Tag: era: 1990s

Categories
anime science-fiction

Oshii Mamoru’s “Ghost in the Shell”

Otherwise known in its native Japanese as Kōkaku Kidotai, Ghost in the Shell is a critically acclaimed, stylistically significant, and intellectually profound animated masterpiece that goes above and beyond the typical thematic and stylistic constraints traditionally placed on animated formats.  Directed by the esteemed Oshii Mamoru and based on Shirow Masamune’s comic-book conceptions, this film was released in November, 1995.  This film is applauded by critics as one of the first animated works to reach a high level of literary and visual excellence.  Firmly entrenched in a dark cyberpunk science fiction genre populated by other outstanding works such as Blade Runner, The Matrix, and Neuromancer, Ghost in the Shell – like its progenitors and associates – enlists the assistance of a deep philosophical reexamination of deeply held perceptions of reality and existence.  What is it that makes oneself real?  How far can one stretch the definition of life-forms with regards towards a society fast embracing the existence of increasingly intelligent artificial intelligences?  Ghost in the Shell embraces these questions and never provides any real answers; the answers, this film holds, are deeply convoluted and complex – problems that become exponentially more complex the more technologically invested a given society becomes.  Indeed, this film pulls itself into the ranks of previously mentioned greats such as the aforementioned Blade Runner due to a focus not just on the exultation of a certain dystopian future, but rather, the implications of such a future: a future more likely with each passing day and technological development.

Ghost in the Shell presents itself as a science-fiction exposition from the onset through an opening sequence that lays down the groundwork for the legal (or rather, extralegal) status and authority of “Section 9”, a 2029 AD amalgamation of Special Forces and cybercrime professionals.  The movie opens through a cold-open sequence, elapsing four minutes, displaying the technological advancements a future society might possess, e.g. cyberbrain augmentations, thermo-optic camouflage, the cyborgization of the human body (in extreme cases, full-body cyborgization), and augmented reality systems.  In addition, this sequence fully demonstrates the extralegal capacity that “Section 9” possesses, and indeed, executes with the utmost precision and efficiency.  What follows is a sequence illustrating the formative and industrial capacity of this future world, creating something as complex as Kusanagi Motoko’s (the female Section 9 agent) cyborg body with apparent ease.

What follows is a plot centered on the political intrigue of governmental agencies and industrial espionage, and the unforeseen implications of technology that practitioners do not truly understand.  Tied initially to a case in which a “Puppet Master” is found to be “ghost-hacking” civilians and governmental officials to carry out terrorist acts, Section 9 finds themselves being drawn increasingly into a conflict where they deal with both this insurgent and a rogue “Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA),” who on parallel missions are trying desperately to contain this malevolent force.  This set of events leads to the suspected presence, or as Section 9 later finds out, the manifestation of a “ghost,” i.e. a term equivalent to that of a human soul in common vernacular.  As the film elaborates, this “ghost” is no mere artificial intelligence, but rather, the birthing of a self-aware entity born not out of intended invention, but rather spontaneous development.  The film climaxes with Section 6 orchestrating the abduction of the newly acquired “Puppet Master,” henceforth known as “Project 2501,” as he calls himself: a product of the “sea of information” existing in the vast interconnected networks of the future; a spontaneous creation akin to that of the prehistoric Cambrian explosion.  Compelled to preserve his existence and such qualitatively human compellations such as the desire to reproduce, he orchestrated the terrorist events that set in motion the timeline of this film.  Ghost in the Shell culminates in the destruction of “Project 2501” and Motoko’s cyborg body by MFA forces; the concluding scene has Motoko (in a replacement body) looking out over a brightly lit cityscape.

This film deals with a number of complex thematic concepts.  In a world where cyborgization is not only commonplace, but as omnipresent as the cell phones of today, what are the implications of this constant attachment to a collective network?  With the direct implantation and accessibility of such a sea of information, firewalls and layers of protection against intrusion thus become mandatory and indeed, essential towards the preservation of one’s “ghost”.  Otherwise, as shown through the poor garbage-man and incapacitated government official, one becomes vulnerable to malicious attack and “ghost-hacks”: future versions of Trojan viruses and remote-hijacking of the computer systems of today.  In addition, as shown by the garbage-man, being hacked and implanted with false memories challenges the boundaries of reality.  How does one react to an amalgamation of irreversible brainwashing and direct memory manipulation?  If such an event is possible, how would a citizen in the Ghost in the Shell universe know if reality is truth or fiction?  In addition, Ghost in the Shell impels the audience to ask themselves what it is that makes us human.  If Project 2501 was able to declare itself a sentient life-form capable of political asylum, would this ghost-endowed synthetic being be considered more human than someone like Motoko (whose synthetic bodily parts far outnumber the few remaining organic components of her body)?  It is interesting to note that when Section 6 first discovers sentience in Project 2501’s programming, it is regarded as a mere bug, which in retrospect, is a colossal display of both human arrogance and narrow-mindedness.  It is through the investigation of these concepts against a cyberpunk backdrop that Oshii Mamoru and Masamune Shirow take the concepts of artificial intelligence to a new high – beyond the tremblings of sentience present in 2001: A Space Odyssey – in a contextual format that current audiences can understand and appreciate.

