Changes

After a short break caused by military service and laziness, I've decided to change a few things about my blog. First of all, this Blogger account will be left behind and I'm currently working on a new Wordpress blog that will serve as the channel for my film musings in future. I won't be posting reviews like the ones on this blog, but instead I'm going to let the form run wild. I will post more sparsely (but in longer format) about some of the films I see, but I will also share my other thoughts about cinema in general. Usually I will tie these two ideas into each blogpost - at least that's the plan.

The new blog can be found here: http://ozumaniac.wordpress.com/

The Naked Island

Essentially Kaneto Shindo's The Naked Island (1960) is a simple film. It depicts the hardships of a family living on a small and isolated island. The parents spend their daily routine maintaining their crops and the most time-consuming task for them is to fetch water from a long distance twice a day. They have two boys: one of them goes to school and the younger one spends his days on the island.

At first the film introduces us to the family's daily routine and despite its simplicity Shindo manages to make it very fascinating. In a single brilliant scene (with a magnificent, long buildup) he establishes the family dynamics. The film moves onto show how the family manages to survive through each season until the first "traditional" conflict is introduced in the final third of the film. Even then the film is more like a slice of life of the family's life instead of a dramatic narrative we so often see in other films.

What is so brilliant about the film's approach is the silence Shindo employs. Not a word is spoken apart from short bits of singing and chanting. Music is occasionally inserted, but even that is used rather subtly so that most of the film's power relies on the writing and the visuals. And these two aspects are worthy even on their own. Even though the film gives a rather stereotypical image of the Japanese (who dislike the image) it's a very striking and tragic portrayal of the problems of social change and isolation, among others.

Shindo's cinematography is mostly static or at least the movement is so smooth and controlled that the viewer hardly notices it. It gives the daily routine a fitting rhythm and emphasizes the cyclical life of the family. Although the pacing of the editing is rather fast it doesn't feel like the film rushes towards the ending. Shindo likes to intercut between multiple motions and creates rather fascinating scenes out of simple moments (like rowing).

The film is not without an arguable flaw. The blandness of the characters is probably intentional, but it decreases the impact of the film's ending a bit too much. Luckily the tragedy is still intact.

Score: 9 out of 10

Assassination

Masahiro Shinoda's Assassination (1964) was the first jidai geki (period drama) for the Nuberu Bagu (Japanese New Wave) director. It dives deep into Japan's history prior to the Meiji Restoration by presenting the story of a talented swordsman who worships the Emperor and is eventually corrupted by the rivalry between the Emperor and the Shogunate.

Shinoda does dig deep into history, but it's also a vivid character study. The fragmented presentation has its ups and downs: while it makes the film ambiguous in an interesting way it relies a bit too much on the assumption that the viewer knows the historical event. I managed to comprehend the film without prior knowledge, but it was a challenging task to say the least. The opening of the film tries to inform the audience of the context, but it's not sufficient enough.

Purely on the level of characters and themes Assassination is a triumph and the form is even more delightful. Breathtaking and menacing compositions, wild camerawork and intense editing make the film a gem on their own. Even ambitious attempts like disruptive freezeframes and first person camera work surprisingly smoothly. Takemitsu's soundtrack is experimental and great yet again.

Assassination takes too many risks in its execution. It could easily be considered a masterpiece if the audience knew the historical context well enough. Shinoda barely manages to make it historically relevant for other viewers (which is a bad hindrance for a film so deeply embedded in it), but even without that it's a rather impressive achievement.

Score: 8 out of 10

Passing Fancy

Yasujiro Ozu's Passing Fancy (1933) is a slight inferior film from the director's silent era. Takeshi Sakamoto plays an unresponsible widowed father whose attempts at courting a younger lady lead to no good.

The film does play around with the themes Ozu often explored and there are a few interesting aspects in store for Ozu fans because he modelled the main character after his father and few other men he knew as a kid. There are times when the narrative simply implodes under the pressure caused by the imbalance of comedy and drama. Luckily that doesn't destroy the screenplay completely since it happens only on a few occasions that are surrounded by all around pleasant writing.

Ozu's form is a bit careless with random camera movement and stiff editing. However, he manages to get brilliant performances from the actors and especially the lead character's child is surprisingly natural in his role.

Even if Passing Fancy has its significant flaws, it is flawed in an interesting way for the fans of the director.

Score: 7 out of 10

Silence

It is not easy to summarize Masahiro Shinoda's Silence (1971). In a way it's like Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal (1957) if it was set in the 17th century Japan. But that would be a misleading comparison for multiple reasons.

First of all, Silence is not expressionistic at all. Secondly, it is not only about the "silence of God" because Shinoda makes the most of Endo's original novel which criticizes Japan and organized religion as well as exploring a cultural conflict vividly. How does he do that? By telling a story of two Portuguese Catholic priests sneaking into Japan to guide the Japanese Christians in secret, which leads to a long and gruesome aftermath. One might wonder if Shinoda can keep it all together coherently within a single film. He surely manages to do that: the writing is surprisingly fluid in all aspects.

However, the form is not perfect. The jaw-dropping cinematography and powerful editing work well with Takemitsu's musical score, but there are a few irritating inconsistencies. The lighting is odd in the early scenes and the worst offender is the English dialogue. It is written well, but the British actors stumble with it terribly. And it doesn't help a lot when it hasn't even been recorded well. This is a problem when English is used for a third (if not more) of the entire dialogue of the film.

Silence could have become the ultimate clusterfuck of religion, culture and faith if it the glaring flaw had been polished to be less noticable.

Score: 9 out of 10

I Lived, But ...

Kazuo Inoue's documentary on the director Yasujiro Ozu, I Lived, But ... (1983), is a stunning achievement. It represents a comprehensive and compelling summary of his filmography and a touching portrayal of the director's personal life. The mystery surrounding the kanji mu (embedded on Ozu's grave) is also nicely explored.

Through clips of actual behind-the-scenes footage, interviews and thousands of photos, Inoue manages to build a truly brilliant biography of the great director. Especially the interviews of the stars of his films are essential and Sugimura's interview gives the film the required sentimental touch which makes it more unforgettable than any other documentary. There's also a great deal of imagery used a bit like Ozu's pillow shots accompanied with great music. They serve in a nicely cathartic way along with giving the documentary a relaxing pace and mood.

