I Don't Want to Sleep Alone

(image source)

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

The Hole

(image source)

If you have followed this blog for a while, you must have figured out that I'm a big fan of the director Ming-liang Tsai. I finally had the chance to see one of the few films of his I had not yet seen - The Hole (1998). It is yet another exploration of alienation and loneliness from the director: in an abandoned Taiwan, two "survivors" try to cope with said themes after a lousy plumber creates a hole between their apartments.

This is the first time Tsai uses slapstick comedy and musical scenes during his career and they already work quite well - although they are not as refined as in his later films like What Time Is It There and The Wayward Cloud. When it comes to Tsai films, you are guaranteed to get a thorough study on the same themes so the focus is shifted towards how he approaches it. The song-and-dance numbers are surprisingly straightforward in the way they are related to the actual plot. The humor stands out so well that it sometimes feels as if Tsai isn't serious about the script at all. That's only a minor gripe, though.

Combined with the relatively bad audio quality of the DVD, the film's weird sound design was rough on my ears at first, but I got used to the constant background noise caused mostly by neverending rain. Tsai uses only Grace Chang's songs as the soundtrack - and even they are only used in the musical scenes. The (intentionally) downright ugly sets were intriguing yet they never made the film seem as grim as they could have. Tsai's long take aesthetic is always present and this film is unsurprisingly yet another photographical achievement for the director.

Tsai's films might be tough to watch - and even harder to review - on the first time so I don't think I have achieved what I wanted with this review. Tsai's cinema is the cause of undying fascination for me and it is something I will certainly delve deeper into in future. I hope I can write a better review for this blog of The Hole someday.

Score: 9 out of 10

5 Centimeters per Second

Makoto Shinkai's 5 Centimeters per Second (2007) is the culmination of the director's career. His lyrical storytelling and mouth-watering visuals come together seamlessly in this sad and melancholic love story.

The fragile main characters reach for love, but they face difficulties as alienation, melancholy, distance and longing come in their way. The bittersweet ending montage summarizes the film's idea in a stunning way. The film consists of three short stories that focus around one main character during his youth. Each segment calmly gathers tension that is often subverted to make the melancholic tone more tangible.

Shinkai's breathtaking background art, fascinating compositions and lyrical editing give the film a poignancy that is hard to achieve in cinema - especially with the running time of only a single hour. The voice acting should also be praised because it carries the film so well. The childlike innocence of the first segment is especially tangible through the soft and charming performances.

5 Centimeters per Second is an incredibly touching and gorgeous film that I like to return to once in a while - even if only to watch a few clips from here and there.

Score: 10 out of 10

Nostalgia

Andrei Tarkovsky's Nostalgia (1983) was the first film he made outside of the Soviet Union, and the second last film he ever made. It deals with his conflicted feelings of leaving his motherland. The protagonist of the film is a Russian poet who faces nostalgia while staying in Italy with an interpreter. The film's exploration of nostalgia, longing and alienation in a foreign culture is striking and surprisingly tangible.

Tarkovsky's form doesn't fail either. His use of sepia in the dreamlike flashbacks, long take aesthetic and meticulous editing are so captivating and impeccable. His use of classical music is almost incomparable, as well.

Nostalgia is a sadly overlooked work in Tarkovsky's filmography even though it's clearly yet another great masterpiece from the auteur.

Score: 10 out of 10

Vive L'amour

Ming-liang Tsai's Vive L'amour (1994) is clearly the first notable film the director made. While Rebels of the Neon God was a good effort, it was far below his usual level of quality. Vive L'amour is probably even more ambitious - or at least more challenging - than his later films because it doesn't dive into its thematics/subject the same way. While his later films always have a comical aspect (slapstick) along with the serious side, Vive L'amour is ONLY serious. Or the humor isn't as pointed out, at the very least.

Primarily the film is about alienation and sexual frustration, just like The Wayward Cloud, but this time he approaches the themes without porn or musical scenes. The focus of the film is not only on Kang-sheng Lee's character, there are also two other characters who are connected to Lee because they use the same apartment even though they are not aware of each other at first. The screenplay is fascinating even if it's a bit tough even by Tsai's standards because there is no "comic relief".

As for the form, it's magnificent yet again. Tsai's long takes, calm pace and gorgeous photography are still there. This time he doesn't use music at all, which fits the screenplay.

