Categories
comedy drama, melodrama

Adrift in Tokyo

Adrift In Tokyo, otherwise known as Tenten in Japan, was released in 2007 and a couple years later in a few North American cities (It was released in Vancouver May 22, 2009). Primarily a comedy, it won Best Script in the Fantasia International Film Festival and Best Supporting Actor from the Kinema Junpo Awards. Adrift in Tokyo was based on the novel Territory of Love which won the 2001 Naoki Prize written by Yoshinaga Fujita and was then transferred to a screenplay written by Miki Satoshi who also directed the film.

Adrift In Tokyo begins in the room of the main character, Takemura Fumiya (Odagiri Jo), an 8th grade University law student, wondering whether his dismal life will start to get any better since the purchase of a three colored tooth paste when a stranger, Fukuhara Ai-ichiro (Mirua Tomokaku), a debt collector, lets himself into the room, puts Takemura in a headlock, and stuffs his dirty sock into his mouth while demanding 80,000 Yen. Takemura expresses that he does not have the money for Fukuhara, so Fukuhara takes his sock back, puts it on and leaves as quickly as he came, promising to return in 3 days. The next day, while Takemura seems at the point of giving up his attempt to find money, Fukuhara shows up offering Takemura two options: sell his body for sex to old businessmen or walk around Tokyo with him. The only condition is that there is no time limit on the walks. It could end tomorrow or in month. The next day, as the two characters walk around, Fukuhara confides in Takemura that the reason for their walks are so that he can remember times spent with his wife, who he has just killed, and at the end of their walks he is planning to turn himself in. As the two walk around various parts of Tokyo having discussions they quickly bond and form an almost father-son-like relationship. They meet many strange and interesting characters on their journey. Near the end they are joined by Makiko (Kyoko Koizumi), who met Fukuhara in the past when they both were hired to act as a married couple at a wedding, and Fufumi (Yoshitaka Yuriko), Makiko’s niece, a strange Japanese high school girl. These two women add the mother and daughter aspects to the family that forms throughout the film.

Adrift in Tokyo offers many comparisons among the new generation of young adults and the Boomers of the post-war generation. Takemura is a symbol of young Japanese that do not appreciate the values of their parents’ generation and even wish to deviate from them. Evidence of this is that Takemura was abandoned by his biological parents and rejects his foster ones. Many young Japanese are no longer looking forward to becoming a “Salaryman” like their fathers and working for a company that can no longer offer the perks they once could before the economic bubble burst in the early 90’s. Takemura seems to be pushing away this “terrible” fate by continuing school into his 8th year. Takemura is also part of a “loner” culture that does not depend on others (family, friends, coworkers, etc) and distance themselves from the value of “Groupism” that Japan so highly cherishes. Although it is not a new phenomenon in Japan it has recently gotten a lot of negative attention with the introduction of Otaku and NEETS (Not in Employment, Education or Training) into the mainstream vocabulary. There is also a desire of this generation to stand out and be different as in the scene where Takemura follows a Guitarist wandering through the city, blasting his music through his amp, not caring about anyone else. Takemura, like the young Japanese, is disappointed by the conformity (another value of old Japan) of the guitarist when he turns off his amp to avoid a confrontation with authority.

After seeing Adrift In Tokyo for the first time in theatres in 2009 I was stunned by the simplicity of the film. On the surface it is literally nothing more than an hour and a half of two men walking around districts of Tokyo and becoming friends. Though I suppose it was not the simplicity of the film but rather how such a simple film had such an effect that left such a lasting impression on me. After leaving the theatre I was so happy and satisfied. The film was so heart-warming that the only disappointment was that it ended and this feeling that had overcome me would soon disappear. From that moment on I had placed Adrift In Tokyo among my favourite films and my favourite Japanese film, and told all my friends about it but sadly it left theatres so fast that it felt that it never had existed. A few months later I heard that it was playing in a theatre downtown for a single day and I was so happy that I would get a chance to see it again but then was cruelly disappointed by some conflict in my schedule. Now more than a year later I was able to find it again and after becoming an Asian studies major the film has so much more to offer me than before, especially as a narrative on a developing Japanese society.  I recommend this movie to anyone who is looking for a good laugh and a warm heart.