The name is not only a clever reference to Ozu's early filmography, but it also captures the possible internal conflict of the director's loneliness. Inoue employs a number of little subtle things like this to get under the viewer's skin and manages to move us by the end of the film by giving Ozu the respect he deserves.

Score: 10 out of 10

Evening Classes

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Nicolas Ribowski's short film Evening Classes (1967) is solely built around Jacques Tati's famous character, Mr. Hulot. The director lets Tati loose for long takes in which he demonstrates his wide range of acting capabilities by teaching an acting class for eager (but hilariously dumb) students.

The film relies solely on the gags within the 30-minute running time and they are clearly hit-or-miss. Whenever Tati has nothing to do, the film is a real letdown because the other actors simply can't keep up with his great performance. The direction lacks the same sort of inspiration although it's rewarding because it gives most of its attention for Tati's performance by not distracting the viewer from it.

If anything, Evening Classes is a nice extra for the Criterion release of Tati's Playtime (1967).

Score: 6 out of 10

I Was Born, But ...

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Yasujiro Ozu's I Was Born, But ... (1932) is often called the masterpiece of Ozu's silent era and I agree with that sentiment. It succeeds at being a pitch-perfect comedy about childhood and a heartbreaking film about social injustice and family.

Even though the focus is on two brothers Ozu creates a huge ensemble of unforgettable characters around them. At first the film lulls the viewer with its lovely humor as performed by the wonderful cast of child actors, but gradually the tone becomes more and more serious ending in a heartaching way that is more than capable of delivering the central message.

Ozu also seems to finally master his form in this film: where it seemed a bit overblown or tired in Tokyo Chorus (1931) it seems to work smoothly despite still being vastly different from his sound film aesthetic.

I Was Born, But ... is an essential film for any cinephile - and especially if you're a fan of Japanese cinema or a fan Ozu, you can't miss out on this one.

Score: 10 out of 10

Tokyo Chorus

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Yasujiro Ozu's Tokyo Chorus (1931) is the film that (as David Bordwell said) was the important turning point for the director: it made him a major director. It is a fascinating mixture of comedy, drama and vastly different subjects - and all of that is charged with strong social values that are common for Ozu. There is a downside to the screenplay: it barely keeps its explosive expression together throughout the film. There's a constant change in mood and there are times when that almost doesn't work.

Like the writing, the form is also a bit different from what we are used to in later Ozu films. The kinetic yet precise camerawork and fast pacing make the film a bit exhaustive, but with its short running time (90 minutes) that's not a problem. Acting is good in general, but I'd like to give a nod to Tokihiko Okada for his great performance as the lead. He manages to combine the acting style common for silent films with a more grounded and tangible presence.

In the end Tokyo Chorus is a satisfying Ozu film even if it does not reach the height of his later masterpieces.

Score: 8 out of 10

Tokyo Twilight

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Yasujiro Ozu's Tokyo Twilight (1957) is probably the darkest film the director ever made. The familiar explorations of marriage and family are shadowed by grave misfortune. The focus is on two sisters who try to deal with children and marriage without a mother who left them when they were still kids.

Being an Ozu film, I had high expectations for Tokyo Twilight and even then I was a bit surprised because the film nearly reaches the complexity and emotional impact of the so-called Noriko trilogy. With a strong cast of characters (and actors) and a thought-provoking approach Ozu manages to create yet another unforgettable story.

Tokyo Twilight is not an exception to the formal aesthetic of Ozu's sound films and it isn't exactly stand out in his filmography, which means it is quite stunning on its own. The soundtrack is surprisingly a bit more emotional in comparison to the director's other films, but the difference isn't that significant in the end.

Ozu's incredible streak of great movies seems to have no end. Tokyo Twilight is often forgotten because the focus is on his other masterpieces like Late Spring (1949), but it is extremely fascinating and sublime as well.

Score: 10 out of 10

Three Times

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I'm a fan of director Hsiao-hsien Hou, but even then I wasn't that fascinated by Three Times (2005). The film is split into three segments that take place in three different periods of time (1910's, 1960's and 2000's) where Shu Qi and Chen Chang appear in the central relationship. As you might guess from that, Three Times' major theme is love.

The first segment is a schmaltzy tale of a soldier chasing an adventurous woman in the 60's. Why do I call it schmaltzy? There is an abundance of pop music of the period that is so mind-numbing in the end that the music loses most of its impact. Even Aprhodite's Child's "Rain and Tears" had a surprisingly tame impact due to the frequent usage.

The second segment is an oddly pretentious effort for Hou. Most of the segment tries to imitate silent films by muting dialogue and sound effects yet changes nothing else so it's a Hou film without sound apart from a constant flow of music. I guess he decided to approach the segment that way since it takes place in the early 20th century. However it's not only distracting, but nearly terrible because Hou still relies on dialogue as much as he usually does so that means there are a lot of title cards that becomes rather tiresome after a while. It also has a very calm, dreamlike pace for no good reason.

The final segment is Hou's take on love in the modern age and I have to say it is clearly the most successful and interesting one. It is the most complex and interesting one and there are no formal deficiencies in the way either.

Apart from the oddities specific to each segment, the form is rather fluid. Hou's incredible photography and sparse editing are still as beautiful as they have always been. The musical choices are good even if occasionally misused. The greatest occasion must be the closing song for the final segment: it is so well as a continuation of the heart-aching ending. And if there's anything to be truly praised in this film it's Shu Qi's amazing acting. The innocent joy of the first segment, the elegance of the second segment and the fragile tour de force of the final segment are all top notch performances. I hope she will eventually be acknowledged as one of the greatest contemporary actresses.

Even though Hou doesn't have that much to say about love he approaches it from so many different perspectives that the film is at least satisfying. I wonder what would have happened to the film without Shu Qi.

Score: 6 out of 10

Early Spring

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Yasujiro Ozu's Early Spring (1956) is a departure from the director's work thematically: even though the focus is on family and marriage the story is about a salary man who begins cheating on his wife after becoming dissatisfied with his life and work. There is a lack of authority and it is replaced by other social concerns. Ozu's musings on work are enigmatic since nearly every scene is related to work, but nothing comes out of it at least on surface.

Ozu's form has clearly become static by now as there is only one moving shot (that is used in a tad confusing way to be honest). The pillow shots are mostly of interior locations as opposed to the vast amount of scenery shots used in the director's other films like Tokyo Story (1953).

