Month: November 2010

Categories
drama, melodrama gendai-geki shomin-geki

“Kamome Shokudou”: A bite of Onigiri fills the stomach and the soul

Based on Mure Yoko’s Kamome Shokudou, Kamome Shokudou or Seagull Diner (Ogigami Naoko, 2006) is the first ever film to be entirely shot in Helsinki, Finland in the history of Japanese cinema. Yet Kamome Shokudou embodies the traditional elements of Japanese films established by such directors as Ozu Yasujirō, reflected in its limited camera movement, pillow shots,[1] and depiction of a Zen atmosphere. The story circulates around Sachie (Kobayashi Satomi), the protagonist and owner of Kamome Shokudou, and her encounters with people from all walks of life including Midori (Katagiri Hairi), Masako (Motai Masako), and Tommi Hiltonen (Jarko Niemmi). Kamome Shokudou is a shomin-geki that takes an objective, yet humorous look on the preciousness of everyday life made up of trivial incidents and chance encounters.

The story begins at the harbor of Helsinki with a close-up of a large seagull, as Sachie narrates her love for plump creatures. She wryly recollects how she cried more when her overweight cat Nanao died compared to when her frail mother got hit by a truck and passed away. This ironic opening line already sets the slightly off-beat tone of the film. It has been one month since the opening of Kamome Diner. There has been only one customer, Tommi Hiltonen, a Finnish anime enthusiast who asks Sachie to write down the lyrics for the opening theme song of Gatcha-Man, a popular Japanese anime from the 1970s. This incident leads her to Midori, whom Sachie spots at a local library and asks her if she knows the Gatcha-Man song. To much of Sachie’s delight, Midori does. One thing leads to another and soon, Midori is working at Kamome Shokudou, later joined by Masako, a middle aged Japanese woman who cannot leave Finland because of her missing suit case.  As the story progresses through a series of surreal events, more and more local customers are drawn into the diner for the store’s main menu, the Onigiri, known as the soul food for Japanese people.

The key to enjoying Kamome Shokudou lies in the seemingly miscellaneous scenes that are peppered throughout the film. Although these scenes may seem meaningless or disruptive of the story’s entire flow, they reflect the emotional development of the characters in Kamome Shokudou. Such usage of low angle shots with limited pan movement and pillow shots which reflect the passing of time successfully brings out the humanistic quality much like Ozu’s shomin-geki films.

The sequences of pillow shots in Kamome Shokudou of Sachie swimming in an indoor swimming pool is one of the most poignant scenes. While the audience learns of Kamome Shokudou’s staggering business, the film cuts to the first pool scene. Here, Sachie is swimming against everybody else who swims to the opposite side of the pool, leaving her alone on-screen. The second cut displays Sachie freely floating in the pool and letting the water carry her. This scene is shown immediately after Midori and Masako begin working at the diner, bringing some liveliness to the otherwise desolate store. In the last scene, Sachie is again shown floating, although this time, she is surrounded by her fellow swimmers who are clapping their hands as if in approval. These three scattered yet sequential scenes indicate the gradual acceptance of Sachie by the people of Helsinki who are first skeptical, thus swimming against her, but eventually come to love the food at her diner, leading to the success of Kamome Shokudou. Earlier in a conversation with Midori, Sachie expresses her hopes for her diner to succeed among local Finnish people rather than Japanese tourists. The applause Sachie receives in this climatic pool scene confirms how she has finally lived up to her own dreams and connected with the Finnish community.

Another powerful scene in Kamome Shokudou that captures the essence of human life is when Masako goes to the forest. Previously, it was revealed that Masako spent most of her adult life tending to her ill parents who had recently passed away. Furthermore, Masako remembers watching an air guitar contest annually held in Finland on TV and being awed by the carefree impression of the Finnish people. When she inquires why Finnish people seem so composed and relaxed, Tommi tells her to go to the forest. Hence, the movie cuts to Masako picking yellow mushrooms at a forest, taking in its beautiful scenery. Masako’s slight figure shot from a low angle against the immensity of the forest indicates the power of nature with man only being a part of it – one of the important themes of Kamome Shokudou. Instead of attempting to distinguish themselves as more important than their surrounding environment, the characters in Kamome Shokudou peacefully co-exist within nature, following the philosophy of Zen Buddhism.  For Masako, by immersing herself in the serenity of the forest, she is finally able to relieve the exhaustion of caring for her sickly parents for 20 years.

No tear-jerking love story or heart-warming family episode is told in Kamome Shokudou. In fact, there is no specific type of emotion that Ogigami intentionally conveys in the film, especially in the more surreal scenes of the swimming pool and the forest. Instead, the audience is free to develop their own interpretation, connecting the scenes to their own day-to-day life or memories from the past, which in itself, is a humanistic experience. I highly recommend this to any classical shomin–geki fans or people looking for an indulgent visual experience where less is more. Lastly, a warning to people attempting to watch the film on an empty stomach – besides the onigiri, there are many other mouth-watering shots of Kamome Shokudou’s dishes like the crispy pork cutlet or grilled salmon. It is advisable to enjoy the movie after dinner or a light snack.

[1] Noel Burch, To the Distant Observer: Form and Meaning in Japanese Cinema (Scholar Press, 1979), pp. 161

Categories
J-horror literary adaptations

The Horror of “The Ring”

Ringu (The Ring, 1998), directed by Nakata Hideo and based on Suzuki Kôji’s 1991 novel of the same name, is a blend of mystery and horror that deals with the relatively new cultural anxiety that is nervous about the way movies and video can affect us as people; for example, the debate around whether or not violent movies make people more violent or not. This theme of anxiety was expressed in a similar mysterious and horrifying way by director David Cronenberg in Videodrome (1983).