Tsai's film making has become quite refined already by this point, but the film is a bit too monotonous for its own sake so I can't honestly give it a 10.

Score: 9 out of 10

Yi yi

Edward Yang's Yi yi (2000) is a film that moves me unlike any other: it can be said that the movie tells in a nutshell what it means to live in a contemporary society. We take a look at a Taiwanese for a short period of time that includes several major events (wedding, funeral, birth) and the time gaps between them. There are lots of important storylines which smoothly develop at the same time and somehow Yang keeps the entire situation perfectly clear to the viewer throughout the film. That's a great achievement on its own. The narrative is freakin' dense. For example, it can be seen in the character (and plot) development and the sheer number of all sorts of motifs.

Even though the film comments a lot on Taiwan's current situation, it is handled subtly. In addition, the film deals with a lot of universal problems so it can easily touch a viewer of any nationality. Yi yi manages to take on so many themes and subjects and explore them in profound ways. First of all, the generation gaps between the grandmother, the parents and the kids are explored thoroughly. Secondly, even though the film focuses on family dynamics, there is no serious problem between the family members themselves. However, even in a good family each member faces loneliness and alienation from time to time - and that's what the flick's multi-layered content focuses on.

NJ, the father of the family, is an honest and reliable guy - unlike his greedy business partners who he has to deal with. After he meets his ex-girlfriend his daily routine is thrown out of balance as the reunion makes him revisit painful memories and face nostalgia. Due to his work, he meets a wise Japanese man, Mr. Ota, who gives him the best possible advice in many ways. Ota is also a fascinating character and Issey Ogata's performance is stunning. When Yang began writing Yi yi, he wrote the character of NJ for Nien-Jen Wu, a famous Taiwanese screenwriter. His performance really captures the essence of the character and I find out more and more incredible layers in his performance after repeated views.

Min-Min, the mother of the family, faces an existential crisis after her mother falls into coma. Her character development happens mostly off-screen and relies only on a few bits of dialogue. Through a spiritual trip she realises something essential about life. Elaine Jin makes the most of her relatively short screentime and turns in a breathtaking performance - especially her rant about her life's meaning is praiseworthy.

Ting-Ting, the older child of the family, deals with guilt and first love after she befriends the new neighbour. Arguably, she experiences most emotional growth in the film and that is why she is the most fascinating character for me. Kelly Lee's restrained and natural performance is probably the greatest among the brilliant performances of the film. There is an elegance in her performance that is quite rare for someone of her age.

Yang-Yang, the younger child of the family, is hungry for knowledge as he takes photographs, faces problems at school and becomes distracted by innocent attraction. Along with Mr. Ota, Yang-Yang delivers the most philosophical and thought-provoking ideas in the film - such as the idea of us seeing only "half of the truth" because we can see what is in front of us, not what is behind us. After a long bout of minimalism, his speech at the end of the film is the best bit of sentimentalism (probably) ever used in film. Jonathan Chang's performance is one of a kind: Yang tried to make him feel as natural and free as possible in front of the camera and it shows. There is no pretension in his facial expression or posture. It is a surprisingly honest performance for a child actor.

There is also the story of Min-Min's brother, Ah-Di, who gets married at the beginning of the film and he has to deal with financial problems throughout the film. His storyline is weak in comparison to the other storylines, but it isn't bad by any means. In fact, it is brilliant, but its connection to the others isn't strong and it is unfair to compare any story to those three brilliant storylines that dominate the film.

When all of these storylines and characters come together in a single 3-hour film, the viewer is given an unforgettable experience. The content alone is so beautiful and profound that it leaves me in awe for days after I've seen the film. No matter how many times I watch the ending scene (or lots of other scenes, as well) I shed a tear - not because it is necessarily sad, but it is so beautiful and tangible.

Yang's cinematography is calm and distant. The camera moves in the least possible ways for many reasons: it gives us time to enjoy the gorgeous compositions and it gives the film a life-like pace. In addition, the film uses a lot of long takes. Some of the action happens off-screen because (for example) the view is blocked by a wall. Yang employs this technique very effectively. He often uses reflections in the compositions to create fascinating imagery. Often Taipei is reflected on the glass for many thought-provoking purposes.

The camera is often far away from the central characters so that we can observe them more objectively. Or as the director himself said: (not a direct quote, more like a sum of his thoughts on the commentary track) If the camera was close to the characters, why would they reveal their innermost secrets to a stranger (referring to the camera) who is near them. But when Yang uses close-ups of the characters, they are very, very hard-hitting.