Ghost in the Shell, however, is not a film for the uninitiated.  The overly complex dialogue and casual usage of futuristic terms places potential viewers (without prior knowledge of Shirow Masamune’s works) at a definite disadvantage towards the proper comprehension of his stylistic and technological constructs.  However, for those willing to invest the effort into understanding the intricacies of a dystopian (and yet, realistic) cyberpunk world, Ghost in the Shell offers itself as a thematically deep film wrought throughout with philosophical issues on reality and its cohorts, existence and the soul.

Categories
anime

Princess Mononoke

Mononoke-Hime (Princess Mononoke) is an animated fantasy film directed by Miyazaki Hayao of Studio Ghibli in 1997. The story is based on a prince named Ashitaka, who is wounded with a deadly curse while trying to fight off the giant boar demon that was destroying his village. Another important character in the film is San, also known as “Wolf Girl”. She is called “Wolf Girl” because she was raised by the three giant wolves that try to protect the forest from the humans who want to destroy the forest to make charcoal to melt iron. The film may be seem as simply an animated love story between Ashitaka and San for children, but the film is mainly about environmental problems that the people are facing in the world and the troubles it brings.

Prince Ashitaka goes on a journey to the lands of the west in order to find a cure for the deadly curse that was bestowed upon him by the giant boar demon. While his journey, he stops at a village where he meets Jigo, a wandering monk who tells him that the god of the west forest may be able to help him. So Ashitaka stops at a town called Iron Town, which is near the west forest, where he is warmly welcomed by the leader, Lady Eboshi. One night, San comes into the Iron Town in an attempt to kill Lady Eboshi since the people in her town are destroying the forest that San lives in with her wolf family. Ashitaka comes between the two to try and stop the fight by using the special powers that he got from the curse. While carrying San out of the town, Ashitaka is shot. Due to the supernatural powers from the curse, he is able to carry San through the gates, but right after he passes the gates, he loses consciousness. He is then taken to the Forest Spirit, which is said to be able to cure anything. The Forest Spirit heals his gunshot wound but does not get rid of his curse. When Ashitaka wakes up, he works together with San to save the forest from the humans and the boars which have gone crazy.

The animated film is generally known as a metaphor for environmental disaster caused by industrialization. Due to the weapons created by industrialization like guns, destruction is created. For example, the giant boar that casts the curse on Ashitaka turned evil and went crazy because it was wounded with a bullet. If it were not for the bullet, Ashitaka would not have been cursed and his village would not have been attacked. Also, the rapid destruction of the forest is what made the boar god Okkoto angry to the point where he decided to gather up all the boars to attack the humans. Apart from the metaphor for environmental destruction, Princess Mononoke also portrays what greed can do to people. The Forest God is said to give immortality, so everyone tries to get hold of that power. In the film, Jigo is so caught up in the reward that the emperor said he would give him for the Forest God’s head that he keeps it in the box when he knows that he will die if he does not give the head back to the Forest God.

Princess Mononoke may at first seem like a film for children, but it has a deeper meaning to it. It has metaphors for environmental destruction and the harmful disasters that can occur from it. It also gives the idea that if something is not done immediately about the environmental problems, it will cause serious problems. The film also gives out the image that people can co-exist with nature as long as they do not take advantage of the natural resources that nature provides the people with. The movie does not consist of any disturbing scenes except for when people get shot. The way Miyazaki Hayao uses color in the animated film is very beautiful so it does not get tiring and simply watching the different scenes may be enjoyable. Not only the scenery, but the romance between Ashitaka and San is also something to watch.

Categories
drama, melodrama romance

A “Love Letter” to the Dead and the Living

The award-winning 1995 drama Love Letter by director Iwai Shunji is a film that has become a cult classic throughout Asia, with countless parodies made of the famous “How are you? (Ogenki desu ka?)” scene alone. Watching it again in 2010, fifteen years after its release, is an interesting experience. The years between viewings has made the sense of nostalgia deepen. And it is now even more evident than before that Love Letter’s lasting popularity and influence stems not so much from it being a perfectly made film, but from its deft portrayal of grief, regret and unfulfilled love.