The Ring begins, like any good thriller, in ordinary life. In this case it is two teenage girls named Tomoko (Takeuchi Yuko) and Masami (Sato Hitomi). Masami tells her friend Tomoko about a videotape that when viewed will cause you to die within exactly seven days to the very second. They laugh, and try to brush it off, but Tomoko is obviously concerned.  Finally, she relates to Masami that her and three other friends viewed a film seven days ago that fits this one’s description exactly; down to the detail that they received an anonymous, voiceless phone call right after their viewing. Subsequently, Tomoko dies that very night with a vacant, but agonized expression lacerated on her face. The film then cuts to Asakawa Reiko (Matsushima Nanako) a journalist who is investigating the story of the video tape and its possible connection to the deaths of teenagers.

Reiko, it turns out, is the aunt of Tomoko but it takes her a while before she connects her niece’s death to the video tape. When Reiko finally makes this connection she is able to find clues to the mystery in Tomoko’s room, namely a curious picture. The picture has an interesting detail that really adds to the story’s eerie qualities. Once you have been marked for death, by watching the videotape, any picture that is taken of you will have your face blurred, or smeared across the photo like blood on a wall. Therefore when Reiko, after tracing Tomoko’s footsteps, finds and watches the video tape in a cabin her niece went to, the film is able to give solid proof that Reiko is also now affected by the curse and will die in seven days.

The impending death of Reiko is what drives the film’s plot. Reiko now has to hurry her investigation against a ticking time bomb to discover what makes people die from this videotape in order to save her own life. In the course of events she enlists the help of her ex-husband Takayama Ryuji (Sanada Hiroyuki) and an old man from a small island fishing village called Oshima. During the course of the investigation a very close loved one of hers views the tape as well which increases the gravity and desperation with which her search must succeed.

To tell too much of the plot is to give away the film’s sense of mystery. These mysteries are: one, how the videotape kills and two, why it even possesses this lethal power. These story points help drive the action and excitement of watching the film. Suffice to say that on Oshima Island there is the history of an old psychic who was exploited and then humiliated that helps open the doors to understanding the mystery. Further, the mystery beyond driving the plot ultimately leads to a dark and dismal theme about choosing your life or another’s. Despite this, even if you have seen the film before, or watched the Hollywood remake, The Ring (2002), or read the book, you know the mystery is just one aspect of the film’s intrigue. The horror and suspense adds another level to the film.

As mentioned before the film draws upon the anxiety of what film, video, or simply an image may be able to do to you. Beyond the social implications of this anxiety there is a more visceral one: what if the horrible evil in a film could crawl out and attack you within the comfort of your home, or movie theatre. The video tape itself resembles a 1920’s surrealist silent film, one that could have been made by Salvador Dalí and/or Luis Buñuel. It has dark and grainy images that cut in jarring and unmotivated ways to reveal an emaciated girl with long black hair covering her face and an old well; if a film could come and end your life this may be the film to do it.

The film’s music is very distinct as well and really helps place the film in the horror genre. At moments of intensity and anxiety the violins screech similar to the way Hitchcock employs them in Psycho (1960). The effect is great in increasing the film’s tense, uneasy anxiety. For example, the final scene with Takayama Ryuji would probably still be horrifying without the music but the addition of it really helps bolster the anxiety and fear Ryuji must be feeling and therefore the audience as well. Along with this technique the film’s cinematography lends tan anxious tone. The characters are often framed very tightly; they seemed somewhat cramped on screen either with each other or with the scenery around them. Not much is revealed as a result of this. As an audience member all you can see is a small frame and anything could be lurking around the corner; whether it is a clue to solving the mystery or some deadly force ready to take another life. One of the film’s climactic scenes shows this. Reiko and Ryuji are underneath a cabin and in an old well. The space is claustrophobic in and of itself with its low ceiling, dark space and suffocating water. The camera increases this by framing the two characters almost exclusively in medium and close-up shots. The director even includes shots of the bright, cheerful, sunny day outside to contrast the dark dismal interior he has placed his characters in. This sense of claustrophobia created by the set as well as the camera really works to increase the anxiety of this scene.

The anxiety that this film creates is truly unique. Often people comment how a film kept them on the edge of their seat; this film has done that. It achieves this effect without intense scenes of violence or gore. Instead the film has played upon the strange fear that the visual media may have over us. This more psychological tactic to frighten the audience is similar to the techniques used by Hitchcock in his horror, mystery, thriller, films. All in all it is a film that you will want to watch a few more times just to see if the film can frighten you again, and its themes and images, beyond their chilling effect, are intriguing to think about even when you are done viewing the film.

Categories
jidai-geki romance

The Honor of the Blind Samurai

Love and Honor (Bushi no Ichibun) is a movie directed by Yamada Yōji in 2006. It is one of Yamada’s newest films from his samurai trilogy, created after the popular hits Twilight Samurai and The Hidden Blade. Since Yamada cast one of the most popular Japanese celebrities, Kimura Takuya, as a main actor, this film alongside Yamada’s talent received enormous attention from media and success in the box office. Besides its popularity, Love and Honor is known to be a jidai–geki and also a romance film set in Japan’s late Edo period. As pointed out in the title, the theme of the movie is love and honor. Instead of depicting dramatic romance or fast-paced flashy actions, Yamada illustrates a slow and ordinary relationship between a samurai and his supportive wife as well as the struggles a samurai goes through to attain honor. This theme is signified by Yamada’s utilizations of lighting as well as the simple but effective choices of sound.

This film revolves mainly around a low ranking samurai Shinnojo (Kimura Takuya) and his wife Kayo (Dan Rei) in feudal Japan. Shinnojo is a low ranking samurai, who lives happily with his beautiful and devoted wife. Due to his low samurai status, he works as a food taster for his shogun (feudal lord). Because of this unsatisfying low-status job, he dreams of becoming a sword teacher to teach children from all classes. Unfortunately, before achieving his dream, Shinnojo falls ill from eating poisonous sashimi made from off-season shellfish. Suffering from prolonged fever, Shinnojo finally goes blind. Receiving news about Shinnojo’s permanent blindness, Kayo seeks financial help from the high-status samurai Shimada Toya, who forcefully rapes Kayo in return. A few days later, Shinnojo and Kayo receives good news that the castle will distribute a stipend of rice to Shinnojo as welfare, which Shimada acclaims as his great deed. However, Shimada had no part in the decision regarding the rice; it is the shogun who decided to offer rice to Shinnojo. Shinnojo becomes outraged when he finds Shimada lied to Kayo about offering assistance in return for sexual favors from Kayo. Angered by this insult and damaged pride, Shinnojo divorces Kayo and decides to avenge Shimada for his lost honor. Finally, this movie reaches its climax when the two samurai, Shinnojo and Shimada, meet near the river for a sword duel to retain honor.