The film is not only visually stunning and intriguing - it enthralled in auditive ways as well. The use of sound is very central: there are even important audio motifs in the film (e.g. the sound of lightning in Yang-Yang's storyline). Sometimes the sounds from different storylines overlap to another in order to create interesting parallels. The soundtrack consists of known classical compositions and Kaili Peng's (the director's wife's) instrumental music. All the music in the film fits in perfectly and creates occasionally a haunting atmosphere for the film. For example, the closing scene ends with one of Peng's compositions (that isn't sadly released ANYWHERE) which plays all the way through the credits. This composition refuses to leave my mind at peace because it's so moving in its subtlety and simplicity.

Even though this review is quite long, I feel the task of covering everything important about the film impossible. There is so much to be found on repeated views and there is so much I still have on my mind, which I can not express in this review. The film provides me with something that other films don't succeed in (at least on Yi yi's level): a perfect and thorough catharsis.

Score: 10 out of 10

All About Lily Chou-Chou

If you have read my blog ever since I began, you'll surely remember my incoherent and enthusiastic review of Shunji Iwai's All About Lily Chou-Chou back in November. Even though I've spent probably more than 10 hours watching clips of this film afterwards, I haven't completely rewatched it until now. This time I intend to create a more sensible and readable review because the film is one of my favorites of all time.

Essentially the film is about a teenaged boy's life changing as he enters high school. The pressure, dreams, hopes and fears of adolescence are portrayed tangibly. The boy's alienation and implied coming-of-age are thoroughly explored as he is ripped apart from what he cares about. What is even "worse" for him is that he is like Neon Genesis Evangelion's Shinji - an extremely introverted and helpless kid facing problems too huge for him to grasp.

The boy attempts to find solace in the music of a Björk-like artist by discussing about his passion for her music on the Internet. That way the film also observes delusional fans and Internet behaviour. It is surprising how the film isn't judgmental about it even though it is implied to be dubious.

The growing distance between teenagers and adults is obvious throughout the film. The teachers remain distant in an exaggerated school world where violence and even prostitution exist. The boy's home is even more distant to him: in a single shot it is established that his mother has remarried to a weird guy with another problematic kid. His family doesn't really offer him shelter from anything - even his relationship with his mother is awfully strained.

Iwai's narrative is very elliptical and fragmented. It jumps back and forth in time, but it never does that without a proper transition. The signals for transition are mostly subtle - and that's why the film requires patience from the viewer. The unconventional narrative strikes deep into how it feels like to be an emotionally stressed teenager today.

Iwai's form is intriguing yet a bit challenging. Mostly handheld camerawork and internet messages flashing on the screen might be a bit hard to get used to - luckily the opening of the film makes the viewer ready for the rest of the film. Even though the film was shot with digital cameras, it is one of the most beautiful films I've ever seen - the compositions and the colors are gorgeous. The haunting musical score featuring songs of a fictional musician is haunting: especially Salyu's vocals linger on one's mind for hours after the credits.

All About Lily Chou-Chou is a film I completely and utterly love because it is a complex portrayal of modern youth that hits me harder than most of other films put together.

Score: 10 out of 10

REWATCH: Last Life in the Universe

This is the first time I have watched a film that I have already reviewed on this blog again. I already reviewed Pen-ek Ratanaruang's Last Life in the Universe (2003) back in November so you better read it first in case you haven't already.

Ratanaruang's surrealistic and melancholic meditation on death, loss and isolation still packs a punch for me - although this time the film was not as surprising. The occasional black humor is brilliant and reminded me a bit of the korean director Chan-wook Park. However, the humor doesn't have a presense as strong as it has in Park's films. Doyle's cinematography is still fascinating and the musical score (and sound design in general) is haunting.

The thing I love the most about this film is the main character Kenji - and Asano's portrayal of him. Even though the character is an exaggerated stereotype, it never becomes a problem for me.  He is well developed and Asano's performance is simply stunning. I can not emphasize his importance to the film's success enough in this review.

Score: 10 out of 10

Rebels of the Neon God

(image source)

Tsai Ming-liang's Rebels of the Neon God (1992) is nothing like the director's other films. There are only two trademarks that can be noticed in his second first film: casting Lee Kang-sheng (and his family) and the metaphoric use of water. The movie portrays Hsiao-Kang's days as a teenager while he faces feelings of alienation and frustration. Tsai also focuses on a rather separate storyline which involes two hoodlums chasing a beautiful girl. While Hsiao-Kang often observes these characters, there is hardly any interaction between the two storylines.