Early Spring might be a lesser masterpiece from Ozu, but that's not surprising because he made it right after one of the greatest masterpieces of all time, Tokyo Story. However it's a refreshing film (even if way too long at two and half hours) from Ozu's filmography so I would gladly recommend it.

Score: 8 out of 10

Samurai Rebellion

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Masaki Kobayashi's Samurai Rebellion (1967) is a spiritual sequel to Harakiri (1964): Kobayashi's critique of authority in a heavily dramatized form. After Isaburo (Toshiro Mifune) is forced to have his son marry a former mistress of a powerful lord the entire family discovers that the girl isn't as bad as her reputation suggests. Due to a grim turn of events Isaburo and his son decide to disobey the lord's newer orders even though it puts their family in danger.

Even though I would call Samurai Rebellion Kobayashi's bloody revenge story it doesn't involve a lot of action until the final third of the film (which has a lot of it). Most of the focus is on the fascinating central family that is used heavily for the director's strong message that is approached in a possibly better way than in Harakiri. The downside of the screenplay has to be the ending. While the final scenes are perfect it stumbles for 10 minutes before that. The tension generated in the film is released way too early and some of the scenes lose the dramatic impact they were supposed to have. There's also the mystery of Tatsuya Nakadai's character whose relevance is questionable and it almost feels like his role was severely cut in the editing room.

Kobayashi's form is full of menacing energy that stems from the absolutely brilliant photography and the intense yet "slow" editing that hits the viewer like a ton of bricks when it is needed. The approach to the climactic action scenes is surprisingly tame, but they are still powerful enough. Toru Takemitsu's soundtrack is great again. The entire cast delivers magnificent performances and especially Toshiro Mifune is in top form this time.

Samurai Rebellion could have become another masterpiece for Kobayashi in the vein of Harakiri, but the slight (but drastical) mistake near the end hinders the film a bit too much.

Score: 9 out of 10

Early Summer

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Yasujiro Ozu's Early Summer (1951) is yet another observation of family and marriage in post-war Japan for the director. A surprisingly large cast of characters is introduced in the first third of the film before the major conflict is even ignited. Not the only characters are rich, but the writing in general is deeply (but subtly) touching in the unique way Ozu always managed to embed into his films.

From Ozu one can always expect formal brilliance and Early Summer is not an exception. Scenes are shot from a fixed low positions in the traditional Ozu way, but there are surprisingly many moving shots this time. Some of them work well, but there are a few that feel more like formal deficiencies. Luckily they are few and the other parts of the film easily overshadow the moments the form stumbles. It's also miraculous how Ozu's musical scores are always so timeless whereas other Japanese films from the same period of time offer soundtracks that in hindsight seem so "obviously 50's" (not to say they are bad, but when you give enough thought for it, that's how it seems).

Ozu's deeply moving and life-affirming films are one of the biggest reasons why I'm so fascinated by cinema. The repressed emotions and subtlety of his writing and his utterly unique aesthetic provide unforgettable cinematic experiences that make me speechless. I hope I can one day express that delight in words because right now I'm not exactly satisfied with what I've written. Nevertheless I urge everyone to go and see the director's films because they are a lot more rewarding than what modern cinema can offer.

Score: 10 out of 10

The Game of Their Lives

Daniel Gordon's documentary The Game of Their Lives (2002) tells the incredible story of North Korea's national football team's adventure in the 1966 World Cup tournament. They shocked the entire world by defeating Italy in the group phase and thus, forced the old World Cup champions to drop out of the tournament.

Despite the film's questionably sympathetic depiction of North Korea it provides great insight into one of the biggest mysteries of football history. The documentary is dominated by old footage of the tournament and makes the most out of it, which isn't exactly hard since the subject is interesting. The director also travelled to North Korea to interview the few surviving members of the team and the bits of the interviews used in the film are great. I'm not sure if the great responses can be credited to the efforts of the interviewer(s) or the openness of the players themselves. Nevertheless, their own comments are essential for the documentary.

The documentary is not without its faults. It uses a few rather underhanded tricks to emotionally involve its audience and it can be asked whether the director had his own agenda with the film since it makes North Korea look like the most pleasant country on Earth. Which in turns makes one wonder how truthful the documentary is in the end.

Score: 7 out of 10

The Face of Another

The Face of Another (1966) is third collaboration between the director Hiroshi Teshigahara, composer Toru Takemitsu and writer Kobo Abe. The trio's achievements could be seen as pretentious and hilariously gritty, but somehow they always manage to completely enthrall me. It seems almost if their work became more subtle the more they worked together. The Pitfall's experimentality was strongly present throughout the film and even Woman in the Dunes was a bit, but that roughness was fitting for the film. The Face of Another is a significantly more restrained effort because even the unconventional bits flow smoothly.

The main character of the film (played superbly by Tatsuya Nakadai) explores the ambiguous nature of identity after his face is accidentally deformed and then replaced by a new one. Despite its heavy themes the film advances in a clearly comprehensible way that might be a bit ambiguous once in a while, but it never goes to the extremes of the trio's earlier films that are much more obscure (but not necessarily bad that way). The writing is intellectually very stimulating and provokes strong emotional reactions as it follows the questionable ethics of the main character.

Whereas Woman in the Dunes was formally claustrophobic, The Face of the Another is schizophrenic. After the menacing and experimental opening the film's form diverts a little from what is expected from the trio. The intense close-ups are fewer and Takemitsu's wonderful musical score is more subtle than before. The lighting and cinematography are just about as refined and powerful as they can be.

What could have been a misadventure in obscurity and pretension turns out to be yet another masterpiece from the famous Japanese New Wave trio.

Score: 10 out of 10

Buster Keaton's Short Films (Part 1)

Because I bought the Masters of Cinema's Buster Keaton box set I am going to review all of his short films (1917-1923) during the next few weeks in 4 parts (one DVD at a time from the 4-DVD box). In the first part all of the films might be directed by Roscoe Arbuckle, but Buster Keaton has a strong presence in each film. 

The Butcher Boy (1917) shows the core structure of what Arbuckle's films revolve around: the director's "greedy but lovable" character tries to win the love of a beautiful girl who is also courted by Al St. John's antagonistic bastard - and the whole story is full of slapstic comedy. In the first films Buster Keaton "only" gets unforgettable supporting roles. Even though the two setpieces of The Butcher Boys are funny and interesting the transition between them is ugly and some of the humor is unfunny because it is so lowbrow.