Yamada’s choice of distinct lighting effectively conveys the theme. Yamada symbolizes honor by changing the degree of brightness. Yamada frequently uses contrasting luminescence, which effectively conveys loyalty, sacrifice, and devotion of characters. These qualities are highlighted in the code of samurai ethics, thus underlining the honor of samurai. For example, the first distinct change in lighting can be seen in the scene of ritual suicide. One of the chief food testers decides to commit seppuku in order to make up for his responsibility for Shinnojo’s blindness. In this scene, he faces bright illumination while others praying in the neighboring room receive almost no light. This sharp contrast in brightness signifies the honor the chief regains by hara-kiri. Choice of luminous intensity also works as a metaphor for honor. For instance, the focus of the spotlight switches from Kayo to Shinnojo when Kayo sacrifices her body to defend her husband’s honor, thus making Kayo appear under the shadows. This creates a melancholic mood, which portrays Kayo’s lost loyalty and honor. Also, the effect of lighting is significant in the climax scene where two samurai Shinnojo and Shimada fight for the sake of their honor. During the Edo period, it was considered a great honor for samurai to participate in a sword duel, so the climax is highlighted by a screen full of lights. Yamada utilizes soft and bright illumination in the duel scene. Instead of focusing on either character, Yamada brightens up the whole atmosphere surrounding Shinnojo and Shimada, since two samurai under duel is believed to be honorable.

Simple off screen sounds emphasize its storyline as well as its theme of love. The non-diegetic music used in this film is rather simple, not dynamic or as large scale as contemporary Hollywood film music. Instead of using a full orchestra, Yamada frequently uses traditional musical instruments such as the flute and taiko drums. Since Yamada’s scenes are simple, this choice of minimal and plain sounds fit well with his scenes. At the same time, this simplicity helps to emphasize strong emotions carried out in the film. Whenever Kayo shows great support, devotion, and love toward Shinnojo, the soft sounds of a flute begin to play. The sound of a flute is very simple but it is so soft that it is very effective in conveying Kayo’s support and immense love. For example, when Kayo softly kisses exhausted Shinnojo, who cannot get out of bed because of poison, a gentle sound of a vertical flute starts playing. This sound reflects Kayo’s determination to love Shinnojo for the rest of her life.

Yamada’s masterful use of lighting and simple off-screen sounds are very effective in accentuating its theme of love and honor. Although some audiences may feel this film lacks surprise and excitement because of its slowness, simplicity, and lack of fast-paced action scenes one may expect from jidai-geki, all of these elements effectively combine to bring a climatic confrontational duel of samurai honor. Overall, Love and Honor is recommended to everyone, especially for those who have seen Yamada’s earlier films.

Categories
anime drama, melodrama science-fiction

Philosophy, Memory and Technology: A review of Oshii Mamoru‘s “Ghost in the Shell”

Ghost in the Shell (Kôkaku Kidôtai), an anime film directed by Oshii Mamoru and released in Japan in 1995, is an exploration of technology, information and the human soul. Based on a manga written by Masamune Shirow, the film envisions a future where technology and biology are blended seamlessly, and consciousness is spread out in a vast network of information. Within this world lives Major Mokoto Kusanagi,  a cyber-cop who is given the task of stopping criminals from hacking into the “ghosts” of government officials. The Japanese version of the film features the voices of Tanuko Atsuko as the Major and Ôtsuka Akio as her second-in-command Batô; it was also released dubbed in English, featuring the voices of Mimi Woods and Richard Epcar. Ghost in the Shell was intended to be viewed by a large international audience with a broad, theatrical release (Ebert 1996), but its complexity, sexuality, and exploration of difficult philosophical issues make it a cult film rather than a mainstream blockbuster.

Ghost in the Shell depicts a dystopic future where the integration of biology and technology has eliminated the security of thought. Criminals are able to “hack” the human mind, and implant false memories, thereby controlling the victim’s motivation and will. The Major and Batô are in pursuit of a mastermind hacker called the Puppet Master, who is threatening diplomatic relations with other sectors as well as stealing information by hacking into the minds of government officials. As the Major hunts the Puppet Master, she begins to question her own nature: she is a cyborg officer, mainly composed of mechanical parts with only a few organic cells to identify her as human. In a world where memories are subject to exchange and corruption like so many data files, what is the difference between human and machine? As they uncover the mystery of the Puppet Master, they discover that he was never human: rather, he is a lifeform born within the sea of information. He’s come to find the Major, and what he wants from her will blur the lines between memory and technology beyond what she’s ever imagined.

For a film with such a dynamic plot, there is a conspicuous lack of movement. Static shots of the cityscape last for several moments: the “camera” remains stationary and often the only motion within the shot is the rain softly falling. Characters, too, are frequently motionless: their bodies and heads remain stationary as they deliver their lines, often in extended monologues lasting for several minutes. The stillness adds a certain weight to the subject matter, and time for the viewer to consider what’s being said onscreen. This time is essential for comprehending the film: every line delivers a philosophical punch, and Ghost in the Shell provides much food for thought.

The animation of Ghost in the Shell is spectacular, and the sprawling cityscape represents the decline of life through the rise of technology. The monolithic grey towers that form the skyline of Section 9, where the film takes place, symbolize the domination of technology. There is no evidence of greenery, and the only reminder of life is the occasional emaciated dog roaming the shadowy streets. People, cowering under umbrellas, are dwarfed by the landscape that surrounds them. The stillness of the film emphasizes this dominance of technology: the city seems ghostly, empty of life. The soundtrack gives weight to this feeling, and its wailing and mournful sounds seem to echo through the empty, rain-drenched streets. The final shot in the film reinforces the connection between landscape and technology: a bird’s-eye view of the city reveals its shape to be reminiscent of the circuitboards of a computer.