I've read that the film is the perfect depiction of Taiwan at the end of the 80's and the beginning of 90's so I guess that counts as a pro. It examines somewhat decently the dislocation the adolescents feel in the harsh environment. I have to admit it was a bit problematic for me to watch the film because I expected yet another story focused completely on Hsiao-Kang, but the other storyline was even more central than HK's storyline. It was confusing for a while, but it was fitting when I started to think about its relevance for the themes.

Tsai's form is almost completely the opposite when compared to his later films. There are almost no long takes so his editing patterns are largely different. The camera is moving most of the time which gives the film more energy - which is fitting when you realise the film is about the reckless youth. I'm not sure if it was a conscious decision or if Tsai hadn't simply figured out his own unique style yet. Tsai also used music quite a lot - and none of it was old Mandarin pop. The compositions weren't so precise either - there were a few exceptions though.

In overall, Rebels of the Neon God is a bit uneven although it is not a bad effort at all. In fact, Tsai shows hints of his brilliance already at this point, but he doesn't succeed in creating a masterpiece: his form is lacking and the content doesn't feel focused enough.

Score: 7 out of 10

The Skywalk Is Gone

The Skywalk Is Gone (2002) is Tsai Ming-liang's short film which shows what happened to the main characters between What Time Is It There? (2001) and The Wayward Cloud (2005). The content is unimpressive, but it is slightly interesting for the fans of Tsai's films. It functions only as a small fraction of a connection between the two films, and as that it is only OK. Tsai's form is dead-on though, and that's the extremely redeeming factor of the film. It is not different from his other films, but it is perfectly executed AGAIN.

Score: 6 out of 10

What Time Is It There?

Tsai Ming-liang's What Time Is It There? (2001) is a film about alienation and loss. As usually with Tsai's films, Lee Kang-sheng plays a character named after the actor himself. This time his father dies, and the film shows us how he and his mother react to the loss. That's only half of the story. He also meets a woman (Chen Shiang-chyi, plays a character named after herself as well) while selling watches on an overpass. Unfortunately, the woman leaves for Paris the next day.

The film focuses on the concepts referred to in the title: "there" and "time". Both of the main characters feel dislocated from time and space. This phenomenon is examined in a poetic way. Lee spends a lot of time alone in his bed - he even resorts to peeing into plastic bags and bottles. He becomes fixated with resetting every clock he sees to the time that is in Paris - he believes he can maintains his relationship with Chen that way. Chen, on the other hand, only finds peculiar guilt and loneliness in Paris.

And because the film is directed by Tsai, there are excellent moments of slapstick in the film. He even applies some of this subtle humor (it is funny to say that slapstick is subtle) to the central themes and motifs, but luckily that doesnt ruin the impact of its content.

The elegance of Tsai's form is stunning. He proves he has his film tightly under his control. The best example of his self-confidence and talent is the very first scene that is constructed of one clever static shot. I believe he used more cuts in this film because the story is split into two storylines, and thus requires more editing. His compositions are not only beautiful, but they also heavily reflect the dislocation the main characters feel.

What Time Is It There? is a stunning film, and I realised my review doesnt entirely express my admiration of it. It might actually be my favourite from Tsai's filmography.

Score: 10 out of 10

Tokyo!

Tokyo! (2008) is a triptych of stories that all take place in Tokyo. Each segment is directed by a different director: Michel Gondry, Leos Carax and Jong-ho Bong. I would say what all of these segments have in common (besides the location) is that they all somehow deal with our difficulties to communicate and find our place in the society. But it is a lot easier to focus on these segments separately. The film opens with an animated shot of Tokyo with an announcer speaking in the background, as if we - the viewers - would be boarding onto a flight. In my opinion, watching the film feels like one, even if the stories are wildly exaggerated and they dont necessarily try to portray Tokyo honestly.