Love Letter concentrates on two young women with the same face (both acted by the impressive Nakayama Miho): the tomboyish Fujii Itsuki, and the demure Watanabe Hiroko, who is struggling to come to terms with the tragic death of her fiancée (Kashiwabara Takashi) two years earlier. On the day of the two-year memorial of her fiancée’s death, Hiroko finds his address from his junior high school days, from a home that has since been demolished. On a whim she sends a letter to him at the address, not expecting a reply. However, a twist of fate allows the letter to be received by Itsuki, who happens to have the exact same name as the dead fiancée. Furthermore, Itsuki and the fiancée were classmates in junior high. Thus begins a strange correspondence between the two women, with the male Itsuki keeping them connected, and allowing them to make surprising discoveries about both him and themselves.

Love Letter is a visually breathtaking film. Taking place in the wintertime, mostly in Hokkaido, it is very much preoccupied with snowy mountain peaks and endless, pure fields of white snow, thus connecting the images of cold barrenness with the themes of death and grief. The film begins with Hiroko lying in the snow, holding her breath, so that until she suddenly gasps into life, she looks very much like a frozen corpse. Thus Iwai effectively portrays her desire to understand death and what has happened to Itsuki, and her own inner grief. This kind of idea is mirrored in the female Itsuki’s storyline – she has a cold for the entirety of the film, and she allows it to slowly get worse and worse, reliving her father’s death from pneumonia. The two women’s journeys follow similar trajectories, yet reach very different conclusions, culminating in an unforgettable ending that makes the heart feel both full and clenched. That is ultimately the greatest strength of Love Letter: its ability to understand the indescribable, and to tease the utmost sympathy from the viewer.

Despite its preoccupation with death and the pain of unspoken feelings, Love Letter is ultimately an optimistic, character-driven film. It follows each character’s emotions (big or small) with quiet understanding and with a slow pace that eases the viewer into its world. Even the lighting is dim and soft, casting a relaxed glow on everything and everyone within the confines of the screen. It could easily have become a film verging on the ridiculous, with one actress playing two characters and what with the multiple coincidences that occur. But Iwai manages to make these unlikely coincidences believable, and weaves the ridiculous in a way that makes them shine with a hint of fantasy. The pain, the nostalgia, the love that pervades the film are all things that any viewer can relate to. This embeds the film in a sense of reality that prepares the way for the silent, emotional punch that is the ending. Everything in the film is headed for that ending, and when it arrives, it is impossible not to be affected. What you will remember the most from Love Letter is that moment of blushing hope and love. That in itself is more than any film could ever hope to accomplish.

Categories
drama, melodrama gendai-geki

Jokes on the Road: A Feel-Good Story about a Little Boy Looking for His Mom

Kikujirō no Natsu (English title: Kikujiro) released in 1999, was written and directed by Kitano Takeshi. One of the main actors of the film is the director who is known as Beat Takeshi on Japanese TV programs, and another actor is Sekiguchi Yusuke, a child actor. The film was exhibited at Cannes Film Festival in 1999, and Kitano gained more attention from its work internationally as a film director. Kikujirō no Natsu is a road movie about an elementary school boy and a gangster-related middle aged man going for a journey to find a boy’s long-lost mother.

Masao, a grade three boy, spends his boring days doing nothing special during his summer vacation. He is less fortunate in terms of family background, and he lives with his grandmother in Tokyo. In order to break the boredom, Masao decides to go to Toyohashi where his mother is supposed to live. Kikujiro, an old neighbor’s husband who is a bad-mannered middle-aged man, accompanies Masao to meet his mother. At the beginning of their journey, Kikujiro does not show any support to find Masao’s mother – he just uses the travel expenses, which he got from his wife, for gambling. Obviously, Kikujiro uses Masao as a means of gambling. Kikujiro starts showing his support to poor Masao who is rescued by Kikujiro from a molester, and they help each other by using Kikujiro’s crafty ideas in order to get to Toyohashi free. On the way to Toyohashi, they also meet some people who treat them nicely. They finally arrive at Toyohashi, but Masao’s mother has started a new life with another man and their daughter. Kikujiro tries to comfort the heartbroken Masao by giving an angle bell. They find a sense of comfort with each other and continue their journey sharing bad and good times until they arrive in Tokyo.

In Kikujirō no Natsu, Kitano creates characters in a particular way in order to make the film powerful. It seems that Masao and Kikujiro do not share anything in common at the beginning of the story; however, they actually share a commonality – they are in a minority in Japanese society. For example, Masao’s lifestyle is not the same as a majority of children’s because of his unfortunate family background, and Kikujiro is a yakuza-related man who is excluded from society. Masao’s left-handedness also adds a sense of being a minority. These factors create a sense of loneliness and isolation. In addition, they both have specific attitudes in order to express these feelings. Masao is quiet and rarely shows his emotions; by contrast, Kikujiro is loud and very aggressive. These characteristics make the film more emotional to the audience. After Kikujiro found out that Masao’s circumstance is similar to his childhood, he tries to support Masao even though he is quite clumsy. Since Kitano creates the extreme character of Kikujiro, it makes a powerful effect in the story and on the audience. For example, Kikujiro’s transformation from a selfish gambler to a fatherly figure for Masao is a pleasant and surprisingly emotional experience for the audience. As we know that Masao passes through his life in deeper loneliness, so even Kikujiro’s small kindness to Masao seems to be a huge kindness from the audience’s point of view, and it moves them through their journey.