Ghost in the Shell is a complex and fascinating film, one that I thoroughly recommend watching. The animation is astounding, and it’s worth watching the film for the visuals alone; however, it’s the philosophical questions and the provocative ways in which the film answers that are the most interesting aspects of the film. The philosophy is heavy-handed at times: the film makes no effort to hide its deeper questions in theme and symbolism, choosing instead to have the characters explore them in depth through dialogue. I watched both the English and the Japanese version of the film, and I recommend the latter: although the English version makes it easier to fully appreciate the visuals if you don’t speak Japanese, the voices and dialogue in the Japanese version are far superior, and the expression of philosophical concepts is far more natural. Ghost in the Shell is decidedly an adult film, containing an extensive amount of nudity and violence (it is a film about a dystopic future, after all), but the adult content is not gratuitous. The film explores the concept of body and how it relates to both technology and the soul, and thus the attention paid to the Major’s nearly constantly naked form is symbolically significant as well as visually appealing. If you haven’t seen Ghost in the Shell, watch it: it’ll give you something to think about long after the credits stop rolling.

Works Cited

Ebert, Roger. “Ghost in the Shell.” Chicago Sun-Times. 12 April 1996. Web. 1 Nov 2010.

Categories
comedy drama, melodrama shomin-geki

“Moe no Suzaku” by Kawase Naomi

Moe no Suzaku is Kawase Naomi’s first feature released in 1997. Kawase Naomi is one of the few female Japanese movie directors that became the youngest winner of la Caméra d’Or award at the 1997 Cannes Film Festival for this film. She produced several documentary films previously but her name was rarely heard in Japan until Moe no Suzaku was internationally recognized. The title of this film (it does not have an English-translated title) Moe no Suzaku’s ‘moe’ means germination and ‘suzaku’ refers to both summer and a mythical god. Both of these words have some poetical sense (rarely used in daily life) and depict an image of trees and plants bursting into leaf during summer time. Interestingly Kawase purposely avoided using professional actors and actresses and instead recruited all but one cast members from ordinary peoples of the local village where the movie was filmed, adding a distinct taste to the film. Moe no Suzaku, like Kawase’s other works, focuses on the process of eventual breakup within a family, and can be categorized as a shomin–geki for its genre.

The film is set in a small mountain-top timber village located in Nara prefecture. The village is largely isolated, surrounded by mountains, and villagers there are mostly the elders who are concerned about the outflow of population into towns and cities due to lack of educational and job opportunities caused by economic recession. In this abandoned village lives a family of Taharas. The family is composed of Kozo (the family head), Yasuko (Kozo’s wife), Michiru (daughter of the couple), Eisuke (Kozo’s older sister’s son) and Sachiko (Kozo’s mother). Kozo is initially very enthusiastic about the plan of building a tunnel through the village to improve the accessibility of the area and also to bring some economic benefit by creating more job opportunities. However, the construction is halted half-way through due to lack of budget caused by the recession and the tunnel is left untouched for years afterwards. Kozo, after losing all his hope of reconstructing the village and his job as a constructor, stops doing anything but listening to his old music record all day at home. Eisuke is now the main financial supporter of the family by working at a hotel in the town nearby and Yasuko also decides to work there with Eisuke despite her ill-health. Sachiko engages in small-scale farming and Michiru goes to high-school by taking an hours-long bus ride. One day Yasuko collapses at her workplace because of flu and her already ill health gets even worse from hard work. Looking at his wife’s sleeping face and his elder mother’s bent back, Kozo finally makes up his mind and, after playing his favorite music record, goes off with his 8mm camera without ever coming back.  The camera is returned to the family by the police and the rest of the members watch the film of the village made by Kozo. Physically and mentally exhausted, Yasuko decides to return to her family town with Michiru, while Eisuke and Sachiko remains in the house. Thus the family is dissolved as the village itself is gradually deconstructed.

As soon as the film starts, one will notice that the film, although it is a fiction, is very similar to a documentary or even a family video; it shows real people of the village engaging in their ordinary daily lives from cooking, farming, and buying groceries, to children playing and laughing. Especially in the scene when the family is watching the film left by Kozo, the camera work is so simple and natural, without any additional editing and special effects, that one would assume it is really taken by an amateur. People shown in the film are also either standing there stiffly with awkward smile like in a picture or engaging in daily lives without a hint of acting. Kawase also purposely avoids using background music, thus emphasizing the natural sound of wind, tree leaves, falling rain, insects, children’s laughter, and family’s voices. Dialogue is limited to the minimum and no dramatic events happen; even the death of father is depicted more as an unavoidable consequence rather than a tragic. However, despite the simplicity in all aspects, each scene and each shot is extremely well-composed and the aesthetic beauty of the village is fully revealed through the simple camerawork; indeed, each scene makes a beautiful picture that has vivid color, sound, and even smell. For example, in the scene in which Yasuko picks up her little daughter from kinder-garden with Eisuke wearing his school bag and three of them walk in the forest, none of them speaks and no sound is heard except for gentle breeze and tree leaves. The long shot shows the three of them walking slowly away from the camera under the summer sun. Although the scene itself is extremely simple, yet the aesthetic beauty enhances the realness in addition to giving a sense of fantasy as if it indicates that the childhood was a sweet dream that never really existed.