The first segment is Michel Gondry's Interior Design. Akira (Ryo Kase), an amateur and experimental filmmaker, and her girlfriend Hiroko (Ayako Fujitani) come to Tokyo to release Akira's film and also to find a place to live in. Before finding their own apartment, they move in to live with Akemi (Ayumi Ito) for a few days. From there on, the story becomes a bit different: the main characters face difficulties and in the end it is about Hiroko and her problems to fit into the society. The story takes on a rather wild symbolical path by the end, which even on its own makes the segment worth watching. The story raises enough questions - and its own peculiar way answers them satisfyingly enough, but it is nothing revolutionary. Gondry's visual take on the story is impressive and very fitting. I went bonkers when I heard that both Fujitani and Ito are both in this movie - even more when I realised they are in the same segment. They both perform very well as expected, delightul performances by both of them - even though Ito's character is hardly deep or even good. On its own, I would probably give this segment a 7 as its rating.

The second segment is Leos Carax' Merde. Merde (Denis Lavant) is the main character (pictured above) of the film who is also known as the "Creature of the Sewers" who wreaks havoc in Tokyo once in a while and then disappears. Eventually the Japanese capture him and what happens then is even more bizarre than the beginning. I guess you could interpret the story to be a tale of how different people can be - and how we react to that difference. Yet the screenplay doesnt seem to pick a side - or even a point of view - on the subject and in the end it is quite disappointing. It explores its obvious message on a childish yet peculiar way which seems to be an insult towards weird people in general. Yet it seems to show how cruelly the society takes care of these weird persons. The result is a mess - to say the least. The biggest offender was the nonsensical ending. Carax' form for the story is a weird combination of gritty and clean cinematography. It certainly packs a punch here and there, and it uses some weird devices - like split screen for an entire scene. That's why it feels a bit gimmicky at times, but in general it works to some degree. This segment deserves only a 3!

The last segment is Joon-ho Bong's Shaking Tokyo. It is the story of a Japanese man (Teruyuki Kagawa) who has lived all alone in his apartment for over 10 years and has avoided eye contact with anyone during that time. The story is set into motion once he does make eye contact with pizza delivery girl (Yû Aoi) - with almost catastrophical results. I have to admit the story evolves into something extremely fascinating and thoughtful. This segment alone makes the film worth a watch - or even worth the purchase of the DVD release. In a way Bong shoves the middle finger at what the Japanese society has turned into yet he seems to care deeply for the characters. The story is - as you can guess - about loneliness and the difficulties in communication. Bong's form is nigh perfect with its great compositions and lovely editing. I dont want to reveal too much about the segment, but the content is awesome as well. This segment certainly deserves a 9 at least.

In overall, the film is certainly nice to watch because the segments are so refreshingly different from each other. Even though I disliked the second segment, I can see how it fits into the film and I will probably buy the DVD someday.

Score: 7 out of 10

All About Lily Chou-Chou

Shunji Iwai's All About Lily Chou-Chou (2001) took me by surprised and twisted my heart and brain. 18 hours has passed since I watched the film, but it still has a strong impact on me: I'm bewildered, crazy and touched. To reflect my reaction to the film, my review will be executed in a peculiar way: I take quotes from other reviews and comment on them.

”If your taste runs to "difficult" films you absolutely can't miss it.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

The difference in reactions to All About Lily Chou-Chou can be mostly reduced to "Your mileage may vary." The film is certainly not easy to get into because it has such a peculiar narrative and it seems there is nothing that essentially ties the film into one solid entirety. I, on the other hand, fell in love with it on this aspect.

”"All About Lily Chou-Chou" is arguably too ambitious, too all-encompassing and too concerned with flouting narrative convention for its own good. Then again, some of the same criticisms could apply to François Truffaut's "The 400 Blows," a movie that bears more than a passing similarity to this one.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

The problem I had at first was that as much as I could praise the film, I could criticize it for the very same things. Once my mind had settled down a bit (it hasnt settled completely yet), I felt my criticism felt weaker and weaker so I began to admire the film more gradually. Partly because it had such a strong effect on me, only comparable to my reaction to films like Yi Yi and End of Evangelion. O'Hehir makes a reasonable comparison to Truffaut's The 400 Blows because All About Lily Chou-Chou seems to be criticized for the same reasons The 400 Blows is praised.

”"All About Lily Chou-Chou" is mainly the story of Yuichi (Hayato Ichihara), a moody, near-silent teenage boy who's obsessed with a pop singer named, yep, Lily Chou-Chou. Beyond that, though, things get murky.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

This is as good as it gets when you attempt to make a plot introduction for the film. The film's content becomes so wide that it is hard to explain it all without writing walls of text and spoiling the film too much.