In The Rough House (1917) the same elements are mixed in a significantly more incoherent way that is worthy of a chuckle at best. The setting has changed from a general store to a big household which disappointing in comparison. The gags are still similar, but they come out of nowhere and don't add up into a hilarious sequence, which makes them cold. Or so it seems in comparison to other films Arbuckle and Keaton made. Nevertheless The Rough House is an enjoyable short film.

His Wedding Night (1917) is a tad slower than the other films in a way: the gags are more sparse and they are saved for the final third that is full of visual gags that are more or less funny. It's not exactly a great approach since the film doesn't work that well apart from its gags, but the comedy kicks more punch when you have to wait for it a bit longer than in the other films.

Oh, Doctor! (1917) follows a doctor who is seduced by a thief, but as the situation becomes more complicated a vicious amount of slapstick comedy dominates the film. For some reason the film is surprisingly dry even though it had the potential to be a lot better. It reminds me of The Rough House because my reaction was rather similar despite a superficially better screenplay.

Coney Island (1917) is clearly one of the better short films Arbuckle ever made. The amusement park section provides a bunch of classic and unforgettable gags. It is a shame the film takes a turn for more lowbrow humor in the end when it could have done so much more than that.

Out West (1918) is an interesting film for its time: it has (possibly accidental) anti-racist ideas that come through the parody of cliched tropes of the western film genre. This effort is more unified than Arbuckle's other films since it constantly makes fun of westerns in a refreshing way.

Out of the films I've seen so far The Bell Boy (1918) is the brightest result of the collaboration between Keaton, Arbuckle and St. John. The refined gags, top-notch acting and awesome setpieces guarantee success. There are moments that feel almost like subversion of established tropes in Arbuckle's films (such as St. John being one of the protagonists this time).

The final short film of this part, Moonshine (1918), hasn't completely survived to this day: only 6 minutes of the film have been found and released on DVD. As a result of that the short is more or less a mess that barely has the sort of brilliance you could expect from the makers.

In all of these films Keaton and Arbuckle perform magnificently in their heavily physical roles. Formally the films are stable and never distracting so I consider them successful in that regard as well.

Scores:

The Butcher Boy (1917): 8 out of 10

The Rough House (1917): 6 out of 10

His Wedding Night (1917): 7 out of 10

Oh, Doctor! (1917): 6 out of 10

Coney Island (1917): 8 out of 10

Out West (1918): 9 out of 10

The Bell Boy (1918): 9 out of 10

Moonshine (1918): 5 out of 10

24 Realities per Second

Nina Kusturica and Eva Testor's documentary on Michael Haneke, 24 Realities per Second (named after a famous quote by the director), could have provided great insight into the work of one of the most fascinating European directors working today. Even though there are intriguing scenes of him working on the set and answering questions of the interviewers and the audience at a screening the clips don't hold together very well - especially because transitions are completely missing. 

Haneke's thoughts are interesting on their own, but in the end they are rather sparse and are not though-provoking because the structure of the documentary doesn't let them become memorable. Without giving a clear focus to anything the film is too fragmented to give a strong image of the director or the films he makes.

No matter how badly the presentation is failed the director is a fascinating person when he opens up for the camera and that makes the documentary watchable.

Score: 5 out of 10

Flowing

Even though Mikio Naruse's Flowing (1956) tells about the geisha tradition in post-war Japan the audience is never shown scenes of the actual entertainment apart from brief glimpses of young geisha practicing. The film's focus is on the large cast of characters, all the different sort of people who live in the financially unstable geisha house.

Naruse's films usually develop at a relatively fast pace, but even under his standards Flowing's narrative is like a whirlwind. As multiple storylines develop simultaneously and intertwine, Naruse builds a fascinating world which easily gathers the audience's attention throughout the film. Each character is more or less colorful (and unforgettable) and the acting is top-notch. It is funny (yet amazing) how the film features so many of the greatest Japanese actresses of the 50's (only lacking Setsuko Hara).

The films Naruse made in the 50's follow the same sort of formal pattern so it is really hard to say anything new about it, having seen so many of his films in a row. It would be possible to approach each film more individually if I were to write an analytical text of the films, but within the restrictions of the review format it is quite impossible to say anything drastically different about each film. Flowing is formally excellent due to its great compositions (which differ in significant ways depending on whether the scene is set in an interior or exterior location) and crafty editing.

On the first view Flowing is great, but I'm not sure whether it is on the level of Naruse's greatest masterpiece (When a Woman Ascends the Stairs) yet. I guess I will have to watch it again at some point for final evaluation.

Score: 9 out of 10

Sound of the Mountain

In Mikio Naruse's Sound of the Mountain (1954) Setsuko Hara plays a housewife whose husband cheats on her. She faces an insurmountable decision as she has to figure out whether she should divorce him or not. Her close relationship with the father-in-law (who in turn neglects her own daughter) complicates the matter.

Essentially Sound of the Mountain is Naruse's exploration of family and marriage. It might be something he often observes in his films, but he always manages to bring a new aspect or approach to it - and this is not an exception. He handles the intimate "chamber drama" well in order to bring forth interesting details of the characters - which not only deepen the themes, but also make the film a lot more compelling to watch.

Naruse's form is pretty much the same as it is in his other films. His formal choices are barely noticable, but they are surprisingly powerful. In general it works well, but it is not mindblowing. In Naruse's film the soundtrack is often a bit of a nuiscance, but it isn't that bad this time.

Sound of the Mountain is a fine achievement for a director who is slowly becoming one of my all time favorites.

Score: 9 out of 10

Repast

Mikio Naruse's Repast (1951) focuses on the struggles of a Japanese housewife as she tries to attain inner peace in a troubled marriage. Naruse continues to explore women who aim for happiness despite the restrictions set by the harsh reality - and succeeds very well by hiding surprising complexity in simple scenes and developing fascinating characters subtly.

Naruse's brilliant white and black photography and sneaky editing are effective in a partly minimalistic way because they don't draw a lot of attention to themselves: the camera moves calmly and the editing patterns are rather conventional. The most impressive aspect in Repast is the acting: Ken Uehara and Setsuko Hara are magnificent. Especially the latter is (as expected) impeccable as the conflicted and emotionally unstable housewife that carries the entire film. However, the film is not without a flaw: the soundtrack is a bit over the top although it mostly works sufficiently, but it does stand out quite a lot in the "restrained" form.

