Big Bang Love, Juvenile A

When I began to think that Asian cinema reiterates itself and uses the same subjects in the same POV, I met "Big Bang Love, Juvenile A" in Berlinale 2006 and took a deep breath. However I'm one of the fans of Takeshi Miike, the most amazing director in the earth, he again shocked me with beautiful spectacles which reminds me temples of Maya's and interesting ideas about existence. Actually the story is very important in this Miike film. He creates a world from the fantasies of young criminals. Initation rites, fights for supremacy, acts of violence and some of the youths seem to be touched by the golden light of an idealized future (sentence adapted from Berlinale journal). For your consideration, in the beginning of the film there is an amazing dance scene in which a young men both acts and dances... If you're patient, you can solve the mystery of the pilot in the end and you'll feel great...

According to director Takashi Miike, the one in charge of Big Bang Love, Juvenile A among dozens of other films, this is a work that should be taken in almost when "absent-minded", and might even work if one is nodding off during the running time. I found that an intriguing remark as I did nearly nod off during the film, which maybe isn't so much a discredit to the film's work as much as my attention span on a late weekday night. But then this is no ordinary prison drama with a slight Rashomon spin - this is the work of someone so in touch with his craft and artistry with his crew that... you almost don't know what's going on half the time! An irony, perhaps, yet for Miike this is how he usually runs the show, and it's not something you can take your eyes easily off from. There is, as Miike also points out, a tranquility to the picture, almost in spite of its truly abhorrent elements of human nature.

How can I form a premise to tell you about? Most of the actors didn't even know (and, apparently, were comfortable with this after a short while): two inmates, Ariyoshi and Kazuki, are both brought in to prison on separate murder charges. Ariyoshi is more shy, wide-eyed, a little on the side that makes him out to seem like a 'fresh fish' behind the prison walls, while Kazuki won't have any BS as he beats the crap out of anyone who comes near him or makes him do anything. We see these two character brought out in what seems to be very logical means by the actors, even when they're not placed in any sort of reality. By the time we see the two characters truly connecting, they're out by some pyramid or other in the desert talking about where they'd 'rather be.' This is balanced by the actors, both superb in how they look as characters and how they internalize the parts, alongside the drama that unfolds, where a murder has taken place and an investigation follows of everyone in the prison.

But who *really* did it? Miike doesn't provide any easy answers, but then the questions are hard to figure, too. This isn't some Shawshank deal, but a tale told with mood and lighting, color, surrealistic moments, exposition in a stream of consciousness flow, and a sense of the tragic that comes with no way out. As with some of Miike's other films, I didn't even mind I couldn't sometimes follow where the story was going, or what path it would lean toward in its non-linear style (the first half hour appears to be straightforward, but it really wasn't, and isn't, for much of the rest of the show).

But what's most impressive is the use of metaphors and symbols in an intuitive presentation, at least in terms of the themes, whatever they may be, in the wrappings of a beautifully designed and shot and edited film. The colors come off as vibrantly as in Kurosawa, with purple and orange hues folding in, and then some quintessential horrific imagery (i.e. the dead woman curled up like some spider), the solace of the butterfly, and the harsh yellows and bright, over-head yellow lighting of the prison cells. No longer is this simply the cinema verite Miike but someone very comfortable, and Godardian in experimentation, in a studio environment.

While the subject matter isn't easy to take sometimes, and the violence is about to par with one expects from the director (not even so much showing people beaten, though there are, or people committing suicide, which there are, but the impact around it, what isn't shown), it's still a strong effort. Some will just right out hate it or be too bored to care, but for those who give in to its sorrowful corners and impressionist flights of fancy, Big Bang Love has the edge of artistic intent amplified like few others in the past several years.

Takashi Miike considers, "Big Bang Love: A Juvenile Love Story of 4.6 Billion Years", his masterpiece, and while certainly his most intellectually and aeshetically challenging work to date, it falls a tad short, of it's epic aspirations.

For a "love story" there's very little sex, love, affection, or romantic notions of any sort, there's an unstated attraction between the two characters, repressed homosexuality (one of the characters is apparently sexually assaulted by another man at the gay bar where he works, his subsequent revenge the reason for his imprisonment, but it's never shown on screen.) Had the box not mentioned "homo-eroticism" the sexuality of the characters would be impossible to tell for a good deal of the movie.

That being said, this is really more of a murder mystery, whose end is kinda predictable early on.

However Miike has grown somewhat as a director, largely the film takes place on empty stage like sets with only one or two objects in place, like a piece of absurdist theater. There's even an opening interpretive dance sequence, which though beautiful ranks up there with Miikes greatest WTF moments. Though some scenes resemble "Dogville" in their sparseness, there's also subtle use of special effects here, a small animated image of a man trying to escape and being burnt to a crisp, a computer generated impossibly colored sky, and the reoccurring images of the space ship and the ancient temple (the paths within and without). All of the bargain basement effects which Miike has utilized in the past, are integrated well here, from out of nowhere fight scenes, to awkward muted comedic moments of intimacy. So while the story alternates between aggression and tenderness somewhat awkwardly, the visual aesthetics of the movie, fill the screen and the eye with both space and discreet details (otherwise this probably be a two star affair, ratings wise.) If you like Takashi Miike movies, at their most experimental (Gozu, Izo, etc), this is essential viewing, or if you happen to be interested in abstract, philosophical, prison love, sci-fi, murder mysteries....and who isn't?