”Iwai's portrait of Japanese high-school life is dense with compelling detail. In between his sessions in an online chat-room devoted to Lily -- rendered as a series of explosive intertitles that interrupt and sometimes overlay the action -- Yuichi must navigate a landscape of warring bullies and gangs, sadistic and seductive packs of girls and various grades of clueless, harried adults.” - Andrew O'Hehir - Salon.com

The film dives deep into the lives of high-school students. One of the things that resonated within me was the portrayal of Internet discussion and disillusioned fanbase. The anonymity is conforming for the teens because it allows them to get away from the social pressure caused by the school, family and friends. The things these crazy fans write during the film are not far from what is written on most of the forums I've been to. Fans go to absurd levels in praising what they love, by bringing up weird "facts", writing colorful yet pretentious walls of text and defending the honor of their precious idol or masterpiece. I have been (and still am to a certain degree) guilty of this act because it becomes quite natural once you spend enough time on the Internet. The problems of the teenagers in the film explode in the form of criminal and even sexually grim activities. The cluelessness (is that even a word?) of the adults reflects, in my humble opinion, the way the teenagers mostly see adults as, especially parents and teachers. They can be kind or dominating, but "none of them understands" how the children feel. Through their eyes, there is a gaping hole between their world and the parents' world.

”If Yuichi is pretty much the classic wounded adolescent of world cinema, transposed to the age of chat rooms and digital video, that doesn't stop us from pining for a time when he will be less awkward and his life a little easier.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

At first I despised Yuichi because I wanted to get him over his own problems and finally do SOMETHING. As the film went further I realised I was only frustrated because he faces a lot of problems I have, and I realised how honestly Iwai portrays this aspect. It doesnt point fingers at anyone yet it is a true and deep look at these psychological problems. In a way, Yuichi reminds me of Hideaki Anno's Neon Genesis Evangelion's Shinji because my initial (and later) reaction was similar to him. That might have been an unintentional parallel on Iwai's part, but he has admitted that Anno's Love & Pop influenced him a lot. You can certainly spot that all the way from the subject (and how it is handled) to the peculiar form.

”If the narrative progress of Iwai's film is sometimes baffling, what keeps you watching are his lustrous images and the complexity of his portrayal of middle-class Japan in decline.” - Andrew O'Hehir - Salon.com

The narrative certainly CAN be baffling, but I'm sure no one will stop watching the film. Luckily there are other qualities that can be more easily called redeeming than the narrative. More about the form later.

”Scenes don't always occur in chronological order, and some remain entirely mysterious.” - Andrew O'Hehir - Salon.com

You might be skeptical if this sort of ambiguity fits to the subject, but it strengthens the film. The film's narrative doesnt try to force every detail down the viewers' throats, but certainly leaves enough clues for clear interpretation. The amount of details may confuse you on the initial viewing and you might need to rewatch the film later.

”While this has the making of melodrama, the filmmaker cuts against this natural grain, producing a work that's more interested in asking questions than in answering them.” - David Ehrenstein, New Times

This isnt completely true, but can be attributed to the amgiguosity.

”I suppose "All About Lily Chou-Chou" is at its heart making the oldest possible complaint about modern culture: that as it purports to bring people together it actually keeps them separate.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

The film might not make an impressive statement of this complaint in general, but it is adequate enough when you take the subject into consideration.

”Iwai isn't interested in Lily herself, who never appears in the film (and may not even be real); Lily and her pseudo-mystical domain, "the Ether," seem to symbolize a lost tranquility that may be the past or the future but definitely isn't the here and now.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

This is something the viewer should have in mind before watching the film. The title is, in a way, misleading because it isnt really about Lily Chou-Chou itself. Every bit of information about her comes through her fans and we can never be sure how correct this information is. It is much more reasonable and comfortable to see her as a metaphor.

Without a direct quote, I would like to mention a brilliant scene. Yuichi walks a girl home, but the tension in the girl and in the relationship explodes completely while they are walking. What happens during the explosion is stunning and it feels so right. The end of the scene is an example of the awkward lack of connection between the characters even though both of them desparately want it. It is a bittersweet yet beautiful moment.