Mikio Naruse has proven to be an interesting director like his reputation suggested before I was introduced to his film properly. There's something life-affirming yet "realistic" about his films that make them intriguing and poetic. Repast is one of his finest achievements judging from the few films I've seen so far.

Score: 9 out of 10

High and Low

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Akira Kurosawa's High and Low (1963) is a gripping combination of character study, social commentary and thriller. Toshiro Mifune's lead character is an executive (in a successful company) who becomes the target of a blackmail attempt.

Kurosawa's large cast of fascinating characters has to face thought-provoking ethical dilemmas as they try to solve the case without harming anyone. The director's strong ethical concerns and magnificently used melodrama are especially the key elements for the first third of the film which is shot solely on one set. The film names and explores many social concerns, but at the end I realised I'm not exactly sure what Kurosawa wanted to say with the film. That might just be my problem though. The more troubling "flaw" (even though it's not exactly one) is the surprisingly long police investigation part in the middle of the film. Luckily Kurosawa's approach to it never makes it boring even when it's clearly too long for the film's sake.

The form doesn't fail either. Kurosawa's explosive and captivating cinematography is on the level of his masterpieces (Seven Samurai) and the editing is almost equally impressive. The set design is vital for the film since a significant portion of it takes place at the lead character's house - and it is damn captivating to say the least. The form wouldn't have been nearly as effective without the amazing actors each of whom deliver a pitch-perfect performance. Mifune's aggressive and menacing performance is rivalled by Nakadai's confidence, Yamazaki's paranoia, Mihashi's introversion and Kagawa's hysteria.

When I'm asked who my favorite director is, I usually answer Akira Kurosawa. High and Low reminded me of why it is so even though it's not completely impeccable.

Score: 9 out of 10

I Don't Want to Sleep Alone

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Ming-liang Tsai's I Don't Want to Sleep Alone (2006) is another addition to the director's long list of films that explore the feelings of loneliness and alienation. This time the main character, Hsiao-Kang, is in Malaysia and ends up being mugged. Afterwards he finds company in two lonely natives whose unstable emotions complicate the film quite a lot. Tsai's approach lacks humor surprisingly, but that doesn't make the film worse - in fact, I think it's better off without the slapstick comedy. The screenplay is rough and a bit weird for Tsai, but the climax is probably the best thing Tsai has ever done - apart from What Time Is It There.

Tsai's form is still full of static long takes, but there are significantly more closeups used than in his earlier films which barely had any. There's also a lot more sound this time - through music, dialogue and background noise. Although these "irregularities" Tsai doesn't stumble with the form at all because the film is magically captivating.

While I Don't Want to Sleep Alone is not exactly on par with the director's masterpiece it's nevertheless a great achievement.

Score: 9 out of 10

Flight of the Red Balloon

Hsiao-hsien Hou's Flight of the Red Balloon (2007) reminds me of the director's earlier film, Café Lumière (2003), because in both films he explores a foreign culture so vividly and profoundly in a minimalistic way. Whereas Café Lumière was only about that Flight of the Red Balloon's scope is a bit bigger. As a vital reference to Albert Lamorisse's Red Balloon (1956) a mysterious red balloon follows the son of a puppeteer and his babysitter in Paris.

Hou's "slice of life" approach is still refreshing and brilliant in a way that's hard to put into words. There's a heart-warming aspect to it although the film's atmosphere is occasionally gloomy. Hou creates one of the most interesting characters of his entire career with the Chinese babysitter, Fang Song, who is also a film student interested in shooting footage of the boy's adventures in the city. Despite its freewheeling nature as a vivid document of the culture the film also deals with family issues and art in a significant degree, which makes it even more interesting.

Hou's minimal (but not static) camera movement, gorgeous compositions and calm editing (most scenes are shot with a single take) are as captivating and sophisticated as in his greatest masterpieces such as City of Sadness. The instrumental music is used in a slightly cathartic way that reminds me of Hou's earlier films although this time it was even more effective. Especially the song used at the end of the film was a great choice.

Hsiao-hsien continues to amaze me with his wisdom and sophistication which seem to be never-ending seeing that his career has lasted for so long already and he has never stumbled drastically.

Score: 10 out of 10

Mystery Train

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Jim Jarmusch's Mystery Train (1989) consists of three storylines that have two things in common: all of the characters end up in the same cheap hotel and Elvis Presley is present in some form in each one. The first segment (Far From Yokohama) deals with two Japanese tourists who have come to Memphis to visit the home of Elvis Presley. The second one (A Ghost) is about a foreigner stuck in the city due to flight problems - and she eventually spends time with an incredibly talkative woman. The last segment (Lost in Space) focuses on a fascinating triangle dynamic between three guys who are in deep trouble.

Even though these segments are heavily interconnected their quality varies surprisingly lot. While the first segment offers a pitch-perfect piece of deadpan comedy the other two are only amusing at best. The Japanese couple of Far From Yokohama form such a great chemistry not only between the characters but also between the two performances that overshadows the rest of the film. Even though it is notably the "driest" part of the film in terms of direction the other two segments can not possibly rival it because Jarmusch's lack of exaggeration sometimes diminishes the impact of the comedy. Luckily none of the segments is bad, but there is a troubling inconsistency in quality that distracted me a little.

Jarmusch's form isn't exactly minimal because it uses a variety of techniques - especially in cinematography - but instead I would call it "calm". It lets the screenplay unfold at its own pace and the subtle humor is never pointed at. Most of the camera movement is subtle because it is done so slowly and smoothly that the viewer doesn't easily notice it - apart from a few scenes where the movement is obvious from the editing patterns. The soundtrack of the film is almost the complete opposition with its neverending charm and energy delivered by Presley, Orbison and other similar musicians. It's at least a fascinating and functional contrast so it doesn't hinder the film.

Mystery Train is a disappointing film in its own way: after a brilliant beginning the comedy falls a bit flat and even when Jarmusch gives the film more energy afterwards it never fully recovers. Nevertheless it is a rather funny and well executed film.

Score: 7 out of 10

Evangelion 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance

Evangelion 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance (2009) is the second part of a movie series that attemps to retell the story of Hideaki Anno's Neon Genesis Evangelion - a TV show that I utterly love and praise way more than anything else. Even though the first film was a rather uninventive remake of the first 6 episodes of the original show with brand new animation, the second film takes a significantly different direction to make the new films quite different from the original show.

