I_Ailurophile

While not all his works are equal, I'm firmly of the mind that, alongside contemporary Kurosawa Akira, Kobayashi Masaki was one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live. Even more to the point, there's no doubt in my mind that his original 1962 film, 'Harakiri,' was one of the very best films ever made, if not genuinely the superlative. With this firmly in mind, I've been reticent to watch this 2011 remake. Miike Takashi has made some fantastic movies, but he is also prone to tiresome self-indulgence and excess, and prioritization of senseless style over substance. I was even more discouraged when I learned that this was, specifically, a "3D" remake, for the novelty of "3D" film-making is pointless at best, if not also a gauche distraction from meaningful craftsmanship and storytelling. Could Miike earnestly do justice to the 1962 picture that boasted such intense, tragic gravity, and resonant themes, and impeccable artistry? Could his 'Hara-kiri' be worthwhile on its own merits?

Happily, this is an instance in which Miike restrained himself, and unmistakably put his best foot and most honest intentions forward to retell the tale in the most impactful manner he could. This is the work of a man who wished to honor the revered jidaigeki of past decades, and I believe he has done so much more than not. Screenwriters Takiguchi Yasuhiko and Yamagishi Kikumi mostly remain very faithful to the original - to the point that one might reasonably ask, "why remake it at all?" - and the substance therefore also remains intact. At its core the saga is nothing if not a searing condemnation of feudal Japan, and of any society or belief system that holds symbols, codes, and "honor" sacred while failing or refusing to recognize the humanity of those within that structure, or to protect it. Thus does the story of ronin Tsugumo Hanshiro hold immense power as he calls upon House Ii for the purpose of committing ritual suicide. In some measure the feature practically makes itself with the script as foundation, but this is hardly to count out the excellent contributions of all involved: the production design and art direction are sharp and detailed, as are the costume design, hair, makeup, and props; the filming locations are fetching, and those stunts and effects that are employed are most welcome. Composer Sakamoto Ryuichi needs no introduction as he provides a rich score to complement the proceedings; the cast is superb, chiefly Ichikawa Danjuro in the lead role. And whatever one's opinion of Miike, this is some of the most tight and focused direction I've seen him demonstrate.

And for the record, 'Death of a samurai' is not one of those "3D" flicks that was shaped in a way so as to zealously accentuate discrete elements. In fact, I get the sense that unless one saw it during its initial theatrical run, one wouldn't know it was meant to be "3D" at all unless one reads up on the production. Which, again, reasonably raises the question of "why bother in the first place?"

I am pleasantly surprised by how good this is, for I had significant doubts long before I first committed to watching. It turns out that Miike is, in fact, capable of making a solid drama, and of making something without falling back on his most questionable tendencies. Be that as it may, I also don't think this iteration is perfect, and to the extent that it does differ from Kobayashi's masterpiece, I don't think the alterations were particularly beneficial. Made 50 years after its inspiration, one could hardly expect this to be a shot for shot recreation, or to boast the same film-making sensibilities. Even so, as Miike exercises modern notions of film-making, I do not think that they serve the material quite as well. The writing and maybe even more so Miike's direction often seem brusque and forthright; not least when it comes to the last stretch and the elucidation of the underlying themes, the doing therefore feels gawkily overt and unwieldy. That direction affects the acting in turn at some junctures. I question some choices of editing, and sequencing. Sakamoto's music is marvelous in and of itself, and grows more solemn and stirring just as the narrative does as time goes by; be that as it may, some musical themes herein seem ill-fitting for the material. That material also includes some scenes or beats that have been needlessly padded out in some measure, by writing or by execution adding slight flavors of conventional drama into the mix. And before all is said and done, it just wouldn't be a Miike production if we didn't get some little sliver of stylization that simply feels like a step too far. None of these matters in and of themselves are so severe as to dampen the lasting value; all of them, together, put just enough of a scuff on the proverbial armor that it ultimately comes across as imperfect.

If "imperfect" is the worst I have to say about Miike's 'Hara-kiri,' however - not least for all the reservations I had going in - then the man has done very well for himself. I will continue to hold Kobayashi and his original in the utmost esteem, and approach Miike's oeuvre with a degree of caution. Especially for modern audiences, however, and those with a stubborn predilection for modern sensibilities, this is gratifyingly strong, and a fine credit to all involved. I wouldn't go so far as to say one needs to see 'Death of a samurai,' but it really is worth checking out, and I'm glad to find Miike proving me wrong.

It's easy to praise the nuts and bolts of what went into this film. I can't speak to William Styron's novel, but filmmaker Alan J. Pakula crafted a stupendous screenplay in adaptation that deftly weaves together the dourly dramatic (and sometimes whiplash-inducing) framing of the "present day" with the gnawing horror of the flashback sequences. The characterizations are underhandedly but achingly complex, some of the dialogue is altogether poetic (even outside of referenced verses), and the scene writing is unfailingly striking; I might take some issue with perceived imbalance in how the story is written as past and mostly the present are woven together, but in fairness, when all is said and done that seems like a negligible point. Pakula's direction is just as marvelously steady, deliberate, and thoughtful in drawing the pieces together, and likewise Evan A. Lottman's editing. I admire Nestor Almendros' cinematography, and the tasteful, sepia-toned wash that drains color from the image for the flashbacks. The production design, costume design, and hair and makeup are tremendous; the sound is so impeccable that even whispers, and voices heard over a phone line, are crystal clear in a manner that filmmakers and sound engineers are apparently all but incapable of doing in the industry of 40 years later. Marvin Hamlisch's score largely sticks to the background but is a soft yet superb complement where it does take precedence. And what can one say of the cast - namely Peter MacNicol, and Kevin Kline, but above all Meryl Streep - except that they are altogether magnificent? We often take for granted when actors are described as "great," but each resoundingly proves it here, and Streep in particular is an understated powerhouse who does much to carry this feature all by herself. Unless we scrutinize and nitpick there can be no disputing the excellence with which this was crafted.