Moe no Suzaku is certainly not for any audience because of its peculiar style; it does not depend on dialogue, special visual/sound effect, elaborate story-line and plot. However, the pureness and aesthetic beauty of the film makes it very distinct and special. Let me conclude this review with Donald Richie’s comment; “There are no melodramatic complications in this purposefully inarticulate film…What holds the attention and compels admiration is not only the lyric beauty of Masaki Tamura’s photography but the honesty of the director.”[1]

[1] Moe no Suzaku. (1977). Moving Pictures. Retrieved October 30, 2010, from http://www.filmfestivals.com/cannes97/cfilmd5.htm

Categories
comedy drama, melodrama gendai-geki romance shomin-geki

The Road to True Love

The Yellow Handkerchief (Shiawase no kiiroi hankachi, 1977) is a film directed by Yamada Yoji. The lead male actor is Shima Yusaku, whose real name is Takakura Ken. Yamada had been working on episodes of the ultra-popular Tora-san series which shares many similarities with The Yellow Handkerchief. The film was later remade as a Western movie by producer Arthur Cohn. Yamada states that the original story is an American story, and he adopted it as Japan-based story (Michi Kaifu). It was also the winner of the first Best Picture award at the Japan Academy Prize. This film can be categorized into more than one genre, including comedy, romance and drama. However, in my view, its primary genre is romance. The film begins with a comic mood and the story gradually become heart-warming.

The film is about a road trip of three strangers who originally meet together out of loneliness. In the opening scene, Takeda Tetsuya is depressed because his girlfriend breaks up with him; therefore he quits his job and decides to go on a trip with his new car. He meets a girl Ogawa Akemi in Hokkaido and she decides to travel with Tetsuya. At the beach, Tetsuya and Akemi meet Yusaku, the lead male actor who was just released from prison. Flashback scenes are like puzzles that put together Yusaku’s memories. One of the flashback scenes shows that Yusaku writes his ex-wife Shima Mitsue a letter after he is released from prison. He wants to know the well-being of his ex-wife and asks her to tie a yellow handkerchief on the flagpole if she is still alone. If he does not see any yellow handkerchief, he will leave her forever. Tetsuya decides to offer Yusaku a ride. Yusaku is like a mysterious person since he always thinks before he speaks. His background and his purposes are unknown until later on. On the way home, Yusaku looks forward to seeing his wife, while he is afraid and anxious because he might see what he does not want to see in the end, and that would mean the collapse of his last hope in life.

This film captures the ideal lover of the traditional Japanese: a tall man whose true love is covered behind a serious and tough look, and who does not know how to express his love to his lover; a woman who is faithful to her lover and willing to suffer for her lover until he is back on her side, and forgives him for his wrong doing. In my view, the reason why this film is so popular is because it depicts the classic view on love: tolerance, forgiveness, sincerity. The director contrasts two male in this film: Yusaku and Tetsuya. Tetsuya is a young man who is hurt by love and who has become careless about love and women, whereas Yusaku is deeply affectionate to his ex-wife. In one film scene, Yusaku madly criticizes Tetsuya as the latter attempts to sexually harass Akemi, he says “Akemi is a lady and ladies are fragile like flowers, so we can’t harm them. As men, we should protect them, but you horndog, do you behave like a man?!” As the movie progresses, we learn that Yusaku is a coal miner who accidently killed a gangster and was put into jail. He missed his wife very much while he was in jail. However, he understands that his wrongdoing might hold up onto his wife’s future life, therefore, he divorces with his wife and hopes she can find a better man. In the movie, Yusaku acts more like a mature man compared to Tetsuya who does not show respect to women. This road trip symbolizes our lives which gradually change from absurd to sensible. In the end, Tetsuya gradually learns to take relationship more seriously and sincerely.

The director tells the story by using well-placed flashbacks as his directing technique. Instead of telling the whole story directly to his audience, the director puts Yusaku’s story into unconnected flashbacks and we gradually learn his past in flashbacks. This creates suspense. In the beginning of the film, I was confused by those sudden pieces of memories from Yusaku. At the end of film, all the flashbacks made sense to me. As Yusaku tells his story through flashbacks, we learn how much he loves Mitsue and we also learn how he ends up in prison, which turns a beautiful love story into a heartbreaking one. The audience is seeking the result as well as the heroine, as well as the two young people, throughout the story. This unique way of telling the story might be one of the features that make this film stand out from others.

This film is focusing on the popular need to love and to trust. The film starts with a comic atmosphere, but there is also a hidden sadness behind this humorous mood. Many of the humorous scenes are very common in daily life such as taking a leak beside the road. All three people in this film carry a great deal of pain which keeps them traveling together. The pain that each of them has is somehow related. Along the road trip, their relationships change in many ways, leading to the second chances in life and love. I like how Arthur Cohn uses this slogan to summarize the film: “A love lost in the past. A love struggling for a future.”  The ways that the director uses to film a romantic film are unusual but beautiful. Thus this film is one worth watching if you enjoy watching a love film or a multi-genre film, and for people in love or seeking the meaning of true love, or who have good or bad memories about love.

Bibliography
MichiKaifu. “Yoji Yamada’s “The Yellow Handkerchief” to Be Remade in Hollywood.” Hoga News. 12 Feb. 2007. Web. 01 Nov. 2010. <http://hogacentral.blogs.com/hoganews/2007/02/yoji_yamadas_th.html>.

Categories
action drama, melodrama extreme

“Battle Royale”

Battle Royale, directed by Fukasaku Kinji and released in 2000, is a controversial film which depicts middle-school classmates being forced to brutally fight to the death, and the moral struggles that naturally arise from this twisted game. The film stars Kitano Takeshi as the cold and complex teacher overseeing his class’s battle, and Fujiwara Tatsuya as a student of the class, and the main protagonist. The violent and explicit content involving 15 year olds created much controversy around the film, and perhaps due to this it collected more attention and has now become a sort of cult-classic. If you don’t mind the amount of death and violence in the film, it actually offers something of interest for most of its viewers—whether it be discussing the nature of humans and morality, or simply enjoying the creative carnage.