Essentially Evangelion is about a group of teenagers saving the world in their giant robots from creatures called the "Angels" while mysterious old men smugly conspire for something much bigger. As interesting and mysterious as the plot sounds, it's only the framework for the grand psychological and philosophical issues which are also filtered through religious imagery.

Where this film seriously differs from the original show is its inclusion of a totally new character who - despite appearing as far less complex than the original cast - twists the storyline a lot via her chaotic (and badass) involvement. The already-familiar characters seem to evolve in slightly different paths this time, but I'm not sure if it is going to have an impact in the end since there are still 2 movies to be released. All in all, the writing is nearly as complex as in the original series (which is the ultimate masterpiece of cinema and TV in my opinion) and the film brings new interesting aspects to the characters and the world around them.

Anno's form is still top notch after 15 years. The editing is phenomenal throughout the film and the compositions are breathtaking. The vast budget is well used for gorgeous animation that only enhances the already rich cinematic experience. Shiro Sagisu's soundtrack might be a bit weird in comparison to the TV show because it includes some of his music from other shows and it is a bit more guitar-driven on a few occasions. Despite its different nature it is still quite awesome.

Hideaki Anno proves he is still at the top of his own game despite not doing anything for years prior to the earlier film. No matter how you look at the film, you can't find any flaws at all. It's a clear-cut diamond.

Score: 10 out of 10

Sonatine

Takeshi Kitano's Sonatine (1993) is clearly the film that defines Kitano's trademark style: deadpan humor presented through a calm and peculiar form. As a mob war escalates a group of yakuza decide to go into hiding in Okinawa.

The premise sounds like something that could be used for a lot of suspense and action, but Kitano does not take that route. Instead he explores the way the gangsters spend time hilariously at the beach, which is interrupted by bloody violence sparsely. Kitano's humor is bright and truly funny this time. Solid characterization and the relaxed setting allow it to bloom to new heights. Even though a few themes do unify the film the focus is on comedy and rough violence.

The form is a bit exceptional too. The absolutely gorgeous photography, the calmly moving camera and calm editing patterns make the audience forget the passing of time - it's really easy to get into the film's world because of that. Joe Hisaishi's beautiful score is both haunting and relaxing at the same time - it works well as a cathartic device as well. There are a few moments in which Kitano's approach is quite awkward. For example there is one pivotal action scene that is handled in a dry way despite its slightly dramatic potential. I guess Kitano intended it to be blunt, but it has an effect which is too alienating.

Sonatine is an all-around solid film that is the best choice if you want to be introduced to Kitano's filmography.

Score: 8 out of 10

Special Write-up: LOST

This "review" is spoiler-free until the point I add the actual spoiler warning.

ABC's TV show Lost began airing in 2004. My first glimpse of the show was in 2005 when its pilot was aired on Finnish TV for the first time. Its premise was interesting enough for me: a bunch of castaways being stuck on a mysterious island that kept revealing new secrets all the time. I found interesting characters and the flashbacks to their background stories made the show a particularly rich experience. Lost caught me at a time when I had just got into movies more seriously - even though back then I was a helpless newbie.

I became a hardcore fan of the show almost instantly. I bought the DVD boxes and rewatched the episodes countless times. I was initially intrigued by the mysteries and I spent time a lot of time reading theories and giving my own input to them in a fan community. I admired the show blindly for the first three seasons, but my exploration of cinema eventually opened my eyes. At some point during the first half of the 4th season I realised that the series' writing was rather faulty. After the wonderfully character-centric first season that teased us with mysteries, the second and third seasons had an unforgivable amount of filler episodes, frozen character development and more ridiculous mysteries. But then I thought it was too late to stop so I just kept watching the show and I actually found interesting nuances and details that made me gradually more interested in the show again. The 4th season was a solid effort and I found out that I truly cared about the characters instead of the mysteries - the latter became irrelevant for me.

And that is how I ended up with the opinion I have in regards to the debate whether Lost is character-driven or plot-driven. I have become to hold the plot and mysteries merely as the framework for the characters and themes because the complicated story doesn't work on its own. There are tons of inconsistencies in writing and relying on simple "wow" factor of the mysteries is just cold and dull. And Lost did reward my patience with it because it gradually became better and better. Apart from the messy time travel section of the 5th season it only improved all the time. The series finale was not a disappointment either - it was probably the best 2 hours American TV has ever offered.

Yes, there are plotlines that go nowhere or were treated badly. Yes, there are useless mysteries that were never even addressed afterwards. Yes, most of the characters are rather one-dimensional, but they are still rather fascinating even after 6 seasons (a few of them are utterly terrible though, such as Sayid). And yes, there are only a handful unified themes in the show and some of the motifs remain unused despite repeated use. I don't know what exactly it is among these flaws that makes the show so intriguing - I guess this show is extremely holistic then.

The direction in general is rather messy. The shaky and "edgy" camerawork is dominant in the show and sometimes it is used well, but there are so many times it failed in a miserable way. There are a few notable exceptions when the camera is strictly under control and the results are glorious - the finale is a prime example. The same thing goes for editing as well - there are times when it is terribly random and distracting, but it isn't thoroughly bad. What the show always got right was its set and location design that were simply stunning.

Michael Giacchino's score deserves its own paragraph. Even though it is too sentimental, blatant, heavy-handed and schmaltzy it still works so well. There are times when it is misused or used way too much, but in overall the music keeps the form together. The suspenseful compositions have lesser effect when they are used for pretty much every scene to emphasize a superficially dramatic reveal that is obvious way before we even see it. However, haunting tracks like Life and Death (and the different arrangements of it) prove that Giacchino's score is at its best when it tries to affect your emotions deeply.

From now on there will be spoilers. SPOILER WARNING!

What will I remember about Lost? It will be the characters. You might say that one will naturally develop an emotional bond with the characters after 120 hours, but it's still amazing how the characters are so fascinating and lovable despite the actual character development being so minimal. The show's most tortured characters, Locke and Ben, were the most thoroughly explored characters in the end. Their search for redemption and clarity formed the heart of the show. Then there were great surprises in the last season, surprises which opened the characters for me.

Jack was the character the writers utterly lost after his admirable usage in the first season. However in the last two seasons they created such a clear and affectionate phase of character development as he began to carry the weight of his guilt in different ways. His actions became more and more awesome as the show went on and the logical conclusion was to become the new Jacob - even if it was a brief role that ended with his heroic sacrifice that brought tears to my eyes.