Yes, such words are easy to summon. Much, much harder is to organize one's thoughts, and describe, and come to meaningful terms with, the picture we have just watched. There are strains in the "present-day" framing of a more ordinary comedy-drama following three friends, immeasurable secrets among them, but the feelings of "ordinary" fall away before all is said and done as that portion of the tale grows more ponderous. And still this is nothing compared to the unbearable weight of the flashback sequences, bringing to vivid life on celluloid the unconscionable atrocities of another time - atrocities which are nonetheless being perpetrated once again as I speak - and the terrible, indescribable choices that one person made in the middle of them, at once both detestable and unenviable, and understandable and beyond comprehension. I am well acquainted with storytelling, particularly in the cinematic medium, so stirring that I am moved to tears, or in other cases to catch my breath. With all the utmost skill that the participants in 'Sophie's choice' bring to the proverbial table, and with the material at hand, I cannot currently recall another instance in which storytelling truly stunned me to silence. The beats to transpire herein are so unimaginably heavy that they are beyond my capability to form words around, or frankly to even process. And with that in mind, the framing that might arguably clash at times with the flashbacks seems to grow more cohesive over the course of two and one-half hours, until by the end the shock and the dourness gel into one staggering whole that defies easy discussion.

I don't know how many times I've ever used the word "gobsmacked" but it applies in this instance. Before I sat to watch I knew nothing specific of 'Sophie's choice,' and was aware only of vague, broad impressions of immense drama. For both the writing and the execution, I was not at all prepared for what the feature would actually serve up. This is hardly the first title I've ever seen that explored or touched upon genocide, crimes against humanity, the appalling cruelty that humans are capable of visiting upon one another, or impossible choices, let alone warped relationships between people. It might be the first title that left me speechless, not because I couldn't get on board with what the filmmaker was doing, but because the storytelling was that difficult and powerful. Suffice to say that one must be aware on at least some level of the gravity of the subject matter, and the overarching tenor, to be remotely prepared to watch. Yet I cannot recommend this movie highly enough. For the incredible acting, for all the fine work that went into it from behind the scenes, and not least for the potency of all the sum total represents, 'Sophie's choice' is an essential classic that everyone needs to see at least once.

What a wordsmith Ernest Thompson must be. I don't need to know anything else about him to recognize this, just as I don't need to have seen his play to recognize how his screenplay was obviously adapted from the stage. Even the earliest of scenes between Ethel and Norman are a delight in the juxtaposition of their persnickety quibbles and their sweet love of many years. It's astonishing, in retrospect, that screen legends Katharine Hepburn and Henry Fonda never worked together up to this point, for they share tremendous chemistry and slide into their roles with a natural ease that's terrifically pleasing. That's to say nothing of the supporting cast including Jane Fonda, and from the very start the characters with their quarrelsome personalities, each line of dialogue, and each scene boast a warmth and joy that evokes fond recollections of simpler times. By all means, more dramatic notes enter the tableau in due course, but between Thompson's writing and Mark Rydell's direction, both keenly zeroing in on the interactions between characters in discrete moments, I don't know that I've ever seen a movie that felt so clearly sourced from the stage. And at the same time, I don't know how many movies I've ever seen that were such a heartwarming delight.

The mood ranges from irresistibly charming, to astoundingly awkward, to unexpectedly funny, to just plain raptly absorbing. With writing, direction, and acting this superb, the blend of character drama, wide-ranging family dynamics, and ruminations on aging result in a picture as captivating as anything more plot-driven or action-oriented. Under this enviable conditions, even young Doug McKeon, only 15 years old at the time, turns in a sharp performance that quite surprisingly turns heads as he keeps pace with his elders. One can discern some parity with TV productions, in that medium of a generally tamer and more sterilized bent, as generations and temperaments collide with big swings in tone, yet from top to bottom 'On Golden Pond' is crafted with a unity of vision, and a wholehearted, unreserved deliberateness, that maintains a certain cutting edge to the proceedings even as the overall vibe is soft and congenial. These don't even seem like words that should go together, yet such is the unflagging skill and intelligence that all involved could claim. From the most outward inclusions to small subtleties that capture the imagination, it just can't be overstated what a treasure this is as the minutes tick by, fluidly and all too quickly.

Frankly, in both writing and execution this just seems flawless. At one point or another it may turn so dramatic as to be heartbreaking, or so silver-tongued as to almost inspire a cringe - then in the next moment we'll be greeted with a line or a piece of acting or direction so brilliant that we catch our breath. And still every last word in the script meshes together with impeccable cohesion, and an aching earnestness that's profoundly gratifying. This isn't merely about the storytelling on hand, or the memories it may stir up; there's also a thick air here of fervently wishing this is how our lives could always be: not in the specifics of the characters and setting, per se, but in the unswerving honesty and unwavering bonds shared in the relationships between these figures. And, heck, this is to say nothing of Billy Williams' bright, attentive cinematography, or Robert L. Wolfe's equally adept editing, nor the beautiful filming locations and lovely production design. Ultimately I wonder if this isn't just one of the best films ever made.

There are times when it verges on sentimentality to the point of being saccharine and gauche. It never reaches that point, however, and from start to finish every single person involved put in outstanding work. This is a feature that at once boasts more heart and humor than the vast preponderance of the medium could claim, and I just cannot recommend it highly enough. There's a reason 'On Golden Pond' remains such a revered classic, and even at that I think it deserves more recognition. However one needs to go about watching, this is an utmost gem, and everyone needs to see it at least once at some point in their lives.