Kitano uses unique shots in order to depict Kikujiro’s emotional transition, and one of the significant shots in the movie is a nature shot. We can see several nature shots such as a frog jumping into water, a worm wriggling on grass, and a butterfly and dragonfly sitting on a branch. Close-shots are used for these shots, and the audience cannot tell who actually see these creatures in the movie, but it can be considered that Kikujiro is the viewer of the shots. Many Japanese people have an experience catching these creatures when they were children; therefore, it is possible to think that the shots are related to a memory of childhood. These shots are seen after Masao gives first aid for Kikujiro’s injury, so this is a turning point for Kikujiro, who regains a supple mind and makes a decision to see his own mother as if he tries to look back on his childhood by touching with Masao’s gentle nature. Moreover, the mise-en-scene of Kitano’s work helps Kikujiro’s transformation effectively. Kikujiro walks on a narrow road in the countryside which is surrounded by agricultural fields and a few old houses. This scenery psychologically creates a sense of nostalgia because it might remind Kikujiro of his childhood and drives him to redeem himself. After the scene, Kikujiro devotes himself to entertaining Masao until the end of the film, so we can see the change and growth of Kikujiro into a thoughtful adult.

Kitano Takeshi is also known as the comedian, Beat Takeshi in Japan, and some of his TV programs  contain extremely slapstick humor. Some audiences might think that the movie is full of awkwardness, but I think the awkwardness is a kind of uniqueness which only Kitano can express. This movie suggests people in unfortunate circumstances are not necessarily hopeless because Kikujiro and Masao are strongly tied through the journey and find a sense of friendship and comfort. Moreover, the movie suggests that adults are not always the ones who can raise children. Children also can help adults to grow mentally in some ways. Kikujirō no Natsu is heartwarming and strongly recommended because it makes the kindness of the human spirit very real for the audience.

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
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
drama, melodrama gendai-geki romance shomin-geki

Love Letter: the Unexpected Reply

Love Letter (English Title: When I Close My Eyes), released in 1995, was written and directed by Iwai Shunji. The lead female actor, Nakayama Niho, plays both Watanabe Hiroko and Fujii Itsuki, the two protagonists of the film. Sakai Miki plays the young Fujii Itsuki. The lead male roles are Shigeru Akiba, played by Toyokawa Etsushi, and the male Fujii Itsuki, played by Kashiwabara Takashi. This romantic drama takes place in the winter Hokkaido, where the female protagonists discover their unique connection with each other through an odd pen-pal relationship.

The film begins with the second anniversary ceremony of the male Fujii Itsuki’s death. Fujii Itsuki was Hiroko’s fiancé who died from a mountain climbing accident. After the ceremony, Hiroko visits Itsuki’s home and through his old yearbook, she discovers his childhood address in Otaru, Hokkaido, which is now non-existent. With lasting feelings towards her dead fiancé, she writes a love letter addressed to the address in Otaru, thinking of it as a letter to heaven. Unexpectedly, a reply comes from Fujii Itsuki. However, this Fujii Itsuki turns out to be a girl with the same name, who works at a public library in Otaru. This simple love letter with the words “How are you? I am fine” starts the odd pen-pal relationship between Hiroko and the female Itsuki. Meanwhile, Akiba, Hiroko’s current boyfriend, decides to take Hiroko to Otaru in order for her to overcome her feelings towards her dead fiancé. Although Hiroko and the female Itsuki never physically meet, as the exchanging of the letters progress, they discover each other’s identity and their unique connection. The female Itsuki actually knew the male Itsuki, spending three years of junior-high in the same class. She has bitter memories of being made fun of for having the same name as Hiroko’s ex-lover. Yet, for Hiroko, these are sweet memories of her lost fiancé before they met, and asks Itsuki to share her junior-high stories of the male Itsuki. The story slowly starts to focus more heavily on female Itsuki and her past, and the two characters starts to re-discover some lost memories of the deceased Fujii Itsuki.