Then there was the comic relief in the form of Hurley and Miles. While Hurley was the lovable genre-savvy character who also had his own drama, Miles was the guy to make cynical remarks that worked surprisingly well on their own. Richard was a mysterious figure for a long time, but once we found about his past he became a tragic character that was even more interesting in the end. Sun & Jin mostly dealt with their own relationship and yet their sweet reunions managed to be touching - and their cruel demise was one of the most heartbreaking moments in the entire show. There was also a bunch of side characters like Frank "forget me for a few episodes" Lapidus that were rather random and useless in the end (or killed off spontaneously like Ilana, that was an epic failure).

The series finale proved me wrong when I thought it couldn't possibly be an emotionally satisfying ending to a show that dragged me along for years. The ultimate moments of redemption and happiness made the show worth watching as the writers showed us just how much they respected and loved the characters as well. And I found it truly incredible that the flash sideways timeline was a sort of an afterlife the main characters had created for themselves - it gave the show a life-affirming tone that enforced the message of "moving on" as Christian Shephard put it. It reminded us fans of the fact that there is a life outside of Lost to which we should return to eventually. I hope I can do that by completing this review. I grew up with the show and even with all of its flaws I can't avoid the fact how much I love it.

Lost (2004-2010): 6 out of 10

The series finale 'The End': 10 out of 10

Inglourious Basterds

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Quentin Tarantino's latest film, Inglourious Basterds (2009), is a rather confusing film when compared to the director's earlier output. Rewriting world history completely is not the peculiar thing, it's Tarantino's restrained and occassionally unfunny approach that is rather distracting. Apart from the juvenile gags and offbeat soundtrack you wouldn't necessarily realise this to be a film from the director who brought us Pulp Fiction.

The idea of a bunch of Americans slaying Hitler might sound like a great premise for a Tarantino film, but it surprisingly falls flat. Apart from Hans Landa, the characters are quite one-dimensional. Now this wouldn't really be a problem since Tarantino usually handles them well, but none of them really get to shine in this film since they aren't really funny. Luckily Landa has a lot of screentime to make the film enjoyable - and the cast is good enough to make the film solid.

The form is distracting because, well, it isn't heavy-handedly present like in the director's earlier films. The more "restrained" and conventional approach would be fine if Tarantino was serious - he's not. This clinical approach makes the film awkward on many occasions because the jokes fall flat without Tarantino's tongue-in-cheek camerawork and editing. Using Morricone's compositions is a weird idea for a film set in the 40's and the result is a bit puzzling. While it works once in a while, the soundtrack as a whole is not convincing. Now add a few totally random/sloppy cuts and you have a form that doesn't exactly serve the film's purpose.

Inglourious Basterds could have been yet another success for Tarantino, but the execution stumbles a little. However, Christoph Waltz' towering performance almost single-handedly redeems the film.

Score: 6 out of 10

Kill Bill (Volumes 1 and 2)

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Quentin Tarantino's two-part action masterpiece Kill Bill (2003 & 2004) is probably one of the most famous cinematic efforst of the noughties. It is a wild story of a woman taking revenge on a group of assassins who put her into coma and took her baby. Whereas the first film is an outrageous, tongue-in-cheek combination of Japanese pop cultural references, the sequel mixes that pattern with spaghetti westerns and somewhat serious drama.

The plot itself is rather simple as the main character, The Bride, eliminates each assassin one by one before going after Bill, the biggest bad guy of them all. The films are ridiculously full of references to other films and cultures. The weird mixture of yakuza, samurai myth and God knows what else can be found in the Crazy 88's, a group of sword-wielding gangsters The Bride slaughters in a famous action scene. The epic setpieces are entertaining on their own and this one in particular is one of the finest achievements of the genre. And the best part is the climax of the whole setpiece: an elegant duel in a Japanese garden covered in snow. There is also an entirely animated sequence for the origin story of one of the assassins, O-Ren Ishii, which fits surprisingly well into the film.

The sequel is a bit rougher in tone although it manages to be funny at the same time. Although occasionally it is indeed a bit confusing as the balance between actual drama and silly entertainment does not work smoothly. However it's not a drastic hindrance when the film still features great action scenes (none of them rival the Crazy 88's sequence, though) and an interesting flashback storyline.

The form is a triumph in both parts. Tarantino's slick use of music is refined here - although the 2nd Volume pales a bit in comparison to the 1st one. That does not mean it is bad at all. The editing switches between intensive/kinetic and relaxed to create a funnily "charistmatic" tone at all times. Charismatic in the way that it makes the film easily entertaining and never lets the viewer fall into boredom.

Above all, Kill Bill is top quality entertainment that never pretends to be anything else - even I was easily sucked into its violent and simple-minded world.

Scores:

Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003): 10 out of 10

Kill Bill Vol. 2 (2004): 8 out of 10

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A Country Doctor

Koji Yamamura's experimental animated short film A Country Doctor (2007) is an adaptation of Franz Kafka's short story of the same name. Adapting Kafka is often problematic because it is nigh impossible to portray the peculiarities of Kafka's prose onscreen. Yamamura succeeds quite well by using weird techniques like distorting the characters throughout the film and the art design is sketchy and creepy. The absurd and delusional story is certainly interesting, but in the end the short film is not superb. It's "only" very good.

Score: 8 out of 10

PS: It's uploaded on YouTube in three parts.

Jackie Brown

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Quentin Tarantino's Jackie Brown (1997) is the director's first slip-up. Essentially it is a long movie about a complex con a stewardess pulls off, but it is presented without a punch. A Tarantino film lacking the punch is an utter failure. It's almost as if he tried to hide his unsatisfying dialogue and boring characters under a superficially complex plot. Not even actors like Samuel L. Jackson can bring the characters to life - there is something wrong with the writing.

Even the form falters a little here. It certainly has decent camerawork and good editing, but Tarantino's soundtrack is hit-and-miss - too random this time that it doesn't even fit to the mood at all on some occasions.

And all of this mediocrity goes on for 150 minutes so it's not really tolerable either.

Score: 5 out of 10

Pulp Fiction

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Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction (1994) is often considered the director's best achievement. Four storylines of violence and salvation (most characters are seen in more than one storyline) are combined to one hell of a film. Tarantino's snarky dialogue dominates the two and half an hour running time and some of the film's quirky scenes have become legendary for Tarantino's fans.