”A film that perfectly distills the relationship between pop music and teens searching for identity.” - Pam Grady, Reel.com

Even though it would be too simple to say that the film is about teens searching for identity, but the important of culture, especially pop music, is handled better than I recall in any other film I've seen. There is this strong need to escape the reality by any means and a lot of adolescents rely on music. Salyu's wonderful music is used as the music of the mysterious Lily Chou-Chou. These songs set the mood perfectly and reflect the teenage angst in a bittersweet way.

”Much of All About Lily Chou-Chou is mesmerizing: some of its plaintiveness could make you weep.” - Elvis Mitchell, New York Times

While the film isnt strictly melancholic, it certainly affects you in that way as well. There was one certain moment that made me weep a little because it was such a crushing moment for one of the characters. Yet again, I would like to compare the film to Yi Yi to which I had similar reactions.

”This movie is maddening. It conveys a simple message in a visual style that is willfully overwrought.” - Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun-Times

This Ebert quote is simply something I have to disagree with. "A simple message"? Huh? Visual style that is willfull overwrought? Your mileage may vary.

”Writer-director Shunji Iwai is no kid (he's 39), but his movie has a youthful restlessness, an almost compulsive daring.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

Iwai's form is intriguing and uneasy - as it should be for this sort of content. The next quote puts it better than I ever could:

”Once you get into its rhythm ... the movie becomes a heady experience.” - Jonathan Curiel, San Fransisco Chronicle

Not only the narrative might be disorienting, but the editing is certainly peculiar. Anno's influence can be seen here, but Iwai doesnt simply do what Anno would, but takes the whole form even beyond that. It is a delicious experience.

”Iwai is almost certainly going digital by choice; he begins and ends the film with images of Yuichi against a field of sizzling-green grass, an electric hue perhaps only attainable in this format.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

Now that I have seen the film, I claim it wouldnt be the same if it was shot on film. The digital footage is charming and extremely beautiful, as describe in the following quote:

”Perhaps no greater example yet exists of the beauty achievable when one is a master of the digital aesthetic.” - Jeremy Heilman, MovieMartyrs.com

All About Lily Chou-Chou is the best example of how you can achieve a lot by digital cameras, and also why they should be used more frequently.

”Then there's a long sideways journey in the middle, when the film temporarily becomes a homemade video of an Okinawa vacation that ends with a near-drowning while the camera sloshes around haphazardly in the surf.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

I understand why Iwai executed this portion of the film in the way he did, but it wasnt easy to accept at first. There are a few points during this section that made me a little skeptical. I would consider this a minor flaw at worst.

”Ichihara is a handsome, slight kid who can simultaneously convey curiosity and sullenness.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

Ichihara (Yuichi's, the main characters', actor) performed extremely well. I even didnt think of the performances before reading about the film elsewhere. The whole cast deserves appreciation, especially Ichihara and Ayumi Ito. Their performances were hard-hitting.

I'm finally coming to a conclusion, and at first I'll use a bunch of quotes:

”I loved "All About Lily Chou-Chou" despite its problems, or at least I greatly admired its crystalline, high-definition video look, its explosive feel, its wealth of ideas, its willingness to go anywhere and do anything.” - Andrew O'Hehir, Salon.com

”Confusion is one of my least favourite emotions, especially when I have to put up with 146 minutes of it.” - Ian Waldron-Mantgani, UK Critic

”It's a uniquely lonely film, and one of the year's most memorable.” - Michael Atkinson, Village Voice

”I'm not sure All About Lily Chou-Chou made sense in my head, but it made sense in my heart.” - Chris Hewitt, St. Paul Pioneer Press

Andrew O'Hehir's covers most of the reason why I'm willing to forget any possible flaws of the film, and add to that the fact how it hit home for me: I identify a lot of the characters' problems in myself although I have no experience of youth criminals or teenage prostitution. Ian Waldron-Mantgani's bewildering statement is funny in an unintentional way. The film seems to have breached his security and shaken him up, and he feels offended by that. I usually feel vice versa. What I love about Michael Atkinson's quote is his description of the film: "uniquely lonely". Chris Hewitt's words, on the other hand, are the ones I had in my mind just after I had seen the film. Back then I wasnt sure if I had seen one of the best films ever, or only a decent film.

As the last quote, I would like to use something Andrew O'Hehir wrote:

”Somehow it works.”

Even though he uses it only about the digital aesthetic, I erupted in laughter after reading that line. It felt so spot-on about my thoughts on the film in general.