The film’s events are set in a fictional, modern Japan that is mired in societal and economic failure, with a notable conflict between the adult and youth generations. The film opens with this statement: “At the dawn of the millennium, the nation collapsed. At 15% unemployment, ten million were out of work. 800,000 students boycotted school. The adults lost confidence and, fearing the youth, eventually passed the Millennium Educational Reform Act, AKA: the BR Act.” This BR(Battle Royale) Act, which forms the basis for the whole film, is an extreme law that states that at the end of every school year, one class among all of Japan’s school classes is to be randomly selected, taken to an abandoned island, given weapons, and told to kill each other. Furthermore, each of the students is fitted with a collar that explodes upon removal, and can be detonated by those overseeing the event.  The last student remaining alive wins and is allowed to return home, though, if there is no single winner after 3 days, all the collars are detonated. The film follows a class selected by the BR Act, and mainly focuses on two of the 15 year old students: Nanahara Shuya, a good-natured boy, and Nakagawa Noriko, a quiet and more reserved girl. While various other characters’ confrontations are also shown, most of the film shows these two students’ cooperative struggle to survive in a battlefield of both classroom friends and enemies.

What the film succeeds mostly in is presenting an original, thought-provoking scenario while also pleasing more casual viewers with intense action and a plot that is rather simple, though housed in the genuinely interesting idea of the BR Act. The intensity of the film is undeniable, as naturally frequent shootouts and skirmishes breakout. However, even simple dialogues between characters become life-threatening, as the students must cautiously guess their classmates’ intents while struggling to decide their own. The idea of the film, the BR Act,  beckons violence and allows for a lot of creative freedom regarding the actual events within the battle, and the content reflects this. The variety of characters and the humorous variety of weapons given makes for scenes one may never see in any other movie, such as a chubby student wielding a crossbow, torn in indecision and crying as he chases and flings deadly arrows at his colleagues. This short scene highlights the success of the film: one can enjoy contemplating the complete reversal of morals and the mental struggle as friends are forced to kill each other to survive, or one can simply enjoy the brutal, creative combat that consistently arises. The film does have a morally-sound hero that is likable, so other viewers can enjoy taking a strong focus on the plot and the protagonists’ struggles, rather than the gore, violence, and philosophical discussions in this film. In this sense, though it is perhaps too explicit for some, this is a film that offers a lot to enjoy for a wide audience.

A clear and prevalent theme of the film is morals being either embraced or forgotten, and the struggles inherent in coming to decide on one way or the other. The true nature of human beings is brought into question as we view what feels like a social experiment, where any law and authority is completely removed. It is interesting to watch what the different students come to value when faced with this game. Many value those they love, making it their mission to protect friends, or admit their feelings to their high-school crushes. Many hold onto their morals and commit suicide early on, unable to participate in such an illicit game. Some become independent killing machines, seeking revenge or pleasure, such as one girl who uses her sexual power to tempt and kill male classmates, or another student who just enjoys everything about the game. We essentially see a mini-society where power and authority is decided by who is willing to kill and who isn’t. Power is there for those who want it, and the film really seems to ask its audience if they would embrace such power, or hold onto the moral beliefs that keep much of our human society in order.

I highly recommend Battle Royale to any viewer who is not too discouraged by the amount of death and violence. The film is definitely original, and presents a scenario that one cannot help but contemplate inserting themselves into and speculating on their own actions. For many, the ingenuity of the film alone is appealing enough, but in content it succeeds in presenting intense and creative action, though often crossing the line for some. There are some scenes that do feel out of place or too contrived; this is not a perfect film. Having said that, its flaws should not hinder the overall experience too much, and the film offers enough to think about and enjoy for a wide range of audiences.

Categories
anime science-fiction

“Paprika”’s Distorted World of Reality and Fear

Directed by the late Kon Satoshi, Paprika (2006) is an animated science fiction film adaptation ofYasutaka Tsutsui’s 1993 novel. The film is highly renowned for its stunning artwork and animation. Moreover, Paprika often leaves the audience stunned by its incredibly complex yet remarkable storyline. While the film takes the viewer through a whirlwind of dreams and nightmares, Satoshi highlights the characters’ fear of technology taking over Japanese society. This becomes a serious theme throughout the film as Doctor Atsuko Chiba (voiced by Hayashibara Megumi) continues to dive deeper into people’s nightmares and discover the ultimate truth dream by dream. Another aspect to consider is Satoshi’s use of visuals to create hyperrealities of the characters’ dreams and their real world. At one point, dreams and reality merge, in which it becomes difficult to determine whether Chiba is in someone’s dream or not. Therefore, the visuals juxtapose dreams and reality to effectively illustrate, in detail, their similarities. As such, the theme and visuals tie the film together as a whole, while at the same time, they leave open-ended and debatable scenarios which then ultimately beg the question, “is this all just a dream?”

Paprika is set in the future where a device called ‘DC Mini’ is invented for dream therapy. This new psychotherapy treatment utilizes the DC Mini to view people’s dreams, allowing its users to explore unconscious thoughts of their patients and dreamers. Chiba leads this treatment and uses this device illegally to help psychiatric patients, which is not permitted in the research facilities. To conceal her identity, Chiba uses her alter ego, Paprika, to delve into and examine the patients’ dream world. Hence, the film opens with Paprika (a.k.a Chiba) counselling Detective Konakawa Toshimi, who is vexed by a recurring dream. The incompleteness of his dreams deeply troubles him and deters him from following his passion for film. Chiba’s method of counseling is heavily disapproved by the Chairman (Emori Tōru) despite Doctor Kosaku Tokita’s (Furuya Tōru) optimistic intentions, the child-at-heart genius and creator of the DC Mini. Before the government can pass an authorization of the use of the DC Mini, three of its models are stolen. Because those prototypes are not complete, they allow anyone to enter another person’s dreams and create an opportunity for the user to perform malicious deeds without getting caught. Chiba/Paprika and Doctor Torataro Shima (Hori Katsunosuke) take this matter into their own hands after two doctors (Tokita and Himuro, who is, at first, suspected as the thief) become victims of the DC Mini. It is up to Paprika to find the roots of the perpetrator responsible for controlling the dreams and why he merges dreams and reality together. Thus, the viewers follow both Chiba and Paprika into a whirlwind of unconscious thoughts and self-reflexive fears, whether they are in dreams or reality or in both. Eventually, Chiba and Konakawa confront and realize their true emotions in order to save their city from mass destruction.