Tarantino's writing is really compact and interesting this time. In comparison to Reservoir Dogs the scenes never feel like they go on for too long - although Butch's storyline is initially less impressive than the other ones. There's a huge cast of interesting characters, such as Jules - Samuel L. Jackson's Bible-reciting hitman who faces a miracle - and the Wolf - Harvey Keitel's cool gentleman whose specialty is to solve any sort of problems.

Pulp Fiction's form is also more refined and it is not distracting. Instead it is more successfully intertwined with the content. However, I'm not still a big fan of stylished camerawork for the sake of appearing as "cool". And naturally the soundtrack is marvellous.

Pulp Fiction is certainly the American epitome of coolness and snarkiness, but I don't find it nearly as impressive as the fanboys do.

Score: 9 out of 10

Reservoir Dogs

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Writer/director Quentin Tarantino's directorial debut Reservoir Dogs (1992) features the director's famous trademarks - even though they are still a bit unrefined. Essentially the film is about a group of criminals planning to rob a jewelry store, but the catch is that the heist fails in a terribly bloody way. The movie explores the consequences of the heist as the criminals begin arguing while trying to figure out just why the heist failed.

Tarantino is clever by leaving the heist itself offscreen and he depends on the ambitious narrative to deliver the emotional impact on the viewers (if that doesn't work then the screenplay would have been screwed). Tarantino is known for his masterful dialogue, but Reservoir Dogs doesn't completely deliver in this department. While it might work perfectly sometimes (such as the opening scene) there are times when it's stretched too much or simply too offbeat (dialogue between Orange and White). 

The camera work is also a bit unbalanced. When there's running, shooting or pointing guns involved in the scene Tarantino performs rather well, but during the dialogue-heavy scenes there are a few oddities that are so clearly made for the sake of being stylish. That's offputting. The use of music might feel a bit forced in Reservoir Dogs, but it works rather well in any case.

There are numerous flaws in Reservoir Dogs, but they are rather minor in the end. It is a fascinating crime film that deserves its cult status - even if it is quite overrated due to a mass of enthusiastic teenagers.

Score: 8 out of 10

Violent Cop

Takeshi Kitano's debut film Violent Cop (1989) is one of the most pathetic efforts at making a film I've seen in a while. The screenplay doesn't hold itself together enough well for a proper plot synopsis so I can only say the following. Everyone beats up everyone. Kitano's bad cop is the only properly characterized character - others become a blurry mass of incarnated nihilism upon which Kitano lays his violence. And then the others beat Kitano up, too. It's a mess.

Apart from the massive amount of cop outs, nihilism and clunky storytelling, the film is technically somewhat decent. Kitano's long take aesthetic does feel quite forced here and on some occasions the long takes are simply not justified. Kitano stretches the scenes only for the sake of doing so. I don't want to even write about the terrible soundtrack that is so painfully 80's.

Avoid it unless you are a diehard fan of Kitano. Nihilism for the sake of nihilism never works.

Score: 3 out of 10

Brother

Takeshi Kitano's Brother (2000) has an interesting premise: Kitano mixing yakuza and American organized crime through his deadpan comedy. He plays a notorious Japanese gangster who has to go to USA in order to avoid being killed. There he intends to gain power for his brother's small and pathetic gangster group.

Kitano avoids focusing on the details of how he rises to power and instead focuses on the humor and what comes afterwards. The rougher-than-sandpaper comedy simply does not work here. It is only amusing on a few occasions because Omar Epps is able to lighten up the silly English dialogue. Characters come and go quite chaotically. Sometimes it seems like Kitano is trying to establish an emotional connection with the audience, but he utterly fails because he either lets the humor run wild or the sentimental bits fall apart due to horrendous writing.

Kitano's "offbeat" cinematography and editing work in a satisfying way, but Hisaishi's musical score is awfully used because it does not fit to the dry comical tone at all. Kitano's and Epps' performance are fine, but they are the only actors given proper roles - the other characters are so uncharacterized or distracting that the actors can't do anything to save the script.

Brother could have become a fine film, but Kitano lost himself along the way.

Score: 5 out of 10

Love Exposure

I reviewed Sion Sono's Love Exposure (2009) last December after I had seen it for the first time. I finally decided to rewatch the epic 4-hour film now that I own it on DVD. The film doesn't lose even a shred of its tremendous power on a rewatch. The experience of watching the film for the first time was so involving that I mostly forgot to approach it more analytically. During this rewatch I received the chance to fix that and the film still holds up as one of the greatest films I've ever seen.

Essentially Love Exposure is a love story. Try to imagine the most absurd and convoluted love story ever made and make it one that is intensive and interesting for 4 hours - then you are close to understanding what Love Exposure is like. Add outrageously funny jokes, an exploration of religious problems, crossdressing as a serious story device and a lot of other things. Love Exposure explores so many different directions it's a miracle that it is even coherent.

Even though (obsessive/delusive) love is more like a frame story in Love Exposure it is also an important, central subject/theme in the film. As the title suggests the film is about "being exposed to love", but the film adds its own twist to it by exposing love to a few of the most mentally screwed characters of the decade. The conflicts and problems of organized religion are approached via moral corruption and amorality that is guaranteed to disturb anyone. It really tells something about the film's perversive screenplay that panties and hard-ons are used as significant motifs for self-discovery.

Not only does the writing switch constantly between different moods (tangible drama/tragedy & laugh-out-loud comedy), the form is very flexible as well. Visually Sono employs interesting techniques on different occassions: Tarantino-esque editing and camerawork, long take aesthetic, modern shakycam (surprisingly well done in the right context) and even splitscreens. He knows exactly when to pause the chaotic madness and lets the audience catch their breath - and even then the plot marches forward at an insane pace. The soundtrack also reflects the various moods by alternating between Yura Yura Teikoku's charming psychedelic rock and classical music.

Due to its enormous length the film relies a lot on its young cast. Nishijima, Mitsushima and Ando perform superbly - and even though Nishijima does most of the heavy lifting, the ladies steal every scene they are in. Weirdly enough that never distracts the audience because Sono manages to make it feel fitting/justified.

Love Exposure is Sono's magnum opus in all possible ways: it delves into heavy themes while retaining his interest for gore. It's one hell of a tour de force for everyone involved in the production because it is utterly complex yet surprisingly simple and understandable at the same time. It's not only a technical exercise in complexity and absurdity, it's also emotionally involving to the point that it becomes a truly enjoyable catharsis for the viewer.

Score: 10 out of 10