Score: (yet another) 10 out of 10

The Wayward Cloud

Tsai Ming-liang's The Wayward Cloud (2005) is certainly a unique film: it is a Taiwanese arthouse porn musical. Sadly I havent yet watched Tsai's What Time Is It There? (2001) and The Skywalk Is Gone (2002). The Wayward Cloud continues the stories of the characters seen in those films. In any case, the film doesnt rely heavily on those characters because I felt like there was nothing missing in the story.

The Wayward Cloud examines the relationship between an amateur porn star and a lonely woman. They know each other from the past and both of them are desparately seeking a connection. Will they succeed? They go about their daily lives on a calm pace which is sometimes interruped by odd musical numbers. These musical bits are charmingly off-beat when compared to the rest of the film. It is like the film's story flows back and forth between two completely different layers. There is this sort of "dualism" in the "porn" scenes too. Sometimes you can see the people behind camera in rather amusing situations, and then there are scenes where they are completely non-existent. Tsai brilliantly switches between these two "styles" to emphasize certain aspects of the content. For example, the first porn scene catches the viewer completely off-guard and it is done "professionally" with no visible cameramen, complete with costumes for both characters. The most shocking part is what actually happens during the scene - I'll leave that for you to find out.

Despite the film's cold and alienating attitude most of the time, there are truly hilarious moments. Tsai is able to include his "trademark humor" into the serious content seamlessly. For example, there is a lovely scene which uses only one shot: the shot is divided by a wall in the middle of it and we can see one main character on each side. The man tries to be nice to the woman and accepts the drink she offers to him. While she goes behind the wall, he disposes of the drink without drinking it - because it's god awful. When she comes back, he kindly gives the glass back to him, which she interprets as him wanting more. His facial expression after she fills the glass again is priceless. The same sort of composition is used later in the film for a completely another purpose, but it is certainly meant to be parallel to this scene.

The film's Taipei is under a drought which has made watermelons extremely common, to the point of them becoming a fetish. All of this can be seen as a metaphor for the "dryness" in the relationships of the characters, the lack of connection. The Wayward Cloud's watermelons are infamous among cinephiles.

Apart from the musical scenes, Tsai's form doesnt hold any exceptions in comparison to his other films. He likes to linger on carefully framed and beautiful shots which are often used for a certain purpose. Even his musical numbers follow his tradition of only using old Mandarin pop songs which surprisingly fit really well with the modern setting. 

I seriously cant find any mentionable flaws from the film, and it is great as it is. It is an intriguing example of how far cinematic language can go.

Score: 10 out of 10

Last Life in the Universe

Pen-Ek Ratanaruang's Last Life in the Universe (2003) is the complete opposite of his earlier film, Monrak Transistor (2001): it is melancholic, calm and it is more concerned about its concepts than a tight and complicated plot. The film is an accurate character study of the two main characters. One is a completely introverted Japanese man (Tadanobu Asano) who attempts suicide on various occasions, but he claims he isnt doing it out of hopelessness. Due to an unfortunate accident, he meets an extroverted Thai girl (Sinitta Boonyasak).

The character studies are simply fascinating in Last Life in the Universe. Both of the main characters are given equal focus and it really gives a wide perspective for the film. We enter their dreams and thoughts in an intriguing way. At its core, the film is about life, death, alienation and reconciliation. Death is always present in the film. The eruptions of violence are somehow so melancholic and even bittersweet. It is interesting even on the surface as it works as a romantic comedy, but I hardly even thought of it as one before writing this review.

Christopher Doyle worked as the Director of Photography for this film, and that can easily be noticed in the cinematography. Ratanaruang's form was already excellent in Monrak Transistor without Doyle, but now it reaches new, unbelieveable levels of quality. The compositions and camera movement are so essential that many reviewers easily call it the third main character of the film.

The film relies heavily on the two main actors who are astonishing. Tadanobu Asano's restrained performance as the introvert is so pitch-perfect that I would laud it as one of the best performances of the whole decade. It is the complete opposite of his performance in Ichi the Killer, and it is refreshing to see him in a role like this. Sinitta Boonyasak's performance is not to be forgotten: it is as glorious as Asano's. Their body language is essential for the interpretation of the film and they succeed in so many ways that it is hard to describe it sufficiently. 

The same thing goes for the whole film: I believe my review can hardly describe, evaluate and show respect to the film as well as possible. It is so carefully nuanced and delicately executed. It left me with this strong feeling of weightlessness and emptiness - in a good way.

Score: 10 out of 10