detective is hired by a woman to find her missing husband, but gets gradually more frustrated as the investigation lingers due to the amount of dead-end leads and untrustworthy sources. How many packs of partial lies and untold details must one man go through in order to do his job? Moreover, how much digging into another man's life must one go before he too realizes he is lost? Hiroshi Teshigahara once again gives us a monumental film epitomizing the loss of identity.

In his masterpiece, Woman of the Dunes, the main character there is trapped and lost upon the physical metaphor of sand and desert, while here, Shintaro Katsu's detective is being suffocated and overwhelmed by the monolithic shapes and reflections of the urban jungle. Nearly every other camera shot has an oppressive geometric shape or view of a character through an object capable of refracting/reflecting.

As the film goes on, we see how little anyone really seems to care about this missing man which leads the detective to wallow in existential dread. At one point, he even calls the man he's looking for a low-level nobody but presses on because he has a job to do. The prevailing thought that lingers is individuals can lose their identities in a world busy with people, but can also lose them by being too destructive to themselves (as we see in the waning minutes). By the end we are left with no answers and a detective who has nearly replaced the missing man himself--throwing away his own ego, wandering aimlessly among the streets without a job. Crushed and defeated, he talks to a dog (a metaphor for his ego/identity) wittingly asking, "I never asked you for your name."

Overall, this film is not as masterful as some of HT's previous work (which is definitely the consensus), but a film that is certainly a strong contender for being remembered as it has been lost by the wayside and is not mentioned nearly as frequently as the others. The film may also be overlong for some folks and annoying to those who seek answers or large payoff, as none of that is front and center, but the Teshigahara technique and vision is present throughout and should not be missed.

Teshigahara Hiroshi is world-famous for his trilogy of films based on novels by Abe Kobo: "Otoshiana" (Pitfall, 1962), "Suna no onna" (Woman of the Dunes, 1964) and "Tanin no kao" (The Face of Another, 1966). These atmospheric and mysterious films mixed dark themes from literature and political history to a cinematic approach, which was part of the Japanese New Wave. For myself, they are all among my favorite films. But Teshigahara as a director is not a household figure like Kurosawa, Masumura, Ichikawa Kon, or Kobayashi Masaki. There a two reasons for this. First is, that after those films, Teshigahara did not make many more, even though he lived until 2001. The second reason is, that his remaining work in television, documentaries and feature films did not at all resemble the style of the films, with which he broke through. "Rikyu" (1989) is a wonderful example. A glorious film, which stylistically you would never connect to "Pitfall".

But actually Teshigahara did make one more adaptation of Abe after the three films, "Moetsukita chizu" (The Man Without a Map, 1968). The film has been largely ignored for years, and when the other three are published on DVD, this usually does not accompany them. Which is a crying shame, if you ask me. "The Man Without a Map" is not a film for everyone. Most people who liked the controlled amount of chaos and confusion in the three previous Abe films, are going to find this to be an overdose. With the other films, you had a sense of narrative, even if there were peculiar segments to it. The stylistic black and white cinematography also supported the general atmosphere. "The Man Without a Map" is in color, and completely dismisses the conservatism of having a narrative. This film is an outrageous experiment, a mystery that defies logical approaches. It is a movie destined for financial failure and a cult status.

The film was produced by Katsu Productions, the production company of "Zatoichi" star Katsu Shintaro, who plays the lead of the film. If you come to watch this film expecting "usual" Teshigahara, you will be let down. If you come to watch this film expecting usual starring vehicle for Katsu, you will be demanding your money back. Katsu plays a detective, who has been hired to search for a lady's missing husband. The key element is the search, as nobody seems too eager to find him. Katsu interviews a bunch of people, who question why a fairly successful mid-level manager like that would feel the need to disappear. The investigation is from the start more of a philosophical problem, than an actual crime narrative. We ponder the reasons for disappearing, how to do so, and what the effect of it is to a community, or does it in fact have no effect? Who was the man who disappeared, or does it even matter? Who is the detective himself? Are we all disappearing gradually? If so, why is this, where do we go, and where are we now?

Yes, it's that kind of a picture. Katsu's character soon discovers, that this case is almost impossible to solve, since nobody is telling him the complete truth, and nobody is that interested either. Atsumi Kiyoshi plays the only one who wants to talk to the detective at length, but he has his own reasons, and the detective does not like his company. As the movie progresses, it becomes more and more a mental journey. The horror element is not as strong as in the previous Teshigahara films, but it's there, and certainly this is a film that benefits, if you watch it in a dark room with your 6th cup of coffee. It's not trippy in a 60's way, though it's at times very weird. Some will find this utterly boring, but I found it very intriguing and thoroughly enjoyable. I laughed several times, and several scenes kind of reminded of later works by David Lynch or David Cronenberg, both favorites of mine. Also, like many Abe adaptations, this heavily resembles Kafka in atmosphere and concept.