Categories
drama, melodrama experimental gendai-geki

Surreal Spectacle – Terayama Shûji’s “Pastoral: To Die In The Country”

In his surreal, autobiographical drama, Pastoral: To Die In The Country (Den-en ni shisu, 1974), Terayama Shûji sacrifices conventions in narrative framing to create an aesthetic befitting of the film’s elucidated themes; he amalgamates the nature of thoughts, dreams, and memories to illustrate how a person’s existential self is constructed of the unconscious interaction of all three natures. The film stars Suga Kantarô as Terayama as a boy and Takano Hiroyuki as Terayama as an adult. The film was entered into the 1975 Cannes Film Festival; Terayama was nominated for the Golden Palm award; and Harada Yoshio, who plays Arashi (a friend of the adult version of the protagonist), won the Blue Ribbon award for ‘best supporting actor’. Though critically acclaimed upon release, lack of distribution has made Pastoral a relatively obscure piece of Japanese avant-garde cinema.

The film begins as a relatively conventional narrative about Terayama’s childhood – his domineering mother, his disturbed connection with his dead father, and his boyhood crush on a married woman whom he dreams of running away with. However, in the second act, Terayama pulls us out of the narrative and into a post-structural setting of reflectivity; we see present-day Terayama as himself, a director making a film about his own childhood, struggling to honestly express his past through the limited medium of film. By appealing to truth rather than conformity of filmic conventions, Terayama forfeits narrative structure by surrealistically putting the adult version of himself into the film about his childhood. In this way, Terayama uses the film as a personal meditation of his own existence. Through the interaction between his adult and adolescent self, and the illumination of incongruities between them, Terayama illustrates how a person’s existential self is truly constructed of the unconscious interaction of thoughts, memories, and dreams. By amalgamating his thoughts, memories, and dreams into a spectacle, Terayama literally elucidates this unconscious interaction. This allows Terayama to genuinely attempt to “express the past”, “remove it from the core or [his] being”, and free himself from memories and illusions of the past which he “carries around like a millstone”.

Terayama utilizes lighting and colour filters to create a viscerally engaging, theme-befitting aesthetic. While the emphatic colours and sharp tones appear chaotic and arbitrary, they are not used in vain; they enhance the mood of the scenes so as to reveal thematic consistencies. Within the film, Terayama utilizes four distinct modes of lighting and colour filtration; each mode imbues particular scenes with the particular mood he wishes to render. The first mode consists of low-key lighting and dark colour filters, such as navy blue or dark purple; this produces wild shadows, gloomy tones, and a dreary atmosphere, and is generally used for scenes of the ‘scary mountain’. This mode illustrates Terayama’s youthful sadness and disturbed connection with his dead father. The second mode consists of high-key lighting and a spectrum prism filter (encompassing all the colours of the rainbow); this produces vibrant tones and a joyful atmosphere, and is generally used for scenes of the circus. This mode illustrates Terayama’s childhood wonders, joys, and dreams. The third mode consists of natural lighting and calm, earthly colour filters, such as sky blue, and grass green; this produces neutral tones and a peaceful atmosphere, and is generally used for scenes of the countryside. This mode illustrates the restful tranquility Terayama feels of the countryside – a tranquility he likens to death. Finally, the fourth mode consists of high-key lighting in black and white; this produces high composition between black and white images, bright and dim tones, and a pensive atmosphere, and is generally used for present day scenes of Terayama. This mode illustrates Terayama’s nerve-racking existential struggle.

Moreover, elements of mise-en-scene and sound complement these modes of lighting and colour filtration to create an artistic aesthetic common of the surreal and avant-garde. Colours and shapes of props, such as clothing, tools, and even the characters themselves, complement the moods rendered by the four aforementioned modes of lighting and colour filtration. For example, the vivid colours of the circus complement the spectrum prism filter used to light the circus scenes. What’s more, sound effects, such as a ‘humming’ noise, and music, both diegetic and non-diegetic, immediately translate mood into the audience’s experience; the sounds, therefore, serve as background mood directors for the audiences’ experience of the visuals. The combination of all of these elements – lighting, colour filtration, mise-en-scene, and sound – creates an engaging aesthetic, giving Pastoral: To Die In The Country the capacity for producing aesthetic experience – a direct, perhaps transcendental experience of the formal properties of an artwork.

Since Terayama Shûji’s Pastoral: To Die In The Country is a complex, tenuously structured film with a non-linear narrative, it is not for the faint of heart. For this reason, I cannot recommend the film to just anyone. So, I’ll leave my recommendation with the following: if you are interested in poetry, philosophy, and art, and are willing to experience something different, give Pastoral: To Die In The Country a shot – I doubt you’ll be disappointed!

Categories
kaidan

The Revolving Wheels of Burden: a review of Oshima’s “Empire of Passion” (1978)

Empire of Passion is a 1978 feature film directed by Oshima Nagisa. The film stars two impassioned lovers, Toyoji (Fuji Tatsuya) and Seki (Yoshiyuki) who endeavor to kill Seki’s husband, Gisaburo (Tamura Tahakiro) in an effort to be together. But when the ghost of Gisaburo begins to haunt Seki, her ability to stay resolute begins to dwindle. Exacerbated by the villager peoples’ incessant gossip, Seki loses control and begins to go mad with grief and anguish which threatens the exposition of her and her lover’s fatal secret.