Takashi Miike (the director) has said that Big Bang Love, Juvenile A or 4.6 Billion Years of Love is best viewed when in a state of "absent-mindedness" and that is just as easily absorbed and taken in if you happen to be nodding off during its running time. And he may just be right. I have now watched this film three times and fell asleep halfway through on the last two. And I typically try not to do that. This is not because the film is boring but rather due to the lyrical and dreamlike quality the film possesses. It has the ability to lull and carry the viewer away into a meditative trance. So I'm going to go on record right now and say how hard it is difficult to write a review of the amazing film that Miike has crafted.

For those who have never heard of Takashi Miike or the creative, compelling and controversial features that he produces at an astonishing rate (up to 15 a year), this may not be the best place to start. Big Bang… stands out in Miike's canon/ oeuvre as one of his most experimental and eloquent, and that's saying something. This is a unique film. Most of us will have never seen anything like it. I have a feeling that it is not for everyone. Some will find it utterly incomprehensible, others will find it astonishingly beautiful, and still some will simply not know what to make of it.

The plot (what little there is) focuses on the budding relationship of two male inmates in a prison in the middle of a vast, empty nowhere. Both men are murderers who, though complete opposites, form a bond of love that transcends the physical realm, the sexual realm and even the realm of time. Which sounds totally pretentious, but trust me, it's not. It's… emotionally honest. And did I mention how gorgeous this thing is to look at? It somehow creates the impression of drawings being put into words. It's not driven by narrative; it is more a montage of images in steady succession to form an ethereal atmosphere. Something important always seems about to happen, but on its own unexpected terms. Miike, in the brilliant and flashy (but not the kind of flashy that distracts from the meaning of the movie, but enhances it) brushstrokes of a true auteur, attempts to paint the landscape of the human heart with strikingly vivid colours.

So, while I haven't really explained anything or gotten my true feelings about Big Bang Love, Juvenile A or 4.6 Billion Years of Love across, you now know about this film and it's director, and maybe you'll see, love and treasure this film or one of Miike's other greats (such as Audition, The Bird People of China, Visitor Q, Dead or Alive, Izo, or the much vaunted Ichi the Killer). Take a risk!

This voyeuristically expressionistic film is set in an unknown future in which Ryuhei Matsuda plays a soft, sad gay bartender imprisoned for his strange and brutal killing of a customer who attacked him, and Masanobu Ando is a Yakuza thug packed to the top with pent-up anger and violence that makes him tight as a drum till he sporadically bursts. The two arrive in a juvenile detention center on the same day and, with nothing in common, they become tangled by yearning, shared visualizations of flight to an imagined world, and a murder of another boy inside the stockade that results in one dead and the other pleading guilty to the carnage. It's a murder mystery of young incarcerated men in lust, seen through surreal composition on sets of darkness and illumination and the simplest trace of detail.

Two detectives try to expose the indictment. "Why did this trigger it?" One of them questions as to why the inmate would lead this course of self-ruin and devastation, seeing a rainbow. "Only he himself knows." In the humankind that judges people under the duplicitous laws prearranged as a result of a perversely archaic edition of religious principles, Miike bares violence in its most honest form, as an instinctive undertaking. It cannot be made clear further than the surface of palpable means of interaction. It's too mysterious and puzzling for anyone beyond of the person perpetrating the action to entirely grasp. Sexual friction and short-tempered violence propel the story to its mind-blowing outcome.

Takashi Miike puts his heart and soul into his fascinating visual actualization of the morally ambiguous story, which is heavily reminiscent of Jean Genet novels like Our Lady of the Flowers. It is avant-garde theater translated onto film, voice-over and screened words as the literal point of view of the investigators. The film is punctuated by wonderful, infectious closing music, and you realize you have just experienced film-making in a unique manner, a conspicuous trance consisting of definite colors alive in the bounds of a vast universe of an unlit void. Thick with striking images like pyramids, a classic sci-fi rocket ship, and an opening dance sequence coming unexpectedly. That's just the tip of the iceberg to all of the creative dexterity Miike affords the viewer.

One may come from this film thinking that it wasn't about the story. That's an understandable way to put it, put it is not quite correct. Really, in order to be a narrative at all, it can only be about the story, but Miike does not betray the sheer weight of the story's content and ideas. Can there have been a simpler depiction of it? The film, essentially, is about existence. It is a concept spanning 4.6 billion years! Miike, who normally makes cynical if not outright self-deprecating microcosmic yakuza and horror movies, has aggregating all of those impressions into a claustrophobic, life-refracting prism of all the world's details and creates a blemish on the face of the world of cinema that audaciously, patiently, calculatedly tackles humankind and the self-worth behind which it hides, self-worth largely created by the belief in God, which this film could be read as implicating doesn't exist. The movie's likely metaphors for evolution and faith have very telling differences in outcome, as the movie's symbolic image of evolution augments and that of religious conviction remains the way it has since the beginning. The movie is only an agent for the viewer to perceive on their terms, however confined to the film's implications. Miike is correct: This is his masterpiece.