To clearly distinguish the difference between Hiroko and Itsuki, both played by Nakayama Miho, Iwai Shunji uses distinctive coloring in costumes and lighting to help build their characteristics. From the opening scene, Hiroko is portrayed through lighter and solid colours. Her costumes use a lot of solid black, white and blue colours, showing little warmth. In the earlier scenes where she talks with male Itsuki’s mother and with Akiba, the bright white background lighting leaves a very clear and cold impression. Hiroko is shown in warm colours only at the scenes in Akiba’s workshop and in the cabin that she visits with Akiba. In these scenes there are movements in Hiroko’s feelings; she expresses her love towards Akiba in his workshop while she decides to move on from her dead fiancé at the cabin. Iwai uses lighter and colder colours to portray Hiroko in remorse, while uses warmer background and costume colours when she has an emotional transition. On the other hand, Itsuki is always shown wearing checked or striped patterns of warm colors like brown, orange and red. Also, Iwai uses much warmer lighting in Itsuki’s scenes. The lights at her house and at her workplace are always in shades of orange, never having the sharp, white lighting like Hiroko’s scenes. Complementing the great acting done by Nakayama Miho, Iwai Shunji’s use of colors in costumes and lighting makes a clear distinction between Hiroko, who cannot let go of the ties with the male Itsuki, and Itsuki, who re-discovers her ties with male Itsuki.

Iwai Shunji builds up tension in this dialogue-heavy film through the use of multiple close-up and long shots, creating a fast-paced tempo. Iwai does not use stationary shots, where the characters move in and out of the screen. Instead, he uses series of handheld close-up and long shots that flexibly adjusts focus amongst the characters. In the earlier scene at Akiba’s workshop, Iwai uses a series of close-up shots rapidly changing the focus on the characters speaking. This creates a fast rhythm, adding tension to their dialogue. The build-up of the tension is followed by a long close-up shot of them kissing, making the audience feel as if the actual time has stopped through the sudden change of pace. Then they are disturbed by another character who enters the scene. Here the camera switches to a long shot, allowing for the tension to slowly fade away. His use of non-stationary camerawork and quick switches of close-ups, create a fast and engaging rhythm to the film that helps build the tension in this film, heavily focused on dialogue.

“How are you? I am fine.” This simple letter sent by grief and partial whims, allows Hiroko and Itsuki to let go or re-connect with their love for male Fujii Itsuki. Although the film does not follow the typical romantic drama scenario, the contrast of the two different loves evolving around Fujii Itsuki leaves the viewers with a warm-hearted feeling. Love Letter is definitely a movie worth watching.

Categories
anime

Totoro, My Childhood Neighbour

My Neighbour Totoro (となりのトトロTonari no Totoro) is a film written and directed by Miyazaki Hayao, which was also named My Friend Totoro when it was released in the United States in 1993. In the release year of 1988, Mainichi Shinbun (毎日新聞), one of the largest newspaper companies in Japan, awarded the Mainichi Film Award to this film. The prominent animated cast members are the older sister Kusakabe Satsuki, voiced by Hidaki Noriko; the younger sister Kusakabe Mei, voiced by Sakamoto Chika; the father Kusakabe Tatsuo, voiced by Itoi Shigesato; the little boy in the village Okagi Kanta, voiced by Amagasa Toshiyuki; and the forest protector Totoro, voiced by Takagi Hitoshi. This animated film talks about the two sister’s encounter with a friendly spirit neighbour in the woods, Totoro.

The story is centered around the Kusabake family. The movie starts off with a drive around their new neighbourhood to an old house that they bought for the purpose of easier access to the hospital which the mother is hospitalized in. While settling into the house, the sisters discover tiny soot creatures called makkurokurosuke that like to gather around in old abandoned houses. Because the old house is no longer abandoned, the travelling soot, also known as susuwatari, drifts out of the house and into the night sky to search for its next shelter. The next day, the father and the girls bike to visit their mother, and they talk about the house that they moved into. It is at this time that the viewers realize that Satsuki writes to her mother regularly. The following day, while Satsuki goes to school and Tatsuo is busy with his professor work, Mei energetically explores her new backyard. She comes across bunny-like creatures which she follows into the woods, and eventually she falls into a tunnel in an ancient camphor tree. In there, she meets another similar creature, except he is much larger in size. The creature introduces himself as Totoro. The atmosphere in the camphor tree is too relaxing, and Mei falls asleep on his belly soon after. Mei is discovered sleeping in the bushes by Satsuki and her father later on when Satsuki returns home from school. They go for a walk in the forest and thank the camphor tree for taking care of Mei. The story climaxes to a point where Mei goes missing due to the sudden notice that their mother cannot leave the hospital as anticipated.