Set in a distant Japanese village in the late 19th century, Empire of Passion explores the traditional Japanese kaidan or ghost story, imbued with Oshima’s own penchant for sex and violence. The film tells of the ruin of two peasants, Toyoji, an ex-soldier who falls vehemently in love with a married woman twenty-six years his senior, named Seki. Toyoji courts Seki who initially shows resistance against his sexual advances. The cunning and aggressive Toyoji eventually wins her affection and convinces Seki that they must kill her husband, the rickshaw driver Gisaburo, in order for their love to flourish. At first, the frightened Seki shows much horror and devastation at her young lover’s propositions but her own feelings of fear and uncertainty, probed by Toyoji’s vindictive manipulation, drive her to inevitable compliance. Seki hesitantly gives Gisaburo rounds of sake until he drinks himself into a deep drunken stupor. The two lovers take the opportune moment of vulnerability to suffocate Gisaburo by pulling a rope around his neck. The two lovers drag Gisaburo’s dead body across the snow and throw it down a deep well in the remote forest. Three years pass and the villagers start to speculate about Gisaburo’s whereabouts after he had not come home for the Bon Festival. Despite Seki’s efforts at appeasing the rumours by informing them that he has gone to work in Tokyo, gossip surfaces among the villagers, including Seki’s daughter Shin, regarding mysterious dreams of Gisaburo dying and asking neighbours for help. Seki begins to feel much guilt over her involvement in her husband’s murder. Toyoji also begins to raise suspicions in his young master after he is caught throwing leaves down the well repeatedly. Gisaburo makes repeated appearances to his wife. Looking pale and ghastly, he reaches out his glass sake cup to her without a word.  Unable to placate the restless soul of her husband, the hauntings deepen Seki’s guilt and shame to the point of desperation. Toyoji at first demands that Seki stay strong but when the police officer extends his stay in the village to investigate the sketchy disappearance of Gisaburo, both lovers’ will to elude the public plummets. Toyoji becomes increasingly agitated by the suspicions of his young master, driving him to commit more immutable acts of destruction. Furthermore, the love affair suffers under the suppression of their secret as they are both consumed by despair, fear and guilt. The only way they can escape from their heavy conscience is through sexual intimacy, sometimes violent and perverse.

The atmospheric effects and dramatic lighting in the film, coupled with the shrill musical score, work in conjunction to enhance the suspenseful unfolding of events in the film. The mountainous, rocky region where the murder takes place is fitting to the bone-chilling re-emergence of Gisaburo’s restless soul. His eyes and skin appear grey and pallid, expressionless but nonetheless petrifying. The cold, white light that shines down on Gisaburo’s pasty face mirrors the grey haziness of the harsh winter itself. The mist and steam that envelop the atmosphere obscures the view where the ghost of Gisaburo appears to Seki and insists she ride his rickshaw. Gisaburo goes offroad on his rickshaw, evidently having forgotten his way home.  The mist engulfs Seki, shrouding her view of Gisaburo. When he turns around to show his face, she sees his ghastly face emerge from the haze. She emits a shrill scream that echoes through the undisturbed forest. The vapor from her breath magnifies the intensity of the moment when she comes face to face with her avenging husband.

Some visual elements and dialogue are re-enacted throughout the film, suggesting a theme of circularity. Before Gisaburo makes direct contact with Seki, Seki witnesses Gisaburo’s rickshaw wheels spinning on their own. The camera pans into a view of the spinning wheels, which increases in speed as Seki’s feelings of dread worsen. Towards the end of the film, the couple makes an effort to console one another by living with together “like husband and wife” as they initially wished. Toyoji begins to recite the same lighthearted conversation he had had with Seki when he was courting her. At first Seki is amused and plays along until she is reminded of their painful secret and feelings of guilt overcome her to tears. The theme of circularity may suggest the inability of the lovers to overcome both their crime and burdensome conscience, as well as fear of their eventual demise. The theme of circularity manifested by the spinning wheels of Gisaburo’s rickshaw may also suggest the old maxim, “what goes around comes around.”

Some viewers may find the prevalence of sex and violence in the film disturbing or confusing. In some scenes, Oshima also seems eroticize sexual violence, which may be difficult to watch or interpret. The film definitely does not shy away from titillating and suspenseful themes, blending elements of horror through convincing make-up and atmospheric effects. Such dramatic devices make for a highly entertaining and genuinely eerie film, resonating in the viewer’s mind for days.

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.

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