The cinematography is really the star of the film, as every scene is shot in ways, that contribute to the surreal atmosphere. The scenes among Katsu's journey change from one to another, without any progress happening. Yet, the scenes themselves were very memorable. The night-time fight scene in the sandpit, Katsu fantasizing about covering a lady in fallen leafs, the strange conversations with Atsumi... they all formed this strange whole, which either grabs you or doesn't. For me this is Katsu Shintaro's most interesting film. I like his jidai-geki films, but this is so ambitious, so fearless. Katsu is best known for playing Zatoichi the blind swordsman, and Atsumi Kiyoshi is best known for playing Tora-san, the lovable tramp in the world's longest film franchise. Seeing them two together in a film, and that film being THIS, was an experience. I can not NOT love this.

Most people will hate this film, or turn it off after 20 minutes. Personally, I watch 100 bad films just to find one film like "The Man Without a Map". They're rare, and should be cherished.

A detective (Shintarô Katsu) is assigned to find a missing man by a beautiful female (Etsuko Ichihara) who is a wife of the lost person. The more the detective attempts to unravel the mystery, the deeper he is dragged into the world of delinquency and pornography where he begins to question his own identity. Numerous facts, frequently contradictory with one another render the whole riddle more impenetrable and the investigation becomes overflowed with pointlessness…

The last collaboration of Kobo Abe and Hiroshi Teshigahara is an exquisitely scripted piece of profound cinema which inquires about one's personality in the hostile modern civilisation. This dreary existential film noir was based on the novel by Abe, published under the same title, which dealt with a problem of perishing people in Japan in the sixties, not unlike a far more experimental cinematic work by Shôhei Imamura i.e. A Man Vanishes from 1967. In the case of Teshigahara's flick, Abe, who was the scripter, is perfectly aware how to adjust the plot to this medium. Thus, the story, upon being modified in some details, cooperates with the aesthetic talent of Teshigahara perfectly. Nevertheless, Teshigahara's movie isn't always as penetrating as the prose and it turns out to be underdeveloped in some moments. Instead of delving into protagonist's psyche and compounding the climax of urban soullessness by including more psychedelic sequences accompanied by portentous soundtrack of the great Toru Takemitsu, Abe and Teshigahara are more concerned about clarifying the whole tale and eventually the outcome isn't entirely satisfying. Sadly, this isn't the sole problematic aspect of The Man Without the Map. The ensemble invariably seems sparse and distant owing to a gently awkward editing. The action skips from one location to another in an inelegant , somehow harsh manner and hence provides a viewer with a sense as though it was heavily cut.

Notwithstanding, the director succeeds in creating a very well-crafted effort despite being slightly superficial in comparison to the more rewarding book by Abe. It's all marked by a touch of genius which is pleasant to glimpse at and take delight in. Teshigaharesque aesthetics are omnipresent and although The Man Without the Map isn't as illusory as its predecessors, Teshigahara stunningly captures the atmosphere of the austere world, devoid of compassion and filled with forlorn spirits, which is filmed through a prism of an inscrutable maze of Tokyo streets. The framing reminiscent of a blend of an American crime flick, a psychological drama as well as a samurai story, in which bamboos and horses are replaced by streetlamps, neons and cars. The stylisation is remarkably opulent and though it does not retain the profoundness of the prose, for more patient cinephiles it will still remain a riveting and fascinating experience.

Shintarô Katsu, known for starring in multiple Zatoichi samurai movies, gives a very good performance and seems the best choice to play the role of a bit gruff, thick-skinned private detective who is troubled by existential angst which more and more is taking him aback. Etsuko Ichihara, who also appeared in The Face of Another from 1966 by Teshigahara, is charming and nice-looking, but she hasn't got enough time to utterly display her acting talent. There are plenty of other gifted, little-known performers such as Osamu Ôkawa and Kiyoshi Atsumi, who push the story further in a graceful way.

Cinematography by Akira Uehara is miraculous and it is obvious that Teshigahara endeavoured to take full advantage of colourful photography in his first coloured motion picture, alike Kurosawa with his Dodes'ka-den from 1970. The outbursts of yellow and red hues are truly bewildering and it is difficult not to appreciate this elaborate visualisation. There is likewise a brilliant utilisation of mirror as well as glass reflexions which might indicate the airiness of human existence in the modern world where an unit is overwhelmed by indifference encircling him. The soundtrack by Toru Takemitsu is genuinely gorgeous. Apart from some non-musical, uneasy, dissonant sounds, the score is adorned by other, more straight-forward and conventional tunes which are soothing and relaxing.

Possibly transforming such a psychologically-tinged book into the movie wasn't a masterstroke, nonetheless the upshot is truly admirable. The subject is scrutinised from a slightly different perspective owing to which the film exists as a separate work of art. Though disparate elements are uneven in terms of quality and the flick never achieves what it aspires to, the advantages of The Man Without The Map are too delightful to be ignored. Its style, murky atmosphere and highly enjoyable execution render the drawbacks virtually invisible to the naked eye and thus a viewer is going to find the material absorbing and refreshing.