A famous rumor in Japan has it that Totoro is a shinigami (god of death) because of the eerie interaction the sisters have with Totoro, and no one else in the village seems to be able to come in contact with this mythical creature. The success of My Neighbour Totoro has brought Japanese animation to global attention, and much hearsay arises through time. The idea that Totoro is a shinigami came about around 2007 due to certain scenes and dialogue in the movie which suggest that Totoro helped Satsuki find Mei not by actually finding Mei, but by bringing Satsuki to the world of death to meet Mei by riding the neko basu, the cat bus. A scene that supports this fact is a part close to the end, where Satsuki and Mei met. The touching display is made bizarre by the fact that Mei and Satsuki do not have shadows when they meet. Another rumour also links the plot of the story to a murder case during the Showa era in Japan. The murder case occurred in a May during the Showa period, and the point in time where My Neighbour Totoro takes place is around 1958 (within the Showa period). The names of the sisters are hinted at as the month of May (Satsuki is May in Japanese, and Mei is a homophone of May). Similarities in location, testimonies given, an ill family member, are all shockingly alike to the movie. My Neighbour Totoro is a film that the teenagers in this generation grew up with, so the idea that this childhood film could possibly be a horror film is shocking to all viewers.

Aside from the horrific rumor about this film, the soundtrack plays a crucial part in the movie. Miyazaki Hayao’s right-hand man, Joe Hisaishi (久石譲,), real name Fujisawa Mamoru (藤澤守), is the main composer of most of Miyazaki’s films, including My Neighbour Totoro. The movie starts off with an opening theme song called Sanpo (さんぽ, translated as “stroll”). This lighthearted song sets up a happy mood for the viewers. Throughout the film, the instrumental music aids the plot of the movie at times of suspense and tranquility. When the susuwatari are forced to move out of the old house, the background music, Wind at Dusk (夕暮れの風, Yugure no Kaze) hints at a sense of sadness from the soot dust. The piece The Huge Tree in Tsukamori (塚森の大樹, Tsukamori no Taiju) merges into the Wind at Dusk soon after it gives viewers a sense of ease while the family is resting for the first night at the seemingly haunted house. Out of twenty tracks played in the movie, the other noticeable ones include Wasn’t It Great (よかったね,, Yokatta ne), The Path of the Wind (風のとおり道, ,kaze no toorimichi), Catbus (ねこバス, Nekobasu), and the ending song My Neighbour Totoro (となりのトトロ, Tonari no Totoro). Without Joe Hisaishi’s composing talent, My Neighbour Totoro might not be as popular because after all, the sense of hearing connects the viewers straight to the images from the film.

Having been around for over twenty years, the fame of Totoro has yet to die down. The works of Miyazaki Hayao through the aid of Joe Hisaishi have successfully become a cultural icon and My Neighbour Totoro is first in line. In today’s fast-paced technological century, Miyazaki’s fight against computer graphics proved to have an impact on a global scale. My Neighbour Totoro is a highly recommended film to watch at any age to appreciate the hard work of drawing over a hundred thousand pictures to present an eighty-minute film.

Categories
gendai-geki

Shall we Dansu?

The 1996 gendai-geki film by Suo Masayuki titled Shall We Dansu? (Shall we Dansu?/Shall We Dance?), is a dramatic, contemporary portrayal of an everyday Japanese “salaryman” (businessman) (Sugiyama Shohei, hereon Sugiyama) expressing his self-worth and cultivating it through dancing. The joy and satisfaction it brings makes him feel complete and fulfilled, bringing a sense of meaning into his life as a whole (i.e. work, family). Sugiyama, the protagonist of this film is played by Hashimoto Kōji, known for his role in the US films, “Memoirs of a Geisha” and “Babel” (2005, 2006 respectively). Kusakari Tamiyo (a famous Japanese dancer from the Maki Asami Ballet Company) is the beautiful woman whom is responsible for drawing Suigiyama to the dance studio where he begins to allow himself release his inhibitions.

The plot of this film is focused on Sugiyama, who is portrayed residing in the bustling city of Tokyo, where he has accomplished all that a salaryman as an individual within a collectivistic society (Japanese society) hopes to attain. It is when Sugiyama successfully attains everything he’s hoped to gain over the years, working hard as an accountant (devoted wife, loving child, a house he owns), a revelation occurs where he still feels a sense of incompleteness internally despite his external accomplishments. A reoccurring scene shows Sugiyama going about his daily routine where he goes straight to work and back home again only to eat, sleep, enjoy the ofuro [bath] and religiously start the day over again without deviating from this.

Shall we Dansu? is a reoccurring theme on its own that is brought to the forefront repeatedly.  It is represented in a variety of different forms to emphasize its importance; firstly, the title of this film is appropriately named Shall we Dansu?, secondly, it is the name of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s song titled “Shall We Dance” in the 1956 film The King and I which is frequently played throughout the film, thirdly, there is a poster Mai makes and posts on the dance studio’s window so Sugiyama can see it and read it as he looks up from the train station to convince him to continue to dance, and lastly as each dance number is performed throughout the film, whether during rehearsal or during the competition, it is repeatedly asked if not physically gestured (palm facing up, arm extended towards partner).