An important subject matter to explore in Paprika is the sense of fear and frustration on the rapid technological advancements in Japanese society. “Implanting dreams into other people’s heads is terrorism,” exclaims Chairman Emori at the beginning of the film. He clearly expresses his disapproval of the DC Mini and aims to be the “predator of the dreamworld” by protecting dreams from being polluted by technology. Ironically, he contradicts himself and ends up using the DC Mini to maliciously control people’s dreams, as exemplified by his monstrous figure and sinister vision of omnipotence. At one point in the film, the Chairman transforms himself into an incredibly large and dark monster-like creature. He also begins to destroy and darken the city with his delusional dreams. This scene in particular is reminiscent of Gojira’s attack of the city in Ishirō Honda’s Gojira (1954). Similarly to Gojira, the city is darkened by smokes with a monster of terror hovering over and destroying buildings. The Chairman’s monstrous transformation is solely from his obsessive and aggressive nature over maintaining purity in people’s dreams, as is Gojira’s transformation from the testings of nuclear weapons. Because of his twisted motives, the Chairman slowly eliminates people’s identities and their mental capacities, and soon enough, their lives. Clearly, the DC Mini is controlled by the wrong hands of a malevolent user. Ultimately, the Chairman epitomizes the inhumane horrors of technology by allowing it to be the source of evil.

Perhaps what truly throws both the characters and viewers off is the incredible visuals making it difficult to determine which state (dream or reality) they’re in. Unlike some films, Satoshi does not add special effects or any indications whenever Chiba has entered someone’s dream or not. Rather, he closely juxtaposes dreams and reality to challenge various characters to search for their own personal truths, be it their hidden emotions or self-realization. This makes it hard to understand when to know whether or not one is in a dream or in the real world. Consequently, Konakawa and Chiba travel through a series of dreams to discover what they are hiding or running away from in reality. Konakawa continues to revisit his movie-like dreams to make sense of the final scene, where he finds himself chasing after someone and could not shoot the escaping stranger. His hesitance prevents him from understanding why his personal anxiety affects his hatred for movies. When he realizes he needs to overcome his guilt for breaking a promise to a close friend, he finally finishes his dream by shooting Doctor Morio Osenai (Koichi Yamadera), the Chairman’s minion, indicating that he has taken control of his dream[1]. As a result, Konakawa’s confrontation to himself and discovery of his friend’s true intentions prevent his dreams from recurring again. Chiba, on the other hand, uses her alter ego to suppress her romantic emotions towards Tokita. As she continues to jump from one dream to another dream to her real world, her frantic search for Tokita allows her to realize that she has feelings for him – as herself, not Paprika. Because dreams and reality have merged, Paprika becomes a separate entity from Chiba, who then, later on, reconciles herself through Paprika after discovering her feelings for Tokita. This is illustrated when Chiba watches her own subconscious thoughts replaying an earlier scene in the film when she helps Tokita out of the elevator. In the ghostly apparition, she recognizes his cues, changes her reactions and response, and holds him tenderly. For both Konokawa and Chiba’s cases, it is when reality and dreams merge that they recognize the underlying truth in order for them to stay true to themselves. Thus, the film’s visuals and its challenging structure act as a self-reflexive tool to explore and understand the similarities between dreams and reality, but also one’s consciousness and subconsciousness.

Paprika is known for its stunning animation and ability to challenge the audience’s expectations. It is often compared to Christopher Nolan’s most recent film, Inception (2010) because of their similar ideas. However, Paprika is a very different film when it comes to questioning the idea of dreams and the characters’ reality. Paprika’s intellectual curiosity leaves the audience at the edge of their seat, craving for more explanations and a longer storyline. One must be aware of nudity and its extreme graphic details during the film. Watch Paprika and be prepared for a twisted roller coaster ride through a series of beautiful and unusual dreams.

[1] Doctor Morio Osenai also dies in reality to indicate that dreams and reality have completed merged.

Categories
drama, melodrama gendai-geki

“Departures”

Death frequently appears in film and death is one common reason for sadness. But here is a film telling that death is not just sad. Departures (Okuribito, 2008), directed by Takita Yujiro, takes death as a main theme and questions the meaning of death and life. Because of the main theme, the film is generally slow and serious, but it tries not to consider death as full of despair or pain by observing the traditional ceremony of “encoffinement” in Japan. The ceremony may be a very new and difficult concept for most foreign audiences, but the film explains and express its meaning and process in detail.

Kobayashi Daigo (Motoki Masahiro) has been playing the cello since childhood and works as a professional cellist in a symphony orchestra. However, after the orchestra disbands, he realizes that his talent is not enough to survive as a professional cellist. He and his wife, Mika (Hirosue Ryoko), return to his hometown to live in the house where he used to live during his childhood with his mother. Soon Daigo finds a job that he thinks is a part of a travel agency, but after the meeting with the boss Sasaki, he notices that this job is actually in the encoffinment business.  Because Daigo is horrified and ashamed of his new job, he doesn’t tell Mika what his job really is. After he watches the ritual ceremony before cremation, he finds the meaning of life and death in the ritual cleaning, dressing, and placing of the deceased into a coffin under the eyes of relatives. However, Mika eventually finds out about his job and asks him to quit and find a “normal job.” He says “Death is normal.” Mika decides to go back to her family and he continues his job.

This film continuously repeats the opposing motifs of departures and arrivals. In the cooking scene, when Daigo and Mika discover that the octopus they had bought to eat is still alive, they return it back into the river. After this, Daigo decides to go back to his hometown. According to Zen Buddhism, which has been a popular religion in Japan for a long time, “the samsaric lifespan is an endless cycle of birth, suffering, death and rebirth” (Tsui). There are a lot of scenes which remind the audience of the life cycle, not only of human beings, but also of octopus and salmon. Although everyone will need this ceremony in the future, we find many people around Daigo don’t like this job.  For example, his old friend avoids him and Mika also thinks of his job as shameful work. The film shows how ironic this is:  through this ceremony, people can prepare for the last stage in this life and their new life in another world. Only after the families watch the encoffinment do they understand its meaning and importance.

Yojiro not only focuses on the filming of the ceremony, but also scenes with beauty. There are many beautiful background scenes: for example the snow-covered mountains and the Tokyo symphony orchestra performing Beethoven’s ninth symphony. He uses ‘typical alternations of close-ups, static wide shots, and medium framings” (Kubota).   The scene where Daigo plays the cello in the middle of an empty field with snow-covered mountains with excellent camera movement was especially touching. When he sells his cello, he feels a kind of relief. After that, he resumes playing the cello only after he becomes an encoffiner. As he moves to the new world of the encoffiner, he could purely enjoy playing the cello.

The actors also perform their role reasonably well, especially Motoki Masahiro. He expresses Daigo’s despair, pain and fear of a new world through remarkable facial expressions. Although we are watching a film about death, we do not feel heavy despair. One reason would be his powerful understated expression. All the characters in the film don’t show much emotion; we are just watching their everyday lives very calmly and the changes of attitudes toward death.

Through death, this film shows the importance of love and forgiveness in the family. Daigo hasn’t seen his father since his father left the family. And about 20 years, he receives a phone call that his father is dead. Although Daigo and his father have been missing and loving each other, they can meet only after the father’s death. It might be very sad that everything seems to be too late. But I think that the death of his father is not the end of their relationship; it’s rather a beginning of their relationship. By his father’s death, he finally admits that he loves his father. This film is generally very good and gives me a chance to think about life, but I think it has too broad and open of an ending.

Categories
anime anti-war drama, melodrama

No Better Approach than the Anime: “Grave of the Fireflies” and Emotional Representation

Takahata Isao’s Grave of the Fireflies (Hotaru no haka, 1988) is an anime film which tells the tragic story of a young pre-teen boy and his younger sister who struggle to survive during the final years of WWII in Kobe, Japan. For an animated film, Grave of the Fireflies deals with an extremely sensitive and realistic topic. Though this may be common to the Japanese anime tradition, where serious topics are often depicted in animated form, I think those who have a more westernized view of animated films will be surprised at the emotional intensity in Takahata’s Grave of the Fireflies. Instead of taking away from or making light of such important issues like, the Kobe air raids, the animation does the opposite. There is a way in which the anime is able to distance the viewer in order to reach an emotional truth or universality that live-action films cannot replicate. Therefore, as an anime film, Grave of the Fireflies is able to handle the sensitive/traumatic subject of war trauma or victimization, to great effect.

The film begins with a shot on an adolescent boy named Seita. He is basked in red light and his voiceover says, “September 21, 1945…that was the night I died.” A tin can is found by his lifeless body and is tossed away. A small white bone falls out and the spirit of Seita’s little sister, Setsuko appears. She looks around puzzled but is soon joined by the spirit of her brother. The siblings happily rejoice and share candy fruit drops from the tin can as they ride the train. The film is then told in flashback and cuts to Seita, Setsuko and their mother preparing to evacuate their home, because of an oncoming air raid. The film follows the siblings as they struggle to find food and shelter after their home and city is destroyed by the bombings.

From the first scene, the spectator instantly knows the film deals with death, tragedy and real historical events. Yet the film is able to avoid feeling too dramatized or overwhelming by the sheer fact that it is in animation. Animation is associated with children, exaggeration and elaborated stories. Because of this familiar connotation, dramatization or unrealistic portrayals can be expected in the anime genre. For instance, in the opening scene, the red luminous lighting which represents a sort of afterlife, evokes a haunting atmosphere, but it is oversaturated and stylized. As well, and most obvious, are the drawings of the characters. Seiki and Setsuko are in no way realistically drawn. They have exaggerated features. As a result, even though the film presents overwhelming amounts of tragedy and events, that are very realistic, the audience can better accept or invest in these emotions because the characters are not “real” people and they live in this animated world that is distant from our own. In Susan J. Napier’s article, she mentions that the “animation’s simplified representation allow[s] for easier identification on the part of the viewer” (167). Even though the story is based on writer Nosaka Akiyuki’s real life, the characters in the story are not based on or look like real life people. Seiki and Setsuko have such basic features that they can basically represent any Japanese child. It gives the film a universal quality, where people can easily identify with the siblings rather than trying to connect with a personalized account.

Napier also points out how the “graphics of manga or anime can help “convey the unconveyable” of the bomb’s horror (166). This comes back to the idea of genre expectations and the viewer already accepting the limitedness or exaggerated nature of the animated world. When Seiki and Setsuko observe the landscape of Kobe and see how everything is destroyed, the viewer does not question this visual representation. It’s not that animation is better at accurately capturing the truth but it’s that we are less inclined to critique it. It’s difficult to say that an anime film is dramatizing, or is unrealistically representing something, because animation is not a form that traditionally tries to be realistic. For example, when Seiki sees his mother completely wrapped up in bandages and bleeding from underneath, the image is very exaggerated. However, the audience does not roll their eyes at this dramatic image because it does not seem dramatized within an anime context. The viewer can then remain focused on the emotions of the scenes without being fazed by the overstated image. Another way in which anime works better in conveying the horrors of war is that it’s simply easier to draw the destroyed landscape or injured civilians, than to do it with real sets and actors. Even with CGI and advanced technology, the live-action film then risks being too contrived through its highly artificial approach in representing such sensitive and serious subjects. Special effects with computers or rigs, then becomes more unrealistic or in “bad taste,” as Napier would say, than the usage of manga or anime.

Takahata’s Grave of the Fireflies is certainly one of the saddest films I have ever seen. The fact that it is in animation does not cross your mind since you become so invested in the lives of these two children. However, after watching the film you begin to realize that the reason you were able to get so invested in the pure emotion of the story, is that the animation is able to distance the viewer enough so they don’t get distracted by issues of inaccurate or unrealistic representation.

Works Cited

Napier, Susan J. Anime from Akira to Princess Mononoke: Experiencing Contemporary Japanese Animation. New York: Palgrave, 2001. Web. 29 Oct. 2010.

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