The emergence of the contemporary stereotype of the typical Japanese man as a salaryman is also another theme distinctive to this film. Depending on an individuals’ cultural background, one may interpret the film differently, mainly noticing cultural traits familiar to oneself. Myself being westernized and a Japanese, I contemplated that a westerner who may not be privy to extensive knowledge of contemporary Japan may miss the key elements and may not even know the concept of salaryman, which is usually described as the modern-day samurai: disciplined, hard-working, and loyal to the company. There is a misconception that samurais always exercised bushidō (the way of the samurai) however it wasn’t until the Meiji period (1868-1912) until Japan’s interaction with the West (involving war) did they feel the need to be disciplined and focused. Typical traits of a salaryman, to name a few that are represented in this film, are their religiously rigid daily schedule, constant overtime at work, after hours socializing with co-workers, long commutes home, and arriving home late, only to go straight to sleep to start the same routine again. Most westerners might not think anything of Sugiyama’s reoccurring habits and routines but they are very much characteristic of a Japanese salaryman. You will find that the only mode of interacting and socializing with the outside world Sugiyama has would be limited to his immediate family and his co-workers alone until he participates in dance class. I recommend reading Tetsurō, Kato’s ”Sayonara Salaryman” in the January 5th edition of the Economist to better prepare oneself to watching the film to provide adequate enough knowledge to get the full experience of the film.

I must clarify that this film is not limited to Japanese culture alone, but it is imperative to distinguish the differences in perspective (the West vs Japan) regarding ballroom dancing; the focal act central to this film and to Sugiyama’s personal escape. Western culture seems to perceive ballroom dancing as old-fashioned and very much accepted in the norm whereas in the beginning of this film, we are quickly informed by the voiceover that Japanese culture believe otherwise; they use the word ‘suspicious’ to sum up their description. While westerners feel quick to conclude that Sugiyama is suffering from a mid-life crisis, Japanese people will disagree, quietly relating to Sugiyama on a personal level. There is a reason why the opening scene was of ballroom dancing done in the West and not in Japan, the sheer judgment society has on such an activity is still very strong today. Japanese people will most likely make out the message of this film to be indirectly expressed through ballroom dancing which is to be true to oneself, to allow oneself to find a sense of fulfillment as an individual in a society where it is considered shameful to think just for oneself and in Sugiyama’s case, it is his curiosity to learn the art of ballroom. Sugiyama does not mention his new-found after-work activity to anyone at work let alone his family. There is a point where he starts the beginners’ class where you’ll find the other male individuals too are making up reasons to join the class when the reality is that  they have ulterior motives. The harsh judgment of individuals wanting to express themselves is so strong that only later does Sugiyama discover his own co-worker, Aoki in incognito as a long –haired, tanned, Latino-like man (you’ll have to screen the film to find out why!) when he is naturally a bald, pale, nerdy-looking individual.

As you’ll soon discover, Sugiyama represents the everyman that every cultures’ male individuals’ can relate to on some level. The film’s ability to transcend to other cultures enables its success to reach out and captivate a larger audience. I would not consider it a Japanese film at all but very much an international one for its capacity to convey a universal message. The casting choice of Hashimoto Kōji was a successful pick, I could not picture any other actor to communicate and express Sugiyama’s character nor do the film justice as a whole. I highly recommend watching Shall we Dansu? and then watching the 2004 western version: Shall We Dance? starring Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez to see cultural differences and how they’ve interpreted them in the West.

Bibliography

Paterson, Colin. Shall we Dansu? – Shall we Dance?. Businessmen in Japanese Culture. N.p. April 2004. Web. 20 Oct. 2010.

Shall we Dansu? Dir. Masayuki Suo Perf. Kōji Hashimoto, Tamiyo Kusakari. Toho Company, 1996. DVD.

Tetsurō, Kato. “Sayonara Salaryman.” Economist. January 05, 2008: 68-70.

Categories
comedy drama, melodrama gendai-geki shomin-geki

Let’s Dansu and Not Tell

A man is taking the train home after a night out with his co-workers. He looks up out the window and spies a beautiful woman in a building across the street, staring out of her window with an expression of longing like Gatsby imploring his green light. The man, stuck in a stolid home life and in a rut at work, becomes immediately fascinated by her: what does that melancholy look on her face mean? He has to meet her.

Suo Masayuki’s Shall We Dansu?(1996) is a not-so-light shomin-geki drama/comedy hybrid that contains an serious undercurrent of criticism of Japanese social norms. This is nicely established in the films’s introductory scene. There is an overhead crane shot of couples in a dance hall, gracefully gliding across the floor. This imagery of personal closeness and connection is subverted by an ironical voice-over narration: we are told that “in Japan, ballroom dance is is regarded with much suspicion. Married couples don’t go arm in arm, much less say ‘I love you’ out loud”. We learn that dancing in front of others is embarrassing, and dancing with strangers would “prove most shameful”. This conceit is what drives the film: if a person is not to truthfully express themselves with their own family in their own home, must he turn to strangers to do so? The man, Sugiyama Shohei (Yakusho Koji) seems to be going through a mid-life crisis. He has a wife, a daughter, and he’s just bought a house. He realizes that he is going to to work as an accountant the rest of his life to pay off his debts. A fine sequence early in

the film telescopes his plight: he comes home after work exhausted, says “Hello” to his wife, and then goes directly to bed. The next thing we see is his waking to his alarm clock, having to get up and do it all over again. Is this a life?

Sugiyama realizes that the woman in the window is a dance instructor. He decides to take dance lessons at her studio as a pretense to get to know her. In the class he meets a few other students, all men, all misfits. The instructors are the brash, robust Toyoko (the wonderful Watanabe Eriko), Tamura Tamako (Kusamura Reiko), a mature lady who runs the school, and Mai (Kusakari Tamiya), the beautiful object of his desire. Sugiyama begins group lessons with Tamako-sensei while keeping his eyes on Mai. Sugiyama finds out the Mai is a great competive dancer, and that she’s competed at Blackpool. Something happened with her dancing partner, however, and she won’t publicly dance any more. Sugiyama continues to take classes while telling his wife that he is blowing off steam with his office co-workers after hours. His wife, becoming suspicious yet not wanting confront her husband directly, hires private detectives to follow him. She is told what he has been up to. Then one night after classes, Sugiyama asks Mai to dinner. She refuses, informing him that if he is taking the classes to get to her, he is seriously misguided. One studies dance for the sole reason to learn dance. Sugiyama begins to find that he does indeed love the art of ballroom dancing, leading to Mai’s rediscovery of what dance means to her.

Most of the scenes take place in the dance studio itself. The studio is portrayed in a brown hue, very comforting and warm. It is like a second home for these characters-a place where they can be themselves. There is a hilarious scene in which Sugiyama realizes that a somewhat obnoxious Latin-dance loving student is in reality his co-worker, Mr. Aoki (Takenaka Naoto). Aoki tells Sugiyama that when he’s dancing he’s “…so happy, I’m completely free! You know how it is for me at work.” Sugiyama knows. We come to see Mai’s constant searching gaze out of the window as being symbolic of the emptiness that all the characters share. It is significant that many scenes feature Tamako-sensei seen in a one-shot, talking directly to the camera as she instructs her class. Every one of her students and teachers is longing for something. Tamako becomes the guiding force that directs all under her roof to their full potential. There is a wonderful scene of she, Sugiyama and Mai gazing in genuine awe at couples waltzing in a dance hall. Sugiyama and Mai see the wholeness they are lacking in the art and beauty of the dance.

This film could be seen a a fairy tale: all of these people, students and instructors alike,are put together under one roof to achieve self-discovery through Tamako-sensei’s wisdom. We get a hint that we are being told a “tale” through the use of a Shakespeare quote in the opening scene. The movie was a great success in Japan and the US (even being remade in the latter as Shall We Dance? in 2004 directed by Peter Chelsom). The film begs an interesting question: how far is one allowed to go to find self-expression? Sugiyama is happiest when he is dancing, but as he doesn’t tell his wife his family suffers. He’s obeying cultural expectations and rules, but he is being dishonest to his wife. Sugiyama follows the social code that has been established for him. He works hard to provide for his family (“Not a matter of like or dislike; it’s my job”) but he has no closeness with them. It would be improper for he and his wife to communicate real feelings with each other. Early in the film we see Sugiyama’s wife, Masako (Hara Hideko) say to their daughter, “It is good that your Dad goes out now and then. He works so hard” yet later scenes will show her alone at the dinner table, her husband’s food cooling. Sugiyama deserves some happiness, but is he being fair in making it so that his family can’t participate with him?

Sugiyama’s involvment in the class is the catalyst that enables everyone in it to realize themselves. However, he still has to rebuild his family dynamic. Like Bill Murray’s character in Groundhog Day (Ramis, 1993), he must accept that active involvement in all parts of his life, even the mundane, is essential in being. The most beautiful moment in the film is the second-to- last dance Sugiyama performs, which quietly refutes the social conventions conveyed to us at the top of the film.

Shall We Dansu? is an entertaining, often charming film that is quite funny at times. You will be rooting for every character in that dance studio to excel. You will cheer them on as they strive to be the best that they can be on the ballroom floor. Let your partner lead, though: this film has a footstep as light as a feather but a very heavy heart.

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